#lets hope this shows up in the tags this time >\:(
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barleyo ¡ 2 days ago
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All Eyes on You.
Amir x F! Reader (smut)
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A/N: i wish amir was more popular. he's so sweet, but maybe i'm just biased towards divas like him. reblogs and comments are appreciated, i hope you enjoy <3
Tags: stern praise, slight manhandling, p in v, mentions of insecurity, mirror sex
Wordcount: ~0.6k
While he had let you get away with it the first couple of times, Amir was anything but stupid. When you asked to stay under the covers the first time you both made love, he assumed you were just nervous. He agreed and slipped under the duvet with you. When you brought up blindfolds, he thought you were spicing it up a bit. 
He started to get tipped off to what was going when you seemed to avoid any situation that allowed him to see you fully. He was hesitant to bring it up. He never wanted to push you, but it was killing him to think you were so insecure about how your body looked. He kept quiet.
Until you asked him to turn all the lights out before he bedded you. He paused in the doorframe and stared at you, thick eyebrows pinched together in vexation. 
Amir huffed loudly, arms crossing over his chest. "Why?"
"Why?" you echoed, feeling small under the scrutiny of his glare. You felt judged, but not in the way you feared it. You felt him picking you apart under his gaze, ripping into your insecurity and discomfort.
"Yes, why?" He passed the room's threshold and closed the door behind him, leaning against it while he waited for you to explain yourself to him. "Why do you keep asking me to blind myself?" 
Dramatic, yes, of course he was, but he was extremely serious.
You bit your lip. You knew that if you told him your were dissatisfied with how you looked, he'd be more offended than anything else. You also knew that if you lied, he would be able to see right through you. You were torn.
"Well?" he asked, impatiently pouting while he waited for an answer.
Might as well be truthful, you thought. Huge mistake on your part.
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Your cheeks were uncomfortably smushed at this point. It started to hurt a bit, but the pleasure you were getting made it worth it. 
"Who's that pretty girl I see?" Amir adjusted your face again, keeping your eyes firmly trained on your reflection in the mirror in front of you. His hand kept your cheeks squished together, lips poured out. "Go on. Pretty girls deserve to be kissed, right?"
You shuddered as he pressed you forward with his weight, cock pushing into the hilt, making you kiss your own reflection. You would feel embarrassed being bent over on the floor and forced to stare at yourself if it didn't feel so good. Your eyes dipped upwards on the mirror to look at Amir. He was completely invested in you, eyes boring into the back of your head and your reflection.
"Unh-uh," he corrected you again, tilting you head forward. "Don't look at me. Look at yourself."
You did. You cringed slightly at the sight. You looked a mess. Hair out of place, drool pricking the sides of your lips, eyes glazed over. Your tits and tummy jiggled beneath you with each of Amir's thrusts. 
"Fucking gorgeous," he said with a deep groan, fingers running through your hair and gently gripping a handful. He noticed the slight grimace on your face. "Why must you do this to me, azizam? Don't you know how rejecting your own beauty hurts me so?"
You felt a hint of guilt creep up on you, but your self-consciousness was a strong barricade. 
"No matter," Amir said, yanking your head back to look at him. "We'll stay here all night if we have to. If you can't see how beautiful you are, I'll show you myself."
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telephoniii ¡ 18 hours ago
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hello! I saw your requests were open, so here I am :3 could I get the dorm leaders reacting to yuu/reader having random bruises? they are just from human stuff- like running into things by accident, dropping stuff, etc. but I think it would be interesting to think what they would assume first other than that! sorry for rambling n I give you my best wishes!
ACCIDENT-PRONE
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☆彡 in which you find yourself getting hurt a lot
dorm leaders x GN!reader
word count: 200 per character
tags: pre-relationship, possible ooc, reader is prefect, first impressions
a/n: im going to try and post at least once a week but no promises. also im always getting random cuts and bruises that i have no idea how they get there. i hope you enjoy :>
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riddle rosehearts
Riddle assumes you're doing it on purpose. No one could be that clumsy. You'll probably break a rule with how much stuff you accidentally run into or drop. And he'll definitely scold you for it. His tune starts to change the more he gets to know you. He will still always be the first one to chastise you, but also the first to get you bandaids and ice. He's worried honestly. He hates seeing you so bruised, even if it's from mundane things. Riddle will try to be more strict with you. If you're under harsher rules, there's a less likely chance of you getting injured, correct? Nope. You still find a way. At some point he stops trying to enforce so much onto you and instead shifts his focus to patching your wounds. He'll be making sure it gets properly iced! Even if it's a minor bruise. During unbirthday parties, he's going to be glued to your side. The thought of you accidentally breaking glass from a teapot or cup frightens him too much. If you call him out on it he'll flush a bright red out of embarrassment and explode on you a bit, saying that he wouldn't need to be doing all of this if you could just be more careful. Yeah, it's better to just silently appreciate his care. Because he does care, a lot. He's just bad at saying it.
leona kingscholar
The first few times he can brush it off as you being reckless. Most in Savanaclaw are. But once he spots a pattern? He thinks it's so funny. He'll sit you down in front of him and point at random bruises and scars saying, "What's this one from?" Then he'll proceed to laugh at you when you say you just tripped and ate shit. He knows you're tough enough to handle yourself. Don't let him touch any of the bruises. He'll press down on them purposely. If it makes you feel better, he'll jokingly call them your battle scars. Leona makes it sound way cooler than it actually is to other people. "Yeah, they've got a good amount of battle scars. Herbivore's pretty damn tough." This isn't to say he doesn't care. If you're around him and about to run into or drop something, he'll pick it up or stop you with his tail. He's got those beastman reflexes, it's light work for him. Whenever he does this, he's absolutely teasing you. "You really should be careful. It starts with breaking one glass. Then it turns to breaking an arm." Don't worry, his teasings always sound like threats. He doesn't mean any harm. If you're in a space with extra breakable objects, his eyes naturally watch over you; ready to spring into action at any second.
azul ashengrotto
Honestly? Might assume you're not human at first. It's common for merfolk to struggle at first when on land— he'd never admit it but he had such a hard time learning how to walk. Still has trouble in PE. When he learns you're just a human who happens to get injured a lot? A bit less sympathetic. Do not step foot into Monster Lounge. Please. Floyd causes enough accidents in there already. He doesn't need another person dropping glasses and food everywhere. Azul does not take any chances. He feels bad when you show him all the different bruises you've obtained. Being a merfolk means he's not super well equipped to handle human injuries. He doesn't know what to do other than rub it gently and wait for it to go away on its own. His solution? Just prevent you from getting injured! This means he’s baby proofing everything. You’re using plastic everything from now on. Plastic cups, plastic utensils, you name it. The scissors in your pencil case? They’re getting replaced with those kiddy dull ones. Hell, he might even put a gate in front of the stairs of Ramshackle to make sure you don't fall and tumble down them. If he’s with you then every time you pass by a table he’ll cover the corner with his hand to prevent you from hitting it. This man is doing the most. But it's all just concern for your wellbeing. He's cruel, but not that cruel.
kalim al asim
If you get hurt at his party, he's instantly apologizing and doing literally everything he can to help. Bandaids? Ice? Urgent Care!? ER!? Just say the word! The table you bummed into is getting put in the storage. You'll have to explain to him that, no, you're not dying. This kinda stuff just happens to you a lot. Once it registers what you're saying, he's actually over the moon happy. You're bumping and dropping everything, accidentally getting injured? Oh my sevens! He's bumping and dropping everything, accidentally getting injured! You two are twins! He's so excited just from your first meeting. He feels like you understand him. The things he does that cause bruises are never on purpose, it just happens! He'll definitely share those top-tier creams and bandaids that cost a ton but make them go away fast. Being around him actually makes your random injures worse. Because now both of you are getting double the bruises. Accidentally drop something on your foot? It bounced off you and hit Kalim's foot too. Kalim wasn't paying attention and rammed into the corner of a table? That pushed the table closer to you, causing you to stub your toe. It's like you two are spiritually connected when it comes to this. Jamil doesn't like having you over. It's nothing personal, but you make his job 10 times harder. Too bad Kalim absolutely adores your presence so you're over all the time.
vil schoenheit
Like Leona, he'll assume you're reckless. Except, he's got more distaste for those of that nature. He'll scoff every time he sees a new bruise... Until he hangs out with you and realizes that you are just the most accident-prone person he's ever seen. Vil will take it upon himself to try and train you. Remember how he was with the Fairy Gala? That's how he's going to be with you. Just not as harsh. He'll do that thing where he stacks books on top of your head and tells you to walk. When they inevitably fall and nearly tumble down on your foot, he's able to stop it with magic. However, he'll simply restock the books and tell you to try again. Vil is determined. When he wants something, he gets it. And right now he wants you to not be as randomly bruised as you are. Surprisingly, it kinda works. You're not bumping into as much tables or ramming your foot into walls anymore. Instead, the bruises are coming from random things fall on top of you. Are. You. KIDDING. When he's around, he'll stop these falling objects with his magic but unfortunately Vil is a busy man who can't be around you 24/7. So? Back to training! He's merciless as he trains you to dodge random things falling from the sky. It's a hard and long path, but when he sees the grin on your face as you dodge a book for the first time in the library, Vil knows it's worthless.
idia shroud
Assumes you're just someone who goes out a lot. Don't wanna get bruised? Just don't go outside lmao. Skill issue. It isn't until he allows you into his room that he realizes that, no, it isn't because you touch grass. It's because you're you. He swiftly learns that the hard way when he watches his entire shelf of figures just tumble over on you out of the blue, unprompted. "Alright, alright. You've got a friend that's consistently getting injured, Idia. Think. Think..." A lightbulb goes on in his brain as he gives you a toothy grin and unsettling laugh. What beats rock? Paper. What beats object? Armor! Why didn't he think of it sooner? You're going to be stuck in his room for a few days as he tests different robotic armor protection on you. To give him some credit, it works. You don't feel it when you ram into tables or accidentally drop something on yourself. But the people around you certainly do. A single touch of the table to this armor sends that thing flying. A random object dropping onto you is the least of your worries as a huge spike appears out of the armor to pierce it, nearly hitting the person next to you. So, yes. He has solved your problem. But in the most inconvenient way possible for everyone around you. Ace and Deuce are begging you to put down the suit of armor.
malleus draconia
"Oh dear. You're quite the unlucky one, aren't you?" And Malleus would be right. Seeing as you're one of his only friends, he doesn't want you to be getting hurt this frequently. Humans are fragile. What if the next rock that falls on you as actually a bolder? He can't fathom the thought of losing you. Malleus decides that he wants you around him. All. The. Time. That way, if not him, then his attendants can stop these bruises from happening. It's hard to explain to him that, no, you can't be around him all the time because different classes and dorms are a thing. Also, as much as you love hanging out with Tsunotaro, it's also very nice to have other friends. This poor fae is super confused. He takes your words as you wanting to get hurt. And why would you want to get hurt? Malleus struggles to understand, leading you to recruit Lilia in helping explain your case. Unfortunately, he's quite the stubborn boy. It takes talking from Lilia and the headmaster for him to register that he isn't allowed to have you by him all the time. It's disappointing for sure, but he'll just have to accept in. Due to this, the time you do spend together he's extremely vigilant to make sure nothing harms you. And during the times you're not, he promises to heal your wounds with his magic.
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steddieas-shegoes ¡ 2 days ago
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the dome
for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'under the dome'
rated t | 704 words | no cw | tags: band manager-ish steve, friendship, up and coming corroded coffin, steddie getting together
also on ao3
🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤
“There’s no fuckin’ way you booked us at the dome,” Gareth says with an eyeroll. His attitude is pretty terrible lately, but it’s mostly out of a growing frustration that they’re all facing. “We couldn’t even get the fairgrounds last week.”
“Well, the lady at the fairground office is a bitch who hates anyone who doesn’t sing bluegrass or pop. You scare her,” Steve says. “Do you want it or not?”
“Of course we want it!” Jeff and Frankie yell.
“Good. I already told them yes,” Steve says as he walks away, leaving them in disbelief that they are playing the largest venue in Indiana.
Eddie is watching him leave. Well, he’s watching his ass leave. He won’t admit that he’s into Steve, but everyone, including Steve, knows he is. Steve’s just waiting on him to make a move. Everyone has bets. It’s a whole thing.
“This has to be a dream,” Gareth says. “There’s no way we got the dome. That’s like…9,000 people.”
“Not counting the upper level seating,” Frankie adds. “That’s another 1,000.”
“How did he get us the dome?” Eddie whispers more to himself than the group.
“He’s pretty good at this,” Jeff replies. Eddie shakes his head. “Are you seriously disagreeing?”
“No!” Eddie’s quick to answer. “He’s great at this. It’s just he’s doing it all for free and, like, we owe him a lot. I assume we should probably give him a percentage of this gig, right?”
“Duh,” they all say in response.
They all love Steve, wouldn’t be anywhere without him. He works a full time job and still finds time to get them on stages all over the state, and he’s the only person besides Wayne who can even start to understand Eddie’s moods. He deserves a lot more than the pennies he’s given from their paid gigs, but he never complains or asks for more.
“What do road managers usually get?” Frankie asks.
“Is he our road manager?” Jeff asks.
“He’s kind of our everything manager,” Gareth says, turning to his drum set. They still need to actually practice or they’ll disappoint everyone who shows up at the dome, which actually could be no one. “Industry standard is 10%.”
“That’s not enough,” Frankie, of all people, says. “What about 20?”
“We don’t even know what this gig pays. We still have to cover our usual costs and pay each of us,” Jeff, always the logical one, replies as he tunes his guitar. “Maybe we stick to 10 until we get a few more gigs like this booked.”
Steve walks back in the room and leaves a few water bottles on Eddie’s amp.
“Stay hydrated so I don’t have to pick you up off the floor. It’s hot out here,” he says as he starts to leave the room. “And the gig is a guaranteed $2500, plus 10% of ticket sales and 10% of merch sales. You’ll probably end up pocketing closer to $7500 based on my math.”
Everyone blinks back at him.
“You’re all loud. And 10% is fine. I like what I do. I like taking care of you guys. As long as I can keep my regular job, I’m good,” Steve smiles at them. “Plus Eddie’s gonna buy me dinner tonight, right?”
Eddie goes pale. “I am?”
“Yeah. I got an advance on your first rockstar paycheck. We’re going on that date you’ve been wanting to ask me out on.”
And then he just leaves the room.
They all stay silent and still for a full minute.
“Did that just happen?” Eddie finally asks.
Gareth pats his shoulder. “Looks like you got yourself a date, bud.”
“What will I wear?” Eddie drops his pick. “Where are we even going?”
Gareth shrugs.
“I can’t practice under these conditions.”
“Yes you can!” Steve yells from the other side of the door.
“Alright, let’s run through our set list,” Eddie strums once to make sure his amp is plugged in properly.
Everyone rolls their eyes, and Gareth knows Steve probably is too. They get to perform at the dome, and Eddie gets the guy he’s been in love with for so long everyone was losing hope anything would ever happen.
It’s all coming together.
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inseobts ¡ 3 days ago
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I Hate Goodbyes - pt.2
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law × fem!reader
part 1
once you go back to your brother luffy and the strawhats, you and law meet again in punk hazard.
a/n: wanted to include reader in the body swap scene, so I hope I didn't mess to much the other characters, in case let me know lmao
words count: 4.9k
tags: punk hazard arc, body swap, slow burn, angst, emotional tension, drama
masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi
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The ice crunches under your boots as you walk behind Nami.
“This place sucks,” Sanji mutters “Freezing, weird, and we’re following a kids’ scream?”
Chopper nods, his breath puffing in the cold “Something’s wrong here. All this… It’s not normal.”
You stay quiet. Not because you don’t agree, but because your heart is racing.
You feel it.
That energy.
His energy.
“Hey,” Franky says, raising his mechanical arm “Got movement up ahead.”
Then you see him.
White and black hat. Long coat. Cold eyes.
Trafalgar Law.
He steps out from the mist like he owns the world.
He’s actually having a fight or something with Smoker but then his eyes land on you.
You freeze.
So does he.
Your stomach turns. It’s been months since you left his ship. Left him. Not because you wanted to, but because you had to. Your brother needed you.
Now, Law’s face shows nothing. Nothing at all.
But you know him.
And that nothing is louder than a scream.
“Law...” you whisper.
His fingers twitch. Just slightly.
“Chambres.” (???)
Everything explodes in blue light.
“What—?!” Sanji yells.
The world spins.
Your body is yanked sideways. Your vision warps. Your chest is suddenly heavier, your legs shorter.
You crash to the ground.
“What the hell?” you shout, only… it’s not your voice.
High. Panicked.
Chopper’s voice.
“Hey” Nami gasps “Where’s my cig?!”
You look up and see your own body blinking in confusion.
He did it. He actually did it.
He switched you with Chopper.
Sanji (in Nami’s body) is yelling. Franky’s checking his arms. Everyone is freaking out.
But your eyes are on him.
Law stands there, calm.
Emotionless.
Not even looking at you now.
Just past you.
Like you’re not even there.
Your voice breaks “You really couldn’t face me?”
No answer.
Just silence “Coward.”
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You’re sitting awkwardly on a rock, Chopper’s tiny legs swinging.
Nami (still in your body) sits next to you, arms crossed “This is getting ridiculous.”
“I want my nose back.” Chopper grumbles from Sanji’s tall frame.
You barely hear them.
Your eyes are locked on the entrance. You can feel your heartbeat, fast and too hopeful. You shouldn’t feel this way. Not after what he did.
But… here they are.
Luffy walks in first, grinning “Hey guys! Good news!”
Behind him is Franky.
And right behind them Law.
You try to stay still. You really do.
But when Luffy says, “We’re teaming up with Traffy! He’s cool, don’t worry!” something inside you just breaks.
You slide off the rock and run, tiny reindeer legs wobbling, hooves hitting the snow.
“LAW!”
He turns, confused... just in time for you to slam into his leg and hug it tight.
“I thought—” you hiccup, tears in your eyes “I thought you hated me now.”
Law blinks.
Then realization hits him.
It’s you.
His eyes widen a little.
He looks down at you, clinging to his leg in Chopper’s tiny form, sniffling, smiling, voice shaking.
He goes stiff. Then immediately looks away, jaw clenched.
“Shit.” he mutters under his breath.
Because he forgot.
He really forgot just how bad he is at handling you. And now you’re crying and cute and small and hugging him, and worse... you’re in the cutest damn animal on the ship, and he can feel Chopper’s soft fur against his coat and it’s so dumb and so not the time and he did this to himself.
He stares at the rock wall like it’s the only safe place left.
Luffy tilts his head “Wait… why is Chopper hugging Law?”
Nami (in your voice) squints “No. That’s not Chopper.”
The rest of the crew goes quiet.
Very quiet.
You sniff again and look up at Law “You didn’t answer.”
He still doesn’t look at you, but his voice is lower now “I don’t hate you.”
That’s it. Just that. But your smile gets wider. You hug him tighter.
And Law tenses like someone just stuck a knife in his heart.
Franky leans toward Sanji (in Nami’s body) “Do they… know each other?”
Sanji stares “Since when?!”
Chopper (in Sanji’s body) gasps “Wait, I had no idea you two were—!”
Luffy scratches his head “Wait… does that mean Traffy is my brother-in-law?!”
Law exhales like he wants the sea to swallow him whole.
“ROOM.” Law’s voice echoes in the hall.
The blue sphere expands one more time, humming softly.
Your chest tightens. The feeling of being pulled again in your body shifting, soul snapping back into place, it all happens in a blink.
Your knees nearly buckle.
You reach up and yes. Your hands. Your voice. Your body.
Chopper blinks, now back in his own form, and quickly jumps away from Law’s leg like he touched fire.
“Oh no—I—I wasn’t hugging you!” he shouts, face bright red “That wasn’t me!”
Franky squints “Wait. So... Y/N?”
You stand still. Frozen.
He’s staring at you. Eyes sharp, searching. Like he’s checking if you’re real. If you’re still his in some unspoken way.
You stare back. Neither of you says anything.
Your heart is pounding so loud, it’s hard to hear.
You want to hug him (with your body). You want him to grab you first. Say something. Anything.
And you can see it in his eyes he wants to. His hands twitch slightly. His jaw tightens.
But then... voices.
“Okay, sooooo…” Sanji says, tapping his foot “Anyone wanna explain what’s going on?”
Nami raises an eyebrow “Because I’d really love to know why Y/N was crying and hugging Law like a lost puppy two minutes ago.”
Luffy grins “Oh, right! You trained with Traffy these past two years, I almost forgot?”
You blink at him. Here it comes.
Luffy tilts his head like he’s thinking real hard.
Then “Did you get married or what?”
The room falls dead silent.
Law almost chokes on air.
You snap your head toward Luffy “WHAT?!”
Luffy just shrugs “I mean, you were gone a long time. He’s kinda weird like you. Makes sense.”
Sanji’s eyes go wide “MARRIED?!”
Chopper gasps “I thought she just trained with him!!”
Usopp stares “Dude. What’s going on?”
Robin smiles softly “Interesting”
Nami grabs your arm “YOU DID WHAT?!”
Law takes a sharp breath and mutters under it, “I’m going to kill your brother.”
You’re blushing so hard your ears are on fire “We are NOT married! That has no sense!”
Law says nothing and he just keeps staring at the ground. Still doesn’t deny it.
And now they’re all looking at you both.
You hold your hands up like you’re surrendering to pirates. Which… technically you are.
“Okay! Okay!” you say quickly, voice tight “I’ll tell you everything before you all say something stupid again.”
The Straw Hats are still a mess of overlapping voices.
“Everything like what?!” Sanji demands.
“Wait, do you love him?!”
“Were you on his crew?!”
“Did you kiss?!”
You squeeze your eyes shut.
“Later,” you say firmly “I’ll explain it all, but later. I promise. This is not the time for it.”
You glance at Law. His eyes flick to yours. There’s a silent question there.
You answer it by stepping forward and grabbing his hand.
He freezes for half a second but lets you take it.
You turn to your crew “Don’t follow us.”
Luffy raises a hand “I wasn’t gonna—”
Nami grabs his arm “You were absolutely gonna.”
You don’t wait.
You walk, still holding Law’s hand, away from the questions, the stares, the noise.
You don’t say anything. Neither does he.
When you find a more private space, you stop.
Finally, you let go of his hand.
He opens his mouth, maybe to speak, maybe to say something cool or clever or distant, like he always does when he doesn’t know how to be real.
But you don’t let him.
You just step forward and wrap your arms around him.
Law stiffens for a second. Like he’s bracing for impact.
Then you feel the slow way he exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for years.
His hand comes up.
Rests on your back.
Then pulls you closer.
“…It’s really you...” he murmurs.
You nod against his chest.
No more hiding. No more silence.
You’re here. And you’re not letting go.
You stay wrapped in his arms a little longer.
His chest rises and falls under your cheek. Steady. Careful. Like he’s afraid to move too fast. Like you’ll disappear again.
You pull back, just a little.
Just enough to look at him.
He looks… tired.
Older. Like he’s been fighting everything alone for a long time.
And you know that look. Because you’ve worn it too.
“This isn’t what I meant,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper “When I told you I’d come back to you.”
His brow furrows slightly. He doesn’t speak. So you go on.
“I imagined something different. I’d walk onto your ship, we’d talk like no time had passed. You’d scold me for something dumb. I’d pretend not to cry.”
You smile, but it’s a little broken.
“I didn’t picture… hugging your leg in Chopper’s body.”
His lips twitch. The smallest, most unwilling smirk “Could’ve been worse.”
“Oh yeah?” you challenge, tilting your head. “How?”
“You could’ve done it in your dumb brother's body.”
You laugh. Actually laugh. It’s short, shaky, but real.
His eyes soften just a little.
Then he looks away.
The air shifts.
He’s quiet again. Holding something back. He always does that when it matters.
So you ask gently, “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?”
He doesn’t answer at first.
“I didn’t let myself think about it.” he says.
You blink.
“I couldn’t afford to. Not with everything ahead of me. Not with Doflamingo. The Heart Pirates. My plan. I couldn’t…” His voice dips “I couldn’t afford to want you back.”
Your breath catches.
“But I did.” he says.
Just like that.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just the truth, finally spoken between four quiet walls.
You step closer again, heart pounding “We’re here now. Somehow.”
He nods.
Like he believes it. Like he’s afraid to.
You’re still standing close.
The quiet between you lingers, but it’s not awkward. It’s full of memories, distance, questions that never had time to be asked.
Law shifts his weight. Looks at the ground. Then at you.
“There’s something I should tell you.”
You tilt your head “What?”
He hesitates.
Then, like it physically hurts to admit it, he says “I didn’t want this alliance.”
You blink “What?”
“Not because I don’t need it. I do.” he says “Luffy’s strong. One of the strongest I could ask for.”
You nod slowly, confused “Then why?”
His jaw tightens “I didn’t want it because you’re here.”
That makes your stomach drop.
He goes on “If something happens to you, I’d be the one who led you into it. I’d blame myself.”
Your heart sinks deeper.
“I can face Kaido, Doflamingo, Marines. But I can’t—” His voice drops “I didn’t want to risk you. I panicked as soon as I saw you here, and... I’m not one to panic.”
You stare at him.
It’s meant to be sweet. Protective. But it hurts.
You nod, just once “I get it.”
You do, but it still stings that he doesn’t see you as someone who can handle it. Who can fight. Who already has.
He watches you.
He sees the little shift in your face. The way your shoulders lower. The quiet drop in your eyes.
You don’t say anything else. Just turn away and start walking toward the crew.
Later, as the Straw Hats and Law gather around a rough map of Punk Hazard, you sit near the back of the room, listening, but quieter than usual.
You feel Law’s eyes on you more than once. He doesn’t say anything. Not yet.
As the meeting wraps, Chopper comes bouncing over “Okay! Ready to go with Law and me for recon?”
You nod, standing slowly.
Law steps forward like he’s just going to walk past you. But then he stops. Reaches out and gently cups your face in both hands.
Your eyes widen.
He leans in slightly, voice low “I do trust your strength. I was just scared to lose it.”
Your breath hitches.
Soft. Sincere.
But behind you...
