Basking in the warm spring sunlight with boyfriend!Sukuna.
The sun gilds the roofs of the neighboring houses, scattering little sparks of light across the tops of the still-bare trees before its warmth finally reaches you.
Sitting on the porch steps already warmed by the morning, elbow propped on your knee and chin resting in your palm, you let your gaze drift lazily across the yard — over the barely budding greenery and the shallow puddles of melted snow reflecting the sky.
The warmth spills over your face, making your eyes fall half-closed, and your lips curl into a lazy, happy smile you don’t even try to hide.
Something inside your chest aches and warms with quiet happiness.
Beside you, Sukuna has settled in with his legs spread wide, taking up space like he owns the place, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket.
His face is as gloomy as ever.
But right now the sunlight catches in his peach-colored hair, turning it into golden flame. The reddish strands flare and shimmer, like every strand holds a tiny spark inside it.
The light slides over his skin, sharpening the cut of his cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw, gliding along the dark lines of his tattoos before finally reaching his eyes.
Sukuna squints, frowning even harder, almost annoyed, but he doesn’t turn away. As if he’s letting the sun — and you — do whatever you want with him.
You lean closer, closing the small space between you.
Your cheek comes to rest against his solid shoulder.
Sukuna freezes for a second, then his face smooths out. The frown disappears like it was never there. He lowers his gaze to you, and when your eyes meet his, you see how his pupils narrow slightly.
He watches you closely, almost greedily, taking in every little detail: your smile, the way you press against him like a cat looking for warmth and affection, completely certain it will be given here.
You wrap your arms around his elbow, pressing closer, trying to soak up more warmth. A soft, satisfied hum slips out of your throat. You stretch slightly, still tucked against Sukuna, and mumble with your eyes closed:
“Mmm… finally… the sun’s out… it’s so warm…”
Your voice is sleepy and slow.
Sukuna stays silent.
He never really liked unnecessary words anyway.
You feel the arm you’re hugging tense slightly before he slowly pulls it free from your embrace. For a moment you feel cold, a little hurt — but it only lasts a second.
His hand immediately settles on your waist and Sukuna pulls you toward him without effort, like you weigh nothing at all. He lifts you onto his lap sideways, trapping you there like a plush toy he’s oddly protective of.
“Sukuna!” you breathe out with a laugh, kicking your feet in the air and planting your palms against his chest for show, because in reality you’re not even thinking about resisting.
“Sit still,” he grumbles in that low, rumbling voice right above your head.
Sukuna adjusts you until you’re more comfortable, one arm holding you by the waist while the other shifts your legs so you can sit better.
You feel the solid warmth of his chest behind your back, his ribcage rising and falling with each slow breath, the calm, steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
You stop struggling, exhale softly, and relax completely, settling into the perfect place in the curve of his body.
Your place is right here. Pressed against him.
Sukuna lowers his chin onto the top of your head. His arms close around you, pulling you closer. Firm. Secure. You sit there, comfortably tucked against him, watching the sunlight play over your intertwined hands, over his fingers resting on your stomach.
Your thoughts drift slowly and lazily…
“Nice,” Sukuna murmurs quietly, eyes half-closed, and you hum in response.
In return you only feel the faintest brush of his lips against your hair. Goosebumps run down your back, nothing to do with the cold, scattering sparks along your spine. Your smile widens and you place your hands over his, threading your fingers through his.
Sukuna stays silent as his thumb begins slowly, thoughtfully stroking your ring finger. Slow circles, again and again, as if he’s trying something on for size, as if he’s thinking about something he hasn’t quite decided to say out loud yet.
Somewhere in the distance a bird chirps. The sun climbs higher. And the two of you sit there on the porch, while time itself seems to pause, soaked in quiet, overwhelming happiness.
Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!) Divider credit: @ithemes
It had come up during your first sleepover as a couple as you laid side by side in Steve’s bed, “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?” Steve asked as he sat up, a shocked tone to his voice. You covered your face with your hands in embarrassment, “No,” you mumbled from behind the fortress your hands created in front of your face. “I mean to be fair, as far as I’m aware no one has ever been romantically interested in me before you.” you told him as you slowly moved your hands away and heat flooded the tips of your ears.
“Hey, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Let me teach you.” he quickly said, making your breath hitch in your throat, you could tell that he was a little nervous too even though he’d kissed more people than you ever would. You knew that this topic would come up eventually, it was just so nerve-wracking. But you knew that you were ready to finally have your first kiss and you were glad that it would be with Steve. He was the one person you trusted the most on this planet. “Okay.” you quietly told him as your nervousness increased.
He lovingly placed his hand on your face and you leaned into it, “It’s okay. We’ll take it slow, I promise.” he told you, soothing some of your worries but more easily filled your mind. What if you were a bad kisser? What if your breath smelled bad and you didn’t know? “It’s easier than you think, just put your lips on mine and I’ll take it from there. Just follow what I do.” he instructed as he gazed into your eyes, making goosebumps appear on your arms at the thought of kissing him.
You nodded in response then kissed Steve really quick before you pulled away and he had the chance to kiss you back, “Like that?” you asked, hoping you did at least a decent job. But Steve didn’t respond. He simply stared at you in silence as his cheeks quickly turned bright red and his breathing became noticeably heavier. “Are you okay?” you asked as you furrowed your eyebrows.
Steve nodded, “Yeah, I’m okay. You did good, you just made me flustered is all,” he explained, making you smile at the fact that you were able to make him feel like this after he’d been making you feel that way for so long. “Let’s try again, sweetheart.” he murmured as he started to lean his head toward yours, his breathing still heavy.
Tropes: Athlete x Athlete (Power Couple Energy)/ Secret Identity / Hidden Talent / "Teaching the Expert" / Domestic/First Date Fluff/ Ice Skating Date
Summary: Kimi Antonelli thinks he’s pulling the ultimate romantic move by renting out a private ice rink to teach you—a "beginner"—how to skate without the pressure of a crowd. It’s sweet, charming, and totally unnecessary because you’re secretly an Olympic qualifier desperately trying to act like a normal civilian. You play along with his "lessons" to protect his ego, but when a stumble turns into a near-disaster, your muscle memory takes over. Suddenly, the "clumsy beginner" is landing a perfect spin, and Kimi is left questioning reality (and his own coaching skills) on the ice.
Word Count: 2.4k
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The air inside the private rink was crisp, smelling faintly of ozone and Zamboni fumes. But tonight, it just made your stomach do a nervous flip.
Kimi Antonelli stood by the entrance, looking effortlessly stylish in a thick wool coat and a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. He rubbed his gloved hands together, his breath puffing out in small white clouds. This was it. The first official date, and you were currently suffocating under the weight of a very stupid, very well-intentioned lie.
It hadn’t started maliciously. In fact, it started because you were desperate to be anyone other than who you were. To the rest of the world, you were an ice skating prodigy. You were currently the top qualifier for the upcoming Winter Olympics, carrying the weight of a nation’s gold-medal hopes on your back.
Then you met Kimi. He didn't know about the medals or the grueling schedule. To him, you were just a girl he met at a party who had a nice laugh and pretty eyes. You wanted to keep it that way. You wanted to know if he liked you, not the athlete on the Wheaties box.
The "lie" had happened a week ago, during a casual text conversation. You were lying on your couch with an ice pack on your knee, exhausted after a six-hour training block, when his name popped up on your screen. You were talking about holiday plans.
Kimi: I drove past that outdoor rink downtown today. It looks really cool with all the trees lit up.
You: Yeah, it’s really pretty this time of year.
Kimi: Have you been? We should go.
You had hesitated, your thumbs hovering over the screen. The last thing you wanted to do was tell him that the rink was your office, your torture chamber, and your sanctuary all wrapped in one. You didn't want to explain that you couldn't go to a public rink because you’d be recognized, or that skating on chopped-up public ice was a recipe for a twisted ankle.
