#Floods (Early Mix)

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Pantera - Floods

[blackvahana]

i am really never going to understand why people post "shifting antis dni" in the astral projection tag. "here practice that constantly gets appropriated by us and used as a weird justification for a new set of beliefs that aren't really based in the same reality you work with, and that also gets completely misunderstood by our community because we don't care to understand what you do and just pretend we know it's what we do like christians saying other religions worship the christian god, have a post! Also dni if you don't like our practice that has nothing to do with the one whose tag we just shoved this into"

if you're not astral projecting don't put shit in the ap tag. if you don't even know the difference between AP and RS I dont think your opinion holds enough weight to counter the pushback against flooding a separate practice's tag with "if you dont like the practice I'm talking about in your tags dni"

[tamaharu]

kdj -> sys: this kid reminds me too much of myself in bad ways but the ways in which shes similar either come up when im going as hard as i can in my denial phase or dont get spelled out to me in exact detail until im already too invested in her to get rid of her but in the meantime i can ignore her without having to think too deeply about it

^ reductive bc i still have to roll her around in my head especially in relation to late game stuff but corey (one of my friends reading orv) brought up the fact that "kdj's literal Incarnation On Earth, Embodiment Of Self [is] a scared little girl who had to kill somebody and is terrified she's gonna turn into a monster". which. oh my goddd of course. of course. like this is so obvious that i wouldnt be surprised if everyone else has already noticed this/pointed this out and i just missed it but like yeah of fucking course she is!

of course kdjs incarnation, his daughter, one of the few characters that can see beyond the veil he puts up from very early on, is shin yoosung: a child. a child who had to kill to survive, to steal resources from others to survive, to isolate herself from other people to survive, and thinks of herself as evil for it, and thus undeserving of of sympathy and very deserving of death. a child who grows up to be a monster, a literal vehicle of the story through the disaster of floods/biyoo. a child who, if killed via disconnected film theory, will in turn prevent all the suffering her adult self would cause, who would, after surviving, drive everyone she loved to utter misery.

i wonder where we've heard this story before. should we read it again? :)

kdj -> knw: this kid reminds me too much of myself in bad ways but hes doing something clearly morally wrong so i can ignore/kill him without having to think too deeply about it

kdj -> lgy: this kid reminds me too much of myself in bad ways but the way in which hes similar isnt relevant to the scenario at hand so i can ignore him without having to think too deeply about it

kdj -> ljh: this kid reminds me too much of myself in bad ways but shes yjhs problem so i can ignore her without having to think too deeply about it

[reasonsforhope]

"Inspired by an innovative Chilean forest restoration effort, the English town of Lewes is enlisting the help of dog walkers to rewild a local nature reserve.

Heavily degraded by foot traffic, the project co-opts dogs’ tendency to run about in the woods to spread wildflower seed from saddlebags strapped to a harness around the dog’s abdomen.

The idea mimics the function that wolves once played in that part of England, roaming over vast distances getting grass and flower seeds stuck in their coat, only to fall off and germinate somewhere else.

This helter-skelter seed-spreading is actually how many plants evolved to reproduce, and it’s key to maintaining a biodiverse and native ecosystem.

“We’re really interested in rewilding processes, but they often involve reintroducing big herbivores like bison or wild horses,” said manager Dylan Walker from the Railway Land Wildlife Trust who organized the project back in 2019.

“In a smaller urban nature reserve it’s really hard to do those things. So, to replicate the effect that those animals have on the ecosystem we aimed to utilize the vast number of dog walkers that are visiting the nature reserve daily.”

The saddlebags are filled with a variety of perennial plant seeds mixed together with sand. This allows the seed to be spread for longer across larger distances, while also providing a helpful tracking sign to inform the Trust’s employees where dogs are walking.

THE REWILDING MOVEMENT IN ENGLAND…

Salmon Return to the Heart of UK for First Time in 100 Years After Dam Removal: ‘It’s very rewarding’

‘Give Nature Space and it Will Come Back’: Rewilding Returns Endangered Species to UK Coast

Farmer Combats Flooding by Returning Creeks to Nature: ‘Wildlife That Has Come is Phenomenal’

Finally Rid of Invasive Shrubs, Scientists Use Lichen to Regrow the Celtic Rainforest in Loch Lomond, Scotland

2 Beavers Named Hazel and Chompy Reintroduced to English County–the First Ones to Live Here in 400 Years

“I signed up because it sounded like such a good fit. I was asked to place a harness on my chocolate cocker spaniel called Bertie and he ran around spreading seeds like wolves used to do many years ago,” Cressida Murray, a dog walker who regularly uses the nature reserve, told The Guardian. 

Wolves were persecuted to extinction in England as early as the reign of Henry VII, who reigned during the latter third of the 15th century.

“A community-based project like this not only helps engage and teach people about the ecological impacts of wildlife but also allows us to make our wildlife and environments richer in the process,” said Walker."

-via Good News Network, July 30, 2024

[fairy-angel222]

Nanami’s morning voice always gets you horny. It’s so deep with the perfect amount of raspiness.

So when he whispers to you good morning, you fold immediately. Your stomach fluttering as his words go straight to your core. Letting out a hum of acknowledgment before snuggling into his chest, not so discreetly rutting against his thigh in need.

Nanami chuckled, hand cupping your cheek to lift your face to his. His lips only ghosting over yours as you look up at him with a whimper. “Kento..”

“I know, my poor girl’s so needy already hmm? Like the sound of my voice that much sweetheart?” He ran his hand over your hair soothingly, a small smile on his face when you nodded with the softest of whines. Your hips rolling into his for any sort of contact.

You moaned when your clit brushed against his bulge. Allowing Nanami to run his thumb lovingly over your cheeks and then your lips. Slipping it between them so it was settled on your tongue, groaning to himself when your eyes fluttered shut with a sigh. Your tongue swirling around his finger as you sped up the desperate movement of your hips.

“You’re so adorable when you get like this you know.” He grunted, watching you drool as you clung onto him. His free hand reaching down your shorts to rub sweetly at your clit. “Don’t worry baby,” He husked, bringing his lips to your ear with a hum. “I’m gonna make my girl feel so much better.”

You mewled, blinking hazily up at him when his thick fingers dipped inside you. Curling up exactly where you needed them. “Do you want that sweetheart? Want me to cure that needy ache down here?” Your pussy clenched tightly with a whiny cry at the mere sound of his voice in your ear. A shiver raking through your body as you gave him a nod. “Mhm, wan’ it so bad.”

Who was he to tell his girl no? Finding yourself under his warm body with his hips rolling up into yours. Soft babbles and moans falling past your lips as you pulled his broad body close. Each of his lewd whispers sending shocks through your body as you trembled underneath him.

Your toes curled when he reaches to rub at your clit. “You like that sweet girl? Like being stuffed this early in the morning,” he rasped, your mind flooding with nothing but the sound. Letting out a cry as your body rocked back and forth with his thrusts. “Look so pretty under me, so pretty when you’re taking my cock.”

You couldn’t take it. Him in your ear mixed with his cock fucking you deep, it was all too perfect. Nails scratching down his back as your noises got louder. Feeling yourself being brought closer and closer to the edge as he pressed tiny kisses to your delicate neck.

“C’mon sweetheart.. you wanted it bad right? Let go f’ me.” He groaned, watching as you crumbled beneath him in a fit of cries. Pussy spasming being gushing messily onto his cock

“Good girl.. that’s it.” He dragged out, slowly coming to a stop to pump you full of his cum before the day started.

[2tarbell]

i need some blue collar rafe pls. i love that man

can u pls do something with like sweetheart!reader !!

maybe like some slow soft passionate sex before he has to go to work at like 5am

and it’s jus so loving n aww ☺️

anyways i love u and ur mind mwah mwah

BLUECOLLAR!RAFE + SWEETHEART!READER ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

it was no secret that rafe had a soft spot for you. the hardworking, calloused man melted into a puddle for those puppy eyes and that little pout.

he knew you hated when he left, but you’d hate it even more if he didn’t wake you up to say goodbye. what started as kisses on the way out turned into sliding his morning wood into your warmth — watching with sleep glazed eyes as the intrusion slowly woke you.

now he can’t even get out of bed without you pulling on his strong arm, dreamy voice begging for him to stay. you were half asleep, eyes still practically closed, but he couldn’t do anything other than indulge you.

it was how you found yourself being spilt in half at 3:45 am, an hour before he needed to be on the road ‘abandoning you’. rafe never laughed at that joke.

he was holding himself above you, forearms caging in your head. with your hair all disheveled and practically drooling — he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“fuck, how’re you so tight?” he heaved.

his gravelly words raised goosebumps across your pleasure-fuzzy, warm body. you were always so pliant this early, letting him stretch your legs over his muscular shoulders. the deeper press of his cock to your g-spot left you unable to speak coherently.

your hands clutched at his head, holding him close and brushing your soft lips against his with every precise thrust. rafe loved you like this — hips canting and so desperate for release, for him to stay.

“please, daddy— please—“

his hips stayed slapping against yours, the creamy ring of your arousal creating a sopping sound. his pubic bone kept hitting your clit perfectly and pulled whines from you. swollen lips letting out a hiccup when he thrusts in to the hilt.

rafe hummed, a low sound in acknowledgment of your state. he lifts his hand to your mouth, your lips parting against the intrusion of his thumb, taking it in to the knuckle.

“god, you’re takin’ me so well,” he mutters, his hips rolling against yours, “bein’ so good… so perfect for me.”

you let out a garbled moan, eyes drooping from sleepiness and the pleasure he was providing. he just knew — knew how to make you unravel and turn dumb.

sucking on his thumb eagerly as you could manage, languid from sleep and the kiss of his mushroom head against your cervix. with a pop he pulled the digit from your mouth, sliding between your bodies and rolling it over your puffy clit. the gathered spit mixed with the sparkling sheen of your arousal, making the flicks of his thumb smooth and effortless.

“oh my god—!”

you choked out, head diving back into the pillow behind you as his slow, deep thrusts make that coil in your tummy feel almost too tight. the feeling all consuming and unfamiliar.

rafe takes the advantage to sit up on his knees, wrapping a large hand around your throat — tight enough to let you know he’s there, he’s got you.

“mmh, i know, shhh — oh, shit — look at that…”

his hand slides around to the back of your neck, tilting your head down to see what he sees. you watch dumbly as you squirt all over him, coating his abs and dick with your cum.

it’s like you’re out of your body, watching yourself come undone while your hearing goes fuzzy with the intensity of your orgasm.

suddenly flooded with warmth as his pants get more whiny, indicating his own imminent release. he leans down, pressing his forehead tightly to yours and giving a few more thrusts for good measure — squelch sounds punctuating each inward movement.

he shudders against you, feeling tingly from the overstimulation of your pussy still clenching around him. he huffs, trying to catch his breath and shifts your leg off shoulder. you whine lowly at the loss of his weight on you, eyes fluttering and struggling to focus on him.

with a ‘okay, shh, kid’, he reaches out, wrapping his arms tight around your waist, leaning down on you again.

your small voice, already halfway back to dreamland, reached his ears in a contented sigh, “looove you, daddy…”

“mmh, i love you, my messy girl,” his teasing voice made a lazy smile spread across your face, wrapping your limbs all around him. trying to keep him as close as possible.

kisses are peppered along your neck, trailing to your lips with a playful smack. your giggles filled the space, light and airy in the quiet of your shared bedroom.

rafe smirked and pressed his hips forward into yours, swallowing the heaving sound you let out as his cock rubs against your pulsing walls. he spoke lowly against your mouth, pushing in and out — skin sticking to yours.

“how ‘bout… you squirt f’me again and i’ll think ‘bout callin’ out...”

[tasteracha]

raspberry stains.

word count: 1.6k

pairing: lee minho x afab!reader

warnings: multiple orgasms, foodplay, oral sex, smut - MINORS DNI

synposis: what do you do when you see minho eating raspberries like this. what a whore. (no raspberries were harmed in the making of this fic).

“i got some raspberries from the farmer’s market,” minho’s first words to you are when you shuffle into your living room, still in your pajamas. he shows you the plate of washed berries he had been munching on, way too awake for the hour that it was. you despise minho for being a morning person, for waking up hours before you and doing things like going to the farmer’s market instead of laying in bed with you. 

“good morning to you too,” you take a seat next to him on the couch, curling up against his side. at least if he didn’t partake in morning cuddles with you he never denied you couch cuddles.

“have one,” he says, holding out a berry to your lips. his fingers are stained red with the bursted juices and they brush against your lips as he feeds you. you suck his thumb into your mouth along with the berry and his pupils shake as you hollow your cheeks out a bit to get the flavor off of his skin. the sweetness of the raspberry floods your mouth and you move away from him to chew and swallow, the wheels in your head turning as you track his reaction to what you thought was an innocent act. 

suddenly, you were wide awake; if he was going to be horny about this so early in the morning, then so were you.

“give me another,” you demand as your hands reach towards his pants, unbuttoning them and opening the zipper with expert motions. he pauses, his eyes heavy lidded as he looks at you with an open-mouthed gaze. your eyes flicker between his rapidly hardening crotch and the plate of raspberries as you wait for your words to register in his head through the horny daze. “do you need me to repeat myself?”

he shakes his head, his eyes clearing a bit as he scrambles to pick up a berry to feed to you. you let it rest on your tongue as you slide to your knees in front of him and free his cock from his boxers, pressing down on the fruit gently so it bursts in your mouth. you take the head of his cock into your mouth and you let the juice dribble out of your mouth until it drips down his length, staining him even redder than he already was. you pull away, wincing at the feeling of liquid dripping out of the corner of your mouth, but the look on his face is worth the discomfort. he looks gone, his eyes heavy on you, the weight of his awe of you hanging off of his every feature. 

“this gone and we barely did any foreplay,” you tease, sliding your hand up his cock to spread the redness around. “you must really like me.”

“if you don’t keep going i might die,” he says, ignoring your bait, completely serious. you flash him a grin before going down on him again, a sick satisfaction seeping through you when his cock jumps in your mouth. you take him as far as you can go, using your hand to make up for the rest of the space and you bob up and down, letting your saliva mingle with the berry until he’s wet and slippery. 

the flavor is divine; you always love his taste, musky and salty with the scent of his clean body wash intertwined, but the raspberry mixing with him is a cocktail that you never want to stop drinking. he slides his fingers into your hair to keep you close to him, and you give him a particularly dirty lick to his slit when you realize that it’s his clean hand - as sexy as this all is, you didn’t want to deal with cleaning the stickiness out of your hair later. 

he lets out breathy moans and pants in time with your movements and you want to edge him all day just so you can keep hearing the music he’s playing for you, but when you peek up at him you feel a tinge of sympathy for him. his neck is completely flushed and it trails up to his ears, the veins in his neck popping out from the effort it takes to hold back from thrusting up into your mouth. you pet his thigh with your free hand, a silent good boy that doesn’t go unnoticed by the way he throws his head back with a groan. you take pity on him, relaxing your throat so you could take him down and swallow around him. you stay there for as long as your body allows, only backing off when the need to breath flashes warning signals through your head. 

his moans turn into whines as you keep stroking him, a clear signal that he’s close. you open your mouth, lolling your tongue out to catch his release onto it. the picture that you make in front of him, lips stained red and mouth open for him, is enough to send him over the edge and his muscles lock as he comes with a spasm. you work him through it until his hand tightens in your hair, the tiny pinpricks of pain sending a wave of arousal through you. you swallow his release and show him your empty mouth, and his answer to that comes in the shape of a dry sob as he melts completely into the couch.

you don’t realize how wet you’ve gotten since starting this until you let him go, your attention divided between his post-orgasmic glow and the burn of pleasure you feel when you rub your thighs close together. you rest your head on his thigh as you catch your breath alongside him, and you slide your hand into your pants, content to lazily rub yourself off before sharing a shower with him to wash the berry juice away. 

“what are you doing?” he asks, his voice deep and gritty. 

“you’re not the only one who gets to come today,” you sigh against his thigh as you circle your clit with your fingers, the wetness there making the glide easy. 

“no, i mean what are you doing?” he repeats, the emphasis not making things any clearer for you. he rolls his eyes when you don’t get it before sitting up and joining you on the floor. he lifts you off your knees and pushes you towards the couch to sit so your positions are reversed with him on his knees in front of you. “this is my job, not yours.” 

he pops a couple berries into his own mouth, swirling them around his tongue as he slides your pants and underwear down to your ankles. he helps you take them off gently, tossing them aside before pushing your thighs apart. he dives into your pussy like a starved man, pushing the red juice into your folds and lapping it up again before repeating the process again and again. it’s so much better than your own fingers, the unpredictability of where his tongue was going next keeping you unprepared for the onslaught of sensations. you come embarrassingly fast, your thighs locking around his head as he slurps at you, obscene sounds filling the empty living room. 

he moves away when you start to twitch in oversensitivity and his mouth is completely stained red. it’s smeared around his lips like lipstick, and you pull him up for a kiss with urgency. the taste of raspberries mixed with both of you is euphoric, and you let out a content sigh into his mouth as your body relaxes. 

“i’m not done with you yet,” he releases your lips with a wet pop, a string of pink saliva connecting the two of you. he’s back down between your legs faster than you can register, his mouth finding your clit instantly. his tongue traces patterns against it, circles and swirls and shapes that you can’t name and it’s too much but it feels so good that any protests die on your tongue. 

“minho!” you cry out, and once his name leaves your lips you can’t stop, the five letters taking the shape of moans and whines until it’s all you can say or think. your thighs begin shaking but he doesn’t stop, eating you out steadfastly as if he was born to do it. 

“one more,” he says against your folds, his fingers joining the mess between your legs to hook into you, curling upwards. “you can give me one more, right?”

i’ll give you anything you want, you try to say, but it comes out in a series of unintelligible sounds. the burn of your orgasm comes slower this time, a fire building and exponentiating unlike the sparks of fireworks that you experienced the last time. it burns and glows brighter and brighter until it’s a white light behind your eyelids, your entire vision whiting out as you come against his lips. you can’t see it, but you can feel the smile he wears against your skin as you come down from it. 

when you blink your vision returns, just as he is climbing up to sit next to you. he pulls you into his lap, holding you close as your sluggish head tries to make sense of what just happened. you bask in the silence, your head pressed against his heartbeat, his breathing moving your body up and down against him calmly. 