“Oh my god...” Nami whispers.
Sanji chokes “WHAT—HEY—WHAT IS THIS?!”
Luffy, with his usual volume “Whaaat? They’re touching faces!”
Robin sips her tea “How romantic.”
Franky fist-pumps “SOFT-CORE ACTION!”
Law’s eye twitches.
He drops his hands immediately and mutters, “I’m never doing anything in public again.”
But you’re smiling now and he doesn’t regret it.
You’re standing near, wind tugging at your hair, watching as Law and Chopper prep to leave.
Chopper’s already hopping around with his little satchel of supplies, goggles pushed to his forehead.
Law’s mostly silent, checking over his gear. Calm. Focused. Cold, as always.
And yet, when he glances your way, he lingers.
You walk over, slow but sure.
“I’m not coming.” you say.
Chopper stops mid-hop “Huh?”
Law looks at you fully now.
“I’d be a distraction.” you add quickly, hands in your pockets “Not because I’m upset. I’m not. But you and Chopper need to move quiet. I get that.”
You mean it this time, and for once, Law doesn’t argue.
He just studies you for a second, like he’s surprised. Like maybe he thought you’d push to go anyway. Be stubborn. Be loud.
But you don’t.
You just meet his eyes.
“I trust you,” you say “So… go.”
He nods once but before he turns, he reaches under his coat.
You blink.
He pulls out a thin black cord, a necklace. The metal charm at the end glints faintly in the sun.
Your breath catches.
It’s yours.
The small token you left with him when you left.
You didn’t thing he would’ve wore it, but here it is.
He lifts it up slightly so you can see.
“I didn’t forget.” he says, just loud enough for only you to hear.
You swallow hard. Your throat tightens, but you don’t cry.
Instead, you smile.
Simple. Warm.
“I know.”
He tucks it back under his shirt and turns away without another word. And this time, when he walks off with Chopper, you stay behind.
Strong, and steady, and not a distraction at all.
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The Thousand Sunny rocks gently on calm seas.
For once, no one’s shouting. No cannonballs. No chaos. Just the sound of the wind and a soft tension that hangs over the deck.
They’re all gathered... Luffy, Nami, Zoro, Usopp, Robin, Franky, Chopper, Brook. You. And Law.
Everyone’s focused on the map spread out across the table. Law’s gloved finger traces the line between two islands.
“Dressrosa,” he says, calm as ever “That’s where Doflamingo is. And where we take the next step.”
You’re sitting beside Robin, watching him. Not with awe, but with a kind of quiet, private, closeness. Luffy’s next to Law, elbow on the table, chin in his hand like he’s trying to act serious for once.
“So what do we do there?” Luffy asks “Beat him up?”
Law lets out a breath “Yes. But not immediately.”
He begins laying out the plan: destroy the SMILE factory, cut Doflamingo’s underworld supply, expose his control over the island.
The crew listens, but their glances shift. You feel it. Every now and then, someone looks at you, then at Law. Nami. Sanji. Even Zoro, subtle but not blind.
They’re still wondering. Still waiting to ask.
You avoid eye contact. Try to stay focused on the plan.
But Law notices.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t reach for you. Just pauses at one point mid-sentence, glancing your way.
Later, when the meeting breaks and everyone begins to move, Luffy already yelling about food, Chopper running off to grab medical supplies... Law steps beside you.
Not close enough to touch.
Just close enough to speak low.
“You alright?” he asks, quiet.
You nod “I’m fine.”
He watches you.
“…You still think I don’t see you as strong.” he says, like he’s reading your thoughts.
You shrug one shoulder “I’m not thinking about that right now.”
Law’s silent for a moment.
Then, casually but only after checking that no one’s nearby, he leans just slightly closer.
“I want you with me at Dressrosa,” he says “That’s why I brought this plan to your crew. Your crew.”
You blink “Not just because of Luffy?”
His mouth twitches “He’s… helpful. But reckless.”
You raise an eyebrow “And I’m not?”
He actually smiles, just a little “You’re reckless with a plan.”
You laugh under your breath. And for a second, the weight between you lifts.
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It’s late.
Most of the crew’s asleep. The Sunny sways gently under the stars, and everything feels calm, but your chest is tight.
You can’t sleep.
You sit outside near the rail, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them.
It’s not the plan that’s bothering you.
It’s him.
You hear footsteps behind you. Light. Measured.
He doesn’t say your name.
Just walks up and leans beside you on the rail.
You don’t look at him right away.
“I was wondering when you’d come find me.” you say quietly.
“I could say the same.”
A pause. Then he breaks the silence “You’re thinking about Dressrosa.”
You nod, slow.
“And you...” you add “Mostly you.”
He says nothing to that.
But you go on, voice lower now “I keep remembering what you told me. About Corazon. What Doflamingo did to him. What he meant to you.”
Law’s head lowers slightly.
You finally turn to face him “I know this isn’t just strategy for you. It’s not just about the factory, or Kaido, or alliances. This is personal.”
He exhales. Sharp. Quiet.
You take a breath that feels too big for your chest “Law, I know you. I know you’ll do anything to take him down. Even if it kills you.”
His eyes flick toward you. Just slightly.
But he doesn’t deny it.
That scares you more than anything.
You lean in a little, hands tightening around your knees.
“I don’t want to lose you,” you say, voice breaking just a bit “Not to him. Not to revenge. I know how much he took from you. I know you think this is your duty. But if you throw yourself away to win, then—he still wins.”
He stares at you. His face is calm, like it always is. But his fingers clench into the wood of the rail.
You don’t cry, but it’s close.
“I just got you back,” you whisper “Don’t make me say goodbye again. I hate goodbyes.”
The silence stretches.
Finally, he says soft, rough “You really think I’d leave you behind?”
You nod, eyes shining “If it meant killing him? Yes.”
He’s quiet again.
Then, carefully, he reaches out.
Not a dramatic grab. Just his hand steady finding yours.
Fingers threading through.
“I don’t know what happens at Dressrosa,” he says quietly “But I promise I won’t go down with him.”
You squeeze his hand “I’ll hold you to that.”
The night is quiet.
Your fingers are laced with his, his hand warm, calloused, strong. But still, there’s something gentle in the way he holds you. Like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. Like he’s still learning what it means to be held like this.
You both watch your joined hands in the moonlight.
And then, quietly, you say, “This is the first time we’ve done something like this.”
He tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking to you.
You nod at your hands “Something so… intimate. That isn’t a goodbye.”
He says nothing, but his grip shifts. Tighter.
“Not like last time.” you murmur “When we kissed two times and both times because I was leaving.”
Your voice is soft, almost like you’re afraid saying it will break the moment.
But it doesn’t.
He turns to you, his dark eyes steady “That wasn’t just a kiss.”
You meet his gaze.
“It was all I had.” he says.
And that hits something deep in your chest.
You look down again, your thumb brushing lightly over his.
“It wasn’t enough for me,” you whisper “I wanted to stay more with you.”
“I know.”
Silence again, but now it’s full. Full of things unsaid, and things finally being felt.
You lean your head against his shoulder, slow and careful.
He lets you.
No tension. No shyness.
Just warmth, and the sound of the ocean, and the feel of his heartbeat near your ear.
Not a goodbye.
Not a distraction.
Just this.
Together.
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Morning on the Sunny is always loud, but today, it’s extra.
You sit at the table, eyes still sleepy, wrapped in your jacket. The crew’s slowly filtering in: Zoro yawning like a lion, Usopp arguing with Luffy over who gets the bigger piece of bread, and Sanji dancing around the kitchen like a man on a mission.
“Ah—Y/N-chwaan~!” he sings as he places a plate in front of you, steam rising from your favorite dish “Made it just the way you love it! It''s been a while since I last made it.”
You smile, touched “Thanks, Sanji. It smells amazing.”
But before you can take your first bite, Law, who’s seated across the table with his usual neutral expression, casually says, “She doesn’t eat it like that anymore.”
The whole room stills.
Sanji freezes mid-spin.
You blink “…Huh?”
Law gestures faintly with his chopsticks “You stopped adding sauce after that time it upset your stomach, remember? You’ve been eating it plain since then.”
You stare at him.
Sanji gasps like he’s been stabbed.
“W-WHAT?! That can’t be true! Y/N-chwaan—tell me it’s not true! I know your tastes better than anyone!!”
You cover your mouth, trying not to laugh “Sanji, it’s fine—”
“HOW LONG HAS HE BEEN WATCHING YOUR EATING HABITS?!”
Law doesn’t even flinch “Two years, give or take.”
Sanji drops to his knees like his entire worldview has shattered “Betrayed… by seasoning…”
The rest of the crew is now wide-eyed, glancing between you and Law like you’re an unsolved puzzle that suddenly makes sense.
Nami leans forward, arms crossed “Okay. That’s it. What’s going on? Like... officially?”
Usopp points a dramatic finger “Yeah! Since when does Traffy know you better than us?!”
Brook tilts his skull “Yohoho… are you in loooove~?”
Zoro just mutters, “Obviously something was weird about that leg-hug.”
Luffy shovels more food in his mouth, looking between everyone “Yeah, are you gonna admit you’re together?”
All eyes land on you.
You lower your fork slowly, sigh.
Then, finally, you say “…Yes.”
Half the table explodes.
“WHAT—”
“WHEN?!”
“HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!”
You hold up your hands “It’s not a secret, okay? Just... let me explain.”
The noise calms slightly.
You glance at Luffy, who’s still chewing like none of this matters.
And softly, you add, “I didn’t tell you guys because I didn’t want to disappoint him.”
Everyone quiets.
You look down at your plate “I’m his sister. He’s the future Pirate King. I thought… if he found out I cared about another captain, maybe he’d think I wasn’t serious about the crew.”
You don’t notice Law’s eyes on you then soft, serious, unreadable “I didn’t want him to think I’d choose anyone over him.”
You glance at Luffy again.
He swallows, then looks up at you and says “That’s dumb.”
You blink.
“I’d never be mad at you for liking someone,” he adds, grinning wide “Even if it’s Traffy.”
“…Even especially if it’s Traffy?” Zoro mutters with a smirk.
Luffy shrugs “He’s strong. You’re strong. You’re weird together. It fits.”
You smile, heart lighter.
Sanji, from the floor, sniffs “…I still made her food wrong…”
Franky pats his shoulder “You’ll recover, bro.”
You sigh.
“They’re not gonna let this go, huh.” you mutter at Law.
He doesn’t answer, but you see his eye twitch slightly.
You glance over your shoulder and say, “There’s more to the story, you know.”
That gets everyone’s attention.
You add “There’s another reason why I didn’t say anything about it earlier.”
You smile faintly “I didn’t want Luffy to think I cared more about feelings than about getting stronger.”
Luffy tilts his head “…That’s dumb too.”
You laugh under your breath “Yeah, well. I was scared you’d think I wasn’t serious.”
Then, your voice lightens as you add, “Besides, it’s not like Law was great about it either. He kissed me for the first time just because I was leaving. And after we had a fight. Didn’t even talk to me for a week after that.”
You glance sideways at him.
“He broke my heart.” you say with a crooked grin.
The silence afterward is instant.
Then—
“WHAT?!” Sanji yells, fire already lighting in his eyes.
Zoro snarls, hand on his sword “Seriously, you kissed her and then gave her the silent treatment?”
Usopp’s eyes are huge “You monster! Who does that?!”
Nami slaps Law on the shoulder “You’ve got a brain, use it next time!”
Even Brook’s offended “Breaking a lady’s heart…! That’s colder than death, yohoho!”
Luffy jumps on his feet and glares at Law “Traffy! If you made her cry I’ll kick your ass!”
Law stay still, completely calm.
“…She’s joking.” he says plainly.
You hold up your hands “Guys, seriously! I’m joking!”
They pause.
You turn back to Law, still grinning “Okay, half joking. I cried for real though.”
Law side-eyes you “You’re lucky I didn’t kiss you after the fight.”
You blink “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He looks away like he regrets saying anything “Never mind.”
“Ooooh,” Nami whistles “He gets flustered now?”
Franky crosses his arms “Still not cool, dude.”
You shake your head, laughing now “He’s fine. Really. He’s just… emotionally challenged.”
“Seems accurate.” Robin adds with a rare smile.
Law groans quietly and stands to walk away like he’s done with everyone.
You watch him go, heart still light despite the teasing chaos.
Because yeah, it hurt back then. But it was worth it.
And this time you can spend some more time together, because okay you have wars to fight but at least now you’re not leaving and you already did the hard part, which was confessing.
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Dressrosa appears on the horizon like a painting. Warm colors, elegant shapes, distant laughter echoing from the shore.
But none of that feels real.
Not yet.
The Sunny drifts slower now, just outside visual range. The crew’s scattered, prepping for the next phase. Weapons, disguises, plans. Luffy’s already yelling about meat.
You slip away from the noise.
You find Law standing near the railing at the back of the ship, overlooking the sea. His back is straight, but his hands are in his pockets. Calm, but tense.
You step up beside him. Quiet.
He glances at you, then back out at the water.
“…It’s almost time.” he says.
You nod “Yeah.”
The silence that follows is gentle. Like it’s waiting for something. You look at the island in the distance, then at him.
“You know,” you murmur, “every time something happened between us… it was always in a rush.”
He doesn’t say anything. But he’s listening.
Your fingers brush his softly, intentionally and this time, he doesn’t pull away.
You look up at him, voice quiet “We’ve never had something that wasn’t a goodbye.”
He turns his head toward you, eyes steady now. Searching.
“This isn’t a goodbye.” he says.
You smile “Exactly.”
And before either of you can talk yourself out of it, before nerves, or fear, or the weight of the mission can pull you back, you lean in.
So does he.
Your lips meet slowly.
No rush. No panic. No sadness behind it.
Just warmth.
His hand lifts to your cheek, steady and certain, and yours finds the front of his coat, fingers curling into the fabric like you’ve been waiting to do it forever.
He kisses you deeper then, still slow, still soft, but with something more certain behind it now. Something that says: I’m here. I’m not running. Not this time.
When you part, your foreheads stay close.
Neither of you speaks for a moment.
Then you whisper, “See? Not everything we do has to hurt.”
He exhales, and something about him softens.
“This,” he says, brushing his thumb along your jaw, “I could get used to.”
You smile, leaning into his hand “You better.”
You and Law stay by the railing, arms brushing, hearts a little steadier.
It’s quiet now.
The kind of quiet that comes after a storm.
The kind that says: we survived.
He speaks first, his voice low “We don’t know what’s waiting down there.”
You nod, eyes on the pink clouds curling above Dressrosa “We never do.”
Law turns to you fully, and this time, there’s no hesitation in him. His hand finds yours again but familiar now, like it’s where it belongs.
“But whatever happens,” he says, voice steady, “you’re not alone in it.”
You smile “Neither are you.”
You don’t say more.
You don’t have to.
Because the pain of the goodbye is just a memory now.
Because that rushed kiss, that regret, that silence, that second rushed kiss, they don’t define you anymore.
This does.
This quiet promise.
This slow, simple closeness.
The crew doesn’t call for you. They let you have this.
Maybe they understand now.
Maybe they always did.
You lean your head on his shoulder, and he lets you.
You stay like that as the Sunny sails forward, into whatever comes next.
260 notes ¡ View notes
camdunez ¡ 13 hours ago
Text
No One Has To Know | m. bannerman
Songs Playing: U And I — Jodeci | There U Go — Johnny Gill | Speechless — Beyonce
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paring: manon bannerman x g!p!reader summary: manon knows she belongs to someone else.. but she just can’t seem to leave you alone. genre: awful smut (lol) warnings/tags: f1driver!yn, f1wag!manon, manon’s lowkey a cheater in this, yn doesn’t really care, both these niggas ain’t shit fr, cursing, substance use, toxic asses! manon's a total pillow princess, dom!yn, p in v (wrap that shit up!), these niggas get real nasty tbh. word count: a/n: I’m a little rusty when it comes to writing smut so bear with me LMAO. this is def not my strong suit. turned in my freak card eons ago but i can try this ONCE for you guys. a/n: don't get your freaky ass hopes up, i didn't go into FULL detail this time. just kind of went with the flow? i don't like being too vulgar when i write lol.
You weren’t supposed to touch her.
that was the rule. the unspoken one that buzzed in every VIP suite, every champagne-soaked gala, every post-race yacht party. you didn’t fuck the wives. especially his wife.
but there was something about her.
meret manon bannerman — or just manon to the ones who whispered her name with jealousy and desire in equal measure. fashion world darling. nepo-baby with a smile sharp enough to slice through camera flashes. the kind of woman who didn’t walk into a room — she arrived, like smoke curling through the seams of a locked door.
and she just so happened to be married to the one man you couldn’t stand.
her husband was everything you weren’t: older, polished, a legacy name in formula 1. safe. predictable. overdue for retirement. but still clutching onto podium finishes like they could keep his career from rotting. he hated that you existed — that you, a 22-year-old prodigy with a record-breaking rookie season, wore the red of Ferrari and drove like the devil was chasing you.
and manon?
she hated that you knew.
knew the way her eyes always found you. the way her fingers clutched her champagne glass tighter whenever your name was called over the loudspeakers. the way her voice dipped lower, sweeter, more dangerous when she leaned in close at press mixers and said things like:
“my husband says you’re reckless.”
“good,” you’d smirk, eyes dragging down the curve of her collarbone.
“tell him to stay out of my way.”
you weren’t supposed to touch her.
but you know the thing about rules?... some were made to be broken.
Monaco Grand Prix — Saturday, 3:43 PM
the sun glittered off the sea and the streets trembled beneath roaring engines. monaco was hell on tires — tight turns, unforgiving corners, and a crowd so elite they didn’t even clap, just nodded behind designer sunglasses and million-dollar smiles.
you sat in the cockpit, helmet on, heartbeat steady. the world was a blur of red and black — Ferrari's colors bleeding into the track. over the comms, your engineer rattled off positions, lap strategy, weather updates. you weren’t listening.
your eyes were on the screen above the paddock.
the split-screen showed your car in position two… and him in pole.
asshole.
“let him think he’s winning,” you muttered, gripping the wheel tighter. “let him think today’s his.”
because today wasn’t just about shaving seconds off a lap.
today was about her.
and when the lights blinked red to black — when the engines screamed to life and the city turned into a blur — you weren’t just racing for pride.
you were racing for a reason to see her again.
Lap 36 of 78 — Monte Carlo
the city curled around the circuit like a serpent, golden light glinting off yachts, balconies packed with champagne-sipping aristocrats. below them, the engines roared like beasts loosed from hell.
you were in P2.
your fingers curled tighter around the wheel as you surged through the nouvelle chicane, the gap between you and him narrowing by the second. his number — bold and blue — taunted you every time you came around a corner. you could see the back of his car just ahead. steady. controlled. safe.
too safe.
“he’s hugging the inside line too tight,” your engineer warned in your ear. “don’t force it, yn.”
you didn’t respond... didn’t need to. you knew exactly what you were doing.
because this wasn’t just any race. and he wasn’t just another rival.
he was the man she chose. and you were about to remind him what that said about her taste.
Lap 38
mirabeau.
you dove into the corner with barely a twitch, braking late — too late — nearly clipping the barrier. the crowd gasped. your tires screamed. but you held it, nosing just a fraction closer to his rear wing.
you knew he felt you.
knew the moment his car wobbled slightly on the next straight. knew the panic creeping into his grip, the way a man drives when he knows someone younger, faster, hungrier is right on his ass.
“you’re pushing him. he’s getting sloppy."
"you know what to do... back off or bait him.”
back off?
not a fucking chance.
Lap 42 – The Hairpin
the slowest, tightest turn in all of formula 1.
and the most brutal to take side by side.
but you did it anyway.
he tried to close the door, but you were already there — inside, wheel to wheel, your front wing nearly kissing his tire. it was reckless. it was dangerous. it was everything they accused you of being.
“This kid’s got a death wish.”
“Ferrari needs to rein them in.”
“Too emotional to be great.”
but you let them talk.
because when you muscled past him — tire smoke in the air, carbon scraping just inches from disaster — it wasn’t just the position you were stealing.
it was his fucking pride.
Lap 44 — Sector Two
clean air. fastest lap. you were flying.
but even at 190mph, your mind flicked to her.
to manon, draped in some designer fit too delicate for this world, watching from the paddock with unreadable eyes. maybe sipping champagne. maybe biting her lip.
you didn’t need to see it.
you could feel it.
and part of you hoped he could too — that with every second he trailed behind you, he remembered the way her eyes always wandered… the way her mouth said his name, but her body begged for yours.
Final Lap — Lap 78
he tried. God, he tried.
came at you on the final straight like a man possessed — desperate, last-ditch attempt to reclaim something he lost long before the race even started.
but he didn’t have it in him.
not the aggression.
not the obsession.
not the raw, uncut need that made you drive like this. that made you burn through corners and rules and red flags because you knew the one thing he didn’t:
she was already yours.
Checkered Flag
you crossed the finish line like thunder.
stadium erupted. Ferrari’s pit wall exploded into cheers. your engineer was yelling in your ear, but it was all white noise.
because the moment you pulled into the paddock — helmet still on, sweat slicking your back, engine ticking from heat — you looked up.
and there she was.
manon.
leaning on the velvet rope, shades low on her nose, lips parted just enough to tell you everything.
your rival was thirty seconds behind and closing in fast.
but she?
she hadn’t stopped watching you once.
Midnight – Monte Carlo Yacht Club
the afterparty was luxury poured into crystal and draped in champagne silk. industry heads, bored heiresses, old-money millionaires — they all gathered like moths around the podium’s light. but you? you were the flame.
cameras followed you from the second you stepped in. custom black suit, collar loose and no tie. race still on your skin, sweat dried into salt and pride. the youngest Ferrari winner in years. the one who stole the win. the one who stole his thunder.
you took a glass of something expensive from a tray and barely sipped it. your eyes weren’t on the drinks. or the CEOs.... or the attention.
they were on her.
manon.
God, she looked good enough to ruin. perched on the edge of a velvet couch, dress soft and silver — like moonlight melted and stitched into silk. thigh crossed over thigh. one hand twirling the stem of a half-empty coupe. her husband nowhere in sight.
and her eyes?
already on you.
you moved slow. intentionally.
cutting through the crowd like you were parting water. she didn’t look away. not once.
when you reached her, she didn’t speak. just tilted her chin up slightly — a dare. an invitation. yet a warning.
“you look like a fucking problem,” you murmured, low and close.
manon smirked. soft. dangerous.
“and you look like the solution I should avoid.”
there was space between you. but it was hot... charged. like touching skin before lightning hits.
ou leaned in, lips brushing against her ear ever so slightly.
“he knows you’re here with me tonight, ms. bannerman?”
she didn’t flinch. she just shakes her head, humming softly in response.
“he thinks I’m upstairs. taking a call.”
“you’re not.”
“no,” she breathed. “I’m not.”
you let your gaze drag — slow, deliberate — from her mouth to her chest, down the slope of her thigh. when you looked back up, her eyes had darkened. that perfect pout of hers parted, like she forgot how to breathe.
and your voice dropped, silk-wrapped steel:
“come with me.”
with no hesitation,
she stood.
and when she did, you didn’t reach for her hand — you didn’t need to. she followed without a word, heels clicking soft against marble, out past the terrace, past the velvet ropes, past the line that said this is still safe.
out into the dark.
Monte Carlo – The Hôtel de Paris Penthouse floor. One bed. Two glasses. One closed door between her and every consequence.
you didn’t say a word when the elevator doors closed behind you.
neither did she.
but the silence between you screamed. her perfume filled the space first — clean, sweet, soft like skin after a shower. you could smell it before you saw the way her hands fidgeted with the hem of her dress. nervous... excited. maybe both.
“last chance to run,” you murmured, looking down at the older woman.
she looked up at you slowly, meeting your gaze with no smile. just parted lips and eyes heavy with something you’d seen on the track: risk.
“i don't run.”
the elevator chimed. suite 1807.
you opened the door and let her walk in first. let her see what this night looked like with the lights low and the skyline bleeding gold behind glass.
she didn’t say anything as she stepped in. just slipped her shoes off, one by one, and turned to face you in nothing but that silk dress and a secret she couldn’t keep anymore.
“you really don’t care, do you?” she whispered.
“about him?” “about any of this.”
you shut the door behind you.
“if I cared,” you said, voice low as you stalked toward her, “i wouldn't have walked up to that couch.."
and that was the truth. you didn’t care. you never did.
truth be told, the risk was a turn on.
your fingers found the back of her neck first — thumb trailing that soft curve just below her ear, where her pulse jumped wild. she gasped when you leaned down, lips barely grazing her jaw.
“tell me if you want me to stop.”
she didn’t.
instead, she pressed her chest into yours, breath trembling.
“do it,” she whispered. “touch me like you mean it.”
so you did.
you kissed her slow. too slow.
one hand on her neck, the other gripping the small of her back, dragging her into you like you’d been waiting since the lights went out on the track. your lips moved over hers in deep, hungry strokes — not greedy, but patient. devouring. letting her feel every second she’d spent pretending she didn’t want this.
when she whimpered into your mouth, you smiled.
“you sound so pretty," you muttered, lips brushing hers. “you ever did that for him?”
her silence told you everything. that old fuck wasn't treating her right.
"good" you replied, "cause that whimperin' shit gone be for me and only me.."
fuck, yn.. manon whined, wrapping her arms around your neck. she pulled you closer, your bodies pressed against each other as you guided her through her third orgasm.
her hands trail down to your biceps, digging her nails into your skin.
she had been watching you since you made your debut, hooked on something she never had before.
mutual gasps and moans from you both filled the room, rivaling the sounds of the loud houston-born singer coming from the television on the wall across from the bed.
manon's hands moved down to your stomach, attempting to push you off of her. i-i can't.. too much.
that only made you press your weight down on her even more. "you said you don't run, baby.. so take this shit."
your name rolled off of her tongue with such passion.. such intensity.. that it left him wanting to hear it over and over again. her love felt like fire, burning through his body. a fire that couldn't be put out by a thunderstorm.
your mind went blank. between the smell of manon's perfume and her soft touch, your thoughts were everywhere.
your words slurred as you slowly rocked your hips into her, feeling manon tense up.
nut in me baby.. go 'head and fill me up manon purred, using the last of her strength to wrap her legs around your waist— locking you in place.
