#push and pull

[darklinaforever]

This person explains very well why Zutara is yin and yang in relation to Tui and La.

[barfbagbunny]

[iamthebestswag]

currently on part five of push and pull by @sturnlsstuff and omg

why did i not start reading this shit sooner???

basically i hate fratboy!chris so far (no i don’t, i need him)

he’s insufferable (more like irresistible😏)

andddd i want to jump through the screen and shake sassy!reader to snap her out of it bcs SHES CATCHING FEELINGS AND HES GONNA HURT HURT HER SO BAD, I JUST KNOW IT😠

anyway

i’ll update yall

[inkandanarchy]

PRIVATE DANCER

PART 1, PART 2

Warnings: Explicit language | Strip clubs | physical fights |Sexual content | Jealousy| toxic rivalry|

Summary: When Nero hires a new dancer at Diosa, business starts booming — and so does the trouble. Fierce, sexy, and untouchable, you own the stage and bring in the crowds, but not everyone’s happy about it. Jealousy brews among the other strippers, and when SAMCRO’s President, Jax Teller, sets his eyes on you, the stakes rise higher than ever.

Part One: Smoke and Starlight

Diosa had seen plenty of skin, sweat, and perfume before you ever stepped foot on its hardwood floors, but the first night you hit the pole, the air shifted.

Two weeks later, it wasn’t just the tequila or the scent of vanilla candles that had men stumbling through the door — it was you.

Dark hair swinging like a whip, eyes sharp as broken glass, body moving with a kind of liquid control that made grown men forget their wives’ names. You didn’t sell pussy — you didn’t need to. The stage was your kingdom, the pole your weapon, and every time you slid down, knees bent and lips curled into a dare, bills rained like confetti.

Even Nero noticed. Hell, especially Nero.

He leaned against the bar that Friday night, sipping whiskey, his eyes flicking between the packed floor and the sight of you hanging upside down, muscles flexing as you caught the spotlight.

Alvarez had given him shit about hiring another dancer — “Already got enough girls grinding on poles, homes.” But Nero knew better. You weren’t just another girl. You were heat and danger wrapped up in high heels and glitter.

“Club ain’t been this full since—” Venus started, perched on a stool, sipping something pink with a cherry.

Nero cut her off with a nod toward you. “Since her.”

That’s when Jax Teller walked in.

President. Blond hair messy like he’d just come off a ride, kutte hanging open, cigarette dangling from his fingers. He wasn’t here for pussy — at least not tonight. Diosa was business, a safe place for deals and distractions. But Jax had been running hot all week: club politics, guns, Tara’s ghost always clinging to his ribs. He needed something to take the edge off.

And then he saw you.

Not the bills stuffed in your thong, not the drunk bastard reaching too close. Just you. The way you arched, spun, and stared at the crowd like you owned every last one of them.

“Jesus Christ,” Jax muttered, low, dragging smoke into his lungs.

Nero smirked, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Told you, hermano. She’s the reason this place got fire again.”

Jax didn’t answer right away. His blue eyes tracked you as you dismounted, strutting down the stage with bills fanned in your hands like a queen holding court.

You caught him looking. Oh, you knew that look. You’d seen it a thousand times from men who thought they were predators. But this one was different. His stare wasn’t hungry — it was steady, curious, like he was waiting to see what you’d do next.

So you gave him a show.

Winked. Bent low to scoop a crumpled twenty from the floor, ass swaying like you were born to tease. When you straightened, that smirk tugged at your lips.

Jax’s mouth curved into something dangerous. A half-smile, half-warning.

Game on.

Later, in the dressing room, the air was thick with powder, sweat, and cheap perfume. Some of the other girls side-eyed you while peeling off sequins and counting cash. They didn’t like how the clients followed you around like dogs. Didn’t like that Nero treated you like his golden ticket.

