#ABSOLUTELY DESERVED IT WAS GLORIOUS

[kyuyua]

Proud of my king 👑

[gorkloum]

despite everything, it;s still you

[novelconcepts]

flirting with the line (and then i crossed it)

The moment Van Palmer walked into the class reunion in a suit and a smile, Tai could tell the night was a certain kind of doomed.

(A fill for Taivan Week 2023, "Adult Timeline Saturday")

E, 12.4k words

“How long has it been?” Tai almost doesn’t recognize her voice. Almost can’t stomach the rough, sandpapery quality of it. How could this be her? How could this be Taissa Turner: carefully controlled, carefully modulated at all times? It can’t be explained. She only knows that the words have left her dry lips, plummeting to flatten themselves on the table between them, and that the blue eyes narrowing across from her are too knowing. “You don’t want to hear about that,” Van says coolly.

[koko-heads]

one thing i'm worried about with hundred line (and i'm already seeing) is people comparing ima to korekiyo... like don't be dumb

[theinfinitedivides]

Kocowa TV on YouTube thank you for the gift of subbing portions of the BTS clips for My Dearest + giving me interviews to feed me during these trying times of post part one drought

[im-on-my-vigilante-shit-again]

cam's line tonight was 'nope. no.'

[xmoriartea]

SVSSS!Sibling Transmigration AU

Based so very loosely on this glorious art by @nibbelraz

Airplane transmigrates into the youngest infant son of the Shang family (and God damn he deserves better than this System he is their god!! Daddy Airplane?? Heard of him?? These people should not be changing his damn diaper hello??)

Shang Qinghua is already a young disciple when he visits home and meets his little brother for the first time and does no one else see there is something... off about this kid?

He makes regular trips home afterwards, eventually using An Ding logistics to find reasons to be near his hometown more frequently (and really does no one else see this kid is weird?)

Bby!Airplane is just too smart. SQH is convinced he saw the kid make eye contact with him once when he caught him stealing a dumpling behind their mother's back and it was like looking into the eyes of a demon who'd gut him if he snitched and not a human toddler

It doesn't get better as Airplane gets older and SQH hears him muttering about 1. things he shouldn't know at all regarding the sect when he thinks SQH isn't listening and 2. absolute nonsense (what System has done you so wrong didi?? you are four??)

Before Airplane is old enough to reasonably join the sect, SQH brings him back to the mountain anyway. He is fairly certain his brother is a seer and if that's the case, he's keeping the little welp close at hand

Airplane infinitely regrets how much bullshit he made An Ding deal with to ""hand wave lazy writing"" (shut up peerless cucumber!! he was writing porn not project management!!) but even just watching SQH run himself ragged over the peak has bby him exhausted (no wonder he ratted y'all out to the king yeesh)

He spends his early years as a disciple just following SQH and sometimes nudging his gege into record shattering discoveries because SQH will pat his head when he realizes and take him down the mountain for noodles afterwards (gg easy)

Airplane is a proper disciple in his own right in his teens when his notes and his story get jumbled in a way that has him tripping into one of his shixiongs when he hears the rumors - Head Disciple SJ returned to the mountain with a little brother (record screech glass shattering huh???)

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan transmigrated into Shen Jiu's unnamed younger half-brother After finding stability at the sect, Shen Jiu looks into his birth mother, knowing she sold him off when he was a child What he finds in Airplane's unwritten notes is a Fantine-Cosette backstory where his mother, a courtesan, gave him away to a good family after he was born. She sent them regular payments to ensure his care, but only found out when she was pregnant with SY that they had sold SJ off and were pocketing her money Unable to find SJ and unwilling to risk SY, she and the other courtesans raised SY within the brothel SY transmigrates into the body of a child at his sick mother's bedside with a twisted sense of deja vu having just vacated his own deathbed He doesn't know where he is, but if the orphan protagonist can make it to the sect, so can he right? (Transmigrator Halo? System? System why are you laughing??) He's barely into his second teens when SJ finds him. It takes no time at all after learning the truth for SJ to demand SY's guardianship and whisk him back to Qing Ding (See System? He DOES have a Transmigrator Halo, even if it is attached to the scum villain) SY is honestly shocked by how concerned(?) SJ is when packing his meager possessions. (No Jiu-ge (ew) no one has ever harmed him or touched him wtf would make you think they had?? He's baby??) It takes some time for glaciers to melt and for SJ to let SY in, but SY was raised around kind jiejies who taught him to be better than their worst clients and SJ feels safe around this little brat in a way he can't explain (SJ has had SY for five minutes but if anything happens to him SJ is taking out the entire mountain and then himself) YQY has NO idea how to react when SJ first returns with his brother, but he doesn't hesitate to smooth the way for SY's discipleship and watches from afar as SJ begins to finally let someone in, even if it's not him

SQH keeps telling Airplane he needs to work on his muttering to himself, that it's going to get him in trouble (bro you don't even know) but for once it's in his favor because SY overhears him just enough while YQY is sorting his shit out on arrival and suddenly they're just two spidermen pointing at each other on the peak

Cue the shenanigans of two hometown boys who have no bearing on the plot at all and are just along for the ride while their siblings handle the peaks. Anytime Qing Ding and An Ding need to work together on missions, these two volunteer and confuse the hell out of their martial siblings every step of the way

SJ does not trust the little logistics rat anywhere near his didi and glowers like an alley cat anytime Airplane is around (SQH is right, ofc. His brother IS weird and SJ does not trust it)

SQH meanwhile takes note of his weird didi's sudden and first friendship with SY and immediately starts keeping tabs on this kid because clearly Airplane's seerhood has steered him to SY for a reason, must keep note

The first time LQG makes any sort of fuss about SJ going to a brothel, SY forgets everything he's learned at the sect as Little Brother Mode™ activates to defend not only SJ but his jiejies too. (Fists are thrown. Hair is pulled. He might have bitten his shixiong, he can't say. He sort of blacked out for a minute there) Needless to say there isn't a second time and LQG has an hour long argument with his shizun about trying to poach SY for Bai Zhan peak while nursing a black eye (Airplane just side eying the GREMLIN that transmigrated here like bro wtf)

Before LBH even steps foot on the mountain, both their Systems ping about the incoming protagonist and it's not that they, you know, forgot about the story but they were distracted. Between finding each other and actually weirdly coming to care for these NPCs they... lost track of time

But the System pings and LBH enters the scene and SY refuses to let Airplane's work repeat itself (we're making your notes canon bro stfu and follow my lead. (what lead??? what plan??) I'm working on it!!)

It's a 50/50 crap shoot if SYs favoritism of bby!Binghe endears him to SJ or spikes up the resentment, but SY refuses to let harm come to LBH or for SJ to become the scum villain (someone is yelling, it might be SJ, it might be SY, it might be Binghe who doesn't want Shizun and Shixiong fighting over him)

On the other side of the plot, SQH is still a little snitch, even with his didi's visions guiding him to unprecedented success - but it's more than betraying the sect, more than wanting power and recognition. Seers are insanely powerful, highly sought after. Bringing Airplane to the sect protected him for awhile but SQH can't let him become a target. So when the OG meets MBJ, all his calculations come to a single unfortunate answer: throw your lot in with the biggest fish to protect Airplane (no one else can understand how weird his brother is because if they do his brother will end up dead)

Flash forward to when Airplane is squinting at his brother wearing fur collars year round, always running a little bit chilly for unknown reasons but refusing to see MQF about it. Airplane insists on SQH letting him check his meridians if he won't see MQF and SQH relents, puts his wrist in Airplane's hand, and squawks like a goddamn chicken when Airplane yanks his arm and tugs down his collar to reveal the mark of MBJ on his collarbone and SQH is once again met with that dead eyed 'bro do not fuck with me' stare

SQH does not question how Airplane knows, he just insists on Airplane staying far far away from MBJ (he might work for the demon, but he certainly does not trust him)

Of course Airplane defies all reason and knows the exact secret rendezvous point SQH uses (he did not suffer puberty twice to be denied seeing his most precious creation in the flesh, gege) and is spotted spying on the spy almost instantly by MBJ who is just holding him by his scruff and looking between a wide eyed Airplane and a barely-restrained-panicked peak lord like 'why oh why are there two of them'

Cue a full stand off between a demon and peak lord, ice knives at SQH's throat, a blade hovering at MBJ's heart, and Airplane just held like a kitten between them like fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck that SOMEHOW ends with MBJ rationalizing 'ah this weird mouse is important to my viper of a spy - if I want to keep the viper loyal, I will protect this mouse'

Which throws the Sheng brothers into a mess that neither of them know how to deal with. SQH thinks he needs to continue to be excessively useful to keep Airplane safe. Airplane can't let MBJ know he's his brother's best source or the demon might cut out the middle man. (Meanwhile somewhere MBJ just out here planning to court this weird little mouse to tie SQH's loyalties to him)

Whatever circumstances causes the Abyss plotline to trigger, SY 500% throws himself in after Binghe leaving SJ partially feral because his didi is in danger, Airplane CONCERNED, and SQH just casually like 'oh that's why my brother was interested in him, interesting' not at all realizing no, SY is likely just about to become his boss(-brother-in-law)'s boss's consort - whoops! whoops! whoops!

[treeguzzler]

was up at 4am thinking about megumi🗣️

look me in the eyes and tell me that megumi doesn’t get jealous when he sees you on his bed, body in his shirt (which you look absolutely stunning in), wrapped all snug in his blanket…

… cuddling with his divine dogs.

megumi isn’t normally a jealous person— why would he need to be jealous when he’s got you by his side?

but the way your high pitched giggles filled the room’s atmosphere, paired with the two divine dogs on each side of you, stirs something in him. yeah, sure, it’s a heart squeezing (in a good way) sight to behold— a sight that megumi would take in bit-by-bit, savoring it— it takes every centimeter, no, every nanometer of his being not to keel over, clutching his left chest in pure adoration of his partner and cooing at the sight. he’d be a sinner to even think that the glorious sight in front of him didn’t make him want to drop to his knees and worship your very being.

but a sinner he shall be.

his girl, his girl, the very woman he devoted his heart, soul and very being to every second he was breathing, was currently busy showering his shikigami with love, honeyed coos and words along the lines of “good doggies!” spilling out of her mouth while said ‘doggies’ were slobbering her cheeks with drool. (why did he even summon his divine dogs again?)

though he too, did adore (once again, something he wouldn’t say out loud) his divine dogs, he couldn’t help but feel like he should have let them be destroyed by a curse in a mission. (intrusive thoughts)

sure, they were his shikigami. with a flick of a finger could he have them be gone from sight, leaving all your attention to be focused onto him. but for some odd reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do that. it wasn’t because he loved you (believe me, he does, and would continue to do so even if the sky were to fall and the ground give way to the curses), but it was because he felt… what was the word now? domestic? he didn’t know how to properly phrase what he was thinking about at the moment, having not felt this feeling for majority of his childhood. there was only a subtle gnawing feeling in his chest, but not the bad type of feeling. (it might not make sense but) it was the type of feeling that whispered in his ear:

she’s the one.

as megumi’s usually sharp gaze softened into something much more fonder (he looked at you as if you just went to outer space and picked out a star to bring back for him because he said stars were pretty), he really couldn’t help but wonder what he had truly done to deserve such an adorable sight to be put in front if his eyes.

damn, should he just wife you up the second you both reach the legal age?

“h-hey! ‘gumi c’mere and cuddle! they want you too!”

“huh? oh yeah coming…”

oh how megumi wishes he could wife you up right at that moment.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt 4 of the Danny is Tim's 99th attempt at cloning Kon. A 3 year old Danny finally meets his not dead anymore template.

[Pt 3: here] [Pt 5:Here]

Danny is so nervous he feels like he's going to throw up. His Template, who was dead and now isn't, is coming over to meet him. He knows his dad wouldn't let the guy near if he thought he'd react poorly to Danny, and Danny is excited about maybe having an adult (barely, technically, since he's 18) to help him figure out his new alien heritage, but he's still scared shitless. He wants this to go well so badly.

"Danny," Tim sighs in fond exasperation, "Come here, sweetheart."

Danny floats himself into dad's lap, tucking himself to his chest.

"Kon has been just as nervous to meet you." Tim kisses the top of Danny's head, just before Danny turns a wide-eyed look towards him. "He's the sweetest himbo and has been gushing about meeting you, but he's terrified you won't like him."

"Rweally?"

"Yeah, one of his deepest desires and deepest traumas is his want of family. But he doesn't want to pressure you into accepting any sort of relationship with him." Tim explains before cracking a sardonic smile. "Which is a big mood. I'm pretty sure most of the younger heroes have imposter syndrome."

