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celestiamour · 11 days ago

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ no one has to know what we do ]❜

ft. cho sang-woo x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you lay in bed with your dad’s best friend after a night of passion┊1.3k words

contains: slight smut!! dom sang-woo & sub reader┊age gap (reader is early 20s & sang-woo’s early 40s), (adopted) dad’s best friend trope, purposeful seduction, one-night stands, unprotected piv (don’t do anything the reader does, this is fiction & unrealistic, stay safe), creampie, biting, smoking,

➤ author's note: i was thinking about this man all night, i’m not kidding, i’m doing it again tongiht too because he’s so fine idc if he’s evil, i wanna fuck him not fix him

it’s nearly four in the morning on another cold winter’s night with nothing but a yellow-tinted bedside lamp illuminating the room, completely silent aside from the rustling of the blanket from your movement. you sigh softly and nestle closer to the man lying flat on his back for more of the addicting warmth radiating off his body, your face nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder and your legs entangling with his. he doesn’t pull away like you expected him to, just takes another drag on his cigarette and ignores you for the most part with the weight of the past few hours— the weight of the sins he committed tonight— pressing into his mind.

you, on the other hand, were all soft smiles and feeling content as if you just crossed off an accomplishment on the top of your bucket list. for a situation that could ruin both of your lives if discovered, it certainly feels blissful and freeing to finally fuck the man you’ve been dreaming about almost religiously ever since you came back home from university for the holidays a week ago. you have no idea how you’ve never met him until now when you’ve heard so much about him, but perhaps it was better that way when your thoughts were less than innocent.

despite being middle-aged, he was still very handsome with intelligent albeit weary eyes which seemed to hide some sort of darkness to them. you found yourself studying him from afar, noticing him not wearing a wedding ring and making no mention of a family other than his mother, so you quickly made up your mind that you were going to fuck him before going back to school. it’s not like you had anything better to do anyway.

it actually didn’t take much to seduce him surprisingly: accidental eye contact filled with longing, lingering touches when you handed him his chilled cheap beer, careful actions and words to play up your sex appeal— it reminded you that most men are the same even if the stoic cho sang-woo was older and prided himself in his cunning mind, starved for affection with wandering eyes that frequently followed beneath the hem of your skirt. he looked at you behind his glasses with distrust and tried to act indifferent towards you in front of gi-hun, probably already suspicious about your intentions, but you could already see him drinking up your appearance in your cute little outfit as he downed another bottle. this little game was one you knew well and you always won in the end, there has yet to be anyone you wanted who couldn’t resist you and he certainly wasn’t going to be the first.

he stayed the night in the guest bedroom because it was already dark out, your former room which was converted after you moved out (sometimes it was rented out for extra cash), and at the strike of midnight, you knocked on the door and presented yourself to him seeking his comfort for an unspecified reason with slightly teary doe eyes. it was clear that you didn’t disturb him from his slumber and that he was already awake, visibly restless, and maybe even stressed. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what was bothering him so much. he was hesitant to let you in at first, as any good man would, but his resolve crumbled after seeing how beautiful you looked in the dim light (not like it wasn’t already a breeze away from collapsing after the alcohol). it’s surprising what a little silk nightgown can do with the thin straps threatening to slip off your shoulders, the short hem revealing your soft thighs, your perk nipples straining through the thin fabric, and how small and vulnerable you looked shivering in your lack of clothes.

“you shouldn’t be here at this time.”

“are you going to turn me away?”

still, even if it all went according to plan, he’s not in love with you. you don’t think he is anyway. you don’t expect him to be. would you like him to be in love with you? it might put the aching loneliness at ease even if it won’t make it disappear entirely. he’s a man old enough to be your father after all, he’s a man who grew up with your father and considered him to be a close friend. is this how you thank your father for taking you in and sharing what little he had with you? by seducing and sleeping with his best friend?

in all honestly, though, he certainly fucked like he was in love with you— like you two were the last two souls on this earth. he was a lot more pent up than you anticipated, or a lot more lonely, trusting into you so deeply one would think he was trying to reach your empty heart as you clawed at his back leaving red rivers of scratched skin. you barely even needed any prep for his size with how soaked you were, evident with a wet patch on your underwear which he teased before throwing it to be forgotten on the floor along with all your other clothes.

it was difficult to keep the sinful sounds of sex to a minimum, skin against skin with moans slipping from your mouth and groans from his. he had to resort to covering your mouth with his large palm to shut you up and bit into your collarbone leaving his mark on you, finally finishing inside of you in his haze before using his fingers to help you reach your orgasm and embarrassing you for once by staring intently at how the mix of your arousals dripped all over his hand.

“when are you leaving for university?”

“why, are you going to miss me when i’m gone?”

“we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“no one has to know what we do,” you giggled, placing a kiss against the corner of his mouth and inhaling the smoke. “i’m old enough to keep a secret.”

those last words made him pause for a second. this was immoral and forbidden. if seong gi-hun were ever to find out, their relationship would be ruined forever and you would be disowned, and he could only imagine the look of betrayal on his face. yet you didn’t seem to care in the least bit about what he would think, gingerly rubbing your thighs together at the feeling of him leaking out of you and touching the area where he bit you. it drew his attention, finally turning to you and admiring the mark sunken into your skin, looking almost proud of it like art on a clean canvas.

“i don’t want you sleeping with some other stupid boys when you go back.”

“hm, only if you promise that this won’t be the last time and that you also don’t fuck anyone else while i’m gone.”

“you know, i can’t promise that. we were lucky to not get caught this time, but who’s to say there will be a next time?”

“well, then i’ll go back to university and have sex with whoever i want, then you can do the same—”

“oh, shut up,” he scolded, pinching your cheeks to pull you towards him and kissing you possessively as if he could consume you whole by it. you were glad to reciprocate, allowing him to climb back on top of you while your arms wrapped around his neck. “fine, as long as you keep your word.”

he said it like he didn’t really want to continue this, like he was conceding to your demands and was merely tolerating you with better things to do, but the thinly veiled desperate need in his words and actions was clearer than glass to you. not that you minded, it was all working out just how you wanted it to.

#📜. her works #cho sang woo #cho sang woo x reader #cho sang woo smut #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game smut

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the-bluestreak-cat · 1 year ago

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I’m so excited about my five cheese ziti

#I’m gonna fuckin destroy that thing tomorrow #god and I have a sushi treat on Thursday #mmm coupon and fake birthday my beloved #I’m gonna have very likely the most stressful job interview in my life #followed by a focus group that I was looking forward to but could easily be fucked by the preceding interview lmao #so I’ve scheduled a Thursday treat. with some pinball afterwards #where’s that post about being a dog with the zoomies after a harrowing bath experience #lots of good food treats for a week that could go either way #oh! and I need to follow up with the guy from agdq and hopefully get an email back from upitt about their grant stuff #tbh it’s a 40 minute bud commute but it’s also three days virtual (maybe more if I can swing it)#and even if they pay a lil less that sounds so much better than going to multiple events a week and probably traveling and being stressed #for the same exact price Ahsjdkfl #god yeah.#now that I’ve typed it out I feel much more decisive #yanno I think I could have a good treat rn! lmao could you imagine

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hersfable · 17 days ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐮𝐩 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝.

first level

start with the basics. eat healthier, exercise daily (this can be a 10 minute walk or an hour work out, doesn't matter; just do something) sleep 7-9 hours, shower every day, and clean your space.

second level

journal daily. start simple with talking about your day or writing about your favourite things.

listen to subliminals at night. spotify has a lot of playlists.

meditate with affirmations daily. i listen to thewizardliz's affirmation video while focusing on my breathing and relaxing my body.

speak kind to yourself and others. don't talk down on yourself, try not to judge, remind yourself that it's okay to make mistakes...

read books instead of doomscrolling. replace your social media screentime with reading a book.

make time for the people and things you love. even though you might be really busy with school or work, don't forget to be present. plan trips with your friends, eat dinner with your family, play that instrument that you liked so much, participate in team sports, be creative, etc.

third level

invest in a good skincare & oral care routine. this does not have to be expensive at all. i use the cerave cleanser and moisurizer and exfoliate 2 times a week. if you need to, use more but be careful it aligns with your skintype! brush your teeth two to three times a day, use a tongue scraper, chew gum, go to the dentist/orthodontist, whiten your teeths.

experiment with personal style. this includes hair, fashion, makeup, accessorizing, music, etc... don't follow trends if it's not what you actually like. have fun with it (for example, go shopping with your friends and try on stuff you would never glance at!)

shave your body. i personally use an epilator on my legs and a shaver under my arms. my mama advices me to not shave my arms or on my tummy, but honestly do what you think is best here.

pluck your eyebrows. i only pluck hairs that is going "outside" the shape of my eyebrows and just keep them looking mantained.

keep your nails clean. don't bite and don't get dirt underneath them. you can also polish them but you obviously don't have to.

these things are usually more expensive

get your nails done. in my experience it is around the €40-€80 to get them done in a salon. at home it's way less expensive because you only have to buy the equipment once and can use it for more than one time. i prefer doing them at home!

get an eyelash lift. i have gotten an lift for €35 but i've also seen people paint and lift them for more. it basically just lifts up your eyelashes and makes it look like your wearing mascara 24/7.

fake tan your body. i honestly have never done this, but after research, i found out it isn't damaging to your skin at all. you can buy self tanner at your local drugstore and at tanning salons.

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gladiatorcunt · 4 months ago

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- MOLTEN LAVA CAKE / IV.

when i get to heaven, please let me bring my man

cw: kinktober prompt (creampie), unprotected sex & playing fast and loose with it’s possible consequences, yandere behavior, age gap (reader 20’s, capitano & zhongli 50s, baizhu 40s), power imabalance, non con somno (childe), dub con, innocence kink & lowkey medical malpractice (baizhu), reader has a pussy, implied kidnapping (capitano), if you squint childe & capitano’s sections are connected, frequent breeding kink type talk, manipulation & coercion, implied baby trapping, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

CEO!Zhongli

“Do be quiet, darling.” Zhongli grits, cupping your head with both of his palms and tugging you upwards. “I have no intentions of being an exhibitionist today.”

You arch off his grand wooden desk and gasp at the spark of pain in your neck, but you’d take that over drowning yourself in paperwork any day. Your boss’s cock is ramming into your ass at a porn star’s speed, the wet smacks of flesh slapping against flesh bounce off the one way glass walls.

This situation is the most cliché porn plot in the book though, the distant slightly emotionally unavailable boss bending his secretary over his desk and zipping down their pants. You had been running late that day, you forgot to set your alarm for Mr. Zhongli’s breakfast tea run and you had less cat food than you thought so you had to make a break for the grocery store.

By the time you scrambled in with a steaming cup of your boss’s favorite tea and his stack of reports to review and meeting requests to schedule, the older man was tapping his foot and crossing his arms. He didn’t look disappointed, not quite, but the gentle warmth in his eyes was gone and his small smile was flat.

In your desperation not to lose your job, this was your first and you’re only in your junior year of college, you follow him into his office and set down your things. Your cherry Marc Jacobs tote bag (bought by him, his papers and tea (bought by you with his money), your SINOCULTURAL orchid leather handbag (also bought by him, for variety).

Zhongli wasn’t the kind of pervy boss who’s hit on you before, you guess now that he was just lying in wait. You were the one that draped yourself over his desk with tears in your eyes, desperate and naive and relying on the principle of ‘sex sells’.

He’ll draft up a different beginning to your love story at your wedding.

“You take cock so well, perhaps we’ll have to have a discussion about adding this to your list of duties, hm?”

The condom sliding in and out of your walls makes you want to pout, but you know he has to have one. How he was able to pull a pack from his desk drawer on the spot is beyond you, you’re not quite willing to admit that you’d be so willing to keep your job you’d risk a baby and/or STDs.

“A-ah! Y-yes, sir, whenever you’re available, i-i’ll do anything.” You whisper over your shoulder and push your ass up, wanting the sight of his long cock disappearing under the thick cheeks to be as enticing as possible.

You clutch onto the golden plague bearing his esteemed name for dear life, muffling your sounds into the furniture’s lacquer, and let your boss pour all his stress into your holes. You tried to goad him into taking your ass but he gave you an amused chuckle and a firm pat to each cheek, chiding at you that he’d do it properly another time. He’s a gentleman under his silvered tongue and all his golden scales.

Zhongli seems to get fed up with the condom the closer he gets to his roaring orgasm, and all you’re able to let out in a punched squeal as he sharply pulls out and rips the condom off.

“This damn thing,” He huffs, snarling as he tosses the shredded scraps of plastic to the side, sinking back into your pussy in one go. “There, much better.”

You’re discovering that Mr. Zhongli is not the kind of man who groans unabashedly in the heat of the moment, he's prone to contented sighs and easy laughs. The closest you get to anything animalistic is the guttural grunt he lets slip as you clench around him near the end of his deep thrusts, milking him for all the cum this HR nightmare of a quickie can get you.

“One more thing before you go, be a dear and clean that up for me.” He points a black nail down at the puddle of cum expectantly, somehow having pulled his cock free with a wet flopping noise when you were too dizzy to notice, sinking back into his swiveling chair.

Sugar Daddy!Capitano

Your back hits the hotel wall, softened by Capitano’s hands coming to slide in between you and the surface.

“Mmfh- I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.” You shyly admit as your sighs fade into whimpers, the man’s stubble rubbing on your neck during his rain of kisses.

He laughs and his hot breath hits your pulse point, your heart skips a beat. “So you’ve told me. Don’t worry, you’re nothing but safe with me. I’ve already wired the initial 50,000 for our first meeting to your account, we don’t have to do anything that you are not comfortable with.”

You nod and run your fingers through his black hair, offering up more of your unmarked neck. Of course you’re comfortable, you were so nervous you could die hours earlier, but your first sugar daddy experience has turned out to be the ideal. Capitano made sure you were happy and pliant, offering ten times the amount of what most other men would just for this one dinner. What wouldn’t you be down with doing now?

He nips at your bottom lip, wrapping his burly arms around your chubby thighs and hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and giggle as you fall onto the bed of the hotel’s presidential suite. You trade sloppy and clumsy kisses for less and less articles of clothing, he places your jewelry and your accessories neatly on the nightstand.

“So you don’t prick yourself or worry about losing them, bambi.” He explains and pulls you into another syrupy kiss.

You lose yourself to fit of giggles as he reverently kisses down your body. The next hour is spent with your new sugar daddy licking your pussy, eating you out like a man would gulp down an oasis after a lifetime of being stranded in the desert. You couldn’t say how many times you flood his awaiting mouth with your juices and seed, but you’ll always remember how his Adam's Apple bobs on every swallow. As if it nourishes him, replenishes his soul from inside and out, warms like a good hearty soup.

Capitano slithers up your body to stroke a finger down your face, “Are you ready for me, honey? You’re spewing like a fountain but we can always just cuddle.”

“No, I'm ready, I want this, want you. Please, Daddy, need your cock.” And your money, but mostly your cock right now.

You settle into your position on your back and spread your legs, you grab the back of your ankles and keep them that way. Bearing yourself for the hungry gaze of a man twice your age.

“Alright, needy love, aren’t you? Here you go.” He coos, lining up his fat dick with your slick entrance and sinking in.

You almost wish you had turned the lights off. The way his massive looks hovering above yours, muscles tense and waiting to be exercised. You don’t have to look down at where his cock feeds your pussy, it’s like you can feel what every nerve and vein is doing and touching in your guts. You’re so glad the conversation about being tested was had on the sugaring app, you’re both clean and on the pill so you thought why not indulge in another first.