Cherry — red wig, sharp nails, mean streak — slammed her locker. “Ain’t fair, the way you gettin’ all the shine. Some of us been here bustin’ ass for years.”

You snapped your gum and leaned back in the chair, tossing your wad of bills onto the counter. “Maybe if your lazy ass could actually climb the pole without looking like a drunk giraffe, you’d get more tips.”

The room erupted in laughter. Cherry’s face went crimson.

“You bitch.”

“Yeah,” you said, blowing a bubble that popped slow. “But I’m a rich bitch.”

She lunged, but Venus slid between you with a practiced hand. “Ladies, please. Ain’t no need to scrap unless there’s mud or oil involved. Save the claws for the stage.”

You didn’t need saving, though. You’d already risen halfway out of your chair, ready to swing. Fighting wasn’t foreign to you. Strippers didn’t survive long without knowing how to throw a punch.

But Cherry backed off, hissing like a snake, and stormed out.

You caught yourself in the mirror, lips quirking. Let them hate. The more noise they made, the more you knew you were winning.

Back at the bar, Jax was waiting.

You walked past him, hips swaying, a shot of whiskey in hand. His gaze burned against your skin.

“You lookin’ at me like you ain’t never seen tits before,” you drawled, sliding onto the stool beside him.

Jax’s laugh was low, rough, the kind that curled in your belly. “I’ve seen plenty. But not like you.”

You arched a brow. “Smooth. You use that line on all the girls, President?”

He turned his head, met your stare without flinching. “Only the ones worth it.”

You clinked your glass against his beer, sipping slow, enjoying the weight of the tension between you. It wasn’t just sex he was offering — it was a challenge. A test.

And you loved nothing more than winning.

The night dragged on. Customers stumbled out, pockets empty, egos bruised. The music died down, lights dimmed.

You stepped outside to smoke, leaning against the brick wall, sweat cooling on your chest.

A motorcycle rumbled nearby. Jax.

He lit up beside you, silence stretching thick.

“You stir shit up in there,” he said finally, nodding back toward Diosa.

You blew smoke toward the stars. “What can I say? I like attention.”

He smirked. “You’re gonna get plenty. Question is, can you handle it?”

You turned, locking eyes with him, heat sparking like a match head. “Try me.”

[m1ster1e]

Almost Something

707 x reader jaehee's route/cafe au, angst, push and pull, slow burn, fem reader + she/her pronouns 707 is distant but we still love him

[2]

After helping Jaehee find her freedom, you find yourself stuck with the one RFA member who refuses to get close. What starts as banter and occasional avoidance spirals but falling for someone who thinks love is a weakness may hurt more than you're ready for

The sun hadn't set just yet, it was late afternoon and the light streamed in from the windows like it was trying too hard to look warm, it was bright enough to make your eyes squint and hide at the right angles. Low music plays through the café speakers, something jazzy and wordless, it’s become just background noise now. You sit behind the counter on a stool, feet resting against the bottom rung, a stack of white paper cups beside you. Your fingers work to peel a sticker from the roll of never ending logos, you line it up and then press it into the cup, then to the next, over and over again. Peel, press, peel, press, you’ve done enough of these that you no longer have to do anything but focus on the sounds of Jaehee washing dishes in the back, the noise battling the tiny snaps as the stickers lift from the backing. It’s cozy for you, dropping everything to open a café with your best friend wasn’t exactly where you thought you’d end up, but you’re happy and you’re happy for her too.

The bell rings at the top of the door as it’s swung open, disturbing the quiet of the slow-drift pace before closing.

“Good evening, my sweet bean grinders!” The patron exclaims at a volume too high for its setting.

“We’re closed,” I say, not even looking up from my task. “...And that sounds like some sort of slur, Luciel. Never ever say that in my establishment ever again.”

Luciel approaches the counter. “You say you’re closed every time but you don’t bother to change your hours on the sign! You never mean it.” I hum and place another sticker. “Maybe I mean it this time.”