“you know,” he breaks the quiet, his words a whisper into your hair. “we’re never going to be able to look at raspberries the same way again.”

“shut up.”

[pucksandpower]

Don’t Touch Her

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando will do whatever it takes to ensure your safety after the unthinkable almost happens during a night out

Warnings: spiked drink, attempted SA, descriptions of seizure, hospitalization, and the implied murder of a minor character

You sway your hips to the pulsing beat, the colorful lights of the club flashing across your skin. Lando’s hands rest lightly on your waist, guiding you to the music. You lean into him, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the tang of sweat in the humid air.

“I’m parched,” you say, turning to face him. “Want me to grab you a drink?”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can get them, love. You keep dancing.”

You shake your head, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips. “I need to get off my feet for a bit anyway. Same as usual?”

“Please. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

You make your way through the crowded dance floor, weaving around gyrating bodies and flailing limbs. The bar is packed, patrons jostling for the bartenders’ attention. You manage to wedge yourself into a tiny gap, shouting your order over the commotion.

While waiting for the drinks, you check your phone. A few missed texts from friends, asking where you are. You fire back quick responses before pocketing the device just as the bartender slides two glasses toward you.

Vodka cranberry for you, rum and coke for Lando. You pass over a few bills, waving away the change, and turn to head back to the dance floor.

You take a long sip of your drink as you walk, the bubbly sweetness refreshing after all that dancing.

Lando is easy to spot, standing out due to the size of the crowd surrounding him. He smiles when he sees you coming, his whole face lighting up. Your heart flutters at the way he looks at you, like you’re the only person in the room.

You’re halfway to him when the first wave of dizziness hits. You stumble, drinks sloshing over your hands. Sudden nausea swirls in your gut. The room starts to spin, lights blurring into a kaleidoscope.

“Hey ...” You blink hard, trying to clear the fog creeping over your thoughts. “I don’t … feel so good.”

The glasses slide from your grip, shattering on the floor. You try to take a step toward Lando and the ground rushes up to meet you. Strong hands grab your arms, keeping you from collapsing completely.

“Whoa there, looks like someone started the party a little early.” The voice is unfamiliar, masculine with a hint of mocking laughter. You try to pull away but your limbs feel like lead.

“No, I ...” You shake your head, which only makes the dizziness worse. Through your dimming vision you can see Lando pushing through the crowd, his eyes wide.

“C’mon, there’s a back door this way. Let’s get you some air.” The man starts to guide you away, arms wrapped around your shoulders. Panic shoots through you and you try again to wrench yourself free, but it’s useless.

The cold night air hits you as the door swings open. The alley swims before you, dingy bricks and overflowing dumpsters. The man keeps walking, bearing you along while your weak protests fall on deaf ears.

Fear claws at your insides. You catch a glimpse of streetlights at the other end of the alley before he steers you into the shadows halfway down.

“S-stop,” you mumble, tongue heavy in your mouth. He just chuckles, pressing you against the brick wall.

“Shh, just relax. I’ll take good care of you.” His hand squeezes your thigh, rucking up your dress. Somewhere in the recesses of your fading mind, terror shrieks at you to fight, to run, but your traitorous body refuses to respond.

As the man leans in, the alley floods with light. Heavy footsteps pound on the pavement.

“Get your hands off her!” Lando’s voice booms with more fury than you’ve ever heard from him. The man holding you whirls around just as Lando’s fist connects with his jaw. He reels back with a cry, grip loosening. Lando catches you before you can slide to the ground.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you.” His touch is infinitely gentle compared to the bruising hold of the stranger. He strokes your hair back from your face, eyes searching yours. “Can you hear me, love?”

You try to respond but only manage a faint whimper. Lando swears under his breath. Scooping you into his arms, he carries you swiftly from the alley. You press your face to his chest, clinging to him like a lifeline as he strides toward the street. Each jostling step sends the world spinning again.

Something is wrong. Terribly wrong.

Lando lowers you onto a bench outside the club, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “Talk to me, please. What’s happening?”

You lick your dry lips, forcing words out with monumental effort. “Dizzy … everything … blurry ...”

Lando’s face creases with worry. He pulls out his phone to dial for help, but pauses when you suddenly convulse, muscles seizing. Your back arches, head slamming against the hard bench.

“Shit! Hold on, I’ve got you.” Lando slides his hand under your head, cradling it gently as the seizure wracks your body. Tears stream down his face as he murmurs soothing words, helpless to do anything but wait it out.

After endless moments, the convulsions stop. You go limp, gasping raggedly. The world fades in and out of focus, Lando’s anguished face floating above you.

“Please, baby, stay with me,” he begs, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “The ambulance will be here any second.”

You try to respond but darkness crowds the edges of your vision. The last thing you see before slipping into unconsciousness is Lando bent over you, shoulders shaking with sobs as he clutches your motionless hand.

***

Beeping.

Hushed voices.

The astringent scent of disinfectant.

You drift somewhere between waking and oblivion, grasping at fractured memories.

Lando’s face, streaked with tears.

Dancing bodies.

Pulsing lights.

The weight of unwanted hands, dragging you into the shadows.

With a sharp inhale, your eyes fly open. You’re in a hospital room, IV line taped to the back of your hand. Pale morning light filters through the blinds. The beeping comes from a monitor tracking your heartbeat.

“Hey.” Lando sits in a chair beside the bed, leaning forward when he sees you’re awake. His eyes are rimmed with red, hair disheveled. “How are you feeling?”

You try to speak but your throat is painfully dry. Lando grabs a cup of water, angling the straw so you can sip. The cool liquid soothes like a balm, washing away the cottony feeling in your mouth.

“What … what happened?” You rasp out finally.

Lando’s expression turns grim. “Someone drugged you at the club. Probably targeting an easy robbery, but ...” His jaw clenches, hands balling into fists. “If I had been even a few seconds later, he would have ...”

Unable to finish the thought, Lando buries his face in his hands. His shoulders tremble. Your heart aches, and you reach out to comb gentle fingers through his hair.

“But you weren’t,” you say softly. “You saved me.”

He looks up, eyes shining wetly. “I never should have let you out of my sight. If I lost you ...” His breath hitches, raw anguish written across his face.

“Hey, no.” You catch his hand, squeezing firmly. “This wasn’t your fault. You found me in time. That’s all that matters.”

Fresh tears spill down Lando’s cheeks. He brings your entwined hands to his lips, pressing a trembling kiss to your knuckles.

“I was so scared,” he chokes out. “Seeing you like that, helpless, shaking ...” He clenches his jaw, looking away. “And not being able to do anything. Just having to watch ...”

He breaks off with a shuddering breath. You tug gently on his hand, urging him up from the chair. He perches on the edge of the bed, enveloping you in his tender arms. You cling to each other, tears mingling as the enormity of what almost happened sinks in.

After long moments, Lando pulls back to cup your face in both hands. He searches your eyes, still flooded with relief and lingering fear.

“I could have lost you,” he repeats in a shattered whisper.

You cover his hands with your own. “But you didn’t. I’m right here. With you.”

His breath leaves him a rush, the frightened tension easing from his frame. Leaning in, he rests his forehead against yours. The beeping monitor and distant hospital noises fade away, leaving just the two of you suspended in this quiet intimacy.

When Lando finally lifts his head, the fire in his eyes makes your heart stutter.

“I love you,” he says, low and fervent.

You meet Lando’s intense gaze, equally overcome by emotion.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

He cradles your face again, thumbs sweeping feather-light over your cheeks. Slowly, he leans in and presses his lips to yours in a kiss that steals your breath. It’s soft yet saturates you with his passion, fear, relief — every shade of the feelings coursing between you in this moment. You sink into it, hands coming up to twist in his rumpled shirt, keeping him close.

When he pulls back, you’re both a little breathless. Lando smooths your hair, regret pinching his features.

“I should let you rest. The doctor said you’ll probably feel weak and foggy for a few days.”

You give a small shrug. “I don’t feel that bad right now. Just … stay with me?”

He smiles softly. “Of course, love.”

Settling next to you on top of the sheets, he loops an arm around your shoulders. You nestle against him, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. For a long moment, you simply savor being wrapped in this bubble of solace.

“Do they know who did it yet?” You finally ask, unable to quell your lingering unease about the attack.

Lando shakes his head. “The police looked at security footage but the guy’s face wasn’t visible. They’re still investigating.”

You nod, chewing your lip. Lando tilts your chin up to meet his eyes.

“I won’t let him get away with this,” he says, quiet but fierce. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find him and make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

There’s cold fury underlying his tone that you’ve never heard from him before. It reminds you viscerally of that brief glimpse in the alley — Lando transformed in the heat of protective rage.

But now the fire in his eyes is fanned and smoldering. A determination that won’t relent.

He tightens his arm around you, pressing his lips to your hair. You settle against his chest again, comforted by the steady thump of his heartbeat.

***

A few days later, you’re curled up on the couch with Lando, a movie playing quietly in the background. You’re mostly zoning out, still feeling residual exhaustion. Lando plays idly with your hair, a comforting sensation.

When your phone buzzes with an alert, you grab it lazily, expecting a text from a friend. Instead, a news headline makes you bolt upright.

Lando notices your change in demeanor.

“What is it, love?”

“That man, the one from the club … he was found dead. I would recognize his face anywhere.”

You continue to scan the article. “Doesn’t specify much, just that he was found in an abandoned building across town. Ruled a homicide but no suspects or motive yet.”

You wordlessly tilt the phone screen for him to see. He looks at it blankly, face impassive.

“Oh. Well, perhaps some justice has been served after all.”

You narrow your eyes at his mild tone. “Did you ...”

“Did I what?”

“Have something to do with this?”

Lando presses a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Me? Now why would you think that?”

“Lando.” You level him with a knowing look. “Did you?”

He meets your gaze steadily for a moment before sighing. “I told you I’d make sure he never hurt anyone again. A man like that doesn’t deserve to keep stealing breaths.”

You absorb this, unsure how to feel. “So you ...”

“I didn’t personally do anything,” Lando hedges. “But I have … connections. People who know people who can handle things quietly.”

You bite your lip. “You had him killed.”

Lando takes your hands in his. “Hey. Look at me. That bastard drugged you, dragged you into an alley. He would have ...” His jaw flexes. “I did what needed to be done to keep you and others safe.”

“I just ...” You wrestle with your conflicted emotions. “I don’t know how I feel about you essentially ordering a hit.”

He drags a hand over his mouth. When he speaks, his voice is low and controlled. “All that matters is he can’t hurt you or anyone else now. Try to remember what he did to you — how you felt. Helpless. Frightened. I wasn’t about to let him continue terrorizing women.”

You take a shaky breath. “No, you’re right. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around.”

Lando caresses your cheek. “You have the biggest, kindest heart of anyone I know. But some people are simply too dangerous to be allowed to go on hurting people. I don’t take this lightly, but there are times when permanent solutions are necessary. Do you understand?”

Up close, you can see the storm of emotions he’s battling to contain. Anger, satisfaction, hints of doubt and guilt. You cup his face.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For protecting me, even if it meant ...”

Lando closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. “I would do anything for you. Anything to keep you safe.” His thumb strokes along your jaw. “You never have to worry. You’ll always be safe with me. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, no matter what.”

His voice rings with quiet conviction. You cover his hand with your own, meeting his solemn gaze. In this moment, you truly comprehend the depths he’s willing to go for you.

“I know you will,” you whisper. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

Lando searches your face, shoulders losing their rigid tension when he finds only acceptance and gratitude shining back at him.

“I would be lost without you,” he murmurs.

You lean in, kissing him softly. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Drawing back, you offer a tiny smirk. “And clearly, I should never get on your bad side.”

Lando huffs a surprised laugh. The lingering shadows in his eyes fade as he pulls you close. You sink into his embrace, heartbeat steadying against his.

Whatever lengths Lando went to in order to protect you, to remove the threat hanging over your regained sense of safety, you know you’ll forever be thankful for this devoted, fierce, and tender-hearted man you love.

[hoseoksluna]

PROMISES | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x f. reader

genre: fwb au / angst, smut

word count: 9.3k

summary: when you needed your social battery recharged by your fuck buddy yoongi, you didn't expect to have your undiscovered feelings for him reciprocated. 

pin: promise / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: strong daddy issues, slight dd/lg, manipulation, tiny rough treatmeant, edging, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), teasing, mixed feelings, oc is confused abt her feelings and the whole situation, fight, yoongi counts down, unprotected sex, pussy spanks, nipple play.

note: this has to be my worst work in the whole hoseoksluna universe. i'm terribly upset, disgusted, unmotivated. i wrote this all week, hated every second, and i'm sorry to say this is my last smut for a while. i'm really struggling mentally, i'm struggling with writing, and i don't know what to do anymore. i'm posting this a day early because i can't stand this fic anymore. i can't stand smut. you're free to skip this one until i get better.

You were a folded swan, drifting upon the smooth, glittering surface of a river that led nowhere—a dead end, bearing the face of a man you’ve been casually seeing for the past few months. A man that clutched adrenaline and tenderness in his fist like a bouquet of the prettiest woodland wildflowers, on top of which perched a note signed in your name. Scratchy Latin letters, doused in ebony ink, they had more life than you did at this moment; poetry-woven experiences that had you feeling life like life should be felt—drastically, enthusiastically and delightfully. Every vowel depicted the closure of each night you spent with him: mouth parted agape, through which the sweetest moans would erupt and saturate him in a certain kind of fatherliness, pride and manliness. 

It’s what you need, laying as you are on the linen sheets of your bed, dressed down to your lacy underwear that you thought would make you feel better, somehow would recharge your dead battery that was stuck on zero percent for longer than you care to admit. Father issues, dissatisfaction at your workplace, at your home life, at life itself. You were tired, your concentration running thin as you were watching your well-loved K-drama that you have seen a hundred times before. Through your vision, your own non-romantic interest would fly by, smiling down at you in your dejected state and form. Your body knows him more thoroughly than your heart, stirring erratically at the memories that would begin to flood your system. Tongue, lips, hands. His cock that he would tease you with, giving it to you and not giving it to you purposefully because he enjoyed the sight of your desperation for someone like him—a person who has seen the worst of life, its characteristics engraved upon his skin, and yet you still yearned for him, yearned for those scars. You didn’t have to tell him, but he knew. 

He knew by the way you would so very often trace the scar upon his shoulder, either with your fingertips or your lips. You were friends, fuck-buddies to be more precise. You were aware that someone entangled in a special friendship such as this shouldn’t do something like that, but you couldn’t help it. Yoongi taught you many times to listen to your body and you were doing just that. 

Following your body’s inclination to sink into his soul that he wasn’t too scared to let you inside of. 

He allowed you to do it to such an extent that the threat of his quick orgasm would appear and he would slip out of you, distract himself between your legs, make you come twice in a row—perhaps as a playful punishment, or perhaps as a reward. 

He saw you—and right now you need to be seen, folded in your forest-scented exhaustion while the river flows on, the trees sway on and everyone else passes by while you remain fixed on the same spot, stooped in your ungratified, seemingly unnamed problem. 

You can text him, ask for a quick fuck, something he’s very well acquainted with, used to at this point—so much that everytime you leave his place stuffed full of his cum, he stuffs you with something else as well. 

A promise for the next time.

A package of something to make you look forward to your tight-knit time spent with him. The last time, he had promised to take you to a running sushi restaurant, where you didn’t linger for long because you got fed up with the way other people would steal the sweet plates you wanted to try. He had fucked you in his car to make you feel better about your innate misanthropy and while he was balls-deep in you and you struggled to catch your breath, he promised you ice cream. With each thrust that squeezed your soul, he described how you’d enjoy each lick, the details of the flavor and how he’d buy you any ice cream you wanted. You hadn’t realized it then, within the stupor of your mind-numbing pleasure, but now as you are recollecting it, you perceive how bothered he was by the way other people ruined your night with him. 

And that rips open the restraints around the butterflies in your stomach. 

You want some ice cream—and more than that, you want to see him. Close your mouth around the adrenaline he’s always so willing to fill your life with. 

You don’t know what he’s doing at seven PM on a Thursday night. You usually meet him on Fridays or during the weekend if he’s working the day before. You’ve never shown him your neediness—and there’s a certain dangerous feel to it, baring yourself naked in this way, despite the fact he’s seen, touched, and licked every inch of you. And it’s hard for your brain to comprehend that you yearn for him when your social, emotional and physical battery is dead. If anything, you should be resting as you are, get right in order to be at your best for the next time you see him. 

But alas… 

With a sigh, you turn to your other side and reach for your phone that you’ve been charging, gliding your hands down the cable, imagining it’s his arm. And with a frustrated furrow of your brows, you tap on the circle above your messages. A pinned picture of him that you took, his face caught in his gummy smile against the dark backdrop of his car interior, filtrated with the twinkling lights of Seoul’s city buildings. Another sigh leaves you, one that exasperates you because why are you so needy for him? Why can’t you be a normal girl, independent, okay with your own company shared with the fictional people that you love? You’ve spent your girlhood like this, and happily so. Why does growing up mean you need the male energy more than your own? 

Biting your lip, your anxiety spikes up, but your desire for Yoongi overwhelms it, wins. And that settles a layer of calmness over it, gives the command to your fingers to type what they need to type. 

hi

what are you doing 

The bubbles don’t emerge from the dark motive of your chat until a few minutes later, the green of his message brightening up your phone—and your life, too. 

About to have a concert. Having a shot right now for your health. 

Oh, shit. A strange concoction of disappointment and a deep, low, murmuring stimulus rises in you. The swan in you elongates her neck, interested, but still dispirited considering her options. She will have to fold back into her form, and continue on her long, somber voyage back from the dead end, dwelling on the thrill of the flirtation of the man that she likes a little bit too much. 

Staring at the thick canvas of trees and shrubbery that aren’t letting you in to see him, you think about what to type, your thumbs hovering in the air. Life dislikes you; life wants you to suffer—

A ringing tone of your phone tugs you away from your distressed thoughts. The Latin letters of Yoongi’s name expand across the screen behind that picturesque and private shot of him, enlarged, stirring your heart. Silence spreads through your mind and your thumb quivers as you slide it across the bar to accept his call, placing the device against your ear. 

It feels as though you’re pressing the side of your head against his, especially so once you hear the warmth of his raspy voice pronouncing your name in his accent, marked by the liquor he drank prior to your messages. 

