#modernau

You even chose the dress with more care than you wanted to admit. It was black, of course, because black was safe, and effortless, and never tried too hard. The cut was simple, skimming your figure without clinging too much. The neckline was heart shaped, a gentle curve that showed off your cleavage. The waist was cinched just enough to give the dress shape, and when you moved, the skirt shifted lightly around your legs, easy and unbothered. Paired with a thin gold chain at her neck and simple heels, it made you look polished and cute, in the most effortless way.

It was all because this was your first date in a while, and the first one in months that had actually excited you. The guy who you had matched with in the dating app had been funny, sarcastic, and the conversation had flowed effortlessly for days.

The restaurant both of you had decided to meet was one of those places that tried very hard to be both modern and intimate, one of those dimly lit places with too many low light bulbs and exposed brick walls, with soft jazz music barely audible over the hum of conversations.

Around you, couples leaned close to each other in conversations. Someone laughed softly at the next table. A waiter moved gracefully between guests, topping off glasses of wine and water.

It could have been a lovely night. Yet your phone remained void of any messages, stubbornly silent.

Sighing, you unlocked it again and opened up the app, scrolling to the chat you had with him. The last message stared back at you.

Cant wait to finally meet you properly😉

It had been sent three hours ago.

You started typing, wanting to let him know that you were there, that you were waiting.

Hey hey, Im here ☺️

Pursing your lips, you stared at the emoji for a moment before deleting the message all together. You did not want to appear too eager. Instead, you typed:

Hey, are you close?

But you hesitated, before deleting that too. Again, you did not want to appear too eager, or confused, or worse: desperate.

A polite cough pulled your attention away from your phone. A waitress stood beside your table, offering you a careful, sympathetic smile, but she could not hide the polite, pitying look in her eyes.

“Are you ready to order?” She asked gently. “Or would you still like to wait for a few more minutes?”

You looked down at your phone again.

8:08pm.

“No.” You decided, the realisation settling slowly. He was not coming. “I am leaving.”

Grabbing your purse, you walked out of the restaurant with your spine straight and heels steady. You refused to rush. Only once the door was closed behind you and you were outside, the humiliation bloomed properly.

He did not cancel, he did not apologise, he simply… did not show.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and your stomach flipped treacherously as you opened it. But it was not him. 

It was Rowan, your best friend.

Rowan: Hows the date going? All good?? 🤩

Sighing deeply, and hating how your breath trembled, you shot her a reply.

Got stood up 🥲

Her response came instantly.

Rowan What??!?! That fucker Where are you now?  We are at Meadow and Ash, come over

You stared at the street for a moment, contemplating. You could go home, wash your makeup off, change into something comfortable and put on one of your favourite tv shows, pretend you never cared in the first place, pretend that the evening had never mattered. 

Instead you typed:

Im on my way

You were not going to let this night end on a sour note. If the night was already ruined, you might as well salvage a drink from it.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

Meadow and Ash was the total opposite of the restaurant. It was loud enough to drown any thoughts.

The moment you stepped inside, the sound swallowed you whole, loud enough to drown out any thoughts. The air smelled faintly of spilled beer, and perfumes. The place was crowded, and alive with the messy energy of a Friday night, voices overlapping in loud bursts of laughter and conversation. 

You find Rowan easy enough by her bright red hair practically glowing under the bar lights. She waved you over with enthusiasm. And when you reached the table, she greeted you by pulling you in a tight hug.

“I ordered your favorite.” She said, sliding a glass toward you as you sat down. Raymund lounged across from you, already halfway through his drink.

“So-” He said with theatrical curiosity. “What happened to ‘Mr. Perfect Jawline’?”

He hissed loudly as Rowan smacked his arm. You took a sip of your drink.

“I do not care.” You replied, a bit more harshly than intended. “He is dead to me.”

Both demanded details anyway. You told them what happened, your tone a bit too light, trying to convince yourself as though it was a mildly funny inconvenience rather than the first date you were genuinely hopeful about in months.

Rowan hissed in outrage at your behalf. Raymund offered to key his car.

“No one even knows what he drives!” Rowan pointed out.

“That will not stop me!” Raymund said solemnly.

You laughed despite yourself, already feeling lighter.

The easy rhythm of your friends’ company, the drinks, and even the noise helped. You asked about Duncan, Raymund’s best friend, but he would not be able to join you.

“He is not coming tonight.” Raymund shook his head. “He has rugby practice tomorrow morning.”

He had a look on his face, the unmistakable expression of a man holding on to gossip, and only needing the smallest bit of encouragement to share it with you. Rowan noticed it immediately.

“What?” She demanded, clutching his arm. “Tell us!”

He waited a second before talking, a wide smile on his lips.

“Apparently-” Raymund began conspiratorially, glancing between the two of you. “Duncan thinks that one of the managers is definitely sleeping with someone on his team. ”

“Definitely?” You asked wide eyed.

“Oh my gosh!” Rowan giggled, intrigued by the gossip. “You cannot just say that and stop there.”

Raymund lifted his glass, with a small smirk. “Dunk swears it is obvious.”

“Obvious how?” Rowan pressed.

“He says they are trying to be subtle. Professional, all that bullshit.” He took a gulp of his cider before continuing. “But apparently after just one day back in the office he could tell something was off.”

“Off how?” You asked, leaning in.

“Things like looks, the way they talk to each other.” Raymund gestured vaguely. “You know, like they think they are hiding the tension from people, but are failing spectacularly.”

Rowan gasped dramatically. “Ooh, office scandal.”

“Exactly.”

You shook your head, amused. “Or Duncan has watched too many dramas.”

“Also highly possible.” Raymund chuckled. 

Rowan leaned closer across the table, eyes sparkling. “Okay but, manager and team member? That’s just messy.”

Raymund nodded. “Extremely.”

“That is HR paperwork waiting to happen.” You added.

Your conversation drifted after that, dissolving into laughter and half-serious speculation about office scandals. You were already done with your drink when you noticed him. 

Not because he was the loudest man in the bar, but quite the opposite. He sat alone at the far end of the bar, a still point in the chaos of Meadow and Ash, wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled once at the forearms, and a glass of amber liquid sitting before him. His hair was pale blond, neatly kept but not styled, with a few strands having escaped into quiet disorder. A short beard framed a strong jaw that looked permanently set in disapproval.

But what caught your attention most was the expression he wore on his face. He looked like he was profoundly irritated by existence, deeply unimpressed with the world and everyone in it.

He looked older than you, maybe by a decade or so. Not that old really, just settled, entirely uninterested in impressing anyone.

He glanced up once, scanning the bar with sharp blue eyes,  before looking back down. And that was enough for you. 

Just what you needed, a man. Not a boy, who had stood you up. 

Rowan followed your gaze. 

“Oh no…” She said immediately. “Do not."

“Do not what?” You asked, already sliding off the stool. “I am just going to get a drink.”

She leaned closer, squinting at him.

“Oh, he is a tall glass of something.” She admitted. “But no, seriously, that man looks like he sends emails that start with ‘Per my last email’.”

You snorted. “He is exactly what I need right now. A man.” 

“You literally said you wanted to get serious about dating!”

“And look where that got me.” You retorted. 

Rowan sighed, looking at you with care. “So… what’s your plan then?”

“I am going to flirt with that man.” You said calmly, adjusting your dress. “And if he bites, I am going to fuck him.”

Raymund groaned, but you ignored him. 

“Fine…” Rowan sighed. “Just be safe and text me if you need help.”

You nodded and walked toward the bar. He did not even glance at you when you sat in the empty stool beside him. Flagging the bartender for another drink, you studied the man openly. Up close, the scowl was even more impressive. 

“You know…” You began conversationally, crossing your legs. “If you glare at the glass like that any longer, it might actually apologize.”

He did not respond at first, a flicker of confusion passing over him. Then slowly turned his head toward you, his blue eyes were sharp enough to cut.

“Are you speaking to me?”

“Do you see anyone else sitting here?” You teased, smiling. 

He looked at you for a long moment, his eyes swept over you assessing, not lingering, calculating, as if trying to figure out if you speaking to him was a joke.

“Why?” 

“Because I wanted to.” You said easily, thanking the bartender for the drink. “And because I think you needed the distraction.”

He turned towards you, then, slowly. “I do not fucking think so.”

“Mhm, sure you do.” You said, sipping your drink. “Your scowl is impressive though.”

“My scowl?” He frowned slightly. Oh, you found him so handsome.

“Yes, I think it… lacks nuance.” You tilted your head to the side. “Have you considered adding a hint of existential dread maybe?”

He blinked once, trying to decide how to reply.

“You have had too much to drink.” He finally said.

“I have had exactly enough to tolerate being stood up.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. You did not mean to say it out loud, but you did. Something shifted in the air, subtle, almost imperceptible.

He finally picked up his glass, and took a slow slip.

“You are loud for someone humiliated.” He said.

Your chin lifted, pride wounded. “I am not humiliated.”

He snorted. “You came over here to fucking prove that.”

You narrowed your eyes. He was observant, annoyingly so.

“And you are sitting alone in a crowded bar...” You retorted. “Radiating hostility like it is a public service.”

“I am not fucking radiating anything.” He growled.

“Oh, you absolutely are! I could feel it from across the room. That is why I came over.”

“To fix me?”

“Well, to entertain myself mostly.” You took another drink, smiling widely at him.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“You are too old to be this reckless.” He said, pointedly looking at you.

A brow lifted elegantly from your face, leaning closer to him. “And I think you are not that old to be this grumpy.”

Silence stretched once again. The tension was no longer purely combative, it tightened and warmed as his eyes roamed over you again, focusing on your cleavage before coming back up to your eyes. 

“Go back to your friends.” He said finally. “You do not want to be talking to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am not whatever it is you are looking for.”

“And what would that be?”

“A distraction.”

His eyes held yours now, steady, unreadable.

“What if I want you to be something more?” You asked breathlessly. 

“Then you are barking up the wrong fucking tree.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.”

The way he looked at you made your pulse stutter. But instead of backing down, you leaned back.

“This is good.” You said softly, making a show of getting comfortable in your seat. “I was worried tonight was going to be boring.”

You offered your hand, introducing yourself. He looked at it as if it was a trap, but then after a moment he took it. His grip was warm and firm, his big hand completely swallowing yours.

“Maekar.”

And that was the moment the night shifts, not because he said his name, or you touched, but when neither of you let go immediately.

He released your hand a heartbeat too late, as though he had meant to let go sooner. You noticed and smiled.

“So… Maekar…” You said lightly, folding your hands on the bar, letting his name roll slowly off your tongue. “Are you always this welcoming, or am I getting special treatment?”

“You are getting tolerated.” He said flatly. 

“I feel honored.” You nodded solemnly in return. 

He took another sip of his drink.

You glanced at the amber liquid. “Whiskey?”

“Yes.”

“You do not even pretend to like fun, do you?”

His eyes slid toward you, unimpressed. “Fun is overrated.” He deadpanned, but you were not sure if he meant that in amusement or not. 

“Spoken like a man who has never had any.”

His jaw tightened slightly, but this time there was the faintest trace of amusement behind it, something controlled rather than irritated.

“And what…” He asked. “Would you consider fun?”

You let your eyes wander his body.

“Teasing you…” You said. “You look like someone who needs to lose control once in a while.”

“And you look like someone who mistakes recklessness for depth.”

That one landed harder than you expected, but you ignored the sting. Tilting your head, you smiled faintly. “You do not know me.”

“No.” He agreed. “But I know patterns.”

“Ah!” You exclaimed. “You are one of those.”

“One of what?”

“Men who think they are immune to being surprised.”

He studied you for a long moment, properly, as if reassessing the situation he had somehow found himself in.

“And you are trying very hard...” He finally said. “To convince yourself you do not care about that man who did not show up.”

The air was taut between you. You forced a careless shrug. “He saved me from an evening of polite disappointment.”

“And now you are here trying to provoke a stranger.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck me.” He shook his head, sounding exasperated. 

“I am trying.” You laughed, licking your lips, your eyes going down to his legs. 

That stumped him for a second, and he huffed. “Well… at least you are honest.”

A bartender approached. “Another round?”

Maekar glanced at you. “Are you driving?”

“No.” You arched a brow. “Are you?”

“No.”