“Such a cruel, cruel world. I come here to get caffeine and some attention and maybe leave a few tips and this is how I get treated?”

I slid the tip jar over to him, “You can get started on that…anyway, don’t you have actual work to do?”

707 starts drumming on the counter. “I’m multitasking,” He explains, “Hacking while being publicly rejected.”

The sound of the sink running stops, and Jaehee returns to the counter. “Stop antagonizing my barista, Luciel.” She demands. “Antagonize her? Never!” Seven then holds his hands up in a surrender before switching his gaze over to me. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing?”

I snort at his comment. “Now I'm exhausted, what did you want to order anyway?”. He shrugs and then puts his hand in his pocket. “I dunno, you’re the barista, surprise me with something.” He pulls out his wallet and then hands me his card. I become tempted to serve him a cup of iced milk, but I settle on a peppermint tea knowing he might need the wake up if he was really here to work.

This time Jaehee is the one to brew his drink and I start cleaning up dishes as soon as she leaves them behind, wanting to make closing as easy as possible. The order doesn’t take long to complete.

Jaehee sets the paper cup at the counter without saying a word. She doesn’t even break her rhythm, she just places it down and heads straight to the back to finish more work. “You brew like a goddess!” Seven calls out, she doesn’t answer, probably on purpose.

Seven leans against the counter and takes a small sip, “You see, this is the kind of reckless decision making I live for.”

“...Ordering tea?” I raise my brow at him.

“Lingering in the presence of someone who doesn’t want me here and can also spit into my drink without me knowing. Thank you for not poisoning my tea, by the way.” “Hmm, don’t worry, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

He grins at me, “I can’t wait.” I don’t respond and instead start wiping down the counter in front of me. Seven doesn’t seat himself either, he just props his arm and takes a few sips of his tea. For once, he falls quiet for a moment. The sun has set down further into the sky, the orange and purple hues of the clouds dim the lighting in the café but still casts sharp golden lines across the floor and counter. The light hits him just right, it catches in his hair and softens the edges of his face. He doesn’t look chaotic or wired or irritating. Not at that moment. Instead he looks…

Tired.

He looks tired.

He takes another slow sip, then tosses the paper cup in the bin further from the counter. He heads to the door but doesn’t leave without some hesitation. “Oh, um, by the way, you guys should really lock the back door whenever you’re closing up, even if you think it’s going to be fast.”

I blink, “How did you know we didn’t?” He smiles at me, but it’s void of any emotion I can read.

“I know everything, remember? I’m always watching every 2.35 seconds.” He then turns to the door and the bell chimes to signal his leave.

I catch myself staring at the spot where he stood. The roll of stickers sits in my lap, but my hands are still.

I hate it when he does that.

I hate it when he acts like he cares all of a sudden.

I hate that he leaves right after.

I hate that I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.

We’re closed now, and I find myself locking both the front and back doors before helping Jaehee put the chairs up. The rest of the evening is good, Jaehee and I talk about all the people in the café today and how we will need to start hiring help soon.

The sun is completely gone on my way back to my apartment. I’m in my own place now after the last RFA party, having officially left Rika’s place behind. During my route I absent mindedly check the messenger. Seven isn’t logged on, he’s been busy again. My fingers hover over the button to enter the chat room, but I just shove my phone back in my pocket instead.

It’s been a long day, I need to focus on getting home anyway.

The city air is warm and smells like distant rain and a bit like dust too. You pass the same closed flower shop, the same pedestrian crossing sign, the same building with the peeling paint. Everything is familiar and fine and quiet.

By the time you’re home you don’t even bother with the lights, instead you kick off your shoes and toss your phone onto the couch with a tad too much force, it bounces a little when it lands.

You should eat something, or shower, you have syrup sticking to your arms. But instead you find yourself at your desk and open the now worn journal Jaehee got you for “self care”.

You don’t even have to think, you just start writing.

