#I’m not saying that to say there would be no romance I’m saying that to say it’s not gonna be linear

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid - Part 2

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4705

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: Thank you so much for the response to part 1! And thank you to everyone who was so patient and understanding for this part taking a while to write. I hope you all like it.

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Wanda seems to be in a better mood lately, Natasha notices, probably because the two of you rekindled whatever complicated romance you had going on. And as sad and lonely as it had made Natasha feel, at least Wanda was being less rude to her, and that would always be a win in her book.

The grocery trips and errands she sends Natasha on are less demanding, although Natasha’s unsure if she’s becoming more comfortable or Wanda’s gotten less picky. Wanda still requests Natasha’s help for her weekly meetings, and Natasha cannot understand why someone who is unemployed goes so out of her way to find the most mundane, meaningless things to participate in. But it keeps Natasha paid and busy, and she still gets to see you a few times a week.

“What are you doing this weekend, Natasha?” Wanda asks while the two of them are in the kitchen. Wanda is on her laptop while Natasha stands at the counter, cutting vegetables for dinner.

“Um…” Natasha knows better than to tell Wanda the truth, which is that she’ll be sitting alone in her apartment for the next two days and eating ice cream on her couch. “Some friends invited me to go shopping with them at the mall,” she lies. She doesn’t have friends and she certainly doesn’t have the budget to shop at a mall after all the debt she still owes.

“I’ll be gone all weekend with some girlfriends,” Wanda says, not even acknowledging Natasha’s plans, which makes her wonder why she had even bothered to ask in the first place. “I’m not into wine tasting much, but the girls go nuts for it. I’m just going for the spa at the resort, between you and me.”

Natasha has no idea what to do with this information. But she’s spared from answering when the garage door rumbles open.

Wanda slams her laptop shut. “Oh, Y/N is home early.” She gets up to greet you. Natasha can hear your voices carry through the hall.

“You’re early tonight,” Wanda says. “I was just telling Natasha about my weekend plans to Vermont with the girls–”

“Your weekend plans?” you interrupt. “Since when did you have plans to go to Vermont?” Natasha has never heard you sound genuinely angry before. She stops cutting the carrots to focus on eavesdropping.

“Carol wanted to go for her birthday!” your wife says.

“Wanda,” you say, your voice lowering. “Our anniversary is this weekend. I booked us a stay at the Ritz and got us tickets to see Wicked–”

“Well, just ask for a refund!” Wanda hisses. Natasha is stunned that this is her first response to forgetting about her entire anniversary with you. “And we can celebrate when I get back–”

“‘Get back?’” you repeat. “That’s not the point, Wanda. Why don’t you ask for a refund for your trip–”

“I can’t do that to the girls,” Wanda says. “Carol’s been looking forward to this for months!”

You mumble something that Natasha can’t hear. She feels awful for you. Clearly, you had spent a lot of money and time planning a nice outing, and your wife didn’t seem to care one bit. In fact, she tried to put the blame on you for intruding on her plans. Natasha felt herself shaking with rage for you. You deserved so much better.

The two of you trudge into the kitchen and Natasha hastily goes back to cutting the carrots. Wanda is hanging onto your arm, tiptoeing to whisper into your ear but you shake her off and walk through the kitchen to the staircase. Natasha knows that Wanda is glaring at the back of her head, probably upset that she had overheard, but for once she doesn’t say anything and disappears after you.

The mood is particularly subdued when Natasha serves up roasted salmon with a colorful vegetable medley and mashed potatoes. 

“Thank you, Natasha,” you say as she hands you a loaded plate. 

Wanda doesn’t say anything when Natasha gives her a plate.

While the two of you eat in awkward silence, Natasha cleans up the kitchen, her final task of the day. She grabs her purse and heads towards the door, when she hears footsteps behind her.

It’s you.

“Can I walk you out to your car?” you ask. “I know it’s a safe neighborhood, but I don’t want you walking out in the dark by yourself.”

Natasha is so flattered by your offer she doesn’t stop to consider how Wanda might feel about this.

“Sure, I really appreciate that. Thank you.” She leads the way out of your house.

“Sorry you always have to park around the corner,” you add, maintaining a respectful distance from her on the sidewalk. “I’ve told Wanda the whole neighborhood knows you work for us. But she’s…” you trail off, clearly not wanting to speak ill of your wife.

“I’m sorry she forgot your anniversary,” Natasha blurts out. 

You seem startled that Natasha had been eavesdropping, but quickly recover. “Well, it’s…it’s not the first time she’s done it,” you admit in a soft voice. “I don’t know why I bother trying to do anything special anymore. It’s just another day to her. And it seems like she’d rather spend it with anyone but me.”

“She’s missing out,” Natasha says, surprised by her own confidence. “You’re a wonderful person and you deserve someone who will appreciate the efforts you go to celebrate important milestones like that.” She stops before she can offer herself up.

“Oh. Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.” 

The two of you stop at Natasha’s beat-up Nissan. 

“Thanks for walking me to my car–” she starts.

“Are you busy this weekend?” you ask suddenly, in a rushed whisper as if Wanda is around the corner listening. “If you’re not, would you like to see Wicked with me at the Gershwin Theater? I told Wanda I could probably get a credit with the Ritz, but I don’t want to deal with the hassle of exchanging the tickets, too. You can come over Saturday night and I’ll drive us?”

Natasha is so shocked by your proposal she doesn’t even have the words to agree at first. Growing up, she had loved watching musical movies until the VHS tapes wore out, but she had never had the opportunity to see a live performance. Even now as an adult, she still didn’t have the time nor the budget to see a show. To hear you ask that you wanted her to join you, when you had bought the tickets for you and your wife to enjoy on your anniversary she had forgotten, sounded almost too good to be true.

But if Wanda found out you had taken Natasha instead of her…Natasha shuddered at the thought. Maybe this was stepping over the line of professionalism. Natasha wanted to keep her job (and her head), and as much as the opportunity was a dream come true for her, she didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness or weakness.

“Um, I’m supposed to go shopping at the mall with some friends on Saturday,” Natasha says, cringing at the patheticness of her life. “But really–thank you for inviting me. I’m sure you have friends you’d rather take over your maid.”

“I don’t have any friends,” you say, so deadpan that Natasha almost laughs but quickly turns it into a cough when she realizes you’re being serious. While you seemed more reserved than your wife, Natasha refused to believe you didn’t have a strong social network. You were in charge of your own company and clearly doing well if you lived in this neighborhood and could afford a personal housemaid like her.

“Good evening!” The two of you startle when a cheery voice comes out of nowhere.

“Hello, Mr. Vision,” Natasha says, spotting the eccentric man first as he walks by at a rapid pace.

“Late night walk, Vis?” you call out, and he nods with a wave, pumping his arms faster and milling away. The only thing Natasha knew about Vision was that he lived by himself at the end of the street. He had no wife or kids that she knew of, not even a job as he was constantly seen walking around the neighborhood at odd hours. But he never approached Natasha or made her feel uncomfortable, which was more than she could say for most of the people living here, so she was happy to ignore him.

When Vision moves out of sight, you say, “Well, if your plans happen to change…” You fumble in your pockets awkwardly, pulling out a bent business card and handing it to Natasha. “My cell number is on there. Text me before Saturday if you’re still interested.”  

“Okay.” Natasha doesn’t want to get your hopes (or hers) up, but she still isn’t convinced this is a good idea. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Natasha.”

She loves the way her name sounds coming out of your mouth.

***********************************************************************

Natasha is still unsure she made the right decision to turn down your offer to see Wicked. She even called her only friend, Clint, to ask if she should’ve said yes.

“Well, you’re just seeing a show together. Think of it like a work bonus or something. Bosses give their employees nice stuff like that all the time,” Clint says as Natasha picks at a box of takeout in front of the television. Cooking at home was not her favorite chore after doing it all day for her clients.

“Yes, but it’s just the two of us,” Natasha stresses. “Y/N got the tickets to celebrate an anniversary and Wanda already hates me as it is–”

“Nah, she doesn’t hate you,” Clint says.

“You haven’t met her! You don’t see the way she treats me.”

“Exactly. Maybe this is Y/N’s way of apologizing for her behavior,” Clint says.

“I don’t know…” It was already Friday night. Natasha didn’t have much time now to change her mind if she was going to.

“Be nice to yourself, Nat. Let someone do something for you,” Clint goes on. “You work so hard for these people all the time. And I know how much you’ve always wanted to see a live performance.” Natasha feels tears well up in her eyes. She wishes Clint was here in person so she could give him a hug. “Nothing bad will happen. Just tell Y/N you want to go before someone else takes your spot.”

Natasha takes a steely breath. Clint is right. It wasn’t a date. It just was her nice boss treating her out to a Broadway show. Never mind the fact that you had intended to take your wife initially. Wanda would never have to know, right?

“Okay. Thanks, Clint.”

“Enjoy!”

As soon as she hangs up, Natasha goes into her texts. She already created a contact for you the night you gave her your business card. Her anxiety is through the roof as she types out a message to you, then deletes it and starts over. She gets more and more frustrated trying to find the right words, before she finally throws in the towel and clicks “Send.”

Less than a minute later, you respond.

Happiness explodes inside of Natasha. She can hardly believe her luck. Not only does she get to see her first Broadway show, but she gets to see it with you, and have dinner on top of it. She darts over to her closet, looking for the nicest dress she owns.

Wanda be damned. Natasha was going to have a great night with you. 

***********************************************************************

“Table for two, please.”

“Did you have a reservation?” the blonde woman at the podium asks.

“No,” you respond.

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry, but we’re all booked out for the evening,” she apologizes. 

Natasha stands behind you meekly. She can’t even pronounce the name of the restaurant and doesn’t know what kind of food they serve, but it’s probably far beyond anything she could ever afford. She’s wearing a dark green dress that almost reaches her ankles and is conservative in protecting her assets, and spent over an hour doing her makeup, and she wonders if strangers will look at the two of you and assume you’re a couple. She wouldn’t go out of her way to correct them.   

“That’s okay. This was a last-minute plan for us,” you explain. “If Tony is working tonight, can you please tell him Y/N stopped by to say hello?”

“Wait, you know Mr. Stark?” the woman pales. “Don’t go anywhere. You said your name is Y/N?”

You smile and nod. The woman steps down from her podium and dashes into the back. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends,” Natasha boldly teases. 

You turn and wink at her. 

“Tony and I went to college together,” you explain, although this implies you shared a friendship of some kind. “And clearly, his business is doing better than mine–”

The woman quickly returns with a short bearded man wearing a gray suit with red-tinted glasses that match his tie. 

“Y/N!” Tony shouts, embracing you in a dramatic hug. “You should’ve told me you were coming tonight! I could’ve put together a private booth in the back–”

“It was last-minute,” you say. “This is Natasha, by the way. She’s a friend.” Natasha is thrilled at the way you associate her with you.

“Hello, Natasha, I’m Tony.” He takes her hand and gently kisses her knuckles. He doesn’t seem surprised you haven’t brought Wanda along instead. “I take it you haven’t been here before, Miss Natasha? You won’t need a menu, I’ll have the chef bring out the best dishes we have tonight.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you say. 

“Follow me! You can have a table in our east wing. Where’s Wanda?” Tony says rapid-fire, turning around and leading them deeper into the restaurant. You step out of the way and motion to let Natasha go first, and she feels your hand graze her back as she walks past you. 

“She’s out with her girlfriends for the weekend,” you answer from behind Natasha. 

“Your anniversary is coming up, right?” Tony asks.

“Yes,” you respond, your voice suddenly tense.

The restaurant is packed, every visible table filled with customers, until they turn around a corner to a quiet, completely empty area.

“Pick any table. I’ll have a waiter come out with some drinks shortly,” Tony says.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Natasha echoes, unsure if she likes this special treatment. You pick a table near the corner and pull her chair out for her. As soon as the two of you are seated, a waiter in a vested suit appears with a few bottles of wine, making suggestions and pouring samples into the glasses. Natasha doesn’t have enough knowledge to understand what he’s saying or differentiate the tastes, but she enjoys the experience. It feels strange to have someone serve her, when she’s normally the one waiting on people’s every demand. 

The two of you share several appetizers together. Natasha feels like she’s floating in a dream. You have been nothing but generous and respectful to her, but every time your left hand reaches across the table for the caviar, the wedding ring on your finger taunts her. 

The dinner itself is a four-course affair, including a rich chocolate cake that Natasha devours faster than she can fully enjoy. When the bill arrives (which Tony has already chopped in half), Natasha still asks if she can chip in (despite knowing full well she doesn’t have the money to cover even her portion), but you push her card away and give the waiter your black card.

The theater is three blocks from Tony’s restaurant, so you leave your car in valet parking and ask Natasha if she’s okay walking. She had not planned ahead very well, so she only has a thin cardigan to cover her shoulders. You notice her shivering and offer her your heavy black jacket that completely engulfs her frame. Your scent completely surrounds her now and Natasha swears she won’t wash this dress ever again.

The line into the theater moves quickly and Natasha follows you all the way down to the front, where your seats are perfectly center to the stage. She crawls over a few people, feeling a little smug about getting some of the best seats in the house. You had truly spoiled her tonight and she was never going to forget this. 

She leans over to whisper to you before the show begins. “Thank you for everything tonight. I’ve already had so much fun and the dinner was amazing.”

“You’re very welcome. Thank you for joining me, and thank you for all the hard work you do for my family,” you say and Natasha beams. “Me and Wanda really appreciate it.” Natasha deflates a little at the mention of your wife, but she pushes her out of her mind to focus on her time with you. 

As they wait, Natasha props her arm up on the armrest between you two so she can hold the playbill at a comfortable angle to read. Suddenly, your arm drops heavily on hers and she looks at you in confusion. You’re reading your own playbill and don’t seem to notice that your massive arm is practically crushing hers.

“Um, Y/N?” she prompts, clearing her throat.

“Hmm? Oh!” You quickly move your arm off hers. “I’m so sorry, I thought that was Wanda’s arm,” you explain with a nervous chuckle. Natasha laughs too, although she isn’t sure if she should be happy or worried that she reminds you of your wife. She’d be happy to take Wanda’s place any day, though. 

The musical is amazing, impressive beyond anything Natasha had ever expected. She cries when Elphaba defies gravity, and after the whirlwind of the second act, she is among the first to give a standing ovation. She’s floating on cloud nine as she walks with you out of the theater back to the car.

The drive back to your home is quick at the late hour. Just as you're about to pull into the driveway, you slam hard on the brakes, jolting everyone forward. Vision power walks past the beams of your headlights, only breaking the pump of his arms to wave in thanks.

“What is he doing out so late?” you ask, and Natasha is relieved to know she’s not the only one who thinks his habits are a bit odd.

“No idea,” she mumbles, watching you pull onto the driveway and stop.

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Natasha says, still giddy with excitement.“This was the best night of my life. I’ve always wanted to see a Broadway show, ever since I was a little girl. I never thought I’d get the chance, even after I moved here–”

“You’re very welcome,” you interrupt, seeming almost shy with the praise.

“I’m sorry Wanda wasn’t able to join you for your own anniversary,” she adds, although she’s not sure why.

You shrug. “Nothing we can do about it now. Besides, I’m glad you were able to join me and had such a fun night. I don’t think this would have been nearly as fun by myself.”

There is a pause and Natasha has to force herself to stop looking at your lips. If she had no self-restraint, it wouldn’t have taken much for her to lean over the center console and kiss you.

“Have a good night, Natasha. Drive home safely,” you say as the two of you get out of the car.

“Thank you again!” Natasha doesn’t even listen to music on her way home, riding out the high of what was easily one of the most memorable nights of her life in over a decade.

***********************************************************************

A few weeks later, Natasha is working a double shift: the first one at Steve’s house, and the second at yours. You’re away at work, as usual, but she knows you’ll be home before she leaves for the day, and she never takes any glimpse of you for granted. Wanda is also back to being demanding and cranky, and Natasha has no idea if you told her about the night the two of you had together. She had felt the silent instruction from you not to blab about her taking Wanda’s place and was happy to keep the memories to herself.

She’s in the front hall, mopping while quietly humming “Defying Gravity” to herself, when Wanda clacks by in high-heels.

“Natasha!” she hisses. “Didn’t I tell you to start in the kitchen? If I slip out here because the floor is wet–”

“So sorry!” Natasha apologizes, hoping that she doesn’t finish her sentence. “I’ll put a fan on.” She rests her mop against the wall and darts off for the $300 Dyson fan in the closet. After pointing it towards the gleaming floor, she pushes her cart into the kitchen and continues mopping. She makes sure to open the window to air out the smell, and notices Steve across the street mowing his lawn. 

She stares at him, wondering if he can see her, and her question is quickly answered when Steve waves to her. She returns his wave with a smile, then goes back to her task before Wanda can complain she isn’t working hard enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him back away from his lawn mower and answer his phone; he disappears into his house hurriedly. 

“Natasha! Always make sure you open a window when you mop!” Wanda’s screech comes out of nowhere. “The chemicals you use give me a headache!”

“Oh, but the window is open–” Natasha tries to explain, but Wanda silences her with a wave of her hand.

“I’m on the phone!” she says, pointing to the cell phone held up to her ear. Natasha bites her lip, but holds her tongue. “Sorry, honey, what was that? No, I was talking to the maid,” she says. Natasha perks up despite the way Wanda titles her. You’re clearly on the other line, and maybe you’ll be home sooner than expected.

But Wanda disappears into a guest room (your house had so many of those), and Natasha can no longer hear her conversation. She dutifully continues to mop the floor, careful to fan the mop in a semi-circle pattern so as not to trap herself in a corner. She moves the chairs to the hallway one at a time, cursing their awkward shape that makes them difficult to carry and taking special care not to scrape the feet along the floor. 

Wanda’s shrill voice carries through the house again, this time covering a topic that makes Natasha’s cheeks heat up.

“Oh my God, yes, I’m still thinking about last night,” Wanda says. “When you had my legs behind my head–”

Natasha tries not to picture Wanda folded up like a pretzel while you plow into her. But she can imagine herself in a similar position (she’s not so confident in her own flexibility, but she’d make it work for you). Your hands could probably fit around her whole thighs as you push her legs apart wider, thrusting your hips in long strokes to fit your big dick into her. Natasha is embarrassed to admit that the last time she had masturbated, she had thought of you the whole time.

How much more you’d fill her compared to the flimsy toy she was using. How you would feel throbbing inside her, your body pressed hot and heavy against hers as you beg for her permission to finish. Imagining having you like that, with that kind of control, brought Natasha to the most amazing orgasm of her life. If only you had been there to share it with her. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be able to go another round, but you proved me wrong,” Wanda continues, and Natasha picks up on how breathless she sounds. She wonders if she’s touching herself right now, with Natasha mopping in the kitchen. Somehow, that wouldn’t be shocking to her. “You were still so hard when I put you down my throat.”

A lightning bolt of arousal strikes Natasha’s core. She can’t focus on mopping anymore, staring blankly out the kitchen window, lost in the new filthy fantasy playing in her head, guided by Wanda’s narration. 

Natasha lies between your legs, her lips barely brushing your hips as she takes your cock down her throat. She prays her gag reflex doesn’t protest at the obstruction in her airway, but despite the slight discomfort, she wants to do this all day. Your pants and moans are like music in her ears, urging her on to suck harder and take you deeper.

“Please Nat,” your voice wavers. The muscle fibers in your thighs are visibly tensed and your back arches off the bed when Natasha pushes your hips down, trying to maintain some kind of control over you. But your body seems to have a mind of its own, with only one goal in mind. 

“It’s almost like I can still taste you.”

You poke at the back of her throat and Natasha can feel the hot throbbing of your cock in her mouth. She’s so eager to swallow anything you’ll give her, she’s almost embarrassed in her desperation, but when your hands cup the back of her head, pushing her down so she can fit the last inch down her throat, she knows the two of you are on equal planes of passion.

Your entire body flexes and the anticipation for Natasha is overwhelming. You finally inhale sharply as the first hot spurt lands on her tongue. 

“Being on your knees for me is a good look for you.”

Natasha tips her head back against the wall, her fingers tangling in your hair. One of her legs rests on your shoulder while the other is spread far apart so you can kneel between them, your mouth pressed against her heat. Your tongue swirls around her clit and Natasha fears she won’t be able to stay standing much longer. 

“Y/N,” she pants, clutching your head tighter and rocking her hips forward. “I need you.”

Your fingernails dig harder into her thigh to still her. You look up into her eyes and Natasha thinks she’s going to finish right there. “You have me, baby. I’m all yours.”

“But there’s really only one place you belong.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you grunt, almost sending Natasha headfirst into the headboard with every one of your thrusts. “I could stay inside you forever.”

Natasha hums at the praise. She’s holding on the bedsheets for life, spasming and clenching around you, trying to pull you in deeper. You fill her so perfectly, she’s convinced her body was made for yours. 

“Tell me I’m better than her,” Natasha gasps, fighting to delay her own release.

“Fuck Wanda,” you grunt, pulling back on Natasha’s hips at the same time you thrust forward, burying your entire length into her. “I love you, Natasha. You’re the only one I ever want to be with.”

A noisy car engine pulls Natasha out of her head. Her face feels flushed with arousal, and she knows what she’s doing the second she goes home. Your green car suddenly pulls into the driveway but stops. You get out and walk to the street, grabbing one of the trash bins and pulling it towards the house.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me again,” Wanda says in the background.

The realization crashes down on Natasha’s head like a cold shower. She watches you grab the second bin with both hands, carefully walking backwards with it.

You’re not on the phone and you’re standing 30 feet away from Natasha. If Wanda’s not on the phone with you, then who is she talking to?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Who do you think Wanda was talking to? 👀

To be continued...(hopefully)

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[zenruu]

A Needlessly Thorough Analysis of What Hardening Actually Means for Alistair

You can also read this analysis in a Google Doc if you find that format more palatable: here.

(I do recommend desktop for the comfiest viewing in either case, but both should be serviceable.)

Disclaimer: If critical discussion of a character’s feelings, motivations, and reactions to certain in-game choices could be personally upsetting to you, maybe don’t read this. None of this analysis is me judging you/your choices as a player, I am simply looking through the lens of Alistair’s characterization and the in-universe consequences of choices. Of course this analysis will be colored by my own bias, it’s inevitable. I can’t realistically include every potentially relevant line of dialogue, but I’m always happy to discuss if you think there’s something crucial I left out.

Hardened Alistair is often described as learning to stand up for himself and becoming more assertive, but why? Is it an accurate assessment? Even Alistair himself reacts to the hardening dialogue by saying he’s going to start thinking for himself and looking out for himself more, so surely it’s true… right?

To the contrary, I would actually argue that hardened Alistair tends to put others before himself more than unhardened Alistair. Let’s start by looking at how he becomes hardened.

The Hardening Process

After meeting Goldanna, Alistair is understandably devastated to find that the family he’s been dreaming of his whole life is not what he had hoped. He’s just been yelled at and turned away by the sister he’s never met, the only family he’s ever had a chance of knowing. He’s lost his hope at finding that sense of connection and belonging he’s always been looking for.

If the Warden wants to harden Alistair, they need to tell him, “Everyone is out for themselves. You should learn that.”

The message being sent is basically: suck it up, move on, grow up. This is the way the world is. Stop being so idealistic.

The message Alistair seems to receive, however, is a bit more complicated. In the follow-up conversation after meeting Goldanna, Alistair tells you that his takeaway from the hardening dialogue was that he needs to look out for himself more. This is, obviously, perfectly in line with the common belief that hardened Alistair is more assertive and more willing to stand up for himself.

But is that the reality that we see reflected in hardened Alistair’s choices?

Pre-hardening, Alistair tells you many times that he feels like no one cares what he wants; he believes it’s unfair and openly complains about it. Hardened Alistair, however, knows that no one cares what he wants and he accepts that as the way things are and must be. Unhardened Alistair will freely say he doesn’t want to be king and fights against it until he can fight it no more, while hardened Alistair will accept it, even going as far as to say he wants it.

Why would he change so suddenly from saying it’s his worst nightmare to saying he wants it? Does he mean it fully? Is this truly him seeking to fulfill his own wants and meet his own needs?

What actually changes if he’s hardened?

he is seemingly less reluctant about becoming king

if romanced, he will agree to a threesome with Isabela

he will agree to make you his mistress if you push the topic

if not married to Anora and chosen to fight Loghain, he will execute Loghain and take the throne

if not chosen to fight Loghain, he will insist on being made king

if married to Anora, he will become king instead of being exiled if Loghain is spared (Alistair will still leave your party, however)

he will approve of executing Jowan in Redcliffe

With the idea of “hardened Alistair putting his own wants/needs first” in mind let’s break them down one by one:

Note: some lines of dialogue have flags for “hardened”/“changed”, alternatively referred to as Alistair’s motivation being changed from “good to glory” or “Alistair 2”. These all refer to the hardening mechanic. The screenshots do have text that’s a bit small, because I wanted to be sure that I included the flags that show when lines are exclusive to hardened Alistair.

Less reluctance about becoming king

All along he’s said he doesn’t want it. You could potentially make a case that he didn’t truly feel that way and was only saying it because he’s insecure (which he is), but I don’t find this to be a terribly compelling argument. 

This is hardened Alistair’s response to being told he would be a good king after he’s decided to sacrifice himself. There are several lines like this that I feel contradict the theory that unhardened Alistair only says he doesn’t want to be king because he’s insecure in his abilities. It’s not that his insecurities are not a factor, it’s that hardening him doesn’t get rid of those things, meaning that this factor alone would not change his attitude about accepting potential kingship. In fact, he still believes that realistically Anora is better suited.

I’d argue that someone who has consistently said one thing without fail and is now only changing the tune after basically being told to shut up and grow up may not be expressing their truest desires. He is going along with what Eamon is telling him, with what the Warden is telling him, with what he’s told is his duty and responsibility. For the greater good, not for himself.

And you might be saying that can’t be true, hardened Alistair says he wants to be king!

Personally, I’d argue that Alistair saying he wants to be king is much the same as your average person saying they want a job. Do most people want to go to work every day? No, not really, but you have to because it’s just what you need to do. So when asked, you’d say you want a job. Of course you would, because you have to have one. But removed from that necessity, would you still say the same? Likely not. I believe the same holds true for Alistair. If he wasn’t being told at every turn that him being king is what must be done, he wouldn’t feel a need to bow to that.