Enlivened, your body is. Just from that. 

“What’s up with you?” Yoongi asks, and the swan sails a little bit more swiftly, her tucked-in wings fluttering against her feathery body. You play with your necklace, your trembling so, so terribly evident. You’re glad he didn’t video call you, but the phone call is much more intimate and pleasant. 

You huff out a noise of desperation without meaning to and cringe at yourself, crunching up your features. Yoongi calls you by your name with a tiny hint of alarm and you curse yourself, silently. Your misanthropy gets pointed at you. 

“Noth—”

“Should I cancel my concert right now?” he suggests, cutting in, and you can hear the drunken playfulness in his voice, the one you have enjoyed on many occasions. Even acted out on your pleasure from it by making him, physically, feel good about it. You wish you could suck his dick right now, right before his concert, so he gives out his best for his fans. 

The sighs are ceaseless and you don’t bother to stop them at this point, your enlivened body soaking up in a swelling, unmet desire. 

“You’re sighing,” he notes, and you discern a cube of ice clinking in his glass, then a swallow of his throat, as if the indication of your yearning got him going, got him needing that burning liquid. “Are you horny for me?” 

Enlivened, your butterflies are, starting a war just from that sole question: desire versus your mental health. 

And using the vanilla scent of their wings, they remind you of the fact that you’re an adult woman and that you’re allowed, and more than allowed, to do whatever your body asks for. And if it’s asking for Yoongi, you’re going to go the extra mile to get him. 

Brazenly and femininely—and a little bit slyly. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m really craving that ice cream you promised me,” you say, lowering down your tone, and you play with the lacy lining of your bra. Think you can tease him with it for a good effect. “I’m wearing a nice lacy set right now.” 

Yoongi sucks in a breath and lets it out in a sigh that is entirely redolent of you, making your mouth curve in a soft smile. “What color?” 

Your expression of a muted joy expands as you tell him. “Red.” 

He swears, raspily, and the shade of your lingerie becomes more vibrant in the dimmed yellow light of your bedroom. And there you feel it—a more intense tendril of lust slithering down your sternum, moving your body side to side against your sheets in need. And the whimper that comes out of you is more primal than it is forced. 

At the sound, Yoongi pauses. You imagine him biting his lip, the gears in his brain turning, and he doesn’t disappoint you. He never does. 

“Do you have a dress of the same color?” he asks, small pants escaping his mouth, and you smirk. 

“I do.” 

He chuckles in personal delight. “Wear it for me. The set, too. I want to see it. I will pick you up after the concert and get you that ice cream.”

Your butterflies spring to your lungs, making it hard for you to breathe. And you don’t know whether to be glad, to be happy, to jump on your bed or to get ready. All those emotions simultaneously gather in you, spreading sparks of excitement down your nerve endings. And most of all, you want to hug him. 

You want to hug your adrenaline-infused angel. 

“Okay,” you agree, prolonging the vowel, the muscles in your cheeks aching. “How long is the concert?”

His delight leaks out through a deep hum, one that causes you to tense your body in feverish eagerness. “Two hours. Can you wait that long for me without touching yourself?” 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip. Think you can wait however long for him, just as long as you get to see him. “I can, but my panties will be ruined. Sticky and uncomfortable.” 

The hum is strangled by his strained intake of breath, turning you woozy, your fingers itching to slide beneath your said panties, knowing his noises alone would make you come in seconds. You weren’t wet before he called, but now you can feel the center of the fabric dampening the longer you talk to him. 

“I’ll take them off as soon as I can. I promise. Hold it out for me.” 

And you believe him. You compress that promise into your hand, warming it up with your body heat before you tuck it safely into the chambers of your heart—and you wait. 

You wait for him to fulfill the myriad of his promises. 

You did hold it out for him, and brilliantly so. You watched one episode of your drama with a little bit more vehemence, despite the fact Yoongi swam past your thoughts more times than you can count. You’ve never watched him perform in real life as his own private life was always kept in secrecy from his fans, but your curiosity led you to search him up online and watch a playback of one of his more upbeat songs. Dressed in a long black coat, white shirt and a tie, your mouth was wide open, as well as your eyes, as you took in his ferocious energy, enhanced by his passion, and you never looked at him the same as before. He became someone else, a figure of brutal yet tender power and it made you want him even more zealously. 

The memories of that performance resurfaced in your mind every now and then, and his Agust D persona would melt into the male interest of the show, deepening your desire for him as you dreamed. 

Dreamed of reaching different highs with him. More profound, more devastating. 

A dream that could never come true. A promise that would never flow past his mouth. 

You didn’t let that ruin your night, however. As the second hour wrapped around you and your body lacked the heat it needed, you shut your laptop and stood up to your feet, walking over to your closet. Your fingers found that red dress you had spoken about first before your eyes did, silky and sleek amidst the thick, woolen fabrics of your winter clothes. It was the only nice dress you had, one you haven’t worn before, and you were thrilled you got to wear it for him tonight. 

It fit you like a second skin, hugging your curves just right, fading into the lacy linings of your lingerie. One would have to sharpen their gaze in order to notice it—and you wondered if Yoongi was going to scout it with his eyes first or with his fingers. 

The unknown excited you, so much that your panties gained that stickiness you mentioned in the phone call. And when you sat down to slide your feet into your black strappy heels, the feeling was so intolerable that you cringed—and your brilliancy ended there. 

How were you going to sit against your cold arousal for another hour? 

The awaited text didn’t come through until you were dousing yourself in your vanilla perfume. Yoongi was downstairs, waiting for you in his car. Left my lights on for you, he had typed to reassure you because he knew how anxious it made you, looking for his parked car in the dark when you couldn’t see anything. 

Your heart blossomed two times bigger when you checked it from your window. Yoongi in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, the headlights filtering through the mist of the deep of the night. You smoothed a hand down your tummy, calming your butterflies, and, reapplying your lipstick, you grabbed your coat and went outside to meet him. 

He spotted you long before you lifted your head to smile at him and he reached over to the side and opened the door for you. The motor was running, keeping the warmth intact for you, and you sighed in relief when you entered it—only to realize that Yoongi had turned on the seat heater for you. 

You melt into the leather, closing your eyes, the ambience of the present moment nestling upon you like the most delicate layer of snow that dissolves when you feel a swift breath along your neck and it’s Yoongi, lengthening his arm and closing the door while keeping his twinkling gaze on you and giving you a pleased smile. 

The butterflies kick against your stomach. 

“I was going to do that,” you say because you truly were—it’s just that the snug, comforting heat he prepared for you made you want to stop and bask in it as the short walk from your apartment building to his car numbed your bones to such an extent that you needed the time to defrost. And he quickened the process by placing an even warmer hand upon the nylon of your inner thigh that the slit of your dress and your trench coat exposed. “It’s just so cold.” 

He fondles the fabric of your tights on the top of your thigh with his thumb. A gesture of comfort that diffuses life down your legs and colors your cheeks in a shade of pink that irradiates the subdued atmosphere of the car. It’s hard to breathe—and it’s hard to resist him, keep yourself cool and not swing your leg over. 

Fuck the ice cream. You want something way creamier. 

“It’s only right I close it for you after I opened it,” he reassures, the deep tenor of his voice puncturing right through you, looking for your core, and you shift your hips, the discomfort of your wetness not allowing you to relax as much as you need. Yoongi’s eyes flick down to your movement and he parts his mouth as that distinctive smirk of his divulges his enjoyment in seeing you so horny for him. “Are you still sticky for me?” 

It’s now that you take the time to fully look at him. There’s a certain glossiness to his long hair that tells you he went home and took a shower before he got inside his car and drove through the quiet night to meet you. You can smell the rosemary of his shampoo and the usual minty aroma of his body wash, blended with his natural musky pheromones and the wood, the tangerine of his perfume. He’s the synthesis of your internal woodland, the breath of the trees that your swan inhales and a punishment, all in one; and you’re not sure if you can hold out any longer. Both emotionally, both physically.

“Very sticky,” you say, wrapping your hands around his arm, descending your fingers down the bulky, wooly material of his winter jacket like you were touching your charging cord—a temporary dream come true. You enclose your palm around his knuckles, think that if he feels how wet you are, he’ll realize that you sentimentally require more than he normally gives you—that your flesh will somehow tell him and give him the bravery to do so. 

But Yoongi doesn’t move an inch. His fingers remain fixed on the inner of your thigh, digging dents into the skin as you feel the bulging of his bicep the more you push his hand towards your wetly clothed cunt. His smile falls, his eyes droop—and the energy is charged with such unnamed intensity that you let go of your pursuit, slipping your fingers beneath the edge of his sleeve as a sign of your submission. 

That quickly. 

“You promised to hold out for me, didn’t you?” he asks, waiting for your agreement, and you nod, feverish, dripping with perspiration, with this great need that towers over you. “Then, be like Daddy and keep your promise or you’re not getting anything.” 

A shiver cascades down your spine—not merely from his authoritative voice, but from the role he dipped into that immediately puts you into yours. You begin to giggle, palming your mouth as the blush in your cheeks bursts and tears of overwhelmingness add a certain glint to your eyes that sparkles beneath the yellow-tinted car interior lights. And using this fatherliness of his, he interweaves your arousal around his long, piano fingers, announcing he’s its King. 

Your essence trickles out of the confines of your panties. 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you whine, still giggling, you can’t help it. Yoongi takes after you, blessing you with that gummy grin of his that you adore so much. Your heart enlarges. 

“What exactly am I doing on purpose?” he challenges, kneading the flesh of your thigh, and he senses his answer right away. Your essence travels to his hand, stopping there, and once again Yoongi’s smile falls, eyes plummeting to it, hand lifting—and fingers gathering that warm slick. 

And it drips onto his own pants-clad thigh when he plunges his fingers into his mouth, shocking you to your core. 

“Yoongi—”

He hums in titillation, interrupting you, and smacks his mouth. For a brief amount of time, he seems to be in his own world as he tastes you on his tongue. And then, he takes those same fingers, turns the key in the ignition, moves forward the shift stick, and without sparing you a glance, he drives out of his usual parking spot and doesn’t hesitate to correct you. 

“Not Yoongi. Daddy.” 

You clamp your mouth shut. Think you need some kind of plug to stop your arousal from flowing down your thigh. Yoongi doesn’t mention what just happened throughout the whole drive, but you do notice his semi-hard manhood poking out of his groin area. You salivate, but don’t tempt him, squeezing your thighs together so tightly that your muscles cramp. 

You’ll save it for later. 

You listen to him talk about his concert experience of tonight while the drum in your clit matches the beat of the songs of his playlist. He speeds down the road, keeping his hands on the steering wheel and the shift stick, and he doesn’t look at you until he halts the car at the first red light. 

He smiles at you, knowingly. A dirty, dirty smile that turns your world upside down, vexes you deeply—enough for you to swivel your head in the other direction to ignore him because if you looked at him any longer like that, you’d be unbuckling his pants. But Yoongi does what he pleases. With his index finger, he whips your chin back to him, leans over and grins before he presses his lips against yours. 

A gentle, gentle kiss. One that does not mirror his demeanor. 

Your walls flutter, your whole body, too. Shock seizes you in its grasp at that gesture of affection and you can’t breathe—he’s stolen all of the oxygen in your lungs. The trees sway and bend, the swan in you dances quite buoyantly, despite the fact that a storm is coming. 

A storm of your emotions. 

He’s never kissed you like that—out of the blue, at the red light. He kisses you when he’s drunk, handsy and touchy-feely as he everlastingly is, but he doesn’t kiss you just like that when he’s sober. 

“You doing good?” he murmurs against your lips, ripping away the fingers of your shock, and it feels as though you’re waking up from a dream—only to glide, boundlessly, into another one. Yoongi waggles with your chin before he pulls away, the yellow light bathing him in its shade momentarily before the green blinks and he jumps back into his own world. 

Does he really think you won’t erupt in this storm? Disintegrate into smithereens and wipe everything clean that he is? 

“What was that for?” you ask, softly, your lips numb and aching for more of his tenderness, one that you would, in all honesty, die for. You trace the print of his own lips on yours, feel its heavy warmth, and you might as well be drunk just from that. 

You need a shot. And not just one. 

Yoongi bites his bottom lip. “You’re holding out so well. I thought you deserved it.” 

You roll your eyes back—not from raw annoyance, but from the pristine pleasure you receive from the dominant, fatherly energy of his words. Suddenly, you don’t know what to do with your hands, what to say, what to think. What you do know is that you surely will be crying into his pillow by the time this night is over and he’s fast asleep. 

But you can’t cry much. Can’t wake up with puffy eyes. Can’t reveal to him the gravity of your feelings. 

You don’t even remember the moment you realized you loved him. Think you loved him the first time you laid your eyes on him, but you buried it deeply in you—so deeply that you didn’t even recollect your feelings when Yoongi told you, straight away, that this was just a friends with benefits kind of arrangement. Truth be told, this business is the sole kind of relationship you can give him as you hate men. Always hated them. But you don’t hate him. 

He’s not them. He’s different. 

You may have wanted adrenaline and joy tonight, but as you dwell in this state of mind of yours, you slouch deeper into the leather and come to a heartbreaking understanding that you’ll never be happy in this life. 

The night-clothed streets pass by you in soft shapes in colors, disappearing instantly out of your view. And the woodland, the trees and the swan, they disappear, too. Shrouded by the fog of your abysmal sadness. 

***

Yoongi took you to such a small hotel that its luxuriousness pierced your eyes with its glorious light. You thought you were dining and ending the night at his place, but once Yoongi ordered your favorite shots of sweet rum with cocktail cherries, you perceived you were staying here. Perceived he was unknowingly giving you the opportunity to drown your feelings in alcohol as well. 

You almost didn’t wait for him to take his own shot before you downed yours, but hearing the click of his tongue, you stopped midway. And to make sure you did wait, he placed his palm upon your wrist, bringing your arm down onto the table as he ordered your dessert. 

Chocolate ice cream, just for her. Thank you. 

He made everything worse. 

You weren’t sure why you wanted to be so good for him, listening to every order of his that came to his mind. Why you wanted that validation, that praise. You could just do whatever you desired—it wouldn’t scratch your relationship with him. You could be bad and he wouldn’t mind. Hell, you think he would even enjoy it. But why is it your inert yearning to please him so much? It’s devastating—and it’s your personal ruination. Because the more you do things that caress his ego, the deeper the abyss of your feelings for him goes. 

You shouldn’t. Not in the construct of your friendly relations. For the sake of your well-being.

You pry his fingers away and take that shot, watching his eyes grow large in their surprise. You never slide the cherry along with the liquor into your mouth, so once you swallow it, you open it wider and begin to chew it. His brows twitch, his own mouth parting at the sight and he leans back into his chair, completely submitted and enthralled by your act of defiance. 

And it feels good, going against him like that. Living your life by your own decided rules, and not his. 

You don’t hesitate to gulp down the other shot, but it’s not the slight burning of the liquid that gives you the buzz. It’s the way he seems to be completely pleased by your self-will, smiling lazily at you with his head tilted to the side. It propels you to steal his shot, too, and the brief facade of his pleasure collapses. A dark tendril of concern lines his eyes and those brows that twitched furrow, casting a dusky shadow over those slits. 

Now he’s aware of it, the tornado that spins within you. But he doesn’t know the cause of it, the decadent poetry verses that cover it. 

And he’ll never know—he’ll never read them. Because you’d much rather keep it in secrecy than risk losing him for all eternity. Feelings can be hidden, feelings can wander off, lose their bearings until they no longer remember that your body used to be their home. But Yoongi… he’s a person that you meet once in a lifetime. And losing him would mean that you lost not just your life, but the blood pumping in your veins as well.

It’s wrong, being attached like that to someone, regard him this way. And you’re cognizant of the fact it’s temporary—and for that sole reason, you bask in it. Because your life would be prosaic, and not poetic, if you didn’t. 

That is the motto you carry in your pathetic, but strong heart. 

And the darkness of his concern, it intoxicates you more than the last shot you take. 

The backdrop of dining and chattering people sway, just like your past trees, behind him. Manifestations of foreign lives you’ll never witness twice in your life, that are a part of you today and will part from you tomorrow. Yoongi, in the middle, remains stable. A beacon of light, unmoving, a great pillar of fixedness and steadiness. He peers at you through the thickness of his eyelashes, his aura solemn, no longer playful. Your sighs emit out of you in a constant stream while your eyes roam at everything in motion but him and he seems to strongly, strongly dislike that. 

“What’s up with you?” he asks for the second time around this evening, but the question has a loftier ring of seriousness to it. It passes through you, puncturing you until it pokes out of your back and transforms into a pair of monumental wings. Ones, upon which your feelings are mockingly hung, for his eyes to see, but not to recognize.

And the swaying of your body brings forth wetness to your eyes, for it is an anamnesis of the inner world you lost due to the comprehension of your feelings. 

“Nothing,” you say for the second time around, too. A hefty blanket of silence is thrown across the table, scattered with empty shot glasses that were meant to be shared between the pair of you. Unable to look at him, your eyes drop to them, count them—one, two, three, four—and then your irises wind up at his clenched fist. At the white valleys of his knuckles that are composed only when his fingers are wrapped around a microphone. And the blanket of the silence is warmer than the warmth he has given you—a sweltering layer of heartsickness that you can’t bear. With your drunk brain, you think you should pierce it, as if with a needle, with a response to a question he didn’t ask you. “I haven’t eaten much today, that’s why I’ve gotten drunk so quickly.” 

Yoongi runs a tongue down the inner flesh of his cheek. Ponders the information you have given him before he scolds you. “You didn’t eat and you drank four shots in a row. You won’t tell me what it is, fair enough, but I know you’re hiding it behind the pretense of you being horny.” 

His head swivels to the side, sensing a presence. And he watches as the waitress puts down an ornamental plate of two scoops of chocolate ice cream in front of you. You don’t pay her a second of your time. You set your eyes on Yoongi, on the darkness of his energy that you are ever so slowly and magnetically pulled to. 

Yes, he sees the problem, but doesn’t recognize it. He sees the shape of your wings, but he can’t recognize their color. 

The solidness of his call-out quivers. You’re not sure if you’re hiding it; you’re no longer sure about anything at this moment, but you don’t care. You have to stick to your secrecy, you have to keep your feelings safe and tucked away, no matter how far on the edge of the cliff they are. 

