#but i had to share this thought with the world

[sttoru]

𖠵 I’M YOURS.

𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you visit your husband during his work hours to hand him his lunch which he forgot at home. his subordinates are surprised to see their superior act so gentle with you—a total opposite to how he usually is when finding and punishing outlaws.

tags. wild west sheriff!kento nanami x wife!female reader. fluff, smut. set in the wild west (1860’s - 1890’s). blǒwjob. size difference (reader short), p in v -> unprotected, breeding themes, creampié, semi-public, hair pulling. traditional views of marriage. nicknames: darling, sugar, sweetheart. wc: 6.4k

the southern parts of the county are sweltering under an unrelenting sun, and most of the townsfolk have retreated indoors to escape the heat. kento nanami - the town’s sheriff - is taking a quick break, having just returned from breaking up a violent brawl at the local saloon. damn drunkards, he thinks as he shakes his head. they have been causing havoc all afternoon, threatening to turn the place into a shooting gallery. he had to put them in their place.

kento strolls to a nearby window, silently critiquing the poor job done on the grimy glass. his eyes scan the wagons that roll in and out of town to keep watch for anything out of the ordinary. but before long, his thoughts wander, and he found himself thinking of you. his dearest. his beloved. his world— his wife.

the blonde man wonders what you’re doing right now. are you preparing supper, or perhaps knitting him another one of those scarves in preperation for the colder weather?

one of his hands slips into the pockets of his slacks, fingers brushing against the handkerchief you gifted him. he smiles as he traces the embroidered flowers. their colors are still vibrant despite the constant wear. it has become his lucky charm over the years.

kento sighs as he catches a glimpse of a couple in the distance. they share a kiss, the woman waving her partner off with a handkerchief of her own as her husband leaves on his horse. the sight has his jaw clenching as guilt creeps in. he had left home in such a hurry this morning, that he hasn't kissed you goodbye properly. he hopes that you didn’t take it personally.

it is a small thing, but he makes a mental note to apologise for that later.

kento turns around from the window he’s been staring out at for the past couple minutes as one of the deputies hustles a trussed up outlaw into the office. the other male slams the wooden door shut behind them which rattles the place. the outlaw is a scruffy looking fellow and his wild eyes dart nervously between kento and the shotgun-toting deputy.

the blond sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. just when he thought he could have a peaceful break... duty calls.

“got ourselves a lil’ troublemaker here, sheriff,” jake says and gives the outlaw a rough shove forward. the man stumbles, nearly falling to his knees before catching himself.

kento’s jaw clenches as he looks the outlaw up and down, his hazel eyes hardening. he aims to keep the peace in this small town, and that means dealing with the dregs of society from time to time. anything to keep the folk safe. especially if it meant protecting his dear wife.

“ye damn pieces of shit,” the outlaw spits, glaring defiantly at the two authoritive figures standing in front of him, “i ain't done nothin’ wrong, ya hear?”

there it is; the cliché line nearly every sentenced outlaw utters whenever they’re caught. kento runs a hand through his hair and scoffs as a muscle in his jaw ticks. one thing he hates are shameless outlaws who claim to have done no wrong.

this man before him has been on countless bounty posters, plastered all over the county. wanted dead or alive, for assault, murder and robbery. bart cavanaugh, the thug’s name is.

kento barks out a harsh laugh, but his face doesn’t show an ounce of emotion. the deputy shifts on his feet. the young man had seen that face on the sheriff countless times before. it’s intimidating and scary, the tension in the room palpable.

“done nothin’ wrong? boy, y’ve been stealin’ and killin’ yer way through half the damn county. and now y' got the audacity to stand there and lie to my face?”

kento steps forward and looms over the outlaw, his broad shoulders squared. his hand drifts to rest on the butt of his holstered revolver. the metal is cool and reassuring against his palm.

“jake, go fetch the preacher. tell him to start diggin' a new grave,” kento orders without taking his piercing eyes off the outlaw. his free hand shoots forward to grab a good handful of the man’s matted hair, yanking it back roughly. the sheriff’s eyes are cold and calculating, “looks like we got us a hangin’ to do ‘fore sundown.”

the outlaw’s eyes widened in fear and he tries to take a step back, but kento’s strength is not to be matched. “but... but you can’t!” he stammers, “i got my rights, i-i'll have ya know that!”

“rights?” kento huffs and releases the thug with a rough shove, dusting his hand off on his blouse as if he touched something filthy. “the only right ye got is the right to wait here and take what's comin’ for ya.”

it did not take long before the outlaw is sentenced, hauled outside and led toward the gallows. kento stretches his arms above his head, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders. another task crossed off the list. he can only hope that the rest of his break will pass quietly without any more disturbances.

the exhausted sheriff drops into the wooden chair behind his desk and leans back with the nth sigh of the day. his fingers fumble with the drawer, and after a moment of rummaging, he pulls out a cigar. he strikes a match and lights it up before placing the stick between his lips. kento closes his eyes and inhales deeply, letting the burn of the tobacco settle his mind.

minutes slip by in silence—just the quiet flicker of the lamp and the rhythmic sound of his own breathing. then, the front door creaks.

kento’s eyes flicker open. a loud prayer sounds in his head; please lord above don't let it be another caught outlaw. not another deputy or bounty hunter with some new problem to throw his way.

however, when he looks up, all the weight on his shoulders vanishes in an instant. there you are - his wife - standing in the doorway like an angel sent to pull him from the depths of his workday hell. the stress, the frustration, all of it fades away in your presence.

kento squints through the haze of cigar smoke as you walk inside with a beaming smile on your face. fuck, you're beautiful. a dream come true.

he takes a long drag and holds it in his lungs before exhaling slowly. the smoke curls around his tired face. his hazel-colored eyes narrow as they rake over your figure. a little provocative, he thinks, not wearing a shawl on your exposed shoulders. especially around these parts of town—with other men lurking that aren’t your husband.

“well, well, if it ain’t my sweet lil' wife,” the blonde rumbles, setting the cigar down in the ashtray. kento leans back in his chair which causes the wooden furniture to creak under his muscular frame. “what brings you ‘round these parts, darlin'?”

it is unusual for you to visit him during work hours. normally, you’d be at the house, attending to your duties. taking care of your cozy home, or perhaps socialising with the other wives around town at one of your regular gatherings. kento didn’t expect to see you here, yet the sight of you is a welcome surprise. even more so when you look so radiant, as if the sunlight itself has wrapped around you.

“ah, you forgot your lunch dear,” you explain with a warm smile. your voice carries a familiar tone that always seems to soothe your husband. you nod politely to his colleagues who’re staring at you in awe and curiosity. you continue, “i started to worry. i can’t possibly have my husband starvin’ at work, now can i? ain't so proper as y’r wife.”

your words make kento’s heart lighten. the smile that has faded from his face the second he left you this morning, finally finds it way back. his entire demeanour softens and his body relaxes.

the two deputies, who have been going about their duties in the background, can’t help but glance over at the scene unfolding. they exchange a bemused look as they watch kento’s demeanor shift the moment you walked into the office. it’s almost comical how quickly the stern, commanding sheriff transforms into a doting and affectionate husband.

kento stands up, his tall, imposing figure towering you as he approaches. the gun belt slung low on his hips clinks softly with each step along with the spurs on his boots. he reaches out, taking the cloth wrapped box from your dainty hands. his calloused fingers brush against your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through him.

“well, much obliged, sugar. yer a real sight for sore eyes,” kento comments, his deep voice lowering to an intimate rumble. he sets the box down on the desk before stepping closer to you. his eyes search for yours while his hands gently rub your sides.

“any time,” you shyly duck your head as you sense the tension between kento and you building up. it’s always like this between you two. the honeymoon phase? for you it’s not a phase, it’s a forever thing. until death do you part.

your hands reach up, slithering from his sides to his chest to straighten his sheriff’s badge. “has work been okay, hun?” you murmur in a honeyed voice, the one that drives kento crazy. neither of you seem to care about his co-workers standing around, lost in your own little bubble.

kento’s hand slides from your side to your throat, fingers skimming over your pulse point, enjoying the rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his touch. “work’s been a pain in the ass, darlin’. same ol’ song and dance,” he replies while his half lidded eyes dart all over your pretty face, “but now that y’re here, it's startin’ to look up.”

your conversation is casual, yet the underlying tension tells you there is more to it. even the deputies become aware of what’s playing in the middle of the office. or more so, what's about to happen if the passion in both kento and his wife’s eyes come to life.

kento can’t help but smirk as you press yourself against him. your soft curves mold to the hard planes of his muscular body, a stark contrast to the gentle hands that hold you close. his eyes darken once he catches you looking up at him through those long lashes of yours. that’s his damn weakness.

“y’know, seein' you here, lookin' like sin in that dress—it’s making me think all sorts of improper thoughts,” he starts in his deep voice. your husband lowers his head to whisper in your ear, “thoughts about bendin’ you over my desk and showin’ ya what happens to naughty little wives who distract their husbands at work.”

a shiver runs down your spine even though this is exactly what you wanted. you came here to deliver kento’s lunch, yes, but you've also missed his attention, affection and most importantly his touch. due to his job, he’s not at home for almost the entire day.

you don’t want to come off as clingy, but when you have a man like kento to call yours, you can’t help but want to be greedy.

the same goes for him as well. kento is ever the devoted lover, head over heels for you, and that includes feeling a great sense of physical attraction to you. he can’t help it—especially when you look so adorable, playing the role of the dutiful wife, visiting him at work to drop off his lunch. it’s a massive turn on.

“l-later. there are others here,” you try to play your erotic interaction off, even as you feel the insistent press of kento's clothed cock against your lower belly. your cheeks heat up as you realise that this bit of proximity had already turned your husband on.

kento licks a stripe up your earlobe, his teeth grazing the flesh before he soothes it with his slick tongue. he knows he shouldn’t be so explicit with you, not here in his office where anyone could walk in. but he simply cannot resist your charms. that pretty body and voice of yours are like a siren’s call to him.

however, he also notices your hesistance because of the company you have. kento, ever the thoughtful man, glances up at the deputies sitting around the office. his gaze hardens and his voice is filled with authority, “don't y’all got better things to do than sittin’ ‘round here?”

it’s a hidden message that all men in the room clearly understood. kento wanted them out and as soon as possible so he can take care of his wife. his duties are put on hold for as long as you need him by your side. he trusts his coworkers to deal with the rest while he’s busy attending to your needs.

the deputies scramble to their feet and grab their stetsons, hurrying out of the office with a chorus of 'yes, sir!' and 'right away, sir!' some smirk knowingly as they make their way out into the muddy streets. they know all too well about kento’s soft spot—the one woman he’d do anything for. even if it means that he ignores his work for a while.

within seconds, the office clears out, leaving kento and you alone. he turns back to you and his eyes instantly roam over your feminine curves. from the swell of your soft breasts to the flare of your hips. oh, his mouth immediately starts to water.

“now, where were we?” the blond man hums. he stalks forward until your back hits the wall with a inaudible thud. you swallow thickly as you look up at kento, who’s staring back at you like you’re a five course meal.

but beneath that passionate gaze is something so intimate. so much more gentle and loving. with every touch, his eyes still search for yours, wordlessly confirming your consent. it’s a habit of his—ever since he took your innocence on your wedding night.

kento’s hands slide down to grab your thighs. he hoists you up and encourages you to wrap your legs around the dip of his waist, holding you between his body and the wall. his eyes flicker downwards to where the skirt of your dress rides up and exposes more of your soft skin to his greedy touch.

“i need you,” your lover breathes against your lips. his mouth is an inch from yours, eager to capture it in a kiss. kento groans the second he feels your clothed cunt press against his throbbing bulge. his fingers dig into the plush flesh of your ass, “shit. i need you now.”

not a second more is wasted as your husband crashes his lips against yours. he presses you back against the wall, moaning into your mouth. this is what he missed the most. your touch, your taste— it makes him feel alive. like all his hard work is worth it.

your fingers curl into his blond locks, tugging at them as your lips move in sync. your tongues roll around each other and your lower bodies move accordingly, grinding for fiction. “are ye sure? right here?” you ask between gasps, voice muffled as his lips interlock with yours repeatedly.

kento pulls away, but not fully. he can’t let you go in any way or form. his head instantly dives into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. he immediately latches onto your throat and kisses his way down to your collarbone.

this is exactly what he needs after a hard day. the familiar perfume mixing with the faint scent of your arousal and something so homey—it’s dizzying.

“never been more sure,” your husband groans once he feels your nails gently drag down from his nape to his back, slipping beneath the collar of his blouse. little minx, he thinks, knowing exactly what makes a man weak.

kento tilts his head back so he can look into your eyes. your gaze catches his and you’re taken aback by how handsome he looks. he always does, of course, but this sight just makes you clench around nothing. it leaves you throbbing in your underwear.

the way his neat hair has now turned messy, locks covering his half-lidded eyes, biceps straining against the material of his blouse, sharp jaw clenching with the effort to hold himself back from completely ravaging you. . .

you’re soaked.

kento grins at the way your kiss-swollen lips fall apart in a small ‘o’ as you admire him. he knows he looks good and it boosts his confidence. “keep lookin’ at me like that,” he encourages as his lower body grinds against yours.

you can feel the thick outline of his dick pressing and rubbing against your clothed cunt and it causes you to jerk in place. your moans get swallowed by your husband’s lips once more, his mouth not giving you a moment to breathe as he kisses you more demandingly this time.

kento carries you to his desk, not once separating your lips from his. he sits down on his chair and settles you down on his thick thighs. your arms immediately wrap around his neck to deepen the kiss.

the steamy make out session continues for a while, both of you breathless. you finally pull back for some air and open your eyes to meet your husband’s. the way he’s looking at you, like you’re his entire world, makes you weak in the knees.

“let me take care of ya first,” you suggest in a hoarse whisper against his lips. you feel kento stiffen beneath you, his cock throbbing impatiently in his slacks at the implication.

“go right on ahead,” he bites his lip and watches your wandering hands drag down from his shoulders to his chest. the muscle in his jaw ticks as he tries his best not to intervene—to grab and bend you over his desk already.

kento’s breath catches in his throat as your delicate hands worked at his belt, the leather creaking softly as you undo the buckle. he watches, transfixed, as you tug his pants down.

suddenly, his large hand reaches out to wrap around your smaller one, squeezing it. “wait,” kento hisses and his adam’s apple bobs in his throat. he’s trying so hard not to lose control.

he takes a deep breath after closing his eyes, hips bucking lightly against your warm palm as it rests against the deliciously big bulge in his undergarments. you gently drop to your knees in front of him while giving him some time to regain his composure.

when kento opens his eyes again, he lets out a low growl from the back of his throat at the sight of you looking up at him with those big eyes. so ready, so eager to please your husband. it can make him bust a nut in his underwear.

“go on,” he whispers gruffly, letting go of your hand but not before giving it a quick kiss. that gentleman side of his never fails to make an appearance, even during sinful moments like these.

you nod and smile in excitement. you lick your lips before hooking your fingers beneath the material of the jockstraps. you slowly tug it down and free his aching cock from its confines. the thick length springs up, gently slapping against his lower stomach and leaving a smear of sticky pre-cum on the fabric of his blouse.

kento’s cock was a thing of beauty—long, thick, and girthy, with a bulbous head already glistening with arousal. veins puls along the shaft, and a faint clump of blonde curls dusted the base. the musky scent of his desire fill your nostrils, making your head swim with need.

the pre-cum trickles enticingly from the slit of his tip, a drop slithering down slowly to his heavy balls. it’s evident how much you affect the man and it makes your tummy do a flip.

“mmh— kento. y’re so hard already,” you moan as your pink tongue lolls out to lap up the sticky liquid from the head. you give it a couple small licks to tease your partner, a coy grin playing at your lips.

kento growls, one hand coming down to tangle in your hair at the contact. “fuckk, sugar,” he instinctively thrusts his hips forward, the swollen head of his cock brushing against your soft cheek, leaving pearly drops of pre-cum on your skin. “been thinkin’ about this sweet lil’ mouth all damn day. dreamin’ about them pretty lips wrapped around my dick,” he breathes heavily.

the once composed sheriff is a total mess. he squeezes the base of his dick as he gently taps your cheek with it, trying to coax your lips to part. ��c’mon. ye can’t keep this from me any longer,” kento grunts with his brows furrowed.

when you blow some warm air on his tip, he throws his head back at the contact. he’s aching for relief and sitting there teasing him. he could manhandle you to comply, but he’s simply too needy for your touch to do so.

kento gulps before looking down at you. his expression is a mix of frustration, pleasure and neediness. his cheeks are flushed, blonde locks covering his eyes. he breathes out his plea in a shaky tone;

“please.”

your jaw drops at that unexpected moment of vulnerability. it’s thrilling and causes you to immediately give in to his charms. you silently hum in agreement before wrapping your lips around his tip, swallowing inch after inch slowly.

a guttural groan tore from kento’s throat as your hot, eager mouth engulfs his twitching cock. the sensation of your tongue swirling around the sensitive head, lapping up the pre that still leaks steadily from the head, was almost more than he could bear. his fingers tighten in your hair, gripping the strands as he fought the urge to thrust deep into your throat and take his pleasure.

“awh shit,” kento growls. his voice is strained with pleasure at this point, not even able to say things properly. “yer mouth feels so fuckin’ good ‘round my dick.” he watches through heavy-lidded eyes as you take him deeper, his thick length disappearing inch by inch between your plump and kiss-swollen lips. the sight of you, on your knees before him, servicing him with such enthusiasm, sends a surge of pure primal satisfaction through him.

you redouble your efforts and bob your head. up and down, up and down—a hypnotic rhythm that has the man in front of you wrapped around your little finger.

“such a good little wife—yeah, jus’ like that,” kento’s hips rock up to your downward movements, driving his cock deeper into the tight, wet heat of your mouth.

he can feel the wet muscles fluttering around him, could hear the obscene sounds of your gagging and slurping as you struggle to take him all the way. but you didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. instead, you start sucking him with a fervor that has him seeing stars.

kento’s eyes roll back and he’s trying his best not to cum on spot. he wants to last longer, wants to relish the feeling of you pleasuring him and most importantly—he wants to spend his cum well. in a place where it can take root, where it’d serve its intended purpose.

inside you.

but it’s hard. so hard. especially when you’re watching his every reaction, eyes so captivating and alluring as you suck the soul out of him.

“don’t—oh lord,” kento grits his teeth as your hands cup his balls and squeeze them, rolling them in your palm. the dual sensations of your mouth and hands working in tandem had his breath coming in harsh pants, his muscular chest heaving with the force of it.

your husband’s head tilts backwards, the chair creaking beneath him as he grips the armrests with white knuckles. he’s lost in the sensation of you worshipping his dick, your moans vibrating around his shaft as you slurp and suck with abandon. he knows he will not last much longer at this rate, knows he is going to paint your mouth white with his seed any second now.

kento doesn’t really want to, but he also does. he’s conflicted, though it’s already too late. one particular suck and his tip hitting the deepest parts of your throat sends him over the edge.

“ah, fuck! cummin’, sweetheart!” he moans loudly, his eyes squeezed shut as the first spurts of his hot seed flow from his cock. he can’t stop it, even as he tries to pull your head off due to the overstimulation.

when you finally let his dick go with a lewd, wet pop, kento gasps for air, pushing the hairs away from your face. you’re looking so debauched, so lost in the pleasure, it sends his blood rushing southwards. again.

“there ye go. swallow it all down f’ me,” he mutters quietly, voice rough as his thumb swipes away at the cum on the corners of your mouth. he watches your throat work as you drink down the taste of him.

before you can catch your breath, kento hauls you up off the floor and onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist tightly. he feels the renewed throb of his erection pressing insistently against your thigh, already aching for more.

“dammit, darlin’,” he clicks his tongue, his voice rough and ragged with lust. “y’ve got me so fuckin’ worked up— can’t hold back no more.” his callused hands slide down to grab your round ass, kneading the flesh roughly as he grinds your clothed cunt against his wet dick.

kento stands abruptly and sweeps the contents of his desk onto the floor with a crash. papers flutter everywhere as he bends you over the now empty surface, the rough wood digging into your soft skin. he can’t care less about those important documents. not when he has his wife in front of him.

he flips the hem of your dress up, the material pooling around your waist to bare your underwear-clad ass. you’re already so wet, your pussy lips clinging to the soaked fabric of your undergarments, outlining your cunt perfectly. it’s a sight that makes kento weak in the knees.

“look at this sweet lil’ ass,” the blonde man rasps, delivering a sharp smack to one cheek. the sound echoes through the office, followed by your startled yelp. “she’s g’nna be hurtin’ when i’m done with her, i bet.”

you arch your back in response to the slaps against your bottom, “mhh, kento. need you real bad.” your ass rippling with each smack to it, along with your soft voice begging for him, makes your husband dizzy.

with a muttered curse, kento rips your underwear off, the flimsy fabric tearing like tissue paper in his large hands. he tosses the ruined garment aside, leaving you bare and exposed to his ravenous touch. his callused fingers delve between your thighs, finding you dripping wet and ready.

“tsk. would ya look at that,” he groans, plunging two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your tight cunt. “yer fuckin’ soaked. practically beggin’ for my cock like the needy lil’ slut you are.”

you can only moan in response, your hips bucking back against his invading fingers. those nasty words being said by your usual sweet lover makes you crave more. the obscene squelch of your arousal fills the air as he pumps his digits in and out of your fluttering pussy. you can feel every ridge and vein on his fingers as they stretch you open so well, preparing you for his thick cock.

“that’s it, baby,” kento encourages, his thumb finding your clit beneath its hood and rubbing the sensitive nub in rough circles. “get this sweet cunt nice and ready f’ me. am gonna make you feel so good, i promise.”

kento’s fingers pump faster, plunging in and out of your dripping pussy with wild abandon. the wet, sloppy sounds of your arousal fill the room as your slick walls clench greedily around the invading digits. he can feel you getting closer, your body tensing and quivering as he worked you towards a peak.

“cummin’ already? naughty girl,” kento growls, his voice a low, dominant rumble, “can’t have that.”

with a harsh tug, he yanks his fingers from your weeping cunt, leaving you empty and aching. “kennnn,” you whine as your fingernails dig into the wooden desk beneath you. you wiggle your hips back in frustration, needing more.

kento can see your hole clenching around air, trying to draw something back inside. the sight makes him groan, his cock throbbing painfully between his thick thighs. he’s such a weak man when it comes to you.

“i hear ya— i hear ya,” he mutters, giving in quickly to your needy whine. your dear husband can’t tease you when you’re basically begging him to take you. he grips himself in one hand, stroking his shaft as he rubs the swollen head over your dripping slit.

kento slides the engorged tip teasingly along your slick folds to coat himself in your arousal as he aligns your lower bodies. with a single thrust of his hips, he buries himself fully inside you. his heavy balls slap against your ass with a faint, meaty smack.

“fuuuck!” kento cusses and his voice echoes off the office walls as he hilts his dick in your wet pussy. no matter how many times he ruins your cunt, it’s still as tight as the first time. “fuckin’ hell, sugar,” he breathes out shakily.

your silken walls grip him like a vice, the slick muscles fluttering and clenching around his fat dick. he pauses for just a moment to savore the exquisite sensation of being buried inside his wife's perfect little cunt.

however, he cannot hold back for long. gripping your hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped dents on your flesh, he begins to move, his thighs flexing as he sets a relentless rhythm. the obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room as he fucks into you. the ancient desk creaks and shakes with each forceful thrust. it’s a wonder that old thing isn’t breaking.

“tha’s it, take it,” kento snarls. he punctuates each word with a sharp snap of his hips. the feeling of his slick dick slamming into you over and over has him nearly tearing up from pleasure. this is the way to forget about all his earlier problems

“doing so good, honey. yer squeezin’ the life outta me—good girl,” he praises in-between movements. no matter how much he gets lost in the haze of lust, he’s still the sweet nanami kento you know.

his fingers dig into the meat of your ass, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh as he drives into you again and again. you’re overwhelmed by the stretch, the pure pleasure of his dick molding your insides to fit him and him only.

your toes curl as you struggle to lay steady on your tummy. “o-oh, mmh. right there,” your eyes roll back and your body jolts back and forth in sync with his thrusts. your lower tummy and cunt are tingling, needing more stimulation to build up to that mind-blowing orgasm.

“faster, deeper, please— please,” you mewl. you can’t bring yourself to care about the possibility of others hearing you outside the sheriff’s office. let the town folk gossip and whatnot. at the end of the day, you’re the one winning by having a husband like kento.

your lover leans over your arched back, his sweat-slicked chest pressing against your shoulder blades. he kisses the back of your head with a smile playing on his lips, “as you wish.”

one hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair. kento fists it tightly, using it as a handle to yank your head back, forcing your spine into a deeper arch. the new angle lets him drive even deeper into you, his hard cock kissing your cervix with each rough thrust.

kento’s dick plunges inside your cunt with wild abandon and you’re loving it. your sweet noises intensify and you can’t think about anything else but the feeling of you being split open. the tip of his dick touches the deepest parts of you and it’s painful—but the pain is nothing compared to the mind numbing pleasure.

“there we go. gotta get all up in there, aye?” kento pants harshly against the side of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin. his other hand reaches around to flick your clit before coming to rest on your lower tummy, “that way i can ensure y’re g’nna end up with a swollen belly.”

the implications of his words make you shudder. you know kento’s always been a family man. always dropping hints of wanting to start a family with you when you’re ready. and he never misses the opportunity to pump you full of his potent cum when you do try for a baby.

“k-ken,” you bite your lip at the thought of it. of succeeding to conceive this time. it’d be because of this lewd moment, in his office out all places. it’s so naughty to the point it’s driving you insane.

kento notices how your body is reacting to his dirty talk and grins to himself. he isn’t clueless—he can feel the way you clench around his dick, as if you’re trying to suck every drop of cum out of his sack. “hm? yer cunt is agreein’ with me, it seems,” he hums.

your lover bites your shoulder as his hips pound against your rear with a strength that’s nearly inhuman. your insides are being turned to mush while you’re drowning in ecstasy.

“yer g’nna make such a good momma,” kento continues to whisper those words in your ears, simply to drive you to the brink of an orgasm. he kisses your earlobe lovingly as his deep voice carries on, “can’t wait to see this beautiful body change to carry my child.”

the dirty talk sure is working. he can feel you tensing, could hear the breathy moans and whimpers spilling from your lips as he brings you closer to the edge. he knows your body—knows every inch of you—and he uses that knowledge drive you utterly mad.

“ah, fuck, ken! honey,” you whine. the contrast between his honeyed voice and rough thrusts that send electric jolts down your spine, is maddening. you can feel the knot tightening in your belly, threatening to snap any second now.

kento’s eyes darken and he grunts in response. the hand that’s been playing with your clit moves to hold onto your hip again for leverage, pounding into you with a passion you’ve never felt before.

“i know,” he mutters gruffly as he watches his cock disappear into your greedy cunt, “i know, sugar. just give yerself t’ me. let go.”

that’s all it really takes. kento feels your body go rigid beneath him as your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave. your walls clamp down around his pistoning cock like a silken vise, fluttering and rippling as you cum hard.

you cry out due to your mind-blowing orgasm. your thighs tremble and your body convulses uncontrollably on the desk—eyes closed as your senses focus on the remaining pleasure.

“fuck, yes— yes yes yes,” kento grunts as your slick fluids gush out around his dick. he can feel the warm, slick heat of your juices splash against his balls and drip down his thighs. the sight of you coming undone on his dick, the sound of your screams of ecstasy filling the room, pushes him over the edge as well.

kento slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt in your spasming, sensitive pussy. his cock jerks and throbs inside you as thick ropes of cum erupt from the tip. he can feel each spurt of his load, can count the pulsing jets of cum as he pump you full with it.

“take it—let me breed ya real good,” he pants while grinding his hips against your ass to properly empty himself inside your pulsing cunt. kento shudders as his hips lazily move in small, shallow circles, “get it all nice ‘n deep in there.. yeaaah, good job.”

his grip on your hair tightens for a moment, forcing you to arch you back even more as he slowly rides his orgasm out, his release seeming to go on and on. he senses his hot seed sloshing inside you, can already picture it flooding your fertile womb and taking root.

finally, with a shuddering groan, kento collapses against your back. his large frame easily blankets your smaller one. he notices your body trembling beneath him, could hear the soft whimpers and mewls spilling from you lips as you came down from your high as well. despite that, he stays buried inside you, not wanting to lose a single drop of his cum.

“yer so perfect,” your lover whispers and nuzzles his face into your neck, “the most perfect woman a man could ask for.” that gentleman side of his now makes a full return, as it always does after a particularly rough session. kento takes aftercare quite seriously.

his hands rub your sides and massage your body in places he knows will be sore later on. his lips leave trails of kisses from your neck to your shoulders and back—a testament of his love for you.

after making sure you’re okay, kento eases himself up off your back, his softening dick slipping from your tender folds with a squelch. he looks down to see your combined fluids leaking out from your slit, dripping down your thighs to pool on the rough wood beneath you.

the sight makes him bite back a groan. if it wasn’t for the ounce of self control left inside of him, he’d go for a second round. but he can’t. his coworkers will be back soon anyway.

kento helps you up as well, his hands gripping your waist to steady you as your shaky legs find their footing. “mmh, my lovely wife,” he smiles at you as he cups your face into his hands. he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and pulls you into a hug, “thank you so much. don’t think i would’ve even survived today if ye didn’t show up.”

you giggle at kento’s dramatics and hug him back tightly, body slowly recovering from the intense passion you two just shared. the fog on the nearby window, the steamy tension and the scent of sex still lingers in the air—something you have to take care of soon before others come to visit.

but for now, you’ll just enjoy the warmth of your husband’s embrace. that’s all what really matters.