“Gorgeous cunt. Worth so much fucking more than 50,000. You like France, bambi? I’ll get you a castle in the countryside, this pussy would look divine getting pounded in one of their foyer’s and over their balconies.” He groans, husky and scratchy, kissing you and grinding his cock deep in your quivering pussy like you just got married.

You have to show him how to take a video of his goopy cum dripping out of your puffy folds, spreading them with your fingers and pushing it back inside.

The next morning, you wake up to a bundle of fresh roses and a calligraphy note on the pillow next to your head. You smile and take it all in, but eventually you tug on last night’s clothes and grab your bag. You grin down at your phone, feeling the butterflies play war drums in your stomach, this going somewhere good. There are times when you can just tell.

The suite door is locked, a man’s voice outside asks if you’re ready to be taken back to the boss’s home. On the way there you look through your bag, a message from your intuition, and your birth control is gone. But there are listings for several foreign properties, with a sticky note attached to the first.

‘Tell me which ones you like when you get home. I have my broker on the phone.”

Stalker!Childe

It’s a routine for him, slip in under your window, sink onto your bed and straddle your sleeping body, and fill you up with his cum until your belly bloats. You’ve never noticed, he’s good at cleaning up. And if you have, you’re docile enough to let him keep at it. Let the rabid wolf keep pawing at your door with bloody paws, leaving a carcass at your feet and doing it all over again the next day.

You know it’s just your boyfriend loving on you in private until you’re ready to go public. He understands you’re shy, a lot of the partners he’s had in the past haven’t exactly been social butterflies, but baby it’s just little ol’ Ajax! He wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone his precious significant other, don’t be silly. He has these kinds of conversations with you through hushed whispers against your ear and trembling fingers slipping under the straps of your tank top.

Ajax always preps you, save for a couple of times in the beginning because he was too excited. He prefers doing it with his tongue, but he does love a good fingerbanging session. He’d never cause any pain that wasn’t fun for the both of you, cross his heart and hope to die. He even brings a back up inhaler that he stole from your pharmacist in case you lose your current one.

He grins as he shimmies you out of your sleepwear, you never much, another sign that you’re meant to be “Shh, lovebug, I hope you’re having the sweetest dreams right now. I’m just stopping by to say hi. I have to be quicker this time, I'm real sorry, bub.”

Some as-gentle-as-possible rough fingerbanging it is.

Ajax keeps his eyes peeled so wide they burn a little as he crooks and curls his fingers in your tight pussy, marveling at your groggy whimpers that sooner than later snowball into light moans.

“You looked stunning in your outfit today, I like looser tops on you. I can see your titties bounce, swear to god. The leggings were a nice touch too, wanted to jog over during your walk and smack the shit out of it. But that’s not the meet cute you deserve, is it cutie?” He grips your face in one hand, the free one that’s not knuckles deep in pussy juice, shaking your head for ‘no’ for you.

“I promise we’re gonna meet soon, it breaks my heart to see you look so lonely, bub.” He’s not fazed when you seem like you’re waking up, he just ‘aw’s and strokes his thumb on your clit until you’ve fallen back asleep. “I can’t wait. I’ve gone over everything a million times, what I’m gonna wear, what I’m gonna say, our first date, our “first” time, I'm so ready for it all with you.”

You’re adorable, your brow is pinching and you’re tossing and turning. Your soft moans become louder and since you’re a heavy sleeper that doesn’t live in an apartment (not that he’d stop anyway, he’s seen how your next door neighbors check you out when you’re not looking), he scissors his fingers and speeds up the thrusts of his hand.

After months of this and vigorous hours at the gym, his wrist has stopped cramping entirely. He slips his free hand under his jeans and clasps it around his leaking dick, jerking himself off as he finger fucks your perfect pussy.

“Oh, there it is, honey.” Ajax gasps, tightening his grip around his painfully hard cock just as your walls tighten around his fingers. “It’s okay, keep going for me, you can do it.”

He times his strokes to the thrusts of his fingers, his breathing in sync with every rise and fall of your chest. You’re so wet, you’re leaking around his digits, your pussy making a sick squelching sound

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum baby, just from fingering your pretty pussy.” He pants, circling his thumb over the head of his weep dick and smearing his precum all over his length.

He’s moving so fast his hand is a blur, and he really doesn’t even register the sensation of fucking himself with his fist. Instead what he feels is the way your thighs seize up and your breath hitches, you arch your back off the bed in your sleep and that’s when he knows it’s time.

“Fuck, okay. Lemme get a little closer, lovebug, don’t want any of it to go to waste, right?” He keeps stroking his throbbing cock and blasting his fingers into your pussy, awkwardly trying to find his footing so he can get a good position.

He takes his fingers out of you and his heart squeezes in his chest when your hips buck after them and you whine.

“Here it comes, baby.” Ajax laughs at his own joke, positioning the tip of his dick right against your hole. With a shaky breath and an even shakier smile, he breaches your hole with only that part of himself, loving the way your cunt welcomes it in.

He laughs again when he floods your insides, crossing his fingers behind his back for this one to take. Don’t worry, it’s only a fantasy for now, you should at least have your first date before he knocks you up.

OBGYN!Baizhu

“Just lie back on the exam chair for me and we can begin.” Dr. Baizhu smiles warmly at you as you nervously play with your hands in the clinical room.

You nod, wanting to speak at little as possible. The chair’s paper covering crinkles and creases as you climb onto it, shuffling around before settling into a somewhat comfortable positon lying on your back. You look to Dr. Baizhu on your right, he’s available on your insurance and he has stellar reviews on any site worth trusting you could find. You’re just anxious anyway, and this is something you have to do, it won’t do you any good to get paranoid about all the things that could go wrong in a doctor’s office.

Baizhu’s eyes crinkle in the corners and he takes a seat on one of those rolling black stools. “So I take it that this is your first pelvic exam? Well, then be assured that you’re in good hands. It’s nothing scary, but I need to make sure your vulva and reproductive organs are in perfect working order.”

You laugh awkwardly and mutter back a “I know, I'm fine. Just a little tired, traffic was a nightmare.”

Your nerves already feel like they’re fading away, Dr. Baizhu’s voice is so pleasant and he has such a kind demeanor, you understand why this clinic was so eager to have him. The woman who signed you in was raving that it was his first day after leaving a major hospital, that they were so lucky and you were too.

“Now I'll have you slide down to the end of the table and put your knees in these stirrups, it’s perfectly safe and if you need to take a breather, please let me know.” He croons, allowing you the freedom and comfort to act on your own. He’d never want to make you feel panicked, as if he were forcibly restraining you.

The exams aren’t really a big deal when you’ve gotten over that hump, but Baizhu knows that first times of any variety can be scary. Especially for skittish patients such as yourself, with as much prey drive as a barn bunny being chased by a sheepdog.

You lie there and endure every probe and thoughtful hum. Your vulva is fine and Dr. Baizhu ends that part of the inspection with a quick pat to your mound, his lips twitching as if trying to resist the urge to kiss.

“Okay, now I'm just going to check out your cervix, keep still.” The man hums, smoothing a hand down your right calf from the stirrup to your knee. “You’ll feel some pressure, but nothing painful.”

“Really?” You bite your lip and eye the instruments on the little table by the sink.

Dr. Baizhu chuckles, “Of course. Some patients do experience pain, but it’s not a definite thing, everybody’s different. At most, you’ll feel a tad uncomfortable and exposed.”

So you brace yourself and expect to feel the cold metal of what looks like some kind of forceps. Instead you look down to see your doctor unbuttoning his pants.

He catches your eye and waves off your concern, “Cold metal just seems so abrasive for your first time. You might do better with a more… human approach, something to test how well you can stretch. Don’t worry, I'll put protection on, I'd be a horrible doctor if I didn't.”

Sure enough he slides a latex condom on, covered in tiny holes but you brush it off as being a part of the design. Baizhu’s cock twitches, feeling a sick thrill at how easy you are, at how he can whip his dick out and you’ll believe it’s in your best interest.

He doesn’t release you from the stirrups, and they rattle as he plunges inside inch by inch. Slowly and mind numbingly, to properly gauge your cunt’s ability to expand around the intrusion. You gape up at him, feeling far more than just a tad uncomfortable and exposed. His lips twitch again, torn between maintaining the facade and stuffing your cervix with his cock or breaking character and dipping down to kiss your adorably parted lips.

“I’d give you a piece of candy if that wouldn’t embarrass you. You’re doing great, just relax and the pressure will ease up.”

“Ngh- hah- O-okay, doctor. Thank you for helping me.” You don’t know why you say it, who thanks their doctors for doing a basic exam? But he groans and his hips rush forward all the same.

Your cunt is impossibly tight, which is to be expected but it’s not any less delightful to experience.

The paper underneath you makes you want to claw your eyes out as his thrusts force your back to slide back and forth on it. That, the stirrup straps clacking, and your shared soft pants are the only sounds in the locked room. It’s not as anxiety inducing as you’d expect, the planets in the office orbit around the doctor and as long as they think he’s in an appointment (and isn’t he?) they won’t interrupt. His eyes crease, he promises to give you a home visit when you’re done here, just to be thorough and make good on that promise of candy.

Something sweet for the embodiment of the cavities is in his soul, cunny strangles him tighter than a noose.

Dr. Baizhu shudders as you reflexively clench around his pulsing cock and attempt to kick out your legs only to be held back by the stirrups, “Don’t mind the mess, ‘s all par for the c-course, my dear.”

You squirt on his next thrust, and your tangy juices drip down onto the cold gray floor. The gooey cum that escapes the holes in the condom follow suit and form a little pool. Dr. Baizhu takes several pictures of your seed heavy pussy with his flip phone for medical reference.

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onlygarden · 18 days ago

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[so good, light up the neighborhood] - park sunghoon

genre: smut

description: after moving into a new home, you develop a less-than-subtle admiration for your neighbor - a handsome, charming man who also happens to be forty years old. sunghoon is 40, reader is in their 20s, dilf sunghoon (he's not a father, just a dilf if you know what i mean), unprotected sex, biting, power play kinda, sunghoon is flirty, dom sunghoon, older sunghoon (whatever you say daddy)

a/n: this fic kinda beat my ass, but i'm super excited about it :D been brewing this idea for a little while heheh

the late afternoon sunlight brightened the expanse of your living room, dramatically bright rays resting upon your eyelashes and obstructing the view of the drama on your television. albeit, you were rewatching it, anyway; and only half watching at that, since your mind obliged you into pondering the gentleman who now lived next door to you.

your recent move-in concluded only a week ago, the less-than-impressive dimensions of your new home still littered with empty boxes which sat in a neat pile beside your front door – your poor attempt at tidying the muddled mess of your unpacking process.

you approach the clutter of empty boxes, thoughts of your new neighbor lapping your brain rampantly, their stubborn insistence rousing a sigh from your lips. images of his delicate, genuine smile as he introduced himself, his habit of using ‘sweetheart’ rather than your name, his firm ‘you don’t have to strain yourself, let me…” as you attempted to carry all your boxes into the house alone remained on a continuous loop, beyond any of your better judgment or hollow efforts to distract yourself.

your knowledge of him doesn’t extend very far, similar to your brief list of interactions with him – the only information you’ve gathered thus far is his name, age, and the fact that he’s so inconceivably handsome your breath hitched in your throat when you first cast your eyes towards him. the shocking difference in age between the two of you didn’t deter your admiration at all – sure, he’s forty years old, and sure, that’s much older than you. in your mind, however, the fact that he was old enough to be your father only strengthened the enchanting spell your body and your wits were under.

“hey, sweetheart,” his familiar, yet charming voice rings out, gently diverting your attention away from your unseemly contemplations.

your legs halt, pausing your movements in your short trek to your recycling bin. you eagerly direct your gaze to his direction, and goodness, there he is; just the sight of his gorgeous face causes a smile to glide it’s way across your features, followed by a subtle blush. the sound of his car door closing reaches your ears in the same moment that his classic, sly grin adorns his face, fueling a flurry of warmth in your tummy. you were so overcome by your thoughts, that you hadn’t even noticed his car returning to his driveway…

“oh! hey, sunghoon,” you utter all too evenly – the pressure of the thump, thump, thump in your chest, and the shameful nature of your thoughts was not betrayed by your demeanor in the faintest degree.

oh, he’s coming over here, you think as he suddenly begins to approach you. his legs drag him closer to you until he’s standing directly before you, the width of his shoulders and his daunting stature causing you to feel caged in. you invite the feeling, however, shamelessly basking in shelter he can provide with his frame alone.

you fling the thought from your mind as his gruff, warm voice reaches you again, his proximity intensifying the metaphorical embrace your senses receive whenever the sound reaches them. with such a limited distance between the two of you, his voice was much softer, more intimate – you were certain you could feel the resonance his voice created in his chest across your skin.

“getting rid of all those empty boxes, huh?” he questions, his sly smile still proud on his face, but resting in such an easy manner. the ease of his expression mirrors the ease of his demeanor, not a single fray of tension shedding from him.

“oh, yea… yea, i am,” you respond, your gaze shifting to the boxes in your hand in a fleeting glance, before returning to his captivating eyes – his eyes were chasms, shimmering dark orbs absorbing every grain of your attention, unpermitted and unforeseen by you. though if you did garner any control of the situation, you wouldn’t try to resist, anyway.

his own gaze descends, falling upon the boxes you held before being captured by another, lower view. the pleat of your black tennis skirt was snagged underneath the boxes in your grasp, revealing the shorts underneath – the shorts designed to prevent situations like yours from becoming any less fortunate. though in your case, flashing the man in front of you with the sight of your thong would only serve to further gratify him.

he noted the sight of the not-so-generous fabric, paying particularly close regard to the way the shorts sink into your flesh, your thighs pillowing around the constricting material. you truly didn’t realize, did you? you were so blissfully oblivious to the mishap, but equally as oblivious to the subtle change in his relaxed gaze to a more appreciative one.

a muted huff drifts past his lips, and he allows his eyes another moment to delight in the glimpse of your flesh bared by such a favorable accident. shielding your skin from his own ravenous leering, he tugs the fabric down, freeing your skirt from the captivity of the box and effectively concealing the skin of your upper thighs. in the process, he allows his deft fingers to graze your skin, lingering only for a moment before his hand falls to his side. well, there goes the view, he thinks.

the vague blush which already plagued your features only brightens as you come into collision with the realization. the way he momentarily allowed his fingers to skim across your skin surely did not offer your rattled, wickedly jumbled mind any support.

a soft gasp spills from your lips, your eyes stretching wide as you struggle to accept the fact that sunghoon – your neighbor, and the man occupying every crevice of your brain – just saw up your skirt, whether the skirt in question was made with shorts or not.

“oh god, sunghoon… i’m sorry, i –” he intrudes on your frantic apologies, shaking his head dismissively as the warmth of his husky voice travels to your ears again.

“need some help, sweetheart?” he inquires plainly, though the tone of his voice seems to insinuate a path of events that are obscured from the realm of plain.

your heart stutters beneath your chest, a sense of almost pleasant alarm crawling over your body. the breath in your throat catches, much like usual while you’re conversing with your neighbor.

“help… help with what?” you inquire in return, the sound of your voice a feeble murmur, the breathiness only further shrouding your words.

his grin returns to his lips, stretched wide enough to allow his pointed teeth to slip, a memorable feature you came to realize during your first conversation with him.

