#applying patterns to new rolls

[rafecameronssl4t]

for rafe x thornton!reader: boat day with topper and sarah 😋

Boat day || Rafe Cameron x Thorton!reader

MASTERLIST (rafe x thornton!reader au masterlist)

You always looked forward to Sundays. The entire day spent out on either your boyfriends’ or brothers’ boat along with Sarah, drinking and eating—it honestly couldn’t get any better.

“Y/n, are you even listening?” Sarah’s light tap on your thigh broke your trance, drawing your gaze away from Rafe momentarily. “Huh?” You blinked innocently, meeting Sarah’s amused grin.

“I said it’s time to turn over,” she chuckled softly, adjusting herself on the plush day bed. “But you were too busy ogling at Rafe, simp!” Sarah teased, prompting you to playfully grab a nearby pillow and lightly swat her with it, eliciting a playful shriek from her. “Kidding! Just kidding!”

“I am not a simp, Sarah Cameron,” you retorted with a mock glare, rolling over onto your stomach. From this new angle, you could steal glances at Rafe deep in conversation with your brother. His recent buzzed haircut somehow made him even more irresistible, a fact you couldn’t help but notice.

Noticing your gaze, Rafe smirked to himself and called out to you, “You doing alright?” Your smile turned shy as you nodded, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. “Could you come put sunscreen on my back, please?” you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Rafe reached for the sunscreen bottle beside him,“Thought you already applied some?” Sarah chimed in with a knowing smile, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Can never wear too much sunscreen,” you shrugged, sharing a conspiratorial smile with her.

You closed your eyes as Rafe knelt behind you, his hands warm and firm as he began to massage sunscreen into your skin. The sensation was both soothing and intimate, his touch sending tingles of pleasure through you.

His skilled hands ventured lower, tracing delicate patterns on your back with firm yet gentle strokes. A playful giggle escaped your lips as his touch dipped teasingly under the edge of your bikini bottom, his fingertips brushing the soft skin of your ass.

“You just wanted an excuse for me to touch you, didn’t you?” Rafe’s low whisper brushed against your ear, sending delightful shivers down your spine. You giggled softly, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Maybe,” you teased back as he lightly smacks your ass.

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Bruce Wayne, mentor to many- father to none.

I want the angst of B having to come to terms that he doesn't know ANY of his kids not anymore at least and maybe never and the fact his kids are just- used to it?

Visiting Dicks apartment, he finds a picture of him smiling while surrounded by a bunch of little kids in spandax uniforms. Turns out he'd been a gymnastics instructor for about four years now and his most recent team had everyone qualify for state. (Bruce didn't even know he still practiced)

Jason stopped accepting Wednesday night patrols, but when he looked into it he found out that was the night he went to DND nights with his roommates every week. The roommates he met last semester after he decided to go to college and get an english major. (Bruce didn't even know he had applied)

Checking the library he found a small pedastal plague put up by Alfred displaying just one book. It said Cass was the author. Apparently she had gotten super into writing and published a book talking about language deprivation and lack of accomidation for deaf/hoh children born to hearing families. She had a book signing last month, Alfred had gone and grabbed this copy now on display (Bruce didn't even know she liked to write)

Tim finished a case early and let it slip he needed to sign off early to "meet up with his boyfriends" and hung up before Bruce could process. It only took a small glance at his middle child's latest social media post to see him alongside Superboy (what was his name?) and a blonde boy he didn't recognize. Both were leaned in to kiss his cheek and the caption said "Happy 3rd anniversary!!" (Bruce didn't even know he was interested in boys)

Steph's birthday came around and Bruce got her a new account and shoved a couple thousand for her to buy whatever she wanted. But he quickly noticed a pattern of everyone getting her- cat supplies? Apparently She had adopted a cat about a month ago to celebrate her new apartment, Mister Mystery was his name, and she had asked everyone for supplies instead of other gifts. (Bruce didn't even know she had moved)

He decided on some impromptu father-son bonding and tries to track down his youngest. But Damian is nowhere to be found. He gets pretty close to calling an emergency meeting but the moment he messages Oracle she reminds him Damian is in Chicago. Damian had won an art competition at school and his piece qualified for a gallery spot. The entire family had gone days ago and he was due back the next day. (Bruce didn't even know he cared about art)

Then Duke- his youngest in terms of time spent. But one he had grown fond of just as fast as the others. Especially working the day shift the time they spent was limited. Bruce got them both lunch, but it wasn't until halfway through eating that Duke had turned to him with panicked eyes and asked if the stew had shellfish. Duke had a severe allergy, thankfully Jason had been just up the street and had an epi-pen ready before they took him to Leslies. (Bruce didnt even know he had any allergies, let alone one so severe)

The worst part? There was no blow up. His kids didn't take his idiocracy as a personal insult or even raise a fight. They just rolled their eyes and moved on. As everyone crowded in the room, surrounding Dukes bedside he could hear Barbras voice. "Its not your fault, Batman may be omnipotent, but Bruce doesn't know anything really"

He wasnt meant to overhear or maybe he was, Oracle had always been petty But he couldn't refute it.

"But you have us"

Well- thats just it wasnt it? Even when Bruce was absent- his kids had each other. But was that ever meant to be enough?

[temiizpalace]

☆┆TEND TO MY WOUNDS !

SUMMARY: red alert! he’s injured! it’s alright, for the prefect of ramshackle is here to save the day.

CHARACTERS: leona, jade, jamil, rook, idia

(i spun a wheel to try and write other characters.. jamil and leona just love me teehee)

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: the boys get injured, but nothing is life threatening. — cursing — MENTIONS OF BLEEDING (not fatal)

ROMANTIC, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

🦁┆LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

“shit! ow—“

leona groans, feeling the stinging pain of alcohol rubbed onto his forehead. spelldrive didn’t go as it usually did.

everything was normal. practice was going well, and everybody was doing the proper training regiments. it was all fun watching leona and everybody practice by a nearby tree. except leona wasn’t practicing this afternoon.

today, he felt like napping right beside you. he laid his head in your lap, sound asleep. this all goes south when some freshmen decide to mess around, sending the disc flying in your direction.

typically leona would’ve been able to divert it with magic, but feeling a little hazy from barely awakening, it hit him straight on the forehead.

now here you both are, present in the infirmary, leona sitting on the cot, and you being his own personal doctor. “i can’t believe the great leona kingscholar got hit by a spelldrive disc. it is truly an honor to witness it first hand.” you joke, causing him to roll his eyes.

“tch.. whatever— FUCK.” it’s funny to see leona in such a state. one where his tough guy act isn’t all the way up. you thought he’d brush off the pain like a man, but surprise! we learn something new everyday.

“haha.. wait here. i need to find bandages.” you walk over to the cabinet, only to find all the boxes of bandages empty. except for one. a bandaid box. you snicker at the sight of them and take a couple out of the box. leona raises a brow as he heard your giggling in the back til you made your way back towards him.

you stood in front of him and placed the bandaids on his forehead. he liked the close proximity. he likes being by your side. you caring for him like this is actually one of his deepest desires. he won’t ever say it aloud of course, but he hopes you take the hints.

“you are now officially cured.” you grin, finally applying the last bandaid. he stood up, looking you in the eyes. he wanted to thank you. wanted to thank you for helping him. wanted to thank you for caring enough about him to do this. to help him.

but leona being leona cannot say thank you. “..I don’t wanna owe you any favors so,” he pulls out his wallet from his pocket and throws it to you. you catch it, nearly dropping all the thaumarks inside on the floor. “go buy somethin’ while you’re at it.”

he ruffles your hair, walking out of the infirmary. you flip through the wallet, it barely closing due to the amount of cards and thaumarks inside. rich boy privileges go crazy. ruggie wasn’t kidding when he said leona was stinkin rich. all you could do was stand there, shocked.

leona walks back out to the field, hearing the team laugh as he approaches. he looks at them with a puzzled look, the laughing becoming unbearable. “oi, what’s so funny? mind tellin’?”

“cute bandaids ya got there, boss. shishishishi..” ruggie chuckles, looking at leona’s super cute and silly unicorn bandaids on his forehead. at first, he’s confused. then he rips a bandaid off and looks at the patterns.

start running <3

🐬┆JADE LEECH

“jade, stop moving!”

you sigh, trying to place a bandaid on jade’s cut. you wanted to help him cook today since mostro lounge has been extremely busy lately. azul had been working him to the bone, so he used his time off as a way to spend time with you.

only to end up back in the kitchen, but whatever. since you’re there, it’s all good. while chopping a mysterious vegetable, (it’s a mushroom..) he accidentally cut his finger. he wasn’t paying attention to where he was cutting. cause he was looking at you.

normally somebody would wince in pain, but jade is jade. so. “oh my, this is unexpected.” he says, as his blood gets on his gloves and contaminates the mushrooms. “oh my what— OH MY GOSH, JADE.” you yell, as he’s abnormally calm about the fact blood was all over the mushrooms.

so now he’s sitting at one of the barstools in mostro lounge as you try to patch up his finger. anytime the bandaid gets remotely close to the cut, he squirms and jerks his hand away. you can’t tell if he’s messing with you or if he’s just sensitive to touch because he still has his dumb polite smile.

“jade. stop. moving.” you grunt, trying to grab his wrist to hold his hand still. “fufu..” his stupid chuckle is usually very nice but it’s just growing irritating.

for some reason he still has the impulse to tease you. even when injured. all you want to do is care for him, so why is he making this so difficult?! is he waiting for something?

oh. that’s an idea.

“jade, may i see your hand?” you ask, putting the bandaid on the counter. he raises a brow, but complies nonetheless. “of course. do be gentle though, im wounded.” well no shit.

you held his hand gently, raising a finger up to your lips. you place a gentle kiss on his finger. not on the wound exactly, but near it. his eyes slightly widened and his cheeks tinted slightly red. he loses his composure for just a moment, giving you time to apply the bandaid onto his cut.

you smile in victory, standing up from your seat. “there, all better!” you winked at him before making your way back to the kitchen. he sat there, dumbfounded. how curious.. if that’s a way to get free kisses..

“oh dear, it appears i had just cut my lower lip. what a shame. it appears i am in need of some assistance.” this wasn’t even five minutes later.

🐍┆JAMIL VIPER

“you scream like a girl.”

you laugh as jamil looks away from you. he couldn’t bear to look you in the eyes. a little earlier, the both of you were sitting in the lounge of ramshackle as comfortable silence filled the air.

he was flipping through pages of a book while you leaned onto his shoulder, playing a game of some sort on your phone.

“..AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

that silence was interrupted as you heard a high pitched scream next to you, turning your head to see jamil absolutely mortified and panicked.

“JAMIL?! WHAT IS—“ then you spotted it. the wretched cockroach crawling on the table. he shut his book and threw it at the table, missing. now he’s grabbing all nearby objects to kill the insect.

“JAMIL PLEASE CALM DOWN, PLEASE! FUCK, JAMIL—” he ended up using his magic, but used a lil too much. as you held him back, his leg bumped against the table, causing him to scurry back to the couch.

confirming that the roach had cleared the premises, you sat next to him and checked the bump on his leg. his breaths were heavy and a sweat was across his brow. you would’ve thought he looked insanely attractive if it weren’t for the incident just before.

now he’s embarrassed, his hood is pulled over, and he’s pouting as he looks away from you. “i think you got a small cut, but it should be fine. i’ll go get some bandaids!” you hum, getting up from the cushions to find the box of bandages.

he completely humiliated himself in front of you. he was weak in front of you. and he hates that. “im back and here to repair your boo-boo.” you came back with the box, sitting back down and opening it. you remove a bandaid and slowly apply it til you hear him mutter something.

“sorry.”

“hm? sorry, couldn’t hear ya. mind speaking up for me?” you heard him perfectly fine. he irks before speaking up, his tone hinted with annoyance. “sorry.”

“all is forgiven, my love.” you smile, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a hug. he sighs, reciprocating the hug and leaning onto you. “please forget you saw that..” he mumbles, his face practically burning.

you chuckle, playing with loose strands of his hair as the both of you now lied on the couch. “no promises..” he clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, but placed a quick kiss on your cheek. he shuts his eyes, needing to recharge.

“mhm. love you too, jamil.” you whisper, allowing him to rest on your chest. he fell asleep in no time flat. let him rest. or even better yet, join him!

🏹┆ROOK HUNT

“how’d you fall?”

you ask, seeing as rook lied on the ground. i don’t know how to explain his pose, he’s just a theatre kid.

“never mind the details, ma chère. all that matters is that you had rushed to my rescue!” he smiles as you stood there. the most deadpan expression on your face. “i’ll just go get you bandages and not question it.” “merci!”

you rush to the infirmary, grabbing the bandages and rushing out. if nobody knew better, they’d all have assumed that rook was dead. he hasn’t moved an inch.

“where’d you injure yourself?” you ask, crouching down and inspecting his arms. “non, non. you must guess!” he laughs, sitting up right away. you groan as he initiated such an idea. “rook. im not going to guess—“

“if that is the case, ill be stuck in everlasting pain! it’d be unbearable.” he sighs dramatically, causing you to furrow your brow. “fine. did you injure your leg?” you grumble, checking each limb.

he shook his head, smiling like an absolute idiot. “here, allow me to give you a hint.” he grabs your hand guiding it to the place of the wound. of course he can’t do it without teasing you a little.

he places your hand on his shoulder, his hand, his neck, til eventually he stopped on his cheek. “my injury can be found around here.”

you look at his cheek, but there is no cut, scratch, or bruise to be seen. you raise a brow at him, but he has no shift in reaction. “rook, are you lying to me?” rook shook his head, looking you in the eyes. “I wouldn’t lie to you, mon amour. perhaps you need a closer look.”

before he could even explain what that meant, he pulled you towards him. causing you to fall onto him. “can you see it now?” he asks, staring at you lovingly.

you sigh, pulling a bandage out and placing it onto his lips. his eyes widened, but he wasn’t mad. not in the slightest! he wrapped his arms around you. taking this opportunity for a cuddle session.

despite your “annoyance,” you smiled and laughed slightly. “you’re impossible, rook.”

he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, humming happily as you spoke. his fingers intertwined with yours as the sun hit both of your figures. creating a scene resembling one of a fairytale.

💀┆IDIA SHROUD

“you can’t lock yourself into your room because of this.”

you slightly chuckle as you patch up idia’s knee. moments before, his PE class had to do the sprints. looks like he went to class on the wrong day.

while he was running, he tripped on a conveniently placed rock and fell on his knee. ortho quickly went to find you and bring you to idia so that you can comfort him.

he had tears coming from his eyes, which caused ortho to panic. you both carried him to the infirmary since he had an inability to walk. you situated him onto the cot and grabbed some bandages from the cabinets. “don’t worry niisan! the prefect will take good care of you!”

ortho chimed, trying his best to comfort his brother. idia felt his stress lessen, but that doesn’t change the immense pain he was in. “thank you, ortho. but i don’t im ever gonna to go outside again.”

he mumbles, causing ortho to pout. you come back with the bandages, smiling as you sat to the side of the cot. “im gonna have to go explain to coach vargas why you’re not here! hang tight, niisan!”

you waved to ortho, leaving just you and idia in the infirmary. “idia, you’re not going to die because of this.” you smile, placing the bandage onto his knee. idia groans, picking at his fingers. “i looked so cringe just now. definitely not my moment.”

“you didn’t look cringe, idia. you got hurt.” you grabbed his hand and held it in yours. he smiles slightly as you tried to reassure him. it was endearing to him. “thanks.. but i want to lock myself in my room for like ever after this..” he quickly mutters, hoping you wouldn’t hear that. surprise! you heard him.

“no idia, you can’t lock yourself in your room forever after this.” you sigh, realizing this was the man you fell in love with. “what? you can come too. you’d be free from all the normies surrounding you.” he stated bluntly.

“..no.” you hesitantly said, squeezing his hand slightly. you both sat in the infirmary for a few more moments before you sat up and let go of his hand. “can you stand?”

“no.” he quickly replies, not even bothering to try. you stare at him before exhaling deeply. “i’ll bring your switch then. wait here.” he smiled as he watched you exit the room. he appreciated how understanding you were. how you knew what he wanted before he even had to ask. ..well, most of the time anyway.

when you came back, you sat next to him on the cot. you both played smash bros together, playing until the console runs out of batteries. lucky for him, his console lasts for almost an entire week before it runs out of power.

let me just say, he beat your ass in smash bros.

A/N: this sat in my drafts for a very long time. i had to brainstorm A LOT to see how idia could get injured.

date published: 1/27/24

© temiizpalce — don’t steal or copy my work!

[alistorz]

FRAGMENT OF US

(Aespa x Male Reader Fanfiction)

Chapter 2 - Hope, Not Lies

11821 words

~ “It’s strange how quiet the world feels when you’re waiting for something to change.” ~

A.N - First of all, huge sorry. Its been like more then a month. And this chapter, is a kind of a mess since it was rush. More notes at the end. Thank you.

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

They say time heals everything. 

But what if time only makes things worse? 

What if, the longer it stretches, the deeper the wounds become?

.

.

.

There’s no alarm sound. Nothing but silence.

Soft raindrops tapped against the window, their rhythmic patterning the only sound in the silent dorm room. Gray light seeped through the half-open blinds, casting a dull, lifeless glow over the space. The air was cold, damp, carrying the scent of rain-soaked concrete from outside.

Y/N lay on his thin mattress, staring at the ceiling, unmoving. His body felt heavy, his limbs sinking into the stiff fabric of his sheets. His mind was awake, yet he lacked the will to move. He didn't know how long he'd been like this—minutes, maybe hours. Not that it mattered.

He wasn't avoiding sleep. Sleep had long abandoned him. His eyes burned from exhaustion, but every time he closed them, he heard it again.

"It’s getting worse… Surgery is the only option now."

His mother’s voice, strained yet trying to remain composed, echoed in his skull.

"It’s expensive, sweetheart… We don’t know what to do."

Neither did he.

He clenched his jaw, pressing his forearm over his eyes as if to block out the memories. But they remained. "I’ll figure it out." It had been a promise, spoken without thought. A desperate attempt to assure her—to assure himself—that he would find a way. That he wouldn’t just sit here, useless, while his father’s life depended on money they didn’t have.

But what if that was all he was? Useless?

The rain outside grew heavier, drumming against the window. A distant rumble of thunder rolled through the sky. His cracked phone lay beside him, the dull screen reflecting his worn-out expression. He picked it up, swiping down to refresh his inbox.

No new emails. No job offers. No responses. Just silence.

Y/N exhaled sharply, sitting up. His body ached in protest, his muscles stiff from nights of tossing and turning. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, fingers briefly stopping at his temple, where a dull headache pulsed. He needed to move. To do something. Because if he sat here any longer, he might drown in his own thoughts.

—-

At first, he had been hopeful. The moment he ended that call with his mother, he hadn’t wasted a second. He had jumped onto every job website he could find, filling out applications until his fingers ached from typing. Cafés, convenience stores, delivery services, tutoring gigs—if the job existed, he applied. It didn’t matter if he was qualified or not. He just needed something.

But reality was cruel.

Some places responded, only to reject him outright. Others simply ignored his applications, leaving them to rot in the void of job portals.

