#when you start apologizing for little things

[reignpage]

In which the men are obsessed with your ass and the different ways they express it

Satoru smashes his face in between your cheeks at random times of the day. Around the corridor, when no one’s looking, he’ll shove you against the wall, kneel, and mumble, 'I'm home.' When questioned, he explains he likes everything about it – how warm you are there, how soft, and most importantly, how much you hate it. If he takes a long and loud inhale, it’s usually just to piss you off. Over time, however, it’s grown to be one of the very few things that calms him down. His stupid family can be overbearing, but if you’re there and arching your ass out for him, then all is well. 

Suguru gropes your ass in front of other people, always just out of sight, always with a pleasant smile and a nod, indicating he’s giving them his full attention. But little do they know, his fingers are digging deep into your flesh, even through jeans, staking his claim. He likes to remind you he’s always thinking about you, he likes the secrecy, the silent ‘fuck you’ to the ass-kissers he runs into, no pun intended. Maybe, just maybe, he also likes the way you get all breathy, all nervous, and skittish, half wanting to tell him off and half leaning into his touch. 

Choso bites. Something about your ass, with the recoil, the ripples, the tiger stripe-like marks, makes his mouth water. He can’t help but eye them from behind or when you’re innocently walking up the stairs. Even at night, half-asleep, he often wakes up with drool pooling on your bare flesh, teeth marks visible on your poor skin. Of course, he apologises, but he never stops. Definitely don’t ask him about the locked album on his phone. It totally doesn’t contain hundreds and hundreds of upskirt pictures. 

Toji slaps and smacks with no care in the world. He does it in the middle of the street, in front of his friends, as a hello, as a goodbye, as a ‘calm down,’ and even as an apology. There’s no shame or decorum in his actions. Especially not when other bastards let their eyes wander too long. He’ll slap your ass whilst staring them down. Might give it a peck too, if it was particularly hard. And he won’t ever admit this, but he also likes to lay a good one on you, just so he has a reason to rub apologetic circles on the warm skin. 

Kento pats your ass as a calming gesture. It helps you sleep. He might tap your ass to let you know he’s behind and needs to get by, or to show you he’s listening to your rants. Though it started as a means to soothe you, eventually, it grows to be a habit, a tic, a reflex. Often, he blinks and realises his hand had a mind of its own and had wandered over to a cheek without his knowing. You never seem to mind, thankfully. Actually, you seem to like it, especially when it means you have a reason to do it back to him, but harder and in more embarrassing situations.

Sukuna punishes with spanks that he makes you count. You think you can just run around his estate, doing as you please? Although he’s given you more liberties and privileges than anyone else has ever had, you should still know your place. No one talks back to him. No one mocks him. No one defies him. They’re lessons you learn, and you learn well, when he has you bent over his lap, ass bare and marked up for everyone to see. It helps that it teaches his repulsive cockroach-like servants that, if he can make you squeal and cry and not bat an eye, he won’t hesitate to smite them where they stand.

[confessionsandcreampies]

Opinions on mean girl!reader, like Regina George level mean, who loves bullying everyone but her bf ness 😈

Bonus! Kaiser getting a mental breakdown in the background sjdjsjd

alexis ness has the baddest girlfriend on the planet. high heels, sharper than her tongue. perfect hair, glossed lips, a walk that turns heads and a glare that ends people. she’s beautiful, terrifying and ness is absolutely, pathetically devoted to her. she’s only ever soft for him.

“hi, baby,” she says sweetly, sliding into his lap like she owns him (she does). she brushes his bangs away and kisses his temple while he blushes furiously, clinging to her waist like she might float away. he’s her prince. her golden retriever. her favorite thing in the world.

but to michael kaiser she’s a nightmare. the first time kaiser’s a dick to ness, like really goes in on him after a bad game, mocking his missed pass in front of the team, she flips a switch so fast it’s scary.

“hey, kaiser?” she says, smile gleaming. her voice is like poison dipped in honey. “did you ever figure out how to pass? or are you still compensating for your daddy issues with solo goals and gelled hair?”

everyone goes silent.

ness is wide-eyed. “babe—”

“shhh, it’s okay.” she strokes his cheek. “he started it.”

kaiser scoffs. “stay out of it, princess.”

“oh,” she purrs. “did that hurt? are you not used to people talking back unless they’re licking your boots?” she leans in, smiling so wide it’s almost cruel. “you’re not as clever as you think, michael. you’re just loud. and annoying. like an off-brand bond villain with highlights.”

kaiser nearly chokes. from then on, she’s on him. every snide comment he throws at ness gets answered in double. ness trips during drills?

“wow,” kaiser says. “is your brain made of spaghetti or are you just pretending to be that dumb?”

and she’s immediately there like, “at least he doesn’t style his hair with motor oil. jesus, michael, do you think looking like a german boy band reject makes you threatening?”

ness tries to apologize. he loves both of them and hates the tension. but she just curls her fingers into his hoodie, presses a kiss to his jaw and whispers, “you don’t have to be sorry for people who treat you like shit.”

she doesn’t care if kaiser’s the star. doesn’t care if he’s got money, status, fans. she hates him for the way he treats ness. and no one’s ever gone to bat for him like this before. she’s vicious, unapologetic and devastatingly articulate. it’s psychological warfare every time she walks into the room.

kaiser tries to push back at first. but he’s not used to losing in the insult department. she cuts deeper. she hits harder. she smirks when he walks away grinding his teeth. eventually, he stops, retreats silently ana angrily.

because how the hell did ness, that quiet, sweet, naive ness, end up with someone who could eat him alive? and what’s worse is that ness loves her. looks at her like she’s made of starlight. like her sharp tongue and sharper claws are just parts of the same breathtaking constellation. like he knows how scary she can be and still thinks she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

and maybe she is. because when ness has a bad day, she doesn’t just comfort him. she burns the world for him. and if that world looks a little like michael kaiser? even better.

[yungistiny]

1-800- HOT- AND - MAD

[ J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

summary: in which you find out your boyfriend is really hot when he’s pissed off

warning: jealous/possessive/ dom yunho, bratty/sub reader, descriptions of violence (yunho gets into a fight) agonophilia, oral, anal fingering, overstimulation, mentions of blood, slightly toxic behavior, mirror sex, finger fucking, unprotected sex, slight degradation, JUST FILTH YALL

genre: drama, smut

pairing: yunho x afab reader

word count: 9.3k

masterlist:

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The car was quiet. Too quiet.

Not peaceful quiet, thick quiet. Choking, humid, argument still lingering in the air like smoke kind of quiet. The kind where the windows should’ve fogged just from the heat of it all, even though no one had touched anyone in hours.

Yunho’s knuckles were tight around the wheel, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he took the left turn toward the club a little faster than necessary. He hadn’t looked at you once since you got in the car, which would’ve bothered you more if you weren’t still fuming yourself.

The tension between you had started this morning when you made the mistake of reading one of his texts over his shoulder. Your mom asked if you’re single again?” you’d said, your voice already edged with something sharp.

He’d tensed up immediately, like he knew what was coming. “She wants me to meet some girl from her church,” he muttered. “It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. Not when this wasn’t the first time. Not when you’d been together for three years and she still referred to you as “that girl from the city.”

So naturally, you snapped. And then he snapped. And then came the hours of passive aggressive silence followed by sharp edged comments about your flirting habits, like how you couldn’t possibly go a night out without batting your lashes at some bartender to get free drinks.

“Maybe if you had a better job, I wouldn’t have to,” you’d shot back and immediately felt bad for saying it but too damn stubborn to apologize.

Now you were in his passenger seat, legs crossed, arms tight against your chest in your barely there black dress, because fuck his mom, and fuck being the respectable church girl she wants him with. You were wearing sin like perfume.

The air conditioning was blasting but your skin was hot. From anger, from guilt, from him. From the way he kept shifting in his seat like the veins in his arms were trying to keep him from doing something reckless. Like dragging the car over to the curb and telling you exactly who you belonged to.

“You gonna talk to me at some point,” you asked, eyes trained out the window, “or are we just going to arrive in awkward silence and pretend we haven’t been at each other’s throats all day?”

His hand flexed on the gearshift. “You wanna keep fighting?”

You turned your head slowly. “You’ve barely said ten words since we left.”

He scoffed. “Because if I open my mouth again, I’m gonna say some shit I can’t take back.”

You leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Try me.”

His head snapped toward you, his voice low and deadly. “You think it’s cute, don’t you? Playing dumb, dressing like that, laughing at every goddamn joke some guy tells you like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing,” you snapped. “I’ve spent the last three years watching your mom try to set you up with her fantasy nun in training while I’ve bent over backward for you, so yeah, maybe I like it when people treat me like I’m worth something.”

The tires screeched slightly as he pulled into the club lot, slamming the gear into park with a growl deep in his chest. “You think I don’t know your worth?” he asked, finally looking at you. Really looking, like he was seeing you through the fury, the hurt, the weeks of pushing it down and pretending things were fine. “I know exactly how much you’re worth. That’s why I haven’t ripped the head off every asshole who so much as breathes in your direction.”

His voice dropped, almost a whisper now, as his eyes dragged down your body. “But tonight? You so much as smile at the wrong guy… I might just stop holding back.”

Your breath caught. Not fear. No, nothing like that. It was want. Ugly, bitter, bone deep need. For him to snap. To do something reckless. To remind you why no sweet little church girl could ever survive the heat of his hands on her skin.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The music hit first, bass thick enough to rattle your ribs, lights strobing like the club was trying to induce collective blackout. It was already packed inside, bodies pressed together in sweaty celebration, and the second you stepped in, Yunho’s hand brushed yours like he might take it.

But he didn’t.

He just pulled it away, shoved it into his jacket pocket, and set his jaw like he’d rather chew glass than touch you right now.

Mingi spotted him immediately from the upper section, two empty shot glasses in his hands and that stupid birthday grin that could charm the pants off anyone. “Yunhoooo!” he called out over the music, barreling down the steps. “There’s my man!”

You didn’t even get a second to adjust your dress or shake off the frost between you and Yunho before Mingi wrapped a heavy arm around your boyfriend’s neck and tugged him into a hug so aggressive it probably knocked his spine back into alignment.

“Come on,” Mingi grinned. “There’s a bottle with your name on it upstairs. I’m two tequila shots from legally changing my name to Park Seonghwa, so you’re babysitting tonight.”

Yunho opened his mouth like he might say something, to you, maybe, or to protest, but Mingi was already dragging him off by the shoulder, weaving through bodies like a man on a mission. And just like that, Yunho was gone.

You stood there alone for a beat, the throb of the music suddenly too loud in your ears.

“Rough night?” came a voice beside you.

You turned to see Seonghwa standing with a fresh drink in his hand, dressed in all black and already looking faintly amused, like he could read the tension radiating off you like heat waves. Hongjoong was beside him, half a head shorter and smirking like a little gremlin who knew everything.

“Oh, the roughest,” you said, shaking it off and forcing a smile. “Remind me why I didn’t just stay home and drink in my bathrobe?”

“Because I texted you three times that I’d be offended if you didn’t show up,” Hongjoong said, sipping his drink. “And because you knew you’d look hot in that dress and make Yunho insane.”

You raised a brow. “I’m not trying to make him insane.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Seonghwa muttered into his glass, eyes casually dragging down your body. “That dress is weaponized.”

You shrugged one bare shoulder. “He was already mad before I put it on.”

Hongjoong leaned in. “Still mad about his mom?” Him recalling the conversation, well you snapping about everything earlier on the phone.

You didn’t answer at first, just accepted the drink Seonghwa handed you, a dangerously pink thing with way too much vodka and sugar, and downed half of it in one go.

“He won’t say it, but yeah,” you muttered. “She invited him to brunch with that girl from her church. Again. Vanessa, Veronica or whatever.”

Seonghwa made a noise that sounded vaguely like a dying cat. “Does she think he’s gonna marry someone who plays acoustic guitar in the church choir and makes casseroles?”

“She made her own rosary beads,” you said flatly.

Hongjoong choked on his drink.

“I can’t compete with that,” you added. “I’ve said fuck six times since I walked in the building.”

“Seven,” Seonghwa corrected, then winked. “Make it eight and I’ll buy your next round.”

You laughed, finally, genuinely. It felt good. It felt like your ribs weren’t made of stone anymore.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew Yunho was watching.

And he was. From the top floor, half a glass of whiskey in hand, pretending to listen to Mingi and San argue about who had better taste in partners. But his eyes?

They hadn’t left you once. Not since the moment you smiled at Seonghwa. Not since you leaned in a little too close to Hongjoong and tossed your hair like you knew exactly what you were doing.

Not since you crossed your legs in that dress and gave someone else the laugh he hadn’t earned all day.

And the way his jaw clenched?

It said you were about to learn what happens when Yunho stops pretending to be calm as he kept watching you now as the three of you grabbed shots.

Three shots in, the burn didn’t hurt anymore.

The first one had seared its way down like punishment, sharp and heavy in your chest, maybe for everything you wanted to say to Yunho but didn’t. The second tasted a little like regret and mango syrup. And the third? That one just made you warm.

You were sitting at the bar now, legs crossed, back arched just enough to be comfortable and just enough to make that slinky dress of yours hug the dangerous parts. Seonghwa had pulled up a second stool beside you, and Hongjoong stood between you both, drink in one hand and your wrist in the other like he was trying to show you how to fold a damn origami crane with a cocktail napkin.

“No, no, you have to crease it like this,” Hongjoong insisted, smirking as he pressed his thumb over yours. “You don’t just fold and hope for the best. It’s not your love life.”

Seonghwa snorted, and you flipped Hongjoong off, but not before laughing, real and unguarded.

It felt good to laugh. You needed it. And if Yunho wanted to stew in his own petty silence all night, that was his choice.

You snuck a glance upward, toward the balcony section. He was still up there. Still with Mingi, still nursing the same whiskey, still watching, but only occasionally. Not like before.

Which annoyed you. Which, you could admit it, hurt a little too. You wanted him to look.

You wanted him to care that you were here, having a good time without him, even if every laugh felt just a little bit hollow.

“You okay?” Seonghwa asked, nudging you with his shoulder, sharp eyes reading yours too easily.

“Yup,” you said, and took your fourth shot.

He didn’t believe you. Neither did Hongjoong. But bless them, they didn’t push.

The music was better now, less aggressive, more rhythmic. The kind that made your hips start to sway on instinct, even seated. Around you, the club pulsed with sweat and bodies and light. It felt like the kind of night that could go anywhere. Dangerous. Loose. Free.

You leaned in toward Seonghwa. “Do I look like I’m trying too hard?” His mouth twitched. “No. You look like a girl trying not to care about the fact that her boyfriend’s being a dick.”

“Good,” you said, lifting your chin.

Because you were. Trying not to care. Failing miserably, but trying.

And Yunho? He was back at the railing now. Still quiet. Still unreadable. Still stewing. He’d seen your fourth shot. He’d seen the way you smiled after it. The way Seonghwa leaned in to whisper something in your ear and you tilted your head, giggling into your shoulder.

He wasn’t mad at them. Not really. He trusted them, maybe more than anyone. But you? You were his. And watching you fall into that easy charm you always used when you were trying to prove a point…..

It fucking burned.

Mingi, oblivious and a little drunk, slapped his chest and offered him another shot. Yunho waved it off.

“I’m good.”

Mingi raised a brow. “You don’t look good.”

Yunho didn’t respond. Because his fists were clenched again. Because you were smiling again and it wasn’t at him.

And because deep down, somewhere under the bruised ego and unsaid apologies, he knew the longer this night went on, the closer he was to snapping.

You’d just finished twisting your straw into a coil of plastic frustration after Hongjoong and Seonghwa went to talk to Yeosang, when you felt a familiar weight drape dramatically across your back.

“Babe…” Wooyoung’s voice drawled against your ear, theatrical and soaked in tequila. “Why is your man up there glaring at everything like he’s about to set the entire club on fire with his mind?”

You didn’t even turn around. “Because he’s mad at me.”

“I can see that,” Wooyoung said, arms winding loosely around your shoulders as he leaned his chin on your head. “He’s staring like he wants to fight me just for being this close. Which, rude, considering I’m your favorite.”

You snorted, finally twisting in your stool to face him. “You are not my favorite.”

“Your mom thinks I’m your favorite.”

“My mom thinks you’re my gay best friend.”

“Exactly.”

Wooyoung flopped onto the stool beside you, already halfway through someone else’s abandoned drink like it belonged to him. He looked devastating, as always, black mesh shirt clinging to his chest, eyeliner sharp enough to draw blood, and those lips already curled into a shit eating grin.

“Did you two fight again?” he asked, voice sing song as he tapped your glass.

You hesitated, then nodded. “It’s been building all day. All week, actually.”

Wooyoung raised a brow, his voice dipping. “And yet here you are. Looking like sex in heels. Drinking without him. Laughing with Seonghwa. Flirting with Joongie. Mm, baby girl… you trying to start a war?”

You arched a brow. “I’m just living.”

“You’re poking the bear,” he said, eyes glittering as he leaned closer. “And the bear is feral. I haven’t seen Yunho look this pissed since that guy asked if you were single at karaoke night after you first started dating and you said….”

“‘Depends who’s asking,’” you finished for him, grinning.

“He didn’t speak to me for three days after that,” Wooyoung huffed, tossing back the rest of his drink. “I’m not even the one who said it! I just invited the guy to join!”

You giggled, your chest finally starting to relax. The club felt better now. Lighter. Fuzzy around the edges. Yunho was still up there, sure, but right now he felt like a shadow. A beautiful, brooding statue of rage and repressed emotions.

Until you made the mistake of glancing up again. Because he was watching. Elbows on the railing, drink forgotten, eyes locked straight onto you. He looked darker now. Not jealous. Not possessive.

Just done pretending he was okay.

Wooyoung followed your gaze. “Oh damn.”

“What?” you muttered.

“He just licked his teeth,” Wooyoung whispered, sipping someone else’s drink now. “You are so getting railed tonight.”

You rolled your eyes. “Unless he fights me first.”

“Oh, he’ll fight you,” Wooyoung purred. “With his dick.”

You shoved him, laughing, but your gaze flicked back up.

Still Yunho. Still watching. But now? Now he wasn’t just watching. Now he was moving.

Slow. Purposeful. Drink gone, hands flexing as he handed Mingi something and murmured something to San.

The bear had left the cave.

And he was coming straight for you.

You lost him somewhere between the bar and the DJ booth.

One second Yunho was a looming shadow stalking down the stairs, eyes fixed on you like a storm cloud with legs, and the next, he was swallowed by the crowd. A flash of flannel. The glint of his cross necklace. Then gone.

Which, fine.

If he wanted to play emotionally constipated beast, then you were going to be a brat right back.

You set your drink down and turned to Wooyoung, your lipstick stained grin already halfway to dangerous. “Come dance with me.”

He blinked. “Now?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “On my deathbed. Yes, now.”

Wooyoung let out a laugh that turned heads and gave a little bow. “Lead the way, queen of chaos.”

You grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor, already packed, already pulsing, the music vibrating up through your heels and into your bloodstream. Lights flickered hot pink and violet overhead, bodies moved in rhythm, and you let it all wash over you. Let yourself be loose. Let yourself forget Yunho’s cold shoulders and sharp words and that pinched, disapproving scowl.

Wooyoung spun you effortlessly, laughing when you bumped into him, hips brushing. He was warm and silly and sweet, your anchor and your weapon, all rolled into one. And unlike your boyfriend currently brooding somewhere in the shadows, Wooyoung danced with you like you deserved to be seen.

You threw your arms around his neck, tilted your head back, and let your hips roll to the music. The tequila shimmered in your bloodstream, making you bold, shameless. It was harmless. Just you and your best friend blowing off steam.

Until he appeared.

Not Yunho.

Some random half drunk guy with no boundaries.

You didn’t even catch his face at first, just the hands. One on your waist. Then another settling lower. Close. Too close.

You tensed, instinct flaring. But before you could even react, Wooyoung turned, “Uh…. hey man….” just as the guy leaned in behind you, his breath too close to your ear.

“You wanna dance, baby?”

You froze.

Baby.

BABY.

That’s what Yunho calls you when his voice drops into his throat and his hands are on your thighs and he’s about to wreck your entire existence.

You turned, slow and unimpressed, swaying slightly from the shots. Your hand rose to brush his arm off as you said, “Can you back the fuck off….”

CRACK.

The sound was deafening. Not from the volume, but from the shock.

Because in one heartbeat, Yunho was behind him.

And in the next, his fist was flying, slamming straight into the guy’s cheek so hard his head snapped sideways, body stumbling back.

“Yunho!” you shouted, but he didn’t even blink.

The guy barely regained his balance before throwing a punch back, landing hard into Yunho’s jaw with a sickening thud, and then it was on.

Not a scuffle. Not a push.

A full on, fists flying, tables shifting, club goers screaming BRAWL.

“OH SHIT!” Wooyoung yelped, immediately grabbing your arm and dragging you back as the two of them collided in the middle of the dance floor.

Drinks went flying. A table toppled. Yunho didn’t care.

He was all muscle and fury as he swung again, rage in every movement, pure instinct. You’d never seen him like this. Not even close.

Yunho. Sweet, loving Yunho.

Yunho, who once sobbed when he stepped on a roach and tried to bury it with dignity.

Yunho, who cried watching the last scene of Coco and apologized to a vending machine when he kicked it.

That Yunho was gone.

And in his place?

An unhinged, terrifyingly hot version with blood on his knuckles, fire in his eyes, and only one thing on his mind, protecting what was his.

And oh God, you were shamelessly, absolutely, wildly turned on.

“Holy shit,” Seonghwa breathed behind you, as he, Hongjoong, and Yeosang pushed their way through the crowd to join you and Wooyoung.

“Is that?” Jongho’s voice cut through, followed by the unmistakable bark of San yelling, “YUNHO, STOP!”

But he didn’t. Not until security came rushing in, two thick men grabbing the other guy, one grabbing Yunho by the arm. And still, Yunho fought to get one more punch in, his chest heaving, sweat glistening down his throat, lip split, hair wild across his forehead as he growled, “Touch her again, and I’ll fucking bury you.”

“Yunho!” Mingi was there now too, panting, trying to wrestle his best friend back with an arm across his chest. “You’re done, man! You got him!”

The guy, dazed and bleeding, was being dragged out through the crowd.

Yunho finally stopped fighting.

But he didn’t take his eyes off you.

His chest was rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon, jaw clenched, fists still flexing at his sides as everyone turned to stare.

You should’ve been mortified. Shocked. Maybe a little horrified.

And sure, you were a little shocked. But mostly? You were wet.

Like ruin your underwear, (if you had any on), legs squeezing together, core clenching WRECKED at the sight of your usually quiet, soft spoken boyfriend losing his mind because someone dared to touch you.

“Are you okay?” Yeosang asked beside you, genuinely concerned.

You blinked at him slowly. “I think,” you said, voice dazed, “yeah….. I’m….” Need to climb right now. Make him know that you didn’t want that dude. Show him he was the only thing you wanted.

Yunho brushed past the others, not saying a word as he grabbed your hand, rough, fingers locking with yours like steel, like he needed to feel you to stay grounded. He didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t thank Mingi. Didn’t acknowledge Seonghwa’s wide eyed “what the fuck was that?”

He just pulled. Out the side door. Through the alley.

And straight to the car.

No words. No hesitation.

Just heat radiating off him like asphalt in the August heat, his grip ironclad and silent until he threw the driver’s door open, got in, and waited until you did the same before slamming it shut.

The engine roared to life. And still not a word.

The only sounds in the car were the pulse of your heart in your ears and the low crunch of his cracked knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

You swallowed thickly, sneaking a glance at him.

His lip was split, the crimson trailing into the corner of his mouth like a slash of warpaint. His knuckles were smeared with drying blood, his or the other guy’s, you didn’t know. His chest was still rising and falling beneath his black tee and flannel like he hadn’t quite come down yet.

And that look, his eyes glued to the road, the tight line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth twitching like he still wasn’t finished.

You clenched your thighs. Hard. Because it was too much. He looked like sin. Like a punishment.

Like a man who’d been holding it together all night and finally snapped, and now didn’t trust himself to speak because if he did, he might pull over and fuck you against the hood.

You watched the muscles in his forearm flex as he shifted gears, the bracelet on his wrist catching the streetlights in flashes of silver. Your thighs pressed tighter, core throbbing with each quiet second that passed.

You wanted him to say something.

You wanted him to do something. But the silence? It was worse. It was foreplay. Hot. Charged. Lethal.

You shifted in your seat, breath shallow.

“Yunho,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even blink. Just turned the wheel, took the last corner toward your apartment and parked hard, tires squealing a little as the car jerked to a stop.

He finally looked at you then.

And oh God, the look in his eyes…. Still silent.

Still storming.

