#sit in the corner and think about what you did

[dior-luxury]

You Being Super Oblivious Of Them Flirting With You

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/light romance - no prns .

- [𝐜𝐡.] 3rd years

- [𝐩:𝐬] slow burn . one-sided pinning (resolved) . light comedy . mild suggestiveness . teasing/banter . slight jealousy

Note: I sat down to write cute flirty headcanons and instead accidentally wrote all of these guys having a romantic breakdown in about their crush being so oblivious about the flirting. 💀 Then I thought they where good and just decided to go with that as the prompt!

Trey Clover

It had been going on for weeks.

Subtle, harmless gestures at first—sharing his homemade treats, seeking you out in the hallways between classes, and always making sure there was a spare seat beside him at Heartslabyul’s long, rose-lined table. You always took it. Smiling up at him, laughing at his jokes, even leaning against his shoulder sometimes when the evenings stretched long and drowsy under the golden canopy of dusk.

And yet.

You were completely, utterly oblivious.

“You’re really good at baking, Trey,” you complimented one day as he handed you a small, ribbon-tied box of matcha-flavored sweets, his personal recipe he never shared. You bit into one, eyes lighting up in delight. “I don’t know how someone like you is still single.”

Trey blinked.

“...Someone like me?”

“Yeah! Tall, dependable, cute smile—you’re like...dad boyfriend material.”

If he had been drinking tea, he might’ve choked.

Dad boyfriend material?!

Despite the polite, affable smile he wore, a faint twitch of disbelief rippled across his temple. Trey had dropped so many hints—letting you taste frosting off his finger in the kitchen, gently brushing your hair out of your eyes when you leaned too close to the oven, even calling you “sweetheart” under his breath when you dozed off during a study session.

And yet, here you were. Thinking he was some domestic teddy bear.

The final straw came during a Heartslabyul tea party, when you reached over to wipe a crumb from the corner of his mouth with your thumb, completely unaware of how red his ears turned.

“You’re always such a mess after eating cake,” you scolded gently.

“You do realize,” he said slowly, looking into your eyes with a rare, unreadable intensity, “that I only ever bring you the first slice.”

“Huh? I just thought I was lucky!” you grinned.

That did it.

He leaned in, lowering his voice as he caged you between the chair and the hedge behind. His gloved hand gently tipped your chin up. “I’ve been flirting with you for months,” he murmured. “How much more obvious do I have to be, shortcake?”

Your mouth dropped open. “Wha—wait, what?!”

Trey laughed softly, finally letting his forehead rest against yours, the tension melting into something warm, golden, and soft. “I swear, you’re sweeter than my tarts and twice as dense.”

Cater Diamond

“Okay, I give up,” Cater announced dramatically, collapsing face-down on the common room couch. “I’ve tried everything, and they still don’t get it.”

From behind his phone screen, he peeked at you sitting nearby, nose buried in a magazine, completely unaware of his suffering.

It had started as a game at first—light teasing, exaggerated winks, the occasional compliment laced with glittering charm.

“Looking good today, babe~” he’d say, snapping a selfie of the two of you while slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“Thanks, Cater! You look amazing too, as always!”

But you always said it like a friend. With zero hesitation, zero fluster, zero realization. You treated his affection like background noise—a quirk of his personality.

Even when he’d rested his head in your lap after a long day and looked up at you with dreamy, sleepy eyes and whispered, “You’d make a perfect boyfriend, y'know... if you’d let me,” you just chuckled and patted his hair.

“Aw, Cater, that’s sweet. You’d be a great boyfriend for someone, definitely.”

Someone.

SOMEONE.

He practically screamed into his pillow when he got back to his dorm that night.

Every day since then had been a desperate escalation. He started bringing you your favorite snacks, styling your hair for fun, sending you good morning texts with pet names like “sunshine” or “my star.” You responded with gifs. Gifs.

Finally, in a move of last-ditch desperation, he planned the boldest romantic gesture he could think of.

Cater rented out the photo booth in town, the one with the glitter backgrounds and soft lighting. He dragged you inside under the pretense of wanting “a bestie shoot,” and waited for the moment the countdown began.

Three…

Two…

One—

He turned, cupped your face, and kissed your cheek.

Click. Flash.

You blinked at him.

“Cater?? What was that for?”

He stared.

“No, seriously. Are you okay? Did you think I was sad or something? You can talk to me, y’know.”

Cater threw his hands up and groaned.

“You’re the one I like!! You! Not as a friend, not as a selfie buddy, not as a human pillow—I like you, you dense little cinnamon bun!”

Your eyes widened. “Wait. Are you flirting with me?”

He looked like he aged five years in five seconds.

“Yes. YES, BABE. That’s what the last four months were. Flirting. Full-throttle, heart-eyes, rom-com level flirting!”

“…Oh.”

A pause. Then, sheepishly:

“So… wanna take another photo? This time, maybe I kiss you on the lips?”

Cater blinked at your soft smile and the way your hand found his.

And just like that, every ounce of frustration melted into sparkly euphoria. “Oh my Seven,” he whispered with a grin. “Finally.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was not a man known for patience. In fact, most of the time, he prided himself on getting what he wanted with the least amount of effort. He was sharp, cunning, and confident enough to know that most people would bend over backward just to get a sliver of his attention. So when he set his sights on you—you, with your soft laugh, bright eyes, and completely clueless smile—he assumed it would be easy.

It wasn’t.

It started small. He’d lounge in the botanical gardens where he knew you always came to study. He made sure to growl off anyone else who might sit nearby, leaving the two of you in your own little secluded corner. He'd toss you the occasional compliment, his voice lazy and low.

“Tch. That look suits you, herbivore. Finally got some style.”

You’d blink at him with that warm, clueless grin. “Oh? Thanks, Leona. My friend helped me pick this outfit.”

He resisted the urge to growl. Again.

Then he escalated. He’d sit closer—closer than anyone would consider “just friends.” He'd drop hints laced with suggestion, his amber eyes narrowing when you remained oblivious. He once even played with your hair, idly running his fingers through it while you yawned and continued taking notes on magical herbology.

It got to the point where Ruggie cornered you in the hallway, shaking his head in disbelief. “You seriously don’t get it? He’s basically marking his territory every time you’re near!”

“Huh? Leona? Nah, he’s just... touchy sometimes.”

Leona nearly tore his textbooks in half when he heard that.

The final straw came one warm afternoon when you plopped down beside him under the shade of a sprawling tree. You smiled and passed him a snack you'd made, and Leona, in a bold move of desperation and hunger for your attention, leaned down and bit into it directly from your hand, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

You just blinked and said, “You must’ve been really hungry!”

Leona threw himself backward into the grass with a groan, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Seven hells, you’re dense,” he muttered.

“Huh?”

He sat up again, eyes narrowed, voice husky. “Do I need to spell it out for you, herbivore? I’m not just hanging around you ‘cause I’m bored. I’m trying to get you to notice me.”

You tilted your head, confused. “But I do notice you…”

“No,” he growled, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly, tugging you closer. “Notice me. As in, I want you. You. Me. Together. You seriously didn’t get that?”

You froze. And then it hit you like a freight train. The closeness, the compliments, the touches, the possessiveness—

“Oh... OH.”

Leona smirked, fangs glinting in the sun. “Took you long enough.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil was always graceful, always poised, always in control. He calculated every step, every glance, every smile. So naturally, when he decided to pursue you, he did it with the same precision he applied to a stage performance or a red-carpet event. Subtle glances, gentle compliments, a brush of his fingers across your shoulder. It was a slow-burning courtship that he expected would sweep you off your feet.

But instead?

Nothing.

Nothing but your charming smile and occasional, completely unbothered “Thank you, Vil!” or “You’re so sweet!” before skipping off to your next class.

He chalked it up to modesty at first. Maybe you were shy. Maybe you wanted to play hard to get. But by week three, when he sent you a handpicked bouquet of enchanted roses and you gave them to Professor Trein’s cat because “it matched her fur,” Vil nearly fainted on the spot.

So, he got bolder.

One afternoon, he strode into your dorm’s common room while you were curled up on a couch with a book. Wordlessly, he slipped beside you and sat right in your lap, settling as gracefully as ever, legs crossed, arm lazily draped around your shoulders.

You blinked. “Are you tired? You can sit here as long as you need.”

Vil’s eye twitched.

“Tired? No, darling, I wanted to sit somewhere comfortable and charming. Surely you understand the appeal.” He leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “Or is my lap too forward for your delicate sensibilities?”

You laughed lightly. “Nope! You’re light. I didn’t even notice the weight. Kinda like a cat. A really fashionable one.”

Fashionable cat?!

Vil nearly stood up right then and there, scandalized. But no—he took a deep breath. Composure. Poise.

Until you reached up and started patting his head.

“You’re so pretty, Vil. I hope I can be as pretty as you one day.”

“…I’m not trying to be ‘pretty like you,’ I’m trying to be yours,” he hissed in exasperation, face dangerously close to yours.

You blinked again. “Wait… what?”

Vil’s patience finally snapped like a taut ribbon.

“For the love of all that is radiant—I have been flirting with you for months. I’ve complimented you, made time for you, bought you gifts, and now I am literally sitting on your lap! What more must I do? Wear a sign that says ‘I want to be yours’?”

You gaped at him.

“…I thought you were just naturally dramatic.”

Vil groaned, burying his face in your neck. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You awkwardly wrapped your arms around him, finally catching on. “Wait, so… you like me?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, expression softening ever so slightly. “I more than like you. But you, sweet potato, are so hopelessly dense.”

You laughed nervously, cheeks burning. “I’m really sorry… but, um… I like you too. I just didn’t think you’d like someone like me.”

Vil huffed, but a genuine smile curled on his lips. “Well, you’re mine now. And you’ll never be oblivious again, because I won’t give you the chance to miss it.”

Rook Hunt

To Rook, this was a challenge—a delicious, exquisite one.

He was well aware of how utterly unaware you were. The first time he realized, it was during archery club. He complimented the way your arms flexed as you pulled the bowstring, his tone sultry, his gaze locked on you like you were his prey.

You grinned and said, “Haha, thanks! I’ve been working out my shoulders. Good for posture!”

He tilted his head, lips curled in amusement. “Ah, ma colombe, you are truly a creature of mystery~”

But instead of giving up, Rook only doubled down. He started leaving flowers at your desk with poetic notes—sometimes with metaphors so thick they practically screamed “I am in love with you!”

You just thought it was a Rook thing.

“You’re so sweet! You write such beautiful stuff. Have you thought of joining the poetry club?”

Poetry club…?! Mon dieu, I am baring my soul!

He even tried the "accidental touch" method—fingers brushing yours when passing a book, hands lingering too long during sparring practice. Yet you never reacted with more than a casual smile and a “You okay?”

And Rook? He found it thrilling.

“This unawareness… this resistance… c’est magnifique!” he whispered one day, watching you from the balcony like a Shakespearean ghost. “You are like a doe in the forest, unaware of the eyes that follow you in reverent adoration…”

The final straw was when he kissed the back of your hand under the moonlight after walking you to your dorm. With an air of mystery and drama, he looked into your eyes and murmured, “Bonsoir, ma lumière…”

You giggled. “Wow, you really should join the drama club. That delivery was incredible.”

Rook clutched his chest like he’d been shot, but he was laughing too. Of course. Of course you didn’t get it.

But that just made him want you more.

“I shall make it my mission to pierce through the veil of innocence that blinds you, mon trésor,” he declared to the stars. “You will see me—not as a friend, not as a fellow student—but as the man who has adored you all this time.”

Idia Shroud

It was exhausting trying to flirt with someone who didn’t even realize you were the final boss in their dating sim.

Idia never considered himself bold—not IRL, anyway. Most of his romantic experience came from watching his OTPs go through slow-burn arcs in visual novels or tragic anime love stories. But when it came to you, he was trying. Like, genuinely. In his own glitchy, socially awkward way.

He’d wait outside your classroom “totally coincidentally” with his tablet in hand, acting like he wasn’t tracking your class schedule to the minute. He even upgraded Ortho’s AI recognition software just to find excuses to walk past you more often. He quoted romantic lines from his favorite games to you, hoping you’d get it—but every single time?

You’d just blink. Smile. Nod like he was being cute.

“Oh, that line was so poetic! Is that from a movie or something?”

“B-bro that’s from Stellar Lust IV! The confession scene where the star-crossed lovers reunite under a dying moon! Are you seriously not…? Nvm.”

One afternoon, he got bold. He invited you to his room. That alone should’ve been a confession—no one entered his sacred gaming lair unless they had maximum trust level.

He cleared off a place on the bed, installed RGB mood lighting, even had anime OSTs playing softly in the background. He hyped himself up for weeks for this. He was going to drop a flirt so obvious, even a level 1 NPC could read it.

“So, u-uh, you ever wonder what it’d be like to… y’know… date a genius tech prince who could hack into the city grid just to turn all the traffic lights green for you?”

You tilted your head. “That sounds dangerous… but also kind of cool? Is this part of your new game concept?”

He.exe stopped working.

The blue flames of his hair turned pink for half a second before sizzling back.

He mumbled something incoherent and turned back to his computer, pulling his hoodie so far over his head he looked like a turtle. “N-no, yeah, that was just… haha… worldbuilding...”

He’d keep trying though. One day, he’d craft a cutscene so perfect, even you couldn’t ignore the affection coded into every line.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus was not used to being ignored. Or overlooked. Or, heaven forbid—misunderstood. He was the Crown Prince of Briar Valley, the most feared and powerful student on campus. And yet, here he was, casting ancient spells to conjure glowing roses and coaxing fireflies into hearts over your tea cup—only for you to respond with:

“Wow, Malleus! You always make things so aesthetic!”

He blinked. "Aesthetic?"

“Yeah! Super vibey. You should be a party planner.”

He nearly short-circuited.

This had been happening for weeks. He’d memorized your schedule, just so he could “coincidentally” be where you were. He’d offer to walk you home under the stars, hoping for soft-spoken confessions—but you only asked him if he thought raccoons had hierarchies in their little trash kingdoms.

...You were enchanting. But you were driving him mad.

One day, after finding yet another love poem he’d slipped into your book returned with grammar corrections (you thought he was practicing his prose), he decided on something bold. Direct. Unmistakable.

“Child of man,” Malleus said one twilight evening as you both sat beneath a tree, “if I were to tell you that my heart beats differently in your presence, that the night air tastes sweeter when you laugh—what would you say?”

You tilted your head, thinking. “I’d say you have a really poetic way of saying you like hanging out.”

“I do not merely like hanging out,” he said slowly, brow twitching. “I wish to court you.”

You stared. “Like… on trial?”

“…Romantically.”

“Ohhhh.”

Silence.

“Wait, me?!”

Malleus closed his eyes and inhaled. Patience. He could wait a thousand years more. But hopefully not.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia Vanrouge had seen centuries of war, peace, love, loss—and yet nothing, nothing, had prepared him for the sheer unshakable obliviousness that was you.

It started innocently enough.

He’d toss a wink your way whenever he passed by in the hallway. He brought you little trinkets from the village during his off-campus ventures—flowers woven into chains, sweets with hearts drawn on the wrappers, one time even a hairpin shaped like a bat. You had smiled and thanked him with the kind of radiant purity that could blind a mortal man. And then you tucked the bat hairpin in your pencil case.

Your pencil case. Like he was a math worksheet and not a 700+ year old fae trying to court you.

Still, he found it endearing. You were cute in a way that made his ageless heart ache, and he loved a challenge. So he tried harder.

“You know,” he drawled one afternoon, leaning over your shoulder with a voice like velvet, “in my youth, a suitor might serenade their beloved beneath the moonlight.”

“That’s sweet,” you said, eyes on your textbook. “Did they ever get noise complaints?”

He blinked. “...Noise complaints?”

“Well, if it was late and they were singing outside someone’s window… I bet a lot of people weren’t exactly swooning.”

For a moment, Lilia just stared at you. And then he burst out laughing, so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye.

“You are either brilliantly teasing me,” he chuckled, “or heartbreakingly naive.”

You smiled at him, not understanding in the slightest.

The final straw came when he invited you for a midnight flight—romantic, intimate, just the two of you soaring above the moon-drenched trees. You screamed with laughter and clung to him the entire way, yelling about how cool it was and how friends like him were the best.

“Friends,” Lilia repeated afterward, voice soft and low as you happily ate the little picnic he’d prepared.

You looked up. “Yeah. I’m lucky to have you.”

He sighed with a small, defeated smile, but his eyes were warm. “The luck,” he murmured, “is all mine, dear.”

[jiwuu]

꒰ 𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 jake as your cutest chalant nerd bf

0.4k── fmr x sim jake, est. relationship, fluff

Jake’s sprawled on your bed, his long limbs taking up way too much space, glasses sliding down his nose as he waves his hands in the air dramatically.

“I’m just saying,” he starts for the third time, “if you think about how gravitational time dilation actually works, technically, time is moving slower for astronauts in orbit. like by microseconds sure but it adds up.”

You blink slowly, curled up next to him with your cheek pressed into your pillow. “Jake.”

He pushes his glasses up with one finger, totally ignoring your flat tone. “And then, if you apply that to the twin paradox don’t even get me started. One twin ages slower in space? Insane. Wild.”

“Jake,” you try again, softer this time.

“Also! Did you know the equations behind this stuff? Like, literal Einstein math. I feel sick. Look—” He rolls over, reaching for his phone, probably to pull up a diagram or something cursed.

You sit up slowly, leaning over him, your hand reaching for his glasses.

“Hm?” he hums distractedly as you gently pull them off his face and place them on the nightstand.

“Are you even breathing between facts?” you tease.

Jake finally looks up at you, eyes wide and sparkling behind where his glasses used to be, a slightly dazed look on his face like he just realized he’s been talking non-stop for 30 minutes.

“Was I being annoying?”

You smile, brushing a thumb over the soft skin under his eye. “No,” you murmur. “You’re just really cute when you nerd out.”

His ears go red instantly. “I am not cute—”

But you’re already leaning in, pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. He stutters into silence.

“W-what was that for?” he mumbles, blinking up at you.

“For being the smartest most cutest dork I know.”

He exhales, lips twitching into a shy smile. “You’re just saying that cause I talk too much.”

You kiss him again—this time, right on his mouth. It’s soft, warm, and leaves him breathless. His hand finds your waist, holding you gently, his other hand still clutching his phone like he forgot it was even there.

“…Can I tell you about black holes next?” he whispers against your lips.

You laugh, forehead resting against his. “Only if you keep kissing me between the facts.”

Jake’s smile grows, nerdy and smug and totally lovesick. “Deal.”

© jiwuu, all rights reserved.

letters from author ୨୧ i love chalant nerds the epitome of my type

[inseobts]

weird request but reader biting laws ear like to mark him??? not in a sexual setting like in a cute way..weird but cute

Bite-Sized Affection

law × gn!reader

words count: 1.0k

tags: established relationship, fluff, affectionate biting

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You’re gonna what?”

Law raises an eyebrow, pen paused mid-sentence, the logbook in front of him left hanging as he gives you the look... somewhere between exhausted and amused, like he’s still deciding whether to sigh or smirk.

You stare him dead in the eye “Bite your ear.”

He exhales, slow “Why?”

“Because I love you,” you say, far too casually, leaning forward over the arm of the couch in his quarters, your chin on your folded arms “And also, your ear looks biteable.”

Law stares.

You grin.

“…That’s not a reason,” he mutters, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth. He’s pretending to go back to his writing, but he’s not fooling anyone. You see the flush crawling up his neck, just barely “You’re weird.”

“You’re dating me.”

“I’m reconsidering.”

“No, you’re not.” you chirp, and without another warning, you lean forward and gently nibble at the shell of his ear. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to leave a ghost of teeth, like a kitten might.

Law flinches “Oi—!”

“Shh. I’m marking my territory.”

“You’re not a dog.”

“Cats do it too. And I’m cuter.”

He groans and drags a hand down his face, leaning away but not too far “This is why I don’t let you into my office during reports.”

“But I’m your emotional support gremlin.”

“And yet, I still write in peace before you show up.”

There’s a knock on the door. Law glares at it like it offended him personally.

Shachi sticks his head in “Captain, you—”

Then stops. Blinks. Eyes you, your suspicious proximity to Law’s head. Eyes Law, who looks mildly exasperated and a little pink in the ears.

“…Did you just bite him again?”

“Maybe.”

“Again?!” Penguin yells from the hallway.

“I’m closing the door now.” Law mutters.

“Marking her territory again—” before they can finish the door shuts with a loud thunk.

You hum, pleased, and lean back against the couch like you’ve done nothing wrong.

Law sighs “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

“You love it.”

He glances at you, expression unreadable “Unfortunately.”

“They’re doing it again” Shachi stage-whispers, crouched behind a crate with Penguin like they’re on a stakeout.

Bepo, sitting calmly with a cup of tea, sighs “They’re not doing anything bad.”

Penguin peeks over the crate “That’s your opinion.”

From their vantage point on the deck, they have a perfect view of you casually sitting next to Law, who’s trying to read. Trying being the key word.

You scoot a little closer.

Law glances at you “Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re thinking about it.”

“Maybe.”

Law exhales slowly, eyes flicking back to his book “This is harassment.”

“This is love.”

“Your love is invasive.”

You grin “It’s customized.”

And then you lean in and bite his ear again.

It’s soft, playful. Familiar. Like a ritual at this point. Your teeth graze gently against the top curve before you pull back, satisfied.

Law doesn’t even flinch this time, just closes his eyes and mutters “You’re gonna start a rumor.”

From behind the crate “TOO LATE!”

You both look up.

Shachi waves “Hey Captain, if you wanted us to stop walking in on this, maybe lock the door!”

“This is the deck” Law says, tone flat.

“You knew the risks!” Penguin yells.

Bepo takes another sip of tea “I warned them not to follow you around.”

You chuckle and lean into Law’s side “You didn’t stop me.”

“I’ve stopped trying” Law replies. But his voice is softer now. Quiet. You can feel the warmth radiating off him even though he pretends to be annoyed.

You rest your head on his shoulder “You love it.”

“Again, unfortunately.”

The crew watches in stunned silence as their stoic captain doesn’t push you away, doesn’t scold you, and instead just… lets you stay there.

“Holy crap,” Penguin whispers “Y/N has domesticated him.”

“He’s been bit into submission,” Shachi says, sounding half-impressed, half-disturbed.

“I think it’s cute” Bepo offers.

Law groans “I’m moving the ship without any of you on it.”

You smile “But then who’ll watch me bite you?”

His glare could kill a man. It never works on you.

You’re lying on the deck this time, sprawled across Law’s lap like you have zero sense of personal boundaries, which is fair, because you don’t.

He’s trying to act uninterested, one hand flipping through a medical journal, the other resting idly on your back like you’re a cat that wandered into his life and refused to leave. You’ve been there for twenty minutes now, quietly humming to yourself.

The sun’s warm. The waves are calm. The ship rocks gently beneath you.

You stretch like a satisfied houseplant “You know what I haven’t done today?”

Law doesn’t look up “Bitten me?”

You sit up, mock-gasping “How’d you know?”

“I live in fear.”

“You live in love” you correct.

He finally looks down at you, unamused but soft around the edges “You bite me again in front of the crew, and I’m gonna perform minor surgery in your sleep.”

You narrow your eyes playfully “You wouldn’t.”

He tilts his head “Try me.”

The tension doesn’t last. You grin, lean in and he braces for it but instead of biting, you just press a gentle kiss to his ear. No teeth. Just warm, solid affection.

Law blinks.

“…Huh.”

You pull back “What?”

“I was expecting fangs.”

“Trying something new,” you say innocently “Call it character growth.”

He stares at you, eyes narrowed. Then, finally, he chuckles under his breath. A real one, rare and genuine.

“Disappointing” he mutters.

You smirk “Yeah? So you liked being bitten…”

You lean in and give his ear one last bite.

Soft. Familiar. Yours.

Law groans “You’re impossible.”

“Yet deeply lovable.”

“Debatable.”

“Not to me” you say.

And he doesn’t say anything else, just threads his fingers through yours as the sun starts dipping low.

From somewhere behind the mast “They’re doing it again” Shachi whispers.

“I bet she’s biting him right now.”

“Bepo owes me five berries.”

Law raises his hand and flicks a middle finger toward the mast without looking.

You laugh.

And maybe that’s how it is with you and Law, chaotic, weird, full of strange little rituals and soft silences. But it works. In your own language of teeth and teasing and unspoken love, it works.

[crushpunky]

the doubts get to drew

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask. sister read to this + featuring joe burrow because CROSSOVER <3. warning: relationship insecurities + angst

Drew lounged on the couch, y/n’s feet resting in his lap as she scrolled through her phone, the two of them basking in each other's presence. Drew watched how the sunset cast colors along y/n’s silhouette, highlighting her face in a beautiful golden glow. As Drew gazed upon y/n lovingly, Charleston curled up in the sliver of couch between y/n and Drew, the dog’s eyes heavy from a long day of dutifully accompanying his owners. Just as Charleston’s eyes were about to flutter closed, a loud giggle reverberated throughout the room.

Y/n tossed her head back as she laughed, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Drew cracked a small smile.

“What?” Drew said with a breathy laugh.

“It’s… something stupid Madelyn sent me.” Y/n said brushing Drew off. Drew quirked a brow, looking at her curiously before y/n eventually handed him her phone. As he took it, y/n moved to sit next to him, her head perched on his shoulder as he watched the TikTok she’d pulled up.

It was a video of two guys interviewing a third guy who Drew immediately recognized as a football player. He lounged on the couch with a sort of effortless cool, long legs in front of him and hair resting perfectly atop his head.

“Is that, um, that one guy?” Drew asked as he pointed to the football player.

“Joe Burrow, uh, yeah.” Y/n said with a small laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, Drew noticed y/n doing her best to suppress a grin as the two of them continued to watch the video.

“So, what’re you watching lately?” One of the interviewers asked, to which Joe let out a small chuckle.

“I’m watching a little bit of everything right now,” Joe said. “I’ve got a lot to catch up on now that it’s the offseason, but, uh, last night I watched ‘The Substance’.”

