#and it's SO soft. it makes me so mad. they do nothing to it except 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner DAILY and it looks PERFECT &feels like SILK

[buck-star]

Hello! if your taking requests maybe angry love confessions #9 with bucky barnes x depressed reader? ☕️🍪

Healing love

Pairing: BestFriend!Bucky Barnes x BestFriend!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 1.059 Words

Warnings/Tags: best friends to lovers, depression, lots of feelings, Bucky being a sweetheart, love confession, fluff

Authors Note: @iris-xoxo-juhu I put both of these requests together, becuase it kinda fit during writing. So hope you enjoy it. Divider made by me.

Events: Sweet & Spicy Bingo: Winter Edition [Row Three-Three | Love Actually (2003)], Fandom-Free Bingo: Frosty Edition [N3 | Soulmate is best Friend]

Another incoming call from your best friend, his grinning face filling your whole screen, but you turn your phone around. You don't want to feel guilty for ignoring him, but with his face appearing every ten minutes on your screen, you feel the exact way. It's not that you want to ignore him, but you just don't feel like answering anyone right now.

The grey clouds and the pouring rain mirror your feelings and the tears rolling down your wet cheeks.

You sigh quietly, pulling the blanket tighter around you to hide yourself underneath it when you get interrupted by a knock on the door. You roll your eyes, groaning. You remain in your position, not moving an inch; if it's a package, they can also hand it to one of your neighbors, and if it's for you to go over, once you feel mentally like moving wouldn't be the same as climbing a mountain.

The silence gets once more interrupted by a louder knock on the door. You don't get up, though; it feels like the heaviest thing ever lies on you. It’s pressing down until you can't hold on any longer and fall deeper into the darkness you're already in. It might help if you talk to Bucky; he always knows how to help; he knows how it feels when the voices in your mind are too loud — and he knows how to help you to shut them up.

The familiar sound of keys makes you narrow your eyes; the only two people who have a key to your apartment are you and Buck—

“Baby doll, are you home, baby doll? I'm fucking worried,” Bucky's voice echoes through the rooms. You shut your eyes, curling further under your blanket. He just called you; how is he already in your apartment? His voice is thick with emotions; you can even hear the tears he's swallowing down.

You were sitting enough nights together, where you comforted him after his nightmares. You can hear almost every emotion in the tone of his voice without having to look at him. It’s actually pretty useful, except right now, where it makes you feel even more guilty.

“Fuck, baby doll. I called you; I’m fuckin’ worried,” Bucky says, sounding slightly mad but even more worried when he walks into the living room. You haven't moved from the spot since last night — something you often do when your depression gets worse — you even managed to lie there for a long time without even having to move to the toilet. “Why didn't you pick up my calls?”

You don't answer, feeling bad for ignoring him. Bucky seems to sense it, his anger pushed to the side and replaced by the softness that feels like honey. He moves closer to you, sitting down on the couch next to you while placing one of his calloused hands on your side and stroking up and down slowly. The brunette pulls the blanket off your face, his fingers brushing over your soft, wet skin.

“I'm sorry,” you whisper, leaning more into his touch. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to make you angry or cause you to worry, Buck.”

“I know. I know, baby doll, I'm not mad. But I need to know you're safe. Because I care about you, I love you,” he breathes out, his fingers combing through your hair before he leans down and presses his forehead against yours. Bucky’s breath is warm, and you can feel him shaking slightly. “I love you. I can't… I can't risk that you're getting hurt, baby doll.”

“You can't love me.”

“Why can't I?” He chuckles, closing his eyes when he takes a deep breath. “Because I already do, and no one and nothing will stop me from doing it.”

“I'm broken; you shouldn't love me. You shouldn't love me and hurt yourself; you're just about to get better with your own mental health,” you whimper, letting a few more tears free before you curl further around your best friend. “I don't want to hurt you. You mean too much for me to hurt you with my mental health, Buck.”

Bucky chuckles once more, pressing his lips softly against your forehead. “I might be cheesy now, but that's just because of you. But I would prefer breaking over and over again, to pick every piece up and fix it, instead of leaving you. You took my hand and collected all the missing pieces; you helped me put them back together. Baby doll, without you, I wouldn't be who I am now, so you can fuckin’ bet on it that I won't move even an inch away from you.”

“But—” Bucky shakes his head, interrupting you.

“No buts, I love you, and you can't change it. Push me away as much as you want, but you will always be my number one. I won't lose you ever again, so please don't make me lose you, oke?” Bucky whispers, watching you intensely with tears in his eyes. You slowly sit up, wrapping your arms around Bucky, who pulls you immediately into his lap. “I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to be the reason the darkness is replaced by light. Please, let me be the reason to keep going if you feel like you wanna give up.” You smile softly, capturing Bucky's cheeks and nod. He smirks at you, leaning closer until your lips are only a few inches away from yours. “We are in this together. I don't care how broken and how much time we need to fix one another. I only know that you're the only person I want.”

“You can be so cheesy and romantic,” you whisper, leaning closer. Your lips touch his soft, plump ones, and Bucky closes the tiny distance to kiss you. “But I love it, and I love you. And you're not broken, just hurt, but our love will heal those wounds.”

“Same goes for you, baby doll,” he growls against your lips, kissing you once more. “You're fucking sweet, precious, mhm, could kiss you the whole time.” And he does; he doesn't stop peppering kisses all over your skin until you giggle and feel better in his warm, loving embrace — he just knows how to fill your mind with lovely thoughts — with thoughts — of the cheesiness — of Bucky.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @rnurse-kole @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @irisk12 @lilyalone @thenameswinter99 @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @princesscore-angel @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @bamitzzsam @feynightlight @ethanhoewke @kandis-mom @peachy-satan00 @armystay89 @queen-honeybee-stories @p1nkgirly333

[ravensmurdock]

innocence

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

warnings: age difference, implied daddy issues, freudian, impact play, no actual smut, thigh riding, oral fixation, reader calls him dad, mean!matt

matt likes to believe he's a patient man. many times he is, really, he is. except when you're running your mouth, or putting yourself in danger. in moments like those, when his patience is hanging on by a mere thread, you place yourself strategically on his lap and pout and pout— hoping to lessen your punishment.

it's his fault, really. you're too young for him, a little immature. what more can he expect from a 20 year old? what more can he expect from a curious, bright eyed intern who is always following him around like a pet? it's always 'mr. murdock this, mr. murdock that,' can he blame you? no. the fault is on him, for not being able to resist your charms. you never tried to be subtle either— he could quite literally hear your heartbeat rise whenever his voice would get too low while closing, when his smirk would get too cocky. he's sure if he could see, he'd be met with you constantly trying to shove your cleavage in his face. which, he would never complain about.

but he does feel like a dirty old man sometimes. he's had his own moral conflicts— deep into the night when you're pressed into his side, and all he can think is, 'im a fucking cradlerobber, tainting her innocence, corrupting her mind, devouring a little girl like a mad man with no self control—'

and the moment you mumble sleepily against his neck, those thoughts vanish and he's immediately pulling you closer.

he doesn't realize how much your age gap does for you. how the greys in his beard shine when he rises from between your legs, chin covered in your slick. how his strong, protective arms make you feel safe like nothing ever could. how his care taking tendencies are almost fatherly in nature, making you forget all about your own bad experiences with your own father. the rasp in his voice when he scolds you for being reckless, too curious, too presumptuous— it hits the right spots. makes you want to provoke him more. which is exactly what put you in this position.

you'd followed him down to an important meeting— one he specifically told you to stay away from, and you ended up witnessing him break the guy's hand. your heartbeat was indication enough, but it was your gasp that truly got his attention— his head snapping up in warning and you running away almost immediately.

catching you wasn't hard, and you weren't running because you were scared of him hurting you— you were scared of disappointing him. which is exactly what you did. and now you're here, pressed against his chest, his fingers gently massaging your scalp.

"what did i tell you, hm?" he asks, voice low, almost mocking. his hand suddenly tightens into a fist— yanking your head back by the hair. you whimper, eyes tearing up at the sting. you try to search for any mercy in his features— but his glasses stay as a barrier between your eyes and you sniffle.

"sorry," you mumble softly, gently caressing his chest, "i should've listened—"

"oh yeah, you should've." he agrees, a small smirk on his face, "but you didn't. you never do. all my little darling does is listen to herself and piss me off. do you want me to hurt you?"

"no!" you shake your head, desperately leaning forward to bury your head in his chest. he presses you closer, and you deeply inhale the comforting smell of his cologne. scratch your cheek against his beard like a cat. there's something so oddly comforting about this, even when you know he's mad at you. something about it is making your brain feel fuzzy— a kind of feeling that can only come from a grown, mature man. maybe that's what prompts you to mumble your next words, hoping to soften the blow of his wrath.

"pleeeaaase, dad." you whine, voice soft. he tenses under your body, and you immediately feel scared. you don't actually want to make him uncomfortable, you hope it doesn't. his chest rumbles with a chuckle.

"oh that one's new," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, "is that supposed to make me feel sympathetic? you think i'm your father, baby?"

shit.

your heartbeat rises again, and he hears it. loud and clear. there's been a bit of a dynamic between you two, but you've never said something so directly out loud. and neither has he. but the 'father,' that's what gets you. and he hears the hitch in your breath, and the smirk that appears on his face is downright evil.

"oh you like that, huh?" he pulls your head back again, grabs your jaw. makes your lips pucker up. "is that what you want? you want me to be your father? you want dad to punish you?"

"fuck—" you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut. he thumbs your bottom lip, and your mouth snaps open. he slips his thumb into your mouth and you suck, head feeling fuzzy. your hips start gently grinding against his thigh, and it makes him moan.

"my stupid girl," he huffs with a chuckle, pulling his thumb out. you chase his hand with a whine, "what will i do with you?"

he presses your mouths together and you moan into his, crumbling in his arms. you're relieved that it worked, you won't get punished. as you pull away for air, his hand pulls back and smacks you across the face— making you gasp. you look back at him, wide eyed, and there's not one bit of remorse on his face. your cheek stings, the skin there feels hot. you're more in shock than you're hurt. he pulls his hand back again and you flinch. he chuckles, lowering his hand to your thigh.

"you're gonna make yourself cum on my thigh," he says calmly, but you can sense the threat behind his words. his thumb gently rubs against your skin. "and if you fail, dad will hit you again. you don't want that, do you?"

your lips wobble and you sniffle, nodding. your hips begin to move on their own, albeit messily. and you hope you don't disappoint him again.

it's going to be a long night.

for matt fans, girls with daddy issues and murdock circle

@deermurdock @fairymurdock @foxmurdock @https-murdock @jellyfishmurdock @kit-murdock2 @bunmurdock @lambmurdock @parker-murdock @pupmurdock @sirenmurdock @starmurdock @swanmurdock @moth-murdock @bumblebeemurdock @mewmurdock @froggy-murdock @sharkymurdock

[yeonban]

I've been watching tons of videos of speeches from serial killers, cult leaders, (confirmed) psychopaths etc today and Tobias does plenty of the subtle things they do, from tone and phrasing to body language. It makes it x100 scarier for me to then look at how Tobias has made every single person he's come across like him to some degree or another, sometimes simply by existing and other times by tailoring his manipulation strategies to their psyche

[unopenablebox]

while im bragging about beautiful hair colors that exist in my life and/or apartment my girlfriend has the most incredibly gorgeous dark, dark, dark brown-black hair. you can only really tell it's brown by looking at the sun-lightened top layers/highlights vs the darker basically-black sections. it's astoundingly beautiful

[prettyngeto]

historical hoe || ryomen sukuna x f! reader

summary: 10/10 cuddle sesh ruined when you remember your man was basically for the streets in his past life. ugh, what a whore.

content: fluff, established relationship, my boy sukuna is just confused, crackfic?? idk i might make this my brand atp 😭 word count: 1k

main masterlist || jjk masterlist

It started off as a nice lil cosy night. You were nestled in between Sukuna’s legs, the low hum of a movie playing in the background - neither of you were really paying attention. His fingers lazily traced circles into your hip, his chest rising and falling against your back. Realistically, you should’ve taken advantage of this rare occasion, you should’ve been basking in this softness. Because everything was fine. Perfect, even.

Until it wasn’t. 

The sudden thought hits you like a truck. How dare he? 

You stiffen instantly, expression souring as your brows knit together, lips pushing into a pout. A loud, frustrated sigh escapes you, making your displeasure very clear. Sukuna notices the dramatic shift in your mood - because, although he won’t admit it, he pays very close attention to you. His fingers still, eyes flicking down to you. “The hell’s wrong with you?”

Silence.

“Oi.”

More silence.

His crimson eyes narrow, patience slowly wearing thin. “You were fine not even 5 seconds ago. The fuck is your problem, brat?” The question is punctuated with a squeeze on your waist.

Eyes still fixed onto the TV screen, you mutter something under your breath, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

“Hah? Stop mumbling, use your words.”

You finally look up, glaring at him with all the fury you can muster, and repeat yourself, this time loud and clear. “Whore.”

Sukuna blinks. “Excuse me.” 

“Whore.” You scoff, arms crossing.

Sukuna stares at you, clearly trying to process what the hell just came out of your mouth, brows twitching. “The fuck did you just call me?”

“You heard me, whore,” you repeat, voice dripping with betrayal as you scoot away from him like his whorish tendencies were contagious. His expression shifts from confusion to one of mild amusement. “And what exactly did I do to earn that title?”

You whipped around, eyes blazing, “OH I DON’T KNOW?? Maybe the fact that you had like 300 concubines in your past life??” 

He does nothing for a few seconds, brain still buffering before he bursts out laughing. 

Yeah, you just made Sukuna, King of Curses laugh. Truly, you would have been admiring your exceptional feat if you weren’t currently so disgusted by him. 

“Woman, there’s no way you’re mad about some shit that happened centuries ago.”

You gasp loudly, hand flying to your chest like he had just admitted to killing a room full of puppies (which, knowing him, isn’t entirely impossible - but still.) “So you’re not denying it??” 

This man(whore) just stares at you, still baffled at your outburst. “...huh?”

You, on the other hand, were on the brink of losing it. “So, you cheated on me.”

His eye twitched, “You weren’t even fucking alive at the time.” 

You just scoff, shaking your head in utter regret and disappointment, “For the streets before my birth is crazyyy.”

A deep, exhausted sigh makes your head snap up to him, your eyes narrowing as if daring him to try and speak. He would later wish he hadn’t, but alas - he did. 

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? ME? I’M the one being ridiculous?? Sorry, remind me which one of us was out there entertaining an entire fucking harem?” You rolled your eyes, the scorn in your voice evident now. He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly tired of your antics - which, in your mind, were completely valid. 

“Babe, it was a thousand years ago.” This man really needs to learn how to shut his mouth. 

“Oh, so that makes it okay then?” You counter, eyebrows raising accusingly. 

“That’s not what I-”

“You really expect me to be out here cuddling you, knowing you were practically a historical hoe?”

His mouth drops open, at a complete loss for words - look at that, your second feat of the night that you could have been celebrating but noooo your boyfriend just had to be a bop before society even invented the word. 

“What the fuck…” 

And then it hits you. The real tragedy. Yet another scandalised gasp leaves you, your face one of pure horror.

“Oh my god,” you immediately scrambled to the opposite side of the bed, practically pressing yourself against the wall, voice dropping to a whisper. “I was laying on whore thighs.” 

He could only groan, dragging a hand down his face in absolute despair. “I swear to every god out there, I will throw you out of this fucking room.” 

“You probably used that exact line on all your concubines. You didn’t even have one. No, you had MULTIPLE. I can’t believe this. How greedy can one get.”

“Oh my fucking god.” 

You decide you've officially had enough of staring at his stupidly handsome face, so you turn your back to him, facing the wall like a petulant child. Your eyes immediately land on the pictures of you both scattered around, and you barely manage to muffle a scream. “Don’t talk to me.”

This time, his groan was accompanied by both hands dragging down his face. “You cannot be serious right now.” 

You didn’t move. You didn’t even acknowledge him. 

You were determined to see this silent treatment through. 

Sukuna exhales through his nose, closing his eyes for a brief moment to try and fathom exactly what the fuck had just happened. Before you know it, a strong arm snakes around your waist, effortlessly yanking you back into his chest. “Enough.” He murmurs. 

“No,” you grumble, still pouting. “Go back to your little harem.”

“They’re dead.”

“Oh, so now I’m just a replacement.”

He rolls his eyes, tucking your head under his chin as his thumb draws small comforting circles on your hip. “Woman, I swear-” He mumbled. “You know damn well you’re the only one I give a shit about now. Behave.” 

You mumbled something incoherent into his chest, still sulking (although the way you immediately melted in his embrace said otherwise). But when you felt his lips press against the top of your head, soft and lingering, you supposed you maybe could let this slide… for now.

“...still a whore.”

“For fuck’s sake, I should have just stayed single.”

ᯓ★ notes from star: this idea came to me during a lecture. i was fighting demons to not start writing then but i didnt want anyone seeing 😭 as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!!

also happy mauritius independence day!! 🇲🇺 prettyngeto © 2025. all rights reserved - please do not plagiarise, translate, steal and repost any of my works on any social platforms for whatever reason.

[woniedarlin]

Helloooo! Since you've mentioned taking rqs I want to request jungwon getting cuteness aggression from reader since he deffo squishes the life out of stuffed animals and things he finds cute 😂

Cuteness Aggression

Pairing: bf! Jungwon x fem! reader

Synopsis: Jungwon has a problem. Every little thing you do makes him lose it. One look at you, and Jungwon completely loses it. One sleepy mumble, and he’s smothering you in kisses. It’s not his fault you’re too cute… right?

Author's Note: Thank you for the request, Anonie! I’m sorry for the wait—I wanted to make this extra cute. I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading, everyone!

Caution: Slight mention of death (not serious). Extreme levels of cuteness ahead! Proceed with caution!

Permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy

You barely had time to react before Jungwon lunged at you.

“JUNGWON, WAIT—”

Thud!

Too late. He tackled you onto the couch, making you scream as you landed flat on your back. Before you could even process what was happening, Jungwon grabbed your face with both hands and aggressively shook your cheeks back and forth. “WHY—ARE—YOU—SO—CUTE—IT’S—MAKING—ME—MAD?!” each word punctuated by another shake.

Your vision blurred from the rapid movement. “Jungwon! stop! I’m gonna get whiplash—”

“I CAN’T!” he groaned and was still squishing your face. “IT’S YOUR FAULT FOR BEING ANNOYINGLY CUTE!”

You tried to swat his hands away, but he refused to let go. He just kept shaking you, “I WANNA—BITE—YOUR—CHEEKS!” he blurted out.

You let out another scream. This time, out of pure disbelief. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Jungwon finally lets go of your cheeks, only to grab you in a tight bear hug instead. He rolled you both side to side. “I DON’T KNOW!” he groaned into your shoulder. “I JUST WANNA SQUEEZE YOU UNTIL YOU POP.”

“Oh..’’ You lay there while stunned. “…That’s actually terrifying.”

Jungwon groaned louder and gripped onto you. “I CAN’T HELP IT! YOU MAKE ME LOSE MY MIND.”

You sucked in a breath. “JUNGWON—I’M—GONNA—DIE.”

“THEN DIE CUTE.”

“LET ME GO!”

“No.”

And he squeezed you even tighter.

💎

Sigh

That’s all what you did.

You barely had time to blink before he launched himself at you.

“NOOOO, YOU CAN’T JUST SIGH LIKE THAT—”

Before you could react, he had grabbed you, lifting you off the ground like you weighed nothing.

“JUNGWON, PUT ME DOWN!” flailing as he spun you in circles.

“Nope, nope, nope! That sigh was too cute. TOO CUTE!” he ranted. “I don’t know what to do with myself—so now you have to suffer!”

And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse—

He started swinging you side to side like a rag doll.

“JUNGWON, STOP—”

“CAN’T! YOU’RE TOO CUTE! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!”

Your blanket had unraveled entirely at this point, your arms and legs flailing helplessly as he continued his assault of aggressive affection. Then he nuzzled his face into your cheek, aggressively rubbing against you. “You’re so soft—UGH—I’M GONNA EXPLODE.”

Dizzy and breathless, you could barely even process what was happening anymore.

“JUNGWON, I SWEAR—”

“Shhh,” he cut you off and squeezed you tighter. “Just accept your fate.”

And he just kept circling. And circling. And circling—

Until your stomach made a very, very concerning sound.

“…Uh.”

Your head tilted back weakly, “Jungwon… I don’t feel so good—”

five minutes later.

You were hunched over the toilet, gripping the edges of the bowl for dear life as Jungwon held your hair back, wincing. “You’re doing great,” he muttered while awkwardly patting your back as you retched. The bathroom was silent for a moment…except for the distant sound of your suffering.

Then Jungwon sighed. “You know… this is technically still your fault.”

You turned your head to glare at him. Too weak to throw something at him.

He grinned. “Worth it, though.”

💎

You had fallen into a deep sleep. The soft sound of Jungwon's breathing beside you made you feel calm and helped you fall asleep. But then, a loud squeal suddenly woke you up. You slowly opened your eyes, and then you saw him. Jungwon was sitting above you, his hands raised like claws.

“Jungwon?” you mumbled, still half-asleep.

He squealed again as he wiggled his fingers. “I can’t resist! You’re just too cute!”

You blinked, confused at first, still trying to process what was happening. But then you saw his hands, claws in the air, moving closer toward your face. “No, no, no…” you groaned, still trying to rub the sleep from your eyes, but Jungwon was already hovering over you. The exaggerated shaking of his hands continued.

“You’ve awakened Jungwon, the bear,” he said, his voice almost sing-song as he wiggled his fingers menacingly. “Gonna get ya!”

You let out a groggy sigh. “Jungwon, stop it…” you whined, pushing him lightly.

But he only giggled, shaking his hands a little more vigorously. “Nope! Can’t stop now! Look at you, all cute and sleepy! It’s too much for me!”

You sighed, tired to fight back properly, but not without a small smile.

He paused for a moment, hovering above you. His eyes softened for a second. “You’re too adorable,” he said softly before finally collapsing beside you. His arms wrapped around you in a hug.

Peck.

A kiss landed on your forehead.

Peck. Peck. Peck.

Another on your cheek. Then another on your lips. And another. Before you knew it, Jungwon was rapid-fire pecking your whole face

You groaned but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face as you buried your head into his chest. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered before settling back into his arms. And this time, as you drifted back to sleep, you couldn’t help but smile at the chaos that was Jungwon.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: You tend to remember the smallest things and dates which are of you and Chan, so you decided to surprise him with a homemade dinner on the date of when you both met for the first time. Except for, you didn't expect Chan to forget it, let alone react the way he did.

Warnings: Couple arguments. Use of strong language, a bit of angst & tears, Smut🔞, unprotected (make-up) sex, intimate, oral (f.receiving), pet names, brief mention of a tummy bulge (so size kink if you squint I guess?). Use of Y/N (but only twice).

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I think I'm going through a phase rn, somehow I am ADDICTED to writing angst and tears— LMFAOOO @mrs-hwangh what have you done to me???

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 5.6k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Your soft hums of your favourite song echoed quietly in the living room, smiling to yourself as you fiddled with a silver bow, wrapping a small box that contained a gift you bought for your boyfriend a few days ago.

Today was the day when you both met for the first time four years ago, in the same college, at the same coffee shop where he accidentally bumped into you and spilled his drink all over your notes and you never would have imagined that moment would lead to this.

To love. To Chan.

Your heart swelled at the memory, a fond chuckle escaping your lips. You had planned a simple evening, nothing too extravagant, just the two of you, sharing memories over a homemade dinner and the gift you picked out so lovingly. You knew how busy he was, but today mattered to you. It was the day everything began.

Once you had everything set, you waited for Chan to return home from work, your leg tapping on the floor and fingers playing with the hem of your dress.

Minutes passed to hours and you hadn't received any calls or texts from him, but you waited patiently. Maybe he was caught up at work. Maybe he forgot to check his phone. Still, you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

The sound of the door unlocking cut through your thoughts, and you quickly stood up, smoothing down your dress. Relief and excitement flickered in your chest as Chan walked in, rubbing the back of his neck, looking utterly exhausted.

His bag slumped onto the floor as he kicked off his shoes, barely glancing up at you. Your heart sank ever so slightly but you tried not to let that disappointment settle in.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, stepping forward. “Long day?”

He nodded, letting out a tired sigh. “Yeah. I’m drained.”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I… I made dinner. And I got you something,” you said, gesturing to the neatly wrapped gift on the coffee table.

Chan barely spared it a glance, his brows furrowing slightly. “What’s the occasion?”

Your heart dropped, but you put on a soft smile. You couldn't get mad at him if he forgot it, even though you wished he didn't. That he didn't forget the date or not acknowledge the effort, the way you had been looking forward to this all day.

