#I also hate the ending but I needed to force myself to end it to get myself in the habit of finishing things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kyunghwannie · 2 days ago

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Entangled In A Dance Of Love (Part: 3) [+18]

TWICE's Minatozaki Sana x M!Reader ft. TWICE's Hirai Momo

➤ Words: 10914 words.

➤ Tags: Small Vanilla sex with Momo only for now (Blowjob and Pussy penetration only)

(Bare with me please. I have plans with Sana but the limit block of Tumblr is just messing my rhythm and style of writing more)

➤ Description: Momo and You got together? Wow, It's like a dream come true to be the partner of the Dance Queen of TWICE but what about the aegyo queen? The one who also had feelings for you but lost to her best friend like member but...knowing Sana, She wasn’t one to lose or give up something her heart yearns.

☞ A small rant, my dear readers. I hate Tumblr's 1000 block limit. Due to my writing style being not paragraph like, its hard to make it. So that's why, i had to make many parts

Is it truly the end..?

---

The sound of the door shutting echoed in my head like a dull thunder. I didn’t move for a few seconds, my gaze frozen on the space where Sana had been standing.

Her smile—that sad, tight-lipped smile. It was haunting me.

I swallowed hard and shifted, trying to sit up. But before I could, a familiar weight pressed against me again.

Momo.

Her arms tightened around my torso from behind, her bare skin warm against mine.

Her voice was soft but firm.

Momo: “Don’t.”

I frowned, still trying to push myself up.

Y/N: “Momo, I need to—”

Her hold tightened.

Momo: “No.”

I froze.

She buried her face into my neck, her breath warm against my skin. Her legs hooked around mine, locking me in place. I could feel her heart beating steadily against my back, as if she wasn’t even slightly shaken by what had just happened.

Or rather—she was, but she refused to show it.

Momo: “Sana will be fine.”

Her voice was so certain. As if she had already decided it for her. But I wasn’t convinced.

Y/N: “Momo, she…” I hesitated. “She looked hurt.”

Momo was silent for a moment, and then—she sighed. Not ouf frustration. Not out of impatience.

But as if she had already foreseen this moment and had been waiting for it to happen.

Momo: “She’s Sana.”

She said it like it explained everything.

I turned my head slightly, glancing down at her.

Y/N: “And?”

Momo: “She’s tough,” Momo murmured. “She always has been. She’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t sure if that was the truth—or if Momo was just convincing herself of it.

But I wasn’t convinced. Not after seeing the way Sana's entire expression crumbled. Not after seeing her fingers tremble. Not after hearing that forced, painful laugh.

I exhaled and tried to move again, but Momo held me down.

Momo: “Stay.”

It wasn’t just a request. It was a command.

And I hesitated.

Because this was Momo.

And in the months that she had wormed her way into my comfort zone, into my daily routines, into my heart—I had somehow become…weak to her

I felt my shoulders relax against my will.

Momo felt it too, because I could feel her lips curve into a small smirk against my skin. She knea. She knew that i was falling. Falling for her control. For her dominance.

For the way she could wrap herself around me, both figuratively and literally, and make me stay exactly where she wanted me.

I sighed.

Y/N: “…Momo.”

She hummed, nuzzling into my shoulder.

Y/N: “This isn’t fair to Sana.”

Momo was quiet for a moment.

Then, she tilted her head up, her lips grazing my jawline as she whispered:

Momo: “Fairness doesn’t exist in love.”

I tensed.

Her voice was so dangerously smooth. Like she had been waiting to say that. Like she had already thought about it long before this moment. And it made something inside me shiver. Because she was right.

Fairness didn’t exist in love.

People didn’t fall in love fairly.

They didn’t wait their turn. They didn’t play by some kind of invisible rulebook.

They just felt. And acted on it. Just like Momo did.

And just like Sana—who had never even gotten the chance.

I closed my eyes, exhaling deeply.

Momo stayed quiet, simply holding me, clinging onto me as if she had already decided she wouldn’t let go.

Minutes passed.

Then, she spoke again.

Momo: “Do you regret it?”

The question caught me off guard. I turned my head lightly, confused.

Y/N: “What?”

She pulled back just a little, just enough for our gazes to meet.

Her dark brown eyes held mine, searching.

Momo: “Us.”

Her fingers trailed lazily down my arm.

Momo: “Me.”

A slow smirk played at the corner of her lips.

Momo: “Everything.”

I didn’t answer right away.Because I didn’t know what to say.

Did I regret it? Regret her?

No.

But did I regret Sana getting hurt?

Yes.

And that was the problem. Momo could see it on my face.

She sighed, rolling onto her back beside me.

Her hand lifted, her fingers tracing absent circles against my forearm.

Momo: “I’ll talk to her.”

I blinked, turning my head toward her.

Y/N: “You will?”

She nodded, still staring at the ceiling.

Momo: “Eventually.”

I frowned.

Y/N: “Momo—”

Momo: “Not right now.”

She turned her head, her gaze meeting mine.

Momo: “Not while you’re still thinking about her.”

I stiffened.

Momo smirked.

She reached up, her fingers brushing my jawline.

Momo: “You don’t even realize how easy you are to read, do you?”

I swallowed. She rolled over again, her body pressing against mine.

Her legs tangled with mine, her fingers sliding down my chest.

I could feel her lips hovering just inches away.

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

Momo: “Tell me…”

She leaned in, brushing her lips against my earlobe.

Momo: “Are you still thinking about her now?”

My breath hitched.

Because the way her voice dipped—the way she dragged me back into her gravity—

The way she was so damn sure of her place in my life.

I clenched my fists.

Because she was winning. And i let her. I always did.

I exhaled slowly, my voice quiet.

Y/N: “…No.”

Momo smirked against my skin. She pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes.

Momo: “Good.”

Her fingers trailed down my chest before stopping at my waist.

Momo: “Then stop thinking about her.”

I hesitated.

Then, I nodded.

Momo smiled. A slow, satisfied smile. Because she knew she had me. And I was starting to think that she always had.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling. Momo’s arm was still draped across my chest, her fingers tracing slow, absent-minded patterns against my skin.

She had always been like this—possessive in a quiet way.

She didn’t need to say it out loud. Her actions were enough.

And yet… I still had questions.

Y/N: “What happens now?”

My voice came out softer than I expected. Momo hummed, not immediately answering.

Her fingers continued their lazy movements, as if she was thinking. And then—she rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow.

Momo: “What do you mean?”

I hesitated. Then, I exhaled, my shoulders sinking further into the mattress.

Y/N: “Everything. You, me… Sana.” I paused. “And my career.”

Momo’s expression didn’t change. She just watched me, unreadable.

And then—she smirked.

Momo: “Are you getting cold feet already?”

I frowned.

Y/N: “That’s not what I meant.”

Her smirk widened. She reached over, her fingers grazing my cheek.

Momo: “Then what do you mean?”

I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment.

When I opened them again, she was still watching me. Still waiting. Still Momo.

Y/N: “I haven’t debuted yet.”

She blinked.

Y/N: “I don’t even know if I will."

Momo tilted her head slightly, studying me. And then—she exhaled, shifting closer.

Her leg hooked around mine, locking me in place. Her voice, soft yet firm.

Momo: “You will.”

I stiffened.

She said it so certainly.

Like it wasn’t even a question.

Y/N: “How do you know?”

She blinked at me.

Then, she laughed. Not mockingly. Not condescendingly.

But like she genuinely found my question funny. And then—she leaned down, pressing her forehead against mine.

Her breath was warm against my lips.

Momo: “Because I know you.”

Her voice was steady. Unwavering. She pulled back slightly, her fingers trailing down my arm.

Momo: “And I know how this industry works.”

Her expression turned serious. And for the first time since we started this… whatever this was—I saw Momo, the industry veteran.

The idol who had debuted in 2015.

The woman who had seen trainees come and go.

The woman who had fought to keep her place in this cutthroat industry.

She had been through it all. And now—she was looking at me with that same intensity. That same unshakable certainty.

Momo: “You’re talented.”

Her fingers tightened around mine.

Momo: “You work harder than anyone I’ve seen.”

Her eyes held mine, unwavering.

Momo: “And you have something most trainees don’t.”

I swallowed.

Y/N: “What?”

She smirked.

Momo: “Me.”

I blinked.

Y/N: “Huh?”

Her smirk widened.

Momo: “You have me.”

I stared. And she just grinned, nudging her nose against mine.

Momo: “That means you have an unfair advantage.”

I frowned.

Y/N: “Momo, that’s not—”

She cut me off with a kiss. Soft. Brief. But enough to shut me up.

And when she pulled back, her expression was serious again.

Momo: “I’m not saying I can make you debut.”

Her fingers curled around mine.

Momo: “But I can make sure you don’t burn out before you do.”

I exhaled. Because she wasn’t wrong.

The industry was brutal. The training, the expectations, the pressure—it was enough to break even the strongest.

But having someone who had already survived it? Someone who knew exactly what to expect? Someone who could guide me, support me, keep me from collapsing?

It was an unfair advantage. And Momo knew it. I looked at her, my chest tightening.

Y/N: “…Why are you doing this?”

She blinked.

Momo: “What do you mean?”

Y/N: “Why are you…” I hesitated. “Why do you care so much?”

Her eyes softened. And then—she sighed. Her fingers brushed my hair back gently.

Momo: “Because I want to.”

She held my gaze.

Momo: “Because I care about you.”

My throat tightened. She said it so simply.

Like it wasn’t even a big deal. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe to her—it was.

I exhaled, my fingers curling into the sheets.

And then—I felt her shift.

Before I knew it, she had rolled on top of me again, straddling my waist. Her fingers trailed down my chest, her smirk returning.

Momo: “And because I want my boyfriend to succeed.”

My brain short-circuited.

Y/N: “W-what?”

She grinned.

Momo: “What?”

Her fingers pressed against my chest.

Momo: “Are you not?”

I gaped at her.

Because what the hell was I supposed to say to that? We never really talked about labels. Never really defined what we were.

But here she was—dropping that word so easily. I swallowed hard.

Y/N: “…You never asked.”

She blinked. Then—she laughed.

Momo: “Do I need to?”

I stared at her. And she just smiled.

Momo: “You’re mine, Y/N.”

She leaned down, her lips brushing against my jawline.

Momo: “I thought that was already obvious.”

My breath hitched. Because she wasn’t wrong.

She had been staking her claim for months now. In small ways. In big ways. And I had just let it happen.

I exhaled shakily, my hands resting on her waist.

Y/N: “…Momo.”

She hummed, her fingers trailing down my sides.

Momo: “Hmm?”

I hesitated. Then—I sighed, my head dropping back against the pillow.

Y/N: “You’re insane.”

She grinned.

Momo: “And you love it.”

I groaned, my hands tightening around her waist.

Y/N: “I hate that you’re right.”

She laughed. And then—she leaned down, her lips brushing against mine. Her voice was a whisper.

Momo: “Good.”

And just like that—I knew.

That no matter what happened next—

No matter how hard this industry tried to break me—

No matter what obstacles came my way—

Momo wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was I.

---

Meanwhile – Sana’s Heartbreak and Resolve

The production room was silent.

Too silent.

Sana sat alone in one of the chairs, her hands curled into fists on her lap. The dim lighting from the monitor screens flickered against her face, highlighting the storm raging in her eyes.

The room wasn’t much—just a simple space filled with high-end audio equipment, large speakers, and a mixing board covered in blinking lights. TWICE had spent countless hours here, recording, refining, perfecting their songs.

But tonight… it felt different.

Tonight, it felt like a place where she could fall apart.

Her fingers trembled as she clutched the plastic bag of snacks she had brought earlier. Her appetite had vanished the second she had walked in on you and Momo—entangled in a way that screamed ownership, possession, victory.

Her breath hitched at the memory of Momo’s body pressed into yours like she belonged there. Like she had won.

The realization struck her again, sharper this time, twisting inside her like a knife. She lost.

She had always battled for what she wanted. Always chased after it with everything she had. And you—you were no exception.

From the moment she noticed you, she had been drawn in.

Not just because of your warmth, your kindness, or the way you made her laugh when she needed it most. Not just because of the way your presence felt like home.

It was because you saw her.

Not Sana the cute, flirtatious TWICE member everyone adored.

Just Sana.

She hadn’t realized how much that meant to her until it was too late. And now, Momo had taken that from her

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the image of her best friend laying claim to the man she wanted.

Her mind was a mess of emotions—anger, sorrow, frustration, and something dangerously close to desperation.

It wasn’t fair.

Momo had always been her best friend. The one who understood her in ways most people couldn’t. But at that moment, all she could feel was resentment.

Not at Momo.

At herself.

For waiting too long. For hesitating. For assuming there was still time

Her eyes burned as she leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. The silence of the room only amplified the loudness of her thoughts.

She exhaled shakily, her fingers gripping the edge of the chair.

Was this it?

Was she supposed to just… give up? Accept that she had lost?

She had seen the look on Momo’s face. That quiet confidence. That undeniable certainty that you were hers.

That certainty burned.

It clawed at the inside of Sana’s chest, filling her with something raw, something she couldn’t name.

Her breathing turned unsteady as she pressed her fingertips against her temple, trying to calm herself. This wasn’t like her

She wasn’t the type to break down over a boy. But you Weren't just any boy

And Momo—Momo wasn’t just any rival.

She had fought against Momo for years in dance practice, in training evaluations, even in the small competitions they created among themselves just for fun. But this… this was different.

For assuming there was still time.

This was real.

She clenched her jaw, her mind spinning.

She couldn’t afford to break down. Not now. Not when she still had a chance

Her heart clenched painfully at the thought, but she forced herself to sit up straighter, to breathe deeply.

Momo might have won the battle.

But that didn’t mean she had won the war. Sana wasn’t going o step back and let this end here.

Momo had been bold, had taken the first step before she could. But Sana wasn’t out of the game yet. A new resolve settled in her chest

She would fight for you.

Not in a way that would hurt Momo—she could never do that to her best friend. But in a way that would make sure you saw her.

Make sure you realized that maybe, just maybe, your feelings weren’t so one-sided.

Because deep down, she could see it. She wasnt blind

She knew you cared for her too.

Maybe it wasn’t as obvious as Momo’s claim over you, but it was there. In the way you looked at her. In the way you lingered just a little longer when she reached for you. She had seen it, She had felt it

And she wasn’t going to let that slip away.

Her fingers tightened around the crumpled snack bag in her lap, her expression hardening. Momo might have had her moment but this Isn't far from over yet.

---

One Month Later – Love in Motion

The dance studio smelled like wood, sweat, and determination. The polished floor reflected the overhead lights, gleaming beneath the movements of two bodies locked in an endless cycle of push and pull.

The speakers blared a heavy beat, and I could feel it deep in my chest, syncing with my own rapid heartbeat as I pushed through the choreography.

And then there was her.

She stood in front of me, her body moving with fluid precision, every motion controlled yet effortless.

Her eyes—sharp, teasing, challenging—locked onto mine through the mirror as she guided me through another complicated sequence.

But unlike before, this wasn’t just Momo the strict mentor.

This was Momo the girlfriend.

And she was relentless.

I exhaled sharply, sweat dripping down my jaw as I stumbled slightly on the last move.

Momo’s hands were on me in an instant—not scolding, not cold, but warm, sensual, and ever so supportive.

Her fingers traced along my arms, her breath ghosting against my neck as she leaned in from behind, correcting my posture.

Momo: “You're getting better, baby.”

Her voice was sultry, teasing, laced with something deeper than just professional critique.

I gulped, knowing exactly what she was doing. This wasn’t just training anymore. This was her way of loving me.

She had found a balance between pushing me to be my best and cherishing me as her boyfriend.

And I—I had fallen for it completely.

The music restarted, and I adjusted my stance.

Momo stepped away, but not before giving me a playful smack on the arm, grinning mischievously.

Momo: “Again.”

I groaned dramatically, running a hand through my damp hair.

Y/N: “Momo-noona, give me a break.”

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head in mock disapproval.

Momo: “A break? You don’t want to be the best?”

She moved toward me again, slow, deliberate, her fingers trailing up my chest lightly before stopping at my collarbone.

Momo: “Or…”—she leaned in, her lips barely brushing my ear—“do you just want me to take care of you right here?”

A shiver ran down my spine.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay composed.

Y/N: “You’re evil.”

Momo laughed, stepping back with a smirk, her eyes filled with amusement and affection.

Momo: “And yet, you love me.”

She wasn’t wrong. I surely did.

Another hour passed, and my body felt like it was on the verge of collapsing. But Momo’s persistence, her unyielding belief in me, kept me moving.

She wasn’t breaking me down—she was building me up.

Momo: “One last time, Y/N.”

Her voice was softer now, almost encouraging.

I took a deep breath, nodded, and gave it my all.

And when the final beat dropped, I landed the last move perfectly.

Momo clapped her hands together, eyes sparkling with pride.

Momo: “That’s my boy.”

She didn’t even give me time to catch my breath before she tackled me, her arms looping around my neck as she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my jaw.

I sighed into her embrace, my arms instinctively wrapping around her waist.

Y/N: “You’re insane, you know that?”

Momo chuckled, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes.

Momo: “And yet…?”

I smirked.

Y/N: “And yet, I love you.”

Her expression softened, her fingers brushing damp strands of hair away from my forehead.

Momo: “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

I groaned, earning another melodic laugh from her.

But deep down, I didn’t mind.

Because this—this was love.

The music faded into silence, leaving only the sound of your ragged breaths and Momo’s soft, satisfied hum. Her hands—once firm with corrective guidance—now traced leisurely patterns down your sweat-slicked chest, her nails dragging just enough to make your breath hitch.

Momo: soft chuckle “Look at you. All tired already?”

You swallowed thickly, watching through the mirror as she circled you with feline grace. The way her athletic body moved—hips swaying, every muscle flexing beneath smooth skin—was hypnotizing. She knew it. Loved it.

Y/N: “Momo-noona… you’re killing me.”

She smirked, stopping behind you and pressing her front against your back. Her hands slid lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweats before she leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

Momo: whispers “Told you I wasn’t done.”

Your pulse spiked as her palm cupped you through the fabric, squeezing the steadily hardening outline of your cock. A breathy groan escaped you, shoulders tensing when she rubbed slow, torturous circles.

Momo: “Mmh~ You’re so responsive… love that about you.”

One hand tugged your shirt up, her teeth grazing your shoulder while the other crept beneath your waistband, fingers wrapping around your bare length. HOT. Thick, pulsing, already leaking against her grip despite the exhaustion from dance drills.

Y/N: “F-Fuck—”

Momo: laughs “Ah ah, language~”

She teased your tip with her thumb, smearing precum in slick motions while her other hand pinched and rolled a nipple. The mirror reflected her wicked grin as she watched you squirm under her touch.

Momo: “You’ve been working so hard… let noona take care of you now, hm?”

In one swift motion, she spun you toward the full-length mirror, back braced against the glass as she dropped to her knees. Her almond eyes locked onto yours, tongue darting out to wet her lips before she yanked your sweats down.

Your dick sprang free, flushed and throbbing, bobbing inches from her face. Momo didn’t hesitate—she leaned in, lips parting to drag the flat of her tongue up your shaft with a satisfied Mmmf~

Y/N: “Shit—Momo!”

Momo: humming “So tasty…”

She took you into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks as she sank down, her nose pressing into your pelvis. GOD. The warmth, the tightness, the way her throat fluttered around your tip—it was obscene but still heavenly as fuck.

Her hands gripped your hips, urging you deeper as she bobbed, spit dribbling down your length. Every suck, every flick of her tongue made your thighs tremble.

Momo: pops off “Look at you…”

She jerked you slowly, admiring how your cock twitched in her grip. Milky strands of saliva connected her lips to your tip, her pupils blown wide with hunger.

Momo: bites lip “Gonna fuck my face, baby?”

You barely nodded before she slammed you back between her lips, gagging herself on you deliberately, eyes watering as she took every inch. The mirror fogged with each ragged exhale you made while Momo worked you ruthlessly, her free hand sneaking under her crop top to grope her own tits.

Momo: whimper “Nhgh~ Y-You fit…so good…”

Momo’s mouth abandoned you with a lewd pop, her chest heaving as she stood. Your hands immediately found her waist, yanking her against you, cocks throbbing against her toned stomach while you crashed your lips onto hers.

The kiss was filthy—tongues tangling, teeth clashing, her moans vibrating into your mouth as you groped her ass through those tiny dance shorts.

Y/N: “Need you, noona… now.”

Momo: “Mmm~ Then take me.”

She turned, bending herself over the practice barre, ass on full display as she peeked back at you. Fuck. Her shorts were peeled down just enough to expose her plump, glistening pussy—already dripping.

You spat into your palm, slicking yourself before pressing the fat head of your cock against her entrance.

Momo: whining “Y-Yes… please…”

A single thrust buried you balls-deep, her cunt clamping around you like a vice. The mirror rattled as Momo’s fingers scrambled against it, her back arching beautifully when you pulled out and slammed back in.

Momo: “HAHHH~! FUCK!”

Her high-pitched cries filled the studio, every snap of your hips making her tits bounce wildly. You palmed her ass, spreading her cheeks to watch your cock disappear into her slick, pink folds over and over.