[itsrlymine]

i apologize for the really long ask but i really wanted to share my thoughts and i would make my own loa blog but i dont have it in me to deal with anons so i fear i will dump them all on you 😔 first off i want to say THANKKKK YOUUUUUU you literally changed my manifestation journey i used to be really into manifestation back in 2021/2022 and i was trying to manifest my dream face but it never happened no matter how much i affirmed or listened to subs or anything so i was just like fuck it this manifesting stuff isnt real imma just move on with my life and thats how i went about my life until you popped up on my dashboard a month ago and usually i would click not interested on any loa content but i was like you know what lemme give this stuff a chance again bc i did try the non manifesting route and it didnt work out bc when i tell you my life went DOWNHILL i used to protect myself from negative experiences by having the belief that i was simply the exception to terrible stuff but the moment i left the loa behind and was like no thats unrealistic anything can happen well guess what!! so many bad stuff happened in my life the last 2 years its genuinely crazy. so i was like lemme try this again and i went through your blog and really tried to materialize everything you were saying and read it with the attitude that what you are saying IS real instead of the doubting attitude i had towards loa advice/info back in 2022 and things really shifted for me.

so the first thing i learned is that MANIFESTATION IS REAL and more importantly NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE what i went through these past two years was proof to me that manifestation is real because once i adopted that negative mindset and dropped any positive beliefs i had my life became a nightmare and all those terrible thoughts manifested right before my eyes. for example i used to believe that i always looked pretty no matter what, this was just something part of my belief system but when i abandoned the law and everything i told myself no thats crazy i cant mAniFeSt looking pretty its unrealistic if im not pretty then im just not and bro when i tell you i was at my lowest appearance wise I WAS AT MY LOWESSTT my classmates at school would come up to me and tell me i looked so different and so dull even my mom would say the same stuff to me and tell me i changed i also noticed a difference when i looked in the mirror. the reason why i felt like manifestation wasnt real was because it just seemed really crazy to me, i felt like things materializing out of nowhere and appearances changing drastically was just like something fantastical and just not possible here in the real world. well i am here to tell you that is NAWT THE CASE! the world is not logical and im gonna tell you why. most of us here have grew up religious, and whats more illogical than religion? there are so many stories in the bible where illogical stuff happen like youre telling me some guy can turn water into wine? doesnt that sound like something out of a fantasy movie? but it happened, right? you believe in the bible so you believe in all the stuff that happened in it even the magical stuff. and another thing with growing up religious is that we always hear stories about miracles where for example a neighbor who was really sick suddenly woke up completely healthy. and we also were taught that we can ask god for anything and that god can make anything happen. i remember when my dad would teach me about religion he would say that god can make the grass is purple if he wanted to. it isnt just in religion but also in another spiritual communities and stuff they also have their own stories where things that dont really make sense logically happen. this goes to show that the world and humanity were never logical and that illogical things can happen, they've been happening since the dawn of time. people just came up with their own explanations. so get that thought that you cant change your entire face because its too crazy out of your head because it isn't. anything is possible. we literally live on a rock and we somehow move and speak and talk and somehow atoms exist so pls get with the program aint nothing logical in this life and the sooner you come to terms with that the better. nothing is too crazy because existence itself is crazy.

the second thing i learned was that MANIFESTATION IS NOT A PROCESS. i used to hear this all the time back in 2022 and it never made sense to me i was always like what tf are yall talking about???? my understanding was that manifestation is the act of trying to get something, but i was so so wrong. everything changed for me when i started approaching manifestation with the attitude that i was reminding myself of what i have, not trying to get what i want. basically stop thinking of manifestation as manifestation if ykwim. to really understand this im gonna have to talk about the whole "decide that you have your desire > affirm that you have it > keep presisting" thing and break it down.

so what do people mean when they tell you to decide that you have your desire? does it mean saying out loud "i have __" and then a few seconds going "alright wheres my ___?" no. it means you in your mind decide that its ALREADY YOURS and that you ALREADY GOT IT. i dont know how to word this any differently because its so simple its literally in the words. im gonna try an example. im assuming that youre reading this with your eyes so you have eyes. are you trying to 'manifest' having eyes? when you say "i have eyes" are you using an affirmation to get eyes? is having eyes a desire youre trying to 'manifest'? no because you literally already have eyes bro how else are you reading this with your bootyhole??? so when you say "i have eyes" you arent manifesting via affirming, youre just saying it to remind yourself because well you have eyes. you arent trying to manifest eyes because you already have them. thats what it means to decide that your desire is yours. it means to stop treating what is yours as a desire because its literally yours. stop seeing it as something youre trying to manifest because you already have it, wtf do you need to manifest for? do you get it? don't think of doing this as you tricking your mind into thinking you have your desires because AGAINN you arent tricking anything you literally already have it. when you say "i have eyes" and you have eyes are you trying to trick gour brain? no. that sounds silly. im sorry that this is so repetitive but its literally that simple idk what everyone else is doing complicating the most simple thing ever.

and now, what do people mean by affirm that you have it? does that mean using affirmations to manifest your 'desire'? (i put desire in quotations bc you already have it since you decided you do) no. it simply means reminding yourself that you do. ill go back to the eyes example. if you were to say "i have eyes" right now would you understand that as some woo woo manifestation affirmation technique? no because you already have eyes. what youre doing is simply stating a fact and reminding yourself of it for funsies. you arent trying to manifest anything because you already have it. affirming doesn't mean tricking your brain or your subconscious that you have your desire or whatever, its just you reminding yourself.

and finally, what does it mean to persist? does that mean fighting for your life trying to convince yourself that you have your desire? no. because you already have it. it simply means that everytime you ask yourself "oh why isnt this showing up in my 3d?" you tell yourself "bro what tf are you on about were not manifesting anything we already have it are you crazy?" that's all. going back to the eyes example, you know you have eyes, so if someone came up to you rn and was like "hey did your eyes come in yet?" you'd probably think they hit their head or something because your eyes are literally right there its how youre seeing their dumbass. that's the same attitude you have to have towards your 'desires'. stop thinking of your 'desires' as desires, stop thinking youre trying to manifest anything, stop thinking you have to wait for anything to show up in the 3d or that the 3d is lagging behind or whatever, stop seeing manifestation as manifestation, stop imagining yourself sending in success stories asks when you get your desires, basically just stop dawg. you already have it. "dont contradict yourself" (although again you arent contradicting anything bc you already have it im just running out of ways to simply something thats already so simple). thats what it means to manifest instantly.

anyways thats all i wanted to say. im so sorry for the horrendously long ask i would make it even longer by talking about my success now but i think you would beat my ass if i did. bye bye love u

!!!!! you ate this whole thing up. y'all better come read this.

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon: interlude - a tango in barcelona | formula one imagine

interlude: a tango in barcelona

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

dancing around her teammate on and off track, y/n looks to boogie her troubles away.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

may 2020, spain.

life at mclaren hadn’t started the way y/n had hoped. the days were long and surprisingly quiet, the latter mostly due to her teammate and his aversion to acknowledging her existence. she was tired already this weekend and they hadn’t even raced yet.

the barcelona heat was making her race suit stick to her already just walking to the grid for the national anthem. “it’s hot as balls” y/n whined as she slipped between max and george while the choir set up ahead of them.

“oh my sweet summer child, we haven’t even gotten to singapore yet,” max said taking off his ice vest and fastening it to y/n.

“ugh don’t remind me,” y/n wiped more sweat off of her brow, “i think singapore might kill me.”

george laughed, moving his umbrella to the left so it covered y/n as well, “singapore is a baptism by fire, but you’ve done well so far this season so i don’t think you’ll have too hard a time.”

y/n smiled up at the taller brit, “thanks georgie, maybe if you’re such an expert in singapore you’ll be able to catch me.” she punctuated it with a wink, george nearly dropping the umbrella in response.

“do you mind? you nearly took my eye out with this thing!” max hissed at george, flicking the umbrella. george lifted the umbrella to get it out of eye range of the dutchman, who in turn saw it as an invitation to seek refuge in the shade.

“no way verstappen, this umbrella is for pretty people only,” george grabbed y/n’s hand and moved them a couple steps away.

“if that was so, only y/n would be allowed under it beanstalk.”

“if my height is the only thing you can think to insult me about, i can live.”

“oh believe me there’s a lot more stored up, i just wouldn’t want to give you any inspiration for when you take out a backmarker and blame everyone but yourself.”

y/n sighed dramatically, “already? i thought you two were going to cool it down this season. i don’t even understand how you have a rivalry, you’re nowhere near him on track george…” george let out a scandalised squeal, “oh my bad george, you know what i meant.”

“i think what y/n means is that she doesn’t rate you ‘mr saturday’”.

as george went to bite back but the loud horns of the national anthem cut their quarrel off early. y/n fought to keep her laugh in throughout the national anthem, seeing george seething in her peripheral vision. he was so easy to rattle it was practically a pastime of half the grid at this point.

before george could get a dig back in, y/n and max were back in deep conversation, discussing their approach to turn two with just minutes until the formation lap. he yearned to be the one that y/n spilled her tips, tricks and secrets to but like most of his life, the dutchman had beaten him to that honour. now he knew how lando felt.

lando, george and alex had bonded long before 2018, but their three-way title fight in formula two brought them closer rather than forcing them apart. george cherished that friendship, he found it invaluable to have two of his closest friends with him as they entered the cutthroat world of formula one - he just wished he could’ve been that person for y/n.

lando didn’t often articulate it well, but george understood his curly-haired friend’s struggles. lando had gushed all off season about having y/n as his teammate, chatting animatedly about potential roadtrips, shared flights and sleepovers before it was all snuffed out in a moment. george always suspected that lando felt more about their friend than he let on (or thought he let on). once he had thought it was a victim of circumstance, teenage boys discovering what these new hormones were doing to their body did tend to fixate on the one girl in their midst. but as they grew up, that puppy love crush didn’t seem to wain, not that anyone else around them seemed to notice.

a single comment from one max verstappen crushed that. a late night discord call between the rookie trio and max had naturally seen the topic of y/n arise. lando, as usual, started to wax lyrical about the season ahead, with his vision for their teammate relationship constructed in his head.

“mate, we’ve already started.”

“huh?” lando’s voice stuttered over the call, he cleared his throat, “what do you mean?”

“y/n and i,” max continued, “we’ve already started doing sim runs together, watching onboards and all that jazz.” the dutchman said it so casually, unaware of lando’s imminent heartbreak - george’s too, he just hid it better.

“but why? i’m going to be her teammate, not you? why would she even use your sim, she’s racing for mclaren next year not red bull.”

not noticing the path they were hurtling down, max dug his foot in, “no offence lando, but if y/n wants my tips, i’m going to give it to her. it’s noble for you to want to look out for her, but realistically what tips could you give her that are better than mine… i am the only one here who has actually won a race.”

alex loudly coughed, stopping max before he could continue. “it’s getting late, maybe we should call it a night?”

“it’s nine o’clock?” max questioned.

“no, i’m tired,” lando let out an undoubtedly fake yawn, “i think it’s time for bed.”

“okay suit yourselves,” max said, going back to his iracing, “lando, don’t take it too personally that she chose me. we’ve been friends for so long, we don’t know anything but each other.”

“i’ve known her just as long as you!”

it was starting to get a little heated and despite alex and george trying to interject, the two kept going.

“you may have known her just as long, but you don’t know her. we’ve been there for each other at our lowest and our highest. it’s not a competition. i honestly hope she comes to you next season, i don’t trust your team as far i can throw them. it will be good to have someone in her corner.”

“oh well if you’re that magnificent then why can’t you be her white knight all the way from red bull, huh?”

“you know what lando, we’ll talk about this again once you’ve shaken off this weird primal urge you have to ‘claim’ her. a piece of advice, she won’t like that.”

“oh you insufferable little shit-”

“goodbye everyone!” alex interjected, kicking max out of the call.

“what the fuck was that lando?”

“you heard him, posterising, peacocking and then having the gall to say that i’m being territorial over y/n.”

george sighed, his affection for the same girl was going to have to be buried even deeper after this. “max wasn’t peacocking about y/n, lando. if anything he was showing off his wins rather than her,” alex tried to reason.

“no! he can’t let us - can’t let me have anything. it’s always been this way and with y/n it’s like he knows deep down that i want her so he has to have her instead. he’s clinging on to her and shoving it in my face - it’s not my fault he has a shit dad and he attached himself to her because she was the only one not afraid of him - so why am i being punished for it?”

lando’s outburst rendered alex and george silent. the older one was horrified to say the least, the season hadn’t even started and lando’s jealousy was already out of hand.

“lando, that was too far…” alex said softly.

“no! he thinks that because he has a shitty sob story that he can just claim her? she’s her own person!”

“right. i’m going to stop you there before you say something that’ll make me hate you for real. you need to get over what ever the fuck this is so you can be a normal fucking human being next season,” alex tried to reason with lando.

“i am in love with her!”

“are you? or are you in love with the thought of what could happen? have you actually stopped and wondered whether y/n likes you or even likes men? for someone so protective over her, you haven’t considered her feelings too much.”

lando has the foresight to look a little guilty. george stayed silent, he knows alex is suspicious of him too, but that can of worms can wait until another day.

“you need to get a life and calm down. max is one of your best friends and i know deep down you didn’t mean a word you said tonight but you need to get a grip before you say any of that in front of him or y/n because i’m sorry but i won’t be stopping them if they try to hit you.”

lando doesn’t say anything, but the guilty look on his face says enough.

“goodnight.”

the call ended there and was never brought up again. george watched y/n waltz back towards the mclaren garage, a big gap between her and lando. there had been no more outbursts since that night but if what george overheard from daniel, lando had still managed to completely screw himself. was george that angry at that news? not really.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

the race was pretty uneventful, barcelona usually was. y/n started in sixth and managed to pip charles to fifth after ferrari screwed up his pitstop once again. despite her deep love for sangria, y/n didn’t really feel like leaving her hotel room after she had scrubbed all of the sweat and grime off in the shower.

she was pleased with her points haul, smiling to herself in debrief as they analysed lando’s first lap incident with pierre gasly that lando just insisted was no fault of his own…

her ring tone invaded her peaceful evening, the name ‘albono’ flashing up on her phone. pressing accept,

“how can i help you on this fine evening, mr albon?”

“well i find myself in this fine dancing establishment, looked around and thought it was crying out for a little y/n y/ln action.”

“dancing you say?”

“i’m 100% serious, sebastian of all people has dragged also to a bar where they’re attempting to teach us the tango…”

“oh i love the tango! it’s my favourite dance on strictly…”

“so what i’m hearing is that i should get a tequila sunrise in preparation for your arrival?”

y/n sighed, “yes you may.”

“score! i’ll send you the address and an uber. see you soon.”

so there goes her quiet night in, but who wouldn’t love the chance to tango with your close friends in under the stars? and she had packed her little red number… maybe the y/n who packed that suitcase all those days knew something current y/n didn’t.

y/n elected to skip most of her makeup routine, her skin sensitive from all the sweat in her balaclava, swiping on some mascara, lip gloss and a healthy dose of blush. like alex said, the uber was waiting for her outside the lobby.

the outside of the bar looked closer to a college dive bar than somewhere you’d expect to find a group of formula one drivers, but she suspects that’s why sebastian chose it.

“buenes noches senorita,” fernando alonso gave her a spin on entry.

“gracias nando,” she curtsied in front of the spaniard, drawing a laugh out of the elder driver, “i am sorry to cut this short, but i am tired and i fear i have already promised my one dance to another.”

“how will i ever recover?”

“i think you’ll find a way old man.”

“you wound me, but alex is waiting for you by the bar.”

y/n made her way through the bar, spotting several drivers caught up in their dancing lessons from the locals. she tapped alex on the shoulder, with the tall driver turning, wielding her tequila sunrise.

“nice of you to turn up at last,” alex teased, handing her the drink.

“i’ll have you know i was snuggled up ready for some netflix action before you called.”

“you came all this way for a dance with little ol’ me?”

“of course, alex. i have missed you.”

“i have missed you too, the red bull stuff is piling up and i have been neglecting my big brother duties, i’m sorry. not that it seems to be effecting your rookie season too much.”

“don’t worry about me alex, i’m proud of you and what you’re doing at red bull, even if they’re being unreasonably hard on you.”

alex led her to the middle of the dance floor and put one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulder. they started to move to the music,

“i just miss when it was more laidback. i barely have time to stop between sim sessions and media duties and performance meetings. i miss sitting in your driver room laughing at your instagram private messages and watching stupid adam sandler movies.”

alex spun her and as she came back to him she said, “we can still do that alex! you don’t have to be alone, we can still watch adam sandler movies and ignore calls from helmut.”

alex smiled at her as the music slowed down.

“i wish i was here for you more in your rookie season,” alex laments but y/n interjects, “it’s only the fourth race. you’re focused on you and i wouldn’t want anything else. there’s time for us to find our way back to each other. you're a brother to me, like blood, there’s nothing that can destroy that bond.”

“i’m sorry lando is being a prick.”

“it is what it is.”

“no it’s not. we had each other last year, he should be there for you.”

“it’s whatever, i have max, i have you, i’ll survive.”

the music came to an end. the two embraced but when they broke apart y/n started heading for the exit, picking up max on the way through, the dutchman having already booked them an uber. y/n turned and waved to alex, she meant it when she said it was just one dance. she made a ‘call me sign’ and mouthed ‘adam sandler’ before rushing out of the bar with max.

alex turned and made his way to george who was still nursing his first drink at the bar. george didn’t respond when alex prompted him. the thai man nudged george laughing about how ‘y/n knows how to make a short and sweet appearance’ but still got nothing.

“you’re not seriously angry about a tango are you george?”

“no.”

“you’re a terrible liar,” alex whispered, “not as bad as lando but terrible nonetheless.”

“at least i’m not taking it out on her like lando.”

“no, you just use max as target pratice on your dart board for shits and giggles.”

“whatever.”

“fine, deal with it how you wanna big boy, but if you turn out like lando right now, i’ll be down two best friends and up two murder charges.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: my first interlude! @deviltsunoda and i came up with these ideas so i could write shorter things while i have work and you guys still get fed! so enjoy this lil exploration into y/n and alex's friendship (they are so precious to me!) and why lando is being such an asshole... enjoy! the weekend should bring chapter four.

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn @blueberry648579 @dog-and-cat-person230 @fastandcurious16 @obxstiles @cosmicwintr @becca388510 @savagittariuspy

[cassdrawsthings]

God, that was my whole fucking childhood in a nutshell.

You know what I love about it?

I've made a list.

Won't you take a moment to read about all of the things I love?

I think you'll enjoy it

I'm excited to share things with you :D

Love being gaslit into thinking that every single problem is a problem with me.

Love being constantly abused by society every single step of the way.

Love being psychologically tortured non-stop for literal years by peers who treated it as a sport.

I wish I could make friends

Love being psychologically tortured non-stop for years by adults out of spite that I went to for help.

Love having my joy and sense of wonderment beaten out of me during a time of nurturing.

What did I do wrong?

Love living as an adult in a child's body.

Was it something I said?

I love every attempt at human connection and every attempt to share my interests being aggressively rejected and being punished for even trying.

I love how it was seen as especially noble that I would spend time with the nonverbal autistic kids trying to find new ways to communicate with them when they were among the very few who seemed to understand me.

I'm sorry I didn't mean to bother you

I love seeing nonverbal autistic kids being seen as obnoxious lumps of flesh incapable of thought or agency by people who make no real attempt to adapt to their needs.

I love being told I have no sense of empathy by people who act like unfeeling psychopaths towards me when I dare to simply exist around them.

I love being called a retard by my classmates for struggling to use spoken language under stress.

I love being pushed to the point of abject desperation, being backed into a corner and drowning in abuse and neglect and isolation and feeling completely and utterly hopeless.

Please just leave me alone

I love having my desperate struggle for basic survival labeled as "anger issues."

I love having nobody to turn to for company but my pet cat.

I love crying myself to sleep every night.

I love spending every day yearning to return to the before times, hoping that everything is just a horrible nightmare and that I would wake up one day in a kind world.

I love being disappointed every time.

I love waking up into different variations of the same horrible, traumatic day instead.

Over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

Please, I'm trying my best

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

I love losing hope.

I love wondering why I had any to begin with.

I love trying to run away and making it a block before breaking down and sobbing alone in the cold winter rain.

And over.

And over.

And over. What do you want from me

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

I loAnd over.

Ov

Er.

I love forgetting how it feels to have the gentle wAnd over.armth of sunlight on your skin.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And ovI love accepting that this horrible, cold, lonely tunnel is my new life.er.

And over.

And over. Please I just want an honest friend

And over. I just want to be loved

I love accepting that there is no light at the end of this tunnel.

And over.

And over.

And over And over

And over I love you Lula, you're such a good kitty

And over I love that you spend time with me

And over thank you for being a warm, gentle thing

And over for me to hold close to my heart

And over. Such a sweetie

And over.

And over.

And over. Such a kind soul

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

I love holding my stuffed animals close and sobbing as I apologize over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and without even knowing what I'm apologizing for. and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over. I have poured so much love into my stuffed

And over. animals

And over.

And over. Maybe someday I will have that love

And over. returned to me

And over.

And over. and I won't be so sad

And over.

And over.

I love having the school's principal, the only adult in my life that would extend kindness and understanding to me, being out sick for days without explanation.

And over.

And over. Lula's fur is so silky soft

And over.

I love the pain turning to a dull, crushing ache.

And over.

And over. It's a good soft texture in a world of

And over. bad textures and bad people

I love days turning to weeks.

And over.

And over.

A

I love becoming desensitized

And over please get better soon it's gotten so bad

And oer please come back I'm begging you

A d ov r

I love weeks turning to months.

I love becoming depersonalized.

And over.

And over.

And over.

I love the temporary substitute.

And over.

And over.

I love how I'm a problem to solve.

And over.

I love being told he's getting better.

I love being lied to.

I love being gaslit up until the day of his death.

I love begging God for just five minutes to say my goodbyes and thank him for everything he did for me.

I love getting no reply.

I love dreaming of monsters pretending to be him.

I love waking up to monsters pretending to be him.

And overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAm I in hell?And overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd over

I love giving up.

I love having nothing left to live for.

I'm so sorry

I tried my best

It wasn't good enough

Maybe it's my fault after all

Maybe I didn't deserve life in the first place

I love walking home with my sister and the dipshit neighbor boy.

I love that not even the walk home from school will grant me peace.

I love how he's a total asshole all the time to me for no fucking reason at all.

I love when I finally snap.

I love deciding that I'm done with all of it.

Maybe this is my freedom

I love trying to jump into traffic.

I loveAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAHell would be better than this.And overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd over

And being pulled out of traffic by my sister

I lovenot to stop me from killing myself

I love ovbut because it seemed like I was just being a complete impulsive spaz like always with no self control

erIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyIloveyoululakittyI

I love you Lula kitty more than anyone else in the whole wide world, thank you for letting me talk and listening to me and not being mean to me

I love being stuck here

I love being trapped

I love being denied even the kindness of death

I lo

Ilo

I love breaking my arm and getting a silver sharpie in the hopes that someone will sign it.

I love that nobody ever did.

I

No

ilha

Over and over and over and over and No.

I love I've fucking had it

Į løvè being crushingly alone

I love I've absolutely fucking had it I'm done with this

I love You know what I have bent over backwards and

I love done everything I can to destroy everything

I love about myself that brings me joy just so that

I love feeling the warm light return.

I love you would allow me to exist and survive

I love getting lost in imaginary worlds on the computer that let me pretend I live in something other than this godawful fucking torture chamber where every sound stabs into me like knives and every texture rips at my skin like knives and everything is trying to cut me to pieces like I tried to kill myself when it became clear that I could not so much as breathe wi autistic retard stupid useless piece of shit crybaby anger issues retard retard retard stupid idiot retard can't spell words out loud stop being such a fucking crybaby all the time retard freak retard retard retard degenerate piece of garbage annoying piece of shit thout being torn down and beaten into submission

I love it turning into a harsh, dry, burning feeling.

I love when people leave me alone and let me draw in What do you want from me peace.

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME

WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT FROM ME

I TRIED TO GIVE UP MY LIFE FOR YOU AND YOU WOULD NOT TAKE EVEN THAT

DO YOU THINK MY ENTIRE FUCKING EXISTENCE IS JUST TO BE YOUR AMUSING LITTLE PUNCHING BAG

YOU KNOW WHAT, YOU CAN'T TELL ME TO SIT DOWN AND BE QUIET ANYMORE WHEN YOU WILL NOT FUCKING LET ME

I'VE FUCKING HAD IT

NO, THIS IS NOT MY FUCKING PROBLEM

IT IS NOT MY FUCKING PROBLEM THAT MY ABILITY TO LIVE MY FUCKING LIFE IS SUCH A MASSIVE ISSUE FOR YOU

I'M FUCKING SICK OF ALL OF YOU AND I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE

YOU CANNOT TELL ME WHAT TO DO, YOU CANNOT MAKE ME SIT STILL AND BE QUIET

YOU CAN TORMENT ME, BEAT ME, HARASS ME, CALL ME STUPID STUPID RETARD FUCKUP STUPID ANNOYING HAHA YOU SPILLED YOUR MILK AT LUNCH AND GOT UPSET AND EVERYONE SAW AND IT WAS EMBARRASSING AND ALL YOU WANTED WAS FOR PEOPLE TO STOP LOOKING AT YOU AND

I love IT'S SOOOO FUNNY THAT WE CAN SET YOU OFF JUST BY SAYING MILK NOW HAHAHAHA HAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAA HAHAHA

BUT YOU CANNOT FUCKING CONTROL ME ANYMORE

I love my lula-boo, my sweet little kitty understands me.

I love how even an animal is capable of more kindness and empathy than you people.

I love that I'm fucking allowed to rock if I want to.

I love deciding that I am not the fucking problem and if people want to have a problem it is theirs to fucking deal with.

I love trying to hit someone that was trying to hurt to me and being punched in the stomach as hard as he could manage.

I love crumpling onto the cold metal grating in agonizing pain and struggling to breathe while the teacher yells at me for being late to line up.

I love deciding that I can just make myself throw up and go home for the day because I'm sick.

I love that You can't fucking stop me. What are you going to do. What could you possibly do to me that's worse than the last five years of And overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd. Do you think I care anymore? Do you think I have anything left to lose?

I love that What, I can't even share the time of day with you people without someone hitting me or telling me to shut up and nobody cares about your stupid fucking Mario games. And you expect me to fall in line and write kind words for my classmates just because they're honored student of the month?

I love that Maybe I'll have some kind words for them when they stop tormenting me and fucking apologize.

I love that Fine. Send me to the fucking principal's office. See what I care about being removed from this situation.

I love that Maybe I'll have some kind words for them when they realize what they've done to me and understand how I feel.

I love that Maybe I'll have some kind words for them when they're the ones trying to kill themselves for once to escape their burden of guilt.

What happens at the end of eternity?

I love that I'm so desensitized to suicidal thoughts that it's not even a taboo subject to me anymore. It's just the fond childhood memories to me at this point.

I love being followed for years.

I love glancing over my shoulder and seeing it close behind every time.

I love having my experiences denied for years.

I love people shrugging it off.

I love being told that they did everything they could but their hands were tied.

I love being a scarred, mutilated corpse of a person for the rest of my life.

I love that I can't share about my special interests without constant flashes of anxiety that I'm going to get yelled at.

I love that I constantly have to worry that maybe this is all just a lie and that they're just putting up with me and that it's the same as always.

I love being told things will get better by people who do nothing to make it so.

I love being told that they can't do much for me now but I'll do great in college.

I love that I have no recourse for what happened.

I love being an unfortunate case that shouldn't have happened but they can't do anything about it.

I love being told that people in the school administration were made aware of my case and that they're going to try to make adjustments to stop it from happening again.

I love not being asked for my thoughts.

I love that nonverbal autistic children are still in the same Special Ed class they've always been in.

I love that they're still treated as obnoxious lumps of meat without agency or worth.

I love being told things are better.

I love how the scars remain.

I love the flashbaWHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME LET ME OUT LET ME OUTcks.

I love being told that "low-functioning autistics" have other issues and not everybody is ready for the same kind of dignity and fair treatment and respect.

I love that I'm too autistic to be treated with dignity and too good at masking to be given accomodations.

I love having the nightmares.

I love dreaming of monsters pretending to be him.

I love having to relive those five yearsAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAHell would be better than this.And overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd overAnd over in my dreams.

I love how nothing is wrong now.

I love how the majority of my life has been spent emotionally-dead and completely isolated out of fear.

I love living in the same room that I spent so many years weeping in.

I love being haunted by the ghost of a sobbing, lonely child.

I love worrying about if I'm allowed to flap and rock around.

I love worrying if people think I'm weird for touching the cloth and clothing in the store to feel its texture when it looks nice.

I love worrying if it's okay to mention that a sound is hurting my ears.

I love worrying if I'm allowed to share my interests with people.

I love worrying about whether people will start to do it again.

I love being an adult in a child's body.

I love being a child in an adult's body.

I love being gaslit.

I love hearing the piercing fluorescent whine.

I love seeing the disorienting fluorescent flicker.

I love the cold, gross light cast upon everything I can see.

I love the resigned expressions on people's faces when I tell them about it.

I love the fond childhood memories it stirs up.

I love the lamp.

I cannot stop thinking about the lamp.

I know nothing of the lamp but it consumes me nonetheless.

I love living in a prison of my own flesh.

I love being a child in an adult's body.

I miss you, Lula.

growing up autistic / growing up gaslit

I.

this is the first lesson you learn: you are always wrong.

there is no electric hum buzzing through the air. there is no stinging bite to the sweetness of the mango. there is no bitter metallic tang to the water.

there is no cruelty in their laughter, no ambiguity in the instructions, no reason to be upset. there is no bitter aftertaste to your sweet tea, nothing scratchy about your blanket.

the lamps glow steadily. they do not falter.

II.

this is the second lesson you learn: you are never right.

you are childish, gullible, overly prone to tears. you are pedantic, combative, deliberately obtuse. you are lazy, unreliable, never on time.

you’re always making up excuses, rudely interrupting, stepping on people’s shoes. you’re always trying to get attention, never thinking about anyone else, selfish through and through.

it’s you that’s the problem. the lamps are fine.

III.

this is the third lesson you learn: you must always give in.

mother knows best. father knows best. doctor knows best. teacher knows best. this is the proper path. do not go astray.

listen to your elders, respect your betters, accept what’s given to you as your due. bow to the wisdom of experience, the education of the professional, the clarity of an external point of view.

what do you know about lamps, anyway?

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part14

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: none (I guess)

previous - next

Witnessing Something You’ve Never Experienced 

There are moments in life—like when someone’s laughter makes you laugh, when you share their joy, or when you cry together—that are impossible to put into words. Watching someone else’s happiness is priceless. Maybe that’s one of the best things about being human: feeling their happiness as if it were your own. 

These were the simplest, purest emotions. And yet, when you saw Cleo and Pope smiling at each other, it was hard to keep your own happiness in check. It almost felt like it wasn’t their story, but yours. Like their vows added something to your life, too. 

You’d never been married. In fact, you’d never even come close to it. But as you listened to Cleo and Pope exchange vows, for a moment, you forgot about that emptiness inside you. Standing barefoot on the moonlit beach, watching them hold hands, it felt like everything was exactly as it should be. 

A gentle breeze mingled with the sound of waves breaking on the shore, creating a serene melody in the background. Standing on the sand, you realized how special this moment was. Everyone around you was smiling, even JJ. 

He stood a little apart from the crowd, lazily swirling a beer bottle in his hand as he watched the ceremony. His trademark smirk was there, but something about him seemed softer. As if he was sharing in the happiness in his own way. 

“You ready to head back?” JJ’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. He had come up beside you, gesturing toward the lights at the edge of the beach with his beer bottle. 

You weren’t in the best shape, to be honest. 

You’d only known Cleo and Pope for four years—a long time, but not forever. You met them through JJ, yet your bond with them felt deeper than just friendship. Cleo, especially, felt like a sister to you. You loved them both and wanted to share in their happiness. 

It had been years since you’d felt like this. Your attachment to alcohol had ended alongside everything with Liliana, or so you thought. But now, Liliana was weaned, and you’d found a rare moment to be on your own. 