“I’m not hiding anything. I was horny,” you retort, not caring that the waitress is still present, picking up your shot glasses. Yoongi gives you a look while you tip your chin down and gaze at him through your long lashes—just like he did. A taste of his own sweet poison. And then you lift your foot and rest it between his outstretched legs, the sole of your stilettos pressing lightly against his soft groin. 

This is fun. This is the adrenaline you were seeking. Who would’ve thought you would be your own provider of that. 

Surprised by the abruptness of your act, he doesn’t let it show on his face, but his hands drift upwards from his thighs before he settles them around the bridge of your foot. He waits for the waitress to finish her job and, sensing the pressure, she scurries away without asking if you wanted to order another round. 

And in her absence, Yoongi begins to touch you. 

He sails his fingernails from your toes up to the thin strap of your shoe, wrapping them around your ankle. He squeezes your limb once, warning you about something you don’t know, his eyes tiny, tiny slits. Perhaps if you keep up with this, the night won’t end so prettily like it normally does. 

But you don’t believe it. You refuse to. And to be frank, you can’t. 

You shall have your fun. 

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” he orders like the father he is, pointing at the dessert with his irises. 

You look at it, at the bits of the chocolate bars jutting out of it, then back up at him. “Feed it to me.” 

The slits break, his eyes enlarging. His reaction spreads all across his face—brows curling upwards, mouth parting, his thumb absentmindedly swiping across the skin of your shin, exposing how much he liked your request. Such an intimate place for that to happen. 

Then, he examines his surroundings. Then, he gets up from his chair and sits next to you on the booth, taking a hold of the spoon and your leg simultaneously, hooking it over his thigh. Scoops the ice cream and turns to you, his arm suspended in the air. 

“Open,” he rasps, and your eyes wet first before your mouth complies, opening wide for him. Yoongi slides the spoon into your mouth with expert gentleness, careful not to hurt you, and your first tear of the night cascades down your cheek when your mouth closes around the silver, your tastebuds cheering due to the chocolate flavor that overwhelms them. 

Yoongi, the man that could never disappoint you. Yoongi, the man who has given you more fatherly love than your own father ever did. 

How could you not love him? How could you not want more from the casualness of your relationship with him when he treats you like this? When he prepares a warm faith in men within your chest, a wet soil—out of which the tenderest sprout of joy shall grow? 

The second tear cascades down. The ice cream melts on your tongue. You swallow. 

Yoongi sighs, dropping his hands, the corners of his eyes rounding in an emotion you’ve never seen upon him. “You have to tell me what’s going on.” 

Your wings, swan-like, flutter behind you, ruffling the hair on the crown on his head. “The ice cream tastes good.” 

You brush away your tears, lamenting your foolish mistake, and fold your hands on your lap. Give him a teary smile that you can’t hide and open your mouth for him again. Yoongi doesn’t say anything as he continues to feed you and frown at you, not until another waitress comes and asks if you wish to order another round. His anger is evident in his voice as he turns her down, stating you won’t be drinking any more than you have. 

And again, he makes everything worse when he wipes your mouth clean after you finish the dessert. Pats your head to reward you. 

You hold your tears, watch him pay for you, give him your hand when he leads you towards the elevator up to the room where you’ll be staying tonight. 

Him, completely sober; you, drunk out of your mind. 

He doesn’t let go of your hand, even as you and him stand side by side, the silence as thick as death. You can’t stand it, can’t do anything else but to break it all over again. Though this time, you don’t do it with words. 

You do it with your actions. 

Stumbling on your feet like a freshly-born fawn, it’s only then that Yoongi looks at you. Holds you steady as you move in front of him to face him. He doesn’t swim along the current of all these brown shades of the elevator, but you can see a deep emotion waving through his ice-cold eyes that heat up, melt and droop when you envelop your arms around his neck and press your face against the side plane of his, kissing him there a hundred, a thousand times. You sink your fingers into the hair at the nape, tracing circles along his scalp and Yoongi shudders, breathes evenly against you, and it reminds you of the wind that swept past your woodland—the one that made your trees sway. 

All of that is gone because of your mistake. 

And something tells you that nothing will ever be the same. That something groundbreaking awaits you once these elevator doors open. 

And they open too quickly. 

Breaks your wordless actions that speak your gratitude for his fatherly behavior by gathering you into his arms, carrying you out of the elevator. Doesn’t let your aching feet touch the ground until the snugness of the tiny room welcomes you in. A queen-sized bed, a mirror across the wall that faces it, a round table by the balcony. It would be stifling if you were here alone, but Yoongi, somehow with his domineering energy, enlarges the room—makes it his. 

He empties out his pockets. Phone, wallet, keys. A white lighter and a pack of cigarettes. His jacket follows next, hooking it around one of the chairs, and once he notices your wavering feet, he sits down at the edge of the bed and sheds your trench coat, throwing it over his own jacket. Bends at the waist and takes off your heels, one by one. Only then, when you’re comfortable, does he set you down in the center of his lap. And you realize that the mirror is right in front of you. 

You watch him through it. Watch his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck; watch your own form disappear into the buffiness of his body as his hands begin to roam. His watch glints in the dim light of the room and his own being coalesces, becomes one with the murkiness. 

You want to do that, too. Forget who you are. Forget what you’re feeling. 

Tears prick at your waterline and you let out a pained sigh. Another foolish mistake of the night, one you’re about to pay for. 

“Talk to me,” he begs, a wisp of a tiny whiny weaving into his voice inconspicuously, but you catch it—and it vibrates through you, weakening you. It makes it so much harder for you, his unyielding need to know what’s troubling you, but how can you tell him? How can you risk never seeing him again? 

You remain silent, painfully so. 

Yoongi lifts his head from your neck and stares you dead in the eye through the mirror, chilling you down to the bone. 

“You truly think I’m just a guy you fuck?” he spits, his anger on full, unabashed blast that you should’ve seen coming with your restrained behavior, but it’s better to take his anger than to take his absence—and you shall devour that emotion of his. His question causes a hiccup to ensue in your chest, the secrecy of your feelings leaning over the edge of the cliff. Dangerously, dangerously close. “That you can’t confide in me? You think I’m just gonna fuck you and pretend I didn’t see you cry?” Your eyes dart away, a heavy load of agony settling over your heart, but Yoongi prevents you from looking away. Makes you look at him by grabbing your chin and keeping your head still, facing the mirror. “Is that what you want? You want me to be this kind of asshole?” 

You bite your lip, not knowing what to say, not knowing who you want him to be, not wanting to be in this situation at all. But Yoongi can’t stand your silence. Can’t stand the privacy of your trouble, as if he inertly knows that it has something to do with him. 

He softens his touch, but he doesn’t do the same with his voice. 

“Answer me.” 

You cry out in unnamed desperation, which propels Yoongi to lift your head up to him, so you can look at him—so you can see how much this matters to him. The emotion in his eyes vivaciously thumps, urging you to speak to him. He holds you to him like this, gripping your cheeks with the littlest amount of pressure, sucking in small breaths and you can’t. You’re going to explode if he keeps at it, and you’re going to die.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, tiny cries emitting out of your throat, and it’s almost a cry for help. You bunch up his T-shirt in your trembling fist, seizing the solidness of him like your fear seizes you, and you don’t know whether to run or stay put on his lap like this. You’re appalled about where this is going and you’re certain that the same dead end is impatiently seeking you—

Yoongi shushes you. Averts his hand and caresses your hair down. Kisses your forehead, where he lingers a few long seconds that subdue the expression of your storm. Waits until your breathing evens out, so he can unravel the words swelling in him. 

“Even if you asked me, I couldn’t be this kind of asshole to you,” he reveals against that plane of your face, punctuating his sentence by pressing his nose against yours. And you can’t believe his actions, you can’t believe the kind of affection he’s bathing you in; it lessens your fear, slashing it apart until there’s nothing left of it. “Something is hurting your heart and that bothers me. And what pisses me off most of all is that you think I can’t help you.” 

You sniffle and slide your hand upwards to his neck. Try to memorize every inch of this paintwork that your life is graced with as tomorrow won’t have the same paints, the same brushstrokes—

“I’m not gonna fuck you. If you want to be touched, I’ll touch you, but don’t think for a second you’re coming tonight, not if you won’t talk to me,” he murmurs and you gasp, lowly, your wings slumping limply.

The promise of him fucking you was your only salvation for tonight. You gaze up at him with wide eyes, your mouth falling agape, unbelief clutching you at the intensity of his stubbornness. 

And you want to know the meaning behind it. 

“Why?” 

He scoffs, kissing your cheek as if you were a baby he’s cradling, and you can’t take it anymore. You untangle yourself from his grasp and stand up to your feet, your back against the mirror. Yoongi peers at you disapprovingly and then he shakes his index finger at you. Your legs mimic the same movement, trembling, weakening at that. 

“You need to be taught a lesson,” he says and flattens his lips, pauses before he opens his mouth again, but you stop him, despite how much you like it. 

“No, Yoongi. Why are you treating me like this?” 

He props his knuckles against his thighs. A powerful, powerful stance. Curls his lips around his teeth. “Like what?” 

You reflect him. “Like I’m something more.” 

Yoongi chuckles, humorlessly, at that. You spewed it out so rapidly that you don’t realize what you said until he lets out that noise that returns the drum to your sensitive parts. And briefly, as if you uttered something stupid, you grow smaller and smaller—until his following words change your life once and for all. 

“Because you are and because you always have been,” he rasps, the corners of his mouth downturning for a split second, exposing his own secrecy that brings you to your knees. They scruff against the white carpet, stained by time, and Yoongi’s eyes flash with light to see you in this position. 

Your heart hammers with more life than it ever had, with a kind of adrenaline it never felt before, and wetness clouds your vision, misting this situation in a cloud of disbelief. Your lungs fail you, shuddering underneath his hard gaze, and they swell greatly when Yoongi clasps your face in his hand, the one that pointed at you so fatherly, so devastatingly. 

“You’re not just a girl I fuck and I know I’m not a guy you fuck. What we have is irreplaceable, what we do has always been something more, beyond the label we gave it and I regret it,” he lets out, a pained sigh—just like yours—wafting over your features, and Yoongi leans over, propping his elbows on his knees, his other hand joining your face, fingers gripping your hair on each side. “I should’ve treated you more properly, with respect. Take you out on dates. Get to know you. Wait before you let me touch you… because that is what you deserve. You’re not a girl to mess around with. You have a dignity that needs to be taken seriously, that needs to be respected and I wish I had done that. I wish…” he trails off, clicking his tongue in ultimate regret, and you break. You break, break, break. Sob in his hands that hold you so steadily, that give you life, adrenaline and a new meaning to your whole being. Suffocate under his watch, the earth-shattering notion that this has changed the course of your trajectory of your relationship with him forever constricting your throat. “I wish I had allowed myself to court you like you deserve. I wish I had been better mentally, but I’ll make everything right if you want me to. If you want me as much as I want you, I’ll make it right. I’ll try my hardest.”

Your own words, your heartstrings tangle up in a complex manner. Your tongue twists, your speech held back, and you have no control over what comes out of your throat. You’re crawling through a limbo that has no end and each movement you make, the way back gets erased. You need to keep going before it swallows you, but you need him to lead you. You need him inside your skin, inside your heat, inside your mouth. You need to be connected to him in a way you’ve never been connected to him before. You need his breath in your lungs—and your attachment to him bursts in flames. 

Sated, elated, magnificent. 

“Fuck me and make me yours, Yoongi.” 

He sucks in a breath as if he didn’t expect you to accept his favor. The light in his eyes soaks his irises in wetness and his mouth trembles in a tender emotion before he smashes it against yours. And within that lip lock, the swan in you is reborn. 

A baby swan, learning how to sail upon this new, new river—needing her father more than ever before. 

The kiss is hard and the kiss is catastrophic. Yoongi moves his mouth against yours, sucking every bit of your old life out of you to fill you up with newness. Lifts you up and sits you back on his lap. But the kiss is too brief and you soon perceive that his anger hasn’t been shunned out. 

Wet and blue flames lick over his black pools. 

“Not until you tell me what’s bothering you. What I said still applies.” 

The zipper slides down, the straps follow suit—and your silk is ripped away from your body that Yoongi turns over and moves to his preferable position, cradling you sideways like a child. And there—as he gives you a once over, studying the red lace of your lingerie, the swell of your breasts, the little valley of fat upon your tummy, the ruination of your panties and the stickiness of your thighs—there you realize that he’s as punishing you as much as he manipulating you into telling him. 

And it’s as arousing as it is bad. 

His free hand begins to roam while the other one holds you close, wrapped around your back, preventing you from running away. It ghosts over your breasts, causing your spine to arch into his palm and his throat to emit a delicious groan that drenches your panties. His fiery hand ventures down, his tongue gracing you with little praises of how beautiful you are, and when he reaches the V-line of your private parts, he discovers how much his deep voice and his touches affect you. 

He lifts his fingers and catches them glistening in the orange light. And this time, he doesn’t plunge them into his mouth. No, he sinks them inside your own. You swirl your tongue around them, coaxing that throaty noise of his that makes your hips buck up. Your tangy sweetness stupefies you and your so-loved woodland is remolded by that intimate act. By your connected gaze that could start a foreign war and bring the world down. 

“Suck on them,” he orders, and you comply. Hollow out your cheeks, make sucking noises as you find everything you ever searched for in his eyes. Stability, warmth, a father. Switch, cutely, between sucking them and dancing your tongue around them. His index and pinky fit just right between the elongated clefts of your cheeks and he coos, grows hard underneath you, kisses the tip of your nose, onto which he whispers: “Such a good little girl.” 

You moan and he reacts so trenchantly fast, withdrawing his fingers and using them to slide your panties to the side, placing them on your clit and not moving. 

“So swollen,” he comments, kissing you for a beat of time without closing his eyes, without missing this moment. “I like it when you’re like this. Swollen, dripping and so horny for me. Like I’ve never taken care of you before.” He glides his fingers down, past your lips to your hole before going back up, rooting on your throbbing clit before starting over. He etches desperation into your veins, stirs your butterflies to madness, and you breathe heavily. “No one will ever see you like this. No one, you hear me?” 

Your nod is automatic, thoughtless, and he’s pleased to the core. Enough that he begins to massage circles on your clit, your wings fluttering, no longer limp, but full of zest. And he can sense it—and it touches him so much that he deepens the pressure while the circles remain agonizingly slow. Your body writhes. Yoongi smirks down at you, grins fully when you clutch the nape of his neck and make little noises into his T-shirt. And just as soon your vision begins to blur and you reach the cusp of your orgasm, he stops.

“What’s hurting you?” 

He reciprocates your feelings, so you have no reason not to tell him. It’s more of a problem with your speech. You’re so fucked out that you can’t speak. 

Yoongi waits for a few seconds before he spanks your pussy. Maneuvers you so you can look at yourself in the mirror, your back against his chest, and he collects your arousal while he pins back your thigh, drifting all four of his fingers along your femininity, stimulating you and punishing you at the same time. Then, he lets you see your slick trickling out of his digits. 

“Look how wet you are, don’t you want to come?”

He’s a dark figure behind you while you are a small creature, spread wide, drooling, dressed in a sinful shade of red that doesn’t indicate her purity, whose smeared red mouth leaks loud, whiny whimpers when he sticks one of those fingers inside your heat, adding another one right away once you accommodate around him. He fucks you with a force that reverberates throughout your whole body and his name that pours out of your mouth like a prayer is a cry for help all over again. He pumps his fingers and pulls away, edging you in such a sinister way that drives out your tears. 

He worsens your condition—like he invariably does. But the rapidness of his pace, it unlocks your mouth, it untwists your tongue, and you begin to babble. 

Incoherent words, nonsense noises; sounds that blossom in volume when he withdraws ultimately, pushes the lace of your bra away from your breasts and kneads them with wet fingers. 

And you erupt, at last, when he flicks your nipples. You flood his pants-clothed thighs and knees, your slick streaming all the way to the carpet. And the river continues on with his words.

“I know you want this cock. I know you want it deep in you. But you’re not getting it if you don’t tell me right now what it is you’re using me to forget about,” he whispers into your ear, tweaking your nubs, his hands descending down your body and pinching your clit. You cry out, the aftershocks of pleasure dizzying you, his manipulation technique in full effect, and you’ll give it to him. Because of his cock, because of his affection. “You have three seconds. One, two, three—”

“I love you,” you confess, screaming it out of your lungs, and his eyes enlarging and his mouth parting in shock is all you see before you’re thrown on the bed.

Before your panties are ripped in half and flung behind him. 

Before your pussy is eaten and fingered in a way that makes you come in four heartbeats. 

Yoongi’s skilled tongue flicks your clit, his fingers curl in that special spot that bespeckles your vision with the stars of the night sky beyond the hotel room window. And you don’t latch onto the fact you’ve drenched him with your juices until he straddles your thigh, arches over you and kisses you with love-drunkenness, his fingers sliding back inside. 

And he doesn’t start fucking you until he confesses something, too. 

“I love you, too.” 

His digits drill you, his eyes pierce your soul and your orgasms are countless like this, not bound to time, not bound to anything at all. You squirt on him, bathe him in the newness of your relationship, cleansing off the old. And then he’s inside of you, murmuring reassuring words against your mouth about how that shouldn’t be troubling your heart. And you cry, you sob, you scream, overtaken by it all, your mouth numb by his constant hard kisses and if you ever belonged to him in the past—you didn’t. Because at this moment, as he stuffs you full of his cum, you’re interwoven into his DNA for all eternity. 

One that he nurtures as he holds you in his arms and asks you about how long you’ve loved him. And he in return tells you that he loved you the moment you first had a taste of what he could give you—laughter, guidance, and orgasms. All from the first date. 

And when you kiss him for the last time before sleep steals you away, you know that you’ll never lack adrenaline in your life ever again. As long as you’re with him, you’ll be on the receiving end. And his unchanging promises will make you look forward to each day, your batteries charged and green—like your blooming woodland.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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oh, baby | Tyler Owens x reader

Requested by anon / Summary: You’re pregnant with Tyler Owens baby. Lots of fluff. 

A/N: My first Tyler Owens fic. I hope you all enjoy. Also, the lack of Tyler Owens gifs is very upsetting. 

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

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This one moment was about to change your entire life. You were terrified. Would you be a good mom? Would you be able to make a good enough life for the little growing blimp inside you? Your thoughts were running a million times a minute. Wondering how this would affect the rest of your lives. How this one moment just changed the rest of your life. 