Hardened Alistair confidently wanting to be king is often accepted as plain fact, when it’s really not so cut and dry. We can dig into some of his dialogue and really look at his feelings on the matter.

Hardened Alistair is saying he wants to be king. Even he’s surprised by it. But what is the context of this line? He’s about to sacrifice himself. He believes that his sacrifice–not living to rule–is the single best thing he can do as king.

But is it pure happiness and willingness, or is it a man simply trying to make the best of a situation he’s locked into? I vote for the latter.

I often see the argument that having a Warden queen would make him happier with the idea of being king, but by all evidence it really doesn’t seem to be the case. Here is his response to the Warden confirming that she does want to be queen. Alistair still doesn’t like the idea of ruling. This isn’t a line exclusive to hardened Alistair, he will always have this line available.

“I wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for you” … “you owe me” … Even hardened, Alistair seems to see being king as something negative being thrust upon him. A punishment, perhaps? What would his response be to being told that being king is not a punishment?

On the surface, he agrees, but take a look at that VO comment for his actual feelings on it. He does consider it a punishment. This is indeed a line for hardened Alistair, as it occurs during the mistress conversation, which is a hardened Alistair exclusive.

Even if hardened, Alistair would prefer to stay a Warden if he can.

And if you don’t make hardened Alistair king? He’s grateful. Happy. Happier.

Agreeing to a threesome

Unhardened or hardened, he will push back when you suggest this. However, only hardened Alistair will relent and agree to it. Unhardened Alistair will simply refuse. Which one sounds more like someone standing up for his own wants?

This is the path the conversation goes if Alistair is hardened. His initial refusal and discomfort with the situation remains, but if you tell him to go along, he will.

He is, regardless, clearly not as comfortable with the situation as one should be. It certainly isn’t the kind of enthusiastic consent one would look for when asking someone to engage in a particular sex act. But he had fun, so it’s okay, right?

Well… did he have fun? Isabela jokes about borrowing him in the future and it seems quite clear that he isn’t interested in a repeat occurrence. Not only is he not interested, he’s awkward, uncomfortable. “Oh, but he makes a joke about wet frocks right after this!” He does. But it’s Alistair. He’s constantly making jokes to mask his discomfort.

Agreeing to making the Warden his mistress

Again, he will push back on this at first, only relenting if he’s hardened and you push the issue. If unhardened, he’ll stand by his original statement that he feels it would be wrong. Is he just saying he believes it’s wrong, or is that what he truly believes? Based on what we know of Alistair, I’d say it’s far more likely that he truly does find the idea of making the Warden his mistress to be disrespectful both to the Warden and to his wife, and that he is somewhat disregarding his own beliefs on that to bend to the Warden’s insistence that he take a mistress.

Whether he’s marrying Anora or not, his views on the matter are the same. He intends to be loyal to whoever he marries, and he knows he cannot do so if he continues the relationship with the Warden.

It’s clear that he finds the entire idea distasteful.

Much like the threesome, you do have to press him to get him to agree. He’s quite set in his beliefs on the matter, but he will acquiesce if the Warden pushes it.

Insisting on becoming king in the context of dealing with Loghain

These are the choices where I’d say there is potentially a case to be made that Alistair is making the decision he wants to make. However, I wouldn’t say that the decision being made is that he wants to be king. I would argue that becoming king is simply a means to an end to give him the power to get revenge in the way he wants.

In the first potential scenario here, Alistair will insist on being made king if he is not chosen to fight Loghain. Why? He wants Loghain dead, and he isn’t being given the choice to make that happen. He wants the power to make that choice, all else be damned.

Here you can see that hardened Alistair insists on taking the throne while making it abundantly clear that the reason for doing so is to take care of Loghain in the manner he wants.

Unhardened Alistair does the same. Why? Because the motivation remains the same whether he’s hardened or not. Unhardened Alistair simply hasn’t become so resigned as to pretend he’s any less displeased with it than he is.

In the second potential scenario, Alistair is chosen to fight Loghain and kills him. He finally achieves the goal he’s been working towards all along: getting his revenge on Loghain. He’s running on that high when Eamon immediately suggests he take the throne, he says yes, he’ll do it. There’s not really anything to break down dialogue-wise in this scenario, as his acceptance of the throne is the exact same dialogue as it would be in any other case. He simply says he accepts when it’s proposed.

Is it what he truly wants? Maybe. You could make a case for it. However, I interpret it more as running on that adrenaline high, feeling powerful and not fully thinking it over in the moment.

Accepting being king & marrying Anora if Loghain is spared

Alistair has been tunnel visioned on getting his revenge on Loghain the entire time, and this is the only circumstance in which sparing Loghain will not result in Alistair leaving and becoming a drunk. He both accepts marrying Anora (which he isn’t happy about) and sparing Loghain (which is very counter to his wishes).

He doesn’t like Anora and doesn’t want to marry her, but he does anyway. Hardened Alistair knows that marrying Anora is politically advantageous and prioritizes that over his personal desire to enact his vengeance, though he makes it clear to the Warden that his personal feelings on the matter have absolutely not changed.

Hardened Alistair goes along with marrying Anora after Loghain is spared and leaves the party, unhappy with the Warden’s choice to spare Loghain. If this line alone didn’t make his displeasure clear enough, there’s also this one:

He refers to the Warden’s actions as a betrayal. He’s obviously not happy.

Unhardened Alistair, however, stands his ground and refuses.

Approving of executing Jowan

Another case of a changed tune to go along with what the Warden is doing. Unhardened Alistair actively disapproves of the Warden executing Jowan. We could assume that hardened Alistair is just more pragmatic, or perhaps simply more willing to accept it when the Warden tells him this is what must be done.

There is no Alistair specific dialogue to look at here, just the approval points, so it’s really just a matter of looking at what we know of him and the situation. I would say in general Alistair values life and values mercy. Are there exceptions? Yes. Loghain, for example, whose crimes Alistair has judged worthy of death. Clearly unhardened Alistair does not feel that way about Jowan. Hardened Alistair though? He approves of his execution, but is it because he personally thinks it’s best or is it because he accepts the Warden’s judgment?

I would argue that it’s the latter primarily because it’s completely in line with everything else we’ve seen from hardened Alistair. There really are just no solid cases of hardened Alistair asserting his own will when compared to unhardened Alistair, so I don’t see this case as being any different.

In Review

In each case of behaviors changed by hardening Alistair, we see him putting his own wants and needs on the backburner in favor of an externally imposed sense of duty or to bend to another’s will because he accepts that his personal feelings are irrelevant. I’d go as far as to say that hardening is really a misnomer, because what we’re really looking at would be better called resignation.

I actually didn’t include every single line I found of hardened Alistair expressing the sentiments I’ve laid out in this analysis because I didn’t want it to be too long, but there is more in the game. Now I will get into less concrete analysis and a bit more of an explanation of my own personal opinions on hardening.

Aside from looking at what hardening actually means for Alistair, we can also question its necessity. Do you need to do it if you want to do certain things in Origins (threesome, mistress ending, etc.)? Yes. But I often see people argue that hardening Alistair is necessary for him to grow or mature as a person, and I completely disagree.

My personal opinion is that hardening Alistair is neither necessary nor kind.

In terms of helping Alistair to grow as a person, I maintain that Alistair will become more naturally “hardened”, or more accurately, he will mature on his own if you give him the chance to do so. Why do I say so? Look at Alistair in Inquisition. That is not the same idealistic young man we see in Origins, and this remains true regardless of hardening status. Whether it’s Warden Alistair or King Alistair, he’s clearly grown and changed.

Sure, you can mod the game to make the hardening dialogue more palatable, but that’s an entirely different discussion. As is, you’re required to essentially kick him when he’s down, and I simply do not find it to be necessary for his own personal development.

If it’s not already completely obvious by me doing all of this in the first place, I really, really love Alistair. Of course I’m quite settled and happy as an unhardened Warden Alistair truther, but I’m always happy to discuss and debate. I’m very interested in any thoughts you might have, whether you agree with my assessment or not (as long as you’re nice).

Thank you for reading my (almost sickeningly thorough) little analysis if you made it this far!

As a treat (or unhardened Warden Ali propaganda depending on your perspective), here's my Warden, miss Neria Surana with her very happy unhardened Warden husband:

[elryuse]

불장난 Playing With Fire

Yuna X Male Reader

Tags : Ex Girlfriend Yuna, Teasing, Kissing, Pretty Toxic And Slightly Weird Romance, Fluff, Pregnant? Marriage?

Words : 8,557 Words

You always thought the first time you met Yuna would be burned into your memory forever. The sparkle in her eyes, the way her laugh could fill a room, and how effortlessly she made you feel like the only person in the world. That was before. Before the lies, the heartbreak, and the shattered trust. Now, every memory of her feels distant, like a faded photograph buried in the back of your mind. You’ve tried to move on, to live your life without the weight of her betrayal pressing down on your chest.

But fate has a cruel sense of humor.

It’s an ordinary evening when you see her again. The streets are busy with the hum of traffic, and the golden glow of the setting sun reflects off car windows. You’re standing at the corner, waiting for the light to change, when you catch a flash of fiery red out of the corner of your eye. You glance over, and your heart skips a beat.

It’s her. Yuna.

Only, it’s not the Yuna you remember. Gone is the soft brown hair that used to fall in gentle waves down her shoulders. Now, her hair is a striking, fiery red, cut shorter, framing her face with an edge that screams confidence. Her figure, once curvier, is now more toned and petite, as if she’s carved herself into something entirely new. She’s wearing a leather jacket over a simple black dress, and her boots click sharply against the pavement as she crosses the street.

Your instinct is to look away, to pretend you didn’t see her. After everything that happened, the last thing you want is to reopen old wounds. But then, her eyes meet yours, and you know it’s too late.

“...Y/n?” she says, her voice softer than you expect.

You hesitate, debating whether to respond. “Yuna,” you finally say, your tone neutral, guarded.

Her lips curve into a small smile, but there’s something behind it—something you can’t quite place. “Wow, I didn’t think I’d run into you here,” she says, stepping closer.

You take a step back without meaning to, creating just enough distance to feel like you’re still in control. “It’s a big city,” you reply. “I guess it was bound to happen eventually.”

She tilts her head, studying you like you’re some puzzle she can’t quite figure out. “You look good,” she says, her eyes scanning you briefly. “Different, but… good.”

You resist the urge to scoff. “Thanks,” you say curtly. “You, too. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

She grins, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Yeah, the hair’s new. And I’ve been working out more. Needed a fresh start, you know?”

You nod, though you don’t really know what to say to that. The light changes, and the crowd around you begins to move. You take a step toward the crosswalk, hoping she’ll take the hint and let you go.

“Y/n, wait,” she says, reaching out to lightly touch your arm. The contact sends a jolt through you, and you pull back instinctively. Her smile falters for a moment, but she recovers quickly. “Can we talk? Just for a minute?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say firmly. “There’s nothing left to talk about.”

“Come on,” she says, her voice almost pleading. “It’s been, what, a year? Can’t we just… I don’t know, catch up? As friends?”

Friends. The word feels bitter on your tongue. You shake your head. “We were never just friends, Yuna. You know that.”

Her expression softens, and for a moment, she looks like the Yuna you used to know—the one who could make you smile no matter how bad your day had been. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “For everything. I know I screwed up, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I miss you, Y/n. I miss us.”

You feel your chest tighten, and you have to remind yourself to breathe. “You don’t get to say that,” you say, your voice low but firm. “You don’t get to miss us when you were the one who destroyed it.”

She flinches, and for a brief moment, you think you see tears glistening in her eyes. But then she straightens, her fiery hair catching the last rays of sunlight. “You’re right,” she says, her voice steadier now. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I’ve changed, Y/n. I’m not the same person I was back then.”

You want to believe her. A part of you—some small, foolish part—still wants to believe that the girl you fell in love with is still in there somewhere. But you can’t forget the pain she caused, the way she broke your heart and left you to pick up the pieces on your own.

“I’m glad you’ve changed,” you say finally. “But that doesn’t change what happened. And it doesn’t mean we can go back to the way things were.”

She nods slowly, her eyes dropping to the ground. “I get it,” she says. “I just… I just wanted to see you. To tell you I’m sorry.”

The sincerity in her voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. Finally, you sigh and take a step back. “Take care of yourself, Yuna.”

With that, you turn and walk away, leaving her standing there on the sidewalk. As you disappear into the crowd, you can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the last time you’ll see her.

And deep down, you’re not sure if that thought scares you—or excites you.

The knock on your door is sudden, sharp, and entirely unexpected. You freeze mid-sip of your morning coffee, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of your apartment like a knife. Three rapid raps, followed by silence. Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall—it’s barely 8 AM. Who the hell could that be?

Setting your mug down cautiously, you make your way to the door, peeking through the peephole before opening it. And there she is: Yuna.

Your ex-girlfriend. The woman who shattered your heart into a thousand irreparable pieces years ago. She stands there, radiant as ever, her fiery red hair catching the sunlight, her lips curved into that familiar smirk that used to make your stomach flip. Now, all it does is twist into knots.

“Hey,” she says casually, as if it’s totally normal for her to show up at your doorstep after all this time. “Long time no see.”

You blink, stunned into silence. Of all the people you thought might show up unannounced at your door this early in the morning, Yuna was not on the list. “What are you doing here?” you finally manage, your voice more curt than you intended.

She shrugs, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe like she owns the place. “I live next door now. Figured I’d come say hi.” Her tone is light, almost playful, but there’s something in her eyes—something burning, intense, calculated. It makes your skin prickle.

“You live… next door?” you repeat, your voice rising slightly. This has to be some kind of joke. Or a nightmare. Either way, you don’t like it.

“Mhm,” she hums, nodding. She steps past you into your apartment without waiting for an invitation, her floral perfume lingering in the air as she moves. It’s the same scent she always wore when you were together, and it hits you like a punch to the gut. “Saw your name on the mailbox the other day. Small world, huh?”

“Small world, my ass,” you mutter under your breath, closing the door behind her reluctantly. “This isn’t a coincidence, Yuna. What are you really doing here?”

She turns to face you, her expression softening as she takes a step closer. “I told you. I’m your neighbor now. And… maybe I wanted to see you. Is that so bad?”

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, creating a barrier between the two of you. “Yeah, actually. It is. We haven’t spoken in years. Not since—” You cut yourself off, the memory of what she did still raw, even after all this time.

Her smile falters, and for a moment, she looks genuinely remorseful. “I know, Y/n. I know I hurt you. I was stupid, selfish, and I regretted it the second it happened. You have no idea how much I’ve beat myself up over it.”

“Not enough, apparently,” you snap, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice. “If you had any respect for me, you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

She flinches at that, her bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. But then she squares her shoulders and meets your gaze head-on. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t be here. But the truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. And I know you probably hate me, and maybe you should, but… I needed to try. To see if there’s any chance we could start over.”

You stare at her, your mind racing. Start over? After everything? She can’t possibly be serious. And yet, the look in her eyes tells you she is. Dead serious.

“Yuna,” you say slowly, picking your words carefully. “We’re not the same people we were back then. And even if we were, what you did… that’s not something you just ‘start over’ from.”

She nods, swallowing hard. “I know. And I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight. But… can we at least try to be civil? As neighbors? Maybe even… friends?”

The word hangs in the air between you, heavy with implications. Friends. Yeah, right. Friends don’t do what she did. Friends don’t destroy trust the way she did. And yet, looking at her now, with her wide, pleading eyes and perfectly pouty lips, it’s hard to stay mad. Harder than you want to admit.

“I don’t know, Yuna,” you say finally, sighing. “This is… a lot.”

“I get it,” she says quickly. “And I’ll give you all the space you need. But just… promise me you’ll think about it, okay? Think about us.”

Before you can respond, she steps forward, closing the distance between you. For a second, you think she’s going to kiss you—and part of you wants her to, despite everything. But instead, she simply brushes her fingers lightly against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

Then she’s gone, slipping out the door as quickly as she came, leaving you standing there, confused, annoyed, and—damn it—curious.

Over the next few days, Yuna becomes impossible to ignore. Every time you leave your apartment, she’s there, whether it’s in the hallway, by the elevator, or even at the gym. She’s always polite, always friendly, but there’s an underlying tension that neither of you acknowledges. A tension that grows thicker with each passing day.

Tonight, though, she crosses a line.

You’re in the middle of cooking dinner when she knocks on your door again, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a coy smile on her face. “Hi,” she says sweetly. “Thought you might want some company tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, holding the spatula in your hand like a weapon. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” she replies, pushing past you into the kitchen. “Smells amazing, by the way. What are we having?”

“Steak,” you say automatically before catching yourself. “Wait, no. I’m having steak. You’re interrupting my dinner.”

She grins, setting the wine bottle on the counter and grabbing a corkscrew from the drawer like she belongs here. “Oh, come on. You can’t eat all that by yourself. Besides, we need to talk.”

“About what?” you ask warily, watching as she expertly uncorks the bottle and pours two glasses.

She hands you one, her fingers brushing against yours in a way that feels far too intentional. “About us. About… what happens next.”

You take a sip of the wine, mostly to buy yourself time to think. “There is no ‘us,’ Yuna. Not anymore.”

She leans against the counter, her body language relaxed but her eyes intense. “That’s where you’re wrong. There’s always been an ‘us.’ Even when we weren’t together, even when I screwed everything up… there was always something between us. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it too.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words stick in your throat because… god damn it, she’s right. There is something between you. Something electric, magnetic, undeniable. And it’s been there from the moment she showed up at your door.

But you can’t let her know that. Not yet.

Instead, you set your wine glass down and turn back to the stove, flipping the steak with more force than necessary. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Yuna.”

She laughs softly, the sound low and sultry. “Maybe. But you’ve always liked danger, remember?”

Your grip tightens on the spatula. Remember? How could you forget? She’s reminding you on purpose, and it’s working. Memories flood your mind—her hands on your skin, her lips on yours, the way she used to whisper your name in the dark.

“Dinner’s ready,” you say abruptly, plating the steak and handing her a plate. If nothing else, maybe eating will shut her up.

But as the two of you sit down at the table, the tension only grows thicker. Every glance, every brush of skin, every shared laugh sends sparks flying. By the time you finish eating, the air between you is charged, crackling with unspoken desire.

“Thanks for dinner,” Yuna says, standing up and moving closer to you. “It was… delicious.”

She’s not talking about the food, and you both know it.

You stand too, your heart pounding in your chest as she reaches out, her fingertips grazing your jawline. “Yuna,” you warn, your voice husky.

“Yes?” she whispers, her lips dangerously close to yours.

“Don’t—”

But before you can finish, she closes the gap, her mouth crashing into yours like a tidal wave.

And just like that, you’re lost.

Her lips are warm, insistent, and achingly familiar. The moment she kisses you, a flood of memories rushes back—late nights tangled in sheets, whispered promises, the way her body fit perfectly against yours. But this isn’t that time. This is now, and despite everything, your body betrays you. Your hands instinctively move to her waist, pulling her closer as if they have a mind of their own.

Yuna deepens the kiss, her tongue brushing against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm. A soft moan escapes her throat, muffled by the heat of your mouths colliding. Her fingers weave through your hair, tugging gently but firmly, sending a shiver down your spine. She pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, her breath hot and uneven, “I’ve missed you.”

The words hang in the air like a confession, raw and unfiltered. You want to push her away, to remind yourself of why you shouldn’t be doing this, but her touch is magnetic, her presence intoxicating. Your resolve wavers, crumbling under the weight of her longing.

Her hands slide down your chest, fingertips tracing the contours of your muscles through your shirt. They pause at the hem, slipping beneath the fabric, skin meeting skin for the first time in what feels like forever. Her touch ignites something deep within you, a hunger you thought you’d buried long ago.

“Yuna,” you murmur, your voice rough with desire, “this isn’t—”

She silences you with another kiss, harder this time, more desperate. Her nails dig lightly into your sides, leaving tingling trails in their wake. When she finally breaks away, her eyes lock onto yours, blazing with something you can’t quite place—need, remorse, or maybe both. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you,” she breathes, her voice trembling with emotion.

Before you can respond, she sinks to her knees, her hands moving to the button of your jeans. Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound deafening in the quiet room. This is wrong, a small voice in the back of your mind whispers, but it’s drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the way her fingers work deftly to free you from the confines of your clothing.

Her breath hitches as she takes you in, her gaze lingering for a moment before she leans forward, her lips brushing against the tip of you. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through your body, your hips jerking involuntarily. She smirks up at you, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Still sensitive, huh?” she teases, her voice low and husky.

You don’t have time to respond before she takes you fully into her mouth, her tongue swirling around your length with practiced ease. A groan escapes your lips, your hands tangling in her hair as she moves with a rhythm that leaves you dizzy. Her name falls from your lips like a prayer, barely audible over the sound of her sucking you deeper, harder.

She pulls back momentarily, looking up at you through hooded lids. “Do you remember how much you used to love this?” she asks, her voice dripping with sultry anticipation. Before you can answer, she’s swallowing you again, her lips pressing tightly around you as she works her way down your shaft.

Your knees buckle slightly, the sensation overwhelming. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as she bobs her head, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The wet sounds fill the room, mingling with her soft sighs and your ragged breaths. It’s messy, desperate, and utterly consuming.

As her pace quickens, so does the ache building in your core. You’re close, too close, and the realization makes your grip on her hair tighten. “Yuna, I—”

She doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down. Instead, she hums around you, the vibrations making your entire body shudder. Her eyes meet yours again, and there’s a challenge in them, daring you to let go. And you do, unable to hold back any longer.

With a strangled groan, you release, her name tumbling from your lips as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. She takes it all, her tongue lapping at you greedily until you’re completely spent, your legs trembling beneath you.

When she finally pulls away, there’s a hint of mischief in her smile, along with something softer, more vulnerable. She stands slowly, her hands resting lightly on your hips as she looks up at you. “You always did taste so good,” she murmurs, her voice thick with satisfaction.

You’re still catching your breath, your mind reeling from what just happened. There’s a part of you that wants to pull her into your arms, to feel her warmth against you. But there’s also a part that feels conflicted, torn between the past and the present, between what you feel and what you know you should do.

Yuna seems to sense your hesitation. She steps closer, her body pressing against yours, her lips brushing against your neck. “I meant what I said,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I’ve missed you. More than you could ever know.”

You swallow hard, your hands hovering at her sides, unsure whether to push her away or pull her closer. “Yuna".

She leans back just enough to meet your gaze, her eyes searching yours. “Don’t think too much about it,” she says softly. “Just… let me make you feel good. Like I used to.”

Her hands slide up your chest, pushing your shirt off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Her touch is gentle, almost reverent, as she traces the lines of your body. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered,” she admits, her voice filled with awe.

Before you can respond, she’s leading you toward the couch, her movements confident yet tender. She pushes you down gently, then straddles your lap, her thighs squeezing your hips as she leans in to kiss you again. Her lips are softer this time, more deliberate, as if she’s savoring every second.

You find your hands moving without conscious thought, gripping her waist, sliding up her back, exploring every inch of her. She lets out a soft sigh, arching into your touch, her body molding against yours like it was made to fit there.

“Tell me you want this,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice trembling with need. “Tell me you want me.”

Your heart races, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. But when her hand slips between your bodies, her fingers brushing against the growing heat between her legs, your resolve crumbles completely.

You can’t find the words to respond. Not when her body is pressed so tightly against yours, not when her hand is moving with such purpose, igniting a fire deep within you that you swore had been extinguished long ago. Instead, you let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping her hips as if holding onto them will keep you from losing yourself completely.

Yuna doesn’t wait for an answer. She doesn’t need one. The way your body responds to her touch—the way you instinctively pull her closer—tells her everything she needs to know. Her lips trail down your neck, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses that make your head spin. Each kiss is deliberate, each move calculated to unravel you further.

Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants, brushing against the sensitive skin of your stomach. You gasp, your grip tightening on her as she lets out a soft laugh against your collarbone. There it is, you think. That sound. That laugh. It’s been so long since you’ve heard it, but it still hits you like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of your lungs and making your heart ache in ways you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Stop thinking,” Yuna murmurs, her voice low and husky. “Just feel.”

It’s easier said than done. Your mind is racing, torn between the past and the present, between anger and desire. But then her hand slips lower, her fingers wrapping around you, and all thoughts evaporate into nothingness. A moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and Yuna smirks against your skin, clearly pleased with herself.

“That’s more like it,” she says, her breath hot against your ear. “Let me remind you what you’ve been missing.”

Before you can respond, she’s sinking to her knees in front of you, her hands working quickly to free you from the confines of your clothes. You barely have time to process what’s happening before her mouth is on you, warm and wet and impossible to resist. Your head falls back, a strangled groan escaping your throat as her tongue swirls around you, teasing and taunting in equal measure.

God, you’ve missed this. Missed her. The way she knows exactly how to drive you wild, the way she takes you apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left but raw, unfiltered sensation. Her mouth moves expertly, drawing you deeper, her hand working in tandem to heighten every touch. You can feel the pressure building, threatening to consume you, and you force yourself to hold back, not wanting this to end too soon.

But Yuna isn’t having it. She pulls away just enough to look up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “Let go,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. “I want to hear you.”

And then she’s taking you in again, her movements faster, more urgent. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything other than the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you, but it’s no use. You’re powerless against her, against the way she makes you feel. Your hips buck involuntarily, and Yuna makes a soft noise of approval, encouraging you to keep going.

The tension coils tighter and tighter until you can’t take it anymore. With a cry, you come undone, your body shuddering as waves of ecstasy crash over you. Yuna doesn’t pull away, not even when you’re spent and trembling, your legs barely able to support you. Instead, she stays where she is, her lips pressing gently against your skin as if savoring the moment.

When she finally stands, there’s a look of pure satisfaction on her face. “Welcome back,” she says softly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I was starting to think I’d lost my touch.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though your mind is still reeling. “You haven’t lost anything,” you admit, your voice hoarse. “If anything, you’ve gotten better.”

Yuna grins, clearly pleased with your admission. “Practice makes perfect,” she teases, stepping closer to press a kiss to your lips. You taste yourself on her, and it only serves to deepen the ache inside you, the need for more.

She pulls away slowly, her hands trailing down your chest as she steps back. “Now it’s your turn,” she says, her voice dripping with promise. “Don’t worry—I’ll guide you.”

You’re about to ask what she means when she turns and walks toward your bedroom, her hips swaying with every step. The sight alone is enough to make your pulse quicken, and you follow after her without hesitation, your earlier reservations forgotten.