"you wanna have my kids, baby? your husband can't give you none?" you say in the same tone, making the woman under you groan in response.
fuck himm.. need youu she whines— which quickly turns into a low, guttural growl, shit!.. i love you so much!
later — when she’s tangled in the sheets, chest rising slow, lip still swollen — she turns to you.
“this was a mistake,” she says, making you chuckle. her eyebrows furrowed. "what's funny?"
"you havin' post nut clarity or something?" you asked playfully, "you acting mad different. like you wasn't just whining in my ear."
you reach over, trail your fingers down her thigh, still slick and glowing. "don't tell me you're regretting cheating on your old ass husband with his younger.. wayyy hotter rival?" you add, a smug smirk playing on your lips.
manon sends a glare your way, failing to hide a smile of her own. "shut up." she says, biting down on her bottom lip.
a moment goes by before either of you say anything, the smell of sex and mixed cologne lingered as the same song play in your stead.
you pulled manon closer, letting her rest her head on your chest.
"let's... make this more than a one time thing, yeah?" you hear manon suggest, feeling her nails drag down your stomach. "i'll call you whenever your little friend isn't fucking me right." she adds jokingly.
you scoff. "that old man is not my friend."
manon laughs before curling deeper into you, like you were her home... instead of him.
174 notes ¡ View notes
goobstars ¡ 21 hours ago
Note
i have nothing in particular just more jax lololol i LOVE your writing. simply too good with your talents. pats on the back cause i’m obsessed
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𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍
summary : more headcanons about dating jax.
tags : romance, and a very short list of headcanons.
note : i have no clue if this is in character or not, but i'm also delusional so i don't care. I HOPE YOU ENJOY ANON!
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— hand placement>>>>
— this man knows about hand placement, and he also knows how to use it.
— he'd be passing by you, and there could literally be nothing behind you, but he'd act like there was a wall or something so he could get close. since he was close, he'd place a hand on your hip and let it trail across the small of your back while he'd mumble about needing to grab something.
— or, he'd grab you while he's passing by you.
— you could just be standing there while he's walking by, and all you'd feel is an arm wrapping around your waist before you're lifted up and taken away.
— that's another thing, he can easily pick you up. did you all see how he just easily lifted ragatha over his head? of course, he doesn't throw you in an air fryer or anything, but he just picks you up when it seems necessary to him.
— like during the candy kingdom adventure, and the fudge monster melted on the ground, he had one arm around your waist while holding you up so you didn't get dirty.
— or, when the truck was falling in the air and it landed in that river, he'd catch you bridal-style. that doesn't really count as him picking you up, but you're still in his arms so it is being included.
— also, this man has to have a hand on you at all times. i've said it before and i'll say it again, it's assumed that jax wouldn't be a touchy person, but i heavily believe this man would have no shame in showing affection in front of the others.
— would he be all up on you? no, but he would do little touches here and there.
— if you both are walking, he'd either hold your hand or wrap an arm around your shoulder.
— if you both are just standing there, he'd most certainly have a hand on your hip. you could be chatting with others, and he'd trace random shapes on your hip, and every once in a while, he'd lean into your ear to say something while pulling you closer.
— a very teasing man, by the way. as if his teasing wasn't bad enough, when you both start dating, it's worse.
— everything you do will be remarked by him, and if you get angry at his taunts, he doesn't care. he'll continue to do it until you find a way to shut him up.
— hint: you gotta kiss him.
"you're actually upset?" "are you angry that i'm right, doll?" "come on, you can't stay mad at me for long. you're obsessed with me—admit it. you've done it before, you can do it again."
— that's all you'd hear until you finally kiss him.
— but even then, he'd just smirk at you before making one final comment.
"you're only proving my point that you're obsessed with me, dollface..."
— 'doll', 'dollface', and maybe even 'angel' every once in a while. those are the nicknames he uses most for you.
— when it comes to kissing, he's the type who will kiss you anywhere but your lips just to taunt you.
— he'd lean in for a kiss before swerving and placing a peck to your nose, or he'd kiss your cheek.
— he does this because he knows it irritates you, and if you want a kiss that bad, you'll grab his suspenders and quickly kiss him before he can move.
— when you both kiss, one of his hands is on your waist while the other one is on the nape of your neck.
— if your attention isn't on him, he stares. a lot.
— hell, even if your attention is on him, he's still going to stare. you could be talking to him and all you see is his smirk slightly faltering while his eyes go lidded, and they'd occasionally flicker down to your lips before meeting your eyes once more.
— this is a last-minute thing, but if you were to go on an adventure where he got to drive a car and you were in the passenger seat, he'd have his hand on the back of your headrest while his other hand rested on the wheel.
— or, if he was feeling bold, he'd hold your hand or place a hand on your thigh.
— i could see him opening the passenger door for you, and he would have one hand on the roof of the car while leaning down to talk to you before letting you out.
158 notes ¡ View notes
maddamoiselle ¡ 2 days ago
Text
The Weight of Wanting You
Pairing: Caleb x NonMC!Reader Synopsis: You fell for each other in pixels and whispers—never realizing you had already crashed into each other every day in real life.
Tags: Ennemies to lovers, friends to lovers, university AU, slow burn( I hope) Author's nonsense : Here is the next chapter. I won't lie, i really enjoy it even if it was difficult to write everything in that chapter. I hope you will enjoy. it. Words: 6769 <- Previous Chapter
Chapter III: Weightless, For a Moment
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“ What do you think, doctor? What can you tell me about these?”
Zayne was staring at your pills, moving it between his gloved fingers. His eyes were cold as usual, not showing any information that would make you feel better or worse. His impassible face never betrays any thoughts.
”What are they for? I see no name on it.”
”Yeah. My dad gives them to me. Says they help with focus and stabilising my Evol. But… I don’t know.”
You could see it already— the shift in his posture, the fickler in his eyes. He was reading between the lines.
”You think he is lying?”
You paused. There was no judgment in his voice, just curiosity. You didn’t want to say it out loud, but since Caleb had said that your father was working with Ever…. 
Why were you trusting his words more than your own father’s?
”I don’t know Zayne…”
Zayne stared at you before going behind his desk. His finger flew on his keyboard, watching his computer’s screen seriously. 
“Then leave this with me until tonight. I’ll run a full analysis at the lab.”
You smiled at your best friend before hugging him, your arms wrapping around his shoulder as he kept his eyes on his computer. He tapped your arms twice with a slight smile before you back away.
You took your bag, getting ready to ride back to Skyheavan. Why did Zayne's office have to be in Linkon? It would be easier to meet with him if he was closer to SkyHavan..
After finally being back on campus, you put your earbuds in your ears and went for a walk.  You checked on your phone if you had any notification from discord but the last message you had gotten from your friend was that he was sick.
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (5:23): im sick 
Grav1ty.D3n1ed  (5:23) : can you believe that ?
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (5:23): i couldn't finish my jog because i almost faint
WindQueen.exe (6:12): sorry I just woke up :( i didn't see your message
WindQueen.exe (6:12): no you need anything?
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (7:00): holding your hand tonight? :(
When you had received this message this morning, you had chuckled. But it was already past noon and you still haven't received any message since.
Was he feeling that bad?
Maybe you could ask him where his sister was, and maybe you could bring him something to eat..? Or maybe—
“ There she is ! Quickly, Caleb!”
You turned your head toward the voice that shouted your name. You couldn't help but frown at the view of Caleb and his girlfriend. She was waving at you with a big smile, rushing toward you while Caleb was staring at you.
He didn’t seem to feel good…He looked pale. Jaws tensed. There was a faint sheen on his forehead, like he was sweating despite the wind.
But who cared?
“We were looking for you! I wanted to invite you for dinner at our place.”
Huh?
”Huh?”
You took off one of your earbuds. Did you hear correctly?
Your gaze drifted to Caleb. He was staring at you, then looked away. He wasn’t saying anything. Didn’t argue. But something about the way he was holding himself screamed: that wasn’t my idea.
You couldn’t help but smirk. 
Time for revenge.
If Caleb thought you wouldn’t get revenge for his words from yesterday and that he went through your stuff? He was greatly mistaken.
”I would love to!”
Caleb’s brow twitched. Just for a second but you caught it. The look he gave you made you smile brighter.
”R-really? I’ll send you the address, it’s in Linkon! We will use ou— my grandma’s house!”
“Linkon? No worries, I know my way there.” You smirked, letting his girlfriend add your number in her phone. You glanced at Caleb, giving him your most innocent smile.
He didn’t say a word. 
His eyes narrowed slightly. Like he was trying to figure out what kind of game you were playing. You winked at him before taking back your phone from his girlfriend.
”Then, I’ll see you! You can come around 4pm!”
4pm? Wasn’t it too early for dinner?
 You nodded at her while she was trying to send you a message, making sure she noted your number correctly. Caleb leaned toward your ear, his lips stretching in his usual polite smile while his girlfriend was yapping to the two of you, her eyes on her phone.
“Didn’t take your pills today? You’re more of a pain in the ass than usual.”
You beamed at him before bringing your hand to his forehead. He wanted to play? Let’s play then.
“Awn, Caleb, are you okay? You look a bit sick…”
You didn’t expect to feel him burning against your palm. Not just a little warm. Fever-hot.
Your eyes widened while he took a step back, quicker than you expected. He was looking at you like he was daring you to say anything. You glanced at his girlfriend before nodding at him.
He did not want his pipsqueak to worry… That was cute in a way.
“You’re seriously ill,” you said quietly. “And you’re just pretending you’re not?”
He shrugged.
“You’re seriously annoying. And you’re not pretending at all.”
But the edge was softer than before. A little… off-balance.
And you knew he felt it too — that split second when your fingers touched his skin and his walls almost dropped.
Just for a breath.
“Then, should we go?”
You didn’t know how it happened, but Caleb’s girlfriend tugged you with them asking if you were okay with coming with them to do some groceries shopping. You wanted to refuse but as soon as you spotted Caleb’s expression, you accepted with a huge smile.
Then your body tensed.
Fuck, you were supposed to meet with your discord’s friend tonight! You checked your phone and couldn’t help being even more worried as you still haven’t received any message from him.
The wind has picked up again. You were walking slowly, half-listening to his girlfriend chatting beside you. Caleb was a few steps behind, as usual — quiet, unreadable.
But your fingers were already in your pocket, wrapped around your phone.
You opened Discord like a nervous tic.
Still no reply from Grav1ty.D3n1ed.
That last message—
"Grav1ty.D3n1ed (7:00): holding your hand tonight? :(?"
It had been hours.
You hesitated. Then type:
You hit send and tried not to overthink it.
 WindQueen.exe (12:59): still alive?
WindQueen.exe (12:59): should i start drafting your digital memorial post?
You almost pocketed the phone again when the typing bubble appeared.
Your chest fluttered — ridiculous, but real.
You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. You were so relieved he had answered so quickly but it also meant he wasn’t resting properly.
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:00): barely alive. 3% battery and 1% human
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:00): but your message just boosted me to 2%
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:00): congrats. you’re medicinal
 WindQueen.exe (13:01):  wow. my therapist would be so proud
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:01): seriously tho
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:01): it’s dumb how much that helped
A pause. Then:
 WindQueen.exe (13:02):  yeah well
WindQueen.exe (13:02): i’d kinda rather you didn’t die
WindQueen.exe (13:02): even if you are insufferable
You bite your lip. The smile couldn’t go away. How could his words make you feel so at ease when you were currently with Caleb and his girlfriend going to the shop to prepare dinner.
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:02): i’ll stay alive
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:02): if only to keep being insufferable to you
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (13:02): deal?
Weren’t you supposed to be the guest? Why were you here already?
You slid the phone back into your pocket, heart lighter.
 WindQueen.exe (13:03): deal.
WindQueen.exe (13:03) but i’m raising the price soon.
WindQueen.exe (13:03) emotional labor ain’t cheap
For just a second, everything feels less heavy.
You were still smiling when you slid your phone into your coat pocket, the wind brushing lightly over your face like it’s caught your mood.
You turned, instinctively, your gaze flicking behind you—
And froze.
Caleb was still a few steps back.
Head slightly bowed. Shoulders more relaxed than usual.
He was looking down at his phone.
And he was smiling.
Not the smirk he wore when he was  being smug. Not the sarcastic grin he threw you like a knife.
A real smile.
Small. Quiet. Private.
The kind you didn’t think he was capable of.
Your heart skipped a bit. Just a little.
Because whoever he was texting… must have been someone truly special. You knew Caleb was loved, from his friend to anyone on campus. But you couldn’t help but think he was living for others' expectations. That was why his smile always seemed… fake? But right now…
You’ve never seen him look at anyone like that. Not even his girlfriend.
Then he noticed you looking.
The smile vanished in a blink. His posture sharpened. His walls snapped back into place.
 “What?” He muttered.
 “Nothing,” you lied, turning away too fast. “Just surprised your face doesn’t crack when you smile.”
He didn’t answer.
But you didn’t miss the way his fingers tighten around his phone before he slipped it into his pocket — like he was protecting something precious.
Your head turned toward his girlfriend who had a fond smile on her face. You looked at her hands and noticed she had her phone between her fingers.
Maybe they were texting each other.
That explained everything. Mystery solved.
His girlfriend looped her arm through yours the second you stepped into the store.
“We need snacks, something sweet, and something spicy,” she announced. “That way, dinner reflects all our personalities.”
You glanced behind you.
Caleb was trailing a few steps behind, dragging the wheeled cart like it personally offended him.
“What does that make him?” you asked, nodding toward Caleb.
She grinned. “The spice. Obviously.”
“Please,” you muttered. “He’s the bitter aftertaste.”
Caleb raised an eyebrow as he passed you.
“And you’re what, air-popped popcorn? All hiss, no bite?”
“At least I don’t ruin every dish I’m in.”
“At least you admit you belong in the microwave.”
You glared. He smirked. His girlfriend, oblivious or pretending to be, hummed as she dragged you down the candy aisle.
“You guys have such a dynamic,” she beamed, “It’s like watching a live drama. Except the leads would rather kill each other than kiss.”
You and Caleb spoke at the same time:
You cringed while Caleb messed with his girlfriend’s hair while she was laughing. What kind of girlfriend jokes about her boyfriend being in a relationship with another girl..?
“Exactly.”
“God, no.”
You trailed behind her as she scanned for snacks. But then, you felt your phone buzz again. Your fingers twitched for it. You wanted to check if he replied again.
Then you glanced over.
Caleb’s leaning against the freezer section, trying not to look like he's shivering, his phone in his hand. You narrowed your eyes.
“Are you still burning up, or is that just your personality?”
He didn’t even look up from his phone.
“Worried about me, wind girl?”
“Nope. Just checking if I need to buy ice for your face.”
He gave you a lazy once-over and muttered:
“I’m just sick of you, nothing to worry about.”
Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.Murder is illegal. Murder is illegal.
His pipsqueak bounced off with a dramatic gasp about “the perfect brand of noodles” and vanished around the corner, leaving you and Caleb alone in the aisle.
You were glaring at him over a bag of rice crackers. He was pretending to compare two brands of instant soup like it’s a life-or-death decision.
“You know that one has fake protein, right?” you said, pointing at the one in his hand.
“So do your insults, but you still serve them.”
Some years in jail might be cosy. Or after killing him you could maybe go in the 109Zone, start a new life–
You were mid-eye roll, about to roast him over his tragic soup choices, when you both heard it:
Creak. Creak…
You turned at the same time.
The cart was rolling.
Then it picked up speed — those cursed little plastic wheels clicking faster and faster as it turned the corner.
“Wait—”
“You let go!” you accused.
“You were standing closer to it!”
Neither of you thought— You just ran.
Full sprint.
Down the aisle, around the corner, nearly colliding with a stack of discount marshmallows.
“Left! Go left!” you yelled.
“I know how to chase a cart, thanks!”
“Do you? You look like a dying giraffe!”
“I hate you.”
The cart was now flying down the sloped aisle, heading straight toward a precarious wall of fruit juice boxes.
“If it crashes, it’s your fault!”
“We are literally chasing this together!”
In a blur of limbs and questionable decision-making, you both reached it at the same time.
You slammed into his side, lost your footing, and stumbled forward. Caleb was already crouched low from the momentum, and as you hit him—
Caleb lunges for the cart handle, a second before you did.
He got one hand on it — yanked it sideways to slow it down.
You dived too, going for the side to stop the cart from tipping.
You fell on top of him, arms instinctively braced on either side of his chest.
The cart wobbled... but didn’t fall.
Neither did you.
Instead, you both hit the floor in a tangle, your legs bent awkwardly, hands still gripping the cart from opposite sides.
You were half-kneeling, one leg over Caleb’s lap, your palms flat on the floor to keep from collapsing all the way. He was partially sitting, elbows behind him, one knee up, his free hand still holding the cart upright.
Your faces were way too close — like inches apart. You could count each other’s freckles. You could feel the heat of a blush.
You were still half-on top of him, arms braced, his hand still gripping the cart handle like it wronged him personally.
Panting. Sweaty. A little stunned.
For a second, you just blinked at each other.
Your noses were way too close.
“…Well,” you muttered breathlessly. “Teamwork.”
“You elbowed me in the ribs.”
“And saved your life. You’re welcome.”
You both scrambled up, pretending nothing happened, brushing off imaginary dust. You looked at the cart, making sure everything was still inside while Caleb was rubbing his knees.
You glanced at him—
And then you lost it.
The laugh tears out of you — loud, full, unstoppable. The kind that made you bend forward and slapped your knee. You tried to stop, but it just kept coming.
Caleb stared at you like you’ve finally snapped.
“...Are you broken?” he asked, blinking.
You gasped through laughter, barely able to breathe.
“We—we chased it! Like idiots!”
“Because it was moving!”
“We have evol!”
That was when it hit him.
His face scrunched. His mouth twitched.
Then he started laughing too — lower, rougher, shaking his head as he leaned against the cart.
“We could’ve stopped it in two seconds.”
“I can literally move air. You control gravity!”
“Why did we run like civilians?!”
You were both wheezing now, practically leaning on each other from how hard you’re laughing. You could see Caleb’s cheeks getting redder and you wondered if he was truly laughing at the situation or if his fever was getting the best of him.
“Oh my god, we’re so dumb,” you managed to say, wiping your eyes.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said, still laughing.
You were still laughing, both of you breathless, when a wicked little grin curled onto your face. You straightened up, adjusted your hair dramatically, and said in the most innocent voice possible:
“This was fun. Can’t wait to tell your girlfriend how you heroically almost died saving canned soup.”
Caleb froze.
“Don’t.”
Your grin widened. You took a step back.
“Oh no. I’m definitely telling her.”
“I swear on–.”
“I’m going to open with: ‘He screamed when it wobbled.’”
You ran.
You bolted down the aisle like you’re chasing victory itself, giggling, heart pounding.
Then — the air shifted.
Suddenly, your feet felt heavy. Not stuck, just... slowed.
Your steps dragged for a second before you glanced back over your shoulder—
Caleb’s hand was raised. His Evol was active, subtle, but definitely there. He would not use his evol to stop a moving cart, but of course he would use it against you.
“Hey! That’s cheating!”
He walked toward you, unbothered.
“You started it.”
You laughed again, stumbling forward with exaggerated effort.
“Abusing gravity to protect your pride? That’s low, even for you.”
“You threatened to tattle. That’s war.”
The moment he got close enough to reach, you ducked behind the cart, still laughing, using it like a shield.
“I’ll tell her you cried for my help.”
“I will float you.”
“You wish.”
Caleb stared at you with a mocking smile while you sneakily took an item from the aisle behind you. He was stalking toward you, slow, calm, with that infuriatingly smug face like he already won.
“Come on,” he said smoothly. “Take the L. Just admit I’m faster than you at reacting.”
You grab a pack of rice crackers and toss it in his direction. He catches it midair without flinching.
“You’re not faster,” you huff. “You’re just cheating.”
“It’s not cheating if it’s strategy.”
“You pulled me back using gravity.”
“You threw snacks at me.”
“That was self-defense.”
You squinted at him. He was smirking. And you were still crouched like you’re guarding treasure.
And that’s when it happens.
You both just... laughed.
Not mockingly. Not sarcastically.
Just—honestly.
You were still sitting on the floor, and he’s got his hands in his pockets, watching you with something softer in his eyes now. Something unsure.
“You’re kind of fun when you’re not acting like a brick wall,” you said, breathless.
He shrugged, chuckling.
“You’re kind of tolerable when you’re not trying to….”
A beat of silence.
Your eyes meet.
You were smiling shyly. He wasn’t looking at you with those cold eyes he always seemed to wear when you were nearby. And for once—neither of you looked away.
“...Are we seriously having a good time right now?” you asked, almost whispering.
“I’m not ready to admit that,” he answered quietly.
You stood up again, smiling to yourself. You weren’t ready to admit it either. It was better to be an enemy than… whatever that was.
After five more minutes, his girlfriend came back. Of course, you tried to tell him about how Caleb kneeled in front of you, thanking you for saving the cart but he had already his hand on your mouth, making sure you couldn’t tell anymore lies.
You could see his girlfriend beaming at the two of you. She pushed Caleb and you to the register where Caleb paid for the groceries, making his girlfriend pout. He gave her a soft smile, rustled her hair before holding the bags.
They truly seemed to love each other.
You were staring at the couple who was deciding if it wouldn't be better to eat at Caleb’s place. Caleb didn’t want the frozen food to heat with the sun but his girlfriend really wanted to go to Linkon. Your eyes were on Caleb and you couldn’t help but notice that he was sweating more than a few minutes ago.
His fever.
You finally said to his girlfriend that it would be better for you to stay in Skyhavan and that you would come to her house another day. She sighed but didn’t say anything else. In the end, the three of you took a cab to Caleb’s apartment. 
You weren’t expecting his place to feel so... normal.
Clean, quiet, lived-in — a soft scent of citrus and something warm already coming from the kitchen. You watch from the bar counter, arms resting lazily over the surface, as Caleb stood at the stove, sleeves pushed up, brow furrowed like sautéing onions was a life-or-death mission.
“Never thought you’d be the type to cook,” you teased lightly.
He didn’t even look up.
“Did you think I survived on sheer rage?”
“Instant noodles and … I don’t know, Apple juice?.”
He snorted
“Close.”
His girlfriend appeared beside you with a drink in hand and a dreamy little sigh.
“He’s always like this,” she says. “All serious when he’s focused. It’s kind of hot, right?”
You gave her a sideways smile and sipped your water to avoid saying something like, unfortunately, yes.
“He burns everything when he’s distracted though,” She added with a wink. What was she trying to do?
You glanced back at him.
He’s got a little smudge of sauce on his jaw. His face is slightly pink from the heat, or his fever, hair messier than usual. And for once… he wasn’t trying to glare a hole through you. He was just existing. Focused. Calm.
And it’s weirdly—
Endearing.
“You gonna stand there judging or be useful?” he muttered without turning around.
“I’m excellent at moral support.”
“Great. Morally support the chopping board.”
He slid a knife across the counter to you without looking.
You blinked.
“Giving me a knife? Can I use it on you?”
“ Is that your kink?”
“Wha–”
“Quickly, cut the vegetables,” he ordered you.
So, here you were; chopping vegetables like a somewhat-functioning human, stealing glances when you thought he wouldn't notice.
Caleb stood  just beside you, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, forearms tense and smooth as he stirred the pan. His movements were precise, efficient — and annoyingly, really nice to look at.
You watched the subtle flex of muscle when he tilted the skillet, the way his veins show faintly as he grips the handle with practiced ease.
You blinked, realizing you’ve been staring. You quickly look back down at the cutting board before he—
“You’re gonna slice your fingers off if you keep looking at me like that.”
You froze.
“I wasn’t—”
“Sure.”
He didn’t smirk. He didn’t gloat.
Just glanced at you from the corner of his eye, calm and unreadable.
You rolled your eyes.
“You’re not that interesting.”
“You stared at my arms for a solid ten seconds.”
“I was judging your lack of seasoning technique.”
“Right. And blushing because?”
You were not blushing. Probably. Maybe a little.
“It’s warm here.”
“Sure.”
You threw a carrot slice at him but he caught it without looking and tossed it into the pan. You hated how smooth it was. You hated that Caleb was good at almost everything… even sick.
“Show-off.”
“Flustered.”
“Keep talking and I’m adding hot sauce to everything.”
“Joke’s on you. I like it spicy.”
You hated that your stomach flipped. What was that?
You chopped faster.
What the fuck was happening? Were you affection-starved? Since when were you feeling soft for Caleb? Remember? He thought of you as … someone dangerous. He was mostly being nice because his girlfriend must have asked him to. You felt your body relaxed. 
Yeah, that was the reason.
The food was done.
Somehow, you haven’t set anything on fire or launched anything into the ceiling, which feels like a miracle in itself.
Caleb reached into the cabinet for plates. You’re beside him, arms crossed loosely, trying to pretend your heart isn’t racing from the way he said “spicy” earlier like it was a challenge.
He slid the plates onto the counter. You reached to grab one—
And so does he.
Your fingers brushed.
It was barely a touch. Just skin against skin, knuckles against palm. But neither of you pulled away. Not right away.
Your hand still. His did too. Warm and solid against yours.
The hum of the stovetop. The clink of his girlfriend’s mug in the other room. But all you heard was your pulse in your ears.
You glanced up. 
Caleb was already looking at you. Not smirking. Not mocking. Just... looking. Like he noticed something too. Like maybe this — whatever this was — was scaring him a little bit, the same way it was scaring you.
“You gonna move or make me carry the whole plate with your hand on it?” he says, voice low.
You blinked.
Snorted softly.
“Tempting. But I don’t want to be gravity-slammed into your fridge.”
You both pulled your hands back at the same time.
He cleared his throat.
You grabbed the plate and turned to grab silverware — heart in your throat, fingers tingling.
It meant nothing. Nothing. He was being nice for his girlfriend, and he was mostly making sure you weren't a threat.
You tell yourself that.
But you were still smiling.
You stepped into the hallway for a second, phone already in your hand before you realize you’re reaching for comfort. Or distraction. Or him.