You slowly sat on the edge of the tub, in shock, the positive pregnancy test in your hand. Your mind drifted to Tyler. Oh god. His tornado wrangler YouTube channel had began to soar in popularity. He and the team making a name for themselves. He had millions of views and a huge fan club. What would this do to his career? 

“Hey hun-” Tyler knocks on the door, jolting you from your thoughts. His hand jiggles the door finding it locked. He furrows his eyebrows, you never locked the door. “you alright?” 

“Y-yeah!” You rummaged underneath the sink, hiding the test under some towels. “One sec.” 

You knew Tyler was getting ready to leave, a few storms brewing before this upcoming weekend. You exit the bathroom and met with Tyler’s hard chest, “You leaving?” 

He peeks behind you, concerned and curious, “Yeah, why’d you have the door locked? You never lock the door.” 

You shrug, playing it off. You could wait to tell him when he got back, “sometimes a girl needs her privacy.” 

He hums in response, not completely believing you. However, he didn’t want to press you. If there was something bothering you, you’d eventually tell him when you were ready. He could respect that. He slips his arms around you, tugging you close against his chest. He was a mix of sweat and that musky sandalwood. It was calming and heavenly. “I’ll be back in a couple days. You gonna be able to hold down the fort?” 

You nod against his chest, tightening your arms around him, “I can.” You lift your head to stare up at him, “You better come back in one piece.” 

He chuckles with a nod, “Yes ma’am.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and then your lips. “I will call you when we get to the hotel.” 

You walk him out to bid him and the team goodbye. Shielding your eyes from the sun, you watch him drive down the driveway. He hangs his hand out the window, waving goodbye. You return the wave, saying a silent prayer for a safe return of him and the team as your hands find your new growing womb. “He’ll be back.” 

~

You’d spent the entire weekend trying to figure out how to tell him. You’d called one of your girlfriends in tears, wondering how to tell him. Worried you would be ruining his life. She reassured you, “Tyler isn’t that kind of guy, y/n. You know that. He’s going to support you and be excited for this next step.” 

You heard the slam of the screen door, “Tyler must be home.” 

“Call me later.” 

You throw the blanket off you, meeting him in the foyer as he’s taking off the boots. “You’re home early?” 

He smiles at the sight of you, but frowns when he notices you’ve been crying, “Had a feeling I needed to come home to my girl.” He crosses the foyer to you in only a few steps before gathering you in his arms. 

At the first feel of comfort, the flood gates open, sobbing into his chest. damn hormones. 

“Oh baby..” He squeezes you tighter, cradling your head against his chest, “Talk to me.” 

You take a few seconds to console yourself. His large thumb wipes your tears away, waiting patiently for you. 

You gather yourself, taking a deep breath before you meet his eyes, “I’m pregnant.” 

His large hands cup your cheeks, his eyes light up, full of hope, “Yeah? You’re pregnant?” 

You nod and hiccup a sob, beginning to rant, “I’m so sorry-you’ve just started your YouTube channel and you guys are so successful now-” 

“No no no- Shhh.” He pulls you in a comforting hug, “This is incredible. I couldn’t be any happier.” 

He holds you against his chest, slowly rocking back and forth as you calm down, “I knew something was bothering you. I just had a feeling.” He kisses your hair, and then makes you look at him, “We’re gonna be parents.” He's hesitant, but places a hand on your stomach, “you’re gonna be an amazing mom..” 

~ 

You waddled into the room to find Tyler painting the wall of the nursery. His hat on backwards, jeans and shirt stained with paint. 

“How’s it going in here?” You take a seat in the wooden rocking chair, sighing in relief. Those stairs were beginning to take a toll on you. Your growing baby leaving barely any room for your lungs to breathe. 

“Almost done.” He sets the paint brush down, hands on his hips he admires his work around the room. “all I got left is this wall.” 

You rub a hand over your bump, wincing as you adjust yourself in the chair. 

Tyler noticing your discomfort, immediately is at your side, full of worry, “It’s not time yet-” 

“No no,” You laugh, “Just some discomfort. I’m fine.” 

He visibly relaxes, “He can’t come early. There’s way too much to do around here.” 

You roll your eyes, “It also could be a she.” You and him agreed to wait until the birth to find out the sex. He was convinced it’s a boy. 

“Daddy instincts.” He gets on his knees in front of you, hands on your stomach, “It’s a boy. I know it.” He flashes his pearly white smile at you. “a baby boy tornado wrangler.” 

“I think it’s gonna be a girl.” You shrug, “mommy instincts.” 

“We’re gonna prove your mommy wrong,” He says to your belly, “Right off the bat, you and I. I’ll finally be right on something.” 

Of course, the baby kicks at the sound of Tyler’s voice. Tyler grins, “See, he agrees.” 

~ 

“You’re screwed.” You whisper softly to Tyler. After hours of labor, you and Tyler finally welcomed your baby into the world. He’s seated in the rocking chair next to your bed, his bundle of joy wrapped softly in a blanket. --- a pink blanket. 

“There’s two of us now. You’ll never stand a chance.” You reach over and caress his arm. 

He looks at you with tear-filled eyes, “She’s only a couple hours old and she’s already got me wrapped around her finger. She could ask me for anything and I’m going to give it to her.”

“Like I said,” you say with a smile, “you’re screwed.” 

~

Comments, likes and reblogs are always welcomed and greatly appreciated. :)

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Pantera - The Underground in America

[luvsupa]

003 | JEALOUSY?

tags: trueform!sukuna x fem!reader, angst, tension, smut, ōral sex + fingering (f!recieving), petnames, revenge sex. don’t know what to add </3, mdni.

w.c: 2.6k

a/n: THANK U GUYS SOSO MUCH FOR 1K FOLLOWERS <33

+ likes and reblogs are appreciated!!

you lie in bed, staring blankly at the wooden ceiling, sleep evading you entirely. he floods your mind—lewd images, the sounds, the intoxicating scent that clings to your senses, refusing to leave.

his voice.

sukuna, the king of curses, always knew exactly how to get into your head, how to twist your thoughts until he owned every part of you. you scrunch your face in frustration, knowing he sees you as a plaything—something weak, something to be toyed with.

you glance around the room at the other servants, sleeping peacefully in their single beds, until your gaze lands on yorozu’s bed, neatly made and empty.

a bitter feeling stirs inside you—she had spent the night in sukuna’s bed. yet, even as he fucked her senseless, his attention was entirely on you. his eyes, those cursed, cruel eyes, never left you.

quietly, you rise, slipping on a thin cotton robe. with careful steps, you tiptoe out of the room, the wooden door creaking slightly as it opens. you nearly scream as uraume appears before you, arms crossed, their expression as neutral as ever.

“g-good morning, uraume,” you stammer, bowing slightly in respect.

“the king has requested you clean his chambers,” uraume states, and just hearing his name sends a shiver down your spine. that twisted bastard—he’s trying to get inside your head again.

“tell sukuna i do not wish to see him,” you reply coldly. for the first time, you see a flicker of shock on uraume’s face, their eyebrows raising at your blatant disrespect toward the king of curses.

“now, if you’ll excuse me, i’ll be starting my duties early.” you walk past them without another word, leaving uraume speechless at your audacity as you head toward the garden doors.

the sun peeks over the tall mountains, casting a warm glow over the vibrant garden. you stand for a moment, looking up at the orangey-blue sky, before walking deeper into the garden.

you begin your work alone, plucking ripe fruits and vegetables, making sure everything looks perfect. but then, you freeze.

you can feel his presence, dark and oppressive, lingering somewhere nearby.

your heart races. he’s angry—you know it. you must have upset him by refusing his orders. you keep plucking the fruit, desperately trying to ignore the growing sense of dread as his aura thickens, almost suffocating you.

and then, suddenly, his presence vanishes.

you furrow your brow in confusion, turning to scan your surroundings. nothing. he’s gone just like that?

you try to convince yourself that he’s gone, but before you can fully relax, a rough hand grips your face, yanking you around. your breath catches in your throat as you find yourself face to face with sukuna. he looms over you, taller and more terrifying than you remember, his four eyes glowing with a predatory hunger that makes your blood run cold.

“you thought you could ignore me?” he growls, his voice low, almost a purr, but the underlying threat is unmistakable. his grip tightens, forcing you back against the rough bark of a towering oak tree. he’s so close, his body heat searing into you, his scent, a heady mix of blood and something darkly sweet—overwhelming your senses.

“you think you can defy me, woman?” his voice is deceptively soft, but it only makes the fear coil tighter in your chest. his lips brush against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine as he inhales deeply, savouring your scent. “you’ve been blocking me out, haven’t you? my clever little girl.”

his words are laced with a twisted kind of praise, but there’s nothing comforting in it. his breath is hot against your skin, his tongue flicking out to trace the shell of your ear, making you squirm involuntarily. his grip on your face is firm, almost possessive, as he presses himself against you, his presence overpowering.

“fuck you,” you manage to spit out, your voice barely more than a whisper, but the defiance in your words only makes him chuckle darkly.

“such a filthy mouth,” he murmurs, amusement flickering in his eyes. his other hand trails up your neck, his fingers elongating into sharp, black claws that press dangerously against the pulsing vein in your throat. he’s toying with you, every touch calculated to draw out your fear, your arousal.

“so brave, yet you tremble under my touch,” sukuna’s voice is a husky whisper, dripping with sadistic pleasure as he watches your reaction. you hate the way your body responds to him, how the proximity makes your heart race, your thighs press together in a vain attempt to quell the heat building inside you.

his bottom eyes catch the movement, and his lips curl into a knowing smirk. “how delightful,” he sneers, releasing your neck and stepping back, leaving you breathless and trembling against the tree.

sukuna hums, turning to leave without a word, no goodbye, nothing. you’re left standing there, breathless and shaking, knowing you’ll never truly escape his grasp.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

the evening buzzes with activity as servants and guards rush to prepare the dining hall for the zenin clan’s arrival. you overhear whispers about toji, the head of the clan, who commands both fear and respect. a secluded home within the estate has been prepared for their stay, a gesture of hospitality from sukuna himself.

you slip into more formal attire, the fabric soft against your skin, when a soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. uraume steps in, their expression unreadable.

“the king—”

“i’ve already spoken to him, uraume,” you interject, catching a flicker of irritation in their eyes.

“the king has requested that you serve the food at dinner for the zenin clan,” uraume continues, their tone firm. your brow furrows in confusion, but before you can protest, they add, “i will not tolerate any disrespect towards sukuna-sama, so i suggest you comply.” with that, they leave, offering no room for argument. you let out a frustrated sigh, knowing sukuna is up to something.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

the estate is a flurry of movement as everyone gathers outside to greet the zenin clan. the grand entrance is framed by koi ponds and cherry blossom trees, their petals drifting in the breeze. the noise of the crowd quiets as everyone falls into place, a wide path left clear for sukuna and uraume.

the chatter dies as word spreads that sukuna is approaching. everyone bows as the double doors swing open, revealing sukuna in a black kimono with gold accents, his hair slicked back with a few strands falling against his face.

fuck. he looks so good, you think, your heart skipping a beat.

uraume follows behind him as they move toward their spot at the front. just as sukuna passes by you, your heart clenches. you barely manage to lower your head in respect as you notice his hand intertwined with yorozu’s. she throws a smirk your way, and your eyes flicker between them. a gasp escapes your lips as you catch sukuna’s lower eye locked on you, a smirk playing on his lips as well.

the gates swing open, and the zenin clan’s carriages roll in, the horses' hooves echoing against the stone. the zenin’s guards step out first, followed by a tall, broad man in a black haori. he moves with an air of authority, his eyes locking onto sukuna’s with a tension so thick it feels like the air might crack.

“zenin,” sukuna calls out, their gazes locked in a silent battle for dominance. toji strides forward, his hands casually behind his back, his presence as commanding as sukuna’s.

“ryomen,” toji responds, his voice deep and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. you study him more closely, noting the scar on his lip, the sharpness of his gaze. he catches you staring, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. sukuna’s gaze follows toji’s, his jaw tightening, a vein pulsing at his temple as he harshly releases yorozu’s hand.

“uraume, show our guests to the dining hall,” sukuna orders, his voice low, his breath quickening with barely restrained anger. toji’s eyes flick between you and sukuna, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips as he catches onto the tension.

as uraume leads toji and the rest of the zenin clan inside, toji deliberately brushes past sukuna, the slight contact sparking a flash of rage in sukuna’s eyes. he clenches his fists, fighting the urge to unleash his wrath, the air around him crackling with suppressed power.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

sukuna, toji, and the rest of the zenin clan settle into the dining room, the air thick with chatter and underlying tension. you stand quietly in the corner behind toji, your gaze drifting to sukuna seated at the other end of the table. yorozu is by his side, her smile wide as she leans into him, desperate for his attention while he pets her head, his eyes never leaving you.

the chefs signal that the food is ready, and you step forward, carrying the largest, heaviest plate. as you approach sukuna, yorozu stifles a laugh, her eyes gleaming with mischief. you carefully place the dish in front of sukuna, feeling the weight of his gaze on you, making your heart race with nervous energy.

you retreat back to your spot behind toji, aware that he’s been watching your every interaction with sukuna. he hums, a smirk tugging at his lips as he senses the tension.

“is the food to your liking, lord zenin?” you ask softly, leaning down so only he can hear. but sukuna’s piercing red eyes catch every movement, his stare burning into you. toji turns to you, his gaze appreciative as he sets his utensils down.

“y’er a cute one, hmm? call me toji, baby,” he purrs, his voice dripping with charm. you smile, flustered by the attention, while across the table, yorozu desperately tries to capture sukuna’s interest, even going so far as to eat from his plate in an attempt to please him.

suddenly, sukuna’s voice booms out, calling your name with a force that silences the entire room. all conversation stops as you freeze, your exchange with toji abruptly cut short. you take a hesitant step toward sukuna’s side of the table, but before you can move any further, toji grabs your arm. you gasp, turning to find him grinning, his eyes alight with mischief.

in one swift motion, toji pulls you into his lap, your squeal echoing in the now-silent dining room. “ryo’, let the girl rest, yeah? workin’ too much, baby, isn’t that right?” he coos, his hand resting possessively on your thigh. sukuna’s expression darkens, his anger barely contained, only held in check by uraume’s firm grip on his shoulder, reminding him of the guests in the room.

the dinner continues, but the atmosphere is charged. sukuna’s eyes never leave you and toji, his rage simmering just beneath the surface. toji, sensing sukuna’s barely restrained anger, keeps pushing, his hands wandering over your thighs, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers sweet, seductive words.

toji takes your hand, kissing it softly, his eyes locked on sukuna’s with a smug, taunting look. sukuna’s fists clench, his entire body tense as he fights the urge to tear toji apart.

“meet me in my chambers,” toji murmurs, his voice low and full of promise. you giggle, caught up in the flirtation, but the sound barely leaves your lips before sukuna abruptly stands, the ancient chair crashing to the floor.

“dinner is over,” sukuna announces, his voice cold and final. confusion ripples through the room as he storms out, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall. yorozu calls after him, but he doesn’t even glance back, his rage blazing as he disappears from sight.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as nighttime falls, you find yourself at the guest estate just a few minutes from the main one. with a nervous knock, toji answers the door, his grin widening before he pulls you into a deep, feverish kiss. your tongues intertwine, frantic and messy, at the entrance where anyone might witness the two of you.

toji pulls away, his large hand cupping your face. “who is sukuna to you?” he asks, his voice a husky murmur that makes you choke on your saliva, caught off guard.

“h-he’s my king, toji,” you stammer, leaning into his touch, your breath coming fast. he chuckles, a dark glimmer in his eyes.

“i see how he looks at you—he’s always been possessive with… women,” he says, his gaze wandering as a wicked thought forms.

“are you up for something adventurous?” he whispers, his lips trailing fiery kisses down your neck. you tilt your head, desperate for more.

“I want you, toji,” you whimper, and he chuckles, pulling out a black blindfold from his pocket.

was he prepared for this all along?

“may I put this on you?” he asks, his voice dripping with anticipation. you nod eagerly, unable to contain your desire. toji smirks, guiding you to turn around as he binds the fabric over your eyes, plunging you into darkness.

you ache to see him, to watch the way he moves, but the blindfold denies you that pleasure. “we just need to walk a bit, and I’ll give you everything you want,” he promises, his arms lifting you in a bridal style.

the journey feels endless until he finally lays you down on the softest bed you’ve ever felt. he undresses you slowly, making you shiver with anticipation.

toji’s mouth descends on your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipples- alternating from each breast.

“n-need you inside me,” you moan, your voice trembling with need. he kisses his way down your body, his lips blazing a trail to your aching cunt.

“such a needy one,” he teases, his voice rough as he slides two fingers through your slick folds. he circles your entrance, collecting your essence before pushing his fingers inside. your gasp is loud, your body arching as he thrusts deep, his fingers curling to hit your sweet spot. the room fills with the wet, lewd sounds of your pleasure.

“you’re drenched,” he growls, sliding his fingers out to deliver a stinging slap to your cunt, making you hiss. he licks his fingers clean, savouring your taste before diving into your pussy with feral intensity. his tongue explores every inch of your velvety walls, making you clench around him.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he groans into your core, the vibrations sending electric jolts through your body. your legs try to close around his head, but he forces them open, his face and the sheets below soaked with your arousal.

“toji, I need you inside me,” you moan, the knot in your stomach tightening, your orgasm approaching rapidly.

“are you out of your fucking mind?”

you freeze.

your heartbeat halts as his voice cuts through the haze. confusion and fear grip you as you realize who’s in the room.

toji doesn’t stop; if anything, he devours you with even more intensity. loud slurping heard from below as you press your hands to your mouth to muffle your cries.

shakily, you pull off the blindfold, blinking against the bright light. below you, toji’s face is a mask of wicked satisfaction, strands of saliva and cum connecting him to your swollen cunt.

your gaze travels to the end of the bed, and your blood runs cold. sukuna stands there, his four arms bulging with veins, his nails longer and sharper than before.

this is sukuna’s room—the very place where he was with yorozu the night before.

your eyes dart between toji and sukuna, realizing you’re in deep trouble. toji orchestrated this, deliberately placing you in sukuna’s room to fuel the tension between them. “m-my lord—” you begin, but toji spits flat on your cunt, slapping it loudly as you moan uncontrollably.