"Why?"

"For many reasons. Kon was, and sometimes still is, discriminated against and frankly abused for being a clone. I forced my way into the Wayne family and was repeatedly told I didn't belong. Jason never had a stable life. Damian was a rape baby and raised in the LoA til he was 10. Dick was kicked out by Bruce once he aged out of fostering age. Jason's "not" boyfriend, Roy, was shunned for developing a drug habit after gaining significant trauma." Tim lists off. "A lot of the younger heroes couldn't lean on the adults in their lives, and it leaves scars. We've all found our footing, and deserve everything good we have in our lives, but the feeling of unworthiness is hard to escape."

Danny hugs his dad around the neck. He knew some of this dad and co lore, but it makes him sad each time. No one in his new family family has had easy lives, but are still so nice.

Tim suddenly looks mischievous, "All that to say, Kon has been texting me all morning about what he should wear, do I actually think you'll like him, if he should bring a gift or would you think he's bribing you to like him-"

"Tim!" A guy whines as he enters. He's wearing a leather jacket over a band t-shirt and black jeans. He clothes don't hide how he's shredded and probably 6 inches, at least, taller than Tim. He's holding a puzzle box and looks flustered and embarrassed.

"It's true!" Tim grins at the newcomer, before adjusting his angle to give Danny a slightly better view. "Danny, this is Kon, your DNA donor. Kon, this is my- our son, Danny."

Danny shyly waves as a blushing Kon sputters and protests Tim's choice of introductions.

"What? I did all the work, you just provided the DNA. Maybe if there's a next time, I'll let you help." Tim teases, and is hilariously oblivious to the gutter Danny can see Kon's mind drop into.

Danny has found his dad to be absolutely oblivious to anytime someone is into him, outside of Ra's. Danny watched so many people try to shoot their shot, and Tim cluelessly rebuff them. Danny thought he was doing it on purpose at first, but soon realized, no, his dad just has low self-esteem and truly doesn't think anyone finds him desirable. It's as funny as it is sad.

"So mean." Kon pouts before holding up the puzzle box for Danny to see the design. It's a thousand piece nebula puzzle. "I ended up getting you this puzzle. Tim- Your dad told me you love space and are super smart, so I thought you'd enjoy this puzzle."

Danny blinks, looking between the barely adults, before deciding to be funny. He says in his gravest voice. "So you chose bribery."

Danny gets the glorious view of Kon's face dropping in shock. Tim is literally shaking as he tries not to laugh, knowing Danny is pulling the guy's leg. The Drakes let him flounder for a moment, trying to find a response to that, before Danny can't help giggling, which pushes Tim over the edge and start cackling, startling Kon into silence.

"You should have seen your face!" Tim wheezes.

Kon gets a dopey look on his face. "You're just messing with me."

Danny nods with a grin. He wiggles to be put down, which Tim complies with, still giggling. Danny trots up to his template.

"You're silly." Danny informs him before holding his arms up and demanding. "Up!"

Kon quickly sets the puzzle on an end table near him before picking Danny up. He looks a little nervous when Danny stares hard at his face. "Um?"

Danny takes in all the shared features between them, some harder to see with the 16 year age difference, but it's sort of soothing to see. He gets distracted when he notices Kon's piercings, gasping and taking a closer look.

"How!?" He excitedly, but gently grabs Kon's ear piercings. Danny had gotten similar ear piercings when he was a ghost, and he misses them, but figured he wasn't going to be able to get them done in this body. It being nearly indestructible and all.

"Oh, my piercings?" Danny nods, leaning forward to take a closer look. "I'm sure you noticed it's hard to hurt us, but there's a rock called kryptonite, and depending on the colour, different things can happen."

"I thought kryptonite just hurt?" Danny asks, pulling back to look at Kon's face.

"It can. Green kryptonite is the most common, and it will hurt you. It turns off your powers and slowly poisons you, and if not taken away quickly, can kill us. Gold kryptonite is the rarest type and will permanently remove kryptonian abilities and usually leaves permanent injuries. So please do your best to avoid those types." Kon explains, "Red kryptonite should probably also be avoided, it makes kryptonians angry and turns off your inhibitions, but it won't technically hurt you to be exposed to it. The last colour I know of is blue. Blue kryptonite doesn't harm you or mess with your mental abilities. It just turns off all of your kryptonian abilities for however long it touches your skin. I have a blue kryptonite necklace I wear whenever I want tattoos or piercings."

Danny turns pleading eyes to his dad. "Can I get ear piercings??"

Danny can't help, but notice an infatuated smile on Tim's face before the man huffs a laugh and walks over. He runs a hand through Danny's hair.

"If you still want them when you're 5, I'll let you." Tim hums, "I don't want it to be an impulsive decision, and people will be less weird about a five year old getting their ears pierced. You might still get weird looks since you're a boy, but that's their problem, not yours."

"Okay!" Danny cheers. He hasn't told his dad about his past life/afterlife, so he can understand the hesitance over letting 3 year old get a body mod, even if it's just a single set of ear piercings, on what seems like a whim. He's honestly surprised he only has to wait til he's 5. Tim can be a bit of a helicopter parent, but then again, Tim really wants Danny to be his own person, never once shaming him for not fitting into a mold.

His aunts and uncles and grandpa have all made comments when they think he can't hear about how different or similar he is to Kon. Or when he shows gender non-conforming interests. Tim gets mad at them anytime he realizes Danny heard them. He doesn't want Danny to feel bad about any of it. Siting that "no shit" there's going to be similarities and differences, that's how children work, clone or not, and how gender is a social construct. He usually starts picking apart all of his siblings' behaviors at that point, pointing out what they inherented from Bruce, what is trauma born, and what's uniquely their's so he assumes they're from their respective parents, as well as all the things they do that don't fall under what society thinks their gender should do. It's funny, but also very nice. Danny loves his dad.

The true question right now, though, is: will he love, or even just like, his template? Danny doesn't hate what he's heard and seen so far, but actual fondness or affection needs time.

"How about we head to the gym?" Tim says, "Kon can show you some of his powers."

"Can I fly higher?" Danny isn't allowed to fly more than 4 feet in the air. Which is annoying, but fair. Again, he's 3.

"Only if you stay in arm's reach of Kon when you do."

"Okay!!" Danny cheers, purposely flailing around. Kon's hold on him tightens slightly to make sure he doesn't fall, but it's not painful. Another point to the DNA donor. That's about five in his favour during this interaction alone.

"Already flying, little man?" Kon grins.

"Yeah!"

"He figured out how to fly before how to run." Tim chuckles, "Now he does both any chance he gets. It keeps things lively."

"I imagine." Kon's grin turns a little gooey, before letting himself float and zip to the gym. "Let's have so fun!"

Danny can't help his chuckles. Kon flies there faster than Danny's allowed currently. It's fun!

Danny also can't help but notice Tim isn't in a rush to catch up. Meaning Tim fully trusts Kon with Danny's life. That's a trust that took the rest of the family months to gain, even though Tim knew they wouldn't hurt him. Danny isn't sure what to make of that knowledge, but it definitely makes him more inclined to like his template.

And by dinner time, Danny does genuinely like the guy. He respects everything Tim and Danny have to say, shows Danny a bunch of fun tricks with their powers, and let's Danny lead their games. He's fun, nice, and most importantly, not creepy. He clearly likes his dad in a more than friends way, but is hesitant to act on it, clearly not wanting to fuck up with either Tim or Danny.

Unfortunately for Danny, he can see Tim likes Kon back, but his dad is an idiot and doesn't realize it. So now he has to figure out how to get his dad to realize he's into his template without it being weird.

But really, what was Danny expecting? Trying to clone your "best friend" a hundred times isn't exactly hetero behavior. He decides he's going to enlist Uncle Damian and Uncle Jason. It's for his dad's own good at this point.

He also debates on if he's going to try to parent trap them. He likes Kon, but he doesn't know him well enough to commit to the bit just yet. He'll decide later, once he knows more.

[animesmutspace]

his throne

ღ heian sukuna x female! reader. hella smutty mdni please. slave/pet vibes, size kink, manhandling, voyeurism, choking, power play, kidnapping, squirting, getting off on your fear ish, just hella kinky, depraved shit im sorry in advance.

ღღღ ---

sukuna likes having you on display for everyone to see while he gloats from his throne. sitting on his cock so precariously, his chest to your back, knowing that you don't deserve to look down on people but still sitting perched up in his lap with the barest amount of clothing on your body. he likes to hold your head up with one of hands around your throat, so you can't even look away in embarrassment. pieces of white fabric barely cover your nipples and the front of your pussy, but that's about it; sukuna likes his easy access. moreover, he enjoys when other people glance at his sniffling trophy.

to sukuna, you serve as a physical representation to his growing power. he slaughtered your entire village, but kept you, this sweet thing, picking flowers for your medicinal work in a distant field while your whole town burned without your knowledge. the perfect prize for his efforts. his glorious little pet. you were required to let him touch you whenever he wanted, even if it meant him using your hair as a leash as you crawled by his side.

often times, as much as sukuna loved the red blood that would seep into the soil after a victorious killing spree, he needed time to bask in his victories. when sukuna wasn't off butchering people, he remained in his castle, on his throne, listening to the pitying whimpers of humans coming to beg for his mercy. his only solace, of course, was your pussy surrounding him. as if your warmth was the only thing that could penetrate his heart, and allow him to even spare a moment's glance to whatever sacrifice entered his castle.

you on the other hand, could never understand how sukuna could sit and talk so leisurely while his cock was penetrating places you didn't even know existed. you grew to honor the dick that bullied its way into your body so naturally instead of fearing it. sukuna enjoyed your compliance in ways that rewarded you. afterall, you've never experienced anyone as big as sukuna. his girth stretched your pussy in a way that made your mind simply numb, and you couldn't even pay attention to whatever poor soul saw you sitting on sukuna's cock. your favorite part of your day was when sukuna would summon a mouth on his palm, and use it to make out with your lips, allowing you a simple, slutty distraction as his cock twitched within you at your soft hands holding his hand even closer to your mouth.

sukuna would get agitated, however, once he got bored of acting kingly. of course uraume was the only reason why he entertained seeing these humans, but the itch to watch them bleed across his floors was too great. sometimes even in front of his human visits, he would tear the strings of cloth on you away, place your bare feet onto his great thighs, and place two of his hands on your hips to bounce you ferociously on his cock. up and down, there was nowhere for you to escape. your only solace was his own lips, which consumed you with another intensity you lost your sanity to. every part of your body was his to use, from the tip of your tongue to your spongy cervix. his other set of hands roamed where-ever they seemed fit, normally palming your breasts and nibbling on your nipples while his onlookers could only watch and await their fate.

and when you needed to come, sukuna would lift you off his cock and spread your legs further, pushing your hips upward so your juices would fly inches in front of you, right in front of his new set of victims. sukuna's grin was absolutely vicious when he commanded them, "lick". and you watched as you came down from your high, human peasants and human kings alike greedily lick the floor of the marble floor room on their hands and knees, in desperation to please sukuna. in an inadvertent effort to please you. your greedy cunt clenched in anticipation, watching other people honor your juice as if it was their lifeline. sukuna made sure it was their lifeline.

and once sukuna could see the sparkle of a newly cleaned, glistened surface, his hands spread your legs even further, beckoning them over with his vicious smirk. ignoring your whimpers of embarrassment and soft hands palming at his forearms, he was unrelenting in his efforts to expose every bit of you for his pleasure. his beggers lined up to kiss your clit, as you twitched uncontrollably, with a newfound respect as they recognized their life was spared, even if it was out of sukuna's boredown and sheer display of power. bucking your hips into their face, you couldn't even deny anymore that you enjoyed the power sukuna lent to you.

sukuna heard rumors of the pussy of life the next time he ventured out on another murder spree.

ღ this set up has been in mind for months now LOL i thought it was time to share :))) also my asks are open!!

[ghstyles]

Performer | H.S

| Fluff | Blurb | HH Harry | Masterlist | WC: 490

The cobbled streets of Rome gleamed under the warm glow of streetlights as Y/N and her friends stumbled through the city, their laughter echoing off the ancient walls. The wine had hit. Hard. Everything was hilarious. Everything was magical. Her limbs felt loose, her mind light, and everything seemed like the best idea ever.

So when she spotted an empty spot by a fountain, inspiration struck.

"Hold my purse," she slurred to no one in particular before immediately reconsidering. Instead, she dropped it dramatically on the ground, opened it ,stepped back, and threw her arms wide. "Ladies and gentlemen, for your entertainment tonight. Me!"