The room is dimly lit, the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. Yuna stops at the foot of the bed, turning to face you with a look that sends a shiver down your spine. Slowly, she begins to undress, each movement deliberate, each inch of skin revealed making your mouth go dry.

When she’s fully naked, she reaches for your hand, pulling you closer until you’re standing right in front of her. “Touch me,” she whispers, her voice trembling with anticipation. “Show me you remember how.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for her, your fingers skimming over her bare skin. She sighs, leaning into your touch as you explore the curves and valleys of her body, rediscovering every part of her that once felt like home. Her breath hitches when your fingers brush over her nipples, and she arches into your touch, silently urging you to continue.

You lower your head, capturing one taut peak between your lips, and she gasps, her hands tangling in your hair. Her scent surrounds you, heady and intoxicating, and you’re desperate for more. Your tongue flicks against her, eliciting another sharp intake of breath, and you can feel her pulse quickening beneath your fingertips.

“Y/n,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please…”

You know what she wants. What she needs. And you’re more than willing to give it to her.

As if on cue, the opening notes of your favorite song drift through the speakers in the corner of the room. The melody is soft and slow, filling the space with a quiet intimacy that makes the moment feel even more significant somehow. Yuna’s eyes meet yours, and there’s something in her gaze—something tender and vulnerable—that catches you off guard.

“This song,” she says, her voice shaking slightly. “It reminds me of us. Of who we used to be.”

Used to be. The words echo in your mind, stirring memories you’d tried so hard to forget. Late-night drives, stolen kisses, whispered promises of forever. All of it comes rushing back, overwhelming you with emotions you thought you’d buried long ago.

Yuna seems to sense the shift in your mood because she reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “We’re not those people anymore,” she admits, her voice heavy with regret. “But maybe… maybe we can be something better.”

You don’t respond—you can’t. Not when your heart feels like it’s being torn in two. But then she’s guiding you toward the bed, her touch firm yet gentle, and all you can do is follow.

The sheets are cool against your skin as you lie down, your bodies pressed together in a tangle of limbs and heat. Yuna’s lips find yours again, her kiss slow and languid, as if she’s trying to convey everything she can’t put into words. And for the first time since she walked back into your life, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—she’s right.

Yuna’s fingers trail down your chest, her touch light but deliberate, sending shivers through your body. She pauses at the hem of her shirt, her gaze locking with yours as if silently asking for permission. You nod, barely able to form a coherent thought, and she pulls the fabric over her head, revealing herself to you in the soft glow of the bedroom.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur, your voice thick with desire.

She smiles, a gentle curve of her lips that makes your heart ache. “Touch me,” she whispers, guiding your hands to her waist. Her skin is warm beneath your palms, smooth and inviting, and you feel the faint tremor of her breath as you slide your hands upward.

Her breasts fit perfectly in your hands, soft yet firm, and you thumb over her nipples, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips. She arches into your touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she opens them again, their intensity burning into you.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes, her voice trembling with need.

You don’t. You can’t. Every part of you is drawn to her, like a moth to a flame, and you lose yourself in the sensation of her skin against yours. Your fingers trace the curves of her body, exploring every inch of her with a reverent touch, as if committing her to memory all over again.

Her hands move to the waistband of your pants, her fingers deftly unbuttoning them and sliding them down your legs. The cool air brushes against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating from her body. She straddles you, her thighs pressing against your hips, and you can feel the wetness between her legs as she grinds against you.

“God, I missed this,” she moans, her head tipping back as she rocks her hips against yours. “I missed you.”

You grip her hips, guiding her movements as your own arousal builds. Her breath comes in short, shallow bursts, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she loses herself in the rhythm. Her hands grip your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin just enough to leave marks, and the sting only adds to the fire coursing through your veins.

“Yuna,” you groan, your voice rough with desperation. “I need you.”

She leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless. “Then take me,” she murmurs against your mouth. “Take me like you used to.”

Her words ignite something primal within you, and you flip her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head. She lets out a surprised laugh, quickly replaced by a low moan as you press yourself against her, your length teasing her entrance.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your voice strained with restraint.

She nods, her eyes dark with desire. “Please,” she begs, her hips lifting to meet yours. “I need you inside me.”

You don’t need any more encouragement. With a slow, steady thrust, you enter her, both of you groaning in unison at the sensation. She’s tight, her walls clenching around you as if trying to pull you deeper, and you savor the feeling of being inside her once again.

Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as you begin to move. Each thrust is deliberate, measured, designed to draw out the pleasure for both of you. Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging gently as she gasps your name, her voice echoing in the quiet room.

“Faster,” she urges, her nails scraping down your back. “Harder.”

You oblige, increasing your pace as her pleas grow more desperate. Her hips buck against yours, meeting each thrust with equal fervor, and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air. Her breaths come in short, ragged gasps, her body tightening around you as she teeters on the edge of release.

“Y/N… Y/N, I’m close,” she whimpers, her voice breaking as she clings to you. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop.”

You bury your face in the crook of her neck, your lips brushing against her skin as you whisper, “Let go, Yuna. I’ve got you.”

Her climax hits her hard, her body convulsing around you as she cries out your name. The sensation sends you over the edge, and with a final, powerful thrust, you spill yourself inside her, your vision blurring as waves of pleasure crash over you.

For several moments, neither of you moves, content to simply bask in the afterglow. Her fingers stroke your back, her touch tender and soothing, and you press a soft kiss to her shoulder before finally pulling away.

She looks up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Do you remember the first time we did this?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” you reply, your hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “How could I forget?”

She smiles, though there’s a sadness in her expression that makes your chest tighten. “I wish things were different,” she says softly. “I wish I hadn’t hurt you.”

“We can’t change the past,” you tell her, your fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “But maybe… maybe we can start over.”

Her eyes widen, hope flickering in their depths. “Do you mean that?”

Before you can answer, she kisses you again, her lips pouring everything she can’t say into the gesture. And as you kiss her back, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this is the second chance you’ve both been waiting

The kiss deepens, her fingers tangling in your hair as if she's afraid to let you go. You can feel her trembling beneath you, a mix of hope, longing, and fear coursing through her. When you finally pull away, your foreheads rest together, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

"I mean it," you say softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. "But if we're going to start over, things have to be different, Yuna. No secrets, no lies. We need to be honest with each other-completely."

She nods quickly, her eyes searching yours as if trying to commit every detail to memory. "I promise," she whispers. "I'll do whatever it takes to make this work, Y/n. I've lost you once, and I'm not going to make the same mistake again."

Her words tug at something deep inside you, a flicker of the love you once shared beginning to reignite. But there's still a part of you that's wary, a part that remembers the pain of betrayal and the sleepless nights spent wondering what you did wrong.

"Starting over doesn't mean forgetting," you say, your tone firm but gentle. "We both need to face what happened before we can move forward. Do you understand that?"

"I do," she says, her voice steady despite the tears welling in her eyes. "And I'll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I'm serious. I'll earn back your trust, Y/n, no matter how long it takes."

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of the past hangs heavy between you, but so does the possibility of something new, something better.

"Alright," you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "Let's try."

The relief that washes over her is palpable, and she throws her arms around you, holding you close as if you might slip away at any moment. "Thank you," she murmurs against your chest. "Thank you for giving me another chance."

As you hold her, you can't help but wonder if you've made the right decision. The road ahead won't be easy-rebuilding what you had will take time, patience, and an unshakable commitment from both of you. But as you feel her heart beating against yours, you realize that some risks are worth taking.

Later that night, as the two of you lie tangled together in the sheets, Yuna's head resting on your chest, she traces lav patterns on your skin with her fingertips.

"Do you ever think about the future?" she asks softly, her voice laced with a vulnerability that catches you off guard.

"Sometimes," you admit. "Why?"

She shifts slightly, propping herself up on one elbow so she can look at you. "Because I want you to be in mine," she says, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. "I know it's too soon to say things like that, but. I need you to know how I feel. You're not just a second chance for me, Y/n. You're my only chance."

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you're left speechless. But as you look into her eyes, you realize that despite everything, a part of you still loves her-still wants to believe that the two of you can build something beautiful together.

Taking her hand in yours, you press a kiss to her palm and meet her gaze. "If we're going to do this, we take it one step at a time," you say. "No rushing, no expectations. Just us, figuring things out as we go."

She smiles, a genuine, radiant smile that makes your heart ache in the best possible way. "I can live with that," she says.

And as you lie there together, the shadows of the past slowly fading into the background, you can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope—for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t seem so uncertain after all.

The soft rays of morning sunlight stream through the curtains, painting the room in a gentle golden hue. You stretch, feeling the pleasant soreness from the night before, and glance down at Yuna, who is still curled up against you. Her fiery red hair is a mess, splayed out across the pillow, and her lips are slightly parted as she breathes softly in her sleep.

You chuckle to yourself. She looks so peaceful, almost like the Yuna you first fell in love with—before everything became complicated. Not wanting to wake her, you gently untangle yourself from her grasp and slip out of bed.

Padding to the kitchen, you open the fridge and rummage through its contents. Eggs, cheese, a few vegetables—simple but enough for a decent breakfast. As you crack the eggs into a bowl and whisk them, you can’t help but smile at the thought of her reaction.

The smell of sizzling butter and the aroma of freshly scrambled eggs mixed with melted cheese begins to fill the apartment. You chop some green onions and sprinkle them over the eggs, adding a touch of color. The satisfying sizzle echoes through the quiet space, and before long, the scent has spread to every corner of the room.

Behind you, you hear a sleepy groan, followed by the soft rustling of sheets.

“Mm… what’s that smell?” Yuna’s groggy voice floats through the air.

You glance over your shoulder to see her sitting up in bed, her hair adorably disheveled and her eyes still half-closed. She rubs at them lazily before focusing on you, a small smile spreading across her face as she watches you at the stove.

“You’re up early,” she says, her voice teasing. “And cooking? What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” you reply, flipping the eggs onto a plate. “Just thought you might be hungry when you woke up.”

She grins, propping herself up on her elbows. “You’re full of surprises, Y/n. I don’t remember you cooking much before. In fact…” She pauses, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Didn’t your cooking use to suck?”

You snort, shaking your head as you grab a couple of plates and start plating the food. “I’ve improved, believe it or not. You’d be surprised what a person can learn when they’re fending for themselves.”

“Well,” she says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing up, “I guess I’ll be the judge of that.”

As she approaches the kitchen, still dressed in your oversized shirt from the night before, she leans against the counter, watching you with a playful smirk. You hand her a plate, and she raises an eyebrow as she inspects the food.

“Eggs, cheese, green onions… simple but promising,” she says, lifting a fork.

You roll your eyes. “Just eat, critic.”

She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. Her expression shifts, and for a moment, you can’t tell if she’s impressed or just messing with you.

“Well?” you ask, leaning against the counter opposite her.

She swallows, placing the fork down dramatically before breaking into a grin. “Not bad, chef. Not bad at all. I’d give it a solid eight out of ten.”

“Eight?” you repeat, feigning offense. “What’s keeping me from a ten?”

She tilts her head, pretending to think. “Maybe it’s missing… love?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling as she takes another bite. “But seriously, Y/n, this is good. I guess you really have changed.”

Her words carry more weight than you expect, and for a moment, the playful atmosphere gives way to something deeper. She looks up at you, her expression softening.

“You’ve grown a lot,” she says quietly. “I can see it in the way you carry yourself, the way you take care of things. It’s… inspiring.”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at her words, but you shrug it off casually. “Well, I had to grow up eventually.”

Yuna reaches across the counter, her fingers brushing against yours. “I’m glad I get to see this version of you,” she says softly.

You meet her gaze, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you. The past, the present, and the uncertain future all blur together, leaving only the fragile connection you’re trying to rebuild.

“Let’s just take it one day at a time,” you say, your voice steady.

She nods, her smile warm and genuine. “One day at a time.”

And as the morning sunlight fills the room, you realize that, for the first time in a long time, the day ahead doesn’t feel so daunting.

The decision to give Yuna another chance weighs heavily on your mind, like standing at the edge of a precipice. You’re fully aware of what’s at stake—your heart, your trust, and maybe even your peace of mind. But something about her feels different this time. Or maybe it’s the part of you that never stopped loving her, hoping against hope that this time, things might be different.

The two of you start slow, agreeing to rebuild your relationship step by step. Date nights become a regular thing—dinners, quiet walks in the park, or just staying in and watching movies together. Each moment feels like a cautious dance, balancing hope and fear, love and doubt.

One evening, you’re sitting on the couch with her, a bowl of popcorn between you and an old rom-com playing on the screen. Yuna leans against your shoulder, her hand resting lightly on your thigh. It’s a quiet, domestic moment, but your thoughts are anything but calm.

“Y/n,” she says softly, her voice pulling you from your thoughts.

“Yeah?” you reply, glancing down at her.

She hesitates, her fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “Do you… still think about it? What I did?”

Her question hangs in the air, heavy and unavoidable. You let out a slow breath, your eyes drifting to the TV but not really seeing it.

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. “I think about it sometimes. It’s hard not to.”

She pulls away slightly, just enough to look at you. Her eyes are filled with guilt and fear, and you can see the words she wants to say but can’t quite bring herself to voice.

“But I’m trying,” you continue, meeting her gaze. “I’m trying to let go of the past. To focus on what we have now.”

Her hand tightens on your leg, and she leans into you again, her face pressed against your shoulder. “I don’t deserve this,” she whispers. “I don’t deserve you.”

You wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer. “Maybe not,” you say lightly, trying to ease the tension. “But I’m giving you a chance anyway. So don’t mess it up.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, but you can feel the tension in her body start to ease. “I won’t,” she promises. “I swear, Y/n. I won’t mess this up.”

The days turn into weeks, and you begin to notice the subtle changes in Yuna. She’s more thoughtful now, more attentive. She goes out of her way to show you how much she cares, whether it’s through small gestures like cooking your favorite meals or leaving little notes for you to find throughout the day.

But there are still moments when doubt creeps in—when you catch her staring off into the distance with a troubled look or when a conversation reminds you of the cracks that once broke your relationship apart.

One night, as you’re lying in bed together, you decide to confront it head-on.

“Yuna,” you say, your voice cutting through the quiet.

She turns to face you, her eyes wide and questioning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, then pause. “Actually… I just need to ask you something.”

She nods, sitting up slightly. “What is it?”

“Why now?” you ask, your voice steady but laced with curiosity. “Why come back now, after everything?”

She takes a deep breath, her hands twisting nervously in the sheets. “Because I realized how stupid I was,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I let go of the best thing that ever happened to me, and for what? A fleeting moment of… I don’t even know what. I hated myself for hurting you, Y/n. I still do. But when I saw you again, I thought… maybe this is my chance to make it right.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, raw and unfiltered. You can see the pain in her eyes, the regret that she carries with her every day.

“I can’t promise I’ll forget,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “But I’m willing to try. As long as you’re willing to put in the effort, too.”

She nods quickly, tears brimming in her eyes. “I am. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/n. I’ll prove to you that I’m worth it.”

You reach out, cupping her face in your hands. “You don’t have to prove anything, Yuna. Just… be honest with me. Be real. That’s all I want.”

“I will,” she whispers, leaning into your touch.

As the weeks pass, you find yourself slowly letting your guard down, piece by piece. It’s not easy—trust is fragile, and the scars of the past don’t fade overnight. But with each shared laugh, each tender moment, and each promise kept, you begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, you and Yuna can make this work.

But deep down, you know you’re playing with fire. One wrong move, one misstep, and it could all come crashing down.

And yet, as you lie beside her, her head resting on your chest and her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, you can’t help but think that some risks are worth taking.

For now, you’ll take it one day at a time.

The day feels surreal, the kind of quiet that makes you question how you got here. Yuna is by your side, her arms wrapped around yours as you both walk the short distance from her apartment to yours, carrying the last of her belongings.

She giggles, the sound light and musical, and leans her head against your shoulder. "It feels strange, doesn’t it?" she says, her voice filled with warmth. "Moving in together after all this time… like we’ve come full circle."

You glance at her, your emotions a tangled web. Her hair is back to the soft brown shade you once adored, framing her face in a way that makes her look like the girl you fell for all those years ago. But she’s not the same, and neither are you. The ghosts of the past linger, no matter how much effort you both put into rebuilding what was broken.

“Yeah,” you reply softly, your grip tightening slightly on the bag you’re carrying. “It’s… strange.”

Reaching your apartment, you set the bags down by the door. Yuna takes a step inside, looking around with a contented smile. She turns to you, her arms outstretched, and pulls you into a hug.

“You’ve made this place feel like home,” she murmurs, her cheek pressed against your chest.

You hesitate for a moment before wrapping your arms around her, the familiar scent of her shampoo flooding your senses. “It’s home because you’re here now,” you say, the words sounding both true and heavy.

She pulls back slightly, her eyes sparkling with emotion. “I never thought I’d get this chance, Y/n. To be with you again. To… to have a family with you.”

Her hands move to her stomach, and she caresses it gently, the motion so tender it tugs at something deep within you. Your eyes follow the gesture, and for a moment, the reality of it all washes over you like a tidal wave.

A family. A future. With her.

Your gaze shifts to the wedding ring on her finger—a symbol of the promises you made, the commitment you’re trying so hard to uphold. It feels heavy, like a chain and a lifeline all at once.

Yuna notices your silence and tilts her head, her smile soft but questioning. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say after a beat, forcing a small smile. “Just… thinking about everything. About us.”

She steps closer, her hands resting on your chest as she gazes up at you. “I know it hasn’t been easy,” she says quietly. “And I know I hurt you before. But I swear, Y/n, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. To us.”

Her words are earnest, filled with a love that feels overwhelming in its intensity. You nod, though the knot in your chest remains. “I know you will.”

She smiles again, her joy infectious as she intertwines her fingers with yours. “Let’s make dinner together tonight,” she suggests, her tone light. “You can show off those cooking skills of yours again.”

You chuckle despite yourself. “Only if you promise not to criticize too much.”

“No promises,” she teases, leaning up to kiss your cheek.

As the two of you begin unpacking her belongings, the room fills with her laughter and the faint sound of music playing in the background. She moves with a lightness you haven’t seen in years, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to believe in the happiness you’re building together.

But as you watch her carefully place a photo of the two of you on the shelf—a relic from the early days of your love—you can’t shake the mixed feelings swirling in your chest.

You want this to work. You need it to work. But the scars of the past don’t fade so easily, and the weight of what you’re risking—your heart, your trust, your future—hangs heavily in the air.

Still, when Yuna looks at you with that radiant smile, her hand resting protectively over the life you’ve created together, you can’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, you can make it work.

For now, that’s enough.

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - two (j.yh); section two

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate.one | two (section 1); (*section two) | three | four 🔗read on ao3 ✨across stardust pinterest board

note: i hope everyone enjoys this chapter. it's wildly fluffy and wildly romantic, and then deliciously smutty so i hope everyone enjoys. **this part was too long for tumblr's new word count guidelines! please check out the FIRST half of this part, here!

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, suggestive language, allusions to a past ex who pressured her into things she wasn't ready for, anxiety etc., and finally the smut; heavy makeouts, grinding, oral f!receiving, convos about oral m!receiving, lots of fingering, lots of cock touching, earth shattering soulmate sex, rough sex, soft!dom/pleasure!dom yunho and wide eyed sub!reader, heavy on the dirty talk, HEAVY on the praise. we got a lot of good girls in this one, and good god tagging for gratuitous use of pet names from yunho. lots of missionary and missionary adjacent positions, spooning sex to idk he's on his back and she's on top but laying on him it's hard to describe but by god is it hot please enjoy

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 28.1k

**did you read section one of part two yet? if not, click here!!

Slowly, ever so slowly, the hazy cloud starts to lift. You’re both still shaking, Yunho hiding in your shoulder, his lips brushing against your pulsepoint as he comes back down from his high. Your fingers are locked tightly on his back still, legs pinning him to your pelvis, and it takes time for you to breathe through the last bits of dizziness and start to feel some kind of normal again. 

Finally you feel him exhale out an intentional breath and kiss your shoulder before pressing up on his forearms to look down at you, “Am I crushing you?” He lifts a bit of his body weight off, but you keep your arms locked. 

“Don’t go,” You say, holding him steady. 

He smiles dreamily, and shakes his head, “Not going anywhere,” 

Your legs fall slack on either side of him and you let your hands slide down to rest on his chest, “Good,” 

His eyes flick down over your bodies, to where you’re still connected hip to hip and with the fog of your newly cemented bond lifted, you feel a pang of his concern, “Did I hurt you?” 

You shake your head, smoothing your hand over his chest, “Mm-mm,” 

“You sure?” He takes one of your hands in his and gently kisses your knuckles. 

“You would have felt it if you did,” You remind him, “looks like we were right, we really were made for each other,” 

He rolls his eyes and smiles at your soft teasing, “Uh-huh,” 

You thread your fingers with his and tug him back down to where you rest in the pillows, kissing him as you do, “Mm,” you sigh, “do you think it will feel like that every time?” 

“If it does,” He laughs, “I’ll never make it out of this bed, I better resign now,” 

You nudge him, “Not funny,” 

“It’s a little funny,” He kisses you again, “but maybe I should, just keep you right here on my cock all day,” 

You shiver at his words, “And I’m the tease,” 

He laughs a little but squeezes your hand, “If it feels like that every time, I’m not teasing,” 

Your stomach flips pleasantly at his words, “Well,” your fingers skate down his chest, “we do have three days,” 

“That’s true,” He murmurs, his brow quirking playfully as he pecks a kiss to your lips, “do you have any objections to me keeping you right here?” 

You shake your head, “We’ll have to eat at some point, though,” 

“I’m pretty sure we can manage having sex in the kitchen,” He nips at your lip.

“My kitchen’s pretty small,” 

“I’m very creative,” He counters, his kisses traveling down your jaw now. 

You sigh, breathy as his tongue catches on your throat, “W-where else?” 

He huffs a laugh, “Shower,” 

“Of course,” 

“Couch,” His teeth tug gently at your earlobe and your muscles flutter and clench. Yunho groans lightly, and you feel his cock start to stiffen up inside you again. 

“And then?” Unconsciously, your legs start to widen just a little more. 

“The wall,” His voice is low and warm in your ear, “how see-through is that window, anyways?” 

Your eyes roll and you twitch under him, fingers tightening on his skin, “It’s reflective glass, you c-can’t see through it,” 

Yunho hums pleasantly, sucking at the pulsepoint of your neck and sending a shock of heat down your body, and you feel him start to stiffen up inside you again. A little breathy sound bubbles from your lips, and his hips grind down into yours just a little. His jaw tightens, muscles tense, and you feel him rock hard again and pressing insistently at all your sweet spots. 

“A-again?” You shiver. 

“Baby,” He sighs and chuckles, “all night,” 

Part of you thinks he’s kidding about that, but with that look in his eyes you know he’s more than serious. 

“Usually I’d need a little bit,” He admits, shifting up to his knees and dragging his hands down your body, “but you make me crazy,” 

You nod, moaning as his cock shifts inside you with the position change. Nothing has ever filled you like this, felt like this. The stretch is delicious, the way he seems to reach the tenderest places in your cunt that makes you see stars. The dizziness from the bonding a moment ago has dissipated, but the searing heat is still there, and you shiver, his fingertips skating over your tattoo before his hands find a home on your hips. 

“What do you say, baby? Can you take me again?” His hips pulse slowly, a torturous drag in and out to tease you. 

“Fuck yes,” You moan, one hand flying up to the wall behind you to brace yourself. 

“God, you sound pretty,” He pulses his hips again, punching a surprised moan from your throat, “exactly like that, I’m addicted to that sound.” 

He’s so verbal now that you’re not both swimming in the sensation of your newly forged bond, that night on the phone really was just a glimpse into who your partner is behind closed doors, his idol persona left on the concert hall floor. 

”J-just like that,” You nod, gripping the sheets. 

“Like that?” He teases, dragging you down onto his cock with his hands on your hips, “Yeah?” 

You moan again, “Harder,” 

“Fuck,” He curses, hands tight, sure to bruise, “we’re going to be so good together, aren’t we?” 

Before you can respond, he answers your plea with his hips, picking up the pace so that each pulse forward is met with the drag down of your body, connecting your bodies with firm, sharp snaps, the sound wet and wanton. 

“Y-yes, yes,” You all but sob, pleasure arcing through your belly and a fresh sheen of sweat breaking over your brow. 

Yunho groans, roughly fucking into you in just the way you needed, his body slick with sweat and glistening in the low light, his muscles flexing and relaxing with every snap of his hips. 

His mouth falls open, thumbs digging into your belly where he grips your waist, “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” 

Your cunt clenches, “You feel so good,” 

“That’s my good girl,” He breathes, his eyes hazy and lips parted as he watches you coming apart beneath him. 

You moan hard at the praise, your belly fluttering and clenching at the memory of how he talked to you that first time. You’ve thought of it dozens of times, desperate for exactly this, “Yes,” you whine, “I love when you call me that. Love when you talk to me like that,” 

Yunho shudders, his hips stuttering in pace and he groans, “Yeah?” 

“Don’t stop,” You reach for him, nails brushing over his skin as you try to get your hands on him. 

“Not stopping,” He assures you, but his hips do slow as he says, “what else do you like, hmm?” 

You can feel his curiosity, and his arousal too, the way he wants to know every button that makes you tick. Your slick channel pulses around his cock and you sigh in the sheets, “What do you think I like?” 

A half smile quirks his lips and he slows his pace to a stop, “Are you trying to tease me?” 

Your cheeks heat, caught under the exactness of his gaze and the rolling ripple of arousal through your body. 

“Cute,” He murmurs again, but he rolls his hips once hard to make you moan, “so pretty when you moan for me,” 

“God,” You have to pull your eyes away. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” He brushes your hips with gentler hands. 

“I’m not,” You drop a hand over your face.  

“You’re blushing, baby,” His fingers loop under yours and pull your hand away from your eyes. 

“Don’t pretend it doesn’t turn you on,” You counter, “I can feel you,” 

“Oh?” He quirks a brow, rolling his hips, “You can feel me?” 

“Shut up,” You groan, flutters rolling through your abdomen.

“Let’s see if I can make you really embarrassed, hmm?” 

“Yunho,” You manage, but you’re caught under him, the press of his hips and the firm pressure of his hands.

”You’re mine, right?” His fingers skate over your body as he adjusts himself onto his knees between your splayed open thighs, “You trust me?” 