So, you tried your best to shoot it down fast.
You: Honestly? I haven't gone skating just for fun in years. I’m probably totally out of the loop.
It was technically true. You hadn't skated for fun since you were six.
But judging by your current circumstance, he probably had interpreted that text very differently. He probably read “I haven't done this in years” as “I don't know how to skate, and I'm nervous.”
Kimi: That’s a crime. Everyone needs to skate at Christmas. Are you free on Friday?
Kimi: Don't worry about being rusty. I played a little hockey growing up. I’ll teach you.
You had stared at the phone, a laugh bubbling in your chest. Kimi Antonelli, offering to teach you, an ice princess, how to skate. It was the cutest, most ridiculous thing you’d ever heard. You didn't have the heart to correct him then because it felt rude to shut down his enthusiasm. You figured you’d tell him later.
But "later" never happened. And now, standing at the edge of the rink he had rented out specifically so you wouldn't be embarrassed by your “lack of skill”, you realized it didn't feel harmless anymore…in fact, it felt like a ticking time bomb.
"So," Kimi said, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he gestured to the expanse of white. "Surprise."
You blinked, looking around. The rink was silent—no screaming kids, no hockey practice, no other couples. It was just the two of you.
"Where is everyone?" you asked, clutching your tote bag tighter.
"I rented it out," Kimi said, looking proud of himself. "Two hours. Just us."
Your heart sank. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for you, and it was also a tactical disaster.
"I figured we could use the space," he continued, leaning in conspiratorially. "Plus, I didn't want you to feel self-conscious if you fell. And... well, honestly, I know how the press gets. I didn't want you waking up to news articles micro-analyzing everything just because you were seen with me. I wanted to save you the burden."
He paused, the realization of his own words hitting him. He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Wow. Okay. I realize I sound like a total ego-maniac right now. 'Oh no, the world is obsessed with me.' Please pretend I didn't say that. I just... I want this to be perfect."
A knot of guilt tightened in your stomach. He wasn't doing this to show off; he was genuinely trying to protect you. If you dropped the bomb now, you wouldn’t just be clearing up a misunderstanding. You’d be taking this incredibly thoughtful, romantic gesture and turning it into a punchline at his expense. You couldn't humiliate him like that, not when he looked so earnest.
"That's... that's amazing, Kimi," you managed, forcing a smile.
"Do you need rentals?" he asked, pointing to the counter.
You hesitated. Your custom Edea boots with the gold-plated blades were actually in the trunk of your car, hidden under a blanket. But walking in with professional gear would be an immediate confession. You had to commit.
"Yeah," you lied, forcing a cheerful smile. "I definitely don't own any."
You were officially a liar.
—————————————
Ten minutes later, you were sitting on the bench, watching Kimi lace up his rental skates. He moved with the easy physical confidence of a Formula 1 driver.
He stood up, wobbling only slightly on the hard rubber mats before stepping onto the ice. He wasn't a figure skater, but he had that natural athlete's center of gravity. He skated backward a few feet, rough and scratching the ice, then held his hands out to you.
"Come on," he beckoned, his eyes warm. "Grab my hands. The ice is slippery, but don't worry. I've got you."
You stepped onto the ice. Your body instantly tried to engage—knees bent, weight over the ball of your foot, shoulders aligned. You had to fight your muscle memory actively, stiffening your legs and letting your ankles wobble artificially.
You grabbed his forearms, clinging to him like a lifeline. "Okay," you squeaked. "Okay, I'm up."
Kimi beamed, taking his role as protector very seriously. He began to pull you forward slowly. "See? Not so bad. Just keep your knees bent more. You're too stiff."
"Like this?" You bent your knees, and you didn't want to ruin his moment.
"Yeah, exactly. And look where you want to go, not at your feet," he coached. His voice was soft, a stark contrast to your coach, who usually barked this specific instruction across a freezing arena at 6:00 AM. "If you look down, you fall."
"That makes sense," you murmured.
You stopped worrying about the lie for a moment and just looked at him. He was just... caring. For the first time in years, you weren't the expert everyone was critiquing. You were just a girl holding a boy's hand, and he was genuinely worried about you skinning your knees. It was surprisingly nice to let someone else take care of you.
As his confidence grew, he loosened up. He dropped your hand for a second, picking up speed. He did a quick lap around you, the wind ruffling his hair, before executing a loud, spraying hockey stop right in front of you.
He looked up, breathless and grinning, waiting for your reaction. He looked so proud of himself that your heart actually squeezed in your chest. He put his hand back with yours.
"See?" he beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's all about the edges."
—————————————
Kimi was skating backward, his eyes locked on yours, his smile confident and distracted. He never saw the deep, jagged rut left by a previous skater’s toe-pick.
His left blade hit the gouge and locked instantly. His legs flew out from under him, sending Kimi crashing down, his heavy wool coat hitting the ice with a dull, sickening thud.
But because he was holding your hands, he didn't just fall but also took you with him.
He jerked you forward with violent force. You were pulled off your center of gravity, your dull rental skates clattering against his as you stumbled over his prone form.
"Whoa!" Kimi shouted.
Instinctively, he let go of your hands to break his fall. It was the chivalrous thing to do, but physically, it was the worst possible variable.
You were launched.
The stumble propelled you like a stone from a sling, hurling you toward the rink boards. A true beginner would have flailed, panicked, and braced for impact, likely shattering a wrist or a nose against the unforgiving hard plastic.
But you didn't think. Your instinct took over.
You were falling forward, inches from the disaster. Instead of crashing, your core engaged with a violent, steel-trap snap. You slammed your right blade into the ice, forcing an edge out of the dull rental steel that shouldn't have been physically possible.
You turned a fatal stumble into a low, crouching lunge.
You were hurtling toward the wall at speed, but you punched your left toe-pick into the ice in time, whipping your body around in a blur of kinetic energy.
SCREEEEECH.
You spun out of the momentum—three rapid rotations on one foot, a blur of perfect axis and balance—before checking out of the spin with a sharp, professional snap of your arms.
You came to a dead, silent halt.
You were alive and safe, but you had just outed yourself completely.
You slowly slid into a graceful rest position and turned around.
Absolute, heavy silence, broken only by the low hum of the rink’s generator and the ragged sound of your own breathing.
Kimi was still sitting on the ice. He was propped up on his elbows, legs sprawled. His beanie had slid over his eyes, but he pushed it back with a trembling hand. He wasn't looking at his bruised knees. He was staring at you as if he’d just watched an abomination.
You stood there, the adrenaline crash hitting you, replaced instantly by a wave of hot mortification.
"Are..." Kimi’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," you breathed out, smoothing your coat.
Kimi pointed a gloved finger at you, then at the wall, then back at you.
"You just..." He mimicked a spinning motion with his hand, looking bewildered. "You just Matrixed that wall."
"I..." You scrambled for an excuse. Beginner's luck? Extreme Yoga?
But there is no explaining away a bracket turning into a scratch spin on rental skates.
Kimi scrambled to his feet, ignoring the snow clinging to his coat. He skated over to you. He stopped a few feet away, staring at your battered rental skates as if they were alien technology.
"That wasn't an accident," he said, his voice breathless. He pointed a trembling finger at your feet. "You just did a perfect axle.”
He looked up, searching your face like he was seeing it for the first time. The dim rink lighting cast shadows across his features as the gears in his head finally clicked into place. He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head.
"Kimi—" you started, trying to interrupt the train wreck.
"Who are you?" he asked, genuine panic bleeding into his tone. "Normal people don't do that. Are you a pro or something??”
"It started as a joke!" you said quickly, hands flying up in defense. "And then you were being so sweet, and holding my hand, and I didn't want to make you feel bad!"
