#suggestive fluff

[voidbellamy]

call sign: lover boy | bob floyd

part two of “i thought you liked navigating rocky terrain”

summary: it was supposed to be a day off for the squadron, until maverick had called a team bonding and exercise drill. you had been distracted and fell asleep before you could set an alarm. of course, it was one of the only days when there wasn’t a wake up call. it was a bad day to be running late. it was a bad day to be frantically finding clothes in the dark. it was a bad day to put on someone else’s shirt.

warnings: suggestive fluff ?? implied sexual themes, embarrassment, over protective brother. protective father figure…

you shifted slightly in your sleep, pulling yourself closer to the warm body beside you. bob hummed contentedly, pulling you tightly against him, until you were nearly on top of him. you nestled your face into his bare chest. he exhaled slowly, kissing right above his sternum. bob let out the faintest moan; he wasn’t completely awake yet, a small smile on his lips. your phone buzzed once from the nightstand, the screen lighting up the dark room. bob shifted slightly underneath you, arms wrapping around your waist, letting his fingers draw small circles on your back. your phone buzzed again. then again. then it started ringing. why the hell was your brother calling you at seven a.m. on a day off? you pulled yourself off bob and flailed around slightly before stumbling to your feet and grabbing your phone. “bra-“ “where are you!?” huh? “well i was in bed…” you drawled. bob was sitting up now, eyeing you in question. “you don’t ever check your damn phone do you?” “i- my phone-?” “get your ass here now. everyone else is here and maverick is getting pissed.” “mav-?” you moved the phone away from your ear- no longer hearing your brother lecturing you like you were little- and saw the notifications. seven text messages, four missed calls. crap. it was a day off, what could possibly be so urgent. you clicked on maverick’s string of notifications, looking for the text.

it came last night, at eight o’clock pm:

‘training exercise and team building tomorrow morning. hard deck. 0500. don’t be late. dress for heat. uniforms not required, bring swim gear.’

it was 5:30.

“shit—!.” you dropped your phone, kicked it as you struggled to grab it again. bob had scrambled to his feet, looking terrified at your suddenly outburst. “we need to go right now.” bob scrambled to find his glasses in the dark room. you were frantically trying to find your clothes, not thinking- or having time- to turn on the light. “god- where- -ing thing–?” the muffled voice from under your arm startled you as you pulled on your shirt and your phone fell to the floor again. “—hell are you talking to–“ you were out of breath from frantically trying to dress yourself, and now your knee was hurting from slamming it against the nightstand. you cursed again, “myself, bradley!”

“damn, —ing shirt where the hell is it—“

“why don’t you have a shirt on? how can you not find a shirt?”

“i have to go—!”

bob held up the flashlight on his phone, already dressed and now helping you look, “what color was it?” “it was my uniform—“ clearly he hadn’t remembered that. he really just remembered taking it off, “oh right..” he finally found the tan shirt crumpled on the chair across the room, “here–!“ he threw it to you as you struggled into it, while trying to hang up on your brother, who was still lecturing. “who was that?” bradley paused, mumbling in something, before taking a slow, shaky breath, “where is bob?” rude, that he hadn’t noticed he was not present. he took a sharp breath, “is he with you—? what the hell are you doing with bob at six in the morning—!?”

damn it.

you urgently hung up the phone and scrambled to grab your keys. “we have to show up separately—“ “i drove you here!” great. “it will look suspicious—!” “as people in a hurry, carpooling would be the logical, quickest solution!” “we obviously arent that smart—!” bob sighed, always getting slightly anxious if you argued. “come on…” he held the door open for you and you passed him the keys on the way out. “sorry for snapping.” you were still tense, biting your lip as you obsessively kept checking the time. bob was driving faster than he normally would, “we’ll be there before six…” he squeezed your thigh gently, trying to reassure you and calm your anxiety. “we needed to be there at five, robert.” your voice still edged on anger, but it was gentler. his cheeks reddened slightly, “this is my fault.” “don’t.” you eyed him sharply, “it took two people for that, bob.” he failed miserably at hiding his smirk. “well, yes. but… we could have stopped after one… or two…” you smirked this time, cheeks reddening slightly, “i did initiate both of those, robert…” he smirked this time, more suggestive than it had been, “couldn’t argue with you and waste a perfectly good- quiet, off base, away from other people- hotell room.” you scrunched your nose, feeling your cheeks heat up. “you certainly didn’t.” technically, you would likely be in a lot of trouble if someone found out that you had gone off base, together, to a hotel. and now, to top it off, you were almost an hour late to an impromptu, mandatory team building, training thing, on what was supposed to be a day off. at five thirty in the morning.

at least things couldn’t get worse.

oh, but they did.

you had parked further out, thankful the boys were far out, on the beach. but not all of them. bradley was speed walking towards the car, murder in his eyes. “oh, god-“bob visibly shrank down in his seat. he was yanking the driver’s side door open, “what the hell were you two doing?” “training- paperwork- strategizing- shit—!” “bradley, don’t!” you had jumped out and wrestled him away from bob, “stop it- knock it off!” you pushed him hard, sending him stumbling backwards. he caught himself and lunged again. you stepped in front of him, pulling him into something almost like a hug. he still fought, trying to wrestle out of your arms. you cursed slightly, struggling to hold on to him. “bob, you can probably just run, yeah?” bob paled slightly, but didn’t hesitate to take off towards the beach. “i’ll kill him.” he was now dragging you slightly, as you kept your arms around his waist tightly. “stop. stop it! bradley- hey!” he stopped finally, turning to face you angrily. “i’m gonna kill him.” he motioned behind him, accusingly. “no, you won’t.” your brother’s eyes flared slightly, “i am already late. you will not kill my boyfriend.” he was still glaring after bob, but his head snapped to you again, “your what- you- boy—“ he took a deep breath, likely to make sure he didn’t explode. “boyfriend?” you crossed your arms and glared at him. clearly this was much more important than how late you were, or how he had lectured you over the phone for ten minutes about it. “yes, boyfriend. do you know what that is? or did you really think i was the type to just have a best friend with benefits?” bradley gaped at you slightly, now feeling bad for assuming that. “well, i- no. i didn’t.” “if i wanted to just climb in bed with random guys and have it mean nothing, hangman would be the obvious choice.” you bit back a smirk at his reaction to that, watching his mouth hang open slightly. “besides, it’s bob. you said he was harmless.” this time you did smirk, brushing past him. he let his mouth hang open, clearly picturing the horror of that relationship. “and don’t worry. we always make sure theres no possibility of you becoming an uncle.” you heard the very obvious sound come from him, definitely not english, and barely even human. he put his arm around you as he caught up, still glaring slightly. “were you ever going to tell me?” you turned and gave him a playful smile, “were you ever going to not react like that?” he rolled his eyes slightly, “how long?”

“oh, only a month.” you smirked again as you finally joined the others. maverick was eyeing you, arms crossed. you didn’t need the sunglasses to know he was pissed. you walked up to him like a scolded puppy, imaginary tail tucked hey week your legs. “care to explain why you’re late?” you tensed slightly, having no acceptable excuses. “i’m sorry, sir. i fell asleep before i got your message. and then my phone was on silent.” you had expected to sleep in. “i’m sorry. there’s no excuse.” maverick eyed you, nodding slightly, “sleeping, hm? by eight?” your heart lept slightly, “i–“ you hated lying. he tilted his head at you, looking at your frantically, blindly, thrown on outfit. “you didn’t need to wear your uniform.” you had thrown on your uniform top and black sweat-shorts. it was the only clothes you had. “i’m- i know. i’m sorry. i was in a hurry and it was the first things i found. i accept whatever consequences there are for my actions.” maverick’s mouth twitched just slightly into a smirk, “i’m not going to give you any punishment. i won’t have to,” he leaned down, just barely away from your ear, “‘bob,’” your eyebrows furrowed slightly, confused. your wide eyes snapped up to him, then down to your shirt.

you were wearing the wrong shirt.

this would be so fun…

you tried flailing out of your- bob’s— shirt, into your sports bra, but you had been too slow. “are we finally ready, or what?” hangman, fanboy and rooster had climbed onto the deck. everyone else was shortly behind them. phoenix pushed past the boys and greeted you with a grin, “finally, i’m not the only girl here. these boys are insane.” bob nodded to you from behind hangman, still keeping his distance from your brother. hangman pulled you into an obnoxious hug. you pushed him off you, shoving his face playfully. “i was starting to think you weren’t coming.” he smirked, “late and in uniform, huh?” his eyes stopped looking you over, dropping, and hovering on your chest. “subtle, hangman.” phoenix smacked the back of his head, rolling her eyes. jake didn’t even flinch, eyes frozen to your chest you had just sprouted a third boob. “i’m sorry,” he smirked, eyes narrowing slightly as his expression grew smugger, “but since when is your name bob?” you closed your eyes as heads snapped all around you, turning their wide eyes to your chest. smirks spread around the group like a pandemic. bob was standing wide eyed, face completely scarlet. bradley stood with his head in his hands, shaking his head in embarrassment. “we were—“ might as well embrace it, “doing team building exercises.” hangman snorted, phoenix, fanboy and payback all whistled, bradley was back to glaring at bob, and bob… bob had hiccuped nervously and tumbled right off the deck. you gasped, everyone winced, but bob was back on his feet, somehow even redder.

“you alright, lover boy?” snickers spread throughout the group. “awe, lover boy is shy.” “look at loverboy, clearly not as shy and modest as we thought.” maverick was trying to hide his smirk, eyes shifting to give you a look that very clearly screamed ‘told you so’. “loverboy has been keeping secrets!” bob looked like he was about to combust, he was pale, looking like had gotten several inches shorter. you gave him a sympathetic, apologetic smile. “alright, that’s enough.” maverick clapped once, “let’s just get things started.” he smirked just slightly, still eyeing you with that amused look, “shirts off, boys.” bob pulled his shirt off with a groan. you followed suit; you were already sweaty, and if this got physical- or wet- you didn’t want loose clothing sticking to you, or making it easier to grab you. “ooo, look at lover boy now.” hangman tousled his hair, “he’s eyeing sprout down like she’s a meal.” you rolled your eyes, bumping into him a little too roughly as you passed. “jealous hangman? that i get to look at her all the time?” you bit back a smirk, feeling heat rise up your neck. the bottle bradley was holding fell to the ground, a murderous glare directed towards bob once again. he stopped smirking, stepping back slightly, “i was…kidding..” bradley narrowed his eyes. “sorry,” bob mouthed it, shrinking again. you pulled bob’s arm so he would follow you, amused smile on your lips. your brother liked bob; he wouldn’t actually kill him. or hurt him. most likely…

maverick threw the football and you braced yourself. boys and their aggression in ball-involved games. hangman slammed directly into you, knocking you off your feet, “what the hell, bagman?! i haven’t even touched the ball!” he just smirked slightly, “oh, my mistake. guess i was just pulling you out of daydreaming over loverboy.” hangman tumbled over as bob slammed into him, hard, somehow ending up with the ball. he sent you a wink as he ran past you. maverick and rooster were right behind him, both looking more pissed off than dog fight football required. “rooster, aren’t you on the same team as–“ phoenix knocked you over, exhaling quickly as she made contact. “i’m so sorry-“ she was up and running off again. “i- but-“ was this just everyone against bob? rooster and maverick had caught up with him. rooster was trying to tackle bob to the ground. bob struggled against him but didn’t let go of the ball. maverick swiped bob’s feet out from under him while bradley tried getting the ball. “this is so not how you play football!” bob struggled against the other two, now curled up on the ground around the ball, “i don’t think they care, sweetheart!”

hangman had accidentally tripped maverick and bob finally wrestled away from bradley enough to throw the ball to you, just before hangman pulled him by his ankles back into the water. “oh- shit-“ you grabbed the ball and started sprinting. hearing the splash of almost a dozen marines stampeding after you. you let out an expletive everytime your feet hit the ground, adrenaline carrying you faster, along with the utter terror of being run down by any of them. your brother had caught up first, bradley grabbed you right by the waist, throwing you over his shoulder as he wrestled the ball out of your hands. “cheating! excuse me–!” you threw all your weight to your top half, holding your breath as you sent bradley tumbling into the water. you grabbed the ball before he could and sent it flying back towards bob. his eyes widened as he caught it, now seeing exactly how it felt to outrun a stampede. hangman was first as you tried holding back your brother, who was now just trying to wrestle with you. bob, quite impressively, tripped hangman with his leg, shoved phoenix into the water- apologizing as she fell. he jumped over fanboy as he was falling to tackle him. the sudden pause, and person now on the ground, caused a pile up.

hangman had stood back up, and maverick was the only one who caught himself before falling within the mass chaos event. bob was heading towards you, and you shook your head. the pause and distraction have bradley enough time to throw you off of him, literally, into the water. when you found your footing against, they were heading for you again. bob was sprinting, eyes wide, but laughing slightly. you were scrambling to get out of the way, not wanting the ball, not wanting to get trampled again. you hit the sand just as bob tripped. the ball tumbled forward with him, skipping across the sand. bob collided with you with a curse. he landed on top of you, face buried under your chin. he out his arms over his head, laughing nervously as the insane stampede jumped over the top of both of you. bradley returned with the ball in his hand, smiling smugly. “what a great game.” bob just sighed, peeling himself off of you. he was soaked in sweat and sea water- or maybe sweat- dripped from his hair. “not bad, loverboy. you lasted much longer than we thought you would.” rooster held out his hand to him, helping him stand fully. “hey, do you think sprout ever says that?” bradshaw pushed hangman into the water, hitting his chest so hard he was gasping for air. maverick smacked bob on the back, “not bad, floyd. and congratulations on the new call sign.” bob just sighed, loverboy wasn’t the worst thing he had been called. especially since it was for you.

you smirked at him slightly, “good job, loverboy. they certainly underestimated you.” you wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging on his hair lightly. his eyes darkened slightly, smirking back at you, “see, when you call me loverboy it negates the fact that they’re trying to embarrass me. i don’t get embarrassed by you.” you smirked again, softly, pulling him closer with a few tugs of his hair, “you keep telling yourself that, loverboy.” just before his lips could brush against you, you shoved him into the water.