A week into his search, Y/N started looking physically—walking into stores, asking managers face-to-face if they needed help.

The first café he entered had been promising. The place was small, cozy, and not too busy. Maybe, just maybe, they needed an extra hand.

"Excuse me," he had asked, forcing a polite smile at the barista behind the counter. "Are you hiring by any chance?"

The worker barely glanced at him before calling out, "Boss?" A man in his late 30s appeared from the back, his expression tired before Y/N even said a word.

"I was wondering if you had any job openings," Y/N explained quickly. "I can work part-time, full-time—whatever you need. I learn fast, I won’t cause trouble—"

"Not hiring," the boss cut in, voice flat, uninterested. "Try somewhere else."

Y/N hesitated. "Are you sure? I can work any—"

"Listen, kid." The man sighed. "I already have too many employees. Adding another one? That’s just extra baggage."

Y/N swallowed the lump in his throat. "I… I understand. Thank you for your time."

He walked out feeling the sting of rejection, but he convinced himself it was just one failed attempt. But then came the second. And the third. And the tenth.

At a convenience store, the manager barely let him finish speaking before shaking his head. "We’re fully staffed. We don’t need another worker slowing us down."

At a delivery company, the receptionist didn’t even look up from her computer. "No foreigners, sorry."

A tutoring job at a local cram school? "We require a college degree."

He even tried a small diner run by an elderly couple. The old woman had been kind, but when he asked about work, she only gave him a sympathetic smile.

"I wish I could help, son, but times are hard. We’re barely making enough as it is."

It became a cycle. Wake up. Apply. Walk around. Ask. Get rejected. Repeat. Each day, his feet ached more. His motivation thinned. His savings shrank. Hope, once so determined, now felt like a candle struggling against the wind.

.

.

Y/N sighed, shaking himself from the memory. Outside, the rain still fell. The cold air seeped into the room, making his already drained body feel even heavier. His stomach grumbled in protest, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since last night. He ignored it.

He grabbed his phone and refreshed his inbox one more time.

Nothing.

How much longer could he keep going? Was there even a point in trying anymore?

Y/N clenched his fists, inhaling sharply. He couldn't let himself break. Not yet.

He had to keep going.

Because the moment he stopped trying… everything would fall apart.

..

By the time Y/N returned to his dorm, he was soaked down to his skin. Again. His shoes squelched with every step down the corridor, drawing a few annoyed looks from fellow students passing by. He didn’t care. He barely even noticed.

It has become a routine now. The same damn routine.

Grey skies. Cold rain. A silent walk home with nothing but wet shoes and a heavier heart. It was like living inside a loop, a bad scene playing over and over. Each time he walked the same road, stood at the same doors, and heard the same answers.

He didn’t even flinch when the hallway light flickered above him as he stepped into the dorm. Everything was predictable now—his rejections, the silence that followed, and the familiar ache in his chest when he realized nothing had changed

The worst were the ones who didn’t even bother to respond. No emails. No callbacks. Just silence.

Y/N had scrolled through dozens of listings, applied to every job that didn’t explicitly say Korean native only, and even some that did—out of sheer desperation. He handed out resumes in person, walking for hours to save the cost of public transport. But in the end, every effort led back here: to a damp room, to soggy clothes, to silence.

As he reached for his phone to check for new replies—anything—a notification flashed across the top of the screen.

[1 New Email] – Professor Seonghyun (Academic Supervisor)

His heart skipped.

For a second, he thought maybe—just maybe—someone had referred him to a position, or maybe his professor wanted to help. He opened the email, eyes scanning fast.

But his heart quickly dropped.

—

Subject: Concern Regarding Your Recent Academic Performance

Y/N,

I hope you're well. I've noticed a decline in your performance and attendance over the past two weeks. Your recent midterm score was well below your average, and I’m concerned.

If there's something going on, please don’t hesitate to reach out. That said, improvement is crucial. Continued decline could affect your scholarship status.

Best, Prof. Seonghyun

—

He stared at the screen.

Of course. Of course that would start falling apart too.

His jaw tightened. He turned the screen off and tossed the phone onto the bed.

Was there anything in his life that wasn’t slipping away?

His grades. His home back in his country. His father’s health. His future. All crumbling, slowly and then all at once.

And now the very thing that brought him here—his scholarship—was at risk, too.

For a moment, Y/N just sat there, unmoving, letting the silence crawl into his lungs like smoke. The cheap ticking of the clock above his desk was the only sound in the room. He didn’t know how long he sat like that.

But eventually, he stood up.

Not out of motivation. Not out of hope.

Just because he couldn’t sit still anymore.

He moved toward the tiny kitchenette to make something warm—ramyeon again, the last packet. As the water boiled, he stared at the steam rising from the pot, eyes unfocused. The heat fogged his glasses slightly, but he didn’t bother wiping them.

In a few more days, he might not even be able to afford the water bill.

—---

He didn’t know how long he had been lying there, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Minutes? Hours? Time has stopped meaning anything lately. At some point, his body moved on its own. Not because he had a plan or destination in mind—he just needed to get out. He grabbed his hoodie—still damp—and stepped outside.

The rain hadn’t stopped. It never did, not these days. The skies above Seoul felt like they were syncing with his mood—gray, weeping, and indifferent.

Y/N walked. Not to submit another job application. Not to hand out resumes. Not even to check his phone. He just walked.

He passed glowing cafés filled with warmth and noise. Laughter behind glass. Friends chatting over coffee. Couples huddled close beneath umbrellas. The world was moving forward—unbothered, uninterrupted—while he felt like he was drifting through it like a ghost, unseen and unneeded.

The city around him buzzed with life, but it only made the silence inside his chest louder.

Eventually, his feet brought him to a familiar bench by a quiet bus stop. He didn’t remember choosing to go there. He just did.

Sitting down, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head heavy. His hoodie clung to him, soaked and uncomfortable, like everything else he couldn’t shake off. He wasn’t crying. Not really. But his lips parted just enough to let something slip out—barely audible under the sound of the rain.

“…What else do I even have left?”

No answer came. No one around seemed to notice or care. The sky above offered nothing but more rain. The bench gave no warmth. He sat in it for a while longer, then eventually stood up and wandered back to his dorm, not because he felt better—just because there was nowhere else to go.

Once home, he changed into dry clothes. Not out of comfort. Just… routine. Then he sat at his desk, eyes blank, laptop closed, his textbooks untouched. He couldn’t bring himself to try anymore.

That’s when his phone buzzed.

He barely noticed it at first, assuming it was another push notification or a job site reminding him of all the places that weren’t hiring him. But it didn’t stop.

He reached for it lazily, ready to silence whatever it was—but froze when he saw the screen.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER]

No name. No label. Just a number.

He stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen. He didn’t want to pick it up. He had no energy left for another disappointment. But something—small, stubborn—kept him from letting it go.

The call was seconds from ending when he finally tapped the green button and raised the phone to his ear.

“…Hello?”

.

.

—----------------------------------------------------

The lights were blinding, the mics were off, and the final round of smiles had just been flashed to the cameras.

“Thank you for joining us, Aespa!” the host said brightly, their voice still riding the wave of on-air enthusiasm.

The girls waved back in unison — four polished smiles, picture-perfect.

Karina’s elegance led the curve of the moment, Winter’s quiet warmth followed behind it, Giselle’s smirk added the spark, and Ningning’s playful beam sealed the frame with energy.

The cameras cut. They bowed. And once they stepped away from the lights, out of frame and off the stage, the glow dulled.

.

.

Backstage was colder — both literally and metaphorically.

They entered the green room without a word, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. Staff still moved around them in a rush — producers, stylists, camera operators — voices echoing off the walls with directions and calls for final wrap-ups. But Aespa themselves were still.

A small junior group passed by just as the girls entered. Fresh faces, wide eyes, that stage-sweat glow of adrenaline still on them. One of them bowed quickly and stammered, “You were amazing, sunbaenim!”

“Thank you,” Ningning replied with a kind smile, her voice airy but distant.

Another junior glanced toward Karina and said something about having grown up watching their performances. Karina smiled, nodded, and offered a soft “That’s sweet of you.”

Winter gave a quiet quip — something teasing about how they’re not that old yet — and the rookies laughed awkwardly before continuing down the hall.

Once the green room door closed, the masks slid off effortlessly.

Karina lowered herself onto the couch, smoothing out her outfit as she sat. Across from her, Winter tilted her head back and closed her eyes, saying nothing. Giselle sank into the corner of the L-shaped couch, scrolling through her phone with slow, distracted swipes. Ningning leaned against the wall and stared at her own screen, her thumb idle against it.

On the table in front of them, a tray of food and drinks had been left by one of the staff — neatly prepared, clearly with care. Fruit cups, boxed meals, vitamin drinks, and iced teas. Not one of the girls touched it.

The room was neither loud nor quiet — just... muted. Like a TV with the volume turned too low.

Karina watched them from her seat. Her members. Her sisters.

Giselle, who once couldn’t go five minutes without bantering with her, hadn’t said more than three words since the stage.

Ningning, who used to share memes during their breaks and lean into her shoulder like a younger sibling craving warmth, had barely glanced up from her screen. There was no teasing, no playful jabs, no sparkle.

And Winter — the one she shared the closest bond with, the one she once exchanged ridiculous jokes and tongue-tied inside gags with — now sat in complete silence, lost in her own space.

Karina's gaze softened. When did we stop filling the room with noise?

Giselle’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, exhaled quietly, and locked the screen again.

“That guy again?” Karina asked gently, breaking the stillness.

Giselle shrugged, eyes fixed forward. “It’s nothing.”

Karina didn’t press. But she could tell it wasn’t nothing.

Ningning spoke up, almost to herself, “My mom called earlier. I didn’t answer.”

Karina turned slightly toward her. “Why not?”

“I couldn’t fake a smile today,” she said simply, eyes still on her screen.

No one responded. Not because they didn’t care, but because they understood.

The sound of the door clicking open didn’t stir much of a reaction.

Harin stepped in with a tablet clutched to her chest, her eyes briefly scanning the quiet room. The girls were scattered — Ningning sitting on the makeup chair scrolling her phone, Winter curled up on one end of the couch with her arms folded, Giselle with her legs pulled up, head resting back, eyes half-lidded. Karina sat near the corner, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, quiet and still.

“Hey,” Harin greeted softly, mindful of her tone. “You all did great out there. Seriously.”

Ningning gave a small smile without looking up. Giselle lifted a hand in a half-wave. Winter nodded, almost imperceptibly. Karina met her eyes for a brief second and offered a tired but polite nod.

There was something in the air that Harin recognized immediately — a weight she’d seen too often lately.

She looked around at the scene — quiet, drained, heavy. She didn’t say it out loud, but her eyes lingered for a moment too long. She noticed the untouched water bottles, the barely eaten snack trays, and the silence that had settled like dust on everything.

She exhaled, then walked over a few steps and lowered her voice. “I came to tell you something — a bit of a heads-up.”

She hesitated before continuing. “So, uh… I wanted to let you know that the company’s HR team is in the middle of recruiting again. They’re searching for a new probationary manager.”

Giselle’s thumb paused mid-scroll.

Winter slowly blinked but said nothing.

Ningning turned slightly from the mirror, brows lifting. “Another one?”

Karina’s gaze sharpened. “What happened to the last one?”

Harin’s lips pressed together for a second before giving the answer. “He accepted an offer from HYBE. Better pay. Less chaos.”

Giselle scoffed under her breath and muttered something in English too quiet to catch.

“Wasn’t he only around for… two months?” Karina asked, straightening up.

“Forty-seven days,” Harin replied dryly. “Not even enough time to memorize your coffee orders.”

“So, what’s this one like?” Winter asked. Her voice was quiet, tinged with her usual dry sarcasm, but her eyes remained fixed on the wall.

“Unknown,” Harin admitted, rolling her tablet gently against her fingertips. “We haven’t hired anyone yet. The process just started. Could be male, female — idol-savvy or completely green. I just thought it was better you heard it from me before someone randomly shows up mid-schedule like a surprise group assignment.”

Ningning let out a long breath, leaning back in her chair with a tired tilt of her head. “And we’re the test subjects again…”

Karina leaned back, expression unreadable. “Do we even have time to train someone?”

“Not really,” Harin admitted, with a hollow chuckle. “But if we don’t… you’ll keep getting shuffled between twenty different assistants who don’t know the difference between a live mic and a prop.”

That earned a faint snort from Winter. Giselle shook her head slowly, lips twitching without humor.

“No one’s asking you to love them,” Harin added, her voice softening now, carrying a thread of sincerity. “Just… give them a chance. Even if they’re clueless. You never know — they might surprise you.”

Karina didn’t answer right away. Her gaze drifted over her members, then toward the untouched food on the table, the damp tissues scattered near the makeup kits, the space around them that felt full and empty at once.

That’s what they said about the last five.

And still, none of them stayed. None of them saw them. Not really.

I hoped for honey once, she thought. But all I got was sugar water.

Harin looked like she wanted to say more — there was a small crease between her brows that hadn’t left since she entered — but her tablet buzzed with a new alert, flashing urgent.

“I’ll keep you updated,” she said, glancing at the door. “And if something feels off, don’t hesitate to tell me. I’ll do my best to make this one work.”

With a quiet wave, she stepped out of the room and disappeared into the hallway bustle.

The silence returned like a curtain falling. No one spoke for a while.

Winter leaned forward to grab her water bottle and unscrewed the cap slowly. “Forty-seven days,” she mumbled.

Giselle pulled her hoodie over her head. “That’s a record.”

Karina didn’t laugh. But a thought flickered through her mind — faint, fleeting.

What if this one’s different?

She didn’t say it aloud. She wouldn’t. Hope was dangerous like that.

But still… maybe this time, the sugar might not be so plain.

.

.

The dorm was silent when Jimin slipped out.

She left a quiet message in the group chat — just in case the others woke up and wondered. “Going for some air. Don’t wait up.”

No security. No staff. No assistant shadowing her every step.

Just her hoodie pulled low, her mask snug, and the weight of the day hanging off her shoulders like a wet coat she couldn’t shake.

The air outside wasn’t fresh. Seoul at midnight was thick with neon buzz and exhaust. But to her, it was still a relief — not the recycled chill of makeup rooms or the conditioned quiet of luxury vans. This was air that didn’t carry the scent of hairspray and pressure.

She walked aimlessly, letting her feet decide the direction. The city moved around her like a dream she wasn’t part of — couples sharing headphones, students lugging backpacks too big for their bodies, a man arguing softly on the phone, delivery scooters buzzing like flies. Life, raw and unfiltered, pulsed around her.

She paused near a small street stall — its striped tarp flapping in the breeze, steam curling from its tiny griddle. Karina’s steps slowed. The smell of tteokbokki — sweet and spicy — curled into her lungs. Her stomach gave the tiniest lurch.

A grandmother, no younger than her late 50s, waved at her like she’d been expecting her all night.

“Good evening, dear,” the woman said, her voice kind and familiar.

Jimin bowed slightly, her voice muffled through her mask. “A serving of tteokbokki, please.”

As the woman worked, the smell of gochujang sauce warmed the air around her. A few meters away, four students sat on plastic stools, laughing through mouthfuls of rice cakes, their chatter louder than the street noise. They looked barely twenty — probably still in high school. Carefree, still soft around the edges, not yet trimmed down by life. One of the girls spoke animatedly, arms flailing mid-story.

“I still think I’ll get into architecture,” one of them said.

“No way. You get stressed building IKEA shelves,” another teased.

“I’m serious! It’s either that or game design. I just want to make cool things.”

“I just want to live in a villa and wake up at noon.”

Karina’s lips tugged upward beneath her mask.

It reminded her — almost too much — of something she'd buried beneath all the comebacks and encores. Of her and Winter sneaking out late during trainee days. Pocket money in hand. Sitting just like that. Eating tteokbokki on a curb. Talking about dreams that still had blurry edges.

“Miss?”

She blinked, realizing the ajumma had called her more than once. She bowed quickly. “Ah, I’m sorry. Thank you.” She handed over the bills and accepted the warm tray in both hands.

Then, without thinking too hard about it, she stepped toward the group of students. They looked up, confused by her approach.

The four froze mid-bite, their expressions flickering with surprise. One girl blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

They hesitated — naturally. One of them even looked around as if checking for a hidden camera. 

Then, with a breath of courage, she lowered her mask just enough for them to see. 

“Mind if I join you for a minute?” Karina asked, amused by their confusion.

And four jaws hit the floor.

One gasped. “Oh my god.”

“No freaking way—”

“You’re—You’re Karina.”

“Are we being pranked right now?”

Karina laughed softly and waved a hand. “No prank. Just… saw you all talking, and it reminded me of someone I used to be. That’s all.”

Still dazed, they shuffled to make room on the curb. Karina sat, folding her legs beneath her.

One by one, they shared their dreams again — a teacher, a designer, a streamer, a nurse. Each story, sincere and raw and wrapped in the kind of hope Jimin hadn't heard in too long.

She sat with them for a few minutes longer, just listening. Laughing with them. Letting herself forget the things waiting for her back home.

When they asked for a photo, she didn’t hesitate. She took the pictures, signed their trays with a pen the vendor lent her, and waved them off as they bowed over and over in thanks.

Karina resumed her walk, biting into the soft, spicy rice cakes as she went. She passed an ad board flashing their comeback visuals — her own face blown up ten feet tall, polished and perfect. She didn’t look at it long. She turned her gaze away before it reminded her too much of the version of herself the world expected to see.

Further down, she spotted the flickering lights of a claw machine arcade.

She stepped inside.

The soft hum of whirring motors and cheap pop songs filled the space. Rows of claw machines gleamed under cool fluorescent lights, filled with pastel plushies, K-pop merch, and candy sets.

Karina lit up for the first time in hours.

She exchanged bills for coins and got to work — eyes narrowing with each grab attempt, mouth twitching when the claw slipped just a little too early. She cursed under her breath. Then laughed. Then tried again.

No cameras. No weight of expectations. Just her, a metal claw, and a helpless plush keychain caught in the middle.

It wasn’t much.

But it was hers.

Fourth try — success. The claw trembled, but it held.

She laughed softly as the plushie dropped into the chute — a round, squishy peach-colored bear with little angel wings. She picked it up, holding it close for a moment.

Then, without meaning to, she whispered, “The girls would love this.”

She imagined Yizhuo hugging it to sleep. Minjeong makes a dumb pun about its wings. Aeri trying to steal it with that smug little smirk. Ning pretended it was hers all along.

Even out here, even alone, they never left her heart.

For a few fleeting minutes, she felt real again.

Time passed — she didn’t know how much. When her last coin clinked inside the machine, she finally sighed, smiling as she pocketed her prize — a small bunny plush.

Sighing, she packed up the two plushies in a paper bag from the front desk and stepped back into the cool air.

On her way home, she passed a PC bang. Just as she neared it, the door slammed open without warning. She startled, jerking back a few steps.

A guy her age, maybe a little younger, rushed out. His hood was up, eyes tired, clearly in a rush — but he stopped the moment he noticed her.

“Oh— I’m so sorry, I didn’t see— are you okay?”

Jimin nodded quickly, waving both hands to reassure him. “It’s okay, I should’ve watched where I was walking.”

