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lizziesfirstwife · 3 days ago

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YES!! Grace us with your masterpiece :P

Guardian Angel

jinu x fem!reader

warnings: hints of yearning, depressed themes, obsessed jinu?, clueless reader, use of Y/N, slow burnnn, suggestive language, not proof-read

word count: 3140

authors note: this is my first fic in a long time, so please bear with me as english isn’t my first language. have as much fun reading this as I had writing this! <3

preview to part 2 moodboard for part 2

Jinu hated Sundays.

Sunday was the one day of the week when most of the population made it comfortable at home, not putting a single foot outside. There was nothing wrong with it being Sunday itself. A few lone pedestrians stretched through the alleys of the metropolis, mostly nurses who had the bad luck of having to work on weekends and teen groups who used the calmness of the city to hang out undisturbed.

Jinu hated Sundays more than anything.

They were quiet, forcing one to think about all the things that seemingly went wrong the past 6 days. He didn't want to think. A normal person would have used a free Sunday to meet up with their relatives, or spend a spa day in front of the TV.

The deeper Jinu sank into his thoughts, the more dense and dark the clouds in the sky above him became. He wasn't human. He shouldn't think about whether it was worth getting up in the morning, if it was worth carrying on with the small flame of hope he managed to sustain all these centuries.

Contrary to all religious and folklore beliefs, demons needed sleep. Jinu slept, but didn't dream. And he was glad. Because not even demons are immune to the ghosts of their past that haunt them.

The road was clean, the puddles from last night's thunderstorm still deep in the ditch.

He had swapped his usually colorful clothes for something dark. No colorful pants, no colorful shirt. It didn't seem right to him. He was lost in the small crowd of the city, blending in too well as if he were one of them. One of many aimless figures desperately seeking their meaning in life.

Sunday was the day Jinu dreaded the most. Not just because it left him alone with his thoughts, but because of the people. Or rather the lack of them.

Nobody went out on Sundays. Hardly anyone. Not even in this big city, where new gambling stores opened every day and small businesses had to close because the rents were too high.

The people worked so much, that they spent the time they had left with their families. He wondered what it was like to come home to a warm meal, how it felt to spend time with people who expected nothing from you in return for their acceptance. He wanted to be accepted, deep down. But acceptance was a luxury. Tolerance was a prosperity that was easier to uphold, easier to manipulate.

Sundays were the most unprofitable days for the soul hunters. Many stores closed on Sundays, almost no activity available for the lost souls of this city.

And out in the vast emptiness of the city it was too dangerous to do what needed to be done.

A warm light. Large white letters in cursive script.

✮⋆˙

Had the flour expired? The lettuce leaves looked strangely shriveled, didn't they?

She had a feeling she would get fired soon because of the action with the cupcakes, but if not, her voluntary letter of resignation would be typed and sent away faster than she needed to get up in the morning. It was supposed to be a part-time job to finance her studies, a shitty minimum wage job as an untrained bakery employee. She had no idea how to even bake bread, because the last time she tried, she almost lost a tooth.

But she knew how to get cinnamon buns out of the packaging, or how to make a sandwich with instructions.

She loved Sundays.

No one wanted to work on Sundays, which meant much-needed bonuses and an exceptionally quiet shift. Working in customer service was not for the light-hearted.

Yesterday, she tried a new hair styling cream that was supposed to have some kind of magical bonding system in it. Allegedly even Zoey from Huntix used it. Y/N was frustrated with her hair. Wearing it up every day for work and the heat from the dozen ovens didn’t help care for it. So she tried it out.

Only for her hair to end up in a low wispy bun this morning anyway. Work rules and such things.

Y/N sighed. Luckily it was Sunday. That meant that after her shift ended, she could take home all the left over baked goods that didn’t sell that day.

She wasn’t poor, she still had her parents sending her a bit of money every month. But she didn’t have a job yet. A real job, not this forced university funding job. A job which she could only apply to with her degree in archeology.

Everyone has told her she wouldn’t find a job in the field, that only the far more experienced archaeologist experts would be getting booked on excavation sites. Y/N sighed and dumped the weird smelling flour in the trash can under the front desk.

She knew they were right. Surviving as an archeologist in South Korea was harder than in the USA or Europe, where she would’ve had better job prospects.

Pulling out the chair behind the counter, she smiled as she sat on it, straightening her apron. She would find a way to get into an excavation. Do some internships, join a few archeological Facebook groups, and she would surely feel better. Fake it until you make it.

The bell tinkled, announcing the arrival of a new customer.

✮⋆˙

The air in the small shop soured of cinnamon and sakura room refresher. Jinu scrunched his nose.

He didn't know when he had pushed the door of the small bakery inwards, when exactly he had entered the small space. A few white wooden chairs stood in two corners of the store, accompanied by equally white round marble tables decorated with lacy white table cloths. Tulips that were starting to wilt, filled various vases in the small space. A warm lamp hanging from the ceiling, inviting dust so sit on it if not cleaned properly.

Demons did not have to eat human food. They could, but it didn’t make them survive. They had the burden of robbing people of their souls, their entire lives, who deserved it the least. People at their lowest point. Homeless people. Desperate teenagers who ran away from home at night because they had long since given up hope of a better life. Jinu wanted to feel sorry for them. On dark days, the only thing that kept him waking up from his dreary sleep was the small flame of hope he protected inside himself for all those years.

But what choice did he have, what choice but to take away the only thing they had left in their miserable lives?

A low hum interrupted the path of his wandering eyes, which scrutinized every detail of the bakery.

He turned around. He was used to people starting to scream, especially women, when they spotted him. When they saw the K-Pop star. When they saw the version of him that millions of people loved. Forced smile, clothes that no grown man would voluntarily wear, happiness basically tattooed on his face. These reactions soothed something inside him.

On days when he wondered what it was like to be really liked by someone, or even loved... on those days it wasn't quite so bad to think about it. After all, he had fans who loved him, didn't he? Isn't that what counted? With every new fan, he reached thousands of others. One step closer to their goal.

True love and affection, which did not have to be bought or hypocritized, did not exist.

But she didn’t scream. She just sat there. He almost didn’t spot her sitting behind the counter, which displayed varieties of tuna sandwiches and some adequate looking baked goods. When she spotted him standing there all still, she quickly put her phone aside and stood up.

Jinu wanted to chuckle. Now he knew where the sakura scent came from.

Her hair was tied together behind her head, some fashion strands hanging down her temples. It curled slightly, maybe from the heat of the oven behind her. Maybe it was just her natural hair texture.

Her lips moved, but he heard nothing. She smelled of cherry blossoms and cinnamon, looked as if the word unhappy was not part of her vocabulary.

Her fingers touched her necklace, nails embellished with pink nail polish. He had never understood why women painted their nails when hardly anyone would pay attention to such things.

His eyebrows furrowed.

They looked beautiful.

"Do you need help?"

His eyes snapped up.

✮⋆˙

Y/N didn’t believe in angels.

She didn’t have a hard childhood growing up. She had two married parents and an annoying older sister that moved out from home years ago and barely texted her anymore. While most of her friend’s parents got divorced in high school or throughout college and university, her parents stayed together. Simply out of convenience, or out of love that still lingered in their hearts from all those years ago, Y/N wasn’t sure what it was that kept them together for this long.

They were busy working all the time, her father an architect that traveled abroad often, and her mom a veterinary nurse. Their marriage worked, but as the years went on, Y/N felt more and more invisible to their love. Their affection barely was enough for themselves, and she as their youngest child became forgotten. When she was younger, she used to curse out the devil for making her parents so successful in life. She didn’t believe in angels or the tale of every person having a guardian angel, because if they really existed, they did a really bad job.

But as she looked up to the customer who entered the small shop, ready to recite her studied standard greeting, she froze.

He was tall. The smell of rain emitted from him, most likely from wandering outside in the still damp streets. But he didn’t say anything, he just stared at her.

He looked at her like she had the answer to all of his life problems, as if she was a puzzle waiting to be solved.

His eyes looked mesmerizing. A deep brown, almost black, looked back at her own eyes, captivating her in a trance she was unable to escape. Was this how sirens lured sailors into their deathly embrace?

But he didn’t look evil. He didn’t look like the type of man to hurt you, just to feel malicious.

She tried to speak, but the words didn’t want to leave her mouth. Her fingers wandered to her necklace, touching the small gemstone pendant hanging on it. It was a nervous habit she picked up during exam phase in high school, her fingers playing with her jewelry as soon as she got the slightest bit anxious.

She certainly wasn’t in high school anymore, and she definitely didn’t know why she was uneasy, why she suddenly felt conscious about her hair, the stains on her apron, or that she forgot to apply mascara this morning.

Shaking her head, she forced her fingers to let go of her necklace and instead grip on the marble counter in front of her.

“Do you need help?”

The man seemed to snap out of his trance, and shook his head.

“No, no- I mean yes.”

Y/N crooked her eyebrow and hummed. Out of customers talking to someone on the phone, placing their card on the card reader without telling her they want to pay by card, and customers that complained about the prices, the ones who were unsure what to get were her favorite.

“Any idea of what you want to get today? A sweet treat or a hearty snack?”

He shook his head. Jinu wasn’t prepared to talk to anyone, less a woman who he didn’t know why his words suddenly turned to thin air when looking at. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the displace of products behind the glass. He was a charming, young superstar, who never had to try to get humans to like him. They just did, annoyance and rejection foreign to him. He knew that that affection wasn’t real, but it was the best available for him at the moment. But this woman was blind to his charm it seemed, indifferent to his looks.

Y/N wasn’t unfazed. She tried to appear that way, at the very least. Inside of her, she was screaming at how sinfully good he looked. She couldn’t afford to think that way about anyone. Love didn’t last, a curse doomed to dissolve under time. But God, if his eyes didn’t want her to jump into his arms, she didn’t know what do think anymore.

Humming again, she tapped her foot against the wooden floor of the bakery.

“Do you like it spicy?”

His head snapped up from where he was previously looking at, pupils widened.

“What?”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows at his reaction. How couldn’t he understand this simple-

“Oh! No, no, not like that! Oh God-“

Jinu chuckled, her reaction making him feel slightly bad for his uncertainty of what to get.

“Yeah, I like it spicy.”

Y/N looked at the man who was holding back a laugh, and furrowed her eyebrows.

“Are you making fun of me?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, crossing her arms.

“No. I mean it. I like spicy food. I don’t look like a liar, do I?”

Y/N shook her head, sighing and pointing to the left side of the food display. She was getting underpaid, and she only got 4 hours of sleep. She didn’t want to argue with anyone, less this sinfully charming Korean Adonis.

“We have chicken sandwiches with gochujang, grilled garaetteok, or plain chili filled rice balls.”

Jinu pretended to think about which option to choose, but in reality he was just using the time to look at her from underneath his eyelashes. He didn’t know what about her made him curious, it just…felt right to look at her.

He straightened up again and looked at her, really looked at her.

“What is your favorite?”

Truth was, Jinu didn’t know how any of these dishes tasted like. The last time he ate food for enjoyment reasons was 400 years ago, the taste of everything he once loved long forgotten in his trapped mind. He didn’t know how to cook either. His mother always cooked for him and his little sister, refusing to let him do anything besides working hard on his career. He shook his head. Laughter echoed inside his head, the smile of a woman he didn’t recognize haunting his mind.

Y/N didn’t know what to answer to that. No one cared about her opinion, everyone just expecting her to wrap up their food and give them their change. She put a loose strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head.

“I don’t have one. I don’t like spicy food at all.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Then what made you think I would like it?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “You look like the opposite of me. I don’t like spicy food, so I figured you might like it.”

Jinu looked her up and down. She was wearing faint pink colored jeans, a white blouse and over that her black work apron with a few stains on it. Her pink nails and jewelry only complemented her outfit. She was right.

While she was a star trying to shine, he was a meteor trying not to crash into earth.

“So what do you like then?”

She pointed to a small brown baked sweet treat with white frosting on top, and dried honey in the shape of a heart draped on it. “This is the only thing in here I made myself. Everything else really is just ripped out of a plastic wrap and put into an oven.”

He nodded, not even looking at the other options. “I’ll take it then, your…” He squinted his eyes and looked down at the lettering in front of the item. “…cinnamon roll.”

Y/N smiled at that. She didn’t know what drew her to him. He looked strangely familiar to her, the level of familiar of someone you met in a dream you only dreamed once.

She took a pair of tongs and placed the cinnamon roll in a brown paper bag. No one ever bought the cinnamon rolls, too special of a taste and too sweet for most people. That’s why she loved them, and the overwhelming taste of hope that came with them. Hope that she carried within her every day she came to work, every time she cried herself to sleep because of her dream job being unavailable to her. Every morning she would come to work early, just to bake the sweet treat over and over again, in hopes of not taking it home with her again like the last day and the day before that. They were the only thing in this store that she wasn’t happy to be able to take home on Sundays.

She typed something in the screen of the cash register, the imagine for the cinnamon rolls popping up, and selected it.

“That would make 7000 won (5$). Cash or card?”

He reached into his back pocket, and placed a crisp ten-thousand won note on the counter.

She was already typing it in the register, when he took his bag from the countertop and just shook his head.

“Keep the change.” He opened the bag and took a bite out of the roll, eyes widening briefly before looking at her. “It’s worth the money.”

With that, he turned around and exited the store, leaving behind a baffled young lady and way too much change.

Y/N looked down at the note and put it into the till. She took out the change, and carefully dropped it into the tip jar on top of the counter. Employees weren’t allowed to take the tips customers gave them home, instead having to put them in the tip jar to be divided under all employees every week. But since it was Sunday and she would be closing the shop, the jar was all hers.

She dropped on her chair she was sitting on earlier, her arms hanging still beside her. Her head felt like a void, empty and shouting simultaneously.

The strange feeling inside of her lingered, the premonition of this not being the first time they met. Her mind couldn’t put a finger on where she could possibly know him from, and it killed her.

She shook her head, and wet a rag before wiping down the countertop.

She didn’t know he was watching her.

She didn't know that he now had his eye on her.

Y/N didn’t believe in angels, especially not in guardian angels.

She just didn't know yet, that she now had her very own, very special, guardian.

𓍯𓂃ᥫ᭡.

Thank you for reading! If you liked reading this little piece of fiction in any sense, I would be more than happy about a like, reblog, or a comment! I absolutely love this movie, and it’s a shame how they ended it. But I’m sure we will get a second part, with the way the last scene teased it. <3

Comment if you would like to be tagged in a potential part 2! Requests for this movie are open ۫ ꣑ৎ

Who wants a preview of part 2? Let me know here! .ᐟ>ᴗ<

Vote what my next fic should be about!

tag list: @yoihoshi-maki @kristinthegeek @zozoparsnips @mackenzielaw15 @lunaria1 @blobs-away @thaliasnicket @bakugousimpofawif3 @yoongiprongs @franbowidk @lorain07 @jetblackw1ngs @thesimppotato11 @aubreeiscool @ivorria @iamatinydinosaur

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ᰔ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

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yapdad · 1 day ago

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the only drawback to making kento a father is the lack of 'alone time' you now get.

he was made to be a dad, there’s no doubt about it. he’s the perfect contender, stern but patient and understanding and so infatuated with fatherhood that you almost don’t mind the nightly interruptions.

almost. the sound of little padding footsteps leading up to your closed bedroom door gives you a trauma response now. how your husband can hold himself above you, inches away from dipping inside your sweet center, and still remain kind-eyed and cheery when your daughter starts banging on the shut door to be let in is beyond you.

he's a good man. you hate him for it.

maybe you just need sex. you've been deprived of your husband's body for so long that you're going stir crazy, in a sense. he did marry you with a vow of servitude, after all.

thank god for takuma and his wide eyes. he looks like a deer in headlights as he stands at your front door, a huge bag of toys and snacks and just-in-case diapers in one hand and your daughters tiny hand wrapped around two fingers of his other hand. she beams up at uncle ino, ready to spend a night away from home (and get unreasonably spoilt in the process).

"no snacks after her teeth are brushed. and she's developed a penchant for climbing—don't let her do that. and if she comes home with even a mark, ino, i will be breaking each and every last one of your bones, starting with the toes and moving upwards until i reach your—"

"i think he gets the point, love," you place a gentle hand on your husbands tense bicep. "please stop threatening to snap takuma's bones."

ino, who is probably going over his last will and testament in his head, forces a grin. "loud and clear, she's safe with me."

"mhm," your husband can only eye him for so long before your daughter is tugging uncle ino away and leaving the two of you in the foyer.

finally alone. just you, your husband, and his teething paranoia. he's darting to the front window and peeking through it like a yappy dog would as their owner leaves. it’s cute. you feel bad for the future-teenage version of your daughter, who will have to deal with a man like kento nanami as her father. but now she’s just a baby and in the safe (albeit shaky) care of uncle ino, and you are vying for an orgasm or six.

“ken, honey."

his eyes are stuck outside.

"kento."

still stuck. you never thought the other woman would be sporting butterfly clips and drool as a statement piece.

"oh my fucking god kento nanami if you do not fuck me right now i will take that little sword of yours and stick it so far up your— oh hi."

he's standing in front of you before you know it, with your face held firmly in his hands and an awfully stern look on his face.

"my love," he drags his thumb from your cheek, down to your bottom lip. "first of all, i have every intention of ravaging you until you're so full of me that you don't have the mind to beg for more. and second, it's more of a cleaver than a sword."

"okay nerd," you pull your man into a deep kiss, one much more intimate than you've been allowing yourself of late. kento takes the lead easily, slipping his tongue past your lips in a way he'd never dare to do over the breakfast table.

before you can register your movements, the two of you are stumbling like drunk teens up to your bedroom, a garment of clothing lost with each step to the door. you loosen your husbands tie and drop it to the ground, and he manages to unclasp your bra just as his back hits the bed and you're falling on top of him in a mess of gross kisses and shared laughter.

it's sweet, until kento tires of the homely teasing and flips you over to press his heavy body (and even heavier cock, it seems) against yourself. your legs part naturally, as they will ever do for the man you love, and kento trails kiss after kiss from your neck all the way down to the dripping mess of your cunt.

when he latches his lips to your clit you gasp and shoot your hand down to his hair. he loves it being pulled, admitted to you after a drink too many that he finds in degrading in a way that is only pleasurable coming from you: he's sensitive to that sort of stuff, so you tug lightly at his blond locks until your fingers snag against something hard.

"what's in your hair?" you manage between moans as ken savours his most favourite meal.

he pulls away for a second, resting his cheek against your parted (and already shaky) thigh as you comb through his hair with your fingers once more and pullout not one, but two hot pink butterfly clips that you were looking for only this morning.

"oh," your husband smiles when he sees them. "i got a princess makeover last night. i stopped her before she could go looking for makeup but she did manage to find those."

"they suit you," you smile, and clip them back into his hair. it look silly, but it keeps his hair from sticking to his forehead in the heat of things, so you look past the glitter. "you're a good dad, you know?"

kento presses a kiss to your clit, which has your breath hitch in your throat, before rising up to climb over you once again. his cock is heavy and pulsing with heat as it rests against you, but ken denies himself for a moment in favour of pressing a very sweet kiss to your lips. you can taste yourself on his smile.

"thank you for making me a dad," he kisses your cheek next, and then your forehead. "and thank you for everything else you have given me in our marriage."

"all those orgasms..." you muse, which earns you a small laugh from your lover.

"oh indeed," he reaches down and lines himself up with you. "you always know just how to set the mood. very sentimental, you are."

