#GUI Tools for Windows

[guyrcook]

5 Free GUI Tools to Free Up Space on Your Windows Hard Drive

Is your Windows computer running slower than usual? Are you constantly getting “low disk space” warnings? A cluttered hard drive not only affects performance but can also shorten your device’s lifespan. Fortunately, there are several free graphical user interface (GUI) tools that can help you reclaim valuable disk space without having to navigate complex command lines. 1. WinDirStat WinDirStat…

[loz-furbies]

Linktober 2023 #14: Ganondorf

[dirt-mann]

why is it so fucking hard to set up zoo tycoon on wine why is nothing WORKING GGGG (cursed eye begins to glow)

[maddyscrsideblog]

For the first time in over three years I miss a live cr episode and it was this fucking episode?? The universe punished me for missing my alarms this morning

[egoarc4de]

ant mill wip #1536 so i can talk in the tags

[disasterjones]

[ID: Multi-panel comic of a mage Inquisitor judging rebel mages, as shown in an overhead view of the throne at Skyhold. Guards are posted at the Inquisitor's side, and the council is present to witness.

A pale-skinned elf mage at the head of the group looks up to meet the Inquisitor's gaze. Seated comfortably in their throne, the Inquisitor pushes themself to standing. The mage watches with uncertainty as the Inquisitor approaches and reaches out a gloved hand. The mage, bound by shackles, reaches up to the proffered hand, and the Inquisitor pulls them up onto their feet.

The Inquisitor stands, imposing, backlit by the stained glass window that illuminates the chamber. Bowing their head in solemnity, hands behind their back as the anchor glows, the Inquisitor leans forward to lay a kiss upon the mage's forehead. A nearby guard takes notice, and the mage looks on as the Inquisitor departs from the chamber.

Time passes, denoted by a sketch of the countryside. Mountains catch the dregs of sunset. Large dark shapes pierce the sky.

A new gathering at Skyhold includes nobles and tradesmen, and an unknown group in chantry robes. The final panel reveals the group of rebels from before, now Tranquil, their expressions darkly neutral. The elf mage stares blankly ahead, face cast in shadow, the sunburst tattoo which denotes their Tranquil status illuminated by the stained glass window. /end]

Do you truly despise your own brethren, Your Worship?

our inquisitor with @starrythroat

[c0rpseductor]

post maybe 2 ppl here will understand but i saw someone talking abt how they don’t want to use ktisis (plug-in that lets you pose ffxiv character models with an added ingame interface) now that anamnesis (separate program that does the same thing in a new window) is updating again. and they said like “i just don’t like ktisis bc i struggle with having extra windows on my game screen”

and i was sitting there thinking like “wtf? the window for ktisis is tiny and the anamnesis one is HUGE it covers the whole game why would you ever use it” and then i remembered that other people have desktop computers. with two monitors

[apatheticsunday]

Single Dad Dead on Main

AKA "Danny is the ghost-equivalent of a foster parent for de-aged Dani and Dan. Jason's just wondering who the hell these two feral meta children are." prompt idea!

Danny thinks he's doing an okay job at being a single dad of two. They're living in a quaint two bedroom apartment in Park Row, he's managing his Ghost King money well, and the kids haven't died (again). (He's definitely not getting a "World's Greatest Dad" mug anytime soon, but, hey, at least the house hasn't burned down yet!)

...Until he wakes up from his nap to an eerily silent apartment.

If there's one thing he's learned over the last few months, it's that silence is not good. He's scrambling off the couch fast enough to give himself a headache, practically flying down the hallway so he can get to the kids' room. Ellie is wedged halfway under her bunk bed. Dan's also squished under the bed but quickly squirms out when he realizes Danny's standing in the door way. He's holding... a socket wrench??

"...do I want to know what you two are doing?" Danny deadpans.

Ellie scrambles out as well, smears of something oily on her cheek. For a seven and eight year old, they have surprisingly convincing I'm innocent! expressions.

"I dunno," Ellie singsongs while Dan simultaneously barks, "Nothing!"

Danny squints. The kids squint back. Yeah, there's definitely something under the bed that's not supposed to be there. Since Dan's holding a wrench (and where the hell did he get that?? Danny doesn't even own any tools aside from maybe a little rubber mallet he found in the hallway closet), Danny hopes thinks it's not an animal.

It takes a minute of arguing in which Danny promises not to be mad, let them eat ice cream, and let them stay up an hour later than curfew for the kids to even let him near the bed without biting him. (Jokes on them, the ice cream is sugar free and Danny's going to reset the clocks to an hour before. Check and mate, bitch! Parenting is so easy.)

And then Danny pulls out... a tire. No, a rim. Two tire rims. Oh, Ancients. Engraved on the tire rim is a red Bat symbol. His stomach nearly drops to the floor; everybody in Crime Alley knows what the Red Hood's symbol looks like. "Eight Heads in a Duffle Bag," Crime Prince of Gotham with a gang big enough to take over all of Park Row. And yeah, Danny could easily beat the guy, but that doesn't mean he wants to. He doesn't want to uproot Dan and Ellie from their schools, move cities, run from yet another organization that wants them dead.

"How did you get this?" Danny asks, utterly dumbfounded.

"I dunno," Ellie says, just as Dan's saying, "Nowhere."

(Danny takes it back. Parenting is definitely not easy.)

"Danielle. Daniel. Where did you get these tire rims?" Danny asks again, more stern this time, to which he only gets shrugs. And that's when he notices the window is open and the screen his missing. "You're kidding me. Did you climb out the window? We're on the third floor!"

"We flew, duh." Ellie rolls her eyes, only shooting a wide-eyed, guilty look to Dan when he elbows her with a vicious shuddup!

"I-okay. Here's what we're going to do. We'll... just return the rims. It's not like the Red Hood saw you two steal them-," Danny stops when Ellie and Dan give each other a side-eye. He knows that look. It's the same look he and Jazz used to give each other when they had a silent agreement about something. Oh, no. No, no, no.

"...he didn't see you, did he?"

Another side-eye look. Oh, Ancients. At least there's no way the Red Hood knows where they are, right?

(Jason stares at the kids playing with his bike. He's not stupid enough to think they couldn't have been paid to sabotage it, but the way the little girl hikes herself up onto the seat and pretends to rev the engine makes him think otherwise. It's cute. The boy mostly seems interested in the engraved bat symbol on his tire rims, scraping at it like it's a 3D decal.

"I wanna be a bicycle-rider when I get bigger. I'll wear the jacket and everything!" The little girl laughs, deepening her voice before saying, "I'm a bicycle-rider! I'll beat you up!"

Jason snorts. He's leaning against the fire escape balcony overhead and it's dark enough for them not to see him, but they both freeze at the soft sound. When nothing happens, the kids relax again.

"It's a motorist, stupid. C'mon, help me take this off and I'll build you one."

"You wanna take the tire? Why?"

"'Cus of the symbol! It's the Batman symbol, do you know how scared people are of 'em? Show 'em this and nobody'll mess with us."

The kid's got a point. Crime Alley knows Red Hood's symbol like the back of their hand, but somehow Jason doesn't think rolling around a tire rim is going to have the same effect. Jason's about to step in when the kid bends the fucking metal with his bare hand. His fucking bike. It looks like the kid barely broke a sweat, too; just wiped his hands on his jeans and started prying apart front of his motorcycle.

Jason's voice is more biting than he means for it to when he shouts, "Hey!" He swings over the fire escape, landing with a heavy thud, before hauling ass towards the kids. Almost immediately the boy yanks the girl behind him and snarls... and his eyes go Lazarus-green. Jason stops abruptly. His voice is softer, gentler, when he tries again.

"Hey, kid. Don't you know not to go tearing apart people's bikes? C'mon, at least do it the right way."

That makes the boy pause, looking momentarily baffled and the green turning into bright blue. Jason takes that as an in and says, "Y'know, it's a lot faster when you use tools. I've got a wrench in my bag. If you use it like this..."

Jason spends the next thirty-five minutes helping the kids steal his own damn rims. He shouldn't. But he's curious about who these meta kids are and they're almost painfully easy to talk with, they just blabber like they've never heard of keeping a secret before in their lives. They talk about their dad, school, their favorite tv show. And then they talk about "the bad men" and Jason's stomach drops. "The bad men" who drive white vans, capture people, and experiment on them. And that sounds an awful lot like a meta-trafficking ring in his city, dead set on coming after the kids and their dad.

Then he's very, very grateful he's letting the kids take his rims home. After all, what Bat doesn't put GPS trackers in their symbols?)

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Side Quest

"Okay, we're sitting here doing nothing for twenty minutes already," Tim crumbles the burger wrapper in his hands, absentmindedly trying to shape it into a sphere just because he needs to keep his hands busy. "Care to spill why are we here?"

"We ain't doing nothing," Jason doesn't even look up at him — isn't that a surprise — instead leaning back in his seat. He doesn't take his eyes off the window. Tim hates sitting by the windows in BatBurgers, it always makes him feel like a fish inside the aquarium.

"That's exactly the point," he debates if he should throw his misshapen missile at his brother. Not like it will get any more sphere-like, anyway.

Jason rolls his eyes and spares Tim a quick glance, "No, I meant, we are not doing nothing. We're waiting."

"Waiting for what, the second coming of Jesus Christ?" Tim succumbs to his heart's deepest desires and throws the wrapper at Jason. It hits him right in the forehead, score for Tim. And yet, the man still doesn't rise the the bait; instead, the motherfucker laughs. It's quiet and breathless and short, but it's still a laugh.

"Close enough. Has anyone ever told you you're the most funny when you don't intend to be, Timberly?" Jason smirks at him, and Tim really wishes he's had something else to throw at him. But at this point, his options are only the table and chairs, seeing that he's already wasted the wrapper, and he doesn't want to cause an actual commotion. Yet.