He waves a short, awkward bow before hurrying down the sidewalk.

She watched him go for a second. There was something about his rushed, slightly panicked energy that felt familiar.

But she didn’t dwell on it.

She kept walking.

As she approached the dorm entrance, the warmth from the plushie in her bag faded into the chill of the night. She thought about what Harin had said earlier — the new manager recruitment, the possibility of someone new popping up again.

She didn’t let herself get too curious. Didn’t wonder too hard.

After all, how different could one more new face be?

She stepped inside.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

The soles of his socks had memorized every inch of the floor.

Back and forth.

Corner to desk. Desk to window. Window to bed. Then all over again.

Y/N’s steps were restless, each turn sharper than the last, like the air in his room was thinning and the only way to breathe was to keep moving. His fingers raked through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time that day, muttering words to himself that only made sense inside his own head.

“Strong multitasking ability… fast learner… dependable, even under pressure… favorite food? Kimchi stew—no, that’s too random. Or is that good? Shows personality?”

He stopped pacing and groaned, pressing both palms to his face as he flopped onto the edge of his bed. The cracked ceiling above stared back, unsympathetic.

This was the tenth time today. Or maybe the twelfth. He’d lost count somewhere between “Tell us about yourself” and “Why do you want this job?”

"Hello, my name is Y/N. I'm currently a university student majoring in…" He cut himself off halfway, voice trailing into nothing. "No, no, no. That sounds like I’m reading off a script."

He stood again. Rolled his shoulders. Forced himself to look at the window across the room — not for the view, but for the faint reflection of himself in the dark glass. A silhouette barely held together. Still, he gave it his best attempt.

Confident tone. Open expression. Words that didn’t sound like desperation leaking through a paper-thin smile.

The truth was, he didn’t have time to fall apart.

Not now.

Not after the call that changed everything. That one call that gave him hope and new light.

This was the first real shot he’d had in months — the first reply that hadn’t ghosted him or slapped a “not qualified” label before even hearing him out.

The first real interview since everything began. The first opening that didn’t come with a “sorry, but…” attached to it. A chance, however small, to climb out of the hole he’d been sinking into for months.

It was probably a small matter to others.

But to him, it was everything.

Y/N sat back down, picking up the small stack of crumpled papers scattered on his desk — notes he’d scribbled in every spare moment since the call. Practice answers. Traits he thought sounded impressive. A few jokes that maybe, if the interviewer had a sense of humor, could land just right.

His hand shook slightly as he gripped the edge of the desk.

It wasn’t a job offer. It wasn’t even a second-round confirmation.

But it was hope.

And when hope’s all you’ve got left, even the smallest thread can feel like a lifeline.

He stared at the notes, then at the small clock in the corner of his desk. Almost midnight. He hadn’t eaten dinner, hadn’t showered, hadn’t done anything except rehearse the same lines on loop like a man stuck in a maze with only one possible way out.

He swallowed.

It had to go well. For him. For his father. For everything that was slipping further out of reach.

“Okay,” he whispered, sitting a little straighter. “One more round.”

And then he started again.

.

.

It all started with that one call.

Just one.

It was late, well past the time he usually silenced his phone and forced himself to sleep—or at least pretend to. The cracked screen of his ancient phone lit up the darkness of his room with a soft, ghostly glow. A number he didn’t recognize. He stared at it. No movement. No answer. Not at first.

He didn’t have the strength for this. Not tonight.

His thumb hovered over the reject button. But something—a feeling, a breath, a whisper only he could hear—told him to wait. To listen. A pull. Soft and strange, like the universe gently nudging him forward.

So he answered.

“Yeoboseyo?” a woman’s voice said on the other end, fluent and professional.

Y/N blinked, taken off guard by the Korean greeting. For a second, he didn’t know what to say. But his response came automatically, rusty but polite. “Annyeonghaseyo”

“Is this Mr. Y/N?” she asked, still in Korean.

His brow furrowed slightly. The uncertainty was already crawling up his spine, coiling in his chest. “…Yes,” he answered, keeping his tone simple, cautious.

“Thank you for confirming,” she said. “I’m calling from the HR department of SM Entertainment. We received a job application under your name recently, and I’d like to confirm—did you apply for a position with us?” She continued smoothly, asking whether he had submitted an application recently.

Silence.

Not on her end — she had just dropped the kind of news that usually makes people scream or gasp or break into a thousand thank-you’s. But Y/N was too stunned to respond. His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. It was like the words had been robbed from him, stolen by disbelief.

An interview? With an actual company? Not a scam email. Not a rejection notice. Not a robotic message thanking him for his interest followed by a cold “we regret to inform you…”

His mind didn’t know what to do with this information. After all the rejections he had received — after being turned down over and over again in recent weeks — he had built up a quiet wall inside himself, a defense mechanism that told him not to hope anymore. Hope hurt too much. Hope could turn into something cruel when it shattered.

So he said nothing.

The woman must’ve sensed his hesitation because she kept going with a kind, steady tone. “If you're still interested, I can send you the interview details by email shortly after this call. It will be a group interview session — we’ll be seeing multiple applicants that day.”

Y/N stayed quiet for a second longer. His heart wanted to leap. His body was already halfway out the door. But his mind clung to caution like a lifeline.

What if it was fake? A prank? Some kind of phishing scam? Technology was terrifyingly advanced these days — you could find someone’s email and name with minimal digging.

But then she said his name again. Gently. Pulling him out of the spiral.

And finally, Y/N gave a small nod, as if she could see it through the phone. “Yes… I’d like to attend.”

“Wonderful. May I confirm your email address?”

He confirmed it, repeating the awkwardly long handle he’d created years ago. The woman read it back to him with no hint of judgment.

“Do you have any questions?” she asked.

He wanted to ask a hundred things. A thousand. But everything in his chest tangled up on the way to his mouth. “No… I don’t think so.”

There was a beat.

Then, just as she began to thank him again, he spoke up. “Wait — sorry. One question.”

“Of course,” she said patiently.

“What… exactly is this job about?”

There was a brief pause, then a smile in her voice. “Ah, I thought you already knew. It’s a managerial position for one of our idol groups. You’ll receive more details at the interview.”

His lips parted again, but no new question came. That was enough.

“No more questions,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

The woman thanked him again, wished him luck, and the line went dead.

Silence filled the room once more.

Y/N lowered the phone slowly and just stared at it, at the cracks in the glass, at the faint reflection of himself on the screen. What had just happened? Was it real?

He stayed frozen like that for almost a minute.

Then, ping.

An email.

His heart skipped a beat.

His fingers trembled as he unlocked the screen, opened the mail app, and tapped on the new message.

His eyes scanned it quickly.

The logo. The address. The wording. Everything looked real. No broken grammar. No red flags. Just… legitimate instructions. A schedule. A dress code. A list of required documents.

The subject line read: Interview Invitation – Managerial Candidate

His vision blurred a little.

He couldn’t help it. A breathless, trembling smile broke across his face, spreading from ear to ear.

This was real.

This was really happening.

He was still cautious. Still not fully letting himself feel the relief. But some part of him—some deeper part—started to glow.

He stood up suddenly, his movements erratic, adrenaline flooding his system. Moments later he was suddenly at the dorm building. It almost seems like he is teleporting. 

He practically flew down the hall, ignoring the judgmental stares of others in the dorm building as he sprinted up the stairs and threw open his door like a man possessed.

He dropped to his knees in front of the old laptop he’d borrowed from a classmate. He was supposed to return it by morning, but that could wait.

Fingers flew across the keys.

The company name.

Search.

Articles. Photos. Achievements. History. A global presence.

Y/N sat back in awe. Was this really the kind of company that had called him?

He smiled again, softer this time. There was something warm rising in his chest. Something he hadn’t felt in a long while.

And then his smile faltered slightly.

“Managerial job…” he whispered. “Why would they pick me for that?”

He had no celebrity experience. He wasn’t majoring in entertainment or business. Sure, he’d had some project work related to logistics and people management, but… that was it.

Still.

He looked down at the photo frame next to his bed. A slightly faded picture of him, his mom, and his dad, taken during better days. He picked it up gently, holding it like a precious gem.

“I got it, Mom. Dad…” he said, his voice barely above a breath. “I think this is it. I think this is the chance.”

He smiled again, this time through a slight sheen of tears.

“I just need you both to believe in me—from wherever you are.”

And the room, once filled with silence and darkness, now felt different. Warmer. Brighter.

Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t walking in the dark anymore.

..

It was strange.

Y/N had always thought that receiving an interview offer from SM Entertainment—one of the most prestigious companies in the country—would bring relief. Joy, even. But all it did was make his stomach twist and his chest tighten.

He wasn’t ready. Not for this. Not for a job he knew almost nothing about, surrounded by people who were born and bred in this world. Managers, trainees, idols. All of them moving at a pace he barely understood, let alone could keep up with.

He read the email at least a dozen times, not out of excitement, but panic.

The words didn’t change.

We are pleased to invite you to the first-round interview...

Pleased? He wasn’t even sure if he had enough clothes to look “interview appropriate.” Was there a dress code? Would they ask him about K-pop? Artist schedules? The only thing he knew how to manage was stress—and barely that.

For the first time since arriving in Korea, he started to feel the weight of everything. Not just the job. Not just the expectations. But the gnawing sense that he was way out of his depth.

He stayed up that night staring at his cracked ceiling, repeating the same thought over and over again:

How am I supposed to do this?

He didn’t sleep much after that. For the next few days, his mind was split between anxiety and frantic attempts to prepare—except he barely knew where to start. Most online guides for manager jobs were vague at best or aimed at entertainment veterans. And asking someone? Not an option.

His only comfort in the mess of his thoughts was the small, worn-out smartphone resting by his side.

It was old—ancient, really—but it had history. A couple of scratches on the corner. A battery that barely lasted half a day. A hairline crack across the screen from when he dropped it during his move to Korea.

And yet he still kept it polished like it was something sacred. Because it was.

His father had bought it for him years ago—not from a store, but from a scrapyard seller who was about to toss it with the rest of the junk. Y/N could still remember the way his father had handed it to him, all smiles and proud eyes.

“It’s not much... but it works. I figured it might help you stay in touch while you’re far away.” He hadn’t even asked for a phone. But his father knew. Knew he’d feel alone. Knew he’d need a lifeline.

Y/N ran his fingers across the cracked screen that night, guilt and longing rising in equal measure.

Appa... if you saw me now, would you still be proud?

It had been raining on and off for the past two days. The sky remained a permanent shade of grey, casting a dull, heavy silence over the city. Everything felt slower—slower buses, slower people, slower thoughts. It was like the world was moving through water. And Y/N was drowning in it.

He had only one thing on his mind that afternoon: borrow a laptop.

The interview was getting closer, and he had nothing. No solid background in artist management, no professional guidance, and no reliable way to prepare. The borrowed laptop he’d been using had already been returned yesterday—because students were only allowed to borrow once a week. He knew the rules, but still, he had to try again. Maybe someone at the desk would understand. Maybe they'd bend the rules.

So he went. Even in the rain.

His umbrella was missing—probably left in a lecture hall two days ago—so he tugged his hoodie tighter around his head and jogged across the wet pavement toward the campus library.

Water clung to his jeans. His socks were already soaked through.

By the time he reached the library front desk, he looked more like someone who’d crawled out of a drain than a student preparing for a future. The student worker behind the counter barely spared him a glance before delivering the blow:

“Sorry, you’ve already borrowed this week. We can’t give out another one.”

“But I—I returned it yesterday. I just need a few more hours. Just today.”

“I’m sorry,” the worker repeated, tapping something on the screen. “The system won’t let us.”

Just like that, the conversation was over.

Y/N stood there for a moment, dripping quietly onto the carpet. He gave a tight nod, whispered thanks, and turned back toward the doors.

The rain was heavier now. He stepped outside and winced as the cold hit his skin again.

Defeated, he pulled his phone from his coat pocket to check the time and look up the nearest PC bang.

And then, just like that— it slipped.

Maybe his fingers were too numb. Maybe his sleeve snagged the edge. Maybe the universe just hated him today.

But the phone tumbled from his hand, hit the edge of the steps, and skittered across the concrete— before landing face-down in a wide, murky puddle at the edge of the walkway.

Splash.

Y/N’s heart dropped with it.

“No—no, no—”

He crouched instantly, fingers scraping through cold water and wet leaves as he fished the phone out of the puddle.

He wiped the screen with shaking hands, pressed the power button.

A dim flicker. Then nothing.

He pressed again. And again. Harder this time.

“Come on,” he whispered, chest tightening. “Please, not now…”

He pulled off his hoodie and used the driest part of the sleeve to wipe it again. Still nothing. The water had gotten in—deep.

He sank onto the wet steps, phone in both hands, staring at it like he could will it back to life.

It wasn’t just a phone.

It was the only way the company could contact him. It was the only thing connecting him to a world he was trying so hard to be part of. And more than that—

It was a gift from his father. The last one, given just before Y/N left for Korea.

This phone had traveled continents with him. It held every message, every call, every blurry photo and saved voicemail from home. It had survived his first semester, homesickness, cultural shocks, and lonely nights.

And now it was dead. Just like that.

He sat there in the rain, hood forgotten, head bowed. His legs ached. His hands were freezing. And his heart— his heart felt like it had cracked open quietly, the way glass does when pressure builds too slowly to notice.

This wasn’t just a bad day. This was the kind of day that made everything feel impossible.

He stared at the lifeless screen, chest still heaving with short, shallow breaths. Rain dripped from his eyelashes, his soaked hoodie clinging tightly to his arms. But the cold wasn’t what hurt the most.

His fingers traced the cracked edge of the phone, already chilled and starting to stiffen. A quiet ache spread through his chest—not just from the day’s misfortune, but from what the phone had meant to him.

His mind drifted, uninvited, to a night not too long ago. Back home. 2 days just before he left.

He was sitting on the edge of his old bed, luggage half-zipped beside him. The room was dim, only lit by the yellow glow of the hallway light seeping through the cracked door.

His father stepped in, hesitating for a second like he always did when emotions were involved. Then, wordlessly, he walked over and sat beside Y/N. For a long while, neither of them said anything.

Then his dad pulled something from his coat pocket and placed it in Y/N’s palm.

An old smartphone. The back was scratched, the screen slightly chipped in one corner.

“It’s a little beat up,” his dad said, voice gruff. “Bought it secondhand from a guy at the scrapyard.”

Y/N blinked, confused. “You don’t even use a smartphone.”

“I don’t,” his dad replied. “But you’ll need one. To call. To find your way around. To talk to us.”

He paused, then added more softly, “Just... don’t forget to call sometimes.”

Y/N had smiled and promised he would. He hadn’t realized it then, but that moment was his father’s version of saying I love you.

Now, sitting alone on a concrete step halfway across the world, Y/N felt like that promise had cracked with the phone screen.

He swallowed hard, wiping a hand across his face to brush off the water—or the tears. He couldn’t tell which anymore.

"I'm sorry, Dad..." he whispered.

He clutched the broken phone tightly in his palm, pressing it to his chest for a moment—like holding it close could bring something back.

Then he stood up, slowly, shakily, and looked out at the grey horizon.

He didn’t know how he'd get through the rest of the week without it. But he had no other choice.

Not anymore.

.

The PC bang wasn’t far, just tucked off a side street past a convenience store with flickering lights. When he pushed the door open, the blast of warm air, LED lights, and rapid keyboard clicking almost made him turn around. It was loud. Claustrophobic. Every seat was filled with people shouting into headsets, hunched over glossy screens with glowing energy drinks beside them.

Y/N hesitated at the counter, glancing up at the price list. He could barely afford two visits between now and the interview. He’d have to make them count.

After paying for a few hours, he quietly took a seat in the far back corner. He pulled out a worn notebook and the stub of a pencil, then logged in.

The screen lit up, and so did his brain.

He started researching everything—idol schedules, manager expectations, how SM Entertainment structured their artist support. He jotted down terms he didn’t understand to study later. His fingers trembled from exhaustion and cold, but he kept typing.

Around him, people shouted, laughed, and played. But he stayed quiet, steady, focused. He didn’t have a choice.

Time melted away.

Eventually, the screen blurred in his eyes. His shoulders ached from hunching over, and the notes in his notebook had become messier with each line. He rubbed his temple, finally admitting to himself that he was too tired to keep going.

He saved his work on a cloud platform, logged out, and packed his things in silence. As he approached the glass door near the exit, the night outside looked darker than before—colder, lonelier. He took a breath, gripped the door handle, and stepped forward.

But he pushed too fast.

The door swung open with a sharp motion—and nearly struck someone walking right past.

“Oh—!” Y/N froze mid-step, jolting back. “Sorry! I didn’t see you—!”

The girl in front of him had instinctively raised her arm to block the door. Her hoodie was pulled up beneath a black coat, casting her features in shadow, but her eyes were sharp and startled, lips parted in surprise.

“No, no—it’s fine,” she said, quickly regaining her balance. “I should’ve been looking ahead.”

Their eyes met—briefly. Just a second. But it was long enough to register the exhaustion on both ends.

Y/N bowed slightly again out of habit. “Still… sorry.”

The girl gave a small, polite nod in return. “It’s alright. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

And just like that, they passed each other.

He walked home in silence, eyes on the ground.

Tomorrow, he'll come back. He only had one more shot at this. One more night to prepare. And no matter how tired he was—no matter how small he felt—he would take it.

The alarm clock buzzed with a shrill, robotic ring, echoing through the dorm room like a countdown. Y/N’s eyes blinked open instantly, his body jolting upright before his mind could catch up. He stared at the dim ceiling for a second, heart pounding.

Today.

It took him a few seconds to remember why his stomach felt like a knot had been tied in it overnight. The interview. The only one he managed to land despite weeks of searching, the one shot that could change everything—and he was going to try to make it work after two full classes, with no phone, no safety net, no idea if he’d even make it on time.

He rubbed his face, let out a breath, and climbed out of bed.

The first class wasn’t difficult to sit through. The professor lectured with his usual slow, melodic tone, and Y/N managed to nod along and take some notes, even if his handwriting wobbled a little more than usual. Still, the class was bearable, the minutes ticking by at a steady pace.

But it was hard to focus.

Every time he glanced at the clock on the wall, he felt a rising pressure behind his ribcage. He double-checked his schedule, the company’s address, the bus routes—all from memory. He had nothing written down, nowhere to double-check except his mind.

And if his memory failed, that was it.

He left the class quickly once it ended, nearly bolting from his seat, muttering apologies when he bumped shoulders with someone on the way out. There wasn’t time to waste.

Then came the second class—and everything began to spiral.

It was a required seminar. He had no choice but to attend, or risk penalties. Worse, the professor was notoriously unpredictable, always veering off-syllabus, sometimes talking for twenty minutes longer than scheduled just to hammer home a single theory.

Y/N sat near the back, hoping the class would pass quickly.

But halfway through, the professor paused mid-lecture and frowned at the class. “Before we wrap today, let’s take a moment to reflect. I’d like each of you to write a short paragraph on today’s discussion and submit it before you leave.”

There was a collective groan.

Y/N’s throat tightened.

He scribbled something down, mind racing. It wasn’t good. It barely even made sense. But he handed it in and slipped out the door the moment the professor waved dismissal.