Grav1ty.D3n1ed.
You opened Discord. Stared at the blinking cursor.
Then you type:
 WindQueen.exe (19:54):  help
You hesitated. Then sent. You needed to find your safe comfort zone with him. Maybe he would help you understand what was going on in your head… or heart?
A few seconds later, the typing bubble appeared.
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (19:55): oh no
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (19:55): do i need to call for backup
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (19:55): my wind queen down??
WindQueen.exe (19:56): i’m in enemy territory. WindQueen.exe (19:56):  if i die, tell my story
WindQueen.exe (19:56): tell them i fell victim to forearms and homemade pasta
You smiled down at the screen.
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (19:57): noted.
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (19:57): gravestone will read:
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (19:57): “she never stood a chance”
The irony hit you like a quiet wave.
You were texting the one person who made your heart feel safe… While standing just feet away from the one person who made it race.
 WindQueen.exe (19;59) : okay real question
WindQueen.exe (19;59) : what’s the difference between lust and a crush?
 Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;00): damn jumping straight into philosophy huh
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;00): is this a test
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;00): do i need to submit a 3-page essay?
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;01): ah. the “do i want to kiss you or punch you or both” dilemma
 WindQueen.exe (20;00): nope. i’m just confused
WindQueen.exe (20;00):  because like... how do you know if you like someone
WindQueen.exe (20;00):  or if you just think they’re hot 😭
WindQueen.exe (20;01): EXACTLY
WindQueen.exe (20;01): i don’t trust my brain
WindQueen.exe (20;01): or my face. or my hands. or my taste in people
WindQueen.exe (20;03): horrible… What if it’s both?
 Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20:02): okay okay
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20:02); lust is mostly about wanting someone physically
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20:02); a crush is when they breathe wrong and your brain short-circuits anyway
WindQueen.exe (20:04): great. love that for me.  i’m gonna die surrounded by stupid emotions and nice shoulders
 Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;03): if you’re both mentally and physically down bad, congrats
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;03): you might be doomed 💀
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;04): ...whose shoulders 😐
WindQueen.exe (20;04): 👀 you jealous?
You couldn’t help but bite your lips, were you too straightforward? But you were both flirting right now right? You so wanted him to… desire you. Were you greedy?
WindQueen.exe (20;05):  you always are
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;05): depends
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;05):  am i still your favorite?
WindQueen.exe (20;05): im blushing too hard right now, stop making me pathetic
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;05): then yeah
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;05): definitely jealous
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;06): good
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;06): because i’m not planning on losing you to some random guy
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;06): even if he does make good pasta
He was jealous. Like... really jealous. And not hiding it.
Your stomach flipped. Your toes curled in your socks. Your cheeks were so hot you almost wondered if Caleb had given you his fever.
You were now sitting on the cool floor in the hallway, knees drawn up, back against the wall. The light was soft here — just enough to make shadows curled at the edges of your legs.
Your phone sat warm in your palm, Grav1ty.D3n1ed’s last message still lingering on the screen:
“Good. Because I’m not planning on losing you.”
Your breath caught.
There was no name. No face. Just words.
But he always knew exactly how to say them.
You glanced around, pulse tapping beneath your skin like a drumbeat. Caleb was still in the kitchen, you hoped, you didn’t hear any noise from the kitchen for a while now. His girlfriend was still humming in the living room down the hall.
You raised your phone.
No face. Never your face.
Just a glimpse of your shoulder, the curve of your neck, your fingers lifted into the frame to form a crooked, soft half-heart again.
The shadows did most of the work. Your shirt slipped just slightly to the side. A little breeze from your Evol lifted a strand of your hair into the shot — a whisper of who you are without giving anything away.
You snapped the photo.
Then, you typed slowly.
You hit send.
 WindQueen.exe (20;07): tell me,
WindQueen.exe (20;07): if i drive you crazy like this
WindQueen.exe (20;07): is it lust?
 WindQueen.exe (20;07): or am i just a crush you haven’t solved yet?
…
Why did you do that? Just because a man was jealous over you didn’t mean you could just.. What if he thought you were desperate? What if he was just friendly flirting like you have been doing since you knew each other? What if–
Your head snapped up when you heard dishes crashing in the kitchen. What was Caleb doing? Did his fever make him fall? You should go and check.
You looked at your phone and froze.
You punch the air with your fist, pressing your forehead against the wall, giggling to yourself. You were basically jumping while trying to keep quiet. How could he make you feel so good at yourself? 
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;10): it’s both fuck its both
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;10): you’re a crush that won’t leave my head
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;10): and a touch i have felt only once  but already miss
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;10): and if you keep doing this, i will lose sleep tonight
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;10): remember im sick i almost faint at your picture, dont do this to me
You turned around and almost shot out in fear when Caleb ran past you. He didn't even look at you, his face was so red and yet his eyes seemed… hungry. He opened a door– you guessed it was his bedroom– before slamming the door shut. 
You went to his girlfriend, asking if everything was okay but she just smiled brightly at you. She asked you to sit as the dinner was ready. You both put the silverware on the table and waited for Caleb. After ten minutes, his girlfriend went upstairs to check on him white you took your phone from your pocket with an excited smile.
He had sent you a picture.
You opened the image, breath caught somewhere between curiosity and something you wouldn’t name. The photo loaded slowly, like it knew it was about to knock the air out of your lungs.
His hand was there, fingers curled into a half-heart — just like yours.
But what drew your eyes was what’s around it.
He was clearly shirtless.
The edge of his bare chest was just visible in the shot — cut off carefully, but not by accident. You could see the lines of his collarbone, the faint slope of muscle leading down from his neck, just a shadow of where skin curved into his shoulder.
His forearm was resting across his bare stomach, where the light hit soft against the defined outline of his abs — nothing graphic, but enough to make your heart tripped.
There was a towel slung low at his hip, like he’d just dried his hands. It clung to the frame like it wasn’t meant to be there, like the photo was taken fast — impulsively.
But the half-heart was steady.
His message came seconds later.
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;15); fair’s fair
Grav1ty.D3n1ed (20;15); now you’ve got a piece of me too ;)
The air felt warmer than it did before.
You stared.
Eyes wide.
Mouth parted.
You didn’t notice when Caleb and his girlfriend joined you on the table. Caleb was still red and he kept checking on his phone. His girlfriend asked him to stop so he could join the conversation but you were also too busy staring at the picture.
The dinner ended pretty quickly, you managed to let go of your phone and have a nice discussion with the two of them. You didn’t want to stay too long, you still had stuff to do–
Your eyes fell on your phone when you heard its ringing.
Zayne.
 You excused yourself, taking your phone while going on the balcony. You answered before the second buzz.
“Zayne?”
He didn't waste time.
“You were right to be suspicious.”
Your pulse spiked.
 “What do you mean?”
You heard him shuffle through something — papers? Digital reports?
 “They’re not supplements. They’re not even legal. These pills mess with cognitive-emotional pathways. They suppress fight-or-flight, long-term emotional memory, even empathy in certain thresholds.”
You leaned against the wall, wind stirring around your ankles. You weren’t even sure you were understanding everything he was saying.
“You’re saying they were trying to make me—what—less emotional?”
 “Less human,” Zayne said quietly.
You felt your breath catch. Less human…?
 “How did you test it so fast?”
Zayne hesitated. Then:
 “Because it wasn’t the first time they were used.”
Silence.
You gripped the phone tighter.
 “...What?”
 “The same compound came up in another report. Another patient. Same structure. Same imprint mark. But that subject didn’t make it past phase three.”
Your stomach dropped.
 “Phase three of what?”
He didn't answer.
But you already knew.
You’ve heard your father say it before. In passing. In clinical tones you never paid attention to.
And now, it felt like the ground under you wasn't real.
You whispered a thank you to Zayne, you lowered the phone slowly, hand trembling, the wind curling tighter around your legs like it wanted to wrap you up and carry you far away. You could still hear your best friend’s voice trying to call for you but you couldn’t even understand his words.
You stared at the sky like it might hold an answer.
That’s when you felt it — a shift in the air. A pull behind you. Not the wind.
Gravity.
Your spine stiffened.
 “You heard that, didn’t you?” you whispered, not turning.
There was a pause.
Then Caleb’s voice — low, unreadable:
 “Every word.”
You turned. Slowly. He was standing a few feet away, hood down now, dark hair messy from fever-slick sweat, but his eyes…
His eyes were clear.
Not angry. Not smug.
Just… sharp. Watching.
You shook your head, something cold curling in your chest.
 “So what now? You think I’m just another project Ever messed with? That I’m broken?”
He stepped closer. Not enough to scare you. Just enough that the night air buzzed between you.
“No,” he whispered. “Now I think you didn’t know.”
You froze.
“I thought you were like him,” Caleb murmured. “I thought you knew what he was doing to you. I thought you were on their side… that's why I was mad when you hurted her in your first year.”
Your throat tightened. You didn’t know what to say. That was why Caleb hated you since day one. He thought you were just a tool that could be used… that you hurted his girlfriend because Ever asked you to?
Then he added, quieter:
“But watching you shake like that just now? That wasn’t fake.”
You looked away, blinking hard. You were so lost, like you were inside a storm where you couldn't find solid ground. Slowly, your body slid to the ground until you were sitting against the wall, staring at the night sky.
 “What am I supposed to do, Caleb?”
You felt sick. Cold.
You didn't realize you were trembling until something warm wrapped gently around your wrist.
You flinched, startled.
It was Caleb.
He didn’t say anything at first.
He just crouched down in front of you where you’ve sat against the wall, head buried in your arms. His hand stayed there — not grabbing, not forcing — just anchoring you back to this moment.
“You didn’t choose this,” he said quietly.
You blinked up at him. His voice didn’t sound like it usually does — not sharp, not sarcastic. Just steady. Heavy with something he was holding back.
“They fed you lies. They used you. That’s not on you.”
You tried to laugh, but it died in your throat.
“I took them willingly, Caleb. I… I trusted him.”
You didn’t need to say who. He knew..
He didn’t flinch, but you could see in his eyes. He was looking at you like he knew your pain. Like he already lived this kind of suffering you were going through.
“And I hated you for it,” he said, softly but without shame. “I thought you were one of them. I thought you knew. But you didn’t.”
He shifted, kneeling now in front of where you sat.
“You’re not weak for believing in the people you loved.”
His hand moved gently — his gravity tampering down around you like a safety net. You felt the subtle weight of the world settle, not to crush, but to hold you still. Like he was saying:
You’re not floating away. I won’t let you.
Your breathing evens out. Slowly.
You whispered, broken:
“I don’t know who I am anymore… I don’t know who I am without them.”
He met your eyes, gaze steady.
“Then we’ll find out together.”
You looked at him, his face blurry because of the tear in your eyes. You gave him a soft smile before his eyes fell to your phone. You realized Zayne was still there. Caleb frowned before gently taking your phone from your hands, watching if you made any moves that showed you didn't want it.
He put your phone on speaker.
“Zayne..?”
“Caleb? Why are you here? Is she okay?”
You stared at the scene. Caleb was talking with your best friend, Zayne, like they were childhood friends. You couldn’t help but chuckled when Caleb blushed a bit at Zayne’s remark about how he comforted you.
“And you’re still bad at pretending you don’t care,” Zayne replied in his stern voice.
“Wait. Are you two... friends?”
“Absolutely not.” they both said at the same time.
“Zayne, Caleb and I are childhood friends."
You turned around and noticed Caleb’s girlfriend smiling softly at you. You quickly wiped your tears but she offered you tissues with a smile full of understanding.
“ Well, it has been a while since we saw Zayne, because of his work but…” She said, blushing a bit and playing with her hair.
You were so lost, what was happening right now?
You felt her lips against your ears as she whispered to you.
“I’m sorry, I kind of spied on you and Caleb. I’m sorry about what you learned but…I truly want us to be friends.”
You turned your face toward her with a sorry smile. She was truly adorable, looking at you with big hopeful eyes.
“Being friends with your boyfriend’s enemy isn't for the faint of heart.”
“Oh, Caleb isn’t my boyfriend.”
Okay, what the fuck was happening? Too much information, not enough emotional capacity to understand all of this.
You stared at her with big eyes, your mouth wide open.
“Huh?”
“Yeah,” She giggled, blushing a bit. “He just needed a girlfriend to be left alone. I volunteered. And now he has to cook dinner for me each time we see each other." She looked at you before blushing even more and whispered in your ears. “I am in love with someone else…”
You followed her gaze that fell on your phone. Zayne’s voice was still coming out of the device.
Oh my—
“Well, now that we are all friends! Should we make a plan to take down Ever?”
---
Taglist: @xyzbeloved @deepspace-fishie @floofycookie @silmeria-lafleur @pagesfalling @noxus123 @sylusgirlie7 @anuncalledbridge @napforalifetime @starlitkitten @floofycookie
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rimzaaa ¡ 16 hours ago
Text
The One He Kept
Oneshot! (Request)
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Pairing: Older Man! Inho × YoungWoman! Guard Reader (Guard 11/, Y/n)
Fandom: Squid Game (오징어 게임)
Summary: They never had a label — just stolen nights and silent mornings. She told herself it was enough… until it wasn’t.
He never kissed her. Never spoke her name. Only used her — over and over again. But the moment another man looked her way…He remembered exactly who she belonged to.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content (non-vulgar. NSFW / 18+) Age gap(Inho in 40s/ reader in mid 20s) Power imbalance. Dubious consent (initially).Possessiveness/ Obsessive behavior. Verbal degradation. Dark themes. Emotionally manipulative dynamics. Mild violence/ rough handling. Toxic relationship element. Angst.
Author's Note: This one’s been sitting in my inbox for a while and I finally got to bring it to life. Hope it will be worth the wait. Also, I don’t write explicit smut with vulgar terms, but I always try to give you enough heat to make your heart race and your imagination run wild — without crossing that line. Don't forget to comment and reblog!
Word Count: 5.3K
Tag list: Let me know if anyone wants to join the tag list!
@salesmancarddd @marymun @astronomicalastro-blog1 @filthygalli @watasinekoru @thehellhaveubeenloca @nightlark100 @yosoylaprincesa2004 @drewstarkeysrightarm @lunaryoongie @ilovehwanginho @doodle-with-rhy
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She wasn’t sure when it started — maybe the day he first called her into his office and dismissed the others.
“Guard 11, stay. The rest of you, out.”
Maybe it was that first night. Or the second. Or the tenth.
It was always the same.
He’d fuck her like he was starving. Like he needed her skin more than he needed air.
And then he’d walk away like it never happened. A silent nod. A locked door.
She told herself it was just physical. That she could handle it.
But that lie wore thin after the fourth time he kissed her throat like it meant something.
After the seventh time she cried in the shower and still showed up at his door when he called.
“You’re not in love,” she whispered to herself after every night. “You’re just lonely.”
But then why did it hurt like this?
Why did she keep waiting for a look — a touch — a single word — that never came?
He kept her.
He always kept her.
But he never reached for her hand after.
Never kissed her like she was anything more than a secret to be silenced.
And now…
Now she’s starting to wonder if he even remembers her name — or just the number sewn into her uniform.
•••
The hallway outside his office was cold. Sterile. Silent.
But the second the door closed behind her, everything burned.
His hand was already at her throat — not rough, not quite tender, just possessive — like always.
He didn’t speak. He never did. He just took.
Her back hit the wall with a thud. Her mask clattered to the floor. His followed a moment later.
Sharp suit. Cold eyes. That same unreadable face.
And yet when he kissed her neck, it was fire.
“Strip,” he murmured — voice deep, low, commanding — like a man used to being obeyed.
“I don’t like waiting.”
She obeyed, like always. And hated herself for how fast she did it.
He didn’t touch her gently.
He handled her — arms gripping her thighs as he lifted her effortlessly, letting her legs wrap around his waist like they belonged there.
Her back arched. She gasped his name.
“Inho—”
“Quiet.”
The sound of her own breath echoed against the wall as he thrust into her — deep, slow, maddeningly controlled.
Like he was savoring her, not loving her. Like she was something he owned, not something he cherished.
His lips ghosted over her jaw, her ear, her throat.
Hot breath. Cold fingers. That deep, cruel voice: “You like this, don’t you?”
“Being used like a good little secret.”
She bit her lip to hold back the sound. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
But she couldn’t hold it when he pushed harder — deeper.
His hand over her mouth now, muffling the cry he knew was coming.
“That’s right,” he whispered. “You only exist for this. For me.”
It wasn’t love. She knew that.
He never kissed her lips. Only her skin — her neck, her chest — like tasting her was enough, but knowing her was too dangerous.
But when it was over…
When he pulled away…
When he zipped his pants back up like nothing had happened…
She was left standing there — breathless, sore, raw —
…while he turned away without a word.
“Don’t get attached.”
That’s all he ever said.
But she already had.
And as she pulled her mask and uniform back on and stepped out into the hallway again — head low, cheeks burning — she wondered how much longer she could take being his shadow.
How many more nights she’d let herself be used… hoping one day, he’d turn around and stay.
---
She was gone.
The door clicked shut behind Guard 11, and the silence settled again — thick, heavy, suffocating.
Just the way he liked it.
Or at least, the way he used to.
In-ho—stood still in the center of the room, jaw clenched, the taste of her still on his tongue.
He shouldn’t have done it again.
She made him reckless.
And he hated that.
On the big screen in his room, players moved like ants. Guards patrolled in rigid lines. Everything ran with perfect order — because he demanded it. Becausee he controlled it.
But her?
There was nothing controlled about the way she moaned for him. Nothing disciplined about the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t watching.
And he always watched.
He knew her patterns. Her steps. Her tells.
The way she twirled the hem of her sleeve when she was nervous. The way her voice dropped when she lied.
She didn’t even know she’d given herself away the first night he had her — trembling under his touch, but leaning into it all the same.
He had warned her. Don’t get attached.
But he never told her the full truth.
That he already was.
That he’d chosen her the moment she’d taken off that mask in front of him, months ago, without knowing he was watching.
He told himself he only kept her around because she was useful. Quiet. Loyal.
But he knew better.
He knew this wasn’t love. It was something darker. Something hungrier.
Obsession is a quiet thing, until it starts to starve.
And lately, he felt starved.
Eventually.
There was only one camera feed he watched.
A small, grainy screen tucked in the top-left corner of the monitor wall.
Guard Room 11.
Her room.
She was sitting on the edge of the cot now, her mask off, hair messy from his hands, uniform wrinkled from the way he had pulled her into him only an hour ago.
She looked…exhausted.
But more than that — she looked empty.
In-ho leaned forward, resting one elbow on the desk. He stared at her image, unmoving, like a predator watching its prey through the scope of a rifle.
Slowly, his gloved hand lifted.
He traced the screen.
Not the air — the screen itself. His fingertip dragged over the lines of her shoulder, down the slope of her arm, lingering over the soft curve of her face.
“You always look like this after I touch you,” he muttered, almost fondly.
Then his voice dropped.
“Mine.”
One word. Whispered like a promise.
Claiming her — not with permission, not with tenderness — but with pure, cold-blooded certainty.
•••
Frontman — stood silently in the center of the control room, his boot planted on the floor with player photos.
Behind him, guards sat stiffly at their monitors, watching every grainy feed of the Dalgona game in progress.
But his attention was elsewhere — far from the cracked sugar and terrified players.
His jaw clenched behind the black mask.
Not because of the game.
Not because of the guards.
But because of last night.
The memory still lingered — the way she had trembled beneath him, her soft gasps echoing in his ears hours later.
And still, that hadn’t been enough to satisfy the gnawing ache in him.
Not even close.
He scanned the room slowly, eyes darting toward the corners, until he realized — she wasn’t here.
Where is she? He thought.
His brows furrowed, but just as he was about to ask the officer in charge, the heavy door creaked open — and in stepped Guard 11.
She was always quiet, always composed. She took her position behind him at a respectful distance, but he could feel her eyes on him.
As always.
He didn’t acknowledge her right away. He never did.
But after a moment, his voice broke through the tension — deep, clipped, and absolute.
“Come with me, Guard 11.”
Then he turned and left the control room.
She followed without hesitation.
By the time she stepped into his office, he was already seated on the leather chair, mask removed, crystal tumbler of whiskey resting loosely in one hand. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t need to.
“Lock the door,” he said calmly.
She did.
“Come here.”
Without a word, she walked toward him and stood between his spread knees. Her breath was steady, even if her chest rose a little faster now. She knew what this was. She always knew.
This wasn’t about love.
It never was.
Except… lately, something had shifted in his stare. There was a weight in it. A flicker of something else beneath the hunger.
“Kneel.”
She obeyed.
She took of her mask and her hands reached up, steady and slow, resting first on his thighs before trailing upward toward his belt. He didn’t stop her. He never did. His head tilted slightly, watching her every move like a man watching his favorite weapon being drawn from its case.
The belt clicked.
The zipper hummed.
She looked up at him.
He raised the glass to his lips and took a slow sip, his other hand brushing her cheek with his gloved knuckles. Gentle — too gentle for someone like him.
“You know what to do,” he murmured.
“You always do.”
And she did.
Because she wasn’t just another guard.
She was the one he kept.
The one he summoned when the world felt too loud.
The one he allowed to kneel before him — not because he needed it, but because she calmed the storm in him.
But today — as her lips touched his skin — something tugged at his chest.
A heat that had nothing to do with lust.
He stared down at her, her eyes closed in quiet submission, and something dangerous curled in his voice as he whispered,
“You were never meant to belong to anyone else.”
His grip in her hair tightened — not cruelly, but possessively.
“And you never will.”
She knew what effect she had on him.
And he hated that he loved it.
Her movements slow and warm, lips brushing over sensitive skin with a softness that made his breath hitch.
In-ho’s eyes dropped shut.
A sound escaped him — low, deep, guttural.
He placed the glass of whiskey back on the side table with a solid clink, no longer interested in distractions. One gloved hand gripped the armrest, the other tangled in her hair, guiding her with just the right amount of pressure.
His head tilted back against the chair, jaw clenched, breath unsteady.
“Just like that,” he growled. “Don’t stop.”
She didn’t.
She picked up the pace, using her mouth like she knew exactly how to unravel him, inch by slow, torturous inch.
Each movement made his stomach tighten, made a vein throb in his neck, made his grip on her hair tighten.
“You don’t know what you do to me, do you?” he rasped, voice heavy with desire.
“Or maybe you do. Maybe that’s why you’re always so eager to get on your knees for me.”
Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t stop. If anything, her hands gripped his thighs tighter, her rhythm more confident now.
He looked down at her — flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, mouth working him over like she was starving — and something feral twisted in his chest.
“You’re so good like this,” he whispered darkly, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Obedient. Quiet. Mine.”
That last word hit heavy. Possessive. Cold. True.
And when she hollowed her cheeks, adding just a little more pressure, a sharp breath hissed between his teeth. His fingers curled in her hair, holding her still, fighting the instinct to lose all control right there.
“You like making me fall apart, don’t you?” he muttered. “You like knowing you’re the only one I call for. The only one I let this close.”
She hummed against him, and he cursed — a deep, husky sound from the pit of his chest.
“Fuck—if you keep going, I might actually start believing you belong to me.”
He laughed under his breath, but there was no humor in it — only need. Only truth.
Because she did.
Even if he hadn’t said it out loud, even if he never kissed her after. She was his.
And he wasn’t planning to let her go.
---
It didn’t take long after that.
With her lips swollen and eyes glistening from the intensity, she felt him tremble—his grip on her hair tightened one last time as a deep, shuddering groan left his throat. He threw his head back, breathing ragged and heavy, chest rising and falling.
She stayed still, eyes lifted to him as she always did, waiting—hoping, foolishly—for something more than silence and tension between them.
But the moment it was over, the change in him was almost immediate.
He blinked once. Twice. Then his features hardened.
That warmth in his gaze? Gone.
The soft tremble in his breath? Steadied.
The hand in her hair? Dropped.
He buckled his pants again and picked up his glass of whiskey, swirling what little remained like nothing had just happened — like she hadn’t just given herself to him all over again.
And then, without so much as looking her in the eye, he spoke.
“Leave.”
That one word—cold, flat, emotionless—sliced deeper than it ever had before. It always ended like this, always with him pushing her away like she was nothing but a tool to take the edge off. And still, every time, she came back.
But this time, her throat tightened more than usual. Her knees ached against the hard floor, but she didn’t move just yet.
She wanted to say something—anything.
She wanted to ask why he could touch her like that and still act like he felt nothing.
But she knew better.
She was just a guard. Just a body he used when he wanted to feel something… or when he wanted to forget.
Quietly, she lowered her gaze, fixed her mask back onto her face, and stood.
No words. No questions.
She turned on her heel and walked out of the room, heart pounding and chest tight, wondering just how many times she could take this before she broke.
Behind her, In-ho didn’t move. He just kept swirling his whiskey, staring blankly on the monitors across the room—where her small guard station camera flickered in the corner of the screen.
And still, he watched her.
Even after she’d gone.
Because no matter how cold he acted…
He couldn’t stop.
She was his favorite sin.
And he was far from done.
•••
It had been three days.
Three days since she’d knelt before him.
Three days since he’d touched her like she meant something—like she was his.
And three days since he’d thrown that single word at her like a blade:
“Leave.”
Guard 11 had barely slept since. Not because of her duties, but because every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel his fingers in her hair… hear his groan echoing in her ears… taste the heat of him on her tongue.
And now?
Now she walked the halls like a ghost.
She moved with the same efficiency, wore the same mask, responded to orders the same way—but her body felt heavier, like her skin didn’t quite fit anymore.
She hadn’t been called back to his office since. Not once. No glances. No hidden signals. Nothing.
She hated herself for waiting—for checking the hall whenever footsteps echoed outside the guardroom door. She hated how her pulse still spiked every time she passed the control room, wondering if he was behind that tinted glass watching her… or worse—ignoring her.
Was she just… done? Cast aside?
Used?
She’d told herself over and over that it didn’t mean anything to him. She knew that. He never promised otherwise. He never touched her with softness, never said anything tender. And yet—something about the way he used to look at her, like she was his only escape from the chaos, had made her hope.
Foolishly.
Pathetic, she thought, glaring at her reflection in the guardroom’s small mirror, mask hanging loosely from her fingers.
