#what’s wrong with me but still not having the energy to step up and fix it. im so pathetic I want to cry. my brain is me but my brain is

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - ii.

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

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You sleep long enough that, when you wake up, you have enough energy to cry.

It’s a big one. The kind of cry that threatens to turn your throat out, with how hard you sob. Alone in the cottage, far away from anything resembling civilization, you wail like wounded animal, choking on your own tears and mucus, losing track of your body buried underneath the covers—

But it happens at a remove. You watch yourself implode from someplace deep inside, not entirely sure why it’s happening at all—but long past trying to figure it out.

This is how it’s been for a while. There’s nothing special about it anymore. Nothing urgent. Most of the time, you are a blank space of a person, a vacuum where joy or rage or fear should be, but occasionally some maelstrom or another kicks up to fill it in, and your only course of action is to ride it out until it ends.

You’ve stopped trying to fix it. And you’ve stopped hoping anyone else can, either.

So you cry, until at last, you’re empty again. Or you’re too tired to continue. The difference is negligible, but functionally irrelevant. Once it’s done, you get out of bed.

The pressure in the shower is as weak as Johnny reported, but the water is indeed warm when you turn it on; you stand naked under the flow, arms hanging at your sides.

The day stretches itself out before you with nothing to occupying it, just as you’d planned. Nothing to work towards; no effort to put forward. Nothing, thanks to your choice of locale, to feel guilty about not seeking out.

A day of peace and utter quiet.

Suddenly—violent banging, somewhere in the cottage. It startles you; you jump so sharply at the noise that you smack your wrist on the soap caddy attached to the shower wall. The banging comes again—annoyed, you realize with no little bemusement that someone is at the front door.

You wrap yourself in a towel and hobble out of the bathroom to answer it, a piece of your mind on your tongue, dart-shaped and ready to fly—

Of course it’s Johnny.

Johnny, big and burly in a sweater, kilt, and pelt once again, two paper cups balanced in one large hand and a grocery bag hanging from the other. Whose dark brows shoot up his forehead as his eyes travel with surprise, and blatant appreciation, down the dripping length your body.

“Well, good mornin’, bonnie,” he purrs.

“What,” you grunt. A cold breath of wind chooses that moment to force its way through the door, gasping across the shower water still running in rivulets from your hair to the rolled edge of your towel. Goosebumps erupt from your bare skin in millions of simultaneous pinpricks—you flinch bodily at the chill.

“Ah, hell’s bells, don’t just stand there,” Johnny says, following the wind. “It’s freezin,’ go on, let me get in, hurry.”

You let him step inside, for some reason, and he shuts the door behind him with the heel of his boot. He wastes no time after that, heading to the kitchen to set down his things.

“Brought breakfast!” he says cheerfully. “There’s this bakery on Barra I thought you’d like, fresh doughnuts and coffee. Dunno how you take yours, but there’s sugar in the pantry and cream in the fridge.”

“I don’t want breakfast,” you say.

“What? ‘Course you do. I’m no’ takin’ you seal-watchin’ on an empty stomach.”

He starts unpacking the grocery bag and setting things on the counter while your jaw hangs open. Several things occur to you to say—I never agreed to that and what the hell is wrong with you, for starters—but your stomach growls at him before you can. The aroma of fresh-baked pastry wafts through the kitchen when he opens one box, and he turns to grin at you, cheeks dimpling.

“Do you get dressed, bonnie,” he says. “It’ll still be here when y’get back.”

It is less polite than he perhaps intends it to be, given that his gaze travels appreciatively across your bare shoulders. You cross your arms fruitlessly over your chest and, nothing else for it, retreat to the bedroom, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

You return to the kitchen after having pulled on wool leggings and the same fleecy sweater from the day before. Johnny, one hip set against the counter, has a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cruller in the other, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Got anythin’ heavier?” he asks around a chewed-up mouthful. “Gets cold out there.”

You look down at his bare calves, broad and taut and covered in a down of dark hair. “You seem alright.”

“I’m used to it,” he says, shrugging—the muscles flexing under your gaze.

You purse your lips. “I don’t have anything.” You hadn’t intended to leave the cottage overmuch.

You approach the counter. Johnny does not move a centimeter, forcing you to stand close as you pick through the two boxes of doughnuts and feel the body heat radiating off of him, displacing the scent of fried dough with his musk.

“That’s all right,” he says. You’re close enough to hear the way his voice hums deep in his chest. “I can keep you warm.”

You snatch a plain glazed from the box and take two very large steps away from him. The hair on the back of your neck lifts as you press against the sink behind you. If he notices your reaction, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest—he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks, eyes sliding closed with simple, obvious pleasure, dark lashes curling against his cheek.

You take the brief respite from his gaze to stare at him. In the morning light, on a full night of sleep, you can almost believe that whatever you’d seen in him yesterday had been nothing more than a misfire of exhausted synapses. An overlay of a dream; a circadian prompt to rectify nearly seventeen hours of sleeplessness. You’d been cold, and tired, and hungry. That was all.

You bite down on your doughnut, not really tasting it. The nerves along your spine twitch and contract around the memory of his flashing gaze.

His eyes open again, and he smiles at you. “Good?” He flicks a look at the single bite you’ve taken, looks at your mouth, and then waits for your reply.

“It’s fine,” you grumble. Then, “How did you get here? I didn’t hear the truck drive up. Do you live close by?”

“Sometimes,” he says. He looks pleased that you’ve asked, that you’re interested at all, and you immediately regret inquiring. “Live on a boat, me. Moored in the cove right now.”

“A…boat,” you say.

“Aye.” A wisp of dark hair, something he must have missed when he gelled his mohawk this morning, flutters as he nods. “Nice and cozy. Not as grand as all this, mind.” He gestures around with coffee and doughnut at the less than five hundred square feet of the cottage. “But it’s still a sight nicer than some other places I’ve slept.”

He’s likely hinting at his military service. “Okay,” is all you say, unwilling to entertain it.

He smirk—undeterred. “We’ll take her out once you’re ready.”

“I never said I was going.”

Dark brows lift. “Got somethin’ else planned for today?” he asks, incredulous, as if he never imagined you wouldn’t want to hang out with him.

“No, I—”

You wrack your brain. You have no intention of explaining to this complete stranger that the last thing you’d wanted to do, when you booked this trip, was really anything at all—and in fact, you hadn’t even considered that that might be something anyone else would care much about.

Much less proactively address.

“No,” you repeat, sulking.

Johnny considers you, chewing. His eyes do not stray, this time, to places they don’t belong; but there’s an insight to them. A sharp awareness. A perception in his gaze that is just as undressing, as if whatever is going on with you is visible to the naked eye.

“I figure,” he says, slowly, as if to coax, “you put your wee shoes on, an’ I’ll pack this back up, and we take it along.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you grouse. “I don’t need you to, like—be my tour guide.”

“Aye, but that doesnae mean I don’t wanna,” he retorts, smiling.

He shoves the last bite of cruller in his mouth and gazes patiently at you as he works it with his jaw, the muscles flexing along his temples as he chews.

Exhaustion, your constant companion, stares you down alongside him. It would take so much more energy to fight him than to go along with whatever he has planned. Energy you just don’t have anymore. And going along doesn’t mean you have to pretend to enjoy yourself—it’s not like you care enough about Johnny’s self-esteem to conjure up a happy face to show him.

You can go, and be a bitch about it, and once you do maybe he’ll realize you’re not at all worth the effort he’s making, and then finally leave you alone.

“Fine,” you say, which is how you end up on a fishing trawler headed south toward, ostensibly, a colony of breeding seals.

It’s an old vessel—that much is obvious. Its edges and corners are dull with the passage of time and constant maintenance, scuffed by innumerable passes-over with cleaner and cloth. Mildew competes with the aroma of fresh varnish as Johnny leads you onto the bridge, which is mercifully closed in from the ocean wind.

The interior is mostly wood of a warm, orangish variety—you can’t tell if that’s a decision made with aesthetics or function in mind. The space comprises a kitchen, surprisingly well-appointed with a stove, sink, countertop, and fridge, and a small sitting area with both couch and booth seating. Surrounding windows allow in the grey light of the morning.

“Bought it off an old bloke on Lewis,” Johnny says, taking his place at the wheel, which is in a little alcove off the kitchen.

If you’d thought steering a boat would have curtailed his chatting, you’d have been wrong—he seems to have no trouble with that and talking, incessantly, at the same time, as he pulls the vessel away from the cove and into the open water.

“All his family moved to the mainland, he told me, an’ this is after generations fishin’ these islands, even makin’ it through the Clearances! No money in it anymore, he said, not like you could make in some office somewhere countin’ someone else’s money.” He checks something on the dashboard in front of him, but it doesn’t distract him for long. “Held on for a while, but people just kept leavin,’ an’ he was gettin’ too old to go out on his own. Got such a good price on it, I think he was just happy someone else was gonna take up the tradition.”

“Did he sell you the cottage too?” you ask, and then dig your nails into your wrist for encouraging him.

“Yup,” he says. “No one else wanted it, but me? I saw somethin’ special about it.”

He turns to smile at you—no doubt pleased you made the connection. You avert your gaze.

“Imagine someday I’ll have my own family here,” he continues. “Good place for it. Nice and slow, not like city living. Can hear yourself think out here. Perfect place to have a few wee ones.”

“If people stop leaving,” you mutter.

He turns to you again. “I’m no’ worried about that,” he replies. He’s still smiling. “You came here, after all.”

You have nothing to say to that.

The trip is a short one—Johnny brings the trawler alongside an island he informs you is called Mingulay, a square mile smaller than Vatersay’s tiny dot in the North Atlantic. Unlike the latter, he says, this island has not been inhabited since 1912, and has been completely reclaimed by the ocean and its wildlife.

After he drops anchor offshore, Johnny disappears down a steep flight of stairs below deck, which he had not offered a tour of, and emerges a short time later with a large, bulky coat.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he says proudly, holding it out by the shoulders. “Here, turn ‘round.”

You pause in the middle of reaching for it. You don’t know exactly why you comply—it occurs to you that if you grabbed for the jacket, he could simply not let go of it, and you would end up exactly where he wants you anyway. So you lower your arm and, resigned, give him your back.

He steps up behind you. Warmth pours off of him, more than you think any human body should be able to generate.

You hear him inhale, deeply, as he brings the jacket to your back. As you slide your arms into the sleeves, you feel his exhale on the nape of your neck, teasing through individual follicles of hair.

“There w’go,” he murmurs, much closer than you expected.

You can hear the low hum of his voice in his chest; his hands linger on your shoulders far longer than they need to, heavy, big enough that his index fingers brush along your collarbones.

When his hands make to slide down your back you step away from him and fumble to zip the jacket up; he chuckles lightly behind you. When you turn to face him, his lips are curled—smug.

“Alright then,” he says. “Let’s get out there.”

He rows the two of you to shore in a small kayak, two pairs of binoculars in your lap as you huddle away from the wind. You’ll be walking to the haul-out, he says—getting too close to the breeding grounds, which he calls a rookery, would spook them, possibly causing a stampede.

“It’s grey seals we’re gonna see,” he explains as the two of you pick your way across the rocky landscape. “Not the biggest haul-out you could see, some colonies get into the thousands, but we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

He insists on taking your elbow every time the two of you cross particularly uneven terrain, even though you don’t need it. You think he takes your attempts to shake him off as proof of your lack of balance, because he grasps you all the tighter every time.

“I’m not a child, Johnny, I can walk on my own,” you finally snap at him.

“Just bein’ a gentleman, bonnie,” he replies nonchalantly. He does not let you go.

As you get closer, you hear the seals before you see them, and when their voices reach you across the open island, you stop dead.

Groaning, grunting, hissing in a cacophonous chorus. Some part of your hindbrain double-takes, reshuffles itself—some ancestral instinct always on the lookout for predation. If you’d been given a chance to guess what a colony of mating seals might have sounded like, you’re not sure you could have guessed what they sounded like.

Certainly not like what you hear now—

Like people.

Johnny grins at you when he notices. “Aye, it’s a right ruckus, innit?”

He leads you up a small rise, where he has the two of you settle belly-down over the machair to overlook the wedge of rocky coast that the colony has claimed for its own.

And when you finally see it—it’s underwhelming.

Perhaps two hundred long, fat bodies, in varying shades of brown and grey, lay indolently along the rocks, in groups of three or four, some heavily galumphing from one place to another while others roll occasionally from side to side. The shifting winds catch their scent and blow it uncaringly into your face; you nearly gag at the admixture of dead fish and ammonia.

It doesn’t escape you that this is a rare thing to witness; you are not wholly immune to the fact that you are only a hundred meters away from something most people only encounter on a screen. It’s just that without a swell of awed music in the backdrop, or a narrator’s breathless wonder at the miracle of pinniped life, what’s left for you to observe is a population of wet, stinking animals, shitting where they lay, vocalizing without cease while they laze about doing basically nothing.

Johnny does not seem to notice your disillusionment; he hands you one pair of binoculars, and directs your attention to activity along the shoreline. You follow to where he’s pointing; one larger seal is hassling a smaller one, which snarls at the aggressor as it thrashes around with its substantial bulk.

“Little one there��” Johnny says, “that’s a female, probably obvious. Big one knows she’s ready to mate, can smell it on her.”

The female bares her teeth and lunges at the bigger male, which flinches back but holds his ground.

“Doesn’t look like she agrees,” you mutter.

“She’s just givin’ him a hard time. She’s all in heat, see? Just makes her cranky,” Johnny says. You feel his eyes on you, and lower your binoculars to look at him. “She’s got to fight to feel all in control.”

You flush. “Right.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” you say. “He’s—he’s just bothering her.”

He gazes at you for a moment, contemplative. Corners of his mouth quirking upward. He does not reply for a long moment, long enough that you have to avert your gaze from his.

“Nah,” he finally says, and you don’t think you’re imagining the low, sultry note in his voice. “She wants it bad as he does.”

You scowl, uncomfortably perceived, and return your binoculars—the pair is still facing off, gurgling and growling at each other. The female is slim, almost sleek, unlike most of the other seals populating the rookery.

“Is she sick?” you ask.

“Hm? Oh, no, she’s alright. The mums lose a lot of weight when they nurse. Takes three weeks, and they don’t eat in the meantime.”

“Jesus.”

“Be nice if the dads ever brought ‘em a bite, aye?” Johnny agrees. “Deadbeats, the lot of them.”

The two of you survey the colony in silence for a moment. As the morning wears on, the cloud covering thins overhead, allowing cool sunlight to filter through. The temperature doesn’t rise in response; begrudgingly, you tug Johnny’s jacket a little tighter around you.

Then, suddenly, his hand lands on your back, between your shoulder blades.

“Got some pups over there,” he says. “Look, by the kelp.”

You find them; smaller bodies, white dinged with wet sand and dirt, lounge near their mothers or wriggle with aimless difficulty. They’re fluffy and round as plush toys, with shining black eyes and noses, and once Johnny’s pointed them out you can differentiate the higher, sweeter pitch of their cries from the overall cacophony.

“Sometimes,” Johnny murmurs, “search and rescue’ll get called out because someone thought they heard a baby crying. Some kid stranded or lost, right? Turns out to be a baby seal.”

“That’s kind of scary,” you say.

“Aye,” says Johnny. “Always makes me think that’s where the old legends come from, about seal people or mermaids.”

A small ways away, some of the mothers lay with their pups far into the surf, letting the waves break over them. You watch as one mother thunks her large head overtop of her pup’s as the water rushes toward them; the pup wriggles, and then, as the wave engulfs them, it begins to thrash, whipping up a panicked froth.

“Time for swimming lessons already?” Johnny muses. “Seems early.”

You’re horrified. “She’s going to drown it!”

The hand still on your back pats you consolingly. “Just watch,” says Johnny.

The wave reaches as far up the shore as gravity allows, and then begins to recede. The pup’s thrashing calms as the air meets its face once again; the cow allows the pup to lift its head, and after a few sputters, the pup seems no worse for wear.

“They’re hardier than they look, bonnie,” Johnny says.

His hand, heavy and warm even over his borrowed jacket, slides down from your shoulders to your lower back, and then he rubs, slowly, side to side, as if to comfort you—but the knobs of your spine contract at his touch.

“Last of the births this season, looks like,” he says. “Mum’s getting ready to leave—probably not the only one.”

Something hard drops into your stomach.

“They leave their babies?” you ask.

“Aye. Once they’re done nursing, they mate, and then they go.”

You look back at the other cows with their pups. One baby has its muzzle to its mother’s belly, quivering and suckling, while she lays with her head on a patch of grass. She looks uninterested—more, she looks disinterested. As if how voraciously her pup is nursing has nothing much to do with her, and she’s bored of even having to think about it.

Bored—and already looking forward to the next part of her life without a baby in it.

“That’s horrible,” you say.

“They’re solitary animals, bonnie,” Johnny says, not ungently. “The only time they’re really all together is for this.”

A line tightens between your stomach and throat, and you feel it start to build between your ribs. A tremor—foreshocks. The wind picks up, bringing a sharp chill off the ocean and up the rise that cuts into your stinging eyes, abrades the naked skin of your hands and the exposed part of your neck.

When you look through your binoculars again, you wonder how many of the pups you see have already been abandoned.

“Aw, bonnie,” Johnny says. There’s a kind of pity in his voice that has your hackles raising.

“I want to leave,” you say, yanking away from his touch and shuffling down the incline. “Take me back to the cottage.”

“Bonnie, it’s okay!” Johnny protests, rolling to his back to look at you as you stand. “The pups make it, they figure out how to fend for themselves.”

You glare at him, vision blurring. “All of them?”

Some part of you knows you’re being irrational—knows that nature is a cruel home, and that many children face worse fates than the seal pups. Abandoning the young, the needy, is no aberration; it is, in fact, far more the standard than the human practice, which lingers for decades—

Most of the time.

Johnny has no response. He holds your angry gaze, brows drawn low, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s the first time that cocky aura, which seems to rest in every fine line on his face and every angle at which he holds his body, is completely absent.

He isn’t reflecting your anger back at you, though—he’s internalizing it. Letting it hit him, you think, and trying to use it to figure you out.

You do not want to be figured out.

You scoff again. “Take me back,” you repeat, and then you start walking in the direction you came, without waiting for him to follow.

Johnny drops you off in the cove, and thankfully does not linger this time before he departs—he bids you farewell after rowing you to shore, contemplation on his face, and then leaves you to yourself.

You retreat, seeking the cottage’s empty quiet.

As you perch on the couch you listen to the radiator hum—the wind blow over the reeds in the thatch roof—your own heart beating a drum in the arteries of your neck.

Percussive. Quick and hard. Like heavy knockers on a door. Pounding as if to burst through.

You realize you’re still wearing Johnny’s jacket, and you throw it off, disgusted with yourself. You get up and pace, and try to ignore it lying in a heap on the floor.

You do something you swore you wouldn’t do the moment you set foot on the island—you turn your phone back on.

True to Johnny’s word, there’s no signal. You picked this island, this part of the world, for a reason; for the past several years, a slow exodus from the British isles has vacated the need for dedicated cell towers or satellite or internet access, especially given that the only ones who remain are too old now to want it or need it or know how to use it.

It’s isolated. Cut off. Left behind by anyone with better options, and only clung to by those trying to preserve the only way of life they know.

Some kinder part of you belongs with that demographic; the part that was telling your mother the truth, before getting on the plane.

The rest of you holds your phone up and starts walking around.

In the furthest corner in the bedroom, you find a single bar of signal. A tiny chip of connectivity—a thin, frayed thread. Something you lied to yourself about cutting.

It’s a weak connection. Unstable. It could take a while—you stand there, waiting.

The screen dims. You tap it again.

Blank.

You unlock it, look through your apps. Wonder if maybe your notifications are bugged by your new SIM card.

Nothing—

No one.

You whip around and, with a cry, pitch the thing at the far wall—it hits the stone with a crunch, falling to the floor in pieces.

You’re out of the cottage then in a mad dash, door slamming behind you, driving yourself back into the wind. Far away—you want to be far away, far from everything, so far that nothing could possibly reach you. You trudge down the path toward the beach, banding your arms across your chest, shivering in the cold, and yet you hardly feel it.

Not worth it. No point. Waste of your time. Energy. All of it. Stop trying. Stop wanting. Nothing. Nothing. You want nothing.

You’re halfway down to the shore, not really knowing what you’re going to do when you get there, when you catch sight of a body on the sand.

You gasp, a sharp breath down your larynx, and freeze in a dead halt.

The body is completely still.

A swimmer? A diver? It’s dark, like it just pulled itself out of the ocean—or washed up—

Then, it moves. A twitch, a ripple across its bulk, and your chest rapidly decompresses.

A seal. It’s a large seal, lounging alone on the beach.

You stand motionless. You’re very close—much closer than you and Johnny had been at the rookery. You hadn’t contended with the sheer size of the animals, tucked safely up and away from them, but there is no illusion of distance now.

It’s the biggest one you’ve seen today, you’re sure of it. Bigger, you think, than most adult men. Its pelt is a riot of every shade of grey, splashy, like liquid paint thrown across a canvas. Black speckles scatter overtop of marbled white and cool slate, and down the center of its back is a broad, dark line, soft at the edges, which reaches all the way up to the top of the seal’s head.

The bull—it must be male—turns over. It lifts its head, and opens its eyes—

Fear suddenly zips up your spine as it looks right at you.

You stumble backward and trip on your own feet, landing hard on your ass. Johnny’s care with keeping enough distance from the colony rushes back to you, along with the warring couple’s bared teeth.

They can’t move that fast on land, right? They aren’t interested in people, right?

You scramble backward. It’s so much bigger than you ever would have imagined. If it got to you—threw itself over you—it could crush you with its weight alone—

The bull watches you placidly. Unperturbed.

You pause.