“Today was good. I had fun with Jaehee and it was nice until a customer came in and asked for a hot chocolate and instead of asking what type of milk they wanted I asked if they wanted milk and they said no. So I made it with water. I’m pretty sure it came out awful. Luciel stopped by today too. I honestly didn’t mind, I never do, but I hate how he walks in like he owns the place and I hate how quickly I notice when he leaves. I hate how he looks at everyone like he’s a joke but sometimes he looks at me like I’m not. Honestly, I hate that I really don’t hate him. Not even a little. Not even at all.”

You guys don't understand how excited I am to write a romance with 707 that isn't rushed into 12 days like-

[aprilfoolfrog]

Push And Pull

I love my mama;

I don't like her.

Sometimes along with those feelings,

I carry guilt but then I remember:

she doesn't like me either.

While I keep my feelings contained,

because they are hurtful-

she has told me.

"I don't like the person you became."

It was a warm summer day

and I was smoking pot in her driveway.

I looked at her and nodded.

I no longer give them the reaction they want.

I try not to cave.

Things have been decent with my parents lately.

I've been seeing them more,

as they've been helping me.

Sometimes they'll be mean

towards me or others.

They'll say hurtful or racist things.

I'll correct them delicately.

We don't see eye to eye.

I have morals and they have jesus/trump

(tresus if you would).

I love you mama.

I said in the kitchen.

"I always thought you couldn't stand me."

She replied.

I was unsurprised.

I love you.

I repeated.

"yeah but I loved my mom and didn't like her."

A push and pull.

Damned if I tell her,

damned if I don't.

I love you.

I insisted,

and gave her dog a treat.

Written by AprilFool 🐸

5/7/2026

[h1nanii]

PUSH & PULL

Pairings: Zoro x Black!F!Reader.

Themes: Messy Love, Emotional vulnerability, Unresolved Tension, Pre-Established Relationship, Angst vibe, Push & Pull Dynamic.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,310

Fights with Zoro were never easy.

It wasn’t that you and Zoro didn’t love each other.

You did. Too much. The kind of love that made you loud in the middle of the night and silent in the morning.

But now it was really quiet.

You told yourself you wouldn’t look at him.

Not tonight. Not after what happened earlier on the island—the fight with the bounty hunters, the way he walked ahead of you without looking back, like you weren’t bleeding from a cut that wasn’t your fault.

Now the Sunny rocked in the moonlight, and you sat on the deck with your knees drawn up, hoodie over your silk slip, bonnet still on from when you’d stormed off earlier. The crew was below deck, their laughter distant. You wanted it that way.

You didn’t hear him come up from behind, but you felt him.

Zoro’s presence was like the weight of a blade—heavy, steady, impossible to ignore.

“You’re really gonna ice me out all night?” His voice was low, gravelly, with that slow drag like he’d been drinking.

You didn’t turn around. “Not ice. Just… nothing left to say.”

“Bullshit.”

That made you look at him over your shoulder. He was leaning against the railing, arms crossed, moonlight catching the scar on his eye. The sight made something twist in your chest, but you held your ground.

“We go in circles, Zoro” you said, the words sharp. “Fight, make up, pretend we’re fine. Then you go cold again.”

His jaw ticked. “And yet here you are. Still here.”

“That’s the problem.”

The silence after that was loud. You could hear the water hitting the Sunny’s hull, the creak of the mast. You wanted him to say something that would make it easy to stay angry, but he just stood there, looking at you like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Finally, you pushed yourself up, walking past him toward the hatch. “I’m tired of chasing you.”

You didn’t get far. His hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist—not rough, but firm enough that you stopped.

“W..wait..” his voice cracked hoarsely

“I’m not easy to love” he said, voice quieter now. “You knew that when you got into this.”

