#{300 followers}

[sockkllyy]

DTIYS!!!

do it in your own style!!✨✨

300 FOLLOWERS TYSMMM GUYSSSSS💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

😭💪

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Sundae Tropes - Masterlist 🍨

You guys amazed me! Like look at this beautiful masterlist! You guys did that! Thank you for sending in all your delicious requests and making this event such a success.

All the requests were run through a random number generator and will be written in the order below.

I will be tagging the person that requested the sundae on the one-shot when it is posted, unless you have requested it privately, in which case I'll DM you.

Please remember to like and reblog the works being written here. Engagement and interaction is what keeps the writers community going!

Original Sundae Menu

Now onto the lineup:

Cookies And Cream With Sprinkles And Brownie Bits With Kensei And Shuhei = Marriage Pact + Threesome + 69 - posted!

Coffee Waffle Cone #3 With Megumi = Friends To Lovers + “Don’t You Dare Walk Away Right Now!” - posted!

Birthday Cake With Strawberries And Chocolate Chips With Toji = Amnesia/Mistaken Identity + Passionate/Romantic Sex, Emotional Bond + Lotus Position - posted

Peanut Butter With M&Ms And Chocolate-Covered Pretzels With Ichigo = Secret Billionaire+Virginity Loss, Soft Sex, Sweet Talking+Missionary

Coffee With Whipped Cream And Banana With Kenpachi = Friends To Lovers + Creampie/Breeding Kink + Missionary + Doggystyle

Cherry Flavor With Strawberry Toppings And Banana With Suguru Geto = Hometown/Reunion Love + Passionate/Romantic Sex, Emotional Bond + Doggystyle

Cookies & Cream Ice Cream, With Maraschino Cherries And Chocolate-Covered Pretzels Izuru Kira = Marriage Pact + Praise Kink, Lingerie, Blowjob +Missionary

Strawberry With Whipped Cream And Banana With Aizen = Enemies To Lovers+Creampie, Breeding Kink+Doggystyle

Vanilla Whipped Cream And Banana With Kensei = High School Sweethearts +  Creampie, Breeding Kink + Doggystyle

Strawberry With Whipped Cream And Chocolate Covered Pretzels For Aizen = Enemies To Lovers + Creampie, Breeding Kink+ Missionary

Birthday Cake With Strawberries And Chocolate With Gojo = Amnesia/Mistaken Identity + Passionate/Romantic Sex, Emotional Bond + Lotus Position

Vanilla + Strawberries And Chocolate Covered Pretzel With Dear Kento-Kun = High School Sweethearts + Passionate/Romantic Sex, Emotional Bond + Missionary

Can I Get A Mint Chocolate Chip Waffle Cone #5 With Ukitake = Soulmates + "I Trust You With All Of My Heart."

Cherry With M&Ms And Chocolate Chips With Nanami = Return To Hometown/Reunion Love + Virginity Loss, Soft Sex, Sweet Talking + Lotus Position

Butterscotch With M&M's For Kenpachi = Forced Proximity + Virginity Loss, Soft Sex, Sweet Talking

Fudge With Whipped Cream And Caramel With Nanami = Captor/Captive + Creampie, Breeding Kink + Thirst Position

Butter Pecan With Whipped Cream And Nutella! (Gojo + Geto) = Love Triangle + Creampie, Breeding Kink + Butterfly Position

Hurt/Comfort-Themed Cherry Waffle Cone Number Two With Hirako Shinji = Return To Hometown/Reunion Love + “Don’t You Dare Walk Away Right Now!”

Fudge Kitkat Banana Ice Cream With Gin = Captor/Captive + Exhibitionism, Dirty Talk, Hair Pulling + Doggystyle

Peanut Butter Waffle Cone #7 For Kiyotaka Ijicjhi = Secret Billionaire + “Do You Want My Jacket?”

Mint Chocolate Chip With Strawberry And Chocolate Chips With Higuruma = Soul Mates + Passionate/Romantic Sex, Emotional Bond + Lotus Position

Cherry Waffle Cone #12 With Mr. Nanami Kento = Return To Hometown/Reunion Love+“Of Course I Know The Way You Like Your Coffee.”

Peanut Butter With Whipped Cream And Chocolate Covered Pretzels With Nanami = Secret Billionaire + Creampie, Breeding Kink + Missionary

Butter Pecan With Maraschino Cherries And Brownie Bits With Kusakabe And Utahime = Love Triangle + Praise Kink, Lingerie, Blowjob + 69

Strawberry Kitkat With Grimmjow = Enemies To Lovers + Exhibitionism, Dirty Talk, Hair Pulling

Coffee Flavor On Waffle Cone #16 With Higuruma = Friends To Lovers + "I Never Believed In Love At First Sight Before I Met You

Coffee With Crushed Oreos And Gummy Bears With Gojo = Friends To Lovers+Clit Spanking, Nipple Play, Bondage+Facesitting

Cookie Dough + Marshmallows And Reese's Pieces + Kusakabe = Strangers In A Foreign City + Teasing, Edging, Toys + Cowgirl

Rocky Road With Strawberries And Chocolate Covered Pretzels With Toshiro = Teacher/Student + Passionate/Romantic Sex, Emotional Bond + Missionary

Cotton Candy / Whipped Cream / Nutella With A Side Of Nanami = Secret Admirer+Creampie, Breeding Kink+Butterfly Position

Cotton Candy+ Strawberries With Nanami = Secret Admirer+ Passionate/Romantic Sex, Emotional Bond

Mint Chocolate Chip Waffle Cone #5 With Higuruma = Soul Mates + "I Trust You With All Of My Heart."

Rocky Road, M&M's, And Chocolate Chips With Byakuya = Teacher/Student+Virginity Loss, Soft Sex, Sweet Talking+Lotus Position

Chocolate Flavor With Maraschino Cherries With Sum Chocolate Chips On The Side For Higuruma = Boss/Secretary + Praise Kink, Lingerie, Blowjob + Lotus Position

Cookies And Cream With Crushed Oreos And Bananas With Nanami = Marriage Pact + Clit Spanking, Nipple Play, Bondage + Doggystyle

Shuhei Hisagi X Reader Cookies And Cream - Marriage Pact Strawberries - Passionate/Romantic Sex / Emotional Bond  Chocolate-Covered Pretzels - Missionary

Coffee, With Whipped Cream, And Chocolate Covered Pretzels With Gin Ichimaru = Friends To Lovers + Creampie, Breeding Kink + Missionary

Chocolate, Kitkat And Banana With Geto = Boss/Secretary + Exhibitionism, Dirty Talk, Hair Pulling + Doggystyle

Mint Chocolate Chip And M&Ms With Aizen = Soulmates + Virginity Loss, Soft Sex, Sweet Talking

Vanilla With Whipped Cream And Chocolate Covered Pretzels With Nanami Kento = High School Sweethearts + Creampie, Breeding Kink + Missionary

Tagging some friends :)

@seasparrow @pernesophe @sacredwarrior88 @starsinmylatte @itsfairly

@muzansfangs @harlekin6 @mangiswig @beneathstarryskies

@that-goth-bisexual @hunnie-lily, @bleach-your-panties

@bleachbrainrotbro @kr0wu @stygianoir @kenpachisbrat

@lees-chaotic-brain @actuallysaiyan @hellkaiserinphoenix

@whatshernameis @macchiato-dreaming22 @connorsui

@sitarawrites @j-u-u-z-o @jadedjane @stressed-cryptid

@akatsuki031 @kryptoniteforsale @estarlias

@illusionaryennui @vickkysthings @darkstarlight82

@dreaming-about-seireitei @buttercupbitches @the-eternal-sunflower

All dividers by @/ cafe kitsune Banner by @actuallysaiyan

[seongwars]

𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢, 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 | 300 Followers Event

Pairing: psychiatrist!Jeong Yunho x yandere!Reader AU: non-idol Summary: What if in another life, you were the villain? Word Count: 9.8K Warnings: dark themes including stalking, m*rder, torture, asphyxiation, mental health issues, mentions of blood, violence--PLEASE do not interact if you are adverse to any of these themes. i want you to take care of yourselves.

a/n: here's the belated 300 follower event! it can be read alone but also fits into the forget me not universe now to work on my other wips

Forget Me Not Masterlist

"Yunho!" you screamed, twisting against the weight of the officers escorting you out. Your mind was spinning, unable to process what was happening. You searched his face for something, anything, that would tell you this wasn’t real. That he was going to stop them, that he was going to save you. But all you found was silence.

"Yunho, help me!" you sobbed, your voice raw and pleading. You reached for him, but the officers were too strong, dragging you backward as you fought to break free. Your limbs flailed in desperation, but it was no use. 

Yunho stayed silent. His eyes met yours one last time, filled with sorrow, regret, and something else—something you couldn’t place, maybe pity. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words never came.

And then, he turned away.

The officers dragged you out of the room, your body still struggling against their grip. The last thing you saw was Yunho’s back, his shoulders hunched as he walked away from you, leaving you behind.

The air in the courtroom felt suffocating, every breath you took weighed down by the dozens of eyes watching your every move. You could feel the heat of the crowd’s gaze on your back, the low hum of whispered accusations, opinions, and judgments hanging in the air like a thick fog.

"Ms. Lee," he began, his deep voice resonating through the small space, "how do you plead?"

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t move, didn’t react, except for a subtle clench of your shackled hands. It was Choi Jongho, your lawyer, who spoke for you.

"Not guilty by reason of insanity, your honor," Jongho said, standing tall beside you, his tone as calm and collected as ever. His voice was a shield, firm and unwavering. 

The murmurs that rippled through the crowd were quickly silenced by a sharp rap of the judge’s gavel. Beside you, Jongho remained calm, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood at the defense table. 

Judge Baek leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving you. "The court will hear evidence to support this plea in due course." He straightened again, addressing the prosecution. "The state may present its opening argument."

"Thank you, your honor.” Prosecutor Ahn began, her steps slow and deliberate as she moved to the center of the room. 

“Esteemed members of the jury. What you see before you today is a facade. A woman who has worn the mask of a dutiful wife, presenting herself as gentle, caring, and harmless. But beneath that mask lies something far more sinister. A murderer, hiding in plain sight." She took a slow step toward the defense table, her eyes never leaving you.

"A murderer," the prosecutor repeated, louder this time, letting the word hang in the air. "One who premeditated the killing of each of her victims, who calculated every step, every detail with precision." She turned to the jury, her face twisting into a sneer. 

"Lee Y/N didn’t just act on impulse or in a fit of rage. No, she was cunning, manipulative—"

She gestured toward you, her hand slicing through the air as if to emphasize the supposed deceit. "—just as she manipulated her husband into believing she was harmless. That she wouldn’t—couldn’t—kill his best friend, Jung Wooyoung. Or that she was incapable of murdering Ji Myungsoo, a close business associate of her father-in-law and his daughter, Soyi." 