Cleo’s wedding wasn’t a grand affair; it was intimate, with close friends, family, and a few others. Your parents had even come. While they wished the same happiness for you, they also took Liliana with them when the reception started. It was their way of giving you a rare night of freedom. 

It wasn’t lost on you that they were doing this for you. Liliana was your baby, but in their eyes, you were still theirs. It was one of the rare times you could just be. A night to be young again. 

And JJ—well, you could tell your parents were secretly grateful for him too. They’d told him as much when they thought you weren’t listening. Your dad had even helped him out with work, quietly making sure JJ stayed on track. 

You were thankful for this time. For a little while, it felt like the old days. Not reckless or wild, just... young. 

And maybe you’d gone a little overboard. You’d been drinking and dancing all night. You weren’t sure how much, but it was enough to notice some concerned glances from people here and there. 

Still, it wasn’t just the alcohol. There was tension in you that you hadn’t let out. You hadn’t told JJ that you’d seen Rafe earlier. You just wanted to forget. But seeing him—especially when you were with your daughter—was a heartbreak all its own. 

After a moment of hesitation, you nodded. You didn’t feel sharp enough to respond with words, yet somehow, you felt like a genius. “I miss my house,” you mumbled, kicking at the sand. 

JJ chuckled, shaking his head. “Which house?” 

He grabbed your wrist gently, steadying you as you stumbled a bit. His touch moved to your hand, and you couldn’t help but follow his movements, your gaze dropping to the sand. 

“All of them,” you replied, your voice a little dreamy. Your answer made JJ laugh harder, the sound blending into the soft music playing in the background. His laughter—it suited everything, like it was a perfect fit for the moment, maybe even better than the music itself. 

“All of them? How many houses you got, sweetheart?” he teased, keeping a steady eye on you as if ready to catch you if you fell. 

“Two.” You held up two fingers to show him, wobbling slightly. JJ’s hand darted out to catch you by the arm while his other hand held yours firmly. 

“Yep, that’s our sign to head out,” he said with a smirk. His hand slipped to your waist as he pulled you closer, keeping you upright. Your bodies brushed against each other, and in your tipsy state, you didn’t have the energy to fight the thoughts that came next. 

You couldn’t help but look at him. JJ was one of those people you just had to look at. Admire. Worship, even. Had he really been right in front of you this whole time? What a snack. 

“So, one house is in Asheville,” he said, steering you toward your table to grab your bag. “Where’s the other one?” 

“You and Liliana.” 

JJ’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at you, his mouth opening slightly like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. For a moment, he froze, trying to process what you’d just said. 

Then his gaze shifted, and he waved at Sarah and Pope, who were chatting nearby. He clearly chose to distract himself. It was just drunken rambling, right? No need to read into it. 

He knew better than to press the issue. You were drunk. That was all there was to it.

And while you were utterly drunk, he was completely sober. He’d only had one beer, because if you were falling apart like this, someone had to stay grounded to take care of you. The trip home had to be safe. That was his job, and he’d always make sure of it. 

You left the beach together, walking slowly. As the sand turned into a gravel path, the wind picked up, biting at your cheeks. JJ shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and tilted his head back to gaze at the sky. Almost entirely leaning on him, you looked up with glassy eyes. “The stars look so beautiful, don’t they?” you asked, your voice carrying an unusual softness.

The house you’d rented wasn’t far. You had intentionally chosen a place close to the beach, for Liliana. When you arrived, JJ opened the door, turning to flash you a small smile. “Come on, let’s get inside. The wind’s going to make you sick,” he teased with a playful tone.

As you stepped inside, the happy scenes from the wedding were still vivid in your mind. Something felt different about tonight, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. 

JJ couldn’t believe you had made it all the way home. He was sure you’d pass out halfway through, but here you were, still standing—well, barely. He held you steady, watching as you stared at the house like you were seeing it for the first time. You smiled faintly as you spoke. 

“I can’t believe how much you drank. I mean—I didn’t even know you could drink that much.” 

He raised an eyebrow as you pursed your lips, clearly preparing a rebuttal. Despite your foggy brain, you still managed to respond. “I only had two shots,” you said confidently, holding up your fingers to emphasize your point. The attempt, however, was far from accurate.

JJ reached out to steady your hand, trying to refocus you. “Two shots and, what, a whole bottle of vodka?” he replied with a smirk. 

You threw your head back, laughing loudly. JJ’s lips quirked into a grin as he listened to your laughter, his hand brushing against your back in a comforting way. He had watched you all night—dancing with him, going wild with Cleo, chatting with Sarah—and at every moment, a drink had been in your hand, always nearing empty. 

“No!” you exclaimed, poking his chest with your finger as if trying to push him away. JJ didn’t budge an inch. Instead, when you stumbled back, he placed both hands on your waist to steady you.

“Alright, come here,” JJ said gently, his tone calm yet firm. He figured you needed to sit down before you hurt yourself. “Let’s get your shoes off before you end up face-first on the floor,” he added, a teasing lilt in his voice. He guided you back to lean against the wall. 

He crouched down to untie your shoes quickly, his movements brisk but careful. It was obvious he was afraid you’d trip and hurt yourself. When he finished, he set your shoes by the door and stood up. His gaze immediately met yours. You had been watching him the entire time, tracking his every move. 

You threw your arms around his shoulders and looked at him with a drunk, adoring smile. “Your eyes are blue,” you said in awe, studying his face as if it were the first time. 

JJ raised his eyebrows, his lips parting slightly. He wanted to pull back and figure out if you were serious, but then he remembered how drunk you were. His lips twitched into an amused grin. “Wow. Five years of living together, and you’re just now noticing?” he teased.

You had no idea what you were doing. You felt like a fool, detached from any sense of self-control. Your thoughts were jumbled, and logic had left the building. You leaned in closer, your heavy-lidded eyes fixated on his face. “Your dimples… they’re really cute,” you whispered.

JJ took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly. His heart raced, which annoyed him more than anything. He tried to pull away from your embrace, turning his head as he gently pried your arms off his neck. “Yeah, you’re definitely drunk,” he muttered, letting your hands drop but still holding onto your wrists to keep you steady.

Suddenly, your breath hitched, and JJ’s attention snapped back to you. His expression shifted as he watched your face, now filled with a mix of worry and sadness. “I didn’t kiss Liliana,” you said in a mournful tone. “Before bed—I didn’t give her her goodnight kiss. I have to do it.”

JJ froze for a moment, trying to process your words. Liliana had been gone for hours, staying with her grandparents. She wasn’t even in the house, and there was no way you’d remember that right now. “Hey, hey. Liliana’s asleep, okay? You can’t kiss her now. You’ll wake her up,” he said soothingly, doing his best to calm you down. He didn’t dare remind you she wasn’t there; that would only lead to a meltdown.

You rested your head on his shoulder, your voice soft and sad. “But I needed to kiss her…”

JJ smiled faintly, brushing his hand over your hair. “It’s alright, sweetheart. You can kiss her in the morning. Let her sleep now.”

Lifting your head, you looked at him intently, your gaze almost too focused for how drunk you were. JJ frowned slightly, sensing the shift in your demeanor. There was something behind your eyes—something determined. It made his chest tighten with unease, a feeling he couldn’t quite place. 

“You’re awake,” you said suddenly, as if realizing a profound truth. 

JJ raised an eyebrow, looking at you in utter confusion. He took a step back. "Huh?"

Despite his retreat, you stepped closer. JJ swallowed hard as you approached, suddenly feeling trapped—vulnerable, even. Thoughts he had no business entertaining were creeping into his head. After all, it was you. You. His friend. His roommate. Yet, he could tell by your innocent tone that you meant nothing by it, and maybe that’s what he hated the most—because those innocent words were pulling his mind into places it didn’t belong. 

“You’re awake, so I can kiss you,” you said, your voice far too nonchalant for the chaos it stirred in him.

JJ quickly stepped back, holding up a hand to stop you, his face turning away as if looking at you directly might break his resolve. “Let’s get you to bed,” he said, his tone soft but firm. You were drunk, and there was no way you meant what you were saying. If you were sober, those words wouldn’t have left your lips. No matter what you said, he was getting you to bed and leaving you there to sleep it off.

“Why? If I can’t kiss Lily, can’t I kiss you? You’re awake! Besides—this is just a goodnight kiss,” you insisted with a faint smile, your tone bordering on teasing. 

Those words sparked something deep within JJ, something unfamiliar and unsettling. You two had never crossed this kind of line before. He’d never seen you look at him like that. And for the first time in years, you were drunk. He knew you hadn’t touched alcohol since Liliana. He also knew how much of your life had been shaped around her absence. Tonight, though, was different—you were drunk, and it was obvious your body wasn’t handling it well.

Even though he knew your words were soaked in alcohol, JJ couldn’t stop the heat creeping up his neck. It wasn’t just what you said—it was how it made him feel. 

JJ exhaled and shook his head, a defeated sort of gesture. He knew you meant nothing by it. There was no way this was anything more than innocent—it had to be. Besides, you were drunk. “Alright, fine. You can kiss me on the cheek,” he said, hoping to diffuse the moment, to get you to let this go. You were speaking without thinking, but his brain was taking your words to places he wished it wouldn’t.

JJ turned his head slightly, offering his cheek as he braced himself, standing as still as a statue. It wasn’t as if this was the first time you’d kissed each other on the cheek. It was a friendly gesture, a sign of affection. You were close—roommates raising a kid together. You spent almost every waking moment together. It was impossible not to care deeply for each other—as friends, of course.

But this? This felt different. Something about the situation was wrong. Whether it was the alcohol he’d had earlier, his own overthinking, or something entirely to do with you, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that, for the first time since you’d moved in, his mind was wandering into territory it had no business exploring. It was like he was just now realizing—or maybe finally acknowledging—that something had shifted between you two.

JJ couldn’t shake the unease in your presence tonight. He was used to being around you, practically glued to your side at all times. But this? Drunk you? That was a new one. Well, aside from those wild parties in your younger days, though even then, he’d usually seen you from a distance—usually surrounded by people. Or… with that fuck-face.

And now here you were, just the two of you, and it felt like uncharted waters. JJ had been drunk around you before, sure, but he could hold his liquor. He didn’t drink often, but when he did, it wasn’t new territory for him.

JJ glanced at you out of the corner of his eye as you took another unsteady step closer. His hands were still on you, steadying you, keeping you upright. He felt his tension rise with every passing second, his stomach twisting in knots. All he wanted was to let you kiss his cheek, put you to bed, and be done with this excruciating moment.

Then he felt it—your fingers slipping from his grip, brushing against the stubble on his freshly-shaven cheek. The light, almost hesitant touch sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t even turn his head fully to face you; he just stood there, keeping his gaze flitting between you and the floor. Your touch was nearly enough to make him close his eyes and lean into it, but the reminder of your drunken state snapped him back to reality.

As you swayed closer, your weight pressed into him. JJ quickly steadied you, hearing the soft giggle escape your lips. “Oops,” you muttered, your laughter muffled against his chest. 

He hated this—hated everything about it. Hated the situation, his thoughts, and most of all, how he was feeling. For the love of God, you were drunk, and the thoughts running through his mind were nothing short of sinful. How had he sunk so low as to let his brain spiral like this over a drunk woman—his best friend?

When your lips finally pressed against his cheek, JJ exhaled shakily, his gaze dropping to the floor as his heart pounded furiously in his chest. You’d kissed him on the cheek plenty of times before, but this? This felt different. This kiss lingered too long, carrying a weight he couldn’t explain—a spark that was entirely new and unsettling.

When your lips didn’t move away, JJ gently pulled back, clearing his throat as he steadied you by the waist. As he turned his head back toward you, his eyes briefly—and accidentally—flicked to your lips. He quickly dragged his gaze back up to your eyes, cursing himself internally. He shouldn’t have looked. 

Clearing his throat again, JJ felt his face flush with heat. His prayers for composure were no match for the image of your lips—now cherry red, like they’d been painted that way. It wasn’t the lipstick you’d put on earlier. That had smudged and faded hours ago. Had your lips always been this red? Or was this something he was only now noticing? 

The moment he realized his eyes had drifted back to your lips, it felt like death itself. He needed to stop this. It was weird—no, terrifying. You were drunk, and he was completely sober. 

JJ took a deep breath and looked at your face. It was like you were staring straight into his soul, as though trying to pull everything he was out of him with just your gaze. "Okay," he muttered, trying to compose himself. He leaned on the thought that you'd forget this by morning, that you wouldn't remember any of it. If you were sober, he wouldn't dare let his eyes linger on your lips this long. "Well, since we’ve got the goodnight kiss out of the way—" 

JJ stopped mid-sentence when he felt your hand on the collar of his shirt. The proximity was already absurd—he’d only been holding onto you to keep you from falling—but this? This was nowhere near what he’d expected. Your grip tightened, and before he knew it, you pulled him closer. His eyes widened, and in the next instant, he found himself on your lips. 

His mind blanked. He didn’t even have the sense to close his eyes, as if keeping them open might confirm the absurdity of this moment. It couldn’t be real—it shouldn’t be real. 

The shock rendered JJ motionless. This wasn’t a passionate kiss. You weren’t moving; you just held your lips against his. Yet JJ was sure he was about to have a heart attack. 

Just the touch of your lips sent his heart into a frenzy. He was either dying or dreaming, and neither seemed plausible. 

But it didn’t take long for reality to sink in. He pulled away quickly, stumbling back. His hand darted out to steady you, but he didn’t dare come any closer. He had no idea what to make of what had just happened—or how he was supposed to feel about it. 

God, you were drunk. So drunk. 

“Stop,” he said firmly, though his voice shook slightly. He’d messed up. This wasn’t supposed to happen—none of it. And yet he swore he could still feel your lips on his. He regretted this. You wouldn’t remember it tomorrow, but he wouldn’t forget. “You’re going to regret this when I tell you in the morning.” 

He wouldn’t tell you. He couldn’t. Losing your friendship wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. More than that, he couldn’t bear the thought of being cut out of your life—or Liliana’s. No, he couldn’t lose the family he’d found. Not over one night. 

The words had only been meant to stop you, to get you to back off and let the moment end. He needed you to listen. Then he could put you to bed and get through the night without ever feeling your lips again, without remembering how soft they were or the feeling of having you this close. 

Shit. 

“I won’t,” you said stubbornly. 

JJ squeezed his eyes shut, running a hand over his temple as if trying to think straight. You had no idea what you were doing. You were drunk. You’d regret kissing him. And if he ever saw that regret on your face, he didn’t know how he’d handle it. 

Even though you were the one who kissed him, he still felt responsible for this. He shouldn’t have let you get this close. He should’ve gotten you to bed and let you sleep it off. 

JJ took a steadying breath, searching your gaze for something—anything—that might reassure him. Maybe a glimmer of awareness, a sign you understood what was happening. But you were too far gone. You wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. And even if you could think straight, the kiss was wrong. And you saying you wouldn’t regret it? That was wrong too. “You will,” he said softly but firmly, his voice unwavering. He wrapped an arm around yours and started guiding you to your room. He just wanted to erase this moment from his memory. 

Not because he didn’t like it—he couldn’t let himself think about that. Whether or not he liked it didn’t matter. You were drunk, and you’d crossed a line. Worse, he’d let you. If you were sober, you wouldn’t have kissed him or gotten this close. And that hurt more than anything else. 

You went quiet as you leaned against his arm. The silence persisted as he helped you to the edge of the bed. Gently, JJ eased you down to sit. You stared at the floor, saying nothing. JJ hated the silence. This shouldn’t have happened. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Finally, his voice broke the quiet, low and strained. “This is wrong... We’re friends.” 

JJ knelt in front of you, meeting your eyes. He knew that. You knew that. But the weight of your actions was already heavy on him. You’d kissed him, and he was already regretting it. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering how you’d feel when he told you in the morning. Would it change things between you? He wasn’t ready to lose you—or Liliana. He wanted a lifetime of memories with both of you, of raising her together and laughing through it all. He couldn’t lose that. “Yeah, we’re friends,” you murmured softly. 

The silence stretched again, and then, out of nowhere, your shoulders began to shake. You couldn’t stop the tears from spilling, your quiet sobs breaking the stillness. JJ’s eyes widened in shock. Seeing you cry tore at something inside him. He didn’t even know why you were crying. Maybe a piece of your clarity had returned. He didn’t want that—not now. 

Hesitating for only a moment, JJ pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice laced with worry. 

You didn’t answer. JJ tilted his head, resting his forehead against yours. The warmth of your breath ghosted over his skin as you shifted. When your nose brushed against his, JJ inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering shut. His hands slid down your back, settling at your waist. You still didn’t speak, but your movements spoke volumes. JJ exhaled shakily, like he’d just lost a battle with himself. “You need to stop…” he whispered. 

Suddenly, you lifted your head, and the space between you seemed to vanish. JJ’s breath hitched. He wanted this to stop—he needed it to. He knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself if it didn’t. He’d never thought of you this way, never imagined having your lips on his. But now that it had happened, everything felt… right. 

Except it wasn’t. 

You were drunk, and this was so, so wrong. 

But when your lips touched his again, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. 

When JJ felt your noses brush again, he let out a shaky breath, unable to open his eyes and meet yours. He wasn’t even sure who had started it this time. But when your lips met again, JJ felt... found. Like he’d discovered something he hadn’t known he was searching for. In that moment, he pushed everything else aside—all the rules, all the lines he wasn’t supposed to cross—and tightened his arms around your waist. Instead of pulling back, he gave in, even if just for a moment.

As your lips moved together in perfect rhythm, JJ could feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest. If he’d known it would feel this right, he wouldn’t have waited until now to kiss you. Hell, he’d have done it ages ago. When your hands gripped his collar and tugged him closer, JJ didn’t resist. Taking advantage of the way you shifted back on the bed, he let you guide him, following your lead as his hand instinctively slid to your neck.

The kiss broke momentarily as you both gasped for air, but before either of you could even think, your lips found each other again. JJ forgot everything—every rule, every fear, every reason this wasn’t supposed to happen. The only thing that mattered was you. Just you. 

When your fingers tangled in his hair, JJ realized he was completely at your mercy. You were insatiable, like you couldn’t get enough of him. And when your kisses turned more fervent, more desperate, he understood the shift. This wasn’t a sweet, affectionate kiss anymore. This was raw, unrestrained desire. When a soft, breathy moan escaped your lips, JJ froze.

Self-loathing hit him like a freight train. He couldn’t believe he’d let it happen again. With a jolt of awareness, he pulled back abruptly, putting distance between the two of you. As he took in the scene—the two of you on the bed, him hovering over you—he felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let himself take advantage of you like this. 

“You’re drunk,” JJ said, his voice unsteady, his breath uneven. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” His hands trembled as he held himself back. Deep down, he wished you weren’t drunk. He wished this could be real.

Your gaze met his, and tears brimmed in your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice cracking. But JJ knew he was the one who should be apologizing. Tomorrow morning—if he ever found the courage to bring this up—it would be on him. He was the one who was sober. He was the one who should’ve known better. He shouldn’t have let you pull him in, shouldn’t have let himself fall for it.

JJ took a deep breath and carefully helped you lie back on the bed. He brushed your hair back gently, his chest heavy with regret. Not regret for kissing you, but for doing it when you were drunk. For crossing a line when you wouldn’t even remember it. “Get some sleep, okay?” he said softly, trying to push the guilt from his tone.

As he started to pull away and leave the room, you caught his hand. “Don’t go,” you whispered.

JJ swallowed hard, his throat tightening. He shook his head slowly, refusing to look at you. “I can’t,” he said quietly. Staying would only make it worse—make him hate himself even more. But then he looked at you, and his resolve crumbled. He cursed himself silently. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was.

“Please,” you said, your voice barely audible. JJ’s eyes fluttered shut, his jaw clenching. The second he walked out of that room, he knew he’d be sick. He couldn’t believe he’d let things go this far, couldn’t believe he’d put you in this position. You were his friend, and you wouldn’t remember any of this. Not a single moment.

God, he wished you were sober. If you woke up and remembered everything—if you looked at him with disgust—he wouldn’t be able to handle it. He couldn’t.

“Fine,” he said, defeated. He was terrified—terrified of you waking up and hating him. “Close your eyes,” he murmured without thinking. He couldn’t take the way you were looking at him. That look only made the guilt gnaw at him even more.

You did as he asked, your eyes fluttering shut. JJ let out a long, heavy sigh and sat down beside you. He leaned his head back, running a hand through his hair as he muttered to himself under his breath, “Why do you make me hate myself like this...”

It was close to 3 a.m., and you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. You’d been awake for hours, but the dull ache in your head and the strange fog clouding your mind refused to lift. Some parts of last night were blurry—there were flashes of laughter, dancing, the wedding… but the details were frustratingly out of reach. 

You sat curled up on the corner of the couch, sipping your coffee slowly, the warmth doing little to ease your unease. Across the room, JJ was in the kitchen, fiddling with the kettle as if it was the most intricate puzzle in the world. Normally, you were used to his easygoing, morning-person energy, but this wasn’t it. His movements were precise, almost tense, and his face carried a weird stiffness. You couldn’t make sense of it. 

“My head hurts,” you finally said, breaking the suffocating silence. You were tired of his strange behavior. 

JJ glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. With a faint, almost forced smile, he said, “Not surprised.” But his tone betrayed something deeper, something unsaid that hung in the air. 

“Not surprised?” you asked, frowning. “You’re acting weird, JJ.” 

He shrugged, putting the kettle back down and leaning against the counter. His fingers raked through his hair, a telltale sign that something was bothering him. Still, he avoided your eyes. “I’m just… tired. You know, long night and all.” 

But you knew it wasn’t just exhaustion. You could feel it. “Did something happen?” you asked, studying his face carefully, hoping to find a clue. 

“No,” he said too quickly, his voice sharp before softening a beat later. “No, really. Just… the usual.” 

His vague response only unsettled you further, but you decided not to press him. Not right now. Your headache and the foggy haze in your mind were draining enough without getting into a confrontation. 

When you glanced at the clock and noticed how late it had gotten, you suddenly straightened. “I need to pick up Liliana,” you said abruptly. 

JJ hesitated, his head turning to look at you like he was searching for something in your expression. “Alright,” he said cautiously. “Are you good to drive?” 

“Yeah,” you replied, grabbing your bag and standing up. “She’s probably missing us by now. I should get going.” 

JJ didn’t respond right away, just nodded slowly. His gaze stayed on you, heavy with something unspoken. It was like he wanted to stop you, to say something, but couldn’t find the words. 

As you headed to the door and bent down to put on your shoes, you could still feel his eyes on you. It was unnerving. Pausing for a moment, you glanced back at him. “We’ll talk later,” you said, keeping your tone light but purposeful. 

JJ gave another nod. “Yeah. We’ll talk.” But his words carried a weight far greater than they should have. 

Sliding into the driver’s seat of your car, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling in your gut. JJ’s behavior, your pounding headache, and the scattered, blurry memories from the night before were all swirling together, leaving an uneasy knot in your stomach. 

As you started the car and pulled onto the road, your phone lit up on the passenger seat. The screen showed Sarah’s name flashing as she called. Reaching over, you grabbed the phone, the knot in your stomach tightening as you answered. 

Rafe hadn’t felt this vulnerable in a very long time. When he left Sarah’s house days ago, his steps were slow and heavy. Inside, a storm was raging. His thoughts collided, each crashing harder than the last. Talking to Sarah had been like a slap in the face with the truth he’d tried so hard to avoid. Hearing the things he didn’t want to hear—it had turned his whole world upside down. 

Once, he’d believed the life he was living was normal. Or maybe he’d just convinced himself of that. The life he’d shaped with his own choices, every step calculated to reach his goals... He had sacrificed everything for them. Absolutely everything.

And now, there was an emptiness inside him. He’d achieved the goals he’d fought for with relentless ambition and passion, but what had they given him in return? Monotony. A quiet restlessness. His soul was weighed down with a sense of suffocation he couldn’t even admit to himself. 

The moment he saw you and Liliana, everything changed. That’s when it all hit him. The scene played over and over in his mind—your icy gaze, Liliana’s delicate features that mirrored his own... her tiny hands, her green dress... Those images were burned into his memory. No matter what he did, he couldn’t erase them. 

He couldn’t sleep peacefully anymore. The moment he closed his eyes, he found himself lost in a vivid dream. He was holding you in his arms, playing games in the garden with Liliana. In those dreams, he clung to the illusion of a life he might have had, a life as a father with his own family. But every morning, he woke to the harsh truth. You weren’t his. Liliana wasn’t his. That life wasn’t his. 

Even throwing himself into work hadn’t helped. His mind wandered constantly, his thoughts overpowering him. There seemed to be no escape. For days, he’d stopped working entirely. Maybe, for the first time in his life, he allowed himself to just stop. To think. To try to figure out what was right. 

But he never expected to see you again. For four years, there had been nothing from you. He’d lost count of how many times he’d tried to find out where you or your family were. But you’d completely cut him off. You’d disappeared from his world. 

And now, after seeing you again, he didn’t know what to do. Should he fight to bring you back into his life, or was he meant to keep paying for the mistakes of his past? 

Every night, he dreamed. He dreamed of making you and Liliana part of his world, even though he knew it was impossible. In those dreams, Liliana’s laughter echoed, and you smiled at him. But that smile had been lost to him in the real world long ago. 

Calling Sarah had been a desperate act. He just needed to hear something—anything that could help. Again and again, he’d been met with Sarah’s irritated tone on the other end of the line. “What do you want now?” she’d asked, her exasperation unmistakable. 

And Rafe’s answer was always the same: “Hey... I just... I need a favor.” 

Rafe had realized his life was an illusion. The structure he thought he wanted was nothing but a trap. Seeing you had made that painfully clear. The dream of a life he might have had—holding you in his arms, hearing his daughter’s laughter, playing with her—had carved itself into his mind. But could those dreams ever become reality? Or had the wreckage of the past already swept everything away? 

These questions had no answers, but Rafe had made a decision. For the first time, he felt truly lost and defenseless. The only promise he made to himself was not to repeat his mistakes. Or at least, this time, he would try. 

To start, he knew he needed help. Calling Sarah, asking for her help—it meant swallowing his pride, but there was no other choice. “I just need to know where she is, Sarah,” he’d pleaded over the phone, his desperation seeping into every word. 

Sarah’s reply had been sharp and definitive. “Cut the crap, Rafe. I’m not giving you her address. And if you bother her one more time, I swear you’ll ruin what’s left of the relationship between us too.” 

The call ended. It hit him like a cold slap, but Rafe didn’t give up. He called again. Sent messages. Pushed Sarah to the edge of her patience. Eventually, he got a sliver of information. She mentioned a gas station stop. It was his only chance. Today.

He didn’t hesitate. He jumped into his car and sped off, his mind a whirlwind. His heart pounded, his hands gripped the steering wheel like a lifeline. 

When he arrived at the gas station, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes searched for you, and finally, there you were. Through the store window, he saw you picking something off the shelf. Your eyes narrowed slightly, as if lost in thought. 

For a moment, all he could do was watch. His feet felt rooted to the ground. But then he took a deep breath and forced himself forward, one heavy step at a time, toward the door. His heart raced faster with every step, his mind repeating, Is this the right thing? But he had no choice. He needed to see you. He needed to talk to you. 

When he opened the door, the bell chimed softly. You turned your head, your eyes meeting his. In that instant, the world seemed to stop. Your gaze held a mix of surprise and anger, but no matter what, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. 

Rafe shoved his hands into his pockets, hesitating as he walked toward you. His shoulders slumped slightly, his eyes unsure. He stopped a few steps away, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth, but no words came out. 

“Hey,” he said finally, his voice trembling just enough to betray him. 

He watched as your eyes scanned him, waiting for a response. The silence between you felt heavy. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone flat, devoid of any warmth. Your brows furrowed, and your lips pressed into a thin line. You didn’t take your eyes off him. 

Rafe had expected anger, maybe even an outburst. But the coldness in your voice—it stung in a way he hadn’t anticipated. It hit him somewhere deep, leaving a dull ache in its wake. 

Rafe cleared his throat and briefly lowered his gaze to the floor. He’d imagined seeing you before he arrived but hadn’t thought about what he’d actually say. He tried to slip his hands into his pockets but stopped himself. His shoulders slumped, and his eyes stayed fixed on the ground. "I—I just wanted to say hi." 

Your face fell into an impassive mask. The disdain for him was clear, and Rafe felt like he couldn’t breathe under the weight of it. "Alright. Hi." 

Rafe forced a smile as he looked at you, his expression nervous but determined. "Hi." The silence between you stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Desperate to shift the mood, Rafe mumbled, "You look really beautiful, by the way." 

Your face immediately hardened, and your eyes flashed with anger, as if you couldn’t believe what he had just said. The hiss that escaped your lips made Rafe regret his words instantly. He’d crossed the line. "Cut the nonsense, Rafe. Can you leave, please?" 

Rafe tensed but took a step back. His hands remained buried in his pockets, and he dropped his head slightly, cursing himself. He’d had one chance, and he’d ruined it—like he always did. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled before lowering his hand again. "I—I’m sorry. Really." 

He had barely turned to leave when your voice stopped him cold. 

"For what?" 

Rafe froze, his shoulders stiffening. Slowly, he turned back, confusion etched across his face. He understood the question, but was this really the time for this conversation? Of course, he expected you to hate him. He just hadn’t thought he’d get under your skin so quickly. "What?" 

"For what are you apologizing?" you repeated, your voice shaking but firm. Despite being in a public place, you struggled to keep it down, your anger barely restrained. "Did you honestly think you could just show up and casually talk to me? Like this is some kind of fucking joke?" 

Rafe raised his hands in a helpless gesture. Of course, you were right. What had he been thinking? "No. I—I just wanted to see if you were okay." 

Your brows knitted together as you crossed your arms, stepping closer to him. Rafe felt his entire body tense. "That’s none of your business. Why do you even care if I’m okay? You didn’t care five years ago." 

Rafe dropped his head. No matter what you said, you would always be right. He didn’t even have the words to defend himself. "I know." 

"You know?" Your voice climbed, sharp and incredulous, as you jabbed a finger toward him. "Fuck off, Rafe!" 

His breathing quickened, but he didn’t back away. This wasn’t how he imagined this would go, but—what did he expect? That you’d run into his arms and forgive everything he’d done? He had deluded himself into thinking you were still the person he used to know. "Look, I’m trying—" 

"I don’t want to hear it!" You raised a hand to cut him off, your voice louder than you intended. 

Rafe took a step closer. "I swear—" 

"I don’t want to hear it!" you yelled, your voice trembling but resolute. Rafe exhaled deeply, defeated. He hated this. Hated himself. He’d never be anything but a source of shame in your eyes. 

Rafe fell silent, guilt etched into every line of his face. He ran a hand through his hair, then took a step back. The quiet between you became unbearable. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as the words forced their way out. "It’s over. It’s been over for years. That’s it. You didn’t want—" 

"Don’t say it," Rafe interrupted, his voice low but thick with emotion. Every word was weighted with regret. 

