#But this was a bit of a complicated answer?

[ninisdollie]

back off - park sunghoon 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

(Part 1.)

‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“In which reader finds herself tangled in a complicated, secret relationship with her bodyguard.”

⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x sunghoon, bodyguard! sunghoon x popstar! reader, secret relationship, jake is a side character, sexual tension, soft dom! sunghoon, explicit sex, oral sex (f. rec), dirty talking, fingering, unprotected sex, a little bit angsty towards the end.

word count: 16k

notes: so this turned out a bit longer than i planned, so i divided into part 1 and part 2, i’ll post part 2 in a few days so let me know i you’d like to be tagged <3 also, this was heavily inspired by ariana grande’s into you music video. it’s not completely proofread so maybe there’s some mistakes.

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

You stepped into the night like you owned it, like you always did. The crowd’s roar distant, shouts of your name and flashes exploding like fireworks. All of it surrounding you in a familiar and dizzying feeling. The cameras were flashing so fast they turned the street into a strobe-lit runway, but still you walked slowly and gracefully, because all of this belonged to you. 

You were what all the girls wished to be. Billboards bore your face from L.A. to Tokyo. Your voice filled arenas. Everyone in the world knew your name, screamed your lyrics, danced to your songs. They knew every breath you took, every dress you wore, every rumor that followed you like perfume. You were worth millions. Pop’s princess, real royalty. Unreachable and flawless, a complete bombshell. 

Your name was a brand. But what nobody knew, was that behind the makeup and diamonds, you carried exhaustion like it was stitched into your skin. The price of being adored was that no one ever saw you, not for real. You’d forgotten what it was like to enter a room without everyone watching. To speak without your words being dissected by strangers. To laugh without someone hitting “record.”

The more they worshipped you, the more suffocated you felt.

Don’t get me wrong, you loved the attention, loved the fame and loved being looked up too, but most of all you loved your career, being on stage, dancing and singing until your lungs ran out of air. But you were lonely, at the end of every glamorous night. 

Your dress clung to your body like a second skin, golden and liquid at once, catching the light in almost angelic ways. Your heels ached, your head buzzed from champagne and noise, and the weight of three golden trophies made your arms tired, but you didn’t show it. You just smiled at the cameras and fixed your posture, not even bothering to answer the questions screamed at you.

The crowd shifted around you, frantic, hungry. You started to feel overwhelmed, too dizzy, the white noise in your ear, your heart slamming hard against your chest. Crowds, that was the one thing you never got used to.  And then, there was him.

“Step back.”

That voice, low and calm in a way that sliced through the madness. You didn’t need to turn your head. You knew his presence by heart already.

Sunghoon.

He was always just behind you. Always close and always watching. He always showed up when you were starting to feel like it was too much. You felt his gaze sweeping over the mob, his hand hovering just behind your back, fingers don’t quite making contact but close enough to burn. The crowd parted slightly at his command, he didn’t shout because he didn’t need to. That was what made him so good at his job. 

Sunghoon was perfect. Too perfect, it pissed you off. He wasn’t like the other bodyguards you had before. He didn’t flinch when the crowd pushed in, no awkward small talk in the car. He didn’t stare when you changed outfits in the greenroom like it was nothing. He respected boundaries you never asked for. Protected you like a job, not a person. 

You never had to look around to check if he was there. He just was. Like your shadow. At photo shoots, at rehearsals, backstage, even when you’d come home too late and too drunk, he always showed up without needing to be asked.

The black SUV pulled up, waiting. The driver opened the back door and stepped aside, and Sunghoon gave you a nod.

“In.”

You didn’t move right away. You tilted your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder, a soft smile on your perfectly glossed lips. His face was flat, his lips pushed together into a straight line. 

“So bossy tonight.” 

His eyes didn’t flinch, his expression didn’t change, he just gave you another nod, pushing through the crowd. 

“Because you're surrounded by drunk men with cameras.”

You laughed softly to yourself and slid into the backseat, feeling how your dress rode up a few inches as you sank into the leather. The air inside was cool, the city shut out in one heavy, final thunk as the door closed behind you. He got in beside you, and you felt the tension immediately. His thigh close but not touching, his shoulders broad and impossibly stiff under the dark fabric of his suit. He stared ahead like the tinted glass was the most interesting thing in the world, his jaw set tight.

“You know,” you said, stretching your legs out lazily, “if I didn’t know you, i’d think you hate this job, and me.”

“My job is just fine.”  He replied with quiet and steady voice.

You let out a dramatic sigh, putting your hand on your chest in a fake offended expression. 

“So it’s just me you don’t like.”

He didn’t answer for a long second, but you saw how his jaw ticked.

“You’re the hardest part of my job.”

The corner of your lip curled, satisfaction starting to bloom in your chest. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could see it anyway, the tension coiled in his hands, the way his throat bobbed once as he swallowed it down. 

“Good.”

Your answer made him look, just for a second. Then Sunghoon’s eyes met yours, steady and burning with something he’d been shoving down for months at this point, and you knew it.You saw the flare behind his usual control. Maybe it frustration, from you and your comments, or restraint. Then he turned away again. The muscle in his jaw twitched once. He didn’t say another word.

When you first met Sunghoon, you were still in your silk robe, barefoot and hangover from a wild night before. Your hair wet, shimmer from a Victoria’s secret body splash still clinging to your collarbones, a glass of pink wine in your hand as you padded across the marble floor of your penthouse. You weren’t expecting anyone that morning. 

Then he walked in, your manager following him, all nerves and excuses. 

“Sorry, baby, he’s early—Sunghoon, this is her. Y/N, this is Park Sunghoon, your new bodyguard.”

You stopped in the middle of the room, your robe slipping slightly off one shoulder, makeup smudged just enough to make you look hot even if you weren’t even trying. You tilted your head,  your hair falling over your waist, eyes scanning him from polished dress shoes up to his perfectly pressed suit. He was tall and broad. You could see his biceps even through the fabric of his suit. His posture was perfect, he looked too composed for someone standing in the middle of a popstar’s apartment while she dripped water on the floor. His face was unreadable, his expression blank in a way that wasn’t cold, just carefully distant. Ex- military, probably. He was handsome, you weren’t blind. He had a perfect nose and beautiful lips and perfectly sculpt factions. He looked older than you, not old, maybe in his late twenties. 

You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you gave him a slow once-over and arched a brow. 

“Wow,” you said finally, “Is it looking soulless a requirement to be a bodyguard now?”

Your manager shot you a look, but you ignored it. You wanted to see how he’d react.

He didn’t even blink.

“Your security system is weak for a public figure like you” he said, voice flat. He tilted his head towards the door, eyes scanning the room. “The door’s password is too easy to guess, change it as soon as possible. I don’t like the building’s security guard, he was half asleep when I walked in, I’ll call so they can hire a new one. Where are your exits?” 

You blinked, twice. Caught off guard. 

 “Sorry?”

“Fire exits. Entrances. Staff-only access. I need to know every way to get in and out of this apartment.”

You just stared at him for a moment, your lips parted in disbelief. Then you laughed softly, stepping a little closer, just to mess with him. 

“Usually they ask for an autograph before giving me orders.”

He looked at you then, but only to your face, his eyes dark and as flat as his expression.

“I’m not here for autographs.”

His tone was like granite, totally unshakable. He didn’t look at your bare legs, or the curve of your hip where the robe parted. He didn’t look at you the way everyone else did. It made something spark in your chest.

You took a slow sip of your wine and leaned your weight on one leg. 

“You really don’t care who I am, do you?”

“I care about keeping you safe, that’s why I’m here,” he said. “Everything else is just noise.”

And then he walked past you—barely a glance—heading down the hall without saying another word. You just stood there, but you felt heart beating a little harder than it should’ve.

Now, you were completely used to him. Used to the way he moved just behind you, silent as a breath. Used to the way he stood on the corner of the room like an entity. Used to the way he never asked questions, never got in the way, never reacted, even when you tried to provoke him.

You’d tested him, more than once.

Late-night club appearances you didn’t tell your manager about. Backless and short dresses just to see if his eyes would drop. Letting strangers flirt with you at parties and slip their hands around your waist just to watch him clench his jaw and do nothing.

It didn’t matter what you did, Sunghoon never lost composure. Not even when things went sideways—like they always eventually did—he handled it before you even realized there was a threat. Like one time a fan got too close when you were signing an autograph and tried to steal a kiss from you, he shoved him with all his force the poor guy almost flew in the air. 

And that was the thing. The only times he went close to lose composure, was when you were in danger. And you weren’t sure why, was it because he could lose his job if something happened to you, or was it because deep down, he started to care about you beyond his job? 

You’d once thrown a pack of gummies at his chest after a night out, he was standing in the middle of your living room, checking all the cameras were on, like he did every night.

“Don’t you ever get tired of acting like a robot?”

He hadn’t even blinked. 

“No.”

You hated how calm he was. How calm you weren’t around him. He made you want to act like a spoiled brat just to get a reaction that never came. You never begged for attention before, for at least a small smile, until he came into your life. 

Because the truth was, somewhere along the way, his silence had become something loud. A pressure. A constant, humming presence under your skin. You’d started to look for him, even when you didn’t need him. You noticed when he was too far, you noticed when he was too close.

You just wanted to see just how far his professionalism could stretch before it snapped.

The door clicked open without a knock, as typical. 

You didn’t even lift your head from the couch, where you were sprawled upside down in a hoodie that didn’t belong to you and cotton shorts that were too short to be meant for company. One leg hung off the backrest. A half-empty green juice sat on the table besides your open songwriting-notebook and your phone, buzzing every few minutes with ignored notifications.

Sunghoon stepped inside like he always did, quiet, and dressed in head-to-toe black and looking every bit the military-grade wet dream he didn’t know he was. 

“You have a meeting in twenty minutes,” he said instead of greeting.

You tilted your head towards him, upside down, rolling your eyes.

“Good morning to you too, daddy.”

He didn’t smile. But his eyes flicked down your legs for half a second before he looked away again, annoyingly fast.

“The car’s downstairs,” he added, walking across the penthouse to check the balcony doors without glancing at you again. “You should get dressed now if you don’t want to be late, you know how Lizzy gets when you show up late.”

You swung your legs over the couch and sat up slowly, stretching like a cat. 

“Why do you always act like I don’t have the right to be comfortable in my own home?”

“You have the right,” he said, still not looking at you. “It just makes my job harder when you treat every morning like a scene from Hungover”

You gasped dramatically, starting to have fun annoying him this early.

“Are you jealous?”

He turned then, finally, his face flat.  

“If I were jealous, miss bombshell, I wouldn’t be the one standing here while you parade around in someone else’s sweatshirt.”

“…This one’s mine.”

Sunghoon raised a brow, not believing a single word. He knew you too well at this point of your completely professional relationship. 

Then you smiled softly. 

“You’ve never seen me in it because I look way too good. You’d quit on the spot.”

“I actually don’t want to lose this pay check, even if I have to deal with you every day of my life” he muttered, already heading towards the kitchen.

“Whatever,” you said, following him barefoot like a puppy begging for attention. “You can pretend you hate me all you want, but I’ve caught you smiling at least twice in the last month.”

“And now you’re just delusional.”

You leaned against the counter, watching as he opened a cabinet and scanned the contents. He always did that too, you didn’t know why, probably some ex-military ptsd thing. 

“You know, some bodyguards are actually sweet.”

“I’m sweet” he said flatly.

“Name one sweet thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I reminded you about your meeting instead of dragging you out of bed by your hair like I was tempted to.”

“Wow, that is affection.”

Sunghoon finally turned to look at you, arms crossed, not a single muscle on his face moving. 

“Get dressed.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling.

“Say pleaseeeee.”

He just blinked, taking a deep breath like he was trying not to lose his patience. And for just a second, you saw it. The tiniest twitch in the corner of his mouth.

You smirked as you padded to your bedroom. 

“I’ll wear something cute for you, Sunghoonie.”

“You have seventeen minutes,” he said flatly, turning away before you could press more.

The moment you walked into the meeting room, you were suspicious. It wasn’t the usual vibe, there were too many assistants, too many phones lighting up, too many carefully polite smiles. And Lizzy, your manager, was too serious. Which meant she was hiding something.

You flopped into the chair at the center of the glass table, oversized hoodie still hanging off one shoulder, cold brew in hand. You were still warm from your banter with Sunghoon earlier, still smug from the way you made him glance down your legs without meaning to.

But now, you just felt tension in the air.

Sunghoon walked in behind you and stood by the windows like a statue. Quiet and controlled as always. 

“Let’s go straight to the point,” Lizzy said, breezing in with a tablet and a clipboard and a fake smile. “I know you’ve got things to do. So, here’s the exciting part.”

You narrowed your eyes, but she kept talking.

“We’ve finalized the deal with Hybe Records. So it’s official now, you’re going public with Jake Sim.”

Your felt your stomach twitch. 

“…Excuse me?”

Lizzy just tapped her iPad. 

“We’ve been working with Jake’s team to build a controlled media campaign. Soft-launch the relationship online, a few appearances together, and boom, America’s new pop power couple. All eyes on both of you heading into his album drop and your single release. It’s genius.”

You didn’t laugh. Instead, you placed your coffee down slowly, turned in your chair, and stared at her. This was almost offending, you never thought about doing something like this for your career, you didn’t even wanted to be public before with your real ex-boyfriends, let alone a fake one.

“I don’t remember agreeing to be anyone’s fake girlfriend.”

Lizzy smiled nervously.

 “Technically, it was part of the image management strategy we greenlit last quarter. It’s all covered in your branding clause.”

“I sing. I write. I dance, sometimes I model, but I don’t sell relationships.”

“Sweetheart,” Lizzy said, starting to get desperate, “you sell everything about you.”

You scoffed, glancing down at the table, willing yourself not to snap. 

“This is a new level of insanity. Do I even get a say in who I’m fake-dating now?”

“Jake is a great choice,” she chirped, moving to pull up a slide deck. “He’s hot. Safe. Market-tested. His numbers are up 30% since the Grammys. Plus, his fans already ship you two after that fashion week interaction. This just gives them what they want.”

Then there was silence. And in it, you turned your head and looked at him.

Sunghoon hadn’t moved, he stood just outside the perimeter of the room like a ghost in black. His perfect face ace unreadable, his posture perfect, his hands were behind his back, and his eyes… not on you.

He was staring out the window, watching nothing.

You turned back to Lizzy, slower this time. 

“And he’s okay with this?”

“Jake? He’s thrilled. You two are going to look gorgeous together. We’ve got a Nobu reservation tonight, stylists on standby, pap-friendly exit routes mapped out, oh, and you’ll love this, we’re staging the second date as a leak. Very natural.”

Your stomach turned again.

“And Sunghoon’s job now includes pretending to guard my fake boyfriend?”

“He’s already coordinating with Jake’s team,” Lizzy said, tapping her watch. “We looped him in last week.”

Your head whipped toward Sunghoon again. This time, he looked at you, just for a second. But you saw him anyways, and his face didn’t say surprise, didn’t say anything at all. And that made you even angrier. He wasn’t your friend, he wasn’t anything more than your bodyguard, but it still felt like betrayal that he didn’t tell you about this, 

“Well,” you said coolly, “guess I better start practicing how to fall in love in front of cameras.”

Lizzy grinned like you’d finally caught on. 

“That’s the spirit.”

The meeting ended a few minutes later, all quick logistics and glossy excitement. Lizzy’s assistant handed you the schedule for the next week, and your stylist’s team was already texting potential outfits. You stood slowly, smoothing your sweatshirt down over your hips, ignoring everyone in the room as your mind buzzed. You didn’t even glance at Lizzy when you left.

But as you stepped out into the hallway, you stopped in front of him. Sunghoon didn’t looked surprised or guilty, and you stared at him for a long moment. 

“Something you wanna tell me?” 

His jaw ticked. 

“It wasn’t my call.”

You tilted your head. 

“You didn’t even warn me.”

“My job is to keep you safe, from real threats, not from a shitshow with the vocalist of a boyband.” 

You let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, cold and bitter.

“Right,” you said. “I forgot you’re only programmed to follow orders and not care about anything.”