Anticipation buzzes inside you, your mouth running dry. In this position you’re completely exposed, his eyes raking over your every inch, and when his tongue darts out to wet his lips with his tongue, your breath quickens

“Do you?” He prompts softly. 

“Y-yes,” 

He smirks a little, and then he settles on his heels and squeezes your thighs, “You like when I grab you,” he says, “I can feel your little jolt of excitement every time I do this.” He squeezes again for good measure, and just like he said your stomach jumps. 

“You’re my soulmate,” You sigh, “of course I like it when you touch me,” 

“Mm,” He nods, his hands skating up your skin until he’s cupping your breasts, “fair, how about this?” 

You soften, “That’s nice,” 

“And this?” He squeezes a little and you swallow to keep your composure, but when he finds both your nipples with his thumb and forefinger to give them a gentle pinch, you pant, “This?” 

He watches your eyes go glassy, and you’re sure he can feel the liquid fire pooling in your belly. 

He pinches them again, this time adding a little more pressure and tugging them upwards a bit before he releases. 

You moan sharply, fingers locking down on the bedding beneath you at the sharp zing that passed from your chest to your achingly neglected clit. 

“Is that nice, baby?” He tugs again, “Or am I being too rough with you?” 

He’s teasing you, and you shiver, “Not too rough,” 

The muscle in his jaw tightens but he lets that pass, cataloguing it and moving on, “And I think we’ve already established you like my hands,” 

“No surprise there,” You sigh. 

“My fingers?” He slides his hands up, and your heart starts to beat faster in your chest. Yunho settles one broad hand at the base of your throat, his fingers circling your neck gently. He doesn’t apply any pressure, but the way his thumb and index finger brace each side of your jaw has you trembling in his hold. 

You swallow, throat bobbing against his palm. 

“You do,” He murmurs, his voice a little rougher. With his opposite hand, he ever so gently touches your lips with the pads of his fingers, and like you’ve done it for him a thousand times before you let your mouth fall open. 

He drags his fingers over the curve of your lower lip again, and your cunt spasms around his cock where it's still buried inside you. He smiles at your reaction and then he hooks two of his fingers over your lip, resting on your teeth. 

You gasp sharply, your tongue pressing against the pads of his fingers. 

He waits, his patience a challenge, and then you melt. You dip your head forwards to accept his fingers into your mouth, letting them slide back on your tongue, your lips closing around them so that when you drag your head back you can suck them just a little. 

You can taste yourself on his skin and he groans, “Good girl,” 

Your core clenches again, but as his fingers slip free from your mouth you pulse your muscles again to tease him this time, “You’re easier to read than you think,” you tell him, “I know what you like too.” 

He smiles, full of cheek, and shifts back to roll his hips, “Yeah?” He slides his hand down, spreading it wide over your belly, “I like being inside you,” 

“You like,” You start but he shakes his head.

”I like being buried so deep I can feel it here,” He presses down with the heel of his hand and thrusts forwards, driving his cock into you, and the tight sensation of his cockhead punching into your g-spot leaves you moaning, all teasing forgotten at the sudden sensation of pleasure at his hands. 

Yunho drops over you properly now, gathering you back into his arms and pushing your legs back open wide with a tilt of your hips. He kisses you hard and then his hips start to pulse, “I like knowing this little pussy belongs to me,” 

“Oh, fuck,” You grip down hard on his shoulders. 

“That’s it,” He tips you back, rolling into you, “open up for me,” 

You moan hard, arching into him. 

“Fuck,” He curses low in your ear, “sweetheart, you feel incredible,” 

You nod into his shoulder, “S-so do you, don’t stop,”

“The best thing I’ve ever felt in my life” He manages. 

“Yunho, god,” 

“That’s right,” He slips a hand under our leg, sliding up the back of your thigh to pin you open, “so good,” 

Hot need arcs up your spine, belly tight with burgeoning pleasure, and you shudder a broken sob into his skin, “Please, please,” 

He thrusts hard, groaning with every jut of his hips, “Fuck,” he pants, “you want to know what I really like?” 

“Yes, yes,”

”I like you like this,” His kisses travel over your slick skin, “messy, begging for me,” 

“For you,” You babble almost mindlessly. 

“I like you coming,” He moans, “I could watch you come forever,” 

“Fuck, god,” Your head falls back to the mattress. 

“I want to make you lose yourself,” His pace steadies, and he drops his hand from your leg to the sheets for better leverage, “I want to watch you go so cockdrunk you don’t even know what sounds you’re making, how loud you’re being for me,” 

“Yunho, oh my god,” Your moan is rough, deep in your chest. 

He drops his forehead to your hair and nods, “Exactly like that,” 

Your body is starting to move on its own, your thighs trembling, and your hips canting upwards to catch more friction on your clit as he fucks you, and you whine in heady need. 

In a flash, his hips lock down hard, your body arching into his chest as you start to see the bursts of color behind your tightly shut eyes, but he doesn’t stop moving. Yunho grinds down, rocking his hips to give you extra pressure, and with needy jerks of your body you hump artlessly up into him, pleasure rolling up from your clit as he cock sits heavy and thick inside you. 

His lips connect with your ear as he drops his body weight over you, hands gathering you close, “That’s it, greedy girl,”

Sparks roll up your spine and you moan into his shoulder. 

“That’s it,” His hand slips down and cups your ass as you shudder, “take it, take it,” 

You gasp sharply, nails digging into his shoulders, “Oh, god, oh fuck,” 

“There she is,” He says hot at your cheek, his face leaving heavily against yours, “there’s my girl,” 

You moan, and he circles his hips, grinding deeper.

“You like taking every inch of me, baby?” He flicks your nipple sharply, “You like knowing you were made for me?” 

Your orgasm feels like it’s a breath away, ready to pull you open in a snap, and you sob beneath him, “M-more,” your head falls back as you scramble beneath him, heels digging into the mattress as you arch and try to bring yourself up and over the edge. 

“Come for me,” He kisses you, wet, fast, “come on babygirl,” 

“Ah, ah,” You press your eyes tight, holding him like a lifeline as you reach for it, “p-please, I want to come for you so bad,” 

“That’s it,” 

The pressure in your body builds, but you can’t reach it, and you ache to push your hands between your thighs. In a flash, his hands pulse on your skin, and he kisses you once more before pushing up and away from your body and drawing his cock halfway out of your aching center. 

“No, no,” You reach for him, eyes fluttering open in the hazy dim. 

On his knees once again he starts to rub your clit, his thumb pressing firm circles, the slick sound of it making your eyes roll back. 

“God,” You curse, a ripple of pleasure running through you like a spasm. 

He licks his lips, watching your face intently as he works your swollen bud, “Yeah? Do you need this to come?” 

The husky tone of his voice makes it sound like dirty talk, but you know he’s also asking for real, learning your body for the first time. You nod, “Usually, but, it’s not,”  

“Shh,” He pulls back, sliding his cock out of your wet warmth and kissing your knee before letting your legs fall slack to the mattress and shifting to your side, “I want to give you what you need,” 

“You are,” You tell him as he kisses you, nuzzling into you. 

“I can feel it,” He reminds you as he slides behind you, spooning you now and caging you in with his arms, “I know what you need, let me give it to you,” 

You shudder, melting as his hands slide over your body, “Mm,” you sigh, “I was j-just going to say I don’t think I need it with you,”

“But it’s better?” He asks, lifting your leg and hooking a hand under your knee. 

You angle your hips with an arch of your back, opening yourself to him, and gasp as he directs his cock back into your slick hole, “N-no,” You manage, “I don’t know,” 

He kisses your shoulder, “Let’s find out,” 

With a swift punch of his hips forwards he seats himself again and you moan, gripping down on the pillow under your cheek. 

“There we go,” He croons and you moan into his bicep. He hums, fingers teasing your slit as he pushes in and out, “is it better because I’m bigger?” 

“Yunho!” You gasp as he thrusts again, head falling back against the top of his chest. 

“Do I hit your sweet spots, jagi?” His voice is hoarse with his own need. 

“Yes, god,” You moan. 

“Tell me,” His middle finger finds your clit again, “say it,” 

You babble a response through a taut moan, “You’re so big,” 

“And?” He bites down on your shoulder, rubbing faster.

“You’re the,” You gasp as his hips punch back and forth sharply, “oh, fuck, yes, you’re the biggest cock I’ve ever had,” 

“Good girl,” He moans, “that’s my good girl,” 

Hot pleasure rolls through you at his words and you whine. 

“Feels good?” He teases. 

“So good,” You manage, “so, so good,” 

“Let go,” He kisses your cheek, gritting his teeth to focus on working you with his fingers an the steady pulse of his hips at the same time, “let it go and come,” 

Your hand flies to his forearm, gripping onto him as you cry out, and he pants behind you, kissing any part of your skin he can reach in this position.

“Good girl,” He murmurs low, “just hold onto me,” 

He slides his other hand from your knee to your hip to brace you steady and then he starts to adjust the pace of his hips, still slow, but firmer now so that every snap of his hips strikes a wet smacking drumbeat through the room as he circles his fingers on your slick clit. 

Heat rockets through you, your nails digging into his forearm, and then you feel it. Just a little more will take you right over the edge, and you choke out a breathless moan, “Please, please,” 

“Come,”

Your stomach tightens, legs trembling, and when it hits you crack open in his arms. The wave takes you just the same as before, and distantly through the ringing in your ears, you can hear the muttered pleas of Yunho as he feels the rush of your pleasure through the bond.

You’re boneless, both of you shaking, and then he wraps his arms around you properly and rolls onto his back, your body laid prone across his chest. His cock stays deep inside your pulsing core as you turn, but with a hiss he jerks his hips back and pulls out. 

“Baby, oh my god,” Your chest is heaving, and you reach back for him, finding his cheek. 

He’s quiet, shuddering beneath you.

“You didn’t come?” You manage, still breathless.

He shakes his head against yours, “Don’t want this to end too soon,” 

“We have days,” You tell him, “now please, I want you to feel good,” 

His hands tighten on your hips as he weighs your words, and then with a slow shift of his hips you feel his cock start to press at your entrance again. He slips home with ease, and you moan at the sudden stretch of him again, his cock thick and pulsing with his almost orgasm. 

“I,” He pulses his hips once and groans, “oh, I’m not going to last,” 

“Don’t stop,” You urge him again, “please, just take me,” 

He moans, his stomach tightening, and then he starts to move.

He’s pumping in and out of you now, pinning your back to his chest with his arms banded around you as he rolls his hips and you can feel the tether in him start to fray. He’s getting close, but even without the bond you’d know it. His breath is thready, a hot pant against your ear, and your bodies slide together with slick sweat. 

He feels unreal, stretching you wide with every rhythmic stroke, but you feel his heart hammer when your legs start to fall closed, your walls tightening around him. 

“You’re mine,” He breathes, “s-so beautiful for me,” 

“All yours,” You sigh, and this time with intention you draw your thighs tight together. 

The position is tangled, muscle straining and almost an accident, but suddenly his cock has never felt bigger or thicker or perfectly positioned to hit that spot again and again. He groans, and holds your hips firmly to bounce you back down into every thrust as he chases his release.

Your head falls back over his shoulder, and you reach up to brace yourself on the wall behind your heads, your other hand still cupping his cheek and holding his face to yours. 

“Shit,” He curses, “so tight, fuck, babygirl,” 

You moan, “Please, yes, yes,” 

“So tight and,” he babbles against your cheek, “fuck, still taking every inch of me,” 

“So deep,” You gasp as his pace increases, and your eyes slam shut, a bubbling snap of pleasure rolling up your spine.

”God, I’m,” He shudders, moaning in earnest now, “b-baby, I’m close,” 

You feel his need, suddenly striking you through the unmasked connection of the bond, and though he doesn’t ask you for anything, beg you at all, you know exactly what to give him. 

You moan, arching your back to take his cock inside just a little more with every stroke, “Yunho,” your fingers lace into his hair and you turn your head to find his ear, “come,” 

He huffs, fingers pressing bruises into your hips.

”I’m all yours,” You tell him, voice husky, “this pussy is all yours, all yours,” 

“Mine,” His hips snap harder, a punishing pace, and you feel the taut edge of his pleasure. 

“Made for your cock, baby,” 

“Fuck,” 

“No one’s ever fucked me like this,” You pant, knowing exactly what your words will do to him. 

He groans, burying his face in your shoulder.

”C-come inside me,” You beg, “make me yours,” 

His teeth sink into your shoulder, his hips erratic, “Mine, mine,” 

“Yes, baby, please,” You rock your hips, taking over the rolling motion where he’s started to falter. 

“I’m,” His words are cut off with a groan, and his hips slam up twice more before he holds himself in deep and you feel the hot sensation of his cum pumping inside you. 

His orgasm yanks you down into your own in an unexpected flash of sensation, your vision fuzzy, head dizzy, and your body jerks in ecstatic fits and starts as you moan, wanton and wordless in his ear. 

“One more,” He murmurs, recovering from his own heady orgasm faster than you, his hand pushing between your locked thighs, middle finger circling on your pulsing clit, “just one more,” 

Your hips jerk with overstimulation and you whine, “I can’t,”

”Yes,” He kisses your forehead, bracing your body with one and while his other blissfully tortures your aching cunt, “come on, sweetheart,” 

“Yunho, oh, oh, God,” Your orgasm stretches, his fingers cresting you straight up into another shuddering peak. 

His body curls around you, dipping to the side when you jerk, holding you into his chest as he works you through it. The sound of his tender voice carries you up, “There we go,” he croons, “oh, god I love you,” 

“C-Coming,” Is all you can manage, and your body folds in on itself, your orgasm white hot and almost painful. 

He shudders as he feels you finish, and slows his fingers, “Good girl, come. I love you so much, can you feel me inside you, baby?” 

You manage a nod, moaning into the sheets, riding it out with rocks of your hips until it turns from pleasure to sharp overstimulation and you whine, pushing his hand away. 

“I got you,” He wraps you up tight, spooning you from behind, “shh, you’re okay,” 

Trembling, you pull his arms to your chest, using him as your anchor as he shifts his hips and finally uncouples your bodies.

“You’re okay,” He repeats, “just breathe,” He kisses your hair softly, soothing you with gentle touches as your breath returns. 

“M-mhm,”

”You’re perfect,” His lips travel to your shoulder, “I love you,” 

“I love you too,” You murmur, resting your lips on his knuckles. 

“Love you, love you,” He mutters against your skin, and you sink into him, a contented smile on your lips. 

You lay wrapped up together for what feels like hours, both of you coming back into your bodies slowly. His arms slacken, and you slowly roll onto your front, cheek against the cool sheets as you recover from the whirlwind of bonding.

He murmurs sweetness against your spine, massages circles into your hips, and little by little your mind reconnects too. 

Yunho sidles down in the bed, cuddling you from behind, “Are you hungry, sweetheart?” 

You shake your head a little but you say, “Maybe a little,” 

“Let’s go downstairs, I’ll fix you something,” He says, even though it’s your apartment. 

You smile and shake your head again, “Five more minutes?” 

He kisses your shoulder and you feel him nod, “Five more minutes,” 

Cocooned in his warmth, and in the perfection of your bed, you let yourself relax. 

More than five minutes have come and gone when he finally speaks again. Yunho’s fingers skate up and down your spine, slowly tracing each vertebrae like he’s making a mental map of you, “When did you get your first one?” 

“Hmm?” You sigh, looking slightly over your shoulder at him. 

“Tattoo,” He clarifies, now ghosting his touch over the large crane on your back, “you have so many, but when did you start?” 

You stretch in the sheets, and roll towards him, shifting onto your back now and twisting your arm to show him the delicate lines of your first tattoo, English script in faded black. desire.

He passes the pad of his thumb over the lettering and the corner of his mouth quirks up. 

“Not because of the song,” You laugh softly, “I was seventeen,” 

“Hmm,” He lets his fingers travel up, studying more of your lines of ink, “young,” 

He traces the lines of the flowers, the fan, the stippled black and gray twisting across your skin. 

“I know,” You tug the sheet up a little higher, tucking it around your naked body to ward off some of the chill of your apartment, “I just wanted to do something reckless for once, but then once I started,” 

He nods, listening, waiting for more. 

“I think I wanted to get under my parent's skin,” You admit, “they were already so disappointed in me, so I thought why not give them something to be really disappointed in?” 

He frowns a little, a crease between his brows, “I hate that you felt like that,” 

“I’m okay now,” You promise him, “Hana and I rarely see them, just holidays and phone calls on birthdays, that kind of thing.” 

He nods, pressing a kiss to your hair, “Still,” 

You give him a tiny shrug, and you find yourself reaching up to your soul mark and brushing it, “For a while I was just running, from them and then from this,” 

“Your mark?” He asks softly.

 You nod, “It was a reminder of that house, of how much they didn’t believe in it. They never even wanted Hana and I to daydream about it, to wonder what it would be like to find our soulmate. They were so set on us following the path they laid out, and for a long time the mark was a reminder of what I wasn’t supposed to want.” 

He swallows tightly, and you feel his discomfort at your words, the flicker of anger in his gut. 

“I’m alright,” You continue, “but the tattoos started like that. First something to provoke them, and then something to distract myself from seeing this. I thought about covering it, but,” 

“You did?” His eyes widen. 

“I considered it,” You tuck your hand in his and give him a squeeze, “but then I realized that the farther I got from believing this could happen for me, the closer I got to what they wanted all along,” 

He studies your expression for a moment and then scoots closer, tucking your bodies together and cupping your cheek, “When did you start believing it could happen again?” 

You remember it so clearly, the pact you made with Iseul, the lines you wrote in your journal that year. You smile and look up at him, “When I got the job at KQ, Iseul and I went out for celebratory drinks when I received the offer letter,” 

His expression softens, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone.

”I decided it was time to grow up,” You explain, “so we agreed that we would date, have fun, and keep looking for the one, but we’d never settle down for less than our soulmate, no matter how long it took to find them.” 

Yunho dips towards you, kissing you tenderly, “I love you,” 

Tucking into his chest you nod, “I love you too,” 

His arms loop around you, cuddling you so that you’re nestled into his warmth, “For what it’s worth,” he murmurs, his fingers carding through your hair, “however you came to them, they’re beautiful, you’re beautiful,” 

A brief flicker of tears pricks the back of your eyes and you press a kiss to his sternum, “Thank you,” you kiss him again, “I love them now, and now I get them for myself,” 

He hums, nodding with his lips on the crown of your head, nuzzling you gently. 

For a moment it’s quiet, just your heart and his beating in time against each other, but then your stomach tightens as you realize something you’ve been neglecting.

 You sigh heavily, “I need to call Hana,” 

“You haven’t told her?” He asks, despite already knowing the answer.

 “No, have you told your brother?” 

His hand stills on your back, “I texted him,” 

Your eyebrows raise, “You texted him?” 

He nods, “Is that alright?” 

“Of course,” You say in a rush, “I just, I don’t know, I’m surprised.” 

“We don’t see each other often,” Yunho says, “but we’re close. It felt strange not telling him something this big in my life,”

You nod, “Exactly.” 

He brushes a hand up and down the length of your back again and then starts to untangle his body from yours, “How about this, can I use your shower?” 

“Sure,” You’re about to tell him where it is, all the little quirks, but he keeps going.

”After, I’ll run back to my place and pick up things for the next few days,” You strangely hate the idea of him leaving, but you know that was always part of the plan considering he didn’t bring anything with him, “while I’m busy give her a call,”

”It’s late,” You find yourself protesting. 

He smiles, “It’s not, you’re nervous,”

You rub at your chest, feeling the curl of anxiety there, “Yeah,” 

“She loves you,” Yunho reminds you as he pulls himself out of bed, “and she knows what having a soulmate feels like, she’s going to be so happy for you, for us.” 

“You’re right,” You breathe.

 “I know you miss her,” He adds softly, “and I know you want to tell her, let me give you the space to do that.” 

Warmth expands in your chest and all you can do is nod. 

He smiles wide, pressing a kiss to your forehead and then he stretches, “Alright, shower’s this way?” Yunho nods towards the obvious path towards the bathroom. 

You nod again, and he sighs, “Perfect,” 

He disappears down the hall and for a brief moment you’re alone with your thoughts. You let your gaze go unfocused towards the ceiling, and you just feel for a moment. You feel different, lighter and heavier at the same time, like all the cells in your body turned over at once, but the knotted rope between you and him feels thicker, corded, braided, unbreakably sure. 

For the first time in weeks, all of a sudden, you feel like you can call her. 

You rub your chest again, rolling out of bed and making your way across the lofted bedroom on slightly shaky legs before finding your robe on its familiar hook and wrapping it around yourself, a smooth silk in floral and dark red. With a deep breath, you pin up your hair and find your phone. The sound of running water comes through the bathroom door, so you make your way downstairs for a bit of privacy and to get a cool glass of water. Once you’re tucked into the familiar corner of your couch with a downy blanket over your lower half, you find Hana’s contact in your phone and you call. 

She picks up after a few rings, “Hello?” 

“Hey,” 

“Was your flight delayed?” She asks, her bright voice soothing you instantly, “You always call me when you get in,” 

“It wasn’t delayed,” You tell her honestly. 

“Ah,” She says, “did you crash immediately? Take a crazy nap? You know that will fuck with adjusting back to the time zone,” 

“Hana,” You sigh, and all at once you wish he was next to you. 

“I know, I know,” She makes a sound, tongue against teeth, “I’m just saying,”

  “I didn’t sleep, or I mean, I did on the plane,” 

“That’s good,” You hear glasses clinking on her side of the line.

  “What are you up to, am I interrupting?” You ask.

  “Hmm?” She says as if she didn’t hear you, and then corrects, “No, sorry, nothing really just some chores,” 

“Oh, good, I thought it might be too late to call,” You admit.

  “It’s only nine,” Hana says and you can practically picture her eye roll. 

Upstairs the sound of your shower taps turning off draws your attention and your eyes flick up to the landing. 

“So, your flight was okay?” Your sister’s voice in your ear brings you back to the present and you nod. 

“Yeah, listen,” 

“Oh,” She cuts you off, “Em wants to know how you liked Paris, you didn’t post anything on Instagram she was devastated,”

  Em, Emmanuelle, Hana’s wife and your sister-in-law, born in Korea but half French on her mother’s side, who spent every summer in Lyon. Of course she would want to know how your first trip to France was, and your head was so wrapped up in Yunho you didn’t even think to text her.

  “I loved it,” You tell your sister honestly, “so much, I’ll send you both some pictures as soon as,” 

“You better,” Hana interjects again, “Em’s right here she’s asking if you had time to see the city?” 

“A little, but, Hana,” 

The door upstairs opens, and Yunho quietly pads back to your lofted bedroom, one of your white towels slung low around his hips. His hair is wet, mussed from rubbing a towel through it, his chest pink from the hot water and steam. Just seeing him makes you feel at ease, and he meets your eyes, “You okay?” He whispers. 

You nod, and he searches for his clothes strewn all over the floor of your bedroom. 

“Hana, what?” Your sister prompts, and you realize it’s not the first time she’s said it, “y/n, are you okay? You sound weird,”

Suddenly, you’re deep in a memory. Hana’s tear streaked face in the hallway of your first apartment, a backpack on her shoulder and a defiant jut to her chin. Sixteen years old and standing her ground more firmly than you ever had in your life up to that point, the strength in her voice when she told you she found her soulmate and she wasn’t going to give her up. 

“y/n?” Hana says again, concern laced through her voice. 

You find Yunho on the landing, watching as he rubs a towel over his hair again, and the words finally tumble out, “I found him,” 

“You, what?” She asks, confused.

  “Hana,” His eyes flick to yours and you find yourself smiling, blush creeping back into your cheeks, “I found him,” 

The penny drops, “Oh my god,” 

”I know,” You reply, and Yunho grins, watching you from the landing.

  “Oh my god?” Hana all but shrieks and you laugh as she reacts, calling to Emmanuelle, voice muffled briefly as she shifts the phone. 

“I know,” You manage. 

“Is he French?” Hana babbles, “That would be insane, that would be crazy if both of us,”

  You duck your head in laughter, “What? No, no he’s not French,” 

“What countries were you in? How the hell did you bump into him - abroad of all places, that’s why it took so long, that’s what I was always saying,” She rambles a mile a minute, and it’s always so hard to slow her down once she gets going, barely taking a breath between sentences. 

“Hana,” You cover your mouth with your hand, “Hana, he’s not foreign, he’s Korean,” 

Yunho’s still smiling as he comes down the stairs, but he’s not dressed to leave, he’s dressed comfortably in just his t-shirt and his boxer briefs. Relief fills you with the knowledge that he’s not about to leave, and he watches you quietly as you try to navigate your sister as she jumps from conclusion to conclusion. 

  “That’s even crazier,” She says, “how the hell did you bump into another Korean outside of Korea while you were working constantly?” 

“Let her tell the story,” You hear Em’s voice in the background. 

“Am I on speaker?” You laugh. 

“You are now,” Em replies this time, “hi, y/n,” 

“Hey Emmie,” 

“I have your sister restrained,” She says, but you hear an irritated huff from Hana, “now, tell us what’s going on and this time Hana’s going to listen,” 

“Shut up,” Hana gripes quietly, with no real malice. 

“You love me,” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hana says, “alright, I’m sorry, I’m listening,” 

Yunho waits patiently, but the moment you reach for him, he crosses from the foot of your stairs to your place on the couch. He had felt it, how much you needed him here, that much you’re sure of when he twines your fingers together. With his touch as a tether, you finally tell them, “I didn’t bump into someone random, and you cannot say ‘I told you so’,” you start off, “but, it’s Yunho. My soulmate is Yunho,” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the call. Hana is rarely stunned silent, but you wait. She knows the group well, from her teasing when you first started there all the way through listening to you tell her stories about work. There’s no doubt in your mind that she remembers your quietly guarded crush. 

“Is he treating you well?” She finally asks, emotion thread in her voice. 

“Yes,” You breathe.

  “And you love him?” 

“Yes,” 

She pauses, “And he,” 

“Yes, Hana,” You roll your eyes, but feel the rush of tears, “obviously,” 

Yunho brushes his thumb over your knuckles and gives you a squeeze. 

“God,” Hana says with a little gasp, “you’re bonded already, aren’t you?” 

You slide a little to the right to get closer to him, “We are,” you confess. 