Her friends erupted in cheers, already pulling out their phones to record.

Then, with absolutely no rhythm, no shame, and barely any recollection of the lyrics, she launched into As It Was.

The words were slurred, the tune nowhere near the original key, but the performance? Oscar-worthy.

A few passersby stopped to watch, phones out, amusement clear on their faces. Coins clinked into her purse. Her friends were doubled over, filming every second.

"Holdin’ me back… gravity’s holdin' me back… uh, somethin' 'palm of your hand… why don’t we leave it at hat… runnin’ awayyyy—”

She was butchering it. Notes off-key, words jumbled, voice cracking. But damn if she wasn’t feeling the performance of a lifetime.

A few tourists stopped to watch, some throwing in a few coins just for the spectacle of it. Her friends were in hysterics.

And then, a voice cut through her glorious display. Deep, amused, undeniably British.

"Practice will definitely make perfect, sweetheart."

She blinked, wobbling slightly as she turned to the source. A man stood nearby, hands in his pockets, lips quirked in amusement. Tall, wavy hair, sharp jawline, dimples.

She squinted. "Excusez-moi?" she demanded, forgetting for a moment she was in Italy and not France.

His smile deepened. "French? Thought we were in Italy," he teased.

She gasped, clapping a hand to her chest. "Oh my God, did you just mock me?"

"A little."

"Unbelievable," she slurred, stumbling toward him with all the righteous indignation of a drunk girl on a mission. "I'll have you know, sir, that I— I am a performer. And performers deserve respect."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Is that right?"

"That's right," she huffed. "And who even are you to criticize my artistry?"

For a split second, something flickered across his face. Amusement, maybe a bit of disbelief.

"Just someone who knows the lyrics," he mused.

Her jaw dropped. "Ohhh, so now you're a music expert?"

He bit back a laugh. "Something like that."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, Mr. Music Snob, if you're so good, why don't you sing it?"

"Nah," he said, grinning. "Think I like your version better."

She huffed, turning back to her audience (which had dwindled significantly). "That's what I thought."

It wasn’t until the next morning—hungover, scrolling through the blurry footage—that she realized.

Harry. Fucking. Styles.

Taglist: @triski73 @angeldavis777 @ivegotthecinemaa @bethiegurl19 @sstylezzz @spargelhund @myfavfanficsever @spinninc @catmomstyles3 @mads3502

[aha-my-villainous-thoughts]

I'm still on self-imposed pause while I let some injuries heal up, I couldn't miss celebrating Calypso's Birthday!! She deserves the WORLD!!

Something about the pure gender joy of this absolutely lights up my soul. Gender is somehow such a controversial issue right now - when it's really just about expression and celebration of the divine self! Seeing Wee Jon have this glorious moment, and knowing the sincerity Kristian Nairn brought to this character, is just elevated to something so personal and dear to me. This wasn't a punchline, this wasn't a throwaway little inside joke from a panel, this was Calypso's birth and I'm so fucking happy she's here.

[joeyfromthetrack]

The Breakup Pact - OB⁸⁷

Oliver Bearman x bestfriend!reader

Summary: Ollie and his best friend made a pact to not date anyone for at least 6 months after some terrible relationship fails but Ollie's PR desperately needs fixing. The solution? Fake dating.

Contains: fluff, some social media

Oliver Bearman was the king of the overtake and the king of bad decisions—off-track, at least.

His best friend stared at her phone, snorting at the headline: “Ollie Bearman: Fast Cars, Faster Breakups?”

"Honestly, do they think I’m collecting heartbreaks like podium trophies?" Ollie said, sliding into the seat across from her at their favorite London café. His baseball cap was low over his eyes, trying and failing to hide the fact that he was one of the most recognizable faces in Formula 1.

“I mean,” she said, handing over her phone with a wicked grin, “statistically, you’ve had more breakups than wins this season.”

“That hurts.”

She sipped her latte. “Truth often does.”

They’d made The Breakup Pact three months ago. Over tequila and takeout, sitting in sweatpants on her couch after she came home from what may have been the worst date she had ever been on and he had been dumped 2 days prior.

​​So they swore off dating. Six months, no exceptions.

No rebounds. No late-night texting flings. No feelings. Just friendship. Glorious, uncomplicated, platonic friendship.

And it worked.

Mostly.

Until Ollie started getting dragged by the press, and his PR team begged for a reputation fix.

Until she walked into the café that day in a sundress that made him forget what breathing was.

Until he slid his phone across the table and said, “Want to break the internet?”

Phase One: The Soft Launch

It started with a single Instagram post.

A blurry photo, posted on his Story. She was next to him on his boat on the lake, enjoying strawberries and chocolates. Her face wasn't visible, it was a perfect way to begin a soft launch.

Olliebearman posted a story

Caption: Not pictured: her 4-hour playlist of sad girl anthems.

Immediately, the F1 fandom lit up.

“WHO is she???”

“Y’all this feels personal.”

They said nothing.

Two days later, she posted a mirror selfie of the hotel room they were sharing for a Grand Prix weekend.

yourusername posted a story:

Caption: Slightly clingy xx

The comments came fast:

“Soft launch confirmed.” “Is this actually her?"

Phase Two: The Public Appearance

“You sure about this?” she whispered, looping her arm through his as they enter the paddock at Jeddah

"Yeah absolutely." He gives her a reassuring smile, his eyes shining when he looked at her.

The cameras went insane. Ollie Bearman with her on his arm.

People noticed. Social media really noticed.

And so, like all rational, emotionally mature adults... they leaned into it.

He was staring at her. Really staring.

And then he blinked, cleared his throat, and turned to face the cameras.

They smiled. They posed. They laughed like people madly in love. And somewhere, somehow, a line started to blur.

yourusername posted:

Caption: He made me match, 0/10 boyfriend

Olliebearman posted:

Caption: She called me bossy, 10/10 real girlfriend.

Over the next few weeks, “fake dating” became more real than either of them admitted.

It was subtle at first.

He started texting her “good morning” and “get home safe” like it was muscle memory. She began sitting through entire F1 practice sessions just to watch his onboards, making inside jokes about his cornering style.

During a race weekend in Austria, she found a note tucked into her hotel pillow. It was scribbled on the back of a tire compound chart, in his handwriting:

“If I crash, tell the world it’s because I was thinking about your smile. —OB”

She rolled her eyes. And yet she kept the note. Folded it neatly and slipped it into her wallet.

Phase Three: The Blur

It started as fake.

She knew that. He knew that.

But he still made her coffee every morning exactly the way she liked it.

She still memorized his qualifying times and texted him “your car deserves you” every race day.

He let her fall asleep on him during flights. She stole his hoodies. He never asked for them back.

And then there was the night in Barcelona.

He’d crashed out in Q2. A dumb mistake. His fist had slammed into the garage wall, and the media had been brutal. The words washed up and distracted were trending.

She found him hours later on the rooftop of his hotel.

"You okay?" she asked, sitting beside him on a pool chair under the stars.

“Fine,” he muttered, and then, softer, “I was supposed to be better by now.”

She took his hand. "You're still you. That’s always been enough."

He looked at her like she’d said something sacred. And then he kissed her knuckles, like she was breakable. Like he wanted to be careful.

And just for a moment, she forgot it was fake.

Phase Four: The Realization

It happened in Tokyo.

It wasn’t a big race weekend. No podiums. No press frenzy. Just a mid-season break and a getaway they booked “for the aesthetic,” according to Ollie—sushi, neon lights, cozy bookstores, and zero pressure.

It was supposed to be downtime. A break from pretending.

And that was the problem.

Because without the cameras, without the posts and the performance, there was still something between them. Quiet. Constant. And impossible to ignore.

They were walking through Shinjuku at night when it hit her. He was wearing a hoodie she'd "borrowed" months ago, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched against the breeze. She had just finished telling him a ridiculous story from her uni days, and he was laughing so hard he actually tripped on the curb.

And then—just like that—he looked at her.

And it wasn’t teasing. Or calculated. Or staged.

It was soft. So unbearably soft she nearly forgot to breathe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, heart thudding stupidly.

Ollie slowed, eyes crinkling. “Like what?”

“Like…” She gestured vaguely. “Like you’re not faking it anymore.”

He didn’t answer.

And maybe that was the answer.

Back at the hotel, everything felt heavier.

He’d booked them a suite—two bedrooms, of course. They always kept up the illusion of separation, even when the walls between them felt thinner than ever.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through photos on her phone. Most of them were blurry. Candid. One showed him mid-laugh with his head thrown back, sunlight catching in his hair.

She stared at it longer than she meant to.

He came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, towel slung over his shoulder, damp curls sticking to his forehead.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said, drying his hands on his shirt.

She didn’t look up. “I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Shut up.”

A pause.

“Want to tell me what about?”

She hesitated. Then: “This is starting to feel real.”

Ollie didn’t respond right away. He dropped down beside her, close but not touching, their knees barely brushing.

“I know,” he said quietly. “It does.”

Another beat.

She tilted her head. “So… what do we do?”

He exhaled a shaky breath. “I don’t know.”

They sat in the quiet for a moment. Long enough for the buzz of city traffic outside to hum between them. Long enough for her to feel the gravity of his presence, the warmth of him beside her, the way his pinky finger kept twitching like it wanted to find hers.

“I don’t know when it happened,” she said finally. “I just looked up one day and realized you weren’t a bit anymore. You were the best part of my day.”

His eyes closed. “God.”

“And the stupid part?” She laughed, but it cracked halfway. “I wasn’t supposed to catch feelings for someone pretending to love me.”

Ollie turned to her, really turned this time. His voice was raw when he said, “I wasn’t pretending.”

Her breath hitched.

“I thought I was,” he said, softer now. “But then you started noticing the small things. Like how I tap the wheel when I’m anxious. How I can’t sleep before qualifying unless someone’s talking to me. How I eat gummy bears by color even though I swear I don’t.”

“I noticed,” she whispered.

“I know.” He gave a small, crooked smile. “That’s when I knew it was real. Because you weren’t looking at the driver. You were just… looking at me.”

She swallowed hard, her hands curling into the hem of her oversized shirt. “So what now?”

He reached for her hand, finally, intertwining their fingers with a kind of certainty that made her chest ache.

“I don’t want to fake anything anymore,” he said. “Not the hand-holding. Not the late-night calls. Not the way I look at you and forget there’s a world outside of you.”

Tears threatened, but she blinked them away.

“Me neither.”

They sat like that for a while—just holding hands, forehead against forehead, wrapped in something they didn’t need to perform.

It didn’t matter how it had started.

It only mattered that somehow, in the middle of all the pretending, they’d fallen into something real.

And neither of them wanted to get back up.

Olliebearman & yourusername posted:

Caption: The Breakup Pact failed. Gloriously

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Word Count: 1.5k

[tsuy4n]

Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/swearing, still chaotic, Verbal bullying disguised as flirting, petty drama, reader still very much suffering (comically), Unwilling reverse harem, Reader is done with them all (not really), fire, mentions of blood

[A/n]: I have no control over these boys. I'm just her for vibes and suffering. (cuz they don't exist huehuhe) Reader deserves hazard pay <3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, >Part 4<

Day 5: Part II - Silence is Sexy Now Apparently???

Whoever answered your desperate plea for peace and quiet—thank you.

Even if they were, like, three business days late and definitely filed your request under "suffering builds character."

Because this past few hours? Felt suspiciously like divine intervention.

No stage-diva boys haunting your hallway like perfume-scented cryptids.

No "Noonaaaa!" yelled with the thunderous, bass-boosted agony of a man possessed. From Baby, of all people.

You told him to stop—said you didn't want people thinking you were older than you looked, especially not with his baby face and all that skincare witchcraft he hoards like it's sacred.

The little bastard just smirked harder, like he was saying, "Are you sure?"

You haven't known peace since your second day here. Much less now.

No Romance popping out from behind the prop shelf, dramatically clutching a scarf and declaring, "I dreamt of you last night. You were strangling me. Artistically."

It was a neck pillow. You yeeted it at his head. He thanked you.

No Abby blocking the hallway mirror to flex and ask you, completely straight-faced, "Is it villain-coded if I moisturize before world domination?"

You gave him a thumbs-up and left. He later claimed you were flirting.

No Mystery silently offering you your own coffee, only to walk away after you refused—leaving you standing there with the weird guilt of rejecting a ghost’s feelings.

You drank it anyway. It was your usual. How did he know?? You're still thinking about it.

And most importantly, no random interpretive dance ambush in the pantry while you were trying to microwave rice.