“c’mon, baby—tell ‘kuna how I’m making you feel.”

[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER NINE: i still hate you

masterlist

cw - suggestive!

She squinted against the harsh morning light spilling through unfamiliar curtains, the brightness jolting her into a reality that felt both surreal and disorienting. The sheets, cool and foreign against her skin, wrapped around her like a gentle but suffocating embrace. Turning away from the window, she was confronted by the bare back of a stranger, the contours of his body a stark reminder of the night’s reckless abandon.

Her eyes traveled over his skin, tracing the network of scratches that marred his back, vivid echoes of their shared intensity. Each mark sparked a wave of guilt within her, a reminder of choices made in the heat of passion. She felt the weight of her actions settle heavily in her stomach, as if the remnants of their fervor were now shadowed by the uncertainty of the morning.

Outside, the soft chorus of chirping birds hinted at the early hour, perhaps no later than six, and for a fleeting moment, the world felt peacefully still. But that serenity was abruptly shattered when he rolled over, the sheets rustling around him, revealing his face—a mix of sleep and mischief. His eyes opened slowly, revealing a warmth that contrasted sharply with her confusion, and a broad smile spread across his lips as if he found humor in her startled expression.

He reached for her, fingers brushing her cheek with an intimacy that felt both disarming and oddly familiar, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The tenderness of the gesture stirred something deep within her, a reminder of how quickly boundaries had blurred.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, resonating with a casual intimacy that both intrigued and unsettled her.

In that moment, she grappled with the tangled threads of attraction and regret, the morning light illuminating the complexity of their uncharted connection.

Her stomach twisted at the casual way he used the pet name, a blend of excitement and unease coursing through her.

“Hi,” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with a vulnerability that felt foreign.

He leaned in closer, a smirk playing on his lips. “So shy now? I could have sworn you were far bolder last night.”

Rising from the bed, he towered over her, their faces just inches apart. The intimacy of their proximity felt electric, the warmth of his skin igniting a blush that crept up her neck and across her cheeks.

“You were quite a treat, if I recall,” he said, his tone teasing yet laced with something deeper, a hint of genuine admiration.

The way he looked at her—his gaze both playful and penetrating—made her heart race. Memories of their night together flashed in her mind, each one wrapped in a mixture of thrill and trepidation.

He leans in to plant a soft kiss on her neck. Then another, then three turns into four, and then suddenly he finds himself in a trance. A soft whimper escapes her lips, the waves of ecstasy washing over her like a warm tide, momentarily erasing her worries. But as the sensation lingers, a jolt of memory pierces through the bliss—her recent fight with Maki and Nobara, the venomous words she had unleashed over text, sharp and cutting.

Suddenly, guilt floods her, replacing the pleasure that had enveloped her moments before. The weight of her actions crashes back in, and she feels the warmth dissipate, replaced by a cold clarity that snaps her back to reality, leaving her breathless and conflicted.

“Megumi, we can’t,” she says, urgency threading through her voice as she pushed him away, rising to her feet.

The cool air brushed against her skin, heightening her awareness as she fumbled for her clothes, the remnants of their shared night lingering in the charged atmosphere.

He leaned back on one elbow, a lazy smile playing on his lips as if watching her state of panic was a new form of entertainment. She rolled her eyes, slipping into the lace underwear that was on the ground, the fabric clinging to her and offering a semblance of normalcy amid the chaos of emotions swirling inside her.

“I still hate you, you know,” she shot back, her voice laced with playful defiance, even as her heart raced, betraying the undeniable connection sparking between them.

Beneath the surface of their teasing words lay a palpable tension, each grappling with the complexities of what had just transpired, a mixture of frustration and something deeper that neither dared to fully confront.

“The feeling’s mutual,” he replied, his tone earnest as she buttoned the final clasp of her shirt, the fabric brushing against her skin like a whisper of their shared intimacy.

He rose and settled on the edge of the bed, his presence solid and reassuring as he wrapped his arms around her waist. The warmth of his embrace enveloped her, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings swirling in the air—a blend of rivalry and longing, igniting something raw and electric between them. In that moment, words seemed unnecessary; the weight of their history hung heavy, yet the promise of something new flickered just beneath the surface, waiting to be explored.

As he kisses her thighs, the warmth of his lips igniting a thrilling tension, he looks up at her with an exaggerated pout. "You sure you don't want to stay?"

Caught off guard by his unexpected clinginess, she finds herself instinctively running her fingers through his hair, a playful response to the intimacy of the moment.

"Only the ones I can gaslight," he replies, his tone light but laced with an underlying playfulness that makes her stomach twist.

"Do you act like this after all your hookups?" she teases, curiosity tinged with amusement.

She pushes him away playfully, scoffing as he snickers, the sound rich. "I wish you were dead," she quips, her smile betraying the mock seriousness of her words.

"We both know that's a lie," he shoots back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Maybe," she says, her voice dripping with a playful allure as she saunters toward the door.

“I guess we can find out next time”

Turning slightly, she raises her middle finger in a playful gesture before stepping out of his room.

He responds with a dramatic blown kiss, and she rolls her eyes, a genuine smile breaking through as she closes the door behind her. The soft click reverberates in the air, leaving behind a charged silence that lingers like an unfinished conversation. She leans against the door for a moment, feeling the heat of their exchange still swirling in her veins. Outside, the world feels different—charged with the energy of what had just happened.

As she walks away, she can’t shake the thrill of his playful banter and the intensity of his gaze. Thoughts race through her mind, each one a reminder of the connection they share—one that dances on the edge of something deeper.

In that quiet space, she knows their dynamic is anything but simple. There’s a spark between them, a chemistry that defies the playful insults and teasing. And despite the playful jabs, she finds herself smiling, eager for the next encounter that promises to unravel even more layers of their complicated relationship.

She makes her way down the sleek hallway of the condo, the luxury of their surroundings evident in the polished surfaces and the soft glow of ambient lighting that cast warm shadows. The apartment was decorated with each of their personalities, as remnants of the band intertwines into the space. Framed pictures of each resident adorned the walls, capturing moments of laughter and camaraderie, their smiles frozen in time.

As her gaze drifted, it caught on a peculiar hole in the wall—definitely Toge’s doing. A soft laugh escaped her lips, a mix of fondness and exasperation. It was a small testament to their chaotic lives, each mark and memory adding character to the otherwise pristine space.

Each step resonated with a sense of ease, yet her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts as she approached the front door, the weight of the night pressing on her.

“Sleeping with the enemy, I see,” a voice emerged from the dimly lit kitchen, teasing yet playful.

Startled, she jumped, her heart racing. “Fuck, Toge!” she hissed.

“You fucking scared me” as she clutches her heart with relief.

He stood in front of the open fridge, the cold light spilling out onto his face as he rummaged through the contents, searching for forgotten leftovers.

“Why are you always at our apartment when you have that massive fridge stocked with food?” she asked, arching an eyebrow, intrigued by his seemingly carefree attitude.

“God forbid I just want to hang out with my friends,” he replied, his tone exaggeratedly innocent, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

“Besides,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows with mischief, “looks like I’ll be seeing you over here much more, huh?” The suggestion hung in the air, charged with unspoken implications.

“Not a word about this, Toge,” she demanded, her voice dropping to a whisper, a finger raised in mock seriousness. She was still wary of waking the others, her heart pounding at the thought.

“Fine, fine,” he said, hands raised in surrender, his grin widening. “Your secret is safe with me, but you owe me.” There was a glint in his eyes, hinting at the mischief he always seemed to conjure.

“Yeah, whatever. I gotta go,” she replied quickly, stepping out the front door. She turned back for a moment, sticking her tongue out at him before gently closing the door behind her.

He laughed softly to himself, feeling a warmth in his chest as he baths in the refrigerator’s cool glow, savouring the moment of solitude.

Just then, a bedroom door creaked open, and footsteps echoed down the hallway, each step heavier and more deliberate as they approached. A silhouette emerged, her forest green hair tousled, eyes bleary with sleep, annoyance etched across her face.

“Who are you talking to?” she mumbled in annoyance, stifling a yawn clearing just waking up.

“The voices in my head.”

extras!

• megumi has longed for the text in so long and it 100% lives up to his expectations

• maki was the one talking to toge at the end it you didn’t get it lmfao

• yes she drove to yuta’s apartment as a distraction from the fight she and yn had (guess we both ain’t shit!!!😂)

• so i’m NOT going to write smut besides it being kinktober like… guys please i do not write smut😭

• but just like it was very much hate sex

• they most definitely will be hooking up again (NO YN DOES NOT HAVE STDS OKAY IY WAS A JOKE)

• fuck of the century (if u get the reference ily)

• iwaoi for couples that match eachothers freak

• panda and nobara were just sitting at home like 🧍‍♀️ “wtf do we do”

• they ended up ordering thai and watching gossip girl in face masks while having a glass of wine and some bud🙂‍↕️

a/n: HELLOOOO SJAP NATION!! 6 DAYS OF BEING EDGED… HOW ARE WE FEELING TODAY!!! EXCITED? SCARED? NERVOUS? WELL YOU GUYS FINALLY GOT THE ANSWER…. it was megumi… i was originally going to put sukuna to add to the plot line but i have… other plans.. for him😊 no actual smau this chapter just bc i wanted to focus on yn and megumi and their development but next chapter is DEFINITELY going to be a fun one to read😏

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[peachyysainz]

NINE IN THE MORNING | op81

SYNOPSIS: This bed shares us, and in this bed, we share one another.

PAIRING: oscar x fem!reader

GENRE: smut (18+), fluff

CW: unprotected sex, fingering, hand job. it’s pretty tame and soft but oscar luvs u and u luv him so! i’d say it’s pretty sweet <3

WORD COUNT: 1,497

a/n: this is my first post on my new blog! (this is pretty tame, enjoy it whilst it lasts)

Through the crack in the curtains, early morning sunlight floods gently into the room. A golden line lands itself along the crisp, white bedsheets, only slightly exposed sections of skin being caught under the light.

Oscar is sleeping, undisturbed. His face has no expression, and you find it easing in moments like this, where his face does nothing to contort in its usual ways when he’s in thought — angry, sad; instead, just his mouth slightly agape as he hums in peace.

Bringing a hand to his jaw, your thumb stroking gently upon the surface of his skin, he stirs slightly. He’s warm.

He’s on his side, facing towards you. The slight kinks in his hair fall over his forehead. Your fingers brush them gently and suddenly — he twitches, and slowly awakens from the movement.

“Sorry,” You hum. Quiet. Soft.

“C’mere.” Oscar mumbles back, still half-asleep, arms reaching out to grab you and pull you into his embrace. He knows your intentions.

His eyes are closed, breath fanning the outer shell of your ear as you pepper delicate kisses along the junction of his neck and shoulder — a spot that is Oscar’s favourite, that you’ve kissed many a time, yet never fails to melt him into your grasp.

Hands trailing down to your hips, Oscar takes the time to feel every inch of your skin. The warmth radiating from the surface; the minuscule rise and fall of your breaths, all as he awakes slowly.

It’s early morning, you can both tell that much. Finally an off day for the pair of you, there’s no requirement to rush right now.

Your hips grind softly against his, both of you entirely bare, the movement unhurried. Oscar’s hands on your hips don’t interfere, until he turns you so that you’re on your back, his figure above you.

“You’re needy this morning,” he grins at you. His hands rest on either side of your head, “Can I take care of you?”

You nod, a breathy ‘Yeah’ leaving your mouth before his lips gently mix with yours. Oscar is always gentle in the morning. He’s tender, careful, and he’s your favourite when he’s like this.

His tongue moves timidly against yours. You reach a hand between the pair of you in order to stroke Oscar’s length. With the action, he sighs into your mouth.

You’re slow, tantalisingly slow, and it makes him grow more needy. You’re taking the time to feel every part of him, each small vein, artery, ridge of his Oscar’s shaft. The way his body stiffens under your touch yet moulds to you.

Oscar rests his forehead against yours, and it’s the first time he breaks the kiss. You’re breathless.

“Need you inside now.” You continue stroking his length, until he takes it from your grasp to position himself properly between your legs.

Oscar enters you, hands guiding himself to where he’s needed the most. He sighs at the contact, at the feeling of you stretching around him; at the way your fingers etch further into his bicep with each inch he slips inside. He mumbles, verging on a moan — yeah, oh, God.

The tightness, but the stretch, a juxtaposition he loves with you. The way your body invites him in, and always makes sure he feels everything. Oscar can’t get lost in the sensation, instead, he must constantly be presented it. Over, and over, and over, he feels the way you almost drag him back inside you.

His thrusts aren’t too hard. He’s gentle, but passionate. He wants to push sounds out of you that are loud enough for him only. Breathless and serene, comforting and tranquil in one another’s vicinity.

Oscar moves his forehead from your own, looking down to where he can watch himself slip in and out of you. A hand comes to hike one of your legs up higher, calloused palm pushing against the back of your thigh. It doesn’t seem possible, but it feels deeper.

“That’s it, there?,” he talks you through it gently, awaiting your response.

Throwing your head back into the pillow, your fingers come to roll circles on your clit, “Mmm, Osc, like that.”

Now, you can feel his eyes on you. Watching your face contort in pleasure, he’s not sure what he enjoys focusing on more — the lewd image of your pussy inviting him in, skin colliding and slapping, or the way your breasts bounce slightly from the impact of his hips rutting into yours, or even the way you struggle to keep your eyes open, and even when you do, your eyelids are hooded and your mouth is agape.

Oscar moves your other thigh, pushing against both now so that they rest atop your stomach. If he was fucking you with more vigour, he’d be damn near bending you in half.

“C-can,” fucking hell, “Can you see better now?,” You’re whining. You’re unsure what you grab now that you can’t continue at your clit anymore, instead aimlessly grasping the sheets.

The man above you has to look at the ceiling for a hot second, convinced he could cum alone from your voice and another moment looking at the way you’re unravelling beneath him.

He curses, “So pretty,” when he finally looks back at you. And you take that as an attempt at answering your question.

A part of you would feel guilty for the fact he’s giving everything to you without a need for you to move, but you needed him, and he’s providing for you.

Oscar is close now, you can tell from the way he now brings his chest flush to yours, allowing your legs to rest. His breath is hot on your neck, and you can hear his soft moans. He’s telling you he’s close now, that you’re so pretty and good for him.

You cling to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, nails digging in slightly. It’s a plea without words — cum now, let me feel you.

With a few more grunts, each increasing in volume, Oscar pulls out suddenly, in near perfect timing. His cum lands in ropes along your stomach. It’s warm.

He rests back on his heels, a hand wiping at his forehead. Sweat. He laughs, “God, I’m out of breath.”

He makes you giggle, and you’re led now, stiff so that his seed doesn’t spill onto the bed sheets. He plants a kiss onto your lower stomach, before he disappears into the bathroom.

It’s not long before he’s back, sitting close to the edge of the bed, wiping you gently. Your fingers trace over his thigh, and you thank him in a quiet voice. Oscar discards the tissues he wiped you down with, coming back onto the bed to lie next to you and pull the duvet back over you both.

One hand props himself up against the pillow, the other sneaks carefully between your thighs. You plant kisses along Oscar’s jaw as he rubs calming circles into your clit, his fingers dipping inside you, curling with a ‘come hither’ motion that makes you grip onto him and call out his name.

The arm keeping his head up comes to snake underneath your neck against the pillow, turning you slightly so that your back is flush with his chest. His fingers continue, as if at a speed tuned perfectly and just for you, and you open your legs wider to invite him to continue.

“Keep your legs open for me,” Oscar kisses atop your head, “‘M gonna get you there.” He promises, and you know he will deliver.

Your moans, mirroring Oscar’s before he reached his climax, increase in volume and desperation. You clutch at his forearm that is wrapped at your collar bone.

Oscar talks you through it again, his lips at your ear, kissing the shell and praising you as he feels your body tense, “Cum for me, please.”

As if by his command, you jolt suddenly, feeling the waves rip through your stomach, a warmth coating your body, and hearing Osc, Osc, Osc! fill the room as he fulfills his duty and lets you ride it out.

You can feel where you’re stuck to him from sweat, the room becoming stuffy and almost unbearable suddenly.

You turn to face Oscar. He’s smiling at you, crinkles forming at the corner of his eyes as you look at him with a slightly dazed expression.

He peppers you with soft pecks to your lips, smiling between each one.

If one of you would break this bubble you found yourself in, and you’d check the time, you’d realise it’s only around 9am. There was plenty more of the morning for you to spend engrossed in one another.

But alas, you stay looking into one another’s eyes, giggling and humming silly little love drunk comments at each other.

Oscar is your favourite when he’s like this. When he’s gentle and kind and caring.

When he holds you again and waits for you to fall back asleep in his arms.

Before he then does the same.

© peachyysainz 2024

[jaythes1mp]

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

6121 words, 34869 characters, 314 sentences, 203 paragraphs, 24.4 pages.

I apologise for the abrupt ending to this chapter, I would’ve posted this yesterday but my draft deleted and I had to re-write everything. So I kind of rushed😔

You slowly blink your eyes open, the haze of sleep still lingering as you take in your surroundings. The room is lit by a soft morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the surroundings.

Confused, you look around and realize you have no recollection of falling asleep on the couch. The last thing you remember is talking to Jason, then nothing. You frown, the grogginess still fogging your thoughts.

You stir, pushing yourself up on the couch, the blanket that had been draped over you now half-sprawled across the floor. Still a bit disoriented, you rub your eyes and look around. When did you fall asleep? The question echoes in your mind, a befuddled frown on your face.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a sudden knock on the door, the sound cutting through the quiet morning air and echoing through the apartment. You blink, momentarily startled as you sit up straighter on the couch.

Who the hell could be knocking at this hour? You think groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You glance over at the digital clock on the wall, the white numbers flashing a bright 01:24 PM.

Oh. — it’s past one in the afternoon. Your eyes widen a bit as the realisation sinks in; you can’t remember the last time you’ve slept in this late, if ever.

With a groan, you push yourself up from the couch, sitting up, the stiffness of sleep evident in your muscles as you stretch out your limbs.

Another knock sounds through the apartment, louder and more insistent this time. Grumbling under your breath, you swing your legs off the couch and stand up, the last traces of sleep slowly fading as curiosity and annoyance take over.