"You don’t remember?” Your voice came out quieter, trying to mask in a playful tone.

He sighed again, rubbing his forehead, looking as if he'd been asked questions in an interview. "Um no, why don't you tell me?"

The way his voice sounded made you feel like you got slashed with a blade, but you shoved that dramatic thought aside and walked closer to him, biting your lower lip in order to swallow the hard lump that had formed in your throat.

“It’s the day we met.” Your voice wavered slightly, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on you but you continued smiling softly. “Four years ago today.”

Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his features. “Babe, I’ve been swamped with work. I barely know what time it is.”

You blinked, his words stinging more than you expected. “I get that you’re busy, Chan. I really do. But this was important to me.”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on, don’t do this. It’s just a date. It’s not like an anniversary or anything.”

You took a small step back as if he had physically pushed you. You blinked up at him, trying not to let his words form the tears to gush up your eyes.

Your arms wrapped around yourself, hoping that would keep you steady. "I just thought this would mean something to you too."

His brows furrowed deeper, irritation creeping into his voice. "Of course it means something to me. But I don’t have the luxury of remembering every single date when I’m drowning in deadlines."

Your heart clenched, his words cutting deeper than you expected. "So, what, I'm just supposed to understand that I come second to everything else in your life? That it’s okay for you to forget something that mattered so much to me?"

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s just a date."

"Just a date?" Your voice cracked, a slight tone of anger and heartbreak mixing in your chest. "It’s the day we met, Chan. The day everything started. I planned this for us. I waited for you, and you didn’t even think to text me back? Or check your phone?"

"I was working! I don’t have time to be glued to my phone every second!" His voice was sharper now, making you flinch hard, his frustration spilling over. "I come home exhausted, hoping to relax, and now I have to deal with this?!"

The venom in his voice made you shiver and you hugged yourself tighter. "Chan, please don't shout..."

"No, I mean you always do this. I get it, that you remember small things, but I just want an evening of peace after a long day at work."

Chan had rarely raised his voice, your throat tightened at his words, a dull ache forming in your chest. You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay calm even though his tone made you feel like you were drowning.

“I’m not asking you to drop everything for me, Chan,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I just thought—” You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress. “I thought maybe today would matter to you too.”

His jaw clenched, and he ran a frustrated hand through his curls, exhaling sharply. “Sure you did,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “You always do this, Y/N. You put so much weight on things that I—”

He stopped himself, hesitating, but you already knew where he was going with this.

“That you what?” You challenged, your voice barely above a whisper. “That you don’t care?”

Chan looked at you then, eyes dark with exhaustion and irritation. “That I don’t have the mental space to deal with every single date, every little detail, every expectation you set for me without telling me.”

His words cut deeper and deeper, the sting of them making your eyes well up. You blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

“I never asked you to be perfect, Chan,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I never expected you to remember every little thing. But this?” 

You gestured weakly toward the dinner table, the untouched meal, the small, neatly wrapped gift that now felt like a stupid afterthought.

“It's the day we met for the first time, so it just meant as much to me as our anniversary.”

Chan’s lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing, but he said nothing. That silence, that hesitation, hurt more than his words.

Your fingers wrinkled your dress, feeling a chill despite the warmth of the apartment. “You know, I wasn’t even mad that you forgot. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Chan let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You think that I don’t want to spend time with you? Do you know how exhausting it is to juggle everything, to be everywhere at once? And now, I come home and instead of just relaxing with you, I’m being guilt-tripped over a date I forgot?”

The sharp sting of his words left you breathless.

Guilt-tripping? That was what he thought this was? Your efforts, your love, your excitement, had all of it been reduced to you being an inconvenience to him?

Your lips parted, your throat constricting as a wave of emotions surged through you. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Chan,” you said, your voice wavering. “I just wanted you to remember. I wanted you to want this too.”

His expression flickered, something unreadable flashing across his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a heavy sigh. “I’m tired, okay? I’m so damn tired. I don’t have time to remember every little thing—”

“Every little thing?” you cut him off, your voice suddenly louder, cracking under the weight of your emotions.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t say it wasn’t important, I just—damn it, I forgot, okay? I’m human! I make mistakes!”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, eyes stinging, heart breaking. “Forgetting is one thing,” you said, voice thick with unshed tears. “But the way you’re acting right now? Like I’m just another problem you have to deal with?”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands clenched at your sides. “That hurts more than you forgetting.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly, the anger in his expression flickering for a brief moment. But the damage was done. The silence between you was heavy, suffocating, the walls closing in around you.

You shook your head, backing away from him. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Y/N…” he started, but you turned away from him.

“No. I get it. You’re tired. You need space. And I’m obviously asking for too much,” you said, your voice hollow. “So I’ll make it easy for you.”

With that, you turned on your heel, took your keys that were sitting on the coffee table and walked toward the door, grabbing your coat. Chan’s eyes darkened, his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Where are you going?”

You untangled yourself off his grip and slipped in your coat, brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like I’m begging for your attention.”

His face fell, and for the first time that evening, you saw a flicker of realization in his eyes—as if he finally understood just how much he had hurt you.

“No, wait, please,” he said, reaching for you, but you pulled away before he could touch you.

You turned away and closed the door behind you, walking away as fast as you could to your car, driving back to your apartment.

Behind the door Chan grabbed fistfuls of his hair, grunting and growling under his breath as he fell on the plush couch.

His eyes caught the small, neatly wrapped gift that was sitting on the coffee table, he hesitated for a second but then opened it, his heart sank like a stone thrown in the ocean when he saw what was nestling inside.

His favourite bracelet he lost when we went on a business trip a few months ago. It was the exact same design and brand.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the bracelet, the silver catching the dim glow of the living room light. His throat tightened painfully as he turned it over in his hands, his vision blurring slightly.

And you… you had remembered. You had gone out of your way to find it, to replace something that meant so much to him, because that’s just the kind of person you were.

Chan exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the weight of his words from earlier slamming into him like a truck.

What had he done?

***

The next morning you woke up, exhausted, your vision blurry, nose stuffed and what felt like a dull headache creeping up your forehead. You groaned softly and walked into the bathroom, to find your state in a mess.

Disheveled hair, puffy cheeks with stained mascara, swollen eyes and lips. You had barely stepped inside your apartment before the dam broke, tears spilling freely as you sunk in your bed.

You didn't know at what time you reached home or when you had fallen asleep.

You hated arguing with Chan. 

Sure you had a few disagreements once in a while but they were different. But this kind of argument; where it wasn’t just a misunderstanding, but something way deeper, made you question if you were the only one holding onto the pieces of your relationship while he let them slip through his fingers so easily.

You fixed yourself into the shower, letting the water wash away the fresh set of tears that began to run down your face. After a while you stepped out and changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and grabbed your phone, only to see a dozen calls and texts from Chan.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, heart pounding as you scrolled through the missed calls. Channie <3 (12).

The unread messages blurred together, but you caught glimpses of them as your breath hitched.

Channie <3 [1:12 AM]: Please, baby, pick up. Channie <3 [1:13 AM]: I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up. But please, don’t shut me out. Channie <3 [2:03 AM]: Are you home? Are you safe? Just… let me know you’re okay. That’s all I need right now.

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled further, his messages growing more frantic, more desperate.

Channie <3 [2:45 AM]: I can’t sleep knowing I hurt you like this.

Channie <3 [3:20 AM]: I love you. I love you so much. I don’t deserve you, but please tell me you’re okay.

Your chin wobbled as you closed your eyes and kept your phone face down on the nightstand, not knowing what to respond to him. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face him yet, if you could talk to him and not break all over again.

You walked out of your bedroom, to the kitchen to make yourself some coffee when the front door bell rang. You glanced at the clock hanging on your wall, wondering if you were expecting anyone in the morning, you sighed heavily and walked to the door, only to be greeted by someone that made you feel like you got pulled into the floor.

Outside stood Chan, his face masked with exhaustion and faint hints of dark circles under his eyes and messy hair as if he had been running his hand through it the entire night. He was holding a bag, what looked like it was from your favourite bakery and bouquet of flowers, his gaze locking in with yours, pleading you for a chance and forgiveness.

You attempted to close the door but Chan held it, interrupting you from shutting him out. “Sweetheart…” He started but before he could say anything, you left the door hanging and walked into the living room.

Chan hesitated at the doorway, gripping the bag and flowers tightly as he watched you walk away. He took a shaky breath and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.

The quiet of your apartment felt heavier than usual, like an invisible barrier had formed between the two of you. He placed the bag on the kitchen counter, setting the flowers beside it, before slowly following your retreating figure.

You kept your back to him, your arms crossed over your chest as you stood near the window, staring outside as if willing yourself to be anywhere but here.

“Baby…” Chan tried again, his voice softer this time. Apologetic.

You tensed but didn’t turn around.

He took a careful step forward. “Please, just—”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice a whisper, but it carried enough weight to stop him in his tracks.

Chan swallowed hard. He wanted to reach for you, to hold you, to tell you he was sorry in a way that would make up for last night. But the weight of the argument hung so heavily between you both, without sparing a glance at him, you went inside your bedroom.

The soft click of the door shutting behind you echoed louder than it should have, and Chan exhaled shakily, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

He had messed up. Badly.

His gaze flickered to the neatly wrapped pastries and the bouquet he had brought. He had stopped by your favorite bakery the moment they opened, hoping—praying—that it would mean something, that it would show you he was trying to make up for the way he reacted.

But he knew better. A box of pastries and a bouquet of flowers couldn’t, wouldn't erase the way he had hurt you.

With a tired sigh, he sank onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor. He didn’t know how much time had passed, only that the silence in the apartment was suffocating.

He glanced toward your closed bedroom door, debating if he should give you more time or if he should go to you now.

But his heart won over his hesitation.

Slowly, he pushed himself up and walked toward your door, his footsteps hesitant but determined. He paused just outside, lifting a hand to knock, but stopped himself at the last second.

Instead, he carefully turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

You were sitting on the bed, your back facing him, silent sobs filling the room. As much as you wanted to hate him for the way he behaved, you simply couldn’t. His presence alone was enough to pull you over, but the heaviness of your emotions made it hard to think. 

Chan’s heart ached at the sight and the sound of your sobs. You heard his footsteps, with a choked voice you said, “Chan, go away.”

He couldn’t go away like that. Not until he tells you how sorry he is and how much he regrets last night. 

“Honey…”

Your shoulders shook harder with each breath, Chan made his way towards you and sat next to you, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush to his chest. You couldn’t react, just stayed frozen in his embrace.

“Baby, my love, I’m so sorry…” He exhaled deeply. “I hate myself for the way I was last night. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t important to me because, God, baby, you are everything to me.”

“I messed up,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “I was stressed, and I let it make me forget what really matters. I forgot us. And that’s not okay.”

You swallowed thickly, your body still stiff in his hold, unsure if you should let yourself sink into his warmth or resist the comfort you so desperately craved. His arms tightened around you, his heartbeat pounding in a frantic rhythm under your ear.

“I should have come home and held you,” Chan murmured, his breath warm against your temple. “I should have kissed you and told you how much I love you instead of making you feel like you were asking for too much.”

Your lips parted in a shaky exhale, the weight of his words pressing against your fragile heart.

“You never ask for too much,” he whispered, his voice raw, filled with self-reproach. “You only ever ask for me,” his throat flexed, “and I failed you.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled from your eyes, but this time, you weren’t alone in your grief. Chan pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, as if he was trying to kiss away the pain he had caused.

He gently turned you in his embrace, urging you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as he tilted your face up to his. Your vision was blurry, so you closed your eyes, unsure if you could look at him.

His thumbs brushed away the tears clinging to your skin, his touch featherlight, reverent. “Please look at me, sweetheart.”

And then you did. And what you saw made your breath hitch.

Pure, unfiltered love—wrapped in sorrow, wrapped in desperation. His dark eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, rimmed with exhaustion and regret. His lips were slightly chapped, parted as if he had a thousand apologies to spill but didn’t know where to start. He looked just as broken as you felt.

His mouth brushed on your forehead, lips trembling as he whispered, “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you, baby.”

Your chin trembled. “Then why did I feel like I was alone in this?”

Chan inhaled sharply, his expression crumbling. “You’re not,” he said instantly, his voice urgent. “I swear, you’re not. I just—” He exhaled heavily, his fingers trembling as they traced over the curve of your jaw. 

“I shouldn’t have taken out my stress from work on you, when you only wanted to spend time with me on a day that I should have remembered too. I’m really sorry baby. I can’t lose you over this.”

Your gaze dropped to his lips, then back to his eyes, searching, wavering. His words poured out so thick with emotion, unfiltered and raw, it made your chest tighten so hard, it hurt.

“Tell me now,” his fingers brushed away the faint tear stains from your face, “Do you want me to go?”

Your breath and words were stuck in your throat. Part of you wanted to let your pain fester a little longer so he could understand just how much last night had hurt. But the way he was looking at you, so full of remorse, it broke through the wall you had tried to keep up.

Chan was here. And he was trying.

The sincerity of his voice and his presence thawed the ice that built around your heart overnight, you couldn't stay angry at him for another moment longer. Because you knew the love you had for him could overshadow any kind of pain.

Your fingers reached up, hesitant, before threading through his soft curls. He sucked in a breath at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut, his grip on you tightening.

Time was frozen, breaths were stolen and before you could stop yourself, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. “Don't hurt me again…” You chokingly whispered.

“Never sweetheart. I won't ever do that again.” He let out a shaky breath against your neck, his hands running up your back, molding your body to his like he was terrified you’d disappear if he let go.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispered, his voice so low and vulnerable that it sent a shiver down your spine.

His lips brushed over your cheek first, barely there, as if he was asking for permission. Then he kissed the corner of your mouth, lingering and waiting. “Please.”

And when you didn’t pull away, he finally pressed his lips to yours.

Soft and hesitant.

Not demanding, not rushed, just a quiet plea wrapped in tenderness.

His lips molded against yours like a silent confession, staying there as if he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him.

His hands moved up your sides, thumbs tracing absent patterns over your skin. He wasn’t taking, he was giving, pouring all of his love into every press of his himself, every stroke of his fingertips.

Your body melted into his instinctively, your hands tightening in his hair as you deepened the kiss, letting yourself drown in the warmth of him. 

He made a quiet sound against you, almost like a sigh of relief, as if he had been waiting for this, for you to accept him, to let him back in as he laid you on your back and toyed with the waistband of your pants.

He had barely touched you and you were already on liquid fire. Blood coursed through your veins when he pulled them down, the chilly air making you shiver at the contact of your heated skin. 

“Chan…”  Your voice came out in a breathy whisper, half moan and half command, when his lips danced over the soft skin of your thighs. 

“Hmm?” when he pressed there, you couldn't help but sigh completely. “What is it honey?” He coaxed, the huskiness of his voice that made it hard to think. Did you want him to stop? Or did you want him to go on?

“I…,” He smirked against you as he made his way up, a path that he knew like the back of his hand. He spread your legs apart, the glistening sight before him reawoke a rush of possessiveness in him. 

“I hate fighting with you.” Chan whispered against your flesh, voice raw and aching. 

Your fingers found his hair, tugging him closer as if that alone could answer him. His breath fanned over your core, and his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your thighs.

“You’re my world,” he admitted, looking up at you, eyes dark but filled with something deeper than lust. “And I want to give you everything. I'm sorry for ruining last night baby.”

The words sent a warmth spiraling through you, melting away the remnants of your argument.

He brushed a kitten kiss right on your swollen clit, and your body responded instantly, arching toward his touch. He took his time, tracing delicate patterns with his tongue, exploring you with a reverence that left you breathless. 

His hands kept you steady, but the way he worshipped you made you feel as if you were floating. You couldn't help but squirm, soft moans spilled from your lips, and when you murmured his name.

This wasn’t about just sex. It was about him making up for every harsh word he said, erasing any distance that had carved its way between you both over the past 12 hours.

His mouth moved over you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every reaction, every soft gasp that spilled from your throat. His hands, rough and calloused, held you with the gentleness of a man afraid to break something precious.

“Cha—nhg,” You whimpers didn't slow him down. It only made him go faster and faster, tongue flicking and licking with an agonizing pressure. 

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You attempted to pull his head away from your pulsing core but he wouldn't budge. 

“I'm not done.” He looked up from your pussy, chin and lips swollen and glistening with your arousal. 

He dove back in with a renewed, hungry pace, his nose nudging against your clit, the warmth shooting up to every inch of your body. He couldn't get enough of how you tasted, how you moaned and screamed only for him. If he could, he would stay right were he was forever.

The band in your lower belly knotted tighter and tighter, had you writhing and bucking your hips, it was on the edge of snapping

And then you surrendered to him. Your orgasm left you gasping, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and only his name escaping your lips, Chan held you firmly as he helped you ride it out. 

He didn't let you go for a second as he sucked and licked your pussy splurting with arousal like he was on the verge of starvation, until he left you boneless but content beneath him.

Slowly, he made his way up your body, removing your top and his mouth hovering your hips, across the plane of your stomach, up the valley between your breasts. Each of it was an apology, a whispered promise against your skin.

“Baby,”—smooch—“fuck you're so sweet when you,”—smooch—“come on my face.” He said between kisses and gentle nipping on your sensitive, peaking buds that rebuilt the anticipation.

Soon enough every piece of clothing was discarded until it was only the fiery sparkles of your sweat misted bodies flying between you both. He shifted, positioning himself between your legs.

The tip of his cock nudged your nub softly before entered you slowly, filling you inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Chan let out a shuddering breath, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close as he started to move. His pace was slow, deliberate, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, but it was more than that. 

It was a silent conversation, an absolution, a way of reminding each other that no fight, no disagreement, could ever take this away from you.

You pulled him in deeper and deeper, his cock twitched hard inside of you, the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin, sweat and groans soaked the air. 

His eyes fell down to where you both joined, what he saw drove him out of his mind. A soft but visible movement in your tummy. 

“Shi— fuck.”

Your eyes fluttered open when he held your hand and brought it over your tummy where you felt the bulge that was moving in and out of you.

“Feel that?” He pounded into you that made you arch your back, digging your nails into his skin. “D’you feel that baby?” 

You nodded, out of breath, mouth falling open until the cries of pleasure consumed you whole, the feel of the bulge just spurring you on more. 

His hands roamed your body, mapping familiar paths, his lips never straying far from yours. He whispered sweet nothings against your skin, words of love and devotion, apologies and reassurances.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but steady.

You smiled softly for the first time after the long hours, tilting your head to kiss him once more. “I love you too.”

And just like that, the fight was forgotten. Not because it didn’t matter, but because what you had together was always stronger.

“You're squeezing me baby,” his orgasm rushed fast and threatened to take over him, climbing up his spine and snapping his restraints. 

“Chan I'm… I'm going to come,” 

And your release finally crashed over you again, it wasn’t just pleasure—it was catharsis. 

A loud cry tore off your throat as you flooded around his cock, shaking and moaning, Chan followed seconds after slamming into you in one last thrust, burying himself deep with a breathless groan, his body caging over yours.

The post sex high lingered but he didn’t move or pull out. He stayed wrapped around you, pressing lazy kisses to your temple, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach. His fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, grounding you both in the quiet aftermath.

“Do you forgive me?” He asked softly, his fingers brushing away a few strands of hair. 

You smiled cheekily, fingers running through his damp sweat hair, “No,” you said lowly that made his eyes widen in disbelief.

His reaction made a laugh bubble up your throat, you pulled him down onto your mouth letting your tongue slip past his lips and had him melt all over again.

“Yes, I forgive you Chan.” You said pulling back, chest heaving and content. 

He chuckled deeply, hugging you tightly, the lingering amusement from your playful teasing was still evident in the crinkle of his nose. 

Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, he shifted, reluctantly pulling away from your warmth.

You watched him as he retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom, wiped you clean before he reached for his pants, discarded somewhere on the floor, and retrieved something small from the pocket. 

When he turned back to you, he held a tiny velvet box in his hands.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Chan hesitated, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of the box as if gathering the courage to speak. Then, with a slow inhale, he flicked it open.

Inside, nestled against the velvet lining, were two delicate rings, a simple silver band with a tiny, shimmering stone embedded at its center. It wasn’t flashy, nor extravagant, but it was beautiful in a way that felt so intimate and personal.

Your eyes flickered from the ring to his face, your heart hammering against your ribcage. “Chan…?”

He let out a quiet chuckle, but you could tell he was nervous. His free hand found yours, fingers lacing together as he held you close.

“I’ve been carrying this around for weeks, waiting for the right moment. And I—” He sighed laughing, shaking his head. “I guess last night was the moment but…”

Chan took a steadying breath, his fingers tracing the edge of the velvet box. “I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes,” he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I push too hard, tease too much. And when we fight, I say things I don’t mean.”

You shook your head, reaching out to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief second before continuing.

“It’s not… a proposal,” he clarified quickly, though his lips curled into that familiar teasing smirk. “Not yet, at least. But it’s a promise.” He squeezed your hand, eyes searching yours with a raw kind of vulnerability. 

“A promise that no matter how much we fight, no matter how many times I mess up… I’ll always choose you. I’ll always come back to you. If you’ll have me.”

Your throat felt tight, emotions swelling so intensely in your chest that you could barely breathe. “Oh Channie,”

His smirk faltered, concern flashing across his face. “Is it too much?” he asked hesitantly. “I know we just—”

You shook your head quickly, cutting him off. “No,” a shaky laugh escaped you . “It’s perfect.”

Relief flooded his features, and for the first time, you saw the nervous tension completely drain from his shoulders.

“Then… will you wear it?” he asked softly, lifting the ring from the box.

“Of course, I will.” You nodded, biting your bottom lip and holding out your hand, he slipped the cool metal onto your finger, the fit perfect, like it was meant to be there all along.

You took the other one from the box and slid it onto his finger with the same reverence, looking up at him through damp lashes.

“This is my promise to you,” you echoed, voice soft but sure. “That even when you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, I’ll still choose you. Every time.”

Chan let out a breathless chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he gazed at you like you hung the stars.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

You didn’t get the chance to respond before his mouth collided with yours again, slow, deep, and filled with a devotion that made your heart flutter in the best way possible.

And as you fell back on the mattress, tangled in each other yet again, the silver bands glinting under the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the window, you knew; there was no one else for you but him.

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Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

[chaepink]

Sub bully gojo like he was planning on fucking and bullying reader when the opposite went way? Like reader had enough of his bullshit and makes him cry and overstimulates him?

Loser | sub!gojo satoru

wc: 2.9k+ words | masterlist

dom!gn!reader, mean!reader -> soft!reader, bully!gojo kinda but he’s more annoying then actually bullying, crying, footjob except he’s clothed, cumming in pants, college au, edging, comparing gojo to a puppy, degradation, praise, exhibitionism, overstimulation, knocking Gojo down a peg, teasing, cursing, mention of reader being shorter than gojo but not important, ooc gojo(?)

note : the writing may be weird… its been a while 😬

"Well well well, look who it is!" You grimace at the all too familiar voice and try to quickly turn the corner but a hand grabs your hand and turns you around, causing you to stumble back slightly but you catch yourself in time.

Furrowing your eyebrows and frowning in annoyance, you eye the person who stopped you: Gojo fucking Satoru. He’s the guy who’s been making your college life a living hell ever since he found out you two went to the same high school. Even though there were several other students here who also went to the same high school, he decided to annoy you for some reason.

The other students in the hallway quickly shuffle to their next classes or to lunch, too afraid to say something that’ll result in Gojo picking on them instead. Of course, they're scared, Gojo is known as a bully who somehow has good relationships with the teachers, an advantage he uses daily. The hallway is deserted now with only you two standing in. You hear the bell ring loudly throughout and your eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Damn it, you’re late to class now.

“Hey! Look at me, bitch.” You scowl deeply as your attention turns back to Gojo. You wonder if he’s aware of his childish personality or not. You assume he doesn’t by the way he continues to act like a toddler.

“What the hell do you want?” You reply, annoyance clear as day on your face. A grin spreads across his face when he sees your attention back on him. God, he loves the way you look at him like that. He quickly shoves the thought to the back of his head.

“In a bad mood today, huh?” He teases, that annoying grin still prominent on his face and you clench your fist into a ball, wanting to punch that grin off his stupid face though you know you can’t. He would just go running to the teachers and higher-ups and get you in trouble somehow.

You let out a small scoff and continue to glare at him before he talks again.

“What? You really think I’m gonna annoy you today?” He smirks and slowly walks closer to you but you grimace. He leans his head down slightly and you frown deeper. You’re already annoying me with your presence, you want to say.

“You should smile more, it’ll make you more pleasant to look at for once, [name]-” He could barely finish his sentence before your anger got the best of you. How dare he act like nothing’s happened?