Her lips still looked bruised.
Her thighs still ached faintly from the last time he’d pulled her onto his lap and taken what he wanted, wordless and possessive like he couldn’t stop himself.
And now?
Now he couldn’t even look at her.
She knew what it meant. Maybe he was bored. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe someone prettier, softer, more obedient had caught his eye.
Whatever it was—it burned.
Worse than the shame of wanting him was the pain of being forgotten by him.
Her fingers tightened around her mask.
She hated this place. She hated these walls. She hated how her heart fluttered for a man who never offered her anything real.
And still…
If he called for her right now—she’d go.
God help her, she’d go crawling back.
•••
The metallic hum of machines filled the cold air as monitors flickered with the live feeds of the remaining players. Guards stood still, stiff in their pink uniforms, eyes glued to the screens—or at least pretending to be.
At the center, the Frontman watched with an unreadable expression behind his polished black mask. He hadn’t said a word all morning. He rarely did.
Then the door opened.
She stepped in.
Guard 11.
Her boots echoed across the steel floor as she entered the room. Everyone stiffened slightly at the sight of her. Everyone noticed the shift.
She walked forward slowly, stopping just behind him. Her voice was low, quiet—but not quiet enough.
“Do you have a minute to talk?”
The room stilled.
Every masked head subtly turned.
The air dropped ten degrees colder.
Frontman’s gloved hand clenched on his sides. His head tilted slightly, as if he was making sure he’d heard right.
Then—slowly, silently—he stood.
The tension in the room was unbearable.
Without a word, he walked past her.
“Follow me,” he growled under his breath, low enough only for her to hear.
She obeyed.
---
The door of his office slammed shut behind her.
She barely had time to process the sound before he grabbed her by the chin, forcing her face up toward him, his masked gaze burning into her.
“What the hell was that?” he snarled. “In front of everyone?”
His voice dripped with fury. Not just anger—humiliation.
“No one speaks to me like that,” he hissed, tightening his grip slightly. “Do you want to lose your mask? Do you want the whole damn guardroom to know what you really are to me?”
She flinched, but didn’t back down. Her voice cracked with restraint.
“You haven’t called me in three days.”
Silence.
His grip didn’t loosen.
His breathing deepened behind the mask.
She swallowed. “I thought I was just a toy to you. So why does it matter what they think?”
His hands dropped from her chin and curled into fists at his sides. He turned, took off his mask, pacing once, twice—and then spun back around.
“You are a toy. You’re for my pleasure, nothing more.”
The words landed like a slap. Her chest twisted, but she didn’t cry. She wouldn’t.
“Then use me,” she said softly, defiantly. “If that’s all I am, then stop pretending.”
He stared at her—hard.
Then he growled, reached forward, and grabbed her by the wrist.
“Fine. You want to be used? I’ll show you what that means.”
---
He shoved open the door of his bedroom and dragged her inside, closing it roughly behind them.
Dark curtains. Black satin sheets. Dim lighting. And a king-sized bed that had seen things no one would dare speak of.
He turned to her like a storm.
“Strip. Now!”
She hesitated—but not out of fear.
Because this was the only place she ever felt like he saw her. Even if it was twisted. Even if it was warped and wrong.
And so, with trembling fingers, she obeyed.
She stood before him now—bare. Vulnerable. Her breathing shallow, eyes flickering with defiance and desire all at once. It was a dangerous combination. One he’d never been able to resist.
Frontman removed his gloves slowly, methodically, and set them on the table with a soft thud. He didn’t speak as he walked toward her, every step deliberate.
Then he stopped—just inches away—and dragged a single finger up her bare arm.
“You think I forgot you?”
“You think I didn’t want to call you?”
“You think I didn’t ache to feel that mouth again?”
His voice was low and gravelled, a growl that licked across her skin and sent shivers to places she couldn’t name.
He leaned in, whispering just beside her ear—not touching, not yet.
“No, little girl. I didn’t forget. I stayed away… because I wanted you too much.”
And with that, his hands snapped to her waist and pushed her back onto the bed like she weighed nothing.
She gasped, but didn’t resist.
He climbed over her slowly, like a predator taking his time. His black shirt brushed her chest as he caged her beneath him, forearm pressing the mattress beside her head.
“Do you even understand what you do to me?” he growled.
She looked up, lips parted—but he didn’t give her time to speak.
His mouth was already on her neck, hard and punishing, kissing and sucking like a man who’d spent every minute of the last three days torturing himself over the fact that he needed her.
When he pulled back, their foreheads touched, breath mingling in the space between.
“You made me weak,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “You—you’re the one thing I kept coming back to.”
She reached up, fingertips ghosting his jaw.
“Then stop pretending I’m nothing.”
He paused.
Stared.
Then something in him snapped.
He growled, low and ragged, and flipped her over without warning—pulling her hips back, forcing her hands to the headboard.
“You don’t want soft tonight, do you?”
“No. You want the man you’ve been crawling to behind locked doors. You want the man who ruins everything he touches—including you.”
He wrapped his hand in her hair and leaned down to her ear.
“And you’ll thank me for every second of it.”
She whimpered when he yanked her hips back into place. Not from pain—no, from how deeply she needed this. How much she wanted him, even when he treated her like a possession, like a secret he refused to name.
“You only exist like this,” he muttered under his breath, one hand pressing her down. “Bent over, quiet, obedient.”
His voice held no softness. No affection. Just dominance laced with venom… and something buried deeper. But he would never let her see it.
“I own you in here. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Don’t lie to yourself now.”
Every movement was punishing. Precise. He didn’t give her time to recover, to speak, to think.
All she could do was feel.
She moaned into the mattress, her hands gripping the sheets like they might anchor her to sanity.
And still, he didn’t stop.
“Three days,” he hissed, gripping her waist harder. “Three days and you come in front of everyone asking why I haven’t called you?”
His lips brushed her shoulder now, hot breath making her shiver.
“You have no idea what kind of line you crossed, little guard. What kind of danger you’ve invited.”
She tried to turn her head, to look at him. She didn’t expect gentleness—but maybe just a sliver of what she felt from him when no one else was watching.
But he wouldn’t let her see it.
His hand wrapped her jaw and turned her face back down.
“No,” he growled. “You don’t get to look at me like that. This isn’t love. It’s consequence.”
But even as he said it… even as he bit down on her skin and left another mark to claim what he insisted was only a body for his use—his movements faltered. Just slightly.
Too slow.
Too deep.
Too much like a man who was falling, even while he kept telling himself he was in control.
---
Eventually, when the heat ebbed and silence filled the room, he sat at the edge of the bed. Quiet. Stone-faced. Jaw tight.
She didn’t say anything. Her body curled on the bed, bruised, boneless… but her heart?
Worse.
Because he didn’t look back at her.
Didn’t say a word.
Just stood up, walked to the door, and paused for a second. Not enough to give her hope—but enough to make her ache.
Then—
“Put your uniform back on,” he said coldly. “And leave.”
Just like that.
No warmth.
No apology.
No goodbye.
And as the door clicked shut behind him, she realized something she’d been afraid to admit—
He wasn’t just using her.
He was running from her.
---
The control room was empty now, apart from him.
A dim blue glow flickered over his masked face as the monitors played quiet shadows of the facility. The guards had retired. The games were paused for the night. But sleep? That was something he hadn’t earned in years.
One of the screens caught his attention—
Camera 12. East wing. Guard Quarters.
She was there. Guard 11.
Sitting on the edge of her cot, still in uniform, her back curled in on itself like a fragile thread. She wasn’t moving. Just sitting there with her hands gripping the edge of the bed like she might fall apart if she let go.
He leaned in, not even realizing he had.
And then, she did something he hadn’t seen from her before.
She wiped at her face with the back of her glove.
He froze.
Another wipe. Another quiet shake of her shoulders. A muffled breath.
She was crying.
Inho slowly took off his mask and set it down beside him, his jaw tightening. His knuckles whitened around the arm of the chair.
She never cried—not when he was rough, not when he was cold, not when he left her in that room like nothing had ever happened between them.
But now?
Now she sat there, crying over a man who refused to touch her unless it was under the veil of command… a man who couldn’t admit, not even to himself, that the sight of her with anyone else would drive him to murder.
He knew he couldn’t call her.
Not tonight.
Not after what he said.
Not when he still didn’t trust himself.
Instead, he reached over to the control panel. Hovered his fingers above the feed. But he didn’t switch it off.
He needed to see her. Even if it meant watching her cry over the absence of a man who would never admit she meant more than just pleasure.
He stared at the screen, his voice a raw whisper only the room could hear—
“I told myself I’d never break the rules… but you…”
His lips parted, eyes never leaving the image.
“You made me forget I ever made them.”
He leaned back, placing a hand over his mouth like he was trying to silence something threatening to come out.
But nothing came.
Just silence.
And her tears.
•••
Frontman stood still in the center of the control room, silent as always. His hands were folded behind his back, mask shielding everything—except the fire burning behind it.
Across the room, she was there—Guard 11.
Laughing.
With another guard.
Her shoulders relaxed. It wasn’t the kind of interaction that broke any rules. But it did something else.
It broke him.
He watched with clenched fists as his blood boiled at the sight.
He didn’t say a word. Not then.
But later, he caught her again—standing a bit too close to the same man. Talking. Smiling. Her head tilted ever so slightly like she was actually… happy.
That was it.
“Guard 15! Get back to your post. Now!”
His voice was thunderous, sharp, cutting through the silence of the hallway like a whip. The male guard stiffened and left immediately, sensing danger.
But Guard 11? She stood still, chest rising and falling. Silent.
He didn’t look at her again. Just turned on his heel and left.
She entered his dim office room the moment she was summoned. But before the door could even click shut behind her, he was there.
SLAM.
Her back hit the wall. His mask still on. His body crowding hers.
“What the hell was that all day?” he growled, voice low, animalistic. “You think you can laugh with him in front of me? Smile at him like that?”
Y/n’s eyes widened, breath hitching. “Why do you care?” she snapped back. “I’m just your plaything, right? You use me. You don’t even look at me after.”
His mask tilted slightly as if her words stunned him—but only for a second.
And then—
He yanked off the mask.
And without another word, his lips crashed onto hers—for the first time—hard.
The kiss was rough, bruising, hungry—his gloved hands gripping her waist like he needed her just to breathe.
And she—God, she kissed him back like she hated herself for loving it.
“Don’t—” he growled against her mouth, “don’t ever call yourself that again.”
He kissed her again. Softer this time. Slower. And then he whispered it—
“Y/n…”
She froze.
He had never said her name before.
“Y/n,” he whispered again, reverently now, as if it was something sacred. “You’re not just someone I use. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted. The only one I ever—”
He paused, forehead resting on hers.
“I need you.”
Then, without giving her a second to react, he lifted her into his arms—one swift motion—and carried her straight into his bedroom.
---
Clothes dropped like secrets, scattered on the cold floor. The air turned warm from the way he touched her now—not with hunger, but with reverence. Every brush of his fingers, every kiss he pressed down her neck, every breath he shared as their bodies tangled—was different.
There was no mask between them anymore. No orders. No control.
Only him.
Only her.
Only this.
And when she arched under him, gasping his name like it was a prayer—he kissed her. Deeply. On the lips. On the collarbone. On her wrist.
And when they collapsed—bare skin tangled in sheets, heartbeat loud in each other’s chests—he didn’t leave this time.
He stayed.
She rested her head on his shoulder, blinking up at the dark ceiling.
He spoke first.
“You were never just a guard. Never just a body.”
He turned his head and kissed her temple.
“I didn’t know how to love until you.”
She smiled faintly and let out a small laugh. “Took you long enough.”
He chuckled softly and turned toward her fully, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You belong to me” he whispered again, this time with gentleness, not claim.
Then he looked down at her—bare, warm, glowing in the low light.
“And I belong to you.”
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littlefrenchiestar ¡ 2 days ago
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Rock and Roll🎶
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Prompt: You were in a rock band and the LADS men see a video of it for the first time. Words count : 3323 Warnings: suggestive A/N: Based on this request (this was fun i hope i got the rock band vibes right 🤗)
Xavier
It was a quiet evening. You were in the kitchen preparing dinner while Xavier was lying on the couch, scrolling on his phone. He had offered to help, but you insisted on doing it yourself, he’d already cooked several times that week.
Bored, he decided to check your profile again, his eyes landing once more on the most recent photo you’d posted: the two of you at an amusement park, laughing and eating ice cream. He smiled at the memory. Then, out of curiosity, he tapped on the “tagged” section of your profile.
Most of the pictures and videos were familiar, but one older video caught his attention. He clicked on it.
There you were—on a stage, looking a little different. A different hairstyle, a bolder, more edgy outfit, something with leather and attitude.
The song seemed to be a duet you were singing with another man—way too close to you for Xavier’s liking. You were sensually getting closer to each other as the suggestive lyrics and deep bass echoed.
You slipped your hands under your “partner’s” jacket, sliding it off and letting it fall to the floor. He moved behind you, your back pressed to his chest, wrapping the mic cord around your wrists and pulling you even closer—close enough for you to sing cheek to cheek. His face nuzzled into your neck, just for a moment, during your verse.
That made Xavier boil inside even more as the crowd erupted in cheers—but thankfully, the song ended, and you pulled away from the man.
Xavier stood up.
You hadn’t heard from your boyfriend for a while, and just as you were about to ask him how his day was, you felt a presence behind you—a body pressed against your back, warm breath on your neck and a phone screen in front of you.
“So… you never told me you were in a band,” he said, his voice low and close to your ear—almost like a whisper. “I–I didn’t think it was important. It was a few years ago,” you replied with a nervous laugh, feeling flustered by his body towering behind you, your eyes still fixed on the video playing in front of you.
You felt his arm snake around your waist. “I mean, I knew you liked being tied up,” he murmured, “but I didn’t realize you were into doing it in public… and with another man, no less.”
You turned around to face him, your eyes searching his expression for any clue of what he was feeling—but you couldn’t quite read the emotion in his gaze. “It was just acting. There was nothing between him and me. You know how people are—they love drama.” You cupped his face in your hands, hoping to reassure him.
His brows were still slightly furrowed, but his features seemed to soften the moment you touched his face.
"Yeah, I know," he said, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand before pulling you into a tender embrace. "So… can we reenact it? Then you can post that on your page." "Xavier!" you exclaimed, laughing as you buried your face in his chest.
Zayne
Zayne was at the hospital, and you had dropped by for a little impromptu visit. You were now waiting for him in the lobby. A few interns whispered as you walked past them, but you assumed it was just because you were dating their boss.
Those same interns gathered in a corner, out of your line of sight, to talk more privately. At that exact moment, Zayne arrived and caught a few words of their conversation:
“But I’m telling you, it’s her,” one of them said before pulling her phone out of her pocket, tapping a few times on the screen, and showing it to the others.
Curious, he discreetly moved closer, leaning against the wall and pretending to be interested in a file, while actually peeking over the intern’s shoulder.
He blinked in surprise when he saw you on the screen—sitting behind a drum set, focused and driving the rhythm of the music.
Just from listening, Zayne could tell you and your drums were the heart of the piece. Without you, the entire vibe would’ve been completely different. He never pictured you as the rock-band type of girl, but he was pleasantly surprised.
As you hit the bass drum with your foot, you took the chance to light a cigarette and bring it to your lips — a small detail that made a frown crease your boyfriend’s forehead.
You picked your drumsticks back up, making the instrument thunder even louder, adjusting your cigarette from time to time, a smile on your lips as you hummed the lyrics of the song.
You were drenched in sweat by the end of the video but clearly buzzing from the amazing show you and your friends had just rocked. After exchanging high-fives, you flicked your now-extinguished cigarette butt into the small trash can near the edge of the stage. Then, just before stepping off, you threw a playful wink at the camera.
“Am I interrupting something? ” Zayne finally said, poking his nose out from behind his fake folder. He gave the interns a cold, sharp look. “Uh, no, sorry boss, we’re getting back to work,” one of the interns replied quickly before they all hurried off to their duties. Zayne let out a small, muffled laugh before walking toward you. You had just lifted your head from your phone, and a smile lit up your face when you saw him; you stood up, going to meet him with eagerness.
“Look who’s here…” he said, smiling as he felt your hand slip into his. “How was work today?” You were always so concerned about him overworking himself—you sometimes acted protective toward this full-grown man. “Great…” He squeezed your hand a little tighter as you both walked out of the building. “Did I ever tell you how bad smoking is for your health?” He looked at you like he was about to give a full lecture. “Uh?” You looked at him with curious confusion. “Yeah, I know. Why do you say that?” “Some interns were watching videos of your old band… I guess you still have fans.” He noticed the gears turning in your head before you connected the dots. “Oh my god, don’t worry, those were fake—like the ones in some movies,” you explained, bringing your linked hands up to your chest.
“Well, that’ll save me from giving you that lecture I did when I caught you trying to smoke years ago.” He took your other hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. You blushed as you felt his lips against your skin. “Yeah, I could definitely do without that,” you replied.
“Yeah, I know, but just to be safe, I’m going to have to watch all the videos of your old band,” he tease.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Safe my ass. You just want to see me on stage.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Language, young lady. But yeah, you have a point.”
You reached into your bag and pulled out a box of macarons, holding it up. “Okay... by the way, I bought macarons. We can eat them while watching my old videos.”
His face softened, squeezing your hand. “A perfect evening with you, my love.”
You squeezed his hand back, feeling warm inside as you both walk toward home.
Rafayel
Rafayel was working on one of his canvases, a piece commissioned by a local artist for an upcoming rock concert. He had set up on the terrace, researching the singer’s style as well as the different subgenres of rock. That’s when he came across a section about local bands—and to his surprise, your face suddenly appeared in one of the articles. He blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t expected to see you there.
It was a fun, playful photo of you and your band goofing around, and it clearly had been well-received by the press—used repeatedly in various articles about your group. Curious, Rafayel clicked on the link that led to the band’s official page. There were old tour dates, merch, and even videos.
He chose to play a video where you were wearing a light white dress looking ethereal. Your voice was both beautiful and powerful, the spotlight followed your every step, casting a soft glow on you while the rest of the band remained slightly in the background, in the shadows.
Then, the light shifted—focusing on a chair placed at the center of the stage, the very one you were slowly walking toward. You sat down, the chair positioned to the side so the audience could admire your profile. The music shifted into a softer, more intimate tone for the final verse, your voice directed toward the sky as a thin rope began to descend from the ceiling.
And on the last line of the verse, you pulled the rope, causing liters of water to pour down on you. You remained seated for a few moments during the instrumental break before the final chorus. As the first notes echoed through the stage, you stood back up, radiating a renewed energy while the rest of the band came back into the light. Your stage presence was absolutely electrifying. The way your dress clung to your body, your mascara running in dark streaks, made the crowd erupt in cheers and brought a faint blush to Rafayel’s face.
The video concludes on your band’s partners and you, bowing to the crowd and you throwing a kiss before leaving backstage.
Rafayel let his phone drop onto the lounge chair before heading inside to look for you. It took him a few minutes to find you in the bathroom, getting ready. He leaned against the wall, watching you. You flashed him a smile when you noticed he was there.
“Hey, love! Everything okay? Did you finish work?” you asked, dabbing some powder onto your face.
“No, not yet. But I was doing a bit of research on local rock bands… and stumbled across something very interesting,” he replied, walking toward you with a mischievous smile on his face. “You never told me you were in a band”
It was like you'd just been caught red-handed. You set the powder down and turned around, looking surprised.
“Oh really? I never told you?” you said with a laugh—both of you knew full well you hadn’t.
He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “No, darling, I would’ve remembered that.”  His voice was soft but teasing, making your heart skip a beat.
“Well, yeah, I was in a rock band a few years ago. We lasted about two or three years before we split up. Everyone had different stuff going on, but no hard feelings, you know?” You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips as you looked up at him.
“Yeah, I get that… so I dug up some videos for inspiration, maybe you could help me?” “Oh, of course, baby. Which ones?”
The moment you finished your sentence, he slid his hands to the back of your thighs and lifted you up against him, walking toward the shower. You let out a small, surprised squeal before starting to speak again.
“Raf, I just put on my makeup, and I’m dressed,” you laugh, smacking his back with a cheeky grin. He just laughs back, lifting you effortlessly into the shower, water splashing over you both as he presses you close and kisses you with pure passion. “Yeah, yeah, but honestly? Inspiration hit the moment I got a closer look,” he says with a smirk, voice low and teasing. “Especially when you’re wet.”.  “Rafayel!” cheeks flushing a soft pink, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips.
Sylus
Sylus was “relaxing” (which really meant cleaning his guns), when a ping from his phone distracted him. It was a message from the twins: “Look at this, boss.” “I never knew she was in a rock band.”
He clicked on the video they send, with a smile slowly creeping on his face. There you were, his girl, in a black jacket to big for you but you were wearing it so well.  
Your messy, sweat-drenched hair clung to the headset mic you were wearing. You were grinning from ear to ear during your guitar solo, while the ecstatic crowd shouted your name and that of your band. Sylus noticed you were holding your guitar in a strange way, almost like it weighed nothing.
He kept watching you, stars in his eyes, right up to the finale—when the song exploded into a chaotic, passionate crescendo. That’s when you raised your guitar as if it were a weapon of war, before smashing it to the ground like a divine hammer strike.
Sylus flinched slightly, then let out a rough, throaty laugh.
“Hey, Sy! I’m on my way back, the metro was a few minutes late but I’ll be home in like five!” you chirped through the line, the faint sounds of the city bustling behind you.
“Kitten, I didn’t know you had a thing for destroying valuable objects. If I had, I would've bought you some fine china just so you could smash it,” he said, amusement laced through his rough voice, eyes still locked on the screen.
“Huh?! What are you talking about, babe?” you laughed, confused but intrigued.
“I found out you used to be in a rock band. Funny, I thought I knew every band from the area.” His tone shifted into something lower, teasing.
“Oh, that!” you replied with a chuckle, the sound of your steps echoing now as you climbed the stairs to your building. “That was a prop guitar—I’d never hurt one of those beauties for real.”
Your keys jingled as you reached the front door, your free hand brushing back strands of windblown hair as you balanced the phone between shoulder and cheek.
“Ah, that explains the way you were holding it, then,” Sylus murmured before hanging up, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as the screen froze on your wild grin mid-performance, guitar raised like a weapon and stage lights blazing behind you.
You opened the door, took off your shoes, and walked into the living room where your handsome boyfriend was sitting on the sofa. You walked up behind him, kissed his cheek, and wrapped your arms around him, looking over his shoulder. “Who sent you that?” you asked, your voice full of curiosity and warm nostalgia. He turned his head slightly to look you in the eyes, then locked his phone and let it slip onto the sofa. “That’s a secret,” he said, taking your hand from around him and kissing it, his red eyes sparkling with mischief. Then he added, “But hey, if you ever want to practice or get back on stage, don’t hesitate to come to me.” You smiled and kissed him softly. “You’ll be the first person I turn to if the urge comes back.”
He just muttered a soft, “Good,” before pulling you down onto the sofa with him. You sank into his embrace, finding him (surprisingly)comfortable, as always . Resting your head in the hollow of his shoulder, Sylus began humming a tune, gently stroking your back to help you unwind after the long day.
Caleb
Caleb was working late in his office at Sky Haven. He hated paperwork—especially when it cut into the time he could’ve been spending with you.
Still, he gave himself a break. Sitting in front of the holographic screen he usually used for work, he let his curiosity wander, occasionally using it for more... recreational browsing.
Like today, when—purely by chance, of course—he stumbled across your file in the organization’s vast database. Even though he had been by your side for most of your life, there were still things he’d missed. And that—more than anything—was what weighed on him the most.
He scrolled down the file, he already knew most of the stuff on here but one video catched his attention. You were on stage, singing into a mic, looking euphoric—like you were having the time of your life. The crowd was cheering wildly, urging you to jump into their arms. “I will always catch you!” they chanted, echoing the lyrics of a song you had written with your band—one of the fans’ all-time favorites.
You swayed your hips, taking a few dancing steps backward to gain momentum before leaping into the crowd. Caleb held his breath the moment your feet left the ground, only exhaling when he saw your body caught safely by the sea of hands. The camera angle shifted—it was now from the drone hovering above the place.
It zoomed in on your face—you were still clutching your mic, trying to sing the chorus without laughing, but failing. Meanwhile, the crowd kept chanting. The feeling was exhilarating. The video ended with you being gently lowered back down, walking through the crowd, high-fiving and hugging some of them. He closed the file with a mix of sadness and admiration.
“Sir.” Caleb jumped slightly before turning around, looking furious. “What?!” The man who had just walked into the room to do his job looked a bit taken aback. “I just wanted to let you know—your plane to Linkon has arrived.”
Caleb’s shoulders relaxed at the man’s words. “Good.” He walked past him, heading down the wide corridor toward the landing strip.
Meanwhile, miles and minutes away from the scene, you were standing on the stepladder, painting the ceiling a new colour. You had decided to do it in the middle of the evening. Missing your boyfriend was making you do some questionable activities. You were on your tiptoes, stretching to reach a stubborn spot when you felt your feet slip. You let out a small yelp, trying to catch yourself but missing the stepladder. You were now bracing yourself for the impact…
But it never came.
Instead, you found yourself in the arms of the man of your life, looking at you with a goofy smile before he softly sang the lyrics you wrote years ago: “I will always catch you, anytime, anywhere — Trust me, I will be there.” He sang it with a teasing smile, gently squeezing you in his arms. You tried to squirm away out of embarrassment but quickly gave up and just buried your face in his chest. “You saw the video,” you mumbled. “I saw the video,” he grinned. “The song’s kinda catchy… I might set it as my ringtone.”
You were blushing so hard against his chest, he probably felt it. “Oh? Are you blushing, pipsqueak?” he teased, setting you down gently before sliding a finger under your chin, making you look him in the eyes. You were, indeed, blushing. “I’m blushing because… that song was actually made with you in mind,” you confessed, feeling your face grow even hotter as your eyes tried to focus on the wall behind him.
There was a silence that stretched for a few seconds before your eyes landed on him again—and that’s when you realized he was still wearing his formal Fleet suit. You were going to explode. Your gaze trailed up to his face, where he was staring at you like you’d grown a third eye. “Surprise?” you offered with an awkward smile, trying to diffuse the… tension in the room.