[hisfavoritesundress]

vices

a/n: slightly suggestive

tw: mentioned of smoking, drinking, addiction (maybe?) other than that fluff!

dating jason todd means doing things that he never thought he would.

and that includes drinking and smoking.

especially being vigilante and a wayne there's not much complains around his life expect some occasional remarks of bruce or alfred about his unhealthy eating habits, but he usually get away with it just like the rest of his habits.

he faces danger every single night, that's his justification, his job is not exactly a walk in the park or consistent like an average 9-5 work, so in his defense, he needs something that will ground him at the end of the day, which is fair to say the least, plus he's not really overdoing it, just something to cope up either the stress, exhaustion or even nightmares.

yet... when he start dating you, although he doesn't magically change himself overnight, rather deliberately and gently, for you, always for you

it began when you told a story about growing up with a drunk family member and how much you despises it, of how it can affect the people around them, later that night when the boys invited him, he had three shots of vodka instead of 15.

then it continues when both of you are walking in the afternoon around Gotham with his fingers laced yours and you passed by a man blowing the cigarette then the wind taking it to your direction, filling your nose with unwelcomed sting, running to your throat.

he saw the way your face change into displeased expression, he began to smoke one or two cigarettes at a time instead of two packs a day.

he could just continue his old habits, it's not like you've seen him do it anyway or you actively stopping him when you caught him one night, smoking.

jason is very good at hiding his vices, but now that you've moved in with him, he can't anymore.

he doesn't want to have his girl live in the same apartment filled with the smell nicotine and reeks of expired alcohol.

it wasn't easy for him either, there are times where he's having a hard time controlling, tempting to take more and more than he allowed himself.

especially when he wakes up some evening from nightmares, panting and sweaty from the intangible horror of his head and immediately grab a stick and light it up hoping to numb his head with chemicals.

but now, now that you're sleeping beside him, on his bed, in his apartment, he can't as much as his vices are calling him.

"jay you okay?" you murmur a question as you felt the warm empty place next to you.

jason who is sitting on the edge of the bed, catching his breath quietly rubbing his face with his rough hands, "m'fine baby, go back to sleep."

he's hiding and you know it, you roll on your back lazily and sat on the bed, crawli5 towards him, seeing the thin layer of sweat on his shoulder, you placed a soft kiss on his bare back, hoping it'll ground or calm him.

"nightmares?" you whispered, running your hands on his arms.

"s'kay, I'm fine," he insisted softly, exhaling the air and turn around slightly to face you.

his face shines against the soft light streaming from the window, from a nearby street lamp.

"you don't look fine to me," you said softly, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

"let's just go back to sleep," he shook his head, holding your hip, guiding you to lay down.

you grab his arm, stopping him. "babe," he sigh, closing his eyes for a mere second.

"is there anything i could help?" you asked softly, probing, his eyes locked into yours then shakes his head, "just a nightmare," he said, it is just a nightmare for him, but his head is sprawling to grab the pack of cigarette in the kitchen and chain smoke until his lungs drowned in nicotine lolling him back to sleep.

"just tell me," you said, easing him into open himself, "anything i could help?" you added, with that worried expression that always present whenever he's struggling or hurt.

he paused, looking at you as though reading your face. "anything?"

"yeah, anything," you nodded, "nightmares aren't easy to deal with, do want me to make you a tea, chamomile is very good at calming you down, or I could put essential oils in the humidifier?"

he smiled softly at your sweet and caring suggestions. "you're so sweet doll, thank you but i don't think those will help me baby"

you frowned. "what, why?"

"tired em before, does nothing," he answered, brushing your cheeks gently, "don't worry about me."

"maybe there's something else, like–"

he clenched his jaw and shook his head. "let's just go back to sleep," he said about to crawl into his side

again you stopped him.

"come on jay, please?"

he looked away for a second and then sigh again. "wanna smoke but im tryin to quit." he search your face to see a reaction but all he saw was the softness of your eyes that he knows will would eventually kill him in every way possible.

he never saw anyone looked at him the way you do, that worries itched on your face, even when you're scolding him quietly, and in all honesty he's doing better for you at least, not pushing himself more than what he could take because he wants to go home to you, safe and in once piece, he doesn't wanna worry you as much as he craved that attention thay solely for him and no one else's.

"then what do you want?" you asked quietly.

his gaze softens, moving stray hairs away from your forehead. "it's late, don't wanna keep you up."

"you always do that," you said with slight disappoinment and frustrations.

"do what?" he frowned slightly.

"that," you said, pointing at his face, "dodging, you always brush it off whenever you're struggling or need of something, im your girlfriend remember?"

he stares at your face for a few seconds as if mustering himself to say what's in his mind.

"fine, you really wanna know?'

"duh of course," you rolled your eyes

he rolled his eyes playfully as well, crawling back to the bed, he move his head upwards signalling you to do the same. "sit by the headboard," he said softly, voice deepening as if he about to say some secret to you, or his secrets, "prop a pillow at your back."

you move gently towards the headboard of your shared bed and stare at his face, waiting...

"good girl," he whispered, "spread those legs," he added, crawling in between your knees, which immediately flooded your mind with thousands of scenarios, "wider"

his gaze are up to your face and on your spread out legs, drinking your position, like he's going to rewind this over and over later, dragging his eyes from your face to your body.

he smiled softly, "since you're so eager to help, how about you turn off my brain while drench this face at the same time mhm?" he murmur into your inner thighs, eyes dilated and never taking off from you, as he place lingering kisses on your skin

your stomach began to churn, nerves around your legs lightening up themselves, the rush of blood running towards your cheeks.

you nodded feverishly, anything to help him.

he immediately smirked and eyes softening more. "atta girl, make me proud."

who said he can't replace his old vices to a new one (you)

[wistericaine]

sweet | theodore nott

cas!theo x reader | suggestive fluff | wc: 925

summary: the moments that inspired sweet

tw: slightly suggestive content but nothing sexual

Theo was currency stuck backstage. 

He was suffering, to say the least. His bandmates had been short of cruel whenever they teased him about you—remarks left after right about how far you truly were right now. You were still stuck in Hogsmeade at the small shop you worked at, all while he was flying from continent to continent for this tour. 

And yet, he couldn’t help himself. 

He had missed you. Terribly. 

Missing the way that your hands touched him was exhausting, to say the least. It felt like he spent more time thinking about you than even breathing itself—worshipping you like his heart beat for it. 

He had locked himself into a small closet to text you. A small phone call just before you went to bed. You had mentioned earlier that you had taken a shower—currently wearing nothing but one of his shirts. 

“I miss you.” he murmured. It felt like the tenth time he’d said that in two minutes. 

And yet you just giggled, a small smile on your face that shined through his phone. Like a soothing balm to his soul—he wanted nothing more than to rub it into his skin. “You’ve said that eighteen times already.”

“You counted?” he asked.

You nodded, biting your lip just a bit. “Course I did. I have a small present for you though.”

“A present?” he asked you confusedly. His legs gave way as he sunk down to the floor, head resting against his knees as he looked at you. “What kind of present?”

“A video.” you winked. “Check your messages.”

Theo pulled his phone closer without a moment’s hesitation, checking his messages and finding the video you sent. 

“Jesus Christ—” he choked out.

The video was of you inside the shower, shampoo dripping down your body as you washed your hair off. Your hair dripped down—a small wink making its way to him through the phone screen.

“Do you like it?” you said to him. 

He laughed incredulously. His hands were caressing his neck as a blush covered his face, breath heavy and bated as he watched the video over and over again. “Jesus Christ, love.”

You laughed at him much like he imagined the sun to shine through snow—resting your head on his pillow and waving. “I’m gonna go to bed.” you giggled. 

“After that?” he asked incredulously.

“I never said I wasn’t a tease.” you winked.

“You’re back!”

Theo laughed loud and bright as you ran up to him—his arms wrapping around your body so tight that he was sure you would burst. “I missed you, bella.”

“I missed you too Teddy.” you smiled lovingly at him, kissing his lips in the middle of the airport. “I was going to riot if they added more shows.”

“Me too.” he whispered.

He could hear his bandmates trying to yell at him from across the airport—could even feel one of them throwing something at him—but he didn’t care. Didn’t care about the PR nightmare this would be or the millions of edits the two of you would probably have.

All he ever cared about was you.

“Your nails are nice.” you mumbled against his chest.

He’d only realized now that the two of you had been locked into a hug for the past couple of minutes, finally registering the feeling of your hair running between his fingers. It was like a dream, almost, one he never wanted to wake up from.

“You glow like an angel.” he said in your ear.

You rolled your eyes. “And you’re all sweaty. C’mon, we have to find you a shower.”

“What, you don’t like my post-tour musk?” he asked, laughing loud as your hand hit his hair.

“No Theo, you smell like shit.”

“Is this computer just filled with videos of you?” he asked you incredulously.

You shrugged teasingly, no doubt watching him. He could feel your eyes on him as he was leaning over the bed—his eyes glued to the old computer you had stored away just before his tour started.

“I recorded small videos every week or so since your tour started.” you said to him, spooning him from behind. “Thought it would be the perfect gift for when you got back.”

He choked out the single breath he was holding at your contact, practically melting into your arms as he scrolled through video after video. “There’s no actual sex on here though, right?”

“Just raunchy lingerie.” you smirked, kissing just behind his ear. “Why? Are you jealous ?”

He scoffed and continued scrolling—biting his lip when he found a video of you on your back. You were wearing a red set that hugged your body perfectly, one hand on your chest as the other held up your phone. And as much as he wanted to focus on your body, and focus he did, most of his attention had been drawn to your eyes.

You’d done a small smokey eye, the sun coming through just right and making them shine in a way he’d never seen before. It was absolutely beautiful.

“Do you like that set?” you asked him. Your hands had run under his stomach and up towards his chest—squished between his shirt and the bedsheets.

“Your eyes are so pretty.” he sighed as he closed the laptop.

You laughed at that. Standing up straighter so he could sit on the bed, your eyes were focused on him once more. “I suppose that it’s a good thing you’re here then—“ you said to him. “—you can stare at them all you want.”

hello everyone, i hope you guys enjoyed! i finally got to a more sfw au that isn't about death, gore and guts - aren't you guys so proud of me? as a quick psa, i currently have a small event going on where you can send in nsfw requests for drabbles or the nsfw alphabet! you can do my aus or just any harry potter character you want, so go wild. thanks so much for reading!

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© wistericaine 2025. do not copy, translate or claim any of my works as your own. reblogs + comments are so very appreciated!

[lostlikesaebyeok]

can you do a sae byeok x reader fic based on bahama by aespa? silly fluff with suggestive jokes and making out on the beach, like reader and sae are on vacation or smth😛😛😛 the summer vibes are nonexistent for me rn so I need smth like this bad 💔 #summerbedrottingcore

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 𝒌𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂𝒆-𝒃𝒚𝒆𝒐𝒌 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

♡･ﾟ₊ title: bahama, ba ba, bahama, hama

♡･ﾟ₊ pairing: kang sae‑byeok x fem!reader

♡･ﾟ₊ au: summer vacation au / beach getaway

♡･ﾟ₊ genre: fluffy romance, slice of life, suggestive humour

♡･ﾟ₊ warnings: mild suggestive jokes, making out, brief alcohol mention (pina coladas)

♡･ﾟ₊ summary: sunset bruises the sky gold, “bahama” hums from a half buried speaker, and you & sae‑byeok tumble into saltwater, teasing smiles, and kisses that taste like summer. it's just two girls, one beach, and a song.

the sun is a low, honey gold bruise on the horizon, and sae‑byeok’s hair is catching the last bits of it, strands shining like wet ink. the song is still playing from the cheap bluetooth speaker half buried in the sand, its beat weaving in and out of the breeze.

you’re both sitting close enough that your knees bump every time you shift, her thigh warm against yours, grains of sand sticking to your skin like glitter. you tilt your head to look at her, and she gives you a small, lopsided smile that barely reaches her eyes. but it’s her smile, and that makes it feel like the prettiest thing in the world.

“stop staring,” she mumbles, her voice all gravely and soft, and she pushes your shoulder lightly.

“can’t help it,” you grin. “you look stupidly good right now.”

she rolls her eyes, but you catch the faint blush creeping up her neck. sae‑byeok’s never been great at taking compliments, especially from you, even after months of dating. it’s like her heart still hasn’t caught up to the fact that it’s allowed to be soft now. the chorus hits again 'bahama, ba ba, bahama, hama' and you lean closer, your arm brushing hers, smelling like sunscreen and sea salt.

“come swim with me,” you whisper.

“no.” her answer is immediate and straight to the point.

“please?”

she pretends to think about it, lips pursing, before shaking her head. “you’ll pull me under just to make out.”

“would that be so bad?”

this time her laugh comes out unguarded, warm and real, and she ducks her head, hair falling over her face. “you’re ridiculous,” she says.

but she’s already standing up, dusting sand off her shorts. she reaches out a hand to pull you up, fingers interlacing with yours, and your stomach flips like the first drop of a roller coaster. you still get nervous holding her hand. still get that sweet, electric zing every time her thumb strokes your knuckles. you both run into the water until the waves break against your waists. the ocean is cooler than you expect, and you gasp which makes her smirks, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief.

“cold?”

“shut up,” you say, splashing water at her.

she retaliates immediately, flicking a handful of water at your chest, and suddenly you’re both laughing so hard it hurts, waves knocking you off balance, bodies bumping together. her hair is slicked back, droplets clinging to her lashes, and when she looks at you, it’s like she’s letting her walls drop, just for tonight. the sky deepens into a bruised purple. the song loops again on the shore 'surfin’, surfin’, surfin’ on a wave with you' and the words feel real.