“What is your fucking problem, you bastard?” You sneer at him as you shove his chest hard, causing him to widen his eyes at your sudden action and stumble backwards before tripping over his feet and falling to the ground on his bottom, his feet on the floor with his knees bent towards the ceiling and his hands behind him to stabilize himself. His legs are spread out slightly and he winces at the sudden impact.

If your mind wasn’t so flooded with anger right now, you would think that Gojo looks rather hot on the ground staring up at you with a flushed face and widened eyes.

Shit, he didn’t mean for you to get this pissed off. He was planning to ask you to come over to his house later or something. Usually you just ignore him and walk off quietly, he didn’t expect this at all. Why are you getting mad? Haven’t you gotten the hint that he bullies you cause he likes you?

You step a foot down awfully near his crotch and he flinches, staring at it with a red face but you don’t notice. You see his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallows harshly. He looks back up at you but quickly looks away when he sees you staring at him so intensely and you’re surprised just how easily he shut up from a simple shove to the ground. Maybe he’s more simple than you thought.

You see his chest rise up and down quickly. The silence is thick and heavy in the air with the sound of his breathing and your own heart beating rapidly in your chest the only noises you hear. The way he refuses to look at you, how red he is, and the way his legs slightly tremble gives you the wrong idea.

Does… seeing you towering over him and staring down at him turn him on somehow? No way, you think.

But when your eyes trail down from his still flushed face down his body and to the place between his spread legs, your idea is confirmed.

“Who said you could get fucking hard right now?” Gojo flinches and his eyes widen, quickly looking down at the rather large bulge in his pants. He tries to cover it with his hands but you quickly kick them away, resulting in his legs spreading even further apart.

Good thing that you’re at one of the more secluded and quiet areas of the school and that not many students nor teachers have classes here.

It’s odd. It’s really odd. How although he could easily get up and run away or even shove you back and say some mean things to you again, he’s not. He’s not doing any of that, just sitting on the ground in front of you like he enjoys it. And a part of you is starting to enjoy the situation as well.

You suddenly remember how although there’s no one in the hallway, there are still some students and teachers in the classrooms near you guys. It seems you two haven’t been loud enough to attract their attention but you know that at any moment, someone could step out into the hallway and spot you two. Though the thought just spurs you on even more.

He hesitates before glancing up at you and swallows again before glancing back at your shoe and it gives you an idea. Without thinking, you lift your foot and press it down on his crotch. The action immediately makes Gojo let out a deep groan and cover his mouth with his hand, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. The sight makes something in your stomach stir although you are still annoyed by his past actions.

Slowly, he opens his eyes back and stares at you, his eyes more soft than before. He puts his hand down and opens his mouth to talk but you notice how he hesitates.

“C-Could we ngh do this in a classroom-“

You quickly cut him off with a scoff. “Really? Do you really think I’m gonna take pity on you after you annoyed me everyday of my college life? It’s not my fault you got hard from just a shove.” You sneer in disgust, making Gojo shiver. “Maybe I should return the favor somehow.” Gojo’s breath hitches in his throat when he sees the anger in your eyes and the way you’re glaring down at him like he’s some sort of useless piece of trash. He feels something throb in his pants.

You suddenly smirk and Gojo has to hold back a whine from the way you look so scary but so hot at the same time.

“I wonder what everyone would think if they were to see you right now, pitifully on the floor like a fucking puppy,” you spit out.

Gojo squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to imagine the sheer shock on everyone’s faces if they were to stumble across him like this in the hallway. But oh God, the way you compare him to a puppy has his stomach fluttering and something else throbbing again.

He opens his eyes again and lets out the most pitiful whine you’ve ever heard and oh does it sound heavenly coming from someone you despise.

“Please?” You contemplate it. As much as you would rather stay in the hallway and ruin him here, you know that if you two were to be caught, you would face suspension and it would ruin your reputation even more. With a sigh and frown, you glance around and spot a dark classroom. Bingo.

You point to it and Gojo’s eyes dart to the empty room, his breathing still fast. He quickly understands it and slowly gets up from the floor.

“Go inside.” It wasn’t a statement, it was an order. He nods and he walks in, glancing behind him to make sure you’re following him inside. As you go into the room, you close the door and lock it, turning back to see Gojo already on the floor on his knees and it makes your heart quicken.

Walking up to him, you before him and immediately return your foot back on his crotch and press down. Gojo lets out a breathy curse from his lips and gasps, his hands obediently at his sides, clenching into fists tightly.

He’s embarrassed at himself for being so easy for you, already at your knees after his plan backfired on him but he’s not complaining. Not when your foot presses down harder which forces a moan out from him and makes his mind foggy. He’s close already. He tells you that and he blushes when you laugh.

“Already? How pathetic,” you tease. “And I thought I would at least get to see you naked first.” The idea of him being fully naked and you fully clothed makes him whimper and he’s quick to open his mouth to beg to get naked for you but you cut him off.

“But I don't think you deserve it after everything you’ve done. You’ll cum from my foot and without taking a piece of clothing off, understood?” He nods before he understands what you said and widens his eyes when he processes it.

“But-” “But?” You raise an eyebrow, daring him to disagree which shuts him right up. You smile and grind your shoe back down on his bulge. “Good, now go on. I know you’re just aching to get some friction, yeah?”

He nods again and doesn’t hesitate for a moment before bucking his hips up against your foot, letting out a soft cry as the pleasure shoots through his body. You keep your foot still and let him do all the work and he lets out a loud moan when a particular thrust has his precum leaking out and dampening his pants.

You feel him twitch underneath your foot and smirk in amusement. “Quiet now, it's still school time, remember?” The reminder has him whimpering, wanting to let out loud noises for you but understanding the environment. You can tell he’s close from the way he’s practically begging with those puppy eyes of his.

“P-Please?” “Please what, Gojo?” He lets out another soft cry, the pleasure being too much. His mind is so foggy from the fact that you two are in an empty classroom and can get caught at any moment and how he can’t let out loud noises like he wants and the feeling of his dick being so hard, it hurts.

And now you’re teasing him. How mean, he wants to say to you. But the chances that you get mad again and leave him here in the classroom by himself with a hard dick is too high. So he begs.

“Please let me cum? Please? I-I’ve been good-” You laugh again. He hasn’t been good at all to you but he has been good at not touching you and keeping quiet. So maybe you’ll take pity on him. Maybe.

“Hm should I?” You pretend to think and Gojo moans, his pace quickening against your foot and he nods frantically. “I don’t think I should.” The second you take your foot off him, Gojo swears he’s close to crying right then and there. His hands subconsciously dart out from his sides to reach for your ankle but your sharp glare stops him.

So instead, he whimpers as tears prickle the corner of his eyes, his dick aching for release. You smirk at the sight.

“Beg for it, Gojo. Unless you want me to leave.” He obeys yet again, almost too eagerly this time that it almost makes you laugh. Geez, knocking Gojo down his high horse is way more fun than you thought it would be.

“[Name] please? Please please please i'll be such a good boy for you i promise!” It’s cute, seeing his glossy eyes and parted lips as he pants like a puppy for you. You swear you see a glimpse of a tail behind him wagging eagerly.

“Do whatever you want to me! Just let me cum, please!” With a smile, you place your foot back on his bulge and press down hard.

He throws his head back with a whimper and he swears he sees stars as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Ah!- T-Thank you ngh” He goes back to his previous quick pace again and it’s not long till he’s close again. He squeezes his eyes shut, not trusting himself to not have them roll back and he hesitantly places his hands around your ankle to keep it there, refusing for you to pull away again. You click your tongue in disapproval but don’t say anything about it which he is grateful about.

“I’m gonna cum im gonna cum-” He babbles out as he continues to rut against your foot like a dog in heat. “Such a good boy for me, telling me that you’re close and not cuming without permission.,” you praise and you swear his hips stutters at that. A sucker for praise, it seems.

His eyes shoot open and it's clear what he’s begging for. “Go on, cum.”

And he does almost immediately. One of his hands shoots up to cover his mouth as he muffles his choked moans and whimpers and your eyes look down to see the spot where his crotch is quickly dampening as he cums.

But you don’t stop, you actually speed up. Gojo feels your foot continuing to grind down on his now damp crotch and he can barely hold on, his hand dropping from his mouth back to hastily hold onto your leg. His eyes widen and curses sputter out of his mouth in stutters.

“S-Shit wait! I’m ngh not ready-” You grab a handful of his hair and yank on it hard, forcing him to look directly at you and let out a rather loud whine. He stares at you with tears ready to fall down his face and oh does he look good like this. He’s on his knees, his hips bucking up to your foot as if he didn’t just say he’s not ready, face flushed such a pretty pink as he stares up at you like you own him. The tight grip you have on his hair has his scalp prickling in pain in such a good way that he almost begs for you to yank harder but another moan escapes him before he can.

“Come on, you were begging so nicely earlier,” you say mockingly, a feign pout on your face as you stare down at the once confident man. “Don’t you want to cum again? I think you got some more in you, yeah?”

He immediately nods and lets out a cry when you step down even harder on his clothed dick and pull on his hair harder. Shit, he’s already close again, the overstimulation getting to him and making it feel all so much better. He can barely even talk or speak full sentences anymore, only letting out mainly whines and whimpers and a few babbles here and there.

Each tug of your hand, grind of your shoe, and praise or degradation you graciously give to him has him soon crying out of pure pleasure. Tears streak down his face slowly as he gets closer to cumming again. You’re almost jealous of how pretty he still is while crying.

“Cum.” That’s all he needs to hear before his hips stutter again and he lets out a quiet sob, cumming for the second time and staining his pants even more.

His pace slows down before stopping, his breath slowing down. He slowly leans forward to lean his cheek against your leg and your breath hitches at the sight. You can feel his hot breath against your leg as he stares up at you with hooded eyes and flushed cheeks. He’s mumbling under his breath and you swear you hear “thank you’s” coming out quietly.

You can’t help but lean down slightly and run your hand through his hair, hearing a soft hum coming from him as he sighs when your hand moves down to caress his damp cheek, nuzzling against it.

The sudden sound of the school bell ringing snaps you two out of the trance. Right, you two are still at school in an empty classroom. You hear the other students rush out of the nearby classes to leave and return home and you’re glad that you two aren’t in view of the door window.

You hear a sigh coming from Gojo and you look back at him and see him smile up at you.

“I… enjoyed that,” he murmurs shyly and you can't help but smile. “You did so good for me.” He whines and blushes and you swear you feel another twitch from his crotch.

Let's just say that you two continued to meet at that spot many times after that.

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[sharlsworld]

soft lauch? - 𝐜𝐬𝟓𝟓 ✽

✿ carlos sainz x influencer!reader

✿ y/n and carlos try to soft launch their relationship but his millennial mind can’t comprehend the idea

✫ i got a little crazy at the end guys so i sincerely apologize for that also there’s a age gap…i’m sorry i’m obsessed with them sue me

🝮🝮🝮

definitelynotyn

liked by pierregasly and 113 others

definitelynotyn is it time to start soft launching?

carlossainz55 Mi corazón I need you to explain a soft launch to me again

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux everyone take a minute to pray for y/n

♥︎ by author

landonorris LONGGGGG over due

⤷ definitelynotyn we’ve just been waiting for the right time

francisca.cgomes soft launch us? fs

⤷ definitelynotyn let’s go over the captions

⤷ carlossainz55 Alrighty then!

⤷ pierregasly idc how many years go by i’ll never get used to this

⤷ definitelynotyn cry about it

⤷ pierregasly i will

charles_leclerc You would hope so after almost 4 years of dating

⤷ definitelynotyn it’s not our fault we can keep a secret sharl

⤷ charles_leclerc What’s that supposed to mean 🤨

lilymhe carlos sainz deserves to be locked up for going after my little kitten when she turned 18 😾

⤷ carlossainz55 Your just mad I got rizz

⤷ lilymhe obviously not that good if your girl is eating lunch with me rn

⤷ carlossainz55 @definitelynotyn Come home baby the kids miss you

⤷ definitelynotyn omw 😍

⤷ lilymhe damn…someone took my bitch

georgerussell63 Nah i’m waiting for the hard launch engagement post

⤷ carlossainz55 😏

alex_albon bros gonna catch a case 😭

⤷ danielricciardo He’s ready to risk it all

🝮

yn

liked by carlossainz55 and 6,924,085 others

yn so baby girl coded 🎀

charles_leclerc My eyes 😓

⤷ yn oh please spare me the dramatics

landonorris you two make me sick 🤢

⤷ yn all i’m seeing is a bunch of hating jealous bitches 🤧🥱

hoeforsainzzz guys…that watch looks pretty familiar

f1wags 👀👀👀

smoothoperator55 yk…i’ve spent some time memorizing the arms and hands of the f1 drivers and let me tell you…that’s gotta be carlos sainz 👁️👁️

ynstan4lyfe some of you guys need to except the fact that carlos and her are just friends and nothing more

carlossainz55 Lucky guy

this comment has been deleted

operatorsainz ik ya’ll seen that 🫣

danielricciardo How many times must I remind you that children are on this app

⤷ yn it’s not my fault if they see it the age requirement is 13 🤓

🝮

carlossainz55

liked by lewishamilton and 9,813,762 others

carlossainz55 4 years with you by my side ♥️

charles_leclerc Tell her to cut her claws it looks like you asked a bear to scratch your back

⤷ hoeforsainzzz HELLOOOO??????

carlossainzappendix HELLO THATS THE SAME PICTURE Y/N POSTED IN HER SOFT LAUNCH STHU

landonorris bless carlos and his millennial mind 😞

iliveforcarlossainz welp this definitely wasn’t on my 2024 bingo card

hearts4lando SHUT THE HELL UP 4 YEARS AND WE HAD NO CLUE?

flowersforyn sooo…we’re not gonna talk about the 8 year age gap?

⤷ alex_albon no his lawyers are on speed dial he was ready to risk it all

⤷ yn shut up albono

yn oh baby 😭

⤷ carlossainz55 Did I do it wrong?

⤷ yn yeah but it’s the thought that counts

maxverstappen1 Almost had it mate

alexandrasaintmleux whoever didn’t pray for y/n this is your fault

🝮

definitelynotyn

liked by schecoperez and 98 others

definitelynotyn why is bro tryna rizz me up

francisca.cgomes HAHAHA HES SO OLD WHO TYPES WITH AUTO CAPS

⤷ carlossainz55 Mature adults

⤷ definitelynotyn excuse me?

⤷ carlossainz55 I can never win

⤷ lilymhe HAHAHA THATS WHAT YOU GET FOR MESSING UP HER SOFT LAUNCH

charles_leclerc He actually was sweating like a bitch when he realized he posted the same picture

lewishamilton Roscoe misses his godmother he’s in need for a visit

⤷ definitelynotyn stop i’m coming over tmr

oscarpiastri 29 year old spaniard seen running around paddock looking disheveled and almost in tears after the realization hit that he ruined his girlfriends soft launch

⤷ definitelynotyn thanks for the update osc

carlossainz55 Babe please i’m on my knees begging forgive me

⤷ landonorris stand up carlos

⤷ definitelynotyn don’t you have a race to lose or something?

⤷ landonorris maybe in a different lifetime…you aren’t my bully 😔

⤷ definitelynotyn oh go cry me a river

⤷ landonorris i will

alexandrasaintmleux i wish charles was this down bad for me

⤷ charles_leclerc Girl………..

⤷ yn is what you are? 🤣🤣🤣

⤷ charles_leclerc You are my biggest hater

⤷ definitelynotyn proudly

🝮

yn

liked by haileybieber and 10,172,253 others

yn ruined my soft launch but it’s ok cause the D is fire 🔥 yeah, i said it.

carlossainz55 Mi corazón es tuyo ♥️

⤷ yn ♥️

charles_leclerc You guys should pay for my therapy since i’ve spent the last 4 years sleeping in the room next to yours

⤷ carlossainz55 Get ear plugs

ynlos ik those bitches are like bunnies 🫣

hoeforsainzzz y/n giving us a little snack 😩

ynstan4lyfe i would like to take back what i said on her soft launch

danielricciardo Your pr managers are quaking with rage right now I know it

⤷ yn i was gonna say something but then i chose peace 😇

⤷ georgerussell63 That’s a first

⤷ yn alright bro your entire existence is a meme calm down 🤣🤣

⤷ georgerussell63 I can always count on you to make me cry

🝮

carlossainz55

liked by lissiemackintosh and 9,019,723 others

carlossainz55 Dibs

francisca.cgomes WOAH THERE BUDDY

arthur_leclerc that’s enough instagram for the day.

landonorris my poor eyes

yn best pillow 😇

⤷ carlossainz55 Just for you

ynissocutiepatootie her side profile 😍😍

ynsmywife carlos sainz can’t handle allat

carlando this altered my brain chemistry

carlitossainz brotha don’t know what to do with allat

charles_leclerc Every time I open this app man I can’t escape it 💔

⤷ yn is that a little bitch i hear?

⤷ charles_leclerc You wound me

maxverstappen1 Wasn’t prepared for that

carlossainz55 All you bitches can stay mad

🝮

yns.asskisser

liked by oscarpiastri and 84 others

yns.asskisser Date night with the missus

yn WOOF WOOF MEOW 😍😘😋👅🤤 SMASH SMASH SMASH YOU CAN HAVE IT ANY DAY ANY WHERE ANY TIME

⤷ yns.asskisser I love u mami

yn do you want head?

⤷ yns.asskisser Always baby 😘

⤷ charles_leclerc JUST BECAUSE THIS IS A PRIVATE ACCOUNT DOESNT MEAN OTHER PEOPLE CANT SEE IT

landonorris aw you sick bastard

lilymhe what is it finna play…WOAHHHH

alexandrasaintmleux i miss the person i was 10 seconds ago

francisca.cgomes you and y/n put 50 shades of grey to SHAME

alex_albon so who’s coming to church with me and lily on sunday? 😇

⤷ pierregasly me and kika

⤷ charles_leclerc Me and alexandra

⤷ oscarpiastri me and lily

⤷ danielricciardo Me

⤷ schecoperez Me

⤷ maxverstappen1 Me

⤷ yukitsunoda0511 Me

⤷ lewishamilton Me and roscoe

⤷ georgerussell63 Me and carmen

⤷ landonorris me

⤷ joris__trouche me

⤷ lance_stroll me

⤷ logansargeant me

⤷ fernandoalo_oficial Me

⤷ yn ya’ll mad i’m getting my world rocked every night 🤪🤪

♥︎ by author

[thedensworld]

Now We're Swapping | j.ww

Pairing: Rich Kid Wonwoo x reader

Genre: College au!, Enemy to Lovers au!, Body Swapped au!

Type: fluff, hint angst, smut (mdni!)

Word Count: 18k

Summary: Wonwoo was waking up as his high school rival in one sudden morning. There were two things he could do, help you or turn your life into a miserable one.

Wonwoo experienced three bizarre things the moment he woke up:

1. He wasn’t in his soft, warm, and luxurious bed. In fact, he wasn’t even in his room. The second he opened his eyes, confusion struck him like a bolt of lightning. Instead of his familiar surroundings, he found himself lying on a rock-hard mattress in a room he had never seen before. His back ached from the uncomfortable bed, and the musty smell of old wood filled the air.

2. Before he could even process where he was, the door suddenly burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang. A woman, looking frantic and completely unbothered by the fact that he had just woken up, barged in and yelled at him. “Come on! Help me get the kids ready!” she snapped, her voice grating against his ears. Wonwoo flinched. The kids? Since when did he have kids to take care of? Even back at home, not a single staff member dared to wake him up so rudely, let alone order him around. But this woman? She had the audacity to yell at him as if she had been doing it for years.

3. It wasn’t until he was practically dragged out of bed, his body moving sluggishly with sleep still clinging to him, that the real shock hit him. Stumbling towards a mirror hanging on the wall, his bleary eyes landed on his own reflection—except it wasn’t his reflection. It was you. His heart plummeted into his stomach. He blinked. Once. Twice. He even rubbed his eyes, but nothing changed. It was your face staring back at him. No, wait! It wasn’t just your face—it was you. Or was it him? No! It was him, but in your body! No— Whatever! The details didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had somehow woken up as you!

Now, Wonwoo stood in the backyard of a place called Pristine Foster Home, feeling utterly lost. Wet blankets and bedsheets hung from the clothesline, swaying in the breeze, but he was too consumed by his own crisis to care. He tapped his foot anxiously against the ground, his fingers instinctively biting at his nails—a nervous habit he never realized you had. This can’t be happening. This is a nightmare.

Not only had he woken up as a girl, but to make things worse, he had woken up as you—his biggest rival for the upcoming university student presidential election next week. Before Wonwoo could fully process the madness of waking up as you, the woman—who everyone around here called Mrs. Kim—grabbed his wrist and dragged him away without a hint of hesitation.

“You! Front yard. Now. The donor is coming in two hours, and this place needs to be spotless!” she barked, barely giving him time to keep up with her fast-paced steps.

Wonwoo stumbled along, still disoriented, but before he could even protest, a broom was shoved into his hands, and Mrs. Kim disappeared just as quickly as she had appeared. He blinked down at the worn-out broom in his grasp.

What the hell was happening?

He huffed in frustration and, without a second thought, threw the broom aside the moment she was out of sight. His arms crossed over his chest, lips curling in irritation as his gaze swept across the yard. The place wasn’t even that messy. And more importantly—

“Why am I the only one working here?” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the empty yard. There were kids. Lots of them. Small, loud, and chaotic little kids running around, playing, laughing—doing everything except helping. Meanwhile, he—no, you—was here, being ordered around like some unpaid laborer.

A long sigh escaped his lips, carrying the weight of his rapidly declining mental state. He was exhausted, and he had barely even done anything yet. He pressed his fingers to his temple, trying to piece together the last thing he remembered.

He had gone home last night. That much was clear. After an intense strategic meeting at Mingyu’s place about how to crush you in the upcoming university election, he had ridden his bike home. He did have a beer—maybe two. But he wasn’t drunk. He swore he was completely sober when he got home.

And yet, here he was. Stuck in your body, in a place he had never been, surrounded by a bunch of kids and an overbearing woman yelling at him about cleaning. His head was starting to spin from the sheer absurdity of it all.

What kind of twisted nightmare was this?

Hours later, the children lined up neatly in the front yard, their chatter filling the air with restless energy. Wonwoo, on the other hand, was slumped on the front porch, exhausted and utterly out of place. He had barely caught his breath when, once again, Mrs. Kim grabbed him and dragged him forward, forcing him to join the group.

She clicked her tongue in disapproval, eyeing him—you—from head to toe. “You’re a mess,” she muttered. “You look filthy. You probably stink too, but there’s no time for a bath.”

Wonwoo barely had the energy to argue. His body—your body—was covered in sweat and dirt after hours of cleaning. His arms ached, his back was sore, and he was convinced he had never worked this hard in his life. And for what? To stand in a lineup like some kind of orphan?

“Now—Oh! They’re here! Let’s go.”

Mrs. Kim barely gave him a second to react before shoving him to the front of the group. Wonwoo stumbled forward, blinking in confusion as an expensive black car slowly rolled to a stop in front of them. His brows furrowed as he focused on the vehicle, a bad feeling creeping into his chest.

The driver stepped out first, closing the door behind him. Wonwoo’s blood ran cold.

“Oh no…” he muttered under his breath, his stomach twisting into knots. He knew this man. The driver stood tall, his expression neutral yet familiar, dressed in the usual black suit that Wonwoo had seen countless times before.

Don’t tell me the donor is…

Before he could finish his thought, the back doors of the car opened, and a well-dressed couple stepped out.

“Mr. Jeon! Mrs. Jeon! How are you? It’s very nice to meet you. It’s been a long time, right?” Mrs. Kim greeted them enthusiastically, her voice laced with respect.

Wonwoo’s entire body stiffened.

What in the actual universe was this?!

Standing before him were his parents.

Wonwoo froze as his mother approached him with a warm smile, her arms immediately wrapping around him in a tight embrace.

“Y/n… you’re beautiful,” she murmured, pulling back slightly to cup his—your—cheek. “How are you, honey? I heard you joined the election for university student president. I wish you the best of luck!”

His entire body went rigid.

It wasn’t just the hug that caught him off guard—it was the way she spoke. So soft, so affectionate, her voice practically dripping with warmth. His mother had never spoken to him like that before. And now, she was looking at him—at you—with so much fondness that it made his stomach churn with unease.

Before he could even process her words, his father stepped up beside them. Unlike his mother’s overwhelming affection, his father’s greeting was simple yet firm as he gave Wonwoo a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Good job, Y/n. I heard you’re ranked second in your school.”

Wonwoo nearly scoffed. Of course, you’re second. Living in a foster home, faking a high-maintenance life while studying at an Ivy League university—you’d have to be at the top to keep up. But there was something about the way his father said it that irked him.

