#i think i have to just keep on keeping on until i can finally get good enough to freelance edit and code that's the only thing i can think

[fallout-lou-begas]

So I started playing Ace Attorney but I accidentally started with the third game, Trials and Tribulations, and played the first case (Turnabout Memories) before realizing my mistake – but I did think, at the time, that it was a brilliant and daring design choice to start you out as Mia Fey, Phoenix’s mentor, in flashback, and play has her against several condescending, infantilizing, or even outright sexist court personnel in a drama that just so happens to feature the cool lawyer guy on the box in the most pathetic and embarrassing state imaginable before you even get to play as him. But then that “first” mission dovetailed into the actual first mission from the first game (The First Turnabout) perfectly, because Turnabout Memories is more or less a fanservice recreation and expansion of that first case, but by playing them in opposite order and immediately in sequence, it comes off instead as seeing right away via timeskip just how well that blubbering idiot you helped can handle himself in a court of law now, thanks to Mia’s tutelage – which is itself a continuation of Grossberg’s, as experienced prior. And every note is there, right down to your mentor getting stressed out to the point of exacerbating a medical condition, and opposing the same loser prosecutor.

And then the second case from the first game (Turnabout Sisters), of course, is about the death of Mia Fey that was foreshadowed at the end of Turnabout Memories, making it the first case where you (the player, mechanically) and Pheonix Wright (the character, narratively) are effectively on your own. You (as Pheonix) finally meet Grossberg again, and his staunch refusal to assist in the case is only made more concerning and significant by your firsthand experience playing as Mia under his wing in Turnabout Memories as the “first’ case, and you wonder immediately about their falling out. Maya’s introduction also keeps Mia in the world (including somewhat literally) by revealing more about the Fey family and Mia’s history, relationships, and legacy, and the thing is that I do have to say that playing Turnabout Memories first and getting that experience as Mia, and seeing her as a flawed and insecure rookie fighting for the win before we see her as the effortlessly cool and confident mentor figure, made for a much more narratively satisfying death of a woman than I think it would have been otherwise. You even get a line from Edgeworth in Turnabout Sisters where he calls Pheonix out for using “Mia’s style” of cross-examination – what he calls cowardly nitpicking of perfectly fine testimonies isn’t just how Pheonix does it narratively, it’s how you (the player) do it as the core mechanic of the game, because it’s how Mia does it, and while she is your guide in The First Turnabout, playing as Mia before you play as Pheonix and doing the same thing shows you firsthand that she’s taught him so well that even the prosecution can see it.

This accidental play-order of Turnabout Memories before The First Turnabout and Turnabout Sisters shows off an invaluable amount of Mia Fey’s character, agency, and development that combine to make her feel like the main character for a perfect and holistic three-act introduction to the series, where it doesn’t feel like Pheonix truly “takes over” until Turnabout Samurai – in which he literally does, in fact, take over the law office with Maya as his assistant. It left such a massive impression on me – much more of an impression, I think, that the intended play-order would, which I don’t think does Mia Fey a total disservice at all, but definitely relegates her to a relatively more one-dimensional mentor figure in Pheonix’s shadow for almost the entirety of her short on-screen lifespan if you don’t have the experience of playing as her in Turnabout Memories first. You as the player develop a much richer relationship to Mia that makes her death in Turnabout Sisters feel so much more personal, and the stakes of cracking the case so much more significant. It just enhances her character, and her role in these two cases, immeasurably.

And I mentioned it earlier, but it can’t be said enough that the player’s relationship to Pheonix benefits from this play-order, too – it’s because of Mia that he goes from the sobbing idiot who ate a bottle of poison on the witness stand for a girl who tried frame him for murder into the hotshot rookie lawyer through which you (the player) get to ask Mia for help during the trial in the first place! And she gives you that help because she has been in this same position herself and understands completely! You (the player) were there! The First Turnabout is also, honestly, kind of an underhand toss after Turnabout Memories (it's literally the first ever case so of course it's easy), but it only benefits the pacing of this play-order to have it as a second act before the much more complicated Turnabout Sisters. And when you, the player, are on your own after Turnabout Sisters and have to start Turnabout Samurai without her help, the only way that I can describe it is that you feel ready to make Mia proud.

[yourislandgirl]

* ༘𐙚 THE RULE OF FLOWERS ✿˖˚ || 박성훈 x fem!reader || fic

summary: sunghoon thinks he’s about to get an early grave, or finally achieve his inner rebel’s dream of having a brush with the law, all thanks to your darling daughter and ... her “husband”??

genres: tired girl dad!sunghoon x mum!reader, fluff, crack, slice of life, parents!au,

warnings: attempts at humour, pet names, a little skinship (kissing), not much swearing for a change but sunghoon does say the word ass like once (the child is not present dw), silly dad!sunghoon, protective dad!sunghoon, kids taking everything literally, ref. to classic kids media (finding nemo, curious george), the kid doesn't have a name bcs ... deciding names is hard

w.c: 5.5k

[archive]

Sunghoon’s plan for the night was simple. After making your daughter’s lunch for preschool tomorrow, he’d wash the dishes, brew up two nice, warm mugs of tea for himself and his lovely wife, and then kiss his daughter goodnight before binging some ridiculous drama, until you pulled him into the bedroom to go to sleep.

It was the perfect plan to wind down. It was relaxing enough. And he was looking forward to it as he dried his hands of dishwater after placing your daughter’s colourful dinner plate in the drying rack.

But nothing could have prepared him for the scene that would enter the kitchen and adjoined living room.

“Stop running, you little monkey!”

Shrieks of laughter echoed off your quaint apartment walls. Sunghoon had barely sat down before jolting at the sight of his four year old girl, bright eyed with a mischievous grin on her face, running towards him at full speed. You were hot on her heels.

Her fluffy panda bathrobe was wrapped tightly around her, the hood falling back to reveal dark, slightly damp hair.

Sunghoon opened his arms wide and braced, ready to catch the cannonball he had for a kid. “Woah! Hold it,” reaching forward, Sunghoon scooped her up, laughing at the way she shuffled to escape his grasp but ultimately gave up, curling into him. “Now, where do you think you’re going?”

You slowed down, your own hair and hands a little damp from playing the family favourite Finding Nemo game in the bath with your little girl.

The same little girl who was grinning widely at you, safe in the arms of her father. “Mama’s chasing me.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “I can see that.”

“Because it’s bed time,” you pursed your lips to keep yourself from smiling. “And your Little Miss Monkey book isn’t gonna read itself.”

Your daughter frowned. “Why not?” She asked with genuine seriousness.

“Because it’s not that kind of book, sweets.”

You watched the way you daughter gave her father a glance. “Why not?” She asked again.

Shrugging, Sunghoon tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “I guess there aren’t any self reading books at the store.”

You took a few steps froward, a hand out for your child to hold onto. “We can look for one in another book shop sometime, okay? But right now, it’s time for bed.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Appa needs to come too.” She then proceeded to bury her face into Sunghoon’s chest.

All Sunghoon could do was smile at you. His uncontrollable grin had your heart leaping at the sight. Fatherhood had him melting at your daughter’s every request.

He would go to the convenience store during the middle of work just because he thought about his little girl and wanted to buy her favourite pocky. He would mute work calls just to take a few minutes to watch her twirl in the new fairy dress that your mother had bought her. He’d have an almost Superman-adjacent sense of hearing when it came to her small whimpers in the middle of the night, calling out for the two of you amidst a nightmare.

He was playing Superman again, holding your daughter as if she was flying, her bathrobe’s hood as her hero’s cape, doing a full loop of the world (your living room) before heading to her bedroom. As the three of you walked past the kitchen, Sunghoon felt a small hand tug on the material of his shirt’s collar.

Twisting around in her father’s hands, your little girl had her eyes glued on the kitchen island. More specifically the bouquet arrangement that Sunghoon had brought home yesterday. They were placed at the centre, in a lovely glass vase, reflecting little sparkles onto the countertop from the lights.

“Wait, wait.” Your daughter pointed at the flowers. “I want to do flower face time.”

You breathed out a little laugh, the endearing nickname for the act of smelling flowers had stuck with your daughter through the years. She’d watched you bury your nose into the fragrant petals every time Sunghoon handed them to you.

Sunghoon was just as aware of the nickname. Didn’t stop him from pouting in a comically confused manner, though. “You want to video call the flowers?”

Giggles started to bubble out of the kid that was beaming in his arms. “No!”

“Hello? Flowers?” Sunghoon waved a hand at the bouquet, fighting back a grin. “Can you see me?”

You leaned against the kitchen island, laughing behind your hand at the sight before you.

“Appa!”

“What?” Sunghoon’s dimple peeked through as his smile widened. “I thought we were face timing the flowers.”

“I want to smell the flowers.” The sheer power of your daughters eyeroll had you shaking your head in amusement. An all too familiar reaction to Sunghoon’s teasing.

You’d been on the receiving end of his teasing many times. Fighting back smiles as you tried to remain annoyed, and yet were incapable of staying in a dull mood when it came to the man before you.

The same man who was stroking his chin in a dramatic act of realisation. “Ah, right. Of course.” He manoeuvred your daughter so she could lean closer to the bouquet. “Here.”

Smiling, she took a deep inhale and nodded very officially. “Mm, they’re lovely.”

“Just like you?” You asked, poking her cheek lightly.

“Yep.” Her smile widened and just like that, a tiny dimple blossomed, right where your finger was, just moments ago. A perfect mirror to Sunghoon. As he held her closer, their faces smushed together, side by side, all you could see was a mini version of him.

Unbeknownst to you, all Sunghoon saw when he looked at your daughter, was you. Your warmth, your laugh, the way you see brightness in mundanity and appreciate any gesture of kindness or love, no matter how small.

Like the flowers. For as long as you could remember, Sunghoon had been gifting you flowers.

There was never a standard type or a pattern that he followed, he always said that he just entered whatever flower shop was nearby and picked up the prettiest bouquet he saw.

Sometimes it was for a special occasion, sometimes it was just because, and you quickly came to realise that your kitchen island was never bare — there was always a lovely arrangement in the vase. And the minute the old, wilted stems had to be tossed, Sunghoon arrived home that afternoon with a new bouquet in hand.

Every time, he would hand them to you with a smile, one hand behind his back. Like a prince.

You’d hold them closer and breathe in the scent before sighing, and you’d say, “Thank you. They’re lovely.”

And every time, Sunghoon would lean forward, kiss your cheek and whisper in your ear, “Just like you.”

“Appa likes flowers.” Your daughter mused to herself as Sunghoon carried her towards her bedroom. You were following behind them, smiling up at your girl.

“Mama likes flowers.” Sunghoon made a point to turn and look at you as he spoke. “Appa likes making Mama happy.”

Humming as a response, your daughter giggled to herself quietly. “My husband likes making me happy too.”

It wasn’t normal to see person freeze mid-step like in a cartoon. But that was exactly what Sunghoon did. In an instant you felt your eyebrows crease together, utter confusion flooding your face. But for Sunghoon? His shoulders tensed, he turned and looked at you with an expression of pure panic and what could only be described as befuddlement.

You cleared your throat. “I- What?”

“Excuse me?” Sunghoon moved his hold on your child, propping her up between the two of you so that you both could see her face.

Ironically, her own face held confusion. She patted Sunghoon’s arm. “You didn’t burp, Appa,” she said, reassuringly.

It was anything but reassuring to Sunghoon. “No, no, what husband?”

“Baby, what are you talking about?” You reached forward, your thumb gently stroking her soft cheek.

“My husband.” She said it so matter-of-factly. Like the very sentence didn’t just drop a bombshell into the middle of your conversation. Instead, she simply blinked at the two of you, “He gives me flowers. Just like you and Appa.”

Sunghoon leaned a little closer to you. “I think I just forgot how to breathe,” he whispered.

“You did not forget how to breathe”

“How do you know, Y/n? I’m imploding.”

Your daughter leaned closer too. “Who’s mimloading?”

“Who‘s your husband?” Sunghoon countered.

“Taesan!” You watched the way Sunghoon mouthed the name, as if committing it to memory. On the other hand, your little girl was still all smiles and excitement. “His flowers are in my backpack. I’ll show you!”

She started to wriggle out of Sunghoon’s hands, excitedly skipping towards her room once he placed her down. All you could do was watch her as she walked past the doorframe before you turned to each other.

“She has a husband?” Sunghoon tried his best to keep his voice low, a hushed yell that could only be heard by you.

Sighing, you rubbed your temples with your hands. “She does not have a husband.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “She said it with way too much confidence.”

“She says everything with way too much confidence. She’s four.”

“What are we gonna do?”

As he started to pace up and down the hallway, you slid in front of him to get his attention. “First step is to take a deep breath and calm down.”

He frowned. “I’m perfectly calm.”

“Two seconds ago you said you forgot how to breathe.”

“Well, five seconds ago our daughter was just our daughter, but now apparently she’s someone’s wife!” He gestured wildly in the direction of her room. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, he had a point.

“Things are escalating here, Y/n,” he went on. “We need to keep up.”

“Okay, I get what you’re saying, but—”

Straightening up a little, Sunghoon gave a nod of pure determination. “I need to see the evidence.”

You shut your eyes tiredly. “Evidence? Really- Sunghoon!” You hadn’t even finished the thought before you opened your eyes to see him already walking towards your daughter’s room. So you hurried after him.

“What took so long?” She was sitting near her preschool backpack, one hand grasping a few green stems, some with small purple flowers.

Sunghoon crouched beside her “Sorry honey.”

“What did you wanna show us?” You asked.

She pushed her hand forward, showing off the small garden flowers. “Look!”

“Wow!” You gave her hair a small ruffle while waiting for Sunghoon to react.

“They’re…” He glanced at you hesitantly, but it took only one warning look from you for him to get his act together. “Pretty. They’re really pretty.”

Standing up, your daughter pointed at an empty green stem. “This one was a dandylier.”

“Dandelion.” You corrected her gently.

“Yeah, dandelion. And this one’s a- …I don’t know. But it smells lovely.”

Sunghoon nodded. “And, um, Taesan gave these to you?”

Placing a hand on his shoulder, you watched Sunghoon fight every urge to switch from the usual soft expressions he gives his little girl, for a more stoic one. One that would actually fit his mood at that moment.

Your daughter nodded. “Yep. So he’s my husband, right?”

Sunghoon lost his balance and ended up sitting down, turning a little to meet your eyes. “I’m imploding again,” he muttered.

His wide eyed stare, basically begging you to figure out what to do, it was a little adorable. You sat down next to him, cross legged, and reached to pull your daughter closer. “Not everybody who gives you flowers is your husband, kiddo.” You placed her on your lap.

“Oh. Why not?” The genuine confusion in her voice was palpable as she leaned against your collarbone. “I thought that was the rule. “

For the first time since the corridor outside the bedroom, Sunghoon finally cracked a small smile. It was a look of amusement and endearment, wrapped together, as he gently took her small fingers into his larger ones. “I don’t get Mama flowers because there’s a rule,” he explained. “I get her flowers because I want to see her smile.”

Your daughter sat up a little. “If that’s it, then why are you her husband?”

“Oh my god.” You hid your smile behind your hand, stifling back laughter and failing to do it successfully.

“Mama smiles at a lot of people.”

Your eyes creased shut as you looked away, still finding the complete seriousness of your daughter’s tone to be hilarious.

Sunghoon just blinked a few times. The learning curve of parenthood had struck again and in the last few years, as your child picked up words and sentences and opinions properly, you each had been subjected to a lot of harsh truths told in a devastatingly cute voice.

“How do I answer that?” Sunghoon asked you.

You tapped your daughter’s nose, causing her to turn to you. “He’s my husband because we love each other and want to keep loving each other forever.”

“Oh.”

“Appa getting me flowers is like, an added bonus, you get me?”

She started nodding slowly. “I guess. But Appa said he likes making you smile, and Taesan likes making me smile too, I think.”

Sunghoon muttered something incomprehensible under his breath before standing up. “Who is this kid?”