“Great.” You turned to the bartender. “We will have another one of each.”

The bartender nodded and moved away.

“You do not hesitate.” Maekar observed.

“About what?”

“Anything.”

You smiled faintly. “I hesitated for forty-something minutes in a restaurant staring at my phone. I think I am done hesitating for tonight.”

Something about that made him go quiet, thoughtful.

“You should not be here.” He said again, softer this time.

“And yet.”

“And yet.” He echoed.

Your drinks arrived, and you took a long sip without breaking eye contact.

“You keep telling me I’ll regret this…” You mused. “Why?”

“Because I am not a fucking distraction.” He retorted. “And you are treating me like one.”

“Maybe I just think you are interesting.”

“You do not know anything about me.”

“Well, you are alone in a crowded bar.” You counted on your fingers. ”Drinking expensive whiskey. Scowling like someone personally offended you before dessert.” 

Your hand dropped back to the counter. “That is at least three interesting things.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, almost laughing. “You are persistent, I will give you that.”

“I get that a lot.” You smiled widely, wetting your lips.

“I am older than you.”

“I noticed.”

“And that does not bother you?”

You leaned slightly closer, lowering your voice as your fingers brushed lightly against his arm. “If you were boring, it would.”

That did it, his composure slipping just slightly. His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth for a fraction, then lower for a second, before returning to your eyes.

And you felt it, felt the shift, not just the attraction, but something like curiosity from him. 

“You are playing a dangerous game.” He murmured.

“You are the only one calling it dangerous.” You replied in the same tone.

“That is because you do not see the risks.”

“Then show me.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and charged. Across the room, Rowan and Raymund were pretending not to watch. Maekar noticed them.

“You came here with people.”

“Yes.”

“They will assume things.”

“Oh, they already are.” You looked over your shoulder and winked at Rowan. “But they do not care as long as I am fine.”

He studied you again, as if he was weighing something internal, like he was arguing with himself.

“You will wake up tomorrow…” He said, voice low now. “And decide this was a mistake.”

“You are very sure of that.” You said, your fingers still tracing slow circles on his arm.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I am not charming. I am not easy.” He took a slow breath. “And I do not do things halfway.”

Your breath caught slightly at that. “Maekar… That was not the warning you think it was.”

His fingers tightened around his glass, his eyes hovering over your lips once more. He said your name for the first time since the introduction, as a warning. It landed heavy on you, heat blooming low in your stomach.

“You are upset.” He continued. “You are impulsive. That’s a fucking volatile combination.”

“And you are controlled to the point of suffocation.” You replied softly. “That can also be a volatile combination.”

The music in the bar swelled, laughter erupted loudly somewhere behind you. The world continued, completely unaware that something precarious was forming between two people at the edge of it.

You finished your drink in one smooth motion, and set the glass down.

“Walk me out.” You said, sliding off the stool, close enough now that your knee brushes his.

His eyes narrowed. “That is not happening.” Though he did not sound as convincing.

“Walk me out.” You leaned over, your breath warm against his ear, your breasts subtly brushing against his arm. “Please.”

He went very still, and looked at you for a long moment. This was the exit point, he could end it here, should end it, tell you goodnight, send you back to your friends, and return to his controlled solitude. Instead, he stood. He was taller than you expected, broader, the space between you shrinking instantly.

“You are going to regret this,” He grunted, but it no longer sounded like a warning. More like a promise.

“Ask me about it tomorrow morning.” You smiled.

He reached into his pocket, paying for your drinks without even checking the amount, you walked back to Rowan and Raymund’s table.

“Oh my god.” Rowan whispered, as you grabbed your jacket and bag.

“I will call you tomorrow.” You told her goodbye, moving towards Maekar. You walked to the exit together, not touching,  but aware of every inch of space between them.

Outside, the night air was cooler and quieter than the bar. For a moment, you just stood there under the streetlight.

“This…” Maekar said evenly, his eyes roaming over your body. “Is the part where you reconsider.”

You stepped closer instead. 

“No…” You replied, pretending to adjust the lapel of his coat. “This is the part where you stop pretending you do not want to kiss me.”

That was the final crack in his restraint, his hand coming to your waist, firm and decisive, like he was done debating with himself.

“You are impossible.” He muttered, pulling you closer.

“I know.” Your nose brushed against his. “And I think you like it.”

He did not argue. Instead, he closed the small space between you.

When his mouth met yours, there was nothing hesitant about it. The restraint he had held all evening disappeared, shifting into something focused and deliberate. The kiss was firm, controlled, like a man finally allowing himself something he already decided he wanted.

Then you kissed him back.

The careful edge of the kiss unraveled instantly. His hand tightened at your waist, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepened. You exhaled softly against his mouth, not surprised by the intensity of it, only satisfied that you had been right about him all along.

When you part, barely, he searched your face one last time. 

“Last chance.” He said quietly, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“For what?”

“To walk away.”

You smiled. “Fuck no.”

And this time, he did not hesitate and kissed you again.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

His apartment door clicks shut behind you with a heavy, decisive sound. Maekar pressed the lights on, dim light filling the place. 

For a moment you simply stood there. Everything about his apartment was neat, deliberate, dark furniture, clean lines, not a thing out of place. There was a wall filled with pictures, at the far end, every frame perfectly aligned. It suited him, you thought. 

You turned slightly, wanting to say something clever. But you never got the chance.

Maekar reached for you like a man whose restraint finally snapped. His hand found the back of your neck, drawing you forward. The kiss was everything but tentative.

It was heat and hunger all at once. His mouth moved against yours with a certainty that stole the air from your lungs. You answered him just as fiercely, fingers sliding up into his hair, tugging hard. You pressed closer, feeling the solid line of his body through the layers between you.  He groaned in your mouth, tasting of whiskey and something darker, and pulling you firmly against him. 

For a moment you remained there in the hallway, kissing like strangers who suddenly forgot the world exists.

“Bedroom, please…” You mewled against his lips and that was all the permission he needed.

His impatient hands removed the coat from your shoulders and you shrugged out of it, giggling softly, as you did the same to him, both falling somewhere behind you.

He pushed you through the short hallway and past the living room. His hands were warm on your back, yours wandering over his broad shoulders and down the length of his strong arms. Each touch sent a pulse between your legs.

The bedroom door nudged open beneath his hand. Inside, the light was softer still. Moonlight spilled through the half-drawn curtains. But you barely noticed.

Your kisses deepened as you stumbled inside his bedroom. 

“Fuck…” His lips found your neck, biting gently between the sensitive points that made you gasp, sending shivers racing down your spine. The zipper came undone under his deft fingers, the fabric of your dress shifting and slipping away beneath his restless hands, pooling at your feet. Each small barrier felt like an unnecessary delay, heightening the ache building low in your belly.

He paused only once, his eyes almost black and looking at the lace of your bra. He hooked his finger into the elastic band.

“Take it off…” 

You smiled, taking the bra off and throwing it somewhere in the room. You did not let him look at you long, closing the distance again, your hands tugging at his shirt to feel the heat of his skin.

The rest of the clothes found the floor in careless stages as you moved toward the bed, and you pressed against him, skin to skin, the friction igniting sparks wherever you touched. 

His hands roamed your body as you tumbled onto the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin. Maekar's eyes were darkened with hunger. They locked onto your breasts, full and exposed now that he stood above you. He cupped them immediately. His thumbs circled your nipples until they hardened under his touch, a moan escaping your throat, your thighs pressing together, seeking any sort of friction. 

“God, these…” He groaned, leaning down to take one peak into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make you arch into him.

You gasped his name, fingers threading through his pale hair, pulling him closer. He teased your nipple with his tongue, before sucking it again. He moved on to your other breast, but not without roughly squeezing it.

But he pulled back slightly, releasing your nipple with a wet pop, his expression serious amid the fire in his gaze.

“Before we go any further…” He said, kneading your breast possessively, relishing at your moan. “I need a safe word.”

You looked at him through hooded eyes, smiling a little. “Cake.”

Maekar chuckled, shaking his head before giving your nipple another suck. “Well then, let’s see if you are just as sweet.”

His head dipped lower, placing kisses between your breasts and along your stomach, until he reached lower and parted your thighs. Fingers hooked on the lace of your panties, he pulled them down roughly before settling between your legs.

His fingers parted your slick folds, his breath hot on you before his tongue dragged a slow deliberate part against you. A loud moan escaped your lips as Maekar lapped at your entrance with hungry strokes. He sucked your clit into his mouth, firm and unyielding. His tongue flicked against it in tight, relentless circles while his hand gripped your hips to hold you steady. With the other, he stroked your folds before plunging two fingers inside you, curling them against that sensitive spot that made you see stars. He pumped them steadily, tongue pressing against your clit in tight circles, watching your face as your hips bucked in pleasure.

“That’s it…” He growled, moving his other hand from your hip to your breast, squeezing it and pinching the nipple until you moaned his name.

Pleasure coiled tight in your core, his touch relentless, building you higher with every thrust of his fingers. You writhed beneath him, your walls clenching on his fingers, moans spilling from your lips as pleasure built sharp and fast, his mouth devouring you like he could not get enough of you. Your climax ripped through you, intense and all-consuming, your body quaking as you clenched around his fingers.

Maekar groaned as he pulled away from you, his beard and lips glistening with your arousal. He removed the last articles of clothing, his cock springing free. Thick and hard, precum leaking from the tip, painfully hard because of you. Your mouth watered at the sight of it, and you reached for him, eager to feel his thick cock and to wrap your lips around it. But he caught your wrist.

“No.” He commanded, voice low and unyielding. “I need to fuck you now.”

The words sent a fresh wave of lust through you, your walls clenching on nothing. You stared at him, pulse racing as he positioned himself between your legs. He brushed his cock over your folds, coating himself.

“Beg for it.” He squeezed your thigh.

“What?” You asked, dazed.

“I said…” He nudged the tip of his cock in a little, chuckling at your frustrated sigh when he retreated. “Beg for it.”

 You did not wish to do so, but the want and need of him won.

“Fuck me…” You begged, your voice breaking with need. “Fuck me Maekar. Make me forget everything.”

His eyes flashed with dark promise, and he leaned over you, bracing on his arm. He thrusted forward, burying himself deep in you in one powerful stroke, moaning loudly. You cried out, your hands clawing at his back as he filled you completely, bottoming out. He did not let you adjust to him, already moving, each drag of his cock along your walls pulling whimpers and moans from your lips.

“Good girl.” He rumbled, pace quickening, his hips snapping harder as your nails raked his back. Pleasure fogged your mind, but you did not wish to submit fully. You pressed your palms against his chest, breaking his rhythm just long enough to push him on his back and sinking down onto his length with a deliberate roll of your hips.

You rolled your hips slowly at first, your hand braced on his chest. His hands found your hips as you started bouncing on him, your moans filling the air.

“Think you can keep up, old man?” You teased, nails digging into his skin just enough to sting. “Do not tire out on me now.”

Maekar’s eyes narrowed and his nose flared. Your words lit him like fire. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly tight, slamming you down harder on his cock, meeting your rhythm with strong thrusts from below. 

“Keep talking.” He warned, voice gravelly, one hand sliding to smack your ass hard. “I will show you exactly what this old man can do.”

Your breathless laugh turned into a moan as he proved it, pounding up into you relentlessly, hitting deep inside you with every move. His hand spanked your ass again.

But his patience ran dry and he flipped you into all fours, your arms and knees sinking into the mattress. His hand fisted your hair, pulling your head back just enough to arch your spine. He delivered another sharp spank to your ass, before thrusting in you again. You let out a scream, the new angle allowing him to go deeper, his hips slamming against your reddened cheeks with each punishing stroke. 

“Feel that?” He growled, spanking you once more, the crack echoing in the room. This is what happens to girls who tease.” 

Another spank, then his pace faltered, groans mixing with your cries as he drove harder, chasing his release while pushing you toward yours. His free hand reached around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in firm circles.

The world around you faded. You could only feel the slap of skin, the burn of his handprints, the thick slide of his cock stretching you. You came first, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave, walls pulsing around him as you sobbed his name. He followed seconds later, burying deep and spilling inside you, his growl primal as he held you there, bodies locked in trembling ecstasy.

