#but now that i KNOW? YEAH THAT'S THE POINT

[kianamaiart]

One thing that was kinda ingrained in me while storyboarding on Big City Greens was screen direction and the sort of illusion of progress that screen direction can create (this isn't just a BCG thing by the way, it's an actual film technique but this is where i learned it)

It wasn't a hard rule or anything but our showrunners generally preferred to have the characters going from left to right as the story/episode progressed (you'll probably notice this in a lot of movies now if you didn't know about this before haha). I've definitely had to restage sequences due to this rule when I first started LOL but it's become second nature to me at this point. Whenever a character moves left to right, in my brain, that means they're moving the story forward, much like how when you read it's usually left to right and you yourself are moving the story forward (obviously this is a more western thing).

I, in hindsight, realized I was doing this in my pilot. When I was first visualizing the pilot I always imagined Aika going from screen right to left at the beginning of the episode for some reason. I didn't really give it much thought but afterwards I asked myself why I did that, because I always start characters going left to right. It just felt correct in my head and now I'm understanding why. Because she's running away, actively trying to get away from the story and the goal. It's not until she gets to the cafeteria and starts moving left to right, towards Zira, who unknowingly is going to be the reason Aika has to dive back into her story. Then from that point on the left to right screen direction continues (even into the credits). I thought it was cool that my brain was just wired to do that after all these years but also a nice reminder about how important but subtle filmmaking and cinematography is. I think a lot of people do this even if they don't know the technique!

Idk why I felt like sharing this LOL. Just thought it was funny and maybe helpful for anyone looking to get into storyboarding or filmmaking! I actually don't know if there's a technical term for this? This video calls it Lateral Character Movement so maybe it's that!

but yeah anyways thought it'd be fun to share. I LOVE ART!!!

[dntaed]

Jason’s known you for a year now, a year that’s turned his life into something brighter, something more than it ever was. It’s as if he’s a star, suddenly glowing with a light he didn’t know he had, basking in the warmth of it all.

But Jason’s family doesn’t know yet. He hasn’t told them about you. You’re tucked away from them, like the Polaroid he keeps of the two of you at the fair, hidden in his wallet. Like the black-and-white photo of you curled up next to him on the couch, cup in hand, dozing off—his home screen, a little secret he holds close.

Right now, in the manor’s kitchen, Jason angles his phone away from the one person who’s in the room—Alfred—as he hurriedly types a message to you. His fingers glide across the screen, almost too fast, as if he can’t get your words to him fast enough. But then, Alfred speaks, his voice soft yet pointed.

“How long have you known them?”

Jason looks up quickly, eyes meeting Alfred’s. The older man’s lips curl into a gentle, knowing smile, and it only deepens when he adds, “You smile at your phone whenever they text you. I also believe you’ve set a special ringtone just for them.”

Jason’s cheeks flush pink as he tries to hide his reaction, fumbling for words.

“A year,” he blurts, clearing his throat. “I’ve known them for a year. They asked me out. We’ve been together for a few months now.”

Alfred leans in a little, his curiosity piqued. “Mm? A year?” He raises an eyebrow, his smile widening.

Jason scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes darting back to his phone. “Yeah, a year. And now we’re together.”

Alfred’s eyes soften. “Can I meet them?”

If Jason had been asked this before, his answer would’ve been a definite no—protective, defensive. You were his safe place, his home, and the thought of introducing you to his complicated family was terrifying. But now? With Alfred asking, it doesn’t feel so scary. It doesn’t feel scary at all.

The thought of you meeting one of the most important people in his life doesn’t seem nearly as daunting as it used to. In fact, it feels right.

Jason looks up, eyes meeting Alfred’s, and his answer is soft but certain.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

[gothamundernightlight]

I know we as a fandom don’t talk enough about the Batkids acknowledging how old Bruce is getting, but something I think we talk about EVEN LESS is the Batkids acknowledging Dick getting older.

Like Dick is pushing 30 in canon at this point, and realistically cannot do the same things he was doing as a kid. There is a reason a lot of athletes retire young, and Dick’s life has been brutal on his body, so eventually it’ll catch up with him.

Imagine if you will some random new JL/Titans recruit meeting Nightwing and asking “Is it true you can do a quadruple somersault?”

And Dick has to wince and say “I used to, but not anymore.”

Imagine the Batkids hearing that? Imagine everyone who saw him grow up hearing Dick acknowledge he is getting older and can’t do the same things he did in his youth. Imagine how they feel about their own age. Imagine the grief Dick must feel at knowing he’s losing the gifts his parents bestowed upon him, and the fact he’s out-aged them both.

Imagine Bruce painfully acknowledge (in his head because it’s illegal for him to emote aloud) that not only is he getting older, but his first child, his SON, is now the same age he was when Bruce took Dick in.

Imagine Dick picking the smaller option out on ice cream trips because his body can’t handle sugar the way it used to, or eating less in general because his metabolism has slowed down.

Imagine the Batkids sparring and Dick has to tap out because he can’t keep up with them all for as long anymore. Like he can’t keep still do a lot, and handle himself in a fight, but he is not showing off with flips the same way he used to.

Imagine the day one of the Batkids spots gray hair on Dick’s head, or realize that the lines on his face are just a little deeper than they used to be?

Babs keeps calling him the Boy Wonder as a private joke, but the boyish charm that Dick once had has since faded. He’s a grown man, and while at heart he still is the kid that brought light back to Gotham, his outside reflects the life they’ve lived and shared together, which didn’t just pass by in the blink of an eye.

And Jason pretends he doesn’t care, but realizes that Dick isn’t the same 16-year old kid that Bruce put on a pedestal. That he, out of all their siblings, saw Dick the most when he was in his prime, and that his older brother is just a little more fragile than he used to be.

And Tim thinks back to the days of him stalking Batman and Robin before, pulling out those old photos and realizing just how much Dick has aged. When did that happen, he wonders, and how much more will Dick change as he gets older?

Cass, Steph, and Duke acknowledge that Dick Grayson grew up, and left behind a legacy for them to fill, but they’ll always wonder what he was like when he was younger, and wonder how much longer he’ll be around. Bruce has been doing this vigilante schtick for 20+ years, but will Dick still be doing this when he’s Bruce’s age?

Damian takes it the hardest. He can’t look at Dick without thinking of him as the same Grayson who was his Batman, but the truth is, he’s not the same. His old portraits of Dick bear witness to that, with each one just a little different because time is not frozen to Dick the way it is with Ra’s and Talia. Damian privately grieves everyone he comes to care about in advance because death has surrounded him his whole life and eventually despite Dick’s promises that he’ll always be there for Damian, a day is coming when that promise will be broken.

But yeah. Older Dick Grayson. I have thoughts on this.

(Anyways don’t mind me. Just coming to terms with being the same age canonically as my childhood hero.)

[yizhouism]

— bf!caleb headcanons;

trust that this man will not leave you alone. you want space? "sure," he says while taking one step away from you

he is LOCKED in and he will not let you go, i fear. should have ran away when you had the chance, when he was still willing to let you go... because now that's he's had you? yeah... sorry but it's till death with him! beyond that even (wink wink)

you can't stand him anymore? he'll tell you to sit on his face

you're tired of him? "no, you're not pipsqueak! you just need a nap"

always pulls the "sorry, my gf said i can't go card". like, it's to the point that everyone thinks you're an overprotective and controlling gf

you're not! he's the problem!!! he's the obsessed one!!!

time and time again you've told him to hang out with his friends more but noooooo, why would he want to spend his friday nights getting wasted with his friends when he can spend the night cuddling with you? do you not care about him anymore? do you want other girls to flirt with him at the bar? he's going to spend the whole night wishing he was in your arms anyway so don't make him go. pretty please? *cue the puppy dog eyes*

caleb clings to you like a koala. he's not just velcroed to you—he's superglued to you

a hand on your waist, playing with your fingers, squeezing your thigh, gently kicking your feet with his, his head on your shoulder, his head on your lap, backhugs whenever you're both standing, his fingers playing with your hair, a kiss to your shoulders, your cheeks, the back of your hand

speaking of physical affection, he likes to bite you! not in a possessive way (contrary to popular belief), he just has a severe case of gigil (cuteness aggression) whenever it comes to you

it's neverending and the most endearing part is that he doesn't even realize that he does it 🥹

but he will ease up if you ever express discomfort. after all, this man's first priority is your comfort and safety

he sees you pouting and not only does he want to kiss your lips but he also wants to munch on your cheeks. they're just so cute all puffed up like that, so can you really blame him?

caleb who can't help but notice how much of your stuff is themed around apples and planes—all reminders of him

when he finally noticed just how much you look for him in every aspect of your life, his heart just melted into a puddle. caleb is the type who always needs to feel needed, so to know that you need his presence to the point that most of your things are a testament to his being? yeah... he's a goner. he's never felt so loved before? god knows you're in for a long night of him worshipping you 🤞

the fighter plane keychain that hangs from your bag? your apple-themsd kitchenware? the map of skyhaven that decorates the wall above your couch? your apple-themed accessories—all of it makes him giddy

"you're love me a lot, don't ya pips?" he says teasingly, only for you to reply with a quiet but certain "i do"

it's so certain and so sure, and your eyes are looking at him with so much adoration, as if he painted the stars in the sky himself—it's just too much for his poor heart to handle that he finds himself hiding his face in the crook of your neck

caleb is not shy about letting people know he's taken. i mean... he wears the necklace you got him like a collar so ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

he wears your apple-themed hair ties around his wrist (this is canon! see: longtime yesterday)

the type to always find a way to mention his girlfriend no matter what the topic of the conversation is

"you know, my girlfriend—" "we get it caleb, shut up!"

also always has a spare sanitary napkin or tampon on him. anything you might need, he has on him

if y'all started dating in highschool, i feel like he'd also be the type to order extra sets of his sports jerseys just to gift to you

nothing gets him going like seeing "xia, 05" plastered all over your back (caleb was player no. 5 in his highschool basketball team)

the type to run to you after every game and scoop you up in a big hug despite being all sweaty

"ugh, caleb, you're sweaty!" "oh hush, i know you love it, pips."

aaaand, he's not wrong 😞 there's just something so endearing to you about being the first person he runs to after every big win—like you're the prize instead of the trophy they just won

and to him, you are. you're the best prize—the best thing, best person in his life

[kashverse]

how would babykuna fend off a man getting too friendly with mamakuna?👹

life, in all its wonder, occasionally presents moments no one asks for—like unsolicited masculinity at the grocery store.

there you were, simply trying to decide between two brands of pasta, when a voice intruded upon your peaceful existence. "you know," said a man who smelled suspiciously of overpriced cologne and misplaced confidence, "most people don’t realize there’s a huge difference between keto and gluten-free."

ah. one of those men.

you turned, already bracing yourself. "oh. uh, yeah."

"it’s actually fascinating," he continued, leaning way too close to your personal space. "keto is all about low-carb intake, while gluten-free is more about avoiding wheat proteins. a lot of people think they’re the same, but i make it a point to educate whenever i can."

babykuna, sitting proudly in the shopping cart, had been silently observing this disaster unfold. her tiny hands gripped the metal frame, her little brows furrowed in utter disdain.

this...this was unacceptable. mama was under attack. and until papa arrived, she had to be the hero. she sucked in a dramatic breath and let out a long, exaggerated "eeewwwwww."

the man blinked. "uh—"

babykuna wrinkled her nose like she had just smelled something truly foul. "mamaaaa, he stiiiiiiiinks."

you cleared your throat, trying (and failing) to suppress your amusement. "baby, that's not—"

"yes, it is," she cut in, now pointing at the man like he was an exhibit at a zoo. "he smells like...like..." she thought for a second, then gasped. "yucky cheese!"

the man visibly bristled. "i—uh, i don’t think that’s—"

"yucky, stinky cheese," she confirmed, nodding sagely. then, just to make things worse, she waved a tiny hand in front of her nose, scrunching her face in an oscar-worthy performance of disgust.

you sighed, switching to polite rejection mode. "listen, i really appreciate the...um, food science lesson, but I’m just here to shop with my daughter—"

"papa’s coming," babykuna cut in, her tone warning.

and oh, how those words sent a ripple of cosmic dread into the universe.

because just as the man opened his mouth to press whatever point he thought he had, a shadow loomed over the scene.

sukuna.

tall. broad. wearing his usual look of mild menace. he took one glance at the situation—his wife looking vaguely annoyed, his daughter puffed up like an offended cat, some random guy standing too close—and placed a single hand on the cart.

"hey, babe," he said casually, eyes fixed on the man like a wolf sizing up its next meal. "who’s this?"

the man, suddenly realizing the error of his ways, took a sharp step back. "oh, i was just—uh—talking about—"

"stinky cheese," babykuna supplied, nodding solemnly. sukuna smirked. "oh yeah?" he turned to you. "you makin’ friends?"

"not particularly," you deadpanned.

the man fumbled. "i—uh, actually, i just remembered I have to—uh—go get, um, kale. yeah. kale." and just like that, he disappeared down the aisle, never to be seen again. babykuna sighed, relieved. "phew. he almost touched mama with his stink."

sukuna chuckled, ruffling her hair. "good lookin’ out, kid."

and with that, the three of you continued your shopping trip, the crisis of stinky cheese man officially averted.

[whore-ibly-hot]

"What it takes to lead."

Yan!Dictator x Fem!Reader x Yan!Next in line.

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Non-con, mentions of violence, fascism, groping, p-in-v sex, sexism, questionable father son Dynamics, power dynamics, leather play.

AN: I recently began reading @yanderedrabbles works and they broke my brain, so when I saw they had a Yan!Dictator planned it inspired me. This is... meh.

You don't know how this could've happened.

It was supposed to be a routine visit. Your father was a well off oil baron, owning one of the largest refineries in America, not counting his export deals. You had gone with him, unaware of the tense political state of Dela Marina.

Admittedly, the American government was somewhat aware of the rulers less than conventional methods of maintaining control. Camps, strict surveillance, and a cutting off of outside media aside from those approved by the Dela Marina Media council, but for America's political interests, and more importantly your father's bank, the warnings signs went ignored.

It started off as just a nice, tropical vacation. White sand beaches, exotic meals, and a blaring tan from the sun. However, something soon seemed a bit off. The leader, El presidente Ramon Ballesteros, gave you chills. He said nice things, talked about his vision for Dela Marina, how he would shape the land and people to 'true culture'. It would be inspiring, if his faze didn't feel so dark, so imposing. It was as if hew was analyzing everything, every move you made.

Still, Féliz calmed you a bit. The son of Ramon, as close to a prince as you could be in this 'democracy'. He was nothing like his father. Quiet, more subdued, though just as analytical. His father takes thing in while he speaks, but Feliz stays behind, letting his father do the talking.

"Hello there, señorita." Feliz had approached you the night of the welcome dinner, a lavish affair with Del Marina's finest chefs on hand. "My father wanted me to welcome you personally, we are both youths, uh, leader of the future, he says. Your countries, and mine." He seems awkward repeating his father propaganda. Despite this, you like him. He's funny, he tells you about growing up in Del Marina, about the culture, the people. "You have to go to the beach with me, there all white sand. Is beautiful, and if we go early enough, we can see the starfish beach." You took him up on all his outings, you could tell he was deeply alone, at his core.

"Feliz?" You had asked once. "Do you... get out much? I mean, I'm one for decadence. Whole point of having a daddy with money is spending it." You laugh. You were privileged. You knew it, you embraced it. You had never had to worry about anything, never had a reason to loop beyond at the suffering of the others. Why focus on all that?

"No, I don't. It's tense, in Del Marina. Their are Terroristas, rebels. Mis padre would rather me be here, where its safer. Besides, partying isn't for me. I have to learn how to lead, to study and to help people. My people." He'd explained, fiddling with the white pressed uniform he so often wore, a less refined and adorned version of his fathers. "Loosen up." You had suggested. "We can have some fun, we're friends now, yeah? Let's go party!" Feliz had never wanted really to go to a club, to spend time with the privileged people while he knew others, those being exploitated, were suffering. But you were so, so pretty, and the only friend he felt he had. You made him feel special, not for bring the son of the president, or 'Del Marina's future'. You made him feel special for being him. He agreed.

He was terrified when you both snuck out, naturally it didn't take long for the guards to drag the both of you back to the palace, you kicked and yelled while he went quietly. He feared his father would turn his anger to you, he was ready to take the brunt of the anger. However, his father seems amused. You laugh along with his dad, not sensing the chilling undertone.

"Your son, and the american girl, Presidente." A guard said, bowing, hand over hid chest. "They were seen heading to a club on the north side."

"Ah, let them go." Ramon grins, waving a hand as the guards back off. "Kids, ey? Even at twenty, they still can't help.but wander off. It's good, independence. To think, to have fun. Kids behave this way, it's expected. Dismissed." The guards leave, and he steps down to you. "I ought to thank you, you know? No one has ever gotten my son quite so out of his shell. Feliz, I've tried to inspire that boldness in you, I suppose I didn't realize it would take such a lovely young lady to do so." Felix goes red, looking down. He knows this is a facade, and still can sense the danger in the room. Ramon takes your hand, kissing it. "But i should have known, he is his fathers son, and we are both red blooded men, yes?" He chuckles to himself.

"I didn't mean any harm, I just wanted to have some fun. And I thought maybe Feliz needed a friend." You mumble, heels scuffing the floor awkwardly. Still; you aren't sorry. "He needed a break. To live."

The president goes silent, but then nods, laughing with his arms going. "Of course! Dis boy of mine, always with the working, he wants to be like his papa. It's honorable, but a young man still needs to let loose while he's young. Next time, all I ask is you take an escort. These terroristas planning Del Marina won't care about your intentions, just the message hurting you would send." His gaze grows serious, and you gulps.

"Ah, y-yeah. I'll keep that in mind." You look down, stepping away. "I'll probably go to bed, I've had enough fun. Goodnight, Presidente." He smiles, watching as you turn to Feliz. The tan boy looks through his dark locks, trying to hide his obvious flush from his father. You didn't need any reason to be made to stay here, and he knew his dad. "Night, Feliz." You call, and he just sends you a weak wave. Worried you upset him, you scurry off. The moment you slip out of the heavy wooden door of the presidente's office; his happy and jovial expression falls, mask melting away.

"Why this sudden change in you?" "Papa, please, I didn't mean anything by it, it was all my idea-" His fathers raised hand silences him. "Enough, Feliz." Ramon sighs, strolling to his desk cabinets, hand running across the mahogany surface as he opens up a velvet box, pulling out a bottle of scotch. "I didn’t lie to you, I'm not angry. I wish that your judgment had not been blinded and you had simply brought a guard-" He pours to crystal glasses, the brown liquid filling the clear, ornate glasses. "But I'm proud none the less. You made a choice, a bold one. Hm, we drink, you're becoming a man!"

Feliz winces at the glass sliding towards him, but knows his father won't take no gore an answer. "It was nothing, Papa. Just a quick outing, she was bored and I went with."

"Oh-ho, it was more than that, my son. It's okay, I'm older, but I'm still a man. I'm not immune to the charms of a woman. She is beautiful, no?" Ramon takes a sip, relishing in the burn of the drink. "This is the real infatuation you've had, isn't it."

"Its not an infatuation, she's a friend and-" His father glares, he knows he hates liars. "I... I like her, of course. But its nothing serious, no more than a crush."

"Even a crush is serious for a stoic, quiet man like you, Feliz." His dad leans forward to lift his chin up a bit. "I've never seen you take to anyone like this, that's what makes it serious." Harshly patting the young man's cheek, he leans back. "Her Father is a great ally, a man willing to buy the vast amount of oil our country has. It would be incredible for Del Marina to seal a deal like this, to lock something down. And Feliz, I know you want what's best for the country." Once again, hisbfather cold demeanor returns, shifting from joviality frighteningly fast. "So, I tell you to pursue it."

"I don't even know if she feels that way about me, a-and I couldn't ask her to stay in some foreign country!" Feliz is spouting every excuse he can think of, to push you away, push his fathers implications away, to keep you safe from the truth. The dangers of Del Marina, of his father government and more importantly, his father. Another withering look makes him nod. "I'll... ask her out. See if she'll accompany me to the press gala." He mumbles obediently.

"Good boy. Go, get some rest." He pats his sons shoulder. "And remember, Feliz,-" He chides, turning away and taking another sip, back to the future of Del Marina. "Ballesteros's take what they want."

Lying in bed, the grandness of his room feels imposing. As cold and lonely as ever, his own oil portrait staring back at him. He never liked the commissioned piece. It felt... fake. An image of his, posed by a map, in his uniform, looking like his father. Just. Like. His. Father. The sound of a creaking door makes him sit-up, and he only feels the discomfort in his stomach grow as he sees your form slipping into his room, clad only in pajamas that cling to you. Despite the terror he feels, the pulse of arousal in his gut is prominent too. He grabs his silk pillow, covering up a growing problem as he sees you approach.

"You can't be here, w-what are you doing?" He asks.

You just shake your head and laugh. "Please, it's fine. Your dad made it clear he likes me, and I wanted to check on you." You plop down unceremoniously, groaning at the feeling of the luxurious sheets on your body. "Shit, that's good."

"Go, you have to go-"

"Are you mad at me?" You ask, pouting as you turn to face him. Hes cute when he's nervous, brows furrowed and dark hair tousled. His hands grip the sheets. "Cmon. I'm sorry if I upset you, I just wanted to have fun!"

"I know, I know." he shakes his head. "I'm not mad at you, I was excited. It's just that you don't know my papa like I do. He always has a plan, a motive, for anything he does. And i don't want you getting caught up in something you shouldn't."

You frown, but ignore his warning. "Nah, he likes me, it's fine. I'm not scared of some politician, no different than my dad-"

"No." Hes dead serious, seeing the soft, sweet man so serious makes you pale, gulping. "You have no idea what he's like. What our country is really like, I-" He puts a fist over his mouth, rubbing at his face. "Please. Just try to keep your head down. Okay?" Nodding, and cold at the severity of his sudden change, you scoot closer.

"Okay, okay." You put your hands up in mock defense. "I'm sorry, I'll keep in line. I just wanted to check on you." I pat his arm. "Didn't want you mad at me."

He relaxes at the feeling of your slumped, warm weight against him. "No, I couldn't be mad at you, amiga. You're one of the... few friends I have, even in the short time I've known you. I just don't want you hurt."

"I like you too, Feliz." You murmur, and the simple admission is enough to make his heart palpitate. He grips the sheets, before slowly putting a hand on you. "Go, you should get back to your room. I'll see you tomorrow."

Watching as you pad across the floor, he coughs. "And... there's a gala, coming up. A media event for father and yours to be shown getting along. If you... if you wanted to go. With me."

"Who else would I go with, Feliz?" You tease, making him just look down, nodding.

So how did it end up as this? You're stuck up in the room given to you at the Presidente's estate, it had once felt so grand but now felt suffocatingly small. A deal had been struck, something went wrong when you had been seen at the gala. Media went wild, rumors flew about the pretty new girl spotted alongside Dela Marina's darling prince. And Ramon approached your father with an offer. You don't know what it was, or why he'd agree to it, but it culminated in your father jetting off; leaving you behind.

"Please, please- I don't understand-" You whine, hands shaking and skin slicked with nervous sweat as you see guards sealing up the doors of your room. Trapped. "Presidente Ramon-"

"Shh." His gloved hand pressing a finger to your lips silences you, eyes wide. It is now you are beginning to see the side of the Dela Marina presidente you had heard of. Calculated, cruel. "There's no need to panic, little American darling. It's not like your losing any luxuries you had back home, perhaps you are even gaining some. Both me and your father think this is best, a joining of powers. Now, he was hesitant." Ramon rolls his eyes. "But you are a fierce little thing, and I told him you'd get a bit more discipline here. I doubt he was strict enough in your upbringing. Not that a spark isn't amusing, señora. It's charming at times." His smirk is that of a lion looking over it pray.

"You see," he intertwines his fingers together as he sits down at the foot of the four poster bed beside you. "My son. He loves you. He'll say it's a crush, but a father knows his son. He's always been good, my boy. Never asked for things, never taken what he wanted like he should. This is a push in the right direction for him. To make him make a move. I expect you like him as much?"

"I mean, I don't, I don't know-" You're stammering, hands shaking. It's all crashing down, overwhelming. The feeling of absolution in his town, of finality, is bone chilling. "He's my friend?"

"Ah, well, that's only his own fault. He has trouble taking initiative, and I dont fault you either." He sits up straighter. "Im a traditionalist, like my father and his before him. Of course it should be the man who propositions the young lady, but my son-" he waves his hand. "Has this idea in his head, silly notions about the changing of culture. I am fine with most of it, but a wife and children? Being the man for your family, for your country. No, that I will never budge on."

"Papa!" The heavy door slams open, with a frantic Feliz standing in the now open doorway. "What are you doing, why is she here-"

"Ah, my boy. Come, sit. Me and your friends father had been talking, she'll be staying for a bit. Good news, ay? Now, I'm sure you've got something you'd like to say-"

"Y-you can't do this, she doesn't belong here, papa-" Feliz juts his hands forward to help you, to try and think of a way out of this. "Are you okay? Did your father leave-"

"Feliz!" Ramon's voice booms across the room, causing both of you to still like deers caught in headlights. "Calm yourself, I'm helping you along in making a decision you are unable to make yourself. You will be grateful, and apologize."