You turned, meeting his gaze dead-on, using everything in you to keep composure. “And you think I’m easy? I’m a storm, Zoro. I don’t just show up when it’s calm. I’m here in the ugly parts. But you—” Your voice cracked, the frustration slipping into something softer. “—You disappear. Even when you’re standing right next to me.”

His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go. “I don’t know how to… do this right.”

“Then learn” you whispered.

For a long moment, you just stared at each other. Then he stepped closer, until the heat from his body brushed against yours. His hand came up, rough fingers cupping your jaw, thumb tracing the edge of your mouth.

“Show me” he murmured.

You hated him for saying it like that. Like you were the answer to a question he’d never asked before. You hated how your chest ached and how your knees felt weak. You hated how much you wanted to fold into him and stay there until the rest of the world burned away. It was sickening how bad you didn’t want to let go.

You leaned in until your forehead touched his. Neither of you spoke. His breathing was uneven, and you realized yours was too.

When his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t sweet. It was raw—the kind of kiss that felt like an argument, like an apology, like a promise you weren’t sure either of you could keep. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

By the time you broke apart, both of you were breathing hard. You didn’t say “I love you.” You didn’t have to. It was there—in the way he looked at you like you were the only thing worth finding in this world, and the way you let him hold you even though you knew the cycle would start again.

And when he whispered, “You’re still here”

you didn’t say it out loud,

but in your heart, you answered

You never left.

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve walked back to your cabin, shut the door, and locked it.

Instead, you stood there, chest heaving, his breath ghosting against your lips like he was daring you to step back first.

But Zoro didn’t back down. He never did.

His hand on your jaw slid down to your throat, not choking, just resting there—the warmth of his palm enough to make your skin prickle. His thumb brushed the hollow of your collarbone, slow, deliberate, like he was grounding himself.

“You’re still mad.” he murmured.

“I am.” Your voice came out softer than you meant it to.

“Good.” His mouth ghosted over yours again, not quite kissing you. “Means you care.”

That infuriating smirk tugged at the corner of his lips— the one that always made you want to either slap him or drag him into bed. Maybe both.

“You’re so—” you started, but you never finished, because his mouth finally crashed into yours again.

This kiss wasn’t the same as before.

Before, it was an argument now, it was surrender. His hand left your throat to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you felt just how much he’d missed you in the way he held you—firm, unyielding, like he was afraid you’d dissolve if he loosened his grip.

Your fingers found his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his chest. The sound went straight through you. His other hand slid down, splaying wide at your hip, thumb tracing the curve like he was memorizing it.

You broke for air, your forehead pressed to his, and he stared at you like you were the only thing on this ship worth fighting for.

“This—” you panted, “—doesn’t fix anything.”

“I know.” His voice was rough, almost pained. “But I’m not letting you walk away tonight, imma make it right again.”

The deck was quiet except for the waves and the sound of your breathing. His knuckles brushed the hem of your hoodie, just enough to graze the silk underneath. He didn’t push it further—not yet. Just that slow, teasing drag, watching your reaction like it was the only thing that mattered.

You swallowed hard, your pulse loud in your ears. “You’re dangerous when you’re like this.”

Zoro’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Then stop letting me get this close.”

But neither of you moved.

When his lips found the curve of your neck, you shut your eyes and let the tension pull you under—messy, magnetic, and inevitable, the same way it always was with him. Because you could fight the circle you kept falling into all you wanted, but tonight, you’d chosen to stay inside it.

[quill-and-lilac]

When the Quiet Things Bloom

• a Lee Sangwon fanfiction, Boys ii Planet

• Genre:

⏳Slow-burn, 🏫 High School Romance, 🎢 Push-and-Pull, 😮‍💨Soft Angst, 💕Warm Fluff, 🥀INFP Sangwon

A/N: prompted AI to narrate a story i came up with, and i ended up loving it so much that i had to share it here with my fellow girliepops who are just as obsessed with Sangwon as i am.