You collapsed forward, spent and sated, your body still warm from the intensity of your coupling. Maekar’s weight settled over you before he shifted slightly to brace himself, both of you breathing hard in the quiet that followed.

his weight pressing you down gently as he caught his breath, lips brushing your shoulder in a rare moment of tenderness amid the intensity.

Neither of you said anything. The room was warm, everything else reduced to a distant murmur, and the steady rhythm of your breathing slowly began to match. Somewhere in that quiet, with the tension finally spent and the night catching up to you both, sleep claimed you.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

The morning came quietly. Thin light slipped through the tall windows of the bedroom, stretching across the floor in long silver bars.

You woke up slowly, your mind still caught somewhere between sleep and memory. The sheets were warm, and the room unfamiliar. Then you remembered.

The failed date, the bar, his scowl, his hands on you.

Lips curling faintly, you turned your head. Maekar lay beside you, still sleeping. He looked less severe than the night before, the hard edges of his expression softer. In the dim morning light he looked younger… somehow. Not carefree, you thought he probably has not been carefree in years. But he looked less guarded than he had been at the bar.

Exhaling softly, you pushed yourself upright. This was the part where you left.

That was always the understanding in situations like this, two strangers meet at a bar, spend one reckless night and a clean exit is made before breakfast.

You slipped carefully from beneath the sheets, gathering your scattered clothes quietly, putting them on piece by piece.

Part of you felt oddly reluctant at the process, which was ridiculous. You barely knew Maekar. This one night stand, the whole of last night, was supposed to be spontaneous, impulsive, fueled by a bruised ego and too much stubborn curiosity.

Still, the thought of simply walking out left an unexpected hollow feeling in your chest. You shook your head, trying to ignore it as you made your way to the door.

Behind you, the bed shifted.

“You are leaving.” His voice was rough with sleep.

You turned and saw Maekar, awake now, propped slightly on one elbow, watching you from the bed. The morning light cut across his face, sharpening the lines of it again.

“That was the plan.” You gave him a smile.

Maekar looked at you in silence for a moment, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and stood. Even half-awake, and naked, he carried himself with that same authority you noticed the night before. He crossed the room towards you, your eyes shamelessly looking down at his half-hardened cock.

He grabbed your chin and tilted your face  up. Then he said: “Have dinner with me tonight.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Dinner.” He repeated. “Tonight.”

You wrinkled your nose. “You are joking.”

“I am not.”

“We just met.”

“Yes.”

“We had one night.”

“Yes.”

“You barely tolerated me. And now you want a date?”

Maekar leaned closer, his body brushing yours.

“Yes.”

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “This is not how this works.”

“How does this work?” His eyes held a teasing gleam. “Englighten me.”

“Usually?” You started. “The mysterious stranger disappears into the sunrise and both people pretend they are very cool and emotionally detached about it.”

“Are you?”

You opened your mouth to retort. But had nothing clever to say. When you approached him last night, you had a plan, had decided how the morning would go. You would walk out of his apartment, forget his name, and talk about it later with Rowan. You supposed that it was the easy version.

Now he stood there, calmly dismantling it.

“You think after I had you last night.” His fingers brushed your jaw. “After I had a taste of you, that I would just let you fucking go?”

Heat spread through your cheeks, lust singing in your veins.

“I warned you.” His nose brushed yours. “I do not do things halfway.”

Maekar pressed his lips hard upon yours. His hand went to your hair, fisting it. He pulled you closer as you wrapped your arms around his neck. The kiss deepened instantly, hungry but less desperate than the night before. You shifted closer without thinking, your thigh pressing against his cock. His mouth moved against yours with controlled intensity and slow at first, before becoming more insistent. His other hand slid to your lower back, pulling you firmly against him as your lips parted, the kiss turning breathless and consuming. 

You only pulled back because you had to breathe.

“Dinner…” He repeated, teeth tugging at your lower lip. “Tonight.”

You hummed, part of you suspecting this was a terrible idea. But the other part, the reckless part that had walked up to him in the bar in the first place, was already curious.

“Fine.” You finally said, moving in his tight hold to take your phone from your purse.

Smirking, he took it, saving his phone number and sending himself a message. Your fingers brushed briefly as he handed it back.

“Well…” You said lightly, holding your phone. “This was unexpected.”

Maekar snorted. “You started it.”

“By flirting with a grumpy stranger?”

“Yes.”

You laughed, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, still smiling. “I will see you tonight.”

“I will come pick you up.” Maekar said, kissing you one last time before you left his apartment.

As you walked into the hallways and towards the elevator, you shook your head with a small, incredulous smile. You had fully intended, and expected for this to be just one night.

Instead you now had dinner plans with the sexiest, most stubborn man you had ever met.

And you were very much looking forward to it.

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Genre: Angst, Hurt, Comfort, Romance, Fluff at end

Status: Complete

Word Count: 20k+ Total

Warnings:

• Jealousy

• Insecurity

• Miscommunication

• Emotional neglect (unintentional)

• Reader feeling replaced

• Crying

• Self-doubt

• Relationship conflict

• Angst with comfort

• Happy endings

Summary:

Love isn't always lost through betrayal.

Sometimes it's forgotten date nights, unanswered messages, and watching the person you love slowly give someone else the attention you desperately miss.

As another woman becomes a constant presence in their lives, reader finds themselves quietly stepping back convinced they're overreacting, convinced their jealousy is unreasonable, convinced they're becoming someone difficult to love.

Until everything finally reaches its breaking point.

Three stories about feeling invisible.

Three heartbreaks.

Three apologies.

And three men willing to do whatever it takes to earn their place back beside the person they love.

Featuring:

♡ Law — I Thought You Didn't Need Me Anymore

♡ Zoro — Maybe You Should Be with Her

♡ Luffy — Everyone Thinks They're Dating

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"I Thought You Didn't Need Me Anymore"

Law | Modern AU | Angst/Comfort

The first time Corazon's little sister showed up at the apartment, you didn't think much of it.

"She's having trouble with her medical school applications," Law explained, barely looking up from his laptop. "I told Corazon I'd help her go through them."

"Oh, that's nice," you said, settling onto the couch with your own book. "Want me to make coffee?"

"Already did, thanks," he muttered, already pulling up documents on his second monitor.

That was three weeks ago.

Now, Kira was at the apartment more often than she wasn't. And you didn't mind—really, you didn't. She was bright and earnest, and Law was genuinely good at helping her. He had a way of breaking down complex problems, of making her feel capable even when she was second-guessing herself. It was one of the things you loved about him, actually. That quiet competence. That way he made people feel less alone.

It just... stung, sometimes, that he did it so effortlessly for her.

"Law, I'm freaking out about the essay prompt for Johns Hopkins," Kira announced, bursting through the door after you'd already made dinner. You were plating it when you heard her voice.

Law was already moving toward her, completely forgetting the food cooling on the counter.

"Show me," he said, and just like that, you were invisible.

You didn't eat with them. You cleaned up instead, your movements quiet and efficient. Law wouldn't notice anyway. He was too focused on helping Kira, and you'd learned—through a series of small moments that accumulated into a larger ache—that when Law was focused on something, or someone, the rest of the world simply ceased to exist for him.

It wasn't intentional. That was the thing that made it hurt differently.

You started making excuses not to be there when Kira came over.

"I have that thing," you'd text, even when you didn't. Even when you were sitting in a coffee shop that smelled faintly of cardboard and loneliness, nursing a latte and scrolling through your phone, waiting for Law to text you.

He never did.

"Work called me in on Thursday," you lied, even though Thursday was normally when you two watched terrible reality TV in comfortable silence.

Law responded with "ok" and nothing else.

You couldn't even be mad about it because he wasn't ignoring you—he was just... not thinking about you. There was a difference. Ignorance, at least, implied you'd made an impression enough to be dismissed. This felt like existing in a separate dimension entirely.

Your friends started noticing.

"Where's Law?" Nami asked one Friday night, and you looked away.

"Busy."

"But you guys have movie night on Fridays," Usopp said, frowning.

"He's helping someone with medical school stuff," you said, keeping your voice light. "It's important."

It was important. You knew that. Medical school was life-changing. A bad application cycle could mean years of delay, of disappointment. Kira's future was legitimate and time-sensitive, and Law was the best person to help her.

You were just... what? Asking him to choose between you and actually helping someone who needed him?

That made you needy.

So you stopped asking.

Two months in, Law finally noticed something was wrong.

"You're quiet lately," he said one afternoon. You were both on the couch, technically "spending time together," though he had his laptop open and you were staring at your phone without actually seeing it.

"I'm fine," you said automatically.

"You're not usually this quiet."

You almost laughed. How many times had you tried to get his attention in the past weeks? How many times had you sat across from him, practically vibrating with the need to be seen, only to watch his eyes glaze over as he thought about Kira's essays or her interview prep or whatever crisis was happening in her application cycle?

And now, when you'd finally made yourself small enough to fit into the background, now he noticed?

"Just tired," you said.

He nodded, accepting this, and turned back to his laptop. You felt something in your chest crack a little wider.

The breaking point came on a Tuesday night in the middle of October.

You'd spent the entire day feeling hollow. Work had been mediocre. The weather was grey. You'd been thinking about Law—about how it felt like you were dating a ghost of a person, someone whose body was there but whose mind was always somewhere else.

You let yourself into the apartment and found him at the dining table with Kira, surrounded by medical school pamphlets and rejection letters and acceptance letters. She was crying—happy tears, but tears nonetheless.

"I got in," she was saying. "I got into Hopkins, I got into UCSF, I—I'm going to be a doctor, Law. I'm actually going to be a doctor."

Law was doing that thing he did, standing there with his hands in his pockets, saying something quiet and genuine that somehow made it feel like he'd personally moved mountains for her.

And you stood in the doorway, unseen, and felt like you were disappearing.

"That's incredible," Law said, and his voice was warm in a way you couldn't remember him using with you recently.

Something inside you snapped.

"Can we talk?" you asked, and your voice came out small and strange.

Law looked up, seeming to notice you for the first time since you'd walked in. "Yeah, of course. Kira, we can—"

"Alone," you added.

It took twenty minutes for Kira to leave. You watched from the kitchen as Law walked her to the door. You watched as he congratulated her again, his hand briefly on her shoulder. And then—then he did something that made your heart stop.

He pulled her into a hug. A real one. The kind of hug he used to give you, with both arms wrapped around her, genuine warmth in his touch.

"I'm really proud of you," you heard him say softly.

Kira hugged him back, and you could see her smiling, could see how much his approval meant to her. When they pulled apart, Law reached up and gently patted her head, the gesture so tender and affectionate that you felt something inside you physically break.

He'd never done that to you. Not recently. Not in months.

"Text me and let me know which one you choose, okay?" he said to her, that same gentle tone in his voice. "I want to celebrate with you."

"I will," she said, beaming at him. "Thank you, Law. For everything."

He stood in the doorway, watching her leave with a soft expression on his face. A expression you'd forgotten he was capable of making.

You stood in the kitchen, gripping the counter so hard your knuckles turned white, watching the man you loved show affection to someone else. Watching him be warm and present and there for her in a way he hadn't been for you in months.

When he came back, he was already on the defensive. "What's wrong? Are you mad at Kira? Because she's just stressed and—"

"I'm not mad at her," you said, but your voice was shaking. "I'm mad at you."

Law blinked. In the time you'd been dating, you'd maybe raised your voice at him twice. You were the calm one. The patient one. The one who understood him.

"What did I do?" he asked, genuinely confused.

And that's when something inside you just... shattered.

"What did you—" Your voice broke completely, and suddenly you were crying. Not delicate tears. Real crying. The kind that made your whole body shake. "What did you do? Law, you stopped seeing me. You stopped looking at me. You come home and you don't even notice I'm there. You're thinking about her problems, her essays, her future, and I'm just—I'm just invisible."

"That's not true," he started, reaching for you, but you stumbled backward.

"Don't," you choked out, tears streaming down your face now, your hands shaking. "Don't touch me right now. I can't—I can't handle your logic right now. I need you to actually feel something."

"I do feel—"

"You didn't even notice I stopped coming to movie nights!" you said, your voice cracking and desperate. "You didn't notice I stopped asking you to stay over. I stopped trying to get your attention and you just... you just let me disappear. And the worst part is that I convinced myself it was okay. I convinced myself I was being needy and selfish and that I should just be happy that you're out here helping people, but—"

You broke off, overwhelmed by a fresh wave of tears. Your hands came up to cover your face, and your shoulders shook with the force of your crying.