“Yeah? Good?” The interviewer asked.

“Yeah, it was great.” Joe smiled. “I— this is a little embarrassing— I actually just finished watching Outer Banks, so I guess I went on a little bit of a y/n y/ln marathon.”

The interviewers (and y/n) started laughing as a flustered expression spread across Joe’s face, a twinge of pink flooding his cheeks. Drew watched quietly, chewing slightly on his bottom lip.

“Big y/n y/ln fan?” One of the interviewers teased, to which Joe’s cheeks grew impossibly more red.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Joe chuckled, running a hand through his hair, a perfect curl falling atop his forehead. “She’s a very talented, beautiful lady.”

“Is this you shooting your shot?” The interviewer asked. Drew swore his heart skipped a beat, his teeth biting sharply into his bottom lip.

“Oh no, no, no,” Joe said quickly, clearing his throat as his tone returned to his usual seriousness, “but I am a fan of her work.”

And then the video ended.

Y/n elbowed Drew, an excited grin on her face. Drew looked away from the phone, blinking rapidly before flashing y/n a small smile.

“Isn’t that just so funny?” Y/n said. “Big, bad Mr. Football is a fan of me?”

Drew let out a small, breathy chuckle, rubbing his hand along his jaw. He felt an odd sinking in his stomach, a sort of hollowness that knocked the breath from his lungs. A sort of feeling that remained in him even after he and y/n had showered and gotten ready for bed. A sort of feeling that continued as he climbed into bed.

He knew it was stupid to let his mind wander like this. To think of possibilities and impossibilities, his mind blurring the lines between the two as he felt himself begin to spiral. Y/n was a woman skilled beyond belief, one gifted with an incomparable talent. Joe was a man at the top of his game, one of the best at what he does… was that not what y/n, a woman so unlike any other, deserved? Did she not deserve better? Did she not deserve the best?

Drew also couldn’t shake the unabashed nature of Joe, so sure and almost unflinching of his admiration of y/n— even if it was (supposedly) strictly friendly. Didn’t she deserve that too? Someone who was so open, so loud about their adoration of her? Drew certainly wasn’t ashamed of his love for y/n, but he had also been the one to keep their relationship a secret for nearly a year. Sure, she’d agreed that that was the best move, but what if that wasn’t how she really felt? What if she wanted someone to scream and shout from the rooftops about their love for her? What if she wanted someone that—

“Drew?” Y/n’s voice cut through the quiet of their bedroom. Drew shook his head quickly, clearing his thoughts.

“Yeah?” Drew said, clearing his throat. Y/n’s brows were pulled together as she eyed him up and down, immediately recognizing the different attitude that adorned his features. Where his eyes were usually happy and full of life (even so late at night), his icy blues were glazed with a sense of sadness and refused to meet her own. His hands that always pulled her closer as the two of them got in bed remained in his lap, fiddling with his rings aimlessly.

“What’s up?” Y/n asked, reaching out to run her fingers through his grown out hair, scratching his scalp gently.

“Nothin’,” Drew shrugged. Y/n sighed, moving her hand to cup Drew’s jaw before turning his face to face her. Drew’s eyes fluttered closed as he let out a shaky exhale.

“Please don’t lie.” Y/n murmured, frowning as she rubbed her thumb along Drew’s jaw. 

“I just…” Drew sighed, his eyes opening slowly to meet hers hesitantly. “I’ve been thinking about things— about us— and I… I feel like I’m not enough for you. Like you deserve better. More.”

Y/n’s heart broke as she let out a breathy, involuntary gasp. Drew’s bottom lip trembled slightly before he sucked it between his teeth, chewing on it as his cheeks flushed.

“Drew…” Y/n whispered, scooting closer to him on the bed. She brought her other hand up to cup the other side of his face, noticing the glassiness in his eyes as he looked back at her.

“W– Why do you think that?” Y/n asked, her gaze earnest. Drew sighed, his brows furrowing as he took in a sharp breath.

“I– it’s just…” Drew exhaled. “You are the most talented, beautiful, perfect woman in the entire world and you deserve the best. You deserve someone who is perfect in every way that you are.”

“No, no, no.” Y/n shook her head, swiping her thumb against the skin of Drew’s cheekbone.

“Yes, yes you do,” Drew said, “and I’m just not enough—”

“No!” Y/n said, her voice sharp. “That is such bullshit, Drew Starkey.”

“It’s not—” Drew began.

“You are—” Y/n’s voice suddenly broke, the tears that had been threatening to spill out beginning to fall. “So ‘enough’ it fucking hurts. Hurts.”

Drew swallowed harshly, his hands moving to rest on y/n’s hips lightly, the tears on her face causing his chest to feel as if it was going to cave in.

“You are the love of my life and you are so much more than enough.” Y/n said. “There isn’t a single person in this whole entire world I would rather spend my life with. Nobody else I’d rather be with. Nobody else I’d rather grow old with. Nobody.”

Drew’s eyes squeezed together tightly as he bowed his head, y/n’s hands wrapping around his shoulders as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder. He let out a sob, turning to bury his nose into her neck and inhale deeply.

“I love you so much and I don’t want you to ever think you aren’t enough for me.” Y/n cried, pulling him closer as she rested her cheek atop his hair.

The two of them sat in bed, crying and holding tightly onto one another until their sniffles eventually subsided. Lifting his head, Drew met y/n’s gaze before she pressed a light kiss to his forehead.

“I love you.” Y/n murmured against Drew’s skin. He lifted his head, his eyelashes brushing against her cheek before their lips finally met.

“I love you.” Drew whispered.

“I love you so much.” Y/n whispered against Drew’s lips.

[socksandbuttons]

Coffee Bean Time

KC slowly moved around the cooking area, setting both the cups and the instant coffee down as he grabbed the boiling kettle from the grill. All while Eclipse watches him out of the corner of his vision as he silently grimaces at their earlier conversation. “So they think of you as my keeper huh? The fact they STILL find me threatening; I suppose I should be honored.” He shifts upon the folding chair. Normal chairs are troublesome for someone his size, but he has found a few phone books to sit on and help prop him up. Granted he’d prefer a cushion but he’d be damned if he was seen getting too comfortable here.

“Mhm.” The taller bot agrees as he is heard to be stirring the instant coffee. “They have the right to check in. You are still something of a thorn in their sides.”

He turned and then took his normal slow, long strides over to the picnic table he had set up. With Killcodes legs it was really more of a struggle to not overstep than anything else. Setting the hot, brimming cups of coffee down, he crouches to sit on a blanket he’s laid near the tables end and across from Eclipse. A distance which he knows the other prefers.

A scoff is heard as Eclipse takes his cup and glares into it. “You think they’d hide that better.” He says as he takes a sip.

Killcode also doesn’t look up from his own drink, he’s become very quiet. Not unusual, the larger animatronic often thinks deeply about his words, he isn’t a fast talker after all. At this point Eclipse has learned to wait for a response from him.

“It is still nice to hear from them. Even if their intentions are… obvious.”

Eclipse responds to this with a cold, pointed look...

“However, they're asking how we're doing,” KC said and he could practically hear Eclipse roll his eyes at these words. “And Earth is always so willing to converse.”

“Yeah, like she isn’t talking enough over there.” Eclipse retorted, his cold demeanor melting away to the heated response that was right on the boarder of anger.

KC looks over to Eclipse as he takes a drink of his own coffee. Sighing at how the smaller animatronic continued to wall himself up from the new addition to the family. If Eclipse could ever bring himself to acknowledge he was a part of it.

Killcode however always did… regardless if it had meant anything at first...

“She’s very open about herself and the others. I think you could learn something from her. Or at perhaps humor her a little more.” He said and chose to overlook the glare that these words earned him.

Eclipse didn't hold the glare for long before he sighed and looked over to the kettle, as he’d already halved his coffee. He toyed with the idea of a refill but... ugh, but the hassle of having to readjust himself afterwards-

“That airhead doesn’t know anything. She might as well just be talking to the walls.” He grumbled as he returned to focus on his now nearly empty coffee cup. Does he really have to move? Like hell he’s asking KC to get it for him.

“She’s… forgetful, yes that is true. However I do appreciate her efforts to talk with everyone. It’s endearing although… she is missing a lot of information.” KC said as he had silently taken notice of Eclipse's frequent glances at the kettle.

“It sounds to me like she’s just trying way too hard to get to know everyone and what their problems are. Not like it’s a secret. I know they talk about how she’s programmed with all that therapy shit. It’s why they keep pushing Lunar onto her, like he needs it.” Eclipse grips his cup as his anger briefly boils. Lunar… God what an idiot. They’re just babying him. Eclipse cringes as he thought back on how Lunar screamed about how much he wanted him dead.

There is only a slight hum in response, Eclipse looking over to see KC staring. Not at him, no, but past him. Lost in thought. The smaller bot had always found it hard to read his face during these moments. After a moment or so he sighed in annoyance, before continuing.

“If she’s trying to be their sister, she can’t also be their therapist. The amount of shit she’d have to go through... I doubt she’d be able to handle that mess. But that’s probably what the Creator wants right? Another failure, or for some other stupid reason.” Eclipse didn’t fail to see the slight twitch from KC when he mentioned that weirdo. He'd learned pretty fast he was never going to get answers about it from his ‘father’. “I agree… She would only hurt herself trying to shoulder everyone else's burdens. Even if she’s programmed too; it would be irresponsible for us as her elder siblings-” Eclipse coughed into his drink and practically snarled at those words. Not that Killcode paid him any mind as he just continued with his thoughts. “to let her continue like that. It does make me worry for her.” KC finished. But he sighed, seeing the look of resentment still adorning Eclipses' small face. How else is he suppose to refer their familial bond?

“Although, I appreciate her efforts in making sure there IS communication between the brothers. Do you not think that is helpful?” He said as he took the first sip of his coffee, noticing that it had gotten a little cold. Perhaps Eclipse’s drink must’ve as well. He could make use of that...

It was just as he heard a scoff on the other end that Killcode stood up. Now seeing clearly that Eclipses cup was empty just as Eclipse began to fidget with it moreso. More importantly, KC can tell the topic of this conversation has come to a close. “Did you want a refill, Eclipse?” “No.” He absolutely wanted a refill.

Killcode merely turned to grab the kettle, just as Eclipse suddenly became indignant at realizing the taller animatronic intended to get him that refill of the blessed caffeinated beverage. Eclipse started to declare that he could do it himself... Only for the latter to topple out of the chair and fall face first onto the damp ground... along with the phone books he was sitting on. "We really need a better chair for you.” “Oh shut up!”

------ I WROTE A FIC FOR REAL. I had this scene in my head the one day but I knew itd take a while to draw and i have been meaning to try writing again. Which im glad I got it down, cause... sighs at the many things I have in concept between characters. I don't know when I'll do it again, but I have a comic to finish first. This has been proofread and edited by @thorns-and-rosewings

Which i appreciate because descriptor words elude me a lot.

[neon-delirium]

a warning in this story for dog bites and hospitals but I promise it's very funny and has a good ending

so when I was 6 years old in first grade my school tested every class for spelling bee candidates using spelling tests and my hyperlexic autistic ass got a perfect score and was selected to do a spelling bee and I was absolutely so hype about it. I would be able to show how smart I was as an eager little tiny me and I was just so happy that when I went home I decided to play horsie riding my dog. this was a Mistake

my poor old dog who I'm gonna call opera for privacy reasons had a bad back but otherwise would never hurt a fly and every time I tried to ride her she would just push me off and move until I cornered her in front of my parents' door and she barked at me. her teeth BARELY grazed me and I actually didn't feel her bite so I'm pretty sure my dumbass leaned in and nicked myself but either way my skin which was paper fucking thin I guess on my nose and my right temple started bleeding. again this was at my parents' bedroom door so I scream not out of pain but Blood Happening that my parents open the door to this terrifying fucking scene and it wasn't until after that I could explain this was my fault entirely but my dad had to drive me to the ER and explain to the nurses while I'm holding a rag to my face but again I'm not in pain so I'm just sitting there kicking my legs in the chair just sorta taking it. and everyone is looking at me deeply concerned

the bite didn't need stitches they were just gonna superglue it so it would heal faster. unfortunately the doctor I got was a Dipshit. I mentioned the injuries were on my nose and temple. well. when he tried to glue my nose wound his hand drifted. and drifted. and. bam. glob of superglue on my left eye. he went OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY! and glued my nose. whatever. inconvenient but I get it because it was right next to my eye. I did close my eyes thankfully but it did bond my eyelashes together so my eye was very much glued shut. fuck it, we ball anyways

then he went to glue my right temple. and then drifted to the left... again... AND GLUED MY RIGHT EYE SHUT TOO. WHAT THE FUCK

"oh my god are you doing okay???" the doctor who GLUED MY EYES SHUT asked in horror

I didn't remember what I said. but my dad does, and he told me I stunned the doctor into sputtering by sassing him with "I was doing pretty good until you glued my eyes shut" in autism bluntness

so he glues it again and we go home. I Can't Fucking See. I still manage to learn for the spelling bee by reciting lists orally with my parents and practice pretty well. unfortunately Doctor Dipshit Gluefingers also didn't disinfect my wounds very well so they got infected! and it was kinda comical because I looked like I was bruised from a boxing match. as a 6 year old.

my parents and teacher asked me, do you wanna go and do the spelling bee anyways? I think about it. I think about how hard I worked to be a smartie. I think about how I can still spell even if I can't fucking see. I can see a little at this point because we were given a solvent to dissolve the glue over time gently without harming my eyes but even then I can barely open my eyes at this point and everything is blurry. so it's a fair question

I think. I ain't giving up my spot to the runner up over a little glue and a couple scratches. I don't care that I look like a blueberry I'M DOING THE SPELLING BEE

so I march up on stage and I perform the best I can. I'm spelling 3 syllable words that are impressive for my age like original and fantastic. there are 4 kids left including me.

they throw a word at me I didn't anticipate, one so simple, I choke. it was pretty. I spelled it with one T. I focused so hard on the long words I choked at a short one thinking it was easy. I get fourth place.

I'm kicking myself for losing to such an easy word but my dad picks me up and says he's proud of me for toughing through it even though I was having a really hard time. he takes me out to get soft serve and says I'm still a winner and a champ for everything I managed. I didn't care for soft serve ice cream until that day and I still get nostalgic anytime I have it on occasion 16 years later. and I can still navigate my childhood home with my eyes shut to this day.

btw opera lived a long and happy life after and we were still thick as thieves and I haven't faded the scars as a memory of her because besides this incident she was a fucking angel to me and I never faulted her and it was SUCH a good lesson on the importance of respecting animals

hey say something nice to me

[clarkeysbedchem]

d.i.l.f

will lenney x fem reader

summary: your son comes home with some interesting news about will after the school run.

masterlist | main masterlist

You were lying on the sofa with yours and Will’s six-month-old baby girl, Matilda (or Tilly for short), babbling away on your chest, chewing on a teething toy as you nodded along to her noises, pretending to make clueless conversation with the baby.

Will had gone to do the school run to pick up your eldest, Noah, who had just started nursery - something he did every day while you did the drop-offs.

You gasped at Tilly’s cooing, leaning into the moment like you were gossiping with a friend. You made her head bob with the sounds, and the teething toy slapped against your chest, making you grimace as the slobber covered your chest. “Oh, thank you, sweet girl,” you said, wiping your chest with a muslin cloth and placing a soft kiss on the top of her head.

“You want this back?” you asked, offering her the blue teething toy as she reached out to grab it. “Well done!”

The sound of the front door clicking open made a smile spread across your face. You scooped Tilly up to sit her straight, preparing for the impending tackle from your three-year-old.

The uncoordinated running of little feet filled the house, followed by Will’s familiar protests to take off shoes. 'Mummy!' Noah’s voice echoed through the house, and your heart melted.

“Hi, baby!” you greeted, opening your free arm for him to climb into your hold while balancing Tilly on your side. “How was school?”

“So fun! I painted, I played with friends,” Noah replied enthusiastically.

He buried his face into your hip as he recounted his day at nursery. Will walked into the room, his face lit with a smile as he looked at his little family with pride.

Noah suddenly sat up straight with a serious look on his face. “Guess what, mummy?”

“What, sweetie?”

Will took a seat next to you, gently transferring Tilly into his arms. He kissed the top of her head, causing her to squeal before she snuggled under his chin.

“Daddy got called han’some,” Noah stated matter-of-factly, making you glance at Will in amusement. He avoided your gaze, his face flushed with a sheepish smile.

“Did he?”

Noah nodded, humphing as he climbed onto your lap, tugging lightly at your hair. “Yeah, by Wes’ mummy.”

“By Wes’ mummy? Really?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow. Will cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing at the floor.

“What did daddy say to Wes’ mummy?”

Will rose from the sofa, lifting a sleeping Tilly into his arms as he carefully walked her to the travel cot beside the coffee table, planting a soft kiss on her forehead as he placed her down gently - clearly trying to escape the conversation.

“Tank you. My wife thinks so too.”

“Why don’t you go play while mummy and daddy make dinner hm?” You ushered your son off your lap with a soft tap on his hip, and he ran to his playroom excitedly.

A laugh escaped your lips as you turned to face your husband. His face was now bright red.

“You cocky bastard.” You shook your head in disbelief. “Did you really say that?”

“Well, obviously,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “You do think I’m handsome, so I weren’t lying.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You’re very lucky that it’s true, Mr. Lenney, and that I love you.” Your hands cupped his jaw, turning his face gently toward you as your fingers traced circles over his pale skin.

Will’s eyes never left yours, a soft intensity in them as he studied the features of your face - the ones he fell in love with so many years ago and has continued to fall in love with every day since.

“I was going to tell you.”

“Will, I don’t care,” you chuckled. “I’m the one you come home to at the end of the day.”

A smile broke out on his face as he leaned into your touch. “I love you.”

“I know,” you replied with a playful smirk, making him shoot up from his peaceful position on the sofa.

“I love you too,” you murmured, he tackled you into his arms, pulling you onto his lap.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispered, holding you tightly as you giggled to yourself.

You leaned down, pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. Will melted into you, his warm hands trailing up under your sports bra.

You pulled back with a teasing smile. “Stop it.”

He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

You stood up, glancing over your shoulder as his eyes followed you. “Later,” you teased.

“That better be a promise, missy.”

You turned your head just enough to catch the look on Will’s face - smug, hopeful, and utterly besotted.

“Depends how well you help with dinner,” you said over your shoulder, smirking as you wandered into the kitchen. You could hear the familiar creak of the sofa as he stood, followed by the quiet thud of his footsteps trailing behind you.

“Are you bribing me with affection to get out of chopping onions?”

“Maybe.” You grabbed the chopping board, sliding a few vegetables toward him. “Besides, I distinctly remember promising later, not never.”

Will stepped behind you, arms snaking around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “Then I’d better earn it.”

You hummed softly, leaning into him just for a second before nudging him away with your hip. “You’re not getting out of helping. Baby monitor’s right there. Let’s see if we can make it through dinner without waking the baby or setting off the fire alarm.”

As Will began slicing with exaggerated care - tongue poking out in mock concentration - you glanced toward the living room where Noah’s happy chatter floated in from the playroom. Tilly stirred briefly in the travel cot but settled again, her tiny chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm.

The house smelled like garlic and warmth, filled with the kind of background noise only families produce - chopping, humming, little footsteps, soft baby breaths.

Will leaned over suddenly, brushing his lips against your cheek. “You know,” he murmured, “I never imagined I’d get so lucky. You, the kids... this.”

You turned to face him fully, fingers still holding the wooden spoon. “This is the dream, right?”

“The absolute dream,” he said, pulling you closer again. “But I still expect to cash in on that promise.”

You laughed, head falling against his chest. “I’m counting on it.”

taglist: @whisperturnedecho @graceln4 @dopeysunflowers @super-gay-for-u @bethorwhateverr @livvymd @lilyyxoii @roc-haze

[mattrempeswife]

CHEER TO YOUR EX AND MY PAIN

pair: jack hughes x f!reader | part: 01 02

genre: angst, drama, emotional hurt/comfort.

warnings: cheating, emotional distress, heartbreak, tension, awkward family dynamics, toxic ex behavior (sammy), strong language

summary: you keep your promise to luke and show up to the devils vs. canucks game, sitting with ellen and jim despite the pain still fresh from jack’s betrayal. as you avoid jack’s gaze and remain silent even when he scores, ellen begins to suspect something’s wrong. after the game, tensions rise when jack tries to talk to you and sammy appears, flaunting their connection.

fia’s note: i’m torn between making it a co-parenting-to-lovers arc again… or maybe the reader just walks away, finds someone better, and raises the baby without him. what do you guys think? (thinkin’ about his teammates).

You hadn’t wanted to come.

Every fiber of your body told you to stay home, to crawl under the covers and ignore the buzzing messages from Luke, the calendar alert you set weeks ago, and the stupid voice in your head that whispered, You promised.

But promises are sacred with the Hughes family. And you were always good at keeping yours.

So now you stood in the VIP suite at the Prudential Center, the coldness from the ice below creeping up through the glass. Jim chatted with one of the assistant coaches in the corner, and Ellen, ever the heart of the family, gently nudged a bottle of water into your hands.

“You look tired, sweetheart,” she said, her voice warm but observant.

You forced a polite smile.

“I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Something on your mind?”

‘Everything’, you wanted to say.

Instead, you shook your head.

“No, just excited for the game.”

She smiled.

“Luke’s been counting down the days. He kept telling me, ‘She promised she’d come.’ He’s been nervous. Doesn’t want to mess up in front of you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek.

You didn’t deserve that kind of loyalty not after the secret you were carrying. Not after watching Jack shatter it into pieces.

The warm-ups started, the familiar buzz of the arena drowning out your thoughts. Luke was the first to skate out. He waved up toward the suite as expected, and you returned it with a small, genuine smile. Quinn followed not long after, cool and focused. You caught him sneaking glances up as well, his brotherly protectiveness clear in the set of his jaw.

And then Jack skated out.

Your breath hitched.

His eyes found yours almost instantly, like a magnet pulled him. There was hope in his gaze, something pleading. He slowed slightly as he passed center ice, like he was waiting for something from you.

A smile. A wave. A look.

You gave him nothing.

You turned your head.

You didn’t miss the way Ellen noticed.

You didn’t miss the way Jack’s shoulders sagged just a little before he dropped his head and resumed his warm-up.

The game was electric. Fast-paced and brutal, with Quinn pulling off two massive breakouts and Luke assisting on a late-period goal. Jack scored once, top shelf, clean, sharp. The box erupted with cheers. Jim stood. Ellen clapped.

You stayed seated.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t clap.

You thought maybe he wouldn’t notice.

But from the corner of your eye, you saw Jack’s head turn up again toward the suite.

And you did nothing.

After the game, the VIP suite cleared out slowly. You lingered with Ellen and Jim, the sound of the crowd dying behind the soundproof glass. You stared down at the emptying rink, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“You sure you’re okay, sweetheart?”

Ellen asked again, gently.

You nodded without meeting her eyes.

The door opened behind you, and in walked Luke and Quinn, still slightly sweaty, their hair damp, but their smiles wide.

Luke wrapped you in a tight hug.

“I knew you’d come.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and hugged him back.

“I promised, didn’t I?”

Quinn stood beside you, offering a fist bump that turned into a warm squeeze of your shoulder.

“You doing okay?”

Your lips twitched upward.

“I’m okay.”

You weren’t.

Then came Jack.

He walked in slowly, hesitantly, like the weight of your silence during the game had finally landed on him in full.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer.

Luke glanced between the two of you, his smile faltering.

“Can we talk?” Jack asked, eyes only on you.

Your stare was sharp and immediate.

“Now’s not the time.”

“I just—”

“I said not now, Jack”

And then, like a ghost from a graveyard of bad decisions Sammy Marcus appeared.

Wearing his jersey. Hughes 86.

The nerve.

“Oh,” she said, blinking innocently.

“You didn’t tell me she’d be here.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. He immediately stepped away from her, but her presence alone was a slap in the face.

Quinn’s brows furrowed. Luke’s entire body tensed.

Sammy clutched Jack’s arm like she had a claim on him.

You clenched your jaw. Said nothing.

“I mean, awkward, right?”

She added with a too-bright smile.

“But we all move on eventually.”

Your stomach twisted. Every word she said was a game designed to provoke, designed to win.

Jack’s voice was low.

“Sammy, stop.”

She didn’t. “You didn’t seem to mind last weekend…”

That was it.

Ellen stepped forward like a shield.

“Alright. How about we all head back to the house? I’ve got ribs marinating, and Jim’s been bragging about his grilling skills all week.”

You blinked. She was trying. She knew something was wrong, and she was trying to smooth it over. You didn’t want to go but her hand on your arm was so gentle, so maternal.

“Please,” she added softly.

“It’d mean a lot.”

So you went.

You told yourself it was for her. For Luke. For Quinn.

It wasn’t for Jack.

It would never be for Jack again.

At the Hughes’ house. Jim stood by the grill. Quinn helped set the table. Luke tossed a football with a cousin across the lawn. Sammy, thankfully, was nowhere in the house, she’s not invited, Jack had finally told her to leave, though she’d pouted the whole way to the car.

You sat at the table, poking at your food, stomach turning more from anxiety than morning sickness.

Jack sat across from you, silent.

The others were trying, pretending nothing was wrong. But the tension was thick. Luke couldn’t stop glancing between you. Quinn said little. Jim made a few jokes that didn’t land.

And then Ellen, the only one brave enough to say what no one else would, leaned forward.

“Alright. I can’t take it anymore.”

Her tone was firm but kind.

“What happened between you two?”

Your throat closed.

Jack flinched.

Quinn set down his glass slowly.

Luke stopped mid-bite.

You looked at Jack. You didn’t want to say it. You weren’t sure if you even could.

But Jack did.

“I cheated,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Silence fell like a hammer.

“I cheated on her,” he repeated, louder this time.

“With Sammy.”

Ellen’s fork dropped against her plate.

Luke’s mouth opened in shock.

Quinn looked like you’d punched him.

“Y/N, she found out the same night she was going to tell me she was pregnant,”

Jack continued, voice trembling.