"And that," the prosecutor’s voice cut back into focus, "is the woman sitting before you today. Calculating, cold, and capable of manipulating anyone to suit her own purposes." She took a step closer to the jury, leaning in as if to share a secret. 

"She is a murderer, plain and simple."

Jongho shifted beside you, preparing for his turn, his calm exterior a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. He turned to the jury, his eyes sweeping over their faces as he spoke, pulling them into a tragic story. 

Your story.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let’s address the most critical point that the prosecution conveniently overlooked–my client, the defendant, is not even on the stand because she has been declared psychologically unfit to stand trial by reason of insanity. Yet here we are, with the prosecution making baseless allegations, attempting to sway you with a narrative that cannot hold up under scrutiny.”

“Objection!” 

“Sustained,” Judge Baek replied. “Get to the point, Mr. Choi.”

Jongho paused for dramatic motion before continuing. 

“Can we truly expect someone living in such a mental state to calmly and rationally plan the murders she’s been accused of? We’re talking about hallucinations, delusions — breaks from reality. During these episodes, Ms. Lee is not in control of her actions.”

You could see the jurors leaning in now, their attention firmly on Jongho. They were hooked, feeding off his indignation on your behalf. But they didn’t know, couldn’t know, how little you cared for their sympathy. 

"Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he began, stepping toward the front of the room, "the person you see before you today—Ms. Lee Y/N—has lived through more tragedy than most of us can even imagine. At fifteen years old, she lost everything. Her parents, her brother, her sister—all gone in a single, devastating moment."

"Ms. Lee was the only survivor. Just fifteen years old and left to navigate a world without her family." He let the silence linger for a moment before pressing on. 

"The system put in place to defend her failed her. It left her alone, untreated, with the kind of trauma that no child should have to bear. And worse than that—it allowed Ji Myungsoo, the man responsible for the accident that took her family, to walk free." 

You kept your head down, lips pressed into a thin line, as Jongho’s impassioned speech filled the room. He truly believed what he was saying. He thought this was about grief, about a mind broken under the strain of unresolved trauma. 

"Her mental health deteriorated," Jongho continued, casting a glance in your direction as if to emphasize the fragility he believed lay behind your eyes. 

"And it was only a matter of time before that untreated pain turned inward—until she lost control of her actions, driven by the overwhelming sense of loss and confusion."

He gestured toward you. "We are not dealing with a criminal mastermind here. We are dealing with someone who has been failed by every system designed to protect her. Someone whose untreated traumatic disorder has led her to a state of paranoia and psychosis, an illness that, tragically, went unnoticed until it was too late."

Jongho’s final words echoed through the room, his tone full of somber determination. "My client isn’t a monster. She’s a victim. And today, we are here to ensure that she gets the help she should have received all those years ago."

You could feel the tension in the room shift again, the jury’s sympathy building. They were buying it. Jongho was good, no doubt about it. He returned to his seat beside you, his hand lightly brushing your shoulder in a gesture of support. 

The world ended the day your family’s car tumbled into the ditch. You remembered the screech of metal and the world flipping over and over. 

A drunk driver had collided with the car, sending it spinning off the road. By the time everything went still, the smell of gasoline and blood filled your lungs. 

You crawled from the wreckage, dazed and broken—your head pounding from the concussion, your body screaming with the pain of fractured bones. Blood trickled from your mouth and eyes, but it wasn’t just the injuries. It was something deeper—something inside you broke too, as your world collapsed around you.

The doctors said you’d be fine. But your parents weren’t fine and neither were your brother and sister. They weren’t coming back. And as you lay in that hospital bed, staring. Then, it happened. A sharp giggle escaped your lips, so out of place in the heavy silence that it startled even you. 

You clamped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late. The dam broke. Laughter, wild and uncontrollable, erupted from deep within your chest. It spilled out in frantic waves, rising higher and higher until the sound of your own hysterics filled the room, drowning out everything else.

You were laughing because nothing made sense anymore. How could it? Your family was gone, and all you could do was lie there, broken and alone, the absurdity of it all twisting in your mind like some cruel joke.

Then came the news. The drunk driver, a wealthy executive, had walked away with barely a scratch. A slap on the wrist, a fine, and he was free to return to his life. Free to laugh at dinner parties, to kiss his children goodnight. And you? 

You were left to piece together the shattered remnants of a life no longer recognizable. The system failed you, abandoned you. Just like your family had, though not by choice. You were alone in a world that felt cold and indifferent, the edges of your grief hardening into something else—something dark and unforgiving.

The world felt different after your family was taken from you in that car crash. Every noise was too loud, every shadow too long. The nightmares came first, the panic attacks next. And then, the moments you couldn’t explain—the times when it felt like someone else was inside your body, reacting, lashing out, making choices you couldn’t remember later.

It wasn’t long before your behavior began to spiral. You’d always been guarded, suspicious of others, but something had shifted. Everyone around you started to feel like a threat—each smile hiding a blade, each friendly word masking a darker intent. 

And then, one day, you snapped.

It was your first year of college. Everything was supposed to be different, better. But the tension had been building for weeks. You were running on empty, stretched thin between assignments and sleepless nights, haunted by old wounds. 

“Y/N, you look tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?” Yujin’s voice was casual, the way someone might ask about the weather. But to you, the words were an accusation, sharp and cutting, a spotlight shining on your fragility.

“Yeah, you look like you’re carrying bags on your face,” Jiwon chimed in with a laugh.

That was the moment. Something deep inside you, already frayed, snapped. The edges of your vision blurred, and all you could feel was the heat rising in your chest, your pulse pounding so loudly it drowned out the rest of their laughter.

Before you knew what was happening, your body moved on its own. You lunged across the desk, your fist colliding with Jiwon’s face. You didn’t hear the gasps of your group mates, didn’t notice the way the library went silent, all eyes fixed on you.

You grabbed Jiwon by her hair, twisting it in your fist with a strength you didn’t know you had, and slammed their head against the desk. Once. Twice. Again. The screams around you faded into nothing, your world narrowed to this singular moment of violence.

Hands tried to grab you, pull you away, but they were too late. You were beyond their reach, beyond control. You swung again, wild, desperate to silence the laughter still echoing in your ears. 

But then, amidst the chaos—professors rushing in, students frozen in horror—you were dragged away, yanked back from the scene of destruction you’d created. Your arms were pinned, your movements restricted, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

And in the aftermath, as your body trembled with the adrenaline coursing through you, all you felt was…peace.

It was a strange, twisted sense of calm that settled over you as you stood there, panting, your knuckles bruised and raw. The world around you still buzzed with activity—professors shouting, students calling for help—but to you, it was all muffled, distant. Like the storm inside had finally subsided.

Prosecutor Ahn’s heels clicked against the floor as she approached the easel, her movements precise, deliberate. She taped a photograph of the first victim, Ji Soyi, to the board. The image showed a vibrant, smiling young woman, full of life and promise.

“Let’s start with the first victim—Ji Myungsoo’s daughter,” Ahn said, her voice cutting through the silence in the courtroom. “Ji Soyi. A young woman with her whole life ahead of her, unaware that her final moments would be spent gasping for air as the defendant, Ms. Lee strangled her.” 

Ahn didn’t flinch, her gaze unyielding as she gestured toward the autopsy report in her hand. “Signs of asphyxiation. Bruises on her neck from sustained pressure. This wasn’t a quick death—this was slow, deliberate, cruel.”

She let the words sink in before moving on, the click of her shoes resuming as she taped another photo—this one of Ji Myungsoo, a middle-aged man with graying hair and kind eyes—next to his daughter’s.

“And then there’s Ji Myungsoo,” Ahn continued, her voice dropping to a darker tone. “This wasn’t a random killing. The defendant poisoned him, ensuring a slow, agonizing death. But that wasn’t enough. Ms. Lee inflicted wounds on him over time, stabbing him more than fifty times. He suffered greatly, ladies and gentlemen.”

It was a battle not to react to every detail she laid out, every twisted image she painted of you. The room had become uncomfortably quiet, each juror hanging on Ahn’s every word.

“And finally,” Ahn turned back to the easel, placing the last photograph—a picture of Jung Wooyoung, a smiling man with tousled hair—beside the others. “Jung Wooyoung, an innocent man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. For that, he paid with his life.”

Prosecutor Ahn continued, turning to face the jury with an air of false sympathy. “Three lives. Taken without remorse. Without hesitation. Each death meticulously planned and executed by Ms. Lee.”

“I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, to look at the evidence. To listen to the testimonies. To remember the faces of these victims. This was not a series of accidents. This was murder. And the defendant must be held accountable.”

As the prosecution’s final words lingered in the air, tension gripped the courtroom. All eyes shifted to Jongho as he rose to present the next crucial piece of evidence. He stood before the court, his expression calm yet resolute, and began playing the audio recording, allowing everyone to listen closely as the exchange between Wooyoung and San unfolded.

"San, I think something’s wrong. Y/N is—"

The jury listened intently, leaning in as they hear Wooyoung’s concerned voice, only for it to be interrupted by your frantic shouting. 

"Let go of me, Wooyoung! Don’t touch me, I don’t know where I am!"

The recording continued with the faint sound of a struggle. Then, the unmistakable and chilling noise of the knife meeting flesh. Wooyoung’s shocked, labored gasp echoed like a whisper of death. The phone clattered to the floor with a muted thud.

As the recording ended, silence swallowed the room. The courtroom seemed frozen in that moment of tragedy, suspended between disbelief and horror. Jongho allowed the gravity of the evidence to sink in. After a moment, he took a measured breath and stepped forward, his face somber as he addressed the jury. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "what you just heard was a man trying to help a friend. Mr. Jung Wooyoung, a close friend of the defendant and her husband, recognized something was wrong. He wasn’t a threat. He didn’t raise a hand in violence. He was trying to help."

"But Ms. Lee didn’t recognize Mr. Jung at that moment. She wasn’t in her right mind. The recording clearly shows that she was disoriented, frightened, and acting out of what she perceived as self-defense. ‘I don’t know where I am,’ she said. A statement that gives us crucial insight into her state of mind."

He paused, letting the weight of his words linger before speaking again. "This is not the behavior of a calculated killer. This is someone who was mentally unwell, someone struggling with the reality around them. And that is why we must understand this case for what it truly is: a tragedy brought on by untreated trauma and mental illness."

"No one is denying the pain this incident has caused,” Jongho’s voice softened as he motioned to the jury. “But we must consider the true state of mind that led to this tragic event. Ms. Lee is not a cold-blooded murderer. She is a victim of a condition she didn’t choose, a condition that robbed her of her ability to understand what was happening in that moment."

As the trial resumed after a brief recess, the atmosphere in the courtroom felt heavier, as the court proceeded to the cross-examination. Jongho stood up smoothly, striding toward the witness stand where Dr. Kim Hongjoong, a seasoned psychiatrist, was seated. 

“Dr. Kim,” Jongho began, his voice calm but commanding, “you’ve been treating the defendant, Ms. Lee, for how long now?”

Hongjoong sat upright, his hands folded in his lap. “Approximately six months,” he answered, his tone measured and professional.