Just glorious silence and the sound of your sneakers not stepping on anyone's ego.

Which is why, for once, you were enjoying your break. Rooftop breeze in your hair, sketchbook in your lap, and the rare spiritual luxury of not being absolutely done with humanity.

Seriously. Whoever was pulling strings up there? You forgive them. They were late, but they came through.

Your only concern this morning was how many folding chairs you'd be emotionally blackmailed into hauling later. That, and whether you had enough lead in your pencil to finish this page.

You hadn't seen a single suspicious silhouette or reality-shattering jawline since clocking in.

Well, okay, fine. You did run into them earlier when you're getting for break time.

Romance had cornered you in the supply room like he was filming a music video, asking if he could "pose dramatically for your art." His eyes sparkled. Yours twitched.

Abby tried flexing casually while asking about your weekend plans, then pretended to drop something so you'd "just happen" to see his back muscles.

You did. You were mildly impressed. You told him to stop weaponizing gym memberships.

And Baby?

He just strolled over without a word and dropped into the seat beside you, one leg stretched out, the other slung over his knee like he was posing for a magazine titled Ego Issues Quarterly

He didn't even look at you at first. Just leaned back, arms draped along the chair like he’d been born lounging.

Then he said, voice low and lazy, "How much for the sketchbook?"

You didn't answer. He offered gum. You still didn't answer. He threw in a paperclip shaped like a bunny.

You almost caved. And by that, you meant throw hands.

And as all this happened, you did what you always did: stayed indifferent on the outside.

But on the inside?

You were clocking every angle. Every jawline, every shadow, every stupid strand of unfair hair volume. Half of you was annoyed; the other half was already tagging their bone structures under "good reference" in your brain's internal Pinterest.

You weren't immune. Just busy.

But amidst the usual dumb banter and war for your attention, one thing stuck out: Jinu.

He didn't flirt. He didn't joke. He barely looked at you ever since you step foot in the building.

You noticed it in passing—how quiet he was. A little more serious than usual. Like something had lodged itself in his brain and refused to vacate the premises. Definitely not just brooding-for-aesthetic. Actual thoughts.

Suspicious.

And maybe it was your artist brain short-circuiting from too many Pinterest boards, but the tension in his shoulders? The way his jaw kept ticking like it was chewing on unfinished dialogue?

Yeah. If he were a drawing, you'd label him "Haunted by Plot Twist, page 37."

You should've been concerned. You really should've.

But nah. Not your business. You had background extras to sketch, rent to pay, and three missing pen nibs to mourn.

Which brings us back to now.

You were so blissfully content, maybe even giggled to yourself once or twice like a tiny menace in a hoodie, that you didn't notice the bench shift beside you.

You blinked, mid-sketch, and looked up.

Oh. It was him. Mystery.

You paused. Blinked again. Yeah, not a hallucination.

Sometimes, he freaked you out a little. Not in the horror-movie way. Just... he was so quiet. Too quiet. Like his stage name wasn't just branding but a literal warning.

Mystery had a habit of showing up without sound, appearing like a cursed Pokémon spawn next to you, behind you, in your personal bubble.

Still, all things considered? He was the least annoying of the lot. Not to mention, you did admit to yourself you found him cute.

He didn't throw flirty one-liners at you like he was auditioning for the role of 'sexy second lead,' and he hadn't tried to yoink your sketchbook like it was the last horcrux. That earned him points.

So you let him sit. Whatever. It was a big rooftop.

You returned to your sketching, lazily doodling the closest prop in sight.

You had, like, five minutes left of freedom before someone inevitably called you to haul folding chairs, fix someone's wig, or hand-sew a button back onto a backup jacket.

You sighed just thinking about it. And then you felt it, the weight against your side.

You froze. Your eyes slid sideways.

Mystery had leaned in. Not dramatically, not like a collapsing tree, just... rested his shoulder against yours. Hair over his face as always, head dipped slightly.

You squinted at him.

Then, as if he might leap into action at any second, you closed your sketchbook. Slowly. Suspiciously. (Always be cautious!)

He didn't move.

"...Are you not feeling well?" You asked.

Mystery shook his head. Barely. Just enough for you to notice. Still, he didn't say anything else.

You glanced around like you were in a spy thriller. Was this a distraction? Were the others planning an ambush while he played decoy? You wouldn't put it past them.

You were starting to suspect you'd become their favorite form of enrichment. Like a stress ball. Or an emotional support disaster muppet.

But nothing. The rooftop stayed quiet. No one popped out with dramatic finger hearts or badly disguised attempts at small talk.

Maybe... maybe they were actually busy. Maybe someone finally got them to rehearse so hard they collapsed on the floor.

But this dude still had the energy to climb all the way up here? Then never mind.

You just hoped they stayed busy. That Mystery showing up here was his own decision not something cooked up by Jinu, mister I-have-a-switch, or the rest of his chaos committee.

You turned back toward Mystery, trying to play it cool.

Not to be weird or anything, but his cologne smelled... nice. Soft. Like citrus and something expensive. It didn't attack your nose like some of the cologne samples you once tried at the mall that nearly caused a coma.

His hair looked soft, too. A little fluffy. It reminded you of one of your grandparents' pets which was the sleepy little dog they had. It used to curl up beside you and doze off while you drew.

Was that what Mystery was doing? Were you warmth? A heating pad?

...Was he asleep?

You squinted again. No answer. You huffed and picked up your pencil. If you couldn't figure him out, you might as well draw through it.

Doodles. Hands. Some profile from memory. A chaotic blob that could become something. Anything to keep your hands busy and your eyes off the mystery boy literally named Mystery.

You didn't notice the small smile tugging at his lips.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed. Break was over.

You stared down at the screen like it had betrayed you. Back to the world. Back to chaos. Back to sanity erosion.

But for now, for just a moment longer, you stayed seated. And beside you, Mystery didn't move either

Without speaking, or even needing to tell him to sit up, you saw Mystery already shifting, straightening just slightly as if he'd read your mind.

Okay...that's nice. Creepy. But nice.

You stood with a quiet sigh, brushing off your hoodie like it had personally offended you, sketchbook tucked under your arm like a child you were protecting from the world's sins.

"Later." You bid him casually with a little nod.

Mystery didn't answer. He rarely did. Sometimes he talked. Sometimes he didn't. You were starting to think he had a secret dice roll for social interaction.

And you didn't expect him to still be watching.

Didn't expect him to stay exactly where you left him, still leaning slightly, still barely moving, like one of those statues in horror games that only move when you look away.

For some reason, even with all that hair obscuring half his face, you imagined his eyes trailing after you like a dog watching its human leave for work. All soulful gaze and tragic resignation.

Like if you turned around, he might paw at the air and whine.

But you didn't linger, just pushed the rooftop door open then stopped. You blinked—because there, in the corner of your vision, saw a flash of pink. Not pastel. Not sky. Something unnatural.

A glitch or something. A smoke trail. Like someone mid-teleport in a fantasy game with their settings on 'extra dramatic.'

You stared one half-second longer than any sane person would, nodded like "cool, love that for us," and walked off. You had chairs to carry. Wigs to adjust. A paycheck to clutch like a rosary.

Let someone else deal with the possible interdimensional chaos cloud.

Behind you, Mystery finally sat up straight. His eyes never left the spot where you'd vanished through the door.

And that's when the others appeared with a flash of pink.

"Yo." Abby's voice cut through the rooftop air like a slap. He looked at Mystery, brow twitching. "Was that... you leaning on her? Or are the stage lights finally frying my retinas?"

Romance turned, jaw already dropped. "She let you sit next to her?" Then as if he came upon a realization, he added, "I mean— you got contact?"

He blinked, stunned. No way. You always swatted them off with a scowl. You pulled away like they were leaking radioactivity anytime they got too close.

But now Mystery got a seat? A whole moment?

What the hell.

The said person—demon didn't answer. He didn't have to. The silence was louder than anything he could've said.

Baby scoffed, arms folded tight. "Did you at least look at what she was doing?"

He told himself it was about the sketchbook. About the mission, but it wasn't. Not really.

No reply.

Romance tilted his head, his tone laced with mockery. "What—did you fall for that human or something?"

"A possible enemy." Abby muttered with syrupy venom. "Aww. That's adorable. What next? Gonna write her name in your demon diary?"

"Or give her your soul in a glittery envelope?" Baby flatly said with squinted eyes. "Just say you're in love with the enemy already."

He hadn't meant for it to land like that. Not really. But Mystery's hand twitched at his side, still silent.

Baby glanced away first with a little scoff.

"Maybe that's his plan now." Jinu's voice cut in, low and clipped. "Stay quiet. Earn her trust. Let her think he's harmless, just some weird, hoodie-wearing loner. Then when her guard's down, she gives him the sketchbook... or shows him what's inside."

His arms crossed tighter. "Wouldn't have to ask. Wouldn't have to flirt. Just sit there and wait until she spills like he's special."

Jinu paused for a brief second.

"Smart." He added. But it didn't sound like a compliment. More like a warning. Or maybe a grudge dressed up as logic.

They all turned to Mystery. He stared back—calm, and unreadable, like none of their noise registered. Not compared to whatever was playing in his head.

He blinked once then spoke, quiet enough to be lost in the wind. "She moves when I look. I don't want her to move."

It landed like a spell. Sudden. Off-key. Too soft to handle.

For a second, no one spoke.

Abby froze. No blink. No quip. Just stared like his system had crashed mid-update.

Romance let out a breath, hand on his chest like he'd been hit. No teasing now, just narrowed eyes and something twisted in his gut.

"That line had flavor." He muttered. "Did it taste like yearning?"

He tried to laugh, but it fell flat. Because he remembered your expression—your bored scowl, your insult about glitter, the way you spun that foam trident like you'd trained for it.

He was supposed to be the charming one. The safe bet. But you hadn't even twitched.

He'll probably start genuinely sulking, and that would just be humiliating.

Now Mystery, who barely talks, gets to sit next to you? Yeah. That stung. (Bruised something which certainly wasn't just his ego).

Baby blinked, disbelief cracking through his usual smirk. He expected poetry from Romance. Absurdity from Abby. But Mystery?

"That was a rom-com lead moment." Baby narrowed his eyes. "I'm gonna be sick." Then, under his breath, "Mystery spoke and now the universe tilts."

He turned to Jinu, petty and itching. "Better switch up your shampoo, golden boy. Whatever you're using clearly stopped working."

It was a cheap shot. He didn't care. The feelings stirring in his chest weren't clean—so he'd call it strategy. Frustration. Anything but jealousy.

None of them had gotten that far.

Not Abby's showboating. Not Romance's smooth talk. Not Jinu's sudden fake kindness. Not even him with his cuteness.

And Mystery? Said one line and got further than any of them.

Unacceptable.

Abby huffed beside him, arms crossed in mirror defense. No words. Just a silent, sulky pout that made his fitted shirt feel too tight all of a sudden.

Jinu didn't react, he didn't flinch. Just stood still, jaw tight. Eyes unreadable. But inside? Yeah. He felt the burn.

He was the first. The one who let you in. Let you photograph them, bark orders, roll your eyes without consequence. You didn't swoon. Didn't care. Just worked.

He'd called it strategy. Keep you close. Watch you. (They know where you live).

But somewhere between your eye rolls and offhand insults, something else had crept in. Something not in the plan. Not strategy.

Now, seeing you sit still for Mystery—letting him close?

Jinu exhaled through his nose, soft and low.

"Hopeless." He muttered, gaze distant. He didn't know if he meant Mystery, who was clearly done playing spy, or himself, for ever thinking he could separate observation from obsession.

He exhaled through his nose. "Scratch him off. He’s not getting that sketchbook."

"Good." Baby said, a little too fast. His voice cut through the air, crisp and cool. "Less mouths. Maybe I'll actually get close enough next time without being called a stray cat."

Romance grinned, the mischief in his eyes impossible to miss. "You're still upset she called you a stray, huh? What was it? Something about turf wars with raccoons behind a 7-Eleven?"

Baby's scowl deepened like he was reliving it in real-time. He turned to Romance with a glare sharp enough to draw blood. "She called you glitter vomit, Romance." He snapped. "So unless you wanna be part of the clean-up crew, shut it."

Romance's grin twitched. Just slightly. Like it was painted on, cracking at the edges.

"At least I sparkle when I'm insulted." He said through clenched teeth, voice still sugarcoated but sharp. "You hiss and knock over boxes like a third-tier saja who got rejected from charm school. I'd say it's embarrassing, but you made it an art."