“She waited for me. And I… I was with Sammy. I didn’t know about the baby. But that doesn’t matter. I still did it. I fucked it all up.”

The table stayed quiet.

Dead, aching quiet.

You could feel every heartbeat like a bruise in your chest.

Luke pushed back from the table.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Luke—” Jack started.

“No. No, Jack,” he snapped.

“She’s been there for you since day one. Every game. Every offseason. Everything. And you throw it away for Sammy… Sammy who? Marcus?”

Quinn stood up slowly. His voice wasn’t loud but it was deadly calm.

“You didn’t just cheat on her. You broke this.”

He gestured around the table.

“You broke us.”

Jack couldn’t look at anyone.

“I didn’t mean…”

“You never mean to,” Luke cut in.

“But you did it. And now she’s the one picking up the pieces.”

Ellen reached for your hand across the table, her eyes glassy.

“Sweetheart… I am so sorry.”

You nodded, blinking back tears.

“It’s not your fault, Ellen.”

Quinn turned to you, voice quiet but thick.

“What do you need? Whatever it is say it. We’re here.”

You tried to speak, but emotion clogged your throat.

Finally, you stood. “I need to leave.”

“I’ll take you,” Jack said instantly, rising too.

“No,” Luke barked.

“She’s not going anywhere with you.”

You met Jack’s eyes. There was pain in them. Regret so deep it made his voice crack.

But it wasn’t enough.

“I don’t feel safe with you anymore,” you said, steady now.

“And I don’t know if I ever will again.”

You turned and walked into the house.

“Hey.”

Luke’s voice was quiet but firm behind you.

You didn’t turn around.

“I’m just going to get a car. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he said without hesitation.

“You’re not going alone.”

“I don’t want to be a burden, Luke.”

“You’re not.” His tone sharpened.

“You never are.”

You finally turned, met his eyes. Luke looked like he hadn’t fully recovered from what Jack admitted. His jaw was tense. His hands were fists in his hoodie pocket. His whole body screamed don’t fight me on this.

“I’ll drive you home,”

He said, more softly this time.

“Please. Let me do something for you.”

“Luke, I—”

“I can’t sit in there and pretend like everything’s okay when it’s not. When you’re hurting this bad. When my brother.”

His voice cracked slightly before he bit it back.

“Let me make sure you get home safe.”

The sincerity in his voice broke you.

Not pity.

Not obligation.

Just… care.

And maybe a little guilt for not seeing it sooner.

You sighed, blinking fast. “Okay.”

He nodded and opened the door for you.

As you stepped outside, you caught a glimpse through the living room window, Jack sitting at the table, head in his hands, Quinn pacing behind him, Ellen and Jim whispering tensely in the kitchen.

Luke unlocked his car, holding the passenger door for you like it was sacred.

The second you sat down, your shoulders sagged.

The tears you’d been fighting all night welled up but you wiped them quickly before Luke could see.

He started the engine, pulling out of the driveway in silence for a few long moments.

Then, as the road stretched out ahead of you and the stars blinked above, he said quietly.

“You didn’t deserve any of that. You know that, right?”

Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yeah. I know.”

But part of you didn’t believe it.

Not really.

Luke glanced at you briefly.

“He doesn’t get to make you doubt yourself. Not after everything.”

You looked at him.

“You’re being really sweet.”

He huffed a bitter laugh. “I’m not sweet. I’m fucking pissed. I love him, but what he did? It’s not okay. You’re family to me, too. And watching you go through that tonight…”

He trailed off, swallowing hard.

“It killed me.”

Silence fell again, heavy but comforting this time.

He drove slower than usual. Like he didn’t want the ride to end. Like he wanted to buy you a little more time before you were alone again with your thoughts.

When he pulled up in front of your place, he didn’t immediately shut off the car.

He looked at you. Really looked.

“Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

You nodded, throat too tight to speak.

And then, before you opened the door, he reached across the center console and gently squeezed your hand.

“You’re not alone, okay? Not now. Not ever.”

[diqldrunks]

pleaseee headcannons about lando x frenemies to lovers cause I feel like that’s so fitting for him idk (if u want to ofc)

okay three facts about meeee

I loooove partying with close friends ESPECIALLY during summer, I love sad music and I have terrible sleeping problems 😚

don’t stress yourself tho if no ideas pop up lovely!!

you’re genuinely the sweetest <3 and yes lando absolutely embodies this trope 🤭 (i hope you enjoy it 🙏💕)

an: for some reason this made me think of roommate!lando? thoughts? 🫣

HEADCANNONS:

my inbox is open!! [nav | inbox | masterlist]

FRENEMIES TO LOVERS: ft. lando norris

truly, you don’t even why lando aggravated you to such an extent.

he wasn’t rude to you in any way

just, annoying

what you do know, however, is that regardless of his irritating smirk and sarcastic quips, you couldn’t help but be pulled to him.

in a crowded room, you could be found bickering in a corner together, closed off to the rest of the world.

it was always over something ridiculous — him claiming your shoes were ridiculous and you countering on his horrendous jumper.

at get togethers with your friends, something frequent in the summer months, you would often be arguing about everything.

about the music:

lando removing from queue, and outrightly refusing to play, your music (deeming it ���depressing’).

you ‘accidentally’ disconnecting the bluetooth from his phone.

about the food and drinks:

lando adding way to much alcohol to the punch that you two had been tasked to organise

you ordering way too much food ‘just in case’ (it’s fine, it was on lando’s card anyway)

lando objecting to the insane amount that people now need to eat (okay so maybe you did go slightly overboard-)

he however, (rarely) could be a godsend:

maybe you were on a group holiday, renting a villa in the outskirts of a quiet town.

it was late, and you couldn’t sleep.

and, it was late enough that your phone touch was needed for you not to fall down the flight of stairs as you made your way to the lounge.

you got the fright of your life when you span around the corner and saw a silhouette sitting on one of the sofas., only a lamp illuminating him.

your phone clattered onto the floor in a loud noise.

you were expecting a snarky comment about your dramatic entrance, or the mismatched socks that you wore.

he must have seen the darker circles under your eyes from your lack of sleep, but he didn’t mention them.

all he did was move over slightly so there was room for you to sit next to him.

wordlessly, he draped the blanket that had been previously folded next to him on you.

you sad silently, watching the crappy crime show that was over 40 years old, that lando had on.

after the repeated plot formula becoming obvious after 5 episodes, your eyes finally felt heavy.

you didn’t notice that you fell asleep with your head on lando.

you didn’t know that he refused to move — even to grab the remote — as to not wake you.

you didn’t find out until morning and one of your friends had taken a photo of the two of you together, that he fell asleep too.

for the rest of the holiday, there were jokes of if you two were ‘going to take an afternoon nap together’, or if lando ‘misses you when he slept’.

one thing your friend said seemed to stick with you a little more than the others: ‘i knew you two had a thing for each other — don’t you see the way lando looks at you?’

(this was not proofread-)

lando taglist (lmk if you want to be added); @formulaal @landossnorriss @maxivstappen @bunnisplayground @sarx164 @itssssstiiiiimmmmmeeee @alex-lba @nichmeddar @djoenthusiast @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bowielovesyou @ln4obsessedb1tch @fairywriter-oracle @elieanana @weekendlusting @awritingtree @scorpiodiosa @papayadays @loxbbg @freyathehuntress @sunny44 @kodeelynn @lottalove4evelyn

[elixirfromthestars]

I know you put angst three times in the warnings, but damn was I so woefully unprepared. 💔

More under the cut ᯓᡣ𐭩

“You had no right,” you began, but he cut you off with a scoff.

^ No you listen here Henry, you let my girl speak 🗣️

You had never been so vexed by a single person in your life, and you had certainly never been as bold as you were when you were near him. No one had ever made you laugh or cry or your heart pound the way he did. No one had ever accepted, let alone embraced, the wild side of you. No one had ever been willing to change themselves for you.

^ That’s true love right there 😭🩷 Loving every part of you, the real you—they need to get married already 🤧❤️

“You must have a lot on your mind,” he pressed. You sighed. “Not really. Nothing of importance, anyway.” “You don’t think a proposal is important?”

^ wait he knows?? she told him?? 😳

“Do you think he’ll make you happy?” He asked you quietly. You stared at him. “I think Henry is able to provide a comfortable life to whomever his future wife may be,” you said finally. Jake frowned. “But does he make you happy, Scout?”

^ The fact that above all else, despite how he feels, all he cares about/whats most important to him is for Scout to be happy I— 😭💕💕💕

Jake stood up and walked with deliberate steps over to you, offering you his arm with a cheeeky grin. “May I escort you back to your room, miss?” You giggled, slipping your arm through his, allowing him to pull you to your feet. “You may, sir.”

^ THEY ARE SO CUTE!! 💖💖

It was a simple, white square that you had embroidered with wildflowers and a simple border to the corner. You had finished it before the trip, intending on bestowing it to Jake as a Christmas present long before he had even agreed to accompany you on the trip.

^ She embroidered something for him?? 🥹🩷🩷 Pleaseee tell me in the future she embroiders all of his things because that would be adorable 🥹

He opened his coat to pull out a tiny, crystal bottle with an attached pump. You recognized it instantly as one of the many expensive perfumes sitting in one of the department stores in the city. You took it from him gingerly, eyeing the bottle apprehensively.

^ throw it away. 🗑️ right in front of his face. 😌 I would live to see his reaction. I would pay to watch it go down. the serotonin in my body would double no TRIPLE!!!

It would be advantageous to accept his proposal, really you’d be a fool not to. You missed your friends and family desperately, and there was also the matter of what your father had wanted. You could go back to your old life, pretend that nothing had ever happened or changed. But still, there was a voice inside you that you hadn’t heard since you were a little girl. It called out to you, begging you to consider the alternative.

^ I completely understand Scout like I really do, but Jake is so right on focusing most on what makes her happy. And hey, if moving back there would make her happy then that’s fine, but she needs to really think through not just in people, but overall what brings her genuine happiness. Because she deserves to be happy beyond what others expect or want from her!!! 🩷

He watched the crowd, slyly linking his pinky with yours. The gesture filled you with a sense of ease, and you smiled gratefully up at him. He smirked down at you, a soft look in his eyes as he took you in.

^ THE PINKY 💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

“Did you intend to match me, sir?” You teased him. He let out a low chuckle, bumping your shoulder slightly with his. “Your aunt insisted that I wear this tonight,” he smiled. “And now I know why.” “She does have a way of getting what she wants,” you mused. He hummed, still looking at you.

^ I am Aunt Jo’s #1 fan, I adore that woman!!! 🩷 She knows what’s she’s doing!! 🤭💕

“No,” his smirk turned flirtatious. There was a time when that same smirk would have had you screaming at him, but now it just made your skin feel like it was on fire. “Ravishing is for when you look like you’re going to tear my head off or when you shoot a bucket from fifty yards off.” You raised an eyebrow at him, and he continued. “Beautiful is for when you’re on the ranch, knees deep in the earth of your garden, dirt covering your face and dress. Or when you fall asleep on my shoulder, not a care in the world on that face of yours.”

^ Every time this man speaks he just sets the bar higher and higher and I’m afraid I will never find a man like this 😭🩷🩷 At this point, I’ll buy the ring for him like go wife her up already!!!! 😭💕 They truly invented love and I’m obsessed 🤧💖

“You’re under the mistletoe, dear,” an older woman giggled at you, pointing up. You looked up to see the tiny sprig of green and white hanging above your head. You glanced quickly back at Jake, who was still looking up at the plant.

^ Are they now?? 😏 well rules are rules 🤷🏻‍♀️ guess you’ll have to kiss in front of everyone, what a shame 🤭💗

“We don’t want you to have any bad luck,” he murmured, his own eyes darting down to yours. “No,” you said with a shake of your head. “We wouldn’t.”

^ Exactly!! You wouldn’t want the bad luck 🙂‍↔️✨

Jake slowly lowered his head towards yours, stopping just shy of putting his lips on yours. You glanced up at him, and he watched you, waiting for you to close the distance. You reached up and placed a gentle, closed-mouth kiss to his. He hummed at the feel of you, and you relished in his familiar scent of clean linen and tobacco. You pulled away after a second, looking at him starry eyes. He gazed back at you with a dreamy expression, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

^ THEY’RE SO IN LOVE IT MAKES ME:

You glanced up to see Jake studying the white square in his hands, face unreadable. He lifted his green gaze to yours. “You made this?” He asked in a whisper. You nodded nervously, starting to fidget with your fingers. “It’s okay if you don’t like it,” you rushed out. “I know flowers aren’t the most manly thing, and a handkerchief is such a common thing to have. I should have-” “I love it,” he smiled at you, tracing his fingers over the square.

^ Jake is such a giver and has been a provider for his sister for quite some time, that I wonder when’s the last time he received anything? 🥺 From anyone besides family? 🥺 If I think about it too long I’ll cry lol

In your hands rested a wooden box. The top had been carved into the shape of different flowers, the details extending down into the base of the box. A simple, golden latch sat at the front, and you ran your hands over it as Lucy gawked behind you. “I know it’s not anything fancy like perfume or clothing,” Jake started, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I thought you could use something to keep your jewelry and trinkets in. It took me a while to find the right kind of wood I wanted to use, and then it took me a couple of weeks to carve-” “Wait,” you interrupted him, eyes shooting up to meet his startled gaze. “You made this?”

^ HE MADE HER A TRINKET BOX?? CARVED FLOWERS INTO IT TOO??? 😭🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷 No cause thinking about how he sat there for a couple of weeks to carve this and thinking of her!!! I’m so soft right now I cannot omg!!! 🥹💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

You looked over at Jake who was still looking at you uncertainly. You sniffled, fighting back your tears as you smiled at him. “It was my father’s watch,” you whispered quietly. Understanding dawned on his face and he whipped around to look at your aunt and uncle. Aunt Jo turned her smile to his and Uncle Walter clapped him on the shoulder with a smile of his own.

^ HE WAS GIVEN HER FATHER’S WATCH?! 😳🩷🩷🩷🩷 Now I know for sure those two approve of him omggggg 😭💖💖💖 Liz, I can’t take it my heart is about to burst with all the sweet moments here 🥹💕💕

“That retched thing was yours, Scout?” He chuckled, and you saw Jake clench his jaw.

^ I need this man to shut up or I’m about to start throwing tomato’s at him 🍅🍅🍅

“It was a gift from Jake, one that I happen to adore. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the value of making something with your hands.” Henry’s smile wavered. “Whatever do you mean by that, dearest?” “I mean,” you continued, sitting up straighter, “that it takes a special kind of man to not see the value in someone else’s hard work. I don’t know if I could ever see myself marrying someone like that.”

^ YOU TELL HIM GIRL!! 🗣️✨

You turned to see the wooden horse you had forgotten that morning. You reached out to grab it, smiling at it fondly. “This,” you told them in a hushed tone like you were telling them a secret, their little bodies crowding in to hear you, “is a very special treasure that was given to me.”

^ whiskey jr my beloved 🥰, you are a very special treasure 🥹🐴💕

“Ridiculous,” he spat, tossing the horse into the fire. You let out a shocked cry, lurching forward as tears sprang to your eyes. The commotion had drawn the attention of the other party goers, but no one was prepared for what happened next.

^ So…I started crying…and words are evading me…so I’ll sum up my emotions in pictures 💔

R.I.P. my beloved little whiskey jr 💔🐴💔 you were there for me in the toughest times…chasing away all those nightmares…and now you get to chase whatever your little wooden horse desires were in the great beyond 🪦🤧💔 I promise you this though…the next funeral will be Henry’s 😡 cause next time it’s not tomato’s I’ll be throwing!!! 😤

In the blink of an eye, Jake was on his feet, slamming Henry into the mantle with such a force as to rattle the chandelier that hung from above.

^ THATS OUR MAN!!! GET HIM JAKE!!! 🥊😤

Jake didn’t take his eyes off of Henry, instead he leaned in closer, murder in his eyes. “If you ever come near her again, if you ever make her cry again?” He spat before giving a humorless chuckle, fixing Henry with a deadly serious look. “They won’t ever find your body.”

^ I KNOW THATS RIGHT!!!! YOU TELL HIM HONEY!! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

“How dare you!” You hissed at him. Jake looked taken aback by your outburst before his brow furrowed in confusion.

^ wait…I’m confused too 😭

“I know you,” he said firmly, eyes running over you. “I know who you really are. They don’t. You don’t want this, honey girl.” You met his gaze steadily, feeling the words leave your lips before you could stop them. “Maybe this is exactly what I want.”

^ *gasps and clutches pearls* she did not just say that 😨💔

Silence surrounded you, and you wished you could take the words back as Jake stared at you like you just crushed his heart in your hands. You saw the greens of his eyes start to shine as he stared at you, the wind blowing his hair across his forehead. He pressed his lips into a firm line before nodding, turning to walk back into the house. Your tears came in droves as you clutched yourself, desperate to keep from falling apart in the cold, windy night. The wind howled, echoing the sound of your heart as you watched him walk away from you. For the first time in months, you felt truly alone.

^ devastating blow 💔 after devastating blow 💔 first whiskey and now Hangout? 😭 I can’t take two heartbreaks in one like my heart is not going to recover from this 😭💔💔 I should really listen to the warnings next time 💔💔💔

And then we have Aunt Jo coming in with clarification, reassurance, and wisdom!!! I love that woman so much!! 🥺🩷 And the way she was brushing Scout’s hair the whole time was such a soft and sweet moment between them 🫶🏼🫶🏼

“I think you would be the world’s biggest fool if you did that. Only the weak throw away their chances at happiness, you know, and you, my dear niece, are not weak. Just because things here are familiar, does not mean they’re right for you. You have become a more radiant version of yourself since you moved away. The west did that. Jake did that.” “So you’re telling me not to move back?” You asked her with a watery smile. She chuckled, hugging you close. “I’m telling you to choose happiness, Scout.”

^ The reoccurring theme of happiness 💕 I love that Scout is hearing it from those she holds dear most. She’s heard it from Lucy, from Jake, and now her Aunt Jo too 🩷 Hopefully this can really help Scout clear her mind and heart and choose what’s best for her 🩷

He seemed a little taken aback, but returned it, frowning in confusion at something she whispered to him. She pulled back with a smile as Uncle Walter stepped up to shake his hand.

^ I’m so nosey, I’m dying to know what she whispered 👀

Jake waved to your aunt and uncle, casting you a sideways glance as he hopped up to sit with the driver….Jake still refused to acknowledge you even after the two of you settled in for the train ride to St.Louis, and you were beginning to grow irritated.

^ Now Jake…I know you’re upset…and you have a right to be…but let’s not go down the silent treatment/avoidant route ☹️

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, looking back out the window. “We’re going to go back to Maverick, and you’re going to get ready to go back to your old life.”

^ 😧😧😧 since when??? That’s news to me!!!

“Isn’t that what you decided?” He scoffed with a roll of his eyes. You stared at him, biting your cheek to keep from snapping at him. “Well, if you would listen to what I have to say-” “Sorry, darlin’. I’m not really all that interested in hearing about your plans for the future at the moment,” he sneered.

^ Oh…he’s mad mad 🫢 I don’t think I ever remember a time where he sneered at her 😥

“When you’re ready to talk to me like an adult,” you hissed, “you can find me in my cabin. Until then, goodnight, Mr. Seresin.” Jake rolled his eyes, grumbling something under his breath. You felt your resolve start to crack, and without thinking you raised your foot, stamping it down on Jake’s. He cried out in pain before looking at you incredulously, hands gripping his foot. You glared at him before stomping down the aisle and out of the car. If he wanted to be childish, then two could play at that game.

^ Okay, both of you are being childish now? 🤨 after whiskey jr I’m not having this so I’m about to lock you both in a room until you talk!!! Or I’ll give you one of those getting along shirts because you two need to get it together for the sake of my heart 😤❤️‍🩹 (but I also lowkey snorted at the foot stomp soooo maybe I’m no better 🤷🏻‍♀️✨)

So much angst…so much heartbreak…I’m going to go to bed to process all that because wow 🤧💔 I also need a moment to process everything because so much happened in this chapter that I’m shocked it was only 5.4k words like I went through a rollercoaster of emotions throughout the entire thing 😨😭 Another amazing chapter as always, Liz!! 🩷

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Eight

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Eight

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger Gang of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Swearing, ANGST, Violence, Derogatory terms towards reader, More Angst, Some Fluff, Jake Seresin, Even more angst.

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: I warned y'all so many times this was going to be rough. But, anyway, we are officially halfway through the series!! As always, reboots, comments and likes are greatly appreciated!! 18+ ONLY!! Find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond! If You're feeling kind, please consider donating to my ko-fi!

Masterlist || DGU Masterlist

The room was dark and and cold. You hadn’t bothered to light a fire or one of the lamps in the parlor. No, you found the silence comforting as you sat on the couch off to the side. Christmas morning was usually a happy time for you, but it had been a week since Henry’s impromptu proposal.

“You had no right,” you began, but he cut you off with a scoff.

“Please, Scout,” he scowled. “This was inevitable, and you know it. We make an excellent match, and I’m willing to overlook your little excursion out west with your brother.”

You made to say something, but he held up his hand to stop you. Sighing, he fixed you with a look.

“I know you love your brother, Scout, but it’s time to be realistic. You need someone who can take care of you and provide for you. I can be that. You’d never want for anything, and you’d never have to work a day in your life. What do you say?”

You stared down at him, saying nothing. Henry heaved another sigh as he got to his feet. He met your gaze, pocketing the ring, and running a hand through his dark hair.

“Just think about it, alright?” he grumbled, shooting a small glare your way. “I’ll expect an answer at the Christmas party next week.

And there you sat, holding the wooden horse in your hands. You smoothed your fingers over the grains, running them down to the carved initials. A year ago, you wouldn’t have had to think about your answer to Henry’s proposal. He was the obvious choice for your future at the time, making your heart jump every time you saw him and putting your thoughts at ease. But now?

Now it was the sight of this tiny, wooden horse in your hands that caused the emotions in your heart to swell. You had never been so vexed by a single person in your life, and you had certainly never been as bold as you were when you were near him. No one had ever made you laugh or cry or your heart pound the way he did. No one had ever accepted, let alone embraced, the wild side of you. No one had ever been willing to change themselves for you.

“You’re up early.”

You jumped, placing a hand on your chest to calm your thundering heart. The room was no longer drenched in darkness as the sun began to rise, casting a calm, blue glow into the room through the window. You looked up to see Jake standing in the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. You hummed, setting the horse down on the table beside you.

“Yes,” you whispered, looking back at him, “I suppose I am.”

Jake walked over to sit down in the chair opposite you, green eyes boring into you as he studied you.

“You must have a lot on your mind,” he pressed.

You sighed. “Not really. Nothing of importance, anyway.”

“You don’t think a proposal is important?”

You stared at him, trying to gauge his emotions.

“A proposal is very important, Jake,” you murmured. “That’s why it deserves due consideration.”

“Do you think he’ll make you happy?” He asked you quietly. You stared at him.

“I think Henry is able to provide a comfortable life to whomever his future wife may be,” you said finally. Jake frowned.

“But does he make you happy, Scout?”

“I think,” you started slowly, “that there was a time in my life where I would have been content to have him as my husband.”

“And now?” He asked, green eyes shining in the morning light. Your breath caught in your throat as the sun peaked over the horizon, causing a halo to form around his figure. Your heart ached with an emotion that you didn’t quite understand, You had never felt this way before about anything, but while the thought would have frightened you about anything else, the sight of Jake in front of you filled you with a sense of ease, of acceptance.

“Now, I want other things,” you replied firmly. You saw a smile twitch on his lips, but the moment was interrupted when a maid scurried into the room. She stopped when she saw the two of you, clearly not expecting anyone to be up at that hour.

“My apologies, Miss, Sir,” she blushed, eyes darting between the two of you. You waved her off with a smile.

“No need to apologize, Lottie,” you told her, glancing at Jake from the corner of your eye. He was still watching you intently. “We were just finishing up here.”

Jake stood up and walked with deliberate steps over to you, offering you his arm with a cheeeky grin. “May I escort you back to your room, miss?”

You giggled, slipping your arm through his, allowing him to pull you to your feet. “You may, sir.”

The dress you wore brought a smile to your face, not only because it was lovely, but because the green of it reminded you of a certain someone. It was a soft, mossy green that draped down your figure, the ends of the skirt shimmering like starlight. You looked a vision, and you knew it, but that didn’t stop the bubble of nerves in the pit of your stomach. You ran your hands over the dress, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles as your eyes darted to the piece of cloth placed carefully at the foot of your bed. It was a simple, white square that you had embroidered with wildflowers and a simple border to the corner. You had finished it before the trip, intending on bestowing it to Jake as a Christmas present long before he had even agreed to accompany you on the trip.

You imagined it must be difficult for him to be so far away from home during this time, and you were forever grateful to him for choosing to come with you. You certainly didn’t want him to feel left out while everyone was exchanging gifts. So, you took a deep breath and grabbed the handkerchief off the bed before making your way out of the room.

You could already hear the murmur from the party below grow louder as you drew closer to the staircase. It seemed the party had been going for quite some time by the looks of the empty glasses of wine strewn about the different rooms. You greeted people politely as you made your way through the growing crowd, trying to spot anyone you would be willing to have a lengthy conversation with.

“Scout!”

You turned with a barely suppressed groan as you spotted Henry making his way to you. He wore a navy blue coat with white trousers and a dark blue bowtie. He smiled as he drew near and you answered it with a polite one.

“Henry,” you greeted him, hands clasped in front of you.

“You look ravishing tonight, Scout,” he beamed. “I brought you a little something.”

He opened his coat to pull out a tiny, crystal bottle with an attached pump. You recognized it instantly as one of the many expensive perfumes sitting in one of the department stores in the city. You took it from him gingerly, eyeing the bottle apprehensively.

“Merry Christmas, Scout,” Henry smiled, chest puffing up at what he thought was a job well done. “I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I asked the clerk which one was the most popular.”

You gave him a tight lipped smile, gesturing for one of the maids to come over. She did so promptly, and you handed her the bottle.