"it's what you married me for," you lift your hips a little to help your husband in. "isn't it? you just love the way i—oh god, ken."

he pushes into you niiice and slow, feeling the way you stretch around him. it's been a while, so the usual ache of accommodating his unfair size is more of a burn this time through, but kento's lips against your neck are a nice distraction. he's slow and sweet and so in love with you that you can feel it in the way he fills you up. or maybe you're just delusional from the dick.

"love the way you feel," he finishes your sentence. drawing his hips back only a little to get you used to his movements, he presses his next kiss to your shoulder. "love the way you look."

"you don't need to flatter me. you're already inside of me."

kento bites the skin of your shoulder and picks up the pace to really start fucking you. "love the way you can take a compliment without being a smartass about it."

"god, kento," you can only manage a few words before he's adjusting his thrusts to brush against your g spot with each movement in and out. "it's so much."

"i love how well you take me," he goes on. "i love your heart. and i love your body. and i love your idiotic jokes. and i love how you smell."

"ken..."

"and i love—" kento runs a hand down your left arm to take your hand in his, bringing your knuckles up to his lips before pressing a long kiss to your wedding band "—how i'm all yours."

not his, yours. he's made it very clear since your first date (which was more of a study-situation than anything, that he is all yours. your property. your lover. your shoulder to cry on and your life partner and the man who would burn down cities for you and your kid.

and the only man who could fill you this deep and still be romantic about it. he fucks you like that until your legs are locked around his waist and you're begging him to fill you up with his load.

and of course he obliges, because anything you ask for he will give you enthusiastically. he rubs your clit until you're blanking on your own name and cumming in beautiful synchronisation with him. kento spills deep inside of you with a breathy groan and even then still manages to fuck you through your orgasm until he's softening inside of you and you're trying ultra hard not to cry from the overwhelming love (and pleasure) you're feeling.

and as he holds himself over you, smiling down at you like he didn't just possibly breed you out again, all you can do is look up at him with teary eyes and laugh at the ridiculous pink butterfly clips on his head.

"you're so pretty," you giggle, reaching up between your sweaty bodies to tap on the clips. "my manly husband."

"god," he groans, dropping his head down to your chest. you laugh some more, now with an even better view of his accessories, until he steals your laughter altogether with a sharp bite to your nipple.

"ow, fuck! that is not how a princess behaves."

"you are going to be the death of me."

#kento nanami smut #nanami smut #nanami x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami x you #kento nanami x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you

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ladylaviniya · 3 days ago

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Smallville’s finest farm boy turned Daily Planet heartthrob turned DOMINANT SUB SPACE-RIPPING SUPERHERO??? and you?? you’re just out here LIVING YOUR LIFE, sipping stale coffee, and next thing you know Superman is giving you a sunflower mug and ruining your life in the best way 😭🌻

“Sunflowers are my favorite.” fingers touch over the mug

STOP IT. I’M KICKING MY FEET. WE WERE DOOMED FROM THE START 😭😭😭

like he really looked at you with those ocean-in-a-storm-blue eyes and was just like “teehee sorry I rambled 🥺” while you were fantasizing about his HAND AROUND YOUR NECK????

girl. SAME.

and the NICKNAME???????

“You’re my Sunflower.” my pussy GUSHIN like fucking my dams releaseddd. that’s IT. that’s the post. i’m done. it’s over for me.

“Watch it, Sunflower.” SCREAMING. SHAKING. GETTING INTO BREEDING POSITION, ASS UP! YOU KNOW THE FUCKING DRILL

Clark with his wine voice and his soft dom energy and the “sir” just waiting to happen under the henley??? I HAVE LOST MY MIND. and then when you call him out for “saving you from Bruce” and he doesn’t even DENY IT????

girl you had him from the first coffee mug moment. he’s been GONE ever since 😭😭😭

AND THE DINNER DATE?? when he pulls you in and says “I’ve wanted that for too long” like sir. PLEASE. i’m trying to BREATHE. and the slow burn tension that builds for MONTHS before you guys even KISS?????? and the mutual pining and flirty text convos and the glasses-off stare down on the couch????

i’m barking. i’m HOWLING. i’m giggling and kicking my feet and hugging a pillow 😩🧸

AND THEN THE LOVE CONFESSION??? during a '90s romcom??? mid-popcorn-bite, post-bleachers-dance-scene confession like

“I love you” “Good thing I love you too.”

girl i am NOT okay. you just casually dropped the L-bomb mid-movie and he was just like “ya same <3” like this man was ready to wife you up from the start.

AND NOW LET’S TALK ABOUT THE SUPERHERO REVEAL™.

YOU WERE IN DANGER AND HIS HEART HEARD YOURS. he dropped the candles and FLEW THROUGH THE CITY IN JEANS AND A SWEATER to come save you like some sort of feral, unmasked Clark-torment daddy edition and you??? you were putting the puzzle together in REAL TIME while he was checking your pulse like 😭😭😭

“I know your heartbeat. I can hear it wherever you are.”

BOY. what the hell is this wattpad royalcore superhero romance fever dream i am OBSESSED

and then. THE FIRST TIME. not a candlelit dinner. not a slow and tender fade to black moment.

no. it’s after he SAVES YOU and flies you into the sky, flips over, and lets you grind on him in the clouds while he moans and tries to adjust his dick IN THE AIR and you’re just like 😌🫶 “take me home, Sir.”

and THEN—AND THEN—YOU STRIP FOR HIM IN THE MOONLIGHT AND KNEEL AT HIS FEET. like. THE POWER. THE ENERGY. the way he melts when you call him Sir and pick “Unicorn” as your safeword 😭

AND THE WAY HE MARKS YOU AND SAYS:

“Don’t block me from my pussy, Sunflower. This belongs to Sir now, doesn’t it?”

HELLO. HELLOOOOOO??? I HAD TO PUT MY LAPTOP DOWN AND SCREAM INTO A CUSHION 😭😭

AND YOU SAY “YES SIR” WHILE YOU’RE CLENCHING ON NOTHING AND WHIMPERING LIKE THE GOOD GIRL YOU ARE??? YOU WIN. YOU WIN LIFE. CONGRATULATIONS.

AND THEN THAT FIRST ROUND OF PUSSY DEVASTATION???? he makes out with your entire existence, curves his fingers, presses your tummy, AND YOU SQUIRT??? girl. i need ice. i need therapy. i need clark kent to rail me respectfully while whispering sweet dom threats into my ear.

AND THE MAIN EVENT??? THE “open those petals for Sir” line??? the way he KISSES YOUR TEARS AND THEN DESTROYS YOUR SPINE??? the biting, the bruises, the praise, the eye contact, the STAMINA???

I HAVE LOST TRACK OF TIME. I HAVE LOST TOUCH WITH REALITY.

“You ready for my cum, Sunflower?” “Yes, Sir.”

girl this is shakespeare for bitches who know their worth and i’m living for it

AND THE ENGAGEMENT??? bruce buying the JEWELRY STORE??? the sunflower-themed ring??? the love? the softness??? the way he went from “here’s a coffee mug” to “here’s my last name”????

i’m sobbing i’m smiling i’m throwing myself into the fucking australian sun!!!!!!!!!! i will break the ozone layer while he breaks this cunttttt!!!

Some Things You Just Can't Refuse

Title: Some Things You Just Can't Refuse

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Dom!Clark Kent x Sub!Reader

Word Count: 4.7K+

Summary: A collection of first times with Clark Kent, and one last time.

Warnings: dacryphilia, unprotected p-in-v sex (wrap it up babes), creampie, spit kink (for like two seconds), Reader being a brat

A/N: This has been a plot bunny that sat in my Google Docs while all my other works got attention. Did I really just write a 5+1? Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

Clark Kent was a simple man, for the most part. He had preferences, sure. But he knew what he liked, and went for those things more often than not. One of his preferences was a certain kind of woman.

And you were that kind of woman. His Sunflower.

The perfect combination of submissive and strong-willed. What others may call bratty, Clark would call “a little feisty” and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

And that is where Clark was anything but simple. He was your Dominant, you were his submissive. He loved you, he provided for you, and he kept you safe. He kissed the ground you walked on, he broke you, and he put you back together.

The first time you met Clark Kent was in the break room of the Daily Planet.

You were an intern for the summer, just working to get some credits toward your journalism degree. You weren’t all that interested in going to warzones and reporting on drug lords and shit. You wanted to tell stories about starving artists and activism. You wanted to surprise people with your ability to capture the essence of someone’s emotion and relate it to the reader’s own experiences.

While doing your writing at work, while you were supposed to be doing whatever Lois Lane threw at you this morning, you decided to take a break to recharge. Since energy drinks gave you the jitters, you opted for a warm-ish mug of hours-old coffee.

As you reached up to the cabinet to get a mug, you watched as a hand appears above you to grab the handles of two mugs. You turned, following the hand, to see who reached over you. Eyes blue like the Atlantic Ocean behind a pair of plain black rectangular frames looked back at you. You can’t help but smile at him as he beamed, bright enough to illuminate your entire day.

And your writer’s brain was getting way ahead of itself already. Who the hell was this mountain of a man? I wonder what his lips taste like. Should that tie go with that shirt? Fuck, did he just ask me something?

“I’m sorry, what?” You shook yourself out of your thoughts.

“I asked if you wanted the black or the flower mug. I was gonna offer the flower. But I’d rather not assume you didn’t wanna just take the plain one. So, I’m gonna stop talking and let you answer.”

Fuck, he’s cute when he rambles.

“Sunflowers are my favorite.” He offered the mug and your fingers touch and you’re glad that you are the only two in the break room.

“Clark,�� he says, as he poured himself some coffee, “Clark Kent.”

You gave your name and he put out a hand to shake yours. With your hand in his, you notice how it engulfed your own. You thought to yourself about that hand around your throat. Just lightly squeezing the sides of your neck, as a warning.

“Nice to meet you. I hope Lois has been easy on you. She can be a little…much.” He said it in a way that lead you to believe he’s been on the demanding end of Lois more than once.

“Eh, she’s alright. I mean, Ms. Lane is just fine.” You tried to cover your disdain for Lois. In reality, you saw her as a ‘Pick-Me’, but you tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Yeah, sure she is. I dated her, so I know her pretty well. Not that I should be saying anything. But, don’t let her try and get in your head. She’ll use whatever she can to get a scoop, whether in the field or the workplace. She’s a great journalist, but-” You cut him off, not wanting to take part in putting down another woman.

“I think I get the hint. Watch my back around her.” You assure him you understood as you poured your coffee and put in some cream and sugar.

“Yeah, sorry. I shouldn’t talk about her behind her back. That was rude of me. My mother would be disappointed in me for that.” He looked into his mug, and you saw that he was not proud of himself for putting down his ex.

“It’s all good, Clark. I can tell you didn’t mean anything by it. Emotions are tricky, ya know?” You don’t know why you wanted to give him an ‘out’, but you did.

“That, they are. I better get back. See ya around,” He gave a cute little wave and exited the room.

The first time Clark Kent called you Sunflower happened about a month after your first meeting.

The two of you ended up together on a test run for Perry to see how you go about working with other reporters. He probably just wanted to see if I could share a byline.

You could tell that Lois saw a tenacity in you that reminded her of her younger self. While that was great, you wanted to be seen for your ability to get people to talk to you without making them feel like they were in an interview. Just a conversation between people.

When you asked Clark to work on the assignment with you, he jumped at the opportunity. In truth, he wanted the chance to see you at work. He’d listen to Lois talk about how you just saw things differently. Almost like she was jealous, but she would never admit to that.

“So I was thinking we could go to Gotham. Before you say anything, I know it’s dangerous there but we’ll be going during the day. And I finally got the go-ahead from Wayne Enterprises to shadow one of their board members. A Day in the Life kind of piece. What do you think?” You rambled out, arms crossed as you leaned against Clark’s desk.

“I think I can get you an exclusive with Bruce Wayne if you wanted.” He stated nonchalantly.

“I would owe you big time. Wait, how the hell do you know Wayne? What, were you boy scouts together or something?”

“We just end up at a lot of the same places.” Clark offers no other explanation.

“Right,” you nodded at him, not letting it go, “So, I run point on this and you back me up?”

“Sounds perfect. You’ll do great, just know he will try and flirt with you so don’t make it easy for him, Sunflower.” The nickname caused heat to rise to your face, remembering that first time you met him.

“Sure, like the most eligible bachelor in Gotham who can buy whatever he wanted would look at me twice?” You weren’t being down on yourself too much, more like you were being realistic. The man had dated supermodels and heiresses, not chubby junior reporters.

“Without sounding unprofessional, trust me when I say Bruce will look at you more than twice. You say the word and I’ll set him straight.” Was that flirtatious? No way.

“Um, if you say so, Clark,” you tried to laugh it off and walk away but Clark caught your wrist, your eyes locked with his and you felt…something.

“I do say so, Sunflower,” he lowered his hand from around your wrist, “Just prepare to shut him down more than once. He’s, uh, persistent.”

“You trying to save me for yourself, huh?” You couldn’t help yourself. If he denies it, you could say you were joking. If he confirms it, then…

He simply smiled and tilted his head, neither confirming nor denying.

During your interview with Bruce Wayne, you were surprised that he indeed did flirt with you as Clark said he would. You managed to steer the conversation back to Wanye Enterprises each time he would stray to learn more about you. You would give him a detail here and a tidbit there, but you kept it professional. Clark was there to take notes, letting you take the lead. He was impressed by you. You kept Bruce flirting with you to get him to spill details about new things he was working on for Gotham.

The first time you kissed Clark Kent was three months into your internship.

Lois had taken a shine to you, loving what few pieces you were able to get past the intern pool and into an issue. You figured it would be in your best interest to go to her with any journalistic questions you had. You may not like her very much, but she was still a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and you would be an idiot not to take a few pointers from her.

There was one thing you didn’t talk to her about, and that was the massive crush you had on her ex. It just seemed too messy, and honestly, you didn’t need her permission to do anything.

That’s why you accepted Clark’s invitation to make you dinner. Frankly, you weren't surprised he asked you. You had been flirting with each other, exchanging glances and smiles across the office. Spending hours a night talking on the phone and texting back and forth naturally lead you here.

Armed with a bottle of wine and all the courage you could muster, you make it to Clark’s apartment just as he is finishing dinner. He answers the door in jeans and a grey long-sleeved henley, looking so comfortable and so different without a tie on. He thanked you for the wine, took your wrist to pull you behind him, and shut the door with a socked foot.

Pouring you both a glass, he congratulated you for completing half of your internship. It completely slipped your mind that you had reached this milestone, but he remembered. And that was saying a lot. You clinked your glasses together and took a sip of the pinot noir.

“This is going to go great with dinner. Thank you again for picking up some. I can’t believe I forgot to,” Clark bantered, setting his wine glass down to check on the pork tenderloin and roasted potatoes.

“You were too busy trying to impress me,” You insisted, smiling when he gives you a stern look.

“Watch it, Sunflower,” is all you hear and you shifted from one foot to the other to hide your search for friction. You barely had two sips of wine in your system before this man had you feeling drunk.

“Time to let the pork rest while the potatoes finish up. Should be done in a bit,” Clark picked up his wine glass, settling his other hand on your lower back to guide you to the island counter. He didn’t expect it when a shiver ran up your spine and caused you to giggle, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

You sat and chatted during dinner like you’ve known each other for ages and it just felt very comfortable. He told you about his mom, growing up in Smallville, and how he came to work at the Daily Planet. You spoke about your schooling and how you’d one day like to write for the Planet and publish a book of short stories. He was stuck on your every word and it made you feel important to have his undivided attention.

After dinner, you retired to the living room to watch some tv. It was more just on as background noise as you conversed with each other. When you both reached for the wine bottle at the same, you both laugh and then look at each other. And it was all you could do not to melt into a puddle as those blue eyes stare longingly at you.

Clark reached up and took off his glasses before tossing them on the coffee table. Fuck. But, he does nothing more. For what seems like minutes, you sat in silence just staring into each other’s eyes until you speak up.

“Clark, please?” You whined, growing more frustrated with every second.

“Use your words. Tell me what you need, Sunflower.” The way he said it had you shifting in your seat.

“I need you to kiss me, please?” You pleaded, the little crack in your voice not missed by Clark.

He cupped your face with one large paw, his touch so soft that you leaned into it to feel his warmth. His thumb moved over to wipe across your lips, followed swiftly by his lips.

Your lips met and you felt the warmth radiating from him. You could taste the sweetness of the wine on his tongue as he begged for entry. You let him in, moaning into his mouth. Clark grunted in return and pulled away to rest your foreheads together.

“I have wanted that for far too long, Sunflower,” Clark groaned, licking his lips.

“Me too,” you whisper, scooting closer to Clark to lace your fingers together, “Can we do it again?”

Instead of answering you, he pulled you into his lap and attacked your mouth with fervor.

The first time you tell Clark Kent you love him is exactly two months after your first kiss.

It was completely by accident, but no less true.

Clark invited you over for dinner and a movie. The two of you were in the middle of watching 10 Things I Hate About You. Patrick was dancing on the bleachers and singing to Kat. The most romantic scene in the movie apart from the poetry scene.

“Ya know, if we went to high school together and you sang ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ to me in front of the whole school, I would have melted,” you say, stuffing popcorn into your face, “But then, I already love you, so you wouldn’t have to do the whole singing thing.”

Clark’s head whipped around so fast that you can feel the wind coming off of him. “What did you just say, Sunflower?”

You look to Clark and you realized what you had said at the same moment and your eyes went wide. “I think I just confessed love during a ‘90s romcom.”

“Yeah, I think you did,” Clark looked at you with that look in his eyes, “Good thing I love you, too.” He says nonchalantly, trying to not freak you out, and went back to watching the movie.

“Clark, I love you.” You wanted to feel the words on your tongue again.

“I love you too, Sunflower.” Hearing the words come from him was like a cozy embrace that coated the night in warmth.

The first time you had sex with Clark Kent was at the end of your internship.

Clark wanted to wait-

No, he didn’t want to wait, but he chose to wait until your internship was over and you were offered an actual job at the Daily Planet to not seem like he was cruising for tail in the intern pool.

Little did you know, but Clark had it all planned out. Candlelit dinner, romantic music, wine, and chocolates. The whole nine yards. But you didn’t get to experience that version of lovemaking.

At the same time Clark was lighting candles, he heard your heartbeat spike across town. He sped away to your location, without putting on his suit. He flew above the city before he found you being held up at gunpoint in an alleyway and his blood boiled. He watched you comply with your attacker and hand over your purse before flying down behind the man quietly. The man had no idea what hit him when Clark flicked his temple and the assailant falls over unconscious.

He didn’t even think to keep his identity secret anymore. He steps over the man to get to you and check you over for injuries, both external and internal. When he sees nothing, he questions you, “Are you alright, Sunflower?”

You look almost through him because there he is in a sweater and dark-wash jeans, glasses slightly askew. You step back an inch as he reaches out to you. He can see it in your eyes that you are piecing together little moments.

How he got across town in what seemed like seconds. How he never got sick. How it felt like he was always hiding something. This is what he was hiding from you. For your safety? For his?

“There were so many times I wanted to tell you I was Superman, I just didn’t know how. Do you forgive me, Sunflower?” Clark’s pleading ultramarine eyes burned into yours.

“I mean, I guess this is as good a time as any to tell me. I have so many questions. Of which, you will answer all of them, Clark. But, all I need to know right now is how the hell you found me?” Your breathing was starting to speed up again and you tried to calm down but given the circumstances, you were acting pretty normal.

“I kind of, know your heartbeat. I can hear it at all times. Wherever you are, I can hear you,” Clark makes an odd face and then forces out an embarrassed laugh, “Now that I say that out loud, it sounds weird.”