“with the rest of your boxes,” he starts, a teasing lilt traveling through his voice. “i could help you bring them out.”

your shoulders begin to relax, the tension subsiding, leaving a subtle sense of disappointment to wander – a gesture you hope his gaze didn’t catch.

“oh, my boxes…” you utter, your head dropping slightly as a faint chuckle leaves your chest. of course he was talking about the boxes, how could you let yourself get so carried away…

“yea, i could use some help,” you follow, your eager declaration accompanied by a sweet smile.

as you oblige in a shameless degree of willingness, sunghoon removes the boxes from your grip, striding casually to your recycling bin.

your gaze remains on his frame for another moment, roaming over the expanse of his shoulders again, admiring the manner in which his black tee clung to him before you manage to avert your eyes – the fear of being caught grips you cruelly.

as you head towards the door to retrieve another set of boxes, sunghoon pushes the door open a bit wider from behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder, and allowing it to follow the course of your spine down to the small of your back. he ushers you inside with gentle grace, an equally gentle “right behind you, sweetheart…” passing through his lips. you’re endlessly grateful for his position behind you, since it shielded the apparent heat on your face from his eyes.

gosh, what’s his problem. the dominance behind such a simple gesture almost made you forget that it was your house, and you were the one leading him inside.

he permits his eyes to travel throughout your home, observing the manner in which you arranged all of your belongings.

“very cozy in here, darling,” he compliments. “did you do all of this by yourself?”

darling. that was new. goodness, he hardly even knows you, but he always manages to sneak an endearing title into conversation with you. you desperately cling to the conviction that it’s completely normal, he’s just being friendly, he probably speaks this way with every young girl… but the distant belief that he’s trying to communicate more than just that is beginning to outshine the former.

you face him with a quiet smile. “oh, yea. i did. i’m not entirely finished, but i’m glad you think it’s cozy. as my neighbor, you know.”

a soft chuckle escapes him.

“as your neighbor, yea…” he starts, a charming lilt littering his gruff voice. “well, i hope that as your neighbor, i’ll be invited over more often.”

a blend of slight shock and enthusiastic excitement mingles together in your expression. the slight increase of your heart rate causes your voice to sound a bit breathier than you intended, but he doesn’t seem to mind. in fact, he seems almost delighted by the reactions he keeps pulling from you.

“of course, you’re always welcome,” you respond naturally, hints of kind enthusiasm lacing into your words. you continue, hoping your eager yearning doesn’t come across him.

“is that something you would want, sunghoon?”

his eyebrows lift faintly, his expression relaxing from his usual sly demeanor.

“yea, it is, but…” he starts, taking a step closer to you.

“i hope i’ll get to see more than just the living room, darling…”

a gasp wanders from your lips beyond your will, prompting the familiar sly smile to return to sunghoon’s lips. before you can even begin to formulate a response, however, his voice rings out again.

“i’ll grab the rest of these boxes, and then we can chat, if you don’t mind,” he expresses with a hint of intrigue, his hands steadily emerging from his pockets and his head tilting in gesture to the bundle of boxes beside your front door.

your mind encourages you to nod, your body complying with the request to an almost instinctual degree. you move to assist him in collecting what remained of your moving clutter, following his figure through your front door.

“yea, i’ll… i’ll grab some too,” you manage out, surprised that your frenzied mind could feed you a coherent sentence.

once the two of you complete the task – a task which should have been simple, but was filled with tension and embarrassingly hungry anticipation on your end – you encourage him to sit on the couch, to which he complies easily. as your take your place beside him, he slithers closer, close enough for his knee to make contact with yours.

this contact, this proximity – you’d be completely comfortable with it under any other circumstances. if anyone else, or any other guy, for that matter, were in his place, you wouldn’t be flustered in the slightest. it’s him, though, and any bit of contact that he’s generous enough to grace you with turns every fiber of your body into putty. putty meant to be molded, maneuvered, and played with by him alone.

“you seeing anyone, darling?” he utters breezily, almost too casually for your poor mushy brain. other parts of yourself were beginning to grow rather mushy, too…

“no, i’m not seeing anyone,” you start, shaking your head gently, your hair swaying a bit with the gesture.

“why?” you continue.

his expression brightens marginally at your answer, though the brightness of his expression is still maintained by his sly, casual smile.

“you see, doll,” he prods, his voice a low timbre, coating your senses in a fresh wave of heat. his hand comes to rest on your knee, rousing every nerve beneath your bare skin, igniting a pleasant burning sensation with his touch.

doll? gosh, this man is non-stop.

“the first time i saw you in the neighborhood, i couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you are,” he compliments, the words tumbling from his lips in the same charming manner in which they always do.

he allows his hand to inch up your skin, fingers fluttering across your skin as he offers the flesh of your thigh a light squeeze.

his eyes falter momentarily to watch your flesh cushion around his fingers, but he regains his firm, locked gaze. “you’re such a beautiful, beautiful, sweet girl… it really shocks me to hear that you’re single, but…”

the distance between the two of you shrinks as he leans closer, breaking his stubborn gaze to speak against your ear.

“would you let me be the one to change things?” he urges, his breath warming your ear, while sending shivers to travel down your spine simultaneously.

what? you could hardly grasp the belief that this was reality, real life, he’s really asking you this question right now. you only spent a little over a week pining for your much older neighbor, yet here he was, in your home, making you aware of his reciprocated admiration without a hint of subtlety.

“y-yes, sunghoon…” you mutter, somehow discovering a way to form words despite the wildly intense thrumming in your chest.

his hand sweeps your hair from your shoulder, revealing your neck to him, and his middle finger traces along your jaw, tilting your head up a bit in the process. his fingers crawl to the back of your neck, still resting halfway against your jaw, dragging your face toward his.

“thought so, darling.”

his lips meld with yours, capturing your lips with his own, creating a rhythm which you matched enthusiastically. as though his hunger was beginning to struggle against the seams, his hand flies up skin of your thigh, squishing a greedy handful of your flesh.

his tongue slithers tauntingly along the seam of your lips, hardly waiting until you part your lips to shove his tongue inside of your mouth. he explores your mouth as though he was searching for something, seducing your tongue into an eager dance with his own.

garnering every bit of restraint from every tendril of his body, he parts from you, his nose gliding along your cheek.

“how far do you wanna take this, doll?” he breathes out, his voice littered with arousal and restlessness. the rasp in his voice gives way to just how narrowly he’s managing to control his impulses.

“as far as you wanna go, sunghoon…” you murmur feebly, inviting every unfettered bit of him to demolish you.

a sound resembling a growl rumbles in his throat, and he lays back against the couch, pulling your body on top of his. as you begin to adjust, his large, veined hands glide along your back until he grips a generous handful of your rear. his tongue skates along the sharp line of your jaw, and he begins to treat the flesh of your ass, ardently squeezing and kneading underneath the pleat of your skirt.

“you know how much i’ve been staring at this ass, darling?” he inquires rhetorically, one of his hands leaving your flesh to land a smack there, though he quickly returns to the kneading that he cannot seem to get enough of.

his hands reluctantly leave your ass, and he begins to lift your top over your head. he pats your bottom, instructing you to stand up, observing with awe as you pull your skirt and panties down without a single word from him.

he rids himself hurriedly of his own clothes – tossing his shirt aside and abandoning his pants and boxers in tandem, not sparing a glance in their direction as they fall onto the floor.

just as the final contents of his clothing reach the floor, you allow your unclasped bra to join them, before returning to your seat in sunghoon’s lap.

sunghoon’s hands reach for your hips before you can fully settle yourself, and he watches in stunned admiration as a string of your arousal gushes from your drenched, lavish pussy, dripping onto his aching cock as though extending an invitation.

“fuck,” he breathes out, his heavy eyes unable to tear away from the sight of you. his cock twitches powerfully from the subtle stimulation he received from your lavish arousal, and he removes a hand from your hip to stroke his cock, spreading the gift your pussy graced him with over his length.

“you get this wet just from being around me? god, you’re filthy, doll…” he tells you, thoroughly enjoying your shamelessness, and the plentiful flow of arousal you were offering him.

the temperature in your face rises, but before you can truly react to his words, he begins to lower your body onto his cock, filling your leaking pussy with his daunting girth. a groan escapes him as you engulf him, flooding his cock with such a luscious, warm wetness that he can’t wrap his mind around.

your feverish moan reaches his ears, and your hands grip onto his own, as though telling him ‘wait, let me get used to this…’ – sunghoon doesn’t allow you any amenities, though.

“goddamn you’re wet…” he announces, grunting at the snugness of your realm of warmth surrounding him. a sensation he had suffered deprivation from for so long, but now he’s finally indulging in it, finally sliding his cock into you. now that he’s captivated you, however, he doesn’t think he’ll ever want to miss out on the feeling of being encompassed by you.

all of your reasonable judgment was easily forsaken, and all you desired was to learn and memorize the feeling of his length inside of you.

“f-fuck, hoon!” you wail, as the rhythm of him fucking you onto his cock begins to overflow from your body, the squeeze of his hands against your hips as he guides you up and down only pleasuring you even further.

“mhm… there it is… let it out, my sweet girl,” he encourages hoarsely, any sound and syllable that falls from your lips a pleasant melody for his wicked ears.

at the sound of your goading cries, sunghoon’s pace hastens, his hips bucking his cock further into you as he forces your hips down to meet every merciless passing of his length through your warm, glistening spring. he’s unfaltering in his movements, sending your body and his own to such astonishing heights of euphoric delight.

as unimaginable as it seemed, sunghoon intensifies the sheer enchantment he was bestowing onto you as he leans forward, capturing your nipple with his mouth, suckling as his tongue glides over the nub in a gentle caress.

your cries, moans, and whines only blend pitifully into unintelligible sobs, convoluted pleas of “oh god, oh fuck!” floating from your quivering lips, pouring an abundance of sinful satisfaction onto sunghoon’s body. good god, you’re just heaven to him.

“gonna cum now, sweet girl?” he inquires in a dark breath, detaching his lips from your nipple only to begin suckling the other one, his clenching hand on your hip allowing his thumb to begin circling your fluttering clit.

your body can’t even conduct an action as simple as a nod, yet the way your body begins to tremble, and the way your helpless hands latch onto his shoulders in a form of nonverbal begging tells him all he needs to know. he exhales with a chuckle as your tears of devastating pleasure begin to fall onto his chest.

“you crying, doll? it’s just sex, i’ve got you…”

obliterating the sentiment of his sweet yet condescending words, his leg bends, allowing him to brace one of his feet against the couch cushion, and he brutalizes his pace of plunges into your pussy. his cock stimulates places inside of you far beyond the range of anything you could ever hope to even imagine.

you know you can’t hold out any longer as a wave of incomprehensible bliss coats your body, hazing your senses and your vision, your shuddering body absolutely staggered as the pleasure he provided showers you in a fountain of violent hysteria.

his hands tense around your hips, deft fingers constricting around your flesh as he compels your body into meeting flush against his own, luscious grinds and ruts into your flowing pussy suffocating him in a pit of pleasure, completely drowning every crevice of his body. though he’s enamored with this form of drowning, as long as it’s you submerging him. he floods you in return, spilling a stream of his cum inside of you, sharing his surging pleasure with you.

he meets your eyes, locking his stare to yours as he cums. “mmm… yea, fuck, darling… look at me while i’m fucking you…” he mutters with gruff timbre, his mouth falling open, bordering on delirium.

allowing the both of you a few moments to regain your breath and search for your composure, his veined hand coasts along your back, his breaths resounding heavily in his chest and lifting your delicate, fatigued body.

“can’t believe i’ve been missing out on all that, sweetheart… i think i like you needy,” he casually informs you, scattering a few wispy kisses across you shoulder.

he lifts your body off his cock, a soft grunt passing his lips as he leans up from the couch, cradling your weary frame in his arms, the mess of your combined clothing receiving neglect – save for the devious way he crouches down to slip your thong into the pocket of his discarded pants.

“so, darling…” he begins, his body striding toward the direction of your staircase. “where’s your shower?”

you don’t even pretend to resist the urge to rest your head against his bare shoulder, you wouldn’t ever dare to resist any urge you felt towards him anymore.

“last door on the left,” you relent, voice nearly too weak to carry to his ears.

a soft chuckle vibrates in his chest, tickling your skin as he ascends the stairs toward the destination you directed him in.

“so what about you, sunghoon?” you query, hushed voice still unable to conceal your curiosity.

he places you onto the bathroom sink, allowing your legs to dangle, gripping the counter on either side or your thighs. he leans a touch closer, his stark features even more apparent, now.

“hm? what about me, sweet girl?” he responds fondly, his expression twinkling with tender admiration.

your legs swing faintly, creating a bump, bump, bumping from your bare heels.

“i mean… have you dated anyone recently? or… are you seeing anyone now?”

the fondness in his expression intensifies, and a tranquil smile wanders across his face. he couldn’t quite say that he wasn’t expecting the question, but his eyebrows lifted nonetheless – in an almost pleased manner.

“no, darling, i… i haven’t dated anyone in a while,” he reveals honestly, another chuckle following soon after in preparation of his next words.

“...and no, i’m not seeing anyone now. don’t i strike you as a loyal man?” he teases gently, flashing you a charming smile, those familiar sharp canines revealing themselves again.

a giggle erupts from your lips, and you send him a playfully skeptical look.

“don’t smile at me like that. aren’t you a little too old to be playing that ‘i’m cute’ card?”

a husky chuckle emerges from his lips at your mischievous response, and his hand travels to your hip to grant a squeeze.

“cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” he observes, shortening the distance between your faces even further.

he pauses for a fleeting moment before continuing, a casual, relaxed smile returning to his features.

“i’ve gotta say, darling… i really wanna spend a lot more time with you,” he adds, his fingers dancing along the smooth skin of your cheek. his doting gaze does little to conceal the thoughts running unabashedly through his mind. from the moment he saw you, it’s like he was met with a certain clarity he’d never realized before. he can’t quite find the words, but he knows he’s unwavering in his desire to continue drawing you closer to him. now that he’s gotten you this close, he can’t afford to lose or waste a single moment.

“now,” he announces, his voice interrupting the rampant thoughts in both of your minds. he lifts your body from your sitting position, allowing you to steady yourself on your feet, before whirling you around and bending your body over the counter.

“you don’t think we’re done here yet, do you, darling? you think i’ll give my sweet girl a break that easily?”

my sweet girl? the impending frenzy in your mind is thrown into delay, replaced by surging arousal as his hands run down the course of your back, his touch almost like a torch across your skin.

he allows his eyes to immerse themselves in your prone form, before leaning down to sink his teeth in the flesh of your ass – the sharp edges of his canines nearly breaking your skin.

as you gasp, and snap your head behind you to gaze at him, he runs his tongue over the mark he created, expressing his appreciation with a grin.

“mine, now.”

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fuckyeahisawthat · 10 months ago

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There are so many places in the Villeneuve Dune adaptations where he just...takes all the narrative pieces that Frank Herbert laid out and subtly rearranges them into something that tells the story better--that creates dramatic tension where you need it, communicates the themes and message of the book more clearly, or corrects something in the text that contradicts or undermines what Herbert said he was trying to say.

The fedaykin are probably my favorite example of this. I just re-read a little part of the book and got smacked in the face with how different they are.

(under the cut for book spoilers and length)

The fedaykin in the book are Paul's personal followers, sort of his personal guard. They show up after his legend has already started growing (the word doesn't appear in the book until chapter 40) and they are people who have specifically dedicated themselves to fighting for him, and right from the moment they're introduced there is a kind of implied fanaticism to their militancy that's a bit uncomfortable to read. They're the most ardent believers in Paul's messianic status and willing to die for him. (They are also, as far as you can tell from the text, all men.)