So he leans back, mirroring Jason's position, and crosses his arms on his chest. "I'll take it as a compliment," it's a weak retort, but he doesn't have the energy to come up with anything better. The recent murder case, one involving a sorry excuse of a cult, an out-of-town drug dealer and, by some crazy twist of events, three nuns from Missouri, has been driving him nuts for the past week, sue him.

He so regrets asking Jason for help right now. It's not even the matter of his dignity — it's just that Jason is not helping, and most likely, doing it on purpose.

"Please, do," the unhelpful asshole gives him his grand permission, turning back to the window. But, a second later, his whole face lights up like Christmas came early, and he sits up, "Oh, there he is!"

In the next moment, the door to BatBurger slams open, and in steps... a guy.

Black hair, blue eyes, lanky, slim build — makes sense why Jason never mentioned him before, Bruce would have flipped his shit at the sight of an unadopted Bat-bait.

Worn denim jacket with rolled up sleeves, black t-shirt underneath, loose pants and sneakers — nothing out of the ordinary, really.

Except the guy has a fucking crowbar that he carries on his shoulder, and both the tool and his hands all the way up to his elbows are drenched in something dark red and wet. Tim would say it's blood, but then, would the guy really be showing up here covered in blood?

On the second thought, it's Gotham. He definitely would.

The guy looks around and wrinkles his nose slightly when he spots Jason. Then, he makes his way towards their table, the crowbar still on his shoulders.

"'Sup," he greets Jason, and as he stops right in front of the table, Tim sees that it's not only his hands that are stained with red. There are splatters of it on his face and neck as well.

"You've got something on your cheek," Jason gestures to his own face, trying to show where said 'something' is. The guy throws him a deadpan look and then licks it off without second thought.

His tongue is a lot longer than it should be. Tim takes a deep breath, looking between the bloody dude and Jason. He really hopes that his face is expressive enough for the latter to read the 'what the actual fuck' through his eyes alone.

"Okay, just so you're aware, an absolutely marvelous kind of high school reunion had to be put on pause because you called," the guy starts, wiping one of his hands on his jacket. "So, like, explain your fuck-up situation to me in ten words."

Jason, the absolute traitor, looks to Tim. The guy follows him, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Okay, ten words. He can totally do that.

"A sacrificial pentagram of dead nuns high on mystery cocaine," Tim says after a moment, looking the guy straight in the eyes.

He blinks. Then, he tilts his head sideways, like he's not sure if he heard Tim right. Tim just keeps staring at him — that was precisely ten words, and he is definitely not chickening out of this little-shit-superiority contest.

"O-kay," the guy finally says, slow and begrudgingly respectful, "I'm eighty seven percent certain this is about to be the highlight of my week." He gestures for Jason to move over and drops the bloody crowbar on the table before sitting just opposite to Tim.

"Spill."

[tobiasdrake]

Where do you fall on the "killing vs. not killing bad guys" argument? I know the debate is complicated and there's a lot of various factors for and against either side, so I wanna hear your take on things.

An intensely complicated subject that tends to get oversimplified on both sides of the equation. I generally don't like to take a "side" on this because I feel like the idea of there being "sides" on killing misses the point.

Unless you're talking about cold-blooded execution of a subdued foe, killing generally isn't a choice you get to make. It's a consequence of the choice you already made to use violence.

While arguments about killing villains exist beyond superhero comics, this is a particular way that they tend to happen in superhero media. Superhero stories depict their heroes as, effectively, SWAT teams. The Green Goblin is about to blow up Newark, so Spider-Man breaks in and smashes his face against a brick wall until he passes out.

Part of the fantasy is the idea that nonlethal violence is easy and reliable. After Spider-Man reduces the Green Goblin's HP to 0, a Windows menu pops up and says "Would you like to finish him?" Spider-Man boldly clicks "No" after every fight like the hero he is.

It allows fans to enjoy brutal takedowns of bad guys without having to reckon with the reality that when Batman brought an entire floor down on top of that guy's head, he probably didn't wake up in a hospital bed. Batman can throw a guy off a third story balcony and watch his knees crack as he hits the ground and the story assures you that he's fine. He'll just need a little stay in the hospital.

But realistically speaking, all of these guys would have body counts. Not because they were aggressively trying to murder, but because you don't really get the choice. It is extremely easy to kill someone and surprisingly difficult to nonlethally incapacitate them. The line between how much blunt-force cranial trauma will knock someone unconscious versus how much will kill them is extremely blurry and it moves.

There are less lethal ways of incapacitating someone than others. Obviously, tasing someone has a lower mortality rate than shooting them with bullets. But the only surefire way to uphold a Code of No-Killing is to not use violence as your problem-solving tool in the first place. And there's not a lot of de-escalation training going around the Avengers Mansion.

So it always just feels kind of self-delusional when superheroes brag about not killing people but their primary mode of problem-solving is to shoot a guy in the face with an exploding arrow or something. You're gonna kill people if you're Batmanning. Sorry, that's just the reality of violence. When you throw a guy off a roof, you don't get to choose what physics is going to do to that sack of meat and bone as it hits the ground.

Now, on the opposite end of the spectrum, should superheroes kill people on purpose? Uh. No. I don't want cops extrajudicially murdering whoever they don't like, and I don't want Batman to do it either. Due process exists for a reason.

Superheroes should not try to kill people. But they are going to kill people sometimes, because their hammer is violence and their stories are just excuses to pit them against nails.

"But the Joker always breaks out of prison." Yeah, but he also always comes back to life. If you can nitpick about genre conventions then I can too. Hell, often times you can't even redeem a villain without the next writer unwriting it and making them a bad guy again. At a metafictional level, there is rarely any way to truly do away with a popular villain.

But. Y'know. Let's talk about heroes who aren't fucking copaganda. In the broader fictional sense, should stories end with the hero killing the villain or shouldn't they?

This, again, has no simple Yes or No answer. It depends heavily on the themes being explored and what the villain is meant to represent.

We need to talk about the "demise" of the villain, which can be a literal death or it can be many other things. The primary function of the villain is to be wrong about something. To oppose the hero, who is right about something.

The villain holds bad ideas, bad beliefs, bad ideology. The hero may start out holding good ideas, or they may be something that the hero comes to over the course of the story. But by the time these two meet in the third act climax, they are meant to embody the two faces of the story's central thesis. Regarding whatever this story is trying to talk about, the hero is right and the villain is wrong.

Whatever form it takes, whether literal death or not, the demise of the villain is the final statement on their incorrect or even toxic beliefs. Which often does take the form of literal death because it's easy to write a comeuppance that way.

Luke Skywalker believes that there is love in his father's heart for him, and Emperor Palpatine is confident that Anakin is truly lost. But Luke's love for his family wins out and destroys Palpatine.

Scar is selfish, cowardly, and disloyal. Simba returns out of a sense of responsibility and loyalty to his people, coming clean to them and accepting his place among them. Scar tries to sell out the hyenas to save his own skin, as well as stabbing Simba in the back. For his treachery, the hyenas rip him to pieces; He is devoured by the very loyalties that he selfishly betrayed.

Obadiah Stane, the embodiment of war profiteering and the military-industrial complex, is literally consumed by the clean energy project that Tony wants to move the company towards instead.

Sauron underestimates the power of the small and meager folk, and believes wholeheartedly in Great Men of History. And so when Great Man Aragorn marches to his gates, he allows himself to become convinced that this is his true nemesis, his true rival, the threat he must face. This is the glorious battle that will decide the fate of Middle-Earth. And so he turns his eye away from the common folk that will be his undoing.

The villain's flaws, their toxic ideology, the things that make them the villain, are what their demise is supposed to be about. They can be consumed by their failings or undone by the hero's virtues, but either way, in a well-executed demise, a closing statement on the story's thesis is made.

But a well-executed demise doesn't necessarily have to be fatal, either. Like I've said, it can be things other than a literal demise. Sometimes it absolutely should.

In Civil War, Zemo is driven by an obsession for revenge. His homicidal retaliatory bloodthirst is a toxin that he infects both T'Challa and Tony with over the course of the story. Tony succumbs and has to be defeated with force, though Steve still demonstrates his strength of character by sparing Tony's life in the end even when the madness of the battle threatens to grip him too.

But it's T'Challa who delivers Zemo's demise. Not by killing him, but by making the choice to rise above vengeance. T'Challa breaks the shackles of Zemo's infectious vengeance and chooses mercy. And it's in this moment that Zemo's feelings, his cruelty, are opposed and vanquished by T'Challa's heroic virtue.

Firelord Ozai believes in the Social Darwinist ideology of Might Makes Right. He leads a culture where disputes are settled with deathmatches and believes it is his right to blanket the world in fire because he has the power to do so, and no one can stop him. Aang, by contrast, is a pacifist at heart because those are the values he was raised in; Values of a culture that Ozai exterminated, whose very last vestiges exist only in Aang's heart.

Ozai would kill Ozai and Azula, who often gets left out of this conversation. Because theirs is a culture where righteousness stands hand-in-hand with brute strength. Where who is right is decided by who is left standing when the dust settles, and who is a pile of ash. Aang defeats Ozai; By Ozai's belief system, Aang is stronger thus Aang is righteous and it is his Conqueror's Right to execute Ozai where he stands.

But Aang doesn't just beat Ozai; He rejects Ozai's way of life. He renounces the belief system of the imperialist colonizer and holds true to the belief system of a people they destroyed. While a simultaneous outcome plays out between Katara and Azula, as Katara similarly chooses mercy once she's obtained a position of power and control over Azula.

Special note also to Zuko who demonstrates that he actually cares more about protecting people than about winning his Glorious Deathmatch of Imperialist Honor. Which also serves as a rejection of Azula's beliefs that relationships are founded on fear and control. Zuko, too, rejects the belief systems of Ozai and Azula and warrants recognition. Ozai would never have taken a hit like that for Azula. Azula would never take a hit like that for Ty Lee.