“Sunghoon.” Once again, your eyes shut, a little tired of Sunghoon being so typically Sunghoon.

When you turned to look at him he was at the other end of the room, near a small bookcase. It had numerous bedtime stories, picture books, interactive music books, photo albums. Sunghoon was crouched in front of it, his fingers running across each spine as he tried to look for something.

“You kept her preschool class photos in this room, right?” He asked over his shoulder.

You scoffed in disbelief. Amused and yet equally concerned. “You are not seriously scoping him out right now.”

“I’m just getting an idea of what I’m up against.”

You wanted to laugh. “There is no up against, Sunghoon!”

“I’m just curious, babe.”

“Just like George!” Your daughter smiled over your shoulder.

Sunghoon smirked. “Exactly. I’m just like George.” He gestured to your child with his eyebrows. “She gets me,” he said to you.

“Yeah, I get you, Appa.”

Shaking your head, you held your kid closer and shuffled to her dresser. “Okay, why don’t you and I focus on bedtime.”

She hummed. “Okay.”

Sunghoon seemingly gave up his search and came to join you as you both worked in tandem to get your daughter ready for bed. Sunghoon helped her tiny hands through the sleeve holes of her pyjamas, while you gently brushed her hair. The whole routine feeling like a ritual as she relaxed against you.

You figured it was a perfect moment to talk to your daughter. “I’m sure Taesan likes seeing you smile, love. You have an incredible smile.”

Sunghoon stilled ever so slightly but let you continue, focused on hanging her small panda bathrobe on one of the tiny chairs in the room.

You carefully applied a little night time moisturiser to her cheeks as you spoke. “But you need to understand something; just because someone is nice to you, and gives you flowers, and likes your smile, doesn’t make them your husband. There’s a lot more to it than that. That’s the reason why all the husbands you’ve met are adults. Remember?“

“Oh. Yeah,” she drawled out in realisation. “So Taesan can only be my husband when he’s an adult?”

“Exactly.”

Sunghoon frowned, pouting a little. “Don’t encourage that!” He whisper-yelled at you.

“Oh, what? You think we’re gonna revisit this exact situation in twenty years?”

“We might?”

“And if that happens, I’ll owe you one. How about that?”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“I have no doubt.” You rolled your eyes.

You felt a small tug at your shirt. “Mama?”

“Yeah?”

Your little girl looked deep in thought. “Taesan can still be my friend, right?”

“Of course he can. If you want him to be.”

“Yeah!” She said, excitedly. “He let me win at hopscotch yesterday and his mama makes really yummy cheesecake.”

“She’s in it for the cheesecake?” Sunghoon muttered dryly as he came to sit back down next to the two of you.

Smirking at him, you shrugged. “I can’t even blame her. It’s cheesecake.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t need Taesan for that.” He pouted again. “I’ll make her cheesecake.”

That immediately caught your daughter’s attention. She clambered over your legs to get into Sunghoon’s lap. “Right now?” Her eyes and smile were the hook, line and sinker.

“Sure—”

“No!” Your hand shot out and clasped over Sunghoon’s mouth. “Not right now.” You looked between both of them, pursing your lips to prevent a smile at the sight of their pleading eyes. “Later, okay? Soon,” you said, softly.

Sunghoon chuckled as your daughter practically deflated against him. “Fine. I wish it was now.”

You giggled. “I’m sure you do, baby.”

Carefully getting off her dad’s lap, she made her way back to her backpack.

“Where’re you going?”

At Sunghoon’s question, she held up the empty stem of the dandelion. “Is my dandyliar finished?”

“Well, it looks you already blew out your wish so, yeah.” You took the empty stem in your hands and placed it on her small drawing table. “But it’s ok. We can look for another one tomorrow morning.”

“Aw.” She deflated all over again. “I wanted to wish for Appa to make a cheesecake.”

“I’ll make you one.” Sunghoon groaned a little as he stood up before he took a few steps to cross the distance between them. It always made you smile at how your daughters many little steps to get from one point to another would take you and Sunghoon only one or two to bridge the gap.

Even just the sight of him standing beside her had your cheeks stinging with that good kind of pain where you feel yourself smiling longer and longer with each second, unable to suppress the warmth erupting from inside of you.

Sunghoon ruffled his fingers through your daughter’s hair. “I promise, I’ll make you one.”

“Pinkie!” She held up the single finger expectantly.

And Sunghoon responded readily. “Pinkie.” Sealing the promise with her thumb meeting his. “Perfect. Now,” he snapped his finger, pointing across the room. “Get in bed.”

“Carry me.”

You scoffed at the utter dramatics. Her hands thrown up, eyes closed as if defeated by a tiring day of colouring and hopscotch.

But Sunghoon didn’t complain. He never complained. If anything, he was hoping she would ask. “Of course,” his voice was soft, you could barely hear it.

“You know, you can climb into bed on your own, little miss.” You tried to chastise her. Your heart wasn’t really in it, but, it felt like something you were supposed to do.

She wasn’t having it though. “I don’t want to,” she said over Sunghoon’s shoulder.

“She doesn’t want to,” Sunghoon repeated, giving you a smug smile.

“Fair enough.” Joining Sunghoon at her bed, you sighed while crouching down to level with her. “Seems like you’ve had a nice long day.”

Nodding, your daughter laid back and shuffled into her pillows. “Did you have a nice long day, Mama?”

You thought for a moment. “Hm, sorta.”

Pouting, she looked at her dad. “Appa.”

“Yes, princess,” Sunghoon mused while he brought the soft covers up to her chin.

“Carry Mama to bed.”

Sunghoon grinned at the authoritative tone of a four year old, but couldn’t pass up on such an easy task. “It would be my pleasure.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from looking at him. At the way his eyes still held the same love and affection and desire that he had years ago. That it hadn’t changed with time but rather aged with care.

Sunghoon’s hand snuck across the carpeted floor to rest on top of yours.

You could see the way he was ever so slowly leaning closer, out of pure habit if nothing else, but you needed to put your little girl to sleep.

“Before that, it’s time for Little Miss Monkey.” You gestured with your eyebrows to the bookshelf behind Sunghoon and giggled at the way he snapped back to the present before turning to get your daughter's favourite bedtime story

“Yes! Wait, I need Puddles.” She searched among her many stuffed animals to pick out the soft yellow duck. Her best friend, according to her. She held it close, getting back under the covers.

Sunghoon cleared his throat, opening the storybook. “Is Puddles ready?”

“Yep!”

And so began the nightly routine of Little Miss Monkey and her quest for the the perfect jungle party present. An odd story that seemed to stick with your daughter, whether it was the various different animals or the various different voices that Sunghoon insisted on using when reading for each animal, you knew the day was never really complete without Little Miss Monkey successfully reaching her jungle party.

As Sunghoon closed the book and placed it back on the shelf you leaned forward and gave your daughter a kiss on the forehead. “Get some sleep,” you whispered.

“But Puddles said she wants to stay awake.” Her stubbornness was still fighting with her exhaustion.

You had to admit, it was pretty cute. “Puddles said that, did she?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Uh huh.”

Sunghoon placed a hand on the small of your back, you could hear the quiet huff of amusement he let out.

But you weren’t one to give up that easily. “Well I’m sorry, sweets, but you and Puddles are gonna feel tired in the morning if you don’t sleep now.”

“Puddles won’t feel tired. She only feels tired if I tell her to.” Apparently your daughter got her stubbornness from you.

Sunghoon gave you a smirk, a sort of challenging grin as he watched the scene unfold before him.

“Oh, that’s right.” You nodded. “So she wants to stay awake right now because you told her to?”

“…No?”

Sunghoon bent down to whisper to her. “Mama’s gonna win this, princess.”

“I know,” she whispered back.

“Besides, you‘ll want enough energy to win at hopscotch tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Sunghoon nodded. “Exactly.”

“So,” You leaned down next to him, your fingers trailing down your little girl’s forehead, following the bridge of her nose. “Close your eyes.”

“That tickles,” she giggled.

Sunghoon gave her hand a gentle kiss. “Keep them closed.”

“No peeking?”

“Nope.” Taking your hand into his, Sunghoon started to slowly pull you towards the door.

As you tip toed towards the door, you heard her gentle sigh. “Okay. Goodnight.”

You smiled, looking back to see her eyes still shut. Puddles held tightly as she curled on her side.

“Goodnight, baby,” you called out.

Sunghoon carefully opened the door to not be too loud. “We love you.”

You both waited for her reply. She always replied back.

“Mm, love you.” Soft and wispy, sleep was slowly catching up to her and you could hear it from her voice. So you did your best to shut the door extra slowly, waiting for the subtle click before quietly walking off.

You leaned your head on Sunghoon’s shoulder as you entered the kitchen. “Are you still imploding?”

“I’m fine. Cool as a cucumber.” He was doing his best to ignore the look of amused disbelief that you were giving him.

“Ya know, someone who’s actually cool as a cucumber wouldn’t use that kind of phrase.”

“Look, I just…” You chuckled at the arbitrary hand flails he was doing, incapable of articulating his feelings exactly.

“You freaked out?”

Sunghoon squinted at you a little. “I think my freak out was perfectly sound, given the circumstances.”

“Perfectly sound, huh?”

His hands went up to plead innocence. “Objectively speaking.”

“You wanted the kid’s mug, Sunghoon.” You scoffed as you walked towards the cabinets, getting yourself a glass of water.

“Again, a perfectly sound request.”

You paused after taking a sip, giving Sunghoon a blank stare while you wondered whether your daughter’s stubbornness really came from you or her father. “You should rethink your definitions.”

Reaching across the kitchen island, Sunghoon took a few sips of water from your glass. “Taesan should rethink his decisions.”

“My god.” You muttered under your breath as Sunghoon straightened up, already preparing to explain his point.

“No, no, babe, it starts with flowers and cheesecake and then the next thing you know, it’s February 14th and he’s gotten her a be-my-valentine chocolate box.”

“You’ve got be kidding me.”

“She loves chocolate, Y/n, she won’t be able to resist. That kid is scheming.” He pointed his thumb at the direction of your front door, as if poor little Taesan was waiting out there.

You laughed quietly to yourself. “My love, he’s a four year old child. He does not have that kind of speed.”

“Did you just black out and forget the way our own daughter was bolting around this house? Kids have speed, Y/n”

“That’s not- You know what I meant.”

Sunghoon slouched down on one of the counter chairs. “I’m coping with humour right now, okay? It’s either this or I eat a tub of ice cream.”

“You’re kinda cute when you’re like this,” you smirked.

“I’m glad my spiralling is entertaining to you.”

“Oh, very. But I hope this isn’t gonna be your attitude if she actually does get married in the future.”

“By that point in time, I’ll be alright with it.” He spoke with a lot of unearned confidence which had you raising an eyebrow. “I’ll try to be.” Your expression was unmoving. “It’s the thought that counts, okay?”

You shook your head, unable to hold off the smile as you got started on putting the dry dishes away. Sunghoon instinctively came to help, still trying to find a way to explain exactly what he was feeling.

“Look,” he started. “I just don’t think that she should be calling every flower-gifting-guy her husband.”

“Well, no. But we did our part in telling her as much.” You handed him the ceramic dishes that had to go on the higher shelves. “I think you can relax a little bit now, right?”

“I’ll relax after she deems my cheesecake better than Taesan’s mum’s.”

You smirked. “So we’re beefing with his mum now too?”

“It’s her kid.”

“Right,” You put the dish in your hands back on the rack. turning Sunghoon by his elbow to get him to face you. “Her sweet kid, who gave our daughter flowers because his mum probably taught him to treat girls nicely. And let them win every now and then. And share yummy food with them.”

He frowned. “Ok, so, I see your point. But—”

“Didn’t your mum teach you the same?” You crossed your arms, walking back to lean against the counter, a little smile on your face. “I specifically remember a scrawny teenager holding a lovely bouquet of lilies.”

“I- Scrawny?”

“You’re gonna look me in my face and tell me you weren’t scrawny at nineteen?”

“I was,” Sunghoon smirked, walking closer to you. “But I was hoping you remembered more about our first date than just lilies and my scrawny ass.”

You tried to bite your lower lip to keep from smiling wider. “I remember every moment of it, Sunghoon.”

“Good.” He leaned down slowly, his breath was warm against your lips right before he kissed you. Firm hands held your waist, lifting you on top of the counter as he pulled you against him. But then he froze and leaned back. “Mm mm,” he shook his head, “Back to point.”

You groaned, dropping your forehead against his chest, tired of the topic already.

Sunghoon was determined though. “That was a date, Y/n. Getting your date flowers isn’t life changing, okay? It’s law- Oh my god.”

“What?” You raised your head.

“I think she might be right about the rule of flowers…”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his low murmurs of realisation. “Aw, Sunghoon.” You reached up and cupped his face, brushing his hair back as he returned your smile.

“I just got scared there for a minute,” he whispered. “That’s all.”

“I got scared too. It’s normal.”

“Yeah, but you handled it like a pro, unlike me.”

You stroked his cheek. “Again, very normal for us.”

He frowned, trying to remain serious despite your playful smile, the teasing glint in your eyes. His resolve only lasted about three seconds before he sighed.

“Yeah.” Nodding, Sunghoon admitted defeat, pulling you closer once more as he wrapped his arms around you, his head slotting itself into the crook of your neck.

He felt the way you seemed to decompress in his arms, your own hands stroking his hair, lighting scratching his back. It was unreal how relaxing it was to hold and be held by you.

“You tired?” He murmured against your neck.

You hummed. “A little.”

“Alright then.” Stepping back, Sunghoon slid one arm under your knees and other around holding your waist as he lifted you.

“Woah, what—” Your hands clasped around his neck, confused, as he gave you a light kiss on the cheek.

“I believe I promised our daughter that I would carry you to bed.”

Your gentle laughter became a little muffled as you curled your face into his chest, listening to the steady beat of your husband’s heart while he carried you to the bedroom.

“Alright.” Carefully laying you onto the mattress, he propped up the pillows for you to lean against. “You get comfy. I need to head out for a moment, but I’ll be quick.”

You frowned. “Where to?”

“Convenience store.” He headed into the closet, as he spoke. “She wants a cheesecake so I need to get a few more ingredients. And I’d ask you to come with, but, someone’s gotta be here.”

“Sunghoon,” you sighed. “She doesn’t need it first thing in the morning.”

“Speak for yourself.” Sunghoon gave you a deadpanned expression as he walked back out, pulling on a coat and some gloves. “If I was her, I’d want it first thing in the morning.”

There was no point trying to convince him otherwise, so you simply did as he asked and got comfy. “You should get blueberries.”

“Already on the list.” He gave you a wink as you leaned across to your bedside table for the novel you were currently reading. “Can never have enough blueberries in this house,” he muttered.

“She gets it from you.”

Sunghoon just shrugged, walking closer. “They’re the perfect snack. Well, besides you.” He bent down to give you one last kiss, letting it linger a little longer than you’d have expected. The book had almost slipped out of your hands before he stepped back, smirking, like he knew exactly what he just did.

“Be quick.” You looked down at the page, not really reading anything but just not wanting to give him any satisfaction.

“Or you’ll miss me?”

“More like you‘ll miss me.”

“Right, cause that’s exactly what’s gonna happen.” He waved before walking out the room and soon, you heard the faint sound of the front door shutting.

You settled into the bed, bringing the covers up to your waist, and you’d just started to get into the novel when you heard the gentle buzz of your phone beside you. You breathed a little sigh, already expecting it.

You didn’t even bother checking who it was when you picked up. “Did you forget something?” You asked.