You walked away without waiting for a response.

Later that day, you stood in front of the mirror, your stylist fawning over the final touches, silver satin skimming over your curves like liquid moonlight, lips lined to perfection, hair pulled back into a perfect ponytail just enough to show off your shimmered collarbones. You didn’t just look like someone about to fake a relationship, you looked dangerous.

Sunghoon was waiting in the lobby when the elevator doors opened. He turned as you stepped out, black suit flawless, posture rigid, one hand resting near the inside of his jacket in that way that meant he was already scanning for threats.

But the second he saw you, he stopped breathing, just for a second. 

It wasn’t obvious, he didn’t stumble or speak. Didn’t stare long enough for anyone else to notice. But you noticed anyway. 

His hands clenched behind his back, and you smiled sweetly. 

“Too much?”

His jaw flexed. 

“It’s none of my business.”

“But if it were?”

His eyes locked on yours. His voice came out low, sharp and dangerous

“I’d tell you to change.”

You tilted your head. 

“Why?”

“Because you look like I have to keep my eyes on you just to make sure no one touches anything they shouldn’t.”

You stepped toward him slowly, silk whispering over your skin. 

“Good. That’s what they paid for.”

You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped to your mouth, just for a breath, before he turned sharply and opened the car door.

Neither of you spoke on the drive there.

Flashes started the moment you stepped out of the car. Sunghoon moved in front of you instinctively, shielding you from the chaos with his body. Jake appeared from somewhere down the line, boyish and radiant, signature grin in place, the cameras already eating it up.

Jake sim was the main vocalist of this newer big boyband, his fandom consisted on equally horny teenage girls and twenty-something groupies that thought that partying in the same clubs as him would get them a NDA. His reputation was clear though, a couple of model ex-girlfriends, no scandals at all, he lived in Brisbane with his golden retriever dog. 

He smiled wide when he saw you. 

“Wow.”

You gave him the smile you’d rehearsed in the mirror. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Jake leaned in and kissed your cheek gently, looping an arm around your waist like he was born for it. Sunghoon didn’t move or say anything. He stayed three steps behind you as you were ushered inside, past murmurs and wide eyes and whispered is that them?through parted lips.

Inside the restaurant, it was dimly lit and immaculate. Soft jazz echoed from the bar. The staff led you through the main floor into a reserved private room, every step choreographed to look casual and intimate, like the city’s newest couple just happened to be sharing a quiet dinner for two.

“You look insane,” Jake said under his breath, his cute Australian accent showing up. “I can’t even lie.”

“You’re cute,” you said with a laugh, letting your fingers skim his wrist before pulling your hand back. “Like a golden retriever in designer.”

Jake grinned like it meant something to him.

Behind you, Sunghoon stayed by the wall. No chair, no expression.

“Can I order for both of us?” he asked, sitting down across from you with a little sparkle in his eyes. “I already peeked at the menu. I got your favorites memorized.”

You nodded, a soft smile on your lips. 

“Go ahead. Let’s give them something to gossip about.”

He laughed with a soft, breathy sound and reached for the wine list.

Sunghoon still didn’t speak. Just folded his hands behind his back like he was guarding a vault instead of you.

Jake glanced over once. 

“Hey, man,” he said, friendly and casual, “you sure you don’t wanna grab a seat? I don’t mind” 

Sunghoon didn’t even move. 

“I’m good.”

Jake smiled anyway, like he didn’t notice the ice in that voice. 

“Cool. Just sayin’, they’ve got these pork dumplings in the back that are, like, literally life-changing-”

“Noted.”

Your eyes flicked towards him, unsettled by the too-cold tone of his voice, weird even for him. And there was nothing. No warmth, no familiarity. No trace of the man who used to call you out for being late to rehearsals or tease you for leaving your heels on the middle of the hallway.

Jake leaned in slightly, whispering to you. 

“Does he… always talk like that?”

“Only when he’s in a good mood,” you muttered, sipping your water.

Jake snorted. 

“Oh, okay.”

You didn’t answer, because the tension in the room was suffocating. Sunghoon’s silence wasn’t passive anymore, it was charged. Everything about him screamed restraint. His shoulders were locked, his jaw carved from stone. He wasn’t just doing his job tonight.

He was punishing you for making him do it.

When the appetizers arrived, Jake chatted easily. He was sweet, genuinely. Kind eyes, quick jokes, a comfort in front of the camera that came from years of being adored. He never once made you feel weird or uncomfortable. You laughed and tried to play along.

But the whole time, you felt Sunghoon’s gaze heavy on you. 

Watching, not intervening. Just burning silently. Was he jealous? Or just annoyed for being the thirdwheel? His eyes had flicked down your body, unreadable, before he looked away with a jaw so tight it looked like it hurt.

Maybe it was the dress, maybe it was Jake, maybe it was nothing. But the chill rolling off of him was freezing the inside of your chest. 

You tried to shake it off, You laughed at Jake’s story, you sipped your drink, you leaned in, let your hand brush his on the table, pretending like the cameras weren’t probably still outside, waiting for this perfect photo.

But your eyes kept straying. You just wanted him to look at you.

“Hey,” you murmured, mid-laugh. “I think I left my lip gloss in the car.”

Jake tilted his head. 

“You want me to grab it?”

“No, it’s okay.”

You turned your head slightly, eyes locked on the one person who hadn’t really acknowledged your presence all night.

“Sunghoon,” you said, soft but firm, “Can you please get my lip gloss from the car?”

You said it lightly, even politely, your voice sweet like honey as always. It was a test. A hope. You just wanted to see if he would let out a playful comment, if he would start a playful banter like he always did, if he would roll his eyes plafully. But it snapped like a thread.

Sunghoon didn’t even move let alone lifted his head.

“I’m your bodyguard, not your assistant.”

The words hit you like a slap on the face. Just short and cold. 

Jake gave a short, awkward laugh beside you. 

“Damn. Who pissed in your protein shake?”

You managed a tight smile. But your stomach twisted. You looked down at your plate, suddenly aware of the way your heart thudded against your ribs. Of how hot your cheeks felt, of how stupid you were for asking. You weren’t even sure why it hurt so much.

Maybe it was the fact that for weeks, you’d been slowly forgetting he was your bodyguard at all.

And now he’d just reminded you.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

One more fake laugh, one more glance at his blank face across the room, and you were going to scream.

So you stood.

Excused yourself from the table. Didn’t even bother with your purse. Just grabbed your glass and slipped through the heavy doors to the rooftop terrace above the restaurant.

The city glowed beneath you, bright and alive, but your chest felt tight. You sipped the last of your champagne and stared out at the skyline, willing yourself not to feel anything.

Until you heard the door creak behind you.

“I just needed some air.” you said dryly.

Sunghoon didn’t respond. You heard his footsteps, slow and steady, until he stood a few feet behind you, but you didn’t look at him.

“You’re being an asshole,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Is that part of the job now?”

Still nothing.

That made your blood boil.

You turned around, fully facing him now, chin high.

“I asked you a simple question at the table. You didn’t even look at me.”

“I was doing my job,” he said flatly.

“No. You were being cold, dismissive, rude.” You stepped closer. “You embarrassed me.”

He exhaled through his nose. Not looking at you, just around.  

“You asked me to leave my post in a public space during a high-exposure event. That’s not a reasonable request.”

You stared at him. A tight feeling in your chest. 

“So now I’m just a client.”

“You’ve always been just a client.”

The words sliced through you like a blade.

You took a step back, laugh bitter in your throat. You stared at him, waiting, daring him to say something real. But he just stood there, stoic and unreadable. The pressure in your chest went heavier.

“God,” you whispered, laughing bitterly. “I thought you actually cared about me”

“I care,” he said too fast.

You stared, his voice had cracked. Just slightly. He realized it too and looked away, straightening.

“It’s my job to protect you,” he said. “Not to enjoy watching you sell yourself.”

The breath left your lungs.

You stared at him. 

“Is that what you think this is?”

“I think,” he said coldly, “you’re smarter than this. And it’s pathetic to watch you act like you’re not.”

You stepped in close, furious now, eyes blazing. Not because of what he said, but because he’d rather be cruel than actually let his barriers go down around you and be sincere for once in his life.

“Well, guess what? You lost the right to have an opinion when you stood in that meeting and said nothing.

You didn’t wait for a response. You just turned, walked into the restaurant again, heels striking the floor like bullets.

You returned to the table with your chin high and your smile sharp. Jake glanced up, visibly relieved. 

“Everything okay?”

You slid back into your seat. 

“Just needed some air, it’s kind of hot in here”

He snorted. 

“Should’ve let me walk you.”

“I can handle myself.”

Sunghoon reentered behind you, silent as ever, returning to his post by the door like he hadn’t just undressed your soul with that low, cruel voice in the rooftop.

Jake, ever the sweetheart, picked up on the tension but didn’t know where it came from, so he tried to fix it the only way he knew how.

“I was thinking…” he started, leaning forward a little, fingers drumming against the table nervously. “We could post something tonight. Like a blurry shot from dessert. Let the fans go crazy”

You nodded absently. 

“Sure.”

“You good?” he asked gently.

You looked up at him, and for a second, guilt twisted in your chest. He didn’t deserve your bitterness. Jake was kind. And he was making this easier with his warm personality. 

“I’m fine,” you said. “Just tired.”

Jake gave you a soft smile. 

“You wear it well.”

You thanked him quietly, and the server returned with dessert. Gold-flaked mochi. Some towering chocolate mousse thing that Jake insisted on cutting in half so it looked more “casual couple-y” in the photo, then he held up his phone. 

“Okay, lean in like you love me,” he joked, angling the camera with practiced ease.

You pressed your cheek to his for the click. Let your lips part slightly, like you were mid-laugh. Just enough mystery to make fans scream.

And you felt him watching.

You didn’t look. But you felt Sunghoon’s stare like a hand on your bare shoulder, uninvited, scalding, permanent.

Jake pulled back. 

“Perfect,” he said. “You’re a pro at this.”

The moment passed, the photo was posted, the dessert mostly untouched.

By the time the check came, you were floating on a sick mix of glitter and glass. Jake walked with you out the back, avoiding the front crowd as planned. He offered you his jacket, helped you step into the car. Said he’d text you later.

Sunghoon closed the door behind you and got in on the other side.

The divider went up and the car started moving, but inside, there was just silence. You stared out the window, and he didn’t speak. The city rushed past in golden blurs, the quiet between you was colder than it had ever been. You turned slowly. 

“You’ve got something to say, say it.”

He didn’t look at you.

“You think I want this?” Your voice was quiet but cutting. “You think I like being groped by someone I barely know while pretending it’s romantic?”

Still nothing.

“Say something. Anything.”

He finally turned his head. Looked at you like you’d just dared him to ruin you. And when he spoke, his tone was dry again. 

“Don’t pretend you hate the attention.”

You blinked. A beat of silence fell between you, thick with something more than anger. Then you laughed humourless. 

“You don’t know a fucking thing about me.”

“I know you’d rather be worshipped by strangers than seen by someone who actually gives a damn.”

He didn’t take it back. Because the truth was hanging in the air now, between you, ugly, jagged, and burning.

You stared at him.

 “Do you?”

His eyes flickered. 

“Do I what?”

“Give a damn.”

Silence.

You weren’t sure which scared you more, if he said yes, or if he didn’t. But he didn’t answer.

You couldn’t sleep that night. dim shadows stretched on the walls. The silk sheets were cool against your legs. The AC hummed, your phone buzzing occasionally with notifications, likes, comments, reposts of the photo from dinner with Jake. You were supposed to feel proud, this is what everyone wanted, this was good for your career, the bomb that needed to explode just before your tour. The shot was perfect: his cheek brushing yours, your lips parted mid-laugh, candlelight with golden hue over both of you. It was already trending,  America’s new obsession. Exactly what your team wanted.

You stared at the screen until your eyes burned, and then you tossed it face-down on the mattress. You rolled onto your back, legs tangled in the sheets, mind racing. Not just from the dinner or just from the cameras. But from him.

From Sunghoon.

From the look in his eyes as you posed with someone else, from the weight of his silence when you asked the question that mattered most, and he didn’t answer.

Do you give a damn?

You’d handed him the match, and he didn’t even light it,  but just watched you burn alone. You squeezed your eyes shut. It shouldn’t have mattered, he was your bodyguard. He wasn’t your friend, or your boyfriend. He wasn’t anything.

But for some reason, you couldn’t stop replaying it. That flash of fury and the heat beneath his coldness, how fast your heart was beating when he told you that you liked being worshipped by strangers. What if he was right? Maybe it was pathetic. But you couldn’t afford to care, not when everything was on the line.

You sat up slowly, brushing hair from your face. Moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You reached for your phone again and opened your texts. There was already a message from Jake:

Tonight was fun :) You looked beautiful. What about something cute for the weekend? My team’s thinking brunch + flowers. Let me know what you like. I’ll make it easy.

You stared at it for a long time.

Jake was sweet, he just wanted the same as you. And he was good for your career. 

You typed back:

Sounds perfect. Let’s make everyone jealous. 💋

You hit send before you could change your mind. Because no matter what was clawing at your ribs in the dark, no matter how badly you wanted Sunghoon to fight for you, you weren’t going to sit around and beg. You were a popstar, the biggest in the world, you were a bombshell, you couldn’t waste your time in a man that couldn’t even answer a simple question. 

So you slid your phone under the pillow and laid back against the sheets, telling yourself that it didn’t mean anything.

Sunghoon was sitting on the edge of the guest room bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight like he was trying to squeeze the thoughts out of his skull if he just held them hard enough. The light from the hallway spilled in under the door in a thin, taunting line. Beyond that door was your room.

He hadn’t heard a sound since the car dropped you off hours ago. No music, no calls. Just the faintest echo of soft footsteps once… then nothing. 

He ran a hand over his face, you were probably asleep, or texting Jake, or curled up in that bed with those goddamn silk sheets, wearing some ridiculous oversized hoodie and nothing else, making faces at the ceiling and thinking about how fake it all was.

Sunghoon hated that he knew your routines, that he cared enough to learn them. Hated even more that every little thing you did drove him insane, and not in the way it should have. The way you rolled your eyes when he reminded you of call times. The way you hummed off-key on purpose in the car just to irritate him. The way you leaned too close when you wanted something and smiled like you knew you could get under his skin. How you paraded around the penthouse with no pants, not caring if his eyes lingered too long, on your body, on your face without makeup which made you look even more beautiful and domestic. 

At first, he ignored it, then he started tolerating it. But now, he couldn’t go a full hour without thinking about you.

Not the version the world saw, the perfect popstar. Just… you 

Barefoot in the kitchen, hair in a claw clip, stealing bites of his takeout and mocking his black-on-black wardrobe. Laughing too loud, saying please just to get under his skin, sleeping curled up on the couch with a record spinning in the background.

You annoyed him, and you wrecked him.

But tonight, watching you smile for cameras while Jake touched you like you belonged to him, itt had felt like a blade behind his ribs.

He knew it wasn’t real, but he also knew it didn’t matter. Because he wasn’t allowed to want you. Not when his entire job was to protect you, not just from danger, but from disaster. And he was a walking one. If anything ever happened between you, it wouldn’t just be messy. It would be career-ending. For both of you.

He could already read the headlines: Pop Princess Caught Sleeping With Hired Muscle.

They’d say it was manipulation, a power imbalance, a scandal.

And it would swallow you whole.

So he stayed silent, even when you asked him do you give a damn? Because the truth was, he did. Too much, and that was exactly why he couldn’t ever tell you.

The following weeks blurred into a cycle of carefully staged chaos, you and Jake were everywhere. Dinner dates, music festivals, late-night ice cream runs, caught by the paps in perfectly tousled outfits. Even a fake “leaked” selfie of you curled into his shoulder in a car.

Your manager called it a media masterpiece.

Jake was sweet, charming, low-maintenance. He played his role effortlessly, smiled when the cameras were around, made you laugh when they weren’t. But the more real the relationship looked, the more fake it felt.