It's shocking to see how Feliz shrinks, to see how his dad treats him behind closed doors. "I- I'm sorry, Papa. I just didn't want her in distress. I didn't want her feeling confused." He mutters, head down like an obedient hound.

"Of course, and that's admirable, but you should put more trust in your father to know I’ve already explained the situation. Now come here, come." He waves his son over, and the pair stand near you on the bed. "Tell her. Of your feelings, take charge."

"I-" Theyoung man is trying not to hyperventilate, hands gripping his white uniform short like he's staving off a seizure. "I like you, you know this. I feel emotions for you that no one else had made me feel, and-and if you'd have me-" he sounds like he's ready from a script, eyes clenched shut.

"Not if. Be assertive." His father hisses. "Tell her she is to be yours. Tell her your feelings are strong enough you won't be denied. Tell her what you can provide given your status." He's glaring like a schoolteacher scolding a naughty pupil, and the shaking boy nods.

"When- when you decide I am right for you, I'll provide what you need. Our country has vast resources, and wealth for you to enjoy. You would want for nothing." Its monotone, like an audio book, like it's pre-recorded. Seeing his fathers fist clench, he moves to kiss you lightly. As he approaches, he whispers a soft "I'm so sorry-" as he places warm, slightly chapped lips onto yours. Shocked, but to afraid to not play along, you kiss back. It's soft, it would be intoxicating if the sense of impending doom didn't weigh so heavy, being moved like dolls in a dollhouse.

"That was nice, Feliz." You can think only to reassure him, hand landlord on his neatly pressed shirt. "Very nice, I like you too, of course." You tuck his hair behind his ear, seeing the way his lip wobbles, his eyes water. He's so guilty, he never should have spoken to you.

"Wonderful." His body is jolted by a slap to the back, his father laughing. "Good man, now, shall I leave you kids alone? I'm sure you'll want time to yourself. Son, you understand what a man must take from his woman, yes?"

"I... our relationship is new, papa. I can't. I-I-" He pauses. "I won't, I won't do it. I can't, I wouldn't know how and I dont want her to do anything she doesn't want."

Ramon scoffs. "She's agreed to be yours son, go on! Of course she wants it, don't you, pequeña?" Ramon gestures to where you're laid, looking at you expectantly. When you say nothing, he raises his brows in suprise. "Unbelievable. I set the two of you up for every opportunity and you can't do that. Son," he grabs Feliz's shoulder roughly. "We are men. Conquerors, rulers. We take what we want, lions from lambs. How can you expect to lead, to protect this great country from terroristas if you cannot ask your woman for what all hot-blooded men desire!" He's growing angry, truly mad, his usual cool annoyance heating up. "You have to learn if you don't take what you want, someone else will. Your land, your power, your woman."

"Papa, please-"

"No. I have to do everything my self with you. I'm going to show you what happens if you don't take the first step." He changes his eyes to you, your cowering form. "Strip, girl." You're eyes widen, head shaking on instincts.

"What, no, no, I'm not going to-"

"The choice is not yours. I've got guards outside, you're in my country. In my home." He comes to the bedside, leaning down so he's practically nose to nose with you, dark brown eyes feel like a pool you're drowning in, swallowed whole. "The only thing you are in control of now is how gentle I am, sí?" You're still frozen, just shaking your head over and over again, resulting in him sighing. It's a minor annoyance to him, like he's not violating you but rather just dealing with a disobedient pup. "Everything by myself." He repeats.

Gloved hands brush across your collarbone, cool leather causing a trail of goosebumps to blossom on your skin. He jerks his hand back, tearing the buttons on your dress. The front pops open, buttons clattering to the floor with a 'tink-tink'. Feliz winces, hand to his mouth in horror.

"Papa, please, please don't..." He begs, voice as soft and light as he can make it. He was a good father when he was little. Doting, he'd comfort him when he cried, take him on little outings. A part of Feliz hopes that softer voice would remind him of the boy he once was, that he'd give in.

"This is what happens son, you don't take initiative, someone gets there before you." Ramon feels you squirm a bit and tightens the grip he's got on your left arm, gaze never leaving his son as he warns you. "Don't squirm, girl." He warns. "You're a lady, not some groveling worm, hold still, I'll get to you in a moment."

"Can I talk her through it?" Feliz asks. "Let me be by her side, or at least... I don't know!" He begs. Ramon tilts his head, then nods. "Alright. Second best option is getting in where you can. Rising through the ranks, get over here." Feliz scrambles to get to your other side. "Now, let's get this off." Ramon grabs the blade he keeps on his waistband at his side, pressing the cold still to your pretty skin while he cuts the lace straps of your bra off. "Aw, beautiful. Shame to hide such beautiful breasts away, without a man to reveal them." He coos. Rough lips place a kiss to your left nipple, making you whimper. "Just beautiful. Feliz, take it in. Your first woman."

Feliz is staring, both horrified at his biological reaction and awe struck at the sight of your newly revealed breasts. He'd stared many a time when they were covered, to see them exposed in front of him was a new feelings entirely. He reaches out, letting a breath he didn't know he was holding escape as he gropes your left tit.

"There we go, it's good, yeah? A woman's body is a miraculous thing." Groaning, he leans down and kisses up and down softly the nape of your neck. "Don't stay quiet, let me hear those pretty noises, girl." He whispers

"I don't, this can't happen, presidente. I don't want this." You whisper, and he just chuckles, looking up at you from his place on your chest. "Ah, amor, but you will."

A sudden pressure on your ass makes you squeak, his hands groping the meat of your ass firmly, sure to leave bruises. "Don't speak back to me, ey? Lay back and enjoy what a man in power can offer you, girl. And call me Ramone." He grins. "There's no need for formalities when I'm going to have you speared on my cock."

Feliz grimaces at the way your eyes water, so afraid. But not only can he not help, he's so horrendously turned on. Your heaving breasts, wide eyes and flushed cheeks. You're a picture of eroticism, and the hardening in his shorts is a clear sign that the part of him desiring you is winning him over. He watches his father roll you over, gloved fist kneading the cheeks of your ass.

"Just a short reminder to not talk back. To behave."

A sharp pain makes you yelps, a harsh slap to your ass. Immediately after delivering the blow, his gloved hand massages to red mark. "See? Even when in the throws of sex, you should exercise your control, my boy. Let her know you are in charge, regardless of their pleasure she is providing you." He scoots aside, petting half while looking at Feliz. Feliz swallows harshly, but hovers his hand lightly over your plump rear. Another squeak, as he delivers a softer, albeit still harsh spank. "Make sure she's okay now. A firm hand, not a cruel one."

Feliz shaky hand gently rubs the mark, mimicking Ramon's actions, and he leans down to whisper in your ear. "Not too much, right? It wasn't too much? You-" He's trying to justify himself, why he feels so aroused by all this, by you. "You liked it, right?"

You're shocked, but as you shake your head no, another slap. The gentle kneading afterwards does little to relieve the pain. You know not to protest. "It's fine." You whisper.

Feliz wouldn't normally believe you, he'd hear the pain in your voice, the tremble. He'd want to sooth you, but he was so unbelievably needy in those moment, for for relief and to believe you were happy with him. That this was a good, intimate moment between the two of you, without his fathers direction, without force. Thid was the moment he trusted himself, his virginity to you. He just smiles weakly at your statement that it's okay.

"So pretty, let's get these off of you, huh?" You can feel the gloves leather, once cool, now hot against your skin he snaps your pantie strap against your hip, making you flinch. "Hm, I bet you've had plenty of men. A rich privileged American girl, spending your papas money. Does he know, know that your a slut, or is he too busy?"

"I've only been with a few guys..." you weakly protest. "From... club and stuff."

"A few too many. If any proper man had had you, he'd be sure you only ever took his cock, allowed him inside of you." Once again grabbing that knife, he slides the blade across the strap he had previously snapped, the fabric tearing and loosening. "Beautiful..." he runs his finger over the lips of your pussy, puffy from arousal. He lets you feel each wrinkle in the leather of his gloves, before spreading your lips apart, strings of slick snapping.

Feliz feels his mouth is watering, your mouth watering, your most bare part vulnerable for him. He can't stop himself from cupping your mound, letting his fingers curiously trail up to your clit. You let out a reluctant moan at the feeling; and he just leans down to kiss your cheek. "You're so pretty. A-and you're doing so well..." Making sure his father is distracted, he whispers in your ear. "Im sorry our first time together had to be like this, but... its still nice, right?" He's still in denial about the horrors of his actions. "You still get to feel good, and you get to be with me. This... this is what we both want..."

"Feliz..." You whimper, but he just shakes his head. "No, don't tell me it's not. I can't handle that right now." Despite his good nature, Feliz has always been given what he wanted. He cant help but feel selfish, ask you not to hurt his feelings or overwhelm him while your the one being violated. He'll reflect on that later. His lips, slightly chapped, press hot against yours, once, then twice. "That was my first." He admits. "Wouldn't want it to be anyone but you."

Suddenly, his father grabs his collar, pulling me back a bit. "Come now, boy. Clear out, I need my time now."

Feliz pales. "Papa?" He's visibly confused. "You said... take what I want, be a leader, not a follower. I thought you'd be giving her to me, that I'd be having sex with her! You said a man should let his woman be only with him from the moment he decides he wants her?" His tan hands are shaking, flushed face a mix of embarrassment and frustration. All he wants is to tenderly relieve the pressure in his shorts with you, and as he sees his father let out a 'tsk', his frustration increases.

"But that doesn't apply, does it? She's had other men before, and she's not a true, proper woman of our country. If nothing else, it's better I be sure she's even worth it. It's not simply sex, this could be the woman you choose to lead alongside, boy." His father cold glare makes him shrink back, sliding off the bed.

"But, isn't it a test of my leadership that I take her first-"

"You wouldn't question your papa?" Ramom hisses, and Feliz wilts. He can't make eye contact with you as he leaves the room. When it's him violating you, he can at least pretend you feel safer because it's him, that you like it. But its his father, a ruthless dictator, and stranger. As he leaves and makes his way down the hall, he's determined to be ready to cater for you when it's all over.

Back in the room, you remain a trembling mess, watching the much older man removing his belt with a practiced speed. "Please don't, sir-" You ask. "I don't feel comfortable, I don't-"

"You should feel grateful." He reminds. "To have both the attentions of a leader and his son. I understand it might be frightening, you know the kind of man I am. How i stay in power, I've tricked your father but I've no doubt that boy of mine has admitted some things to you." As he removes white dress pants and dispenses of his gloves on the nightstand, he grips your chin with now-bare fingers. Calloused; from years of clawing his way to the top. "You aren't stupid. That's one of the things I admire about you, girl. Smart, if a bit spoiled. That's fine, respect can be taught, a place can be taught. Natural intelligence can be harder to develop."

"Why me?" You blurt. "Why are you forcing me into this, you could have any woman, I'm not even close to your age, a-and Feliz, Feliz likes me!" You hope to garner even a bit of sympathy for his son in this moment, hoping it would prevent him going all the way.

"He does not 'like' you, he loves you." He says matter-of-factly. "Which is precisely why this has to be done. You will be in the public eye, the first lady of this great country. I need to know you can be submissive, can provide as a wife should. But... I also need to know you can be taught, can take orders. My boy, he is-" Ramon shakes his head. "Meeker than I would like, despite my efforts. I need to know even with his less than firm hand that he can ensure you behave. And ones true colors come out in the bedroom, I find."

He pounces, baring down rather suddenly, grip on your jaw near crushing as his free hand strokes once, then twice over his cock; brown with a curve to it and a purple tip. "But, I am also not a liar. I admit the idea of having a beautiful young woman around my manhood isn't-" he nips are your ear, breath hot yet making you feel frigid with fear. "Intoxicating."

"It's been a long time." You whisper, and he feigns a caring pout. "Ah, I'm sure. Don't worry, I won't let you hurt. But remember, this is about taking orders. First, take me in your hands. I doubt you're inexperienced in this, so don't feign naivety." His voice is low, threatening. Despite the churning feeling of sickness, you take his length in one shaky hand, wrapping round the erect shaft, and refusing to meet his gaze.

"Good. Go on now, kiss it, just the tip. I want to see you practice restraint, just because you don't want this doesn't mean I will rush." He warns. Your plush lips gently press the bulbous tip, you can feel a shiver run up him as you do. Testing the waters and desperate to get it over with, you slowly slip in the tip, tongue pressing against the vein under his cock. He doesn't thrust, not allowing you to take hin in fully; but the clenching in his jaw shows the effect it's having.

"Wonderful..." He groans. "Very good, take a little more, yes? I know you can, shit-" He rolls his hips, the salty flavor of skin filling your mouth further as you take him in deeper. "Good, suckle. Suck the cock of El presidente-" He's beginning to get a bit lost in his praise of himself more than you.

Sloppy, wet sounds fill your ears, eyes screwed shut as a few tears slip from them. Ramon grunts, whispering another moan of pleasure before noticing and sighing. He wipes some tears with his thumb, licking up the salty water to your shock. "Don't cry, cariño. I'm not being cruel. I'm being rather gentle with your pretty mouth; no damaged goods here." He reminds. You can hear his grunts increasing in frequency, his cock twitching in your mouth, when he roughly threads his fingers in your hair and yanks you off his cock.

"Hands and knees, face away." He demands. "Don't make me wait." Your knees dig into the silk of the bed, assuming an easily mountable position. Once again, you make a final plea. "Please-" Your voice sounds as though it could shatter. "Don't hurt me."

To your suprise, you can feel him freezing behind you, and hear a deep sigh. You scre your eyes tight as you feel him assume position behind you, leaky cock pressing against your folds as his chest, still clad in his white dress shirt, presses against your bare spine. One hand holds himself up, while the other takes your chin from behind, gentler than his initially grip. He places a few small kisses mixed with nibbles against the flushed shell of your ear.

"Being a leader-" he begins, "Is not easy. Being the wife of one, even more so. There is danger, societal expectations, and constant decisions that must be made. But know this, my touch is not something you need to fear, cariño." He's uncharacteristically tender now, and that frightens you more.

He finishes his speech with a kiss to the back of your neck, before sighing as he eases his tip into your wet folds.

"Ah-" You whine, it's thick, but it doesn't fully hurt. He's tender, he kept his promise. "Feel that? The stretch of a true Dela Marinan man?" He asks, working his way in a bit deeper. His balls, heavy, slowly crawl closer to the lips of your cunt as he further enters, groaning.

"Beautiful. Mmph, you don't have the makings of a first lady." He firstly pulls out, before sheathing fully again. "You're practically sucking me in, girl. You were made to take a Dela Marinan man, god-" His pace increases, gripping your hips as the thrusts.

"Are you close?" He asks. "Can you feel that coil of pleasure within you? Go on, release. Cum when the man controlling you demands."

Letting out a final mewl mixed with a sob, you can feel yourself beginning to spasm, walls twitching as a gush of fluids coats his cock. In a display of impressive control, though not surprising for the cold blooded president, he removes his angry cock without finishing. Quickly tucking himself away, back into his boxers, he towels the sweat from his brows as he appraises your fucked-out form. "You have the makings of a good wife. There is more to teach certainly, but there will be time for that. Though-" He tilts his head as if in deep contemplation, before leaning down to press a rather full kiss to your sweat-soaked form. It's passionate, surprisingly so, and he had held back from something that intimate so far. "As much as I love that boy of mine, I wonder if he is man enough to deserve a woman like you." He whispers, before pulling away and rather curtly leaving.

You can hear what sounds like voices in the hall, and soon two female attendants come to wipe you up. You're took sore to protest, and as they scurry out, the hurried footsteps of Feliz replace the noise they made. A look of worry fades slowly when he sees you, looking tired but mostly unharmed. He's got a glass of water in hand, a piece of chocolate, and other random medicine cabinet items. It's clear he was unsure what a woman would need for aftercare, and just took everything.

"I'm here, it's okay now." You can't even bring yourself to tale comfort in the words of your friend. You wanted him to have saved you, yet the most emotion he showed during the ordeal was learning he couldn't have you first. You just lay silent, still. He lays down beside you, fully clothed, curling into your side like a child seeking their mother's comfort. He pulls the sheets over you, kissing your forehead before closing his eyes.

"It'll be better next time." He promises. "It'll be me." That hardly soothes the pain.

[moonstruckme]

MAAAAEEEEE I was wondering if I could request a Peter Parker fic where he just kind of adopts shy!reader without her consent like “yeah we’re friends now, we spend time together and also we’re probably gonna fall in love and date but why don’t we just start with me walking you home from class” or some such nonsense. Also wondering if you could keep his spidey-powers; I love that little mutant freak

I hate you for doing this to me

Ugh our mutant freak <3 Thanks for the request babe!

tasm!Peter Parker x shy!reader ♡ 920 words

You’re never alone on the way home from class anymore. You’re not sure what changed at the start of the spring semester, if you just started putting out helpless-pedestrian energy or if it was something else, but soon after the start of classes your walks home from your night class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Friday began being accompanied by none other than Spider-Man. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, it’s Peter. 

You and Peter have molecular biology together. On the first day of class, he rushed in just as your professor started lecturing. Every seat was full except the one next to you, and when you offered it to him silently with a nod of your head, Peter looked so relieved you’d think you handed him an A in the class. He’s been glommed onto your ever since; some days he asks you to stop for coffee after class, some days he offers to study with you in the library, and he always walks you home. You don’t know what you did to deserve the company, but you appreciate it. 

“You ever been there?” Peter asks, nodding to a stand advertising New York City’s Best Vegan Hot-Dogs. 

“No,” you say.

“Well, seems like we’ve gotta try them at some point. I mean, they’re the best in New York.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. Peter’s always doing that. Making plans, saying we. It’s like the idea of you two hanging out beyond the end of your class is a foregone conclusion in his head. You haven’t been able to figure out if that’s just the way Peter talks or if he means it. You hope it’s the latter. 

“You think so?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says with affected certainty. “I mean, why would you doubt the sign? Everyone knows you have to get things like that certified.” 

You glance up at Peter, but one look into his smiling eyes is too much for you. You have to turn your face away. “I’m pretty sure there are three #1 Indian Restaurants in my neighborhood.” 

“Oof. Must make for some brutal decisions when you’re craving Indian.” 

Two weeks ago, you offered to buy Spider-Man dinner for walking you home. It was stupid—he can’t eat through the mask, which he told you kindly and which you could have figured out if you thought about it for more than a second before opening your mouth—but you were feeling guilty about stopping to pick up takeout and indebted for all the time he spends walking you home instead of preventing mob activity or whatever Spider-Man does. He professed, upon smelling your takeout, that Indian food is one of his favorites, too. 

You haven’t told Peter about your vigilante escort. Spider-Man never comes to you while Peter’s around—presumably because you don’t need his help if you’ve already got a companion—and it’s the sort of ridiculous story you know will sound made up out loud. Why do you know that Spider-Man likes matar paneer? What makes you so special? They’re unanswerable questions, and you’d never be able to look at Peter again if he laughed at you. 

“Hey.” Peter bumps your hip with his. You go stiff at the contact. “You okay?” 

“Hm?” You look up, and he’s watching you with concern. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“You seem a little quiet,” he says. And when your face heats, “Well, quieter than usual.” 

“Sorry,” you say again, embarrassed. “I think I’m just tired.” 

“Oh, yeah? Class was a long one, huh?” 

“Yeah.” 

“That makes sense.” Peter sounds disappointed. You blink at him in confusion, and he almost winces. “I don’t suppose…I mean, if you just want to get home I get that, but I was wondering if you wanted to grab food? With me?” 

Your steps stutter. It’s not that you and Peter have never hung out before. Or even that all the time you’ve spent together centers wholly around class—there have been coffees, chats in the hallway, walks in the park near your university building—but it’s something about the way he asks, like it’s important this time, like it means something. You want for it to mean something. 

“I could still grab food.” You’re not quite looking at him, fiddling with the contents of your jacket pocket. Popping the lid to your chapstick on and off. 

“Yeah?” Peter asks hopefully. 

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Mhm.” 

His voice softens, a smile in it. “Could you look at me, maybe?” 

You glance up, regretting it instantly as always. Peter is resplendent. Dimples framing his smile like parenthesis, hair mussed by the wind that beats at you while crossing every street, he’s the sort of handsome that’s only just starting to figure out how handsome he is. You think you probably make it easier for him. To figure it out. 

“Do you really want to,” he asks in a sincere tone, “or are you just appeasing me? If you’re tired I can take you straight to your place.” 

Your heart thudders. If you have to look at him for much longer you worry you’ll melt into the cracks of the pavement. “I want to,” you say. “I’m sort of hungry, too.” 

“Okay, awesome.” He sounds happy again. You think if you were lucky, that’d be the only thing you were put on Earth to do, make Peter happy. “Maybe we could try one of those Indian places near yours? See who’s really number one.” 

“Sure.” You smile up at him, brain buzzing when Peter beams back. 

“Sick! I could really go for some matar paneer.” 

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve Harrington showing up to Hellfire made sense.

He knew the kids. After The Incident of which they Do Not Speak Of, he knew Eddie. There was a friendship there that was pulling him into Hellfire’s orbit, and the elder members followed their leader's cues when it came to jocks who had decided to redeem themselves and evolve into beloved town hall heroes. 

Showing up to Corroded Coffin’s recently restarted band practice required a bit more adjusting, but it was fine. 

Everything was fine.

Steve showing up in the middle of a heated, completely nonsensical argument with Eddie, was also, unfortunately, growing to be something normal and fine--but arguing over Jeff specifically?

That was a little harder to ignore. 

“That’s my Robin.”  Eddie had started, pointing sternly towards Jeff as he marched up Gareth’s driveway. 

Steve rolled his eyes. 

“You already claimed Gareth as your Robin, you can't also claim Jeff.”

Yes I can! Because I have two--no, no, three!” Eddie counted on waiving fingers, “I have three Robin's, Grant’s one too!

Jeff blinked, before turning to his other bandmates. “Any idea about what this is about or…”

Nope.” Gareth refused to even look at the duo arguing. “And I don't want to know.”

“Okay then.” 

“They each have different specialties,” Eddie was animatedly arguing, having stopped in the center of the garage to square up to Steve. “So combined they make up one Robin.” 

“That's not how that works!” Steve loudly scoffed, arms winging out in a way that disturbingly, looked like a move he had copied from Eddie. 

He got a smirk in return. “Don't  be mad because I'm more popular than you are these days, Steven.” 

Oh now they were approaching dangerous territory-- Eddie was getting smug.

A smug Eddie, Jeff knew, was an obnoxious Eddie. The kind of obnoxious that refused to let things go and claimed victory over random bullshit. The type of obnoxious that would take weeks to kill, with them all suffering through Eddie’s crowing in the meantime.

Given the look on Steve’s face, he knew it too.

There was only one way to prevent the monster known as Smug Eddie, and that was to cut him at the knees before he properly got started. 

Something no member of Hellfire had ever before managed to accomplish--on purpose.

Steve, Jeff thought, was not a member of Hellfire. 

With a sudden and distrustworthy narrowing of his eyes, the ex-jock asked. “Didn't you say Jeff bakes?”

“No--” Eddie spat instantly but it was too late, Steve was already turning and--oh God, trying to pull Jeff into this shit. 

“Yes--hey Jeff, man, do you bake?”

“Uh…”

Grant looked between Steve, Eddie and Jeff, before taking one giant step to the right of them all.

The traitor. 

“Don't answer that!” Eddie commanded, stalking around to put himself between Jeff and Steve. “Do not answer that!” 

“I--yeah?” Jeff answered anyway, confused to hell but choosing to trust Steve on this one.   

Unfortunately for Corroded Coffin as a whole, and Jeff specifically, what they were missing was the fact that Steve could be a downright petty bitch. 

“What’s the hardest thing you can reliably bake?” 

It took a moment for Jeff to realize Steve was still talking to him, given his eyes were locked onto Eddie’s. 

“I like doing those kind complicated swirls with frosting sometimes?” Realizing how that sounded he quickly added; “To make cool patterns and shit!”

Steve nodded once, before boldly declaring: “I'm taking Jeff.” 

Eddie sputtered. 

“No you are not--” 

“That way,” Steve said, steamrolling right over, “you have two and I have two.”  

“Were not sharing cookies here, Steve!” 

“I know,” Steve retorted and oh God, now he sounded smug, “because Jeff and I haven't baked them yet.

“No--no! Jeff, Jeffery look at me.” The older teen whirled around to face Jeff, face serious. “You are forbidden to bake with this heathen.” 

“Wow, controlling much?” Steve drawled, moving fluidly around to stand shoulder to shoulder with Eddie, facing Jeff. With a weighty sincerity, he said, “I would never tell you what to do.”

“Yes he would! Yes He absolutely would! 

“What the fuck.” Jeff muttered, as they both continued to stare at him while maintaining their argument with each other. 

“You made eye contact, this is on you.” Grant told him. 

20 minutes later and Jeff would finally announce he was not going to do anything with anyone until after band practice. 