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The door slammed behind you with a thud, the echo still ringing in the apartment as Yunho strode in like he was trying not to pace. His jaw was still clenched. His shoulders still tight. He was breathing through his nose like every breath might be the one that gets him under control.

You stood there in the entryway, your heels clicking on the wood floor as you watched him pull off his flannel, slow, tense, controlled, then reach behind his head and tug off his shirt.

It stuck to his skin for a second. Bloody, sweaty, soaked in a night that had ruined you both.

And still, he didn’t speak.

He tossed the shirt in the direction of the laundry basket in the hall but didn’t check if it landed.

Just walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, took a sip.

You were still standing there like a fucking Victorian ghost in a slutty dress and smeared lipstick, your thighs pressed together, heat pulsing between them like a warning siren, and he, HE, had the audacity to act like nothing happened.

He ran a hand through his hair, still silent, and finally said, muttering almost to himself, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

You blinked.

Hard.

And then your body moved before your brain did.

“Are you serious?”

He froze.

Slowly turned to face you.

You didn’t even give him time to process it.

“No. No, no, no. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to beat the shit out of someone for touching me, drag me out of the club like I’m about to be claimed in the wild, drive me home in brooding silence, and then, what? Shower? Like this is just a normal fucking Wednesday?!”

He stared at you.

And God help you, he looked even hotter under your kitchen light, busted lip, bruised knuckles, small blood smudged across his forearm, a red fingerprint on his neck where someone tried to pull him off. Bruised jaw. Like war torn sex.

“I am soaked, Yunho,” you snapped shamelessly, stepping toward him. “I’ve been soaked since you threw that guy across the floor like a ragdoll and growled at him like you were about to bite his throat out. And now you’re just gonna rinse off?!”

Yunho blinked once. Twice.

Then he let out a single laugh, dry and sharp, like it had been dragged from his chest against its will.

But it died in his throat almost as soon as it escaped.

Because something shifted in him.

His eyes darkened. His body stilled.

His hand snapped up to grab your jaw, not harsh but firm, fingers curled just beneath your ear, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“You want me like this?” he asked, voice low and hoarse, barely more than a growl. “Blood on my knuckles and barely holding it together?”

Your breath caught as he stepped closer, chest brushing yours, the heat of him swallowing you whole. The scent of sweat, blood, his skin, him, was dizzying.

“You want me when I’m this fucked up?” he whispered, words pouring hot against your lips. “When all I can think about is burying myself so deep inside you I forget why I was pissed off in the first place?”

Your knees damn near buckled.

“I almost blacked out on that floor tonight,” he murmured, eyes flicking to your mouth. “Because some asshole touched what’s mine. You think I want to just walk away from that? Go take a fucking shower like I’m not starving for you?”

You whimpered, actually whimpered, and his grip tightened just slightly, dragging your gaze back to his.

“I want you,” he said, voice thick and full of everything he hadn’t said all night. “But you’re gonna say it.”

You blinked up at him, lips trembling.

He tilted his head. “Tell me.”

“I want you,” you breathed.

“Say it like you mean it.”

Your voice cracked.

“I want you to fuck me so hard I forget we ever fought.”

His eyes snapped shut like the words hit him between the ribs harder than that guy hitting him in the jaw as he let you go. The words hung between you like smoke. thick, intoxicating, fatal.

He didn’t see you drop.

He only felt it after.

The sound of your knees hitting the floor. The rush of air as you sank down in front of him, fingers trailing down his stomach as you settled between his legs like it was the only place you belonged.

His eyes shot open.

And what he saw?

You.

Looking up at him through your lashes, mouth already parted, pupils blown wide with lust and vengeance and that sick little spark that always lit up when you wanted to ruin him.

“Fuck.” Yunho choked, the word cracked and useless, falling from his lips as he stared down at you like he couldn’t believe what you’d just done.

But you weren’t teasing.

You were starving.

And so was he.

You let your hands drag up his thighs, slow, deliberate, until you reached the waistband of his jeans, already tented, already twitching with how unbelievably hard he was.

His busted lip split wider when he bit down on it.

“Baby…” he rasped, voice shaking, hands hovering at his sides. “You don’t have to…”

You looked up at him, lips brushing the fabric of his pants.

“I want to.”

One hand slipped beneath the waistband, fingers wrapping around him, hot, heavy, pulsing against your palm. He hissed, hips jerking slightly.

You pulled him out slowly, unzipping him, the way you knew drove him crazy, dragging your hand down his length and watching his body shudder from it.

And when you leaned forward and licked the tip, just the tip, his entire body snapped tight like a livewire.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, one hand flying to the back of your head, not pushing, just there, grounding himself, gripping your hair like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth.

You didn’t take your time.

Not tonight.

Tonight, you were making a point.

You took him into your mouth, deep and filthy, lips slick and cheeks hollowed as your hand followed, twisting at the base. His breath punched out of him in a moan so ragged it almost sounded like your name.

“F… fuck, baby…” he grunted, head falling back as your tongue swirled, as you gagged slightly and kept going, tears pricking your eyes but your grip never faltering.

The blood on his knuckles. The bruise on his jaw. The taste of him on your tongue and the weight of him hitting the back of your throat, everything about him was violent, raw, and so goddamn yours.

He looked back down, his jaw slack, lips parted as he watched you ruin yourself on him, lips stretched and dripping, your eyes fluttering closed like you’d die if he didn’t come undone.

“You want me to forget the fight?” he growled, voice low and rough. “You’re doing a fucking good job of it.”

You moaned around him in response, sending vibrations up his spine and causing his breath to hitch.

Your mouth was wrapped tight and hot around him, cheeks hollowed and lips swollen, spit trailing down your chin like sin in liquid form. Your hand worked the base, slow and tight, just the way he liked it, just enough to keep him teetering on the edge while your tongue licked along the underside like you wanted him twitching from the inside out.

“Fuck…” he groaned, eyes fluttering closed, hips stuttering forward involuntarily. “You’re gonna make me…”

But he didn’t finish the sentence.

Because he couldn’t.

Instead, he pulled back, not all the way. Just far enough that his dick slipped from your lips and dropped heavy against your mouth, wet and flushed, smearing across your cheek and lips in the filthiest, most possessive display you’d ever felt.

You gasped softly, breath hot against him, tongue darting out instinctively to trace the head, and then slowly, you flattened your tongue along the side of his dick, licking him like a goddamn lollipop.

And when your eyes locked with his? You smiled. “I don’t know why you get so jealous anyways…” His breath stopped as you licked him again. Slower. “your dick’s already ruined me for anyone else.”

Silence. Dead, soul leaving his body silence as Yunho stared down at you like he’d just heard the voice of God and it was moaning his name. His chest heaved, pupils blown wide, chest gleaming with sweat, busted lip dark red and parted in pure shock.

He looked feral. Possessive. His jaw clenched, hand tightening in your hair, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you exactly who you were playing with.

“I ruined you?” he asked, voice rasping out like he barely had the air to speak.

You nodded, dragging your tongue up his shaft again before pressing a soft, open mouthed kiss to the head.

“Completely,” you whispered. “You think any other man could make me drop to my knees like this?”

That did it. His hand fisted in your hair. He pulled you up finally but not gently, and not like a man with self control. Like a man who was done holding back.

His mouth crashed into yours, rough, biting, blood smeared, and when he shoved you against the kitchen counter, your back arching and your legs spreading instinctively, you knew exactly what was coming.

“Say it again,” he growled into your mouth, grinding against you through your dress.

“Say you’re mine.”

You barely got the words out between gasps, his mouth devouring yours, the heat of him pressing against you like he was seconds from splitting in two.

“Yours…” you breathed, voice already breaking as his tongue slid hot and hungry against yours. You clung to his shoulders, grinding up against him like your body didn’t care that you were in the kitchen, on the edge, half drunk and half mad.

“All yours.”

Yunho grabbed your waist and lifted you like you, slamming you down on the kitchen counter, the thud echoing through the apartment.

He shoved your knees apart in one motion, his frame crowding yours completely. Then came that dress. That little black fucking dress.

He pushed it up, rough, almost angry, and when his eyes landed on the space between your thighs, everything stopped. His jaw locked. His nostrils flared. “You didn’t wear panties,” he growled.

You met his gaze, all fire and challenge, heart hammering. “Nope.”

A sound left him, low and dark and almost a snarl.

“You went to that fucking club,” he said, voice sharp with disbelief, “after everything today… dressed like that… with nothing on under this fucking dress?”

You didn’t flinch. Just held his stare and whispered, “What’re you gonna do about it?”

His hands gripped your thighs so tight you gasped, bruises incoming, and he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter with a force that nearly knocked the salt shaker over.

His eyes dropped back between your legs, where your pussy glistened under the low light, slick, swollen, already needy just from the weight of his voice. He licked his lips, his busted one splitting slightly again from the pressure. Blood be damned, he needed a taste.

“You walked around all night like this?” he muttered, dragging two fingers up your slit so slowly you saw stars. “With this pussy dripping for me the whole time?”

You moaned, helpless, arching, wrecked from the pressure of just that.

“Answer me,” he snapped, fingers teasing at your entrance but not pushing in, his breath hot against your throat.

“Yes,” you whimpered. “I wanted to mess with you…. to watch you lose your mind.”

He laughed, low and wrecked and dangerous.

“You want to see what that looks like, baby?” he whispered, kissing your neck before his voice dropped darker. “I’ll fucking show you.” He dropped to his knees. Right there, on the tile.

Dragging you to the edge of the counter, spreading you wider, arms locked under your thighs as he dove into you like a starving man, like he was angry, desperate, and starved for the taste of you.

You screamed.

His mouth was brutal, tongue flattening against your clit with every pass, lips sealing around you like he was trying to suck your soul out through your cunt. And when you tried to close your legs, he growled, deep and low, holding you open as his nose brushed your folds and his tongue pushed deep inside you.

You nearly came right there as his tongue fucked into you with a rhythm that felt dangerous, mouth slick and hot as he pinned your thighs wide and buried his face deeper like he wanted to drown in your pussy. And God, he was so good at it.

Every flick. Every suck. Every guttural sound he made as he licked you like a man starving, it hit every nerve, every shaking muscle, until you could barely even breathe. And then you felt it. His fingers.

Two of them, wet from his mouth, slick and long, sliding into your cunt like he owned it. Curling deep and pounding harder, pushing against that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back in your skull.

You clawed at the counter, heels digging into the drawers, hips jerking helplessly as he tongue fucked your clit and finger fucked your pussy with ruthless, relentless thrusts.

“Oh my God…. Yunho, I’m… fuck, I’m….”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down.

And you were too wrecked to notice that while one hand worked your cunt, the other, wet from your own slick, had slid lower, fingers circling your ass. He pushed one inside. You gasped, the sound jagged, more like a sob than a moan. Not pain. Shock. Pleasure so sharp it made you twitch.

Your pussy clenched wildly around his fingers as his tongue licked harder, and then he added a second finger to your ass. Slow at first, then pushing deeper. The stretch. The fullness. His tongue fucking into you. You shattered.

Screaming. Shaking. Legs trembling so hard your heel knocked over a jar of cinnamon that crashed to the floor unheard. Your orgasm hit like lightning, ripping through you as his tongue kept moving, his fingers kept fucking your ass full, your pussy dripping, your voice gone.

But Yunho didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause. He slid his fingers out of your ass and thrust three of them back into your cunt, sticky, soaking wet, so thick it burned deliciously as he shoved them in to the knuckle.

He pulled his mouth away and looked up at you from between your thighs, face soaked, lips swollen, eyes wild as he stood back up.

Then his free hand gripped your chin, hard enough to tilt your head and force your dazed, tear filled gaze to lock with his. “Fuck yourself on them,” he growled.

Your thighs trembled against his forearms, your back arched, sweat clinging to your skin as you tried, really tried, to move. To fuck yourself on his fingers like he told you to. But your body was wrecked.

Still twitching. Still fluttering from your orgasm. Your clit throbbed, your pussy clenched tight around his fingers, still soaking wet and stretched wide, and he hadn’t even really fucked you yet.

“Come on,” Yunho rasped, voice wrecked, his grip on your chin tightening just enough to make you look at him. “You said you were mine. Show me.”

You moaned, high and breathless, as you reached down, trembling hands fumbling for his wrist, trying to ground yourself.

Your fingers wrapped around his thick forearm, nails digging in, and you rocked, hips lifting off the counter, pushing yourself down on his hand with a broken cry. But it wasn’t enough.

Your body jolted from overstimulation. Your legs were too weak. Your core too sensitive. You whined in frustration, grinding down again but gasping halfway through the motion, overwhelmed and desperate.

“I…. I can’t….” you choked out. “I want to, I just… fuck, Yunho, I can’t do enough!” Your voice cracked as he stared down at you like a man seeing divinity for the first time.

You. Completely undone. Trying so hard to please him you were shaking. Still soaked. Still needy. Still his as he leaned in slowly, lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You’re trying for me even when you’re falling apart.”

You whimpered. His fingers curled inside you just right and your legs jerked.

“You know how fucking beautiful that is?” he whispered. “You look so sweet when you’re desperate for me.”

You moaned into his mouth, still pushing, still riding the edge of madness as your walls fluttered helplessly around his fingers, so close to the edge again it was embarrassing.

“Let me take over,” he murmured against your lips.

And when you nodded, meek and broken and begging, he growled, low and feral.

“Good girl.”

He pulled his fingers from your pussy with a filthy sound, and you gasped, collapsing against his chest, body shaking. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you like you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, still dazed, lips brushing his throat.

“Bed,” you mumbled, voice hoarse. “Please, Yunho…”

He didn’t answer, just carried you down the hallway and into your bedroom like a man on a mission, and made a hard left.

Straight past the mattress.

Straight to the far wall.

To the floor length mirror.

You blinked, confused, until you met the cool surface of the mirror and Yunho pressed into you, hips grinding against you as his hands slid down to your ass.

Your eyes opened wide.

And you saw it.

You saw everything.

Your ruined dress hiked around your waist.

Your slick thighs trembling.

Your lipstick smeared from moaning into his mouth.

Your chest rising and falling like you were trying not to cry from how badly you needed him again.

Yunho stared into the mirror, one arm braced beside your head, the other hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread open against the glass.

His voice was low, rough, and feral.

“I’m not taking you to bed,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Yunho…”

“No.” His eyes burned into yours. “I want you to watch.”

“I want you to see how I fuck you,” he growled. “I want you to look in that mirror and watch me really ruin you for anyone else.”

You were breathless.

Heart pounding.

You turned your head slightly to look at him, still expecting him to slide into you, to lift your leg and finally, finally take what was already his.

But instead? He stepped back. And started taking off the rest of his clothes.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Your breath caught as you watched his busted knuckles.

Dried blood flaking down the side of his ring finger. A smear near his wrist. A dark bruise already blooming on the back of his hand.

And then your eyes dragged upward, over the slope of his jaw to that beautiful mouth. His lips, still swollen. The bottom one split and drying now.

You clenched your thighs so hard it almost hurt.

And the worst part?

You knew his mother would call this blasphemy. She’d throw holy water at you through the phone, clutch her rosary, say three Hail Marys and ask Saint Veronica or whatever the hell that girl’s name is, to shield her baby boy from the succubus in the mirror.

Too late.

Because you weren’t sorry.

You were more turned on than you’d ever been in your entire life.

You couldn’t stop staring, at the bruises, at the blood, at the way he stood before you, naked now except for the weight of his rage and the throb of his dick, hard and leaking.

“Fucking look at you,” Yunho muttered, stepping closer. “Pressed up against that mirror, staring at me like I’m a goddamn drug.”

You whimpered as he stepped behind you again, his dick brushed the swell of your ass. One big hand came up to cup your throat, not tight, just there, possessive and warm and so him.

“That what I am to you?” he whispered against your neck. “Something you can’t quit?”

You moaned.

And in the mirror, your eyes fluttered shut.

“No,” he growled, hand tightening just a little. “Keep them open. I want you to see exactly what kind of man you’re letting ruin you.”

Yunho’s voice was dark silk, frayed, trembling on the edge of something unholy. His hand was still wrapped loosely around your throat, not choking, just there, a reminder. A claim.

And behind you, you felt him line up.

Thick. Hot. Ready.

He didn’t thrust, not yet. Just slid the head of his dick through your folds, slow and teasing, smearing your slick everywhere as you twitched against the mirror, your breath fogging up the glass.

“You feel this?” he muttered, rubbing the tip against your clit with just enough pressure to make you gasp. “You’re soaked. Messy all over me.”

You moaned, pushing back against him, thighs shaking.

“Still begging for more even after I finger fucked your ass and made you come all over my face.”

Your eyes rolled back and he growled, deep, rough, animalistic.

“Eyes on the mirror. Now.”

You obeyed. Because how could you not? The reflection was pure sin.

You, flushed, lips parted, eyes wide and dazed.

Him, bruised, blood streaked, dark and towering behind you, dick thick, big and twitching against your pussy. He pushed in. Just the tip.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent moan, your fingers clawing at the mirror, trying to stay upright as he held you still and slowly, agonizingly slowly, slid in another inch. Then another. Stretching you wide, your body pulsing around him.

“Still so fucking tight,” he rasped against your ear, voice strained like it was costing him everything not to slam into you. “You take me like you were made for me.” And you loved it.

Every possessive word. Every filthy groan. The bruises, the blood, the way his dick made you feel owned. A little toxic. But you didn’t care. You arched your back, pressing your ass against his hips.

“You like this,” he said, tone dark and almost accusing, like he couldn’t believe the shameless, needy moans falling from your lips. “You like knowing you’re mine. That no one else’ll ever get this pussy again.”

You looked right into the mirror. Met his eyes. And grinned. “Your mom would be so disappointed in me,” you panted, voice high and wrecked. “Guess Saint Vanessa, or Veronica, or whatever the hell her name is, doesn’t get off to blood and bruises.”

Yunho snapped.

His hand clamped tighter around your throat, not choking, but claiming, and he slammed into you with one brutal thrust that shook the mirror and knocked every coherent thought from your skull.

You screamed. Loud. Messy. Wrecked. He didn’t stop.

He fucked you hard, each thrust knocking your body forward as he held you up like a doll, his dick driving so deep it punched the air from your lungs. You heard the slap of skin, the creak of the mirror, your own choked moans.

And through it all, you watched in the reflection of the glass.

Watched your body shake. Watched your mouth fall open in silent pleasure. Watched the dark, dangerous man behind you lose himself in you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

He wasn’t coming yet. This wasn’t about that. This was about making you remember exactly who you belonged to.

Your moans cracked apart into sobs. Your hands slipped down the mirror, leaving streaks in the fog from your breath and the heat of your body. He just kept fucking you. Deep. Brutal. Possessive.

One hand gripped your thigh, the other curved tight around your waist like he was afraid to let go. And all you could do was take it, choke on your own cries, mouth falling open with every thrust as your pussy fluttered around his dick, so wet, so swollen, so wrecked.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” Yunho groaned, lips brushing your ear. “Dripping. Shaking. Dumb for my dick.”

Your eyes rolled back. Your hips pushed back on instinct.

“And you love it, don’t you?” he growled. “You love when I’m like this, fucked up, furious, making you take every inch like a good fucking girl.”

“Y…. Yes… yes, fuck, Yunho!”

His grip on your waist tightened as he drove deeper. “You want sweet? That’s for Saint Vanessa. You want me? This is what you get.”

You came again with a scream, your entire body spasming against the glass, legs giving out, completely ruined, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave of sin and surrender.

Yunho kissed your shoulder, soft for just a breath. Then he pulled out.

And you whimpered, the loss unbearable. But before you could collapse completely, he scooped you up, carrying you to the bed like you were made of glass. Only you weren’t. You were made to be broken.

He didn’t throw you down. He placed you, on your hands and knees, your dress bunched around your hips, your body still twitching. But the mirror…

The mirror was still in view.

You caught sight of yourself, face flushed, eyes wide, hair wild, tears dried on your cheeks, and behind you, him. Towering. Silent. Bloody. Bruised. Hard.

Yunho climbed onto the bed behind you, spreading your legs wider. His palm came down on your ass, hard, the crack echoing and you yelped, your body jolting forward.

He growled, grabbing your throat from behind, fingers wrapping firm around it, not choking, just owning as he leaned in close to your ear, voice so low it made your spine arch.

“I don’t need church,” he whispered. “Not when I see God every time I fuck you.”

And then he slammed into you from behind. Hard. The bed shook. You screamed.

Yunho set a rhythm that had no mercy, his dick punching deep, every thrust sending shockwaves through your entire body. You could barely hold yourself up on your arms, your thighs shaking, your hands gripping the sheets like lifelines.

And in the mirror, you watched it happen. You. Bent. Spread. Eyes rolled back. Him. Hand on your throat. Blood on his mouth. Possessed.

Wrecking you like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Look at you,” he growled. “So fucking beautiful when you’re ruined.” He slipped your dress on off, tossing it somewhere on the floor.

Your mouth dropped open as he slapped your ass again, then gripped it to pull you back harder on his dick, fucking into you so deep your arms nearly gave out.

“Who do you belong to?” he asked, panting, voice shaking now.

“You,” you sobbed. “Yunho…. fuck, you!”

And the mirror reflected it all. Your confessional. Your surrender. Your salvation.

“Fucking perfect,” Yunho growled behind you, hips snapping into yours with a rhythm so brutal it made your vision blur. “You’re taking me so deep, baby. You feel that?”

You did. God, you did.

Every inch. Every vein. Every stretch of his dick had you clenching, fluttering, crying around him.

You could barely hold yourself up anymore, arms trembling as your body rocked forward with every thrust. The mirror still showed the wreckage, your open mouth, your glassy eyes, the way his hand on your throat kept you steady even as he unraveled you from behind.

“I can feel you about to come again,” he panted, breath catching in his throat. “This pretty little pussy’s choking me.”

You sobbed something, his name, maybe, or just a plea, and Yunho groaned, hips faltering just once as his hand slid down your belly, curling around your waist.

And he slowed. Not stopped. Not gentle.

But that punishing pace softened, replaced by something deeper. More intimate. More devastating.

His hand left your throat and slid around your front to cup your chest, pulling you up slowly until your back was flush against his chest and you were both kneeling on the bed, still joined, still locked together.

The mirror reflected everything now. Your body, shaking, your mouth, open, your skin, marked. And Yunho? A mess.

His busted lip pressed to your shoulder. His hand trembling where it gripped your breast. His eyes burning as he stared at the reflection of you both, his forehead pressed to your temple, hips grinding slower now, deeper.

Right there. Right on the edge.

“Look at us,” he whispered, voice raw and broken. “Look what we are.”

You whimpered, body so close to unraveling again you could barely breathe.

“After everything today,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder, “you’re still mine. Still here. Still letting me love you like this.”

You blinked tears. “Yunho…”

“I’m close,” he groaned. “Fuck, baby, I’m…”

He pulled out of you gently, and you gasped, ready to beg for him back, but he turned you around, guiding you down with such care it made your heart seize.

Your back hit the mattress. Your legs fell open.

And Yunho, bruised, blood stained, beautiful, hovered over you like you were the only thing in the world that could save him.

He looked into your eyes as he pushed back in, deep and slow.

You moaned, hands flying to his shoulders, your body stretching around him again like it was made to.

“I love you,” he whispered. “No one’s ever gonna touch you. Not after this.”

You nodded, tears streaking your cheeks. “Only you. Always you.”

He kissed you then, desperate, open mouthed, sweet and ruined as he started to move again. Slow. Deep. Loving.

You clung to him.

And as your body clenched around him, tight and wet and so incredibly his, you felt him gasp.

“Come with me,” he begged. “One more time, baby. Just once more.”

And you did.

Together. Wrapped in each other. Shaking, crying, kissing between gasps as he spilled into you and you shattered around him, lips whispering love and reverence like prayers as your bodies gave out.

You didn’t need anything else.

Just him.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The sun was pouring through the curtains in soft gold, casting lazy stripes across the bed, the sheets… the clothes still scattered all over the floor like the aftermath of a spiritual and physical exorcism.

You were half sprawled across Yunho’s chest, one thigh tossed over his waist, your mouth slack against his collarbone, his hand still curled around your hip possessively even in sleep.

He was knocked out cold, busted lip healing, but otherwise calm, peaceful.

Which was ironic.

Because last night, this bed had been ground zero for a war zone. And the mirror still across the room bore the faint handprint smudges to prove it.

It was a rare kind of silence. Too rare. The kind that should’ve been a warning. The front door opened. You didn’t stir. Neither did Yunho.

But fate didn’t need your permission today.

“Yunho, sweetheart?” a familiar voice called gently. “Are you home? You didn’t answer my calls.”

The sound of heels on hardwood. A gasp. The kind only a Korean mother with a key she wasn’t supposed to have and a deeply Catholic soul could make.