Y/N: “G-God… so tight—”

Momo: sobbing “D-Deeper! Mmmf—NGH~!”

Her legs gave out, forcing you to catch her, lifting Momo with an arm hooked under her thigh as you fucked her upright. The new angle had her seeing stars, her nails raking down your arms while her head fell back onto your shoulder.

Momo: panting “C-Cum inside… fill me—”

Three more brutal thrusts, and you exploded, hips stuttering as ropes of cum painted her walls. Momo’s entire body convulsed, her pussy milking you through your climax with erratic spasms.

Breathless, you collapsed onto the floor, Momo sprawled atop you, her chest rising and falling rapidly against yours.

Momo: giggles “Best… practice… ever.”

And as her lips claimed yours again, you knew she was right.

The studio air hung thick with the scent of sex—musky, sweet, laced with the tang of sweat and exertion. Momo lay sprawled across your chest, her lithe body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her skin glistened under the dim studio lights, every curve painted in a sheen of perspiration.

You traced idle patterns along the dip of her spine, fingers skating over the delicate ridges of her vertebrae before cupping the sinful swell of her ass. It was perfect—round, plush, with just enough give to make your fingers sink in as you kneaded the supple flesh.

Momo: soft moan "Mmm~ Hands still greedy, huh?"

Her voice was a sultry purr, laced with amusement as she arched into your touch. The way her body moved was hypnotic—every shift of her hips, every roll of her shoulders, fluid and effortless, like she was still dancing even now.

You smirked, giving her cheek a playful smack, watching the ripple of flesh beneath your palm.

Y/N: "Can you blame me? Look at you."

Momo giggled, pushing herself up onto her elbows, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. The motion made her tits sway enticingly—full, perky, the dusky pink of her nipples still stiff from your earlier attention.

Momo: "You’re insatiable."

She leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, filthy kiss, her tongue sliding against yours with practiced ease. You groaned into her mouth, hands sliding up her sides to palm her breasts, thumbs brushing over her peaked nipples.

Momo: whispers "But I love it."

With a sudden, fluid motion, Momo straddled your hips, her thighs bracketing yours as she settled over your already hardening cock. The heat of her was intoxicating, her slick folds brushing against your length as she ground down, coating you in her arousal.

Momo: "You’re not done yet, are you?"

Her voice was a challenge, a dare, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles that made your breath hitch.

You gripped her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh there as you guided her up, lining your cock with her entrance.

Y/N: "Not even close."

With a sharp thrust, you sheathed yourself inside her to the hilt, the tight, velvety walls of her cunt clamping around you like a vice. Momo’s head fell back, a broken moan tearing from her throat as her nails scraped down your chest.

Momo: "F-Fuck—! Y-Yes~!"

Her body was a masterpiece in motion—every bounce of her hips, every arch of her back, every shuddering breath a symphony of pleasure. You watched, entranced, as her tits bounced with each movement, the soft flesh jiggling enticingly with every rise and fall.

Your hands moved to her ass, gripping the plush globes as you helped her ride you, your hips meeting hers in a relentless rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the studio, mingling with Momo’s breathy whimpers and the slick, wet sounds of your joining.

Momo: "H-Harder-please—!"

You obliged, driving into her with bruising force, the angle allowing you to hit that sweet spot deep inside her that had her seeing stars. Her thighs trembled, her moans growing louder, more desperate, her body tightening around you like a coiled spring.

Momo: "I-I’m gonna—NHG~!"

Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her cunt clenching around you in erratic pulses, her back bowing as she came undone. You followed soon after, your release spilling into her with a guttural groan, your hips stuttering as you milked every last drop of pleasure from your bodies.

Spent and sated, Momo collapsed onto your chest, her breath coming in ragged pants as she nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

Momo: murmurs "We should… do this more often."

You chuckled, running a hand through her sweat-dampened hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Y/N: "Only if you promise to wear those shorts again."

Momo laughed, the sound bright and carefree, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Momo: "Deal."

And as the two of you lay there, tangled together in the afterglow, you knew this was just the beginning.

The cool wooden floor beneath my back felt like heaven against my overheated skin. My chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, the aftershocks of what had just happened still tingling through my limbs.

And then there was Momo, sprawled half on top of me, her cheek resting against my damp shoulder. Her fingers lazily traced patterns on my stomach, her body still warm, soft and languid from pleasure.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

Just the rhythmic sound of our breaths filled the dimly lit practice room, the faint hum of the speakers in the background, and the distant echoes of the outside world that felt so far away.

Then, out of nowhere, she let out a dramatic groan.

Momo: “Ugh… Y/N, my butt hurts.”

I turned my head slightly, still too drained to move much, and looked at her.

A lazy smirk formed on my lips.

Y/N: “Good kind of hurt, right?”

She tilted her head up, her brown eyes narrowing playfully before she smacked my chest lightly.

Momo: “Don’t get cocky. You were… a little too insatiable.”

I chuckled, but my voice was hoarse.

Y/N: “Says the one who started everything.”

Momo hummed, her fingers pressing against my ribs, her nails dragging lightly down my skin.

Momo: “Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to be that willing to please.”

I scoffed, throwing an arm over my eyes as I caught my breath.

Y/N: “What can I say? I aim to satisfy.”

She rolled her eyes, but the soft smile on her lips betrayed her amusement.

Then, she shifted slightly, her bare thigh brushing against my limp cock and i hissed at the overstimulation

She smirked.

Momo: “Oh? Sensitive now?”

I groaned.

Y/N: “Momo-noona, please.”

She grinned, clearly enjoying my wrecked state.

Despite her teasing, Momo’s touch soon turned softer, gentler.

Her fingers ghosted over my jaw before she leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss just below my ear.

Momo: “You okay?”

I exhaled, finally peeling my arm away from my face so I could look at her properly.

She looked stunning.

Flushed skin, messy hair, lips slightly swollen. Completely undone.

And yet, she was gazing at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Y/N: “I’m more than okay.”

Momo let out a breathy laugh before she snuggled closer, resting her head against my chest.

Momo: “Good. Because I like you just like this.”

I raised an eyebrow.

Y/N: “Like what?”

She grinned, her fingers now tracing lazy circles on my chest.

Momo: “Soft. Sweet. Submissive.”

I groaned, covering my face again.

Y/N: “You’re never letting that go, huh?”

Momo: “Nope.”

Her laughter vibrated against my skin, and I felt myself smile.

She was Impossible But damn, I loved her for it.

A few minutes passed, and I felt my body finally start to cool down.

Momo must have felt it too because she suddenly lifted her head and propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at me.

Her fingers brushed my hair back, soft and intimate.

Momo: “So… what now?”

I blinked, feeling the weight of the question settle between us.

She wasn’t just asking about tonight.

She was asking about us.

About what happens from here on out.

I swallowed, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the curve of her waist.

Y/N: “I guess… we just keep going, right?”

Momo tilted her head, a small smirk playing on her lips.

Momo: “You’re really just going with the flow, huh?”

I chuckled, squeezing her hip lightly.

Y/N: “Isn’t that what got us here in the first place?”

She hummed, her eyes studying my face, as if searching for something.

Then, finally, she sighed and collapsed back onto my chest.

Momo: “Fine. But just so you know—”

Her voice lowered, sultry, teasing.

Momo: “I’m still not done with you.”

I groaned dramatically, throwing my head back.

Y/N: “Momo-noona, I need at least a day to recover.”

She laughed, the sound light, carefree, full of affection.

And in that moment, lying there in the warmth of her embrace, I knew— i wouldn't want it any other way.

------

The vending machine stared back at me.

Or at least, that’s what it felt like after it had swallowed my money twice without giving me my damn drink.

I exhaled sharply, pressing the button again. Nothing. No whirring sound. No movement.

Y/N: "You piece of—"

I smacked the side of the machine, hoping to jog it into cooperation. Still nothing

Narrowing my eyes, I cracked my knuckles.

Y/N: "Alright. You wanna do this the hard way?"

Bracing myself, I gave the machine one solid shake. A few buttons flickered, but still no drink.

A deep inhale. One more time. This time, I grabbed the sides and rocked it harder.

The machine rumbled.

Then, finally—thud.

A can rolled out and landed in the tray below.

I let out a triumphant laugh, wiping a bit of sweat from my forehead as I reached down to grab my hard-earned prize.

Y/N: "Victory."

Cracking the can open, I took a satisfying sip, the cold liquid running down my throat.

But then, just as I was about to bask in my small win, I heard it.

A soft sniffle.

I froze mid-sip, my ears straining.

It was faint, but there. A quiet, heartbreaking sound. And it was coming from the production room.

I placed my drink on the nearest ledge and approached slowly. All the staff were on break right now. So who was inside?

Another sniffle. The voice was saccharine sweet, even in pain

A feeling curled in my gut, recognition whispering at the edges of my mind.

I pushed open the door. And then i saw her.

Sana.

Sitting at the table, shoulders trembling, her face buried in her arms. Her normally bright and mischievous aura was completely gone

Her hair cascaded over her arms, strands sticking to her cheek as she sniffled again.

The soft glow from the computer screen illuminated her, making the wet sheen in her eyes more noticeable.

A bottle of soju 1/3 empty was on the table by her. She wasn’t drunk, but she’d definitely had a drink or two.

And I hadn’t seen her in a month.

Ever since that day—the day she walked in on me and Momo— she had avoided me completely. Not once had she cone in front of me. And i asked Momo about it, worried.

But Momo had waved it off, saying Sana was fine. That she was casual about it. That it was something else bothering her which was small.

But now, as I stood there watching her shake, I knew.

Momo had lied.

I hesitated at the door, debating whether to step closer.

But before I could decide, Sana’s shoulders shook harder, her quiet sniffles turning into something more fragile.

Something that cracked through my chest.

I took a step forward. Then another.

The scent of her perfume mixed with the faint trace of Soju filled the space between us.

I swallowed. And then, softly-

Y/N: "Sana-noona…?"

The moment my voice broke through the silence, Sana froze. Her breathing hitched, but she didn’t lift her head. Her hands, gripping the edge of her sleeves, clenched slightly, the fabric twisting between her fingers.

I hesitated at the doorway, my mind scrambling for the right way to approach this.

The last thing I wanted was to assume her pain was about me. It would've been presumptuous--self centered even.

Sana had her own world, her own struggles. Maybe it was something about her career. Maybe she was just exhausted.

Or maybe—

I shook my head. No assumptions. Instead, I quietly pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

The sound of the legs scraping against the floor was the only noise in the room besides her shallow breaths.

I leaned forward slightly, resting my arms on the table as I watched her.

She still hadn’t looked up.

Y/N: "Sana-noona..."

I kept my tone gentle, patient.

Y/N: "What’s wrong?"

Nothing. Just silence. Her fingers tightened their grip on her sleeves.

Then—

A soft, wavering breath.

Slowly, Sana lifted her head. Her eyes were red, her lashes damp from tears. The usual spark in her gaze was dimmed, lost.

It was unsettling to see her like this.

Sana—the girl who was always teasing, always smiling, always finding a way to bring warmth into a room.

She looked like a candle struggling to stay lit.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to speak, but then— She faltered. Her eyes darted away, avoiding mine.

I didn't push. Instead, i just waited. And after a moment, her voice finally came— Soft. Raw. Almost hesitant.

Sana: "…Why are you even here?"

Her words weren’t sharp. It was a question without accusation. There was no bite, no anger. Just... Tiredness

I tilted my head slightly, studying her.

Y/N: "You were crying."

Her eyes flickered. I could see the brief flash of embarrassment. Like she hadn’t meant to be caught, like she was trying to gather herself before I saw too much.

Sana took a slow breath, pressing her lips together as if weighing her next words.

Sana: "You don’t have to be here."

I leaned back slightly, folding my arms.

Y/N: "I know."

A small pause. Then I added, quieter—

Y/N: "But I want to be."

Sana’s fingers twitched. Her gaze dropped to the table

For a long, neither of us spoke. The clock on the wall ticked steadily. I could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning, the distant sounds of the hallway outside.

But inside this room, it felt like we were somewhere else. Suspended. Trapped in a moment neither of us knew how to navigate.

Finally, Sana exhaled a small, humorless laugh.

Sana: "You’re really persistent, huh?"

I shrugged.

Y/N: "Not really."

Her brows lifted slightly at that. I gestured vaguely towards her.

Y/N: "I just don’t like seeing people I care about hurting."

Her fingers stilled on her sleeves. For the first time since i walked, she really looked at me.

Her lips parted slightly, eyes searching mine as if trying to find something— something she wasn’t sure she wanted to see

The Crack in the Armor

Then, softer this time—

Sana: "You care?"

There was something fragile in her voice. Something hesitant. Like she wasn’t sure she believed it.

I held her gaze, steady and unwavering. And i didn’t hesitate when i answered.

Y/N: "Of course."

Sana inhaled sharpy. Her fingers curled into her sleeves again, but this time, not as tightly.

I could see the way her shoulders trembled slightly, the way her breathing shallowed. She blinked a few time, almost as if she was trying to process something

She blinked a few times, almost as if she was trying to process something.

Then, her voice—so small, so broken

Sana: "Then why does it feel like I lost?"

My breath hitched. It was a question that cut deep.

The words settled in the air between us, heavy and unspoken for a few moments.

Sana looked away again, her jaw tightening.

I could see the way her lips pressed together, as if she was holding back more. Like if she let herself say too much, she wouldn’t be able to stop. I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. I had no idea how to answer that

Because no matter how much I tried to ignore it, no matter how much I tried to push it away— i knew what she meant. And it had everything to do with me.

The silence stretched between us like an invisible thread, thin and fragile.

Sana's words still hung in the air, their weight pressing against my chest.

"Then why does it feel like I lost?"

I didn't know how to answer that.

Or maybe I did—

Maybe i just didn’t wanna say it. exhaled slowly, trying to piece together my thoughts.

But before I could even think of what to say, Sana spoke first.her voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. Like she was deciding, at this very moment, whether or not she should cross the line.

Then—

She crossed it.

Sana: "I liked you first, you know."

The words landed softly, but their impact was anything but.

I felt my breath catch. My fingers curled slightly against the table as my mind raced, trying to process what she had just said.

Sana…

She liked me first?

She tilted her head slightly, a small, almost bitter smile playing on her lips.

Sana: "I just… I thought I had time. I thought I had time to figure it out, to be sure about what I felt before doing anything about it."

She exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

Sana: "But I guess Momo didn't wait, huh?"

There was no real malice in her tone. No resentment. Just reisgnation.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry a lot. I wasn’t fully shocked. A part of me—deep, deep down—had suspected something.

The way Sana would always tease me a little more than the others. The way she’d hover just a second longer after a joke, her eyes searching mine as if waiting for something. The way her touch had always been a bit more lingering, just a bit more possessive

I wasn't dumb. But hearing it out loud? Hearing her actually say it? That was different. That made it real.

And right now— It put me in a dilemma. I had a girlfriend. I had Momo. And i was commited to her. There was no doubt about that. But How the hell was i supposed to comfort Sana now? How was i supposed to tell her that i cared? That i hated seeing her cry, without making it seem like i was giving her hope?

How was I supposed to be there for her when she was hurting because of me?

I opened my mouth, but—

Sana suddenly leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head as if forcing herself to relax.

Sana: "You don’t have to say anything, Y/N."

I blinked, caught off guard.

She let out a small breath, closing her eyes briefly before offering me a soft smile— But this time, it was different. It wasn’t bright. It wasn’t mischievous. It was hollow.

Sana: "I already know your answer."

A strange uneasiness settled in my stomach here was something about the way she said that—

Something about the way her eyes darkened for just a second before she hid it behind her usual expression— That made me feel like she wasn’t accepting defeat. That made me feel like she had a different plan. One she hadn’t told me about yet.

And for some reason— That scared me.

Sana leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping lightly against the table. A small smirk played at the corner of her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Sana: "You know… I’ve always had my suspicions about Momo."

Her voice was steady, but I could hear the weight behind it.

I stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

Her gaze flickered toward me, studying my face like she was trying to gauge my reaction before she spoke again.

Sana: "She’s never done this before, you know. Taking a trainee under her wing like that. Momo’s always been focused on TWICE—on her members. She helps them, supports them, mentors them. But never anyone outside the group. Never."

I frowned slightly. That… was true.

I knew Momo was strict when it came to dance, but she had never personally taken a trainee under her guidance. The only ones who ever received that level of attention from her were her own members.

And yet, with me— She did.

Sana: "She picked you, Y/N. She made you hers before you even knew it."

Her voice was softer now, almost contemplative.

Sana: "And that means one thing—Momo liked you long before you realized it. Long before I even realized it."

I swallowed, feeling something heavy settle in my chest.

Momo… liked me before? How long before? Had she known from the start? Has she planned this all along? No, that wasn’t it. Momo wasn’t like that. She didn’t plan things when it cones to emotions. She just felt them, embraced them and followed her heart. That's what made her Momo.

But still—

The thought that she had already set her eyes on me while I was blindly fumbling through my feelings made me feel… strange. Not in a bad way. Not in a good way. Just strange.

Like I had been walking in the dark this whole time while she had already found the light.

And Sana—

Sana had been left in the shadows.

I finally looked up at Sana again, but this time, she was already watching me. Her eyes weren’t sad anymore. They weren’t filled with resignation. They were filled with determination.

Sana: "I won’t lose."

A chill ran down my spine.

Sana: "I won’t back away, Y/N."

Her voice was gentle, but firm. Like she wasn’t saying it to challenge me. She was saying it because she had already decided.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. A part of wanted to tell her that this wasn’t a competition. That love didn’t work that wa.y

But another part of me— a part i didn’t quite understand felt something dreadful yet curious settle in my stomach

Before I could say anything, before I could even fully process what she had just declared—

She suddenly grabbed the half-empty soju bottle beside her and threw it into the trash can without a second thought. It clattered loudly against the metal, echoing in the empty production room

It clattered loudly against the metal, echoing in the empty production room.

Then, before I could react— Sana stood up. She stepped closer. And then-

She bent down slightly— And kissed my forehead. Soft. Warm. Brief. But undeniably real.

I froze. My entire body locked in place as her scent—sweet, floral, unmistakably Sana—wrapped around me.

I could feel the ghost of her lips lingering against my skin, a stark contrast to the fire that suddenly ignited in my chest.

She pulled away just as quickly as she had leaned in, her expression unreadable.

But then— a smile. Not sad. Not mischievous. Just a smile.

And then, She turned and walked away, leaving me stunned and speechless in the middle of the empty room.

The room was empty now.

Sana’s presence lingered like a phantom—her perfume still faintly hanging in the air, the soft warmth of her lips still tingling on my forehead. I hadn’t moved. I couldn’t move.

My body felt stuck in place, as if any slight motion would cause the fragile reality around me to shatter.

What the hell just happened?

This… wasn’t something I was prepared for.

Love, relationships—those things had always felt like distant fantasies, like something that happened in movies and dramas, but never in real life.

I had spent so much time chasing my dreams, working my ass off to debut, to make it in this industry. I never had the luxury of thinking about love, let alone experiencing it.

And now—

My first relationship. Not just with anyone—but with Hirai Momo of TWICE.

A woman who was admired, desired, worshiped by millions. A woman who had chosen me i still didn’t know what she saw in me, why she had reached for my hand in this crazy world of K-pop, but she had.

A woman who had chosen me.

I still didn’t know what she saw in me, why she had reached for my hand in this crazy world of K-pop, but she had.

And I had gladly let myself fall into her arms. I had commited myself to her. I was hers.

But Now… Another storm was brewing.

Minatozaki Sana.

Sana, with her bright smiles and teasing words. Sana, who had always been warm, playful, affectionate. Sana, who had watched from afar—watched as Momo took me before she even had the chance to reach out herself.

I had seen it before in the way her eyes lingered.

But now— She had said it out loud. She wasn’t going back away. She wasn’t going to lose. I could still hear her voice, soft yet deadly certain

"I won’t lose."

"I won’t back away, Y/N."

Her conviction sent a shiver down my spine.

To most people, this situation might seem like a dream. Two of TWICE's most popular members fighting over me? It sounds like something straight out of a fanfiction.

But in reality—

It was like being caught between the devil and the deep sea. No matter what happened, someone would get hurt. And that someone was most likely going to be Sana. Because no matter how much i cared about her. Now matter how much her word unsettled something inside me.

I couldn’t betray Momo. I wouldn't. She was my first everything. My first love. My first relationship. I owed her my loyalty.

But at the same time—

I couldn’t stand the thought of Sana hurting because of me. Of seeing her heart break every time she looked at me.

What Was She Planning? That's what scared me the mist. Sana had said she wouldn’t back down. She had said with such certainty, such quiet resolve. But what did that mean? What exactly was she going to do?

I had no answer. Only dread. Only God can help me now.

I sighed, finally running a hand down my face. I was in way too deep.

This wasn’t just some high school crush drama—

This was real. Real emotions. Real stakes. Real heartbreak waiting to happen.

And the worst part? There was no way out without hurting someone.