20 hours later, Steve would invite himself into Jeff’s house with a bag full of baking ingredients and a look in his eye that terrified Jeff more than Jason ever had. 

2 days later, Eddie would loudly declare Jeff’s status as a traitor, only to renounce it five seconds later after Gareth shoved one of the cookies they baked in his mouth mid rant. Only then would he agree that Steve could have Jeff as “his second Robin.” 

Unfortunately, he did this in front of the real Robin, who, as it turns out, can give one hell of a rant. 

(Later, Jeff, Grant and Gareth would loudly declare Robin their Queen and expert in all things Steve and Eddie, going so far as to present her with a Burger King crown to seal the deal. 

She would proudly wear it, despite all the bitching it caused from Steve and Eddie.) 

[physalian]

When I was 14-ish, I was still new to fanfic as I generally didn’t spend a lot of time online. I could have, it just didn’t interest me. When I did start getting into fanfic, I remember hearing about how some fics would just be deleted from one of my friends who cited all the fics that I, at the time (and still to a degree now) thought were icky—the incest ones, ABO, dead doves—and I remember saying out loud that I didn’t see a problem with it.

It wasn’t coming from a “this is amoral” standpoint it was “unaware ace unable to comprehend why anyone sees this as entertainment” which probably doesn’t sound better?

But I remember my friend at the time—who I much later came to accept and understand was deeply abusive—giving me such a look and went off on a condescending rant scolding me about censorship and how all fics have a right to exist, etc.

Now that I’m older I appreciate the freedom of sites like Ao3, especially as it archives fic genres I can’t stand. It wasn’t anything to do with that friend, but every now and then I remember that exchange, not for what she said, but how she said it.

Anyway point being: A reminder for whenever you’re trying to convince the opposition to consider your viewpoint—don’t be a condescending twit about it. And OP isn’t, of course, but I know there’s contrarians all over the place on here who might see this.

That friend didn’t make me change my ways overnight, she didn’t educate me at all because I was so caught up on ‘this person thinks I’m a shallow pearl-clutching idiot’ and her nasty disposition, that I wanted to dig my heels in harder and just stop including her in my fandom interests. To this day, I’m very wary of sharing both what fandoms I’m in, and my thoughts on those fandoms with anyone, because I’m constantly bracing for ridicule, because of her.

A few months ago, I had a conservative-leaning friend caught up on the “but the p*dos!” argument and was all in on morality policing—they’re in a fandom with a very popular kid-adult ship that they find abhorrent. I don’t know this fandom and I don’t care.

They were pretty convincing to the point where I did give merit to the idea that dead doves with “problematic” content bring awareness to that content that readers might otherwise never know about, perpetuating the existence of these relationship tropes because more people read about them when they were previously blissfully unaware and then it spreads oh no think of the children.

And then I stopped and remembered that that is not my fucking problem.

Yeah, kids are going to stumble across shit they shouldn’t. Ao3 doesn’t have an age restriction and even if it did, you could just lie about your age and no one would know.

It’s their parents’ jobs to educate them about internet safety, and set up appropriate guardrails on their internet access, and to teach them the difference between “this is fiction” and “this is a healthy depiction of romance” not some random fanfic writer a continent away who has no idea this kid exists.

It’s no different than a kid walking into a library and picking up an adult romance novel and sitting in a corner to read it—if they can understand the prose, they can understand the sign that says ‘ADULT’. If it’s clearly in the adult fiction section, the library has done its job.

If you’re old enough to comprehend the contents of an explicit smut fic, you are old enough to comprehend the warnings that come before it.

Fanfic has always been “reader beware”. FFN didn’t have a tagging system and that wouldn’t have saved it, but it sure would have helped prepare readers for what they were walking into. Ao3 does. Beware the tags, readers. Appropriately tag your content, authors.

Don’t like? Don’t read.

[digitald0rk]

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* NERD ALERT ! [ 2 ]

pairing : mark grayson x gn!reader.

synopsis : nerding out with your beloved bf :3

warnings : slightly suggestive and uh the usual pet names? he calls you his angel too <3 NOT PROOFREAD!! also mentions of dante sparda because the dmc anime is coming out 'm so excited!!!

w.c : 1.5 k.

a/n : THANK U SM FOR 200+ FOLLOWERS WHAT THE HELL SJSHJEHSLSKD. love you all <3

taglist : @vm4879bb-blog @hihowyoudoin00 @fairii-majii [ lemme know if you wanna be added too ]

READ PART [ 1 ] HERE !

if you're into video games, he's going out of his way to learn all about your faves.

when it comes to fighter games, thinks he's soooo slick looking up combos and learning them, he's all like “heh :3 gonna sweep them off their feet” and then gets absolutely BODIED LMAO.

if you show him no mercy he'll eventually start to get frustrated, not at you obviously you're his previous angel <3

“i’m not sulking.” he says, while clearly sulking. he was supposed to impress you! why are you so good at this :(

if he doesn't get a single win he's gonna suffocate one of your plushies when you're out of sight, it keeps staring at him, is that little fella mocking him? oh it'll pay for that.

you look at him amusedly when you come back to see the very obvious dent on your plushie, caused by a certain someone's fist.

“mark.” your eyes dart between the deformed head of your plushie and your boyfriend, biting back a smile.

“yeah baby?” he's all :3 bats his eyelashes all pretty at you, acting like he didn't just beat the shit out of your plushie like BOY YOU'RE NOT SLY.

but he is pretty, so you'll spare him, for now, not in the game though :p

on the topic of video games, he's actually decent at competitive games :] he loves playing them with you but if you die in the middle of a match he gets unmotivated to finish it (⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠;⁠)

unless someone was trying to rizz you up or something during the game then yeah, HE'S GOING TO WIN.

do not play dress to impress in front of this man, he gets awfully competitive about it.

“pretty sure even cecil can dress better than that.”

“baby i think that's an eight year old.”

“still, cecil has more drip.”

gets all smug when he wins, god forbid he's not in top three he's gonna go on a rant about how unfair the world is.

he'll always vote for your fits positively though! even though they might be…. questionable at times but he loves his baby :D

minecraft with your boyfriend is actually really fun! except he accidentally set the palace that you built on fire once and literally REFUSED to touch the game for weeks after that (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

will get sad if an animal dies :(

has names for all your dogs and cats, calls them your children.

“don't forget, we gotta feed our children babe.” he tells you, sipping on his milkshake.

and normally you'd smile and say something equally silly except for the fact that you two were currently hanging out with a couple of friends and that sentence certainly earned some looks.

“you two-”

“in minecraft!” you'd clarify, and cue the feigned annoyance filled groans and mutters of how you two are insufferable.

also one time he got so invested in building that he literally stayed up for ten hours, building the perfect wedding venue for you two!

asked [ forced ] everyone to make minecraft accounts and invited them all to your wedding in minecraft.

he kisses you in real life too when your characters “smooch” in the pixelated game.

he's gonna marry you for real one day, just you wait.

his irises turn into literal hearts when you pull up in a cosplay.

he would also love to cosplay with you!

bonus points if it's one of his favorite characters, his ass is NOT TAKING HIS HANDS OFF OF YOU LMAOOOOOO.

and if you two do end up getting freaky, like roleplaying as the characters then yeah rip bed.

matching literally anything! matching kirby socks? sure why the hell not. matching seance dog mugs? hell yeah! he's all for it!

and yes, you two have some nerdy matching pj set.

and matching underwear too :3 you jokingly bought them but he isn't playing around when he wears them seance dog boxers!

you both keep trying to recruit oliver in one of your favorite fandoms, although the little thraxan has other plans.

“guys no im not watching [ insert media name here ] !” “but oliverrr :(”

you're bother super annoying <3

sometimes mark will send you photos of oliver enjoying some piece of media you're into and act like a proud dad.

you two go to comic con together and get carried away, ending up with wayyy too much merch.

“mark, baby i love you but i don't think we need another signed poster.” you try reasoning with him, only to eat those words back the second he flashes you his sad puppy dog eyes.

you sigh, he really has you wrapped around his finger, doesn't he?

but you have him wrapped around your finger too, because when you look at him like that, asking him to take you to this signing event of your favorite foreign author, he wastes no time in picking you up and flying you wherever you want <3

no matter the time, he just wants to see his sweetheart happy :]

you two are insufferable with your references, sometimes people think you two are talking in some alien language.

rex hears mark on the phone, just who the hell is dante sparda? and why has mark mentioned this name like thirty thousand times in the past half an hour he's been on the phone with you?

as rex said, “you two match each other's freak to a degree that is dangerous to the public.”

“hey babe i got us these matching swords!” he smiles, all happy at four in the morning at your window like it's the most normal thing ever.

you squint a little before making out the sword's design, oh it's from your favorite game.

he doesn't protest in the slightest when you attack him with kisses, this is where he belongs.

he adores movie nights, you two cuddled up on his bed, watching something he loves? he's never been happier.

you two once had to stop making out because the plot got thicker, so you two locked in! even though your lips are swollen and shiny just like his from the shared passion a few minutes ago. he could care less about the next plot hole when you're right here, pressed up against him.

he can't stop staring at your lips, god you're addicting.

he snaps out of it when his favorite character dies though ⁠(⁠ ⁠:⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠∧⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠:⁠ ⁠) aw man.

building legos together! he gets all bashful when you praise him when he finishes a part of the main piece.

reward him with kisses and he'll melt.

he once tried making you pancakes, except he tried to draw one of your favorite characters with the pancake batter. and he's no artist, but he tried his best.

he's now on his 48458th attempt and it's looking like your favorite character….a little….. not really.

he'll just douse them in maple syrup, that makes everything better.

when you question the odd shaped pancakes in your sleepy dazed state, he ends up telling you the truth, embarrassed.

but when you kiss him oh so softly, your kiss far sweeter than any maple syrup, his nervousness melts off until all there's left is you.

you and only you.

you two take those extremely specific uquiz quizes together like "which xyz character would hate you the most" or "who do you kin from xyz"

if he doesn't get his fav when he takes a "which character are you from seance dog" quiz he'll be all :[

"this is rigged." he says, taking another one in hopes of getting his favorite character this time.

going to the sea and painting on the pebbles and rocks with him, he loves watching the sunlight reflect off of your hair, you look like an angel, his angel. and god your eyes-

“hey does this look like eric cartman?” you show him the paintwork on your rock, snapping him out of his lovesick trance.

“babe, why is he on ozempic?” that comment makes you two giggle.

he continues, “should've picked a bigger rock, my love.”

“i saved that one for you….. you know, if we were penguins i would you the shiniest, prettiest rock i could find, which is this one so….” you shift closer to him, placing the pretty rock onto his palm.

he presses a kiss to the side of your head, fiddling with the rock in his hand. “you're adorable.”

he presses a kiss to that same rock when he's away from you on a mission, it grounds him, knowing you're there, waiting for him.

when you two end up moving in together, unpacking things takes less time than decorating your shared room.

hanging posters with him, asking him if they're centred. putting your favorite figurines on the shelves along with your favorite comics, building your own safe haven. the whole room embodies you both so well, anyone who sets foot in this room would instantly be met with a bunch of your and his interests.

his dumbass <3 accidentally ends up leaving one of his figurines on the bed, so when you two are needily making out and grinding, excited that you two wouldn't have to be quiet or keep your voices down — straddling him and pushing him down on the bed, he lets out a small squeal of surprise.

you two stop, looking at each other all 0_0

“sorry, i think-” he starts, reaching behind his back to pull out the culprit of poking him in the back, and surely it was none other than his favorite seance dog figurine, the absurdity of it all is enough to make you chuckle, he laughs sheepishly with you. a little embarrassed that seance dog ruined the sexy atmosphere.

but when you put the figurine on the nightstand, turning it to face the wall, he realizes he's gonna have the best night of his life.

and oh boy was he right :3

© digitald0rk 2025. do not translate, copy or steal any of my work RAHHHH. thanks for reading and remember you're awesomesauce! want more? click here ★

[mangooes]

Far away from home, closest to the heart

The Onychinus estate was in crisis.

Not because of a rival organisation attack. Not because of a failed deal. No—this was far, far worse.

(Name) was out of town.

And Sylus Qinche was suffering.

The once-playful criminal lord mafia boss had transformed into a short-tempered, brooding nightmare.

He already had a reputation for being intimidating, but when (Name) isn’t around? It’s ten times worse. Deals that would normally be settled with his usual playful strict charm are now met with cold, cutting words that leave his business partners second-guessing their entire lives.

Meetings that usually ended with his amused smirks now concluded with threats sharp enough to make seasoned criminals sweat. Paperwork that normally sat untouched for days was suddenly everyone’s problem—because if he was miserable, so was everyone else.

Luke and Kieran, Sylus’s most trusted men, were struggling.

Kieran threw himself onto the couch in their shared office, groaning. “Boss has lost it. He just scared a man into signing a deal without reading it.”

Luke, who had been stress-drinking his fourth cup of coffee, nodded grimly. “I saw. The guy didn’t even hesitate.”

“We need a plan.”

Luke sighed. “We just have to survive until the Missus comes back.”

Kieran ran a hand down his face. “God, I love her.”

Meanwhile, in the boardroom, Sylus leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes gleaming with unfiltered irritation as one of his business partners nervously stammered through a proposal.

He exhaled sharply. “Do you have a point? Or are you wasting my time?”

The man flinched. Trembling under pressure.

Normally, Onychinus's boss is smooth and calculating, but now? His patience is gone. Someone tries to haggle too much? He leans forward, voice deadly calm: “You must have a death wish.”

Some lower-tier business associates genuinely think he’s on the verge of a major war because he’s so on edge. Little do they know, he just misses his wife.

Outside the boardroom, Luke and Kieran exchanged looks, already calculating the outcomes of the said meeting.

He’s hopeless, Luke thought. Completely, utterly hopeless.

Luke and Kieran, usually the chaotic duo, become very cautious when the missus is away. They love their boss, but when he’s in a Sab-starved mood? Yeah, they’re not about to die early.

Their usual banter is nonexistent. They speak in careful, measured tones, making sure not to set him off. They strategically find ways to be busy elsewhere, lest they face the wrath of their brooding, love-starved boss.

Each and every day that the wife of Sylus Qinche was gone from his reach, becomes a stepping stone towards doomsday.

Kieran: “Boss, we got intel on the shipment.”

Sylus, barely looking up: “Does it tell me when my wife is coming back?”

Luke, muttering: “We’re so screwed.”

They love her. Not just because she’s fun, but because she’s the only one who keeps their boss from turning into a nightmare. They count down the hours until she’s back.

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

The moment (Name) stepped foot into the estate, the change was instant.

Sylus, who had been a nightmare for days, practically appeared in front of her, his arms wrapping around her waist in a crushing embrace.

One moment he’s terrifying, the next he’s smirking, arms open, greeting her with a sickeningly sweet,

"Kitten," he murmured against her ear, voice filled with desperate relief. "You're finally home."

She knows what happens when she’s away. She sees the exhausted, relieved faces of the staff. She feels how tightly Sylus holds her when he embraces her. And, of course, she milks it.

(Name) laughs, as she pats her husband's head. "Miss me that much, Sysy?"

He pulled back just enough to look at her, crimson eyes dark with something deep. “I was dying, sweetie.”

Behind them, Luke and Kieran—who had been suffering—exchanged a look of pure disgusted relief.

“She’s back,” Kieran whispered, almost emotional.

Luke wiped an imaginary tear. “We’re saved.”

As Sylus buried his face in his beloved’s neck, murmuring sweet nothings, the entire estate seemed to breathe again.

And just like that, the Onychinus estate returns to peace.

I need to start writting lovesick sylus again, MAGNUM OPUS CARD WAS THE BEST EXPIRIENCE EVER THANK YOU INFOLD I LOVE YOU

[scoupsakakitty]

Ten Years Too Late | idol!Woozi x 14thMember | fluff

Requested

The living room, dimly lit and littered with empty snack wrappers and half-finished drinks, buzzed with lazy energy. Fourteen people sprawled across couches, floors, and bean bags — a scene familiar and comfortable after over a decade spent together.

Most of them thought they’d long run out of ways to surprise each other. Ten years touring, training, living, practically breathing in the same space left little room for secrets.

But Jeonghan, as usual, decided otherwise.

“Let’s stir things up,” he announced, voice tinged with mischief. “Confession game. Old school.”

Groans echoed instantly.

“Nooo,” Seungkwan protested, flopping back onto the couch dramatically. “What could possibly be left to confess? We’ve shared everything.”

“I bet someone’s hiding something,” Jeonghan smirked, eyes glinting as he leaned forward. “First crushes. Secret habits. Come on, make it interesting.”

Hoshi sat up. “Wait, wait—first crushes?” He wiggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly.

“Sounds dangerous,” Vernon murmured, already skeptical but clearly intrigued.

Mingyu grabbed an empty water bottle and set it in the middle. “One spin. Whoever it lands on has to spill.”

The bottle spun lazily. Everyone watched with mock disinterest.

First, it pointed to Joshua, who calmly admitted he used to secretly eat ramen after practice when no one was looking, despite their diet restrictions.

Laughter broke out. Nothing earth-shattering.

Another spin. Jeonghan confessed he once swapped members’ socks just to mess with them. Dino, betrayed, demanded to know how long.

A few more rounds in, and the bottle gradually pointed to each member, the confessions lighthearted, silly, familiar.

Then it landed squarely on the fourteenth member — Y/N.

A collective murmur rippled through the room.

Y/N laughed nervously, adjusting her oversized hoodie, glancing around the circle. “I genuinely don’t think I have anything left…”

Jeonghan leaned forward eagerly. “Come on. Ten years, surely there’s something you’ve kept hidden.”

The others chimed in — DK clapping, Minghao raising an eyebrow, Woozi quietly sipping his drink from the corner.

Y/N hesitated, eyes flicking across the faces she knew better than her own reflection.

And then, before she could stop herself, she spoke.

“Fine. I had a crush on one of you when I first joined.”

The room froze. Even the background noise from the television seemed to dim.

Seungcheol sat up straighter, grin already forming. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Who?” Seungkwan demanded instantly, eyes wide, practically bouncing.

Y/N’s face was already flushed. “It was years ago! Doesn’t matter now.”

“It very much matters now,” Jeonghan declared, a devilish smile tugging at his lips. “Spill.”

All eyes zeroed in. Mingyu looked like he was holding back laughter. Hoshi was clutching DK’s arm dramatically.

Woozi, as usual, remained still, expression unreadable.

After a beat, Y/N gave in, exhaling sharply. “It was… Woozi.”

The silence stretched thin, seconds ticking by before the group erupted.

“You’re kidding!” Mingyu gasped, grinning like a kid at Christmas.

“WOOZI?!” Seungkwan practically shouted, eyes darting between Y/N and Woozi.

Even Joshua, usually the calmest, chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t see that coming.”

Woozi’s fingers paused on his drink. His gaze flickered briefly toward Y/N, surprise barely showing, but there in the slight crease of his brow.

“Me?” His voice was low, careful.

Y/N nodded quickly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah. I mean… you were focused. Talented. Kinda intense. I was a new trainee; it felt impossible not to admire you.”

Jeonghan was cackling now, clapping Seungcheol on the back. “Of all people, Woozi! Our serious little producer.”

Minghao leaned forward, chin in his hand, studying both of them with amused interest.

Hoshi nudged Woozi. “Hyung, say something. Don’t act cool now.”

But Woozi only gave a faint, almost shy huff of laughter and looked back down at his hands. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Wait, wait,” Dino cut in eagerly. “You never noticed at all, hyung?”

Woozi shook his head slightly. “Not a clue.”

Seungkwan was already leaning conspiratorially toward Y/N. “Was it bad? Like, full-on crush? Daydreaming about him writing songs for you?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, face still burning. “It was short-lived, okay? We became family pretty fast.”

But it was too late; the teasing had begun.

The next few days were relentless.

Every time Y/N walked past Woozi during practice, someone would whistle. If they sat beside each other at lunch, someone would nudge the other members and grin knowingly.

Hoshi went as far as to label Woozi’s notebook with “Love Songs for Y/N” in thick marker one afternoon, earning himself a deadpan stare and a half-hearted shove.

Even Woozi, usually the one to avoid jokes at his own expense, seemed oddly… thoughtful.

It was subtle at first — the way he glanced up during breaks when Y/N was talking, how he lingered after practice when everyone else filtered out.

No one noticed right away.

Until one evening, after a particularly long rehearsal, Woozi approached her as she was tying her shoes.

“Hey,” he started, voice quieter than usual.

She looked up, slightly surprised. “What’s up?”

There was a pause. He hesitated, eyes flicking toward the empty studio door, as if checking no one was around.

“I’ve been thinking,” Woozi said slowly, “about what you said. The other night.”

She smiled awkwardly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

He shook his head, then, almost imperceptibly, smiled.

“It’s not weird. Just… I never knew you saw me that way back then.”

She gave a half-hearted shrug, trying to brush it off. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

But Woozi didn’t look away.

“You know,” he added, voice soft, almost thoughtful, “I always thought you were the one who worked hardest out of all of us. Even back then. Maybe that’s why I wanted to write songs that fit you.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard.

He glanced down, fingers fiddling slightly with the strap of his bag.

“Anyway,” Woozi continued, almost too casually, “I was wondering… coffee tomorrow?”

Her breath caught, just a little.

He didn’t wait for an immediate answer. “If you want.”

And with that, he slung his bag over his shoulder, giving her a faint smile before heading out of the room, leaving her sitting there, stunned.

By the time she made it back to the dorm that night, her phone buzzed with a message.

Woozi [11:48 PM]:

If you’re free. No pressure.

Across the dorm, laughter still echoed from the living room. She could hear Seungkwan and Jeonghan bickering about something trivial.

But for a moment, it felt like everything had quieted, the noise receding into the background.

A grin spread across her face as she typed back.

Y/N [11:49 PM]:

Yeah. I’m free.

[wordpress-blaze-192228442]

How To Be A Positive Thinker

Bible Study, Grace Study

This is most case I have known so far. Most of you are having negativity thoughts towards your eye captured information, human action, matter of things. It is rather than a brighter one, especially when your body is aching, your head is spinning or you have a sleepless night.

How would you change to be an optimism thinker?

Firstly, you drop being-demanded thinking. Everyday, your life is demanded either by your boss, your husband/wife/kids, yourself. You change your mind to think this way: "no worries, I have God supply me all the grace, I will be fine." -- this is your mindset principle to over lap other negative thoughts constantly.

Alternatively, you do other things to "distract" you:

You can take a breath to look at sky🪐;

listening beautiful musics🎻;

"staring" at flowers 🌺🌱 and animals 🐣;

having a cup of coffee;

treating yourself a nice meal --being 😊.

When you are unhappy, engaging yourself with other healthy activities. In bible, focusing on Jesus Christ by declaring it: I will not worry, I rest. When I rest, God (or some other colleagues, wakakak. 🙊) works. Casting all my cares on I don't care whom. ��️

Live an stress-free moment, taking a deep breath: just 5 mins each day will do; The Happier You are, the Stronger Your Health are. Healing ~~

P.S. It seems to me that a religious believer has more grit to change their habits of thinking than none believers.

Source: How To Be A Positive Thinker

[captain-daryn]

This!!!! This this this!

And just in general, yeah it's good to ask questions, but it is better to know how to look something up. With the internet literally in our hands there is no reason to ask even simple questions like 'what movie is this?'

Start with something you do know about it. Going along with the movie example, do you recognize any of the actors? Do you know the time period it was made? Do you know what the movie or clip is about? Can you get an exact quote from the scene you are watching or is being referenced? Any information is a starting point to finding out what you want to know.

I feel like a lot of people's comprehension skills just go down the drain outside of school, or they expect people to feed the information to them. I didn't realize how important it was, but it makes sense now *why* we learned that. Because if you cannot comprehend what is going on, you need to figure it out. You need to know what kind of questions you need to ask yourself based on the information you do know, and then how to search them up.

Learn how to use search engine tools! Boolean searches help you narrow down things. Especially if you are getting a lot of a specific source that you don't want, or are not able to find a source you do (often while image searching I have to -TikTok and -YouTube in my search bar to narrow it down). Sometimes you have to do a lot of vague searching to narrow it down, or start with something very specific and broaden your horizon based on what else you can find.

Something my professors do all the time is make us 1) try to find the answer ourselves first, then 2) ask a classmate for help. And if we are STILL stumped, then we can 3) ask the professor for help. It helps take a load off of the professors plate for questions, but also teaches the students to try and problem solve themselves first and helps them learn more in the future.

As a kid, I had a specific toy dog of 101 Dalmatians that I took EVERYWHERE with me. It was one of my favorite toys. I took it to my grandmothers one time and lost it in the stream behind her house. Every so often I would remember it, and would google search what I could to see if I could find it again. I used image searches, eBay sold listings, anything I could. Until one day I finally found a 'Disney toy lost and found' group on Facebook. I brought what information I had already to help me narrow it down and someone else knew exactly what I was looking for and helped me find it. For nostalgia sake, when I finally found one on eBay, I purchased it. I felt so accomplished to find it.

It is incredibly important to train yourself to have your first instinct be to look something up.

Don't know how to do something? Look it up.

See a piece of news mentioned on social media? Look it up.