“Yeah, it’s a little weird. But it’s also super romantic, too,” you reach to Clark and pull him to you, “What’s my heart sound like now?”

“Sounds like you’re excited,” he let his hand drag down your body, “Smells like it too. Now, why would that be?”

“I mean, I did just find out my boyfriend is a superhero. That’s sorta hot. Sorta, I mean, he hasn’t taken me flying yet.”

“Brat! How hard is it to ask for what you want?” He picked up your purse from the unconscious attacker and handed it to you. When it is secured around your shoulder, Clark picked you up and you wrap your legs around his hips. “Hold on, Sunflower.” He took off so fast that the world blurred around you.

As he got closer to his apartment, he slowed down and flew a bit higher near the clouds. He rolled over onto his back so that you are straddling him. His hands found each other behind his head as he floated above Metropolis, all attention directed at you. Your eyes wandered around the city as you adjusted your seating which stirred his arousal.

Clark tried to adjust himself under you without you noticing but instead, you took the opportunity to grind your clothed sexes together. The groan that escaped Clark’s mouth is enough to spur you on to continue your ministrations. His eyes are already rolling back in his head and you feel quite proud of yourself. You reached under Clark’s sweater and ran your fingers through his chest hair as you continue to work your hips over him.

“Clark?”

“Yes, Sunflower?” He opened his eyes, pupils were blown wide with lust, breathing becoming unstable.

“Take me to your place so we can get more comfortable?” You flirted with him, wrapping your arms around his neck and shimmying up his body.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He grabbed under your thighs to have you wrap your legs around him once more and began to descend to the balcony of his apartment. He let you inside first but is quickly behind you following you into his bedroom as you start to shed your layers.

You spun around and gave Clark a show of your skin becoming visible in the moonlight. When you are fully undressed, you knelt in front of him with your head down and your hands on your thighs.

He walked over to you and kissed the top of your head. He listened for your heartbeat, and it was steady, if not a little heightened. You were awaiting instruction, as far as he could tell.

“Sunflower, I want you to pick a safe word.” He stood behind you and undressed down to his underwear.

“Unicorn is my safe word.”

“Good girl,” Clark caressed your shoulders and squeezed them, “Are you okay with calling me Sir?”

“Yes, Sir.” Your heart rate evened out, Clark noticed. You’re happy. He beamed down at you.

“Good girl, now turn around and take out Sir’s dick.”

You turned around and reach up to Clark’s boxer briefs, cupping him over the fabric before hooking your fingers into the waistband and pulling the underwear down and off. His length sprung up to bounce in front of your face and you lick your lips in anticipation but don’t go any further without direction.

“Such a good girl, Sunflower,” he grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up to meet his eyes, “Come lay down so Sir can taste you. I can already smell how wet you are.”

You took his hands as he helped you up. Clark pulled you close to his body, your back against his chest. He attacked your neck, nipping and sucking marks that would show in the morning. His length on your hip has you testing your limits.

As if reading your mind, Clark reached down and cupped your netherlips. You instinctively clamped your thighs around his hand and he used a foot to kick your legs apart. With one hand exploring your cunt, the other slides around your throat as a warning.

“Don’t ever block me from my pussy, Sunflower. This belongs to Sir now, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir, it belongs to you.” You were sure Clark could feel you clench around nothing and you didn’t care. You wanted him to know he was doing everything right.

“Good girl,” He dipped a finger into your wetness and pulled it back out to wipe across your bottom lip, “We’re both gonna taste your sweet honey.” He used the hand around your throat to turn you around so he could claim your lips.

You tasted yourself as his tongue invaded you, whimpering into his mouth. His answering groans had you trembling. He walked you backward until your legs hit the edge and he pushed you down. Leaning over, he knelt and pushed your thighs back as far as they would go, marveling at your glistening slit.

With the flat of his tongue, he licked from your entrance to your neglected nub, pausing to suck on it lightly. He ate with the hunger of a man starved. He steeled his tongue, probing your core and tasting you from within. He made out with your pussy, pulling back to spit on it which drew moans from you and had you squeezing your breasts in response.

Clark was good at this, not that you were surprised because of how good of a kisser he was, but fuck! The way he fingered your pussy, making sure to curve his fingers to hit that sensitive bundle of nerves inside was heavenly.

When he sped up his fingers and pushed down on your lower stomach, you gasped and realized he understood the assignment. He was rewarded with you squirting over his hands and chest.

“Such a good girl for me, Sunflower,” he said, before sucking your juices off of his fingers and moving your limp body up the bed, “Now, you’re going to be an extra good girl and take Sir’s dick.”

That was all the warning you received before Clark was pushing in, stretching you wide over his thick hardness. With every inch, he would pull out and press in an inch more than the last thrust. He made sure to stretch you slowly, keeping your tightness while allowing you to get used to his girth.

“That’s right, Sunflower, open those sweet petals for Sir,” Clark soothes your whines as he fucks into you, “I promise I’ll make it all better when you let me all…the way…in.” He punctuated his words with jolts from his hips.

When he is finally seated inside you, he pauses. The sudden stop has you reaching for Clark and moving your hips to gain friction.

“Look at you trying to fuck yourself on my cock,” he leaned over you and watched as tears flow from your eyes, “These tears are gorgeous, but use your words. Tell me what you want.”

“Sir, please,” you whined, looking into his eyes, “Need you to fuck me, please.”

The smile on Clark’s face is brilliant, he’s got you right where he wants you. He kissed your face, stopping to wipe away your tears with his tongue. Pulling back, he secured your legs around his hips before he leaned down to wrap one hand around both of your wrists, holding them above your head.

When Clark fucked you, he paid attention to every aspect of your body. He looked into your eyes. He kissed and nipped at your neck. He pinched and teased your nipples. He rubbed your clit while he pounded inside you.

Clark just did it better than any of your partners before. Maybe because you allowed yourself to be vulnerable around him? Or maybe because he was just…better. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that you were with him and he was inside you and you were all his.

You lost track of how many times you came, but Clark remembers every time. He committed them to memory, seeing you arch your back and feeling your walls flutter around him. He could tell by the sheen of sweat on your body and the way your body is vibrating that you were beyond spent. Possibly even a bit overstimulated. Perfect.

“You ready for my cum, Sunflower?” He licked his thumb and pressed on your clit as you keen, “Do you think you can hold on for me for just a bit longer?”

“Yes, Sir,” you moan as he slid his hands to your hips.

“There’s my good girl,” he groaned and began his assault on your pussy. At this angle, he can stimulate both your hooded center and your G-spot. A punishing pace that set you ablaze. While you held onto his biceps, you looked into his eyes. Where there used to be blue irises, only dark pupils remained. His curly hair was a sweaty mess on his forehead. He was barely a man now, more like an animal rutting into you.

Before long, his hips stutter in their onslaught. Breathing erratically, he squeezed your hips so hard you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. He moved to kiss your neck and latched onto your shoulder with his teeth as you feel every twitch of him releasing inside you. You know there will be bite marks in your shoulder for days but you don’t care.

Clark’s teeth left you, followed closely by his tongue soothing your almost-broken skin. Sometimes, he didn’t know his strength. And it was a close one this time. He was still inside you semi-hard before he decided to pull out slowly causing you to whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

He moved from the bed for a moment. You closed your eyes for a millisecond before you feel warm wetness between your legs.

“Just cleaning you up, Sunflower,” He wipes your delicate folds softly and throws the towel in the clothes hamper before crawling in bed beside you, “You go right to sleep, you deserve it.”

The last time you refer to yourself as Clark’s girlfriend is a year and a half into your relationship.

Clark proposes to you over dinner in the house you bought together. He bought the ring after you talked about marriage just two weeks ago. Well, technically, Bruce helped him buy the ring. As in, Bruce bought the jewelers store and had them design the perfect ring for you.

A smoky quartz center with marquise and pear-shaped citrine petals around it. You had mentioned more than once that you didn’t want a diamond engagement ring, you wanted something that matched your style.

Clark presented the ring to you on one knee, ever the traditionalist. You said yes, of course.

This man was your life, your hope, and your future. You looked forward to every minute of every hour of every day with him.

He is your light in the darkness, and you are his Sunflower.

A/N: Yes, the title is from "Sunflower" by Post Malone/Swae Lee. Yes, the song was for a Spider-Man movie. So, what? It's a good song.

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sayangrafayel · 2 days ago

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LADS men and you doing the "My boyfriend wants to show you his _____ collection and you better be nice!" Trend

Please I've been seeing this trend and they're all so cute and wholesome, so here's what the boys would show in the video.

Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Caleb.

Sylus (jewels)

"Hey guys, my boyfriend wants to show you his jewels collection, be nice!"

Sylus happily show the camera his collection of jewels he had won in auctions, along with Mephisto who would fly around and fetch each jewel he mentions.

"Tell them how much you spent on each jewel!" "Why? They won't be able to afford it." "Sy, be nic- yeah you're right."

Xavier (baking progress)

"Hey! My boyfriend wants to show you his progress of making the perfect bread and-" you whisper menacingly "you better be nice."

Xavier, covered in flour shows his.. perfect bread. The audience can clearly see the burnt side but Xavier quickly say "These little burnt spot makes the bread yummier and more authentic, unlike Charli-" "Xavi!!" "My bread is better." "Yes it is, my star."

He tore a little piece for you to taste and you ate it.. it was actually good. Well, not as bad as batch 27. "Mm! It's true what people say, the 50th time is the charm!"

Rafayel (paints)

"Hello! My husband wants to show you his collection of paints and I know you all adore him so be nice, alright?"

He shows the camera the 50 different yet looks very similar shade of purple. Yet Rafayel insists each one of them is different from the other, telling the audience how exactly he got those colors.

"Now this one, I got from a flower called Wisteria.. this one is from a Lavender. They appear the same but you can see that the other one is darker. Can you see it?" You tried your best to look intimidating in the background. He is just too cute.

Zayne (ice animals)

"My boyfriend is about to show you the ice animals he made from his evol, so be nice. Go ahead, love."

Zayne had five ice babies in his arms, he starts explaining each of the little animals' background. "This one is a seal.. it's the seal I gave her when we met again." You nod happily. "This one is a little cat.. I saw one and I scared it off, so I made a mini version to keep..."

You happily pat the little babies, the ones Zayne hands to you after he's done showing it to the camera.

Caleb (model airplanes)

"Heyho~ My sweet darling boyfriend wants to show you his model airplane collection so," you lean in dangerously close to the camera, "be nice."

"Alright!" Caleb immediately takes over, his natural charming self makes you question whether or not it was necessary for you to be intimidating when you're sure he can win over everyone easily. But you digress.

Each model airplanes he shows, he tells the audience the price and how long it took him to assemble, how you've helped him built many of them. You giggle, going down the memory lane along with him.

Ok at first I want Caleb to show different types of apples but but but model airplanes won, baby needs to get his nerd on.

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les4elliewilliams · 2 days ago

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warning: reblogging this post summons her at 3am.

18+ ⋮ desperately need a feralwife!ellie who:

౨ৎ records you riding her without asking, saves it in a folder on her desktop named taxes and watches it every time she’s left alone with nothing but her hand to keep her pussy company, the filthy video reflecting on her too-big, nerdy glasses.

౨ৎ pulls you into her lap during dinner just so she can innocently grind her thigh up into you and call you dramatic when a soft mhph slips out.

౨ৎ asks if you’re ovulating just to get on her knees and say she can “smell it,” and she can—this fuckin’ horndog swears she can taste it in your sweat, savour it in the air, and see it in the sway of your hips.

౨ৎ moans your name into your pillow when she humps it on days you’re too tired to fuck—cause she’d never dare push you into anything you don’t feel like doing. she’ll even give you a five-star massage and put you to sleep. either way, she always leaves a sticky patch on your side of the bed like a dog in heat marking territory.

౨ৎ gets a rush from public stuff. like letting her fingers brush the inside of your thigh under the dinner table at family events, then gaslighting you right after. “what a snowflake, i wasn’t even doin’ anything.”

౨ৎ manifests sex by walking around the house with a white, see-through tank top and Calvin Klein boxers. ngghhh.

౨ৎ masturbates to your voice notes when you’re at work—casual, boring updates about what you’ve eaten or done—and she’s fingering herself to your laugh like it’s the best porn she’s ever witnessed. obsessed much? nah. she calls it devotion. same goes for the sound of your voice during arguments, she replays voice memos where you’re yelling at her and imagining you doing it naked. she needs you mean. it’s a necessity, not a want.

౨ৎ presses her strap into your ass while folding laundry together, completely deadpan, like she’s not wearing that thing just to get you dripping. “oops. my bad.”

౨ৎ fucks you in front of the huge mirror hanging in your bedroom so she can see your face falling apart in real time, pulling your hair while hissing, “look at you, look at what i do to you,” and she pounds you like she’s trying to milk your womb and get you pregnant. she cruelly slows down when you’re about to cum, “i know, i know baby—it’s too much, but you’re takin’ it so good,” and won’t stop until your legs shake. keeps going even when you sob, pressing apologetic kisses to your neck and the blade of your shoulder. “one more, i know you’ve got one more in you, for me, c’mon.”

౨ৎ moans your name while she comes in her boxers from dry humping your soaked pussy, shaking like an electrocuted virgin, “fuckfuckfuck baby, i’m gonna cum.” #bringdryhumpingback

౨ৎ gets emotionally and spiritually hard off watching you sleep. not in a romantic way either. she just stares at your parted lips, your shirt riding up, and whispers filthy things under her breath like a creep. and when you do catch her, she doesn’t even look ashamed.

౨ৎ slips her thigh between yours while you’re sleeping, just to keep you open. not even trying anything… unless you move in your sleep.

౨ৎ plays with the hem of your panties when you’re knocked out, fingertips ghosting the lacy edges. sometimes even tucks her hand under your waistband and falls asleep like that.

౨ৎ sleeptalks filth, whimpering your name. “just a taste, babe, please…” then wakes up with her boxers wet and pretends not to remember what the dream was about... even after orgasming three times in her sleep.

౨ৎ grinds in her sleep, needy little humps against the fat of your ass with her arm locked around your waist.

౨ৎ asks if she can nap between your legs, then accidentally falls asleep face-first against your pussy, arms slung around your thighs like you’re some kind of personal mattress.

౨ৎ cries if you don’t let her eat you out when you’re on your period, tells you she’s just spiritually cleansing you from the inside out and that “real love is messy.”

౨ৎ watches old videos of you gagging around her strap when you’re not home, whispering “that’s my fuckin’ wife” while she jerks herself to tears. in her defence, she’s a proud wife.

౨ৎ offers to shave your pussy for you but keeps “accidentally” bumping her knuckles against your clit between passes. “oops,” she drawls, fingers already prying your lips open.

౨ৎ tucks her strap into her boxers before bed, praying you’ll climb on and use her while she’s still asleep.

౨ৎ gets lowkey jealous of your vibrator, calls it names under her breath, and once threw it across the room because it made you come faster than she did (she set a timer). later apologized. to you, not the vibrator.

౨ৎ refuses to wash her face after you sit on it.

౨ৎ makes you sign odd contracts before sex as a joke, but they’re full of “i allow ellie to smell my armpits as much as she wants” and “ellie owns my socks now.”

౨ৎ remembers what you wore on your first date, and gets genuinely mad if you ever try to throw it away.

౨ৎ has an entire notes app filled with your old texts. every compliment you’ve ever given her, she’s written down and reads them back when her brain starts lying again. she even keeps little stolen moments trapped in polaroids of you, tucked in corners of the house.

౨ৎ makes sims of the two of you, builds fake lives, and gets jealous if sim-you flirts with npcs.

౨ৎ gets genuinely upset when you don’t tag her in italian brainrot reels or spam her with random tiktoks. “so you got a side chick, huh?”

౨ৎ says “i would’ve loved you in every lifetime,” with such passion it feels like a threat. “if your soul was reincarnated into a cockroach, i’d still marry you.”

౨ৎ shuts down for ten full minutes when you say someone else is funny, then tries to make you laugh harder just to “win” you back. when it doesn’t work, she sits there questioning everything she’s ever said to you.

౨ৎ claims she wants to be buried next to you when the day comes, and already has a google doc planning it. she showed it to you once at 2am and cried when you laughed.

౨ৎ keeps the tag from the first hoodie you ever bought her, tucked in her wallet like a family heirloom.

౨ৎ snoops through your childhood photo albums not to judge you, but to fall deeper in love with the little version of you she never got to meet :(

౨ৎ refuses to delete your old voicemails, even if they’re just about picking up milk. she has them backed up on a usb, just in case.

౨ৎ stalks your spotify activity. you listen to one breakup song and she’s immediately texting, “you okay?” all concerned like she didn’t just have a mini mental breakdown five minutes before sending that.

౨ৎ laminated screenshots of your first convo and hid them in her guitar case. when you laughed, she deadass called you toxic and didn’t speak to you until you apologized.

౨ৎ has a secret scrapbook of you, but is too shy to show you because it’s full of stolen receipts, screenshots, and the wrapper from the first snack you shared.

౨ৎ gets real quiet real fast every time you say “i need space.” (even if you just mean the couch.) her poor brain goes straight to divorce → abandonment → enemy arc unlocked.

౨ৎ asks every six months if you’d still love her if she lost all her limbs, and takes your answer very seriously.

౨ৎ tugs on your necklace while you’re talking, dragging you closer mid-sentence just to kiss you quiet, “you talk too pretty to ignore.”

౨ৎ cups your tits from under your shirt while you’re watching tv, just to keep her palms full and use them as stress balls.

౨ৎ gets pouty if you roll away from her mid-sleep, grumbling “rude” under her breath and spoons you aggressively out of spite.

౨ৎ pretends to be asleep just to see if you’ll touch her, and if you do brush her hair or stroke her side, she’s smiling into the pillow like a pathetic loser.

౨ৎ starts overthinking the moment you seem distant, even if it’s just work stress. she spirals in silence, convinced she’s done something wrong, and won’t say anything until you pry it out of her. “you’re not bored of me, right?”

౨ৎ compares herself to every girl you follow, scrolling through their pages late at night with a pit in her stomach, wondering if they’re more your type than she is. spoiler: they’re not.

౨ৎ pulls away when she’s insecure, even though she craves your touch more than anything. she goes cold, starts sleeping on the edge of the bed until you notice (you always notice). she doesn’t ask for reassurance right away, but instead she drops weird hints “you don’t have to stay with me, you know,” or “if you ever wanted someone else, i’d get it.”

౨ৎ packs your lunch with dumb sticky notes saying “eat this or i’ll cry.”

౨ৎ used to call you her wife even before she proposed, and even now, years later, she still asks if you wanna grow old together, adding a little scared “if that’s okay” at the end that breaks your heart all over again.