"I made myself smaller," you whispered into your hands. "I made myself so small because I thought that's what you needed. And you still didn't see me. You still don't see me."

Law was frozen, watching you fall apart in front of him.

"So I figured maybe I was right," you continued, your words coming between sobs. "Maybe you don't need me anymore. Maybe I'm not the person you wanted. Maybe I'm just... maybe I'm just taking up space in your life that someone better could fill."

"Stop," Law said, and his voice was different now. Sharp. Frightened.

"No, I won't stop," you said, looking up at him with tear-streaked cheeks, your eyes red and puffy. "Because I've been quiet for two months, Law. Two months of watching you ignore me, of making excuses for you, of telling myself that I was being unreasonable. But I'm not unreasonable. I'm heartbroken. I'm heartbroken because the person I love chose someone else, and he doesn't even realize he did it."

"That's not true," he said, but his voice was uncertain now.

"Isn't it?" you asked bitterly, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "When was the last time you looked at me the way you look at her? When was the last time you remembered I existed?"

"You matter," he said urgently, crossing the space between you. "Of course you matter. You're the most important—"

"Then why doesn't it feel like it?" you screamed, and the rawness in your voice seemed to shake him. "Why does it feel like you tolerate me? Like I'm something you have but don't actually want? You make me feel so fucking small, Law, and the worst part is I know you don't mean to. But that doesn't make it hurt less."

You sank down onto the couch, completely overwhelmed, your entire body wracked with sobs. You couldn't catch your breath. Every word felt like it was tearing you apart from the inside.

"I thought you needed me," you whispered, barely audible between the crying. "That's what kept me sane at first. I thought maybe this was temporary, that you were just focused on helping her and then things would go back to normal. But they didn't. They just got worse. And I started to think... maybe he doesn't need me anymore. Maybe I was never what he needed in the first place."

Law stood there, completely still, and when you looked up at him through your tears, you saw something break in his expression.

"I didn't know," he said, and his voice was hollow. "I didn't realize."

"That's the problem," you said, fresh tears falling. "You didn't even try to realize. You were too busy to notice your girlfriend was disappearing right in front of you."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Law looked at you like you'd just told him something that fundamentally shattered his understanding of reality. His brain was doing that thing it did when he encountered information that didn't fit—processing, calculating, searching for the logical error. But this time, his face showed something else. Actual fear. Actual horror at what he'd done.

"I need you," he said finally, and it wasn't an apology. It was a realization, desperate and terrified. "I didn't know you felt this way, but I—I need you. I can't—I don't want to lose you."

"I'm already lost," you said quietly, your voice hoarse from crying. "I've been lost for months."

Law wasn't good with feelings. This was something you'd accepted about him early on in your relationship. He could read people, understand them intellectually, but emotional expression didn't come naturally to him. He was more comfortable in the realm of logic and problem-solving.

But what he did that night was try in the most broken, desperate way.

He sat down next to you, and he was crying too—quiet tears that he didn't seem to notice. His hands hovered over you like he didn't know if he was allowed to touch you.

"I'm sorry," he said, and his voice was raw. "I'm so sorry. I didn't—I didn't understand that I was doing that to you. I thought I was just helping. I thought you understood. But I made you feel invisible and that's—that's unforgivable."

"I can't hear this right now," you said, still crying, still broken.

"Then what do you need?" he asked desperately. "Tell me what you need."

You didn't answer. You just sat there, falling apart, and after a moment, he carefully pulled you against him. He didn't try to comfort you with words—he seemed to understand that words would fail him. So he just held you while you cried, his own tears falling into your hair, his body shaking slightly.

"I'm going to fix this," he whispered into the darkness. "I don't know how yet, but I'm going to fix it. I'm not losing you. I can't—I won't lose you."

After that night, he tried.

He stopped helping Kira entirely at first, which you had to sit him down and tell him not to do.

"She's your friend," you said, your voice still hoarse from crying, your eyes still swollen. "And helping her is important. I don't want you to resent me because you stopped being a good person. I just... I need you to remember that I exist too."

"I know," he said, and he looked haunted. Like the realization of what he'd done was eating him alive. "I will. I'm going to be better."

He put his laptop away during dinner. He asked you about your day and actually listened—like your answer mattered more than anything else in the world. He texted you during breaks at work, little stupid things that meant he was thinking about you.

He also started therapy, which surprised you. "I need to understand why I do this," he told you. "Why I get so focused on fixing things that I forget the person I love needs fixing too."

It took longer to rebuild than you expected. Trust was fragile, and you'd spent months convincing yourself that you weren't worth his time. That took more than a few weeks of attention to undo.

But one Friday night, about a month later, Law set up the living room for movie night. He made popcorn. He turned his phone off—actually off, not just on silent. And when you settled against him, his arm came around you immediately, like it always used to.

Halfway through the movie, he spoke quietly into the darkness.

"I'm sorry," he said again. He said it a lot these days. "For making you feel like you didn't matter. For being so focused on solving her problems that I couldn't see you were hurting. For choosing being helpful over being present. For making you feel small."

You turned to look at him. In the glow of the TV, he looked younger somehow. More vulnerable.

"I'm sorry too," you whispered. "For not just telling you sooner. For convincing myself that I was being needy."

"You're not needy," he said, and his voice was firm in that way it got when he was making a diagnosis. "You need what everyone needs—to feel like you matter to the person you're with. That's not needy. That's just... human."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you felt something settle in your chest. Not a complete healing—that would take time—but a beginning. A small seed of trust being replanted.

Later, much later, when you were both half-asleep and the movie had ended, Law murmured against your hair:

"You matter. I need you. I'm going to keep reminding you until you actually believe it."

And maybe it was because you were on the edge of sleep, or maybe it was because he sounded so genuinely determined about it, but you found yourself smiling.

He really did try. In his own awkward, logical, emotion-averse way, he really, truly tried.

And maybe that was enough.

────୨ৎ────

"Maybe You Should Be With Her"

Zoro | Modern AU | Angst/Comfort

Zoro was the densest person you'd ever met.

This wasn't a new realization—you'd known this about him from the beginning. He once walked into a glass door at the gym. He texted you "hey where are you" while you were literally sitting next to him. He got lost in a building with only three rooms.

But until Kuina showed up at his boxing gym, his density had never really hurt you.

"This is Kuina," Zoro said one evening, introducing you to a tall woman with long dark hair and the kind of intense stare that made you immediately uncomfortable. "She just joined the gym. She's incredible with swords—well, I mean, she does kendo, which is basically swords, and she's really good at it."

You managed a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

"Nice to meet you," you said politely.

"You too," Kuina said, barely glancing at you before turning back to Zoro. "Are we training tonight?"

"Yeah, come on," he said, already moving toward the training area.

You watched him go, a small pit forming in your stomach.

It was fine. It was totally fine. Zoro was allowed to have friends at the gym. It was probably nothing.

Except then it wasn't nothing.

Kuina became a permanent fixture in your relationship with Zoro.

"Kuina and I are sparring on Tuesday," he'd announce.

"I promised to help Kuina practice for a competition," he'd explain on Friday.

"Kuina's having trouble with her stance on a new move, want to come watch?" he'd ask, not seeming to register that you'd already declined versions of this invitation four times.

You started keeping track, which was probably unhealthy, but you couldn't help it. You found yourself counting how many times he mentioned her name. How many times he lit up when he talked about training with her. How he'd explain technical details about her swordplay with more passion than he'd ever shown when talking about your job.

Your friends noticed before he did.

"So... Zoro's found his soulmate, huh?" Luffy joked during a group dinner, watching Zoro check his phone for the third time.

"What?" Zoro looked up, genuinely confused.

"You keep texting Kuina," Luffy said. "During our dinner."

"She's working on a combo and wanted to know if I had any tips," Zoro said, as if this explained everything.

You said nothing. You chewed your food carefully and tried not to think about how Zoro had barely looked at you all night.

After dinner, in the car on the way home, you couldn't help yourself.

"You could've just met her tomorrow," you said quietly.

"What?" Zoro glanced over at you.

"To give her tips. You're seeing her tomorrow anyway, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but she asked tonight, so I—" He paused, genuinely not understanding why this was a problem. "What's wrong?"

What's wrong? Everything. Everything was wrong.

"Nothing," you said, turning to stare out the window. "Never mind."

By week six, you'd stopped going to the gym with him altogether.

You used to love the gym. You'd started going just to be near him, to watch his focused intensity, the way his body moved through space with such deliberate precision. It was one of your favorite things, just being in that space, existing alongside him while he did something he loved.

But now the gym meant watching him with Kuina.

And Kuina—the universe's most beautiful, talented, perfect swordswoman—always seemed to need something from him. Form corrections. Technique advice. Someone to spar with when no one else was available (even though there were always other people available).

And Zoro, in his complete and utter density, never seemed to notice how she looked at him.

She looked at him like he hung the moon.

You recognized the look because you used to wear it yourself.

"Why don't you come anymore?" he asked one night, completely oblivious to the fact that you'd been withdrawing for weeks.

"I'm just busy lately," you said, which was both true and a lie. You were busy avoiding the slow death of your relationship in real time.

"Kuina asked about you the other day," he said, and you almost laughed. "She said you seemed cool and she wanted to get to know you better."

Of course she did. That's what she'd said to Zoro, probably. Let's all be friends, let's be a trio, and in time you won't even remember you were ever dating him because we'll just be a unit, and when he chooses me, it'll feel inevitable.

You didn't say any of this. Instead, you made an excuse about a work deadline.

The breaking point came on a Saturday afternoon.

You'd been trying all week to get Zoro's attention. You'd planned a date—restaurant reservation, the works. You'd even asked him specifically if Saturday was free.

"Yeah, Saturday's free," he'd said. "I'll let you know if anything changes."

Something changed.

At 5 PM, an hour before your reservation, he texted: "Kuina's competition moved up. It's tonight. I have to go watch. I'm so sorry. Can we reschedule?"

You stared at the text for a long moment.

Rescheduled. Like it was nothing. Like you weren't sitting in a dress that suddenly felt too tight, like you hadn't been looking forward to this for two weeks, like this was the fifth time in the past month that he'd canceled plans with you for her.

You called him.

"Hello?" he picked up immediately.

"Zoro, what are you doing?"

"I'm heading to the competition. Kuina's been training for weeks and—"

"We had plans," you said quietly.

"I know, and I'm sorry, but—"

"Do you know how many times you've canceled on me for her?"

There was a pause. You could practically hear him thinking, trying to compile a list, failing because he'd genuinely lost count.

"It's not like that," he said finally.

"What's it like then?" Your voice was rising now, and you couldn't stop it. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you'd rather spend time with her than with me. So maybe you should be with her."

The words hung in the air between you.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, and his confusion was so genuine, so dense, that you wanted to scream.

"I'm talking about the fact that you're in love with her, you idiot! Or if you're not, you're about to be, because you spend every waking moment with her, and you light up when you see her, and—"

"I'm not in love with Kuina," he interrupted, and he sounded genuinely shocked. "She's just... she's fun to train with."

"She's not fun to train with, Zoro, she's—" You took a breath, trying to find the words. "She's a woman who clearly has feelings for you, and you're so dense that you don't even notice. And I've been watching you ignore me for weeks while you spend all your time with her, and I just... I can't do this anymore."

Silence.

"You think I have feelings for Kuina?" he asked slowly.

"I think you should go to her competition," you said coldly. "I think you probably should go to a lot of things with her. And I'm going to take my dress off and eat ice cream instead."

You hung up before he could respond.

He came to your apartment at 10 PM, still wearing his gym clothes. He looked confused, which was his default state, but also genuinely upset, which was rare.

"I didn't go to the competition," he said immediately.

You didn't answer. You were sitting on the couch with exactly the amount of ice cream you'd threatened, still in your dress because you'd been too angry to change.

"I called Kuina and told her I couldn't make it," he continued. "She understood. She said something about being glad I had someone I cared about more."

"What?" You looked up at him.