Because Sunghoon was always there. Silent, steady, and always watching. Always ten steps behind, except for when he was right beside you, hand lightly touching your lower back as you moved through a crowd. And he didn’t even falter, not once. He kept it professional, cold, dry. No reaction when Jake slung an arm around your shoulder, no comment when Jake walked you into a room, his thumb casually grazing your hipbone beneath your cropped shirt.

Not even when you caught Sunghoon’s eyes across the mirror, and held the eye contact until your eyes burned, until you noticed something behind them. 

But then it came the after party for the VMA’S. 

The club was dark and loud, full of industry types and flashing phones. Your body was buzzing from champagne and adrenaline. Jake’s band  had just won “Artist of the Year.” Everyone was celebrating.

You stood near the VIP section, laughing at something Jake said, your hand resting on his chest. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, something teasing, and you played along, giggling. And then he kissed you. Not like it was a performance, or staged. Just a soft and real kiss. His hand on your waist, his lips moving gently, a little unsure. It was a cute kiss, something romantic that could fool everyone enough to be everywhere the next day.

You pulled away, polite and professional smiling through it. And your eyes flicked up.

Sunghoon was across the room, standing near the back, watching. And for the first time since he’d been assigned to you, his mask cracked. It was subtle, but you noticed anyways. His lips parted, his brow twitched, his jaw clenched so hard you thought it might break. 

You held his gaze for just a second too long. And then he turned and left the room.

Your felt your heart dropped to your stomach.

Jake said something else, and you nodded, but didn’t hear him. All you could think about was Sunghoon’s back disappearing through the crowd and the heat in your chest. 

You excused yourself, telling Jake you needed to go the bathroom and followed him without thinking. 

The cool night air brushed your skin, making every pore jump under the fabric of your dress. The sreetlights buzzing, the alley behind the venue smelled like cigarette ash and city sweat.

Sunghoon was there. Back turned and his shoulders tense, his head was tilted like he was trying to breathe through his fury. He wasn’t on his phone or listening through the earpiece. Just pacing, one hand curled into a fist at his side, the other running through his hair like it ached to tear something apart.

You stepped behind him and he heard you, because he stopped walking, but he didn’t turn.

“Sunghoon.”

His jaw flexed.

 “You should go back inside.”

“I don’t want to.”

There was a silence for a few seconds.

Then, he spoke, tight and flat. 

“You’re his girlfriend now. You should be by his side.”

His face was carefully blank, but his eyes betrayed him. They always did. That’s where you found the truth. In the dark, simmering way they looked at you like he was begging himself not to reach for you.

“You know that’s not real.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Your heart sank at the edge in his voice, his tone sounding like you were something he couldn’t stand anymore. Sunghoon then looked away, and you felt something twisted inside you.

“You left right after he kissed me.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Did it bother you?” you asked.

Still silence. But you watched his jaw clenching again. His hands running through his hair again while he took another deep breath. You walked closer to him, so you could see his full expression. And you saw it clearly then, the jealousy, the restraint, the desperate attempt to stay composed when he was boiling, you weren’t imagining it.

You tilted your head, voice quieter now. 

“Just say it.”

But he kept the silence, so you pushed and stepped right into his space.

“Say something. Anything. Because I saw your face, Sunghoon. And it wasn’t ‘professional.’ It wasn’t ‘just doing your job.’ It was—”

“It was fucking unbearable.”

His voice broke, and you froze. Sunghoon stared at you like he hated himself, like wished he’d kept quiet. But the words kept spilling from his lips.

“I’ve watched you let him hold you, touch you, smile at you like your his, and I’ve had to stand there, every single time, and pretend it doesn’t drive me fucking insane.”

Your lips parted, surprised but not completely.

“You think I don’t feel anything?” he said, louder now, pacing again. “You think it doesn’t kill me watching him put his hands on you while I’m three feet away, not being allowed to do nothing?”

He looked up at the sky like he wanted to scream.

“I can’t do it much longer,” he admitted. “I can’t stand there and act like I don’t want to punch him right in the face because he dared to put his hands on you.”

You didn’t realise you were shaking until this point, but it wasn’t because of the cold. It was from the heavy relief, for how long you’d wanted to hear this from him. 

“I don’t want him to touch me,” you said after a few seconds.

His eyes snapped to yours, burning with want and need and something even heavier.

“It just want you to touch me” you breathed.

His chest rose sharply, like he couldn’t believe it. He looked as if hearing you say it broke something in him wide open. Then he took one more step. Close now, his body just inches from yours you were feeling the heat pouring off him. You could smell him, clean and manly and a little musky, the faintest trace of cologne and sweat from the night. Your chest rose and fell in sync with his, your faces so close you could fall into temptation right now. 

“I think about you,” he whispered, voice thick with sin. “When I’m alone at night. In the car. When you laugh. When you put your hand on my arm without even thinking.”

Sunghoon  paused, then looked at your lips, and then his fist curled in the fabric of your dress, the other hand at your jaw, and crashed his mouth against yours.

There was no hesitation, no control at all. Just need. His kiss was almost bruising, filled with  heat and frustration and weeks of biting his tongue shoved into one reckless moment. You gasped, but he didn’t give you a chance to breathe, his tongue pushed into your mouth like he owned it, he’d waited too long to be gentle. And who were you fooling, you didn’t want it to be gentle right now, you just wanted him to take you. His mouth was hot and wet against yours, a mess of spit and breaths colliding with each other like they were meant for this. You moaned softly into his mouth, and that made him groan low, pressing his hips forward. You could feel him, hard and hot through the fabric of his slacks, and it made your head spin. 

He pushed you back against the brick wall, Sunghoon’s body flush against yours, bigger than you, heavier than you, it was suffocating, his hands traveling on your body, your waist, hips, sliding up your back, greedy and desperate. His mouth moved to your jaw, then your neck, biting, sucking, like he wanted to mark you, soaking your skin with his wet tongue. A shiver went down your whole body until it settled between your legs, wetness starting to pool against the fabric of your underwear. 

“I fucking hate this dress,” he muttered against your throat, voice raw. “Walked behind you all night trying not to imagine what you’d taste like underneath it.”

Your knees failed you, but he caught you.

“You let him touch you,” he growled, dragging his lips back to yours. “Let him kiss you. And I had to stand there, pretending I didn’t want to make you mine in front of the whole fucking room.”

His words were pushing all the buttons inside you, you were losing your mind. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling as you whimpered into his mouth, not getting enough of him.

“Say you want me,” he demanded. “Say you’re not thinking about him. Say it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you whispered. “It’s always been you.”

His mouth crashed into yours again, hungrier now. His hands slid beneath your dress, warm palms up the backs of your thighs, fingers digging into your soft skin, you could swear he’d leave marks there, lifting you slightly until your body molded to his. You were gasping, clutching at his shoulders, drunk off his mouth, the heat of him, the filthy way he was grinding against you.

“I want to ruin you,” he rasped. “Want to hear you say my name while I’m buried inside you, crying on my cock because you can’t take it anymore.”

Your head dropped back against the wall with a strangled sound, thighs trembling, you moaned his name, already trying to pull down your panties. 

But just when it felt like he’d finally let go, he froze.

His hands stopped, his mouth pulling back with his breathing ragging. You blinked, still dazed, your lips swollen, skin flushed. Still full of want.

But then you watched the horror dawn in his expression, the guilt and the panic starting to bloom. Sunghoon’s hand fell from your thigh, his mouth parted like he was about to apologize but couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, almost to himself. “Fuck—I shouldn’t have…”

You shook your head, trying to reach for him, trying to tell him it was ok. 

“Sunghoon—”

He stepped back, eyes full of panic now. 

“No. We can’t.”

His voice cracked, just like your heart in that moment. 

“You’ll lose everything,I’ll lose everything.”

You stood there, breathless, aching, lips still wet from him, while he straightened his jacket and backed away.

He didn’t look at you again, just whispered, 

“I’m sorry, that was unprofessional.”

And disappeared through the door, leaving you shaking and alone.

Sunghoon didn’t speak to you the rest of the night, or the day after, or ever again. Besides murmuring schedules and logistics, “You have a shoot at nine”, “Your car leaves at six.” “Management called twice.”, he was silent. Efficient and distant, he went back to his robotic, professional state. Maybe even colder than before.

Sometimes he was in the kitchen, sipping coffee in the mornings when you padded out barefoot, sleepy and messy. But even then, he didn’t glance up, he just scrolled on his phone, took another sip, and left before you could say a word.

No eye contact, no acknowledgement at all. He was acting like he would fall apart again the second the laid his eyes on you. 

He no longer stood close to you in the elevator, just kept his arms crossed now, like a shield. How even his voice—when he used it—sounded emptier.

You tried to get him once or twice. A little joke or a comment like you always used to annoy him. 

“Rough morning?” you asked him when he looked especially tired one day.

He didn’t answer, didn’t even look at you. Just tapped his earpiece and murmured something to another guard.

It was complete absence. And for some reason, it hurt you so much. Because he was still right there, still in every car ride, every hallway, every room, and yet it felt like he was gone.

You started to think you dreamed it. The kiss, the heat of his mouth, his rough hands on your body, whispering filth in your heart and all the things he wanted to do to you. 

You laid in bed some nights remembering him, and hating how much you wanted him to touch you again. 

You were burning for him, begging silently for his attention, but you weren’t going to be silent for much longer. 

He was going insane. Sunghoon didn’t even try to deny it anymore.

Because ever since that night, since he kissed you like he needed it to breathe, he hadn’t been able to go a single hour without thinking about you. Not a single one.

He replayed it constantly. The way your hands gripped his jacket like you were scared he’d disappear. The way you said his name like it belonged in your mouth. The way your vanilla lip gloss tasted on his mouth. 

He was starving, dying of hunger. 

The worst part was that he was the one who cut if off, the one who stepped back full of panic and said that this couldn’t happen, the one who watched your eyes fall and your mouth open in shock and still turned away and started acting like it was all his job like before.

He convinced himself it was the right thing to do, he was your bodyguard, and you were the biggest popstar in the planet. A scandal like this would end both of your careers. 

So Sunghoon tried, so hard, to bury it. 

But it was so difficult, when you walked by him in a silk robe, hair wet from the shower, humming under your breath as you checked your phone, barefoot on the marble floors. You poured coffee two cups at a time, placed one on the counter near him, still not speaking, but hoping that he’d take it.

He did take it, but he never said thank you. Because if he said one word, the rest would come spilling out.

You drive me insane. I wake up hard from dreams of you. I remember the way you moaned my name every time I close my eyes.

He couldn’t even look at you anymore without feeling like he was losing his mind. So he started waking up early just to be gone before you were up. Stayed out late under the excuse of checking exits, security routes, coordinating with drivers. But the truth was, he just couldn’t stand the apartment when it was filled with your presence. Your perfume in the air, your earrings on the coffee table. Your voice in the next room while you FaceTimed Jake, pretending he was the one you wanted.

He'd lie awake in his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, fists clenched at his sides, breathing slow like a soldier trying not to snap.

Because he wanted to snap, he wanted to fuck everything up. To kiss you again, take his time this time, put his mouth on your thighs and hear you beg for him like you’d never begged for anyone else.

But he couldn’t.

Tonight was an important night, probably the most important in months of this pr stunt. The launch of Jake’s band’s new album. A listening party packed with celebrities, stylists, influencers, label execs, journalists, flashing lights, and staged smiles.

And you had to play your part, the perfect girlfriend muse. 

Your dress hugged your curves perfectly, deep red velvet that shimmered when you moved. It dipped low on your back, high on your thigh. Hair curled just right, your lashes dark, lips red and glossy.

You looked completely untouchable. 

You smiled on cue, took the pictures, laughed at Jake’s jokes, touched his arm at the right moments, nodded along when someone asked how “inspired” you were by the new tracks. And Jake played it perfectly, too. His hand always at your waist, while he whispered compliments in your ear, winking when he held your chair out.

And Sunghoon was there too. Dressed in a black tailored suit, tie neat, jacket crisp, earpiece in. He stood near the wall, close enough to scan the crowd, far enough to blend into it. But your body always knew where he was. 

His eyes moved constantly, checking exits, noting staff movements, tracking every VIP who walked through the doors. And then they met you. You had just laughed at something Jake said, a polite, airy sound, fake and effortless, and turned your head a fraction too far.

Sunghoon was looking. 

No, not looking, watching you like he couldn’t help it. His gaze was heavy and dark, his pupils shining under the neon lights, it made you whole body shiver and your breath shake. You didn’t smile or blink. You just stared back, letting the weight of everything unspoken pool between you.

His eyes dropped for half a second, low and slowly over your body. It made you burn with everything including the memory of his hands on you. And it drove you crazy. 

You were done playing nice. So you shifted in your seat, just slightly, crossing your legs, slow and intentional, the shimmer from your body lotion making them look even more soft and beautiful.  You let your hand skim the hem of your dress as you did, smoothing it down, but not  all the way, you let it ride up, just a little. Enough to expose a flash of thigh, soft and glinting under the purple neon lights.

You let your body speak, let the dress speak, let the motion of your hand gliding up your thigh speak. And you felt him, his gaze. Heavy, dragging across your skin like a fingerprint left in heat. Your breathing was heavy but you didn’t stop, just reached for your glass, took a slow sip and tilted your head towards Jake as he said something you weren’t really listening to.

And even without looking, you knew that Sunghoon was watching. Like he always did when he thought you wouldn’t catch him, you felt that stare burn into your leg, up your thigh, pausing just where the dress began to dip into shadow.

If he wouldn’t give in, you’d force his hand.

So you slipped away, quietly and casually, mid-conversation. You got up and left your clutch on the seat, the drink you were drinking still half-full on the table, you didn’t even tell Jake, he was too busy talking about something with his boring bandmates, so you just stood up and walked though the crowd, losing yourself in the heated and drunk bodies, slipping away. 

One hallway, then another. Your heels echoing softly on the marble floors, faster with every step. Your pulse raced, your skin burned. You didn’t know where you were going, just away. From everything, the lies, the cameras. 

You didn’t stop until you were deep in some quiet corridor near the back of the venue, where the music was faint and the lights buzzed low and warm. And you just waited for Sunghoon to notice you were gone. 

Sunghoon tried so hard not to look at you the whole night. He told himself that every time you laughed at something Jake said, it didn’t sting, that every time Jake touched your arm or leaned in too close, it didn’t matter.

He stood still near the far corner of the venue, back straight, hands folded calmly in front of him. From the outside, he looked unbothered, focused and alert, like every other night. But inside he was coming undone.

Because you were sitting just a few feet away, glowing like a fucking spotlight in that red velvet dress, your legs crossed so carelessly it made his pulse spike every time you moved.

And when you did, when your hand smoothed the fabric of your dress and left just a little too much skin exposed, he felt it in his gut. He lost his breath completely, it took everything in him not to lose control right there. 

He dropped his gaze, jaw locked, and tried to focus on anything else. On the security patterns, the crowd density, entry and exit points.

Breathe, Park.

But then,  just as he regained control, he looked up again and your chair was empty.

His stomach dropped to the floor, his pulse going so fast suddenly. You were gone. Just an untouched glass, your clutch still resting on the velvet seat cushion. Jake was distracted, laughing with a guy, oblivious and relaxed. 

Sunghoon was not, his heart thudded.

He immediately pressed his fingers to his earpiece.

“Confirm visual on target—south table. She’s not here.” His voice was calm, but his pulse was a war drum.

“Repeat, she’s not at the table.”

Static. Then:

“No visual on my end.”

Sunghoon was already moving. He cut across the floor like a current, quiet but swift, eyes scanning every cluster of people, every hallway entrance, every bathroom sign. You weren’t anywhere. 

“Check service corridor and ack halls. She left her things.” His tone sharpened, clipped. “This isn’t scheduled movement.”

He felt heat rising behind his eyes, a tightness in his throat. He couldn’t even name the panic clawing through his chest, but it was fast and mean and all-consuming.

“She wasn’t escorted?” someone asked.

Sunghoon grit his teeth. 

“No. She left alone, she never does this.”

You weren’t supposed to do that. You knew better. This was high-profile, high-stakes. Cameras. VIPs…

You left.