"You said, ‘Get rid of it!’ You didn’t want it! That’s why it ended," you snapped, your voice breaking as tears welled in your eyes. You didn’t back down, though. Rafe hated seeing you like this, hated knowing he was the reason for it. 

Rafe spread his hands helplessly, unsure of what to do. If you had told him back then, he would’ve accepted it with joy. But back then, he’d been a fool—a selfish, spineless coward desperate for his father’s approval. "I wasn’t thinking straight!" 

"Don’t give me that shit, Rafe." A bitter laugh escaped your lips, almost like you were exhaling your pain. You turned your gaze away, shaking your head. 

"I wasn’t in a good place," he whispered. But even he knew that no excuse could erase what he’d done. He wasn’t trying to absolve himself—he couldn’t. He was just…lost. 

Your laughter cut through him, sharp and bitter. "Right. Because your mistakes were all about your ‘bad mental state.’ Not because you’re just a shitty person! Enough, Rafe! This conversation is pointless. You’ve got a new life—without me. And we’ve got ours—without you. Let it go." 

You gave him one last look, lowering the finger you’d been pointing at him. Turning on your heel, you took a step to leave. 

Panic flared in Rafe’s chest. He couldn’t let it end like this. He’d made every mistake imaginable, but he couldn’t bear to add another one to the pile. He had to try. And if it didn’t work—well, at least he tried. 

"I want to meet her." 

You stopped in your tracks. The step you were about to take hung in the air before slowly retreating. You turned to him, eyes blazing with fury. 

"Liliana—" 

"Don’t you dare!" you shouted, pointing a trembling finger at him as you stormed toward him. Rafe stayed rooted in place, letting your fury wash over him. Of course, you were angry. You had every right to be. He just wished—wished he could turn back time and fix everything. "How dare you? Do you think it’s that simple?!" 

Rafe recoiled slightly, carefully choosing his words. He didn’t want to hurt you more than he already had—or dig himself into an even deeper hole. "I don’t mean to say the wrong thing." 

"I don’t care what you mean!" you snapped, your voice cutting through him like a knife. He watched as your expression shifted, protective and fierce. "You’re not meeting her!" 

"Don’t make me use force," Rafe said, his voice trembling but firm. He regretted it instantly. He shouldn’t have said it. It wasn’t true. He’d never do that. Never. It was a fleeting moment—an impulsive lapse. He needed to think before speaking. Shit.

You flinched. Then, with a bitter laugh, you stepped closer and shoved him in the chest. Rafe let you. He shouldn’t have spoken like an idiot. He should’ve stayed calm. 

“What are you going to do? Sue me? Go ahead! Does your father even know you have a kid? Everything you’ve built—your stupid little empire—it’ll all crumble! Are you really going to do it? Because you won’t. You’re a coward, and you always have been.”

Rafe’s eyes hardened. “I will,” he said, his tone low but sharp with determination. He could. He had the power. Lawyers, connections—it was all on his side. But he couldn’t do it to you. 

You froze, staring at him in shock. 

Rafe stepped closer, taking a deep breath and holding out his hands as if trying to calm the storm. He didn’t want this to escalate, and he knew you didn’t want it either. "But I won’t do that. That’s not the point. I want to be in Liliana’s life. I’m going to tell my father.”

You watched his brows furrow as he exhaled. You were right—if he wanted to be a father, his family needed to know. And if you allowed it, they had a right to be informed. But even if you didn’t allow it, he’d still tell them. They wouldn’t take it well. He couldn’t predict what would happen, but he was done hiding. He was done being a coward. 

“What?” you asked, disbelief and frustration tightening your voice.

“I’m going to tell them. No matter what.” He took a deep breath, his voice softening. It was almost as if the confident man standing before everyone else had deflated before you. He could barely hold your gaze. He knew he didn’t deserve you.

“You’re lying,” you said, stepping back. Your voice carried not just doubt but a deep-rooted unwillingness to believe him. You didn’t want to.

“I swear I’m not.” Rafe lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with a certainty that startled you. He would do it. In fact, he should have done it from the beginning, back when you told him you were pregnant. He was already too late.

You didn’t want to believe him. But the resolve in his eyes—he’d never looked more sincere. 

Rafe drew in a deep breath and spoke, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I want them to know. Everything. I—” His voice cracked, but he pressed on. “I’m not making any more mistakes. I can’t afford to.”

Your brows knit together, your face hardening. You took a long, deliberate breath, though it was clear you were barely keeping your emotions in check. “Rafe, if this backfires on us—I don’t want it. I don’t want Liliana or me dragged into this mess.”

Rafe hesitated for a moment, then shook his head firmly. “It won’t. I promise.” He wouldn’t let it. Not ever. 

Your voice rose, insistent. “Rafe—”

He cut you off, stepping closer. “No. I won’t let that happen. I’m not that stupid, irresponsible kid you left behind anymore. That person...he’s gone. He’s gone for good.”

You let out a sharp breath, rolling your eyes as you shook your head. “I don’t trust you. I just—can’t.”

The guilt etched deep into Rafe’s face made him drop his gaze. He nodded silently, as if accepting it. He hated himself for this. If one of his friends had done what he had, Rafe would’ve ripped them apart for their irresponsibility, for being such a terrible person. And he knew—that’s exactly what he was. A terrible person. 

“I know. It’s going to take everything to prove myself to you, and I get that. But…”

You squinted at him, your eyes sharp and wary. “Liliana thinks her dad’s in space,” you said flatly, your voice dripping with sarcastic calm.

Rafe blinked in surprise. His eyebrows shot up, lips parting as the faintest spark of humor lit his expression. His heart raced at the absurdity of it. “What?”

“Yes,” you said, shrugging. “I told her her dad’s an astronaut. He’s so far away he can’t come see her. If you step into her life, there’s no stepping out again. If you think for one second you can’t handle this, don’t even bother starting.”

Your voice was firm, your gaze sharp as steel. “And—I need time to think.”

Rafe nodded but never took his eyes off you. “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave her again. No matter what, I won’t lose Liliana. I swear it.”

For a moment, silence hung between you. His seriousness, his unyielding resolve—it threw you off balance. You studied him with narrowed eyes, his words echoing in your mind. They made you uneasy. You hated feeling this way. 

“Fine. I’ll think about it,” you said at last, your voice tempered, the anger giving way to a measured determination.

Rafe exhaled deeply, relief softening his expression. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice quiet.

You lifted your chin, your eyes cold as ever. “I’m not doing this for you.”

This wasn’t a decision you could make on your own. It never had been, and it never could be.

When you returned home with Liliana, you had every intention of explaining everything to JJ. But as soon as you walked through the door, Liliana insisted on playing a game with JJ. Knowing you couldn’t discuss something this heavy in her presence, you simply went along with it. But JJ was no fool. He had picked up on something being off.

He’d been tense since you’d seen him that morning. While playing with Liliana, he would steal glances at you, checking on you like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. 

You had no idea what was bothering him, but that nagging weight in your chest wouldn’t go away. You wanted to just tell him and be done with it. You couldn’t handle this alone—especially not when you and JJ shared a home and were raising a child together.

This wasn’t just your decision to make. No, it would affect JJ too. Practically speaking, the two of you were living together. Sure, JJ had his own place, but he barely used it. He’d take Liliana to school sometimes, decide what she’d eat, and even join you for her daycare events. 

Whatever you did for Liliana, JJ did as well. He cared for her as much as you did. At night, he’d kiss her goodnight just as you would. The choice ahead of you wouldn’t just impact your life or Liliana’s—it would alter JJ’s too.

You had to talk to him. You needed to unload this unease and find some relief.

When Liliana and JJ finished playing, your eyes immediately sought his. He was already looking at you. When you held his gaze for a second too long, JJ quickly turned back to Liliana. “Go on, give Mommy a kiss, then you can go upstairs and play with your dolls.” He planted a kiss on her hair and stood up.

Your attention shifted to Liliana as she waddled over to you. “Want some coffee?” JJ asked just as Liliana climbed onto the couch and wrapped her tiny arms around your neck.

“Yes, please,” you replied as her kisses landed on your cheeks. Smiling, you kissed her back. “Now I’m going to play with my dolls. I love you, Mommy,” she chirped, pulling away.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” you said, watching as she clambered down and carefully made her way upstairs. Your eyes lingered on her until she disappeared at the top of the stairs.

JJ headed to the kitchen, and you felt the weight of your discomfort pressing down on you. You knew he’d bring you coffee, just like always, but this time, sitting in silence and ignoring the elephant in the room wasn’t an option. You had to talk. The life you shared, the responsibilities you both carried—everything had been thrown off balance by Rafe’s unexpected move. And you needed to know where JJ stood on all of it.

When JJ returned with two cups of coffee, the exhaustion etched on his face hit you immediately. He set your cup in front of you and sank into the opposite chair, staring down at his coffee in silence. You recognized this—the way JJ withdrew when something weighed heavily on him. You’d seen it many times before.

“JJ,” you said, not bothering to hide the determination in your voice. He hesitated for a moment before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. The calm you were used to seeing in his eyes had been replaced by something much harder to read.

“Something happened,” you said, noticing the way his brows instantly furrowed.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice steady but tinged with something fragile. “I’ve been waiting for you to say it. Go ahead.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm within you. “Rafe,” you said, hoping that single word would convey everything.

JJ’s expression hardened instantly. He straightened in his seat, his protective instincts kicking in. “What happened?” 

Your hands tightened around your coffee cup as you steadied yourself. “He… he wants to be in Liliana’s life,” you said, the words feeling heavy as they left your mouth. “He told me as much. And it doesn’t feel like something I can decide on my own. It’s not just my decision to make.” You trailed off, watching JJ’s face shift—from shock to anger and finally to a resigned sort of disbelief.

JJ’s gaze dropped to the floor. His hands remained on the cup, his fingers whitening with the grip, but his eyes stayed fixed on the ground. You wanted so badly to read his thoughts, but he gave nothing away. He just sat there, silent. And that silence unnerved you more than any outburst ever could.

It was driving you mad. You waited for him to speak—to say yes, no, anything. When it came to Liliana, your emotions were always raw, and thinking clearly was difficult. You needed JJ to ground you. “Say something,” you whispered, your voice betraying the helplessness you felt.

“Are you meeting him?” JJ finally asked, his voice barely audible. The room felt eerily quiet, the kind of silence that pressed down on your chest. You noticed his knuckles whitening further as he clutched his cup, his gaze still glued to the floor.

You shook your head quickly. “No. He came to me. I didn’t go to him. I didn’t call him—he found me. I would never willingly see him.” You paused, your voice trembling. “He… he saw us a few days ago. And today, when I went to pick up Liliana, he was at the gas station.” You swallowed hard, bracing for JJ’s reaction. You wanted him to lash out—to yell, to be angry at someone—but he didn’t. He just sat there.

“You’re her mother,” he said at last, his words cutting like a blade. His tone wasn’t comforting—it was almost dismissive. You’d hoped for guidance, for support, but his response left you feeling more alone.

“JJ—” you began, but he cut you off sharply. His gaze never lifted as he leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his coffee. His reactions were impossible to decipher.

“This is your choice.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” you countered, your heart pounding as you leaned forward, trying to draw his attention. You needed him to look at you, to see you, but he remained where he was, unmoving.

“Alright, suit yourself.” JJ’s voice was flat, his tone monoton once again. You could feel your frustration rising, but you knew it stemmed from sadness. 

“Wait,” you said, your voice trembling. You couldn’t make this decision alone. 

“No, this is your choice.” JJ took a sip from his coffee. You had no idea how to change his mind. He kept throwing out these ridiculous comments and expected you to agree. And—it wasn’t like him at all. He spoke as if—as if he’d never been part of Liliana’s life. As if he hadn’t been there raising her alongside you.

“JJ—”

“Maybe you should move in together. You, Liliana, and Rafe. Picture-perfect family, what do you think?” His lips curled into a sarcastic smirk, and your jaw dropped. That bitter smile on his face made you feel utterly defeated. Did he even realize how ridiculous he sounded? These weren’t your words at all.

“Maybe you’ll rekindle your great love, hmm? Have another kid—” You couldn’t take it anymore. Did he not know you at all? Hadn’t he seen everything you’d been through? How could he talk like this?

Besides—you had come to him for advice. To figure out what to do as a team. It’s not like you had run to JJ impulsively to say yes to Rafe’s offer. You hadn’t even accepted it!

“You know I didn’t say that!” you yelled, unable to hold back your anger any longer. The realization that Liliana was upstairs hit you hard, and you closed your eyes tightly, taking a shaky breath to calm yourself before opening them again.

“I came to you for advice,” you said, the words catching in your throat. “To tell you this isn’t a decision I can make alone. And you’re—you’re saying all this to me?” The disappointment was written all over your face. You wanted to talk this through together, not deal with it on your own.

JJ gave a hollow chuckle as he stood up. When he slammed his coffee mug onto the table, you flinched. He ran his hands through his hair, pacing. “Maybe you’ll leave Asheville, move back to the Outer Banks. Start over with Rafe.” He turned his back on you, one hand resting on his hip while the other rubbed his temple. A frustrated sigh escaped him.

His words hit you like a slap. You stood abruptly. “You’re being cruel,” you said, your voice shaking. You cursed yourself as you felt your lips begin to tremble. You hated crying.

JJ’s face hardened. The anger seemed to drain from him, replaced by that same flat tone. “It’s not my place to decide. You’re her parent.”

“Me? Just me? So you weren’t her parent when you changed her diapers, stayed up with her when she cried at night, or showed up for her daycare events? Do you not see that Liliana views you as a father figure in her life?” Your voice cracked, as shattered as your emotions. You couldn’t stand how foolish he was being—or how he was acting. He wasn’t listening to you. “Does being a family only count if there’s blood involved?”

JJ paused for a moment, then sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Rafe’s her father. If he wants to be part of her life, you should let him.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Stop talking like that!” you cried, desperation creeping into your tone.

JJ turned to you sharply, frustration etched into his features. He stepped closer, pointing a finger at you. “Didn’t you ask for my opinion? I just gave it to you. But know this—if he’s in her life, he’ll be in yours too. Whether you like it or not.”

That final sentence struck a nerve, and the storm inside you intensified. Before you could respond, JJ cut you off again. “You’ll fall for him again—” His smile was bitter, filled with pain.

You couldn’t take another second of this. “Do you think I forgot what he did to me?!” you shouted, interrupting him. “He left me when I was three months pregnant! Do you think I’m stupid enough to forgive that?!”

“I didn’t say that,” JJ muttered, his voice lower, but his words cut like a blade. “But you won’t be able to control your feelings.”

“You have no idea how I feel!” you snapped, anger and heartbreak tangled together in your voice. When you noticed a faint smirk tugging at JJ’s lips, your brows furrowed.

“You’re absolutely right,” he said, his tone strangely hollow. He nodded as if conceding your point, his tongue running over his teeth. “I really don’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, shaken by how cold and distant he had become. His words were so cryptic, so frustratingly vague, it felt like he was mocking you.

“I don’t know. What do I mean?” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he shook his head. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew something you didn’t. 

It felt like you were trapped in an endless loop. When JJ began gathering his things from the table, your heart clenched. Despite everything, you didn’t want him to leave. No matter what he said—you couldn’t bear for him to turn his back on you. This couldn’t be happening.

As your anger faded into pure worry, you watched him with rising panic. You took a step forward, but he had already packed up. No. This couldn’t be it. You couldn’t let Rafe ruin your life all over again. “Where—JJ, wait. Please.”

JJ headed for the door, and you quickly followed, grabbing his arm. When he turned to face you, your eyes brimmed with tears. You didn’t want him to leave. You didn’t want this to end in anger and heartbreak. “Please—please, don’t go. Don’t.” 

“I need some air,” he said, his voice soft but firm. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, his expression softened. 

“I’ll stop talking, I swear—” you rushed out, desperate to keep him from leaving. You were ready to beg if it came to that. This wasn’t worth losing him over, not something so small. It didn’t have to escalate like this. 

“I’ll come back,” he said. His tone was steady, reassuring. But you didn’t want him to go, not even for a moment. Even if it meant sitting in silence together, you needed him to stay. You weren’t used to him walking away. 

“I really will stop—” you started again, your voice trembling. Your hands briefly reached for his arm before falling back to your sides, unsure of what to do. 

JJ looked away, threading his fingers through his hair in frustration. His fingers raked through his blond strands, his face tense and brooding. His brows were furrowed, and the muscle in his jaw tightened slightly. When he finally turned back to you, his gaze was a mixture of emotions—no anger, but a deep, aching disappointment. 

“I don’t want you to stop talking,” he said, his voice lower than usual, but it carried a quiet intensity. “If I stay, we’ll just hurt each other more.” He hesitated, drawing in a long, controlled breath before stepping back further. “I just need some space to calm down. I’ll come back.” 

“I’m sorry—” you murmured, your hand instinctively reaching out to him again before stopping mid-air. You were scared to touch him, scared it might push him further away. 

“Don’t.” JJ stepped back another pace, lifting his hand slightly as if to hold you at bay. “I’m not mad at you.” His gaze met yours, and beneath the resolve in his eyes, you could see how fragile he felt, even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

“Yes, you are. You’re mad at me. I shouldn’t have brought it up,” you insisted, your voice barely above a whisper. 

JJ froze for a moment, exhaling deeply as he looked away. His hands fell to his sides, and he shook his head slowly, as if wrestling with something. “Why shouldn’t you have brought it up?” he asked, his voice rough around the edges. When his eyes met yours again, there was pain in them, not directed at you but at himself. “This has always been your choice. I only said what I did because I care about you. I’m not angry at you—how could I be? How could I ever be angry at you?” 

He paused, his gaze drifting somewhere distant. His fingers fidgeted unconsciously near the pocket of his jeans, and his lips pressed into a thin line before parting again. “I’m angry at myself,” he admitted quietly, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. 

His words stopped you in your tracks. Looking at his face, you realized there was something he wasn’t saying, something he was holding back. But you couldn’t bring yourself to ask. Asking might shatter the fragile tension that still tethered you together. 

JJ stood motionless for a long moment, then turned and walked toward the door. He stopped just before opening it, resting his hand on the frame. His fingertips gripped the edge so tightly they turned white. Without looking back, he stepped out. The door closed with a soft but final thud, the sound echoing through the room, leaving the air heavier than before. 

[kiwriteswords]

A drabble about hickeysss!!

This slope is treacherous; I like it [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader Drabble]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 500

TW: Sexual themes, hickeys, secret relationship, established relationship, BAU reader, Hotch's POV, possessive Hotch, marking, nsfw, mdni

Aaron Hotchner woke up that morning with the dawn barely breaking through his bedroom blinds. The previous night was still lingering warmly in his thoughts. The silence of the early hour starkly contrasted with the laughter and passion that had filled the room mere hours ago. 

As he lay there, the memories of last night's escapade with you played vividly in his mind. A rare smile curled his lips.

Dragging himself out of bed, Hotch headed towards the bathroom, beginning the daily routine that marked the start of another long day at the BAU. He was a man of habit. Even a night as exceptional as the last could not alter his precise morning schedule. 

As he shaved, his eyes caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. You were blissfully stretching on the bed, the white sheets just barely covering you. The sight made him pause. His razor hovering momentarily in the air.

As you sauntered into the bathroom, Hotch's gaze inadvertently fell on your neck, and his heart skipped a beat. There, clear as day, was a vivid reminder of last night--a hickey. Stark against your skin. It was an unusual slip of his usually controlled demeanor, and his brow furrowed slightly.

"You're not planning on covering that up?" Hotch asked, his voice a mix of concern and surprise as he gestured toward your neck.

Reaching to touch your neck with a mischievous smile, you shook your head. Your eyes were daring and sparkling. "I want the world to know I'm taken," you declared, even though you couldn't share by whom. "Even if they can't know who it is."

Hotch felt a twinge of panic at the thought of anyone at the office noticing. It was unprofessional. It was risky, and yet, seeing that look in your eyes? That bold challenge? It stirred something deep within him. 

It was more of a turn-on than he had ever realized, igniting a flame of desire and possessiveness that he hadn’t anticipated. He was never a possessive man, but something in the way of you being marked his suddenly turned him on to no end.

He took a step closer, his professional demeanor faltering momentarily as he brushed a finger gently over the mark, his touch sending a shiver through you. 

"You’re playing a dangerous game," he murmured, his voice low and intense.

"And you love it," you countered, stepping into his embrace with confidence that matched his own. The air between you was charged, and the thrill of the secret you both shared added a layer of excitement to the already electric atmosphere.

As Hotch got ready, his mind was torn between his role as the BAU unit chief and the man who had left that mark on your neck. The drive to work was quiet; each lost in your thoughts about the implications of what you’d decided to flaunt so openly. He was already predicting who would point out the mark that colored your neck so brightly first. 

Walking into the office, Hotch was all business again, but the occasional glances he threw your way were full of unspoken words. 

And throughout the day, whenever his eyes met yours, he felt that same thrill. A dangerous, exhilarating pulse of energy that he never wanted to end.

It was reckless, it was thrilling, and it was yours. A secret danced around in stolen looks and knowing smiles, hidden in plain sight for only them to understand.

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟕]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.5k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, mentions of blood and injury

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. thank you all for waiting during my hiatus <3 turnfire is back, probably a bit sporadic for updates! still, i hope you'll join me in seeing the story through until the end! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗡𝗦

In the week that you’re apart, Kinich dreams of you five times.

It’s a welcome respite from the constant nightmares he’d been experiencing. They’d grown more frequent since your injury, lying in wait in the dead of night. He’d found himself trapped by them, thrown to a hellish dreamscape that saw you meeting your end over and over again. It always ended with the sight of your body, bloody and broken.

And he was always too weak to save you.

But since the contract, Kinich finds new power thrumming through his veins. He’d thought he was strong before, but this is different. He wonders if this is how it must feel to hold a Vision, to be one of the Archon’s chosen. Being afforded a power like that means protection and stability, however steep the price may be. And sure, his body is a high price.

But when he remembers your screams of pain and the tears running rivers down your cheeks, he really can’t bring himself to regret this deal at all.

Still, Ajaw’s power brings its own share of consequences, like actually dealing with Ajaw. Truthfully, he’s reluctant to let the Dragonlord anywhere near you—he tends to run his mouth, and he doesn’t want him saying anything unnecessary in your presence. 

He isn’t a great companion, not like you—he gets on Kinich’s nerves, both intentionally and unintentionally. But there is something to be gained from a power as great as his, a power that even Kinich is forced to recognize.

The first dream is nothing special. There’s no rhyme or reason to it; he dreams of running through the meadow with you, flower petals bursting and floating through the air. His next dream is similar, though this time it’s in the forest, river rushing alongside you. He dreams of the late nights you spend talking, of the dinners you’ve shared over candlelight, of your whispers under the stars. It doesn’t matter what it is, it’s you. 

It’s always, always you.

So, if sacrifice must be had, let it be his. 

Ajaw seems to realize it too, the weight of the bond they have forged. Ecstatic as he is to take Kinich’s body as his own, he knows that most people wouldn’t make such a deal so easily. He tries to question it a few times, wondering who this “special mortal” could be, wondering why Kinich would need his “awesome powers” to protect them. Kinich doesn’t care to answer—no one needs to know how he feels about you except you.

And, by the time he makes it back to your shared home, he’ll make sure that you know too.

He has the man in the ruins to thank for that oath. After he’d escaped the darkness, he’d made a small grave for the others who had embarked on that journey with him. He hadn’t had much onhand, but he tried—a small pile of stones, stacked precariously until they were about his height. Though he hadn’t known the other men well, he feels a sort of duty to their memory. After all, he had fought by their side, and no one deserves to die alone.

And now, he has the means to protect you, and to make sure that you never have to cry again.

On the seventh day, Kinich raises his head to the sky, one hand shielding his eyes as he gauges the position of the sun. If he starts the journey now, he could be by your side again by nightfall. Something flutters in his chest at the thought of seeing you, and part of him feels like he really can’t wait any longer.

“Ajaw,” he calls. The dragon is resting nearby, picking berries off of plants and scarfing them down. “We’re going home.”

He walks, and doesn’t wait to see if the dragon is following him. He’ll be able to tell based on the complaints that Ajaw is constantly spewing—he’d learned quickly how to phase them out of his mind.

“Your house?” Ajaw moans, still smeared with the juice of a Quenapa Berry. “What is it, a pathetic cave on the side of the mountain? Or maybe a cardboard box on the side of the road?”

Kinich rolls his eyes. “It’s a real house, and you’ll be lucky if I even let you inside. Now pick up the pace.”

The wind is good today, he notes, ideal for grappling. Ajaw scoffs, reluctantly following alongside his partner. 

“What are you in such a rush for anyway? Mortals get excited over the smallest things.”

Your smiling face flashes in Kinich’s mind. He sighs.

“Just feeling a bit homesick.”

/

“I’m home.”

Kinich’s voice floats languidly through your quiet house, comforting familiarity seeping into his bones. Something delicious is cooking—the smell of rich meat and spices wafts through the air.

On the table, there’s a loaf of fresh bread, a single slice spread with your favorite jam. Fresh fruit overflows from the basket on the counter, shiny skin promising ripeness. One of his old shirts is draped over the arm of the couch, sewing needle and thread strewn across the fabric. You’d kept busy while he was gone, evidently.

Somehow, simple as it is, the sight of your home at peace is almost overwhelming. After days spent in the dark humidity of the ruins, he suddenly feels like he can finally relax, if only for a moment. He lets the bag drop from his shoulder, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

There’s no response, but Kinich can see your shoes by the door and the faint sound of splashing water—most likely, you’re in the bath. Still, Ajaw fixes him with a look of disbelief. 

“Did you seriously make up an entire girl just to convince me you don’t live alone in the mountains? That’s pathetic, even for you.”

Kinich fights the urge to stomp the small dragon into the ground, opting to start organizing his things instead. Kneeling down, he unzips his bag, starting to pull out various trinkets and pouches of Mora.

“She is real, she’s just in the bath. Try not to be so annoying when she comes out, or I’ll punch you out.”

Ajaw turns red in irritation. “Just try it, servant! And you’ll see just what it means to be a Dragonlord—”

“Kinich? Is that you?”

He perks up immediately at the chime of your voice, excitement palpable in your words. There’s a scuffle behind the door—you’re rushing to change and greet him, he thinks, face warm. Even Ajaw seems to notice his change in demeanor, based on his mocking chuckle.

“Oh, how sweet. Your little girlfriend has been waiting for you.”

Kinich doesn’t even have time to retort, because the bathroom door flies open and you come bursting forth, wide grin splitting across your face. You clear the room in only a few steps—Kinich’s eyes widen at the sheer speed—and then you’re collapsing into his arms with all the force of a raging bull. 

He catches you anyway, heart nearly pounding out of his chest at the proximity, at the still-damp heat of your skin, at the way your arms wrap around him so tightly.

Spring blooms around him as he holds you closer.

“I missed you,” you admit quietly. Your breath is warm against his neck, but the feeling is pleasant all the same.

“I missed you too.”

After a moment, he holds you at arms-length, gauging the state of you. Your bandages are a clean, pristine white, and there’s less of them than when he left—your wound must have healed considerably.

Noticing his gaze, you smile, stretching your arms wide.

“I’m a lot better now,” you assure him. “We can start going on jobs together again soon!”

It’s a true relief to see you healthy and happy again. Though the guilt will likely never leave him, he wants to burden you as little as possible. 

“That’s good,” he replies, thumbing over your cheek. His breath hitches when you lean happily into his touch. “I’ll look for some good commissions next time I go to the outpost.”

Silently, he notes that the two of you will have to take some simpler ones first, at least while you’re still healing completely. And maybe for the time being, while he gets used to Ajaw’s power—he can’t risk hurting you again.

Someone clears their throat obnoxiously, and Kinich finally remembers that he hadn’t returned home alone.

Brows furrowed, you peek over Kinich’s shoulder to see the small, pixelated dragon floating there. He has an impatient expression on his face, like he can’t stand the lack of attention. 

“Kin,” you whisper, “I think something followed you home.”

“I am not something,” Ajaw roars, “I am the Almighty Dragonlord K’uhul Ajaw, the bearer of power that strikes fear into nations and gods, the pinnacle of strength and—”

“I found him in a cave,” Kinich interrupts dryly. “And now he won’t stop talking.”

Despite the bold introduction, you don’t seem intimidated by Ajaw at all—you’re peering over him curiously, poking at his tail and flicking at his feet. He growls in reply, already full of protest.

“It’s…floating,” you observe, in awe.

“It? You dare refer to the Almighty Dragonlord as an it? I oughta burn you to ash right here!”

Kinich shoves Ajaw aside, a sour expression on his face. Admittedly, he’s irritated at your reunion being interrupted.

“Try anything against her and see what happens.”

Ajaw grumbles some curses, but neither of you pay him any mind—you’re too overjoyed that Kinich is home, and Kinich is just happy to be in your presence.

“I made some stew for dinner,” you announce, practically skipping over to the stove. There’s a pot already boiling there—that must’ve been what he smelled earlier. “Your favorite. Ajaw—sorry, Almighty Dragonlord can eat too if he wants.”

When you bring it over to the table, beckoning him over, Ajaw huffs at his side. 

“If she’s inviting me to dine, maybe she isn’t so bad after all,” he comments haughtily, and Kinich resists the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to Ajaw to change his opinion of you on a dime. Instead of arguing with the impossible dragon, he moves to clean up the rest of his things.

Ajaw pounces on the bread right away, tearing it to crumbs. It doesn’t seem to bother you, based on the way you calmly hum as you stir the stew. Really, it doesn’t seem like anything could ruin your mood at this point, and that thought makes Kinich smile in turn.

“If you’re planning on keeping him like a pet,” you say as you place three bowls of stew on the table, eyes flicking between him and Ajaw, “something tells me he won’t be able to learn many tricks.”

Luckily for you both, Ajaw is too busy scarfing down his food to hear. Kinich shakes his head, a half-smile on his lips.

“Not likely. We made a contract, actually.”

Your head tilts in curiosity as you take your seat. “Really? What kind?”

It’s not uncommon for Kinich to make deals—it’s what he’s good at, and he’s even better at following through. So it comes as no surprise to you that it would be the nature of his relationship with Ajaw. Still, you don’t expect him to continue:

“My body, for his power.”

A sharp gasp slips between your lips. 

When he turns to face you, your smile falters at the edges, a withering bloom.

“You…what?”

“It was a fair trade,” he explains calmly, checking his grappling hook. There’s a chip in the metal, he notes grimly, evidence of its overuse. “In exchange for my body after death, I get to—”

The clattering sound of your chair tipping to the floor has Kinich flinching, one hand outstretched instinctually toward you. When he looks up, your expression is like shattered glass—you’re clutching your stomach like someone’s just punched you.

“In exchange? For you?” Your words thin at the end, dying halfway up your throat. The sound makes Kinich’s heart twist. “Are you joking?”

It’s as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. Though he’d expected your surprise, he hadn’t expected the despair, the anger that burns in your irises.