“Oh… oh sweet Virgin Mary!”

You jerked awake.

Yunho startled hard, blinking groggily, hand tightening on your thigh like he’d just woken up in a battle field. “What the fuck….”

That’s when you heard it.

“JEONG YUNHO!”

He sat up so fast he knocked your arm off his chest, blanket sliding down to reveal your entire very naked, thoroughly marked body.

And standing frozen in the doorway?

His mother.

In slacks. With a handbag. And a face that looked like she’d just seen Lucifer himself and he was balls deep in her son’s girlfriend.

“Mom?”

She raised a hand. “Don’t even, don’t you dare speak right now!”

Her eyes swept the room, his busted lip, the mirror across the room with streaks still fogged up, and the unmistakable smell of sex so thick in the air it could’ve been bottled and sold at Sephora.

You, bless your brave, exhausted, freshly fucked soul, pulled the sheet up just enough to cover your chest and rested your chin on Yunho’s shoulder.

Yunho made a choked noise as his mom’s eyes bugged.

“I… You….” she sputtered, clutching her bag like it might save her. “I came to drop off side dishes! I didn’t come to witness my son’s moral collapse!”

“Too late for that,” you mumbled under your breath.

“What was that?!”

“Nothing,” you said, batting your lashes.

Yunho groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Mom, seriously. Why do you even have a key?”

“Because I thought my son was in need of spiritual nourishment, not….” she gestured wildly between your bodies, “living in debauchery!”

You smiled sweetly, full of pettiness. “Would you like some coffee before you go?”

She backed out of the room like she was escaping a crime scene, muttering to herself about incense and repentance and how many Hail Marys it takes to erase what she just saw.

The door slammed. Silence. And then? Yunho looked at you, utterly deadpan.

“She’s never going to cook for me again.”

You shrugged, curling back into his chest. “That’s fine. I’ll ruin your soul and your cooking standards.”

He laughed, truly laughed and kissed the top of your head.

“Worth it.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990 @straytiny127 @sannies-tiddies @hannahstacos @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @love--in-stayville @hartsablaze @remi-young @bubbly-moon @fvxyxnh0 @herpoetryprincess

[fictionalarchives]

Ellie x Cowgirl!Reader

Finally worked up the courage to write, pls be nice this is the first piece of fiction I have ever written. I apologize in advance if this is the worst thing you have ever read.

Summary: Ellie hires cowgirl!reader as help for the farm, they can't escape the tension between them.

Warnings : 18+ mdni, smut, sub!ellie, f!reader, sub!ellie x dom!reader, scissoring/tribbing, fingering (e!recieving)

Wc: 1.9K

Ellie had been working the farm day and night, it was twice the work since Joel had passed a few years before. She’d kept the farm running, but it was tough on her own. 

She could feel the ache starting to spread in her back to her legs as she worked tirelessly in the afternoon. 

Things had been slow and she really needed to harvest all the crops and sell enough before winter came. She was already running low on money and it was only August, she was growing worried there wouldn't be enough to get through winter.

She needed to hire help soon, she wouldn't be able to get all the crops in time to sell at the market herself. 

She knew she had gotten lucky when you rode into her farm looking for work. Especially in a town where women were taught to be teachers or housewives. 

 You definitely didn't look like the housewife type.

Wrangler jeans, boots, shotgun on your side and a wide brim hat. You looked like trouble.

Rough around the edges but you were willing to work and when not many people were. 

Ellie couldn't afford to say no, August was coming to an end. She didn't even know how you managed to stumble across her farm. What were you doing so far from town? In the end she was just grateful you did.

Ellie realized you were more than a pretty face. You knew your way around a farm. 

She was starting to feel like she was the help when you did double the work she would usually do in just a day. 

Ellie was really trying to not get distracted, but every time you stepped near her she would get all flushed and forget what she was doing.

You liked making her blush it was quite the contrast to her appearance.

Brown wide brimmed hat, eyebrow scar, flannel sweaty and dirty from working the farm; she really didn't seem the blushing type. Yet here she was. 

You really did need this job so you pretended not to notice, hiding your satisfaction at the fact that she felt it too. Whatever this tensions was.

You pushed down those same feelings when you made accidental eye contact, but it had a reaction on you, making you pull your own hat a little lower in an attempt to hide your own blush.

You needed to focus, you had already lost your last job too quickly and a harsh winter was making its way. You needed stability for once. 

No matter how much you wanted Ellie, no matter how long it had been since you came across a woman like her. 

Ellie caught you off guard asking suddenly

“Where are you stayin '?" 

“Was planning on riding back into town and staying at the inn” you grumbled.

Ellie knew she shouldn’t, you looked like trouble after all but she offered you the spare room in her house.

What was the point of you spending money on an inn when she had space anyway? 

“There’s an empty room upstairs I can fix up” 

“Are you sure, I really don’t want to impose” 

“No really, the earlier you're here to work the better” Ellie tried to play it off.

The truth is she was lonely in this big house.

She muttered something about dusting the room before heading upstairs.

You gave her an appreciative glance before grabbing what little things you owned and moving them upstairs.

 You hoped you wouldn’t have to stay for too long, not wanting to take advantage of her kindness. 

 The room was cozy with gingham bedding, although it seemed as though it had been shut for ages. 

Ellie seemed to have changed the sheets, and opened the windows. It was strange to meet someone like Ellie who welcome you with such hospitality.

After the bath Ellie had kindly drawn for you. You lay in the room’s bed feeling the night's breeze, trying not to think too hard about Ellie undressing for her own bath across the hall.

Eventually your exhaustion won over, sending you into an early slumber to the sounds of the quiet farm.  

The morning chill pulled you out of bed early. You realized it was still dark but you weren't one for much sleep anyway, deciding you should probably do something nice to return the favor to Ellie. 

Unfamiliar with her kitchen; but determined by the time Ellie padded down the steps you had already managed to make coffee, eggs and warmed some scones you found. 

And what a sight for Ellie indeed, you setting the table like you were made to be in her kitchen, rough edges and all but you fit right in.

Waking up to breakfast ready was not something Ellie was used to. In fact she hadn’t shared breakfast with someone since Joel passed.

The thought made her chest ache just a bit. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this until you two were silently passing the salt back and forth. 

Hand brushing when she handed you the jam for the scones, you pretended once again not to notice the pink spreading across her face and ears and sweeping down her neck. 

The quiet view of the sun rising on the farm, and birds chirping suddenly reminding you it was really just the two you out here.

Ellie decided you would get straight to work harvesting strawberries and other fruits, then tending to the horses. 

The morning was full of brushing past each other and stolen glances, just as the day before. 

It was like a dance, Ellie hadn’t been with anyone in so long that it was impossible to ignore you. 

You found it harder to ignore her. She smelled of strawberry and evergreen, impossible to ignore when she was near. Humming a tune to herself, totally unaware of the effect she was having on you.��

Walking into the shed you realized she wasn’t as clueless as she had led you to believe wanted you when you leaned in behind her, hand brushing her waist when grabbing the shears. Ellie’s breath hitched, it was quiet but not unnoticed. 

You continued on and went back to harvesting the strawberries that were ready for collecting, sweet and red.

Ellie stole another glance, she hadn’t been with a woman in years. She actually didn’t quite remember the last time. 

She was aching. 

But the stakes were higher here if she drove you away she was out of luck; it was already August. She kept telling herself this. 

But how could she not imagine being with you when you were walking around looking like that? 

Like you fit right into her life. 

You were eternally grateful to her for hiring you, you had been drifting for years and you could see the possibilities of a stable life. 

You decided it was only right for you to make dinner, show her you were capable of hospitality as well. 

Ellie, who had survived on fruit and cereal despite having a farm, accepted with no hesitation. 

Just glad to have a real meal again and someone to eat with. 

You placed your hat on the hook in the entrance of the kitchen before getting to work, excited to cook in such a big kitchen with fresh ingredients. 

“What can I help with?” Ellie asked quietly, she was still adjusting to your presence in her home. 

“Sure could you dice the potatoes?” 

Ellie silently began working. Pulling out what you would need to cook before she began har tasks.

Only the sounds of the farm could be heard as you two worked together. 

You leaned over Ellie’s shoulder to get a better look at what she was doing when her breath faltered once again. 

You took that as your sign to lean in to her, no longer caring about your lack of professionalism.

It was Déjà vu when your hand found her waist again, this time you whispered

“Is this okay?”

Ellie nodded quickly as if the opportunity would never arise again.

You began brushing a trail of kisses down her neck, her skin is salty with sweat from working all day. One hand making its way down the sides of her waist. Your free hand found Ellie’s hair tugging her up into a kiss. Gentler than she expected.

You were both breathing heavily, her smell overwhelming your senses. 

You slipped your hand between her jeans and underwear, teasing her mound through the thin fabric. Ellie’s hips began to push into your palm searching for any sort of friction. 

She began panting in your ear, she could hear you biting back sounds yourself. 

She purposely began to push back into your center. Causing you to bite your lip. You still her hips with one hand.

You stop your other hand completely.

Ellie lets out a frustrated sound.

“Please” Ellie huffs out.

“Please what? Tell me what you want”

“Stop teasing”

Ellie grabs your hand and puts it inside her underwear.

“God” You rasp

“What?” She whispered.

“You're so wet, have you been working like this all day?”

Ellie can only moan in response when you begin sliding a finger between her folds, dragging her wetness up to circle her clit slowly.

Sliding a finger in her entrance, she continues bucking her hips into you. 

You take off one side of her flannel and move to kiss down her shoulder. 

Your own clit is aching rubbing against the fabric of your own underwear. Ellie’s desperate movement’s only making things worse. Your own hips involuntarily push back, the friction so good causing a quiet sounds to escape you.

You can feel her need getting more desperate

“Let me- Ellie huffs out frustrated

“Let me touch you” she gets out, so quiet it’s almost inaudible.

“No I can’t, we shouldn’t even be doing this” 

In that moment Ellie forgot about everything important. It had been too long since Ellie had been with anyone. She didn't care about the work that needed to be done.

“Please”

She starts pushing back into you.

“Fuck- okay” You pant out.

Ellie slips out of your grasp turning around mouth back on yours more desperate this time, skin flushed hands trying to unbuckle your belt shamelessly.

“Lets go upstairs” you get out between kisses 

She agrees you follow her up to her room. 

Not getting anytime to take in your surroundings, she pushes you on the bed as she kisses you again this time more desperate.

She begins unfastening your belt again.

“Need help?” you ask unbuckling it with ease.

Ellie doesn’t have time to be embarrassed at her lack of dexterity, she just wants to feel you against her. 

She tugs down your pants and underwear at the same time before parting her legs and slotting into yours. 

Sinking into each other you both moan at the same time when you feel each other's centers make contact, Ellie wastes no time when she begins rocking her hips against you.

Your hands guide her hips against your own making sure she's hitting all the right spots. 

Her moans were sinful. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.

It was so intimate like this, pressed against each other so sensitive. 

Drawing Ellie closer you pulled her down into a lazy kiss, too focused on the pleasure to care. 

Ellie was close, you could feel her hips stuttering. Crying out your name repeatedly.   

“Yeah just like that keep ridin’ me, don’t hold back” you encouraged.

 She was trying to last, she really was but that was it for her.

“Gonna cu-” Ellie cried out, eyes screwed shut hips moving frantically against your own.

With a broken sob she ground her hips one more time bringing you both to the edge.

You felt her body shudder before she collapsed into your arms. 

Dazed, face red and flushed. Eyes shut.

The room smelled of sex, only the sounds of you both panting left. Dinner forgotten.

She shuddered as you traced a finger down her spine, this time it was your turn to draw the bath. 

Hope that wasn’t awful, this is so far from perfect and maybe I could have spent more time on it but I wanted to just rip the bandaid off and get my first fic over with.

I knew if I worked on it until it was “perfect” I would never get anything done. There are probably too many commas. I'm uncomfortable with how unfamiliar writing is to me.

Please give me advice. I have no clue what I'm doing, I don't know how to tag things, or add warnings properly, or make layouts I'm sort of just guessing. So tell me what I need to improve on please and how to go about it. Most importantly writing advice (my grammar is surely lacking) !

[revelboo]

I just woke up from one hell of a vivid nightmare and holy fuck yikes:')) Can you maybe do a scenario where reader's awake but sleepy and their heart won't stop pounding+they can't stop replaying their dream in their head after waking up? With honestly really any of the tfp cast and what they might do about it to help comfort or distract them? My brain is fried as hell rn

Sure!

Nightmares

Starscream x Reader

• Head lifting as he comes online with a start, it takes him a klik to realize you kicked him and that it’s not Megatron or something worse coming after him. Clearing his vents in aggravation as you kick out again, rolling, he pushes up on an elbow and flattens a hand over your tiny, struggling form. This is how you repay him after he lets you curl up against him because you were cold? And you gasp, battering yourself against him before stilling suddenly and he can feel the frantic beat of your heart when your head comes up, disoriented. Your fear spilling uneasily into him, because it’s familiar. Something he understands.

• Heart pounding, for a moment you can’t separate the terror of the nightmare from reality. Can’t stop replaying it. Struggling and trembling even as you register that it’s your melodramatic turkey scowling down at you, not some monster. And he’s pinning you down with a hand, wings flared aggressively. Grabbing onto his servos, you let out a shuddering breath and force yourself to relax. “You kicked me,” he mutters, optics flicking down to your arms wrapped around one of his servos as you blow out a shuddering breath, pressing your cheek against his hand. And those wings of his flick and slowly lower. “I suppose you’re not going to apologize? Do you want to talk about it?” He asks sullenly and you laugh despite yourself. Surprised that he’s making an effort, but not about to tell him that you had a nightmare about him.

• “Can you make me some cocoa? With tiny marshmallows?” You ask and you’re doing the thing with your eyes. Making them big and innocent as his wings tuck against his frame. Do you think he’s your servant? That you can make that face at him and he’s just going to do whatever you want? Growling, he lifts his hand away from you, turning away. “With one of those dark chocolate spoons?” Growl turning into a groan, he mass shifts and flies over to your stuff. “I love you!” You call out after him to make his wings flick, growling louder and more dramatically even though the words secretly please him.

Ratchet x Reader

• Startling online when the back of your hand smacks him in the face, he rumbles out a growl. Before realizing it’s you and you’re struggling against him, breathing raggedly. “Hey, you’re okay,” cupping your face in his hands, your eyes snap open, unfocused and confused. “You’re going to hurt yourself. It’s me.” Gathering you to him as you gasp raggedly, he can feel your heart racing as you grab at him. “It’s me.”

• “Doc?” Shuddering as the nightmare just won’t let go even though the details are already slipping away, you hide your face against the warm mesh of his neck as one of his big hands slides up and down your spine. Breathing in his familiar scent as you calm and his cheek brushes against yours. “Sorry,” you manage, embarrassed. “Guess I had a nightmare.” And he’s tipping your face up, studying your eyes.

• “Nothing’s going to touch you while I’m here,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your forehead as he tucks you against him. And you relax against him, little hands hanging onto him as he holds you. Feels you hide your face against the mesh of his neck again as he listens to your breathing. Feeling your racing heart slowly calm until you shift against him, asleep again. Can’t get back to recharge, though. Watching over you instead.

Megatron x Reader

• Jolting online at your muffled yelp, he’s pushing his frame upright on an arm, denta bared in a snarl looking for a threat. Spark thrumming frantically, he growls and glances down at you curled into a ball among your blankets. And you flinch, breathing unsteadily as he clears his vents. Are you just dreaming? Dropping back down with his chin on your chest and an arm tossed across you, he can feel your heart racing as you startle awake with a gasp.

• Muddled, you hear Megatron’s annoyed rumbling and the jerk is using you as a pillow again even though his big head is heavy even mass displaced and you’ve told him that before. Trying to shake off the last vestiges of the nightmare, the memory of fear, you can’t seem to calm your racing heart. Pressing a hand against his helm, you push at him and he growls louder. Apparently not budging. Can’t recall the details of the nightmare he woke you from, but the adrenaline remains leaving you off balance and jittery. “Get off,” you groan.

• Head turning as you shove at him, he hooks an arm around you and rolls. Hears you squeak then swear when he curls himself around you, banding an arm around you. And you get angrier and louder when he growls and grips your shoulder in his denta, careful not to break the skin. “What is wrong with you? No biting,” you complain, flailing around until you grab a pillow and smack him with it repeatedly as he rumbles until you exhaust yourself. “Why are you like this?” You mutter as he clears his vents, adjusting his grip on you and dragging his glossa against your skin. Can feel your angry field crackling against him as he nuzzles behind your ear until you stop resisting. Eventually falling back to sleep in his arms as he fights the urge to actually bite. Venting steadily to pull your scent deep and wondering if the nightmare had been about him again. Hating that sometimes when he wakes you from nightmares, you recoil from him.

[hjpsdiary]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT - clark kent x reader

summary: a shy, soft-spoken reader starts a new job at the daily planet and meets clark kent, who is kind, composed, and quietly attentive. despite being opposites—clark steady and confident, reader awkward and anxious—he gently makes space for her without ever overwhelming her. over time, small moments of care build into a quiet bond: shared coffee, walking her to the train, holding her hand with soft permission.

word count: 770 (ikik js wait for me to cook in part 2)

you were quiet. always a little too aware of the space you took up, always apologizing for things that didn’t need apologies.

he noticed that first. the way you’d speak and then immediately shrink, like you weren’t sure your words deserved the air they were given.

clark… clark was composed. kind. the kind of kind that didn’t need to announce itself. people listened when he spoke.

you listened a little too closely.

you met him on your first day at the daily planet. it was raining. of course it was. you’d dropped your folder in a puddle, your notes already smudged, and you were seconds away from just turning around and pretending you never applied.

and then… he was there.

blue eyes. umbrella held over your head. voice gentle.

“i think this is yours,” he said, handing you your now very sad-looking folder.

you were pretty sure you mumbled something like “thank you” but you were too busy trying not to melt into the sidewalk.

after that, he kept showing up. small things at first. offering you coffee before you even had to ask. helping you when the printer jammed. waiting for you when everyone else had already left the newsroom.

you didn’t know how to talk to him properly. he was so clark. put-together, sweet, always looking like he walked out of a black-and-white movie.

you were just… you.

so when he’d sit next to you at lunch or walk you to your train, you’d fumble. trip over your own sentences. say weird things like,

“you have very polite elbows.”

(you wanted to die after that one. he laughed, though. the nice kind. not mean.)

sometimes he’d say your name like it meant something. like it was important. and you never knew what to do with yourself when he did that.

the thing is… he never made you feel small. not once.

he noticed how your hands shook during meetings. how your voice got quiet when too many people were around. how you’d rather write your thoughts than speak them aloud.

and instead of trying to fix you… he just stood beside you.

solid. steady. always there.

you were opposites.

he was sunrises. you were soft shadows.

he spoke like poetry. you lived in parentheses.

but god, he looked at you like you were made of stars.

and you… you started believing him.

one night, after a long day at work, you were both sitting in the breakroom. your legs tucked up, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. the city buzzed below, and he was sipping tea beside you, calm as ever.

you looked at him. really looked.

and whispered, “why do you always stay?”

he didn’t look away.

“because you make quiet feel like home.”

you blinked, heart in your throat.

he reached over slowly, carefully, fingers brushing against yours. testing the waters. like he knew loud people scared you but he didn’t want to.

“can i hold your hand?”

you nodded, barely.

and just like that, everything inside you exhaled.

you weren’t loud. or bold. or brave in the way most people understood.

but with him?

you felt seen.

and with you?

he got to rest.

[ddaisychaser]

clark kent and his ditzy, girly, little weather reporter girlfriend have been living rent free in my head.

tw: reader is literally just a girl, mention of clark wanting to get swallowed by a black hole, i’m sorry if your name starts with an s just pretend briefly it doesn’t for this blurb! brief description of readers chest slightly being out. alsooo not really proof read, not really sorry, but kind of sorry?

authors note: hiiii! this whole blurb thing is sort of new to me and idk if i’m going to be doing more. but, unfortunately i’m so down bad for clark kent i needed to do SOMETHING about it lol. however, if you want more pls send me something in the little ask box and i’ll take a peek! thank you lovebugs and enjoy ‪‪❤︎‬

clark kent is just in awe of his girlfriend. every little thing she does he just stares with cartoon hearts beating out of his eyes. and gosh, you make him laugh. it’s not mean laughter, it’s pure adoration. because you’re so authentically you! so adorably, bubbly, perfect you.

he watched the weather channel from where it sits high above his desk at the daily planet, chewing the middle of his wooden pencil. (it has to be wooden because mechanical pencils are “just so difficult” as he once passionately expressed.)

you’re standing in-front of the evolving green screen that showcases a slight thunderstorm rearing into metropolis later tonight. the microphone is held steadily in your hand, you chat away vibrantly.

“and so, as you see here-“ you wave your manicured hand towards the pixelated red blob that migrates closer to where metropolis is. “that’s like a lot of thunder coming in. honestly, probably the most we have gotten in awhile. last thunderstorm totally cut out all of my power, it was awful. i was in the middle of taking a shower too!”

some critical viewers may write nasty reviews on how you talk too much; clark finds it endearing. you speak to the audience like you both are long time friends, making it personable and humorous. that’s why you have stayed with metropolis news for so long because this new generations loves you. (not as much as clark though, obviously.)

and oh, your outfits. clark can’t stray his eyes away from the flimsy, ruffled, baby pink colored blouse you wear. it shows a bit more cleavage then what’s maybe appropriate for a broadcasting channel, but how could clark say anything when you look just perfect. it’s paired with a matching skirt (you’re obsessed with matching sets. once telling clark, “it’s like so easy to figure out what to wear in the morning!”) jewelry is one of your favorite accessories, bedazzling earrings and bracelets that clink together when you wave your hands. clark’s favorite is the teeny tiny s you wear around your neck.

clark remembers when he gave it to you on your one year anniversary of being officially together. he gave a big ol speech across the dimly lit table at the restaurant, his voice was wobbly and high pitched from nerves. he squeezed your hands so tight that halfway through his trembling declaration of love, your nose scrunched.

“clark, you’re-you’re squeezing my hands too tight.”

he apologized profusely, over and over again until your face lit up with laughter after he made a joke about sweating through his ironed white button up.

when he pulled out the velevt case, you gasped. both hands flying to your cheeks. “ohmygoshohmygosh-“ you rambled. clark nearly had a heart attack from the way you almost tumbled out of your seat from excitement. “yes! yes, i’ll marry you!”

clark’s mouth dropped.

you shoved your left hand practically in his face. he hadn’t even said a word nor opened the box. “put it on! put it on!” you squealed.

of course clark wants to marry you, more then anything in the world. guilty nausea crept up his throat when he knew inside the box was definitely not an engagement ring. but, you were so excited. the entire table shook with how fast you were tapping your heels against the floor like a puppy anxiously prancing for a treat.

he swallowed, “um,” clark had to choose his words carefully. he gently placed the box down beside him and took ahold of your hands again. your expression hadn’t faltered one bit and it killed clark inside.

“baby-“

“clarkkkk,” you dragged on, playfully rolling your eyes. “i already said yes silly! no need to get so serious.” a little giggle slipped past your lips and clark prayed that a intergalactic black hole would swallow him whole in that very moment. you were so fucking precious.

he nod’s slowly, “i…i… i don’t have a ring.” clark watched as your face quickly faltered, he waited for the slight crease between your brows to form. the dramatic pout of your bottom lip to jut forward. but, none of that happened. all you did was simply blink like a fish out of water.

“don’t get me wrong angel, i will propose to you and we are going to get married. just…just not today.” your breath hitches barely and clark almost flings himself across the table. literally, his large, muscular frame is haunching across the table to physically get closer to you. “you’re the only woman i want to have a future with, you’re my everything baby. and i-i’m sorry that i got your hopes up, i just wanted to-“

he fumbles with the box, opening the lid and showcasing the small pendant. that’s when your face finally falls into a pout.

“my name doesn’t start with an s…” your eyes glance from the necklace then to clark’s face for what feels like five times in a row. it’s like a puzzle you can’t seem to solve, why would clark give you a necklace that wasn’t even your initial? tears start to blur your vision and your voice comes out sort of whiny, and sniffly, and confused, and- well, maybe just all three combined.

clark moves so fast, he clumsily knocks the open bottle of wine. but those metahuman reflexes quickly reach out to grasp the neck of the bottle before placing it on the table. his big hands cup your cheeks. “it’s an s for superman baby, so you know that i will always come home to you. no matter what.”

you give out a small, breathless, “oh” before the realization hits you like a truck. your eyes light up, sticky from the former sting of tears. “oh! oh clark, that’s just the sweetest thing ever.”

after you begged for clark to put the necklace on, you claimed you never wanted to take it off- and you haven’t. clark still remembers the relief that eased from his shoulders and how he couldn’t wipe that dopey grin off his face after seeing you look so proud to be his girlfriend.

on the way home, walking hand and hand back to your shared apartment, you innocently looked up at clark with those puppy dog eyes he couldn’t refuse. “you’re still going to purpose to me soon, right?”

clark leaned down and pecked the top of your forehead. “oh yeah baby, it’s going to be absolutely epic. just you wait.”