It's this mercy that breaks the Hundred-Year War, destroying not the perpetrators of it but the very principles on which it is founded. This philosophical annihilation of Azula and Ozai's very understanding of strength and power is their villainous "demise", and weighs far more than just cutting their heads off and calling it a day ever could.

There is no correct answer to whether or not heroes should kill. What matters most is how the demise the writer chooses for the villain reflects upon the story's central ideas and thesis.

[richardmhicks]

Always On VPN and RRAS on Windows Server Core

Windows Server Core is a refactored version of the full Windows Server operating system. Server Core does not include a Graphical User Interface (GUI) and must be managed via the command line or with PowerShell. The Routing and Remote Access Service (RRAS) is a supported workload on all supported versions of Windows Server including Windows Server 2022. Always On VPN administrators should…

[neilsbeloved]

mess up your white tee (i’ll do you dirty)

summary: driving back to the kent farm after your internship, you see your boyfriend in his tight white tee… drenched in sweat. (inspos: this p-link + this tiktok)

warnings: MATURE (18+) / pure smut w light fluff / no plot, just clark wearing a white shirt / excessive description about cocks and dicks / overstimulation / oral (m) / groping / established relationship / no penetration / mild dirty talk / reader is ovulating, clark is free-use / semi-public sex (someone walks in)

a/n: oh my lawwwd this might be my best smut piece yet !!! pls do not hesitate to comment your thoughts & reactions, it motivates me a lot when u guys enjoy my work :3

gifs from @/zanephillips !

The front door of the Kent house jingles on your arrival.

The smell of Martha Kent's town-famous pies infiltrating your nostrils as soon as you entered the door. Martha, who usually was out of the house most of the time, seemed to have some spare time because she's baking again.

And God knows how happy you are that she is.

"Sweetheart, I set you aside some pies and muffins for you and Clark to eat over the weekend," Martha says, giving you a quick peck on the cheek like a mother would. "I have to go to New York with Lionel for a charity ball… you know we need the sponsors."

You hum, taking a utensil from the drawer to eat the sliced pie on the counter. "That's great, Mrs. Kent! Though I'm not sure Clark'd appreciate you going with Lionel."

"I know," she sighs. "But it's what I gotta do. I can't run the senate seat without sponsors, we need the funding."

The moment you feel the pie melt into your mouth, you're done for. You moan loudly, jerking your fork back and forth making Martha laugh.

"Sorry—have you told Clark about it?" You lean on the counter, voice slightly stuffed as you continued eating.

Martha shakes her head, "Still trying the right time to."

She sets the topic aside, beginning to talk about things happening in the senate. Both of you occasionally laughing when she talks about something particularly ridiculous that the other senators do.

It was a sweet and lighthearted conversation you had with your boyfriend's mother; it always is. Aside from the incredible being that is Clark Kent, you're also thankful that he had such a cool mother and a wonderful father behind him. Makes you feel all the more lucky to be part of such a family.

When you finish your pie, you feel a lot more rejuvenated. Like you could take on the world. Let fate give you their biggest challenge, who cares?

"Want another slice? I have one more—"

You spot Clark come out of the tool shed through the kitchen window, the white shirt he had on was littered with black stains and possibly some oil grease. The fabric clinging onto his body like second skin, barely letting his biceps breathe as he hoisted up some tool his shoulders, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he began heading elsewhere.

Your mouth waters, mind drifting off to the image of Clark underneath you, utterly ruined and glistening with sweat. Hips stuttering, cock begging to be tended to.

Sorry Martha Kent, I just found something else I wanna eat.

"Actually, I'll eat the last piece later with Clark," you tell her, putting on a sweet, innocent smile on your face. "D'you happen to know where he is?"

Martha's mouth forms an 'o', looking behind her to glance through the window. "I think he was at the shed earlier… you should probably go check the barn. I think he's fixing up something there."

You were already by the door when she finished, waving happily. "Thanks!"

A loud mechanical sound comes from the barn, practically reverberating all throughout the farm with how loud it was. You clasp your hands behind your back, discreetly walking inside only to see the first floor empty.

Your eyebrows furrow confusedly, hands coming apart to grip the strap of your bag, looking around the area for your white-shirt wearing hunk.

"You got home early," a voice comes from above.

You immediately looked up, an amused scoff coming from you as Clark leaned down on the wooden rails, grinning at you endearingly.

"Didn't you miss me?" You ask teasingly, face beaming as you made your way to the stairs, meeting with him at the center. Arms immediately thrown upwards to pull him close. Clark chuckles, not expecting you to lunge yourself towards him. Definitely not when he's sweaty and dirty.

But that's how you like him—sweaty and dirty.

"I missed you real bad, sweets. It was—oh—hard fixing the farm without a human radio beside me," Clark grunts in the middle of his sentence, suddenly feeling your hand over his clothed member, rubbing him gently through his jeans. "You okay? I just… I just finished bringing some heavy stuff up the loft and it's…"

Clark's words trail off as you began kissing the thick column of his neck. Messily licking the sweaty skin while your hand continues massaging him, your other one resting on his shoulder.

You feel his chest heave. A low, almost silent, groan leaving his mouth the moment you bite on the spot between his neck and collarbone, same time as you pull at the hairs on the back of his neck with your free hand.

The manly smell of sweat oozing off of him has you grinding your body on his. The hand you previously had on his center, slowly moving up and under his white shirt. His firm abs flexing under your touch.

Just as his eyes roll back, he snaps into reality, pulling away haphazardly.

"B-baby! What's gotten into you?" Clark laughs shakily, confused at the suddenness of your actions. "Look, I'm all dirty," he moves his arm up to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. "Let me take a quick shower and we can continue this, alright?"

Your face drops, "No."

He laughs again, this time with an expression that has you rolling your eyes. He stared at you like the word no was the least of his expected responses. "What do you mean no? Baby, I'm all sweaty—look, my shirt's dirty. I'm dripping of sweat, sweetheart, your clothes gonna get all messed up."

The smile he offers to you was a consoling one. Telling you that he'd really wouldn't want you to be with him in such a state wherein he's not clean and spotless.

You look at him through your lashes, lips separating as you stood on your tiptoes, moving close to his ear while he quickly leans down to your touch. "All the more reason to let me suck your cock, Clark."

When you pull back, you grin devilishly when Clark looks at you with bewildered eyes. His adam's apple bobbing uncontrollably. You push him back onto the steps of the loft, his body falling defenselessly on the top section of the stairs, the two of you hidden by just a few wooden panels.

Clark swallows on nothing, the heat of your voice has blood rushing into his cock, jeans tightening quicker than usual. You throw your bag somewhere in the loft, the rattle of your things being the least of your worries.

You turn to Clark, taking one more look at him; sweaty, flushed, and very much aroused. The evident bulge in his pants and shirt has you drooling.

You climb on top of him, Clark's hand immediately holding your body to make sure you won't fall back. You kiss him with much hunger in you, aggressively swiping your tongue and biting his bottom lip.

Your hips grind on his clothed cock, the rough material of his jeans making you mewl into the kiss. Clark lets you in without a fight, tongue tangling itself with yours as he has his own exploration underneath your top. Big, manly hands cupping your breasts through your bra.

You grind even harder on his cock, a coil building up in your core despite the two of you still fully clothed. You pull your hand up to slide underneath the waistband of his pants, feeling the weight of his hardening cock on your hand. The fabric of his boxers slowly getting wet by the tip.

Clark pulls away to let out a rough whimper, raspy and breathy, his forehead scrunching up with the way you jerk him softly through his boxers. The sound makes you feel hotter, urging you to ruin him even more.

The two of you separate for a brief moment, Clark's hands immediately moving to take off his white shirt, already holding the hem when you put your hand over his. You shake your head, smirking.

"Shirt stays on, handsome," you wink at him, leaning down to kiss the firm center of his chest, keeping his eyes locked with yours.

Clark throws his head back, grunting. You take the moment to hop off of his lap and pull his jeans just past down his knees. Clark helping you out to quicken the process, now equally as aroused as you are… probably even more.

His boxers tent shamelessly, the thin piece of blue fabric failing to hide the outline of his dick as you make out a darker colored blue right at the tip. Your mouth waters at the thought of his cock leaking just for you.

You pull down the waistband of his boxers, completely captivated at the way his cock proudly stands up, just barely hitting past your lips. The ridiculous size of it has you clenching your legs together, doing your best to fight the urge to just take him right then and there.

However, you had other plans, some that supersedes the ache between your thighs… like making sure Clark Kent remembers never to wear a white shirt when you're coming over.

His cock twitches on its own, the tip pulsing with an angry shade of red. It was so hard, you swore it looked like hurt. And for Clark, it actually did—even more so when you stare at it like it's the only thing you ever wanted. His hips move impatiently, Clark doing his best to stop himself from grabbing you and doing the job himself.

Finally, your hand cautiously grabs his shaft, involuntarily licking your lips at you began jerking it off, testing the waters as you flicked your eyes up to your boyfriend.

Clark's barely hanging on. His mind is going dizzier and dizzier by the second. Feeling his sanity hang by a single thread now that you're starting to move your hand even faster. Trying to hold in the moan in his throat when you put your lips around his tip, rolling your tongue around the fat head of his cock.

The salty taste of his pre-cum made you sigh contentedly, the vibration in your mouth making him twitch.

"You taste so fucking good, baby," you rasp, holding out your tongue to lick one thick stripe on the underside of his cock. Making sure you keep your eyes locked with his, not letting him miss a single moment of your version of heaven-on-earth.

"Oh God," Clark groans, now slightly high-pitched. His eyebrows furrowing upwards, lips falling apart.

He stays there, incapable of looking away from you as your tongue began slobbering all over his cock. Tasting and tracing every vein that trail from it, like an artist mimicking lines for their piece.