“Will you take this up to my room, please?” You asked her. She gave you a nod before scurrying off. You turned back to the man in front of you. “Thank you, Henry. That was such a kind gesture. I apologize for not getting you anything in return.”

“Well, I hope you’ll give me a bit of good news later tonight,” he smirks, causing a wave of ice to run over you. Henry shot you a wink before turning to go and mingle with some of the older guests. “I look forward to hearing it.”

You watched him walk away, a frown at your lips. It would be advantageous to accept his proposal, really you’d be a fool not to. You missed your friends and family desperately, and there was also the matter of what your father had wanted. You could go back to your old life, pretend that nothing had ever happened or changed. But still, there was a voice inside you that you hadn’t heard since you were a little girl. It called out to you, begging you to consider the alternative.

You chewed on your bottom lip, wrestling with the conflicting emotions inside of you. You startled when you felt a figure step up beside you, turning to see Jake standing next to you. He matched your dress with his frosty green vest and white shirt. A white ascot complimented his attire along with a beige set of trousers. He watched the crowd, slyly linking his pinky with yours. The gesture filled you with a sense of ease, and you smiled gratefully up at him. He smirked down at you, a soft look in his eyes as he took you in.

“Did you intend to match me, sir?” You teased him. He let out a low chuckle, bumping your shoulder slightly with his.

“Your aunt insisted that I wear this tonight,” he smiled. “And now I know why.”

“She does have a way of getting what she wants,” you mused. He hummed, still looking at you.

“You look really pretty tonight, Scout,” he murmured. You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment, and you ducked your head down to hide your smile. You wondered how he managed to make you feel like a schoolgirl all over again with such a simple compliment.

“Just pretty?” You looked up at him, batting your eyelashes. “Not beautiful or ravishing?”

Jake let out a low chuckle, leaning into you as you pressed your back against the door jamb of the parlor.

“No,” his smirk turned flirtatious. There was a time when that same smirk would have had you screaming at him, but now it just made your skin feel like it was on fire. “Ravishing is for when you look like you’re going to tear my head off or when you shoot a bucket from fifty yards off.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, and he continued.

“Beautiful is for when you’re on the ranch, knees deep in the earth of your garden, dirt covering your face and dress. Or when you fall asleep on my shoulder, not a care in the world on that face of yours.”

Your blush came back with a vengeance, and you were sure you looked ridiculous. But Jake looked at you as if you were the sun itself, shining just for him.

“Oh,” you whispered, unable to think of anything to say in response. He continued to smile softly at you, and the both of you turned when someone tapped on your shoulder.

“You’re under the mistletoe, dear,” an older woman giggled at you, pointing up. You looked up to see the tiny sprig of green and white hanging above your head. You glanced quickly back at Jake, who was still looking up at the plant. You looked around at the few people who heard the exchange, spotting Lucy grinning widely from where she stood with her parents.

“It’s bad luck if you don’t!” She called, and the people around her agreed. You turned your attention back to Jake, his eyes now boring into you. You swallowed nervously, your eyes eyes fluttering to his lips.

“We don’t want you to have any bad luck,” he murmured, his own eyes darting down to yours.

“No,” you said with a shake of your head. “We wouldn’t.”

Jake slowly lowered his head towards yours, stopping just shy of putting his lips on yours. You glanced up at him, and he watched you, waiting for you to close the distance. You reached up and placed a gentle, closed-mouth kiss to his. He hummed at the feel of you, and you relished in his familiar scent of clean linen and tobacco. You pulled away after a second, looking at him starry eyes. He gazed back at you with a dreamy expression, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Scout!”

You turned to see Lucy bounding towards you, giggling excitedly as she pulled you away.

“Come!” She grinned, gesturing for Jake to follow as well. “I want to give you your present!”

You allowed your best friend to pull you further into the parlor and up to the tree where a smattering of packages laid out waiting to be distributed. Lucy plucked a small box off the top of a larger one, handing it to you excitedly.

“Open it!” She squealed. You smiled at her as you carefully tore the paper away from the box, opening it. Inside sat a beautiful copper hair pin fashioned into the shape of a rose and greenery around it. You gasped at it, smiling widely at the redhead in front of you.

“Lucy, this is beautiful!” You gushed, holding the pin close to you.

“I knew you’d love it! You always loved flowers,” she giggled at you. You set the box off to the side and plucked a small box you had set aside for her. She ripped the paper open and gasped as she held a gold hairpin with a ruby attached to the end.

“Great minds think alike, I suppose,” you teased. Lucy wrapped you in her arms, squeezing you tight.

“Oh, thank you, Scout!” She grinned, pulling back. You glanced at Jake who still stood beside you and felt the nerves begin to crawl up your spine.

“I have something for you too,” you told him quietly. He raised an eyebrow at you as you dug out the handkerchief you had tucked away. You handed it to him with both hands, not able to meet his eyes as he took it gently from your hands. “It’s nothing fancy, but I’ve never seen you use one. I thought you could use it while you work around the ranch.”

You glanced up to see Jake studying the white square in his hands, face unreadable. He lifted his green gaze to yours.

“You made this?” He asked in a whisper. You nodded nervously, starting to fidget with your fingers.

“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” you rushed out. “I know flowers aren’t the most manly thing, and a handkerchief is such a common thing to have. I should have-”

“I love it,” he smiled at you, tracing his fingers over the square. He tucked it into his pocket as you released a breath of relief. “I have something for you, actually.”

Jake reached down and picked up one of the larger boxes on the ground. Now it was his turn to look nervous as you took the parcel from him, gently unwrapping the paper covering. Your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat at the sight before you.

In your hands rested a wooden box. The top had been carved into the shape of different flowers, the details extending down into the base of the box. A simple, golden latch sat at the front, and you ran your hands over it as Lucy gawked behind you.

“I know it’s not anything fancy like perfume or clothing,” Jake started, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I thought you could use something to keep your jewelry and trinkets in. It took me a while to find the right kind of wood I wanted to use, and then it took me a couple of weeks to carve-”

“Wait,” you interrupted him, eyes shooting up to meet his startled gaze. “You made this?”

A blush crept onto his cheeks as he nodded sheepishly at you.

“Jake,” you murmured, looking back down at the box, running your hand over it once again. “This is so beautiful, thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he whispered, smiling. You gave the box to a maid, instructing her to place it carefully on your bed.

“It’s very important to me,” you told her, and she nodded solemnly as she went to put the gift in your room.

“Are we exchanging gifts?”

You turned to see Aunt Jo strolling into the parlor with Uncle Walter close behind her. She smiled at your tiny group in greeting before picking up her own little box amidst the rest of the presents. She gestured for you all to follow, and you did so, sitting down in the collection of sofas and chairs by the fireplace. You sat in the same spot as you had that morning, Jake sitting in a chair off to your right as Lucy took up residence on your left. Aunt Jo handed the package to Uncle Walter who then rose to hand it to Jake. The younger man blinked in surprise, looking at you for guidance. You nodded at him encouragingly, and he slowly began to tear at the paper.

“We found that just the other week,” Aunt Jo proclaimed, smiling as she watched Jake. “Walter and I discussed it, and we knew you had to have it.”

You peered over at Jake who had stilled in his seat. He reached down gingerly to lift up a silver pocket watch into the light. Your heart stopped as you stared at it. The outside was carved with intricate designs amongst different leaves. At the bottom right, a humble sparrow was paused in mid-flight.

“Where did you find this?” You asked Aunt Jo, tears welling in your eyes. Jake looked over at you, concern etched into his features at your apparent distress. Aunt Jo smiled warmly at you.

“We found it amongst some of your father’s old things,” she explained. “Benjamin was insistent on having his own, and it would be such a shame for that beautiful piece to just sit and gather dust. We can think of no one else we’d rather have it then Mr. Seresin here.”

You looked over at Jake who was still looking at you uncertainly. You sniffled, fighting back your tears as you smiled at him.

“It was my father’s watch,” you whispered quietly. Understanding dawned on his face and he whipped around to look at your aunt and uncle. Aunt Jo turned her smile to his and Uncle Walter clapped him on the shoulder with a smile of his own.

“I don’t know what to say,” the blond man murmured, eyes darting around the room.

“Say that you’ll accept it,” Aunt Jo told him. “Elias would have wanted you to have it.”

She gave you a pointed look at that, and you nodded with a smile.

“Yes,” you agreed. “My father would have been so happy for you to have it.”

“I believe I just saw a maid carrying a rather poor looking box upstairs.”

You all turned to see Henry making his way over to where you all sat. You frowned at him, already knowing what box he was talking about.

“It was a rather garish thing,” he continued, earning a glare from Lucy. “An eyesore really. No wonder it was given to the maid. I think it was handmade too.”

“It was handmade,” you bit out. “And it was given to the maid to put in my room for safekeeping.”

“That retched thing was yours, Scout?” He chuckled, and you saw Jake clench his jaw.

“Yes,” you hissed. “It was a gift from Jake, one that I happen to adore. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the value of making something with your hands.”

Henry’s smile wavered. “Whatever do you mean by that, dearest?”

“I mean,” you continued, sitting up straighter, “that it takes a special kind of man to not see the value in someone else’s hard work. I don’t know if I could ever see myself marrying someone like that.”

Henry’s smile was completely gone by the time you finished your sentence. He stared at you coldly before fixing a glare at Jake. Jake sat still, no discernable emotion on his face.

“Cousin Scout!”

All of you turned at the sound of your young cousins running up to you. The tension in the room was lifted slightly as you watched the young ones giggle up at you.

“Yes, my darlings?” You smiled down at them, grateful for a reprieve from all the drama.

Thomas, the oldest boy, pointed at the table next to you. “What’s that?”

You turned to see the wooden horse you had forgotten that morning. You reached out to grab it, smiling at it fondly.

“This,” you told them in a hushed tone like you were telling them a secret, their little bodies crowding in to hear you, “is a very special treasure that was given to me.”

“What does it do?” Asked Mary, eyes as big as saucers.

“It drives away bad dreams,” you smiled at her, giving her the figurine to hold. She held it gently in her small hands, the other children staring at it in wonder.

“Who gave it to you?” Thomas asked you. Your gaze shifted over to Jake with a small smile. He watched you fondly, his own smile dancing on his lips.

“A dear friend made it for me some months ago,” you whispered, earning a scoff from across the way. Henry stalked over and ripped the horse out of Mary’s hands, earning a cry of protest from the young girl.

“You shouldn’t be filling their heads up with nonsense, Scout,” he tsked as he walked over to the fire place, examining the horse. “I thought you knew better than that.”

He frowned when he saw the initials on the belly of the horse, features turning into a sneer that you had never seen from him before.

“Ridiculous,” he spat, tossing the horse into the fire. You let out a shocked cry, lurching forward as tears sprang to your eyes. The commotion had drawn the attention of the other party goers, but no one was prepared for what happened next.

In the blink of an eye, Jake was on his feet, slamming Henry into the mantle with such a force as to rattle the chandelier that hung from above. Several people let out gasps at the scene, and you vaguely registered the tears that poured down your face. You had loved that horse, and now it was gone forever. Lucy shushed you as the scene continued to unfold. Cousin John ran forward just as Uncle Walter stood up, both making their way to where the two men stood.

Henry’s jaw was clenched as Jake glared at him, nostrils flaring.

“What is it?” Henry sneered. “Did I hurt your feelings? There’s no need to get so worked up over some trollop who will go around kissing and defending anything.”

Jake’s hands clenched around Henry’s suit even harder at his words. Uncle Walter placed a hand on Jake’s shoulder as Cousin John watched the two wearily, ready to step in should anything happen.

“Let him go, son,” Uncle Walter murmured, quietly enough that you could barely hear him. “He’s not worth it.”

Jake didn’t take his eyes off of Henry, instead he leaned in closer, murder in his eyes.

“If you ever come near her again, if you ever make her cry again?” He spat before giving a humorless chuckle, fixing Henry with a deadly serious look. “They won’t ever find your body.”

A flash of fear ran over Henry’s face at the words, eyes darting around to the crowd. Jake let go of Henry, dropping him from where he had been raised against the mantle. Jake sniffed, turning to look at you, his face softening considerably as he took you in. You watched as he walked over to kneel in front of you. He took your trembling hand in his, squeezing it gently.

“You okay, pretty girl?” He asked you, eyes trying to find the answer to his question. You nodded slowly, looking around at the room. All the guests were whispering to one another, eyes darting from Jake, to Henry, and then to your aunt and uncle. You felt your lips press into a thin line before standing abruptly.

“If you all will please excuse me,” you said with a polite smile before walking through the parting crowd and out into the garden. The night was cold, typical for December, and the snow crunched under your feet as you made your way further into the shadows.

“Scout!”

You kept walking.

“Scout, please.”

You stopped at the edge of the hedges, looking out into the hills.

“Dammit, Scout,” Jake pleaded, grabbing your hand. You yanked away, whirling around to fix him with a glare.

“How dare you!” You hissed at him. Jake looked taken aback by your outburst before his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“You just embarrassed my family with that little scene you caused,” you snapped, gesturing back towards the house. “What will people say now?”

“Who cares what a bunch of snobby, rich people say?” Jake scoffed, frowning at you.

“I care!” You shrieked. “Have you forgotten that I used to be one of them?”

Jake shook his head, taking a step forward. “You’re nothing like them, Scout. You don’t want the same things. ”

“Then maybe you don’t really know me,” you stated, causing Jake to reel back. “Maybe you don’t know what it is that I want.”

“I know you,” he said firmly, eyes running over you. “I know who you really are. They don’t. You don’t want this, honey girl.”

You met his gaze steadily, feeling the words leave your lips before you could stop them. “Maybe this is exactly what I want.”

Silence surrounded you, and you wished you could take the words back as Jake stared at you like you just crushed his heart in your hands. You saw the greens of his eyes start to shine as he stared at you, the wind blowing his hair across his forehead. He pressed his lips into a firm line before nodding, turning to walk back into the house.

Your tears came in droves as you clutched yourself, desperate to keep from falling apart in the cold, windy night. The wind howled, echoing the sound of your heart as you watched him walk away from you. For the first time in months, you felt truly alone.

It was late, and you had retired to your room hours ago. You sat at your vanity, absentmindedly running your brush through your hair when a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” you croaked, your voice still hoarse from all the crying. The door opened slowly to reveal Aunt Jo. She gave you a small smile, closing the door behind her before walking over to where you sat. She took the brush from your hand and began slowly working it through your locks. Neither of you said anything for a few moments.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered quietly, and Aunt Jo looked at you in the mirror, brow furrowed.

“Whatever for, my dear?”

“For the scene earlier today,” you sighed. “I know that must have been so embarrassing for you and Uncle Walter. “Hopefully things will die down here once we leave in the morning.”

“Scout,” Aunt Jo frowned, “are you under the impression that your uncle and I are upset with you and Jake?”

“Yes?” You questioned her. “Why wouldn’t you be? He caused such a spectacle in front of everyone tonight.”

“My dear girl,” she chuckled, setting the brush down on the vanity. She pulled at your shoulders so that you turned around to face her. “If anyone should be ashamed and apologizing, it would be Henry Cargill.”

“What?” Your eyes widened at her.

“Henry is the one who caused the scene, Scout,” she continued. “Not Jake. As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Seresin was defending my niece’s honor and I made that perfectly clear to everyone here tonight. Henry is the one who made a fool of himself tonight.”

“I suppose I did as well,” you muttered, earning a questioning look from your aunt. “Oh, Aunt Jo. I’m afraid I said such horrible things to Jake.”

“I’m sure it’s not anything that can’t be fixed,” she reassured you, but you shook your head.

“You didn’t see the look on his face,” you cried, bottom lip wobbling. “He was so hurt, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted anything to do with me ever again.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s the case,” she smiled, patting your head gently. “That boy is so smitten with you, sweetheart. Everyone can see it. Just talk to him, and I promise everything will work out.”

You sniffled. “Maybe I should just move back here. I keep managing to make a fool of myself. I know what I’m doing here.”

Aunt Jo wiped your tears away gently, resting her hands on either side of your face. She made sure your eyes were locked on hers before she continued. “I think you would be the world’s biggest fool if you did that. Only the weak throw away their chances at happiness, you know, and you, my dear niece, are not weak. Just because things here are familiar, does not mean they’re right for you. You have become a more radiant version of yourself since you moved away. The west did that. Jake did that.”

“So you’re telling me not to move back?” You asked her with a watery smile. She chuckled, hugging you close.

“I’m telling you to choose happiness, Scout.”

You sat in the carriage as Jake loaded the rest of your luggage onto the back of the carriage. Aunt Jo and Uncle Walter had already bid you goodbye and now waited for the blond to finish his task before Aunt Jo enveloped him in a tight hug. He seemed a little taken aback, but returned it, frowning in confusion at something she whispered to him. She pulled back with a smile as Uncle Walter stepped up to shake his hand.

You shifted in your seat eagerly, ready to apologize to him when he stepped up into the carriage with you. But that moment didn’t come.

Jake waved to your aunt and uncle, casting you a sideways glance as he hopped up to sit with the driver. You met your aunt’s gaze and she offered you a sympathetic smile before waving as the carriage began to move. You waved back at her, settling in for the ride.

Jake still refused to acknowledge you even after the two of you settled in for the train ride to St.Louis, and you were beginning to grow irritated. You heard the girls giggling over him from a few seats behind you, but Jake paid them no mind as he continued to stare out the window.

“Jake,” you said, leaning forward. He glanced at you with a hum. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, looking back out the window. “We’re going to go back to Maverick, and you’re going to get ready to go back to your old life.”

“What?” You asked him, eyes widening in shock.

“Isn’t that what you decided?” He scoffed with a roll of his eyes. You stared at him, biting your cheek to keep from snapping at him.

“Well, if you would listen to what I have to say-”

“Sorry, darlin’. I’m not really all that interested in hearing about your plans for the future at the moment,” he sneered. You felt your temper start to boil. To prevent yourself from creating a scene in the traincar, you stood up abruptly, causing Jake to look at you.

“Where are you going?” He grumbled, watching you.

“When you’re ready to talk to me like an adult,” you hissed, “you can find me in my cabin. Until then, goodnight, Mr. Seresin.”

Jake rolled his eyes, grumbling something under his breath. You felt your resolve start to crack, and without thinking you raised your foot, stamping it down on Jake’s. He cried out in pain before looking at you incredulously, hands gripping his foot. You glared at him before stomping down the aisle and out of the car.

If he wanted to be childish, then two could play at that game.

[livvymd]

Everyone Thinks They’re Dating—They’re Not. (Yet)

Chapter Four — It looks better on you. george clarke x reader.

The cafe bell jingled softly as Y/N stepped through the door, the wind trailing her coat behind her. The warmth hit her immediately—smelling like fresh croissants and espresso shots and quiet laughter—and she took a breath to calm the tiny butterflies in her chest.

Her eyes scanned the room.

And there he was.

George Clarke. Sat at a booth near the corner window, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his forearms, one hand wrapped lazily around a coffee cup while the other spun his phone in slow circles across the table. His legs were stretched out beneath him, ankle crossed over the other in that effortlessly relaxed way she was already beginning to recognize.

He didn’t see her at first. Just stared out the window, lips parted like he was thinking about something far away.

And then—he did.

His eyes caught hers, and that look spread across his face. The slow-building kind of smile. The one that looked like it started somewhere in his chest and made its way to his lips, lighting up his whole expression. He stood slightly as she approached, smoothing his hoodie like he hadn’t been caught off guard.

“You’re late,” he said, grinning.

She raised a brow. “I’m five minutes early.”

“Exactly. Late. I’ve been here since six.”

“You’re mentally unwell.”

He pushed a takeaway cup toward her across the table, already sitting back down. “Flat white. Oat milk. No sugar. Still a psychopath.”

She took the cup, suspicious. “You remembered?”

“I listened.”

That look again. That soft but sure kind of look, like he was learning her one piece at a time and loving every second of it.

She sat down, heart thudding, trying not to be too obvious about how happy she was to be here.

They talked for over an hour. He told her about his broken gym headphones. She told him about how she accidentally sprayed dry shampoo into her coffee that morning. They laughed too loud. Shared two croissants. His phone buzzed once and he flipped it over without looking, barely missing a beat.

It felt easy.

And then her eyes drifted down to his hand, the one cradling his cup.

She paused mid-sentence.

The ring.

A thin, scuffed-up silver band on his pinky finger. Nothing expensive, no bold engraving. But there was something about it—something worn and familiar. The way it curved along his knuckle. The way it sat against the slightly calloused skin of his hand. Something about it felt… like him.

“You always wear that?” she asked, lightly.

George looked down, raising an eyebrow. “What, this?”

She nodded, sipping her coffee.

“Yeah, I dunno. It just kinda lives on me now. Had it for years.” He held his hand out a bit so she could see it better. “Bit banged up, innit?”

She reached across the table before she could stop herself, her fingertips brushing along his knuckles as she gently turned his hand in hers.

It was such a small gesture—but it changed the air.

His breath slowed. His fingers twitched just slightly under hers. He didn’t pull away.

Her thumb grazed the edge of the band, warm from his skin. “It suits you,” she murmured. “I don’t know why. It’s very… George.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, George looked at her. Really looked at her.

Like he wasn’t just watching her admire his ring, but memorising the way she held his hand. The way her thumb traced the grooves. The soft crease between her brows when she focused. The barely-there smile on her lips.

The way she held him like she didn’t even realise she was doing it.

And then, with the faintest smirk, he slid the ring off.

“Try it,” he said, offering it.

She blinked. “Wait—what? No, George—”

“You like it. Try it on.”

“I wasn’t hinting at—”

“Course you weren’t. But I am.”

She hesitated, looking at him like he might be joking.

But he was dead serious.

So she slipped it on.

It slid past her knuckle and rested perfectly on her middle finger. A little snug, but comfortable. Like it had always been there.

George leaned back, smug and satisfied. “Better on you.”

She looked down at her hand, heart warm and fluttering and all over the place. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Just generous.”

“You’re gonna want this back, you know.”

“Maybe,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “but I like knowing you’re walking around with something of mine.”

She flushed, laughing into her coffee. “Stop.”

He didn’t push it after that. Just gave her that infuriating little half-smile again, and let it hang in the air between them.

They walked back to hers under a canopy of grey skies and soft wind. He insisted on carrying her tote bag, even though it was basically empty. She called him dramatic. He called her ungrateful. They bumped shoulders and kicked leaves, and when they reached her building, the banter softened.

Her hand hovered on the door handle as she turned to face him.

“I had a really good time,” she said, voice a little quieter now.

George tilted his head, eyes flicking briefly to her mouth before settling on her eyes.

“You wore that pink lip balm I like,” he said.

She blinked, startled. “You noticed?”

“Course I did,” he said, stepping a little closer. “I told you—I pay attention.”

There was something about his voice. That low, lazy confidence. The way he didn’t smile this time, just looked at her like he’d been waiting all day to say it.

She swallowed.

He leaned in slightly. Not enough to cross the line. Just enough to blur it.

“I’ve always wondered,” he said, his voice low and a little raspy, “what that stupid lip balm would feel like… against my lips.”

She barely had time to breathe before he kissed her.

Soft. Slow. Deliberate.

His hand brushed her cheek, the other resting on her waist like he already knew exactly how to hold her. His lips were warm, just slightly sweet from the last sip of coffee. And she kissed him back like it had been a long time coming.

Like she hadn’t wanted to stop touching his hand earlier. Like she wasn’t already wearing his ring.

When they pulled back, her heart was in her throat.

George looked at her, smile finally tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yep,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. “Just as distracting as I thought.”

Before she could even think of something clever to say back, there was a low rumble—then the first soft drops of rain began to patter against the pavement behind him. It started gentle, like a whisper, and then quickly turned heavier, soaking the world in seconds.

Y/N flinched instinctively and glanced up at the sky.

“Brilliant,” she muttered.

George didn’t move. His hoodie was already speckled with dark, wet patches. His hair dampened at the ends, curling slightly. He just stood there, looking down at her like he didn’t mind getting soaked in the slightest.

She bit her lip. “You… wanna wait it out inside?”

His eyes flicked toward the door behind her, then back to her face. “You sure?”

She shrugged, suddenly shy. “Unless you fancy catching pneumonia in style.”

He grinned, the soft kind again. “I’ll take your couch.”

She stepped aside to let him in.

Inside, the air felt warmer. Quieter. She offered him a towel, which he used to dry his hair while she peeled off her coat and flicked on the kettle.

They didn’t say much, both pretending like it was normal—like it didn’t mean anything, that kiss outside in the rain. But when their eyes met, neither of them could quite hold the gaze for long without smiling.

After tea and a shared packet of biscuits, she handed him a pair of joggers from her drawer of random ex-boyfriend leftovers (he mocked her for that, obviously) and let him get changed while she went to tidy the blankets in the lounge.

He joined her on the sofa twenty minutes later, fresh-faced and in clothes two sizes too small—shirt stretched across his shoulders, sleeves pushed up to his elbows again, that stupid silver ring now warm and snug on her finger instead.

They watched something mindless on TV. Sat too close. Shared the same blanket without thinking.

Eventually, she yawned and curled her legs up, tucking her head against the side of the couch.

George glanced down at her and smiled lazily. “You falling asleep on me, poppet?”

She mumbled something about being tired, and when he nudged her, she didn’t even swat him away.

He didn’t move after that. Just settled beside her and let the rain tick softly against the windows while her breathing slowed.

When she drifted off with her hand resting next to his, George let his pinky finger brush against hers.

Still wearing his ring.

guys im not sure about this one..

TAGLIST: @georgeclarkeyistheloveofmylife @whisperturnedecho @smzyyx @madforgeorge @lunarynn @randomaccountlols @swizzlemynizzle @kneelforloki @sundarksposts @tyna-19 @wherethezoes-at @cheekytv @dopeysunflowers @lottiewills @clarkey4life @liz140569 @artvscvntymullet @formulaal

[satsugacafe]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬

➳❥ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Ishida Uryu, Kurosaki Ichigo, Abarai Renji, Shuhei Hisagi, Hitsugaya Toshiro, Izuru Kira

➳❥ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: Hello! What would jealousy hcs of Uryu, Shuhei, Toshiro, Izuru, and Yumichika be like? You can add more character if you like. 💜

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: Didn’t include Yumichika because I don’t write for him. Thank you for the request!!