Because you wanted him to come after you.

Now he was, with every long step through the corridors, every door pushed open too fast, every whispered call to the guards, every breath that didn’t reach his lungs, he realized he didn’t care about professionalism anymore.

Your back was pressed to the hallway wall, far from the crowd, wrapped in shadows and a flickering strip of neon that buzzed pink and gold against the glossy floor. The silence made your heart beat louder. Your body was heat and adrenaline, skin still tingling where his eyes had burned into it earlier. 

Then you heard him, not footsteps, he moved too carefully for that. But the presence, that energy that always poured off him like electricity. He turned the corner, and saw you.

Sunghoon stopped short, just a few feet away, with his chest rising like he’d been running. His tie was loose, jacket slightly askew. But it was his face that did it.

That look.

His mouth was parted, eyes blown wide and dark, like he’d found something he wasn’t supposed to want this badly and he was barely holding it together.

“You think you’re fucking funny?” he said. His voice came out low and sharp, but rough around the edges, hoarse, almost.

You didn’t answer. Because you knew he knew why you left. And you knew he felt it too.

Still, he stood frozen, muscles locked up like he was fighting something inside himself, breathing hard through his nose. You pushed off the wall slowly, your heels clicking gently on the tile. Took one step and then another. You didn’t say anything at first, just looked at him with your head titling.

“Sunghoon.”

You just said his name, but it broke him.

In a flash, he closed the distance. One hand hit the wall beside your head, and the other wrapped around your waist like he was furious with himself for touching you, yet couldn’t not.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” he said through gritted teeth, face so close you could feel the heat of his breath against your lips.

“I left,” you whispered, gaze locked on his. “And you followed.”

His eyes searched yours, wild and wanting and full of every thought he’d bitten back since the moment you kissed him. He let out a sharp exhale, and closes his eyes for a second, trying to keep being coherent.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to yours now, his voice low and wrecked. “This isn’t okay, this can’t happen.”

“But want it” you said softly, lifting your fingers to his chest, feeling the wild thrum of his heart beneath his shirt. “You want me just like I want you.” 

And that was it.

He kissed you like a mistake he was ready to make a hundred times over. Hard, fast, hungry. His hands grabbed your hips, hauled you flush against him as your back hit the wall again with a soft thud. His mouth opened over yours. Tongue and teeth, no space between you, just heat and breath and need.

You moaned into him, fingers diving into his hair, tugging because you needed him closer even though he was already pressed against every inch of you.

“I won’t stop” he growled against your lips, even as his hands slid down the curve of your ass, gripping like he couldn’t help himself.

“Just take me out of here, far away please”

The room smelled like dust and old pine cleaner. The walls were a faded peach, the curtains half-closed. The bed was covered in a scratchy floral blanket, but the lamp on the nightstand glowed a soft, hazy pink. It wasn’t an expensive hotel, that was too risky, you were an hour away from town now, in some shitty motel he found next to the driveway, one of those glowing signs half-lit with a few missing letters. 

It didn’t matter, because now you were alone, away from the cameras and everything, just the two of you, finally. 

You turned around just in time for him to close the door behind him, and he locked it. His eyes never left yours. Not while he leaned against the dresser, peeling his shirt open button by button. Not while he toed off his shoes. Not even now, when his expression was unreadable, but burning.

The air between you buzzed. Like something unsaid had taken shape.You took a step forward. Just one.

And that was enough.

Sunghoon’s chest rose with a slow, deep breath. He didn’t move, but something in his posture shifted, like a wire had been cut.

“I still can’t believe you did it” he murmured. His voice was low, husky, rough from the night. “You just… walked out.”

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” you said softly, watching him. “Watching you act like none of it mattered.”

His jaw twitched. He looked away for half a second, then back to you. His voice was quieter when he spoke again.

“It mattered.”

“Then why—”

“Because I was trying to protect you,” he snapped, stepping towards you now. “From this. From me. From everything I wanted to do the second you started looking at me like that.”

You blinked, heart in your throat. 

“And now?”

His eyes darkened. He stepped again. And again. Until he was right in front of you, close enough that your breaths mingled, that you could smell him, his warm cologne still on his shirt, the heat surrounding his body.

“Now I’m done pretending,” he whispered.

Sunghoon’s fingers found your chin, his touch soft and gentle, but it was trembling from holding himself back when he tilted your face up and made you look him into his eyes. 

“You walked out of that party and into my arms. I’m not letting you go.”

You barely had time to gasp before his lips were on yours. Not with a soft or gentle kiss, a starved kiss. All teeth and breath and need. Months of silence and stolen looks and secrets burning down between your mouths. His hands slid to your waist, gripping hard, pulling you against him until you almost felt your soul melting onto his. His taste was sweet and addictive, you couldn’t get enough, not even when his tongue explored your mouth and he made you suck it with a low groan, wet sounds of your moving lips filling the room. 

You moaned against him, your hands flying to his shoulders, his shirt, grabbing, holding, needing. You felt his broad shoulders, the muscles on his arms, big and manly and burning beneath your touch. Suddenly it was just heat and lust between you two. 

He then then pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, panting, his red lips glistening with your saliva. 

“Take this off for me” he whispered, tugging at your dress, breath hot against your ear. “I want to see all of you.”

You didn’t hesitate.Your hands found the hem of your dress, slowly dragging it up, past your thighs, over your hips, until the fabric slipped off your body and onto the floor. Underneath it, a red lace lingerie set that hugged around your breasts and your hips like it was made for destruction, it wasn’t intentional, just what you usually wore under your clothes, but Sunghoon looked devastated, like all the oxygen in his lungs left. You let him watch you, breathing heavy in the pink glow of the motel light.

Sunghoon exhaled sharply.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re so perfect.”

Then his hands found your body again, slow, a bit unsure because you were too beautiful to be real, your body so delicate between his hands when he hugged your curves and let his touch linger along your sides, your chest, until one of them cupped around one of your breasts, squeezing just right before he kissed you again. 

His tongue moved against yours, his hand stayed on your breast, kneading gently, thumb brushing over the lace until your nipple peaked beneath the fabric. The other slid to your lower back, pressing you tighter to him. A gasp left your mouth when you felt his hardness against your stomach, thick and pulsing through his pants, radiating heat through the linen.

“Sunghoon,” you whimpered, your knees already weakening.

He exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet yours. 

“Lay down for me.”

His voice was soft, almost kind, but it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order, like the ones he always gave you, but this time it felt different. 

You obeyed. The sheets were cool beneath your back, the mattress creaked as you shifted, the motel room lamp casting rose-colored light over your bare skin. You watched him as he stood over you, tie gone, top buttons undone, hair tousled, breathing heavier now. You’d never seen him this undone, most of the times he always looked polished to perfection, but still he looked like the most beautiful man ever. His eyes were dark and low, focused entirely on you.

Sunghoon dragged his gaze down your body like he was memorizing it, and then he knelt onto the mattress. He crawled over you slow, caged you in with his arms, not touching you yet, just hovering, but you felt his heat and his weight. 

“You’re shaking” he said softly, lips brushing your cheek.

“I’m a bit nervous” you whispered.

He smiled, but it wasn’t cocky, it was warm and dangerous. 

“I don’t want you nervous,” he said, kissing your jaw. “I want you needy.”

You didn’t answer, you didn’t trust your voice when his lips kept brushing your skin.

“Do you think about me when I’m not around?” he asked, mouth and breath hot against your ear. “When you’re alone? When you’re pretending to like his hand on your waist instead of mine?”

You whimpered. 

“Yes.”

He hummed, pleased. His hand slid to your thigh, warm and slow, fingers tracing upwards. His touch was fire, every hair on your body jumped, every pore alive, every sensation too much. The lace started to itch, your skin glistening with sweat. 

“Did you touch yourself after I kissed you that night?”

You hesitated for just a second and then nodded, biting your lip, your cheeks turning red. Sunghoon just chuckled darkly.

“My filthy girl.”

His fingers brushed higher, grazing your inner thigh now, his pinky brushed against the soaked fabric of your panties, but he didn’t give you what you needed in that moment, your hips twitched, needy, desperate to feel him, your clothed core pulsing and clenching around nothing. 

“Did you come?” he murmured. “Or were you too worked up thinking about what I said when I was losing control?”

“Sunghoon…”

“I want to know everything” he said, nose brushing down your neck, lips pressing gentle kisses as he moved lower. “I want to know how this body reacts to me. How wet you get when I tell you what I want to do.”

You moaned as his hand finally touched you, his fingers pressing through your panties, slow and sure. Not teasing, exploring. Slow circles, up and down, perfect enough to make your hips rock against his hand. His voice was silk, low and impossibly smooth.

“Tell me what you thought about.”

His fingers moved in slow circles over your soaked panties now, dragging slick through the fabric. Each pass of his touch had your thighs tensing, your hips rocking instinctively, seeking more.

“Tell me what you imagined when you were alone in your bed, touching this needy little cunt.”

You whimpered, head thrown back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut.

“I thought about you,” you confessed, breathless. “About your hands. Your mouth.”

He smiled against your throat, nipping gently at the skin just below your jaw.

“Did you imagine me making you come with just my fingers?” he whispered. “Or was it my cock you needed?”

Your hips jolted again, needing more of his touch. 

“Both.”

“Greedy,” he hummed. “Lift your hips f’me, babygirl”

His hand slid down, fingers curling under the waistband of your panties at last, and he pulled the fabric aside when you did so, the fabric clung to your soaked folds for just a second, and when he let you underwear fall on the floor, you were dripping, pulsing, glistening arousal. 

Sunghoon hissed through his teeth, staring down between your thighs like he couldn’t believe it.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Soaking just for me”

You couldn’t even speak, and then his fingers touched you bare. One long stroke up your slit, dragging your wetness all around, soaking his fingers in you as they glistened, then two fingers parting you, slow, stretching your walls so deliciously a high gasp left your throat and your thighs twitched. And then he found your clit.

“That’s it,” he whispered, watching your face, transfixed by every twitch and tremble. “That’s what you needed, isn’t it? Poor baby’s been aching for me all this time.”

He rubbed slow, deep circles, pressure building perfectly. Your thighs were already trying to close around his hand, but he kept you open, pinned beneath him with one strong thigh slotted between yours.

“I could make you come like this,” he murmured, kissing your cheek, your temple. “Just my fingers. Right here. Soft and slow. Until you’re crying.”

You moaned, eyes rolling back. But then his touch was away, just for a second, because the next moment he opened your legs even more, watching you drip and pulse around nothing, before his face got close to your inner thighs, leaving wet kisses and licks. 

“Or should I use my mouth, mhm?” 

He didn’t wait for your answer. Because Sunghoon already knew what you needed for the way your body trembled, the way your hands gripped the sheets,  the way your eyes fluttered shut the second his breath ghosted over your slick folds.

His mouth was on you in the next moment, a slow, flat lick up your slit that made your spine arch off the mattress and a broken sob escape your lips.

“Oh fuck—”

You barely got the words out before his tongue pressed in again, deeper this time, savoring the way you fell apart. Sunghoon groaned into your pussy like he’d found his favorite flavor, and maybe he had, because his hands gripped your thighs, opened you wider, and his mouth worked with pure, devastating precision. 

“So fucking sweet for me” he moaned between long, slow licks. “You have no idea how long I’ve been imagining how you’d taste…”

He wasn’t just licking, he was having a full make-out session with your pussy. Pressing open-mouth kisses to your clit. Suction and tongue, flicks and rolls, so wet and messy and filthy it made your legs tremble. 

“Fuck—Sunghoon—please—”

Sunghoon was devouring you like he needed it. Like he’d been starved for months and only now, tasting you, feeling you, could finally breathe. His tongue dragged flat and firm up your slit, then circled your clit in slow, deliberate swirls. He sucked, just enough to make you cry out, then pulled back with a wet pop only to press another kiss, messy, open, tongue licking into your folds again, flicking so perfectly it bordered on cruel.

“You like it?” he growled, glancing up just long enough for you to catch the wild heat in his eyes. “Like how I eat this perfect little pussy until you can’t speak?”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even think, not when he was sucking your clit again, when your thighs were shaking and your fingers were digging into the sheets like they could save you from the overwhelming rush curling tight inside you.

He moaned into you, deep and hungry, the sound vibrating right through your core.

And then, his hands slid underneath your ass, lifting your hips slightly, angling you just the way he wanted, holding you open for his mouth. His tongue fucked into you now—inside—wet and slow and so deep it had your head rolling back, your body writhing against his hold. It was so dirty and obscene but so perfect, no one had ever made you feel this much pleasure just with his mouth. 

“God, Sunghoon—oh my god—” your voice was wrecked, high, helpless.

He licked up again, groaning, lips shiny with your arousal. 

“I wanna eat you for hours.”

Then he latched back onto your clit, relentless now, fast flicks of his tongue, sucking with rhythm, fingers pressing into your thighs to hold you down when you started shaking too hard.

“Come for me,” he murmured between licks. “Come on my tongue like a good girl. I know you’re close.”

You sobbed, eyes squeezing shut. The pressure built and built, so much it hurt, so bright and hot your toes curled.

“Sunghoon, I—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he growled. “Come now. Let me taste it.”

And with one last, perfect swipe of his tongue, you shattered. Your thighs clamped around his head, your whole body tensed, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave so intense it punched the air from your lungs. You moaned, loud and broken, hips jerking helplessly as he kept licking, chasing every tremor, every aftershock.

He didn’t stop until you pushed at his head, twitching from oversensitivity, body limp against the sheets. When he finally pulled back, his lips were wet and swollen, chin slick with your release, eyes glazed with lust. He looked ruined, and proud of it.

Then he kissed you, making you taste yourself on his lips, his hands on your skin, while you were still shaking and panting. He separated just to get rid of his shirt completely, and the view knocked all the air of your lungs again. You had seen him shirtless before, not on purpose though, not like this, wrecked and yours. His body was perfect, muscles and lines along his arms and his abdomen. 

Sunghoon stood at the foot of the bed for a second, letting you take him in. And then took his pant off in one fast movement, along with his boxers, his cock was heavy and hard, glistening at the tip, pressed against the firm line of his stomach. He looked like sin incarnate, hair messy, mouth swollen, chest heaving, and he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world he’d ever wanted.

You shifted slightly, thighs still slick and open for him, and his eyes dropped to your core.

“Shit, baby” he breathed. “Look at you… still wet, still twitching.”

He moved toward you again, slow and purposeful, crawling over your body,  his hands planted beside your head as he dipped down and kissed you again, slower this time, but still intense and needy. 

“I need to feel you now” he whispered against your lips.

His hands grabbed your thighs and pushed them against your chest, making yourself more open and ready for him, completely exposed, but it didn’t make you feel shy, just needier. His hips lowered, the tip of his cock brushing your sensitive entrance, between your soaked, dripping folds, and you felt your core pulsing with anticipation, it made you gasp.

“You’re ok?” he murmured, lips to your cheek.

You nodded, dazed and wrecked. 

“Please. I need it.”

And then, he pushed in. The first inch made you cry out, he was so thick, so hot and perfect as his cock stretched your walls just perfectly, every vein felt like it was made for you.  Your body stretched around him slowly, achingly, your walls clenching instinctively as he filled you up.

Sunghoon groaned low in his throat, burying his face in your neck. 

“Shit—baby, you feel so good. So tight around me—fuck.”

He paused, letting you adjust for a few seconds, and you felt his cock twitching inside of you, every inch of him, his hand brushing hair from your face. 

“Breathe,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

You wrapped your arms around his back, anchoring yourself to the broad plane of his shoulders, feeling every inch of his body press into yours when he started moving. The first roll of his hips was deep and slow, his cock dragging perfectly against every nerve inside you, making your breath hitch and your nails dig into his skin.

“Oh my god—Sunghoon—”

“That’s it,” he murmured, setting a rhythm, slow and steady and deep. “Just like that. Let me in.”

You could feel everything, every vein, every pulse, every thick inch of him pressing you open again and again, your body already slick and ready from the orgasm he’d given you with his mouth. He kissed your jaw, your temple, your lips between thrusts, his hands never leaving your body, touching your waist, your ribs, cupping one of your breasts as he groaned into your skin.