You take him in your mouth, slowly and deliberately, making sure to breathe through your nose as you already feel him at the back of your throat, lips stretched to the max as you did your best to take him in, both in length and in girth.

Clark's cock is only halfway inside of your mouth when you gag, the tip hitting the back of your throat making you swallow involuntarily. His hips jerk up, chasing after the tightness of your throat as the sound finally escapes his mouth.

The sound. The whimper.

It was brief, quiet, and subtle, you wouldn't have caught it any other day but fortunately today wasn't those days. The sound makes your insides swell as Clark finally falls back on steps defeatedly. His arms stretching to the back of his head, his biceps spilling out of the sleeves of his shirt, the thought of the fabric ripping because of it making you even more motivated.

You pull off his cock with a loud breath, gasping like you had just been submerged underwater way longer than you should have been. Your hand moves up and down the remainder of his cock—the part you didn't manage to suck—your other hand coming to your lips as you spat on it loudly.

A grin comes onto your lips, Clark's eyes rolling to the back of his head when he watches you rub your spit all over his cock. Making sure every inch of him is covered by you.

You put him back in your mouth, this time having an easier time fitting him in. When you began bobbing your head up and down his cock, tongue licking the shaft, Clark's unable to control his moans. Whimpers and whines spilling from his mouth, clearly trying to use whatever sanity he has to manage the volume of his sounds.

You don't want him to, though. You want him utterly wrecked, broken, head too deep in the pleasure to even worry about who hears his beautiful sounds.

"Fuck, baby—oh god, that's…" Your sudden hand on his balls has him moving uncontrollably. Clark pulling himself up to prop on his elbows, lips red from biting it over and over again, his lust-blown eyes staring at where your hand fondled with him.

He drops his head back, feeling you swallow around his cock. One hand stroking him event faster, the other massaging his balls. Everything around him begins to blur as he slowly loses the reins of his mind.

You let him thrust inside of your mouth, keeping your breath going through your nose, letting him hear the loud and dirty sound of your gagging.

"O-oh!" He gasps loudly, eyes closing shut when you moan around his cock. Slipping off for a second to run your tongue over his bails, popping each one in your mouth before taking his cock back in. "Fuck, that feels so good baby. Don't—mhmm—don't stop, baby, please, right there."

You don't stop the smile that tries to come on your lips, every time your name slips from his mouth is like an angel whispering to you the greatest of songs.

Clark's control disappears. Abandoning his care for anything else besides you on his cock.

You do a quick motion to pull his shirt back just a bit, giving yourself some eye candy—his sweaty abs flexing—as you hurriedly try to push him off the ledge.

Clark grabs the hem of his shirt, almost pulling off his white shirt when you stop him. "I said it stays on, handsome."

He groans, dropping the fabric from his hands and putting them on either side of your head. The moment he does, you know he's got nothing else on his mind now aside from getting himself off.

Clark begins to chase after his own release. Hips thrusting into your mouth with a roughness that has you stuck on the spot. Eyes watching every strain of muscle in his features. His cock hits the back of your throat multiple times but you didn't care. Not even a bit.

All you cared about, at the moment, was letting him finish himself, letting out every bit of frustration he has about the world inside the warm inside of your lips.

"There, shit—nnghf, fuck, stay like that baby," Clark says, whiney and breathy. Pleas of your name falling endlessly.

He feels the coil in his lower stomach twist even harder. The familiar white spots appearing in his vision as he clenches his teeth together, doing his best to tip himself off the edge without accidentally hurting you.

When your fingers tighten around the base of his cock, just enough to give him mind-dizzying pressure, he looks down. Your eyes locking with his in the most erotic way you could. Then he lets go.

Clark's lips split open to let out one of the deepest groan you ever heard from him. Ropes of his cum coating the inside of your mouth as he rides out his high, grunting and whimpering every time his dick touched the softness of your cheeks.

"Shit, that was… Oh fuck," he sighs, slowly coming back down to Earth as he looks around.

You grin at him, holding your tongue out to show him his masterpiece. "Baby." he says, running his hands through his hair as the aftershocks of his orgasm still made his thighs clench.

You swallow his cum without a question. Throwing your hair to the side as you shifted in your place, peeling off your panties from underneath your skirt.

Clark smirks lazily, thinking he knows what comes next.

Unfortunately for him, you weren't done yet.

You throw your panty over to him, Clark catching it with ease before he holds it close to his face, just enough to get a whiff of your wetness on it. His eyes darkening the moment he sees it absolutely drenched.

"You did so good for me, handsome," you purr, coming on top of him to nip at the neckline of his shirt. Licking the beads of sweat twinkling down his neck. The salty taste of the liquid making you hum contentedly. "So fucking good."

"Let me take care of you now, sweets. Must be so drenched for me, huh?" Clark tries to slide off your top, running his hands all over your sides.

You chuckle, the glint in your eyes telling him something different. "I'm not done with you yet, baby. Just relax for me, m'kay?"

You sit back up, sitting on top of his thighs, your skirt bunched around your hips to give Clark a sight of what's happening to you underneath that composed facade of yours.

Clark watches you with anticipation, tongue coming out to lick his lips as he tries to prop himself up with his elbows again.

"H-hey!" Clark stutters, eyes widening when your hands grab his cock again. It was still hard, leaking, and even aching. You're not sure just one release gets the job done. "Sweets, I just came…" he breathes, voice cautiously low. "It's your turn now, c'mon. Let me take care of you." He tries to pull you up from your position, maybe even have you sit on his face as a way to return the favor.

You don't budge though. You slap his hand away with your free one, leaning down to put your face beside his cock. The lewd sound of his cock sliding in and out your palm paired with the subtle tingles of overstimulation, and your erotic eyes, it gets the same fire inside of him burning again.

"Just give me one more, Clark. One more and I'll let you take me," you pause, tilting your head to his cock, spitting on it loudly, "…however you want."

Clark glares at you, jaw clenched and body tense, his eyes holding a sense of determination that tells you he's not turning down your offer.

A proud smile comes on your lips, giving the base of his cock one kiss before you start jerking him off. Using your spit and his pre-cum to slide it smoothly. You use both of your hands now, one at the top focusing on his tip, while the other moved up and down his length.

"Mhfm," Clark groaned, his tip being too sensitive right now. His face getting warmer by the second, body clenching uncontrollably. "B-baby, it's… oh… fuck."

"Yeah?" You raise an eyebrow, taking your hands off abruptly making him thrust upwards into nothing.

He looks at you wide-eyed, shocked and confused. You only chuckle at him, slowly placing your hand by his face, open palm by his mouth. Clark stares at you, awaiting your word.

"Spit." Clark gathers up his saliva for a second before spitting it all in your hand.

You smile, thanking him sweetly before you went back to your position. Letting the feeling in his stomach subside before placing your hands back. The hand with his spit placed over his tip, swirling his own liquid around the engorged head.

It was right then did Clark understand how fucked he was. How fucking dirty all of this is.

Worst of it all, he can't even do anything. He's fully at your mercy. Having to take everything you're giving to him without a complaint.

You find your pace, wasting no time to finally get that second release you desperately wanted from him.

Clark doesn't fight it anymore. He lets out every groan, whimper, and moan he has in him. Your name being at the top of the his lungs as he continuously called out for you, begging and pleading to let him come.

"Please, baby, I'm—I'm almost there baby."

"You gonna come f'me?" You tease, batting your eyelashes innocently.

"Uh-huh, keep going," Clark nods repeatedly, his features scrunching up as he feels it start to hurt, start to tingle. Somewhere between the pain and pleasure of the overwhelming sensation—that's where he is. Almost at the top. "Yes, baby, just like that."

You decide not to torture him even more, letting him have his release as you continued to move your hands with a faster pace. The sounds of his cries slowly getting louder.

Then, you hear a voice downstairs.

"Clark? You there sweetheart?" Martha Kent.

His eyes shoot open, hand immediately slapping over his mouth to stop his own moans. He looks to you with panic, but you only smile wider.

"I've finished baking!" Martha called again. Apparently she's been looking for you as well. "When you find her, head to the kitchen, alright? I tried a new recipe for my muffins, try 'em out."

You swiftly, and carefully, move to his ear, whispering: "Answer her."

He shakes his head, "No," he says quietly.

"Now," you say, dropping one hand from his length to his balls.

Clark's eyes roll back, taking his hand off of his mouth. "Y-yeah, mom, we'll check… check it out in a bit!"

His voice was shaky, but you applaud him from even trying. Staring at him proudly, stars dancing in your eyes as you hear Martha's great! see you! in the back, footsteps slowly disappearing.

Clark releases all over your hand the moment you sit back on his thighs, wet slit touching his bare thigh. An aching and almost painful groan ripped away from his throat as more strings of cum shoot out of his cock. Generously falling down the tip and onto the base.

Clark's breathing heavily now. Chest moving up and down after what felt to be like the last orgasm in his lifeline. It was so strong—so intense, he couldn't even wrap his head around what just happened.

Why you were still smiling at him as your tongue licked up the cum dripping on his length, as if you didn't just swallow it minutes ago.

You clean him up, his cock finally softening just a bit in your hold. You move up to him, resting your chin on chest. "You’re so pretty."

Clark's weak scoff enters your ear. Arm weakly wrapping around your back. "Have I been neglecting you or what?"

You laugh at him, kissing his lips lightly. "Never stop wearing white shirts."

When you start rolling away to get up, Clark tightens his hold on you.

"Oh, baby," he shakes his head, tongue poking at his cheek. "You're not getting off that easily. Up the loft, c'mon. It's my turn."

hearts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! xoxo

[witherby]

do you think that the batfam has different ways of explaining their bruises/injuries they get from crimefighting to an observant mouse? 👼👼👼

--🎆

Fantastic question! I think growing up in Wayne Manor would make it exceptionally difficult to hide the vigilantism from you. They could 100% do it, but it would take about a thousand times more effort concealing it from you than the general public, so I don't think they would.