For a moment you brace yourself, nervous at her reaction to not being told sooner, especially after everything you’ve been through together. At the anxious tumble of your stomach, Yunho separates your hands and reaches around to pull you into his chest and presses a kiss to your temple. 

All your fears disappear in a matter of seconds. Hana laughs sharply and then she’s right back to herself, “Oh my god, I don’t care I have to say it, I told you so.” 

You grin, a few tears spilling over, “Hey,” 

“When have you ever had a crush that lasted longer than a day?” She exclaims, “I knew it,” 

“Hana!” It’s Em who exclaims this time, taking the words right out of your mouth and you fall apart into laughter. 

Yunho laughs too, softly against your hair and you blush and cover your cheek with your hand at the knowledge he can hear your sister’s teasing words. 

“I’m just saying I knew,” 

“God, stop,” You curl into yourself, your face in Yunho’s neck, “you’re embarrassing me,” 

“Holy shit,” Hana exclaims, “is he there?” 

Yunho slides his hand over your thigh and smoothly shifts you into his lap so he can wrap his arms around you, and you sigh, “Yeah, he’s here,” 

“You sound so happy it’s freaking me out,” 

“I am happy, Hana,” You confess, “I’m really, really happy.”

She takes a breath and you can hear the emotion caught in her voice too, “When can I come up to Seoul? We’re overdue for a visit,”

“Soon,” You promise her. 

“The minute you’re free,” She says, “Em and I will make the time, you just say when,”

“I’ll look,” You nod, relaxing into Yunho’s hold, “but soon, I promise.” 

“I want to meet him,” She insists.

“He wants to meet you both too,” You tell them, and Yunho nods against you. 

“His schedule must be crazy, but,”

“Han,” Em interrupts, and you can practically see your sister in law calming her wife with gentle hand motions. 

“I should go,” You finally say into the phone, “but I miss you,” 

Yunho’s hand smooths up and down your back.

“I miss you too, Hani-ya,” You haven’t called her that in years, your beloved little sister who grew up too fast, but the familiar affection slips out of you with ease. 

“I love you,” She says, “I’m so happy for you, I’m so,” 

You swallow tightly and find Yunho’s hand again, “I know, it’s how I felt when you told me about Em,” 

Hana laughs, the sound wet with tears, “Oh my god,” she sniffs and you hear her voice muffled as she scrubs the tears from her cheeks, “I knew we’d both find them, mom and dad were too shitty for us not to be happy now,” 

You smile, nodding with your head on Yunho’s shoulder, “That I know for sure,” 

There’s a brief moment of silence, both of you collecting your own emotions, and then Hana sighs, “I’m sorry, I’ll let you go, but let us know about coming up.”

”I will,” 

“And, y/n,” Your sister says, a mischievous edge back in her voice, “tell him he better take care of you, okay? Tell him to pick you first, okay? Every time,” 

Your throat constricts, and Yunho’s lips brush against your forehead. Before you can get your voice back in control to answer her, he does it for you, “Tell her I already have, I will,” 

You clear the emotion from your throat, “Did you hear that?” 

“Yeah,” Hana manages.

 “He’s got me,” You tell her honestly, “I promise,” 

Hana takes a breath, “Good,” she sniffles, “now stop talking to me and go get laid or something, if we keep talking I’ll keep crying,” 

You laugh a little at your sister’s attempt at deflection, “Yeah, or something,” 

“I love you, I’ll see you so soon, okay?” Hana says. 

“Soon,” You promise again. 

“Bye, unnie,” Em cuts in, affection in her voice, “we are so, so happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” You smile, “I’ll send you some pictures of France, I’m so sorry I forgot before,” 

“Ah, that’s okay,” Em says warmly, “I think you had better things to focus on,” 

Yunho squeezes your hand. 

“Take care,” She says, “we’ll see you soon,” 

“You too,” 

Em ends the call, and you let your phone slip back into your lap, letting out a sigh of relief and exhaustion against him. 

Yunho stays quiet for a moment, giving you a second of space, and then he kisses you and leans down to find your eyes, “Baby?” 

“Yeah,” 

“You okay?” He murmurs. 

You nod, pressing your lips to his and sinking into him, “I am,” you reply softly when the kiss breaks, “thank you for staying,” 

“I realized I couldn’t go tonight,” He says, “I need to be with you a while longer,” 

You squeeze his hand still laced in yours.

Yunho’s eyes are glassy with his own unshed tears, and he swallows and blinks to get himself together before he brings your knuckles to his lips and gives you a tender kiss, “I will, by the way,” he says gently, “pick you first,” 

You know what he’s talking about, his life in the public eye and his new life with you behind the scenes. You feel his honesty, his confidence, the truth in his words, and all you can do is shake your head. You never want him in that position, especially after everything he’s worked for, “You won’t have to.” 

“But I will,” He promises it to you like a vow, sealing it with a kiss, “I always will.” 

“I will too,” You whisper, “I’m not giving this up,” 

“You won’t have to,” He echoes, a soft smile on his lips. 

His kisses are soft, tender now, and he holds you close as he reminds you of all the ways he loves you. Your quiet apartment cocoons you together, a pause in time just for tonight. Night ticks by and Seoul moves outside, but in each other’s arms you stay still, a stone jetty holding steady in the push and pull of the tide. 

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 2 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 ,-

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“Fine,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. He knew there was no point in pushing further. Grace was like a fortress, guarding whatever secrets you had entrusted her with. Talking to her felt futile, like arguing with a wall that refused to crack.

“I won’t press you for more answers,” he said, his voice softening, though the tension lingered in his tone. “At least tell me this—is she in trouble? Is someone trying to hurt her or threaten her?” His jaw tightened as he spoke, his concern leaking through despite his best effort to remain composed.

Grace hesitated before answering. “No,” she replied firmly, her gaze unwavering.

A part of Bucky felt a wave of relief at her reassurance. If Grace said you weren’t in danger, then maybe you were safe. But another part of him sank deeper into confusion and sadness. For two years, you had been his constant, his safe harbor.

You weren’t just his wife on paper; you had been someone he could rely on, someone who listened to him without judgment. Now, the thought that you might be facing something he had overlooked made him feel hollow.

Had he missed something? Overlooked a sign? The thought gnawed at him as he stood there in silence. You had always been a good listener, absorbing his worries and frustrations like a sponge. Better than any therapist he’d ever paid for. In fact, since marrying you, he had stopped going to therapy altogether.

But then it hit him. You’d rarely opened up about your own life. He couldn’t even recall the last time you shared anything personal. Was that his failure? Not listening to you when you needed him most? His chest tightened with guilt as he realized that the contract, which was supposed to ensure mutual understanding, might have become a barrier instead of a bridge.

Before he could say anything else, his phone buzzed, breaking his train of thought. He glanced at the screen and saw the agency’s number.

“Mr. Barnes, it’s about the arrangement,” the voice on the other end said.

“What is it?” His tone was curt, impatient.

“Your wife has decided not to renew the contract.”

He gritted his teeth. “I know that already.”

“Yes, sir,” the voice continued, cautiously. “But she also returned the money you gave her.”

Bucky froze, his grip on the phone tightening. “What?”

“She left it with us. I’m sorry for the way this unfolded, Mr. Barnes. If you have time, we’d like to meet and discuss this in person.”

He clenched his jaw. “I’ll think about it.”

“Understood. One more thing—Miss L/N left a message. She wanted you to know that she’s sorry.”

Bucky ended the call without a word. His mind was racing, a cacophony of thoughts and emotions he couldn’t untangle.

As he turned to leave, Grace finally broke her silence. “She told me to tell you not to look for her,” she said, her voice low but resolute.

Her words landed like a punch to his gut. He turned back to face her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

“Don’t look for her,” Grace repeated, softer this time, as if trying to ease the blow.

Bucky’s lips parted, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, his throat tight. Without another word, he turned and walked away, her parting message crushing him with every step.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The matchmaking agency didn’t have an official name. To the outside world, it appeared to be an upscale wedding organizer. But beneath the surface, it operated a discreet business, catering to an elite clientele. The agency specialized in PR, celebrity pairings, and finding partners for those seeking unconventional marriages.

To join this matchmaking service, clients paid exorbitant fees, a cost justified by the agency’s ironclad guarantee of success and confidentiality. This exclusivity made it accessible only to the wealthiest 1%. For most clients, love wasn’t a priority. Many were too jaded, too broken, or simply unwilling to risk their hearts again, yet they craved the semblance of companionship.

Companionship didn’t necessarily mean intimacy. Some sought emotional connections without physical ties, while others wanted a blend of friendship and trust. In essence, the agency sold what its clients desired most: a reliable partner tailored to their needs.

That’s where Bucky came in. He wasn’t looking for love. He needed someone he could trust, someone who fit seamlessly into his life. You had checked every box. You charmed his parents and, more importantly, his grandfather—a critical seal of approval.

Now, Bucky sat in the CEO’s office of the agency, his jaw set and his posture rigid. The room was sleek and modern, dominated by a white sofa where both of them sat. He accepted the black tea she offered but barely touched it.

The CEO, a sharp-eyed woman in her late forties, sat across from him, her demeanor professional but empathetic. She had started this agency after her own marriage fell apart. Betrayed by her husband’s infidelity and weary of meaningless dates, she realized she wasn’t alone. Many shared her frustration with traditional relationships. That realization had birthed her unique matchmaking business.

She leaned forward slightly, her expression neutral but observant. “Thank you for making time to meet with me, Mr. Barnes,” she began.

Bucky’s voice was clipped. “Do you know what she did?”

“Yes,” the CEO replied calmly. “She came here yesterday and asked me to give you these.” She placed two envelopes on the table between them.

“This one contains the check for the money she received. She’s returning it to you. The other is a letter she wanted you to have.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to the envelopes. They were unassuming, just thin paper, yet they felt heavier than the multimillion-dollar contracts he signed daily. He hesitated, his fingers brushing over the edges. Despite his composed exterior, uncertainty gnawed at him.

“Would you like me to open them for you?” the CEO asked gently.

“No, thank you.” His voice was firm, though his hand trembled slightly as he picked up the envelopes.

Slowly, he opened the first one. Inside was a check for the exact amount you’d received when signing the contract—$2 million for two years.

His chest tightened. So that damn $1 was enough to make you leave? Why?

Didn’t you say the money was meant to help you break free from your parents’ control? You wanted to save it to open a café, to buy a boat, to carve out a life of your own.

With a deep breath, he opened the second envelope. This was the one you had specifically instructed to be given to him. He unfolded the paper, hoping for answers, for clarity.

Instead, there was only one sentence:

“It’s not you. It’s me.”

Bucky scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. His grip on the paper tightened as his jaw clenched. What kind of joke is this? Of all people, he never thought he’d be the one on the receiving end of such a cliché. And didn’t everyone know? The person who said those words was usually the one placing blame.

So it is me. I’m the reason you left.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes as the weight of realization settled over him. He thought back to the countless times you’d listened to him, your quiet understanding, your patience. Had he ever done the same for you? Had he missed the signs that you were unhappy?

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Did you see her face yesterday?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

“Yes,” the CEO replied, her expression unreadable.

“What did you see? Was she sad? Angry? Happy?”

The CEO took a moment before answering. “I sensed relief when she handed me the check.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed, his chest constricting at her words. Relief? Was that all you felt after two years together?

“But,” she continued, her voice softening, “when she gave me the letter for you, I saw regret in her eyes.”

Bucky froze, those five words—I saw regret in her eyes—hitting him like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the letter still clutched in his hand.

If you regretted it, why did you leave? Why didn’t you say anything? Was it really so unbearable to stay?

His thoughts spiraled as he sat there, motionless, staring at the remnants of what he thought was a stable arrangement. The unanswered questions twisted in his mind, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.

“Forgive my frankness, Mr. Barnes,” the CEO began, her tone professional yet slightly playful. “Since you’re officially single now, would you like me to add you back to the list?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, and his jaw tightened as he leveled a cold glare at her. “Marriage is the last thing on my mind.”

The CEO nodded, her smile faint and understanding. “Of course. I apologize for asking.”

Bucky stood, adjusting his suit jacket with deliberate movements, signaling the end of the conversation. He turned to leave, but the CEO rose to her feet and extended her hand toward him.

“It’s been a privilege having you as our client, Mr. Barnes,” she said with a polite smile. “I hope our paths cross again.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded her. After a brief hesitation, he reached out and shook her hand, his grip firm but curt. “This is the last time I’ll be here.”

Her smile didn’t falter, remaining calm and composed. “Safe travels, Mr. Barnes. And thank you for using our services.”

Bucky released her hand without another word, his expression unreadable as he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. His footsteps echoed in the quiet, elegant office, a stark reminder that this chapter of his life was closing for good.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky slid into the backseat of his car, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, hesitant but professional. “Where to, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat. “To Grandpa’s house.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the car wove through the streets, Bucky stared out the window, lost in thought. His mind wandered to his grandfather, Paul—stubborn, sharp-tongued, and annoyingly perceptive. He wondered if the old man already knew you had left or if he was still blissfully unaware.

Ever since you met his family, you’d formed an immediate bond with Paul. The connection between you two had been almost effortless. You once told Bucky that, having never known your own grandparents, you’d always yearned for an elder figure in your life.

For Paul, who often clashed with Bucky during their 20-minute tolerance window, you were a revelation. You brought out a side of him Bucky rarely saw—a livelier, softer version of the strict, commanding patriarch. Paul saw in you the granddaughter he’d always wished for: someone who called him, visited him, and actually listened to his long-winded stories.

Yet even that bond hadn’t been enough to make you stay.

When the car pulled up to the grand estate, Bucky stepped out and made his way inside, his movements tense and deliberate. He headed toward Paul’s study, where the old man often spent his afternoons.

Pushing open the door, he paused. Paul sat in his wheelchair by the fireplace, glasses perched on his nose, reading a letter. The firelight cast warm hues across the room, highlighting the lined face of a man who had lived through decades of triumphs and disappointments.

Before Bucky could announce his presence, Paul’s voice broke the silence.

“She left, didn’t she?” The elder’s tone was heavy, filled with resignation. He crumpled the letter in his hands and tossed it into the flames, watching as it curled into ash.

Bucky froze, guilt knotting in his chest. “She… she said goodbye to you?”

Paul didn’t look up. “And about the agency.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped. His mind raced, scrambling for an explanation. Did Grandpa know everything?

“Grandpa, I can explain—”

“Shut up, you stupid boy!” Paul snapped, his voice rising with a force that belied his age. His hand moved to his chest as if to steady himself. “You fooled me twice, Bucky. Twice! First, you made me believe your marriage was real. Then, you made me believe I finally had a granddaughter.”

Bucky instinctively stepped closer, his hand resting gently on Paul’s shoulder, his other moving to massage the elder’s chest. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I—”

Paul shook him off, his eyes blazing with disappointment. “And don’t get me started on that ridiculous matchmaking agency. It’s absurd! What happened to normal relationships? Real love?”

Bucky swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Paul’s voice cracked, the anger giving way to heartbreak. “You broke this old man’s heart, Bucky. I thought… I thought I could finally go in peace, knowing you had a wife. A good girl by your side. But now…”

He saw it with his own eyes—that Bucky and you were a perfect match. Turns out, it was all a lie. It broke him.

“Tell me,” Paul said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation, “does she mean anything to you? Or was it just a contract?”

Bucky hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Paul’s eyes narrowed, his disappointment deepening. “You know what? She was right to leave you for a single dollar.”

The words hit Bucky like a slap. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening. Everyone seemed to blame him for your departure—Grace, the agency, and now his own grandfather. What did I do that was so wrong?

He finally snapped. “If she didn’t mean anything to me, would I have walked out of a $100 billion meeting to go ask where she is?”

It hurt even more because he had lost his best friend. A wife was just a word to him, but a best friend? Yes. Yes, you were. You meant a lot to him, and to his grandfather as well. And you just left without a proper goodbye, as if he didn’t deserve one. He needed answers.

He even skipped a meeting worth billions of dollars. For him to miss it means you are worth more than billions to him.

Paul’s eyes widened, his expression shifting from anger to realization.

“Then what are you doing here?” Paul barked, his voice regaining its edge. “Go find her!”

Bucky stood, stunned into silence.

“Don’t come back until you’ve found her!” Paul continued, pointing toward the door. “And forget about the company. It can survive without you. She’s the one you need to fix this with.”

Bucky nodded stiffly, his expression a mix of determination and frustration. Without another word, he turned and strode out of the study, leaving Paul alone by the fire.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

As Bucky stepped out of his grandfather’s house, the weight of the conversation still hanging over him, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before answering.

"Sir," came the voice of his head of security.

Bucky sighed, exhaustion creeping into his bones. "Tell me at least some good news," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"We found her."

The words hit him like a jolt of electricity. His pulse quickened, and for the first time in what felt like ages, a flicker of hope lit in his chest.

Bucky straightened up, his posture shifting from defeat to determination. "Where is she?" His voice was sharper now, his body leaning forward, eager for any hint of where you might be.

This was the news he’d been waiting for, the answer he desperately needed.

Join the taglist:

@thezombieprostitute

@bellamoret

@bucky-baby-barnes

@greatenthusiasttidalwave

@paryl

@pattiemac1

@kjah97

@danzer8705

@singsosworld

@mrsnikstan

@vicmc624

@cjand10

@wintercrows

@winchestert101

@rethasavedlives

@sjsmith56

@sarcasmoverlordxo

@buckybarnesfic

@angstangstbabeh

@everythingmybeloved

@tofuonfaiya

@longpondlibrary

@marvel-wifey-86

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@tasersloth

@diffidentphantom

@pklol

@ellosmile

@sebastians-love

@irishhappiness

@kmc1989

@440mxs-wife

@longpondlibrary

[solarhysm]

DUST OF US - 06

> synopsis: 7 years ago Y/N broke Jungkook’s heart when she decided to end their relationship without an explanation. When they meet again at a friend's wedding, after almost a decade, Jungkook needs answers to move on.

> pairing: Jungkook x reader

> genre: romance, ex to lovers au

> warnings: explicit languages, violence, smut, cheating, nsfw, angst, +18 minors dni !!

> word count: 4.6k

*french writer, i apologize in advance for my awful english!

If this is a dream, Jungkook doesn’t want to wake up. His eyes never leave your face as you tell him a story about you and your friends. After that kiss, you both decided to take a walk along the shore. Jungkook knows you’ve always liked the feeling of sand under your feet, even in the cold. He carries your boots, happy to do so, while you walk beside him, occasionally digging your toes into the sand.

He thought you would reject him when he kissed you out of nowhere. But you didn’t. Now, all he wants is to kiss you again. He’s dying to. But he doesn’t want to push his luck. If you want to kiss him, you will. He hopes you will. His eyes drop to your hand, brushing against his with every step. His fingers twitch. Not yet. Play it cool.

As if reading his mind, you hand him the bottle of soju you’ve been sharing, giving him something to do with his hands. He takes a sip and nods, silently thanking you.

“And Hwan ended up covered in Hyesun’s last meal,” you laugh, but he hasn’t been paying attention to the story. Jungkook is just smiling at the sound of your laughter. “But she’s a good friend. Even after Hyesun threw up on her, she kept taking care of her.”

“You’re pretty,” Jungkook whispers, and you freeze, eyes widening.

“I—You can’t say stuff like that out of nowhere,” you mumble, looking away to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

Jungkook has always said what’s on his mind, whether people liked it or not. And you know that. Once you’re far enough from the nightclubs and prying eyes, the two of you sit on the sand, staring at the shore.

“Alright,” you sigh, pulling a plastic bag between you. “We’ve gotta finish all of this before the sun rises.” You challenge him, and he smirks.

“Easy.”

A soft smile stretches across his lips as he watches you take out two beers and another bottle of soju. You clink your drinks together and take a sip.

“I’m surprised you didn’t make friends in Japan,” you say, breaking the silence.

“I did, actually,” Jungkook replies, burying the bottom of his beer bottle in the sand. He pulls his legs against his chest and takes a deep breath. “Kentaro is visiting me next month. If you behave, I’ll introduce him to you.”

You roll your eyes playfully, licking your lips. His big brown eyes follow the way your tongue traces your lips before he looks away. He knows you want to ask something, and he tilts his head, encouraging you.

“Stop that,” you groan, and he chuckles.

“You want to ask me about girls?”

“I never said that,” you retort, hiding behind your beer.

“You don’t need to. It’s written all over your face,” Jungkook laughs, stretching out. “What about you?”

He likes that he can still read you so easily.

“You didn’t answer,” you say, tilting your head in his direction.

“Hm... I had my fair share of girls, to be honest. But not in the first couple of years.”

“Really?”

“Hm.” He hums again. “Wait, are we talking about serious relationship?”

“All type.” You reply, leaning on your elbows.

“I had… two serious relationships. And a bunch of flings. Mostly flings actually. The heart wasn’t there for more.”

“Two?” You ask like it’s all you keep in mind.

“Yeah. You and a girl named Hina,” Jungkook nods, watching as you draw shapes in the sand. “And you?”

“No one since you. I mean, I had a few flings. And some one-night stands,” you say, and he arches a brow, surprised and amused.

“Look at that. Didn’t you become a bold one?” He jokes. “What a shame, a pretty girl like you, still single.”

“Shut up,” you chuckle, nudging his shoulder. “Maybe that’ll change. I’m sort of in a situationship right now. He wants more.”

“And you?”

“I don’t know. He’s nice.” You shrug, and Jungkook frowns.

“Nabi, don’t force yourself. I mean... who am I to give advice, right?” He laughs awkwardly before turning to look at you. “But I want you to be happy. And if you’re not sure that guy can give you what you want, don’t date him.”

“If I’m being honest...” You pause, and Jungkook gives you his full attention, sitting up straighter. “I’m scared to end up alone. I’m too... complicated. Most of the guys I had after you hated my attitude. But Baekhyun? He just embraces it. He supports me, accepts that I’m not ready to date, and waits for me.”

“That’s not enough. You shouldn’t accept the bare minimum,” Jungkook says, and you shake your head. “You deserve someone who’ll worship you.”

“Easy for you to say. Girls have been chasing you since we were teens.”

“Not the one I want,” he whispers, looking down at his beer as your eyes fall on his side profile. “you’re hard to live with, you’re stubborn with a big mouth and a taste for fights, I won’t deny that.” Jungkook teases and you slap his shoulder "But I also know that once you love, you give everything. If a man can’t get past your tough shell, he doesn’t deserve your love."

"Since when did you become a psychologist?"

"Tonight," he jokes. "Give me one more hour and a few beers, and I’ll be able to read your palm." He grins as you smile. "But I’m serious. Don’t settle for Baekhyun if you think he’s just convenient or your last option. Agreeing with everything you say? That’s not love."

You roll your eyes, making him smile wider.

"Then find me a guy who can handle me," you challenge playfully. Jungkook smirks, gesturing to himself. You laugh, shaking your head. "You should hate me."

"I don’t."

"I said you should." You lift a finger in the air, and he chuckles.

"Who’s Baekhyun, anyway?" Jungkook asks teasingly, his shoulder bumping into yours.

"You’ve met him," you muse, tilting your head to meet his gaze. "My assistant. The other tattoo artist."

"What?" Jungkook gasps playfully. "That kid? How old is he, eighteen?"

"Stop!" You laugh, punching his arm. "He’s twenty-three."

"I always knew you liked them young. I mean, I’m younger—"

"I’m older by a few weeks!"

"Cougar," Jungkook teases, and you roll your eyes. He won’t lie—he’s seen Baekhyun, and something about him seemed off. Or maybe it’s just jealousy because that kid has you and he doesn’t. "Do you change his diapers, too?"

"I’m done with this conversation," you huff, turning your head away while Jungkook bursts into laughter.

"Come on, Nabi, I’m just joking."

And yet, Jungkook is wondering if that Baekhyun knows you as much as he did once upon a time. Does he know that you hate to sleep on the right side of the bed? Or how you have a hard time focusing if there’s too much people around you, how you hate wearing nails polish. Does he know how to make those pretty sounds come out of your mouth when you’re in bed? And mostly, does he know how you love and the look you used to give him? Do you give the same look to that kid?

"Do you remember the last time we were at a beach in Busan?" you ask suddenly.

"Before we left for Seoul," Jungkook says softly, his eyes falling to his hands around his beer.

"We talked about the future," you add, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"I remember." Jungkook nods, his gaze following yours to the shore. "A big house, two kids, a cat, and a dog."

"Hm." You smile, pressing your lips together. His eyes drift back to your face. "Where would we be if… we had stayed together?"

"Married, for sure," Jungkook replies, finishing his beer. "Maybe you’d be pregnant with our first baby."

The thought makes you smile, and Jungkook’s lips curl into a soft smile too. He’s imagined it so many times—how beautiful you’d look with a round belly, glowing with happiness.

"Or maybe we’d be right where we are now," you say, taking a sip of your drink. "Maybe we were meant to be apart."

"I don’t believe that," Jungkook says, almost too quickly. "Our story wasn’t over."

"What makes you so sure?" you ask, arching a brow and Jungkook clenches his jaw, turning his attention to you.

"I didn’t fight for us because you disappeared that day. But I wanted to," he admits, and you chuckle bitterly.

"That’s why I disappeared." You shrug like it’s nothing. "I knew if I saw you again, you’d try to fix things, and I’d give in."

"That’s why you just… left our apartment and changed your number?" he frowns, and you nod, biting the inside of your cheek. He hates how casually you say it, like it didn’t tear him apart.

He hated that place without you in it. He hated that your left side of the bed still smelled like you even after he changed the sheets, how he could still hear you humming in the kitchen like you were cooking for both or how the couch felt cold without you cuddling against him during your movie nights.

"Do you even know… how it felt to come home and find our place half-empty?”  He starts before hardly swallowing. “How I had to sleep in a bed that still smelled like you for weeks before I gave the keys back to the landlord? Fuck, Nabi… Do you have any idea how hard it was to live without you when I was so used to having you around all the time?" Jungkook shakes his head, hiding his face in his hands. "I thought it was the end of the world."

His admission makes you blink a few times as you look down, and Jungkook suddenly feels guilty when he sees you wiping your cheek.

“I’m sorry.” You say with a little voice. “I’m sorry…I – I thought you’d be better off without me."

“Says who?” He frowns, upset, shaking his head. “I was better with you.”

"I didn’t want to leave you," you admit before your emotions overwhelm you, and tears spill from your eyes, making Jungkook freeze. What is he supposed to do now? He didn’t mean to make you cry. He just wanted to have a good evening with you, but now you’re sobbing. What an idiot. "I never wanted to leave you."