Its small eyes are dark and glossy—watchful and focused. The whiskers on its muzzle twitch a little as it takes you in. It breathes, deeply and evenly, huge body expanding and contracting at a slow, calm tempo. Its—his—nostrils flex, widening and narrowing, as he blinks docilely.

Unafraid.

If anything—curious.

Then he snorts, and wriggles in place. It startles a laugh out of you, more reaction than humor. Still watching you, the bull lowers his head back down, resting it again on the sand.

Your heartbeat abates. He doesn’t move again—nor does his attention leave you. Slowly, you sit up.

Wary. No sudden movements.

He doesn’t react; only continues to watch you.

You draw your knees up. Wrap your arms around your shins, and dust a bit of sand from your leggings. Rest your chin in the crevice between your knees.

There’s an intelligence in the bull’s eyes that is fathoms deep. There is a massive gulf between his experience of the world and yours, millennia of evolution separating your species from his—and yet…as you hold his gaze, you recognize the look in it.

Him, seeing you. And seeing you see him. The pendulum swinging between awareness of each other, and recognition of that shared awareness.

An empty space in the cloud cover passes overhead; sunlight touches the earth, warms it briefly before disappearing again. You wonder a little why this bull isn’t with the other seals.

Johnny would probably know.

“I didn’t come for you, you know,” you grumble at him.

The seal blinks. Awareness notwithstanding, you don’t share any language.

You sigh. “I guess you didn’t come to see me either,” you say.

But you don’t move away.

And you stay like that for a long while, you and he—regarding each other as the wind breathes out across the shore.

next

a/n: follow for more seal facts™

Also huge thanks to Lev for trawler listings/info. Didn't explore it much this chapter but Soap's boat will show up more soon :)

[st4rpiece]

needing space after an argument pt. 2

SFW

characters: luffy, zoro, usopp, sanji x reader summary: they earn your forgiveness CW: groveling, making up, fluff, and over 600 words each

pt. 1 | pt. 2

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Monkey D. Luffy

Luffy wasn’t himself. It was the first thing everyone noticed after you left the ship. His laughter, usually loud and contagious, was quieter, forced. Mealtimes felt emptier, and the energy on the Sunny had shifted. He tried to act like nothing was wrong, but even the crew could see the shadow of regret lingering in his eyes.  

But now, here he was, standing in front of you in the quiet port town where you’d taken refuge after leaving the crew. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by a desperate determination.  

“I’m sorry,” he said for what must have been the tenth time. His voice was raw, almost breaking. “I didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have told you to leave. I was stupid.”  

You stood with your arms crossed, your expression guarded. Seeing Luffy like this—so uncharacteristically vulnerable—caught you off guard, but the sting of his words still lingered, fresh and sharp.  

“Luffy, you can’t just say whatever you want when you’re mad and expect everything to go back to normal,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. “You told me to leave. So I did.”  

“I didn’t mean it,” he repeated, stepping closer but stopping just short of touching you. “I was mad and didn’t think. I... I need you on the ship. Not just because I want you there, but because you’re part of the crew. You’re important to us all and i shouldn’t have made you feel otherwise.”  

You searched his face, his big, earnest eyes pleading with you. You could see the regret there, the weight of his mistake hanging heavy on his shoulders. For a moment, your resolve wavered, but you quickly shook your head.  

“I can’t just come back because you say you’re sorry, Luffy. What happens the next time we fight? Are you going to tell me to leave again?”  

“No!” he blurted out, shaking his head vehemently. “No, I swear. I’ll never say anything like that again.”  

You frowned, unsure what to make of his declaration. “Luffy, words aren’t enough.”  

He nodded, his straw hat shadowing his eyes for a moment before he looked up at you with renewed determination. “Then I’ll show you. Whatever it takes.”  

True to his word, Luffy didn’t give up. He didn’t force you to return to the ship, but he didn’t leave the island either. Every day, he showed up—whether it was to bring you a freshly caught fish for dinner, fix something around the small inn you were staying at, or simply sit outside and wait in silence. He didn’t push, didn’t demand, but his presence was constant.  

When the ship needed supplies, he was the first to volunteer, taking on tasks he’d usually leave to someone else. The crew later told you how he’d started taking more responsibility, trying to step up as a better leader.  

Even when you didn’t speak to him, he never faltered. Every action, every small gesture, was his way of showing you how much he regretted his words.  

One evening, you found Luffy sitting on the dock, staring out at the ocean with his straw hat resting in his lap. He looked smaller somehow, as though the weight of his regret had worn him down.  

When he noticed you approaching, he stood up immediately, his expression shifting from surprise to cautious hope.  

“Why do you keep doing this?” you asked, crossing your arms.  

“Because I was wrong,” he said without hesitation. “Because I hurt you, and I have to make it right. Even if you never come back, I’ll keep trying. I don’t care how long it takes.”  

His sincerity stopped you in your tracks. He wasn’t making excuses, wasn’t brushing over your feelings like they didn’t matter. He had made changes—small ones, but noticeable—and for the first time, you truly believed he understood the gravity of what he’d done.  

You sighed, letting the silence linger before speaking. “Luffy... I’ll come back.”  

His eyes lit up with hope, his lips parting as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.  

“But,” you continued, holding up a finger, “this only works if things stay different. I’m not going back just to deal with the same problems again. I need to know you’re taking this seriously.”  

“I swear!” he said immediately, his voice brimming with determination. “I swear that things will be different. A good different. No more reckless fights for selfish reasons or saying things I don’t mean, I promise.”  

You studied him for a long moment, the sincerity and determination in his eyes unmistakable. Finally, you allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of your lips. “Alright, Lu.”  

Relief washed over his face as he heard the familiar nickname, and for the first time in weeks, you saw his grin return, bright and full of life.  

"I missed you so much, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and certainty, as he wrapped his arms around you.

The comforting warmth of his embrace, felt like home—safe, secure, and exactly where you wanted to be.

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro wasn’t one to grovel. Stubborn and prideful as he was, apologies didn’t come easy for him. But as he sat alone on the Sunny’s deck, replaying his words from the fight, regret gnawed at him like a dull blade.  

The memory of your face—shocked, hurt, and then resigned—kept flashing in his mind. He hadn’t just lashed out; he’d cut deep. You were trying to help, and he’d thrown it back at you, calling you controlling and annoying when you didn’t deserve it.  

He groaned, pressing his palms against his face. He hated how small he felt for failing to show up to the dates you’d so carefully planned, how your suggestion—simple and kind—had poked at an insecurity he didn’t want to face. And now, because of his pride, he’d pushed you away.  

For days, you’d been distant, giving him space, but that only made the guilt worse. He needed to fix this.  

You were sitting on a quiet hillside overlooking the ocean when Zoro found you. The breeze tugged at your clothes, and you looked peaceful—too peaceful, considering how much turmoil you’d left him in.  

“Hey,” he called softly, his voice unusually hesitant.  

You glanced at him, surprised to see the normally stoic swordsman looking... sheepish. He stood awkwardly a few feet away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.  

“What is it, Zoro?” you asked, your tone calm but distant.  

He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides before he took a step closer. “I wanted to apologize.”  

That caught your attention. Your brows lifted in mild surprise, but you said nothing, waiting for him to continue.  

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he said, his voice low and gruff, but steady. “You weren’t being controlling or annoying. You were just... trying to help.” He exhaled heavily as if forcing the words out of himself. “And I was an idiot.”  

You blinked, his sincerity throwing you off guard. “Zoro—”  

“Let me finish, please,” he interrupted, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. There was something raw in his gaze—an uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I’ve been thinking about it, and... I hate that I’m always late. I hate knowing you’re waiting for me while I’m stuck wandering around like an idiot who can’t follow a simple route. It’s embarrassing.”  

Your expression softened, but you stayed quiet, letting him speak.  

“When you suggested we go together, I know it wasn’t because you thought I was useless,” he continued, his voice tightening. “But that’s how it made me feel. Like I wasn’t good enough to get it right on my own. And instead of dealing with that, I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that.”  

He took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “But I don’t think you’re controlling or annoying. You’re the most patient and understanding person for putting up with me. So you deserve better and I want to be that.”  

The sincerity in his voice was almost overwhelming, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. He wasn’t just saying the words—he meant them.  

“I know I can’t just say sorry and expect everything to go back to normal,” he added, glancing away briefly before meeting your gaze again. “So, please baby just… give me a chance to make it right.”  

Your lips parted in surprise. Zoro wasn’t the type to take the initiative when it came to things like this, but the determination in his eyes was unmistakable.  

After a long pause, you let out a soft sigh, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “One last chance.”  

He nodded, relief flashing across his face, but there was also a quiet resolve in his expression. This wasn’t just a promise—it was a vow.  

The next time you guys went on a date, Zoro was ready. He showed up early, finally getting the chance to wait on you. He led you to a quiet clearing overlooking the sea, a picnic already set up with food he’d personally asked Sanji to help him prepare.  

The effort was clear in every little detail, from the way he chose the spot (easily accessible, no chance to get lost) to the careful decorations and crafts you mentioned liking/wanting to try. Showing that despite his stoic nature, he was listening to you during previous dates. Even now as you spoke, he would chime in at just the right moments.  

It wasn’t perfect—he stumbled over a few of his words and complained when a seagull tried to swipe the food—but it was Zoro, trying in his own way. And that meant everything.  

By the time the date ended, you leaned back on the blanket, gazing up at the stars, feeling closer to him than ever before. When he reached for your hand, you let him, squeezing it gently.  

Zoro glanced down at your intertwined fingers, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His gaze softened, and he took a deep breath before speaking. “I know you agreed to give me another chance, but I need to know if you’re still interested in giving me that chance.”

Your heart softened at the rare vulnerability in his voice. You turned to meet his eyes, and they were steady, full of quiet determination.  

A soft smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned into him as the waves crashed gently in the distance. For a man of few words, Zoro was surprisingly good at them.

“Well,” you began, tilting your head with a teasing glint in your eye, “that depends. Are you going to keep being so dramatic about it?” You bit back a laugh as you watched the tips of his ears turn red, his expression shifting into a familiar scowl.

“Tch, not being dramatic,” he grumbled, looking away, but the redness in his ears betrayed him.

You chuckled softly and squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “I was being serious about giving you that second chance,” you said warmly. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and the tension in his jaw eased.

“But,” you continued, your tone more firm, “next time something like this happens, promise that you’ll communicate it properly. Okay? No more bottling things up.”

Zoro stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding once. “You have my word.” His voice was low but steady, carrying the weight of his promise.

“Good.” You smiled, squeezing his hand again as a soft breeze brushed past, carrying with it the sound of the waves.

God Usopp

The day had been quiet, almost too quiet, and the silence weighed heavy between you and Usopp. Since your argument, things haven’t been the same. You still spoke, but the words felt hollow, and the laughter you once shared now seemed distant and forced. He noticed it all—the way your smile never quite reached your eyes, the strain in your voice when you tried to act like nothing was wrong.  

And it tore him apart.  

Usopp sat on the deck after dinner, absentmindedly fiddling with a half-finished invention. His fingers moved on instinct, but his thoughts were stuck on your last conversation. He hated himself for the way he’d lashed out, for the way he’d let his insecurities push you away.  

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sea in shades of orange and pink, he made up his mind. He couldn’t let this fester any longer.  

When you stepped onto the deck for some air, Usopp hesitated, watching you from a distance. Finally, he stood, his hands clenching at his sides as he approached you.  

“Hey,” he called softly.  

You turned, surprised to see him. “Oh, hey.” Your voice was casual, but your guarded expression told him you were bracing for something.  

“Can we talk?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically serious.  

You nodded, following him to a quieter spot on the ship where the others couldn’t overhear. The soft sound of the waves filled the silence as Usopp struggled to find the right words.  

“I’ve been... thinking,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “About what I said. About the fight.” He looked down, unable to meet your gaze. Your brows furrowed, but you stayed quiet, giving him the space to explain.

“I know you don’t see me as weak,” he continued, his voice growing tight. “But hearing you scream for him... it made me feel useless.” He exhaled sharply, his hand tightening around the railing. “And I hate feeling like that. I know I’m not like Luffy, Zoro, or Sanji. I’m not the guy who can punch through walls or take down ten enemies at once, but... I at least want to be someone you can count on. Someone you can feel protected with.”

He paused, his words faltering slightly. “But instead of talking to you about it, I projected my insecurities onto you, and made it seem like you were wrong for asking our friends for help. For that, I’m sorry.”

The vulnerability in his words hit you hard, and guilt pooled in your chest. “Baby...” you started, your voice soft. “I’m sorry, too. I never meant to make you feel that way.” You stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm. “But you are someone I can count on. Someone who’s saved my ass more times than I can count. Your strength may not look like theirs, but it’s just as important.”

He finally looked at you, his eyes wide, searching for any trace of doubt. “You... you really mean that?”

“Heck yeah, I do,” you said without hesitation. “I trust you, Usopp. I always have.”

A small, hesitant smile tugged at his lips, and he let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through him. “Thanks... I needed to hear that," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

After a moment, he straightened and rubbed the back of his head, suddenly looking sheepish. “Actually, uh, there’s something I’ve been working on. For you. I wanted to make something that could help you in a fight.”  

Your brows lifted in surprise. “Really? What is it?”  

Grinning now, Usopp reached into his bag and pulled out a small, compact gadget. “It’s not finished yet, but it’s kind of like a smoke bomb, but better. It creates a flash of light to blind enemies and a smoke screen to cover your escape. I thought... you know, it might come in handy.”  

You took the gadget from him, turning it over in your hands. “Usopp, this is amazing.”  

“Yeah, well,” he said, scratching his cheek, his grin turning bashful. “I wanted to make sure you had another thing to keep you safe. In case no one else is around.”  

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thank you, Usopp. I mean it.”  

He relaxed then, the tension between you finally melting away. “I’ll finish it soon,” he promised, his confidence returning. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll come up with even more stuff for you with full bragging rights.”  

"Thanks, now I can let everyone know just how my amazing boyfriend is," you laughed—genuinely this time—and Usopp’s chest swelled with pride. He knew he still had work to do, but for now, the weight of your fight had lifted, and the bond between you felt stronger than ever.  

Vinesmoke Sanji

Sanji stood alone on the deck, the moonlight casting a silver glow over his slumped figure. He leaned against the railing, a cigarette burning low between his fingers, though he hadn’t taken a drag in minutes. His mind replayed every moment of your relationship—the laughter, the stolen glances, the warmth of your touch. And then, inevitably, it would circle back to the breakup.  

He’d failed you. The person who mattered more to him than anyone else in the world. His actions—so thoughtless, so wrapped in habit—had made you feel second to strangers. The realization haunted him, clawing at his chest.  

Sanji thought of groveling, of falling to his knees and begging you to take him back, but he knew you too well. That would only push you further away. You were someone who needed actions, not words, and he knew his words had already failed you. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to give up. You were his person, his muse, his everything. How could he possibly accept a life without you in it?  

So he did the only thing he could. He began to show you through his actions.  

The change was immediate. The next time the ship docked at an island, Sanji didn’t so much as glance at the women who usually flocked to him. When they batted their lashes and called out for his attention, he brushed them off politely and kept his focus on his task. His compliments, once scattered freely to strangers, were now reserved only for you. Even when you ignored him, his words never wavered—soft, sincere, and meant only for you.  

In battle, Sanji was more relentless than ever. But his priority was always your safety, stepping in before danger could reach you, even if it meant taking a hit himself. When the crew sat down for meals, he made sure your favorite dishes were prepared just the way you liked them, his eyes flicking to your face to see if you’d noticed.  

And when he thought you weren’t looking, he’d linger nearby, silently watching you. There was a sadness in his gaze as he admired the person he’d once had the privilege of holding close. You saw him sometimes, hovering at a distance, and though you tried to ignore it, part of you couldn’t deny the pang in your chest. You still had feelings for him—of course you did. But you couldn’t settle for someone who had once made you doubt your place in their life.  

Weeks passed, and Sanji’s quiet devotion didn’t falter. Even now as he stood near the railing, waiting for you, his hands slightly trembling. He had spent all day preparing for this moment, and now the weight of his plan felt heavier than ever.  

When you finally stepped out onto the deck, he straightened immediately, smoothing his suit jacket with nervous fingers. "Hey," he called softly, his voice careful, like he was afraid of scaring you off.  

"Hey," you replied, your tone hesitant but curious. He’d been walking on eggshells around you for weeks, and now this—an invitation for "something special" without much detail. Against your better judgment, you’d said yes, curiosity getting the better of you.  

He smiled faintly, stepping toward you. "I, uh, thought we could spend the evening together. Just... talk."  

You raised a brow. "Talk?"  

He nodded, motioning for you to follow him. "Come on. I’ve got something to show you."  

Despite the uncertainty in your chest, you followed him across the deck, and your eyes widened when he led you to a corner of the ship bathed in soft, golden light from lanterns he had strung up. A blanket was spread out neatly on the deck, adorned with a small basket, plates of your favorite snacks, and a bottle of your favorite drink.  

"Sanji..." you murmured, taken aback.  

"I know it’s not much," he said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. "But I wanted to do something for you. Something simple. Something that doesn’t involve me screwing it up."  

You blinked, your hesitation softening slightly at his earnestness. "You didn’t have to go through all this trouble."  

"I did," he countered, his voice firm but warm. "I needed to."  

He gestured for you to sit, and after a moment’s pause, you did, settling down on the blanket. Sanji sat across from you, his hands fidgeting in his lap.  

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the ship filling the space between you. Finally, Sanji took a deep breath and looked at you, his expression more serious than you’d seen in a long time.  

"My love," he began, "I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since... since we broke up. And I just... I need you to know how sorry I am."  

You looked away, unsure how to respond, but he continued.  

"I wasn’t the boyfriend you deserved," he admitted, his voice low. "I made you feel like you had to compete for my attention, and that’s unforgivable. You should’ve never felt like anything less than the most important person in my life. That’s on me."  

His gaze was unwavering as he spoke, and you couldn’t help but feel the sincerity in his words.  

"I still have feelings for you," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I never stopped. And I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight, or even to trust me again right away. But I need you to know that I’ve changed. I’m changing. And I’ll do anything to prove it to you."  

You stared at him, his words hitting you harder than you expected. Sanji was always smooth with his words, but this was different. There was no charm, no performative flair—just raw honesty.  

"Sanji..." you started, your voice faltering. You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the edge of the blanket. "I... I still have feelings for you too. But..."  

"But you don’t trust me," he finished for you, his tone understanding rather than hurt.  

You nodded. "It’s not that I don’t want to. I just... I’m scared of getting hurt again."  

He reached across the blanket, his hand stopping just short of yours. "I understand," he said softly. "And I don’t blame you. I don’t want you to rush into anything you’re not ready for. If we have to take things slow, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll show you, not just with words but with actions, that you’re the only one in my heart."  

His hand lingered near yours, and after a moment, you tentatively placed your hand over his. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and you looked up to meet his gaze.  

"Okay," you said quietly. "We can try. But slow, Sanji. No rushing, no grand gestures to win me over. Just... be honest with me."  

A smile broke across his face, softer and more genuine than any you’d seen in weeks. "Slow it is," he promised.  

For the first time in what felt like forever, the tension between you eased. You still had a long way to go, but as you sat there, sharing a quiet meal under the lantern light, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, things could work out.  

───────────────────₊˚.༄

One Piece Masterlist

hey…I was supposed to post this yesterday but I ended up working a double 😭.

[this is lightly edited]

anyways I saw a couple people asking about a tag list ngl i don’t know shit about that 😭😭 but hopefully this finds you !!

and for the op women/queer smau I will be posting that soon as well but I got a really cute idea from anon yesterday and I want to start on that first.

[logaenhowlett]

hi arya :3

any thoughts on cowboy!logan?

plenty. i’ve got plenty of thoughts. you’re gonna have to restrain me from this motherfucker. 18+ only.

— COWBOY!LOGAN HCs

Cowboy!Logan reigns terror over your heart.

The first time he saunters into the saloon you work at, he fixes you with those piercing eyes and purrs, "Now, darlin', what's a pretty thing like you doin' behind this bar? Should be dancin' with me, makin' all the other fellas jealous."

Whiskey? He never orders it. Every time, it falls from his lips as a suggestion, like it's a shared indulgence between the two of you. "A lil' somethin' to take the edge off a long day, wouldn't you say, sweetheart?"

Soon enough, you realise that he could charm the spurs off a rattlesnake if he so desires.

As he becomes a regular, all the glassware behind the counters starts looking a little too shiny since you're polishing them with the furious energy of a woman trying to ignore a wildfire—as if you could erase the memory of his last wink with enough elbow grease.

Ridiculous.

And he's got this lazy drawl, as though time spins between his fingers, where every word is a carefully placed lasso meant to reel you in.

Despite your better judgment, you find yourself anticipating Logan's arrival after each sunset. A fact you'd rather swallow a cactus than ever admit.

Devilishly clever, that man. Taken to accidentally dropping poker chips near your feet, just to watch you bend down and retrieve them. Leaving little sketches on napkins, rough caricatures of other patrons. Or sometimes, a remarkably detailed portrait of you minding your business.

Those stay tucked in your pockets for a while until your bedside drawer becomes their new home.

One night, he teaches you how to spin a coin on your knuckles, the brim of his worn Stetson tilted low, making you wonder if the slight pressure of his thigh against yours is part of the lesson or a happy accident. "Now, imagine that was a ring... wearin' it on the wrong hand, of course, but I reckon I could fix that."

And somehow, even though you could practically hear the ghostly whispers of every woman he's ever charmed, foolishly, your heart still does a little two-step.

As thunder rolls, so does the poetry from his lips. A small leather-bound volume from which he recites verses of silken touches and midnight trysts.

Whe he finishes, calloused fingers lift your chin slightly. "They say that thunder's the sound of the sky fallin' in love. And look at that... it's fallin' for you tonight, just like I am."