Jongho nodded, pacing slightly as he glanced at the jury. “And in those six months, you’ve had the opportunity to evaluate her mental state thoroughly, correct?”

“Yes. I’ve conducted multiple sessions with Ms. Lee, as well as comprehensive psychological evaluations.”

“Let’s talk about those evaluations,” Jongho said, his eyes sharp as he approached the heart of his cross-examination. “In your professional opinion, what was Ms. Lee’s mental state at the time of the alleged crimes?”

Dr. Kim took a deep breath before answering. “Ms. Lee was suffering from severe psychosis, compounded by years of untreated trauma and post-traumatic stress disorder. She was not in full control of her actions. Her ability to distinguish between reality and hallucinations had been severely impaired.”

“So, are you saying that during the time in question, Ms. Lee would not have been able to fully comprehend the consequences of her actions?”

“Yes. Ms. Lee was experiencing delusions and episodes of dissociation. In my professional opinion, she was in a state of psychosis when the alleged incidents occurred.”

Jongho paused, allowing the weight of Dr. Kim’s testimony to sink in. “Doctor, could you tell the court about any specific episodes Ms. Lee experienced that support your diagnosis?”

“Ms. Lee described recurring visions, fragmented memories of violence, and a deep-seated paranoia that others were out to harm her,” Dr. Kim explained, his voice steady but somber. “In her mind, she wasn’t acting out of malice or cruelty, but out of a distorted sense of survival,” Dr. Kim explained, his voice steady but somber.

Jongho stepped back, giving the jury a moment to digest this before delivering his final question. “In your professional opinion, Doctor, had Ms. Lee received the appropriate mental health care before these tragic events occurred, could this situation have been prevented?”

Dr. Kim’s expression softened, and he nodded gravely. “Yes. If Ms. Lee had received immediate psychiatric intervention and proper treatment, it is likely that these tragic events could have been avoided.”

“Nothing further.”

The silence that followed was palpable. Jongho returned to his seat, leaving the jury with the image of a woman failed by the system, a woman whose suffering had been ignored until it was too late.

⋆

“Your Honor,” Prosecutor Ahn began, her voice crisp and authoritative, “the prosecution calls Choi San to the stand.”

A murmur rippled through the courtroom as San stood up. He walked with a calm demeanor, but there was something unreadable in his expression. His eyes flickered briefly toward you as he made his way to the stand, but he said nothing, his jaw clenched as if holding back the weight of everything left unsaid between you.

"Mr. Choi," Ahn began, "you were married to the defendant, Ms. Lee Y/N, correct?"

San nodded slowly, his voice firm when he spoke. "Yes, we were married."

Ahn clasped her hands behind her back, her gaze unwavering. "And during the time of your marriage, did you notice any unusual behavior from Ms. Lee? Anything that might indicate she was…unwell?"

San hesitated for a moment, his eyes drifting to you again before he spoke. “There were moments. She would have these... episodes, where she would act out of character. She would get confused, paranoid.”

Prosecutor Ahn stepped closer, her voice soft but piercing. "Can you elaborate on these episodes?”

"I guess..." he hesitated, his voice quiet, "it started when we met my father’s business partner at a dinner," San’s voice faltered, the words catching in his throat. 

"He was the one who killed her family in that accident ten years ago."

He took a deep breath before continuing his testimony. "After that run in, she wouldn’t let it go," he continued, his hands trembling slightly as he spoke. 

"Y/N started tracking his every move. She started talking about an eye for an eye, and how the system failed her. That if she didn’t do something to take care of him, he’d take me away. And that he deserved to lose everything he loved.”

"I didn’t believe anything she was saying," San confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "I thought it was just her way of venting out her frustrations and the pain she felt from losing her family."

Ahn pressed forward, her voice dipping into a quieter, more somber tone. “Mr. Choi, do you believe your wife was capable of committing the murders she’s accused of?”

San hesitated. His gaze locked onto yours for what felt like an eternity before he answered, his voice rough but steady. “Yes. In the state she was in... I believe she could have done it.”

Prosecutor Ahn nodded and glanced at the jury, making sure their attention was firmly on the tragic narrative she was building. 

“Mr. Choi,” Ahn said, her voice quiet and deliberate, “do you believe Ms. Lee poses a danger to others?”

“Yes.”

"Thank you, Mr. Choi," Ahn said, before turning toward the defense table, offering the floor to Jongho. He stood up slowly, his expression unreadable as he prepared to dismantle the prosecution’s carefully crafted testimony. 

“Mr. Choi, what was your relationship to the victim, Jung Wooyoung?”

San blinked, his expression hardening, clearly not expecting the shift in focus. He squared his shoulders and answered, "He was a close friend of mine. We had known each other for years."

"Now," Jongho continued, his voice calm but cutting, "you testified earlier that your wife, Ms. Lee, had episodes where she experienced paranoia, confusion, and breaks from reality. These episodes, as you described them, made her unpredictable, correct?"

"Yes," San replied, his voice strained.

"During these episodes, did you ever witness Ms. Lee act violently toward Wooyoung? Was there any indication that she harbored ill will toward him?"

San hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "No."

“But you also testified that you believed your wife was capable of committing these crimes because of her mental state. When these 'episodes' occurred, did you ever seek medical intervention for her? Did you ever attempt to get her the help she needed?"

"I thought I could handle it. I thought...it would get better."

Jongho’s tone turned sharp again. "But it didn’t get better, did it? And instead of intervening, you allowed her mental state to deteriorate further, and divorced her?"

"Objection!" Prosecutor Ahn shot up from her seat. "Counsel is badgering the witness."

"Sustained," Judge Baek replied, her voice firm.

"I’ll rephrase, Your Honor."

Jongho turned back to San, his eyes locking onto him. "Mr. Choi, did you ever try to commit your wife to a psychiatric facility, or ensure she received treatment when it became clear she wasn’t capable of seeking it on her own?"

 "No... I didn’t."

“So at no point did you take any formal action to protect her or those around her. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client has been portrayed as a dangerous woman, out of control and violent. But the truth is, the people closest to her, who should have protected her, did nothing. They left her to spiral, and now, they seek to blame her for the results of their negligence."

Jongho’s voice rose in impassioned defense, but you barely heard him. It was all noise now. The trial, the evidence, the testimonies—they were irrelevant. His defense painted you as a victim—of trauma, of untreated mental illness, of circumstance. It was a masterful performance, really. He was doing everything he could to save you, using every legal trick in the book to cast doubt on the prosecution’s case.

But the truth? The truth didn’t matter to you.

None of what Jongho said applied to you. It never had. The psychological evaluation—full of words like unstable and delusional—had been nothing more than a tool. You needed it. The evaluation was a key piece of the puzzle, a carefully laid foundation in your plan to ensure your return to him.

Jeong Yunho.

He wasn’t just another doctor assigned to pick apart your mind after that brutal incident. You’d been sent to Cromer Asylum after the incident that left the faculty bewildered and your peers terrified. Everyone thought you were unhinged, unstable, dangerous—and maybe they weren’t wrong. But in the eerie, stuffy walls of the asylum, Yunho had been different.

It was Yunho’s kindness—those small, thoughtful gestures—that first made you feel something again. Like offering you tea during your sessions or slipping you an extra book from the library. But the gesture had been far from simple to you. It had been intimate. Thoughtful.

During sessions, never rushed you. Even when your words came out fragmented, your thoughts tangled in chaos, he listened, really listened, without judgment. There was a warmth to his presence that none of the others possessed, a patience that was unnerving in its sincerity.

You fell for him, deeply and irrevocably. The way he looked at you, the way his presence brought a sense of peace in the madness. He didn’t know it then, but you had seen it—the connection between you. You had felt it. He didn’t know it yet, but there was something between you. Something right. 

But when you were informed of your release from the asylum, you begged him. You begged him to stop it, to keep you there, to let you stay with him. You pleaded with him like a drowning person reaching for something—anything—to hold on to. 

You were supposed to be getting better. Supposed to be moving forward. But the thought of leaving him, of stepping into a world where he wasn’t there every week, listening to your deepest fears and watching you with those careful, thoughtful eyes—it was unbearable.

"Yunho!" you screamed, twisting against the weight of the officers escorting you out. Your mind was spinning, unable to process what was happening. You searched his face for something, anything, that would tell you this wasn’t real. That he was going to stop them, that he was going to save you. 

But all you found was silence.

"Yunho, help me!" you sobbed, your voice raw and pleading. You reached for him, but the officers were too strong, dragging you backward as you fought to break free. Your limbs flailed in desperation, but it was no use. 

Yunho stayed silent. His eyes met yours one last time, filled with sorrow, regret, and something else—something you couldn’t place, maybe pity. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words never came.

When you were finally discharged, you felt hollow. The outside world swallowed you whole, indifferent to your desperation. And Yunho? He moved on. His role in your life ended the moment you walked out of Cromer’s doors.

But you couldn’t forget. You’d always find your way back to him, one way or another. 

You weren’t quite the same person who had walked out of Cromer Asylum all those years ago—though, in truth, you had never really left that place behind. No matter how much you tried to suppress them, to move forward, they lingered, always just beneath the surface. And in the center of those memories, was Yunho. He was never far from your thoughts, even as you built a new life with San.

When you received the invitation to the dinner party hosted by Ji Myungsoo, your father-in-law’s business partner, you felt a chill run down your spine. The name alone was enough to make your skin crawl, but you couldn’t refuse the invitation. San insisted it was important to attend. The business connection with Ji Myungsoo was vital, and he wanted you by his side.

The man who had taken everything from you—the man responsible for your family's deaths—was not only thriving, but he was hosting you, offering you drinks, parading you around his opulent home like you were all part of the same privileged world. The rage bubbled just below the surface, but you forced yourself to smile, to nod politely, and to keep up the facade for San’s sake. Every moment felt like an eternity.

Halfway through dinner, as the conversation turned toward families and futures, Myungsoo casually mentioned his daughter.

“You’ll meet her soon. I hope you two will become fast friends,” he said with a proud smile. 

You nodded, forcing a polite smile, though your mind was elsewhere. The edges of the dinner party felt blurry, sounds muffled under the weight of your thoughts as you fought to reconcile with the fact that your family’s murderer was standing right before you. 

Your heart raced, trying to keep your composure, knowing this was just another chapter in a long, cruel joke the universe had decided to play on you. 

And then she appeared.

Soyi entered the room, but it wasn’t her entrance that made your blood run cold. No, it was the man beside her, the one she had looped her arm through.

Yunho.

You hadn’t seen him since the asylum, since the day they released you and tore you away from him. You thought you had buried those feelings, those memories, but seeing him now—so close yet so impossibly out of reach—made it all rush back with a force that left you breathless.

He hadn’t changed. The same calm, thoughtful presence radiated from him. And then, as if fate itself had conspired against you, his gaze drifted across the room and landed on you.

Seeing Yunho again had set everything into motion.