"I literally explained to you how to balance on ice five minutes ago," Kimi said, his voice rising an octave. He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking genuinely distressed. "I was 'teaching' you. I was holding your hand so you wouldn't fall. And you... You're a pro. How deep does this go?”
"I qualified for the Olympic team last week," you admitted, wincing as the words hit the air.
Kimi made a strangled, dying noise. He turned around, skated a small, clumsy circle, and buried his face in his hands.
"I am never going to recover from this," came his muffled voice. "I felt so cool. I told you to bend your knees! I told an Olympian to bend her knees!"
"If it makes you feel better," you said, skating closer, smoothly now, and gently prying his hands away from his face. "My coach yells at me about my knees, too."
He peeked through his fingers. His face was flushed bright red, a combination of the biting cold and catastrophic embarrassment. "I looked stupid."
"You didn't look stupid," you said softly. "You looked gallant…until you tripped."
He groaned, finally dropping his hands to his sides. "I nearly killed you, and then you turned into a ninja."
"I have good reflexes," you offered with a sheepish smile.
"No," he shook his head, looking at you with a new, intense kind of awe. "You're just amazing."
———————————————
The power dynamic had shifted entirely, but the tension had evaporated. For the last twenty minutes of the session, the charade was dead.
"Okay, but seriously," Kimi said, watching you skate backward with effortless speed, his eyes filled with envy. "How did you find an edge on these? They're like butter knives."
"Fear is a great motivator," you laughed, spinning around to face him. "Here, give me your hands."
You took his hands. "Shift your weight to your heels and stop fighting the ice."
You spent the rest of the time actually teaching him. He was a quick learner; his driver’s brain understood weight transfer and instinct once you explained the mechanics.
As the overhead lights flickered, signaling the end of the session, you stepped off the ice. "You know," he said as you walked out into the biting cold of the parking lot, snow beginning to drift down around you.
"What?" you asked, wrapping your coat tighter against the wind.
He stopped at the car, opening the passenger door for you. He looked at you, his eyes dancing with a competitive spark that you recognized all too well. It was the look of an athlete who had just lost a round and was already planning the rematch.
"Next date," he declared, "we are going go-karting."
You laughed, pausing as you climbed in. "Why?"
"So I can regain my dignity," he said, dead serious.
"Deal," you grinned.
He leaned in then, the cold air between you vanishing. He kissed you. It was soft, sweet, and lingering under the falling snow. It felt better than any podium finish.
"But just so you know," you whispered against his lips, pulling back just an inch. "I'm a fast learner."
Kimi groaned, resting his forehead against yours, defeated but smiling. "Please, just let me win one."
CW: Implied brief awareness for Jinwoo. Canon divergent what if family fluff AU, implied Suho x Miho Baek cause SL RAGNAROK is teasing about it from what I've seen.
DO NOT PLAGARIZE STEAL REPOST COPY EDIT TRANSLATE AND OR USE FOR AI. Rather, reblog like comment and follow pls n thnx.
Ah, a family picnic beneath the sparkling blossoming tree. The majestic valleys humming with life in this mystical world far from their own.
Your husband and son commanded their respective shadows to create extra security incase any nosy person or magic beast tries stepping in on your little picnic space. The shadows are standing watch, keeping an eye out, letting you be in your own little world.
Curled up on the picnic blanket with your packaged food spread out, you cuddled with your hubby as your son's face gets distracted by the texts a friend of the family sent him in their group chat.
Why wouldn't you and your beloved probe and tease your own child on his quite possible crush?
"For the millionth time, Miho and I are just friends. Her dad just wants her to marry into our family all for his own benefit." Suho pointed out, taking a bite out of some Kimbap.
"Hunter Baek breathing down my neck at joint guild meetings and team ups in wanting to be in-laws with me and your grandpa has gotten on my last nerve." Jinwoo griped while munching on some Mandu.
"Your dad is his idol. The Sung men are just that remarkable." The teasing lilt in your voice had both father and son flush bashfully. "But Suho sweetheart, I see no reason why Miho wouldn't like you in that way. You're incredible."
Your maternal praise makes your teen boy flush and ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I mean, she's my senior by three years. I don't want to ruin what we already have."
"Friendships are just as important, I won't lie. But anyone would be lucky to have you as their special someone, kid." Jinwoo ruffles Suho's hair when those eyes of his turn to you.
"I know I am." That last comment made you turn scarlet as Jinwoo gently grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to meet his smitten gaze, right before a big old smooch.
"Dad, enough showboating. You do enough of that back home." Suho covers his flushed face at his parents' open display of amour.
"Son, if you really wanna impress someone —"
"Dad, you've told me this story since I was born. I know every detail." Suho's exasperated state didn't deter from the sweet smile he gave you, his parents. "You crossed literal worlds, swept Mom off her feet, and practically wedded her on the spot."
Jinwoo gave you a wolfish grin as he pecked your cheek. "Very exaggerated but ... not entirely wrong."
"Her soul called out to yours, your awareness went mad, and one thing led to another. Then out popped me." Suho rattled off on his flexing fingers.
Your fingers intertwine with his, giving his hand a squeeze. "The point is sweetie, is that love comes in the most unexpected ways. One way or another, you'll find your own special someone who's understanding and accepting of all of you."
"If I — when I do have my own special someone, you'll be the first two to know." Suho reiterates once seeing your pouting stubborn face. "OK?"
Jinwoo feeds you a dumpling draped in seaweed rice, stuffing your cute mouth, answering his son whose trying not to laugh at the sight of your cheeks puffed out as you try to eat. "You got it, kid."
The dumplings and even the seaweed rice rolls you all prepared together beforehand came out well, all things considered, as you swallowed. "You're lucky I love you, bastard." You grumbled at him with no heat in your words.
Jinwoo's tongue dove in your mouth, licking and sucking, pulling you snug against him, caging you in his grasp, smugness coming off in droves. "Love you too, baby."
Suho burns red and looks elsewher while his folks make out like fools. So texting Miho on the side helped settle his nerves somewhat. "Ah, this will never end."
"We love you too, honey." You and Jinwoo grin giving your exasperated son cheek kisses on either side of him. Suho deflates from sheer embarrassment overload.
In the end, having Suho's head resting on your lap while you brush his hair while your back rested against Jinwoo's front, you all watched magic sprites and balls of light appear and shimmering in the sky above, mesmerizing you all.
Your head tilts back for Jinwoo to kiss you fully, him embracing you, as you relish being with your boys.
I have an idea for p1h if you will I just love your work🫶okay so the boys are busy with writing lyrics or something but reader keeps distracting them sensually and they pretend to ignore it but eventually forget what they were doing and just say screw it😏
pairing: P1Harmony x reader
warnings: fluff, some slight suggestiveness, cute couple shit
disclaimer: not my pic!
Keeho
The sound of keys clacking filled the room, rhythmic and determined. Keeho sat hunched over his laptop, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. The screen glowed with color-coded boxes—next month’s schedule, meticulously plotted down to the hour. Every member had their practice blocks, interviews, recording sessions, and, somehow, slivers of rest squeezed in between.
You padded up behind him quietly, curiosity winning over patience. Leaning just enough to peek at the screen, you tilted your head.
“Hmm… I see time for Theo, Jiung, Intak…” you murmured, your voice lilting with teasing warmth. “But where’s my time, Keeho?”
He chuckled, not even turning around yet. “You?” His tone carried that familiar, amused edge. “You’re not on the schedule because you’re a constant. I always make time for you.”
You grinned, heart fluttering a little at the easy confidence in his words. “Smooth,” you said, leaning down until your lips brushed close to his ear. “Very smooth.”
Your teeth grazed his earlobe playfully, just enough to make him flinch and laugh. He turned, eyes wide but smiling.
“Yah—don’t start,” he warned lightly, nudging you away. “I really have to finish this tonight. Jiung’s free day depends on it.”