“You were made for this,” he said, voice ragged. “For me. You know that, right?”

You whimpered, nodding. 

“Yes—yes—don’t stop—”

He didn’t, instead, he moved harder now, faster, the bed creaking beneath you, the headboard knocking faintly against the wall as your bodies collided again and again, skin to skin, breath to breath. The wet sound of your pussy dripping around him, the obscene noise of your bodies crashing against each other, and the way your moans and his groans filled the room. 

Second after second his rhythm became harder, faster, you could almost feel him against your belly, he was so deep and thick but you kept asking for more. Your fingers clawed at his back, leaving red crescents in his skin as he fucked into you with the force of everything he’d been holding back, every glance, every breathless moment of silence, every ache he’d buried under professionalism. All of it poured out of him now, in the desperate way his hips slammed into yours, again and again.

He grunted, and the sound was pure filth, low and unhinged and hungry. His pace grew rougher, his thrusts sharper, your body jolting up the bed every time he drove into you. His hands pinned your wrists above your head now, fingers tight around your pulse points, his breath ragged in your ear as he fucked you hard, raw, deep, his cock stretching you so wide your eyes rolled back.

“You’re taking it so well,” he growled. “Letting me fuck you like this—ruin you like this—God, look at you.”

You were gone, nothing but sobs and pleasure and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. Your body jolted with every thrust, the wet squelch of your pussy echoing in the room, so loud and filthy it made him moan against your throat.

“Can feel you squeezing me,” he groaned. “You like it, don’t you? Like how I fuck you senseless?” 

You nodded desperately, barely able to form words. 

“Please—please—need it—”

Sunghoon’s grip tightened on your wrists, and he pulled out just to pull in again, slamming into you harder, faster, each thrust making the headboard crash against the wall. Your breath shook, your body on the very edge of breaking. His thumb then found your clit, rubbing tight circles at the same rhythm as his thrusts, and you cried out his name. 

“That’s it,” he growled. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock.”

Your vision blurred, your back arched, your body convulsed. A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm tore through you, hot and violent, your pussy clenching around him so tight he nearly collapsed on top of you.

“Fuck—” he gasped, jerking hard once, twice, and then he came, deep inside you, hot and endless, filling you up until you could feel it dripping out the second his hips began to slow.

He groaned into your mouth, the kiss messy and hot and breathless, his body trembling above you. He barely managed to hold himself up on one forearm, the other hand sliding shakily down to your waist as he caught his breath.

Your limbs were tangled together, sweat-slick and weak, hearts racing in perfect sync.

He didn’t pull out, or move at all. Just stayed there, deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you trying to breathe through the comedown.

His lips brushed against your cheek, barely a kiss. 

“You okay?” he murmured, voice hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

You nodded, still too dizzy to form words, your fingers slowly threading through his damp hair. He melted into the touch like he needed it more than air. For a long moment, neither of you moved. There was nothing to prove. No cameras, no people watching. Just him, just you. Just whatever this had become.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at you.

His gaze was softer now, still intense, still dark, but softened around the edges, like he was finally letting himself feel everything. His hand moved to your cheek, brushing your skin with the back of his fingers.

Your heart was still racing. His hand slid across your stomach, slow and warm, fingers brushing lazy circles across your skin. He didn’t need to say anything else, not right now.

The silence said enough.

You didn’t sleep, not even for a minute.

The second your breaths had evened out, barely recovering from the last orgasm that left your thighs trembling and your lips swollen, he was already reaching for you again. 

No words, just touch. A hand on your hip, a breath against your collarbone. The soft, hungry scrape of his teeth down your neck. And that look in his eyes, wild, soft, wrecked and obsessed.

It didn’t matter that your limbs were sore, or that the motel air was heavy with heat and sex and something deeper neither of you dared to name yet. You’d waited too long. Denied too much.

So you let him pull you under again.

And again.

And again. 

You rode him while he grabbed your hips, bounced on his cock until your thighs burned, until he groaned against your breasts, sucking your nipple when he spilled inside you again. Then he pushed you into the bed, put you in fours and took you from behind with hard, deep thrusts and slaps in your ass. By the fourth time, you couldn’t even move anymore, so you let him spoon you, one leg dropped across your hips as he slammed into you from behind with lazy, slow movements. 

He was gentle now, still desperate, yes, but careful with you, soft kisses pressed between each motion of his hips, his voice whispering broken things into your ear that didn’t even make sense anymore.

“You feel so good—can’t get enough of you…”

By the fifth and final round, your bodies were slow and sticky with sweat, sheets kicked off the bed and lying tangled on the floor. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless, smiling without meaning to as your limbs stayed wrapped around each other.

Sunghoon’s voice was low, still rough from everything.

“You ruined me, you know that?” he murmured into your shoulder, pressing a kiss just under your ear.

You smiled, lips barely parting. 

“That’s good.”

There was silence for a while, comfortable and heavy with sleep you both refused to give in to.

“I don’t know what happens after this,” you said softly. “But I don’t regret it.”

His arm tightened around you slightly.

“Me either.”

You could feel his heartbeat against your spine, still racing slightly, still grounding you. Your body ached in all the right places, your hips sore, your thighs trembling, skin warm where he’d touched you over and over again.

And you wanted him again.

Not just the way he kissed or moved or whispered your name like it was a secret. You wanted the way he looked at you now, with nothing held back. The way he made you feel, real, known, wanted.

“I don’t want this to be the last time,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer right away. Just kissed your shoulder again, slow and quiet.

“Then it won’t be.”

Everything was a mess now, a beautiful, aching, dangerous mess.

You were addicted to him, his hands, his mouth, his voice when it dropped low and filthy in your ear. But more than that, you were addicted to the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. Like he didn’t want to want you, but couldn’t help it.

He was your secret now. 

To the world, he was just your bodyguard, stone-faced and cold and distant. Sunghoon still did his job perfectly, the man in black two steps behind you at every red carpet, every interview, every staged date with Jake.

But behind closed doors…You were his. He pinned you to the mirrored wall of the elevator, one hand on your waist, the other buried in your hair as he kissed you like he was starved. His mouth was rough, devouring, all tongue and teeth and heat, swallowing your gasp as you arched into him.

Other times he had you prressed to the wall of your penthouse. Bent over the sink in your dressing room. Moaning into his neck in the dark hallway of some hotel far from L.A., your hands clawing at his back while he ruined you and made you his in every corner of the city. 

That’s how it always went now. Hands in the backseat of black cars, under the cover of tinted windows. Messy kisses between your dressing room door and the wall. His mouth on your neck in the dark hallway outside a party. You were reckless with each other, always quiet, always fast., but never entirely careful.

You’d drag him by the collar into the bathroom of your penthouse when the staff had left. He’d lift you onto the marble counter without a word, fingers pushing your panties to the side like he owned you. Because he did. 

“Is this what you wanted, baby? My touch?” And your answer was always a moan.

“You looked so fucking perfect tonight,” he muttered against your skin. ��You really like testing me, don’t you?”

You shivered, but your lips curled into a sweet smile. 

“You stared all night.”

“I had to.” His fingers curled inside you just right, and you whimpered “You were showing everyone what’s mine.”

He kissed you then, hot, messy, and consuming. Your lipstick smeared between you, the taste of champagne still faint on both your tongues. His hands were everywhere, on your waist, your hips. Groping you shamelessly, you tangled your fingers into his hair and pulled just hard enough to make him groan.

“Sunghoon—”

“Turn around,” he breathed, voice rough. “Now.”

You obeyed before you could even think. Your chest hit the wall again, palms splayed against it. You felt the cool rush of air as he lifted the back of your dress, fingers dragging up your thighs, slow and possessive.

“I thought about this all night,” he said, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Thought about fucking you the second no one else was watching.”

“You make me crazy,” he growled, fingers sliding through your wetness, teasing slow circles. “I should stop. I should. But I won’t.”

And you didn’t want him to.

Sunghoon tried to hold back, to keep it professional. But then his mouth would be on yours and it was over. You couldn’t get enough of him, it was almost scary. Because somewhere between the secret glances and the stolen nights, between the soft moans and his hand curling protectively around yours under the table, you started to fall in love.

No one saw the way his hand found yours beneath the covers at night, or how he buried his face into your neck like he was trying to breathe you in. No one saw how you’d wake up with his arms wrapped so tightly around your waist, feeling like home to you, like you were safe by his side.

You never asked what this was, but it wasn’t necessary.  Because when he looked at you with sleep-heavy eyes and kissed your shoulder in the morning, you knew.

He loved you. And you loved him.

It wasn’t soft, it was raw and intense. Sometimes he’d just stare at you after, like he was afraid you’d disappear. Thumb brushing over your cheekbone, lips parting, the words so close to spill. I love you.

But instead he’d press a kiss to your chest, where your heart beat too fast, and whisper, “Get some sleep, baby.”

You’d smile, close your eyes. And think, me too.

Because the truth already lived in the spaces between your words, in the way he touched you when you were shaking from your third orgasm, in the way he paced the hallway like a madman when he couldn’t find you at that party, in the way you kissed him like he was the only real thing left.

It was love.

And it was real, but you had no idea how this would end.

The curtains were barely cracked, letting in a strip of morning light that painted your skin gold. The hotel room was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic below and the soft buzz of the air conditioning. You were still asleep, tangled in the sheets, one arm flopped over the side of the bed, hair messy from the pillow, mouth slightly open in a deep sleep only exhaustion could buy.

Sunghoon stood by the door, already dressed in black, earpiece in, phone in hand, and yet he hadn’t woken you.

He was supposed to. You had a press call in an hour. Hair and makeup waiting. Breakfast scheduled.

But you looked too beautiful and peaceful. 

“Hey,” he said softly, crouching beside the bed. “Sleeping Beauty.”

You groaned. 

“Go away.”

He smiled, and his fingers found your hair, brushing it gently from your forehead.

“It’s ten,” he murmured. “Your manager’s gonna kill me.”

“Ten more minutes.”

He laughed quietly. 

“You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

Your eyes cracked open, lazy and warm. 

“You’ve been standing there the whole time?”

His cheeks pinked. 

“Just a few minutes.”

“You were watching me sleep?”

“I was—” he cleared his throat, suddenly flustered. “Just making sure you were breathing.”

You laughed, still half-asleep, voice raspy. 

“Weirdo.”

“Princess.”

You smiled at the nickname, turning your face into the pillow. 

“I don’t want to get up.”

He sighed, leaned down until his forehead touched yours. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Me neither.”

There was silence for a few heartbeats. Then your hand found his, warm and bare, and you squeezed.

“You’re soft,” you mumbled.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Too late.”

You looked up at him with a sleepy grin.

“Thanks for letting me rest,” you said.

And he just kissed your knuckles in reply.

The press conference had gone well, but the moment you stepped out of the building, the air shifted. It wasn’t just the usual wall of flashing cameras and excited voices, this time, the crowd was unhinged. Too loud and too close. You didn’t even get a chance to adjust your sunglasses before the sound of your name hit your ears like thunder.

“Y/N!”

“Look here!”

“Are you still with Jake?!”

“LOOK THIS WAY!”

They weren’t behind the barriers anymore. A few fans surged forward, pressing past the barricades like waves crashing a dam, phones raised, arms reaching, too many bodies closing in. Security guards started shouting, trying to push people back. It wasn’t working. The panic started to settle in your chest, your breathing was heavier, you felt suffocated. 

But then he was there.

Sunghoon’s arm slid around your waist like it belonged there, like it always had. His chest pressed against your back, solid and grounding, and without a word, he moved. You didn’t even process it, you just moved with him, your heels scrambling slightly as he pivoted you toward the SUV parked at the curb.

He used his body as a shield. 

“Stay behind me,” he said, low and firm, barely audible over the chaos.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his blazer as he angled his body around you, guiding you backwards step by step. His jaw was tight, eyes razor-focused ahead, one hand extended in front of you as he carved a path through the press of bodies.

It was only a few seconds, but it felt like minutes. Too many flashes, too many people. One man lunged, a phone almost grazed your cheek.

Sunghoon’s hand snapped up.

“Back the fuck up,” he growled, shoving the phone aside without breaking stride. 

You felt his body tense beside yours, vibrating with restrained force. Every move he made was calculated, deadly efficient. And then he opened the car door.

“In,” he barked.

You ducked into the backseat, heart pounding, the roar of the crowd muffling as the door slammed shut behind you.

But Sunghoon didn’t follow immediately, you saw him through the glass, still blocking the crowd from getting too close, speaking into his earpiece with sharp, clipped words, eyes never leaving the danger. 

And then he was inside. The door clicked, the locks engaged.

He sat beside you, silent at first. One elbow braced against the window, his other hand clenched into a fist on his knee. His chest was rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon.

Only when you reached out, your fingers brushing his wrist, he looked at you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, not with the usual detachment. 

You nodded.

Yeah. Just…shaken.”

He exhaled slowly, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed like he was trying to catch his breath. 

“They were too close,” he muttered. “That shouldn’t have happened. The security at this places sucks why the fuck would they allow—”

You shifted closer, laying a hand on his back.

“You were there,” you said softly. “You always are.”

His head lifted. His eyes found yours, dark and glassy under the fluorescent ceiling light.

“I can’t let anything happen to you,” he said, voice low.

The look in his eyes said everything.

Because he cared.

Because he loved you.

You leaned in slowly, forehead touching his.

“You didn’t just protect me. You saved me.”

His hand lifted to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

“It drives me insane,” he whispered. “Being so close to you like this, and not being allowed to show how much I care.”

“You just did.”

You stayed there like that, forehead to forehead, breathing the same quiet air while the city screamed on outside the glass. You didn’t need to speak. Didn’t need to kiss. Not in that moment.

Just being there, with him, was enough.

The days with Sunghoon had been perfect, you were living in a dream.

He knew every part of you now, not just your body, but your moods, your silences, the smallest shift in your breathing. And every time you kissed, it felt less like something stolen and more like something that had always been meant.

That morning, you woke up still wrapped in his warmth. His arm was around your waist, one leg tangled with yours, and for a moment, it almost felt like normalcy. Like maybe you could keep pretending this wasn’t a secret doomed to collapse.

But of course, not everything was a fairytale.

It started with your phone nearly exploding.

A violent buzz against the nightstand. Then another. And another.

You stirred slightly, blinking at the light streaming through the hotel curtains. Sunghoon didn’t move, still asleep behind you, one breath soft against the back of your neck.

You reached for the phone, still groggy.

A shower of notifications.

Texts. Twitter alerts. Group chats going off. Your manager’s name repeated three times, and then a flood of media headlines that all screamed some variation of the same thing:

Y/N SPOTTED IN INTIMATE MOMENT WITH BODYGUARD — WHO IS HE?

POP’S PRINCESS IN SECRET LOVE AFFAIR?

LEAKED PHOTOS REVEAL MYSTERY MAN BEHIND Y/N’S SHINY EYES — AND IT’S NOT JAKE SIM

Your heart dropped.

The photos were blurry, clearly taken with a phone and not a professional camera, but unmistakable.

One showed you walking close beside Sunghoon in the back alley of a hotel two nights ago, his hand on your lower back. Another caught him laughing as you looked up at him, starry-eyed and soft.

The worst one?

The silhouette of your bodies pressed against a hotel window, his hands braced against the glass behind your back, your mouth against his. Not explicit, but intimate enough to tell the truth.

You sat up straight in bed, nearly choking on your own breath.

“Shit—”

Sunghoon stirred behind you.

“Mm?” His voice was sleepy, rough with sleep. He shifted up, propped himself on one elbow. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer. You just turned the screen toward him.

His eyes adjusted, and when he read the info, he froze, his whole body went still.

Everything good in the world shattered like glass between you.

A sharp knock on the door cut through the silence like a gunshot. Three quick raps.

You flinched. Your phone slipped from your hand and landed on the bed between you and Sunghoon, screen still lit with that now-viral photo, your body curved into his, his hand on your jaw, your lips nearly touching.