[he4rken]

Can you do Mafioso (along with 2 other characters of your choice) x reader who's an excellent singer, like they have such a soothing voice that it can lull you to sleep, sometimes quite literally.

LISTEN TO MY VOICE, YOU SHOULD HEAR ME NOW | singer reader

— Woah anon... You really put me on the spot! So I did what's best and I spun a wheel, congratulate Taph and Dusekkar for getting picked!

I might've accidentally written this differently than how you wished anon, still included just not necessarily focused on that specifically, I sincerely apologize!

WARNINGS: none to be found!

MAFIOSO

— Honestly I think he's most likely to encourage you, big fan of whatever you have going on! Your voice is music to his ears and that's quite literally too.

— I mean it when I say big fan, if you were a performer, per say, he'd be there every time. Front row? He's right there, back row? He's right there, anywhere in the middle? He's right there. (cue to that one audio that's currently trending)

— And if you weren't, that's no problem! Can't turn down a free performance from his beloved, right? Whether or not you're humming a tune or actually have a musical number going on, he's surely there to praise you! In his opinion you have the best voice he's ever heard and that's definitely not cause he's biased, no, definitely not.

— 50/50 if he actually has mentioned to anybody that he has a beloved that sings well, they don't necessarily have to know but neither is it really a secret. If you're really proud of your singing voice he definitely does mention it! Otherwise he just pops in a "oh yeah my beloved can sing :)" randomly into the conversation when he thinks about you.

— Out of all three in this, Mafioso is the last person to get knocked out if you lulled him to sleep, intentionally or not, he's not falling asleep. Best you can get out of him is that he feels a bit sleepy, never really voices that thought and instead tells you that your voice is really soothing, thinks it's a bonus overall too.

— He'd encourage that too, actually. Do continue do to so, he likes your voice! Even if he has better things to do than listen to his beloved sing and Mafioso doesn't care, what's a little slacking off right? Okay fine he doesn't necessarily slack off since he's immediately getting back to what he was doing but he certainly will make time for you!

— Overall, Mafioso is just simply swayed, who wouldn't be if that's their beloved? Either way he'd still be biased and think you're the best of everything.

TAPH

— Taph really, really means well. He's a man of not many words, do give him a bit of credit for attempting to express it fully how much he actually does adore the fact you can sing quite well.

— While all he can give is enthusiastic thumbs up when you're done with your musical numbers, perhaps even some forming a heart with both of his hands, he does try to showcase it to the maximum. Of course writing down his opinion on a piece of paper also does the trick but I don't think that's necessarily his sort of thing to do without it coming off condescending, which he obviously does not want to come off as.

— Absolutely encourages you to actually be loud, be noisy! Hum a tune! Perhaps even go all out! Taph might be a big fan of noise anyway, so who is he to turn you down from doing what you're talented at?

— Aside from the occasional explosions he has caused majority of his time, all he does ultimately have on his own is silence, so every noise is a wave of fresh air, yours most definitely included.

— Unfortunately or fortunately with how you personally want to see it, Taph does fall asleep when you do lull him to sleep, perhaps after 30 seconds and he's knocked out cold. At the start he waves his hand as a way to say "he most definitely isn't gonna fall asleep", obviously he gets proven wrong and won't bring it up at all either.

— Thing is that if you don't offer he's practically kindly asking (more like begging) for you to lull to him. Taph kinda sees it like a daily occurrence, perhaps more preferably when neither of you are getting chased down during a round even with how relaxing it is, rather when everyone gets a break without much concern. He does suck it up when you turn it down, that's fine for him! Maybe next time you will.

— Okay well not necessarily since the moment he's alone he does become that one breakdown GIF, but again, it's fine! Better luck next time. He's fine with already hearing you hum during the day, he doesn't need your soothing voice. Yeah, most definitely does not....

— Taph is just overall likes your soothing voice the most. It's kind of the sign he can relax and let his guard down, hence why he does get knocked out almost immediately. I'd say he could listen to it all day but he might actually fall into eternal slumber all together.

DUSEKKAR

— A man of many, long, strong and poetic words, even he manages to be swayed by a voice that belongs to somebody he holds oh so dearly.

— But Dusekkar isn't necessarily gonna comment much on it either. While he does give you praise occasionally he doesn't have that much of a big opinion on you being able to sing well.

— In a way he does find it admirable. You have a voice so strong that can change into so many different tones depending how much you change your voice! And Dusekkar for one isn't a singer either, so, again it's just admirable for him.

— Dusekkar actually has the most normal reaction overall anyway, when you're humming a tune he doesn't pay no mind to it. But when it comes to a full blown musical number it's as if the words he even wanted to say we're completely forgotten. Of course this could mean he was rendered speechless, but no, he's right back at his feet by saying something that can be translated into "you sing very well!"

— When it comes to lulling him to sleep, it's sometimes actually effective. I mean it when I say sometimes, either he is fully knocked out or he wakes up maybe after a good three minutes. By that fact alone Dusekkar himself is a bit taken aback, all things considered I don't think anybody ever is relaxed in the Forsaken realm, so genuinely getting knocked out is kinda a bit uncomfortable for him.

— It's not like he necessarily advices against it, your voice can be very soothing, don't get him wrong! But you making him fall asleep is one he personally doesn't want, maybe when neither of you have bigger concerns awaiting you for who knows how long then he would probably not mind as much.

— But still, Dusekkar almost always looks like he's at the brick of falling asleep when your tone of voice is in fact soothing. Fights a lot of urges and most definitely says sentences longer than he has ever spoken to not fall into slumber.

— Overall he just doesn't have much to say to you having a great voice, Dusekkar does hold admiration as said before but it stops there. Either way it's a great talent you have! And he's certainly not gonna prove you otherwise either, he's no liar.

[woniedarlin]

HI HI HII ! I GENUINELY LOVED YOUR RECENT WORK SM?? You did amazing by the way, it actually gave me whiplash when you said you haven’t been feeling your write like what, there's no way??

I ALSO WANTED TO REQUEST A JUNGWON X READER STORY !!! it’s like.. a marriage of convenience / arranged marriage typa thing, but like reader wants divorce from Jungwon on the same day because she’s in love with someone else?? But then gradually stuff happens idk what but then they become best friends and you can take care of the rest, I'm not really that creative 😭

Oops, I Caught Feelings

Pairing: Husband! Jungwon x fem! reader ft. Sunghoon

Genre: Marriage of Convenience / Arranged Marriage

Synopsis: You love your parents. You do, but when they hand you a marriage contract and a husband you barely know, things get complicated, especially since you’re in love with someone else. So, what’s the first thing you do after the ceremony? Ask for a divorce. Jungwon somewhat agrees, and you strike a deal: three months, then it’s over. But as the weeks go by, you start to wonder…What happens when your temporary husband begins to feel permanent?

Author's Note: Oh myyy!! Thank you so much for your sweet words, anonie! This request was so fun to write. I had such a good time putting it together, and I also apologize because this request was sent 2 months ago. I tried my best with this, took a longg time to write. Happy reading, my darlings. Mwah mwah 💋

Caution: This story includes themes of arranged marriage, emotional conflict, and occasional cursing. Expect tension, stubborn hearts, and arguments. Let me know if there is more!

Permanent taglist: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

“Let’s get a divorce soon.”

You say it as if you’re asking for salt. You were calm and unapologetic. Across the table, Jungwon pauses mid-sip of water. He didn’t choke or flinch at your words but only set the glass down and looked at you with a mild expression, trying to decide if he had misheard. “Well,” he says after a moment, “that was fast.”

You shrug, feeling the zipper of your wedding gown dig into your spine as you moved a little. “I might as well be honest. There’s no point in dragging this out.” It’s late, and the reception ended an hour ago. Your heels are off, and your lipstick has faded into a soft bruise. Jungwon’s tie is loosened and slanted, and his jacket has been discarded behind him. His elbow rests on the armrest and studies you. His eyes weren’t unfriendly but observant, more than anything. You wonder if he’s trying to read you or if he’s just tired like you are. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks, with an almost disarming softness.

“No,” you reply, “You’ve been decent.” The words sound bland, but they’re honest. What more could you even say? It’s not like you knew each other well before this arrangement. “That’s oddly formal,” he mutters, raising an eyebrow. You let out a quiet laugh and said. “That’s me being generous.”

He lets a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth for a second. You vaguely remember him from when you were kids. It was only a few scattered memories from family events or shared acquaintances. He was polite and always slipped away before the adults could rope him into small talk. It’s strange to be married to someone who once existed at the edge of your childhood vision. “I’m in love with someone else,” you say, suddenly. It was silent for a moment after that.

“Ah,” he says at last.

You wet your lips, unsure of what else to add. “That’s not why I said yes to this. I didn’t know we’d go through with it, but I think we should… call it.”

“Do they love you back?” he asks.

Your eyes look to the window before answering. “I don’t know. ”

“Huh.” He taps his fingers against the table, then gives a soft sigh. “That sucks.”

You were caught off guard. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say? Fight for your honor? Burn the marriage certificate?” There’s no heat in his words but dry sarcasm. It’s so casual that you don’t even know how to respond for a moment. “You’re surprisingly chill about all this,” you mutter.

“I just got into a marriage with someone I barely know, who’s already in love with someone else,” he says, standing and stretching a little. “I think I’ve earned the right to be chill.” He looks at you with a half-smile, as if to say, Welcome to the club. You glance at him, this time with curiosity. “I didn’t think you’d be this reasonable.”

Jungwon lets out a soft scoff. “Don’t let it fool you.” You walk beside each other in silence, footsteps against the soft carpet, and for a second, it almost feels like a dream where nothing makes sense but everything feels strangely okay. It’s bizarre: this night, this marriage, this shared nonchalance. You don’t hate him. You don’t like him either, but for some reason, there’s an ease to this you didn’t expect. At the elevator, Jungwon presses the button. “So how long do you want to pretend we’re not planning a divorce?”

“Three months?” you say. “It’s enough to let everyone settle down.” Your voice feels lighter now as the tension begins to thin.

He nods. “Room rules?”

“Don’t touch my coffee.”

“Don’t leave hair in the drain.”

“Don’t talk to me before ten.”

“Deal.”

The elevator doors open, and you both step inside. Two strangers , acquaintances, or perhaps two accidental allies. It’s strange how easily it all clicks and how little effort it takes to reach an understanding. The hotel suite is massive. You step in first, followed by the soft thud of Jungwon dragging both of your bags. For a second, you only stare. You’re unsure if it’s the room or the fact that it’s your honeymoon and no one is smiling. He walks over to the couch, drops the bags with a grunt, and rolls his shoulders back. “Pick your side,” he says, nodding toward the king-sized bed. “Or the couch is mine if you snore.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “I don’t snore.”

“That’s what they all say,” he shrugs. You toss your bag onto the left side of the bed and start peeling off your earrings. Jungwon watches you before heading to the minibar. He opens it, reviews the contents, and pulls out a juice bottle. “So,” he says, unscrewing the cap, “what does someone in love do on their fake honeymoon?”

You glance at him. “To answer your question, I think about not being in love.”

He chuckles. “Deep.”

You flop onto the bed and ask. “Do you think they’ll notice?”

“The lack of Instagram posts? PDA? Matching robes?” He raises a brow. “Perhaps, or they won’t care. This isn’t really about us anyway.”

“No,” you murmur, “it never was.” You feel the bed dip as Jungwon sits down, keeping the right amount of space between you two. Not too close and not too far. Enough to remind each other you’re still strangers. Then Jungwon speaks, “You didn’t plan to marry me, hm?”

“No.” You turn your head slightly. “I didn’t plan to marry anyone.”

He nods. “I get that.”

The night moves on like that. Silent but not awkward. You take turns in the bathroom, fold away your clothes into designated drawers without speaking much. He doesn’t try to make conversation, nor do you, but you have a strange, unspoken understanding. Either respect or simple exhaustion. You’re both too tired to pretend to be in love, but not cold enough to be enemies. Later, you lie on opposite sides of the bed with backs turned. Jungwon speaks again. “I’m not gonna ask about him, but don’t break your own heart on my account, alright?”

And with those words, you appreciated what he said.

💍

The next morning is too bright for your mood. Jungwon’s in the living room now, watching some muted news report on the TV. You sit on the bed and think of him.

Sunghoon.

It still stings to say his name even in your head. You’d been in love with him for years. It wasn’t all-consuming, but a love built itself through shared playlists, and all the things left unsaid from you. You didn’t need to confess immediately because there was time, or so you thought. There were plans. You were going to tell him soon. You’d even picked the day at the cafe he always liked, with messy walls and big cakes. You were finally ready but the marriage happened. You never got to tell him.

Now you’re with Jungwon. You’re married and while your heart is somewhere else, your respect is here, in this man who didn’t choose you either, but still meets you halfway. You will choose to do things right, even if they’re not what you wanted.

💍

“You’re not gonna stay cooped up in the room the whole trip, are you?” Jungwon asks, slipping his sunglasses on as the sun peeks from behind the clouds. Your brow raised, and you replied. “You say that as if we’re here for vacation.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. You seem the type who’d hate being stuck inside.”

You sighed. “Fine, but if this becomes a cheesy bonding experience, I’m leaving you at a bus stop.”

Jungwon smirks. “You think I’d wait for you?”

You end up wandering around the area. There weren’t quite tourists and strangers. A while later, you both settle on a beach mat watching the ocean waves. Out of nowhere, you said, “His name is Sunghoon.” Jungwon turns his head but says nothing right away. You add, “I just thought you should know.” He finally speaks. “You don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” you cut in gently. “I want to.”

You take a breath. “I’ve known him for years. We weren’t a couple or anything, but we are close friends. I always thought that maybe… one day, I’d tell him how I felt. I even had this dumb plan. There’s this little cafe in town that we always went to. I thought that would be the place.” You paused. “But the moment never came because this marriage happened and now… It’s something I keep in the back of my head.” You glance at him, offering a tired smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve never entertained him, and I've never tried to reach out that way. I’m married now. I take that seriously.” You turned to look at the people passing by. “Anyway, that’s that.” Jungwon doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then he speaks, “I meant it, you know… what I said before. Don’t break your own heart on my account.”

“I’m not,” you say softly. “It’s already been agreed, hasn’t it? Three months. We go home, thank our parents for the opportunity, and then part ways. No drama at all.” He nods. You can feel him watching you, even if you’re both facing the sea. “But still,” you continue, “I take this seriously. You are my husband, Jungwon. I won’t pretend it means nothing just because there’s an end date. That’s not who I am.”

“I never told Sunghoon,” you murmur. “I never even hinted. It wasn’t his fault, and I didn’t want him to carry the weight of something that was never his to hold. I buried it the moment our parents showed us the marriage contract.” Jungwon is finally taking off his sunglasses. He sets them down beside him. His eyes meet yours, and they’re impossibly kind. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

“I know,” you answer. “But I did because you were standing beside me that day, because our parents were so proud and because… if I had screamed, begged, or run away, I wouldn’t have been me anymore.” Then Jungwon’s voice breaks it, “I think that’s what makes you strong, you know. Not how you hold everything together, but how you do it without making anyone else feel small.”

“I don’t want to make you feel like a placeholder, Jungwon,” you admit. “Even if we both know how this ends. These months, they’re not pretending to me.”

“I know,” he says, and there’s no mockery, no distance. “They’re not pretending to me either. Almost as if it needs to be said,”

you add, “I want us to leave this with respect. With good memories. So when we tell them it’s over… it won’t be because we hated it.”

Jungwon smiles faintly. “Then let’s make these three months count.”

You nodded at his response.

💍

The marriage, of course, was never about love. It was about two powerful families, two last names inked on contracts. Your parents, who are ambitious and strategic, saw opportunity. The wedding was just a ceremony, but the alliance? That was the real deal. Your parents told you it can be temporary if you want to, but they wanted you to try it and be with him for a while. A show of unity. A merging of two empires that could dissolve just as easily as it came together, once the timing was right.

If the divorce goes through on time, nothing collapses. No one loses face. Both families can say they tried. It will all be written off as a necessary step in building a stronger future, whatever that means.

But what no one accounted for was what might happen in between. What it means to live beside someone you barely know. To sleep next to someone. To hear their thoughts unfiltered. To witness their habits. Three months sounded easy. But living them? That’s something else entirely.

One Week Later

The honeymoon was alright. Jungwon, to his credit, made it easy. He was thoughtful, not pushy. He was laid-back, which balanced out your guarded nature. He didn’t try to force anything. No tension, no fake affection just for appearances, and in a strange way, that made you respect him more. But after a week, it has now come. A black car waited for you both outside the villa. The engine purring as you stepped out with your luggage, the staff politely bowing one last time. You went into the backseat beside Jungwon to look again at the familiar hotel.

The ride to the new house took hours.

The driver pulled up to the estate gates. It wasn’t just big. It was designed. It was too perfect to feel like home yet. Everything was pristine. You stood in the foyer, your luggage by your side, Jungwon beside you. “Well,” he murmured, looking at you, “we made it. Home sweet… investment.” You smiled and appreciated the dry humor. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Let’s mess it up a little.” He walked ahead, wheeling his luggage toward the upstairs hallway. “You get first pick. Main bedroom or the one with the balcony?”

“You’re not taking the master?” you said, confused.

He shrugged. “I don’t need the biggest room to prove anything. Go where you’ll feel more comfortable.” You ended up choosing the one with the pretty view, not the master. He took the other without comment.

💍

You were still technically married, but you had separate rooms and routines.

For days, mornings became alright. He cooked surprisingly well. You helped him clean. He asked you things, not out of obligation, but curiosity. Your favorite music. Whether you like rainy days, nights are more at peace. Sometimes, he came home from a work dinner or family obligation, and the two of you would sit on the floor in the living room, with leftovers in between.

It was… nice

You saw him brushing his teeth. His hair is a little messy. You saw him tired. You saw him annoyed. You saw him with his tie undone, complaining about a phone call. And you realized…This is what it means to live with someone, not just in the same space but in the same life.

Besides that, you never knew if Sunghoon loved you back. That was the part that stung the most. You had loved him for so long, and now, married, the timing was gone. You weren’t sure what you would be waiting for if the three-month agreement expired. Some invisible green light? A chance to pick up where you left off? But even that thought made you feel sick. Was it still respectful? Would it be too soon? Would it be cruel? You didn’t know what Sunghoon felt. Perhaps he had someone else by now. Maybe the version of him you were in love with was just a perfect memory built from the safety of what never was. You had no right to be angry, but you were hurting anyway.

So you made a promise to yourself: You wouldn’t confess. Not unless it still felt right. Not unless your heart didn’t feel like it was cheating on someone who had only ever been kind to you. Jungwon.

But while married, you didn’t let yourself spiral into daydreams anymore. Not about Paris with Sunghoon. Not about mornings, surprise confessions, or the slow realization that he had been in love with you all along. That story belonged to another version of you. One who didn’t get arranged into someone else’s life.

💍

You didn’t plan on getting this comfortable with Jungwon. It started with the afternoons when he knocked twice on your door before walking in as if he lived there. “Your room gets the better light,” he said one day, already settling on your carpet with his laptop and a bowl of cereal. You gave him a look of judgment. “There’s a whole house, Jungwon.”

“But your room smells of human life,” he grinned while gesturing to your candle. “Mine smells like wet paint and depression.” You should’ve kicked him out. You didn’t, sigh. Eventually, your schedules tangled. He worked where you worked. He started leaving socks under your coffee table. You started stealing his oversized hoodies on rainy mornings. One Wednesday, you both called in sick, though neither was ill. You both didn’t feel like facing the world. Instead, you lie in the living room, side by side with snacks between you, watching bad movies and trading horror stories about your high school years. “I had a bad perm in ninth grade,” Jungwon confessed and winced. You turned your head slowly, already grinning. “No way.”

“It’s true,” he groaned. “It was a nightmare.”

You nearly choked on your popcorn. “Please. I need photos for blackmail.”

“That’s classified information,” he said, snatching the bowl away but laughing too.

It wasn’t love, it was nice, whatever this was. This warm, lazy comfort. He started learning your habits. You hated how the faucet dripped at night, so he twisted it tight, and you couldn’t stand shoes on the carpet. You never talked about the divorce again. One night, the power cut out while you were halfway through a shower. You screamed. From outside, Jungwon yelled, “Are you dead?”

“No, but you better light candles before I leave here in the dark.” You found him in the kitchen later with a flashlight under his chin. “I’m the ghost of arranged marriages,” he said spookily. You nearly slipped again from laughing so hard. Later, the two of you sat on the counter eating leftover rice, candlelight between you. “Do you ever think about after?” you asked, picking at your food. “Like… what happens when we divorce?”

He looked at you for a long moment, then looked down. “Sometimes,” he said quietly. “But I try not to. It feels like ruining something that’s not broken yet.”

You agreed.

By week four, Jungwon insisted on making the other room into a “cringe cinema room.” You let him. “You’re annoying, you know,” you said one evening, watching him struggle to mount a projector on the ceiling. “And you’re bossy, but I put up with you anyway,” he said, dangling from a step ladder. He jumped down with a grin, brushing his hands on his pants. “I’m your husband, after all.”

You rolled your eyes. “Temporary.”

“It still counts,” he smirked, lightly bumping your shoulder. You bumped him back harder. This feels more like friends hanging out with each other than a marriage.

💍

It was around 11 p.m. You were drying the plates. Jungwon was wiping the table. “You didn’t show up to lunch.”

You kept your eyes on the dish in your hand. “I told you I might not make it.”

“You said you’d try.”

“I did try,” you said. “My meeting ran late.”

He muttered. “It felt like I was waiting for nothing.”

You finally looked at him. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to leave you hanging.”

His arms crossed. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one putting effort into this.”

You set the plate down. “What?”

“Isn’t it?” he asked. “I make time, I show up. You’re always somewhere else.”

“That’s not true.”

“It feels true.”

You stared at him. “You think I want that? You think I always choose between what matters and what also matters?”

He didn’t answer right away. “I wish I didn’t always come second.”

You scoffed. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have married someone like me.”

“Well, I didn’t have a choice, did I?” He didn’t meet your eyes. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” So this is what it feels like to argue as a married couple? You swear it was much worse whenever your parents fight. It was terrifying lol.

💍

You weren’t exactly mad at Jungwon. Not anymore, at least, and you were pretty sure he wasn’t angry at you either, but something about the air between you both felt compressed. It was the day after your first proper argument, and it left a weird taste in your mouth. Neither of you had yelled, but you’d both walked away a little bruised.

Now, at the grocery store, he pushed the cart ahead of you. He was focused and was scanning the list with his brows furrowed, checking items off as he placed them neatly into the cart. You, on the other hand, were walking behind while munching on a tiny food sample. You weren’t helping at all, and you knew it.

You even ducked into the seafood aisle to grab another round of free crackers and cheese. Yes, you were being passive-aggressive and maybe a little mean, but when Jungwon glanced behind and didn’t find you, he sighed slightly but loud enough for you to hear from two shelves away. You didn’t say anything when you rejoined him, though you did place a pack of overpriced chocolate cereal into the cart without asking. He glanced at it, then at you. You met his eyes, chewing. “What?” you asked with your mouth full. He shook. “Nothing.”

You strolled on. The whole trip went like that with minimal words, plenty of sighs, and a few eye rolls (from you). It was a sort of stubbornness between two people still figuring out what their closeness was supposed to look like. At checkout, you stood beside him silently as he paid.

The drive back was more of the same. You sat with your legs crossed and head leaned against the window, but then he pulled the car over to a spot by the curb. You looked over, confused. He put the car in park and turned to you. “Look at me.” You hesitated, but then you did. “I’m not good at this,” he admitted softly. “And I’m sorry,” he continued. “I didn’t want to make you feel unheard last night. I didn’t mean to be cold.”

Your heart is pinching a little. “You weren’t cold. I think I took it that way because I was scared of where the conversation might go.” His expression softened. “Yeah?” You nodded. “Yeah.” He leaned back in his seat. “Marriage is weird.” Which made you laugh a little. “Tell me about it.”

He reached into one of the grocery bags in the back seat and pulled something out. He handed you the chocolate cereal. Oh, you thought he put it back on the shelf because it was overpriced. You stared at it. “Really?”

“You’re annoying when you don’t help,” he said. “But you looked like you needed it.” You smiled, holding the box close to your chest. “Thanks,” you muttered. “Also… sorry for disappearing and going on the samples instead.”

He smiled. “You didn’t even get the good ones.”

“I panicked,” you replied. “It’s a very high-pressure situation.”