You pouted dramatically, stepping back with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine,” you said, though your arms had other plans. Before he could refocus, you slid them around his shoulders from behind, resting your chin on top of his head.
His shoulders stiffened, then relaxed. You could feel the tension in him—not the bad kind, but the kind that made your smile grow. Slowly, you began tracing soft kisses along the curve of his neck.
“Y/N…” His voice carried a warning, but the laugh that followed weakened it. “You’re really testing me.”
“You said you always make time for me,” you whispered against his skin, the words soft and deliberate. “I’m just cashing it in.”
He exhaled sharply, his fingers frozen mid-air over the keyboard. You could almost hear his thoughts warring with each other—the responsible leader vs. the man who couldn’t resist you when you were like this.
“You need to stop distracting me,” he said, low and careful.
“Then stop being so easy to distract.” You smiled against his neck, pressing one last kiss just below his jaw.
That did it. He turned his head sharply, eyes locking with yours. Whatever resolve he’d had dissolved in that look—warm, tired, and utterly undone by you.
“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath.
Before you could react, his hands found your waist, and in one swift motion, he pulled you closer. The chair creaked as you stumbled slightly, laughing in surprise, and ended up in his lap. The half-written schedule blinked forgotten on the screen as he pulled you into a hungry kiss that spoke louder than any promise he could put into a calendar.
The tension that had filled the room a moment ago melted away, replaced by something far gentler, far more electric. His hand brushed against your curves, and he broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, voice roughened by laughter and affection,
“Guess I found your slot in the schedule.”
You smiled, heart pounding as you nipped at his lower lip and pressing your chest against his.
“About time,” you said.
And for once, Keeho didn’t argue.
Theo
The quiet strumming of strings drifted through the apartment like sunlight on water—gentle, rippling, full of thought. Theo sat cross-legged on the couch, his guitar balanced neatly across his knee, brows slightly knit as he penciled notes onto a page. He was humming under his breath, a low, soothing sound that filled the room with warmth.
You lingered by the doorway, leaning against the frame. Watching him work was a little hypnotic—the way his fingers danced over the fretboard, the way his lips curved around the tune, the way his concentration made everything else fade.
You stepped closer, the wooden floor creaking just enough for him to glance up. Before he could say anything, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“What are you working on?” you asked, smiling against his skin.
“New transitions for the show,” he said, voice warm, still half-lost in his thoughts. “Trying to get the bridge to flow smoother.”
He went back to humming, tapping his foot lightly as he tested a few chords. You sat beside him, chin propped in your hand, just watching. There was something dangerously attractive about him when he was this focused—the tiny furrow between his brows, the quiet confidence in his rhythm.
You tilted your head. “When do you finish?”
He glanced at you, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Why? You got plans?”
You didn’t answer, not with words. You leaned in and brushed your lips against his. What started as a teasing kiss deepened quickly, slow at first, then full of heat. He chuckled into it, the sound vibrating softly against your mouth, before pulling back with a breathy laugh.
“You’re gonna make me mess up my chords,” he murmured.
You smiled. “Good”
He shook his head, trying to focus again, but your fingers were already sliding down his arms, tracing the veins of his hands, the gentle curve of his wrist. His pencil slipped from between his fingers, rolling to the floor unnoticed.
“Theo,” you whispered, close enough that your breath brushed his jaw, “it can wait.”
He tried—really tried—to form a protest. But your touch stole the rhythm right out of him. His shoulders eased, his pulse thrummed in time with yours.
For a moment, he attempted one last flicker of discipline, setting the guitar aside carefully and turning back toward the notebook.
“Just one more measure,” he muttered, almost convincing himself.
You kissed him again before he could reach for the pencil. A softer one this time—lingering, full of quiet insistence. He melted completely, a sound halfway between a moan and a laugh escaping him.
“Fine,” he breathed, the word half a surrender, half a smile. He pushed the notes aside with one hand, the papers fluttering like defeated flags to the floor.
Then he reached for you, pulling you into him with a low, warm laugh that vibrated against your chest. The hum that filled the room now wasn’t from the guitar—it was from the way your names seemed to find harmony in the space between you.
The melody could definitely wait.
Jiung
His suitcase lay open at the foot of the bed, half-filled with neatly folded shirts and carefully rolled pants. Jiung knelt beside it, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to fit everything in just right. You watched from your spot sprawled across the bed, chin resting on your arm, eyes following every move he made.
He glanced up, catching your sulking stare, and the corner of his mouth lifted.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, voice warm with laughter.
You rolled onto your back dramatically, flinging an arm over your eyes. “You can’t expect me to smile while you’re packing to get away from me,” you said, your voice muffled by the pillow.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not getting away from you. I’m going on tour. Big difference.”
“Tomato...Tomato,” you hummed skeptically, peeking at him from under your arm.
He went back to folding, humming softly to himself now. A pair of dark pants went into the suitcase. You sat up, watching his every motion like a cat waiting for a chance to pounce. When he turned to grab his next item, you leaned over and tugged the pants right back out.
Jiung froze, mid-motion. “Y/N…” he said slowly, turning to look at you with amused disbelief.
You shrugged innocently. “What?”
“Put that back,” he said, pointing.
You shook your head, lips curving.
He sighed, but his eyes were already sparkling. “You’re really doing this right now?”
Instead of answering, you reached into the suitcase again and fished out a few more items—his favorite shirt, a couple of boxers. You tossed them lightly onto the floor, pretending to inspect your nails as if nothing happened.
Jiung straightened up, running a hand through his hair as he tried not to laugh. He took a step closer. “If you keep doing that, I’m never going to finish packing.”
“That’s the idea,” you said softly, looking up at him through your lashes.
He bit his lip, the playful frustration in his expression starting to falter into something else—something warmer. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
You smiled. “You knew that when you fell for me.”
Before he could respond, you caught the hem of his shirt and gave it a gentle tug. He stumbled forward, bracing a hand on the bed beside you to steady himself. His laughter brushed against your skin, close and unguarded.
“Y/N…” he started again, but the sound faded into a quiet hum as you pulled him down the rest of the way. His body hovered above yours for a heartbeat—long enough for both of you to forget about the open suitcase, the tour, the clock ticking toward goodbye.
He was still smiling when his lips met yours, laughter melting into the kiss. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—just full of the kind of warmth that made it hard to let go.
When he finally pulled back, breath mingling with yours, he whispered against your mouth, “You’re not making this easy.”
You traced your fingers over his jaw, the faint smile returning to your lips. “You don’t really want easy.”
He laughed quietly, forehead resting against yours. “You might be right.”
The half-packed suitcase sat forgotten on the floor as he kissed you again, softer this time, tasting of warmth and quiet surrender. For now, the world could wait—just a little longer.
Intak
The bass pulsed softly from the speakers, a steady heartbeat filling the empty practice room. Intak moved through the choreography again and again, each motion sharp and deliberate. His breath came fast, his reflection in the mirror focused and tense. When one move didn’t land just right, a frustrated curse slipped through his teeth.
You appeared at the doorway, arms crossed, watching him. “Ah good, you're alive,” you said, voice echoing slightly in the quiet room, “I tried to call you like three times."
He turned, chest rising and falling. Sweat traced along his temple as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he said between breaths. “I didn’t hear it. I’ve been trying to get this sequence right. It’s gotta be perfect.”
You stepped inside, your sneakers squeaking softly against the floor. “It’s already perfect,” you said, leaning against the wall. “You just don’t see it yet.”
He gave a small laugh—half disbelief, half gratitude—and turned back to the mirror. “Not yet,” he murmured, and started the sequence again.
You watched him move, eyes tracing the smooth lines of his shoulders and the flex of his arms. Every motion was power contained by control, rhythm layered over sweat and determination. When he stumbled again, he cursed quietly, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration.
That was your cue. You pushed away from the wall and crossed the room, your steps quiet but deliberate.