2K notes · View notes

gyuuberryy · 3 days ago

Text

don't look back!

pairing: yandere!jungwon x reader

genre: backrooms au, thriller, psycho!jungwon

synopsis: while working late at the waterpark, you slip through reality and fall into the nightmare realm known as the backrooms. you think you’re alone—until you meet jungwon, a charming boy who offers comfort, survival tips, and the promise of an escape together. but something about him doesn’t feel right. the more time you spend together, the more his affection turns eerie... and the deeper you fall into his trap.

warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!) : smut(corruption kink, oral f receiving, fingering, mild marking/biting, unprotected sex), yandere themes, obsession, slight horror themes, manipulation, slight dub con, choking, some degradation, dom!jungwon, swearing, not proofread

note: this is probably my darkest work, and also my first time writing smut!! i hope you like it >///<

word count: 10.3k

if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3

you had been working late at the waterpark again, the last employee left on closing duty.

the usual nighttime sounds surrounded you—the steady drip of water from the slides, the faint hum of the filtration system powering down, the occasional creak of the structure settling. it was peaceful in a way, being alone in the empty park after hours, though tonight the silence felt heavier than usual.

you pulled your hoodie tighter around yourself as you walked past the wave pool, the water still and dark now that the pumps were off. your sneakers squeaked against the wet tiles, the sound echoing strangely in the vast, empty space.

as you moved toward the tower of spiral slides to complete your final check, you couldn't shake the feeling that the air had grown colder, thicker somehow.

that was when you heard the first laugh—a high-pitched, playful sound that seemed to come from the top of the blue slide.

you froze, your grip tightening on the flashlight. that couldn't be right. you'd checked every area twice already, made certain no guests remained. the park was supposed to be empty.

"hello?" you called out, your voice steady despite the sudden chill running down your spine. "the park is closed."

there was no response at first, just the continued dripping of water and that odd, heavy silence.

you were about to dismiss it as your imagination when the laughter came again, closer this time, seeming to bounce off the fibreglass walls of the slides.

your pulse quickened as you approached the staircase leading up to the slide platform. the metal steps were slick with condensation under your hands as you climbed, your flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.

"if someone's up here, you need to leave now," you said, forcing authority into your voice even as your palms grew damp.

when you reached the top, the mouth of the slide gaped before you, a circle of darkness that seemed deeper than it should be. you crouched to shine your light down its length, expecting to see nothing but empty plastic. instead, there was movement—something pale flickering at the edge of your vision.

before you could react, the world twisted around you. it wasn't wind that pulled at you, but something far more unnatural. the slide's opening seemed to stretch, the darkness within it suddenly alive and hungry. you tried to scramble back, but your feet slipped on the wet platform.

as you fell forward, you realised this wasn't just a slide anymore. the walls pressed in around you, warm and yielding like flesh, the air thick with the cloying scent of chlorine and something decaying. you flailed, trying to find purchase, but there was nothing to grab onto as you tumbled through that impossible space.

then there was only nothingness.

the impact knocked the air from your lungs before you even realised you'd stopped falling. your elbows stung where they'd slammed against the tile, your ribs aching like you'd been folded in half.

for several terrifying seconds you just lay there, gasping, your vision swimming as you tried to remember how to breathe. when you finally managed to push yourself up, your hands slipped on the damp floor—not the smooth fibreglass of the slide, but something older and cracked that felt wrong.

the slide was gone.

you whirled around, panic rising like floodwater in your chest, but there was only a wall behind you—water-stained wallpaper peeling away to reveal moldering drywall beneath. the cheerful cartoon dolphins printed on it were faded, their smiles stretched and warped where the paper bubbled.

your breath came in short, sharp bursts as you staggered to your feet, the room tilting dangerously around you. this wasn't possible. you'd just been at work. you'd just been checking the slides.

the space around you stretched endlessly in every direction, a nightmare parody of the waterpark you knew. the same blue-and-yellow colour scheme, but bleached and sickly under flickering fluorescents. the wave pools were empty except for stagnant puddles that reflected the ceiling back at you in distorted fragments. the air clung to your skin, thick with the scent of mildew and that same overpowering chlorine sting—but underneath it, something sweet. cloying. like fruit left to rot in standing water.

"hello?" your voice cracked on the word, barely louder than a whisper.

when no answer came, you tried again, louder: "is anyone here?" the sound died almost instantly, as if the humid air had swallowed it whole.

you moved forward without meaning to, your sneakers sticking slightly to the tacky floor with each step. the lights buzzed overhead, their flickering intensifying as you passed beneath them. down one hallway lined with lockers rusted shut, past another shallow pool that had no visible edge—just tile that stretched on until it blurred into the distance. your fingers trailed along the wall for balance, coming away damp.

a sound from above made you freeze. not the creak of old pipes, but something... wetter. like flesh dragging across metal. you didn't look up. couldn't look up. your pulse roared in your ears as you forced yourself to keep moving, your breath coming too fast.

in the reflection of a murky puddle, you saw something move behind you—a pale shape where nothing should be. when you spun around, there was only an empty hallway. but the puddle rippled, as if whatever had been there had just stepped out of view.

you broke into a run.

the corridors twisted in ways that made no sense, leading you past the same cracked mirror three times, past a snack stand with its menu board melted like wax. your lungs burned, your thighs aching, but you didn't stop until you reached a small kiddie pool tucked between two crumbling walls. its cheerful mosaic tiles were chipped and faded, the painted sea creatures now just vague smudges of colour. you collapsed beside it, pressing your back against the wall as you struggled to catch your breath.

that was when you heard the whistling.

low. off-key. a tune you almost recognised but couldn't place. your blood turned to ice in your veins.

the sound was getting closer.

you scrambled behind a rusted lifeguard chair, its paint flaking away under your desperate grip.

the whistling continued, unhurried, accompanied now by the steady tap of footsteps against tile. a shadow stretched long across the floor before its owner appeared—a boy, maybe your age, dressed in a staff polo that looked freshly laundered. his black hair was neatly styled, his sneakers pristine where yours were soaked. the name tag on his chest caught the light when he moved, but the letters swam when you tried to focus on them.

he saw you immediately. of course he did.

"there you are," he said, as if you'd been keeping him waiting. his voice was pleasant, almost friendly, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. they stayed dark and unreadable as he took a step closer.

"it's not safe to be out alone."

you pressed yourself harder against the wall, your mouth dry. he looked human. normal. but nothing here was normal.

when he extended his hand, his fingers were clean. no dirt under his nails. no dampness on his skin.

"come on," he urged, tilting his head slightly. "before they find you."

above you, the lights flickered again. somewhere in the distance, something heavy dragged itself through water.

his smile never wavered.

your fingers twitched before you even realised you were reaching for him—some primal part of your brain screaming that warmth meant safety, that another human voice in this suffocating silence was worth clinging to, no matter how wrong this all felt.

his hand closed around yours without hesitation, his skin almost feverishly hot compared to the clammy chill clinging to your own.

"i'm jungwon," he said, pulling you to your feet with unsettling ease, like your weight meant nothing.

his fingers lingered a second too long when he let go, leaving behind a tingling imprint that made you want to rub your palm against your jeans.

"you're lucky i found you first."

the words slithered under your skin. first before who? before what?

he was already moving, his steps light and certain against the warped tiles as he led you down another decaying hallway. you followed because there was no other choice, your sneakers squeaking against the damp floor while his made no sound at all.

when you opened your mouth to speak, your voice came out cracked and thin: "where—"

"this place doesn't have a name," he interrupted, glancing back with a smile that didn’t crinkle the corners of his eyes. "not one you'd understand."

his gaze flickered over your face, lingering on the way you bit your lip, the rapid flutter of your pulse in your throat.

"i call it the aquatic sector."

your breath hitched. the backrooms. those creepy internet stories you'd skimmed late at night, half-believing, half-mocking.

"like... the backrooms?" you whispered, the word tasting absurd even as it left your tongue.

jungwon's smile didn’t waver, "something like that." he said it so casually, like he was discussing the weather, and the sheer normality of his tone made your stomach twist.

he turned a corner without checking if you followed—of course you did, where else would you go?—and you realised with a jolt that he knew this place. the way his shoulders never tensed at the distant, wet sounds echoing through the pipes. the way he stepped over a particular cracked tile without looking down, avoiding the dark stain spreading beneath it like he’d done it a hundred times before.

when he finally pushed open a door marked staff only, the room beyond was so jarringly intact it made your eyes water. clean towels stacked neatly on a shelf. unopened cans of fruit lined up in a tiny pantry. a battery-powered lantern cast warm light over a faded couch, its cushions dented from use. it looked like a lifeguard break room plucked straight from your own world and dropped here, untouched by the decay choking everything outside.

"this zone's safe," jungwon said, watching your face as you took it in. he grabbed a water bottle from the cabinet and held it out to you, the plastic crinkling in his grip. "but only for now."

your fingers trembled as you took it, the condensation cool against your palm. you wanted to drink so badly your throat ached with it, but the way he watched you—head slightly tilted, dark eyes tracking the bob of your throat as you swallowed nervously—made your grip tighten without opening it.

something about the way his smile didn't reach his eyes, about how his uniform was still perfectly dry when your clothes clung damp and clammy to your skin, about how he'd known exactly where to find you in this endless maze.

"you should drink," he said, softer now.

he took a step closer and you could smell the faint citrus of his shampoo, so out of place here it made your pulse skip.

"you'll get dehydrated fast in this sector."

his fingers brushed yours as he reached to twist the cap off for you, and for a dizzying second you considered letting him. his touch was the only warm thing in this entire place. but then the pipes above you groaned, a wet, meaty sound that had you jerking back, the water bottle slipping from your grip to roll across the floor.

jungwon's expression darkened for just a second—a flicker of something sharp behind his pleasant mask—before he sighed and crouched to retrieve it.

"you'll learn," he said, more to himself than to you as he placed the bottle carefully on the table.

outside, something heavy splashed into one of the pools, the sound echoing through the thin walls. when you tensed, jungwon's hand settled between your shoulder blades, warm even through your damp hoodie.

"don't worry," he murmured, his breath stirring your hair. "i won't let anything hurt you."

the promise should have been comforting. so why did it feel like a threat?

time bent around you like wet paper, the hours stretching and warping until you couldn’t tell if minutes or days had passed.

jungwon became your only constant, your lifeline in this rotting, endless maze. he told you where to sleep (the staff break room, always with the door locked), when to hide (when the lights flickered in a pattern that wasn’t random), which corridors to avoid (the ones with the faint smell of overripe bananas). but he never explained why.

"don’t follow the laughter," he said one evening, or what you thought was evening, as you both sat cross-legged on the floor of the break room, sharing a can of peaches.

the syrup was too sweet, clinging to your teeth, but you ate it anyway because hunger gnawed at your stomach like a living thing.

you frowned. "what laughter?"

jungwon’s fingers paused where they’d been tracing patterns on the tile floor. he didn’t look up.

"you’ll know it when you hear it. it sounds almost human. almost." his voice dropped on the last word, and something in his tone made you set the can down, your appetite gone.

"that’s not an answer," you muttered.

he finally lifted his gaze, his dark eyes unreadable. "it’s the only one i can give you."

you wanted to push, to demand more, but then the walls breathed—a slow, wet expansion of the water-damaged drywall that made you recoil. jungwon didn’t even flinch.

"also," he continued, as if nothing had happened, "don’t trust water that moves on its own. and never, never go into a glowing slide."

"why not?"

he leaned forward suddenly, close enough that you could see the faint scar on his lower lip, the way his pupils swallowed the dim light.

"because some doors only open one way," he whispered. then he pulled back, his smile returning like a curtain falling.

"eat your peaches."

you noticed things, over time. the way the walls never dripped when jungwon was near, how the flickering fluorescents steadied when he walked beneath them, as if they were afraid to sputter out in his presence. you noticed how he watched you—constantly—his gaze lingering on the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, how your fingers trembled when you were tired.

and then you found the notebook.

it was tucked under his pillow, the leather cover worn soft. you hadn’t meant to snoop, but he’d been gone longer than usual (to "check the perimeter," whatever that meant), and the silence had pressed in on you until you needed something to focus on besides the sound of your own heartbeat.

the first page was a sketch of your face, rendered in startling detail. your lips slightly parted in sleep, your eyelashes casting shadows on your cheeks. you turned the page.

another. another. dozens of drawings, all of you—your hands clutching a blanket, your back arched in alarm when something had banged on the door the night before, your tear-streaked cheeks from when you’d broken down sobbing your third day here.

your breath caught.

"you’re beautiful when you’re afraid."

you hadn’t heard him come in. jungwon stood in the doorway, his head tilted, his expression unreadable. your fingers clenched around the notebook, the paper crinkling under your grip.

he stepped closer, his movements smooth and predatory.

"just kidding," he murmured, but his eyes—dark and endless—never left yours.

he pried the notebook from your hands with terrifying gentleness, his thumb brushing over a sketch of your crying face. "you’re beautiful all the time."

the air between you thickened, the silence broken only by the distant sound of something heavy dragging itself through water. jungwon didn’t seem to hear it. his gaze burned into you, possessive and hungry, and for the first time, you realised the most dangerous thing in this place wasn’t the shifting halls or the things that lurked in the water.

it was the boy standing in front of you, smiling like he already knew every way you’d break.

the air in the filtration room had been particularly thick that day, clinging to your skin like a second layer of sweat as you followed jungwon through yet another routine patrol.

you'd memorised the path by now—past the cracked wave pool tiles, left at the concession stand with its permanently stuck "hot dogs $3.99" sign, right at the third set of rusted lockers.

his flashlight beam cut through the perpetual twilight, illuminating dust motes that swirled like tiny galaxies in the stale air.

"wait here," jungwon said suddenly, his hand squeezing your wrist just a bit too tight before releasing.

the filtration tunnel gaped before you both, its mouth dark and damp.

"i need to check something. don't move." his smile didn't reach his eyes as he said it, the way it never did anymore.

you nodded, forcing your breathing to stay even as you watched him disappear into the tunnel. the moment his light vanished around the first bend, your body thrummed with nervous energy. this was it. you'd been watching for weeks, noting which corridors made him tense, which doors he always locked extra carefully. the copper-scented hallway to your right had been his most consistent avoidance.

the first step away from the tunnel entrance sent a jolt of electricity up your spine. your sneakers made barely a sound against the slick tiles, your movements practised after so many days of following his lead through these endless halls. the chlorine-copper smell grew stronger with each step, so potent it made your eyes water and your tongue feel coated in pennies.

halfway down the corridor, your foot caught on something soft. you barely stifled a scream as you looked down to see what appeared to be a waterlogged park uniform, the fabric bloated and discoloured. something about the way it lay—too flat, too empty—made your stomach turn. you stepped over it carefully, your pulse pounding in your ears.

the maintenance ladder appeared like a mirage, its rusted rungs nearly blending into the water-stained wall. you tested the first step with your weight, wincing as the metal groaned in protest. every creak seemed deafening in the silent hallway. as you climbed, the air grew noticeably colder, each breath forming visible clouds that dissipated into the gloom above you.

at the top, the platform was smaller than you expected, barely three feet across. the glowing slide pulsed before you, its eerie green light casting strange shadows across your trembling hands. up close, the hum you'd noticed from below vibrated through your teeth, setting your nerves on edge.

you hesitated, one hand hovering over the slide's entrance. jungwon's warning echoed in your mind, but so did the memory of his sketches, the way his fingers lingered just a beat too long when he touched you. the way he'd started saying "we" instead of "you" when talking about the future.

the decision crystallised in an instant. you launched yourself forward, the slide's surface shockingly cold even through your clothes. for one glorious moment, you felt weightless, the current carrying you forward with exhilarating speed.

then the world twisted.

the temperature plummeted so fast your muscles locked in protest. the smooth tunnel contorted violently, the walls rippling like disturbed water before going rigid at impossible angles. your scream caught in your throat as you were flung sideways, then upside down, the laws of physics abandoning you completely.

when you finally crashed into a brackish pool, the impact drove what little air remained from your lungs. the water tasted foul—salt and something organic, something living. you thrashed toward the surface, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and terror.

breaking through into the air brought no relief. the cavernous room stretched endlessly in every direction, the ceiling lost in shadow. the pool's edges weren't tile but something porous and veined, pulsing faintly in time with your racing heartbeat.

then you saw him.

jungwon stood perfectly still at the water's edge, his clothes soaked through as if he'd swum through miles of tunnels to reach you. water dripped from his hair into his eyes, but he didn't blink. the quiet rage radiating from him was more terrifying than any monster this place could have conjured.

"didn't i say," he began, his voice deceptively soft as he stepped into the pool, "not to trust glowing slides?" each word carried the weight of betrayal, his hands flexing at his sides.

the water resisted as you tried to back away, its viscosity suddenly wrong - too thick, too clinging. jungwon closed the distance effortlessly, his fingers wrapping around your biceps with bruising force as he hauled you onto the slick ground.

your body hit the floor with a wet slap, the impact reverberating through your bones. jungwon loomed over you, his knees caging your hips, his breath coming in sharp bursts that fogged in the frigid air. up close, you could see the way his pupils had swallowed nearly all the brown in his eyes, leaving only thin rings of colour around bottomless black.

"you could have died," he hissed, his voice cracking on the last word.

one hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing roughly over your cheekbone.

"do you have any idea what's out there? what would have happened if i hadn't found you?"

tears spilled hot down your cheeks, the salt taste mixing with the brackish water still dripping from your hair.

"i just wanted to go home," you choked out, your voice barely audible over the distant, watery echoes of the cavern.

jungwon's expression fractured. he pressed his forehead to yours, his nose brushing against your tear-streaked skin.

"this is your home," he whispered, the words vibrating through your skull. "i'm your home."

his grip gentled as he pulled you upright, his arms wrapping around your shivering form in a mockery of comfort. one hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"don't ever do that again," he murmured, his lips grazing your temple. the kiss felt like a brand.

"next time..." his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly in your hair. "next time i might not be able to save you."

the unspoken threat hung between you, heavier than the humid air, darker than the endless corridors stretching in every direction. as he helped you to your feet, his arm slung possessively around your waist, you realised with dawning horror that you'd just proven his worst fear.

and in doing so, you'd given him the perfect excuse to never let you out of his sight again.

that night, something inside you finally cracked open—not with the sharp snap of defiance, but with the slow, inevitable splintering of resistance worn down by exhaustion and something dangerously close to surrender.

you sat shivering on the edge of his mattress, the damp fabric of your clothes clinging to your goosebumped skin like a second layer of shame. the scent of chlorine still clung to your hair, undercut by something darker—something organic and vaguely sweet, like fruit left to rot in standing water, which seemed like a recirring scent in this place.

jungwon knelt before you, a threadbare towel in his hands, his movements methodical as he dragged the rough fabric up your calf. the friction should have warmed you, but you only felt colder with each pass, your skin pebbling under his touch.

"you never listen," he whispered, his voice almost affectionate, the way one might scold a beloved but wayward pet.

his fingers tightened slightly around your ankle—not enough to hurt, just enough to make the bones shift under his grip.

"do you know how many rules you broke today?" his thumb pressed into the hollow beneath your ankle bone, a silent demand for your attention.

you swallowed hard, your throat clicking with the motion. "i just—"

"shh," he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips. his skin tasted like salt and metal. "i know what you were trying to do. but we don't lie to each other, do we?"

his hand slid higher up your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there, just shy of bruising. "say it."

your breath hitched. "no. we don't lie."

"good girl." the praise curled warm in your stomach despite everything.

his thumb hooked into the waistband of your soaked shorts, tugging them down your legs with agonising slowness.

"i should punish you," he mused, his breath hot against your inner thigh as he pressed a kiss there, "but you look so pathetic like this."

his teeth grazed your skin—not biting, just testing. "all shivering and wide-eyed. like a drowned kitten."

you should have stopped him. should have pushed him away. but your hands stayed limp at your sides, fingers twitching against the mattress as he pulled you closer to the edge, his grip firm on your hips.

"jungwon—"

"tell me you're sorry," he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing the crease of your thigh.

your pulse pounded in your ears. "i'm sorry."

"for what, exactly?" his tongue darted out to taste you, just once, making your stomach clench.

"for—for trying to leave." the admission tasted bitter on your tongue.

he hummed, the vibration travelling straight to your core. "and?"