Not sure if something is making it to the broader public consciousness, either because you don't see it much or you see people saying nobody is talking about it? Look it up.

Don't know what a word means? Look it up.

It will make you a better reader and a better writer, but it will also just make you more equipped to cope with the world.

So often, I see people talking about something as though it is the first time anyone has ever acknowledged it, when I've been reading reports about it on the news for months or years. Or I see someone totally misinterpreting an argument because they clearly don't know what a word means--or, on the other hand, making an argument that doesn't make sense because they aren't using words the right way.

Look things up! Check the news (the real news, not random people on social media)! Do your research! You (and the world) will be better for it.

[mononijikayu]

crazy little thing called love—ryomen sukuna.

Your jaw dropped. "Gold?" "Go big or go home, right?" He tilted his head, looking far too amused by your reaction. You scoffed, still trying to process how utterly ridiculous this conversation had become. "You do realize how insanely hard it is to even qualify for the Olympics, let alone win?" He shrugged, completely unfazed. "Yeah. So?" You rubbed your temples. "You really think you can pull that off?" "I know I can." he said simply. “I’m amazing. There’s no denying that, especially right now. But in the future? I know I’ll be a beast.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Volleyball! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Baby, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Fiancee! Sukuna, Fiancee! Reader;

Words: 8k words.

Note: people have been asking if there will be a part 2 where sukuna ends up proposing and i was thinking about how im going to do it because i want it to be fun and i want it to be as ridiculous as possible. and this is what i came up with. this is not the end for them, i think i will come by from time to time. i think i need to think about other stories too. in any case, i hope you enjoy this one!!! i love you all~

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

lovesick playlist

THIS WAS HOW YOUR MINI DATES WERE LIKE EVERY LATE AFTERNOON. And you were more than content with that. After all, you were both too busy to always meet outside of school. This is why you became a manager in the first place. You wanted more time with him as much as you could. 

You knew that from the moment he became a part of the volleyball team. But sometimes, it was hard with him. In some ways, he had gotten so used to you being there that he doesn’t want to be without you whatsoever. He’s crazy about keeping his lover like that.

“My love, I’m going to go. I have to leave.”

“No, you’re not.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you slung your bag over your shoulder. “My club manager duty is done. I have a life outside of watching you hit a ball over a net.”

Sukuna scoffed, arms crossed as he leaned lazily against the gym wall. “A life? What, you mean going home just to do the exact same thing you’d do if you stayed here? Reading your physics books?”

Your eye twitched. “That’s not the point. You know that.”

He smirked, stretching his arms overhead, the muscles in his shoulders flexing obnoxiously. “It kinda is, babe. No offense.”

The rhythmic sound of a volleyball bouncing against the polished court filled the empty gym. The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of cicadas outside and the occasional squeak of Sukuna’s shoes as he moved across the floor. 

You knew exactly where this was going. Because it always went this way. You, attempting to leave. Sukuna, refusing to let you. It was routine at this point.

And you stay anyway, opening up your bag and taking your books and reading. And then taking his bag and then laying down on the benches, resting your head as you wait for him to finish. 

You wanted to change that today.

At least you hope you can change it.

Your boyfriend is way too good at being clingy.

“I need to study, you know that.” you tried again, hands on your hips.

“So study here.” He shrugged. “You do it all the time.”

“I want to eat.”

“There’s snacks in my bag.” He huffs, taking the ball in his hand once again. “I got your favorites from the store.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And what if I want actual food?”

“Then we’ll go after practice.”

“Are you—”

“Yes, I’m paying.” He confirms to you, not even looking at you. “Why do you think I have a part time job?”

You inhaled sharply, weighing your options. On one hand, you could still leave. You could be strong for once and walk out that door like a free person.

On the other hand…It was true that you’d just end up studying at home anyway. And eating wasn’t really an issue since you’d just steal whatever food was within arm’s reach.

And if you were really being honest with yourself, staying meant spending just a little more time with him.…Not that you’d ever admit that out loud. And not that he would admit that as easily either. It was just the way it was for people as prideful as you both.

You sighed dramatically. “You are so needy.”

Sukuna grinned, already knowing he won. “You call me needy for wanting you here and yet, here you are. Not leaving.”

You shot him a glare but walked back to your usual spot on the gym bench anyway, pulling out your notes with a huff. You take his bag and pull it closer to you. You unzip it as carefully as you could, as to not look desperate, and take out the snacks he packed for you.

Sukuna laughed, turning back to the court. “You look cute when you pretend to be mad, babe.”

You picked up one of the balls and launched it at his head.

He dodges it really well, diving down onto the floor.

He snickers, looking at you with those mischievous eyes.

“You’re really helping me practice here, if anything, manager-san.”

“Get to practice before I actually leave, dumbass.”

And with that, he did, all the while he was grinning like an idiot the whole time. Meanwhile you then continued to slouch by the sidelines, legs stretched out in front of you, your back resting against the cool wall. You flipped another page of your physics book, fixing your reading glasses. You let out a yawn. 

“I forgot you got reading glasses.” Your boyfriend whispers, as he stops to put away some of the balls blocking his way. 

You didn’t bother looking up, lazily flipping to the next page of your textbook. “Well, yeah. I don’t wear them all the time.”

Sukuna huffed, rolling a volleyball toward the cart with his foot. “Still weird seeing you in them.”

You arched a brow, adjusting them on the bridge of your nose. “Why? I think I look distinguished.”

“More like a nerd, babe.” he teased, walking past you to grab another ball.

You sighed dramatically, stretching your arms over your head. “Oh no, my boyfriend just called me a nerd. However will I recover from this devastating insult?”

Sukuna snorted, shooting you an amused look before getting back to practice. You returned to your book, the familiar sounds of sneakers squeaking and volleyballs hitting the floor filling the gym. The rhythmic thuds had become comforting at this point. It was a background noise you had grown so used to that silence would probably feel weird without it.

At some point, Sukuna jogged past you again, stopping just long enough to flick your glasses up your nose with his finger. You swatted at his hand. “Stop that.”

He smirked. “What? I think they’re cute now.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

He chuckled, going back to his drills, and you returned to your book, settling in for another night of studying while your ridiculously competitive boyfriend spiked volleyballs like his life depended on it.

"Do you ever think about the future?" you asked absentmindedly, setting aside your book. You lift your head watching as Sukuna spun the ball in his hands.

He scoffed, tossing it up lazily before catching it again. "What, like college and boring adult stuff?"

"Yeah, that. Or, I dunno… where we’ll be years from now." You say, putting away your reading glasses.

Sukuna’s smirk didn’t falter, but he paused just slightly, his fingers gripping the ball. "You mean whether I’ll go pro and become filthy rich while you settle for some dull-ass office job?"

You rolled your eyes. "That’s not what I meant, dumbass. I mean… what kind of lives we’ll lead. What kind of people we’ll become."

There was a beat of silence as he let your words settle. Then, as if dismissing any weight they carried, he sighed dramatically. "Ugh, don’t get all sentimental on me now, babe."

You huffed, throwing a stray piece of tape from the floor at him. "I’m serious, my love."

And for once, he looked at you. Really looked at you. Not with that usual cocky glint in his eyes, but with something more unreadable, more… thoughtful. But just as quickly as it came, the expression disappeared, replaced by a lopsided grin.

Without another word, Sukuna tossed the ball high into the air, stepped forward, and sent it flying over the net with a sharp, resounding spike. The force of it sent a slight gust of air your way, and as the ball slammed into the opposite court, he finally spoke.

"Well, I plan to marry you."

The words landed just as hard as the ball did.

Your breath hitched, your mind momentarily blank.

Your mouth opened, no words escaping from it.

"What?" You finally said, after a little while. “Are you serious?”

He turned, walking over to retrieve the ball as if he hadn’t just shattered the casual flow of the night. "You heard me."

You stared, trying to process the casual, almost nonchalant way he had just dropped that on you. "You can’t just—what the hell, my love? What do I say about that?"

He chuckled, tossing the ball up once before catching it again. "What? Not the answer you were expecting?"

"You—you don’t just say something like that after a spike!"

"Why not?" He smirked, tilting his head. "Figured I’d let you know my future plans, since you were so curious."

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you refused to let him see how flustered you were. Instead, you scoffed, crossing your arms. "You’re insane."

"And you’re stuck with me, you know that." he shot back, that grin never leaving his face. “I mean come on, babe. We’ve been together, what? Four years at this point?”

There was something about the way he said it. It was not just a teasing remark to him, but something firmer, something certain. It sent warmth creeping up your neck, and you hated how much his words lingered. You felt your face become insanely warm, red even as his words marinated even further.

“It’s a forever thing for me, babe.”

“You’re so—”

“Love you too, babe.” He grinned at you. 

Your boyfriend Sukuna turned back to his practice, as if the conversation was already over. But for you… you knew this night would be playing in your mind for a long, long time. It was like every other new information from your physics book escaped your mind instantaneously. 

The weight of Sukuna’s words still clung to the air, thick and undeniable. You tried to ignore the way your heart pounded, the way his declaration had knocked the breath from your lungs, but it was impossible. Your lips pursed into a tight line, still red in the face.

"You're insane," you muttered, shaking your head.

Sukuna only chuckled, tossing the ball up and catching it lazily. "Yeah? And?"

You exhaled sharply, standing up and stretching your arms, trying to regain some sense of normalcy. "You don’t just go around telling people you’re going to marry them out of nowhere."

His smirk widened. "I didn’t say people, though. I said you. It’s only going to be you."

You huffed, crossing your arms. You were pouting at this point. And Sukuna just found that too cute. "Oh, well, my mistake. That makes it so much better."

Sukuna spun the ball on his finger, his sharp eyes glinting mischievously. "Tell you what, babe." he started, voice laced with amusement. "Let’s make it a bet."

Your brows furrowed, wary. "...What kind of bet?"

He let the ball drop to the floor and stepped closer, standing just a little too close, his presence all-consuming. "I win a gold medal in the Olympics." His voice was smooth, deliberate. "And when I do, you’ll marry me."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

You stared at him, waiting for the punchline, the moment he’d burst out laughing and tell you he was messing with you. But he didn’t. His expression was unreadable, teasing but also impossibly serious.

"Ryomen Sukuna, do you even hear yourself?" You threw your hands up. "Winning a medal in the Olympics is not some casual thing you can just—"

“Hey, hey. My name is my love, we will correct that right now.” He cuts in almost too smoothly. “And second, it’s not going to just be a medal. It’s going to be a gold medal. And first try!”

Your jaw dropped. "Gold?"

"Go big or go home, right?" He tilted his head, looking far too amused by your reaction.

You scoffed, still trying to process how utterly ridiculous this conversation had become. "You do realize how insanely hard it is to even qualify for the Olympics, let alone win?"

He shrugged, completely unfazed. "Yeah. So?"

You rubbed your temples. "You really think you can pull that off?"

"I know I can." he said simply. “I’m amazing. There’s no denying that, especially right now. But in the future? I know I’ll be a beast.”

And the thing is, you do believe him. You believe in everything he does, in everything he is. Ryomen Sukuna isn’t just some overconfident athlete running his mouth. You know that his words aren’t just meaningless bravado thrown into the air for the sake of arrogance. 

No, everything he says, everything he sets his mind to, he backs up with raw, undeniable talent and relentless hard work. He’s never been the type to say things he doesn’t mean. If Sukuna said he was going to win, he was going to win. If he said he was going to be the best, he would make it happen.

And if he said he was going to marry you, it's not just words.

It’s his promise, one that he plans to fulfill no matter what.

Well, you didn’t stand a chance against that will, did you?

His confidence wasn’t just arrogance. You know that much. It was the kind of unwavering certainty that could only belong to someone who was born to be great. The kind of person who wasn’t just meant to exist but to leave a mark so deep on the world that people would still be talking about him years down the line.

He was the type of person who set his sights on the impossible and made it real. That’s why, even when he said something absurd, something reckless and unbelievable…..You still believed him. Because he was Ryomen Sukuna. And Ryomen Sukuna never lost.

But still, it was the Olympics. 

It was still something that was so far away.

Things could change from all that time.

"You’re making this sound like a joke, aren’t you?" you muttered, more to yourself than him.

He scoffed. "I don’t joke about things I actually want. You would know that best, babe."

Your breath caught. He was right about that. And you knew it. But there was something about the way he said it. There was no teasing lilt, no cocky edge. Just raw certainty. Just raw confidence. Endless bravado, endless affection. You could see it in his eyes.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus. "Fine, fine." you said, crossing your arms. "If….and that’s a huge if—you actually win gold, I’ll consider it."

Sukuna smirked. "Not good enough for me."

You rolled your eyes. "I’m not just gonna say yes to marrying you based on a bet."

"Then say yes because it’s me." He whispers to you, his eyes warmed with tender love. Tender love just for you. “Say yes because you love him.

Your heart skipped a beat.

The heat on your face triples.

Damn him, damn his smooth words.

He must’ve noticed the way you faltered because his grin widened. "C’mon, babe. Don’t be so serious about it, huh?" he coaxed. "Where’s your sense of fun?"

"This isn’t fun, it’s absolutely crazy." you shot back.

"And yet, you still haven’t said no."

You hated that he had a point, and hated how he knew you so well. He grins as you, watching your pout grow even more prevalent. You glared at him, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. 

"Fine." you relented, sighing heavily. "If somehow, you actually win an Olympic gold medal, then I’ll marry you, Ryomen Sukuna."

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, victorious. "Good. Promise sealed. No backing out now, okay?"

"But don’t get cocky!" you warned, pointing a finger at him. "It’s not gonna be easy, and I highly doubt—"

"You might as well start planning the wedding now, babe." he cut in, already walking back to his side of the court. “I mean, it’s going to happen no matter what.”

You groaned, sinking back onto the bleachers, head in your hands. What the hell did you just agree to? Why did it feel like a bad deal on your part? You sighed as you fixed your position, springing up from your slump. 

You really should have read the fine print before agreeing to this. Maybe ask your boyfriend to make a contract about this. Because now, as Sukuna continued spiking balls with that obnoxiously smug grin on his face, you found yourself staring at the court, your mind spiraling into an entirely new crisis.

“Wait, wait.” Your eyes narrowed. “What if you end up winning in the Olympics when you’re 18 or 19?”

Sukuna paused, ball in hand, and turned to you with a slow, knowing smirk. “Well, babe….” he said, spinning the ball lazily on his finger. “You know what happens.”

Your stomach dropped. “No. Ryomen Sukuna!”

“Yes.” He whistles back to you. “And that’s not my name, you know that.”

“Sukuna, that’s way too soon—”

“Too bad! You already agreed!” He pointed at you accusingly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “That’s a verbal contract, sweetheart. Legally binding!”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “Oh my god.”

Sukuna just chuckled, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly. “Not my fault you underestimated me.”

Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Oh, I underestimated you? You’re the one planning an Olympic medal-to-marriage speedrun!”

He shrugged, unfazed. “And?”

You gaped at him. “And!? My love, that is just…..You—You’re seriously okay with getting married as a teenager?”

“I mean, yeah. I was ready to bet my life on you when we were even younger. Why not?” He cocked his head, looking at you like you were the crazy one. “If I win early, I win early. Not my problem.”

“It is your problem!” You waved your hands around in exasperation. “You’d be legally stuck with me at a stupidly young age! What if you regret it? What if I regret it? What if we get sick of each other?”

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “Babe, I’ve been dealing with you for years. If I was gonna get sick of you, it would’ve happened already.”

You sputtered. “Dealing with me?! Excuse you! I should be the one questioning whether I want to deal with you for the rest of my life!”

He grinned, walking toward you with slow, confident strides. “Then don’t agree to stupid bets.”

You pointed a finger at him, almost so childishly. “You tricked me into this!”

He leaned down, resting his hands on the bench on either side of you, caging you in. “I didn’t trick you, babe.” he murmured, tilting his head. “I just made sure you didn’t say no.”

You blinked up at him, cheeks heating. Damn it. This was so unfair. How was he effortlessly cool and stupidly attractive even when talking about something as ridiculous as marrying you as a teenager? Sukuna smirked knowingly, clearly enjoying your flustered silence.

You swallowed, gathering yourself. “Still, my love….” you muttered, looking away. “You don’t even know when you’ll win.”

“Maybe so.” he admitted, standing up straight again. “But I will win. And when I do, you better have your dress ready.”

You stared at him, completely exasperated. “Oh my god, I hate you.”

He grinned. “Love you too, fiancée.”

You grabbed your physics book and whacked him with it.

Unfortunately, that didn’t wipe the smug look off his face.

If anything, the grin just grew wider than ever before.

YOU ENDED UP IN LOS ANGELES 2028, YOUR BOYFRIEND ON THE COURT IN HIS JAPAN TEAM UNIFORM. The deafening roar of the stadium echoed around you, a symphony of cheers and chants, many cameras echoing into a hail of flashes, and the pounding bass of the match music.

Bright lights shone down on the Olympic volleyball court, illuminating the players lined up for the final set. Each one a figure carved out of sweat, grit, and years of relentless training. But out of all of them, your eyes locked onto just one.

Vice Captain Gojo Satoru stood in the center of Japan’s national team, his white hair slightly damp with sweat, his uniform clinging to his lean frame. Even from the stands, you could see the cocky smirk tugging at his lips, his ever-present arrogance radiating off of him like a damn spotlight.

His blue eyes, sharp and glittering under the stadium lights, flickered toward Captain Ryomen Sukuna. Sukuna stood tall at the net, his scarlet eyes narrowing as he rolled his shoulders, muscles flexing beneath his jersey. There was no smirk on his lips, no taunts thrown across the court like Gojo was clearly ready to dish out. 

No, Sukuna was locked in. Focused, deadly, hungry. And across from him, standing with equal intensity, was the French National Volleyball Team.It was an even match, a battle of the titans, an Olympic final that had already left the world breathless.

Outside Hitter Megumi Fushiguro took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling steadily despite the sweat dripping down his face. He had been playing a hell of a game, his spikes cutting through the French team’s defenses like a blade. But there was no denying the exhaustion creeping into his stance, no matter how fiercely he tried to shake it off.

Middle Blocker Itadori Yuuji moved forward, cracking his knuckles as he bounced on his feet, a grin still plastered on his face despite the pressure. His energy was boundless, as always, but you knew he could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

This was it.

The final set.

One more for the win.

One more push, one more kill, one more moment of sheer brilliance. And they would either walk away with gold, or with the regret of coming so close and falling just short. You swallowed, hands gripping your knees as you leaned forward in your seat, barely aware of how tightly you were clenching your fists.

And then, in the middle of the tension, Gojo Satoru couldn’t help but grin. “Hey, Captain!”

“Huh? What do you want, Gojo?”

"Don’t choke, Captain!" he teased, just loud enough for you to hear over the roaring crowd.

Sukuna didn’t even blink. He just smirked, the look in his eyes dark and dangerous. "Just make sure you’re still standing when I spike the last point over your head."

The referee blew the whistle.

The ball was tossed into the air.

And the final set began.

Down on the bleachers, everyone was just holding their breath. Including you, who was just tense. Quantum Physicist Geto Suguru was sitting way too comfortably in their VIP seats, arms crossed, expression unreadable as he lazily popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth. He looks at you, offering you a snack. But you couldn’t help but shake your head.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, not even looking at you.

You huffed. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Because, isn’t this quite a moment?” Geto drawled, turning to face you. “Your fiancé is one point away from winning an Olympic gold medal.”

You glared at him. “He’s not my fiancé.”

He smirked. “He might as well be at this point. How long has Sukuna been bragging about it?”

“He still has to win the medal, you know.”

“Well, just one more set here, senpai.” Geto’s purple eyes echoed mischief. “You’ll see then.”

Beside Geto, your heart was pounding so hard you swore it was trying to break free from your chest. And through all the roaring cheers, the flashing cameras, and the tension thick enough to choke you—Sukuna’s voice echoed in your head, as clear as if he was sitting right next to you.

"If I win a gold medal in the Olympics, you have to marry me."

You could still hear the smugness dripping from his voice. The absolute certainty behind his words, as if he had never once considered the possibility of losing.

At the time, you had laughed. You had rolled your eyes, told him he was being ridiculous, brushed it off as just another one of his arrogant declarations.

But here you were, sitting front and center, watching the final match of the Olympics unfold right in front of you. And because the universe loved to mess with you, your boyfriend was about to win a gold medal. 

Suguru nudged you, his voice low and far too amused for the situation. “If you run now, I’ll cover for you.”

You scoffed, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “That’s tempting.”

Before he could respond, the stadium’s announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, shaking the very air around you. “Japan is at match point!”

The crowd roared, the energy in the arena reaching its peak. You watched as the opposing team served the ball, the rally hitting fast and aggressive. The players diving, blocking, setting, all fighting for the final point. Then, like clockwork, you saw it.

The perfect setup. You hadn’t seen anything like it. The ball went up, and just like you knew he would, Sukuna moved fast and jumped, soaring higher than anyone else on the court. His body twisted midair, his form effortless, his presence commanding. And then, it happened.

CRASH.

The ball slammed onto the opposing team’s side with terrifying precision. The whistle blew. The crowd exploded. Japan had won. After waiting for so long, there was finally a win for the country. And Sukuna led it.

Geto Suguru went up and started to cheer out loud.

But you just sat there. You had lost the bet once and for all.

The stadium was chaotic. Cameras flashed, confetti rained down, and the entire team tackled Sukuna in celebration. Geto stretched his arms behind his head, grinning. “Welp. That’s that.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I’m going to throw myself off this balcony.”

“I’d pay to see that, senpai.” 

You kicked his leg. “You’re so annoying.”

Suguru let out a low whistle, leaning back in his seat like he was watching the most entertaining drama of the decade. “Well….” he mused, smirking. “Guess I should start looking for wedding gifts.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Shut up, Geto Suguru.”

He patted your back, mock sympathy lacing his voice. “You really should’ve negotiated better terms.”

You sighed. You really should have. “Don’t rub it in.”

“Oh, senpai, on the contrary—I’m just telling you when you can tell yourself that with the future of time travel.”

You kicked his leg again. 

He just laughed at your response.

You purse your lips into a flat line.

Your entire soul had left your body.

The crowd was still screaming and celebrating, the commentators were probably losing their minds on live television, and yet none of it mattered right now. Primarily because Ryomen Sukuna was coming straight for you.

He cut through the chaos like a man on a mission, stepping over confetti and shoving past reporters with the kind of single-minded determination that should have terrified you.

He ignored his teammates still caught in their celebration, ignored Gojo, who was literally trying to climb him like an overexcited golden retriever, and ignored the cameras tracking his every move. 

Because all he cared about right now was you. 

Suguru, still lounging next to you like he wasn’t witnessing your impending doom, let out a thoughtful hum. “Y’know, this would be a really good time to run, senpai.”

The medal ceremony happened about twenty minutes later, but honestly? 

You could barely process the repercussions of all of this.

You still could not handle the fact that the bet was lost.  

The stadium was still in chaos, electric with the high of victory. The Japanese national team stood in a sharp line on the podium, sweat still glistening on their skin, their jerseys slightly wrinkled from the celebration. The gold medals around their necks shone under the stadium lights, reflecting the sheer magnitude of their win.

Sukuna stood front and center, because of course he did. He looked completely in his element, standing there with his arms crossed, his uniform slightly loose around his broad shoulders. His scarlet eyes gleamed with a mixture of triumph and undeniable smugness. 

The smirk tugging at his lips practically screamed, Yeah, I won. And yeah, I know exactly what that means.

Your stomach dropped.

Because you knew what it meant, too.

Your fate has been sealed with the win.

Twenty minutes. That’s how long you had to process the reality of your situation. That’s how long you had to sit there in the stands, listening to Geto’s barely contained cackling beside you while he kept glancing between you and Sukuna like this was the best entertainment he’d seen in years.

And, because the universe hated you, the moment the ceremony ended, Sukuna moved. Your breath hitched as he walked off the podium, cutting through the crowd like a man on a mission. People were cheering, cameras were still flashing, but none of it mattered because he was heading straight for you.

Oh, no. You knew that look. The second his scarlet eyes locked onto yours, something deep in your gut twisted. He’s not letting you get away, not right now. Not when his life long dreams came true at the same time.

“Well…..” Geto sighed beside you, stretching out his arms like he had all the time in the world. “Guess this is it for you.”

You glared at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

He grinned. “Oh, I am. That’s why I’m enjoying this.”

Before you could respond, Sukuna reached the barrier separating the court from the stands. The crowd reacted immediately, voices rising in curiosity, in anticipation because this….This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t something athletes did after winning a gold medal. 

And yet, Sukuna didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the top of the barrier and vaulted over it. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a damn obstacle at all. The gasps were instant, reporters scrambling to follow, the stadium cameras swerving to capture the moment.

“Oh my god, what the fuck?” you whispered, panic rising in your throat. “He’s coming.”

Geto, utterly unbothered, nodded sagely. “Yeah, I’d start running now.”

Your body froze in your seat, unable to move at all. Because Ryomen Sukuna was scaling the stands with ridiculous ease, weaving past rows of spectators, his eyes never leaving yours. Your pulse skyrocketed almost instantly. 