➳❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: When these pookies catch the little green monster after seeing someone friendly with you.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Ishida Uryu

˚₊‧꒰ა Uryu didn’t think himself the jealous type, not with how calm and composed he usually was, but all of that got thoroughly tested the moment he saw you laughing with someone else. His steps slowed, his jaw tightened just slightly, and his glasses slipped a bit down the bridge of his nose from how sharply he turned to observe.

˚₊‧꒰ა He didn’t interrupt at first. That wasn’t his style. He stood back, arms crossed, watching with thinly veiled scrutiny. The moment you brushed your hand against the other person’s arm in casual conversation, he pushed up his glasses with two fingers and muttered, “Tch. Pathetic.”

✧ It didn’t matter that it was innocent. It didn’t matter that he trusted you. What mattered was the way your eyes sparkled in that exact way you normally saved for him. That bothered him more than he’d admit.

˚₊‧꒰ა The next time you spoke to him, he was polite. Too polite. Every word was clipped, his tone curt, and he refused to meet your eyes.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Did you have a nice chat?” he asked, just a little too cold, fingers twitching near the cuff of his sleeve.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you acted oblivious, he’d only grow more passive-aggressive. “No, really. You two seemed to be getting on swimmingly. I wouldn’t want to interrupt...whatever that was.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He’d start showing up more. In areas he didn’t need to be in. Casually leaning against doorframes, acting like he just happened to be passing by. One time you found him sitting on a bench at a café you frequented, already halfway through a cup of black coffee, book in hand. “Coincidence,” he said. “You take too long choosing your drinks.”

˚₊‧꒰ა If another person got too touchy around you, Uryu had this habit of adjusting his wrists in a way that flashed his Quincy cross. It wasn’t exactly subtle.

˚₊‧꒰ა The moment you call him out on it, his composure snaps slightly. “I’m not jealous. I’m simply…observant. I notice when people hover around you unnecessarily. I have eyes, after all.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He won’t make a scene. But he’ll make it known to the other person, in an extremely polite and somehow threatening manner, that you are not available for flirting.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Do try not to loiter near people who are already spoken for,” he once said flatly to someone who was standing a little too close, before turning away.

˚₊‧꒰ა He always apologised afterward, but it would be done in an awkward, stiff sort of way. “I may have overreacted. Not that I’m admitting fault. But perhaps...I was slightly out of line.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He won’t sulk. Not really. But you’ll catch him sighing in that exaggerated way and folding his arms whenever you’re texting someone.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you joke with him about being jealous, he’ll scoff. “Ridiculous. I have far more important things to worry about. Though...I would appreciate it if you didn’t give others the wrong impression. For clarity’s sake.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His jealousy isn’t loud, but it’s thorough. He starts noticing things—people you mention in passing, patterns of where you hang out, even who sits next to you at mission briefings.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you reassure him, he’ll deny needing it—but you’ll still notice the way he relaxes. The little flicker of a smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You’re not property,” he says one evening, after yet another bout of silent treatment. “But I don’t share well, either.”

˚₊‧꒰ა And that was about as honest as Uryu ever got with his jealousy.

Kurosaki Ichigo

˚₊‧꒰ა He had never liked subtlety. So when he got jealous, it showed. The minute he saw some bloke trying to impress you with kido tricks outside the 12th Division building, his whole posture changed. Shoulders squared, eyes narrowed, lips pulled into a tight frown that screamed don’t push it.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Oi,” he called across the street, tone casual but definitely not casual. “Didn’t know we were letting circus acts roam around now.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He’d walk straight up without hesitating, throw a lazy arm over your shoulder, and stare the other guy down like it was just another Tuesday.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You good?” he’d ask you, ignoring the other person completely. “He wasn’t bothering you, yeah?”

˚₊‧꒰ა The moment you say “no, we were just talking,” his eyes flicker sideways with a sharpness that borders on petty. “Right. Talking. Looked more like performing.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He gets protective in a very loud, visible way. If someone flirts with you in front of him, he’ll interrupt immediately. “Hey, didn’t realise we were handing out free confidence today.”

˚₊‧꒰ა If the person keeps pushing, Ichigo doesn’t even get aggressive. He just gets louder and more sarcastic. “You got a name, or should I keep calling you irrelevant?”

˚₊‧꒰ა He isn’t above pulling you away entirely. Grabs your hand, and mutters, “C’mon, we’ve got better things to do than babysit egos.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He gets irritable after. Not with you, but in general. Things clatter louder, he chews his food like it insulted him, and he mutters under his breath when texting.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Didn’t think you were into that kind of guy,” he said once, frowning at the floor. “Guess I’ll go summon some paint and start juggling or something.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He tries not to make you feel bad about it. He really does. But Ichigo has never been good at hiding his emotions. Especially when it comes to you.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you tease him, he plays it off—poorly. “I’m not jealous. He was just annoying. You’re allowed to talk to people. Just not...like that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He’ll start upping his game without even realising it. More affectionate. Training harder. Pulling you into little side missions just the two of you. “Figured we could use some time away from magician boy.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His friends definitely notice. Renji teases him for it constantly. “Mate, just admit you’re jealous before you break your own jaw grinding your teeth.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He’s lowkey clingy when he’s jealous. Not obvious, just...always next to you. Offering to walk you places. Helping you carry things. Scowling at anyone who so much as glances your way too long.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Do you have to be so nice to everyone?” he once asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “People are gonna start thinking they’ve got a chance.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He won’t say it out loud, but when you reassure him that you only want him, he quiets down immediately. Shoulders drop. He stops pacing. Looks at you like you’ve just given him oxygen.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Yeah?” he says like he wasn’t sure until now. Then softer, “Good. ‘Cause I don’t wanna fight for your attention like it’s some kind of competition.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Even when the jealousy passes, he doesn’t forget. You’ll find him more watchful, and more determined to earn your attention, even in subtle ways.

˚₊‧꒰ა “I’m not insecure,” he muttered once, half into your shoulder. “I just...don’t like the idea of someone else thinking they’ve got a shot. Not when I’m right here.”

Abarai Renji

˚₊‧꒰ა Zero resistance to making facial expressions the most he got jealous. The moment he caught sight of someone getting too friendly with you—like that seated officer from Squad Five leaning a bit too close while chatting—his expression turned stormy without him even realising.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’d cross his arms and glare from across the courtyard, muttering under his breath, “Who the hell does he think he is, smiling like that? Tch.”

˚₊‧꒰ა The minute your conversation ended, he’d be at your side like a summoned spirit. “Didn’t know you were such a fan of Squad Five,” he said, trying for casual but sounding absolutely not.

˚₊‧꒰ა He wasn’t subtle. He’d stand closer to you than usual, stare down anyone who tried to talk to you, and ask loudly, “Oi, you alright? This guy wasn’t boring you to death or anything, yeah?”

˚₊‧꒰ა If the person didn’t get the message, Renji would up the territorial energy. “Maybe go find someone else to chat up. Pretty sure they got enough company.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He wouldn’t be angry with you exactly, but he’d sulk in that very obvious Renji way—sitting nearby, arms behind his head, looking everywhere but at you, and responding with short ‘yeah’s and ‘whatever’s.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You were laughing a lot,” he’d mutter at some point. “Didn’t know his jokes were that funny. You never laugh that hard at my stuff.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He’d start doing extra things to make himself stand out. Training longer, picking tougher missions, throwing flashier attacks when you were around.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Maybe if I wore my hair differently and started quoting poetry like Captain Kyoraku, I’d get your attention too,” he once grumbled while re-tying his headband.

˚₊‧꒰ა He got handsy when jealous—casual, but intentional. Arm around your waist. Hand on your lower back. Slipping his scarf around your neck with a cocky “Here, you’ll catch a chill,” just to watch others back off.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you teased him about it, he’d scoff, “Me? Jealous? Nah. Just don’t like weirdos crowdin’ you.” But then he’d glance away and mumble, “...I just don’t want someone thinkin’ they’ve got a chance, s’all.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He hated how obvious he was, but he couldn’t help it. You were his, and he didn’t like people sniffing around like they belonged in your world.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Look, I get it, people like talkin’ to you. You’re smart and funny and...look amazing, alright? But that don’t mean I gotta like it.”

˚₊‧꒰ა If you reassured him, he melted immediately. “Yeah? Just me, huh?” Then all the tension dropped from his shoulders and he gave that lopsided grin. “Thought so. Still gonna keep an eye on ‘em, though.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He once bumped into someone on purpose just to get them to move away from you. “Oops,” he said flatly. “Didn’t see you there.” He very much did.

˚₊‧꒰ა You’d find him more touchy for a few days after, keeping you within arm’s reach like someone might try and snatch you the second he blinked.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Ain’t about bein’ possessive,” he muttered one night while watching the stars from the rooftop. “It’s just...when I’ve got something good, I don’t wanna lose it ‘cause someone else decided to play clever.”

Shuhei Hisagi

˚₊‧꒰ა He wouldn’t interrupt conversations or make scenes, but he had a way of staring that could cut glass. The moment someone stood too close to you, his entire energy shifted.

˚₊‧꒰ა He wouldn’t say a word at first. Just observed from a distance, arms folded, expression unreadable save for the way his jaw clenched just slightly.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Friendly bunch in Squad Thirteen, huh,” he’d say later, voice calm but dipped in steel. “Didn’t realise you were that close.”

˚₊‧꒰ა If you brushed it off, he wouldn’t argue. But the next time that person approached, Hisagi was already there. Like a shadow. “Everything alright?” he asked, polite but with that unsettling smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

˚₊‧꒰ა He didn’t need to raise his voice. He used presence. Leaned in just slightly when someone addressed you. Stood between you and them without saying a word.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Sorry, do you need something?” he asked someone once, even though they were clearly talking to you. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He got sharper in the aftermath. Not cruel, but more teasing in a dry, cutting way. “So...gonna start bringing flowers to that guy next? He seems like he’d love the attention.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His sarcasm was his shield. He wouldn’t admit jealousy out loud—not at first. He’d just go quieter, colder, and throw in dry comments whenever the subject came up.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Didn’t know you were so easy to impress. All he did was quote a haiku and suddenly it’s the best day of your life?”

˚₊‧꒰ა But he hated the way it made him feel, so eventually he’d just say it outright, in a tired voice: “Look, I don’t like how close he was standing. That’s all. Maybe it’s petty, but I notice these things.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He didn’t flirt much when jealous, but his body language shifted—hands always brushing against yours, standing just a little closer than usual, lingering gazes that held a mix of warning and want.

˚₊‧꒰ა If someone tried to flirt with you in front of him, he’d stare them down with all the weight of the 9th Division’s cold professionalism. “You done?”

˚₊‧꒰ა The person usually backed off. Hisagi didn’t need volume. Just a look.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you caught him acting cold and asked what was wrong, he’d hesitate before admitting it: “I don’t like competition. Doesn’t sit right with me. Makes me...sharp.”

˚₊‧꒰ა The sharpness came from fear, not ego. The fear that he wasn’t enough. That someone more charismatic or light-hearted would take you away.

˚₊‧꒰ა “I’ve got a job that keeps me neck-deep in darkness,” he said one night. “Sometimes I worry that someone brighter will take you out of it. Out of reach.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Reassure him and he’d go completely still, like the tension bled out of him all at once. Then he’d nod once and smile—soft, real, and just a bit sheepish. “Alright. I’ll chill. For now.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He wasn’t dramatic, but he was relentless. He’d keep watching people around you, reading every shift in tone, every glance, every smile.

˚₊‧꒰ა “I trust you,” he said once. “It’s them I don’t trust. Some people don’t care if someone’s taken.”

˚₊‧꒰ა You’d find he became more present in subtle ways—taking breaks when you were free, stopping by your division more often, walking you home without needing to be asked.

˚₊‧꒰ა “No reason,” he said when asked why. “Just felt like seeing you.” But his eyes were already scanning the hallway behind you.

Hitsugaya Toshiro

˚₊‧꒰ა He didn’t understand why his mood soured so suddenly when he spotted you chatting with a seated squad member under the sakura trees. It wasn’t even romantic, but the way the bloke was smiling—too smug, too relaxed—put his instincts on edge.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Is that supposed to be flirting?” he muttered to Matsumoto, arms crossed, glare locked on the pair of you. “Pathetic.”

˚₊‧꒰ა The next time you passed by his office, he looked up, cool and professional, but with a definite edge in his tone. “I thought you were off socialising with that loudmouth from Squad Nine.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He wasn’t one to get dramatic about it, but he started showing up in your vicinity more often, under the guise of work. Delivering paperwork himself, offering to accompany you on patrol, assigning you to meetings that mysteriously had no actual agenda.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You’re already on the roster with me,” he said when you questioned it. “Coincidence. Don’t overthink it.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He was curt for a while, his usual formality laced with unspoken frustration. When you asked what was wrong, he simply said, “Nothing. Why, something wrong with you?”

˚₊‧꒰ა If someone got a little too comfortable around you in his presence, he’d make it uncomfortable fast. “I’d appreciate it if you kept things professional,” he said icily once, after someone put their hand on your shoulder.

˚₊‧꒰ა His jealousy came with silence more than arguments. Days where he said less than usual, sighed more, sat at his desk with furrowed brows and stabbed his brush into ink with unnecessary force.

˚₊‧꒰ა When he finally cracked, it was because you laughed at another man’s joke in the middle of a squad dinner. “Glad someone finds him funny,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear but not loud enough to start a scene.

˚₊‧꒰ა You caught him scowling at the man from across the room, eyes narrowed, fingers twitching near Hyorinmaru’s hilt. “Are you alright?” you asked. “Peachy,” he deadpanned.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you tease him about being jealous, he immediately denies it. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a captain. I don’t have time for...that.” He paused. “I just don’t like seeing idiots waste your time.”

˚₊‧꒰ა When he’s really bothered, he gets short-tempered (aka, sassy) with you too, snapping at you during training. “You’re distracted. What, still thinking about your little tea break the other day?”

˚₊‧꒰ა He never apologised directly, but his version of an apology came in subtle actions. Leaving your favourite snacks in the barracks lounge. Offering to spar with you. Sitting next to you in meetings without saying a word, just being there.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You could’ve told me if you weren’t interested anymore,” he once muttered while standing beside you on a rooftop.

˚₊‧꒰ა When you reassured him, he looked away, but the tension in his shoulders melted slightly. “Good. That’s...good to know.”

˚₊‧꒰ა And he never said the words, but from then on, you noticed how close he stayed during missions. How he always positioned himself between you and potential threats. How his eyes lingered longer when you smiled.

˚₊‧꒰ა “I don’t get jealous,” he muttered once after a long silence. “But I don’t like being taken for granted either.”

Izuru Kira

˚₊‧꒰ა It started when he overheard you joking with another seated officer in the Squad Three barracks, laughing—really laughing—and not in the way you usually laughed around him.

˚₊‧꒰ა He didn’t interrupt. He just stood there in the doorway, his smile tight, fingers resting uneasily on his sword hilt, watching the scene like it was a painting he didn’t like.

˚₊‧꒰ა “I didn’t realise you two were so...friendly,” he said later that evening while handing you some paperwork.

˚₊‧꒰ა He wouldn’t act on it immediately. Instead, he’d withdraw a little. Quietly brood. He’d finish conversations too quickly, duck out of shared breaks, and deflect whenever you asked if something was wrong.

˚₊‧꒰ა “No, everything’s fine. I just have a lot on my plate.” But his tone said don’t ask again.

˚₊‧꒰ა He started keeping tabs on where you spent your free time. Not in a possessive way—more like he was collecting evidence. Quietly confirming whether his feelings were justified.

˚₊‧꒰ა The moment he saw the guy again, leaning too close and laughing too loudly, he finally snapped. “That’s enough,” he said. “You’ve got work to do elsewhere, don’t you?”

˚₊‧꒰ა The man raised a brow, but left. Kira didn’t explain. He just turned to you and asked, “You didn’t think that was a bit much?”

˚₊‧꒰ა If you tried to make light of it, he’d grow even more tense. “It’s not funny. I don’t want to be someone you flirt with for fun. I thought we were more serious than that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His insecurity ran deep, and jealousy only made it worse. He started questioning whether you even wanted to be with someone like him—quiet, reserved, weighed down by history.

˚₊‧꒰ა “He’s probably more interesting than me,” he said bitterly once during a late patrol. “Doesn’t come with the same baggage.”

˚₊‧꒰ა When you got frustrated with his self-pity, he apologised almost instantly. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I just...I hate not knowing where I stand.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His jealousy always circled back to fear—fear of being replaceable. Of being too easy to leave.

˚₊‧꒰ა But when you told him he wasn’t, he looked at you like he didn’t quite believe it at first. Then, slowly, he smiled—small, soft, genuine. “I needed to hear that. Thank you.”

˚₊‧꒰ა After that, he became a little more confident. Subtly possessive. Sitting closer. Touching your hand more often. Holding eye contact longer whenever someone else hovered near you.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’d still get jealous, but he handled it with quiet authority. “I trust you,” he said once, “but I don’t have to trust everyone else.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Occasionally, when someone stepped over the line, he’d lean in and speak low enough only they could hear: “I’d be careful if I were you. They’re not available. Don’t make assumptions.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His jealousy wasn’t loud, but it had weight. The kind that lingered. And once he accepted that you were his, he made damn sure no one else mistook your kindness for anything else.

˚₊‧꒰ა “If I ever seem cold,” he said one night, “just know it’s because I care too much. Not the other way around.”

˚₊‧꒰ა And though he’d never admit it, the way you always chose him over everyone else—that was what finally kept the smoke from swallowing him whole.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @spellboundsuguru @cactimorada @cookielovesbook-akie @kennys-partner @sovl-society @villainsrtasty @foxycrafterofgreenwood @carnationdoe

©satsugacafé 2025: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[midnighthazee]

A Night with MinChan

Summary: Minho was super horny one day and needs you to get off...even though ur Chan's girlfriend

Word Count: 1397

Warnings: MDNI 18+ NSFW, unprotected sex (wrap it up fr), Dom Minho (Minho is horny and demanding), voyeur Chan, oral, creampie, spanking, spitting, hair pulling, hand holding, pet names.. I think that's everything?

Relationship: boyfriend!Chan x afab!reader x Minho

"Chan, c’mon man you gotta help me out..." Minho spun him around. "It's been like two weeks."

"I can't tonight. I gotta get this demo done to send in for approval."

"Do it tomorrow." 

Chan glared at Minho. 

"I'm not about to be cockblocked by a fucking song..." Minho added.

Chan sighed, shaking his head as he turned around to continue working. 

"I can have her alone..." Minho offered.

"You know the arrangement..." Chan reminded. "My girlfriend...not yours. You're lucky I even let you fuck her in the first place."

"Please. I'm so hard it hurts. And these pants are very...constricting." Minho complained. 

Chan couldn't deny seeing the bulge in Minho's pants. "Fine. But you're helping me finish this tomorrow."

"Deal."

About twenty minutes later, Chan arrived in your shared apartment, Minho on his heels. 

"Babe?" He called out. 

"Y/n?" Minho made a beeline for the master bedroom. 

"Yeah?” You answered, coming from the bedroom. “Oh hey! What are yo-"

Before you could finish your question, Minho's lips smashed onto yours. 

"Hello to you too." You say when he finally pulls away. 

"Bed. Now."

"Who? Me?" You look over at Chan. "I know he's not talking to me."

Chan shrugs.

Suddenly, Minho's hand connects with your ass, making you yelp. 

"Get. On. The. Bed." He grits, his eyes menacing. "Or that tight little asshole will be mine tonight. 

Not that you were against it…. but you wanted Chan to have the first go at it. So Minho was forced to wait. 

You swallow thickly, turning on your heels and going back into the bedroom. You climb on the bed, turning to face him. 

Chan follows a shirtless Minho into the room and goes to sit in his usual chair. He loved watching you get wrecked by Minho - only to coo and comfort you after. That’s probably the only reason this arrangement happened in the first place. They usually take turns on who fucks you silly and who does the aftercare. Guess today, Minho is in charge. 

Minho stood between your legs, tilting your chin up to look at him. "Open this pretty little mouth, kitten."

You did as he told and he spit onto your outstretched tongue. "Swallow."

You did.

He tugged your hair, tilting your head back even farther as his other hand snaked around your throat. He leaned down and kissed you, though it was much gentler this time.

His hands released their grip as he continued kissing you, tongues swirling around each other in a fight for dominance. His fingers grazed your waist as he pulled on the hem of your shirt. He pulled it up and over your head, pleased to see your lack of bra underneath. 

"You were ready for me, huh kitten?" 

You nod, giving him puppy eyes. 

"Use your words, remember? Or I can't help you."

"Yes, Min."

"Good little kitten."

You didn't miss Chan shifting in his seat over in the corner, smirking. He always got so hard watching the two of you. His own personal porn. 

"Lay down."

You lay back and Minho reaches forward to grab your sweatpants. He slides them, and your underwear, off. You were bare on the bed, two hungry gazes drinking in the sight of your body. Minho let out a slight growl in his throat as he leaned down and attached his lips to your nipple. You moan at his expert movement. He knew just how to please you, even though it's been just about two months since this arrangement started. 

One of his hands trails down to your core, parting your folds to slip a finger inside. Your back arches, his finger slipping right in. That's to how wet you were already. 

"Fuck kitten...you're always so fucking wet." Minho hisses. 

He teases your cunt, rubbing up and down, thrusting in and out. You were squirming, desperate for more. 

"Min..." you whine. "Minho..."

He pulls his fingers away, sucking them clean and groaning at the taste. 

"Ass up." He commands. 

You flip over, bending forward so your ass is up in the air. He leaned down, sucking on your bud. You gripped the sheets, crying out as he lapped up your juices. His tongue prodded your entrance and teased, pushing you closer to release. But before you could finish, Minho stands up and inserts two fingers, curling them just right as he massages your sensitive walls. You were close, ready to snap. 

"Minho...please...so close."

"Cum for me." He said. "Now"

At his command, you came around his fingers, pussy dripping around him. Your eyes rolled back, fisting the sheets as your body trembled. Minho bent down once more, licking you clean and making you jump at the overstimulation. 

He pulled away for a few seconds but it wasn't long until you felt his hands gripping your waist. Your core was prodded with his tip as he grinded against you. You whimper. Minho smacks your ass hard enough to make tears prick in your eyes. 

"Please..." you beg, stealing a glance over at Chan. 

Chan has his thick cock in his hand, slowly stroking it as he watches. He was biting his lip, the other hand white knuckled as it gripped the arm of the chair.  

Suddenly, Minho snapped his hips and thrusted into you harshly. You gasp, clenching around him. He groans, moving his hips and setting a rhythm. 

"Fuck" you pant. 

The sound of him rutting into you filled the silence. He leaned forward, hips snapping as he had his way. 

"Fuck I’m not gonna last long, kitten. You're so tight."

"Maybe if you weren't so horny..." Chan noted, earning the middle finger from his friend. 

Minho's fingers reached between your legs and began pinching your clit. You shook, moaning as he teased. You were so close, ready to release any second. 

"That's it baby...fuck...squeezing me like that...ughhhh. Cum for me kitten." Minho strained against his cock's need to fill you. 

Crying out his name, you came hard. White dots filled your vision, making you squeeze your eyes shut. He was slamming relentlessly into you, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could. It was too much and your body started to convulse. He pulled out abruptly, flipping you onto your back. You moan, trying to come to but he doesn't let you. Minho slips right back in, pounding just as fast. Reaching up, he pinches your nipples between his fingers. You arch your back, moaning loudly. 

"I want you to cum again.." Minho stated. "So I can fill you up."

"Minho..." you whine. 

"Shhh. Hush now. Let me take care of you. Making you feel so good, huh?" Minho's hands find yours, fingers intertwining as he raises them above your head. His tempo never falters, as he leans down and peppers kisses along your face. After a few moments, he leans back up, reaching for your clit once more. He begins to circle it with his thumb. 

"Fuck...im.close." He groans. "You gonna cum with me, yeah?"

You nod. 

Minho's free hand is around your throat, squeezing. "Words."

"Yes. I'll cum. Let me cum with you."

"Good girl."

A few more frantically thrusts and his hips begin stuttering. You feel your orgasm washed over you, feel the hot spurts of cum filling you up and you lose yourself in the sensation. So much so, you didn't hear Chan stand and walk over to you. 

"Suck, pretty girl." Chan says. 

Your eyes were hazy as you struggled to open them. You opened your mouth and took his thick cock down your throat. He fucked your face, groaning at how good your warm, wet mouth was.

Minho was now bent over you, cock buried deep, as he lay on your chest to catch his breath. 

"Mmm...fuck that's it. You ready baby? Wanna taste it?" Chan practically growled

You moan in response and the vibrations send chills up his spine. 

"Gonna swallow it all like a good girl?"

Before you can answer, his cock twitches and he cums with a guttural groan. 

He leans forward, catching himself with outstretched hands as he shoots his seed down your throat. 

"Such a good girl, kitten. You like being full of cum, don't you?" Minho nips at your collarbone as Chan pulls out. 

You swallow, opening your mouth to him to show off. 

He squats down, hand rubbing your head. "My pretty girl....you're so good for us."

Beta: @rain-water-flowers

TAGLIST: @its-the-solar-system @butterflydemons @readr1221 @thecutiepieme @sillygoosegoose @kaleigh-2002 @stvrrylove @iknow-uknow-leeknow @estella-novella @staytinyluv @galaxy4489 @motheraiya55 @gaby105-skz @thatgirlangelb @hxnnielk @bookswillfindyouaway @ihttinniee @writeuntilthebitterend

[inseobts]

Hiii! Can i req an ace x f!reader where he looks all over for her like he did with BB not bc she's a traitor but bc she left the crew w/o letting anyone besides WB know (WB ain't snitching lol). She has her own problems in life but the ultimate reason for leaving was bc of self loathing issues under the tough mask and thought the love was unrequited after seeing ace with cuter girls, and that she didn't need another problem. It was onesided, but ace became aware of his own feelings after she left. He finds her as a strawhat but reader and zoro are alrdy a power couple... or so he thought ;D tysm i genuinely LOVE your works btw!!! <3

Embers Left Behind

portgas d. ace x reader

a/n: aaah I always love a really good angst with fluff!! thank you aw

words count: 5.9k

tags: angst, heartbreak, slow burn, emotional tension, sfw

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The Moby Dick rocks gently with the waves, but the stillness on board is anything but peaceful.