You're very young when you start really piecing it together, though, so they're gonna have to tell you what happened in child-friendly ways.

The Littlest Wayne: Post-Battle Injuries

1. Bruce

"Wha' happen, daddy?"

This man is not a good liar, but he dodges the truth like it's an Olympic sport. Like any public figure worth their salt, he's gonna answer the question without answering the question.

"Well, when Daddy has to go be Batman, sometimes he gets hurt. The boo-boos will go away after a while, and everything is going to be fine. You'll have to hug gently for a few days."

What he doesn't say is that he took a toyota corolla pushing 70 to the ribs and can feel the broken bones shifting and rubbing together like wet chopsticks under his skin, it's fucking nauseating, and he needs to go pass out as soon as he puts you down for a nap.

2. Dick

"Uh-oh, Dinky hurty?"

If Bruce is admired for keeping his cool in the wake of grievous injury, then Dick wrote the fucking book on it. His picture shows up when you google "gaslight gatekeep girlboss." He could lose a limb and convince you it's always been like that with a straight face. You'll never catch his ass lacking.

"Dinky fell down," he says easily, scooping you into his arms, "but he's fine! See? All okay!" His face doesn't even twitch from all his wounds getting aggravated. There is shrapnel embedded in his back from being thrown through a window and tumbling down the roof. The broken-off blade of a knife is jammed up in his thigh. His right hand has lost all feeling in it from blocking a pipe getting swung at him. There are black spots in his vision. He's lost so much blood it's nothing short of divine intervention keeping him conscious.

You'd bet your ass if you need him to go sprint a 10k right now, though, he's lacing up his tennis shoes.

3. Tim

"Timmy, what wrong?"

He's gonna tell you the truth, and he's the only one that'll tell you the truth. He'll just omit the gorey bits because they're not beneficial to you.

"Oh, this? Bad guy got me good with his knife. It hurts a lot so don't touch it... I just said don't touch it...okay fine, go wash your hands first before you touch it."

He didn't like being kept out of the loop as a child, especially a child that had to raise himself, so he tells you about anything and everything you ask. He'll tell you what medical supplies he's grabbing and why. He'll tell you his estimated recovery time. He'll tell you what wounds the others have, if any. He'll let you touch the safe tools, like gauze and bandages and antibiotic ointment. He'll show you how to apply them, too, and then quickly take you to the sink to wash the blood from your hands.

4. Jason

"Jay-Jay ouchies?"

He's the most unintentionally awkward about it. I think being brought back to life in the Lazarus Pit really fucked up his ability to feel pain. The major injuries still sting — gunshots, stabs, broken bones — but bruises and black eyes and sprains fly under the radar very often.

"Uh, no," he shrugs, looking at the myriad of colorful bruising you just pointed out on his arm. "No ouchies." He's not exactly lying, it doesn't hurt, but it is very clearly an injury. This confuses and upsets you often.

5. Damian

"Dami got a booboo?"

He's lying every single time. He's your older brother. He's a dangerous killing machine. His skill and combat prowess are unmatched. He needs you to think he's incredible and amazing and cool.

"Those half-wit simpletons could never dream of landing a hit on me. Any blood on my clothes is simply not mine."

One of the goons actually clipped his side with a bullet and it really, really hurts. His hands are flexing and he's got sweat running down his neck from the pain. He would actually rather die than let you know that, though.

[ryescapades-archived]

— a little handsy now, aren’t we?

characters: nagumo yoichi (sakamoto days) x gn!reader contents: sfw, slight hint of suggestive, this is corny ngl, they’re in their jcc years, use of petname once, tension ? reader is from weapon’s dpt, possibly ooc/canon divergent as i haven’t read the manga yet wc ~ 900 (no beta!)

a/n: crowd boos and throws tomatoes at me sry idk what this is honestly

“Hey, you.”

The seat underneath you is starting to feel uncomfortable as you tuck yourself closer to the table, lifting your gaze up from the tools you’d been using a few hours prior. Your arms tense from where you have them propped up on the hardened surface, an effort to look the most casual as you can be as three girls walk further inside the laboratory.

“Did you see Nagumo-kun anywhere around here?” The girl in the middle questions, propping her hands on her hips right as they approach your little secluded corner. The other two shift on their feet, looking around the lab like it’s their first time coming here– it probably is– before they both turn to you, anticipating your answer.

You glance down at the little paper bags they’re holding in their hands, already knowing there’d be a bunch of gifts and letters in there if you were to check their contents. You raise an eyebrow at them, “Nagumo? You mean that lanky guy from the Assassin Department?”

There’s a ghost of a touch on your calf from under the table, and you freeze in your seat before straightening your back as the girl narrows her eyes at you. “Lanky?! He’s not– ugh, anyway. We saw him round the corner just outside this lab a few minutes ago. Are you sure you haven’t seen him at all?” She presses, leaning close to your face as her haughty glare directs at the recent project you’re working on.

She’s probably right. The lab you’re currently using is at the end of the hall, and there’s no other place he could’ve gone to unless he jumps out the window just outside the place (you wonder why he didn’t do that instead).

You tilt your head, hands fully pausing from your work, “Well, I guess…? People have been in and out of the lab a lot. Maybe you can check around–”

A warm, large palm rests on the inside of your thigh. Then there’s a squeeze, blunt nails digging into the soft flesh and causing you to flinch, your knees almost hitting the underside of the table. You bite down the surprised yelp bubbling at the back of your throat as heat courses through your veins at the indecent touch.

The girls slightly draw back at your sudden reaction. “Whoa, you okay there?” One of them asks with a perfectly arched brow. You let out a laugh, though it looks more of a grimace than anything. “I’m fine, sorry, sorry. It's nothing.” You try to convince, all the while kicking away the filthy hand that has been creeping up your leg as silently as possible.

Your irritation slowly simmers under your skin as you glance at the saw machine at the edge of the table, suddenly having the urge to use it on something. Or someone.

“In any case, I’m sure he’s somewhere outside since I’ve only seen students from my department here. Until you three, of course.” Eyeing them with a pointed look, you nod towards the entrance of the lab with a flat grin. “And it’s already late. This gun won’t finish itself, you know. So if you’d kindly leave.”

The girls grumble under their breath, the middle one clicking her tongue in annoyance at your abrupt dismissal. “If I ever find out you’re lying to us, you better start checking what you eat next time,” she points an accusing finger at you before they eventually turn to leave, footsteps resounding through the space around you before the lab goes back into silence, save for the low murmurs from the students in the distance.

Fingers drumming on the piece of steel in front of you, you let the growing stillness settle into the air before muttering, “Girls from the Poison’s Department are persistent as ever, huh… Disguising yourself would've been easier for you, no?”

“Eh… I guess you’re right,” A drawled out voice comes from the minimal space under the table. Your eyes twitch at the indifference in the tone, and you finally push your seat back to look down at the raven head sitting criss-crossed on the floor.

Nagumo peers up at you while nonchalantly trailing a finger up and down your shin, his tall frame making the place look even more cramped than it actually is. “But don’t you think this arrangement is more… interesting?”

You instantly deadpan, shrugging his touch off. “You think this is funny?”

He chuckles, waving a hand beside his head. “No, no, not at all! I’m grateful enough that you agreed to let me lay low for a while,” his voice then drops to an octave, those dark depthless eyes shamelessly staring at your legs. “Though I do admit that I enjoyed it a little too much.”

Your arms cross on your front as an imaginary tick mark appears on the side of your temple. “You’re lucky those huge piles of scrap metals are there to hide you, Nagumo.” You lift up a leg, the heel of your boot pressing against his chest while your own voice turns to a deathly lilt. “Pull shit like that again and I’ll crush you under my foot like you’re nothing.”

“Yeah?” The corners of his lips tug upwards as his tattooed hand gently closes around your ankle to rub figures on your skin. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I expect nothing less from you.” Nagumo's ever so obnoxious smile grows into place as you clench your fists, holding back from landing a punch or two.

Preferably on that goddamn pretty face.

stepping on that man and putting him in his place is an essential need actually

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[casssmalefantasy]

ONLY ONE ME FOR YOU

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER!

| synopsis: all you wanted was to vibe with your girl at a sza concert. instead, you got fans, a pretty girl getting too close to your drunk girlfriend, and a whole lot of feelings.

| warnings: language, alcohol consumption, jealousy, emotional tension, heated makeout, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end, implied sexual content

| word count: 5.7k

“okay, i’m not even joking, if one more person uses my mascara—”

“—kk it’s literally waterproof, what do you expect?”

“and y’all said i’m the dramatic one—”

you’re in paige’s room, music blasting from someone’s speaker in the living room, hair tools overheating on the bathroom counter, makeup palettes open across the desk. it’s chaos, loud and familiar, azzi yelling for her lip liner, aubrey facetiming jana so they match outfits, ice and yana filming a tiktok in the hallway.

you adjust the black pants sitting perfectly on your hips and lace up your jordans, glancing at your reflection. the vintage sza jersey you thrifted hangs loose in all the right ways. it’s casual, but still screams effortlessly hot. you’re fixing the hem when the door creaks open and a voice whistles low.

“damn.”

you look up to find paige leaning in the doorway, already dressed in baggy jeans and a cropped white tank. her hair more straightened, gold hoops shining, and the look she’s giving you—yeah, you’re in trouble.

“you tryin’ to kill me before we even get to the concert?”

you raise an eyebrow. “it’s just a jersey.”

she walks over, crowding you against the dresser with that smug grin. “not just a jersey. it’s your jersey. on you. with those pants? and those shoes? baby…”

her voice dips lower and you feel her hands slip around your waist.

“…you tryna get jumped at this concert? ‘cause i will fight someone.”

you laugh, cheeks warm, trying to play it cool even as her lips brush your neck. “you’re so dramatic.”