"Y/N…"

 “I –“ You swallow a sob. “I did it for you.” You shake your head and he frowns a little while you wipe your cheeks and take a deep breath.

"How… breaking up with me…?" Jungkook whispers, unable to finish his sentence.

He hates seeing you cry, but he knows that if he tries to comfort you, you would just push him away.

“I…I tried to help you.” You pinch your lips together. “That university in Tokyo accepted you. You were going to waste that opportunity just to stay with me."

Jungkook’s frown deepens. He never told you he was going to turn down the offer in Tokyo. And like you read his mind you let out a watery chuckle.

“I heard your conversation with Jimin.” you explain, and Jungkook freezes, a wave of anger rising inside him. “I couldn’t let you refuse that to work as a simple cashier, Kook. I couldn’t let you waste your life for me.”

Jungkook lets out a sour chuckle before getting up, his fists clenched at his sides. All this time, he thought that he did something wrong. All this time he thought that you left him because he said something that hurt you enough to breaking up with him.

“And who are you to decide for me?” He almost spits as you stay sitting on the sand, looking at him. “We were a team, remember? We were supposed to talk about it. Make it work!”

“Jungkook.” You say softly, getting on your knees but he takes a step back.

"All this time…" he mutters, shaking his head as a sob escapes. "Fuck... All this time, I thought it was my fault."

"I’m sorry."

"Sorry won’t fix seven wasted years!" he barks, and you struggle to get up, both of you drunk.

"Kook…"

"No." He shakes his head, wiping his face. "I fucking loved you with everything I had. I wanted to spend my life with you, build a future with you. If you had just talked to me, we could’ve made it work! You were the only one I ever listened to."

“Jungkook.” You repeat as you try to reach his hand but he takes another step back. “How was that supposed to work?” You frown and he rolls his eyes, looking away. “You were about to live new experiences. I would’ve been the girlfriend stuck in your hometown. How long would it have taken before you left me?"

"Don’t twist this into being my fault, Y/N," he warns, jaw clenched. "The distance, the new experiences—that’s bullshit, and you know it."

“I know that you needed your freedom.” You bite back and his teeth close on his tongue to not say something hurtful. “That’s why I didn’t want to reconnect with you. I knew how all of this would end.” You mumble, gathering your stuff and he can clearly see how hurt you are.

“I needed you.” He says more softly, but you don’t listen, tying your hair into a ponytail before catching your witch hat. “Nabi.” He stops you, standing right behind you.

"I get it, Jungkook. I do," you say without looking at him, trying to hold back tears, but he can hear the quiver in your voice. You're close to breaking.

“Nabi.” He repeats as you stand up, your hands full of your things.

"I never asked you to come back into my life," you snap, finally turning to face him, shaking your head. "I never asked you to kiss me earlier. I think it’s time to say goodbye for good."

"No." Jungkook's voice is firm as his fingers close around your arm. Even when you try to pull away, his grip tightens. “I won’t let that happen.”

You let out a dry chuckle, turning to face him, both of you frowning.

"You must be pretty stupid to still want me," you say, trying to swat his hand away, but he pulls you closer instead.

"I know what you’re doing. You’re being mean to protect yourself. It won’t work. We’re going to talk." His voice rises a little. "You always run when things get complicated. Not this time."

"Let me go, Jungkook."

"Not before we figure this out."

"There’s nothing to figure out!" you bark, but he only pulls you closer, his hand firm on your arm.

"Talk to me, Y/N," he says, his voice louder than yours now.

"I did! And you got mad at me!" You groan, feeling your frustration grow. He takes a deep breath, softening his features.

"It’s not too late."

"What?!"

"Us. It’s not too late," Jungkook whispers, and you stare at him, blinking in disbelief. "Yes, I’m upset with you. But that’s because I know... I know we could have made this work."

"How?" you ask, your tone softer now, no longer fighting him off.

"I could have… taken the ferry to see you during my holidays. You could’ve visited me. There’s always a solution, Nabi." He tilts his head, trying to meet your gaze.

"You were free," you reply, and he shakes his head.

"I didn’t want that," Jungkook chuckles sadly, finally letting go of your arm. "If you really want to leave, then go. I won’t stop you anymore, Nabi."

He looks at you as none of you break the eye contact. Will you leave? He doesn’t want to force you to anything. But you don’t move. And he hopes that you’re not playing him.

"Fuck," he laughs humorlessly, running a hand through his hair. "You’re the only woman who can shatter me, and I’ll still come running after you."

"I thought I was helping you," you murmur, biting your tongue, looking down at your feet. "I didn’t want to leave. I..." Your voice breaks, and you begin to sob. "I didn’t want to hurt you."

Jungkook stays silent, his fists clenching at his sides to stop himself from pulling you into his arms. God, he wants to. He needs to comfort you, but he knows you’ll push him away.

"I put my own feelings aside to let you live your dream," you sniff, hiding your face in your hands. Jungkook’s vision blurs as his eyes fill with unshed tears.

"I was going to ask you to marry me," Jungkook whispers, followed by an awkward chuckle. When you lift your tear-filled eyes to meet his, he shrugs. "The day you left me... I was going to ask you to be my wife."

And it’s too much to bear. You break in tears as he looks away, wiping his cheek. He hates seeing you cry. He hates being unable to comfort you like he used to.

“I didn’t plan to see you again when I came back. I was scared to find out you were happily married to someone who wasn’t me.” He continues, eyes fixed on an empty soju bottle half-buried in the sand. “But I saw you at Hyesun’s wedding and… fuck, you were so pretty.”

“Stop.” You shake your head, taking a step back because it’s probably too much to hear but he takes a deep breath and close the distance.

"I knew I had to try, Nabi," he says, cupping your face in his hands. "Because there’s no one else for me but you."

"Jungkook," you protest weakly, trying to push him away half-heartedly.

"Stop fighting it," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. "Tell me you want this too."

"I…” You start but Jungkook muffles your next words with a kiss.

He isn’t trying to force you, but when you kiss him back, he pulls you closer. The kiss tastes of salt, from your tears and his. Jungkook has kissed many girls after you, but none of them ever made him feel like this. He softly nips at your bottom lip, creating a gap to slide his tongue into your mouth, meeting yours. It’s a passionate kiss, desperate. He wants you to feel how much he needs you. When you relax into him, your fingers threading through his hair and pulling him closer, he smiles against your mouth. But when the need for air becomes overwhelming, he reluctantly pulls back, his nose nuzzling against yours.

"Stay with me tonight. Don’t go home," he murmurs, gently wiping the remnants of your tears from your cheeks.

When you nod, his smile widens, and he pulls you into a tight hug, his nose buried in your hair. He missed your warmth. He missed how right it felt to have you in his arms. He doesn’t know how long you stayed like that, but when the cold started to bite at your skin, he pulled back. Grabbing both of your things, he offered his hand to you, which you shyly took. He couldn’t hide his excitement at the thought of keeping you with him tonight.

"You’re not walking straight," you chuckle as you make your way to his hotel.

"I’m drunk, Nabi. Sue me," he jokes, his fingers intertwined with yours as he playfully bumps his shoulder against yours.

Jungkook didn’t rush you once you were in his room. He handed you a fresh pair of joggers and one of his shirts while he waited, sneaking glances at the bathroom door. He even turned off his phone to make sure nothing interrupted your time together. When you came out of the bathroom, he smirked. He had gotten bigger since the last time you borrowed his clothes, and now you looked like a kid in oversized clothing. He found it adorable.

“What?” you ask looking down at your outfit, straightening your shirt –well, his.

"Nothing," he shrugs, still smirking.

Your nose is still slightly rosy from crying earlier, but somehow, it adds to your charm, Jungkook thinks. He gets up and grabs his clothes from the sofa, heading to the bathroom.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says softly as he walks past you.

Jungkook needs to calm down. He closes the bathroom door and takes a deep breath before jumping in place with excitement. He takes off his shirt and turns to the mirror, grinning at his reflection.

Alright. Breathe. Play it cool. She’s the same, Jungkook.

He pinches his lips together to stop himself from smiling too widely. He feels like he’s seventeen again, on his first date with you. He never thought you’d let him spend more time with you, let alone kiss you like that. He takes another deep breath and looks down at his pants.

“Don’t embarrass me,” he murmurs to himself before turning on the water, excited to join you again, to hold you in his arms.

When he steps out of the bathroom, his damp hair falling over his forehead and neck, he finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling on your phone.

“Are you hungry? We can order something to eat,” Jungkook suggests, closing the distance between you.

“No,” you say, locking your phone and tossing it on the bed. “But if you are, you can—”

“I’m not hungry,” Jungkook cuts in, putting his hands on his hips.

Both of you stare at each other in silence. It’s awkward, and neither of you knows what to say. Jungkook clears his throat nervously, and you giggle when he hums a tune, making him frown slightly and turn to you. Then, out of nowhere, you burst into laughter, falling back onto the bed, your hands on your stomach.

“What’s so funny, huh?” He smiles, amused, as you cover your mouth with your hand, shaking your head.

“Sorry,” you giggle, trying to calm yourself. “It’s just weird. What are we, sixteen? Why are you so nervous?”

Your laughter makes his smile grow as he cages you with his arms, placing both hands on either side of your body.

“You’re mocking me, seriously, Nabi?” he teases with a grin as you sit up, shaking your head.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, pressing your lips together to stop smiling, then lift your eyes to meet his.

Jungkook’s eyes widen when your puppy-like gaze locks with his. He swallows, leaning closer, dying to kiss you, but he doesn’t want to push it. You smile at his nervousness, and he knows you can read his thoughts—just like you always did. For the first time, you close the distance and press your lips to his.

The only contact is your mouths. His fists grip the sheets on either side of you, trying to resist the urge to touch you more. But your hands trail up his arms to cup his face, pulling him closer. His resolve crumbles the moment your fingers bury themselves in his hair, pulling him down onto the bed with you. He hovers over you, careful not to crush you, one leg between yours as his hands trace the curves of your waist, still over his shirt.

“I’m not made of dust, I won’t crumble and disappear if you touch me.” You laugh against his mouth and he hums shyly.

“I’m not scared of that,” he whispers, trailing kisses along your jaw, his fingers squeezing your hips. “I just... don’t want to get too comfortable and wake up.”

“I’m real,” you reassure him, tilting your head to give him more access to your neck, where he continues to kiss and nip at your skin.

But something feels wrong to him—the way you kiss him hungrily while he kisses you back, passionate yet hesitant. Then it hits him.

“Nabi,” Jungkook murmurs as you continue to kiss his neck and shoulder, your fingers guiding his hand deeper into your joggers. “Y/N.”

“What?” you ask breathlessly, licking your lips as he straightens up, pulling his hand away from your pants.

“I don’t want to have sex with you like a cheap one-night stand,” Jungkook replies, sitting back on his knees and running a hand through his hair.

“What are you talking about?” you frown, leaning on your elbows. “You... don’t want me?”

“Of course I do,” he says, shaking his head. “But you’re acting like I’m just some random guy from a bar.”

You frown, sitting up. He’s afraid he said something wrong.

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” Jungkook sighs. “Fuck... Do you really want me, or are you just horny and I’m the only guy around?”

“Jungkook.” You say, your eyes soften as you cup his face, seeing the hurt on his face. “You’ll never be just convenient for me.”

He takes a deep breath, his tongue poking at his cheek. He wants to believe you. And fuck, if you told him the sky was pink, he’d believe you.

“We can just cuddle and talk if you want,” you suggest, and Jungkook smiles, nodding.

He knew about all the men in your life before you ever told him—Jimin had filled him in. Everyone knows you use physical intimacy to fill the void, and part of him feels responsible. If he had fought harder for you, maybe you wouldn’t have that endless list of guys.

“You’re not them,” you whisper as he pulls you close in bed, your head resting on his arm.

“I know. I was the first,” he teases with a smirk, and you roll your eyes, playfully slapping his chest. He laughs softly, taking your hand and holding it over his heart, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. “Go on a date with me,” Jungkook says, your noses brushing against each other. “A real one. Not this ‘friendly date’ bullshit.”

“You’re such a hopeless romantic,” you chuckle as he smiles and kisses the tip of your nose.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jungkook grins, his fingers softly rubbing the back of your hand. “We’ll grab some food and go to the beach tomorrow.”

“We came to see our families,” you remind him with a raised brow.

“I’ll see them after the date.”

Jungkook doesn’t know how long the two of you stay in bed, talking about everything. The sun starts to rise as you fall asleep, your face resting on his shoulder while he plays with your hair. He didn’t like them short at first, but he’s gotten used to it and actually thinks that it suits you now. But for him, you look pretty anyways. He keeps you close against his body, his arms locked around you to be sure that you won’t slip. Brushing his nose against your hair, he takes the time to enjoy your scent. Your perfume is slightly different from the fruity one you had when you two were together. This one is more feminine, more mature. And he likes it.

And when he wakes up later, he still finds you nestled against him, your back pressed against his chest. For a good minute, he has to pinch himself, convinced this is a dream. It feels too right to be real, having you here with him.

Jungkook carefully disentangles himself from you and sits up. His mouth is dry, and he needs to check his phone. After taking his time in the bathroom, he smiles when he sees you still sleeping, cuddling one of the pillows. He sits on the edge of the bed and turns on his phone, immediately bombarded by notifications.

Ignoring most of them, he opens his conversation with Jimin and sends him a message. Jimin knew about his plan all along and asked him to keep him updated. Jungkook types out everything he remembers from the night before—how you fell asleep in his arms, how happy he is. He smiles like a teenager as he types, and Jimin replies almost instantly, saying he’s happy for him. But then the next message makes Jungkook’s smile drop.

FROM: Jiminie

Did you tell her about Hina?

Jungkook sighs, rubbing his face. His fingers hover over the keyboard before he finally types a reply. He had been so focused on you that he forgot about her.

TO: Jiminie

It’s too soon. I just got her back. Let me enjoy this.

Jimin’s answer comes almost immediately and Jungkook groans, frustrated because he knows that his friend is right. His eyes fall back on your sleeping form. You’re going to hate him. He needs to figure out how to handle this little – big- problem. Jungkook knows where his heart is, and it’s right here, with the woman peacefully sleeping in his bed.

FROM: Jiminie

I understand. But you need to tell her before she hears it from someone else. Nabi has the right to know about your fiancée.

YOU CAN ALREADY READ THE CHAPTER 07 ON KO-FI.

< previous - MASTERLIST - next >

WATTPAD.

KO-FI. (every chapters/drabbles are posted as soon as i'm done writing them.)

[wonies-cheeks]

Flustered

Synopsis: In which Enhypen leaves you flustered with their sweet gestures, playful teasing, and protective sides, making you feel loved and embarrassed all at once.

W/C: 2.3k Warnings: Light teasing, fluff, mild embarrassment, protective behaviours 

Pairing: bf!enhypen x gn!reader  Genre: Fluff, Romance  AU: Established Relationship 

LEE HEESEUNG

You’re curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone with a blanket draped over your legs. Heeseung walks into the room, holding his guitar like it’s no big deal. He plops down beside you, the couch dipping slightly under his weight, and starts strumming lazily. 

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Practicing again?” 

“Something like that,” he says with a smirk before breaking into a sweet melody. The song sounds oddly familiar, and then you realize—he’s improvising lyrics about you. They’re cheesy, talking about how your laugh is his favourite sound and how even your messy hair is perfect to him. 

“You’re not serious,” you say, raising an eyebrow as you glance at him. 

“About what?” Heeseung asks innocently, a teasing glint in his eyes. 

“About playing me a song right now,” you reply, crossing your arms. “You know I’m not falling for that cheesy stuff.” 

Heeseung only grins and leans in closer. “I’m not trying to be cheesy,” he says, strumming the guitar a little louder. “But I think you’re already falling for it.” 

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile. “Please don’t make this any worse, Heeseung.” 

But before you know it, he starts singing again. The lyrics this time were about how you light up his world, how he’s so lucky to be with you, and how even your quirks are perfect to him.  

You groan, hiding your face behind your hands. “Heeseung, stop!” 

“Why? Am I making you blush?” he teases, leaning closer, still playing. His voice softens, and he gives you this look—part playful, part sincere—that makes your heart skip. “You’re really cute when you’re embarrassed, you know?” 

“Not cute! I’m dying of second-hand embarrassment,” you reply, but you can’t help but smile. Heeseung’s face lights up as he continues to sing, and for a moment, nothing else matters but his voice and the way he makes you feel like you’re the most important person in the world. 

PARK JONSEONG

You’re in the kitchen, huffing in frustration while trying to open a jar of pasta sauce. “Ugh, seriously?” you mutter to yourself, tugging at it harder. Just as you’re about to give up, you hear Jay’s voice behind you. 

“Need some help, babe?” he asks, his voice dripping with that familiar confidence. You turn to see him standing there, hands casually in his pockets.

“No, I got it,” you say quickly, not wanting to admit you’re struggling. You give the lid another twist. 

Jay just raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, it looks like you really got it,” he teases. “Let me just do it.” he says, already reaching for the jar. Before you can even answer, he takes it from your hands and pops the lid off like it’s nothing with a smirk on his face. “You can’t do everything yourself, you know.” 

You cross your arms, huffing in mock annoyance. “I could’ve gotten it! It’s just a jar!” 

“Sure you could,” he says, giving you a look that says he’s not buying it for a second. “But you didn’t. And now I’m the hero of the day.” 

“Show-off,” you mutter, but before you can grab the jar back, he steps closer. His chest brushes lightly against your shoulder as he leans down to whisper in your ear, “How would you survive without me, huh?” 

His voice is low, smooth, and so close that you freeze. The warmth of his breath on your skin sends a jolt straight to your stomach. You try to come up with a comeback, but all that comes out is a flustered laugh. 

Jay pulls back with a grin, clearly proud of himself. “You’re welcome,” he says casually, setting the jar down like nothing happened, leaving you to process your racing heart. 

“Ugh, whatever,” you mutter, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “But I definitely don’t need a ‘hero.’” 

“Of course you do,” he replies, winking. “Every superhero has their sidekick.” 

SIM JAEYUN

 You’re standing in front of the mirror, frowning as you debate between two outfits. Jake sits on the edge of the bed, watching you with his head propped up on his hand. 

“Which one do you like better?” you ask, holding up both options. 

He doesn’t even look at the clothes. Instead, he says, “You.” 

You pause, blinking at him. “What?” 

He grins, standing up and walking over to you. “I mean, you could wear either of those—or nothing at all—and you’d still look amazing.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to hide how flustered you are. “That’s not helpful.” 

Jake laughs softly, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. “I’m serious. You could wear a trash bag, and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful person in the room.” 

Your cheeks burn as you swat at him. “Stop it, Jake!” You laugh nervously, but Jake isn’t done.

“Actually, scratch that,” he says, his voice softer now. “You’d still outshine the sun even if you wore a potato sack.” 

Rolling your eyes, you try to step away, but Jake gently pulls you back, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. He rests his forehead lightly against the side of your head, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “Why do you always get so shy when I tell you how amazing you are?” 

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Because you’re so extra sometimes,” you mumble, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. 

Jake chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Can’t help it,” he says with a grin you can feel more than see. “I mean, have you looked in the mirror lately? You make it way too easy for me to hype you up.” 

You glance at him, finally letting out a real laugh as the warmth of his words starts to sink in. “You’re ridiculous,” you tease, but your voice is soft, affectionate. 

“And you love it,” he quips, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. His expression shifts, becoming more tender as he brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “For real, though,” he adds, his voice steady and sincere, “you’re beautiful” 

Your face warms, but this time, you don’t try to hide it. Instead, you lean into him, resting your head on his chest with a content sigh. 

He just laughs again, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “You’re perfect without even trying.” 

PARK SUNGHOON

It’s a lazy Saturday morning, and you’re lounging around in an oversized hoodie, feeling cozy and not at all concerned about how you look. You’re still in your pajamas, hair a mess, and in your fuzzy socks on the couch when Sunghoon enters the room, looking as put-together as ever. 

He stops in his tracks when he sees you. “Wow. Are you trying to set a new record for the ‘cozy chic’ look?” 

You glance over at him and laugh, tugging the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands. “What do you mean?” 

“Well,” Sunghoon says, crossing his arms, “I mean, it’s kind of unfair. Even when you’re like this”—he gestures at your hoodie—“you’re still so cute it’s ridiculous.” 

You blink, completely caught off guard. “Excuse me?” 

He walks closer to you, his eyes playful. “I mean, you could wear literally anything, and I’d still think you’re cute, but you’re not even trying today.” 

“You’re ridiculous!” you exclaim, grabbing a sofa pillow and throwing it at him. 

But Sunghoon catches it effortlessly, his smirk only growing. “What? I’m just stating the obvious. You know you’re perfect, even when you don’t try.” 

He rests his arms on the armrest of the sofa and leans in as you give him a funny look. “What? Can’t handle a little truth?” 

You sigh dramatically. “You’re such a handful, you know that?” 

“I know,” Sunghoon says, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “But you still love me, don’t you?” 

You bite your lip, trying not to smile. “Maybe.” 

KIM SUNOO

You’re walking through the park with Sunoo, holding hands and chatting about everything and nothing. The day is perfect—blue skies, a light breeze, and his hand warm in yours. 

Suddenly, he stops walking. “Hold on,” he says, looking down. 

You follow his gaze and realize your shoelace is untied. Before you can bend down to fix it, Sunoo crouches in front of you, taking your foot gently in his hands. 

“Sunoo, I can do it,” you protest, feeling your face heat up as people glance your way. 

“Shh, I’ve got it,” he says, tying the laces with a practiced ease and looks up at you with a cheeky smile. “You don’t want to trip, do you?”  

You roll your eyes. “I’m fine! I can tie my own shoes.” 

“Yeah, but I’m the one who always makes sure you don’t fall,” Sunoo teases, finishing the knot with a neat little bow and standing up. “Can’t have you getting hurt on my watch.” 

You’re about to thank him when he stands up and brushes off his pants. “You’re lucky I’m here to take care of you,” he teases, linking his arm with yours again. 

You try to act annoyed, but the affection in his voice makes it impossible not to feel warm inside. You shake your head, trying to ignore how flustered you feel. “You’re too much sometimes.” 

“And you love it,” he shoots back with a grin. 

YANG JUNGWON

It’s another quiet night, and you’re both on the couch, wrapped in your favourite blanket. The warm light from the lamps in the room casts a soft glow, and the sound of the movie playing in the background is just a distant hum compared to the peaceful silence between you two. You’ve been talking here and there, laughing about silly things, but now you’re both just enjoying each other’s presence. 

You notice your hands are getting colder, and you instinctively start rubbing them together to warm them up. At first, you don’t think much of it. But then, you feel Jungwon’s gaze on you. 

Without a word, he shifts closer to you, his arm around you tightening slightly, as if to pull you into him even more. You’re about to make some sarcastic comment, but before you can, Jungwon takes your hand gently, his fingers warming up your cold ones. 

“You’re freezing,” he says quietly, his voice laced with concern, as if he can’t stand seeing you uncomfortable. 

You chuckle softly, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. It’s just a little cold. It’ll pass.” 

Jungwon’s brow furrows slightly, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. He’s staring at your fingers, noticing how icy they are, and his dimple pops out as his lips curl into a small frown. “You really are freezing,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand slowly, trying to transfer his warmth to you. 

You feel your heart flutter at the tenderness of his touch. It’s so simple, yet it feels so intimate. You look up at him, not expecting the softness in his eyes. 

“Jungwon, you really don’t have to do that,” you say, your voice almost a whisper, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than you thought you would. 

But he just shakes his head, his expression softening as he looks at you. “I want to.” His voice is low, genuine, and you can tell he’s not saying it just to reassure you. He means it. 

Before you can argue, Jungwon scoots even closer, taking both your hands in his. He brings them to his lips, gently kissing the tops of your fingers, sending a wave of warmth through your body that has nothing to do with the temperature. 

“You’re not used to people taking care of you, huh?” he says with a small smile, but there’s a hint of curiosity in his voice, almost as if he’s trying to understand you better. 

You look down, feeling a little embarrassed but also touched by how attentive he’s being. “I guess not. But it’s not like I need it all the time,” you murmur, trying to play it cool. 

Jungwon just smiles, this time with a hint of mischief in his eyes. “It’s not about needing it. I just want you to feel comfortable. And I’m always going to make sure you’re okay, even if you don’t ask.” 

Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you can’t find words. His kindness always catches you off guard, especially when it’s so genuine and effortless. He’s not doing this for any reason other than that he cares. 

You shift, leaning into him a little more, suddenly feeling the weight of his affection, making everything seem so much more real. “You’re going to spoil me, you know that?” 

Jungwon chuckles, his hands still holding yours. “Maybe. But I like doing it. You’re worth it.” 

NISHIMURA RIKI

You’re walking through a crowded mall, shopping with Ni-ki. The place is packed, and as you’re navigating through the crowd, someone accidentally bumps into you. You stumble slightly, but before you can even react, Ni-ki is already there, stepping in front of you like a shield. 

“Are you okay?” he asks immediately, his eyes scanning you for any sign of discomfort. 

You quickly nod, trying to downplay it. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” 

But Ni-ki’s eyes narrow, clearly not convinced. “Stay close to me,” he says firmly, his hand gently slipping around your waist to pull you toward him as he expertly manoeuvres through the crowd, guiding you with ease. 

You look up at him, a little startled by how serious he seems. “Ni-ki, you don’t need to protect me from everything,” you say, trying to brush it off. 

But he just shrugs, still holding you close. “I’m your boyfriend, it’s my duty, I just want to make sure nothing happens to you.” His tone is calm, but the protective edge in his voice is obvious, and there’s no way you can argue with that. 

You roll your eyes, but there’s no denying how sweet he’s being. “You’re such a mom sometimes,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood. 

Ni-ki smirks, his protective hold never loosening. “Well, I’m a good one, aren’t I?” 

“You’re impossible,” you say, though your heart skips a beat at how endearing he’s being. 

“I know,” he says with a wink, squeezing you closer. “But you’ll thank me later when nothing happens to you.” 

You can’t help but smile. “Fine, fine. But only because you’re cute.” 

Ni-ki’s grin widens as he leads you through the crowd, making sure to keep you close, and for the rest of the day, it’s clear he’s not about to let anything happen to you. 