"for not listening." your voice broke on the last word.

his mouth found you then, soft at first—just the barest flick of his tongue that made your toes curl. then deeper, firmer, until you couldn't stifle the gasp that tore from your throat. your thighs trembled around his head, your fingers twisting into the sheets as he worked you open with his tongue, each lick sending sparks up your spine.

"that's better," he murmured against you, the vibrations making your hips jerk.

"this is what you need, isn't it? to be reminded?" his fingers dug into your hips, holding you still as his tongue circled your clit with devastating precision. "to be taken care of?"

you couldn't answer. your thoughts had dissolved into static, your body no longer your own. when you whimpered his name, he hummed in approval, the sound curling low in your belly.

"use your words, sweetheart." his breath was hot against your soaked skin. "tell me what you want."

"please—"

"please what?" he nipped at your inner thigh, just hard enough to sting. "you have to say it."

your vision blurred at the edges. "please don't stop."

he rewarded you immediately, his tongue laving over you in broad strokes before he pressed two fingers inside, curling them expertly until your walls fluttered around him.

"like that?" he asked, his voice rough. "you want me to make you cum? to remind you who you belong to?"

you nodded frantically, your hips rocking against his hand.

"say it." his fingers stilled inside you, denying you the friction you craved. "say you're mine."

the words stuck in your throat for only a second before you choked them out: "i'm yours."

he crooked his fingers just right, the heel of his palm grinding against you in time with each thrust, and you shattered—your back arching off the mattress, your walls fluttering around him as pleasure ripped through you like a riptide.

he kissed you after, his lips tasting of you, his grip bruising on your jaw as he held you in place.

"you're mine," he said again, his voice rough, his pupils blown so wide they swallowed the brown of his eyes.

"no one else gets to have you. not even reality."

his words settled into your bones like a curse. you wanted to protest. wanted to tell him you belonged to yourself, that this place wasn't your home, that you would find a way out. but when he pulled you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you didn't resist. and when his fingers traced idle patterns over your hip—claiming and possessive—you let him.

because the worst part wasn't the way he touched you.

it was the way your body arched into his hand when he reached for you again.

the way your breath caught when he whispered, "again."

the way you obeyed.

after that night, the invisible leash around your throat pulled taut like a noose gradually tightening. jungwon became your shadow, your keeper, your only tether to anything resembling safety in this rotting labyrinth.

when he did leave—always with that same murmured excuse about "checking the perimeter"—the backrooms seemed to come alive with malicious intent. the first time it happened, you sat perfectly still for exactly three minutes after he left, counting each second by the erratic drip of water from a ceiling pipe.

then the lights began stuttering like a dying man's pulse.

"jungwon?" you called out, immediately hating how small your voice sounded.

the hallway ahead warped suddenly, the tiles rippling like water disturbed by some unseen force. when you turned to run back to the break room, the door you'd just come through was gone—replaced by a staircase that definitely hadn't been there before, its steps slick with something dark and viscous.

"no, no, no," you chanted under your breath, pressing your back against the wall as the staircase shifted again, the top step now leading to a ceiling vent far too small for any human to crawl through.

that was when you heard it—a wet, clicking sound from the darkness beneath the stairs, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of overripe bananas and something metallic. your stomach turned as the clicking grew louder, more rhythmic, like dozens of tiny bones knocking together.

jungwon found you exactly seven minutes later curled behind a stack of mouldy pool noodles, your nails digging bloody crescents into your palms.

"i told you not to wander," he sighed, crouching before you.

his fingers were warm when they pried yours open, his thumbs rubbing circles into your clenched fists.

"what did you see?"

"the stairs—they moved," you gasped, still trembling. "and there was something under—"

"shhh," he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips.

his eyes darted to the hallway behind you, suddenly sharp. "don't say it out loud. this place listens."

he helped you stand, his arm slipping around your waist in a way that might have been comforting if not for how easily his fingers spanned nearly the entire width of your torso. "let's get you cleaned up."

you tried to assert yourself exactly once, three days later.

it started as a simple request—"i need space"—but the words came out cracked and brittle, like you were begging rather than demanding.

jungwon paused in the middle of rewrapping your blistered foot (when had you gotten blisters?), his head tilting in that unnervingly precise way of his.

"space?" he repeated, the word curling oddly in his mouth.

his smile bloomed slow and sweet, like blood spreading through water. "oh, sweetheart. there's nothing but space here."

his fingers brushed your ankle, trailing upward with deliberate slowness.

"endless, hungry space." when his hand reached your knee, he squeezed just enough to make your breath hitch. "i'm just protecting you."

you swallowed hard. "from what?"

jungwon leaned in so close his lips brushed your ear, his next words a warm puff of air that made you shiver.

"from what happens to pretty things that get lost in the dark."

he pulled back slightly, his dark eyes searching yours.

"this place listens to me. you don't want to hear what it says about you when i'm gone." his thumb traced your lower lip. "the way it licks its chops every time you stumble. the way the walls whisper about how sweet you'd taste."

that night, you woke abruptly to the feeling of something cool and padded encircling your wrists. your eyes flew open to find yourself in jungwon's lap, your arms secured to the bench with what looked like salvaged lifeguard rescue tubes—the orange foam frayed but still sturdy.

"w-what—" you stammered, panic surging as you tugged against the restraints.

"shhh, just for your safety," jungwon soothed, his fingers already carding through your hair. the casual ease with which he held you down sent ice through your veins.

"you were thrashing in your sleep again. nearly rolled right off the bench." he held up a can of peaches, the syrup glistening in the low light. "let's get some food in you, yeah?"

when you turned your head away, his grip tightened fractionally in your hair.

"now, now," he chided, popping the lid with a metallic snick. "none of that."

the first syrupy slice pressed against your lips was cold and cloying. "open."

the fight drained out of you with terrifying speed. by the third bite, you were chewing mechanically, the sweetness coating your tongue like medicine. jungwon's approving hum vibrated through you as he wiped a stray drop of syrup from your chin with his thumb—then sucked it clean with a soft, satisfied sound.

"good girl," he murmured, kissing each of your knuckles in turn. the shackles stayed on all night.

as the days bled together, resistance became a distant memory, as foreign as sunlight or fresh air.

his touches became your only constants—the steadying hand at your elbow when the floor suddenly slanted, the broad palm spanning your back when a corridor narrowed unexpectedly, the strong arms that lifted you effortlessly over patches of suspicious-looking water. in the hot pool (the one oasis in this rotting place, its waters always perfectly clear and heated), he would wrap around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as the steam curled around you both.

"feel good?" he'd murmur, his hands drifting along your arms beneath the water.

you'd nod silently, too tired to lie or protest. his heartbeat against your back was the only rhythm left in this place, the only thing that still made sense.

the backrooms themselves seemed to worship him. puddles stilled when he approached, their surfaces going eerily smooth. hallways straightened obediently at his approach.

once, when you caught your reflection in the pool's surface, it grinned at you—wide and knowing—even as your own face remained carefully blank. when you jerked back with a gasp, jungwon just tightened his arms around you.

"just a trick of the light," he murmured, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

the question burned in your chest for days before you finally found the courage to whisper it one night: "what are you?"

jungwon went very still, his fingers pausing where they'd been tracing nonsense patterns on your bare shoulder. for a long moment, the only sound was the distant drip of water and your own too-quick breathing.

"i used to be like you," he said at last, his voice soft with something almost like regret. "scared. lost. convinced there was a way out."

his hand returned to your shoulder, his thumb brushing the knob of your collarbone. "then i stopped pretending to be afraid. stopped fighting what this place wanted from me."

his lips grazed your temple, lingering just a second too long. "you'll understand soon."

the promise should have terrified you. should have sent you scrambling for escape. instead, a warm heaviness settled in your chest, spreading through your limbs like syrup. when he pulled you closer, you went without resistance, your head finding its familiar place against his shoulder.

outside your fragile bubble of warmth, the backrooms groaned and shifted—but here, cradled in jungwon's arms, the world held its breath. you closed your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you into something like peace.

somewhere along the way, you'd forgotten how to fight.

somewhere deeper still, you'd stopped wanting to.

it had been weeks—or maybe months, you had no idea how the warped time her worked—since jungwon had let you out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time.

you'd practised the request of wanting to sleep alone in your head for days, carefully framing it as concern for his own rest rather than your desperate need for space.

"you look tired," you ventured one evening as he rubbed your sore feet (when had you started letting him do that?).

your fingers played with the frayed edge of his sleeve, the fabric soft from countless washes in the pool's filtration runoff.

"maybe... maybe you should take a night for yourself. i'll be fine here."

jungwon's hands stilled on your instep. the silence stretched so long you could hear the drip-drip-drip of water from the ceiling vent counting out your racing heartbeat.

when he finally looked up, his smile didn't reach his eyes—those dark, fathomless eyes that always seemed to see straight through you.

"one night," he conceded, his thumb brushing the delicate bones of your ankle. the casual possession in that simple touch made your stomach clench.

"but scream if you need me." his fingers trailed up your calf, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "the walls carry sound beautifully here."

he left you in a small bunkroom near the filtration systems, the space eerily pristine compared to the decay everywhere else. thick blankets covered the narrow bed, their faded nautical patterns almost cheerful under the glow of luminous pool tiles embedded beneath the frame.

you waited until his footsteps faded completely before letting out the breath you'd been holding.

the second the door clicked shut, the air grew heavier, pressing against your skin like wet hands. you told yourself you wouldn't sleep—just rest your eyes until morning came, whatever that meant in this endless place. curling up on the bed, you pulled your knees to your chest and stared at the door, straining to hear anything beyond the ever-present hum of machinery.

every sound became magnified in his absence. the walls creaked like old ship hulls, the pipes groaned with more than just water pressure, and every distant droplet echoed like approaching footsteps. at one point, you swore you heard whispering—not words exactly, but something like the hiss of water through cracks, forming almost-syllables that prickled the hairs on your neck.

"it's just the pipes," you muttered to yourself, your voice thin and unconvincing in the heavy air.

pulling the blankets over your head, you tried to focus on your breathing, but the fabric stuck to your lips with each panicked exhale.

when the bed suddenly shifted beneath you—just a slight dip, like someone had sat at the foot—you nearly screamed. your muscles locked, every nerve ending alight with primal terror as you waited for the inevitable touch, the breath against your neck.

but nothing came. the silence that followed was worse than any sound, thick with anticipation and something else—something watching.

by the time jungwon returned, you were curled into a tight ball, your face pressed against your knees to muffle the quiet sobs wracking your body. the door opened without a sound, but you knew it was him from the way the room immediately stilled, the oppressive weight in the air lifting as if by command.

"oh, sweet thing," he murmured, his voice dripping with false sympathy as the mattress dipped behind you.

his hands were warm where they slid under your shaking form, gathering you against his chest like a child. you hated how easily you folded into him, your body betraying your mind with its immediate relaxation.

"see?" he whispered into your hair, his lips brushing your temple. "you're safest when i'm touching you."

you wanted to protest, to push him away, but your limbs felt leaden, your resistance worn to nothing by the terror of the empty hours. when your fingers twitched weakly against his chest, jungwon made a soft, approving sound and kissed your forehead.

"shhh, i know," he murmured, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck.

his thumb stroked the sensitive skin behind your ear in slow circles. "you just needed to learn, didn't you? needed to see what happens when i'm not here to keep you safe."

his kiss started soft, just the barest brush of lips. but when you didn't resist, it deepened, his mouth hot and insistent as his tongue slid against yours. the taste of him flooded your senses, metallic and sweet like the canned fruit he always fed you, and some broken part of you responded without thought, your hands fisting in his shirt.

when you didn’t pull away, he pressed deeper, tongue slipping past your lips with practised ease. he kissed you like he had the right to. maybe that’s what terrified you most.

“see?” he whispered against your mouth, tasting you in slow drags. “you’re already calmer.”

you weren’t. not really. but your breathing had steadied, your muscles unknotted just enough to stop trembling, and your arms were curled weakly around his shoulders. it felt… safer. wrong, but safer.

he coaxed your top over your head with ease, discarding it like it meant nothing. his hands were warm and slow as they skimmed over your skin, trailing reverent touches across your ribs and stomach.

“let me take care of you,” he murmured, more command than offer, but spoken like a promise. “you were scared without me. i know. i felt it.”

his mouth moved to your chest, kissing your collarbone, then lower. when he sucked your nipple into his mouth, you flinched, but didn’t stop him. the heat of his tongue, the way he hummed low in his throat when you arched into him—it made your stomach twist, shame and need tangled too tight to separate.

“you don’t have to think,” he murmured, his palm sliding down your side. “just let yourself feel.”

you should’ve said no. you didn't want his presence right? but you didn’t push him away, instead clung closer to him whispering a breathy okay. because your limbs still felt heavy, your brain still foggy with the memory of isolation and the cold silence of the bunk.

and his hands were so warm.

he kissed his way down your stomach, pausing to bite gently at your hip before nudging your thighs apart with his palms. his eyes flicked up, reading your expression in the low light. your breath hitched.

“tell me to stop,” he said. his voice was calm, but something coiled underneath it. “i’ll stop if you ask.”

you didn’t. you couldn’t.

and that was enough.

his mouth met your folds with agonising slowness, tongue sliding through you like he already knew exactly where to touch. he teased you with slow flicks, warm and wet, circling your clit until your hips twitched, then pulling away just to hear you whine. you hated how quickly your body betrayed you.

“you’re already dripping,” he murmured into your skin. “sweet thing… you missed this too, didn’t you?”

his fingers slipped into you without resistance, two of them stretching you gently. the stretch made you gasp, your walls clenching around him instinctively. he crooked them slightly—finding a spot that made you buck, unbidden—and smiled against your thigh.

“so sensitive,” he cooed, kissing the inside of your knee. “so good for me, even now.”

he kept going until your legs were trembling, slick pooling where his wrist met your body. you were panting, eyes hazy, brain empty of anything but the rhythm of his fingers and the hot drag of his mouth against your clit.

when he finally pulled back, you almost whimpered at the loss.

he stripped without a word, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound between you. when he hovered over you again, cock in hand, he paused at your entrance.

“i’ll go slow,” he said. “i want you to feel everything.”

he pushed in with a groan, hips moving with infuriating control, stretching you inch by inch. the burn was real. but so was the way you clenched around him, the way your legs wrapped around his waist out of instinct.

“fuck,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. “you feel like you were made for me.”

his rhythm started slow—careful, deep thrusts that filled you completely, his fingers locked with yours on the sheets. his other hand hovered at your throat again, resting lightly as if to say remember who’s in control.

and still, you didn’t push him away.

you didn’t want to.

you’d tried to sleep alone, and it had nearly broken you. here, at least, you could pretend his touch was warmth and not some strange obsession.

he moaned when you clenched around him, and his thrusts picked up pace, harder now, deeper. the bed creaked beneath you, his hips slapping into yours with a rhythm that turned everything else to static.

“you’re mine,” he growled, breath hot against your ear. “you know you’re mine.”

your orgasm hit with sudden force, tearing through you like a cracked dam. you cried out, shaking, your nails digging into his back.

jungwon swore, driving into you once—twice—before he spilled inside you with a shudder, pressing in so deep it felt like he was trying to disappear inside your body.

neither of you moved for a long time. he stayed buried in you, breath shallow, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

“you won’t ask to be alone again,” he whispered against your hair. “will you?”

you didn’t answer. your eyes were already drifting closed.

he pulled the blanket up and curled around you, possessive and still, his fingers tracing lazy shapes across your stomach, like he didn't want to stop touching you.

“good girl,” he said softly. “sleep now.”

and you did, not because you felt safe.

but because you were too tired to be afraid.

the next night, jungwon’s fingers interlaced with yours in the dark, his grip just shy of painful.

"i want to show you something," he murmured, his breath warm against your temple. you hadn’t even heard him approach—he moved through these rotting halls like a shadow given form.

"it’s late," you whispered back, your voice hoarse from disuse. the words tasted like a lie because you both knew time didn’t exist here.

jungwon’s thumb stroked your knuckles, a mockery of comfort. "it’s always late here," he said, pulling you to your feet with effortless strength. "come on."

he led you to the broken diving board—the one with cracks spiderwebbing through its surface like veins. you’d passed it a hundred times, maybe more. but tonight, under the flickering glow of the emergency lights, something was different.

"watch," jungwon breathed, pressing your palm flat against what looked like solid wall.

beneath your fingers, the surface pulsed like a heartbeat before peeling away with a wet, tearing sound. your stomach lurched as a hidden alcove revealed itself, the air inside stale and thick with the scent of mildew and something sweet.

"what is this?" you choked out, trying to recoil, but jungwon’s arm banded around your waist, holding you in place.

"ours," he said simply, stepping inside and dragging you with him.

the shelves were lined with artifacts—your waterpark nametag, the plastic slightly warped as if melted. your favourite silver bracelet, the clasp broken, the chain tangled in on itself like a strangled snake. the hoodie you’d been wearing that first night, the fabric stiff with dried pool water and something darker.

"the place gave me these," jungwon murmured, running his fingers over each item with reverence.

his nails scraped against the nametag, the sound making your teeth ache. "it knew you belonged here." he turned to face you then, his eyes glowing an unnatural blue in the dim light. "just like i do."

your breath came in short, sharp bursts. "that’s not—that’s not possible."

jungwon stepped closer, the wall sealing shut behind him with a wet, sucking sound.

"you feel it, don’t you?" his hand rose to cup your cheek, his skin fever-hot against yours. "the way the water stills when you touch it? the way the lights flicker when you’re scared?"

his thumb brushed your lower lip, his grip tightening when you tried to turn away.

"you were always meant to be mine."

you wanted to scream. wanted to claw at his face until that smug certainty bled out of him. but your throat closed up, your voice abandoning you just as it had so many times before.

jungwon’s lips crashed into yours, wet and cold like the slide that had brought you here. his teeth caught your bottom lip, sharp enough to draw blood. the taste of him flooded your mouth—chlorine and copper and something alive, something wrong. behind you, the pool water began to ripple without any disturbance, parting in perfect symmetry as if making way for something unseen.

"see?" he panted against your mouth, his fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close. "even it knows."

the days bled together after that. you watched, numb, as the backrooms bent to jungwon’s will.

you sat cross-legged by the pool’s edge, trailing your fingers through water that had gone suspiciously still. jungwon watched you from a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest.

"make it move," he said suddenly, nodding toward the water.

you blinked. "what?"

"the water." he stepped closer, his shadow swallowing yours whole. "try."

you shook your head. "i can’t—"

"try," he repeated, his voice hardening.

you swirled your hand through the water, creating weak ripples that died almost immediately.

jungwon sighed, crouching beside you. "you’re thinking too small."

he placed his palm flat against the surface, and the water recoiled as if burned, forming a perfect circle around his skin.

"it’s not about force. it’s about knowing." his eyes locked onto yours. "knowing this place is yours."

you swallowed hard. "i don’t want it."

jungwon’s smile was all teeth. "liar."

the punishments grew subtler but no less cruel. when you tested him—when you asked one too many questions or pulled away from his touch—the backrooms themselves turned against you.

"why won’t you let me leave?" you demanded one night, your voice cracking.

jungwon, who had been humming under his breath while braiding a strand of your hair around his finger, went very still.

"leave?" he repeated, the word dripping with amusement. "oh, sweet thing. there’s nowhere to go."

the lights chose that moment to flicker violently before plunging you into darkness. something wet dripped onto your shoulder from above. jungwon’s fingers found yours in the dark, his grip vise-like.

"shh," he murmured, though you hadn’t made a sound. "it’s just angry you’d even ask."

when the lights returned, his knuckles were smeared with something dark and glistening. you didn’t ask.

sleep became your only respite, though even that was tainted. jungwon insisted you rest curled against him, his arms banded around your waist like living restraints.