A kiss, not rushed, but a slow burn. Vaguely stirs memories of bourbon sipped by a campfire. Smokey, yet mischievously sweet, his lips part yours with a gentle demand. "Tell me somethin', sweet girl," he murmurs. "You ever ride a cowboy? 'Cause I'm thinkin' we find ourselves a quiet corner, and I'll show you a thing or two 'bout holdin' on real tight."

And in two shakes of a lamb's tail, Logan carries you to the backroom, away from all the raucous and the ruffians. He slides the bolt home, the click deafening in the suddenly small space. Only a single lantern to witness your sins, a rough wooden table your makeshift altar.

A lasso, strong and supple, twists around his palm. "Reckon you got a taste for the finer things. Right, darlin'?" He ties the knot, drawing your wrists closer, snug against your rear. Not in a harsh bind, but a tender restraint. "Just enough... to keep you entertained."

Loosened buttons and hiked-up skirts aside, his hand snakes between your legs, grazing your clit as he stretches you six ways to Sunday.

"Fallin' apart so soon, sugar?" Logan clicks his tongue thrice, and your hips instinctively buck. "Well, ain't that somethin'?" Eyes wide from genuine surprise. A whistle, cocky and clear, hits your cheek. "You're takin' to this faster than my prize-winnin' mare, and she's been broke in proper. Guess you're a natural, darlin'. Or maybe," he whispers, hot against your ear, "you just know how to please your cowboy."

A loaded six-shooter springs up as his jeans fall open, teasing your cunt with his slick, glistening head. No more can his patience bear the force of his desire.

Thrust after thrust, you wither from the glorious onslaught. There's a wild need to touch him, toss the hat and tangle your fingers in his hair, feel the rippling muscles he'd so gracefully shown glimpses of. Only the rope makes it agonisingly impossible.

Soft whines—which he takes the utmost pride in provoking—turn into ragged gasps. As your cunt clenches around him, milking him dry, Logan spills inside you with shallow grunts. "Sweet mercy," he chuckles, kissing you something stupid. "Now, just what am I gonna do with you, doll? Makin' a fella like me consider settlin' down."

Dramatic, in the way he sighs, Logan curls his arms around you. "Or, we could just elope. Less fuss that way."

Gently, he unties the lasso, soothing the faint red marks along your wrists. "Sleep tight, gorgeous. And dream of me."

Yet, he's the reason you have trouble sleeping at all.

so, i got majorly carried away with cowboy!logan. very tempted to turn this into a proper fic.

[someonegoood]

THE CORPORATE EQUATION chapter 1 ✫ jeon jungkook

after Jeon resigned as CEO, meeting his son —the new CEO— was not a good experience. Despite the tension, you notice hints of vulnerability beneath his moody exterior.

CONTAINS: corporate!au, ceo!jk, headofhr!reader, grumpy x sunshine, slow burn, accidental vulnerability, mutual pining, emotionally unavailable jk, bickering turned bonding, fluff & angst :)

NOTE: this will be a mini series. thanks so much for reading!! this work is not revised and english is not my first language :)

my main masterlist! ❀ the corporate equation masterlist!

chapter one: the new CEO

Life has a strange way of changing in the blink of an eye. One moment, you’re comfortable in the routine of your daily life, and the next, everything shifts—like the wind knocking over an entire stack of carefully arranged folders. For you, this particular change had come faster than expected. Jeon, the former CEO, had resigned abruptly, leaving the company in turmoil. There was little time to adjust, and even less time to process what was happening.

Jeon had been a constant at the helm for years. His presence had shaped the company's foundation, and you had respected him for his sharp, calculated leadership. He had guided the company with precision and there was always an understanding that he could be trusted to keep the ship steady. But now, his son, Jeon Jungkook, was stepping into his shoes. You knew little about him, except for the occasional gossip that had floated through the company—rumours that painted him as cold, unapproachable and... gorgeous.

Today was the day. You went through your morning routine on autopilot. Coffee brewed in the corner as you brushed your hair, choosing practicality over flair. A pencil skirt, a pastel blouse, and your trusty blazer—a combination that felt like armour against the unpredictability of corporate life. You grabbed your bag and headed out the door.

At this time of the morning, the bus stop was alive with the quiet energy of early morning commuters. A mix of sleepiness and determination hung in the air as people shuffled about with their eyes fixed on their phones or the horizon. You settled into your usual seat by the window, gazing at the familiar cityscape rushing by. Buildings stacked against one another and the occasional cyclist weaving through traffic—it all felt comfortingly ordinary.

By the time you reached the office, the hum of whispered speculation filled the air. As you walked through the halls, exchanging polite smiles with colleagues, you couldn’t help but notice how everyone seemed to carry a certain tension in their movements.

Soojin appeared at your side. Her usual cheery demeanour was like a ray of sunshine cutting through the tense atmosphere. She was holding a steaming cup of tea, her neatly styled bob bouncing slightly as she walked. She started working at the same time you entered the company, therefore you've become really good friends.

“Good morning!” she chirped, setting her cup down on the counter. She leaned against it, her bright eyes scanning your stack of papers. “Prepared for our big meeting with the new boss?”

“Morning, Soojin,” you replied, offering her a small smile. “Yeah, just making sure I have everything in order. First impressions matter, right?”

“Absolutely,” she said, nodding emphatically. “But don’t stress too much. From what I’ve heard, Jeon Jungkook isn’t exactly the chatty type. Rumour has it he’s more about the Finances Department than the HR one.”

You gave a small laugh, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’ve heard that too. But, you know, I’m still hoping he’ll be open to ideas. We'll present the proposal for improving employee morale that I think could really make a difference.”

Soojin raised an eyebrow, her expression somewhere between impressed and skeptical. “Employee morale? The one Dohyun and you made up? Bold move. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great. But with all the talk about how cold he is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he shuts it down...”

“Maybe,” you admitted, straightening your papers and tucking them into your folder. “But I have to try, right? If we don’t focus on the people here, everything else will eventually fall apart.”

Soojin tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “That’s what I like about you. Always seeing the bright side, even when everyone else is freaking out. Just… don’t let him discourage you, okay? From what I hear, he can be a bit intimidating.”

You chuckled, though you couldn’t completely mask the nervous flutter in your stomach. “Honestly, how bad can he be? He’s human too, right?”

Soojin shrugged, her expression playful but knowing. “Sure, he’s human. But some humans are more like icebergs—most of them are hidden, and what you can see is cold and sharp.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Soojin said with a grin, taking her cup of tea and stepping aside as Dohyun, another member form the HR team approached, nodding a greeting to both of you. The three of you started to walk towards the conference room. “Anyway, you’ve got this. Just be yourself. If anyone can charm an iceberg, it’s you.”

Her words were meant to be encouraging, but as you adjusted your blazer, you couldn’t shake the growing knot of anxiety in your stomach. If Jeon Jungkook really was as cold and impenetrable as the rumours suggested, this meeting was going to be anything but easy.

The long, polished table gleamed under the overhead lights, the leather chairs arranged neatly around it. You set your notebook and pen in front of you, taking a moment to mentally prepare for the meeting ahead. The other members of the HR team began to trickle in—Soojin with her ever-present cheerful energy, Dohyun looking focused as always, Joonho balancing his coffee precariously in one hand, and Minji projecting her usual calm authority.

The room was alive with small talk until the atmosphere shifted. A hush fell over the space as the door opened, and in walked Jeon Jungkook.

Your first thought was how young he looked, though the sharp lines of his suit and the intensity in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t someone to be underestimated. He exuded confidence, the kind that came with knowing you didn’t need to say much to command a room. His gaze swept over the table, assessing each face with a precision that made your heart quicken. When his eyes landed on you, they lingered for a fraction of a second longer than expected, and the weight of his attention was almost tangible.

He was handsome.

He took his place at the head of the table without so much as a greeting. His assistant, Hajun, followed closely behind, setting a sleek portfolio in front of him.

"Let’s get started," Jungkook said, his voice low and firm, cutting through the silence like a blade.

You straightened in your seat, your pen poised to take notes. The meeting began, and it was immediately clear that Jungkook operated differently from his father. He listened, but his responses were curt, his tone leaving little room for argument. When your turn came to speak, you offered your carefully prepared suggestion for improving workplace morale—an idea you were confident would resonate with his father, the former CEO.

“Good morning, everyone,” you began, glancing around the table before focusing on Jungkook. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and you had to resist the urge to look away. “I’d like to propose an initiative to improve employee morale and engagement. We’ve seen a lot of changes recently, and I believe it’s crucial to invest in the well-being of our team during this transitional period.”

But Jungkook’s expression didn’t shift.

After a few seconds, he decided to say something. “That’s too idealistic,” he said flatly. His voice was calm, but the dismissal stung all the same. Every team member looked astonished, “We don’t have the resources to entertain abstract ideas right now. We need to focus on tangible results, not wishful positive thinking.”

The room went silent, all eyes shifting between you and him. A wave of heat rose to your face, but you refused to let it deter you. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and replied.

“I understand your concerns, Mr. Jeon,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “But I respectfully disagree. Employee morale isn’t an abstract idea; it’s a measurable factor that directly impacts productivity and retention. If we don’t address the root causes of disengagement now, we’ll face bigger problems down the line—higher turnover, lower performance, and potentially a damaged reputation.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your rebuttal. His pen paused mid-tap, and he leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze narrowing as he studied you. For a moment, the room was still, the air thick with anticipation. Jungkook didn’t speak immediately, his expression unreadable as his gaze lingered on you.

Finally, he nodded, though it was more an acknowledgment of your persistence than an agreement. “Noted,” he said simply before shifting his attention to the next person on the agenda.

As you sat back down, your heart was racing, but you kept your composure. Soojin shot you a quick, encouraging smile from across the table, and you gave her a subtle nod in return. Jungkook’s dismissal still stung, but you couldn’t help feeling a small sense of victory. You had stood your ground, and even if he hadn’t agreed, you knew you had planted a seed.

Whether he realized it or not, Jeon Jungkook was going to hear you out—eventually.

Despite his half-rejection, you couldn’t help but notice the long hours Jungkook kept. He stayed in his office long after everyone else had left, his office door always ajar, the flicker of his desk lamp visible through the cracks. Curiosity gnawed at you, as you were heading home yourself, you decided to stop by and check in on him. Your offices were facing each other, therefore you could see everything he was doing.

You knocked lightly on the doorframe, unsure of what kind of reception you would get.

"Mr. Jeon?" you began, your voice tentative. "I noticed you’re still here. Is everything okay?"

Jungkook glanced up at you, his expression unreadable. His eyes were sharp, calculating as they locked onto yours. "I don’t need a babysitter," he muttered before quickly returning to the papers in front of him. There was no warmth in his tone, no indication that he appreciated the concern. But there was something else—something beneath his cold exterior—that you couldn’t quite place. A flicker of frustration, of exhaustion, maybe. It was there, but only for a split second.

You had expected him to shut the door in your face, but instead, he let you stand there for a few seconds longer before the silence stretched uncomfortably between you.

"I just thought… maybe you could use a break. It’s important to recharge, too," you said, trying once more, hoping to break through that thick wall he had built around himself.

He didn’t respond, just stared at you as though trying to decide whether or not your presence was a disruption. When he spoke, his voice was lower, edged with something you hadn’t heard before—a mixture of stress and frustration.

"I don’t have the luxury of downtime," he muttered, his gaze turning back to the papers in front of him, his fingers tapping against the desk in a rapid rhythm. "My father was right to step down when he did. This place it’s too much to handle..."

You didn’t know if you were meant to hear this. Jungkook’s voice cracked just slightly as he spoke, a rare moment of vulnerability that cut through his otherwise unyielding exterior. But before you could respond, he snapped, his tone returning to its familiar sharpness.

"Just go. I’ll manage," he said, his gaze hardening once more as he gestured toward the door.

As you left, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Jungkook was difficult, a person wrapped in layers of pride and frustration, but there was something about that brief moment of honesty—something raw—that made you wonder if there was more to him than the impenetrable CEO persona he projected.

You didn’t know what the future held, but one thing was clear: this man, this new CEO, was not the cold-hearted figure he appeared to be on the surface. And perhaps, in time, you could find a way to break through that wall he had so carefully constructed around himself.

The HR office buzzed with an unusual energy, a rare break from the grind. Joonho’s birthday had turned the space into a small celebration, complete with an assortment of pastries from the bakery down the street. Laughter echoed as everyone gathered around, sipping coffee and chatting.

“Okay, okay!” Minji said, clapping her hands for attention. “We have an important task for you, sunshine.” Her tone was teasing, but her expression was determined as her gaze landed squarely on you.

You raised an eyebrow, your mouth still full of a bite of croissant. “Me? What’s this ‘important task’?”

Dohyun chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “You’ve got to invite Mr. Jeon to join us.”

You blinked, startled. “Jeon Jungkook? The CEO? Are you serious?”

Joonho nodded vigorously, his cheeks slightly pink from the attention everyone was showering on him. “Come on! It’s my birthday, and maybe you can get him to crack a smile. Plus,” he added with a sly grin, “you’re the only one brave enough to talk back to him.”

Minji, ever the voice of reason, stepped in with a gentle smile. “It’s worth a try. Even if he says no, it’ll show that we’re trying to include him. And who knows? He might surprise us.”

You sighed, setting your half-eaten pastry on the edge of your desk. “Fine, I’ll do it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if he declines.” The team erupted into cheers and laughter as you smoothed down your blouse, squared your shoulders, and made your way toward his office.

The door to Mr. Jeaon's office was slightly ajar, but you hesitated before knocking. A voice from inside stopped you—a woman’s voice, clear and firm. You hesitated outside his office door, adjusting your grip on the folder in your hands, but before you could knock, a low, feminine laugh drifted through the gap.

"Come on, Jungkook," the woman purred, her tone smooth and teasing. "You can’t keep shutting the world out. At some point, even you need a little... release."

Your breath caught, and your fingers froze just above the door. The casual intimacy of her words, paired with the warmth in her voice, made your face heat.

Jungkook’s reply was quieter but firm. “This isn’t the time for distractions. You know that better than anyone.”

“Oh, please,” she shot back, amusement dancing in her voice. “You’ve been coiled so tight since taking this job, I’m surprised you haven’t snapped. What’s the harm in loosening up a little? Just for tonight? As we used to...”

The suggestion hung in the air, heavy and charged. You felt your heart hammer in your chest. Should you turn back? But the folder in your hands reminded you of why you were here—no matter how awkward it might be.

Gathering your courage, you knocked lightly, hoping the sound would cut through whatever tension had been brewing inside.

The voices went silent.

“Come in,” Jungkook called, his tone now sharp and businesslike.

You pushed the door open cautiously. Jungkook stood behind his desk, phone in hand, his expression unreadable. His tie was slightly askew, and there was a faint flush at the base of his neck. The woman’s voice was gone, though the faint click of a phone being disconnected told you she was still on the other end of the call just moments ago.

He met your eyes, and for a split second, you thought you saw something flicker there—annoyance? Embarrassment? It was gone before you could decipher it.

“Miss,” he said, his voice cool. “What is it?”

You cleared your throat, trying to push past the awkwardness. “I just came to invite you to join the HR team. We’re celebrating Joonho’s birthday, and we thought it would be nice to include you.”

Jungkook raised a brow, the tension in his jaw softening slightly. “I’m busy,” he replied, gesturing to the neatly organized stack of documents on his desk. “And I don’t need any of that.”

His words were dismissive, but there was a faint edge to his tone like he was still distracted by the previous conversation.

“I see,” you said, masking your confusion with a polite smile. “Well, the invitation’s there if you change your mind. Have a good evening, Mr. Jeon.”

As you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but wonder about the woman on the phone—and the look on Jungkook’s face when he thought no one was watching. Was he dating someone? Seeing someone? Or just a fling...? You suddenly stop in your tracks, You shouldn't be thinking about our boss's private life.

Later that evening, as the office grew quiet and most of your colleagues had left, you found yourself lingering in the HR office as every other day. The leftover pastries from Joonho’s birthday were spread across the table, and your gaze fell on the last remaining matcha cream puff, Joonho’s favourite and, coincidentally, the one you had secretly saved for Jungkook.

You still couldn’t shake the tension from earlier—the clipped way he’d dismissed your invitation and the strange conversation you had overheard. The woman’s sultry tone and Jungkook’s responses echoed faintly in your mind, leaving you with more questions than answers. But one thing was clear: whatever weight Jungkook carried on his shoulders, it was heavy.

You picked up the pastry and carefully placed it in a small box, folding the lid neatly. Grabbing a purple sticky note, you scribbled a simple message:

"Eat it, please! We would have loved to have you today – Miss Y/N"

It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to do—a small gesture to remind him that someone in this office cared, even if he tried to push everyone away.

With the box in hand, you made your way to his office. The lights were still on, but the room was empty, his jacket slung neatly over the back of his chair. You stepped inside hesitantly, placing the box squarely in the centre of his desk. The sticky note caught the glow of his desk lamp, and you smiled faintly at the absurdity of it all.

Would he eat it? Would he crumple up the note and toss it in the trash? You had no idea.

You turned off the light in his office as you left, leaving the pastry and the quiet note behind. As the elevator doors closed and you descended to the lobby, you couldn’t help but wonder if this tiny act of kindness might crack the icy façade Jungkook seemed determined to maintain.

If nothing else, you’d tried—and that was enough for now.

The quiet hum of the office after hours was a rare solace for Jungkook. He leaned back in his chair, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he replayed Yuna’s voice in his head.

“Jungkook,” she had said, her tone dripping with something he couldn’t quite place—mockery, concern, or maybe a blend of both. “You can’t keep running yourself into the ground. You’ve always had this... obsession with proving yourself. It’s exhausting just to watch, honestly.”

Her words cut deeper than he wanted to admit. Yuna had always known how to push his buttons, her insight into his insecurities as sharp as ever. “You’ve been coiled so tight since taking this job, I’m surprised you haven’t snapped. What’s the harm in loosening up a little? Just for tonight? As we used to...”

He’d ended the call quickly, his jaw tight as he shoved the phone into his pocket. He hated that she still had that effect on him, that she could twist his emotions with a single conversation.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the weight of her words as he pushed open the door to his office. He froze mid-step, his gaze landing on the small box sitting on his desk. The office was dim, lit only by the city lights filtering through the large windows, but the glow of his desk lamp illuminated the neat handwriting on a sticky note:

"Eat it, please! We would have loved to have you today – Miss Y/N"

For a moment, Jungkook just stood there, staring at the note. His brow furrowed as he approached the desk, setting down the files he’d been carrying. The box was small and unassuming, but the gesture felt oddly personal—out of place in the structured world he inhabited.

He peeled the note off the box and read it again, his lips pressing into a thin line.

You.

He thought back to earlier that day, to the way you had stood in his office, your invitation soft but genuine. He’d brushed you off, too preoccupied with Yuna’s voice still echoing in his mind to give you the consideration it deserved. And yet, here you were—persisting in your quiet, unassuming way.

Curiosity got the better of him. Jungkook opened the box to reveal a matcha cream puff, the delicate pastry perfectly intact. He hesitated, his mind swirling with conflicting thoughts.

Why would she do this? What was she expecting in return?

But as he sat down and leaned back in his chair, the sharp ache in his chest from Yuna’s words began to dull. He picked up the cream puff, taking a small bite. The sweetness melted on his tongue, a stark contrast to the bitterness of these past days.

Jungkook glanced at the sticky note again, the corner of his mouth twitching as if it might curve into a smile—but it didn’t quite get there.

“Eat it, please,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he let the tension in his shoulders ease. The pastry wasn’t just a dessert—it was a reminder that not everyone wanted something from him. As he finished the cream puff, Jungkook placed the note back on his desk, staring at it longer than he intended.

“Miss Y/N,” he said softly, her name a strange comfort in the quiet of his office.