“come here,” she murmurs, voice lower now.

you wade closer, your heart a live thing in your chest, and she cups your face with wet, sandy hands.

“you’re beautiful, you know,” she says, almost annoyed, like it costs her something to say it but she wants you to know anyway.

“so are you,” you breathe.

she groans softly, “you ruin everything when you say that,” and then her mouth is on yours.

the kiss is slow and hungry all at once, you taste salt and sunshine and the faint sweetness of the pina coladas you shared earlier. her lips part under yours, tongue brushing lightly, teasing. your fingers curl into her damp hair, pulling her closer until there’s no space left.

you kiss like you have nowhere else to be, like the tide can’t reach you. when you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. her eyes flutter open, dark and shining, and she gives you a lazy smirk that sends heat straight to your belly.

“can’t take you anywhere,” she says.

“pretty sure it’s you who started that,” you shoot back.

she huffs, but doesn’t let go of your waist. instead, she kisses the corner of your mouth, softer this time, lingering. you walk back to the shore hand in hand, the wet sand sucking at your feet. she makes fun of how you shiver, and you threaten to push her back into the water.

the beach is almost empty now, the sky dotted with early stars, and the only sound is the song still spilling from the speaker 'i love this place, these summer days, 오래오래.' you build a crooked sandcastle together, half heartedly, between more kisses. she mutters about how pointless it is, and you tell her you want to do something silly with her. she pretends to complain but still helps, her fingers brushing yours in the sand. when it topples over, you both laugh until you’re breathless.

“god, i love you,” you say, almost without thinking, voice soft and open.

her breath catches, but she doesn’t look away this time.

“yeah,” she whispers. “i love you too.”

the song fades into the background as you curl up next to her on the towel, heads resting together, the world smelling like salt and sunscreen and something sweet. sae‑byeok’s hand finds yours again, fingers tangling lazily, and for once she doesn’t try to pull away.

the tide comes in and the stars come out and for tonight, you let yourselves just be young, in love, and free. like the song promised.

'bahama, ba ba, bahama, hama.'

just you and her, the ocean blue, and nothing else that matters.

thank u for reading, angel ♡

:-> likes = salt-sweet memories

♡ tags: @eunchacha @ilovesawbyeokandjjmaybank @gg0mezz @saphicsaturn @gyuyoungg @lyzem @janegrapefruitttt @reynadeluniverso @bitchesallonmydih @laurenkenss @bleedingwhiteroses222 @maevelovessae @067supremacy @saebyeokswhitebra @saebyeoksleftfoot

[gigirassol-i]

┆ ⤿ 🍥 ⌗ Beijinho docinho w. JJH

❝ I love the way you taste. ❞

ᯓᡣ𐭩 fluff & sugestivo (?) ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc: 761 ᯓᡣ𐭩 avisos: jaehyun w. fem!reader, MUITO grude, apelidos carinhosos, beijos com detalhes, carícias, jaehyun manhoso e apaixonadinho na pp, um pouquinho sugestivo ᯓᡣ𐭩 nota: um belo dia eu estava passando meu gloss e do nada me veio essa ideia na cabeça KKKKKKK já aviso que isso aqui é pra matar todas nós solteiras, então cuidado!

— Amor, passa aquele batom docinho que eu gosto... — pediu de mansinho enquanto se emaranhava em seu pescoço, distribuindo beijinhos por cada pedacinho da sua pele.

Desde que Jaehyun descobriu a existência do Carmed de Fini, ficou encantado com o fato de ser docinho e fez questão de comprar todos os sabores possíveis pra você. Ele dava a desculpa de que ficava bonito nos seus lábios — ora fosse verdade — mas você sabia qual a verdadeira intenção dele com isso.

— Qual você quer que eu passe? — questionou enquanto fazia um carinho gostoso no cabelo dele, que ainda estava com o rostinho afundado em seu pescoço, e ele sorriu contra sua pele sensível, te fazendo arrepiar sobre os lábios dele.

— Aquele de amora, amor — levantou o rosto apenas para te olhar nos olhos enquanto falava, com os olhinhos brilhando e um sorrisinho bobo nos lábios.

Você levantou do sofá e foi até seu quarto buscar o tal do "batom docinho" que ele tanto gostava — que, na verdade, não era exatamente um batom, mas o jeitinho que ele falava era fofo demais pra ser corrigido.

— Esse? — sentou-se no colo dele enquanto mostrava o Carmed de embalagem vermelha para o mesmo, e Jaehyun fez um gesto de "sim" com a cabeça.

Ele te puxou pela cintura, te fazendo ficar mais perto dele. A respiração dele, pesada e descompassada, roçava contra seu pescoço, quente e irresistível.

— Uhum, amor, esse mesmo... — sussurrou com a voz cheia de manha no seu ouvido, provocando outro arrepio que percorreu todo o seu corpo.

As mãos dele pareciam ter sido feitas sob medida apenas para você, se encaixando perfeitamente em sua cintura. Vocês se completavam de uma forma tão natural que era linda de se ver.

Ele sorria todo bobinho pra você enquanto te secava descaradamente, e os corpos de vocês estavam em sintonia — a respiração, assim como os corações, batia em um único ritmo.

Passou um pouco do hidratante no lábio inferior e roçou os lábios, espalhando o produto por toda a superfície da sua boca. Jaehyun, por outro lado, assistia à cena com um sorrisinho maroto.

Ele depositou um beijinho sobre a pele exposta da sua clavícula, e foi subindo os beijos até chegar próximo à sua mandíbula, mas se afastou pouco antes de selar os lábios nos seus.

— Me dá beijinho docinho, princesa? — perguntou, passando levemente o dedão pelo cantinho do seu lábio inferior, limpando um pequeno borrado que você havia deixado. Mordeu os próprios lábios e sorriu, se divertindo com tudo aquilo.

— Não precisa nem pedir, bobinho.

Você aproximou mais ainda o rosto do dele e selou os lábios de vocês em um beijinho doce e inocente — mas que não demorou muito até se tornar um beijo intenso e cheio de desejo.

Suas línguas dançavam juntas em perfeita harmonia, e as mãos dele passeavam pelo seu corpo todo, te tocando daquele jeitinho que só ele sabia fazer — e que você amava. Durante os beijos, vez ou outra Jaehyun afastava os lábios dos seus apenas para sussurrar besteiras no seu ouvido, te fazendo arrepiar com a respiração quente soprando contra sua pele.

— Você fica linda assim… — sussurrou no pé do seu ouvido e soltou uma risadinha, ao mesmo tempo em que diminuía ainda mais a distância entre vocês.

Com os corpos colados, você podia sentir o coração de Jaehyun — e não só isso — pulsando forte. Ele estava uma bagunça deliciosa: respiração ofegante, cabelos desgrenhados e o cantinho da boca avermelhado de tanto te beijar.

— Assim como, Jae?

— Por cima de mim desse jeito… uma hora você vai me deixar louco, sabia?

Mal terminou de falar e já estava beijando sua pele novamente. Beijava cada cantinho do seu corpo com devoção: rosto, lábios, pescoço, clavícula, seios, barriga… nada escapava dos lábios sedentos de Jaehyun.

Deixou um último selar sobre seu umbigo e subiu novamente os beijos, parando em seu seio direito. Parou o que estava fazendo e te encarou com um sorriso satisfeito, fazendo você sorrir junto. Mas, não muito tempo depois, Jeong voltou a te beijar naquela área e intensificou os toques — a mãozinha desceu sorrateiramente até o interior de suas coxas, e ele começou um carinho gostoso ali.

A mão ameaçava a todo momento subir, mas não subia. Ele mantinha o toque do mesmo jeito e te olhava com aquele olhar que você sabia perfeitamente o que significava, na espera de você dizer alguma coisa — tudo isso para te provocar e te deixar com mais vontade ainda.

— Você sabe que eu amo seu gostinho com ou sem esse batom, né? Você é docinha até mesmo sem isso.

[vanilabaebo]

arrange this! (req by anon!)

cw: suggestive, suggested smut, arranged marriage trope, naoya cant shut up

you’d thought arranged marriages were things of fantasy. but, seeing as to how you are young and beautiful, and the product of a rich family — maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

still, you’ve half a mind to complain to your parents about the man you’re supposed to marry, who has shown nothing but arrogance and contempt.

naoya zenin. the hottest blonde you’ve ever known, and somehow the most annoying.

i’m supposed to marry this guy?? you think, holding back a groan of annoyance.

“guy” in question sits across from you, lost in his own little bragging world — “bet ya didn’t know I’m the heir to my clan and I lead an elite unit, that’s the kinda man you’ll be marryin’, huh, baby?”

all you can do is nod and hope he stops talking soon.

except soon stretches into hours, and then days,

and now, months, and you’ve grown used to your snarky fiancée’s mouth (in more ways than one) and maybe, just maybe you can’t live without it.

when he’s at work, the house is dead silent. and when he comes home from a long day, he steps through the door and shouts, “man, where’s my goddamn girlfriend! been missin’ her all day!”

even though he knows you’re in the kitchen, cooking up his favorite.

“baby, there you are!” he exclaims, rushing over to you and hugging you from behind (he’s hard already), rubbing up on you before he starts talking about his day.

“ohhhmygoshh babe, toji gave me the most annoying bullshit about something i said, said i don’t stop talking or something, but you don’t think so, right babe?” he has to crouch down a bit, you’re so much shorter than him but he doesn’t mind.

you reach up to scratch your nails through his blonde hair. “mhmm, you’re right baby.”

even though he talks so much, you hang on to his every word with a cute nod n’ a smile, it’s part of why he adores you so much.

“thanks baby, knew ya’d agree,” naoya purrs, refocusing his attention back on rubbing on you. “ ’m so glad your parents put ya with me. dunno what’d I’d do without you. now what’s for — ughhhh, noodles and pork again??”

you try not to feel hurt. “you don’t like it?”

he shifts on his feet, scratches his neck like he’s trying not to say no. “ya knowww, baby.. there’s a ton of things I’d rather eat instead.” he cocks a cheeky smirk at you.

”..really? like what?”

but even though you’d already known what he was going to say, you can’t help the surprised little eep! that you let out when he lifts you on the counter, his huge hands already spreading your thighs apart. “this pussy.”

well. it is the only way to shut him up.

© vanilabaebo 2025.

[sleepytopia]

poly!Bakusquad x Black!Fem!Reader NSFW + fluff drabbles

Bakugou Katsuki — “Hands Off What’s Mine”

Your bonnet’s barely hanging on after Bakugou’s rough grip in your curls, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even blink. He keeps fucking you slow and deep, teeth gritted, one hand planted beside your head and the other gripping your ass with a bruising grip.

“You think those damn shorts are cute, huh?” he growls. “Walkin’ ‘round like that in front of everyone? Nah. You knew what that’d do to me.”

He presses his forehead to yours, chest heaving, and snarls, “Only I get to see what’s under those. Say it.”

Your breath hitches, skin sticky with sweat. “Y-You, Katsu. Just you.”

His lips ghost over your neck. “Damn right.”

Kirishima Eijiro — “Pretty Skin, Pretty Girl”

Kiri adores your skin. Loves how it glows in the sun. How your stretch marks shimmer like tiger stripes. Loves kissing every curve like it’s sacred.

One lazy morning, he traces his rough fingertips over your thigh, admiring the contrast—his pale scars against your deep, soft skin.

“You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen,” he says like it’s fact. “You think these hips drive me crazy? Baby, everything about you does.”

He gets hard just seeing you in his shirt and bonnet.

Especially when you murmur, “C’mere, baby. I got somethin’ for you to eat before breakfast.”

(Spoiler: It’s not food.)

Denki Kaminari — “Braid Gremlin”

He lives to watch you braid your hair. Actually begs to sit between your thighs while you do it.

“Can I help?” he grins, already reaching for a rat-tail comb.

You swat his hand. “Last time you tried, I had to redo the whole section.”

“But you looked so hot scolding me,” he whines, flopping into your lap anyway.

Later, he’ll be whining again—for a whole different reason—as you ride him slow and deep, bonnet still on, hands planted on his chest.

“You really gonna edge me just ‘cause I messed up one braid?” he pants.

You smile sweetly. “Should’ve stayed in your lane, baby.”

Sero Hanta — “Say It Again, Chula”

Sero’s got the filthiest mouth, and you love it when he talks Spanish into your neck.

When you’re laid out on the bed, legs shaking, cheeks glowing, he leans down and moans, “Estás tan jodidamente hermosa… mi reina…”

And when you moan back in your own language—sweet AAVE, low and breathy, a lil “this dick hittin’ too good right now…”?

He loses it.

“Say that again,” he groans, snapping his hips. “Talk to me, hermosa, I need it.”

After? He makes you a snack, helps with your bonnet, and tucks you into his hoodie. (He’s obsessed with how you look in it.)

Mina Ashido — “Girls' Night In… or Not”

She loves skincare nights with you—matching bonnets, body butters, sipping wine while “Love & Basketball” plays in the background.

But Mina can’t keep her hands to herself.

“You’re just so soft,” she purrs, climbing into your lap and grinding gently, her glossy lips brushing yours. “You smell like cocoa butter and heaven.”

She worships your body—especially your thighs—and doesn’t care if the others walk in and see you two tangled on the couch.

(Spoiler: They do.)

Denki groans. “You’re starting without us?!”

Mina just smirks. “We’re just warming her up.”

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

masterlist

[marchsfreakshow]

Clingy Brat!

Fluff

... sorry lol

God.

Jody knew Tom had a new partner, but could he not drag them around set all day every day of the shoot? Even when it wasn't his scene to film that day, he was introducing them to the crew, making everyone compliment something about his partner.