Sunghoon’s eyes met yours, the horror settling into his features slowly. Like it hadn’t sunk in fully until just now. His chest rose and fell with that same deadly calm you’d only ever seen when someone got too close at a venue or pushed past a barricade.

Except now, you were the one in danger.

Another knock.

Then, your manager’s voice, furious underneath the calm.

“Open the door.”

Sunghoon stood up immediately.

His shirt was halfway unbuttoned. His hair was a mess. And for the first time since you’d met him, he looked… scared. But you knew he wasn’t scared for him, but for you.

You reached out, instinctively.

“Wait—”

But he was already moving, grabbing his jacket from the armchair, slipping into it fast and silent.

“You need to talk to her,” he said, voice low and flat, the tone he only used with you in professional environments.

“Not without you—”

“She won’t talk if I’m here.”

The knock came again.

“Now, Y/N.”

Sunghoon looked at you one last time. That same look you’d seen in his eyes the night he kissed you for the first time, like he was trying to remember every inch of your face, like he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to again.

Then he opened the door and walked out without a word.

Your manager stepped in before the door could close. She didn’t greet you, didn’t even sit. Just walked straight in and shut the door behind her with a soft, ominous click. Her face was calm, but tight around the eyes, her jaw set.

“You’re trending,” she said.

You swallowed.

“I saw.”

She held up her phone, a headline blaring across the screen.

Y/N CAUGHT WITH BODYGUARD — FAKE LOVE WITH JAKE SIM EXPOSED?

“Jake’s label is spiraling,” she continued. “The media team’s on the phone with your sponsors. Your face is tied to twenty brands, and every single one of them is watching this unravel in real time.”

You didn’t say anything.

She stepped closer.

“We can fix this. But only if you act fast.”

You looked up slowly.

“What do you mean?”

She didn’t blink.

“We say he crossed a line. We’ll keep it vague , maybe a breach of professionalism, maybe something about him becoming emotionally attached. His agency is on board. They’ll let him take the fall, quietly. No lawsuits, no interviews. You’ll release a statement saying you’re devastated by the unprofessional behavior, and you’re focusing on your relationship with Jake.”

The room went silent.

You stared at her, blood draining from your face.

“You want me to fire him,” you said slowly.

“I want you to do what’s necessary so you don’t lose your career,” she snapped. “And if you don’t act fast, you’re going to burn it to the ground over a bodyguard.”

Your chest rose, then fell. And then, finally, you said it.

“I love him.”

Her expression barely changed. Just the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth. Not disbelief, disappointment.

“You know that doesn’t really matter in this industry, sometimes you have to make sacrifices. Let him go, and maybe the consequences won’t be hard for him neither”

But you were already shaking your head.

“He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He did,” she said, sharp now. “This is a fatal mistake for an agent like him, and unless you want this entire house of cards to fall, you need to choose.”

Silence again. You thought about everything. The headlines, the sponsors, the fake love with Jake, and the very real love you were being told to erase. Your career, the one you worked so hard for, the one who gave you enough money to take care of your parents, the one that was your passion, how felt when you were on stage, happy, alive.

“I’m not firing him,” you whispered.

Her stare hardened.

“Then you’re going to lose everything.”

You looked down at your hands, and they were trembling.

When you signed the paper with shaky hands, each letter felt like a betrayal, but you did it anyway. Not because you wanted to, but because the people around you had made it clear: this was the only way.

Your manager watched in silence as the pen dragged across the dotted line, sealing it all. The end of everything real.

Termination of contract — Park Sunghoon.

It felt like a death sentence.

After that, everything happened quickly. The agency had already sent someone to retrieve him. You didn’t ask where they were taking him. You didn’t want to know. You only wanted one thing: to see him. Just once more.

To say goodbye.

You found him in the loading dock behind the venue, where the black SUVs waited like vultures under a gray sky. He stood near one of them, dressed in all black again, suit perfect, earpiece gone, tie loosened. His duffle bag was already slung over his shoulder.

Your footsteps echoed as you approached him, but he didn’t look up.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered.

Still, nothing.

You stopped a few feet away, breath catching in your throat.

“I—I had to. You know I didn’t want to, right? They gave me no choice. If I didn’t—” you swallowed, forcing the words out, “we would’ve both lost everything.”

Silence.

“They’re saying things about you. They’re making it sound like you crossed a line. I know that’s not fair, and I’m going to fix it. I promise.”

Still, no reaction. His jaw was clenched, his eyes didn’t even flick towards you.

“Say something,” you breathed, taking a shaky step closer. “Please. Just… yell at me. Tell me I was selfish. Tell me you hate me. Anything.”

His knuckles were white around the duffle strap.

He didn’t turn right away. Just stood there, staring at the pavement like it was easier to look at than you. Like it was the only thing holding him together.

Then he exhaled, clearly tired, and finally turned toward you, just a little. His eyes found yours, and you hated how kind they still looked. How much love was still there, buried beneath everything he wouldn’t say.

“I knew this would happen,” he said quietly. “From the first moment I saw you. I knew this job would break me.”

Your throat burned.

“But you didn’t deserve—”

“I’m not angry,” he cut in, gentle. “Not at you.”

That somehow made it worse. He looked down, swallowing hard.

“You’re doing what you have to do. I get it. They gave you a choice that wasn’t a choice at all.”

You wanted to reach for him, to tell him to stay, to scream.

But he just nodded once, like it was all already decided.

“I just wish I’d had more time,” he said, almost to himself. “With you.”

And then, without another word, he got into the SUV. The door shut.

And that was it.

He was gone.

And for the first time since your career began, it didn’t feel like any of it mattered.

Because what you wanted wasn’t in the spotlight.

It had just left through the back door.

To be continued…

[kanako257]

Saja boys reaction hearing you reveal your crush on them ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 사자. ՞

Pairing: saja boys x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, Romance, Slice of Life, Confession

Word Count: 1,650 words

Warning: None

Disclaimer: All fictional scenarios, personalities, and relationships portrayed in this work are the product of imagination and are not intended to reflect real-life events, actions, or people || Masterlist

Jinu

It slips out while you’re reviewing choreography notes with him backstage. He’s been working solo with you late into the night, still in his stagewear, sweat making his bangs stick to his forehead.

You’re both tired. Maybe too tired.

“You need to stop doing that thing with your hand at the end of the chorus,” you say, not looking up. “It makes it harder for the others to sync.”

He looks at you. “That’s my signature move.”

You scoff. “It’s distracting. Like—really distracting. I mean, even I get thrown off watching you, and I…”

You trail off.

He tilts his head. “You what?”

“I—” You should lie. You absolutely should. But the tiredness, the late hour, the months of trying to be professional—something gives.

“I have a crush on you, okay? You do that thing with your hand and it messes with my brain. So maybe just…cut it out.”

He’s quiet for a moment. The air between you feels like glass.

Jinu doesn’t smile. He doesn’t tease. He leans forward slightly, eyebrows furrowed.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

You blink. “Because I’m your manager, and you’re—Jinu.”

“Exactly,” he says. “And I trust you more than anyone. You know me better than most. If anyone had a right to…feel something, it’d be you.”

It’s not a confession. Not quite. But there’s softness in the way he looks at you now. Less idol, more man.

And when he gets up to leave, he adds, “I’ll keep the move… unless you want me to stop watching you when you give notes.”

Abby

You and Abby are doing vocal drills, of all things, in the van on the way to a rehearsal.

He’s leaning into your personal space again, teasing you about your “manager voice” — that tone you use when you're scolding the boys.

“Oh, that tone. Say my name like that again,” he grins.

You roll your eyes. “Shut up, Abby.”

“C’mon. Just say it like you mean it. Abby.” He makes a mock-dramatic face. “Like you’re in love or something.”

“I am in love,” you mutter, barely realizing you said it aloud.

The van goes silent.

He stares. Blinks. “Wait, are you being serious right now?”

You suck in a breath. “No. Yes. I mean—I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but yes. I guess I am.”

He’s quiet longer than expected. No grin. No snarky reply.

“I didn’t think you saw me like that,” he says, voice lower.

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

He leans back, eyes flicking toward the front of the van, then back to you.

“I do care. I’ve been trying to get a reaction out of you for months.” Then he laughs, not cocky this time. Soft. “Guess I finally got one.”

Mystery

You think he doesn’t notice anything. He’s always so withdrawn, buried in his lyrics or books, headphones in.

But you’re helping him revise a verse one evening and blurt out, “You always write about love like you’ve never felt it.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I haven’t.”

“Well, I have.” You glance at him. “Not that it matters.”

He looks up. “Who?”

You freeze. He doesn’t usually ask questions like that.

You try to brush it off. “It’s complicated. He’s a singer. A demon. Bit of an enigma. Wears too much black. You know.”

He doesn’t react at first. Then:

“Me?”

You don’t respond, which is all the answer he needs.

He nods slowly. Then does something you didn’t expect.

He reaches for your notebook, opens a fresh page, and scribbles a few lines. Hands it to you.

"Even demons want to be seen by the right eyes."

You glance up, startled. He won’t meet your gaze.

“That’s not for a song,” he mutters. “It’s for you.”

Romance

You’re helping him pick fan letters for a video shoot. He’s reading them out loud in exaggerated voices, trying to make you laugh.

“‘Romance Saja, you are the moon to my demon heart—’ Wow. They’re not even subtle.”

You smile. “Some people are just bold like that.”

He pauses. “Would you ever write a letter like this?”

Your eyes meet. You smile a little too long. “Maybe.”

“What would it say?”

You hesitate. Then: “Probably something like…‘Romance Saja, stop making it so hard to be your manager when you’re so goddamn charming all the time.’”

He goes silent. Blinks. His whole expression softens.

“…Wait, are you serious?”

You shrug, playful. “Does it sound like a joke?”

“No. But I thought you didn’t see me like that. That I was just the flirty one.”

“Everyone sees you. I just tried not to.”

He swallows hard, then takes your hand—not dramatically, but gently. Real.

“Tell me again. Not as a manager.”

“…Romance Saja, I like you.”

His smile could light up kingdoms.

Baby

You’re organizing fan meet notes when he barges in with leftover snacks.

“Wanna share?”

You shake your head. “Not hungry.”

He sits beside you anyway. “You okay?”

You sigh. “Yeah. Just tired of pretending things don’t matter.”

He cocks his head. “Like what?”

You look at him. “Like how I’ve had feelings for one of my clients for…too long.”

He goes quiet. His hands fidget with the snack bag.

“Oh,” he says. “Um…do I know him?”

You nod. “Very well.”

He doesn’t speak for a bit.

Then, voice small: “You mean me, right?”

“…Yeah.”

He laughs nervously. “I…thought you were too cool for me.”

You smile. “You’re a literal demon idol. I should be saying that.”

He looks relieved. But serious.

“I don’t know what happens next,” he says. “But I want to be careful. I don’t want to mess this up.”

You nod. “Me neither.”

He nudges your shoulder. “Then let’s…not mess it up.”

[xsoldier]

Especially in terms of the modern circumstances in the US, it's actually a bit more complicated than that and has to do with more systemic structural issues connected to the wider circumstances most people exist in, as well as how the presence of information doesn't necessarily mean that people will be educated by it (and often the opposite, even amongst the formally educated).

The reasons don't become any less frustrating to deal with, but it's important to see how the ways in which those things get rewarded on a large scale create a really godawful feedback loop.

First is that intelligence isn't rewarded when everything is underneath a hierarchical leadership structure, and in fact it starts to become a detriment to success.

Second and compounding is how the bigger structural systems end up supercharging those sorts of basic morals out of those in the positions of the greatest wealth & power.

Third is that those generate a very specific type of stress and tools to become educated about that in order to facilitate change end up instead as a means to just serve as emotional relief rather than to challenge intellectual stances.

Those with power maintain it longer the less able that anyone else is able to rise up against them, and those two factors reinforce into a massive feedback loop that is very difficult to break out of.

Pile on that the US education system is more about getting the right answers for standardized evaluations that schools need to keep being funded than in teaching people complex critical thinking, which also adds those stressors to all facets of learning. Recently even more outsourcing of critical thinking skills to AI, and everything that was already an issue with information bias & social media used as a tool of placating disinformation is being massively amplified.

Suffice to say, the reason it's difficult for those things to penetrate into the imperial core is absolutely by design — and it's a design leveraging information & systems that understand an incredibly terrifying amount about how to divest people of their humanity in just about every conceivable way for the benefit of someone with more power.

we need to legalise learning for adults

[abigailspinach]

I was quite excited when we tried that version, when we trimmed all the fat of the dialogue down to the bare bones of that. David is such a phenomenal actor that it all lands in his face. You can see that in David's eyes, the implication, that Gurathin understands exactly what that means. It was a beautiful and horrible scene to shoot. It was also the last scene we shot together. They were kind enough to put that at the very, very end. Sometimes, you shoot things out of order, and sometimes you shoot things within episodes out of order, but the fact that we have that as our big goodbye scene, so when I look at Mensah and all the others sleeping, it's the last time I look at them on camera. We had a fun wrap party, but it was a goodbye on camera, as well.

To have that scene with David and to say, “I need to check the perimeter,” just felt very emotional because we all became very close over the course of those six months of shooting the season. Obviously, when you do a show, you don't know if you're going to get picked up for a second season, so you don't know if you're going to have an opportunity to come back and do it all again, or if this really is goodbye. So, it was a very emotionally charged moment. Murderbot obviously doesn't cry, but I was really struggling. Often, as an actor, you try to get those tears, but this is very much the opposite, where I was desperately trying to keep them in. I blew a couple of takes because I started crying — because it really got to me, that moment with David. It really moved me.

I watched the season, and then I immediately picked up All Systems Red, so now I've actually read a little bit ahead in the books. It honestly just makes me even more excited about the potential that the show has to adapt Murderbot’s continuing journey.

SKARSGÅRD: When we were shooting, I tried to focus on the first novella, All Systems Red, to not get confused, but since we’ve finished it, I've also caught up a little bit. The storyline with ART and all that, it's just a lot of great, great stuff coming up. So, hopefully we'll get a chance to explore some more adventures.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Secret (Lex Luthor)

Description: The biggest secret you could have is dating someone who is trying to kill your brother.

Warning: Oral Sex (Female receiving), sexual manipulation?

Word Count:994

Author’s note: I will also write for Superman

“You did what?” She asked, looking at Lex like he was crazy. “You kidnapped my brother?” She asked him. “Half brother and I had to Y/N, he’s dangerous.” He told her. “No he’s not!” She growled. Lex was a complicated man and hated Superman.

She thinks it’s out of jealousy but has no proof of that. She felt sick to her stomach and she had for a while about this. She’s been secretly dating him for awhile and though it was shitty, she tried not to let his hatred for her brother get in the way but recently it’s been worse and now she’s being told that he kidnapped Superman.

“I mean technically he turned himself in.” She rolled her eyes. He wanted to find Krypto not be put in the under universe that Lex had. He walked up to her with a smile, “Relax, he’s okay.” He lied to her and pulled her close to him. She was hesitant but wrapped her arms around his neck, “I love you, that’s why I do what I do.” He said to her and her jaw almost dropped at his words.

He had yet to say that to her, “I love you, sweetheart.” He whispered but gave her no time to answer as he leaned in and kissed her. It was a distraction, something to draw her thoughts away from her brother just for a lil bit. She kissed him back, even with the shame rising in her body her lips moved with his. His hands moved to pull her impossibly closer as he deepened the kiss, taking her breath away.

She had to pull away to breathe and his lips found home on her neck. She moaned a little, a sound that he found lovely and wanted more of. “So beautiful.” He mumbled against her neck as he tried not to leave marks. “Lex, please.” She breathed out and she wasn’t sure what the plea was for.

To continue or to stop this nonsense with her brother but he took the first option and removed her jacket, she let him and threw it on the ground.  He moved to her breasts that were peaking out of her low cut shirt that he’s convinced she wore just to tease him. She didn’t but it was  nothing but a thought in his head, a delusion. He pulled down her tank top and bra  to get to her nipples, “Fuck.” He breathed out and his lips wrapped around her nipple, causing her to gasp and hold his head to her.