“Nope,” Sunghoon responded and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “I just missed you.”

a.n: this feels diff to my other fics bcs it’s so dialogue heavy but . i didn’t know how else to write the idea that i had. i feel like a family’s dynamic is seen really well through both verbal and non verbal communication but for a fic where the kid is so young, verbal communication just sorta made the most sense? hopefully people like this as much as descriptive/prose-y fics 🤞🏽

perm taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf — @itsrinsdrs — @enjakey — @kissmete — @jaylaxies — @tobiosbbyghorl — @hoondrop — @chaeneu

2025 © yourislandgirl

[jkwrites-m]

Daddy Kookie (2)

Pairing: idol!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: childhood lovers to exes to lovers, parents au, idol au, smut, angst, fluff

Word Count: 6.4k

Summary: After Jungkook dropped all contact, Y/N was left broken - and pregnant. Seven years later, fate brings them back together.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, smut, angst, abandonment, young (teenage) pregnancy, unintentional parental neglect, resentment, fighting, boundaries, guilt, burnout, anxiety, confessions, reunions, slapping, anger, heartbreak, cursing, struggle, explicit: PRAISING, kissing, missionary, tension, pillow talk, unprotected sex

A/N: here’s what was originally the ending of part one but for some reason i can’t post that many blocks 😒 so here’s the “part 2”.

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

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═══════

I found Namjoon in the hotel gym that night.

He was alone, earbuds in, pacing the far side of the room with a water bottle tucked under one arm, muttering rehearsal notes to himself like he always did before a show. I stood in the doorway for a solid minute before I said anything.

He saw me in the mirror first.

Pulled out one earbud.

“You alright?” he asked.

“No.”

He nodded once and didn’t press me.

Just set down his bottle and motioned toward the bench press like, sit.

I sat.

And for a while, neither of us said a word.

“I met with her this morning,” I said finally, my voice rough from not speaking since the show.

Namjoon didn’t ask who.

He just waited.

“I asked for an hour. She gave me exactly that.”

I rubbed my hands together. My legs were bouncing, and I couldn’t stop.

“I thought I was ready to see her. But I wasn’t.”

Still, Namjoon said nothing.

“She has a daughter.”

His brows lifted just slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“She’s mine,” I added. “Her name is Eun Ae.”

That got him.

Namjoon blinked slowly and sat down on the bench across from me. “You’re a dad?”

I nodded. “I didn’t know. I- God, hyung, I blocked her. She tried to tell me and I just… I disappeared.”

He sighed but didn’t scold me.

I think that made it worse.

“She raised her alone,” I said. “Worked. Went to school. Everything. No help. And I was here, living my dream while she was raising my kid and barely surviving.”

“You didn’t know,” Namjoon said carefully.

“I should’ve.”

“That’s true.”

I buried my face in my hands. “She’s giving me one chance. Tomorrow. At the zoo. I get to meet her - meet my daughter - for the first time and I don’t even know how to breathe around the thought of it.”

He let me sit in the silence for a beat.

Then: “What are you most scared of?”

“That she’ll hate me.”

Namjoon’s gaze softened.

“That she’ll ask me where I’ve been,” I whispered, “and I won’t know how to answer.”

“You don’t have to have all the answers,” he said. “You just have to show up. That’s what matters now.”

“I want to be in her life,” I said. “I want to earn it. I want to be someone she can count on. Not someone she has to recover from.”

Namjoon nodded slowly. “That’s a good place to start.”

“And Y/N…” My voice cracked. “I still love her.”

“I know.”

“I don’t expect her to forgive me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I want her to see that I’m not the same kid who left.”

“You’re not,” he said.

I looked up at him. “What if I ruin it again?”

“Then you don’t,” Namjoon said. “You show up. You listen. You apologize. You be present. And if they don’t let you in, you keep showing up until they do- or until they tell you to stop. Either way, you stay honest.”

I nodded, swallowing hard.

“Thanks, hyung.”

He gave a tired smile. “Get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

I didn’t sleep much.

But I dreamed of a little girl with my eyes.

And Y/N beside her.

═══════

It was her idea to wear her tiger hoodie.

“Because we’re going to the zoo,” she said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

I tied her shoelaces twice- her feet wouldn’t stop bouncing- then stood up and stared at her for a moment too long.

“Mama?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you nervous?”

A pause.

“No,” I said. “I’m just thinking.”

It wasn’t a lie. I was thinking. About everything.

About how I swore he’d never meet her. About how easily I’d broken that rule yesterday. About how I’d watched his hands tremble when I said the word daughter.

He didn’t cry, not fully.

But he looked like someone who had finally understood what it meant to break something that couldn’t be fixed.

I kept that image close as I buckled her into her booster seat and drove to the zoo.

He was already waiting by the entrance.

Sunglasses. Mask. Hoodie. Head tucked down.

It should’ve made him look anonymous.

It didn’t.

Even behind all that, he looked unmistakably like him.

And when Eun Ae saw him, she didn’t pause.

She ran.

Full-speed. Straight up to him like she’d known him her whole life.

“Hi!” she chirped. “I’m Eun Ae. Are you the friend Mama said we’re meeting?”

He knelt down slowly.

I watched his fingers shake as he pulled the mask down from his face.

“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m… I’m Jungkook.”

“That’s a funny name,” she giggled. “Can I call you Mr. Kookie?”

He let out a short, stunned laugh.

“Sure,” he said, clearing his throat. “You can call me that.”

She grabbed his hand like it was nothing. Like it was normal.

Like this hadn’t been six years coming.

I followed a few steps behind them, unsure what to do with my arms, my heart, my breath.

They moved together easily.

Too easily.

He matched her pace. Let her pick which exhibits to visit. Lifted her onto his shoulders to see the giraffes. Bought her a pretzel and wiped the cheese off her face without hesitation. They laughed at the same things. Tilted their heads the same way when they were curious. Chewed the straw of their drinks when they were thinking.

They were mirrors.

And I was the frame- holding it all together, barely.

At the tiger enclosure, Eun Ae pressed her palms to the glass and gasped.

“They’re so cool!” she shouted. “I want one!”

“They’re a little big for a pet,” Jungkook said, crouching next to her.

“I’d teach it tricks.”

“I bet you would.”

There was a pause. Then she asked the question I’d been dreading.

“Did you know my mom when she was my age?”

Jungkook blinked.

I tensed.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I did.”

“Was she weird like me?”

“She was perfect,” he said. “Exactly like you.”

She grinned. “So… super weird?”

He laughed, and I heard something in it that sounded like mourning.

Later, while she climbed a small jungle gym near the café, I sat beside him on the bench.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just watched her, eyes full of things I didn’t want to name.

“She’s incredible,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“You already said that.”

“I’ll say it again,” he said. “As many times as you need.”

We sat in silence for a long time.

Then I heard my voice say something I hadn’t planned.

“You’re good with her.”

He turned to me, surprised.

“She doesn’t know who you are,” I added. “But she likes you.”

“I’m glad.”

“She’s never had… that. A male figure. Anyone to play like that with.”

He looked away. “That’s my fault.”

I didn’t correct him.

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled something out.

A little stuffed tiger.

“I bought this on the way here,” he said, holding it up. “I didn’t know if I’d get to give it to her.”

She ran back to us just then, sweaty and smiling.

Jungkook knelt again and held out the tiger.

“For you.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Thanks, Mr. Kookie!”

She hugged him. No hesitation.

He closed his eyes like the moment hurt in a way he needed.

═══════

That night, after Eun Ae was tucked into bed, I sat on the couch with a blanket around my shoulders and my phone pressed to my ear.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Like the kind of quiet that presses in on your skin and makes your thoughts louder than they should be.

“She hugged him,” I whispered.

My best friend on the other end of the line didn’t speak. She waited. She always did.

“She hugged him like she’d known him her whole life. Like he hadn’t missed anything. Like he hadn’t disappeared.”

I wiped under my eyes with the edge of my sleeve.

“And he was… good with her. Gentle. Patient. Funny. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to meet her. Like he already loved her.”

“You sound surprised,” my friend said.

“I am,” I confessed. “I don’t want to be. But I am.”

There was a pause.

“You still love him,” she said.

I closed my eyes.

���Don’t,” I said softly. “Please.”

“Y/N-”

“I can’t afford to love him,” I whispered. “Not again. Not after what he did.”

The words came out raw and wet and cracked.

“I spent years hating him,” I said. “Years trying to forget the way he looked at me, the way he kissed me, the way he made me believe in things that never came true. And today, I watched him hold our daughter’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, and I…This could’ve been real. This life. This moment. All of it. If he had just… stayed.”

I swallowed the sob that threatened.

“I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel hate. I felt… sad. And full. And furious. And terrified. All at once.”

“You’re allowed to feel all of that.”

“I know. But it doesn’t make it easier.”

She didn’t say anything for a while.

Then: “Do you think he still loves you?”

I laughed. Quiet and bitter. “He says he does.”

“And do you believe him?”

I looked out the window. The city lights blinked back like stars caught in a snow globe.

“I believe he thinks he does,” I said. “But I don’t know if he loves me- who I am now. Not the girl he left behind.”

“You don’t have to decide anything now.”

“I don’t want to decide anything,” I said. “I just want to breathe again.”

I hung up after that.

Tucked my phone under the blanket and rested my head on the arm of the couch. My eyes closed. My chest ached. I felt heavy and hollow and full of fire all at the same time.

And then I heard it.

A shuffle.

A creak of the hallway floorboard.

I turned.

Jungkook stood there, just outside the door frame, his hand against the wall like he needed it to hold himself up.

He hadn’t knocked.

He hadn’t said a word.

He just looked at me like he’d walked straight into the center of a storm he hadn’t seen coming.

“You heard all that,” I said, my voice flat.

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said quietly. “I was bringing back the little drawing she made. She left it in my jacket pocket. I was going to knock. I just… heard you.”

I sat up slowly.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

He didn’t budge.

“Y/N,” he said softly, voice shaking. “I love you. Not just the girl I left. Not some idea. You. Right now. All of it.”

And then he crossed the room.

Without another word, he bent down and kissed me.

Soft and sure and shaking all at once.

And for one second - just one - I kissed him back.

It was like breathing again for the first time in years. Like lightning. Like a heartbeat I didn’t know I missed.

But then I pulled back.

And I slapped him.

Hard.

He didn’t even flinch.

“You can’t just do that,” I said, my voice rising. “You don’t get to walk in here, say I love you, and kiss me like it erases what you did.”

“I know,” he said, eyes shining. “I know it doesn’t fix anything. I just needed you to know it’s real.”

A long silence stretched between us.

He finally set the folded piece of paper on the table.

It was a crayon drawing. Stick figures. A tiger. The word “KOOKIE” spelled backwards across the top.

“I’ll go,” he said, stepping back. “But… thank you. For today.”

He turned and walked out before I could say a word.

And I sat there, hands shaking, heart a mess, trying not to chase after him.

Because no matter how much I wanted to…

I didn’t know if I could survive loving him again.

═══════

I didn’t mean to kiss her.

I meant to leave.

I meant to say those words and walk away like a man who’d learned his lesson. Who knew better now.

But when I looked at her- sitting on that couch, eyes full of grief and strength- I forgot what I was supposed to do.

And when her lips touched mine back… for that brief, burning second, I thought maybe I wasn’t too late.

But then she slapped me.

And she was right to.

I walked out shortly after. The drawing Eun Ae made was still on the table. The door shut behind me like punctuation on a sentence I’d rewritten too many times in my head.

I didn’t go to my room.

I went to Namjoon’s.

He was still up, writing in a leather-bound notebook like always. When he opened the door and saw my face, he didn’t ask. Just moved aside to let me in.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands gripping the hem of my hoodie.

“She still hates me,” I said.

Namjoon didn’t reply. Just waited.

“I heard her talking to someone. On the phone. After the zoo.” I exhaled shakily. “She said it could’ve been real. The life. The moment. If I had just stayed.”

My voice cracked.

“She’s right,” I said. “It could’ve been. I destroyed everything.”

Namjoon sat in the chair across from me, elbows on his knees. “You didn’t destroy everything.”

“I kissed her,” I admitted.

That got a raised eyebrow.

“She kissed me back. For a second. Then she slapped me.”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. “You probably deserved it.”

“I definitely deserved it.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my thighs, head in my hands.

“She thinks I’m just showing up now because of Eun Ae. But it’s not that. I was going to try before I even knew. I swear. I just… I still love her. That never went away.”

“I know,” Namjoon said. “We all do.”

“She said she doesn’t know if I love who she is now. Not the girl I left behind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “She’s stronger. Sharper. She’s everything I wish I’d grown up fast enough to deserve.”

Namjoon nodded slowly.

“Then show her,” he said. “Not with words. You’ve said enough. Do something.”

“Like what?”

“Think,” he said. “What did she love? What mattered to her?”

I blinked.

“Wildflowers,” I said. “She always picked the ugly ones growing out of sidewalk cracks. Said they were survivors.”

Namjoon smiled. “Then that’s where you start.”

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat.

“I’m going to show up,” I said. “Every day. Until she tells me not to. Or until she believes me.”

“Good,” Namjoon said. “And Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not a piece of shit. You were a scared kid who made a selfish mistake. Now you’re a man who has to own it.”

I nodded again.

I wasn’t running anymore.

Tomorrow, I’d bring her flowers.

Not roses.

Not something expensive or flashy.

Just wildflowers.

The ones that survive.

═══════

He didn’t text the next morning.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t knock.

But when I opened the door to take out the trash, there was a bouquet of wildflowers on the step.

No note.

No explanation.

Just color.

Simple and honest.

I stared at them for a long time before I brought them inside.

I didn’t put them in a vase.

Not yet.

Eun Ae noticed them instantly.

“Oooh, are those for you?”

“Yeah,” I said, almost under my breath.

“From Mr. Kookie?”

I froze.

She giggled. “He smells like sunshine.”

I blinked. “What?”

“His hoodie. It smelled like sunshine. And gum.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

She took one of the smaller stems from the bouquet and tucked it behind my ear before skipping off to play.

═══════

The next day, he didn’t bring flowers.

He brought her a book.

One of those thick picture books with a glittery cover and a dragon on the front. She shrieked like she’d won the lottery. He handed it to her without a word and let her read to him, even though she kept skipping pages and making up half the story.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t correct her.

He just smiled like it was the best thing he’d ever heard.

I watched from the kitchen, trying not to feel anything.

Trying to stay steady.

Trying not to remember the way his hand had felt on my cheek when he kissed me.

And the sting of my own palm after.

═══════

The third day, he showed up with both- flowers for me, a new stuffed animal (a bunny this time) for her, and takeout from my favorite noodle place.

He didn’t ask to stay.

Just handed it over, bowed, and walked away.

I didn’t stop him.

But I didn’t close the door right away either.

═══════

The fourth day, he didn’t come.

And I hated how I noticed.

How the absence felt like a missing rhythm in my day. A skipped beat.

I told myself it was good. Smart. Necessary.

That space was healthy.

But then he texted.

Jungkook: Didn’t want to crowd you today. Just… wanted you to know I’m here.

I didn’t reply.

But I stared at that message for a long time.

═══════

The fifth day, he came by again. This time he asked if we wanted to go for ice cream.

Eun Ae screamed like he’d asked her to Disneyland.

I tried to say no.

I did.

But my mouth betrayed me.

“Okay,” I said. “Just an hour.”

He didn’t smile like he won.

He smiled like it hurt to be that grateful.

We walked to the corner shop with her bouncing between us. He let her pick his flavor. She made him get bubblegum. He pretended to like it. I knew he didn’t.

He caught me watching him.

And didn’t look away.

That night, after she was in bed, I sat on the same couch, stared at the same wall, and whispered into the dark:

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

And I meant it.

I wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

But I also wasn’t closing the door anymore.

Not all the way.

═══════

I should’ve known it was too good to last.

The morning started perfect.

Too perfect.

Jungkook showed up with matching zoo t-shirts he found online. One for him, one for Eun Ae. Hers said “Mini Tiger.” His said “Big Tiger.”

She laughed for five straight minutes and made him wear it out in public.

I rolled my eyes and told him he was shameless.

He just grinned and handed me a coffee with two extra espresso shots- exactly the way I liked it.

“Trying to bribe me?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

I didn’t smile.

But my fingers brushed his on accident when I took the cup.

And I didn’t pull away.