“I promise you, it was fair,” Kinich reiterates. “As annoying as he is, Ajaw does have a lot of useful power.”

“But he’s taking your body,” you say. Each word comes out almost robotically. “That’s supposed to be fair?”

Hesitantly, he takes a step toward you. You shrink away, directly onto your fallen chair—you stumble and fall, a pained expression painting your features. Even as quick as he is to rush to your side, Kinich can’t help but curse himself internally.

Somehow, no matter what he does, he hurts you every time.

You recover quickly, climbing to your feet, and Ajaw merely watches, uncharacteristically silent. Kinich doesn’t really care what he thinks anyway—he’s far more focused on the glassy tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“It’s only once I die,” he assures you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You flinch at the feeling, eyes wide. “For as long as I’m alive, I’ll be stronger.”

You shake your head. “You don’t need that thing’s power, Kin. Give it back, we’ll be fine.”

From his place at the table, Ajaw sneers. 

“How ungrateful! You have no idea how many humans would scramble and die for the chance to use a sliver of my—”

“Ajaw,” Kinich breathes, a warning, stare never leaving yours. “Get out.”

Ajaw huffs. “Do you even hear her? She’s being totally unreasonable—”

“Ajaw.” Kinich grits his teeth until it’s practically audible, tone laced with frost. “Get. Out.”

The tension is so razor-sharp that even the Almighty Dragonlord slinks out the door, though he grumbles as he goes. You don’t seem to care either way, instead scrubbing at the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

Silence falls, a blanket of ice over the warmth of your home.

He hates it. He hates the way it reminds him of his parents, of the countless fights that occurred here, and he hates the broken sheen in your eyes when you look at him. It’s a far cry from your previous brightness.

“Please, Kin,” you plead, a near-whisper, “please, please give his power back to him.”

You grasp at his arms, tracing the tattoos etched into the skin there, like you’re trying to remind yourself that he’s still here. Small cuts litter his skin, evidence of the journey he’d endured before returning to you, and your frown deepens.

“I can’t,” he replies. “The contract is done.”

His words sink deep into your mind, a stone in water, the weight of what he’s done slowly dawning on you. He can see it in your eyes—the fear that takes root. The fear that one day, he’ll no longer be by your side.

With a sigh, you rise to your feet, moving toward the couch. Kinich follows.

“You have to understand,” he starts, almost begging, even as you walk away, “I only wanted to be stronger for you. I don’t want you to get hurt again—”

When you whirl on him, your eyes are burning.

“So it’s because of me? Because I got hurt?”

And really, it was, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t because of you, or any sort of perceived weakness of yours. If anything, Kinich thinks, it was his own that brought him this far—his own selfish desires for you.

“It’s not like that,” he murmurs, reaching for you. His heart pangs when you flinch away from his touch—you’ve never done that before in his life. “I’m stronger now. I can protect you now—”

“I never wanted you to protect me, Kinich!”

The pure volume of your voice seems to shake the walls of the house, and Kinich feels like it’s all crumbling down around him. He’s never seen you like this—nearly quivering with anger and disappointment, tears running endlessly down your cheeks. 

You can’t seem to decide where to look, but your gaze lands on his all the same. He almost wishes it didn’t—he can’t take the sorrow in your eyes.

“I’ve been learning on my own. I want to fight with you. I don’t want you to protect me, or hide me away, or sacrifice anything more for me. I just wanted to be with you!”

“We can still be together, it’s just—”

You gesture wildly outside, to where Ajaw is presumably waiting.

“Just that your life is tied to this…this thing now, and now not even your own body belongs to you. Do you realize how insane that is, Kin?”

And he wants to tell you that it’s not about Ajaw at all, it’s about you. It’s the fact that he’s always belonged to you, he wants to belong to you, and being strong is the only way he knows how to do that. He thinks of his mother, of the price of her smile—he would pay any price to see yours.

He wants to tell you that he’d thought of you every day he was away, perhaps every moment. He wants to tell you what he promised himself back in the ruins.

But he can’t seem to move an inch. He should say something, he knows. Comfort you in some way. All he can do is watch as you collapse onto the couch, old and fraying, stare fixed blankly to the wall.

And when he remembers the sight of your blood seeping through your shirt, he still can’t bring himself to regret this.

You hold your face in your hands. “We…we were happy, Kinich. Wasn’t that enough?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You don’t answer.

And, as always, Kinich drowns in the realization that he’d hurt you again. His father’s voice echoes in his mind.

It’s your fucking fault. This is all your fault.

The deal had been fair, at least to him, and he was rarely wrong in these things. He’d gained a power to protect you. With this newfound strength, you’d have no reason to worry again. 

So why did it feel like everything was falling apart?

He’s never been good at these things—at feelings, at vocalizing them—but all he’s ever wanted was to be what you needed. But someone like him isn’t worthy of your light.

He really, really wants to be.

Kinich slinks to your side, careful as he kneels before you. Your head is still hung, tears dripping into your lap. He tries not to let the sorrow on your face deter him, at least for now—you deserve to hear what he’s been thinking all along.

Even if it’s too little, too late, he has to tell you.

His fingertips brush against your knee first, apologetic. For now, you don’t push him away. He finds comfort in that, somehow. Even when everything the two of you have built until now lies on the precipice, the mere sensation of your warmth is enough to calm him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first,” he whispers, letting his hand drift toward yours.

You don’t reply, which makes Kinich think that you’re simply waiting to hear what he has to say. A deep breath fills his lungs, slow, the buildup of everything he’s longed to communicate all these years. 

Outside, the sun is falling to rest, leaving shards of fading golden light in its wake. Kinich watches its luminescence slip over your face, slow and winding. 

“I thought you were going to die back then. And it would’ve been all my fault.”

Even suggesting the possibility has something in his chest writhing and twisting, a chill settling in his bones. He’s lost too much until now, and he’s always told himself he could move past it. And yet, he doesn’t think he could ever stomach losing you.

“I couldn’t let that happen again,” he finishes quietly.

He can practically hear the gears turning in your head as you absorb his words. But your hand doesn’t leave his, and he holds steadfast to that feeling.

A sigh escapes your lips. 

“And I can’t let Ajaw have you, even after death. I told you I would always be by your side, Kin, and I wish you would trust me to do that on my own.”

His eyes widen, and he’s about to reply when—

A knock echoes at your front door.

You sniffle once, then twice, gathering yourself. Kinich moves to stop you—he’s sure it’s just Ajaw getting impatient during his timeout.

“It’s not Ajaw,” you assert, practically reading his mind. “It’s the couriers.”

The couriers? They don’t come here often—that fact hasn’t changed since his parents lived in his house. A seed of unease plants itself in his stomach. 

“They’ve been looking for you,” you sigh. Before you can take another step, his fingers wrap tight around your wrist, rooting you in place.

“Why? What do they want with me?”

The look in your eyes is far away, falling upon the lukewarm stew on the table. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, all of it. Instead, your lip quivers as you admit:

“The Wayob called for you. You’ve inherited an Ancient Name.”

And, despite all his efforts, Kinich feels the distance between you growing wider and wider.

[momo-minomo]

I just intended to check tumblr for a moment before bed when this post caught me by the fucking throat. It’s now past 1:30am and I’m feeling loopy from the melatonin I took so forgive me if this drabble is trash lol.

I’ve made a huge mistake, Clark thought absently.

It had seemed so reasonable in the moment, both he and Bruce were hurting and exhausted after a near wold-ending threat. If Bruce hadn’t been every bit as clever and dauntless as he is Clark would have been trapped in the phantom zone with the dozens of world ending enemies that he’d put there, all of them wanting to tear him apart strip by strip. If Clark had been a fraction slower to react when he’d escaped their enemy would have torn out Bruce’s too-kind heart.

Having come so close to losing each other the pull to be near him, to get his hands on him and grip until they stopped shaking like that was inescapable. Undeniable. It was like being caught in the gravity well of an imploding star. All heat and the need to come closer, brush skin on skin and share breaths. They knew it was bad idea. Knew they needed clear heads to lead the Justice League and clear schedules to protect their separate cities.

When he’d pushed his forehead gently to Bruce’s, his best friend had clutched at his arms and pulled him closer, a broken “Kal.” the only sound in the little medical room he’d found Bruce belatedly catastrophizing in.

They should have forced themselves to separate and walked away because if he’d thought Bruce was on his mind too much before…

Batman sits strong and indomitable as always across from him, his sharp mind probably tearing data and observations from Green Lantern’s report to shreds and identifying a million problems the rest of them never saw coming. Clark will have to watch the security footage of this meeting later because god help him he can’t stop staring at Bruce’s mouth below the edge of cowl.

He knows what that mouth tastes like now. Know how it feels against his lips, his skin, his…

The quiet crack of displaced air startles him out of his memories. He barely resists a second flinch when another crack sounds and Flash is suddenly back in his customary seat beside him holding a sandwich he didn’t have 3 millisecond ago.

Taking a deep breath, Clark sternly reminds himself that he and Bruce had agreed it would only happen the one time exactly for this reason. He straightens up and determinedly tears his eyes from the man across from him and back to Hal.

The Lantern falters for a second under the weight Superman’s intense stare, clearly wondering what the hell he’d done to piss off the Man of Steel, before soldiering on.

He’s never in his life been more aware of a person he wasn’t even looking at. Bruce’s breathing was steady but a little shallower than normal, possibly from bruised ribs since he kept shifting subtly on the inhale to curl ever so slightly on his left side. Kevlar weave armor rasped near silently over the ridges and valleys of old scars he’d traced with hands and teeth and tongue.

Realizing he was subconsciously tapping his finger in time with Bruce’s heartbeat and that it was going a little fast Clark stilled the movement and snuck another quick glance to Bruce.

He was looking straight at him. Clark blinked hard, surprise getting the better of him. Without meaning to he peers straight past the cold lenses of the cowl and into piercing blue eyes dark and intent with desire. They were every bit as captivating 6 feet away as they had been 3 inches from his with Bruce moaning into his ear and his strong legs over Clark’s shoulders, flexible in a way a man with his bulk has no right being. For the sake of Clark’s sanity if for no other reason.

He takes a mental note to put some cash in Ma’s swear jar as a down payment. He has a feeling he’s gonna need it with how utterly fucked he is.

superbat, but they’re the next victim of the “surely this indescribable tension and attraction between us will be solved by just having sex once and realizing that we’re not all that compatible and being together isn’t actually something we want” trope and fucking doesn’t make it better, it makes it worse. so much worse.

[loveesiren]

𝖡𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖭𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗆𝖺𝗋𝖾

Thanos x American!reader

a/n: hi my babies! so this is my first thanos (choi su-bong) fic i'm posting. however, i kind of wrote this as an aftermath of a little series i've been working on of them in the games. so, once i am done hating it and editing it, i will posit it! but i hope you guys enjoy this cute lil fluff. i suck at writing fluff tbh but i tried! xx also, t.o.p is my gwiyomiii, my honeyyyy, my angel babyyyyyyyyy! i'm so inlove with him so feel free to send requests!

synopsis: nightmares of the games still haunt Thanos a year later, but luckily Y/n will never leave his side.

warnings: language, fluff, very brief mention of sex if you squint

wc: 1.1k+

You couldn’t sleep. Insomnia had wrapped itself around your mind ever since surviving the games last year, a constant shadow in your otherwise bright new life. You had so much to be grateful for—making it out alive, the money that had saved you in more ways than one, and, of course, Su-Bong. Though, to this day, you still called him T. Your T.

Never in a million years would you have imagined living in a sleek penthouse in downtown Seoul with a man you fell in love with while playing deadly children’s games. Yet here you were, in a world that once seemed as unreachable as a dream: Thanos’ World. And you loved it.

The games had changed Thanos in ways you never thought possible. He quit the drugs, buried his oversized ego, and spent six months holed up in his apartment with only you for company. It was a metamorphosis you never expected but cherished deeply. When he finally emerged from that cocoon of self-reflection, he returned to music—his first true love. But this time, it wasn’t about sex, drugs, and wealth. His lyrics delved into the rawness of his childhood, the pain of his struggles, the weight of his dreams—and you. Always you. You were his muse.

Being with the Thanos, however, was far from simple. Going out with him was an ordeal, a gamble. Fans flocked to him wherever he went, now more than ever, since he’d announced his new album. He once thrived on the chaos, basking in the adoration of women throwing themselves at him and men idolizing him. He was a star, and he reveled in the glow. But now? Now the attention suffocated him. He avoided crowded places as much as he could, especially when you were by his side.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to show you off—God, he did. But the fear gnawed at him. What if something happened to you? What if someone hurt you? You’d already faced your fair share of vitriol when the media leaked that Thanos was dating some American girl. “American bitch,” they’d called you, throwing their venom your way in tabloids and comment sections. But the hate didn’t break you. If anything, it hardened your resolve.

You refused to let him hide away forever. When his anxiety tried to keep him tethered to the penthouse, you were the one who dragged him out into the world. You reminded him of what life outside these walls could offer, even if it wasn’t always kind. And slowly, piece by piece, you were helping him reclaim it.

You glanced over at Thanos, his peaceful face softened by sleep, his arm draped lazily over your bare thighs. Carefully, you lifted his arm and slipped out of bed, moving quietly so as not to disturb him. Padding toward the kitchen, you glanced at the clock: 2:30 a.m. Another sleepless night. You sighed, the weight of endless insomnia pressing down on you.

You set the kettle to boil, deciding tea wouldn’t cut it tonight. The staleness of the room felt suffocating. What you needed was air. Before stepping out to the balcony, you peeked into the bedroom again, reassured by the steady rise and fall of Thanos’ chest.

The view of Seoul stretched before you as you stepped outside. The city pulsed with quiet energy, its lights casting a warm glow against the dark sky. The faint scent of cherry blossoms drifted through the breeze, mingling with the night air and brushing your hair across your face. This view, this life—it was something you’d never take for granted.

Pulling out your phone, you typed a quick message to Se-mi.

y/n: You up?

Minutes passed before your phone buzzed with a reply.

Se-mi: Yeah. Can’t sleep?

y/n: The insomnia is never-ending.

Se-mi: I miss when we all lived together.

Your lips curved into a bittersweet smile. Memories of those first fragile weeks after escaping the games flooded your mind. The four of you—Thanos, Se-mi, Min-su, and you—crammed into your tiny apartment, clinging to each other for sanity. For weeks, you barely left the safety of those walls. Eventually, Thanos invited everyone to move in with him, but Se-mi and Min-su had decided it was time to go back to their families. The games had taught them how precious life was. That, and your shared space wasn’t exactly conducive to privacy—especially with how loud things could get between you and Thanos when you couldn’t keep your hands off of eachother.

y/n: I miss it too. I miss you. Shopping tomorrow?

Se-mi: You know I hate shopping.

y/n: But you love me, and T gave me his black card.

Se-mi: Spoiled brat.

y/n: See you tomorrow 🥰

Se-mi: Can’t wait ✌🏼

You smiled at her response, warmth spreading through you at the thought of reconnecting with your best friend. But the moment of peace was shattered by a sound from inside—faint whimpers carried through the air. Your heart clenched. Setting your tea down, you hurried back to the bedroom.

“T?” you called softly as you stepped inside.

No response. Only the faint cries that sent chills down your spine. You rushed to the bedside table and flicked on the lamp. Thanos was thrashing slightly, tears streaming down his cheeks, his hands grasping desperately at the empty space where you should have been.

“Fuck! NO!” he suddenly screamed, his voice hoarse with panic.

“T!” you gasped, climbing onto the bed and pulling him into your arms. “T, baby…” you murmured, your voice gentle but firm. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

His hand found your shirt, bunching the fabric in his fist as though clinging to reality. He fought against the demons clawing at him, his breaths ragged and uneven. Finally, his eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused at first, until they locked onto yours. His lip quivered as shame filled his expression.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, brushing your thumb tenderly across his cheek to wipe away the tears. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

“Fuck…” he sighed, his voice trembling as he buried his face in your shirt. His shame was palpable, but you held him tightly, cradling him as though the weight of his nightmares could be eased by your embrace.

“Another nightmare?” you asked softly. He nodded wordlessly, slipping his hand into yours. He hated these moments. Hated the way his past still haunted him, dragging you into his darkness. But you didn’t mind. You’d made a decision long ago: this man was worth every struggle, every sleepless night. Some may say a few days isn’t enough time to know who is your person, but when your life is on the line, time has a way of fast-tracking love.

“M’sorry…” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your chest.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, T,” you reassured him, your fingers running soothingly through his hair. “You know I’ll always be right here.”

“Promise?” His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and vulnerable.

You kissed his forehead, tightening your arms around him. “Promise,” you said, and you meant it with every fiber of your being.

No taglist yet but if you'd like to be added to future fics, let me know! :)

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° because i liked a boy

♡ a/n — for my new childhood friends to lovers series :)

♡ word count — 1.5k

♡ content — oliver aiku x fem! reader, fem! reader, could be gn but i wanted to be safe in case i missed a few pronouns, childhood friends to lovers, mention of social media hate, goes from 2nd grade to the U-20 game, nickname 'my girl' used once

♡ synopsis — You’d been Oliver Aiku's best friend since you could walk, but what if you wanted to be more?

Oliver Aiku had always been larger than life. Even as a scrappy little kid on the soccer field, he had this magnetic pull that made you look at him twice. It wasn’t just the way he played—wild and relentless, like the ball was an extension of himself—it was the way he owned the field, every inch of it.

He’d score a goal, throw his arms in the air, and spin to face the crowd as if he were already playing in a packed stadium. The parents on the sidelines clapped politely, some shaking their heads at his showboating, but you? You clapped the loudest.

Parents exchanged awkward glances, but none of it ever phased Oliver.

He had you.

You’d been his best friend since you could walk—your families were next-door neighbors, practically an extension of each other. Whenever someone had enough of his showboating, he’d turn to you with that unshakable grin.

“You saw that, right?” he’d call out, jogging over to where you sat with your knees pulled to your chest.

“Yeah, Oliver, I saw,” you’d reply, trying and failing to hide your smile.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he’d say, tousling your hair before running off to join his teammates.

Back then, he didn’t care who was watching or what anyone thought. It was enough that you were there, your laughter and cheers louder than everyone else’s combined.

By middle school, Oliver had grown taller, his voice deepening as his grin remained the same. He still played soccer like the world depended on it, but something else was changing, too.

Your classmates whispered in hallways about who liked who, notes were passed in class, and suddenly everyone seemed to be holding hands. Oliver wasn’t immune to the wave of adolescent curiosity, but unlike the others, he approached it with the same fearless energy he brought to the game.

He started dating casually, his charm drawing girls in like moths to a flame. Each week, there was a new name, a new story. You’d sit on your bedroom floor together, him tossing a soccer ball from hand to hand while you half-listened to his latest escapades.

“She dumped me,” he said one day, catching the ball and staring at it like it held the answers.

“Why?”

“She said I didn’t text her enough,” he replied with a shrug.

“Did you?”

“Nope.” He tossed the ball into the air and caught it again. “Too much effort.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed anyway. It was impossible to stay annoyed with him for long, but something about these conversations left a knot in your chest. You weren’t sure why until the day he turned to you, his grin soft and sincere.

“Hey, if you’re feeling left out,” he said, “we could date.”

Your heart stumbled in your chest. “What?”

“I like you,” he said, as if it were obvious. “If you like me, let’s try. You’re the only person who actually gets me anyway.”

The words hung in the air between you, so simple yet so earth-shattering. You liked him—you always had—but the thought of crossing that line was terrifying. Still, the way he looked at you, so sure, made it impossible to say no.

But it didn’t take long for you to realize you weren’t ready. The idea of ruining what you had—the easy laughter, the shared history—was too much.

You barely managed to hold his hand, let alone anything else. So you broke it off before it could go any further.

Still, Oliver didn’t hold it against you. “You’re my best friend,” he’d said. “That’s never gonna change.”

And he kept his word. To this day, you were the only ex Oliver Aiku had ever stayed friends with.

By the time high school rolled around, Oliver was no longer just a neighborhood star. He was the Oliver Aiku, soccer prodigy and the center of every conversation. He’d grown into his confidence, wearing it like a second skin, and the world couldn’t look away.

Everyone wanted a piece of him—teammates, classmates, even teachers. And though he still found his way to your side, leaning against your locker or texting you late at night, the space between you began to grow.

“I miss when it was just us,” you admitted one afternoon, your voice barely louder than the hum of the vending machines outside the gym.

Oliver tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean? It’s still us.”

But it wasn’t. Not really.

You didn’t say that, though. Instead, you smiled and nodded, trying to ignore the ache of watching him move further into a world where you couldn’t quite follow.

You tried not to let it bother you, the way girls flocked to him in the hallways, the way his name was always on someone’s lips. You weren’t invisible, not really, but compared to him? It felt like you were.

Still, Oliver always made time for you. You were grateful for that.

“You’re the only one I can actually talk to,” he said, making it clear there's a reason it's always been you two. “Everyone else just wants to hear about soccer.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Maybe that’s because you never shut up about it.”

He grinned, nudging you playfully. “See? That’s why I like you. Low maintenance. A good friend.”

For some reason, the words stung. You’d always been friends—why did hearing him say it now hurt so much?

When Oliver got his first pro offer, it should have been the happiest day of his life.

He found you immediately after practice, bursting through the door of your part-time job at the library with his usual uncontainable energy.

“I’m taking you out,” he declared, practically dragging you away from the returns cart.

You laughed, stumbling after him. “Shouldn’t you be with your family? This is a huge deal!”

He shook his head, grinning. “I have all the time in the world with them,” he said, flashing you a grin. “I’d rather be with my girl.”

You froze. “I’m not your girl—”

He cut you off. “Do you want to be?”

The air shifted between you, heavy with something unspoken. This time, you didn’t back away.

The words lit something warm in your chest, and for the first time in years, it felt like things were back to the way they used to be. Just you and Oliver, like always.

Oliver’s first season was everything you’d hoped for him. His name was everywhere, his skills celebrated, his confidence unmatched. When the season ended, he posted a picture of the two of you on Instagram—a soft launch for some, but for Oliver, it was a declaration.

“First year down, forever to go,” the caption read.

Some assumed he was talking about soccer. You knew better.

But by his second season, the narrative had changed. His performance wasn’t as sharp, at least in the eyes of fans and reporters. Every missed pass, every fumbled play, was scrutinized. And somehow, the blame landed on you.

“She’s a distraction,” one reporter wrote. “He was better when he was single,” another said. “With that woman clinging to him, he won’t make it in this industry,” a coach even said during a press conference.

Your social media became a war zone. Strangers flooded your posts with hate, blaming you for Oliver’s supposed “decline.” You tried to ignore it, but the words stuck to your skin like thorns.

The U-20 loss was devastating, the kind of failure that sent shockwaves through his career and his psyche. When you found him in the locker room after the game, he was a shell of himself, his usual confidence replaced by simmering frustration.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes.

“I wanted to see you,” you said softly.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s the problem.”

You froze. “What are you talking about?”

“You,” he snapped. “I should’ve listened,” he continued, his tone venomous. “Everyone warned me, but I was stupid enough to think you wouldn’t ruin my life.”

You'd fought before, what couple hadn't but, you ruining his life? "I've been friends with you basically your whole life!" you argued back, fists clutching at the 'Aiku' jersey that adorned your torso.

No matter what you said, Oliver wasn't listening. “You’ve been nothing but a distraction. Ever since we got together, everything’s gone to shit. My career, my focus—it’s all your fault.”

The words sliced through you, sharper than any knife. “Oliver, that’s not fair—”

“Fair?” He laughed again, harsh and hollow. “What’s fair is that I gave up everything for this, and I’m still losing. Maybe if I hadn’t wasted so much time with you, things would be different.”

Your breath caught, tears blurring your vision. “If that’s how you feel, then I should go.”

“Maybe you should,” he said, his voice cold and final.

So you left.

The weeks that followed were unbearable. You deleted your social media, unable to face the onslaught of strangers blaming you for Oliver’s mistakes. Everywhere you went, you felt like a ghost, haunted by his words and the memories of what you’d shared.

You wanted to hate him, to let his betrayal harden your heart, but the truth was, you missed him.

And deep down, you wondered if he missed you too.

the synopsis is awful so sorry if you jumped in not knowing what was gonna happen

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[captaindibbzy]

So in 2019 I followed a blog of what I thought was an indigenous woman in Mexico who lived as part of a small community. She was part of a collection of people who blogged about indigenous communities and various things like that.

In 2020 COVID happened and she reported her community had been hit very hard by this, and cause of the remote nature of it they were struggling. People were dying. She asked for help. She shared her fund.

I had been following her for 6 months or so. She had been running this blog for years. She was backed up by all these other blogs. So I donated.

A month later she vanished. It came out she had been running a long con. She had cashed in, taken the money, and run. That money never made it to the people who we gave it for because they never existed. She left deeply betrayed close friends behind when all this came to light.

That was the last time I ever donated to anything off Tumblr.

There is ultimately a scam for everyone. There's phone scams, lottery scams, romance scams, cat scams, charity scams, and if you have fallen for something don't beat yourself up about it because these people are professionals who are refining their scams day by day. Move on, learn the signs, and don't take it upon yourself to save the world.

I swear we used to be able to think critically about random GoFundMe asks

It used to be understood that if someone using a throwaway blog suddenly starts messaging a bunch of accounts to beg for money, they were most likely a scammer.

Now suddenly there are fucking swarms of throwaway bots relentlessly shilling GoFundMe campaigns to anyone who even so much as breathes in the direction of a trending tag or post, yet the mere suggestion that any of these could be a scam will immediately get you yelled at by self-righteous strangers.

What changed?

[achilles-rage]

Stop Moving

summary: when you’re both invited to an old friend’s wedding, you decide to share a hotel room to save money. imagine your surprise when you open the door and realize that there’s only one bed.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: this was gonna be a drabble based on a couple prompts, but i got carried away, so here’s this!! it’s a mix of a bunch of different tropes, hope you enjoy<33

warnings: smut, buck living up to the nickname firehose (hehe), reader’s first time, friends to lovers, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

MDNI- 18+ only!

You were surprised when you got the wedding invitation; you haven’t heard from the groom in years, not since you met him when you were visiting your grandparents when you were a teenager. You were even more surprised when your friend from work, Buck, had also gotten an invitation.

Small world, you think.

You learned that they had met when he was travelling the country in his early twenties, and although neither of you had seen him in years, you thought you’d both go together. To save money.

You felt like you’d been driving for hours as you make your way to the wedding, but finally, Buck pulls into the hotel parking lot.

You lug all of your bags inside and get the key to your room; deciding to room together for a couple of nights. It’s not like you’ll be in the room much, anyway, and you’re close enough with Buck that it doesn’t seem like a big deal.

It feels like a bit bigger of a deal, though, when you open the door and see one queen sized bed in the middle of the room.

Yoy let out a sigh as you walk over and drop your bags on the bed, too tired to think about the complications of your situation.

“I can go down and ask for a different room?” Buck says, his words barely registering as you sit down on the bed then lay back, closing your eyes.

“It’s fine. We can do it tomorrow. I'm too tired.” you mumble, and when he finally turns and sees you already laying on the bed, he chuckles softly.

“Yeah, sure. Alright. We can definitely do that.” he says, throat going dry as it sinks in that you’ll be sharing a bed.

He’s liked you for months, but he’s been too afraid of ruining your friendship, so he’s never done anything about his feelings.

You both take your turns changing in the bathroom, and when you pull your pajamas out of your bag, your stomach drops. You were expecting to be sleeping alone, and all you packed was an oversized shirt. One that just barely covers your ass.

You put the shirt on with a loud sigh, then peek your head out of the bathroom door to see Buck already in bed, shirtless.

“Okay, I only packed a pajama shirt. So, we’re gonna ignore it, and never talk about this again.” you say as you look around the corner at him. His eyes raise up to meet yours when he hears your voice, and then he smirks, setting his phone down on his lap to watch your walk of shame.

“Right, no teasing. Got it.” he says smugly, eyes glued to you as you finally step out from around the corner and make your way towards your side of the bed.

His eyes travel down your bare legs, and he has to fight the urge to let out a low groan. He watches the way your thick thighs move with each step, and he has to force his eyes back up to your face. He wouldn’t be able to explain away the fact that he’s rock hard under the sheets if you were to notice.

You turn off your lamps and get settled without another word, but after a little while, you feel a shiver erupt through your body. It's freezing in this room, and the thin sheets aren’t doing a thing to protect you from the cold.

Buck feels you shiver beside him, and he gets up quickly and walks over to the a/c unit to turn up the heat. You hear him huff a moment later, and you lift your head off the pillow to look at the outline of his body in the dark, brow raised.

“The A/C is broken. It’s stuck at this temperature.” he says with a huff, then gets back into bed.

When he’s back under the sheets, he reaches out and touches your arm, hissing quietly as his fingers feel how cold your skin is.

“You’re freezing. come here.” he tells you, opening his arms and urging you over.

“No, I'm fine.” you try to reassure him just as a shiver ripples through your body; from your head to your toes.

“No, come here. I'll warm you up.” You sigh, then move over to him slowly, turning around and pressing your back to his chest as he pulls you closer.

You feel instantly warmer as his skin touches yours, but now you just feel awkward, not wanting to move. His breath is hitting your neck with each exhale, and he feels so good wrapped around you, but you can feel your heart threatening to burst out of your chest at your situation.

After a while, you think he’s fallen asleep, so you move slightly, trying to get comfortable in his arms. You’re still pressed against him, but you don’t think you’re moving that much. You’re proven wrong, however, when his hand grips your hip hard, forcing you to stop moving.

“Stop moving.” he whispers, voice tight and sharp.

“Whg? I’m just trying to-” you begin, but the words die in your throat when you feel his hard cock against your back.

Your lips part in surprise, and your breath catches in your throat at the idea that you did that to him. God, you wish the ground would just open up and swallow you whole right now.

“I'm sorry.” you whisper, beginning to move away from him, but his hand on your hip stops you immediately.

“Don’t apologize.” he replies, then raises up onto his elbow, looking down at you as you turn slightly to meet his eyes.

He can see the uncertainty in your eyes, but he can also see the emotions behind it as well, the lust, and without thinking twice, he leans down and kisses you softly.

The kiss starts out unsure, his hand trembling just a millimetre from your cheek as he gauges your reaction. But, when he feels you melt into him, he kisses you deeper, desperately.

You moan softly against his lips, and when he gets that hint of satisfaction from you, he’s quick to move on top of you, hips pinning you down as his kisses move down your neck.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” he rasps against your skin while one hand moves up and down your side and the other holds himself up.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask as he brings his head back to look at you, smiling cheekily.

“Didn’t wanna ruin the friendship.” he says with a shrug, then kisses your lips again. His actions are like he can’t even believe this is happening, and you don’t believe it either. You just hope to anyone that will listen that this isn’t only happening because he’d be turned on by anyone in his bed.

“It's ruined now.” you say softly, a smile making its way onto your face as he pulls back and lets his fingers move down your body and towards the waistband of your panties.