As you stood there, watching him laugh beside Ji Soyi, the daughter of the man who had ruined your life, you felt a bitter twist in your chest. Nothing would ever be the same again. 

That night, when you lay beside San in bed, your thoughts were plagued with Yunho. His face, his voice, the way he had looked at you all those years ago. You had felt that connection with him immediately, and it had never faded. It had only grown stronger, all consuming, until it had taken over everything. Even your life with San. Especially your life with San.

He had been everything you should have wanted—a loving husband who was gentle, kind, and devoted. San gave you comfort, security. For a while, you tried. You really did. 

But now, you were going to be reunited with Yunho, no matter the cost. San had been collateral damage—necessary, inevitable. You had always known that this life with him wouldn’t last. It wasn’t meant to.

Because your life, your future, had always been with Yunho.

⋆

Ji Soyi had been first. 

Beautiful, kind, so perfect for Yunho. She was an obstacle, a barrier standing between you and Yunho. It was her constant hovering around him that grated on you the most. The way her laugh would ring out just a little too loudly whenever he spoke, her hand lingering on his arm a second too long, as though she had some unspoken claim to him. She would bat her eyelashes and brush against him, whispering things in his ear when she thought no one was watching. 

But you were always watching.

And Yunho, ever so polite, didn’t see it. Or if he did, he played it off. He always played it off. You had seen it in his smile—the one he gave her, the one that was meant to be reserved for you.

Her death came swiftly, almost too easily. You played the long game, weaving your way into her life with care. Befriending her was almost laughably simple, as if your shared connection to San could bridge the gap between strangers. You used it to your advantage, knowing that her guard would drop. And it did.

“Stay the fuck away from him,” you hissed as you brought your hands around her neck. “You don’t know shit about him, you don’t deserve him.”

You had expected more from her, something resembling a fight, but when you knocked her out, it was over too quickly. She struggled, clawing and kicking at you as she tried to break free, the pulse beneath your grip beating frantically, begging for life, but you didn’t flinch. You watched the way the light left her eyes, how her breath came in sharp, erratic bursts, until it suddenly didn’t. 

“He’s mine.”

It was quiet now, the room heavy with the absence of her breath. You lingered for a moment, taking it all in, before you stood up. You had done what needed to be done.

Upon hearing of his daughter’s death, Ji Myungsoo was consumed by grief. He had no idea that his own tragedy was about to begin.

The day had unfolded like any other, ordinary and unremarkable. But for you, it was anything but. Soyi’s death had been the first step—necessary to clear the path to Yunho. Now, with her out of the way, it was time to exact your revenge on the man who had destroyed your world. Ji Myungsoo. 

His death would not be quick or merciful. No, it would be a meticulous masterpiece of suffering, each moment designed to make him feel every ounce of the rage that had been festering inside you for years.

You invited him over for tea, expressing your condolences, telling him that San would be running late. There was no hesitation in his acceptance; why would there be? You were, after all, mourning Soyi’s loss alongside him. And as always, Myungsoo’s arrogance blinded him. He saw only the fragile, heartbroken woman before him—not the calculating mind that had orchestrated everything.

“You were right when you said that she and I would become fast friends,” you said, your voice calm as you poured him a cup of tea. The poison swirled invisibly in his drink, a silent killer that would take its time.

He sipped, oblivious. The poison worked slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. A slight discomfort twisted across his face, but he pushed it aside with a casual shrug. Perhaps he thought it was nothing—just stress or a mild irritation. 

But as the minutes passed, the real symptoms began to set in.

You noticed the first signs before he did: the subtle clenching of his jaw, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow. His hand reached for his stomach as nausea began to creep in, followed by a burning sensation that you knew must be coursing through his veins by now. He looked at you, confusion clouding his eyes.

“Are you alright?” you asked, feigning concern as he grew more uncomfortable in his seat. He forced a smile, but panic had already set in.

He attempted to stand, but his legs buckled beneath him, sending him crashing to the floor. His breath came in shallow gasps as his body convulsed, the poison coursing relentlessly through his veins.

The moment he realized he was going to die, his eyes locked onto yours, wide with fear. He tried to speak, but the words came out garbled, a pathetic attempt at pleading for his life.

But you weren’t done yet.

Dragging his half-limp body to your car had been easy enough, though the drive to the warehouse felt almost surreal. This was what you had waited for, planned for, every detail meticulously crafted for this moment.

You stared down at him, tied to the chair, his skin already pale from the poison. His eyes flickered open, unfocused, as you stepped closer. His breathing was ragged, each gasp a fight, and you savored the sight of his vulnerability.

"Do you remember where you were ten years ago?" Your words were venomous as you slapped him across the face with the hospital report—the one from the accident, the one you kept as a reminder of that night. The slap echoed in the empty room, but his head just to the side, too weak to hold itself up.

"It was rhetorical, don't answer that," you snapped, tossing the papers aside.

You began with his hands, driving the blade of your knife into the back of his hand, dragging it down each of his fingers as his screams echoed off the cold walls. 

“You took everything from me,” you whispered, the words calm but seething with fury as you tossed aside the knife and picked up an iron stake. The glow from the metal illuminated the look of realization that dawned on Myungsoo’s face. But it was too late for it. The stake hissed as it seared into his skin, his body convulsing uncontrollably, and you pressed down harder, savoring the way his flesh bubbled and blackened under the heat.

His words were a garbled mess, his once-commanding voice reduced to pitiful moans. You didn’t care. You weren’t looking for his answers—just his suffering. He begged for mercy, of course. They always do in the end. But you weren’t in the business of mercy. Not for him. Not for the man who had destroyed everything.

“Did you think I would just forget?” Your voice was soft, almost caring, but the malice beneath it was unmistakable. His eyes rolled back, his chest heaving, but all that came out were pitiful whimpers.

You took a step back, circling him like a predator. “Your family…” You spat, your disgust palpable. "All of you, filthy, corrupt pieces of shit." The iron stake gleamed in your hand as you lifted it, bringing it down with brutal force.

The first stab was almost surgical, controlled, as you sunk the metal deep into his shoulder. His scream was ear-shattering, but you barely registered it over the roar of blood in your ears.

“You destroyed my family!” Another stab, this time to his chest, your hand trembling not from fear but from the rage that had built up for years. "You took Yunho from me! Took everything!" 

Your voice cracked as you drove the stake in again, punctuating every word with a strike. His body jerked with each stab, his life force dwindling with every ounce of blood spilled, but still, it wasn’t enough. Not for what he had done.

"You ruined my life!" you screamed, your throat raw from the force of it, but there was no stopping now. Not until the last shred of his miserable life had been bled out.

Ji Myungsoo had taken everything from you. But in the end, you had taken everything from him, too.

“Y/N?” 

“Oh shit,” you muttered under your breath, heart raced as you turned to see Wooyoung standing in the doorway of the warehouse. Of all the people to walk in, it had to be him. San’s best friend, the real estate agent who had been helping you scout this very warehouse, now stood frozen, eyes darting between you and the bloodied mess that was Ji Myungsoo. 

His face shifted from confusion to dawning suspicion, taking in the scene with wide eyes—the discarded iron stake, Myungsoo's lifeless form slumped in the chair, and you, soaked in sweat and smeared in blood. Wooyoung wasn't meant to be part of this. You hadn't planned for his death—not here, not now. But fate had a way of forcing your hand, and as you stood there, you knew there was no turning back.

"What’s going on?" he asked, his voice low, cautious.

"Wooyoung," you began, your voice steady, even as panic clawed at your insides. You tried to keep calm, but his eyes betrayed his growing doubt. He knew something was off.

"I-I don’t know what happened. I blacked out and found myself here," you cried, your voice shaking just enough to sell the lie. The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, and you watched as his brow furrowed in concern, his guard lowering slightly.

"Blacked out?" he echoed, glancing around the dimly lit warehouse. "What do you mean?"

"I swear, Wooyoung, I don’t remember! One moment I was home, and then... everything went dark." You let your voice tremble, tears welling in your eyes as you faked a sniffle. "I never wanted any of this! You have to believe me!"

Wooyoung hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his face. His eyes softened, his loyalty to San overriding his doubt. "Okay," he said, his tone gentler now. "We’ll figure this out. I’ll call San, he’ll know what to do."

You followed him outside, feigning hysteria as he led you toward his car. He fumbled with his phone, his hands shaking as he dialed San’s number. He was trying to stay calm, trying to protect you, but he had no idea what was coming.

"I’ll drive you home," he said, opening the passenger door for you. You slipped inside, wiping fake tears from your cheeks, watching him get into the driver's seat beside you.

As Wooyoung lifted the phone to his ear, you reached for the knife tucked into the waistband of your pants. Your breath hitched, not out of guilt but out of anticipation. 

"San, I think something’s wrong. Y/N is—"

"Let go of me, Wooyoung! Don’t touch me, I don’t know where I am!"

Wooyoung’s eyes went wide, not in pain, but in shock as the blade of the knife came in contact with his throat. Blood trickled down as the phone slipped from his hand, falling to the floor with a soft thud.

"Wooyoung? Wooyoung?" San's frantic voice crackled from the phone.

You sat there for a moment, your chest heaving as you stared at Wooyoung's lifeless body slumped against the driver's seat. Unlike with Ji Myungsoo or his daughter, there was no satisfaction in this kill. No personal vendetta.

Wooyoung’s death wasn’t about revenge—it was about necessity. You needed chaos. You needed San to break, to crumble under the weight of grief and guilt. Wooyoung’s murder was the key, the catalyst that would force San’s hand.

Everything was falling into place. Wooyoung’s death had served its purpose, just as you had intended.

Wooyoung’s arrival wasn’t a mistake–it was destiny. The piece you hadn't accounted for but hoped fate would deliver. His blood on your blade, the chaotic scene at the warehouse—it was all necessary. For the world to collapse, to fold back on itself, to bring you back to that asylum. 

Back to Yunho.

But the jury wouldn’t see it that way. They would see only the surface: a cold-blooded killer, a twisted mind, someone trying to claim insanity and self-defense for the bloodshed. And that was the point.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began, his voice firm yet measured, “we’ve spent the past few days unraveling a complex and tragic series of events. You’ve heard the prosecution’s version of events,” Jongho continued, his voice low, almost intimate. 

“A calculated killer. A deranged individual who took lives without remorse. But this case—this trial—is about more than cold facts. It’s about understanding the human mind, the trauma that shapes it, and how one can be driven to unspeakable actions when their grip on reality slips away.”

He took a step forward, his eyes softening as he spoke, appealing not to their logic but to their empathy.

“When you look at the evidence, at the bloody scene, you see only the aftermath. But I ask you to dig deeper. To see Ms. Lee as a victim, not just of circumstance but of her own fractured psyche.”

“To convict Lee Y/N of murder, to ignore the clear signs of mental illness, would be to deny them the help they so desperately need. It would be to condemn them to a system that doesn’t heal but punishes.”