"sing to me," he’d whisper into the nape of your neck on the bad nights, when the walls groaned a little too loudly.

his voice would curl around words you didn’t recognise, the language guttural and wrong.

"it’s an old lullaby," he explained once when you stiffened. "the first thing this place taught me."

sometimes he’d disappear for what felt like hours, returning with his hands stained rust-red under the nails and a smile that made your stomach drop.

"someone else got lost," he’d say, wiping his fingers clean on a towel that was somehow always pristine afterwards.

his eyes would roam your face hungrily, as if comparing.

"but they weren’t you."

the unspoken always hung heavy between you—they weren’t special. they weren’t his.

eventually, he began allowing you to explore—always with him, always with his hand clamped firmly around yours. the invisible leash between you grew shorter each day, tightening whenever you strayed too far.

"why do you hold my hand so tight?" you asked once, your voice barely above a whisper.

jungwon stopped walking, turning to face you. the hallway seemed to hold its breath around you. "because i can’t trust you yet," he said simply, his free hand brushing your cheek. "but you’re learning."

you held his hand not just out of fear, but because his skin was the only warmth left in this rotting place. because the hollow in your chest ached when he wasn’t near. because you couldn’t remember what your reflection had looked like before it started smiling at you with too many teeth.

the pool became your twisted mirror. no matter how still you stood, how blank you kept your face, your reflection always grinned back—wider each time, its eyes darker, its features sharpening into something that wasn’t quite yours anymore.

"she likes you," jungwon said one day as you stared at your warped reflection, his chin hooked over your shoulder. his lips brushed the shell of your ear. "she knows you’re staying."

and now it felt like you did too.

the tallest slide loomed before you—the same one that had first swallowed you whole months (or was it years?) ago. only now, it twisted upward into the flickering fluorescent void, its plastic edges blackened and glistening like the inside of a living throat. you could feel it breathing, each pulse of the structure sending warm, damp air washing over your face. jungwon stood behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist in a mockery of tenderness, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both stared into the abyss.

"it's beautiful, isn't it?" he murmured, his lips brushing your ear.

his fingers traced idle patterns on your stomach through your thin shirt.

"i've been waiting so long to show you this."

your throat tightened as the slide emitted a low, wet hum that vibrated through your shoes and up your spine.

"what... what is it?"

jungwon chuckled, the sound dripping with amusement.

"it's our way forward, sweet thing."

one hand rose to cup your chin, tilting your face toward the spiralling darkness.

"this one leads deeper. to where the water is warm and the lights never flicker," his thumb brushed your lower lip, "where nothing can ever separate us."

you swallowed hard, your pulse rabbiting in your throat. "i don't understand."

"you will."

his arms tightened around you, pulling you back flush against his chest. you could feel his heartbeat against your shoulder blades.

"it's where we belong. where you've always belonged."

when you turned in his arms to face him, your hands came up instinctively to brace against his chest. jungwon was already smiling, his dark eyes gleaming with something ancient and hungry. up close, you could see the way his pupils dilated—not round anymore, but slit like a cat's. when had that happened?

"we'll be happy there," he promised, his voice dropping to a whisper.

his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp. "no more running. no more fear. just you and me. forever."

the word hung between you, heavy and final.

you searched his face—the boy who had fed you when you were starving, who had shackled you when you tried to leave, who had kissed you with teeth that were just a little too sharp. the only constant in this endless, rotting nightmare.

"what happens to me if i say no?" you whispered.

jungwon's smile didn't waver, but something dark flickered in his eyes. behind him, the walls groaned, the sound wet and pained. a single drop of black liquid oozed from the ceiling, landing with a splat between your feet.

"oh, my love," he sighed, brushing your hair back from your face with terrifying gentleness. "that's not an option."

the slide pulsed again, the hum rising to a fever pitch that made your teeth ache. your reflection in the pool behind you grinned, wider than any human mouth should allow.

jungwon's hands slid down to grip your waist, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh there.

"trust me," he murmured, his lips grazing yours. "you want this."

and the terrible thing was—

you did.

you took a shuddering breath, your fingers curling into his shirt. jungwon's smile widened, triumphant and tender all at once. his forehead pressed against yours as the slide's opening stretched wider, the darkness inside beckoning.

"together?" you whispered, the word tasting like surrender.

jungwon's laugh was warm against your lips. "always."

you closed your eyes—

and let yourself fall.

ALTERNATE ENDING

you found it again.

the tallest water slide in the entire park—the one that had pulled you into the nightmare when this all began. even after everything, it was still here, standing exactly where you remembered it, though now it shimmered faintly with a green glow that pulsed gently from within the tunnel’s mouth.

jungwon stood beside you, just slightly behind your shoulder. he didn’t say a word. his silence was heavier than any threat he’d ever spoken aloud.

when you turned to glance at him, the absence of expression on his face was more unsettling than any of his smiles. he wasn’t smiling now. there was no softness, no cold affection, not even the hint of disappointment.

“it leads out, doesn’t it?” you asked, your voice quiet and unsteady, though you already knew the answer.

it had to lead out. you felt it. everything in your chest ached with the possibility.

jungwon didn’t answer. instead, he reached for your wrist. his fingers curled around it tightly—not enough to hurt, but firm in a way that told you he was prepared to hold on if you ran.

“it doesn’t matter,” he said eventually.

his voice was calm, too calm, as though your desperation was something he didn’t need to take seriously.

“you don’t want to leave.”

but he was wrong.

you did.

you wanted to leave more than you had ever wanted anything in your life. your body was already bracing to run, every instinct firing all at once. your heart pounded in your chest, loud and fast, and your mouth had gone dry with the weight of the decision forming behind your teeth.

the tunnel wouldn’t stay open forever. the backrooms would shift again. the slide could vanish. and jungwon—he wouldn’t give you another chance. if you hesitated now, if you gave him even one second longer to read your fear, he would never let you get close to this kind of freedom again.

you looked at him—really looked. at the boy who had trapped you with soft hands and quieter lies. who fed you, touched you, claimed to protect you from the things out there when he had become the worst thing in here. the fear in your chest rose like bile.

“jungwon,” you breathed, but the rest never came out.

instead, you ripped your arm free.

his fingers slipped from your skin, and before he could react, you turned and sprinted toward the tunnel, your bare feet slapping loudly against the damp tile. you didn’t look back. you couldn’t.

he called your name, but it came out ragged—loud and broken in a way that didn’t sound human. his voice echoed across the walls of the abandoned park like something that belonged underground.

but you kept running.

you threw yourself into the slideheadfirst, and it swallowed you without hesitation.

the slide gripped you instantly, and the light blurred as you careened downward. the curves of the tunnel twisted your body in every direction, and each sharp turn sent jolts of pain up your spine. the green glow surrounded you, too bright and too close, pressing in like it wanted to consume you. your lungs burned with the pressure, and your arms flailed for anything to hold onto, but the walls were smooth and slick.

you were falling, spiralling, unmoored in a tunnel that didn’t feel like it was ever meant to end.

and then, just as suddenly, it did.

you hit the ground hard, the concrete beneath you unforgiving and wet. the impact knocked the wind out of your lungs, and you lay there for a moment, stunned and breathless. the world spun behind your eyelids as you coughed, your body shaking violently.

but then you realised something was different.

the air you were breathing—it was real. it wasn’t thick with that damp, humming rot of the backrooms. it was cool and dry, laced with the familiar scent of chlorine, dust, and cheap coffee. the silence around you had edges again. and above you, warm sunlight filtered through cracked skylights, casting real shadows onto the floor.

this was the waterpark.

the real one. the one that didn't stretch endlessly into pools of nightmare

you were back.

you pushed yourself upright, palms scraping against rough tile, and looked around with wide, disbelieving eyes.

everything was where it should be. the vending machines stood in their proper place. the lazy river looped around peacefully in the distance. the walls were solid. your own breathing echoed back to you. you had made it.

you had escaped.

your chest clenched as a sob rose up from your throat, and before you could stop it, you were crying. laughing and crying at the same time.

you curled your arms around yourself and let it all out, letting your body shake with the unbearable mix of relief and exhaustion.

you were safe.

you had finally done it!

but then, just as you began to steady your breathing, a sound broke through the quiet.

it came from above, from deep within the vents lining the ceiling—soft at first, almost unnoticeable. but as it grew louder, the shape of it became clear. it was a whistle.

your breath caught in your throat. the sound was too familiar, it was the same off-key melody jungwon always hummed when he thought you were sleeping.

the first footprint appeared in the puddle you'd left behind—larger than yours, the edges too perfectly defined against the concrete. then another, materialising closer as if someone invisible was walking toward you. the water in the lazy river began to ripple against its current, forming patterns that looked disturbingly like grasping fingers.

your hands shook as the lights above you flickered once, twice, before plunging the park into darkness.

the temperature dropped so fast your breath fogged in the air, the hairs on your arms standing on end as the silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

then suddenly, cold fingers brushed against your ankle, their grip tightening like a vice.

"did you really think," jungwon's voice whispered from right behind you, his breath chilling the nape of your neck, "that i'd let you go that easily?”

“i will make you mine no matter what”

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

#ady 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀...👩🏻‍💻.ᐟ #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen fics #enhypen x reader #jungwon #yang jungwon #jungwon x reader #jungwon imagines #jungwon fics #jungwon oneshots #kpop fics #enhypen horror #jungwon horror #yandere enhypen #yandere jungwon #enhypen smut #jungwon smut

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ahmadwaleed55 · 3 days ago

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Each night brings new terror, and we’re running out of ways to survive.

While the world talks about Iran and Israel,

we are here… hungry, scared, and stuck under bombs every night.

The airstrikes don’t stop, and people die every day

even those who wait for hours and days hoping for a little food.

They don’t make it home… and we don’t know if we will.

We’re doing all we can to survive, and we’re so grateful for those who have helped.

But it’s still not enough. We have no income, no work, no way to buy anything.

All the basics we need cost more than 30 times what they used to.

We only have your donations to stay alive.

Please — if you’re reading this, don’t forget us.

Even a tiny bit can save a life tonight.

➡️ Donate. Comment. Reblog. Share this.

Maybe your voice is the one that finally breaks through.

Maybe your help is the one that saves a family tonight.

Vetted!!!

(#167 on the verified fundraiser list by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi) (but we had to make a new gfm campaign cuz our old organizer stopped contacting us).

# dlxxv-vetted-donations

#free gaza #free palestine #gaza genocide #gaza strip #gazaunderattack #save palestine #i stand with palestine #gazaunderfire #high support needs #basic needs #art on tumblr #artists on tumblr #art #aid for gaza #gaza under siege #gaza

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em1i2a3 · 2 days ago

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I Feel You

Pairing: The Sentry/Bob/Robert Reynolds/TheVoid x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: The new medication you’re taking is making your sexual cravings unbearable, and when Sentry returns to the compound from a mission, it tests every inch of composure you have.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut and Fluff, The medication is technically sex pollen (but not really, it’s not the central focus of this but it’s what’s makin the reader a little on edge) Reference to Medication Use, Reader was sick prior to this and the science behind the medication is referenced to and explained.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (Y’all…You know what I’m gonna say lol), Breeding Kink, Praise/Worshipping Kink, Reader is taking additional measures to not get pregnant (Birth Control Shots), Dirty Talk, Sentry is a tease and a little bit ‘bratty’, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Is this a little feral? I would think so.

Author’s Note: I got an idea from a semi-request/statement from an anon by the name ‘book reader’ and a lot of other people. I literally couldn’t write this any faster! It was so fun to write, and I mean…Sentry with a breeding kink is something else, so I had to. Can’t resist pleasing the masses. I can’t wait for tomorrow’s update though!

Word Count: 6,395

The elevator doors dinged down the hall, and your ears practically perked up from the notification-like sound. You didn’t need to check the time, or the monitors that you had on your tablet. You knew exactly who it was that had arrived.

The heavy booted footsteps confirmed it completely for you–one heavier than the other, slow, grounded, and familiar in a way that made your heartbeat spike. The quiet thud of his body weight, the hum of his energy radiating through the hallways, and the buzzing that came from each ceiling light he passed due to the reservoir of power that was still slipping out of him from the mission he had just returned from.

You could practically track him from the elevator, to the kitchen, to the start of the hallway that led to your shared quarters. And unfortunately for your dignity, you could already feel yourself squirming in your spot.

You tried to stay still, buried under the blankets with your book held high like it might block out the oncoming disaster. But the second the door cracked open, and you peeked over the top of those long forgotten pages–any hold you had on your composure shattered.

Sentry stepped inside, still in his full mission suit. You had seen him in it a hundred times, you’d seen him take it off, you’d also seen the multiple variations he had gone through to get the correct fit, and every time he was in it he looked phenomenal, there was no question about that. But right now, laying in the bed you shared with Bob, the image in front of you made every fiber of your being tense up.

The gold fabric clung to Sentry's body like it had been vacuum-sealed against him. There were faint dirt stains and burn marks that were scattered along the shiny golden landscape which only emphasized the thick curves of his shoulders and the strain of his biceps beneath the sleeves. His cape had slipped down one side, draping behind him like an afterthought, it was dark, a sharp contrast to the sun-kissed yellow that he displayed on his body. His chest was rising with effort, muscles shifting with every exhale as he dragged one boot off, then the other.

You could feel your jaw slacken slightly, and you tried your best not to let out a moan at the sight.

“I know,” Sentry muttered suddenly, glancing briefly toward you with a sheepish breath, “I know. You told Bob that when I come back from missions, I need to use the other door to get to the washroom so I don’t get our room dirty. I just…Need more space right now and I don’t want to accidentally wreck the bathroom.” You didn’t respond. You were too busy watching the way his arms raised behind him as he tried–and failed–to reach the latch of his cape. His triceps flexed hard, rolling under the gold, every movement slow, strained, and achingly distracting. You swallowed hard, feeling the heat crawling down your neck.

He grunted in frustration, “This damn thing…” God, even the noises he was making were causing you to shift against the mattress for some sort of relief. He shook the cape loose a bit, but it got stuck again. You could practically see every detail of his shoulder blades shifting under the suit, and each time his muscles flexed it felt like real-time torture. Your stomach clenched, and your thighs pressed together beneath the blankets.

Then he let out a defeated sigh, turning halfway towards you again.

“My sunshine…” He started softly, voice coaxing, like he could feel your stare, “Can you please help me out of this thing? I’m getting very annoyed by it.” The nickname made your gut twist. It was the one he always used when he thought you were angry at him, the one that always forced a smile onto your lips because it was just too hard to stay in a bad mood around him, even if he did stupid things. You weren’t mad this time though, and if anything, that soft, familiar tone just made your stomach twist up even more.

You remained frozen, eyes devouring every inch of him like you hadn’t touched him a thousand times before…Like this was the first time you were seeing what his body could do, or how it moved so…Nicely.

When Sentry didn’t hear any shuffling of sheets, or your usual reluctant sigh you made when you had to leave the fortress of blankets you created around you, he spun around to look at you fully.

”Sunshine?” He repeated, a hint of confusion and concern lacing his words–then he stopped dead in his tracks. Your eyes were wide and glossy, practically shimmering with need. You looked like you weren’t even breathing, and he could see a faint sheen of sweat glazing your skin. You were locked on him like he was your prey, and you were about to pounce.

His eyebrows raised at you, “Um…Why are you looking at me like you’re going to eat me?” He asked, taking one step toward the bed. Your hand shot out like a warning.

“Sentry, I will rip you out of your suit,” You choked out, half-laughing, half-pleasing, “Don’t come any closer.” A grin appeared on his lips, the warmth immediately radiating off of it.

”What’s going on with you?” He asked teasingly, crouching down beside the bed, voice dipped low, “You look all sweaty and…Stressed.” He reached out, and placed one of his large, warm hands on your cheek. You flinched slightly at the contact, not from discomfort–but because the heat between you doubled immediately. Your skin felt like it was vibrating beneath his touch.

”And you’re boiling hot,” He murmured, “Are you sick again?” You shook your head quickly, turning slightly as he leaned closer to you, his nose brushing against your cheek. But then he breathed in–slow and deep–and you could instantly see the way his face changed, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

Something soft and ripe lingered in the air around you–faintly fruity, like the first bite of an overripe peach or the skin of a plum warmed by the sun. It wasn’t artificial in any sense of the word, and it certainly wasn’t perfume. It was just skin and hormones bleeding quietly into his senses.

He knew that scent very well because he had smelled it once before. When stolen kisses and late-night touches between you and Sentry didn’t exist. Before you ever pressed your forehead to his and whispered his name in pure ecstasy. Before you got on the birth control shot that muted everything and dulled it out, flatting it to a faint sweetness that he could only smell if he had his face buried between your legs.

Now that he was smelling it again it brought on the ache of nostalgia. But it also made him hyper aware that something had changed.

”You’re ovulating” He said dryly, swallowing the thick saliva that began to coat his tongue.

”No Sentry, I’m not ovulating. I’m on the shot, remember?” You responded, which instantly earned a very stern shake of his head.

”No, no…This is not your usual scent. I would know. I’m all over you all the time basically. You smell like how you used to smell before you were on those birth control shots. Have you…Have you stopped taking them or something? Were you thinking of surprising me?” He asks, with a smirk coming up on his lips.

You let out a groan, dragging your hands down your face like that might save you.

”Of course I’m still taking the shots…It’s just this stupid medication has put me down the path of becoming a feral animal.” He let out a small laugh, and he realized it seemed like he had missed a chapter of your life–because he didn’t remember what medication you would be taking that could cause something like this.

”What medicine did they give you?” You threw your head back against the pillow, with a huff.

”It’s this stupid antibiotic-antiviral crossover thing. The med bay said it’ll help me heal quicker from that stupid systemic infection I got from that lab a few weeks back–but they also mentioned that the chemical makeup of the drug technically has similar derivatives from sex pollen plants. So here we are now…Going through the side effects.” Sentry moved back slightly, and his brows knitted together.

”And you thought you could override the effects? What did you think was going to happen?” He asked jokingly. You groaned, placing your palm against his chest, trying to push him back slightly.

”They told me all the side effects were manageable, and for the most part they are…Sue me for trusting the medical professionals. And move back–for the love of god, you’re literally exuding your hormones onto me.” He laughed harder this time, bringing one of his hands to wrap around your wrist, rubbing his thumb gently across your forearm.

“I’m not doing anything,” He said with feigned innocence, eyes gleaming, “I’m just sitting here checking on my girlfriend.”

”Sentry, shut up,” You gritted through your teeth, jaw tight. He leaned in again, lips ghosting against your boiling hot cheek.

”What’re you going to do if I don’t?” His voice was smooth like honey, and his breath fanned over your skin, sticking against it. You squinted, eyes narrowing at the questions.

”Maybe I won’t take off that annoying cape you were complaining about.” You shot back, and his eyebrows lifted, grin spreading even wider.

”And keep me in the suit that turns you on enough that it makes you look at me like you’re about to jump my bones?” He tilted his head slightly, golden eyes glowing with barely restrained amusement, “Please…I can already tell I’ll need to give the designers a call to order me a new suit with those eyes you’re giving me right now.” There was a pause. The kind that stretched and hummed with too much heat and too little space.

You could feel his eyes tracing over your face and you couldn’t look away. Your jaw clenched, tight like you were trying to bite back everything you wanted to say–and everything your body was already begging to do.

Then your voice cracked softly through the air.

“You’re right.”