Second place. And who was first? Wasn’t it him? The top student? Before he could dwell on it any further, he felt Mrs. Kim’s sharp gaze on him. Her eyes flickered between him and his parents, silently sending him glances—no, warnings. Her expression screamed at him to stay in line, to play along.

Play along with what?!

Before he could figure it out, his mother suddenly took his arm, her fingers latching onto his wrist as she led him forward, her voice full of excitement. “Come, let’s take a look around!” The entire group started moving for a home tour, but Wonwoo was barely keeping up. His mind was still spinning, drowning in confusion, when a voice snapped him out of his daze.

Mr. Jung, the driver, leaned in and whispered something to his father.

His father’s expression darkened instantly.

“We need to go,” his father said abruptly, turning to his mother.

She blinked in surprise. “Why? What happened?”

“Our son is in the hospital. Bike accident.”

Wonwoo’s breath caught in his throat.

What?!

*

Now, thanks to the lie he had impulsively made earlier—saying he wanted to come with them to the hospital—everyone, or rather just his parents, would start thinking that you and he were close.

His mother’s fingers gently wrapped around his hand, her eyes filled with warmth as she asked, “You’re close with our Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo almost blurted out No way in hell! because, really, what kind of sick joke was this? He and you had been enemies since high school. Ever since you transferred in and started creeping up the academic ranks, toppling one student after another—except him. He had been the only one who managed to keep you from taking first place.

And now? Now, here he was. Sitting in front of a hospital room.

As his parents went inside to see their real son, Wonwoo sat stiffly in the hallway, his fingers absentmindedly tugging at the hem of the dress he was still wearing. Your dress. He hadn't even had the chance to change out of it—an old, faded yellow sleeping gown that was wrinkled from all the chaos he had been thrown into. His hair— your hair was probably a mess, sticking out in all directions, and worst of all… he reeked. The hours of chores he had done at the foster home had left him sweaty and grimy.

He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

What the hell is going on?

Before he could spiral any further, the door to the hospital room creaked open.

“Honey.”

He looked up to see his mother stepping out, his father following close behind.

“He wants to see you.” Wonwoo’s heart stilled.

Shit. Who the hell was he?

“Wonwoo… is that you?”

The voice sent a shiver down his spine. It was his voice—his own deep, familiar tone—but coming from the hospital bed in front of him.

Wonwoo hesitated before stepping closer, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of his own body lying there. His forehead was bandaged, a clear sign of the accident, but everything else was exactly as he remembered.

His own face looked back at him with furrowed brows, filled with confusion. “Who are you?” Wonwoo asked, his voice laced with suspicion. He didn’t know what to expect—hell, nothing about this entire day made sense—but seeing himself awake and talking to him? This was beyond anything he could’ve ever imagined.

The person in his body blinked, hesitant before answering.

“I’m Y/n…” Your voice—his voice—sounded unsure, shaken. “Why am I here?”

Wonwoo let out a slow breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Surprised you didn’t panic the moment you saw yourself talking to you,” he muttered, shaking his head. He honestly expected more screaming. Maybe some fainting. But here you were, surprisingly composed despite everything.

Your—his—eyes widened slightly, scanning the room before looking back at him. “What happened? Why… why am I you?”

Wonwoo scoffed, letting out a dry chuckle. “You think I know?” He met your gaze with an exasperated look. “I’m just as confused as you are, Ji Y/n. But whatever happened… we’ve switched.”

Silence filled the room as you stared at him, disbelief evident in your expression. And for the first time in his life, Wonwoo experienced the incredibly uncomfortable feeling of being stared at by himself.

It was unsettling. He shifted on his feet, looking away as he took a small step back.

You swallowed hard before finally speaking again, voice quieter this time. “How did this happen?”

Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his—your—messy hair. “Same, Y/n… I’m asking too.”

A heavy silence settled between them. Wonwoo—stuck in your body—felt an itch in his brain, an urge to pace around the room in frustration, but he held himself still. Meanwhile, you, trapped in his body, were staring at your—his—hands, clenching and unclenching your fists as if trying to confirm this wasn’t just some fever dream.

“This has to be a nightmare,” you muttered, gripping the blanket draped over your lap. “A really weird, messed-up nightmare.”

Wonwoo sighed sharply, rubbing his temple. “I thought the same thing when I woke up in that damn foster home.”

At his words, you blinked, finally snapping your gaze up to meet his.

“The foster home… Pristine Foster Home?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo let out a tired huff. “Woke up on some hard-ass mattress in a tiny room, got screamed at by a woman who made me do chores all morning, and then got dragged here because your—” He paused, correcting himself. “—my parents showed up as donors.”

Your expression darkened as you digested his words. “Mrs. Kim must’ve made you clean, didn’t she?”

“Front yard.”

You cringed. “Damn. That’s the worst one.”

Wonwoo scoffed. “Yeah, I figured.” He studied you carefully, watching as you pulled at the hospital blanket, your jaw tightening. “So? What happened to you? How the hell did you end up here?”

You let out a deep breath, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I remember going to bed last night like usual, and then… I woke up here. But obviously, it wasn’t me who got into that accident.”

Wonwoo frowned, trying to recall the events of last night. He had been at Mingyu’s house, strategizing ways to defeat you in the student election. He’d had a couple of beers, but he hadn’t been drunk. He clearly remembered riding home on his bike, arriving at his house, getting into bed…

And then waking up as you.

His fingers twitched as he crossed his arms again. “Nothing weird happened,” he muttered. “At least, nothing that explains this.”

You let out a tired groan, running a hand down your face. “This is insane.”

“No shit.”

Just then, the door to the hospital room creaked open, and both of you snapped your heads toward the entrance.

Wonwoo’s—your—parents stepped back in.

“Honey,” his mother—your mother now—spoke gently, a worried look on her face. “You must be tired. Why don’t you go home and rest?”

Wonwoo felt his pulse quicken. Home? As in your home? The foster home?

His father nodded in agreement. “Yes, dear. We can handle things here. You’ve done enough already.”

Done enough?! What had he done besides get thrown into this mess?

Before he could protest, his mother stepped forward, her hands reaching out to pat his cheek fondly. Wonwoo stiffened instantly. “You’ve always been such a hardworking girl,” she said softly. “It makes me so happy to see you and Wonwoo getting along.”

Wonwoo barely resisted the urge to grimace. He threw you a look, silently screaming, What the hell do I do?! You—trapped in his body—were no help. You simply stared at him, eyes wide, just as lost as he was. And just like that, Wonwoo realized something horrifying. Until they figured out how to switch back…

He was going to have to live as you.

*

Wonwoo stood frozen in front of the bathroom door, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The old wooden door creaked slightly, the dim light from the hallway casting a shadow over the tiled floor inside. The thought of stepping in—of actually taking a bath—made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

Because that would mean undressing. Undressing your body. Absolutely not. There was no way in hell he was going to do that. He had morals. Standards. There were just some lines he refused to cross, and this was one of them.

But damn… his body—your body—felt disgusting. The grime from hours of chores clung to his skin. Sweat dried in uncomfortable places, making the oversized sleeping gown stick to him. His hair was an absolute mess, still tangled from the wind earlier, and he could smell the faint scent of dirt and soap from when he’d scrubbed the front yard clean.

Wonwoo groaned, running a hand through his—your—hair in frustration.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” he muttered under his breath.

If he didn’t shower, he’d feel like this all night, and the thought of sleeping in this state made him want to scream. But if he did shower…

He shut his eyes tightly, cursing under his breath.This was hell. Just then, a loud knock on the door startled him.

“Hurry up in there! Other people need the bathroom too, you know!” Mrs. Kim’s sharp voice rang through the hallway, making Wonwoo jolt. He turned his head, glaring at the door.

“Alright, alright!” he snapped back, annoyed.

He exhaled slowly, trying to collect himself.

Fine. He wouldn’t do anything weird. He’d make this as quick and moral as possible. No unnecessary looking, no thinking too hard about it. Just in, out, and done.

Steeling himself, Wonwoo reached for the doorknob, swallowing hard before stepping inside. This was going to be the most uncomfortable bath of his life.

Wonwoo tried his best not to look. He focused on the feeling of the water against his skin, rubbing the soap over your—his—body as quickly as possible. The sooner this was over, the better. His movements were stiff, awkward, and mechanical. He kept his eyes trained on the tiles, avoiding even a glance downward. Just soap, rinse, and get out. That was the plan.

But then—

His hand ran over his back, and a sharp sting shot through him. Wonwoo froze.

What the hell?

His stomach churned at the thought.

Wonwoo quickly rinsed off and turned off the water. He grabbed a towel, drying off haphazardly before stepping out of the bathroom. The moment he found a small, cracked mirror in the hallway, he twisted his body, angling himself to get a look at his back.

Wonwoo’s breath hitched as he finally caught a glimpse of his—your—back in the cracked mirror. His brows furrowed, and his fingers twitched at his sides.

His chest tightened.

His mind raced as he tried to recall everything that had happened since he woke up in your body. Wonwoo gritted his teeth.

What the hell happened to you, Ji Y/n? And why did he have a bad feeling that this was just the beginning of something bigger?

*

Wonwoo stormed through the front doors of his house, shoulders tense as he stomped up the grand staircase. His whole body—your body—felt sore and exhausted from the insane day he'd just had. The security at the gate had nearly dragged him out, refusing to believe that the Ji Y/n in front of them was actually their young master, Jeon Wonwoo.

"You have no idea how much I had to beg the security to let me in," he grumbled as he yanked open the bedroom door, stepping inside with an annoyed scowl.

Inside, you—in his body—stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. It was jarring, watching his own body move with hesitation, looking completely out of place in the very room he had lived in for years. The moment your eyes landed on him, your shoulders sagged in relief. "Finally—I thought you were never coming back."

Wonwoo scoffed, shutting the door behind him. "I thought I was never coming back. You think it’s easy walking into my mansion looking like you? The guards almost threw me out!"

"You live here," you shot back, exasperated. "You could’ve just walked in—why did you make this harder?"

Wonwoo gave you a deadpan look. "Oh, sure, let me just casually waltz in while looking like someone who doesn’t belong here. I looked like a lost delivery worker!" He threw his hands up, pacing the room. "Do you know how humiliating that was?"

Your frown deepened. "At least you weren’t forced to do laundry and yard work for an entire foster home full of children. Mrs. Kim practically used me as free labor."

Wonwoo turned to you, unimpressed. "Yeah? Well, I woke up in a hospital bed, covered in injuries, and had to sit through my own parents looking at me like I was their long-lost daughter."

Your mouth opened slightly, then shut. "…Touché."

Silence fell between you two, the weight of the situation settling in.

After a moment, Wonwoo groaned, rubbing his temples. "Alright. We need to figure out what the hell happened and how to fix it."

You nodded, though your expression was still tense. "Agreed. But where do we even start?"

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "Let’s think. What’s the last thing you remember before we… switched?"

Wonwoo leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed as his brows furrowed in frustration. No matter how much you both racked your brains, there was no logical explanation for why you'd switched bodies. There was no accident, no weird mystical event—just a normal night before waking up in each other’s skin.

"This is ridiculous," Wonwoo muttered, shaking his head. "It’s like some cheap fantasy movie plot, except it’s actually happening to us."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I know. And I hate to admit it, but I don’t think we’re going to figure this out tonight."

Wonwoo scoffed. "Yeah? Well, in the meantime, I’m not going back to that foster home and working my ass off like some unpaid worker." He turned to you with a pointed look. "You call my parents. Tell them to let you stay here until we switch back."

Your eyebrows shot up. "What? Why me? That’s your job!"

"I can’t exactly call them in your voice and say, ‘Hey, I’m actually Wonwoo, let me stay at my mansion until further notice.’ They’ll think I’ve lost my mind."

You groaned, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. "Fine. But if they say no, you’re on your own."

Wonwoo smirked. "Trust me. My mom loves you. She won’t say no."

You stared at Wonwoo’s phone in your hands, your thumb hesitating over the contact labeled Mom. The plan was simple: call his parents, pretend to be him, and ask if you—which meant him in your body—could stay over until this mess was sorted out.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

You cleared your throat and pressed call. The phone barely rang twice before his mother answered, her voice warm yet slightly distracted. "Wonwoo? It’s late. What is it?"

You shot Wonwoo a look, and he gestured impatiently for you to just talk.

"Uh—yeah. Mom. I, uh, wanted to ask if Y/n could stay over for a few days?"

There was a beat of silence. Then she hummed, as if turning the idea over in her head. "Y/n?" she repeated, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity now. "Why?"

Your mouth opened, but no excuse came to mind. You hadn’t thought that far. You shot Wonwoo a desperate look, but he just folded his arms, watching in amusement.

The silence stretched, and then, to your horror, his mother let out a knowing sigh. "I see… So it’s like that."

Your brows furrowed. "Like what?"

"You finally brought a girl home."

Wonwoo choked.

You nearly dropped the phone. "Wait, what?"

"It’s fine, Wonwoo. You’re an adult. If you’re serious about this girl, I won’t say anything. Just make sure you’re being responsible."

Wonwoo was now aggressively shaking his head at you, mouthing fix it!, but you were too stunned to respond properly.

"Uh—yeah," you stammered, scrambling to end the conversation. "So… she can stay?"

His mother chuckled softly. "Of course. Have the staff set up a room for her. Your father and I will be out of town, but tell her she’s welcome."

And with that, the call ended.

You lowered the phone slowly, turning to Wonwoo with wide eyes.

"You finally brought a girl home?" you repeated in disbelief.

Wonwoo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "This is a nightmare."

You stared at the phone in disbelief. "That’s it?"

Wonwoo let out a humorless chuckle. "What did you expect? A heartfelt conversation?" He snatched the phone from your hand and stuffed it in his pocket. "They’re barely home as it is. They probably don’t even care who stays over."

The bitterness in his voice didn’t go unnoticed.

You decided not to comment on it. Instead, you sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, at least that worked. Now get out of here before Mrs. Kim drags me—I mean, you—back inside for more chores."

Wonwoo groaned but grabbed his things and left.

As you settled into his massive, empty house, you couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t much of a home at all.

*

The next morning, you both stood in front of Wonwoo’s sleek black car, staring at it like it was the final boss of this entire ridiculous situation. "You drive," you said, tossing him the keys. Wonwoo caught them but immediately scowled at you. "You drive. It’s my car."

You folded your arms. "I don’t even have a license, genius." His jaw clenched. He looked at the keys, then at the car, then at you—his own body. "You mean to tell me that after all the times you acted like you’re better than me, you can’t even drive?"

"Driving doesn’t determine intelligence, Jeon." You rolled your eyes. "Are we going to school or not?"

Grumbling, he unlocked the car and got into the driver’s seat. You slid into the passenger seat, watching with barely contained amusement as he adjusted everything—pushing the seat forward, adjusting the rearview mirror, lowering the steering wheel.

"This is so uncomfortable," he muttered, shifting in the seat. His knees were practically up to his chest. You smirked. "What? Is my body too small for your big manly car?"

Wonwoo shot you a glare before turning the ignition. The car rumbled to life, and he carefully pressed the gas pedal—only for the car to jerk forward suddenly, causing both of you to lurch.

"YAH!" you yelped, clutching the dashboard. "Are you trying to kill me—yourself—whatever?"

Wonwoo exhaled through his nose, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "Your legs are too damn short! I can’t feel the pedal properly!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Now you know my struggles."

After a few more rough starts, Wonwoo finally managed to get the car moving smoothly. The drive to school was tense at first, but as he adjusted, his usual confidence returned. You, on the other hand, were dreading what was to come.

As soon as you arrived, all eyes would be on him—or rather, you. And there was nothing either of you could do about it. The night before, you and Wonwoo had spent hours sitting in his room, going over the rules of survival until you switched back.

1. Don’t tell anyone about the situation.

"Not even Mingyu?" you had asked.

"Especially not Mingyu," Wonwoo had deadpanned. "He’ll make this a circus."

2. Act normal, even to each other.

"You mean I have to be cold and unbothered like you?" you had teased.

"And I have to act like you?" Wonwoo had shot back. "All smiles and fake pleasantries? Great."

3. Avoid attention.

This one was the most important. The last thing either of you needed was people noticing something was off.

Now, standing at the entrance of the university, those rules felt like an impossible mission. You watched as Wonwoo—you—stepped out of the car, adjusting the oversized hoodie he had thrown on. It was strange seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes, and even weirder seeing how awkward he looked in your body.

"Stop slouching," you hissed under your breath. "I don’t walk like that." Wonwoo shot you a glare but straightened his posture. "And stop staring at your feet. It’s weird." With that, the two of you walked through campus, forcing yourselves to act normal. It was fine. Until the first person called your name.

"Y/n!"

You froze before realizing it wasn’t actually you they were calling—it was Wonwoo, in your body. Wonwoo sighed, forcing a smile that was so stiff it looked painful. "Uh… morning?"

Your friend frowned. "Are you okay? You sound weird."

You nearly facepalmed. Rule number two, idiot!

Wonwoo quickly cleared his throat and attempted to sound more like you. "I mean—uh, I’m fine! Just, um, tired!" He gave a thumbs-up that looked completely unnatural.

Your friend tilted their head but didn’t press further. You exhaled in relief, but it was short-lived. Because at that moment, the worst possible person appeared.

Mingyu.

And he was heading straight for you.

Mingyu approached with a wide grin, his usual energy radiating off him like a beacon. "Wonwoo! Y/n! What’s up?"

You barely had time to react before Mingyu threw an arm around your shoulders—except it wasn’t you, it was Wonwoo trapped in your body. Wonwoo went stiff immediately.

You saw it, the way his entire body tensed, the way his hands twitched like he wanted to shove Mingyu off but was holding back. You couldn’t blame him. You wouldn’t like Mingyu suddenly draping himself over you either. But—

"Are you okay?" Mingyu suddenly leaned down, squinting at Wonwoo’s face. "You look kinda… different today."

You nearly choked. Crap.

You forced a tight-lipped smile. "Haha. No, I’m good. Totally fine." You flinched at how unnatural that sounded.

Mingyu narrowed his eyes. "You sure? You don’t usually stand this stiff. And your voice sounds weird. And you—"

"He said he's fine," Wonwoo cut in, voice strained.

You quickly jumped in before Mingyu could keep interrogating. "Just tired. We were studying late last night."

Mingyu looked between the two of you, lips pursed. Then suddenly, his eyes widened. "Wait a second."

You both froze.

He pointed at the two of you. "Did something happen between you two?"

Wonwoo stiffened. "What?"

Mingyu gasped dramatically. "Are you two dating now?"

"WHAT?!" you both yelled in unison.

Mingyu took a step back, hands up in defense. "Geez! Sorry, it’s just—lately, you guys seem different. Studying together? Walking into campus together? Y/n’s acting weird, Wonwoo’s looking more tired than usual—it’s suspicious!"

Wonwoo turned to you with a glare, mouthing, Fix this.

You gritted your teeth before turning to Mingyu with a forced laugh. "No, no! We’re not dating. We just—uh—had to work on something together, that’s all!" Mingyu squinted at you—well, at Wonwoo’s body. “Work on what?”

“None of your business,” you snapped, crossing your arms. Mingyu blinked at your sharp tone but shrugged. “Okay, whatever. Anyway, why are you heading that way? Our class is upstairs.”

You froze for a split second. Right. You were supposed to have class with Mingyu—as Wonwoo. But out of habit, you had started walking toward your usual class instead.

Wonwoo, standing beside you in your body, subtly elbowed you. “Uh—he’s just, uh, walking me to class first,” he quickly interjected.

Mingyu’s brows furrowed as he looked between the two of you. “Since when do you do that?” You cleared your throat, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Since today. Got a problem?”

Mingyu narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, actually. That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

Wonwoo shot you a look, silently pleading with you to play it cool. Taking a deep breath, you forced a casual shrug. “I just felt like it. Can we go now?” Mingyu crossed his arms, clearly unconvinced. “Weird. Really weird.”

You resisted the urge to sigh. If Mingyu was already suspicious, keeping this switch a secret was going to be harder than you thought.

*

After surviving the day without slipping up—at least, not too badly—you and Wonwoo finally made it back home. The moment you stepped inside, you groaned, throwing yourself onto the couch while Wonwoo shut the door behind him.

"That was exhausting," you muttered, rubbing your temples. "Do you know how hard it is pretending to be you? You barely talk to anyone, but somehow people still pay attention to you."

Wonwoo scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "And do you know how annoying it is to be you? Everyone just randomly talks to me, and I have to pretend I actually care about their gossip. Even your professors are so chatty. One of them asked me if I was doing okay in business class. Do you struggle that much?"

You glared at him. "Excuse me, but business studies is not my major. You expect me to be a genius at it?" Wonwoo shook his head before his gaze sharpened. "Speaking of weird conversations, what's up with Mingyu?"

You blinked. "What about him?"

"He’s too friendly with you. I didn’t know you were close," he said, narrowing his eyes slightly. You shrugged. "He's just been kind to me since senior high school."

Wonwoo frowned at that. "Why? You two don’t seem like the type to be friends."

You hesitated for a moment before sighing. "It’s... a long story. Back then, Mingyu was the first person to find out that I wasn't actually the child of some entertainment industry mogul like the rumors said. He was the only one who knew I was orphaned and living in a foster home."

Wonwoo stiffened slightly. He had never heard that before. He had always thought you were just naturally secretive and didn’t like discussing your personal life. But this—this was different.

He didn’t know why, but the thought of Mingyu knowing something so personal about you before him left a strange feeling in his chest.

Wonwoo sat down across from you, his expression unreadable. "So… you grew up in a foster home. How did that happen?"

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. "I was placed there when I was a kid. I don’t remember much about my parents—just bits and pieces. They passed away when I was young, and after that, I ended up in Pristine Foster Home."

He nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "And school? Our school isn’t exactly easy to get into. How did you afford it?" A small, almost ironic smile tugged at your lips. "Your mother."

Wonwoo blinked. "What?"

"Your mother," you repeated. "Mrs. Jeon. She’s one of the biggest donors for Pristine Foster Home. Every year, she funds scholarships for students with high academic potential. I was one of the kids who got lucky."

For the first time, Wonwoo was at a loss for words. His mother? The same woman who barely had time for her own son had been funding your education all this time?

"You… never told anyone?" he asked after a moment. You shrugged. "Why would I? People already made enough assumptions about me. If they found out the truth, I’d just become a pity case. Besides, it’s not like your mom personally chose me. I was just another name on the scholarship list."

Wonwoo was still trying to process this new information. He had spent years seeing you as a rival, someone always on his heels, challenging his top position. But now, for the first time, he saw you in a different light.

"So all this time," he muttered, "you were working twice as hard just to stay in school."

You huffed a quiet laugh. "More than twice, actually."

He didn't know why, but something about that unsettled him.

*

The days went by with both of you struggling to adapt to each other’s lives while keeping up the act. The campaign phase for the student president selection had officially started, and since you were both candidates, you agreed to stay professional about it.

"Don't play dirty," you both promised.

That meant being responsible for each other's campaigns. If someone asked you about Wonwoo’s stance on school policies, he had to answer correctly. If someone questioned him about your plans for student well-being, you had to handle it.

There were three candidates in total. Wonwoo—the top student, known for his intelligence and efficiency. You—the representative of female students, admired for both brains and beauty. And Seungcheol—the rich, well-connected candidate who could probably win just by flashing his wealth.

“You’re acting weird,” Mingyu said, narrowing his eyes at you—or rather, at Wonwoo’s body, which meant he was technically squinting at him. You, stuck in his body, stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Mingyu tilted his head, studying him. “You’re being… polite. Too polite. Wonwoo, you usually glare at everyone, but today? You literally smiled at Soonyoung when he called you ‘princess.’” You, sitting in Wonwoo’s body, internally cringed. Right. You had forgotten about that.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo was struggling just as much to keep up with your usual attitude.

“Y/n, are you okay?” one of your classmates asked, frowning as they observed Wonwoo’s body. “You’ve been acting so… serious today.”

Wonwoo barely looked up from the book in front of him. “I’m fine.”

She stared at him, unconvinced. “Uh… you didn’t even whine about how boring today’s lesson is.”

He cursed internally. Right. You always complained about morning classes.

“I’m… trying to be a better student,” he muttered.

She gave a slow nod, still eyeing him suspiciously.

It wasn’t just your friends who were growing suspicious. Professors had started noticing the odd behavior, too. You had always been confident in subjects like marketing and communication, but the moment you sat in Wonwoo’s business economics class, you knew you were doomed.

“Mr. Jeon,” the professor called out, peering at you over his glasses. “Could you summarize the concept of supply and demand in market equilibrium?”

Your mind went blank. Market equilibrium?

You hesitated, scanning the board for hints, but nothing made sense. Silence stretched across the room. The professor raised an eyebrow.

“Uh… equilibrium… is when things are equal…?” you blurted out.