“Ace...”

Marco’s voice is low, but firm, almost warning in his tone.

Ace doesn’t stop pacing “Don’t start.”

“You’ve already asked him three times.”

“I’ll ask him thirty!” Ace snaps, spinning on his heel. His fists are clenched so tightly his nails dig into his palms “She wouldn’t just vanish like that. Not without saying anything.”

“She did.” Marco says, voice quiet but steady “That was her choice.”

Ace whirls, fire licking up his arms now “She told Pops and not us? Not even me?”

Marco looks away “Yeah. That’s what she actually did.”

Ace’s breath hitches. That admission stings more than he’ll let show.

He storms toward the upper deck, where Whitebeard sits in his massive chair, the sea breeze tugging at his long white hair like it respects him too much to tangle it.

“Old man.” Ace’s voice is tight. Controlled. Barely.

Whitebeard doesn’t turn “Still angry?”

“Still confused.” Ace steps closer “Why her? Why’d she tell you and not the rest of us?”

“She asked for a promise.” Whitebeard’s voice is steady as a mountain “And I gave it.”

Ace’s fire dims slightly “A promise to keep her location a secret?”

“To let her go. Without questions. Without trails.”

“Bullshit...” Ace mutters, hurt flashing in his voice “She didn’t even say goodbye.”

Whitebeard finally turns his gaze down to him “You think that didn’t hurt her too?”

Ace swallows hard. But he doesn’t respond.

Later, in the infirmary, Marco sits with a bottle between his legs, flipping the cap off with a lazy flick of his thumb.

“She left her favourite coat” he says.

Ace looks up, surprised “What?”

Marco nods toward the corner of the room where a familiar coat hangs limply on the wall, untouched “She probably forgot it in the rush of leaving.”

Ace stands slowly, walking over to it. He stares at it like it’s a corpse.

“She was hurting.” Marco doesn’t say it as a defense, just as the truth.

Ace turns toward him, brows drawn together “We’re family. She could’ve told us.”

“Maybe that’s exactly why she couldn’t.”

The crew feels the void she left, even in little things like someone instinctively calling her name during morning drills, or setting aside a plate during dinner out of habit. Thatch stops laughing as loudly. Vista sharpens his swords in silence.

And Ace? He doesn’t sleep. Not really.

He stares at the stars, thinking about every conversation you ever had, what he missed, what you were hiding, what he didn’t say.

The coat’s been hanging there for weeks. No one moves it. No one touches it. It just stays exactly where you left it, draped over the hook in the infirmary corner like it’s waiting for you to come back and grab it.

Ace stares at it again that morning.

Marco walks in, holding coffee, and stops when he sees him.

“You really gonna keep standing there, or you gonna wear it yourself?”

Ace shoots him a glare “It’s hers.”

Marco sips, watching him over the rim of his mug “Yeah. We know.”

He doesn’t make a scene about it. Just one quiet morning, a little after breakfast, he shows up on deck with a pack slung over his shoulder and your coat folded neatly in his arms.

Whitebeard watches from his throne, silent.

“Going somewhere, Ace?” Izo asks, already knowing.

Ace doesn’t look at anyone as he answers, “She forgot her coat.”

A few of the guys glance at each other. That’s the excuse? Seriously?

Haruta tilts her head “You’re gonna cross the Grand Line to return a coat?”

Ace shrugs “She loved this coat. Said she couldn’t live without it.”

It’s half a lie. Maybe less. But no one calls him out.

“You gonna tell Pops?” Vista asks.

Ace glances toward the upper deck. Whitebeard’s already looking at him. They lock eyes for a second. Whitebeard doesn’t nod. Doesn’t shake his head. Just… lets him go.

“Guess you don’t need to” Vista mutters with a smirk.

Marco sighs and tosses him an extra log pose “You’ll need this more than your pride.”

Ace catches it, barely looking “Appreciate it.”

“You gonna say what we all know?” Marco asks, voice level “That it’s not about the coat?”

Ace’s jaw tightens “No.”

Marco smirks faintly “Thought so.”

As Ace walks toward the edge of the ship, Thatch calls after him, voice light but sad around the edges “Tell her she still owes me a drink!”

“And that we miss her!” Haruta adds.

Ace doesn’t turn around, but he lifts a hand in acknowledgment.

“Tell her yourself when I find her...” he says.

And then, he’s gone.

Months passed and the sun’s dipping low when Ace finds the black sails of the Thousand Sunny sway gently at the harbor’s edge, golden light flickering across the lion-shaped prow like it’s grinning at him.

He hadn’t meant to stumble across them like this. He was chasing rumors, not names. But seeing that Straw Hat Jolly Roger gave him a reason to take a break.

“So you’re just crashing dinner?” Luffy grins, already halfway through a plate of meat.

“Not my fault I showed up right when Sanji was cooking” Ace says casually, plopping down on the deck’s edge.

The table’s full. Sanji’s setting down plates faster than they can be emptied. Nami’s sipping something citrusy, Robin’s got a book open next to her rice, and Usopp’s already knee-deep in some tall tale about a sea king. Brook plays a soft melody in the background.

“Man, I forgot how chaotic you all are” Ace laughs.

Franky flexes “SUPER chaotic!”

Chopper beams “I’m glad you stopped by!”

“Didn’t expect to find you guys here, honestly” Ace admits, glancing around “I was just passing through.”

Nami quirks an eyebrow “Passing through where, exactly?”

He shrugs “Everywhere.”

They don’t press. They know that kind of tone.

Luffy’s already asking about Whitebeard, and Ace answers between bites.

Then footsteps. Two sets. Light and even. The sound of a low laugh, a deeper voice beside it.

“—I’m just saying, if you let me sharpen your swords while drunk, it’s a disaster waiting to happen, you can't blame me after...” your voice rings out, smooth and easy.

“I didn’t really give you permission, stop lying.” Zoro answers, tone relaxed in a way that makes Ace’s stomach turn.

You step into the room first, head turned toward him, smiling “You did! You said that I—”

And then your eyes land on the table.

On him.

And everything stops.

Ace freezes with a piece of meat halfway to his mouth, hand still in the air.

You don’t breathe.

Neither does he.

Your gaze locked with his.

“Ace...” you whisper.

He stands up so suddenly his chair scrapes across the floor.

“You’re—” His voice cracks. He swallows “You’re here?”

Zoro’s already watching you. He sees the change in your expression, the sudden tightness in your grip, the way your breath hitches.

Sanji mutters, “Ohhh shit.”

You take a slow step forward, like you’re not sure if he’s real “What are you doing here?”

Ace doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes scanning you, your hair, clothes, the faint scar on your knuckle that wasn’t there before. You’re different. Still you. But heavier, somehow. Guarded.

He lifts something from the table.

Your old coat.

You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

“You forgot this” he says quietly.

And just like that, every wall you built inside your chest starts to splinter.

You stare at it “You came all this way for that?”

Ace’s smile is small. Not cocky. Not smug. Just… tired “Couldn’t sleep with it staring at me every day.”

The table is dead quiet now. Everyone’s eyes on the two of you.

You glance at Zoro. He’s watching Ace now. Calm. Unmoving.

Ace notices.

Something flickers in his eyes “Didn’t know you were a Straw Hat now.”

You steady your voice “I wasn't planning on staying with them at first, so I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

He hesitates “Yeah. Same.”

You don’t know what else to say. Neither does he. But damn it, the tension’s louder than the silence.

Dinner resumes... Kind of.

People try to keep it normal. Conversations start up again, tentative at first, then flowing a little easier. Luffy dives back into his mountain of food, thankfully oblivious. Usopp’s telling Brook about a “totally real” fight he had with a sea serpent, and Chopper’s wide-eyed and hanging on every word.

But at one end of the table, you sit next to Zoro, posture stiff.

Across from you, Ace is watching.

You can feel his gaze on your skin like sunburn. Every time you smile or laugh at something Zoro says. Every time Zoro nudges your shoulder casually. Every time you try to look like everything’s fine.

You’re not fooling anyone. Least of all Ace.

“Here,” Zoro says suddenly, shoving a cup toward you “You look like you need this.”

You blink “Sake already?”

He shrugs “It’s dinner. And you look like you’re about to jump overboard.”

You snort under your breath “Thanks.”

You drink. So does Ace.

And then again Sanji pours a fresh cup for him, glancing sideways “You alright there?”

Ace leans back with a grin that doesn’t touch his eyes “Peachy.”

He knocks back another drink.

You try not to look at him, but it’s like your eyes betray you every five seconds.

Zoro strangely keeps talking. Trying. He keeps you grounded when your thoughts threaten to drift into the fire sitting across the table.

But the alcohol is catching up to Ace.

His words get looser. His stare, more obvious.

“So,” he says after his third or fifth cup “How long’s that been a thing?”

Your head snaps up “What?”

Ace nods lazily toward you and Zoro “You and him. The whole… power couple thing.”

Zoro’s hand pauses around his cup “Didn’t know that was a thing.”

Ace shrugs, leaning an elbow on the table “Oh, it’s not. But I saw how you looked at her. Pretty sure I’ve seen animals less possessive.”

You set your cup down, jaw tight “Ace.”

“What?” he asks, eyes wide in mock innocence “We’re just catching up, right? Friends talk about relationships. Or is that off-limits too?”

Sanji clears his throat “Maybe you should pace yourself, Fire Fist.”

“Oh, I’m pacing,” Ace says, slouching back “Just catching up on a year of silence and disappearing acts.”

Your stomach drops.

Zoro glances at you but says nothing.

You speak slowly “This isn’t the place.”

Ace huffs a laugh “Yeah, no kidding. Because the place for it was back then, right? When you could’ve said something. Anything.”

Robin gently closes her book.

Nami’s eyes flicker between the two of you.

“I didn’t think I owed you an explanation” you snap, sharper than intended.

Ace leans forward, finally letting that bitter smile crack through “No, you didn’t. But damn, it would’ve been nice to get something other than your coat and full silence.”

Zoro moves slightly, like he’s ready to shut it down, but your face makes him understand he has to stop.

Everyone’s watching now, and you feel like you’re under a spotlight.

Ace shakes his head, laughing dryly “Hell, maybe I was the only idiot who thought it meant something.”

Your breath catches.

The words are out.

And for a moment, no one knows what to say. Not even him.

The dinner table clears awkwardly.

No one says anything outright, but it’s obvious they’re trying to give you space.

Luffy yawns exaggeratedly and says, “Wow, I’m full. So full. Gonna go sleep. Right now. So full.”

“Goodnight!” Chopper squeaks, tugging Usopp by the sleeve.

Even Sanji backs off, flicking his lighter once before disappearing into the galley.

That leaves just you, Ace and Zoro, standing up slowly, watching Ace with unreadable eyes.

“You gonna be alright?” Zoro asks, voice low.

You nod “Yeah.”

Zoro looks at you for a bit longer, then gives a short nod and walks away, leaving you with Ace’s stare burning holes in your side.

The silence stretches.

You finally break it “That was unnecessary.”

Ace doesn’t flinch “Which part? The part where you never said goodbye, or the part where you show up on a new ship with a boyfriend like none of us meant anything to you? Couldn't you just tell us you were leaving for love?”

Your jaw tightens “Zoro is my friend.”

He snorts “Could’ve fooled me.”

You look him dead in the eye “It’s not like that. It never was.”

The silence that follows is heavier than anything he said during dinner.

“…Oh.”

His voice is smaller now. Less fire, more ash.

You exhale “You seriously thought I left because of him?”

Ace’s fingers run through his hair “No. I don’t know. I thought—maybe—I don’t know, okay? You just vanished. You left without a damn word. I woke up, and you were gone. And now I found you here...”

Your breath hitches, but you stay rooted.

“I told Whitebeard to not worry you all too much” you say quietly.

“Only him...” Ace snaps, stepping closer now “Why? What was so bad you couldn’t even say goodbye to me?”

You blink fast, but your voice stays even “Because if I saw your face, I wouldn’t have been able to do it! It's not that hard to understand, Ace.”

Ace’s whole body stills.

You go on, voice low and raw “I didn’t leave because I hated the crew. Or you. I left because I hated me. I was tired of pretending I wasn’t falling apart inside. Tired of pretending I didn’t feel anything, especially around you.”

Ace doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

You shake your head “You didn’t need someone like me stuck in your shadow.”

“That’s not—” he starts, but you hold up a hand.

“I didn’t want to be another problem you had to solve.”

Silence again.

Then, slowly he says “You were never a problem.”

You glance up.

His eyes are different now. Not angry. Not jealous. Just… aching.

“You were a storm I wanted to chase,” he murmurs “but then you were just gone.”

Your chest tightens.

“You never said anything either” you whisper.

He laughs bitterly “Guess we both suck at this.”

Your heart pounding “So what now?”

Ace shrugs, but there’s no fire in it this time. Just quiet, open hurt “You tell me.”

Ace’s words hang in the air like smoke from a dying fire. You stare at him, heart tight and hammering. Part of you wants to move, say something, anything, but your feet won’t cooperate.

“You think I had some kind of perfect answer?” he says, voice cracking just slightly “You weren’t the only one pretending nothing hurt.”

Your brows knit “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

He steps closer.

“Because I didn’t know I could!” he bursts out “Because you always looked so strong. Always sharp. Looked like you never needed anyone, least of all me.”

You flinch. He sees it. Regrets it instantly.

“I didn’t mean—”

“No,” you cut him off, voice thick “You’re right. I made it look easy. I wore the mask. I made you all believe I was fine when I wasn’t. I guess it's normal you thought so if that was my plan to start with.”

Your eyes burn, but you keep going.

“You know what I remember, Ace? Nights on the Moby Dick where I stared at the ceiling wondering why I felt like I didn’t deserve to be there. Why I wasn’t enough. Why I could throw myself into battle for my crew and still feel like a fraud every time someone looked at me with respect.”

Ace’s breath catches “You were never a fraud.”

You laugh bitterly “I know that's a family, I love them all... but sometimes I felt like a fraud.”

The pain in your chest rises, sharp and breathless.

“But you...” your voice breaks, “you were the biggest thing I couldn’t handle. Not when I saw how easy it was for you to smile at someone else. Someone better.”

Ace’s eyes widen “Better?! What the hell are you talking about?”

You take a shaky breath “All these girls. The flirting. The way you lit up when you were with them. I saw it all. And I told myself... of course he doesn’t want you. Why would he?”

There’s silence. Only the sea, and your heart breaking against the rail of the Sunny.

Ace looks like someone just punched the air out of his lungs.

“That’s what you thought?” he whispers.

You nod, lips trembling “I left because it hurt to love you.”

The words hang there. Raw. Bleeding.

“You left,” he says slowly, “and took everything with you without even trying.”

Your throat closes.

Ace’s jaw clenches.

“I would’ve chosen you,” he says quietly “Every single time, if you gave me the chance.”

"But you can't blame me for being oblivious... You were always with some new girl, how could I even think I had a chance"

"I know. But you also knew I would have chosen you over some strangers, I wouldn't want to hurt you at all. If you gave me a change I would have put the whole world aside for you, Y/N."

You don’t know whether to cry or scream. So you laugh... a single, broken sound “And now it’s too late, right?”

“I don’t know” he says honestly “You tell me.”

His eyes are locked on yours, and he steps closer.

You don’t move away.

His hand hovers, hesitates, like he wants to touch your face, your shoulder, your hand, something, anything, but doesn’t know if he has the right anymore.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Ace…”

And then—BANG. The galley door slams open.

“Yo, have either of you seen—oh.”

Luffy. Of course it’s Luffy.

He stops in the doorway, blinking wide, oblivious to the emotional minefield he’s just barged into “Uh. Am I interrupting?”

You jerk back instinctively. Ace steps away too, fast.

“No!” you say too quickly “No, you’re good.”

Ace turns away, face unreadable now. Mask back on, smooth and practiced.

Luffy glances between you two “You guys look weird.”

Neither of you responds.

He scratches the back of his head “Anyway, Robin and Nami are looking for you,” he tells you. “Something about maps and weird island currents.”

You nod, voice tight “Got it. I’ll be right there.”

Luffy eyes Ace for another second, then shrugs and leaves just as fast as he came, door clicking shut behind him.

Silence falls again but it’s different now. The moment is shattered, scattered like glass.

Ace doesn’t look at you.

You speak first, voice barely above a whisper “Ace…”

He cuts you off gently “You should go.”

You flinch “We weren’t done.”

“I think we were.”

You step toward him, but he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t let himself.

“I meant what I said” you tell him “About everything.”

His voice is quiet “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

And then he walks away. Leaving you standing in the dark, alone with the weight of all the things that almost happened.

You make it to the girls’ quarters, swallow hard and enter the room.

You close the door and put your body agaist it as if you're trying to let all the problems stay out.

Nami stands there, brows lifting when she sees your face “Hey, we were just—”

But then she looks closer and her casual smile drops right off her face.

“…You okay?”

Your throat locks up.

Behind her, Robin looks up from the maps she’s laying out, calm as ever but watching you with those eyes that always seem to see what you don’t want them to.

You try to say something. Anything.

You don’t.

You sit down instead. Hard. Right on the edge of Nami’s bed like your legs stopped working.

Nami follows instantly, crouching in front of you “What happened?”

You shake your head, blinking fast, jaw clenched.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you whisper, voice barely there “I don’t know how to fix this.”

And then it breaks as you cover your face with your hands.

The tears hit before you can stop them. Hot, shaking, ugly sobs that you’ve held down for too long. Too many months of silence, too much guilt, too much everything.

You’re not even crying quietly. You break.

“I left because I thought it was the right thing!” you gasp “I thought he didn’t feel anything and I couldn’t take it anymore. And now he’s here and he does and it’s just—it’s too late and I ruined it.”

Nami wraps her arms around you instantly, holding tight.

Robin doesn’t say anything at first. She just sits beside you, brushing your hair back from your wet face with a gentle hand.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Nami whispers “You were hurting. That’s not the same as ruining.”

You shake your head against her shoulder “He hates me.”

“He doesn’t...” Robin says simply.

You choke on a bitter laugh “He walked away.”

“Because he’s hurt too,” Robin adds “But that doesn’t mean it’s over.”

You wipe your face with your sleeve, trembling “I feel like I’ve been bleeding since the day I left.”

Robin’s voice is soft, but steady “Then maybe it’s time to stop bleeding. Start talking.”

Nami looks down at you, eyes gentle “Do you want to fix it?”

You nod. Miserably. Broken.

“Then we’ll help you,” she says “You don’t have to do it alone.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believe it.

The next morning, no one says anything out loud but it’s clear something has shifted.

You don’t talk about the breakdown you had the night before. You don’t talk about the ache in your throat or the way sleep never really came. You just sit at breakfast and try to act normal.

Except Robin keeps watching you. Nami keeps nudging your elbow like it’s nothing, but her smile is just a little too knowing.

Zoro doesn’t say a word but when Ace walks in and his eyes meet yours across the room and then quickly slide away Zoro exhales through his nose and mutters, “This is stupid.”

Nami catches that.

Her eyes flick to Robin, who arches a brow.

Time to get to work.

“Ace,” Nami says casually, catching him after breakfast, “Luffy’s going to be real mad if you leave before sparring with him again.”

Ace pauses “We already did yesterday. I'm here just to take some food.”

“Yeah, but now he wants a rematch. Says you cheated.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

“He’s Luffy,” Nami shrugs “He doesn’t care.”

Ace gives her a side glance “Why are you so invested?”

She smiles, all teeth “Me? Not at all.”

Later, Robin finds you on the deck alone, staring at the waves. You haven’t seen Ace since breakfast.

“He hasn’t left yet” she says gently.

You don’t look at her “I know.”

Robin glances out at the horizon “You’re not the only one afraid, you know.”

You grip the railing tighter “Then why does it feel like I am?”

Robin’s voice is soft “Because you’re not used to being vulnerable. But strength isn’t always about standing tall.”

You finally glance at her “You’re not really here to talk about fear.”

She smiles “No. I’m here to remind you that there’s still time.”

Meanwhile, Zoro corners Ace on the training deck. No swords, just crossed arms and that usual scowl.

“You leaving?” he asks.

Ace shrugs “Probably.”

Zoro raises a brow “You couldn't care less about that coat, did you?”

Ace laughs once “No.”

Zoro nods “Figured.”

“She cried last night.”

Ace’s shoulders freeze.

Zoro keeps his voice even “Not for attention. Not for drama. She broke. I heard her from the girls’ room”

Ace turns his head, jaw tense “…She okay?”

“No,” Zoro says honestly “And neither are you.”

He starts to walk away, but pauses.

“You don’t get many second chances,” he says over his shoulder “Don’t be a dumbass.”

Later that day, Luffy walks up to Ace and beams.

“Hey! Are you and Y/N in love?”

Ace nearly chokes on air “What?!”

Luffy tilts his head “You’re mad. She’s sad. You love each other, right? Just fix it already.”

Ace blinks at him, stunned.

“…You know, for a rubber guy, you’re terrifyingly blunt.”

Luffy grins “Thanks!”

By sunset, you’re back at the rail again. Same spot. Same ache.

Footsteps approach and you already know it’s him.

Ace stops a few feet away.

“You’re avoiding me” he says quietly.

“I’m trying to give you space.”

He exhales “I think we’ve had enough space to destroy a fleet.”

You swallow, heart pounding.

He steps closer.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

Your eyes meet his and nod.

The sky bleeds orange and gold as the sun dips low behind the sea.

Ace steps up beside you, quiet and calm. No tension in his shoulders.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

You turn slowly to look at him.

“I figured” you whisper.

Ace nods “I came for a coat. Didn’t expect to get set on fire instead.”

You almost smile. Almost.

He looks out over the ocean “Whitebeard misses you. So does Marco. Thatch tried to make your favorite meal last week but burned it like an idiot.”

You swallow hard.

“They never said it but I know they all knew why you left” he says “I was the only one not understanding…”

He doesn’t look at you yet.

He goes on “I’ll say you found your place. That you’re with Luffy’s crew now. That you’re surrounded by people who care about you. That you’re safe. I know my little brother will take good care of you. Even that green moody head seems to care about you.”

His voice softens “And I’ll tell them you’re happy.”

You feel something twist in your chest.

“And what about you?” you ask.

Ace is quiet.

“For a long time,” he says, “I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Flirting, smiling, messing around… it was easy. It was nothing. Because the real thing scared me.”

You finally look at him.

He’s already watching you.

“I told myself I didn’t care,” he says “That the way I looked at you didn’t mean anything. That it was fine if you didn’t look back.”

He laughs bitterly “But I did care. I cared so damn much it felt like it was choking me.”

Your breath catches.

“Feeling things terrified me”

Silence.

Then he finally says it, soft and aching “I was in love with you. Still am.”

The air rushes out of your lungs.

Ace looks away.

“But I’m not asking you for anything. Not now. Not after all this. I just… I couldn’t leave without saying it. I couldn’t let you think it didn’t matter. That you didn’t matter. It will hurt to go back without you but I meant it before, I'll be happy to know you found another family here, with Luffy out of all people.”

You stare at him, heart pounding.

“You still love me?” you whisper “I thought it was too late...”

“It probably is,” he says with a small smile “But at least you’ll know.”

He turns to leave but your hand shoots out and you grab his sleeve.

“…Stay one more day,” you say, voice shaking “Please.”

Ace freezes.

Slowly, he turns back to you and for the first time in forever there’s hope in his eyes.

Neither of you say much since you asked him to stay.

But the silence is comfortable now. Familiar. Safe.

Ace glances sideways, his voice low “You sure about this?”

You nod, just once.

“Yeah.”

His fingers twitch beside yours, like he wants to reach for you again but he waits.

“I don’t mean just staying,” he murmurs “I mean… this. Us. Me.”

You take a breath, and your hand moves to cover his.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure.”

He lets out a breath, almost like relief.

You both look out at the sea a while longer before you speak again.

“I missed you every day.”

Ace turns to you.

Your voice trembles, but you don’t look away.

“I thought about you every time I smiled. Every time something good happened. You were just… there in my mind, like you never left.”

His hand turns under yours, fingers lacing gently through yours.

“I hated you for leaving” he whispers.

You blink but he’s not angry. His voice is soft. Wounded.

“I hated you,” he says, “because you didn’t give me the chance to try stop you. But also because I was scared and stupid and thought I had time to figure it out.”

You’re quiet for a long moment.

Then you shift closer, just slightly, knees brushing. His hand stays in yours.

“You still have time.”

He looks at you then. Like you’re the first sunrise after a shipwreck.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your heart stutters.

You nod “Yes.”

And he does. It’s not desperate. Not rushed. Just real.

His lips are warm and trembling against yours. One hand moves to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing soft. You kiss him back, slow and full of everything you never got to say.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests gently against yours.

You rise slowly, fingers never leaving his, and lead him back into your room, silent, sure.

The night is tender. You lie beside each other in the dark, hearts bare and hands exploring familiar skin like it’s new.

When he presses kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your temple, you know it’s not just affection. It’s an apology. A thank you. A promise.

When he asks softly, “Is this okay?” you say “Yes” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And when you make love, it’s not about what you lost. It’s about what you finally found again.

No masks. No fear.

Just warmth.

Just you and him.

Just home.

You wake up warm.

Ace’s arm is draped across your waist, his breath steady at your back. His fingers twitch every so often, like he’s dreaming something wild. Or maybe something peaceful, for once.

You don’t want to move but you do, because you have to, because you both knew last night didn’t mean nothing’s changed, it meant everything has.

The galley is loud by the time you walk in.

The crew’s halfway through breakfast, everyone arguing over eggs and toast like nothing happened, like your world didn’t shift overnight.

Ace walks in behind you a second later, and the room stills for a heartbeat.