“Intak,” you said softly, wrapping your arms around his middle from behind. He froze for a second before relaxing against your touch, his breath still uneven.
“You’re going to burn yourself out,” you murmured, resting your cheek against his back. “You need to breathe. You need to take care of yourself too.”
He let out a small laugh, the sound tired but genuine. “I know, I know,” he said, nodding. “I just—want to nail this before tour starts.”
“And i get that,” you whispered, your hands resting lightly against his stomach. “But you can’t dance if you fall apart first.”
He chuckled again, but you could feel the tension still buzzing under his skin, like a live wire. You tilted your head, watching his reflection in the mirror, and an idea flickered to life.
Your hands began to move gently, tracing the lines of his abdomen and his abs, the rise and fall of his breath. His body went still—shoulders tensing slightly, eyes darting to yours in the mirror.
“Y/N…” he said carefully, voice low. “I’m not done yet.”
You smiled. “I can tell,” you said, your tone warm and teasing. You pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin.
He turned around slowly, meeting your gaze with that familiar mix of amusement and surrender. You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, your thumb lingering a second longer than necessary.
“But right now...you're too frustrated to focus,” you said quietly. “So maybe you should....I don't know...take care of that frustration first”
He looked at you—really looked at you—and the corner of his mouth lifted. “And how would I do that?” he asked and his eyes got dark.
“You're a clever man, you'll find a way” you replied, biting your lip.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The air hung thick between you, the music still playing faintly in the background. Then, with a sigh that sounded like defeat but felt like peace, Intak let his arms slide around you, pulling you closer.
"I guess you're right," he whispered before bending his knees slightly and grasping your thighs. Before you knew what was happening, he lifted you into the air, your legs automatically wrapping around his hips.
You gasped and smiled triumphantly at him. He moved and walked you two toward the studio couch, his grip on your thighs so tight like he never wanted you to leave again.
"I'm warning you," he said before laying you down on the couch and pulling his sweat-soaked tank top over his head. "This is might take a while."
You smiled, your fingers curling at the back of his neck. “Good. I’ll make sure of it.”
And for once, he didn’t argue.
Soul
The room was lit only by the glow of the TV, flickering with old concert footage. Soul sat cross-legged on the couch, notebook balanced on his knee, pen tapping against the page as he replayed a clip for the third time. His eyes flicked back and forth between the screen and his notes, completely absorbed.
You were beside him, half sprawled across the couch cushions, boredom creeping in with every passing minute. The muted sound of cheers and music wasn’t nearly as exciting without being on stage, and watching him scribble ideas wasn’t helping.
“You’ve been watching the same performance for, like, an hour,” you said finally. “Let’s put on a movie or something.”
He didn’t look up. “Can’t. I want to do a new choreo for the bridge section.”
You groaned dramatically and flopped sideways, your head landing on a pillow. “You and your choreos,” you mumbled, poking his side with your foot.
That finally got a reaction—his lips twitched, a small laugh breaking through his focus as he nudged your foot away. “Don’t start.”
You grinned, sensing weakness. “Start what?”
Another poke. This time he giggled, swatting at your leg but never looking up from his notebook. “I’m serious, Y/N, I need to—hey!”
You tickled him again, this time with both feet, laughing as he squirmed and tried to shield himself without losing his notes.
“Y/N!” he said between laughs, eyes crinkling. “Stop it.”
“No,” you said, scooting closer until your shoulder brushed his arm, “Want attention.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, you reached over and snatched the notepad right out of his hands.
“Hey!” he protested, leaning after it.
You held it out of reach and grinned. “Nope. You’ve been staring at that thing for too long. Time for a break.”
He sighed, half amused, half exasperated. “You’re impossible.”
You didn’t answer. Instead, you sat up, looped your arms around his shoulders, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Then another. And another.
“Y/N—” he tried, but laughter interrupted his words as you smothered his face with kisses. “Okay, okay, stop, you’re—”
He didn’t get the sentence out. You pushed him gently, and he fell backward onto the couch, laughing helplessly with you sprawled on top. The notepad tumbled to the floor, forgotten.
You looked down at him, hair falling around your face, and asked between giggles, “So… are you gonna stop now?”
He met your gaze, eyes bright with amusement. “No,” he said simply, though the grin tugging at his lips gave him away. “But…”
You tilted your head. “But?”
He exhaled, still smiling, his hands sliding to rest at your waist. “I’ll take a short break.”
You raised an eyebrow, pretending to think. “Short breaks can turn into long ones.”
He gave a small, quiet laugh—the kind that carried through his chest rather than his throat. “You make a convincing argument.”
Then he shifted, rolling the two of you until he hovered above you, hair falling slightly into his eyes. His smile softened, the playful spark still dancing there.
“Five minutes,” he murmured.
“Ten,” you countered.
“Seven,” he bargained, leaning closer.
You smiled. “Deal.”
And for once, his choreography notebook stayed closed.
Jongseob
The room was quiet except for the low rhythm of a beat playing softly from his laptop. Jongseob sat hunched over his desk, one hand tapping in time while the other scribbled a few lines across his notepad. He mouthed words silently, testing their weight, rhythm, and rhyme, then crossed them out, muttered something under his breath, and started again.
He was so deep in thought that he didn’t hear the door open.
You leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching him with a small smile. “Are you hiding in here?” you asked lightly.
He looked up, startled, pencil still balanced between his lips. His eyes blinked wide for a second before softening with recognition.
“Hiding?” he said, voice muffled around the pencil.
You walked over, grinning, and plucked it neatly from his mouth. “Yep. Hiding from me.” You twirled the pencil in your fingers before tucking it behind your ear with mock seriousness.
He laughed, a low, warm sound that cracked the quiet of the room. “Not hiding,” he said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Just… working on my rap part. Trying to make the flow hit right.”
“Mm.” You tilted your head, pretending to inspect his notebook. “You’ve been here a while.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Guess I lost track of time.”
You slid onto his lap without warning, arms looping loosely around his shoulders. “Then read it to me,” you said, voice soft but insistent. “Let me hear it.”
He blinked, a little caught off guard but smiling anyway. “You sure? It’s still rough.”
“I’ll be kind,” you promised.
He chuckled and began to read, his voice falling into the rhythm he’d been testing moments before—each word shaped carefully, each pause deliberate. But as he spoke, you shifted slightly, resting your head against his shoulder. Your fingers trailed absently along the collar of his shirt, tracing little circles against his skin.
He cleared his throat and kept going, trying to ignore the way your touch made his words stumble. When you pressed a small kiss just below his jaw, his voice faltered completely.
“Are you even listening?” he asked, laughing.
“Mhm,” you said, eyes glinting. “But you’re very distracting, you know that?”
He smirked. “Pretty sure you’re the one doing the distracting.”
You only smiled and kissed the spot where his collarbone met his neck, soft and unhurried. The pencil slipped from behind your ear, landing on the desk with a faint clatter.
He sighed, shaking his head but still smiling. “What do I have to do to get some peace and quiet?” he asked, the tone playful, not scolding.
You leaned back just enough to look at him properly. “Too late for that,” you said simply, your grin turning a little softer, a little more real.
For a heartbeat, he just looked at you—his pen hovering above the notepad, the beat still looping faintly in the background. Then, slowly, he let the notebook slide from his fingers to the floor.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Guess it is.”
He cupped your face gently and closed the distance between you. The kiss came easy—warm, deep, unhurried, full of the kind of peace he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. The half-finished lyrics sat forgotten on the desk beside him, and for once, he didn’t mind losing the rhythm.
Making Grabby Hands At Them - LADS Men x Female Reader Part 1/2
₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Summary: Your boyfriend comes home and finds you napping alone. Upon waking up and seeing him, you make grabby hands towards them. How will they respond?
₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Genre: Pure fluff + romance, a bit suggestive with rafayel's section
₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Characters: Sylus and Rafayel here. Caleb, Xavier and Zayne in part 2
₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Tags: Fluff, cuddles, reader wants affection, lads men x reader, female reader, craving affection, kisses, cute nicknames, grabby hands, reader wants a hug, hugging.
₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Notes: Was craving an adorable fluffy fanfic with all of the LADS men, so decided to do a cuddle headcannon for them. This is part 1, and I will make a part 2 soon since I'm not use to writing for the other three. Enjoy :)
₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Credit: Divider belongs to @s-h-o-w-y
Sylus🐦⬛
🐦⬛ Heaving a sigh, Sylus stepped through the large doors of the Onychinus base, having dealt with some annoying pests, thinking they could best him, as he shrugged off his coat, hanging it in its proper place. There was nothing he wanted more then to see his beloved kitten right now,
🐦⬛Surprisingly, you weren't there to greet him once he arrived, rising an eyebrow at the unexpected change. Had you possibly gone back home? The text he received said you would wait for him, but maybe you changed your mind. Venturing further, he entered into his chambers, a pleasant surprise awaiting him. In his room, lying in his bed was you, sleeping away, tightly wrapped in a blanket while hugging his pillow. His crimson gaze soften at that, pleased that you didn’t leave and also admiring how at peace you looked.
🐦⬛His feet carried him over to the bed, stopping at the corner, soft eyes gazing at you. His hand came closer, ruffling your hair before slowly moving down to caress your cheek. His actions stirred you awake, your sleepy, groggy eyes opening slowly, looking up at the white-haired man, wearing a kind smile. “Having a cat nap, sweetie?” His tone was teasing, carmine eyes full of tenderness, something he only reserved for you.
🐦⬛Slowly, your hands raised up, opening and closing them towards Sylus, earning a head tilt from him, deep chuckle leaving his lips. "I'm afraid I don't understand what that little gesture means, kitten." He said, still watching you do the gesture over and over again. Only response that left your lips was a pleading groan, hands rapidly continuing the same gesture, trying to send the message across.
🐦⬛He soon understood the hand motions, lips turning up into a soft smirk, stepping back to remove his attire, leaving him in only his boxers. Joining you under the covers, your hands wrapped around him, legs tangling with his own, face pressed into his chest muscles—notes of gunpowder and expensive cologne filling your nostrils. Sylus only chuckled at your actions, his own heart melting at you clinging on to him like a koala. "Next time, tell me you want to cuddle, kitten.
🐦⬛"You told me before that actions spoke louder than words." You said, voice mumbled in his chest, warmth spreading through both of your bodies—melting you into him more. Shaking his head with a chuckle, Sylus dropped a kiss to your forehead, his hands drawing you closer by holding your waist, tightening the hug. One of his hands soon traveled to the back of your head, stroking your hair, the simple act speaking volumes of the affection and care they shared. In that moment, words were unnecessary; their closeness said everything.
Rafayel🧜🏻♂️
🧜🏻♂️ "Yeah, yeah, I got it, Thomas. Goodnight." Rafayel groaned, ending the phone call in a huff. He had just come back from an art show, having to deal with some spoiled rich art-enthusiasts—a painful migraine forming in his head. He was just glad to be back in his art studio, away from the annoying fans. Not all of them were annoying, but having to answer millions of questions of his inspirations for his art pieces grew tiring.
🧜🏻♂️Thankfully, the text he got from you, telling him that you were waiting for him at his studio helped his mood tremendously, knowing that his adorable bodyguard was here made his heart soar. "Oh cutie~. I'm back." He sang out, blueish-pink eyes scanning for your presence, only to find nothing, feelings of worry filling his stomach. He called out again, and same result—no answer.
🧜🏻♂️Had she left, floated in his mind, but he knew you and his heart told him you would never do that. His legs carried him through the other rooms of his studio, looking for you, but no luck. Last location was the bathroom, as he knock on the door gently, calling out your name, "Cutie? Are you in there?" Silence was the answer he received, as he slowly pushed the door open, taking a peek inside to make sure.
🧜🏻♂️Lo and behold, there you were, laying in the bathtub covered in bubbles, moonlight from the window illuminating the room. Small candles were lit around the tub—creating a romantic atmosphere. Your head was leaned against the rim of the bathtub, eyes closed—in a deep sleep, unaware that Raf had come home. A soft chuckle left his lips, heading to the bathtub, bending down to his knees, arms crossed and placed on the lip of the bathtub. His hand motioned closer, fingers caressing your cheek, "Cutie, wake up. You're going to become a raisin soon enough."
🧜🏻♂️Your eyes opened softly, slowly taking in the purple-haired man that was smiling at you at the end of the tub, head tilted in his crossed arms. Lifting your arms up, dripping with water and soap, you opened and closed your hands in front of Raf. "Haha, I'm assuming that means you want me to join you. Isn't that right, cutie?" He said, faint blush dusting his cheeks. You didn't say a word, only giving him a shy smile and a nod, continuing the hand motions.
🧜🏻♂️Getting up from his position from the ground, he slowly removed the formal garb he was wearing—suit and pants pooling onto the floor, his godly body bare in front of your eyes—heart fluttering in your chest. He soon stepped into the tub, water flowing out onto the floor, as he positioned himself in between your legs, his body laying on top of you as he placed his head on your chest—arms embracing you. You responded back by wrapping your own hands around him, cradling him closer to you—soapy hands rubbing his violet locks.
🧜🏻♂️The both of you remained silent, the light from the moon caressing your joined bodies—hints of rose and sandalwood filling the air from the scented bath. "I'm sorry." You whispered, hands continuing to rub his hair. He motioned his head up to gaze at you, chin against your chest, confusion in his eyes, "For what?" Leaning forward a bit, you rubbed your forehead against his, "Well, I wanted to surprise you with a romantic relaxing bath and I ended up falling asleep, ruining the moment." A light chuckle left him, as he motioned closer, eyes closing as he drew you into a soft kiss, deepening it as he grabbed the back of your head.
🧜🏻♂️The kiss soon ended, a string of saliva forming between the both of you, "Nothing is ruined, cutie. I'm so happy you have no idea." He whispered, his hand grabbing yours to place against his chest, feeling his beating heart. "See?" The Lemurian mark on his chest begin to glow, symbolizing the everlasting bond between the both of you. He kissed you again—fierce with longing, heavy with everything they’d held back for far too long.
🧜🏻♂️When they finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, he rested his forehead against yours again. He didn’t answer at first—just looked at you with something deep and unspoken in his eyes. Then his hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing along your jaw as if he was afraid you'd vanish. "I missed you," he said quietly, his voice cracking from all of the emotions he felt. You stilled, your breath catching in your throat, and then you leaned in and kissed him again—slow, deep, and full of aching love. This kiss was quieter than the last, but no less intense. It was the kind of kiss that said, I’m here. I never really left.
Steve Rogers x Baker!FemReader
(Protective, gentle Steve × bubbly bakery owner)
(Avengers teasing included. Tony absolutely involved.)
Word Count: ~3.8k
Request : Open 🐯 More Chris Evans fics are here
Steve Rogers did not fall in love easily.
He admired people. Respected them. Protected them. Cared for them.
But falling?
That was rare.
So when he found himself standing in the middle of a tiny, warm bakery at 7:12 in the morning, staring at you like he’d just discovered oxygen for the first time… he knew he was in trouble.
The First Time
It started because of Sam.
“Man, you need a hobby that doesn’t involve punching things,” Sam had said, dragging him down a busy Brooklyn street.
Steve had adjusted the cap pulled low over his face. “I paint.”
“You paint war memories.”
That was unfair. But accurate.
Then Sam stopped in front of a bakery.