Zoro sat down on the couch, and he looked genuinely miserable in a way you'd rarely seen. "I'm dense," he said. "I know I'm dense. But I'm not stupid. And I'm not... I don't have feelings for Kuina."

"You spend all your time with her," you said, but your voice was softer now.

"Because training with her makes me better," he said. "And I thought you understood that. I thought... I didn't realize I was making you feel bad. If you didn't want me training with her, you could've just said something. You didn't have to withdraw like this."

"I tried," you said quietly. "I asked you to come home. I asked you to spend time with me. I scheduled a date. And you canceled. For her."

"Because I'm an idiot who doesn't understand that people need attention," he said, and there was real frustration in his voice. "I didn't know. I was just... training. Hanging out with someone who gets it, you know? And I wasn't thinking about how you felt because I'm the worst at that."

He put his head in his hands.

"I don't have feelings for Kuina," he repeated. "I don't know how I could. You're the one I..." He paused, searching for words, which seemed to be difficult for him. "You're the one I want to be with. You're the one I think about when I'm not training. You're the one I come home to."

You felt something crack open inside your chest.

"Then why didn't you show me that?" you whispered.

"Because I'm dense," he said again, and this time he sounded almost angry at himself. "Because I got comfortable thinking you'd always be there, and I stopped trying. And I didn't realize until you said it that I was losing you."

Zoro wasn't good at apologies. He was even worse at expressing feelings.

But he tried.

He started by cutting back on training with Kuina—not abandoning her, but finding a balance. He made sure to spend specific time with you, and at first, you had to remind him, but gradually it became automatic.

He also did something you didn't expect: he asked you for help.

"I don't want to hurt you again," he said one night. "But I'm bad at reading people. So I'm going to ask you directly when something's wrong, and you have to tell me. Even if you think I should already know. Because I probably don't."

It was painfully honest, and very Zoro.

There was also the night he came home early from training with Kuina, and when you asked why, he said: "Because I realized I'd been coming home late every day for the past two months, and that's not fair to you. So, I told her I'd only train with her on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the rest is free time for us."

You'd actually cried at that. It was such a small thing, but it meant he'd listened. That he understood.

And a week later, when you went to the gym with him and Kuina for the first time in months, he introduced you with clear pride, with an arm around your waist, with a smile that made it obvious to anyone with eyes that you were his person.

Later, in the car ride home, you asked: "Did you really not know that Kuina was interested in you?"

"No," he said honestly. "I thought you were just paranoid. But then when you said it out loud, I realized... yeah, actually, that makes sense. But I don't feel that way about her, and once I knew it was a problem, it was easy to set a boundary."

"It should've been easy even without me saying it," you said, not unkindly.

"I know," he agreed. "I'm going to be better. I'm going to pay attention. To you. I'm not going to take you for granted again."

And maybe that was naive to believe him, but Zoro's density came with a certain reliability. When he made a commitment, he followed through. It just took him a while to realize what he'd committed to in the first place.

You reached over and squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, never taking his eyes off the road.

It wasn't a perfect ending. But it was a real one, and sometimes that was enough.

────୨ৎ────

"Everyone Thinks They're Dating"

Luffy | Modern AU | Angst/Comfort

Luffy was incapable of understanding subtlety.

This was something you'd accepted about him within the first week of dating. He was loud, open, uninhibited. He'd tell you he loved you in the middle of a crowded restaurant. He'd kiss you in front of your parents without a second thought. He was the least subtle human being you'd ever met.

So when he started spending every waking moment with Boa, you should have expected that he wouldn't notice it was a problem.

"Boa's taking me to this new arcade downtown," he announced one Tuesday, already halfway out the door. "She says they have this impossible fighting game, and she wants to see if I can beat it. I'm gonna beat it."

"We were supposed to have dinner," you said quietly.

"Oh, right," he said, slapping his forehead. "Can we reschedule? Boa said the arcade is only open late on Tuesdays and—"

"It's fine," you said, even though it wasn't fine. "Go."

He'd given you a quick kiss on the cheek—that and nothing else—before running out the door.

That was week one.

By week four, Boa was a permanent fixture in both your lives, and Luffy still hadn't noticed that something was fundamentally wrong.

"Boa and I are going rock climbing on Saturday," he'd announce.

"Boa knows this amazing restaurant, want to come?" (But the way he asked made it clear he'd be fine if you didn't.)

"I promised Boa I'd help her move her couch. Should take like four hours."

You'd started declining invitations around week two. Not because you didn't want to spend time with him, but because watching him with Boa was like watching someone slowly erase you from the picture.

Boa was everything you weren't. She was adventurous where you were cautious. She was bold where you were quiet. She climbed rocks and went skydiving and did things on a whim. She made Luffy's eyes light up in a way that made your stomach turn.

And the worst part? She wasn't even doing it on purpose. She seemed genuinely oblivious to the fact that she was stealing your boyfriend.

Or maybe she wasn't oblivious. Maybe you were just invisible.

"So when are you going to admit you're troubled by her?" Nami asked, cornering you at work.

"What?" You looked up from your desk.

"Luffy and Boa. Everyone can see it."

Your chest did a painful flip. "What do you mean, everyone?"

"Come on," Nami said gently. "He's with her literally every day. He looks at her like she hung the moon. Half the group thinks they're already dating."

"They're not dating," you said automatically. "I'm dating Luffy."

"Are you?" Nami asked, and there was real concern in her eyes. "Because from where I'm standing, he spends more time with Boa than with you."

You didn't have a response to that.

You started disappearing in smaller ways first.

You stopped texting him throughout the day. If he didn't think to ask how your day was, well, that was just how things were now.

You stopped asking him to stay over. When he'd bounce into your apartment with endless energy, you'd suggest he get rest at his own place.

You stopped smiling.

It wasn't a conscious choice. It was just that one day you woke up and realized that you'd been feeling hollow for so long that you couldn't remember what genuine happiness felt like. You were going through the motions, existing in the margins of Luffy's life, waiting for him to notice you.

He didn't notice.

But someone else did.

Sanji, one of your coworkers, started noticing the way you'd stare at your lunch without eating it. The way you'd zone out during meetings. The way your smile—when you managed one at all—never reached your eyes.

"You okay?" he asked one afternoon, catching you alone in the break room.

"I'm fine," you said automatically.

"You're not," he said gently, and there was real concern in his eyes. "You haven't been fine for weeks. What's going on?"

And something about his kindness, his actual noticing, broke through your defenses. So you told him. You told him about Luffy and Boa, about feeling invisible, about the slow erosion of your relationship.

Sanji listened. He actually listened, asking follow-up questions, remembering details you mentioned, treating your pain like it mattered.

And then he started showing up for you in the ways Luffy wasn't.

He'd text you to check in. "How's your day?" And he'd actually wait for an answer. He'd invite you to lunch and ask about your week. He'd remember that you liked coffee with extra foam and bring it to you without being asked.

You weren't romantically interested in Sanji. But you were grateful for him in a way that terrified you. Because you were getting what you needed from someone else, and it made it painfully clear what you weren't getting from Luffy.

One evening, Sanji asked if you wanted to go see a movie. Just as friends, he clarified quickly, but he knew you'd been stressed and thought you could use a break.

You said yes.

Luffy found out about the movie from Nami.

"Oh yeah, Sanji asked your girlfriend to go see that new action flick," Nami mentioned casually. "Seemed like a fun outing."

Something shifted in Luffy's expression. His usual bright energy dimmed completely. "He asked her out?"

"No, it was just a movie," Nami said, but she was watching him carefully. "Why? Is that a problem?"

"No," Luffy said immediately, but it clearly was.

He showed up at your apartment that night unannounced, which was normal for him. Except he looked different. His usual bright energy was completely gone, replaced by something that looked almost like anxiety.

"Hey," he said, and his voice was quieter than usual. "Where were you?"

"I went to a movie with Sanji," you said, not bothering to hide it. "A coworker."

"Sanji," he repeated, and you could see his jaw tightening. "From work?"

"Yes."

"Did he..." Luffy paused, struggling with words, which was rare for him. "Is he interested in you?"

You could have said yes. You could have let him believe it. But instead, you said: "Does it matter? You're busy with Boa."

"I'm not busy with Boa," he said, and there was an edge to his voice now. Frustration, maybe, or something else. Something hurt. "I'm with you."

"Are you?" you asked quietly. "Because it doesn't feel like it."

Luffy looked at you like you'd just said something that didn't compute. Like his brain couldn't process a reality where you'd spent time with another man, where you'd chosen to be somewhere other than with him.

"I don't like this," he said finally.

"Don't like what?"

"You and Sanji. I don't like that he's... that he's there for you when I'm not."

And something in those words—the realization that he'd finally noticed, finally understood that someone else was filling the space he'd left empty—seemed to crack something open inside him.

"Wait," he said, and his voice changed completely. It became smaller, more vulnerable. "You're only spending time with him because I wasn't spending time with you, right?"

You didn't answer, and that was answer enough.

"Oh," Luffy said quietly, and you could see the understanding dawn on his face. The horror of what he'd done. "Oh no. I... I did that. I made you so unhappy that you'd rather be with someone else. I pushed you away so much that you found someone else to be with."

He looked like he might be sick.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked desperately.

"I did," you whispered. "You just weren't listening. You were too busy with Boa. I kept trying to get your attention and you just... you chose her every time. So I stopped trying. And then Sanji noticed I was falling apart, and he actually cared enough to help me."

Luffy flinched like you'd physically hit him. His eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry," he said, and his voice cracked. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize I was losing you until I thought someone else was taking you away. That's not fair to you. I should have seen how much I was hurting you. I should have noticed before it got this bad."

Luffy cried when he realized what he'd done.

Not a little bit. Full-on, unrestrained tears, the way he did everything else—completely without filter or reservation.

"I'm sorry," he kept saying. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't understand, but that's not an excuse, I should have paid attention, I should have—" He broke off, unable to finish.

"It's okay," you tried to say, but he shook his head violently.

"It's not okay. You were sad and I didn't see it. You asked me for help and I wasn't there. I made you feel like you don't matter when you're the most important person to me."

He pulled you into his arms, and he held you so tightly you could barely breathe.

"I'm going to fix this," he said into your neck. "I'm going to be better. I'm going to pay attention. I'm going to make sure you know how much you matter."

"Luffy—"

"No," he said firmly. "I'm going to do it. Every day, I'm going to make sure you know that you're the one I want. Not Boa. Not anyone. You."

He didn't let go of you. Not for the rest of the night.

When you tried to get up to go to the bathroom, he followed you. When you suggested he go home, he refused completely.

"I'm staying," he announced. "I'm not leaving. You're stuck with me now."

He held you while you cried. He held you while you slept. He held you like you were something precious that he'd almost lost, and now that he understood what he'd done, he couldn't bear to let go.

Around 3 AM, when you stirred, he was awake.

"Hey," he said softly. "I'm here. I'm sorry. I'm here now."

"I know," you whispered.

"I love you," he said, and he said it like he was telling you something crucial. Something that needed to be said over and over until you understood it completely. "Not as an afterthought. Not when I'm not busy with something else. I love you like you're the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I sleep. That's how much I love you."

You pressed your face into his chest, and he tightened his arms around you.

"I'm going to remind you every day," he promised. "Until you believe it."

Luffy wasn't good at subtle apologies. They were loud and obvious and sometimes embarrassing.

He texted Boa immediately and told her he couldn't spend as much time with her, that he needed to focus on his relationship. He was blunt about it: "I was kind of ignoring my girlfriend and that was wrong."

He started saying "I love you" constantly. In the morning, at night, in the middle of conversations. Sometimes three times in a single sentence.

"We're going out tonight. I love you and I want to spend time with you."

He set alarms on his phone to remind himself to text you during the day. At first they were random, but he got better, asking you about your day, actually waiting for the answer.

He also did something you didn't expect: he sat you down and asked you to help him understand.

"I don't always read people right," he admitted. "But I want to read you. So if I mess up again, I need you to tell me. Directly. Don't wait for me to notice. I might not notice."

"I told you directly before," you said quietly.

"I know, and I didn't listen, which is on me," he said. "But going forward, I'm going to listen. I promise."

And he did. When you said you needed him, he was there. When you were having a bad day, he'd drop everything. He'd never again miss a moment with you for someone else.