In the book, as far as I can remember (I could be forgetting some small detail but I don't think so) there is no mention of armed resistance to colonialism on Arrakis before Paul shows up. As far as we know, he created it. ETA: Okay I actually went back and checked on this and while we hear about the Fremen being "a thorn in the side" of the Harkonnens and we know that they are good fighters, we don't see anything other than possibly one bit of industrial sabotage. The book is very clear that the organized military force we see in the second half was armed and trained by Paul. This is exacerbated by the two-year time jump in the book, which means we never see how Paul goes from being a newly deposed ex-colonial overlord running for his life to someone who has his own private militia of people ready to give their lives for him.

The movie completely flips all these dynamics on their head in ways that add up to a radical change in meaning.

The fedaykin in the movie are an already-existing guerrilla resistance movement on Arrakis that formed long before Paul showed up. Literally the first thing we learn about the Fremen, less that two minutes into the first movie, is that they are fighting back against the colonization and exploitation of their home and have been for decades.

The movie fedaykin also start out being the most skeptical of the prophecy about Paul, which is a great choice from both a political and a character standpoint. Of course they're skeptical. If you're part of a small guerrilla force repeatedly going up against a much bigger and stronger imperial army...you have to believe in your own agency. You have to believe that it is possible to win, and that this tiny little chip in the armor of a giant terrifying military machine that you are making right now will make a difference in the end. These are the people who are directly on the front lines of resisting oppression. They are doing it with their own sweat, blood and ingenuity, and they are not about to wait around for some messiah who may never come.

From a character standpoint, this is really the best possible environment you could put Paul Atreides in if you want to keep him humble. He doesn't get any automatic respect handed to him due to title or birthright or religious belief. He has to prove himself--not as any kind of savior but as a good fighter and a reliable member of a collective political project. And he does. This is an environment that really draws out his best qualities. He's a skilled fighter; he's brave (sometimes recklessly so); he's intensely loyal to and protective of people he cares about. He is not too proud to learn from others and work hard in an egalitarian environment where he gets no special treatment or extra glory. The longer he spends with the fedaykin the more his allegiance shifts from Atreides to Fremen, and the more skeptical he himself becomes about the prophecy. This sets up the conflict with Jessica, which comes to a head before she leaves for the south. And his political sincerity--that he genuinely comes to believe that these people deserve liberation from all colonial forces and his only role should be to help where he can--is what makes the tragedy work. Because in the end we know he will betray all these values and become the exact thing he said he didn't want to be.

There's another layer of meaning to all this that I don't know if the filmmakers were even aware of. ETA: rescinding my doubt cause based on some of Villeneuve's other projects I'm pretty sure he could work it out. Given the time period (1960s) and Herbert's propensity for using Arabic or Arabic-inspired words for aspects of Fremen culture, it seems very likely that the made-up word fedaykin was taken from fedayeen, a real Arabic word that was frequently used untranslated in American news media at the time, usually to refer to Palestinian armed resistance groups.

Fedayeen is usually translated into English as fighter, guerrilla, militant or something similar. The translation of fedaykin that Herbert provides in Dune is "death commando"...which is a whole bucket of yikes in my opinion, but it's not entirely absurd if we're assuming that this fake word and the real word fedayeen function in the same way. A more literal translation of fedayeen is "self-sacrificer," as in willing, intentional self-sacrifice for a political cause, up to and including sacrificing your life.

If you apply this logic to Dune, it means that Villeneuve has actually shifted the meaning of this word in-universe, from fighters who are willing to sacrifice themselves for Paul to fighters who are willing to sacrifice themselves for their people. And the fedaykin are no longer a group created for Paul but a group that Paul counts himself as part of, one member among equals. Which is just WILDLY different from what's in the book. And so much better in my opinion.

#dune #dune part two #adaptation #paul atreides #fedaykin

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changbunnies · 3 months ago

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Angel of Music (18+)

♡ Pairing: Phantom!Minho x Opera Singer Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: phantom of the opera inspired au, horror themes, dark romance, age gap, smut, dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :'), the ending is also a lil dark, sorry!

♡ Word Count: 5.8k

♡ Summary: A phantom exists in the opera house– he controls every production from the shadows, lurks around every dark corner, always watching. In your dreams exists an angel– a guardian that sings to you, guides you, and comforts you. When The Phantom appears before you in your dressing room mirror, you begin to realize that he and your angel may be one in the same.

♡ General Warnings: slightly less extreme age gap than the source material that inspires this fic but it's still fairly large (reader is ~mid 20s and minho is ~40), briefly described attempted murder of minor characters, implications of stalking, hypnotism, hallucinations + doubts of reality, so much usage of the words "phantom" and "angel" it's not even funny, this fic is not an accurate representation of how hypnotism works irl but it's fiction so i'm taking liberties!

♡ Smut Warnings: dubcon (due to reader being hypnotized), additionally to not being in their proper state of mind, there are also moments in which reader does not feel to be in full control of their body, light dom/sub dynamics, soft pleasure dom!minho because i want more of him !!, mask kink (does it still count if the mask doesn't cover his whole face?? idk i hope so!), some biting, oral (f rec), overstim, multiple orgasms

♡ Notes: i've known for ages that i wanted to write a phantom!minho fic, and my kinktober series gave me the perfect reason to finally write it! also the fact that both my uploaded minho fics are age gap romances?? that was not intentional i swear lmao

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

All inhabitants of the opera house have been on edge these days– consequence of the new owners of the Opera Populaire, who decided to disregard all of The Phantom's demands.

The Phantom, as the name suggests, is a ghost story of sorts. According to your castmates, he has been here since long before you joined the Opera Populaire's trainees last year, but his activity has begun to increase since your arrival.

He controls all in the opera house, and his demands of the previous owner were always quite simple; perform what shows he instructs you to, follow his casting down to the letter, and keep the seats in Box Five free at all times. Evidentially, Box Five is his favorite place to watch the shows from– and sometimes, his dark silhouette can be spotted in the shadows of the booth, indiscernible but unmistakably there.

No one has ever truly seen The Phantom beyond a shadow, nor have they heard him speak. He communicates with notes, always left within feet of the recipient without anyone having seen him come or go. His notes will even appear in broad daylight, with not a single person having caught a glimpse of him despite all the eyes in the room.

Well, more accurately, no one has seen him apart from the Madame– an older woman who used to be a performer for the Opera Populaire herself, but has taken the role of choreographer since her retirement from the stage. In the 15 years it's been since The Phantom made his presence known to the opera house, she's the only one who's ever seen him, or heard his voice.

A brief encounter, she explained when asked about it– had barely seen him for more than a few passing moments. He spoke little, but the beauty of his voice was striking, completely unlike any other she’d ever heard. And all he asked of her, in that fleeting moment, was to remember that the Opera Populaire is his home– and as long as the inhabitants respect him, he'll respect them in turn.

The previous director, the Madame, and The Phantom all had a mutual understanding of what was to be done. As long as they listened to him, shows would go off without a hitch; but refuse, and there'd be dire consequences. As such, the Madame has been doing her best to express the importance of listening to The Phantom to the new owners.

The Monsieurs view it as no more than silly superstition– every opera house has their own beliefs and customs, things they consider good and bad luck before a show, things they view as omens of a show's future success. The Phantom is simply one of those things– and with a guiding hand, they can dispel such superstitions, show the cast and crew that there is no shadowy phantom to fear.

The first note left for the Monsieurs went disregarded– a barking laugh leaving the elder of the two before he tossed it in the bin. The instructions on the note were clear enough– you were to take the role of Eurydice in the opera house's production of Orpheus and Eurydice, and not Carlotta, as they originally casted.

You were just as baffled as everyone else to learn that The Phantom wanted you to take such an important role– you'd only been here a year, were still so new to your opera training. It's true enough that you have a good voice, and your dancing has improved with all your diligent practice, but you're still young, and the tragic role of Eurydice is not so easily performed.

Natural talent for bringing emotion to performance aside, you lack stage experience– experience that you can easily gain from background roles. To make you such a crucial stand-out role after only a year of training was simply unheard of– no opera house would do it!

This is to be your first production, your first time on stage in front of an audience; and so regardless of what The Phantom wants, Monsieur Reyer opted to keep you strictly in the supporting chorus roles, where you would go from shepherdess, to nymph, to spirit as the acts progressed. Not a glamorous, shining position in the cast by any means, but more than enough to help familiarize you with the reality of performing with hundreds of eyes watching.

It wouldn't take long for The Phantom to make his displeasure with the decision known. And what started off as just small accidents and stage mishaps quickly turned violent and dangerous as each week passed with you still not given the role that The Phantom felt you deserved to have.

The first violent turn came during rehearsals for Act 3, right in the middle of Eurydice's climactic aria, when the chandelier above the stage came crashing down. Carlotta was standing directly beneath it just before it fell, and it narrowly missed her– purely because she happened to take a few steps forward whilst singing.

“An unfortunate accident,” the Monsieurs said, “it had nothing to do with The Phantom!” But the veterans of the opera house knew better– and the conductor swore he saw a dark shadow on the scaffolds just before the chandelier fell; a shadow that could belong to none other than The Phantom.

Carlotta screamed as it crashed just mere inches away from her, right where she's just been standing, and cried as everyone rushed to her side to ensure that she was unharmed. Again, the Madame tried to persuade them to heed The Phantom before another such “accident” occurred.

"Good God in Heaven, you're all obsessed! These things just happen sometimes– there is no phantom!" Reyer cried in exasperation over everyone's insistence, still unwilling to give in to the idea that the opera house's ghost was real.

And tonight, just after rehearsals came to a close, another terrible stage accident occurred– this time happening to Monsieur Reyer himself. He was up on the scaffolding when it happened, making sure all the stagehands properly rigged the lights in preparation for tomorrow night's premiere of Orpheus and Eurydice.

He was bent down, inspecting the bulbs and wires, when a dark figure appeared behind him. The shadow wrapped a noose around his neck faster than anyone could even react, pushed him off the scaffolding before swiftly retreating back to the shadows.

Reyer almost didn't survive– he was lucky that the nearby stagehands were quick on their feet and in their wits, managing to grab his arms and pull him up while another cut the rope that served to hang the poor man. And as if the message from the accidents alone weren't clear enough, another note was left behind right in the middle of the stage.

It was astounding, really, that not a single person saw The Phantom leave the note behind– and while some could argue that it was because all eyes were on Reyer, or because the stage became chaos as they worked to save him, the Monsieurs realized that maybe they should start to believe that there really is a ghost inhabiting the Opera Populaire.

The moment the note was noticed, the Madame picked it up, and read it aloud for all to hear. "Again, I remind you that Y/N will play the role of Eurydice. As I instruct, Box Five shall remain open for my use. These seats will not be used by another. This is my final warning– disregard at your own risk."

Realizing they had no choice, lest they wish to continue putting themselves and other cast and crew in danger, the Monsieurs begrudgingly declared you the new Eurydice, right then and there.

Given that you're at every rehearsal, you know Eurydice's lines by heart, and are confident that you can sing them well– but still, you're nervous. It's your first production, the premiere is sold out, is set for tomorrow night, and suddenly you're in one of the most pivotal roles in the entire opera.

You don't even understand why The Phantom is so adamant about giving the role to you; what is it about you that he likes, what is it that he sees in you? You wish you could ask the Madame, but she met him so fleetingly, and so many years ago– she has no way of knowing The Phantom's heart beyond an educated guess.

Sitting before your dressing room mirror, you sigh, utterly exhausted– now that you're Eurydice, it was vital that you do a last minute costume fitting and makeup test. As such, you've been in the opera house hours past the time you'd normally be here. The moon hangs high in the sky now, you're sure; you wonder if you should just spend the night here, sleep in the dressing room instead of making a late trek home.

Regardless, you hope your angel comes to you tonight. You know no one would believe you if you told them, but you really do have a guardian angel; and in your dreams, he comes to you– always when you are most lost and in need of guidance. He's a gentle, calming presence; always comforts you, talks to you sweetly when you're filled with self doubt, sings to you in the most beautiful of voices.

You've never actually seen your angel clearly– only heard his voice calling your name and whispering, singing, in a way that could only be described as angelic in its serenity. In your dreams, he's nothing but a vague, blurry image– even at his most clear, you can't define any of his features.

Still, you think of him fondly– and you suspect that as an angel, you aren't meant to be able to fully perceive him. And your angel always, always, knows when you need him– you suspect that even now, he's waiting; waiting for the moment you fall asleep, so that he can come to your side.

You look at yourself, still dressed as Eurydice. A beautiful, off shoulder bateau gown in the prettiest, purest ivory. There's lace appliques throughout the gown, has a beautiful cinched bodice before the tulle skirt fluffs out. It's elegant, makes you feel like a bride waiting to walk down the aisle.

Your makeup shimmers– extra glitter applied on your eyelids to make sure the stage lights catch it. Your jewelry too, is extravagant– made to sparkle and shine every time a light shines on you, to twinkle with each subtle move you make. It's a shame you have to take it all off just to put it all back on tomorrow– but the effort to make sure everything fits you was necessary.

You reach your hands up to one of your ears, prepare to remove one of your dangling earrings when you hear a voice you know all too well call your name– your angel's voice.

You look around the room, bewildered, but see nothing and no one. And surely you were mistaken– you're still awake! Your angel only comes to you in dreams, and you haven't fallen asleep... right? You are still awake, aren't you?

Again, you hear his voice, another whisper of your name. You rise from your chair, look around the room once more– no one. You turn back to the dressing room mirror, and jump in surprise, realizing that the view reflected in it has changed. You no longer see yourself, or the reflection of the dressing room around you– instead, you see a man.

He looks just as the Madame described her memory of The Phantom– dark hair, and even darker eyes, with a white mask that covers the right half of his face. Not completely– just from his hairline, down to his pretty, plump lips. Every inch of his skin is covered, head to toe, all of his clothes pure black apart from the ornate red vest.

Sleek boots and dark trousers, a tall collar that obscures most of his neck, long sleeves that cover his arms, even gloves covering his hands. He wears a cape, long and as dark as the rest of his clothes, and it blows behind him as if there’s a breeze rolling through.

You’re confused, a little frightened, but you can’t tear your eyes away or will yourself to flee– and as the figure speaks your name, you gasp; he truly has the voice of your angel. But he’s The Phantom, isn’t he?

The blurry, vague scenery behind him begins to sharpen, coming more distinctly visible to your uncertain eyes. A dark corridor full of candelabra, glowing in dull yellows and shades of orange, held by incorporeal hands with no discernable origin.

What little of your dressing room you see in your peripheral shifts and warps as you stare at him, blur together into dark shadows as the table holding your hairbrush and makeup begin to fade and disappear, leaving the view through the mirror as the only thing you can see.

The figure– your angel, The Phantom?– holds his hand out to you through the mirror, as if the glass that should separate you no longer exists; perhaps it doesn't. Smoke– or maybe fog, mist? you can't be certain– pours into the room as you approach the mirror.

As if under a spell, you reach out to take his hand, thinking not of logic as you follow the beckoning call of your name. Your angel; you trust your angel. He smiles as you place your hand in his, and carefully, you step through the mirror, into the corridor.

Entranced, you stare at him; even with half a mask covering his face, he's utterly beautiful. He appears to be older than you, hints of fine lines beholden around his mouth and eyes, and even that adds to his mysterious charm. He holds your gaze as he takes a step back, a candelabra in his hand now, beckoning you to follow him down the corridor.