“i’m deadass.” she kisses you again, lower this time, dragging it out just enough to make your knees a little weak. “you look so fuckin’ good right now.”

before you can answer, the door swings open again.

“ewww.” ice groans, standing in the doorway with a hand over her eyes. “i knew y’all were being weird in here. i could feel it.”

“hi, ice,” you mumble, trying to untangle from paige’s arms.

“y’all are disgusting. i’m gagging. i need holy water.”

paige just smirks. “close the door on your way out.”

ice doesn’t. and now you’re blushing, shoving paige’s shoulder and muttering, “you’re literally shameless.”

“you’re the one kicking me out my own room,” she teases.

“go wait in the living room, horndog.”

—

“shots!” paige yells ten minutes later, holding up a little pink bottle. “pregame, let’s fucking go!”

not everyone drinks—aubrey is driving half the crew, azzi wants to save her buzz for later, but you paige, and kk pass the bottle between each other with wild cheers. you’re all packed into the living room now, makeup done, fits on point, energy electric.

aubrey snaps a mirror selfie with all of you in the background. “look how hot we are.”

“sza better be scared,” kk grins.

“alright let’s go!” paige says excitedly.

you, paige, azzi, kk, and yana pile into paige’s car. azzi driving you guys. aubrey drives the rest in her car, sarah riding shotgun and ice in the backseat yelling at jana for picking the wrong playlist.

your group is bumping sza already, the windows down and the wind blowing. “love language” starts playing and paige immediately gasps.

“turn it up!”

her hand finds your thigh as she sings along, loud and dramatic and so off-key it’s actually adorable. she turns to you mid-verse, eyes shining, voice softening.

“in your love language…”

you smile, leaning into her touch. “you are so annoying.”

“and what about it.” she winks.

—

the venue is packed. vip wristbands flashing, people everywhere, phones out. your group snakes through the crowd, finally landing in the roped-off section near the front.

paige turns to you. “you want a drink?”

“something light,” you say. “not too strong.”

she kisses your cheek. “say less. be right back.”

you watch her go, blonde hair moving quickly, azzi already trying to take selfies with everyone. a couple fans nearby whisper and gesture toward the team. it starts with one photo, then two, then a whole group realizing who’s here.

when paige returns with your drink—a pineapple vodka soda, you barely get a sip before three more people ask for photos.

“sorry,” she mouths to you, then smiles at the fans, never saying no.

you don’t blame her. it’s part of being paige, but the longer it drags out, the more you’re just… waiting. and watching.

and then you notice her.

the girl standing too close to paige. curly hair. tattoos. flirty eyes. and the way she touches paige’s arm when she laughs? it sets something deep and sharp off inside you.

“uhh…” azzi leans over. “is that girl flirting with paige?”

“i don’t know,” you mutter.

“you should go get her.”

“i don’t wanna make a scene.”

“you’re literally her girlfriend.”

you clench your jaw, but then the girl touches paige again. and that’s it.

you weave through the crowd and slide a hand around paige’s waist, letting her know you’re there. she stiffens, then relaxes when she sees it’s you.

“hey, babe,” she smiles, tipsy and glowing.

“you should come back,” you say quietly.

the girl doesn’t move. doesn’t even look at you until she does and then she dares to say..

“can you give paige a second?”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“i was just—” you start to say.

“it’s fine,” paige cuts in quickly, turning to you. “just gimme a sec, i’ll be right back, i swear.”

you stare at her. she’s smiling like nothing’s wrong. like she doesn’t see how mad you are.

you walk away without saying anything.

—

“sooo…” ice starts in aubrey’s car. “what happened?”

you sigh, slumping into the back seat. “some girl was being all over paige. like, touching her. and paige stayed even after i told her to come back.”

aubrey frowns. “seriously?”

“she said she’d be back in a sec. and then the girl tried to get her snapchat.”

jana whistles low.

“but you know paige,” ice says. “she’s literally obsessed with you. she wouldn’t disrespect you like that.”

“i know,” you say. “i just… hated how it felt.”

—

back at the apartment, the silence is loud.

you’re sitting on the bed, taking off your jewelry. paige is leaning against the dresser, watching you like she wants to say something, but doesn’t know how.

“you mad at me?”

you don’t answer.

“baby.”

you sigh. “i’m just tired.”

“no, you’re not.” she walks over, soft but firm. “you’re pissed. and i wanna talk about it.”

you pause. then finally look at her. “she was all over you.”

paige blinks. “i didn’t even notice.”

“she touched you. she was rude to me. and you still stayed.”

paige shakes her head. “i didn’t stay because of her. i stayed because—fuck, i don’t even know. i was tipsy. i didn’t wanna be rude.”

“she gave you her phone, paige.”

“i didn’t put anything in it. i told her i didn’t have snap. i lied. and when she asked for my number, i told her i had a girlfriend. you. and then i walked away.”

you stare at her. “really?”

she nods, eyes soft. “i would never disrespect you. ever. i’m sorry i made you feel like i did.”

you breathe out. the tension in your chest finally loosens.

“you could’ve just said that earlier.”

“i know.” she takes your hands. “i got caught up. but there’s only one me for you. and only one you for me.”

you smile, barely. “that was kinda cheesy.”

“you’re cheesy.” she leans in, kisses your cheek. “but seriously… i’m yours.”

you wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her close.

“you’re mine.”

“and no random girl with tattoos is gonna change that,” she grins.

you laugh into her neck, finally feeling like you can breathe again.

[4linos]

fragile future.

hwang hyunjin x f!reader

synopsis/request: a simple plastic stick sits before you, holding more meaning than you expected. as you wait, scared but hopeful, you learn that the most important thing isn’t what the result says, it’s who’s there to hold your hand through it.

warnings: fluff, anxiety and emotional vulnerability, pregnancy-related themes.

wc: 4920

The quiet scratch of charcoal against canvas filled the air, the rhythm steady, meditative. Hyunjin sat perched on his stool in his personal art studio, surrounded by scattered sheets of sketch paper and tubes of oil paint that were either neatly arranged or left half-open in a glorious mess only he could navigate. Golden afternoon light spilled lazily through the tall window, casting a halo on his long lashes and turning his hair into threads of honey.

He was lost in the quiet pulse of creativity, brush gliding over texture like music in motion. A sketch of a woman’s hand, delicate and ethereal, slowly came to life under his fingertips. He didn't need to look at a reference; her image was already burned into his mind like a dream he visited often. It was always her. You.

The door creaked gently behind him, soft as a whisper. He didn’t look up. His focus was absolute, his heart rhythm syncing with every stroke. His voice, however, was automatic and warm as he greeted you.

“You ready to go get lunch, angel?” he asked casually, affection woven effortlessly through his tone.

You smiled at his distracted sweetness, but before you could answer, the tiny human in your arms let out a giggle soft, bubbly, innocent.

Hyunjin froze.

His hand stopped mid-air, charcoal smudging an unintended line across the paper. He blinked slowly and turned toward the sound with a furrowed brow, as though trying to make sense of the noise.

And then he saw her. And you.

A baby. A tiny, giggling baby cradled in your arms. She had plump cheeks, hair tied into the tiniest ponytail, and eyes bright with mischief. Her legs kicked excitedly as she babbled, absolutely delighted to be wherever she was.

Hyunjin’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait,” he said, putting his tools down slowly, like he was afraid any sudden movement might shatter the strange, adorable illusion. “Where did you steal a baby from?”

You snorted. “I didn’t steal her. Yeri asked me to watch Eunji while she and her husband finally went out for their anniversary. You remember, right? She’s been talking about that date night for weeks.”

“Oh.” Hyunjin blinked, finally piecing together the memory. “Right, right. Anniversary dinner. I forgot that was today.”

“She dropped her off just after breakfast,” you explained, adjusting Eunji in your arms. “She’s been an angel so far. Slept on my chest for an hour. My heart might never recover.”

“Mine either,” he muttered, completely mesmerized.

Eunji, upon locking eyes with Hyunjin, let out another squeal and extended her tiny hands toward him, her whole body wiggling with interest. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and scooped her up with ease, holding her under her arms like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Hi there,” he said with a grin, bouncing her softly. “You remember me? I'm the really tall guy who makes a mess with paint.”

Eunji responded by smacking his cheeks with her drool-covered hands, giggling loudly as he feigned exaggerated surprise.

“Hyun, don’t let her slap you around,” you joked as you settled into the couch in the corner of the room, watching them with warm eyes.

“She can slap me all she wants,” he replied, not even remotely pretending to mind. “She’s adorable. Look at that face.”

Eunji babbled nonsense in reply, clearly engaged in an intense conversation only babies could understand. Hyunjin responded with equal nonsense, matching her pitch and making silly faces until she erupted into more giggles.

He held her securely, the kind of hold that spoke volumes, not just of comfort, but of how naturally the role came to him. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t forced. It was instinct.

“She’s probably hungry,” you said, checking the time. “Her last meal was a couple hours ago.”

Still smiling, Hyunjin nodded. “You want me to feed her?”

“You sure?” you asked, already standing. “I’ve got her food prepped.”

He hesitated, not because he didn’t want to, he very much did, but he couldn’t stop watching you. You walked past him, brushing Eunji’s arm gently with your fingers and whispering, “Time to eat, little love.”

Hyunjin handed her back reluctantly, lingering in the way your hands curled around her small body, the way your voice dipped naturally into that soft, motherly cadence. She fit against you like puzzle pieces designed to belong. He trailed after you silently, suddenly aware of the shift in his chest like something was trying to settle there. Something unfamiliar yet deeply right.

-

In the kitchen, you moved like it was second nature.

The bib was already laid out. A small bowl of mashed sweet potatoes sat cooling on the counter, alongside a baby spoon and a cloth for cleanup. Eunji was placed in a baby chair, legs kicking excitedly. You tied the bib gently around her neck, brushing her hair back with a soft hum.