He walked slowly toward the jury box, lowering his voice once more.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t about vengeance. This is about justice. True justice. The kind that doesn’t close its eyes to the complexities of the human mind. Y/N is not a monster. She is a victim of circumstances and trauma she couldn’t control. For that reason, I plead with you—find Ms. Lee is not guilty by reason of insanity. Don’t let this tragedy end with another one.”

The courtroom fell into a suffocating silence as the jury left to deliberate. It was as if the room itself had been holding its breath, waiting for the judgment that would either seal your fate or offer a sliver of mercy. Every sound—the shuffle of papers, the creak of chairs—seemed amplified, yet muffled by the overwhelming tension. 

You were so close to Yunho. His face lingered in your thoughts, hazy and distant, but still the anchor that kept you grounded. You had tried so hard to return to him, to undo the chaos, to find the way back to the asylum where it had all begun. All of this—every desperate choice, every life you’d taken—had been to right the wrongs, to set the world on a course that could lead you back to him. Back to the only place where you’d felt whole. 

Would the jury see beyond the blood and violence? Would they understand that your actions, twisted as they were, had been born from a mind in torment? Or would they condemn you, as the prosecutor had urged, to live out the rest of your days in darkness, with no hope of return?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the heavy wooden door creaked open. The jury filed in, their expressions unreadable, faces drawn and pale as if the weight of the decision had drained them of life. 

The world around you blurred and you barely registered the judge’s voice asking for the verdict. Your pulse quickened, each beat pounding in your ears, drowning out all other sound. Every nerve in your body tensed, bracing for the moment when your future—everything you had done, everything you had been—would be reduced to a single sentence.

“In the case of Y/N, we the jury find the defendant…not guilty by reason of insanity.”

For a moment, the world had stopped to process the verdict. And then, chaos erupted. The courtroom exploded into a cacophony of shocked gasps, outraged shouts, and the frenzied hum of disbelief. Reporters scrambled to capture the scene, their cameras flashing like bursts of lightning, while murmurs of shock rippled through the gallery.

You barely registered the noise, the protests, the frantic movement around you. The words not guilty resonated within you, surreal and distant, as if they had been spoken for someone else. But they hadn’t. They were yours. You had been spared. 

You had won.

A strange giddiness bubbled up inside you, an almost glee that coursed through your veins. Your limbs felt light, your pulse quickening with the intoxicating rush of relief and triumph. You could hardly believe it. You had done it. You were going back. Back to where it all began. Back to the asylum. 

Back to Yunho.

It didn’t matter what they thought—what they saw in you. They would never understand. They couldn’t see what you saw. This wasn’t about guilt or innocence. This was about destiny. And destiny had delivered exactly what you needed.

As you were led out of the defendant’s seat, the press rushed toward you, their voices clamoring for a piece of you, a glimpse into the madness they’d only seen from the outside. 

“How could you let this monster go free?” one reporter shouted, his words seething with disgust.

“This isn’t about freedom,” Jongho’s voice cut through the mayhem, firm and unyielding, though no one seemed to hear him. “This verdict means treatment, not freedom.”

But you heard. And it made your pulse race even faster. Treatment. The word tasted sweet on your tongue. They didn’t know it, but they were giving you exactly what you wanted. They were sending you back to Yunho, back to the place where everything had started to unravel and where, finally, you could set it all right.

A nervous, giddy laugh threatened to spill from your lips as security escorted you down the courthouse steps, flashes from cameras exploding like fireworks around you. You felt lightheaded, as if you were floating. The trial was over. They had given you exactly what you needed. You had won.

Soon, everything would be as it was meant to be.

As you descended the final steps, you caught Jongho’s eye. He gave you a curt nod, his expression unreadable. But you didn’t care. None of this was for him. This was for you and Yunho.

The asylum was waiting. He was waiting. And soon, you’d be together, just as fate had intended.

⋆

Yunho moved through the halls of the asylum, his footsteps steady, his mind focused on the quiet, predictable routine that had become his refuge. There was a strange comfort in the monotony—the steady rhythm of making his rounds, checking on patients, administering care where needed.

The asylum was a place where chaos was contained, where he could maintain control. And after everything that had happened, he needed that sense of order more than ever.

Since Soyi’s death, Yunho had distanced himself from the outside world, retreating into the sterile, unchanging walls of the asylum. Here, within the asylum, the order and routine soothed the jagged edges of his grief. He didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to feel. All he had to do was keep moving—one foot in front of the other—through days that blurred together in a haze of a routine. 

But today, there was something different in the air. An odd tension hummed beneath the surface, something Yunho couldn’t quite place. The staff seemed restless, exchanging glances as they passed, but no one said anything. He brushed it off, convincing himself it was just another day.

As he headed toward the lounge for a break, he suddenly froze. Whispers drifted through the air like spectres. His back was to the nurses, but their words hit him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Did you hear the verdict?” one of them whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“I can’t believe it,” the other replied, shaking her head. “After everything that’s happened, they’re sending her back here?”

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

Yunho’s heart began to race, his feet were fixed to the ground but his mind was spinning, grasping for a rational explanation. 

You couldn’t be coming back.

He slowly turned toward the nurses, the look on their faces told him all he needed to know. It wasn’t a rumor. It wasn’t a mistake.

You were being brought back to the asylum.

Yunho had tried to help you back then, hadn’t he? He had thought he could guide you through the darkness in your mind. He had thought you could be saved. But you had twisted everything—warped every moment, every act of kindness, until the lines between reality and fantasy blurred beyond recognition.

Yunho clenched his fists, recalling the strange things you used to say, the way you always looked at him with a strange intensity, as if there was something between you that had never been there. He had been your doctor, your guide through a fractured reality. But to you, that had never been enough.

In your mind, every small interaction, every professional courtesy had turned into something else. Something far more intimate, far more meaningful. He remembered the way you would smile at him after a session, lingering in the doorway longer than necessary, your eyes gleaming with an unsettling warmth.

The tea. You had held onto that memory like it was a shared moment of affection, but Yunho had only brought it to you so you could take your medication. He never lingered or stayed with you—it was just protocol. And the books—you believed he had slipped them to you as a secret gift, but in truth, you had stolen them from his office. While you imagined a private exchange, Yunho had been searching for those missing books, unaware of the narrative you had created in your mind.

Yunho had been oblivious at first, chalking up your behavior to the paranoia and delusions of your condition. But as the months had worn on, it became clear that you were building something dangerous. You began to speak as if he were yours, as if the two of you shared something secret and forbidden. And when he tried to correct you, to explain that none of it was real, you had lashed out.

He had been forced to distance himself, to reassign your care to someone else. He couldn’t risk letting you believe any longer. But even then, you hadn’t stopped. The stalking had started—notes left in his office, small gifts appearing on his desk, the feeling that you were always there, watching.

You had vanished without a trace after your release, and though there had been whispers, rumors—mostly mundane—no one seemed to know what had truly happened to you.

But when he saw you that night, at the dinner party, and that unsettling smile playing on your lips, something in him had recoiled. He’d tried to convince himself it wasn’t really you at first—maybe a shadow of his imagination, a trick of the light, the product of too many sleepless nights. But it was you.

Married to another man nonetheless. 

You hadn’t changed, not in any way that anyone else could notice, but to Yunho, there was something different. Something darker. The way you watched him—how your gaze never left him, even when you pretended to mingle with the other guests. 

At first, he tried to ignore it. To tell himself that he was imagining things, that the distance between you had made him overly paranoid. But the gnawing feeling never left. The unsettling gaze you cast his way lingered, even in his dreams.

And then the deaths came.

Soyi was first. Found in her own home, strangled to death. The image of her lifeless body flashed across his mind like a nightmare he couldn’t shake. She had nothing to do with any of this, yet her murder felt…deliberate. Calculated.

The police hadn’t found any leads. Yunho knew Soyi wasn’t a target, but a message. The first drop of blood in what would become a flood.

Then her father, only days later. The grief had barely settled over the funeral before another tragedy struck. He was found in a warehouse, unrecognizable as he was branded and mutilated to death. 

Wooyoung’s death didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit your pattern. Where Soyi and her father’s murders were deliberate—carefully tied to your twisted sense of fate—Wooyoung was different. He wasn’t part of the narrative you’d constructed around Yunho. He wasn’t a pawn in your obsession, nor did he pose any threat to your plans. And yet, there he was—dead.

Yunho tried to make sense of it. He wanted to believe it was all some horrible coincidence, that Wooyoung’s death wasn’t connected to you. Why would a married woman go on a killing spree, carefully orchestrating deaths that, at first glance, seemed unrelated?

But the more Yunho thought about it, the clearer the truth became. Wooyoung wasn’t just collateral damage in the fallout of your unraveling marriage. His death had been deliberate—another piece of your twisted puzzle. A final push.

Yunho’s stomach twisted as the realization sank in. Wooyoung’s death had been the last piece of the puzzle to get San to divorce you. The timing was too perfect. San had been distancing himself, pulling away the moment the killings began. But Wooyoung? His death was the breaking point—the one thing that pushed San over the edge.

Yunho couldn’t escape the truth now. Your silence, the way you had watched him before you disappeared, the cold calculation behind every move—it had all been leading to this. You wanted to sever every tie, burn every bridge.

And it worked.

Now, standing in the asylum, Yunho felt the dread he had long tried to suppress rose to the surface. You weren’t just a memory or a ghost lingering in the corners of his mind anymore. You were here—flesh and blood—inside the place where everything had begun to unravel. The line between reality and delusion had long since blurred.

He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as he approached his office. The hallway seemed longer, the air heavier, as though the very walls of the asylum were closing in around him. His hand trembled as he reached for the door handle, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing down the corridor. 

And there you were—sitting in the chair, waiting for him, your presence filling the room like a ghost that refused to be banished.

“Yunho,” you said softly, your voice carrying a strange intimacy that made his skin crawl. You rose from the chair, stepping toward him with a slow, deliberate grace, “I’m back.”

Your smile—small, almost innocent—didn’t reach your eyes. They gleamed with something Yunho couldn’t quite place, something darker, obsessive. His heart pounded, and for a split second, his instincts screamed at him to run, to leave, to escape. But he couldn’t move. His body was frozen, tethered by the force of your gaze, by the sheer gravity of your presence.

“Can you believe it? Fate finally brought us back together.”

Your words tightened around him like a noose, each one pulling tighter, cutting off his air. Together. That was what you believed, wasn’t it? That this was fate. That everything—the years of distance, the separation, the silence—had all been leading to this moment. This reunion.

You were smiling now, a slow, eerie smile that didn’t match the sharp edge in your tone. “Do you understand? All those years of waiting, of watching you live your life without me…it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.” Your voice trembled with emotion as your lips curled into something that might have been joy, if it hadn’t felt so disturbingly wrong. 

“You don’t have to be afraid,” you cooed softly, reaching out to brush your fingers along his arm, the touch light but charged with an undercurrent of possessiveness. 

“This is what was meant to be. We were always meant to be together, Yunho. Nothing can change that. Not time. Not distance. Not even death.”