I shut my eyes, inhaling deeply, as if somehow, I could breathe away the weight in my chest.

But the moment I exhaled—

Sana’s words echoed in my mind again.

"I won’t lose."

I opened my eyes, staring at the empty room.

Only one thought filled my mind.

God, help me.

---

A few days later

JYPE Headquarters – Executive Meeting Room

The conference room was larger than you had expected, its modern interior giving off an air of professionalism and prestige. A massive oval-shaped table sat in the middle, surrounded by plush leather chairs where several executives had already taken their seats. The walls were adorned with framed platinum records and awards—a constant reminder of JYP Entertainment’s legacy.

Sitting at the head of the table was none other than Park Jin-young (JYP) himself, his expression warm as he regarded you.

JYP: "Y/N, it's good to see you again. You’ve been working hard, I hear."

You nodded, keeping your composure despite the intimidating presence of the room.

Y/N: "Yes, PD-nim. I’m always pushing myself to improve."

A few of the higher-ups chuckled, appreciating your humility. Beside JYP, Director Lee, one of the senior executives, leaned forward, tapping a pen against the table.

Director Lee: "We've been hearing great things about you, Y/N. Not just in terms of your training, but your discipline, creativity, and ability to handle pressure. That’s why we wanted to meet today—to discuss your debut."

The weight of the conversation settled in, but you had been preparing for this moment. You had spent years refining your skills, and now you were here—on the verge of stepping into the industry as a full-fledged artist.

Y/N: "I appreciate the opportunity. I want to make sure my debut is something that represents who I am, both musically and personally."

JYP nodded, clearly approving of your mindset.

JYP: "That’s exactly what we want as well. At JYPE, we’ve been making changes—ensuring that artists have a stronger voice in their creative process. We’re no longer just about safe, market-friendly concepts; we want to give you the space to express yourself authentically."

That was surprising. JYPE had been known for its structured approach to artist management, often prioritizing safe, commercial hits. To hear JYP himself acknowledge a shift in philosophy was unexpected—but also encouraging.

Director Choi, another executive, adjusted his glasses before speaking.

Director Choi: "To that end, we'd like to ask you: Would you be interested in having a hand in the production process? Not just as an artist, but as someone who helps craft the music itself."

Your eyes widened slightly. This was bigger than just selecting songs; they were offering you the chance to shape your sound from the ground up.

Y/N: "I’d love to be involved. I’ve actually been working on some sample compositions, and I think they could fit well with my debut."

The room grew interested, a few executives exchanging glances. JYP folded his hands together, his expression thoughtful.

JYP: "Do you already have an album concept in mind?"

You took a deep breath before responding.

Y/N: "Yes. I want my debut album to be called Who Is My Heart Waiting For? I know it’s not the typical title for a rookie’s first album, but I want my music to have depth from the start."

Silence settled over the room as the executives absorbed your words. It was a bold choice. Most debut albums went for something flashy, energetic, or trend-driven. Your choice was introspective—an emotional statement rather than a commercial one.

JYP was the first to respond.

JYP: "That’s... different. But I like it. It shows maturity, a willingness to break the mold."

Director Lee: "I agree. It’s rare for a rookie artist to go this route, but with the right execution, it could set you apart from the rest."

Encouraged by their reactions, you pressed forward.

Y/N: "I also have two title track ideas. The first is called Shadow. It’s about being someone’s shadow—always by their side, even when they don’t notice. It’s a love song, but with an element of longing and devotion."

JYP’s eyes lit up with interest.

JYP: "That’s a strong concept. Emotional but relatable."

Y/N: "The second track is called U ok? It’s about checking in on someone who used to be a huge part of your life, someone you still care for but are now apart from. It’s not necessarily a breakup song, but more about lingering feelings of concern and attachment.....okay, maybe it is a break up song."

There was a brief pause before Director Choi exhaled, smiling slightly.

Director Choi: "You certainly don’t go for surface-level themes, do you?"

You chuckled.

Y/N: "I want my music to have meaning. I know debut songs are usually high-energy and made for impact, but I want my impact to come from emotion, from connection."

JYP leaned back, tapping his fingers against the table.

JYP: "I trust you, Y/N. You’ve shown dedication, and I’ve always believed that artists who pour their hearts into their music find the most success. If this is what you believe in, then we’ll support it."

Relief washed over you. Having JYP’s personal approval meant everything.

Director Lee: "Do you already have melodies for these tracks?"

Y/N: "I have drafts. I can play some samples if you’d like."

JYP gestured toward the laptop connected to the meeting room’s speakers.

JYP: "Go ahead. Let’s hear what you’ve got."

You took out your USB drive, plugged it in, and navigated to your demo files. First, you played the instrumental for Shadow. A slow, atmospheric intro filled the room, followed by a steady rhythm that carried a blend of intimacy and upbeat.. The production was layered but clean, creating an immersive feeling.

As the beat kicked in, you noticed some of the executives nodding along, their expressions intrigued.

When the track ended, JYP was the first to speak.

JYP: "That’s... beautiful. It has a cinematic quality to it. I can already picture the choreography and the visual aesthetics."

Encouraged, you played U ok? next. This one had a more minimalistic production, opening with a simple synth before transitioning into a RnB rhythmic yet sentimental beat. It carried a sense of nostalgia—like a late-night conversation with someone you once loved but still vibing.

By the time the demo finished, the room was silent for a few moments.

Director Choi: "You composed these yourself?"

Y/N: "Yes. I had help refining some elements, but the core melodies and concepts are mine."

JYP smiled, his pride evident.

JYP: "You’re not just a singer, Y/N. You’re an artist. And that’s exactly what this industry needs."

You felt a swell of gratitude.

Y/N: "Thank you, PD-nim. I won’t let you down."

JYP nodded.

JYP: "We’ll move forward with these tracks as your title songs. I’ll assign a production team to help bring your vision to life, but you’ll have full creative input. You’re leading your own debut."

You exhaled, taking in the weight of his words. This was it. Your debut was finally taking shape—not as something manufactured by a company, but as an extension of yourself.

As the meeting wrapped up, JYP stood up and patted your shoulder.

JYP: "You remind me of myself when I was younger, Y/N. Keep that fire burning."

You bowed deeply.

Y/N: "I will."

As you walked out of the meeting room, a sense of purpose settled over you. You had taken your first real step toward debuting on your own terms. And no matter what happened next, you were ready.

As you stepped out of the conference room, the hum of the building’s usual activity filled the air—staff members walking briskly, trainees murmuring to one another, the distant sound of music from the practice rooms. Yet, none of it registered in your mind.

Your head was spinning, not with anxiety, but with the weight of your own choices.

JYP had just entrusted you with something massive—your own debut, on your own terms. That wasn’t something every artist got, let alone a rookie. It felt unreal, but you knew you had earned it through the endless nights of practice, through every note you perfected and every lyric you rewrote.

Still, it wasn’t just about you.

These two songs—Shadow and U ok?—were deeply personal. More than just concepts, more than just melodies. They were pieces of you, of your life, of the emotions you carried. And, most importantly, they were about two people who had shaped you in ways you hadn’t expected.

You let out a slow breath as you walked toward the elevator, your mind replaying the events that led to these songs even existing.

Internal Monologue – The Meaning of 'Shadow'

The instrumental for Shadow had come to you late at night, during one of those quiet moments where the world felt still, yet your mind was anything but.

Momo.

Your mentor. Your guide. And now, your girlfriend.

The transition from one role to the other had been unexpected, almost surreal. She had started as someone you looked up to—someone you admired not just for her talent but for her kindness, her patience, her ability to push you beyond your limits while still making sure you didn’t break under the pressure.

But somewhere along the way, admiration had turned into something deeper.

And she had noticed it first.

You still remembered the night it happened—how she had pulled you aside after practice, her eyes searching yours as if confirming what she already knew. The first sex of your life and the unsaid emotions came out as actions.

That was the moment things changed.

The confession had come naturally, like something inevitable. You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the late-night atmosphere, or the closeness you had built over months, but when she had leaned in, and your lips had met for the first time, there had been no hesitation.

And yet, a part of you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you would always exist in her shadow.

Momo was a star—established, beloved, a name that carried weight. You, on the other hand, were still rising, still struggling to carve your own space.

Would people see you as nothing more than "Momo’s boyfriend"? Would they assume your success was only because of her influence?

That was why Shadow was born.

It wasn’t about insecurity. It was about devotion. About standing beside someone without overshadowing them, about offering unwavering support, even if it meant not always being seen.

You weren’t afraid of being in Momo’s shadow.

You just wanted her to know that you would always be there—watching over her, loving her, whether the world noticed or not.

Internal Monologue – The Meaning of 'U ok?'

If Shadow was about Momo, then U ok? was about the one person you didn’t know how to face.

Sana.

The moment her name and face entered your thoughts, your chest tightened.

You had known Sana for as long as you had known Momo, but where Momo had been your mentor, Sana had been your confidant. She was the one who had made you feel at ease when you were introduced to TWICE that one time and especially closer after Momo became your mentor, the one who had always been the first to greet you with her bright smile, the one who had reassured you whenever you doubted yourself.

You thought she would be happy for you when you and Momo got together.

But then… that day happened.

The day you had walked into the production room, expecting to find it empty, only to see Sana sitting there alone with a few glasses of Soju consumption.

Her shoulders were shaking.

She was crying.

Your instinct had been to approach her, to ask what was wrong, but before you could even take a step, she had spoken of all that happened that day.

She had turned to look at you then, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The air had felt thick between you. You had no idea what to say.

Sana had always been affectionate, playful. You had thought that was just her personality. But in that moment, as she looked at you with a mix of pain and resignation, you realized how blind you had been.

She had liked you.

Maybe she hadn’t planned to confess. Maybe she had convinced herself that she was content just being close to you. But once you had chosen someone else, once you had made it official, reality had caught up with her.

And then she had said the words that haunted you.

Sana: "I’m not backing down, Y/N."

You hadn’t known what she meant by that. Even now, you weren’t sure.

Did she mean she was going to fight for you? That she wouldn’t give up, even though you were with Momo? Or did she mean something else entirely?

That was why U ok? existed.

Because you couldn’t stop wondering.

Was she okay? Was she hurting every time she saw you with Momo? Did she regret never telling you how she felt sooner?

Or was she already moving on, pretending like nothing had happened?

You didn’t know.

And the worst part?

You were too afraid to ask.

By the time you reached the rooftop, you felt like you needed air. The sky was a deep shade of blue, the city lights twinkling in the distance. The cool night breeze brushed against your skin as you leaned against the railing, your thoughts still tangled between the two women who had shaped your life in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

You took out your phone, scrolling through your contacts until you hovered over Sana’s name. Your thumb hesitated over the call button.

Y/N (thinking): What would I even say?

Would she even want to talk to you? Or would calling her now just make things worse?

Before you could decide, your phone buzzed with an incoming message.

Momo: "Hey, practice just ended. Are you free? I miss you."

A small smile tugged at your lips.

No matter how complicated things were, at least one thing was certain.

Momo was waiting for you.

And for now, that was enough.

#twice #chaeyoung #dahyun #jeongyeon #kpop #jihyo #mina #momo #nayeon #sana #tzuyu #twice smut #momo smut #twice x male reader #hirai momo #minatozaki sana #twice sana #twice momo

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softbyspoiled · 3 days ago

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Okay so this post is going to be a little all over the place so bear with me. When I started this blog, it was with my feeder so I could start dipping my toes into the world of feederism & see how I liked it.

I was very open from the jump, and it wasn’t only the sexual intimacy my partner and I unlocked through it- but also using it as a means of catharsis. I’ve struggled with body dysmorphia, restrictive eating, and obsessive thoughts for a long, long time- and this has truly shifted how I view and appreciate my body.

It’s become a safe space to spill my guts just as much as I fill them up (lol.)

I’m alone right now, physically and emotionally it feels. I’ve run into a karmic loop, and it’s hard because I know the journey ahead is going to be tedious, sad, brutal, lonely at times… but the trade off of thisdiscomfort could be a catalyst for some major growth.

The thing is, is I’ve already gone through a lot of growing pains. And I mean LOT’s ya’ll- my record is 😮‍💨 embarrassing… and pretty jarring. But I look at how I seemingly landed on my feet time and time again… And all those times, counting my lucky stars, comparing myself to a cat with 9 lives.. how about instead of taking it as blessing of invincibility, what if I actually thanked the divine order with action, and redirection? And did it when I was down bad, with nothing to lose but everything to gain…?

Theres a part of myself that’s convinced that there’s a very bad person inside of me who needs to be kicked down, and murdered. Because I am an alcoholic there feels like there’s an intense duality of character. I feel like I need to shut her (the alcoholic) the fuck up. But the duality of “that” version of me isn’t so distinct. That is very much just me. And because I want to get rid of her so bad- she comes back at me full swing. She wants all the attention from me, and when no attention is paid she will do whatever it takes to get it back to her.

I said I would take my time and get to know her, and I never did. And now I’m forcing myself to sit with these parts of myself that I never had to before because I always reached for validation from everyone but myself. My friend said it to me simply today, and it boils down to this, a part of me just hates myself THAT much. And people always want to groan on about self love and its importance, but let me tell you… it’s important. You stunt yourself, and the lack of self love will come across as only lack of love and consideration for others because a part of you is always at war within.

And SO! Idk what my journey on here is going to look like. Quite honestly. My feeder and I are not together, and the stuffing, loving, intimate connection part of this kink has sort of left my life. And coming on here is something I guess I’ve held onto.

But I cherish the unconditional love I see on here. I love being able to speak freely, and somewhat anonymously I guess… and this kink is very much real for everyone here but I know at the end of the day we’re all also humans so maybe some of this other stuff I’m rambling about resonates. (Maybe not, and if not I’m sorry I wish I had some good content I could pump your way.)

This is me post run, and pre dinner. I’m having like a noodle, beef stir fry thing.😋 And I know in about 2/3 hours I’ll be scurrying into the kitchen for one of the donuts I brought home from work. (I HOPE! Because if I’m being honest, my appetite was actually good yesterday and the day before but is declining again as it pretty much has this whole month.)

Yikes IDK guys. I’m sad, but I’m not giving up. 🔐

#bloatedtummy #feed me #feedee belly #feedee feeder #feedee piggy #stuffed feedee #fat cow #feedee encouragement #feedee girl #feeding kink #alcoholic #alcoholism #recovery

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r-0-x-4-s · 2 days ago

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sunrise on the reaping was like this to me (spoilers obviously)

sid: hello brother im gonna die at the end of the book, you dont have to pretend to be attached to me or gimme any character development or interesting character (im here just cus the og trilogy mentioned that i existed… sure as hell sc didnt want me around tho)

lenore dove: im basically lucy gray copy! tho im kinda dumb and eat gummies i find in front of my house left by who-knows-who, yeah yeah im a forced parallel so snow can say to haymitch: you’re just like me fr fr

snow, *chocking tripping and falling over*: im coughing because ive just poisoned that dude that was misbehaving… with poisoned ostriches!!! i need milk cus i just poisoned myself poisoning!!!! i kill my enemies with poison and i eat it too so ive an alibi!

haymitch: *drinks milk in front of him*

snow: i sure hope plutarchs (someone that i really hate cus hes always been rich and im jealous of) home has no surveillance whatsoever that could incriminate me with what im saying! or that this guy, that is abt to get interview in front of capitol citys elite, says that i poison my capitol ennemies!!

snow: i (58m) ve been over my situationship for 40 years but when i met him i relapsed so, aita for trauma dumping on a boy (16m) i just met cus i saw myself in him (he has a gf of the same family of my ex)? hes gonna die in the next week so no really worried of letting him onto gov secrets

snow, when hay wins the games: i guess i will tell him more gov secrets

haymitch: 18+40=58!!! snow was lucy gray bf!!!

plutarch: hey boy i just met, wanna join the revolution? also im totally trustworthy, ive just emotionally tortured families in front of you but chill bro, also i trust that youre not gonna report me to anyone or tell anyone our convos, i have no reason to do so and you’re also 16

beete: revolution, revolution, my son is gonna die, revolution revolution, who knew that revolting had consequences

snow: im gonna kill ur family and gf if you misbehave

haymitch: *misbehaves*

snow: *kills his family and gf*

haymitch:

district 12 be like

haymitch: im kinda bland and boring af in this book, if i didnt have this name i could be a totally different character

maysilee: im the best character in this book

lou lou: im the most interesting plot of this book

wyatt: im the most autistic character in the series (apart from katniss tbf)

effie: and im the most shoehorned character in this book!!! actually i love district 12 and haymitch!!! no… dont go reread the original trilogy…i tell you… ive always been so kind and respectful towards the district haha… yes yes… your memory is wrong… haha…

#the hunger games #sunrise on the reaping #haymitch abernathy #maysilee donner #lenore dove #lou lou #wyatt callow #president snow #plutarch heavensbee #effie trinket

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strawberriesandhotmen · 17 hours ago

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Wicked Games and Cigarettes

a/n: I know I’m supposed to be posting a Harry Styles fic right now 🥴 I’M SORRY I have no motivation but I’m forcing myself to work on it so don’t worry pookies. I honestly just needed to write this Javier Peña thing because he’s a baddie so yeah. Hope y’all enjoy 😝

pairing: partner!Javier Peña x DEA agent!fem!reader

CW +18 smut: swearing, smoking, angst (i’ve got some more tension and build up for you lovelies), unprotected piv (wrap it up), they are actually both assholes but it’s fine, angry sex angry sex angry sex (kind of not really, they forget about it pretty quick), javier peña is a warning in his own right let’s get serious

word count: 2.6k

Sexual tension.

It could be fun, but it could also be thoroughly infuriating.

Moreso, not to mention, when the person said sexual tension was between was someone you thoroughly hated.

At least, you should hate them.

Javier Peña was an asshole, utterly and completely. Arrogant, selfish, unaware, callous, ho-

Anyways.

The list goes on.

It wasn’t like you weren’t thrilled when you were first partnered up with him. Getting to work with a highly decorated agent straight out of the gate? It was exhilarating, until he actually spoke.

Or rather, merely looked your way.

A scowl was definitely his permanent expression of choice; you struggled to remember a time when the man had actually cracked a smile, let alone laughed. God forbid he enjoy his life.

Your first real assignment with him was painstaking, to say the least. It was a throwaway mission, really, something to initiate you, almost. At least, you recognized it as such. It wasn’t even a two-man job, and Javier ended up hovering over you like a supervisor instead of contributing in the slightest.

Nails on a chalkboard was the skin-crawling feeling you got whenever someone just watched you, for no other reason than their own occupation. This, predictably, was Javier’s natural state. A hovering surveillance robot created solely for your scrutinization and utter annoyance.

You couldn’t even ignore his cologne while he breathed down your neck as you typed up a report, pointing out an extra comma here or a misspelling there. His scent bullied its way into your nose without consent, wafting up to your brain as if it belonged there, and for a split second you would think maybe it did.

Nonsense.

That was the sleep deprivation talking, there was no other explanation. These wild and outlandish thoughts were starting to get on your last nerve, if you were being honest.

And when weren’t you honest? Except, maybe with yourself.

It wasn’t as though it was easy to miss the contours of his jaw when he clenched it in aggravation, or the veins protruding from his hands when he flexed them impatiently. You didn’t appreciate the way you had unwittingly become accustomed to the smell of cigarettes, even tolerating it.

The fact that he couldn’t go two minutes without lighting up may have been a red flag, but it had disguised itself as something entirely different.

Alluring.

You weren’t admitting to being attracted to him; hardly, in fact. Anyone could make smoking look hot, couldn’t they?

Even the overweight cashier at the liquor store had some appeal with a cloud of smoke swirling around his bulbous features, sure.

It was the slow burn of the embers as it ate away at the thin stick, the small puff that escaped his - rather, anyone’s - lips at each exhale, the lingering scent that overpowered anything present before it.

Oh, who were you kidding? It was so overwhelmingly him. You were humble enough to admit that, confident enough in your overall repulsion of him that you could grant the man a small win. He had certainly mastered the art of making impending lung cancer look sexy.

And he was truly protective over his allotted smoke breaks, territorial, almost. It was like an indulgence for him, the slight burn in his throat that crackled to his lungs, the once clean air that grew thick around him, the peace of it all.

You usually tried to respect this instance; in fact, you always did, but after a mission that had gone particularly dismally, Javier wasn’t the only one in need of a distraction.

It had gone bad, really bad. It had been neither of your intentions to lose two agents in twenty minutes, and the plan certainly hadn’t included bombing the mission entirely. It was no one’s fault, and also everyone’s fault. Who couldn’t blame themselves?

You had plopped down next to Javier on the wire bench in the courtyard, maintaining enough self-awareness amidst your self-loathing to keep a semblance of space between the two of you.

Cigarettes had never been your thing; one or two bad decisions in high school had solidified that. But after what had just happened, it wasn’t seeming so damaging.

Your eyes had flickered to the cartridge in his hand, the name Peña scrawled lazily across the top.

Jesus Christ, this guy actually labels his cigarettes?

He had noticed your lingering gaze, reaching into his personal stash to hold a stick out to you despite himself. He hadn’t made eye contact, hadn’t even bothered to look your way. That would make it too personal, too intimate. He was being decent, and that was all.