“Stay close, okay?” he says softly, a little more quietly this time, and it’s in that moment you realize just how much he cares. 

You smile, leaning into him a little more as you walk side by side. “Yeah, okay. I’ll stay close.” 

[fenharel-is-so-swell]

My spiciest take is that Caleb requires the gege trope to work.

His path is entirely angst, and taboo, and too much, too forceful. It’s the pain of licking a wound, it’s wrong. The Pseudo-brother taboo is a key ingredient into the obsession.

If he was ‘just some guy you grew up around after school’ it wouldn’t hit the same. He requires the small obsessions, the innocent budding need for control that would become apparent in youth.

I’m not saying I love the Gege trope, but it’s absolutely key here. It sells the package that is him.

Honestly, infold is genius for doing Sylus first. The man you think you shouldn’t love, who gets you comfortable with the soft forbidden romance of a criminal and a cop.

Then introduce Caleb, the overrich bitter wine. Something truly forbidden, something truly horrible, something that sets you off kilter, something wrong.

It also makes him a delightful foil for Zayne:

Controlling himself to protect her (Zayne)—desire to heal and preserve like a dried flower. To watch her blossom and grow under his helping hand.

Controlling her to protect himself (Caleb)—desire to consume, covet, own. Even if it destroys all the bits he loves at least she’ll be alive and he won’t be alone (or forget).

*pls imagine maniacal anime giggling here a la MaoMao from apothecary diaries*

[championari]

So I’m constantly thinking about Charles and how he could eventually meet Edwin with his feelings.

Here’s something I realized: Charles, despite constantly talking about things he miss, things he wants, he actually has a complicated relationship with desire as a concept.

How I would put it is by taking Supernatural as an example. There’s an episode in Season 5 where the boys meet Famine, a horseman of the apocalypse. However, Dean is not at all affected by him. It’s because due to being the older brother, and a Hunter, Dean was never allowed to consider acting on or even having desire for anything.

You can see where I’m going with this. Charles, like Dean, doesn’t actually believe he should want anything, due to “not being good enough”.

This is something actually touched on subtly in the show through the acting. When Niko says, “I know what it’s like to want something you can’t have.” Edwin directly looks at The Cat King’s bracelet, while Charles stares off into space. When Tragic Mick describes Angie’s light as enforcing a sense of yearning, Edwin looks at Charles, while again, Charles looks off blankly (can’t access screenshots right now). Edwin knows what he wants but is scared of it, while Charles doesn’t know what he wants because he can’t allow himself to consider it. This gives an entirely new meaning to Charles’ hatred of the Cat King. A supernatural entity who describes his kingdom as being about “want and pleasure”. Thomas is the encapsulation of everything Charles was never allowed to have. Charles chases after things that he knows he can’t have, romancing a living girl despite knowing she will eventually leave. Charles can’t consider returning Edwin’s feelings because that would mean he’s been running away from what’s been in front of him the whole time. That what he wanted was always there, at his lowest point, when he thought he deserved it least.

Returning Edwin’s feelings means he was already enough. And Charles can’t imagine that yet.

While I would obviously adore an interaction between Charles and Desire of The Endless, ultimately I don’t think it would do anything. Like Dean, Charles might be completely unaffected by them because he’s spent most of his existence building walls around his desires. Edwin was completely blindsided by Thomas because he never even considered having to think about Desire due to having no attraction to women and that being the dominant narrative of his time. Charles pursues Crystal because he still wants to feel like he has a chance at “normal life” (which as I said is self-punishment by throwing himself at something he knows he can’t have). To accept that he’s in love with Edwin would mean no longer pursuing a living person. Edwin would be it for him, which he kind of already gets but it hasn’t fully sunk in yet. Just like his death

There's also this exchange that drives me nuts:

"You gave up tranquil eternity…for your friend?" "Does that sound like someone who belongs in Hell?"

THIS. MAKES. ME. INSANE. Because Charles, like he always does when confronted with his own wants, completely avoids it. He doesn't respond to The Night Nurse's obvious confusion as to why he ran from Death, and instead turns the conversation back to Edwin. He makes it all about what Edwin deserves, not what Charles saw in Edwin that led him to make that choice. You could say this is practical as time is of the essence, but I think that's the point. Charles throws away the chance to explain his viewpoint on their first meeting, the consequences of his choice to run from Death with a boy he just met and knew for a few hours, and instead remains single-minded on Edwin's safety. Like when Edwin reasonably questioned, "Why are you getting angry?" when he began freaking out over Thomas getting close to Edwin, he says nothing.

There's just so much happening in that head that I can't stop thinking about.

[riadoodles]

YAAY Thank you for answering the question! Here is another one 👉👈

Imagine that your Rook(s) is not the main character, but a companion:

What would their companion quests look like?

Would there be any special dialogues with a high level of approval? At a critically low level?

Was it possible to romance them? What would their romantic lines be?

What would be the scene of the player's meeting with them?

And thank you again!

omg i love thisss! these are such fun oc prompts~! Thank you!

i was gonna reply sooner but I wanted to doodle the answers… i only ended up with one bc I didn’t have time 😭😭

what would Dawn’s companion quest look like? Okay so I imagined the first part is hanging out with Dawn around the Grand Necropolis.. maybe he’s spacing out staring at the night sky and the main character gets concerned about him because he’ll have quiet moments to himself when he’s usually snarky and loud. You realize that he acts the way he is to hide himself in a way; it’s like a defense mechanism. When you get closer to him he opens up more and talks about how he’s having some sort of identity crisis because he has no idea where he came from and how he ended up at the Grand Necropolis when he was little. He also has huge abandonment issues. I think the ‘big boss’ in his quest would be whoever was chasing him and his mother (he doesn’t know) when he was little.

Would there be any special dialogues with a high level of approval? At a critically low level? High approval: He is more open to being vulnerable and talks about his abandonment issues with you. He is very snarky/sarcastic and flirty in nature, but he shows a softer side when he feels closer to you (still likes to tease from time to time) Low approval: he answers back in short sentences and one word answers. More sarcastic than usual. Will bully you.

Was it possible to romance them? What would their romantic lines be? Oh heeeelll yessss he loves to flirt. He enjoys saying things to get a reaction out of people especially if it gets them flustered. It’s kind of like a game to him, but he gets more serious and soft when someone gives him affection. (I’m not good at coming up with lines, but that’s his vibe)

What would be the scene of the player's meeting with them?

So the player is Emmrich.. right? Cuz then it’s at the Grand Necropolis. Same cutscene, but Emmy goes all in his introduction lol

[semisasseater]

ᴄʜ-ᴄʜ-ᴄʜ-ᴄʜ-ᴄʜᴇʀɪsʜ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ !!

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈┈₊⊹

childhood!best friend se-mi x fem! reader

Summary: you had the biggest crush on your childhood best friend the biggest, so what happens when you accidentally ask if you can kiss her when you were thinking about it?

Tw: fluff, pillow fights, romance tension, jealousy, wuh luh wuh, very little suggestive things, very very little angst ig if you squint, reader is just down bad.

authors note: ahh i really wanna become a writer now!! i hope you’ll like this though because my mind was BLANK butttttt any tips or suggestions or requests would be great!

Not proofread!

Word count: 576

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹ ⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

“What?”

Your head spun as you tried to process how you ended up in this situation.

You had a crush on Se-mi—a huge one—for as long as you could remember. Ever since elementary school, you admired her, but you always tried to brush it off as simple friendliness. After all, you were both girls. What if she wasn’t into girls? What if she never saw you as someone she could date?

Those questions lingered in your mind for years. The first was answered when she started dating a girl in eighth grade. You’d felt an unexpected surge of rage and jealousy when you saw them together. You wished more than anything to be in her girlfriend’s place, but life didn’t work that way. Now, years later, you were both in college, yet your feelings hadn’t faded. If anything, they’d grown stronger.

Every time another girl tried to flirt with Se-mi, your jealousy would flare up. You’d lie and tell people the two of you were dating or convince her not to hook up with them. Se-mi never questioned it. She always listened to you. Why? You didn’t know. Maybe it was because you were her best friend—or maybe, just maybe, she felt the same way you did.

“Se-mi can you help me with this math problem?” you whined, sprawled out on her bed with your face buried in her pillows.

She walked over, smiling as she ran her fingers through her messy hair. Plopping onto the bed beside you, she scooted closer and glanced at your laptop screen, giggling.

“Wow you really don’t know this?” she teased.

“Shut up! You know I’m terrible at math” you retorted, grabbing the pillow you’d been lying on and swatting her with it.

Laughing, she tried to block your attacks. “O-okay okay! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she said between bursts of laughter.

But instead of stopping, she grabbed a pillow and swung back. What started as a playful hit turned into a full-blown pillow fight, the room filling with the sound of laughter and giggles.

Eventually, you tackled her, pinning her down and crawling over her as you both laughed breathlessly. Exhausted, you flopped onto her lap, resting your head against her shoulder. Her arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

Your thoughts wandered as her warmth surrounded you.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” you wondered aloud, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“What?” Se-mi asked, her voice soft but surprised.

Realizing what you’d said, your face flushed a deep red, and you scrambled to sit up. “O-oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to say that! I-I was just—”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Panic surged through you as you tried to explain yourself, but Se-mi’s grip on your waist tightened. Her free hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer.

And then she kissed you.

It was deep and passionate, her lips soft and warm against yours, fitting together like two puzzle pieces that had been waiting for this moment. The kiss wasn’t rushed or hesitant; it was filled with unspoken emotions, affection, and love.

When she finally pulled away, your face was flushed a hot pink. She chuckled softly, running her fingers through her hair again, a habit you adored.

“So…” she murmured, pressing a finger to her lips. “How long have you been wanting to kiss me, pretty girl?”

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹ ⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

@semisasseater

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

You’re like the best writer of smut here ☺️☺️☺️

Please I’m begging 90s James (can be any era) taking reader’s virginity? But he didn’t know she’s innocent and she thinks after all the groupies he fucked he’d be disappointed in her? But he’s actually super turned on, cause no one touched her and now he gets to ruin her??? So I guess corruption kink, purity kink, dirty talk, size kink (he’s big, we all know that)???

A/n: I've had this conversation with a friend a few times, my idea is that -going off of the picture of James on the record, we all know the one- he's roughly 5-7 inches (8 being a generous amount) because he's holding himself in his hand and there's still some poking out, plus he looks flaccid SO by my calculations I've come up with said lengths, let me know if you want to hear more of my thoughts on sixty year old mens dicks🫠

Warnings: Smut, size kink, dirty talk, fingering (f receiving), idk about corruption and purity kinks but I tried lol, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You straddled his lap, arms around his neck with your fingers laced in his hair. James's arms were around you, holding you close while he attacked your lips with your own, his tongue exploring your mouth.

You'd been dating for two months, getting closer to three, and you still hadn't told him he would be your first. You'd gone on a few dates, some highschool romances but those didn't mean anything really.

You were quiet and kept to yourself, you didn't go out, you didn't get dates, how you managed to get him was beyond you but here you were, in his bed, in his lap, in his arms with his hard on pressed firmly against your ass.

Honestly, you didn't think you'd make it this far with him. James was a rocker, the lead singer of a big band, he'd been with so many women it was hard to believe that he went cold turkey just because he met you.

"Sweetheart," he spoke, getting your attention, "what's wrong?" He asked, bringing a hand up to your face and thumbing your cheek in a soothing motion.

"What's wrong..?" You repeated softly, letting him move your face further away so he could look at you. "Nothing's wrong, why?"

"You were thinking about something." He said with a warm smile. "You stopped kissing me."

You gave a small nod, understanding why he was stopping now. "Right, sorry." You leaned closer to kiss him again but you only got a quick peck before he pushed you away again.

"What were you thinking about, sweetheart?" He asked, eyes flicking down to your red lips.

"Nothing." You assured.

James rolled his eyes. "It's not nothing, tell me." He said sternly, looking you in the eye. You chewed your cheek, he knew just what eyes to give to make your knees weak.

"I'm sorry." You finally said. "I know you're used to a lot of women, you're used to groupies, and I'm not them and I don't think it'll be good enough but I want to try, I just literally don't know how..?" You explained.

James blinked at you, expression blank. "Sweetheart, I mean this politely, what the fuck do you mean?" He couldn't hold back a small chuckle. "Are-are you saying you're scared you're not good enough at sex for me?"

Your mouth opened before the words came out. "Well, yeah but that's not exactly what I meant." You mumbled. "I mean... I-I might be lacking in the, um, sex...ual... intimacy? With, you know... others?"

James inhaled deeply, he gave a nod and rested his forehead on your shoulder. "Sweetheart, are you trying -and failing miserably, might I add- that you're a virgin?" You huffed at his comment but you had to nod.

"Yes." You mumbled, fingers curling in his hair to scratch his scalp. He gave a small hum and pulled away from you again, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as he did.

"Right, and I'd be upset because?" You thought for a while but whatever train of thought you were on was cutoff when you felt him twitching against your ass. "Sweetheart, we can take it slow, you just gotta talk to me."

You inhaled deeply, nodding along as he spoke. "Jamie," you started, "I-I want you to take me... my virginity..." Your voice fell to a mumble, embarrassed at actually saying it out loud, so bluntly as well. Straight to his face.

James smiled up at you. "Alright then." He said, hand going to undo your shorts.

Your face flushed as he did so. "What-what are you doing?" You asked, slight panic slipping into your voice.

"Don't worry, I told you we can take it slow." He assured, closing the gap between you for a moment as he helped you out of your shorts. "But that means I have to get you ready for me, sweetheart, it's not gonna be easy fitting me into you if you're not ready." While it made sense you didn't want to think too much about it.

James continued to pepper your face with kisses as he pushed your panties to the side. He ran a finger through your folds, giving a small hum of approval at how wet you were already. He pushed a finger into you, enjoying the soft gasp that left you when he did.

"Tell me, sweetheart, and be honest." He spoke. "You have touched yourself before, haven't you?" He asked, combing his free hand through your hair.

You hesitated before answering, cheeks already dusted a candy red colour. "Um, I-I have toys..." You mumbled, unable to look him in the eyes as you said it.

James's smile widened. "You do, do you?" He asked. "And when you use them, you think of me don't you?" He questioned further, started to pump his finger in and out of you.

Your breaths grew heavy, eyelids fluttering as his finger moved. "I think of you, Jamie." You said, but it wasn't enough, you were already going this far, you had more to get off your chest. "I-I think of you on top of me, I think of the faces you make and I think of what you sound like... I think of you naked, I think of-of what you'd look like with my-my hand around you... your cock... I think about what it-it looks like when you cum." Once you started you couldn't stop, all the filthy things you'd been thinking about coming out like dirty commandments.

James listened in slight shock, he hadn't known you to be so needy. "Filthy slut." He said with a smile, adding a second digit. "Keep talking." He urged. "I want to hear what else you think of when you're getting yourself off."

The addition of another finger made you whine but he slowed down to let you get used to the stretch. You swallowed thickly and nodded, mentally preparing yourself to continue.

You closed your eyes, letting his fingers resume the same motion, in and out, slow and curling to find what made you tick. "I think ah-about riding you, my-my hands on your chest while you tell me wh-ah- what to do, how-how good I'm doing."

"What kind of toys do you have, sweetheart?" He asked, pulling you from your thoughts. You bit your lip, he wasn't even supposed to know you touched yourself, now he was supposed to know what you're using to do it with? "C'mon, I won't judge." He said, kissing the tip of your nose as his fingers curled in you, making your eyes roll and he knew to hit that spot again.

"They-they're vibrators."

"They?" He repeated. "As in multiple?" Your eyes widened as the realization of what you'd admitted to. "Naughty girl." He curled his fingers again, bringing you closer to your already nearing release.

James added another finger, moving his hand faster now as he scissored your hole in an attempt to prep you for his cock. "When you're alone in bed with your toys, that's how you do it, isn't it?" He asked for confirmation.

You gave it willingly, nodding your head as more moans started falling from your lips.

"You're thinking about me." He continued. "What kind of vibrators?" He asked again. "You've never had anything inside you, sweetheart, right? I'll be the first?" You nodded, his fingers making it hard to focus on anything else. He chuckled as he saw how close you were. "That's it, that's my good girl, cum on my fingers."

Your gut tightened before bursting, your eyes rolled back. Your hands resting on his shoulder clutched his shirt in your fists as you came, a string of curses leaving you.

James groaned lowly at the sight, his fingers still moving in you and letting you ride out your high on them.

As you came down from it, though, he let you melt into him, slowly and carefully shifting you to lay on your back on the mattress. Your head fell back onto his pillow, his scent filling your nose, completely taking you over.

James hovered over you a moment, propping himself between your legs and holding himself up with his hands firmly planted on either side of your head. "Is this what you fantasize about, sweetheart?" You could only nod and let him undress you before following shortly after.

"I'll go slow, so just relax." He said, brushing some of your hair out of your face. "And if, for any reason, you want to stop, tell me. I want to know- I need to know if you're uncomfortable with anything for whatever reason, am I understood?" He asked firmly, cupping your cheek in the palm of his hand.

You nodded, staring right back at him as he used his other hand to line himself up with your cunt before pushing in. He did just what he said he would, moving slowly.

He stopped to pepper kisses all over your face and tell you how good you were doing. "That feels good, doesn't it? Feels good when I stretch you out like this." You nodded, arms wrapped around him, hands splayed out on his back.

"You-you're so big." You mumbled, looking down at him in hopes of catching a glimpse of where you both connected. Only, what you saw was a few more inches still needing to be pushed in.

James let out hearty laugh when he saw your eyes widen. "Only halfway, sweetheart, you'll know when I'm balls deep, don't worry."

You slowly relaxed back into the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, mind full. "You're gonna tear me in two." You muttered to no one in particular, James was the only one there to hear and it made him laugh.

"Damn right I am." He agreed. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else, sweetheart, no ones gonna stretch you out like this, no ones gonna make you theirs." His eyes flickered over your face, taking in your expression of wide eyes and the small pout on your lips. "No one else gets to be your first."

In a quick motion he pushed the rest of himself into you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. Your eyes rolled back, hands clawing at his back and making him groan. He looked down, grin only getting bigger as he saw the bulge he made in your stomach.

"No one else gets to do that." He purred, reaching a hand down to press on your stomach. A whine left you as he did, your legs tried to close but he was in the way. "Not so fast, sweetheart, we haven't even gotten started yet."

[linosaurus-ikuklk]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Bang Chan - I'm Yours, Always.

Summary: After a tiring season of continuous work loads, your best friend Changbin invites you to a 3-days vacation at a beachside villa. But dread follows you until then when you found out that your ex-situationship was coming too.

Genre: Romance

Trope: Ex-situationships (cuz what else would it be?), Second Chance, Fluff, Angst (if your mind wanders on its own about their backstory)

Word Count: 3.2k

Notes: This one is a oneshot because this came up in my head while listening to---obviously, "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz while I was in the middle of preparing myself for second semester. I had the song on repeat for about a week now and I'm not stopping any sooner. This is not 100% proofread too so... heh. This may not be a lot but I hope you like it~!

A week ago, you’ve been praying—begging even—to God to let you have a break from your exhausting, tedious job as an office worker. The job could get very demanding, especially with the loads and loads of paperwork you had to proofread and edit. If you could only crash out, like you would during elementary if you didn’t like the subject, you would’ve done it already. But without a doubt, that would cost you your only job and only source of income.

God is good and your prayers have been answered through the way of your tooth-rottingly sweet best friend, Seo Changbin. He didn’t have to aegyo his way in to convince you, one paragraph message was enough to get you to come with him and your other friends to a retreat at a beachside villa. 

“Tell me you’re already done preparing.”

You saw the notification that popped up on your screen, the nickname “Dwaekki” disappearing after a few seconds. You checked and read it with a scoff puffing out of you. 

“I think I’m the most excited about this. I’ve already packed two days ago.”

Glancing at your suitcase sized backpack, you smirked, knowing it’s not you who’s going to be carrying that. It was very intentional since all of those boys were getting their muscles ripped, why not give it something to do other than impressing the ladies?

What were you even carrying in that bag? A bunch of clothes? Dang, you have 5 dresses and 3 pairs of bikinis. Not only that, you have a lot of things to enjoy while you’re there. Food, board games, and a thick book you’ve been trying to read for the past year. 

“You should see Chan, he’s already in the villa.”

You frowned, immediately typing in a message. Your heart thumping a little harder. 

“I thought he’s not coming?”

To say things had been weird between you and Chan lately was an understatement. You’d been close once—the kind of close where he’d text you after a long day just to check in, where he’d look for you in the crowd during a performance and shoot you a small, private smile. But then life got busy. For him, at least. And for you? Well, you’d gotten used to not hearing from him anymore. Mostly.

“Idk what changed his mind.” “We’re outside, you need help with your bag?”

The ride to the villa wasn’t so bad. Aside from your legs being cramped up from all the other baggage the guys decided to bring, you enjoyed singing and playing games with the guys.

But your mind wandered to Chan every now and then. You wanted to be comfortable as much as you can in this vacation and you’re beginning to doubt it when you found out that he’s in too. Are you even going to be able to sit in the same room without hating yourself for staring at him even if you didn’t intend to? How are you even going to react when he’s sitting beside you? Are you going to scurry away and cringe or just sit there like you’re not affected by his mere presence, whatsoever?

Still, when you arrived at the villa and saw him standing by the front door, his hair tousled by the salty breeze, you couldn’t stop the way your stomach flipped. He spotted you instantly, his eyes lighting up with that familiar warmth.

“You came,” he said, stepping forward to grab one of your bags before you could protest. His dimpled smile was every bit as devastating as you remembered. You forced a small smile, your gaze fixed on the ground, only glancing up at him for a mere millisecond, showing him a slight—and unbearably awkward smile of gratitude before following Changbin and Minho inside. 

The night came in a few hours and when you finally came out of your room—after giving yourself enough time to focus on just enjoying your vacation—you saw that the boys had already set a campfire in the sand. You joined them by helping Minho and Yongbok with grilling the lamb chops. Seungmin sang in the background as Jisung played his guitar while the others did the finishing touches to the tents they were setting up.

Minho goes inside to get the other foods and Felix goes to get the utensils, leaving you with the responsibility of trying not to burn the precious meat. You were pretty focused, counting down the remaining minute it should stay on that side to cook when suddenly, someone takes the tongs from you. Looking up, you almost kicked the grill down when you saw Chan but seeing that it’s not rational, you only frowned at him before fixing your gaze back down to the lamb chops as he moved them around.

“What are you doing? Minho said that it should stay like that for one more minute,” you said but he only chuckles lightly at you, so light that it plays with the strings of your heart which makes you want to jump at him and straight up beat him for still doing this to you. For fluttering you with the barest minimum.

“It’s been more than a minute,” he turns the lamb chops to their other side to cook, glancing at you with a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You didn’t do anything to argue and let him do the job, he’s an expert anyway. You wiped your dirty hands on the back of your pants as you backed away quietly. “You cooked these well,” he comments, making you stop from escaping his excruciating presence. 

“No, Minho and Felix did most of the job…” you trailed off, glancing inside the house to see if any of the two were coming back. “I just helped with the seasoning.”

Your voice was quiet and had an obvious hint of unease in it, making Chan grit his jaw and just nod without looking. He lets you slip away and make your way to Hyunjin who was decorating the place with fairy lights. But even with the task at hand, his gaze was on you. 

Why did he let this happen? After all the things that happened between the both of you—if anything really did happen—why did he let it wear away with time?

Once everything was settled, all of you sat in a circle to eat. It was peaceful at first, just casually praising the chef—Minho and Chan—and remembering the time when Jisung and Yongbok had to cook for them. That was until Changbin brought up the ultimate debate: which is better, the pool or the ocean?

It was a one-on-eight argument, with Minho being the only one to side on the pool while he argued mostly with Hyunjin. “Why would I willingly swim somewhere I can’t see what’s underneath me? Something could just crawl up and—” He shuddered dramatically, cutting himself off.

“So dramatic,” Hyunjin snorted, letting the irony slide past himself, throwing a marshmallow at him. “The ocean is better. You can float and feel at one with nature.”

Minho caught the marshmallow mid-air. “Yeah, until a jellyfish shows up and ‘one with nature’ turns into ‘one with the ER.’” He shoves the treat in his mouth.

The conversation spiraled until Seungmin, who had been quietly observing the chaos, decided to end it. He leaned forward, his face neutral, and delivered his final verdict: “Doesn’t matter. Either way, there’s still a chance you’ll drown and die.”

The silence lasted two full beats before everyone burst out laughing. Even Minho couldn’t keep a straight face, muttering under his breath, “I hate how he’s not wrong.” 

And as the laughter kept on erupting while the others added more things to laugh at, your eyes caught Chan’s as they looked at you with the same softness he used to before he became distant and a smile that could bring vibrant colors to your eyes. It made you shudder, your smile faltering as you looked away.

What is he trying to do now? Dimple his way back to you like he did before? He left you hanging on something you thought that was there and it sure did take a lot from you to let go of it. Are you going to fall for the same thing that made you doubt yourself and even others in the end?

That night, while you were trying to sleep inside your tent, it occurred to you that maybe he was just trying to be civil. Maybe you were the one who gave all the wrong meanings to those things before. Maybe you’re just being too rough on him right now. So you decided to treat him with respect, without recoiling from his presence.

The next morning, you woke up before everyone else. You hadn’t planned to—but between the excitement of being here and the not-so-quiet snores coming from Jeongin’s tent, sleep had decided it wasn’t your friend. So, you grabbed a hoodie and wandered outside, where the early sun painted the sky in soft hues of pink and orange.

You made your way outside, the sand tickling the sole of your feet. You weren’t expecting to see anyone else. Which is why your heart nearly leapt out of your chest when you heard the gentle strum of a guitar. And there he was: Bang Chan, sitting cross-legged on the sand, barefoot and completely lost in his own world.

“You’re up early,” he said when he noticed you, his voice carrying that low, soothing tone you’d missed way too much. The slight adrenaline that was rushing through your body finally soothed when you saw how natural he looked. How his face is still slightly puffy from sleep and his hair tousled by the wind.

You let your walls come down just for a bit and let yourself be vulnerable around him in a way that was too subtle for him to feel. “I couldn’t miss this view,” you replied, gesturing vaguely at the ocean. You let your eyes be blessed with his beauty, the pinkish tips of his fingers gently strumming the chords as he looked back at you. You notice he was staring because you’re too busy admiring him, but he was looking at you with the same endearing, sparkling eyes. 