Baby didn't blink. "Yeah?" He said, voice low. "Keep talking, sparkle guts. Maybe she'll pity you enough to sweep you off the floor."

They stared at each other, tension crackling, the air thick with the kind of petty animosity that only two beautiful people with bruised egos could manage.

Abby chuckled, but there was no heat behind it. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly ignoring the demon catfight behind him. "Still... maybe I should try the quiet and tragic approach. Think that's her type?"

Baby and Romance turned to look at him, their showdown paused—forgotten, maybe.

"Oh sure." Baby rolled his eyes. "Let me just uninstall my entire personality and start brooding in a corner."

"Maybe it'd work." Romance said, quieter now. His gaze flicked toward Mystery, then back to where you'd been. "She looked at him like he wasn't annoying unlike the rest of us."

Jinu watched his members bicker and spiral into their own egos like it was a full-time job.

Baby and Romance were still glaring at each other like petty rivals in a perfume ad. Abby looked like he was preparing for a tragic boyband concept era.

And Mystery? Mystery was just... staring into space like he was composing poetry in Morse code.

It was exhausting.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "How do you all function." he muttered under his breath.

Considering he was the one who put this group together, Jinu really did understand what he was putting you through.

The difference was you didn't show it.

You just rolled your eyes, insulted their hair, dropped art references they barely understood, and carried on like they weren't literal demons sent to take your souls.

His fingers tapped rhythmically against his arm. Fine. No more improvisation. No more solo disasters that ended in sulking, musical tantrums, or poetic self-sabotage.

And Jinu? He didn't look up. Just stared at the rooftop floor like it might cough up the answer. Like maybe if he glared long enough, the plan would fix itself.

This was getting out of hand.

When Jinu spoke, his voice was cold, clipped, but beneath that chill was something else. Tight and controlled, like if he let it slip even a little, the wrong truth might come out.

"Nothing changes." He turns around. "We get that sketchbook."

His eyes didn't waver. Focused and empty all at once, like he was looking straight through the moment—past them, past the plan, past himself.

The others turned, expression unreadable.

"Today." He added, this time sharper. "Settle it once and for all. No more delays. No more distractions."

Then, noticing a few people nearby, other interns passing through, a couple of techies on break, Jinu didn’t say anything else. He just walked off, quiet and brisk, the echo of his footsteps trailing behind like punctuation.

The silence he left was sharp.

Abby exhaled first. "It's just curiosity." He muttered, too fast—like it was supposed to explain everything. "She's weird. All that slang. Anime and internet soup or whatever."

"Yeah." Baby agreed, more casual but still frowning. "Seriously. What kind of human’s that unaffected? Even with my absolute cuteness."

Romance didn't say anything else. He just sighed. There he goes again with his face. (Says the guy who also admires himself in the mirror).

No one said what they were really thinking, and that made the silence stretch. No one moved or agreed to what Jinu said even if he was long gone.

But no one argued either.

And maybe that was answer enough.

-

You didn't notice the rooftop stares.

You were halfway across the lot now, a cardboard box in your arms and a pen behind your ear, chatting with one of the stage techs as you both walked.

Something about costume returns. Or lost props. Or a mannequin that got decapitated again. The usual.

The sun was high. Your feet ached. Your back was one bend away from cracking like bubble wrap.

But you still considered this peace. You could almost believe it was permanent but the last you believed that, they appear—

Your coworker flinched and hissed, "Kkamjjagiya!" (you surprised me) like they'd just seen a ghost.

You didn't have to turn around to know what caused it. The air got ten percent warmer and one hundred percent more unbearable.

Of course. Of course they were back after a few hours.

The Saja Boys stepped in one by one, doing That Thing™ they did. The posture shift. The twinkle in the eyes. The half-smiles like they knew they were dreams personified.

Romance was first, holding a clipboard like it was a bouquet. "Need a hand, sweetheart? Or two? Maybe three?"

You glared. He winked. Then his stupid ass tripped, but you could tell it was on purpose, obviously, because he fell right toward your sketchbook.

His fingers just grazed the cover before you slammed your clipboard down on his wrist.

"Ow." He said with a small hiss, rubbing his arm before flashing a grin like he''d been personally blessed by the pain. "Still feisty... and I still very much like it."

You looked at him like you had just judged his entire bloodline, and found all of them guilty.

"You're about to like ice packs too."

Romance chuckled, unfazed. "I accept my fate. But just so you know, bruises make great conversation starters."

He winked. "Want me to autograph the one you're about to give me?"

You blinked once. Then blinked again.

Then, very slowly, you lifted your sketchbook like you were contemplating smacking him with it, not out of rage, but sheer exhausted disbelief.

"...You want a pen to sign your medical bill too?"

Romance grinned wider. "Only if you draw on it first."

You groaned, already regretting every life decision that led you here.

Baby was next.

This gives you déjà vu from last night.

He popped up beside you like a clingy phantom and held up a crayon drawing of you riding a dragon, trying to use that face of his to his advantage, again.

"Fan art." He announced, grinning like he was unveiling a masterpiece. "From me. Artist to artist. Let's swap. Yours for mine?"

You blinked, brow rising. They're coming at you again, specifically your sketchbook.

"Did you just draw me stabbing Jinu?" You asked, trying your absolute best to keep your face blank because if you cracked now, even a twitch, you knew you'd never hear the end of it.

He'd say his drawing got you. That he got you.

Baby leaned in, clearly fishing for proof. "Maybe." He said, grinning like a devil. "But you're not denying it's good."

You held his gaze, lips twitching—just once.

Unfortunately for you, he saw it. And he lit up like a kid who'd just been handed a trophy for 'Most Annoying and Proud.'

"Aww, was that a smile?" He cooed, smugness practically oozing as he tilted his head. "It was. Don't lie."

You frowned, still holding the crayon drawing like it personally offended your degree. "No, it wasn't."

"Sure it was." He leaned in like he was about to stage whisper a secret. "Mystery said you smiled too. Now I got one. We're tied. Kinda makes us rivals, don't you think?"

You raised a brow again then stared at him flatly. "I'm getting security."

"You're getting sentimental." He shot back, still grinning. Then, quieter, just for extra effect: "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me, Sunshine."

You stopped mid-step then slowly turned, and stared at him like he'd just kicked a puppy and asked for applause.

Baby only beamed brighter, hands in his pockets like he hadn't just committed a social felony. Like he was proud of it.

He rocked back on his heels, smug as hell. "See? That face. You like me."

Haha. You wanna throw a chair at him.

Next was Abby.

He was already halfway through picking up a fallen roll of duct tape, like he'd just happened to be nearby and oh-so-conveniently useful.

His posture was casual, like this was a normal day and not a full-blown five-man flirt ambush.

He straightened, smiled, and held out the tape like an offering.

"You look stressed, babe." He said smoothly. "I can carry the box. And the sketchbook. And you, if needed."

You stared at him, deadpan. "You can carry yourself to the other side of the room."

He grinned. Unbothered. Then, because he was Abby, flexed just a bit like the room was his gym and the moment demanded it.

You blinked. "Was that necessary?"

"Everything I do is necessary." He said it like a motto. Like his muscles were a public service.

You opened your mouth, then shut it again.

Then, finally, inevitably, you smiled. Not a happy smile. Not even close. It was that exhausted, resigned, "Of course you said that" kind of smile. The kind you give your group project partner right before they say, "Trust me."

You don't bother to waste your energy on pushing him away. "...Help me tape the costume rack, you walking protein shake."

He beamed. "Gladly. Want me to flex while I do it?"

Your smile stayed, brittle and doomed. You didn't answer. Just turned away and sighed like someone whose will to resist was slowly being bench-pressed out of existence.

He still followed, tape in hand and biceps fully committed to the bit.

Jinu, who was leaning against the nearest wall with his arms crossed, watched it all unfold like a smug director of a very stupid play.

He didn't speak at first. Just stood there, all moody elegance and judgment, like he hadn’t tripped over a stack of crates last night and almost died from it. (yeah, you're exaggerating)

Huh. So mister switch-flip was back to his usual self—the smug, mildly infuriating version— if he was here now, watching you like he hadn't spent the last few hours pretending you didn't exist.

Maybe he got over whatever brooding anime arc he was stuck in. Or maybe his pride finally regenerated enough to rejoin the land of the socially functioning.

Either way, great. The cryptid council was back at full force.

"You know," Jinu poke, voice casual but eyes sharp, "for someone who draws so much, you never show anyone what you're proud of. Makes you look like you're hiding something."

You raised a brow. "I am. My patience."

A corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a laugh. Nor quite a challenge. "Maybe you're just shy. Or maybe it's something else."

"Gaslighting won't get you what you want, Jinu."

He took another step, a smirk pulling at his lips. "You sure?"

You blinked at him, unimpressed. "I've met tax collectors with more charm."

That made him laugh. It wasn't loud, but real. "So you admit I've got some charm."

You tilt your head slightly and looked at him dead in the eye. "Barely."

For some reason, you found him extra irritating today. Not because he'd gone distant. Not because his silence had bothered you more than it should have. He was just... irritating. That was all.

Totally unrelated to how he acted this morning.

With that, the standoff lingered like static in the air.

And somewhere behind you, Abby muttered under his breath, "...Why is this kinda hot?"

Baby immediately turned to glare at him. "You're not helping."

It had been fifteen minutes since you last saw those try-hards. Five full minutes of blessed silence. No flirtatious quips. No ambushes. No bizarre "fan art trades."

But the peace only made you more suspicious.

What was with them today? They weren't just being annoying, they were focused. Like there was a mission. Like they were actually determined to get a look inside your sketchbook.

What suddenly lit a fire under all of them?

And then, without warning—

Mystery was there.

Not in a flashy poof of smoke or with a dramatic line. Just... there. Sitting silently at your usual corner, already pulling a chair out beside him like he expected you to follow.

You paused, internally finding that action adorable.

Of course, Mystery didn't speak. He never started the conversation. He just hovered—close, unnervingly so, and waited like your orbit naturally included him.

Still, when you sat to sort through prop lists, he followed suit. Close enough that you could feel his presence, but far enough that it might be called respectful. Technically.

"You're not subtle." You muttered without looking up, pen scratching against paper like it was your only lifeline to sanity.

Mystery tilted his head in response. Just a fraction. Enough to acknowledge, but not enough to explain.

You sighed, flipping the page in your folder with just a little more aggression than necessary.

"Don't try to out-quiet me." You warned, eyes still fixed on your checklist. "It won't work. I invented deadpan silence. I thrive in it."

He didn't blink or moved, just continued to exist there: quiet, patient, unsettlingly still. Like a ghost who had no intention of leaving.

Like he'd wait all day if he had to.

You hummed lightly then turned your head slightly. You opened your sketchbook just a crack, just to glance at a reference. And like clockwork. there it was. A hand.

Creeping from the edge of your vision like a crab.

"Back off." You said without missing a beat, slapping the sketchbook shut.

"Rude." Baby muttered from behind a nearby column. "I was gentle that time."

You raised your eyes. Across the room—yes, they were all there. Sigh.

Romance, leaned against a mirror like he was waiting for a slow-mo spin. Abby pretending to fix a light fixture, flexing subtly. Jinu at the back, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his mouth like he was enjoying a live telenovela.

Losers. Every last one of them.

Mystery, on the other hand, didn't flinch. Just leaned in a little more. Like the rest of the chaos didn't exist. Like he was the only one in the room who understood that silence could be a kind of closeness too.

You side-eyed him. "You do realize they're all watching, right?"

Mystery, being him, didn't say anything at first.

Then, without moving his head, he said—quietly, just enough for you to hear, "Let them."

. . .

You coughed. Violently.

Not because you were choking. But because—what the hell was that?

Who gave him permission to drop a line like that? Soft, unwavering, lowkey romantic like he'd just stepped out of one of those late-night dramas you pretended not to watch but absolutely binged at 2 a.m.

You stared harder at your checklist like it was responsible for your sudden internal meltdown. No. Nope. You were not affected.

You were perfectly normal. Mentally stable. Immune to cryptic, poetic boys with sleepy voices and stupidly good hair.

You coughed again just to be safe. And to smother the tiny part of your brain that was currently kicking its feet and giggling like a schoolgirl.

It wasn't like the others' lines, the ones that almost worked or just made you cringe. This one hit different. Probably because you didn't expect it from him.

From across the room, several heads snapped in sync.

"???"

"Is she choking on air or dying?" Abby asked, eyebrows raised and genuinely confused.

"Wait—hold on. That was flirting, wasn't it?" Baby said, scowling. "Oh, so he gets bonus points for whispering cryptic nonsense, but when I bring bunny-shaped paperclips, I'm 'too much'? Unreal."