Hyunjin watched from the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame like he had stumbled into someone else’s dream. His dream.

There was no performance in the way you spoke to her. No effort to impress. You didn’t need to. It was simple, effortless tenderness.

“Open up for me, pretty girl,” you said, scooping a spoonful and holding it near her lips. Eunji, with a gummy grin, accepted the food like it was the greatest thing she’d ever tasted. “Good job!”

You clapped gently, and she giggled, smearing a bit across her cheek in the process. You wiped it away with ease, still smiling, unfazed.

Hyunjin’s heart clenched.

He'd always thought about having kids. Occasionally, fleetingly. It wasn’t an obsession, just something he assumed would happen in the distant future. Someday. Eventually.

But this wasn’t just a daydream anymore. It was real. You, standing barefoot in the kitchen, feeding a baby with soft eyes and gentle laughter, completely unaware of the way you were shifting something inside him.

He walked up behind you quietly, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmured into your neck.

You smiled, not turning around. “She makes it easy.”

“No,” he said softly. “You make it easy.”

You finally turned to glance at him, eyes full of curiosity.

Hyunjin didn’t say anything more right away. He watched Eunji take another bite, babbling happily as you praised her. His arms stayed around you, firm but gentle, like he didn’t want the moment to slip away.

“I think seeing you like this just unlocked something,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You looked up at him, the question clear in your expression.

“Like what?”

He met your eyes. “I want this. Someday. With you.”

There was no hesitation in his voice. No nerves. Just certainty, wrapped in warmth.

Your breath caught. A part of you had always wondered what that would look like children, a home, something bigger than just love. But hearing it from him, seeing it in his eyes as he looked between you and the baby now contentedly chewing on her fist… it felt like a glimpse into the future.

“You’d be such a good dad,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

His hold tightened, not possessively, but with the quiet desperation of someone afraid to wake up from a beautiful moment.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there. “We’d have a baby with your smile,” he mused, “and maybe your stubbornness.”

“She’d be a handful.”

“I’d love every second of it.”

There was a brief pause. Eunji let out a loud babble, smacking her tray for more food. You laughed, spooning another bite while Hyunjin watched you like you’d just given him the blueprint for happiness.

“I imagine it sometimes,” he admitted. “You holding a newborn while our toddler runs around the house with paint on her hands.”

“Oh? Paint?” you teased.

“She’d be an artist like her dad,” he said proudly. “Or maybe she’ll be a singer. Or a dancer. Or all three.”

You leaned back into his chest. “Sounds exhausting.”

He chuckled. “It sounds like a dream.”

For a moment, there was only soft breathing, the background sounds of a baby smacking her tray, and the deep, steady thrum of a shared future.

Not just imagined now, but felt.

-

Later, when Eunji was napping on the couch, tucked under a blanket with her thumb in her mouth, you and Hyunjin sat on the floor nearby, backs against the sofa, fingers laced together.

“You were really good with her,” you told him quietly.

“She made it easy,” he repeated your words from earlier, then turned to face you. “But honestly, I think it’s because she reminded me how much I want that life with you.”

He wasn’t trying to impress you. He wasn’t making promises for the sake of romance. He was simply speaking his truth.

And you believed him.

Because in the way he looked at you, in the way he touched you so reverently

while cradling another woman’s child, in the way he never once made it about anything other than shared love, you knew.

One day, Eunji wouldn’t be just a borrowed joy.

One day, maybe not too far away, you’d be holding your own child in your arms.

And Hyunjin would be right there, paint on his hands, laughter in his eyes, love in every step he took toward you.

The apartment felt unusually quiet once Eunji left. Too quiet.

It was like someone had turned the volume down on the world. No more soft baby babbles echoing down the hall. No tiny giggles bouncing off the kitchen walls. No more little fists tugging at your shirt or soft, weighty warmth curled against your chest.

Just the sound of the ticking clock in the hallway and the distant hum of city noise beyond the windows.

You stood by the front door for a moment after Yeri and her husband had picked up their daughter, waving goodbye as Eunji blew a sloppy kiss in Hyunjin’s direction from her mother’s arms. The echo of her presence still lingered, as though her laughter had left fingerprints on the walls.

Hyunjin closed the door gently behind them, and for a while, you both just stood there, staring into the quiet.

“She’s so sweet,” you said softly, eyes still on the space where she had just been.

Hyunjin let out a sigh that sounded more like a soft, lovesick exhale. “Too sweet. I miss her already.”

You turned to look at him. His eyes were wistful, his expression glowing with something deeper than simple fondness.

“She’s not even our baby,” you teased lightly.

He looked at you then. “I know. But it kind of felt like she was for a little while, didn’t it?”

And it had.

For those few precious hours, it wasn’t just babysitting. It was domestic. Whole. Like a glimpse into a life you could almost touch.

That night, after a simple dinner and a long shower, you and Hyunjin lay in bed together beneath soft sheets, your limbs tangled like ivy. The bedroom lights were dimmed, casting everything in warm amber shadows. Outside, the city sighed through open windows, the hum of distant traffic acting like a lullaby.

Hyunjin lay on his side facing you, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other resting lightly over your waist. You were both bare-faced and quiet, basking in the stillness that only came from deep comfort and long-term love.

“I can’t stop thinking about her,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.

You turned your head slightly to meet his gaze. “Eunji?”

He nodded. “She was… perfect. I mean, she was messy and loud and drooled everywhere, but—” he chuckled, “—it was perfect.”

You smiled softly, the ghost of your stress momentarily forgotten in his warmth.

“She did look good on you,” you teased. “Little baby attached to your hip, getting paint on her socks.”

He laughed quietly. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually.”

You went still. Not frozen, just still. Like your body was bracing itself for something you weren’t sure you were ready to receive.

“I’m not lying when I say I really want that,” Hyunjin said, voice a little softer now, more fragile. He traced gentle circles on your side through the fabric of your shirt. “Whether it’s a few months from now or a few years—I want to have a family with you.”

You stared at him, heart suddenly too big for your chest. He was speaking so quietly, like it was something sacred. Not a fantasy, not an expectation, but a dream he was tenderly placing in your hands, asking you to hold it with him.

“I mean it,” he added, sensing your silence. “Whenever you’re ready. I don’t want to rush you. I just… I need you to know that it’s real for me. I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

You swallowed thickly, your heart thudding hard. His words were so gentle. So patient. It almost made it harder, not because you didn’t want the same thing, but because you’d been keeping something from him.

Something that had been sitting heavy in your chest for days.

He must’ve noticed the way your breath caught, because he sat up slightly on his elbow, his brows knitting in concern.

“Hey…” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, your hands fiddling nervously with the edge of the comforter. The intimacy of the moment, the softness of his voice, the sincerity in his eyes, it was all too much, too perfect. The dam inside you cracked.

“I need to tell you something,” you said, your voice barely audible.

His hand found yours under the covers. “Okay,” he said gently. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”

You took a deep breath. “I’ve been… holding something in. Not because I didn’t want to tell you, but because I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to make it real before I had the words.”

Hyunjin’s expression softened instantly, his thumb brushing yours. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t interrupt. He just waited.

“I’m late,” you whispered.

A pause.

Then another breath.

“I’m… really late.”

His lips parted slightly, eyes scanning your face slowly as if to make sure he heard you right. “You mean…”

“I haven’t taken a test yet,” you admitted. “I was scared. I didn’t want to freak you out. Or get your hopes up. I wasn’t sure how I even felt about it.”

Silence hung between you for a heartbeat and then two.

And then his hand was gently tilting your chin toward him, his voice the softest it had been all night.

“Why would you be scared to tell me?”

Your eyes welled up, though you hadn’t meant for them to. “Because you have so many dreams, Hyun. Your art, your music, your freedom. And I didn’t want to be the person who—”

“Stop,” he said gently, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours. “You could never ruin anything. Not even close.”

Your chest ached at his words.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered. “If you are… if we are having a baby, even possibly. I want it. I want you. All of it. No matter when it happens.”

Tears slid down your cheeks silently. He kissed them away, slow and reverent, his hand resting over your belly, not in dramatic certainty, but in quiet, wondering hope.

“I think I already love them,” he said suddenly, voice cracking slightly.

“Hyunjin…”

“Even if it turns out we’re not pregnant this time,” he continued, “this moment? This truth? It’s already made something clear to me. I’m ready when you are. For anything. For everything.”

You buried your face in his neck, arms wrapping around him tightly as he held you against him. You could feel the way his heart thudded beneath your cheek fast, real, overwhelmed with love.

“I’ll take the test tomorrow,” you whispered.

“I’ll be with you,” he promised. “No matter what.”

The world was quiet when you woke up still dark out, not even birdsong yet, just the faint glow of the city lights sneaking through the curtains. You stirred slowly under the covers, warm, wrapped in the safety of the bed you shared with Hyunjin.

But when you reached out instinctively, your fingers met only the cool sheet where his body should’ve been.

Your heart jumped for a second not with fear, but the kind of nervousness that comes when something big is waiting.

You sat up, blinking sleep from your eyes.

Then you heard it: the rustle of clothes, the soft click of the bathroom door opening and shutting, and footsteps padding gently across the floor.

Hyunjin reappeared in the doorway, fully dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, a knit beanie half-on his still-messy hair. He looked cozy, disheveled, but very awake.

“Did I wake you?” he asked quietly, walking over.

You shook your head, voice still heavy with sleep. “Where were you?”

“Just brushing my teeth.” He smiled softly. “Thought we could go get the test first thing. Before we talk ourselves out of it.”

You swallowed. There was no dramatic music, no dramatic shift. Just this quiet nudge toward a door you both had been circling for days.

He crouched down next to your side of the bed, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I figured it’d be easier to face if we did it together,” he said, like he was offering you the softest piece of himself.