He didn’t know what to make of you yet, but one thing was certain—you were different, and that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

previous / next

[rmview]

he still loves his ex, ENHYPEN.

featuring — enhypen members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — a reaction of what happens when the enhypen boys realize and confess that they’re still not over their ex!

contents — angst, mentions of past relationships, break ups.

hee ❋ seung

heeseung is known for his emotional depth, but even that doesn’t prepare him for the storm he’s facing now. at first, he’s convinced he’s ready to move on, putting his all into your relationship. he laughs at your jokes, plans sweet dates, and assures himself that the past is behind him. but over time, the cracks begin to show. a fleeting memory, an old photograph, or a song tied to his ex brings a rush of emotions he thought he’d buried. it feels like betrayal — to both himself and you — but he keeps silent, hoping the feelings will fade on their own.

the guilt eats at him, manifesting in sleepless nights and uncharacteristic silences. you notice the shift and confront him one evening, your voice soft yet filled with concern. heeseung tries to brush it off, but the pressure becomes too much. “i didn’t want it to be like this,” he confesses, his voice trembling as he struggles to meet your gaze. “but i think… i think i still have feelings for her.”

your stunned expression breaks something in him, and tears well up in his eyes. “it’s not fair to you. you don’t deserve this,” he says, his voice cracking with emotion. “i wanted to be enough for you, but i’m not. i thought i could move on from karina, but i’ve just been lying to both of us.” heeseung’s vulnerability is raw, but his words carry a finality that leaves no room for hope.

as you step away from him, his hand twitches as if to reach for you, but he doesn’t. he knows he has no right to ask you to stay, no matter how much he wants to. watching you walk out of his life feels like a punishment he deserves. heeseung is left in the silence of his own making, his heart heavy with regret and the realization that he’s lost something irreplaceable.

even as time passes, heeseung struggles to forgive himself. memories of you linger, a painful reminder of what he ruined. he knows he has a long way to go before he can heal, but the thought of you moving on without him is a wound that never quite fades.

jay ❋

jay prides himself on being in control, but this situation shakes him to his core. when he first starts dating you, he’s confident that he’s left his past behind. he showers you with affection, determined to build something real and lasting. but as time goes on, he realizes that the shadow of his ex is still there, lingering in the corners of his mind. he tries to bury it, pouring all his energy into you, but the weight of his unresolved feelings becomes too much to bear.

the breaking point comes when you ask him what’s wrong during a quiet moment. jay hesitates, the words caught in his throat, but your worried eyes compel him to speak. “i didn’t mean for this to happen,” he says, his voice low and laced with guilt. “but i think i’m still not over her.” the confession feels like a betrayal, and he knows it.

jay’s hands tremble as he continues. “you have to believe me — i never wanted to hurt you. i thought i could move on from ningning, but i was wrong.” his voice cracks, and he looks away, unable to face the pain in your expression. “you deserve someone who’s completely there for you, not someone stuck in the past. i’m so sorry.”

you step back, the distance between you both growing, and jay feels a crushing sense of loss. he wants to ask you to stay, to tell you that he can fix this, but he knows it’s a lie. instead, he lets you leave, his chest tight with regret as the door closes behind you.

in the aftermath, jay is consumed by what-ifs. he replays every moment, wondering where he went wrong, but the answers bring no solace. he’s left to face the emptiness of his own mistakes, knowing that he’s lost you for good.

jake ❋

jake has always been a hopeless romantic, someone who loves deeply and wears his heart on his sleeve. when he starts dating you, he’s certain you’re the one who will help him move on. he invests himself fully in the relationship, but the past has a way of creeping back in. memories of his ex resurface at the most inconvenient times, leaving him torn between what he had and what he’s trying to build with you.

the guilt eats away at him until he can’t hide it anymore. one evening, after another failed attempt to mask his inner turmoil, you finally confront him. jake hesitates, his normally bright demeanor replaced with a somber expression. “i wish i could tell you this isn’t happening,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion. “but i think… part of me still has feelings for her.”

the words hang heavy in the air, and jake’s heart breaks as he sees the hurt flash across your face. “it’s not that i don’t care about you,” he continues, his voice cracking. “i do — so much. but i can’t lie to you anymore. you deserve someone who can give you their whole heart, and i don’t know if i can right now.”

you stand there, silent, and jake can feel the distance growing between you. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, tears streaming down his face. “i never wanted to hurt you.” he doesn’t stop you when you turn to leave, though every fiber of his being screams for him to call you back. he knows he’s already done enough damage.

jake spends the days and weeks that follow drowning in regret. he replays your last conversation over and over, haunted by the pain in your eyes. though he knows he did the right thing by being honest, the loss of you is a wound he doesn’t know how to heal.

sung ❋ hoon

sunghoon is the kind of person who internalizes his emotions, often to a fault. when he starts dating you, he truly believes he’s moved on from his ex. but as time passes, memories of the past creep into his thoughts at the most unexpected moments. he tries to brush it off, convincing himself it’s just nostalgia, but the truth becomes harder to ignore. sunghoon grows quieter around you, his normally playful banter replaced with awkward silences.

the turning point comes when you confront him, noticing his increasing detachment. at first, he denies it, shaking his head and insisting everything is fine. but your persistence forces him to face the truth he’s been avoiding. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i thought i was over her, but i’m not. and that’s not fair to you.”

sunghoon’s words hit like a dagger to the heart, and you can see the guilt etched across his face. he doesn’t try to justify his feelings or ask for forgiveness. instead, he admits that he’s been selfish in trying to build something new with you while still holding onto the past. “you deserve someone who’s all in,” he continues, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “and i don’t think i can be that person right now.”

you try to process his words, but the weight of the revelation is too much. sunghoon respects your silence, knowing he has no right to ask for understanding or a second chance. as you walk away, his heart shatters, realizing he’s lost someone truly special because of his inability to let go of his past.

even as he regrets his actions, sunghoon knows this is the end. he tells himself it’s for the best, but the thought of you moving on with someone else — someone who can love you the way he couldn’t — haunts him long after you’re gone.

su ❋ noo

sunoo is naturally expressive, and his emotions are often written all over his face. when he first starts dating you, he’s overjoyed, putting his heart and soul into making the relationship special. however, the shadows of his past relationship begin to surface in quiet moments — an old photo, a familiar scent, or a song that takes him back to a time he thought he’d left behind. sunoo tries to push these feelings aside, but they refuse to stay buried.

one day, you notice sunoo looking distant, his usual radiant smile replaced with a melancholic gaze. when you ask him what’s wrong, he hesitates, unsure of how to put his feelings into words. “i didn’t mean for this to happen,” he finally says, his voice breaking. “but i think i’m still holding onto feelings for my ex.”

the admission sends a chill through the room, and you can feel your heart sink. sunoo quickly follows up, apologizing profusely and insisting that he never wanted to hurt you. “you’re amazing, and i hate myself for not being able to give you everything you deserve,” he says, tears streaming down his cheeks. “but i can’t keep pretending everything’s okay.”

his words are filled with genuine regret, but they also carry a finality that’s hard to ignore. sunoo doesn’t ask for forgiveness or a second chance. instead, he lets you decide how to proceed, fully prepared for the possibility that you’ll walk away. and when you do, his heart shatters into a million pieces.

even after the breakup, sunoo struggles to move on, plagued by the knowledge that his unresolved feelings cost him something truly beautiful. he vows to work on himself, but the thought of you being hurt by his mistakes is a pain he carries long after you’re gone.

jung ❋ won

jungwon is known for his emotional maturity, but even he isn’t immune to the complexities of lingering feelings. when he starts dating you, he believes he’s ready to move on from his ex. he genuinely cares for you and puts effort into the relationship, but the unresolved emotions begin to creep in when he least expects it. jungwon tries to suppress them, but his internal conflict starts to show in subtle ways — hesitant smiles, distracted conversations, and an uncharacteristic unease in his demeanor.

when you finally confront him, jungwon doesn’t try to deny it. he takes a deep breath, his usually calm expression clouded with guilt. “i didn’t want it to be like this,” he admits, his voice steady but filled with regret. “you mean so much to me, but i think there’s a part of me that hasn’t let go of the past.”

his honesty stings, but you can see how much it pains him to say it. jungwon doesn’t make excuses or try to downplay the situation. instead, he acknowledges his fault and emphasizes that you deserve someone who’s completely present in the relationship. “i can’t keep dragging you into my mess,” he says, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of sadness and sincerity.

jungwon doesn’t ask for forgiveness or a second chance. he knows he’s not in a place to give you the love and stability you deserve, and he’s not willing to hurt you further by clinging to the relationship. as you walk away, jungwon stays behind, his heart heavy with the weight of his mistakes.

though he regrets losing you, jungwon understands that this is the consequence of his actions. he resolves to work through his emotions and become a better version of himself, even if it’s too late to mend what’s been broken.

ni ❋ ki

ni-ki is still young and learning how to navigate complex emotions, which makes this situation particularly difficult for him. when he starts dating you, he’s excited and eager to make things work, but the lingering feelings for his ex catch him off guard. ni-ki tries to convince himself that it’s just a phase, something that will pass with time. however, the more he tries to ignore it, the more it weighs on him, and his behavior begins to shift.

you notice the change almost immediately — he becomes quieter, less playful, and more reserved. when you finally press him about it, ni-ki hesitates, his usual confidence replaced with uncertainty. “i didn’t want to tell you because i didn’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice barely audible. “but i think i still have feelings for eunchae, and i don’t know how to handle it.”

his confession feels like a punch to the gut, and ni-ki can see the hurt in your eyes. he quickly follows up, apologizing profusely and insisting that he never meant to lead you on. “you’re incredible, and this isn’t your fault,” he says, his voice cracking. “i just… i wasn’t ready, and that’s on me.”

despite his remorse, ni-ki knows there’s no easy fix for the situation. he doesn’t try to ask for a second chance or make promises he can’t keep. instead, he accepts the reality of the situation, even though it’s breaking his heart. as you walk away, he stays rooted in place, unable to do anything but watch you leave.

ni-ki spends a long time reflecting on his actions, realizing that his inability to let go of the past cost him something truly special. though he wishes things could have been different, he knows he has a lot of growing up to do before he can fully commit to anyone.

notes: i think i'm getting a little too trigger happy with writing sad stuff xD someone pls request some cute shit because i might pop a braincell and start writing dark shit

[jakedoxxenvasion]

dr.lee

fellow doctor heeseung! × resident doctor y/n!

warning: MDNI!, unprotective sex (whops) kissing and more?

not in a million years you would think you will do something like this, with someone that you adore so much.. someone that you look up to as a senior to you, someone that you met everyday and formally call him by his surname instead of..

"h-heeseung!"your sinful lips moaning for his name, "sshhh, you want them to hear you?"immediately you bite your bottom lips once getting that warn from him, he peck your lips and smile. "didn't expect you to be so obedient to me, love. such a good girl."you humming to everything he said to you, trying to not moan out his name.

you know what you did is wrong because you're just a doctor resident and he's your senior doctor, it's totally wrong but you couldn't stop him. not that you can't but you don't want to, having him pounding his cock so deep into you in the small store room in the middle of your night shift, the clock strike 3 in the morning as much as you remember when he call for you to help him earlier.

it's all start with you helping him with sorting out papers, and files of patients records and ending up finding yourself here in this room with him doing things that you could ever imagine in your right mind. "just a little more, does it hurt you, hm?"you shake your head, no he doesn't hurt you but the pleasure is too much.

heeseung smile when he kiss your lips, hips still rutting into you. he could feel your wall hugging him tight at each thrust he make, sending him over the cloud but he know that he cannot be loud. "s-shit, you're so fucking tight, love."he let out a low groan, watching how you try to control your own voices and somehow he like the way you did.

liking the idea of doing this in secret, liking the idea that there's an outside world that you try so hard it keep it out, not wanting people to find out about what the two of you did in this room. "fuck- heeseung i'm close ah-"he shut you up with his lips, kissing you so deep, cock still pounding in and out of you.

your fingers tangle with his hair, he push you against the wall, "cum for me, love."he whisper those once he pull away from the kiss, like a cue you could feel the feeling at the pit of your stomach rushing down. heeseung smile, letting you rode out all your orgasm with you weakly leaning on his shoulder, doesn't have much energy left in you.

he thrust into you once.. twice then he pull out from you, only to shot his loads on your stomach. "oh fuck."you watch those thick white liquid spurting out from his cock, messily on your skin. somehow, heeseung has those proud smile after everything that he had done with you. you look at him and he smirk, he peck your lips before he slowly put you down to make you stand on the ground.

"so fucking perfect, love."he caressed your cheek softly then continue to kiss your lips again. when he pull away, he stare into your eyes, "doctor.."your soft voice call for him, which make him chuckle. "that was not what you called me earlier, ms.y/n."your cheeks immediately turn red as his remarks, he continue to caressed your cheek as he stare into your eyes.

but then heeseung take a few step back, you watch him grab a box of tissue at the top shelf behind him and he rip it open before he help you clean up and get dress again. "so.. do i pretend like nothing happen earlier or-" "unless you want more, you can always come to my office, love."he interrupt your words then wink at you, blush immediately creep up your face.

you slowly nod your head, he pat your head then he open the door after grabbing a random file on the shelf. "later, make sure you keep everything in place again, okay? ms.y/n."he said, know it very well he did that on purpose, you follow him from behind after you fix your white coat. "sure, dr."

heeseung turn to look at you just to give you a wink before he walk away.

should i write a longer version of this? cause i kind of like the plot lol

[loafysainz]

Hello, can I request Charles being jealous and marking you as his to the other pilots? Please and thank you. Smut.

JEALOUS! | CL 16

charles leclerc x fem!reader

warn: mdni, smut, jealousy, fluff (?), posessive behavior.

Thanks a lot for the request! You’re the first one, so I really hope you like it!

The air on the yacht was electric, the lights from the Monaco harbor sparkling like the stars above. Music blasted, drinks flowed, and the energy was pure celebration—Charles had just won his home race, and everyone was in the mood to party.

Charles, grinning ear to ear, made his way through the crowd, high-fiving Carlos and dodging a champagne spray from Max. His eyes searched until they landed on Y/N, his childhood best friend, sitting off to the side, leaning against the railing, her eyes fixed on the view of the water.

He walked over, his signature smirk in place. “What are you doing here, looking all serious? Come dance with me,” he said, extending a hand.

Y/N shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “I’m fine here, Charles. Go celebrate. I’ll watch.”

Charles tilted his head, a playful pout forming. “Watching is boring, you know.”

She just waved him off, teasing. “Go. The party’s for you.”

With a dramatic sigh, Charles raised his hands in defeat. “Fine, but you’re missing out.” He turned and headed toward the middle of the deck, where Carlos and the others were already hyping up the dance floor. Soon, he was caught up in the energy, laughing and spinning as the others cheered him on.

Y/N stayed where she was, content to soak in the moment from the sidelines. That was, until Pierre strolled over, holding two glasses of champagne.

“Not joining the chaos?” he asked, handing her a glass.

She smiled, taking it. “Someone has to keep the classy vibe alive.”

Pierre laughed, leaning casually against the railing beside her. “Fair enough. But if you’re not dancing, at least keep me company. Can’t have you looking all mysterious and untouchable over here.”

The two of them fell into an easy conversation, laughing at Pierre’s exaggerated impressions of Max and Carlos mid-dance. Y/N’s laughter rang out, light and carefree, and for a moment, she forgot about the party around them.

But Charles didn’t.

From the middle of the crowd, he spotted them, his dancing slowing as he watched Pierre make Y/N laugh like that. His jaw tightened, and for a second, his instinct was to march over and interrupt. But before he could take a step, the crowd surrounded him.

“Charles! You’re the champ!” someone yelled, and suddenly he was being hoisted up into the air, laughter erupting around him as they tossed him up like a king celebrating his victory.

He couldn’t fight it, not without killing the mood, so he let them toss him like a ragdoll, his laughter blending with theirs. But as he came back down and they caught him again, his eyes found their way back to Y/N and Pierre.

And deep down, the sting of jealousy lingered, even as the party raged on.

The party was still in full swing, but Y/N was starting to feel the heat of Charles’s burning gaze. She could sense him watching, even as she stood by the railing, laughing at Pierre’s jokes. It wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong—just talking. But Charles? Oh, he wasn’t having it.

He stormed across the deck, his steps purposeful, eyes locked on Y/N like she was the only thing that mattered. The crowd seemed to part for him instinctively, sensing the tension radiating off the Ferrari golden boy.

Before Y/N even realized what was happening, Charles was there, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. The sudden possessive gesture made her freeze, her laughter with Pierre cutting off abruptly.

“Enjoying the conversation, mate?” Charles said, his tone deceptively calm but his eyes sharp as they locked on Pierre.

Pierre raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Relax, Charles. We’re just talking.”

But Charles wasn’t interested in explanations. His grip on Y/N’s waist tightened slightly, and he leaned in closer to her, his voice dropping low. “You’ve got enough friends, Y/N. No need to add more.”

Y/N sighed, her patience wearing thin. “Seriously, Charles? You can’t keep doing this.”

“What am I doing?” he shot back, his tone dripping with frustration. “I’m just looking out for you.”

“No,” she said firmly, stepping back out of his hold. “You’re being possessive and jealous, and I’m tired of it. You can’t just claim me like this when you haven’t even made it clear what we are.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, but before he could respond, she spun on her heel and walked off, needing space to cool down.

Charles found her later in her room, quiet place and away from the noise and chaos of the party. She was leaning against the railing, staring out at the dark waves, her face set in frustration.

He approached slowly this time, his voice softer. “Y/N, we need to talk.”

She turned to face him, crossing her arms. “What now, Charles? Another lecture about how I shouldn’t talk to anyone but you?”

He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. “It’s not like that. I just… I don’t like the way they look at you.”

“Charles,” she said, exasperated, “they’re my friends. You can’t keep acting like this.”

“I’m acting like this because you’re mine,” he shot back, stepping closer until there was barely any space between them.

Her breath hitched, and her eyes widened. “Yours? You’ve never even said that before.”

His hand cupped her cheek, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ve always been mine, Y/N. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

*****

The air between them crackled with tension, the frustration and possessiveness finally boiling over into something neither of them could stop. Charles leaned in, his lips brushing against hers with a mix of need and apology, as if he were trying to convey everything he couldn’t say in words.

Their relationship is a total mess, isn’t it? They keep saying they’re just close friends because they’ve known each other since they were kids, but let’s be real—it’s way more than that. Basically, they’re in that 'friends with benefits' situation everyone talks about now.

Yeah, they’ve done everything that comes with it. For them, sex is just another part of it all. They don’t do it super often, but a few times a month? Definitely. And honestly, they’re chill with it. They’ve got this unspoken agreement, no strings, no drama-they wish-.

“Je suis à toi,” he murmured against her lips, his French accent making the words feel like a promise. I’m yours.

His kisses moved along her jaw and down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands settled on her hips, pulling her closer as if he couldn’t bear the thought of any distance between them.

Charles stopped their kiss to stare at Y/N's messy body with the dress that had been lifted up to her hips. The view in front of him was too good for Charles. He had never not admired Y/N's body. He did not expect that the body of the little girl he had seen in the shower together had now turned into a sculpted perfection body.

Charles' body came closer again. His hand landed on Y/N's boobs and squeezed gently.

Ahh," Y/N sighed as Charles squeezed her boobs. Her hands rested on the man's shoulders. Without warning Y/N's erect nipples were enveloped in Charles' warm mouth. Y/N's fingers grabbed Charles' messy hair. She loved it when Charles' mouth skilfully played with her nipples and occasionally sucked on them "Sshhh don't bite Charls," Charles' bite made Y/N feel pain and pleasure at the same time.

Charles positioned himself in the middle of Y/N's thighs. He spat on his hand and wiped it on the head of his cock before pounding the inside of Y/N's pussy.

"Ahh," they both sighed together when Charles' cock was fully inside Y/N's pussy.

"You're squeezing." Charles said as he felt the sensation of his cock being squeezed.

"Please move," pleaded Y/N. She hugged Charles' body tightly.

Charles sucked on Y/N's ear lobe as his hips pumped the girl's pussy relentlessly. Because of the heat of their activities, the air flow in one of the rooms on Charles' yacht seemed to be running low. Even though they were using a low-temperature air conditioner.

Y/N's legs linked around Charles' hips made his cock sink deeper into her warm, slippery hole.

Using her fingers, Charles lifted Y/Ns head up. His lips reached for Y/N's plum lips. The only lips that only he could enjoy.

Charles pulled his lips away from Y/N's nipples which were red and wet from his actions. He straightened his body "Ssshh I'm coming,"

Like an alarm tone, Charles accelerated the intensity of his movements.

"Aaaahhhh," the long, satisfied sounding moan came out of both of their mouths. They both even closed their eyes. Y/N who was under Charles was just quietly enjoying Charles' cum that filled her pussy.

His kisses moved along her jaw and down her neck, “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice laced with regret. “I don’t mean to push you away with all this jealousy. I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

*****

They sat together on the deck, wrapped in each other’s arms, the tension finally replaced by a comforting calm.

“You know,” Y/N teased, a small smile tugging at her lips, “you’re kind of ridiculous when you’re jealous.”

Charles chuckled, his fingers brushing through her hair. “I know. I’ll work on it. But you have to admit, it’s only because I care so much.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine. Just… tone it down a little, okay?”

“Deal,” he said, leaning in to kiss her again, this time slow and tender, no possessiveness—just love.

END

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (15/20)

I'm late, but I'm sure! Sorry guys! My routine is crazy, really. I'm still trying to adapt. But I think I needed this as much as you did!

Cliffhanger, huh?? You didn't see anything yet muhahahaha 😈

Enjoy <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: After Billy's speech, you end up finding out what was wrong and you have to fix it or not.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist

The Truth

You were frozen. Your eyes, slightly widened, and your exasperated breathing locked onto theirs as they searched yours like you were a case to be studied.

Source?

What the hell was this, anyway?

You ran your tongue over your lips nervously, debating whether you should ask the question burning on the tip of your tongue. After releasing the breath trapped in your chest, you spoke:

"The what…" You started, your lungs tight. "What is a source?"

The word echoed in your mind, an irritating hum clouding your thoughts.

"Someone from whom everything originates?" Yelena said, trying to sound obvious, only to receive a reprimanding look from Alice.

The young woman stepped closer to you, feeling your growing desperation drowning you. "So, do you remember the legend?" she began, her tone cautious as if you were fragile glass about to shatter. "A mystical being, vast, powerful, that drains energy—life itself."

She finished with careful precision, and you let out a disbelieving laugh.

"Oh, come on, Alice?! What kind of stupid joke is this?" You laughed, but the lump in your throat still scraped at you. "That was our dumb school project, Alice! It has nothing to do with—" you narrowed your eyes, fighting back the tears threatening to spill.

"I lied!" Alice’s voice broke, sharp and desperate, making everyone in the circle flinch. "I lied, okay? It's real. And Rio Vidal is that ." Her voice cracked at the end.

The ground disappeared beneath you.

Rio.

Your Mama.

No. No, that couldn’t be.

"This is bullshit." The words were thick in your throat. You wouldn’t believe this. "Oh, let me guess—Agatha is the woman who saved Rio from herself and was turned into some horrid monster?!" Your sarcastic tone made Alice clench her jaw.

"A witch. Agatha Harkness is a witch," Billy interjected.

"And how the hell do you know that?!" Anger flared in you—pure, burning rage. They were talking about your mothers.

You wanted to kill them.

Sew their mouths shut so they could never speak these atrocities again.

So they could never hurt you like this again.

"It's what they say." He shrugged, completely unfazed. He didn’t care. And that only made you angrier.

"And who the fuck are ‘they’?" You took a dangerous step forward, breathing hard through your nose.

Billy kept twirling a card between his fingers, annoyingly calm. His eyes were sharp, like a cat toying with its prey. "Have you never felt it? The constant exhaustion. The need to always be near them. The way your body feels… drained whenever you're away?"