He shook his head while chuckling, then he looked at you again. “So… are we okay?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah”

“That’s good.”

With that, he pulled the car back onto the road.

💍

It was past midnight when you knocked on Jungwon’s door. You stood outside his room awkwardly, hugging your arms, your phone clutched tightly in one hand. Jungwon opened the door a second later, obviously having just woken up. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice husky.

You hesitated. “Um. Yeah. I accidentally watched a video.”

“A video,” he repeated, and a smirk appeared on his lips. “Was it a ghost video? Did you get scared?” You were embarrassed to answer, shifting on your feet.

“haha…’’

He raised a brow. You groaned softly, whispering, “Yes.” He chuckled. “You’re such a baby.”

“I didn’t mean to watch it! It popped up, and the thumbnail was like a little cartoon, so I clicked it and then boom! Screaming, a floating girl, creepy stairs! Now I think I’m cursed or something, and every time I close my eyes, I feel like she’s there…..”

He said. “It’s not that big of a deal. You’re overreacting.”

“She was floating, Jungwon.”

He sighed, stepping aside. “Come in, you big baby.” You hurried inside, brushing past him and making a beeline for his bed. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered, closing the door. “You can’t sleep unless you’re two inches from me, big baby?”

You were already crawling under his blanket. “Two inches is generous.”

He rolled his eyes as he walked over. “I don’t know why I keep letting you in here.”

You looked up at him from under the blanket, eyes wide. “Because you secretly care.” He snorted but didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned off the light and went under the covers, settling beside you. You flopped right next to him, practically burrowed into his side. “Seriously?” he said, voice muffled by the pillow. “This close?” You didn’t respond. “You’re pressing into my ribs.” Still nothing. He looked down. “Hey. Are you… scared?” You nodded once, not meeting his eyes.

He stared at you for a second, without another word, lifted his arm, and opened the blanket wider. You didn’t hesitate. You snuggled even closer, your head resting near his chest. “…You’re so warm,” you murmured.

“You’re trembling,” he muttered, a little worried now. He let his arm rest around you, hesitantly at first, then fully wrapping you up. “Geez. How bad was that video?”

“Bad,” you whispered. “I hate mirrors now.”

He couldn’t help it, so he laughed. “Hey,” you said, voice muffled against his shirt. “Stop laughing. You’re supposed to protect me.”

“Right, right,” he said, still smiling. “I forgot that’s in my marriage vows.”

“You didn’t say vows.”

“Okay, then I’m freelancing them.”

You pulled the blanket tighter, eyes fluttering shut. He said softly. “You can sleep here whenever, you know that, right?”

You replied. “Yeah. Thanks.” Then you added, “Don’t float above me when I sleep, okay?”

“Not unless I’m cursed too.”

You cracked a smile. “Deal.” And soon enough, the scary images faded, replaced by warmth and comfort.

💍

You didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. In fact, last night, you had planned to stay on your side of Jungwon’s bed quietly, but sometime between murmured jokes and your hundredth check of the bedroom mirror, you must’ve fully passed out, and now, well…

The sunlight was starting to peek in when Jungwon woke up slowly. He squinted at the light, yawned, then frowned, realizing his arm had gone numb. That was because your entire body was sprawled across him. One leg was tossed over his. Your arm was flung across his chest, your face smushed unflatteringly near his collarbone, and you snored. He stared down at you. “…Seriously?” You didn’t move.

He moved a little to relieve the weight on his arm, but you grunted and pressed your face into his shoulder. He looked at the ceiling in disbelief. “I let you stay one night,” he muttered, deadpan. “One night.” You snored louder. He sighed, but there was no real irritation behind it. In fact, after a few seconds, his lips turned into a tired little smile. Carefully, he reached up with his free hand and lightly poked your cheek. Nothing. He poked again. “Wake up, big baby.”

“Mmmgh,” you groaned into his shirt.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re snoring directly into my soul.”

“Stop…” you were still half-asleep. “You’re so loud…”

“I’m not the one drooling on someone else’s chest right now.”

At that, your eyes finally fluttered open, mortified. You slowly looked up, realizing just how close you were. He looked back at you, face neutral. You smiled sheepishly. “…Good morning?” A tiny, amused smile returned from him. “Morning. You want to get off of me, or are you planning to rent this space monthly?” You made a face, immediately rolling away with a groan, face burning. “I swear I didn’t mean to-”

He sat up, rubbing his arm. “I can’t feel my bicep anymore.”

“I get it! I’m sorry, okay?!” You buried yourself in the blanket, completely humiliated. He chuckled as he stood and stretched. “You’re lucky I like sleepovers,” he added over his shoulder as he walked to the bathroom. You peeked out from under the covers, watching him go. “I still hate mirrors, though,” you muttered. You heard him call back from the bathroom, “Then stop snoring at them.”

After a while,

You were still on Jungwon’s bed while you were on your phone. The embarrassment from waking up on top of him had faded, replaced by your usual comfort. It was one of those unbothered days where nothing was urgent. You giggled softly at your phone. Jungwon, sitting by the desk, checking emails, turned his gaze to you. “What’s got you smiling?”

You didn’t look up. “I’m texting my friend group.” He hummed, going back to tapping his keyboard. Then, you got another message. Your phone buzzed with a new image. You opened it, and your eyes lit up. “Aww!”

Jungwon peeked again. “Wifey?” he called you casually. “Who’s making you giggle now?” You turned your screen toward him without thinking. “Sunghoon sent me a picture of him and his dog. Look, isn’t his dog so- wait…”You stopped mid-sentence, suddenly realizing something.

Jungwon asked. “Sunghoon?”

You sat up. “I just realized, I never showed you what he looks like, right?” He raised an eyebrow, slowly walking over. You handed him your phone and watched his face. His face was neutral, though something was a little unreadable in his eyes as he studied the photo: Sunghoon smiling beside a fluffy, seemingly French poodle.

Jungwon nodded once. “So that’s Sunghoon.”

“Mhm,” you said, still not noticing the weird subtle behavior. “He always sends random dog pictures. Honestly, he’s so in love with his dog, it’s insane.” Jungwon handed your phone back with face unchanged. “Cute dog.”

You smiled. “Right?” He nodded and returned to his desk, sliding into his chair smoothly. You were still smiling at the picture, busy typing a reply, when he glanced over again.

💍

You didn’t expect much from the dinner. It was only a formal family gathering with you and Jungwon’s parents. The marriage had always been meant to be temporary, something your parents knew. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement that allowed both families to settle business matters and give you “a companion” in the meantime. Your parents had reassured you: “If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t have to last.” You were never pushed to fall in love.

After a long while in the marriage, their perspective seemed to change after closeness was shown. “You’re glowing these days,” his mom said to you with a knowing smile. I remember how hesitant you were initially, but look at you now.”

You tried not to stiffen. “Oh- really?”

“She’s right,” your mom joined in, nodding. “We were saying how natural you two seem. It’s so lovely to see.”

Natural? Your dad chuckled. “We always believed that with time, you’d both give this marriage a fair chance, and now look! It looks like it’s going to last forever.” Jungwon gave a polite smile. “We’re… figuring things out.” You nodded, matching his energy. “It’s still early, but we’re doing okay.”

“More than okay,” your mom said cheerily. “You’re so in sync! Honestly, I think you’ve found the one.”You took a sip of your drink, to avoid answering and partly to recover from the statement. You saw Jungwon do the same. Then came the kicker. “Well,” his dad said, pouring himself another drink, “If you’re not planning to end things anytime soon… maybe we’ll meet a grandchild sooner than we thought?”

You choked. Jungwon choked. Everyone else laughed. You leaned toward him, whispering behind your glass, “Tell me you heard that too.”

“I wish I didn’t,” he muttered.

His mom waved her hand. “Don’t look so startled! We’re just happy. The two of you seem so in love these days. It’s not like how it started.”

Your mom nodded in agreement. “It’s like fate, honestly.” You and Jungwon exchanged a glance. You weren’t sure if it was panic or confusion. You plastered on a smile. “That’s very sweet, mom.”Jungwon added, “We’re grateful for everything.” They seemed satisfied with that. The conversation continued, but you could feel Jungwon’s foot bump lightly against yours under the table, like a “what just happened?”. Later, in the kitchen, you were washing dishes beside him, still stunned. “Did they just rewrite our whole backstory?” you asked, handing him a plate.

“Apparently, we’re in love,” he said, drying it. “Didn’t you get the memo?”

“I missed it. It must’ve been in the fine print.”

He chuckled. “Well… we didn’t exactly deny it.”

You smirked. “Yeah. You sold it with your half-nod and existential panic.”

He bumped your shoulder with his. “Hey- you’re the one who turned pink.”

You groaned. “I can’t believe we almost got baby-trapped.”

“We survived,” he said.

“Barely.”

💍

It had been a long day because of an accidental detour into a sketchy back alley thanks to Jungwon’s “shortcut,” and a tragically wrong drive-thru order. You were both tired, delirious, and running on caffeine and sarcasm. You were crouched near the car while Jungwon struggled to fit the last bag into the trunk. “Do you think if I die here, the coroner will be like, ‘Cause of death: rice bag to the face’?” he said.

You looked up at him. “I think they’d say natural causes because you’ve always been naturally stupid.”

He turned slowly. “Oh?”

You grinned. He pointed at you. “This from the same person who waved at a mannequin today.”

“IT WAS WEARING A HAT AND HAD POSTURE.”

Jungwon crouched beside you now. “You were like, ‘Hi- oh.’ And then you bowed to it. You bowed.”You smacked his arm. “I was being polite!” That set you both off. You were clutching your stomach, while he wheezed beside you. “I can’t breathe-” you gasped. He wiped his eye. “I heard you say ‘excuse me’ to the clothing rack after bumping into it.”

“I have MANNERS!” You both dissolved into uncontrollable laughter again, collapsing against the car. People passed by, giving you strange looks, but you were too far gone to care.

“HIHAHAHA snortt BWAHA’’

‘’NYAHAHAHAHIHIHI’’

“It’s been a long day,” he said solemnly.

You nodded, then whispered between laughs, “I hate you.”

“I hate you more.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Okay, but did you hear how ugly your laugh is?”

“BITCH, YOU SOUND LIKE A COUGHING BROOM.”

That was it again. Jungwon collapsed forward, wheezing, as you completely gave up and rolled back onto the pavement. A passing old couple stared at the two of you and walked away scared. Neither of you noticed. You were gripping each other’s arms with bodies shaking with laughter, faces red and aching. “I’m gonna throw up,” you managed.

“Same,” Jungwon said, wiping a tear. “This is how we die.”

ya’ll are weird as fuck.

💍

It had been a week. Nothing big had happened, but it hit you. You hadn’t thought about Sunghoon in a while. Not that you were trying not to. He used to cross your mind so naturally. It was a familiar habit of yours before the marriage began. Before, you would wonder what he’d think of your new shoes, or remember an old joke and smile alone, but this past week? You were laughing too hard with Jungwon, arguing over who left the fridge slightly open and other silly things. You were in this strange, growing space you two had built. And when your phone lit up with a message from Sunghoon that night, which he sent a funny joke, you smiled, but not the one before. Not the smile that stayed. Not the one that used to warm you all over.

You only tapped the screen and locked it again. Jungwon came out of the bathroom, hair damp and in his comfy clothes. “You good?” You nodded. “Yeah.” He sat next to you on the couch, reaching for the chips between you. “What’s with that face?” You tilted your head. “What face?”

“That one,” he pointed, smirking. “You seem like you just had a life crisis.” You snorted. “Maybe I did.”

“Want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

“Okay.” He popped a chip in his mouth and stared at the screen. “Wanna watch something stupid?”

“Absolutely.”

💍

It was one of those usual afternoons when everything felt alright as always. You and Jungwon were walking side by side and sipping iced drinks. You two were bumping shoulders every few steps. You had just come out of the bookstore; instead, he dragged you out before you bought another copy of a book you already owned. “You’re insane,” he said, pointing at the bag in your hand. “You already have that book.”

“This one has a different cover,” you argued, “and you wouldn’t get it. It’s for the vibe.” Jungwon groaned mockingly. “You know what? Next time I see that book in your room, I’m stealing it.” You laughed. “Joke’s on you. I’ll buy another.” He rolled his eyes but smiled. It was easy with him: the teasing and the walking. You were halfway through telling him that your teacher mistakenly called you a different name when someone behind you suddenly shouted your name.

“(Name)? OH MY GO-,” came a familiar voice. You barely had time to react before arms wrapped around you and your feet lifted off the ground. “Sunghoon?” you gasped, still mid-air. He twirled you once, laughing, before setting you down. “I knew that was you! You haven’t changed one bit!”

You looked at him, surprised. “It’s not that long-”

“No, it’s too long,” he said, holding onto your shoulders. “Goodness, it’s so good to see you.” His eyes scanned your face. “You look good…suspiciously good. Your happily ever after been smooth so far?” You laughed awkwardly and respond. “I guess so.” He smirked. “I’m still mad I never got to see you in a white dress, by the way. I had tissues ready to cry in the front row and everything.”

You playfully pushed his arm. “Shut up.” Then he glanced to the side, finally noticing the figure standing a few steps back. “Oh,” Sunghoon said. “You’re- Jungwon, right?” Jungwon gave a slight nod, stepping forward. “Yeah. You’re Sunghoon, right?” They hadn’t met before, but they knew of each other well, because of you.

Sunghoon stuck his hand out with a bright smile. “It’s good to meet you finally, man. I’ve heard a lot.” Jungwon shook it. “Same here.” There was something calm and nice with how Jungwon said it, but if you were paying attention, it was kinda odd.

Sunghoon looked between the two of you again. “You two look good together,” he said happily. “Better than I imagined.” You smiled and couldn’t tell if your heart was beating from the compliment or the pressure. Jungwon nodded once, his face unreadable. “Thanks, man.”

“Anyway,” Sunghoon said, stepping back, “it’s crazy bumping into you like this. Are you two heading somewhere?”

“We were just walking,” you said.

“Right, well- guess I’ll let you go,” Sunghoon said, slowly. “It was nice seeing you again, seriously.” He didn’t hug you again this time, but only gave you that soft, warm smile he always had. “Take care, alright? Both of you.”

“You too,” you said.

Then you and Jungwon turned and walked away. You didn’t speak for the first few seconds. Something felt weird with Jungwon. Then Jungwon reached over, grabbed your drink, and took a sip. “Hey!” you said, laughing.

“I needed sugar,” he muttered. “Besides, yours tastes better.” You scoffed at him. “That’s your excuse for everything.”

Though, back at the car, it felt kinda awkward. You glanced at Jungwon. You could see his jaw was tight. He hadn’t said much since you both returned from running into Sunghoon. You turned the music down even more. “What’s up with you?” you asked. Jungwon muttered, “Nothing.” You raised a brow. “Really? You’ve been acting weird since we left.”

“I’m just tired.”

You scoffed. “Tired?” Your entire body turned to him. “Seriously? What is your deal?”

“I don’t have a deal,” he said quickly.

“Okay, then why are you being so quiet?”

“I’m always quiet.”

you shot back. “This isn’t quiet, this is- I don’t know, sulking.” That got a reaction. Jungwon let out a humorless laugh. “So now I’m sulking?”

“I’m saying- if something’s wrong, you can say it. I’m not gonna bite.”

He turned down a side street. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know! Did seeing someone from my past make you uncomfortable? Or did you not like how close we used to be? Or that you hated how he hugged me or talked about the marriage?-anything.”

“It’s not my place to hate anything,” Jungwon said.

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He glanced at you. “It means I don’t have the right to say anything. We’re not- this isn’t like that.”

You stared at him. “Wow. Okay.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like-”

You shook your head, cutting him off. “No, it’s fine. We’re not anything. Got it.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said again, but there was more frustration. “I meant that whatever I’m feeling shouldn’t even matter.”

“It does matter! You’ve been acting off since that run-in. Don’t act like you’re fine.”

Jungwon pulled over near the side of the road and parked the car. “Look,” he started, “it’s not about Sunghoon. When he showed up, it felt as if I was watching someone walk into a memory I wasn’t part of, and it hit me how little time I’ve had to get to know you, even though we’ve been stuck together for a while now.”

you said, “You think I know everything about you?”

“That’s not what I’m saying-”

“You don’t know a thing about me either,” you snapped. “And you’re the one who barely talks about yourself.”

“Well, I’m trying not to cross a line!”

“What line is that, Jungwon?” your voice rising. “I feel like we’ve already crossed a few, haven’t we?”

“This whole thing is confusing,” he said finally. “I didn’t ask for any of it, and neither did you, and I’m trying, but today, it messed with my head.”

“Well, don’t take that out on me.”

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are,” you said. “I’m tired of tiptoeing around you. Every time something important comes up, you shut down.”

“Every time I try to say something honest, you twist it!”

You stared at him. “You know what? Just drive.”

He clenched his jaw. “Fine.”

The rest of the ride was quiet again.

When you got home, you didn’t even take off your shoes. Jungwon was already behind you, just as silent as he’d been in the car. You tossed your bag onto the couch, then turned on your heel. “Are you gonna tell me what that was back there?” you snapped. “Or are we just gonna sit silently until it eats us alive?”

Jungwon replied. “What what was?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said sarcastically. “You're going quiet the second Sunghoon showed up. You’re acting like I committed a crime by talking to an old friend.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think I was mad about him?”

“Weren’t you?”

“No,” he snapped. “I was mad because you acted as if I wasn’t even there.” to which, you scoffed. Jungwon said. “You laughed, you twirled, you hugged.”

“You’re not my real husband, Jungwon!” you blurted. “We both know this is fake!”

And everything stopped. You regretted them the second they left your mouth, but it was too late. Jungwon’s face became more unreadable. “Right,” he said slowly. “I forgot. Three months, right?”

You stuttered. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said bitterly. “You’re just saying what we both agreed on.”

You hated the way your chest ached. “It didn’t have to be like this.”

He looked away. “Perhaps it shouldn’t have been anything at all,” he added, “Sometimes I wonder why I even said yes.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it,” he said. “I should’ve just said no. I should’ve told my mom I wasn’t interested in playing house with a stranger.”

“Wow,” you whispered, holding back the tears. “You know what’s funny? I thought we were starting to get along.”

He shook his head. “That’s the problem. We let it be genuine for a second, and now we’re here.”

You were stunned, hurt, furious, all at once. “Well, maybe you should start packing,” you said coldly. “There’s no point waiting three months if you regret it.” You walked away after. This time, you shut your bedroom door gently, because slamming it would’ve made it too final, where you meant every word you said. Deep down, you didn’t, but none of that mattered tonight.

💍

He was gone. There was no goodbye. His closet emptied. You were in the doorway for longer than you should’ve, waiting for something to tell you this wasn’t real. Perhaps a leftover jacket, a single shoe, or his scent, but nothing. You walked into the living room, feeling as if it were a foreign ground. The couch sat untouched. The blanket you always fought over is still folded neatly where you left it. You sat down, staring at the wall, wishing it might give you an answer. You didn’t realize you were crying until the first tear fell onto your shirt.

He wasn’t supposed to mean anything. That was the deal. Three months. After that, a handshake, a thank you, and you both go back to the lives you were meant to live. This marriage was never real, but somehow, he’d slipped into the cracks of your routine. You loved it when he left his mug near the sink instead of inside it. You loved it when he dried your umbrella, even when you forgot to. You loved it when he waited for you to unlock the door first, even when he had the spare key.

You’d picked up things about him without meaning to, and now you kept walking into rooms, expecting to find him there. You told yourself over and over that this wasn’t love. It was only comfort, but you felt the truth crawling to you in the emptiness.

He was never just a guest in your life. He became part of it. You missed hearing his footsteps. You missed his voice through the bathroom door. You missed the stupid way he argued about where the cereal belonged. You didn’t love him from the start. You weren’t even sure when it began, but he started making your world feel softer one day. He made silence feel safe. He made loneliness feel full. He made you feel seen, even on the days you didn’t want to be.

But he was gone. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, not with him leaving before you figured out how much he meant. Not before you could say, “Don’t go,” because you would’ve said it if only he had stayed long enough to hear.

💍

You weren’t expecting her, but she came. It was always what mothers did when everything was already broken beyond repair. You heard the knock on the door, and it felt like she was a stranger asking to be let into your ruin. You should’ve kept it locked, but you opened it anyway. She stepped in without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes scanned the place, and she knew. Jungwon wasn’t there. “I’ve been calling,” she said gently.

You didn’t look at her. “I know.”

“I thought I’d come by to check on you.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Check if the house you married me into is still standing?”

She winced. “Honey, please.”

“No,” you said, turning to her now, voice rising, “You never meant anything, right? You didn’t mean to marry me off as if I were a pawn. You didn’t mean for it to feel like I was auctioned off to someone you thought could keep me in line. You didn’t mean for me to end up in a house where he’s gone and I’m here swallowing the silence.” She flinched, but you were already spiraling. “You made me believe this would be fine, that I’d grow into it. That I’d learn to like him. That love could come after.” Then you said it with full force,

“But I did love him.”

You kept speaking, “I loved how he brushed his teeth with the door open, how he’d mumble when he was tired. I even loved how he took up too much space in his bed. We agreed to have separate rooms, but despite that, I would end up sleeping beside him. I loved it when it made the house feel less lonely.”

Your voice cracked. “I waited for him to come home every night, even when we were fighting. I kept counting the days to the end of the three months as if it were a joke.” You looked up now, at your mother. “But I wasn’t laughing.” You swallowed hard. “I hate you for putting me in this, but more than that… I hate myself because I walked into this marriage ready to leave, but somewhere along the way, I fell. Slowly and pathetically. I fell.”

Her face had crumpled, but you didn’t stop. “Now he’s gone, just like we had agreed on, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get to tell him that I didn’t want it to end.” Tears blurred your eyes. “I didn’t want to be free. Please, not from him.” You collapsed into the heartbreak and loving someone too late. Your mother, who started it all, couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch her daughter mourn a man who was never supposed to matter but did.

Then, her shoulders started to shake. You’d never seen your mother cry before, but now, she was trembling in your living room, hands covering her face, lips quivering around the words she couldn’t seem to find fast enough. “I’m so sorry…” she whispered. “I’m so- so sorry.” She moved closer, unsure, until she gently wrapped her arms around you. She was holding her daughter for the first time in years.

You let yourself lean into her, into the familiarity of her perfume. Letting into the embrace you didn’t realize you still needed. “I didn’t know,” she whispered into your hair. “I thought I was doing what was best. I thought- I didn’t know it would hurt you. I thought you’d walk away untouched.”

You pulled back slightly to look at her tear-stained face. Your voice was hollow. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” She brushed your hair back gently. “Then don’t decide today,” she murmured. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to be okay right now.”

You said. “I miss him and I don’t even know if he wants to return.”

Your mother held your face with both hands. “Then you wait.”

You bit your lip while the tears threatened to spill again. “I don’t want it to be over.”

She nodded. “Don’t let it be.” You let yourself cry into someone’s arms for the first time in days, not because it fixed anything, but because it meant you weren’t alone in it anymore. If only there were still time to rewrite the ending.

💍

You hadn’t meant to go out with hair messy and sweater sleeves stretched from pulling at them. The cafe bell jingled above your head, and you barely looked up as you stepped inside, hoping for something warm. When suddenly- “Hey!” You turned your head slowly. Sunghoon stood a few steps away and was holding his drink. His smile faded the moment his eyes saw you. “Whoa- hey…” he stepped forward instantly. “What’s wrong?” Before you could respond, before you could even lie, he pulled you into a hug. He felt you tremble, but he said nothing. He only held you tighter and murmured, “Let’s go somewhere quiet, yeah?”

You ended up at a place no one looked twice at. It was a lonely time between day and night.

“I don’t know where to start,” you said.

“Anywhere,” Sunghoon replied. “I’ll listen.”

“It was an arranged marriage.”

He widened his eyes. “Wait… what?”

“Me and Jungwon,” you said. “It was never ours. Well, not in the beginning. Our families put it together for status and legacy.” You swallowed. “We agreed to divorce. I was the one who wanted to divorce immediately after we got married. He agreed. Three months of marriage and then divorce.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.

“I didn’t know how to,” you continued. “Before the marriage even happened… I was going to confess something else.”

His brows furrowed. “Confess?”

“I was in love with you.” The words came out before you could stop them. You felt Sunghoon freeze beside you. “What?” he said softly.

“I was in love with you,” you repeated. “It was back then before everything got so… twisted.” You laughed, but it wasn’t happy. “I wanted to tell you. I planned to, but before I could… the marriage happened.” You hugged yourself tighter, your tears threatening to return. “I didn’t know how to act around you after that. I didn’t want to disrespect him or you. So, I backed away. I started texting you less and more casually than before. I thought it was the right thing.”