You barely had time to register it before Caleb’s lips crashed into yours—a kiss you happily returned.
You let out a small moan when you felt him bite your bottom lip. “Caleb, I have paint on me”
“I don’t care,” he said, trying to shrug off his heavy jacket while still kissing you, guiding you both toward the bedroom.
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inkandstardusts ¡ 3 days ago
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now i see daylight
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summary: Your life as a doctor in Jackson and how it suddenly intertwines with Joel's.
word count: 6.5k
rating: teen and up
warnings/tags: mentions of blood, mentions of violence, age gap (nothing specified but it exists, reader is probably mid to late 20s but really it’s whatever u want), reader is AFAB but no overt descriptions otherwise, FLUFF
a/n: all medical advice and jargon comes from google so i’m so sorry to real doctors who will be able to tell how clueless i am. hope you enjoy it regardless!
It’s in the last dredges of your shift that the door opens with a bang so loud you jump out of your chair. It bounces against the wall, creaking on its hinges and you cringe at the squeak of it, brows furrowing it to see who it is that needs help. People usually come into the clinic in a rush. Wounds are common in Jackson and outside of it, with teenagers getting into fights and patrols going wrong but it’s been a while since someone has come in with this much urgency. You recognize both of the intruders immediately. Joel Miller looks frazzled, brows drawn together in a scowl. His mouth is pursed and he has his arm around Ellie, curved protectively over her shoulder. Her arm is held out in front of her and she’s holding it at her elbow. There’s a steady stream of blood dripping down her wrist and onto the floor, the makeshift bandage already soaked. You start towards them. 
“It’s not even that bad,” she says, sounding annoyed. Joel grunts, ignoring her. She looks to you then, exasperated. You raise your brows, and she rolls her eyes. It makes your mouth twitch in an almost smile. You know Ellie from the handful of times she’s asked you questions about medicine and healing over breakfast. You first met her when Maria had introduced you both after she and Joel had arrived back from wherever they had gone. Ellie has a penchant for getting in trouble so I think it’d be good for her to know Jackson’s best medic, Maria had said and Ellie had rolled her eyes just as she had a few moments ago. Joel on the other hand, you’ve barely spoken to. He usually keeps to himself, silent and somewhat stoic. 
“What happened?” you ask, gently reaching for her arm. The laceration doesn’t look too deep but it bleeds steadily. You unwrap the bandage carefully, tossing it in the trash. “Here,” you say. “Have a seat, Ellie.”
She does, leaning against the bed. She winces when you examine the wound. You can feel Joel’s sharp gaze on you and you try to not let your nerves show. It’s not that you’re not confident in treating her. It’s just that you’d rather not do it while being watched like a hawk by her disgruntled father figure. 
“Ellie,” you say again. “What happened?”
“She hurt her arm,” Joel says and you resist the urge to snort. Yeah, figures.
“How?” you ask, turning to look at him. He’s still watching you carefully. Like you might actually hurt Ellie further. You know not to take offence but a little part of you is defensive. You’ve been a medic in Jackson for five years now. You know what you’re doing and just because you’re not as old as the other doctors doesn’t mean you’re not as good. 
“Wanna tell her?” Joel asks, looking at Ellie. She purses her lip, annoyed. You understand now, that this is a learning situation for her. She did something she wasn’t supposed to do and now Joel is making her take accountability. “If you don’t, I will.”
Ellie huffs. “I was looking at the knives in the armory.”
“Just looking?” you ask gently. You place her arm above a tray and grab a new bandage before wrapping it around the wound. “I’m going to put some pressure on it to stop the bleeding. Then I’ll flush it out and see if I need to stitch it up. It shouldn’t hurt too much but it’s gonna sting a bit, okay? We can take breaks whenever you need.”
She nods, jaw clenched. Joel is still watching, behind you. You usually ask family to wait in the sitting room but he seems too on edge and you don’t want to make it worse. 
“So the knife didn’t like you looking at it, huh?” you say, trying to joke. It does the trick and Ellie’s mouth twitches in a smile. 
“I just wanted to hold it,” she says. You nod, waiting for more. “ I usually flip my own knife in the air and catch it. This one was a bit bigger than I expected. And the handle was slippery too.”
You hum. “They polish them every Tuesday,” you say. “Prevents rust. But sometimes some of the polish slips over to the handle. You’d be surprised at the number of people from the armory that come in here with cuts because a knife just slipped out of their hands.”
You hope it eases some of the tension in the room. Ellie grins, looking pointedly at Joel. 
“See Joel?” she says. “Happens to everyone!” 
And okay, maybe you should have phrased it better. When you chance a look at Joel, his scowl has deepened. Shit. You grab a syringe filled with saline solution. 
“Ready?” you ask, waiting for her to nod. When she does, you press the end of the syringe down, carefully flushing the wound. It doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches which is good. 
“Okay?” you ask and she nods, jaw unclenching. You dab at the gash with a clean bandage before grabbing a jar of the wild garlic and honey mixture you keep on hand for superficial wounds. You rub some against the bandage before wrapping it around the wound. 
“There,” you say, smiling at her. She smiles back, a little reluctantly. You turn around to face Joel. 
“The cut wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, and it should heal on its own. She can come back in two days to get her dressings changed,” you explain. You turn back around towards the shelves stacked with your homemade remedies. You find the small bottle of calendula oil and turn to Ellie.
“Use this on the skin once the cut has scabbed over. It’ll help with the scarring,” you say. “And if you have any questions, you can always drop by.”
Ellie nods, the smile on her face more relaxed. You turn to Joel, finding him already looking at you. He nods, once.
“Thank you,” he says and you nod back. 
You watch as he helps Ellie with her coat and there’s a gentleness on his face you’ve never seen before. Whatever argument they were in when they arrived at the clinic seems to be forgotten now that he knows she’s okay. He doesn’t hold her close the way he did when they had walked in but his shoulders are rigid, his figure imposing, like he’s still trying to protect her. You watch their retreating figures for longer than you realize, only snapping out of it when Andy comes in to release you from your shift. 
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The second time you interact with Joel Miller, he’s the one who needs medical attention. It’s worse this time. Your stomach is in knots as you assess the damage. His eye is swollen shut and there’s dark bruising against his cheekbone. His shoulder is clearly dislocated, with his left arm at an angle no arm should naturally be in. But the worst of it is near his abdomen, where there’s a deep wound bleeding red. The knife is still in place. You can hear the commotion outside, the shouts of Tommy telling Ellie she can’t see him yet and Ellie yelling back. You know how it feels. The desperation with which you need to make sure that your loved ones are okay. You haven’t had that feeling in years now, having no one left, but the memory is all too clear in your mind. You take a deep breath. 
“Hey Joel,” you say, voice low. He’s unconscious but you hope he can hear you. “You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”
Andy comes in right as you finish speaking, equipment in both his arms. 
“We need to assess the stab wound first,” you say and he nods. You grab a pair of scissors, easily slicing through Joel’s bloodstained flannel. His shirt comes next, and you’re careful not to dislodge the knife. You gently press around the wound, assessing how deep it is. His skin is still warm and his pulse is relatively stable which means there isn’t any internal bleeding. You don’t really believe in God but you send a silent thank you to whoever might be up there. Andy and you pack bandages around the knife, ensuring it’s stable, before you give him the go ahead. He pulls it out as quickly as he can, and then you both press down over the wound. You stand there for minutes, waiting and watching. You can feel sweat running down the back of your neck, even in the frigid air of the clinic.
After another ten minutes, you raise your hand, slowly. You let out a sigh of relief when you notice the bleeding has slowed. Andy moves the bandages away from the wound, and you grab a squeeze bottle of saline.
“I got this,” you say. “Take a look at his eye. And then we’ll fix his shoulder.” Andy nods, moving towards Joel’s face. You clean the wound, keeping a careful eye for any debris. When you’re satisfied, you begin suturing. You focus on the movement of the needle through his skin, trying not to think of how close of a call that way. You’ve seen plenty of death both before Jackson and after you became a medic here, but somehow this has you so far on edge. Perhaps it’s the thought of Ellie on her own. After that first time they had visited the clinic, you had found your eyes drawn to Joel whenever they were around. He had taken to helping rebuild Jackson, fixing things all over town. He’d been by the clinic a few times too, patching broken windows and fixing rickety shelves. He never said anything to you when he was there, but his presence was nice in a way. Silent and steady. There was also the fact that however gruff Joel seemed to others, there was a softness to him when it came to Ellie. You knew that they couldn’t have been related. You had heard the whispers of a job with the Fireflies that had gone awry. You had asked Maria about it once, after a meeting where you had gone over inventory in the clinic. She had a look on her face that you couldn’t decipher.
“Ellie’s his kid in everything but name,” she had said. “Neither of them would ever admit it but it’s obvious to anyone with a working pair of eyes.” 
You nodded, deciding not to probe. No matter how curious you were about Joel Miller. 
So maybe that’s why your hands shake a bit as you tie off the suture. You discard your gloves and run your hands under the tap, scrubbing between your fingers until they burn. Andy’s holding a compress over Joel’s swollen eye. He leaves it there and you both work to immobilize Joel’s shoulder with a sling. You’re gentle as you tie it around his neck. 
If Andy can tell that you’re disturbed he doesn’t say. Instead he offers to stay with you at the clinic but you wave him off. 
“It’s fine, I can watch him,” you say. Andy looks unsure but you do your best to smile, putting on a brave face.
“Alright, but you can always come get me if you need anything,” he says and you nod. Andy is one of your favourite medics in the clinic. He’s compassionate and good at his job, even if he’s still a trainee. You watch him head out through the back door before you head to the waiting room. 
Tommy and Ellie are sitting side by side on the rickety wooden chairs. You see Maria through the window, talking to a group who look like they’re prepping to go outside the gates. 
“Hey,” you say, softly. Both their heads snap up. Ellie stands up and Tommy is quick to follow her. 
“How is he?” she asks, voice shaky. Her eyes are rimmed red. 
“He’s stable,” you say. “We patched up the stab wound and put his arm in a sling. When he wakes up, we’ll put his shoulder back in place. He has some bruising on his face but it should go down in a few hours.”
Ellie’s mouth trembles but she doesn’t cry. She’s a tough one. Tommy watches you, eyes forlorn. 
“Can we see ‘im?” he asks. His voice shakes too. You think of Joel, bruised and bleeding. You don’t want them to see him like this. It’ll only make them feel worse. You’re gentle when you next speak.
“He’s not awake,” you say. “I think it’d be best if you both got some sleep tonight and come back in the morning. I’ll stay with him the whole night.”
Ellie looks reluctant but Tommy seems to understand. He nods, wrapping an arm around Ellie’s shoulder. She lets him, slumping a bit. 
“You can stay with me and Maria tonight,” he says to her, voice warm. “And we’ll come back first thing in the morning.” 
Ellie looks down at the floor, before looking back up at you.
“You promise he’s going to be okay?” she asks and you clench your hands into fists. One of the first rules of being a doctor is to never make promises. The human body is too unpredictable. You know this. And yet you find yourself nodding.
“I promise we’re doing everything we can. He’s going to be okay, Ellie. I’m not leaving his side until he wakes up,” you say. She finally nods, turning to Tommy. 
“Why don’t you go on ahead with Maria?” Tommy says. “I just need to talk to doc real quick.”
Ellie, usually stubborn and curious and never one to be driven away from a conversation, just nods. You want to pull her into a hug but you don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Instead, you reach up and squeeze her arm gently. You watch as she walks away.
“Did they catch the raiders?” you ask as soon as Ellie’s out of earshot. Tommy shakes his head. 
“Fuckin’ bastards ran off. Maria’s sending another group to follow their lead but with the way it’s snowin’ out there I don’t think they’ll have much luck,” he says. 
Jackson’s dealt with raiders before but this attack’s the harshest in a long while. The Infected are one thing, mindless and violent. But raiders are something else. They’re people, desperate and cruel and ruthless. Your nails dig into your palm. 
“Will he really be okay?” Tommy asks and you let out a breath. 
“We stopped the bleeding and I’ve stitched him up. His shoulder’s pretty bad but we can set it once he’s awake. His face is bruised and there are a couple of cuts but it’s superficial. I’m going to take care of him, Tommy. I swear,” you say, voice sincere. 
He nods, reaching out to squeeze your arm. You squeeze back. 
When you head back into the back room, you pull up a chair right next to Joel’s bed. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, tracing over his entire body. You’re looking for anything you might have missed, but there isn’t anything. You lean back in your chair, resting the back of your head against the hard wooden frame and looking up at the ceiling. You take a deep breath. He’ll be fine, you think. You’ve never been good at sitting idle so you stand up, going towards your work bench. You were in the process of making more jars of healing salve when Tommy had walked in with another man, holding Joel’s limp frame. His eyes had been desperate and he had shouted for you.
You go back to methodically stirring the beeswax and lavender oil, adding some crushed chamomile to the mix. You divide them into the different sized jars you had asked Jesse to scavenge for you, careful not to drop anything. After every third jar you head to Joel, checking his vitals and making sure his wound is still closed. 
It’s been more difficult finding herbs and flowers as the weather veers from summer to fall, and resources have been thinning. You’ve been more careful about rationing materials and Maria’s been enforcing new rules to ensure there’s enough for the winter, when nothing grows and everything is stilted. It’s a few hours later when you hear a shuffling noise from Joels’ bed. You drop the container in your hands and are by his bedside in seconds.
His right eye is open, and thankfully looks fine. The left is still swollen shut but you know it’ll go down by the morning. He opens his mouth and a croaky noise comes out. You reach for the glass of water by his bead before gently cupping the back of his head. He tilts his head forward and you tip the glass towards his mouth. He drinks half of it before leaning back. 
“Hey Joel,” you say softly. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like shit,” he says but his voice sounds like it usually does. Deep and slow and smooth. You feel relief run through your veins. 
“I figured,” you say, smiling a bit. “We patched you up but your shoulder still needs to be set. We can do that when you’re feeling a bit more up to it.” 
He nods. Then, “Ellie?”
“She’s okay,” you say, quickly. “Just worried about you. But Tommy took her home and they’ll be by in the morning to see you. She wanted to see you immediately but I thought it might be better to wait.”
He grunts. “Good. She shouldn’t see me like this.” 
He sounds angry. You’re pretty good with patient bedside manner but it’s hard to gauge Joel. He’s sort of an enigma, at least to you. 
“She’ll be happy to see you,” you say. “You should rest though. Unless you’re hungry?” 
You had had someone from the kitchens drop off some broth and bread. But Joel shakes his head, leaning back against the pillow more fully. Without thinking, you pull the sheets over him so that they’re tucked around him. Your hands brush against his skin, and you’re relieved that he’s warm to the touch. 
“I need to check your pulse,” you say. He nods, watching you carefully. You rest your fingers against his neck, counting the flutters against your skin. You nod, pulling away. You turn around, reaching for the warm compress before turning back towards him.
“For your eye,” you explain. “It’ll hurt a bit but it should help the swelling go down.” 
He says nothing but allows you to wrap the compress so that it rests against the left side of his face. He winces a bit but stays quiet. You sit back down next to him. He’s still watching you a bit warily, but you can tell he’s tired. 
“Go to sleep, Joel,” you say, voice quiet. You watch as his eye flutters shut, and to your surprise, he does. 
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Jackson is bitterly cold this winter. The chill seems to be so strong that you feel it in your bones, in a perpetual state of coldness. You’re usually protected by the somewhat warm walls of the clinic but this time round, you have to be outside. It had been your idea in the first place so you can’t really complain. You’re running low on herbs you need for salves and medicines and the people of Jackson keep falling ill with the flu. You can’t really blame them given how shit the weather has been. A group that had been sent out to scavenge had reported finding an abandoned bunker some miles south of Jackson, hidden beneath frozen foliage and piles of snow. You’re surprised it had taken this long for it to be found. They had reported stockpiles of medicine and other useful goods but it had been you that had volunteered to go so you could bring back what was most useful. Maria had been reluctant but finally agreed, only if you were to go with one of the expert patrollers. You had readily agreed which is how you found yourself at the gates at seven in the morning looking at Joel Miller. 
His face is flushed red from the cold and his hair is longer now, curling around his ears. His road to recovery had been a bit slower given his age but he had been ready for patrols again by November. In fact, Maria had told you that he had fought with Tommy to put him back on the schedule. You know he’s been going less frequently since the attack so you didn’t think it would have been him that would be your escort this morning. You take in his broad frame, and feel something warm in your stomach. You had been a big part of his recovery, helping him rehabilitate his arm. He had stayed at the clinic for almost two weeks before you had discharged him. You hadn’t become friends, but you had grown some sort of companionship. He would sometimes ask you about salves you were making and in turn, you’d ask him about how best to fix a broken shelf or wonky chair. It was nice talking to him. You had tried hard not to think about how you had missed it when he was gone. 
“Joel,” you say. “Hello.”
“Mornin’,” he says, voice low. “Heard you needed some supplies.”
You nod. “We’re almost out of any sort of meds. Would be useful to see what that bunker the others found has.”
He nods. He turns around, gesturing for them to open the gates and when they do, he begins to walk. He looks behind to see if you follow. You start, taking long strides to keep up with him. The sun is out, and for as cold and bitter that the air is, it feels nice to see the light filter through the naked branches of the tree. You take in a deep breath. 
“You don’t get out much?” Joel asks and you shake your head. 
“I’m mostly in the clinic and when I’m not, I’m home sleeping,” you say. He nods. You can feel the warmth of his gaze as you look around. Perhaps it’s all the looking you’re doing that makes you trip over a branch. You’re bracing yourself to fall when you feel strong arms steady you, one at your hip and the other holding your arm. 
“Easy,” Joel says. In a daze, you look up at him. You haven’t seen him this close since that night in the hospital. His eyes, deep and dark, are tracing over your face. He keeps you close, as he gives you over a once over. “You okay?”
“Sorry,” you say. “Was distracted.” You think you see his mouth twitch in an almost smile before he lets you go. You miss the feeling of his hand on your hip. You can feel your ears go hot at the thought. Since when did you start acting like a kid with a crush? 
“S’alright,” he says. You walk in silence, and you make sure to pay extra attention to where you step so you don’t embarrass yourself any further. When you get to the bunker, Joel goes first. He looks around carefully, almost like a hunter tracking its prey. You watch in silence. When he deems it fit, he digs through the soft snow, before finding the trap door and pulling it open. 
“I’m goin’ in first to check things out,” he says. “I’ll come get you.”
The certainty in his voice quells some of your nerves but you’re still anxious, as you wait for him. He’s only gone a few minutes before his head pops back up again. 
“All good,” he says, gesturing for you to come closer. You make your way towards the trap door before lowering yourself down the ladder. When you’re a few steps down, you feel a warmth at your back. Joel’s on the ladder with you, pressed right against your back. 
“Sorry,” he murmurs, and you feel the warmth of his breath against your ear as he reaches above you to pull the door closed. He moves away right after, and you feel the loss of his warmth. He offers you a hand when you’re near the bottom and you take it, jumping off the ladder. 
“Thanks,” you say and he nods, letting your hand go. Even through your gloves, you can tell that he’s warm. 
“You can look around, grab what you need. Prioritize what you think is most important and we can send someone back to pick up the other stuff if it’s too much for the two of us to carry,” he says and you nod. You slip your gloves off, tucking them into your coat before you head towards the back where you see the piles of medication. 
“I wonder who left all of this,” you say.
“Probably some prepper,” Joel says, voice closer than you expect. When you turn around, he’s right behind you, tracing his eyes over all the supplies. You had been far too young when the pandemic had happened so you can’t imagine people having predicted something like this and prepared themselves for it. It seemed like a miserable way to live when the world was perfectly normal. 
“Lucky us,” you say, and Joel lets out a chuckle. You smile to yourself as you comb through the bottles. You start filling up your satchel, reading labels and picking bottles that were the least expired even though most of them were fifteen years past their prime. There’s some shuffling behind you before you feel, more than see, Joel get down next to you. He has a bag open too.
“Tell me what to do and I can help,” he says, earnest. His eyes trace your face and you try not to feel overwhelmed by his gaze. 
“Look for any painkillers and chuck them in there. The later the expiry date the better but we can’t be picky so anything will do. Anything with paracetamol or ibuprofen. And if you see any topical analgesics, anything with capsaicin or lidocaine,  that would be great too.”
You’re in doctor mode now. Joel nods, hands already moving towards the pile in front of him. You both work in silence, but it isn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it settles over you like a warm blanket. You catch yourself watching his hands as he picks at bottles and tubes, holding them away from his face and squinting at the labels. You feel something warm crack open in your chest. 
“You need glasses,” you say and he huffs. 
“I know,” he says, sounding disgruntled. You find yourself even more endeared by the furrow in his brow. You want to reach out and smooth it away. You’re glad your hands are preoccupied.
“I have some lying around in the clinic. We could see if any of them are good for you,” you offer. Joel looks at you now, and this time he actually smiles.
“That’d be nice,” he says. Then, he clears his throat. “I never properly thanked you for helping me.”
You shake your head. “You don’t have to thank me, Joel. It’s my job.”
He nods but you know he has more to say. “I know. But you were patient. And I know I’m not the easiest patient to have. Hell, I wasn’t even nice to you that first time I came over with Ellie.”
You let out a small laugh. “You were worried. It’s normal. I’ve had family members yell at me mid-treatment. Hell, this one guy shoved me.”
You don’t mean to say it to cause concern. It’s just the way things go sometimes with patients and over-protective family members. But you know the minute you say it, you’ve made a mistake. Joel’s jaw clenches.
“That happen often? People pushin’ you around?” he asks. He’s looking at you carefully now and there’s something in his gaze that you can’t pinpoint. He looks the way he did that first time he had brought Ellie to the clinic. Like he wanted to fight someone. 
“No, not often. But it does happen sometimes. Emotions run high and people get scared,”  you say. You’re not excusing their behaviour but as a doctor you know you have to be the bigger person. Even if it sucks sometimes. 
“Not an excuse,” Joel says. “No one should be puttin’ their hands on you like that. Especially when all you do is help.” 
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to smile. You know he’s being serious but there’s something about Joel being protective over you that makes you giddy. 
“Okay fine. Next time it happens I’ll tell them they’re going to have to deal with Joel Miller if they try anything,” you say, and you only mean it as a joke. You can deal with your patients and their families, even if they’re being aggressive. But Joel nods, serious as ever.
“You should,” he says, voice low. “Any time you ever need someone to be dealt with, you can tell me.” 
You nod, feeling a rush of warmth. He goes back to sifting through the medicine and so do you. It’s almost two hours later when both your packs are full to the brim. You’ve made a pile of other meds and supplies that need to be brought over the next time someone from patrol ventures out to the bunker. Joel goes up the ladder first, looking around to make sure there aren’t any infected or raiders around. You follow him up after, taking his hand as he helps pull you up. You trek back in silence but you notice that Joel walks closer to you. You can feel the warmth of him against your arm, sometimes brushing your own. By the time you make it back to Jackson, the sun is heading west and you think it must be past lunch. 
“Thank you for this,” you say as you unload the bags of supplies onto one of the counters in the clinic. It’s much warmer inside and you can feel your fingers beginning to tingle from the blood flow. 
“You don’t gotta thank me. I wanted to,” Joel says. He runs a hand through his hair, dislodging a curl that falls against his temple. You want to reach up and brush it to the side. 
You nod, giving him a small smile. 
“I meant what I said,” he says. “If you need anythin’, or anyone’s givin’ you trouble, you can come to me.”
“I appreciate that,” you say. “Really.” 
He looks at you again, like he’s trying to figure something out. He steps towards you and you take a breath, feeling your heart race. Suddenly, your whole body feels hot. 
“I’ll see you around,” he says, voice lower, before he steps away. You watch his retreating figure, willing your pulse to slow down. 
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺  
The Tipsy Bison is packed when the group you’re with finally manage to find a booth. It had been a long day of prep in the clinic and you were ready to call it when Andy had asked if you wanted to join him and his boyfriend for drinks. He had looked at you with so much earnestness that you couldn’t have said no. You had agreed only to find that him and his boyfriend also meant eight other people. You had greeted them with as much enthusiasm you could muster, but the tiredness had already settled in your bones. Maya, another doctor who was supposed to be on shift had cancelled because her kid was unwell so you had covered for her in a double. You’re nursing a beer and making small talk with one of Andy’s friends, Idah, when something catches the corner of your eye. It’s a familiar flash of flannel and when you look, you see Joel Miller. He’s standing next to his brother, holding his own beer. The bottle looks small in his grip. You shift in your seat. 
“Oh, I feel you,” Idah says and your head snaps back to her. You hadn’t even realized you had zoned out. You’re about to apologize but she’s smiling. You feel yourself flush. 
“Joel Miller’s hot in that older guy way,” she says, still smiling. You’re about to brush it off but she gives you a knowing look. You relent.
“Yeah,” you agree. “He is.”
“He’s got that sexy lumberjack vibe,” Idah says and you laugh out loud. It’s been a while since you have and you find that it feels good. Great, even. “You should talk to him.”
Immediately, you shake your head. No part of you would be able to flirt with Joel Miller. The prospect is too intimidating. 
“No way,” you say. “I’d embarrass myself.”
“Looks like she already beat you to it,” Idah says, nodding in Joel’s direction. Immediately you turn to look and feel a knot form in your stomach when you see a woman standing with Tommy and Joel. She laughs at something Joel says, reaching up to squeeze his arm. No way is Joel Miller that funny. You’ve spent enough time around him to know he doesn’t crack jokes. Then again, you can’t blame her. You want to do the same. You try ignoring them, focusing on Idah. She tells you about a project she’s working on at the local school to encourage the older students to find a path that they’d like to follow. Almost like a career day but a post apocalyptic version. 
“It’d be great if you’d come in to talk to them about being a medic,” Idah says and you nod enthusiastically. Your training had come from your mother before she had died and you know how valuable knowledge is now that there aren’t formal institutions of learning. You ask her to stop by the clinic tomorrow so you both can work on a plan and she’s just as enthusiastic when she agrees. You’re yawning throughout the conversation and Idah notices. 