Neither of you spoke as you took the cigarette between your slightly dry lips, puckering as he held the lighter at the tip. You didn’t need to; everything was understood.

It would have been profound; poetic, even, if it had been anyone other than him. But no, it only served to frustrate you more.

Why couldn’t you escape him, why couldn’t you stay away?

He had left before you finished your smoke, his already burnt to a crisp, abandoning you to wallow in a cloud of smoke and bad decisions. It wasn’t discussed the next day, or the day after that.

You never talked about it because you never talked about anything; apart from your missions, that is. And even then it was clinical, detached. You didn’t acknowledge the important stuff, because that’s too close for comfort.

It was just that way; it was understood, accepted by both of you. And it had worked, always, until this mission.

This half-baked, godforsaken mission that took a turn for the worse in every possible way. It was heinous, really, just how poorly the operation had gone. You had taken some risks, he had missed some shots, all things to be expected. The issue here, however, was that these risks should not have been taken, and those shots should never have been missed.

And that is how you found yourself in Javier’s office, five feet apart, screaming at each other to see who would lose their voice first.

“I told you to stick to the fucking plan!” He bellowed, the decibels echoing off his sparsely decorated walls.

“The plan went to shit, in case you didn’t notice! It was a suicide mission either way!” You weren’t wrong; your superiors had passed down the assignment from their place high in the castle, sending off their peons to complete their dirty work. It was shafty, poorly put together. You had both recognized it from the start, but who were you to refuse them?

“That mission wasn’t my fucking call and you know it!” He shot back, running a hand through his aggravated dark curls, pacing aggressively.

Fuck, his ha-

Anyways.

“I didn’t say it was, dickwad!” Oh yeah, that was a strong one.

“Oh, dickwad, that’s poetic!” He let out a sardonic, humorless chuckle, shaking his head and flashing you an ironic grin. You rolled your eyes so hard you thought they might roll back, crossing your arms defiantly.

“Ever the mature one, Peña.” You weren’t really one to be talking, purposefully pissing him off by saying his last name rather than his first, but any dig was entirely worth it. You were fully aware of your talent at snaking under his skin.

“Ever the ma-” He trailed off, letting out a huff of laughter at the absurdity of it all. “That is ironic coming from you.” He spoke, your tones quieter now, but no less charged with insult. He stalked closer to you as a dangerous smirk graced his features, quirking his mustache upward in the best way. He let himself lean in, just enough for you to feel his breath on your ear, before he whispered.

He fucking whispered.

“You’re just a walking mistake with a badge.” Suddenly, you could barely breathe. The air around you felt thick, smoky, but for once his lips were void of a cigarette. You took a step back, burning a hole into his eyes with your own.

“Guess that makes two of us.” You replied lowly, letting him revel in the momentary illusion that he had actually stung. You made a circle around him, now tip-toeing to whisper in his own ear.

“They died fixing your fuckup.” And hell if he didn’t snap then and there. Just as you stepped two feet away, he whirled around to slam his fist onto the desk, a yelled curse coupling with the ringing in your ears.

“You don’t get to walk away!” He directed at you, quickly crowding you against the nearest wall as he planted your wrists beside your head.

And for once, it was silent.

Only the sound of your harsh breaths filled the room as you both stared, not at your eyes, but something else.

Something entirely more damaging.

Lips.

His body was completely slotted against your own, his leg between your thighs, his grip on your wrists firm and unrelenting. His chest rose and fell against your own as ragged breaths escaped you both.

He was so close. All he would have to do is lean down just a bit and then he would be able to-

“Damn you.” You forced out, dying to avoid the inevitability of it all. “I hate y-”

And then it was all a clash of lips and teeth, the burn of cigarettes transferring from his tongue to yours. There was nothing gentle or tender about any of it; on the contrary. It was primal, animalistic, desperate. He pulled after what felt like an eternity, only for air, only to speak.

“I hate you too.” He panted in response, giving you no time to realize his underlying insinuation before he was on you again. His hands finally released your wrists, sliding down to grip your waist as if he was afraid you would disappear. Your back was still flush with the wall, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he explored your mouth.

“So fuckin’ annoying.” He mumbled under his breath as his lips moved to your neck, leaving marks in their wake.

“Such an idiot.” You breathed back at him, letting your head fall back against the wall as he reached your collarbone.

Insults were traded back and forth as layers began to shed, your clothes now decorating the floor in a haphazard arrangement. When you had finally bared yourselves to each other, Javier stooped down to whisk you into his arms, shifting you over to the desk. He set you atop the cool surface, your breath hitching at the sensation as you remained wrapped around him.

“So pretty, amor.” He hummed into your hair, deeply inhaling your scent as the mirage of hatred fell between you. “And so wet.” You gasped as his fingers were suddenly toying with your swollen clit, and your grip on him tightened. You were sure you had already leaked onto the desk, and judging by the rather smug expression on Javier’s face, you were right.

“Don’t tease.” You forced out, tugging him closer by the vice your legs created. He could’ve teased you more; much more, in fact, but he wasn’t cruel. He could be, but he wouldn’t.

Not today.

Not with you looking so fucked out in his arms when he’s barely even touched you. Not with the way your lips were parted just enough to let shallow breaths through. Not with how your hair was flipped to one side, framing your angelic features so fucking perfectly.

“Fuck, hermosa.” He groaned, capturing your lips with his for what felt like the hundredth time as he lined himself up with your dripping entrance. There was no time for foreplay, no time to ‘get you ready.’ You would just have to take it like the good girl you were. And when his leaking tip notched just inside, you could swear you could’ve come then and there.

With your nails marking crescent shapes into his back and your tongue tangling with his, he pushed into you at a torturous pace, and you weren’t sure how he could tolerate it.

“Javi, shit.” You moaned against his lips, breaking the kiss and pressing your forehead against his. He let out a deep sigh when he was fully sheathed inside of you, relishing in how tightly you squeezed him.

“So fuckin’ tight, cariño.” He panted as he began to slowly pull out, only to slam into you with a force that drew a sharp, muffled cry from your lips. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ well, isn’t she?” It wasn’t as if that question was anything but rhetorical, but the praising tone drew such a flutter from inside that you assumed even he felt it.

“Faster, Javi, please.” You weren’t one to beg. In fact, you were sure you had never begged during sex before. Javier, to be fair, seemed to have a natural talent for bringing out the best in you (if pathetic is considered a good thing, and in this case, you were thinking yes). He let another groan escape those perfect lips, revealing just how deeply you were affecting him.

“As you wish, hermosa.” He grunted, increasing his speed at your plea. You could hardly form a complete thought, the feeling of his thick cock stretching you so deliciously fucking you out. The slick and punctuating sounds of him pounding into you filled the bare office, the empty walls allowing the sounds to echo that much more.

It felt like nothing and an eternity all at the same time, and you could hardly believe your ears when you barely registered Javier’s words.

“Shit, baby, m’close.” There was no fucking way that Javier Peña would come early inside of you, so the logical conclusion was that he was fucking you too well for you to process time correctly.

Yes, that must be it.

Your moans grew louder and your back arched harder as his thumb rubbed harsh circles into your puffy clit, making that knot in your stomach all the more noticeable. It was like nothing else the moment you came, your vision going white, your nerves lighting up, your eyes rolling back.

It was surreal.

And you could assume he felt the same, the way he pulled you close and buried his face in your neck after you had both relaxed, breathing you in deeply just like before. He pressed tender kisses to your neck, now glistening with sweat, any hint of the animosity from before long gone.

“You’re such a tease, hermosa.” You could feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin, and it brought a soft one to your own. “These games you play with me, they’re torturous.” You let out a little giggle as his eyelashes tickled the skin beneath your ear, sighing contentedly. Your arms around him tightened at his next words, relishing in the husky tone and the insinuation of it all.

“Games, amor. Wicked games.”

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todayisafridaynight · 1 year ago

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IW fr just felt like yokoyama's cope for killing Aoki off and then regretting it

im not saying yoko shouldve ryuji'd aoki but im just saying maybe the aoki-lives truthers were onto something if not copium but serving a warning for what was to come

#iw spoilers #spoilers #not really but shut up #snap chats #actually no shut up ill make those tags valid #LIIIIKKKEEEEEE EIJI WAS DONE WELL AS A MASATO-ADJACENT CHARACTER #why make ebina .......... i hate him so much ........... yoko it is not 2009 anymore who is this deviantART-oc-backstory ass mfer #why not even have ichi interact with him more or have him fight ebina ...#if yu really had to fuck it have kiryu and ichi fight ebina together idc just #with ichi's core being about family its so fucking bizarre ichi never gets to properly interact With His Family #IM NOT GETTING INTO THIS RANT FUCK OFF #there's just ... so much that could've been done differently that wouldve worked so much more interestingly .... im angry now ...#im gonna drink this tea ...#cyborg aoki wouldve been so funny but also so unnecessary #he just got shanked like. fuck if i know where brb #no i need to stop because im literally going to sit here and do an autopsy report if i dont force myself to put it to rest #anyways i dont think aoki should be brought back and with this game ending i at least hope they put him to rest now #i was happy with what the ending with eiji provided like FINE that was sweet #im still pissed that kume was just. brushed aside like that like can i at least watch his arrest ........ if i cant kill him myself ......

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sevicia · 7 months ago

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It makes me upset to see people calling AI stupid or just straight up saying "fuck AI" (even though it's in an art context) because it's like... I know and understand that the hate is directed at how it's being used currently and that people maybe just don't care like I do about this but it's upsetting because that's WORK. Not in a monetary sense at all but what everyone knows as AI didn't just sprout from the ground one day, it's decades of dedication and learning and development and collaboration to make a tool with the intention of making life better regardless of any one individual's intentions and it just makes me sad that there's so much panic around it, both from the whole "being replaced" thing that comes from waaay way back and also the very real concerns regarding generative AI. Like I can't just go up to someone and say "hey, isn't this cool?!" and expect them to understand I'm talking about AI as a tool and a product of passion and collaboration over time rather than a quick easy fix for when you want to see yourself as an anime character without having to learn to respect art first. I don't knowww it just makes me so so sad that something so beautiful is viewed in such a negative and strange light because the entire world refuses to slow down for a single second

#diary #it's also the fact that most people don't have any particular interest in cs #like nothing beyond ''we're in the future :o'' and it's not something you can force because that's how you get people being adverse #to anything ever #I feel like anything to do with technology is so sensationalized that people see it as ''something difficult'' and leave it at that #it has a lot to do with math in particular being regarded as a Superior show of intelligence even today and it has always been #sooo incredibly fucked up to me.#cause the amount of people at school that would treat me like an alien just cause I liked math / anything puzzle-y is INSANE #for example I have no fucking clue how most things work. like in general. so I really admire people who are good or invested in those thing #but I hate to think that any field or development is comparable to Magic or super estranged from myself or anything like that #because SOMEONE DID THAT. everything you know was worked for #and stopping to think about someone's work only to end up talking about it like it's magical or impossible #feels like a massive disrespect towards them. it's not impossible. someone worked hard to make it possible.#but I understand that stopping to consider these things is not something everyone can afford to do or even want to do #I'm a very slow person in general to the point I want to spend as long as possible looking at every part of anything I find interesting #but I just can't do that because there's other things I need to do. and it's the same for everyone else #tldr WHY ARE WE GOING SO FUCKING FAST !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#sorry about my ramble. you are my mutual and you love me <- indoctrination btw

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gorbo-longstocking · 11 months ago

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oooo yay its my bday i just hit the big two four!!! so if you see my age in bio change you know whats up. uhh book update for the five people who are interested, i hit 33k words a few days ago and im having a blast writing it!! i still have a long way to go before its finished, i estimate the rough draft alone will take about a year to finish. but yeah the purpose of this post is to do a small poll—

i was thinking, that mayhaps, i could share a scene or two that i particularly liked or made me laugh every chapter to few chapters or so on this account? i wanted to ask before i do it because i know yall followed me for fanfic and i dont wanna clog anyones dash. however, it would be a way for me to share parts of my writing still (not doing so is making me insane ill write a scene and want to paul revere it so bad because i love it sm) and remain active on this account

#yall dont even KNOW how bad i wanna post the full thing but i gotta stay strong #im crafting these freaks out of clay and i need the world to know #that said it would make publishing harder unless i went the indie route at the end and i may beat myself with a brick in a year for posting #and i HAAAAVE to consider that unfortunately #ao3 calls but making a genuine life out of something i enjoy calls harder #the dollar general evil spirit that follows me around on every shift and drains my life force has been attacking so much recently #also tbr if anyone is deadass interested in reading what i got….. my dms are open i could link u to my google docs #make new friends and share my little gay stories in one fell swoop #man idk im just rambling atp im on break at work rn #no thoughts head empty #if anyone has any other ideas lmk i did consider a discord server for my friends who i am showing or something that i could just #have a public link to??? but i hate modding #idk if people are interested i could suck it up #MAN IDK #THOG JUST A GUY #thank u for reading this ily

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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 years ago

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#so i survived my 1st week as a phd student. it's interesting. im not sure how i feel #the negatives are that i forgot how much stress being around people causes me. as a research assistant i was able to be on my own schedule #and go into the lab at odd hours so i never had to see anyone. but now im in classes and teaching and have a shared office #classes are tolerable stress wise so long as im sitting on an edge. i only feel a lil like im dying. teaching makes nauseous beforehand.#which is odd bc im not really worried while im doing it or before im doing it. i thibk its just that i have to interact ans i kno im a #mediocre teacher bc id rather die than do the back and forth of asking questions and u should teach interactively #i like to break down complex idea and help people with problems but i was not build to teach in classrooms. i get knocked off points when #i give class presentations bc i cant make eye contact lol. so that'll b annoying this semester. and its just so hard to function in an #office space. idk its weird like i dont even feel it that much while im there its just like a flashing *i need to leave* alarm. and then #when im alone its like a physical weight off of me. and i cant tell if thats what's draining my energy or if ive just cycled into a low #energy lul bc im just like. i wanna sleep. and for me thats always a sign that somethings wrong. i dont feel that bad mood wise but its #like there's a rock weighing me down as im trying to tread water. so those r the big negatives. the positives r that #i do enjoy being back in school. i love the structure of it. but im also self destructive abt structure so well see how it goes. but my #lab mates seem nice as does my advisor. i feel a bit bad bc ill have to learn genome stuff from the ground up. and today i was trying to #convey ideas to him like an insane person. bc i dont have enough background to talk fluidly abt my prospective project and i have a picture #of what i mean but not all the details. hopefully i made some sense. i think the idea is cool. and thats the other really positive thing.#the papers i have to read associated with this project r waaaaaaaaaay more interesting than anything i ever had to read for my masters. like #they're the types of papers i would force other ppl to read for lab meetings. so im optimistic abt not hating it by the end haha #yay for being excited abt science. but i guess thats the other thing i feel bad abt. like im interested but haven't read a lot to prep bc #i cant express how difficult dyslexia makes things but also i cant control how interested in things i get so i bassically banned myself #from reading papers im actually interested in like 3 years ago bc in retrospect i was prob going thru a hypomanic episode #and i was like reading papers abt microbes in Antarctica all day and not working on my stuff. and i just remember walking into the lab at #like 5am to trasfer alage with tears streaming down my face bc i was just like. i cant have this nice thing and b functional. it has to stop #so i just created this weird barrier in my mind where im not allowed to read fun papers. so its odd to b reading them now for work. its odd #also i was walking to my office worring abt things and then i saw some moss growinf around the edge of the sidewalk and it made me wanna cry #bc i am an extremely normal individual. i have normal feelings abt photosynthesis. but anyway yeah. its been interesting #hopefully ill stay optimistic. next week we have a orientation for new grad students. and i might have to drive like an hr away. hate that #the driving i mean. not the orientation. that should b fun #unrelated

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lightbulb-warning · 2 years ago

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16 classmates means 256 potential dynamics to explore if we only consider 1 on 1 interactions (which i will! ...until this sentence ends) and that means 256 drawings. considering that group interactions exist and it can be any combo that is... a way larger number.

i have 2 hands, 0 time and too much ambition!!

haha! oh no.

#i would like to live my life and also fundematally tear apart my hpfxtn from the inside out and roll in its guts #that's not really possible unfortunately #because TIME #bitches love to hate on me for “quality over quantity uwu” which is valid as FUCK babe you do you #i need to do me and me wants to be engulfed in the concept of interaction. yes specifically through ship art.#that means gotta go fast.#as in. i get told a lot i should not try to improve my drawing speed because i draw fast enough. they fail to consider that i want to!!!!#my brain is an enigma to me too im a barely functioning human if me having social competence comes in the form of free art then #my therapist is gonna make so much fun of me i guess #/lh #mind you. this here talking to myself? this is all silly bullshit ego. i know very well whatever i WANT to do ill end up drawing koquichechi #“ok me we made a plan to practice drawing subtle understated emotions with charact-” “what if we drew koquichechi slapstick instead”#“but the PLAN??” “look at that. it's koquichechi.”#and then i babysit myself into FORCING myself to draw shit i want to draw and would enjoy drawing but it takes SO LONG #an doing things that take time *takes time*. outrageous. how dare you. i hate it. (bla bla bla time is an illusion i KNOW)#and im still figuring out subtle. groooooaaaaaaannnnnnnnn!!!!!!!#eh whatevs!#whether i make ANY of my bullshit projects real or not what matters is having fun with it before i die /lh #its gonna be okay #*yearning* i just think itd be cool!!#shut up maiora #rambling #i get threatened with violence constantly by art friends. they're so completely right.#anyway tell me all about your rare-pairs if you want!! i might scribble em in my free time :>#(use the ask box)#(yes platonic too!)#(i think itd be fun 👉👈)#(i wanna hear people's thoughts!!)#(might be done in pencil ^^')#(im getting distracted HAVE A NICE DAY BUHBYE)

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rxc · 9 days ago

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vent cw and self harm mention in the tags

i hate this goddmn hellpit of a world and i particularly hate men. like jesus fucking christ they ALL REALLY think they are just. better than me.

#even when. or actually particularly when they don't understand why im doing something #i want to rip my hair out and set things on fire and .#i feel really really fuckinh stressed im under enormous pressure and i have very little support on a personal level.#its this inescapable fucking thing.#this volunteer work im doing. im disabled and im working for free and everyone is telling me how i fucked up by trying to make sure #that we werent doing illegal shit.#as a registered entity.#like. fuck all of these people genuinely.#its making me doubt myself somewhat but also like #i spoke up about these concerns and none of them had a serious answer for me that would actually be reliable long term.#and its a long term project.#and then they bailed on it on top of that #i hate these people. i really really hate them.#deeply hypocritical confused unserious attitudes. deeply unhelpful and completely unaware of it. they make me sick.#i mean they are making me sick in real life i am suffering because of the lack of support and the bullshit they keep repeating to me #and how they portrayed this volunteer work when they were leaving their positions #so now others are less likely to take the positions because they talked shit about it #and i don't want to aggravate myself by getting into arguments with them but god i hope that one day they fucking understand.#how thoughtless and careless they'd been.#im having such a bad time and im fighting so hard. i don't know how im going to get through this.#my personal life is falling apart i don't have the energy to clean my home or take care of myself #ive noticed self harming inclinations popping up lately.#like this is really not good.#but if i don't pull through then they'll all blame me forever and i cant handle having to move away.#this is my home.#i already have a hard time going outside i don't want to be known as the person who fucked up the [community project that was forced on us]#fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. i need this to be over with. please i need this to be over sooner than i expect. i need this to end favorably #not just for my sake but because its a genuinely important project. i believe in it and its important to me personally too #i cant explain that without saying more than im comfortable with but yeah #god like i finally want to live and now im having to go through this? why? am i bad? or the world is bad.

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atrwriting · 1 year ago

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future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

this man is so fine i couldn’t help myself. i hope everyone had an amazing holiday if they celebrate — i celebrate christmas, so here is my almost 10k word christmas gift to all of you xoxo love u all v much thank you for reading !!

as always, warnings: corio-lame-o is a fucking warning holy fuck, smuuuuut, arranged marriage (i think this counts?), coriolanus is a distrustful evil fuck (but he’s super hot), fem!reader, reader is married to this dickhead (i say as if i wouldn’t want to be lmao), angst, sexism and misogyny is def in here, p in v penetration, m receiving oral, choking, dom!corio, asshole!corio, sub!reader, subspace kinda

informal warnings: bro what the fuck was i on this is literally 10.2k words and i refuse to edit because im super lazy anyway we die like men you've been warned

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

he saw it as a potential problem, one that would most definitely lead to loose ends — and he hated loose ends.

despised them.

however, his innate need to maintain an image was far more important to him. he weighed the costs and benefits in his head like an algorithm — check, check, check. coriolanus’ mind left no stone unturned, especially when future problems were to be squashed before they could ever be wiped from memory. in the end… he decided he would marry.

and it would be you.

he never allowed himself to be naive — so he would never allow himself to marry someone he already loved. lucy gray? a child’s want for something they can’t have, and something they wouldn’t realize until later that it was a walking regret. no — he could never marry someone that would harm him. absolutely not. out of the question. therefore, it had to be you.

it had to be you because what harm would you cause him? you were shy, quiet, of satisfactory social standing, and uncontroversial. everything a patriarch of the snow family would want. deserved. be entitled to.

he needed someone that wouldn’t be a problem — a loose end in the future. he had conquered so much — he refused to let anything else, especially as irrelevant as a significant other, stand in his way.

however… it did not aid him in his stone-cold lack of a love affair conquest that you were absolutely breathtaking.

at first, it was just an ego boost. he simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from voicing, of course she’s perfect. the snow legacy can only have perfect.