We took Eun Ae to the botanical gardens. Let her feed koi fish and run across wooden bridges with her stuffed tiger tucked under one arm. Jungkook stayed close the entire time. Carrying her backpack, tying her shoe when it came undone, wiping ice cream off her face.

It almost looked like a family. 

Almost.

We sat on the grass to rest before lunch, and she ran over to the koi pond like it was a different world.

“She’s so comfortable with you,” I said, trying not to let it sound like an accusation.

“I’m glad,” he said. “I want her to be.”

There was a quiet pause.

Then he looked at me and said something that should’ve been sweet.

But it wasn’t.

“She’s just like you, you know.”

I blinked.

“She’s strong and stubborn and always needs to be right. She even talks with her hands like you do- ”

“Don’t,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

He froze. “What?”

“Don’t compare us like that.”

“I wasn’t- I meant it as a good thing-”

“She’s not a mirror, Jungkook,” I snapped. “She’s a person. Her own person.”

“I know that,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like- ”

“You weren’t around. You don’t know what she’s like. You’ve seen her for what? A week? You don’t get to analyze her like you raised her.”

His mouth opened. Then closed.

And I saw something shift in his eyes.

Something small and hurt.

Then a tiny voice interrupted us.

“I’m sorry,” Eun Ae whispered.

We both turned.

She was standing by the fish pond again, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to make you mad,” she sniffled. “I’ll be good.”

“No,” I said quickly, moving toward her. “Baby, no. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She clung to me like her little heart might explode.

I scooped her up and pressed her to my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice thick. “I’m not mad at you. I promise. You didn’t do anything.”

She looked over my shoulder at Jungkook. “Are you mad too?”

He shook his head, eyes glassy. “No, sweetheart. Never.”

“I just wanted to have a nice day,” she mumbled.

My throat tightened.

“I know,” I whispered.

We sat on the bench together for a long time after that.

No one said much.

═══════

Eun Ae fell asleep in the car on the way home, and Jungkook carried her inside like muscle memory. He tucked her into bed without needing directions, covered her with her favorite blanket, and kissed the crown of her head before stepping back like it hurt to walk away.

Neither of us said much after that.

He left for the venue early that night to prep for their final concert.

I stood in the hallway after he left, hand pressed against the door, heart aching like it was made of split seams and bad timing.

I didn’t cry.

But I wanted to.

Because I knew this was what I did.

Push away before I could be left again.

═══════

The stadium vibrated under my feet.

Screams rolled like thunder across the roof, and I could feel the beat of the music reverberating through the concrete backstage walls.

It was the final night of BTS’s residency.

Everything was fire.

Everything was electric.

Everything was right- except me.

I stood at the main comms table with a headset snug against my ears, spitting rapid-fire cues to the light techs, the camera ops, and the runners, my voice a metronome of control.

“Camera C, pan stage right. Cue smoke burst. Light rig alpha, wait two seconds on drop- no, two seconds, not four-”

My tone was clipped. My spine straight.

On the outside, I looked like I had it together.

But I could feel it.

The crack behind my ribs. The pulse behind my eyes. The way I flinched every time his voice cut through the speakers.

Every note he sang.

Every lyric he poured his soul into.

It hurt.

I told myself I didn’t care.

I told myself I was over it.

But every time the lights shifted and his silhouette appeared, I remembered the way he’d looked when he kissed me and the way he’d stayed when I slapped him.

I remembered how his voice broke when he said, “I love you. Right now. All of it.”

I remembered the way he meant it.

And I remembered how much that terrified me.

“Y/N?” someone called in my ear. “Spotlight three needs confirmation. We’re doing the slow solo bridge in thirty.”

I blinked, the fog in my head thick.

“Copy that,” I said quickly. “Cue in thirty. Confirm on bridge.”

I watched the monitors as he stepped up to the center of the stage.

Alone.

Golden lights haloed around him. Fans screamed his name from every direction.

And he sang.

Not just to them.

I knew that voice.

I knew when it was for the crowd…

…and when it was for me.

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

Stop it.

Don’t romanticize this.

Don’t soften.

But I did.

I always did.

Every time his voice cracked. Every time he hit a note like it cost him a piece of himself.

He looked straight into the lens during the final chorus- the one that streamed to every screen in the arena.

It was almost too direct.

Too intentional.

And in that moment, I knew.

He wasn’t singing to a sea of strangers.

He was singing to me.

The cue ended. The screen faded to black. Lights cut. Screams exploded.

My heart thudded harder than the bass.

I turned away from the monitor and pulled off my headset.

I needed air.

The crew backstage was already preparing for encore. The guys were offstage hydrating, catching their breath, prepping for the last two songs.

I slipped through a side door and stepped out into the shadowed corridor by the loading dock. It was cold. Quiet. The noise of the crowd muffled by thick walls.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

I didn’t want this to hurt.

But it did.

I didn’t want to care.

But I did.

And worst of all?

I didn’t want to want him.

But God, I did.

═══════

The cheers were still echoing in my bones.

My shirt clung to my back, soaked through with sweat. My hair was dripping. My lungs were still catching up.

But all I could think about was her.

I didn’t see her once during the show. Not backstage. Not in the wings. Not even in the flashes of tech crew darting through shadows.

But I felt her.

Like gravity.

Like silence.

Like a missing beat in the rhythm I couldn’t get right.

I sat alone in the dressing room while the rest of the guys laughed and recapped their favorite fan chants. Jimin had his feet on the table, Taehyung was dancing shirtless with a can of soda, and Jin was complaining about the confetti in his hair.

But I couldn’t join them.

I couldn’t even smile.

My hands trembled as I unlaced my boots. My knees bounced restlessly. My throat was dry, but I couldn’t drink anything.

Because all I could hear was her voice.

“You don’t know what she’s like.”

“You weren’t around.”

“You don’t get to analyze her like you raised her.”

She was right.

Every word.

I’d tried so hard to connect, I didn’t realize I was stepping on landmines she’d spent years trying to bury.

I messed it up.

Again.

“Yo,” Namjoon said, stepping into the room and tossing me a towel. “You good?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“You’re lying.”

I sighed. “I know.”

He sat down across from me, cracking open a bottle of water and sliding one my way.

“She didn’t talk to me tonight,” I said.

“You talk to her?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then maybe she’s waiting.”

“Or maybe she’s done.”

Namjoon didn’t say anything to that. He just leaned back and looked at me with those eyes that saw way too much.

“Do you regret it?” he asked.

I blinked. “Regret what?”

“Kissing her.”

I hesitated.

“No,” I said. “Not for a second.”

“She kissed you back.”

“Just for a second.”

“But she did,” he said. “And that means something.”

“Does it?”

He nodded. “It means she hasn’t closed the door. She’s just scared to open it.”

I stared at the floor.

“I don’t want to scare her,” I whispered. “I just want to show her that I’m not that kid anymore. That I’m not running. That I’m here. I’m here.”

Namjoon leaned forward. “Then tell her. Really tell her. Not to fix things. Not to beg. Just to say it. Say what you didn’t back then.”

I nodded slowly.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” I said. 

“Then tonight’s your last chance.”

“I don’t know if she’ll open the door.”

“Then knock anyway.”

I looked up.

“I’m scared,” I admitted. “If she sends me away, I don’t know if I’ll recover.”

“She won’t send you away,” he said. “Not if you’re honest. Not if you’re real.”

I took a deep breath.

I was real.

I was terrified.

But I was real.

═══════

I didn’t ask what he was doing here.

I didn’t ask why he looked like he hadn’t slept in days or why his fingers were twitching at his sides like they didn’t know how to be still.

I just watched as he stepped inside my apartment, slowly, like the floor might vanish beneath him and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

He stood there for a long time.

Like he couldn’t find the words.

Like if he said the wrong thing, I’d vanish.

I leaned against the wall and waited.

He finally looked up.

“I didn’t know how to leave this city without seeing you again.”

I didn’t reply.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said. “Not your forgiveness. Not a second chance. Not some happy ending I don’t deserve. I just… I need you to know.”

His voice cracked.

“I need you to know that I never stopped loving you.”

My breath caught.

“I didn’t leave because I stopped. I left because I was scared. And young. And stupid. And then I was ashamed. So ashamed I couldn’t even look at myself. So I blocked you. I shut you out. Because every time I thought of you, I remembered what I threw away.”

My throat burned.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he said. “And you raised our daughter without me. You built a life, a home, a future- and I wasn’t there. I missed her first words. Her first steps. Her birthdays. I missed everything.”

Tears welled in his eyes.

“I don’t deserve to be her dad. I don’t deserve to even stand in this hallway. But I’m here. And if there’s even the smallest piece of you that believes I could be more than what I was-”

He stopped.

Swallowed hard.

“-then I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”

The silence that followed felt like thunder.

And then I whispered, “You don’t get to walk back in and say the right thing and expect it to fix the past.”

“I know,” he said, hoarse.

“But…”

He looked up.

“But you said the right thing anyway.”

And then I stepped toward him.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

Until I reached for him.

And he broke.

His hands cupped my face like I was something fragile, like I was glass, like he wasn’t sure if I’d let him keep holding me.

And when he kissed me- this time- I didn’t slap him.

I kissed him back.

Hard. Messy. Real.

It wasn’t slow.

It wasn’t soft.

It was years of ache and regret and longing that had nowhere else to go.

His hoodie came off, tossed aside like it was nothing, and mine followed, sliding to the floor in a forgotten heap.

Hands found skin like they were remembering. His fingers traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, like he was mapping me again, reclaiming territory he’d lost. 

My back hit the hallway wall, the cold plaster a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressing against mine. He kissed down my neck, his breath hot and ragged, and whispered, 

“I missed you so much. I missed this. I missed you.”

I moaned into his mouth, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. We stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding layers like they were shackles, breathless and desperate. 

The bed creaked beneath us as he lowered me onto it, his weight hovering above me, his eyes searching mine like he needed permission.

“This okay?” he asked, barely above a whisper, his voice raw with need and uncertainty. I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest, but he needed more. 

“Say it.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

He didn’t hesitate. His lips found mine again, hungry and demanding, but his hands were gentle, reverent, like he was worshipping me. He kissed his way down my body, pausing at my breasts, his tongue tracing the curve of my nipples, his lips murmuring praises against my skin. 

“God, I missed these. So fucking beautiful.”

I arched into his touch, my breath hitching as his hands slid down my thighs, his fingers brushing the edge of my panties. He hooked them with a single finger, pulling them down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. 

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Always were.”

He kissed his way back up, his lips brushing mine before trailing down my neck, his hands roaming over my body like he was memorizing every inch. 

“I’ve thought about this every day,” he confessed, his breath hot against my ear. “Every. Fucking. Day.”

I reached for him, my hands tracing the lean muscles of his back, the ink of his tattoo sleeve, the piercings that glinted under the dim light. He was solid and real, and I couldn’t stop touching him, like I needed to prove he was here, that this was real.

He shifted above me, his eyes dark with need, and I felt him, hard and insistent against my thigh. 

“I need you,” he growled, his voice rough, his hands gripping my hips. “Now.”

I nodded, my heart racing, my body aching for him. He didn’t waste another second. He entered me slowly, his eyes locked on mine, his breath catching as he filled me completely. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, his forehead resting against mine. “You feel so good.”

He began to move, slow and deliberate, his hips rocking into mine, his hands gripping my thighs like he was anchoring himself to me. 

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and demanding, and I obeyed, my eyes meeting his, holding his gaze as he thrust deeper, harder.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing mine with each movement. “So perfect.”

His words sent shivers down my spine, his praise fueling the fire burning between us. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, meeting his thrusts with my own, our bodies moving in perfect sync. 

“Jungkook,” I gasped, my nails digging into his back, my voice breaking as pleasure coiled tight in my core.

He growled, his pace quickening, his hands gripping my hips tighter, his control slipping. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

His words were my undoing. My walls clenched around him, my body trembling as my orgasm crashed over me, waves of pleasure washing through me, my breath catching in a sharp cry. “Jungkook!”

He whispered into my neck, his lips brushing my skin, his voice hoarse and desperate. “I love you. I love you so much.”

His words were a balm, a salve to wounds I didn’t realize were still raw. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his back, my body still trembling as he followed me over the edge, his thrusts becoming frantic, his breath ragged against my skin. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice breaking as he came, his body shuddering above me, his release a sharp, primal sound.

He collapsed onto me, his weight heavy but comforting, his breath hot against my neck. For a moment, we just lay there, our hearts pounding in unison, our bodies still joined, the silence thick with unspoken emotions.

He brushed my hair back and kissed my forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said, voice trembling.

I didn’t answer.

But I didn’t ask him to leave either.

And that was enough.

For now.

═══════

I woke up to the sound of his breathing.

Slow. Steady.

It filled the room like the soft hum of a song I hadn’t heard in years.

For a moment, I didn’t open my eyes.

I just listened.

Soaked in the weight of him next to me. The warmth of his arm draped around my waist. The rise and fall of his chest behind my back. His hand, large and gentle, resting against my ribs like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.

The light was pale through the blinds. Morning had barely begun.

But the ache in my chest already knew it was time.

I turned over slowly.

He was already awake.

Watching me.

Not smiling. Not saying anything.

Just looking.

Like this was the first morning of his life that made sense.

I searched his face for hesitation.

There wasn’t any.

Just quiet awe.

And something softer than I knew what to do with.

“You didn’t sleep,” I whispered.

“Didn’t want to.”

I blinked. “Why not?”

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek.

“Didn’t want to miss this.”

My throat tightened.

I looked away.

“You’re leaving today.”

It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “My flight’s in four hours.”

I swallowed.

“Will you tell her?”

He nodded again. “I want to. When you’re ready.”

“I don’t know when that’ll be.”

“I’ll wait.”

I looked back at him.

He meant it.

“I don’t know what this is,” I said softly.

“Me neither,” he replied. “But I want to find out.”

Silence stretched between us like thread.

“Can I see you before I go?” he asked.

“You’re seeing me now.”

He smiled. Just barely. “After I pack. Before the airport.”

I didn’t say yes.

But I didn’t say no.

He leaned in and kissed me once- just once- like he didn’t want to ask for more than I could give.

Then he pulled back, exhaled, and whispered:

“I’m so in love with you.”

I didn’t say it back.

But I didn’t need to.

Because he pressed his forehead to mine, closed his eyes, and stayed there for a long time.

And when he finally pulled away, when he slipped out of bed and gathered his things, I watched him with something heavy and quiet in my chest.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Something like hope.

And when Eun Ae woke an hour later and asked where Mr. Kookie was, I smiled, just a little, and said:

“He’s not gone. Not really.”

Because for the first time in years…

I believed it.

═══════

Post A/N: dont hate me 😭 there’s still so much to their story

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♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 06/24/2025

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[morgannalefey]

These aren't quite the same because I don't have a lot of things (we moved a lot when I was a kid) that survived. With my parents i have memories.

My mother taught me how she made several dishes, but my favorite is her sage and onion dressing for thanksgiving. I will always insist on making it as long as I am able because it brings her to me. Every time I make it, I hear her voice telling me "Listen, that's what it needs to sound like, don't put any more milk in" or "Here, can you smell that? That's how it needs to smell before you bake it." I lost her 23 years ago.

My father taught me how to drive, and one thing he did was took me to a giant parking lot on a super icy day and had me do spin outs and fishtails until I was confident that I could identify what they felt like and could safely get myself out of them. I think about him doing this every time the weather turns icy in our area. Daddy is also on the window sill next to me right now, he was cremated and I have his remains my brother has Mom. When Daddy was ill the final time I was distressed because I was on the outs with my brother (because of how he'd treated our father) and worried that Daddy wouldn't be happy being separate from her when he was gone. He said not to worry because she was always with him, and her ashes being with my brother was good. Daddy passed ten minutes after I cast my primary ballot for Obama the first time. He'd have been massively please to know Obama won.