You gave a tiny nod.

You got dressed without speaking much, your body on autopilot, your thoughts spiraling. It was as if your brain had been preparing for this moment all night, winding you up just enough to push you out the door.

The air outside was cold and brisk. You were both quiet on the walk to the corner store. The city was still half-asleep shops unopened, sidewalks empty, a few coffee vendors just beginning to stir.

You felt Hyunjin’s fingers slip between yours as you crossed the street. Warm. Firm. Real.

That alone helped you breathe.

As you turned the corner and the little 24-hour pharmacy came into view, you noticed something, the small curve of a smile tugging at the edge of Hyunjin’s lips.

Soft. Private. Like it had been there the whole time.

You stopped walking for a second and gave him a look.

“Don’t smile like that,” you said, half-teasing, half-serious.

He blinked innocently. “Why not?”

“You’re going to get your hopes up.”

He tilted his head playfully. “Is it a crime for a man to smile in public now?”

You rolled your eyes and playfully smacked his chest. “I mean it. I don’t want you to be disappointed. Just in case.”

The wind curled between you for a beat, a feather-soft silence before he reached up and cupped your cheek in one gloved hand.

“I won’t be,” he said, sincere. “No matter what.”

Something in his tone rooted you in place. You nodded once, slowly, then followed him into the store.

-

The bathroom was quiet, too.

You stood by the sink, the white plastic test unwrapped in your hand. Hyunjin was just outside the door, standing so close you could feel his presence like a warmth pressing through the wall.

“I’ll be right here,” he said softly, voice muffled through the wood. “I won’t go anywhere. Just call if you need me, okay?”

You looked toward the door even though you couldn’t see him, and whispered, “Thank you.”

And then you breathed.

You set the test on the counter and followed the instructions with trembling hands. You barely felt the floor beneath your feet. Every movement was automatic. Like you were walking through fog, your thoughts loud and heavy with what-ifs.

When it was done, you set it down gently, almost reverently, on the counter and pressed the timer on your phone.

Five minutes.

You let out a slow breath and sat on the closed lid of the toilet, pulling your knees to your chest.

The silence inside the room stretched, thick and electric.

Outside, Hyunjin shifted. You could hear the soft creak of his weight leaning against the wall just beside the door. Not pacing. Not fidgeting. Just... waiting. Holding still the way someone does when they know it matters.

The timer on the screen glowed too brightly.

4:47.

Each second ticked by like a drop in an ocean of pressure. You tried not to think. But it was impossible.

Was your heart racing because of fear? Or hope? Were you holding your breath because you didn’t want to ruin the moment or because you were scared that this tiny little object was about to change everything?

You closed your eyes and tried to listen for something else your heartbeat, Hyunjin’s soft breathing outside, the distant hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

But it didn’t help. Every second crawled by like an hour.

3:52.

You pressed your palms to your thighs, grounding yourself.

The plastic test sat on the counter just a foot away. You didn’t dare look.

“Babe?” Hyunjin’s voice came gently through the door. “You alright?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see that.

“Yeah,” you said softly, swallowing hard. “Just… waiting.”

“Okay,” he said, just as quietly. “I’m here.”

Another pause.

Then, “I was thinking…”

You didn’t respond, but he knew you were listening.

“When I was a kid, I always thought becoming a dad would feel like flipping a switch. Like one day, I’d just be ready, instantly.”

You could hear the small smile in his voice now. “But now… it’s not like that. It’s slower. Softer. I’m not waiting for some perfect moment anymore. It’s just… you. I look at you, and I think, Yeah. I could do this. With her. Forever.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You blinked them away quickly, pressing your face into your hands.

“You’re not alone in there,” he added. “I know it feels that way right now, but… I’m right on the other side of the door. I’m holding this with you, okay?”

You nodded. Then said, “Okay,” your voice barely holding steady.

2:12.

Your stomach twisted. Your knees bounced. Your breath kept catching.

The plastic stick sat there. Still. Silent. Unassuming. Like it didn’t hold the weight of your entire world inside it.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

A beat.

“Me too,” Hyunjin said.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Really?”

“Yeah. But I’m not scared of the result,” he said. “I’m scared for you. Because I know this means something, no matter what it says. And I want you to know that if you’re afraid, or relieved, or sad, or confused, I’ll be here for all of it. Not just the joy. The mess too.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and this time you didn’t brush it away.

1:15.

You could almost feel the exact second Hyunjin slid down the wall and sat on the floor, his back pressed to the other side of the door. You didn’t hear it. You just knew.

Like you always did with him.

“You think the test knows how important this is?” you asked suddenly, voice hoarse.

He chuckled quietly. “I think it’s just a stick, baby.”

You laughed too. It was weak and breathless and tinged with nerves, but it was real.

“Thirty seconds,” you whispered.

He hummed softly. “Alright. We’re almost there.”

Your hands trembled in your lap. You stared at the floor.

The seconds felt like they were slipping through molasses.

You weren’t ready. But you were also tired of not knowing.

And then—

The timer buzzed.

The sound echoed too loud in the small room.

You froze.

Hyunjin was silent on the other side.

You reached out, hand trembling as your fingers brushed the edge of the counter.

Your body was frozen, suspended between what was and what could be.

And still, he didn’t rush you.

Because even now… he was waiting.

With you.

The test sat still on the bathroom counter, exactly where you left it. You hadn’t turned it around.

You hadn’t even moved.

Your hands were curled into loose fists on your lap, knuckles pale, legs pulled up beneath you on the closed toilet lid. You’d never felt this paralyzed before, not from fear of something bad, but from something big. Something life-altering.

The tiny white stick felt like it was glowing in the room, humming with unspoken truth. All it needed was one glance, one flick of the wrist, and the future would begin to shift, one way or another.

But you couldn’t do it.

Not alone.

Your breath caught as you stood up, legs a little unsteady, feet cold against the tile. You didn’t touch the test. You didn’t even look at it.

Instead, you reached for the door.

The handle clicked softly under your hand.

And when it opened, there he was sitting on the floor right outside, just like you knew he would be.

Hyunjin looked up at you immediately, his body unfolding quickly but gently, rising to his feet like he expected to hold you before you fell. His eyes scanned your face hopeful, tender, alert. Expectant.

“Is it…” he began, voice quiet but bright.

You didn’t let him finish.

“I didn’t look,” you whispered.

You saw his smile falter just slightly, but not in disappointment. It was surprise. His brow furrowed, and his lips softened.

“I couldn’t do it alone,” you added quickly, your voice breaking slightly at the end.

There was no judgment in his face. Only that beautiful, unshakable tenderness that he carried so easily with you like love was his first language.

“Okay,” he said simply, nodding once. “Let’s look together.”

He reached out, his hand open between you. You placed yours in it instinctively, and the moment your skin touched his, the tightness in your chest eased, not entirely, but enough to move.

He guided you back into the bathroom with slow, careful steps, like he didn’t want to spook you. Like this moment was something sacred and he was holding it like glass.

You stood beside him in front of the counter, your hand still in his. The test lay there, facedown, quiet. As if it was waiting for you.

He looked at you, asking silently for permission.

“Do you want me to check?” he asked softly.

You nodded, barely. “Please.”

Hyunjin gave your hand a squeeze, then gently let go to reach for the test.

You turned your eyes away, breath caught in your throat.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the sound of plastic moving against ceramic. A light click as he flipped the test over.

A pause.

Then..

He laughed.

It was quiet. Disbelieving. Joyful.

And when you turned to look at him, really look, his eyes were already shining.

He looked back at you like he’d just seen something miraculous.

“It’s positive,” he said, voice thick with wonder. “It’s positive.”

Your breath caught. You stared at him.

“What?”

He held the test toward you with gentle hands, almost reverently. His eyes searched yours for any flicker of fear, but all he saw was stunned stillness.

You looked down.

Two lines.

Clear. Strong. Certain.

A sound left you, not quite a sob, not quite a laugh. Just a sound of something inside you cracking wide open.

You looked back at Hyunjin, and his smile broke into something bigger, brighter and completely unfiltered.

“You’re pregnant,” he said again, like he needed to say it twice to make it real. “We’re having a baby.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, eyes wide. “Oh wow.”

He immediately stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you, warm and tight. You melted into him like you’d been holding your body together with thread until now.

And suddenly you were crying not from fear, not from confusion, but from a quiet, powerful release. It wasn’t overwhelming in a bad way. It was vast like your heart had expanded beyond your chest and had no idea how to hold this much joy at once.

Hyunjin rested his forehead against yours. His hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks where tears had started to fall.

“Hey,” he whispered with a laugh. “You’re okay.”

“I’m happy,” you said quickly. “I am—I’m just—”

“I know,” he said. “I know, baby. Me too.”

And he kissed you soft, slow, grounding. A kiss that wasn’t about passion, but about presence. A kiss that said we’re here now, in this new, irreversible moment. And it’s okay. It’s real. It’s ours.

When he pulled back, he pressed his hands to your belly without thinking like his body already knew where to go.

His voice dropped to a whisper, so full of love it could barely carry the words: “Hi there.”

You let out a soft, teary laugh. “You’re already talking to them?”

“Of course,” he said. “They need to know their dad’s completely obsessed.”

You laughed again, this time freer, your head dropping against his shoulder.

“We’re going to be okay, right?” you whispered.

He pulled you closer, his voice firm with quiet promise: “We already are.”

And in that moment, surrounded by foggy mirrors, cold tile, and the hum of an ordinary bathroom light, you felt it.

Not just the shift in your future.

But the arrival of something whole.

A new chapter, held tenderly in the hands of a man who had always loved you gently, and now, fiercely would love both of you.

From this breath forward.

//

masterlist.

(a/n: for anon, who has been waiting since last year (i’m so so sorry for being so late.) 😖)

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite @nyxaluna lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]