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

the first time he caught himself enjoying it — he scolded himself. he refused to see you for a week. a punishment of sorts. more so for him than for you. after, he refused to let his eyes wander on the pretty features of your face for him to witness a reaction to something someone had said or done. he didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to experience joy or peace because someone else was experiencing it — that was what almost costed him everything he had built.

no one would ever tear that down. not again, not ever.

no one.

when the day of your marriage came, it was business as usual. he refused to meet eye contact, and did not partake in more conversations with you than he had to. he could tell you felt uncomfortable — but he forced himself not to care. he drove it down, down, down like a miner drilling for more coal — hoping, one day, it would be worth it.

and it was… until he was sick.

it was a minor ailment — nothing major, but he was on bedrest for about a week or two. he had employed enough adequate members to his staff to feel that things would at least be taken care of until then. he also found comfort in the fact that two weeks was not long enough for something irreversible to occur. if a problem had taken placed, he would be able to rectify it once he was well and able and… set aside the responsible party.

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

he knew you were asking to see him. he knew, he knew, he knew, but he refused to let you in. you were not disrespectful — you had only asked once a day, which happened to be every day in the afternoon. he had picked you specifically because you were too quiet to be annoying. however, his own perfect, pristine, and proper plan had stabbed him in the back. he had never considered that the perfect, pristine, and proper wife would be this dutiful to him, checking in once a day on his condition and to speak with him. despite his illness, he laughed at himself — leave it to him to not expect the expected: the hand-selected dutiful wife would, in fact, be dutiful.

he had to put an end to it. he couldn’t keep saying no for another week. how was he expected to get better if you kept bothering him?

so he let you in. this once. just this once. he reasoned that if he let you in this once, you would be less persistent. just this once — and another problem would cease to plague his mind.

just this once, he chanted in his head. just this once.

he sat up straighter, and attempted to shape his hair so it wasn’t terribly unkept. he reasoned that if you saw him appearing to be healthy, you wouldn’t feel the need to come back. he thought —

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

lilacs, of all things. lilacs! not roses, not anything else — lilacs. he did not hate lilacs, but he despised the actual flower. only beautiful for so long before it died and the stench was intolerable. an inconvenience. a nuisance. a guaranteed future problem.

however, when you gifted him with a small smile — you realized why small shows of beauty were so valuable in this world. no one else saw your smile — except for those closest to you. people he hand selected to be around you to prevent future problems. he realized then — he had more control and ownership over your smile than either of you thought.

he was so stunned by your smile he didn’t even notice the tray of tea and cakes in your hand. you took a few steps towards him and he shifted in place.

“i brought your favorites,” you spoke softly. “i know you should rest — i just wanted to ask if there was anything i could do to make your recovery easier.”

“no, thank you,” he replied, voice raspy. “i should be well in a few days.”

you nodded and offered an uneasy smile. his eyes flickered over to how once you had set down the tray on his beside, you slowly wiped the palm of your hands down the front of your dress. your eyes were cast absentmindedly in front of you, on the wall — and he could tell something was plaguing your thoughts.

he then also realized there was a book on the tray, much to his dismay.

“someone had mentioned that this was your favorite author. this was published a few days ago,” you began. “i understand that you have been experiencing headaches, and may find it difficult to read… so i wanted to offer to read aloud for you, in case you found these walls dull.”

you smiled — it was an attempt at a joke. he smiled back, but only to be polite. “today i find myself wanting to sleep. i appreciate your offer.”

you smoothed your hands over your dress once more before nodding and forcing a smile. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

you did not bid him farewell — and he found himself wondering if he was annoyed or grateful. you simply exited the room, and let the door shut softly behind you.

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

he had wanted this. the perfect wife — knowing when to take a hint and frankly, fuck off. you had done that, perfectly well — so why was he pissed?

he then found himself glaring angrily at his favorite tea cakes. the swap of sugar for honey, another one of his favorites. his favorite author, a book he was excited to read when he was better. he knew that you hadn’t asked about him — he employed people with the requirement to let him know when you were asking questions. he knew your every outward thought and concern, and sometimes even the ones that weren’t shared aloud because they were so evident on your face.

and then he realized: you noticed things like he noticed things.

however, he knew why he went out of his way to notice things, but why did you?

his jaw clenched as he glared angrily at the wall in front of him. he picked up a tea cake and chewed it aggressively, swallowing it half-intact. he coughed at the barely there food, anger rising further to his flushed cheeks.

he needed to understand how, and he most certainly needed to understand why.

he never went out of his way to get to know you, because he thought he already did. he thought he had you boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: passive. incapable of proving to be any sort of roadblock that was capable of getting in his way. now that he knew you shared something with him, what else was shared? was there something he had to look out for? was there something he missed? was he wrong about you?!

he had to know. he had to.

to do that… he called you back that evening. it was two hours before midnight, and he knew you were awake. despite having separate chambers, he knew your daily schedule. you would be reading at this moment, and he would ask you to read for him.

as if on cue, he heard a soft rapping on the wood of the door. he beckoned you in, and you entered the room. you were clad in a night dress with a matching robe over it, all pink silk. this time, he returned your smile.

"i apologize for the late hour," he spoke. "i hope you had not retired for the night."

you shook your head, your tendrils of perfect hair shaking slightly. "i was reading. i am glad you sent for me — can i get you anything?"

"i was hoping the offer to read for me was still on the table," he rasped. "i find myself unable to sleep."

you blinked once, staring at him. in an instant, a small smile was threatening to overtake your face into a large one. you cast your eyes down to a blushing manner, but his eyes narrowed slightly on your face. what would you get out of reading for him? what we he not seeing? what did he miss?

"of course," you responded. "i have not had a chance to read anything by this author. i am glad i have the chance now."

why. why. why.

he did not show his discontent. he simply rested back against the pillows as you reached for the book on his bedside table. you sat down on a chair on his side, and you crossed your legs. he eyed the small portion of the exposed, soft skin of your legs and wondered if your new ploy would be to try and seduce him. however, you quickly covered your skin with the extra material over your robe and placed the book in your lap. once opened, you read for him.

he was not listening to what you were saying, but he was listening to how you said it. the tone, the enunciation, the pauses, and the speed. he wanted to find some clue as to why you had made it a point to be at his beck and call, and he wanted to see how long the act would last until it dropped.

the act would drop. it always did.

the hour would approach midnight before he found that he could not discern anything from how you were reading aloud. his plan did not yield the results intended, as you had not broken from fulfilling his task for two hours. two hours. you had not stopped out of boredom or exhaustion, nor to talk to him. you were poised, soft, and he hated to admit it... but sweet. he found your voice sweet, and he hated it.

and he fucking hated himself for it.

he needed this to end so he could plan further. out of necessity, he yawned. if you were to apt at picking up clues, then hopefully you would believe that he was finally tired. you had succeeded in his given task, and you were free to go.

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

when you had paused to breathe, he spoke up. "I think i am able to sleep now. thank you, sweetheart, for indulging me."

your eyeline raised with your eyebrows, almost out of surprise. you either were not expecting him to ask you to stop, or you did not want to stop. he wondered which, and if that would answer his ultimate question.

"my apologies, i should've inquired sooner," you replied. "he is a very talented writer... i found myself enjoying his perspective."

you grabbed a piece or scrap paper from his bedside table, and tucked it in between the pages where you left off.

"most people would fold the corner," he remarked, eyes drifting closed — a show.

you smiled. "i didn't want to ruin the integrity of your book. goodnight, coriolanus."

she left with another smile — and all he was left with was confusion, and rage.

the next morning, he found himself wanting to call you back in for a further rouse interview. he would have if he had a plan in place.

that was the second thing about you that annoyed him: you annoyed him to the point where he wanted to act without a plan in place. a loss of control —which he was highly against.

that would have to be righted immediately.

he spent the morning reading the pages that you had already read to brief himself as if he was listening last night. he reasoned with himself that the best course of action would be to ask you to read to him again to see if you had grown comfortable enough to let a few of your true colors slip.

they always slip.

the sudden task that was presented to him gave him a new bout of energy that he needed to inch closer to recovery. it gave him the push he needed to be closer to walking out of this room and continue to run panem, and he was lost grateful to you for giving it to him — almost. at the moment, you were a problem — and that needed to be corrected. immediately.

he found comfort in control, so he was very content with routines. he had grown accustomed to bracing himself for your check-in in the afternoon. however, it did not come until the approaching hours of the evening had almost descended upon the capitol. he waited, and waited, and waited — so long that he considered asking you to come for himself. the hour would approach dinnertime when you had finally asked about his well-being, and he sent for you.

how dare you ask so late in the day, as if you didn't care? he allowed you access to his life that he had denied you for so long, and you return his kindness with carelessness? this would not do. this most certainly would not do.

you had knocked on his door, and he had to stop himself from sounding to eager. he permitted you entry, and you entered with the same soft smile.

"good evening," you greeted.

"hello," he replied, voice still raspy from his sickness.

"I wanted to ask if you need anything," you announced.

he offered a small smile. "i enjoyed our time last night. perhaps you would read for me, again?"

your eyes fell to the floor in a blush. "of course. I was hoping to read more of the book eventually. i found it intriguing."

you sat down in the chair and pulled the book in your lap. as you were opening it, he spoke, "i thought when you had not checked-in in the early afternoon you found the book dull — afraid i would ask for you to read it for me again."

you shook your head as you smiled. "i like his writing very much — i was concerned as to whether i had prevented you from sleeping the night prior, and didn't want to disturb you further."

he swallowed. "why would you have disturbed me?"

your eyes glanced upwards from the pages to rest on his face. coriolanus stared back as slight concern washed over your features, making your lips part and your eyes widen. your tongue darted out from between your lips, and smoothed over the skin of your bottom lip. you responded, "before you fell ill, we hadn't spent much time together and i understand that is because of your position — but, to be frank, i wanted to respect your space.”

your answer perplexed coriolanus. he wanted to find out what type of person you were — and your answers were not yielding the expected results. there was no obvious form of manipulation in your words, which then worried him. were you smarter than he believed you to be? were you as cunning as him? more so?

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

“i apologize my station has not granted us the freedom to get to know each other further,” he replied, holding your gaze. “it is a regret of mine.”

you smiled in an affirmative manner, like you didn’t believe him but accepted his answer anyway. this expression arose the same feelings he now detested your presence for: he acted without calculating his actions and the outcome they would produce.

“what troubles you?” he asked.

your lips parted and slightly quivered. you were not expecting him to ask.

“i-i was worried that i may not… please you,” you admitted. “that… you may regret our union.”

“you have been a kind and dutiful wife,” coriolanus spoke, eyes holding yours. “there is no regret.”

there was that affirmative smile again. he found himself hating it — wishing it would be replaced by the warm, soft one.

“i guess i was hoping that, when i was married, the marriage would be more than… a union.”

your candor shocked coriolanus. he would never have expected you to say something… so out of turn.

“please, forgive me,” you spoke, slightly laughing and waving your hand in the air. “the hour is almost late and i was hoping to read more. do you still wish me to?”

“please,” he answered and nodded.

you gave him a quick, thankful smile, and began reading.

this would be the second night coriolanus had not listened to a word you had said.

he had gotten his answer, and it was possibly as bad as the one he was actually afraid for.

you were good. pure, innocent, and your outlook on the world untainted. you were not striving to find a loose screw and let the empire fall. you wanted… to support the man who built and kept the empire together. it was worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined — you actually cared for him.

you cared for him, and now coriolanus snow was fucking terrified.

and yet... he had asked you to return to his chambers every night after that.

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

to read to him, but his goal was to learn more about you rather than the text.

you would sit there and read until he asked you to stop. when he did, you would close the book, smile at him, place it back on his nightstand, and bid him goodnight.

after, he would wrestle with the blankets and pillows in order to find out how to deal with this.

how had he not expected this?

his only fault was that he neglected to realize how far your shyness would go. you had grown comfortable with him — and you admitted that you wanted something more, something he always felt he could not give. you weren’t shy — you just weren’t open with people you weren’t comfortable with.

he should’ve known. he should’ve. fucking. known.

he didn’t know how to deal with this, if he was being honest with himself.

he told himself that he asked for you every evening to get to know you better, for his own sanity and safety; but then he began to realize he had found out everything he needed to know.

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

he saw a part of you, but now he needed to know more.

so what did he do? he sent you flowers. flowers. an arrangement of red roses and lilacs.

he hated himself for the lilacs.

he got somewhere with you when he had made the first move before — maybe this would yield more promising results.

however, it didn’t.

all he received in return was an extra tray of food that had arrived in the afternoon. his favorite tea cakes, and a handwritten thank-you note detailed in your appreciation for the beautiful flowers. you signed your name, and that was it.

she doesn’t make first moves, he thought. she responds to them.

he knew what he had to do.

he found himself feeling better that day — well enough to end his sick leave and return to his matters. dinner was approaching, and he sent for you to join him for a private dinner this evening.

he was washed, dressed, and coiffed within the hour.

he found you in the dining parlor waiting for him, inspecting his large bookcase. you were trying to reach a book a bit above where your height would allow, extending yourself onto your toes. coriolanus walked up behind you, towering over you, and retrieved the book for you.

you glanced up at him with wide eyes. “thank you, coriolanus.”

“what intrigued you?” he asked, grinning softly.

“first one i couldn’t reach. i was working my way up.” you smiled at him, and then the book. “please — you must be hungry. let us eat.”

you sat down at the table across from him. dinner manners were rather stiff and uncomfortable, but your upbringing that was similar to coriolanus’ prevented you from straying from them. you ate in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“how do you like his new book?” you asked.

coriolanus cleared his throat. “i find it riveting. i wouldn’t have been able to read it for some time if it hadn’t been for you.”

you smiled at your plate, blushing. “his points are very interesting. i was never very interested in politics — so the insight of someone so heavily involved with them is very informative. do you find that your opinions align with his? or does he not share your perspective?”

he appreciated your willingness to engage with him about topics you weren’t very fond of. an underrated trait, not found very often — he had to admit.

“a bit of both,” he responded. “the one thing he does not discuss is how important it is to have a certain type of person or persons in your regime that allows the flow of success to continue.”

you nodded. “you have built a strong administration — i’m sure he would admire what you have to say.”

“what do you believe?” he asked. “about partnerships?”

you swallowed, contemplating your answer. “i think… a successful partnership is where everyone is complimented by another. for instance, someone is better at briefing documents rather than the presentation of them, and another is the opposite.”

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

you paused once more, folding your lip under. he realized that was a sign you were uncomfortable — unaware of how to proceed. after a moment, you answered, “i feel the most confident under a strong leader. i prefer to be behind the scenes. minute details are easier to be taken care of that way. while you and i are different, i respect you for being the strong leader panem needed. i am sure the majority would agree with me.”

now was the time.

“it is easy to be strong when one’s wife makes sure they are well,” he replied, eyes resting on your face. “i hope you know i appreciate your willingness to accept change and make sure needs are met.”

you smiled at him once more, then turned back to your food.

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

“and for being the companion i… didn’t think i would come to enjoy the company of,” he added.

you glanced up at him then, astonishment written in your eyes as plain as the words on the paper you read for him every night. “may i ask you… a question?”

he nodded.

“did you believe you wouldn’t enjoy my company before, or after you had first met me?”

“i don’t understand.”

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “were you… wary of the idea of marriage, or wary of me?”

your gaze did not break from his. you were braver than he thought.

“marriage,” he answered honestly, hoping to witness your reaction.

there was the affirmative smile — the one he hated. “thank you for — for being honest.”

your eyes didn’t wait for a response. you turned back to your food, and left him dumbstruck.

“i hope i have not displeased you,” he stated.

“no, coriolanus,” you spoke. “if i am being honest… i was wary i would not be suitable for you. if i have not displeased you, then i am well.”

“but you stated you wanted more,” he countered, tone even.

“i hoped we would… spend time together,” you answered. “and we have.”

it was coriolanus’ turn to be at a loss for words. what would this admission relay? it only solidified what he was afraid of — you wanted a marriage filled of love, and he was not prepared for that. ever.

“the flowers were beautiful,” you spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “thank you for sending them.”

“your lilac perfume is a wonderful addition to the capitol,” he spoke, unsure where this had come from. “i wanted you to know that.”

you weren't supposed to say that you weren't supposed to tell the truth you weren't supposed

you smiled at him appreciatively, that accompanied a slight twinkle in your eye. you were quick to return to eating, but coriolanus couldn’t stop staring at your face. he realized then that was his new favorite smile.

there was a moment, a small moment, where he wondered whether it would be such a crime if he did allow himself to enjoy your company more than he had. in that moment, he couldn’t think of how it would go wrong. for that moment, you were a simple, low-maintenance, beautiful woman on the other side of the table with him that just liked spending time with him — and he enjoyed that you weren’t a problem. would it so bad if he entertained the idea?

he immediately cut himself off. of course it was a bad idea.

once dinner has finished, he had requested to walk you back your chambers. if time spent together was what kept you at bay, he could manage that. he most certainly could.

when the pair of you had approached the door, you stopped for a moment and paused reaching for the handle. you spoke, “would you… like to come in?”

“not tonight,” he rasped. he gave you a polite smile. “another time.”

he watched as you blinked your eyes a few times and your lips quivered. you didn’t meet his gaze, for it fell — in what appeared to be embarrassment.

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

before you had the chance to leave, he swooped down and grabbed your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he pressed his lips to yours ever so softly, holding it there. the moment your breath caught in your throat, there was a strange feeling inside his chest that made him feel like he’d like to quell your worries by catching you off guard another time. and another. and another. and another. he couldn’t have you feeling rejected, no — not when he didn’t want to reject you. he needed heirs, sure — but they could wait. he would contemplate how long later.

once he pulled back, you smiled. inside you were bursting, and you wanted to hurry behind a closed door so he could not see your reaction. he continued to hold your chin and gaze at your face. feeling brave, you looked him in the eye as you bid him goodnight and went into your room.

you left him standing outside your door, facing its wood paneling.

what was he to do?

he wanted to keep you as emotionally far away as possible to avoid anything like this occurring. he was prepared for people who had an ulterior motive… not a young woman who only wanted to be good to her husband.

the worst part was… not every part of him wanted him to keep you away.

would it be so bad, if he had actually courted you?

you were not anyone from his past, no. you were not irresponsible and impulsive, and you could be trusted to remain within a designated role and space. you were rarely outspoken — you never strayed from your cue cards, nor did you get smart in private. you never spoke out of turn, which coriolanus always knew — this was just the first time he was more turned on than he was just grateful.

he reasoned a reward was in order.

he found his knuckles wrapping on the door before he could stop himself.

the small movements inside your apartments stalled for a moment, pulled taut like a string in an instrument. he could picture you — standing still and silent, waiting for an explanation.

then he heard footsteps approaching the door before the door handle turned. when you opened the door, the first thing he saw was your eyes.

those big, beautiful eyes that looked at him with surprise — and the slightest bit of hope. coriolanus would most likely try to convince himself that he stayed completely still to exercise a form of control over you — but deep down, he would never be able to believe that completely.

however… when you reached out with your soft, delicate hand, and pulled at his own — it didn’t matter why he did it, because he won.

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

“i would be coy and ask if we could spend time together in a... different way than usual…” you began, sighing. “but up until this moment i was convinced we would never…”

coriolanus was in no mood to quell insecurities and anxieties. he understood that words could not compare to actions, and so he would do just that.

coriolanus stepped forward, and pressed his large hands against the sides of your face. for a split moment — you almost looked terrified. he usually relished in that look from others, but with you it only made him concerned — angry, even.

“i don’t know what it is about you.” his voice was shaky. it was the first moment in your entire marriage that coriolanus had shown even a shred of weakness. “you smile, you obey, you take my transgressions like they’re fucking sweets. why?! tell me!”

your big, round eyes were blown wide as your brow was knitted together. your lips were parted in an innocent manner, and it only fueled his anger. one of your hands came up to gently lay across the back of his. “coriolanus — have you ever considered that i just wanted to get to know you?”

his eyes searched yours like they were an important document and he couldn’t believe what bullshit he was reading. his lips pursed in a manner that suggested a sour taste, and you felt your joy slipping, slipping, and slipping.

“coriolanus — if you want to go, then go.” your voice was breaking. you knew he was a cool, hard man — but this? this? it was almost too much. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t —“

he couldn’t take your nonsense anymore. he shut you up with a kiss.

he smashed your lips together like it was the first thing he should’ve done when he walked back into the room. a squeal died in your throat at the contact, but coriolanus held you there and upright. both of your hands found the firmness of his chest for balance. when he pulled away — he barely did. he kept his lips an inch away from yours as little tuffs of air pushed past. he leaned his forehead against yours, almost bonding the two of you.