You squeeze his hand as you follow, and finally he turns around, walks with purpose as he guides you, glancing behind every so often to look at you in what you think to be adoration. You too, glance behind– and where the mirror once stood is now a desolate, barren wall.

You do not see any hint of your dressing room, or of the mirror you stepped through. And as you continue further down the corridor, the candelabra that were once behind you slowly begin to blink out and vanish from sight, leaving only pitch black darkness behind. A spiral staircase made of stone manifests, and you descend it, hand in hand with your angel.

You're so enchanted and bewildered, you can't seem to find your voice– all you can do is follow, let him guide you along to where it is he wants you to be. Even the staircase dissipates when you've finished descending, and for just a moment, you wonder– is any of this truly real?

Finally, you stand in the middle of a beautiful room, lit candles both resting in more candelabra and strewn about the floor, with dark, intricately woven tapestries hanging from the stone walls. There’s a grand piano, sleek black with gold accents, with even more candles resting atop it, as well as a sheet of music sitting pristine on the music desk, black ink seemingly freshly dried, just waiting to be played.

There are several mirrors, though only one remains uncovered– the rest are obscured by cloth, for reasons you do not know. There is a bed, in what you suppose would be called a “corner” in this otherwise circular space, inviting and plush in its appearance, with blankets colored a rich red. Naturally, candles surround the bed as well, covering it in a beautifully soft, yellow-orange glow.

“Where are we?” you finally find your voice to ask, and the man smiles as he beckons you to follow him towards his bed. “We are home,” he replies, and though it’s a strange answer, you feel you understand– yes, you are home. This is home.

You gaze at him curiously after you sit on the bed, just as comfortable as you expected it to be, and he mimics the way you’ve tilted your head at him. “You’re.. My angel, aren’t you? Or are you The Phantom?” you ask, and the man laughs ever so softly, melodious and beautiful.

“I am Minho,” he responds, as if that alone is a sufficient enough answer– in a way, you suppose it is. What else is there to know? He is Minho. That is enough.

“I have longed to touch you, to bring you here,” Minho whispers as he reaches one of his gloved hands to your face, strokes your cheek slowly, gently. The sensation, though simple, feels so tender– it sparks something inside you, fills you with a warmth you’ve never felt before. You close your eyes, bask in the comfort his touch provides you.

You feel his hand move, travel down until his fingers are under your chin. He tilts your head up, and you open your eyes to see him gazing down at you warmly. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, speaking to you as gently as he always does. He’s said it before, in your dreams– that you are beautiful, talented, deserving of all you wish to have.

He never lets you linger on self-doubt, never allows you to think you are lesser than someone else, or undeserving of the opportunities you’ve been granted. Your angel knows you– you think he’s appearing to you now, like this, because he knows you are uncertain of playing Eurydice; he must think that he needs to remind you of just how special you are.

All of your doubts about tomorrow’s premiere– he will dispel them from your mind, as he always does. He kneels before you, gazing at you carefully as he inches closer to you, his hands softly rubbing over your shoulders and down your arms. His attentive stare as he caresses you makes you breathing quicken, your heart starting to pick up speed.

“Do you trust me?” Minho asks suddenly, and with not an ounce of hesitation, you nod. You’ve no reason not to trust him– in the year it's been since your angel first appeared to you, you’ve always trusted him. There is no one else that makes you feel so secure, so at peace, so.. Loved, cared for. Yes, your angel, Minho, loves you, cares for you like no other. You trust him.

“I wish to clear your mind of worry and doubt– to make you think only of me, and the music we can make together. I wish to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you," he says, and oh, he knows he shouldn’t be pouring his heart out like this, for it’s too soon, much too soon. But he’s been enamored with you since the first moment you stepped into the Opera Populaire, has been infatuated with you since first hearing the passion in your voice.

He can’t help it, it seems– now that he has you here, in his lair, his defenses falter, all of his desires pouring out of him. To have you here, and to touch you like this, even so simply– it’s everything he’s wanted. And instantly, unconsciously, you reach out to him. Your angel sees you, knows you– you wish to know him too, to understand him the way he does you.

Your mind is somehow as clear as it is hazy– clear, because you know what it is that you want. Regardless of who he is, what he is, you want Minho to have you. Anything he wants, you feel compelled to give, as if it’s all you know; and in this moment, perhaps it is. In the very back reaches of your addled mind, a reminder blares– The Phantom always gets what he wants.

And what he wants now, most of all, is you; and despite what logic may tell you to feel, you trust him to have you. He sees all that you feel in your expression alone, knows all that you think as if he’s seen into the depths of your mind. Even now, perhaps more than ever before, he sees you.

Sees all that you are, and all that you want– and a charming smile plays on his lips as you gaze at him with wanton desire to let him take you. To let him have, to give yourself over– you wish to offer yourself wholly to your angel’s desires.

Your eyes flutter closed as he kisses you, a soft press that you could almost call chaste, his hands slowly moving over your body, each soft touch lingering. You don’t feel his gloves anymore, you realize– did he take them off without you noticing? You suppose it doesn’t matter– his hands are warm, a bit rough and calloused against the soft skin of your arms, and you like it.

Even as his kisses become less chaste, deepen as his hands travel to your hips, they remain slow and purposeful. His hands eventually find the bottom of your dress, begin to lift it ever so slowly up your thighs– not to expose you, but so that he can slot himself between your legs. Somehow, innately, you understand this– and easily, you spread your legs for him, allowing him to find his place between them.

His arms wrap around you after, pulling you closer, pressing your body to his. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly by the time he pulls away, breathless as you look to him with eager, impassioned eyes– a gaze that heats his otherwise cold heart. You reach up, bring your hands to his face; he nearly flinches when you touch his mask, though he knows you mean no harm.

Minho feels himself ugly under his mask– too scarred and disfigured to be appealing to you in any regard; at least like this, with only the good parts of his face on display, you may find him handsome. Your touch is as soft as your gaze, and though perhaps you should, you make no move to remove his mask; you simply rub your thumb over the cold porcelain.

It’s a vulnerable thing, really– how softly you touch his ugliest spots. It doesn’t matter that you can’t see them from beneath his mask– the tender regard you seem to feel for him, even without having seen the scars that mar him, is more than enough. It’s ironic, in a way, that you seem to think he’s an angel; in reality, the only angel in this room is you.

“I want to please you, if you'll let me,” he breathes as his fingertips ghost over your thighs. It makes your breath hitch, blinking at him slowly as you process his intent. There is much your angel wants– but chasing the pleasure of his own flesh isn’t one of those things. He doesn’t need it to feel satisfied; your pleasure will more than suffice him.

His dark eyes bore into yours as he awaits your answer, can tell from his wanting gaze how serious he is about pleasing you, and it makes your cheeks slowly bloom with heat. And it’s not just what he wants– it’s what he needs, really; when you surrender yourself to him, he wants it to be for your pleasure, not his own.

“Oh, please– touch me,” you answer, plead– because something from deep inside you screams for it, wanting it beyond all comprehension. Your darkest, most innate desires manifest for him; desires that you didn’t even fully realize you had. They possess you, drive you to kiss him again, urgent and passionate.

Minho returns your kiss with equal fervor, lets his tongue slip past his lips to meet yours. They share a dance, swirl around each other until you’re breathless again; and then he’s guiding you back, urging you to lay down as he hovers over you. He pulls the skirt of your dress further up your body, until your thighs are entirely exposed and he can see your dampening panties.

He lowers himself to you, but doesn’t go immediately where you expect him too– he takes his time trailing wet, lingering kisses over your thighs instead. Your inner thighs are sensitive, ticklish, and you can’t help but squirm from each kiss he grants you.

You also can’t help but jolt each time the cool porcelain of his mask presses against the hot skin of your thigh, and again when he carefully sinks his teeth into your pliant flesh. He doesn't do it hard enough to hurt, or even fully leave indents of his teeth behind– just enough to leave you panting and squirmy; and he lets out a soft, airy laugh every time he succeeds in the endeavor.

Your bunched up skirt is so full that you can hardly even watch him work you up; but there are times, while kissing and biting over your trembling thighs, that he lifts his head just enough to let you catch his gaze. It makes your heart skip a beat, butterflies dancing in your stomach every time he locks eyes with you while kissing around where you need him most.

You reach a point where you’re no longer squirming because his attention tickles, but because you’re becoming desperate, impatient; and the way he stares at you as he does it all doesn't help in the slightest. “Minho, please,” you whine, shameless; and you can feel him smile against your skin before he lifts himself up from his place between your legs.

“Needy are we, angel?” he asks, grinning as you pout and nod. “Need you,” you mumble, but he hears you loud and clear; he’s attuned to you, your angel is. He lowers himself between your thighs once more, kisses your pussy over your panties– and it’s not quite what you need, but it’s enough to have you gasping and quivering.

Again, he takes his time, as if not a single ounce of urgency resides within him. And make no mistake, it does– but Minho knows how to restrain himself. He’s a stubborn man, that is certainly true, but he’s also perfectly in control of himself; for now, anyways.

And he likes the way you whine for him when you feel his tongue lick you up over the fabric of your panties. It’s not a full enough feeling for you, or a full enough taste of your pussy for him, but the desperate, whiny sounds it draws out of you are delicious enough to satisfy him.

Still, while he’s enjoying the way his soft kisses and kitten licks over your panties is making you writhe and cry for him, he also can’t deny how badly he wants to finally taste you directly on his tongue. He’s been patient enough, he thinks, and so have you– why not indulge just a little sooner than planned?

In contrast to how sweetly he’s treated you up to this point, he’s quick to tear your panties away from your body. The sound of the fabric ripping makes you gasp, and maybe later he’ll apologize– but for now, lapping his tongue between your folds is of more importance. You moan when his tongue finally meets your bare pussy, as does Minho– and despite the hunger that he feels, he continues to lick you over slowly.

The languid pace makes you crazy– you want more, so much more, but your angel has been waiting for this; he needs to take his time with you, needs to embed the taste of your dripping sex on his tongue, needs to make sure it’s something he’ll never be able to forget. And he isn’t trying to tease you by keeping the slow pace– well, maybe he is a little; he does enjoy it, after all– but he’s sincerely craved this for too long to let the moment quickly pass him by.

He brings his hands to your thighs, squeezing them in his hands and preventing you from closing them around his head. You’re sure it’s partly so he can keep you spread out for him, to keep enjoying the easy access to your pussy, but it’s also so that your trembling thighs don’t cause his mask to shift, and fall from his face.

You gasp when the cool, smooth and rigid porcelain covering the right side of his nose bumps your clit as he shoves his tongue into your hole. And while he isn’t purposely trying to get you to cum just yet, his slow but diligent ministrations are getting you there regardless– with his tongue dipping in and out of your heat, always pushing in as deep as he can make it go, and his mask-covered nose nudging your clit.

You let your head fall back against the bed, your every high pitched whimper and moan echoing off the stone walls surrounding you. You try to tell him you’re going to cum, but you fail miserably– all that leaves you is a quick succession of whines before your eyes are rolling, back bowing off the bed as release on his tongue. Minho moans with you, hums happily as he licks the mess from your pussy like the cat that got the cream.

He laves over your clit when he’s done licking up your cum– and it's sensitive, swollen from your orgasm; but that doesn’t stop him from swirling his tongue around it, and positively knocking the air from your lungs. The sensation is overwhelming, he knows it is even without you telling him, but it’s still so good that you don’t want to squirm away, or ask him to stop– or perhaps you can’t.

You get the distinct feeling that even if you tried, your limbs would resist, would fight to keep you in place– despite your best efforts, you would remain just as you are now. Spread open and trembling, exactly how Minho wants you. “You make the prettiest music, angel,” he separates from you long enough to speak, “want you to keep singing for me.”

And sing for him you do when he dives back in, flicks your clit with his tongue a few times before wrapping his lips around it, sucking it like a piece of hard candy. Your moans, the smacking sounds of his lips, the way he hums when he returns to your hole to collect the cream– it’s an orchestra, just for the two of you.

You cum again in record time, of course you do. Minho finds it cute, the way you incoherently babble away as you let go for him again. And he isn’t done just because you came again– no, he’s far from finished with your pussy. He doesn’t tire in the slightest, ceaseless in the way he lavishes with you his tongue and suckles with his pretty, perfect lips.

When you cum for the third time, you don’t even know if you truly ever stop cumming at all– the pleasure just keeps coming in waves, never fully receding before it builds again, washing over you like a tsunami before it all repeats. You writhe and twist, back repeatedly bowing off his bed before falling back, but your thighs stay spread for him, even when his hands stop holding them down.

His hands have found their way beneath you, cupping and squeezing your ass as he eats away. Your hips wriggle, and he helps grind you up against his face, moaning and humming all the while. It’s too much and not enough all at once; your body screams that it can’t take it, and yet your mind screams that it needs more, and God, you can’t think straight– but is there any point in this night that you were?

You’re hot and heaving, sweat dripping from your brow as you tremble and bend. Minho is hot too, of course– his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his face red from his cheeks to his ears, and even down his neck. And were you not so far gone, you’d have noticed that his mask has shifted and fallen from his face.

It was because of you, too– when another high took you and tugged on his hair hard, crying as your hips jolted and bucked against his face. He should’ve swiftly put it back on, lest you see his scars, but he didn’t– he just shoved it aside, against his better judgment, so he could keep licking you up without interruption.

You feel positively delirious by the time he’s finished, eyes heavy and bleary, body utterly limp and boneless. He crawls his way up to you, and your gaze is unfocused, blurry; you can hardly distinguish his features anymore– similar to the way he always appeared in your dreams before now.

Regardless, you smile at him before you close your eyes; a weak, but content one that Minho finds oh so endearing. You’re beyond fatigued, but also feel an unmatched sense of elation as your angel strokes your head and whispers sweet nothings for you to fall asleep to. “You belong to me now,” you hear him say, just before you drift off– and you know it’s true.

You think, perhaps, you’ve always belonged to him. From the very first moment Minho saw you, he knew he was never going to let you go. And just as Orpheus had done for Eurydice, he’d gladly walk into the depths of Hades itself if that’s what it took to keep you by his side.

He gently caresses your cheek as you fall into a deeper sleep, presses a soft kiss to your lips and whispers a final soft utterance of love before he covers you with a blanket, and your mind goes completely dark for the night.

You wake the next day with a struggle– at least, you think it’s the next day; it’s too dark in the room you’re in to tell for certain. You reach out for Minho, but don’t feel him anywhere– and as you sit up, and your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize that you are alone. Your brows furrow as you look around; you’re still in his room, but it doesn’t look quite the same.

There are no candles, not on the floor or in the candelabra that now lie empty. The tapestries adorning the walls are torn and dulled in color, the piano dusty and the gold decorating it chipped. The sheet of music that sits on the piano’s music desk, that last night looked so fresh and pristine, now appears weathered and yellowed.

As you grab the blanket to pull it off you, you realize it isn't a blanket at all that is covering you, but a cape– Minho’s cape. And on the bed, just an arm’s reach away from you lies a note– the same kind that The Phantom always leaves behind inside the Opera Populaire.

Your hand trembles as you pick it up, eyes straining to read it in the darkness. The message he leaves behind, when your eyes focus on the words well enough to read them, is quite simple. “To my beloved and beautiful Eurydice; welcome home.”

#skz x reader #lee know x reader #skz smut #lee know smut #skz fanfic #lee know fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune #don't ask me how many times i listened to the poto soundtrack while writing and editing this #the answer is obscene (several hours)

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barleyo · 8 months ago

Text

Rural Bliss.