The entire class turned to stare at you in horror. Even Mingyu, sitting beside you, looked concerned. The professor let out a long sigh. “Mr. Jeon, I expected better from you.”

Meanwhile, Wonwoo was having an equally hard time in your marketing class.

“Miss Ji,” the professor called. “Could you give an example of a successful emotional branding strategy?”

Wonwoo froze. Emotional branding? He knew numbers. He knew statistics. But marketing?

“Uh…” He cleared his throat. “Emotional branding is… when a brand… makes people emotional?”

The professor’s expression remained unreadable. Wonwoo held his breath. “…Technically not wrong,” the professor finally said. “But please elaborate next time.”

Wonwoo exhaled in relief, but he could still feel the judgmental stares of your classmates. Keeping up appearances was exhausting.

You had to remember to act cold, distant, and borderline unapproachable. Every time someone approached you—well, Wonwoo’s body—you had to force yourself not to smile too much.

When you accidentally giggled at a joke Seungkwan made during lunch, he nearly choked on his drink.

“Whoa. Wonwoo, you laughed?”

You immediately straightened your face. “No, I didn’t.”

Seungkwan’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, you did. That was a full-on giggle.”

Meanwhile, Wonwoo was struggling with the opposite problem.

He had to force himself to be approachable. Smile more. Nod during small talk. When someone complimented you on your campaign, he barely responded before remembering that you were supposed to be charismatic.

“Ah… yeah. Thank you,” he muttered awkwardly.

The girl who had complimented you blinked. “Uh… you’re welcome?”

It was painfully obvious something was off.

But despite the challenges, Wonwoo started thinking.

There was an opportunity here.

If he was in your body… and people naturally liked you… then why not use that to his advantage?

You had a way with people. Students admired you. If he played this correctly, he could subtly steer people toward supporting his campaign—without outright sabotaging yours.

It wasn’t cheating.

It was just… strategic use of circumstances.

Sitting in the cafeteria, he overheard a group of students discussing the election. Some were loyal to Seungcheol because of his family’s wealth. Some admired your leadership. But a few were still undecided, considering Wonwoo’s intelligence but unsure about his approachability.

“If only Wonwoo was a little more… open,” one student mused.

“Yeah, he’s brilliant, but he’s kinda cold,” another agreed.

Wonwoo’s lips curled slightly. An opportunity.

The next time he (in your body) spoke to people, he made subtle shifts in conversation.

“Wonwoo’s been under so much pressure lately,” he said casually.

“You know, he doesn’t show it, but he really cares about the school.”

“He’s just not the type to express it openly, but he’s been working hard behind the scenes.”

He didn’t need to lie. He just needed to frame the truth in a way that made people sympathetic.

If students thought he (as himself) was struggling under pressure, they might rally behind him. They might see him as someone deserving of their votes.

And the best part?

No one would suspect manipulation.

Wonwoo adjusted the strap of your bag on his shoulder, casually strolling through the hallway while eavesdropping on conversations. He was getting better at this. Being in your body had its advantages—people naturally gravitated toward you. They trusted you. They listened to you.

So why not use that to his advantage?

As the election campaign heated up, students began discussing the candidates more openly. Seungcheol was securing votes through his endless connections, practically drowning the school in expensive flyers and promotional videos. Meanwhile, your campaign was gaining momentum thanks to your charisma, intelligence, and undeniable appeal.

But Wonwoo?

People respected him but hesitated to support him because of his reserved nature. He needed to change that perception—without breaking his promise to you about playing fair.

So, he started subtly influencing opinions.

During lunch, he sat with a group of students he knew were undecided. He (in your body) let out a sigh, tilting his head thoughtfully.

"You know, Wonwoo doesn’t really show it, but he’s been so dedicated to this campaign," he mused.

A girl across the table looked up. "Really?"

Wonwoo (as you) nodded. "Yeah. I think people misunderstand him. He’s just not the type to brag about his efforts. But I know for a fact that he’s been working late nights planning policies for the school. He doesn’t just want the title—he actually wants to make changes."

Another student leaned in, interested. "I always thought he was a bit distant. Like, he doesn’t really care about people."

Wonwoo let out a small, knowing smile. "That’s not true at all. He’s just not good at expressing it. But if you really talk to him, you’ll see how much he genuinely wants what’s best for the school."

Hook. Line. Sinker.

The students exchanged glances, suddenly reconsidering their stance.

Wonwoo wasn’t lying. He had been working hard, and he did care. But he knew that if he had tried to say all of this in his own body, people would just assume he was defending himself.

But coming from you? Someone they trusted and admired?

It felt genuine.

He kept this strategy up, slipping subtle remarks into conversations, framing his strengths in a way that didn’t sound forced.

At the library, when a group of students discussed who they should vote for, he (as you) casually said,

"Honestly, Wonwoo is the only one who’s actually proposing policies based on data instead of just saying what people want to hear."

At a student council meeting, when people debated about which candidate had the best leadership skills, he (as you) shrugged, "Wonwoo may not talk much, but he’s the most capable. He’s been top of his class for years. If anyone can handle responsibilities, it’s him."

And it worked.

Slowly but surely, more students began considering Wonwoo as a serious contender.

Of course, he had to be careful not to overdo it. If you suddenly became too much of a Wonwoo supporter, people might get suspicious.

So, every now and then, he would slip in a neutral or positive remark about you as well, just to balance things out.

"Y/n is amazing, though. She’s got that natural leadership aura."

"I think between Y/n and Wonwoo, we’d be in good hands either way."

Seungcheol was still dominating with his flashy campaign, but now?

Wonwoo had momentum.

*

Meanwhile, you were starting to notice something was off. At the end of the day, you crossed your arms, watching Wonwoo—well, your body—scribbling something in your campaign notes.

"Why do I feel like you’ve been too invested in my popularity?" you mused, raising an eyebrow.

Wonwoo barely looked up. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." You narrowed your eyes. "Wonwoo."

He sighed, closing the notebook. "Look, I’m just… taking advantage of an opportunity. It’s not cheating—I’m just rebranding myself a little."

"Rebranding?" you repeated, appalled. "You’re using my face to market yourself!"

He leaned back against the chair. "Technically, I’m not lying about anything. I am working hard. I do have solid policies. People just… needed a little push to see that."

You groaned, running a hand through your hair—well, his hair. "I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you."

Wonwoo smirked. "Oh, please. You promised we’d be fair to each other. I never said I wouldn’t be smart about it."

You scoffed, muttering under your breath. "I hate you."

"That’s unfortunate," he said, flipping open your campaign notes again, "because I think I really like being you."

A week.

It had been a week of waking up in Wonwoo’s body, wearing his oversized clothes, walking around with his permanently unimpressed face, and trying to keep up with his ridiculous level of intelligence in class.

You were exhausted.

If this continued any longer, you were going to need therapy.

Wonwoo, sitting on his bed (in your body), smirked. "Oh? Having a hard time living as me?"

You shot him a glare. "You live like this every day? No offense, but it sucks."

"None taken," he said easily. "I’m used to it."

You groaned again, burying your face in your arms. "At this point, I’m just praying we switch back before I completely lose my mind."

Wonwoo hummed, flipping through his phone. "Well, at least you don’t have to deal with your own expenses anymore."

You lifted your head. "Huh?"

He smirked. "I checked your bank balance, Y/n. You’re broke. You can’t even afford new panties."

Your face burned in embarrassment. "Excuse me?!"

Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head. "Relax, I didn’t actually look. But seriously, where does all your money go? I heard my mom has been funding you for years, so what are you spending it on?"

Your expression darkened, but you didn’t answer.

Wonwoo noticed the shift in your demeanor and frowned slightly. "Hey—"

The two of you froze the moment you heard sounds.

Wonwoo’s parents were home.

His mother was sitting in the living room, casually sipping tea, while his father was reading the newspaper. They looked up simultaneously, eyes landing on you first.

"Oh, Y/n," his mother greeted warmly, setting her cup down. "You’re two home already."

Wonwoo—inside your body—stiffened beside you.

You, standing in his body, forced a polite nod. "Uh… yeah. Classes ended a little early today."

His mother smiled. "That’s good. Come, sit down. I was just about to ask chef to prepare some snacks."

Your heart pounded. You had interacted with Wonwoo’s mother plenty of times before, but never while pretending to be her son. One wrong move, and she would know something was off.

You shot a quick glance at Wonwoo, silently screaming, What do I do?!

He only shrugged. Figure it out.

You resisted the urge to strangle him.

His father, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. "Wonwoo, I heard you’ve been doing well in the election campaign."

You tensed. "Uh… yeah. I guess so."

He nodded approvingly. "Good. If you want to take over the family business one day, this is a good step toward leadership."

You nearly choked. Take over the family business?!

You hadn’t even considered that part of being in Wonwoo’s body.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo, still in your body, sat stiffly on the couch, looking incredibly awkward. You could tell he was doing his best not to react too much.

His mother turned to him. "Y/n, dear, how has Wonwoo been treating you?"

Wonwoo snapped out of his daze. "Huh?"

She smiled gently. "You know, since you’ve been staying here. Has he been a good host?"

Wonwoo blinked. Then, ever so slowly, he smirked.

"Oh, he’s been great," he said smoothly. "Super considerate. Always making sure I’m comfortable. Really making my stay… interesting."

Your eye twitched.

His mother beamed. "That’s wonderful! I always tell him to be more thoughtful toward others."

You clenched your fists. I am going to kill him.

His father, however, was more focused on you. "Wonwoo, I heard you had an important presentation in class today. How did it go?"

Your soul left your body.

Presentation?!

You turned slightly to Wonwoo, panic written all over your face.

He smirked again, clearly enjoying your suffering.

You were so screwed.

*

Dinner with the Jeons was awkward.

You had eaten with his family before, but this time, it felt different. Because this time, you were him. Wonwoo—trapped in your body—sat stiffly across from you, barely touching his food. He was oddly silent, his usual sharp remarks absent. It was almost as if he wasn’t the son of this house at all.

Meanwhile, you tried your best to act like a son. You engaged in small talk with his mother, attempting to mirror the way a child might converse with a parent.

His mother, elegant and poised as ever, seemed pleased by your effort. You knew her well—after all, she had been funding you since junior high school. Yet, you had never had the chance to sit this close, to talk to her as though you belonged at this table.

It felt foreign.

The clinking of silverware against porcelain filled the silence between occasional remarks. Then, just as you were starting to relax, a phone rang.

His mother glanced at the caller ID. "Oh… why is Mrs. Kim calling?"

You froze.

Wonwoo saw the way your shoulders tensed, how your grip on the chopsticks tightened.

Mrs. Kim.

Why was she calling?

Wonwoo felt his own chest tighten with something uncomfortable. It was strange—seeing his own body react so visibly to that name.

He swallowed.

No.

Not in a quadrillion years would he go back to that place. That stinky foster home. That cramped space filled with too many kids, too little food, and too much responsibility.

He refused.

He stared at his mother as she stood up and stepped away from the dining table to take the call, her voice soft yet unreadable.

The seconds dragged on.

Neither of you spoke, but the air in the room had shifted.

When his mother finally returned to her seat, something was different. Her expression wasn’t as lighthearted as before.

She placed her napkin down carefully, looking directly at Wonwoo—who was still in your body.

"Y/n," she said gently, her tone firm yet concerned. "Tell me the truth."

Your stomach twisted.

She folded her hands together. "Why have you been staying here for a week?" A pause. "Be honest."

Wonwoo turned to look at you, his throat tightening.

You looked back at him, equally frozen.

The two of you, sitting in each other’s bodies, mirrored each other’s nervousness so perfectly that if anyone had been watching closely, they might have noticed something was wrong.

You could feel your pulse in your ears. His mother’s eyes were sharp, expectant, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure how to give.

Wonwoo—trapped in your body—swallowed hard. His mind raced for an explanation, something that would make sense. But every possible response felt weak under the weight of his mother’s gaze.

You, meanwhile, could feel your palms sweating.

His mother’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Mrs. Kim said you ran away from the foster home after stealing her money.”

"No, she didn't steal anything."

His mother’s gaze snapped toward Wonwoo—toward you. “Do you know something, Wonwoo?”

You hesitated, words catching in the throat. You wanted to say something, but how much could you actually say? His mother didn’t know the truth about the switch, and if you weren't careful, things could get worse.

"I mean..." You started, choosing your words carefully. "Mrs. Kim never really liked her. She's probably just trying to make her look bad so she can take her back."

His mother frowned. "Is that true, Y/n? Mrs. Kim is lying?"

Wonwoo—you—tensed.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. You couldn’t say it outright. You couldn’t risk making things worse. But at the same time, you didn’t want to go back.

"Mrs. Kim..." You shifted in your seat. "She’s never been very fond of her. She always saw her as a burden. And, well..." You forced a weak chuckle. "Let’s just say she has her own way of handling things."

His mother’s expression darkened slightly. "What do you mean?"

You glanced at Wonwoo, at your own face, searching for some kind of lifeline. Wonwoo was watching you closely, his lips pressed in a tight line.

"I—" You exhaled. "There was something more complex and Y/n couldn't just explain it to you."

Silence hung in the air for a beat too long. His mother’s gaze was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—concern? Realization?

Wonwoo—inside your body—shifted uncomfortably, gripping the hem of his sweater. He had never thought about what your life was like before. But now, watching you struggle to speak about it, he felt something churn in his gut.

"Mrs. Kim said she wants you to come back," his mother said, her tone quieter now. "If what you're saying is true, then tell me—do you want to go back?"

You inhaled sharply.

And for the first time since the switch, Wonwoo saw something in your eyes that he wasn’t sure he had ever seen before.

Fear.

*

Wonwoo, still trapped in your body, stepped into his own bedroom. It felt strange, standing there as someone else—seeing his familiar space from a different perspective. Normally, this was where he slept, but since his parents were home, he had to take the guest room. The one you usually stayed in.

Leaning against the doorframe, he folded his arms and watched you—watched himself—working on a marketing project. He hated marketing. He hated everything about it. But he knew you were doing it for him, for the presentation he had to give in front of your class tomorrow.

"About earlier…" he started, his voice quieter than before.

You didn't look up, fingers continuing to type away on the laptop.

"Is it true Mrs. Kim doesn’t like you?"

The sound of your typing stuttered for a second. Wonwoo caught the slight pause before you resumed.

"You can be honest with me, you know," he pressed, stepping further into the room. "I mean… I deserve to know. Since I’m you at the moment."

Still, you didn't answer. Your expression remained focused, determinedly avoiding his gaze.

Wonwoo exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice dropped slightly.

"Is she the one who gave you that wound on your back?"

This time, you finally looked at him.

Your eyes were unreadable.

Wonwoo felt something uneasy settle in his chest. He had never thought about where the scar had come from. He had seen it, felt the sting of it when he moved, but he hadn’t questioned it. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to.

"Is it true?" he asked again, voice firmer now. "She hit you?"

You lowered your gaze.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, you nodded.

"I’m sorry that you had to bear that."

Wonwoo swallowed. His hands curled into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to stay composed.

He shrugged, as if trying to make light of the weight in his chest, and walked toward the bed. "The staff helped me with ointment. She asked if you had been hit by someone. Like… physically abused."

You didn’t respond right away, but your silence spoke louder than words.

Wonwoo sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his own reflection in the mirror across the room.

He thought about Mrs. Kim. About what kind of person she really was.

And for the first time since this whole body-swapping nightmare began…

He realized that maybe, just maybe, there were worse things than waking up in someone else’s life.

Like living in a life you never chose… and having no way out.

"Let me see… How bad is it?"

You stood from your seat and turned to him. Wonwoo, still in your body, looked up from the bed, brows raised in alarm.

"What?"

You blinked. "Let me see."

A heat crept up his face. "No!" His hands shot up defensively, arms crossed over his chest as if shielding himself.

You rolled your eyes—his eyes. "That’s my body, technically."

"And you’ll be looking at it with my eyes," Wonwoo argued, scooting a little further away from where you stood, hands still up in defense.

"As if you’ve never touched my boobs during a shower," you shot back, unimpressed.

Wonwoo gasped, scandalized. "I’ve been very careful and respectful, for your information," he retorted, voice full of righteous indignation. He narrowed his eyes at you. "And I’d appreciate it if you did the same for mine."

You snorted. "No, seriously, let me see. I don’t remember getting one on my back."

Before Wonwoo could protest again, you turned him around—your own body—and lifted the hem of his shirt.

He let out a sharp squeal, but you ignored it, your attention now focused on the sight before you.

The bruises were in various stages of healing—some faded, others still dark and angry-looking. A deep blue one spread across the lower part of your back, as if someone had struck you with full force. You hadn’t even realized how bad it was. Seeing it now, so clearly, made something inside you twist.

"That’s… brutal," you muttered. It was the first time you had seen the extent of the damage, the history of pain that had accumulated over the years in that foster home.

Wonwoo quickly yanked the shirt back down and turned to face you, his expression serious. "Is Mrs. Kim the one behind all of them?" His voice had lost its teasing edge, replaced by something far heavier—concern, maybe even anger.

You hesitated.

"It’s… a punishment. Everyone got that. I just got a lot more than the others." You took a deep breath.

"Why?"

You shrugged. "I lived there the longest. No one adopted me, so I stayed there for years."

Wonwoo blinked, trying to process that. You had endured this for years? His mind reeled.

"But my mom…"

You shook your head, gaze dropping to the floor. "She just funded me."

It was true—Wonwoo’s mother had funded your education, sending you to an elite private high school and later helping you get into an Ivy League university. But no one ever knew where you came from. Your background had been carefully concealed, your identity kept a secret.

And yet, despite all those privileges, Mrs. Kim had never let you leave the foster home. It was only later that you realized why. The money meant for you had never truly been yours—it had gone straight into her personal bank account. She had given you just enough to cover small personal expenses, but nothing close to what a college student actually needed.

In return, she had assigned you to endless chores, justifying it by saying she had raised you. The truth, however, was much simpler. No one had adopted you, not because they didn’t want to, but because she had made sure of it. You had been nothing more than a source of steady income to her.

Wonwoo exhaled, rubbing his temples. "I don’t want to go back," he muttered. His voice was quieter now, but the weight of his words was undeniable. "It was only a day. But it felt like a day in hell."

You looked at him for a long moment before stepping closer, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I’ll talk to your parents," you promised. "I’ll make sure you can stay here until we swap back. Don’t worry."

Wonwoo stared at you, still in his body, before nodding. For once, he didn’t argue.

*

You knocked on Wonwoo’s bedroom door Monday morning, already irritated. Both of you had class in an hour, and since he had to drive, he needed to wake up. Now.

"Wonwoo, get up!" you called, knocking harder. Silence.

With a sigh, you pushed the door open—only to find him curled up in a tight fetal position, clutching his stomach like he’d just been mortally wounded.

You blinked. "What are you doing?"

He barely lifted his head. "Dying."

It took you exactly three seconds to realize what was happening.

Your period was coming.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. "Ohhh. So, how’s it feel?"

"How’s it feel?!" Wonwoo wheezed, shifting slightly—only to immediately wince and curl up tighter. "I feel like someone’s wringing out my insides like a soaked rag while kicking my spine. This is inhumane. You live like this?!"

You shrugged. "Every month."

"Every month?! This happens every month?! For how long?!"

"About five days."

"Five—" He buried his face into the pillow and groaned loudly. "I can’t do this. I can’t live like this. How do women even function? How do you go to school, work, BREATHE?"

"You get used to it." You rolled your eyes before getting a small heating pad packet you’d picked up from the convenience store few days ago, tossing it onto the bed. "Here. Stick this on your stomach."

He eyed it suspiciously. "What is this?"

"A heat patch. It’ll help with the cramps."

He struggled to sit up, tearing open the packet with shaking hands before slapping the patch onto his lower stomach. A few seconds later, he exhaled in relief, sinking back onto the bed. "Oh. Oh, that’s—" He let out a soft, almost embarrassing noise. "Nice."

You raised an eyebrow. "Did you just moan?"

"Shut up."

You snickered before heading for the door. "I’ll get you some painkillers. You have ten minutes before I drag you out of bed."

"I’m not gonna make it," he groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. "Just leave me here to die."

You smirked. "Get up, or I’ll make your body buy pads in broad daylight."

His eyes snapped open in pure terror.

You had never seen him sit up so fast.

As the day went on, the pain dulled to a manageable ache, but Wonwoo was still visibly uncomfortable. He kept shifting in his seat, frowning every few minutes, and muttering curses under his breath. At one point, he glared at you as if this was somehow your fault.

By the evening, his parents were preparing to leave the city again. The two of you stood at the entrance, watching as his father loaded their luggage into the car. His mother straightened Wonwoo’s—your—collar before stepping back with a warm smile.

"Take care of yourself, Y/n. And you too, Wonwoo. Don’t forget to review those documents I sent over for your internship."

His father adjusted his watch and turned to you—well, to Wonwoo. "We’ll talk more when I’m back, but I trust you’ll take this internship seriously. It’s time for you to step up."

You blinked. What internship?

Your head snapped toward Wonwoo—who was standing beside you in your body—only to see him freeze like a deer caught in headlights. His wide eyes screamed I forgot to tell you about this.

"Uh..." You cleared your throat, trying to keep your expression neutral. "Right. Of course."

Wonwoo's father nodded approvingly. "Good. This is an important step. You’ll be working directly with the executive team to prepare for your role in the company."

Your role? What role?

You stole another glance at Wonwoo, your face silently asking What the hell is he talking about?

Wonwoo, in your body, gave you a strained smile and the tiniest shake of his head, as if saying, Later. Just nod and agree.

So you did. Hesitantly. "Yeah. Got it."

His father clapped a hand on your shoulder, almost knocking the air out of you. "That’s what I like to hear. Make me proud."

You forced a smile, though internally, you were screaming.

After a few more goodbyes, his parents got into the car and drove away. The moment they were out of sight, you turned to Wonwoo, arms crossed.

"What. Internship."

Wonwoo groaned, rubbing his temples. "God, I was hoping you wouldn’t hear that."

"Well, I did. And now you’re gonna explain."

"It’s just some stupid business internship," he muttered, looking anywhere but at you.

"Business internship? You mean, for your family business?"

He shot you an unimpressed look. "No, for the bakery down the street. Yes, for my family business."

Your jaw nearly dropped. "You’re supposed to be the heir?"

He rolled his eyes. "Apparently."

"Since when?"

"Since I was born," he said bitterly. "They never pushed too hard before, but now that I’m getting older, they think it’s time I 'step up' and 'fulfill my role.'" He made exaggerated air quotes. "It’s stupid."

You frowned, watching him closely. He wasn’t just annoyed—he looked exhausted.

"You don’t want to do it," you said quietly.

"No, I don’t. But they don’t care what I want." He scoffed. "It doesn’t matter that I hate it. That I want to do something else. All that matters is that I have their last name and was born first."

For the first time since the swap, you saw something vulnerable beneath his usual sarcasm. It made your chest tighten a little.

You hesitated before saying, "Then why don’t you just... refuse?"

He let out a dry laugh. "You think it’s that easy?"

"I think you should at least try to talk to them."

He sighed, shaking his head. "It’s not that simple, Y/n."

Maybe it wasn’t. But the way his shoulders slumped made you think that, for a long time, he had felt trapped. And no matter how much he acted like it didn’t bother him, deep down, it did.

"What do you want to do then?" you asked, settling onto his bed.

The two of you had just finished gathering your things—his things, technically—since his parents were gone and it was time to return to your designated rooms.

Wonwoo leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed. "Journalism."

Your brow lifted in surprise. "I remember you were in the journalism club back in high school."

"Yeah."

A memory resurfaced, making you smirk. "You wrote an entire article about me beating you in chemistry and taking first place. Called me a 'lucky fluke.'"

Wonwoo let out a small chuckle. "I was very bitter about that."

"You were such a sore loser."

He scoffed. "I had a reputation to uphold!"

You laughed. "Right, right. And now, look at you. So mature."

He sighed dramatically. "Yeah... I’ve grown a lot."

You gave him a skeptical look.

"I mean," he continued, "I’m literally experiencing a period right now. That has to count for something."

Your lips twitched. "Oh, of course. Nothing says personal growth like surviving cramps."

He nodded solemnly. "I have transcended. I'm practically enlightened."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop yourself from laughing. "Idiot."

You leaned back on your elbows, tilting your head as you looked at him. "By the way, why did you even run for student president?"

Wonwoo exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. "I needed influence."

You blinked. "What?"

He shrugged. "Connections. A reputation. If I ever wanted to pursue journalism seriously, I needed to build a name for myself early on."

You stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter. "Oh my God, you sound like a villain setting up a master plan."

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. "It’s called thinking ahead. You wouldn’t understand."

"Oh, I wouldn’t understand?" You scoffed, sitting up straighter. "Alright, then why do you think I ran for student president?"