The sign read:
Crumbs & Comfort ・・・
Handwritten chalk art. Tiny hearts. A doodle of a croissant. Steve frowned. “You brought me to a—” “Trust me.” The moment he stepped inside, it hit him. Warm sugar. Melted chocolate. Fresh bread. Espresso. Vanilla. It felt… safe. And then he saw you.
Apron dusted in flour. Hair tied up messily. Laughing at something the cashier said. Holding a tray of freshly baked croissants like they were sacred objects.
You weren’t trying to be charming.
You just were.
Steve stood there longer than necessary.
You noticed.
You walked over with a warm smile.
“Good morning! What can I get you?”
Your voice had a softness that didn’t feel forced. Steve cleared his throat. “Uh… coffee.” “Black? Latte? Cappuccino? Matcha? I make a very judgment-free hot chocolate for emotionally exhausted men.” Sam snorted behind him.
Steve blinked. “Black is fine, ma’am.”
You tilted your head.
“Ma’am?”
His ears went pink. Sam lost it. “Oh, he’s from the 40s.” Steve shot him a look. You smiled slowly. “That’s kinda cute.” He almost choked. The Second Time, he came back the next morning.
Alone.
You were filming something on your phone.
“…and this is how you fold croissant dough properly or else it’ll look like a sad tortilla—”
You noticed him and paused recording.
“Oh! It’s Ma’am Guy.”
His entire soul left his body. “My name is Steve.” You grinned. “Hi, Steve.”
He liked the way you said it. Too much. He ordered coffee again. You gave him a free chocolate chip cookie. “For being polite,” you said. He looked genuinely confused. “That’s just basic manners.”
“Exactly.”
That was the moment something shifted.
Opposites
You were loud. Warm. Fast-talking.
He was steady. Careful. Measured.
You filmed baking tutorials and posted reels with trending music.
He still held his phone like it might explode.
You said things like:
“Okay but like imagine a cinnamon roll but emotionally supportive.”
He stared at you like you were speaking another language.
And yet…
He started coming every morning.
Not because of the coffee.
Because of you.
When the Avengers Found Out・・・
It was Natasha who noticed first.
“You smell like vanilla,” she said casually during a meeting. Tony sniffed dramatically. “And espresso. Are you cheating on America with Starbucks?” “It’s a local bakery,” Steve said calmly. Clint leaned back. “Oh no.”
Bruce looked confused. “Oh no what?” Sam smirked. “Oh no because he’s been going there every day.” Tony gasped. “Steven Grant Rogers. Every day? You hate routine changes.” Steve crossed his arms. “I like the coffee.”
“Sure,” Natasha said flatly. “Does the coffee have a name?” Clint added.
Silence. Tony’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. He’s in love.”
“I am not.” “Do you know her name?” Natasha asked gently.
“…Yes.”
“And?”
Steve hesitated.
He liked your name. Saying it felt personal.
Tony slammed his hands on the table. “IT HAS A NAME.”
The First Real Conversation・・・
One afternoon, it rained. Hard.
Business slowed , Steve was the only one inside.
You sat across from him with two mugs of hot chocolate.
“On the house,” you said. “You look like you think too much.”
He blinked. “Is that… bad?”
“No. Just heavy.”
That word landed.
Heavy.
You didn’t look at him like he was Captain America.
You looked at him like he was just… a man.
“Why baking?” he asked.
You smiled softly.
“It’s the only thing that’s always made sense to me. You mess up? You try again. You add sugar. You fix it.”
He absorbed that quietly. “And you?” you asked. “Why do you paint?” He exhaled slowly. “So I don’t forget.” You didn’t push. You just listened. And that was dangerous.
Instagram Incident
One day, you posted a reel.
Caption:
“POV: A 1940s gentleman keeps coming to your bakery and orders black coffee but looks at you like you’re the real dessert.”
You didn’t tag him.
But Sam saw it.
Tony saw it.
Natasha definitely saw it.
Steve did not.
Until Tony shoved a phone in his face.
“That’s you.”
Steve stared at the screen.
“That’s not—”
“It’s you.”
He watched you laugh in the video, flour on your cheek, teasing smile.
His chest tightened.
“You think she likes me?” he asked quietly.
Tony blinked.
Oh.
This wasn’t flirting for him.
This was serious.
“Yeah,” Tony said softer. “She does.”
The Confession (Almost)・・・
One evening, closing time.
You were wiping down the counter. Steve lingered. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said.
You looked up. “Yeah?” He swallowed.
“Would you—”
The door burst open. Tony walked in dramatically. “I just wanted to see the girl who domesticated Captain America.”
You froze. Steve looked like he wanted to disappear.
“Tony,” he warned. You blinked. “Oh my god.”
Tony leaned on the counter. “You must be the reason he smells like cinnamon.”
Your face turned pink. Steve gently but firmly placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “We’re leaving.” “But I haven’t tried the croissants—” “You’re leaving.”
You were laughing. And Steve realized something. He liked that Tony saw you. But he wanted to protect you from being overwhelmed too.
When It Got Real・・・
The bakery got busy.
Like… viral busy.
Your following grew fast.
Collabs. Interviews. Lines outside the door.
Steve noticed you getting tired. You still smiled, but your hands shook sometimes. One night he found you sitting on the kitchen floor after closing. Flour on your knees. Eyes glossy.
“I burnt three batches,” you whispered. “I never burn things.” He knelt in front of you immediately.
“You’re allowed to be tired.”
“I can’t mess up. People expect—” He gently cupped your flour-covered hands. “Listen to me.”
His voice wasn’t loud. But it was firm. “You are not valuable because you’re perfect. You’re valuable because you care.”
You looked at him like he’d just rewired your brain. No one had ever spoken to you like that.
Steady, Certain, Safe, You leaned forward without thinking.
He froze for half a second.
Then he held you.
Careful. Protective. Like you were something precious.
He fell in love right there.
Completely.
The Teasing Gets Worse・・・
“Are you bringing her to the tower?” Clint asked.
“Eventually,” Steve said. Natasha smirked. “He said eventually.” Tony groaned. “He’s planning a future.” Steve ignored them. But he was.
Because when Steve Rogers loves…
He does not do halfway.
The Official Date・・・
He didn’t text you.
He didn’t send flowers.
He showed up at your bakery at 6am.
With a small paper bag.
“I tried baking,” he said.
You blinked. Inside were… slightly uneven chocolate chip cookies. They were not perfect. They were slightly overdone.
You stared at them like they were gold.
“You made these?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You laughed. “Steve.”
He straightened. “I don’t understand Instagram trends. Or half the music you play. And I don’t know how to do… casual.” Your heart pounded. “But I know I respect you. I admire you. And I would like to take you to dinner. Properly.” You smiled slowly.
“Like… old-fashioned properly?”
“I will open the door,” he said seriously.
You stepped closer.
“Okay, Captain.”
He inhaled sharply.
He was done for.
Do They End Up Together?・・・
Yes.
But not in a dramatic movie way. In a quiet way. In a way where, he carries flour home on his jacket. He learns how to steam milk properly.
He holds your phone awkwardly while you film.
He walks you home even though you’re fully capable.
You make him hot chocolate after missions.
You kiss the scar on his shoulder without flinching.
The Avengers adore you. Tony invests in your bakery “for emotional reasons.”
Natasha teaches you self-defense , Sam calls you “Cap’s Sweetheart” just to annoy him. And Steve?
Steve looks at you like you’re something he gets to protect—but also something strong on your own.Because that’s the thing, You aren’t opposite, You’re balance.
Summary: After a hot spring visit that leaves Ren unusually on edge, he emerges flushed and irritable, brushing it off as nothing more than the lingering heat. Unbeknownst to you, the redness has less to do with the hot spring and more to do with relentless teasing from Haru about you while Ren was trapped in the baths with him. When you later find Ren sprawled out and overheated, concern turns into playful teasing, unintentionally deepening the very embarrassment Ren is trying so hard to hide.