When I stayed at my maternal grandparents house as a child I always had to sleep in one of Grampa's white under shirts (he was the sort of man who always wore a white tee shirt under his plaid button down shirts). When he died, I took one of his plaid shirts and one of his white undershirts just to keep in my closet. They're still there 15 years later.

I loved my great grandmother. So much. She loved me. When we were at her place, she and I were inseparable. I was just barely forming memories when I lost her. I was inconsolable in a way only a 5 year old can be sometimes. My mother inherited a lot of her christmas ornaments. When I started my own household, and I got my spouse, I told my mother that we'd decided to buy one ornament a year so eventually all our ornaments would be special (we now have 36 years of ornaments on our tree), and she said she knew it was time to pass great gramma's ornaments on to me. So now I have three precious old ornaments on my tree each year. One was a fuchsia ball and it fell and broke, but I gathered up the pieces and glued them to the outside of a clear glass ball of the same size and then sealed it. So I still have it.

These things build up over the years and as I type this I'm crying because I still miss all of them so much. The wounds remain but they get sealed up and don't hurt so much when things like this come along to remind you. I'm crying but I'm feeling very loved, too. I am 60 years old this year.

I saw this post on tiktok and as soon as I opened the comments I started sobbing

[rafesteddy]

+ 18 -> smut | rafe promised you’d get an A on your group project…

c/w: degradation, overstimulation, orgasm denial, pain play, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, humiliation, possessive language, crying, begging, swearing, pet name, name calling, cum tasting, multiple orgasms, wet and messy, dom!reader + sub!rafe *they have a safeword

1.1K

“I said I was sorry. I just—I… Fucking please—”

“Shut up, Rafe. I’m not stopping. Not until I see tears. I want you hoarse from this shit so I don’t have to hear another excuse about why you couldn’t focus.”

He’s sprawled on your bed, sheets twisted beneath him, hands fisting the comforter. His strong chest heaves, thick thighs twitching, long cock slick and leaking on your hand.

“You looked so pretty,” he chokes, eyes wide, glossy. “You were reading your part and I was trying to pay attention—you know I was—but you. You were in that tight dress, and your voice, and your thighs and—fuuuck. Sh-Shit. It’s your fuckin’ fault—”

You raise an eyebrow. “My fault? Mine, Rafe?”

“I got nervous,” he breathes, “I got so fuckin’ nervous and you smelled so nice. Why were you standin’ so close, huh? And your mouth was all shiny and I just—I blanked, alright?”

“You promised we’d get an A.”

“I know,” he whines, a tear finally slipping loose. “We got an A-minus. That’s not an A. That’s not what I promised you,” he sobs as you fist him faster.

“That’s right,” you murmur, grip tightening on his shaft. “It’s not.”

Fifteen minutes post-nut and he’s still hard. Still whimpering for you. Still chasing the second climax you keep denying him. His body trembles under you; muscles quaking like he’s about to crumble under your touch.

“You can’t do that to me in front of the class,” he babbles. “You know what you do to me. My head goes empty and I just wanna… Mmm… I could take you in front of the whole fuckin’ class I swear to Christ. ‘Specially when you start talkin’ like that—SHIT! You slap his balls, light but sharp. He sobs, thighs snapping shut, back arching off the mattress. “Shit. Stop. Stop—”

“Ugh, fine...”

You pull back with a wicked smile, hands literally dripping with him as panic colors his pretty, pathetic features. “No! No, wait—don’t stop. Just don’t—don’t do that,” he begs, voice cracking. “You can’t just stop…”

“I was listening,” you hum, lips brushing his tip as you flick your tongue across it, slow, teasing. “Doing what you told me to do… At least one of us can do that,” His moan catches and breaks as his eyes roll back in his head.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he pants. “You’re gonna fucking end me like this.”

“Oh, Rafey…” You pout. “That so?”

He nods helplessly as his bottom lip wobbles; eyes shimmering, wet with tears.

“You’re such a fucking idiot sometimes,” you sigh in disappointment as you wrap your hand around his cock again, stroking cruel and slow. “You know that?”

“I know,” he gasps. “I’m an idiot. I’m your idiot. I fucked it up and I know I did. I’m sorry, baby—”

“You should be,” you whisper, letting your warm breath fan across his throbbing head. “You know who would make a good partner—”

“Don’t say it…”

“Oh, so you know—”

“Don’t fuckin’ say it,” he whimpers.

“Pope… Pope would make a really, really great partner. Maybe, I should start going for baseball boys, huh? What do you think, Cameron—”

“You wouldn’t. You’re bein’ mean.”

You let your hand fall away again as he whines. “I could be meaner.”

“Please don’t do that to me,” he begs as you rise up on your knees, looking down at him underneath you.

Rafe’s eyes lock on you, heavy and hungry as the cotton clings to your pussy. “Fuck me,” he says. “Please. I don’t deserve you… I just wanna feel you. Don’t tease me anymore. M’gonna pass out—I’m so fuckin’ close.”

You pull your panties to the side and his cock throbs, cum spurting messily between your thighs before his tip even touches you.

You giggle, looking down at the man below you; cheeks flushed, lashes wet, breathing ragged.

“Rafe Cameron… What the fuck was that?”

“I’m so sorry—” he starts, but you shove your cum-slick fingers into his mouth and climb onto him. He chokes on the taste of himself just as you sink down, inch by inch, your cunt squeezing around him as he gasps around your digits.

Rafe cries out, head tossed back, hands flying up to grip your hips, big biceps flexing to hold you in place; his jaw set like stone. You take his cheeks in one hand, force him to look at you. “I’m sorry—”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

His eyes slam shut and he nods. Your hands rest on his chest; heart hammering against your palms. His fingers dig into the flesh of your curves as you slide up and down, making his jaw fall open.

You pause, still seated fully on him, feeling the pulse of his dick deep inside. “I love you,” he slurs like he’s wasted on it. His bottom lip finds its way between his teeth, nose flaring, breath caught as you start to roll your hips. “I fucking love you,” he repeats, so pathetically you sigh. “Even like this—‘Specially like this. I’ve never been this happy in my life,” he sniffles, barely pushing the words past his swollen, kiss-bit lips.

“You love me, huh?”

He nods again, shakier this time. “So fucking much. I mean it,” he says, eyes wide, looking up at you like he might fall apart. “I’d fail every fuckin’ class if it meant I could have you like this.”

You laugh, soft and disbelieving. “Then maybe start by taking me out first.”

“Wait—really?” His voice cracks.

“I might even let you pay.”

Rafe moans like the idea of dating you is just as overwhelming as being inside you. “Jesus Christ,” he groans, pulling you down to press his forehead against yours, slick with sweat and pleading. “I’ll take you anywhere. Whatever you want—”

“You’re such a loser for me,” you murmur, brushing the stubble on his cheek.

“I am…”

You kiss him until he’s gasping into your mouth, and he shatters for a third time with your name on his lips, pulling you with him; pussy fluttering around him.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “Thank you, baby…”

Your nails drag slow down his chest as a smirk tugs at his lips—faint, worn out, like he already knows you’re not done. “You’re this gone over an A-minus?” He nods, eyes glassy, barely able to hold your gaze. “What the hell are you gonna do when you finally get it right?”

@rafesthroatbaby | @ietss | @lilithblackkk | @rafecameronsfavourite | @my-name-is-baby | @urmotherlvr | @forgiveliv | @barnesboo1967 | @wtfisastiles | @k4yr14 | @taliescapes | @rafesbuzzcutseason | @sky-44 | @biascriptum | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @lolasangelz | @st8rkey | @lhhlver | @slut-4-rafey | @gri959 | @prettybabyyyy | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @maybankslover | @littlelamy | @buckybarnessweetheart | @angelicameron | @lover-girlyy | @rcameronlova1 | @rafesbabygirlx | @mayanqueenxx | @bimbob1tch | @dylsdaily | @blair-bears-blog | @akobx | @countryclubwhore | @esmerai-artemis | @jkmylove97 | @wtfdudesblog | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @yasmin-oviedo | @queen-cs | @floredaqueen | @alexxavicry | @aerie717 | @cokewithcameron | @premiumshitt | @rcameronlova1 | @zyafics

[kxsagi]

Hi can I request Bllk boys with a karaoke enthusiast reader? They can go karaoke for 4 or 5 hours straight and know a variety of songs, and they can sing a whole song even if there’s a rap part in it :))

“𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫”

a/n: mic snatcher gf is so me

header pic is actually mine from when i went to japan! i love karaoke there sm it's unhealthy 😭😭😭

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, karasu tabito, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

he thought karaoke would be a fun, relaxing break. he thought you’d sing a cute love song and shyly nudge him to sing one, too. what he didn’t expect was to be seated for five straight hours, watching you go from adele to eminem to high school musical duets with yourself. 

he tries to keep up and sings sugar by maroon 5, thinking it’ll impress you. it does, but mostly because you harmonize with him out of nowhere and hit the falsetto better than adam levine himself. he literally stops mid-line just to look at you like, “how are you real.” 

at some point he’s like, “do you wanna drink some water?” and you go, “no. i wanna do nicki minaj’s verse in monster.” 

and you do. flawlessly. 

isagi’s face is in full admiration mode, but also minor existential crisis because you just spat bars while staring him down and now he doesn’t know if you wanna kiss him or fight him. 

still claps like a proud husband after every song. always. 

itoshi rin

you dragged him here. literally. he said, “karaoke is loud and pointless.” and you said, “shut up emo boy, it’s bonding time.” 

rin didn’t even get to sit before you were already putting on ultraviolence by lana del rey. and not just singing it. performing it. like you were the ghost of a 1960s hollywood starlet with a tragic past. 

rin sits in the corner, arms crossed, absolutely stone-faced. except his ears are red. 

eventually you hand him the mic and go, “c’mon, sing with me. be the toxic man in this duet.” 

it’s promiscuous by nelly furtado and timbaland. he says no. you keep singing anyway and he caves halfway through, quietly mumbling the lines until he’s suddenly belting it with a vein in his forehead. 

after three hours, he finally mutters, “... you’re really good.” you wink. “i know. now let’s do a kpop dance.” rin dies a little inside. 

nagi seishiro

he thought it was a nap date. like, nap room or something. you said karaoke and he just blinked. “do i have to move?” 

you promised him he could sit the whole time. what you didn’t say was that he’d be emotionally wrecked from watching you sing usher’s confessions part II with so much passion, he started questioning who wronged you. 

nagi only sings when you let him do the lazy, talk-singing verses. like pitbull’s hotel room service. you both call him “mr. worldwide” for the next hour and he doesn’t even fight it. 

at one point he lies down across the seats and watches you do three rap songs in a row. he lazily throws a pillow at you and goes, “you’re scary good. like, villain origin story good.” 

you grin and ask for a duet. you pick kiss me thru the phone. nagi’s too lazy to hold the mic so you hold it for him. 

he falls asleep by hour four and you put sunglasses on him so he looks like he’s still vibing. 

mikage reo

you said “karaoke” and he showed up in a designer outfit like it was a concert. your concert. he brought you a bouquet and called you his pop star gf before you even sang a note. 

first song you perform? flawless by beyoncé. reo is on his feet. reo is clapping. reo is crying a little. 

“that’s my girlfriend!” he shouts in a karaoke room with no one else in it. 

when you let him pick a song, he chooses beauty and a beat and tries to be justin bieber. you destroy him by doing both jb and nicki’s parts. with choreography. 

he’s flailing like, “HELLO??? DID YOU JUST SUMMON NICKI MINAJ???” 

reo insists on matching outfits for karaoke now. like glittery couple shirts and sunglasses. you’re down for it. you look like a power duo from a drama. 

he records you singing and posts it with the caption, “my multitalented queen > your faves.” 

bachira meguru

soulmates. chaos. pure, unfiltered energy. you two turned the karaoke booth into a full-on music festival. 

he picks songs at random, doesn’t even care if he knows the lyrics. you freestyle the rap parts and scream the choruses together while doing jump squats on the seats. 

once you both did a duet of low by flo rida and you hit the apple bottom jeans line so hard he actually slipped on the floor. 

you call yourselves the “karaoke goblins.” 

every song is a competition but also a performance. when you sing lady gaga, he does backup choreo. when he sings the marias, you become his hypewoman. 

there’s a moment where you sing something super emotional and bachira just sits there quietly, then whispers, “yo, that was angelic. i think you healed my inner child.” you bow dramatically and say, “now i’m doing doja cat.” 

“OHMYGOHS BOSS MODE UNLOCKED.” 

kaiser michael

he was smug. too smug. “karaoke? you sure you can keep up with me, babe?” 

fast forward an hour later: kaiser is breathless after attempting usher’s yeah! while you’re on your sixth song with no break, flawlessly switching from kendrick lamar’s verse to a whistle note bridge. 

he starts fake coughing. “i need– i need vocal rest.” 

you go, “no, get up, you’re featuring on dangerous woman with me now.” 

he can’t believe you actually hit the ariana grande high notes. or how you memorized pitbull’s chaotic speech in timber. like you didn’t just sing it, you channeled him. 

kaiser is convinced you were a popstar in a past life. every time you do a rap verse, he turns into your manager, hyping you up from the sidelines. 

“THAT’S MY GIRL. WORLD DOMINATION. GLOBAL CHARTS.” 

by the end of the session, he’s lost his voice and you’re still bouncing, asking, “one more?” 

he wheezes, “who are you, and how do i propose?” 

shidou ryusei

chaos recognized chaos. when you walked into karaoke holding a playlist labeled “bangers only”, he fell in love. 

you did a full nicki minaj medley back-to-back: anaconda, starships, and super bass. 

shidou was standing on the table. shirt half off. screaming. 

he says things like “spit that fire, mama” and gets booed by staff. 

you two turn every song into a war. “who can be louder, crazier, and more dramatic?” the answer is always you, but shidou refuses to accept that. 

he once sang taylor swift’s you belong with me in a death metal voice just to compete as if nirvana didn’t exist. 

you countered with a slowed-down, haunting cover of hotline bling. he’s in awe. he’s in love. 

“marry me.” “this is the fifth time you’ve asked tonight.” “and it won’t be the last.” 

itoshi sae

he hates karaoke. he’s never said it, but the way he looks at the mic like it personally offended him gives it away. you invite him and he just sighs and goes, “do i look like someone who sings katy perry at 10 PM?” 

you reply, “no, but you look like the guy who’ll sit there judging me while i flawlessly execute seven different eras of taylor swift.” 

that’s exactly what happens. you sing dress and he’s sitting in the corner sipping a canned coffee like a bitter ex who just got exposed on live TV. 

except he’s secretly impressed. very impressed. especially when you rap. like, you're going bar for bar on kendrick’s DNA and he’s just blinking like, “since when can she breathe fire?” 

when you try to drag him into a duet, he only agrees if he can be the background guy in something chill. so you do best part by daniel caesar and he deadass sounds angelic. 

he leans over after and murmurs, “that was tolerable. but only because you carried.” 

later, he catches himself humming a song you sang. and then he shoves his hands in his pockets and mutters, “karaoke’s not that bad, i guess.” 

karasu tabito

bro thought it was a joke at first. like you were gonna sing a little, go off-key, giggle about it. 

NO. YOU WALKED IN. WARMED UP YOUR VOCALS. PICKED AGORA HILLS. AND DEMOLISHED IT LIKE YOU WERE BORN IN A STUDIO. 

karasu was frozen. slack-jawed. his soul briefly left his body during the “like fortnite i’mma need your skin” part. 

he’s the type to talk during your performances but only to hype you up. “YO SHE’S COOKING–” “BRO SHE’S GOT BREATH CONTROL.” “I’M SCARED, BUT I’M TURNED ON.” 

he asks you to do a duet with him and you’re like sure :) and he picks dilemma by nelly and kelly rowland. halfway through, he fake cries into the mic. 