“You should get some rest,” she says, smiling. You like her, her kind eyes and the easy way in which she makes you open up. Suddenly you feel grateful for Andy inviting you out.
“I swear I’m not yawning because you’re boring me,” you say, and she laughs.
“Well too bad even if you are. I’m going to bore you some more tomorrow,” she says and you smile.
“I’m holding you to that,” you say. Idah stands up, giving you a hug. 
You say your goodbyes to everyone else at the table, even giving Andy a quick hug which he returns with enthusiasm. You do your best to not look at where Joel was but can’t help but steal a glance. He’s still in conversation with the same woman. Something heavy settles in your gut as you push the doors of The Tipsy Bison open. This is why you hate having crushes. You’ve just stepped onto the main street when you hear your name being called. You turn around to see Joel walking towards you. He no longer wears his heavy winter coat but instead has a flannel that's tucked into his jeans. His hair is slicked back like he just showered before coming there. He looks so handsome you feel yourself flush.
“Joel,” you say. “Hi.”
“Evenin’,” Joel says. “You headin’ home?” he asks. You nod. “Mind if I walk with you?” 
You feel your pulse flutter. 
“That would be nice,” you say and he smiles, falling into step next to you. 
“I saw you in there, wanted to come over and say hi but you were with your friends. Didn’t wanna interrupt,” he says and you smile. 
“You wouldn’t have been interrupting,” you say. 
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “Anyone been givin’ you any trouble at the clinic?” 
You shake your head, laughing a little. “I’ve been telling them that there’s this grumpy man named Joel Miller who’ll fight them if they do.” 
“Atta girl,” Joel says and your legs feel shaky. Is this flirting? You haven’t done it in ages. 
“How’s Ellie?” you ask, feeling only a bit flustered. 
“Troublesome, as usual. She actually wanted to stop by your clinic, ask you about healing. Think she’s fascinated by all the stuff you make,” he says, voice fond. You smile.
“Well she’s always welcome to,” you say, looking at him. He’s already looking back, a soft look on his face. You continue walking in a companionable silence, past his house and towards yours. When you get to your front steps you look up at him. He’s watching you carefully now. He steps closer and you hold your breath.
“Am I readin’ this wrong?” he asks and you shake your head. 
“No,” you say, voice gentle. He nods, stepping a bit closer. 
“I’d like to take you out,” he says, voice low. “On a date.”
“Yes please,” you say and you’ll probably think about this later, and cringe at how desperate you sound but right now, you can’t bring yourself to care.
“Yeah?” he asks, gently. His voice is gruff. You nod, taking another step closer to him. He places a hand on your waist, so large and warm that you can’t help but lean into it. 
“Joel,” you say and he hums. “Will you kiss me?” 
He doesn’t answer instead, capturing your mouth in a kiss. You feel the soft scruff of his stubble against your chin and you smile into the kiss. He pulls you closer, body flush against his and you can’t help but make a low sound of content. He raises a hand to your face, cradling it as you open your mouth against his. His tongue pushes into your mouth and you moan, pulling him even closer. You run your hand through his hair, tugging at the curls near the nape of his neck and he groans, before pulling away. You can feel the warmth of him against your body. His eyes are dark as they trace over your face. He presses a soft kiss to your mouth before he presses one to your nose and then your forehead. You laugh, crinkling your nose. 
“You sure you don’t want to come in?” you ask, knowing his answer. He’s always been a gentleman, even when he was sort of standoffish. 
“I’m taking you out first,” he says. He leans closer, lips by your ears. “Then I’ll take you home.”
You groan, burying your head in his neck. 
“You’re a tease, Joel Miller,” you say and he laughs, breath warm against your face. You shiver. He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 
“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart,” he says pulling back. You can’t help but tug him forward, pressing a kiss to his mouth. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. When you pull back, his face is flushed. 
“Been wanting to do that since I first saw you,” he says and you smile, pressing one more kiss to his mouth. 
124 notes ¡ View notes
itzariafiles ¡ 17 hours ago
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somewhere between the music and him
— one-shot | fluff | pop star fem!reader | 2.4k words
— ft. k.bakugo
— file brief : You’re Mina’s childhood bestie turned pop sensation. Bakugo tagged along “just to be polite.” Yeah. His heart didn’t get the memo.
— cw : soft denial and slight language (Bakugo, basically) || also, let’s all pretend they are 17 lol, thanks.
— author’s note : had this idea for a while, took me forever to execute it how i wanted it lol. hope it makes your heart skip a beat <3
✧・゚: *✧・゚:*    *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
Mina Ashido and you had been best friends since the first day of first grade.
Instant connection. Ride-or-die from the beginning. And you’d shown up for each other every single time.
You waited outside U.A. the day she took the entrance exam. Then spent two nights at her house, pacing and spiraling, waiting for the results. When the letter finally came, you celebrated like maniacs and helped her prep for classes like it was your job.
You went to the U.A. Sports Festival, cheered your heart out for Mina, and had an absolute blast watching the rest of the participants. You both devoured every snack stand the campus had to offer — and you got to meet a lot of her friends too.
You both cried when U.A. turned into a boarding school. Not just because it meant she’d no longer be a couple of streets away, but because the whole situation that led to it had shaken you both. Still, you helped her pack and texted her almost every day.
And Mina?
Mina was there for every single thing.
Every performance. Every recital. Every competition.
She was there for your first solo, your first win, and the first time you performed for a crowd that wasn’t just parents and teachers.
And when your career took off — really took off — she went to your first concert like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.
It had been a couple of years since that first show.
And now?
You were performing in Musutafu.
Mina would rather hug Endeavor and go on a date with Mineta than miss your concert.
In other words: she was going. No. Matter. What.
You’d given her front-row tickets for her and her friends.
Naturally, she announced it months in advance.
And reminded everyone. Daily. Twice a day.
She blasted your music while they cooked.
While they trained.
At sleepovers.
Honestly? She found any excuse to play your songs everywhere.
Denki and Kirishima had to admit — your music was kind of a banger.
Iida quietly played your slower songs while making dinner.
Shinso, half-asleep, sometimes mouthed your lyrics while getting ready in the morning.
Shoto trained with your songs in his headphones, deadpan as ever.
And the dorm?
Yeah. Everyone had at least one song memorized.
Even Katsuki.
Who — to his horror and absolute rage — had been caught humming one of your songs while cooking.
The hype built up as the concert date got closer. Between training, exams, and barely holding it together, your music stayed on repeat.
When the day came, Mina gathered the girls to get ready hours in advance.
Sparkly outfits. Sparkly makeup. Sparkly hair. It was your brand, after all.
She even made the boys show her their outfits to see if they “passed the vibe.”
And once they arrived at the venue?
It clicked.
You weren’t just Mina’s best friend with a few viral hits.
You were famous.
The stadium buzzed with excitement. Teens everywhere in shirts with your face. Glowsticks. Signs. Fans screaming your name. Whole friend groups dancing to your songs as they waited.
This wasn’t some school auditorium.
This was your stadium.
The group stood front row, courtesy of Mina’s VIP passes.
And even Bakugo — grumpy, arms crossed, visibly unimpressed — couldn’t ignore the way the ground vibrated when your name was shouted.
Then the lights went dim.
The crowd went silent.
And the drums started.
BAM. BAM.
Stage lights flashed like lightning. Dancers moved into position.
BAM. BAM.
Sero and Denki screamed. Kirishima whooped. Mina looked like she might explode.
Except Bakugo.
Who looked… tense. Focused. Like he was holding something back.
Then—
“Hey, Musutafu! How are you tonight?!”
Your voice filled the stadium.
Bakugo felt it in his chest.
There you were.
Your silhouette backlit by stars, floating in a galaxy of stage visuals.
The crowd lost it.
“I think I… just fell in love!”
BAM. BAM. BAM.
The song started with a bang — literally. Fireworks lit up the stage, pink and gold and blindingly bright. The crowd screamed as the first beat dropped, and there you were — shining, electric, unstoppable.
Mina looked like she was going to cry from pride.
“THAT’S MY BEST FRIEND!!” she screamed at full volume, grabbing Denki by the shoulders and shaking him.
“She’s insane,” Denki yelled back, already dancing.
Kirishima was jumping in place, eyes wide like a kid at Christmas.
“Bro, this is crazy! I didn’t know she was this famous!”
“She trained like hell for this,” Mina said, grinning through tears. “I knew she’d make it.”
Even Todoroki was nodding to the beat. (Kind of. In Todoroki terms.)
Sero was filming. Iida clapped along. Shinso blinked, stunned. Momo and Uraraka were absolutely glowing watching the visuals. Jiro was screaming the lyrics like they personally wronged her.
And Bakugo?
Bakugo was standing stiff as a damn board, jaw tight, arms crossed, eyes locked on you.
It was annoying. Infuriating. How easily you took over a room this size.
How bright you looked under the lights.
How loudly his heart was pounding.
He had come here to be polite. For Mina. To not be the guy who bailed.
He didn’t expect you.
Didn’t expect the way his chest tightened when you laughed between songs.
Didn’t expect to catch himself watching the way your hand moved across the mic stand.
Didn’t expect the ridiculous flutter in his stomach when you pointed into the crowd and winked — even if it wasn’t at him.
He hated this.
Hated how proud he felt.
Like he had a right to be. Like he knew you.
He didn’t knew you. Not really.
Not the pop star version.
Not the one with glitter eyeliner and thousands of fans singing your lyrics back to you.
But part of him… wanted to.
Especially when you sang that song.
The one Mina had on repeat all month.
The one with the soft chorus and the line about choosing someone even when it’s hard.
He didn’t blink once through that entire number.
When the last song ended, you stood in the middle of the stage. Bright smile, eyes glassy with tears.
“I definitely fell in love tonight, guys! This was unreal. I can’t wait to sing with you all again!”
The crowd cheered. You scanned the audience, searching. For Mina. And of course, she was there. Biggest smile, tears falling freely.
She was surrounded by all the people you’d only known from her stories — well, except the ones you met at the Sports Festival — and you laughed when they screamed a little as you waved.
Bakugo didn’t scream.
But his heart skipped a beat.
You waved again, blew a few kisses, and walked off stage, still glowing, the band playing behind you.
The music faded slowly.
People kept cheering.
Some took photos, others buzzed about how amazing the show had been.
Someone poked Bakugo. He turned, ready to snap — but stopped when he saw Mina gesturing while Kirishima leaned in.
“She wants us to go backstage,” Kirishima said, nodding toward Mina. “And I’m going. So if you want in, we have to go now.”
Everyone followed Mina. Bakugo, arms still crossed and mumbling under his breath, followed too. Of course he did.
A glittery blur ran toward Mina — you.
You jumped into her arms.
“Did you see that!? I sold out, Mina!”
She hugged you tighter, sniffling. “I’m so proud of you, you idiot.”
Bakugo watched the scene with an expression no one had ever seen on him before. Something soft. Quiet. Real.
“Oh, sorry!” you said breathlessly as Mina let go. “Hi! It’s so nice to finally meet all of you!” You were smiling, a little sweaty, eyes still shining.
“Dude, that was awesome! Mina didn’t tell us you were this good!” Sero broke the silence.
“Excuse me!? I told you every day!” Mina shot back, glaring.
You laughed, and Bakugo could feel his self-restraint slipping.
How dare you do this to him.
“My team and I are celebrating at the hotel,” you said. “We booked a room to eat and chill — I was hoping you could all come!”
That caught everyone off guard. An after-party?
They were heroes in training, sure. People were starting to recognize them. But this? This was new.
Iida opened his mouth — probably to lecture about curfews and responsibility — but Mina, in a shocking act of speed, beat him to it and accepted for the whole group.
And that’s how Katsuki Bakugo ended up in a van.
Sandwiched between Sero and Kirishima.
You in front of him, talking to Mina and Jiro.
He tried not to stare. He really did.
But he failed.
And you noticed.
The hotel had food waiting. A buffet for you, your team, and guests.
Laughter. Music. Celebration.
He saw you across the room, near the snack table. You spotted him.
And for reasons neither of you could explain, you started walking toward him.
Slow. Hesitant.
Bakugo didn’t move.
He just stared — guarded, unreadable.
Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the stage high.
Maybe it was the way he hadn’t looked away from you once.
You stopped in front of him.
“…Hi,” you said, a little breathless. Still glowing.
He didn’t respond. His eyes flicked — lips, eyes, lips again.
He was furious. At himself. At the way you made his heart race like you’d just called his name on stage.
At the way you looked at him like you knew him.
“…So,” you said, gently. “You’re Bakugo.”
“You already knew that.”
You smiled, a little shy. “Yeah. Kinda hard not to. Mina talks about you all the time.”
“She talks about you too.”
That caught you off guard.
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” His jaw tensed. “Says you’re… bright. Loud. Always moving forward.”
He paused.
“Didn’t think you were real.”
You tilted your head. “And now?”
He inhaled, sharp and low.
You were too real.
The kind of real that settles in your chest and stays there.
“I think you’re worse,” he muttered.
You blinked. “Worse?”
“For my sanity.”
You stared.
A confession, barely a whisper, from the most unconfessing boy alive.
“I—” you tried. Then again. “You’re not what I expected.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What the hell did you expect?”
You shrugged. “Louder. Meaner.”
He snorted. “Give it a minute.”
That made you laugh. A real one, the kind that reached your eyes.
And Bakugo? He wanted to freeze time. Bottle the sound. Burn it into memory.
“I saw you win the Sports Festival,” you said softly. “I was there for Mina. I was kinda reluctantly there — I was starving, honestly — but I saw you. Fight. Win. Argue about the win.” You smiled. “It was… incredible.”
He looked away.
“Don’t say shit like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to say back.”
You took a step closer.
“Maybe nothing,” you said gently. “Maybe you don’t have to say anything.”
His breath hitched.
But he didn’t move away.
He watched you like you were a song stuck in his head. Like he’d been hearing your voice long before tonight, and now he finally knew why.
“I don’t do this,” he said.
“I know.”
“I don’t flirt. I don’t talk to people. I don’t feel like this.”
You tilted your head. “So what is this?”
He scowled.
“I don’t know.”
But his voice cracked.
You leaned in. Close enough to see the shimmer on your cheekbones, the flutter of your lashes.
He couldn’t breathe.
“…Wanna find out?” you whispered.
His hand twitched. Like it wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how.
“…Yeah,” he said, low and hoarse. “Fuck. Yeah.”
You smiled.
And in that moment, Katsuki Bakugo — pro-hero-in-training, angry perfectionist, unshakable storm — felt the ground shift under his feet.
You’d been a voice in his ears for weeks. A rumor in Mina’s stories. A melody stuck in his head.
Now?
You were standing in front of him. Real. Close. Smiling like he was the star.
Maybe he was fucked.
But damn, did it feel good to fall.
Later.
After the lights.
After the music.
After the shared glances, the unsaid words, and the shimmer of something too big to name.
There was no dramatic start.
No fireworks. No grand confession.
Just you. Standing there.
And something inside him refusing to let go ever since.
It wasn’t one moment. It was every moment after that night.
It was the way he texted you the next morning.
(Just a photo of your concert poster downtown, with: “Tch. You left this here.”)
It was the voice notes you sent him between shows — sometimes singing unfinished lyrics, sometimes just rambling about how much you missed sushi or how your backup dancer fell on stage.
It was the noise-cancelling headphones he started wearing “for focus.”
(He was just listening to your songs on loop.)
It was the way you ran the second you heard he was injured after the war.
The way you stayed at the hospital for weeks.
The way he didn’t tell you to leave. Not once.
It was the way you always looked for him in the crowd.
And the way he was always there when you did.
It was you, screaming at their graduation.
It was him, holding up your tour banner at your biggest concert to date.
Matching energy. Different worlds. Same hearts.
You were a singer.
He was a fighter.
Different rhythms. Different lives.
But somehow, when you were together, everything slowed down.
No stage lights. No headlines.
Just you, barefoot in his kitchen, stealing his hoodie and humming your next single while he cooked beside you.
Just him, backstage during your soundcheck, arms crossed, pretending not to care — and failing miserably.
There was never a big announcement.
No flashy soft launch. No press release.
But there were pictures.
In his room. Taped under his desk. Stuffed in the back of his wallet.
No one else got to see.
There was that song you wrote — the one your fandom thought was about fame.
He knew better.
There were late-night calls.
And quiet mornings.
And the unshakable feeling that maybe, just maybe…
…some people don’t need the same life to share the same future.
Because no matter how far your worlds stretched..
He was your anchor.
And you were the spark he never saw coming.
And yeah, he eventually proposed.
Because Bakugo Katsuki didn’t want a life that didn’t have you — fully, irreversibly, completely his — in it.
But that?
That’s a story for another night.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:*    *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
not even cute enough to get away with that. - mina
© itzariafiles 2025 ✧ don’t copy, don’t translate, don’t feed to AI, don’t be lame.
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120 notes ¡ View notes
7-wonders ¡ 2 days ago
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A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes—Life has never been the kindest to you, and you've come to expect only the worst from it. But when a golden-eyed stranger shows up at your place of work and promises you that all your dreams will come true if you just trust them, how are you to say no? Get ready—a ball in the Dreaming awaits.
Christmas Traditions
Fatherhood—You're a single parent, and you (and your daughter) meet Morpheus
Give Me Everything You've Got—After a fight, you learn that Morpheus does not have the best coping skills. Like, at all.
Hopes, Dreams, and Everything In Between—Just when Morpheus finally escapes capture at the hands of the Burgess lineage and begins to make his way back to his realm, his weak connection to his power disappears completely. Left stranded in a world with no knowledge of what has transpired for over a century, no powers, and no clothes, Dream of the Endless must let down his guard and place his trust in a human whose path he was quite literally dropped in the middle of.
It's Just a Bunch of Hocus Pocus!—It’s Halloweekend, and you’ve got a couple of parties to attend! Morpheus, who missed out on the development of Halloween into the holiday it is today, is very curious about what your plans are.
Jealousy, Jealousy—It's your turn to get jealous.
Kiss With a Fist—Normally, Dream is above mortals and their petty quarrels, but when one decides that he wants to play with fire, Dream is more than prepared to burn him. That is, until you have something to say about it.
Morpheus Does Not Understand Millennial/Gen-Z Humor
Morpheus gets jealous
Never Been Kissed—Morpheus cannot possibly wait another moment to let you know how he feels about you. What happens when it appears that you don’t reciprocate?
Of Jack-o'-Lanterns and Misperceptions—You carve pumpkins with two of Dream's sisters in the Dreaming!
Our Very Own Greek Tragedy Pt. 1 | Pt. 2—You love Morpheus, and Morpheus loves you. You're the happiest that you've ever been in your life, and your love's intention to propose to you is just the icing on top of the cake.
Too bad you don't remember any of this when you wake up.
Shopping Spree—You go shopping and have a little fashion show for Morpheus.
Sick Day—You're sick, and the absolute last thing that you want is for an overprotective King of Dreams to find out. Of course, you should know by now that it's impossible to keep anything from Morpheus, and when it comes to you, there's nothing that he won't do to make sure that you're safe and well.
The Mixup—Matthew goes sticking his beak in places it shouldn't be, and finds what he believes to be some shocking news.
The Nightmare—Your daughter has a nightmare, and Morpheus is the one to soothe her.
To the world we dream about (and the one we live in now)—Being in the right place at the right time turns everything you thought you knew on its head when a woman, imprisoned and battered, is literally thrown into your life. Left with no choice but to do the obvious, you offer her shelter and support in her time of need.
Unbeknownst to you, said woman is a powerful and ancient being who now belongs to you in accordance with the old laws. This situation definitely won’t become complicated, right?
↳ In Waking Hours (Calliope & GN!Reader (platonic))—Calliope’s planning to enjoy a nice, quiet evening sitting outside under the moon and enjoying her relative freedom when she sees you still haunted by a particularly brutal nightmare. Plans change, because she’s not about to let you face the worst parts of her former husband’s realm alone, obviously.
You get your period
You're extremely stressed out
Wishful Drinking—After Morpheus cruelly dismisses you, you decide that you’ll get back at him by staying out of the Dreaming one night for as long as you can. What you don’t anticipate is letting your feelings get the best of you and getting very drunk instead.
Find headcanons and other musings under the Dream of the Endless x Reader and Morpheus x Reader tags!
Masterlist updated 7/5/2025
90 notes ¡ View notes
castielscaplan ¡ 2 days ago
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Extraction In The Morning
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Summary: You get captured by something you never expected to see in your life.
WC: 1.1K
Warnings: violence, blood, torture, S1E15 The Benders inspired, captivity, Dean to the rescue, gender neutral (i think?)
A/N: this was written for a prompt where I'd ask y'all to send me pretend fic titles for a one shot. This one "Extraction i nthe morning" was submitted to me by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork sometime back in March? i think? Feel free to send a made up title for a one shot!
Read on ao3!
Tag List!
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The chains dug into your wrists until the skin cracked and split. You’d stopped screaming hours ago. Your voice had bled out along with your hope, pooling beneath you on the dirt-stained concrete floor.
This wasn’t a monster’s den. It was worse.
It was human.
The walls were rotted wood, braced with rusted rebar and meat hooks, some still swinging with strips of flesh. You didn’t want to know whose. You didn’t ask questions anymore. You didn’t plead.
They liked it when you begged.
So you waited. You endured.
And in the tiny corner of your soul that hadn’t been scraped hollow, you whispered one name like a prayer:
Dean.
---
Dean had the wheel in a death grip, knuckles white, jaw clenched so hard it looked like it would snap.
“You saw them. You saw them take her,” he snarled at the sheriff, who was already sweating through his collar. “Black van. No plates. Middle of the damn road.”
“Mr. Winchester, I understand you’re upset—”
Dean slammed a hand down on the desk hard enough that everything on it rattled. “No. You don’t get it. I’m not ‘upset.’ I’m about three seconds from cutting this whole fucking department out of the equation and going full Rambo on this county.”
Sam tugged on Dean’s jacket, trying to keep him from getting arrested himself.
“They’re not gonna help us,” Sam muttered. “Let’s move.”
Dean didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The next thing he did was kick open the map in the motel room and start scouring everything. Hunting forums. Ranger reports. Urban legends. CB radio. His own contacts.
On day three, someone whispered it into his ear like a curse:
“They call it the Black Hollow Club. Way out past county lines. Not cops. Not hunters. Just... them. If they take you, they don’t sell you. They eat you.”
Dean didn’t even stop to blink.
--
He moved through the woods like a predator. Not the kind that snarled and snapped and showed its teeth. No, Dean Winchester was silent. He left the Impala behind two miles back and carried only what he needed: his machete, his Colt, a stolen hunting knife, and enough fury to burn the whole forest down.
The cabin appeared through the trees like something from a nightmare—half-collapsed, overgrown, and humming with death.
Bones hung from the porch rafters. Jawbones, spines, skulls cracked open like crab legs. Dean didn’t flinch.
He stepped inside.
The first man barely had time to stand before Dean pinned him to the wall with a blade through the gut.
The second had a shotgun—he fired. Dean took the buckshot to the shoulder, staggered, then tackled him so hard the man’s head split on the hearthstone.
“Where are they?” Dean growled, dragging him up by the collar.
The man laughed. Laughed.
So Dean smashed his face into the fireplace again.
“WHERE ARE THEY?!”
Spitting blood, teeth missing, the bastard grinned with split lips. “In the cellar. We were gonna save her for breakfast.”
Dean slit his throat and kicked the body into the fire.
--
You heard the commotion through the vents—gunshots, screaming, something breaking.
And then, his voice. “Y/N?!” It sounded hoarse. Feral.
Your throat burned. “Dean…!”
The door burst open with a gunshot blast. Light flooded down the steps, and there he was—bloody, shaking, eyes wild, shirt torn and shoulder soaked through with blood. Your name was still on his lips.
“Oh God,” he breathed, and then he was running.
He skidded to his knees in front of you, hands already on the cuffs, sawing at them with the knife even as his own blood dripped on your legs.
“I got you. I got you. I’m so fucking sorry.”
You collapsed into his chest the second the chains gave, your legs too weak to hold you. He caught you like something sacred, like if he dropped you the world would end.
Your face buried into his neck. You sobbed his name into his skin like a confession.
“I thought—” You choked. “I thought I was going to die here.”
Dean pulled you tighter. “Not a chance. Not on my watch.”
Footsteps thundered on the stairs.
Dean laid you down with a promise in his eyes. He stood, turned, and met the next man with a bullet straight to the forehead.
He didn’t say a word.
It got messier after that.
Dean moved through the compound with the kind of vengeance you only saw in the worst kinds of stories. You heard it from the cellar, half-delirious, as he butchered his way through the rest of them.
The screams didn’t sound human. But the laughter that came with them—that was Dean. That was what scared you.
By the time he came back for you, his boots were soaked in red.
“I can walk,” you lied, trying to sit up.
Dean didn’t even answer. He just scooped you into his arms and carried you out of that hellhole while the cabin started to burn behind him.
He’d torched it—poured gasoline through every hallway and set it alight. With the bodies still inside.
No grave. No names. No mercy.
--
He didn’t speak until he had you wrapped in every spare blanket he could find, jacket around your shoulders, heater blasting. His hands shook as he cleaned the wounds on your wrists.
“They touch you?” he asked quietly.
You nodded. Just once.
Dean closed his eyes. You saw his jaw lock. His shoulders twitch like he was barely holding something in.
“They’re gone,” you whispered, reaching for him. “Dean. They’re gone.”
His breath caught. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours like a sinner in prayer.
“I should’ve been faster.”
“You saved me.”
“I should’ve—God, I should’ve—”
You kissed him.
There was nothing sweet about it. It was desperate, broken, tasting of sweat and blood and grief. But it was real.
“You came for me,” you whispered against his lips. “That’s all that matters.”
--
You were in the backseat. Dean was holding you like you were glass. You curled into him under his jacket, listening to the steady beat of his heart like it was the only sound left in the world.
His lips pressed to your temple.
“I love you,” he murmured. Like it was a secret, even now.
You smiled, even though your ribs ached.
“I know.”