The pit in Yunho’s stomach churned violently. He stared at you, the full horror of your words sinking in like poison. You had killed for this—for him. Because you truly believed that your twisted bond, your warped sense of destiny, justified everything.

You stepped even closer, your breath warm against his skin. 

“Just like it was always meant to be.”

[bigtreefest]

Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration!!

I can’t believe it, but I’ve hit 300 followers! Thank you so much for everyone who has helped me get here and all the encouragement and love you’ve shown me. You have no idea how much it means💗 *please excuse the terrible graphic that I made on my lunch break. I tried, I swear. 🥳🥳🥳🥳🤷🏻‍♀️

For the occasion, I’m hosting a writing event! I’d love for you, yes you! to join in the celebration!! I know what you’re thinking: ‘well Essie, how do I do that?’ Let me tell you!!

Gather up all the sweet, summer vibes you can muster, along with one or multiple of the prompts listed below, and write a fic! Prompts and rules below!

Prompts:

*feel free to adjust them accordingly to work better in your fic

- pick your favorite summer song and use it to inspire your fic (optional, and very much not necessary, but encouraged. I love the songs of summer)

Scenarios:

- a character gets a sunburn

- someone lost their bathing suit in the ocean/pool

- a popsicle dripping down someone’s skin

- sand. Sand everywhere.

- beach games got a little too rough

- reading and someone gets the book wet

- putting a flower behind their ear

- babe is a surfer

- watching a sunrise/sunset together

- a long drive together

- putting sunscreen on one another

- rain spoils your summer outdoor plans

- bonfire

- catching fireflies

Quotes:

- “it hurts when I _____” “then stop doing that”

- “I wore this purposely because I thought the tan line would drive you crazy.”

- “what do you mean you didn’t pack snacks?”

- “here, you can share with me”

- “aw man, that was the last one”

- “I’ve got something else you can lick”

- “ew, gross. That’s not what I thought would happen today”

- “who thought a place with mosquitoes was a good idea?”

- “yeah. I know” “I didn’t mean I was hot in that way”

- “you know that one’s my favorite”

- “we’re not supposed to be in here” / “not here”

- “why’s it…sticky?”

Kinks:

- praise

- size

- daddy

- equal partnership? That’s my kink.

- breeding

- oooo! hand

- public sex/trying not to get caught

- overstimulation

Tropes:

- friends to lovers

- enemies to lovers

- hurt/comfort

- last summer together before going separate ways🥺

- vacation fling cut short by having to go home

Environments:

- beach

- pool

- lake house

- ice cream shop/stand

- inside in the ac

- a bar

- resort/hotel

- out on the water/ in a boat

Rules/How to Play:

- Character/love interest must be a CE babe/Bucky (no other Seb babes, however you may be able to make a case for boedecker or destroyer Chris)

- No deeply dark themes, including noncon, murder and death, toilet stuff, incest, or anything you think would be too intense for my poor heart. Dubcon, stepcest, and soft!dark are allowable if you just keep it light and find it necessary, but use your discretion please

- Posts should be at least 300 words, with no upper limit! Please us a ‘read more’ past 150

- fics should be stand-alone. If they are part of a series, they should be able to be read alone.

- tag me @bigtreefest and put the tags #essie’s summer lovin’ 300 follower celebration #summer lovin’ celebration and #essie’s 300 follower special so I can reblog you and add your fic to the Masterlist!!

- be inclusive and considerate!!

- make/write as many posts as you’d like!

- this will run from Sunday, July 13 to Wednesday, July 31, 2024. Late entries will be accepted through the end of summer.

- happy writing and thank you for celebrating with me!!

Tagging those who interacted with my post gauging interest, but all are welcome to join!!

@stargazingfangirl18 @krirebr @ronearoundblindly @witchywithwhiskey @thezombieprostitute @darsynia @jesevans @navybrat817 @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @universitypenguin @gone-to-fight-the-fairies @delicatebarness @biteofcherry @dreamtinblackandwhite @levans44

[winniethewife]

Thank you for the headcanons winnie😭❤️

You just give the best and most accurate headcanons ever!

Congratulations on the 300 followers, btw😍 You deserve more!

For the second request, I wanna throw off the boys😌

I mean what's the point of requesting if there won't be anything smutty right?!

So, gimme gimme *grabby hands* the headcanons about how our moon boys would react when they are mad and the reader gets turned on by that😃

*looks at the camera breaking the 4th wall* Y'all...Lets do this. Give Mani what she wants.

Pissed/Cross/Enojado

Moon-Knight Smut head canons (Female reader)

Warnings: Smut under the cut, Angry sex, phone sex, degradation, mild violence, general toxicity,

Marc

Marc was pissed off. He had just had a pointless fight over the phone with some guy about something. You weren't paying attention to details.

you were a little more focused on the tingling between your legs

Marc doesn't get mad very often, if ever. So you had no idea what his angry raised voice would do to you.

When he comes into the room he continues to rant and rave, trying to release some of the built up tension That's when he notices your squirming

"Baby are you...are you turned on right now?"

After you hesitantly tell him that yes you are turned on by his behavior, he's taken a back. He doesn't really know how to respond.

It isn't until the next time he's pissed off at something that it comes into play.

You heard him growl intensely as he walked through the door and before you can even ask what's wrong, your back is against the wall and his lips are on yours. His hands grabbing you like you're the answer to all his problems

There's nothing that's going to stop him from taking what he needs

Your pants torn off, his weeping cock at your entrance, as he bites at your neck.

"God...Fuck...Need this...Need you"

Steven

Steven Hardly ever gets Cross. Unless its about work, and Donna.

He was going on and on over the phone to you about how much he was done with Donna and all the shite he had to do as a giftshopist.

you couldn't help but enjoy his irate rambling. a little too much even.

your hand drifting down your body as you listen to his voice, coating your fingers in your slick as you rub your fingers between your damp folds

"And I told her that she should shove it where the light don't shine, or at least I wanted to but...Love? are you alright? it sounds like your whimpering?"

you stop in you tracks and try to figure out how to answer his question. you decide honesty is the best policy and tell him that your touching yourself.

You can hear his breath hitch. he couldn't help it the thought of your fingers inside of you.

"I can be at yours in half an hour. Don't move"

the phone line clicks. and you follow his orders. When he comes rushing in the door you can see the outline of his cock in his pants as he looks at you desperately.

"So...you need me that badly love? well. Let me help with that."

Jake

Jake, knew he had fucked up the second he had thrown that plate. but he was so angry.

as the plate had whizzed past your head you knew you should have been scared, but instead you found your cunt clenching around nothing and your mouth going dry.

"Dios mío, Sstás bien? I'm so sorry, I don't know...what came over me." Oh, my God, are you okay?

He rushes to hold you and be sure you are alright but wasn't expecting this reaction, the way you melted in his arms, the soft moan that escaped your lips as his hands touched your hips. at first he gets more mad, you are turned on by this? of all things?

His grip tightens on you and the way he huffs in anger before quickly bending you over the nearby counter. yanking down your pants as he starts to mutter curses under his breath.

"Putita, just want to be fucked is that it? you like this? You like me like this? well lets see how you feel after this. eh?"

he pushes two fingers into you with frustration, not caring that your not wet enough, not caring as you cry out from the stretch of your walls.

you cry out, the feeling is so good, but almost too much. As he finger fucks you he lets out all his anger on your poor little pussy. bringing you to your climax again and again and again.

"Te gusta cuando estoy enojado? Te mostraré enojado!" Do you like it when I'm angry? I'll show you angry!

~

300 follower celebration

Masterlist

[buttercupcd]

I should have drawn this a long time ago

I just imagine Wingdings sitting in a luxurious robe, in his terribly dirty room

according to the original idea he was supposed to be in this robe

While I was drawing it, my friend and I were joking that Wingdings was so red that he had a rash

:●P

[surrtasm]

Guess who won!! It was actual neck and neck between the two girls but now i get to go lore mode for Z-23 and Y-230

ALSOOOOO THANK U GUYS FOR 300 FOLLOWERS!! X3 OMFGGGG! I LUV U GUYSSSS SM <33 i never thought my art was good enough for that many people to wanna follow this blog :'D

As much as school makes me wanna fucking stab myself with a chair leg, it gives me motivation to draw

[fuzzyoctoplushie]

Okay I’m a bit late due to school making my brain get triple deep fried but I checked my follower count and

WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE’RE AT 300? THREE-FREAKING-HUNDRED FOLLOWERS?!

Have some special edits to look at as a thank you

But genuinely what- I’m so grateful for you all…. THANK YOU AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Shoutout to my mutuals (and some others) btw:

@marie-cuttlefish

@korokoithegay

@octopanko

@octowheat

@jevajoy

@violethursday

@inkfriskmama

@sallystrings

@scrunkly-cherry

@coreybyte

@the-pillbug

@sunlightsilence

@justasillywoomy

@satellites-halo

@sanguine-squid

@queer-starz

@rectangular-astronaut

@fandomgoesahhhhhhhhh

@splatoon-edits (tysm for the cutouts)

And the rest of you guys! (Don’t mind me adding more people through edits)

300 PLUSHIES AND FRESHLINGS!!! WE GOT A WHOLE PARTY OF US!!! that’s what a group of Plushies and Freshlings is called now- a party…

Unless you guys wanna come up with a name! What should a group of Plushies and Freshlings be called? Yall are the coolest goobers on the platform, so you deserve to come up with a name for your group overall

So you guys can send in asks or reblog this with your suggestions! And I’ll select a group to be put on a poll for the big decision!

[shiorimakibawrites]

Huge congrats on 300+ followers!!! 

Here's my Ask for the -

Warm and Fuzzy Feelings - prompt for fluff!

Well, I know that you enjoy baking and have posted some tasty recipes in the past, so my Ask is for a fluffy little fic where Reader is in the middle of baking and Matt asks to help or just suddenly joins in! :P  What Reader is baking I will leave totally up to you! :P

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Matt being cute and hot, referenced sexual activity, playful teasing Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza

Cookies

You were reaching the cookie dough in the fridge where it had been chilling when you felt a playful slap to your ass.

“Matthew!” you protested, laughing as you turned to look at him. You really needed to get that bell for him. You hadn’t even heard him come in from work. Even though he had already shed his suit jacket and dark glasses.

“Hi sweetheart,” he said, grinning at you. “Cookies?”

“Yes,” you said. “For the cookie exchange.”

“All of them?”

You had to suppress giggles at how disappointed he looked. “No, silly. I only need four dozen cookies for it. The leftovers are all ours. And I’ll get at least a dozen from the others in the exchange.”

He made a thoughtful hum. You watched as he inhaled deeply, his tongue peeping out from his lips. “Oatmeal Raisin, Gingerbread, Pumpkin, and Oatmeal Apple.”

“Good guess,” you said, teasing him a little. You knew he wasn’t guessing.

He laughed. “I smell dried cherries. Did you make some more trail mix?”

Once again, you had to suppress giggles. He was so excited. Matt was obsessed with the unique blend of trail mix that you made for him.