He blinked, not fully processing the shift until you moved–quick and sudden, like gravity had finally won. You surged forward and grabbed his face between your hands, tilting it just enough to crash your mouth against his.

The kiss hit hard. No warning. No patience.

Sentry let out a small grunt of surprise but met you without hesitation. His lips were hot, tasting faintly of smoke and salt, still buzzing faintly with power. His hands flew to your waist, then one slid up your back with desperate care, cradling the back of your head like he was afraid to let you go.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, threading through those soft light brown strands you loved, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth at that, the sound cracking open something inside him as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss—tongue brushing yours, kiss turning rough, messy, addictive.

You whimpered against his mouth, your whole body rising off the mattress, arms locked around his neck, knees bumping into him from beneath the blanket that had began to slip off of you.

His breath hitched. Then broke.

Sentry pulled back only slightly, lips swollen, panting softly, his pupils blown wide as his forehead leaned into yours.

“Okay,” He exhaled, voice ragged, almost trembling with restraint. “Okay–please take the cape off. I need to get this suit off in one piece before you kill me.” You were dazed and flushed warm, your thumbs dragging across his smooth cheeks, “I was just joking about calling the suit designers,” He added quickly, a breathless, nervous little laugh escaping him, “If I wreck another one Val is actually going to tear my head off…So please. Spare me that.”

You laughed into his mouth and reached up, fingers sliding under the collar of the cape. He sat back on his knees and let you pull at the fastenings. Your hands were trembling slightly, not from nerves–but need. The second the clasp popped loose, the fabric slipped away from his shoulder like silk.

His shoulders heaved as he exhaled hard, finally freed.

“Thank god,” Sentry groaned, “Now let me take the–“

You didn’t let him finish. Your hands curled around the edges of his face, and you kissed him again–hot and fast, like the ache in your body had officially taken the wheel.

”The–“ Another kiss, more demanding this time, your mouth pressing against his again.

”Rest of the–“ Your lips moved to his jaw now, biting softly as your hands ran over the fabric that caressed his shoulders.

“S-Suit off–“ He gasped when you kissed the corner of his mouth again, slowly–torturous even–your hand sliding down his chest as the golden fabric shifted beneath your fingers.

”Before you–“ You kissed him once more, longer this time. Tongue grazing his lower lip, pulling a shudder from deep inside his chest.

“Kill me–“ He breathed against your mouth, voice hoarse with a laugh, his forehead pressing against yours. You reached behind him, fingers finding the hidden zipper of his suit with ease–due to muscle memory, and need–dragging it down with a soft tug. The sound it made was practically obscene, echoing loud in the quiet room. You wrapped your other arm around his lower back to guide the rest of the zipper down, knuckles grazing skin that was already burning.

Sentry let out a low, breathy laugh against your mouth.

“I guess now I know how you feel,” he murmured, his voice still laced with warm amusement, “when I’m in such a rush to get your clothes off I get all shaky and stuff.”

You smirked against his jaw, kissing the corner of his mouth again.

“How the tables have turned, hmm?”

His laugh deepened, husky and half-gasped as the zipper caught just above his hips. “I would say it’s karma…But who’s paying attention to terminology right now?”

You leaned into him, kissing him once more before undoing the large crest-shaped belt that wrapped around his waist. The buckle clicked free with a satisfying snap, and the heavy piece dropped to the floor with a muted thud. His arms wrapped around you, momentarily startled by the sound, then eased again as you pushed the blankets fully off your legs.

You shifted upward onto your knees, the hem of your oversized t-shirt lifting with the movement–settling just at the tops of your thighs, tickling the overheated skin there.

Sentry’s breath shook against your lips as you kissed him again, this time slow and devastating, your hands peeling the gold fabric down his shoulders. He let it happen, arms slack, breath catching as the top of the suit was pulled away completely, revealing the flushed skin beneath.

His muscles were tight and still pulsing from exertion–shoulders broad and slick from the leftover heat of the mission, chest rising fast with each pant. His collarbone glistened faintly under the dim lighting, skin smelling like ozone and sweat and the faintest trace of smoke. That post-mission scent you always craved but never admitted to. You pulled back slightly, eyes drifting downwards, as you lost your words.

No matter how many times you saw him naked–or half-naked like this–it still drove you insane. It didn’t matter how many nights you’d spent curled against his chest, how many times you’d touched him. Your body always reacted like it was the first time.

And somehow, there was always something new.

Your eyes caught it as he shifted–just below his right pectoral, near the delicate curve of his ribcage. A tiny cluster of freckles. Soft, scattered like constellations you’d never noticed before.

You reached out, fingertips brushing lightly over them.

Sentry went still, his chest tightening under your touch.

“What…?” He asked softly, looking down at your hand.

“You’ve got freckles here,” You murmured, voice dazed with awe. “I’ve never seen them before.”

He looked down too, brow furrowing slightly. “Huh. I didn’t even know I had those.”

You ran your fingers over them again, slower this time, watching the way his skin twitched. “They’re really cute.”

His breath hitched under your touch, and you looked up just in time to catch the small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Must be that medication making you hyper aware of all my little features,” He commented, eyes flicking to yours with playful fondness.

You tilted your head, your voice soft but laced with teasing. “Or I just pay attention to you all the time and never thought to point out the new things I’ve seen until now.”

He groaned quietly at that–overwhelmed in the way he always got when you were like this. Not when you were wrecked and needy, but when you were quiet. Focused. When your eyes saw more than just his body–when they saw him.

“Ever the attentive lover, Y/N.” He whispered, brushing his nose along yours, kissing you again–slow and unhurried, despite the tension buzzing between you. You smiled into his mouth and leaned back just enough to rest your hands on his hips, fingers curling against the thick golden fabric that still clung to them.

“Take the rest of the suit off, please.” His eyes darkened slightly, the golden hue turning a slight caramel colour. He was happy to play along.

”Command heard, Sunshine,” He said with a grin, backing up a bit. You watched as he reached for the waistband of the suit and pushed it lower, easing the fabric down over his hips slowly.

The moment it dropped far enough for you to see the curve of him pressing hard against the tight black briefs beneath, your breath caught.

He was already half-hard–thick and heavy, straining against the material like he’d been on the edge ever since you kissed him.

You let out a soft, involuntary “Mmm,” and he chuckled, amused and smug.

“You really are losing it for me, huh?”

You nodded instantly, words spilling out with zero shame. “Can’t help it. You bring it out of me.”

His smirk softened into something more gentle, something a little stunned, as if that sort of confession still knocked the wind out of him. Then he leaned in again, mouth finding your jaw, lips brushing a kiss just under it.

“I think I can get used to this.” Your stomach fluttered as his hands slid up–slow, teasing–under the hem of your oversized shirt. The pads of his fingers were light, tracing over your heated skin like they had all the time in the world. Your breath stuttered at the sensation. He kissed down the column of your neck, slow and methodical, like he was marking out territory with his mouth.

”You’re wearing too many clothes,” He said, voice rick and low against your skin, “Especially for someone who wants to be fucked into the mattress.” A sharp, shaky breath escaped you, your fingers digging into his arms as he whispered the next part, almost sweetly–

“Let me help you. Hmm?”

Your voice broke around his name. “God–Sentry. Please.”

That was all it took.

He grinned, one hand sliding to your waist while the other gripped the hem of your shirt and tugged it up, over your head in one clean motion. He tossed it aside without even looking, his eyes locked on the newly exposed skin in front of him.

Your breasts were soft and full, rising with each shallow breath you took. Your nipples were already peaked from the cool air in the room–even though you felt like you were on fire from the inside out. Heat was radiating off your skin, sweat slicking your sternum in a sheen he knew the taste of far too well. His mouth had been there many times, had claimed that skin like sacred ground, had suckled and bitten and worshipped you in every state imaginable–but somehow this still stole the breath from his lungs.

And then his eyes dipped lower.

The black lace underwear you wore clung to your hips like a secret he wasn’t supposed to know. They were cheeky in the back, riding high on your curves, and dipped just low enough in the front to tease him with a hint of what was underneath. The lace was delicate, sheer in some places, and it hugged you like it had been made for his hands to slide beneath.

A puff of air escaped his lips–barely controlled, like he’d just been given the first glimpse of heaven again. “My god,” he breathed, golden eyes burning, “You’re so beautiful. As always.”

Your arms slipped around his neck like instinct, pulling him close, your lips finding his with a heat that almost knocked him back. The kiss was messy and greedy–tongue and teeth and too much want spilling into it. His hands slid down your back, fingertips pressing into the arch of your spine, pulling you against him. He groaned into your mouth, shifting forward, his hands slipping under the edge of your lace waistband just enough to feel skin–just enough to tease. And then he pulled back slightly, his nose brushing against yours as he spoke.

His voice dropped, thick and sensual, velvet-drenched and trembling with restraint.

“Lay back for me, sunshine,” He murmured, “Let me taste the sweetness that’s driving you mad. Let me worship the ache between your thighs until you forget your own name.” His eyes were shimmering and the air around you pulsed like it was responding to the divine hunger that was curling within you, “I want to see how wet you are just from watching me breathe.” Your head fell back on a gasp, the words so obscene and godly at once it made your thighs twitch, your breath catch, and your soul stutter. You met his gaze again with a fire that matched his own and slowly laid back against the pillows, legs parting slightly in invitation.

Sentry inhaled sharply, almost broken.

And then he descended.

His palm pressed flat over the lace between your thighs, and he groaned.

A long, broken sound that cracked in his throat like he couldn’t believe what he was feeling. The fabric was soaked–utterly drenched–and the heat radiating off your body made it stick wetly to your core like a second skin.

Sentry’s eyes fluttered shut for a split second as his fingers dragged slowly over the slick fabric, then pressed in harder, rubbing a circle just above your entrance.

“Oh–fuck,” You gasped, your hips arching up involuntarily.

His jaw clenched at the sound. His mouth watered so fast it made his tongue press against his teeth, and he dropped his head with a strained grunt.

“This is–“ He breathed, voice ragged as his fingers curled into the waistband and yanked them down off your legs in one rough motion. “These are ruined.”

He balled the soaked lace in his fist, his knuckles going white, and brought them to his nose before you could say a word.

Then he moaned.

It was shameless, guttural–like something unholy had crawled up his throat and made a home there. He inhaled again, eyes fluttering, golden lashes trembling.

“Jesus Christ,” He growled, voice thick with something feral. “I’m keeping these. You smell so…” He trailed off, groaning again, deeper this time. “So fucking good. Fuck.”

He was panting now and before you knew it he was on the bed fully, his massive frame pressing you down into the mattress as he settled between your legs. His shoulders pushed them open a little wider with zero effort, spreading you like a meal he’d been starved of.

“I want to see all of it. I want your scent in my lungs until I can’t fucking think anymore.”

You whimpered, already gasping before his mouth even touched you.

And then it did.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t slow.

He dove in like a man possessed.

The first drag of his tongue was obscene–long, hard, and flat from your entrance all the way up to your clit. He groaned again, louder now, into you, like the taste was more than he could bear.

His tongue circled, then flicked, then sucked—mouth latching to you with greedy, wet pressure, and your fingers immediately tangled in his hair. You pushed it out of his face, the strands clinging to your sweaty palms as you cried out beneath him.

“Oh my god, Sentry–!”

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even pause.

He growled into you again, biting softly at the inside of your thigh before licking back up and sucking again, harder now–no rhythm, no restraint. He lapped you open, tongue dragging and curling and licking so deep and rough it had your legs shaking within seconds.

He was messy with it–face slick, chin soaked, groaning constantly as he devoured you like a feast he hadn’t earned, like this was divine punishment for something and he wanted more of it.

“Sentry–fuck, it’s–oh God, oh God–I can’t–!”

You were writhing, hips rolling against his mouth, and he just held you there, huge hands locking over your thighs, pinning you wide open while his tongue fucked into you, lapping greedily at your soaked heat before pulling up to suck your clit between his lips again.

And he wouldn’t stop moaning.

It was constant–this low, vibrating, starving sound, like you were pouring into him, drowning him in it, and he wanted to sink deeper.

Your nails scraped his scalp and he groaned again–louder, sloppier, tongue dragging harder and faster, chasing your high like it would save him. His mouth was fucking soaked. Your slick was everywhere–coating his lips, dripping down his chin, making obscene wet sounds every time he dragged his tongue through your folds again.

When he pulled back just barely, panting, face wet and eyes completely wild, he growled–

“You smell so fucking good right now. I can’t think–I can’t breathe.” And then he bit your inner thigh. Hard.

You yelped, the jolt shooting through you like lightning, and he soothed it with a slow, open-mouthed kiss, tongue flicking over the mark like an apology he didn’t mean.

“You taste like everything,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I need to come with your taste still on my tongue.”

Then he ducked down again, and this time he didn’t tease.

He buried his mouth against your core like he was staking a claim. Tongue thrusting deep and curling inside you while his nose bumped your clit. You could feel the moans vibrating through you as he sucked and licked and fucked you with his mouth like he was trying to crawl inside your body and live there.

Your vision whited out.

The sounds echoing off the walls–wet, vulgar, desperate–were barely human anymore. Your thighs were shaking uncontrollably, and your hands were tangled in his hair like lifelines.

“Sentry–Sentry, I’m gonna–!”

He growled against your clit and then sucked so hard your back arched clean off the bed as you screamed his name, the orgasm tearing through you so violently you swore you blacked out for a moment.

But he didn’t stop.

He licked through it, into it, mouth still worshipping, dragging every last tremor out of you until your legs buckled and your thighs clenched hard around his head.

Only then did he slow–kissing gently now, reverently, dragging his tongue over your sensitive folds with soft flicks, breathing ragged into your skin as he groaned again.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” He murmured hoarsely, eyes half-lidded and golden. “Sunshine…I’m fucking addicted to you.”

You could barely form words–panting, dazed, your body trembling in the aftermath.

And still, his hands cradled your thighs like you were sacred, kissing them like they were altar stone, soft and warm under his lips. He nipped gently at the skin, then soothed the bite with his tongue, waiting for your breathing to even out.

“Did that give you a little bit of relief?” He murmured, his voice low, thick with satisfaction and reverence as he looked up at you. Your fingers combed slowly through his hair, and the soft strands seemed to ground you. The way you touched him–gentle, languid–made his chest ache. He kissed you again, higher up your inner thigh this time, and whispered, “Y/N…Still with me?” Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and glossy, and you gave a breathless laugh, voice cracking as you exhaled:

“God, you’re so good with that mouth of yours.” A slow, bashful smile appeared on his lips, but it didn’t last long–because your hand was already tugging at him, pulling him up your body with a hunger that made his heart stutter.

He kissed up your stomach as he moved, slow and hot, letting his tongue swirl in a line past your navel, over the sweat-slick curve of your ribs, before finally claiming your lips again. The moment his mouth met yours, you tasted it—your own sweetness still on his tongue—and the sound you let out was pure sin.

Your fingers hooked under the waistband of his briefs, tugging firmly.

“I need you to fuck me, Sentry,” you breathed against his lips, eyes blazing with the kind of desperation that made his cock throb painfully hard inside the tight fabric.

He cupped your cheek, thumbing gently at your jaw, his voice reverent and dark.

“I’ll do way more than that.”

You gave a breathy little laugh, and he kissed the sound right off your mouth.

Then his hand dipped low, pushing his briefs down and off with one swift movement before tossing them aside without care. The moment he was free, your breath caught.

He was painfully hard–thick and flushed, the head a deep red and glistening with precum. You whimpered, hips twitching, thighs falling open for him on instinct.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

Sentry gave himself a few slow, teasing strokes, his erection heavy in his hand as he guided it toward your soaked heat. He dragged the head up and down your folds, collecting your wetness, smearing it over your clit in lazy, sinful strokes that had your entire body tightening.

Then, finally, finally–he lined himself up and pushed in.

You both gasped.

The stretch was overwhelming. You could feel every ridge of him, every thick inch dragging against your fluttering walls as he sank in slow and deep, inch by devastating inch.

Sentry groaned above you, burying his face in your neck. “God, you’re so fucking wet,” he breathed, his voice strangled, almost wrecked already. “You’re clenching around me already–fuck–like you were made to take me.”

Your back arched at the words, your hands gripping his biceps so hard your nails left marks.

“Sentry–please–move–” You begged, gasping against the shell of his ear.

He growled and started to thrust.

Hard.

He didn’t ease into it–he didn’t need to. Your body pulled him in like a vice, slick and hot and pulsing around him. His hips snapped into yours, his cock dragging against your sweet spot every time he slammed in, and it made you cry out.

The sound only drove him harder.

“Fuck–fuck–you feel perfect,” He snarled, grinding into you, his lips brushing your jaw. “So fucking warm and wet–tightening around me like it wants to keep me forever.” Sentry grunted as he bottomed out again, cock twitching inside your soaked walls. His hands were braced beside your head, caging you in, and the look in his eyes made your breath hitch–feral, starved, and glowing with something divine and dangerous.

“You sure that birth control works well enough?” He murmured low against your ear, thrusting deep and hard, dragging another desperate cry from your lips. “Because you feel like you’re begging to get knocked up.”

You gasped, nails raking down his back. “Maybe I am.”

He stilled–just for a heartbeat.

Then he snarled.

“Oh, fuck–you want me to do it, huh?” he hissed, grinding his hips in slow, brutal circles. “Fill this pussy so full of cum it takes root? Fuck a baby into you while you’re this wet and needy?”

You whimpered, head falling back against the pillow as your thighs shook around his waist. “Fuck, Sentry–yes–please–”

His jaw clenched. “You know I’ll do it,” he panted, hips snapping harder now, punching gasps out of your chest. “I’ll give it to you, sunshine. I’ll fill you so deep you’ll never be able to get rid of me.” He grabbed your hands suddenly, intertwining your fingers with his, and slammed them down into the mattress beside your head. The weight of him over you, the way his grip locked yours in, made you cry out with need.

“That little shot won’t stand a fucking chance when I’m done with you.” He hissed, mouth brushing your ear.

“Oh my God–fuck–do it,” You gasped, voice cracking into something filthy. “Do it, Sentry–fill me up–fuck your cum into me until it takes–make me yours.”

That broke him.

He let out a feral, animalistic sound, driving into you harder, faster, each thrust slamming you against the bed with enough force to make the headboard rattle.

“You’re mine,” He growled. “You’re mine, you hear me? I’m gonna fuck you until you scream with it–‘til there’s so much of me inside you your body won’t know what to do but keep it.” You cried out again, the coil inside you twisting impossibly tight. Your legs were trembling violently now, your vision going hazy around the edges.

He could feel it.

He knew.

“Fuck, sunshine–come for me,” He groaned, still pinning your hands. “Come while I fuck a baby into this perfect little pussy of yours–let me feel you break.” You shattered.

Your body arched violently, walls clenching down so hard it made him curse, your orgasm crashing through you in white-hot waves that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

He fucked you through it.

Harder.

“Fuck–fuck–you’re squeezing me so tight–God–I’m gonna–”

One final grind of his hips, deep and brutal–

And he came.

Hot, pulsing streams of cum spilled inside you, thick and endless, coating your walls with such pressure you felt it flood you. It didn’t stop. He kept grinding, deeper, groaning against your throat, body shaking with each twitch as more and more poured out of him.

“Oh my fucking god,” He gasped, biting down on your neck, not to hurt–but to ground himself. You whimpered, breathless, and ruined. He groaned into your skin, hips twitching one more time as he pushed forward, sinking his cock just a fraction deeper–pressing every last drop inside like he couldn’t bear the thought of pulling out yet.

A long, shaky sigh escaped his lips as he finally stilled, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His grip on your hands loosened, and slowly–almost reluctantly–he shifted his weight to one side so he could look at you properly.