You gritted your teeth. “If I run, do you think he’ll chase me?”

Suguru snorted. “Oh, absolutely. And then he’ll catch you. Man’s an Olympian now.”

Your heart was pounding against your chest. Because he was right. You were so doomed. Then, before you could even react, Ryomen Sukuna vaulted over the barrier like it was nothing. You gasped at that, mouthing him to be careful with a panicked look.

Security barely had time to register what was happening before he leapt onto the stands, scaling them with ridiculous ease. People gasped and pointed, cameras flashed like fireworks, but you barely processed it because he was getting closer.

Suguru let out a low whistle. “Damn. He’s really coming for you.”

You shot him a glare. “You think?”

And all of a sudden, Sukuna was there. Still slightly out of breath, sweat-drenched, and absolutely radiating victory, he loomed over you with an expression that was both smug and dangerous.

Your body is locked up. For a moment, neither of you said anything. He twirled the Olympic gold medal between his fingers and smirked down at you.

“So, babe….” he drawled with a grin on his face. “Do you wanna pick the wedding venue, or should I?”

Suguru made a choking sound beside you. “Oh, my god.”

You froze in your place, still staring at him. Every neuron in your brain short-circuited. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious. You never expected this moment to happen whatsoever. He urges you to take the medal. But then you nearly fell on the side.

“Woah, careful there, babe.”

“My love, I….This is….”Your voice was barely above a whisper, your hands gripping the edge of your seat. “We are literally in a stadium. The cameras are still on you—”

“And?” he shrugged, smug as ever. “A deal’s a deal, babe. Verbal agreements matter too, you know.”

You wanted to die at this moment.

You were so red and flustered.

Suguru, meanwhile, was thriving.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever witnessed, oh my god.” he sighed dreamily, already reaching for his phone. “I need to record this for future generations.”

You smacked his arm. “Suguru, I swear to god—”

Sukuna crouched in front of you, his eyes gleaming with something softer beneath all that cocky bravado. He dangled the gold medal in front of you, letting the gold glint under the bright stadium lights. “You remember our deal, don’t you?”

Your breath caught. Because of course you did. He had said it years ago. So easily, so confidently, like he had already decided how your future would go.

"If I win a gold medal in the Olympics, you have to marry me." He smiled at you, so warmly, so full of love. “And that’s happened now…..So….”

At the time, you had laughed. Brushed it off. 

Thought, there’s no way that would happen just yet.

But here you were, sitting front and center—and he had won.

On his first try, nonetheless. 

You exhaled sharply. “I hate you.”

He laughed, that deep, victorious laugh of his. “Nah. You love me.”

Before you could respond, he grabbed your hand tenderly with a wide happy grin on his face. Your breath hitched as he placed the medal in your palm, his fingers brushing against yours, warm and solid. 

“Hold onto that for me, babe.” he murmured, voice dipping into something dangerously tender.

Your stomach flipped. “What?”

He reached into his pocket.

And your entire existence imploded.

Because between his fingers was a ring.

Not just any ring. It was stupidly elegant, clearly custom-made, and so undeniably you that it knocked the air from your lungs. The band was sleek and sophisticated, refined yet unassuming. It was something you could wear every day without it getting in the way. But the real kick? The centerpiece.

A gemstone, deep and endless, like the cosmos itself.

It wasn’t a traditional diamond. Of course it wasn’t.

Because Ryomen Sukuna knew you all too well.

You didn’t do anything ordinary, and he knew that.

No, what sat on that band was a star sapphire. It was a deep, burning ruby red, almost black under certain lights, with a radiant six-rayed star shimmering across its surface. A star captured in stone. Your own piece of the universe. And somehow, it was functional too. Because, of course, he thought of that.

The design was subtle, but you recognized it immediately. The band had fine etchings, equations so minuscule they were nearly invisible. But you knew them. Orbital mechanics, gravitational constants, the formulae you used daily in your astrophysics work.

Your throat closed up. “My love, you are so…..”

You felt Geto go still beside you, all traces of laughter gone. The crowd noise faded into a dull hum, the stadium, the cameras, the flashing lights.

All of it blurred into the background. Because Sukuna had designed this for you. Not just a ring. It was a promise. A piece of your entire world. Your world now interwoven into his, for all your lives.

Your vision blurred, overwhelming emotion just taking over you at this moment. You swallowed thickly, lips parting, but no words came out. Sukuna, smirking but softer than you’d ever seen him, twirled the ring between his fingers. 

“I figured you’d want something practical.” he murmured, voice lower now, quieter, like this moment was just for you. “Can’t have you taking it off every time you work.”

You stared at him, stared at the ring, at the undeniable thought put into every detail. Your hands trembled. He noticed, he always does. Smirk widening, because of course he noticed—he reached for your hand, effortlessly lacing his fingers through yours.

“Babe.” he teased, his voice so infuriatingly smug. “Are you crying?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, heart slamming against your ribs. 

“No.” you mouthed, obviously lying.

Geto snorted. “You absolutely are.”

You kicked him once again.

But your gaze never left Sukuna.Your stupid, cocky, unstoppable lover. Your future husband. A laugh, one which was helpless and disbelieving and overwhelmingly in love, escaped your lips almost instantaneously.

“I hate you so much.” you whispered.

His grip on your hand tightened, his smirk turning into something so devastatingly fond. “No, you don’t.” he murmured.

And ugh.

You really didn’t.

You never will.

You love him too much.

Sukuna, so unbothered, tilted his head. “Well? I’m cramping here, babe.”

Your entire soul felt like it had left your body. This wasn’t happening. There was no way this was actually happening. But it was. Because of course it was.

You forced yourself to look back at him. Slowly, hesitantly. And there he was right in front of you, hopeful, tenderly. Lovingly. He continued to wait there, patiently. 

Like he already knew your answer. 

Like he had always known.

Like he had never doubted it.

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. You groaned softly, dropping your head into your hands, as if shielding yourself from the sheer magnitude of this moment would somehow make it less real.

(And of course, it didn’t.)

He just grinned back at you.

Smug. Triumphant. Unshakable.

Because this was his win. His victory lap. 

You inhaled sharply, hands trembling, throat tight. Your vision blurred, your breath hitched, and despite everything. This ridiculous bet, the years of teasing, the absurdity of this entire moment. It was then where you nodded.

The movement was small, almost imperceptible at first, but then you exhaled and did it again. Much firmer this time, the emotion swelling so overwhelmingly in your chest that it nearly knocked you over. And then, voice cracking, eyes glistening, you let that word come out.

“Yes.”

The world just exploded. The stadium erupted into chaos. Cheers, screams, a deafening roar of noise as people realized what had just happened.

Confetti still rained from above like rain drops falling down, camera flashes went in wild abandon, and somewhere in the distance, Geto whooped so loudly you were sure he’d lose his voice tomorrow.

Ryomen Sukuna didn’t move. For a moment, he just looked at you, really looked at you. Like he was memorizing the way you said it, the way you looked at him when you did. He grinned. Bigger. Wilder. Brighter.

Without hesitation, he reached for your hand, your trembling hand, and slid the ring onto your finger, firm and decisive. Like it had always belonged there. Like you had always belonged to him.

Then, with zero shame and zero warning, Ryomen Sukuna grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you right into his arms. Into him. Into home. Into this crazy little thing called love.

“I love you.” You whispered to him. “So so much.”

He smiled at you, pulling you even closer. “I love you too.”

epilogue

You had spent years earning your place among some of the brightest minds in astrophysics. Late nights spent poring over research, heated debates about black holes and dark matter, and an almost unholy amount of coffee had gotten you here. 

You had co-authored the many papers that go through these doors, papers which pushed the boundaries of human understanding, worked on groundbreaking discoveries, and stood at the forefront of space exploration here in the office.

But, of course, that’s not always what goes on in the office.

Sometimes, it was pure chaos that comes and goes.

And today, unsurprisingly, was one of those days.

“So when’s the wedding, Mrs. Olympic Champion?”

You groaned, rubbing your temples as your lab partner, Hana, grinned at you from across the break room. “Not you too, Hana.” you muttered, slumping into your chair.

“Are you kidding?” Hana leaned forward, her mischievous smile widening. “Our very own genius astrophysicist is engaged to the Ryomen Sukuna—Olympic gold medalist, international volleyball star, walking menace and not to mention, hot? Of course I’m going to be all over this.”

A few of your other colleagues perked up at that, their heads turning toward you. Kenji snickers. “Wait, are we talking about senpai’s engagement right now?” 

You shake your head as you take a sip of your coffee. “Guys, seriously. This is not a big deal.”

“Oh, right!” one of the postdocs, Ren, chimed in. “I saw the proposal clip online. He really did it right there in the stadium, huh?”

“International and domestic television, no less!” another added, whistling. “That’s insane.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I hate all of you.”

Hana ignored you, her eyes glinting with amusement. “So, how does it feel knowing that your fiancé made the entire world witnessed your suffering?”

“Like I lost a bet I didn’t know I agreed to.” you grumbled.

Ren snorted. “Well, to be fair, you did agree to it.”

“I was a teenager!”

“Yeah, but he won, didn’t he?”

You groaned, dropping your forehead onto your desk as laughter erupted around you. “I hate all of you.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be shy, senpai!” one of your colleagues, Haruki, teased, leaning against your desk with a knowing smirk. “You’re engaged to Japan’s golden boy. Quite literally. The whole world knows.”

“Yeah.” Kenji chimed in, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You’ve been on, like, every news site. And Twitter. And TikTok. You’re basically an international event at this point.”

You peeked up from your desk, groaning. “I didn’t ask for it to be a national event.”

Hana gasped dramatically, gripping your wrist to examine the ring Sukuna had so proudly placed on your finger. “Okay, but look at this rock.” 

“It’s a beautiful rock, yes.”

She turned your hand from side to side, making the light catch on the diamond. “You could blind someone with this thing.”

Kenji whistled. “He really spent a lot of money on this, didn’t he? This is an expensive sort of build. Didn’t you say that he went and got this specially made at a lab? Insane.”

“But it’s still blinding!” Haruki says from the other side of the room.

“I wish it would blind you with it!” you muttered, pulling your hand away as another round of laughter rippled through the office.

Kenji smirked. “Bet you’re regretting that ‘at least he’s rich’ comment now, huh?”

You froze at them. Your head snapped up. “How do you know about that?!”

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s everywhere.” Hana drawled, pulling out her phone and flipping it around to show a very viral clip of Sukuna’s post-win interview.

There he was. He was grinning like the smuggest man alive, draped in his gold medal, bragging about how you totally proposed to him first. You could feel how your soul left your body as you continued to go through these pictures.

Kenji snickered. “You are never living that down.”

You covered your face with your hands. “I hate him more than I hate you guys.”

“Aw, that’s cute.” Hana cooed. “Saying you hate your fiancé instead of saying you love him. You guys have such a colorful language of love!”

“Shut up—”

BANG.

The office door slammed open.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

You didn’t even have to look.

Because there, standing in the doorway in all his Olympic glory, was none other than your personal menace—Ryomen Sukuna, standing ever so proudly as though knowing very well that he’s Japan’s volleyball hero and number one reason you were being relentlessly teased at work.

And judging by the absolute smirk on his face?

He knew exactly what he was doing.

You shake your head at him.

“My love.” you deadpanned. “What are you doing here?”

He waltzed in like he owned the place, sunglasses perched on his nose, hands shoved into his pockets, the picture of cocky confidence. “Visiting my fiancée, obviously.”

A chorus of gasps and ooohs followed.

You wanted to die almost instantly.

You will never live this down more than anything else.

Kenji leaned back in his chair, looking way too amused. “So it is true? You two have been together since high school?”

“Middle school, actually.” Sukuna shrugged, sauntering over to your desk. 

“How about the proposal?” Haruki comes around and asks. “Was that middle school too?”

“No, that was my last year of highschool. But I was always serious. She was just in denial about it ever happening.”

“But how about the post-win proposal?” Hana asked, a smile on her face.

“That was—”

You shot him a glare. “You ambushed me with a ring minutes after winning the Olympics.”

“And you still said yes, babe.” he said smugly, reaching out to tug your chair closer so you were practically against him. “Isn’t that the truth?”

Your colleagues were eating this up.

You could feel a headache coming on.

They’re going to be all too great friends here.

“God, this is better than TV, you guys!” Hana whispered.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “My love, I’m working.”

He grinned, clearly unbothered. “And I’m being a supportive fiancé.”

Kenji chuckled. “By interrupting her work?”

Sukuna shrugged. “Hey, I let her do her stuff about stars and galaxies and whatever science stuff she does all the time even when I was practicing and doing something else. I think I deserve some attention.”

“You get too much attention, if we’re being honest here.” you muttered.

He ignored you completely. “So, anyway, when are you guys throwing her an engagement party?”

Hana beamed. “Finally! Someone with real priorities!”

You gasped in betrayal. “Hana!”

Kenji smirked. “Honestly, it’s the least we can do for our future Olympic WAG.”

You froze. “What? What the fuck is that?”

Hana grinned. “You do know what that means, right?”

“Oh my god, don’t—”

“Wife And Girlfriend of an Athlete.” she said sweetly. “You’re officially a WAG now.”

You stared at her, mortified. “I have a PhD. I’m going to remain a doctor, thank you very much.”

Sukuna cackled. “And now you also have a husband—or you will soon.” He draped an arm around you, pressing a ridiculously loud kiss to your temple just to make things worse. “Though are we hyphenating our names or are you just taking mine?”

“Clearly hyphenating, I was the one who earned my degrees.” You pointed out to him and then your face scrunched. “Hold on, why are we talking about this right now?”

“Hey, it was a fair question, babe. Didn’t know it yet.”

“We could talk about that at home!”

Kenji snorted. “Guess we’ll have to change your office nameplate soon. Dr. WAG.”

Hana wiped a fake tear from her eye. “Dr. WAG sounds so powerful.”

Haruki, the ever-opportunist, grinned as he leaned lazily against your desk. “I’m sure the director would be more than willing to pitch in for that. Maybe even make it gold-plated, in honor of our Olympic champion.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto your desk again. “I hate all of you.”

Sukuna, who was enjoying this way too much, smirked and tugged your chair closer, effortlessly wrapping his arms around you from behind. His chin rested on your shoulder, his voice a teasing purr.

“Aw, babe, don’t worry.” he cooed, ever the menace. “At least I’m rich.”

You whipped around to glare at him, but he was already grinning down at you, looking so damn pleased with himself. And then, he winked. Winked hard and charming. Like he was the smoothest man alive. You kicked him under the desk. Hard.

He hissed, jerking his leg away. “Oi—”

“Shut up, Ryomen.”

“Ugh—that ain’t my name! Say it properly!”

Hana gasped dramatically. “Marital conflict already?”

Kenji shook his head. “Tragic.”

Haruki sighed, pressing a hand to his chest. “And they were such a promising couple.”

You threw crumpled paper at them, earning a laugh from them. Sukuna, having recovered,  was laughing way too hard against your shoulder. And despite all the teasing, all the chaos, and the endless insufferable smugness that came with being engaged to him, you wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Kenji smirked. “So, Mrs. Olympic Champion, when’s the wedding?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. Ask him.” 

“What about me?”

You jerked a thumb at Sukuna, who was still latched onto you like a koala. “When’s the wedding?”

Sukuna, ever unbothered, simply hummed. “Whenever she stops pretending she doesn’t want to marry me.”

Hana gasped. “Oh my God. You’re the one dragging your feet?”

You groaned. “I am not dragging my feet.”

“She’s in denial, still.” Sukuna stage-whispered to them, a teasing tone lacing his words. “But don’t worry, I’ll get her to the altar. One way or another.”

Kenji snorted. “Damn, you really did bag an Olympic gold medalist and a menace.”

Hana sighed wistfully. “Goals.”

Haruki grinned. “I give it two months before she caves.”

Sukuna smirked. “I’ll take that bet.”

You turned to him, incredulous. “Are you seriously betting on our wedding date?”

He grinned. “You know I love a good bet, babe.”

Hana leaned forward eagerly. “Okay, but what’s the wager?”

Sukuna thought for a moment. “If I win, she has to let me pick the honeymoon destination.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And if I win?”

His smirk widened. “Then you get to pretend you had a choice in marrying me.”

You kicked him under the desk again, mockingly smiling.

Hana, Kenji, and Haruki howled with laughter.

Sukuna winced but still looked entirely too pleased with himself.

This was what a happy marriage promises to look like. 

And you both could not be any happier about that.

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter five: hydrangeas & hammers

previous chapter | next chapter

summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter.But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop.For free.Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics. this is short but i love tommy teasing joel. it has to be done.

"Please tell me you’ve made a move and haven’t just been brooding in the corner." Tommy’s voice was dripping with amusement, his smirk damn near splitting his face.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tightening around the beer bottle in his hand. "I told you. I don’t like her."

Tommy’s smirk only widened, eyes gleaming with that I know better than you look, making Joel want to smack it right off his face.

"Sure," Tommy mumbled into his drink, chuckling under his breath.

Joel groaned, tilting his head back as if looking at the ceiling might make this conversation end. It didn’t.

The bar was busy for a Friday night, the low hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter filling the space. Joel should’ve been focused on his drink and unwinding after a long-ass week.

Instead, he was here, getting grilled by his damn brother.

"Ain’t got nothin’ to say to that, huh?" Tommy teased, taking a slow sip of his beer. "That’s really interesting, considering you usually don’t shut the hell up when tryin’ to prove a point."

Joel shot him a glare. "You hear yourself talkin’ right now?"

"Loud and clear." Tommy grinned. "Unlike someone who can’t even admit when he’s got it bad."

Joel scoffed. "You sound like a damn teenager."

"And you sound like a damn liar."

Joel took a long, slow drink of his beer, his jaw tightening.

Tommy leaned forward, lowering his voice just enough to really get under Joel’s skin. "So tell me, big brother—if you don’t like her, why’re you always at her shop?"

"I’m fixin’ the floor, dumbass."

"Mhm. And how come every time I bring her up, you look like you wanna throw somethin’?"

Joel shot him another glare. "Because you won’t shut up about it."

Tommy barked out a laugh, slapping a hand on the table. "Man, you are so far gone, it ain’t even funny."

Joel grunted, setting his beer down a little harder than necessary. "Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on."

Tommy raised an eyebrow, far too smug for Joel’s liking. "Yeah? Then why’re you gettin’ all flustered?"

Joel pointed a finger at him. "I ain’t flustered."

Tommy just laughed. "Right. Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Joel muttered under his breath, shaking his head, but the truth was? That damn flower was still sitting on his nightstand at home. The one you’d left at the diner and the one Ellie had given him.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

"Oh, look—here she comes." Tommy’s voice was all smug amusement, and the second the words left his mouth, Joel tensed.

His fingers had twitched against his beer bottle before, and without thinking, he smoothed a hand over his hair—just a quick fix, nothing obvious.

But it was too late. Tommy saw and he lost it.

A loud, sharp laugh burst from his chest, drawing more attention than Joel would’ve liked.

"Jesus, man!" Tommy wheezed, slapping the table. "Ain’t flustered my ass. I was joking, and here you are, fixin’ your hair like a damn schoolboy tryin’ to impress his crush."

Joel stiffened, heat creeping up his neck.

Oh, he was definitely gonna deck his brother.

"The hell is wrong with you?" he growled, narrowing his eyes.

Tommy just kept laughing, leaning back in his chair, absolutely thriving in Joel’s misery.

"I was just messin’ with you!" Tommy grinned, shaking his head. "Wish you coulda seen your damn face, though. You looked real pretty for a second there."

Joel gritted his teeth, his fingers itching to throw a punch—or, at the very least, knock Tommy’s beer clean out of his hand.

Tommy’s laughter finally died down after a full minute—a full damn minute—before he took another sip of his beer, shaking his head.

"I invited her out tonight, but she texted me sayin’ she couldn’t get a babysitter for Ellie."

Joel stilled.

Something stupid and sharp twisted in his chest.

He had no right to feel anything about that. None at all. But still—Tommy had your number?

Of course, he did. You two were friends. Had been for years. Tommy was just the kind of guy people liked, the kind who could strike up a conversation with a stranger and walk away with a new best friend.

Joel was… not that guy. He was just your friend’s brother.

Nothing more.

"Don’t care," Joel muttered, taking another swig of his beer, hoping it would wash down the very unwelcome feeling creeping up his throat.

Tommy snorted. "Yeah? Then why you grittin’ your teeth so hard? You tryin’ to break ‘em?"

Joel shot him a glare, but Tommy just grinned, unbothered as ever.

"It’s funny how you claimed to hate her, then turned right around and offered to fix her flower shop floor for free." Tommy shook his head, smirking. "You confuse me, brother."

Joel groaned, tilting his beer bottle back, taking a long drink, willing himself to shut up, but the words slipped out anyway.

"Why ain’t you ever made a move?"

Tommy blinked, caught off guard.

Joel instantly regretted asking.

"What?" Tommy laughed. "Me and her? C’mon, man. She’s like family."

Joel grunted, nodding a little too quickly. "Right. Yeah. That makes sense."

Tommy narrowed his eyes, watching him. "Why? You jealous?"

"The hell would I be jealous for?" Joel scoffed, setting his bottle down with a thud.

"Good question," Tommy smirked, then leaned in slightly. "You sure you don’t wanna ask me somethin’ else while we’re at it? Maybe somethin’ about her? ‘Cause I know you wanna."

Joel glared. "I don’t."

Tommy just waited.

Joel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw before muttering, "How come she’s a single mom, then?"

Tommy’s expression shifted, the teasing edge softening just a little. "Her ex was never in the picture. Didn’t want the responsibility."

Joel’s grip tightened around his bottle.

"So it’s just her and Ellie?"

"Yeah. Pretty much."

Joel was quiet for a second, tapping his fingers against the glass.

"Ellie like you?"

Tommy huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, I’d say so. The kid’s a firecracker, though. Takes a bit to warm up to people." He shot Joel a knowing look. "She warmed up to you yet?"

Joel grunted, staring into his drink like it might get him out of this conversation.

"Mhm. Thought so," Tommy mused, sitting back with a grin. "Y’know, I could give you some advice on how to charm her."

Joel scowled. "I don’t need your damn advice."

"Sure, sure," Tommy smirked, raising his beer. "You just keep pretendin’ you don’t care while you ask me every damn thing about her. See how that works out for ya."

Joel grumbled under his breath and took another swig of his beer, but the truth was?

It wasn’t working out for him at all.

taglist: @hermionelove, @niceforcum, @ashhlsstuff, @doeeyestoji, @12thatsanumber, @cherrygirl19, @thottiewinemom, @ladynightingale, @doodlebob-mp3, @alitaar

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - five (j.yh)

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

note: part five got away from me, so there will now be a part six which will end wrap up this story. this chapter is deeply emotional and full of moments that i truly hope everyone loves, though it's a bit of a plot direction i'm not sure anyone expected. additional notes at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers. thank you all for your love and support on this fic, it means the world.

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, anxiety/nerves, lots of angst, lots of tears, mentions of functional vs. dysfunctional families, alcohol consumption (not heavy), needy/rough sex, sex with no prep, clothed sex, oral sex f!receiving, mention of handjobs, romantic af sex, lots and lots and lots of praise/ possessive petnames (i.e. 'my love', 'my baby'), overuse of jagiya, basically they're soooo fucking happy to be back together

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 15.7k

It’s been too long since you’ve had a cup of Em’s herbal tea, that you’re sure of when you take the first long sip, cozied in the corner of their sofa and looking out the window at the little greenhouse patio room where Em tends to all her plants. It’s been five days since you left Seoul, and all you’ve heard from anyone is a single text message from Iseul that made your stomach roll. 

I’m sorry - I’ll call you as soon as I can. 

You had left your best friend a voicemail while Hana drove out of the city, short but to the point. You can remember the words perfectly - The company knows, things are bad and I’m going to Hana’s for a little while. Please tell him where I am, tell him I’m waiting. 

The single text and the silence after that has left you feeling untethered for days. 

The bond with Yunho has stayed mostly quiet. You can still feel him, his presence inside you will never fade, but he feels flat, shut down. It reminds you of that day in the airport, the way you seemed to lose connection with him when he steeled himself for the experience of being mobbed by fans. You wonder how much effort it takes him to mute his own emotions like this, you wonder if he can still feel you and the way you’ve cried yourself to sleep every night since you were fired. 

A breeze passes through the open window in the greenhouse, leaves swaying and shuddering with the air, and you hear the sound of the watering can, of Em’s house slippers on the slate flooring. 

For a brief moment, you picture a little house like this in the countryside. 

Yunho somewhere in the kitchen, your flowers in the garden, and little hands beside yours in the dirt. 

Your chest throbs, and you push yourself up to your feet before the quiet of the house lets you daydream anymore about a future that feels so much farther away than it did five days ago. 

Em turns as you step down into the greenhouse, and you tap the side of your cup, “I think this blend is the best you’ve done,” 

Em smiles, her kind face always putting you right at ease, “Yeah?” 

You nod, taking another sip, “What’s in this one?” 

“A mix,” She replies, “holy basil, lemongrass, dandelion root and nettle,” 

You wouldn’t know the difference between one herb and another, but Em does and she recites the ingredients in a way that calms you and takes your mind right back to the present and away from wandering, painful thoughts of the future. 