He tilted his head, thinking for a moment before shrugging. "For the experience?"

You shook your head.

"To put on your resume?"

Another shake.

He frowned. "To prove you’re better than me?"

You smirked but shook your head again. "Nope. I needed a place to stay."

Wonwoo’s frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

You inhaled before answering. "The student president gets a free dorm on campus. I needed a way out of the foster home, and that was my best shot."

Wonwoo went quiet, his gaze searching yours as if piecing together things he hadn't realized before. "You… ran because you needed housing?"

You nodded. "Yeah. Mrs. Kim never planned on letting me move out. The only way I could leave was if I had a legitimate reason that even she couldn't argue against. A free dorm with full coverage? She couldn’t say no to that."

He was silent for a long moment before muttering, "Damn."

You chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Not all of us can afford to run for power moves, Mr. Influence."

Wonwoo sighed, rubbing his face. "I really had no idea…"

"It’s fine," you said, waving it off. "I made it out, didn’t I?"

He looked at you, expression unreadable. Then, with a small huff, he muttered, "I still think my reason was cooler."

You threw a pillow at him.

*

The presidential election had finally concluded, and to your surprise, your votes ranked in the top two alongside Seungcheol. The final results hadn’t been announced yet, but sitting in the driver’s seat, Wonwoo was already sulking like a kid who dropped his ice cream.

"Seungcheol has a lot of influence, you know," you said, trying to lift his mood as you buckled your seatbelt.

Wonwoo huffed, arms crossed. "Yeah, yeah. He’s charismatic, well-connected, and has professors wrapped around his finger. We get it."

You smirked. "Sounds like you’re a big fan."

He shot you a glare. "I'm not. I just don't like losing."

"You made it to the top two. That’s not losing."

"It’s not winning either," he grumbled, resting his chin on the steering wheel. "I had a plan. I worked hard. I even made small talk with people, and you know how much I hate that."

You chuckled. "Oh no, not small talk. The ultimate sacrifice."

Wonwoo groaned, tilting his head back against the headrest. "You don’t get it. I needed this. Influence is important."

You grinned. "Yeah, tell me. I was just trying to get a dorm."

Wonwoo let out a long sigh, starting the car. "Well, at least if you win, I'll be stuck in power with someone who won’t make my life hell."

You laughed. "Aww, is that your way of saying you trust me?"

He clicked his tongue, pretending to focus on the road. "No. It’s my way of saying I don’t trust Seungcheol."

"Right, right," you teased. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mr. Almost-President."

Wonwoo’s phone—well, technically, your phone—buzzed on the dashboard. He glanced at the screen, then at you, hesitating.

"It's my mom."

Wonwoo's grip on the phone lingered even after the call ended, his mind racing. His mother had sounded calm, but he knew her well enough to recognize when she was holding something back.

"She knows," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blinked, lifting your gaze to meet his. "What?"

"My mom—she knows what Mrs. Kim has been doing to you."

Your breath hitched. "How?"

Wonwoo hesitated. He hadn’t told you yet, but when he had been in your body, experiencing firsthand the bruises, the way your muscles flinched at sudden movements, the way Mrs. Kim had spoken to him—he hadn’t been able to keep it to himself. He had confided in his mother, unable to hold back his anger.

"I told her," he admitted, watching your reaction carefully. "When I was in your body, I couldn’t just ignore it. She knew something was wrong, and I… I told her everything."

You stared at him, emotions flickering across your face—shock, confusion, and something else, something raw.

"She’s getting the police involved," Wonwoo continued. "She already contacted them, and they’re starting an investigation."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "An investigation?"

He nodded. "We’re not letting her get away with this."

For the first time, real hope flickered in your eyes, but there was also hesitation. "But… she’s always covered her tracks. She’ll deny everything."

"She can try," Wonwoo said firmly. "But I already went for a visum et repertum."

Your eyes widened. "You what?"

"A forensic medical exam," he explained. "To document the bruises, the scars—everything she did to you." His jaw clenched. "I needed proof. And now we have it."

You sat there in stunned silence, struggling to process it all.

"Wonwoo, you—"

"She’s not laying another hand on you," he said, his voice low but unwavering. "Not now, not ever."

Your fingers curled into your lap, emotions overwhelming you. You had spent so many years believing no one would ever step in, that no one would ever truly see what was happening behind closed doors.

But Wonwoo had. And he wasn’t backing down.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, forcing out a small, shaky laugh. "You really went and did all that?"

He gave a half-smile, shrugging. "Yeah, well… I might have a soft spot for you."

That startled a genuine laugh out of you, light and breathless.

For the first time in a long time, you felt something unfamiliar creeping into your chest—something warm. Something safe.

Maybe, just maybe, this nightmare was finally coming to an end.

*

Wonwoo stood beside his mother, his heart pounding in his chest as the police officer laid out the results of the investigation. He glanced at you—his own body—sitting stiffly beside him, hands clenched into fists. He could see the tension in your posture, the way your shoulders barely moved with your breathing. He understood why. Every word the officer spoke only made the weight in his stomach sink deeper.

"Tonight, we will take Mrs. Kim into custody," the officer stated firmly. "We've gathered substantial evidence, including records showing she registered life insurance policies for over ten children under her care. One of them was a boy who died from hypothermia."

Wonwoo felt a sharp chill crawl up his spine. "Hypothermia?" he repeated, his voice coming out in your tone.

The officer nodded grimly. "She drowned him," he clarified, sliding a file onto the coffee table. "The forensic reports prove it. The original findings were covered up, but we managed to recover them."

A nauseating feeling twisted in his gut. He had suspected Mrs. Kim was cruel, but this… this was beyond anything he had imagined. He turned his gaze toward you—you were staring at the photos in the file, your expression blank, but he knew you well enough to see the terror hiding beneath it.

His mother, who had been listening quietly until now, suddenly stiffened. Her sharp eyes locked onto one of the documents in the officer’s hand. She reached for it, flipping through the pages before pausing.

Then she froze.

"There's your name," she murmured, glancing at him.

Wonwoo leaned forward, eyes scanning the document. It was an insurance registration. The name on it was yours.

"She took out a policy on you six months ago," the officer confirmed.

His breath caught in his throat. He turned to look at you again, and for the first time since this nightmare began, he saw pure fear in your eyes.

His jaw clenched as his mother exhaled sharply, gripping the paper tightly. "She was planning to..," he said, his voice dark with anger.

His mother closed her eyes briefly before fixing the officer with a hardened gaze. "She won’t get away with this, will she?"

The officer shook his head. "No. We have enough evidence now to ensure she faces the full weight of the law."

Silence settled over the room like a suffocating fog. Wonwoo’s mother slowly reached for your hand—his hand—and squeezed it gently.

"You're safe now," she whispered.

*

The news came late at night. Mrs. Kim had been arrested. The police had raided the foster home, taking her into custody without incident. The children had been removed from the house, placed under temporary care while they underwent medical check-ups and psychological evaluations.

You sat in Wonwoo’s room—his real room, not the shared space in the foster home—legs tucked under you as you stared blankly at the floor. It still didn’t feel real. After years of suffering, years of thinking no one would ever come to help, it was over. Mrs. Kim was gone.

Wonwoo—still in your body—watched you carefully from across the room. He could see the exhaustion in your posture, the way your fingers trembled slightly as you held onto the blanket draped over your lap. You had barely spoken since the police update.

"You should sleep," he said softly.

You exhaled a small laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t think I can."

Silence settled between you. Then, after a moment, you looked up at him, your expression unreadable.

"Thank you," you said, voice quiet but steady.

Wonwoo blinked. "For what?"

You let out a breath, searching for the right words. "If it weren’t for you… none of this would’ve happened. Mrs. Kim would still be out there. The kids would still be suffering. I—" You paused, looking down at your hands. "I might not even be alive."

The weight of your words hit him hard. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he just stared at you, watching as the tension in your shoulders slowly unraveled.

"You didn’t have to help me," you continued. "But you did. You fought for me when I couldn’t fight for myself."

Wonwoo swallowed, something heavy settling in his chest. "You deserved it," he said simply.

You met his eyes, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you felt something close to relief.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I think… I’m finally starting to believe that."

Wonwoo, still in your body, moved to your side, his expression unreadable. Before you could say anything, he pulled you into his arms. The embrace was firm, grounding, and for a moment, you forgot about the weight of everything that had happened.

You stiffened slightly at first—it was strange, feeling your own body hold you—but the warmth of his touch, the steady rhythm of his breathing, made it easier to let go. Slowly, you relaxed against him.

"You’re safe now," he murmured. "It’s over."

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his—your—shirt. "It doesn’t feel real."

"I know," Wonwoo said, his grip tightening just a little. "But it is."

Silence settled between you, thick with everything unspoken. The weight of the past few days, of the fear, the uncertainty, the fight—it all hung in the air. But underneath it, there was relief.

Wonwoo pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. Even though he was in your body, the concern in his gaze was entirely his. "If I hadn’t gotten there in time—" He shook his head, exhaling sharply. "I don’t even want to think about it."

"But you did," you reminded him, offering a small, tired smile. "You saved me. And not just me—all the kids in that house. If it weren’t for you, they’d still be suffering."

Wonwoo’s grip on you tightened for a moment before he finally nodded. "Yeah. I guess we saved them together."

He watched your eyes and hesitated, his grip on you loosening just slightly, but he didn’t pull away completely. His eyes flickered to your lips for just a second before he caught himself, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts.

You noticed.

Before you could overthink it, you leaned in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss against his lips—a mere brush, a hesitation wrapped in warmth. It was barely anything, just a peck, but the way Wonwoo froze made your heart race.

When you pulled back, his eyes widened, lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. You stepped back slightly, giving him space, but the air between you had changed.

"What was that?" he finally asked, voice quiet.

You swallowed, suddenly unsure. "I… don’t know."

A beat of silence.

"We were enemies, right?" Wonwoo said, his brows furrowing in thought. "Back in high school, we couldn’t stand each other."

You let out a small, breathless laugh. "Yeah, I guess we were."

"But then… somehow, we became friends," he continued, his voice softer now. "I don’t even know when that happened."

You met his gaze, something unspoken lingering between you. "And now?"

Wonwoo didn’t answer right away. He lifted a hand as if he wanted to reach for you but hesitated at the last second. Instead, he exhaled, shaking his head with a small, almost amused smile.

"I have no idea," he admitted. "What are we now?"

You didn’t have an answer either. But as you looked at him—at the way he was watching you, searching for something—maybe that was okay. Maybe you’d figure it out together.

*

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. You shifted slightly, feeling warmth against you—an arm draped loosely around your waist, a steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

For a moment, you didn’t think much of it. It felt natural, comfortable. The exhaustion from the past few days had melted into this quiet moment of peace.

Then it hit you.

You shot up, your eyes widening as you took in the sight in front of you. Wonwoo was still half-asleep, his hair a mess, eyes barely open as he blinked up at you in confusion. But that wasn’t what made your breath catch.

It was him. His face. His body.

And then you looked down at yourself.

Your hands—your hands—small, familiar. You touched your face, feeling the features you had grown up with.

Panic and realization hit at the same time.

"Wonwoo," you gasped.

At the sound of his name, he frowned, groggy, his voice rough from sleep. "What?"

You grabbed his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "We—"

Then his eyes widened, fully waking up as he sat up abruptly. His hands darted to his own face, his own chest. He looked at you, then at himself, then back at you again.

"We’re back," he breathed.

You both stared at each other, the weight of everything crashing down. The confusion, the fear, the chaos of switching lives—it was over.

A mix of emotions swirled inside you. Relief. Disbelief. Maybe even… a little sadness?

Somehow, in all of this, you and Wonwoo had gone from being enemies, to reluctant allies, to something more. And now, back in your own bodies, you weren’t sure what came next.

"You were cuddling me," Wonwoo suddenly pointed out, a smirk creeping onto his lips.

Your face heated instantly. "You were cuddling me!"

He hummed, stretching lazily. "I don’t remember pushing you away."

"Ugh, you’re insufferable."

But there was no real bite behind your words. You were too relieved, too overwhelmed, and maybe even… a little happy.

Because somehow, through all of this, you had found him.

*

You moved out as soon as Seungcheol, the newly elected student president, handed you a key after pulling some strings to secure you a free room in the student dorm. It was a relief—a chance to finally breathe on your own, away from the chaos of the past few months.

"Don't forget, you owe me," he said, a smirk playing on his lips as he twirled the keyring around his finger like some grand prize. He was clearly enjoying this.

You rolled your eyes but snatched the key from his hand anyway. "Aye aye, captain," you muttered, stuffing it into your pocket.

Seungcheol chuckled, leaning lazily against the doorframe. "Oh, and your boyfriend—think he’d be interested in filling the media and advocacy position?"

You froze mid-step, your fingers tightening around the key. "He's not my boyfriend," you shot back, a little sharper than intended. Heat crept up your neck, and you hated how easily he could fluster you with just a few words.

Seungcheol’s brow arched, clearly unimpressed by your denial. "Don't lie to me. You think I didn’t notice how often you talked him up during the campaign?"

You scoffed, turning the key in the lock just for something to do. "I wasn’t talking him up."

"Really?" His smirk widened. "So saying he's ‘sharp, capable, and annoyingly good at everything’ was criticism?"

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat as realization dawned on you. It wasn’t you who had said those things about Wonwoo. It was him, using your body.

That little—

Your jaw tightened, a wave of embarrassment washing over you. The thought of Wonwoo casually praising himself while pretending to be you made you want to throw something. Of course, he had made you sound like his biggest fan.

You exhaled sharply, deciding this was a battle for another day. "I’ll ask him," you muttered, pushing open the door to your new dorm.

"Good," Seungcheol said, straightening up. "And let me know when you two finally admit you’re together."

"Seungcheol—"

"See you at the next meeting, Madam Secretary," he called over his shoulder, throwing you a knowing wink before strolling off down the hallway.

You groaned, running a hand down your face as you glared at the empty space where he had just stood. Annoying.

With a sigh, you stepped inside your new dorm room, shutting the door behind you. The silence was almost deafening compared to the whirlwind of everything that had happened recently. You glanced down at the key in your palm, feeling the weight of it.

A new beginning. A fresh start.

But somehow, you had the feeling that no matter what, Wonwoo was going to be right in the middle of it all.

Just like now, the tall boy was sitting on the floor, unboxing your books and carefully placing them on the shelves. The only sound in the room was the occasional hum from your lips—a rare moment of quiet between the two of you. It struck you as odd.

Wonwoo was never this silent around you.

You turned, only to catch him flipping through one of your books. But from the worn-out cover and the way his brows slightly raised in interest, you knew exactly what it was.

Your high school diary.

Your stomach dropped.

In a flash, you slid across the floor to his side, reaching for the book, but he was faster. With a teasing smirk, he turned his body away, holding it just out of your reach as he continued reading like he wasn’t blatantly invading your privacy.

"That's my diary, Wonwoo," you hissed, stretching to snatch it from his grasp.

"As if I hadn’t literally lived in that body of yours," he quipped, his smirk widening.

You huffed, crossing your arms in frustration. You honestly didn’t even remember what you had written in that diary—probably a bunch of pointless high school drama and petty complaints about your elite private school.

That is, until he read one line aloud.

"Mingyu is annoyingly kind and smart for the rich kids."

You groaned, immediately burying your face in your hands. "Please stop."

Wonwoo chuckled, clearly enjoying himself as he leaned back against the bed. "And he's handsome too, I guess. You like Mingyu?!"

"Past tense," you muttered, peeking at him between your fingers. "And honestly, who didn’t back in high school?"

His amusement lingered as he continued flipping through the pages, but then, without warning, his smile faded.

He stilled.

His brows furrowed.

When he finally looked at you, there was something unreadable in his expression. "It was intentional?"

Your breath hitched at the shift in his tone. "What?"

Before you could grab the diary, he turned it around so you could see the passage.

And then, it hit you.

The memory resurfaced instantly—the day you had scribbled those frustrated words after an exam. The day you had deliberately answered one question wrong just to land in second place.

Wonwoo’s voice was quieter this time. "My father asked you to do that?"

His eyes scanned your face, searching for confirmation, as he tried to process what he had just read.

Your fingers curled tightly around the diary as you exhaled, leaning back against the bed. There was no point in hiding it now—not when he had already read the truth for himself.

"It was to secure my scholarship," you admitted, your voice quieter than before.

Wonwoo's brows remained furrowed, his hands tightening slightly around the book. "What?"

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Your father... he told Mrs. Kim that I was never to step into your level—meaning the highest I was allowed to place was second."

The words hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken resentment and long-buried frustration.

Wonwoo’s jaw tensed. "He told you that?"

"Not directly. Mrs. Kim did," you clarified, gripping the diary a little tighter. "She said it was a condition. That as long as I stayed beneath you, I could keep my scholarship. My tuition would stay covered, my future secured—as long as I didn’t outshine you."

Wonwoo stared at you, and for the first time since you met him, there was no teasing, no sarcasm, no sharp-witted remarks. Just silence.

He wasn’t even looking at the diary anymore. His gaze was locked onto you, his expression unreadable.

"You were forced to stay second place," he finally said, his voice almost detached, like he was still trying to wrap his head around it.

You shrugged, forcing a small, bitter smile. "It wasn't that hard. You were better than me, anyway."

"That's not the point," he snapped, the sudden edge in his voice making you blink. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. "That’s why you never challenged me, isn’t it? Why you never tried to win?"

You hesitated before nodding. "Would it have mattered?"

Wonwoo let out a humorless chuckle, but there was no amusement in his eyes. "And here I thought you just enjoyed losing to me."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, because that sounds like something I’d do."

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smirk.

Instead, he stared at you like he was seeing you in an entirely different light.

Like he was starting to understand something he never had before.

Wonwoo let out a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the diary still clutched in your hands. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for it again—but instead, he just sat there, staring at nothing in particular.

Then, to your surprise, he laughed. A quiet, almost disbelieving sound.

"Wow," he murmured, shaking his head. "So all this time... you were holding back for me."

You frowned. "Not for you—"

"Still," he cut in, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. "You let me win. Over and over. You fed my ego for years."

You didn’t know what to say to that. Was he mad? Annoyed?

But then he exhaled, running a hand through his hair, and you saw something unexpected in his expression.

"Thank you."

You blinked. "What?"

"Thank you," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "For letting me think I was the best. For... making me feel like I was good at something."

There was no sarcasm. No teasing. Just a raw honesty that made your chest tighten.

"I didn’t do it for you," you muttered, looking away.

"I know." He tilted his head slightly, watching you. "But you still did."

You let out a breath, shaking your head. "Why are you even thanking me? It’s not like I had a choice."

Wonwoo leaned back against the bed, his expression unreadable. "Because if you hadn't, I probably would've lost my mind."

You frowned.

"My dad—he always expected me to be the best. Not just in school, but in everything." He let out a small, humorless laugh. "And I wasn’t. I knew I wasn’t. But the scores? The rankings? That was the only thing that made me feel like I was good enough. Like I actually deserved something."

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling in.

"You have no idea how badly I needed that validation," he admitted. "How badly I needed to believe I was the best at something. Even if it was fake."

You swallowed. You had never thought of it that way before. You had always seen Wonwoo as someone untouchable—smart, capable, and always one step ahead of you. But now, sitting here, hearing him admit that he needed to win...

He wasn’t as untouchable as you thought.

"You weren’t bad, you know," you said after a moment. "Even without me holding back, you probably still would’ve beaten me."

He let out a breathy chuckle, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Maybe. But at least now I know the truth."

Silence settled between you, heavy and unspoken.

You sighed, shifting so you were fully facing him. Wonwoo had always carried himself like he had everything under control, like he never wavered. But now, sitting here, you could see the cracks in that image—the weight of expectations, the pressure he had put on himself for years.

"You don’t have to be the best at everything, you know," you said quietly.

Wonwoo looked at you, surprised by your words.

"You’re already smart," you continued. "Responsible. Honest to a fault." You hesitated before adding, "You even helped me with Mrs. Kim when you didn’t have to."

His brows furrowed slightly. "That doesn’t mean—"

"You could’ve caused trouble while you were in my body," you cut him off. "You could’ve made my life a mess, done things just to spite me. But you didn’t. You helped me. You took care of things. That says more about you than any stupid ranking ever could."

Wonwoo didn’t respond right away, his expression unreadable. You weren’t sure if he was actually listening or if he was just waiting for you to stop talking. But then, after a long pause, he let out a quiet chuckle.

"So you’re saying I’m a good person?"

You rolled your eyes. "I’m saying you don’t have to prove that you are. You already are. And that’s enough."

Wonwoo blinked, like he didn’t quite know what to do with your words. Then, slowly, a small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me."

You scoffed, nudging his arm. "Don’t get used to it."

But the warmth in his gaze lingered, and for the first time, you saw him believe it.

Wonwoo let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "You know, if this were some kind of cliché moment in a movie, you’d kiss me right now. Like last time."

You snorted, crossing your arms. "Oh, please."

But his words triggered a memory—the last time your lips met.

"Besides," you added, tilting your head at him, "I technically didn’t kiss you last time. It was more like a peck. And even then, it wasn’t me kissing you—it was me in your body, so it was your lips touching mine."

Wonwoo smirked, leaning in slightly. "Sounds like a lot of excuses."

Before you could roll your eyes again, he reached for your wrist, pulling you just close enough that your breath hitched. His gaze flickered to your lips for just a second before he murmured,

"Let’s fix that, then."

And before you could even think of a response, he closed the distance, pressing his lips against yours.

This time, it wasn’t just a peck.

*

Wonwoo sat stiffly across from his father, unsure why he had been called to this unexpected meeting. His father, always composed and stern, sipped his tea before finally setting the cup down with a decisive clink.

"I’ve been thinking," his father began, his deep voice carrying an unusual softness, "about your future."

Wonwoo’s shoulders tensed. He was ready for another lecture, another reminder of his predetermined path. But then—

"I’ve decided," his father continued, "that if you truly want to pursue journalism, you have my support."

Wonwoo blinked. He must have misheard. His father? Supporting his dream?

His father adjusted his glasses, tapping a finger against the table. "I read your work—the articles, the essays, the investigative pieces you’ve written over the years. There’s potential, Wonwoo. Real potential. I wasn’t convinced before, but now…" He exhaled, looking directly at his son. "I see it."

Wonwoo’s mind raced. How did his father—?

Then his eyes flicked to his laptop sitting on the desk nearby. A strange feeling gnawed at him. Slowly, he reached for it, opening his email.

His inbox showed a long thread between him and his father—except… he didn’t remember sending these.

Clicking through, his breath caught. Attached were all the articles, drafts, and opinion pieces he had ever written, even the ones he had abandoned, perfectly formatted and sent with a professional, persuasive message:

"Father, I know journalism wasn’t the future you envisioned for me, but writing has always been my passion. I hope you can see the effort I’ve put into it. All I ask is for you to read and reconsider. If there’s any part of you that believes in me, please support this dream."

The email was formal, respectful—something Wonwoo would never have dared to send himself.

Because he didn’t send it.

Realization struck.

You.

While you were in his body, you had gathered every piece of writing he had ever done and sent it to his father, pushing for the approval he had been too afraid to ask for himself.

A lump formed in his throat.

"You…" Wonwoo murmured under his breath, still staring at the screen. His heart pounded, caught between disbelief and something else—something warm, something deep.

His father took another sip of tea. "I’m ready to support you, son. If this is what you want, you don’t have to fight for it alone."

Wonwoo swallowed, his grip tightening around the laptop. His lips parted, but no words came out.

Because for the first time in his life, he realized—

Someone had fought for him first.

*

Years later, Wonwoo came home to find you curled up on the couch, absentmindedly flipping through TV channels. The familiar sight of you—your hair messy, your legs tucked under a blanket—made something in his chest unclench. Without a word, he let his tired body collapse onto you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he buried his face in your stomach.

You huffed at the sudden weight but didn’t push him away. Instead, your fingers instinctively found their way into his hair, gently brushing through the strands.

"I'm so tired," he mumbled, his voice muffled against your shirt.

You chuckled, feeling the vibration of his words against you. "Journalism finally hit you?"

Wonwoo groaned dramatically before shifting, propping himself up just enough to look at you. "My senior is evil. How could he make us stay in the police station for two days?"

Your brows raised. "Got any news?"

He sighed, shaking his head before letting his head fall onto your lap, his face turned toward you. His dark eyes studied your features, the corners of his lips tugging into something softer, something unspoken.

"And I missed you," he murmured.

You rolled your eyes, though your fingers never stopped their soothing motions through his hair. "You're so dramatic."

"Am I?" He smirked lazily. "You should've seen how miserable I was without you."

You scoffed, pretending to ignore the way your heart fluttered at his words. It had taken months—months of stolen kisses, secret touches, and endless bickering—before the two of you had finally admitted what everyone else had seen from the start.