“EVEN WHEN I’M WITH MY BOO, all i think about is you 😩” 

you do the dramatic eye-roll and keep singing with a straight face like a pro. 

he can’t keep up and it enrages him. “you’re not even sweating? how are you not sweating???” 

he forces you to take a break just so he can perform something. it ends up being sexyback by justin timberlake with far too much confidence and pelvic movement. 

you tell him to stop and he says, “you started this war, babe. you wanted the full karasu experience.” 

ness alexis

karaoke? oh he lives for it. you barely even get the sentence out before he’s like, “yes. when. what’s our setlist. do we match?” 

the karaoke room is decked out because he booked the fancy one. disco lights. tambourines. a mini fog machine. 

you do the entirety of telephone by lady gaga and beyoncé, and ness is filming it with the reverence of someone witnessing a religious experience. 

“YOU’RE A STAR. I’M TWEETING THIS.” 

he picks songs based on aesthetic. you’re doing mariah carey with soft lighting and moody poses. you’re doing britney spears with hair flips and sunglasses. 

he sings justin bieber and makes it a full fan service show. baby has never been performed with so much falsetto and finger hearts. 

when you do a rap song, he turns into your hype crew. he’s throwing fake money in the air. he’s pretending to pass out. 

“SHE’S RAPPING EMINEM! SHE’S DOING THE FAST PART!!OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH.” 

ness is also the one who plans “karaoke themes.” like, 2000s hits night. or boy band night. 

once said, “if we don’t duet mr. brightside with full choreography, are we even in love?” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[cayleeuhithinknott]

✿ — borderline . . . matt sturn

in which . . . you keep pretending you don’t want matt—but you keep showing up at his door anyway.

warnings . . . making out , slight dry humping , mutual pining (but only one actually admits to it) , not proofread

𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹 𝙒𝙍𝙄𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙈𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙉 𝙁𝙄𝘾 #10

you show up late. not that late, but late enough that matt opens the door looking half-asleep, hair tousled, hoodie sleeves pushed past his wrists like he’s been pacing. like he knew you’d come.

you stand in the doorway, unsure. jacket sleeves fisted in your hands. eyes darting anywhere but him. your lips part like you’re about to explain yourself—why you’re here, why now—but nothing comes out.

matt leans on the doorframe, tilts his head just a little. “you lost?”

he says it casually, but his voice is lower than usual. heavier. your stomach flips.

“no,” you say softly, barely audible.

“then come in.”

you do.

the door clicks shut behind you, and it feels louder than it should. like it seals the night in place.

you don’t look at him, but you can feel his eyes on you—like he’s reading your every twitch, your hesitation, the way you cross and uncross your arms. you sit on the edge of the couch. he doesn’t sit right away. he just watches.

you’ve been doing this dance for weeks. pretending you don’t want him. brushing him off. giving him nothing but sideways glances and careful space.

he never pushed.

but he’s never walked away either.

“you gonna tell me what you’re doing here?” he asks finally.

you look down at your hands. they’re shaking. you hate that he can probably tell.

“i don’t know,” you mumble.

matt walks over, slow and quiet. he crouches in front of you, arms resting loosely on his knees. when he speaks again, his voice is softer. “you sure?”

you blink down at him, heart pounding.

“you always act like you don’t want this,” he says, and it’s not accusing. it’s not bitter. just true. “but you show up. every time.”

you swallow hard.

he’s so close now. and still not touching you.

“i’m not playing games,” he says, voice dipping lower. “i know what i want.”

you nod, barely.

his eyes flick to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “and i think you do too.”

you don’t answer. you don’t have to. the way you’re leaning into him now says everything.

his hand lifts slowly, fingers brushing your knee first—just a light touch, barely there. then up, tracing along your thigh over the fabric of your pants, pausing just before it gets bold enough to actually mean something.

he studies you carefully. no pressure. no rush. just watching the way your breath catches.

then, finally, his hand rises to your face, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear and letting his thumb rest just barely under your jaw. your eyes flutter.

“not gonna kiss you,” he murmurs. “not until you ask.”

and for a second, you want to.

you want to so badly your lips part on instinct, your eyes drop to his mouth, your whole body leans in without thinking.

but you stop.

you look down, chest rising too fast, like you need a second to hold yourself back.

matt just exhales. like he gets it. like he’s been here before—with you, exactly like this. because he has.

he stands, slow and sure, and this time when he sits next to you, his thigh presses against yours like he’s not letting you second-guess it. you don’t move away.

your eyes close for just a second—just to breathe, just to gather yourself. when they open again, he’s already watching you.

and this time…you kiss him.

no words. no hesitation. just lips pressing to his, soft and unsure at first, but real.

he doesn’t waste a second.

asshole. completely contradicting himself.

his hand slips behind your neck, pulling you in deeper. your hands curl in the front of his hoodie, gripping like you’ve wanted this longer than you’ll ever admit.

the kiss turns heavy fast—urgent, slow, open-mouthed. like he’s trying to memorize how you taste. like he’s trying to prove something.

his tongue brushes yours and you gasp against his mouth, and he groans—low and soft, like he wasn’t expecting you to give in like that.

you break away first, lips swollen, breathing shallow, forehead pressed to his.

“why haven’t you given up on me yet?” you whisper.

his voice is just as quiet. “because you always come back.”

you don’t answer. but your fingers tug at the hem of his hoodie, like you need to hold onto something before you fall apart. he kisses you again—slower this time, deeper—and shifts just enough to pull you into his lap.

you go willingly.

you straddle his thighs, settling there like you’ve done it a hundred times before. like you belong there. his hands slide up under the back of your shirt, palms warm and steady against your spine.

his hands stay respectful.

his mouth doesn’t.

he kisses you like he’s starving—lips everywhere, dragging down your jaw, then to your neck. he lingers there, right below your ear, his breath hot and uneven. he nips lightly, then soothes it with his tongue. you squirm.

he exhales, voice low and raspy against your skin. “you drive me insane.”

your fingers fist in the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, needing something—anything—to ground you. the friction between your bodies builds with every breath, every shift of your hips against his. the fabric between you makes it worse. better.

your hips move on instinct, slow and tentative at first, and matt’s grip on your waist tightens like he’s trying not to lose it.

you bury your face in his neck. he smells like soap and weed and something warm that’s always been him. his hoodie rides up your back, and you let it. you don’t care anymore.

one of his hands slides down, gripping your thigh, then trailing back up again, fingers digging in just slightly. not too rough. not yet.

he breathes your name.

and you whisper his back, soft and desperate.

he pulls you in again, mouths meeting fast and messy, like neither of you can get enough now that it’s finally happening.

you lose track of time—minutes, maybe more—kissing like it’s all you know how to do. like if you stop, the moment will break.

and maybe it will.

but for now, it doesn’t.

you melt into him, lips parted, hearts racing, hands roaming in careful places that still feel too good.

you know you’re not ready to give him everything. not yet.

but you’re giving him something. letting him see the softest, rawest parts of you. letting him hold them without asking questions. without expectations. just need.

you’re not crossing the line tonight, but you’re not holding back either. you’re moving against him, gasping into his mouth, flushed and dizzy and weightless.

and when he kisses the corner of your lips—tender, reverent—you realize you’re not just toeing the edge anymore. you’re tangled in the tension. pressed to the heat. caught in the middle of wanting and waiting.

right at the borderline.

author’s note . . . this sucks and i’m sorry i keep being late but i didn’t prewrite these and i’ve been dealing with mental health stuff along with taking care of my beautiful awesome perfect amazing mother

🏷️ : @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @paisleyy22 @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses @pasteldreams @matts-wife @courta13 @sugarraez @adorechris @elenayzxsturn @oopsiedaisydeer @bluestriips @grace-sturnz @sturnboos @owenstar @ribbonlovergirl @tweetybaird @tezzzzzzzz @vanteguccir @bernardmatthews @weirdothatwrites @thighs4evan @lm-a-mirrorball @iluvchr1s @sturnslux3 @cutseylady @iconiccolo @beardedbernard

© cayleeuhithinknott

[gayforsphaghettios]

i kept thinking "okay the creature is definitely luo binghe and is just weirdly obsessed with shen yuan (because of course he is) and follows him around, registering the sounds he makes and his sleep habits, taking in every detail from the shadows- he knows the person can sense something there constantly but doesn't know what or who it is. a game of cat and mouse and he can't wait to see how shen yuan breaks from the aloof facade he has around others.

Luo Binghe was going to show himself in the village and at that shrine but seeing Shen Yuan's terror he decided against it, and over time he waits for the opportunity to finally arrive and instead watches others flirt with this stranger (even fighting the urge to murder them all for trying). There's two ideas i like for this scenario as well. Shen Yuan is finally getting to meet his favorite character, Luo Binghe but why does the system keep warning him to be careful? The creature haunting him constantly is in the very room with him and a bunch of friends he's made, the peak lords for one are there, but he's come to know them and thinks hopefully they aren't some demon or possessed.

Luo Binghe, much to Shen Yuan's surprise is flirting with him and seems way too cheerful. Shen Yuan is getting mixed signals with the system going off the rails and telling him not to drink the wine served during dinner? was it poisoned? he decides to not touch it and plays it off by "accidentally" spilling the cup. Luo Binghe was kind to offer his own since he hasn't touched it yet (supposedly), smiling when Shen Yuan accepts it and drinks it. Much to Shen Yuan's shock it seems there were no leaks from social media about him being romanceable, but deciding to shelve the thought for later. Maybe this was a surprise most players don't unlock until later or by doing special quests or dialogue options?

Shen Yuan kept getting system warnings about the creature following him while being left alone, telling him to run as his best chance to survive. Taking the helpful option and running in the woods until he couldn't due to the ground becoming slippery, losing balance he slid to a cliff's edge, grabbing a root of some plant and hoping it'd be strong enough to hold his weight as he struggled to not fall into the pitch black hole below (abyss perhaps?). The system constantly letting him know the creature had ran after him and was nearing closer to him even as he dangled in the air, it was getting close enough he could hear the leaves rustling, his heartbeat pounding in his ears from fear and adrenalin. He struggled to not make any sounds but failed when the root gave way and he fell, only to have a strong hand grip his own and pull him up and back onto ground, the last thing he recalled before everything going dark was a familiar face and the system basically screaming that the creature finally caught him.

svsss horror game au where shen yuan is first in line to buy the pidw-inspired rpg where you play as a wandering cultivator with amnesia, and are taken in by the cang qiong sect during the head disciple days of the last peak lord generation.

because pidw knows its audience, a large part of the marketing was focused on the romance and action aspect of the game, with additional lore from deleted novel scenes—how could shen yuan not buy this game? maybe the peak lords will finally be more than props in the background! the romance aspect seems to be at least somewhat tastefully done, if he can trust the leaks, with more emotional depth than fetish fulfillment (shen yuan swears that if there is even one unskippable cutscene of some peak lord's feet he's going to chuck his computer out the window).

shen yuan customizes his character, going all out on the clichés because why not, giving him white hair and peerless beauty and all the characteristics of an A+ wife (beauty is power in pidw), actually excited to play the game. the first part is standard, you wake up in a barn with amnesia, only a sword and some items to your name, and have to do some tutorial quests to get used to the game mechanics. it's simple enough. eventually, you end up in a village that shen yuan is certain is possessed, because all the NPC's act very unnatural and strange, and it's pretty unsettling. here, the player is supposed to meet the cang qiong head disciples on their own quest, who naturally think the player is the most interesting person they've ever seen, a super special cultivator, and will take him in because the player is the most coveted character in the universe (apart from luo binghe, that is).

of course, before shen yuan can get very far, he ends up being transmigrated into the game as his own character. it could be way worse: he's a cultivator, peerlessly beautiful, destined to be picked up by the most prestigious sect, and has his own protagonist halo of sorts. he's honestly pretty excited about this

until he finds out that the marketing heavily downplayed the horror elements of the game.

shen yuan is calmly eating a meal in an inn of the village, waiting for the next quest point to start, when suddenly,

[ system notification ]

"you are being observed"

observation level: ???

entity classification: unknown

engagement protocol: do not acknowledge

right after, the windows go dark, not closed or shuttered, dark, as if something large has just leaned against the side of the building. no one else acknowledges this.

shen yuan shakes it off. it's just a game, it's... ambiance, that's all. build up.

he walks through the streets of the town, using his low-level talismans to try and find traces of the entity he's supposed to defeat or uncover to complete the quest. he pauses beside a broken cart, one of its wheels is half-sunk in the mud. the system pings again.

[ system notification ]

"it's behind you."

note: do not turn around.

(option to suppress message: [ ] not recommended)

the street is utterly silent. a prickle begins at the base of his skull. something is there. some deep animalistic part of him is already screaming not to look.

it disappears. he earns 5 survival points. he hopes he won't have to earn any more.

later that night, shen yuan looks for shelter, finding an old shrine visible from the road, just at the side of town. he steps inside and sees old incense sticks, some forgotten offerings. it's simple, but dry. it will do.

he crosses the threshold—

[ mission triggered ]

mission objective: hide

time limit: unknown

condition to complete: remain unnoticed

footsteps crunch in the leaves outside. every nerve in him goes rigid—not human.

too heavy. uneven. it's coming.

shen yuan ducks behind the offering table, body pressed flat against the ground. he slows his breathing, barely daring to blink. a screen in his peripheral vision blinks to life.

[ environmental mechanic activated ]

microphone mode: ON

sound detection level: HIGH

a semi-transparent sound meter appears. with every shaky breath, the bar pulses red. shen yuan clamps his hands over his mouth.

something passes, just beyond the shrine's opening. large. the system does not count down. there is no timer. the floor boards moan faintly beneath a ponderous weight, something drags across the ground.

shen yuan forces his body still, trembling so hard it hurts his teeth.

it leaves. the system congratulates him for surviving. it doesn't tell him what he just survived.

it's a relief when the head disciples of cang qiong show up, and the story delves into romantic cliches and relationship prompts. he gets to see liu qingge shirtless. shen qingqiu is typical tsundere. yue qingyuan is the soft gentle type. shang qinghua acts... off. he isn't what shen yuan thought he would be, less cunningly charming, more, well. nervous. of all the head disciples, he's the only one who actually seems like he doesn't want shen yuan to be here, always looking around.

like he knows shen yuan didn't come alone.

more instances like this occur. one moment, he's farming reputation points and relationship points with the other characters, doing quests and gathering memory fragments that will help unlock the player's backstory, the next, the system seems determined to make the game hell.

it always comes out of nowhere

[ system update ]

"warning: your heartbeat has been logged by another entity."

would you like to mute heartbeat tracking?

[ ] yes

[ ] no

[ ] it's too late.

he can never figure out what's following him, what that creature from the village is, but it's always there. no one else seems to notice, not a single talisman or ward can stop or detect it.

it comes even when he's in bed, still faintly blushing from a wife-plot equivalent where he fell from a ladder and was caught in wei qingwei's arms. he got to pet the pangolins too!

he's just about to fall asleep when the system pings:

[ mission objective: survive until dawn ]

hint: do not scream

somewhere beneath the floorboards under his bed, something begins scraping. like claws trying to memorize the layout of the house from below. shen yuan doesn't dare move. sleep never comes that night.

*

he can farm intelligence points by attending classes, and being the monster and plant nerd he is, qian cao peak is his first choice (it's either that, being beat up by bai zhan disciples that aren't even liu qingge, or running into shen qingqiu).

in the middle of a lesson on demonic poisons, the system pings quietly

[ system message ]

"one of the bodies in the infirmary is not a body"

objective: don't lose sight of it

shen yuan turns his head, slowly, to the curtained recovery beds along the wall. the curtain on the last one is slightly open.

it wasn't before.

mu qingfang continues speaking. shen yuan doesn't dare to look away.

*

one day, the thing starts to catch up

[ mission failure ]

"the sound you made has been registered"

estimated proximity: 00:00:17

do you want to run?

[ ] yes (not recommended)

[ ] no (not recommended)

*

[ emergency notice ]

"you were seen"

objective: hide

time limit: expired

success rate: 2%.

do you want to proceed?