“my greatest displeasure will be making you regret this,” he rasped, eyes screwed shut.

your breathing began to hasten as you contemplated your next words. you began to stroke coriolanus’ hands with your thumbs, hoping to coax him. “you say that like it’s inevitable.”

“it is not far from,” he choked through anger and sadness.

you couldn’t help but stare back at him as he almost glared at you — but then you realized that wasn’t the case. he wasn’t glaring at you — he was glaring through you. whatever traumatized him, whatever made him so distrustful of the world around him and the people in it… you realized then that you represented all of that to him. you had to be different. you had to show him that you were different than all of that.

“i’ve trusted you,” you whispered, almost pleading. “i would like for you to try and trust me. please, coriolanus… i’ve never asked you for anything — just this once —“

coriolanus shook his head, dismissing you. “it’s corio.”

he slammed his lips to yours. his kiss was that of a fight; burning with every cut of anger, frustration, desperation, and sadness in his soul. you weren’t sure if he accounted for your inexperience, but you let him lead as you swallowed all of his suffering. you knew you may never be everything you wanted to be for him — but for this moment, or for whatever he would allow — you could be his escape, and he could be yours.

just this once, you both thought. just this once.

his hands were on both sides of your face, caging you in as you were at the mercy of his bittersweet affection. you tried to keep up with him, almost afraid that you wouldn’t be enough for him — but corio didn’t care. he couldn’t have cared less as he backed you into the foot of the bed. he didn’t stop kissing you as the back of your legs hit your soft mattress, and you were forced to sit down.

with his tongue tangling with yours, you managed to lift your hands to the top buttons of his shirt. he batted your hands away and went to work on his own buttons. you reached behind for your zipper to your dress and attempted to undue it.

corio then pushed your hands away with that too — ripping the zipper down its track and pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“corio —“ you gasped through the kiss, struggling to keep up with him.

he pulled away for a short moment, staring into your eyes. “i have denied myself being with you for so long — nothing is stopping me now.”

he held the glare, and you could only stare back at him in fright. however, that was when you realized that he had felt the same way, or at least similar — you both wanted each other, and had been scared to approach the other. your heart filled with warmth, threatening to explode, but all you could do was nod.

he seemed to calm down then, glancing down towards your lips where he prodded your bottom lip with the tip of his numb. “i have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss my perfect wife — and now that i know, i don’t think i’ll ever give it up.”

you smiled at that. “can i tell you what i have been wondering?”

his eyes met yours once more, almost a warning. you didn’t falter, though. he replied, “yes?”

“i’ve wondered what it would be like to please you,” you spoke softly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks.

his flat look broke then, softening. a smirk greeted his features and you could see his confidence in himself rise. “my lovely wife wants to please me?”

“yes,” you spoke, holding your breath. “if you’ll let me.”

bright and striking, flames of mischief came to light in his irises. emotions of excitement and fear rose within you, and you weren’t sure which was stronger. all you could do was watch as your strong, powerful, larger than life husband stood over you, chin raised, looking down his nose at you, as he unbuckled his belt. his pants and briefs, once around his ankles, were discarded — but you didn’t see that. you couldn’t look away from his eyes — holding you, and your gaze, in place.

it was like you were an enemy he was testing. you didn’t know what he expected, let alone what would make him happy — but you hoped his expectations were slightly lower in light of your inexperience. you swallowed the hard rock of nervousness in your throat, stood up, and gestured for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. he raised an eyebrow at you, but complied. you sat down on your knees in between his, and waited patiently for direction.

“can you…” you began. “can you teach me?”

he smirked once more. “take me in your hand.”

you bent your head lower, and grabbed him by the base. he was hard and warm in your hand as you saw him trying to fight the twitching feeling in his limbs. his muscles were tight, afraid to show weakness. you grew uncomfortable — you didn’t want him weak, but you did want him to feel comfortable enough with you to enjoy a fucking blowjob.

holding his muscle upright, you stuck your tongue out and licked around the tip of his cock. he was salty, but smelled so masculine after a long day. his scent infiltrated all of your senses and had captured your attention. it made you hungry, greedy — so much so that you closed your lips around his cock and began to suck.

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

you paled in embarrassment and fright — but didn’t allow your fear to show for long. you adjusted your tongue and lips — so that your top lip was folded under your top set, and your outstretched tongue covered your bottom set. hollowing out your cheeks, you took him into your mouth once more.

a low hum filled his chest.

you couldn’t see him, and could barely hear him — corio was being a selfish lover and not letting you know whether or not he was enjoying himself. he told you once before you were doing something wrong, so you tried to trust that he would tell you.

that was easier said than done, frankly. with your free hand, you reached up and began to massage his sack in the soft skin of your palm. the hum in his chest turned deeper and louder, and you felt his hips twitch once.

maybe it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't vocal — but it wasn't like he was shy. you would not fault him for not doing something he didn't want to do, but it was like he was denying you that. if you were making him feel good, and he was fighting the volume of his moans — how fucking dare he deny you of that! there you were, constantly at his beck and call, and he couldn't even freely moan with you? you were obedient, quiet, grateful, everything he wanted — but this? this? too much. absolutely too much of an ask.

you had to do something.

"mr. president," you cooed, twisting your soft tongue around the tip of his cock. "you're awfully quiet above me."

he let out a laugh as he struggled to keep his composure. one of hands found the back of your head as his fingers struggled to tangle themselves in between your strands. they were tugging and pulling, but there was no strength in his grip. his grip — wouldn't catch. couldn't catch. corio, you husband — struggled day in and day out to keep the control in the capital and inside his castle. there was a part of you that believed he just needed to let go, let someone else be in control — but you were his pretty little wife after all. you had until death to try everything. losing control could wait, because tonight... tonight was about making corio the grateful one for once.

you let your loose grip run circles up and down the length of his cock. his shaft was wet and thick, begging the attention of the light from above so the skin was able to glisten. the tip of his cock, red and angry, almost neglected — never had you seen something so delicious, nor deserving of affection. your lips, swollen, wrapped themselves around the tip of his cock as you sucked. notes of salt and sweat mixed together on your tongue, and you hummed at the taste.

"taste sweet, mrs. snow?" you heard from above you. your eyes glanced up to find corio's eyes glazed over with pleasure. his eyelids were drooping over, and all you could think about how badly you wanted to make him close his eyes in bliss. your eyes watched his eyes, but his eyes watched the way your mouth sucked him in. "being so good for me. let your husband see what else you can do."

your ears perked in interest. you didn't know what he meant, but you were intrigued to see if he would teach you.

"please... show me what you like," you spoke, extending your neck as he lowered his face to yours.

"so eager to please..." he spoke, staring down at you in awe. his hand slid down for your scalp to cup your cheek. he looked into your eyes like he was studying you — searching for something surface level. a flaw, or something good... you weren't sure. "i suppose some would say i'm lucky."

you didn't like the sound of that... but you didn't let it show. you gave him a hint of a smile. "i don't think it matters what anyone else thinks. i think what matters is you telling me what you like... so you can decide if you're lucky or not."

he chuckled at that, but his laugh was reserved. always holding back, your husband. "you really want to be a good little wife for me... don't you?"

you fell into the strength behind the hand on your face and keened into his touch. his hand was warm against your skin. "please, corio... please let me."

he stood then, and your gaze raised with his body. you gazed up at him as he stared down at you. there his eyes went again — searching yours. he stood closer to you then, bending down slightly. "it would please me if, at any point, you told me to stop because of the pain. i don't want to hurt you." his voice was low and soft then, immediately striking you. "can i trust you to do that? hmm?"

"i'll tell you," you replied, nodding your head. "i promise."

"never break a promise you make to me," he warned.

you nodded your head once more, unsure how to proceed. he led you over to the side of the bed where he gestured for your to lie down. with the passing of time, you became more and more aware of how bare you both were in front of each other. you were ready to let down every fence of insecurity for the man before you... but there were still walls of his that threatened to come down. he was hot and cold every other moment, it seemed... and you weren’t even sure where to begin.

“husband,” you spoke, unsteadily, as he found his place between his legs. “you seem so… distrustful of me. what can i do? please, corio, i just want this moment to be special for us — for you.”

there his eyes went — searching yours again. it was like he was rereading a page in a book over and over, hoping to find the hidden message in the black and white scripture. his eyes, going back and forth, appeared to be looking over unclear smudges and scribbles as his lips began to purse. you almost said something — stopped him from withdrawing into himself, but he moved before you could.

he sat back against the pillows, which faced a mirror across your bed. you rose curiously, hoping that he would finally give you some direction. he simply took your hand in his, and gestured for you to come closer. “come,” he spoke.

in his lap, maybe? you thought curiously. you went to throw your leg over his, before he stopped you. with a furrowed brow, you watched as he adjusted you so your back laid against his chest.

“do as i say,” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine.

your eyes were cast to the side, his outline in your peripheral vision. you nodded, letting your lips fall apart. you felt one of his hands on the soft skin of your thigh, grazing upwards towards your hips. you almost let your eyes fall closed, hoping to lose yourself in the sensations, before corio stopped you.

with that same hand, he reached upwards and grasped your chin between his fingers. your eyes shot open as he moved your head to now face the mirror, and the pair of you in it.

shallow breaths were pushing past your lips as you stared into the mirror. your cheeks were flushed, your hair in a slight disarray, and your lips were swollen. with a flutter of your eyelashes, your gaze flickered towards corio’s reflection. your husband was always perfect — so even the slight persuasion from tidiness was a remarkable sight to you. his eyes were focused — unable to remain cool, calm, and collected as usual.

his eyes, you thought. his eyes will always tell me.

“you will watch,” corio spoke suddenly, voice hard. “you will keep your eyes on my hands. you stray, and i leave. understand?”

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

“yes,” you spoke, almost breathless. “i understand.”

corio’s hand then found its way to your center. the tips of his finger tips, soft and hot, lightly drew a line up and down your slit. your eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror — focused on his fingertips. it was like your skin knew every correct button to tap, tap, tap. every part of you was so sensitive, so keen to his touch that you were embarrassed. you felt so pathetic against his chest, bent to his will — but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. the voice in your head was whining and hoping you would give in, just give in, let down your guard, give in, forget manners. you wanted to keep your composure as long as possible, but when corio’s middle finger found your clit…

oh… you were done for.

one of your hands immediately snapped up to find corio’s bicep and clutch onto whatever foundation he could give. you didn’t dare let your eyes meet his, even in the mirror — what if he stopped? what, huh? what then? when you were the closest you had been ever? you couldn’t allow yourself to be greedy, not when he was being oh, so selfless.

the circles he was drawing taunted your ability remain calm. he rolled your tiny clit underneath the weight of the tip of his finger and pressed down with every circle. it pushed, and pulled, and fucking pried at every fiber of your being. you could only force yourself up and back against corio, whining like a pathetic mess.

“running away from me, my sweet?” he whispered in your ear. “when i’m being so kind?”

his words bit at your ear, reminding you of your position in his world. your eyes were threatening to drift closed, hoping, praying, that corio would let you slip this once from your responsibilities. naive, you were, to believe that.

“remember our deal, wife,” he darkly cooed in your ear. “one request was all i had. i refuse to be denied it.”

“i know, i know…” you whined, rolling your hips with his hand. “it just feels so good, corio… i’ve never… no one’s ever…”

“i can tell you never knew how bad your body would crave it,” he spoke, nipping at your earlobe. “even your pussy obeys me, drenching my fingers. too sweet for this world, aren’t you?”

“just wanna be sweet for you, corio,” you whined as your vision began to blur.

the approaching orgasm was anything but a warm and fuzzy feeling around you. it was hot and jagged — making your muscles jerk, yet force your hips to roll into every movement of corio’s. the cloud over your brain felt like a warm haze of the finest whisky or tobacco the capital could offer. you were numb, drunk, and unable to process the world around you unless it was corio. his touch, his taste, his scent, his look, his orders… everything was setting you off and keeping you in place all at once. your body was hot to the touch, feverish as it tried to fight your sophistication and just fucking —

“that’s it, sweetheart. so focused on the mirror you can’t even find the strength to let go for me,” he spat, pressing a kiss to your cheek and breathing in your scent. “ride my hand like the good girl you are. you wanted to show me, remember?”

tears were brimming your eyes and blurring your vision. your teeth were gritted and bared for him. one of his hands came up to loosely grasp your throat as your hips began to spasm. it was so much, too much, so much —

“corio, please —“ you cried. “please let me look away. i can’t — i have to cry, i can’t —“

there was no softness in his movements against your aching clit. corio had now employed two fingers to dip into your core, collect your slick, and rub it along your sensitive bud in harsh circles. it sent your mind through a suffocating tube and gasping for air. you were begging, pleading — unsure what would happen if you were denied the ability to finish in peace. you began to cry in frustration and fear, so sensitive to the touch and his approval.

“corio…” you whimpered. “please, please let me…”

“do it,” he spat, holding your throat and kissing your face. “show your husband how fucking messy you can be for him.”

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

it was like a rollercoaster. twists and turns, yanking your body every which way. corio’s body rocked with yours as the sensations climbed and fit into every single one of your limbs. your lungs, burning, were screaming for air as you tried to fight for consciousness. the world was white, milky, foggy — unable to navigate, let alone exist in. all you could feel was corio’s body moving with yours and coaxing you through the most insane moment of your entire life.

tears fell down your face, and you struggled to conceal it. corio refused to let you hide from him. he bent his face low to yours and pressed the side of his face against the side of yours.

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

“i know, sweetheart,” he cooed. “so good for me, weren’t you? asking so obediently and politely.”

you nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “i’m sorry that i was —“

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

you clenched your jaw. “i was — i am — i’m worried i was too much — i was so — out of control —“

he shut you up with a kiss. coriolanus snow refused to allow you to continue, or else he knew he would be offended if he had let you finished.

“i wanted that,” he stated. “every bit of that. what, you don’t find it agonizing to be prim and fucking proper every day?”

you laughed uneasily, a bit spooked by his outburst of aggression. “i thought you — i thought that was what you wanted from me.”

he shook his head. “out there — it’s necessary. in here, when it’s only the two of us? don’t ever hide yourself from me. you must promise.”

you swallowed as your haze began to disappear. “only if you promise the same."

you saw his jaw pulse from the corner of your eye. “i promise.”

“i promise,” you returned.

you quickly reconnected your lips. you couldn't let the moment slip away. you needed to seize him while he was there — trusting you for the first time in your entire relationship. you found both of your hands on the side of his face and held him to you. corio fought for control, but you gave in immediately. the need for him to need you was stronger and more satisfying that anything else you could've experienced in that moment. you turned around, straddling his lap and pushing him down to the bed.

everything you were doing was improper: grabbing your husband, forcibly kissing him, sitting in his lap, pushing him down... you almost stopped. you almost gave into the insecurity and made friends with with meekness and shyness once more. however, you made a promise — and you intended to keep it.

"i want you inside me, corio," you whispered against his lips. "please, i want to feel you —"

"again, sweetheart?" he ripped himself from your lips to grunt out his teasing. "one taste, and you're addicted?"

you hummed approval against his lips, tangling your tongue with his. with one hand on the back of your head, holding your face to his, corio's other hand fished between the pair of you and grasped his leaking cock in his hand. the tip was red and swollen, aching for some stimulation or attention. he spread his precum over his tip and with a firm hand, corio slid his cock inside of you.

you arched your back away from corio. the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you bent your attention in every which was. both of your hands cradled the back of his head into your chest, where he found himself nestled between your breasts. his breaths were hot and heavy, moist against your skin. his swollen lips found one of your perky nipples and sucked it into his mouth, caving to his primal urges. coriolanus snow wanted every part of you for himself, and needed to place that claim on every part of your body. he wanted your thighs to shake and ache from being locked around him, your fingers to tremble from your hard grip, and he wanted your lips to be bruised from how hard he made you bite them. and, most of all, he wanted every loud moan to rip itself from your aching throat and fill the perfectly painted walls of this damned room.

he cursed you when you threw a hand over your mouth, and he immediately ripped it away. "don't you fucking dare," he spat.

you ignored him. he was your husband, and he was the scariest man you would ever meet, and yet you ignored him. most of all, your hips ignored him. they began to roll against his own the best they could for their inexperience. up, down, and grinding down was the best they could manage before corio grabbed you by the flesh of your hips and moved you to his liking. and when your mouth parted and a loud cry made your throat shake when he twisted your hips forward, he knew he found the spot.

"do not ever deny me what i am owed," he spat, fucking into that spot that wrapped a tight band around your abdomen. "i want to hear how good i am making you feel, and i will. i get to hear. those are mine. i am owed those."

again, you ignored him. what did he expect when your eyes began to roll back into your head and you began to match his pace? you were close, you were so, so close...

that was when corio grabbed you by the chin, refusing to let up his pace. his eyes were full of darkness, yet focus. like he had found his prey. you tried to focus, tried to give him the respect the deserved... but you couldn't. your mind was swimming, and your arching cunt was dripping down his length and onto the skin of his pelvis. you were lost. so fucking lost.

"yours, corio!" you whined. "all yours. only yours."

his voice was gruff against your lips as his thrust became rougher. "say it again."

your eyes began to drift closed as you leaned your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips against his. his cock had found its way to the most sensitive and purest part of you and ripped down every wall you had. you sobbed, "yours, corio. only yours."

corio threw you off of him and your back hit the bed. he was on top of you in an instant. he threw your legs up and pressed them against your chest. with your ankles on his shoulders, he pushed himself inside of you and began to relentlessly punish your perfect fucking pussy.

"mine, you got that?" he spat against your ear. "i have watched you, day after day, put on this fucking act! perfect and proper — but i made a proper whore out of the most desirable woman in the capital, didn't i? and now she's mine — forever warming my bed."

"forever, corio," you whined. your sobs were music to his ears, going straight to his cock. your cunt was raw from the friction and slick, unsure if corio should stop or keep going — but you didn't let him guess. "inside me, corio, please... want it to bad. been so good for you..."

his hand was around your throat and demanding your attention. "as if i'd waste a drop when every man in the capital would be able to see you round with my child. you want that wife? my seed, my child? you want to be fully claimed by me?"

"yes," you cried, tears falling down your cheeks. "give it to me, husband, please —"

corio reached down in between your hips and rubbed your clit with whatever energy he had left. his thrust were growing sloppy, but his movements against your swollen bud were worse. he was hissing in your ear as he continued the assault against you. your moans were loud as they escaped your lips and filled the room, setting corio's skin on fire. sweat dripped down from his brow and down his neck to mingle with yours as your second orgasm of the evening began to approach. it snapped the rubber band in your lower belly and you immediately sobbed into corio's neck. his hips continued to rut in you, forcing you down onto the bed as he swallowed all of your sobs for himself. your nails dug into his back and down his spine, hoping to rip parts from him that he had taken from you.

when corio came, you were in a stupor. cock drunk with your mouth hanging open, dazed. when corio came, one of his hands grabbed your messy pile of hair, wrenching at the roots. he pulled you to the side to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as he pumped your cunt full of his cum. your walls were hot and sticky, full of him, but it only caused the most sickeningly warm feeling to spread throughout you. every primal need of yours was satisfied, and corio could see every bit of it on your face. the pride that welled within your husband... shameful. no man should be in possession of such an ego boost like making the prettiest, more desired woman in all of panem break from all bounds of social etiquette. you were warm, and wet, and craving every bit of his touch, so he couldn't deny you... not anymore. not when he felt the same. with each sob that left your mouth, he felt a kick in the pit of his stomach as his balls throbbed. never in his life had a woman ripped from him what he had taken from her, cheeks hot and muscles worn out.

he would regret it in the morning, maybe, but not now. no — not now.

"husband, forgive me, but..." you spoke. "my mind is a mess. i don't think i can read to you this evening."

corio rolled his eyes and laughed. "that good?"

you pressed a kiss to his lips as you hummed in approval. "never wait that long to bed your wife again."

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

love u guys sm sorry it was so long ty for reading love u love u love u

-L xooxoxooxox

#corio smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow smut #corio snow smut #corio fic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #corio snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus fic #coriolanus imagine #corio imagine #the hunger games #lucy gray #sejanus plinth #young coriolanus snow

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starswallowingsea · 2 years ago

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Hhhhh

#shay speaks #feeling kinda burnt out on sky.jacks #ive already started this week's ep so ill finish it but i think im gonna take a break #after this week. i can catch up again later #starting to get the same feeling i was getting at the end of my genshin run so #its uh. i love sky.jacks i really do which is why i think i need a break #so i dont start hating it bc i forced myself to keep going #still havent hit this point with enstars but ive also #been caught up on sj for like. 3+ years so #thats. a lot of time. i think its time for a break #i got caught up around episode 50 and have not fallen off since then other than #skipping skyjoust episodes. we'll see how im feeling when cc s3 starts....

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fandomfablesunleashed · 23 days ago

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Period relief

Zayne x reader

Summary: When your period hits unexpectedly, leaving you stranded with only one pad and no energy to even go to the store, the last thing you expect is for your plans with Zayne to suddenly fall into place.