Then “YOU’RE FIRED!”

Luffy slams his hands on the table and points directly at you, grinning wide.

You blink “What?”

“You heard me!” he says “You slept with my brother! And on my ship! That’s illegal!”

You blush embarassed that even your oblivious Captain knew what happened.

Robin lifts her teacup “There’s no such law.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Luffy declares “I’m the captain. I make the rules here. Y/N, you’re fired.”

You open your mouth, then stop.

Because behind the ridiculous accusation, behind the over-the-top delivery you see the way his voice softens just slightly, the way his eyes look proud, not mad.

The way Nami nudges you, it’s okay.

This is Luffy's way of letting you go. He doesn’t want you to feel like you’re abandoning them.

So he turns it into a joke. A ridiculous, loud, Luffy's joke.

You laugh. You can’t help it.

Tears prick your eyes anyway.

Even Sanji tries his best to play it cool, almost looking proud, of you? Or of his Captain for understanding.

Usopp tries to cover Chopper's ears so that he doesn't hear about these adults' things.

Zoro doesn’t say much. Just leans back, arms folded, watching you with that unreadable gaze of his. But when you meet his eyes he nods. Just once.

He gets it. Even if it hurts a little more than he shows.

After breakfast, you start to pack. You barely get two things in your bag before someone knocks on your door.

Zoro.

He leans in the doorway, arms crossed, swords resting against his hip.

“Guess it’s real, huh?” he says quietly.

You nod.

“…Yeah.”

He doesn’t move for a second. Then he steps forward and gives something to you.

It’s your old Whitebeard crew headband you used to have on your arm, it's tattered and sun-bleached, but whole.

“Found it in the storage room last week,” he says “Thought you might want it back now.”

Your throat tightens “Thank you.”

Zoro shrugs “You were always part of another crew before this one. Doesn’t mean we didn’t like having you.”

“I’ll miss you” you whisper.

He smiles soft, sad “Don’t get all sentimental now. I won’t cry.”

You laugh through your tears and hugs him without giving him time to protest.

Zoro stays still for a while, his arm instinctively around your shoulders but he steps back before he could let him touch you.

“Go on, then,” he says “He’s waiting.”

You find Ace on the deck, bag slung over his shoulder, waiting at the edge of the ship like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind.

You take his hand and when you look back, the whole crew is there. Waving. Smiling. Luffy cheering like an idiot.

Little you know as soon as you’re out of sight Luffy, Nami, Chopper, Usopp amd Sanji all start to cry and act whining about how much they already miss you.

Your heart aches but it also feels full. Because you’re not losing a family. You’re just returning to another one, with love in your wake.

The Moby Dick is quiet when the small boat approaches. Too quiet.

Ace shifts nervously beside you, one hand still loosely holding yours, he hasn’t let go once since you left the Strawhats. You’re both sun-warmed, tired, hearts still tender. But you feel lighter now. Whole.

The closer you get, the more you can make out familiar silhouettes on deck. Marco, Thatch, Izo, even Whitebeard himself arms crossed, massive grin already tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Ace glances at you “Ready?”

You squeeze his hand “You better not let go the second we dock.”

He grins, all teeth and dimples “Not a chance.”

⸻

The second your boots hit the deck, it’s chaos.

“YOU BROUGHT HER BACK?!” Thatch yells, practically jumping over the railing to tackle you in a hug.

Marco stares at you, blinking slowly “I thought you were mad at all of us.”

You raise a brow “I wasn’t mad.”

Then his eyes flick to your joined hands.

Then back to your faces.

“…Wait.”

Izo’s eyes narrow “Wait.”

There’s a pause.

And then everyone starts yelling at once.

“What the hell—since when?!”

“Hold on, you two are—are—what is this?”

“Are you in love now?!”

“Thatch owes me 500 berries!!”

You laugh joyfully, and Ace wraps his arm around your waist like he’s proud to show you off. Because he is.

Whitebeard’s booming laughter cuts through it all “So the brat really did bring you back. And you didn’t punch him?”

“Not yet,” you tease “But the day’s still young.”

Ace leans into you, soft and smug “I’m pretty sure she loves me too much to punch me.”

You elbow him.

“I repeat” you deadpan “The day is still young.”

Everyone groans.

Marco squints suspiciously “No, seriously. You? Soft? Since when?”

Ace, without a hint of shame “Since forever. I was just emotionally constipated.”

“Understatement of the century” mutters Izo.

Thatch’s voice cuts in, cackling “Do I get to be best man at the wedding or what?!”

You choke. Ace doesn’t even deny it, just raises his brows like, maybe.

You cover your face “I hate it here.”

Ace pulls your hand away gently and kisses your cheek in front of everyone.

“Liar” he murmurs, voice low and warm.

You glance up at him and yeah.

Okay.

You really, really don’t.

[jungwnies]

lights, camera, action - lewis hamilton (3/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : lewis hamilton x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : when lewis hamilton steps behind the camera for his directorial debut, the last thing he expects is to fall for the lead actress he casts.

୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : tws : mild workplace power dynamics, mentions of media/press stress, brief tension or arguments, mild romantic/sexual tension ୨ৎ : wc : 517

part one | part two | part three | part four

You woke up the next day with his almost-kiss still haunting your cheek. Like a ghost of something that could’ve been—should’ve been—but never quite arrived.

Filming went on.

Of course it did.

The scene schedule didn’t shift for hearts. The cameras still rolled. The slate still clapped. And Lewis? He barely looked at you.

Not in the way he had before.

He was… professional. Polite. Efficient. But that quiet, carved-out space you used to find in his attention? Gone. Like he’d tucked it into a drawer and locked it shut.

You hated how much you noticed.

“You’ve got the blocking wrong,” he said mid-rehearsal, not even glancing up from his monitor.

“No, I don’t.”

He did glance up then, brow raised. “She’s supposed to turn toward the window before she speaks. You turned away.”

“Because she doesn’t want to be seen crying.”

“She wants to be seen,” he corrected. “She just doesn’t want to admit it.”

You stood there, arms crossed, the tension between you humming again—but different this time. Less like static, more like silence after a slammed door.

“She’s tired,” you said finally. “Of being dissected.”

Lewis exhaled slowly, fingers tapping the armrest of his chair. “Aren’t we all.”

And then he called lunch, like he hadn’t just twisted the knife.

You didn’t sit with the crew that day.

You didn’t sit with him either.

Instead, you found a quiet corner near wardrobe and opened your script, staring at the highlighted dialogue until the words blurred.

“Can I?” a voice said gently.

You looked up. Lewis, coffee in one hand, uncertainty in the other.

You nodded. He sat down on the folding chair beside you, unusually cautious. Like you were fragile. Like he was afraid.

“I wasn’t trying to avoid you,” he said, voice low.

You blinked. “I didn’t say you were.”

“I know. But you noticed.”

You looked away.

He held out the coffee. You took it without speaking.

“I’ve been thinking about the film,” he continued. “About the ending.”

You kept your eyes on the rim of the cup. “What about it?”

“The script… it always had them walk away from each other. Separate trains. No goodbye.”

“That’s real,” you said quietly.

“Maybe,” he replied. “But maybe… some silences don’t need to last forever.”

You finally looked at him.

There it was again—that same look from the monitor room. The quiet plea behind his gaze. The softness that made everything inside you ache.

“You changed your mind?” you asked.

His lips lifted just slightly. “I’m allowed to rewrite things, aren’t I?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because you both knew he wasn’t just talking about the script anymore.

That night, the tension returned—but it felt different now. Less like something unsaid, more like something waiting.

The way his shoulder brushed yours in the hallway.

The way your fingers almost touched when he handed you your marked script.

The way you paused at the end of the day, both lingering by the monitor, not needing to say why.

And for once… you didn’t hate the silence.

You weren’t rushing it.

Not anymore.

taglist : @lewismcqueen , @comfortbaby81 , @imjustheretomanifest (comment to be added ... bolded couldn't be tagged)

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

This one is just kinda silly and for the funsies, bit maybe squid game characters reacting to you saying, "Size doesn't matter" (I don't know I just thought it would be funny)

Okay so....I wanna do this with all 22/24 characters i write for...so hold on tight

Characters: [Cho hyun ju, Thanos, Namgyu, Gyeong-Seok, Young-il, Gi-Hun, Dae-Ho, Min-Su, Sang-Woo, Yong-sik, Salesman]

[Song mingi, Choi San]

[Gdragon, Kang Daesung, T.O.P]

[Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, Jhope]

[Kim Seo-Wan]

[Gong yoo, Roh jae-won, Park Sunghoon]

(Oh and I didn't know if you meant about the dick, so I did it about the dick)

Oh and both reader and the character can say size doesnt matter

Warnings: Suggestive terms, talk of sex, Use of the word Dick. MDNI

Hyun ju

(so...ee...this one will be about a Strap-on because I don't think pookie wants to use her own...)

It’s a lazy Saturday, and you and Hyun-Ju are curled up on the couch, giggling as you scroll through an online shop that’s definitely not safe for work. She’s half-hiding her face behind a throw pillow, eyes flicking between the screen and your face, clearly embarrassed but curious.

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” she mutters, voice muffled by the pillow.

“You suggested it,” you say, nudging her playfully. “You said you wanted to try.”

“I did,” she grumbles. “I just didn’t think I’d have to pick one. There are so many sizes. What if I mess it up?”

You snort, grinning as you turn the tablet toward her. “It’s not a test, babe. Just pick one you like.”

She peers at the screen again, then covers her eyes dramatically. “That one looks huge. What if it’s too much? What if it’s not enough? What if—”

“Hyun-Ju,” you say gently, taking her hand. “Size doesn’t matter.”

She blinks. “It doesn’t?”

“Not like you think.” You scoot closer, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You could show up with a tiny pink one with glitter and a bow on it, and I’d still be down. It’s about you, not the size.”

A laugh escapes her—nervous, but warm. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you love me.”

“I really do,” she whispers, leaning in for a kiss. “Okay, let’s pick one. But if it has glitter, you’re the one explaining it if we get stopped at customs.”

“Deal,” you say, grinning into the kiss. “But for the record, I kinda want the glitter one now.”

Thanos

It’s quiet in the room—warm, low-lit, safe. The kind of safe that only ever seems to happen with him.

Su-Bong's fingers trail hesitantly down your waist, his gaze flickering between your face and the edge of your shirt. You’re already half undressed, bare legs brushing against his clothed ones as you sit straddling his lap, hearts pounding too loud in the stillness.

You kiss his cheek. “You okay?”

He nods slowly, but you see it—that flash of doubt in his eyes.

“I just…” he starts, voice low and scratchy. “Before we go further, I wanna say something.”

You blink, cupping his jaw with both hands. “Say anything.”

His eyes avoid yours, locked on the hem of your shirt like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. “I don’t want you to be disappointed. With… me. With it.” His laugh is awkward, humorless. “I know I’m not… you know, not big. Like, porn star or whatever."

For a second, you’re quiet, processing the weight of his insecurity. Then, as he finally works up the nerve to push his boxers down—vulnerable, cheeks already flushed—you do something completely unexpected.You giggle. Not out of malice. It’s soft, unfiltered. Genuine.

He stiffens. “What—what’s funny?"

You lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, still laughing a little as you murmur, “Size doesn’t matter, baby.”

He blinks.

You run your fingers down his chest, resting a hand on his stomach. “Seriously. You think I’m here because I measured you first? I’m here because it’s you. The guy who watches cheesy horror movies with me and makes weird little noises in his sleep.

”Su-Bong covers his face with both hands. “Oh my god, stop…”

“I won’t,” you tease, pressing kisses to his chest, each word softer. “You’re sexy. You’re sweet. You make me feel safe. I want you. All of you. This too.”

You wrap your fingers around him—slow, tender—and he gasps, melting under your touch like he’s never been touched like this before. With care. With affection. With love that doesn’t measure.

“Baby,” he whispers, voice cracking.

You meet his eyes and smile. “Told you. Doesn’t matter.”

Namgyu

You’re lying in bed with Nam-Gyu, his shirt long discarded somewhere on the floor, and his fingers running idle patterns along your waist. There’s a softness to the moment, a pause that lingers just a little longer than usual.

Then, just as your hand starts sliding lower, he pulls back—just a bit.

"Wait," he says, suddenly awkward, reaching over to flick off the lamp beside the bed. The room dips into a warm, dusky kind of dark.You blink. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he says too fast. Then adds with a half-laugh, "It’s just, you know… it's hotter this way. Like... mood lighting."

You grin, amused. "You mean no lighting?"

He chuckles, but it sounds tight. “Yeah. Total darkness. Very sexy. Classic move.”

There’s a beat of silence. You can feel his hesitance under the teasing, the way his fingers have gone still on your hip.You scoot closer, brushing your nose against his. “Nam-Gyu… what’s going on?”

He sighs, and you can hear the quiet vulnerability there. “It’s stupid. Just… I’ve always been kinda self-conscious about my… size.”

Your heart softens immediately. You kiss the edge of his jaw, then his cheek.He mumbles, “I mean, it’s like… five inches. Nothing special. And I guess I thought maybe if it’s dark, I won’t see it in your eyes. That… disappointment.”

You pause only long enough to tilt his face toward yours.

“Hey. Look at me.” He does. Barely.

“I’m not with you for that,” you whisper. “You’re kind. You’re funny. You care so deeply, even when you try to play it cool. That’s what matters. And for the record? I’ve never once been disappointed. Not even close.

”His expression flickers—half grateful, half disbelieving.

“You don’t have to be a certain size to make someone feel wanted,” you continue, pressing your forehead to his. “You already do. Every time you look at me like I’m the only person in the world. Every time you make me laugh until I cry. Every time you hold me like this.”

“…You really don’t care?”

“I really don’t care,” you say firmly. “I care about you. Not numbers.”

There’s a long, quiet moment before he finally lets out a breath and pulls you into a real, full-bodied hug. He kisses you slow this time, deep, like he’s breathing again.“…Okay,” he says softly. “Lights can stay off for now. But only because I still think it’s hot.”

You smile against his mouth. “Sure, babe. Whatever helps your sexy ninja fantasy.”

Gyeong seok

You were tangled up on the couch together, the late-night movie long forgotten as Gyeong-Seok nuzzled his nose against your shoulder, murmuring something that made you giggle.

“I still can’t believe you laugh like that,” he teased, voice low and full of warmth.

“And I still can’t believe you blush this easily,” you shot back, tracing a finger across his cheek just to see him turn crimson again. He looked away bashfully, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward.

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped just a bit.

“Hey… can I ask you something kinda dumb?”

You shifted to face him more fully, cupping his face gently. “You can ask me anything.”

He hesitated, then let out a nervous chuckle. “Does… size matter to you?”

You blinked, caught off guard, but not unkindly. “You mean—?”

He nodded, clearly mortified but trying to stay cool. “Yeah. That.”

You almost laughed, but he looked so sincere, so vulnerable, it stopped you. Instead, you kissed him softly and rested your forehead against his.

“Gyeong-Seok,” you said gently, “I’ve never once been with you and thought, ‘Oh no, not big enough.’ You know what I think about?”

He looked at you, hopeful and shy. “What?”

“How you always kiss the inside of my wrist like it's sacred. How you whisper my name like you’re afraid it’ll float away. How you listen when I tell you what feels good, and then you remember.”

He was quiet, eyes flicking down, a little overwhelmed.

“I mean it,” you added. “You could have a magic wand or a baby carrot—it wouldn’t change how you love me. And that’s what gets me.

”Finally, he cracked a grin. “Baby carrot?”

You shrugged with a cheeky smile. “It’s about the technique, babe.”

He groaned and buried his face in your chest. “I’ll never be able to look at a salad the same way again.”

You both laughed, and later, when things got a little more heated and his hands found familiar places, he didn’t ask again. He didn’t need to.

You made sure of that.

Young il

SYou’re lying on your stomach, still catching your breath, face half-buried in Young-Il’s chest. His fingers play lazily with a strand of your hair, his body warm and flushed from what just happened. You’re both quiet, basking in that afterglow that makes the world feel like it’s humming.

Then he murmurs, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear: “…Do you ever wish I was bigger?”

Your head snaps up.

“What?”

He looks embarrassed, eyes flicking away from yours, his hand pausing in your hair. “I mean, I know I’m not, like… huge. Some guys are, and I just—if it ever felt like you were missing out, I’d wanna know.”

You blink, then burst out laughing.

He groans. “See? I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no—baby—” You sit up, straddling his waist, cupping his face gently. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds coming from the man who had me seeing stars ten minutes ago?”

He’s still sulking a little, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitching. “You sure?”

“Positive,” you say, leaning down to kiss him. “You fit me perfectly. Like you were designed for me. And it’s not just about size—it’s how you touch me, how you know me. That’s what makes it good. That’s what makes it you.”

He finally smiles, that beautiful, dimpled grin that always makes your heart skip.

“…Still wouldn’t mind being called ‘huge’ just once,” he mumbles.

You lean closer, lips brushing his ear.

“Fine. You’re huge.”

A pause.

“Emotionally.”

He bursts out laughing, flipping you onto your back and pinning you there with playful kisses, his confidence restored.

And just like that, he stops worrying.

GiHun

You’re curled up with Gi-Hun on your worn-out couch, half-watching a movie and half-fighting the urge to fall asleep on his chest. His fingers trace lazy circles on your arm, his other hand buried in your hair.

“You know,” he starts, sounding strangely shy for someone who’d just been spoon-feeding you popcorn a minute ago, “I used to worry about stuff like… you know. Size.”

You blink. “Size?”

He clears his throat. “My dick.”

You almost choke on laughter. “What?”

“I’m serious!” He looks genuinely embarrassed, eyes darting away. “When I was younger, I used to compare. Locker rooms, internet… all that stuff. Thought it mattered more than it actually did.”

You sit up a little so you can look at him properly. He’s blushing, ears pink, suddenly ten times more boyish than man. It’s ridiculously endearing.

“And now?” you ask softly.

He shrugs. “Sometimes I still wonder. But then you—” He pauses, smiling crookedly. “You don’t seem to care. You never made me feel like I had to be anyone else.”

You cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “That’s because I don’t care. You think I fall asleep on you every other night because of your dick size?”

“Well, I was hoping it was because of my dazzling personality,” he jokes, but his smile softens when you kiss his temple.

“Gi-Hun. You could be the size of my pinky and I’d still love you.”

“...Really?”

“Really.”

“And I’m not that small, though. Right?” You smirk. “Do you want a full report?”

He laughs, pulling you close again. “Maybe later.”

The movie continues, forgotten in the background. He holds you tighter, more secure now, like your words stitched something quiet and old inside him back together

Dae ho

You’re curled up on Dae-Ho’s couch with him, legs tangled beneath a shared blanket, a half-eaten bowl of tteokbokki on the coffee table, and some random late-night variety show playing in the background. You’re not even watching it anymore — not really.

Dae-Ho is warm beside you, absently stroking your thigh with those long fingers of his, mind somewhere far off. He’s quiet tonight, quieter than usual, and you catch him looking away when you meet his eyes.

“You okay?” you ask, bumping his knee with yours.

He hesitates, then shrugs. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

That’s Dae-Ho for you — always internal, always trying to keep his feelings tidy and out of the way, like they’re an inconvenience. But not with you. He’s learning not to be.

You shift a little, angling your body toward him. “Thinking about what?”

His ears pinken. He scratches the back of his neck, the classic “I’m awkward but trying not to be” move. “It’s kind of dumb.”

“I’m kind of dumb too,” you joke, nudging him with your foot. “Try me.”

He exhales through his nose, then mutters, “Just… that maybe I’m not exactly… impressive. Physically.”

You blink. “Physically?”

He frowns, eyes trained on the blanket now. “You know. Down there.”

Oh.

You pause, then blink again, a slow smile creeping up your face. “Dae-Ho… are you seriously worried about the size of your dick?”

His face flushes crimson. “Okay—see—this is why I didn’t want to say anything—”

“No, no,” you laugh, catching his wrist when he tries to pull away. “Wait, I’m not teasing. Okay, maybe a little, but only because it’s you.”

He groans and drops his head onto your shoulder, hiding his face like a sulky puppy. “It’s not funny.”

“It kind of is. I mean, look at you.” You cup his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours. “You’re tall, you’ve got the most absurdly perfect hands, you’re sweet and quiet and smart, and I’m crazy about you. Do you really think I’m lying here at midnight with you, craving your attention, because of something like that?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it.

You grin. “Let me say it clearly: size doesn’t matter. At all.”

He stares at you.

“...Except for your heart,” you add, tapping his chest. “That better stay big.”

He lets out a soft, relieved laugh, eyes crinkling just the way you love. “You’re such a brat.”

“And you’re ridiculous,” you say, climbing onto his lap and kissing the corner of his mouth. “If you’re still worried, I could demonstrate how much I like you. With... detailed examples.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You want to prove it?”

“Only for scientific purposes.”

Dae-Ho chuckles, arms sliding around your waist. “I guess I’ll allow it.”

Safe to say, he didn’t bring it up again. Not with words, anyway.

Min su

It was supposed to be a lazy Sunday morning. The kind where you wake up tangled in each other’s limbs, half-asleep kisses exchanged under warm sheets, maybe pancakes later—if you ever got out of bed.But then he’d gone quiet.

You were curled against Min-Su’s side, one leg draped over his, fingers lazily tracing the hem of his shirt. You’d noticed it—how still he went when your hand skimmed down toward his waistband. He wasn’t recoiling, exactly, but he definitely wasn’t leaning into it either.

“Hey,” you murmured, tilting your head to look at him. “You okay?”

His jaw flexed. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Lie. You could read Min-Su like an open book—he wanted to be easygoing, confident, nonchalant. But you’d seen the way he avoided locker room talk with his friends. The way he changed the subject when guys joked about size like it was some kind of scoreboard.

And now you saw that same tension flickering behind his eyes.

“You don’t have to pretend,” you said gently, sitting up just enough to face him. “Something’s on your mind.”

He let out a breath. “It’s stupid.”

“Let me decide that.”

Min-Su hesitated. Then finally, he said it, barely above a whisper: “I know I’m not… you know. Huge. Like, I’ve seen the kind of guys in those comments sections online, and it’s just—hard not to compare.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. But your heart ached a little too. Not for what he said, but that he’d been carrying that insecurity at all.

“Min-Su,” you said, sliding your hand into his and squeezing, “can I be real with you?”

He nodded, a little guarded.

“I don’t care how many inches someone has. That’s not why I love being with you. I care about how you look at me like I’m the only person in the room. How you laugh like a little kid when I poke your ribs. How you treat my body like it’s something you respect, not something to conquer.”

His shoulders slumped slightly, a sign of his walls lowering. “But don’t you ever… I dunno… wish it was different?”

You leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth. “No. You want to know what does matter?”

“What?”

You kissed him again, deeper this time. “How safe I feel with you. How good you are with your hands. And your mouth.” A teasing smile crept in. “That is what gets me.”

A faint red climbed his cheeks, but he smiled—genuine this time. “So… you’re not just saying that?”

“Do I look like someone who fakes anything?”

Min-Su laughed softly, pulling you into him again. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You settled against his chest, satisfied as his heartbeat evened out. “Told you. No ruler needed.”

Sang woo

You were curled up on the couch with Sang-Woo, your legs tangled beneath the blanket, his arm around your shoulder. The rain tapped softly against the window, filling the quiet room with its steady rhythm. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm where your hand rested on his chest. He smelled like warm laundry and peppermint tea, freshly showered, freshly yours.

"I still don’t get why you like me," he said suddenly, voice quiet. Almost joking, but not really.

You turned your head to look at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

He hesitated, gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I’m… not the biggest guy out there. You’ve never said anything, but… I know what people expect. What guys are *supposed* to look like."

Ah. So that’s what this was.You sat up slightly, cupping his jaw so he’d look at you. "Sang-Woo. Are you seriously worried about your dick right now?"

He flushed, cheeks pink. "I didn’t say that."

"You didn’t have to," you teased gently, then leaned in closer. "First of all, size doesn’t matter. But second of all? I’ve never had a single complaint."

"You're biased," he muttered, embarrassed."

Biased because I love it," you grinned. "It’s you. I don’t want anyone else, or anything else. You really think I’d fake all those sounds I make? That mess you turn me into every single time?"

That shut him up.

You could feel the shift in the air — the way his hand slid under your shirt, slow and tentative, the way his mouth found yours, a little desperate now. When he kissed you like that — full of unspoken apologies, hunger, and need — you knew it wasn’t just about proving something.

It was about believing you.

Later, tangled in the sheets, your head resting on his shoulder, he mumbled, "You’re the one who wrecked me this time."

You smiled into his skin. "Told you. Perfect fit."

Yong Sik

It started with a stupid conversation. One of those ones that spirals after wine, too many snacks, and a little too much scrolling on TikTok together. You and Yong-Sik were curled up on the couch in matching sweatpants—his oversized hoodie swallowing you whole—watching random videos until one popped up that made your eyes widen.

“Why is every comment on this video about that guy’s... size?” you asked with a snort, tossing your phone on the table.

Yong-Sik cleared his throat. “People talk about that kind of thing too much these days. It’s not everything.

”You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow.

He rubbed the back of his neck and added, “...Not that I’ve ever had complaints. But, you know. In theory.”

You tilted your head at him, amused by his sudden flustered state. “Yong-Sik. Are you feeling insecure?”

His ears turned red instantly. “No! I just—!” He paused. “Wait, are you saying something?”

You laughed and leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I’m saying I don’t care if you’re bigger than some TikTok thirst trap. You’re the one I come home to. You make me laugh when I want to cry, you carry my heavy bags even when I tell you not to, and you make me pancakes shaped like hearts even when they look more like deformed blobs.”

Yong-Sik blinked. “...That’s because I love you.”

“Exactly. And that is more than enough,” you whispered, fingers gently curling around the waistband of his sweatpants. “But, for the record... I have zero complaints either.”

He froze as your hand slid down slightly, and then his whole face lit up with a dopey grin. “Ah... I see. So size doesn’t matter, but—”“Shut up and kiss me.”