His mouth made out with her nipple, “Baby please.” She whimpered out and he pulled away, dropping to his knees while making eye contact. His hands immediately went to her jeans, undoing them and pulling them down. Her panties were soaked and her face red. She felt shame build up in her and yet she couldn’t push him away. He smirked and pulled down her panties, “This wet? Even though I’ve done such a terrible thing?” He fake pouts.

She rolled her eyes, not wanting to think about what he’s done at the moment. He chuckles and looks at her soaked pussy, just begging to be touched. He pulls off her jeans and panties before lifting her leg over his shoulder, his other hand on her ass cheek, “Come here.” He mumbles and she stares down at him, waiting for his next move. Her breath hitches as she felt his breath against her pussy.

It wasn’t long after that her head fell back against the wall as his mouth finally was making her feel good. He was eating her out like a mad man, like he was trying to make her forget what awful things he’s done. It was working, her thoughts focusing on the man in between her legs and what an amazing job he’s doing. “Lex.” She moaned and he hummed against her, the vibration coursing through her body making her shiver.

He didn’t let up, not even a little as he lapped up her juices. The feeling of his tongue over her clit before he took her clit in his mouth and sucked made her eyes roll back. She tried to move her hips but he kept her pin to his face, her ass wasn’t even against the wall, only her head as her back arched into him. She was so close, embarrassingly close as he circled her hole with his tongue.

She knew she was doomed when he got his fingers involved, rubbing her clit. “Fuck I’m close.” She whimpered and luckily he was in a good mood so he didn’t stop. He went faster and she covered her mouth as she screamed his name as her legs shook. She was thankful that he held her up or else she would’ve collapsed. Her orgasm ran through her body and his pace barely slowed as he let her ride it out.

She had to push him away after so long. He looked up at her and smirked, his nose, mouth and chin covered in her orgasm. He looked so good like that, nearly perfect and the smirk that grazed his lips didn’t help. “You always taste amazing.” He praised her and she moaned a little at that. He stood up and adjusted himself, “Though I would love for you to return the favor, I’ve got things to do.” He winked at her before leaving the room.

She looked around the room, dazed from her orgasm and trying to get her thoughts straight. She had to save her brother from whatever Lex had planned. Her shaky hands grabbed her panties and jeans as she tried to put them on, “Fuck you Lex Luthor.” She mumbled out as she could barely stand. After a good 5 minutes of struggling she was finally dressed again and grabbed her phone. She looked through her contact to find Lois Lane the one person she can trust before she hit call.

[owuwi]

AVA STARR SMAU PT.2.ᐟ

➤ ava starr x fem!reader

.ᐣ ava's messages won't leave your head and you have a decision to make: forgive or forget her. thankfully, a friend helps you clear your mind.

⤷ cw: a bit of angst

✦ part one ┃ part three (coming soon...) ┃ part four (coming soon...)

⌞a/n: this is a combination of a smau and regular fic...? i think? idk⌝

──────────────────────

you didn't know what to think—nor... do.

you still loved ava, though it was normal, right? after all, the two of you broke up a couple of months ago—the wound was still fresh, exes didn't stop loving each other the next day—and seeing her face on every newspaper, tv channel, and social media platform definitely didn't help.

you couldn't help but wonder how much truth there was behind her texts. ava had always been a closed off person, even with you: she often lied just because she didn't want you to worry about her—and because she didn't know how to express herself—, but breaking things off had you questioning what other things did she lie about.

you didn't like thinking about her that way because she had been the only girl to ever treat you so fucking right, despite all the little flaws she had. a big part of you regretted leaving her, but she didn't seem to show any signs of actually wanting to fix things between the two of you.

every now and then; you did what any human being did after dumping someone they still loved—checked old conversations.

0.1... 0.2...

0.3... 0.4...

you quickly turned the screen off and placed your phone down at the feeling of how flushed your whole face was getting, running your fingers through your hair before sighing.

it had been hours since ava last texted you—and it was the only thing on your mind: while you ate breakfast, showered, cooked. she had that effect on you, haunting you in the best of ways, and you had gotten used to it; now, you weren't sure if experiencing it again was a good or a bad thing.

after pacing around your room for quite an amount of time, trying to decipher what to do, the sound of your phone buzzing against the wood of your nightstand snapped you out of your thoughts.

you rushed to see who it was and you couldn't help but groan and roll your eyes as you read the message. you still answered it, obviously.

0.5...

fucker.

you thought. talking about relationships with john? yeah. no thanks. his words echoed in your head, though, sending unpleasant shivers down your body.

when you and ava were together, you would receive texts from the thunderbolts telling you your girl was talking about you—and it happened so fucking often. everyone always mentioned how surprised they were because ava didn't talk much, not unless she had something to say or a bratty comeback to exclaim.

you walked out of your room—phone in hand—and went to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down as if it would help you think. why did love had to be so damn complicated?

you placed your glass down and unblocked your phone, quickly entering walker's chat again. your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling ever so slightly as you hesitated to actually talk with him again.

after pacing some more—this time in the kitchen—, you decided to text him.

0.6... 0.7...

0.8... 0.9...

10... 11...

you felt your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest, your whole body sweating cold, your hands shaking, tears forming in your eyes, that familiar yet dreadful knot in your throat.

you were angry—how could she kept such a big thing a secret? why did she deprive you from comforting her?—, you were sad—how was she holding up? how was she dealing with this all by herself?—, you were in love.

you allowed yourself to break down—right there, in the middle of the kitchen, praying on your knees to whatever god was up in the sky to cure your girlfriend... ex-girlfriend—, smashing your phone face-down so hard it was a miracle it didn't break.

you tried to rip out of your chest the guilt, sorrow, rage, yet all you accomplished was to leave a burning feeling, and probably some quite ugly scratches, all over your chest—the fabric of your shirt doing nothing to protect you from your own nails—.

you desperately gasped for air between each painful sob, your face red and warm. snot ran down your nose but you didn't care, not when your whole body was shaking violently on the cold floor.

when you had no more tears to cry, you managed to pick up your phone. no more hesitation cursed through your body as the tip of your digits moved rapidly across the keyboard.

12...

──────────────────────

TAG LIST: @ragd0ll-4, @lacelottie , @babzz6, @antlertruths, @colorfulcinephile

[meganekune]

早上好女神，既然都是自己人我就懒得用翻译器了（）

看了女巫老师的话我也决定来骚扰一下泥

如果mc一直是反派或者再一次成为反派ray会怎么看（这条问题我也去问官妈了，但是官妈应该没看到）❤️❤️❤️

Omgggg hii!!! If MC has always been a villain—or ends up becoming one again—Ray honestly wouldn’t stop them. If anything, he’d probably help.老师中文翻译在后面可以翻一下💖💖🥹

If MC kept doing small-time criminal work they used to do, Ray wouldn’t just look the other way, he’d actively support it behind the scenes. He’d feed them intel & He’d give MC everything they needed to succeed quietly and efficiently. If someone from NAHA or a hero unit started getting too close, Ray would accidentally kill them. (Oops) He’d call it a misunderstanding, a mission mix-up, Collateral damage. But the truth? He wouldn’t let anyone lay a hand on MC.

That said, things get a bit more complicated if MC starts setting their sights higher—if they stop just stealing and begin actively trying to expose NAHA.

If they start digging, gathering evidence, trying to reveal the corruption at the heart of the entire system, Ray wouldn’t react with excitement. He’d be afraid - Genuinely afraid. Not for himself, but for MC. He’d get angry, Furious, even. Not because he disagrees with their cause, but because he thinks MC is underestimating what NAHA is capable of. That they’re being naive, idealistic, reckless. He’s seen what NAHA does to people who try to speak out. He knows what they’d do to someone like MC and He won’t let NAHA take someone he cares about—not again.

So his first instinct would be control - He’d try to stop MC. If they kept pushing, he might even try to physically confine them, lock them away somewhere for their own good, pull strings to stall the mission, anything just to keep them out of danger. MC’s safety is where Ray draws the line.

But with a slim 1% chance, where MC is persuasive enough, patient enough to convince him, showing Ray that they had a real plan and promised to stick to his strict safety rules, Ray would eventually cave. And when he does, he commits fully. If protecting MC means turning traitor, then so be it. He’ll take the fall, carry the blame, burn every bridge behind him—so long as MC stays alive.

He tells himself he’s doing it for them—and he is—but there’s another part of him that wants to see NAHA fall, too. A part that never stopped being angry about what was done to him, and what he was made to do. Supporting MC in taking the system down feels a bit like giving his younger self the answer he never had.

If MC wants to burn it all down, Ray won’t stop them. He’ll just make sure they make it out alive.

中文翻译：

如果MC哪天再次回到反派的身份，Ray其实完全不会阻止他们。说实话，他很可能还会帮忙。

如果MC继续做那些以前的小规模犯罪，比如偷有钱人的东西、做点地下交易之类的，Ray不仅不会视而不见，反而会在背后积极支持。他会偷偷提供情报，比如监控安排、建筑弱点、藏有黑钱的腐败高管名单……他会安静高效地把MC需要的一切都准备好。如果NAHA或者某个英雄组织的人开始靠得太近了，Ray也可能“意外地”把他们解决掉。他会说这是误会、任务出了点差错、只是附带伤害。但真相是——他绝对不会让任何人碰MC一根手指。

不过，如果MC的目标变得更大——不再只是偷东西，而是开始试图揭露NAHA的真面目，事情就会变得复杂起来。如果MC开始挖掘证据、收集情报，想要揭露整个系统的腐败，Ray不会感到开心，他会感到真实的恐惧。但他不是为自己担心，而是为MC。他会生气，甚至愤怒。不是因为他不认同MC的目标，而是因为他觉得MC低估了NAHA的危险程度，太天真、太理想主义、太不计后果。他亲眼看过NAHA是怎么对待那些试图说出真相的人——他很清楚他们会对像MC这样的人做出什么。他不会让NAHA再从他身边夺走另一个他在乎的人。

所以他最本能的反应是控制：他会试图阻止MC。如果MC继续坚持，他甚至可能会动手把MC关起来，为了MC的安全把他们软禁起来，或者动用自己在组织内部的资源强行拖延任务。Ray划下的底线，就是MC的安全。

只有在1%的可能性下： MC足够有说服力，足够耐心，真正拿出一套计划，并且答应会严格遵守Ray设下的安全规则，那Ray最终会妥协。而一旦他妥协了，他就会全心投入。如果保护MC的代价是成为叛徒，那他也会接受。他可以替MC承担所有后果，背负所有指责，把一切桥梁都烧毁，只要MC能活下去。

他对自己说这一切都是为了MC——他确实是这么做的——但他心里也有另一部分，是想亲眼看着NAHA垮掉的。这部分从未停止过对童年遭遇的愤怒，对自己被塑造成武器的那段经历的恨。支持MC摧毁整个系统，就像是给小时候那个无助的自己一个答案，一个迟来的正义。

如果MC想要烧毁这一切，Ray不会拦他们。他只会确保MC能活着走出来。

[swifty-fox]

accidentally stumbled upon a rope bunny account on ig so it got me wondering about gale in your dom john au. how is he? xx

i was just writing for it yesterday!! This is gonna be a pretty long fic (not cicada or kfak long but. i followed fires long, the heart is a muscle long.)

currently he's being nosey <3 and super heterosexual.

I was also tagged by the wonderful @prevalent-masters for the emoji writing game so I will be doing that tomorrow and you should go send them some emojis in the meantime!!

Gale tells himself he’s not going to look. 

Whatever he felt was easily chalked up to nerves, discomfort, a childhood dislike of being looked at. And then suddenly up on stage with rope around his wrists and a class of people who were learning all this so they could fuck. John might not have even liked men, he might have felt just as strange tying one up as Gale felt about being tied up. And he didn’t care either way how John called himself. 

But that feeling stays with him for most of the evening, into the night.

He sleeps hard, and wakes in the early dawn, before the sun was even up. Pre-dawn light turns his entire apartment blue as he makes the customary shuffle from bed to sofa– one of the only pieces of furniture assembled in the apartment so far besides his bed– and sits with his phone on his chest, staring at the business card he had left on the kitchen counter the previous evening. 

Gale takes the blanket with him to fetch the card, turning it over in his hands as he settles back down in the warmed divot left behind by his body. Reaches for his laptop charging away on the opposite armrest. The cardstock is still dark, smooth under his hands, slightly oily from fingers rubbing over it– hidden away in his pocket where neither Marge or Rosie could see. He’d had no interest in answering their questions, had no answers to give. 

Had told himself he was going to throw it out with the moving boxes stacked by the door. 

What questions could he possibly have?

John’s website is the same charcoal gray as his business card, soft and soothing, like ash after a fire. There’s a button Gale has to click agreeing that he’s eighteen or older, and he does, squeezing his nails into his palm and then forcing himself to relax. 

The photos load in one at a time, left to right, above links for a shop, a personal bookings link, and a portfolio. 

More rope, higher quality than the ones given out in class, Gale can tell that straight away. John sitting cross-legged, grinning off camera, as a the woman with her ponytail tied to the complicated weave of rope around her arms bound behind her also laughs. She’s as statuesque as John, blonde and elegant-looking. They’re both suited by the black and white filter over the photo. The photo linking to his portfolio is more tame, John in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up over he hills of his biceps, hands clasped in front of him and hair a touch longer than it is now. He’s laughing again, staring a bit above the camera again, mouth open like he was in the middle of saying something. Gale wonders if it’s the blonde woman behind the camera, if she’s who he’s talking to. John’s jeans are ripped at the knees, Gale can see another hint of a tattoo on the left one, the bottom edge of lettering curving around the surprisingly bony jut of his kneecap. 

At the very bottom there’s a blurb about John, a lot of words Gale understands, a lot he doesn’t. A list of qualifications, names of people he’s studied under, workshops he’s led, events he’s hosted. Another picture of John, hair longer than any of the others, younger and leaner, leaning against a heavy vintage bike and looking out over an open flat road in some middle-America desert. 

Gale scrolls back up.

Clicks the portfolio link. 

Again the photos load in one at a time– carefully curated with a blurb at the top about where to contact the models featured, a link to the consent form they all sign, a second link to an application to be one. Gale exhales slowly, stomach knotting itself more than the ropes on the blonde womans arms. Nausea. Or at least what he thinks, with the saliva flooding his mouth.

[raudart]

Is Screamer technically some type of Terrorcon basically in your AU?

KO: Yes, I suppose technically he is, but also technically not...

The answer is actually a bit more complicated than that. Terrorcons are the result of an energon formula containing a combination of synth-en and dark energon, leading to the mutagenic contagion that spread aboard the Nemesis. Starscream's mutation is the result of his outlier spark regenerating in the presence of dark energon, notably lacking the synth-en element that leads to the energon thirst all terrorcons possess. In the same way sugary drinks fail to hydrate the body the way water does, synth-en works similarly in that it causes the frame to deplete its own natural energon reserves faster, requiring more energon to replace them. Starscream's spark hunger is instead the result of his spark being in a perpetual state of undeath, returned from the Well and corrupted by dark energon into an energy sink that requires pure spark energy to continue burning. He no longer needs energon to survive. The resulting changes to his frame, including the pharyngeal jaw and splitting faceplate, serve similar adaptational roles as they do in terrorcons, just modified to suit the dietary needs of their respective "species".

[gravitysheep]

It was strange how the pair were actually tolerating each other at the moment. Normally they were at each other's throats in public, putting up the front for everyone that they hated each other. Though thinking about it it was far more complicated than that. They really weren't a good combo outside of their abilities and fighting capabilities but here they were now, tolerating each other. It was hard for him to wrap his head around right then given how full of fuzz it was.

So instead of focusing on that he focused on the now and watching as Dazai takes off his coat and shoes before getting his portion of food. He chuckles a bit, "even if I did poison it you'd probably live through it somehow. Why waste perfectly good food like that." Though he did know that Dazai was a bad chef so he guessed that was also a waste of food too. It was a good thing that Chuuya was actually a very good chef at the very least so the pair hadn't starved when they were partners in the mafia. Seeing how Dazai had also fiddled with the bandages on his arm made Chuuya tilt his head a bit in thought.