He checked the time on his watch.

He was already behind schedule.

The sky was overcast when he stepped outside, the cold air biting at his face. He jogged down the sidewalk, cursing under his breath, eyes darting toward the nearest bus stop. He had planned everything down to the minute: which bus to take, how long the transfer would take, the buffer he left in case of traffic.

But the moment he reached the stop, his heart sank.

The next bus wasn’t coming for another fifteen minutes.

He turned around, looking wildly for alternatives. There was no money for a taxi. Walking would take too long. And if he missed the interview completely—

No. He didn’t even want to imagine it.

The bus eventually arrived, and he got on with shaking hands, clutching the pole as if it were the only thing holding him together. Traffic crawled. He tried to stay calm. He tried to breathe. But every red light felt like a curse from the universe itself, every delay a cruel joke.

By the time the bus rolled into the nearest stop near SM Entertainment, the sun was already starting to dip low on the horizon.

He jumped off, heart hammering, and sprinted toward the company building.

Now standing in front of the towering glass structure, Y/N realized with sudden horror—

He didn’t know where to go next.

There was no front desk visible from outside. No clear signage. Just a few people loitering near the entrance, all of them looking too busy or too important to approach. His eyes darted from person to person until they landed on a trio of women near the glass doors. Two were chatting quietly while the third stood slightly off to the side, checking something on her phone.

Summoning the last of his courage, Y/N hurried over.

“E-Excuse me,” he said, voice slightly winded as he bowed. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but—” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket, the one where he had printed out the interview email in case he couldn’t access it digitally. “I have an interview today, but I… I got lost. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.”

The woman—tall, sharply dressed, her lanyard catching the light—took the paper from him with a curious look.

Her eyes scanned the print. Her expression changed for the briefest moment—an almost imperceptible flicker of surprise—but she quickly masked it and glanced down at her watch.

“You’re running a bit late,” she said, voice calm. “But you might still make it. Come with me.”

Turning to the other two beside her, she gestured. “You two go ahead without me. I’ll catch up later.”

They nodded without question, continuing through the doors as she turned back to Y/N and motioned for him to follow.

They walked through the lobby in silence, her heels clicking lightly on the polished floor.

While they waited at the elevator, Y/N bowed again, this time more deeply. “Thank you so much. Seriously. I—I don’t even know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t run into you.”

His words came out quickly, almost stumbling over themselves, a little too earnest—but he didn’t care.

The woman gave him a brief sideways glance but offered a small smile. “It’s fine. Really. Not a big deal.”

“It is to me,” he murmured, almost to himself.

She looked ahead again, then extended a hand. “I’m Harin, by the way. One of the managers here.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh—! I’m Y/N. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“You too. You’ll do fine,” she said, just as the elevator chimed with a soft ding.

He wanted to ask more—something about the interview format, what they might ask, how many people were in the room—but the doors opened before he could speak, and Harin stepped in without pause.

They rode up in silence.

When the elevator opened again, she stepped out, turned to the left, and pointed down the hallway.

“That’s your floor. Take the first left and head all the way down. The interview room should still be open if you’re quick.”

He nodded rapidly, already half-walking backwards. “Thank you again. Really. I’ll do my best.”

Harin offered one last small smile. “Good luck.”

And with that, Y/N turned and ran.

At the end of the hallway, double doors stood wide open. The space inside looked like some kind of multipurpose conference room. But instead of a bustling group of candidates, he saw rows of chairs already pushed back into stacks, and a pair of staff members—janitors, maybe—were rolling up a carpet runner near the podium.

Too late.

His stomach dropped.

He stepped inside slowly, eyes sweeping across the half-lit room, heart pounding in his ears.

No reception table. No waiting candidates. Not even a visible sign with the SM Entertainment logo. Just leftovers. Like the party ended before he was even invited.

No… no, no. Please.

Before he could spiral, the door on the far side opened, and three people stepped out. Two men in suits, one woman in business-casual, still holding a clipboard.

Y/N’s legs moved before his brain could catch up.

“Excuse me!” he called out, voice cracking. “Excuse me—sorry, I… I know I’m late.”

They all turned to look at him.

He bowed deeply, nearly a full 90 degrees. “Please, just give me a minute—I’m here for the interview. I had class, the traffic, I got lost—” His words were a blur, his voice trembling. “I printed the email—I showed someone downstairs—I swear I tried everything to get here on time—”

One of the men looked at his watch with a tired sigh. The other glanced toward the cleaning staff, then exchanged a look with the woman. She didn’t look annoyed—more like wary. Cautious.

“I’m really sorry,” she said. “But we’ve already finished for the day.”

Y/N’s chest caved in.

No. He couldn’t let it end like this.

“Please,” he said again, stepping forward. “Just a chance. Five minutes. I… I know I don’t have experience like the others, but I prepared. I studied. I worked hard for this. Just one chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

They hesitated.

He could feel it—that thin line between rejection and possibility.

The woman tilted her head slightly, studying him. Her expression softened.

…

“Five minutes,” she finally said.

Y/N blinked.

“Just five,” she repeated. “We’re already over time.”

He nodded rapidly, bowing again with a flurry of thank-yous tumbling from his mouth.

They exchanged a few quiet murmurs among themselves, then the woman motioned for him to follow them back into the room.

The chairs were gone. The lights dimmed slightly. Just a long rectangular table at the front, with their papers still spread across it.

Y/N stood before them.

His palms were sweating. His shirt stuck to his back. He couldn’t tell if it was nerves or the sprint from the lobby—but either way, it was time.

The door closed behind him.

The interview had begun.

The room was still.

Three interviewers sat in a clean, intimidating semi-circle across from him. Not a single one looked particularly pleased to be there.

Their suits were sharp, their expressions sharper.

Y/N sat upright in his chair, trying to steady his breath. His hands—tucked into his lap—were slightly damp with sweat. But his posture didn’t waver.

The woman in the center, name tag reading Jinhee – HR, glanced up from his resume, her tone void of warmth.

“Why were you late?”

No greeting. No smile. Just that.

Y/N bowed from where he sat, low and respectfully.

“I’m very sorry,” he said. “There were... a few things that went wrong today. But none of them should be used as an excuse. I take full responsibility.”

A quiet scoff came from his right.

The man beside Jinhee—Mr. Nam, according to the nameplate—leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed.

“So, your first impression is this: irresponsible, late, and unprepared.” He stared at Y/N, deadpan. “Why are you even here?”

The words landed like a punch, but Y/N didn’t flinch. He paused, swallowing hard, then looked up and answered evenly.

“Because I believe I can contribute something of value here.”

Nam clicked his tongue. “You have no background in management. No experience. And you’re a student. What makes you think you’re better than the other twenty applicants we saw today?”

Y/N glanced down at his hands—open, trembling faintly—then back at the panel. His voice was low, but steady.

“I don’t think I’m better,” he said. “I think I’m different.”

That got their attention.

Jinhee blinked. Nam raised a brow, skeptical. The third interviewer—a younger man with soft features, Manager Seo—tilted his head slightly, more curious than annoyed.

“Different how?” he asked.

Y/N let a few seconds pass. He wasn’t here to bluff or sell a perfect image. So he didn’t.

“Most applicants probably came in with all the right skills, degrees, and training. I don’t have that.” 

He met their eyes, each one of them in turn. “What I have is pressure. And a reason to keep going when things fall apart.”

Jinhee narrowed her eyes. “What exactly does that mean?”

Y/N hesitated, just a moment—then answered honestly.

“It means I’ve had to keep moving while everything in my life was falling apart. I’ve spent the last few months balancing school, part-time jobs, helping with family matters back home... all while living alone in a foreign country, with no safety net.”

He took a slow breath.

“I don’t have the ideal resume. But I know how to endure. I know how to take care of things under pressure. I’m used to being tired, behind, and afraid—and still pushing forward anyway.”

This time, the silence that followed wasn’t judgmental. It was thoughtful.

Y/N leaned forward—not desperate, but grounded in his truth.

“What I lack in credentials, I’ll work twice as hard to earn. What I don’t know, I’ll learn. But if what you need is someone who can stay grounded when things get chaotic, who won’t walk away when it gets hard… that’s me. Because I’m already living it.”

Nobody spoke for a moment.

And then the just moment moved on.

The woman on the left — the sharpest one so far — leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing.

"Let’s say you get the job," she began, her voice cool. "It’s been a rough week. The group’s schedule has been a mess, one of the members is having a breakdown backstage, and you're the only manager nearby. Fans are screaming outside, the stylists are late, and your head manager is unreachable. What do you do?"

Y/N blinked.

He didn’t respond right away. Not because he didn’t have something to say, but because he understood what this was. This wasn’t just a situational question — it was a trap. A test of composure. They were seeing if he would flinch.

He sat a little straighter, folding his hands on his lap.

“I think…” he began slowly, carefully, “…that the most important thing in a situation like that isn’t to fix everything all at once. It’s to decide who needs you most in that exact moment.”

There was a pause. The man on the right tapped a pen against his notepad, eyes not leaving Y/N’s face.

“You’d leave the rest of the problems alone?” the woman asked, skeptical.

“No,” Y/N said quickly, but still calm. “I’d prioritize. If a member’s having a breakdown, that’s a mental health crisis. That has to come first, no matter what. I’d get her somewhere quiet, stay close but not push. Just be a person in the room who isn’t panicking.”

“And what about the others?” the man pressed.

“I’d call backup while handling her. Or text whoever I could from the staff. After that, I’d start checking off whatever I can do. Stylists are late? I’d ask if we can prep the basics ourselves. Fans outside? I’d contact security or venue staff for help. But the key is not to freeze. Just… move. One step at a time. Let the member feel safe, and don’t let the rest fall apart while you’re at it.”

Another pause. It wasn’t heavy — it was quiet in a different way now. Even the pen stopped tapping.

The woman leaned back slowly. “You’ve never managed anyone before, right?”

Y/N nodded. “No, ma’am.”

“You speak like you have.”

“I just…” Y/N gave a small shrug. “People are people. You don’t need a title to treat someone like a human.”

One of the interviewers, the man who had been mostly quiet until now, finally looked up from his notes. He had a faint furrow in his brow as he leaned forward slightly.

"You speak well," he said, voice calm but edged. "And you clearly know how to navigate people. But…" He tapped his pen lightly on the table. “Don’t get your hopes up too high just because you can read people or say the right things under pressure.”

Y/N’s expression stiffened.

“This job isn’t built on kindness and instincts alone,” the man continued. “It’s logistics. Planning. Coordination. You’re expected to juggle scheduling conflicts, location changes, live broadcast windows, visa renewals, budget reports, vehicle routes, staff rosters, costume management, health reports, backup plans, emergency plans—sometimes all in the same hour. It’s high-speed, no-hand holding, no safety net.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “I understand. I know I don’t have all of that knowledge yet, but I’m willing to—”

“Yes, I know you’re willing to learn,” the man cut in, his voice even but firm. “But this isn’t a school.”

He leaned forward slightly, the table between them feeling thinner now.

“This isn’t a university class where someone teaches you from A to Z. We don’t have the time, or the luxury. It’s just work. Fast, chaotic, unforgiving work. You either pick it up as you go or you get left behind. And if you mess up…” He paused for a moment. “It’s not just your problem. It becomes the artists’ problem.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than anything so far.

Y/N didn’t have anything to say this time. He just bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the weight of the warning, letting it settle into his bones.

There was no silence this time — just a small, mutual stillness. One of the women let out a quiet exhale, almost like she’d been holding it in. The man nodded once, his gaze steady.

“Alright,” he said. “That’s all from us.”

Y/N stood quickly and bowed, deeper than necessary. “Thank you for your time. Thank you for letting me speak even when I was—”

“Go,” the woman on the left cut in, but not unkindly. “Before we all change our minds.”

He blinked. Then let out a quiet, shaky breath. “Yes, ma’am.”

Just as he turned to leave, Y/N paused and looked back at them.

“Ah—sorry, just one thing. My phone isn’t working right now, so… if there’s any update, could you please contact me through the email I applied with? I don’t have a backup at the moment.”

There was a beat of silence. The middle-aged man gave a small nod. “Noted.”

That was it. No smile, no comment—just a quiet acknowledgment.

Y/N gave a final bow again. “Thank you for your time.”

As he stepped out of the room, the hallway lights felt too bright, too white. He didn’t know what to make of what just happened. Didn’t know if he did well, or if he’d just embarrassed himself trying.

But he hadn’t backed down. He’d stayed honest. Said what he believed.

And as he walked away, unsure of what came next… that was the only thing he could hold on to.

As Y/N stepped out of the elevator and into the spacious lobby, his steps gradually slowed. The weight of the long day had started to settle into his shoulders, but something else tugged at his thoughts—something small, but persistent.

He hadn’t properly thanked her.

Turning around briefly, he glanced toward the hallway he came from, half-considering trying to find her again. But the place was a maze, and he didn’t even know where she had gone. With a quiet sigh, he made his way toward the front counter near the building’s entrance.

A woman sat behind the desk, typing something into her computer. She looked up as he approached.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Uh… yeah, sorry.” He offered her a polite nod, adjusting his posture. “I know this might sound a bit odd, but… is there a staff member here named Harin?”

Her expression shifted into something between curiosity and caution. “And who are you?”

“My name’s Y/N. I had an interview just now, and… she helped me find the way. I was kind of a mess when I got here. I didn’t get the chance to thank her properly.”

The woman studied him for a moment, clearly debating whether this was some strange excuse or something sincere. After a beat, her expression eased.

“I think I remember. You two rushed through the lobby earlier, right?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. That was us.”

“What did you want exactly?”

“Nothing much, honestly,” he said. “I just… wanted to ask if you could pass along a message. Just to say thank you. For helping me, even when she didn’t have to.”

There was a moment of pause before she gave a small shrug. “Alright. I’ll let her know.”

Y/N let out a soft breath and bowed slightly. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

With that, he stepped back and headed toward the glass doors. The sky had dimmed outside, casting the street in early evening tones. And though the outcome of the day was still uncertain, there was a quiet sense of relief in knowing he had at least done this one thing right.

The moment Y/N stepped outside the building, it felt like the world finally gave him permission to breathe.

He tilted his head back slightly, took in a deep inhale, and let it out slow. The city was still buzzing around him—cars rolling past, conversations drifting in waves, horns and footsteps and life all moving on as if nothing in the world had changed. But something had shifted inside him.

That was when it hit him.

The exhaustion.

It came crashing down like a slow, heavy wave—no warning, no chance to brace for it. His legs felt heavier than they had a moment ago, his arms loose at his sides, and his mind buzzing with the dull hum of everything that had just happened. The sleepless nights, the rush to make it here, the stress, the ache in his feet from walking too far in shoes too thin—all of it had stacked up quietly behind his determination.

Now that he had nothing left to chase, the weight caught up to him.

He stood still for a long second, blinking at the sky. The clouds had deepened into a soft charcoal gray, swallowing what little daylight remained. People still hurried past him, brushing by with backpacks, coffee cups, business calls echoing from phone screens. But he felt… still. Like he didn’t quite belong in the motion anymore.

What now?

He didn’t know. He really didn’t. There was no sense of victory. No relief. But no defeat either. Just this strange, quiet blankness—the kind that came after giving everything you had and still not knowing whether it would be enough.

His fingers twitched slightly as he curled them into his palms. He looked one more time at the building behind him, then turned away.

He started walking—slowly, this time—blending back into the city’s rhythm, heading toward his dorm.

—-

By the time Harin reached the practice room, the sounds of idle conversation and warm-up stretches greeted her. The four members of Aespa were already inside, scattered around the room in their usual rhythm—Karina doing slow stretches by the mirror, Giselle sitting cross-legged and scrolling through her phone, Ningning humming as she adjusted her in-ears, and Winter, quietly tying her shoes by the wall.

Giselle looked up first when Harin entered. “Unnie, who was that guy you were with earlier?”

Ningning perked up at the mention, spinning around with interest. “Yeah, we saw you walking in with someone. Looked kinda rushed.”

Harin blinked, not surprised they caught it. “Oh, that? Just someone who asked for help. He was late for a manager interview.”

“For real?” Ningning tilted her head. “Was he Korean?”

“Not sure,” Harin replied as she stepped further into the room. “His Korean was decent, but his accent definitely sounded foreign.”

Karina, stretching her arms out, glanced over. “Was it for that opening you told us about? The one possibly for our team?”

“If I remember the paper he showed me right… yeah, I think so.”

Karina raised an eyebrow. “Can foreigners even join the management team?”

Harin shrugged as she opened her tablet. “It’s possible. Not common, but not impossible. That’s more HR’s call than mine.”

Giselle leaned forward slightly. “So the interview’s over?”

“Yeah,” Harin nodded. “All the candidates went in already. The team will evaluate everyone today or tomorrow.”

No one said anything after that. The room returned to its earlier calm as they each sank into their own space again. The quiet was filled only with the subtle scuff of sneakers on polished wood and the low hum of the speaker system booting up.

Harin settled into her usual spot near the wall, tapping through the schedule on her tablet.

Before she could focus, though, her eyes flicked to Winter.

The girl hadn’t said a word through the entire conversation. She wasn’t looking at anyone, wasn’t frowning or smiling—just calmly lacing up her shoes, almost detached. But Harin noticed. She always noticed.

She knew the reason why…. but chose not to hold onto it for long.

—-

A few days passed.

With each silent hour, the hope inside Y/N began to fade a little more. There had been no call, no email—nothing. And without a working phone, there wasn’t much else he could do but wait and wonder. Had they forgotten him? Or worse, had they already made their choice?

He told himself not to think about it. He had other things to focus on—classes, assignments, surviving day by day. So when the university’s computer lab finally reopened after maintenance, he slipped in quietly, found an empty seat, and logged in. The screen glowed to life.

First thing he did was check his email. Just another day, just another assignment waiting for him.

But then— His breath caught.

His eyes stuck on the screen.

An email. From SM Entertainment.

He froze. For a second, he just stared at it, heart pounding in his chest. A dozen thoughts rushed through his mind, each louder than the last. Then, with trembling fingers, he clicked it open.

.

.

Congratulations. After careful evaluation, we are pleased to inform you…

And there it was.

Words he had to reread. Once. Twice. Three times. Until they finally sank in.

He got it.

He got the job.

His chest caved in with a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A strangled laugh crawled out of his throat, mixed with something dangerously close to a sob. His hands flew to his face, clutching it like he could hold himself together just a second longer.

His shoulders shook. His vision blurred.

He wanted to scream. To cry. To collapse.

To run outside and yell it to the sky— That something finally went right.

After everything. After the sleepless nights, the empty stomachs, the quiet breakdowns, the way the world seemed like it was closing in on him—

He made it.

It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a maybe. It was real.

He whispered it to himself, over and over again, just to believe it.

“I got it… I really got it…”

For the first time in a long, long time— Hope didn’t feel like a lie.

…

To be continued... --

Notes,

Thank you once again for taking your time reading this story.

I just wanted to take a moment to sincerely apologize for how long it took to finally release this chapter. I know the wait has been long, and truthfully, this chapter didn’t turn out the way I hoped. It feels messy, a bit rushed, and far from my best work.