He did. And later, as the room filled with the sounds of soft laughter, whispered I-love-you’s, and rustling sheets, you were both reminded that connection—real, warm, messy, honest—was what mattered most.

Even if he did walk around with a little extra swagger the next day.

The Salesman

It started with a dumb joke.

You were lying across the bed on your stomach, scrolling through your phone while Gong Yoo — or “the Salesman,” as you still teasingly called him — towel-dried his hair beside you. His long legs were crossed, eyes calm as he hummed some tune under his breath.

“Did you know,” you said casually, “the average length is only like... 5.1 inches?”

He paused mid-rub, glanced at you in the mirror. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm. I read it in an article. Very scientific.”

There was a beat of silence, then a low chuckle. “And why are you researching average dick sizes?”

You shrugged dramatically. “Just… general knowledge. Trivia night prep.”

He moved behind you and tugged your phone gently from your hand, tossing it to the side before crawling over your back like a lazy panther.

“So? Did it disappoint you?” His voice was warm in your ear. “Are you… devastated by this new information?”

You snorted. “Please. Size doesn’t matter.”

He froze.

Then you felt it — the slow smirk spreading across his face as his arms boxed you in. “Is that what people say when they’re trying to be nice?”

“Oh, don’t get sensitive on me,” you teased, rolling over beneath him. “It’s not about length. It’s about knowing what to do with it.”

He raised an eyebrow, then lowered his mouth to your neck, whispering, “Then I guess you should be grateful I’m very... skilled.”

Your breath hitched. “So confident.”

“You started it,” he murmured, kissing just below your ear. “And if you’re going to toss out scientific studies, then I feel obligated to provide… counter-research.”

You laughed into his shoulder, loving how quickly your playful banter always turned into this — warmth, tension, familiarity. It wasn’t just about sex, though you’d never complain about that. It was the way he always knew how to get under your skin, mentally and physically.

“You’re such a menace,” you mumbled.He grinned, nudging your nose with his. “Maybe. But tell me again—size doesn’t matter?”

You looped your arms around his neck, eyes sparkling. “Not when you’ve got a mouth like yours.”

He kissed you breathless after that, the kind of kiss that left no room for trivia, only heat.

Later, when you were curled against him, legs tangled and hearts steadying, he whispered, “Still think size doesn’t matter?”

You kissed his chest, right over his heartbeat. “I still think you matter most.”

And that answer shut him up for a long, long time.

Song mingi

Mingi had always been a confident man. On stage, he exuded charisma, his presence so magnetic that it was hard to look away. Off-stage, however, he was a little different. He was self-conscious, especially in moments of intimacy, a side that only you got to see.

You had been together for a few months now, and despite the closeness you shared, he never seemed entirely comfortable when it came to certain things. You’d never been the type to worry about small details, but for some reason, Mingi always seemed to care.

It all started one evening when you both were lounging around in your shared apartment. The mood was light, filled with teasing banter and soft smiles. Mingi had been particularly quiet for the past hour, seemingly lost in thought.

"Hey," you called softly, nudging him gently. "What's on your mind?"

He looked up, and his eyes held a mixture of hesitation and vulnerability. "Y/N, can I ask you something?" His voice was low, almost shy, which caught your attention immediately.

"Of course. What's up?"

Mingi shifted uncomfortably on the couch, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "It's... kind of silly," he muttered, avoiding your gaze.You raised an eyebrow, curious but concerned. "Mingi, you know you can talk to me about anything. Nothing is too silly."

He sighed, finally turning to face you. "I’ve been... thinking about something. I know we’ve been together for a while, but... I’ve always worried about... you know." His face flushed, and he gestured vaguely toward the space between you two, not exactly saying what he meant.

It took you a moment to understand, but once the realization hit, you couldn’t help but smile softly. "Mingi," you said, reaching out to take his hand, "You don’t have to worry about that."

He looked at you, his expression still filled with doubt. "But—""Listen to me," you interjected, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Size doesn’t matter. It’s not about that, Mingi. It’s about how you make me feel. And you make me feel amazing."

He blinked, clearly processing your words. "Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?"

You chuckled lightly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Mingi, I love you for who you are. Everything about you, not just the obvious stuff. And honestly? You don’t need to worry about anything else."

His shoulders visibly relaxed at your words, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I guess I’ve been a little insecure about it," he admitted, his voice a little lighter now.

You leaned in, kissing him softly on the cheek. "There’s no reason to be insecure with me. I love everything about you, and that’s all that matters."

Mingi’s smile grew, and he pulled you into a tight hug, his warmth wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. "I’m really lucky to have you, Y/N."

"And I’m lucky to have you," you whispered, resting your head against his chest, content in the quiet embrace.

In that moment, you both understood that it wasn’t the superficial things that made a relationship special. It was trust, love, and understanding that truly mattered. And no matter what, Mingi knew he had those things with you.

Choi san

You had said it offhandedly. Over dinner, chopsticks poised mid-air, your eyes casually scanning the TV in the background.

“Size doesn’t matter,” you said, as if you hadn’t just set off a ticking time bomb across the table.

San blinked. “Huh?”

You grinned, teasing. “You know. In general. People make too big a deal about it.”

His brow twitched. The corner of his mouth tilted, somewhere between amused and intrigued. “You sure about that?”

You shrugged, sipping your drink slowly, eyes twinkling over the rim. “Mmhm.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and lowering his voice. “Y/N, are you trying to start something right now?”

“What?” you asked innocently, though your foot was already sneaking up his leg under the table. “Are you offended or something?”

He gave a low laugh, the kind that hinted he wasn’t going to let this go. “No, no. Not offended. Just... curious how committed you are to that statement.”

You quirked a brow. “Why? Planning to challenge me?”

He got up without a word, casually walking around the table, fingers brushing your shoulder as he passed behind you. “Let’s test your theory then.”

---Which is how you ended up where you were now—sprawled across his bed, his shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, and San kissing a line down your collarbone with maddening patience.

“Still think size doesn’t matter?” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with mischief, his hand trailing lower, slow, purposeful.

Your breath hitched. “I mean... it depends what we’re talking about.”

He looked up at you with a smirk. “Don’t get shy now. I’m just a humble man trying to change your mind.”

And oh—he did. He took his time proving you wrong, with hands that knew exactly how to hold you and a body that moved with confident restraint.

It wasn’t just his size. It was the way he watched your reactions like they were sacred. The way he whispered your name when you trembled beneath him. The way he laughed, low and warm, when you finally gasped something that sounded suspiciously like:

“Okay—maybe it kind of matters—”San grinned against your neck. “Say it louder.”

You tugged him closer, heart thudding, face flushed. “San.”

“Yeah?”

You gave him your sweetest, most ruined smile. “I hate you.”

He laughed again—soft, smug, entirely in love. “No, you don’t.”

namjoon

(THIS ONE IS VERY EXPLICIT AND INCLUDES EEE...SEX)

You said it like it was nothing.

"Size doesn’t matter."

Casually, while scrolling your phone, half-laughing at a meme. And Namjoon had paused—hand stilling on your thigh, eyes flicking up like he’d just missed the punchline of a joke aimed at him.

“You think so?” he asked, voice low but unreadable.

You blinked. “Well… yeah. I mean—” You trailed off, trying to read the flicker of something in his expression. “I meant it doesn’t have to. Not like it’s the only thing that matters.”

Namjoon hummed, leaning back against the couch. One arm stretched behind you, fingers brushing your shoulder.

“But it matters to you a little,” he said, tilting his head. “Doesn’t it?”

You smirked, sensing the shift. “Why? You insecure or something?”

And that’s when he laughed—deep and sharp, like a warning and a promise.

“Oh, baby,” he said, voice thick like molasses. “If only you knew how much it matters when it’s me.”

He didn’t rush.

Namjoon never did.

He undressed you slowly, like it was ritual. Worshipful. Every piece of clothing peeled off with care, with teasing glances and subtle touches that made your skin feel too tight. When you reached for him—clumsy, eager—he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Be patient,” he murmured. “You’ll get it. All of it.”

You thought he was just teasing—until he slid his pants down and your breath hitched.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, eyes wide. “Joon.”

He just looked smug. But beneath that, something softer flickered—like he was watching for your real reaction.

“I’ve scared people before,” he admitted, kneeling between your legs. “Not everyone can take it.”

You reached for him again—this time, to cup his face.

“Then they didn’t deserve it,” you said. “Or you.”

His eyes darkened. “Fuck. Say that again.”

You did. With your legs wrapped around his waist and his forehead pressed to yours, you said it again. And again. And when he started moving—slow, deep, filling you in a way that made you gasp—you weren’t thinking about size.

You were thinking about him. His hands holding you like you were breakable. His voice low and tender, asking if you were okay. The way he waited for you to adjust. The way he whispered, “You’re doing so good for me, baby.”

By the time you came, blinding and loud, the only thing that mattered was the way he held you through it—kissed your cheeks, your chest, your lips, like you were the one who’d given him something.

Later, with your head on his chest, you mumbled, “Okay. Maybe size matters a little.”

He laughed, breath puffing against your hair. “Told you.”

But he held you closer, like it didn’t matter at all.

Yoongi

It started with a stupid comment.

You were both curled up on the couch after a lazy dinner, your head in Yoongi’s lap, a soft blanket thrown over the two of you. A rerun of some variety show was playing, though neither of you was really paying attention.

“I swear,” you muttered, “if I have to hear one more guy on TV brag about how big he is like it’s a goddamn trophy—”Yoongi chuckled lowly, playing with your hair. “Well, it is a point of pride for a lot of men.”

“Yeah, but it’s so dumb. Like, I’ve dated guys who were… let’s just say, very confident about their size, and yet they couldn’t find a clue if I drew them a map.” You looked up at him with a smirk. “It’s not about size. It’s about effort, understanding… knowing how to actually connect.”

His fingers paused.

You noticed instantly. That subtle shift in Yoongi’s energy that he always tried to hide—when something hit him a little too close.

“Yoongi?”

He glanced away, eyes on the muted TV now. “…You really think size doesn’t matter?”

You sat up slightly, enough to look at him properly. “Of course not. Why?”

He shrugged, too casually. “Nothing. Just… guys hear stuff, you know?”

“Babe.” You placed your hand on his cheek, gently turning his face toward you. “You know I don’t care about that. Right?”

Yoongi bit his lip, hesitating. “I’ve always been kind of self-conscious. Especially when I was younger. The locker room talk, the comparisons… it messes with your head after a while. Even now, sometimes I wonder if…”

He trailed off, clearly embarrassed.Your chest squeezed. Not because he was insecure, but because he trusted you enough to admit it.

“Hey,” you said softly, sliding into his lap, straddling him under the blanket. His hands instinctively came to rest on your hips.

“I’m going to say this once, and I need you to really hear it, okay?” you whispered, brushing your lips against his. “You are the best I’ve ever had. Not because of some stupid number or what porn says is ideal. Because you care. You listen. You know what I like. You take your time. You make me feel wanted. Safe. Desired. Worshipped.”

He blinked slowly. “Worshipped, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.” You kissed his jaw, then his neck, letting your lips linger just to feel him shiver. “No one’s ever made me feel like you do. So yeah—size doesn’t matter. You matter.”

Yoongi exhaled shakily, tension slowly melting from his shoulders. His eyes softened, that quiet smile forming—the one reserved just for you.

“…You always know what to say,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours.

“That’s because I mean it.”

Silence settled over you again, but this time, it was warm and full and safe. He pulled you closer, arms around your waist, blanket cocooning you both in that bubble you always loved.

After a few minutes, he spoke again—voice low and teasing this time. “Still, just for the record…”

“Hm?”

“…I may not be the biggest. But I am the best.”

You burst out laughing, smacking his chest playfully. “Cocky little shit.”

He grinned. “Only when it counts.”

Jhope

You had barely finished your sentence when Hoseok froze.

“I mean, I saw it online,” you rambled, cheeks burning. “That guys worry about… size. And it just made me wonder if—if you ever felt that way.”

Hoseok raised an eyebrow as he set his glass of water down on the nightstand. The soft rustle of sheets between you made the silence louder.

“Wait,” he said, slowly. “Are you asking if I worry about my size?”

You buried your face in your hands. “Forget I said anything.”

But he reached over, gently prying your fingers away with a grin. “No, baby. I just wanna understand. You mean, like... my dick?”

You groaned. “Yes. That.”

He laughed—an easy, warm laugh that somehow made the tension crack like a bubble. “Ah, jagi,” he said, shifting closer, “you know what I think?”

You gave him a side-eye.

“I think size doesn’t matter,” he said confidently, sliding a hand under the hem of your shirt. “What matters is how I use it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were already giggling as he leaned down and kissed your stomach, slow and teasing.

“You never once complained,” he said between kisses, moving lower. “In fact, you usually can’t walk straight after.”

“Cocky much?”

“I have to be cocky,” he said with a wink. “It’s not about being the biggest. It’s about knowing your body—what you like. What makes you fall apart.”

His voice dropped, thick with intent. “And I know you. Every soft sound you make. Every way your body clenches around me. That little breath you take when I hit that spot—yeah.. That one.”

You gasped when he demonstrated exactly what he meant with his fingers.

“Hoseok,” you whispered, squirming.

“You think I need to be any bigger than I am when I already make you cry like this?”

Your answer was a moan.

And later, when you were curled against his chest, skin still tingling, he murmured, “For the record, you’re perfect too. Fit me like you were made for me.”

Gdragon

You said it with a straight face, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Size doesn’t matter.”

Ji-Yong paused mid-buttoning his shirt, head tilting just slightly. “That so?”

“Yep,” you said, plopping onto the edge of his bed, tossing your phone beside you. “It’s all about connection. Technique. Effort. Vibe.”

He slowly walked toward you, a little amused glint in his eyes. “So if I had, like… a very average—maybe even below average—”

You held up a hand. “Ji, babe. I wouldn’t care.”

He blinked. “Even if it was, say… shockingly big?” He was clearly trying not to smile.

“That’s literally the opposite of what we were talking about.”

He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of you. “But what if I told you… it’s not average. Or small. At all.”

You gave him a skeptical look, fingers resting lightly on his chest. “You gonna brag now?”

“I’m just saying,” he murmured, voice lowering, “you act all calm and wise until you're face-to-face with it.”Your brows furrowed. “Face-to-face with—oh my god, Ji-Yong.”

He grinned, shameless. “Hey, you brought it up.”

“You were halfway into a TED Talk about your di—”He cut you off with a kiss. Hot. Slow. Just enough to make your thoughts scatter.

You exhaled against his lips. “Okay. Maybe size doesn’t matter. But if it did…”He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

You smirked. “You’d still be cocky.”

He laughed, tipping his forehead to yours. “Touché.”

Daesung

You’re sprawled across Daesung’s couch, half-watching a movie, half-scrolling through your phone when the conversation takes a weird turn.

“No, seriously,” you say, laughing, “I don’t get the obsession. Size doesn’t matter.”

Daesung, who had just taken a sip of his drink, chokes—coughing and spluttering like you just punched him with words.

You blink. “What?”

He clears his throat, trying very hard to stay cool. “Nothing. Just… interesting opinion.”

You raise an eyebrow. “It is an interesting opinion. Because it’s true. No guy wants to admit it, but come on, it’s about skill. Not size.”

Daesung smiles, all too knowingly. “You sure about that?”

“You sound like someone with something to prove.”

He leans forward, voice low. “Would you like a demonstration?”

You freeze. Because here’s the thing: Daesung is quiet confidence. Polite. Charming. Never brags.

But your brain short-circuits back to that night you first slept together—how he had taken his time, how you remembered feeling full in every sense of the word, and how you had to sit down slowly the next day.

“...You bastard,” you whisper.

He shrugs, smug but soft. “You’re the one who said it doesn’t matter.”

You toss a pillow at him, flustered. “I didn’t mean you! You’re an exception.”

“Oh, so now it matters.”

You groan and cover your face, laughing. “Shut up.”

He tugs your hand away, eyes gentle now. “Wanna remind you anyway.”

You don’t argue when he pulls you onto his lap. You let him kiss your throat, take his time, whisper things that turn your cheeks hot.

And somewhere between your moans and his deep voice rasping your name, you realize you were right: size doesn’t matter.

But when it’s Daesung?

It absolutely doesn't hurt.

T.O.P

You weren’t expecting him to get all quiet.One minute, Seung-Hyun was pushing you gently down onto your shared bed, his lips grazing your collarbone, voice velvet-low with want—and the next, he froze. A pause. A sharp breath. And then he sat back on his heels, running a hand through his already-messy hair.

“Wait,” he murmured. “I need to say something first.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, blinking through your haze. “…Okay?”

He hesitated. His eyes—usually full of cocky spark or lazy affection—looked nervous. Raw.

“It’s just…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Some people have had… expectations, and I guess I just want to say it now so you’re not… disappointed or whatever. Like—” he huffed, then muttered, “size doesn’t matter, right?”

You blinked. Then blinked again. And then—something in your chest melted.

“Wait. Seung-Hyun, are you seriously worried I’m gonna judge your dick?”

He looked almost offended. “People do judge. I’m not saying you would. Just—some have.”

You sat up, cupping his face gently. “Babe. First of all, whoever said anything like that to you was an idiot. Second of all, are you really going to make me write a thesis right now about how your confidence, the way you touch me, the sound of your voice, the fact that you care—all of that turns me on a thousand times more than any size measurement ever could?”

He exhaled—half laugh, half relief. “…A thesis?”

“I’ll footnote it, too.” You smirked, pulling him in closer. “Chapter One: Seung-Hyun Is Hot As Hell and Knows Exactly What to Do With His Hands.”

His grin came back, slow and crooked. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mmhm. And you’re mine. Now shut up and kiss me before I start writing that thesis on your back.”

He laughed again, this time deeper—freer. And when he kissed you, it was with all that nervous energy turned into something else: realness. Connection. Need.

And when things finally heated up again, you made sure to show him—thoroughly—that nothing about him could ever fall short.

Kim seo wan

You’re lying in bed with Seo Wan, legs tangled, a soft blanket pulled up to your chest as you listen to the quiet hum of the heater. It’s one of those rare calm evenings—no spiraling thoughts for either of you, no restless pacing or storm clouds hanging heavy overhead. Just the two of you and the warmth of shared space.

He’s tracing small shapes on your shoulder, quiet.

“Can I ask you something dumb?” he says eventually, almost whispering.

You blink and tilt your head. “You’ve seen me ugly cry while eating cake with my bare hands. Go for it.”

He laughs softly, but there’s hesitation in his voice. “Do you ever... wish I was, I don’t know. Bigger?”

You frown, confused for a second—until you catch where his eyes flicker. Downward. Oh.You blink again. Then laugh—not mocking, just surprised.

“Seo Wan,” you say gently, reaching over to cup his cheek. “You know that’s not even remotely a problem, right?”

He shrugs a little, but the way he chews his bottom lip gives him away. “It’s just... I know some people care about that stuff.”

“Well, I care more about the fact that you hold me like I’m something precious even when I feel like a wreck,” you murmur. “I care that you listen, that you breathe slow so I can match you when I panic, that you check in even on the good days.”

He swallows hard, eyes shining a little in the dim light.

“And besides,” you add with a sly little grin, “you’re perfect for me. More than enough. Literally and figuratively.”

He lets out a soft laugh, burying his face in your neck, warm and flustered. “God, I love you.”

“I know,” you tease, nuzzling back. “Now stop worrying about the size of your dick and kiss me, you beautiful overthinking nerd.”

And he does.

Roh jae won

You know,” you murmured, stretching lazily across his sheets, completely bare and flushed from the heat of his mouth alone, “size doesn’t matter.”

Jae-Won raised an eyebrow from where he sat at the edge of the bed, shirtless, jeans open, cock pressing obscenely against the fabric. That smirk—you’d come to fear and crave it. “Is that so?” he asked, voice all gravel and challenge.

You nodded, teasing. “It’s all about… connection. Emotion. Technique.”

He chuckled darkly, tugging his zipper down all the way. “Right. Noted.”

And then he pulled it out.

Your mouth parted slightly, all that sass vanishing in a blink. His cock was—there was no polite word—ridiculous. Long, thick, veiny, heavy. He wrapped a large hand around the base, and there was still plenty left untouched. You blinked, swallowing.

He noticed. “Something wrong?” His voice was velvet now, smug as hell.

“I just… didn’t realize you were hiding a damn third leg.”

He crawled over you slowly, muscles rippling with each shift of his hips until he hovered over you, cock resting against your stomach—and reaching past your navel. Your thighs squeezed together on instinct.

Jae-Won leaned in, kissing along your jaw as he whispered, “Still think size doesn’t matter?”

You gasped when he rubbed the thick head between your folds, teasing, soaking himself in how ready you already were. “I—I didn’t say it didn’t help,” you whispered, arching into him.

“Hmm. That’s what I thought.” One thrust, slow and shallow, just enough for you to feel the stretch—and your breath caught like he’d punched the air from your lungs. “You feel that?” he whispered against your ear.

You nodded fast, eyes glassy. “God—yes."

“Good,” he growled. “Because I’m not even halfway in.”

The rest of the night was a blur of him stretching you open, coaxing moans and curses from your lips, praising how good you took him—even when it had you trembling, legs shaking around his waist. He made you come before he even bottomed out.

And when he finally did?

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

Later, your body wrecked and mind floating somewhere in orbit, he tucked you against his chest with a kiss to your temple and murmured:

“Size doesn’t matter, huh?”

You whined into his skin. “Shut up.”

He grinned. “Nah. I think you like it when I ruin your little theories.”

Gong Yoo/Gong Ji-Cheol

You weren’t trying to start anything when you said it.

The two of you were curled up on the couch after dinner, his long arm resting lazily across your shoulders, and some mildly terrible rom-com droning in the background. You’d been scrolling through your feed, laughing at some ridiculous thread about men and their egos, and offhandedly commented, “I mean, size doesn’t matter anyway.”

Ji-cheol tilted his head down toward you with a slow, wolfish smile. “Oh?” he said. “Is that so?”

You didn’t look up, still amused by the argument going on in the comments. “Yeah. I mean—if you know what you’re doing, you don’t need to have… you know. A monster.”

Silence.

You finally glanced up—and the look in his eyes? Dark. Amused. Dangerous. “Interesting,” he said slowly, voice dropping an octave. “You’ve never complained.”

And he stood up, just like that, offering a hand. “Bedroom. Now.”

“Wha—wait, I wasn’t—Ji-cheol—” But his fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm and unyielding, and you followed him. A little nervous. Very turned on.

Once inside, he didn’t rush. No—he took his time undressing you, brushing his mouth over your neck, your collarbone, between your thighs. It wasn’t until you were already trembling that he stood back, gaze heavy-lidded, and stripped himself bare.

And there it was.

You knew he was big. You knew it. But sometimes you forgot how big. Every time it made your stomach tighten with something between lust and fear.

You whispered, “Jesus Christ…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Size doesn’t matter, right?”

You licked your lips. “That was before I remembered what you're packing.”

He stepped forward, pressing you flat onto the bed, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Let’s test your theory.”

The stretch was maddening.

He didn’t slam into you all at once—he knew better. No, Ji-cheol took his time, teasing you open, inch by inch, whispering things that made your toes curl.

“Still think it doesn’t matter?” he asked when you moaned, legs shaking. “Because I feel how tight you are around me, baby. Like you were made for this.”

You tried to answer—failed. Your body was too busy begging, clenching, gasping for more.He bottomed out and groaned, hips stuttering. “Fuck, look at you. Taking all of me like this… Your body loves how big I am.”Your pride was a distant memory.

All you could do was hold on.

And when he started moving, deep and slow, making sure you felt every thick inch, your mind went white-hot.

Over and over, he pushed you to the edge—then pulled you back, whispering filth in your ear, lips brushing your jaw:

“Say it.”

“Say you were wrong.”

“Say you love how big I am.”

You said it. You screamed it.And when he finally let go—when he finished inside you, hips grinding in, voice guttural—you couldn’t move for minutes. Maybe hours. Your legs didn’t work. Your brain was a puddle.

Later, curled up against his chest, you muttered, “Okay. Maybe… it matters a little.”

Ji-cheol just laughed, smug and satisfied. “Told you.”

Park sunghoon

You’ve never understood the obsession with size.

Sure, people talk. Whisper. Tease. It’s locker room nonsense, really—because none of that matters when Sung-Hoon has you laid out like this: spine arched, thighs trembling, skin hot enough to melt steel.

And he knows it. Knows it in the way he moves between your legs, slow and deliberate. Knows it in the way he licks his fingers clean after pulling them out of you, smirking like a man who’s got nothing to prove and still proves everything.

“You’re thinking too much again,” you pant, watching the way his eyes flick up at you from between your legs.“

I know what people say,” he murmurs, kissing along your inner thigh, voice smooth but quiet. “That I’m not… big. That it wouldn’t be enough for someone like you.”

You sit up a little, threading your fingers into his hair. “And yet,” you whisper, tugging him closer, “I still can’t walk straight after you’re done.”

His breath hitches. Just a bit. Confidence isn’t his mask—it’s who he is. But your words? They hit somewhere deeper.

He kisses up your body, hand sliding over your stomach, up to cup your breast. “You’re not faking that?”

You scoff, guiding him between your legs again. “Do I look like I’m faking anything right now?”

His cock is hard against your thigh—small, yes, but eager, twitching, flushed. You palm him gently, making his hips buck. His whole body reacts to your touch, and it turns you on even more than the size ever could.

He slides in slow, his lips parting as your walls take him in. You feel everything. Every shallow thrust, every roll of his hips, every moan he tries to muffle against your skin.

“See?” you whisper into his ear, breathless now. “Doesn’t matter how big you are when you know how to use it.”

And oh, he does.

He grips your hips tighter, snaps into you with short, precise thrusts that hit all the right spots. It’s messy, intimate, loud. Sweat-slicked skin and tangled limbs. You swear you black out for a second when he angles just right.

He pulls back to look at you, lips red, hair wild, the kind of expression that belongs in an 18+ scene and nowhere else.

“You’re perfect,” you whisper, after. “Exactly the way you are.”

Sung-Hoon kisses you like he believes it.

And then does it all over again—twice—just to prove that size really, really doesn’t matter.