“Yeah, I’d say so.” he says with a quiet chuckle before letting his fingers dip under the fabric of your panties and attach to your throbbing clit.

You have to bite back a moan, teeth digging into your bottom lip as his fingers move in gentle circles, but he shakes his head, tutting softly.

“Uh, uh. Let me hear you.” he tells you earnestly, taking in the sight of you looking up at him with so much desperation in your eyes.

“Buck, please.” you whisper after a moment, feeling lust fill your belly. All you want right now is him, not his fingers.

“Are you sure?” he asks, eyes searching yours as he slows the movements of his fingers working at your clit.

“Yes.” you say breathlessly, nodding fervently. Without another word he pushes your panties to the side, and then pulls himself from his pants, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Wait,” you hesitate just as the head of his cock threatens to push past your glistening folds. “I've never- I haven't done this before.”

He stops immediately, stilling as he processes your words. You feel your cheeks heating up as he looks down at you with furrowed brows, embarrassment filling your body at your confession.

“Never?” he clarifies, tilting his head to the side.

“No.” you whisper, voice barely audible as your eyes dart away from his.

You’re surprised when his lips meet yours again, his touch and presence so reassuring as your racing heartbeat slows.

“That's alright. We can take it as slow as you want.” he tells you when he pulls back, eyes soft and understanding. His smile makes you smile, and you nod slowly, letting out a relieved sigh.

“Okay, I'm ready.” you tell him, and he nods, telling you to stop him if you need a break before he begins to push his cock into your dripping pussy.

“There we go, good girl. Just relax for me.” he coos, easing into you slowly to let you adjust to his size. He feels guilty as he sees your face scrunch up in discomfort, but he knows that the feeling is normal, and he needs to take it slowly to make sure you’re okay.

“Doing so good. Almost there, baby.” he reassures you when he’s halfway into you, feeling your grip on his shoulders tighten as you grow accustomed to the sheer size of him.

Finally, he’s buried himself to the hilt, but he stays still, wanting you to feel comfortable enough for him to begin to move again.

“Tell me when I can move, okay?” he says, looking into your eyes as they flutter closed, and then open, and then closed.

“Okay. You can move.” you say after a moment, opening your eyes and looking up at him.

He nods, then pulls out slowly, watching your face for any sign of pair or discomfort before pushing back into you, groaning as you clench around him and pull him further into your tight cunt.

“Fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart.” he growls, bringing his head down to press his lips to yours, trying to keep your mind off the slight discomfort you no doubt feel. He knows he’s not necessarily the best person to take you for the first time; his size having been a problem even with more experienced women, but he doesn’t even want to think about you giving yourself to another man.

No one else will treat you as well as him. No one will take their time with you like he will.

He keeps his pace slow and steady, moaning in your ear each time you whimper or squirm under him.

It doesn’t take long for either of you to get close to the edge; the very idea that he finally has you being enough to get Buck there, and the attention he gives to your clit with his fingers having that pit in your belly growing with each second that passes

“Buck, I’m gonna-” you whimper, clenching around him as you teeter on the edge.

“Let go, pretty girl. I’ve got you.” he purrs in your ear, feeling himself twitching inside of you as he brings his lips back to yours again.

You both cum with loud moans, bodies going taut in pure ecstasy as Buck fills you full of his seed. At this moment he thinks about the fact that he doesn’t know if you’re even on birth control, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when you’re squeezing him so fucking good.

When he finally pulls out, he goes to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth and clean you up, and then he pulls you into his arms and lets you rest your head against his chest.

Right as you drift to sleep, Buck speaks quietly, his arm squeezing your shoulder as he whispers “I love you.”

The next day goes by quickly. The wedding is beautiful, and your shared friend is exactly the same as you both remember him.

You both sit right beside each other at your table for dinner, Buck’s hand never leaving your thigh.

He's finally got you, and he never wants to let you go again. Especially when you look so pretty in your dress.

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[thedensworld]

Reality Love Winner | K.Mg

Genre: fluff, angst, suggestive, exes to lovers au!

Summary: Mingyu needs money, as well as you. So joining a reality dating show for money wouldn't hurt anybody right?

Hello everybody! First fic in 2025 and i hope you enjoy this lil fluffy fluffity fluff of Mingoo🥰

What he remembered about you the most?

A three-month relationship felt like a whirlwind—a fleeting moment of bliss before reality forced you both apart. It wasn’t that the love was absent; it was just overshadowed by the weight of your individual ambitions.

But even with its brevity, your time together left a searing mark on Mingyu. What stood out the most wasn’t the laughter, the conversations, or the shared dreams—it was the intimacy. He vividly recalled the nights when the two of you were tangled in his sheets, naked and desperate to escape the stress of your demanding lives. Heated kisses that turned into frenzied passion. Sloppy thrusts that silenced the chaos of the outside world.

Every encounter felt like an unspoken agreement to forget your struggles by losing yourselves in each other. Mingyu knew your favorite position by heart, learning your body as if it were a masterpiece he’d been tasked to perfect. He was meticulous, deliberate, obsessed. And every time, he was grateful for his early mornings at the gym, pumping iron and building strength—not just to look good, but to keep up with you.

On the wall, on the table, on the bed, or sprawled across the floor—Mingyu was always ready. Sitting, lying down, or standing, he gave you everything he had. It wasn’t just sex; it was an act of devotion, a way to show you how much he craved you, admired you, worshiped you.

What haunted him most wasn’t just the absence of those moments, but the fire you left behind. You were a storm he couldn’t forget, a fever that lingered in his veins long after you’d gone. He didn’t just remember you; he felt you, like a phantom touch, long after you’d both walked away.

For Mingyu, obsession wasn’t even the right word—it was something deeper, something primal. You were the one indulgence he never wanted to give up, the addiction he never thought he’d have to quit.

"Let's break up."

The words fell from your lips with a quiet finality, and he knew—this was it. The end. He had always known it would come to this, hadn’t he? Even from the beginning, there had been an unspoken truth lingering between the two of you.

You were too devoted to your work, pouring your heart and soul into a career that demanded every ounce of your time and energy. And Mingyu? He had his own empire to build, a business that consumed him in ways even he didn’t anticipate.

There was no space for you and him in the cracks of your busy lives, no room to nurture what little love you had managed to build. Every moment together felt like stealing time from a ticking clock, and the pressure of it all had slowly worn you both down.

Calling it quits was the better option, the logical one. Yet as he looked at you, standing there with that familiar fire in your eyes dimmed by sadness, he couldn’t help but wonder if logic was enough to soothe the ache in his chest. The ache of knowing that what could have been would never be.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to change your mind. He simply nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as the weight of reality settled over him. Because deep down, Mingyu knew that loving you had always been a beautiful impossibility.

However, Mingyu heard the news about you through Seungkwan, the friend who had introduced the two of you in the first place.

“She got involved with a senior and was manipulated. It wasn’t fair, but you know how companies work,” Seungkwan explained, his tone laced with disappointment.

Mingyu felt a rush of anger surge through him as the words sank in. You had worked your ass off, pouring everything you had into your career, only to be cast aside like that? It wasn’t just unfair—it was cruel.

As he stewed in frustration, an idea began to form in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to turn your current misfortune into an opportunity for both of you. He’d recently heard about Reality Show Love, a dating show still in the process of casting couples. The prize money was massive—enough to breathe life back into his struggling business and possibly even give you a fresh start.

All you had to do was agree.

When he called you one night to pitch the idea, your voice was sharp and unyielding. “I’m not doing it!”

“Come on, Y/n!” Mingyu countered, his tone pleading yet persuasive. “It’s not like we’re going to actually be a real couple. We just have to act a little, play the part, and scam the audience. Easy money!”

He quickly rattled off the prize amount, letting the number hang in the air. The silence on the other end of the line told him everything he needed to know—you were considering it.

“What do you think?” he pressed, the edge of excitement creeping into his voice. “We split it 50:50. Half for me, half for you.”

You exhaled, your hesitation audible, before finally muttering, “Alright. Deal.”

And just like that, the wheels were set in motion. The two of you now stood alongside three other couples in a luxurious villa meticulously prepared by the production crew. In the narrative crafted for the show, you were cast as a one-year-old couple—a boss and their assistant—an angle the casting team found intriguing enough to secure your spot.

“I think it’ll be more interesting if we have opposite charms,” Mingyu had suggested during one of your brainstorming sessions to make your ‘relationship’ believable. “Like a golden retriever and a black cat dynamic?”

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across your face. “I don’t want to be the dog. That sounds exhausting.”

Mingyu huffed dramatically, crossing his arms. “Fine, I’ll take the golden retriever role. I’ve been a dog all my life, anyway. You can be the black cat—it suits your real personality.” His tone turned teasing as a sly grin spread across his face.

Your eyes narrowed. “Watch it, Kim Mingyu. You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself.”

The banter was light, but it was also necessary. Every detail of your fabricated relationship had to be convincing—not just to the production team, but to the millions of viewers who would be scrutinizing every interaction.

Once the introductions were complete, the couples were assigned their respective rooms, though there was a twist: men and women would be separated. It was part of the show’s strategy to create tension and test bonds. The host announced the premise of the competition. Over ten episodes, the couples would face various missions designed to showcase their dynamics and challenge their chemistry. Only one couple would make it to the end to claim the grand prize.

“Sounds pretty easy, right?” Mingyu whispered as the rules were being explained, leaning closer to you with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “As long as we keep working together.”

You glanced at him, catching the rare blend of excitement and determination on his face. “Easy for you to say,” you murmured back. “Just don’t forget your lines, golden retriever.”

Mingyu smirked, the confidence in his expression unshakable. “Don’t worry, black cat. I’ve got this.”

And as the cameras rolled, capturing every calculated glance and practiced smile, the real game began.

*

As two episodes aired, the reaction to you and Mingyu was massive. No one had expected a couple that looked like they walked straight off the pages of a magazine to join a reality dating show—and with such surprising charm, no less.

Viewers were captivated, fully buying into the backstory crafted for your relationship: a boss who had fallen in love with his assistant after working tirelessly together to build a business from the ground up. The narrative felt heartfelt and relatable, leaving audiences touched and rooting for you both.

Mingyu’s likeable persona quickly became a hot topic on the internet. His name trended on search engines for two weeks straight, with fans gushing over his effortless charisma and warm personality. A particular clip of him cooking breakfast for all the contestants went viral, drawing millions of views and flooding comment sections with admiration.

“Boyfriend material!”

“Kim Mingyu is the blueprint.”

“How can someone be this handsome and good at cooking?!”

The buzz surrounding him was electric, turning him into an overnight sensation. Meanwhile, your poised yet subtly feisty demeanor perfectly balanced his golden retriever energy, solidifying the two of you as fan favorites.

With each new episode, it became increasingly clear—you and Mingyu weren’t just playing the game. You were stealing the show.

To keep up with the growing tension and maintain the audience's interest, you and Mingyu had a private meeting to brainstorm new strategies to market your relationship as even more likeable.

“Should we make you anxious about all the attention I’ve gotten these past two episodes?” Mingyu suggested, a teasing glint in his eyes. You chuckled, feeling a flicker of hesitation. You had never lived a life filled with worry, so the idea felt a little foreign to you.

“Should I try, Y/n?” he pressed, raising an eyebrow as if daring you to bite. Mingyu still couldn’t wrap his head around how someone could live so carefree, with no worries to weigh them down.

You considered it, then threw out another idea. “Or maybe we could stress the point that you’re completely obsessed with me because I’m so pretty?”

Mingyu groaned, clearly not impressed. “Please, Y/n. You’re not helping your case.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, the playful frustration in his voice making you smirk.

“Or you could act jealous,” you continued, clearly enjoying the banter. “I could flirt with one of the other cast members. Get some real drama going.”

Mingyu’s eyes widened in mock horror, then lit up with excitement. “Brilliant!” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “People love watching someone else get jealous. It’s perfect.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. As ridiculous as it was, you knew one thing for sure: the next few episodes were going to be a whole lot more interesting.

As the next few episodes aired, you followed through with the plan—interacting more with the other male cast members, engaging in lighthearted conversations, laughing a little too easily, and making sure the cameras were capturing every moment. You could feel Mingyu's eyes on you, though he pretended to stay calm. But it didn’t take long for his frustration to show. The subtle way his jaw tightened when you spoke to the others, the barely noticeable sighs, and the way his gaze lingered on you longer than usual—it was all too obvious.

And, of course, the cameras were quick to catch it. The production team loved the drama, and it didn’t take long for the clips to go viral. The viewers ate it up, with fans speculating whether Mingyu’s frustration was real or just another part of the act. Was he truly jealous? Was the "golden retriever" becoming possessive over his "black cat"?

Behind the scenes, the tension was palpable. The other women started to notice too, their glances sharp as you exchanged playful remarks with the other men. The whispers began to spread, and soon it was clear: they weren’t just jealous of your interactions with the men—they were envious of the attention you were getting from everyone.

“Did you see how Y/n was acting with him?” one of the women muttered, her voice low but full of disdain. “She doesn’t even care about Mingyu. It’s like she’s trying to make him jealous on purpose.”

“Exactly,” another woman added, eyeing you from across the room. “It’s disrespectful. If she really cared about him, she wouldn’t be all over everyone else.”

You could feel their eyes burning into your back, but you played it cool, smiling and continuing your act. After all, it was all part of the game. But the other women’s comments only made the drama more intense. The cameras were always watching, capturing every move, every subtle exchange, making sure the growing animosity was on full display for the viewers.

Meanwhile, Mingyu’s behavior was becoming more and more erratic. He'd snap at the smallest things, acting like every interaction you had with the other men was a betrayal. His reactions—though exaggerated—were feeding into the narrative the producers wanted: a couple on the brink of imploding.

“You’re making it hard for me to stay calm, Y/n,” Mingyu muttered one evening, when the two of you were alone, as the cameras rolled. “Everyone’s watching, and you’re just giving them what they want.”

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “What do you mean? I’m just being friendly.”

But you could see the struggle in his eyes. It wasn’t easy for him to pretend it didn’t bother him.

The drama between the two of you was escalating, and with it, the show’s viewership skyrocketed. Fans were torn between rooting for your playful chemistry and wondering just how far Mingyu’s jealousy would go before everything exploded. The producers were thrilled, and for the first time in the show’s history, the audience was completely invested in your “relationship.”

By the time the fifth episode aired, the tension had reached a boiling point. The producers, eager to keep the drama flowing, decided to bring up something that would really shake things up: the couples' pasts. The production team had asked each couple to submit stories from their past, their struggles, and moments from their present lives to add depth to their on-screen personas. You and Mingyu, caught up in the whirlwind of the show, had submitted a mixture of made-up tales and, honestly, a few true stories—mostly because you couldn’t be bothered to fabricate everything.

But the producers, ever the masterminds of manipulation, weren’t content with just the surface-level drama. They chose to highlight certain moments—stories that you didn’t expect to come to light. One of those stories was about your three-year relationship with your ex.

You sat there, feeling a lump form in your throat as the host casually brought it up.

“So, in your past, Y/n, you had a significant relationship that lasted three years,” the host began, looking at you with a knowing smile. “Can you tell us about that?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you could feel the room shift. Mingyu shot you a concerned glance, but he quickly masked it with his usual carefree smile, trying to play along with the show’s narrative.

You hesitated, the words stuck in your throat. It wasn’t just another story—it was your story. The pain, the memories of that time, resurfaced like a wave crashing over you. You had tried so hard to bury it, to move forward with Mingyu and keep your focus on the present, but here it was, dragged out into the light.

“I… it was a complicated time,” you began, your voice shaky, trying to maintain your composure. "We were in different places in life. It ended because of... differences in what we wanted, what we valued."

The host nodded, prompting you to continue. "It’s just hard to let go of someone you spent so much time with, especially when the future felt uncertain. But I thought I had moved on… until now."

The words hit harder than you expected, and your mind raced with all the unresolved emotions tied to that past. You had moved on from your ex, yes, but the scars it left were deeper than you had allowed yourself to acknowledge.

As the story played out on-screen, you could see Mingyu's eyes flicker with a mix of concern and something else—something that felt too close to discomfort for comfort. The producers, with their expert timing, had turned a lighthearted conversation into something raw, something personal.

“And how does Mingyu feel about you sharing this part of your past?” the host asked, turning the spotlight onto him.

Mingyu’s smile faltered for a second, the weight of your past suddenly making him uneasy. He leaned forward, looking directly at you, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension rising. "It’s just a part of her story," he said with a slight chuckle. "I’m not worried about it. I trust her."

But you could tell it wasn’t as simple as that. The air between the two of you shifted, just for a moment, and the playful, teasing dynamic you had spent episodes building seemed to falter.

The room grew quiet, and the cameras were rolling, capturing every inch of your discomfort. Mingyu, ever the showman, quickly recovered, but his earlier comment about trusting you sounded more like a plea than a statement of confidence.

The host pushed on, sensing the discomfort. “So, Y/n, do you think you’ve fully healed from that relationship? And how does it affect your relationship with Mingyu now?”

You took a breath, trying to regain control of the situation. You didn’t want to seem vulnerable—not on national TV, not when you had built a persona of the confident, carefree woman. But the question hit you in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“I... I thought I had,” you said softly, eyes dropping to the table for a moment. "But sometimes, things from the past come up, and you realize there are still things you need to process. It’s not always easy."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension, the cameras capturing the moment for the world to see. You could almost feel Mingyu’s gaze on you, but you didn’t look up. He didn’t need to know how much that relationship still affected you. You were here now. You had him now.

But the damage was done. The audience, the cast, and even Mingyu were left to stew in the emotions that had been stirred up. The past was never truly gone—it was just waiting for the right moment to resurface, and now everyone could see the cracks in your carefully constructed armor.

As the episode ended, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a turning point. Mingyu had already taken the role of the jealous, possessive partner in this show, but this revelation might be more than he could handle. You couldn’t tell if it was the game or real feelings on his part, but something about this challenge had just gotten a lot more complicated.

*

Mingyu drove you home in silence, the weight of the day hanging heavy in the air. He hadn’t expected your real story to be exposed on national TV. It wasn’t just part of the game anymore—it was raw, unfiltered, and it had clearly shaken you. He parked his car in the basement of your apartment building, and without saying much, he helped you carry the bags and equipment from the shoot to your unit.

"Thanks," you said softly, your voice still a little strained, though you tried to mask it.

He nodded, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment, noticing how your mood had completely shifted since the shoot. The lightness you had carried with you before seemed to vanish, replaced by a palpable weight.

"Hey... You okay?" Mingyu finally asked, his tone careful, as though testing the waters.

You nodded, though it felt mechanical. "Yeah... just tired."

He watched you for a moment, but the tightness around your eyes and the way you held yourself told a different story. Something was off. Mingyu tightened the line of his lips, unsure of what to say next, but his instincts told him to push just a little more.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" he said, his voice low but earnest.

You shook your head slowly, your palm instinctively rising to cover your face. The sob that escaped was uncontrollable, the emotion you had kept bottled up for so long suddenly breaking free. You hadn't realized how much of it had been building inside you until that moment.

Mingyu’s eyes softened, his heart sinking as he saw the vulnerability in you that you usually kept hidden. He immediately stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and pulled you into his arms.

"Oh... Y/n... it’s okay," he whispered, his hand gently rubbing your back as he held you. He didn’t say much more—there was no need for words. His embrace, steady and comforting, was all you needed in that moment.

He didn’t push you to explain. He simply held you as the tension in your body began to release, feeling the weight of everything you’d been carrying.

Mingyu held you tightly, his embrace warm and steady. The sound of your sobs was muffled against his chest, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The world outside your small apartment felt miles away as you allowed yourself to break down, to release everything that had been building up inside of you.

He gently stroked your hair, his fingers moving in soothing circles as he waited. His chest tightened, heart aching at the rawness of the pain you were carrying. He wanted to ask you what had happened, why the past hurt so much. But he knew better than to push too hard, too fast.

"You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready," Mingyu whispered, his voice soft but filled with concern. "I’m here. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll listen."

You pulled back slightly, your face still hidden behind your hand as you wiped your tears. It was a small, fragile moment, the kind of thing you didn’t allow anyone to see. You had built walls around your emotions, convinced that vulnerability only made you weak. But in that instant, with Mingyu, the walls began to crumble.

"I didn’t want them to know," you said, your voice breaking. "Not like that. Not on national TV. It feels like... like I have no control anymore."

Mingyu’s expression softened, and he reached up to gently lower your hand from your face. He looked at you with those warm, steady eyes of his—eyes that had seen your strength but never pressured you to be perfect.

"You don’t have to control everything," he said quietly. "It’s okay to let go sometimes. It’s okay to not have everything figured out."

You stared at him, feeling a mix of gratitude and confusion. You had always prided yourself on being independent, not needing anyone. But now, in this vulnerable moment, Mingyu’s words pierced through the walls you had built around your heart.

"I’m so sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I didn’t mean to bring this into the show. I didn’t mean to drag you into it."

Mingyu shook his head gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a gesture of comfort. "You don’t need to apologize to me. You’re not dragging me into anything. I chose to be here, with you." His voice grew steadier, more certain. "And I’m not going anywhere."

The sincerity in his words settled around you like a blanket, comforting and warm. You had always admired Mingyu’s ability to stay calm under pressure, but now, seeing him so open with you, a part of you finally let go.

For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to lean into the comfort of someone else, to let your guard down without fearing rejection or disappointment. Mingyu didn’t look at you like you were broken. He didn’t judge you for your past, for the messiness of your emotions. He simply accepted you for who you were in that moment.

As the silence stretched on, you took a deep breath, your tears slowing. It wasn’t that everything was fixed—it was far from that—but for the first time, you felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe things didn’t have to be perfect. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to do it all alone.

Mingyu’s arms were still around you, his presence a quiet reassurance that you weren’t as alone as you thought. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe it.

*

It was a collaborative game, and the tension was palpable. Blindfolded, Mingyu had to follow your instructions to retrieve an item. The more valuable the item, the more points you and Mingyu would earn. You both managed to snag a teddy bear, worth 75 points—second only to a ring box, which was worth 100. The competition was heating up.

The next game was a chase. You and the other female contestants would chase after your partners and try to rip off their sticker. The energy was high, and it was clear that both you and Mingyu were in it to win. Mingyu had always been competitive; winning was almost a reflex for him. And you? You were determined to do anything it took to secure the victory. It made for the perfect dynamic between the two of you.

You sprinted after Minho, Suji’s partner, moving with precision, waiting for the perfect moment to slyly rip the sticker from his back. Meanwhile, Suji, who was supposed to be focusing on Mingyu, couldn’t help but get distracted by the sight of you in full chase mode.

With a triumphant grin, you tore the sticker off Minho’s back and bolted toward Mingyu. You threw your arms around him in celebration, his smile wide as the buzzer signaled the end of the round. His sticker had remained intact, and your victory was assured.

As everyone gathered for a well-deserved break in the gazebo, refreshments were passed around, and Mingyu handed you a glass of orange juice and some sweets with a thoughtful smile. You couldn't help but think that his gesture was more for the audience's benefit—especially since all the other women were stealing glances at the two of you. The chemistry between you and Mingyu was undeniable, and it wasn’t lost on the others.

Teasingly, you reached up and softly rubbed his cheek, your fingers grazing his skin as you leaned in closer. "Good job, baby," you murmured with a grin.

Mingyu froze for a moment, genuinely surprised. The blush creeping onto his cheeks was almost impossible to hide, his ears tinged with the faintest shade of red. He turned quickly to grab his own drink, still flustered, trying to compose himself. The effortless chemistry between the two of you was apparent, and though the cameras caught it all, neither of you seemed to mind.

As the cast mingled around the gazebo, you noticed Mingyu standing nearby, fidgeting slightly while sipping his drink. His earlier blush hadn’t completely faded, and it made you smile to yourself. Stepping closer, you nudged him gently, making sure the cameras had a clear view.

"Hey," you said softly, your tone full of warmth. "Are you okay? You didn’t hurt yourself during the game, did you?"

Mingyu turned to you, his expression softening immediately. He set his drink down, leaning slightly toward you as if to close the gap. "Me? Hurt? Come on, babe, you know me better than that," he replied with a playful smirk.

You crossed your arms, feigning a skeptical look. "Oh, really? I saw how Suji almost tackled you earlier. It looked intense."

He chuckled, his hand instinctively reaching out to rest on your arm, a small but noticeable gesture caught by the cameras. "She tried, but you know I wasn’t going to let anyone mess with my sticker. Besides," he added, his voice lowering, "you were the one I was worried about. Did Minho give you a hard time?"

"Not even close," you replied with a grin, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "He underestimated me, and I had him cornered in no time. But honestly, you didn’t have to worry about me."

Mingyu tilted his head, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. "Of course I worry about you. You’re my girlfriend. It’s kind of my job, you know."

You laughed lightly, but his words and the gentle way he looked at you made your cheeks heat up. Playing along for the cameras, you reached out to adjust the collar of his shirt, letting your hand linger just a bit. "Well, if it’s your job, you’re doing pretty well so far," you teased.

His ears turned a little pink at the affectionate gesture, but he recovered quickly, placing his hand over yours. "And you? You were incredible out there. Honestly, I couldn’t have done it without you."

"Stop," you said with a playful shove, though your smile was genuine.

Mingyu caught your hand before you could pull away, intertwining his fingers with yours just enough to make it look natural but undeniably intimate. "I’m serious," he said, his tone softer now. "You’re the reason we’re killing it out here."

The subtle touch, the way his voice dipped just enough to make it personal, and the little glances exchanged were all perfectly timed for the cameras. From the outside, it looked like a real moment of connection—and for a fleeting second, even you weren’t sure how much of it was just an act.

The night air was cool, but the crackling fireplace in the center of the group cast a warm glow, creating a cozy atmosphere. Everyone sat in a loose circle, bundled in blankets, sipping warm drinks, and buzzing with energy. The production team had introduced a truth-or-dare session as part of the episode, and it didn’t take long for things to heat up.

Each couple was put on the spot, tasked with either revealing secrets or proving their chemistry through daring challenges. You and Mingyu were relentless, using every opportunity to push the other couples to their limits.

"Truth or dare?" Mingyu grinned devilishly at Suji and Minho, leaning forward slightly.

Minho sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dare," he finally said, clearly regretting it the moment Mingyu’s eyes lit up.

"Alright," you jumped in, smirking as you exchanged a look with Mingyu. "Minho, we dare you to serenade Suji. Let’s see if you can melt her heart with your voice."

The group erupted in laughter as Minho reluctantly grabbed a nearby guitar. Suji’s amused but skeptical look was priceless, and the whole scene played out perfectly for the cameras.

But soon, it was your turn.

"Truth or dare, Y/n and Mingyu?" Minho asked, his earlier payback evident in his mischievous tone.

You glanced at Mingyu, who shrugged, his grin challenging. "Dare," you both said in unison.

Minho leaned back, his smile spreading. "We dare you two… to make out. Right here, right now, in front of everyone."

The group collectively gasped, the dare sending waves of anticipation through the circle. The cameras zoomed in, catching every reaction.

You turned to Mingyu, raising an eyebrow. "You game?"

Mingyu chuckled, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk. "It’s just for the cameras, right?" he whispered, leaning a little closer to you.

The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, the fire casting flickering shadows across everyone’s faces. All eyes were on the two of you, waiting. Mingyu reached for your hand, his palm warm and steady against your own. The simple touch sent a ripple through you, the intimacy of the moment amplified by the crowd and the rolling cameras.

He tugged you closer, his tall frame leaning down slightly to meet you. His free hand found its way to your waist, the pressure gentle but grounding, like he was anchoring you to him amidst the tension that seemed to thicken the air.

"Alright," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper meant only for you. His breath brushed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Let’s give them a show."

You swallowed, your pulse quickening. Mingyu’s gaze held yours for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, a flicker of something unspoken in his deep brown eyes. Was it amusement? Confidence? Or something softer, more genuine? You couldn’t tell, and it only made your heart race more.

As you leaned in, the world around you seemed to blur. Your lips met his, soft at first, a tentative touch that betrayed the scripted nature of the dare. But then, something shifted. Mingyu’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepened.

His lips moved against yours with a rhythm that felt almost too natural, too real. The crackle of the fire and the murmurs from the others faded away entirely. For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, wrapped in a bubble that no one else could penetrate.

Your hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of his touch seeped through you, mingling with the fire’s heat and the faint scent of woodsmoke in the air.

Mingyu tilted his head, adjusting the angle, and the kiss grew more deliberate. His thumb brushed your waist in a subtle, almost comforting gesture. Was he trying to reassure you? Or was he just as caught up in the moment as you were?

Your emotions were a whirlwind. There was the rush of performing for the cameras, the thrill of the audience’s attention, but also something deeper—something unexpected. The kiss felt too perfect, too seamless, as though it wasn’t just an act.

When you finally pulled away, the spell broke. The group erupted into cheers and whistles, their energy breaking the tension like a dam giving way. Mingyu didn’t let go immediately. His hand lingered at your waist, and his lips, now curved into a satisfied smile, glistened slightly in the firelight.

His gaze met yours, and for a second, the world seemed to slow again. There was a flicker of something behind his playful smirk—a softness, a warmth that made your chest tighten.

"Not bad," he said quietly, his voice teasing but layered with something else, something almost unreadable.

You tried to steady your breath, forcing a grin to match his. "Not bad yourself."

As you turned back to the group, the cheers and teasing chatter filled the air, but your mind lingered on the kiss. You couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something about it had felt undeniably real—and by the way Mingyu’s hand brushed against yours as he moved to grab a drink, you wondered if he might have felt the same.

*

The shoot for the next episode had wrapped up, but the atmosphere off-camera was far from celebratory. A lingering tension buzzed in the air, and it all traced back to a bombshell dropped by Woorin, one of the female cast members, during a game.

“Are you two really a couple?” Woorin’s voice had cut through the lively chatter like a knife, her words laced with suspicion.

The question wasn’t lighthearted. Her tone carried weight, and the shift in the room was immediate. The other cast members exchanged glances, while the production crew subtly stopped what they were doing, their attention now laser-focused on you and Mingyu.

You exchanged a fleeting look with Mingyu, your heart pounding. You both knew this question might come up eventually, but not like this. Mingyu was the first to speak, his voice steady despite the pressure.

“Of course, we are,” he said with a confident smile, wrapping an arm around your shoulders for good measure. “Why would we fake something like that?”

But Woorin wasn’t convinced. “Really?” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Because I heard something… interesting.”

Your stomach dropped as Woorin leaned forward, her demeanor more like a detective than a reality show cast member.

"You know,” Woorin said, her voice calm but calculated as she glanced between you and Mingyu. “This whole act of yours? It’s really convincing. Almost too convincing. Especially considering… you two are exes.”

Her words hung in the air like a storm cloud. The other cast members froze, their eyes darting between you and Mingyu. The production crew exchanged worried glances, unsure whether to keep filming or intervene.

You felt the blood drain from your face. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked at Mingyu, who seemed equally caught off guard.

“What are you talking about?” Mingyu asked, his tone attempting nonchalance, though his jaw tightened.