I’m also sorry for stepping away from this story for so long without any updates. Coming back after that break with a chapter that feels less than average is something I feel bad about—but I still wanted to share it, even if it’s imperfect.

Thank you so much for your patience, for reading, and for sticking with this story. I hope, despite everything, you still found something to enjoy in it.

More to come soon—hopefully better.

[sinstear]

ㅤ ㅤ❝ 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 ❞ 

there were so many things abby loved. loved the way you silently sat at your dresser, applying your skincare early in the mornings, when no one else was awake, birds quietly humming and singing a tune you’ve both probably heard so many times that you could sing it in your sleep, and grumbling each time you messed up. she loved, adored, watching you walk in and out the closet, new pieces of clothing in your hands each time, asking her what she thought about every individual piece, and if she loved a shirt more than a pair of jeans, you would simply roll your eyes playfully and threw them at her before once again making your way back into the closet, huffing each time she would laugh at your indecisiveness. abby even loves it when you’re dressed in something a little warmer for the cold weather after spending several minutes looking at each outfit, that you slump yourself beside her on the bed, when she’s still not even up yet, and curl up into her side, threading your fingers through her hair, tucking strands behind her ear that have escaped the small elastic keeping it together, or at least trying to keep it together.

whispering soft i love you’s against her cheek when she tried to bury her face in the crook of your neck constantly, running your fingers up and down her back, drawing random patterns in your wake. waking up, getting ready, and picking an outfit was your normal routine, but instantly lying beside abby the second you were done, waiting for her to wake up, playing with her hair, and kissing her face, was something you always did. it was something you both did together. no matter the mood or time. but abbys all-time favorite thing you do? something that melts her heart into a puddle, even if she’s just woken up? it will always be the way your fingers graze her jaw, brushing your knuckles over her cheek, kissing the apple of her cheeks and gently lifting her face, cupping it carefully between your hands, like precious cargo and littering a kiss on every inch of her skin. giggling against her forehead when she lets out a disgruntled whine when she picks up on you missing her mouth completely and not giving in to her that quickly. “you’re so cute,” you grinned, pulling away from her forehead, copying her pout and roll your eyes playfully. “you’re so needy in the mornings, what do you want?” 

“a kiss. my kiss” abby grumbled, making no effort to pull her face away.

“you forgot some words in there” you trailed off, kissing the tip of her nose.

“give me my kiss now?” blue eyes quick to meet yours the second the question left her mouth. “please?” she added seconds later when seeing your scowl.

her eyes fluttered closed when you brushed your thumb across her cheek, pulled her face closer to your own, and pressed the softest kiss against her lips. a kiss that she melted more into as one of her hands found your waist, and the other found the back of your head. soft huffed breaths and hums fell from the blonde when your teeth nipped and nibbled at her bottom lip carefully. “you’re lucky i love you so much” you muttered into her lips, smiling at the action of her pushing flyaway hairs out your face. “and that you’re so adorable”

“m’not adorable” abby huffed, slumping her forehead against yours. “i love you”

“yes you are, my adorable handsome girlfriend” you nodded, planting a final kiss on her lips. one that she would have loved to continue if you didn’t slap her knee gently, pulling out her trance. “now as much as i love you, m’not waiting another 4 hours for you to get out of bed, come on, you promised me breakfast!”

“patience woman” she grumbled under her breath, pushing a pillow into your face.

“what was that?”

“i love you, love of my life!” abby yelled, already jumping off the bed and rushing off into the bathroom. 

“crazy girl” you couldn’t help but laugh. “i’ll make us something to drink before we leave!”

“m’kay, just make sure you don’t steal the chocolate! that was for our movie marathon tonight” the blonde called out behind the bathroom door. the words had you snapping your head around quickly. 

“what?!”

“do not steal it!”

“you evil woman”

“you love me”

“i really do”

[actuallybean]

Truth Hurts* | Part One

When a witch curses you to spill the truth and nothing but the truth, your biggest secret slips—you're hopelessly, shamelessly into both Winchesters. Good news? They’re just as into sharing as you are. *Contains sexual material: Minors DNI, threesome with brothers Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester Part Two Tag List: @mostlymarvelgirl Supernatural Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The motel room smelled like cheap coffee and gun oil, and the rain outside tapped against the windows like a metronome counting down the moments before everything came undone.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a local police report on your laptop. Sam paced behind you, reading aloud from the thick journal he’d been annotating since breakfast. Dean was slouched in the armchair by the window, polishing one of his pistols with casual precision—and absolutely not looking at your bare legs, even though you were sure he had at least three times already.

“Weird symbols carved into the chest,” Sam muttered, flipping a page. “Victim found in a locked room. No forced entry.”

“Witch,” you said, not looking up.

Dean smirked. “You say that like it’s your personal vendetta.”

“It is.” You looked over your shoulder at him. “You weren’t the one who spent three hours coughing up beetles the last time we dealt with one.”

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, yeah. That was gross. But I did hold your hair while you threw up, so I think I deserve partial trauma credit.”

Sam snorted. “That’s not how trauma works.”

Dean gestured vaguely with the gun oil rag. “Tell that to my dry-cleaning bill.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart warmed. This was your favorite part of the job—quiet, close, the three of you orbiting each other like gravity didn’t apply anywhere but here. You felt safe with them. Anchored. Loved, in a way that had never been spoken aloud but radiated from every shared glance, every brush of Sam’s hand when he handed you a file, every cup of coffee Dean slid silently across the table when you looked tired.

Still, the unsaid things weighed heavier than the salt rounds in your duffel.

Like how Dean’s gaze lingered a beat too long on your mouth when you smiled. Or how Sam’s fingertips would rest against your lower back for just a second more than necessary when you passed each other in tight spaces. Or how your heart ached for both of them, in different ways—but equally, deeply, stupidly.

You were too afraid to ruin it. So you didn’t say a word.

“Okay,” Sam said, snapping the journal shut. “There’s a pattern. Victims all worked at the same antique shop downtown. We go in tonight, after hours. Check for hex bags, maybe a cursed object.”

Dean cocked his gun and stood. “Cool. Witch-hunting on a Wednesday. Guess I’m skipping karaoke night.”

You laughed, stuffing silver bullets into your belt. “Since when do you sing in tune?”

Dean held a hand to his chest. “Wounded.”

Sam slung his bag over one shoulder. “Don’t worry. You can sing to the witch.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “That a kink I didn’t know about, Sammy?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

You grabbed your jacket, walking between them, hyper-aware of the heat that radiated from their bodies on either side of you. Dean opened the door and you stepped into the rain, your skin already tingling—not from the cold, but from the tension hanging thick between the three of you. Fragile. Unspoken.

Something was about to break.

And you had no idea that in less than 24 hours, you’d spill every secret you’d tried so hard to swallow—and they’d both be there to catch every single one.

✦

The antique store sat at the corner of a quiet block, shadowed by overgrown trees and cloaked in moonlight. The sign above the door was barely visible, letters faded and warped: Griffin’s Relics – Est. 1889. The air felt thick here, like something ancient was watching.

Dean jimmied the back door open with practiced ease while you and Sam kept watch, guns loaded with silver rounds just in case. The second you stepped inside, the hairs on your arms stood on end.

“This place smells like regret and lavender,” you whispered, nose wrinkling.

“Definitely witchy,” Dean muttered, flashlight cutting a path through the gloom.

Sam nodded toward the far corner. “Back there. Office space. That’s where the last victim was found.”

You moved as a unit—sweeping, scanning, breath tight. Glass cases lined the walls, filled with dusty jewelry, doll heads, rusted blades. The air hummed with residual magic, and you could feel it crawling along your skin like static.

“This place is a freakin’ cursed-object buffet,” Dean said, shining his light over an old porcelain mask. “I vote we torch it and grab burgers.”

You crouched beside a display case. “Hold on. These runes—they’re Norse. Protection and binding magic.”

Sam joined you, brow furrowed. “Definitely witch work. But why those? Protection for what?”

That’s when the trap triggered.

The second Dean stepped over the threshold into the office, the air snapped—like a rubber band pulled too tight. A sigil on the floor flared crimson, and an invisible force slammed the door shut behind him. You and Sam rushed forward, but it was too late—the room was sealed.

“Dean!” you shouted, hands on the doorknob. It was burning hot.

Dean’s voice was muffled from the other side. “I’m fine! Just pissed off—son of a bitch warded the room!”

Sam turned to the wall of shelves, searching for anything remotely magical. “There—look!”

You followed his gaze to a wooden idol—small, horned, its mouth carved open in a twisted grin. You both reached for it at once, and the moment your fingers touched it, a shockwave pulsed through the room.

Your knees hit the floor hard, vision swimming. You could hear Sam calling your name, feel Dean pounding on the door—but none of it made sense. There was a rush of heat, then cold, then—

Your chest heaved as the pressure faded, and Sam knelt beside you, wide-eyed and pale.

“You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Just… dizzy.”

Dean burst through the now-unguarded doorway, eyes wild. “What the hell was that?!”

You stood shakily. “It was cursed. Some kind of defense charm.”

Dean looked you over. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I… I think so,” you breathed, blinking. “Everything feels weird.”

Sam hovered beside Dean. “It was a curse. Some kind of magical tripwire.”

Dean’s hand slid to the back of your neck, grounding. “What kind of curse?”

You looked at them, heart pounding, and tried to say “I don’t know.” But what came out was: “I ate the last slice of pie last night and I blamed it on Sam.”

Dead silence.

Dean blinked. “…What?”

You clapped your hands over your mouth. “That’s not what I meant to say!”

Sam’s brow furrowed, curious. “Wait. Try again. Say something you know isn’t true.”

You hesitated. “I hate coffee.”

You tried, but instead what came out was: “I once stole one of Dean’s flannels and sleep in it when I miss him.”

Your eyes widened in horror. Dean made a sound that was absolutely not appropriate for the middle of a witch hunt.

“Okay,” Sam said carefully. “You’re cursed. It’s a truth-binding spell. Classic magical compulsion—you can’t lie.”

You groaned, dragging both hands down your face. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

Dean looked entirely too amused. “So, just to clarify… you did eat the last slice of my pie.”

You glared at him. “And I’d do it again.”

Sam chuckled under his breath, but you could see the tightness behind his eyes—the worry. He wasn’t laughing at you. He was already working through how to fix it.

“We need to break the curse,” he said, scanning the shelves. “There’s probably a totem somewhere. Something binding the magic. If we find it—”

Dean nudged you gently, leaning in close. “You okay handling this until then? We won’t push.”

You nodded. “As long as no one asks me anything deep, I should survive.”

Dean smirked, but didn’t press.

Sam gave your shoulder a brief squeeze before stepping toward the back room. “Let’s find the source before you start telling us how you really feel.”

You smiled tightly, following them. They didn’t know it yet—but that was exactly what scared you most.

[sanccharine]

01 | half of me

single parent au, neighbours au

pairing: single parent!san x reader   genre:  word count: 3.1k

warnings: cheating (not san !), swearing, angst

summary: 

status: ongoing  a/n: should i be starting something new when i have so much unfinished already ? no, but also who's gonna stop me HDKJFSFHDK sorry idk. anyway will fill in summary when my brain works. as always thanks @eternallyghosting for tolerating me

masterlist | chapter 2

The sigh you let out was deep. With it your whole body sagged, the ache in your lower back making its way up your spine even after you’ve twisted and turned to relieve it. There had been open seats on the train back home, but you decided to stand by the doors, leaning on the railing as you watched your city rush past you in a blur of yellow, blue, and black. You would’ve missed your stop if your body didn’t move on its own. Even though you were wearing your earphones, no music played. Instead, you wore them for appearances, so people would know to avoid you. Besides, the blooming pain growing in your temple wouldn’t allow you to enjoy music anyway. 

Today was less than ideal. Though you could argue that sentiment applied to a lot of your days in the last few months. Every single day felt like a slog, from the moment you woke up to the moment you entered back into the bed. Work was mind-numbing, and overtime was the only thing keeping you together, a routine you couldn’t shake, anything to avoid the end of the day so another wouldn’t start. 

Texting your parents every day as a full-time working adult felt like a joke, but it was worse when they called you asking to hear your voice, to know how your day was. What were you supposed to say? That you couldn’t stand it? That their love and care was a bother? Especially when every single coin they toiled away to obtain was poured into your well-being. Just like how every single drop of your blood, sweat, and tears was spilled into fulfilling every single wish they had. Student debt amounted next to nothing of the life debt you owe your parents. You could never escape them. 

There was a familiar burn in the back of your throat, the beginnings of a breakdown you couldn’t afford. With another sigh, you swiped your access key to enter your gated community. It was quite late in the evening, and people were beginning to wind down, most of the home lights were turned down or switched off. Though it was still early for your return home. 

Though it wasn’t even a home. It was only on paper. Your bed wasn’t even set up, it was merely a mattress on the floor for now. The mere idea of walking into your new house and coming home to the image of multiple unopened moving boxes made you want to turn around right now. But then, where would you go? 

Rolling your neck, your left palm came to massage your right shoulder as you waited for the elevator. The action was soothing enough that you could ignore the pain of your ring chafing into your skin through your jacket.

There was a mirror on the back of the elevator, you made sure to keep your head down. You didn’t have it in you to look at yourself right now. 

Though, your somberness was quickly thwarted. 

“Good evening!” a cheery tone said and stepped out of the elevator. 

Your head didn’t have to move much to find the owner of the voice. She was a young girl, no older than eight or nine years. Her stark black hair was in a braid that fell to the right of her face, tied with a purple scrunchie, matching the frock she wore. The young girl was holding a dinosaur-patterned purse in her left hand while the other was holding the elevator doors for you. The light in her eyes shining like stars do in the darkness, bright and unwavering. And her smile was just as radiant, it held a naive gentleness only a child could bear. It almost brought a smile to your face. Almost.

Dumbfounded by her manners, you mumbled your gratitude as you entered the elevator. 

“No problem,” she said, before bowing and turning to leave. 

You couldn’t help it. 

Slamming your left hand on the elevator doors before it could close, you asked. “Where are you headed this late?” 

“Just to the supermarket,” the girl turned around, showing the purse in her hands. 

The reason you decided to buy an apartment in this gated community was because of its security. Hence, gated. Every building all the way from the basement parking lot was accessed through keycards only available to residents. Cameras were abundant and covered every crevice of the compound while security staff roamed the compound around the clock. Besides, since the compound was so isolated, it held its own supermarket, restaurants, clinic, and support services. It was almost like a small town. 

You had no doubt this girl would be safe leaving and returning… right? She looked old enough to be responsible about this. And if her manners were any indication, she was clever enough to handle herself. 

But you couldn’t dispel your hesitancy to return home—no, to keep her safe. Tiredness from a long day seemed to vanish, almost as if you were doused with coffee. Should you accompany her to the supermarket? Or would that be weird? You were concerned for her safety, but also you were a complete stranger. In fact, if you did follow her to the store, you would look more like the danger you were trying to protect her from. 

Doubt caused you to halt, clueless about your next move. Fortunately for you, the young girl seemed to understand. 

“My father already ordered, I’m just going to pay and collect them,” she smiled, it was her attempt to assure you. But you remained frozen, hand still preventing the doors from closing, any moment now it would start beeping from being open too long. “You don’t have to worry, I’ll be quick. But you don’t have to wait for me though!” 

“Alright,” you mumbled, and her smile widened. “But be careful, okay? Look both sides before crossing the streets. And make sure all the things are there from your father’s grocery list. And make sure to get the receipt so you can check your change!” 

What the fuck are you doing?

The girl just nodded, her lips wobbling as she tried to suppress a smile. Great, this was ridiculous to the middle schooler as well and she was just indulging your pathetic antics. 

“I will, I promise! Thank you for worrying,” oh, she was so definitely trying to get rid of you. Perhaps, you should have just ignored her like you ignore most children. “Have a good night!” 

“You too, kid,” you mumbled, “get home safe.” 

The young girl skipped away after nodding, no doubt itching to flee from the weird, tired stranger who randomly stopped her from her chore and lectured her. Only after she disappeared from your sight do you let the doors close, and only after they close do you throw your head back with a groan. 

“Fuck! What is wrong with you?” you mutter to yourself, pressing the button for the eighth floor after swiping your keycard. “What is wrong with you? Why would you freak a kid out like that? What the fuck? What the fuck?”

Another groan escaped as you moved to wedge yourself into a corner, allowing the coldness of the metal sheet to soothe your burning forehead. You shut your eyes as you asked yourself the question again and again. Whoever was manning the security cameras must have one entertaining show. 

When the elevator announced your floor, you quickly straightened yourself. This complex was huge. The buildings housed almost twenty apartments per floor, and there were fifteen floors. The chance of coming across her again is quite small. You were hoping she forgets your existence altogether, but you plan on avoiding the public areas as much as possible to prevent seeing her just in case. You exited as normally as you could muster, not before chancing a glance at the security camera. 

The walk from the lift to your apartment was a small one, a turn and a few steps, and you were there. But it was enough time for your adrenaline from the interaction to settle and be replaced with exhaustion again. Every single emotion you felt in the last few minutes dissipated as quickly as sand in the wind, while a heavy weight pressed you further into the ground. Once again, your whole body sagged with a sigh, your height decreased as you held your keycard away from the door, just far enough that it didn’t scan. 

You could hear shuffling from somewhere, but the direction of the sound didn’t register. You knew the apartment opposite you was occupied—there was a black sedan in their designated parking spot—but it had been weeks since you moved, and you still hadn’t met your neighbour. Honestly, you were kind of grateful for that. 

You were in no mood to exchange niceties with some random person, at least not until an unfortunate incident forced you to meet. The neighbour seemed to share the sentiment, because if they knew you moved in, they didn’t seem to care, otherwise, you would’ve met them. You wouldn’t want to meet any of your neighbours either, in fact, you haven’t met any of them. Well, except just now with that little girl, who probably was a resident in one of the apartments in your block. 

The moment the door unlocked, your ears focused on the sound of shuffling. It was from your home. Every sense that had been switched off suddenly kickstarted again. Even when you reminded yourself again of the countless security measures in place and that there was no way someone could break in and enter this compound, you couldn’t shake the sense of danger. Your mind drifted back to the safety of the little girl, maybe you should have gone with her. 

You left the main door slightly open, a hint of light from the hallway coloured your dark apartment, showing the boxes stacked everywhere. Setting down your bag by the door, you grabbed the boxcutter on top of one of the boxes as you made it to the master bedroom at the far end of the hall. 

Then you heard his voice. 

And then, you heard someone else’s. 

A snort escaped you before your mind could even process what it was you were hearing. 

Perhaps, you would have preferred being stabbed to death by a robber instead. 

Too tired to care, you dropped the boxcutter to the floor and walked to your bedroom door to push it open. The sight should have shocked you, traumatized you, maybe, but you genuinely didn’t have it in you to be concerned. Instead, you folded your arms and cleared your throat. 

The woman underneath your fiancé was the first to shriek. 

In a panic, she shoved him right off the bed and he toppled over, a generous thud to cement his fall. You couldn’t even laugh at it since your mattress was literally on the floor because your bed frame was still in an IKEA box, sitting untouched in the corner. 

The woman was the first to cover herself up, pulling the bed sheet close to herself while your fiancé of three years—well, ex-fiancé, now—regained his bearings.  