“Oh,” She nods, gesturing towards a large pot, “and gingko leaf,” 

“Mm,” You nod. 

Em finds a pair of shears and holds them out handle-side towards you. 

“Putting me to work?” You smile, setting your cup of tea to the side. 

“Hana’s cooking soon,” She nods and gestures towards a large box of pepper plants, “we need five or six of those,” 

“Sure,” 

It’s quiet for a moment as you assess the ripeness of the shishitos and while Hana refills her watercan from a hose in the corner, but when you start to clip a few off their leafy green plant, a voice catches you from the doorway. 

 “Should we take a trip?” Hana’s brightness fills the space, your sister always one to throw an idea at the wall and see if it will stick.

“A trip?” You blink. 

“Jeju, maybe?” She offers, looking between you and Em. 

“I’m unemployed, Hana,” You know she’s just trying to make you feel better, but your heart sinks and you scrub a hand over your tired face, “I should probably get a job.” 

“It hasn’t even been a week,” She says, “what you need is a break.” 

“Han,” You sigh, “I told you, Iseul knows where I am, which means he knows where I am. I can’t just leave.” 

Em is quiet behind you, but you hear her set down the watering can and exhale softly. 

“Iseul, the girl who ratted you out?” Hana says, her voice a little sharper than it was the last time she asked this question.

“I told you already,” You shake your head, “they lied about that.” 

Your sister’s jaw tightens and relaxes, like she’s trying to keep herself from saying something. It’s been days of this. When you got to the house you poured the whole story out in a wash of tears, and ever since Hana has been upset at the wrong things and the wrong people. Em has been your calm constant, always a listener first, careful not to assume. 

“I just think he should have found a way to call you,” Hana says, sinking into the doorframe and her eyes softening to something you can only describe as pity, “and I still don’t think you can trust Iseul, but after five days how hard is it to pick up a phone?” 

“Han,” You chest aches, “Hana, I really can’t hear this,” 

“I think you might need to hear it,” She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest, “I think you’re just sitting here in pain while he could do something about it,” 

“Baby,” Em finally speaks up, shaking her head in your peripheral vision at her wife. 

“I know, I know,” Hana says, “I’m just worried about you, I’ve never seen you like this and I know he has a very important job or whatever, but you’re,” 

Your heart lurches, “Hana, I love you, but you do not know what this industry is like.” 

“I just,” 

“When they want to,” You continue, “they control every facet of your life. Yunho’s in trouble because of us, I’m not angry with him, I’m worried about him. If he hasn’t called me, I promise you he has a reason and I’m not going farther away from him while this is happening,” 

She lets out a dejected breath of air, “Fine,” 

“Iseul will call,” You add, “I don’t blame anybody but the company,” 

“And if,” Hana starts to say. 

“Let’s not,” Em interrupts smoothly, “y/n, how are those peppers coming?” 

You blink, the sheers and the peppers in your hands forgotten with the sudden presence of your sister, “Uh,” you clear your throat, “good,” 

“Great,” Em smiles widely and lightens the mood, “Han, baby, I’m getting hungry. Can we start the meat?” 

Hana’s lips close into a little line and then she exhales slowly through her nose before nodding, “Yeah, I’ll get it going,” 

“Great, we’ll be in soon,” Em says with gentle authority. 

Hana nods, disappearing around the corner and you let out a heavy sigh, letting your eyes go unfocused again on the plant in front of you. 

After a moment, Em rests a gentle hand on your back, “You know I love your sister, but when she makes up her mind about something,” 

You nod as Em trails off, “She’s wrong about this though,” 

Em hums in understanding and takes the shears out of your hands to finish clipping the remaining peppers off their vine. 

“Something isn’t right,” You explain quietly, “I can feel him, but it’s so distant, he wouldn’t be pushing me away if there wasn’t a good reason,” 

“I believe you,” Em replies. 

“I want Hana to understand,” You confess, “I don’t want her to hate him,” 

Em leans in, wrapping her arms around you in a hug and you let her, biting the inside of your lip to keep your emotions in check for what feels like the hundredth time today, “She won’t,” Em says softly, “but she loves you and needs to make sure her big sister is okay, okay?” 

You nod. 

“I’ll talk to her,” She says as she steps back out of the hug, “but for now, let’s go make dinner. Let’s open a bottle of wine and just forget about it for tonight. If you say Iseul will call, she’ll call. If you say he’s going to come for you, he will, but waiting for it is making you sick. Let’s let it go for a little while,” 

Thick emotion sits lodged in your throat, but you manage a nod, “Okay,” 

“Okay,” She smiles, cupping your cheek for a moment and wiping away a single stray tear, “come on,” 

You follow her into the kitchen, where Hana has already started laying out cutting boards and pulling ingredients out of the fridge, but when you cross into the room she drops the bundle of green onions onto the counter and walks over to you, throwing her arms around you. 

“Oh,” You hug her back, your eyes connecting with Em across the room who gives you a soft shrug and a knowing smile. 

“I’m sorry,” Hana squeezes you, “I didn’t mean to make you upset again,” 

“It’s alright,” You murmur, “I just want you to trust me,” 

“I trust you,” She sighs, “I do,” 

You expect a ‘but’, a follow up, something about how no matter how much she trusts you she doesn’t trust the people who made you feel this way, but if Hana thinks it, this time she holds her tongue. 

At the sharp sound of a cork pulling free from a wine bottle, you both separate and turn towards Em who holds up a sizable bottle of red. 

“Come on,” She says finding some glasses, “let’s get drunk,” 

The tension in the room diffuses, and for the first time in days the knot between your shoulders loosens. 

Em pours the wine, Hana sparks the flame on the gas stove, and you slide into place at the cutting board to start prepping vegetables. Within fifteen minutes, the warmth of the wine works its way into your system, Em has thrown a vinyl on the turntable and turned up the volume, and Hana is in her element with the stirfry. 

You don’t see Iseul’s first call or her second, the music in the kitchen is too loud and you’re in the middle of your first real and good laugh since the firing, your phone forgotten on the island entirely. It isn’t until you’re walking past to get a look at the recipe on Hana’s phone that you see yours light up again with Iseul’s name and you hastily wipe your hands on your apron and reach for it. 

You almost drop it as you fish it off the table, and Hana and Em go quiet as they watch you fumble to answer. There’s a single second of doubt, a moment of fear in your stomach about what she’s going to say, but you push it aside and pick up, “Hello?” 

“y/n?” Iseul sounds relieved. 

“Hey,” it’s all you can manage, and despite Hana’s nervous expression, you walk straight out of the kitchen to a quieter part of the house to finally, finally find out what’s been going on at home in Seoul. 

“I know what they told you,” Iseul starts, her voice a little emotional, “but I swear to god, I didn’t tell anyone about you and Yunho.” 

“I know,” You breathe, but you’re still relieved to hear her say it and the words come out in a sigh.

“It was Eunji,” 

That gets your attention. 

At the far side of the house you lean against the stairs until you’re sinking down onto them, disbelief in your voice, “Eunji?” 

You weren’t as close with her as you were with Iseul, but you were still on the same team. You considered her your friend, you would have never done something like this to her. 

“She saw you and Yunho together,” She explains, “she overheard us talking too, I didn’t know she had, she just… she put some things together, jumped to conclusions,” 

“And she just reported us? Just like that?” 

“It’s, yeah,” Iseul takes a breath. 

“I don’t even know what she saw, what she thinks she knows,” Your gut clenches in disbelief, in anger. 

“I think half of it was guessing, half of it lies. Saving her own skin,” Iseul says. 

“Her own skin?” 

“She’s been on a probationary action plan, apparently,” Iseul informs you, “she posted something on social media a few months ago that accidentally disclosed the members’ location, she got reprimanded and warned.” 

“Fuck,” You blink, “I had no idea,”

“No one did,” She continues, “she sold you out to make herself look better,” 

“Iseul,” You breathe, dropping your head into your hands, “what about Yunho?” 

She’s quiet for a moment, but then she says, “It’s been bad here.” 

Alarm shoots through you, “Is he alright?” 

“They took his phone,” She explains, “they’re watching him and the other members like hawks, it’s like they’re rookies again.” 

You swallow tightly. 

“The staff was told you were let go for budget,” She goes on, “which kind of backfired on them. Everyone’s speculating who’s next. With how weird it’s been… I just didn’t know what happened in the meeting, I didn’t want to reach out and make something worse if something was going on legally,” 

“Oh,” 

“I talked to Yunho this morning,” She says and you straighten up, “he told me what happened, he told me what they said about you and that I was the one who… and Eunji was acting weird, sneaky, I’m just sorry I didn’t call before,” 

“I know, it’s okay, I’m okay,” You breathe. 

“No,” She manages, “I should have called,” 

“Iseul, please,” You shake your head, “I don’t care about that anymore,” 

She sighs, and then she says something else, her voice low enough that you wonder where she is and if someone could overhear her side of things, “They’re working on a plan,” she says, “he’s not giving up, and the members are with him.” 

Relief fills your chest, “They are?” 

“Yunho said they’re moving fast,” 

Heat wells in your eyes, the start of tears, “Okay,” 

“We didn’t have much time to talk, but he said soon,” 

You nod, your hand tightening on your thigh as you get your emotions in check, “How did he seem? How is he?” 

”Not good, babe,” She admits, “he’s… it’s obvious he’s not sleeping or eating.” 

“I need to come home,” You breathe.

 “No,” She insists, “not yet,” 

“Iseul,” You massage a tight spot of anxiety on your chest. 

“He said he knows you’re far, he can feel that you’re not in Seoul,” She continues, “when I told him you were with Hana he looked so relieved,” 

Your eyes press shut. 

“Listen,” She murmurs, “I have a letter for you,” 

“A letter?” You take a deep breath. 

“He asked me not to read it, just to get it to you. I mailed it to Hana’s this morning,” She says softly. 

It feels like a lifeline.

“I know this is bad right now,” She says, “but tell me you’re okay,” 

“I don’t know,” You offer, “tell me this is going to work out?” 

“It’s going to work out,” She insists, “you’re not here, but people aren’t happy. Everyone has questions about your firing, even managers are asking questions. One of the security officers said the way KQ handled it didn’t sit right,” 

“Are you serious?” Your eyes widen. 

“People love you here,” She reminds you, “you’re family. I don’t know what happened in that room, but this is not going away like they want. You just have to stay strong.” 

You wipe the threat of tears away and nod, “I want to come home,” 

“I know,” She murmurs, “but trust him, I’ve never seen the members this serious. Something’s happening, something big,” 

“I trust him,” You breathe, “I trust you,” 

“We’ve got you,” She says, her voice stronger than how you’ve felt in days, “you’re coming home.” 

For the first time in five days, you feel a real moment of hope. 

“Babe,” She takes a sharp breath, “I am, I really… I’m so sorry,” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” 

“I didn’t tell them,” She says, “but Eunji still heard something from me, if I had just,” 

“You didn’t do anything that Yunho and I didn’t do ten times over,” You brush her guilt away, “sneaking off at the office, finding little ways to be together. We couldn’t help ourselves, and here we are. If it wasn’t her it would have been someone else, but you kept our secret, you didn’t do this,” 

She’s quiet for a moment and then she makes a soft sound to clear her throat, “You’re my best friend,” 

“You’re mine,” You reply automatically. 

“Listen,” She says, “I’ve got to go, I don’t want anyone to walk in and overhear, but look for the letter. He said the plan’s in there. Stay strong, and I’ll text you and keep you updated, we’re gonna figure this out.” 

You grab onto that thought with both hands, “Okay,” 

“I love you, girl,” She says softly. 

“Love you too,” 

When the call ends, emotion floods your chest. You're terrified, relieved, grateful, hopeful, all of it at once for the first time in days. It took a while, but you finally know the truth of what you always believed, Yunho’s fighting for you, just like he promised he would. 

Now you just have to wait. 

It takes two days, but his letter finally arrives. 

For two days you prepared yourself for what he could have written. You packed your bags for Seoul, you texted endlessly with Iseul, and you tried to find every chore under the sun around the house to help Hana and Em with to keep your mind off the impending something that was coming in the mail. 

When the post finally pushes through the mail slot in the door on the second day after your call, you run to get it, searching through the pile of papers until you see a manila envelope with your name on it. It feels like the sweetest relief, yesterday’s mail just bills and junk, a little bit of heartbreak even though you knew logically mail from Seoul would take longer than a single day.

But it’s here now, safely in your hands. You sink back against the door and tear it open, getting to the sealed letter inside, Yunho’s messy handwriting instantly identifiable. With shaking hands you let the rest of the mail fall to the floor and you pull open the crisp white envelope to get at the folded sheet of paper inside. 

y/n -

I love you, this first always. 

Tears spill over and you blink hard to clear your vision before you start the letter over again. 

y/n - 

I love you, this first always. You must hate me for this silence, for how long it’s been, but please remember I love you and I promise everything I’m doing now I do for you. You’re my heart, you are in me always. 

There’s so much to say, but I’ll do it in person. I have a plan, and the members are standing beside us. After they took you away, they made it clear that any contact with you from any of the members would mean a breach of contract. They still don’t know that we’ve already started working on negotiations, they think they caught us unprepared. Our outside attorney has been quietly advising us these past few days through Hongjoong, and we’ve put together all the plans and paperwork. It didn’t happen like it was supposed to, but we are going to push harder for renegotiation, and you’re a part of that. There’s so much to explain, so much legal jargon I’ve been researching for days, but we’re almost ready and all the risks seem worth it if you and I are together at the end of this.

I wish I could see you now, apologize for everything that happened. What they did to you was wrong, not just how they treated you as a person, but legally. I will explain it all when we see each other, but I have hope now and so should you. 

We’ve organized a meeting, and I hope you’ll come. Thursday, at ten after our schedules we will be staying late for more practice and meeting secretly with the attorney in person. Monday morning we have a meeting with our CEO. I am fighting for us, and I need you by my side. I don’t know where you are, but I feel it in my body that it’s not here, not home. I’m asking Iseul to get this letter to you, and I’m asking you to trust me. 

Please come home to me. I’m ready to fight for us, I’m ready for our story to start. 

I love you, I’ll never stop. 

Yours. 

By the time you’re finished reading, your hands are shaking, tears tracking down your cheeks.

With the letter clutched in your hand your heart feels like it’s finally beating to the right rhythm again.

“Hana,” You call into the depths of the house, scrubbing away your tears “I need a ride to Seoul!”

One more day, just one. 

Tomorrow, you’ll be back in his arms. 

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

The drive home feels longer than ever. 

It’s raining when you make it to the KQ studio space, a heavy dark downpour that leaves Hana driving slowly through deep puddles to get into the familiar parking garage. It’s fairly empty, it always is in the evening after eight or nine, so you’re able to park inconspicuously but still close to the lower access doors. 

Everything feels like the plot of a film, clandestine meetings and back door business deals. 

By the time Hana engages the parking brake, your heart is pounding in your chest. You breathe through it, unbuckling your seatbelt and hastily smoothing down your hair before pressing a hand to your anxious chest. 

Hana kills the ignition and twists in her seat, “We’re coming in with you,” 

“Yeah?” Your eyebrows raise. 

“I’m meeting him,” She nods, “and you need backup.” 

Em nods from the backseat and rests a warm hand on your shoulder, “You’re not going in alone.” 

Your phone buzzes in your hands and you nod before you see the text you’ve been waiting for from Iseul. 

“She’s downstairs,” You say, “let’s go,” 

Quietly, you all exit the car, waiting for only the briefest moment by the lower door. Iseul pops her head out as the heavy industrial door swings open and you rush forwards. 

She tugs you into a hug once you’re all safely inside and you can already feel the rising tide of emotion and nerves flooding through you. 

“Hey,” Iseul manages, her voice cracking, “I’m so fucking happy to see you,” 

“Me too,” You breathe back the rush of tears. 

“Everyone’s upstairs,” She says as you break apart, “are you ready?” 

“Ready for what?” You manage, “Yunho’s letter wasn’t clear on the specifics,” 

“Shit,” She says, “okay you’re going to want to take a deep breath.” 

“Why?” You glance to your sister. 

“There’s a lot of people here, it’s going to be fine though,” Iseul tells you, hitting the button for the elevator. 

“As long as he’s here I really don’t care if you have the entire National Assembly upstairs,” 

Iseul laughs softly, “I’ll remember you said that,” she says, and then she turns to acknowledge your family, “hi Hana, hi Em, I’m so glad you’re both here,” 

“Of course,” Hana says as the elevator doors open, “we’re here for whatever she needs,” 

Iseul smiles warmly as you all step into the elevator. 

As the doors close, you can hear them still talking - small talk about the rain, the drive to Seoul, but you can’t take it in. For the first time in days, you can feel him close again, and your heart picks up inside your chest. You don’t care what’s in store for you here, as long as you can see him again, feel his touch, as long as he’s still your center. 

The minute the doors open your feet start carrying you forwards, just a quick walk down the hall and into the studio space you know so well. Past the room where they do their dance practices is a series of smaller studios, offices, and a conference room with a large lobby in the center. You don’t need Iseul to tell you where he is, you feel the pull of him, and you follow it all the way down the corridor and around the corner into the main space. 

There’s other people here but you don’t take in a single soul except Yunho. He’s waiting for you, standing tall in the center of the lobby and watching for you, and the moment you round the corner and meet his eyes he’s moving. 

Your bag falls from your shoulder to the floor and you rush forwards to meet him.

He scoops you up like he has to touch you, pulling you into his arms in a desperate embrace, and finally the feeling inside you snaps. A relieved sob bubbles up from your throat and you bury your face into his shoulder, clinging to his sweatshirt. 

“You’re here,” He manages, his head pressed against yours. 

You nod, tightening your arms around his shoulders, “I missed you,” 

He makes a small, shuddering sound, his hand cupping the back of your head tenderly, and then all at once whatever walls he had maintained for days crumble to the ground. You feel him, his emotions, his mind, it all crashes into you. You know in a rush what he’s been dealing with for days. Unadulterated fear for you, shame in himself, betrayal, grief, and all encompassing anger. But beneath that, laced through every inch, is fierce determination and love, full and timeless for you. 

He breathes out in a shudder of relief before pulling back so he can see your face, smoothing back your hair to look at you, to love you, “Hi,” he murmurs softly. 

“Hi,” You touch his cheek as a smile spreads over his face. 

He looks tired, like stress has run him ragged since you’ve been gone, but he’s real and he’s solid under your touch. 

Behind you, Iseul gently clears her throat, and it breaks the spell. Glancing to either side you realize for the first time you’re not alone with him. 

“Yunho,” You murmur, “what’s going on?”

He nods, “Right, of course,” 

He’s hesitant to put you down, that you can feel, but he sets you back on your feet and chooses to hold your hand instead, fingers laced together tightly. 

His skin feels so right. 

Yunho straightens up, “Um,” he exhales, “okay there’s a lot to tell you,” 

“Hey, y/n,” Wooyoung says from a few feet away and you grin when you see him and all the members off to the side, looking a little emotional themselves. 

“Hey,” You feel so dizzy with happiness to be back here, to see so many faces you’d spent the last five years with. 

You look past them and around the lobby and your chest tightens, it’s more than just the members. You recognize managers, and you hear additional voices down the hall where you know there’s a kitchenette. You hear the sound of the espresso machine, and to the right of the hall, you can see more figures behind the frosted glass walls of the conference room. 

“Yunho,” You breathe. 

Iseul said there would be a lot of people here, and she wasn’t kidding. 

“I’ll explain everything soon,” He says, running his hands up and down your arms, “but everyone here is here to help us, to support us,” 

“Your managers,” Your eyes dart that way again. 

“Don’t agree with what’s happened at all,” He says firmly, “they’re like family to us, they didn’t want all of us to be treated this way,” 

“Everyone knows?” Your eyebrows raise. 

“Everyone here does,” He nods, “it’s all part of the plan for Monday,” 

Your head is spinning already, “I don’t,” 

“I promise I’ll explain,” He reiterates, “do you trust me?” 

“Of course,” 

“Then trust me,” He murmurs, “I promise, we’re going to be okay.” 

He’s so solid, so confident, and you blink back a hazy mist of tears, nodding to him. 

Yunho squeezes your hands and then he nods towards the doorway, “This must be Hana,” 

You remember yourself then, pulling him over, “God, I’m sorry,” you tell her, “yes, Hana and Em, this is Yunho.” 

Yunho bows deeply, and tight emotion catches in your throat, “Thank you both for taking care of her,” he says, “it’s… I’m honored to meet you. y/n speaks of you so warmly, I’m so glad to have you both here for us.” 

Em smiles widely, nudging her wife, “We’re so happy to meet you,” 

Hana nods, looking between the two of you, “Same,” he says, her eyes watering, “oh fuck, I’m going to cry already,” 

Yunho smiles. 

Em squeezes Hana’s shoulders and smoothly takes over, “It looks like you have a plan?” 

Yunho nods, “Yes, the short version is that we’re all set to do the final review of the renegotiations and prepare to speak with our CEO on Monday,” 

Your eyes flick to the board room, “Your attorney’s here?” 

He nods, “Ready to walk us through the paperwork and confirm the plan,” 

“And y/n’s involvement?” Hana clears her throat. 

“She’s part of everything,” Yunho says calmly, turning to you, “we’ll go over it in detail, but we want things fixed for you too, not just our contracts.” 

You nod. 

“There’s more to it than that, but,” He looks a little nervous, a brief flicker of it in his chest, but he shifts his attention back to your sister, “will you both stay? I know it’s late, but,” 

“We’re here,” Em nods. 

“Thank you,” He smiles, “there’s a kitchen that way, bathrooms down the hall to the left, and plenty of couches. Can I get you anything?” 

Hana and Em both shake their heads. 

“Yunho,” Hongjoong’s voice breaks your attention and you both look to the side, “we’re ready to start,” 

The members are filing into the boardroom and your heart seems to pound faster in your chest. 

“We’ll be right here,” Hana assures you, “come get us if you need us,” 

All you can do is nod. 

“Ready?” Yunho wraps his arm around you, this time steering you in the direction of the board room.

”As I can be,” You admit, “I still don’t know what’s going on,” 

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, “and there is something else,” 

You look up to him and he grimaces lightly. 

“My family’s here,” He says softly. 

“What?” Shock spreads through you. 

“They came up when I told them what was happening, and they brought some paperwork I needed from home,” He sums up quickly, “a lot is going to happen over the next few days, and I needed them here,” 

“You’re scaring me a little,”  

“It’s okay,” He smiles, “I swear, trust me, remember?” 

Anxiety tumbles in your gut as you round the corner into the conference room. Too much was happening, an overwhelming wave of information and whatever this meeting was would be no better you’re sure of that. 

But Yunho’s hand is in yours, his heartbeat steady. 

If nothing else is true in the world, you trust this man. 

The conference table is a long, expensive looking walnut right for a business meeting, and Yunho walks you to two middle seats saved just for you both. The members circle on either side of you, and across the table you’re face to face with Hongjoong and a sharp looking man in a suit who you can only assume is their attorney. Their managers sit in extra office chairs that have been wheeled into the room, and you’re acutely aware that every pair of eyes in the room is on you and Yunho. 

“Alright,” The attorney begins, “you must be y/n, I’m Attorney Choi,” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” You nod your head. 

“And you,” He smiles, and there’s genuine warmth in it, “everyone’s told me good things,” 

Heat pricks at your cheeks. 

He slides a few folders in front of himself and takes a quick sip of water. Your stomach tightens, remembering the folder packed full of lies from the last time you were in a KQ office. 

Yunho’s hand smooths up and down your spine. 

“Now,” Attorney Choi says, “let’s get started, we have a coup to plan,” 

Your hands clasp together under the table, and you swallow nervously. 

“Joong,” Yunho prompts softly, and you watch Hongjoong nod. 

“Right,” He says, “y/n, I’m sure Yunho told you this part but Monday we are meeting with the CEO and we have some options.” 

You nod, and Yunho’s hand continues the slow comforting line up and down your back. 

“We have adjusted contracts ready,” He explains, “it includes everything we’ve agreed on as eight members. I’ll let Yunho talk you through those details later, but the most important thing for this conversation is that all romantic entanglement clauses are to be dropped immediately.” 

“With everything you’re negotiating for,” You glance between Hongjoong and Yunho, “do you expect they will agree or not?” 

Attorney Choi interjects smoothly, “They won’t, but we have a prepared list of changes and adjustments. Companies need to feel like they’re winning, like they’re getting the best part of the deal, so we’ll make them believe that.” 

You nod. 

“We also have separate documentation that concerns you,” Yunho says. 

Attorney Choi once again jumps in, “Miss y/n,” he says, tapping a small stack of papers on the tabletop to line them up before sliding them over to you, “please review these. We intend to assert on your behalf that your termination was not only harassment, but unlawful.” 

Your eyes skim the page at rapid speed and you can’t take in everything, but certain words jump out at you - misogynistic language, discrimination, libel, unfounded accusations, the list goes on. 

“This we want you to explicitly agree to,” Hongjoong says, “we won’t pursue it if you’re not comfortable.” 