(play the song at the bottom while reading!)
Ren Shiranami decided, very firmly, that hot springs were a mistake.
He sat half-submerged in the onsen, shoulders tense, arms crossed tight against his chest as steam curled lazily into the evening air. The water was too hot. The rocks were too slippery. The entire experience was fundamentally hostile to human life.
And worst of all—
“Wow, Ren, you’re awfully quiet today.”
Haru’s voice echoed far too cheerfully across the bath.
Ren clicked his tongue. “Shut up.”
“Oh?” Haru leaned back against the stone edge, completely relaxed, eyes gleaming with unmistakable amusement. “That’s not very polite. I thought hot springs were supposed to help people unwind.”
“They don’t,” Ren snapped. “They just make everything worse.”
Haru hummed thoughtfully. “Funny. You weren’t this grumpy when we were talking about cup noodles.”
Ren sank lower into the water. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Oh, I wasn’t planning to.” Haru’s grin widened. “I was just thinking about how someone froze up earlier when I mentioned her.”
Ren’s shoulders stiffened.
“…Who,” he said flatly.
Haru laughed. “You know. Your favorite person. The one who went to the other side.”
Ren’s ears burned instantly.
“Tch, don’t say it like that,” he muttered. “She’s just—”
“Just what?” Haru leaned closer, voice dropping into a mock whisper. “Just the girl who’s going to see you in a yukata later?”
The water suddenly felt boiling.
Ren turned sharply. “You’re imagining things.”
“Oh? Then why are you turning red?”
“I’m not!”
Haru pointed lazily. “You absolutely are.”
Ren scowled, face heating despite himself. “It’s the hot spring. Obviously.”
“Mmm.” Haru tilted his head. “Funny how it only happened after I mentioned her.”
“Shut up,” Ren hissed, sinking even deeper until the water lapped at his chin. “You’re disgusting.”
Haru laughed, thoroughly pleased. “You know, you could just admit it.”
“There’s nothing to admit.”
“Sure,” Haru said easily. “Then I guess you won’t mind when she comes out and sees you like this.”
Ren shot to his feet. “I’m leaving.”
“Already?” Haru called after him. “Aw, but I was just getting to the good part.”
Ren didn’t respond. He grabbed his towel, heart pounding, cheeks blazing, and fled the bath as quickly as dignity allowed.
· · · · ──────────── ·✶· ──────────── · · · ·
By the time you stepped out from the women’s side of the hot spring, the night air felt blissfully cool against your skin. Your hair was still damp, pinned up haphazardly, and your muscles pleasantly loose from the soak.
That was when you spotted Ren.
He was sprawled out on a tatami mat near the edge of the veranda, yukata loosened at the collar, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes like a man on the brink of collapse.
“…Ugh,” he muttered. “This is the worst.”
You blinked.
Then you walked closer.
“Ren?” you said.
You crouched beside him and immediately noticed it.
His cheeks were red.
Not his usual irritation flush. Not mild embarrassment. But a deep, unmistakable warmth coloring his face, trailing down his neck, even dusting the tips of his ears.
“…Whoa,” you said. “Are you okay?”
Ren stiffened. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I am.”
“You’re really red,” you pressed. “Did the hot springs mess you up?”
He turned his face away. “It’s just hot.”
You leaned closer, squinting. “You don’t have a fever, do you?”
“No.”
“Are you dizzy?”
“No.”
“Sick?”
“No!”
You smiled. “Then why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”
Ren ground his teeth. “Because I soaked too long. End of story.”
You reached out, gently pressing the back of your fingers to his cheek.
He jerked like you’d electrocuted him. “H-hey! Don’t touch me!”
Your hand lingered. He was warm. Very warm.
“…Wow,” you murmured. “You’re really hot.”
His face somehow got redder.
“That’s not—don’t say it like that!”
You laughed softly and reached into the basket beside you, pulling out a hand fan. You began fanning him.
Cool air brushed over his flushed skin.
“…Stop.”
“Why?” you asked. “You said it’s hot.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“And I’m helping,” you said cheerfully.
The fan fluttered steadily, lifting strands of his damp hair, cooling his skin. Ren turned his face away, jaw tight, eyes narrowed in clear frustration yet his shoulders slowly eased despite himself.
The steam drifted softly around you both, the night calm and slow. Ren stayed exactly where he was, cheeks still flushed not from the hot springs anymore, but from everything he stubbornly refused to say.
The fan moved slowly now, the air cool against his overheated skin. He stared at a point just past your shoulder, jaw tight, heart beating far louder than it had any right to.
“…You’re really unfair,” he repeated, quieter this time.
Your fingers accidentally brushed his sleeve again, barely there and his breath hitched despite himself. Ren hated how obvious his body was being. Hated how easily you could undo him just by being close.
“…It’s not the hot springs,” he murmured again, almost involuntarily.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Stop.Say it and you won’t be able to take it back.
“…Forget it,” he muttered, turning his face away.
You didn’t push. Instead, you shifted slightly closer, your legs nearly brushing his shoulder, leaning a bit more. The quiet between you deepened, not awkward, charged with things left unsaid.
That was when—
“Well, well.”
Ren nearly jumped out of his skin.
You both turned at the same time.
Haru stood at the doorway, arms crossed, yukata perfectly in place, a grin already spreading across his face. His gaze flicked between the two of you- your proximity, the fan in your hand, Ren’s still-flushed cheeks and then his smile sharpened.
“…Wow,” Haru said slowly. “I leave for five minutes.”
Ren shot upright. “What do you want?”
“Oh, nothing,” Haru replied lightly. “Just came to pick an order from you while we grab food for dinner.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Didn’t realize I’d walk in on something so… cozy.”
Haru raised both hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Ren. I’m just observing.”
His eyes lingered deliberately on the way Ren hadn’t moved away from you.
“…So,” Haru continued, smirking, “is it still ‘just the heat’?”
Ren’s teeth ground together. “Go away.”
Haru chuckled. “You know, I did say you’d look like this.”
Ren’s heart skipped. “…You didn’t.”
“Oh, I absolutely did.” Haru leaned closer just enough to whisper, “And wow, I underestimated how bad it’d be.”
You glanced between them, confused. “What are you both talking about?”
“Nothing,” Ren said sharply. “He’s lying.”
Haru laughed softly. “Sure I am.”
Haru shrugged, clearly pleased. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. Wouldn’t want to interrupt you two.”
He turned then paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a grin.
“…Try not to pass out, Ren. From the heat.”
And then he was gone.
The silence he left behind was deafening.
Ren dropped back onto the tatami with a groan, covering his face with both hands. “…I’m going to kill him.”.
Ren peeked at you through his fingers, cheeks still burning.
“…He talks too much,” he muttered.
“You know,” you continued, “if you really were sick, you should say something.”
“I’m not sick.”
“What if it’s a fever?”
“It’s not.”
“What if—”
He finally looked at you fully then, blue eyes sharp but flustered, a faint crease between his brows. “…Why do you care so much?”
The question landed softer than expected.
You stilled the fan, just for a moment. “Because you’re terrible at taking care of yourself.”
“Tch.”
“And because,” you added gently, “you’re kind of cute when you’re like this.”
His breath caught.
Just slightly.
The flush spread, unmistakable now, betraying him completely.
“…You’re really annoying,” Ren muttered, turning his face away again. “You know that?”
You smiled and resumed fanning him, slower now, more tender. “Yeah. But you don’t hate it.”
He didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either.
After a moment, he let his head fall back onto the mat again, arm slipping down just enough to reveal his eyes. They stayed half-lidded, watching the fan, watching you.
“…If you tell anyone about this,” he said quietly, “I’ll never forgive you.”
You laughed under your breath. “Deal.”
The steam drifted around you both, warm and quiet, and for once Ren didn’t rush to escape the moment.