The woman was also the first to apologise. 

“I’m so sorry—” her blubbering shocked you more than the fact that you caught the person, whom you thought would be your husband, cheating on your anniversary. When you turned to her, she opened her mouth again, trying to apologize, cover herself, and collect her clothes from the floor all at the same time. Though she never got the chance to speak.

“Babe, I can explain,” your eyes trained back on your ex, a pillow the only thing saving his modesty. “Let’s not make any hasty decisions, alright?” 

He cannot be serious. 

“Get out.” 

Silence engulfed the master bedroom. 

For an outsider, this tableau must look something like a Baroque painting. 

The stark difference in lighting, blackness only smudged by the dimmed bedroom amber, while the figures were dramatic and expressive—exaggerated to display the sheer absurdity of the scene. Mussed drapes, detailed wrinkles, dripping sweat and… unadulterated fear in widened eyes. 

Then the scene broke. 

“Let me explain,” he said, as you snorted again. “This is not what it looks like—”

“Get the fuck out. Now.” 

He opened his mouth but you shook your head, moving to the side to show him the door. 

“Out.” 

He followed the order, but much to your dislike, he was still attempting to speak. Though, his words fell on deaf ears. 

“You too. Get your clothes and leave, please,” you turned to the woman and she just nodded, rushing to get her clothes, broken out of her stupor. 

“What about my clothes? Let me just—”

Perhaps, if you gave a shit, you would have given him a verbal lashing. Maybe a smart comment asking exactly why he finally needed his clothes. But no, instead you kicked at the back of his knee and watched him stumble to the ground. 

He sent you a scathing glare as he picked himself up, still clinging onto his pillow, and made for the door. The moment he was out of the threshold, you slammed the door behind him, hard enough for the frame to rattle. He was banging on your door, asking to be heard, but you just made your way to the bedroom to see where the woman was. 

“I’m sorry!” She was tucking her dress shirt into her pencil skirt. Work. She’s from his firm. When she turned to look at you, it was surprising to find tears in her eyes. She was the last person who should be affected by the whole debacle, but she seemed to be the only one thinking normally. Or well, reacting. “I’m not—I’m not like that—wait, I mean, I wouldn’t have if he was—”

You shook your head, confused as to why she was rambling so much. She didn’t owe you anything. 

“No, no, you have to believe me, please,” she said, shoving her phone and earrings into her purse before grabbing her shoes. She continued when she passed you out of your bedroom. “I genuinely didn’t know he was married or engaged or whatever. He wasn’t wearing his ring, if I had known—” her whole body jerked as a sob escaped her. “I would never—I didn’t, I could never do that to someone. Please believe me.” 

“Hey, hey, calm down,” you said, much like how you’d coax a kitten out of its hiding spot. You walked her to the door and stopped when she did. “It doesn’t matter, okay? You don’t have to apologise for him—”

Hold on, what the fuck are you doing? She wasn’t your problem. 

“It really doesn’t matter,” you sighed, a hand on the door handle. “Please just leave.” 

She stared at you, a gulp passing down her throat. Her eyes were bloodshot and her make-up in ruins. She was taking you in as much as you were taking her in. And then she glimpsed at the ring on your left hand. 

“I’m so sorry, I really am,” you only nodded, unable to look at her as you opened the door. 

A hand gripped the door to push it open, startling both you and the woman. 

Unable to help yourself, your eyes shot to hand, and just as she said, it was bare, much like its owner. A derisive snort escaped you, before you banged the door close. Unfortunately, he reacted quickly and removed his hand. Opening the door just enough for the woman to leave, you shut it close again as soon as she left. In your hurry, you missed the feeling of someone watching you. 

After waiting for the beep to signal that the door was locked, you turned your back to it and slid to the ground. From your pocket, your phone cluttered to the floor, though you just ignored it and stretched out your legs in front of you. 

There was padding on the floor, you assumed it was the woman walking away. Your cheater of an ex was still muttering and mumbling, not that you cared for it. A few minutes passed, and then there was that padding of feet again. He left as well. Good. 

You only hoped that young girl made it home before she could see this mess of a man stumble out of the compound, completely naked.

The sigh you let out was deep. With it you let your body stretch upward until you were facing the ceiling, finding all the cricks on your neck on the way. For the first time, in a long time, your head was silent. Empty, just like your home. Here, you were on the floor, in the darkness, and surrounded by moving boxes—there should have been a strong sense of uncertainty, but you felt none of it. You didn’t know what you were feeling. 

You looked around, searching in the darkness for any answer. But there was none. No magnets on the fridge, no photos in frames, no ornaments on the table—and even if you unpacked, would there be anything? Anything at all, to make this feel like the home you actually wanted to return to. 

Today was less than ideal.

That instance had been the last nail in the coffin to really cement the thought. 

And yet, the sentiment felt different now. 

A small chuckle bubbled out of you, and then it was followed by another, and then another, and before you knew it you were laughing uncontrollably while your eyes were drier than sand. You were beginning to close in on yourself, your left hand coming up to soothe your right shoulder, to relieve you of any and all feeling when that ring pressed into your skin. Even through the clothes, it seemed to burn. 

In an instant, you were tugging the ugly ring from your finger. Stupid fucking thing wasn’t even the right size! With much effort, you were able to remove it and without another thought, you threw it into the darkness. The sound of metal hitting the ground was the only hint it landed. 

You waited for anger to spill out, instead, it was as if a huge weight was lifted from your shoulders. 

Finally, there were tears forming in your eyes. But then, your phone began vibrating. 

Light blinded your face but once it subsided, you read the caller that flashed across your phone. 

And suddenly, it was as if someone had dropped an anvil on your chest. A weight, tenfold of any negative emotion you’ve ever faced in your life, buried you whole and alive into the ground. 

How the fuck do you mention this to your parents?

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: does everyone collectively sigh when i write another fic with angst and a reader who is going through hell HFKSDJHFKDJS i'm sorry ;-;

masterlist | chapter 2

[inkmonster21]

Short n’ Sweet💋

Hugh Jackman x Fem!Sister!Reynolds!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (handcuffs, daddy kink)

Part 09

Series Masterlist

I Wanna Try Out My Fuzzy Pink Handcuffs

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

Hugh shuts off the alarm, and he gently rolls closer to you, wrapping his strong arms around your body. The morning light filters in through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. He pulls you close, the touch of his bare skin against yours sending a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t wanna go,” you speak softly. Hugh chuckles at your grumble, feeling your reluctance to leave. He tightens his hold on you, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your skin. "I know, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice gravelly with sleep. "But sadly, we've gotta get up and face the world."

As you zip your jacket you frown, “I wish I could reshoot that freezer scene. I was standing weird.” Hugh looks at you, seeing the disappointment on your face. He steps closer, his arms going around your waist. "You worry too much," he reassures you, his hands gently massaging your shoulders. "Who knows, you might get to reshoot the entire thing."

As you express your frustrations about the freezer scene, Hugh bites his tongue, holding back a secret that's been burning inside of him. He wants to tell you the recasting news so badly, but he's promised to keep it under wraps until the official announcement. He watches you, his expression a mix of excitement and restraint.

As you set foot on the set, the familiar routine ensues. The hair and makeup crew quickly pounce on you, fussing over your look and ensuring you're camera-ready. They brush your hair, apply makeup to your face, and make minor adjustments, transforming you into your on-screen persona.

As you’re pulled away, Hugh follows Ryan’s directions to the back of the set where the costume department is waiting. He’s ushered into a room, where the crew begins prepping him for his scene. They help him into his costume, make the final touches to his hair and makeup, and explain the blocking for the upcoming scene.

Ryan comes up behind you, hands on your shoulders. “Hey Kiddo. Bad news. We’ve got to reshoot the restaurant scene after the jail shoot. Okay?”

You turn around, surprised by Ryan's sudden appearance behind you. You reply, your tone slightly resigned. "That’s fine. I thought I was standing weird. So I’m up for it." Ryan nods, understanding your disappointment. "Yeah, we just need a few more shots to get the scene right," he explains, his hands still on your shoulders. "It shouldn't take too long, but we'll have to do it after the jail scene this afternoon."

You're led onto the set, where the crew has already set up the intimate restaurant scene. The lighting, camera angles, and props are all carefully arranged to create the perfect atmosphere for the scene. You’re dressed in a beautiful, seductive dress that accentuates your curves, and a pair of high heels that make you feel both elegant and a little bit vulnerable.

The fake jail set is an accurate replication of a prison cell, down to the cold, hard concrete floor and the metal bars that confine you. You sit on a bench, two other actresses taking their place on the other bench. The atmosphere is tense, the other women looking just as miserable as you. You wait for Ryan's voice to call "action" and cue the scene.

“Action!” Ryan’s voice echoes through the set, signaling the beginning of the scene. As you sit in the small cell, looking dejected and defeated, you suddenly hear a voice call out your last name. You raise your head in confusion, looking up at the guard who just spoke. “Someone bailed your ass out,” he continues. Your eyes widen with realization, a small smile forming on your lips. You stand up, the bars to the cell opening, and step out slowly. “To your right,” a guard says.

You approach a guard through a thick glass partition. The guard holds up a small bag containing your personal belongings – a pair of shades and lipstick. He glances at you through the glass, his expression indifferent as he asks, “Are these your personal belongings, miss?”

You nod with a smile.

The guard continues to speak, detailing the process of your release, but you barely pay attention. Your focus is on the bag in your hands, specifically the lipstick and shades. You flick open the compact, using the glass partition as a makeshift mirror to apply the lipstick. The guard speaks up again, irritated, “Miss, this is not a beauty salon. Please listen carefully.”

As the guard continues to explain the procedure, your focus is interrupted by the sound of heavy metal doors opening. Your eyes shift from the guard to what’s behind him, and in that moment, you see HIM. A smile spreads across your face as your heart skips a beat.

Hugh is roughly guided down the hallway by the officers, his eyes quickly finding yours as he glances in your direction. Despite the harsh treatment, he manages to keep his calm demeanor, his gaze never leaving your face. The officers shove him into a room, and the door closes behind him, concealing him from view. You watch him disappear into the room, your heart racing in your chest. You bite your lip, holding back an intense sea of emotions.

Ryan’s voice echoes through the set, signaling the end of the scene. “Cut!” The crew immediately springs into action, adjusting lights, repositioning cameras, and preparing for the next shot.

Hugh emerges from the room, a small smile forming on his lips as he walks towards you.

Your eyes widen, and a smile paints your lips.

Hugh reaches you, and you instantly cling to him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you laugh. "What in the world," you exclaim with amazement, "when did you become the lead?" Your laughter fills the air, the joy and relief evident in your voice. This moment feels like a dream come true, everything you've secretly hoped for.

Ryan approaches the two of you, a wide smile on his face. "Well, I thought, who else better than Hugh Jackman, right?" he says, his tone brimming with excitement. Hugh smirks and winks at you, enjoying the moment as you both revel in the surprise revelation.

You laugh at Ryan, a smile forming on his face, as you say, “So, you’re fine with this? With us?” Ryan lets out a small chuckle at your question, the smile on his face growing larger. “With this?” he responds, gesturing between you and Hugh. “With you two?” He nods a look of contentment in his eyes. He’s happy to see you happy. “As long as you two don’t do anything stupid.” Ryan turns to Hugh, a protective brotherly demeanor in his tone. He points a finger at him, his eyes meeting Hugh's with a hint of warning. "Like breaking her heart."

You can't help but let out a laugh at Ryan's overprotective gesture. With a playful smile, you push his hand away, your confidence in Hugh clear in your voice. "I highly doubt he'll do that," you reassure Ryan, your eyes flicking between him and Hugh lovingly.

Ryan lets out an exaggerated eye-roll at your words, pretending to be annoyed but secretly amused by your banter. "Yeah, yeah. On with the schedule," he replies, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "We don't have all day, you two. Let's get rolling."

The reshoot of the restaurant freezer fight goes smoothly, and you can't help but feel that it was meant to be for you and Hugh to film this together. The chemistry between you is undeniable, and as you go through the fight sequence, it’s clear that the camera loves you both.

After the intense fight sequence, you find yourself tenderly cradling Hugh's head in your chest. His eye is bruised, and the evidence of the brutal fight is displayed on his face. But despite the physical impact, there’s a certain vulnerability and tenderness in Hugh’s expression as he leans into your embrace.

Hugh pats your thigh, signaling for you to get off the trunk. As you step away, he opens the trunk and tosses his bag inside, revealing Barry, tied up and duck-taped, lying inside the trunk. Your eyes widen in shock, and a glare instantly forms on your face as you take in the sight before you, "Don't embarrass me, you motherfucker.”

"Cut!" Ryan laughs, clearly enjoying the scene. Hugh pops open the trunk again, carefully freeing Barry from his duct tape restraints. Both Hugh and Barry join in the laughter, clearly amused by the intensity of your performance.

"That was such a good take," Ryan chimes in, a smile still on his face. "I think we've got a real winner there."

Your lips curve into a knowing smile, and you can't help but agree. "Especially with the next scene," you affirm, the anticipation and excitement building in your chest.

You turn to Ryan with a hopeful look, "Because I think it’s only fair I have creative control over at least one scene." Ryan hums for a moment then nods, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Yes, yes. You've earned the creative control for one scene," he reassures you, his smile widening.

Hugh catches your glance, sensing the hint of something more in your words. He raises an eyebrow in curiosity, a small smile playing on his lips.

You turn to Ryan, a hint of determination in your eyes, and address him. "Then you might want to leave set," you say. Ryan looks between you and Hugh, understanding what's about to transpire. He sighs with a smirk, realizing the significance of the moment. "Oh, shit."

Hugh dutifully sits in the chair, his expression focused and serious as the camera rolls for the last verse of the song. The set is quiet, with all attention on this pivotal scene.

You rise from the couch, your footsteps deliberate and purposeful as you approach Hugh. A pair of handcuffs swings in your hand, a symbol of dominance and control. As you reach him, you meet his gaze and deliver the line, "If you wanna go and be stupid, don't do it in front of me." Your voice is firm, and the conviction in your words is undeniable.

You move behind Hugh, closing the distance between you. With a swift movement, you handcuff his wrists together behind the chair, effectively restraining him. The sound of the handcuffs clicking into place fills the air, symbolizing Hugh's helplessness in your grip, “If you don't wanna cry to my music, don’t make me hate you prolifically.”

You straddled Hugh's lap, your thighs on either side of him. A piece of duck tape is in your hand, and you press it to his lips. Instead of applying it directly, you kiss his lips through the tape, leaving an impression of your luscious lipstick on the tape. The kiss was a mix of dominance and affection, your actions conveying your control.

You saunter away from Hugh, a satisfied smirk on your lips. He watches you intently from the chair, his eyes filled with a mix of lust and confusion. Bound and restrained, he struggles against the handcuffs, calling out your name through the duct tape covering his mouth.

With a victorious yell, you call out "Cut!" The shoot was finally over, and a sense of relief washed over you. You quickly rush over to Hugh, the excitement and triumph clear in your eyes. Laughing, you expertly release him from the handcuffs and duck tape, freeing him from his confines.

He leans in, placing a lingering kiss on your ear, his voice a low whisper as he speaks. "Can we take those home?" he asks, making a gesture towards the handcuffs you'd just released him from. You couldn’t help but smirk at his request, a mischievous idea forming in your mind.

Ryan pops out from behind the makeup tent, his voice breaking the intimate bubble between you and Hugh. He raises an eyebrow, clearly aware of the tension in the air.

"Can I come out now?" he teases, a knowing grin on his face. "Is everything back to PG?" You roll your eyes playfully at Ryan's cheeky comment, a smile still gracing your lips. "All clear, Ryan!" you confirm, your tone a mix of mock annoyance and love for your brother.

You watch the reshoot playback, alongside Hugh and Ryan. The video looks flawless, with every shot and angle perfect. Hugh looks incredibly attractive in the all-black pants and button-up shirt, his hair slicked back and just the slightest hint of facial hair giving him an irresistibly sexy look. Your eyes can't help but linger on him, admiring his captivating presence on the screen.

Ryan lets out a laugh, clearly amused by the scene playing out before him. He turns to you with a sly grin and quips, "Whoa. You really wanna give the whole world a sneak preview of that private show?" You can't help but roll your eyes and swat playfully at his arm. "Shut up, Ryan," you respond, feigning annoyance but secretly amused.

Ryan laughs and nods, clearly entertained by the exchange. "Alright, alright," he replies. "I'll send it off to editing then. Looks like we've got a winner." You smile, satisfied with the outcome. "I have no problems," you declare with confidence, your eyes flickering from the screen to Hugh, who stands beside you.

Your body was buzzing with anticipation, the excitement of what was to come electrifying your senses. You practically leap into the car, the words "To my apartment" tumbling out of your mouth in a breathless whisper. The driver nods, acknowledging your instructions, and sets off towards your apartment.

As the car began moving, you couldn't resist the overwhelming desire that washed over you. Acting on impulse, you reach up and flick the privacy partition, creating a bubble of solitude between you and the driver. Your lips immediately begin to trail up Hugh's neck, the need for him becoming impossible to ignore.

Hugh gently grasps your jaw, his thumb tracing a path along your bottom lip. His voice, a low and seductive rumble, sends a shiver through you. "You just wait until I get you home," he warns, his words full of promise and anticipation.

As you both enter your apartment, Hugh quickly captures your mouth with a demanding kiss, his lips pressing against yours with a mix of passion and dominance. He guides you down the hallway, his body pressed against yours as he walks you towards the bedroom.

With a confident smirk, you turn and push Hugh onto the bed, causing him to land with a thump. "Wait there," you command, your tone sultry and authoritative. You take a moment to appreciate the sight of him lying there, eager and waiting, before turning away to retrieve what you need.

You re-enter the room, your gaze instantly locking onto Hugh. His eyes widen as he takes in your sexy black lace negligee, the lace hugging your curves in all the right places. You saunter towards him, each step slow and deliberate, fully aware of the effect you're having on him.

A sultry smile crosses your lips as you approach Hugh, your eyes fixed on the handcuffs in your hand. You crawl onto the bed, straddling him with a possessive aura. "I think it's time we had some fun with these," you say, dangling the handcuffs in front of him, the metal links catching the light and glinting mischievously.

A devilish smile plays on his lips as you approach the bed, his strong, muscular body moving with grace as he reaches for you. He's still dressed in a sleek, well-tailored suit, but you know that won't stay on for long. "I thought we'd start with a little role-play," he says, his eyes burning with desire. "How does that sound?"

"Perfect," you reply, your heart racing as you wonder what scenarios he has in mind. Hugh reaches into his pocket and pulls out the shiny silver handcuffs. "I think it's time for the naughty girl to be restrained, don't you?"

You bite your lip, feeling a rush of excitement as you nod slowly. "Yes, Daddy. Please, I want to be your good girl."

He chuckles a deep, sexy sound that makes your core clench. "Oh, you will be. But first, I want you on your knees." Obediently, you slide off the bed and kneel on the soft rug, your long hair falling around your face.

"That's my girl," he says, his voice full of approval. Without further hesitation, he snaps one cuff around your slender wrist, the cold metal sending a delicious shiver up your arm. You gasp softly, already feeling the power dynamic shift.