Your stomach churned.

You had felt it. You always had.

Because there had always been something. Something you could never name, but that slithered under your skin every time you were apart from them.

A weariness that wasn’t just physical. A hunger that wasn’t for food. An emptiness that only faded when Rio touched your face or Agatha whispered soft words into your ear.

The lump in your throat tightened.

"This doesn’t make sense," your voice came out weaker now, less certain. "Are you trying to say that—"

"That they’re more than you think," Billy finished, tossing the card onto the table.

You looked down at the deck, the symbols shimmering as if laughing at you.

"So what?" Your own voice surprised you. The rage had faded, replaced by something more fragile, more dangerous. "If Rio is this… If Agatha is this… then what does that make me?"

Fuck this!

They were yours, and you would defend them with everything you had.

Alice hesitated.

She finally moved, placing a trembling, cold hand over yours. "We’re not telling you this to scare you."

"Then what the fuck is the point?" Your voice was sharp, but your heart pounded wildly.

Jennifer let out a low, nervous chuckle. "We want to help you."

"Help me?" You laughed.

You didn’t want their help. You wanted them.

"With the truth."

The words hung heavy in the air.

Billy flipped the card toward you. The image depicted a pure, shining spring of water, but around it, dark shadows drank from it, draining its glow until the source became shallow, dull.

"Sources don’t last forever, you know..." he said, his voice disturbingly gentle. "Eventually, they dry up."

It felt like the air was stolen from your lungs.

Your chest clenched. Your mind refused to accept it, but your body betrayed you—your skin prickled, your stomach burned.

"You’re saying that I…"

"That you’re being used," Jennifer finished bluntly.

The world stopped.

No.

No, that couldn’t be true.

But the gears in your mind began turning.

The exhaustion. The heat. The overwhelming need to be near them. Agatha holding you in her lap as if cradling you after a nightmare. Rio always knowing when you were about to break.

Dread clenched your chest like a fist.

"No." You shook your head. "This is insane. You don’t even know what you’re talking about!"

Billy leaned back, crossing his arms. "We can prove it."

Alice bit her lip, hesitating.

Tears stung your eyes as you stood up abruptly. Alice followed, grabbing your hands in a futile attempt to calm you. "Breathe," she said, her fox-like eyes watching you closely.

"I know it sounds crazy. But this… This force exists, and now it’s in you."

You tried to yank your hands away, but Alice held on. Not forcefully, but with a gentle insistence, as if she feared you’d disappear if she let go.

"This doesn’t make sense." Your voice cracked. You swallowed against the bile rising in your throat. "I’m nothing. I’m not special. I don’t even know what you’re talking about!"

"But they do."

Billy spoke quietly, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "All four of them. Agatha, Rio, Calderu… Wanda."

Her name hit you like a slap.

"I—" You stepped back, only to feel the edge of the table press against your back.

Alice loosened her grip slightly. "Breathe."

But you couldn’t.

They knew.

They had always known.

The things that once made sense—the overwhelming affection, the intense looks, the way it felt like you were being absorbed by them—now felt wrong. Stained.

You shook your head, struggling to inhale. "This… This can’t be real."

"Then why are you reacting like this?" Yelena asked, raising a brow.

Alice stepped closer, eyes locked onto yours as if watching a wild animal about to bolt.

"Because, on some level," she whispered, "you already knew."

The silence in the room thickened, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the weight of their gazes pressing into you, burning your skin, as if they were waiting—no, hoping—you would understand.

But you didn’t want to.

The air felt too thin. Your lungs refused to work, as if something dense and invisible wrapped around your throat. Your heartbeat was erratic, too fast, too wild.

"This doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t. It doesn’t." Your voice was a whisper, broken and pained, a desperate mantra that still echoed through the stifling room. You looked around, waiting for someone to laugh, to say this was some cruel joke.

But no one laughed.

Billy just watched you, arms crossed over his chest. Jennifer averted her gaze to the table, her fingers tapping anxiously against the carved wood. Yelena sighed, like she had seen this moment unfold before.

But it was Alice who stepped closer again, her fox-like eyes locked onto yours, filled with something you couldn’t name.

“Breathe,” she whispered again.

But you couldn’t.

You swallowed hard, your knees threatening to buckle, and everything seemed to snap inside you. Like your mind was trying to connect the dots. Like something was whispering in your ear, but you couldn’t understand it.

Agatha. Rio. Calderu. Wanda.

The four of them.

Always close. Always present. Always touching, watching, calling your name like a prayer.

Always taking care of you.

Protecting?

Or feeding?

After all, that’s all you were, right?

Your stomach twisted, and you had to grip the edge of the table. Your vision blurred for a moment.

They knew.

They always knew.

The wave of emotions was too much, too raw, and the words slipped out before you could stop them:

“How is this possible?” Your voice shook, and you hated it. “Why me?”

Alice sighed, as if she had been expecting that question. The others remained silent, but you could feel the electricity in the air, the dense tension between them.

Billy was the first to break it.

“The pure, untainted energy of a good heart is one of the most valuable resources in existence,” he said, spinning a card between his fingers. “It’s more than enough to make hidden beings desire it.”

You frowned, not understanding.

“Why?”

Alice squeezed your hands. Her gaze was intense, sharp, like she was measuring how deep she could go before you broke.

“Because it invigorates them,” she explained. “It strengthens, sustains, rejuvenates. You’ve heard stories of how ancient gods were nourished by the worship of their followers? How their temples were centers of energy, rituals, sacrifices?”

You nodded slowly, your own breath coming unevenly.

“It’s possible through sex too,” Jennifer said, her voice light but cutting.

Your insides turned to ice.

“You—” You stopped, your throat dry.

Billy leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “There are many kinds of hunger, and this is the most primal. The oldest. The most powerful.”

You shook your head. No. This was madness.

“But…” Alice hesitated, touching your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. “What worries me isn’t what they do with your energy. It’s how long you can last before it consumes you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. Every word they spoke made your mind spin, like it was trying to piece together a puzzle you never realized you were assembling.

“And…” You tried to speak, the words stuck in your throat, cutting like glass. “How do I get rid of it?” Your own voice came out unsteady, almost a painful whisper.

You couldn’t believe you were even asking, feeling the weight of the words on your tongue.

You felt like you were betraying them.

Billy and Yelena exchanged glances. Jennifer looked away, suddenly focused on spinning a ring on her finger. Alice, however, didn’t.

“That depends,” Billy finally said.

“On what?” Your impatience coiled tight in your throat.

“On how deep the connection is,” Alice murmured, still holding the small glass vial between her fingers. “If it’s just a superficial bond… it’s simple. Getting rid of it wouldn’t be difficult.”

You swallowed hard. Something in the way she said that made your skin prickle.

“But if it’s deeper…” Jennifer finally spoke, her voice low and measured. “If they’ve already rooted themselves in you… then there’s no easy way.”

“Rooted?” you whispered, the word foreign in your mouth.

Billy leaned in, pushing the vial toward you.

“If you want the truth, drink this before you sleep.” He held your gaze. “And pay attention to the sounds around you.”

The object felt ten times heavier in your palm. You stared at the dark liquid, a shiver running down your spine.

“What will happen if I drink it?”

Alice hesitated.

“You’ll notice things you normally wouldn’t,” she finally said. “And hear… what has always been there.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. You wanted answers. You needed answers.

But were you ready to hear them?

The way home was a blur of lights and shadows. The cold wind bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the ice spreading in your chest, suffocating, cruel.

Your mommies. Your women. The only ones who ever loved you, the only ones who ever protected you.

And what if it was never real?

You felt each heartbeat like a sharp blade. Every memory—Agatha holding your face with firm, warm hands, Rio pulling you into a lazy hug on the couch—felt like poison now. You wanted to push them away. You wanted to rip them out of you, but they were buried too deep.

You almost laughed, a dry, humorless sound.

Rooted. Just like Jennifer said.

They were inside you. Feeding on you.

The glass vial burned against your skin in your pocket. Your hands trembled.

When you arrived home, everything felt even stranger. There was no usual comforting silence. No familiar scent of Agatha’s woodsy perfume or the expensive candles burning around the house.

There was something else.

A voice.

Familiar.

Rio.

Your stomach dropped. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not this soon.

She was still supposed to be in Paris, preparing for the exhibition. You checked the time on your phone. Not even close to 9 PM. What was happening?

Well, did you miss me?

Walk on water just to kiss me

Oh, come and get me

Drag me out, destroy me

I've been expecting you, I'm ready

Deliver me that bad news baby

Your feet hesitated as you approached the living room, trying to make as little noise as possible. But it was pointless.

“My baby!” Her voice, warm and naturally mischievous, hit you. And it hurt so much. It hurt to imagine she was deceiving you.

Using you.

You forced a surprised smile, but you felt the burn behind your eyes, the frustration-laced tears that weren’t allowed to fall.

“Mama,” the word came out strangled from you. “What are you doing here?”

Rio gave you a lazy smile, the kind that always made you feel safe.

Your heart clenched with confusion. She stood up in one fluid movement, walking toward you as if there wasn’t an ocean of doubt and betrayal between you. Her strong arms wrapped around you in a warm, perfumed embrace.

The familiarity of her touch nearly made you crumble.

“Well, Mommy had an unexpected issue here, so of course, I had to come. I left Vision in charge. I didn’t really want to go anyway.”

You pulled back slightly to look at Agatha, who was sitting on the couch, a glass of wine in hand. She sighed, watching you with forced patience.

“An issue?” Your eyes narrowed slightly.

“Nothing you need to worry about, darling.”

The words should have been comforting. But you felt the weight of them, the unspoken truth behind them.

Am I your dream girl?

You think of me in bed

But you could never hold me

You like me better in your head

Make me evil, then I'm an angel instead

At least you'll sanctify me when I'm dead

You sat down beside Rio, feeling her warmth against you. She seemed relaxed, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the hem of your sweatshirt. Before, you would’ve adored this gesture. Now, it felt like a magician’s trick—something beautiful and deceiving, meant to distract you from what really mattered.

The wine on the table reflected the soft glow of the fireplace, the clink of ice against Agatha’s glass the only thing filling the momentary silence.

You had to act normal.

You had to deceive the deceivers.

They couldn’t know what you knew.

The knot in your throat doubled in size, but you swallowed it down along with your suspicion. You forced a small smile and stood up.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said, making yourself sound casual.

Rio runs her fingers lightly along your arm, her lazy blue eyes meeting yours as she nods. Agatha merely tilts her head, watching you like a puzzle she’s trying to solve.

You step away, feeling your back burn under their gazes.

With every step toward the bathroom, your heart pounds harder.

You needed to get out. Needed to think. Needed to understand what was happening before they realized something inside you had already shifted.

Hot water cascaded down your skin, washing away the weight of the day—but not the weight of your thoughts.

You braced your hands against the damp tiles, inhaling deeply, trying to ignore the small bottle sitting on the sink. The dark glass seemed to pulse toward you, demanding a decision.

Should you drink it? Unravel the truth once and for all?

Dream girl evil, dream girl evil

Dream girl evil, dream girl evil

Your heartbeat thundered in your chest. If Alice and the others were right, drinking it would shatter the illusion. It would be like opening your eyes for the first time—but were you ready for that? Could you bear the truth that came with it?

You swallowed hard, fingers closing around the bottle. The dark liquid inside swirled like ink, thick and opaque. Slowly, you twisted the cap… but your hands trembled. The temptation to take a sip was there—but so was the fear.

What if this was a mistake? What if it was just another trick to pull you away from the only people who had ever truly mattered?

You exhaled sharply, snapping the lid shut and shoving the bottle into the bathroom cabinet.

Not now.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel and glanced at your reflection in the foggy mirror. Your eyes looked different. You couldn’t tell if it was just exhaustion or something deeper—something already changing inside you.

Drying your hair quickly, you left the bathroom and stopped in the hallway. In the silence of the house, you found yourself standing between two doors.

Your room or theirs?

Your grip tightened on the towel, chest rising and falling with hesitant breaths. Your room meant safety, distance. But theirs…

You could almost smell Agatha’s familiar perfume, feel the warmth of Rio’s arms—the place where you had always felt safest. The weight of that longing made you waver for a moment.

Should you keep your distance?

Did I disappoint you?

Did mommy make you sad?

Do I just remind you

Of every girl that made you mad?

Make me perfect, make me your fantasy

You know I deserve it

Well, take it out on me

Or should you go to them, curl into the space that had always been yours, and pretend nothing had changed?

You pushed open their door and found everything... normal.

Too normal.

Am I your dream girl?

You think of me in bed

But you could never hold me

You like me better in your head

Make me evil, then I'm an angel instead

At least you'll sanctify me when I'm dead

Rio sat in the corner chair, the cold glow of the iPad illuminating her face as she scrolled through the screen, seemingly absorbed.

Agatha stood at the vanity, massaging floral-scented lotion into her arms with slow, meticulous movements. The sweet, woody aroma filled the room—a scent that once brought you comfort but now felt suffocating.

They looked up at the same time when you entered.

“Finally,” Rio murmured, eyes still on the screen. “You were taking your time, baby.”

“I think I relaxed a little too much,” you replied, aiming for casual as you walked toward the bed and sat down.

Agatha smiled at your reflection in the mirror, rubbing lotion along her neck. “Did you relax… or did you need some time alone, sweetheart?”

Your stomach twisted.

“How was Alice?” Rio asked, closing her iPad and crossing her legs.

You shrugged. “Fine.”

Silence.

Agatha turned to face you directly, one brow arched. “Fine?”

Rio smirked, the corner of her lips curling like she was enjoying this.

“You know,” Agatha continued, stepping slowly toward the bed. “Calderu mentioned she’s quite the troublemaker.”

You forced a neutral expression. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Rio answered before Agatha could. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “Great ideas, but sometimes too much creativity… affects her in ways it shouldn’t.”

Agatha sat at the edge of the bed beside you, her perfume weaving around you like a web.

“She might start seeing ghosts, for example.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You forced a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rio stood, walking toward you at an unhurried pace. “It means some people are easily influenced. They pick up bad ideas. Start believing things they shouldn’t.”

Agatha’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “Oh. And I bet she’s filled that silly little head of yours with the most filthy nonsense.”

Dream girl evil, dream girl evil

Dream girl evil, dream girl evil

It happened too fast.

The grip.

Her fingers found your throat—firm, demanding.

You gasped, not from the force of it, but from the shock.

“And I think we deserve to know the truth, don’t we, sweetheart?” Agatha murmured, leaning in close until your faces were nearly touching.

Watch me shimmer (shimmer)

A projection of your mother (mother)

But don't come crying (crying)

I am nobody's moral center

Rio moved behind you, her hands sliding over your shoulders—cold, chilling.

“Let’s have a real conversation, baby…” Rio whispered against your ear, her warm breath drawing a shaky sigh from you. “Just the three of us.”

Agatha’s fingers tightened around your neck, the floral-scented lotion making the grip feel almost intimate, at odds with its brutality.

It cannot hold, it cannot hold

It cannot hold, it cannot hold

The room—your safier sanctuary—was now a cage.

And you… you were trapped inside it.

~*~

Another cliffhanger chapter cuz I know my babies love that.

Tell me about your theories!!

Mommies always know.

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights

[babyleostuff]

bike chase

𝜗𝜚 GENRE: fluff, established (secret) relationship 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: idol!dino x idol!reader 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 2.2k

SYNOPSIS: you are his secret, and he is yours. so what happens when a paparazzi catches you on a date?

“fix your hat, baby.” 

“huh?” chan looked up from his phone, his handsome face on full display. if you could have it your way, you’d never let him wear anything to cover the bright eyes, and beautiful smile that you fell in love with (hiding a face like that was technically a crime), but in your world it was impossible. as much as you’d wish to show off your boyfriend, and you knew chan was dying to share your pictures on his instagram as well, you were grateful you could make it work anyway. 

not every idol was as lucky as you were. 

“your hat,” you sighed, and kicked the kickstand down so your bike wouldn’t fall. your boyfriend  was still focused on his phone when you grabbed his face to fix the bucket hat so it would properly cover his face. “we have to be careful, remember.” 

the chance of bumping into someone was slim, like - there was a reason why you went on a biking trip at 2 am - it was the only time you had an illusion of privacy. it was just a matter of time before someone would recognise you anyway, but at least you could hold hands without being paranoid about the people around you. ever since the Han River incident last month when some paps recognised you (and took some quite unflattering pics, in your opinion), you learned your lesson to step up on your dressing up as undercover spies game. thankfully the photos were so blurry that your companies had no problem with denying the rumours. 

“thank you,” chan mumbled, and placed a peck on your forehead. you couldn’t stop the giggle that left your mouth - he looked way too endearing with his concentrated expression, but he was the one to insist that he’d manage to find your way back home. you were officially banned from helping him. 

“how’s it going?” you brushed your thumb over his lower lip. “will i sleep in my bed today or do i need to find a comfortable bench for the night?” 

“hey, have some faith in me,” he whined, finally looking up from his phone. “it’s not my fault the maps aren’t working. look,” he showed you the open map app he’d been struggling with for the past twenty minutes as if to prove that he wasn’t not the problem here, “the service sucks here.” 

“maybe we should’ve invested in some old fashioned maps,” you sighed, and leaned your head on chan’s shoulder. 

being up at the late hour wasn’t something unusual for the both of you, but you wouldn’t lie - after a full day of schedules and rehearsals you were getting kind of tired. not to mention you were biking for the past hour, so being stuck in the middle of nowhere was not an ideal situation for you. 

as if chan noticed your energy dropping, he put an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to his body. “tired?” he asked, his mouth brushing your cheek.  

“a bit.” 

“i’m sorry. it was my idea to go on a bike ride, we should’ve just stayed home.” 

you rolled your eyes at your boyfriend’s annoying habit of apologising for every small thing he thinks he's done wrong. “listen to me, lee chan,” you grabbed his chin, and rolled up the front of his bucket hat, so you could see him properly. “if i have to be stuck with someone, i’m happy that it’s you. besides, i agreed to the whole biking trip, so please - stop apologising.” 

he gave you a smile, clearly still feeling a bit guilty. there weren't many things you could do together without being seen, so chan took it upon himself to come up with fun, yet safe ways to spend your dates without being noticed. not that you needed it - as long as you were with him, what you did didn't matter, but your boyfriend had a heart of gold, so you couldn't tell him he didn't have to try so hard. 

“i love you,” the sincerity in his voice made you melt every time he said those three words. you’d never get bored of hearing them in person, not when you usually got them through messages or phone calls.  

“love you too,” you said, and kissed his lips softly, before rolling down the front of his hat. “but channie?” 

“hm?”

“maybe i can help you after all. i’m sure we’ll figure the maps out together.” 

“yeah i think that’s a good idea,” he let out a quiet giggle, and lowered the phone so you could see the screen. you put your arm around his waist, because your boyfriend’s personal space was also your personal space, and you quickly fell into a comfortable silence. if your legs weren’t aching, and tummy rumbling from the lack of food, you’d tease chan for giving up on his big boy job to get you home, but you didn’t want to make him feel any more guilty than he was already feeling.  

it was kind of ironic how you wanted to get away from the hussle of the city, and now ended up god knows where. 

“did you hear that?” he asked suddenly, turning his head towards the trees. 

you followed his gaze to where he was looking, but it was hard to make anything out in the darkness. “no, i don’t think so. maybe you just heard an animal or something,” you said. usually you weren't easily scared, chan was the scaredy-cat in your relationship, but the dark surroundings and lack of people did their job. especially since the boy in front of you suddenly acted like he had seen a ghost.

"i could’ve sworn," he muttered, looking around, "that i heard the clicking of a camera."

hearing this, you took a better look around you, because the sound of the camera didn't mean anything good in your case. 

"are you sure…" and that's when you heard it too.

click.

"chan?" you looked at your boyfriend, panicked. "what now?"

the boy grabbed your chin so that you wouldn't accidentally turn towards the person who apparently liked to follow people at night and take photos of them.

“don't turn around and listen to me,” chan swallowed, “we'll get on our bikes and leave.”

if you weren't panicked enough before, you definitely were now. "and this is your great plan?" you shouted at him quietly, as if the person hiding in the bushes could hear you.

"do you have a better idea, honey?"

you shook your head because no, you didn't, so all you really had was chan’s mistermind plan. running away from the paparazzi sounded crazy though, like something out of a bad rom-com, but what else were you supposed to do? the worst part was that you didn't know how long this person had been following you, or if they had just noticed you - and whether they realised who you actually were.

"on three?" chan ran his thumb along your chin. a small smirk appeared on his face, as if the idea of escaping on a bike was the best date idea ever. 

nodding, you took a few steps back to blindly find the handle of your bike. you finally managed to find the kickstand too and kicked it up, now fully ready for the craziest thing you were going to do this week.

"one."

everything will be fine.

"two."

what could go wrong?

"three!"

as if burned, you turned around, making sure to keep your head down so that your face wasn't visible, and jumped on the bike. you had never started pedalling so fast, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins gave you more energy than ever. you just had time to turn around to see if the person had come out of the bushes to follow you, but you didn't see anything.

with new energy, you kept following your boyfriend, who, like you, was pedalling as fast as he could. what a pity that chan was a born dancer with thighs and an ass that many men envied, which meant you had to pedal twice as fast. what fun.

"i think we lost him!" you shouted so that he could hear you.

chan turned around with a huge smile on his face and you couldn't help but laugh. your hair was swirling around your face, and you had to grab your head to keep your own hat from falling off - that’s how fast you were running away from your new friend. who would have thought that the night would end like this. 

but suddenly, the smile on your boyfriend's face disappeared and was replaced by an expression of surprise and horror at the same time.

"he's on a bike!" he shouted.

what?!

you quickly looked behind you, a little scared of what you might see. and damn chan, but he wasn't wrong - the guy, even though he was a bit behind you, was riding a bike with a camera over his shoulder.

he looked comical, although you suspected you two didn't look any better.