Woorin smirked, clearly enjoying the drama. “Oh, come on,” she said. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out. A little digging, a chat with some mutual acquaintances… and voilà. You two used to date, didn’t you?”

The silence that followed was deafening. The cast members leaned in, their curiosity piqued. Even the cameras seemed to loom closer, capturing every flicker of emotion on your faces.

Finally, you found your voice. “That’s none of your business,” you said firmly, trying to regain control of the situation.

“But it is everyone’s business, isn’t it?” Woorin countered, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been parading around as this perfect couple for the cameras. Don’t you think the audience deserves to know the truth?”

The director immediately called for a break, and the cameras were turned off. The producer stormed onto the set, pulling you and Mingyu aside for an emergency meeting.

Inside a quiet room, the producer’s expression was a mix of frustration and concern. “Is it true?” they asked, their voice low but intense. “Were you two in a relationship before this show?”

You hesitated, your gaze darting to Mingyu. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before nodding. “Yes,” he admitted. “We dated. But it was a long time ago.”

“How long ago?” the producer pressed.

“A year ago,” you said quietly. “It ended on good terms. We’re just… friends now.”

The producer let out a deep breath, pacing the room. “This is a nightmare,” they muttered. “If this gets out, it’ll overshadow the entire show. The audience will think everything’s staged.”

Mingyu stepped forward, his voice steady. “We didn’t plan this to deceive anyone. We’ve been doing our best to play our roles and keep things professional.”

The producer stopped pacing, their gaze sharp. “Professional? You call this professional? Woorin just uncovered your past in front of everyone. How are we supposed to recover from this?”

“We’ll handle it,” you said, your voice stronger now. “We’ll find a way to address it without ruining the show.”

The producer shook their head but finally relented. “Fine. But we’re going to need a strategy. You two need to be on the same page, and no more surprises.”

As the meeting ended, you and Mingyu were left alone in the room, the weight of the revelation pressing down on both of you.

Mingyu finally spoke, his voice soft. “I didn’t think Woorin would dig that deep.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted, leaning against the wall. “But now that it’s out, we have to figure out what to do.”

Mingyu looked at you, his expression serious. “We’ve been convincing so far. Maybe we can still turn this around.”

You nodded, though your mind was racing. “We don’t have a choice,” you said. “We either control the narrative or let it control us.”

Mingyu smiled faintly, a flicker of determination in his eyes. “Then let’s give them a story they’ll never forget."

*

Mingyu decided to stay at your place after the chaotic shoot, both of you desperate to pitch a salvageable story to the production team. The stakes were high, and the tension between you two was palpable, though you masked it with humor and exhaustion.

“He threatened to kick us off the show, Y/n! What about our money?” Mingyu groaned dramatically, flopping onto the couch beside you like a deflated balloon.

You rubbed your face, equally frustrated. “Min Woorin must be insanely jealous to dig that deep into our past. I mean, I didn’t even talk to her boyfriend. It’s not my fault he’s the one trying to be overly friendly with me!”

Mingyu nodded vehemently, his annoyance bubbling to the surface. “Exactly! That Juyoung bastard couldn’t stop staring at your butt the entire time. I swear, I’ll kick him in the face the next time he even glances your way!”

A moment of silence settled between you, both of you letting out a deep sigh in unison, the absurdity of the situation hitting you like a wave.

“What should we do, Mingyu?” you asked, your voice softer now, tinged with worry.

Mingyu raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “This wasn’t part of the plan, Y/n. Getting caught? That wasn’t in the cards.”

You leaned into his shoulder, seeking some sort of comfort. “Neither was this for me,” you murmured.

After a beat, you spoke again, your voice laced with hesitation. “Should we just… be honest about our story? I mean, if the audience reacts well, I’m pretty sure the producers will let us stay.”

Mingyu sighed deeply, his arm instinctively draping over your shoulders. “And what exactly is so interesting about our past story, huh?”

You tilted your head to look at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “The fact that you were completely obsessed with me?”

Mingyu snorted, his lips twitching into a smirk. “And you, who kept disappearing on me for a job that eventually fired you? Real romantic, Y/n.”

You jolted upright, indignantly slapping his arm. “Hey! That was not my fault!”

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head as you settled back into your spot, leaning against him again. His teasing tone softened. “I’m kidding, Y/n. Relax.”

A quiet stillness filled the room as both of you let the exhaustion seep in. “Let’s sleep on it,” Mingyu finally said, his voice low and steady. “We’ll figure out what to say to the producer tomorrow.”

Before you could respond, he wrapped his arm tighter around you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. It was so natural, so instinctive, that neither of you questioned it.

The weight of the day melted away as you both closed your eyes, the warmth of his presence lulling you to sleep. Without even realizing it, the two of you fell asleep together on the couch, tangled in a quiet understanding and comfort that only the two of you could share.

The next morning, you and Mingyu were summoned to an emergency meeting with the production team. Both of you arrived feeling uneasy, expecting the worst after the events of the previous day. However, to your immense relief, the team had come up with a new, more thrilling storyline to salvage the situation.

“We’ve decided to take a different approach,” the producer began, glancing between the two of you. “We’re going to reveal that you and Mingyu aren’t actually a couple. Instead, you’ve been part of an undercover mission to test the other couples’ loyalty.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Mingyu, the tension in your shoulders easing as the producer continued.

“This means that from the very start, there were only three real couples,” the producer explained, leaning forward with an air of excitement. “Your role will now be to challenge the loyalty and trust between the cast members and their partners, adding a layer of drama and intrigue to the show.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what happens if none of them survive the tests?”

The producer’s lips curled into a sly smile. “If no couple manages to stay together by the end, the two of you will win the prize money.”

You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at the audacity of the new twist. “So, we’re basically the villains now?” you asked, tilting your head as you tried to process the sudden shift.

“Not villains,” the producer clarified, though their tone suggested otherwise. “Think of yourselves as catalysts for truth. You’re here to reveal the cracks in their relationships—or prove their strength, if they can survive.”

You groaned in frustration as Mingyu drove the two of you home. The sound startled him, and he jolted slightly in his seat.

“What’s wrong? You’re scaring me!” Mingyu exclaimed, glancing at you with wide eyes.

“Won’t we look like villains?” you blurted out, the weight of your earlier decision sinking in. “We’re going to break somebody’s relationship, Mingyu!” You slapped his arm lightly in protest, and Mingyu winced dramatically.

“Think about the prize, Y/n,” he countered, his voice calm yet persuasive. “You said it yourself—you need the money to start your design studio. This is our chance!”

You slumped back in your seat, letting out a defeated sigh. “You’re right,” you muttered, though the guilt still gnawed at the edges of your resolve.

“But it’s still so wrong, Gyu!!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up.

Mingyu smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement as he processed what you had just called him. “Wait, did you just call me 'Gyu'?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s your name. Kim Min Gyu. What else would I call you?”

He let out a hearty laugh, his tone tinged with nostalgia. “But you haven’t called me 'Gyu' since we broke up. No one ever says it the way you do—so affectionately.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I know, right? I’m just so naturally affectionate,” you quipped, your sarcasm barely masking the flicker of emotion in your voice.

Mingyu chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. Without thinking, he reached over and pinched your cheek gently. “You’re so dramatic sometimes,” he teased, though there was a softness in his tone that made your chest tighten.

For a moment, silence filled the car, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with unspoken words, memories bubbling to the surface.

“Sometimes, I wonder why we broke up,” Mingyu murmured, his voice quieter now, tinged with regret.

You turned to look at him, your expression unreadable, before letting your gaze drift out the window. “Hm…” you hummed softly, as if lost in thought.

The air between you thickened with a mix of nostalgia, unresolved feelings, and the undeniable bond you shared. Neither of you said another word, but the weight of his question lingered in the car, refusing to be ignored.

As the car rolled to a stop outside your apartment building, you stayed quiet, your mind racing. Mingyu's words echoed in your head.

“Sometimes, I wonder why we broke up.”

It was such a simple sentence, yet it carried so much weight. You had been so sure you’d moved past what you and Mingyu had—so sure your relationship was part of a chapter you’d closed. But sitting beside him now, feeling the warmth of his presence and hearing the softness in his voice, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart stirred.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He was humming under his breath, his fingers lightly drumming on the steering wheel. The casualness of it all—the ease in which he fit into your life, even after everything—confused you.

Why does it still feel so natural?

“Y/n?” Mingyu’s voice broke through your thoughts. You blinked, realizing he had already turned off the car and was looking at you with concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a small smile. But the truth was, you weren’t sure if you were okay. Not with the way your feelings were starting to shift.

Inside your apartment, the atmosphere was quieter, but your mind wasn’t. Mingyu helped you unpack the stuff from the shoot, his usual playful banter filling the space. He teased you about the way you had tripped during the game, mocked your competitive streak, and even reenacted how he "heroically" protected his sticker during the chase.

You laughed, but the sound felt hollow to you. Because as he moved around your living room, so comfortably as if he had never left, you felt your chest tighten again.

You hadn’t let yourself think about Mingyu this way in a long time. After the breakup, you buried the memories of him deep, convincing yourself it was better that way. But now, those memories were resurfacing—his laugh, his protectiveness, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about something he cared about.

And the way he had looked at you earlier in the car—like he still saw the world in you.

“Hey, Y/n,” Mingyu called, snapping his fingers in front of your face. You hadn’t realized you were staring at him.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been spacing out all evening,” he said, sitting beside you on the couch. He leaned closer, his face just inches from yours. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Your heart skipped. He always knew how to read you too well, and that was terrifying.

“Nothing,” you lied, breaking eye contact. “Just tired.”

But as Mingyu leaned back, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, you knew it wasn’t nothing. Not anymore.

Because the feelings you thought you’d buried were resurfacing, blooming into something unfamiliar—something you weren’t sure you wanted to name yet. And sitting there beside Mingyu, you realized that no matter how much you tried to deny it, he was starting to become more than just your ex.

*

It was late afternoon, and Mingyu sat in a quiet corner of a chic café, laptop open as he skimmed through his emails. His attempt to juggle his business responsibilities with the chaos of the reality show had been taxing, but today’s meeting was a necessary step in keeping his plans on track.

The café door chimed, and Mingyu glanced up. A man entered, exuding quiet confidence. He was dressed sharply, his every movement composed and deliberate. Mingyu recognized him immediately—Wonwoo, the ex you had mentioned during the shoot, the one who had left a lasting impression on you.

Mingyu’s jaw tightened as Wonwoo approached. Of all the people he could have had a business meeting with, it had to be him.

“Kim Mingyu,” Wonwoo greeted as he extended a hand, his tone polite but distant.

Mingyu stood, shaking Wonwoo’s hand. “Jeon Wonwoo. Thanks for making the time.”

The two men settled into their seats, the conversation starting off professionally. Mingyu kept his tone measured, his questions direct, but he couldn’t help the nagging thoughts that crept in.

This was the man who had been with you for three years. The man you couldn’t fully let go of, even when Mingyu had been in your life. Mingyu hated how easily those thoughts consumed him now.

As their discussion moved forward, Mingyu noticed something about Wonwoo that made him uneasy. The man was calm, composed, and had a way of speaking that drew people in—traits that Mingyu knew had probably captivated you once.

Toward the end of the meeting, Wonwoo leaned back, his gaze steady on Mingyu. “So,” he started casually, “you’re working with Y/n on this reality show, right?”

Mingyu stiffened, his hand tightening slightly on his coffee cup. “Yeah. What about it?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Wonwoo’s lips. “Just curious how she’s doing. It’s been a while since we talked.”

Mingyu’s eyes narrowed. “She’s fine. Doing great, actually.”

Wonwoo nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good to hear. She always had a way of pushing through tough situations. Guess that’s why she stuck with me for as long as she did.”

The words were light, but they hit Mingyu like a punch. He forced himself to stay composed, but his frustration bubbled beneath the surface.

“Y/n’s strong, no thanks to anyone else,” Mingyu replied, his tone sharper than intended.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, but instead of responding, he simply smiled. “Interesting.”

As Mingyu sat in his car after the meeting with Wonwoo, the weight of unspoken emotions pressed heavily on his chest. The encounter had been professional on the surface, but beneath the veneer of polite conversation, a storm brewed within him.

Mingyu had always prided himself on being confident—bold even. But something about seeing Wonwoo, the man who had been such a significant part of your life, unraveled him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

He couldn’t shake the image of Wonwoo’s calm demeanor, the way he carried himself with an air of assurance. It made Mingyu feel... small. He hated it. The jealousy gnawed at him, an unfamiliar and bitter taste he couldn’t ignore.

"He’s the kind of guy people don’t forget," Mingyu thought bitterly, gripping the steering wheel tighter. The words Wonwoo had said about you—how strong you were, how you’d stuck with him—echoed in his mind, fueling an insecurity he didn’t want to admit existed.

"Did you love him more than me?"

The question haunted him, the one he asked during the last time you were together. It wasn’t just about love—it was about lasting impact. Mingyu couldn’t bear the idea that, even after all this time, Wonwoo might still hold a place in your heart.

The drive home was silent, save for the sound of his uneven breathing. His mind raced through memories of your relationship—your laughter, the way you used to look at him like he was your entire world. Somewhere along the way, he had lost that, hadn’t he? He had let you slip through his fingers, and now he was left grappling with the fear that maybe, just maybe, someone else had filled the void he’d left behind.

Somehow he found himself in your way into your apartment and saw you sitting there, looking up at him with surprise, the storm inside him reached its peak. He hadn’t planned to confront you, but the words spilled out before he could stop them.

“Do you still think about Wonwoo?”

The question hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. Mingyu’s heart pounded as he watched your reaction. The way your eyes widened told him you hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to be so vulnerable, so shaken.

But he couldn’t hold it back anymore. The encounter with Wonwoo had forced him to face something he’d been avoiding: his growing feelings for you. They weren’t the same as they’d been before, during your relationship. This time, they were deeper, more desperate, tinged with the fear of losing you again.

“It matters to me,” he said, his voice unsteady. “Because I don’t know where I stand with you. And seeing him—hearing about your history—it made me realize how much I hate the idea of not being enough.”

He felt exposed, like he’d just ripped open his chest and laid his heart bare. Mingyu had never been good at admitting his insecurities, but with you, it was different. You had always been different.

As you reassured him, your words sinking into his heart like a balm, Mingyu felt the tension begin to ease. But even as relief washed over him, there was still a lingering ache—a reminder of how much he wanted to prove himself to you. Not just as someone you had loved before, but as the person you could love again.

For Mingyu, it wasn’t just about rekindling what you’d had. It was about building something stronger, something unshakable. And in that moment, as he looked into your eyes, he silently vowed to do whatever it took to earn that place in your heart again.

*

The memory played vividly in Mingyu's mind as he sat in silence, staring blankly at his reflection in the car window. It was a conversation from a year ago, back when the cracks in your relationship had just begun to show—back when he still didn’t understand the weight you carried.

The words he’d overheard echoed in his mind, carving a painful clarity he hadn’t been prepared for. The reason behind your relentless work ethic—the late nights, the unwavering drive—had never made sense to him before. But now, as the pieces fell into place, the weight of it all hit him like a punch to the gut.

It was because of Wonwoo.

You had loved him enough to change yourself, to push yourself beyond limits, all in the hope of becoming what his family deemed "worthy." The thought of you, the bright, fierce person he knew, bending under the weight of someone else’s expectations was enough to make Mingyu’s chest tighten. He hated it—hated the idea of you sacrificing so much only to be rejected.

The mention of your broken engagement felt like a dagger twisting in his heart. An engagement. He hadn’t known things had been that serious between you and Wonwoo. It wasn’t just a fleeting romance or a long-term relationship—it was a promise of forever, one that had been shattered by people who had no right to decide your worth.

Mingyu’s hands clenched into fists on his lap as he recalled the times he’d teased you about your workaholic tendencies. He’d never realized there was a deeper pain driving you, a history that had left invisible scars. Now, knowing the truth, he felt an ache in his chest—part anger at Wonwoo and his family, part regret for not understanding you sooner.

When he saw you later that evening, sitting at your desk with your laptop open, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"Y/n," he called softly, his voice unusually subdued.

You glanced up, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. "What is it?"

Mingyu hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching yours. He saw the weariness in your eyes, the traces of a past you rarely talked about. Taking a deep breath, he moved closer and crouched beside your chair.

"I heard about... Wonwoo," he said quietly, watching your expression carefully.

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, he saw the walls go up, the instinctive way you guarded yourself when the past came up. "Who told you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"It doesn’t matter," Mingyu replied, his hand resting lightly on your knee. "What matters is that I know now. And I’m sorry."

You frowned, confusion flickering across your face. "Sorry for what?"

"For not understanding sooner," he said, his voice tinged with frustration—at himself, at the situation. "For not realizing why you work so hard. I thought it was just ambition, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? You were trying to prove yourself to someone who didn’t deserve you."

Your lips parted as if to argue, but the emotion in Mingyu’s gaze stopped you. He shook his head slightly.

"Don’t defend him," Mingyu said softly. "Don’t defend a man who let his family’s opinion dictate his love for you. You deserve better than that, Y/n. You always have."

Mingyu felt a lump form in his throat as he watched you, the pain in your eyes piercing through him. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on yours.

"Y/n," he said softly, his voice steady despite the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "You didn’t have to change yourself for anyone. Not for him, not for his family. They were blind if they couldn’t see how amazing you are."

You turned to him, your gaze searching his, and for a moment, Mingyu thought he saw a flicker of hope in your eyes. But then, you smiled—a sad, resigned smile.

"Maybe," you said quietly. "But it doesn’t change the fact that I wasn’t enough for him."

Mingyu opened his mouth to argue, to tell you that you were more than enough, that Wonwoo’s loss was his greatest mistake. But the words caught in his throat, because deep down, he wondered if he was any different.

He squeezed your hand gently, his heart aching as he whispered, "You’re enough for me."

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes dropping to where his hand rested on yours. And though you didn’t pull away, Mingyu couldn’t shake the feeling that you were already slipping through his fingers.

It was a moment he would replay over and over in his mind, long after the breakup—wondering if he could have done more, said more, to keep you from walking away.

*

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife as you stood by the refreshment table, filling your glass with water. Mingyu was off to the side, chatting with one of the cast members, but his eyes flicked over to you every few seconds, always keeping an eye on you.

That’s when you heard the sharp click of heels against the tiled floor. You turned just in time to see Woorin storming toward you, her face a mix of anger and hurt.

"Y/n!" she snapped, her voice loud enough to make heads turn. Before you could respond, she raised her hand, and the sound of the slap echoed in the room.

You staggered back, your hand flying to your cheek in shock. Gasps erupted from the surrounding cast and crew as everyone froze, unsure of what to do.

"What the hell, Woorin?!" Mingyu's voice roared across the room as he rushed to your side, placing himself between you and Woorin. His protective stance was immediate, his broad shoulders shielding you from her.

"She deserves it!" Woorin spat, her voice trembling with rage. "Do you think I don’t know? Juyoung’s been flirting with her—my boyfriend—and she just stands there like she’s innocent!"

Mingyu’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkened with fury. "Don’t you dare blame her for your boyfriend’s behavior," he growled. "If he’s flirting with someone else, that’s on him—not her."

Before Woorin could reply, Juyoung stepped forward, his face pale but determined. "Woorin, stop this," he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. "You’re overreacting."

"Overreacting?" Woorin turned on him, her voice breaking. "You’ve been flirting with her since day one, Juyoung! Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at her!"

Juyoung sighed, his frustration evident. "I haven’t been flirting with anyone! You’re making something out of nothing."

"Nothing?!" Woorin’s voice rose again. "How about the way you kept standing near her during the games, or how you laugh at everything she says? Even your friend said you couldn’t stop talking about her before the show started!"

Juyoung groaned, running a hand through his hair. "You’re twisting things, Woorin. I’m just being polite and friendly. It’s a competition—we’re supposed to interact with everyone!"

Woorin’s tears spilled over as she pointed an accusing finger at him. "Polite? Friendly? You’ve ignored me for days and acted like I don’t exist, but you have time to chat with her?!"

"Enough!" Mingyu barked, his voice sharp and commanding. "This isn’t the time or place for your relationship issues. Don’t drag Y/n into this."

Juyoung raised his hands defensively, his eyes darting between Mingyu and Woorin. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m not interested in Y/Nln that way—she’s not even my type!"

The words stung, though you weren’t sure why. You held your tongue, your cheek still throbbing from the slap, as Woorin scoffed. "Oh, now you’re backpedaling. How convenient!"

Mingyu stepped closer to Juyoung, his presence looming. "You’ve said enough," he said coldly. "If you’re not interested in her, make that clear to Woorin and leave Y/n out of your mess."

Juyoung nodded hesitantly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Fine. Woorin, can we talk about this privately?"

Woorin hesitated, her anger simmering but waning. She cast one last glare in your direction before turning on her heel and storming out, with Juyoung reluctantly following her.

The room buzzed with whispered conversations as Mingyu turned back to you, his expression softening as he reached out to gently touch your arms. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

You nodded, though your cheek still stung. "I’m fine," you murmured, but your voice betrayed the slight tremble in your chest.

Mingyu frowned, his hand moving to cup your face as he examined the red mark. "She had no right to do that," he said, his tone still simmering with anger.

"I know," you replied, your eyes meeting his. "But I can’t blame her for feeling hurt. Juyoung—"

"Juyoung’s an idiot," Mingyu interrupted, his voice firm. "And so is anyone else who can’t see how incredible you are without needing to blame you for their problems."

His words struck something deep inside you, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away. Mingyu’s thumb brushed gently over your cheek, as if he could erase the sting of Woorin’s slap with his touch.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere in the studio remained tense, with everyone still recovering from the incident with Woorin and Juyoung. But it seemed like there was no end to the drama. You noticed Suji walking over to Mingyu, her movements deliberate, her laughter just a little too loud. She stood a bit too close, touching his arm as she spoke, her eyes lingering on him in a way that didn’t sit well with you. You shifted in your seat, feeling an uncomfortable knot form in your stomach.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Minho standing off to the side, his gaze fixed on the pair. His posture was rigid, his eyes narrowed, clearly irritated by what he was seeing.

He didn't wait long before he made his way toward you, his expression serious. When he reached you, he didn't mince words. "Y/n," Minho started, his voice low but urgent. "I need to talk to you about Mingyu."

You raised an eyebrow, confused. "What about him?" you asked, glancing at Mingyu, who was still talking to Suji. His body language seemed polite, but there was a stiffness in it that made you wonder.

Minho hesitated, his eyes briefly flickering over to the pair again. "Suji," he said, his voice almost a warning. "She’s been trying to get his attention for a while now. She’s… impulsive, and honestly, I don’t think Mingyu understands how far she’ll go to get it."

You frowned, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Suji was Minho’s girlfriend. "You think Suji’s flirting with Mingyu?" you asked, feeling a mixture of concern and confusion.

Minho nodded, his voice dropping lower as he stepped closer. "She doesn’t know when to stop, and she’s not as innocent as she looks. I’m telling you this because I care about both of you, and I know Suji can be manipulative when she wants something. She’s been acting like this for a while now, and I don’t want Mingyu getting caught up in it."

You glanced at Mingyu again. Suji was still leaning in, laughing a bit too much, her fingers lingering on his arm. You couldn’t deny the tightness that curled in your chest. Was she really pushing him in that direction? Was Mingyu even aware of what was going on?

"What do you want me to do?" you asked, your voice uncertain. Minho’s warning was ringing in your head, but you weren’t sure how to handle it.

"I think you should talk to him," Minho said, his eyes filled with concern. "Suji won’t back off easily. I just don’t want Mingyu to get blindsided, especially with everything else going on."

You nodded slowly, trying to process everything Minho had just said. "I’ll talk to him. Thanks for the heads-up, Minho."

Minho gave you a brief nod, his expression softening. "Just look out for him, Y/n. I know it’s complicated, but you’re the one who can get through to him. Just… make sure he doesn’t fall for her games."

You watched him walk away, but your attention immediately went back to Mingyu and Suji. There was no denying the way Suji was behaving, and you could feel that knot tightening in your chest. You knew you had to talk to Mingyu about it, but would he listen? Would he see the situation the same way?

With a deep breath, you made up your mind. You had to have this conversation with him before it spiraled any further.

*

The drive to Mingyu's house was quiet, the usual hum of conversation replaced by the low rumble of the car's engine. The tension from the day’s events still hung in the air, and it wasn’t lost on either of you. Mingyu’s grip on the wheel tightened, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

As you approached his house, you couldn’t shake the conversation with Minho from your mind. You needed to talk to Mingyu about what had happened, especially considering how closely he and Suji had been interacting. But how could you bring it up without it sounding like you were overreacting?

Finally, as he pulled into the driveway, you broke the silence. "Mingyu," you began carefully, watching him glance at you briefly. "There’s something I need to tell you about Suji."

He raised an eyebrow as he turned off the engine, but he didn’t look entirely surprised. "What about her?" he asked, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of curiosity.

You sighed, feeling the weight of Minho’s warning pressing down on you. "Minho talked to me earlier. He said Suji’s been acting a bit too… familiar with you. Like, she’s been trying to get your attention, and he’s worried she might be more manipulative than she seems."

Mingyu’s expression shifted, though it wasn’t one of defensiveness. It was more like he was processing the information. After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice a little quieter than usual. "I’ve noticed it too," he admitted. "Suji’s been a little too clingy recently. But I don’t think she means anything by it. She’s just… been really forward. I’m trying to keep things respectful, but it’s hard when she doesn’t back off."

You felt a mix of relief and frustration. On one hand, you were glad Mingyu didn’t seem completely oblivious to the situation. On the other, you didn’t want him to brush it off too easily. "I just want to make sure you’re not caught off guard, Gyu," you said, using the nickname almost instinctively. "Suji can be pretty impulsive, and she’s done this before, according to Minho. She won’t stop until she gets what she wants."

Mingyu let out a deep breath, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. "I get it, Y/n. I’ll keep my distance. It’s just… hard when she’s constantly around, and I don’t want to make things awkward, you know?"

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. "Just be careful. You don’t owe her anything, and I don’t want to see you get dragged into her games."

He gave you a small smile. "Thanks for looking out for me. I promise I’ll handle it."

With that, you both stepped out of the car, walking toward the door of Mingyu’s house. As you entered, you quickly gathered the few things that had ended up in his luggage after the last shoot. You could feel Mingyu’s eyes on you, and the silence between you seemed heavier now, like there was more to be said but neither of you was quite ready to speak it.

Once you were done, you followed him into the living room where he sat on the couch, clearly still processing everything from the day. It felt like everything was slowly unraveling — the complexities with the cast, the personal dynamics, and the ever-present tension that seemed to follow you both. Mingyu’s gaze was distant, his mind clearly still processing everything. Then, without thinking, you spoke again, breaking the silence that had comfortably enveloped you.

"You know, Gyu," you started, your voice quieter than before, "I haven’t thought about Wonwoo in a long time."

Mingyu's head snapped toward you, eyes widening slightly. The mention of his name had been unexpected, a slip of your tongue. You could see the surprise in Mingyu’s face, but there was also a flicker of something else — curiosity, maybe, or perhaps something deeper.

"I mean," you continued, trying to gather your thoughts, "I know it sounds strange, but after everything… after all the mess with our past, I just realized I haven't really thought about him in a while. Like, I don't dwell on what happened anymore."

Mingyu didn’t immediately respond, his eyes focused on you now, studying your face carefully. You could tell he was trying to process this, the idea that you were finally letting go of the past.

"That’s... different," Mingyu finally said, his voice tentative. He shifted slightly on the couch, his arm brushing against yours.

"His shadow was constantly over me, even when I was with you. But now... I guess I just don’t feel it anymore. I can’t even imagine going back to him."

Mingyu didn’t speak right away, his gaze steady as if he was carefully choosing his words. His hand moved slowly, then rested on the space between you both, his fingers brushing against yours.

"I’m glad you feel that way," he said softly, his voice carrying a mix of relief and something else, something unspoken. "I think... I think I’m glad you’ve come to this point. I can’t change your past, Y/n, and I won’t try to. But I want you to know that I’m here. I’m here for you — no matter what happened with Wonwoo or anyone else."

The sincerity in his words wrapped around you like a warm embrace. It was clear, though, that Mingyu had always been there, but this was different — more honest, more grounded.

"You’ve been so patient with me, Gyu," you said, your voice catching slightly, the emotions you had been keeping at bay bubbling up. "I don’t know what I did to deserve that."

Mingyu smiled softly, his thumb gently brushing against your hand. "You don’t need to do anything, Y/n. I’m not doing this because I feel obligated or anything. I’m here because I want to be." His eyes met yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

It was a shift in the air — a change that neither of you had expected. What had started as a complicated relationship, tangled with unresolved feelings and past wounds, now felt different. The emotional weight was still there, but there was a new layer to it — something that felt like it could build into something else, something neither of you had anticipated.

The quiet lingered, and the air between you both seemed to crackle with unspoken emotions. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the steady rhythm of his breath, as if he was waiting for something. It was almost as if the universe had conspired for this moment, and you both could no longer ignore it.

Mingyu slowly leaned in, his fingers still lightly brushing against yours, and you could feel his warmth draw closer. There was an uncertainty in the way he moved, but it wasn’t hesitation. It was as if he, too, was giving you space to decide, to let you know if you were ready for this next step.

Your heart raced, and for a moment, you wondered if you should pull back, but something inside you urged you to stay. Mingyu had always been someone you could rely on, someone who, even through the ups and downs, had never wavered in his support for you. And now, in the stillness of the moment, there was only one thing you could do — let him in.

You didn’t pull away as his face inched closer, his lips just a breath away from yours. His eyes flickered to yours, searching, asking without words if you were ready. The tension between you both seemed to thicken with each passing second.

And then, as if he couldn’t wait any longer, Mingyu closed the gap, his lips pressing gently against yours. The kiss was soft at first, slow and tender, as if he were asking for permission to dive deeper into the connection between you two. His hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss.

The world seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you. Every touch, every brush of his lips against yours, felt more intense than the last. His kiss was a mixture of everything — of comfort, of longing, of a deep connection that neither of you had expected but were now willing to explore.

As the kiss deepened, you felt yourself respond instinctively, your body leaning into his, your hands resting on his chest. The warmth between you both was undeniable, and for the first time, you let go of everything else — your past, your insecurities, your doubts. In this moment, it was just Mingyu and you.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your hearts racing in sync. Mingyu rested his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.

"Y/n..." he whispered, his voice low and filled with emotion. "I’ve never stopped caring about you, you know that, right?"

You nodded, your fingers still resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "I know, Gyu," you whispered back.

The air between you two thickened, the energy palpable as Mingyu’s lips returned to yours with renewed urgency. The softness that once lingered turned into something more desperate, as if all the tension between you both was finally being released in that moment. His hands slid down your sides, pulling you closer to him, and you felt every inch of his body pressing against yours.

The kiss grew heated, the warmth of his lips and the feel of his body against you making your pulse quicken. His hand rested at the small of your back, pressing you even further into him as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that left you breathless.