Sunghoon nodded slowly. “I noticed.”

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled. “Something else happened, too,” you whispered. “Somewhere in all of this, I fell for him.” You closed your eyes. “He has this way of making everything feel like it matters…Like I matter. I don’t even know when it happened. I woke up one day and realized I was different. I’d been slowly filled up with someone else’s presence, and suddenly, it hurt to imagine being without him.”Tears stung again, but you didn’t fight them this time. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. We agreed to divorce after three months. That was the deal. That’s all it ever was supposed to be, but now… I don’t know what to do.”

You looked up at Sunghoon then, finally. “I’m sorry. For dragging you into this, being silent, and not telling you sooner.”

Sunghoon slowly reached out and pulled you into his arms. It wasn’t romantic, but it was full of warmth from him. “I’m sorry too for not knowing,” he murmured. You pressed your face into his shoulder. He pulled back to look at you. “You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here,” he said. “That means something.”

You gave a broken laugh. “It doesn’t feel like I’m here.”

“You are.” His eyes were kind. “Even if this isn’t how you imagined things… you’re stronger than you think.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

He gave a smile. “Always here for you, as your friend.”

💍

You told yourself you were ready. You had rehearsed what you would say if he ever walked through that door again a hundred times, how you’d stay composed. How you’d look him in the eye and not flinch, but when he came back, you didn't know what to do when Jungwon appeared past the front door threshold. You had just placed the divorce papers on the console table. Your hand was still resting on top of them. “I didn’t think I’d still be able to open the door,” he said.

Seeing him again, your heart stuttered. For a second, everything you had planned to say disappeared. You were left staring at him, scared that this was it and this would be the last time. What if everything you told them now wouldn’t fix it? What if no matter how much you poured out, he had already closed the door, without slamming it, and you never noticed?

Finally, you took the courage to say what you needed to say. “I’m sorry,” you blurted. “I know that’s too late, but I’m still saying it. I’m sorry for what I said that night and what I didn’t say after. I’m sorry I acted like you didn’t matter to me when all I ever did was care. You’ve been my person for so long that I didn’t know how to be mad at you without breaking my heart.”

“I’m sorry for making you feel alone,” you continued. “I’m sorry for shutting you out when I should’ve let you in, and I’m sorry I ever made you doubt how much I love you.” But you are confused… He was smiling. Your brow furrowed. “Why are you smiling? Are you taking this seriously? Are you… happy that we’re done?” Because you weren’t. You were still in the middle of loving him. Was this too late?

“I’m not smiling because I’m happy,” he replied. “I’m smiling because you’re still here and I still have a chance to see you speak to me instead of walking away.”

You couldn’t speak. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “I saw them,” he finally said, eyes toward the papers. “You left them in the mail pile with your signature already there.” You didn’t respond. “I know what that means,” he said. “You were ready to let me go.”

“I read it three times,” he murmured. “I was supposed to sign and send it back.” You turned away. You weren’t ready to hear his voice again, not when you had just begun to believe that maybe you could live without it, until- I couldn’t,” he said, a little more broken this time. “I couldn’t pick up a pen and say goodbye to you. I couldn’t erase you from my life.”

“I thought staying away would help and hurt less for both of us, but it didn’t,” he said. “It made everything worse. It made me realize that I wasn’t waking up missing you. I was waking up and forgetting how to function without you. My mind still expected your voice from the next room. My hands still reached for yours in the dark.”

“I didn’t come here to convince you of anything,” he said softly. “I came here because there’s not a day that’s passed where I haven’t thought about you, about the sound of your voice when you’re talking about something you love, your laugh when you’re half-asleep, how you look at me when you’re proud, or angry, or hurt. I remember all of it.”

The tears welled up again. You turned your head, embarrassed, but he was already there. He crossed the last steps between you and gently touched your face. His thumb wiped at the tear before it fell entirely. “No, don’t,” he whispered. “Please don’t cry.” You couldn’t help it because he still remembered how to be gentle with you even after everything. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, but you shouldn’t have to be strong with me. Not anymore,” he whispered.

He cradled your face in both hands now. “I want everything,” he said. “I want your silence, shouting, worst days, and best. I want your sleepy mornings and your furious nights. I want the parts of you that love without asking, and the parts that get scared and push away. I want to return to every room we left cold and make it warm again.”

Then his eyes looked downward. He reached for something sitting on the table. The ring…your ring. The one you had taken off and left behind without a second thought, thinking it meant something final. He picked it up delicately. “I don’t just love you,” he said. “I need you every day.” And without asking, without waiting, he slid the ring back onto your finger. Then-

He kissed you for the first time since the wedding. This time, it was genuine. This kiss that didn’t chase your lips but waited. It stayed. His hands cupped your jaw. His lips were sure. Everything he had wanted to say, swallowed down, and couldn’t survive without.

You kissed him back. Your hands found his shoulders, his neck, then tangled in his hair. You held him because he was yours, and you’re his, as you always had been. He leaned in again, again, again, not letting go. Letting the silence speak for him and the closeness say everything words couldn’t. His kisses moved down to your cheek and jaw and back to your lips. When you finally broke apart, both of you out of breath and still holding each other, and then he said it,

“You are everything I didn’t know I needed and everything I never stopped wanting.” You let yourself cry into his chest. He wrapped his arms tighter around you. He never wanted to let go again, and he wouldn’t.

💍

A New Chapter Began. After that night, after the tears, the confessions, and the kiss. You and Jungwon began again. The marriage had become something else entirely. Something you both chose now, willingly and earnestly. You didn’t tear everything down to start over. You kept going, together, but this time with your hearts in it.

Out of guilt, your parents began doing everything they could to make amends after everything that had happened: lavish dinners and many more apologies. Strangely, you were thankful. Not for the way it had all happened but for the fact that fate, circumstance, or even your parents’ meddling, had brought him into your life because now, you couldn’t imagine it without him.

You and Jungwon eventually moved into the same room. One day, you both stopped closing your doors to each other. His things naturally began appearing beside yours. Everything had changed, and yet… everything was the same. He became your comfort and home.

💍

It was 9 p.m. and Jungwon had just finished a meeting. You finished binge-watching an entire show in one sitting. The living room was a mess of snacks and one sock (his, obviously). When he walked in, you were wrapped in a giant fuzzy blanket, dragging it behind you like a royal cape. He said, surprised. “Your Majesty.”

You looked at him. “You dare speak without kneeling?”

He dropped to one knee without hesitation, bowing deeply with a juice bottle in hand. “Forgive me, my queen. I have brought peace offerings from the sacred land of the refrigerator.”

You snatched the bottle. “You may rise.”

He stood. “Do I get a reward?”

You turned on your heel. “You get my presence.”

He followed you around the apartment as you continued parading. “What kingdom even is this?” he asked, amused.

You stopped by the dining table and pointed at the dishes he hadn’t washed earlier. “A kingdom of betrayal.”

He gasped. “That was not in my royal contract.”

“You swore vows!”

“I thought we skipped that part!”

Then both of you burst out laughing. He walked up to you, grabbed your blanket, and wrapped both of you in it. “Fine. I’ll wash them.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What changed your mind?”

He kissed your forehead. “The queen is scary.”

“And never forget it.”

You high-fived him, both still tangled in the same blanket, heads pressed together, swaying slightly because you two are weirdos who somehow made it through an arranged marriage.

💍

When someone called your name, you and Jungwon walked back to the car, arms full of pastries. You turned- “Sunghoon,” you said, surprised but not startled.

He seems a little more at ease. “Hey. I didn’t expect to run into you two.”

Jungwon nodded, then grinned a little. “What’s up, man?” Sunghoon stepped forward, and they did a quick fist bump without hesitation or awkwardness.

You smiled. “You look like you’re doing good.”

“I am,” he said easily. “My girlfriend’s waiting at the cafe somewhere near, so I’m trying not to get in trouble.”

Jungwon chuckled. “Smart move.”

“She doesn’t like it when I ‘accidentally’ start small talk for thirty minutes,” Sunghoon said, air-quoting with a grin. “Though, it’s nice seeing you both.”

“You too,” you said, smiling.

Sunghoon looked between you and Jungwon. “You guys look solid.”

You glanced at Jungwon. “Yeah,” you said. “We’re good.”

You could see it. Jungwon was ok with all this. He’d moved on from whatever uneasiness he once had about Sunghoon because he trusted you and himself now. Sunghoon nodded, satisfied. “Cool. Well, I’ll head back before she leaves me here.”

“Tell her we said hi,” Jungwon joked.

Sunghoon laughed as he turned. “She’d love that.” Then walked off.

Jungwon opened the car door for you like always. “You’re okay?” he asked.

You looked down the street once more, then back at him. “I’m happy.” Back in the car, Jungwon tossed the pastry bag into the backseat. He buckled in, glanced your way, and smirked. “You know I kinda had a crush on you when we were kids, right?”

You turned to him, brows raised. “What?”

“Don’t act surprised,” he said, starting the engine. “You were the popular one. You always showed up at those family events with that shiny hair and your nose in the air.”

You laughed. “Okay, first of all, what family events? I barely even remember you back then.”

He gave you a playful, offended look. “Tragic. I remember you. You were the girl everyone talked about. I was the only kid in the corner, avoiding the adults’ small talk.”

That part was genuine. You vaguely remembered him from those days. Scattered memories at weddings or someone’s birthday, when kids were shoved into the same room and expected to get along. He was polite and always slipping away before the adults could rope him into conversations. Kinda a blur in the background. It was strange, now that you thought about it. “I had no clue,” you said, glancing at him.

He smirked. “Exactly. Nine years old and hopeless.”

You snorted. “I was ten.”

“Which made you older and cooler.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop being so silly.”

“Look at where that got me,” he said. “Married and bag secured.”

You tried to play it off, but were smiling the whole way home.

Funny how things turn out

💍

Years Later…

You were rushing again. A bag slung over your shoulder and a sandal clutched in one hand as you tried to get out the door. “Yah,” came Jungwon’s voice from behind you. “Slow down.”

You turned, still walking backward toward the front. “We’re gonna be late!”

He was already walking over with a frown. “Be late then. I’d rather that than see you slip and fall.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s only a quick check-up.”

“You’re pregnant,” he reminded gently, reaching for your free hand. “You can’t dash out the door as if you’re not carrying half our future.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile was already spreading. “I know, Jungwon.”

“Then act like it,” he said, his voice too tender for a simple warning. He bent slightly to press a kiss to your lips. “I want both of you safe.”

“Is it possible you’re even more extra now than when we first got married?” you asked, grinning up at him.

“It’s possible,” he replied, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles. “My love for you grows daily, so I’ve earned it.”

Before you could answer, a small voice was heard.

“Mummy!”

You turned your head just in time to see your little boy sprinting toward you, barefoot in pajamas, hair sticking up. His voice was full of urgency. “Can I have waffles instead of cereal? Please? Daddy burned them last time.”

You bit back a laugh as Jungwon scoffed in defense behind you.

“You burned waffles?” you asked, teasing.

“It was slightly golden.”

“It was black!”

The little boy tugged on your hand. “Mummy, please make them. You don’t burn things.”

You crouched down slowly and pressed a kiss to your son’s forehead. “Waffles it is.”

Jungwon bent beside you, wrapping his arms around you, his palm resting protectively over your stomach again.

💍

You sat back on the crinkly paper of the exam bed, your fingers holding Jungwon’s. The gel on your belly was cold. The doctor was staring at the screen, angling the probe. Jungwon leaned in. “Why is she not saying anything?” he whispered.

You gave him a flat look. “She’s literally right there.”

The doctor suddenly let out an amused breath through her nose. “Well,” she said, looking between you both. “You two are in for a surprise.”

Jungwon straightened. “Surprise?”

You tilt your head. “Surprise what?”

The doctor tilted the monitor toward you and gently pointed. “There’s not just one baby in there. There are two.”

Your mouth gaped.

Jungwon froze.

“…Two?” you repeated.

The doctor nodded, almost laughing. “Twins.”

For a moment, it was silent. You looked at Jungwon. He looked at you. His mouth opened a little. Then closed. Then opened again. “…Like two actual babies?” he said slowly.

You covered your mouth, half-laughing, half-shocked. “No, Jungwon, she meant like metaphorical twins.”

“I’m serious!” he said, grabbing the side of the bed. “That’s double the diapers. Double the- do we even have double the space?”

“Our home is large enough,” you deadpanned.

“Oh my-,” he stared at the monitor again. “They’re going to gang up on us.”

“They’re not even born yet!”

“They’re already plotting,” he whispered, eyes wide.

You let out a helpless laugh. “You’re overreacting.”

He turned to you, softening all over again. “I… I already love them so much. Both of them. All three of you.”

You rolled your eyes, tears welling up as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, nose, and lips. And just like that, once arranged, once full of confusion, your story had turned into something brighter and far messier than you ever expected, but that was the beauty of it. This wasn’t just the end.

It was a beginning again.

[mochineesan]

Headcanon that you, yes, YOU (better known as MC) are the reason Mateo loves animals so much. Hear me out.

Btw I call MC "Red", but there are no really other pronouns than "You"

----------------------🪶🐾----------------------

Mateo had been recently bougth. He was young and new and didn't know much about the world. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to do, Even though his job was to keep his owner warm. The other objects had jobs and occupations, and well, he felt a bit left behind without having a purpose other than being just a blanket. He talked to Koa a lot, since you used to leave him folded on top of the couch. Koa advised him to take it easy. But still...

And one day, one of those days where the sky turned gray and they could hear thunder and lightning in the house, you came running, even leaving the front door wide open (something that Dorian didn't like at all). You ran up the stairs quickly, and Mateo heard Curt and Rod muttering about why you seemed so agitated. Soon you ran down the stairs with a box and ran into the living room, straight to the couch. You took the blanket and carefully placed it in the box. Mateo's curious eyes never left you as you arranged the blanket, as if you were trying to make a makeshift bed.

Another bolt of lightning sounded in the distance. You gasped in surprise. "It's going to start raining soon", thought Mateo. You grabbed the box and ran out the door again, forcing Mateo to follow you out the door since he was the only blanket in the house. (At least this time you didn't leave the door wide open.)

You and Mateo returned minutes later, the first drops of the storm falling on both of you. You were panting, your cheeks red from running so hard. Mateo tried hard to keep up with you; he doesn't remember ever running like that. But now he was even more curious about what you were doing. You opened the door and this time locked it completely. You leaned against it when you were finally inside.

From inside the box, on top of the blanket, small demanding meows could be heard piling up in the silence of the house. Mateo looked at the box, six little kittens were crying and failing to stand up properly on their paws. They were so small, fragile, and adorable. You reached into the box and gently stroked each of their tiny heads.

Mateo Manta fell in love at that moment

It was well known around the house that you had a huge heart. Apologizing to things when you accidentally knocked them over was already a sign of that. Most objects weren't surprised that you rescued a litter of kittens from the rain. But Mateo? Oh, he was incredibly fascinated. He had never seen real kittens. He remembers seeing blankets with different cute animal prints, but he had never seen real ones. Now he had six little babies sleeping comfortably on his lap when you left the box on the couch to look for your phone. As expected, you called your best friend, although Mateo was too busy looking at the kittens to pay attention to your conversation

"Pick up, pick up, pick up" You walked in circles around the kitchen entrance.

"Heeeey, what's up Red?"

"Sam! Sam, you're not gonna believe this"

"You cleaned your room finnaly?"

"Sam!"

"I'm just joking Red, now tell me, what happened?"

"I found a bunch of kittens on the corner of my street!!! I brought them home, it was about to rain. I looked everywhere but I didn't find any momma cats :("

"*gasp*:0"

"The thing is, I can't keep them... There are six kittens, they're only about a week old? I don't think I can take care of them for more than a few more weeks."

"I understand babe, give me about 4 or 5 weeks, I think I can tell someone to pick them up"

"You're saving my life, Sammie."

"Anything for those kittens. Oh, and for my best friend. You better send me a picture."

"I'll text you later, okay? Byeeee"

----------------------🪶🐾----------------------

And for exactly 4 weeks and 3 days (according to Timothy, who actually loved the kittens very much too) The six kittens lived in the house, using Mateo as a soft bed. And Mateo loved every second. You left the kittens at the office, deciding it was the perfect place for them to be safe and comfortable. The people at the office loved them too! By the third week there, The kittens started walking around the room. Dasha didn't really like the little kittens' claws on her wood, though. Or Penelope being chased by them while playing. They scratched Charemi a bit, and one of them once fell into Jerry's drawer. But they couldn't lie, they were all totally adorable and they couldn't get mad at them often.

Probably any object in Mateo's place wouldn't be as happy as he was to be the one with the kittens the most. And for that reason they decided not to tell him that having the kittens on him hadn't left him smelling very good.Mateo didn't seem to notice. He was more focused on the kittens and how fast they were growing. He even named them! Three female kittens and three male kittens. They were so adorable and perfect.

This last time, Mateo listened to the call you had with your best friend. It turns out she knew the owner of an animal shelter. And after weeks of caring for those little ones,w aking up in the middle of the night to make sure they ate (you'd have to buy a new syringe, but it was worth it) the next day they would come for them and get them good homes. Phonecia mentioned that she now had a bunch of pictures of the adorable cats in her gallery.

The next day was the day. The kittens would be gone, and Mateo with them. Because you and he thought the owner of the animal shelter would take the cats in the box you had kept them in.

----------------------🪶🐾----------------------

"I guess I'll buy another blanket," you mumbled as you walked down the stairs with the box of kittens in your arms. The shelter car was already outside. "It was a pretty good blanket, though..."

You opened the door, and there stood the owner of the shelter. Brown skin, white-streaked hair, and comfortable, loose clothing. Mateo thought he looked like someone, but he didn't know who exactly.

"Sam's friend, right? I'm here to take the kittens."

"Yes! Here they are." You handed the box to him, some kittens meowed excitedly.

"Okay, come on," he knelt, placing a pet carrier on the floor. "Let's get them here."

"Oh wait, I though... Never mind"

And then you helped the owner of the shelter (Matías, as he introduced himself) to put the kittens in the carrier. Mateo, perhaps with tears in his eyes, said goodbye to each kitten one by one until Matías took them away in his car. You sighed as you entered the house again, the box still in your hands.

"It was the best, wasn't it?. I don't think I could take care of them properly, I can barely handle myself." You chuckled. You placed the box on the table by the entrance and pulled the blanket out. "I better wash you now or I'll forget, and I need to get that smell off you," you said, laughing a little and looking at the blanket. "God, those kittens were adorable. But I definitely won't miss that smell." Mateo sighed and followed you to the Laundry. He wasn't going to miss the smell either.

Mateo started walking around the house after that; he needed some distraction. He misses the kittens a lot. Maybe that's what he wanted to do, take care of animals!

Then, a couple weeksater, he found it, the first inanimal he'd ever seen in his life. Hiding in the bedroom closet, scared and so small. Just like you found those kittens, he couldn't leave it there.

Mateo decided that was what he would do. It turned out that Celia had informed him about a problem with Inanimals around the house without an owner, and that it was impossible to leave it like that. And now Mateo had a purpose. He helped and protected the inanimals in the house. Koa was very happy for him.

Mateo smiles and thanks you. When you get the Dateviators, because you helped him find this thing he loves so much.

----------------------🪶🐾----------------------

This idea came to me, and I HAD to write it down. For all of you Mateo lovers! Hope you like it!!! I'm not very familiar with Mateo's character, but anyone who loves animals wins my love.

Let me know if you want to see more stuff like this! I have some ideas for other dates and lots of ideas for ships. You can also give me prompts if you want. I'm still on vacation, so I have plenty of free time.

~Mochi🍡

[luvdixon]

hey queen!!! i adore your writing especially for will!!

i know for a fact that man is a top tear MUNCH. can we get a post fancy date when they come home and will just focuses on her saying how much of a tease she is for that dress she’s wearing!!

thanks!!!

# UP IN FLAMES ★ will lenney

word count: 3.1k. ♡

content: smut, semi-public touching, degredation, praise, tease!reader, mean!will, oral sex (f recieving), edging, slight overstimulation, light spanking, biting, will cums untouched, etc

author note: i’m more than aware that this new coloring is ugly as hell but until i find one to match my new layout this will have to do since i can’t post without coloring it. so lets ignore that and it should change at some point in the future. also apologies for this being so late i’m pretty sure you sent your request in ages ago x

You turn so many heads in the restaurant. Between your expensive dress and your confident walk to your table, you don’t blame people for staring.

You feel hot. You look unreal. You know it, Will knows it, everyone knows it.

While Will doesn’t have a say in your outfits and would never dream of saying you’re not allowed to wear a certain piece of clothing, he will always be possessive.

He trusts you and doesn’t care how much skin you show because you’re his and you never give him reason to believe otherwise.

He doesn’t trust everyone else. He has his eye on every single person in the restaurant. It’s supposed to be a nice date after a long week of work.

Will spends most of it observing everyone else, and you spend most of it observing Will.

He’d suggested for you to side beside him in lieu of sitting opposite him, and you thought nothing of it.

Until his hand trails over your thigh after dessert. 

You don’t expect it—who would?

It’s not unwelcomed, but you shuffle closer to the table in an attempt to hide any evidence of it happening. 

Will leans closer to you, brushing his shoulder against yours. With his free hand, he reaches out to tilt his glass of beer into his mouth, swallowing the last few sips. You’ve finished your drink, and you both seem ready to go home now.

You make an attempt to get up and out of your seat, but Will’s hand on your thigh keeps you firmly in place.

You look over to him, silently questioning his behaviour. All you get in return is a smile. 

Innocent, loving, familiar.

“You okay?” You ask, glancing briefly down to your thigh under the table. He follows your gaze, squeezing the flesh underneath his palm to get a silent point across.

When he looks back up, he goes back to staring at everyone who even glances in your direction. Usually, you’d deem this a little out of hand, but the more protective that Will gets, the tighter you squeeze your thighs together.

God. There’s no way that this is turning you on. There’s absolutely no fucking way.

You can see Will’s smirk in the corner of your eye. People are starting to turn away from you now, and he looks proud of himself.

He looks intimidating. Looks like he’d kill someone for you.

Holy shit.

“Can we go?” You whisper, pouting over at him. He barely acknowledges you, so you take things into your own hands.

You reach up, grab his jaw, and pull him in for a kiss. It’s not too graphic, but messy enough to let those around you know that you’re so uninterested in them.

It seems to break Will’s jealous posture, and he melts into your touch. He breathes against your lips, and the two of you share a mutual look of understanding.

Get into the car. Go home. Fuck.

Will pays and gives a tip, and then you finally get to leave. You push through the crowd of people at the bar, and eventually make it outside.

The cool summer breeze kisses your skin—just what you need when your body is practically on fire from a single touch to your thigh.

“Next time you wear this dress,” Will whispers close to your ear. You shudder, leaning into the warmth of his breath to hear more. “I’m gonna tear it off of you in the bathroom and bend you over the fucking sink.”

You swallow harshly, part your lips to say something—anything—and then close them again once Will starts to wander off into the car park.

You follow shyly behind him, arms folded over your chest to seem stubborn. To pretend that you aren’t aching for Will to wrap a hand around your throat and fuck you against the bathroom door in the restaurant.

He opens the passenger side door for you, shutting it again once you slip inside and set your bag on your lap.

The five seconds in between Will shutting your door and opening his own are spent trying to calm yourself down. Deep breaths. 

Hopefully, you don’t soak the whole damn seat.

He doesn’t say anything else until you’re almost home. Will turns the last corner and pulls into the right street before turning his head to look at you.

You look straight ahead, pretending not to notice.

“Sick in the fuckin’ head, you are.” His voice is low, almost hushed. Like it pains him to speak.

You want to hear more.

If your ears could perk up like a dog’s, they definitely just have.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” You shrug, reaching over to unbuckle your seatbelt once Will parks the car. 

He gets out first, walks around the front of the car and opens your door for you. You expect nothing less.

“Trying to kill me, are ‘ya?” 

“Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It’s this kind of attitude that forces his hand. When the front door shuts, the air shifts. The tension snaps.

“Bedroom. Now.” Will bites.

You shiver underneath the weight of the order. A command. You’re so dead tonight.

You bite back a smile as you pull your heels off, padding up the stairs carefully. You faintly hear the front door lock, and then heavier footsteps mimic your own.

You sit on the bed, tugging lazily at your dress. You want it off, but you aren’t going to do it yourself. 

When Will’s frame comes into view again, he’s shirtless. His jeans still hang low on his hips, and his Calvin Klein boxers peek out from underneath them.

And fuck does he look good.

You think he’ll step forward, come closer. 

He doesn’t.

He stands in front of you with his arms crossed, like he’s about to tell you off. 

“Will—”

“No. Quiet. Don’t say a fucking word. Just listen, yeah? Can you do that for me, pet?”

You blink once. Twice. Nod.