His arms tightened. “We're never splitting up again,” he said. “Next time you go on a hunt, I’m there. Bathroom break? I’m outside the door. Goddamn grocery store? I’m pushing the cart.”
You laughed, and it cracked like lightning through the dark.
Dean didn’t laugh back. His voice was low. Dead serious. “I’ll never let anyone touch you again.”
--
//PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED!!\\
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biancasaidstfu ¡ 6 hours ago
Note
When you read PR commentary from insdutry types, pr types, they will even say the pda, including kissing, is still part of the or relationship.
Not sure 100% what’s happening fr btwn L and A, but in light of pda being known to be part of pr, maybe we can do like we always do and take a deep breath, let this latest round settle, and see what we’re working with.
In the meantime we can have a laugh at the lack of class on display. Like wtf, this is his work and bread and butter, and fake gf or fr, why would you do a THING, when he’s had such a rough year, that would cast him in a bad light?
He’s lost thousand of followers since he reappeared. Boss has lost followers since Luke’s stuff dropped. It’s pretty crazy. It spikes beyond normal levels the *moment* she appears with him.
He’s either defiantly all in with her, which I have serious doubts about, or she is the worst fake gf ever because she likely doesn’t know how to be a classy supportive gf in real life.
The GA doesn’t clock it but fans like us and social media managers and brand managers do. Thankfully, Luke’s engagement rate is high and his true fans are hardcore, but her presence can only be described as a detriment to his brand - whatever that is, even if the new brand he’s going for is rebellious bad boy. No actor, no company, drops massive amounts of media in hopes that their following will take a hit. And that’s what’s happening. The whole point of collabs is to amplify the reach of each party, to create synergies.
No wonder, whatever the hare-brained plan is, Luke’s team is scrambling and blocking. Steering the narrative in online fan spaces like tumblr, X, Reddit, and getting out ahead of the viral naysayers and trolls is sm pr 101. There are teams of people who do this. So I’d take the lukola shipping blocks with a grain of salt. With the high stakes of his first post S3 brand collab, he and his team need to land this plane perfectly to preserve his association with Boss and elicit new ones.
Appearing authentic is what makes you bond with and build a fan base, which leads to deals, which leads to money. So he can’t show up with A and have the comments be full of “we hate her and you and Nic are secretly together and your pr is showing.” They’ll block a few people to keep their preferred “authentic” narrative going if it leads to more opportunities.
Additionally, there’s been plenty of discussion indicating signs that L and A’s accounts have been aggressively monitored by sm managers over the 24hrs of each of their stories in the last few days. Think of this entire long weekend as a one big pr push for Boss, starting with the A’s Olivia Rodrigo/Ed Sheeran post, the article mentioning the “sighting” of Luke in the VIP section (likely a pr name drop approved by his team because there are no pics), then Luke posting NK in Hyde Park, Charmaine’s confirmation and tagging L and A, then Luke posts his elevator buzz cut, then the first Boss reel drops, then Boss tt, then A post Luke in her stories for the first time ever on the same day, then the next day we the the first Silverstone sighting (Luke appears to be alone), then the 2nd Boss Silverstone drop on their grid and A’s there, then Boss crops her out in their story, the Luke posts a bunch of stories and she’s not in them, Boss reposts Luke’s story, Aston Martin reposts Boss grid post with Luke, Beckham likes the Boss grid post, Boss drops a tt this morning with no A, then Boss drops another reel on IG just now with A on it with her hand, tacky tacky, on his ass. And so far Luke has not reposted the story with A in it, even tho you could argue he looks the happiest and most confident and cool (in the images that have nothing to do with A) in this reel. (Your move, Luke.)
Can you see how it’s been one big, long calculated PR push with his so-called reappearance? There’s absolutely NOTHING organic about the entire long weekend. The only reason we got the concert stuff is because Boss was coming. “Oh look, he’s just a regular, relatable guy at a concert with his gf and friends, isn’t nice to see him out and about….?” “Oh look, some random somebody just happened to take a “candid” video of him in an elevator with a new haircut (that what, just happens to match his Boss collab, that he asked to have so he could post it??)…?” “Oh look, his girlfriend posted his face for the first time ever in two years to her stories, they must finally be feeling the love…?” All this on the weekend of his VERY FIRST post-S3 collab - where there was a painful money-free, status-dwindling, year-long drought…??? NO. NOOOO. NO.
IMO, this is his style: he likes to fly under the radar in his life, and then use “shock and awe” as a technique when he makes a concussive re-entry publicly for work. And fans react accordingly because they’ve/we’ve been *calculatedly* starved. He shows up with a different look each time, always sooo fucking hot in his new iteration that we can’t breathe. That’s a calculated part of the “shock and awe” too bc being the hot guy is part of his ongoing brand now Sexiest Man Alive, Boss in January, SAGs, all the Bafta related appearances, and now Boss. And it’s like he and his team decided in the new year the best way to amplify that shock was to use A—it gets people talking if nothing else. And damned if it’s not working, right? We’re yapping, sure, in our tiny insignificant corner of the Internet. But they’ll have to decide if the precipitous follower drops are working for *them*. Again, your move, Luke (and Nic).
So with all that in mind, Bianca, keep your eye on the prize, don’t feel disillusioned, because your instincts imo are spot on. Let’s just enjoy him being hot every single time (and Nic), AND clock/be shocked/vent/threaten to leave/be annoyed/pissed off/amused by the the adjacents—and then just let it roll off our backs after a day or two. Because when we look at the view from 30,000 feet, we know exactly what we’re seeing.
I just feel like that this being the case means this blog has no place anymore.
I can’t be pushing what I think if they’re actively trying to combat it. It’s not helping anything. But it all makes sense.
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camdunez ¡ 1 day ago
Text
It’s Never Over | s. laforteza
Song Playing: Lover, You Should’ve Come Over — Jeff Buckley | decode — paramore
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paring: sophia leforteza x gn!reader summary: you had left sophia in LA to start a band with your close friends. she stayed leaving you voicemails, hoping you’d pick up. this voicemail was no different.. but she drops not so small surprise at the end. genre: angst, hurt/comfort, estranged relationship word count: warnings/tags: use of “yn”, college student!sophia, rockstar!yn, brief ningning x yn if you squint, yn’s so hayley williams coded, sophia misses you so much. a/n: might as well add onto the mom!sophia agenda. and can you tell i'm in love with paramore? expect more paramore au content soon!
hey, yn.. i don't know why i'm still leaving voicemails.. it's not like you're listening to them anyway.
but i hope you're doing okay.. i haven't heard from you since your little band dropped riot. i guess living that rockstar life's got you busy, huh?
i heard that track you guys did for that vampire movie in the grocery store yesterday. dani said you're growing more angsty with every song you put out.. but i'm proud of you regardless.
[sigh]
i feel like i'm stalling so let me just cut to the chase..
i had something to tell you the night you left for new york to start that band of yours...
remember when i told you i was sick that one time?.. that stomach bug i caught from eating manon's food?..
it really wasn't a stomach bug, yn..
[pause]
i was pregnant... just a few weeks then..
i had the baby when you were on tour for that first album.. and ironically, one of your songs came on the radio at the hospital.
[chuckle]
...
her name's salem..
she's about four years old now.. has your eyes.. your laugh.
she knows who you are.. she always tells people that you're her star.
[a longer pause]
i heard you're in LA for a show.. maybe i can drag the girls with me.. show my face and what not.
...
i miss you, yn. call me back when you get the chance..
the hallway was loud, but yn couldn’t hear anything.
not really.
they sat hunched in the greenroom, phone still pressed to their thigh, sophia’s voice still clinging to the insides of their skull like cigarette smoke. their in-ear monitors buzzed faintly from the tech table beside them. they were due on stage in seven minutes.
but time felt stuck.
like a pick jammed between strings.
“yo, we’re on in—” yizhuo’s voice cut in from the doorway, but the second she saw yn’s face, she stopped short. “hey.. you good?”
yn blinked. their eyes stung.
they should’ve known. or at least checked. all those voicemails — ignored, deleted, skipped. that whole year sophia kept calling, leaving breadcrumbs in the dark while yn lit match after match to burn their way forward.
they rubbed a hand down their face. “yeah,” they said. “i’m good.”
yizhuo didn’t move. “is it her?”
yn nodded once.
then, barely above a whisper: “i have a daughter.”
the silence stretched. even the hallway seemed to hush.
“oh,” yizhuo breathed. she stepped in slowly, crouching down in front of them. “you wanna bail? i’ll cover. i’ll fake a stomach bug... hell, i’ll pull the fire alarm.”
yn let out a weak laugh — the first crack of something real in their chest. “no. i need to do the show.”
“sure?”
“I have to.”
because what else was there to do but play?
to pour every feeling — the grief, the longing, the regret, the hope — into the mic and hope Salem would hear it one day and understand.
yizhuo pressed her forehead to theirs for a second, quick and grounding. “then go give ‘em hell.”
yn stood. shoulders squared. jaw set.
the lights were already dimming beyond the stage doors.
and somewhere in the crowd, maybe behind the barricades or just outside the venue, sophia was there. with salem.
waiting.
the first chords hit like muscle memory.
pressure bled into emergency, then into misery business, and YN tore through each song like they were exorcising something — sweat-slicked, breathless, cracking at the edges.
but focused.
tight.
every scream, every note curled off their lips like a confession. the crowd was a blur of lights and hands and mouths yelling lyrics back at them, and somewhere between the third and fourth song, yn finally let their shoulders drop.
the music held them.
it always had.
they hit the break before the final track and stepped forward, fingers flexing around the mic stand, eyes squinting under the pulsing stage lights.
“this last song,” yn started, voice still hoarse from the verse they’d just shredded, “is a little different from the others. we wrote it for a movie about vampires.”
laughter, cheers.
“yeah,” YN smiled a little. “didn’t think we’d ever be on a soundtrack... let alone that one. but when we wrote it, i was thinking about how hard it is to understand the people you love — even when you think you do. especially when they change. or when you do.”
their eyes scanned the crowd absently, words tumbling like muscle reflex.
“so... this is decode. hope you feel it.”
the guitars came in slow, simmering. the synth rippled like dusk over water.
and then—
a flash of pink hair in the front section.
a girl on someone’s shoulders, tiny headphones clamped over her ears, grinning like she owned the sky.
and Sophia.
holding her from behind, eyes wide.
manon was beside her. dani, lara, and yoonchae too — all of them watching, some with hands clasped over their mouths, some just swaying gently with the crowd.
but yn could only see her.
Them.
salem’s eyes — their eyes — stared back.
sophia’s mouth moved around the lyrics, barely audible, but yn didn’t need sound. they knew them already.
i’m screaming I love you so.
the words punched out of their chest harder than they expected.
every strum, every line, cracked with new meaning. years of longing rewired themselves mid-song. and as they reached the bridge, yn stepped closer to the edge of the stage, gaze locked with sophia’s, salem’s hands reaching out.
their voice trembled, but they didn’t stop.
how did we get here when I used to know you so well?
and for the first time in a long time, YN didn’t feel lost.
they felt seen.
they finished the song with a quiet, shaking exhale.
and the crowd roared.
as soon as the last chord faded, YN was moving.
they didn’t wait for the encore chants or the half-hugs from bandmates. they tore the in-ears out, shoved their guitar at a startled tech, and bolted past the backstage corridor like their body knew where it was going before their brain could catch up.
the hallway blurred. someone called their name. they didn’t stop.
out the side doors. Into the humid LA night.
the parking lot buzzed with post-show energy — crew unloading gear, fans screaming behind fences, neon venue signs flickering above.
and then—
there.
by the streetlamp near the side gate.
sophia.
still in that soft sweater from the photo she sent yn about a year ago. her arms were around salem, who was propped up on manon’s hip, babbling something between yawns and giggles.
manon was the first to see them.
she nudged daniela, who turned, then elbowed lara. then yoonchae looked up from her phone and blinked like she couldn’t quite believe it.
“soph,” manon murmured, nudging her gently. “look.”
sophia turned.
her breath caught so visibly it felt like the whole parking lot exhaled.
she didn’t move at first — just stood there, frozen, like if she blinked yn would disappear again.
“hi,” yn managed.
their voice cracked. their whole chest cracked.
sophia stared for another second. then another.
then she walked.
fast.
by the time she reached them, yn’s hands were already out, fingers twitching like they didn’t know where to land — her arm? her shoulder? her cheek?
but sophia didn’t give them the chance.
she shoved her hands against their chest and said, half-laughing, half-sobbing, “you asshole.”
then she threw her arms around their neck and held on.
and yn — dizzy with every scent and warmth and weight they thought they’d lost — hugged her back like it hurt.
which it did.
because this wasn’t a dream.
because she was real.
because she came.
salem’s little voice piped up behind them. “mommy said you were magic.”
yn pulled back just enough to see her — still on manon’s hip, squinting curiously at them.
And yn swore their heart stopped.
“hi, salem,” they whispered.
salem grinned. “i saw you! you screamed a lot.”
they choked on a laugh. “yeah… i do that.”
“sometimes I scream too,” she said proudly. “wanna hear?”
before she could demonstrate, sophia kissed her daughter’s head and gave her a gentle look. “let’s give them a second, baby.”
manon shifted salem into yn’s arms with a practiced ease. “she’s heavier than she looks.”
yn didn’t even notice. didn’t feel anything but salem’s arms around their neck and the tiny heartbeat thudding against theirs.
“you gonna say something profound?” dani teased, nudging sophia gently. “or just keep crying into their hoodie?”
“shut up,” sophia sniffled, laughing a little as she wiped her cheeks.
lara linked her arm with yoonchae’s. “we’ll be by the car.”
the girls gave them all a moment — drifting away slowly, but not without a few meaningful glances and soft smiles over their shoulders.
and then it was quiet again.
just them.
sophia. yn. salem.
and all the time they thought they’d lost.
they walked without speaking at first.
sophia beside them, her arm brushing yn’s every few steps. salem curled in yn’s arms, thumb in her mouth now, her cheek smushed gently against yn’s chest. the adrenaline of the show was gone — replaced by something quieter. heavier. more sacred.
the sidewalk was slick with night air, streetlights casting gold across the parked cars and backstage fencing.
“you know…” sophia finally said, her voice low, rough around the edges, “you have some explaining to do, yn.”
yn swallowed hard.
she didn’t sound angry.
worse — she sounded tired.
“i know,” they said softly.
sophia stopped walking, turned to face them. “you had to know something was wrong when I told you I was sick that night.” she said, referring to the voicemail she had left them.
“i did.”
“but you left anyway.”
yn looked down. salem stirred slightly in their arms, her breath even and warm against their neck.
“i didn’t want to go,” they said. “but i thought… i thought it was just nerves. or food poisoning. i didn’t think—”
“that I was carrying your daughter?” she cut in, not sharp, but precise.
yn flinched.
sophia’s eyes glistened under the streetlight. “I called you, yn. for weeks. i left voicemails until my voice gave out. i went to every show announcement page just to track where you were. i watched bootlegs of your sets, just to feel closer... all while i was bleeding in a hospital bed. alone.”
iI’m sorry,” yn said, hoarse. “i was scared. and selfish. and i thought… maybe not hearing your voice would hurt less than hearing it and knowing i couldn’t come back yet.”
“did it?” she asked quietly.
“no.”
silence stretched between them again.
“you missed so much,” she whispered.
“i know.”
“i had to be strong every day, even when i didn’t want to be... i had to be mom and dad.. a nurse and grown-up, even when i was still just a stupid college girl with lecture notes in her diaper bag... and still i played your music for her. i let her fall in love with you.”
yn looked up sharply at that. “why?”
sophia smiled, but it was sad. “because I never stopped loving you.”
that broke something in them.
yn stepped closer. not too close. not without permission. “i want to know her. i want to know you again, soph. if you’ll let me.”
sophia blinked slow, like she was holding back everything her body wanted to do. scream. cry. collapse. forgive.
she reached out and brushed her fingers across salem’s hair. “let’s start small, rockstar.”
then she looked up at yn.
“you can walk us home.. my apartment's not that far from here.”
sophia’s apartment was smaller than yn remembered.
or maybe they had just grown too much — in distance, in guilt, in time.
the space was warm, lived-in. a scatter of children’s books on the coffee table. a pink hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch. fairy lights strung up around the window, dimmed low now, like even they didn’t want to intrude.
salem had fallen asleep halfway through the walk. she was still curled in yn’s arms, her fingers fisted into the fabric of their hoodie like she knew exactly who she was holding — like she'd always known.
“here,” sophia whispered, pulling the soft gray blanket off the back of the couch. she draped it carefully over salem after yn laid her down.
for a long moment, they both just stood there — watching her breathe.
sophia crossed her arms over her chest. “she likes when you sing.”
yn’s lips parted, startled. “you really play my stuff for her?”
sophia’s gaze didn’t leave salem. “yeah. at bedtime sometimes. when she’s scared. or after a tantrum.”
she smiled faintly. “the softer ones. not the ones where you're yelling about feeling the pressures and all that crazy shit.”
yn snorted quietly. “fair.”
a beat passed.
then sophia walked over to the kitchen counter and poured herself a glass of water. she didn't offer yn one. she didn’t have to. it wasn’t hospitality tonight. it was survival.
“do you know what it feels like to fall asleep next to a voicemail?” she asked, not turning around. “to let someone’s ghost read bedtime stories to your daughter because the real thing never called back?”
yn’s throat closed.
“i don’t expect you to forgive me,” they said quietly.
“good,” sophia replied, taking a slow sip. “because i haven’t.”
she turned then, eyes shining in the low light. but there was no rage there. only grief. only bone-deep tiredness.
“i missed you every single day,” she said. “but i had to grieve you like you were dead... necause you were gone. and now you’re standing in my living room, holding her like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I don’t know whether to fall apart or push you out the door.”
“i’m not going anywhere,” yn said, stepping closer. “not this time.”
she didn’t speak.
instead, she walked past them — slow, deliberate — and sat on the edge of the couch, beside salem. her fingers brushed the little girl's curls from her forehead. her whole body softened just from the contact.
yn sank to the floor in front of them. they looked up, chin resting on the couch cushion, studying sophia like a prayer they were scared to say out loud.
“i want to help,” they whispered. “whatever that looks like... i know i have no right to ask for a second chance... but i want to be here. for her, for you. even if i have to work my way up from the sidewalk.”
sophia looked at them for a long time.
and for a second, she looked like she might cry again.
instead, she whispered, “she calls the moon her ‘nightlight star.’”
yn blinked. “that’s beautiful.”
“she gets that from you,” sophia said. “she says it sings to her... like you do.”
the silence between them filled again — but it wasn’t heavy this time.
it was more sacred.
sophia leaned back on the couch and tilted her head toward the ceiling. “you can crash here tonight. the couch pulls out.”
“okay.”
“i’m still mad at you.”
“i know.”
she looked at them again — really looked.
but there was a softness now. a thread of something old, something forgiving, maybe not fully healed, but not as shattered as before.
and under the blanket, salem shifted in her sleep. a quiet hum left her lips.
“sing to her?” sophia asked softly. “like you used to.”
yn nodded.
they hummed a familiar tune under their breath as they moved closer to sophia, resting their head on her leg.
and as they sang, salem sighed in her sleep, curling deeper into the couch.
sophia stayed seated beside her.
listening.
eyes closed.
just like old times.
except this time, yn was here instead of in salem's radio.
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pudimsuki ¡ 1 day ago
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Beach Shenanigans ☀ | Hitoshi Shinsou x Fem!reader
A/N.: Tumblr messed with me, and my posts weren't showing up in the tags. So, this is a repost. I hope it goes well this time ❤
TW.: NSFW, 18+ content, aged up characters, fingering, handjob, semi-public, MDNI.
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“Tell me again why I’m here?”
Seated on a towel spread across the sand, you laughed as your grumpy boyfriend trudged back toward you, clearly recovering from being dragged off by an overly enthusiastic Kaminari.
“Well, because I asked you nicely. With love.”
“Uh-huh. Remind me why I said yes to that stupid idea.”
“Because you love me just as much.”
He scoffed, rolling his violet eyes. “Yeah, right.”
You sat side by side, watching as your friends ran along the shore or dove into the salty waves. The sun was warming your skin just right, making you sigh and close your eyes, lids heavy with comfort.
“Did I tell you how gorgeous you look today?”
You peeked one eye open, finding Shinsou admiring you with a soft smile.
“Thank you, love. So do you,” you replied—and honestly, it was the truth. Ever since he transferred to the hero course, he’d been training harder than ever. Now, in his third year and fully used to the routine, he looked downright stunning. Tall and lean, but toned in all the right places. Now, with only swim trunks clinging to his hips and the sun painting his skin golden, you caught yourself swallowing hard… or licking your lips.
Shinsou smirked, clearly noticing the shift in your gaze.
“What’s wrong, kitten? Something on your mind?”
You cleared your throat and looked away. “Don’t be silly.”
He chuckled low. “No need to be shy.”
“I’m not! I just…”
Before you could finish, Kaminari shouted at Shinsou to come back to the volleyball game they had going on. Shinsou groaned beside you—clearly annoyed—and you couldn’t help but laugh.
“He adores you.”
“Tell me about it,” he muttered, though deep down you knew they were actually good friends.
“GET YOUR STUPID ASS BACK HERE, DUNCE FACE!”
You flinched at the sudden outburst from Bakugou in the distance. Kaminari had waved toward the two of you, probably planning to drag Shinsou back, which led to a whole new argument. You grinned at the familiar chaos—Bakugou shouting, Denki whining about needing more players, and the blond menace yelling that he was enough for two.
“Remind me to thank him later,” Shinsou mumbled, eyeing the scene like it was all too ridiculous to be real.
“Stop being such a grump,” you said, elbowing him playfully. “How about a swim?”
“The water’s cold.”
“Your choice. Me or them,” you said, gesturing toward the chaos.
Shinsou groaned again. “Don’t have to ask twice.”
You smiled triumphantly as he followed you into the waves.
Okay, fine. The water was cold. You clung to him the moment it reached your chest. On him, it barely reached past his waist—he was a good few inches taller than you, after all. The two of you ducked underneath the surface, getting completely drenched before emerging again.
“Uuuugh,” you whined, pressing your chilled body against his torso. “It’s freezing.”
“Told ya,” he huffed, but still wrapped his arms around you.
The waves moved slowly, just enough to rock you both gently. Wet sand slipped beneath your feet now and then, grounding you to the moment.
What started as a swim quickly turned into cuddling in the ocean, letting your bodies adjust to the cold. Shinsou buried his nose in your hair after a second dive, inhaling the salty scent clinging to your strands. You brushed your lips across his chest, kissing him softly before licking the droplets from his skin.
“(Y/n),” he sighed above you.
“Hm?”
“You’re so beautiful.”
You smiled against his chest. “You already said that today.”
“I’m saying it again.”
His hands slid over your waist, slow and deliberate, until they cupped the soft swell of your ass. One hand slipped under your bikini bottom, gently kneading your flesh.
You sighed at the touch, the water somehow amplifying every sensation. He leaned down, catching your lips in a kiss. It started slow, sweet, the salt still clinging to both your faces. But it didn’t stay soft for long.
“Toshi…” you murmured.
“What is it?” he asked, lips moving along your jaw, down to the curve of your neck.
“Wait—what if someone sees us?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” he mumbled against your skin. “I want you.”
A purr slipped from your throat as he sucked on the sensitive spot just below your ear. Your hands slid down his wet back, fingers hooking on the waistband of his swim trunks.
“You sure?”
“It’ll be quick. I deserve something nice for coming here.”
You giggled, lowering his trunks just enough to free his growing erection.
Shinsou’s eyes fluttered shut as you wrapped a hand around him, stroking him slowly.
“Mmm, kitten. Always so good to me.”
Still waist-deep, you felt your bikini bottom tugged aside. The seawater rushed between your folds, making you gasp from the sudden sensation—especially when his fingers found your clit and started rubbing gentle, skillful circles.
Your breasts, hidden under the thick fabric of your bikini, rubbed against his bare chest, the friction making you squirm.
“So naughty,” he chuckled, barely holding it together as your hand pumped him just right.
“Toshi… please,” you whimpered, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers pressed harder against your swollen bud.
Without warning, two fingers slid inside you, stretching you deliciously as your breath hitched in your throat. His pace was steady, teasing.
Up and down.
In and out.
Over and over.
“Fuck,” he groaned when your free hand cupped his balls.
“Hmm… sensitive much?” you teased, panting as you massaged them gently.
His answer? Curling his fingers at just the right angle—your head tipped back, a broken moan escaping your lips. He’d found your spot.
“There it is,” he grinned, working it with unrelenting precision.
You could feel your walls clench tighter around his fingers. In response, your grip on his cock tightened instinctively, making Shinsou growl low in his throat.
If it weren’t for the crashing waves, anyone nearby might’ve heard your desperate, breathy noises.
The water helped your bodies move fluidly, and not even the chill could cool the heat building inside you.
“I’m close, Toshi,” you breathed, hips rolling toward his touch.
Your strokes on him grew messy, clumsy, both of you chasing your highs.
“Let go, baby,” he said, voice thick with need as he neared his own release.
Like your body was listening to his command, you unraveled seconds later, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Shinsou wasn’t far behind, his cock twitching in your hand as he spilled into the water with sharp, forceful bursts.
You kept touching, milking each other through the aftershocks. Your legs trembled under the water, even as his thrusting fingers began to slow.
“Toshi,” you whimpered, leaning your forehead against his shoulder as you stilled your hand. He was panting too.
“Jesus, kitten,” he laughed breathlessly, pulling his hand out of you and wrapping you in his arms again.
You stayed like that for a while—wet, warm, clinging to each other.
“Should we go back?” you asked after a long moment.
“Nah. I’m good here.”
You laughed into his chest, shifting to fix your bikini bottoms. Shinsou did the same with his trunks, and you both leaned back into each other, quietly basking in your little secret.
You lifted your chin to rest on his chest, and he looked down at you, violet eyes locking with yours. A lazy smile spread on his lips before he leaned in and kissed you gently.
“Hey, you two!” someone shouted from the beach. “We need players!”
Shinsou groaned, not even bothering to look. You giggled, pulling him closer and brushing your lips against his again.
“Come on, Mr. Popular. Let’s go have some real fun.”
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