He was constantly holding them, having his head by their shoulder to cling onto them like a puppy. Having them recite lines to him as he took frequent breaks in his trailer, wrapping his arms around their waist and burying his face in their shoulder. "I could just listen to you say her lines allll day babe, honestly."

You chuckled, reaching behind you slightly to lightly scratch at his hair. "Yeah? You're doing well so far, not one slip up."

Tom gasped slightly and smiled widely against the skin of your neck, kissing the same part over and over. The praise from you was always something Tom relished in. That squeal of delight when he did a good scene, or seeing the way your eyes lit up with admiration if he remembered the whole monologue without messing up.

The way he would forget he was mic'd up didn't add anything. After a scene and the cameras were still rolling, he'd just look over at you and mutter a compliment or think outloud at what he wanted to do to you. "Y'know... I bet they'd look real pretty bent ove-"

"Tom! Let's re do that scene okay? The lighting hid your eyes and that's what we need the most right now." Jody interrupted his thought about you before it could go any further, glancing over to you talking production with a stunt coordinator and a general producer. God, you were so pretty...

[squidsinatrentchcoat443]

Heyo I was wondering if you could do Swirly pop (my Oc) x Paintbrush

my new swirly pop is a trans male but I’ve only drawn her old design so yea…In the story can swirly pop vent about how much she wants to be a boy and that people disrespect and she vents to her partner paintbrush like a suggestive fluff

Here’s Swirly pop

Sure!

!Swirly Pop X Paintbrush! Angst, Suggestive Fluff

Another long night, work sucks. Swirly Pop was so tired, of people, of being treated poorly everything, it just sucks.

As Swirly Pop walked home she began to tear up, this body sucks, this voice, mind. God, this sucks. Swirly Pop began to tear up. “I just want to feel good…” Swirly Pop mumbled. It was just her, alone, no one else. Paintbrush would be waiting at the hotel. Finally, alone with her partner.

Time skip

Swirly Pop walked to Paintbrush’s door. She lifted her hand pausing before knocking. Paintbrush opened the door without Swirly Pop knocking.

“Oh, Swirly!” Paintbrush exclaimed, they looked so excited to see their partner. “Come in love!” Paintbrush grabbed Swirly Pop’s hand pulling Swirly in. “How was work love?” Paintbrush asked, not knowing how bad their partners day truly was.

Swirly Pop sat on Paintbrush’s bed. Pausing to reply. “…bad.” Swirly Pop sniffled, being called she reminded them that she would never be a boy. Swirly Pop felt so trapped.

“Whys that love?” Paintbrush sat down next to Swirly intertwining their hand with Swirly’s. Paintbrush looked at their partner with such love and care.

Swirly Pop began to tear up again. “I-I’ll never be a boy.” Swirly Pop laid her head down on Paintbrush’s lap with her face close to Paintbrush’s stomach. “I hate this body, I hate this- this life!” Swirly Pop sniffled wrapping her arms around Paintbrush. “..I don’t like being called she, Painty…”

Paintbrush held Swirly close to them. “I’m so sorry…” Paintbrush paused looking down at Swirly. “Would it help if I used he with you?” Paintbrush looked slightly embarrassed as they began to gently pat Swirly’s head.

Swirly Pop looked up at Paintbrush. “Yeah…” Swirly mumbled hugging Paintbrush close to him.

“Ok.” Paintbrush responded. “…you’re really handsome you know.”

Swirly Pop looked up at Paintbrush a slight blush on his cheeks. He pushed himself up to face Paintbrush. Swirly paused looking for permission from Paintbrush. Paintbrush looked back with such love and care. Swirly crashed his lips into Paintbrush’s, Paintbrush fell back onto the bed melting into the kiss. It felt as if the kiss lasted forever, Swirly pulled away for a moment almost flustered and shocked by what he had did.

“Swirly Pop..I love you. You’re such a handsome boy.” Paintbrush looked at Swirly with a gaze that showed the adoration for their lover.

Swirly fell onto Paintbrush’s chest cuddling with them comforting. “I-I love you too Painty..”

Swirly Pop was still upset over the amount of dysmorphia they felt. But the feeling that he was still loved by Paintbrush kept him going.

!Not Spell or Grammar Checked!

Srry it’s short, I hope you like it!

[bakug0uzb1thc]

Katsuki Bakugou x Fem! reader

Suggestive !!

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

This photo just gives off Katsuki- idk he likes that you guys are on a certain level of comfort in your relationship where he can touch you wherever and you don’t protest his actions or shy away from him.

This might be a bit ooc but he loves giving subtle touches, he thinks he’s so slick when he lightly grabs your waist when he reaches over you to grab something from a shelf or when he kisses you and takes a nice whiff of your scent .

But when he’s being bold, he knows it’s obvious when he gropes you. (Completely consensual!!!!)

He’s so nonchalant about it and it genuinely gets you going when he acts like it’s a normal thing (it is with you guys but you get what I’m saying.)

Most of the time it’s not even in a sexual way, he just likes touching you.

Doesn’t matter if he’s holding your hand or man handling your ass from the back he can’t not touch you.

You asked him one time if he was a ‘ass or tits guy’ and he just scoffed. he said “stupid ass question.” The only reason he said that was because he genuinely can’t choose, if he can have a hand on your thigh, ass or tits he’s happy.

“Mhh.. cakes..” he mumbled into your neck breathing in your sweet scent .

You were sat in his lap back against his chest and his arms wrapped around your waist. His head burried in your neck and his hot breath making the hairs on your neck stick up.

You both were supposed to be watching a movie but it just turned into you watching.

It was past his bedtime which made you roll your eyes— he’s a whole 17 year old with a bed time.

“Shhh the movie is getting good.” You didn’t care that he was literally attached to you, you just wanted to watch the movie.

“Nah. Freedom of speech.” He rubbed his nose against your skin, the feeling giving you shivers.

His hands once wrapped around you slowly crept its way up your shirt— and lucky for him you weren’t wearing a bra.

Just like that your shirt was crumpled on your chest and his hands filled with the meat of your boobs. Your top half completely exposed.

“You’re no better than mineta..” you sighed as he quite literally squished the plush skin of your boobs. Not one or two shy squishes, no this man was using your boobs as stress balls.

“Don’t care, yer fuckin soft. I live for this shit.” he continued his kneading, his head drowsy as he tried to fight the sleep that loomed over him.

“Pshh okay Kats, whatever makes you happy.” You giggled leaning more into his touch.

You would kill for soft Bakugou and it wasn’t even funny (he’d do the same.)

(I wrote this 4 TIMES FOR IT NOT TO SAVE, TUMBLR WTH.)

[orithekraken]

evolution and survival of the snuggliest

[miss-jaye]

cw: slightly suggestive when nanami kento saw his wife about to leave the house in a stunning, tight sundress, he swore his whole world stopped for a moment.

“honey?”

“hm?” you glanced at him, then looked back at the mirror, trying not to stab yourself with your earring. nanami cleared his throat. “where are you going?” he asked as he walked over, standing behind you and sliding his hands around your waist.

“i’m having lunch with my friends, sweetie. i told you that this morning, remember?” you raised a brow, confused. your husband nodded dazedly, his eyes glued to your figure.

“right.” he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “where are you going to have lunch?” he asked, his hands gently roaming over your body, feeling the fabric of the dress he so badly wanted to tear off you.

“that cafe we always go to…” you trailed off, finally securing your earring. “are you okay?” you met his gaze through the mirror. “i do this once a month—same place, same people.”

he nodded, humming in acknowledgment. you stayed silent for a moment, trying to figure out what had him so distracted. now that your earring was in place, you became hyper-aware of his hands, their slow, deliberate movements over your hips, squeezing in that familiar way that told you he was restraining himself from acting on his desires.

oh.

a blush crept up your cheeks as you realized nanami hadn’t seen this dress on you yet. you’d just bought it last week and forgot to show him. “kento?”

you called out to him, but he seemed too entranced by the way the dress clung to your curves. he leaned in closer, burying his nose in your neck, his hands trailing down to squeeze your thighs.

you let out a startled moan, hastily covering your mouth. he inhaled deeply, the scent of your perfume overwhelming his senses.

“your friends won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late, right?”

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The way Nanami subtly doms you

Tags: dom!Nanami x fem!Reader, sub!Reader, dom/sub relationship, NO age regression, sub space.

An: yeah idk i feel like nanami’s very subtle with his domming style, but i see shiu kong as full on dom.

• Nanami isn’t the type to flex his dominance over you. He doesn’t have to be rude or degrading to drive the point home. You know exactly when he gives you that look, it means to behave. His hazel eyes cut in your direction, and his eyebrow raises ever so slightly, like he’s amused by your disobedience. However, he doesn’t smile — doesn’t reward bad behavior.

• “Want to say that again?”, “Language.”, “Didn’t I tell you no pouting?” when you’re being a brat and mouthing off. bonus points if he’s pulling his tie away from his neck and slowly wrapping it around his palm.

• It’s simple, but he gives you his hoodies or coats to wear when you’re out and about. He likes seeing his clothes encompassed your body, and he enjoys that everyone will immediately be able to tell just whose you are.

• Speaking of clothes, Nanami’s not the type to tell you when you can and can’t wear something. He’s confident in his abilities to keep you safe, but that doesn’t mean he won’t make suggestions. “Are you sure about the skirt, sweetheart? I don’t want your legs getting cold.”

• He takes great care of you in an inconspicuous manner. He’ll adjust your clothes on you, buttoning up your top or gently fixing your unruly hair. He’ll throw your towel and pajamas (that he picked out for you) in the dryer when you’re in the shower, so they are all warm and cozy for you when you get out.

• Nanami is also the type to set a pretty firm bedtime for you. He knows how much you like to stay up and how ill you get in the mornings if you hadn’t had a minimum of 8 hours of rest. So, he sets you on a pretty strict bedtime schedule and routine. Don’t worry. He’s there every night to cuddle you to sleep.

• Insistent that you hold his hand while you two are out. He knows how distractible you are, and it eases his mind when your palm rests in his.

• The way he talks can throw you straight into a more submissive headspace, and he knows it too. He doesn’t do it often, but when he notices you getting too stressed or burnt out, he’ll immediately start with the dom talk, “My baby needs a break, doesn’t she?” He’ll coo and pull you into his lap, and when you inevitably lean into his touch, “There she is. Did my baby miss me?”

• Nanami sees it as a gentlemanly thing, but it could also be seen as another form of domming. He doesn’t let you touch a single door handle if he’s with you, and you best believe he’s walking on the outside. You’re tucked beside him on the inside of the sidewalk. He’ll also never let you hold a shopping bag. No, he does not care that he’s holding a bunch of Victoria’s Secret and Ulta bags. He pays for everything. If your car needs gas, Nanami fills it up.

• On the off chance that you two are out, and he’s not right beside you, all he has to do is curl his finger and point at the ground in front of him to let you know that he wants you to come to him, and you better do as you’re told.

• The king of giving simple stern instructions. “Look at me.” “Speak up, baby.”, “Come here, now.”, “Give me a kiss.”, “Ask nicely.”

• Nanami will sit on the couch, spread his legs, and pat his knee when he wants you to sit on his lap. He doesn’t even have to give simple instructions for that.

• Even while he does all this, he respects your independence, autonomy, and intelligence. Let’s bffr rn he’s your biggest supporter in everything you do. He’s so in love with you because he knows how smart and hard working you are. He’s so damn lucky that he gets to be the man to pamper you and ease your weary mind. He loves being that safe space for you, so you can just relax, lean on him, and just be you.

[gigirassol-i]

❝ Kiss me, don’t say no. ❞

┆ ⤿ ⌗ 𝓟errengue w. Johnny ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

ᯓᡣ𐭩 sugestivo (?) ᯓᡣ𐭩 now playing ♪ — “XO (only if you say yes)” ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc: 1.657 ᯓᡣ𐭩 avisos: johnny w. fem!reader, coworkers to lovers/fuckers, a reader é chefe de departamento, contém consumo de álcool, palavrões e menção a sexo, nada muito explícito, mas um pouquinho sugestivo no final ᯓᡣ𐭩 nota: ia postar ontem mas deixei pra postar no aniversário dele <3 se vocês gostarem talvez eu traga uma “continuação” disso aqui mais pra frente

Você e Johnny eram colegas de trabalho, ambos do mesmo departamento, e haviam reservado dois quartos em um hotel para uma viagem de negócios. Johnny disse que cuidaria de tudo, e você apenas concordou — afinal, ele era ótimo no que fazia e nunca te decepcionava.

Mas aí é que tá…

— Como assim a reserva foi feita para a semana que vem? — Questionou à recepcionista, confusa. Seu semblante era um misto de confusão e raiva, e Johnny estava inexpressivo, parecia ponderar a situação.

Johnny havia feito a reserva errado. Sem querer, confundiu a data e acabou reservando os quartos para a semana seguinte — e agora, vocês estavam sem um lugar para dormir.

Você até pensou que poderiam dormir lá mesmo, no hall do hotel, sentados em uma das poltronas vermelhas que estavam espalhadas pelo local. Mas isso era antiético, considerando o fato de que você estava lá como superior dele. E, sendo sincera, quem em sã consciência faria isso tendo dinheiro para pagar por outro quarto?

Já fazia uma meia hora que vocês estavam lá, sentados, em um silêncio constrangedor. Johnny já havia pedido desculpas umas mil vezes nesse meio tempo, mas você apenas ficou quieta e assentiu, tentando não surtar de vez.

Então, depois de respirar fundo e contar até 10, finalmente se dirigiu novamente até a recepção. Você decidiu que pagaria por mais dois quartos, dessa vez para o dia certo, e pronto, tudo estaria resolvido. Johnny até se ofereceu para pagar, mas você não aceitou. Era orgulhosa demais pra isso.

Só que seu azar não estava nem perto de acabar.

— Só um quarto? É sério? — Nesse momento, sua voz já estava começando a ficar alterada, a raiva e o cansaço te consumindo. Só queria resolver isso logo.