"Do you need them redone Dazai...? I think I still have a few rolls left over."

Not that he made it a point to keep extra on hand, he just had a bunch from when he used to host Dazai frequently when they were partnered together. It wasn't like it was a strange thing for him to offer all things considered. For now though he focused upon his meal and thought about that answer from the other man. As long as he was needed huh...? That made him feel a bit better since he really didn't want o be alone after the hellacious day he'd had.

"Eh, suppose I can host you as long as you want to be here then."

In all honesty, it was a relief Chuuya had decided to text him out of nowhere, and didn't outright want him to leave now. Dazai knew when the other wasn't faring well, and despite the particularly rough relationship they had, he would still come to the rescue. He could only imagine how absurd the Agency would find it, but they didn't need to know about this. No one did.

Once they stepped inside the apartment, Dazai actually lets himself relax. He shouldn't, one would think. He's in an enclosed space with the Port Mafia's most dangerous weapon, who had threatened to kill him some time ago at that. And yet, he felt safe enough to let his guard down. It hasn't changed. Chuuya might beat the shit out of him, but Dazai would still trust him with his life. He's at least polite enough that he does remove his shoes and shrugs off his coat as his gaze follows the shorter.

"That's no problem. Believe me, I'll eat anything you make. Even if it's poisoned."

With how he was, that probably wasn't even a joke. But that aside, food was always better when it was other people's. Especially in Dazai's case. He gave Ango and Oda food poisoning once. By accident, of course. So instead, microwave meals tended to be his friend, or stealing someone else's food. You know, when he actually remembered he needs to eat like a human being. Anyway, he followed Chuuya to the kitchen to hover near him and watch him. It was odd, how this almost felt normal. It definitely wasn't, it's not like they were friends. Not even allies. He didn't think he could call them enemies either though, much as they hated each other. It was...complicated.

Dazai looks up from the momentary distraction of fiddling with the bandages around one of his arms, they were starting to get loose, when he's handed a plate and takes it with a bright smile. His gaze lingers on Chuuya, before he's shifting his attention to get a portion of food for himself. Only when the other speaks again does he look over with a tilt of his head and a look as if he was actually thinking about it.

"Hmmm... As long as you need me to, I suppose."

[chiropterx]

♡

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●○○○○ | ATTRACTION ●●●○○ | AFFECTION ●●●●● | INTEREST ●●●○○ | LOYALTY ●●○○○ | TRUST

"Oh, Mr. Flannegan? You know, I am just dying to put him under my microscope... no, not like that! Just... it would be so enlightening to look at his abilities from a more scientific perspective, you know?" Kirk chatters animatedly as he busies his hands with his work. Rats weren't the same as bats - in fact, they were completely different species but as a social one, they were more alike than most people gave them credit for and Kirk would be a liar if he didn't admit he had a vested interest or three in learning how Otis managed to communicate with them. Did he have any other interest in Otis Flannegan? It started off on purely academic terms, Kirk's brain itching to learn things other than what heavy textbooks could teach. There wasn't anything at all like the young man in recorded history, his abilities explained away as merely being good at training rats and maybe that was so, but Kirk wanted - no, needed to know more and even if there was little chance of it furthering his own research, it was still fascinating as an onlooker.

"Of course, that rather depends on what Mr. Flannegan thinks about the whole thing. He has every reason not to trust me or anybody else when it comes to matters like this but he of all people should know that I would never put him nor his rats in harm's way for the sole purpose of research. As much as I'd love to learn more about him and what he can do, his rights as a person comes first." It couldn't have been very reassuring as a wanted man that Otis couldn't even go to the police if he felt threatened or exploited. Laws in Gotham were muddy at best and even law enforcement had more than it's fair share of crooks.

[aueua]

people with siblings: how do you feel about them?

[syluses]

big girls dont cry QNA

i know you guys have lots of curiosities about this fic lolll so i’ll try to answer some of the questions i received (∗ᵕ̴᷄◡ᵕ̴᷅∗) 💕 if u still have some, just shoot me an ask!! :] also im really bad at explaining so i apologize 🤦🏻‍♀️ i have the plot nailed in my head but its tricky to articulate it in a clear, linear way for yall considering all the little nuances i added lol. i’ll try my best tho hehe :,)

Okay so there’s a whole ‘nother plot that exists in the background of this fic- which was super fun for me to write, but im sure from a reader standpoint it’s also kinda thrilling to try to connect the dots i left lol. thats why theres so many interpretations for this story (which i love!! i loved reading all yall’s theories)! 💕 BUT. that being said, the ‘canon’ goes like this:

SPOILERS BELOW read it first then come back! ( ⸍ɞ̴̶̷ ·̫ ɞ̴̶̷⸌ )

was caleb really dead?

No. Caleb staged his own death and then, similar to the main story homecoming wings, didnt tell mc :,) for his own reasons, for a time, he decides he’ll let her go on believing he’s truly gone…

why did he stage his death?

I dropped little crumbs of it in the fic, but it’s hinted that mc, on top of all her grief, feels a bit bitter over the whole shebang and also blames herself for it. hmm… why would that be? 🤔 well because their final moments together (or so she THOUGHT) were emotionally charged and volatile.

the foundation of their sibling relationship was growing weaker and weaker before the explosion. arguments are forming out of nowhere- things are becoming more tense and mc, for the life of her, can’t understand why her gege is always pulling her into a heated debate about safety, danger, blahblahblah, this that and the third, every time they interact. He’s being wildly unreasonable, which she knows, and protective- a trait that has snowballed as they entered their adulthood- but what she doesn’t know is the why behind it. she tells herself she just has a super protective older brother who views her as a little baby in need of his guidance- which isn’t entirely wrong… but she doesn’t see the full picture. His true feelings. All this tension eventually climbs to its peak. Caleb just gets worse and worse. He needs to do something before the world collapses on them both.

Now, in this au, he works at EVER, a somewhat shady but lucrative company- which dabbles in robotics amongst other things. I imagine they have abundant resources and wealth- and what with his promotions, it’s safe to say caleb is making a LOT. So, the delusional guy he is, he buys a big fancy suite with the idea in mind of two eventually living in it ;) but mc doesn’t want to- she has her own life in linkon!! She wants to spread her wings and separate from the nest anyway. Partly to start her own life; partly to prove to her gege that she can take care of herself. The argument that unfolds over this is the last they have before the big tragic explosion 😭 caleb, putting on a show with his beaten puppy eyes, leaves and then that’s the last time she sees him.

Caleb meticulously plans his ‘death’ out (with some help from his wingman ofc) and then eventually the robot is introduced to mc. It serves as a trojan horse. He’ll finally conquer her heart with it and win full autonomy over her. THIS IS HIS MAIN GOAL WITH THE ROBOT. WHY HE EVEN DOES ANY OF THIS TO BEGIN WITH.

Caleb gets to spy on mc with it and also slowly reshape her to accept his feelings; his ‘death’ has left her in a fragile state of mourning and he knows, after she warms up a bit to not-Caleb, he can more or less get away with anything- bc she will claw for whatever’s left of her family member. He can make her finally reciprocate and understand him— whether that be his feelings or fear or love. He tried to be patient, to be good, but obviously he had to travel a new route. He’s thinking of her 24/7. He’s obsessive, longing, protective, you name it- and all of this just worsens the more she denies him. When push comes to shove… well, caleb will do whatever it takes to win her :] He knows it’s unconventional and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt him too- monitoring his endearingly stubborn, but sweet meimei and the shattered pieces he left of her through his android’s eyes— but it’s all temporary, and he truly believes it’s for the better.

did gideon know?

Yes, Gideon knew all along. He’s Caleb’s best buddy after all. To be matter of fact- Gideon didn’t just know, he quite literally ‘herded’ mc into the lion’s den in a way. Mc knew vaguely of their work at EVER, but not too much; so Gideon was the one who shined that light on their robotics and really introduced her to the concept of not-Caleb. Now, i wouldnt say Gideon is exactly comfortable with his involvement, but he actually really does care for mc and thinks she needs that help- as dubious as the means are. Anyway, it’s almost impossible to shut out all of his buddy’s demands: the brunet is nothing if not insistent on getting what he wants. In his own whacky way, Gideon thinks what he did- playing into Caleb’s plan- was for the better as well. I mean, Mc clearly wasnt doing good before not-Caleb came along,… but with the few visits he managed before the android got a little too stingy and sent him off, Gideon actually managed to catch a smile or two from her! So clearly he did the right thing 👀 not to mention… the real caleb seems very pleased with the progress, too. besides- the whole robot situation is temporary anyway :] She’ll be reuniting with the beloved gege she misses so much sooner rather than later.

how accurate was not-caleb?

His programming is like 100% accurate. Mc, for a mix of both naiveity and delusion, thinks not-Caleb is flawed when he starts to show signs of amorous/romantic feelings for her. Really, though, after she tells him to stay the night with her (innocently; and after years of having not shared the same childhood twin bed), it triggers a part of his ‘brain’ that undoes all real caleb’s self restraint thus far :] If the same exact situation happened with the real caleb, his reaction would’ve more or less been the same. Homeboy can only keep his feelings in check for so long

who programmed not-caleb?

Real Caleb

how is mc pregnant?

Because the robot’s creator wanted to add his own special touch to his work if you know what i mean :) yeah he’s a freak like that. Dont think he WOULDNT install in his robot the ability to indirectly knock his ‘meimei’ up. I will say though, that while caleb wants to get mc pregnant, its not fully bc he wants to start a family- at least not right away- but because he wants to emotionally and legally trap her with him. Besides monitoring her/wearing down her walls while she thought he was ‘dead’, this was actually one of caleb’s biggest goals with sending not-caleb into her home.

is not-caleb self-aware?

Yes

what’s real caleb been doing all this time?

Basically climbing the ranks of EVER from his lil perch somewhere in skyhaven. all the while, of course, spying on mc like a hawk. Biding his time & waiting for the right moment when she’s at her weakest, most codependent state to replace his carbon copy :)

was caleb controlling his robot?

No. But he essentially created its whole program. And there are cameras inside its eyes in which he watches mc from :) and cant help but snap pics with sometimes: she’s just so pretty— and endlessly sexy when he finally, in a vicarious way, gets to lie her back and make love to her <3

what is real caleb’s motive/ultimate goal?

1. to control/protect/‘tame’ mc through the robot; get her to see things from his point of view (which means realizing she belongs with him- where it’s safe and he can protect & love her)

2. to knock her up (hence the. ahem. reproductive abilities of the robot) so that he can trap her with a baby on top of all the other emotional strings he’s hogtied her with.

does gideon want mc too?

the question is not would gideon smash her. the question is would caleb LET him…. 👀

also, below i just attached a screenie from some of the notes i took. theyre ofc a little disjointed but i think it might clarify things too :] im so bad at answering questions esp for a plot this spiraling but i really tried my best guys my brain is tired forgive me :,)

[raayllum]

For a little while, Soren isn't sure if they're going to get married at all, because he's asked and Opeli wasn't really able to give him an Answer, and because if they did get married that'd complicate their situation further

However, in deciding to actually Be With Him at all, Opeli resolves to fully commit to her leap of faith... including resigning as high cleric and saying yes, she'll marry him

What happens is a flurry of preparations that soon leave her flustered. Opeli has been accustomed to helping plan things (briefly) for Harrow and (many years now) for Ezran, but planning things for herself is more foreign and there's so many choices

Soren is more swaggering and confident about the whole thing, overjoyed that it's happening at all. He and Amaya write each other letters about wedding planning and he takes some of her tips for lessening Opeli's stress over it into account (like narrowing down the choices)

Callum helps both of them write their vows, much to his own amusement (though they do traditional ones as well)

After some deliberation and nervousness, Soren invites his mom. Lissa does accept, and Opeli is even more nervous to meet her... and while Lissa isn't entirely sure what to make of her, the two do end up getting along decently well, all things considered.

Opeli's replacement as High Cleric helps officiate, as does Ezran as their king and their friend. He is also Soren's best man but Rayla was runner up

Corvus and Terry attend as happy, enthusiastic guests (who may or may not be holding hands)

Claudia has a moment alone with Opeli before the ceremony, the quiet a bit stifled, the chains still recently removed from her wrists. But then Claudia just adjusts/fixes Opeli's hair and smiles dryly. "He's so excited to marry you." And that's all that really matters

Both Soren and Opeli cry while actively trying not to cry, and live happily ever after, tbh

thought too long about a sorpeli wedding and

[kizzer55555]

DP x DC: The Most Dangerous Card Game

Ok so Danny has essentially claimed earth as his. And he is fully aware that there are constant threats to the planet. Now he can’t stop a threat that originates on earth (that’s something he’ll leave to the Justice league) but he can do something about outside threats. Doing some research on ancient spells, rituals, and artifacts, he cast a world wide barrier on the planet to protect it from hostile threats so they cannot enter. This will prevent another Pariah Dark incident. However, barriers like this come at a price. You see, there are two ways to make a barrier. Either make one powered up by your own energy and power (which would be constantly draining) or set up a barrier with rules. The way magic works is that nothing can be absolutely indestructible. It must have a weakness. The most powerful barriers weren’t the ones reinforced with layer after layer of protective charms and buffed up with power. Those could eventually be destroyed either by being overpowered, wearing them down, or by cutting off the original power source. No, the most powerful barriers were the ones with a deliberate weakness. A barrier indestructible except for one spot. A cage that can only be opened from the outside. Or that can only be passed with a key or by solving a riddle. So Danny chooses this type of barrier and does the necessary ritual and pours in enough power to make it. And he adds his condition for anyone to enter. 

Now the Justice league? Find out about the barrier when Trigon attempts to attack, they were preparing after he threatened what he would do once he got to earth. How he would destroy them. The Justice league tried to take the fight to him first but were utterly destroyed, so they retreated home to tend to their injuries, and fortify earth for one. Last. Stand. Only when Trigon makes his big entrance…he’s stopped.

The Justice league watch in awe as this thin see-through barrier with beautiful green swirls and speckled white lights like stars apears blocking Trigon and his army’s advance. The barrier looks so thin and fragile yet no matter how hard the warlord hits, none of his attacks can get through and neither can he damage said barrier. That’s when Constantine and Zatanna recognizes what this barrier is. Something only a powerful entity could create. For a moment, the league is filled with hope that Trigon can’t get through yet Constantine also explains that it’s not impenetrable. And clearly Trigon knows this too for he calls out a challenge. 

And that’s when, in a flash of light, a tiny glowing teenager appears. He looked absolutly minuscule compared to Trigon and yet practically glowed with power (this isn’t a King Danny AU though).

And that is when the conditions for passing the barrier are revealed. And the Justice realize that the only thing stopping Trigon and his army from decimating earth. The only way he can get through….is by beating this glowing teenager in a card game. 

Not just any card game though. The most convoluted game Sam, Danny, and Tucker invented themselves. It’s like the infinite realms version of magic the gathering, combined with Pokémon, and chess. And Danny is the master. So sit down Trigon and let’s play.

(The most intense card game of the Justice league’s life).

After Danny wins, this happens a few more times with outer word beings and possibly even demons attempting to invade earth, yet none have been able to beat the mysterious teenager in a card game. Constantine might even take a crack at it and try to figure out how to play. He’s really bad though. Every time this happens, the Justice league worry that this might be the time the teenager looses. Yet every time, he wins (even if only barely). 

Meanwhile, Danny, Sam, and Tucker have gotten addicted to the game and play it almost daily. Some teachers might seem them playing the game are are like ‘awww how cute’ not realizing this game is literally saving the world. Jazz is just happy they aren’t spending as much time on their screens playing Doomed.

[fascinationstreetmp3]

i need daniel to be overcompensating for his insecurities so bad. 100 times more cocky and rude and aggressive and insensitive than he was as a human, falling back into old dangerous habits and vices, not just because now he has new energy and power and wealth to flaunt but because it's ALL he has, and he needs to cling onto it. play it up and revel in it so no one sees that underneath, he feels like a botched fledgling in the body of a sick, faded old man who maybe has no real idea why he was even made. that armand might think he failed in making him. that his maker didn't even really want him.