"She coughed like she just got hit with a K-drama line." Romance muttered, stunned. "What the hell did he say?"

Baby and Abby exchanged a look before shrugging.

Then Romance placed a hand over his chest, as if physically struck, and took a staggered breath. "Wait—no. Don't tell me. I'll spiral."

Then, snapping back with a bitter edge: "What, did he whisper poetry? A tragic backstory? I swear, if it worked—" He narrowed his eyes. "I'm deleting my entire personality."

Jinu gave Romance a long, unimpressed look. Then shook his head once—slow, like even he couldn't believe this was the conversation happening.

Without another word, he turned his gaze back to where you and Mystery sat, eyes narrowing like squinting hard enough might reveal the secrets of the universe.

Or at least, whatever the hell Mystery just whispered that made you cough like a lovesick drama lead.

His jaw ticked and his expression didn't change. But damn, was he staring hard.

"Whatever he said, I could've said it better—with more charisma and less blinking." Abby muttered, then added with a scoff, "If dead silence and vague stares are the new sexy, I've clearly been overperforming."

Romance folded his arms, bitter. "Don't. You'd combust."

Jinu said nothing. Still leaning against the wall like he had been for the past ten minutes, but now his eyes were colder.

Something in him ticked, like he was deciding whether to be impressed... or set someone on fire.

Then Mystery moved again, barely. His hand hovered near your sketchbook, one finger tapping the corner. Not taking. Just gesturing.

You glanced at him then sighed. You hand him a blank sticky note from your stack. It was a cute design.

He took it. Carefully. A tiny twitch of amusement crossed his face like a breeze over water—barely there, but real.

Baby watched, his eyes wide for a second then blank next. "She gave him stationery. That's it. I'm buying glitter pens."

"She gives him the cute stuff. I break my back carrying things and all I get is scoliosis." Abby deadpanned.

Romance groaned, covering his face. "This is it. This is my villain origin story. I'm dyeing my hair black and starting a solo."

Jinu still didn't speak. But when he did, his voice was sharp, low, and precise, like the clean pull of a trigger. No room for argument. No room for delay.

"We're getting that sketchbook. By sundown."

Bold words from Jinu. The kind you'd expect to trigger some epic music or a final boss cutscene.

Instead, the rest of the day passed in a blur of nonsense.

You dodged at least seven ambushes, blocked two fake "accidental" trips (looking at Baby), and barely survived a very dramatic confession from Romance that involved a bouquet made out of receipt paper.

Mystery just kept appearing at your side like a ghost with feelings. Abby tried to carry you again.

You were too tired to keep fighting them off. Too drained to question whatever demon pact they'd clearly made to break you down.

By the time you finally locked your sketchbook in your bag and dragged yourself home, your body was aching, your patience was threadbare, and your suspicion was officially at Defcon 1.

Something was off. You could feel it.

You didn't remember falling asleep, just the weight of exhaustion and the quiet hum of your apartment floor. It was normally peaceful here.

You even liked your neighbors. The college student who always microwaved noodles at 2AM, the elderly couple across the hall, the quiet guy with too many plants.

So when the screaming started, it didn't register at first.

The scream came again, sharper this time. Closer. Then the crack of glass. A choking smell. Smoke curling under your door.

You were on your feet in seconds.

The air had already changed, thick and sharp. Your eyes burned before you even opened the closet. You didn't remember moving, just grabbing your bag, your sketchbook, your phone—

You hissed as your hand hit the doorknob.

"...Fuck."

The door wouldn't budge.

The metal handle scorched your palm, and you jerked back with a hiss. Too hot. Too sealed. The smoke was rising fast now—choking, thick, clawing at your lungs like it had teeth.

You stumbled back, coughing hard, vision blurred as the room twisted in heat. You turned to grab your bag, the one thing you had to save, and as you slung it over your shoulder, your arm grazed the corner of the overturned desk.

A flash of pain. Sharp. You looked down and saw the crimson line blooming across your forearm, thin but angry, already staining the sleeve of your shirt. Glass, maybe. Or metal. You didn't know.

Your heart was a drumbeat in your ears. Loud. Wild.

You pressed your good hand over the cut, staggering toward the window. But the smoke was thicker now, a suffocating wall of grey, and each breath clawed deeper than the last.

Your knees buckled.

Just as your vision began to flicker, there was a sound—a crack like thunder and the crash of splintering wood. The door burst open.

Smoke billowed out into the hallway like a living thing, and through it stepped a figure—tall, fast, steady.

Your body didn't register the face. It didn't need to.

Because all you saw was the golden glow of his eyes. They were unmoving. Fierce. Anchored.

...Like sunlight piercing the storm.

You tried to say something, his name? A joke? anything, but your throat burned, and the room tilted sideways. The last thing you felt was the warmth of strong arms catching you.

And then darkness, but it wasn't lonely.

Because before the light slipped away completely, you remembered one thing: That beautiful, impossible glow. Golden. Bright.

And safe.

[holyblonded]

strawberry swing | always sunny in australia

pairings: sam kerr x teen!reader

summary: the story of chickie

warnings: foster care, social workers, abandonment

notes: before anyone accuses me of fucking trauma porn again (smd) most of my characters backstories reflect my own experiences. so leave me alone 😀

Your birth is a mystery.

There’s no hospital certificate, no photos of a baby wrapped in a blanket with proud parents smiling beside her. No recorded time of birth, no gentle whispers of a name chosen with care. You were surrendered at a fire station in Perth just a few days after coming into the world—tiny, blinking up at the fluorescent lights, swaddled in a blanket and left in silence. The only thing anyone knows is the date you were found: September 3rd.

So that became your birthday. You’ve never celebrated the actual day you were born, but September 3rd became a symbol of something different, survival. Existence. The day someone, somewhere, decided you deserved a chance. And so, when you started playing football, it was only natural to wear the number 3. Not because it was lucky. Not because a hero wore it before you. But because that number was yours. A reminder that you made it. That you’re still here.

You were placed in foster care right away. At first, everything was a blur, faces came and went. Families with different smells, different rules, different ways of making dinner. You learned not to unpack too deeply. Not to leave your clothes in drawers. Not to get too comfortable with anyone’s pets or start calling someone “Mum”. You learned how to adapt, how to nod when spoken to, how to keep a tiny part of yourself locked up and protected.

But then came the Patels. Mr. and Mrs. Patel were older, their children grown and long moved out. Their home was warm in the way that made your shoulders drop as soon as you walked in. The first night you stayed with them, you were so quiet that Mrs. Patel brought you warm milk with honey and sat next to you on the couch without saying a word. Mr. Patel gave you a bedtime story and called you “little one” with such affection it made your throat ache.

You were five years old, and for the first time, you felt like a child.

They never treated you like a charity case. You weren’t just a number in a file or a check from the government. You were their kid. Mr. Patel taught you how to garden, even though you pulled up the carrots too early. Mrs. Patel showed you how to make roti, guiding your little hands with gentle patience. They gave you a bedtime. They taught you to fold your clothes. They came to every parent-teacher meeting.

And when they saw you running circles around the backyard with a half-deflated ball tucked under your arm, Mr. Patel chuckled and said, “We’ve got a little footballer on our hands.”

So they signed you up.

You still remember your first match. You were wearing hand-me-down cleats that were a little too big, shin guards that kept sliding, and a jersey two sizes too long. But you were buzzing with excitement.

“Go, sweetie! Run, run, run!” Mrs. Patel called from the sideline, her voice high and delighted.

“To the goal! That’s it!” Mr. Patel shouted, jumping up and down like he was the one sprinting across the pitch.

You scored. It was messy, a bit lucky, and absolutely glorious. When you turned to the sideline, they were both clapping like you’d just won the World Cup. That moment was burned into your heart forever. Not the goal—them. The way they looked at you like you were something special.

But good things, you learned early, don’t always last.

By the time you were seven, Mr. and Mrs. Patel were struggling. Their age had caught up with them. Mrs. Patel’s arthritis made mornings difficult. Mr. Patel was having trouble keeping up with appointments. And the social worker gently, apologetically, told you it was time.

You didn’t say a word as you packed your things. Just a small duffel bag. The rest had always been borrowed.

Mr. Patel gave you a hug that lasted longer than it should’ve. Mrs. Patel tucked a little hand-stitched elephant into your pocket — “For courage,” she said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The drive away from that house was one of the longest of your life. You curled up in the backseat, forehead against the window, watching the world blur by. Michelle, your social worker, kept glancing at you in the mirror. You didn’t cry. Not then. Your chest felt like it had caved in.

But then you whispered, almost too softly to hear: “Wherever I go from here… I want to keep playing football.”

Michelle didn’t blink. She just nodded, voice steady. “I can do that for you.”

And she did.

No matter how many places you bounced around after that, she made sure there was always a ball at your feet. Always a field. Always something to hold onto.

You were small, and angry sometimes, and too stubborn for your own good. But you never stopped playing. Never stopped believing that maybe, just maybe, one day, you’d find another place that felt like home.

And until then, you had football. You had the number 3, you had yourself, and most importantly you had the fire to survive.

You were used to doing things on your own. By thirteen, you had already lived more lives than most kids your age. You had lived in group homes and in strangers’ guest rooms, unpacked your bag more times than you could count, and learned how to get to practice no matter the distance. If it meant walking an hour, hitching a ride with someone’s cousin, or kicking around in a parking lot with a half-flat ball, so be it. You didn’t complain. Football made you feel alive, like you were more than your case number, more than another kid shuffling through the system. It reminded you that you were good at something.

But when you were turning fourteen, everything shifted.

You were placed with Edison and Savannah Mulberry, a well-off couple in Perth with a house full of sunshine, a garden that actually looked like a garden, and the biggest flatscreen you’d ever seen. They reminded you so much of Mr. and Mrs. Patel it almost hurt at first. Savannah hummed while she cooked and called you “sweetheart” from the moment you walked in the door. Edison was the type to high-five you every time he saw you and blast music from the speakers in the kitchen while making pancakes.

And best of all? They were massive Tillies fans. Not the fake kind, not the people who tuned in once a year for the important and barely knew any names. No, Edison could rattle off stats for every player, and Savannah had a scarf signed by Lisa De Vanna from years ago. When they found out how serious you were about football, it was like Christmas had come early. They bought cones and pop-up goals. They cleared out the garage so you could store your gear. Edison went full soccer dad mode, showing up to every training, every match, yelling like he was the coach.

You were embarrassed at first. Then, you secretly loved it.

And one weekend, they brought friends with them to one of your matches. Roger and Roxanne Kerr.

You didn’t know who they were at first, just that they were really friendly, smiled a lot, and seemed to know everything about football. Edison was buzzing with excitement, talking you up before the match like you were already a professional. You tried not to let it get to your head. But you did what you always did when you stepped on the pitch: you balled out.

You scored two goals. Assisted another. Broke ankles. Ran the game like you were born to do it.

After the final whistle, Roger and Roxanne came up to you, all smiles.

“That was brilliant,” Roger said, giving you a little clap on the shoulder.

“Seriously, you were everywhere,” Roxanne added. “So much composure for someone your age.”

You muttered a quiet thank you, looking at your shoes, trying not to blush. Edison, of course, was already grinning like he won the lottery.

“I told you she was good!” he said, practically bouncing. “She’s got something, doesn’t she? The instincts, the footwork, the mind for it!”

They smiled, nodded, clearly impressed. You didn’t realize how important their opinion was. Not until you got home.

Because Sam Kerr, the Sam Kerr, their daughter, happened to be visiting that week.

Over dinner, Roxanne casually said, “You should come to her next match, Sam. The kid’s got something special.”

“Really?” Sam asked, half-interested as she chewed. “Alright. I’ll come.”

You didn’t know she was going to be there. You didn’t know Tony Gustavsson, coach of the Matildas, would be there too.

You were just playing. And again, you crushed it. Another goal. Two assists. Dominating the midfield like it was your backyard. You played with joy, freedom, and a touch of feral hunger, like you had something to prove and nothing to lose.

From the stands, Sam leaned over to Tony.

“We need her,” she said. “She’s a freak. But she’s only thirteen.”

Tony didn’t take his eyes off you. “She’s fourteen in a month,” he said with a smirk.

That was the beginning of it.

Sam wasn’t someone who half-did things. If she believed in you, she believed in you. She spent the next month in Perth during a break from club and national duty. And instead of resting, she spent it with you.