Real Dad! Leon X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: You, as a reader, are responsible for your own media consumption. It is up to you to read the tags that I have provided and determine whether or not this is a piece of writing that you would like to partake in. If not, scroll on by, if you do, please enjoy! Remember, I am not responsible for any discomfort you feel if you choose to read this.

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), dub-con, oral (f receiving), LARGE AGE GAP (18 and 40+), pwp (light plot), mentions of predatory behavior, mutual creepiness, dark and disturbing content, choppy ass writing

Wordcount: 1.8k

!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!

Your mom had finally done it. She found a halfway decent guy and let him wife her up faster than you could say 'I do.' You weren't exactly mad about it. He was a decent enough guy, and he made your mom happy, so whatever. The only part that you were against was the fact that you would be staying with your estranged father for the rest of your summer until your mom and her boy-toy got back from their extensive honeymoon.

Your dad fucked off pretty quickly after you were born. Moved himself far away into the middle of nowhere, not once reaching out or keeping in touch. A small part of you wanted to know him, but a larger part of you was pissed that you would have to now temporarily live with a man who you could just barely remember the name of.

What was it again? Leonard? Lucas? No, no, that's not right. Leon? Yeah, something like that. Leon.

Leon, the man who left you and your mom. The man who, instead of raising you, decided to lick his wounds in the deep country, likely making a meager living off of growing potatoes and carrots. The man who was a stranger, connected to you only by blood.

The man whose front porch you were currently standing on, banging on his door without a care in the world. You looked around while you knocked. It was a large bit of land. A few neighbors nearby, but not within spitting distance. At the very least, this town had a few stores with maybe a few people your age lingering around them.

"I'm coming, damn it!" His steps were loud, you could hear them from all the way outside. The heaviness of his work boots must've weighed him down quite a bit. The screen door flew open and his face softened. "Oh, hey kid. Didn't know you'd be here so early. Come in."

You followed him inside, letting your eyes trail his face and frame. You'd only seen a picture or two of him before. He wasn't quite what you were expecting. He looked a lot older now than he did in the photos. More tired, less lively. His crow's feet and smile lines stuck out, but if the lonely, uncomfortable vibe of his house was any clue, you assumed he hadn't been smiling much in his life.

He wasn't bad looking, though. Time hasn't weathered him, and you could tell he took care of himself. His arms and chest looked strong, clearly he had found some way to stay fit out in his desolate chunk of farmer-country. You could see why your mom picked him. He looked like a good one, despite his fleeting nature.

"You're gonna be stayin' for a few months, yeah?" Leon didn't seem uncomfortable with your presence, so you felt a bit more calm.

"Yeah, I guess so. Mom didn't really give me all the details, just kinda sprung it on me."

"Believe me, I know," he said under his breath. "Well, this place isn't much, 'm sure it's not what you're used to." He locked the door behind you and flashed an apologetic look.

"It's fine. I'll make it work." You looked around. It looked lived in, strangely worn despite nobody else ever living there.

He led you down a dimly lit hallway, the floorboards groaning beneath their weight, until they reached a single room. It was a small bedroom, adorned with faded wallpaper and completely wooden furniture. The single window offered a glimpse of the bare, green landscape outside.

"This'll be your room. You can unpack your things."

Hardly a week passed by and you were already sick to death of living with your dad. His jokes were bad. His cooking was shit. His attempts at bonding with you were creepy at best and damn near-assault at worst. He let his hands drift all over you when he pulled you in for hugs and tried pecking a kiss on your mouth before you went off to bed each night, and damn it, you let him.

Again and again, every night, letting that old man press his chapped lips against yours, holding back your urge to force your tongue into his mouth.

He bought you gifts that no other fathers would think about getting their daughters. Skimpy little clothes that left nothing to the imagination, while he wrote it off by claiming ignorance.

"That's what girls your age wear, right? I can't keep up with what you kids are into," Leon would say, covering his ass with feigned dopiness.

His only redeeming quality was that he was hot and mostly oblivious. It was fucked up to think about it that way, but without having much other male contact during your stay, Leon was starting to becoming quite the piece of eye candy. The best part is that he thought nothing of it, acting like his teenaged daughter spending hours staring at his half-naked, sweaty body while he worked in the hot sun was normal. Just another day. Nothing special.

He didn't make you work on the farm with him, so you got to do all the watching. You got to see those strong arms lift hay bales for the horses and chop trees for firewood. Most of your days were spent watching him from the front porch, mentally cursing yourself out when you felt your thighs clench together instinctually at his sexy movements.

What was wrong with you?

Were years of fatherlessness finally catching up to you? Couldn't muster any real love for the old man, so sexual yearning was the next best thing? Eye-fucking your dad and sharing touches that lasted too long were the cost of him skipping out on you.

You rationalized it the best you could. Maybe you didn't actually want him, maybe the solitude of the countryside was getting to you. Maybe there was something in the air, some kind of sex-pollen floating in the breeze that made you wanna get bent over by a man twice your age that just so happened to be related to you. Closely related.

Leon didn't really know how to treat a woman well, but he tried his best with you. It was his first time really being a dad, but honestly, he hated it. Being a 'dad' sucked, especially when he'd rather have his daughter as his girlfriend.

You made him so frustrated, so unsure of himself. Leon's only experience with girl's your age was in getting them liquor they couldn't legally buy themselves, fucking them like plastic sex dolls, and leaving them for someone else to woo and screw.

He couldn't quite do that to you, though. He couldn't get you drunk and take advantage of you, pumping and dumping in you without a care about your pleasure. He had to take care of you, your health and comfort. All he really wanted was to take care of your body.

You were his little girl. He'd fuck you like he actually gave a damn about you if he ever got the chance, and he most definitely wouldn't be leaving you for anyone else.

That type of thinking brought him here.

"Daddy, please..."

The walls in his house were too damn thin. He could practically hear each thrust of your fingers into your cunt from his bedroom. Your bed screeched agonizingly against the floors, punctuating your moans and hisses of pleasure.

He saw his opportunity and took it. He had waited long enough, and this was the least he could do, right? You needed him, right? Right.

He pushed your door open, not having the decency nor the self-restraint to knock. You felt your body go still, but kept your hands between your legs.

"If you needed me, coulda told me. Don't like t'hear you in here whining." Leon sat on the edge of your bed, crawling his way between your legs. "Fuck, that's pretty."

He took in the sight of your fingers stuffed into your pudgy cunt, slick dripping between each digit.

"No, you're—! this isn't what it—" you tried prying your fingers out, but a strong hand wrapped around your wrist to keep you in place.

"Isn't what it looks like? How about what it sounds like, huh? Sounds like you want your daddy to dull that ache in you."

He was so far gone. He normally never did this. Leon was a man who took. He took younger girls virginity, mouth, pussy, or other. He was the one that got sucked off and got his perv dick wet. But for his baby? You, the little nymph who fell gracefully into his grasp? He was foaming at the mouth for a chance to slurp your pussy.

"Open up, come on. Got nothin' to be shy about," he urged, forcing your legs open, pulling your fingers out, and shimmying closer to you. "Nothin' I haven't seen before."

That was somewhat of a lie. Sure, he saw pussies all the time when he bullied his cock into them, but he was normally never nose to clit, ready to lick.

He stuck his needy tongue out, lapping up the juices that you worked up when you rubbed yourself raw. He swirled around you clit as a test, trying to see what felt good for you. He soon settled on puckering his lips around your bud and sucking, swapping his spit in and out of his mouth to keep you lubed up.

Your voice broke with hushed whines and chants. Yes's and oh's rang out, filling Leon's ears and his ego.

He pulled his head back and lob a wad of spit onto your clit, chuckling when you shivered.

"Feel good?" His thumb traced your clit in little figure eights.

"Mm, s'good." Your hands trailed through his thick, soft hair. You gripped it tightly, pulling his head back to your cunt. "No, don't stop, jus' need your mouth again."

His sharp, strong nose bumped against the top of your pussy while he munched down on you greedily. His tongue traveled around you in an indecisive manner. One moment, he was using flat strokes to lick on your swollen nub, then pointing his tongue while he fucked it in and out of you.

Despite the sporadic nature of it, the warmth and wetness of the contact of his mouth on you felt like heaven. It didn't matter what he was doing, as long as he was looking up at you with his piercing eyes and swallowing down your slick, you were satisfied.

"Dad, oh my God, yes!" It felt like venom coming off of your tongue when you moaned it, but tasted like honey at the same time. Something about it was so wrong, but felt so natural.

As your legs tightened around Leon's head and trapped him between your thighs, you knew it was meant to be. You were meant to be your daddy's princess. You were meant to feel like mouth on you, to be spoiled by his tongue, words, money, and his cock. You had been missing out on it for so long.

You spent the rest of your summer making up for lost time, discovering just what having a daddy was meant to feel like.

#smutfic #leon s kennedy x reader #cw incest #tw inc*st #dark content #dead dove fic #resident evil x reader #resident evil #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy #resident evil smut #resident evil x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x you

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kisses4reid · 7 months ago

Text

understand? pt. 2 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you’re a polyglot translator assigned to work for the bau in a cross-national case, and there’s an officer who’s less than friendly.

genre - angst, fluff, good ending, fem!reader, both of them are awkward nerds, they both dig each other’s intelligence

warnings - mild racism, basic cm file details, so many inaccuracies regarding translating, languages, and crimes, no where do i specify which language r is translating because i don’t want to include wrong translations, please let me know if i need to add anything

w/c - guys idk count the words yourself

a/n - part 2!! if i didn’t add you to the taglist i apologise pookie.

part 1 (must read first!)

Spencer called Morgan and you into a small interrogation room that was being used as a temporary evidence locker. Books and documents were strewn across the room, Spencer had one opened in his hands, one finger dragging down a page.

“What’s up, Reid?” Morgan asked, eyes scanning the messy room. You bent down and picked up a book that seemed to be a diary, and inside was the sole reason you had been assigned to work the case.

“The diaries kept by the mother are all in english, so I’ll go over these, the rest are in a foreign language that L/n can go over.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, “And me?”

“Oh, I was wondering if you could make me a coffee?”

Morgan scoffed and walked away.

You settled on the floor criss cross style, noticing the diaries had been organised in order of when they were written. At least 40 diaries had been filled, and you wondered how someone would have that much time to fill these out. Spencer watched you as you read the accounts written on the pages, but had to rip his eyes off of you once again if he wanted anything to be done.

His stack was much higher, that only becoming apparent to you after you took the courage to look at him.

“How are you going to read all of that?” You asked, cutting the silence like a knife. He looked around him and smiled slightly.

“I can read pretty fast,

“Oh, wow. That’s impressive. Are you a genius or something?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Oh.” You smiled tightly, grabbing the small notebook from your back pocket to start writing important details in english. He gulps, barely audible and squeezes his eyes in courage to talk again.

“Do you like reading?”

You lifted your head again and nodded, “I like sci-fi, maybe with some romance.”

He nodded and smiled, before clearing his throat and saying what he truly wanted to say this whole time, “I think you might have to keep distance from Sheriff Stevens.”

Your gaze flickered up at his brown eyes, swirls bringing you in like an optical illusion made for hypnotism. You shrugged and put on a reassuring smile, “It’ll be fine. He probably just didn’t expect me to be here, I’m not a part of your team so.”

“You’re a part of it now. At least for this case.” Spencer said softly, going back to dragging one finger down the scribbles in the book.

His words warmed your heart and your cheeks, causing you to look down after he did to hide the pink painted against your faded freckles. Suddenly, Agent Hotchner appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat - maybe he felt the same tension you did.

You stood up immediately, patting down your pantsuit trousers, Spencer’s eyes latched onto your hands.

“We need you both at the tip line immediately, they’ve called us.”

“They?” Spencer stands and follows Hotch out the room and into a smaller office with only a desk and phone in it, and that same sheriff from before.

You trail behind them, eyebrows furrowed before you realise the situation.

“The Unsubs. Y/n, we need you here to translate and scribe, I’ll be talking and if they end up speaking their first language,” Hotch pierced his gaze to yours, “you’ll be speaking.”

Your eyes widened, glancing between Spencer and Hotch, raising your hands in your own defence, “Oh, no. I don’t know how to- I don’t even know what to say-“

Hotch hovered a hand over your shoulder and nodded, “We’ll tell you what to say. All you need to do is what you do best, and listen.”

The sheriff lifted himself to where he was leaning on a wall and crossed his arms over his uniformed chest. He stared at you and then at Agent Hotchner. “This is who you’re trusting classified information with? Someone from the country we’re going against?”

Emily and Morgan entered the room then, closing the door, both of them nearly shivering at the sudden gloominess of the room - not that making contact with criminals was all sunshine and rainbows.

“Excuse me?” Hotch raises an eyebrow and puffs his chest out.

“I’m not from that country, sir, I simply understand the language.” You defend yourself as Spencer moves closer to you, shoulder to shoulder. Hotch moves away slightly, obviously thinking that was the end of that misunderstanding, but the sheriff speaks over any orders the SSA Chief.

“That’s what you want us to think. I saw how you scoped out the office, not to mention you look exactly like those people. How can we guarantee this girl doesn’t tell us lies? How can we guarantee she doesn’t tell them the truth?” His face was turning red and he had started moving towards you, before Spencer put out an arm in front of you and positioned you behind him.

“Agent L/n is a trained translator and has been for more years than you’ve been a sheriff. If you want any chance to find the kidnapped girls, you need to get over your ego. Maybe if you actually listened to her and let her do her job, you’d realise how stupid you are.”

The sheriff stood in shock, so did you. Your neck reddened and you took a step back, Spencer’s cologne overwhelming you. Morgan grabbed the man by the arm and forced him out of the room.

It was silent only for a second before Emily started, “Well, now that we’ve gotten him out of the way. Why don’t we take this call?”

They spoke english for a large portion of the call, but there were other people on their side who were speaking another language in the background that you got to work on translating. The call abruptly ended, and everyone’s shoulders slumped, the call was nearly useless. Hotch glanced at you and you took that as an invitation to begin reciting what they were saying.

As you went down the list of phrases, you paused and looked up to the BAU team.

“There’s a foreigner working with them.” Spencer furrowed his brows which caused you to explain quickly, “One of them had a strong english accent, and only chimed in a couple times. He was telling the caller what to say… I think.”

Hotch nodded and lead the team away from the room with the phone and into the room with the bulletin boards full of crime scene photos and maps. Spencer stood behind you slightly, and when your temporary boss started explaining the situation to the still-red sheriff, he turned your shoulder to face him. You searched his face confused before he spoke up,

“You should be more confident. Don’t say ‘I think’ at the end. You’re the only one who knows you’re right - plus me.”

You smiled and nodded. Spencer scanned the room, only to make eye contact with a smirk-faced Morgan.

Spencer conversed with Hotch after the sheriff went off to do who knows what, and Hotch agreed that he shouldn’t be left with you at any point in the case.

After 10 more hours of translating, driving, and analysing, the case had been closed and now you were back on the plane. The uncle of the girls had hired the kidnappers, wanting money from the parents that he felt was stolen from him when his parents died and his brother got most in the will.

This time, you took an empty seat at the back, not feeling like hovering for the full plane ride like last time. Your legs hurt, your social battery drained and your was energy at its lowest, and yet when Spencer took the seat in front of you, you felt a rush course through your body.

His cologne was back, and he held two books in his big hands. Tucking a short strand of hair behind his ear, he cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly,

“Hi, Y/n.” Your first name, not your last, and not Agent L/n. Your first name.