"Now, where should I put your other hand, hmm?" He trails the free cuff along your arm, teasing you, making you squirm. "Please, Daddy, just do it," you beg, your voice already hoarse with need.

He chuckles again, enjoying your impatience. Then, with a quick snap, he secures your other wrist, leaving you kneeling, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy.

"There we go," he says, running his hand through your hair. "You look so damn sexy like this, you naughty girl." You blush, feeling a mix of embarrassment and arousal as he stands before you, his eyes raking over your restrained form. "Now, Daddy's going to play with his girl, and you're going to take it, understand?"

"Yes, Daddy," you whisper, your eyes fixed on his crotch, your mouth already watering at the thought of tasting him. He reaches down and slowly unbuttons his shirt, peeling it off to reveal a broad, muscular chest. "You like what you see?" he teases, knowing full well the effect he has on you.

"Mmm, so much, Daddy," you murmur, your eyes widening as he unbuckles his belt, pops the button on his trousers, and lowers the zipper, releasing his thick, hardening cock.

"Suck it," he orders, his voice firm.

You don't need to be told twice. You lean forward, your lips wrapping around the head of his cock, your tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. "Fuck, yes, just like that," he growls, his hands tangling in your hair as you take him deeper, moaning softly around his length.

You love the power you have over him in this moment, the way he loses control as you suck and lick, your hands restrained, unable to touch. "That's my good girl," he says, his hips beginning to move slowly, fucking your mouth gently.

You moan, the vibrations teasing him, making him grow harder in your mouth. He tastes so good, and you wish your hands were free to explore. Suddenly, he pulls away, leaving you wanting more. "On your back, legs spread."

You do as you're told, your heart pounding with anticipation. He secures one end of the handcuffs to the headboard, leaving your arms raised above your head, your body splayed out like a sacrifice.

"That's it, baby," he says, his eyes drinking in the sight of you spread before him. "So fucking gorgeous."

Then, he's at your feet, his hot breath tickling your sensitive skin as he places soft kisses along your arches, slowly working his way up your body.

You squirm, feeling his stubble tickle your skin as he works his way up your calves, along the sensitive skin of the back of your knees, and then to the soft, tender flesh of your inner thighs. "Please, Daddy, touch me," you beg, your need for him all-consuming.

"Soon, baby, soon," he teases, placing soft kisses on your outer pussy lips, his breath hot against your swollen clit.

"Oh, God!" you cry out as he teases you with soft licks and kisses, his tongue flicking against your bud, sending shocks of pleasure through your body.

Then, he dives in, his tongue pushing inside your wetness as his fingers work their magic on your clit, circling, teasing, and driving you wild.

"Cum for me, baby," he growls, his voice thick with desire.

And you do, your whole body shaking as you climax, your juices flowing freely as your restrained arms pull at the cuffs, adding a delicious sting to the overwhelming pleasure.

Hugh laps at your sweetness, growling in satisfaction as he devours your cries and moans.

"Such a good girl," he breathes, his voice barely audible as he pulls away from your cunt. "But Daddy's not done with you yet."

He leans up unlocking the cuffs from the headboard. He softly pulls you up, turning you around so that your ass is pressed up against him. He gently takes each of your wrists safely cuffing them behind your back. You can feel his hardness against your entrance, the heat of his body searing through you.

"Get flat for me," he orders, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. You obey, your legs trembling as you lean your chest down flat on the mattress. He lines his cock up with your entrance, the head pressing against your tight hole. You bite your lip, trying to hold back a moan as he starts to push inside.

"Relax for Daddy," he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Let me in, baby."

You take a deep breath, willing your muscles to loosen as he slides deeper, inch by inch until he's fully buried inside you. Your walls stretch around him, clinging to his thickness as he holds still, savoring the feeling of being inside you.

"Perfect," he groans, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Such a tight little cunt."

He begins to move, slow and steady, pulling almost out before thrusting back in. The rhythm is maddening, each stroke hitting your sweet spot, driving you wild with need. You can feel yourself building towards another orgasm, your body straining against the cuffs as you try to move with him.

"Beg for it," he demands, his thrusts growing more forceful. "Beg Daddy for more."

"Please," you gasp, your voice hoarse with desperation. "Please, Daddy, more... I need more."

"Good girl," he praises, his thrusts speeding up, pounding into you with relentless intensity. "Daddy's gonna make you cum again."

Your body tightens around him, your orgasm barreling toward you like a freight train. He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit once more, rubbing it with bruising force as he fucks you harder.

"Come on, baby," he snarls, his voice breaking with lust. "Cum for Daddy." The words send you spinning over the edge, your body shuddering as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over you. He follows you over, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he spills inside you, his cock pulsing with each spurt of release.

As you both come down from the high, he pulls out, his softening cock slipping free with a wet pop. He turns you back around, kissing you roughly, his tongue invading your mouth as he takes possession of you once more. Hugh owned you, and you could fucking care less.

[bloodlinesgirly]

wip- roman reigns

“i’m not dealing with this right now” you roll your eyes, the scoff you let out just fueling him even more.

“yeah keep that shit up.” he steps were heavy as he paced the room. “ion know if you think you’re slick, but you’re not.” the pacing stopped and he scratched at his beard like he always did when he was mad.

“you won’t even tell me what i did roman.”

“you know damn well what you did. posted up like that on socials thinkin’ i wouldn’t see it” you groan as you think back on what he’s talking about. A picture he took of you on your trip last month. the floral pattern of the dress hugged your curves and dragged in the sand at your feet. the slit up to your hip was displayed as you posed. “that’s really what you’re all fucked up about? a picture?”

“did you really think it wouldn’t bother me?” his laugh was bitter. he took a few steps closer to you, frustration radiating off of him.

“considering you prance around half naked on live tv every week, no i didn’t think a dress would bother you.” roman wasn’t the type to be insecure, he knew you were his and how you dressed/what you posted wasn’t his concern. it’s seeing the way people talked that had him pent up.

“it ain’t the dress.” he ran his hand over his face. “you knew what them comments would look like before you even posted it.”

It took almost an hour to get it out of him, for him to tell you he saw a comment he didn’t like and instead of saying something he just let it make him angry.

“m’sorry baby, i should’ve just said something.” roman’s tongue lapped at your neck, trailing down your chest. His hands squeezed at your waist, ass, thighs, and pretty much everywhere else he could get them. he lives for how perfectly you fit against him, like you were made for him to touch.

“was that so hard?” you sigh, your fingers twirl in his hair as you savor his touch. Roman didn’t like to apologize, he never has. a quiet moan leaves your lips when he reaches your breast. quickly he pulls the cup of your bra down, swirling his tongue around your nipple.

“yeah, but it ain’t your fault you're pretty.” he placed a kiss on your cheek before moving to your lips. the kiss was messy, one hand making its way to your throat and applying a little pressure. his tongue invaded your mouth, clashing with your own. there was something pornagraphic about the way his saliva dripped down your chin and the string of it that connected your lips when he pulled away. his eyes burnt into your skin, lighting a fire in the path of his gaze. “go lay down for me, let me apologize the right way.” his eyes flickered towards the couch. without another word, you did what you were told. your thighs clenched together, looking for relief from the dull throb between them. Roman’s shirt was discarded as he stepped towards you. his abs flexed with each movement, you could feel the heat pooling in your belly from just the sight of him. He leaned down to place another sloppy kiss to your lips before dropping to his knees in front of you.

his fingers delicately find their place in the waist of your pants sending shivers through you. you lift your hips to help him get them down to your ankles. “spread those legs for me baby.” roman’s head dipped down to your waist, placing open mouth kisses to your lower belly. The wet spot on your panties was on full display as he ran his thumb over your clit. he wrapped his hand around your ankle, lifting it off the floor, leaving you spread open in front of him. “roman please” your hips stutter against his thumb, causing the pressure to increase. “please what mama?” he smirked against your inner thigh.

[kireilien]

i need a daddy!maki x feminine/girly!reader neowwwwwww

bless up you guys actually do like daddy maki

this’ll literally be word vomit btw.

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing; daddy dom!maki, sub!reader, fem!reader, race neutral reader, non sexual dominance, kissing, praise, implied unprotected sex, bimbo!reader at the end, use of “daddy,” “princess”

butttt i am a maki daddy truther if that wasn’t clear enough for all of you to see. he’d really like that in a partner where they can leave all that stress to him. obviously, i do think maki would want to be less of a daddy dom in bed, like i said in this ask, he’s either dominant, or no dynamics at all. but, i do think he’s such a big person on non sexual dominance, i mean you can see it when he’s with his members.

whether that be purely non sexual and small by always holding your hand, paying for your nails/hair/facials, paying for makeup/clothes, hovering around you to see if you need anything, if you need a big strong man, he’s less than 3 feet away from you. “do you need help, princess?”

to non sexual and big things, indulging in your femininity, by dressing you in your pretty floral patterns, lacy trims, soft pastels, maybe even picking out your panties to match. carrying you everywhere, especially when your feet hurt from your heels. not letting you lift a finger when you’re around him, not a single door, item dropped, anything. maybe even wanting you to shut off that brain, let him do all the thinking. “princess, i think you should wear your lacy, pink panties for daddy today.”

while in bed, he lays you down oh so gently, kisses you everywhere, not letting you do any work, have him do all the work. his princess is someone who deserves to be treated with kindness and pure love. he’s nothing but soft with you, “princess, you look so perfect for me,” “you feeling tired, princess? let daddy help you relax,” “ah, ah, ah, no princess, gotta let daddy do it.”

maki would so love a girly girl for a partner!!! if anything it gives him MORE of a reason to be a daddy dom with you. you and your sweet smelling perfume, pretty skirts that show off your pretty legs, heels that make anyone stare, purses and accessories that compliment you, your makeup perfectly applied on, hair done to perfection. he will without a doubt love, cherish, and protect you from anyone trying to even lay their eyes on his princess.

js imagining maki making love to you. he’s carefully pushing back your hair, peeling off your shirt, slipping off your skirt; on days where you’re wearing a dress it gets him even more insane than usual since in one swoop he sees your pretty undergarments that he purposefully picked out for you the morning of, and now he can finally take it off and have you all to himself.

once you’re finally bare for him he dots kisses all over you. your cheeks, neck, tits, stomach, hands, thighs, going back up to lightly kiss your lips. he’s so gentle with you, it’s obvious he deeply cares for his princess, js as daddy should! after he finally has his cock in you, he can’t ever shut up. like i said, he’s constantly praising you, talking about how his princess is perfect for daddy, he can’t get enough of it.

and for my bimbos out there (me) he’s such a sucker and prefers a bimbo— or he can make you dumb as he’s fucking you. outside of bed, sure it’s nothing but asking him, “daddy is my hair okay?” “daddy i want that new face powder!” “daddy my feet hurtttt can you care meeee?” “daddy i love you so much, thank you!” but he loves when your eyes roll back, jaw is slack, babbling stupid things that you can’t even comprehend when he’s fucking you senseless, it makes him feel so good. like yeah, daddy is the only one who fucks you so stupid, not a single person in this world will see your hair that messy, mascara ruined, lip gloss smeared from his lips, body littered in hickeys, and especially cum dripping at every hole he could possibly ever use ♡︎

back 2 maki catalog

[seongspup]

AUTHORS NOTE ; this is a repost from my old tumblr account (chrisbahng-old). please let me know what you think and i will hopefully be making new content soon!

warnings; smut [unprotected sex, breeding, impregnation, reader is called pup,] fluff

[2:51am]

The air was chilly as it wound its way into the room from the open window above the bed, not that you or chris minded, you were too busy wrapped up in the sheets to even pay it much mind.

your head is resting on chris’s chest, a hand tracing patterns into his skin. chris has an arm wrapped around your frame, holding you as close as he can. his other hand is holding your thigh as it wraps around his legs, trapping him in.

you both are bare of clothes, having just gotten out from the bath and not really feeling like putting much of anything on as the tiredness settled in. the white sheets are covering both your bodies, should anyone come and interrupt such a peaceful moment between the two of you. no one speaks for a while, just a little sigh here and there and hums of approval when you lightly trace over the right spot on chris’s chest.

it’s chris who speaks first. “baby,” he begins, and you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“hmm…” you hum.

“i love you.” he whispers, burying his head into your hair. you had been dating chris for several months now, but neither of you had spoken those three words yet.

you let out a sigh in content, knowing what you felt towards him was reciprocated. “i love you, too.” you replied with no hesitation.

Chris leaned down and pressed his lips to yours in a soft kiss. you brought your hand that was on his chest up to his jaw and ran your thumb across his cheek. Chris sighed at the touch, melting into your hand. You press a kiss to his plump lips again, applying just the tiniest bit more pressure. Chris sensed this almost immediately and kissed you back with even more intensity.

His hand that rested on your thigh found its way higher and higher up your leg, stopping at your hips, and then back down your thigh. You whined at the touch, pulling away from chris to watch his veiny hand travel up your body. “Shh…” he pressed his lips to yours again. “Gonna make you feel good tonight, yeah? Tonight is all about you, princess.” chris cooed.

You nodded in approval as you switched places with chris, so he was on top of you, sitting on your thighs, and your bare back lay on the silky sheets. You watched as chris eyed you up and down, biting the inside of his cheek. “You’re so beautiful.” he said softly, bringing his hands down to grab your breasts. You blush at the compliment and his touch. Chris could compliment you a million and one times and you would blush at every single one of them. “So beautiful.”

“Chris, stop,” you whined, arching into his touch and chris laughed.

“You tell me to stop, yet your body is telling me otherwise.” he gives a gentle squeeze to your breasts before leaning down to connect his lips to yours again. You felt the tip of his cock prod at your cunt, making you ache for him.

You whimper into the kiss, letting chris know what you want. You break away slightly, your lips ghosting over his. “Please,” you breathlessly say. “Please make love to me.”

Chris sighs against your lips, giving your breasts another squeeze, before he takes your nipples in hand and rolls them between his fingers, “Anything for you, my love.”

Chris lets go of your nipples and sits back up on your thighs. You watch as he stares at your body again, his cock growing to full hardness. He reaches over to the bedside table, and opens the drawer, pulling out a foil packet. “No,” you whine. “Want you to cum in me.”

Chris raises an eyebrow at your comment, “are you sure?” and you nod rather aggressively. Chris smiles fondly down at you, storing the condom away for another time. He brings his attention back to you, every single ounce of it. “Is my little pup ready for me?” he asks before bringing his hand down to your aching pussy. He traces two fingers up your slit, collecting your juices, and brings his hand up to his mouth. He licks at his fingers before using his spit to pump himself. “My puppy, you’re leaking,” he whispers as if someone could hear the two of you, though it’s damn near impossible as you share an apartment together, just the two of you.

You whine at his words and reach up for chris, wanting to feel his body on yours. He smiles softly and brings himself down on you softly, knowing what you want. He always had that power, to know what you want when your words fail you.

“It’s all for you, chris.” you whimper and kiss his shoulder. “Every drop of it.”

Chris hums in approval before taking a hand and guiding it up and down your leaking cunt and pushes the tip of his cock into you.

you gasp at the feeling. No matter how many times you two have sex, it’ll always catch you by surprise when he finally enters you. He’s so big, much bigger than you always anticipate. “fuck, pup,” he groans as he fills you up fully. “You’re so tight. So tight for me, yeah?”

You nod in response, scared of what might come out if you dare speak. You unintentionally clench around him and chris lets out a grunt. “You’re gonna make it hard not to fuck you. I wanna grant you your wish. I want to make love to you, but shit, puppy, you make it so hard.”

You giggle at his words, knowing that he’s telling the truth. “I’m not doing anything,” you reply, taking your hands and grab his shoulders, gripping into his soft skin rather violently as he thrusts himself in and out of you. You know there will be little crescent moons in his skin in just moments, but you don’t really care at the moment, and neither does chris.

Chris tsks at you, stuffing you full again. You close your eyes in bliss at the feeling and grab harder at his shoulders. Chris buries his head in the crook of your neck, slowly pulling himself out to the tip. “You feel so good. I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

You feel your face grow warm at his words and you wish you could cover your face with your hands, but they're too preoccupied gripping onto your boyfriend’s shoulders. So you opt to bury your face in his chest.

You’re a tangled mess of limbs and soft whines and whimpers. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, along with the sound of a train passing by in the distance.

You feel a knot growing tighter and tighter in your stomach and you know you’re close. “Chris, baby, i’m close.” you murmur into his skin and chris gently pushes his cock back into you for the nth time that night.

“Let go, princess, i got you.” chris coos, bringing his head up from your neck to watch as you come undone beneath him.

Your body listens immediately to his command and the knot in your stomach snaps. Your orgasm rushes through your entire body and you’re seeing stars.

Chris knows he’s not far behind you, and just a simple look at your bodies connecting brings him to the edge. “Fuck, princess, im gonna cum. Where do you want me?” he knows what you’re going to say, and you know it too. You know he just wants to hear you say it.

“In me, please.” you whisper, still riding out your orgasm.

“Want me to make you a mommy? Hmm? Want me to fill you full of my pups? Is that what you want?” he groans.

You nod frivolously, wanting nothing more than to be filled with chris.

All it takes is one or two more thrusts and chris is coming undone inside you, you feel the warmth of his cum painting the inside of your walls white. “I love you.” chris whispers, bringing his lips down to yours. He falls stagnant inside you, making sure not a single drop is wasted.

Chris pulls away from your lips and sighs. “You look so beautiful like this. All full of my pups, drunk on my cock.”

You smile softly and close your eyes, relishing in the feeling of chris warm seed inside you.

“I love you, too.” you reply, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him in for another kiss, knowing it would be far from the last of the night.

[vergiltopia]

Some of my Vergil NSFW headcanons

things i think he would like doing woohoo and other +18 stuff.

⋆ ･˳ . ⋆  ⭒ ✿ ⭒ ⋆･. ˳ . ⋆

★ Vergil isn't so experienced as it seems, if you think about it, he only had sex once or maybe twice, but he haves a sort of natural talent to learn things fast.

★ Loves to cover you with kisses while his hands squeeze and explore all the soft spots in you.

★ Vergil is a man that knows what he wants, going for it with determination to take his partner, he's got game, strong hands grabbing you firmly, tracing patterns along your skin to mark you as his together with deep slow kisses that takes your breath away, lefting no room for objection.

★ Teases a lot by rubbing the head of his cock right on your entrance, penetrating just the tip here and there to pull it off again and see you squirm underneath him. Vergil is patient, and to see his partner begging and rolling the eyes with so little drives him crazy. "You want it so badly, hmm, little one?”

Ps: of course he won't force you to do something if you really don't want to, he's respectful above all.

★ Often his dirty talk is whispered and you probably won't see his face while talking since it'll be buried on your neck or between the legs.

★ Isn't too loud (unless when close to finish that his voice gets more loud and urgent), but moans and grunts a lot, husky and gutural mixed with heavy pants and gasps.

(bro did you ever see this man in battle and how much he growls? you really think he won't have any clear reactions?)

★ Sex is an important connection you share with your partner, it's not just about the lust, Vergil loves positions where he can exchange glances, doesn't like positions that you're too far from him, he needs to look and touch his mate.