— Sim, senhora. É alta temporada e praticamente todos os quartos já foram reservados com antecedência, por isso só temos um no momento. — Explicou, e indicou com as mãos uma única chave restante no painel de chaves atrás de si, confirmando a informação.

Você abriu a boca para responder, mas, antes que pudesse continuar, Johnny segurou seu pulso suavemente, assumindo a dianteira da situação. Você sentiu um rubor subir pelas bochechas. Sempre ficava assim perto dele. Sr. Suh, um homem alto, forte, responsável e bonito, era capaz de fazer qualquer uma tremer na base. E você não saía impune disso.

— Pode ser, vamos pegar esse. Obrigado. — Ele disse, calmo, enquanto pegava a chave da mão da recepcionista. Bem diferente de você, que estava nervosa, os olhos arregalados e a testa franzida.

Você esperou o homem dizer alguma coisa, mas foi em vão. Foram o caminho todo até o 1027, no oitavo andar, calados, sem trocar uma palavra sequer, os olhos fixos no chão o tempo todo: enquanto cruzavam o enorme corredor do prédio, esperavam o elevador, e até mesmo dentro do elevador. Nenhuma palavra foi dita. Nenhuma. Apenas um silêncio sufocante tomou conta do ambiente.

Quando chegaram, Johnny abriu a porta e deixou você ir na frente. Ambos tiraram os sapatos e os casacos antes de entrar, e então finalmente entraram. Mas uma coisa chamou sua atenção ao dar uma olhada em volta.

Só havia uma cama de casal. Apenas uma. Para duas pessoas. Dois colegas de trabalho.

— Porra, Johnny… e agora? — Você suspirou alto, frustrada.

E então ele percebeu. Os olhos se arregalaram imediatamente, e ele levou uma das mãos ao rosto, pensando em alguma solução. Mas ele não pensou muito antes de te dar uma resposta.

— Eu durmo no chão, pode deixar. — Afrouxou a gravata, com o calor do ambiente já sufocando-o. O terno preto já havia sido abandonado logo na entrada, vestia apenas uma camisa branca e a gravata. Que visão estonteante.

Já você, vestia uma saia preta acima dos joelhos, uma camisa branca com os primeiros botões abertos, um coque já quase desfeito e, até poucos minutos atrás, um salto alto finíssimo — que, além de dor nas pernas, ainda te causou bolhas nos calcanhares.

Você engoliu em seco. Ele estava muito atraente, não podia negar. A forma como as mangas da camisa estavam dobradas pouco acima dos cotovelos, revelando os braços fortes e as veias saltadas, te deixavam atônita. Ele mexia na gravata de uma forma tão… sexy? Parecia calculado pra te fazer perder o juízo.

— Não! — Seu coração falou mais rápido do que seu cérebro. Praticamente cuspiu a palavra, tão rápido quanto um raio. Johnny te olhou confuso, estreitando os olhos.

— Quer dizer… — você continuou. — A cama é bem espaçosa, cabe nós dois sem problemas. Não precisa dormir no chão frio.

Johnny sorriu e te olhou nos olhos, tão intenso que te fez prender a respiração. Ele estava perto demais. Perigoso demais. Tentador demais.

— Se você não se importa, por mim tudo bem. Vamos dormir juntos, então.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ ⠄

Você tomou banho primeiro, depois Johnny. E agora, estavam sentados, cada um em um canto da cama. Você revisava alguns documentos, enquanto ele fazia alguma coisa no celular, concentrado. Ficava lindo assim, todo focado. E com os cabelos molhados, ficava ainda mais bonito.

Por fim, ele largou o celular e se levantou da cama, indo em direção ao frigobar. No frigobar, entre garrafinhas de água e sucos, havia uma garrafa de Johnnie Walker Blue Label, convidativa sob a luz amarelada. Foi aí que Johnny teve uma ideia que com certeza acabaria de vez com essa torta de climão que estavam saboreando há um bom tempo.

— Ei… — ele chamou, alto o suficiente para você escutar, levantando a garrafa no ar e balançando de leve. — O que acha da gente beber isso aqui?

— É sério isso, Johnny? A gente tá aqui a trabalho. — Você revirou os olhos, fingindo desaprovação. Mas era uma ideia muito interessante, você sabia disso.

— Eu sei. Mas amanhã a gente só vai ficar aqui revisando o material da reunião. Ninguém vai perceber se a gente beber só um pouquinho pra esvaziar a cabeça!

Era uma proposta muito boa, quase impossível de recusar. Mas você precisava lembrar de duas coisas antes de começar a beber: você não pode beber mais do que três doses e, em hipótese alguma, pode passar dos limites. Jamais passe dos limites. Não se aproxime muito, não fale coisas estranhas e nem pense em tocar nele. Você não pode. Vocês são colegas de trabalho. E o pior: você é a chefe do departamento.

— Só mais uma! — E virou a quarta dose da noite. Primeira regra quebrada com sucesso.

— Isso! Só mais uma e a gente vai dormir. — Johnny estava vermelho e a voz estava falhando, claramente mais alterado do que o normal.

Depois dessa, beberam mais duas cada um. E agora, estavam sentados no chão ao lado da cama. Johnny estava com a cabeça apoiada na cama, olhando pra cima, e você estava com os olhos fixos na garrafa vazia em sua frente.

— Caralho, John… a gente bebeu essa porra toda! Não acredito nisso! — Levou uma das mãos até a testa, desacreditada. Deslizou a mão pelo rosto, parando na boca. Ficou assim por alguns minutos até voltar a realidade.

— Relaxa, linda. Nem dá pra perceber que você bebeu. — Ele sorriu, bobo, aproveitando a oportunidade para te olhar por inteiro.

O elogio descarado te pegou de surpresa. Vocês não estavam totalmente bêbados, só estavam mais soltinhos, mais sinceros. Os olhares eram mais intensos, os sorrisos mais verdadeiros e as intenções mais claras. Era o seu fim.

— Como não? Tô toda acabada, sério, amanhã eu tô fudida.

— Ah, conta outra… ‘cê tá linda. Já disse que te acho linda de todas as formas?

“Ele realmente disse isso ou o álcool tá me fazendo ouvir coisas?” Foi a única coisa que veio na sua cabeça. Sua mente ficou totalmente em branco. Você travou.

— Johnny… — tentou soar como um aviso, mas saiu mais como um suspiro. E Johnny percebeu, é claro.

— Hm? O que foi? — Ele ergueu uma sobrancelha, em um tom falso de dúvida. Te olhou, os olhos indo de encontro com seus lábios avermelhados, e sorriu, satisfeito com sua reação.

— Me beija?

É, você realmente passou — e muito — dos limites. Segunda regra quebrada com sucesso.

Johnny não respondeu. Bom, pelo menos não com palavras.

Os lábios dele tomaram os seus com volúpia, ávidos, exigentes. O ar ficou pesado, os suspiros se misturaram, e naquele instante, nada mais existia além do desejo ardente que incendiava os corpos e os corações. Ele queria isso há muito tempo. Sempre que te via bravinha, com os lábios franzidos em um biquinho, imaginava como seria beijá-la. Até se sentia mal por querer tanto beijar a própria chefe, a mulher estressadinha que passava o dia todo dando mais e mais trabalho para ele.

Seja pelo álcool ou pela excitação do momento, vocês estavam completamente entregues ao beijo — quente, molhado, bagunçado e cheio de desejo acumulado. Suas línguas invadiam a boca um do outro, exploravam cada cantinho com devoção. As mãos dele deslizaram por sua cintura, puxando-a para mais perto, como se o espaço entre vocês fosse insuportável. Já as suas, passeavam pelas costas largas do mesmo, sentindo cada músculo tensionando sob seus dedos. Se continuassem nesse ritmo, passariam ainda mais dos limites.

Sem nem se separar do beijo, se levantaram apressados, indo em direção a cama. Johnny te deitou suavemente, e se inclinou por cima de você, ainda te beijando intensamente. Foi quando ele deslizou as mãos para suas coxas, ameaçando tocar onde você mais precisava, que você precisou intervir.

— É sério que a gente vai fazer isso? Tem certeza? — Pela primeira vez, você separou o beijo. Estava com os lábios inchados e a voz trêmula, ofegante, ainda com os sentidos à flor da pele.

— Fazer o quê? Transar? — Ele riu soprado, encostando a testa na sua. — Porra, se você quiser, eu quero. E pra caralho.

E foi aí que você percebeu que já tinha passado dos limites de vez. A merda já estava feita, então por que não aproveitar?

— Se você quer mesmo, então não perde mais tempo.

E ele realmente não perdeu mais nenhum segundo.

[mindless-existence1]

yall know that trend of guys picking up their gfs? Well Nanami, Toji, and Sukuna would be the kings of picking up any body type.

Nanami doesn't really understand but he'll do anything if you ask him nicely. He'd do it so easily, no matter your size, and just hold you up for a bit untill your say your done. Nanami definetly doesnt realize hes sexy but likes when your happy so hes willing to do whatever. When he puts you down he'd just smile and ask if that's what you wanted. He wouldn't understand why you were so flustered.

Toji on the other hand is an asshole. This bitch is a cocky mf and definitely knows he's sexy. He'd agree to do it but more so in a way just cuz he likes manhandling you. He'd pick you up one handed and be smikry cuz he knows you are all flustered without even needing to look. When you ask to be set down he'd be all cocky and set you down all nice. "You happy doll?" (He'd call you doll don't even talk to me).

Sukuna doesn't understand trends at all and when you ask him to pick you up he's just confused. Like why? What's the purpose. He'll eventually give in and do it and genuinely, no matter your size, he's picking you up like your a feather. Doesn't understand why you're all gushy about his muscles (he's playing coy he knows he's sexy) but he does know that when he picked you up your heart rate spiked. Definitely likes manhandling you to.

[i2sunric]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 ! (p.sh)

PAIRING: ex-husband!sunghoon x ex-wife!reader (f)

SUMMARY: sick and tired of their parents always arguing whenever one of them comes to pick ‘em up, yohan and haneul (or haneul and yohan, per haneul’s request) decide to organize a mission and make you and sunghoon fall in love again.

WARNINGS: starring JIHOON (reader’s new bf), fluff, divorced parents, shared custody, mentions of hickeys, insults, anger, fights, making out (jihoon & reader - later hoon & reader), memories, suggestive (barely by the end), mentions of pregnancy, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 15th July 2025

WC: 7.9k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon @princesstiti14 @mintchocoddeonut @lostgirlysstuff

NOW PLAYING: Keep on Loving You by Cigarettes After Sex & The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift

a/n: honestly i had so much fun writing this! i’ve been a little all over the place so sorry if i took some time to finish it 💔💔 please LIKE & REBLOG to spread 🩷 i’m proud of this, the writing course i took in april is paying off me thinks.

You stepped from the elevator onto the thirty-ninth floor, stilettos clicking over marble, so glossy it caught the overhead lights and flung them back in shards of silver. 

The corridor outside Sunghoon’s penthouse still smelled faintly of the cedar-and-bergamot diffuser he favored, familiar, irritating and annoyingly comforting. 

Your blouse was perfectly ironed, hair swept into a high ponytail, makeup soft but immaculate. 

Beneath the collar your scarf hid the blooming marks Jihoon’s mouth had painted along your throat last nighjt, the silk wrapped delicately each time you swallowed, a secret reminder of how fast you’d already moved on.

You rang the bell. The custom steel door whispered open, and there he was: Park Sunghoon, ex-husband, ex-golden boy, barefoot in a charcoal cashmere sweater and sweatpants that draped too casually on a body still honed like a fencer’s blade. 

which was unfair, since you had to hit the gym so much to get your body back after pregnancy.

A crooked half-smile lifted one corner of his lips, the exact smile that used to undo you, and still threatened to annoy you into irrationality.

“Two minutes late,” he said, leaning a shoulder to the jamb. “Color me shocked, you’re slipping.”

“Traffic was charitable,” you answered, gliding past him. “Or perhaps the universe felt sorry for me, knowing I’d be dealing with you.”

He gave a low, appreciative hum while closing the door. “Biting already. I Haven’t even offered you coffee yet.”

“God forbid,” you muttered. “Caffeine brewed by your hands might revert me to our marriage counseling days, and we both know how that ended.”

“Explosively.” His eyes flicked to the silk tucked at your neck, lingered just a second too long. The bastard had always been sharp. “New accessory? Striking choice for July.”

You lifted your chin. “Fashion, Sunghoon. Look it up sometime instead of living in sweatpants.”

He laughed under his breath and motioned toward the sun-drenched living room where floor-to-ceiling windows gave Seoul’s skyline center stage. 

Lego castles sprawled across the rug, watercolor palettes lay open on the coffee table, brushes soaking in mismatched mugs. 

Voices floated from the hallway: one soft and uncertain, the other bright and commanding.

“Haneul, put that down, you’ll spill!” Yohan fretted.

“It’s fine, dummy,” Haneul declared. “I’m strong.”

You couldn’t help smiling. They were your perfect halves, as contrasting and complementary as moonlight and flame. 

The moment they spotted you, four small feet thundered over the hardwood.

“Mommy!” Haneul launched herself first, fierce as always, burrowing under your blouse in search of a hug. 

She smelled like finger paint and the strawberry shampoo you’d chosen for her at six months old. Yohan arrived a breath later, slower, shy, but his arms slipped around your waist with a familiar sigh of relief.

“Hey, my loves,” you murmured, kissing each silky head. “Did you behave for Daddy?”

“They over-behaved,” Sunghoon said, folding arms across his chest. “I’m thinking of renting them out as examples to other children.”

Haneul stuck out her tongue at him. “We’re only good because we’re awesome,” she announced.

Yohan tightened his grip on your wrist, “We made you pictures,” he said, voice so small you bent to hear it. “I painted a galaxy.”