Quickly you flip through the pages, glancing at Yunho, “You’ve read this?” 

“Carefully,” He assures you. 

You swallow, letting the papers fall closed so you can look up again, “I don’t want this to interfere with your ability to get a positive outcome in the negotiation.” 

Hongjoong shakes his head, “You getting your job back is a positive outcome,” 

“When push comes to shove,” Their attorney offers, “the courts don’t rule favorably for women in cases like these, I won’t lie to you.” 

Yunho turns to watch you, his eyes studying your expression, but you simply nod, “I know.” 

“That being said,” He continues, “no company wants this kind of story in the media or to spend time in court arguing the finer points of sexism. We use this to get your job back as part of the negotiation, and to give your relationship status with Mr. Jeong immunity,” 

“I’ll do it,” You nod. 

“You should read it through,” Hongjoong starts but you shake your head, turning to Yunho. 

“You’ve read it, what do you think?” 

He takes your hand, “It’s not without risk,” he says honestly, “but it’s our best option for keeping your name and your job in the negotiation process. I don’t want you left behind by whatever this this turns into,” 

You squeeze his hand, “I trust you.” 

He nods, the weight of that trust not lost on him, his thumb grazing slowly over your knuckles.

You turn back to Hongjoong, “I’ll do it,” 

He smiles a little and then nods, “Alright,” 

“What happens if they say no to everything?” You ask, “What happens if they don’t want to negotiate at all?” 

Hongjoong looks around the table at his members, and then finally back to you, “We are prepared to walk away from KQ if that happens.” 

Your stomach drops like lead, “What?” 

Hongjoong clears his throat, “For a long time, we’ve discussed the future after this company. KQ has taken care of us up until now, but we won’t tolerate a hostile work environment.” 

You grip Yunho’s hand harder.

“Mingi and I have talked about our own label since before debut,” He says and your eyes widen, “we always planned to do it someday, but if these negotiations go poorly, we are prepared to walk away as a group and rebuild under a new label, our own label.” 

“But,” You flounder, “The money,” 

Hongjoong nods, “It’s no small thing,” he agrees, “you’re right, but we’ve run the numbers. We can pay the debts we owe, and wash our hands of this company if we have to.”

You look to Yunho. 

“Our families,” He says softly, “many of them have agreed to become primary investors in the label,” 

Your eyes sting with tears, “But, that’s… this is too risky,” 

“It is risky,” Hongjoong says, “but it is a risk we are all willing to take together for the sake of all of our happiness and success.” 

You cover your mouth with your free hand, shock in every inch of your system. 

“In all likelihood,” Attorney Choi offers, “your CEO is a pragmatic man. At the potential of losing their only senior group publicly, they will meet our demands. Their wallets would not easily recover from that level of revenue loss, that is a risk I am confident they are not willing to take.” 

You let that sink in.

”They need us more than we need them,” Hongjoong says, “that we are all sure of.” 

You nod, your voice a little hoarse from the shock, “What more do you need from me?” 

“Right now, nothing,” Their attorney says, “be available if we need you to speak to KQ leadership directly, but otherwise your signature on a few documents will be enough.” 

“You won’t need to talk to them,” Yunho asserts. 

“I’ll do whatever it is you need me to do,” You tell them honestly. 

Attorney Choi nods, “Then let’s begin and review the plan for Monday,” 

Everyone nods, and you look at Yunho to see if you should leave, give them space to discuss the minutiae of contracts, but he holds your hand steady. 

The review takes over an hour, and the plan is layered and detailed. Their attorney will do the talking in the meeting, and state their intent to renegotiate immediately. He’ll cover the high points of their requests, and position things carefully where your firing and mistreatment is concerned. Management will be present to lend their support, all members will be there to personally state their own commitment to renegotiation or termination, and you will be patiently waiting by the phone. 

By the end your head is throbbing, every facet of the plan peeled open and examined to ensure the right outcome, but where they’ve all had over a week to come to terms with this plan, you’ve digested it at lightning speed. 

“It’s late,” Attorney Choi finally says, “this weekend get some rest where you can, this may be a long fight ahead.” 

It’s nearly midnight, and your head is fuzzy. You have an overwhelming urge to just sink into Yunho’s chest and beg him to take you home, but everyone’s still discussing little details amongst themselves and your head spins from all the information. 

“I feel good about it,” San says, standing and stretching, “not to be too confident too soon,” 

“Optimistic,” Seonghwa offers. 

Yunho nods in agreement, but you watch his hand nervously tighten and release as he stands. 

“Tomorrow we’ll,” Mingi trails off and then clears his throat “well, you’ll let us know,” 

Yunho nods, eyes flicking to you for a brief second, “I’ll text you,” 

Mingi smiles, “Alright,” 

Yunho’s hands slide over your shoulders and he gives you a squeeze, “Ready?” 

“Yeah,” You have to fight back a yawn, but you thank the attorney profusely before you turn to follow Yunho. 

When you make it to the door though, he pauses and wraps an arm around you, “Listen, I know it’s late, but I have a few people to introduce you to,” 

For a split second you don’t make sense of his words, but as you come out of the conference room and back into the lobby with the wide couches, it all clicks back into place. Sitting in the center of the room is Hana and Em on one couch, with Iseul perched delicately on the arm, and across from them on the opposite couch is an older couple and a young man in his early twenties that looks so similar to Yunho you think for a moment your sleepy brain is playing a trick on you until you remember his family is here. 

Iseul looks to you, and smiles, gesturing as subtly as possible for you to take a deep breath. 

Your eyes widen a little, and then Yunho steers you right into the conversational fray. 

“Baby,” He squeezes your shoulder, “I want you to meet my family,” 

You would have known it without him telling you. Now that you’re right in front of them it’s even more obvious, Yunho is the near spitting image of his father, though he’s a few inches taller, and Yunho’s brother is a younger, lankier, and tanner version of him, all three of them with the same kind smiles. His mother, though, you see Yunho’s eyes the moment you look at her. 

“Oh,” You breathe, and suddenly you wish you had worn something different or done absolutely anything to your hair. 

Those thoughts barely last though, because Yunho’s mother pushes her son aside to wrap her arms around you. 

“Eomma,” Yunho chastises softly, “let her breathe,” 

“Shush,” She says leaning back to look at you, her hands on your cheeks, “I’m meeting my new daughter,” 

Hot tears rush up in your eyes, spilling over onto your cheeks, “I don’t know what to say,” you manage, “I’m so happy to meet you,”

“So are we,” She smooths your tears away, a motherly gesture that makes your heart lurch, and then she nods, “he said you were pretty,” 

“Eomma,” Yunho’s arm wraps around you again, effectively shifting you back into his embrace, “give her some air,” 

“It’s good to meet you,” Yunho’s father nods, “Yunho’s been talking of nothing else,” 

Gunho snorts a laugh at his big brother’s expense, and when you glance up you see the pink blush on his cheeks, the redness of his ears. 

You open your mouth to respond, but Yunho gives your shoulder a squeeze, “I see you met y/n’s family, I’m sorry, I should have done introductions before,” 

Yunho’s father waves his hand, “We’re fine, how was the meeting?” 

Yunho nods, “Productive,” 

“You all have a consensus?” He asks. 

“We’re set,” Yunho replies. 

“That’s good,” Yunho’s father replies, “any contract changes?” 

Yunho shakes his head, “All the same as before,” 

He nods and then meets your gaze, “How do you feel about the language for your suit? Comfortable?”

“Oh,” Your eyes widen a little. 

“Ah,” Yunho interjects, “I had our family attorney look everything over too, just to make sure I understood everything,” 

“I see,” You smile, warmth in your chest at how attentive he’s been, but you look back up to his father, “but yes, I’m good, I’m comfortable with everything,” 

“Good,” He nods, “if you have questions during the process, we can help with that too.” 

“Thank you so much,” You hope you don’t seem too surprised at the overwhelming kindness of his parents, but you are, despite all of Yunho’s stories about them. 

“For tomorrow,” His mother interjects, but Yunho smoothly cuts her off. 

“I haven’t gotten to talk her through everything yet,” Yunho says, “but I’ll let you know,” 

Her lips close in a small smile. 

Gunho glances up from his phone at his brother with a look on his face you can’t place. 

“Actually,” Yunho’s father turns to his wife, “yeobo, can you check something for me?” 

Yunho’s parents turn to each other briefly, but Yunho turns his head towards you and keeps his voice low, “You okay?” 

“I thought the meeting was Monday,” You ask your question as softly as possible, “why does everyone keep asking about tomorrow?” 

He gives you a fast, close lipped smile, “I have to talk to you about something,” 

Your heart gives a little lurch, “Yunho,” 

“Just,” His eyes dart from your face back up to his family, “one second,” 

He steps away, leaving you feeling suddenly adrift again, but as soon as he’s gone, Hana steps into your space. 

“Hey,” She says, “Em and I are going to head to your place,” 

“Okay,” You blink, “yeah,” 

“You’re staying with Yunho, right?” She checks. 

“I don’t,” You stumble a little over your words, “we didn’t talk about tonight, really,”

“We can wait,” Hana says. 

“No, it’s late,” 

Hana nods, but looks hesitant to leave if you need her. 

“Go,” You tell her with a smile, “I’ll be fine, there’s extra bedding in my linen closet upstairs just make yourselves comfortable. If I end up coming home I’ll crash on the couch.” 

“And you’re okay?” Em checks as she slips her jacket on. 

“I’m good,” You promise, “Yunho said there’s more for us to talk about, but you don’t have to wait for that.” 

Hana hesitates, and then she nods, “Call me if something’s up,” 

“I will,” 

They start to step away, Yunho still close to his family and talking to his parents quietly, but Hana interjects smoothly with a quick tap to Yunho’s arm. 

“We’re heading out for now,” She says and nods in your direction, “you’ve got her, right?” 

Yunho smiles widely, and you can see the clear potential for a fast friendship between them in the natural ease they have together, “Got her,” 

“Alright,” She smiles and bows to his family, “it was wonderful to meet you,” 

They exchange pleasant goodbyes, and you give Hana and Em one more hug before they go. 

“Well,” Yunho’s father smiles at the lull in conversation as your family leaves, “we should get back to our hotel too,”

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Yunho’s mother wraps you in another hug, “we’ll get to know each other a little better,” 

“Tomorrow,” You start to say, but you’re sure you sound confused at yet another person who knows plans that you still don’t. 

“Alright,” Yunho breaks through, pulling you back, “drive safely,” 

Yunho’s father gives him a wry smile and then nods, “Come on, yeobo, give the kids some room,” 

Yunho’s mother makes a dismissive noise in the back of her throat but smiles goodnaturedly and gives Yunho a parting kiss on the cheek. 

You catch Gunho’s affectionate eye roll, a mirror image of Yunho’s and you stifle a laugh. 

Yunho’s family makes their way out of the lobby towards the elevators, and finally he lets out a tense breath. You can feel the stiffness through the bond, the locked up intensity of his shoulders. 

“Yun,” You lean into his side, “what’s tomorrow?” 

“I’m sorry,” He says, “you must be so confused.” 

“I trust you,” You remind him, “but so much is happening, I’m just trying to get my feet under me,” 

“I know,” He murmurs, glancing around to see who’s left in the space. 

“There’s more to the plan that we have to do tomorrow,” You search his face, “is that it?” 

“Not here, come with me,” Yunho says softly, pulling you by the hand down the hall into one of the smaller, more private conference rooms. 

“I don’t know how much more I can take,” You let out a nervous exhale, “I don’t know how you pulled all this together in a week,” 

“Most of it was already in progress,” He shuts the door behind you. 

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” You look up at him, “what’s happening tomorrow?” 

“I’ll explain,” He nods, “but first,” 

His lips collide with yours and you see stars, your bodies snapping together like magnets, and you make a soft, happy sound against his lips. Yunho stumbles back with you in his arms, bracing himself with one hand against the frosted glass wall of the conference room and you melt into him, clinging to his broad shoulders.

“I missed you,” He says between kisses, “I’m never letting you go again,”

You nod into a kiss. 

“I’m so sorry,” His breath hitches, “it shouldn’t have taken me so long,” 

You brush your fingers down his cheek, pulling back just enough to see his face, “Don’t,” you murmur, “we’re here now.” 

“I’m trying so hard to fix this,” He confesses, leaning back from the wall and cupping the back of your head. 

“You are,” You brush those thoughts of his away, “Yunho, I love you,”  

You feel all the tenderness, the overwhelm, and he swallows tightly, “I love you too,” 

Pressing up on your tiptoes you kiss him again, gentler this time as you rest your hand over his soulmark, feeling the tender thump of his heart under your palm. 

Breaking the kiss, Yunho touches your hand and holds it to his chest, straightening up to his full height and taking a deep, steadying breath, “Okay,” 

You nod, encouraging him forwards, rubbing a soft line over his chest with your thumb. 

“I need to ask you something,” He confesses, “but I’m nervous,” 

“Nervous?” You shake your head, “Baby, it’s me, you can ask me anything,” 

He smiles, his shoulders relaxing just a little. 

Soulmate bonds are such funny things. Six months ago, this man was a coworker, someone you thought about sometimes or someone that would make your stomach flutter, a little crush you were sure would fade. But a soulmate bond changes everything. If your parents had ever felt this, such an absolutely pure and transcendental love, you’re sure they would be believers too. That sudden click within you, the truth, potential embers of love suddenly stoked by the universe into a roaring flame, it’s not something you could fabricate. 

You watch as Yunho nods, almost pushing himself towards saying whatever it is, and you think to yourself that no matter how awful this week has been, anyone would be lucky to find a soulmate as good and kind as he is. 

“It’s me,” You murmur when he nods to himself again, “it’s just me,” 

“I know,” He sighs, “fuck, okay, I’ll just say it,” 

You watch him shake out his arms and take a deep breath before running a hand through his hair, finally facing you again properly and taking your hands in his. 

Anxiety knots in your stomach and you’re not sure if it's his or yours. 

“This is going to sound like a crazy idea,” He smiles a little nervously, “but I promise you I’ve thought about it, a lot actually, and this isn’t as impulsive as it’s going to sound, I promise,” 

“Yunho,” You can feel the nervous energy pouring out of him, “I trust you, just,” 

“Marry me,” He says in a breath, his hands coming up to catch your cheeks, “be mine in every way, be my wife.” 

Your words die off on your lips, your heart beating harder in your chest. In a million years, you never would have thought that was the question on his tongue, “Y-Yunho,”  

His smile widens at your shocked expression, but his thoughts keep pouring out, “We’ll have a wedding later, anything you want, as big as you want,” he says, “but come to the district office with me tomorrow. Marry me tomorrow,” 

Words don’t make it to your lips, but tears flood your eyes and you just can’t stop yourself from smiling.

Yunho leans in and kisses your forehead, “Please,” he murmurs, “they can choose not to believe the bond is real, but they can’t doubt a marriage license,” 

Your frantic heart stutters, and you wince. 

“We’ll be together,” He continues, another kiss against your hairline before he leans back to look at your face. 

You reach up, catching his hands and bringing them to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles, “Baby,” you murmur softly, “I love you, but I want you to want to marry me for the right reasons, not because we’re backed into a corner.” 

His eyes widen as he realizes his words, “That isn’t what I meant,” 

“Okay,” You nod slowly, pushing him to say more. 

Yunho laces your fingers together and gives you a squeeze, “When we renegotiate on Monday, whatever happens will happen, but people are going to find out about us,” 

You nod. 

“It’s only a matter of time, the more people that know, the faster it will get out there for everyone to see, for everyone to pull it apart.” 

He’s not wrong, not at all. 

“I know,” You nod.

“Jagi,” His voice is low, rough with emotion, “I want you safe. I want you to be able to come back to work, I don’t want you to make yourself smaller because I’m an idol.” 

You kiss his knuckles again, breathing out a shaky sigh. 

“I love you so much, and I want to be with you in every way. I want everyone to know who you are to me, and I want them to know there is no me anymore without you. Not at this company, in public, in private, it’s us,” He presses. 

You soften at that.

“Let me give you my name,” He murmurs, “let me love you the way you deserve. Marry me, y/n, please,” 

For the briefest moment, you think there isn’t a person alive who’s fighting harder for their soulmate than him, you feel that truth in every inch of your body. 

It doesn’t change the facts though, you’ve done all the research, you’ve seen what a mere whisper of romance will do to a career, to a public opinion of an idol and their partner. 

“Yunho,” You manage quietly, “there are no married idols, not our age. Think about your career, the group,” 

“Then let’s go first,” He says, uncoupling your hands and cupping your cheeks again, his face determined, “someone has to. If not us, then who?” 

You think of the airport floor, of screaming fans, of posts online full of hate. 

“I don’t want to wait for someone else to get up the nerve,” He insists, “I want you,” 

Your eyes flood with tears. 

“We’ll do it together,” He murmurs, wiping away a stray tear with the soft pad of his thumb. 

“Yunho,” You whisper. 

“I don’t have a single regret about meeting you and I have no shame in loving you,” He confesses, “the only thing that would break my heart is knowing that I’m hurting you.” 

Tears spill over, faster now as you take in his words. 

His brow creases at your tears, his own eyes shining, “Sweetheart, you’re not meant to be an afterthought to my career,” his voice cracks gently, “you’re my partner, and I would risk everything I am for you,” 

You know he means it, in each and every cell of his body. Some men would have buckled under all this pressure, would cling to their fame and their want to have both, and you know exactly where you would have ended up. Packaged away, made small, fearful of your own day to day life. Would today be the day you were photographed and exposed or would it be the next? Lies upon lies.

Even the strongest bond could buckle under all that weight.

You think of KQ’s attorney, smugly boasting about how he’s dealt with bonded couples before. Your gut feeling all those months ago was right, you aren’t the first idol soulmate bonds, but if you’re brave enough you can be the loudest. You can change things for the next couple, and the next after that. 

You think of Hana’s fear, how she stood up to your parents and chose Em despite it all. 

Your answer bubbles up from deep inside, “O-okay,” you say in a rushed breath, nodding, “okay, let’s get married,” 

He exhales sharply, a wide grin spreading over his face, a relieved laugh on his lips as tears track down his cheeks, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” You told yourself once before that you would hold onto him with both hands, so you do, “yes, Yunho, yes,” 

He folds you into his arms and then hoists you up, hitching your legs around his waist and pressing his lips to yours in another, tender kiss. 

You’re a mess of emotions, both of you hidden away in this little conference room, but you’re together. 

After a moment though, a thought occurs to you and you break the kiss, “Did everyone know you were asking me?” 

His cheeks grow pink, “Define everyone,” 

Your eyes widen, your voice running high, “What if I had said no?”

“I was really, really hoping you’d say yes?” He grins. 

“Everyone knew,” You bury your face in his neck, heat blooming in your cheeks and chest. 

“Hey,” His hand runs up and down your back, “really, it’s just my parents and the members, and I guess our attorney, but if you said no that would have been okay, I swear, I would have just proposed again when you felt ready, it’s not,” 

You laugh into his shoulder and shake your head, “I’m not upset,” 

“You’re not?” He turns, his cheek resting against the top of your head. 

“A little overwhelmed,” You admit, “and embarrassed that I met my future in-laws wearing a hoodie and looking like I just spent the past week crying my eyes out, but,” 

“Hey,” He murmurs, “look at me,” 

With a slow breath in, you lift your head and meet his eyes. 

“I love you,” He says clearly, “they already love you too, they’re happy for me.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes,” He says, unequivocally. 

“What do the members think of this plan?” You ask him quietly. 

“They understand why I want this,” He replies smoothly, “and what it means for all of us,” 

You nod, and there’s nothing more to say. You trust him, so you trust this. 

“Let me take you home,” He finally says, “it’s late, and we have to be up early now,” 

“To get married,” The words sound so strange on your tongue. 

“Yeah,” he smiles, “to get married,” 

“God,” You laugh, “I have to tell Hana and Em,” 

“I have to tell everyone you said yes,” He presses a peck to your lips before he lets you slide down from his arms, “and what time to get to the district office tomorrow,” 

“I want Hana there,” You grab his hand. 

He nods, lacing your fingers together, “Of course,” he says, “let’s get in the car, we’ll call her on the way home I’ll make sure she has everything she needs,” 

“Okay,” You breathe.

Quietly, you slip out of the now empty offices and make your way to Yunho’s car. Your head feels like it’s spinning, your soon-to-be-husband’s hand in yours is the only thing keeping you grounded. 

You tell your sister in a fresh wave of happy tears as the car weaves through the blocks of Seoul. 

You listen as Yunho tells her every detail of how to get to the district office,  what time, and what false name to give at the front desk so they’ll take her back to the right office. 

Your eyes can’t help but find the clock, your heart picking up, in less than twelve hours you’ll be his. 

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

For the first time in weeks, you wake up warm. 

The room around you is unfamiliar, but his body is solid and comforting, his leg hitched up over your hips and pinning you in place like a weighted blanket. If he wasn’t here, draped over you, it’s possible you would have thought the night before was a dream. The long anxious drive, the way you felt when you first saw him again, and all the paperwork, all the plans. 

Lying on your back you study the ceiling as the first threads of early morning light start to stretch through his room, Yunho’s voice asking you to marry him playing on a loop in your mind. 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been thinking, but his gentle fingers on your jaw softly directing your face to the side is what brings you out of your head and back to the present. 

“Hey,” You say softly when you meet his eyes, “did I wake you?” 

A small smile spreads across his face and he shakes his head, “Mm-mm,” he murmurs, “you okay?” 

“Yeah,” You nod, “just thinking,” 

He shifts in the covers, body curling around you even more until you’re properly eye to eye in the middle of the mattress, “About?” 

“Everything,” You confess, “yesterday doesn’t feel real,” 

He hums thoughtfully, cupping your cheek, “I know what you mean,” 

You let out a slow breath, rolling towards him, “Did I make up the part where we’re getting married today?” 

He grins, a little blush in his cheeks, “No, you didn’t make that up,” 

A nervous thrill bubbles through you, “This is so crazy,” 

“Maybe,” He says, covering your hand with his, “are you still saying yes?” 

“Yes,” The word leaves your lips before you can even process his question. 

He dips forwards, kissing you tenderly before he laughs softly and pulls away.

“What?” You smile up at him. 

“I just realized something,” He says with a smile. 

“Hmm?” 

“In a few hours, you’ll actually be my wife,” He grins wider. 

You laugh, a nervous, elated sound, excitement and anticipation spreading through you in equal measure, and you shift forwards to catch his lips in a kiss, “Husband,” you murmur, “that suits you,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” You nuzzle into him, pecking his lips again, “my husband,” 

He nudges you gently, nose to nose, his plush mouth to yours as he lazily kisses you, savoring every breath, “I like that,” 

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you pull yourself closer, deepening the kiss before disconnecting your lips for a breath, “Are you sure I’m not dreaming?” 

“Not dreaming,” You can feel the upturned curve of his mouth as he kisses you again, rolling you onto your back as he slides his hands up your sides. 

You sigh pleasantly, body softening, “I missed you,” 

He nods, “Me too, baby,” 

“Married,” You laugh softly again, looking up into his deep brown eyes, “are we ready for this?” 

He studies your expression and then replies, “Probably not,” 

You blink, not expecting such blatant honesty, but he continues.

 “But,” He kisses you again, gently, “all the best things that have ever happened to me, happened when I didn’t think I was ready,” 

He’s right, it’s the same for you. You were hardly ready for him that day in Berlin, but nothing in the world would ever make you go back and give that up. 

You nod, sinking back into his kiss, your legs tangling together under the duvet. 

He makes a soft, happy hum against your mouth and slides his hand up to find your hand, lacing your fingers together. 

His hand in yours sparks something in your brain and you pull back with a little suck of air, your eyes widening, “We don’t even have rings,” 

He laughs, pecking your lips, and then leans back, “Actually,” he rolls off you, his expression suddenly a little sheepish, “we do,” 

That gets your attention, and you lift up your head to get a better look at him, “We do?” 

“Yeah,” He smiles, sliding away from you in the bed and leaning over the edge to pull the drawer of his nightstand open, “I meant to show you last night,” 

Your stomach does a somersault. 

When Yunho rolls back, he’s holding a small slate blue velvet box. You can see the box is vintage immediately, the velvet worn away on the corners and the front clasp an intricate brass clip, something companies wouldn’t bother manufacturing as nicely as this nowadays. 

“Oh,” You breathe. 

He places the box on the bed between you and takes a breath, “They’re simple,” he says, “I’ll get you an engagement ring later, but, well, these were my grandparents,” 

Your eyes flick up to his face, the tenderness in his expression hitting you right in the chest, and then you gingerly pick up the box and flip open the front clasp. He’s right, they are simple, but the delicate details of the two white gold bands aren’t lost on you in the slightest. His band is slightly wider, but both of them are etched with little stars, a few of the stars encrusted with tiny diamonds. 

“Oh, Yunho,” You sigh, your fingers gently tracing the rings, “they’re so beautiful,” 

“They’re very special to me,” He nods. 

You reach for his hand, “Is this why your parents are here? Did they bring these?” 

His lips close in a thin line, the tips of his ears reddening, “Not exactly,” 

“Not exactly or,” 

He looks down at the box, cleaning his throat, “I’ve had them,” 

For a moment you think he means that his grandparents left him the rings, that they’ve been in his possession the entire time, but you feel the start of his embarrassment through the bond. 