Words: 2k

Notes: I wrote it while I was dying on my period (shocking, isn't it, given the theme?), and edited it when I was able to think. I'm still dealing with the consequences of being a woman, so it might not be perfect, but I tried.

Let’s hope a cute doctor can help you too during those tough times.

English is not my first language

Masterlist

You groaned. Great. Your last pad. Perfect timing.

You had planned to go out tonight to restock—not just pads, but all the other necessities you'd need for your period, which, according to your calculations, should start tomorrow. Not fucking today.

Just as you were cursing internally and debating whether you could manage a trip to the store now, your phone buzzed with a new text:

My surgery took shorter than expected, so I can see you tonight if you're still free.

Right. You’d originally asked Zayne to hang out today, but he had to decline. Now, suddenly, he was available. Under normal circumstances, you would’ve been thrilled. But at the moment? You felt like dying.

It wasn’t just the cramps, fatigue, and general misery of your period arriving earlier than expected. It was also the fact that your relationship with Zayne was still fairly new. And while you liked him—a lot—you weren’t quite sure how you felt about him seeing you like this.

You sighed, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you finally typed:

I’d love to see you, but I just got my period and currently feel like rotting on my couch… after I force myself to go out and buy some necessities.

Immediately, your phone started ringing.

You grumbled but answered, moving weakly to curl up on the couch in a fetal position as you pressed the phone to your ear.

“Hi,” you managed to say.

“What do you need?”

“Huh?”

“I'm leaving the hospital soon. I'll get you what you need,” Zayne said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The familiarity of his voice made you feel safe, but also… vulnerable. He always found ways to take care of you, even when you didn’t ask, and sometimes it made you feel guilty.

“No, no need. I just took a painkiller. I should be able to go and get something myself soon. I don’t want to trouble you.” You hated how weak you sounded, even if you were doing your best to brush it off. You hated feeling like a burden.

“If it were trouble for me, I wouldn’t be offering.”

His words, simple as they were, immediately softened the knot in your chest. It was the truth, and you knew it.

And just like that, you were reminded why you adored that man so much.

“So, what do you need?”

“Pads,” you admitted.

“Alright. The ones you usually use?”

“Wait… how do you know what I use?” you asked, surprised. You’d never told him, had you?

A teasing lilt came through his voice. “They're in your cabinets. The one you told me to put my stuff in too, remember?”

“Right, right. Of course. Didn’t think you’d remember.”

“I try to remember things about you. So those?” He sounded so amused, and you couldn’t help but feel a little flustered. Of course, he remembered. He always did. It was one of the things you appreciated in him.

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

You hesitated, not wanting to bother him more.

“If you don’t tell me, I won’t be able to get it,” he pointed out.

“Right. Um… mint tea?” you offered, unsure if it was too much.

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

You expected him to hang up as you heard more shuffling over his end of the phone call. Yet, he wasn’t done with the conversation.

“Have you eaten?”

You winced. You really didn’t want to admit how bad you’d been about that.

“Umm… you’re not gonna like the answer.” You avoided the question with a pathetic attempt at humor, hoping he wouldn’t push.

“Don’t tell me you took painkillers on an empty stomach,” he said, his voice adopting that doctor-like tone—the one you recognized all too well.

“I know, I know,” you interrupted quickly. “I forced myself to eat some yogurt and crackers before taking it.”

A disappointed sigh came through the receiver. “Better than nothing, I guess. I’m going to grab us some dinner too, then. Anything you're craving?”

You weren’t really hungry, but you should eat something. Then again, Zayne probably wasn’t going to approve of what you wanted.

“Fries.”

“Fries?”

“Yes. And chicken wings. Preferably spicy.” You knew it wasn’t the best idea, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about nutrition right now.

A pause. You could feel the judgment through the phone.

“That’s not the most nutritious food, especially now when you should be eating things rich in—”

“I know,” you cut him off, hoping to end the lecture before it started. As much as you liked him talking about just anything, you were not in the mood to listen to what you should be eating or doing. “Just get whatever then.” You were glad he was not seeing you right now because you were for sure pouting like a small child, and he would for sure tease you about it.

“Alright. I’ll be there soon.”

And then it hit you. He was going to be here soon.

You groaned, pulling the blanket over your face. You missed him, and the thought of not having to drag yourself to the store was nice, but… you also didn’t want him to see you like this.

“What is it?” Zayne asked, clearly sensing your hesitation.

“I… um.” You trailed off, unsure of how to explain it.

“You don’t want to see me?” His voice softened. “I wanted to take care of you, but if you’d rather not, I can just drop off the stuff and go.”

“No, it’s not that… it’s just…” you mumbled, “I look like shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I just… I don’t look good.” It felt silly to admit, but there it was. You didn’t want him to see you like this, and you certainly didn’t feel like pulling yourself together.

There was a beat of silence, and then—

Laughter.

“Zayne, don’t laugh at me!”

“I apologize,” he said, still clearly amused. “You’re in pain. You’re allowed to not look your best. Besides, I can assure you—no matter how you feel, you’re still gonna be beautiful to me.”

You could hear the sincerity in his voice. As always. You knew he meant it, but still, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

You swallowed thickly, heart lodging itself in your throat. “If you keep talking like that, I might actually cry.”

“I’ll grab some tissues too, then,” he responded playfully. “I’ll see you soon, dear.”

Not long after, the doorbell rang.

You groaned, barely able to muster the energy to move. Every part of you ached, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your body as you forced yourself off the couch. You shuffled toward the door, each step feeling like a small victory, but the effort it took left you feeling hollow. With a sigh, you finally managed to pull the door open.

“Hi.” you said, your voice sounding far weaker than you intended.

“Hey.” His hand brushed against your cheek, and then he pressed a tender kiss there. A gentle touch, a simple gesture, yet it felt like everything you needed in that moment.

“I was right,” he murmured, eyes scanning your face with quiet admiration. “You're definitely still beautiful.”

You felt warmth rushing to your face, your heart fluttering in your chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d called you beautiful, yet each time it still made you feel bashful. It wasn’t just the compliment that made you flustered. It was the sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were something precious, something worth seeing. Even in your state right now.

Then you noticed it—his own cheeks tinged with a soft flush. You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he was.

Zayne gently nudged you toward the couch. “Go lay down.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he simply raised a finger. “Ah. No arguing. I'm making you tea, and then we’ll eat.”

You huffed but obeyed, shuffling back to your spot and curling up again. Just as you were about to close your eyes, you called out, “Can you heat more water? For my hot-water bottle?”

“Of course.”

You heard Zayne moving around your kitchen effortlessly, the soft clinking of mugs and utensils blending with the steady rhythm of his steps. The way he navigated your space made something stir deep inside you. The way he cared for you so willingly, with no sign of wanting anything in return, made you feel safe, secure in a way that you hadn't known in a long time.

Before long, he returned, balancing a tray with tea, food, your heated pad and tissues. So he was not joking about that then.

“Sit up,” he instructed gently. “You need to eat something. But don’t force yourself if you don’t feel like it.”

You pushed yourself up and accepted the tea first, inhaling the soothing scent before murmuring, “Thank you.”

You were about to take a sip when your gaze landed on the takeout bag in his hand. “Oh, you actually got me fries and chicken wings!” You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you looked at the comfort food you’d craved. It was exactly what you wanted.

Zayne smirked. “And they’re spicy. Just like you wanted.”

You raised a brow. “What happened to having a proper diet?” You’d been so focused on the comfort of the meal that you’d almost forgotten about the usual back-and-forth he always brought up when it came to nutrition.

He shrugged. “It’s better to eat something than nothing. And it’s perfectly fine to satisfy a craving now and then. That said, I did get you something more nutritious as well. I hope you’ll eat it later.”

A fond smile tugged at your lips at his thoughtfulness as you took a bite of a fry. “Thank you, Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne just smiled back, his gaze soft as he settled in beside you. You pulled the hot-water bottle closer, the soothing warmth a welcome relief against your pain, and continued eating. Zayne began eating his portion as well, the two of you slipping into a comfortable silence.

The moment you finished, you let out a deep sigh.

Zayne glanced at you, his brow furrowing just slightly in concern. “Did it not satisfy your craving?”

“It did,” you acknowledged. “But now I feel like eating something sweet.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head fondly as he stood up, gathering the dishes. Before you could even think about getting up to help, he disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned—with your favorite chocolate.

Your eyes lit up as you immediately reached for it. “You’re the best!”

He chuckled, a warm smile spreading across his face as he sank back into the seat beside you. “I just want to make your day feel better.”

You unwrapped the chocolate, grinning like crazy. “It already is… since you got here.”

“I’m glad.”

His lips curled into that familiar, gentle smile, The kind that always made you feel seen, like you mattered. You almost forgot about the chocolate in your hand as you lost yourself in that moment, wondering if he knew just how much his presence had truly transformed your day. The simple truth was, with him near, everything always felt better. Apparently, even your period.

You brushed the thought away and held out a piece to him. “Now eat it with me, sweet tooth.”

You knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to that. Sure enough, he took a piece, and you munched on the chocolate together.

After a few moments, he tilted his head. “Anything else I can do to make you feel better?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t often you let yourself be vulnerable like this, but with him, it felt natural. You murmured softly, almost shyly, “Maybe just… cuddle with me?”

Without a second thought, he moved closer. “I can do that.”

And he did.

You nestled into him, his arms warm and secure around you. The steady rhythm of his breathing was a lullaby in itself, soothing and calming. You hadn’t even realized when sleep crept up on you.

The last thought you had before drifting off was just how lucky you were—to have the cutest, most caring doctor by your side.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lads fluff #lads #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #zayne fluff #zayne x you #zayne li

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solxamber · 4 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Get Me Out of Here || Rook Hunt

You’re isekai’d into a trashy novel and stuck as a tragic side knight character. All you want is survival, but your boss is Rook Hunt—a poetic, eccentric duke.

Now you’re caught in his chaos and, worse, you kinda don’t mind.

Series Masterlist

You’re a completely normal person. You eat normal meals at normal times, sleep the normal amount of hours (give or take a few, who needs all eight anyway?), and hold down a regular, soul-crushingly normal job. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills and lets you indulge in your one true love: reading web novels for five hours straight like some kind of feral literature goblin.

Your current obsession? The Lady’s Tragic Love. It’s the sort of story that you can’t put down—not because it’s good, but because it’s so excruciatingly terrible that it loops back around into comedy. The heroine has all the personality of a wet tissue but somehow manages to ruin everyone’s lives with reckless abandon. It’s almost impressive.

You rub your temples as you skim yet another chapter. “Oh my God, this woman has the moral compass of a black hole,” you mutter.

The plot makes less sense the deeper you go: the heroine starts off as the daughter of a down-on-their-luck noble family. Her father racks up an unholy amount of debt, so she’s forced to marry a viscount who—get this—is actually a nice guy. Like, genuinely kind. He agrees to marry her in name only to protect her from debt collectors, even offering to fund her hobbies.

And what does she do? Poison him. Poison him!

"Okay, maybe she's misunderstood," you think, in the kind of delusional optimism only a web novel enthusiast can muster.

Nope. She poisons him because she "can’t stand looking at his face," which is only mildly unattractive and not the ogre-like monstrosity the text implies. Also, he was literally helping her stay alive.

“Oh, sure, let’s kill the only decent male character in this hellscape. Why not?” you hiss, scrolling furiously.

After committing literal murder, the heroine sets her sights on an archduke, who is tall, handsome, and very much engaged to the so-called villainess. The villainess is stunning, kind, intelligent, and inexplicably hated by everyone because—checks notes—she’s too perfect?

At this point, you're gripping your phone so hard that it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in half. “Why is the villainess the villain? This should be the heroine’s title! She’s practically speedrunning how to be the worst human being alive!”

But no, the heroine gets rewarded for her nonsense. The archduke doesn’t fall for her (because he has taste), but the crown prince does. The prince, apparently a sucker for chaos, marries her. Instead of being happy with her new title and riches, the heroine spends her days scheming to ruin the villainess’s life because, in her words, “How dare the archduke choose someone that isn’t me?”

You pause and reread that line. Then reread it again.

“WHAT?!” you yell so loudly that your downstairs neighbor bangs on the ceiling.

It’s a spiral of nonsense that drags you through emotional whiplash until you finish the last chapter with a migraine and a full-blown existential crisis. You stare at the screen. "Why...why did I do this to myself?"

You stumble out to your tiny balcony to clear your head, phone still in hand. The cool night air washes over you as you lean on the railing, your brain buzzing with rage and confusion.

“Why does she get a happy ending?” you grumble. “She’s a walking red flag factory! The villainess deserves to be queen, and the prince deserves a lobotomy for his taste in women!”

In your frustration, you kick the balcony railing. Unfortunately, your landlord hasn’t exactly been diligent about repairs. The rusted screws holding it in place give way with a terrifying screech.

“Oh, come on,” you say, deadpan, as the railing collapses beneath you.

You plummet ten stories down, bouncing off an awning like some kind of cartoon character before landing face-first in a suspiciously placed fruit cart.

As darkness creeps in, your final thought is not of regret, nor fear, but of pure, unfiltered pettiness:

“I hope my next life is more exciting… and I never have to read about this heroine again.”

With that, you pass out, blissfully unaware of the absurd fate that awaits you.

You wake up, groggy and disoriented, and immediately ask yourself the first logical question: Why the hell am I alive?

The last thing you remember is gravity betraying you and a suspiciously convenient fruit cart breaking your fall. But when you sit up and look around, it’s very clear you’re not in your crappy apartment anymore. For starters, this place is way too clean, smells faintly of vanilla, and—oh, is that sunlight streaming through those beautiful glass windows? Not the dim, depressing flicker of the streetlight outside your old place?

Something is very wrong.

You scramble out of the bed, which is definitely not your rickety twin-sized monstrosity held together with duct tape and misplaced hope, and start poking around. The furniture is elegant, the carpet is plush, and there’s an oil painting on the wall that practically screams, Welcome to Generic Medieval Europe™!

The realization slams into you with all the subtlety of a freight train: You’re in that garbage web novel.

You pause, frozen, your brain throwing up a million red flags at once. Your knees almost buckle. "Nope. No. Absolutely not. This is some kind of cosmic punishment," you whisper to yourself, clutching your temples.

You creep towards the ornate mirror on the other side of the room, your reflection getting clearer with every step. “Please,” you mutter, “if there’s a single merciful entity out there, don’t let me be the heroine. Or the villainess. Or, God forbid, one of the male leads.”

You finally reach the mirror, squeeze your eyes shut, then crack one open. And there you are: just some random face.

“Oh, thank God,” you exhale, slumping against the wall. You’re not the heroine. You’re not the villainess. You’re not one of the tragic walking disasters that make up the main cast. You're just… some person. A total nobody.

But just as you’re about to bust out your victory dance of mediocrity, something catches your eye. You lean closer, squinting.

Wait.

No.

NO.

You’re that nobody.

You’re the tragic commoner knight who gets blackmailed by the heroine, coerced into doing her dirty work, and ends up assassinating the villainess for her. The same commoner knight who dies in three chapters because the heroine throws them under the bus as soon as the villainess's fiancé finds out what happened.

You stagger back from the mirror like it’s cursed. “Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I did not reincarnate into this medieval soap opera just to get unalived in the dumbest way possible,” you say, pacing the room like a lunatic.

Your character’s life flashes before your eyes: the abusive father, the crippling family loyalty, the gambling debts. This poor soul had it rough even before getting turned into the heroine’s personal murder minion. And you? You’re not about to pick up that torch.

So you grab some parchment and pen what might be the most passive-aggressive resignation letter of all time.

“To Her Highness, the Crown Princess,

Kindly do your own dirty work from now on. My father can gamble himself into oblivion. I’m out. Good luck with your reign or whatever.”

Satisfied, you sign it with an unnecessarily large flourish, slap it on the desk, and prepare to bounce.

You’re halfway down the hall when you almost walk face-first into him.

Rook Hunt, the walking embodiment of “this guy doesn’t belong in this novel but here he is anyway,” stands there with his golden hair and overly dramatic smile. He’s loud. He’s eccentric. He’s dressed like he’s about to break into a musical number about the beauty of life. Oh, and he’s also the duke whose household you served in as a knight before you quit.

“Mon ami!” he exclaims, throwing his arms wide like you’re long-lost lovers. “You’ve returned to me! What an exquisite twist of fate! Shall we celebrate the beauty of reunion?”

“No,” you say flatly. You attempt to sidestep him, but Rook doesn’t just let things go.

“You cannot leave me again! Do you not wish to resume your role as my loyal knight?”

“Absolutely not,” you snap on instinct, because why on earth would you willingly dive back into this mess? But then it hits you. Wait.

Rook isn’t part of the main plot. He’s not the crown prince, not the archduke, not the villain, and definitely not one of the doomed love interests. He’s just… there. A minor character. A colorful extra who pops up to sprinkle poetic nonsense into the plot and then wanders offstage.

Your brain kicks into overdrive. If you stick with him, you’ll be close enough to the action to keep tabs but far enough to avoid the heroine’s nonsense. Plus, salary. And minor characters like him rarely die!

Your decision solidifies. You plaster on a winning smile and nod. “Actually, on second thought, yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Magnifique!” Rook practically beams as he grabs your arm. “Come, let us bask in the splendor of returning home!”

You follow him, letting his endless stream of poetic babble wash over you. Is this the best plan? Probably not. But it beats getting murdered for a heroine who couldn’t find her moral compass with both hands and a map.

You make it back to the duke’s grand estate—because of course it’s grand. Every aristocrat in this godforsaken novel seems to have a mansion the size of a small country. Rook practically floats through the gates, his dramatic energy causing every passing servant to give him the “not again” look. You follow, still trying to process the reality of your current situation.

After an unnecessarily flowery tour of the place (you’ve been here before in this body, but you let him talk because it’s easier than interrupting), he finally stops in the courtyard. He turns to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Now, mon chevalier, reclaim your rightful position as my trusted bodyguard!” he declares, flinging his arms wide as if inviting the heavens to applaud him.

You blink. “…Respectfully, sir, why do you need a bodyguard?”

He pauses, staring at you like you just asked why water is wet. Then, with an infuriatingly serene smile, he says, “Ah, but the shadows are filled with secrets, my dear knight! The beauty of life is in its mysteries, n’est-ce pas?”

You squint at him. “Okay, but that doesn’t answer the question.”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because the wolves, mon ami. The wolves.”

You freeze. “…What wolves?”

Rook straightens up, tilting his head as if contemplating the meaning of the universe. “Ah, they are everywhere and nowhere. In the forests, in the halls, in the hearts of men. Who can say where danger truly lies?”

This man just said a whole lot of words without saying anything.

“Right,” you say slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “But you’re, like, ridiculously strong. I’m pretty sure you could take on any wolf—metaphorical or not—by yourself.”

“Ah, mon chevalier,” he says with a wistful sigh, placing a hand on his chest like he’s reciting a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Strength alone cannot protect one from the unexpected, the unseen, the poetry of peril!”

You stare at him, trying to figure out if this is some sort of elaborate prank. But no. This man is completely serious.

“So… wolves. Poetry of peril. Got it,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “I’ll, uh, just… go patrol or something, I guess.”

Rook claps his hands together, beaming. “Ah, magnifique! I knew you would understand! Truly, you are a gem among knights!”

You slink off, still scratching your head. You’re 90% sure the wolves are a metaphor for absolutely nothing, but who are you to question the logic of a trash novel? At least the pay is good.

You quickly realize this trash novel is trying to trash you right back. It’s like every corner you turn, fate has decided you don’t deserve a peaceful life.

Walking through the garden to calm your nerves? Someone leaps out of the hedges with a dagger. You narrowly dodge, trip over a decorative fountain, and the attacker runs off, cackling.

Trying to enjoy the roses because you’re starting to think, “Hey, if I gotta die, at least let it be aesthetic?” Nope, arrow. Right past your ear.

By the fifth assassination attempt (some guy “accidentally” dropping a potted plant from a balcony), it clicks. The heroine must’ve decided since you’re not doing her dirty work anymore, she needs to eliminate you before you spill the beans. But, unlike her, you have brains.

So, you write a letter.

Dear Villainess and Esteemed Archduke,

I hope this letter finds you well, though considering the general chaos surrounding us, that feels optimistic.

I am writing to inform you of an unfortunate situation involving a certain someone (cough the crown princess cough) who has, shall we say, less-than-noble intentions toward your continued existence.

To clarify: she asked me to assassinate you. I know, shocking. However, as someone who values integrity, personal safety, and not being murdered by shady royalty, I’ve decided to step down from my position as her unwilling assassin.

This does mean she may hire someone else to handle the job, which is unfortunate for you but also none of my business anymore. I’m not sure how you typically handle murder plots, but I suggest taking precautions, like perhaps not smelling your roses or standing under precariously placed flower pots.

Lastly, while I am admittedly a pawn in this chaotic mess, I felt it was only fair to let you know what’s going on. I wish you both a long, unassassinated life.

Warm regards,

Your Local Retired Assassin

P.S. Please don’t kill me. I’m just the messenger.