Hypnotised by his beauty, by the tone of his voice, by the lust that flickers in his eyes.

“Wanted to take you out for a nice meal. Expensive, posh, fancy. Been working so hard this week, the both of us. Wanted to spend one night with you. Wanted to spoil you rotten.” He sighs.

You have a feeling that your dress was not in Will’s plans for tonight.

“And then—What is this?” He cuts himself off to gesture to your dress.

“I believe it’s commonly known as a dress, William.” You quip.

He tilts his head, lifting his eyebrows as if to warn you. You curl in on yourself just slightly.

“Such a fucking tease, baby. Knew what you were doing when ‘ya put that on.” He shakes his head, finally steps forward to stand between your legs, and tilts your head back with a firm grip on your jaw.

“It’s new.” You whisper. “I wanted to wear it.”

“For me?” He asks.

“Yes.” Your voice cracks slightly. “Wanted to be pretty for you.”

“Always so pretty for me, darling.” It’s a promise. It sounds perfect coming from his lips.

You beam up at him, bathing in the praise that falls off of his tongue. His gaze flicks over each of your features, and you feel so seen.

For once, that isn’t a scary thought.

His hands smooth over your thighs, gripping the flesh like he owns it. Like he owns you.

“Will…” 

He hums, not particularly engaged with what you have to say, but present nonetheless. He’s too busy hiking your skirt up and bunching it around your waist. Out of the way, easier access to your soaked panties.

Your breath hitches as you watch him carefully. Shirt sleeves rolled up around his elbow, biceps bulging out of the thin cotton, hands twitching every time they come into contact with your warm skin.

“Want you.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down hard enough to draw blood. 

Will laughs. The genuine kind of laugh that rots the butterflies in your stomach and makes you throb.

Like he has no mercy on the menu for you tonight.

“You have me.” He says. “Is this not enough?”

“Touch me.”

“I am.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “No.”

“No?” He asks. Even in your dazed state, his smirk is taunting you. 

“Fucking—God.” You tangle your fingers in the bedsheets beneath you, knuckles painted white from the firm grip you have. “Fuck me.”

Will lets go of your thighs, brushing his fingers over your knees along the way. He pushes you down, adjusting you so that you’re laying on your back.

Then, he grabs your hips and pulls you down to the edge of the bed, with your legs hanging off. He places them over his shoulders, kneeling down on the floor.

You don’t have enough time to question Will’s intentions before his tongue finds your clothed cunt. He licks a long stripe over your panties, groaning into the wet fabric afterwards.

You shudder, shifting your hips slightly.

“No—” You whine. “Will. In case you’ve forgotten, fuck me means get inside of me.”

In lieu of a smartass quip from your boyfriend, you receive a harsh slap to the inside of your thigh. His gaze flickers up to review your reaction, and bathes in the way your eyes shut and your mouth falls open.

“In case you’ve forgotten. I’m in charge here.” He replies. So calm, so casual, like he hasn’t just left a hand print on your skin.

Your expression is clearly against this, but your body arches up with the hope that Will’s mouth will press against you again.

You finally go silent underneath him, and he offers you a soft smile.

“Atta girl.” He hums, hooking a finger underneath the waistband of your panties to pull them down and off. 

You’re left bare and spread open, dripping onto the freshly–washed sheets underneath you. Will doesn’t mind, but you press your arm over your face in an attempt to hide your embarrassed state.

“Ah, ah.” He tuts, reaching out to pull your arm away from your face. “Let me see that pretty face, baby.”

You obey—of course you do—and willingly drop your arm to your side. Will gives a nod of approval, and his attention quickly shifts back to your cunt.

It’s his thumb that makes the first touch. He grazes it over your clit, dips it into your folds and then lets go completely.

You huff out a breath through your nose, jaw tight with frustration. 

You can’t say you’re not used to this by now. Unfortunately, Will is always like this. Especially when he’s feeling particularly jealous.

You expect two fingers this time, and let out a noise of confusion when you feel his hot breath on you instead.

You barely have time to process what he’s doing before his tongue presses flat against your cunt, still and teasing. You groan, tipping your head back.

You’ve had his mouth on you many times before, but each time feels like the first. Raw, starved, brutal.

He’s perfected every single flick of his tongue and god can you feel it. He pays extra attention to your clit, occasionally slipping his tongue down and inside of you.

“Fuck—Will.” You moan, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair.

He moans appreciatively against you, the vibrations from his mouth only adding to your pleasure. You fist his hair and pull without meaning to.

Shit.

“I’m—fuck, I’m sorry.” You breathe. Will pulls away, and you silently mourn the loss of his tongue.

“Do that again.” He says, blinking up at you.

“What?”

“I said do that again.” He lifts his eyebrows, makes it clear that he won’t repeat himself again.

So you do. Once his lips wrap around your clit and his tongue flicks over where you need him most, you pull his hair again.

When his gaze lifts to meet yours, his eyes are glassy and dazed. If men could die from being on cloud nine, he would be a goner.

His nose bumps against your clit with every lick over your entrance and it’s all too much. 

Your stomach tightens, your legs shake against his shoulders and you think you see stars.

“Will.” Your hips kick up, not sure whether to run from the pleasure or chase it. “Wanna touch you—fuck. Gotta touch you.”

You aren’t sure if tears drip from your eyes, but it feels that way. You feel so worthless underneath him, so vulnerable and used. It’s the best feeling in the world; to feel so safe yet so helpless beneath someone you love most.

Like you trust him with your life, but wouldn’t be mad if he ended it. That’s how much you love him.

“No.” He whispers. If it weren’t for the way he pulled back to speak, you would have missed it.

“Why?” You sob, shaking your head. “Please, please, please.”

Will drops his gaze for a moment as if to collect himself. “Are you askin’ to cum or to touch me?”

You part your lips to speak, only to close them again when you realise you’ve been stripped of your voice. Will huffs out a laugh, laps at your cunt once or twice to keep the pleasure flowing but not too much to push you over the edge.

“Neither?” He taunts. 

Right in front of your fucking face. You could hit him. God, you want to hit him. What a fucking—

He twists his head without warning, biting into your thigh with no mercy. You’re so overwhelmed—driven by both bliss and lust—and it’s so hard for you to process anything besides Will, Will, Will.

“Need to cum.” You gasp, writing underneath him when he works his mouth over your cunt once more. “So bad.”

Will doesn’t reply, only gives you a lift of his shoulders. A shrug? Maybe. Hard to tell when his body is chasing after yours. 

You arch up off of the bed, pressing against Will’s face with as much pressure as you can. You’re eager, you’re determined, you’re right there.

Will pulls away.

The room goes silent. The air shifts.

Your body drops back down onto the bed, and you let go of Will’s hair to fist the sheets. Now you’re crying. You can feel the hot tears stream down your cheeks, ruining your makeup and staining your eyes a dark color from your mascara.

You let out a strangled noise, akin to a sob, and writhe on the bed like Will has just stabbed you.

It feels that way.

It hurts so much, but feels so fucking good. You’re so sensitive, and now Will is brushing over your cunt with the back of his fingers and you’re so angry but so turned on.

“Sh, sh.” Soothing sounds leave his lips, but nothing he does will help soothe the ache in your core.

Your heart slams against your ribs hard enough to bruise, and your legs try to retreat, wriggling against Will’s shoulders. Your fighting is no match for his strength, though.

There’s another slap to your thigh, and you settle immediately.

“I was so, so close.” You whine. Will nods like he understands. He doesn’t.

“I know, pet. You can’t wear something like this for me and expect me to be normal about it. This is what happens when you tease me, yeah?” 

And then this man has the audacity to let out a tsk noise. 

“Yeah.” You say. It’s all you can say at this point. You’ll say whatever he wants you to say.

“Being such a good girl f’me. Got no fuckin’ idea how pretty you look like this.” He’s talking to you like you’re dumb.

You may be.

You may fucking be.

“Not again.” You pout, and he lifts an eyebrow. “Can’t—not again. Wanna cum. Let me?”

He clicks his tongue, pretends to think about it, and then nods. “I never said you couldn’t cum.”

“You—but—what?” You’re confused. You’re not even fucking here. You’re on another planet.

“If you want to cum, you can.”

“I can’t—not when you won’t let me.”

“I am letting you.”

“Will!”

He laughs, and just for one second his behaviour shifts. He’s soft again, your Will. Sweet, funny, always cracking jokes at unserious times.

“Okay, okay. You wanna cum?” He asks.

“Almost like I’ve been fucking saying that for the past—”

His mouth is on you again. You cut yourself off with a moan, and your fingers quickly slip back into his hair, tugging on brunette locks.

His tongue feels heavenly against your sensitive cunt, his lips feel so good wrapped around your clit, and it’s not long before you’re shaking again.

“Close.” You whisper. You wonder if he hears you. He doesn’t react. “S’fucking close—don’t stop, Will. I’ll fucking kill you if you do.” 

You’re slurring your words, but you’re pretty sure Will has done this enough times to understand each one that falls from your lips. By the way he grins against your pussy, you’re sure he hears your threat. 

Much to your surprise, he doesn’t stop. You brace yourself for him to pull away, but he never does. His tongue works overtime, flicking over your clit and sending you right over the edge.

You’re silent when your orgasm hits you. You can’t even find a noise to perfectly express how good you feel in the moment. Your legs spasm and shake over Will’s shoulders, your body arches up and off of the bed and your jaw falls slack as it hits you.

He murmurs sweet nothings against you, lapping up everything you give him with no complaints. He guides you through it, doesn’t care when you tug his mullet, and brings you down from your high afterwards.

You’re panting now, letting out the odd whine when Will decides he isn’t done. His nose nudges your clit with every twist of his head, and it’s too much for you to handle.

You lazily push at his head in an attempt to get him off of you, but it’s so careless that he barely even registers your hand against him. 

He eventually pulls off, resting his cheek against your thigh. The room is silent besides your heavy breathing and Will’s occasional question of you okay?

“So good f’me.” He whispers. Your eyelashes flutter at the praise, looking up at him like he’s your own religion. Like you live for him and pray to him every day.

“You should not be allowed between my legs ever again.” You tease, wincing slightly when he slips your legs off of his shoulders and back onto the bed.

He lays beside you on his back, the tent in his jeans has been replaced with a wet patch just above the crotch area. You quite literally whimper at the sight.

“And you should not be allowed to wear that dress around me ever again.”

“It’s not my fault you have jealousy issues.” You scoff.

“It’s not my fault you’re so hot.” He replies.

﹫luvdixon ♡ do not reupload my content anywhere else & do not copy paste it and claim it as your own!

taglist: @clarkeyscherry @willnees @taylorlovesgc @theoreticallythe @luvrgeorge @pretendyoucantseeme @rubi-radio @writer-jamie

[writtensweethearts]

Home Signal

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1.4k+ CW: Slight mention of injury/bruises, arguements A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for a bit, I don't really know where I was going with this one. I hope you enjoy though, lots of love to you and thank you everyone for all the interactions recently!! I love hearing your thoughts, requests, and seeing reblogs!! And hi to everyone new following<33

You weren’t sure how it started, how the two of you were standing here, in Jason’s living room, trading frustrated remarks.

“This is supposed to be a partnership Jay, I’m not asking for much, just that you talk to me.” You plead, begging him to just let you in. 

“I am, and there’s nothing to talk about, what don’t you understand?” He snaps back.

Anger simmers in your blood, boiling over, making your skin hot. You feel your cheeks flush, a mixture of irritation and embarrassment as you will yourself to breathe. Fighting now will get you nowhere, and you were afraid you would say something in the heat of the moment, shouting something thoughtless you could never take back. 

“I think I should go.” You answer after a beat of silence, your voice calm.

“Yeah, run away. Run when things get too hard, when things get too real.” He spits out, venom in his tone, in his words. And it hits their target. “Yes Jason, it is getting ‘too real’ , we are getting real, and yet you're still acting as if I'm going to leave you over an argument, over you having a bad day. I’ve told you, done my best to show you, I am here to stay.” You grit, trying to cement it into his mind. 

But it floats over his head, whispers in his ear that that's what everyone else had once said. That no one, not even you, could be fully trusted. You’d get tired of him someday, of his nightmares that woke both of you up, of caring for his wounds after long patrols, of his sarcasm, of his trauma. 

“I’m not some charity case for you to look after,” is his response, “stop acting like I’m a broken person for you to fix. Stop trying to save me.” He emphasizes the last part, staring down at your frame.

You blink, as if suddenly realization, clarity, strikes you. Your eyes shine with resolution, and Jason sees the fire in them fizzling out. He wants to reach out, grasp your shoulders, shake you and hold you and ignite what was once there. He wants you to scream, to keep arguing, tell him he’s wrong, but as he watches you, he knows he’s lost the privilege to do any of it. So he stands there, holding his ground, unable to take back the words he’d just spoken.

And he waits, waits for you to say something, anything. But after a pause, you simply turn, swiping your keys and jacket off the couch, and head to the front door. He’s frozen, surprise stunning him for a beat before he trails after you. He’s not sure why he does it, why he continues, but his lips move faster than his mind processes.

“See, you're no different than everyone else, running away because you can’t handle criticism.” He calls out, as your hand wraps around the handle of the door.

The metal feels cool on your skin, such a juxtaposition to the burn crawling up your throat, spreading behind your eyes, as you blink away the tears. You don’t turn around, too afraid you’ll show just how much he’s hurting you. So as you open the door, you whisper just loud enough for him to hear,

“Good bye Jason.” And then you were gone.

You didn’t call. You stopped texting. He dropped by your apartment after a few days, telling himself he was just doing a thorough sweep during his patrol. He sees your bedroom light shine dimly behind your curtain, and the ball in his chest loosens a bit, knowing you were safe inside. He couldn’t gather the courage to see you himself, to reach out, so he watched from a rooftop across your building, the little light of your window keeping him company. He began visiting every night.

Jason didn’t call. He didn’t text. He didn’t come by to apologize, his night time visits coming to an end. You wondered if this was truly goodbye. Two weeks had passed and he’d turned into a ghost. When you left that night, you walked home. It’d been drizzling outside, winter rolling to an end, the night sky a dull grey. You circled around his block three times, hoping he’d come running after you, to insist it was late and walk you home, to not let you leave angry. But he didn’t come, you saw his figure, his shadow pacing in his living room, and something told you he never would. So you hugged your jacket a little tighter, shoving your hands in your pockets, and began the long walk home.

You worried this goodbye meant forever.

By the time the third week came, you were fed up. Anger returns, mixed with frustration and disappointment. You couldn’t sleep, your bed feeling too big, the space he laid cold and empty. You wondered when he’d come back to you, when he would come back to home.

It was late, your bedroom light never turned off. Jason watches your window, concern gnawing at him. Every night the light seemed to shine on for longer, he wondered if you were awake, or if you were just avoiding darkness even in your sleep. He promised himself he’d keep his distance, only until he found the strength to see you again, afraid that the next time he faced you, you would ask him to stop seeing you.

He regretted that night, for lashing out at you, for saying words he didn’t even believe. But he was tired, angry, grieving something he wasn’t sure what. And he’d come home to you, he came to seek comfort, but he’s never been good at this, never got the privilege of having someone like you. Seeing you, soft and caring, looking at him as if he was the only good in the world, he knew in his gut that he did not deserve you, especially when you didn’t know his hands that held you, also held so much blood.

So the only thing he could do was show you him, the cruel parts, the difficult, the true him. He wanted to show you his callous behavior, his sharp words, the sides of him that were difficult to love. And a hidden part of him yearned for you to love him despite it. But maybe that was the cruelest part of it all.

Jason’s not proud to admit it, to think of all the ugly things he said that night, for letting you walk away. He didn’t know how to fix it, how he could take it back, but weeks passed and he feared it was too late to try. But tonight, your window shines like a beacon, calling him to you, urging him to just check. And so he crosses the street, and heads up the stairs to your apartment.

Three knocks pound on your door. The sudden noise jolting you upright from your bed, wondering who it could be. A shiver runs down your neck, as you peek your head out of your bedroom door. More knocking, this time more urgent. The door handle jigs, as you pull a bat out of your hallway closet. You grip the metal hard, trying to remember how Jason taught you to swing with all your weight. You near the door, when it suddenly lurches open, instinct rushing through you as you swing the bat as hard as you could. It hits something, someone, as you pull back, ready to repeat, when you recognize the large frame standing before you. Jason. 

He stands there, his left hand reaching to grasp his shoulder, wincing in pain.

“I guess I deserved that one.”

You want to hit him again, hug him tight, and drag him out all at once.

“You deserved more than one.” You say instead, reaching out to see the bruise forming against his muscle.

Your fingertips brush the swollen skin, an apology in your touch. You’re silent as you watch the goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch. When you look up, Jason meets your eyes.

“Hey.” He whispers.

“Hi.” You reply softly.

The air is heavy with longing, and he reaches out to hold you, tentative, as if you were a mirage, that you’d disappear if he wasn’t careful. An unknown pressure lifts against his chest as he feels your arms wrap around him, when he whispers to you,

“I’m so sorry.”

You’re quiet, and for a moment he’s unsure if you heard him, but your hold grows tighter and he knows, feels it in his bones, in his very soul, this wouldn’t be a goodbye.

And as you lead him to your bedroom, he flips the light switch off as you crawl into bed with one another. The lightbulb grows dim, the room falling dark, and he thinks of how your window must look on the outside.

And when the light finally turns off, and you’re sound asleep, Jason knows it’s because he’s finally home.

[bonzirella]

baby trouble !! (part 3) ft. oliver aiku and karasu tabito 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 part 1! part 2!

Summary: Congrats, you've just given birth! As you proudly hold up your baby, something seems off... the little thing looks just like her father!! And let's say... you're not the most rational about it. wc: 463 for oliver, 334 for karasu

Includes: fluff+crack, gender-neutral reader, reader does give birth but i fully support that mpreg exists in this universe, reader is not implied to be married with either chara, the children are both biologically female (she/her pronouns) because i stand bllk being girl dads, usage of the word "stupid", reader is lowkey sassy towards both charas but they reciprocate it so ig it's fine, no intense details of the actual birth. oliver being a menace,

a/n: p3!! req by @acideathr. kinda hate how short karasu's is, but i had the most fun writing it lol. lmk if you want any other charas

art creds go to dagoat yusuke nomura divider creds go to @hyuneskkami

oliver aiku

The room was quiet and warm. The soft buzz of a machine provided a serene ambience, and you looked glowing. Your baby cooed softly nearby while the doctors did their final checkups, and for a brief moment, you felt calm. Content, because the worst was over, and now you had your sweet baby girl in this room. Oliver had gone out to grab you some food, since you were absolutely famished. 

One of the nurses smiled as she gently passed your daughter back into your arms. “She’s completely healthy, ma’am.” You smiled back, “Thank you.” The staff filed out, one by one. You were alone with your newborn now. You promised Oliver that the two of you would look at your baby together, but you couldn’t resist the temptation! You looked down at her, swaddled tightly in fuzzy blankets. A little squishy. A little warm. Kind of weird-looking, in that universal newborn way… but still cute. The first thing you noticed was her hair. Thick and dark, just like her father’s. You smiled softly and kissed her head. Then she yawned. Her lips curled into a tiny, smug little grin—just like his. Your smile began to falter. Then she opened her eyes. 

Your soul left your body. 

Heterochromia. One green, one purple.. but they’re switched compared to Oliver’s. It’s like the universe was apologizing to you in some sick, twisted way. Even her eyelashes had the same dramatic curl as his do. He blinked up at you, and you swear you could already see her getting everyone to swoon over her. 

This wasn’t a child. This was Oliver Aiku in a blanket. 

You were still reeling from the defeat your genes faced when the door opened with a casual click, and in strolled the man himself, holding your favorite takeout like this was a post-game celebration. “Miss me?” he asked with a smirk, setting the food on the bedside table like some hot otome butler. You didn’t respond. 

Instead, you turned the baby toward him like you were revealing a cursed relic and hissed, “Nine months in my womb, making me suffer… and she comes out looking just like her stupid father?!” 

Oliver paused. Blinked. Came closer to get a better look. She stared at him. Stuck her tongue out. He stared back. Stuck out his tongue. Then, his face split into the most violating grin you’d ever seen. He even patted her little head like she’d scored a goal. 

“Aw babe. Don’t worry,” he said, voice smug and cocky, “maybe the next one can look like you… if we start trying again right now—” You launched a pillow at him, baby in one hand. It hit him square in the face. He was kicked out of the room for “disturbing the mother.”

karasu tabito

The baby was finally here. 

After a few hours of labor, a few quiet tears from Karasu, and a minor breakdown from one new nurse, you were finally holding your child. Warm, tiny, soft, and totally yours. The doctors filed out to give the two of you a moment. The room settled into a soft hum as you looked up at him with teary eyes and whispered, “Tabi.. look at our little girl..” 

Karasu cleared his throat like he wasn’t seconds from crying again. “She’s gonna be beautiful,” he murmured, “just like you.” You smiled and slowly pulled back the blanket to reveal her face, both of you breathless with anticipation. And then… her eyes opened. 

Initial impression: cute. Ten fingers, ten toes. A little squishy. The usual. But then, your brain connected the dots. Black hair, slanted eyebrows, that exact smug little mouth curve he makes when he’s being annoying on purpose. The final nail in the coffin was that stupid little beauty mark under her eye. The exact same one. You froze. Your smile faded. And you turned to him slowly, like he’d just committed a federal crime and whispered, “Nine months… Nine months in my womb, making me suffer… and she comes out looking just like… just like her stupid father.” Cue the dramatics. The gasp soundtrack playing in the background. The tense music rising. You sounded betrayed, looking at him like the genetic tyrant he is. 

Karasu blinked. Then, his mouth curled into a full-blown smirk. Just like the one your daughter was wearing right now. “Hey– don’t look at me like that,” he cooed, completely unbothered, “your womb had one job, and it chose perfection.” Then, somehow more smugly, “And technically, if you look at the gene dominance ratios, this is a completely logical outcome. You just got outplayed by biology, baby” 

He winked. You glared. He slept on the hospital bench that night. Final review: One star. Would not recommend pregnancy. Came out looking just like her father.

part 4 part 5

© 2025 bonzirella . . . . . . . . interested? read more here!!

[revelboo]

Hello!! If you’re willing could we get some es Soundwave being soft with his human that got hurt somehow? I got my gallbladder taken out on Friday and I’ve been in Pain orz

Sure! Hope you feel better soon!

Comfort

Earthspark Soundwave x Reader

• Spinning at the crash and yelp, he’d only left you alone and unsupervised for a klik. Staring at the bright red of your blood everywhere as you crouch and start trying to quickly pick up the broken glass, he snarls and you flinch. And cut your hand. Growling as he cups his hands around you to scoop you up, he rushes you to the wash basin and holds you under the spray, ignoring your yelp at the cold water as he tries to wash away the broken glass to tell how badly you’re hurt. Servos flexing around you as the water runs pink. “Sorry,” you mutter, making him even angrier that you’re apologizing for being hurt.

• Gingerly checking the gash on your arm, it’s not deep, but it’s bleeding freely as he holds you under the icy spray of water. Can hear him rumbling nonstop, the aggressive noise putting you on edge as he carries your soaking form to his berth and sets you down. And he’s slamming things, growling and snarling angrily in his own language as you drag one of your blankets over and try to tear strips off it, jolting when he smacks a tiny box down beside you, yanks the blanket away, and mass shifts to join you. Oh, he’s pissed.

• You’re bleeding everywhere as he sits and drags you into his lap. How much of that can you afford to lose when you’re so little? Pissed off, he opens the little kit Lazerbeak had stolen him when you’d scraped your knee. And you go still when he pulls out the bottle of wound wash and starts unscrewing the tiny top. “I’m good, just a little cut!” You gasp out, squirming to escape as he tightens the arm wrapped around you. Ignoring your struggling as he soaks some bandages in the stuff and you go rigid against him when it touches the cut, shuddering violently. Then you’re swearing at him, voice getting louder as he cleans the cuts.

• Sadistic asshole! Struggling against him as that stuff burns, you remember your grandmother pouring hydrogen peroxide on cuts when you were a kid. Then again, the old woman had also believed castor oil, or kerosene in a pinch, fixed everything from a cold to a hangover. “Stop acting like a sparkling,” he snarls as you flinch when he sprays on antibiotic and it burns just as bad before your palm gets the same treatment. Glowering sullenly up at him as he bandages your arm and palm, he vents when you try to pull away. “Do you want an infection?” He adds on a growl.

• Rumbling as he studies his handiwork, he’s tempted to just pour the entire bottle of wound wash on your cuts to be safe. Especially after having done a little research on humans and finding out about infections and how easily your organic body can become compromised. That everything can kill you. “What do you care?” You mutter, snatching your arm out of his grip and cradling it to your body, eyes shiny like you’re about to start leaking. “Oh, that’s right. I’m not helpful dead.”