How you looked so beautiful with the sun kissing your skin. Your hair was being blown by the wind in directions that make you look like an angel, a blessing sent from heaven. And your eyes, how they stared down at him like they could make him do the most desperate things in the world—only to have them stay like that when you would meet his gaze.

Questions popped in his mind, those that he wondered for the past days. Questions he missed to ask you on a regular basis. How have you been? Are you resting well? Why are you letting yourself drown in too much work?

He grinned, tilting his head. “You mean the sunrise, or…?” You rolled your eyes, but your face heated up anyway. Typical Chan.

He started playing a soft, familiar melody—I’m Yours. And before you knew it, you were humming along, your voice blending with his as you sat a foot away from him. It was effortless, like no time had passed. Like you’d always been meant to find your way back to this moment. Find your way back to him.

And before either of you even knew it, the tangled strings were beginning to unravel. With every stolen glance, the tension melted through the sands and got carried away to the ocean, with each melody you sang, the uneasiness was carried by the wind. You knew you were going to give in and yet the walls still stood at the height of your chest.

Game night was chaos. Of course it was. You should’ve known better when Jeongin grabbed the charades cards with a gleeful smirk, practically vibrating with excitement as he announced the teams. “And for the ultimate duo…” He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes landing squarely on you and Chan. “You two. Obviously.”

Your protests fell on deaf ears. Before you could argue, Hyunjin swooped in, all flair and drama. He clutched his chest like he was auditioning for a period drama, his voice rising in exaggerated passion. “This is fate! Look at their chemistry! The sparks! The magic!”

“Hyunjin, sit down,” you muttered, trying to suppress your growing embarrassment as the rest of the boys howled with laughter.

Chan, standing beside you, chuckled softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous.” The casual warmth in his tone sent a ripple of warmth through your chest, and despite your best efforts, your lips twitched into a reluctant smile, forgetting whatever reason you were uneasy around him before.

The game started, and the chaos only escalated. Chan leaned in close as the two of you deciphered the clues, his shoulder brushing yours in a way that felt natural but electric all the same. You tried to focus, but his laughter was like a song you couldn’t ignore, each note low and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket.

Later that night, the bonfire lit up the shoreline, casting flickering shadows over the sand. The guys’ laughter and chatter filled the air, but your attention kept drifting to Chan, who seemed distracted—his gaze flickering to you every so often, like he was working up the courage to say something.

Eventually, he stood and gestured for you to follow. “Walk with me?”

You nodded, your heart thudding as you left the group behind. The waves lapped gently at your feet as you strolled along the water’s edge, the sound soothing and steady. But Chan’s presence next to you? It makes your heartbeat go crazy and you don’t even know if it’s from nervousness or something in the range of anger. It makes your hands and feet go cold without any particular reason. It was anything but calm. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “I just… didn’t know how.”

You stopped, turning to face him. “What is it?”

He ran a hand through his curls, looking down at his feet before meeting your eyes. “I know I’ve been distant. I’ve been trying to balance everything—the group, the music… everything. But in doing that, I’ve been ignoring the one thing that matters most to me.”

Your breath caught. Was he…?

“I’ve always known where my heart belongs,” he continued, his voice trembling just slightly. “It’s with you. And I just didn’t know how to say it without scaring you away. But I can’t… I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, his words sinking in like waves crashing against the shore. His gaze at you as soft as the clouds in the skies, like it could sweep you off of your feet. Then, finally, you found your voice.

“You’re an idiot,” you said, your throat tightening with unshed tears.

It wasn’t an illusion, it’s not you assuming things that weren’t actually there. It wasn’t him randomly being fixated on you or anything negative of the sorts.

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “What?”

You stepped closer, close enough to see the vulnerability in his expression. The proximity of it almost kills you from how much you longed for it. How you just wanted to jump into his arms and let him pull you in like you needed to be combined as one. “You’re an idiot for thinking I wouldn’t wait for you. I’ve been yours all along, Chan. And I always will be.”

Relief flooded Chan’s features, followed by a smile so radiant it could’ve outshone the stars. He pulled you into his arms, holding you like you were something precious, something he’d never let go of again. His hand on the back of your neck, keeping your cheek flush against his shoulder, his other hand on your waist that keeps you steady as you stand on your toes. 

It doesn’t matter how long you have been distant. It just shows how love can be so strong and get even stronger when two people are far from each other. And the fact that you came back in each other’s embrace proves that your love for each other was as true as you thought it was. Yours and his faith didn’t fail, but you did let fear hold you back.  

The next day, the two of you strolled along the beach hand in hand, the world slowly waking around you. Chan’s phone played I’m Yours softly, and before you could protest, he spun you around, pulling you into a slow, lazy dance.

“Chan,” you laughed, glancing around nervously, your hands secured your own balance as you held on to his biceps. “What if the others see?”

“Let them,” he said simply, his eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper. His strong arms wrapped around your waist as he nestled his nose on the crown of your head, his eyes closing for a brief moment to let the scent of your shampoo to be burned on his mind. “I’m not hiding this anymore. Not hiding us.”

As he pulled you closer—chest to chest, your heart swelled, the tip of your noses brushing against each other. But then a distant voice shouted, “Ayo, Chan, save some of that sweetness for later!” followed by a chorus of howling and teasing laughs.

“Get a room, you two!” Felix shouted from a few yards away, his eyes squinting from the glaring sun and was followed by Hyunjin's dramatic, "Oh, the pain of witnessing such public displays of affection."

You looked over, your face turning a shade of red that could rival the sunset, and saw the other members standing in a small group, all grinning like idiots, giving you both thumbs-up. Changbin was hitting Seungmin as he squealed, Jisung shook Jeongin by his shoulder, and Minho squatted on the ground with the most endearing smile.

"Don’t mind them," Chan whispered with a playful smirk, noticing your embarrassment and making you turn your gaze to him again. "Just look at me." His voice was commanding but in a very gentle way that it would make you obey right away.

Jisung yelled from behind, “I’m not sure if I’m more jealous or grossed out!” He rested his hands on Minho’s shoulder and almost fell over when the older guy stumbled forward.

“See?” Chan said with a grin, “They’re jealous.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your face still flushed. “Maybe, but they’re definitely loud.”

“I’m sure they’ll get over it,” Chan teased, his arms tightening around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

You laughed, feeling a lightness spread through you. Chan spun you again, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, surrounded by the music and the sound of the waves.

And then, with that familiar spark in his eyes, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The teasing from the others faded into the background, but the warmth from their playful energy lingered.

"This is our fate," he whispered. “I’m yours… as you are mine.”

And as his lips found yours, the rest of the world faded away. It was just you, him, and the unshakable certainty that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

~~

"For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind."

2 Timothy 1:7

Don't be shy to give me suggestions guysss~ I hope you enjoyed "I'm Yours, Always."! God bless you all!!

[the-offside-rule]

Jude Bellingham (Real Madrid) - My Ferrari Girl

Requested: yes

Prompt: F1 Driver!Reader x Jude Bellingham

Warnings: none to note

The Monaco Grand Prix always held a certain kind of magic, and this year was no different—except, for Y/n, it felt even more special. It was her first year with Scuderia Ferrari, and she was starting from second on the grid. With the glistening Mediterranean waters just beyond the track, it was hard not to feel the buzz of excitement. But today, there was an added layer of anticipation for her; Jude was in the paddock. This was the first time he’d made an official appearance as her boyfriend, but their relationship had been carefully kept under wraps until now. They had met in Monaco two years ago and had shared some magical moments, including sneaking off to the Champions League final in 2024 with Lando Norris. The romance between them had been slow-burning, and they’d kept it secret with only a few subtle likes and comments on social media to give fans something to speculate about.

Jude had been in her life through the highs and lows, and now, here they were, at the most prestigious race of the year, standing just feet apart but unable to make their love public... until now.

As Y/n stood with her mechanic beside her Ferrari, her hands lightly gripping the edge of the car, she discussed the race strategy. The air was thick with the anticipation of what was to come. Jude, on the other hand, stood off to the side with Alexandra, Charles Leclerc's girlfriend. Between the two Ferrari cars, they made casual small talk, discussing how stressful it would be watching the race from the hospitality suite. "Are you nervous?" Alexandra asked, glancing at Jude. His face was the picture of concentration, though a part of him wanted nothing more than to walk over to Y/N and wish her good luck in person. "Yeah." Jude admitted. "It’s going to be stressful. It’s Monaco, after all. But especially because she’s starting from second. It’s big for her."

Before he could say more, Martin Brundle appeared out of nowhere, microphone in hand. "Alexandra, how are you feeling about the race today?" Martin asked, his usual charm evident as he spoke. "And Jude, how are you finding the paddock life so far? You’ve got a real expert guiding you around with Alexandra." Jude smiled, trying to keep his cool. "It’s all been a bit overwhelming, to be honest. But I’m learning from the best." He said, glancing at Alexandra. Martin chuckled, then moved on to another question. "So, why Monaco? You’re usually busy with football. What makes this race so special for you?"

Jude’s eyes flicked toward Y/N as she adjusted her helmet, her focus on her car. A proud smile spread across his face. "I’ve always loved this race. But now," he paused, trying to collect his thoughts, "it’s especially special because my girlfriend is starting from second." Alexandra’s eyes widened in shock, and Martin’s expression mirrored hers. A long silence followed. Jude’s face immediately turned pale as he realized what he had just said. His hand shot to his mouth in a panic. "I... I mean... I didn’t mean to-"

Martin’s eyebrows shot up. "Wait, you’re saying your girlfriend? Who is she?" Jude took a deep breath, trying to salvage the moment. He turned and pointed toward Y/n, who was still talking to her mechanic. "That short girl in red? That’s the love of my life." Martin’s jaw dropped, and Alexandra struggled to hide a laugh. "Are you sure you want to go public with this now, Jude?" She teased. Jude let out a nervous laugh, still looking shocked. "I panicked, alright? I wasn’t ready for that... but, yeah, that’s her."

Martin turned back to Alexandra, his smile widening. "Well, I won’t bother her, but congratulations to both of you. Wishing you the best." As Martin moved on, Alexandra burst into laughter, elbowing Jude playfully. "You are in so much trouble."

"I know." Jude groaned, face red. "Y/n’s going to kill me." Sylvia, Ferrari’s PR manager, arrived just in time to rescue them. "The race is about to start. Let’s get you both to hospitality," she said, ushering them away. Before they parted ways, Jude quickly crossed the grid to Y/N, who was standing beside the car, adjusting her gloves. He gave her a brief but sweet kiss on the cheek. "Good luck." He whispered, his voice filled with affection. Y/n smiled at him, not knowing the chaos he had just caused. "Thank you." She replied, her focus still sharp.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The race was everything they expected. Intense, chaotic, and unpredictable. But in the end, it was a Ferrari 1-2 finish. Charles Leclerc took the victory, but Y/n had managed an impressive second place. The crowd erupted as the Ferrari team celebrated, but Jude couldn’t help but feel a little upset that most of the attention was on Charles. As Y/n climbed out of her car in Parc Fermé, she was greeted by cheers, but Jude didn’t mind. He walked right up to her, ignoring the cameras, and kissed her on the lips. His pride and love for her were palpable.

The two drivers disappeared into the Ferrari team area, while Jude and Alexandra stayed behind, discussing how stressful the race had been to watch. "I swear, I was about to pass out the entire time." Jude admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t blame you." Alexandra said with a smile. "But you should be proud. She was incredible." Jude nodded. "I am. More than I can explain."

As the celebrations continued, Jude stood proudly under the podium, his eyes fixed on Y/n as she was awarded her trophy. He felt a burst of pride watching her, knowing she had worked so hard to get here. After the ceremony, Y/n headed off to her media duties. She was immediately asked about the race and, as expected, was asked if it felt even more special with Jude there. She smiled and kept her answers cool. "It’s an honour to have someone like Jude supporting me. We’ve met a few times before, and it’s always great to have him here," she said, keeping it casual.

But then the journalist hit her with a curveball. "So, Jude let it slip on live broadcast today that you two have been dating for a while. What’s that all about?" Y/n’s eyes widened in confusion. "Wait, what?" The journalist pulled out his phone and showed her the clip of Jude’s accidental confession. Y/N let out a laugh, realizing what had happened. "Oh, he really did that, didn’t he?" She chuckled.

Before her next interview, she called Jude, unable to suppress her laughter. "Jude Bellingham, you just hard-launched our relationship on live TV. I can’t believe you." Jude’s voice came through the phone, full of sheepish amusement. "I panicked! You know I didn’t mean to." She smiled, looking down to the ground to avoid her PR manager tapping her watch. "Yeah, well, I’m going to have to deal with this now, aren’t I?" She teased, smiling despite herself. "Yeah, good luck, I love you, and I'm sorry." He chuckled. "Mind my trophy for me until I get back." Y/n said before hanging up and turning back to her PR manager. "Already getting you into trouble?" She asked. Y/n scoffed playfully. "That's what boyfriends are for. They're no fun without a little trouble."

[in1-nutshell]

Hi! Can we get more Nova and Bumblebee please?

Maybe Bumblebee starts too realize slowly about Nova and his own feeling.

The pinning has finally finished!

Hope you enjoy!

Bumblebee and Nova confess?

SFW, Platonic, Romance, Cybertronian reader

G1

Raoul was sick and tired of hearing about the drama Tracks had.

Now normally he would be all in for hearing about bot stories from the flying car, but lately it had turned into an endless rant about how it was going to probably take the ending of the war to get Bumblebee and Nova to confess.

He had had enough!

Raoul: “Tracks, I love ya man, but can you PLEASE talk about anything else besides those two!” Tracks: “Well, no one is asking you to stay.” Raoul: “I’m just tryina hear abou da new stuff on base and here ya are talking about Bee and Bova! I’m sick of it!” Tracks just huffs at this. Raoul: “I swear. Ya know what? I bet I can get those two bozos together faster than you can drive.” Tracks: “Yeah right. No offense Raoul but those two are as dense as your skull.” Raoul: “Some offense taken. Then let’s make things interesting. If I can get them together on an actual date by the end of the month, you have ta drive and fly me for a week.” Tracks: “Raoul if you get them to go on a date, I’ll drive and fly you anywhere for a month.” Raoul: “Deal!”

Raoul has most of the basics down on both bots… but apparently completely forgot that she was a dinobot.

Bit of a surprise, but you know what, he is still doing this.

Cranks up all his confidence and swagger in his body up by 100 the moment he steps out of Track’s alt mode.

He heads straight to the bot, who was happily chatting with Bumblebee.

Raoul: “Yo what’s up?” Nova looks down in surprise. Nova: “Hello? Who you?” Raoul: “The name’s Raoul, gorgeous. I’mma a friend of Tracks.” She was pretty for a bot, but not his type. Nova: “Tracks friend?” Raoul: “Yes siree. I’ve heard a ton about ya Nova, especially about ya being a dinobot, and being strong. I’d sure like ta see a cutie like you in action.” Nova smiles at him. Nova: “Nova can show friend Raoul! Come! Come!” Raoul and Nova happily talk as they make their way out of the Ark. Every bot who witnessed this: “…” Prowl: “What was that?” Jazz: “I think I need Ratchet to check my optics…” Blaster turns to Tracks: “I didn’t know Raoul was into bots.” Tracks: “He isn’t!” Bumblebee was standing in the same place trying to process what had just happened. Bumblebee: “That was… weird?” Grimlock is slowly blinking and trying to wrap around his processor how this new human took away his scout from the love of her life. Grimlock: “Me Grimlock can’t handle love triangle today…”

No one has any idea what just happened.

And this is not the end of it.

Nova was out with her new friend almost every day.

She always seemed to be by the humans side from patrol routes to hang out spots.

There was a clear trust gained within those couple of days.

Raoul went from walking by her side, to sitting on top of her helm in dino mode.

A sign of extreme trust.

New bets are made in the betting pool concerning whether Bee or Raoul would end up going out with Nova.

Grimlock is just watching all of this from afar and banging his helm.

Ratchet and Wheeljack are trying to stop him from making a hole in the Ark with his helm slamming.

Bumblebee has no idea what to think about this.

He was so used to having Nova close by, it felt wrong to have her so far.

Sure, they had been separated before on missions and when on different patrol routes, but this was different.

She was giving Raoul HIS smiles!

Wait—what did he just say?

Bumblebee wakes up at 3 in the morning as the Brick of Love had hit him square in the face. He liked Nova. He liked his best friend. Bumblebee: “Oh Sweet Primus…” He gets up and walks a bit around the Ark. Jazz was dragging Prowl to the berth when they both spot Bumblebee. Jazz: “Bee? You okay man? It’s kinda late for a stroll.” Prowl: “Did something happen?” Bumblebee: “I just had a realization, that’s all.” Prowl: “What is it?” Bumblebee looks a bit nervous. Bumblebee: “Promise you won’t laugh?” Both mech nod and wait. Bumblebee: “I think I like Nova... like more than a friend.” Prowl and Jazz: “…” Prowl vents and face palms. Prowl: “Thank Primus I thought it was serious.” Bumblebee: “What?” Jazz brings him to a side hug. Jazz: “Congrats Bee. You’re the last to know.” Bumblebee: “Wait? It was that obvious?” Prowl: “Bumblebee, everyone knows Nova has feelings for you.” Bumblebee: “…Even Grimlock?” Jazz: “Especially Grimlock.”

After some encouraging words from the two Bee walked back to his berth.

He did try to go back to sleep but couldn’t.

After the realization, he needed to talk to Nova.

It could have been his last chance if Raoul hadn’t taken that too.

In hindsight, he knew it was probably not a good idea to sneak into the dinobots quarters.

Most of them slept in their dino modes in a circle or giant pile.

Why a pile? He didn’t know and it didn’t look comfy either.

Thank Primus it was circle today.

As carefully and quietly as he could he sneaked to Nova’s side and gently tapped her helm.

Her optics slowly opened as she let out a yawn.

He told her in a hushed voice to follow him.

Not yet understanding everything, she let the yellow bot grab her servo and lead her away from the circle.

The pair was now outside the Ark as the first signs of the sun started showing in the sky. Nova yawns again finally noticing how Bumblebee hadn’t let go of her servo. Her frame started heating up. Nova: “Why Bumblebee bring Nova outside? It very early.” Bumblebee: “Well… You see I…umm… Nova I…” Nova looked at the yellow mech now concerned. Nova: “Something wrong?” Bumblebee: “No its just… You know what I’m just going to say it!” Nova: “Bumblebee?” Bumblebee: “I like you! I like you a lot!” Nova froze in place. She tilted her helm at him with near pleading optics. Nova: “Is that true? You like like Nova?” Bumblebee nods before looking down embarrassed, missing the new brightness in her optics. Bumblebee: “I think I have for a while but never acted until Raoul came.” Nova: “Friend Raoul? Why? He is friend.” Bumblebee: “Really? I thought maybe you two had something—” CLANK! The smaller mech was suddenly trapped in a tight hug by the taller dinobot. She curled her tail around his pedes as her chassis made a low purring noise. Nova: “Raoul is friend. Nova like like Bumblebee only.” Bumblebee let out a laugh of relief as he hugged her back. They broke from the hug and opted to sit next to each other and wait for the sun to rise. Meanwhile in the Ark… Grimlock wakes up first and notices Nova’s spot empty. Grimlock: “Nova? Nova! Swoop! Snarl! Sludge! Slag! Where Nova at!?”

While having several panicky dinobot’s wake up everyone wasn’t the best start for most of the bots on base, it was worth it when they saw Bee and Nova holding servos.

Both with the same lovesick look on each other’s faces.

It finally happened!

There was much rejoice that the two had finally confessed and announced they weren’t going to be available in the evening.

Grimlock is now torn between celebrating or giving Bee the shovel talk that he has seen on TV.

… Probably celebrate first, then talk.

And a happy Raoul got his rides for an entire month.

[bonne-chanson]

Hello! I’d like to make a request! It would be a fem!reader x Fukuzawa. I’d love something that shows the kind and gentle side of his character when he's with someone important to him. A light smut is fine; I really enjoy it when there's romance. Thank you!

a/n: wahhh thanks for being the first to request! i assume you’re also the other account im my inbox who requested for the same thing? :0 haven’t done this in a really long time (i’m talking years lol) so please bear with me if it’s still a little bland :< hopefully i can continue practicing my writing skills as time goes on! ACKKK i feel like this turned into a mild character study too so pls forgive me if this work isn’t the best :’( this is actually my first time writing for fukuzawa so i hope you still enjoy! ♡

softer steel

✑ character/s: yukichi fukuzawa x fem! reader

✑ short desc: beneath a dense exterior lies a vulnerability he can share only with you.

✑ content includes: fluff ; established relationship ; slight character study(?) ; mild nsfw (making out, MINORS DNI!) ; suggestive themes towards the end (not explicit, implied only) ; no plot, it’s really just reader and fukuzawa being mushy-mushy w/ one another

✑ word count: 1.1k words

Yukichi Fukuzawa is the living embodiment of the very same katana he keeps in the saya attached to his waist.

Much the same way a swordsmith crafts the blade so carefully to aid its master in combat, his upbringing had also molded him to be the warrior he is today — trained finely in one of the best government-funded martial arts schools, honed to perfect both his body on the field and his mind with battle strategies, and eventually layered enough to harden himself against whatever the world decides to throw against him and the armed detective agency that he leads. It is for those reasons that, of course, similar to the tamahagane used to create his sharp blade, he had quite the steely demeanor and personality, a direct result of the circumstances he had grown with.

But too sharp a blade and too pure a hardened steel makes for a brittle sword — one that, over time, when used with the kind of violence it was made for, will quickly shatter. Hence, the katana is also forged specifically to have a softer, much more vulnerable material enveloped by the denser steel, giving it the added strength it needs and rendering it malleable enough to cut through anything with the right precision.

For all that density his façade carries, just like his katana, Fukuzawa still holds onto that softness and vulnerability inside just for you.

You, who he holds so close and dear to himself, because you were the only person who could help him overcome anything by your presence alone; you, who balances out the harder shell he has grown over time with your softer presence; you, whom he looks after like you are the most precious gem he could ever hold in his hands; and you, who is always there to greet him when he comes home, allowing him to let go of everything even just for a while within the comfort of the walls of your home, all because your warmth and your love put his oh-so sharpened mind at ease.

Coming home to you today is no different. Per usual, he slides his haori off his shoulders and folds it neatly, placing it on a nearby table for now, releasing a long-held sigh from his lips, and eventually making his way into the safety of your arms.

That softness beneath his steely demeanor only ever surfaces around you, his beloved, and it’s something you never cease to cherish.

“Yukichi,” you call, his head resting on your chest as you thread your fingers through his hair. The gesture feels so light and loving, a stark contrast to the heavier blows he performs with his blade in battles.

He says nothing, simply responding to your call by pulling his head away (much to his disappointment) to face you, cupping your cheek with a gentle hand, calloused by the many hours of practice he spent in his younger years. For the briefest moment, he soaks in the feeling of your breath mingling with his own before his lips gingerly place themselves on yours and the sound of your breathless sigh is swallowed by him.

Wandering fingers make their way into his hair again, playing with his silvery strands, every so often giving them the kind of tugs you know he likes. No matter how many times you pull away to take in another breath, he comes forward again and again to capture your lips, and his hands eventually roam to hold your hips, drawing you closer to himself. It was almost as if he wanted the heat of the moment to melt you both into each other, unknowing of when breaths are taken and where one action ends and another begins until your breaths are in sync and you both mold together into one.

Those same rough, calloused hands of his that hold you so tenderly guide you along, eventually laying you down on his futon, and when he lifts his head to catch a glimpse of you all flushed and breathless, he makes a silent promise to himself to hold you in his heart forever, to remain vulnerable inside just for you.

A hint of a smile graces your lips as you hold his cheek and he leans into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand.

“You’re a lot more affectionate today than usual,” you muse aloud to your lover, but your voice remains a hushed whisper simply to keep the atmosphere of the scene between you two as serene as it is.

He smiles down at you, holding the hand that cradles his face. “Is it so wrong of me to indulge in my love for you like this?”

To many others, Fukuzawa was a man who held himself with the kind of grace and authority that every fellow leader could acknowledge without hesitation. But right now, on his futon, with you beneath him, the quiet ambience of the rustling leaves, the mellow glow of Yokohama’s sunset through the open window and the breeze caressing your faces, he was simply Yukichi, your Yukichi, the man whose heart was as soft as the steel enveloped by the dense blade of his katana.

“Stay with me like this,” you murmur, eyes hooded as his lips near yours again, “just for a little longer…”

He takes his time with you, making sure your comfort comes first before his own. Feathery light touches combined with peppered kisses along your jaw and the skin of your neck, down to your collarbones with his lips tracing your chest dizzies you, and when his hands slowly pull at the obi wrapped around your waist to loosen your yukata, you are a goner. The gentle caresses of his fingers along every little scar and mark on your body and his honeyed words meant for your ears only make you fall deeper in love, and you can’t help it — your heart is as soft as he is for you, so time becomes nothing more than numbers on a clock when you both allow yourselves to indulge in one another for the evening, to let him take care of you in ways only he knows how.

And as you both melt together in each other’s arms, embraced by the warmth of the setting sunrays, he is reminded yet again of just how valuable it is for him, for any man for that matter, to hold onto his vulnerability under his harsh exterior, for a katana to be forged with milder steel inside its tougher shell.

Yukichi Fukuzawa’s past, the circumstances he had faced then, and the rest of the world may have hardened his demeanor, but the softness that lays inside that steely façade still exists and will continue to exist only for you.

a/n: given the large influence of the samurai on bsd fukuzawa’s character and background in martial arts (considering his real-life counterpart was born into a family of samurai), i thought it would have been fitting to try and incorporate that in this work. :} that being said, i’ve listed down some of the terminology that may be worth explaining / i’ve done a little research for. please correct me if i am wrong!

✑ katana: traditional curved blade. this is the weapon fukuzawa chooses to fight in combat and was a sword used by the samurai. if you want to watch the process of making one (as referenced in this work to explore fukuzawa’s character), click here!

✑ saya: the sheath used to hold the katana.

✑ tamahagane: the steel used to forge a katana.

✑ haori: traditional jacket that fukuzawa wears.

✑ obi: a sash worn with the kimono (in this case, a yukata).

✑ yukata: a lighter, more casual version of the kimono, which fukuzawa also wears.