[ ] yes

[ ] yes

*

[ achievement unlocked: it found you anyway ]

*

anyway, can you tell i had fun with the horror prompts? ^_^

i just have sooooo many ideas for the player's backstory, where it seems the character is just a blank slate for the player to project themselves onto, but there is so much more to them than you think. im also having loads of fun with the creature that follows the player around, i love making it as disturbing as possible.

mild spoiler: the creature is real and connected to the player. other characters can't detect or interact with it, but it's slowly growing stronger. shang qinghua is, of course, airplane, and as he was directly involved with the production of this game, he knew that as soon as an OC showed up, that thing wouldn't be far behind.

also, i love the idea of shang qinghua being stuck in a dating simulator as one of the options to romance. now shang qinghua has to play along with his own cringy cliche meetcutes, like showing the player around, flirting with the player, and generally playing the role of suave administrator with a dark secret (he's terrible at it). he had to do the "there's an eyelash on your cheek allow me" move on the player (shen yuan), and almost cringed out of his own skin. though, shang qinghua is the only one who can properly emphasize with the player, because he actually knows what horrid creature is stuck to him and what kind of horror scenarios the player has to go through (accidental cumplane? it's more likely than you think).

it's a bit of a mindfuck too, because shang qinghua can't tell whether the player is also a transmigrator, a puppet controlled by someone from another dimension, or a fleshed out OC of the system. he's also not allowed to ask, so it remains ambiguous. until, of course, they find out they're transmigrators and shen yuan has to deal with the fact he almost romanced airplane.

shen yuan makes a joke about defeating the creature with the power of love. shang qinghua says he wished it was that easy.

[eznin]

Just imagine 22 years old in-okay-terms-with-the-bats Jason meeting 19 years old murderous-hell-bent-on-revenge Jason

-------------

Teen Jason, absolutely horrified that he not only failed to kill the Joker but he also managed to be re-adopted: How the fuck did this happen?!

Adult Jason, who is also not sure : Idk, Dick just kept inviting me to go get lunch and it all went downhill from there.

Teen Jason: Did we at least kill him?

Adult Jason: Timothy? No, but he fixed our helmet the other day.

Teen Jason: ...you are pathetic.

Adult Jason, still struggling a bit with self esteem issues: And this is why no one likes you.

-------------

Bruce is loosing it with having to find a way to solve this time travel mess while simultaneously keeping Teen Jason from killing someone.

On the other hand Tim is looking at Teen Jason, who is the same age as him and still has a little bit of baby face even after the pit, and wonders at how was he terrified of this dude for so long.

Dick, Steph and Cass just refuse to acknowledge any of Teen Jason's threats and have a lot of fun doing it.

Steph: Baby Jay, do you want pancakes ?

Teen Jason, who just tried to stab Dick with a dinner knife only to have his arm twisted in the most casual and infuriating way possible: I hate all of you.

Cass, already stacking pancakes on his plate: Love you too.

-------------

At one point they consider tying Teen Jason to a chair because he keeps trying to shot Bruce and Tim (and sometimes Dick) in the back.

Bruce, looking at the Batcomputer: So this way we might finally get younger Jason back to his time.

Teen Jason, who was let into the cave after promising to behave: That's an actually good plan, just a sugestion...

Teen Jason suddenly pulls out a revolver and unloads the entire cylinder into Bruce’s chest, who started always wearing bullet proof clothes until the mess is solved and only rubs his temple in response.

Bruce: I told you to keep him away from guns.

Tim: We did, I don't know where he got that from.

-------------

The only ones Teen Jason tolerates are Damian, because he just recently left the League and still has a bit of a protective streak. Duke, because there is no bad blood and he isn't too annoying. And Alfred, because he is Alfred.

Adult Jason can never ever be near Teen Jason or they will fist fight, although the worst part is the psychological damage. They know exactly what to say to make the other flinch.

-------------

Teen Jason does everything in his power to be an absolute nightmare, because if he doesn't he will have to think about how these people somehow don't hate him. And if they don't hate him then there is a chance his Bruce and the bats back home also don't hate him and that's too much for his heart to take.

Teen Jason, nearly crying: How can you not hate me?

Bruce, in the softest voice possible despite Teen Jason having exploded the Batmobile with an home made bomb in an attempt to push Bruce over the edge: I could never hate you, Jaybird.

Teen Jason's eyes go so wide and poisonous glowing green that everyone goes tense waiting for him to spontaneous combust out of rage.

Then there is a sob.

Oh, fuck he is crying.

-------------

Past Bruce is a mix of surprised, suspicious and hopefull when Jason shows up again after being inactive for two weeks and is not only not trying to torture them with shakespearian plots but also accepted one of Dick's lunch invites (Dick is just as surprised, he had been making them as a joke)

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 || 𝚔𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you and kate didn't mean to soft launch

The morning before game day feels exactly like every other morning in the second year of your WNBA career — slow, sleepy, quiet. Kate’s already up before you, slipping on her hoodie and pulling her hair into a lazy bun as she pads around the kitchen, humming some vaguely familiar country song. You watch her from your spot on the couch, half-asleep under a blanket you never remember unfolding, cradling a mug of coffee she definitely brought you without asking. That’s just how it is. That’s how it’s always been.

Since Iowa. Since sneaking hand-holding on buses and late-night FaceTimes during long road stretches. Since the tears when her name was called on draft night and the breathless laughter when yours followed a few picks later. Since the Valkyries took you both — different teams at first, then finally, together again. Five years now. Two as pros. One married. But no one knows that part. Not really.

The league knows you're close. Your teammates definitely know. Close can be everything and nothing all at once. Best friends. Roommates. Ride-or-dies. Married? That one’s been just yours.

Until today, maybe.

You’re walking into Chase Center like you always do. Grey sweats, Jordans, one AirPod in, badge swinging from the lanyard they gave you your rookie season. Kate’s already gone in ahead — she always stops for every staffer she knows, and she knows all of them. You hung back, scrolling on your phone, texting your brother something dumb about his fantasy football team. Normal. Easy.

You don’t even realize someone’s filming her until you round the corner and hear her voice first — bright, full of that familiar midwestern cheer, just a little too excited for a morning shoot.

“Man…,” she’s saying, face animated. “A little dramatic right now, you know.” Her eyes are wide, her dimples deep.

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Chelley’s my favorite,” she says, head tilting, right hand clotting the strap of her backpack.

“Who do you want next off the island?”

She laughs, not wanting to name any names, left hand sliding out of her pocket to cover her face. 

“I think there’s a specific person who has caused a little bit of drama  in the villa and she might need to go. No names.” And when she laughs, there it is — silver. Not flashy, not big, not center-staged, but unmistakable. Her wedding band.

“Understood.”

“See you guys!” She walks away, jogging up the steps, waving goodbye to the woman like they’re old friends.

You take a breath. Step forward. The same girl turns toward you, phone already lifted. “Hey! You mind if I ask you something quick?”

You shrug. Smile, keep it casual. “Shoot.”

“Do you watch Love Island?”

You laughed, short and dry. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

“I get pulled in every time. It’s, like, a toxic little ritual now.”

You moved your hand to mimic a spinning wheel—an endless cycle—and for just a second, your left hand slipped out of your pocket. The camera caught it. The light it. The dainty silver band, delicate against your skin, practically glowed under the overhead light near the door.

It was barely a second. But it didn’t need to be more than that.

Your team wins the game, able to lock the other team on defense, making their lives harder. 

That night, you drove home in silence together. Her hand on your thigh. Your fingers loosely wrapped around hers. The night sky bled over the Bay Bridge as the stars glistening the skyline, and you rolled the windows down just enough to smell the salt in the air. It felt like the calm before the storm.

You lived in a quiet apartment near the marina. Two bedrooms, open kitchen, soft white walls lined with framed jerseys and photo booth strips from a million years ago. Home.

You were in the kitchen reheating pasta when Kate wandered into the living room, phone in hand. “Babe?”

“Mhm?”

She sat on the couch, brows furrowed. “Did you check TikTok yet?”

You frowned, spooning pesto around the bowl. “No, why?”

“Uh…” She turned the phone toward you. “We’re kind of blowing up.”

You set the spoon down and walked over, wiping your hands on a dish towel. The WNBA’s official TikTok account had posted a video captioned,

“Two bombshells have entered the Arena. Kate Martin & Y/N Y/LN give us all the Love Island USA tea!”

The clip was barely a minute long, clips switching between you and Kate. Her laughing. You denying it. But what the fans noticed wasn’t your answers.

It was the rings.

The comments were already in chaos.

Kate blinked at you, mouth half-open like she was trying to laugh but hadn’t quite committed. “So…”

You leaned over the couch arm and kissed her temple. “So.”

“You think they’ll let us stay mysterious after this?”

You reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “They’ll try. But I think the ring did the talking.”

She looked at you. Really looked. The way she did when you said I do in front of three people on a foggy hike during a vacation, both of you crying like idiots. The way she did after the draft, waiting for your name to be called, heart thundering.

“I don’t mind,” she said finally. “I kind of… like that they know.”

You smiled. “Me too.”

Your phones buzzed again and again that night. Mentions. Edits. Old clips from college resurfacing. Conspiracy-theory TikToks unearthing that one photo of you holding hands in the background of a locker room celebration your senior year.

You let it all happen.

For the first time in five years, you didn’t rush to shut the door behind you.

You sat on the couch together, legs tangled, bowls of pasta growing cold. Kate pulled you close, tucked her face against your shoulder, and sighed softly into your hoodie.

“Wife,” she murmured. “Guess the secret’s out.”

You kissed her hair. “About time.”

[delilahsturniolo]

— 𝜗ৎ the greatest . . . m.s

in which . . . you want something more with fwb!matt, but he shuts you down, turning it into an argument, so he decides to “make it up to you” and you can’t help but give in

warnings . . . fwb!matt, smut, arguing, crying, unprotected sex, unresolved angst, use of pet names, fingering, multiple orgasms.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #6

there's something about matt that just drives you wild. maybe it's the way he looks at you with those piercing blue eyes or the way his hair falls perfectly into place. whatever it is, you can't get enough of him. but the problem is, all he wants from you is to fuck, and nothing more. a real relationship is where he draws the line. you've been friends with benefits for a while now, but lately, you've been wanting something more. you want to be able to call him yours, to have him hold you close and tell you that he loves you. but every time you bring it up, he shuts you down.

"matt, we need to talk," you say, tangled in the sheets. "about what?" he asks, pulling on his shirt and avoiding your gaze. "about us. about what we're doing here."

"we're having fun, aren't we? i mean, the sex is amazing. what more do you want?" you take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "i want more than just sex, matt. i want a relationship. i want to be with you." he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "i can't give you that. i'm not the relationship type."

"why not? why can't you just give us a chance?" you plead, matt snaps back. "because i don't want to hurt you. i care about you, i do. but i'm not capable of being what you need." you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "how do you know what i need? you've never even tried."

"look, let's just drop it, okay? we're good together, let's not ruin it by trying to make it into something it's not." you shake your head, wiping away a stray tear. "i can't keep doing this, matt.." he looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment you think he might actually be considering it. but then he leans in close, his breath hot on your neck, and whispers, "let me make it up to you."

and just like that, you're putty in his hands. he knows exactly how to touch you, how to make you moan and writhe beneath him. he trails kisses down your neck, his hands roaming over your curves, and you know you should stop him, should tell him no, but you can't. you need him, need this. you can’t resist going back to him. you love the way he makes you feel and you will never escape that.

he pushes you back onto the bed, his body covering yours, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. he thrusts into you, filling you completely, and you cry out, your nails digging into his back. “you feel so good," he groans, his hips slamming against yours. "so tight and wet for me."

"matt, please," you whimper, not even sure what you're asking for. "i've got you, baby. i'll take care of you." and he does. he fucks you hard and deep, hitting all the right spots, until you're a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. and when you finally cum, screaming his name, he follows right behind you, spilling himself inside you.

but you’re not done yet. matt leans in, his hot breath tickling your ear, and whispers, "you want this, don't you?" you can only nod, your heart pounding in your chest. his fingers brush against your panties, already damp with your arousal. he chuckles softly, a sound that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

his fingers deftly push your panties aside, revealing your slick folds. he runs a finger along your slit, gathering your wetness on his fingertip. he brings it to his lips, tasting you. "mmm," he hums, "you taste so sweet, can’t get enough of this pretty pussy..” then, without warning, he plunges a finger inside you. you gasp, your back arching off the sheets. he pumps his finger in and out of you, adding another when he feels you're ready. his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing circles around it.

your hips buck wildly, meeting his thrusts. you can feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter. "that's it," matt encourages, "cum for me again.” and you do. your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your walls clamping down on matt's fingers. he continues to pump them in and out of you, prolonging your pleasure until you're left a quivering mess on the couch. he withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips once again. he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

afterwards, he holds you close, stroking your hair and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. and even though you know it's not real, that he's not really yours, you can't help but bask in the afterglow. you know you shouldn't keep doing this, shouldn't keep falling back into bed with him, all he wanted was to see you naked. but the truth is, you're addicted to him, to the way he makes you feel. and as much as you want more, you're not sure you're ready to give this up just yet.

© delilahsturniolo

💌: MAN AM I THE GREATESTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

hiii can you do bllk boys pulling a prank telling you they're gonna shave their head off 🥀

food 🍰🧁🧃🍪🍡🌮🍟🍨🍵

yeyeyeyeyyeyeyeye ofc! also to anyone who’s curious, 2000 event fics are 100% coming! still just planning n trying to find motivation.

𝐛𝐫𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐢💀

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐈 𝐇𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐀

“i’m shaving my hair off.”

you stare at chigiri, eyes constantly flickering from his hair to his eyes. “you wouldn’t.”

“i would.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“i would.”

“have you spent a little bit too long with the bald guy at blue lock?”

he sighed. “are you just going to keep going on like this until i comply?” he didn’t need you to reply to know the answer. you nodded.

“hyoma, you would never cut off your long and beautiful and precious and perfect and amazing and glorious and luscious and soft hair. you’ve spent too long maintaining it, and you’ve used too much of my hair oil to cut it.” you muttered. he sent you a quick glare.

“you give me hair oil, i give you the princess treatment. isn’t this a fair deal?”

“not at all. plus, i’m the one who always ends up giving you princess treatment.”

“it’s an excellent deal.”

you sighed. “that was a waste of time. i know damn well that you’d never cut off your precious hair. if our house was burning down, you’d run out immediately even if there was a chance to save me just so your hair wouldn’t get burned.”

“you know me too well.”

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

“I’m shaving my hair off.”

“oh, thank god. finally, i don’t need to see that ugly ass rat tail the first thing in the morning anymore.” you said, not even sparing him a glance from your phone.

kaiser’s jaw dropped, raising an eyebrow. “is this really what you think of my hair?” he picked up the blue strands of his hair, caressing them as if they were his children. you gave him a side eye.

“yes.”

“this is breaking my heart so much. i can’t do this anymore.”

“obviously, you’re not actually going to cut off your hair.”

this time, kaiser gave you a side glance. “of course i’m not going to.” you signed, finally truly looking at him.

“you looked better with natural and long white blonde hair.” you muttered. “like the type you had when you were 16 ish.”

“what, you want me to take a trip down memory lane or something?” kaiser murmured, a few blood vessels popping out of his temple. you sighed; he would 100% get ragebaited by 12 year olds n the internet.

“yes, i do. and i want you to remember the time when your hair wasn’t a fucking rat tail. this shit is not tuff. no point in trying to cosplay as ratatouille.”

“i hate you.”

𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

“i’m shaving my hair off.”

“what?! nonononono—my beautiful, magnificent, wonderful, amazing, perfect, glorious king sae; whenever i complained about your hair, i only ever wanted you to let your bangs down, not shave all of it off entirely!” you cried.

“it’s—“

“please, i’ll get on my knees and i’ll go to every single one of your matches and never pretend to get sick again and i promise I’ll do anythinggggg!”

“it’s a prank. and you were pretending to be sick just to skip my match?”

oh.

oops.