You wince slightly as your feet hit the cold floor, the lack of socks making you feel the chill of the unheated air creeping up your legs. You take a moment to shake away the remnants of sleep, your mind slowly clearing as you move towards the door.

You unlock the door and swing it open, the sight of the taller man leaning against the frame meeting your tired eyes. Dick’s expression shifts, the impatient frown on his face morphing into a more eager smile as he spots you. His grin is oddly comforting.

"Hey," he addresses you, his voice now tinged with a teasing sort of affection. Your tired brain takes a moment to process the words, but you simply roll your eyes and huff softly. Not bothering to hold back the fond smile.

“What are you doing here so early, Grayson?” You don’t remember ever mentioning to him where you lived. Wait, why was he here?

"It's already past one. It's not that early," Dick’s voice cuts through your sleepy thoughts, a playful lilt in his tone. He notices the slightly confused and bewildered look on your face and grins.

"I came to see how you’re doing," he replies, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. Before you can even ask, he adds, "Jason gave me the address."

A pang of curiosity mixed with confusion sparks in your mind at Dick’s words. Jason gave him the address? The unexpected revelation that the two know each other causes your eyebrows to furrow. A flood of questions instantly runs through your brain. How did they know each other? For how long?

You narrow your eyes slightly as you regard Dick, the realisation of this new information sinking in. "You know Jason?"

Dick stiffens slightly, his shoulders straightening as he realises his slip. A soft chuckle escapes his lips, the nervous tone revealing that there’s more to this than he’s letting off.

"You could... definitely say that," he responds, his tone a touch cryptic. The brief flash of unease in his eyes betrays his nonchalant demeanor.

Before you can even react, Dick swiftly brushes past you, stepping into the apartment and moving deeper into the living area. His sudden movement leaves you momentarily speechless. You blink in surprise, your mouth opening to question him as he moves by.

"We’ve got a reservation in an hour," he throws over his shoulder as he continues forward. The sense of urgency in his words spurs you into movement, chasing after him into the room.

Your mind races as you follow Dick further into the apartment. A reservation? You weren't expecting any plans today, least of all with Dick. Questions dance on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be asked, but the time constraint and the sense of urgency in his words makes it impossible to voice them.

"Dick, what –” you attempt to say, but he cuts you off with a firm glance and an impatient wave of his hand. You’ve never seen him so serious, you almost giggle.

"No time for questions," he mumbles, cutting you off, his eyes sharp and focused. The intensity in his gaze only increases as he swiftly starts to move around your apartment, seemingly on a mission. You watch as he makes his way around, his movements swift and purposeful, as if he's looking for something. The grin never leaves his lips.

You open your mouth to protest, but an impatient glance from Dick silences you. The look on his face instantly clues you in that something important is happening.

As he moves around the living area, Dick quickly and efficiently starts to scoop up various items of clothing. A hoodie, a pair of shoes, a jacket. You watch as he gathers them up, placing them beside him, as if he's already planning your entire outfit for the day.

You were almost impressed. Every piece of clothing he had picked up was yours, and there was 10x more of Jason’s things scattered around the room.

Unbeknownst to you he’d memorised every article of clothing in your wardrobe. They all had. Needing everything to be perfect for when their plan finally comes into play.

Without pausing, Dick slings the now neatly folded stack of clothing over your shoulder, the soft fabric landing with a small puff of air. With a quick move, he turns away and begins searching the room for a bag.

You sigh, catching the clothes before they fall to the floor and raise a silent brow. “Is this you asking me to change?”

He shoots you a small smile, it’s apologetic.

Dick glances back at you as he continues searching the room for a bag, a sly smile on his lips. "Not particularly asking," he replies, his tone playful but firm. "It's more of a gentle suggestion."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering over your current clothing, lingering on the items of Jason's strewn around the room. He rolls his eyes internally at the sight, knowing all too well who they belonged to.

Returning his focus back to his search, he suddenly spots a small backpack shoved underneath a chair in the corner. Triumphant, he moves over and picks it up, the familiar canvas material gripped in his hand.

He turns back to you, holding up the backpack with a triumphant smile. "Found the bag," he announces, tossing it towards you before resuming his search. His eyes scan the room with methodical precision, leaving no spot unchecked.

Despite the confusion and the thousand questions racing through your mind, you remain standing in the middle of the room, a nervous yet puzzled smile on your face. You glance down at the clothes in your arms, the soft fabric pooling in your grip. Your gaze then flickers over to Dick, watching as he searches through the space.

"Why do we need a bag?" you finally ask, your voice betraying your bewildered state. The sound of your words hangs in the air, waiting for an answer.

Dick pauses in his movements, his fingers curling around the strap of a jacket. He looks over at you, a hint of hesitance in his eyes. He can sense the confusion and worry in your voice, the unease in the way your body has gone tense.

He lets out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He walks over to where you stand, a few steps away, and leans against the back of a chair, his gaze meeting yours.

“We just do.” His voice is soft, an attempt at reassurance.

“Don’t worry about it,” he adds, his tone shifting to a more gentle, soothing one.

The answer is vague, unsatisfying. With a soft huff of impatience, you spin on your heel and march down the corridor, disappearing into your bedroom and shutting the door with an audible click. Dick remains behind in the room, watching your hasty departure with an amused twinkle in his eye.

He moves forward and leans back against the side of the couch, a fond smile on his face as he listens to the soft rustle of you changing behind the closed door. It’s an illusion of privacy. If any of them were really interested they could just watch over the cameras.

After a few moments, the sound of the door handle turning catches his attention. He glances up to see you emerge from the bedroom, now dressed in the clothes he had gathered for you. The clothes fit perfectly, just as he had envisioned.

He pushes himself away from the couch, his gaze sweeping appreciatively over your form. His smile widens as he crosses the room towards you, stopping just a step away.

"See, didn't I pick the best outfit?" he teases, his voice gentle. He lifts his hand to give the sleeve of your hoodie a light tug, the material soft under his fingers.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in every feature. It's a subtle study, an unconscious way of reassuring himself that you're okay, that you're here and safe.

You stand with crossed arms, a small frown on your face as you regard Dick. Your irritation is evident, your annoyance at his presence and the lack of answers growing with each passing moment.

Dick glances up, immediately sensing the irritation in your stance. A sheepish smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. "What's that look for?" he teases, trying to lighten the mood.

You narrow your eyes slightly, your irritation deepening at Dick’s attempt to play it off lightly. You can’t help the small sigh that escapes your lips as you shift uncomfortably on your feet. The silence hanging in the air only adds to your growing annoyance.

"Dick, seriously," you say abruptly, cutting through his banter. Your voice is firm, demanding an answer. "Why am I changing? Where are we going? You’re being ridiculously vague."

Dick sighs as your tone washes over him, his smile faltering slightly. He had hoped to avoid this for just a little longer, but he knows you’ll never relent until you get answers.

He runs a hand through his hair, tousling the dark locks slightly. His expression is serious as he stares back at you.

"We’re going out.” it’s a simple statement, one that doesn’t provide any further explanation or context.

Your frown deepens, the vague answer doing nothing to quell your frustration. You open your mouth to speak, ready to press for more information, but Dick cuts you off.

“And before you ask,” he begins, holding up a hand, “I can't tell you where.”

His voice is steady and firm. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes as he gazes at you, a mixture of concern and determination. He knows he can’t reveal too much, not yet at least.

You sigh softly and approach him, your arms held outward. There's a slight pout on your face, the expression betraying your annoyance. You're surprised that Dick didn't immediately embrace you as is his usual habit upon seeing you. You can't even remember the last time he hadn't.

Dick grins at your pout, recognizing the familiar gesture of annoyance. He chuckles softly as he pushes off the couch and steps forward, wrapping his arms immediately around your waist.

He pulls you closer, drawing you into the comforting warmth of his embrace. Under different circumstances, he would take a moment to tease you further, the pout always a favourite of his, but right now there's a sense of urgency weighing on his shoulders.

His arms tighten around you, holding you against him firmly. The solid planes of his chest press against yours, the familiar scent of him enveloping you entirely.

He can feel the tension in your body, the frustration and confusion still evident in the way you hold yourself. He rubs his hands gently up and down your back, trying to soothe the tension away. His fingers press softly into your skin, their familiar touch reassuring.

Dick rests his chin on the top of your head, his eyes closing for a moment. He can feel the rise and fall of your chest against his, the rhythm of your breathing, the steady beat of your heart. He memorizes each sensation, committing them to memory.

He takes a deep breath, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose. He inhales deeply, the familiar fragrance calming his nerves. He can hear your own steadying breaths, the soft exhale against his chest.

With his arms still wrapped around you, he murmurs into your hair, the words almost lost in the soft locks. "Trust me, okay?" His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.

You respond immediately to his warm embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him closer. You squeeze gently, your grip firm yet gentle on his body. As you look up at him, a small smile begins to form on your face. The annoyance from moments before begins to slowly melt away under the comfort of his closeness.

Your gaze meets his, and Dick watches as the furrow between your brows smoothes out, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He feels the tension in your body easing, the frustration slowly fading under his touch.

A familiar fondness blossoms in his chest. He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes. His hand then cups your cheek, thumb gently tracing the curve of your skin. “Ready to go?” He doesn’t want to ever forget this image. His little bird...

A giddy grin spreads across his face.

You roll your eyes, but the gesture is playful rather than irritated. You tilt your head into his touch, your expression softening

"I guess," you respond, a hint of sarcasm lacing your voice. Despite the uncertainty and the lack of answers, you feel a sense of reassurance in being with him. You trust him implicitly.

You push against his chest lightly, breaking the embrace just enough to look at him properly. Your gaze is scrutinizing, trying to decipher the secret he's holding back.

Dick grins as you pull away, his arms falling back to his sides. He knows that look in your eyes all too well. He can see the curiosity and the underlying trust mixed with a hint of annoyance. He's almost amused by the sight.

He returns your gaze, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “You'll find out soon enough, don't worry.”

He turns away, picking his jacket up from the back of a chair. He slings it over his shoulder, gesturing towards the door. “C'mon, we've got a reservation to catch.”

You huff in annoyance but concede, silently resigning yourself to the secret for now. You grab your jacket and follow Dick to the door.

"Alright, but I hope you know I'm grilling you as soon as we're done," you warn, your tone playful.

Dick chuckles, a low, deep sound that sends a shiver down your spine. He holds the door open for you, gesturing for you to step through first.

"Oh, I have no doubt," he replies, his voice filled with a hint of amusement. As you walk past him, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

The unexpected action catches you off guard, and you turn to look at him in surprise. The small gesture is so like him, and yet... something feels different. His grip is a little more firm than usual, the touch laced with a sense of protectiveness.

Something feels off but you just can’t put your finger on it.

Sure, Grayson was an affectionate person, you’d be more surprised if he didn’t have his hands on you in some way, it’s something you’ve grown familiar with. But something just seemed different today.

He feels you looking at him, your gaze piercing. Dick gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, his thumb caressing your skin in a gentle pattern. He smiles down at you, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

He leads you out of the apartment and into the hallway, his stride purposeful yet measured. The light in the corridor is harsh, casting shadows on his face, making his features appear sharper than usual.

As he continues guiding you down the hallway, you keep glancing at him. Each time, your gaze traces his profile. His face looks slightly tired, the usual brightness in his eyes less vibrant than you're used to. The shadows cast by the hallway lights accentuate the hard lines on his face, making his jaw and shoulders appear tenser than usual.

The silence between you feels heavier than normal, and you can't shake the feeling that something is off, despite his attempts at normalcy. It's unnerving, and the unease nags at you.

Dick glances at you out of the corner of his eye, noticing the frequent glances and the growing unease on your face. He can sense your tension, the subtle signs of your increasing worry. He squeezes your hand again, trying to provide a small reassurance, but it doesn't seem to ease your concern.

He takes a deep breath, his thoughts racing as he tries to find the right words, a way to reassure you without giving anything away. He knows he can't tell you the truth, not yet, but the look on your face twists something in his chest.

Dick opens his mouth to speak, to offer some reassurance, an assurance that everything is fine, that you have nothing to worry about. But the words get stuck in his throat, the lie refusing to come out. The silence between you grows heavier, the air thick with the unsaid words.

He can feel your hand trembling slightly in his grasp, a stark contrast to the firm grip he's holding onto. He doesn't want to see that look of worry on your face, he hates it, the sight making his heart ache.

He quickens his pace, his strides becoming longer, more determined. He's not sure if it's to escape your searching gaze or to get to their destination quicker. Maybe a bit of both.

The silence continues, and the tension between you only seems to grow. The walls of the hallway close in around you, the shadows becoming sharper with every step. You're about to break the silence when Dick suddenly stops, causing you to almost stumble into his back.

You catch yourself just in time, blinking in surprise. You look around to find that he's stopped in front of an elevator at the end of the hallway.

Dick reaches out and hits the elevator call button without looking at you. His gaze remains fixed straight ahead. The silence is deafening, the only sound being the steady beat of your heart in your ears and the soft hum of the elevator as it approaches.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft "ding," breaking the stillness. Dick steps forward, pulling you along.

He leads you into the elevator, his hand still firmly grasping yours. As the doors slide closed, sealing you both inside, Dick turns to face you.

His gaze is intense, the shadows on his face seeming even more pronounced in the harsh lighting of the elevator. For a moment, he doesn’t speak, his eyes roaming over your face. It’s almost as if he’s trying to memorise every detail, every contour, every look of anxiety on your expression.

You clearly your throat, trying to get rid of the tension and have your usual banter back. Rather than this... whatever this is.

The sound of your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He blinks, his mind momentarily lost in the maze of worries and what-ifs. He focuses on you, refocusing his attention on you and the current situation.

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, an attempt to ease the tension. It’s a poor imitation of his usual grin, the familiar comfort not fully reaching his eyes. He lifts your hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over your knuckles.

Your cheeks would’ve tinged a soft pink under normal circumstances, but the look in Dick’s eyes instantly extinguishes any hint of such a reaction. It’s a look more reminiscent of an older brother or a friend, not a lover. It was almost... dark. You weren’t sure how to feel.

“You’re worrying too much," He tells you, his voice low and rough.

As he speaks, he begins to trace his fingers gently up and down the inside of your wrist, the pad of his thumb brushing against your pulse point. It's an action he does often, a habit he has formed over the years to soothe you, help you calm down. But now, it feels different. The action, though familiar, feels forced, like he's going through the motions rather than genuinely trying to ease your anxiety.

He looks into your eyes, concern etched into every feature. "Trust me," he reassures, albeit in a strangely empty tone.

The elevator dings again, signifying your arrival on the ground floor. The sound feels like a release from some untold tension.

Dick gives your hand a final squeeze before dropping your hand to open the elevator door. The cool breeze caresses your face as the fresh, outdoor air hits your lungs. It's a relief to be out of the small, claustrophobic space of the elevator. But the tension still hangs between you like a thick veil, unseen but undeniable.

As you step out of the elevator side by side, you can't help but glance back at him.

His gaze is fixed straight ahead, his jaw set in a tight line. You've never seen him like this, so... stiff, if that's the right word. It's unnerving, the contrast between his usual laid-back demeanor and the current brooding aura surrounding him.

Dick's shoulders are tense under his leather jacket, and his hands are shoved deep into the pockets. He looks like he's carrying the weight of the world, a stark contradiction to the playful man you know.

You shake your head. You’re probably reading too much into things.

You remind yourself that Dick is nothing but expressive, his emotions always written right across his face. He’s never been one to keep things bottled up, always preferring to let out whatever he’s feeling with a healthy dose of charm and wit. But the man walking next to you is the opposite of that.

Dick takes a sudden left turn, leading you onto the main street. The bustling city life greets you, the usual sounds of traffic and chatter providing a stark contrast to the tension between you two.

You let out a shaky breath and move a little faster to match his pace, your hand wrapping around his shoulder. A small smile dancing on your lips. “Cmon then. Can’t be late to your little mystery, now can we?”

He practically croons when you initiate the touch, a small real grin tugs at his lips.

The familiarity of your voice eases some of the tension in his shoulders, and for a moment, he looks almost like his usual self.

He reaches up to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer against his side. "Don’t worry," he assures, the familiar playfulness finally returning to his tone. "I’ve got everything under control. We’ll be just on time, and you’ll have all your answers soon."

His grip on you is firm, almost possessive, as if making sure you’re as close to him as possible.

Your smile widens at his response, some of the earlier unease melting away under his touch. This is more like the Dick you know; relaxed, charming, comforting. You lean into him, your body molding against his.

The atmosphere between you is still tense, an undercurrent of unspoken words lingering in the air. But his casual tone and reassuring words are doing their job. For now, at least.

“See?” he grins as you lean into him, his hand tracing small circles on your hip. “Nothing to worry about."

He glances down at you, his eyes taking in your slightly more relaxed form. For a brief moment, the mask slips, and a flash of concern flickers across his face. But it's gone before you can fully register it, replaced once again by that confident, charming grin.

He steers you down the street, effortlessly navigating the crowded sidewalks. People move out of his way without even realising, his presence exuding a subtle power and authority.

He keeps you close as you walk, his hand still holding onto your hip, guiding you along.

"You’ll like tonight," he reassures, his voice low as he leans down to speak softly into your ear. "I promise."

The evening has arrived, and the night sky is like a canvas splashed with deep blues and purples. The city’s lights glitter like thousands of stars, casting a warm glow over the streets.

Dick leads you down a quieter street, away from the hustle and bustle of the main road. The ambiance of the area is distinctly more upscale, the shops and restaurants here a noticeable step above the rest of the city.

He finally stops in front of a quaint little bistro, the soft glow of the outdoor lanterns casting shadows on his face.

The bistro is quaint and unassuming, but the soft glow of the outdoor lanterns betrays the upscale nature of the establishment. The menu is displayed in the front, the words written in an elegant script. It’s clear that this isn’t your typical fast food joint.

Dick turns to you, a smug smile on his face, clearly pleased with himself. "Told you I’ve got this under control," he grins, motioning towards the entrance. "C’mon."

He holds the door open for you, ushering you into the restaurant. The interior is just as upscale as you’d expect, the walls painted in warm, soothing creams and golds, the hardwood flooring shining softly in the ambient lighting. Soft, instrumental music plays in the background, creating a cozy atmosphere.