It wasn't perfect. Luffy was still impulsive and could still be thoughtless. But the difference was that now, when you told him something was wrong, he actually heard you. He actually changed.

The night you realized you were smiling again—genuinely smiling, not the hollow imitation you'd been wearing—Luffy noticed immediately.

"There you are," he said, and he said it like he'd been waiting for you to come back.

He pulled you close and kissed the top of your head.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to see you," he murmured.

"You see me now," you said. "That's what matters."

"I'm going to keep seeing you," he promised. "Every day. Forever. That's a promise."

And with Luffy, promises were sacred. Once he committed to something, he committed completely.

You'd learned that the hard way, and you were learning it again now—but this time, it felt like coming home instead of fading away.

End.

Sukuna had successfully avoided the children's daycare for two years like the plague.

It was one of his proudest accomplishments in the relationship, though he would never admit that out loud. The daycare itself was not the problem, in fact, he respected what you did there. You cared about it deeply. Twice a week, you showed up after work, tired, yet stubbornly cheerful, after spedning hours helping kids with homework, organizing activites, or listeining to whatever catastrophe happened in their ten-year-old worlds that week. You talked about it constantly, from some kid and his obsession with eating gliiter, to a pair of twins who apparently emit the same amount of energy as a nuclear reactor.

Sukuna listened, he always did, with rapt attention. It was the least he could do. Sometimes he even asked questions regarding something he'd normally have no interest in. But the idea of actually going there? It had always been something he managed to avoud with almost supernatural efficiency.

At first, it had been simple scheduling conflicts. "Training tonight" he'd say, or "Coach scheduled extra rounds." Since Sukuna made a good portion of his life living and fighting in underground circuits, much to your dismay, the explanations were believable. Other times the execuses were, creative, to say the least.

One particularly impressive performance involved him claining he had a dental appointment at six in the evening on a Friday, which you had immediately questioned because Sukuna hated dentists with the kind of hostility he didn't even show his opponents.

"Exactly." He had said flatly, "Which means, if I'm going, it must be serious."

You had stared at him for what felt like ten minutes, his own gaze never leaving yours, before somehow you let it go, only to find him lounging on the couch and eating a whole bucket of kfc when you got back home. Dentist my ass.

For two whole years, the strategy had worked perfectly.

Until today.

Sukuna was halfway through painting his nails black when you walked into the living room, sitting up with one leg propped up on the couch, carefully applying a final coat to his pinky finger.

"Ryo." He didn't look up, simply hummed a small 'yes?'

"You're coming with me today."

His eyebrows furrowed, the brush stoping mid-stroke. Was he forgetting something? An outing with your friends (god forbid) or a date you had planned? He didn't let the doubt show on his face.

"Coming where?"

You folded your arms with the kind of calm determination Sukuna has learned to recognize as a sign of danger.

"The daycare."

He finished painiting his nail, screwing the cap shut and blowing on the fresh coat, before answering simply. "No, I'm not."

"You are." Your words were determined.

"No." And so was his conviction.

"Yes."

He huffed, leaning back slightly on the couch, pierced eyebrow raised as he studied you, "Don't you go on Tuesdays and Fridays?"

You smiled, which immediately made sirens of danger ring in his head. It wasn't the subtle smile you gave when he did something ....romantic, and neither was it the wide smile that was plastered on your face usually. No, it was calculated, like it had a deeper purpose behind it.

"I switched my shift."

"With who?"

"Shoko."

"Why?"

"Because," you said pleasantly, "today is Sunday."

Sukuna stared at you as if you just told him his favourtie fast food snack had discontinued, his mouth agape, before he closed it, crimson eyes narrowing into slits.

"You planned this, you sneaky brat."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," You smiled, the same, cunning smile. God, if he wasn't borderline pissed right now, he'd probably pop a boner.

"You changed your volunteer days so I had to come with you."

"No, I changed them because Shoko wanted the Sunday off."

"Liar." He sneered.

"Guess we'll never know, huh." You shrugged. Sukuna leaned back against the couch and ran a hand through his pink hair. He had absoluetely nothing scheduled today. Nothing. Which meant only one thing, he'd have no excuse to give today.

"I- uh, can't go." He mumbled, expression stoic,

"Why not?"

"A crow looked at me weird this morning, I don't ignore omens. It's a sign, I have to stay indoors today."

You stared at him for five minutes., carefully, knowing full well that it was just anothe empty excuse. Shaking your head, you picked up your keys and wallet, "Come on now, we're leaving in five minutes."

He sighed. He's not getting out of this one, is he?

"I'm not dressed for that place." He stood up, stretching his arms.

"You look fine, don't be dramatic."

He grumbled something under his nose, looking down at his clothes. He was wearing a simple black tank top and a pair of black sweatpants- nothing other than what he usually wore. He looked up with a scowl, seeing you standing at the door with your arms crossed, tilting over one leg, tapping your other foot. He huffed, grabbing a jacket that lay on the other end of the couch, walking upto you, "What do I get when we get back?" He had the faintest hints of a smirk on his face, and you almost let out a laugh. Patting his chest, you nodded, "Self fulfilment." With that, you turned around, walking out the door. He grumbled for the nth time, walking behind you.

"I'll scare them you know? I'm mean and tough and shit. Not built for places with midgets." He catches upto you with two steps, all while you completely ignore his protests. He wasn't getting out of this one, no way in hell.

The drive to the shelter was uneventful in the way that only meant Sukuna was quietly preparing to hate every second of what was about to happen. He sat in the passenger seat with his arms crossed and his expression locked into the same scowl he wore during fights, long legs cramped slightly because your car had not been designed for people built like reinforced buildings. You talked the entire way there- about the kids, about the volunteers, about the weekly chaos that somehow always resolved itself into something vaguely wholesome by the end of the night. Sukuna responded occasionally with a low hum or a brief “yeah,” but for the most part he stared out the window like a man being driven to his own execution. When you finally pulled into the shelter’s small parking lot, he looked up at the building with the same wary suspicion he usually reserved for opponents who smiled too much before a fight.

The shelter itself was exactly the kind of place Sukuna expected to hate. The brick building had clearly been there for decades, but someone had tried very hard to make it cheerful. The entire outer wall was covered in painted murals, bright flowers, cartoon animals, a smiling sun that looked like it had been drawn by someone under the age of ten. There were chalk drawings scattered across the sidewalk in front of the entrance, faded from rain but still visible. A crooked dinosaur stretched across three parking spaces, and beside it someone had written WELCOME in letters so large they overlapped the dinosaur’s tail.

Sukuna stood beside you in the parking lot and stared at the mural for a long moment.

“You look like you’re judging the building,” you said.

“I am,” he replied flatly.

You laughed and grabbed his wrist, before he could continue analyzing the moral character of cartoon wildlife.

“Come on,” you said, tugging him toward the door. “Stop stalling.”

“I’m not stalling.”

“You’re absolutely stalling.”

“I’m observing.”

“You’re glaring at a rainbow.”

“It started it- rainbow's don't have faces, why does it have one? Matter of fact, none of these have faces. Dinosaurs were predators, especially the T-Rex, and he was not some happy to go guy who waved people and said 'welcome.'" You chuckled at his words, feeling a sense of enjoyement seeing him like this.

"Save the nerdiness for the kids."

You pushed the door open before Sukuna could argue further, and the moment you stepped inside, the atmosphere changed instantly.

The room was bright and busy, filled with the layered sounds of children talking, chairs scraping, someone bouncing a basketball down the hallway. There were long folding tables set up with scattered books and homework papers, and one corner had clearly been claimed by art supplies that had spread across two entire tables. The walls were decorated with colorful posters and uneven drawings that looked like they had been proudly taped up by whoever created them.

Several volunteers were moving between tables, helping kids with homework or settling small disputes.

But the moment they saw you, the mood shifted.

“Hey!”

“You’re back!”

“Hi!”

A few of the volunteers waved immediately, and one older woman at the far table smiled warmly.

“Good to see you!” You returned the greetings easily, slipping into the room like you belonged there, which, in a way, you did.

A little boy ran up and grabbed your arm while another girl waved a worksheet dramatically like she had been waiting all day to show it to you. You crouched down to their level immediately, smiling as they began talking over each other about school, about a drawing someone made earlier, about a mysterious argument involving crayons.

Sukuna stood a few steps behind you during all of this.

At six-foot-five, he was impossible to miss even when he tried. His broad shoulders nearly blocked the doorway, and his tattoos curled across his forearms where the sleeves of his jacket had pushed up slightly. The black nail polish was fresh, the dark color sharp against the ink on his fingers. His crimson eyes scanned the room with quiet intensity, and the natural scowl on his face gave him the expression of someone who had just been informed that happiness was illegal.

For a few seconds, no one noticed him.

Then one of the children did.

The boy had been mid-sentence while explaining a story about a stolen dinosaur sticker when his eyes drifted upward.

He stopped talking.

His mouth slowly fell open.

The other kids noticed the sudden silence and followed his gaze.

Within seconds, the group of children in front of you had turned to stare at Sukuna.

There was a moment- just a moment, where the entire room seemed to pause.

Sukuna stared back.

The effect was immediate.

One little girl grabbed the sleeve of another volunteer and whispered something urgently. Two boys scooted a step behind a table like they had just discovered a wild animal in the room and were scared to make a noise to not startle it. Someone dropped a marker.

You turned around, looking at the reactions, volunteers and children same, looking at him with wide eyes.

You chuckled, covering your mouth before standing up, and walking beside him. His eyes narrowed as he stared at you, which, the two of you knew had no effect on you.

"Stop glaring." You lightly smacked his arm.

"I always glare." He grumbled back, voice deep and resonating.

"Well, maybe don't do it at children. They'll think you're an alien, or a monster. Wild imaginations." He rolled his eyes. Good. Maybe then they won't approach him if they think he's scary enough.

Sukuna didn't belong in enviornments that consisted of small humans, loud noises, brightly colored furniture and juice boxes, and this, was all of it combined and worse.

One of the younger kids peeked around the corner of the table, studying the giant man with a sort of curiousity in his wide eyes. Sukuna felt like an animal for display in a zoo.

"Is he... your bodyguard?" One of the girls murmured, her eyes wide.

"No," you tried your best to control your laughter, determined to not burst into a total fit, "He's my boyfriend."

That statement, caused a ripple of shocked curiosity. Another kid stepped closer, squinting suspiciously, "Are you a supervillain?"

Sukuna tilted his head slightly, studying the small speciemen "No, but i do fight people." That, did not help his case.

The little girl, who had been hiding behind an elderly volunteer, whispered loudly 'I told you!'

Sukuna rolled his eyes, as you stepped closer to him, nudging his arm ever so lightly, "Ryo, relax your face." He mumbled something, "This is my relaxed face." Despite that, he let out an exhale through his nose, which was the closest to what he could do to attempt and look friendly. It helped, even though a mere one percent.

A group of older boys, somewhere around the age of ten and twelve approached him carefully, asking an array of questions that felt like borderline interogation.

"Are those tattoos on your face real?"

"Yes."

"Did they hurt?"

"Not for me."

"Are you someone famous?"

"No."

"A criminal, then?"

"No."

"Are you in the mafia?"

"No."

"Why do you have pink hair?"

"Genetics."

"Are you an actor?"

"No."

"Do you know how to fight?"

"Yes."

That, was the turning point.

The initial suspicion turned into fascination, before another round of questions were thrown at Sukuna, and he wished nothing more than to go back home and lie down on his precious bed with his very annoying but very lovely girlfriend, who stood a few feet away, enjoying and relishing his anguish with a very, very cute smile. Curse you and your stupid smile and your stupid face. God, he'd endure another round of these stupid question if it meant you'd keep smiling at him like that.

The boys' posture changed immediately, as they leaned closer to him, murmuring small praises, when one of them leaned forwards "Like MMA? Or Karate? Or Kung-Fu?"

"Hm. I'd say more like MMA." That was the first, full sentence that came out of his mouth after what felt like ages.

Kids, Sukuna would learn very quickly, had extremely flexible opinions about intimidating adults, especially the ones who looked as cool as he did.

You, watched the transformation of opinion happen in real time, with a very amused glint in your eyes.

Yuuji, a ten-year-old with boundless curiosity and absolutely no sense of self-preservation, stepped forward with the bold confidence of someone who had already decided Sukuna was cool.