You thought this letter would buy you peace. Instead, it bought you an invitation.

And by “invitation,” you mean you’ve been dragged into a private meeting with the villainess and the archduke, who are both sitting across from you now, looking like they’re deciding whether to thank you or strangle you.

“So,” the villainess says, her voice like ice. “You’re telling me the crown princess is plotting to kill me?”

“Uh, yes,” you say, your palms sweating. “But, like, not me anymore! I’ve retired. Permanently.”

The archduke raises an eyebrow. “Why would she want to kill us?”

You glance at the villainess. “Uh… because you exist?”

Before the villainess can stab you (she looks ready), the door swings open, and in saunters Rook.

“Ah, my friends!” he says, grinning ear to ear. “How serendipitous that we are all here. I believe I can shed some light on this matter.”

You gape as Rook launches into a detailed explanation of the heroine’s convoluted scheme—exactly what she’s planning, who she’s hiring, and even the color of the dress she’ll wear while gloating about it.

The villainess and the archduke exchange a glance, then rise, thanking Rook for his “invaluable insight” before sweeping out of the room, leaving you and Rook alone.

You turn to him, your jaw still on the floor. “How do you even know all that?”

Rook just winks at you. “Ah, mon chevalier, the shadows have ears, and I am their maestro.”

He struts out, humming a jaunty tune, leaving you sitting there, more confused than ever. At this point, you’re half-convinced Rook is either a genius or just making stuff up as he goes. And honestly? You’re too tired to figure it out.

You’re stationed at the edge of the garden, trying your best to blend into the scenery while the tea party unfolds. Rook, as usual, is the life of the gathering, passionately chatting with Vil and Epel, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You’re in your usual "bodyguard mode," which mostly consists of staring off into the distance and trying not to fall asleep. It’s peaceful—for once—until Epel casually drops a comment loud enough for even you to hear.

"Rook, you finally got them back, huh?"

Your brain screeches to a halt.

Got you back? Back? What does that mean? What is there to get back? Was there something to get back in the first place?

You barely have time to process any of this before Rook, in the most Rook way possible, interrupts with a flurry of poetic nonsense.

“Ah, young Epel, the winds of fortune have indeed graced me with their bounteous song! But let us not dwell on the past, for the present blooms before us like a radiant garden of opportunity!”

You blink. Did… did that mean anything? Epel seems to think it doesn’t, judging by the way he rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath. But you’re too busy processing the odd look on Rook’s face to care.

Because, for the first time ever, Rook looks nervous.

His usual serene confidence is still there, but there’s a hint of something else—a faint pink dusting his cheeks, an almost imperceptible shift in his tone. And why the hell is your heart fluttering at the sight?

You squint at him, trying to decode whatever is happening here. Is he… embarrassed? Flustered? Can Rook even be flustered?

Before you can spiral further into overthinking, you notice Vil’s sharp gaze cutting through the moment like a knife. His violet eyes lock onto yours, and an infuriatingly amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Oh no. He knows.

Vil, of course, pretends like nothing’s happening, smoothly pouring himself another cup of tea and joining the conversation like the consummate aristocrat he is. But every so often, you catch him glancing at you with that same entertained expression, like he’s just discovered a juicy secret.

You try to shake it off, refusing to let yourself be dragged into this nonsense. But Rook’s flushed face lingers in your mind, and every time he smiles at you for the rest of the party, you feel the heat creeping up your own cheeks.

Great. Just great. Whatever this is, it’s going to haunt you for days.

It started with an uproar in the palace—a desperate, urgent call for help sent to Rook, Duke of Hunt.

"The wolves are attacking!"

You were mid-sword practice when the messenger arrived, breathless and frantic. He handed the summons to Rook, who took the parchment with an amused smile.

"Wolves, you say?" he mused, tapping his chin dramatically.

"Yes, my lord!" The messenger practically collapsed from the effort of delivering the message. "They’ve breached the outer gardens, and the prince and heroine request your immediate assistance!"

Rook looked at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, mon chevalier, do you recall what I told you once about wolves?"

You blinked, frowning. "You mean the thing about being surrounded by wolves one day? I thought you were joking."

Rook’s grin widened. "Oh, I never jest about wolves."

You opened your mouth to demand clarification, but Rook waved the parchment dismissively. "Alas, I must decline."

The messenger froze. "W-What? But…you’re the Duke of Hunt! The greatest tracker and marksman in the kingdom! Without you, the palace is doomed!"

Rook leaned forward conspiratorially. "Tell me, mon ami, what makes you think I’d risk life and limb for the likes of the heroine and her precious prince?"

The messenger stammered. "B-But—"

Rook held up a hand, silencing him. "No, no. I simply cannot. My schedule is far too packed. Why, just this morning, I promised my chevalier here that I’d help reorganize their weapons rack." He turned to you with a wink. "Isn’t that right?"

You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Yep. Super busy."

The messenger left, looking utterly defeated. You figured that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Over the next two hours, messengers kept arriving, each more desperate than the last. Rook refused them all with increasing flamboyance.

One messenger was sent away with, "Alas, the stars are not in alignment for such a hunt!"

Another was dismissed with, "The winds whisper that this is not my destiny today."

Finally, a personal plea came from the heroine herself. She barged into the estate, dramatically throwing herself at Rook’s feet.

"Oh, noble Duke!" she wailed. "You are the only one who can save us! Please, I beg of you!"

Rook tilted his head, pretending to think it over. Then he glanced at you, his expression suddenly sharp beneath the veneer of cheer.

"And what of my chevalier?" he asked.

The heroine frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You’ve made quite a nuisance of yourself lately," Rook said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice. "Why, only yesterday, you sent someone to ambush them in the gardens, did you not?"

Her face paled.

"I might reconsider," Rook said, his tone taking on a singsong quality, "if you promise to leave them alone from now on."

There was a long, tense pause. The heroine’s expression flickered between rage and fear before she finally forced a smile. "Very well. I promise."

"Splendid!" Rook clapped his hands and stood. "To the hunt, then!"

You stood there in stunned silence as he walked out the door, bow in hand. When he turned back to flash you a grin, you couldn’t help but mutter, "What the hell just happened?"

Rook’s laugh echoed through the halls, and you were left wondering yet again if you’d ever fully understand this ridiculous man.

It’s payday, baby.

You’ve never been more excited to hold a pouch of jingling coins in your life. Your day off couldn’t have come at a better time, and you’ve already decided to treat yourself. No assassination attempts, no cryptic poetry, no Rook yammering about beauty—just you, the market, and sweet, sweet retail therapy.

After wandering for a while, you stumble upon a fruit stall, and your eyes light up. The produce is incredible—vividly colored, juicy, and nothing like the waxy, suspiciously glossy stuff you’d get in your original world. You don’t even know what half these fruits are, but they smell amazing, and you’re buying them all.

As you carry your haul back to the manor, an idea hits you like a freight train. You’ve been craving dessert—specifically, something you can’t get in medieval Europe. Something simple, sweet, and utterly anachronistic.

And that’s how you end up in the kitchen, surrounded by fresh fruit, flour, sugar, and whatever else you’ve managed to scrounge up. You’re determined to make crêpes. Yes, you know they weren’t invented yet, but the cooks don’t even seem to know what a waffle is, so they’re not going to stop you.

It takes a bit of trial and error—because, shocker, medieval kitchens are not equipped for finesse—but eventually, you’ve got a plate of soft, golden crêpes filled with fresh fruit and drizzled with honey. It’s so beautiful it almost brings a tear to your eye.

You’re mid-bite, mentally congratulating yourself, when Rook materializes out of nowhere like some kind of dessert-seeking missile.

“Mon chevalier! What marvel have you crafted here in this humble kitchen? The scent alone rivals the sweetest perfume!”

You freeze. This is fine. He’s just curious. There’s no reason to panic. Subconsciously, you scoop up a bite on your fork and offer it to him, your body on autopilot.

Rook doesn’t hesitate, leaning in and accepting the bite with the elegance of a prince at court. “Magnifique! Truly, you have woven magic into this creation, mon cher!”

You relax slightly, pride swelling at the compliment—until he takes your hand and licks a stray drop of honey from your finger.

Your brain short-circuits.

Before you can even form a coherent thought, Rook grins at you with that infuriatingly charming smile of his, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

“You are as talented in the kitchen as you are with a blade,” he says, his voice warm and soft, as if he hasn’t just dismantled your sanity.

And then he’s gone, striding out of the kitchen with his usual jaunty step, leaving you standing there like an idiot, replaying the sensation of his lips on your cheek and his tongue on your finger.

You slowly sink to the floor, crêpe in hand, trying to process what just happened.

“Why,” you mutter to yourself, taking another bite of your crêpe for courage, “does this keep happening to me?”

Life had been…dare you say it, pleasant recently. No assassination attempts, no tea parties and no surprise arrows whizzing by your head. You were almost convinced this world might not be so bad after all.

But like clockwork, the plot reared its ugly head.

You were outside, basking in the rare serenity of a quiet afternoon, when the shouting began. You knew the voice instantly. It was grating, furious, and way too familiar.

Your abusive father—the original you’s deadbeat excuse for a parent—had somehow crawled out of the woodwork.

“You useless brat!” he snarled, stomping toward you. “How dare you stop sending money? Do you think you’re too good for your family now?!”

Oh, for the love of—

You crossed your arms, already done with the theatrics. “First of all, family implies mutual care and respect, neither of which you’ve ever provided. Secondly, kiss my ass.”

The man’s face turned a deep shade of purple, veins bulging in his forehead. He raised his hand, and you didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared of him. You were just irritated that he had the audacity to show up and ruin your vibe.

But before his hand could even swing down, an arrow whizzed past, slicing through the air with deadly precision. It nicked his cheek, leaving a shallow cut, and he yelped like a scolded dog.

You turned, and there he was.

Rook.

But this wasn’t the poetic, flowery Rook who praised sunsets and waxed lyrical about everything under the sun. No, this was Duke Hunt. His bow was clenched tightly in one hand, his expression colder than you’d ever seen. His eyes locked onto your father, sharp and unyielding, and for the first time, you truly understood why people called him a hunter.

Your father stumbled back, clutching his cheek. “Y-you’ll regret this! I’ll get my revenge!” he spat, turning tail and running like the two-bit villain he was.

You didn’t even watch him go. You were too busy staring at Rook, your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the fact that, dammit, he looked good like this.

You silently scolded yourself. Really? Now? This is when you’re going to have a revelation about your feelings? Pull it together.

Rook’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and without a word, he closed the distance between you. Before you could process it, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a firm, steady embrace.

You stiffened for a moment, but then it hit you—you were shaken. You hadn’t realized it until now, but the encounter had left your hands trembling. And Rook…he didn’t say a word. He just held you, radiating warmth and reassurance, as if he knew exactly what you needed.

Slowly, you relaxed, leaning into him, letting the tension bleed out of your body. For once, there were no witty remarks, no poetic musings, no cryptic riddles. Just Rook, steady and solid, and the quiet comfort of his presence.

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Maybe life here wasn’t so bad after all.

It was the hunting competition trope—the bread and butter of every third-rate villainess novel ever written. Noblemen rode out in droves to massacre innocent wildlife in the name of prestige, while the women gathered on the sidelines to swoon over who could kill the most majestic creature.

Normally, you'd find this whole affair ridiculous, but today? Today, it was a strategic opportunity.

Rook and you had cooked up a plan. After bagging his game, Rook would publicly gift it to the villainess, cementing the stance of his household against the heroine. A subtle yet unmistakable message to everyone present: this duke’s house wasn’t here to play politics; it was drawing battle lines.

Rook was, predictably, ecstatic about it all. “Ah, mon chevalier, what a splendid opportunity to honor beauty and justice with the art of the hunt!” he proclaimed, twirling dramatically as he readied his bow.

What you didn’t anticipate was his strange fixation on a handkerchief before he left.

Throughout the day, noblewomen approached Rook, each one batting their lashes and holding out dainty, embroidered handkerchiefs. It was practically a parade of desperate peahens.

“Oh, Lord Hunt, a token for luck!” cooed one particularly persistent lady, pushing her frilly kerchief toward him.

Rook clasped his hands to his chest with exaggerated reverence. “Ah, mademoiselle, your thoughtfulness moves me beyond words, but alas, I cannot accept. To carry such a treasure into the wild would be to risk its loss, and I could never bear such tragedy!”

Another woman attempted to loop her kerchief around his wrist directly. Rook gracefully dodged, as though she were offering him a live snake. “My dear lady, your artistry is unparalleled, but the only adornment fit for this hunt is the pure, untainted spirit of nature herself!”

By the third rejection, you were practically biting your tongue to keep from laughing.

But then came the curveball.

“Ah,” Rook sighed as he approached you. “If only I had a handkerchief imbued with sincerity. A simple, honest token to guide my aim and steady my heart!”

You blinked at him. “What, like…this?” You pulled out your completely ordinary, unembellished handkerchief and held it out.

Rook’s eyes lit up as though you’d just handed him the Holy Grail. “Mon chevalier! How perfect! How divine! This humble square of cloth shall be my guiding light!”

Before you could protest, he tied it around his arm with a flourish and rode off, looking like he was ready to star in his own personal opera.

From his place in the pavilion, Vil Schoenheit took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with a glint of pure amusement. The smirk tugging at his lips seemed to say, Oh, I know exactly what’s going on.

Meanwhile, Epel squinted between you and Rook, his expression shifting rapidly as though he’d just cracked the secret to immortality. He whispered something to Vil, who nearly choked on his tea before regaining his composure.

What the hell is going on? you thought, baffled.

Fast forward to now, the present, where the plan was supposed to culminate with Rook triumphantly presenting his prize to the villainess. Simple, elegant, strategic.

So why, why, was Rook standing in front of you holding a literal griffin?

“Uh, Rook,” you whispered through gritted teeth. “What are you doing? This is supposed to go to the villainess.”

But Rook was having none of it.

“Ah, my loyal chevalier,” he declared loudly, drawing the attention of every noble in the vicinity. “It is only fitting that such a prize goes to the one who inspires my steadfastness and resolve!”

Your jaw dropped. “Rook. No.”

He turned his radiant smile on you, looking like a proud schoolboy showing off a crayon drawing to his teacher. “Yes!”

The gathered nobles erupted into murmurs, and you could already feel the weight of every single judgmental stare. This was not part of the plan. But despite your internal screaming, a small, annoying part of you couldn’t help but feel…flattered. This was a duke, and you were just a knight. A very confused, very underqualified knight, sure, but still.

Vil, still seated with his ever-present cup of tea, took another long, pointed sip, his eyes glimmering with amusement.

This was the drama he’d signed up for.

The hallway leading back to the room where Vil, Rook, and Epel were sitting felt oddly silent, the muffled voices of their conversation barely filtering through the door. You weren’t one to eavesdrop—but when you heard your name, well, curiosity got the better of you.

"Just confess already," Epel was saying, his tone exasperated. "We’ve all seen the way you look at them."

Vil chimed in, his voice tinged with amusement. "Epel is right for once, Rook. Love is about timing, and yours is abysmal."

"But love is an art, mon ami," Rook replied, his tone unusually hesitant. "It cannot be rushed. It must unfold naturally, like the petals of a flower in spring."

"Okay," Vil drawled, clearly unimpressed. "But what happens when someone else plucks your ‘flower’? Say, the gardener they’ve been spending so much time with?"

The silence that followed was deafening. You leaned closer, your heart pounding, hoping—no, needing—to hear Rook’s response.

Instead, you heard nothing.

The stillness stretched unbearably until you couldn’t take it anymore. You shoved the door open, startling all three occupants. "What are you talking about?"

Vil raised an eyebrow, the picture of nonchalance, though the corners of his mouth twitched with mischief. "Perfect timing, as always. I’ll leave you two to sort this out."

He grabbed a very reluctant Epel by the collar and dragged him toward the door. "Wait, I wanna see what happens!" Epel protested, but Vil shut the door behind them with a decisive click.

Which left you and Rook alone.

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a look that you hoped masked the frantic hammering of your heart. "So…what’s this about a confession?"

Rook’s usual composure faltered. For once, the poetic, perpetually self-assured Rook you knew looked…unsure. Vulnerable. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his gloves, and he avoided your gaze, staring instead at the floor.

"Rook," you said softly, stepping closer. "Please, just tell me what’s going on. I need to know."

He finally looked up, and the raw emotion in his eyes was enough to steal your breath.

"Mon chevalier," he began, his voice low and trembling, "I have loved you from the start. At first, it was the camaraderie of equals, a kindred spirit I admired. But when you returned from the heroine’s side, defying expectations and staying true to yourself…you captured my heart completely."

You blinked, stunned. "Rook, I—"

He continued, the words spilling out as though he’d been holding them back for far too long. "You never treated me like I was strange. You accepted me as I am, even when others mocked my passions or dismissed my eccentricities. I never truly needed a bodyguard. I just needed you. Near me. Always."

His voice broke slightly on the last word, and you felt your resolve crumble.

You sighed, but it wasn’t from exasperation. It was the sound of relief, of something clicking into place. "Next time," you said, stepping even closer, "just tell me your feelings directly. It’ll save us both a lot of trouble."

Before he could respond, you reached up and pulled him into a kiss.

It was everything a first kiss should be—long, searing, passionate. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you flush against him as though he never wanted to let go. You melted into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, and for a moment, the world outside that kiss ceased to exist.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Rook’s lips quirked into a smile as he whispered, "Your lips are the sweetest arrow, mon amour, and they have pierced my heart beyond repair."

You burst into laughter, burying your face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound. "Gods, Rook, only you could ruin a moment like this with something so cheesy."

He chuckled softly, his arms still secure around you.

And as you stood there in his embrace, you couldn’t help but think that this ridiculous, trashy novel world was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

The parlor was warm with the golden light of afternoon sun filtering through the windows, but the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. You stood near Rook, his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, as Vil and Epel looked at you expectantly.

“Well?” Vil prompted, raising a perfectly arched brow.

You glanced at Rook, who smiled encouragingly, as if to say, go ahead. Clearing your throat, you announced, “We’re…together.”

Vil sighed dramatically, setting down his teacup with a soft clink. “Finally. I was starting to think I’d have to intervene.”

Epel, on the other hand, froze mid-sip of his cider. Slowly, he set the glass down, stood, and walked over to you. His expression was a mix of grief and dread, like someone had just informed him of some terrible, life-altering news.

He placed both hands firmly on your shoulders and looked you dead in the eyes. “Good luck,” he said, solemn as a funeral bell. “This is a life sentence, y’know.”

Rook chuckled, clearly amused. “Mon cher Epel, you wound me! Surely being with moi is more of a treasure than a trial?”

Epel turned to him, unimpressed. “Treasure? You follow people for fun. You recite poetry to wild animals. You can’t even eat pie without analyzing its existential meaning. I mean, who does that?”

You were already laughing, shaking your head as you patted Epel’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Epel. This is a sentence I’m more than happy to serve.”

Vil smirked behind his tea, watching the scene unfold with obvious amusement. “Frankly, I’m just relieved we won’t have to endure any more of his tragic sighs every time you left a room.”

Rook clasped a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Oh, Vil! My sighs are poetry incarnate!”

Vil didn’t even blink. “Your sighs are the sound of unspoken melodrama. Spare me.”

Epel plopped back into his seat with a long groan, running a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I guess congratulations or whatever. At least now we can all stop pretending we don’t notice him staring at you like some love-struck puppy.”

“That’s rich,” you shot back, grinning. “You’re the one who looks like your pet rat just died every time we get close.”

Epel huffed. “I’m just saying! Now you gotta deal with him being even more poetic! And clingy! You thought the prince and heroine were bad? Wait till you see Rook when he’s in love. You’re doomed.”

At the mention of the prince and heroine, Vil made an exaggerated sound of disgust. “Speaking of those two… Honestly, has anyone ever been so painfully predictable? The prince has all the charm of wet cardboard, and the heroine—don’t even get me started on her hair ribbons.”

“Ah, the heroine,” Rook sighed wistfully, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Always so delightfully transparent. Her schemes are like open windows to her soul.”

You snorted. “If by soul, you mean her desperate attempts to turn everything into a sob story, then yeah, sure.”

Epel leaned forward, grinning. “Did you see her crying at the hunt competition? Like, girl, it’s a competition. What did you think would happen? That the griffin would apologize and hand itself over?”

Vil smirked, tapping a manicured finger against his chin. “Or how about the prince declaring his ‘eternal devotion’ to her at the banquet last week? I nearly choked on my wine.”

Rook chuckled, turning to you with a soft smile that was far more genuine than his usual theatrics. “Ah, but let us not waste all our words on such trivialities. This moment, mon amour, is one of joy.”

You leaned into him, your laughter subsiding into a contented smile. His arm slipped around your shoulders, holding you close as Vil and Epel continued their playful bickering in the background.

For the first time since you’d been thrown into this absurd world, you felt completely at ease. If this was the result of being trapped in a trash novel, then so be it. You were exactly where you wanted to be.

Trash Novel Masterlist

Complete Masterlists

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #rook hunt #rook x you #rook hunt x you #rook #trash novel chronicles

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