“Trail mix cookies,” you corrected.

“For the cookie exchange?”

This time you couldn’t stop the giggles. He was pouting like a toddler at the thought of having to share any of his precious trail mix, even in cookie form, with your coworkers. “No, silly. These are just for us.”

“Can I help?”

You hesitated. Matt was a good cook but he usually left the baking to you. And the few times he had attempted to bake . . . well, the results had been tasty. Even if the kitchen had been left a disaster. And sometimes it took him three or four attempts to get that tasty result.

“Sweetheart, I can tell you’ve been on your feet for hours,” he said. “Let me take over and take a break.”

It was tempting. Your feet were rather sore. And all he had to do was scoop the cookies on the baking sheet and bake them.

“You’ve been at work all day,” you pointed out.

“It was an easy day,” he said, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I think I can handle some cookies.”

Seeing his forearms with all its muscle and dark hair emerge was rather distracting. Especially since it automatically drew your eyes up his arms to those thick biceps and broad shoulders, how his shirt strained to contain them. Matt noticed your attention because he always did.

“Penny for your thoughts, sweetheart?” he asked, a sly grin spread across his face.

You shook your head. “Nope, not telling. We have cookies to bake.”

This did nothing to dispel that grin. “You’re right. Cookies first, eating you out second.”

“Matthew!” you exclaimed, feeling your cheeks flush with heat. Among other places. He knew that too. You could see it in that smug, cocky grin on his face, that familiar hunger building in his eyes.

[fluffy-ami]

(sorry aldjks it's for my wifey Riv, the ask was just long and people won't see the art itself, so I'm posting it separately 🐸✨)

(Milestone ☁️ Top 5 Favourite Fandoms + Recently added)

[formelydailynowweeklykillersans]

Day thirty-one: Thank you !!!

Yay I did it, a whole month of just Killer sans (and other occasionally) !! Now the plan was to just do that but I'm having a lot of fun running this secondary account. The only problem is that it's getting the favourite child treatment and my main account is neglected. Plus it's getting harder, as you could see, to really draw something everydays.

SO I will continue this blog but rebrand it for "weekly Killer sans" instead !! Like I mentioned in a previous ask !! So the drawings would be weekly but there would still be the asks during the said week. This way I have time for other projects I wanted to work on (which I hope you'll see it soon but procrastination and artblock are bitches)

For the other little announcement, I wanted to thank you all for the engagement you gave to this blog. The comments, reblogs and asks were very appreciated. Like, holy shit you're 300 following this silly blog Thank you so much !!!

For the occasion I thought about making a dtiys, lemme know if you'd like to participate :)

Killer sans belongs to Rahafwabas

[lavender-tea-dragon]

Yipee!!! :D We reached 300 Followers!! Thank you so so much for your love and support!! <3 To celebrate, I'll be hosting an art raffle!!

The third place winner will get a full color chibi or a full color icon!

The second place winner will get a full color halfbod!

And first place winner will get a full color fullbod with a simple background!!

Winners will be announced on December 1st!

To enter, you must:

-Be subscribed to this blog!

-Comment down below or in the reblog tags that you're entering, as well as your favorite kind of tea or flower!

Good luck to everyone, and once again, a HUUUGEEEE thank you for your support!! <3

[cr1zz0]

Tnx for 300 followers!!

[tkwrites]

An Infinite Kind of Love - A 300 follower celebration fic - Matthew Tkachuk x ofc

Photo from Pinterest

Title: An Infinite Kind of Love

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Pre-established: Matthew Tkachuk x Sophie (ofc)

Warnings: Other than mentions of a not great biological father, it’s all fluff. 

Summary: Matthew and Sophie get married! 

Word count: 3,800

Comments: I hit 300 followers way back on July 12 and set up this poll to determine the fic I would write in celebration. We’d just passed the 4th of July, and I had a very specific idea for Matthew and Sophies wedding because of it. 

This fic has actually been finished for about 3 weeks, but I was worried people would be upset if I posted it before the latest Quinn and Sarah Snapshot went up. So, here it is. 

I hope you enjoy seeing Matthew and Sophie get married! If you did, please consider commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. I love hearing your thoughts about my writing!

Also we're just going to pretend the suit in this photo is navy because I couldn't find a photo of Matthew in a navy suit other than last years NHL Awards suit, which is not a suit for a wedding.

An Infinite Kind of Love

A Matthew and Sophie Fic

“Can someone get Matthew?” Sophie asked. 

“Of course.” Taryn darted out to run across the courtyard. 

When she got back to the suite, Matthew was running in after her. 

Gwen was naked to the waist and yelped. 

He slapped a hand over his eyes. “Sorry! Sorry! Soph?”

She rushed to him, pulling him out onto the balcony. “It's safe,” she said, nudging his hand down. 

The late afternoon sun turned her into nothing more than a silhouette. He had to blink a few times before she came into focus. She'd changed from the short ivory colored dress she'd worn to brunch into a set of loose satin pajamas. Her hair was in rollers, and even with brows that looked too heavy without the rest of her makeup done, she still looked beautiful. 

“What's wrong?” he asked, his hands automatically going to her arms, rubbing up and down. He didn't think it would actually happen, but thoughts of her calling off the wedding had still weaseled their way into the back of his mind when Taryn raced into the groom's room telling him Sophie wanted to see him. 

“Nothings wrong,” she said, looking into his face. Despite only wearing a t-shirt and shorts, he looked fresh faced, and handsome. He and the boys had gone to the barber shop after brunch, and they'd done his hair so his curls were perfectly set and defined. It took all her willpower to not run her fingers through them. They’d also given him a straight edge shave, and she could tell how soft his cheeks would be without even touching them. 

She preferred a bit of scruff on him, but he'd insisted he'd rather be clean shaven, saying he didn't want to look like a Muppet on their wedding day.

“Plus,” he'd said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “don't want to give you any beard burn,” before rubbing her cheek with his stubbled jaw.

She’d laughed and told him she didn’t mind. 

“What's up?” he asked now, looking relieved. 

“I just wanted to see you,” she said, stepping into him and wrapping her arms around his chest. 

As his arms enclosed around her, she felt his chuckle at the same time she heard it. 

“I missed you, too,” he said. With the rollers, he couldn’t tuck his face into her hair the way he liked to. He settled for resting his lips on her forehead. 

“For being our wedding day, we don't see very much of each other,” she said.

While they’d had a brunch with many of their wedding guests before coming to the ceremony venue to get ready, they’d slept apart the night before and spent much of the morning away from each other. Then, they were supposed to be apart until the first look and the ceremony. It felt incongruous. This was a celebration of their union. Shouldn't they be together?  

“I know. It's bullshit,” he whispered. 

“What aftershave did they use?” she asked. He smelled fresh like cut grass and mountain air. 

“I'm not sure. I picked it because I thought you'd like it.”

The simpleness of the act and of his thoughtfulness made her a little weak in the knees. “It smells really nice.”

Matthew closed his eyes, drinking in the feel of her body pressed to his, her breath on his neck and her nose in the soft spot under his jaw. Knowing that he'd picked right made pride swell in his chest.

“I'll ask them and get some,” he said. 

Pulling back, she leaned up to kiss him. 

It wasn't anything extravagant. It wasn't a kiss that made him break into a hot sweat or one that brought him to his knees. It was loving and soft. There was tongue, because with Sophie, there was always a little tongue. 

They kissed a few more times before she pulled away to find a look of adoration on his handsome face as he smiled down at her. 

Caught in the moment, they stayed that way for a few beats longer, just staring at each other until someone cleared their throat.

In the back of her mind, Sophie knew they were all in the room, but it was still a bit shocking when they looked over to find all her bridesmaids, both of their moms and the wedding photographer all gathered around the balcony door. 

“You guys are so cute,” Gwen gushed. 

There wasn't much about their wedding that was traditional. Instead of the usual noon, 2 or 5 o'clock ceremonies, their ceremony was set to begin at 8:30 so it would be dark enough by the time they kissed. They served a cocktail hour with food before the ceremony, at which the bridal party, minus the bride, mingled. After the vows, they were headed to a late-night reception with food trucks, cocktails, and partying. 

With 20 minutes to go before the ceremony, they all snuck off to a more secluded part of the garden. The groomsmen insisted they wanted to do a first look with Sophie. It turned into a whole thing: groomsmen along with Keith and her stepdad Greg. Then Matthew would come in and join them to get his own first look.

Sophie was hidden behind a trellis in another part of the garden with both of their moms and her bridesmaids. 

Her mom grabbed her hand to stop her from nervously pulling at her dress, and Sophie felt butterflies attack her stomach. 

Before the bridesmaids went out to join the guys, Taryn wrapped her in a tight hug. When they parted, she held Sophie at arms length to look her over. “Matthew’s gonna shit himself,” she said, tone full of a kind of teasing approval Sophie never experienced until she’d met Matthew. Their family teased, but mostly, it was all in good fun. It was rarely the kind of needling teasing she got from her dad as a child.

Once she’d tried it on for the first time, Sophie couldn’t stop thinking about Matthew seeing her in this dress. She’d had it custom-made, pieces of a few dresses stolen and sewn together to make exactly what she’d wanted. The bodice had a plunging neckline that narrowed between her breasts, so it wasn’t all that scandalous and floral embroidery that cascaded down onto the A-line skirt. It was simple and understated, just left of center enough to make it unique and just off white enough to be flattering. If the color were a little darker, it might be called blush.

She knew Matthew would love it because she loved it. That was just the kind of guy he was. But Taryn’s reaction still made her insides fizz like champagne. 

Upon a prompt from their wedding planner, Sophie walked out. 

The groomsmen were lined up, facing away from her.

They turned around when the photographer, who was standing off to the side with full view of everyones reactions, gave the signal.

As Sophie watched, a broad grin spread over every face. Greg and Keith both started crying, which she hadn’t expected. Keith pulled his glasses off so he could wipe his eyes. 

Greg rushed forward to gather her into a hug. His chest shook with sobs as he whispered, “thank you for letting me be here.”

“You’re the best dad, Greg. I’m so glad you’re here.” 

“Matthew’s one lucky son of a bitch,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I’m so proud of you.” 

She hugged him again, squeezing extra tight. 

Her brother followed. “You're so pretty, Soph,” he said.  

“You look really handsome in your suit,” she said, wiping at her own tears that had finally spilled over. 

He worked his thumbs under his suspenders and puffed out his chest. 

Their laughter was loud and raucous as she struck a pose of her own. 

When it was his turn, Keith gathered her into his barrel chest and lifted her off the ground in a bear hug.

She let out a surprised little squeak and giggled as her feet kicked out behind her.

“I don’t know —” Keith had to stop to wipe his eyes again after he set her back down, “I don’t know what Matthew did to get on your good side, but I’m sure glad he did.” 

“You raised a good man,” she said, patting him on the chest as they parted, “that’s what he did.” 

He gave her a watery smile and went back to Chantal and Taryn, slinging an arm around each of them.

“Matthew’s gonna lose his mind,” Sam whispered in her ear as they hugged.