"faster," chan shouted and turned to see where he was going, "we have to lose him!"

now it was no longer looking like a rom-com but a low-budget action movie with very bad actors and an even worse villain. you couldn't wait to do a live talking about how you ran away from some random dude on a bike. 

your thighs burned like hell, and you felt like you were slowly getting out of breath, but it didn't slow you down at all. you mentally thanked yourself for all those hours spent at the gym, though you’d never think they’d come in handy for a bike chase. 

“are you okay?” you heard chan yell. 

“yeah, keep going.” 

you wouldn’t let a weirdo with a camera beat you. 

you finally entered an area where buildings started to appear, and without thinking, you followed the boy in front of you as he turned into an alley that looked more than suspicious.

"is he still there?" 

you glanced behind you and like a maniac, the guy with the camera was still pedalling. 

"yes!"

"is he serious?"

you drove through the street and entered another one, making a sharp turn. it's a good thing you two weren't driving a car because you didn't know how much you could’ve trusted chan in a car chase. your boyfriend was driving fifty kilometres an hour, even when the limit was seventy.

a few turns later, you turned around again to see how far your friend was, and luckily he wasn't as fit as you, because you didn't see him anywhere. poor fella probably got tired. 

"i think we lost him!"

chan nodded but didn't slow down. who knew where this paparazzi could suddenly appear from. but to be honest, if you could you’d applaud him for his dedication, not everyone had the drive to chase two idols on a random tuesday night through the streets of seoul.

"baby," chan suddenly stopped and got off the bike. because of how fast you were going, your brakes squeaked when you pressed them. "come here." the boy jumped off his bike and looked at you before disappearing into the narrow alley.

you didn't even want to ask what he was doing, so without any questions you got off your bike and went in the direction where your boyfriend had just disappeared. the alley was very narrow, barely able to fit the two of you, let alone your bikes, but you somehow managed to hide yourselves, so you weren't visible from the main street.

"why..." but before you could finish your question, you heard someone panting, and a second later, right next to you, the paparazzi who had been chasing you for the last fifteen minutes biked past.

you snorted and poked your head out to make sure that the guy disappeared, or if he maybe had decided to look for you here. luckily he wasn't smart enough, and was nowhere in sight.

you looked at your boyfriend, who like you was out of breath, but oh so pleased with himself.

"you don't have to thank me," he said, and as if on cue, that annoyingly handsome smirk returned to his face.

“you idiot,” you huffed and pushed his arm.

"i told you today would be fun," he said and leaned in so that your foreheads were touching. now that your adrenaline was starting to wear off and you felt how exhausted you actually were, you realised how close you and chan were. 

yes, you were both sweaty and smelly as hell, and there were beads of sweat dripping from your boyfriend's forehead, but he seemed as handsome to you as ever. his messy hair, his chest rapidly rising up and down, the sleeves of his compression shirt hugging his strong biceps - he was a sight for sore eyes. 

and only for you to see. 

"you're right, lover boy," you said, because it was true. despite all your fear, you didn't think the guy managed to get any decent photos, and you'd worry about your companies later and in the end, you had a great time. "but do you know what?"

"what?" chan smiled cockily and leaned towards you.

just as he was about to kiss you, you placed your hand on his chest and pushed him away.

"we still have to get home somehow."

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[kpoptarotastrology009]

SYNASTRY OBSERVATIONS PART-1-

Moon Opposite Mars: When your Moon opposite their Mars, get ready for some serious sparks. Emotional outbursts? Hell yeah. Passionate fights? Alright bet. But the make-up game? Pure fire. This mix is all about those raw, unfiltered feels – the highs, the lows, and everything in between.but before entering the relationship make sure that the love is here because if you go for this relationship based on passion and intensity it may go wrong and be dangerous so make sure to be wise enough to know what are you in Exactly to not end up being abused or bullied or violated and this is specially for the moon person, yeah the passion is there but make sure this passion don't turn sour ok ?

Venus Opposite Mars: When your Venus is opposite their Mars, it’s a classic case of opposites attract. There’s a magnetic pull that’s hard to resist – the kind of attraction that’s intense and all-consuming. But it also leads to some epic clashes. It’s all about balancing that love-hate dynamic, where the passion is real, but so are the conflicts. You might have explosive arguments followed by passionate reconciliations, making this connection as volatile as it is thrilling. And I. Some situation this can be one sided love and it's always the venus person that love the mars person more😭

Moon-Saturn aspects : now hear me out, this synastry aspect always have the same situation: the Saturn person will never feel the moon person emotions like NEVER , let me tell you , it's like the Saturn person feels they can't keep up with the moon person sensitivity, they will see the moon as too sensitive for no reason at some point , in the beginning of the relationship everything is okay but as soon as the moon person become comfortable and open up about their emotions and sensitivity , the Saturn person is out , they just can't do it it's so hard for them to do that specially if you guys don't have compatible moon signs ( even if you have compatible moon signs it's still tuff) but with incompatible moon signs , congratulations you're cooked buddy ain't gonna lie about it , the Saturn person will never love the moon person in 100% way , in every relationship with this aspect they will never love the other person as the moon person expect them to be because theey will always feel like their love should be limited and their emotions should be limited for the moon person , it may last long but the relationship will be soo cold from Saturn side and too sad from the moon side but the thing is that the moon person's emotion is fixed on the Saturn person and they don't wanna leave them at any cost even if the relationship may hurt them and kill them , they don't wanna leave it they would prefer to be dead and never leave the relationship , and broo that's hella toxic , I find this aspect someway or form worst than pluto-moon aspects I said what I said ..

North node conjunct mars : When your North Node conjunct someone else's Mars, it's like you’ve got this dynamic energy propelling you forward. Mars is all about action, drive, and getting things done, while the North Node represents your life’s purpose and the path you’re meant to follow.Imagine having a partner who’s always encouraging you to chase your dreams and take risks. They light a fire under you, pushing you to step out of your comfort zone and go after what you really want. It’s like having someone who believes in you more than you believe in yourself sometimes.This connection can be super motivating. If you’ve been feeling stuck or unsure about your direction, their Mars energy can give you that extra kick to start moving. It’s like having a personal cheerleader who’s also ready to kick your butt into gear if you’re slacking.But it’s not just about them pushing you , you also inspire them to channel their energy into something meaningful. It’s a two-way street where you both help each other grow and evolve. Your goals might become more aligned, and you find yourselves working together towards common aspirations.There can be a bit of a challenge too, because Mars can be aggressive and impatient. Sometimes, their way of motivating you might feel a bit too intense or pushy. It's like when a trainer pushes you harder than you’re ready for, which can be overwhelming. But if you can handle the intensity, it leads to significant growth.In relationships, this aspect adds a lot of passion and drive. It’s like you’re both on a mission, whether it’s building a life together, working on projects, or simply pushing each other to be the best versions of yourselves. There’s a sense of purpose and urgency in your connection, making things feel exciting and forward-moving.So, having your North Node conjunct someone’s Mars is like finding that perfect balance between motivation and support, pushing you to achieve greatness together.

Mars square Pluto : so here we go , Mars square Pluto in synastry is like having a relationship with a lot of fireworks, but not always the good kind. Imagine you're constantly butting heads with your partner, like every little thing turns into a massive argument. One of you might always try to dominate the other, leading to a lot of power struggles. It's like you're both trying to steer the ship, but you keep crashing into each other. There’s always this underlying tension, like walking on eggshells, because you never know when the next big blow-up is coming. You might find yourself in situations where jealousy and possessiveness are off the charts, like one of you is always checking the other's phone or getting paranoid about what they’re doing. The arguments can get really heated, with both sides saying things they don't mean, turning minor issues into major drama. On the flip side, the sexual chemistry is intense, almost too intense... This aspect is a wild ride, full of ups and downs, and it can either push you to grow or completely wear you out.

Neptune square mercury : I was asking myself if should I talk about this aspect or not but let's go for it , this aspect is like trying to chat through a haze, Period . You're always missing each other's point, like saying one thing and your partner hears something completely different. Imagine planning a date, but somehow ending up at different places because one of you misread the message. Conversations feel like you're on different wavelengths, almost like talking to someone who's half-listening or daydreaming. It's like trying to get something important across, but they keep drifting off or interpreting it in a way you didn't mean.This can also lead to some sneaky behavior or little white lies. Maybe you feel like your partner isn’t always straight with you, or details get conveniently left out. Picture saying you're out with friends and them imagining a wild party when you’re just chilling at a cafe. The lines between truth and imagination blur, making trust a bit tricky.You might also find yourself feeling disoriented in discussions, like you can’t pin down what they really mean. It's a lot of "Wait, what did you mean by that?" or "I thought you said something else." It can be frustrating because you're always trying to read between the lines and guess what they’re really thinking.

Uranus square ascendant : this feels like you're both trying to find a balance between staying true to yourselves and being open to new ideas and experiences. The Uranus person might push you to step out of your comfort zone, which can be exhilarating but also a bit unsettling. I'm not saying it's a bad aspect but let's say it's a friendship , you and your friend are always on the lookout for the next adventure, constantly pushing each other to try new things and explore new ideas. The Uranus person may bring a sense of freedom and liberation to the friendship, encouraging the Ascendant person to break free from routine and embrace change BUT this can lead to a dynamic and stimulating friendship, it can also create tension, especially if one person feels like the other is pushing them too far out of their comfort zone. AND if it's a romantic relationship this aspect in any type of relationship add excitement for sure whether it sometimes conjunct the MC ( excitement in you career) or the IC ( excitement in your home environment or in your emotions in general) but this aspect can lead to conflicts maybe a lot of conflicts , especially if one person feels like their need for independence is being stifled by the other. It's like trying to find a balance between being true to yourself and being part of a partnership. If not managed well, this aspect can lead to a relationship that feels chaotic and unstable, with both partners feeling like they're never on solid ground.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 23: stormy night

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

You were sitting comfortably on your sofa, watching who knows what on TV while listening to the shower blending with the storm raging outside.

Unfortunately for your boyfriend, the weather event had caused a power outage in his building, so he called you to see if he could spend the night with you. He needed to shower, iron his clothes in the morning, charge his phone, and review some work files, making it impossible to do those tasks in the dark.

They say that the misfortune of some is the fortune of others, for although your boyfriend had to step out of his comfort zone, you were extremely grateful that he was there. You hated storms; they always made you very nervous, and you usually couldn’t sleep when one was raging outside. That’s why you were happy.

Maybe it was a somewhat archaic idea; however, having your man at home made you feel extremely safe and protected.

You were covered with a gray diamond-patterned blanket, waiting for the hot chocolate in your kettle to finish boiling when you heard the sound of water in the bathroom stop. You knew that Spencer was probably too tired to want anything more than a quiet night, so when you headed toward the bathroom, you did so with no other intention.

You knocked twice, just as a matter of courtesy, and he opened the door. He was wearing a red robe with a black trim, and in his hands rested a brown towel that he was likely about to use to dry his hair.

As soon as he saw you, he asked if something was wrong, given your anxious expression. You still hadn’t dared to tell him about your fear of storms, so he couldn’t know.

“It’s nothing. I just wanted to see you,” you replied, moving closer to him to try to hug him.

“You’re going to get soaked,” he murmured. Still, he didn’t reject the contact.

“You’re so warm; how is that possible if you just showered?”

“The water. While cold temperatures have some extra health benefits, I always shower with hot water because it helps reduce tension in the muscles and relaxes me. It’s like… a moment to disconnect from everything.”

“I hope I’m not ruining it,” you murmured, looking up to meet his eyes.

The height difference between you was something that had always driven you crazy, especially the way he looked at you—with so much love.

“Not at all. You’re actually improving it.” You were about to say something else when a thunderclap resonated in the distance, making you jump into your boyfriend’s arms “Are you scared?”

“A little,” you replied tersely. You didn’t want to look silly in front of him, plus it was a rather childish fear. “The storms, the thunder, and all that… they startle me. That’s all.”

“Did you know it's called astraphobia? The irrational fear of thunder, lightning, and storms in general,” he began to ramble. “It’s a fairly common phobia that can cause intense anxiety or even panic when people experience a storm, particularly electrical ones.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“But you shouldn’t be afraid; storms are part of the natural cycle of the Earth and help balance the atmosphere, providing water for plants and refreshing the air. Although lightning may seem dangerous, it’s very rare for it to strike a person since it generally falls on high points like trees or buildings. As for the sound of thunder, while loud, it can’t cause physical harm, as it’s just rapidly expanding air. Being at home is one of the safest places to be, as buildings are designed to withstand storms and safely discharge lightning energy…”

“Honey,” you interrupted him. Your hands went up to his neck. “You don’t have to fix it with science. Sometimes, I just want to hear that everything will be okay.”

The man felt embarrassed for rambling on about it, but to make up for it, he leaned down to give you a soft kiss.

“Everything is fine, baby. I’ll be with you.”

Another thunderclap resonated, and even though you felt uncomfortable, being with him made it more bearable.

“What would I do without my handsome, strong, and protective man?”

“Are you talking about me? Or are you cheating on me with someone else?”

You rolled your eyes at his joke and tried to walk away, but he pulled you back to ask for a kiss. You didn’t resist, of course.

“I made hot chocolate. Do you want a cup?”

“Uh-huh. Let me get dressed, and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

You went to the kitchen to meticulously prepare a couple of cups with the drink and made sure to include marshmallows, as he liked. Additionally, you added pumpkin spice that you had specifically bought for his visits, knowing it was one of his favorite flavors of autumn.

When Spencer came out, dressed in pajamas that looked too comfortable and warm, you felt happy watching him. You had already placed his cup on the desk where he would be setting up, where several files and notebooks were already resting.

He thanked you with a kiss on the forehead and took a seat, not daring to lie on the couch next to you because he knew he wouldn’t get up again after that.

“Do you need help with anything?” you offered, even if you knew it was probably work too complex for you to do.

“No, it’s not necessary. But if you want, you can stay and keep me company while I work. I’d feel much better,” he replied.

You hummed in agreement and settled back into the armchair, beginning to sip from your cup while keeping the TV off, knowing that Spencer was bothered by noise when he was working. You felt a bit like an intruder in his workspace, but the idea of having him close calmed you.

As Spencer reviewed the printed files, you decided to watch him. His expression was one of concentration, with his brow slightly furrowed and his jaw clenched. It was evident that he was absorbed in his world of research, perhaps analyzing a recent case or reviewing the reports he had received.

You remained silent for quite some time until your curiosity grew, and you dared to ask:

“Is it a lot of work?”

“Kind of. I need to check a couple of details before sending a summary to the office,” he replied without taking his eyes off the paper. The familiarity in his voice gave you a sense of connection, even though you weren’t directly interacting.

“Difficult case?”

“A bit. There are many variables involved. I’m trying to break down the information to make it easier to understand. Sometimes work can be a puzzle,” he said, and although he seemed immersed in his task, there was a tone of passion in his voice that made you admire him even more.

That said, you decided not to interrupt him while he continued working. In his world, he could be a bit more reserved, and while you wanted to know more, you also understood that he needed his space.

As time passed, the rain continued to hit the windows, creating an enveloping atmosphere. Spencer seemed completely absorbed in his task, and at some point, he looked up at you and smiled, albeit briefly, before returning to his concentration. It was a simple gesture, but it made you feel included in his world, even though he was focused on something else.

“You know? I’m glad I came here,” Spencer suddenly said, breaking the calm. “I mean, not just because of the electricity, but sometimes work can be exhausting, and… I know, I feel overwhelmed, like I have a million things on my mind. But when I’m with you, I feel like I can set all that aside. It’s like your presence gives me a breather.”

You looked into his eyes, searching for that sincerity that had always captivated you. It was a vulnerable moment, and you felt grateful for his trust. Without saying anything, you got up and went to him to sit on his lap, letting him wrap his arm around your waist.

You both remained silent for a moment, feeling the weight of the night and each other’s closeness. But it was also evident that the day had been long for him. You noticed the tension in his body manifesting in his posture (despite having showered), as his shoulders were slumped, and his gaze, though still bright, showed signs of fatigue.

“You're not done yet?” you asked softly, running your hands through his still slightly damp hair. You had bought him a conditioner that smelled delightful and gave a silky feel.

“I did. I just need to sign off on the file to submit it at the office tomorrow.”

The vulnerability in his voice resonated with you.

“Do you want us to go to bed then?” you suggested, even though you felt there was more you could share.

Your boyfriend nodded with his eyes closed, a clear sign of exhaustion, and you promised him you’d be with him as soon as you finished tidying up in the kitchen. Spencer organized the desk, and once everything was ready, both of you headed to the bedroom. It was a cozy space, with the lights off, and the sound of the storm could be heard through the window. You got into bed, and he quickly joined you.

When he wrapped his arms around you from behind, the warmth of his body enveloped you and you felt all the tension you had built up during the storm melt away. You nestled against him, enjoying the sensation of his closeness.

“I like being here with you,” he murmured as he wrapped his arm around you. Spencer took a moment to breathe deeply, as if he were grateful for the small moment you had “I always have trouble falling asleep, but with you in my arms, it’s not so difficult"

The sincerity of your boyfriend moved you, and you felt him place a soft kiss on your shoulder, to which you responded by leaning closer to him.

You both stayed silent for a while, listening to the sound of the rain beginning to diminish. The tranquility of the night was like a blanket wrapping around you.

Finally, as the heaviness of sleep started to assail you, you felt the weight of the day fade away.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you said in a whisper, feeling the peace his presence brought you. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” he replied.

And as his eyes closed, you realized that despite the storms raging outside, there was a place where you both felt safe and comfortable.

[16wolke11]

TEMPESTUOS - Max Verstappen 

A/N I know Max has his temper under control by now, but I needed him to be that way (:

Tempestuous -> Very stormy, full of strong emotions

WORDS: 2259

_____

Max Verstappen has always been known for his temperament. The world of competitive racing seems tailor-made for someone like him. Someone who thrives on speed, the passion for racing, and the rush—a mixture of adrenaline and victories. But with every win, there seems to come a burden. The pressure when a race doesn't end as expected, when an overtake results in damage, or anything else that can set his short temper ablaze and make him snap. His temper causes problems, not only for himself but also for those around him who need to fix the damage. Sometimes, Max's emotions bubble up like a storm that can't be tamed, and those around him become the target.

Acting as the polar opposite of him is something only a few people on the Red Bull team manage: his race engineer GP, his PR Vicky, and others close to him, like his trainer and the bosses of Red Bull. Max likes his team as it is, but when Vicky has to step away due to illness, the team faces the bitter reality of figuring out who can accompany Max to his interviews. In the end, they settled on me. And while I would usually be happy with the promotion, given how Max Verstappen currently behaves, I'd rather be anywhere but close to him.

I've been working around the paddock for a few years now, usually keeping a close eye on the Red Bull juniors. They might have their PRs in the junior categories, but for certain duties, they want me there as well. Usually, I handle the pressure in the paddock easily, getting along with a few interviewers, joking with the drivers, and staying calm no matter what happens. Until I was ordered to work with Max.

The start of the season wasn't easy for Max or the team. Instead of winning by 20 seconds, they had to fight just to get onto the podium. It stirred tension, not only within the team but also making interviews harder. The interviewers obviously love the "downfall" of Red Bull, as they like to call it, while everyone wearing dark blue works on changing that direction. Working with Max during that time wasn't a pleasure—interviews were tense, he snapped at them more than once, and he'd already accumulated a few fines. Luckily for him, no race bans yet. Then, finally, Max made it back to the top step, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he was grinning brightly.

He even hugged me, and I thought that would be the turning point—the moment he evolved from the snapping, hunting lion to the leader of the pride again. But oh, I was so wrong. Even though Max managed to win with great overtakes, the interviewers still found a way to turn his happy energy into a storming one.

"Max, you had quite a few rough patches this season," the interviewer starts, and I tense up. Hopefully, this is just a review of the season and how he managed to turn things around today, but luck isn't on my side these days.

"Do you think you finally got past the issues, including your temper and the car in general?"

I take a deep breath, close to snapping at the interviewer myself, but I keep a blank expression, hoping Max will remember what we talked about. That he has to keep it low with the anger, especially around cameras. That he can snap when he's in hospitality or anywhere else where only people from the team can see him. I quickly glance at Max, hoping he'll get the hint to stay calm, but the storm is already brewing behind his eyes.

"What does this have to do with me winning?" Max asks, his shoulders tense. That would have been enough, but of course, Max isn't finished yet. "I won, haven't I? That's all that should matter, not the kind of problems you project on me." His voice is cold, and before I can even try to step in or the reporter has a chance to continue, Max just walks away.

I mutter an excuse before hurrying after him. Great, there goes the happy Max. Back comes the one with the stormy personality. A thick skin is something everyone around Max needs at the moment, and even though I know he won't react positively, I still decide to give him a lecture.

"Max, you can't talk to them like that," I hiss at him when we're back in hospitality, shielded from the journalists who love to take pictures of a fuming Max just to fuel their stories with proof.

"Excuse me?" he asks, arching his eyebrow. There's a storm in his eyes, one that can't settle due to the constant reminders of how bad his season is going.

"You can't let your temper define you and overshadow your victories. If you snap at them like this, all they're going to write about is your temper issues, not your win." I explain to Max, and for a moment, he just stares at me, like he's debating whether this is worth discussing. Then, he just huffs and leaves. This time, I don't follow him. This is the first time I want to scream at him to calm down, my anger building, but I know it wouldn't make a difference if he isn't ready to listen.

Max doesn't talk to me during the next media day. He follows me to his interview but cuts his answers short. Not ideal either, but still better than him yelling again. During my break, I met up with one of my friends on the team who works for the social media department. She knows my struggles with Max and is one of the few people I can gossip with about him.

"Why do I have to keep working with him?" I groan at one point, placing my head in my hands and sighing, feeling like working with Max is giving me grey hair. I'd need at least two wellness holidays to cope with it.