“And I drew a tiger eating a monster truck,” Haneul added proudly.

“My little artists,” you praised, gathering both creations. Yohan’s painting was good, while you werent really sure which one was the car and which one was the tigér in Haneul’s “These are masterpieces. They’re going on the fridge.”

Sunghoon’s gaze moved from the paintings to your face. “The kids have packed, everything’s by the door. I labeled the medicine for Yohan’s cough.” 

A pause, then with exaggerated politeness he said “Should I also forward their pediatrician records to your… new friend? You know, in case of emergencies between making hickey art?”

Heat pricked your ears, but you smirked “Jihoon’s a doctor, actually, I think we’ll manage.”

“A doctor,” Sunghoon repeated, tilting his head “Good choice, someone has to keep you in one piece after you trip over your own pride.”

You arched a brow “Funny, that’s exactly what he said about you, except with more medical terminology.”

Haneul, oblivious, tugged your wrist “Mommy, can we bake cookies tonight? The really gooey ones?”

“Absolutely. Yohan, you’ll help too, right?”

He nodded shyly. “If I can stir.”

“Stirring is essential,” you assured him.

Sunghoon cleared his throat “Hang on,” he said, and vanished down the hallway. The twins scampered into the foyer to collect tiny backpacks, one blue and one purple. 

You waited, fingers tracing the ridges of your wedding band’s phantom imprint— gone nearly a year now, yet some days it felt freshly removed.

He returned with two plushies, Yohan’s weathered penguin, Haneul’s stuffed phoenix, plus a zipped folder “Their latest school forms,” he said, pressing the folder into your free hand. “And Yohan’s reading log. He’s ahead of level again.”

You met his eyes, a reluctant swell of pride shared between adversaries “Thank you.”

An awkward beat. 

The kind that used to end with a kiss back when the pauses held gravity, not distance. 

He broke it first, voice low “They’re good kids because of you.”

“And you,” you granted softly. It was a truth neither of you enjoyed admitting.

Across the room the twins argued about who would press the elevator button. 

Their little voices echoed like bells, filling corners once haunted by adult shouting. Your throat tightened, but hadn’t walked into this ivory tower to cry, so you blinked the tears back.

“You okay?” Sunghoon asked, more gently than expected.

You blinked “Peachy.”

He studied you, the way he once did across candlelit tables, conviction that he could read every flicker of thought. 

His gaze drifted again to the scarf, and his lips curved, bittersweet “I don’t regret us,” he murmured. “Even if we’re better like this.”

“Better is relative,” you said, checking the time. “And you still owe me half the orthodontist fund.”

“Invoice me, I’ll pay promptly, unlike your boyfriend.” The playful barb slipped out before he could help it. You rolled your eyes.

Haneul appeared between you with the decisive stomp of a warrior princess. “Daddy, hug.”

He knelt, catching her in strong arms. 

Yohan edged closer, and Sunghoon embraced him too, kisses pressed to raven hair. “Be good for Mom,” he said, and they nodded. Then his gaze lifted to you. “Text when you get home?”

���I will,” you answered. 

This new civility was fragile; you weren’t about to break it.

At the door you paused, adjusting scarf and handbags while the elevator dinged. Sunghoon hovered in the threshold like a man thinking of unsaying things already said.

“Take care of yourself,” he said quietly.

“You too.” You hesitated, then added, “Try sleeping before three a.m. for once.”

“Doctor’s orders, I suppose.” He flashed that maddening crooked smile.

The elevator doors slid open, you shepherded the twins inside. 

As the doors closed, Sunghoon raised two fingers in a casual salute. You answered with a small, wry wave.

The elevator began its silent descent. Haneul bounced on her heels “Mommy, can we call Uncle Jihoon on the way?”

“Maybe after dinner,” you said, smoothing her hair.

Yohan tugged your coat, whispering, “Will Daddy be lonely?”

Your chest tightened again, but you kept your voice steady Daddy has lots of things that keep him occupied, he’ll be fine.”

The numbers ticked downward. 

You inhaled, catching faint traces of cedar that clung even here, and let them pass.

☆.

Jihoon’s mouth had trailed from the hollow behind your ear to the curve of your collarbone, each slow kiss coaxing a sigh you scarcely recognized as your own. 

The loft’s floor-to-ceiling windows framed the late-afternoon light, dusty and gold, and the silk shirt you had worn for brunch lay discarded over the arm of the couch. 

Jihoon’s hands explored beneath the lace edge of your bra, thumbs stroking the faint bruises his lips had left the night before. 

When he murmured your name you arched into him, fingers threading through his soft brown hair.

“You taste like espresso.” he teased, breath warm against your shoulder.

“You made it too strong.” you whispered, nipping his lower lip.

His chuckle vibrated through both of you. “I make everything strong.”

The slow, building pressure of his body against yours blurred whatever fragile sense of time you’d carried in. 

He nudged your knees apart, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your sternum, and you tugged at his belt with impatient fingers. He braced an arm beside your head, gaze glossy with heat. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need—” The sentence dissolved when his hips rolled, and you gasped, half laugh, half moan. “Jihoon, don’t—”

A faint buzz rattled somewhere to the left. 

Phone? Table? Call? You ignored it, lifting to meet his mouth again. The buzz returned, more insistent, followed by a muffled ping. 

Then another.

Jihoon pulled back just enough to look at you, hair falling into his eyes. “Want me to toss it onto the obalcony?”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Might be the hospital.”

“Fine.” He leaned, snagged his phone, squinted. “It’s yours.” he said when he found no missed call on his.

You frowned. 

Your own phone lay face-down on the coffee table, screen pulsing with notification after notification. 

When you flipped it, the lock screen lit with Sunghoon’s name… eight missed calls, two voicemails, half a dozen texts.

The last message read at 3:47 PM

Sunghoon: WHERE ARE YOU?

Blood drained from your face. 

Pickup was three-thirty. 

A twenty-minute cross-city drive in Friday traffic stood between you and the twins.

“Oh God,” you breathed. “I’m late. Jihoon, I’m late.”

He sat back instantly. “What— how late?”

“Half an hour, maybe more if we hit jams.” You shoved into your blouse, fumbling buttons wrong, then right, hand shaking. 

The twins had never waited alone— Sunghoon’s anger was one thing, but Yohan’s shy heart twisted at schedule changes, and Haneul’s fierce bravado evaporated when she sensed tension.

Jihoon steadied your wrists. “I’ll drive,

give me the keys.”

“You have a shift—”

“Not till seven, come on.”

You stuffed rumpled hair into a claw clip, found your heels, and snatched your back before quickly bolting out of the house.

While Jihoon locked up, you hit call back. Sunghoon answered on the first ring; the controlled ice in his voice froze your spine.

“It’s four o’clock,” he said, no greeting. “You were due at three-thirty.”

“I know. Traffic—”

“Don’t you dare lie.” A hard exhale. “The twins have been sitting in the lobby with the doorman for twenty minutes because I have a meeting I can’t move.”

Guilt slammed like a wave. “I’m on my way! twenty-five minutes.”

“You should’ve been on your way an hour ago.” The line clicked deadk 

Your stomach churned. 

In the elevator Jihoon squeezed your hand, lips pressed to your temple. “Focus on breathing. We’ll make every light.”

You half-ran to his car. 

jihoon wove through side streets, one palm steady on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh in silent reassurance.

You replayed the last four years in the windshield: the final shouting match with Sunghoon, ink drying on divorce papers, the fragile truce of shared custody. 

You’d kept promises; pickups, drop-offs, parent-teacher nights— a flawless record until now. Your eyes stung. Jihoon squeezed again. “They’ll be okay, Sunghoon too.”

“Sunghoon doesn’t do ‘okay., he does perfect schedules and synchronized watches.”

“He can survive twenty minutes of imperfection.”

“He’ll make sure I don’t.”

Jihoon hit the horn, merged ruthlessly. “He’ll snarl, you’ll snarl back, then you’ll take the kids home. That’s it.”

The GPS ticked minutes downward while the sun slid west. 

At 4:24PM the logo over Sunghoon’s building loomed like a herald of judgement. You leapt from the car before Jihoon had fully stopped.

Inside, the concierge recognized you and your panic, and gestured toward a leather bench.

Yohan sat small-shouldered, backpack clutched to his chest. Haneul swung her legs defiantly, scowling at every adult in range. The instant they spotted you, mixed relief and hurt flooded their faces.

You knelt. “I’m so sorry, babies.” You wrapped them both close. “Traffic swallowed me whole.”

Sunghoon approached from the elevators, suit jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to elbows, jaw tight. His presence alone thickened the air.

“Thank Mr. Seo for babysitting,” he told the twins, nodding to the concierge. They murmured thanks. 

Then his eyes skewered you. “My office lost a forty-million-won client because I had to sprint downstairs.” His tone remained low, but fury simmered beneath. “You didn’t answer until the tenth call.”

“I was— occupied,” you admitted, heat crawling up your throat.

“With Doctor Perfect.” His gaze flicked to the slight smudge of your lipstick above Jihoon’s collar. “How responsible.”

Jihoon entered then, purposeful but calm. 

He offered a slight bow. “Afternoon, Mr. Park. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, the delay was my fault.”

Sunghoon laughed once, sharp. “Chivalry? Cute. It doesn’t un-delay my schedule.” He turned back to you. “If you can’t honor the pickup window, you need to let me know, they sat with strangers.”

“Mr. Seo isn’t a stranger,” you argued, but your shoulders drooped. “I know it’s my fault.”

“Damn right,” he snapped, then seemed to remember the children’s wide eyes and moderated his voice. “From now on, if you’ll be late, call at least half an our ahead.”

Jihoon stepped forward. “We’ll set extra alarms. She truly—”

Sunghoon’s palm lifted, silencing him. “This is between their mother and me.”

Haneul spoke up, fierce loyalty flashing. “Daddy, Mommy said sorry. Let it go.”

Sunghoon regarded his daughter, pride and frustration warring. 

Yohan’s hand slipped into yours; his small fingers trembled. You tucked him under your arm.

“I’ll make it up,” you promised, meeting Sunghoon’s gaze. “I’ll take them also tomorrow, feed them, homework, baths. Drop them at school in the morning.”

“We already have plans,” he said. “But go now. I have work.” He crouched to the twins’ level, anger vanishing behind tenderness. “Love you both. Be good, buckle up.”

They hugged him tight. When they stepped back he straightened, facing you again, expression calmer but still flinty. “One slip, fine. Don’t let it become a pattern.”

“It won’t,” you said.

Jihoon touched the small of your back— steady warmth. Sunghoon’s eyes tracked the gesture, but he only nodded once, curt, and strode toward the second bank of elevators, phone already to ear.

In the car, silence settled until Haneul blurted, “Mommy, you’re never late.”

You winced. “I messed up. I’m sorry.”

Yohan leaned against you. “We forgave you already.”

Your chest ached. Jihoon glanced in the mirror. “Cookies and extra sprinkles tonight?”

Haneul brightened. “Bear shaped!”

“And maybe a penguin one for Yohan,” you added.

Promise of sugar thawed the tension. 

As Jihoon eased into traffic, his hand sought yours again. You squeezed, grateful. 

You texted Sunghoon

You: Home safe. Thanks for waiting.  

The read receipt appeared instantly, yet no reply came. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t tonight. You would face him again at soccer practice on Sunday, armed with punctuality and contrition.

For now you had twins chattering about cookie shapes and a man beside you who smelled of hand sanitizer and steadfast patience. 

But it didn’t quite soothe you as Sunghoon’s cedar scent did.

☆.

You had tucked Yohan beneath his rocket-printed duvet at nine-thirty sharp, smoothing the fringe from his lashes while he whispered requests for “just one more chapter.” 

Haneul occupied the opposite bunk across the room, arms folded in protest because her brother’s galaxy comforter looked “cooler than boring princess swirls.” 

You compromised: two pages more of Tangled for them both and a promise of pancakes at dawn, then a good-night kiss to each forehead. 

When you eased the door nearly shut, lwaving a narrow sliver left open so hallway light could chase away nightmares, you heard nothing but the hush of their synchronized breathing and, somewhere deeper in the apartment, the distant drip of the kitchen faucet you still forgot to call the landlord about.

In your bedroom you exchanged slacks for an oversized tee, idly scrolling through Sunghoon’s terse email about next week’s parent–teacher conference: concise bullet points, no greeting, no sign-off, just times and an attachment. 

You answered with equal brevity: noted, see you there, and hit send before second-guessing tone. 

Jihoon’s name flashed in a new message immediately after.

Hoon 🩷: Miss you already. ER’s a madhouse tonight. Sleep soon? 

You smiled at the screen, typed back quickly

You: pancake duty at sunrise but I’ll try.

and set the phone facedown. 

The apartment settled into its nocturnal symphony: refrigerator humming, street traffic, a soft river flowing some feet away, and you let eyelids flutter shut unaware of the quiet rebellion brewing down the hall.

Haneul waited until the hallway light dimmed on the smart timer, ten-fifteen, then kicked off her blanket. 

She tiptoed across cool laminate, clutching her phoenix plush like a talisman. 

Yohan was already half-propped on elbows, eyes wide behind the milky glow of the small astronaut night-lamp.

“You‘re awake too?,” he whispered, voice feather-soft so it wouldn’t carry.

“Mission time,” she declared, clambering onto the mattress beside him. 

The springs squeaked; both froze, listening. 

No footsteps. No Mommy. Safe.

Yohan scooted to make room, pulling up his notebook, the one with planetary rings on the cover and TOP SECRET scribbled in bubble letters. 

Inside, colored-pencil schematics sprawled across pages: stick-figure Mommy and Daddy separated by a jagged thunderbolt, arrows leading to a giant red heart.

Haneul grabbed a purple crayon. “Step one, we need a plan that makes them talk without all the blah blah fight stuff.”

Yohan nodded solemnly, pencil poised. “Like a peace treaty.”