She giggled, hoping he was right. 

And finally (finally, finally!), Matthew was walking down the garden path next to Brady, looking as nervous and excited as she felt and so handsome in his navy blue suit. He had his Louis Vuitton belt on. Even though she thought it was a little distracting to wear to a wedding, he insisted it was his signature piece and couldn’t go without it. She found an indulgent smile on her face, glad he was wearing something he loved so much. At least she’d convinced him to wear real dress shoes and not those ridiculous mules he’d been sporting to the arena all season. 

Sophie came into view, and all at once, Matthew felt tears sting his eyes. He’d known he would cry. He knew there was no hope of stopping it. He loved her so much, and this whole day had him all discombobulated. This wasn’t even the first time he’d cried, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. 

After today, he would be her husband. Her husband. He would be her husband, and she would be his wife.  And —

She was wearing the most beautiful dress he’d ever seen. Simple and elegant and completely Sophie. A strong pang of longing, love, and nostalgia pulled through him when he realized her lips were even painted the same pink they had been on their first date. 

She was perfect.

“Oh my god,” he said, awestruck as they joined the group. 

She knew he would probably do that no matter what she was wearing, but it still felt good. 

Brady stepped forward and gathered her into a hug. “You look beautiful, Soph,” he said before going to stand with Emma, wiping a few tears from his eyes as he leaned down to whisper to her about how much this reminded him of their own wedding. 

Finally standing in front of her, Matthew was at a loss for words. Eventually, he just said the thing that kept running through his mind. “Holy Shit.”

Everyone around them laughed. 

Matthew continued to stare silently as everyone else headed back to start ushering the guests into the ceremony seats. 

“I don’t…” he paused, trying to articulate the words. He wasn’t sure there were words for what he was feeling. “Fuck.” 

She burst into laughter. “Is that good? Or bad?” 

“Good,” he said, half of his mouth tipping up in a smile. “You’re –” he blinked a few times, “you’re so pretty, Sophie.”

Heat flushed into her cheeks. “Thank you. I think you look really handsome.” 

“You don’t mind the belt?” he asked, tone and eyes teasing as he hooked his thumbs behind it. 

“Nope,” she stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said into her hair, getting a mouth full of hairspray. He turned to lay his cheek against it instead. 

“I can’t believe it’s finally here.” 

“I know,” she whispered. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket at the same time he saw her mom walking down the path that led from the ceremony. 

“It’s time for me to go,” he whispered. 

Tightening her arms around him, she resisted nuzzling into his shirt, knowing she’d get makeup all over the starched white material. 

“I’ll see you in a minute,” she said, pulling back to look into his face. 

He dipped down to drop a quick kiss to her lips. “See you in a minute, my betrothed.”

He’d started calling her that after some venue asked him if he and “his betrothed” would be attending a catering tasting together. 

“Soon not to be,” she said with a wink. 

He laughed, stole another quick kiss, and hugged her mom before jogging to meet Brady, who was waiting at the end of the path. 

Sophie asked her mom to walk her down the aisle. She thought the idea of a man giving a woman away was archaic anyway, but especially after her dad left, she vowed never to have a man walk her down the aisle at her wedding. 

So when the music started to play for their bridal party, an instrumental version of Here Comes the Sun — requested by Matthew because he called Sophie his ray of sunshine and they were heralding her entrance — she and her mom walked to the end of the pathway that was serving as their aisle. 

Everything looked beautiful. Matthew was standing with their officiant — someone he grew up with who was now a pastor — under a large trellis, covered in a vine of blooming jasmine. The small white flowers (another reason her dress couldn’t be white) stood out against the mens dark suits and the lilac of the bridesmaids' dresses. Everything was bathed in the gentle golden glow of the candles, lanterns, and fairy lights strewn throughout the garden. It was like walking into a dream.

The song she would walk down the aisle to began, it’s jazzy, guitar playing softly from the speakers hidden around their guests. 

The officiant instructed everyone to stand, and they did, turning to look at her, as she and her mom stopped at the end of the sidewalk. 

While everyone looked at her, she looked at Matthew. Watching his smile and his breathless excitement as she made her way to him. He was even bouncing on the balls of his feet. Her own heart ticked in her ears, and she concentrated on the song lyrics in an effort to keep herself from running to him. 

When we were strangers I watched you from afar When we were lovers I loved you with all my heart But now it's getting late And the moon is climbing high I wanna celebrate See it shining in your eyes Because I'm still in love with you I wanna see you dance again Because I'm still in love with you On this harvest moon

Watching Sophie walk down the aisle, her lips painted the same color pink they were on their first date, it felt a little like watching her walk through their history. He was outrageously glad to be on this side of it, having won her trust and love and finding himself in a situation where he had the chance to be with her forever. 

Her mom hugged her and went to sit with Greg. 

Sophie took the last three steps to stand in front of Matthew by herself. She was ready to take this last leap, eager to no longer do this life on her own.

The officiant invited everyone to sit and began talking about matrimony. She missed most of the speech, too busy thinking about the vows she’d written and watching Matthew. The navy suit made his eyes a deeper shade of blue than usual. 

Finally, after what felt to Matthew like forty minutes, though it couldn’t have been more than five, they were invited to read the vows they’d written. 

“When we agreed to write our own vows, I made Soph promise to let me go first so I didn’t have the pressure of trying to follow her.”

Sophie and the crowd laughed. Matthew noticed his mom wipe a tear from her cheek. His dad put an arm around her. 

Taking in a deep breath, Matthew closed his eyes for a moment before looking back to the printed piece of paper Brady had handed him. 

“Sophie,” he began. His voice wobbled a little. The way she was looking at him made him feel light-headed. The culmination of the day coming together and seeing her looking so beautiful in her dress was too much. Truth be told, he was a bit shocked he was even still standing. 

She took his free hand, and the grounding in her touch centered his breathing.

He looked at her and began again.  

“Sophie, if I tried to articulate all the ways I love you, I’m pretty sure we’d be here for several days because I don’t think I could ever find the right words.” 

The audience awed. 

“So instead of that, I wrote down some of the things I love about you, and what I’ll try to be for you, and you’ll just have to put up with the words I’ve got.” 

She snorted, and he heard Brady laugh behind him. 

“So here goes. I love that you make me quiet.” 

Tears pressed behind her eyes. She hadn’t expected him to go for the jugular right off the bat. 

“Most people know I have a pretty hard time shutting up,” he paused, listening to his dad laugh, “but you taught me the value in quiet moments, and I love that I fell in love with you in them. I love that I get a side of you no one else does, and I love that you trust me enough to show it to me.” 

A few tears leaked out and slid down her cheeks. Gwen slipped a tissue into her hand, and Sophie smiled gratefully, pressing it to her lashes to stop her mascara from running.

“I love that you love my family and that I feel like I could be with you forever, and we would never get bored. I love that we’ve created our own little ecosystem and that it thrives because we’re both invested and working on it.” 

His mom was crying into a handkerchief.  

“I can’t promise that I’ll always be this good looking.” 

The suddenness of the joke made Sophie bark out a sudden laugh, much too loud over the amplification system. Her hand slapped over her mouth to quiet the sound, and he laughed indulgently, as if that was the exact reaction he’d been going for. 

“But what I can promise is this: that I’ll always try to protect you, except when it comes to spiders.” He paused for the laughter to die down, “That I’ll always do my best to be present when I’m home, and that I’ll always listen to and help you achieve your dreams. Most of all, I promise that I won’t ever stop trying to earn and deserve your trust and love.”

He folded the paper up. His mom was crying, as was Emma. He was pretty certain Taryn would be tearing up, too, but he couldn’t see her with the way the bridal party was standing. He wanted to end it in some fancy way like he knew she would, but he didn’t know how, other than to say, “I love you and I can’t wait to start this new chapter with you.”

Sophie wiped her nose and dabbed at the tears in her eyes. “I love you, too.”

She sniffed and swallowed, trying to get her bearings.

“Matthew always tries to tell me he isn’t good with words,” Sophie said, giving him a wry look as her fingers squeezed around his, “but I think you all can be the judge of that.” 

He laughed. 

She coughed gently to get some of the tears out of her voice. “When I started writing my vows, I couldn’t think of anything but love. I’ve been trying to understand it my whole life. When I was a kid, I thought I had to parcel out my love to make sure it didn’t run out, and other people had to do the same. Matthew, although you didn’t teach me that there’s an infinite amount of love in the world, you did prove that infinite love exists in a way I had never experienced before with a man.” 

Now he was crying. 

“I’ve always felt a little on my own,” she explained, “a little too quirky to be loved in that big infinite way.” 

The audience was listening, wrapt. This was exactly why he didn’t want to go after her. Not only would he be a mess, there would be no way he could possibly follow her words.

“The last thing I expected in life was for this muscle-bound, curly-haired, rough and tumble hockey player to not only understand my quirks but to embrace and encourage them.” Her voice trembled. “I’m forever grateful I can take down my walls with you, Matthew.”

He took the tissue Brady handed him, unashamed, and wiped the tears from his eyes. 

“And for your patience and consistency, even when I can be skittish and uptight.” She paused, listening to her half of the audience twitter.

“I promise I’ll kill the spiders,” she said, and he laughed along with the rest of their guests. “And I promise to never be unreasonably jealous of your job. But most of all, I promise to always be honest and to love you in the infinite way you showed me was possible.” 

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to lean in and just lay one on her. Tradition be damned. He pressed his mouth to hers, mumbling how much he loved her against her lips. When he pulled back, her eyes told him how much she loved him in return.

The officiant led them through the traditional “til death do us part” stuff, and they exchanged rings. It was a strange thing to feel the weight of the band on his finger, but Matthew had never been so glad to have something tying him down. It felt like he might just float away without it. 

“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant said with a wide smile. 

Matthew’s hand slipped up to cradle her jaw, and he looked into her eyes as the fingers on her left hand tapped out five beats on the back of his arm. 

And just like they rehearsed, just like they planned, just like Ryan said it would happen, the moment their lips touched, fireworks screeched to life behind them, screaming into the sky and exploding in a fan of sparks and color and sound. 

It was perfect. 

It was this video, first showing their faces as they looked adoringly at each other and then cutting back to catch the fireworks igniting the moment they kissed, that Matthew shared on his Instagram. 

It’s been fireworks from the first kiss, and we’re still going strong. 

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[kinkyk1ttenbabygirl]

Woke this morning to 300 followers!!! Thank you all so much for the love and support (and of course all the kind words) I absolutely love all of you, and never imagined I'd have so many people who wanted to talk to me, see my posts, or reblog my stuff.

I promise to get back to all the messages today♥️♥️

My heart is so full this morning from the love. I appreciate it all, so sooo much. 🥹🥹🥹🥹💝❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[yellow-computer-mouse]

[ID: A screenshot of Tumblr followers. It says I have 304. End ID]

WAGUAHH

THANK U??? AUGH mom i'm famous /silly

SO!! what do we wanna do for this one? :3