"You're the only one he tolerates right now," she shrugs, and I know she's right. They tried bringing in other PRs to give me a break, but it was even worse with them. Max didn't even follow them. Instead, he stayed in his room until I got there and brought him to his interviews.

"Great," I mutter, rubbing my eyes. Looks like I'm stuck with him for longer.

By the next weekend, Max seems to warm up towards me, but in the media pen, his expressions are still dark, jaw clenched, and eyes storming. As soon as we finish the last interview and leave, he still looks upset by the questions he was asked, but it seems like he's trying to keep his emotions under control.

"I tried, you know," he speaks up quietly, his voice unsteady and anything but confident—not like the usual Max, but a broken one.

"Hm?" I ask, not sure what he means.

"Holding my temper down." His eyes are locked on the path in front, and I'm pretty surprised by his words.

"Really?"

Max sighs, frustration starting to show, and I'm almost sure I'll be yelled at. "I'm not perfect, never said I was," he says, before another sigh leaves his lips.

"No one is," I try to reply gently. "But you can still choose how to react." There's a long pause, and for a moment, it seems like the storm in Max's eyes settles down. It's not gone, but it's more controlled, like he's slowly getting a hold of it.

From then on, we kind of clicked, spending time together even though we didn't have to because work was finished. We made each other laugh, and the tension at Red Bull seemed to lessen with every day Max smiled instead of frowning or wearing an ice-cold expression. But after one particularly hard media day, I'm back with my friend again, whining about how hard it is to work with Max.

"I thought you two got on pretty well? Didn't you say you liked him last week or so?" She teases me, and she's right. We did get along well, and I did say I liked him. But spending more relaxed time with Max also led to more than that.

"My problem is that I like him a little too much for my sanity," I huff, blushing at my words and kind of regretting saying them out loud—especially when my friend laughs softly.

"Oh, so that's the problem."

"That, plus the fact he'd like to rip apart the reporters who dare speak up around him." I manage to say with a slight laugh. Liking Max and working with him sometimes clash, and I still need to figure out the right way to balance it.

"Give him time," she says, her voice gentle and reassuring. "He's getting much calmer with you around. Even Vicky struggled with doing that."

"Maybe because all he did was win last season," I reply with a dry laugh. Working with a winning Max is easier than working with one who's losing podiums on track.

"That could have been a positive benefit for his temper."

The next media day comes, and slowly, I want to curse the person who decided that letting the drivers answer the same question over and over again is an okay concept. Max is tense; I can see it in the way he stands, his fingers twitching, his eyes wandering. Then one of the interviewers seems to overstep a boundary because Max snaps again, drawing all the eyes on him. Before I can react or get over to him, he hurries to my side.

"You need to get me out of here," Max mutters, his voice pressed, eyes looking everywhere but at me.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, trying to figure out what could have put him in this state. There are many curious eyes and cameras on us, but Max is ignoring them all.

"Please," he whispers, his eyes so desperate that it pushes me into action.

"Okay, okay," I mutter, already thinking about a safe spot to take us. "Come with me." I take Max by the sleeve of his jacket and pull him with me, knowing these pictures will be everywhere in a few hours. I manoeuvre us through the paddock, walking between the hospitality areas, until I reach a spot where no one from the media is allowed. Max sits down, shoulders shaking, and I crouch in front of him.

"Max, breathe," I instruct, and he takes a hasty breath. Even though I wonder what brought him to this state, I need to focus on calming him down first.

"I tried to stay calm, to remember what you told me, take a deep breath and not snap at them." He rambles, his eyes wandering from left to right, not really focusing on anything. "But I failed. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. You tried." I reassure him, and this time, he looks directly at me.

"I couldn't stay calm, and now I'm fully relaxed. I just want that to work during the interviews." He sounds frustrated, and I understand him. The pressure makes him snap, but being away from the media makes him calm. It does make sense.

"Can you think of anything that would help?" I ask, trying to figure out a way to make things better for him.

"Not doing interviews anymore?" he asks, a bit of humour in his voice, and it makes me laugh softly.

"Not possible."

Max is silent for a moment before whispering, "You staying close to me."

My mind goes blank, and I don't know what to say. "What?" I still don't know how to answer, but luckily, Max speaks again.

"You're the calm to my storm, the peace I didn't know I needed. When you're with me, I can stay grounded, calm." He explains, his voice still so soft it makes my heart ache.

"Max..." I try to say something, but he interrupts me.

"I need you, okay? I know I haven't been easy to work with, but I promise I want to try," Max admits quietly, his voice softer than I've ever heard it before. "To make things easier for you," he adds, lowering his head.

I feel the weight of his words sink in—how much he struggles with everything coming down on him, but that he's trying to change. Not for the sake of his image or balance in his bank account, but to make my work easier.

"I like your stormy personality a little too much, but you're right. Having a soft wind instead of a storm would make my job easier." I tell him with a soft laugh, trying to ease the tension bubbling inside him.

"So, you like me being a hot-headed idiot?" He asks, his face softening, and suddenly, he looks really young—like a boy craving the love of someone.

"Mostly the idiot part," I tease him, knowing that even though he's difficult sometimes, I wouldn't try to change him if he doesn't want to.

"I deserve that one." Max says, grinning at me.

"We'll figure this out together," I tell him, carefully taking his hand in mine. In return, I get the happiest smile.

"Together," Max promises, holding my hand a little tighter. And for the first time in forever, the distance doesn't look wrecked by the storm inside him, but rather like it's being petted by a soft wind of calm emotions.

[hoseoksluna]

CENTURY | myg

pairing: boyfriend!idol!yoongi x f. reader 

genre: smut

word count: 3.6k

summary: when yoongi needs inspiration for the song he's been working on, you're not hesitant to help him.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: idol yoongi working in his studio being all stressed out is a warning on its own, he's also immensely hot and calls himself oppa (god help me i am a weak girl), mentions of a nasty punishment, yoongi is kinda mean, and a little bit horny, clit spanking *heart eyes*, oral sex (f. receiving), praise kink—usage of stickers, raw sex.

note: my god, this was a drag at first but because i feel sm better today, i finally finished this and i feel myself returning to the hoseoksluna that i was before i got sick. :( this was fun to write today omg. yoongi is absolutely delicious in this and i can't wait to start writing smoke 3 after this. my babies, enjoy this smutty one shot. i love you. spam my inbox, i miss you! give me a warm welcome, please. MWAH.

Habitually, singing for him was your escapism. You’d close yourself up in a bubble, withdrawing from the surrounding gray world, and you’d slink away to a realm brimming with vivid colors. In his songs, you could be anyone. A figment of his imagination that had more life in its veins than you ever had the taste of. You’d forget, for hours upon hours, about the anguish of your daily life and mental issues that would trouble you and, taking his hand, he would take you to Neverland, watch over you, then take you home. 

This time, however, he didn’t take you to that fantasy land. 

He took you somewhere darker. 

The energy in his lab was potent with something that tickled you ever so gently when you stepped inside. A dusky room with an even heftier, crepuscular layer of vexation. You could feel it thumping beneath your skin after it grazed you with its fingertips, weaseling its way in, settling, stilling. Your boyfriend didn’t turn around when he heard you shut the door, nor when your tights-clad feet paddled on the floor, as absorbed as he was in his work. No shoes inside the Genius Lab—that was the first rule, one you were disciplined enough from him to remember, even if someone woke you up in the middle of the night. 

You paid a great price, once upon a time. 

You had walked in with your Nike’s when he called you over, wet and smeared with the snow from the winter’s artwork outside. Despite the fact you rubbed the soles on the mat in the building of his workplace long before you strutted all the way to his studio, there were still little snowflakes that clung to your sneakers. It was your first time there and Yoongi seemed to have forgotten to let you in on the rules. And once he saw the mess you made, he told you off. 

Kissed you quite roughly. 

Made you promise to never do that again, playfully. 

Sank you to your knees and bent you over those melting snowflakes. Spanked you so hard that he engraved the first rule of the Genius Lab into your system. 

No shoes inside. 

Then, he patted your head. 

Gave you a silver star sticker, resembling the snowflake, for being such a good girl that learns well. 

You had stuck it on the table right beside his laptop, an etched memory that you recollected every time he’d invite you over. 

It’s what he’s mindlessly rubbing with his fingertip as you walk over to him, another winter later, embedding your digits into the ebony night of his hair, the long strands so satiny and sleek. Yoongi gazes up at you from his computer, pale violet flecks adorning the skin beneath his weary, yet ever so trenchant eyes, and you pout at the sight of him. There must be something wrong with the process of his album-making and he’s determined to fix it. 

Yoongi takes off his headphones, wraps an arm around your waist. You’re wearing a little black dress for him with a low neckline that uncovers everything private as he leads you to sit down on his lap, greeting you with a raspy hello and a kiss that tells you he needs you more than his own countenance lets on. 

You linger in the close proximity, peppering his mouth with tiny kisses that make him visibly relax—his shoulders slump against his chair and he lifts your knees, placing them in the snug crook between his side and his arm, his hand spreading forest fire down your calf, stopping at your ankle, swathing it with those flames. 

You cease your kisses, overcome with his body heat, and butterflies zap you in your tummy when he continues to kiss your mouth with those sweet little pecks. 

Prolonging the last kiss, he peers down at you with the world’s most affectionate adoration and you blush. You’ve tasted the dulciness of all the seasons with him, and yet it feels as though you’ve just started dating. His love has long made its home within you, but you can still sense its freshness in your bones. 

It will never get old. 

“I love these, baby,” he husks, his eyes growing more lidded in the heated, cozy atmosphere guarded by the fire of his body, and he drags a hand up and down your leg, spreading his admiration on the nylon of your tights that he speaks of. “You came just at the right time.” 

He nuzzles his face in your neck while he paws at your feet and you soften, brushing your fingers through his hair. You think he needs to get out of this place and breathe in some fresh air for his brain to recuperate and be filled with the flimsy, ivory sparks of inspiration. 

It’s snowing outside. 

It always seems to be when he invites you to his secret spot during the winter months. 

“What’s wrong, hm?” you ask, requiring the specifics in order to help him as much as you can. “What is it this time?” 

Yoongi grumbles nonsense in your neck, the sound muffled and indecipherable, and you laugh, softly, lifting his head. 

“I literally didn’t catch a word you said,” you whine, squishing his cheeks, and Yoongi feignedly sobs, scrunching his eyes shut. You laugh, wiggling his head, encouraging him to tell you what made him darken the energy of his studio so devastatingly. 

He inhales a deep breath in and takes his hand to your bum, fondling it. “I miss your pussy.” 

You burst out into obscene laughter, wiping a hand down his face. “Be fucking serious.” 

Yoongi chuckles, but then breaks into false little sobs all over again. “The melodies aren’t working together, I can’t transform the ideas in my head into this song and I just miss your pussy so bad. I wanna eat it.” 

So that’s the source of that dark energy in the lab. 

He’s horny. 

He wails into your bosom, deepening your laughter that melts into an endearing coo. One that lifts his head and makes a grin blossom on his pale face, a dab of color rushing to the surface. 

A pretty lotus flower, opening for you. 

You poke a finger into his cheek, your heart constricting at the cute way your nail makes a round dent in that flourishing flesh. “I thought you called me over because you wanted my vocals.” 

Yoongi squeezes your bum, sucking in a breath. “I did. I wanted to finish the melodies so I could record your voice, but shit fucking happens. I thought we could write the lyrics together.” 

You bite your lip, finding the idea mesmerizing, and your chest clenches, a certain longing for it forming inside. A light flickers in Yoongi’s abysmal eyes at your reaction—and you wish you could fix this situation for him, remove the block and replace it with a creativity of your own. 

An idea pops into your mind, abruptly. 

You widen your eyes, your smile growing, little by little. Yoongi straightens, his features mirroring yours, and the picture hope paints upon his countenance only drives your idea forward. 

“What?” 

“Oh my god, Yoongi.” You clasp a hand over your mouth. “What if we write the lyrics first and just hum random melodies, see what fits best?” 

He thinks about it, tilting his head. And then destroys the realm that your little idea created. 

“I’m sorry, baby, but that never works with me. I know artists that do that, but whenever I tried, I just reached a dead end,” he mutters and you pout, furrowing your brows. He lets you soak in it for a little while before he shakes his head. “I have a better idea.” 

Yoongi pushes his laptop to the side and lifts you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing, setting you down in place of it. He moves his chair forward. Spreads your legs. Kisses the inner of your thigh and you fall back, your palms landing on the ivory keys of his keyboard and creating a soft music that raises his brows. 

“Do that again.” 

You smile and lift your hand, dropping it on the same notes that you did by accident. He looks over to see which ones you played and he kisses the front of your thigh before he reaches over for his notepad and pen, writing it down. 

“You’re my little angel, I swear,” he says without taking his eyes off of his writing, then he extends an arm behind you and finishes the melody with a certain ease that causes him to relax even more—and your smile to deepen in your face. 

You blush, feeling like that winged creature—assigned to his side to help him. 

“I brainstormed some lyrics the other day,” Yoongi mumbles and begins to stare you down with an intention that coils in your gut, your heart quickening its rhythm. “How about you bounce off of it, make up some lyrics while I eat you out? I can play the melody for you that we just made.” 

Your mouth parts, your throat drying. Warmth pools in your core, the idea of Yoongi playing on the keyboard while he does something so intimate to you bringing you down to an abyss of madness. He hands you his notepad after he flips to the page with the lyrics he mentioned. Your eyes skim over his neat, black handwriting, the random words that could string together a sentence if there was a little work put in it. 

But how are you supposed to focus in those circumstances? It’s not just his dick that makes you braindead—it’s his tongue that does it in the first place. 

“What do you say, baby?” he persists, dipping down and scattering kisses along that sensitive part of your thigh, his breath wafting over your core as he switches to the other one, spoiling it with those same wet kisses. 

You catch a glance of his shining tongue and that does it for you. 

Your heart thumps, violently—and your pussy drools. 

“Fuck, Yoongi.” 

That does it for him, too. 

He goes to rip your tights right in the middle, but you yelp, stopping him. 

“No, don’t rip them. They were expensive and they’re my only pair for the winter.” 

Yoongi gives you a look, cocks his brow. “Why didn’t you say? I could buy you some.” 

You clamp your mouth shut. You don’t like to use his money to buy yourself personal stuff because you have a job of your own and you’re able to take care of yourself, but lately, with prices rising and the rent growing more expensive, there’s little from your paycheck that you could spend on things like these. And you still need to save up for way tougher times. 

“I could never ask you to do that, are you kidding?” 

Yoongi’s gaze darkens. “Who said you couldn’t?” 

You open your mouth to argue with him, but only a yelp comes through when he swiftly tugs the waistband of your tights over your bum and up your legs, lifting them in the process and folding you in half. 

You’re sure he’s ripped them. 

You’re fucked. 

You lean back, landing once again on his keys and at this point he laughs, darkly, telling you which notes to write down and with a shaky hand—you do. 

“You’re getting so many fucking stickers today.” 

Your heart stops its feral beats and you gaze down at him with a tormented look, your brows furrowed, eyes lidded and cheeks flushed. Yoongi bites his lip and gets his sheet of silver little stars. 

He peels one out. “This one's for you coming at the right time.” He sticks it to that one side of your inner thigh that he left unkissed, the sticky part latching to your skin without a hint of a problem. “And this one’s for your smart little brain.”

He sticks it to the bone right across your cunt, smoothing it out with his thumb that then begins to travel and crosses the distance to the soaked center of your panties. Yoongi sucks in a breath as he peers down at the outline of your flesh, parting your thighs a little to gaze up at you through his lashes. “You have two tasks,” he rasps, brushing his lips across your clothed, dampened flesh. 

You grip the table beneath you, letting out a whiny sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Pay attention.” 

A simple, low order and you pop them open, breathing out in staccatos. He runs that thumb over your clit, puts a little pressure over it. You bite your lip, straining your ears, but the faint pleasure makes it a little bit difficult for you. 

“I’m gonna rub this clit and you don’t get my tongue unless you tell me the name of the store, where you’re getting new pairs of tights from today.” He focuses on your nub, circling it with soft grazes that he knows they get you riled up nice and fast, needy and drenched. It’s what he does when you’re watching a movie together and wind up not knowing how it ends. “And once you come for me, you get another sticker for being such a good girl. Is that clear?” 

Your lungs heave and your mind spins, your brain cells shrinking with your arousal. You lick your lips. Wetness stains your panties even more. “And the other task?” 

He slaps the side of your thigh, making you jump. “I asked you a question, did I not?” 

Such abrupt meanness. Other times, it would get you going, but today it’s not something that you’re really feeling. Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re ovulating and you need the gentleness that he’s more than capable of giving you. 

You drift a hand down his face, stopping with your thumb at his lips, tracing the upper line. So soft, so puffy. “Be nice to me, Yoongi.” 

His eyes round and a glint perches itself on the top of his chocolate irises. Yoongi sets your feet on both of his armrests. Leans his head against your thigh, looking up at you with a tender half smile. 

“Is that an order?” he asks, flattening his fingers across your clit and strumming it, the pleasure heightening and you sink your teeth into the bottom pillow of your mouth, your body following the wave of the delight he provides you, rolling. 

“Yes. Be nice or no pussy.” 

He gasps, lowly, his smile transforming into that smirk of his that has the tendency to weaken you through and through. “You wouldn’t do that to me.” 

Your heart throbs and you love it. “Yes, I would.” 

You go to close your legs and sit up, but he stops you. “Okay, fair enough.” 

Oh, that solid calmness of his, perfumed with his horniness. You grin, pleased. “Will you be nice?” 

Yoongi licks over the bare skin of your thigh, rubbing his face in it. “I’ll be an angel like you if you do the tasks.” 

You roll your eyes. A quid pro quo. Fair enough. 

“Okay, be an angel to me then and come here,” you purr, aware of the fact that he got you into this mirrored maze of his horniness and you love it, delight in it, which is the sole, unabashed reason why you tug the back of his head down to your cunt, holding him to you. 

Yoongi opens his mouth just at the right time, licking over your clothed clit and moaning. But then he fights against your hold and spanks your pussy, smiling playfully up at you while biting his lip. 

You jump, whimpering. 

“I didn’t hear you say the name of the store,” he retorts, rubbing, properly, your bedewed nub with slow, agonizing circles. 

Fuck. 

Your breathing quickens and you scramble your blank brain to remember any store that has the least expensive tights. You say the name of the first one that pops up. 

Yoongi doesn’t like your answer, though. 

He spanks your clit, gently. 

“Think again. I’m not buying you anything that will last you for a day. Don’t play me.” 

You can’t help the heavy smile rising on your face, your cheeks heating up so much that they ache. And it helps you, his bull-headedness on buying you high-quality garments that are worth the money, to fight—like he did against your hold—your deeply imprinted independence and utter, shyly, with little hiccups, the name of the store that will keep your legs warm throughout the unforgiving Korean wintertime. 

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Let Oppa take these off now.” 

Your stomach flips at the title. You’ve always been obsessed with it—as it, without fail, provoked your independence and slowly transformed you into the mindset of a little girl, taken care of by someone stronger, smarter and older than her. All while keeping it intact. 

Yoongi knows you can do everything on your own. And he supports it. But it doesn’t mean he’s not willing to give you a hand. 

The same hand he now uses to bring your panties to the waistband of your thighs near the back of your knees, dragging it down that skin. He spreads your cunt with both of his hands, gasping lowly at the sheen that greets him and magnetically pulls him in. 

He kitten licks your clit and your elbows tremble, giving out on you—another melodies wafting through the air that make him chuckle into your pussy, engraving vibrations that encourage you to lean back all the way and take what he gives you. 

“Write that down, can you do that?” he asks, and when he hears you clicking his pen, he tells you which notes those were. You scribble it down, messily, your hand quivering and painting an obscure picture in his notepad as he begins to suck on your clit in intense waves. You shudder, terribly, the lines of his own pen dark, long and disordered like you. 

You give in, moaning so loud that he intones with you. 

And what you never expected—the tones of your noises provide him with an inspiration he cannot miss. Withdrawing with a wet chin and stealing his pen from you, he jots it down, propping the notepad on your thighs, smiling at the picture you painted. 

Writes something else down, too, while you quiver for him, waiting for his tongue. 

He kisses your thigh, ravagedly. “Sing these lyrics.” 

Taking it from him, the words blur on the paper because he sinks a finger inside your heat, curling it to that spot that he favors, fucking you with a fast motion that unables you, completely, to let out a sound colored by his geniality. 

“Come on, baby. Sing for Oppa.” 

You cry out, clenching your muscles—scream as he latches his mouth to your clit, flicking it with the tip of his equally genius tongue. 

The lab spins, not just your mind. 

“I can’t—I can’t. Oh my God, Yoongi, fuck,” you drag out the curse word, the notepad falling out of your hand and plopping onto the ground. 

Yoongi hums, delighted, sucking on your nub so vivaciously that your orgasm nears. As if sensing it, he adds another finger in. Validates the incoming of your splendid explosion by making quick, little, deep sounds that lead you to that peak. 

You grasp his hair, tightly, humping his mouth. From your own spill screams that fade into soft moans, resplendent of the notes he liked so much and he fucks your hole faster. Pulls out his mouth just a little, flicking your clit from side to side—and you realize he did it so he can watch you come for him. 

Come for your Oppa. 

And you do. With a squeak, one that fades to a legato, tender moan of his title. With an eye contact that freezes time for a century. And, suddenly, just like that—it’s just you, him and the winter. 

Snowflakes that ache to seep into yours and his cheeks. 

Yoongi growls. His male pheromones spill out of him like liquid that washes over you and you get a sticker. 

Right in the center of your mound. 

And he fucks you into wintry oblivion, a snowstorm that swaddles you closer and closer to him. The table rattles, key notes sound out, the slapping of skin conjures ideas in the magnificence of his brain. And then he comes. 

With a final stroke and a rope of his cum all over the sticker near your pleasured cunt, he resumes the time. 