★ Challenges to take him deeper into your mouth with a confidant taunt, chuckling amused till you almost engulfs him entirely, what causes the blue one to tremble and gasp. “Do you think you can swallow me whole, darling?” 

★ As much as he likes to dominate, he likes to be dominated, loves it when someone tries to tame him because of the thrill of a challenge, Vergil will be pleased to be at your mercy while ordering him around (finds it amusing, yet arousing) but doesn't like things such as humiliation and degradation, this also applies when the roles run with him dominating the partner, Vergil doesn't want to go too extreme and maybe end up bringing back some painful memories, love is new for him but not suffering.

★ All the process of lovemaking is important, he'll take his time to the begging of the foreplay till the aftercare, having sex with him is something that takes hours (and doesn't happen so often).

★ Speaking of aftercare, his favorites are a warm bath in the tub together and cuddling under the duvets with your bodies still naked and pressed against each other, Vergil discovered this is precious to him after he got older, probably didn't care about this when was younger.

★ He eats you out by holding your thighs to your chest, burying his face between the legs and savouring it with hungry long licks and sucks, nuzzling his face into it and growling pleased to feel you coating him from nose to chin, intoxicating all of his senses, the taste of your body, the soft delicate flesh on his hands, your natural scent, the sight of his lover completely helpless while melting on his mouth while whimpering his name fills Vergil with satisfaction.

★ Loves to receive sensual lap dances as a foreplay, the room should be almost dark with music playing in the background, placing his arms over the back of the couch while watching you sway over the tight bulge inside his leather pants, but eventually will grab your hips with need and join in the grinding. “You needy little thing, hmmmph...”

★ Haves a "horny cycle" from time to time, Vergil never really tells you when it's happening, but you learned to identify it by his increasing body temperature, unwanted erections, and the sticky  behavior because needs attention and doesn't want to ask for it (feels ashamed to follow you around like a lost kitten, it's kind of cute and you know it's not his fault). When finally gives in to his needs, he'll use the devil trigger to breed you since it's a demon thing, also, the chances of pregnancy always increase with the DT.

★ Likes to do some cock warming while reading late at night, the feeling of being wrapped and close to each other just to relax a bit goes well with a good book. “I'm sorry darling, it wasn't my intention to move.”

★ Loves to knead on your breasts or any other soft spots while spooning, mostly, Vergil doesn't do this with sexual intentions, but because he enjoys to be this intimate when comfy enough, it also helps to relieve the stress.

★ Pins your hands on top of your head when doing the missionary position.

(i like to imagine this together with my other headcanon about how Vergil is a good listener and enjoys to hear the others talking about something they like or about their day.)

★ Bratty behavior can turn him on very easily, Vergil likes it when his mate tries to defiance him.

[haggishlyhagging]

The more women are paid, the less eager they are to marry. A 1982 study of three thousand singles found that women earning high incomes are almost twice as likely to want to remain unwed as women earning low incomes. "What is going to happen to marriage and childbearing in a society where women really have equality?" Princeton demographer Charles Westoff wondered in the Wall Street Journal in 1986. "The more economically independent women are, the less attractive marriage becomes."

Men in the '80s, on the other hand, were a little more anxious to marry than the press accounts let on. Single men far outnumbered women in dating services, matchmaking clubs, and the personals columns, all of which enjoyed explosive growth in the decade. In the mid-80s, video dating services were complaining of a three-to-one male-to-female sex ratio in their membership rolls. In fact, it had become common practice for dating services to admit single women at heavily reduced rates, even free memberships, in hopes of remedying the imbalance.

Personal ads were similarly lopsided. In an analysis of 1,200 ads in 1988, sociologist Theresa Montini found that most were placed by thirty-five-year-old heterosexual men and the vast majority "wanted a long-term relationship." Dating service directors reported that the majority of men they counseled were seeking spouses, not dates. When Great Expectations, the nation's largest dating service, surveyed its members in 1988, it found that 93 percent of the men wanted, within one year, to have either "a commitment with one person" or marriage. Only 7 percent of the men said they were seeking "lots of dates with different people." Asked to describe "what concerns you the day after you had sex with a new partner," only 9 percent of the men checked "Was I good?" while 42 percent said they were wondering whether it could lead to a "committed relationship."

These men had good cause to pursue nuptials; if there's one pattern that psychological studies have established, it's that the institution of marriage has an overwhelmingly salutary effect on men's mental health. "Being married," the prominent government demographer Paul Glick once estimated, "is about twice as advantageous to men as to women in terms of continued survival." Or, as family sociologist Jessie Bernard wrote in 1972:

“There are few findings more consistent, less equivocal, [and] more convincing, than the sometimes spectacular and always impressive superiority on almost every index—demographic, psychological, or social—of married over never-married men. Despite all the jokes about marriage in which men indulge, all the complaints they lodge against it, it is one of the greatest boons of their sex.”

Bernard's observation still applies. As Ronald C. Kessler, who tracks changes in men's mental health at the University of Michigan's Institute for Social Research, says: "All this business about how hard it is to be a single woman doesn't make much sense when you look at what's really going on. It's single men who have the worst of it. When men marry, their mental health massively increases."

The mental health data, chronicled in dozens of studies that have looked at marital differences in the last forty years, are consistent and overwhelming: The suicide rate of single men is twice as high as that of married men. Single men suffer from nearly twice as many severe neurotic symptoms and are far more susceptible to nervous breakdowns, depression, even nightmares. And despite the all-American image of the carefree single cowboy, in reality bachelors are far more likely to be morose, passive, and phobic than married men.

When contrasted with single women, unwed men fared no better in mental health studies. Single men suffer from twice as many mental health impairments as single women; they are more depressed, more passive, more likely to experience nervous breakdowns and all the designated symptoms of psychological distress—from fainting to insomnia. In one study, one third of the single men scored high for severe neurotic symptoms; only 4 percent of the single women did.

-Susan Faludi, Backlash: the Undeclared War Against American Women

[literaryvein-reblogs]

More Art-Related Vocabulary

Abstract Expressionist: An artistic movement of the mid-20th century emphasizing an artist’s freedom to express attitudes and emotions, usually through nonrealistic means.

Age of Exploration (also, Age of Discovery): From the early 15th century to the early 17th century, European ships traveled around the world in search of new trading routes, lands, and partners to supply an ever-growing European market.

Albumen silver print: A photograph made using a process that was prevalent until the 1890s. The paper is coated with albumen (egg whites), and the image is created using a solution of silver salts.

Brayer: A hand roller used for applying ink to relief printing blocks or occasionally for the direct application of paint or ink to a surface.

Caricature: A representation in either literature or visual art that includes a ridiculous distortion or exaggeration of body parts or physical characteristics to create a comic or gross imitation.

Ceramics: Vessels of clay made by using a variety of shaping techniques and then hardening or firing the clay with heat at a high temperature.

Chasing: A term encompassing two processes in metalworking: (a) modeling decorative patterns on a hand-shaped sheet-metal surface using punches applied to the front, and (b) finishing and refining a cast sculpture.

Classical: Describes a prime example of quality or “ideal” beauty. It often refers to the culture, art, literature, or ideals of the ancient Greek or Roman world, especially that of Greece in the 4th and 5th centuries B.C.

Collage: An art form and technique in which pre-existing materials or objects are arranged and attached as part of a two-dimensional surface.

Color palette: (a) A set of colors that makes up an image or animation, and (b) the group of colors available to be used to create an image.

Composition: The process of arranging artistic elements into specific relationships to create an art object.

Daguerreotype: An early method of photography produced on a silver plate or a silver-covered copper plate made sensitive to light.

Exoticism: Fascination with and exploration and representation of unfamiliar cultures and customs through the lens of a European way of thinking, especially in the 19th century.

Expressionism: A style of art inspired by an artist’s subjective feelings rather than objective or realistic depictions based on observation. Expressionism as a movement is mainly associated with early 20th century German artists interested in exploring the spiritual and emotional aspects of human existence.

Gelatin silver print: A photograph made through a chemical process in which a negative is printed on a surface coated with an emulsion of gelatin (an animal protein) containing light-sensitive silver salts.

Illuminated manuscript: Comes from the Latin words illuminare (to throw light upon, lighten, or brighten), manus (hand), and scriptus from the verb scribere (to write). A handwritten book, usually made from specially prepared animal skins, in which richly colored and sometimes gilded decorations, such as borders and illustrations, accompany the text.

Illuminator: A craftsman or artist who specializes in the art of painting and adorning manuscripts with decorations.

Impressionist: Referring to the style or theories of Impressionism, a theory or practice in painting in which objects are depicted by applying dabs or strokes of primary unmixed colors in order to evoke reflected light. Impressionism was developed by French painters in the late 19th century.

Inking plate: A flat surface used for rolling ink out in preparation for applying ink to a plate or block.

Inscription: A historical, religious, or other kind of record that is cut, impressed, painted, or written on stone, brick, metal, or other hard surface.

Source Art Vocabulary pt. 1

More: Word Lists

[iliketangerines]

make-up sex

a/n: this was a lot fluffier than i expected, but yk what, i'm not complaining. consider this a part 2 to angry sex @neteyamsoare @inlovewithpandora

pairing: tsu'tey x afab!omatikaya!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), porn with FEELINGS, cowgirl, mentions of almost dying

you were right, of course you were right, the tawtutes were dangerous and deadly, crushing everything in their path with no mercy or remorse

and it had only taken you being shot with one of their guns too close to your heart to make Tsu’tey realize that as he holds your hand in the tsahik’s tent

you had gone into the forest to gather herbs, staying well within the lines of the Omatikaya territory, and still, those tawtutes had trespassed and shot you because they had thought you were a threat

Tsu’tey takes in a breath to calm himself, and he holds onto your hand, praying to Eywa that you survive and that he swears that he would make it up to you

your eyes blink open, a sort of haze still hovering over your vision, and you weakly call out his name, your hand lightly squeezing his

he brings your hand up to his face and kisses the palm, thanking Eywa for keeping you alive, and he tries to keep the tears at bay as you smile up at him

bringing a bowl of herbs for you to drink to ease the pain, you grimace at the taste and smell, ears pinning back, but you drink it dutifully and wait for the medicine to start working

you smile up at him and say that you can take a hit and that you’re fine, but Tsu’tey shakes his head and brings the back of your hand to his lips, kissing each of your fingers

he can’t help it as tears slip by his cheeks, thinking he had lost you when Neytiri had carried you into Hometree, blood everywhere and dripping onto the floors and staining your skin so deeply that he thought it would never wash off

it’s a sight he can never erase from his mind, and he whispers to you that he swears that he will never defy your orders again

there’s a weak smile on your face as you tell him if you think that’s best, and you let exhaustion take you back into sleep’s arms

the next few few weeks, he tends to your wounds every day, making sure to not skip a single step: changing the dressing, wiping off the medicine, applying a fresh salve, repeat

Tsu’tey can’t help but worry and worry and worry everytime you even wince or have a bit of trouble breathing or even bend over in pain

but you heal, slowly and surely, hobbling around Hometree and teaching the children about the different herbs and plants in the surrounding forest that they can use in case of an emergency

and since that day, he hasn’t touched you more than he has to, afraid you might break or that he might make your injury worse or that he might accidentally hurt you

even when you have fully healed, and you flirt and purr and cuddle in close, he only pets your hair and kisses your forehead and resumes his task or goes to sleep

he knows it isn’t fair to you, that you’re fully healed, but still, a nagging fear echoes in his head everytime he goes hunting and he hears the tawtutes in the distance destroying

right now, Tsu’tey sits in his kelku, fashioning new arrows for his bow, carving the intricate patterns into the bow and wrapping the arrows carefully in the vines when he hears your soft footsteps pad into the living space

you wrap your arms around his neck, and he stops what he’s doing and turns his head to the side to kiss your cheek, making you let out a small giggle

putting down the supplies, he turns around to kiss you properly, melting slightly into your touch as your hands gently cup his face

but soon enough, you grow restless, hands trailing lower and lower to fiddle with his tewng, and he regretfully parts, saying that he must go and sleep for an early hunt tomorrow

you roll your eyes and bring your hands up to hold onto his shoulders, telling him to stop treating you like you are a fragile flower, you have healed, you have survived

his hands can’t help but come up and trace the scar the bullet had left, and he shakes his head at you, saying that he cannot risk hurting you

your hands come up to hold his, and you say that you are fully healed, that you trust him not to hurt you unless you wanted to, that you will not break in his hands, please

he presses his lips together, still unsure, and you sigh, saying to let you have the lead this time, to show him that you are truly okay

with a hesitant nod, you smile and guide his hands to rest on your waist, and you place your hands on his shoulders once more and kiss him

it’s gentle, slow, nothing rushed in your movements, and Tsu’tey hums into your mouth, gently squeezing at your sides and drawing small little breathy moans out of you

you pull your head away and lightly push at his shoulders for him to lay down, and he does so, waiting with bated breath to see what you do as you straddle his hips

your quick fingers untie both his tewng and yours, and you stand up on your knees to pull them off you and pat at his side for him to lift up his hips so you can pull down his tewng

he does so easily, hands holding onto the ground, and his eyes can’t help but trace your body on top of his as you sit back down on him, grinding yourself on his hardening cock

the room fills with your soft sighs and Tsu’tey’s strained groans as your clit grinds and catches against the head of his cock, and he can feel your slick start to drip and wet his cock

it’s an addicting feeling, and Tsu’tey gasps as you roll your hips just a little harder into him, his hands flying up to grab onto your waist to ground himself

you smile down at him and smile at him, continuing to grind down on him, adoration in your eyes for the na’vi below you

a great warrior, a better mate, and you bring your kuru out from behind you and hold it out towards him

he knows immediately what you want, and he brings his own kuru out with one shaky hand and sucks in a breath as he makes tsaheylu with you

your love, your admiration, everything about you floods his senses, and he groans, blinking up at you with blown pupils

great mother, he loves you so much, he sees you, and he will forever be grateful that you had noticed him and showed him how to be gentle

you let out a soft whimper, growing impatient and lifting your hips off of him, and you line yourself up with him, ready to sink down on him

there’s resistance, but you push through the slight pain, biting your lip as the stretch only heightens the pleasure, and press your hips flush to his

he grips onto your hips, breath quickening as you bite your lip at the feeling of being so full of him, and you moan as his hands involuntarily squeeze at your waist, nails digging into the sensitive skin

you grind slowly against him, pleasure growing inside of you like a flower blooming, slow and beautiful and intricate

no rush abides your movements as you gasp and moan and ride him, staring down at him and flooding your feelings with your love for him

Tsu’tey can feel it through the bond, and he can’t help as a few tears well up in his eyes at how overwhelming you love him

he loves you so much, he loves you so much that he can’t even express it in words, and he hopes you can feel how much he loves you through the bond

slowly, you lean down, continuously grinding down him and reaching your peak, and you press your lips to him gently, gasping and whining into his mouth

it’s nothing spectacular when you both cum, soft moans and sighs into each other’s mouth as it slowly rolls over the both of you, wrapping the both of you in a softness he could only ever muster for you

but he would trade everything for the softness of you, beautiful and gentle, and he murmurs into your mouth that he sees you, he sees you

you smile and say that you know, kissing him again underneath the starlit skies

[vexwerewolf]

Hey, do you have suggestions on a stealthy, shoot'n'scoot build for the Pegasus? I'm really, really new, but I like the idea of this thing that can always hit you and fades away until the next attack.

-- HORUS Pegasus @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] HORUS Pegasus 3, SSC Metalmark 3 [ CORE BONUSES ] Overpower Caliber, The Lesson of the Open Door [ TALENTS ] Infiltrator 3, Skirmisher 3, Crack Shot 3 [ STATS ] HULL:2 AGI:2 SYS:0 ENGI:4 STRUCTURE:4 HP:17 ARMOR:0 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:10 REPAIR:4 TECH ATK:+1 LIMITED:+2 SPD:5 EVA:10 EDEF:10 SENSE:10 SAVE:15 [ WEAPONS ] FLEX MOUNT: Smartgun FLEX MOUNT: Smartgun HEAVY MOUNT: Anti-Materiel Rifle // Overpower Caliber [ SYSTEMS ] Personalizations, Active Camouflage, Pattern-A Smoke Charges x5

So this is a very simple build.

What we're doing here is creeping around the edges of the battlefield, looking for a good opening. We use our Active Camouflage to remain Hidden even when it isn't our turn, and we look for a good firing position.

Our ideal turn start has us Hidden and in hard cover. We activate Crack Shot protocol and Active Camouflage if our heat's looking okay, line up on our intended target and shoot them with the AMR, hopefully hitting and hopefully critting. We don't bother rolling dice for our AMR - we just use By The Way, I Know Everything to set our damage to 11, or 14 if we crit. Having hit an enemy with an attack from Hidden, we proc Ambush, plus Watch This if we crit. With Lesson of the Open Door buffing our Save Target, we're well-positioned to inflict a horrid array of status effects on our target.

That was our first quick action. We spend the next quick action to Hide again, rendering us untargetable.

Next turn, Immobilized from Crack Shot goes away and we only need to keep Active Camouflage up if we're in immediate danger. We have various options:

If we want supreme mobility (or if there's someone close to us) we can exploit the extra movement from Mastermind: using Boost breaks Hidden after it resolves, so we can Boost, use the slide from Mastermind and then move normally, allowing us to move up to 15 spaces, 5 of it reactionless. If we're feeling really spicy, we could even Boost adjacent to an enemy, use the flashbomb clause of Mastermind and then run 10 away from them.

We can Skirmish with a Smartgun and proc all the same effects as last turn. If we want to apply more damage and don't need to be Hidden next turn, we can even Barrage with both.

Occasionally we'll need to Stabilize to deal with the heat build up from Active Camouflage, but that's great because it also allows us to reload our AMR.

This mech only has 17 HP, so with 0 Armor and 10 Evasion its survivability is fairly low, but this is aided by the fact that it spends most of its time Invisible, and due to the absurd range of its AMR (and the fact that its Smartguns don't even need line of sight) it often won't even be in range for enemies to hit at all. Skirmisher III also means that the first reaction attack taken against us each round will miss automatically, and if we're smart, enemies won't get an opportunity to make a second one.

The largest dangers to this build:

Enemies that have AoE attacks and thus they can get around their inability to target you by targetting an area that they think contains you, although Invisible will still protect you from this by providing a 50% miss chance. In particular, Bombards can just dispense with trying to narrow down your location and shell your entire zipcode instead.

Enemies with abilities that deal damage but aren't attacks. This completely bypasses Invisibility, and since this sort of ability tends to be AoE, they can also ignore Hidden if they have a reasonable idea of where you are. A great example is the Assault's optional Micro-Missile Barrage trait.

Enemies that are themselves also Invisible. Because we have no Reliable damage and there wasn't room on this mech for Eye of Horus, we have no reliable way of penetrating Invisible. This means our ability to engage with such enemies are completely at the mercy of the dice.

SCOUTS. They ignore Hidden and Invisible entirely, and have multiple tools that strip Hidden and Invisible from us, completely negating the main survivability tools of our build. Worse, they have excellent Evasion, decent E-Defence and can become Invisible themselves. Prioritize their destruction, or better yet - get your allies to do it.