“Treaties are boring. We need… a trap.” She drew a square labelled family patch HQ and, under that, two stick grown-ups with startled eyebrows.

He frowned. “Daddy doesn’t like when we surprise him, and mommy gets scared when daddy is mad.”

“Fine,” she allowed, tapping the page. “Then we make them do something happy together. What do they both like?”

Yohan’s brow furrowed, deep in six-year-old contemplation. “Coffee?” he suggested.

“They’ll just drink and talk about bills.” Haneul rolled her eyes. “Think bigger.”

“Skating!” he blurted. “Daddy took us to the frozen fountain last winter. Mommy laughed a lot that day.”

Haneul’s grin flashed feral. “Yes. Ice. But how do we get them there at the same time?”

They fell into hushed deliberation, heads bent, plush phoenix wedged like a conference mascot between them. 

Yohan proposed forged invitations to a “special parents’ night” at the rink. 

Haneul countered with a surprise picnic in the middle of the ice, blankets, cocoa, maybe glitter bombs. Yohan worried about glitter in skates; Haneul insisted glitter fixed everything. 

They compromised: glitter only on the thermos.

Haneul flipped to a fresh page. “Backup plan in case they can’t pic nic: make them watch old wedding videos.”

Yohan’s eyes widened. “Do we have those?”

“Grandma does. We can ask but pretend it’s for school.”

“I don’t like fibbing.”

“It’s not fibbing,” she soothed. “It’s… diplomacy.” She’d heard Sunghoon use the word during a heated phone call and liked how it rolled off the tongue.

They listed supplies: colored paper, cocoa packets, marshmallows shaped like stars (non-negotiable), enough allowance coins to bribe the rink guard, and Sunghoon’s spare keycard if pick-up shuttling required infiltration of his apartment. 

Haneul promised she could swipe it from the crystal bowl by his door. 

Yohan fretted about fingerprints, but she waved him off “Daddy is a CEO, not an FBI agent.”

When strategies tired their brains, Yohan yawned cavernously. 

Haneul fished a flashlight from under the pillow, clicked it on beneath a shared blanket, and they whispered final oaths of secrecy— not a peep to grown-ups, especially not Jihoon, because doctors asked too many questions. 

They spat on palms with theatrical disgust, then sealed the pact with a sticky handshake that made them giggle until Yohan clapped both hands over his mouth.

Haneul switched off the flashlight. She nestled beside her twin brother, fingers intertwined.

“Mommy and Daddy will be happy again,” she murmured into darkness, more a statement than a wish.

Yohan swallowed. “Even if they don’t get married again… maybe they’ll laugh.”

She nudged him with an elbow. “They’ll laugh. And then we won’t have to pack bags every other weekend like ping-pong balls.”

He considered this, then nodded. “Mission: family patch!” he recited, sleep thickening his voice. “Operation commence tomorrow at oh-six-hundred.”

Haneul had no idea what hour that was, but Yohan liked numbers, so she agreed and commanded the phoenix plush to stand lookout. 

By the time its stitched wings drooped against the pillow, both children drifted under, breathing in unison, dreaming of twirling ice and microscopic glitter storms, of coffee steam curling between two grown-ups who once loved each other enough to make a galaxy-painting boy and a tiger-riding girl.

Down the hall, you lay unaware, one arm flung over your eyes, pondering whether to email Sunghoon a proper apology for last week’s tardy scramble. 

You debated phrasing until thoughts blurred, eventually you decided morning clarity would serve better. 

Had you risen to peek in on the twins, like you usually did before sleeping, you might have noticed the double rise and fall beneath Yohan’s quilt or the faint scent of purple crayon still hanging in the air. 

☆.

You spent Saturday morning lost in the weekend routine: laundry tumbling in the washer, a precarious tower of receipts on the dining table begging to be categorized, too distracted to notice the unnatural hush in the twins’ room and ghe sudden disappearance of your phone.

Sunghoon, the next day, somewhere across the river, sat in his high-rise office final-polishing a pitch deck, blissfully ignorant that Yohan and Haneul were toggling between his unlocked laptop.

While you counted vitamins into a plastic day-pill container, they sent your mother a text requiring your wedding videos for a school project. She dropped a USB driver when you were busy hanging out the clothes. 

Then, they plundered the external drive labeled ARCHIVE— DO NOT DELETE on Sunghoon’s computer. 

Up popped camcorder footage: you six months pregnant, satin wedding dress tailored around your belly; Sunghoon in a dove-gray suit, gaze locked on you like earth’s true north. 

The twins giggled at their own embryonic cameos— your wobbling walk down the aisle, Sunghoon’s trembling hands when he kissed your knuckles, your joint vows whispered over the soundtrack of distant seagulls. 

Haneul clipped segments without mercy, Yohan layering transitions that blinked neon pink and comic-sans captions: LOOK HOW MUCH THEY LOVED EACH OTHER! A royalty-free harp arpeggio looped beneath every frame, jerky and too loud.. 

Yohan handled logistics. He typed on Sunghoon’s email: “Client call moved. I’ll be offlain after noon.” 

Haneul commandeered your phone when you left it charging beside the toaster. Her thumbs flew: “Running errands.” even if she didn’t really know what it meant “Taking kids skating at Star Rink tomorrow, can you grab them at four? :) Grab your skates, maybe they wanna stay longer” 

The smiley looked nothing like your usual punctuation and everything like six-year-old exuberance, but they trusted adult obliviousness.

Next they texted you from his own work chat window, Yohan’s idea, so a parallel message pinged onto your lock screen: “I’ll drop twins at rink 3:30. You pick ’em up? Thanks. Bring your skates in case they want to stay longer.”

Then they deleted the threads, archiving proof deep in message trash where no one ever scrolled.

Grandma arrived at noon. 

Your mother thought the surprise visit was your idea; you didn’t know that neither Sunghoon nor you were aware of their secret mission.

By three-thirty you shoved your skates into a canvas tote, wondering why Sunghoon had promised the twins ice on a weekend so crammed. 

Still, a commitment was a commitment, and guilt over last week’s tardy pickup nipped your conscience. 

You arrived to Star Rink’s gleaming atrium just after three-fifty, breath fogging in the artificially cooled air, muttering apologies you’d craft for tiny ears. 

The rink looked unusually empty, just a few teenagers practicing spins, no sign of your children skating with your ex husband.

Then a familiar voice echoed across the polished concrete. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Sunghoon strode from the opposite entrance, coat unfastened, skates slung over one shoulder. 

His surprise mirrored yours so perfectly it might have been choreographed— which, unknown to either of you, it had.

“You said to be here at four,” he accused.

You blinked. “No— you said i’d grab them at four.”

He frowned. “I have the text.” He dug for his phone, scrolling with brows knit. You mirrored him, finding nothing but your past conversations.

“Where are the twins?” you asked, throat tightening.

“Probably hiding behind a pillar laughing at us.” He scanned the rink. “Come on, rascals, out!”

No answer. 

Only the squeak of rental skates and the distant crunch of blades carving ice. 

You and Sunghoon shared a look that bridged the chasm of months— parental telepathy laced with worry.

A rink attendant in a blue windbreaker approached, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Park? Ms. L/N?”

“Yes,” you both answered, then glared at each other for saying it in unison.

The attendant smiled like someone who’d been tipped off. “Your children dropped off a USB this morning. Asked us to play it at four sharp. They said you might… need context.” She gestured toward the suspended Jumbotron above center ice. 

Its four screens currently looped skate sponsors.

You opened your mouth— closed it. Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed. 

“They told us to inform you they are at their Grandma’s, safe and sound.” She made air quotes. 

Haneul’s grin flashed in your memory, wicked and gap-toothed. Yohan’s shy collusion behind it. You dragged a hand over your face. “Demons.”

The attendant glanced at the wall clock. 3:58. “We were also told to insist you both ‘get on the ice first so the magic works.’ Their words.”

Sunghoon pinched the bridge of his nose, then sighed. “Fine. Humor us.”

You laced skates side by side on a bench, trying not to notice how his forearm brushed yours when he tugged his bootstrings, how the slice of his jaw looked less severe up close, how the citrus-cedar cologne you once bought him still anchored memories. 

When you stood, wobbling, he offered a reflexive hand, not the poised businessman, just the competitive skater who’d coached you through a thousand laps in winter courting days. 

Muscle memory overruled pride, you let him steady you onto the ice.

The rink felt cavernous without the twins’ chatter. Fluorescent lights struck the frozen surface in blue shivers. You pushed off cautiously, lungs filling with cold whisper-clean air. 

Sunghoon glided backward, assessing your form. “Knees bent,” he murmured, in instinctive coach mode.

“I remember,” you said, managing a credible curve. Across the ice, teen couples twirled; pop music thumped overhead. That familiarity, him skating circles until your confidence caught, stirred warmth you tried to quell.

At exactly four-o-one the music cut, replaced by a jarring harp trill booming through loudspeakers. 

The Jumbotron flickered snowflakes, then a shaky camcorder frame: you in pearls, belly round under ivory silk, Sunghoon at the altar, eyes glossy.

Your skate edges wobbled. “Oh, my God.”

He looked up, jaw slack. 

The audio crackled— your voice in 720p, laughing, telling the officiant a twins joke mid-vow and everyone roaring. Caption bubbles popped: THEY WERE SO CUTE! :’) Glitter GIFs rained down pixelated gold across the screen. 

The edit jumped, janky cross-fade to the first dance where Sunghoon’s hands rested protectively on your curve. 

A subtitle shouted: LOOK HOW DADDY STARED AT MOMMY!

A collective “awww” rose from rink spectators. Your cheeks burned.

Then the too loud music started, deafening everyone around.

Sunghoon skated closer, voice low. “Where did they even get this?”

“Your archive drive? My mother had a backup too.”

He winced. “I locked that folder.”

“They hacked you.” A short, incredulous laugh escaped. “Our six-year-olds hacked you.”

Onscreen footage shifted to the hospital delivery room, your mother must’ve filmed it, Sunghoon pressing lips to your brow while monitors beeped. 

Then a freeze-frame zoom-in on both newborns, overlay text in rainbow font: MISSION FAMILY PATCH: ACTIVEIGHT.

Mutters of delight filtered from onlookers. 

You swayed slightly, Sunghoon caught your elbow. For a long heartbeat neither of you moved, riveted by the stumble-through montage, first bath, stroller race, your exhausted faces side by side on the couch. 

The amateur edit felt like a love letter scrawled in crayon, messy yet searingly sincere.

When the screen faded to white with a final flourish, PLEASE LOVE AGAIN, silence thawed into soft arena applause. The attendant cut the feed and awkwardly restarted the playlist.

You exhaled, a shudder that misted the chilly air. “They went to Grandma’s so we’d be forced to… reconnect.”

“Tiny criminals,” he murmured, but his voice wasn’t angry. just overwhelmed. And guilty. 

You eased back, studying him. Ice crystals peppered his hair where condensation had settled. 

He looked suddenly tired, the rapid-fire CEO shutters pulled open to something vulnerable.

“They miss the way we used to laugh,” you said, throat tight.

“Do you?” he asked, earnestness slipping out before he could clothe it in sarcasm.

“Yes,” you admitted, quiet, surprising even yourself. “I miss when we were on the same team.”

He nodded, gaze drifting to your scarf, today a soft gray, no hickeys to hide, “We’re still parents. That team never dissolved.”

“You’re right. We just… forgot how to play.”

He released a breathy chuckle. “Leave it to our kids to schedule a remedial practice.”

You managed a tentative smile. The playlist shifted to a mellow jazz instrumental. Without thinking you extended a hand. “One lap? For old times.”

He took it gently, palm warm through your glove. 

Together you pushed off, synchronizing lengths like gear teeth meshing. 

The glide settled into familiar rhythm— your left, his right, bodies leaning, inside edges kissing ice.

He matched speed to yours, never showboating. Halfway around, muscle memory took over and you attempted a cautious crossover. 

He guided your hips with featherlight fingertips, murmuring corrections the way he had when teaching you to skate backwards: “Weight over the heel, trust the blade.”

Trust. 

That had been the fragile axis after divorce, trust in schedules, trust in boundaries, but not in closeness. 

Yet here, under fluorescent hum and cinnamon-cocoa rink air, your body remembered what your mind had shelved, you trusted him to keep you upright on ice. 

He trusted you with the beating hearts of his children.

When you completed the circuit, neither of you let go immediately. 

You drifted near the boards, hearts thudding louder than rental pop. Finally he cleared his throat. “We should call them. Let them know mission accomplished… partially.”

You laughed softly. “They’ll demand proof.”

“Let’s take a picture then, to show them.”

“Alright.” You murmured, taking your phone out of your jeans and handing it to him.

He took it, a shy quirk on an otherwise confident man. “Say cheese.”

His hand rested on the small of your back, so familiar it was almost painful. 

Heat jolted through your body, and he must have felt it too because his own shifted closer.

“Cheese.” You breathed out and he took the selfie before giving you your phone back. 

A comfortable hush settled. 

You studied his profile, the slope of cheekbone, faint crease where laughter used to live. 

Something gentle stirred beneath ribs, not romantic lightning, but a warm tide of possibility.

“If we’re going to be ambushed by our own offspring,” you said, “maybe we should carve out time to talk, really talk, before they escalate.”

“Dinner?” he offered, simple as breathing. “Somewhere public. Neutral ground.”

You lifted a brow. “Supervised by waitstaff instead of kindergarteners.”

“Exactly.” His smile warmed. “Next Thursday? I’ll book at that Italian place you like.”i

“Email me the details.” You squeezed his arm once before stepping back. “And… thanks for catching me earlier.”

“Always.” The word hovered in the cool air, sincere and unvarnished.

You skated toward the exit, heart lighter. 

Behind you, Sunghoon called after with playful edge, “Try not to be late this time.”

You looked over a shoulder, grin spreading. “Set a reminder for me, tech genius.”