“Hi, Spencer.” His first name, not his last, and not Agent Reid. His first name.

He gulped, eyes darting from your face to the books on the table between you. “I brought you a book from my library I thought you’d like.”

Your eyes widened and you smiled, looking down at the blue covered book he held out. In your hands the book was still warm with his touch as you let your fingers trail the title and authors name.

“Well, I don’t actually know if you’ll like it. But you said you like sci-fi romance so- And I know you can speak that language so.” He rambled and you giggled smally, causing him to pause and stare at you in awe.

“Thank you, Spencer. This is actually the second language I ever learnt, I learnt it from my grandmother.” You told him, opening the book to a random page and smiling at the language printed on the off-yellow paper.

Spencer heart swelled, and it felt foreign. You had told him a piece of you, a tiny piece, but it felt like enough confirmation that you didn’t think he was weird, or too nerdy, or not outgoing enough.

“I’m glad.” He whispered, eyes scanning your face like it was the last time he would see you. It worried him slightly. “Do you want to um… go somewhere?”

“Like in general?” You titled your head.

He laughed slightly, “No, no. I mean like, with me?”

You cheeks reddened immediately and you unconsciously held a hand up to your face to hide your flustered expression. You took a breath and nodded, “Yes, I’ll go somewhere with you.”

perm taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

taglist - @0108s22m @aurorsworld @gghostwriter @khxna @reeseisinapiece @bibissparkles @pinkpantheris @theognatster @webbluvrkleo @sneak-fic @jiuseoks @geepinky @darling006 @adissonsss @iniyalovesall @danilewis @radiantdanvers @bibiznbyler @butternutter6779

#criminal minds #spencer reid #cm #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid oneshot #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #🍵 —☆ pia’s pages

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levandright · 2 months ago

Text

And oh, how I'd love to go Paris again

pairing : jake x f!reader ୨ৎ content / warning(s) : non-idol au, love at first sight, fluff, strangers to friends to lovers(not stated but heavily implied), tension, they're in love your honor, fate reference/mention, can be read as either hs or uni au its up to you ୨ৎ word count : 5.9k

synopsis. you're overwhelmed with your school finals close by, while you are taking a short break from your studying, you couldn't help but reminisce about your precious memories in the city of love when a song that reminds you of your time in paris play. ୨ৎ lev notes : the class trip may not be 100% accurate but its for the plot okay... i had to make it inspired by the 1975 cause i love them too much not to do so + it fits with how i literally have them as my top artist this year :3 (i started writing this days earlier before spotify wrapped lol) also i literally had paris on loop for like 7 hours in total while writing this... anyways hope y'all like this cause it took a lot of brain power to write it, trust i will post what the heart wants as soon as i finish a surprise fic im working on rn ꒰⠀for @sugarikiz event 'ʏᴏᴜʀ ℰ𝓎ℯ𝓈 ᴏɴʟʏ ☁︎.𖥔 ' ꒱

you're at your school's library, cramming for your upcoming finals. with a little over a week to prepare for months' worth of lessons across multiple subjects, the pressure is taking quite a toll on you. two cups of coffee sit beside your laptop, one already empty. even though you've been studying for less than 40 minutes, you already feel the urge to down all the caffeine left in front of you just to keep from dozing off again.

sigh, 'just gotta finish this whole powerpoint. then, i can finally relax for a bit' you silently hype yourself out. with the reward of a break for an hour of studying, you quickly go through the entire lesson in a flash.

grabbing the not empty cup of coffee, you take a much needed sip to keep yourself awake for more hours of studying.

a while later, you're stretching in your seat after having finished with that specific powerpoint. 'finally i can take a break' you think to yourself

as you sit, and stare at your laptop's screen. contimplating on what to do to pass time, you decide to play music to relax yourself.

clicking the shuffle button on your playlist. you put your headphones on and rest your head on your arms, as the familiar tune of paris by the 1975 play.

the music pulls you into a memory, that unforgettable class trip to paris.

꒰ and oh, how i'd love to go paris again ꒱

you’re on the bus, the city outside the window slowly coming to life. everyone in your class is chatting excitedly, pointing out landmarks and planning what to do when you finally get off. the eiffel tower is getting closer, its towering frame making your heart race with excitement.

“can you believe we’re actually here?” keeho says, leaning over to nudge your shoulder. his energy is infectious, and you can’t help but smile.

hyunjin, sitting across the aisle, snaps a quick photo through the window. “this already feels unreal,” he says, grinning. “i’m going to fill my camera roll today.”

the bus comes to a stop, and your teacher announces a short break to explore the area. the three of you quickly stick together as everyone spills out onto the cobblestone street. paris feels alive—the air smells like fresh bread and coffee, and the chatter of locals blends with the hum of passing cars.

“we need food. let’s find a café!” keeho declares, already marching toward a row of cozy-looking places with outdoor seating.

you follow, laughing as hyunjin drags you by the wrist to keep up. he’s scanning every building, taking quick snapshots of anything that catches his eye. “wait, stand here,” he says suddenly, pulling out his phone to snap a candid photo of you and keeho in front of a flower shop.

“are you going to take pictures the whole trip?” you tease.

“obviously,” hyunjin replies, unbothered. “someone has to document how good we look in paris.”

eventually, the three of you settle at a small café. the waiter brings over menus, and you all take a moment to soak it all in. keeho orders a slice of cake, hyunjin gets a croissant and coffee, and you decide on a simple baguette sandwich.

“okay, this is officially the best food i’ve ever had,” keeho says after his first bite.

“it’s just cake,” hyunjin says, rolling his eyes but stealing a forkful anyway.

you laugh as they bicker, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. sitting there with your best friends, surrounded by the magic of paris, everything feels perfect.

after finishing your meals, you and your friends head back to the bus to regroup with your class. the energy is buzzing as everyone talks about their plans for the rest of the day. your teacher announces that the next stop is a famous museum nearby.

the museum is grand, with high ceilings and beautiful architecture that makes you feel small in the best way. inside, it’s quieter, with your classmates dispersing into smaller groups.

hyunjin immediately pulls out his camera again. “this lighting is perfect,” he mutters, snapping a photo of a sculpture in the corner.

keeho rolls his eyes with a smirk. “he’s gonna be like this the whole time.”

“he’s consistent, at least,” you joke, earning a laugh from keeho as the two of you start wandering through the exhibits together.

the artwork is stunning—paintings that feel alive, sculptures that seem to breathe. you and keeho take your time strolling through the halls, sharing your thoughts on each piece.

“i don’t get this one,” keeho says, staring at an abstract painting.

“it’s open to interpretation,” you reply.

“so… the artist spilled paint everywhere?”

you nudge his arm. “be serious!”

keeho grins but then glances around. “hey, i’m gonna find the bathroom real quick. don’t get lost.”

“sure, sure,” you say, waving him off.

as he walks away, you wander aimlessly, letting your feet carry you through the museum’s winding halls. you stop to admire a large painting of a serene countryside when, out of nowhere, you bump into someone.

“oh, i’m so sorry!” you blurt out, taking a step back.

the stranger turns to you, and your words catch in your throat. he’s tall, with warm eyes and a gentle smile. his presence feels calm, yet somehow magnetic.

“no worries,” he says, his voice warm and calm, with a hint of an australian accent you catch right away. “are you okay?”

you nod quickly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “y-yeah, i wasn’t looking where i was going.”

he chuckles lightly, brushing it off. “happens to the best of us.”

he pauses for a moment, as if waiting to see if you’ll say anything else. you manage a small smile. “thanks for being so nice about it. i’m—uh…” before you can finish, keeho’s voice rings out from somewhere nearby.

“hey, y/n! where’d you go?”

the spell is broken, and you glance over your shoulder to see keeho waving at you. turning back to the stranger, you offer an apologetic smile. “that’s my friend. i should go.”

“of course,” he says, still smiling. “take care.”

you hurry off toward keeho, your heart still racing. as you rejoin your friends, you glance back briefly to see the stranger walking away. something about the moment lingers, a small spark you can’t quite explain.

after regrouping with keeho and hyunjin, the three of you continue exploring the museum. hyunjin has finally tucked his camera away, much to keeho’s relief.

“didn’t think i’d ever see the day you’d stop taking pictures,” keeho teases.

“i’m just saving space for later,” hyunjin retorts, grinning. “besides, i want to actually enjoy this.”

the three of you move through the museum, pausing at different exhibits. keeho offers more of his hilarious “critiques,” while hyunjin points out details you might’ve missed. for a while, it feels like time doesn’t exist, just the three of you soaking in the beauty of parisian art.

after some time, you excuse yourself to find the restroom. as you leave, keeho calls after you, “don’t get lost again!”

“i won’t!” you call back with a laugh, shaking your head.

once you step out of the restroom, you turn a corner and nearly bump into someone again.

“oh—sorry!” you start, looking up. and there he is.

the boy from earlier.

“you again,” he says with a warm smile, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

“yeah, me again,” you reply, feeling your face heat up.

“i guess we’re just destined to keep running into each other,” he jokes, his tone light and teasing.

you laugh softly. “seems like it. i never got your name earlier.”

“jake,” he says, extending his hand. “and you?”

“y/n,” you say, shaking his hand. his grip is gentle but firm, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“nice to officially meet you, y/n,” jake says, his smile widening.

the two of you start chatting, the conversation flowing easily. he tells you he’s here with his own group, visiting from another school all the way from australia, and you share a little about your own trip. his voice is calm and steady, and his subtle humor keeps making you giggle.

at one point, he gestures toward a nearby painting. “what do you think of this one? please don’t say the artist spilled paint everywhere.”

you burst into laughter, shaking your head. “no, no, that’s keeho’s specialty. i actually think it’s kind of beautiful, in a chaotic way.”

“good answer,” jake says, grinning.

before you know it, the sound of footsteps and familiar voices echo down the hall. “y/n! where are you?” keeho calls, his voice unmistakable.

you glance in the direction of the sound, then back at jake, your smile faltering slightly. “that’s my friends. i should go.”

jake nods, his expression soft. “of course. it was nice talking to you, y/n.”

“you too, jake,” you say, stepping away reluctantly. as you walk toward your friends, you can’t help but glance back once. jake is still standing there, giving you a small wave.

you rejoin keeho and hyunjin, who immediately start teasing you for taking so long. but as the three of you continue exploring the museum, you can’t stop thinking about jake. and though you don’t say it out loud, you quietly hope that fate will bring you together again.

it’s been a day since the museum, but your thoughts keep circling back to jake. his kind smile, the way he made you laugh, and that unmistakable australian accent—it’s all stuck in your head.

after dinner with your classmates at the hotel, the buzz of chatter feels overwhelming. you decide to step outside for some fresh air, hoping a quiet walk will help clear your mind.

the streets of paris are calmer at this hour, bathed in a soft, golden glow from the streetlights. a small park just down the road catches your eye, and you wander toward it, settling onto a bench beneath a tree.

you sit there for a while, letting your thoughts drift. the cool breeze carries the faint scent of flowers, and the distant hum of city life feels oddly soothing.

suddenly, you feel someone sit down beside you. you glance over, and your heart skips a beat.

it’s him.

jake.

the boy you couldn’t stop thinking about.

he notices your surprise and gives you that same warm smile. “hey,” he says casually. “fancy seeing you here.”

you blink, struggling to process the coincidence. “jake? what are you doing here?”

“could ask you the same thing,” he says with a light chuckle, leaning back against the bench. “i was out for a walk, saw this park, and thought i’d sit for a bit. didn’t expect to run into you again.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head. “paris must be smaller than we think.”

“or fate has a funny way of working,” he says, his tone teasing but his eyes sincere.

the conversation flows naturally from there. he asks about your class trip, and you tell him about your visit to the museum and all the places your group plans to see next. he shares stories about his own class, laughing about his friends’ antics and the moments that make the trip memorable.

“you’re telling me someone actually fell asleep in front of the mona lisa?” you ask, barely holding back laughter.

“yup. full-on snoring,” jake replies, grinning. “the security guard didn’t know whether to wake him or leave him there.”

the two of you laugh together, the sound blending into the quiet of the park.

after a while, jake stands up. “wait here,” he says, his tone playful but mysterious.

“where are you going?” you ask, watching him walk toward a nearby food stand.

“you’ll see,” he calls back over his shoulder.

a few minutes later, he returns, holding two neatly wrapped chocolate crepes. he hands one to you with a grin. “figured this would make the moment even better.”

you take it, smiling at his thoughtfulness. “thanks, jake. this is perfect.”

as you both sit there, enjoying the crepes and chatting under the parisian sky, you can’t help but feel like this moment is something straight out of a dream.

the days in paris pass like a blur, filled with sightseeing, laughter, and the magic of simply being in the city. but the most unexpected highlight of your trip that osn’t on the schedule—is jake.

you can’t quite explain it, but somehow, you keep running into him. these little moments have become the thing you secretly look forward to the most.

────୨ৎ────

you’re standing at the counter of a small café, debating between ordering a croissant or a pain au chocolat. the decision feels monumental, and you’re entirely lost in thought when a voice interrupts you.

“go for the pain au chocolat,” jake says, appearing beside you with an easy smile.

you blink, startled at first, before breaking into a grin. “jake? what are you doing here?”

��getting breakfast,” he says, holding up a cup of coffee and a bag. “didn’t think i’d see you again so soon.”

“neither did i,” you reply, chuckling. “are you always this lucky, or is paris just this small?”

“maybe both,” he teases. “need help deciding?”

“i was leaning toward the croissant, but now i feel like i have to trust your judgment.”

“always trust the chocolate,” he says, nodding sagely.

you laugh and order the pain au chocolat. as you wait, the two of you chat, his humor making the simple café feel like the best spot in paris.

────୨ৎ────

a couple of days later, you’re wandering through a mall with keeho and hyunjin, trying to find souvenirs to take back home. keeho is busy debating between two scarves for his mom, and hyunjin is glued to his phone, looking up recommendations.

you drift toward a small kiosk filled with handmade trinkets, running your fingers over delicate keychains.

“don’t tell me you’re buying one of those cheesy eiffel tower keychains,” a familiar voice says behind you.

you spin around, your heart skipping a beat. “jake!”

he’s holding a bag of his own, filled with souvenirs. “fancy meeting you here.”

“again,” you add with a laugh.

keeho spots jake and gives you a knowing look, while hyunjin just raises an eyebrow before wandering off. you try to ignore them and focus on jake instead.

“what’s in the bag?” you ask, nodding toward his purchases.

“just some stuff for my family,” he says. “and maybe a keychain or two.”

you laugh. “i thought you were against cheesy keychains.”

“only when other people buy them,” he says, his grin mischievous.

────୨ৎ────

the park has become your little escape, a quiet place to think and reflect. you’re sitting on the same bench as before, lost in thought, when you hear footsteps approach.

“do you have a permanent spot here, or are you waiting for me?” jake’s voice breaks through your daydream.

you turn, smiling as he sits down beside you. “maybe both.”

“lucky me, then,” he says, leaning back and looking up at the sky. “so, what’s on your mind today?”

you hesitate for a moment, then decide to be honest. “just… thinking about how much i’ve enjoyed this trip. and how strange it’ll feel to leave.”

jake nods, his expression softening. “yeah, i get that. it’s been a lot, hasn’t it?”

“yeah,” you say quietly, and for a moment, the two of you sit in comfortable silence.

that evening. your teacher gathers the entire class in the lobby of the hotel to deliver the news.