Mingyu, fed up with your ridiculous denial, had finally intervened. And by "intervened," it meant shoving you and Wonwoo into a closet during a party and refusing to let you out until you confessed your feelings. It was a long, messy story—one that involved a lot of yelling, some threats, and a victorious Mingyu grinning like a proud matchmaker.

And yet, it had worked.

Now, here you were, years later, with Wonwoo sprawled across you like he belonged there. Because, in a way, he did.

"You’re such a baby," you teased, lightly flicking his forehead.

He caught your hand before you could pull away, intertwining his fingers with yours. "Only for you."

You felt it before you saw it—the subtle shift in the way Wonwoo’s fingers curled around yours, the slow, deliberate drag of his thumb against your palm. His other hand, which had been resting idly on your waist, started to move, fingertips tracing light, teasing patterns over the fabric of your shirt.

Your breath hitched when he pressed a little firmer, his touch no longer innocent, no longer just an affectionate gesture.

"Wonwoo," you murmured, though it came out softer than intended, barely a warning.

His lips twitched, eyes flicking up to yours, dark and knowing. "What?" he asked, voice low, lazy, but there was something else there too—something heavier, something that made your stomach flip.

"You’re tired," you pointed out, though even to your own ears, it sounded like a weak excuse.

Wonwoo hummed, shifting slightly until he was lying on his side, one arm draped around your waist, the other still tangled with your fingers. "Yeah," he agreed, nuzzling into your stomach. "But I still missed you."

You swallowed when his nose brushed against the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin. His fingers slipped under the fabric, skimming your hip before sliding up, slow and unhurried.

Your skin prickled under his touch, and he must've felt your reaction because his smirk deepened.

"Wonwoo," you tried again, but this time, your voice betrayed you, dipping into something breathier, something more wanting.

"Hmm?" He looked up at you, feigning innocence, but the way his fingers flexed against your waist, the way his lips barely brushed against your stomach before pulling back—it was anything but innocent.

Your fingers twitched in his hair, torn between pulling him away and pulling him closer.

And from the way his smirk widened, you had a feeling he already knew which one you were leaning toward.

You sucked in a breath when Wonwoo’s fingers trailed lower, his touch lazy, teasing, like he had all the time in the world. His palm skimmed over your thigh, fingertips pressing just enough to make you shiver. His head remained on your lap, but his eyes were locked on yours, watching every little reaction.

"You're really not going to stop me, huh?" he murmured, amusement lacing his tone.

Your fingers curled in his hair, torn between pulling him away and keeping him right where he was. "Wonwoo," you whispered, though you weren’t sure if it was meant to stop him or encourage him.

He chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through you, before his fingers slipped just a little further, skimming over the waistband of your shorts. Your breath stuttered, body tensing in anticipation.

"You’re so easy to tease," he mused, his lips curving as he pressed a kiss to your stomach.

You swatted at his shoulder, though there was no real strength behind it. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you still let me touch you."

His fingers flexed again, just a whisper of movement against your skin, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. The heat in his gaze was unmistakable, and the air between you felt thick, charged.

Your lips parted to say something—maybe to challenge him, maybe to tell him to keep going—but before you could, his fingers dipped lower, making you gasp.

Wonwoo smirked, leaning in closer. "Yeah," he murmured, voice dark with satisfaction. "I thought so."

Wonwoo's fingers danced across your heated flesh, tracing the sensitive inner thighs, his touch both teasing and tantalizing. You parted your legs slightly, inviting him deeper into the haven of your intimacy. His calloused palm grazed the damp lace of your panties, the delicate material offering little barrier against the scorching heat of your core.

With a knowing smirk, Wonwoo hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, slowly peeling them down your hips to reveal your glistening, needy center. He dipped a finger into the slick folds, gathering your essence and rubbing it along your throbbing clit in a deliberate rhythm.

"You're so wet for me already," he purred, his voice low and husky with desire. "Tell me, do you miss me as much as I miss you?"

The overwhelming ache within you demanded release, begging for Wonwoo's touch to quench the thirst that had built throughout the day apart. You nodded frantically, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you surrendered to the intensity of your longing.

"Yes, I miss you so much," You whimpered, arching into his skilled caresses. "Please, Wonwoo... I need you inside me."

At your plea, Wonwoo stood abruptly, scooping you effortlessly into his arms.

He carried you swiftly towards the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind you with a resolute click. Once there, he set you down on the edge of the bed, his dark eyes smoldering with unrestrained hunger as he shed the remainder of his clothes with swift, practiced movements.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be than right here, buried deep within your sweet heat," he declared, his rigid length jutting out prominently, aching to claim its rightful place inside you once again.

"I'm dying to taste you, sweetheart, but I can barely control myself." Wonwoo spat onto your dripping slit, the warm droplets mingling with your arousal. "Gotta get inside you, now."

He positioned himself at your entrance, the swollen head of his member nudging against your slick heat.

With a steady, controlled thrust, Wonwoo sheathed himself fully within you, his thickness stretching and filling you to the brim. He paused for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size, before withdrawing until just the tip remained inside.

"Are you ready, baby?" he asked, his voice rough with restrained passion.

You nodded, your hips lifting eagerly to meet his next push forward.

Wonwoo's grip tightened on your hips as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each stroke dragging out the pleasure until it bordered on agony. He leaned down, capturing your thing between his teeth, nibbling and suckling in time with his measured pace.

With agonizing slowness, Wonwoo continued to drive into you, each inch a tantalizing exploration of your innermost depths. His teeth grazed your thing, sending electric shocks straight to your core as his fingers found your sensitive clit, circling the tender bud with maddening gentleness.

"Wonwoo...Yes..." You whimpered, lost in the haze of pleasure, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him desperately.

Wonwoo's rhythmic strokes intensified, his hips undulating sensually against yours. Each deep, languid thrust seemed designed to unravel you from the inside out, his teasing touches driving you closer to the brink. Youwrithed beneath him, craving more of that exquisite friction, your cries escalating into urgent whimpers.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groaned, his voice strained with effort as he fought to maintain the torturously slow pace.

With a subtle shift in his tempo, Wonwoo picked up speed, the previously languid thrusts now becoming harder and faster. Your back arched off the bed as he pistoned into you with renewed vigor, the room echoing with the lewd sound of flesh meeting flesh.

"That's it, take it deeper," he encouraged, his hand tightening on your hip, urging you to meet his increasing fervor. "Let go, my love. I've got you."

With a sudden yank, Wonwoo hoisted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he maintained eye contact. The new angle allowed him to sink even deeper inside, and you cried out at the delicious stretch.

"I want to look at you while I fill you up," he growled, his thumbs rubbing circles over yout hyper-sensitive clit as he pumped into you.

With each relentless thrust, Wonwoo could feel the telltale flutter of you impending orgasm building within me. Your walls clenched tighter around his throbbing length, drawing him impossibly deeper, and he knew you was teetering on the precipice.

"Don't hold back," he commanded gruffly, his own climax fast approaching. "Let go for me, my beautiful girl. I want to feel you shake apart.."

With increased urgency, Wonwoo slammed into you, the force of his thrusts nearly knocking the wind from you ungs. You inner muscles spasmed wildly as you reached the crest, wave after wave of intense pleasure crashing over me.

"Yes, yes, yes!" You screamed, your nails raking down his back as the most potent orgasm of yout life ripped through you.

...and then Wonwoo buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsating violently as he reached his peak. With a guttural roar, he poured himself into you, flooding your spasming channel with his hot seed.

"P-pretty... fuck," he stuttered, his face contorting in blissful agony as he emptied himself inside you. His rhythmic spurts triggered aftershocks, each twitch of his still-hard member coaxing out lingering echoes of yout earlier climax.

With a contented sigh, Wonwoo collapsed onto you, your bodies still intimately entwined. Though he'd just delivered a mind-blowing orgasm, his exhaustion was palpable, making it clear he had no intention of withdrawing anytime soon.

"Mmm, too tired," he mumbled, his face nuzzling into the crook of my neck as he struggled to catch his breath.

*

A soft groan escaped your lips as you stirred from sleep, the lingering sensations of last night’s intimacy still fresh in your mind. Your body felt relaxed in the most satisfying way, every inch of you still attuned to Wonwoo’s touch. A small, pleased smile curved your lips as you felt the comforting warmth of him pressed against you, his solid form still nestled close, as if he had no intention of letting go.

"Morning, sunshine," you murmured sleepily, your voice laced with warmth and amusement. "Seems like you didn’t intend to let me go after all, did you?"

But the moment the words left your mouth, something felt off. The timbre of your voice—deeper, rougher—sent a jolt of confusion through you.

Your eyes snapped open.

Your breath hitched as you took in the unfamiliar sight of broad shoulders, long limbs, and the distinct weight of a body that wasn’t yours.

Panic set in.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, you looked down to the other side—only to find yourself staring at… yourself.

Wonwoo—trapped in your body—blinked at you sleepily, his own eyes widening in delayed realization.

Not again.

"Don't move…" Wonwoo groaned, his voice—your voice—strained as he let out a soft moan from the way your body tensed inside him.

His grip on your arm tightened as he exhaled sharply, frustration evident in the way his brows furrowed. "Shit… Does your body always ache this much after sex? Don’t move!" he snapped, his complaint sounding oddly amusing in your own voice.

You bit back a laugh, despite the absurdity of the situation. "I’m not doing anything," you said defensively, then motioned toward your member—his member—where the evidence of his current predicament was painfully obvious. "It’s working itself."

Wonwoo sighed in exasperation, dragging a hand down his—your—face. "Welcome to manhood," you added with a smirk.

His glare could’ve burned holes through you, but at that moment, all you could do was marvel at the sheer irony of it all.

The end:)

[meowdei]

Sylus is infuriatingly talented at most things. More infuriatingly enough, one of those said talents happens to be grating at your nerves.

“Your towels are pretty rough,” he sighs, stepping out of the shower with nothing but cloth wrapped around his waist. “My skin is too sensitive for these. You should invest in better ones.”

The towel hanging on his waist is low. Very low. Instantly, you’re in a bad mood.

(On a normal day, you don’t think you’d be sour in any shape or form by the fact that a very tall, very handsome, and very well built man is standing half naked in your home with skin glistening from droplets of water. But when that man happens to be Sylus, it’s a lot more humbling than it needs to be.

He notices every lingering stare. And oh, does he love to make it smugly obvious that he’s noticed your eyes wandering.)

You make a point to look only at his eyes as you huff, “Oh, my apologies. Are my shower options not lavish enough for you, your highness?”

“I can overlook the shampoo—my hair naturally manages to stay rather soft. But this cloth is just offensive,” he shakes his head, making your eye twitch.

Bastard.

That happens to be a choice of word that pops into your mind often when he’s around.

“Your skin looks fine to me,” you say blandly. And then you make the mistake of casually glancing at his chest to make your point…which naturally, makes you stare at his pecs for a moment, which leads to sparing a glance to his abs, which means his v-line is right underneath—and by the time you’ve realized that you’ve done exactly what you swore you wouldn’t and taken a good, long look at his exposed physique, he clears his throat.

You meet his gaze instantly, and he’s smirking. Cocky, smug, arrogant, egotistical, bastardized—the list of adjectives you could use to describe the look on his face could go on.

“Taking quite the opportunity to make sure my skin is alright, are we, sweetie?”

“Don’t sweetie me, you asshole,” you hiss, “You’re doing this on purpose!”

“What am I doing? I didn’t think taking a quick shower would make the kitten throw a hissy fit,” he purrs.

Sometimes, you think Sylus likes to see you mad more than he likes to see you happy. He could have very easily won your affections for the night by walking over, planting a kiss to your head, and wrap his bare, muscular arms around you from behind. Or maybe, he could have just asked you to join his shower—that would have won him plenty of points.

Instead, he chooses to leave your water running for far to long it to be considered a ‘quick shower’, and he has the audacity to be picky about the range of shampoo and towel options, too.

Insufferable.

“Was the water pressure too hard on your sensitive skin too?” You mock, “Or perhaps the laundry detergent I used to wash the clothes you left is too irritating for your poor skin. Maybe I should clean the air next time before you visit.”

He chuckles, low and smooth—and even the sound of his laugh feels expensive. You feel a vein practically pop in your forehead.

But you like it. Despite it all, you like the sound of his stupid laugh, and you like the amusement of his stupid bantering, and you love the presence of your stupid, nitpicking boyfriend.

“Well, I was gonna say your shower is a little too low, but I think that might get me a few more hisses from the kitten,” he hums, “I did find it a bit troublesome to bend to wash my hair.”

“I think the problem is you for that one,” you snort, “Your fault for not fitting.”

“I’ll try not to be so tall next time,” he smiles sarcastically.

All too soon, he’s closed the distance. Damp, warm skin meets yours, making your breath hitch as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you onto that muscular (and very bare) chest. It’s like he read your mind—except instead of doing it to get on your good side, he’s still just doing it to tease you.

Bastard, you think for the hundredth time in one night.

“You’re exhausting, do you know that?” You sigh, rolling your eyes.

He lets out a low hum, curling his lips into a wickedly handsome smile as he answers, “I get told that here and there, yes.”

“You should self reflect, then.”

“And miss out on witnessing my kitten bear its fangs?” He gasps, mildly offended by the thought, “As if.”

You can’t help but crack a smile. You try not to, but every time, like clockwork, he manages to make you cave. Because he’s stupidly charming underneath all that stupidly annoying cheekiness—and you’re not immune to it no matter how hard you try.

“You could always replace my towels, you know,” you bat your lashes innocently, “I definitely won’t complain if you become the change you want to see in the world.”

He chuckles again, the sound low and this time, just a little bit endearingly sweet. “I guess matters are always up to me to take into my own hands. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Perfect,” you beam, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw as he relaxes his posture a little at the gesture, “And while you’re at it, I won’t turn down the fancy shampoo, either.”

He’s as exhausting as he is hot and sexy and cute and funny and charming and handsome and sweet and kind and precious and perfect and wonderful and adorable

But also exhausting .

[nicholasluvbot]

BE MY LITTLE SECRETㅤ ◞ ㅤ 愛 ★ ❜ㅤ ― 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝗁, 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝗁, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂'𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾

ㅤ✿ ´ㅤ ── 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ｡

𝑓 ｡ ◞ 1700ㅤ❝ ― 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 >< 𝖻𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖾. 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒 🖇 𝖣𝗂𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖳𝖮𝖱𝖸

SUNGHO

sungho does not deserve this. one second, he’s lying peacefully on your bed, head in your lap as you mess with his hair, and the next, he’s being shoved into your closet because your friends have suddenly decided to show up unannounced.

“you owe me,” he grits out as his lovely girlfriend pushes him inside and shuts the door with no mercy.

an hour. he’s stuck in there for a whole hour, broad shoulders cramped uncomfortably in the small space, forced to listen to your friends chatter away while he suffers in silence.

by the time they finally leave, he stumbles out, looking thoroughly pissed. arms crossed over his chest, lips pulled into a small pout.

“i almost died in there,” he huffs dramatically.

you do feel bad, but also… his grumpy state is adorable. reaching out, you try to touch his arm, hoping he’ll melt at your touch, but he remains as stiff as a cardboard cutout.

you say his name sweetly. “you know i didn’t have any other choice,” you explain, but sungho only frowns harder, looking everywhere except at you.

you sigh, but you know exactly how to break through his shell. standing on your tiptoes, you press a sweet kiss to his cheek. he tries to keep up the sulking act, but you don’t miss the way his lips twitch.

so you keep going, cupping his face and trailing soft kisses along his cheek, forehead, nose—until he’s smiling from ear to ear, his hands settling on your hips as he soaks in the affection.

“are you still mad at me?” you ask, lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

“yes.”

sungho isn’t mad at all, but after being trapped in that closet for way too long, he’s milking this for all it’s worth.

“but i made it up to you,” you pout.

he flops onto your bed, looking up at you with a lazy smile. “not enough.”

you smile back, leaning closer. “what do i have to do then?”

without warning, he grabs your wrist and flips you onto the bed beside him. “stay right here,” he mumbles, pressing his face into your neck, voice muffled. “and maybe let me sleep over.”

“that’s just gonna get us in more trouble,” you snort.

but you both know you’ll let him stay anyway.

RIWOO

you’re having a movie night at leehan’s place. you love them the most—cozy blankets, dim lights, and, best of all, an excuse to cuddle with riwoo while everyone else is too engrossed in the movie to notice.

you’re in the kitchen, waiting for the microwave to finish, the smell of buttery popcorn filling the air.

you sense a presence behind you and smile, already knowing who it is. but before you can turn, riwoo places his hands on either side of you, caging you in against the counter.

“you’re taking forever,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear.

“you’re just too impatient,” you tease, rolling your eyes playfully.

before you can react, riwoo spins you around and steals a quick kiss—soft, teasing, gone too soon. but then, he kisses you again, this time lingering.

your fingers curl into his hoodie, the scent of popcorn and his cologne making your head spin. the thrill of getting caught at any moment, if one of your friends decided to walk in, only makes you want to kiss him more.

the microwave beeps, startling you both apart. your breath is unsteady as you glance toward the living room, making sure no one is coming.

riwoo, completely unbothered, just smirks. “sit next to me,” he says, pecking your lips once more.

“what?” you blink at him, dazed.

“not taesan. me.”

he leaves first, acting like nothing happened, though the tips of his ears are red. you take a second to compose yourself before following, placing the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and settling into the empty spot beside riwoo.

you pretend nothing happened in the kitchen, but the way he immediately leans into you, his warmth engulfing you, says otherwise.

JAEHYUN

you make your way toward the fitting room to try on a cute top you found while shopping with friends, only for jaehyun to slip in right behind you and lock the door. he wastes no time pressing you against the wall, eyes flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“jae, what are you—”

“just one kiss,” he pleads, though you both know it’s never just one. his hands slide up your waist, lips moving against yours in a way that makes your knees weak. your fingers curl into his shirt as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, stealing the breath from your lungs.

you lose track of time, of everything except the warmth of his touch—the way his fingers slide up your back, the way his hands tangle in your hair—until both of your phones start buzzing, the group chat flooding with messages about your whereabouts.

you pull away with a gasp, chest rising and falling as reality crashes back in. jaehyun exhales, lips brushing over yours as he grins. “ignore it.”

“they’re gonna get suspicious,” you whisper, eyes darting to the persistent notifications lighting up your screen.

“mm, let them.” his thumb drags lazily over your lower lip before he leans in again.

you barely manage to stop him, pressing a hand against his chest. “jaehyun,” you scold, though your voice lacks any real conviction, “we’re gonna get caught.”

he huffs, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “fine,” he mutters, but then he smirks, arms tightening around you for just a second. “but you owe me later.”

rolling your eyes, you push him toward the door. “whatever, just go.”

he slips out first, and you take a moment to fix your hair before following.

but as you rejoin your friends, pretending nothing happened, the way your lip gloss has vanished—and how jaehyun’s lips are looking a little shinier than usual—does not go unnoticed by them.

TAESAN

taesan loves sneaking around.

he thrives off the secrecy—the stolen glances, the brief touches, whispering things in your ear under the guise of a joke, the way no one suspects a thing (even though they totally do).

so when he suddenly pulls you into the janitor’s closet, you’re not surprised.

“taesan—”

“shh.” he smirks, backing you up against the shelves, lips grazing your ear. “don’t wanna get caught, baby.”

before you can retort, his lips are on yours—slow, teasing. his hands ghost over your waist before gripping it properly, deepening the kiss.

he’s enjoying this—his little secret, the thrill of nearly getting caught, the way you melt under his touch. he pulls back slightly, and you assume he’s about to make another teasing remark, but his words are swallowed when you grab his collar, crashing your lips against his.

your fingers tangle in his hair, his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer, closer, until—

rattle.

someone jiggles the door handle.

you both freeze.

“is someone in here?” a voice calls.

taesan grins. “looks like we’re stuck together, babe.”

you slap a hand over his mouth. “not the time!”

LEEHAN

leehan is a little too good at keeping things lowkey—no one suspects a thing.

he’s good at pretending you’re just friends in public, but when it’s just the two of you, he showers you with all the affection in the world.

which is why it takes you a while to notice he’s being sulky.

at first, you don’t think much of it. leehan isn’t the loudest in the group, so when he only responds with nods and one-liners, you assume he’s just in a quiet mood. but then, he doesn’t sit next to you like he normally would. doesn’t lean in to whisper jokes only you can hear. doesn’t even laugh at yours a little harder than everyone else.

that’s when you know something’s wrong.

so you pull him aside under the excuse of showing him a cool fish. your friends don’t even question it.

“alright,” you say once you’re alone, “what’s wrong?”

leehan crosses his arms, looking away. “nothing.”

you raise an eyebrow. “liar.”

he exhales sharply through his nose, clearly debating whether to tell you, before mumbling, “jaehyun grabbed your arm earlier.”

you blink. “...because he got startled.”

leehan pouts. “still.”

you bite your lip, fighting back a smile. “you’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

his nose scrunches. “shut up.”

you laugh, reaching for his hand. he lets you, but keeps his gaze stubbornly fixed on the fish tank.

“you know you get to do more than just hold my hand when we’re alone,” you tease, tracing abstract patterns on the back of his hand.

he swallows, trying to keep up the act, but you don’t miss the way his lips twitch. still, it takes more soft reassurances, a few playful pokes, and at least three compliments for his sulkiness to finally melt away.

but just as you’re about to go back, he surprises you—grabbing your wrist and pressing a kiss to your lips.

you panic, looking around to see if anyone saw. “leehan—”

he just laughs, completely unbothered. “what? they still don’t suspect a thing.”

WOONHAK

woonhak is sneaky.

he takes your hand, his expression casual as ever while the group chatters away. at first, you think nothing of it—he does this often, holding onto you like it's second nature. but then—

crack.

you wince. “did you just—”

he hums in response, unfazed. crack. crack.

“woonhak!” you whisper sharply, trying not to draw attention.

“shh,” he murmurs, cracking another knuckle with ease.

you grimace at the sensation. it doesn’t exactly hurt, but it’s unexpected, and by the time he’s done cracking all ten of your knuckles, you’re staring at him in disbelief. you try to tug your hand away, but he doesn’t let go. instead, he shifts his grip, thumbs pressing gentle circles over your knuckles, soothing away the tension he just caused.

you turn to glare at him, ready to scold him properly, but then he smiles. that smile—the one where his lips lift a little to show his teeth, and his eyes shine with unfiltered adoration.

you sigh, any irritation melting away.

so you let him hold your hand, pretending to be engrossed in whatever ridiculous debate your friends are having.

and when, in one swift motion, he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a soft, fleeting kiss against your knuckles, you don’t even bother to pull away.

you only suppress a giggle, hoping no one else noticed.

ㅤnetworks ◞ @kstrucknet @k-films @sgz-net

[jiminomenon]

assistant! reader ignoring model! karina after a fight

pairing: model! karina x female assistant! reader

word count: 942

summary: after a heated argument, y/n had enough of jimin’s antics and decided to ignore her completely. at first, jimin didn’t care—or at least, that’s what she told herself. but as the silence stretched on, frustration turned into something she didn’t want to acknowledge. jimin never apologized—she never had to. but for y/n? she just might make an exception.

from my series: the devil wears prada

jimin had never been good at saying sorry.

in fact, she rarely ever had to. apologies were for people who made mistakes, and as far as she was concerned, she was never wrong. people always bent to her will, never the other way around.

but this? this was unbearable.

it all started earlier that day, when jimin, in all her bratty, self-important glory, had snapped at y/n in front of an entire room of people.

the day had been chaotic—photoshoots, fittings, meetings with designers—and jimin had been running on nothing but black coffee, four hours of sleep, and sheer irritation.

y/n, ever the responsible assistant, had tried to remind her of a scheduling conflict, something about overlapping appointments and the need to reschedule one of them. but jimin, already overwhelmed and not in the mood to be nagged, had brushed her off.

no—brushed off was too soft. she had outright snapped.

“oh my god, y/n, just shut up for a second and let me think!”

the room had gone silent.

the stylists, the makeup artists, even the photographer—everyone had turned their heads, the tension so thick it was suffocating. jimin, in her frustration, hadn’t thought much of it at the time. she had simply turned back to her reflection in the mirror, adjusting the outfit she was wearing like nothing had happened.

but y/n’s expression had flickered, lips pressed together as she inhaled slowly through her nose. she hadn’t said a word in response. instead, she had simply nodded, composed and professional as ever, before quietly stepping away.

jimin should have known then.

should have known that y/n was really mad.

and now, hours later, as they sat in jimin’s penthouse, jimin was suffering the consequences.

y/n was ignoring her.

not in the petty, passive-aggressive way that most people did, where they sighed dramatically and stomped around to make a point. no, y/n was doing it with precision. calculated indifference.

she still did her job—setting down jimin’s evening tea, organizing her schedule, responding to emails. but she did it all without a single glance in jimin’s direction.

no sarcastic remarks, no witty comebacks, not even an exasperated “jimin, please.”

just silence.

jimin hated it.

she was used to being the center of attention, used to people doting on her, catering to her every whim. even when she and y/n did fight, it never lasted long because, inevitably, jimin would do something to annoy her into speaking again.

but this? this was like being invisible.

and jimin hated being invisible.

finally, she snapped.