"You're huge." Yuuji announced, as if the fact wasn't well noticed by everyone else as well. Sukuna, simply shrugged in return.

"Can you lift a car?"

"Probably."

Yuuji gasped, "That's awesome!" Several of the other kids had begun inching closer too, curiosity taking over their intial fear. A girl, Nobara, pointed at his nails with a dramatic gasp, before turning back to you, "His nails are so cool! So much cooler than yours!"

You pretended to be hurt by her statement, "Rude!" She, however, simply shrugged, observing Sukuna's nails as if they were the cover of a magazine.

With a grin, you leaned towards him, "See, they like you." He huffed, "No, they're interrogating me like some criminal." You shrugged, claiming that the two were the same thing in kid language.

One of the older volunteers approached the two of you, smiling polietely, "New volunteer?" She asked you, as you nodded, "Yeah, he'll be working with me on Sundays, I hope that's alright."

The old lady nodded polietly, a hint of judgement in her eyes that Sukuna caught on very early. It was common, getting looks from older people, with him being the way he was. However, you seemed to like the lady in front, so he restrained himself from saying anything stupid, that might or might not cause harm.

Only for you.

"Ah." The lady said, glancing once more at Sukuna's direction, before nodding, "Well.. Welcome." He nodded curtly, before turning to you, opening his mouth as the lady walked away, before being curtly disturbed by Yuuji, who had taken a special fascination with Sukuna, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket "If you really know how to fight people, does that mean you also know how to spin-kick?"

Sukuna stared down at him with a curious expression, "Yes."

"Can you teach me?!"

"No."

"Pleaseeeeee!" The boy begged, but looking at the stern expression on the older man's face, he sighed, looking down on the ground like a kicked puppy, "Okay.."

Before Sukuna could say anything else, he tugged at his sleeve again, "Well, then come help me with math!" Sukuna blined, ..math?

"You're big, and big people are smart! Come! I sit on the red table!" He pulled onto his sleeve with extraordinary strength for someone so, tiny. Sukuna turned to look at you, a confused expression on his face. You simple smiled, giving him a thumbs up and mouthing a 'you're doing great!' and he sighed, letting himself be dragged to the red table with Yuuji.

Yuuji did not guide Sukuna to the table so much as latch onto him and start towing him across the room like a determined little tugboat. At some point between the doorway and the homework area, the boy had grabbed the sleeve of Sukuna’s jacket and decided that was where Sukuna belonged now. Sukuna could have easily freed himself, he outweighed the kid by at least a hundred and fifty pounds, but removing a ten-year-old from his arm in the middle of a children’s shelter felt like the kind of thing that would end badly for everyone involved, and earn him a punch from you. Hot, but also not something he wants right now. So he allowed himself to be pulled along.

The table Yuuji chose was one of the smaller ones, covered with worksheets, erasers, and a cup full of dull pencils. Sukuna lowered himself into the tiny plastic chair with visible caution. The chair creaked in a way that suggested it had never been designed for someone built like him. He rested his elbows on the table and stared down at the paper Yuuji had already shoved toward him.

“I hate fractions,” Yuuji announced immediately, pushing the worksheet closer like it had personally offended him.

Sukuna glanced down at the problems. They were simple, shaded circles, small addition problems, nothing that required more than basic thought. “They’re not that hard,” he said.

Yuuji looked at him with deep suspicion, the way kids do when an adult claims something obvious that clearly isn’t obvious at all. “They are hard,” he insisted. “Look at this one.”

He jabbed a finger at a picture of a circle divided into four parts.

Sukuna studied it for about two seconds before leaning back slightly. “If someone throws four punches at you,” he said calmly, tapping the paper, “and you dodge three of them, how many actually hit you?”

Yuuji blinked, clearly not expecting violence to suddenly enter the math lesson. “…One?”

“Right. One punch hits you. One out of four.”

Yuuji looked down at the worksheet again, then back at Sukuna. Something clicked behind his eyes. “Oh. So that’s one-fourth.”

“Yes.”

Yuuji sat up straighter, suddenly interested. “Wait. That actually makes sense.”

“Of course it does.”

“My teacher always talks about pizza slices,” Yuuji mumbled, still staring at the paper. “But I don’t even like pizza that much.”

Sukuna shrugged. “Punches are easier to understand.”

Yuuji grabbed his pencil again, scribbling numbers across the page while thinking out loud. “Okay, okay… so if someone throws ten punches and I dodge… six…”

“Then four hit you,” Sukuna said.

Yuuji froze halfway through writing. “…So that’s four out of ten.”

“Yes.”

He squinted at the numbers, tongue poking out slightly while he thought. “…Do I make it smaller?”

“Reduce the fraction.”

Yuuji tapped the eraser against his chin. “…Two out of five?”

Sukuna nodded once.

Yuuji’s entire face lit up like he had just discovered a secret. “That’s actually cool.”

It was at that moment that you finally made your way over to the table. You pulled a chair out and sat beside Sukuna, glancing down at the worksheet and then back at him.

“I leave you alone for five minutes,” you said, amused, “and you’ve turned math into fight training.”

He shrugged, "The brat understands it that way." Yuuji, in return, nodded furiously. "He's really good at it! I wish he was my math teacher! Ours just scolds us and makes us do pizza fractions."

"Yuuji, did you introduce yourself?" You sat down on a chair next to Sukuna, as the boy shook his head, hopping down from his chair and leaning his entire bodyweight onto the table, extending his hand, "Hi! I'm Yuuji Itadori! I'm 10!" The older man looked at the boy's hand, which was probably covered in slimy juice and stuff. Blegh. Nonetheless, he took the boy's hand, his hand looking comically smaller in his own.

"You're really tall" Yuuji said after a moment, as you looked at the interaction between the two, "Like... really tall."

"That's because he eats his green vegetables." Sukuna scoffed at your words, yeah, right. Him and green vegetables? No way. But ever since you, he's been force fed greens more times he can count. Sometimes he wishes he could go back to eating boiled chicken and white rice, but then again, he also happened to love your cooking.

"If i eat green veggies, will I also become tall like him!?" Yuuji exclaimed and you nodded with a determined look.

Before Sukuna could protest and say something like 'Veggies don't do shit' Yuuji's attention diverted to him again, “You look like a bad guy in a movie.”

Sukuna slowly turned his head toward him. “Careful, brat.”

“My name is Yuuji,” the boy corrected immediately.

“I know.”

“Then why do you keep calling me brat?”

“Because you’re acting like one.”

Ignoring his comment, Yuuji went back to working on his worksheet, sticking out his tongue in concentration.

You were smiling the entire time looking at the interaction. Putting his hand under your chair, Sukuna pulled you close, until the two of you were sitting pressed to each other, as you gave him a defiant look, but all he did was give you one of his signature fanged smirk, "Hey" his hand came and rested on your thigh, which you removed with a role of your eyes "Ryo, don't. We're at a kids shelter. Kids." You punctuated your words, making sure he understood what you were implying.

"And? They're stupid, they won't notice." He put his hand back on your thigh, leaning close and pressing a kiss to your shoulder, which had you shuddering. Before he could do anything else, the kid in front of him slammed his hand on the table, causing the two of you to jolt out of the little bubble the two of you were in.

"Check my worksheet!" Yuuji exclaimed, pushing the scribbled worksheet towards Sukuna, who let out an annoyed grumble. He leaned forward slightly and scanned the numbers. After a moment he nodded. “It’s right.”

Yuuji immediately threw both hands in the air and pumped his fists. “Yes!”

He turned back to Sukuna, eyes bright with curiosity.

“So you’re really a fighter?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Like on TV?”

“Not really.”

“Do you win?”

“Usually.”

Yuuji stared at him for a moment like he had just discovered the coolest person alive.

“That’s awesome.”

You watched the interaction with quiet amusement, resting your chin on your hand.

“You’re doing better than I expected,” you said to Sukuna.

“With what.”

“This.”

Sukuna glanced around the room. Kids were arguing over markers at another table. Someone was trying to finish a reading assignment while two volunteers supervised from nearby.

Then he looked back at Yuuji, who had started drawing a tiny stick figure punching another stick figure in the corner of his worksheet.

"Is that supposed to be me?" He let out a sound that could closely be called a chuckle, "Yes! it's you punching my math teacher!"

"That's... great." You scrunched up your nose, "Yuuji, go play with your friends." You nudged the boy.

Normally getting him to stop talking about something exciting required at least three reminders and a firm redirect, but the moment you nudged him and suggested he go play with his friends, he hopped off the chair like a rocket finally released from the launch pad.

“Okay!” he said brightly, grabbing his worksheet and sprinting toward the other table where Nobara and Megumi were already arguing about whose turn it was to use the good markers.

Within seconds the three of them had dissolved back into the noisy cluster of kids across the room, leaving the two of you alone at the table.

Well. As alone as anyone could be in a room full of thirty children.

You leaned back slightly in your chair, watching them for a moment with a quiet smile. Sukuna followed your gaze for a second before shifting his attention back to you.

“You’re smiling like that again,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Like this is funny.”

“It is funny.”

“What part of this is funny?”

You turned your head to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“The part where Ryomen Sukuna, terrifying underground fighter, just spent twenty minutes tutoring a ten-year-old in fractions.”

“I didn’t tutor him,” Sukuna said flatly.

“You explained math using punching.”

Sukuna leaned back slightly in the chair, the plastic legs creaking under his weight. His eyes drifted back toward the group of kids again, watching Yuuji animatedly explain something to Nobara with big gestures while Megumi sat nearby pretending he wasn’t listening too.

“That brat is going to keep following me around.”

You smiled faintly.

“Probably.”

Sukuna clicked his tongue under his breath.

Across the room, Yuuji had started demonstrating some wildly exaggerated punching motion while Nobara shouted that he was doing it wrong. You laughed quietly, resting your chin in your hand as you looked at him.

Across the room, Yuuji had apparently finished explaining his fight-inspired math theory because he suddenly looked over again and waved enthusiastically.

“SUKUNA!”

Half the room turned at the sheer volume of his voice.

Sukuna stared back at him with a long-suffering expression.

“Inside voice,” you called out automatically.

“Sorry!” Yuuji yelled.

Sukuna clicked his tongue under his breath, but the sound lacked any real annoyance. When he shifted in the chair, his leg brushed lightly against yours under the table.

You didn’t move away.

For a moment the two of you just sat there, watching the kids.

Then Sukuna leaned slightly closer.

The movement was subtle enough that anyone across the room wouldn’t notice, but you did. His shoulder bumped yours gently as he rested one arm across the back of your chair like it had always belonged there.

“You dragged me into a room full of children,” he spoke, breaking the comfortable silence the two of you had settled in.

“And?”

“And I’m still here.”

You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you complaining?”

“Yes.”

“You’re doing a terrible job of it.” Sukuna didn’t answer immediately. Instead he leaned in a little more, lowering his voice so only you could hear.

For a moment neither of you looked away.

The background noise of the shelter faded into a comfortable blur, kids arguing, chairs scraping, someone laughing loudly across the room. But at the table, the space between you and Sukuna had grown smaller.

“You’re staring,” his voice was lower, a sort of calmness behind it.

“So are you.”

“That’s different.”

“How.”

“I’m allowed.”

You snorted softly. “Says who?”

“Me.”

His hand slid onto the table beside yours, large fingers resting lazily against the wood. For a moment he didn’t touch you at all.

Then, slowly, he nudged your hand with his.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away.

“Sukuna,” you said quietly.

“Yes.”

“We’re at a children’s shelter.”

“I’m aware.”

“There are kids everywhere.”

“They’re busy.”

You glanced toward the other table instinctively.

Yuuji was still arguing with Nobara about something, waving his pencil around like it was a sword. Megumi was watching with the tired patience of someone who had accepted his friends were ridiculous.

When you looked back at Sukuna, he was already watching you again.

The faintest hint of amusement lingered in his expression.

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him.

“You like me.”

“That’s up for a debate.”

He leaned closer again, brushing a quick kiss against the side of your temple before you could react.

You froze, before coming to your senses, and smacking his arm, which in all it's glory, did zero damage to him "Ryo!"

"What?" He grinned, all tooth and fangs.

“HEY.”

The word arrived with the force of a small thunderclap directly beside the table.