Mingyu’s body hovered above yours, the weight of him both comforting and thrilling. His hands roamed, tracing the curve of your waist, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your ribcage. You gasped slightly at the touch, the sensation sending a ripple of warmth through you, and you instinctively arched into him, eager for more.

He broke away from the kiss, his breath ragged as he looked down at you, eyes darkened with desire. His gaze flickered to your lips, and then to your eyes, searching for some kind of sign — a sign that you were okay, that you were still with him in this moment.

Mingyu’s lips found yours again, but this time the kiss was deeper, more intense, filled with an intensity neither of you had expected. His hands moved to your hips, lifting you just enough for him to settle closer, his body now pressing firmly against yours. The heat between you two grew, and it was impossible to deny how much you wanted him.

His lips trailed down to your neck, his kisses burning against your skin. You shivered beneath him, your hands gripping his shoulders as the heat between you two escalated. Every touch, every movement, every shared breath seemed to make everything else fade away, leaving only the two of you in that moment, completely consumed by each other.

Mingyu pulled off his t-shirt in one fluid motion, and your hands instinctively reached for him, your fingers brushing against the familiar warmth of his skin. His toned muscles tensed under your touch, and for a brief moment, he paused, his darkened eyes locking with yours as though he were savoring the moment.

His hands worked with practiced ease, sliding your top over your head and unclasping your bra with the kind of confidence that only came from familiarity. His fingers brushed against your bare skin as he traced the contours of your body, a reverence in his touch that sent shivers cascading down your spine.

Leaning down, his lips brushed over your collarbone, trailing a line of slow, deliberate kisses to the swell of your chest. You gasped softly as his mouth made contact, the heat of his touch igniting something deep within you.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with awe and a sense of rediscovery. "You’ve always been beautiful."

With an almost effortless motion, his hands moved to unbutton your pants, sliding them down your legs in one smooth gesture, leaving only the delicate fabric of your underwear between you. His hands lingered, as though memorizing every inch of you, his gaze sweeping over you with a mix of desire and admiration.

Before you could fully process the moment, Mingyu’s strong arms scooped you up, lifting you off the couch as though you weighed nothing. The ease with which he carried you was both thrilling and grounding, his grip firm yet gentle. He held you close to his chest, his heartbeat pounding in rhythm with yours as he walked toward his bedroom.

When he reached the bed, he laid you down with care, his eyes never leaving yours. His lips claimed yours again, this time with an intensity that left no room for hesitation. His kisses grew deeper, more urgent, as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear.

The sensation of his touch against your most sensitive skin drew a soft moan from your lips, the sound muffled by his kiss. Every movement felt like a promise, every touch a reminder of the connection you once shared and the emotions that still lingered between you.

Mingyu pulled back just enough to look at you, his face filled with longing and tenderness. His thumb brushed against your cheek as he whispered, "Tell me if it’s too much. I need you to feel safe with me."

Your breath hitched, overwhelmed by the mix of his words and the fire igniting between you. "I trust you," you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you realized.

His lips captured yours again, his touch growing bolder yet remaining respectful of your boundaries, as though rediscovering the delicate balance between passion and care that only he seemed to know how to navigate.

As Mingyu pulled back slightly, his forehead resting gently against yours, the space between you both felt charged with a quiet intensity. His breath came in shallow bursts, and for a moment, everything was still— except for the rhythmic beat of your heart. He looked at you with micture of reverance and affection, the weight of the moment settling between you both.

"Are you sure?" He whispered, his voice soft, laced with the same desired that had filled the air. His hands were gentle, as though he was waiting forya signal from, for any hesitation or doubt.

You nodded, a silent reassurance in your gaze. There was trust there, a bond that ran deeper than anywof the words or touched that had passed between you. In that moment, you knew he would never push you further than you were ready to go.

With that he found yours once more, tender and slow, as though savoring every second of the shared intimacy. The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you— silent connected and united in that moment.

*

After the show ended, you and Mingyu returned to the real world, not as winners of the grand prize but as something far more valuable — partners in both love and ambition. The cameras stopped rolling, the bright lights faded, but the bond you’d forged under their glare remained steady.

Life didn’t slow down for either of you. The buzz from the show brought a wave of attention. Companies, producers, and directors sent offers for TV appearances, brand deals, and interviews. It was tempting to ride the wave of fame, but both of you had bigger dreams.

You decided it was finally time to build the dream you’d put off for too long — your own advertising studio. With the influx of opportunities, you knew you had the leverage to pitch your ideas to major companies. Your days were filled with back-to-back meetings, portfolio revisions, and late nights spent sketching out concepts. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours. Every deal you closed felt like a victory. Every successful pitch fueled your belief that you were on the right path.

Mingyu’s path was equally ambitious. The show gave him visibility beyond the restaurant scene, branding him as more than just a chef or businessman — now, he was a figure people admired for his charisma and strategic mind. Invitations poured in for him to speak at business forums, guest on entrepreneurial podcasts, and even lead masterclasses for young entrepreneurs. At first, he hesitated. "I'm just a guy who wanted to make good food," he told you one night. But you reminded him, "And now you’re a guy teaching others how to dream bigger."

His growth was undeniable. His brand expanded, his restaurant saw more foot traffic than ever, and he even started mentoring up-and-coming chefs and small business owners. Seeing him lead discussions and inspire others only made you fall for him harder. He wasn’t just chasing success — he was building a legacy.

But success came with its own weight. Long hours apart, sleepless nights spent working on deadlines, and the occasional clash of schedules tested your relationship. Some nights, you’d find yourself sitting on the couch at midnight, laptop balanced on your knees, while Mingyu’s side of the bed remained empty until the early hours of the morning.

"Hey," he'd call softly from the doorway when he finally returned. He’d sit next to you, still smelling faintly of the kitchen or the cologne he wore for his TV appearance. “You should sleep.”

“Not yet,” you’d reply, eyes still on the screen.

“Then I’m staying up with you,” he’d say, wrapping an arm around you and resting his head on your shoulder. It didn’t matter how tired he was. He stayed.

You didn’t win the show’s prize, but you won each other. And in the grand scheme of things, that felt like the ultimate victory.

The second chance you gave each other wasn’t just about romance — it was about believing in your potential and supporting each other’s growth. Mingyu often joked that you were like his "favorite investment." You’d laugh, rolling your eyes, but deep down, you knew it was true.

On your one-year anniversary after the show, Mingyu surprised you by renting out a small art gallery to showcase the work of local artists — but at the center of it was a display dedicated to your journey together. Photos, clippings from interviews, and even a mock advertisement with the words “The Greatest Partnership” were displayed on a wall.

"Cheesy, right?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Cheesy,” you admitted, eyes welling up. “But it’s perfect.”

Second chances don’t come often, but when they do, they change everything.

"Y/n, Mingyu," Jiyeon started, tilting her head with a grin. "You two are probably one of the most talked-about duos from the show. Not just for your chemistry but for what you did after. Advertising studio, business empire — it's impressive, really. But I have to ask, did either of you see this coming?"

The interviewer, a sharp-witted woman named Jiyeon, sat across from you with a notepad resting on her knee, a pen twirling between her fingers. Her smile was relaxed but knowing, like she already had her headline written.

You glanced at Mingyu, letting out a soft breath that turned into a laugh. He tilted his head toward you, his eyes narrowing playfully. "Honestly, no. We went on that show thinking, 'Okay, let's win some money, maybe get a little publicity.' But life doesn’t always work out the way you plan."

You glanced at Mingyu, eyes crinkling with affection. "Sometimes, it works out better."

“Better, huh?” Mingyu teased, nudging your arm. "She’s just being nice. We were a mess on that show."

The room filled with light laughter from the crew.

Jiyeon leaned in, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Come on, tell me the truth. The whole world saw the way you two bickered. Was it strategy, or were there… feelings?" Her gaze was pointed but playful.

You raised an eyebrow, giving her a knowing smile. "Let’s just say it wasn’t strategy."

Mingyu let out a low laugh, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "There were feelings. A lot of them. I think at one point, I didn’t know if I wanted to win the challenge or just win an argument with her." He glanced at you, his grin softening. "Turns out, I wanted both."

Your eyes flicked to him, heart squeezing in your chest. The air around you grew a little quieter, more intimate, and Jiyeon caught it instantly.

“Power couple energy,” she said, grinning as she scribbled something in her notes. "But speaking of power, I have to say, you two are the definition of 'fake it till you make it.' Advertising studio, business brand, guest speaking gigs — you’ve built something big. What’s the secret?"

Mingyu scratched the back of his neck, his classic "I'm about to sound wise" move. “For me, it’s realizing that everyone’s faking it,” he said, his voice casual but firm. "No one has it all figured out, and once I accepted that, I stopped stressing so much about looking like I did. I just acted like I belonged, kept showing up, and one day, I realized — oh, I actually do belong here now."

The crew murmured their approval, a few heads nodding.

You nodded along with them, picking up where he left off. “For me, 'faking it' meant trusting that my ideas were good, even if I wasn’t sure. I pitched my first concept to a company with zero experience behind me, but I talked like I’d done it a hundred times. It’s scary, but sometimes, you have to believe in yourself before anyone else will.”

"That’s good," Jiyeon said, pointing at both of you with her pen. "I’m stealing that for the headline. Alright, last question before we wrap this up." She flipped through her notes, eyes scanning until she found something. Her gaze lifted with a spark of mischief. "Actually, I lied. I have one more thing before we finish."

You glanced at Mingyu, suspicious. "What do you mean, 'one more thing'?"

Jiyeon smiled like she’d been sitting on a secret all day. "Well, Mingyu told our team earlier that he had a little surprise planned for you."

Your eyes darted to him, your brow furrowed. "A surprise?"

Mingyu leaned back against the couch, arms stretched along the backrest, looking far too calm for someone who was clearly up to something. “Yeah,” he said, lips twitching like he was holding back a grin. "Figured now’s a good time."

You stared at him, heart starting to pick up its pace. "Kim Mingyu, if you’re about to prank me in front of all these people—"

He shook his head, grinning like an idiot now. "Nah, not a prank. I promise."

Then, casually — too casually — he reached into the inside pocket of his blazer. Your eyes tracked his hand, and for a second, you didn’t register what you were seeing. A small, velvet box.

Your breath hitched.

“No way,” you muttered, eyes widening as your hands shot up to cover your face.

The entire room gasped, someone behind the camera whispering, “Oh my God.”

Mingyu shifted forward, already on one knee, and suddenly, the world became a soft hum around you. It felt like the lights dimmed, the cameras faded away, and the only thing you could focus on was him.

He looked up at you, his grin now gone, replaced by something raw and steady. His fingers flipped the box open, revealing a simple but breathtaking ring.

“Y/n,” he started, voice low but clear. His eyes didn’t waver once from yours. “I’ve done a lot of big things in my life — joined a show, started a business, made decisions I wasn’t sure about. But you…” He exhaled, his smile small but full of certainty. "You’re the only decision I’ve never doubted. You make everything feel possible. You make me feel possible."

Tears gathered in your eyes, one slipping down your cheek before you could stop it. You didn’t care.

“I’m not gonna do the whole ‘I can’t live without you’ speech,” he went on, eyes crinkling as he fought back his own grin. "Because I can live without you. I just really, really, really don’t want to." His voice broke just a little, and he cleared his throat.

Your chest tightened, and your hands covered your face again.

“So, I’m done waiting,” he said, eyes locked on yours with all the love in the world. “Marry me, Y/n. Be my partner for real this time.”

Silence. You could hear the click of a camera.

But none of that mattered.

You nodded, pulling your hands away from your face as tears spilled freely. "Yes," you choked out, voice trembling as a laugh escaped with it. "Yes, absolutely yes."

He let out a breath of relief, a wide, boyish grin spreading across his face as he slipped the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly, like it had always been meant to be there.

When he stood, you barely had time to think before you threw your arms around him. His arms wrapped around you instantly, his hand cradling the back of your head as he laughed into your shoulder.

“You didn’t cry this much when we lost the show,” he teased, his voice rough but filled with affection.

“Shut up,” you mumbled into his neck, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

The crew erupted into cheers, the sound of applause and whistles filling the room. Cameras flashed as photographers captured every second, but you didn’t care about the cameras. You pulled back just enough to look at him, still teary-eyed but grinning like a fool.

“Power couple, huh?” you said, sniffling as you wiped your cheeks.

Mingyu smiled, leaning his forehead against yours. "Yeah," he whispered, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Power couple forever.”

Jiyeon sniffled loudly, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve. "Okay, I did not come here to cry at work," she muttered, waving at the camera crew to cut the recording. "But you two are officially my favorite couple ever."

“Thank you,” you said, voice still wobbly but full of joy.

Mingyu kissed your temple, his arm never once letting you go.

No cash prize, no reality show win, but somehow, you’d still won everything.

[rafeysbangs]

ྀིྀི⋆˚࿔↷frat!rafe stumbles into a room you're hiding in and suddenly, he's not as untouchable as you thought...

warnings ; not proofread ! angstttt, fluff if you squint, mentions/allusions to rafe being super high, sensitive!reader but not really, drinking, mentions of ward....eugh.

notes ; all this talk of angst fics made me just whip this up... enjoy! um if you can that is ... poor rafe

the pulsating bass from the speakers below reverberated through the walls, embodying the cacophony and disarray of the party. you had attended with the faint hope of explaining the acute sting of isolation, yet the atmosphere only worsened your sense of alienation. somewhere between observing your so-called friends laughing without you and the burn of vodka that failed to dull the ache, you slipped away, seeking refuge in a random upstairs room.

tears clouded your vision as you stared at your phone. the group chat buzzed with plans that excluded you. the exclusion was blatant, friends tagging one another in shared jokes, the humour opaque to you. the ache in your chest defied articulation, a weight that no amount of deep breaths could alleviate. you perched on the edge of an unfamiliar bed, trembling and endeavouring to stifle the sound of your sobs.

the door creaked open, the sound startlingly loud in the muffled cocoon you’d made for yourself.

“yo, what the f—” the voice was thick with inebriation, but the tone carried an undercurrent of irritation. you looked up sharply to find rafe cameron leaning in the doorway. his figure was the epitome of disheveled elegance, a boy who wore chaos like it was tailored for him. his eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, and his shirt hung askew, a caricature of the golden boy image he wielded like a weapon.

“what are you doing in here?” your voice came out uneven, cracked like a porcelain vase hastily glued together. you hated the way it betrayed you.

he stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him with an air of finality. “nah, what're you doin' in here? crying? at a party?” the question hung in the air, the mockery in his tone as unsteady as his balance.

“just go away,” you managed, swiping angrily at your cheeks. it wasn’t a plea, it was a defence.

he didn’t leave. instead, he collapsed onto the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. for a long moment, he said nothing. the silence was louder than the bass below, filled with the heavy presence of unspoken thoughts. you wanted him to leave, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask again. his presence was intrusive, but his silence was almost comforting, as though your misery had drawn out its mirror in him.

“it’s stupid,” you muttered, breaking the unbearable quiet. “you wouldn’t get it.”

his gaze flicked toward you, but he didn’t speak. his stillness was unnerving, like he was afraid that moving too suddenly would shatter whatever fragile tether kept him grounded.

“it’s just… it’s like no one even sees me. like i’m some kind of shadow in their perfect little worlds.” the words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. you hated how small they sounded, how small you felt. “i’m there, but i’m not there. and it’s stupid, i know it’s stupid, but it still—it still hurts.”

his hand fidgeted in his lap, the faintest movement breaking his otherwise rigid posture. still, he didn’t speak. your frustration mounted, burning hotter than the tears.

“are you even listening?” you snapped, your voice cracking under the weight of your anger and humiliation. “or are you just sitting here so you can feel better about yourself?”

his head lifted at that, and for the first time, you saw something like pain flash across his features. it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the stony mask he wore so well.

“i’m not judging you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

“then what are you doing?” you demanded. the words were a challenge, but they came out almost desperate.

he exhaled sharply, his hand dragging through his already tousled hair. “tryina figure out how to say something that won’t make this worse.”

“like what?” your skepticism was a shield, thin and fragile, but all you had.

he didn’t answer right away. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, barely audible over the muffled music from below. “it’s not perfect, y'know. my life. not even close.”

you blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together like he was holding himself in place. “you think i don’t get it. feeling like you’re not enough, like no matter what you do, you’re always falling short. but i do. trust me, i do.”

disbelief heavy in your tone. “you have everything. money, friends, girls throwing themselves at you. what could you possibly know about feeling like this?”

he let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and hollow. “none of that means shit. ward says i'm a disappointment, a- a failure..” his voice broke on the last word, and he swallowed hard, the movement sharp and jagged.

your heart twisted painfully at the rawness in his words. “rafe…” you began, but he cut you off with a sharp shake of his head.

“don’t,” he murmured, his voice fraying at the edges. “just don’t. i’m not saying this so you’ll feel sorry for me. i’m saying it because… because i get it. feeling like you’re drowning and no one even notices.”

the silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. you wanted to reach out, to say something that would pull him back from whatever precipice he was teetering on, but the words wouldn’t come.

“you’re not invisible,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “and you’re not pathetic.”

the tears you’d been holding back spilled over, hot and unrelenting. “neither are you,” you said through the sobs, your voice trembling but sure.

he turned to look at you then, his eyes glassy and red-rimmed. for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped, the two of you suspended in this fragile, shared understanding.

“you shouldn’t drive,” you said after a long pause, your voice hoarse but steady. “let me take you home.”

he hesitated, his expression torn, before nodding. “yeah. okay.”

as you stood, he reached for your hand, his grip warm and grounding. neither of you spoke as you made your way to his car, the night air sharp and biting against your skin. the silence between you was no longer heavy, it was something else, something that felt almost like solace.

taglist ;  @rafegetinmybed @sqfewrd @dreamyy-cloud @vampteeth @wtfisastiles @flvredcas @plaidcowboy @sematarygirls @slut4you @kravitzwhore @daryldixon83 @lexavanhuelee @dorcas4meadowes @foolishangelic ( feel free to ask to be added! idm! )

[puma-riki]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 𝒜 𝐻 𝓊 𝓃 𝒹 𝓇 𝑒 𝒹 𝒮 𝓁 𝑒 𝑒 𝓅 𝓁 𝑒 𝓈 𝓈 𝒩 𝒾 𝑔 𝒽 𝓉 𝓈

۶ৎ ʟᴇᴇ ʜᴇᴇꜱᴇᴜɴɢ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

୨ৎ 𝒮 𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈 ~ Heeseung accidentally lets his secret slip in his sleep

𖹭 𝒢 𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒 ~ Fluff a smidge of angst

𖹭 𝒲 𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ~ Not proofread Heeseung has a bit of self-doubt (just a lil)

𖹭 𝒜 𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩 𝑜𝓉𝑒 ~ take this draft while I work on the next riki smau update. The next update is written so if it's not perfect I can't post it BEAR WITH ME. I got this idea from a TikTok abt ppls fiancée's being incredibly nervous before proposing and being painfully obvious about it LMAO

── .✦

Heeseung was exhausted.

He trudged through the door of your apartment, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft thud. The weight of the day pressed on his shoulders like a lead cloak he couldn't shrug off. His muscles ached from the hours of dance practice, and his throat was raw from recording in the studio. Even though the day had been long, his mind wasn't on the new choreography or the endless takes of content they had filmed.

It was on you.

As he slipped off his shoes at the door and padded into your room, his thoughts swirled. The small velvet box in his bag felt heavier than it should, tucked carefully between a change of clothes, and a water bottle. He dropped the bag onto the floor by the nightstand, staring at it for a moment before carefully pulling out the box.

He opened it, letting the dim light of the room catch the sparkle of the diamond. It sparkled like a fragment of a star

Is this enough?

The question struck him like it had every night since he bought the ring. Heeseung thumbed the velvet edges of the box, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

You're going to say yes... right?

He closed the box with a snap, shaking his head to clear the self-doubt. Heeseung loved you more than anything and he wanted this moment to be perfect for you-- a story you'd both tell for years. But as much as he tried, nothing felt good enough.

His mind replayed the day's events as he stepped in the shower, hoping the warm water would wash away his worries. Hours spent perfecting choreography, filming promotional content with the guys, then heading straight to the studio to work on their upcoming track. By the time they had wrapped up, it was already close to midnight. He'd pushed himself through the day, fueled by a mix of adrenaline and nerves, but as he went through his nighttime routine alone in your apartment, he felt the exhaustion set in.

Still, his thoughts were restless. He had written about a million things he could say to you, to lay his heart bare in front of you, and none of them felt right. His notes app was flooded with scrapped speeches and unfinished confessions.

You deserved a proposal straight out of a movie. Everything down to the time he popped the question, had to be perfect. He thought about proposing on New year's, but was he about to share what was supposed to be your guy's day with the whole world?

Absolutely not.

The place had to be stunning. Should he take you to dinner? One of the really fancy and expensive ones? Maybe not, that was too cliche.

The place you first met? Or maybe on a beach? No, it was too cold for the beach around this time of year. You'd probably like a smaller and more intimate place anyway.

But the scariest part was this:

Would you even say yes?

He was ready to wife you up the moment you laughed at one of his dumb jokes-- one that wasn't even funny-- and then you told him he was stupid right after, but you said it in a way that gave him heartburn.

He was ready, but are you? Did you even think he was husband material?

He had reached out to your family after he bought the ring. The gentlemanly thing to do was to get permission from your parents before he asked, of course, he would've married you whether they gave him permission to or not. They were enthusiastic about it. They had been sending him praise and encouragement over the phone since he last called, saying you'd definitely say yes and more than happy.

But they weren't you.

Heeseung groaned and covered his face with the towel he'd been using to dry his hair. He needed to go to bed.

Now showered and dressed in pajama pants and a sleep shirt, he tucked himself under the cool covers of the bed. Your side was empty, and he didn't like how cold it felt. He checked his phone.

1:03 AM

You had told him earlier today that you would be out late with your friends. Much to his disappointment, he would have to go to bed alone. He'd be asleep when you got home and probably be up before you for work.

Heeseung put his phone down on the nightstand to charge and turned to your side of the bed. His eyelids felt heavy, and his worries and doubts were starting to become muffled as he sank into the plush mattress.

--

1:47 AM

You quietly crept into your bedroom, heels in hand to make sure you made as little sound as possible. The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioner and the steady rhythm of Heeseung's breathing. You glance over at the bed. He left his bedside lamp on, something he usually does when he knows you'll be coming home late. He's sprawled out on the bed, one arm thrown over his face as if shielding himself from dreams.

Your heart melts at the sight and a soft smile tugs at your lips as you move to the bathroom. The night had been fun, filled with laughter and stories from her friends, but this moment was your favorite part of the day. When you come home to Heeseung.

Once you freshen up, rid of makeup, and your pretty (but uncomfortable after a few hours) outfit, you turn off the bedside lamp and slide into bed carefully.

The mattress dipped under your weight as you tried to move as slow as possible to not wake him, although you knew how deep he slept after long days like this. Your gaze fell on him again, the dim light from the bustling city behind your window, casting a faint light on his face.

You reached out, fingers brushing back the hair that had fallen into his eyes. His chest rose and fell steadily and his body felt warm against yours as you moved closer. His face looked so soft, peaceful in sleep. His lips form a small pout as his cheek lays snugly against the pillow. A pout makes its way onto your face as you trace your thumb over the heavy shadows under his eyes.

Heeseung was always working hard. A little too hard. You could feel the stress radiating off of him the past 2 weeks. You'd boiled it down to him wanting to perform well with their packed schedule. Which is what it usually was, but you had heard that the group was doing just fine balancing everything and had every song and dance down to a T.

There was something else lingering on Heeseung's mind and you couldn't quite figure out what.

"My hard-working man," You murmur, hand resting on his cheek. "You need to rest more." You murmured again under your breath, squishing his cheeks gently between your fingers. He let out a soft snore in response, and you giggled, the cuteness aggression bubbling up inside you.

As you pulled your hand back, he stirred.. "Mmm... perfect." he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

You froze, stifling a laugh. "What's that, Hee?"

"...perfect... has to be perfect..."

You blinked, leaning in closer. "What has to be perfect, baby?" You whispered, brushing your fingers along his temple.

"...proposal.." he muttered, his brows furrowing slightly. "I dunno... if the rings enough... dunno if she'll like it.."

Your breath caught, eyes widening as you realized what he was saying. A flush crept up your cheeks, and you lips curled into a soft smile. "Oh, Heeseung," You murmured, voice barely audible. You seriously wanted to smother him he was so cute.

"She deserves the best... better than me..." His words slurred together, his hand that was resting on your pillow twitching slightly.

Your chest ached at the vulnerability in his voice, even in sleep. You grabbed his twitching hand and held it in yours, placing a kiss on the knuckle of his ring finger. Your thumb gently stroked his skin as you whispered, "You're already the best, silly. Nothing else matters"

"...What if she says.. no"

The words were so soft, almost a whisper, but they broke your heart a little. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead as you blinked back small tears that were starting to form. "You're such an idiot," you whispered against his skin. "I'd say yes to you a hundred times over."

Heeseung sighed in his sleep, his body relaxing against your touch. You laughed quietly to yourself, shaking your head. "My hard-working, overthinking man," Wrapping your arms around him and holding him close to your chest.

5:13 AM

Heeseung stirs awake, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains and painting the room in a golden glow. He blinks a few times, his eyes adjusting to the light, only to find you already awake and tracing the bridge of his nose with your pointer finger.

"Hi," he mumbled, his voice raspy with sleep.

"Hi," Your voice was so quiet, he would've missed it if he wasn't so close to you. A small grin formed on his face as his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "Were you watching me in my sleep, you weirdo?"

You smiled softly, a quiet laugh threatening to fall from your lips. "Maybe, You're cute when you're asleep."

"Oh, yeah?" Heeseung smirked, his hand slipping under your shirt to pinch your side, earning a squeal from you. "And what about when I'm awake?"

You squirmed in his hold, laughter spilling out of you as you tried to push his cold hand away from you," You're quite annoying actually."

"Rude." He mumbled, relenting and holding you tight against his chest. The warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart grounded you, your earlier excitement now mingling with contentment.

"Why are you awake so early?" he asked, pressing his chin lightly to the top of your head as he began to play with the ends of your hair.

You shrugged, trying to act casual. "I couldn't sleep."

"Couldn't sleep?" Heeseung echoed, his fingers absent mindedly tracing patterns on your back, "Why not?"

"Just... thinking," You murmured, your cheeks warming at the memory of his sleep-talking confession just hours earlier.

He hummed, though his curiosity didn't press. The comfortable silence stretched between you until his voice broke it.

"Hey,"

"Hm?"

"If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?"

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your face thoughtful for a moment as you looked off to the side and pursed your lips.

Cute.

Your face softened into a smile as your eyes met his. For a moment, his wide, doe-like eyes shimmered, gazing at you as if you had taken the night sky and laid it at his feet

"Anywhere, as long as I'm with you."

Heeseung blinked, his eyes wide for a split second before he let out a soft laugh, his hand coming up to squish your cheeks.

"You're so corny."

"Hey, you asked," You shot back, though your grin only widened when he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. Then your nose. Then your cheek and your jaw.

"I could also see you blushing" You giggled, face scrunched as he pressed another kiss to your cheek.

"Mmm.. I wasn't blushing." He mumbled into your cheek. His arm holding you impossibly closer to him.

"Yes, you were," You laughed, trying to squirm out of his hold again.

"Prove it then." He challenged pulling away from your face and holding your head close to his neck to prevent you from seeing his face.

"Hey!" Your protests came muffled against his skin and the pillow.

"Shhh, go back to sleep." You roll your eyes but give up anyway. The position you were in was comfortable and heeseung's warmth made your eyelids grow heavy.

"Hey, how do you feel about beaches in the winter?"

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧!)ᯓ★ | @jiiyen @yangjungwonnie @amoressb @sugarikiz @stvrriki

Send and ask or comment on any post of mine to be added to my permanent taglist >:3

𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧ᯓ★

[st7rnioioss]

۶ৎ BROTHERS BSF!MATT x SWEETHEART!READER

𝜗𝜚 warnings... veeerryy short, nothing!! just them being cuties :P

“oh, um- hi matt,” you looked up at your doorway, immediately meeting matt’s eyes. you clutch the diary in your hands to your chest haphazardly, an almost flustered look taking over your face.

“hey there sweetheart.. what’re you writing?” he chuckled, the blush adorning your cheeks not going unnoticed by him when his eyes roamed your face, before flickering to the diary clasped in your arms. he leans against the doorway, his arms crossed. oh god.

quickly, you look down at the diary, nearly forgetting how to speak, unsure what to say that wasn't 'i was actually writing about you'.

“um, well it’s nothing.. just girl stuff,” you giggled nervously, looking back up from your bed to meet his eyes.

matt brushes it off with a nod, taking a step into your room, looking around the decorations and interior that prettified your room.

“sh-shouldn’t you be with my brother?” you murmured, watching as he picked up a few trinkets to look at, before leaving them exactly how they were just a second prior.

normally you would mind it a little if people came barging into your room, picking up your stuff and messing it around. but it was almost as if it didn’t matter because it was matt doing it. plus, he wasn’t messy with it.

“nah, he can wait. he's just grabbing a drink. i’d rather be talking to his pretty sister instead,” he smiled, giving you a quick glance, before returning his eyes to your posters, acting as if they were the most interesting thing in the world when really he was absolutely shitting his pants from how nervous he was.

you almost felt like you couldn’t move, letting out a soft giggle at his words, your cheeks turning beet red. it wasn't often that you got to talk to matt, yet he always knew exactly what to say and how to fluster you.

“yeah.. right,” you sighed, closing the diary and placing it on your nightstand to scoot up next to matt, looking at the same poster he was, before glimpsing down.

he looked at you. “what do you mean? i think you’re pretty cute,” an almost trembling finger hooked under your chin, lifting your face from the floor to meet his eyes.

he had told you a couple times already through the small notes he left on your desk, so it was no secret. but yet it left you with butterflies in your stomach and a light smile tugging on your lips.

your eyes flickered back and forth between his, blinking rapidly when his hand made its way to cup the side of your face, pulling you closer. a soft pink hue dusted across your cheeks and nose, getting lost in the moment.

“matt..? c-can you.. can you ki-“ and just when you were about to ask the forbidden question, you got abruptly interrupted by none other than your brother, taking a step back from matt.

“matt? what are you doing, i’m waiting for you, dude.” your brother pushed the door open, matt’s hand immediately leaving your face, his soft and relaxed demeanor now gone.

“yeah, sorry. my bad, just wanted to see your sister room,” he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he pats out of the room. he shoots you an apologetic glance and a rushed smile, before closing your door behind you.

and there you stood, flustered, a blushing mess, slightly annoyed, and alone. yet, a subtle smile made its way to your lips, reaching for your diary.

more brothers bsf!matt and sweetheart!reader here!

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: nooo not the forbidden romance ugh. short fic for y'all but i had this thought and had to share lol:3 i love u!!!

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