A sharp, crisply dressed host approaches you almost immediately, his back straight, chin held high. "Reservation for Grayson," Dick tells him, his tone confident and casual.

The waitress blinks in surprise, a grin stretching across her painted red lips. “The four in one show?”

You tilt your head in confusion, not quite understanding the reference. However, Dick grins back, a twinkle in his eye. "That’s the one," he replies casually.

The waitress nods in understanding and leads you to the reserved area. As you follow her, you notice Dick’s hand instinctively finds its way back to your waist, a possessive yet comforting gesture.

The reserved area is tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, secluded from the rest of the dining area. It's a cozy, intimate space, with soft lighting, a small, circular table, and comfortable, inviting chairs.

Dick pulls out your chair for you, waiting until you're settled before sitting down himself.

"What the hell was the waitress talking about?" you ask, leaning your cheek against your palm.

Dick chuckles as he takes his seat across from you, a sly smile playing upon his lips. "You’ll see," he replies evasively, picking up the leather-bound menu sitting in front of him.

He scans the menu listlessly, clearly not really paying attention to the words. His gaze drifts towards you occasionally, watching your every move like a hawk.

You’re preoccupied with staring down at the menu, a frown of concentration on your face and a slight tilt to your head. The elegant, tiny cursive script seems almost illegible to you, making you squint down at it with increasing frustration. After a moment, you huff and turn the menu onto its side, hoping that a different angle may help you decipher the elusive words.

Dick, who had been watching you struggle for the past few minutes, can't help but let out a soft chuckle at your antics.

"You struggling there?" he teases with a smirk.

“How can anyone read this?” You huff, putting the styled paper down in front of you and slouching back in the chair.

Dick grins warmly at your disgruntled expression, finding it amusing and endearing.

"You get used to it," he replies, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. "Reading fancy menus is part of the experience, you know."

He leans back in his own chair, his hands folding on the table in front of him. He watches as you continue to grumble under your breath, clearly not appreciating the overly-stylised fonts. He wanted to coo at how cute you looked with that expression on your face.

"Whoever designed these is a sadist," you mutter half-heartedly as you continue to glare at the menu, as if you could force the words to make sense through sheer will alone.

Dick laughs again, a deep, rich sound that fills the small, intimate space you’re in.

"You’re not wrong," he comments. "But don’t worry, I’ll help you read the rest of it if you need." He grins.

You look up, your eyes narrowing. “I’m not a child. I don’t need help to read.”

Dick holds up his hands in surrender, a smirk still playing at the corners of his lips. "Hey, I never said you did," he responds, that charming tone still in his voice.

But there’s a hint of something else in his eyes, a mix of mockery, amusement, and something else you can’t quite place. Love. It fades almost as soon as it appears, leaving you to wonder if it was even there in the first place.

"I was just offering my services as a personal menu translator," he teases.

Dick's smirk deepens as you roll your eyes playfully, clearly enjoying your little bit of banter.

"You're cute when you're stubborn," he comments, the compliment slipping out almost effortlessly, like it's something he says every day.

He leans back in his seat, sipping at his glass of water. There’s a brief pause in the conversation, both of you silently surveying the menu before you speak up again.

"So, finding anything interesting on there? Or is it all just gibberish to you?"

“Oh, shut up.” you hiss.

Dick laughs again. He can’t help it. Your defiant, grumpy expression is just so adorable. It’s a complete 180 from your usual self.

"Hey, it’s not my fault you can’t read fancy, tiny writing," he retorts, clearly enjoying your little pout.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Seriously, though, find anything you want? I’ll order for us if you want," he offers, the suggestion a small peace offering.

You shoot him a half-hearted glare, though it lacks any real heat. The corner of your lip is still tugged up in a half-smile.

"I’ve got my eye on a few things," you reply, finally relenting and putting the menu down. You lean back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Alright, Mr. Fancy Menu Translator," you say dramatically. "Surprise me."

Dick grins at your response, clearly taking pleasure in your surrender.

"Surprise it is then," he chuckles, his gaze sweeping over the menu again, though his focus is clearly on you rather than the list of items.

He flags down a nearby waiter and places your orders, his voice confident and suave as he converses with him. When the waiter departs, he turns his attention back to you, a smug expression on his face.

"Alright, you're in my hands now," he smirks. Your name rolling off his tongue naturally at the end.

You roll your eyes dramatically at his cockiness, though you can't deny that you secretly enjoy it. Dick always knew how to make things interesting and entertaining.

"In your hands, huh?" you muse, arching an eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"

You lean forward, resting your chin on your palm, watching him closely.

Dick smirks back, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. "Oh, I think you should be very worried," he teases, his tone dripping with playful menace.

He leans forward as well, his forearms resting on the edge of the table. He watches you with those piercing blue eyes, that familiar, charming smile still on his face.

"But don’t worry," he adds, his tone shifting into something slightly more genuine. "I’ll take good care of you."

You grimace and let out a mock gag, dramatically clutching your stomach as a playful response. Your voice drips with sarcasm as you shoot back, “What, did you steal that from a soap opera?”

Dick feigns offence, a hand dramatically flying to his chest as he gasps dramatically. "Me? Steal from a soap opera? I’m wounded," he grins, his tone equally as sarcastic as yours.

"You’re supposed to swoon, by the way. That’s usually the natural response to such declarations," he teases. Matching your humor.

Despite your sarcastic banter, there’s a hint of a smile on your face. Dick’s easy-going, sarcastic demeanor is something you appreciate about him. It makes even the most mundane situations more enjoyable, and it’s a stark contrast to his more broody, serious moods.

"Sorry to disappoint," you reply dryly. "I’ll be sure to swoon next time. Maybe I’ll even swoon so hard I fall out of my seat."

Dick chuckles heartily at your retort, the sound deep and genuine. He’s enjoying this little back-and-forth.

"Careful there," he teases. "I’d hate for you to give yourself a concussion. I’m still enjoying my night."

He reaches out to gently pinch your cheek before pulling his hand away, his smile still firmly in place.

You scoff at the action, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your cheek. A soft glare thrown his way.

"Stop it," you warn, though your tone lacks any real seriousness. "You’re such a child sometimes."

Dick grins unrepentantly, clearly unworried about your 'warning.'

"You love it," he says, his tone cocky as ever. He has the smug expression of someone who knows exactly how true his statement is.

"I do not," you say petulantly, though your tone betrays your words. You try to glare at him, but your lips are twitching with suppressed laughter. It’s impossible to stay annoyed when Dick is in one of his playful moods like this.

"You're infuriating, you know that?"

Dick grins wider, clearly satisfied with your response. He leans back in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Oh, I know," he replies, his tone smug. "But you love it, admit it."

The atmosphere between you two is still lightly playful, the tension from earlier having lifted. It feels like things are back to normal, banter and all.

“It sounds like you’re just trying to get me to tell you that.” You shoot him an unimpressed look.

Dick chuckles, not denying your accusation. "And if I am?" he responds, that cocky grin still on his face.

He leans forward again, his gaze never leaving yours. "Admit that you love it when I tease you, and I’ll stop."

There’s a hint of challenge in his tone, as if he’s certain that you’ll give in.

In his head, Dick's heart is practically soaring. The thought of you telling him first, before any of the others, that you love him is sending his emotions spiraling. Giddy, elated, and a bit overwhelmed, he can barely contain the sheer joy that's overwhelming him. His baby bird. Please, just say it.

“Yeah, alright. Whatever. So what if I do?” You relent, leaning back in the chair.

Dick can barely contain his emotions. He wants to leap across the table and scoop you into his arms, to shower you with praise and declarations of platonic love.

But he manages to maintain his composure, schooling his features into a smug smile.

"See? Was that so hard?" he grins, the triumph in his voice clear. "Admitting that you love my teasing."

He leans his elbow on the table and rests his chin in the palm of his hand, watching you intently. His gaze is almost smoldering, an intensity behind the playfulness.

"I knew you couldn’t resist my charm," he adds, his voice dropping an octave lower.

You snort.

No use of y/n, no descriptive features relating to the reader’s appearance, no gender mentioned.

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Kind of hate this, but oh well!🥰

[chheolie]

i think you might be a little disappointed that they are divorced, so here is the second part

it was a quiet morning, and the sun had barely risen on the horizon when you grabbed your phone to check the messages. as you swiped the screen, one notification caught your attention: "reminder: trip to the beach house - d/n’s birthday." your heart tightened as you read those words. the beach house had always been a special place, full of happy memories, but it also held painful ones, especially from the last trip where you and seungcheol were together as a couple. it was there that your relationship came to an end.

even so, you knew that this trip was important, especially for your daughter, who loved that place more than anywhere else. with a deep sigh, you decided to send a message to seungcheol, something you had been putting off for days, fearing what he might say.

"are you going on the trip?" you wrote, hesitantly, feeling the weight of uncertainty in your words.

minutes that felt like hours passed before his reply arrived. when the phone vibrated, you opened the message with a nervousness you couldn’t hide.

"yes, it’s important for her." his words were direct, but they carried a responsibility that both of you shared. although your marriage had ended, the love for your daughter continued to bind you together in an unbreakable way.

on the day of the trip, seungcheol arrived at your house to pick you up. your daughter, as excited as always, ran into her father’s arms with contagious joy. her smile upon seeing him left no doubt that this trip meant a lot to her. as you watched the scene, a mix of emotions washed over you. it was good to see them together, but his presence always brought back memories of what you had lost.

during the drive to the beach house, the atmosphere in the car was strange. your daughter talked nonstop, excited about the weekend plans, but you and seungcheol barely exchanged words. it was hard to ignore the weight of the past, especially knowing that the last time you were at that house as a family was also when you decided to go your separate ways.

when you finally arrived, your daughter ran inside the house, exploring each room as if it was her first time there. for her, that place would always be magical, full of good memories. you and seungcheol began unloading the car in silence, exchanging brief and uncomfortable glances. neither of you knew quite how to act. the silence was almost suffocating, and both seemed hesitant to say anything that might open old wounds.

the next morning, you woke up early, with the first rays of sunlight gently illuminating the house. there was a quiet stillness in the air, broken only by the soft sound of the waves. as you stepped out of the bedroom, you found seungcheol already awake, sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee in his hands. he seemed thoughtful, lost in his own thoughts. for a moment, you considered going back to the bedroom, but you decided to join him, feeling that perhaps it was the right time to talk about what you both had been avoiding for so long.

sitting beside him, you felt the weight of the silence between you, but also a strange sense of peace. the smell of coffee mixed with the salty sea breeze, creating a nostalgic atmosphere. it was then that memories of the last trip came flooding back. you looked out at the horizon, trying to find the right words.

"it was here that everything fell apart, wasn’t it?" your voice came out low, almost fearful, as if reliving that moment could bring back all the pain you had worked so hard to overcome.

seungcheol sighed deeply, without taking his eyes off the sea. "yes, it was here. and i still think about that day, about the things i could have done differently. not a day goes by without me asking myself where exactly things started to go wrong."

his words hit you in a way you didn’t expect. there was so much regret in his voice, a pain that mirrored your own. "i think about that too... about how everything could have been different. but i think that at the time, we were both so lost, trying to find our own way, that we ended up drifting apart. i felt so alone, even when you were around. like there was an invisible barrier between us."

he turned to you, his eyes showing a vulnerability he rarely let show. "i never wanted to make you feel that way, y/n. but i was so focused on work, on fulfilling all the responsibilities, that i ended up losing you in the process. i didn’t know how to handle the pressure, and it destroyed us."

before the conversation could deepen further, the soft sound of footsteps coming from the bedroom interrupted the moment. your daughter had woken up, bringing with her the vibrant energy of a child full of expectations for the day. seungcheol stood up with a smile, offering to take her for a walk while you stayed home, resting and processing everything that had been said.

hours later, when seungcheol and your daughter returned, you greeted them with a smile, noticing that they were carrying bags of food. your daughter ran up to you, her eyes shining with excitement. "mommy! look what we brought! we got your favorite dessert!" she exclaimed, barely able to contain her excitement.

you looked at seungcheol, who gave you a knowing smile, and felt a lump form in your throat. that simple gesture, but full of care, moved you in a way you didn’t expect. for a moment, all the repressed emotions came to the surface, and you found yourself struggling to hold back the tears. but it was useless. the tears began to fall, and you tried to disguise it, smiling at your daughter so she wouldn’t notice.

seungcheol noticed immediately and approached, concerned. "hey, are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice full of care as he reached out to hold your hand.

you nodded, though your voice faltered as you tried to respond. "yes... it’s just that... this means a lot to me. you both mean a lot to me."

he gently squeezed your hand, his eyes fixed on yours as if he wanted to say something but was choosing his words carefully. the moment was delicate, full of unspoken emotions and feelings that you both were trying to process.

the afternoon unfolded in a series of joyful and simple moments. you cooked together, played on the beach, and for a moment, everything felt like it used to. your daughter’s laughter echoed through the house, and you felt that maybe, just maybe, the weight of the past was finally starting to lift. the atmosphere was light, and it was hard to believe that just a few hours ago, you were so nervous about spending the weekend with him.

when the evening came, you prepared the small birthday party with all the love you could muster. your daughter was radiant, and the house was filled with laughter and music. the table was loaded with sweets and snacks that you had prepared together, and the cake, decorated in her favorite colors, sat in the center, waiting to be cut.

you sang "happy birthday," and the smile on your daughter’s face as she blew out the candles was the highlight of the night. she closed her eyes tightly, making a wish, and then, with a determined puff, blew out the candles. the applause and cheers of "hurray!" echoed through the house, and for a moment, everything seemed perfect. you and seungcheol exchanged glances during the celebration, and there was something in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in a long time—tenderness and affection that warmed your heart.

after dinner, with full bellies and light hearts, your daughter finally began to show signs of fatigue. she yawned and rubbed her eyes, making you and seungcheol laugh. "i think it’s time for bed, little one," you said softly, as you picked her up, feeling the comforting weight of her against your chest.

seungcheol followed you to her room, where you both tucked her into bed. she snuggled into the blankets, the smile still present on her lips. "it was the best birthday ever," she murmured before closing her eyes and falling asleep. you both stood there in silence for a moment, watching her sleep, both feeling a mix of emotions—love, nostalgia, and something more, something that was bringing you closer again.

when you left the room, the silence that followed was filled with tension, but it wasn’t a bad tension. it was a tension full of possibilities, of things left unsaid. seungcheol closed the door softly, then turned to you. "she was so happy today. thank you for this, y/n."

"i was happy too, cheol," you replied, the nickname slipping out before you could stop it. he had always been "cheol" to you, and in that moment, it felt natural to call him that again.

he smiled, a smile that warmed something inside you. "i missed you," he admitted, his voice low and sincere. "not just because of our daughter, but... you. i missed us."

his words hung in the air, and you knew the moment had come. everything that had been repressed, all the unspoken words and hidden emotions, began to surface. "i missed you too," you confessed, your voice shaky. "but i was so scared, seungcheol... scared that we’d make the same mistakes again."

he took a step towards you, stopping just inches away. "i know i made mistakes, and i’m sorry for all of them. but i never stopped loving you, not for a second. and today, seeing our daughter so happy, here with you... i realized there’s still something between us, something that might be worth fighting for."

you felt your heart race at his words, at the way he was looking at you with such intensity. "are you saying... you want to try again?"

"yes," he whispered, reaching out to gently cup your face. "i want to try again. i want to be a family again. if you still want that too."

tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded, unable to speak. instead, you closed the distance between you, leaning in until your lips met his. the kiss was soft, tentative, but it held the promise of so much more—a new beginning, a second chance. your bodies molded to one another with an ease that felt natural, as if all the scars and distances between you had never existed.

seungcheol pulled you closer, his hands firmly gripping your waist, and you found yourself sinking into that familiar, comforting feeling where the world around you ceased to matter. the warmth of your bodies, the feel of his touch against your skin, all of it stirred memories of times before the divorce, when you were inseparable, when the problems had not yet overshadowed the love you shared.

as the kiss deepened, the passion between the two of you reignited in an almost desperate way, as if you were trying to make up for all the lost time. seungcheol's hands traveled up your back, exploring every curve he knew so well, while you held his face, feeling the softness of his skin under your fingers. there was an urgency in his movements, as if he were trying to imprint himself in your memory, and you felt the same desire to make him understand just how much he still meant to you.

when you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, but neither of you moved away. seungcheol rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, while his fingers remained tangled in your hair. the silence between the two of you was filled with rapid breaths and the sound of hearts beating in unison, as if both of you were trying to absorb what had just happened.

"i love you, y/n. i always have," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion, the truth of his words echoing in the space between you.

you felt tears welling up again, but this time they were not of sadness, but of relief, of a renewed hope seeping into your heart. "i love you too, seungcheol. i always have. but i need to know that we won't lose ourselves again."

he opened his eyes, and what you saw there was a determination you had never seen before. his eyes, dark and intense, showed the depth of what he was feeling, the gravity of the moment. "we won't, y/n," he promised, his voice low but filled with conviction. "we'll do this right, together. for us and for our daughter. i won't let you fall again."

the intensity of his declaration made your heart pound harder. you were there, in a vulnerable place, but it was exactly what you both needed—to remember how perfectly you fit, how you were made for each other, and how, despite everything, that love still existed and was strong enough to survive.

the night continued, not with more words, but with gestures. you both let the feelings speak for themselves, rediscovering each other slowly and carefully. seungcheol's hands traced your contours as if he were rediscovering familiar territory, and at the same time, something entirely new. each touch, each caress, reignited something within you both, an old desire that had never disappeared, only lain dormant.

the intimacy between you was familiar, but there was a new layer of depth, an understanding that both of you had changed and grown, and that now you were ready to try again. the walls you had built, the hurts of the past, all seemed to vanish as you gave yourselves to one another.

when you finally nestled in bed, with seungcheol's arms firmly around you, something inside you settled. his chest was the safe haven you had lost, the place where all your fears and uncertainties seemed to disappear. the past was there, yes, but the future seemed brighter than ever, as if all the broken pieces were finally falling into place.

for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that everything would be alright. seungcheol was by your side, and you knew that together, you could overcome anything. he kissed your forehead softly, and the warmth of his touch was the confirmation that this was where you had always meant to be.

i think you would like to be informed that the second part is available. thank you for your support and patience, by the way. ( @kkkthrn @coupsbestleader @minhui896 @bouclesdefeu @lanatheawesome )