He laughed, unrestrained, head tipped, and the sound echoed like silver bells across the rink. 

You carried it with you off the ice, past the attendant who winked knowingly, past teenagers still buzzing about the cutest video ever, all the way to the lobby where your phone buzzed with a photo from your mother: twins on her sofa, popcorn bowl between them, thumbs-up so wide it nearly cracked the frame.

You texted back: Nice try, tiny masterminds. We’ll talk when you’re home. Love you.

You opened Sunghoon's chat:

You: They’re officially grounded from espionage… but I’m glad they tried. See you Thursday.

Three dots pulsed. His reply came shortly after

Sunghoon: I’m glad too. Good night, Y/N

You slipped the phone away, realizing your cheeks still ached from smiling. 

Outside, dusk mellowed the skyline into lavender and rose. 

You inhaled the bite of winter air the rink expelled each time doors opened and thought maybe patchwork didn’t have to recreate an old quilt; it could stitch something new— imperfect seams, frayed threads, surprisingly strong. 

And thanks to two relentless six-year-olds, the first patch  was already in place.

☆.

You sat across from Jihoon in the hospital’s rooftop garden, wind tugging faintly at the corners of the pale-blue picnic blanket he’d spread on a lunch break more rushed than he admitted. 

A single thermos of his too-strong espresso steamed between you, the scent mingling with oregano from planters that volunteers kept for the pediatric wing. 

His eyes, steady, kind and edged with fatigue from a sixteen-hour shift, searched your face while you traced invisible constellations on the blanket’s plaid.

He smiled, soft. “You’re quiet today. That usually means your brain’s ten paragraphs ahead of your mouth.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Guilty.”

“Talk to me.”

The ease in his invitation nearly unstitched your resolve. 

You folded your hands, thumbs fidgeting. “Jihoon… I need to tell you something, and I don’t know how to do it without sounding ungrateful.”

He uncapped the thermos, poured you half. “Just say it.”

You met his gaze, the gentle brown that had steadied you through late-night panics and blues, and felt the first sharp twist of regret. “I care about you so much. You know that, right?”

“I know.” A faint line appeared between his brows. “And?”

“And I’ve loved how safe I feel with you, how easy things are.” You wrapped cold fingers around the paper cup. “But after what the twins pulled at the rink… I realized easy isn’t the same as… a spark.” The last word trembled in the air.

He swallowed, intake of breath small but audible. “You mean Sunghoon.”

“I mean the life I had with him. The mess, the fire.” You exhaled. “I don’t want to hurt you, you’ve been nothing but wonderful.”

Jihoon’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded once, firm and deliberate. “Feelings aren’t crimes, they just… happen.” He scanned the skyline, blinking hard. “We both knew from the start your heart was still boarded up with ‘handle fragile’ stickers.”

“I thought time would change that, and maybe it could have. But when I stood on that ice and saw the way he steadied me—” Your voice cracked. “I felt something snap back into alignment and I can’t pretend I didn’t.”

Jihoon rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Are you going back to him?”

“I’m going to ask if we can try, slowly. i don’t even know if he wants that.”

He gave a rueful smile. “He’d be a fool not to.” Then, softer, “Do you love him?”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then whispered, “Yes.”

Silence hung, broken only by the flap of pigeons and distant ambulance sirens. 

Jihoon inhaled and squared his shoulders like a surgeon scrubbing in. “Then you owe it to yourself, and to the twins, to see. And I owe it to myself to not be someone’s gentle detour.”

Tears blurred your vision. “You deserve someone who blazes for you.”

“Yeah,” he said, tone light but eyes wet, “I intend to find her.” He leaned forward, brushed a thumb beneath your cheekbone. “Thank you for being honest before resentment set roots. That takes guts.”

You laughed shakily. “Feels more like cowardice.”

“Honesty’s never cowardice.” He squeezed your hand, then released it. “Go tell him, before I change my mind and keep you here for selfish reasons.”

You rose, tucking the cup near the planter. “I’ll always be grateful of you,  Jihoon.”

“Just remember me when the twins need free check-ups. I can still be their uncle Jihoon.” His chuckle chased you to the elevator, bittersweet but genuine.

☆.

Clouds brooded violet over the Han River by the time you stepped from a taxi at Sunghoon’s building. 

You forced a breath, rode the elevator thirty-nine floors, and stared at the steel door, heartbeat ricocheting. 

Before you could knock, it slid open, sunghoon stood framed in warm lamplight, phone pressed to ear, expression surprised. 

He was about to head somewhere, but he ended the call anyways. “Did we schedule something I forgot?”

“No,” you said, voice thin. “Can I come in?”

He stepped aside, bare feet on oak planks, the apartment scented faintly of roasted sesame, maybe early lunch abandoned. 

He waited until the door shut, then folded arms. “Is everything okay with the kids?”

“They’re fine. At Mom’s till tomorrow.” You swallowed. “I needed to talk… without small ears.”

His eyes softened, wariness mingled with curiosity. He gestured toward the sofa where plushies still lounged from last custody swap.

You both sat, leaving a cushion of space that pulsed with old familiarity and new tension.

You braced elbows on knees. “After the rink video, I’ve been… rethinking a lot.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tensed. “Thought we agreed not to scare them with false hope.”

“This isn’t about false hope.” You looked up, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s about real hope, but only if you want it too.”

His breath caught. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.” Words tumbled out, halting at first, then fluid. “I miss the way you used to leave notes in my pockets, how you’d call from the taxi just to hear me breathe. 

you gulped, laying down the cards alongside uour heart “I miss us arguing about which tea to drink and making up before the kettle boiled. I don’t miss the screaming matches or the silence afterwards, but I believe we’ve grown. The twins forced us to see we can still be a team.” You exhaled. “So I broke things off with Jihoon this afternoon.”

Shock flickered across his features, surprise, then something almost like relief. 

He reached for you, stopped, lowered his hand. “I don’t want you to choose me if being with him made you happy.”

“I know,” you murmured. “And lord, he was amazing.” 

You looked up at him, emotions flickering on your face “But he wasn’t you.”

Silence pooled, thick but gentle. Finally he asked, “What does ‘try again’ look like to you?”

“Coffee on Sunday mornings, just us, talking about anything except bills. Shared therapy if we fall into old traps. Dates, real ones, ending in separate apartments if pace matters. Honesty every step.”

“And what if the spark still scorches us?” His voice husky.

“Then we keep ice buckets nearby,” you teased, then sobered. “I’m not promising a fairytale, just the chance to rebuild.”

He stood, paced to the window where Seoul glittered like scattered gemstones. 

Reflection haloed him in citylight. “I never stopped loving you,” he said, quiet, raw. “I just stopped believing love was enough.”

You rose, walked until you stood an arm’s length away. “Love isn’t enough. But love and work, and two pint-sized spies, might be.”

He laughed softly, turned, and took your hands. “Okay,” he breathed. “Slowly.”

“Slowly,” you echoed. The warmth of his palms radiated up your arms, familiar and electric.

He drew you into an embrace— tentative at first, then securing, his chin atop your head, your ear over his heart. 

The rhythm there felt both new and remembered. You closed your eyes, inhaling cedar and a hint of sesame, and let your muscles melt into a shape they’d once known by instinct.

Minutes or hours might have passed, until finally Sunghoon pulled back a fraction, eyes shining. “Stay for dinner? I burned the sesame oil but I can salvage the soup.”

You smiled through wet lashes. “I’ll chop scallions.”

His lips curved, softness where they’d once been rigid with pride. “And after we eat, we’ll draft a co-parenting treaty version two. The kind with glitter.”

“All treaties should have glitter,” you agreed.

Hand in hand, you moved toward the kitchen, steps slow, hearts quicker. 

Behind you the plush phoenix slumped against the penguin on the couch, as if exhausted from orchestrating fate. 

The sizzle of rekindled soup and the gentle scrape of knives against cutting board marked the beginning, not of going back, but of beginning again, eyes open, promises tempered, sparks tended, slow and deliberate as the first stroke of a painter restoring a treasured canvas.

☆.

The slow-burn weeks unfolded like pages warmed by sunlight: 

Thursday pasta in your kitchen where Yohan grated parmesan with the gravity of a jeweler cutting diamonds and Haneul dirtied the whole table with tomato sauce.

Saturday mornings on Sunghoon’s cavernous couch, your sock-clad feet tucked under a shared blanket while Haneul narrated every plot twist.

Sunday morning pancake (very poor) art, followed by polite squabbles over syrup real estate. 

Between those orchestrated family moments lived quieter, riskier hours, you and Sunghoon trading texts about who’d forgotten the dental forms, a lingering brush of knuckles while rinsing dishes, the way his gaze tracked you when he thought the twins weren’t looking. 

No lightning strike, no fireworks, just kindling stacking itself, breath by breath, until even a whisper could set it alight.

The spark finally caught on a drizzly Friday café run. 

You’d slipped into his apartment with take-out bulgogi and a box of those “unnecessarily cute” star-shaped macarons that made the twins squeal. 

Post-dinner they demanded a pillow-fort marathon of Spirited Away, then conked out before Chihiro met Haku. 

You and Sunghoon carried them, limp with sleep, to the joined rooms they had, the very first room you had used.

When you straightened, Sunghoon’s hand stayed at the small of your back a fraction longer than necessary, you turned, breath hitching at how near his lips had drifted.

No audience. No distractions. Just you, him, a hush weighted by weeks of restraint.

“You’re wearing the honey lipstick again,” he murmured, thumb ghosting the corner of your mouth.

You swallowed. “Maybe I remember it’s your favorite.”

His laugh rumbled low, intimate. “Flattery, or a tactical move?”

“Depends,” you whispered, pulse hammering.

He leaned in, tentative once, then confidence flooded as your mouths met, soft and searching, the air swelling with the musk of his cologne and rain on windowpanes. 

The first kiss tasted of nostalgia, salt-sweet like melted macarons; the second tasted of now, your tongue sliding against his, a hungry sigh you’d forgotten your body could make. 

His palm cupped your jaw, thumb tracing your pulse, the heat where he touched felt almost unbearable. 

When he drew back, breathing ragged, he whispered your name the way it used to fall in the quiet just before dawn: reverent, claiming, achingly gentle.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, forehead resting against yours. “If it’s too fast—”

“Don’t stop,” you answered, fingers fisting in the collar of his henley. “Please.”

Walls you’d rebuilt brick by brick tumbled with shocking softness. 

He nudged you against the hallway wall, kisses deepening, teeth grazing your lower lip. 

Dirty words slipped from his mouth, pet names soaked in promise, in memory of every night you’d once mapped each other’s bodies, and you answered with a breathy moan that made him curse softly. 

His hands found the hem of your dress, palms warm against your thighs, but he slowed, seeking permission, you guided his wrists higher. 

Fabric rustled, buttons surrendered, you pressed close, reveling in the feel of his broad back under your roaming hands, the ripple of muscle tightening as he lifted you slightly to fit knees between your legs. 

Desire pooled, insistent yet exquisitely familiar, as though this dance had only paused, never ended.

“Bedroom,” he managed, voice gravel. 

You nodded, mouths colliding again as he half-walked, half-carried you down the hall. 

And you collided in bed, sheets tangled around your forms dancing a tango you had forgotten was so familiar with him. 

Morning sunlight shone through the curtains Sunghoon had forgotten to open the prior night. 

You stirred first, disoriented, then aware of every muscle pleasantly overworked. 

Sunghoon’s arm lay across your waist, his hand splayed over your stomach. You tilted to watch him sleep, lashes fanning his cheeks, lips parted. 

Sheer peace... well, a peace that shattered with the stampede of four small feet. 

The bedroom door crashed open, squeals ricocheted off walls.

“Attack!” Haneul shrieked, launching herself onto the mattress.

“Dad, wake up!” Yohan followed, slightly less feral but equally determined, penguin plush waving like a flag of conquest.

Sunghoon woke with a strangled grunt just before twenty-five kilos of enthusiasm landed on his rib cage. You fumbled to pull the duvet higher— too late. Haneul’s eyes went huge.

“Mommy’s wearing Daddy’s shirt!” she crowed, triumphant as a detective cracking a cold case.

Yohan grinned. “Mission success?”

You gaped, cheeks flaming, while Sunghoon scrubbed a hand over his face, half mortified, half amused. “Guys, personal space?”

“It’s dawn,” Haneul reasoned. “Cartoons await!”

“I think it’s barely seven.” Your voice rasped embarrassingly. “Can’t cartoons wait till coffee?”

Yohan shook his head with solemn conviction. “Cartoons fuel creativity.”

Sunghoon snorted. “Your bedtime documentaries are paying off.” He sat up, duvet after all staying mercifully in place, and hauled both kids into his lap, pressing kisses to disheveled hair. 

His eyes slid to you, warm, just a hint of mischief. “What do you say we make pancakes? Mommy and I can supervise from the couch.”

“With syrup rivers!” Haneul insisted.

“sprinkles too,” Yohan added.

“Deal,” you said, laughter bubbling. You squeezed their ankles affectionately. “But maybe let Mommy find pants first?”

They scampered off, shouting about mixing bowls. You sagged back, exhaling a near-hysterical giggle while Sunghoon tipped his forehead to yours.

“Well,” he murmured, “that escalated quickly.”

You smacked his chest lightly. “You know they’ll brag about this for years.”

“Probably.” He threaded fingers through yours. “Worth it.”

Your smile softened. “Yeah, worth it.”

Down the hall cupboards slammed, utensils clanged, and a shriek informed you a measuring cup had become airborne. 

You swung your legs over the edge, tee skimming thighs, and stood. Sunghoon caught your wrist, pressing a tender kiss to the inside.

“Round two tonight,” he teased, voice low. “Kid curfew enforced.”

Heat curled in your belly even as you rolled eyes. “We’ll see if Chef Daddy survives breakfast first.”