Both of you jolted slightly.

Sukuna leaned back in his chair immediately, the casual movement so smooth it looked like he had been sitting like that the entire time. You straightened up a little too quickly, which unfortunately only made it look more suspicious.

Yuuji stood there, hands planted on the table, staring at the two of you with the intense concentration of a ten-year-old who had just walked in on something very interesting.

His eyes moved slowly from you… to Sukuna… then back to you again.

“…What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you said immediately.

Yuuji squinted.

The silence stretched for about three seconds while he processed this information.

Then he leaned a little closer.

“Were you kissing?”

"No!" Your head snapped towards him, inhaling your own soul in. However, your very own boyfriend, at the same time, muttered a very confident 'Yes,' with a shrug as nonchalant as discussing the weather.

Yuuji’s eyes widened with delighted horror.

“EWW.”

You covered your face with one hand.

“We were not—”

He leaned forward again, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret, "you’re bad at it.”

"..Bad at what?"

“Being sneaky,” Yuuji said matter-of-factly.

Sukuna looked amused now.

“Why’s that, brat?”

“Because you were doing the weird face.”

“What weird face.” Yuuji gestured vaguely at Sukuna’s entire head.

“The one where you look less scary.”

You made a choking noise that was suspiciously close to a laugh, while Sukuna on the other hand looked mildly offended by the little boy's words. "I always look scary." He grumbled, giving him a scowl.

“Nope.”

Then he pointed at you.

“You look like when the lunch lady gives extra cookies.”

"He's talking straight bullshit, what is he on?" Sukuna sighed, mumbling into his hands which he ran over his face.

You simply rolled your eyes, "Yuuji, what does that mean honey?"

“And he looks like when the lunch lady says no cookies,” Yuuji finished.

Sukuna stared at him.

“That comparison makes no sense.”

Then, with the investigative work clearly finished, he shoved his worksheet back across the table toward Sukuna.

“Also you forgot to check the last one.” Sukuna sighed heavily and dragged the paper toward him.

Snack time began the way it always did, suddenly and loudly. The opening of a box of cookies somehwhere in the shelter makes every kid's ear stand up like a dog. They all rush towards the bigger table like prisoners let out of jail after 10 years, where a few volunteers were distributing cookies and packed apple juice.

Yuuji, was of course, the first one to move.

He shot up from the table, his worksheet abandoned in Sukuna's hands, rushing like a rocket towards the snack counter, skidding slightly when he reached it and grabbing two cookies, the best one from the lot, before anyone else even had the time to think they were the best.

"Don't run!" You called out from behi, sighing fondly as you stood up and gathered the scattered worksheets left on the table. Sukuna remained seated for a moment, watching th esudden burst of motion across the room. He stood beside you, "Why are they behaving like that?" He muttered.

"It's sugar time." You shrugged, as if that simple line explained anything. "That explains nothing, doll." You looked at him, before sighing "It does. They're kids, they want the sugar rush."

"So it's like their daily dose of coke?" Your eyebrows scrunched at his answer, as you smacked him with a stack of worksheets. He simply scoffed in return.

You finished stacking the papers and walked toward the snack table with him following behind you, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. Even moving through the room, Sukuna managed to part the sea of children simply by existing. Kids instinctively stepped aside for him the same way pedestrians moved around construction equipment.

At the snack table, the volunteers were already distributing juice boxes and small packs of cookies. Yuuji had claimed a seat on the floor near the wall and was now carefully attempting to open his juice box without spilling it.

Nobara sat beside him, inspecting her cookie packet like it might be defective.

Yuuji looked up when he saw Sukuna approaching.

“HEY!”

Half the kids near the wall looked over again, before Sukuna embarassingly stopped walking.

“You don’t have to yell every time you see me.”

Yuuji waved him over enthusiastically anyway.

“Come sit here!”

Sukuna glanced at you.

You were already smiling.

“Oh no,” you said. “This is happening.”

“I refuse.”

“You’re sitting.”

“I am not sitting on the floor.”

“You’re sitting.”

Sukuna stared down at the group of kids for a moment like he was considering several life choices at once. Then, with a quiet sigh that suggested deep regret, he crouched down beside the wall.

Yuuji, like the excited kid he is, scooted closer immediately, "Do you want a cookie!" The pink haired man simply shook his head.

Yuuji held the packet out anyway.

“Take one.”

“I don’t eat those.”

“They’re chocolate chip.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

Nobara leaned forward slightly, eyeing Sukuna.

“You’re missing out,” she said, already halfway through her second cookie.

Megumi quietly opened his juice box with the calm efficiency of someone who had done this many times before.

You joined them a moment later, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Sukuna and handing him a juice box.

“For hydration,” you said.

Sukuna looked down at the small cardboard box in his hand like it had personally betrayed him.

Yuuji leaned closer.

“You gotta poke the straw in.”

“I know how juice boxes work.”

“Some people don’t,” Yuuji said wisely.

Nobara rolled her eyes.

“He’s not a baby.”

Sukuna pierced the straw through the foil with the air of someone completing a deeply humiliating task.

Megumi glanced over, but didn't say anything. "I tolerate you the most." He nudged his chin towards the spiky haired kid. Before anything else could be said, yuuji let out a loud wail, causing everyone to look at him, "Nooooooo I'm supposed to be your favourite!" He yelled, his eyes welling up with tears, and Sukuna looked, very confused. He blinked.

Not the slow, unimpressed blink he used when someone said something stupid in the middle of a fight. This one was genuine confusion, the kind that came from suddenly realizing a ten-year-old was about to cry over something he had absolutely not meant to start. Yuuji’s face had completely fallen apart in the span of three seconds. His eyebrows pinched together, his mouth stretched into a dramatic wobble, and tears were already collecting in the corners of his eyes like they had been waiting for the signal.

“Nooooo!” he wailed, loud enough that several kids at nearby tables turned to look. “I’m supposed to be your favourite!”

Sukuna stared at him.

“…What.”

“You said you tolerate him the most,” Yuuji continued, pointing an accusatory finger at Megumi like he had just committed a serious crime. “That means he’s your favourite!”

Megumi shrugged, completely unfazed by the accusation. He leaned back slightly in his chair, arms loosely folded.

“…I didn’t say that.”

“You did!” Yuuji insisted, his voice wobbling again. “You said you tolerate him the most!”

Sukuna rubbed his temple slowly.

“That is not what that means.”

“It totally is!” Yuuji protested, his chair scraping as he leaned forward dramatically. “You like him more!”

Megumi tilted his head slightly, looking at Yuuji with the calm patience of someone who had seen this kind of meltdown before.

“You’re the one yelling,” he pointed out.

Yuuji whipped his head toward him, betrayal written all over his face.

“You’re supposed to help me!”

Megumi blinked once.

“…Why.”

“Because you stole my spot!”

Sukuna looked between them slowly, his expression settling into the same baffled irritation he usually reserved for opponents who insisted on explaining their strategy mid-fight.

“You don’t have a spot,” he said flatly.

“I do!” Yuuji insisted, slamming both hands down on the table for emphasis. “I’m the one who brought you here!”

“You need to tell him I’m your favourite,” he said.

Sukuna stared down at him.

“…No.”

Yuuji’s face collapsed again like someone had deflated him.

“WHYYYY.”

You had been watching the entire exchange from the side of the table, trying very hard not to laugh. Unfortunately, the sight of Sukuna, terrifying underground fighter, destroyer of grown men, being bullied by a ten-year-old over a “favourite” ranking was rapidly destroying your self-control.

Sukuna shot you a look.

Yuuji wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie and leaned across the table toward Sukuna, lowering his voice like he was about to share the most serious secret in the world. “If I’m not your favourite,” he said dramatically, “then I’m not going to show you the cool dodge move I figured out.”

Sukuna held his gaze for a long second before sighing. “Fine. You’re the favourite.” Yuuji’s grin came back instantly. “YES. I knew it.”

The end of the evening arrived the way it always did at the shelter—gradually, and then all at once.

Snack wrappers were gathered, the floor was swept of cookie crumbs and marker caps, and volunteers began quietly guiding children toward the front area where parents would arrive to pick them up. The room, which had been buzzing with noise an hour ago, slowly shifted into something softer. Backpacks were zipped, jackets were located, and the occasional complaint about unfinished games floated through the air.

You were helping stack chairs when you noticed a very familiar scene unfolding near the doorway.

Yuuji had attached himself to Sukuna again.

Not just standing nearby either—he was clinging. Both arms wrapped tightly around Sukuna’s waist, cheek pressed against his hoodie like a koala that had decided this tree now belonged to it permanently.

Sukuna stood there with the exhausted patience of someone who had already lost this battle.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said flatly.

“You are!” Yuuji said, voice wobbling.

“I am literally still standing here.”

“You’re gonna leave.”

“Yes. Eventually.”

“That’s the same thing!”

You walked over, biting back a smile.

Across the doorway, a man stood watching the scene with mild amusement. He looked tired in the way parents of energetic children always did, one hand resting on the strap of a work bag slung over his shoulder.

“That’s mine,” he said apologetically, gesturing toward Yuuji.

Yuuji tightened his grip.

“No!”

The man laughed softly.

“Yuuji,” he said patiently. “Time to go.”

Yuuji didn’t move, instead, he squeezed Sukuna even tighter.

“But I didn’t finish learning the punching math.”

Yuuji sniffed loudly.

“I’m gonna forget everything.”

“You will not.”

“I will!”

“You won’t.”

You finally stepped in, crouching slightly beside them. “Hey,” you said gently. “He’s not disappearing.” Yuuji looked unconvinced, "He's going to be here next sunday too." Sukuna's head whipped around at you, but Yuuji turned to look at Sukuna, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

“Promise?”

“No.”

Yuuji’s face crumpled again.

“…But I probably will,” Sukuna added.

His dad laughed again before ruffling his hair.

“Alright, fighter. Let’s go home.”

Yuuji slung his backpack on dramatically, then turned back to Sukuna one last time.

“You better come back.”

The shelter grew quieter after that. One by one the remaining kids left, until the room was nearly empty. You, on the other hand, grabbed the small bag you had brough, glancing towards Sukuna, "Let's go" He hummed, following you out into the parking lot,

The drive home was much quieter than the ride there.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The city lights slid past the car windows, and the comfortable silence that came after a long day settled in easily.

When you reached the apartment, Sukuna pushed the door open and stepped inside first. The familiar quiet of the place felt almost strange after hours of children’s voices echoing around the shelter.

You kicked your shoes off near the door and dropped your bag onto the counter.

“Well,” you said, stretching slightly. “You survived.”

He turned towards you, "Barely, I can still feel the brat's snot clinging to me." You snorted, as you headed to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

“You even drank apple juice.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Don’t start.”

You laughed again, but before you could say anything else Sukuna reached forward and caught your waist gently, the motion pulled you a little closer than you expected.

“You dragged me into a room full of children,” he said, leaning closer and pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, getting a small giggle out of you. "And?"

“And I’m still here.”

“That’s because you like me.”

He hummed quietly.

“That’s up for debate.” He threw your line back at you, causing you to let out another chuckle.

You opened your mouth to argue.

Instead, Sukuna leaned down and kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or dramatic, just warm and familiar, the kind of kiss that felt like the end of a long day. His hand came up almost instinctively, settling against your waist as if he’d done it a hundred times before, steady and grounding. For a moment the rest of the apartment faded away, the quiet hum of the fridge, the distant noise of traffic outside, the lingering exhaustion from the shelter, all of it softened into the background.

When he pulled back, it was only by a few inches, just enough to look at you.

You blinked up at him, trying very hard not to smile.

“That’s cheating,” you said.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow.

“I’m winning.”

“You kissed me mid-argument.”

You huffed softly, nudging his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

You tried to look unimpressed, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you. Sukuna noticed immediately, the familiar crooked smirk tugging at his lips. His thumb brushed absentmindedly along your side, the gesture casual and affectionate in that quiet way he only showed when it was just the two of you

Sukuna tilted his head slightly, studying you with quiet amusement.

“If I go back,” he said, “it’s still only for research.”

“Of course it is.”

“And if that brat starts crying again, I’m leaving.”

“Sure you are.”

He hummed, unconvinced.

Then he leaned in again anyway.

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