She started by casually showing up to your training sessions. Then she offered to play one-on-one. Then she took you to this corner café you loved, where they had killer sandwiches and live acoustic music on Fridays. You opened up slowly, walls still high, trust still tentative, but she didn’t push. She just stuck around. She teased you when you tripped over your own shoelaces, taught you how to loft a ball with your laces perfectly, listened to your favorite playlists. You even made her watch some dumb rom-com you liked, and she didn’t complain. Much.

One afternoon, you showed her your favorite view of the city, up this trail behind the local park. You told her about the Patels. You told her about walking hours just to play. She didn’t say anything for a while.

Then she said, “You’re tough as nails, huh?”

You shrugged. “I just love the game.”

Sam smiled. “Yeah. I can see that.”

By the end of the month, she had gotten your favorite cookies, these fancy ones from Sydney that were nearly impossible to find, and gave them to you on your birthday.

“Happy fourteenth,” she said, grinning. “Now come play for the national team.”

You hesitated. But something in you trusted her. So you said yes. Everything felt like it was finally falling into place.

Until it wasn’t. Just weeks before your official call-up, Edison had a sudden heart attack. He survived, but it was serious. Savannah was overwhelmed, struggling to keep up with his care, and social services stepped in.

You were going to be moved again. It was a gut punch. After everything. After hope. After belonging.

You sat in the office, arms crossed, bracing for another round of disappointment, when Sam stood up out of nowhere and said, “She’s not going back into the system. I’ll take her.”

You whipped your head toward her. “What?”

“I’ll take you,” Sam repeated. “You’ll stay with me.”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “You’ve got enough going on. You’re— You’re Sam Kerr. You don’t have time to—”

“I’m not letting this happen to you,” she said firmly. “You don’t have to keep starting over. Not this time.”

And just like that, she became your legal guardian.

You cried when you signed the paperwork. Sam pretended not to see, just ruffled your hair and said, “Alright, let’s get you packed. You’ve got a debut coming up.”

You never said it out loud, but in that moment, you stopped surviving.

And for the first time in your life… you started living.

[mint-yooxgi]

Kinktober Day 30 - Yandere!Fallen Angel!Seonghwa + Somnophilia & Body Worship

Anonymous Said: Seonghwa from ateez. Consensual Somnophilia & Body worship. Yandere & fallen angel or guardian angel. A/n: I am SO sorry that this is late, life has just been a bit hectic lately. Again, it's Hwa, so I couldn't help myself. It's not as long as I was originally going to make it, but I like where it ends honestly. He's intense in the best ways imo, and I do really love how this turned out. I also have a yandere angel ateez series planned at some point where Hwa is an archangel, so I'm also really excited about that. It's heavily inspired by his Will To Power solo stage, so I hope you all can look forward to that at some point! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy! Warnings/Genre/Rating: 18+ MDNI - Smut, Mature, Established Relationship, Possession, Monster Features, Yandere, Blood mentioned in brief (not in a kinky way), Lots of religious metaphors, Overstimulation, Oral (fem. rec), Fingering (fem. rec), Squirting, Minor Dacryphilia (if you squint), There's a lot :) Word Count: 4,821 Kinktober 2024 Mini Masterlist

Park Seonghwa is a man of many emotions.

Well… technically he’s not a man, but there is no one in this universe that makes him feel more human than you. 

There is nothing he wouldn’t do for you. You are his one saving grace in this hellish landscape called earth, and he will do anything to protect that fact. No one is off limits. Nothing is too much. For when it comes to you, you deserve nothing but the best this world has to offer. 

His best. 

Seonghwa will always make sure of that.

The water feels cool against his skin despite the steam rising through the air. One of his hands is braced against the stone tiles of the shower wall, letting the flow of water cascade down his back and pool around the drain. Red streaks against his skin, little rivulets creating vein-like patterns across his figure as he washes away the horrific events of the evening.

You can never know. You will never know. 

Seonghwa has spent his whole life guarding those most precious to him. Now, you’re the only thing left that matters.

You. Who still sleeps soundly beneath the thick covers of his duvet as he steps out of the bathroom a short while later. Your features rest in a soft expression of pure bliss, chest rising and falling steadily. The light of the moon only serves to make your skin glow, illuminating every inch of you that he has always loved more than anything else in this godforsaken world.

A pleased smile tugs at his lips, eyes shining with nothing but adoration as he observes you through the dark. Lightly, he fluffs his damp hair with the towel held in his hand, the one wrapped around his waist hanging dangerously low. Small droplets of water cascade down his chest which he is quick to wipe away.

After all, you’re expecting him to join you, and he hates to keep you waiting.

With his lips curling upwards into that all too familiar loving smile, he takes a step towards the bed. Large, fluffy wings emerge from his back, deep red in colour. As he fluffs the feathers lightly, he lets the towel fall from his waist. The other is quick to join the growing heap on the floor, knowing you’ll more than likely scold him in the morning for tossing the damp material in the middle of the room.

Sometimes, Seonghwa swears he does these types of things on purpose just to hear you scold him. The way you shake your head in exasperation, muttering about whatever it is he’s done this time makes him all giddy inside. It means you’re paying attention to him. It means you care.

Or maybe he just enjoys making things up to you in any and every way he can.

A massage here. Breakfast in bed there. Perhaps even you allowing him to get lost in that glorious heat that rests between your legs, making you shake in uncontrollable bliss.

After all, it is one of his absolute favourite pastimes.

Seonghwa thought he knew what it meant to worship something, or someone, wholeheartedly. That is, until he met you.

All of the time in the world is still too short of an eternity to be spent with you by his side.

The stars pale in comparison to you, for you hold entire galaxies in your eyes. Your smile warms his very soul each and every time he sees that glorious expression stretch across your face. All music sounds dull whenever the melodic symphony of your laughter filters through the air. Not to mention how strong and intelligent you are. 

Kind, witty, caring… The list of your perfections continues to grow everyday, and everyday he knows you is a blessing beyond his wildest dreams. Seonghwa could spend hours lost within the confines of your mind, learning everything there is to know about you, and so much more. Each new discovery is a revelation of the highest regard, and he strives to satisfy in every way.

Every word you speak is gospel, and he is your most devout follower.

Lifting the covers gently, Seonghwa slides into bed beside you. He’s extra careful to not disturb you, not wanting to accidentally wake you at this time. Still, he cannot help but shift closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. The way you subconsciously turn into him, snuggling deeper into his embrace only serves to make him smile.

Even in your dreams, you always know how to find your way home. To him.

Subtly, his arms tighten around you, placing a tender kiss to the top of your head. His wings wrap around you, encasing you in a soft red cocoon and ensuring your safety. Your comfort and wellbeing are his number one priorities, and once he knows you’re settled in his embrace, he fully allows himself to relax. 

Soon, his own eyes are fluttering shut, drifting off to meet you inside of your dreams.

A few hours later, Seonghwa is blinking awake. His head now rests on top of your chest, your arms cradling him to you in your sleep. 

Despite such a short bout of rest, he feels refreshed, having slept deeper with you safely wrapped in his arms. Gladly, he melts into your embrace, breathing in your scent and letting everything you completely surround him.

The moon still rests high in the sky, a gentle breeze drifting through the slight crack in the open window. The room is quiet, nothing but the soft sounds of your mingling breaths filling the space.

Seonghwa holds you tighter. Turning his head, his lips press tenderly against your chest, just above your heart. His hair tickles your skin, and you shiver lightly from his touch.

Peeking his dark gaze upwards, Seonghwa studies your features. Your brow seems to be furrowed slightly in discomfort, and a moment later, you squirm lightly beneath him. Your nails suddenly dig into the skin of his shoulders, a soft, muffled whimper escaping your lips.

Worry tugs at his features as he reaches a hand up to soothe your brow. He’s quick to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin as he lifts himself slightly above you. Intently, he studies your face, searching for any signs of what may be the problem.

That’s when it hits him. You must be having a nightmare.

Just as he shifts his hand to your shoulder in attempts to wake you up, you let out a sound that has him freezing above you.

His name. You moan his name.

A smug grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he realizes what’s really going on here. Pride swells in his chest at the fact that he could make you dream of him like this, knowing how often he dreams of you. What serves to make this moment ever better is when you let out another small whimper, tightening your hands on his shoulders as your hips jerk upwards against his own.

“Pretty Girl,” His low voice purrs out. “What could you possibly be dreaming of, hmm?”

Cocking his head to the side, he stares down at you. His chest is pressed flush against your own, forearms supporting him on either side of you as he settles more comfortably between your legs.

Leaning into you, he begins to place soft kisses against your cheek. Slowly, he trails his lips down your jawline, tracing over your pulse, then back up again. All the while, that same smirk tugs at his features.

His nose nudges tenderly against your jaw.

“Why live in a fantasy when I can make all of your dreams a reality?”

More kisses are placed upon the skin of your neck as he slowly begins to make his way down your body. His touch is feather light, wings twitching excitedly in the air behind him as he tugs your shirt down gently. The straps of your tank top easily slide down your arms, and with a quick movement, he’s snapping them as if they were nothing but brittle string.

The sound of tearing fabric echoes around the room as he shreds through your shirt, pausing lightly to check on you. He forgot how loud that could be, his mind having been focussed on exposing you to the most pleasure that he can give you. Of course, that meant exposing you, but he doesn’t want to wake you from your blissful slumber quite yet.

Not even his chest rises or falls with breath as he hovers above you, watching you closely for any signs of movement. After a little while passes with your eyes still shut, steady breathing and soft whimpers still falling from you, he breathes a sigh of relief.

Slowly, carefully, he discards your shirt, hands beginning to trace over your sides. His touch is gentle, eyes taking in every bare inch of skin presented to him. Nothing but admiration shines in his gaze, a dark, primal sort of lust hiding within. He’s hoping beyond anything to have you smoothly transition from your dream into reality. For when you do, he’ll be ready and waiting with open arms.

There is nothing more rewarding to him than your pleasure. The fact that he alone is the only one able to bring you to such ecstasy makes his heart swell with so much love and pride within his chest. Only he can touch you like this. Only he lives to serve you, to make you see the far reaches of the heavens each time your eyes flutter shut in bliss. Your pleasure is his pleasure, and he could spend eternity worshipping you, all while making you scream his name.

Ever so gently, he presses his face against your chest, right in the valley of your breasts. His hands come up to cup such tender flesh, inhaling deeply as he nuzzles against you. Again, his lips press a tender kiss directly over your heart, wings fluttering in content as his thumbs tease over your nipples.

Fingers trace languidly against your skin, needing to feel every inch of you beneath his touch. Slowly, Seonghwa begins trailing feather light kisses down your body, heart fluttering in anticipation. Every second that passes, your scent becomes stronger, your thighs subconsciously squeezing around his sides. He knows you need him just as desperately as he needs you, and he does not want to waste any more time than he already has.

Reaching the hemline of your sleep shorts, Seonghwa dips the tips of his fingers beneath the band. A tender kiss is placed onto the skin of your stomach, nose nudging against you affectionately. The corner of his lips quirks upwards as he slowly begins tugging your shorts down your thighs, being extra cautious not to wake you.

Of course, Seonghwa cannot help himself. How can he when he has the most perfect being laid out before him? Temptation wins out as he presses loving kisses against your thighs with each inch revealed to him. Once he fully removes your shorts, he nearly lets out a low moan when the sight of your bare pussy, needy and already shimmering with your arousal, is presented to him.

Tossing your shorts somewhere in the room, Seonghwa is quick to run his hands up the length of your legs. His fingers ghost against your skin, breathing deepening as your scent completely immerses him in everything you. Once he reaches the tops of your thighs, his thumbs begin to softly brush against the sensitive flesh. The way you shiver beneath his touch, even while still asleep, makes him smile.

Again, he leans into you, pressing delicate kisses against the skin of your thighs. His teeth graze your flesh, teasing at you as he continues to brush his thumbs over you.

Every little sound you make, every twitch and shudder of your body, has his cock absolutely throbbing against the mattress. A carnal ache resides within him. A desperation only you can satiate. Yet, when it comes to you, he always wants more.

Finally, unable to wait even a moment longer, Seonghwa presses his face against your cunt. He noses along your slit, inhaling deeply as his whole body shudders from your scent. Teasingly, his tongue flicks out to taste you, and even the briefest touch of your arousal on his lips has him moaning shamelessly against your core.

Something within himself snaps. 

With his whole body shaking in need, Seonghwa buries himself deep in your cunt. Desperate, guttural moans escape him as he drags his tongue through your folds, eagerly suckling at the sweet nectar that flows from between your legs. His lips place a few chaste kisses against your clit before he’s wrapping them around such a sensitive little bud, suckling at you eagerly.