Your face was flushed and dewy, lashes fluttered half-closed, mouth parted slightly as you panted through the aftershocks. Completely dazed. Wrecked. Glowing.

He blinked, then let out a soft, breathless laugh, brushing your hair gently back with the knuckles of his hand. “How was that?”

You blinked slowly, then gave him the laziest, most satisfied grin imaginable.

“So fucking good,” You murmured, your voice rough from how much you’d been crying out his name.

He smiled, warm and proud, and leaned down to kiss you gently–long and sweet. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing slowly across your damp skin. And just as your lips parted with a hum, your walls fluttered around him–still full, still holding him deep.

He pulled back with a groan, resting his forehead against yours.

“It’s like you have a spell on me,” he whispered, golden eyes flickering, “All I want to do is be inside you… Or buried between your thighs. You must be a sorcerer of sorts.”

You let out a hoarse little laugh, breath hitching as your fingers pushed back the sweaty strands clinging to his forehead. “Or,” You murmured, “You just love me very much…That could also be the thing, too.”

He nodded solemnly. “That too…” And the two of you broke into quiet laughter.

Then he started pressing kisses all over your face. Your cheeks. Your forehead. The tip of your nose. “If it wasn’t for the fact that it would require you getting sick again,” he said between kisses, “I’d want you to be on that medication more often. Feral you is very interesting.”

You giggled softly, voice light but worn out. “Sentry… I’m practically always feral for you and Bob. This just heightens everything.”

He smirked at that, nuzzling his nose along your cheek. “It also makes you a siren,” he muttered. “I felt like a sailor who was about to die at sea.”

You snorted and pulled him into another kiss, soft and lingering. “I’m going to boast to Yelena that I almost killed a God.”

His laugh rumbled against your mouth, warm and low. “By all means…Boast all you want, You’re deadly.” He replied, dragging his lips down your jaw, planting one last kiss on your throat as you both sank into the mattress–warm, tangled, and thoroughly undone.

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irradiatedsnakes · 17 hours ago

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ahmed's (@ahmedaldani333) asked me to share his campaign, so as a reminder: ahmed is a teenager trying to help support his family in gaza as they face displacement, hunger, and violence, and could use the help. as i'm sure you've heard, prices of basic necessities like flour are extremely high right now, and he and his family need help to afford food to eat.

ahmed's fundraiser is verified by @gazavetters, and is #198 on their spreadsheet.

his campaign hasn't gotten a lot of attention, so i'd appreciate if you could donate, or if you're unable to, please reblog the post. thank you!

here's the link one more time:

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dakusan · 2 days ago

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S K Z R e a c t i n g t o a P o s i t i v e P r e g n a n c y T e s t

stray kids ot8 x reader | two pink lines, eight breakdowns, one very lucky uterus.

🍼 synopsis: You didn’t plan this. Not the moment, not the timing, not the trembling plastic test that changed your life in a heartbeat. But one by one, you tell them. One by one, you hold out that tiny white stick with two pink lines. And one by one—each of them breaks open. Sometimes, two lines is all it takes to rewrite everything. And sometimes, everything sounds a lot like: “You’re having my baby?”

💌 a/n: To the anon who sent this prompt: I HOPE YOUR PILLOWS ARE COLD AND YOUR WIFI NEVER LAGS. You gave me eight men and said “make them react to a pregnancy test 🥺👉👈” and I said BET. AND THEN THEY DID. THEY REACTED. THEY BROKE DOWN. THEY GOT ON THEIR KNEES. THEY CRIED ON BATHROOM FLOORS. THEY STARTED PRENATAL POWER SNACK PREP. this was so cute you now owe me therapy. p.s. reblog for clear skin and an emotionally available babydaddy. p.p.s. if Chan on his knees didn’t ruin you emotionally, you’re lying. p.p.p.s. somebody please make fanart of Dori in a bib that says “Hyung.”

📍credits: @cafekitsune , @thecutestgrotto for the dividers

🎧 » Hug Me — I.N « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:00 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Bang Chan

You didn’t plan to tell him like this.

You had wanted to wait. Set up something quiet and sweet. A note, maybe. Or a mug with #1 Appa written on it. Something he could hold in his hands while you stood across the room, heart pounding.

But life has never followed your plans when it comes to Bang Chan. It has always moved faster, deeper, louder.

Like tonight. When you called his name from the bathroom with something trembling in your fingers. A white stick. A faint second line. And all the blood draining from your face.

Chan enters the room in sleep pants and a hoodie, half-damp hair from the shower. He blinks at you—then the test in your hand—and in a moment, all air disappears from his lungs.

“What…?”

You pass it to him wordlessly, heart in your throat.

His fingers shake as he takes it. Looks down.

Silence.

You try to prepare for anything. Shock. Denial. Fear.

But what you get is breathless awe.

“…It’s real?”

You nod. You think.

“I mean—I took another one. And I’ll take more. I don’t know how accurate they are this early—”

But Chan’s already across the space between you, wrapping his arms around you so tight, so careful, so anchored you forget how to speak.

“You’re really having my baby,” he breathes into your hair. “You’re really—” He laughs, and the sound cracks. Then again, softer. Wet. “I love you. I love you so much. I swear I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna take such good care of both of you.”

He drops to his knees. Presses his cheek to your stomach even though there’s nothing to see yet.

Just skin. Just potential. Just a future that’s suddenly real.

“Hi, little one,” he whispers. “It’s Appa. We haven’t met yet, but you’re gonna be so loved, okay? We’ve got you.”

You run your fingers through his curls and feel him kiss you gently—reverently—through the fabric of your shirt. Everything around you fades, every fear fades, except him.

Because this man? He was born to love like this.

Lee Minho

It’s 8:17 PM on a Sunday.

Minho is sprawled on the couch in sweatpants and a wrinkled shirt he’s been wearing since last night, a half-finished plate of tteokbokki on the coffee table, and three cats currently fighting for ownership of his chest. Soonie’s curled up against his ribs. Doongie’s nestled by his knee. Dori is actively trying to sit on his face.

It’s domestic bliss in its purest form—until you walk in holding a tiny plastic stick with two pink lines.

“Babe?” you say softly.

He looks up, squinting. Dori meows, offended at being jostled.

Minho blinks once. Then again. “What’s that?”

You bite your lip and hold it out. “I think… we’re gonna need more than three bowls soon.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Soonie sneezes. Doongie flops over dramatically. Minho doesn’t move.

Then—

“…No way.”

His voice is low. Disbelieving. He slowly sits up, cats scattering. He takes the test like it might dissolve in his hands.

“Wait, wait—two lines means…”

You nod. He stares.

“You’re pregnant.”

Another nod. You’re suddenly very aware of your own heartbeat.

Minho exhales. Long. Sharp. Then he turns and stares at the cats. “You three are about to be older siblings,” he tells them. Dori blinks. Then he looks at you again. His eyes are wide, but soft. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Like really serious.”

“Yes, Minho.”

He crosses the room and pulls you into his arms without another word. Just wraps you up, tight and warm, chin tucked over your shoulder. You can feel how fast his heart is beating.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he mumbles.

“You’ll be amazing,” you whisper back. “You take care of all of us already.”

He pulls back just enough to look at your stomach. “You’ve been feeding me double portions all week. You were preparing.”

You laugh through the tears. “You think I planned this?”

“No,” he says, grinning now. “But I’m glad it’s you. And me. And—”

His hand brushes gently over your lower belly. “And whoever you are in there.”

Behind you, there’s a crash. You both turn to find Doongie knocking over the tteokbokki, Soonie sniffing it, and Dori sitting proudly in the bowl.

Minho sighs. “We need to teach them boundaries before the baby gets here.”

You’re still laughing when he kisses your temple.

Seo Changbin

You don’t plan some Pinterest-worthy reveal. No onesies in gift boxes. No custom cookies that say ‘bun in the oven.’

You just... panic-laugh and blurt it out at the worst possible moment. Which, in this case, is: right as Changbin is taking the world’s biggest bite of a protein bar post-leg day.

“I’m pregnant,” you say.

He chokes. Literally. Gags, coughs, eyes watering as he grabs a water bottle and downs half of it in three seconds. You reach out to thump his back, but he waves you off—one hand in the air like he needs to process the universe first.

“Wait,” he rasps. “Wait. What?”

You just hold up the test.

His jaw drops. Like, drops.

“THAT’S A PREGNANCY TEST.”

You nod.

“AND IT’S—TWO LINES—TWO—” He counts them out on his fingers just to be sure. “That means positive, right? POSITIVE like YES, not positive like ‘good vibes’ positive?”

You nod again, nearly in tears now from how panicked and adorable he looks.

Then there’s a beat. A shift. His entire face changes.

“…You’re really having my baby?” Soft. Quiet. Disbelieving. He steps forward slowly, like you might vanish.

You nod again, biting your lip. “Yeah. I am.”

And then he just—melts.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” he says, dazed. “I’m gonna be a DAD. Like—little shoes. Little clothes. Little you. With like—tiny arms. And maybe your nose. Oh my god.”

You blink, and he’s hugging you like he’s trying to shield you from the whole world. Then pulling back, both hands cupping your cheeks.

“I’m so fucking happy,” he breathes. “Like, terrified—but also really happy. Are you okay? Do you need water? Snacks? Protein? Oh my god, you need protein. You’re literally building a person.”

You laugh. “I don’t think the baby needs whey powder, Binnie.”

“You never know!” he yells toward the kitchen. “Fetus needs gains!”

Then he runs off to make a “power snack” for you and your microscopic baby, while mumbling, “I need to call my mom—no, wait, I need to learn how to swaddle—what the hell is swaddling—”

You lean against the wall, stomach fluttering, and smile so wide your cheeks ache. You’re about to have a baby. And that baby’s father? Is Seo Changbin.

Loud, loyal, chaotic, golden-hearted Seo Changbin. And that means everything’s going to be okay.

Hwang Hyunjin

It happens on a quiet morning.

The sun is creeping in through the curtains, golden and warm. You’re in one of his oversized shirts, curled on the couch with your knees pulled to your chest. The test sits on the coffee table, face-up. Positive. Blunt and unreal.

Hyunjin is in the kitchen humming something, probably working on a smoothie with way too much honey.

You don't say anything. You just… Wait. And when he wanders in with the drink, barefaced and sleepy-eyed, he sees you staring at the test. Then follows your gaze.

Then—stops breathing. “What… is that?”

You blink up at him. “Baby,” you say. “I think I’m pregnant.”

The smoothie hits the floor. He doesn't even flinch. Just stares at the test like it's glowing. “No way,” he whispers. Then again, like he’s in a dream: “No way.”

You nod. Careful. Soft.

He drops to his knees in front of you. Grabs both your hands. “You’re not kidding?” he asks. “You’re not—like, this isn’t a dream or some surreal performance art you’ve constructed to test my emotional range?”

You giggle through the nerves. “It’s real, Jinnie.”

And then—oh, the eyes. Big and glassy and full of awe. He gently presses his hands to your stomach, even though there’s nothing visible yet.

“You’re carrying something made of us?” he says, like he’s tasting every word.

You nod. And he starts to cry. Not loud or messy. Just that beautiful, quiet unravelling he does when his heart gets too full. His forehead presses to your belly. His voice breaks. “I already love them so much,” he whispers. “And you. You—God, you’re going to be the most beautiful mother. I’m going to paint you. Every day. You’ll hate it, but I’ll do it anyway.”

You laugh and pull him close. “I’m scared,” you admit softly.

“I know,” he says, cupping your face, brushing his thumb under your eye. “Me too. But we’ll make something beautiful. We already are.”

Behind him, the smoothie seeps into the floorboards. He doesn’t notice. He’s too busy falling in love all over again.

Han JIsung

You make the mistake of showing him the pregnancy test in the middle of a Mario Kart match.

You were trying to wait until the end. But you couldn’t. The plastic stick in your hoodie pocket felt like it was burning a hole through your skin. So you pause the game. Turn to him on the couch. And say: “Ji… I’m pregnant.”

His character flies off Rainbow Road. He doesn’t even flinch.

You hold out the test. He squints at it like you’ve handed him alien technology. Then looks at you. Then back at the test. “…Wait,” he says. “Waitwaitwaitwait. WAIT. Like—pregnant pregnant?? Like—not the fake TikTok prank kind? Not the 'ha-ha, gotcha,’ kind???”

“Pregnant pregnant,” you say gently. “No ha-ha.”

Silence.

Then: Han Jisung.exe has stopped working. He sits completely still. Eyes wide. Hands frozen in place.

You can see the thoughts ping-ponging through his brain at lightning speed. Baby? Dad? Bottles? Diapers? Are we ready? Oh my god—tiny socks—oh my god—do babies even like me—Then—

“I NEED TO CALL MY MOM.”

You grab his arm. “Ji—”

“No no no wait, I need to call your mom too. I need to call the hospital. Do we need to buy a crib? I need a book. I need—”

“Ji—breathe.”

He finally looks at you. Really looks. And you watch the panic melt into something quieter. More real. “You’re serious?” he whispers.

You nod. “Yeah. I took three tests. All the same.”

He just… folds. Lets out the softest, shakiest breath. “I’m gonna be a dad,” he says, almost reverently. “I’m gonna have a little person who’s half you. Who might have your nose. Or your laugh. Or your attitude—God help me—”

You snort, already teary-eyed. “We’re doomed.”

But then he’s holding you. Pulling you close. Rocking gently on the couch with his face buried in your neck. “I’m so happy,” he mumbles. “So fucking happy. I just—I don’t know if I’ll be good at it, but I’m gonna try so hard. Like, Olympic-level try. Like, gold medal in dad-ing.”

You smile into his hair. “You’ll be the best,” you whisper. “Because it’s you.”

And while the softness surrounds both of you, his poor Mario Kart character is still falling off Rainbow Road.

Lee Felix

He’s lying in bed next to you, all warm freckles and sleepy smiles, arms slung lazily over your waist while some random YouTube video plays in the background.

You’ve been quiet for the last ten minutes. Too quiet.

He shifts. “You okay, angel?”

You glance down at the white stick hidden in the blanket fold between you. Your fingers tremble. Then you blurt it out. “Lix. I think I’m pregnant.”

He blinks. Then blinks again.

“Like… right now?”

You nod.

“Right now now?”

You nod again and hold out the test.

He stares.

“…That’s the kind with the lines, right? Like the ones in movies?”

You laugh. It sounds watery.

“Two lines means yes,” you whisper. “It means we’re—”

Before you can finish the sentence, he’s already sitting up. Fully. Completely. Alert like someone just hit a giant red “you’re about to be a father” button in his brain. “There’s a baby… in there?” He looks down at your belly with eyes so wide they practically sparkle. “Right now? Like—ours?”

You nod again, tearful now.

And he immediately buries his face against your stomach and starts whispering in that low, raspy voice of his. “Hi, little bean. It’s Appa. Or Daddy. We haven’t figured that out yet. But I love you. So much. I haven’t even seen you, and I love you more than anything.”

You start crying for real then. Because of course you do.

Felix pulls himself up to kiss you—everywhere. Forehead, cheeks, lips, nose. All of it soft and gentle, like you’re made of something sacred now. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs. “You’re magic. You’re literally building a person, babe. Like, with your body. That’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You laugh, wiping at your eyes. “What if I get weird cravings turn into a hormonal mess?”

“I will feed you whatever you want,” he promises. “Even if it’s pickles dipped in chocolate and shame. I will oil your belly every night. I will write bedtime songs for the baby starting tonight.”

And then, softer, reverent: “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You melt into him, into this freckled sunshine that keeps holding your belly like something sacred. And at the same time, all you can think about is that this baby will grow up wrapped in sunshine.

Kim Seungmin

You find him in the kitchen making coffee.

He’s in his weekend hoodie, hair messy, muttering under his breath about how someone (you) finished the oat milk and put the empty carton back in the fridge. Classic Seungmin domesticity.

You hesitate in the doorway. Then: “Hey. I need to tell you something.”

He turns, brow raised. “If it’s about the milk—”

You pull the test out of your pocket and hold it up.

He goes quiet. Completely still. “…What’s that?”

You bite your lip. “It’s… a pregnancy test. It’s positive.”

Seungmin blinks. Twice. His eyes flick from your face to the stick and back again. Then: “Okay,” he says.

Just that. No gasp. No dropped mug. No dramatic reaction.

You stare at him. “Okay?”

He crosses the room. Slowly. Carefully and takes the test from your hand, studies it in total silence. You expect a thousand things. A lecture. A long pause. Maybe even dry sarcasm to ease the tension.

But what you don’t expect… Is the way his voice breaks.

“Is this real?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

You nod, tearfully. “Yeah. It’s real.”

He just stands there, the weight of it sinking in. Then he looks up at you with glassy eyes, and your heart cracks wide open. “I didn’t know I could love anything more than I love you,” he says, voice shaking. “But I think I already do.” That’s when he pulls you into him. Not tight—careful. Like you’re suddenly made of something priceless. One hand ghosts over your stomach. The other wraps around your back.

“I’m gonna be so annoying,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m gonna track every symptom. I’m gonna argue with every doctor. I’m gonna ask a thousand questions until I know exactly how to keep you safe.”

You laugh through your tears. “That sounds about right.”

“I’m not even sorry,” he mutters. “You’re mine. So is the baby. I don’t take chances with the things I love.”

And then he says it. For the first time, out loud. With a quiet breath of wonder: “We’re going to be parents.”

Yang Jeongin

You don’t even mean to tell him today.

You were going to wait. Let it sink in first. Get a doctor’s confirmation. Maybe wrap a tiny baby onesie in a box and watch him open it on camera so you could save the reaction forever.

But he comes home early.

And finds you on the bathroom floor, holding the test in your hand, eyes puffy like you’ve already cried yourself through six different emotional stages.

“Babe?”

You jump. Try to shove the test behind your back like a kid caught stealing cookies.

Too late.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, stepping in, voice instantly soft. Concerned. “Are you sick? Did something happen—?”

You don’t answer. Just… hand him the stick with shaking fingers. He takes it. Looks at it. And then freezes. Like actually freezes. Like, cartoon buffering wheel spinning behind his eyes.

“…This is… is this what I think it is?” he asks.

You nod.

He blinks. “…Are you—?”

You nod again. “Yeah.”

Silence.

“…Like, really really?”

You sniffle. “Yeah, Innie. Really really.”

There’s a pause. A long one.

Then—

He sits down on the floor beside you. Cross-legged. Like you’re on a picnic instead of in a panic.

And he lets out a breath that sounds like everything.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I have no idea what I’m doing. Like, actually zero. I’ve never held a baby. I don’t know how to burp them. I’ve never even changed a diaper. I’m scared out of my mind.”

You nod, already crying again.

“But,” he continues, looking at you now—eyes wide and watery and so full of love—“I want this. I want to learn. I want to do it with you. I want to hold their hand the first time they walk. And cry like a loser when they call me Appa. And panic over every little fever and then call my hyungs crying in the group chat. I want to do it all—with you.”

He cups your face in both hands, gentle and grounding.

“You’re gonna be such a good mom,” he says. “And I’m gonna be annoying and awkward and scared but I’m gonna love you both so much you’ll get sick of me.”

You laugh, hiccuping. “Never.”

“I’ll try anyway.”

Then he kisses you. Sweet, gentle, shaky. His hands tremble a little against your cheeks. When you finally pull apart, he grins, eyes still wet.

“Guess I'm not the maknae anymore,” he says softly, resting his hand on your stomach. “Someone’s coming for my crown.”

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #skz imagine #sundaysoftdrops

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