Sangwon’s student ID:

Female lead (Y/N) 🤫:

Setting: Seoul’s elite high school, Saebom Academy

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

CHAPTER 1: The Bell Rings Louder When He’s Near

If there was a list of names that made Saebom Academy hum, yours and Lee Sangwon’s would be near the top—his written in clean, understated script, yours with a sharp flick at the end.

You knew of him before you ever knew him.

Sangwon, ace of the school dance team, flawless jawline — somehow the calmest storm you’ve ever seen walk a hallway. He wore his uniform too neatly for someone surrounded by a chaos — Leo’s sudden bursts of laughter, Junil flexing some taekwondo moves, Anxin and Geonwoo freestyling with a basketball, and Kangmin constantly bickering with Junmin over playlists. Junseo, the ever-composed student council president, trying (and often failing) to keep the group in check. Despite the whirlwind of personalities, together, with all their chaos and charm, they were easily the most popular group in our year.

Sangwon would just walk a little behind them, headphones in, an opened book in one hand. Yet, he still managed to steal attention effortlessly. Maybe it was the way he didn’t try.

You? You were no background character either. Popular for your brains and your boldness, you had that kind of confidence people borrowed when their own ran out. You called out teachers and won over their respect, breezed through classes, and walked like the hallways owed you rent.

Naturally, your paths crossed. But nothing about it felt natural.

────୨ৎ────

It started with assigned seats.

He sat one row behind you, diagonally across. And sometimes—rarely—you felt it: his eyes on your shoulder when you answered a question, a soft breath of laughter when you rolled your eyes at a class announcement, his fingers tapping his pencil against the desk when you bit your pen cap.

You turned once. Just once.

And caught him.

Instead of looking away, he blinked slowly. Then tilted his head and offered the barest smile—one that didn’t reach his eyes but still felt sincere.

You didn’t smile back.

But you thought about it for days.

────୨ৎ────

A group project gone wrong.

You were paired with Sangwon, much to the delight of the classroom whisperers.

“I heard they don’t even talk,” someone muttered behind a textbook.

But you did talk.

On the rooftop during lunch, avoiding the noise of the cafeteria, he asked you quietly, “Do you want to do the PowerPoint or the report?”

“PowerPoint,” you said without looking at him. Then, “Unless you suck at writing.”

His lips twitched. “I don’t.”

A pause. Then you both sat in silence, the wind teasing your hair into your face. He didn’t move to help, but you had a feeling if you asked, he would.

────୨ৎ────

He started leaving sticky notes on your notebook when you left it behind during lunch.

You replied by scribbling comebacks in the margins of his practice sheets when he left them unattended in the dance studio.

He said “nice presentation” with no inflection but watched your reaction from the corner of his eye.

You told Leo, loudly, “He’s not even that cool,” just to see if he’d flinch.

He didn’t.

But the next day, he wore his hoodie half-zipped, and you caught yourself looking a second too long.

────୨ৎ────

A rumor spread—he was seen talking closely with someone from Class 2-B. You ignored it.

Until you couldn’t.

You texted him: We still good for the project meeting?

He replied: Yeah. Are you okay?

You didn’t answer.

At the library, he slid a coffee your way and waited. Quiet. Unassuming.

“I don’t care who you talk to,” you finally said.

He met your eyes. “You sure?”

And just like that, your walls bristled.

“I’m not the one playing games,” you said, standing.

His voice, low but firm, followed you: “Neither am I.”

────୨ৎ────

It was snowing 🌨️

You were on cleaning duty, wiping windows near the courtyard when you spotted him. Alone. Sitting on the steps, snow gathering in his hair like dust.

You joined him without asking.

“I like the snow,” he said.

You nodded. “It’s quiet. Like you.”

He turned his head to look at you. “You’re not.”

You smiled. “That a complaint?”

He shook his head. “That’s why I notice you.”

You almost answered. But you didn’t.

Instead, you leaned your shoulder against his for a brief second.

He didn’t move away.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Chapter 2