“are you seriously still mad?” jimin demanded from her spot on the couch.

silence.

y/n didn’t even look up from her tablet, fingers tapping away like jimin hadn’t spoken at all.

jimin narrowed her eyes. “y/n.”

nothing.

she huffed, draping herself over the armrest dramatically. “come on,” she groaned. “you’re acting like a child.”

y/n continued scrolling.

jimin was starting to lose patience.

“y/n, i swear, if you keep this up, i’ll—”

y/n suddenly stood, grabbing the empty teacup from the coffee table before turning towards the kitchen, still not acknowledging jimin.

jimin scoffed. “oh my god. you do realize you work for me, right? ignoring me isn’t exactly part of your job description.”

silence.

y/n rinsed the cup under the sink.

jimin followed her, stopping at the counter.

“so that’s it? you’re just going to act like i don’t exist?” jimin pressed, crossing her arms.

y/n continued drying the cup, her expression unreadable.

jimin tapped her fingers against the counter impatiently. “y/n.”

y/n set the cup down.

“y/n,” jimin repeated, her voice a little softer this time.

nothing.

the frustration bubbling inside her started shifting into something else. something… unfamiliar.

jimin sighed, shifting her weight. “look.” she rubbed her arm, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically awkward. she averted her eyes before forcing herself to meet y/n’s gaze.

“i guess—i might’ve—been a little…” she grimaced, struggling to force the words out. “harsh earlier.”

y/n raised an eyebrow.

jimin exhaled sharply. “ugh, fine,” she relented. “i was rude. there. i said it.”

y/n remained unimpressed.

jimin clenched her jaw. “what more do you want?”

y/n sighed, finally setting the towel down. “i just don’t get why you have to be like that sometimes.”

jimin frowned. “like what?”

“mean,” y/n deadpanned. “you treat people like they’re disposable when you’re stressed out. i get that you have a lot on your plate, but i’m not your punching bag, jimin.”

jimin opened her mouth to argue but promptly shut it when she realized… y/n wasn’t wrong.

and that was a hard pill to swallow.

she scowled, rubbing the back of her neck. “i didn’t mean to snap at you.”

y/n tilted her head. “then why did you?”

jimin hesitated.

she wasn’t used to admitting when she was wrong.

she wasn’t used to… this.

after a long pause, she sighed heavily. “because i was frustrated,” she muttered.

y/n blinked, taken aback by the rare moment of honesty.

jimin clicked her tongue. “but i shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

y/n crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “you think?”

jimin rolled her eyes. “don’t push it.”

y/n smirked. “i dunno, i think i should push it. this is the first time i’ve seen you be considerate.”

jimin scoffed. “shut up.”

y/n laughed, shaking her head before stepping away.

jimin watched her go, feeling… lighter.

she still hated apologizing.

she still hated admitting she was wrong.

but for y/n?

she supposed she could make an exception.

[bunnipuffs]

⋆˙⟡ ellie williams knows how to put you in your place. after hours of your constant complaining, she's had enough.

"do you know why you're tied up like this?"

you didn't even know ellie was capable of intricate rope tying, or whatever this was. you're completely tied up, several tight knots keeping you in your place. your only decency being the long harsh ropes across your naked body, trailing all the way down to your legs. you're sitting on a chair in the middle of your shared bedroom, ellie taking occasional hits from her blunt while she stares at you. she doesn't say much, but you can tell just by looking at her. you maybe went a little too far today. pushing all her buttons, distracting her from work.

she tried to tell you off but...

ellie runs her free hand over the rope covering your breasts, making sure to graze your exposed nipple slowly. your body twitches at the sudden stimulation — a feather light touch, enough to keep you wanting more. the room is completely silent except for the soft breaths leaving your lips. the rise and fall of your chest, you can feel yourself dripping down your thighs. ellie notices, you can hear her laugh before she steps away from you, her eyes fixated on your wet pussy.

"i should've known. a whore like you would get off on anything, huh?"

she takes another hit from her blunt before placing it on a tray, lowering herself to your level. you open your mouth to ask why the fuck she's keeping you here for so long before you feel a sharp sting to your cheek, ellie's palm meeting the soft skin. you blink at her in surprise.

"i asked, do you know why you're tied up like this?"

"no, i don't! i wasn't being a bitch, you're just being a pus-"

ellie slaps you again before wrapping her hand around your throat, not tight, but a warning. her fingers are warm against your cold skin, ellie squeezes tighter when you smile at her. the pressure against your neck fills your stomach with boiling heat and you can feel yourself grow wetter and wetter as she stares at you like you're nothing.

"do you wanna finish that pretty?"

"are you going to fuck me or are you just going to stare at me all night?"

ellie lets go of you suddenly, standing up straighter. her demeanour has completely changed. her eyes washed over with something more primal. she tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ears before her slender fingers move to her pants, your gaze closely following her movement as she unzips her bottoms — taking her strap out. the one you always struggled to take. it was thick, black, ridges along the sides. you gulp, looking back up at her with a sheepish smile.

"get on your knees, i'm not asking this time baby."

you think about talking back to her, telling her to fuck off or hurry up and fuck me, but her eyes tell you that she isn't being nice anymore, that you've run out of chances. the last time you pushed her like this, you couldn't sit for days. you could feel the permanent weight of ellie's hand on your ass from the brutal spanking she gave you, purple and pink splotches decorating your skin for weeks after.

you glare at her before wiggling your way off the chair, kneeling down as best as you could with the rope digging into your skin.

"good girl, didn't think you'd wanna see me mad baby. you done bein' a brat?"

you chew the inside of your cheek, nodding. as much as you want to talk back to your girlfriend, your eyes are fixated on the strap ellie has in her grasp. you feel yourself clench around nothing, your brain running through all the possibilities of what exactly she’s going to do to you. you’ve been waiting for over an hour now, ellie’s soft touches and words making you drip all over your floors. you’re so close to getting what you want.

ellie smiles, the first real smile you’ve seen from her since you got on her nerves today. she takes your place in the chair behind you, watching as you struggle to turn around to face her. she runs a hand through your hair once you’re settled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. the strap is basically in your face now, staring at you. you gulp, it looks even more intimidating up close.

can i even take that?

“you’ve been mouthing off all day, bothering me. why?”

"i jus' wanted you... you've been busy all day, els..." ellie places her thumb in your mouth while you explain, feeling the inside like she's trying to memorize it. she runs her thumb over your tongue, moving back and forth slowly on the wet muscle before she presses it further into your mouth, almost down your throat. your eyes water as you attempt to take it down, licking around her thumb. she thinks you look so pretty like this.

"aw, if you can't even take my thumb... then how are you going to take this?" ellie pulls her thumb out of your mouth before caressing your bottom lip with it, now holding the strap in her other hand. you glance at it before looking back at her, she doesn't seem fazed by your obvious concern.

"ellie, i'm sorry, okay? i just wanted your attention, you know i can't take tha-"

your words abruptly come to a stop when she pushes it into your mouth, the emptiness suddenly filled to the brim. she smirks when you attempt to push it away, hold it for some type of control, but you're reminded of your restraints when you begin tugging at the rope digging into your wrists. your words are muffled, and ellie can't make out anything except for the sound of your whimpers around her strap. she pulls away before thrusting into your mouth again, her hips lifting off of the chair to gain more momentum. you look up at her with tears pooling in your eyes, struggling against the rope that held your body. you can hear faint moaning above you, ellie grabbing a handful of your hair to thrust in deeper, harder. you gag violently around the toy, each obscene sound coming out of you making her so much wetter. your saliva is starting to drip from the corners of your mouth, running down your chest and onto the floor. ellie lets out another moan when she sees the mess you're making all over yourself, her unrelenting pace is making it harder to think, to breathe. ellie thrusts into you once more and keeps you there — the strap lodged into your throat. you can barely breathe now, your hands unclenching and clenching to find an outlet for your desperation. there's a small pool of your own slick under you, your thighs shaking.

"you like runnin' your mouth, huh? when all you needed to do was be a good little girl and ask me nicely. just wanted to be fucked like a slut," ellie pulls away completely, breathless gasps falling from your lips. you take another breath and another, watching as ellie observes you. she takes the strap into her hands, moving it up and down with the lubricant from your saliva. you feel yourself clench at the sight.

"don't think you deserve to be fucked yet, i think i like you better when you're not fuckin' talking."

[natalievoncatte]

Lena crouched down and carefully undid the buckle, pulling the watch from Lex’s limp wrist. His cold hand fell to the floor with a soft flopping sound and his eyes stared at nothing, unfocused and dull. Lena had once read that a dead man stared as if trying to solve a complex problem, but Lena did not see metaphor in her dead brother’s eyes. She saw only an absence that was a presence, a nothing that was somehow something.

Lex finally had his father’s eyes.

The gun was still heavy in her hand, her palm and wrist tingling from the force of recoil, ears still ringing from the blast. A single hole marked the center of her brother’s forehead; the meat of his genius was splattered across a bank of screens all playing surveillance footage of Kara performing inhuman feats.

(Two to the chest, one to the head, he had taught her, teaching her to repeat the mantra as he held her wrist to guide her aim as she took her very first shot)

The world was starting to come back, sweeping in. She couldn’t be here. She’d have to figure out what to do with the body and the evidence. She had to get out.

The interface on the watch was simple enough. The portal flashed open and she stepped through into her apartment. That could be convenient.

The watch crystal was dotted with her brother’s blood. She threw it and it skidded across the kitchen counter and it fell on the floor. She looked at the weapon in her hand. She would have powder burns.

Looking up, she spotted her reflection in the stainless steel of her fridge, blurred but real. There was red on her.

Lena never wore red.

There was more than she thought. She was covered in blood. In a panic, she ran for her bedroom and began shedding clothes on the tile floor of her bathrooms, wrapping the gun in a towel before throwing it on the bed. Stupid, stupid. That revolver was registered to her in Metropolis, and like all guns sold in-state, the police had a spent shell casing from it, fired and then stored for police records before it was sold.

Fuck.

Hot water blasted her skin. She let her hair fall down around her shoulders in wet locks like streaks of ink smeared across her pale skin.

(Why must you be so pale? You look like a dead fish.)

(That’s enough, mother. Leave Lena alone.)

She wasn’t sure when the tears started, or when she began to sob. She scrubbed at herself with a wash cloth and soap until her skin was raw and beet red. She was still sobbing when she stumbled out of the shower and threw on a robe, choking back tears as she sat on the edge of the bed.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand, but who to call?

Not long ago she’d have called Kara, or perhaps her sister. She could have called Nia or Brainy but they had all fucking lied to her. Even James. James knew while he was… while they…

It was Kara. Kara has asked her boyfriend to spy on her, questioned her motives.

Kara… Kara had lied most of all.

She stared at the phone. There was Sam, but Sam was away from all this madness, busy with her work and her daughter. Lena would just be a burden to her.

She stared at her list of contacts- the only people she knew outside of her employees and associates were in Kara’s circle, except for Sam…

…and Jack.

Lena jabbed the call button and waited.

It rang, rang, rang again.

Finally, he answered.

“Lena?”

“Hello, Jack.”

“I must say I’m surprised- it’s rather late, and we haven’t spoken in a while. What’s on your mind?”

“I shot Lex in the face,” Lena said, shocked by her own hollow, distant voice.

The line was silent for too long a beat.

“Dear God, you’re serious.”

Lena choked out a sob.

“I had to, Jack. She was never going to be safe while he was alive. He almost killed her this time. He would never let her live if he knew how I feel.”

“Lena, darling, please, you’re not making sense. Look- I’m booking a flight out there now, but please, stay calm and try to tell me what happened.”

She didn’t know where to start, so she went back to the beginning, when she had learned how to trace Lex’s portals and followed him back to his lair.

She stopped herself before she gave it away.

“He showed me Supergirl’s real identity. He had proof.”

“I see.”

“I… she…”

“It doesn’t matter who she is. It hurt you, I know that. Listen to me, Lena- I’ve charted a flight and I’ll be there in six hours. Where is the gun?”

“I have it here.”

“Unload it, please. Let me know when you’ve finished.”

Lena flicked open the cylinder and dumped the shells into her hand, three spent and two unfired, then closed it again.

“Now, lock it up.”

Once it was in the safe she said, “done.”

“Now I want you to lie down. Stay in the apartment and wait there for me, I’ll be there presently.”

For once in her life, Lena did as she was told. Somehow, she fell asleep and didn’t wake until she heard the intercom buzzing.

Without thinking she pulled on sweats and a Midvale High Mathletes sweatshirt.

Kara’s.

When she opened the door she found a haggard Jack Spheer on the other side. He was a little older, beard salted with gray, but he was still him.

He swept into the apartment without a word, found the liquor cabinet, and poured drinks.

“Talk to me.”

Lena sat down and downed her two fingers of scotch in one motion. He poured her another.

“Kara Danvers is Supergirl.”

“The Kara Danvers? Your reporter friend? Your best friend?”

He took a drink.

“Your crush?” he added.

Lena stared at him. He met her gaze levelly.

“What you said on the phone before I left. That he would never let her live if he knew how you felt.”

Lena’s throat felt like sandpaper. She took another drink. It didn’t help.

“She’s not… I’m not… I don’t…” The words would not take shape. “She lied to me,” Lena finally choked out. “She did something I shouldn’t forgive and she used her double life to play both side against me. I don’t know what part of our relationship was real now.”

Jack studied his drink for a long time. He picked up the bottle and pretended to read the label.

“The last time we spoke she seemed quite taken with you. I assume that Lex knew all of this, or most of it.”

“He knew the broad strokes, I’m sure. I think he hoped that if he showed me, I’d join him.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” Lena said, in a tiny whisper. “I killed him.”

“Your brother is dead.”

“Yes.”

He poured more drinks, another round for both of them.

“Tell me about him.”

“You’ve heard all the stories.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Lena considered that for a moment, then began talking, rattling off whatever popped into her head. She started with the first time she ever met her brother when he and Lionel had come to Ireland to take custody of her, then began jumping around in time from the treehouse he tried to build to the time he told Lillian he’d kill her if she hurt Lena to his college graduation to when he declared to her that he was going to kill Superman, as if it were the most obvious thing to do.

Eventfully she ran out of stories, and they were running out of scotch. There was enough for one more glass each.

It was The Next Day by now, and mid-morning sun filled the penthouse.

“Are you ready to tell me about her?”

She was. Lena began with the first time they met- the mousy little wannabe reporter who followed Superman into her office as he posed as a reporter, how the Man of Steel himself seemed unimportant compared to Kara, how even then her heart fluttered and she felt a hot pressure low in her hips and Kara seemed to feel spending too.

She told Jack all about it- not just Kara but Supergirl too, about the plane and the office full of flowers and the lunches and brunches and movie nights and how this woman had burrowed into her life and made a home there and gave a home in return, about all the times she had saved Lena’s life.

Again the words ran out.

“Do you want my advice?”

“Yes,” said Lena.

“Talk to her. The woman cares for you deeply, that much is clear. Talk to her and see where you stand.”

“But,”

He raised a hand. “I’m telling you this because I think you’ll listen to me. You want my real advice?”

Lena swallowed. “Yes.”

“Your psychopath brother is gone. You own and run a Fortune 50 company. You’re on a dozen lists, 30 under 30, most influential women… you have virtually unlimited wealth and, if I dare say so, a woman who loves you.”

Lena sucked in a breath.

“Take the money, take the girl,” said Jack, “and live your life.”

She looked down at the empty glass, feeling the cold austere minimalism of her stark penthouse around her, and the tears began to flow anew. She wrapped her arms around herself and didn’t flinch when Jack took her in a bear hug.

“I want what’s best for you, and right now I think what’s best for you is ignoring that little voice in your head that’s telling you to blow up your life because you think you can’t be happy.”

“I knew,” Lena finally admitted. “I knew the whole time. I knew she was Supergirl and I knew I was in love with her.”

Lena wept softly on his shoulder for a time. He ended up staying the day and slept on her couch before leaving to return to Metropolis.

She was still wearing Kara’s sweater when she made the call.

“Lena? Are you alright? I was worried about you,” Kara said.

“Please come over,” Lena whispered. “I need to see you, Kara. You can come in through the balcony. The door is open.”

There was a too-long pause, and then the double impact of Supergirl’s boot heels on the concrete.

[rottenfyre]

BROKEN SOULS: you both hate each other. you both are broken. and you both lost your children. that's why you keep him. because he's the only one left.

TW: dark reader, broken Aegon, non con, reader is the rightful heir, minors DNI.

The dimly lit chamber feels colder today. The smell of damp stone, sweat, and despair fills the air as you walk in, tray in hand. Aegon kneels in the center of the his body slumped forward, chained to the floor like a dog. The clink of his collar as he shifts sends a thrill through you. He's nothing now-nothing but yours.

You set the tray down before him, watching as he avoids your gaze, staring blankly at the floor. His silver hair is matted, his once-proud body thin, broken. Every inch of him screams defeat. The man who had once taken everything from you-your throne, your children, your life- was now little more than a shadow, crawling at your feet.

Your lips curl into a twisted smile.

"Look at you," you murmur, kneeling in front of him, tilting his face up with your fingers. His violet eyes are hollow, vacant, but you see the flicker of recognition there. That old fear. That pathetic dependency. He doesn't hate you as much as he should, and that makes your stomach churn with something like satisfaction.

"You're going to eat" you say softly, but there's a command in your voice. "Open your mouth."

He does, like a trained dog, his lips parting obediently as you press a small piece of bread to them. He chews slowly, his eyes glazed over with tears he's too broken to shed. Your fingers linger on his lips, tracing the cracked, dry skin as he swallows.

"You've been so good lately," you coo, feeding him another bite, watching as he swallows it down like the obedient little creature he's become. "Such a good boy for me."

His breath hitches at the words, something like a sob bubbling in his throat, but it's muted-buried beneath layers of misery and exhaustion. You feed him another bite, and another, until the bread is gone. You wipe a tear from his cheek with the pad of your thumb, smirking as his body trembles under your touch.

"They are gone, Aegon," you whisper, leaning in close, your breath warm against his ear. "My children. Your children. Everyone is gone."

His face contorts in pain, eyes squeezing shut as fresh tears spill down his cheeks. You cup his face, forcing him to look at you, delighting in the way he shudders under your grip. "But we don't need them anymore, do we? No... we'll make something better. Something new."

His lips tremble, and his voice comes out as a broken whisper. "Please... no.."

Your smile grows wider, darker. You can feel the madness swirling inside you, an insatiable hunger that nothing can soothe except the thought of what's to come. "Yes, Aegon. We can. We will. We'll make new children. New little silver-haired babes, just like us."

His body stiffens, his eyes wide with horror, and you feel a sick, twisted thrill at the sight. "No." he breathes, his voice barely audible, a desperate plea. But it's too late for that. Far too late.

You push him down, the chain around his neck rattling as his back hits the cold, hard stone beneath him. His breath comes in ragged gasps as you climb on top of him, your hands already working to untie the gown at your neck. He's shaking now, tears streaming down his face, his body caught between fear, disgust, and that pitiful attachment he can't shake.

"Don't cry" you murmur, your voice soft but dripping with cruelty as you kiss the tears from his cheeks. "We're going to make something beautiful together, Aegon. We'll replace them. We'l make new children, and they'll be perfect. They'll be ours."

He shakes his head, his sobs growing louder as you undress yourself, letting the gown fall away from your body. "Please. don't..." he chokes out, his voice breaking.

But you don't listen. You never listen. You smile down at him, your fingers trailing over his trembling body as you begin to undress him, slowly, methodically, savoring every tear, every sob, every tremor of fear that runs through him.

"We don't need anyone else," you whisper, your lips brushing against his ear as you strip him bare. "We'll have our own family. We'll have everything we've lost."

You bite his neck suddenly, harshly, your teeth sinking into his skin until you taste blood. He gasps, his body jerking beneath you, but there's no fight left in him. There hasn't been for a long time. He sobs quietly as you kiss the wound, licking the blood from his skin, shushing him softly.

"'Shh... it's okay. It's okay, Aegon. You'll give me what I want, and I'l give you everything you need."

He's crying openly now, his body shaking with every sob, but his tears don't deter you. They fuel you. You press your body against his, your hands running over his bare skin as you whisper sweet, poisonous words into his ear.

"Do you want your children back, Aegon?" you ask, voice soft and poisonous. "Wouldn't that be nice? To hold them again. To see their little silver heads running around these halls?"

A sob escapes him, but he doesn't speak. His body quivers under your touch, tears sliding down his cheeks, as you run your thumb over his lips. There's no comfort here, not really, only a twisted kind of cruelty laced with sweetness. He knows it too. Knows that this is all wrong, but he's too far gone to care anymore.

"We can have them back," you whisper, leaning closer until your lips brush against his ear. "We can make them again. Our perfect little babes. Just like before."

He shakes his head, a small, pitiful gesture of defiance, but it only makes you laugh-a sharp, bitter sound that echoes off the cold stone walls.

"Why not, Aegon?" you coo, your tone soft but mocking. "Don't you want to be a father again? Don't you want to have your children back? We can name them after the ones we lost... after you lost them."

His breath hitches, and his tears flow faster. You straddle him, pushing him back down onto the cold stone floor, his chains rattling as you settle on top of him. His body stiffens beneath you, his eyes wide with fear, but there's nothing he can do to stop you.

"Think about it, Aegon," you whisper, your hands trailing down his chest as you slowly, methodically, undress him. "We'll name the first one Aegon. Just like you. Wouldn't that be perfect? A little Aegon, just like his father. He'll be beautiful."

He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a broken whimper. You smile, tilting your head as you run your hands over his trembling body, taking your time, savoring every tear, every ragged breath.

"And then we'll have more," you continue, your voice taking on a lilting, sing-song quality. "We'll name them after your lost children. After our father. Won't that be wonderful?"

You can see the madness in his eyes, the way his mind is breaking under the weight of it all. But there's something else there too一something darker, something twisted. He hates you. You know that. He despises you for what you've done, for what you're doing now. But he needs you. Needs your twisted affection. Needs this warped sense of control, even as it destroys him.

You move slowly, your body pressing against his as you begin to ride him, your pace deliberate and cruel. His breath hitches, and he tries to turn his head away, but you grab his chin, forcing him to look at you.

He sobs, his body shaking beneath you, but you shush him, pressing a finger to his lips. "Shh... don't cry, Aegon. This is what you want, isn't it? You want them back, don't you? You want our little family."

"Look at me, Aegon," you hiss, your voice cold, sharp. "Look at me while we make them. Look at me while I give you back what you lost."

He sobs harder, but his body betrays responding to your touch even as his mind screams in protest. You ride him slowly, cruelly, watching as he crumbles beneath you, his tears soaking the stone floor beneath his head.

"You'll thank me for this," you whisper, leaning down to kiss his tear-streaked cheek. "You'll see. We'll make them perfect this time. They'll be ours, Aegon. Ours alone."

He whimpers, his eyes glazed over with tears and despair, and you can see the last shred of his sanity slipping away. You kiss him again, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, your fingers digging into his skin as you ride him harder, faster, forcing him to surrender completely to your madness.

"Say it" you demand, your voice harsh now, a cruel edge to your words. "Say you want them. Say you want our children, Aegon."

He chokes on his sobs, his voice broken, barely audible. "I.. I want them..."

You smile, a sick, twisted grin, as you press your forehead against his, your breath hot against his skin. "Good boy" you whisper. "We'll have them. And they will stay alive this time."

He cries beneath you, his body shaking with every sob, but you don't stop. You ride him harder, your hands gripping his shoulders as you force him to give in completely, to surrender to the darkness that's consumed you both.

In that moment, nothing else matters. Not the throne, not the past, not the lives you've taken or the ones you've lost. All that matters is this一the two of you, broken and mad, clinging to each other in the twisted wreckage of your lives.

And when it's ove, when his body finally stills beneath yours, you press a soft kiss to his forehead, your voice sweet and soothing as you coo at him like a mother to her child.

"'Shh... it's okay, Aegon. We'll have our family back. We'll make them again. And this time, they'll be perfect."

He doesn't respond, his body limp, his mind shattered. But you don't care. You've won. You've taken everything from him, and now he's yours. Completely. And he will give you what you want.

They'll be perfect. Perfect little replicas of what you've lost. And this time, nothing will take them from you.

Nothing.

Part 2

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.