His eyes nearly roll to the back of his head, tongue flattening against your clit before rolling in circles. His hot breath hits your cunt with every exhale, wings fluttering above him as he groans lowly. Desperately, his hands tighten over your waist, pulling you even closer into his touch.

A pleased rumble shakes his chest once he feels your fingers tangle in his hair. The way you hold him to your cunt, tugging him in closer has him redoubling his efforts over you.

Heavy breathing permeates the room, your hips beginning to grind against his face in time with his movements. Sleep still clings to the corners of your vision, eyes barely cracked open to peer at him through the darkness. Each flick of his tongue over your clit has pleasant jolts of pure ecstasy coursing through your veins, already feeling so close to the edge as that familiar pressure builds within.

His movements are desperate, shaking his head back and forth while sucking your clit between his lips. Sharp, hooded eyes glint up at you through the shadows, his hips beginning to grind against the mattress as his fingers dig into your skin.

Again, he tugs you in impossibly closer, tongue slipping down to dip between your folds. Swirling the muscle around your entrance, he hums, pressing himself firmer into your cunt. His nose grinds against your clit, tongue buried as deep as possible within you as he licks and sucks almost uncontrollably.

The sound of your moans create a beautiful symphony around him, urging him on. He can tell you’re close. The way your thighs begin to shake around his head makes his cock twitch. His hips grind harder against the mattress, silently begging for you to fall apart with him as he brings you to ecstasy.

Wrapping his lips around your clit once more, it’s like you answer his every prayer.

Back arching from the bed, you come with a loud cry of his name. Your thighs squeeze around his head, holding him in place as he flattens his tongue against you, letting you ride out your orgasm as you grind your hips against him. Whimpers and moans echo alongside blissful sighs of his name, your heart racing as pleasure floods your veins.

The moment he feels you flooding his tongue, his eyes roll into the back of his head. With your thighs closing around his head, his pleased cries get muffled against your cunt as he comes with you. Hot spurts of his come soak into the sheets beneath his hips, fingers digging harshly into your skin. His wings flare out behind him, shuddering along with his whole body as he keeps himself buried against you.

Slowly, you begin to catch your breath.

Bringing your one hand up, you rub at your face. Blinking a few times to clear your vision, you spare a glance at the seraphim between your legs.

Dark eyes already stare up at you lovingly, a soft chuckle shaking his chest. His fingers smooth over your skin, leaning in once more to place a tender kiss against your clit.

“Good morning, My Beloved.” At the way you simply groan in response, a knowing smile begins to tug at his lips. “Good dream?”

“Mmmh, the best…” Humming, you rub lightly at your eyes. A moment later, you pause in your movements, brow furrowing slightly as you take in just how dark the room still is. “What time is it?”

Seonghwa, who has begun placing tender kisses along the skin of your thighs once more, smiles up at you from between your legs. “Not yet dawn.”

You stretch lightly, brushing a hand over your forehead as you take a deep breath in. “What time did you get in last night? I didn’t hear you come home.”

That single, simple word makes him smile, heart warming inside of his chest.

“Not that long ago.” He noses along your thigh, drifting closer and closer to your core with each movement. “I’m glad my return didn’t wake you. Though, it was a treat seeing you wearing those Tweety Bird pyjama shorts I got you.”

Your face flares with heat, averting your gaze to the side.

“They’re comfy.” You mumble, the cutest of pouts tugging at your lips.

Seonghwa chuckles, a soft expression resting on his features as he admires every inch of you before him. The way your fingers lightly begin to play with some strands of his hair has him leaning into your touch.

A pleased rumble shakes his chest, hands caressing over the sides of your thighs and up your hips. Lightly, his gaze flicks downwards, shifting between staring into your eyes before glancing hungrily at your dripping cunt.

“Beloved…”

The desperate moan Seonghwa lets out goes straight to your core, causing you to clench around nothing. A movement of which he eagerly catches.

“Yes, Seonghwa?”

A shiver caresses his spine as you coo his name so tenderly.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“More.” His voice trembles in need as his fingers dig into the skin of your hips. He pulls your closer, chest beginning to rise and fall dramatically as he stares, transfixed, at your weeping cunt. “Give me more.”

“Greedy little angel…” You chuckle, tracing your fingers over the side of his cheek. “Don’t you know that gluttony is a sin?”

“But I made a mess, Beloved.” Wide eyes peer up at you, a dark lust swirling behind the guise of innocence. “A beautiful, intoxicating mess. It’s only right that I clean you up.”

“You can’t fool me, Angel.” The corner of your lips quirk upwards in amusement, eyes shining as you peer down at him. “I know you only want to clean me up just so you can make a mess out of me again.”

A pout tugs at his features, eyebrows drooping dramatically. “But I love making a mess out of you.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, then.” You smile, gently brushing some hair out of his eyes. “I love it, too.”

Seonghwa does not need to be told twice.

Without wasting another second, his tongue is back on you. This time, his movements are a lot slower. More precise. No drop is to go to waste. He wants to take his time, letting you feel every ounce of his love and passion for you. He wants you to know just how much he desires you, and just how much he enjoys this.

Pleased hums escape him as he drags his tongue through your folds, laving his mouth over your entire pussy. Dark eyes lock onto your own as he suckles and licks at your cunt, wings fluttering lightly in the air. His hands creep up your sides, touch trailing against your skin as he shifts to cup your breasts. He pinches at your nipples, rolling the pert buds between his fingers before tugging at them gently.

A low moan parts your lips, arching into his touch. Almost immediately, your hands come up to cover his own, pressing them firmer against your breasts. The content rumble that shakes his chest goes straight to your core, clenching around his tongue as he buries the muscle into your tight cunt.

Curling his tongue, his nose brushes tenderly against your clit. He pinches at your nipples once more, squeezing the flesh of your breasts appreciatively. As your hips begin to grind against him, he smirks. Humming contently, Seonghwa shifts to wrap his lips back around that sensitive little bundle of nerves, suckling lightly before flicking his tongue against you.

Soft moans and whimpers slip passed your lips, fingers returning to his hair to pull him in closer. Your whole body feels as if it’s floating, completely relaxing beneath his touch as pleasure courses through your veins. 

Everything about him is sinful. From the way his dark eyes shine beneath the light of the moon, captivating you in their loving, lustful pools. To the way his hands trace over your skin, burning multiple paths of desire, comfort, safety, and fulfillment all at the same time. You cannot count the amount of times he’s lost himself in you using just his tongue, and you know that tonight is no exception.

Your heart swells with nothing but love as he reaches out for your free hand. Almost instantly, he’s intertwining your fingers with his, squeezing gently. 

He’s right here, and he always will be.

Using his opposite hand, he parts your folds with two fingers. His tongue licks a long strip up your cunt before flattening over your clit. Now that he’s opened you completely to him, there is nothing in the way for him to be able to give you the most pleasure that he can.

A deep groan reverberates against you, hot breaths hitting your cunt with every exhale.

“Best fucking pussy I’ve ever had the pleasure to worship.” A tender kiss is placed upon your clit. “Perfect, delectable little cunt… Only one I’ll ever want. Only one I’ll ever need.”

Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head, thighs shaking from his words. Your fingers tighten in his hair, squeezing his hand in your own as you whimper his name.

“That’s it, Beloved,” He coos, bumping his nose against your clit affectionately. “Say my name. Scream my name to the heavens and tell them who your eternal servant is. Tell them who it always will be. In this life, and the next. For all eternity.”

Your whole body begins to tremble as he wraps his lips around your clit, gently suckling on that sensitive little bundle of nerves. He purposely keeps you suspended in bliss, teetering right on the edge as he watches your whole being flood with ecstasy.

Pride fills his chest at how you whimper and whine for him, your hips desperately rolling against his tongue as he teases at your cunt.

“Tell me, Beloved,” A harsh suck is given to your clit, his eyes flashing as he locks gazes with you. “Who does such a delectable pussy belong to?”

All that you can manage is a desperate moan, chest heaving as that building pressure becomes almost unbearable within you. You can feel your clit practically pulsating, beginning to clench rhythmically around nothing.

“Who’s pretty pussy am I allowed to worship? To devour?”

“Seonghwa-“

“Say it.” Dark eyes flash beneath the moonlight, tone sharp as he growls lowly. “Come on, Pretty Girl. I want to hear you say it.”

Your breath hitches, nearing choking on a whine. Squeezing your eyes shut at the pleasure overwhelming your every nerve, you attempt to steady your shaking form. Taking a deep breath in, you go to speak.

However, the moment the words begin to form on your lips, Seonghwa wraps his own back around your clit, sucking harshly.

“Fuck-“ Inhaling sharply, your eyes fly open. Your voice borders on a scream as you just manage to choke out, “My pretty pussy is all yours to devour-“

Your words get caught in your throat as another loud curse escapes you, tossing your head back onto the pillows.

Seonghwa snarls against your cunt, shaking his head back and forth rapidly as he eagerly continues to suck at your clit. His hands tighten over you, pulling you impossibly closer as his wings flare out behind him.

A scream of his name tears from your throat, whole body shaking as your back arches from the bed. Your orgasm crashes into you unforgivingly, feet lifting slightly in the air from the intensity. Desperate whines and moans of his name escape you, clenching around nothing as your release floods out of you.

Only, Seonghwa doesn’t stop there.

Your cries of ecstasy only serve to spur him on as he slides the two fingers he had been using to spread your pussy open for him into your cunt. The feeling of your walls sucking him in, squeezing around his digits so delicately makes him groan. A shudder wracks his whole body, eyes closing briefly in bliss as his cock throbs against the sheets. Already he’s so close to coming again, but first, he needs to see you falling apart for him again. Because of him.

With practiced ease, he curls his fingers right up against that special spot inside of you. His tongue flicks at your clit, placing delicate kisses against that sensitive little bud before sucking harshly at it once more. The lewd, wet slurping sounds of his tongue on your cunt fill the room, only serving to make him even more feral than he already is.

High pitched moans escape you, tears of pleasure beginning to line your eyes as your whole body shakes beneath his hold. Your thighs squeeze around his head, not even deterring him in the slightest as you wither and whine. Every little touch makes your head spin, pleasure overwhelming your every sense.

You both wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Fuck- Seonghwa!” You gasp out, eyes squeezing shut as you practically curl into his touch. “Don’t stop-“ A catch in your breath as you cling to him for dear life. “Please, don’t fucking stop!”

A snarl of agreement fills the air, adding more pressure to his fingers as he massages over that special spot deep inside of you. His lips never once leave your clit, hooded gaze locked on your figure and practically demanding that you to fall apart for him right now.

With one final flick over your clit, you do.

Like lightning streaking across the sky, your orgasm crackles through your veins like a flash of electricity. Another scream of his name tears from your throat, broken and desperate as you squirt all over his face. Each movement against your cunt has you shuddering beneath his touch, vision blurring at the corners as the first of your tears of pleasure begin to slide down your cheeks.

Your hold on him is like a vice, grounding yourself to him as your chest heaves with every breath. You can feel something warm and wet splatter lightly against your thighs, Seonghwa’s deep moans beginning to harmonize alongside your own.

The way you notice his wings trembling in the air through your blissful haze causes the corners of your lips to twitch upwards. Knowing he’s just as affected as you are right now makes warmth swell inside of your chest, nothing but love flooding your very soul.

Seonghwa rests his forehead tenderly against your thigh while he catches his breath. His head swims with nothing but you, overwhelmed in the best of ways. Every ounce of his desire for you flows beneath the surface of his skin, drowning him in an undeniable ecstasy that only you can bring him. Seeing you like this - your pure and unfiltered form indulging in all that he has to offer - is unlike any other sensation he has ever felt in his entire existence.

He could never tire of this.

He could never tire of you.

Sliding his fingers from your cunt while releasing his hold on your hand, Seonghwa begins trailing kisses back up your body. Each press of his lips against you is soft, taking his time to admire every contour of your body. Every dip and curve of your glorious figure is sacred to him, and he never wants you to forget how beautiful you truly are. 

How beautiful you have always been.

Finally, his lips return to your own, giving you a deep and tender kiss which conveys his undying affections for you. Soft hums are breathed out against you, Seonghwa cupping your cheek gently in one hand while he slides his opposite arm around your waist. Pulling your chest flush against his own, he settles himself comfortably between your legs.

The feeling of his cock sliding through your wet folds, already hard and aching for you once more, makes you smile.

“My insatiable Little Sinner,” You coo, threading your fingers gently through his hair.

“When it comes to you?” His lips quirk upwards against your own, eyes shining with nothing but pure devotion as he openly admires you before him. “Always.”