“Baby,” You murmur, “how long have you had them?” 

He smiles briefly and then sighs, looking up at you, “Since Paris,” 

Your eyes widen. 

“After we talked that night on the bridge,” He brushes your cheek, “I called my parents and told them I met you. I told them I wanted to have these for when it felt right,” 

You melt, “You grandparents were soulmates?” 

He nods, “Yes, they were together for sixty years,” 

“That’s beautiful,” You murmur. You wonder what it must have been like to grow up in a household full of that much love. 

“I want that for us,” Yunho says honestly. 

All you can do is nod, emotion thrumming in your chest. 

“God,” You grin, dipping into his broad chest with a laugh, “we’re so crazy, but I love you so much,” 

He chuckles and wraps you up again, “Me too,” 

“For today,” You say against his shoulder, “let’s just pretend everything is normal,” 

“What do you mean?” He looks down at you. 

“For today, you’re not an idol,” You smile, “we’re just us. We’re just two people in love,” 

He smiles at you tenderly, “Just us,” 

With your hand on the back of his neck you pull him down to meet your kiss, sinking into each other. In the early morning light  you kiss like the past week was a dream, no fear or doubt, just each other. Nothing hanging over your heads except the promise of a life together. 

Yunho shifts over you, dipping you back into the mattress, deepening the kisses with his tongue languidly probing your mouth. You sigh, your body feeling pleasant and warm, the first threads of your want and his starting to tangle together between you. 

Yunho’s hand tightens on your hip as he shifts over you a little more, the weight of him above you making you dizzy, and he hums happily, “I missed these lips,” 

“Mm,” Your fingers tighten in his hair, “me too,” 

“Missed you under me,” His kisses peck across your jaw and back to your swollen lips. 

A pulse of arousal beats inside you, but you shake your head. 

“So pretty,” He murmurs, hands searching your skin. 

As much as you want him, you push gently against his chest, “We have to get ready,” 

“We have time,” He nuzzles you, nipping your lip. 

“Mm-mm,” You shake your head again, your lips still locked to his. 

Yunho’s hand slides up your body slowly until he’s cupping your breast, squeezing you a little suggestively and brushing his thumb over your hardening nipple.

Warmth blooms in your belly, but you pull back and shake your head, “Yunho, we’re getting married in like two hours,” 

He grins, “I know,” 

You laugh, “I mean, traditionally we wouldn’t even see each other the morning of the wedding, we really shouldn’t be having sex,” 

Yunho looks at the clock, “How long do you need to get ready?” 

“At least an hour,” 

“Then we have fifteen minutes,” Yunho meets your eyes, a cheeky look on his face. 

You sigh, about to protest, but then his thumb passes over your lips. 

“No sex,” He agrees, “but you’re here in my bed, and I haven’t touched you like this in weeks. Let me take care of you,” 

Your core flutters, nipples hardening and pebbling through your shirt. 

He takes in the change in your expression and nods, “That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand sliding down your body and tucking between your thighs to push them open. 

You let your legs fall slack, your breath warm against his cheek. 

“Missed you so much,” He presses a kiss to your forehead as his fingers travel slowly up your inner thigh to the seam of your underwear. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Just stay nice and quiet for me, okay?” He shifts, his body sliding down in the bed as he slots between your thighs. 

“Yun,” You murmur, “what about you?” 

“Shh,” He tugs your underwear to the side, wasting no time getting his mouth on you. 

You gasp at the sudden connection of his tongue to your clit, your hips jerking. 

He glances up from between your splayed legs, giving you a look, and you slap your hand over your mouth in response, letting your head fall back into the mattress. 

“Mmhm,” He hums. 

You melt into the pleasure of his mouth. 

It takes thirty minutes, your bodies so hungry for one another that one orgasm isn’t enough. He worships you with his tongue, makes love to your cunt with his hot mouth, and by the second dizzying wave of pleasure you’re quietly begging to touch him too. The clock forgotten as you stroke him to his own release, the taste of yourself on his lips as he kisses you into the sheets. 

You’re a giggling mess by the end, frantically trying to get ready between needy touches. After your lightning fast showers, you’re making the most of every second, but he just can’t keep himself away from you. 

He kisses your neck while you apply your makeup, squeezes every plush inch of your skin while you root through your suitcase for something to wear. When you’re finally ready, he kisses you again, hot and hard, nearly toppling you back into the bed and ruining your perfectly applied lipstick. 

The moment he gets the text from his brother though, he sobers and gets himself together, the ring box tucked safely in his pants pocket. 

You quell the dizzying heat between you with a cool glass of water, and by the time you’re walking to the car, all of this morning is forgotten in a haze of nervous energy. 

The trip to the district office is strategic, both of you wearing hats and masks and scarves for a good measure of anonymity as you travel covertly in Gunho’s car to keep things as quiet as possible. At the district office, the doors open for you once you arrive, and it dawns on you that the offices aren’t properly open to the public yet. 

You distantly imagined a courtroom and a judge, perhaps one dedicated to weddings, but you’re ushered into a modest office with a kind looking older woman who tells you both to take a seat like it’s any other meeting. 

It turns out, when you don’t have a wedding dress or a big party, marriage is mostly paperwork. 

Yunho’s family stands behind his chair, and Hana and Em stand behind yours. 

You’re her first appointment of the day, early at only eight in the morning, and your district officiant offers you a cup of coffee before you sign yourself to each other in the eyes of the Republic. 

“Ah,” Ms. Kim, the officiant, says with a laugh that says this happens all the time, “this is the wrong form, let me print off the right copy,” 

Your chest feels tight, your palms suddenly clammy. 

“This is the 609C,” She explains, gesturing to the paper in her hands, “but this is for divorcees, I need the 609A for you two,” 

Yunho makes an affirmative sound, laughing along with the bureaucratic mix up, but you can only crack a smile. 

Ms. Kim navigates to the file on her ancient computer, adjusts her glasses and leans closer to the screen, and then nods before hitting print. 

“Alright,” She says, “let’s get you two married, yes?” 

That lightens the mood a little, and you release the taut breath in your chest. Hana squeezes your shoulder, and you rest your hand over hers for just a moment. 

Fishing the paper out of the printer, she checks the form’s number, nods, and then leans forward, “Bride, you fill in the top sections here and here,” she points out with a pen where to look, “and groom, you’re down here.” 

“And then?” You say as Yunho takes the paper and starts to skim through it. 

“I’ll take a copy of your documents, you’ll sign the bottom of the form, one of each of your witnesses will also sign, and then I’ll sign,” She recites, “I’ll stamp it with my very official seal, and then that’s it. You’ll be legally married,” 

“That’s easier than I thought it would be,” You manage. 

“Getting married is the easy part,” she smiles, “getting divorced has a lot more paperwork, I don’t recommend it.” 

Everyone chuckles at that. 

“Okay,” Yunho grins, picking up the black pen, “let’s do this.” 

“If you’ll provide your birth certificates and identification cards, I’ll just go get those photocopied while you fill things in. Wait to sign until I get back,” 

You produce the documents from your bag and pass them over to her, and then within a moment you’re alone with this form and your new family. 

Yunho takes his time writing things out to keep the form legible, and you lean forward to see, “What does it ask?” 

Without glancing up from the paper, Yunho reaches with his free hand, resting it on your knee and giving you a comforting squeeze, “The basics, nationality, family names,” he murmurs, “it’s alright,” 

He can feel your bubble of anxiety, from all your witnesses watching to the strange sense of dread that you might get something wrong on the form. 

You rest your hands on his, “Sorry,” you breathe, “I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” 

Yunho turns, but his mother speaks first, surprising you all, “Yesterday morning you had no idea you were getting married,” she points out, “I had months to prepare for our wedding and I was still a nervous wreck,” 

“You were?” The words slip out. 

She nods warmly, “I was, but you’ll do fine,” 

Yunho smiles and slides the paper to you, “Your turn,” 

He rests his hand on our back as you fill in the form, and it’s hardly as scary as it seemed a moment ago. You fill in your details, double check that you both didn’t miss any boxes, and by the time you’re done Ms. Kim is back and your nervousness has started to morph into excitement. 

You’re a few signatures away from being a wife. 

You had never really imagined that for yourself, not in the way that other little girls did. You’ve never picked out dresses, or thought of your dream venue. You don’t know what kind of engagement ring would look best or if you’d want to write your own vows. You had never let yourself dream that far ahead, always stunted by your parents' sharp expectations and your own inability to slow down and let yourself picture something better, happier than their marriage. But now, in the span of a few hours, you’re about to be someone’s wife.

“Ready?” Ms. Kim says, handing back your documents, “Let me take a look at things,” 

She skims the form with precision and then clips it to the front of your photocopied documents, and for the first time in your life, the thought of being married doesn’t fill you with panic. 

You slip your hand into Yunho’s, a smile tugging at your lips, and Yunho gives you a squeeze. 

“Perfect,” Ms. Kim says, “now, if you’d like, we can get those signatures and be done, but some couples like to say a few words and exchange rings if you have any. I’d be happy to talk you through that,” 

“We have rings,” Yunho reaches into his trouser pocket and produces the velvet box. 

His mother presses a handkerchief to her lips, and you see both of his parents’ eyes shining with tears. 

Ms. Kim nods warmly, “So, please face each other,” 

Yunho stands, drawing you up with him, and you face each other in the little space between the chairs. He’s handsome today, in a way that nearly stops your heart, dressed simply in dark charcoal gray trousers and a white button down, his dark black hair still a little tousled from his cap. He looks right for a wedding, and selfishly, you think he looks right for you too. 

“If you have any words for each other,” She prompts gently. 

You take Yunho’s hands, giving him a soft squeeze before dropping them, and then you turn to his parents, “Mr. and Mrs. Jeong,” you feel your throat tighten with emotion, but you continue, “I will never be able to thank you enough for raising Yunho,” 

His father wraps an arm around his wife. 

“For giving him the kindest home, the warmest love,” 

You hear a sniffle behind you, no doubt Hana crying. 

“You taught him to be a good man, and a good partner,” You continue, the honesty of it flowing out of you, “and I will work hard to deserve his love for the rest of my life, thank you,” 

You bow as deeply as you can in the small space, and they thank you softly, the weight of the makeshift ceremony finally sinking into everyone. 

When you turn back to Yunho, he’s hastily wiping away his tears. 

Your parents aren’t here, and even if they were you wouldn’t expect him to do more than a short, perfunctory statement, so you glance towards Ms. Kim, “Alright,” 

“Wait,” Yunho shakes his head, “hold on, my turn,” 

Ms. Kim laughs quietly, and so do your witnesses. 

Yunho holds your gaze, taking your hands in his. “y/n,” he exhales a deep breath, gathering himself, and then he speaks, “I can’t thank your parents for making you the woman that you are today, I think you did that all on your own, but I do have someone to thank.” 

Your throat closes with emotion as he turns to your baby sister. 

“Hana,” He smiles, eyes shining again, “from the first moment y/n talked about you, I knew your relationship was a special one. I am so grateful to you for being her sister, her friend, and her safe place.” 

Hana takes in a sharp, wet breath behind you and you smile. 

“We may not have it easy,” He continues, squeezing your hands, “but I know you will always be standing beside her, and I hope you know that I’m doing my best to live by what you said,” 

Tears track down your cheeks.

“I’m putting her first,” He smiles, “today and always,” 

He bows deeply, and when he rises up you’re both crying.

There’s a moment of silence while you collect yourselves, but sensing that the speeches are over, Ms. Kim interjects. 

“Yunho,” She says softly, “do you promise to take y/n as your lawfully wedded wife?” 

His eyes flick to yours, and you feel nothing but warmth and overwhelming love coursing through the bond, “I promise.” 

“y/n,” She turns to you, “do you promise to take Yunho as your lawfully wedded husband?” 

“I promise,” You nod. 

“Please exchange rings,” She says. 

Yunho takes the box and gently pulls out his grandmother’s ring. 

Slowly, he slides it onto your left ring finger, “I love you,” 

You take his grandfather’s ring from the box and follow him, the band slipping into place on his finger, “I love you too,” 

“If you’ll both sign,” Ms. Kim places the paper back down on the desk with a pen, “you’ll be married,” 

Yunho turns, his smile widening as he writes out his signature. In a haze of dizzy elation, you sign your name too. 

“Congratulations,” She says, “you’re husband and wife.” 

A giddy laugh bubbles from your lips, and without a moment’s hesitation or thought of anyone else in the world, he pulls you into his chest and dips low to capture your lips in a kiss. You can feel him smiling against your mouth, feel his overwhelming happiness, and you rest a hand over his heart, his soulmark. 

When you break apart, you realize everyone’s clapping, and you hide in Yunho’s chest for a moment before stepping away and facing the room. 

Hana barrels into you, squeezing you tightly. 

“Han!” You laugh. 

“That was a good speech,” She says, but it’s not to you.

”I meant it,” Yunho says. 

Hana nods, but Ms. Kim interrupts once more.

“Last bit of paperwork,” She says, “I need two witnesses to sign off,” 

Yunho pulls Gunho forwards and Hana unwraps herself from around you so they can both step up and sign. 

“We’ll get these filed today,” Ms. Kim adds, “I got the check for the expedition fee, so you should be able to pick the official license up on Friday at the front clerk’s office,” 

“That’s perfect,” Yunho nods, “thank you for agreeing to that,”

She smiles, a little knowingly, “It’s not the first time we’ve gotten the request from someone famous,” 

Yunho clears his throat, “Right, well, we’d prefer to,” 

“Ah,” She holds up a hand, “my lips are sealed. If you only knew the couples I’ve had in this office,” 

You smile, “Oh?” 

She takes the paperwork back and adds her own signature and stamp, “I could cast a reality show of my own,” she nods, and then makes the motion of zipping her lips closed, “but you’d never hear the details from me,” 

“Thank you,” Yunho says earnestly, “for everything.” 

“Mhm,” She smiles, “now, there’s a back entrance to the building if you’d like some privacy,” she checks her watch, “now that the building is open, if you go right out of this office and down the stairs to the garage.” 

“Thank you,” 

“Of course,” She nods as you all get your facemasks and hats, “congratulations again, you both have the real thing. Make sure to cherish it,” 

Looking up at Yunho, you soften, “We will.” 

The rest of the day is what you can only describe as a whirlwind. 

Yunho’s parents have arranged a private lunch, just family, and you spend hours getting to know them better and being quietly celebrated as a couple, even though you still maintain your distance in case anyone from the restaurant or on the street recognizes him. 

By the evening, you’re spent. A few glasses of wine combined with the crash after a week of drawn out stress leaves you feeling a strange mix of wired and exhausted. 

Quietly, Yunho communicates to his manager that he won’t be coming home tonight, but that he will be back on Sunday and ready for work. 

Hana and Em leave early to pick up their things from your apartment and check into a hotel, promising to stay close for the next few days as whatever unfolds, unfolds. 

When Gunho drops you both off at your apartment building, you slip into the elevator without seeing another soul despite the early hour. 

The hallway to your door is blissfully empty too. 

You trade little glances with him, strange newness to the sensation of him beside you. 

Your body thrums in the anticipation of being properly alone with him again. 

You key in your door code, fingers trembling with anticipation as you push over the threshold. 

The door is still swinging shut when Yunho yanks you into his arms, stumbling into the mirrored sliding closet door in your entryway, lips crashing onto yours, tongue dipping into your mouth to deepen it as your back flattens against the cool mirror. 

You fold into him, the bond between you hot and humming, and you moan against his lips. 

“God,” He clings to you, arms banded tight around you as he dives in for another kiss. 

Arousal pumps through you, and you suck in a sharp breath as your fingers pull at the buttons of his dress shirt, “Need you,” 

He nods, kicking his shoes off without missing a beat and walking you a little deeper into your apartment until he’s pushing you onto the kitchen counter. 

Your fingers drop from his shirt to his belt, tugging at the leather until it’s free, your eyes glued to the clear hardness straining through his dress pants. 

“Fuck,” He curses as your palm coasts over his clothed cock, and his hands push up the length of your silky dark green skirt, fabric pooling around your waist as he caresses your bare thighs.

You moan, both of you breathing heavily, the only sounds in the room your shared, heady pants and the zipper of his trousers as tug it down to free his cock. 

He pulls your thong down over your legs, letting them hang slack around one ankle, and pushes your thighs open wider. His fingers slide up your thigh and brush against the bare lips of your sex, but your head is pulsing with need, an ache so real you feel like you might scream if you don’t feel him in you, and you push his arm away. 

“Inside me,” Your hands anchor on his hips and you drag him forwards, “please,” 

He groans, the bare head of his cock nudging your soft center, “Let me make you come first,” 

You shake your head, “Can’t wait,” 

He swallows tightly, his hands hard on your hips as you angle yourself on the counter, opening up wider to him. 

“Mm,” He bites back a moan as his cock slides over you, “w-wait, I need to prep you,” 

You surge forwards, capturing his mouth and shaking your head, “No you don’t,” you pant, “please, just fuck me,” 

He chokes against you, a shudder through his whole body at the feeling of your raw need, and with a groan on both your lips, you feel his velvet cockhead catch deliciously on your entrance. 

“Baby,” He breathes, his last soft protest, resolve crumbling. 

Your fingers hitch onto his belt loops and pull him in again, his cock pushing inside you just an inch from his slight shift forwards. Your nails skate down his neck, your body trembling with need, “Please,” 

With a soft curse, his hips snap forward at the same time as his wide hands tug your hips towards him, spearing you open on the full length of his thick cock. You gasp against his mouth, he’s stretching you wide, and while it’s not painful it is an aching adjustment and your fingers grip down on him tightly. 

Yunho groans, a hot pant on your skin, “God, fuck, jagiya,” 

His forehead drops to yours, your bodies connected in every possible way, but you stay still together, just feeling each other and adjusting to the sudden sink of him inside you. But your body needs him, and in a moment you feel yourself slicking up and clenching around him. 

This time, he doesn’t wait for you to ask, doesn’t wait for you to beg. Fully in tune with you and your body, he moves. With one hand cupping your hip and the other holding your head, he starts to thrust, firm snaps of his hips that drag his hot length against every needy, aching spot inside you. 

Pleasure arcs up your spine with each rhythmic connection of his hips to yours, until you both lose yourself to deep, insatiable need. 

Your legs hitch onto his hips, your flats slipping off your feet and clattering to the floor, “H-harder,” 

His breath catches, but his body complies, forehead hard against yours as he drives into you again and again. 

“Ah,” His nails dig into your hip, “god,” 

“Y-Yunho,” You moan, head dropping back into his hand. 

Your combined pleasure starts to meld, after days of separation and weeks of not being able to touch like this, he feels your orgasm starting to build at the same time you feel his, and it spurns you both into frantic jerks of your bodies, needy moans. 

“C-close,” You whine. 

“Yes, yes,” He grits his teeth and groans, pumping into you, a sheen of sweat across his skin. 

One of your hands slips off his shoulders to brace yourself on the counter, heels digging into his back, and your orgasm crests over you in a sudden uncontrollable wave, fast and unexpected. 

You gasp sharply, nearly losing your hold on him, and he moans as the pleasure takes him under alongside you. Collapsing forwards, he rocks you back onto the counter, bracing himself fast with a hand against the backsplash to keep you from falling back into the tile, and with two more sharp thrusts he spills his release deep inside you, his cockhead pressed hard against your fluttering cervix as your walls spasm around him. 

You’re both sweaty, half dressed and a mess, eyes locked on each other as you breathe through one of the most intense orgasms of your life. 

“Oh my god,” You manage, voice hoarse. 

His chest is still heaving, heart hammering, but he grins and flicks his head to move the dark hair that has fallen into his eyes, “Y-you okay?” 

“Uh-huh,” Your legs finally start to relax off the anchor points of his hips, your muscles weak. 

“Love you so much,” He says in a single, sated breath. 

You nod, your smile spreading wide. 

Slowly, he straightens up and draws you back up to a seated position, easing his cock out of your wet center with deliberate slowness. 

You hiss at the sensation change, your hips sore from being spread so wide open and taken so roughly, but the hurt is deeply satisfying after so long apart. 

“Are you,” He starts to say. 

“Can we go to bed?” You interrupt, relaxing onto his broad shoulder. 

“Let’s go,” He rights his trousers just enough so that they’re not falling down his hips, and then he pulls you into his arms, “are you sore?” 

“Only a little,” You assure him, still breathless, as he starts to take the stairs, “the bed’s softer than the counter,” 

“Mm,” his hand cups your ass, kneading the soft flesh, “I’ll kiss it better,” 

You smile against his chest, his skin radiating warmth through the fabric of his dress shirt. 

At the top of the landing he drops his head to avoid your low ceiling, and then walks you back to the bed, gently placing you on the edge of your mattress before dropping down to his knees between your splayed legs. 

Yunho cups your cheek, kissing you tenderly and smoothing your hair back over your shoulder, “So beautiful,” he says, almost to himself.

You soften. 

He leans back to get a look at you, his hands slowly tugging your black shirt out from the top of your silk skirt, pushing the fabric up to reveal the plane of your abdomen, your soulmark, the underside of your bare breasts. 

You ease back on your hands, letting him touch you how he likes, his eyes studying your body as he reveals inches of skin. 

Sinking back onto his heels, he pushes your skirt up around your hips, his lips, swollen from starving kisses, part at the sight of you half dressed and full of him. 

Yunho’s hand passes over your thigh, the top of your sex, resting on your stomach as he looks up to meet your eyes, “My pretty wife,” he says softly. 

The air feels thin, and you feel almost dizzy at his attentions, the sweet praise of his words. 

You expect him to touch you more, strip you bare, devour you whole, but he looks at you with something you can only describe as awe, and takes a shuddering breath. 

On his knees for you, he gives you a tender confession, “I’m yours,” he whispers, “you know that right?” 

Yours. 

His letter echoes in your mind. 

“I know,” You murmur.

“No matter what happens,” He takes your left hand, pressing a kiss over the ring, “you’ve changed me, forever, and I’m yours,” 

He breathes into your skin, and you brush your other hand over his hair, “Yunho, I’m yours too,” 

He nods, head still bowed. 

Emotion bubbles up in you, and you cup his cheeks, drawing his eyes up to your face, “Baby,” 

There’s something in him you can feel but you can’t name, a guarded tightness, some kind of anxiety in the shadow of his heart. 

He looks at you and waits, a little crease between his brows. 

He’s told you every way he loves you, and you need him to know the same. 

“I married you today because I want you, forever,” You swear to him, this more of a vow than your promise and shaky signature, “I didn’t marry you for the contracts, or my job, or because you asked.” 

He swallows, his throat bobbing as he listens, really listens to your words. 

“I belong to you,” 

He blinks away a sheen of tears. 

“Our bond, our marriage,” Your fingers brush over his face, ghosting over his lips, his jaw, “I’m here, I’m fighting for you too. I’m yours too, in every way that you’ll ever have me,” 

His breath hitches. 

You pull him in, drawing him closer, “Make love to me again,” 

He sighs, the last piece of his guarded tension falling away. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, “Yunho, please,” you kiss him softly, “love me again,” 

You tumble back into the sheets, his kisses reverent on your skin, his touch gentle. 

“My baby,” He sighs, lips traveling down your neck, “my love,” 

You sink into the sensation of him, one body, one living soul. 

“My wife,” he says softly, like a prayer. 

You answer him with your body, with the untethered openness of the bond. Together you move, connected once more, rocking into one another with slow, deliberate motion. 

One breath passed between you, slipped from his lungs to yours and back as you move together. 

Dizzy sensation, an echo of your first time together, of your bonding. 

Here, in every way, your story begins. 

______________________________________________________________ end note: as i mentioned at the top, one thing i wanted to mention without spoiling was around the idea of marriage/weddings. in my research i found out that korean weddings are pretty different to american weddings, or at least what i'm used to, but i also didn't want to overly assume customs or traditions and get it wrong. what i went with was a bit of a blend to keep things semi-accurate but lean romantic. i.e. it's a 'district office' not a courthouse, but i actually don't know what those weddings are like outside of some youtube videos i watched from the pov of foreigners marrying a korean-born person, which may have unique aspects just because of immigration. as far as the vows, i did find that korean vows more accurately translate to "I promise" rather than "I do", which i went with, and it's more common (according to reddit threads and google and like three weddings i watched on youtube lol) to thank your partner's parents for raising them vs. custom vows to one another. i found some inconsistencies on whether or not women in korea take their husband's last names and also generally some mixed information about other customs, so i kept it simple and romantic. if you're korean or more familiar with those customs, please suspend a bit of disbelief for me on this one, i'm doing my best.

lastly, if you're interested, i wanted to note the kind of tea blend that em prepared for reader was actually specifically chosen, and is a real tea blend that i have irl. i picture em slightly green-witchy, so i thought this might be a fun tidbit to share;

holy basil for purification, luck, and banishing negative energy lemongrass for open lines of communication and emotional cleansing dandelion root for resilience, growth, and transformation nettle for banishing unwanted energy and protection of the spirit ginkgo leaf for promoting longevity of the mind, body, and soul