“you’ve got two days left to enjoy paris before we head back home,” she says. “make sure you start packing your things and grab any last-minute souvenirs.”

the room fills with murmurs of excitement and relief. most of your classmates are thrilled to return to canada, and part of you is, too. but as you head back to your room, a bittersweet feeling settles in your chest.

two more days. that’s all the time you have left before you have to say goodbye to jake.

you don’t know why the thought stings so much, but it does. and now, more than ever, you hope for one more chance to see him.

────୨ৎ────

the second-to-last day in paris feels like a blur of excitement and nostalgia. you, keeho, and hyunjin make it a mission to visit as many places as possible, squeezing every last drop out of your remaining time in the city.

as the three of you step into the vintage store, you're greeted by the faint smell of aged leather and a mix of retro music playing softly in the background. the shop is packed with everything from old records to racks of vintage clothes and shelves lined with random knick-knacks.

“okay,” keeho announces, clapping his hands together. “this is the place to find hidden gems.”

hyunjin raises an eyebrow. “hidden gems or overpriced junk?”

“you just don’t have the vision,” keeho shoots back, already digging through a rack of jackets.

you wander toward a glass display case near the counter, something catching your eye—a vintage digicam. it’s small, sleek, and looks like it’s been well cared for. you kneel to get a closer look, curiosity piqued.

“hey, what’d you find?” keeho asks, appearing beside you with a leopard-print scarf draped around his neck.

you point to the camera. “a digicam. looks pretty cool, doesn’t it?”

keeho leans in, inspecting it. “very cool. are you gonna get it?”

you hesitate. “i don’t know… do you think it still works?”

“only one way to find out,” hyunjin says, suddenly appearing on your other side. he gestures to the shop owner, a kind-looking older man, who unlocks the case and hands you the camera.

you examine it closely, turning it over in your hands. the lens looks clean, and the buttons feel intact.

“how much?” you ask the shop owner.

“twenty euros,” he replies with a smile.

keeho gasps dramatically. “a steal! you have to get it.”

“yeah, before someone else does,” hyunjin agrees, casually flipping through a rack of shirts.

you laugh at their enthusiasm and decide to go for it. “alright, fine. i’m buying it.”

as you hand over the cash, keeho strikes another pose with the scarf. “what do you think? parisian chic, or should i stick to my usual?”

“stick to your usual,” hyunjin says without looking up.

keeho sighs, draping the scarf back onto the rack. “you two have no appreciation for drama.”

you test out the digicam, snapping a quick photo of keeho mid-pout. the image pops up on the tiny screen, surprisingly crisp for something so old.

“perfect,” you say, showing him the photo.

keeho grins. “okay, maybe you do have an eye for the dramatic.”

hyunjin wanders over with an oversized sweater, holding it up against himself. “thoughts?”

keeho wrinkles his nose. “are you auditioning for a grandpa role?”

“i like it,” you say, defending hyunjin’s choice.

“thank you,” hyunjin replies, smugly tossing the sweater over his arm.

the three of you spend a bit longer in the shop, goofing around and trying on random hats, sunglasses, and jackets. you snap more photos with your new camera—keeho wearing an old captain’s hat, hyunjin attempting to look cool in aviator sunglasses, and a candid shot of the two of them laughing together.

by the time you leave, the bag with your new camera swings lightly at your side, and your heart feels full. the memory of this moment—just you and your friends being unapologetically yourselves—already feels like a keepsake all its own.

at a small crêperie, hyunjin’s crêpe is covered in whipped cream and chocolate drizzle.

“how are you even holding that without it falling apart?” you ask, staring at the overloaded treat in wonder.

hyunjin shrugs. “skill,” he says simply before taking an enormous bite.

keeho watches in horror. “that’s going to end up all over your shirt, and i am not letting you borrow mine.”

“you sound like my mom,” hyunjin says through a mouthful of crêpe.

by the seine river, you take turns with the digicam, capturing moments that feel like they belong in a movie. keeho makes exaggerated poses on the bridge, while hyunjin tries (and fails) to look mysterious.

when it’s your turn to hold the camera, you take a candid shot of the two of them mid-laugh. it’s perfect—pure and genuine, a reminder of how much these moments mean to you.

“alright, photographer extraordinaire,” keeho says, pointing dramatically at the eiffel tower in the distance. “get my good side.”

“you don’t have one,” hyunjin jokes, earning a glare from keeho.

as the day winds down, you find yourself lingering outside the hotel while keeho and hyunjin head inside.

“we’ll be in the lobby if you need us,” keeho calls over his shoulder, giving you a knowing look.

once they’re gone, you make your way to the park. the same bench, the same tree, and this time, jake is already there, waiting.

he stands when he sees you, his smile soft but bright. “hey.”

“hey,” you reply, walking up to him. “beat me here this time, huh?”

“had a feeling you’d come,” he says, shrugging.

you sit down beside him, the quiet of the park wrapping around you like a blanket.

“you’ve been busy,” jake comments. “i saw you earlier near the seine with your friends. looked like fun.”

“it was,” you say, smiling at the memory. “trying to cram everything into one day, you know? time feels so short now.”

jake’s expression shifts, just slightly, and you know he understands what you mean.

“speaking of time…” you begin, hesitating. “we’re leaving tomorrow. my class is flying back home.”

jake nods slowly, his gaze dropping to his hands. “i figured it was coming. my group leaves the day after.”

there’s a pause, the kind that feels heavy but not uncomfortable.

“do you think we’ll meet again?” you ask softly, not daring to look at him.

“i hope we do,” he replies, his voice quiet but firm.

the weight of his words lingers between you, saying everything that neither of you can.

you pull out your digicam, breaking the tension with a small smile. “can i take some pictures? you know, to remember this?”

jake’s face brightens slightly. “of course.”

you snap a few shots—some posed, some candid. jake laughing at something you said, jake looking off into the distance, and finally, one of the two of you together, taken with his help.

as the night deepens, you know it’s time to go. you stand, reluctantly. “i should get back before my friends come looking for me.”

jake nods but doesn’t move. instead, he reaches out, gently taking your wrist.

“wait.”

you turn, surprised, as he pulls something from his jacket pocket—a pair of silver rings, simple and elegant.

“for you,” he says softly, slipping the smaller one onto your right hand’s ring finger. the fit is perfect.

your heart races, words failing you as he looks at you, his gaze full of unspoken meaning. then, he leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“goodbye, y/n,” he murmurs, stepping back.

it takes you a moment to find your voice. “goodbye, jake.”

as you walk back to the hotel, your mind replays the moment over and over, the cool metal of the ring on your finger grounding you in the surrealness of it all. that night, lying in bed, you can’t help but wonder if the universe will bring you and jake together again someday.

꒰ paris again, and again, and again, and again, and again ꒱

a tap on your shoulder pulls you out of your thoughts, and you lift your head groggily. you blink, trying to focus on the person standing in front of you. it’s keeho, grinning mischievously, while hyunjin stands behind him, sipping his americano with a slightly amused expression.

“y/n, what are you doing?” keeho asks, leaning in and waving his hand in front of your face.

you yawn, rubbing your eyes. “i’m taking a break. i can’t even keep my eyes open for more than a minute.”

hyunjin raises an eyebrow. “yeah, we can tell. you’re practically sleeping at your desk.” he leans against the back of your chair, his voice cool but teasing. “how about you stop pretending to study and actually join us for once?”

keeho’s grin widens as he jumps into the conversation. “we’re heading to a café to study, and you’re coming with us. you need a change of scenery.”

you groan, feeling your body resist the idea of leaving the comforting quiet of the library, but deep down, you know you’ve been at it for too long. a change of pace might be exactly what you need.

“come on, y/n,” keeho insists, his voice full of that playful energy you can’t ignore. “we’ll make it more fun. you can’t study like this. plus, you’ll probably get more done with us around.”

you hesitate for a moment, your mind torn between the need for a proper break and the looming pressure of your exams. still, you can’t deny how much you need a little distraction. “fine,” you sigh, finally giving in. “but if we end up just talking the entire time, i’m leaving.”

hyunjin chuckles, giving you a knowing look. “i think you’ll be okay. we’ll actually study this time. promise.”

keeho grabs your arm, pulling you up from your seat with a playful tug. “good, because you need us to keep you sane. now, let’s get out of here.”

as the three of you leave the library, you let out one last sigh, knowing that even though you might not get as much studying done as you hope, you could definitely use the company.

the café is warm and inviting, the soft hum of background chatter mixing with the aroma of fresh coffee and baked goods. it’s a stark contrast to the quiet, studious atmosphere of the library, and you find yourself breathing a little easier as you step inside.

you find a small corner table and set your laptop down, letting out a contented sigh as you settle in. keeho and hyunjin head to the counter to order, leaving you to fidget with your feet, trying to shake off the weight of the past few hours spent studying.

your eyes flicker to the window, watching people pass by as you idly tap your fingers against your coffee cup. eventually, you stop, catching sight of the ring on your right hand.

you pause, fingers tracing the smooth metal, your mind drifting back to paris. “it’s been three years since that time in paris,” you think to yourself, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. the memory feels distant now, like a dream you’re not quite sure was real.

you wonder if jake still remembers you, if he thinks about you at all. you’d been so wrapped up in the magic of those moments, so caught up in the fleeting connection between the two of you, that you’d completely forgotten to exchange socials, to keep in touch.

a soft laugh escapes you, tinged with frustration. you can still picture your past self—so carefree, so caught up in the magic of the moment, never once thinking about the things you should have done. and now, years later, it stings.

the photos you took back then are all you have left—memories frozen in time, but still, you find yourself wishing you had more. a way to bridge the gap between then and now, something more than a ring on your finger that’s become a quiet reminder of what you left behind.

a soft laugh from keeho breaks you from your thoughts, and you glance up to see him and hyunjin walking toward the table, their arms full of coffee cups and pastries. keeho places your cup down in front of you, his expression softening when he notices the faraway look in your eyes.

“you okay?” he asks, settling into his chair across from you.

you smile faintly. “yeah, just… thinking about paris.”

hyunjin raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. he simply places a croissant in front of you and nods. “we’ll make it through these finals. paris will still be there when you’re done.”

you nod, but the bittersweet smile remains on your face, the question still lingering in the back of your mind. will you ever see jake again?

you manage to get some work done, but there’s plenty of laughter and light-hearted banter between you guys. hyunjin and keeho constantly bicker over the most ridiculous things—whether iced coffee is better than hot coffee, or if studying with background music is productive.

“you’re seriously telling me you don’t like the classics?” keeho says, shaking his head dramatically. “what kind of music do you even listen to, hyunjin?”

“i listen to music that doesn’t make my brain want to shut down,” hyunjin replies with a smirk, taking a sip from his americano. “but hey, if you need classical music to study, you do you.”

you laugh at their back-and-forth, shaking your head at their silly rivalry. the sound of their bickering is strangely comforting, distracting you from the pressure building up inside your mind. you feel a little lighter, even if it’s just for a moment.

after a while, you excuse yourself and head to the bathroom inside the café, needing a quick break from the endless cycle of notes and coffee. the place is busy, but the hum of quiet conversations and the scent of freshly brewed coffee make it feel comforting.

you take your time, refreshing yourself and letting your thoughts wander for a few moments. when you finally finish and head back out, you’re not paying attention to where you’re going, still lost in your thoughts.

and then—bam.

you collide with someone, the force making you stumble slightly. your reflexes kick in, and you immediately start bowing in apology, your words rushing out in a flurry of embarrassment.

“i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean—”

but before you can finish, you hear a familiar voice, soft and warm, with that unmistakable australian accent.

“y/n?”

you freeze, and the world seems to stop for a moment. you slowly lift your head, and there, standing in front of you, is none other than jake. in the flesh.

for a split second, all your words get caught in your throat. your heart races, and your brain scrambles to process the unexpected reunion. this can’t be real. is this a dream?

jake’s brows furrow slightly as he looks at you with concern, his voice softening. “are you okay?” he asks, stepping a little closer to you, clearly worried about your sudden silence.

you blink, feeling your heart thumping louder in your chest as you try to find your words, but they’re nowhere to be found. you stand there, staring at him, completely at a loss for what to say.

he leans in slightly, just enough to make sure you’re okay, his face showing that familiar concern. “y/n?” he gently says your name, and your body snaps back to reality.

“i—uh… sorry, i just—didn’t expect to see you.” you feel the heat rush to your cheeks, embarrassment flushing your face. "i thought… i thought i was imagining things."

jake chuckles softly, his expression softening with a smile that makes your heart flutter. “i didn’t expect to run into you here either.” his tone is light, playful, but there’s something in his eyes—something that makes the air feel a little thicker.

you both stand there for a moment, awkward silence hanging between you. the familiarity of this moment feels surreal, but there’s no denying the warmth that spreads through you at the sight of him.

“so, uh,” you start, finally finding your voice, “what are you doing here? i didn’t expect to run into you… again.”

jake’s lips curl into that familiar, soft smile. he shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a glint in his eyes, something unspoken. “guess it’s just fate.” he says, his tone playful but there’s a layer of sincerity underneath it, one you can’t quite ignore.

you chuckle lightly, but the tension between you both is palpable now, thickening the air around you. there’s an undeniable pull between you, something that neither of you have fully acknowledged, but it’s there, lingering in the space between your words. you feel the heat of his gaze, and the sudden awareness of how close you both are makes your heart beat just a little faster.

“so… how’ve you been?” you ask, needing to break the moment but also curious, wanting to know everything about him since that last time you saw him.

jake rubs the back of his neck with a small, shy smile, a gesture you remember well. “i’ve been good… just been busy, you know. but i’ve been thinking about our time in paris a lot.” his voice is casual, but his eyes hold something deeper, a hint of vulnerability that you weren’t expecting.

you nod, understanding exactly what he means. you’ve been thinking about paris too. every memory feels like a treasure, something you’ve carefully tucked away, not wanting to forget any part of it. you wish you had more time to ask him about the things he’s been up to, to know if he’s felt the same pull that you have, the connection that neither of you can explain.

you glance down at your hand absentmindedly, and that’s when you see it—the ring he gave you in the park, so simple yet so meaningful. the silver band glints in the soft café lighting, and your heart does a little flip.

jake notices too, his gaze dropping to your hand. his smile softens, almost imperceptibly, but you notice it. there’s a quiet understanding between you two that you don’t need to speak aloud.

“i see you’re still wearing it,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost tender.

you look up at him, meeting his eyes, and for a moment, everything else fades away. you feel like you’re back in paris, standing in that park, with everything still ahead of you, full of hope and possibility.

“i didn’t want to take it off,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

jake doesn’t say anything at first, his eyes locked on yours. then, without warning, he reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing lightly over your hand, and he gently presses a kiss to your right hand, right where the ring rests. the simple gesture feels like it speaks volumes, and you can’t help but feel a surge of warmth spread through you.

“i’m glad,” he says softly, his voice just above a murmur. “i’m glad you kept it.”

for a moment, neither of you speaks. the world feels like it’s holding its breath. the space between you feels charged, but neither of you is in a rush to break the silence. it’s as if this moment, this small, quiet exchange, is enough.

you blink, still a little stunned by the gesture, your heart racing, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. you can’t help but feel the warmth in your chest, the way his simple action makes you feel seen, valued, even though you never really said all the things you wanted to say.

when you finally speak, your voice is soft but steady. “i didn’t think i’d see you again.”

jake takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “i didn’t either, but i’m glad i did.”

enha perm taglist. @dazzlingjaeyun @honeychocos @manaah02 @kozumesphone

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