• Regret the words as soon as you say them as he rumbles a warning and very gently pops you on the back of the head with a palm. “Hey!” You snap indignantly, struggling when he hooks an arm around you and wrestles you into his lap, crooning at you as you wiggle to get free until you give up and relax into the deep humming. Hear it shift into a rough purring of his engine as his chin and jaw brush the top of your head and you finally relax despite yourself. Uncomfortable with when he does this, when he wants anything more than your hands to help him or your body under his. Because this feels warm and safe and it’s a lie. Makes you feel like you’re wanted even though you know he hates you. And it’s somehow crueler than anything else he could do to you.

• Easing back with you now that you’re not fighting him, he rolls onto his side facing you and uses his servos to push your wet hair from your face and you push his hand away, expression mutinous. Do you still hate him? He despises you sometimes even as he worries over you, looks for you, reaches for you. Everything less certain now, less black and white with Rumble so close to being back. Dragging you flush against him, he pins you there so he can feel the too quick pounding of your heart, so he can vent to pull your familiar scent deep. Isn’t sure what this is he feels when he holds you, but it’s warm. Makes him think of before the war, before everything went wrong. It feels uncomfortably like home. Servos tunneling into your wet hair, he croons at you, letting the sound spill into you until you relax and sleep, lulled by the sound.

[ihrtpaige]

DELICATE. chapter one

⠀☆ SYNOPSIS. pop sensation spencer mckenzie's life has long been flipped upside down when she finds herself in a mild internet beef with paige bueckers— but it's not like it's her fault. paige started it when she called her music "overrated" (like, who says that? about the daughter of a fellow uconn legend, no less.); she left spencer with no choice but to clap back. what she doesn’t expect is for paige to respond by tweeting an offer to take her on a date as her public "apology", or to run into her in–person at an event a week later, or to end up falling so damn hard. now spencer has to decide, fast: is she ready to let paige in and be in love again, or will she let the demons of her past take this away, too? after all, the whole world is watching.

contains. mentions of past cheating, a lot of pop culture references and just very meta, alcohol consumption, cat and mouse dynamic a little

notes. it's been 87 years... i actually did finish writing this chapter two months ago, but i really didn't like it so i tried to go at it a few different ways, and ultimately i've just decided to post it as is (kind of a mess). but im curious to know how y'all feel about it, i really hope y'all like it! it will get better from here i promise ^^ also, dw i am working on requests (and more) currently!

taglist. @wosolipa, @syraxsbigfanfr, @jieysiee, @enchantingesme, @faeriehwa, @cowboybueckers, @everyonewatchesuconnwbb ( tysm for the support ♡ if you'd like to be added comment or send an ask! )

word count. 3.45k

los angeles, california.

this is utterly pathetic, spencer knows, but she can’t bring herself to care.

she digs her spoon further into the fudge brownie ice cream, scooping up a hefty chunk before shamelessly shoveling it into her mouth. she doesn’t care if any of it drips onto and stains this designer–italian–whatever sofa, either. after surviving what officially has been the worst year of her life— publicly humiliated, cheated on, and, surprise! the other woman is your best friend— she feels she’s earned the right to spend her couple days of downtime wallowing.

she’s halfway through her pint of ben & jerry’s and a few hours into a buffy the vampire slayer binge–watch when her phone buzzes against her leg.

leela 🫶 : sis get up u gotta see this leela 🫶 : it’s about you 💀

the notification sound chimes again, followed by a link. spencer narrows her eyes, already prepared to see another brain–dead take on her personal life or completely made up blind item when she clicks on it.

it’s a tiktok, some promo thing the dallas wings did with their players ahead of the season. “this or that: music edition”, the colorful text on the screen reads. whoever’s behind the camera goes up to several of the players, asking them to choose between different artists— drake or kendrick, taylor or beyoncé, that kind of thing. spencer’s brain is already half–way checked out before she hears:

“okay, spencer mckenzie or taissa rey?”

because of course. just messy.

spencer told her self she wouldn’t engage with content comparing her and her former best friend anymore— it’s stupid, self–destructive, and just bad for her brain— but it’s honestly still vindicating to see so many of the players pick her. she actually feels her chest tighten, a little. she’d been so caught up in negative headlines and the drama of it all, she almost forgot that there are people that still like her. still choose her.

and then the video cuts to her.

paige bueckers.

national champion, recent uconn alum, dallas wings star, ridiculously hot paige bueckers. of course, spencer’s seen her before— years ago at her dad’s camps when she would tag along, at games when she still had the time to drop in and catch them in person, all over her for you page in what has to have been hundreds of unabashedly thirsty edits more recently. and if one or two of said edits happen to be saved in her favorites folder, that’s between her and tiktok hq.

she looks good in this video, too, with her hair pulled back into a low bun and blue eyes catching the lighting in the gym just right, lips already curved in a half–smirk before she hears the question. her toned arms are on full display in her wings practice jersey, biceps inadvertently flexing as her arms cross over her chest.

for some reason, spencer finds herself holding her breath as she awaits the blonde’s answer, hand suspended mid–air, still holding a spoonful of ice cream.

but paige doesn’t even hesitate before going: “taissa, easy.” she nods definitively. “that spencer song is lowkey overrated.”

the video is onto the next topic before spencer can even fully register it.

she stares at her phone screen, blinking dumbly. sits up. rewinds. watches it again.

and again.

“overrated?” she mutters aloud.

her phone buzzes again. leela, of course.

leela 🫶 : like ??? leela 🫶 : does she need that... leela 🫶 : why's she kinda fine tho 🤫

spencer snorts and taps on the little text bubble icon, opening the comment section. she’s curious, is all. she can’t be the only one sensing the shade in that answer.

most are from fangirls thirsting and keyboard–smashing over how good paige looks in the video, but there are a few in between those coming to spencer’s defense. flopissa over spencer is crazy, one says. paige’s taste in music is usually elite what happened here, reads another.

she keeps scrolling, further and further down, until she’s wading into the comment section abyssal zone. the ones that have barely and likes and poor grammar.

and then she gets a stupid idea.

spencer : would it be messy if i like said something leela 🫶 : girl yes leela 🫶 : do it 👀

that’s all the encouragement spencer needs to switch back to tiktok and start typing.

she doesn’t give herself the time to overthink it. her thumbs flit across the screen, writing out the first thing that comes to mind:

@spencermk_official ✓ : damn what happened to uconn solidarity :/

she hits send.

there’s a brief moment of silence— her show is still playing in the background, buffy’s in the middle of chasing down some vampire— before she lets out a groan and flops backwards into the cushions. that’s nearly eight months of counseling down the drain, for one measly comment.

she doesn’t know, yet, if she regrets it.

it even doesn’t matter, because within seconds, her phone is buzzing again. she flips it over, watching as a flurry of notifications begin to take up her lockscreen, hundreds of likes and replies already.

CLOCK IT.

“uconn solidarity” IM SCREAMINGGG

not paige getting a notice before azzi and caroline 😭😭

pls paige don't have internet...

oop! @paigebueckers

she can’t help it— the corners of her mouth twitch up into a little smile.

is this petty? absolutely. is she being messy for no reason? well, yes.

but it’s also really fun. and spencer can’t remember the last time she truly found anything fun.

dallas, texas.

the sun is doing the absolute most today.

paige yanks her car door open and tosses her duffel bag and sneakers into the back seat with a huff. sweat’s already beading on her skin, rendering her post–practice shower pointless.

of all the things she expected she’d miss about connecticut, she didn’t think the cold would be one of them. this texas heat is on a whole other level.

she swipes the back of her hand across her forehead and shuts the back door, sighing in relief when she slides into the driver’s seat and the air conditioning hits her skin. she can’t remember the last time a practice left her feeling this spent in college. she just sits there for a second, basking in the cool air, letting herself melt into the seat.

limbs still feeling like jelly, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, hoping that her friends back in storrs or drew, even if it’s just him bugging her about sending him money for v–bucks again, texted while she was in practice.

instead, the second she turns off do not disturb mode, she’s hit with what has to be hundreds of notifications from socials, all unfurling onto her screen at once— tags, replies, reposts. her eyebrows furrow, and she clicks on the first one she sees.

it’s one of the videos from media day, cropped to just her quick answer and posted by a women’s basketball update page on twitter. paige snorts. this is what’s blowing up? she scrolls a little further. a screenshot.

damn what happened to uconn solidarity :/

she stares at it for a second. then laughs— half–surprised, half–impressed.

okay. she got her there.

paige wasn’t really thinking about whether or not spencer’s music was actually good— or any of the tabloid drama that went down last summer, for that matter— when she gave her answer. just that azzi was obsessed with her album when it first dropped, and played it so much it drove paige crazy. it took her weeks to get that “i don’t want him anyway, girl, take him” hook out of her head.

maybe ‘overrated’ was a little harsh. and, okay— in the moment it may have slipped her mind that spencer’s dad is literally a husky legend. but in her defense, she didn’t think that she would even see the tiktok, let alone actually say something.

now, the internet’s in chaos. on twitter, her mentions are full of her own fans teasing her for getting “clocked” or accounts with display names like spencer’s cupcake telling her to “stay mad, jobless”. on tiktok, there’s already memes and edits being made. she opens safari, and fucking tmz has just posted an article with a crazy sensational headline about it.

paige just can’t go out like this.

her fingers are already moving, pressing the ‘+’ icon to draft a new tweet. spencer’s image is vivid in her mind— bronze skin, hazel eyes, long honey blonde hair, an insane body— as she types. it doesn’t take her long to come up with something at all.

@paigebueckers1 ✓: my bad @spencermckenzie. chick–fil–a on me and we call it even? 😌

tweet sent. a grin tugs at paige’s lips.

instantly, the replies come rolling in.

PLOT TWIST?!

oh she wants that cookie so effing bad 😭😭

can’t even judge bc if spencer’s fine ass acknowledged me i’d try to slide too

ur taste in women >>> ur taste in music

flirting on main with paul mckenzie’s daughter… if this works y’all gotta get married in gampel with geno officiating or smth

paige chuckles softly as she reads a few of them, before shaking her head and tossing her phone into the passenger seat.

there, she thinks, as she starts her car. solidarity restored.

spencer doesn’t even have twitter installed on her phone. it was the one app she felt she could live without after returning to social media from her months–long break last year, due to the overwhelming toxicity at the time. the thing about twitter, though, is that it’s toxic all the time; she was more than happy to continue paying someone else to deal with that.

however, she’s quick to re–download it after receiving texts from both leela and her manager at the exact same time, urging her to check the app immediately.

conveniently, the tweet is the first thing to pop up on her timeline right under the for you tab— literally, in this case.

my bad @spencermckenzie. chick–fil–a on me and we call it even? 😌

spencer’s been in the public eye since she was in diapers. she was only three when cameras were being shoved into her face while she sat courtside in her mother’s lap at heat games, sixteen when she signed her first record deal. she’s no stranger to drama— in fact, after last summer, she considers herself to be a well–versed expert on the matter.

but never has anyone responded by flirting.

she doesn’t like the way it’s making her feel. she’s supposed to be cooking up an instagram story with her riaa record plaques posed conveniently in the background, not smiling uncontrollably at her phone and blushing like an idiot.

what the hell does spencer even say to that? despite the persistent tingling in her stomach, she can’t just fold.

looking at the replies, though, the fans are obviously eating it up. the tweet is nearing fifty thousand likes, and they’re all tagging spencer, encouraging it. they’ve even started calling them ‘spaige’.

she’s not going on a date with paige bueckers, but it can’t hurt to play along.

bottom lip tugged between her teeth, she taps the quote retweet button, typing out her reply.

@spencermckenzie ✓: stream greedy and i’ll think abt it

it’s the first activity on her page that wasn’t obviously scheduled by pr since last august. the fans swarm it within seconds, racking up double the amount of likes on paige’s initial tweet in only a fraction of the time.

she refreshes the tweet a few times, reading the replies and giggling at the ones that are actually funny, but stops herself when she realizes that there’s a specific reply she’s waiting on.

ugh. she needs to get a grip.

she clicks her phone screen off and sits it face down on the countertop. what was she even doing before this— right. skincare. she was getting ready for bed, doing her nightly skincare routine in her master bathroom.

looking at herself in the large mirror now, her cheeks are annoyingly rosy. she runs the tap, hoping that splashing her face with cold water will make the flush subside quicker and snap her out of whatever this is. she distracts herself, taking extra time lathering her fingertips in her expensive korean moisturizer and massaging it into her skin.

as soon as she’s done, though, spencer’s mind is wandering right back to blonde hair and blue eyes and that voice saying her name, even if it was to be rude. her hands are still wet as she grabs her phone, checking that dastardly app.

⤷ @paigebueckers1 ✓: anything for you, ma ⤷ @paigebueckers1 ✓: what sides you like?

attached to the reply is a video: paige, with glasses on, sitting in her car. spencer’s vocals and the melody she wrote play from the speakers— “greedy”, loud and clear.

it’s less then a minute of paige dancing along, shoulders bouncing, flashing the camera a crooked little grin.

it’s so stupid. everything— the video, the dancing, the petname. yet, a giggle still bubbles up out of spencer. simply being hot is one thing, but funny and devastatingly cute, too? that’s just not fair.

spencer’s going to leave it at this, she swears. she absolutely has to, before she makes a horny fool of herself for the whole world to see.

⤷ @spencermckenzie ✓: hmmm… ⤷ @spencermckenzie ✓: surprise me

one week later.

“did you see spencer’s look tonight?”

“ugh, yes. too good. i need her stylist’s number, like, yesterday.”

“i need a pic with her, my followers would die.”

paige’s head turns before she can stop herself. she doesn’t even know the two girls talking a couple seats down from her at the bar— influencers or models, if she had to guess just by looking at them— but now, the drink she just ordered is the last thing on her mind.

spencer’s here?

“your drink,” the bartender says, sliding her a dirty shirley temple— her second of the night.

paige nods her thanks, still half–distracted, taking the drink and turning to scan the crowd. the venue is packed with all these famous l.a. people, practically thumping with the bass of the music coming from the dj booth. she almost didn’t stay for the afterparty of the event since her flight back to dallas is so early, but in the end couldn’t pass up the opportunity to go out. azzi would call her irresponsible, but thank god for her discernment now, right?

paige has been meaning to talk to spencer since their little twitter back–and–forth, but the girl is impossible to get in touch with. she’d tried dm–ing, but all of spencer’s socials are set to mutuals–only, and she’s yet to follow paige back anywhere (ouch). tonight might be her only chance to shoot her shot— for real, this time.

she sips slowly, eyes combing the room. no spencer.

so, she asks around. not directly, but enough. mentions her name casually in a conversation with a stylist, brings her up when greeting a fellow athlete. eventually, someone tips their head toward the back— “saw her out on the balcony a while ago, with that leela girl.”

paige doesn’t know who leela is, but she vaguely recognizes the name— one of those tiktok or instagram get–ready–with–me girls with an insane amount of followers, or maybe an actress?

drink still in hand, paige makes her way through the crowd, sidestepping photographers and pr people and models trying to get her attention. the balcony doors are open, letting in warm california night air, and when she steps out—

there spencer is. leaning against the railing, laughing softly at something a dark–haired girl— leela, paige realizes— just said, her profile sharp in the soft glow of the skyline behind her. hair styled in loose waves and flowing down her back, collarbones on display, so beautiful that it makes paige’s pulse jump just a little.

she clears her throat. “spencer?”

spencer turns around at the sound of her name, lips parting slightly in surprise. the wind toys with a few strands of her honey–blonde hair as her expression flickers— recognition, confusion, amusement— before she settles into something that looks like guarded curiosity.

“oh,” she says, drawing the word out ever so slightly. “paige. hey.”

leela gives paige a once–over, then glances over at spencer, eyebrows raised like she can already sense the tension between them. “oh my gosh, is that doechii?” she says, suddenly, leaning dramatically to look into the party through the doors. definitely an influencer, paige deduces— there’s no way this girl acts professionally. “i’m gonna go talk to doechii— bye, spence!”

she turns to mouth text me to spencer and then she’s gone, returning to the party before spencer can protest. left alone, there’s a pause where paige and spencer are just looking at each other, before they both crack up at the absurdity of her friend’s exit.

“you’re hard to find, y’know,” paige is still smiling as she speaks, taking leela’s empty place beside spencer, her drink resting against the iron railing.

“didn’t know i had a stalker on the loose looking,” spencer says, quizzical. “aren’t you in season? what the hell are you doing in l.a.?” she asks, tilting her head.

“stalker is crazy,” paige laughs. “but yeah. still in the pre–season, technically. the event fit into my schedule, though, so i thought why not?” she shrugs. really, paige knows as soon as the pictures from tonight hit the internet, the tweets are all going to be how she isn’t actually dedicated to the game, which is why such and such is the better player— blah, blah, blah.

spencer nods, like that makes sense to her. “i’m guessing you didn’t track me down just to tell me my music sucks to my face, then?” she teases.

“nahhh. ion wanna get boo’d out of here,” paige quips, unfazed. “what’re you doing out here, anyways? not feeling the party?”

spencer makes a soft sound, gaze drifting out over the balcony, at the cityscape. “yeah, you could put it like that,” she says. “not really my thing lately.”

“well, for what it’s worth, you look great.”

those girls from the bar weren’t exaggerating. spencer is unreal, wearing a body–hugging black satin and velvet mini–dress, chunky gold jewelry, her skin glowy and shimmering in the city lights. paige lets her eyes roam, especially slow over her breasts that are pushed up by the dress— because damn— before she stops, reminding herself that staring is rude.

paige had somewhat gone on a deep dive last week, skimming spencer’s wikipedia page and scrolling through her instagram, but she swears not even the highest quality pictures online do justice to how gorgeous this girl is in person.

spencer raises a perfectly manicured brow. “no ‘ma’ this time?”

paige is a taken slightly aback at the mention of her tweets, but quickly recovers. she leans in, lowering her voice, “you look great, ma.”

spencer seems satisfied with that, if the way her eyes glint is any proof. “thanks. you look…” she pauses, eyes flicking over paige’s face, taking in her sharp cheek bones and blue eyes, the subtle gloss on her lips, the way her top is only partly buttoned, showing a sliver of her chest and the silver chains adorning her neck. “alright.”

paige huffs a quiet laugh. “shit, i’ll take it.”

“okay, fine. you look really good.” spencer smiles back, voice soft.

paige can’t stop smiling, even though her cheeks are starting to hurt. there’s this soft, fuzzy warmth blooming in her chest, stupid and sweet and an entirely too much over an interaction with someone she’s only just met.

“so, your friend,” paige says, feigning nonchalance, leaning against the railing. “y’all close?”

“leela? yeah. we’ve been friends for years.”

paige nods, pretending to focus on her drink, swirling the pink–ish red liquid around the glass. “cool, cool.”

sipping her drink, spencer smirks. “why? you jealous?”

paige breaks out into a grin. “a little. hard not to be when she gets to have you out here all to herself, looking like this.” she’s unabashed in the way she lets her eyes take in spencer’s form this time.

spencer rolls her eyes, and even though she obviously tries to fight it, she can’t help but break into a smile, shaking her head. there’s a pause where paige can tell the girl is pondering something until she finally speaks, “you know… you still owe me chick–fil–a.”

“i do,” paige intones playfully. “you tryna ditch?”

“there’s one a few blocks away,” spencer says all too casually. “we could probably walk.”

paige’s eyebrows shoot up. “wait, you’re serious?”

“mm–hmm,” she hums. “unless you wanna stay and party. i’m heading out either way.”

paige doesn’t have to be told twice.

[sharksupermacy]

that the way things go

that the way things go- Yu Jimin (karina) x Aespa! reader

Synopsis: Aquarium. Date. With. Karina.

Genre: Fluff, pre established realtionship, Poor Karina needs a less dense gf, day off??? Since when, little cuties, I am using capital letters for the first time. I am too lazy to count how many word short/med ish? More short… i think.

Free time. Words not often heard in conjunction together when an idol.

However when it is always one word echoes through your mind date. This time so happen you been touring with your team Aespa in one of the best places with the best aquarium. This team Aespa came with some talented people Ning, Aeri, Minjeong, and then the one and only girlfriend hand holding person Yu Jimin better know as Karina. You had one whole entire day off with the girl who currently is holding your hand. You turned to her catching her subtle side eye she gave you. Because after this meeting both of you would most likely bolt out and-

“Hey? Hey?! You paying attention???” Aeri shook your shoulder on the other side. Bringing you out of your little internal monologue. You let out a sigh at this before looking at Aeri and nodding your head. Finally turning back your head to the manger.

“So you guys will have a day off cause of the technically difficulties. Sound good?” He flashed a nice smile out to each of us then to at me who he knew that you had already spaced out once the word free time was said. The team all nodded and agreed in different ways and were left back stage. Your hand was jerked back soon after he left looking up at the proper tray she flashed you a smile. Words started flowing out of her pretty mouth and you were certainly not paying attention at all letting out a small smile while she talked.

That was at least before getting jumped scared by Minjeong shaking your shoulders. “Did you even pay attention to anything Jimin said…?”

“Nope.” The response left your lips so fast.

Jimin sighed at you. Before repeating what she said, “so… i heard they have an aquarium nearby?” She flashed an annoyed smile face (yknow a one that an annoyed chipmunk would make almost a one to one copy of that.)

“… they do indeed.” You agreed bluntly not getting what she picking up at all just fully enamored with just her.

“Would you like to go…? Yknow… cause you like aquariums?” She hinted at strongly.

“Oh… huh. OH YES CAUSE I LIKE AQUARIUMS!” You said finally connecting the dots together. She sighed at you and smiled. “I would love to go with you to the aquarium… our little aquarium date…” you mumbled that last part to yourself.

“Great! I’ll tell the others!” Jimin let go of your hand as your heart sunk slightly a she let go. You stared at her for a second before she turned back around sticking out her tongue slightly “kidding. It’s a date. I heard you loser.” She teased before walking over to the other. Now that definitely got you.

You and Jimin are walking in hand and hand into an aquarium, masked up to avoid being noticed, but not for long when you spot a map rushing up to it to see what exhibition were open. Did they have sharks? what type? Where are the the fishes and- “hello…?” Jimin waved her hand infront of you as you look up at her and then your own hand.

“Oops.” You said looking up at her before taking her hand once again. “Sorry” you lets a quick apology before once again going back to analyzing the map. She let out a small chuckle. You happily led to her the exhibits with a bunch of fish you stared at them like a kid pressing thier head up against the glass (psa dont do that… its gross and nasty and the fish dont like it.) where the fishes were fishes and then you stared up at her. The light blue tinge shone down on her travelling through the strands of loose hair, and there on her face lied wonder and astonishment of how big the tank was. How warm her hands is in yours before you stood up beside her. If only you could capture this moment forever. You finally stood up to just take a good look at her before brushing the hair that seemed out of order on her head. You see her eyes squint up for smiling, which made you heart race in return.

“Hey,” she said to you.

“Hey…” you responded.

“Sharks?” She pointed in a direction of the tunnel where there’s a motorized platform.

“You know me to well.” Once again taking her hand leading her to where the line was to get in. Fiddling with her hand for the small wait… she forgot some of her rings. “Did you forgot some of your rings…?”

“I did… Oh i did! I wanted to go pet the sting rays after” she said brushing over her ringless hand.

“Wait how did you know they have sting rays-“

“Because i know you couldn’t help going to an aquarium silly.” She teased you. Leaving you blushing underneath your mask as you finally get onto the motorized platform that took you around you couldn’t help think how luck you were. Having her. You stared up at a passing by shark when you did you heard a quick shutter beside you.

“Really?” You questioned her. Her phone up and caught in the act.

“What? You looked cute!”

“I did not- give me your phone here” she gave you that look that you knew she was gonna do something you would hate. Her hand slips from your before rushing through the tunnel. You both cackled underneath the mask and gave way to chase her down near the end of the tunnel before where the staff was. Luckily both of you did not get caught. “Meanie.”

“You’re the meanie not letting me take a photo” she said showing you the photo her eyes tense up and a small crinkled formed in between her eyes as she laughed at you being out of breath by chasing her. She held her hand out once you finished catching your breath. “Sting rays?” You shook your head at this ridcious question she asked.

“Yea.” Both of you guys walked off and enjoyed your silly little date with the Free time you had. Now was there pictures of you here and there by paparazzi probably but who cares. You finally had time with each other.

Hi! Been a while (i know a year)… ngl due to school. I’m always so confused with Jimin name… is it yu… or yoo… wait I’ll just check the wiki. it says Yu Jimin… idk how to feel abt that. Anyways DIRTY WORK???? So good??? Shot an a freaking iPhone? How the hell- Anyways i think they have a new song out… so y’all should stream that otherwise you’re fake… ngl i am fake not streaming Dark arts. But i will!!! Trust.