“oh, so like, about that…” you managed a shaky grin, fiddling with your fingers. “just a joke. ha ha. ha ha ha.”

sae’s eyes went downcast, staring at you as if you just admitted to using gen alpha slang. “liar.”

“okay, maybe once. actually, maybe twice. uh, just kidding. buuuut it’s only 3 times! and i promise i’ll neverrrrrr do it again.” you exclaimed. “but do let you bangs down once in a while.”

“no.”

[bbyg4rl]

୨୧ ─ jj gets protective over you . . .

cw: REQUESTED / protective!jj x reader, teasing/bullying, hurt/comfort themes, jj's a petty bitch !!!

It was supposed to be chill. Just old friends, some drinks, a little reunion. But five minutes in, you're already regretting it. “You still do that thing with your fork?” one of them says, tipsy and grinning. “God, I remember that. You were such a freak about your food.”

Another chimes in, “Remember when she cried that one time? That was iconic.” They're laughing like it's funny. Like it’s love. Like it isn’t still scraping something raw in your chest. You smile. Shrug. Sip your drink and sink further into the booth. Your phone's in your lap. You don’t even think about it—just type one thing:

can you come get me?

they’re being weird

You don’t expect him to answer. But ten minutes later, you get a text back:

on my way. five mins out.

And exactly that—five minutes later—the bell above the bar door chimes, and JJ walks in. Messy blonde hair, denim jacket, eyes scanning until they lock on you. You can breathe again.

He walks over like he’s just swinging by. Like this is normal. Presses a kiss to the top of your head, drops an arm casually across your shoulders.

One of the girls raises a brow. “Uh… hey?”

JJ smiles. “Hey. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Just stopping by—she left her charger at mine.” You glance up at him. There’s no charger. But he winks like, go with it.

“Oh,” one of them says, voice sticky. “You’re JJ, right?”

“That’s me.”

A pause. Then one girl leans forward. “We were just reminiscing. She used to be so shy, you know? Like, full-on crybaby. Adorable.” JJ smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah? Well. Guess she grew out of that.”

“She did,” someone else laughs. “Mostly.”

He hums. “What about yours? Your growth get stuck in the mail or something?” It’s calm. Quiet. But the shift is instant.

Your friends go a little still, drinks halfway to their mouths. JJ’s voice isn’t raised—but it’s final. A line drawn with a smile. “Anyway,” he says, “I’m double parked. You ready, babe?”

You nod, sliding out of the booth. He keeps his hand low on your back as you walk, warm and steady. Doesn’t say anything else.

JJ’s already guiding you toward the exit, hand warm on your back, when he hears it. A whisper—sharp and snide, not meant to reach—but it does. “God, she always needs someone to fight her battles.”

JJ doesn’t even flinch. Just a slight smile curling at the corner of his mouth. He spots the waiter stepping out of the kitchen, balancing a tray of waters. Times it perfectly. Sticks his boot out just enough. The waiter stumbles—just barely—but enough for the tray to tip. A cascade of water sloshes directly onto the table behind you. Gasps. Shrieks. One girl jumps back, soaked.

JJ doesn’t even look. Just tugs the door open for you like a gentleman and nods to the waiter, deadpan, “Oops.”

You’re already trying not to laugh as he walks you out.

Outside, you exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for an hour. JJ leans you against the passenger door, cups your jaw gently. “You okay?” He presses a kiss to your temple, “Didn’t like how they talked to you.”

You nod. “They were just… drunk. I think.”

He shrugs. “Still.” There’s a pause. Then, quieter, “You don’t ever have to sit through shit like that. Not for old times. Not for anyone.”

You nod again. Swallow. “Thanks for coming.”

“I’d do it a hundred times.” Then he grins, tilts his head. “I made it in ten minutes flat. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

You laugh. “Did you break the speed limit?”

“Oh, definitely. I was flying.”

You press your face into his chest. “You’re insane.”

He kisses your hair. “Yeah? What else is new?”

♡ requested by @lorleaivv for ꒰ ⑅ ๑  𝟖𝟖𝟖 : : BALANCE ꒱

check out my — masterlist / 2k celebration ૮꒰•༝ •。꒱ა

[sxcretricciardo]

dear god - L.N4

-

The flash of cameras reflects off the sleek black velvet of your dress as you step onto the red carpet. Your heels click against the stone as you pause, pose, and let the photographers get their shots. You offer a practiced smile, shoulders relaxed even though your heart is racing.

This isn’t your usual environment.

Award shows? You’ve done those. Stadiums packed with fans screaming your lyrics? Totally normal. But this — an F1 movie premiere — is uncharted territory. Your name is on the soundtrack, not the marquee. The final scene fades out under the notes of your most intimate song, and tonight marks its cinematic debut.

You expect questions about your music.

What you don’t expect is the sudden chorus of voices calling:

“Y/N, over here! What do you think about Lando Norris?”

“Are the rumors true?”

“Did you come with Lando?”

“Was the song about him?”

You blink. A confused smile flits across your lips.

Lando Norris?

You’ve never even met him. Never even spoken to him.

Sure, you’d noticed when he followed you on Instagram a few weeks ago. And maybe you’d followed back. And yeah, okay, you may have liked a few of his photos. The one in Japan with the rain. The one where he’s half-laughing mid-interview. Sue you — the guy’s cute.

But that was it.

Until TikTok decided you were soulmates.

Apparently, someone had edited clips of him racing to your lyrics — “I don’t want perfect, I just want real” — and suddenly there were shipping accounts, fancams, and theories that you were secretly dating. Fans even pointed out that he used your song in a recent Instagram Story.

You assumed he’d found it on a playlist. But now…

Now you’re walking the same carpet. And it feels… intentional.

Inside, the lobby glows with warm gold light. Guests sip champagne and mingle under tall banners of the film’s title. You step to the side for a breather, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear when a voice — low and smooth — cuts through the crowd behind you.

“So… are we telling them we’ve never met, or should we keep the fantasy going?”

You turn around.

Lando.

Standing less than a foot away, dressed in a navy suit that fits him a little too well. Shirt slightly unbuttoned, no tie. Curls a bit messy — like he ran his hands through them moments ago. He’s grinning, arms folded, watching you like you’re the punchline to his favorite joke.

Your lips twitch into a smirk. “Depends. Are you going to keep using my song in your Instagram Stories?”

He looks mock-offended. “It was a good song.”

“It is,” you say, tilting your head. “But now half the internet thinks you inspired it.”

He steps a little closer, eyes never leaving yours. “Did I?”

You laugh — soft, surprised. “You’re bold.”

He shrugs with an innocent smile. “Just honest.”

There’s a flicker of silence between you. A warm pause.

You glance at the crowd around you, then back at him. “So… you really didn’t know me before the edits?”

“I mean, I knew of you,” he admits. “Heard your stuff, thought you were insanely talented. The follow was… let’s call it wishful thinking.”

“And now?”

“Now,” he says, flashing that cheeky smile, “I’m standing here with you. So I’d say it worked.”

Before you can answer, one of the premiere organizers calls out that the movie is starting soon. People begin moving toward the theater.

You glance toward the entrance, then back at him. “Well… looks like we’re sitting through a two-hour movie together.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You sitting with anyone?”

You shake your head. “Not yet.”

“Then maybe we can give them something else to talk about.”

⸻

You end up beside him — popcorn in his lap, his arm brushing yours just enough to feel like a choice.

He whispers snarky commentary once or twice during the first half of the film, making you giggle quietly. And then… the final scene comes. The screen fades to black. And your voice fills the theater.

You try to focus on the song. Really.

But you feel him turn to look at you in the dark.

When the lights come up and the audience applauds, he leans in again.

“That song? That was yours?”

You nod. “Yeah. I wrote it after a really complicated almost-relationship.”

“Sounds familiar,” he says with a little smirk. “Maybe the next one will be less complicated.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you offering?”

He grins, boyish and unfiltered. “Only if you want me to.”

You pause… then smile.

“Ask me again after the afterparty.

-

[faithsmadhouse]

Don’t touch||Max Verstappen x reader

Summary — during an interview max treats y/n like she doesn’t mean anything to him so she does something about it

Word count —880

Warning—mean reader. Thigh riding, maxs thighs (that deserves a warning)

The press conference was over, but the sting of it still burned under Y/N’s skin. His clipped tone. The way he wouldn’t even look at her just stared past her like she was nobody. Like she wasn’t the woman who knew every inch of him. The woman who let him fuck her senseless most nights.

By the time she stormed into the hotel suite, her heels were in her hand, jaw tight. Max followed, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

“Y/N—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, tossing her heels aside. “Don’t Y/N me now. You treated me like I was just another fucking mic in your face. Like I was invisible.”

His eyes darkened, jaw working. “You know why I have to—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.” She stepped closer, chest heaving. “You want to act like I’m just some reporter? Fine. Let’s play that game.”

Max reached for her, but she slapped his hands away. Instead, she shoved him down onto the edge of the bed, climbing into his lap. She could feel the tension thrumming in his body, the way his hands flexed at his sides, desperate to grab her. But she didn’t let him.

She spread her thighs, settling onto his leg, her skirt riding up high on her hips. Her bare core pressed against the thick muscle of his thigh, no panties, not tonight and the friction made her gasp.

His nostrils flared when he felt how wet she was already.

“Fuck, baby—”

She cut him off, grinding down, slow and hard, dragging her clit along the line of his muscle. The heat of him burned through his jeans, the pressure exactly what she needed.

“You don’t get to fuck me tonight, Max.” Her voice was breathless, but firm. “You don’t even get to touch me.”

His eyes widened, pupils blown. “Y/N, come on—let me feel you. Let me have you.”

But she shook her head, hips rolling in tight, needy circles. “No. You don’t deserve it. Not after tonight. You want to act like I’m nothing? Fine. Watch me take what I want.”

Max groaned, fists clenching in the sheets beside him. His cock strained against his jeans, but she didn’t even glance at it. All she cared about was the steady drag of her slick pussy on his thigh, the way her body trembled with the effort to keep control.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growled. “You think you can tease me like this? You think I won’t flip you over and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name?”

Y/N moaned, grinding harder, chasing the edge. “You can’t do shit. You don’t get to do anything but sit there and watch.”

Max’s breath came ragged now, sweat beading at his temples as he watched her ride him. “God, baby look at you. Making a mess on my leg. You’re gonna come just like this, huh? Fucking yourself on me?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “That’s all I need. Not your cock. Not your fingers. Just this.”

He growled low in his throat, but didn’t move. He couldn’t. She’d told him not to, and the last thing he wanted was to give her a reason to stop. His thigh flexed under her on instinct, giving her that extra pressure, that perfect angle.

“Fuck—Max—just like that—”

“Come for me, baby,” he rasped. “Show me how good you can make yourself feel. Show me what I’m missing.”

Her body shook, hips jerking as the orgasm tore through her, her moan raw and desperate as she kept grinding, riding out the wave. She collapsed against him, breathless, heart pounding against his chest.

Max’s hands hovered, aching to touch, but he didn’t he waited.

And when she finally looked up at him, eyes dark and sated, she smirked.

“Next time you want to treat me like a stranger on the grid,” she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice dripping with satisfaction, “remember this.”

She drew back just enough to meet his gaze, smirking at the way his jaw clenched, the raw hunger in his eyes. Then, with maddening softness, she patted his cheek—mocking, tender, cruel all at once.

“Good boy,” she added, voice low, teasing.

Max’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling as he fought the urge to grab her, to flip her over and bury himself inside her until she couldn’t speak, until she begged him.

But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

Y/N climbed off his lap, her thighs slick, leaving his jeans dark with the mess she’d made of him. His thigh glistened with her arousal, a stain of her victory. His cock strained against his zipper, painful and leaking, but she didn’t spare it a glance.

She smoothed her skirt down, legs still shaking faintly from the intensity of her release, and turned toward the bathroom, tossing him one last look over her shoulder.

“You can take care of that yourself tonight, champ.”

And then she was gone, leaving Max sitting there rock hard, soaked in her slick, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white, desperate for a taste, a touch, anything.

But all he had was the memory of her, riding him like she didn’t need him at all.

[synity]

just gutwrenching fluff with cheol, pure love and gratitude— could be reader graduating uni and delivering a speech as a valedictorian, after having a hard time and him always being her biggest support (yes ive been crying for the past hour on tiktok watching graduation vids and speech about family/friends like just people loving and I AM UNWELL TO SAY THE LEAST) btw I love your work youre so precious and remember to take care of yourself loveee xx

LEGENDARY

(Choi Seungcheol x FemReader)

*Graduation Dayn Fluff | Gutwrenching Love & Gratitude, romance*

Your hands were trembling, not just because of nerves, but because everything was hitting you at once.

The cheers. The flash of camera lights. The scratchy gown clinging to your skin. The weight of years upon your shoulders. The raw, aching joy and disbelief that you had finally made it.

You clutched your speech tighter, the paper warm and wrinkled from how many nights you'd held it, crying into your pillow and whispering the words under your breath. You weren’t sure how you even walked up to the stage. Maybe it was muscle memory. Maybe it was something deeper the sound of his voice guiding you like it always had.

"You got this, babe!"

There he was. Cheol. Front row. Your everything. Eyes glassy, fingers clenched, like if he let go of his hands, he’d fly to you in seconds. You swore he looked prouder than anyone else in the room. Not just proud. In awe.

Your legs carried you to the podium, but your soul stayed seated with him. Right there in the safety of his gaze.

"Good evening, everyone..."

You paused.

A soft breath.

"I want to start this speech by saying that I almost didn’t make it here."

The room quieted. Your voice trembled, but your heart held steady.

"I know we’re all supposed to be proud today and I am. Deeply. But it would be dishonest if I didn’t share just how close I came to giving up."

A long pause. You tried to keep your voice even, but your throat burned.

"There were days I couldn’t get out of bed. Nights I stared at my screen for hours and wrote nothing. Weeks where I felt like no matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t enough. For school. For anyone. For myself."

You gripped the edges of the podium. A deep breath. A look out into the sea of faces. And there he was still looking at you like you hung the stars.

"But someone believed in me. Even when I didn’t. Especially when I didn’t."

Your voice cracked. The lump in your throat grew.

"Cheol, you stayed. Through the breakdowns, through the all-nighters and mental spirals. Through the moments I told you to leave because I didn’t think I deserved you."

He was crying now, tears quietly falling as his hand clutched his chest.

"You brought me food when I hadn’t eaten. Held me when I said I wanted to disappear. Made me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry. You celebrated every tiny victory like it was the biggest win in the world. You reminded me I was more than my grades. More than my anxiety. More than my fear."

"And when I told you I wasn’t strong enough, you said, 'That’s okay. I’ll be strong for you until you can be again.'"

You choked on a sob, wiping your face quickly.

"This diploma might have my name on it. But this moment? It belongs to us. To the version of me that thought she wouldn’t make it. To the boy who never gave up on her."

"To every person who ever carried someone they loved until they could stand again thank you. And to you, Cheol. My rock, my light, my love… Thank you for loving me at my worst, and for helping me become my best."

When the speech ended, people stood.

But you didn’t hear the applause.

You only saw him.

You stepped down and he met you halfway, eyes red, arms open, like home.

You collapsed into him, sobbing into his shoulder. Your cap slipped off, and neither of you cared. The world faded into muffled claps and quiet camera clicks.

"You did it," he whispered against your temple, voice cracked. "I’m so proud of you, baby. You did it."

You pulled back just far enough to see him clearly.

"No," you whispered, cupping his cheeks. "We did."

He leaned his forehead against yours, tears mingling with yours.

"Always," he murmured. "Every step of the way, I’ll be here."

You wrapped your arms around him tighter.

Because the truth was, you weren’t sure how you survived before loving him. Before being loved by him.

And in that moment messy makeup, soaked tassels, and all—you realized something:

You had made it. Not just through school, but through the pain. The fear. The doubt.

And it was all because someone believed in you.

And because you had finally learned to believe in yourself too.