But both you and him are newly constituted by that winter-kissed century, chiseled by it and irrevocably changed by it. 

Yoongi cleans you up and dresses you. You find out he didn’t rip your tights and you give him such a soft, endeared look for it that he coos, chuckling, and pats your disheveled hair, smoothing it down. He kisses you once he fixes you up and, grabbing his keys, phone and wallet, he drives you to the mall, to that exact store you mentioned, to buy you a myriad of tights to last you for a half of a century, grazed and fondled by winter. 

And he leads you back to the studio, besprinkled with the snow’s affection, where you watch him create a song out of your pleasured voice, sampling one of your favorite oldie’s tunes that you end up yanking him up to his feet to dance with him to it. The raspy voice of Ray Charles envelops Yoongi’s hands as he guides your hips and he kisses you until the late night hours. 

And in those late night hours, he watches you, like the angel you are, as you sing the poetry he wrote with your help. 

Neverland doesn’t exist anymore. Not for you at least. 

The darker place he took you to is one breathing with the gesture of helping your lover. Warm, moody and timbered. The licks of flames and the earnestness of a love that depends, without fear, on the other person. 

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ divider by kthice ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[thirteenheavens]

angry sex with cheol ?

note: was a lil nervous writing this one so I hope you guys enjoy <3

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*

Seungcheol stormed into the room, his face dark with anger. He was clearly furious about something, and you could feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

"What's wrong?" you asked, taking a step towards him. But he didn't respond, instead he simply clenched his jaw and stared at you.

"You," he finally said, his voice cold and sharp. "You're what's wrong."

Seungcheol's anger only grew as he continued to speak, his eyes burning with jealousy. "I saw you and Mingyu today," he said, his voice laced with bitterness. "You were laughing and joking around like old times."

You tried to explain that there was nothing going on between you and Mingyu, but Seungcheol wasn't having it. He was too consumed by his own insecurities to listen.

"You were practically flirting with him," he accused, his voice rising. "I saw the way you looked at him."

You tried to protest again, but Seungcheol wouldn't let you get a word in edgewise. He was on a roll now, his jealousy and insecurity getting the better of him.

"You're always so close to him," he said, his eyes narrowing. "You have this special connection with him that I don't understand. It makes me feel like I'm not good enough."

He stepped closer to you, his body radiating anger and hurt. "Tell me the truth," he demanded. "Are you attracted to Mingyu?"

Seungcheol's jealousy was consuming him, and he wanted to prove to you that he was more desirable than Mingyu. He took another step closer, his eyes fixed on yours.

"I can show you," he said, his voice low and seductive. "I can make you feel things that Mingyu never could."

He reached out and grabbed your hips, pulling you flush against him. His body was hot and tense, his muscles taut with pent-up energy.

Seungcheol's lips were hot against your neck, his kisses slow and deliberate. He nibbled and sucked on your skin, leaving a trail of fiery kisses down your throat.

He knew exactly what he was doing, using his lips and tongue to tease and tantalize you. He wanted to make you forget about Mingyu, to show you that he was the only one who could make you feel this way.

As he continued to kiss and nibble at your neck, his hands began to roam over your body. He slid them up your sides, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist before moving up to cup your breasts.

He squeezed them gently, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the fabric of your shirt. You moaned at the sensation, arching your back into his touch.

Seungcheol pulled back from your neck, his eyes burning with intensity. "Would Mingyu touch you like this?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

His hands were still on your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples in a maddening rhythm. He wanted to make you forget about Mingyu, to erase him from your mind completely.

You shook your head, unable to form a coherent sentence as Seungcheol continued to play with your body. "N-no," you stuttered, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He smirked at your response, clearly pleased with himself. "That's what I thought," he said, his hands moving down to your hips.

He spun you around and pressed you up against the wall, his body pinning you in place. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "You're mine," he growled. "And I'm going to show you just how much I want you."

Seungcheol's body was pressed tightly against yours, his hips grinding against your ass. He could feel your heat through your clothes, and it only made him more desperate to have you.

He reached around and began to undo the buttons on your shirt, his fingers fumbling slightly in his haste. Once he had your shirt open, he pushed it off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

He ran his hands over your bare skin, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck again.

Seungcheol's hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of your skin. He traced the curve of your spine, the swell of your hips, and the softness of your stomach.

He pressed himself closer to you, his chest against your back. You could feel the hardness of his cock pressing against your ass, and it made you shiver with anticipation.

He nipped at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. "I want you so badly," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "I want to make you mine, over and over again."

You moaned at his words, your body responding to his touch. You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second, your desire for him growing with each passing moment.

Seungcheol's hands moved down to the waistband of your pants, his fingers teasing the skin just above it. "Do you want me to touch you?" he asked, his voice low and seductive.

You nodded, unable to speak as your body trembled with need. Seungcheol smirked, his eyes dark with lust.

He slowly unbuttoned your pants and pushed them down, along with your underwear. You stepped out of them, standing naked in front of him.

He turned you around to face him, his eyes roaming over your body hungrily. "You're perfect," he said, his voice filled with awe.

Seungcheol's hands were on your hips again, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you close. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he claimed your mouth.

He broke the kiss, panting heavily as he stared down at you. "I need you," he said, his voice rough with need. "I need to feel you."

Seungcheol lifted you up and carried you over to the bed, laying you down gently. He hovered over you, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at your body.

"You're mine," he said again, his voice possessive. "No one else gets to see you like this. Only me."

He leaned down and kissed you again, his lips moving hungrily against yours. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of your skin as he deepened the kiss.

He pulled back slightly, his breath ragged as he looked down at you. "I'm going to make you scream my name," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Seungcheol pushed you onto your stomach, his hands on your hips as he positioned you how he wanted. He leaned over you, his body pressed against yours as he whispered in your ear.

"On your knees," he said, his voice commanding. "I want you like this."

You obeyed, getting on your knees and arching your back, presenting yourself to him. You could feel his eyes on you, burning with desire as he looked at your body.

He reached out and trailed his fingers down your spine, making you shiver with anticipation. "You're so beautiful like this," he said, his voice husky. "All spread out for me."

Seungcheol pushed into you with a single, hard thrust, filling you completely. You gasped at the sensation, your body arching up as he buried himself inside you.

He groaned at the feeling of your tightness around him, his fingers digging into your hips as he held you in place. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice strained. "You feel so good."

Seungcheol's pace was fast and rough, his thrusts hard and unrelenting. He was taking out his jealousy and frustration on your body, using you to vent his emotions.

He gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back onto him with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your moans and gasps.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice rough with exertion. "No one else gets to have you like this."

He leaned over you, his chest pressed against your back as he continued to thrust into you. His hands moved up to your breasts, cupping them roughly as he squeezed them.

"You belong to me," he said, his breath hot against your ear. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

All of a sudden there’s a knocking at the door. You heard Mingyu's voice outside the door, calling out to you and asking if you were okay. Seungcheol's thrusts didn't slow, and he leaned in close to your ear.

"Answer him," he whispered, his voice cold and commanding. "Let him hear how good I'm making you feel."

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a moan as Seungcheol hit a particularly sensitive spot. He chuckled darkly, his hips snapping against yours.

"Go on," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "Tell him how good I am."

You managed to get the words out, your voice shaky and breathless. "I'm okay," you said, trying to sound casual despite the way Seungcheol was still thrusting into you.

Mingyu seemed unconvinced, his voice laced with concern. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You sound a bit out of breath."

Seungcheol laughed at that, his grip on your hips tightening. "She's fine," he called out, his voice mocking. "She's just a bit... distracted at the moment."

He continued to thrust into you, his pace relentless. He wanted Mingyu to hear you, to know that you were with him and not with Mingyu.

Mingyu must have heard the implication in Seungcheol's voice, because you heard his footsteps walking away from the door. Seungcheol chuckled darkly again, his movements becoming more forceful.

"He's gone," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now I have you all to myself."

Seungcheol smirked as he slapped your ass, enjoying the way you gasped at the sensation. "You like that, don't you?" he said, his voice rough with lust.

He continued to thrust into you, his pace even harder than before. "You like being mine," he growled. "You love it when I claim you like this."

Seungcheol's grip on your hips tightened as he continued to pound into you. "Mingyu could never make you feel this good," he said, his voice full of arrogance. "He could never make you scream like this, or beg for more like you're doing now."

Seungcheol's movements became even more forceful, his anger and jealousy driving him to fuck you harder. "You're mine," he repeated, his voice filled with possessiveness. "No one else can have you. No one else can make you feel this way."

Seungcheol's breathing grew ragged as he neared his release, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "I'm gonna come," he growled, his fingers digging into your hips. "And I'm going to fill you up until you're overflowing with me."

Seungcheol let out a loud groan as he came, his body tensing as he released deep inside you. He held you tightly against him, his chest pressed against your back as he rode out his orgasm.

He panted heavily, his breath hot against your ear as he came down from his high. "Fuck," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Seungcheol pulled out of you slowly, collapsing onto the bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him.

"You're mine," he said again, his voice possessive. "And I'm never letting you go."

[chheolie]

“y/n, get up now. let's go biking. i'm on my way to your house.” mingyu's voice was soft and gentle, but it still managed to cut through the veil of your deep sleep. you were lying down, still sleepy, struggling to open your eyes.

it didn't take long before the doorbell started ringing. with dragging steps and half-closed eyes, you made your way to the door, feeling every second drag on.

“y/n?” mingyu asked, a slightly indignant expression on his face when he saw you weren't ready. his voice held a mix of surprise and mild frustration.

“let's go later, mingyu. i'm too lazy...” you whimpered, your voice thick with sleep and exhaustion. "please" he rolled his eyes, sighing deeply and crossing his arms.

“okay,” he replied, frustration evident in his eyes. you gave a muffled laugh and, pulling him by the wrist, invited him inside the apartment.

mingyu had been your best friend since childhood. one of your favorite pastimes was biking in the early hours of the morning when the sun was just rising and the city was waking up. but on that particular day, you simply didn't have the energy to get out of bed. all you wanted was to stay under your covers.

“what's wrong?” he asked softly, joining you on the couch, his eyes filled with concern.

“nothing,” you replied with a weak smile, trying to hide the truth. your job was draining you, but you didn't want to burden your friend with your problems.

“uhmm,” he murmured, accepting your answer but knowing there was more to it. he rested his head on your legs, his brown eyes fixed on yours. “whenever you want to share your problems with me, i'm here, okay?” he said gently.

you nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude and affection for him. “thank you, gyu,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

with a smile, you started to gently run your fingers through mingyu's short hair. soon, he fell asleep right there, and you ended up dozing off as well, despite the uncomfortable position.

hours later, you woke up and saw mingyu lying on the other side of the couch. it was then that you heard a familiar sound. running to the window, you confirmed your suspicions: it was raining.

your hand went to your mouth. how were you going to tell him it was raining and that the bike ride you begged to postpone now seemed impossible?

“y/n...” he called, his voice sleepy and soft. “what are you doing?” he rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up.

“gyu, i'm sorry...” you approached him cautiously, biting your lip.

“why are you apologizing?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“gyu... it's raining,” you said, pointing to the window.

“what?” he quickly woke up and went to the window, placing his hands on his hips in a mock authoritative stance. the sight made you laugh involuntarily.

“are you laughing, y/n?” he asked, his voice playful yet incredulous.

you walked up to him, a mischievous smile on your face. “oh, it's not raining that hard... let's bike in the rain?” you suggested, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

he looked at you, surprised. “are you serious?” his voice was a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“yes, let's go! it could be fun,” you insisted, your enthusiasm infectious.

mingyu hesitated, looking at the rain outside and then back at you. “y/n, i don't know... what if you get sick?” his voice was filled with genuine concern.

you smiled, trying to reassure him. “i'll be fine, gyu. it'll be an adventure,” you promised, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

he still seemed reluctant but couldn't resist your enthusiasm. with a sparkle in his eyes, mingyu grabbed your bikes, and you both went out into the light rain. the feeling of the cool drops on your skin was invigorating, and the city seemed magical under the gray shroud. you rode through the wet streets, laughing and feeling like kids again.

the water streamed down your faces, mingling with the laughter and pure joy of the moment. each pedal stroke was an escape from worries, a reminder that even on the toughest days, there was beauty and joy to be found.

“having fun?” you shouted, your voice almost lost in the sound of the rain.

“yes, but i'm worried about you!” mingyu replied, looking at you with concern. “let's head back home before you catch a cold,” he added, his voice firm but caring.

you returned to the apartment, drenched but with light hearts and bright smiles on your faces. the rain might have changed your plans, but it brought a new adventure and memories you would cherish forever.

“thanks for this, gyu,” you said softly, holding his hand as you both dried off, your voice filled with gratitude.

“no, y/n, thank you,” he replied, squeezing your hand. “but next time, let's bike on a sunny day, okay? i don't want to see you get sick,” he added, his voice filled with genuine concern and affection.

you laughed, nodding. “deal, mingyu. deal,” you agreed, your heart warmed by his care and friendship.

[myrleius]

confidence boost — azumane a.

azumane a. x fem!reader│word count: 1.9k

synopsis: You just wanted to boost Asahi’s confidence but it all went horribly wrong.

cw/tags: fluff, comedy, established relationship

Despite his towering height and intimidating presence, Asahi is a complete sweetheart.

He’s the kind of the boyfriend who listens intently, remembers the little things, and always makes sure you’re comfortable. Whether it’s offering you his jacket when you’re cold, adjusting his pace so you don’t have to rush to keep up, or waiting patiently for you to finish talking before responding, Asahi does it all without a second thought.

You love him so much and genuinely think he’s an amazing person.

You just wished he could see himself the way you do.

Because despite all the love and warmth he gives, Asahi is riddled with insecurities. When he makes a mistake, he doesn’t just acknowledge it—he fixates on it, lets it weigh him down. When people mock him, he takes their words to heart, even when they don’t deserve to be listened to. He hesitates to ask for help, convinced he’s a burden, as if his needs could ever be an inconvenience.

And it breaks your heart.

Because if anyone deserves to feel confident—deserves to see just how wonderful he is—it’s him.

“Yeah,” you say out loud, as if voicing the thought makes it more real.

“Yeah what?” Asahi asks, mid-bite into his lunch, his expression vaguely concerned.

You lean back in your chair, a slow grin spreading across your face as you lazily intertwine your ankles with his under the table.

“I’m going to give you a confidence boost.”

Asahi pauses, chopsticks hovering in his hand. He blinks at you once. Twice. Then cautiously chews the food already in his mouth, as if bracing for impact. “... Why do I feel like this isn’t going to end well?”

“Wow. Rude,” you say, placing a hand over your chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m very good at boosting confidence.”

“Yn…” He levels you with a wary look, clearly not convinced. “You once told Tanaka he had ‘super manly energy’ just to see how many push-ups he’d do in front of Shimizu.”

You hum, tilting your head. “And? He did fifty. He felt unstoppable.”

Asahi sighs, giving you a deadpan look. “Yeah. Until Noya jumped in. They turned it into a contest and accidentally pushed Daichi to the floor. Face first. He made them run laps for an hour after.”

“Okay, that was objectively hilarious,” you argue, grinning. “But my point still stands! My methods work.” You poke his arm insistently. “C’mon, Asahi. It’ll be fun. You’ll feel amazing.”

Asahi exhales slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. He already knows he’s lost.

“Yn…” he tries one last time, weakly.

“Nope.” You cut him off cheerfully, clapping your hands together. “We’re doing this, Asahi. Get ready to become the most self-assured man ever.”

Asahi groans, slouching back. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

You beam. “That’s just the self-doubt talking! But don’t worry, we’ll fix that soon.”

And with that, your plan was officially in motion.

After classes, you made a beeline for the stationery store, determination fueling your every step. The moment you stepped inside, you knew exactly what you were looking for. Brightly colored sticky notes in every neon shade imaginable, something impossible to ignore. The paper felt smooth under your fingers as you flipped through the pack, already picturing the messages you’d scribble down for Asahi.

That night, seated at your desk with a pen in hand, you got to work. Each note carried a message of affirmation wrapped in warmth:

‘No one does it better than you, Asahi! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧’

‘Look around and appreciate all the things going right in your life (like me •⩊•)’

‘Slow progress is still progress! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و’

You didn’t stop there. Little doodles framed each note—stars, tiny volleyballs, even a goofy cartoon version of him with his signature bun. And when the time was right, you’d slip them into his bag, tuck them into his textbooks, or press them between the pages of his notebook when he wasn’t looking.

The best part was watching his reaction.

His brows would furrow at first, confusion flickering across his face, before his lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. Sometimes he’d turn to look at you, but you’d always turn away just in time, biting your lip to hold back a laugh.

At first, the notes were pure encouragement. But after a while, you decided to get a little playful.

‘When life gives you lemons, SQUEEZE THEM INTO THE EYES OF YOUR ENEMIES!!’

‘Together, we’re an 11/10, but let’s be real, you’re carrying the extra point ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ’

‘You didn’t wake up to be a little bitch. Go slay, babe!’

Asahi would groan, rolling his eyes, but he never threw them away. If anything, he held onto them longer, even smoothing out the corners after they’d been crumpled in his palm. You knew he loved them.

For two weeks, everything was going perfectly. You could feel the change in him—his shoulders weren’t so tense, his voice a little stronger when he spoke. Your little experiment was working.

And then, it happened.

It started like any other day. Another note, another hiding spot. This time it was in his book. But when Asahi opened it in the middle of class, it slipped from the pages, fluttering to the floor.

Your stomach dropped.

The teacher, already mid-stride, noticed the note before Asahi could react. Bending down, he picked it up, adjusting his glasses.

“As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm for written communication, Azumane, there’s no passing notes in my class,” he announced.

You stiffened and Asahi’s entire body went rigid, his hands gripping the edges of his desk.

“If you’re so eager to share, let me read it aloud.”

No. No, no, no.

You barely had time to brace yourself before the words left his mouth.

“You are a sexy little peach and I’d love to take a bite of that juicy booty.”

Silence. Absolute, suffocating silence.

Your face ignited in flames. Asahi looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, his entire soul leaving his body in real time.

Yeah… you were pretty sure you had just emotionally traumatized your boyfriend.

“... And that's what happened,” Asahi muttured, putting down his cup of beer, ears and cheeks tinged pink.

The table exploded with laughter. Tanaka and Nishinoya nearly fell out of their seats, wheezing as they slapped him on the back.

“I almost forgot about that,” Daichi chuckled, shaking his head.

“Remember when we used to call him ‘Sexy Peach’ for a whole month?” Sugawara added, grinning.

Asahi groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please for the love of God, stop.”

“But it worked out in the end,” Nishinoya pointed out, pouring Asahi another drink. “Ever since that happened, you stopped being such a wuss.”

Asahi blinked, his hand stilling around the cup.

He hadn’t thought of it like that before.

For years, he had carried his insecurities, convinced that no matter how much time passed, the self-doubt would always be there, whispering that he wasn’t enough.

But somewhere along the way, those doubts had let up. 

It wasn’t because he had suddenly stopped making mistakes or because he had magically become more confident overnight.

It was because he had learned—slowly, painfully, and with far too much embarrassment—that mistakes weren’t the end of the world. That being laughed at didn’t mean he wasn’t loved. That messing up didn’t mean he wasn’t enough.

Back then, if someone had told him he would someday be able to sit here and retell that story without wanting to disappear, he wouldn’t have believed them.

Yet here he was.

Still standing, moving forward. He was still surrounded by the same friends who had teased him mercilessly, sure, but who had also always been there, cheering him on.

And yn.

God, yn.

She had been horrified after the whole thing. He could still remember the way she had chased after him once class was over, face red and soaked in tears, words tumbling out between hiccups like a glitching robot.

“Asahi—I didn’t mean—hic—I just—hic—I swear I wasn’t—sniff—”

And then she just sobbed and Asahi went into full panic mode.

“Yn—Yn, breathe,” he had blurted out, hands hovering awkwardly. “You’re going to pass out at this rate!”

But she wasn’t listening, only wailing into his chest while he stood there, frantically rubbing circles into her back.

And thus, instead of disappearing off the face of the earth like he had planned, Asahi spent the next hour reassuring his very remorseful girlfriend that no, he wasn’t mad, and yes, he still loved her.

But that wasn’t enough for her.

For the next week, she had dedicated herself to earning his forgiveness—buying him drinks, giving him shoulder massages, literally hand-feeding him snacks like some kind of king.

She had even offered to write herself a note to publicly embarrass herself in return, because apparently, “equal emotional damage” was the only fair form of justice.

(He had gently declined that one.)

Still, the truth was, he hadn't even been mad. 

Humiliated? Absolutely. 

But mad? Never. 

Not when she had always seen something in him he hadn’t seen in himself, when she spent all that time sneaking those ridiculous, sticky notes into his things, determined to make him believe in himself.

He wasn’t the same person he had been in high school.

The insecurities were still there, lingering at the edges, but they no longer dictated his life. He had learned to push past them, to embrace the imperfections, and if he ever stumbled, he would always get back up.

Asahi exhaled, shaking his head with a small, fond smile.

“Yeah,” he admitted. "I guess it did."

The group cheered, clinking glasses, still teasing him mercilessly, but Asahi didn't mind. For once, the warmth in his chest overpowered the embarrassment.

Later that night, as he fished his wallet out of his bag, something fluttered onto the floor.

A sticky note.

His breath hitched as he picked it up, already recognizing the familiar handwriting. Even after all these years, even after getting married, yn still found ways to sneak love into the most unexpected moments.

He unfolded the note, his lips curving as he read:

‘Get home safe, okay?? I need my sexy little peach in one piece!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡’

Asahi groaned, burying his burning face in his hands. But even as he did, he couldn't stop the grin spreading across his lips.

He carefully folded the note and tucked it into his wallet, right next to a tiny stack of others just like it.

God, he loved that woman.