#flawless custom fitting

[cbeargyu]

I was thinking about arranged married with Taehyun, he doesnt love you but still feels jealous when you're hanging out with your guy friend? 👀

the weight of silk and silence

summary: you married him for business, not love. taehyun didn’t want a wife, and you didn’t ask for his heart. but when an old flame reappears and stirs forgotten feelings in you, taehyun begins to see you in ways he never allowed himself to before.

pairing: husband!taehyun x wife!reader

genre: arranged marriage au, angst, slowburn, eventual smut

warnings: explicit content (at the end), virgin!reader, possessive behavior, jealousy, emotional tension, marriage without love, slowburn pacing, soft domination.

wc: 7,5k

notes: omg anon i LOVED that idea, it’s so heartbreaking but delicious by the end 😭 i really hope you like it — taehyun fits this trope so well, and like… we all know he’d be insanely jealous LMAO 🖤

the first time you ever held kang taehyun’s hand was in front of five hundred guests, under a crystal chandelier that cost more than your first car.

it was your wedding day.

you had met him a handful of times before — quick, shallow meetings at galas and charity events, where your parents would whisper his name in your ear like a warning. taehyun, heir to a massive corporation. taehyun, quiet and serious. taehyun, the boy who would be your husband.

and yet, in all those encounters, he never truly looked at you. not in the way a man looks at a woman he wants. you were background noise to him. a silhouette in silk. polite smiles, brief nods, nothing more.

until the contract was signed.

it was a merger more than a marriage — a binding of legacies, not hearts. your father said it was an honor. your mother cried while helping you into your wedding dress, whispering how lucky you were to marry someone with such influence, such presence. you didn't feel lucky.

your gown was custom-made, flown in from paris. long-sleeved and ivory, with delicate lace crawling up your collarbones, and a train so long it took three women to carry it down the aisle. you looked like a dream — regal, immaculate, almost untouchable. even your makeup was soft and flawless, like you were born to be admired from a distance.

when you reached the altar, taehyun was already waiting. his eyes swept over you with the indifference of a man examining a sculpture in a gallery — beautiful, yes. admirable, even. but not his. not something he reached for. he looked expensive in his suit. tall, composed, painfully handsome. but there was no joy on his face. no warmth in the way he took your hand.

when he took your hand, it was because the priest told him to.

his palm was cold. steady. his grip was neither too firm nor too soft. you imagined it was the same way he signed business contracts, with precision and detachment.

you told yourself you didn’t need warmth. this wasn’t about love. it never was.

and yet it hurt, in some small, stupid way.

he kissed your cheek when the priest told him to. his lips brushed your skin, and you felt nothing. not butterflies, not electricity. just the cold, aching confirmation of what you already knew: taehyun didn’t love you. and he didn’t want to.

the wedding made headlines. a spectacle of elegance and power. articles praised the "fairytale union" and posted blurry photos of taehyun helping you into the car, his hand on your back like a gentleman. what they didn’t know was that by the time you arrived at the private estate where you’d live together, he was already walking ahead of you, phone in hand, voice low and disinterested.

“you’ll have the west wing,” he said. “second floor. we won’t share a room — i assume that’s fine”

you nodded. your veil was still pinned in your hair, your earrings heavy on your ears.

he didn’t say goodnight. he didn’t ask how you felt. he simply turned and disappeared into his study, closing the door behind him with finality.

his room was on the opposite side of the house.

you didn’t see much of each other after that. in the mornings, you passed him in the dining room — his sleeves rolled up, eyes glued to his laptop as he sipped black coffee. sometimes he nodded at you. sometimes he didn’t.

when he spoke, it was brief. emotionless. professional.

"you’ll need to be at the choi event next week."

"wear something navy. it matches the branding."

"your lipstick was smudged last time. be more careful."

not cruel. not kind. just cold.

still, you played your part. at every family function, every business dinner, you laced your arm around his like the doting wife you were supposed to be. taehyun would place his hand on your lower back, lean in close enough to whisper scripted compliments in your ear, and smile when cameras flashed. you looked like a couple in love — poised, elegant, connected.

but at night, you would close the door to your room and cry silently into a pillow that smelled like perfume and loneliness.

he never asked if you were happy. you never offered to lie.

you had been married to kang taehyun for a year.

twelve months of empty rooms and empty words. of silent mornings, separate beds, and dinner parties where you pretended to love a man who barely remembered how to say your name without flattening it.

your marriage was the kind that looked good in photographs. carefully curated images of a successful union — him in tailored suits, you in designer gowns. your hands always touching, your eyes always soft. a perfect illusion.

but once the flashbulbs faded and the doors closed, so did the performance.

you lived in a mansion, but it never felt like a home. it was quiet in a way that echoed. too many walls, too many shadows. your bedroom was at the far end of the hall, separated by sleek marble floors and silence. taehyun’s was opposite yours, and he never crossed that threshold. not even once.

some nights, you stood by the door and waited. hoping. other nights, you stopped hoping altogether.

he wasn't cruel — not in the way that left bruises or sharp words. his coldness was quieter than that. it was in the way he never asked if you were okay. in the way he answered you with sighs instead of sentences. in how he looked past you at breakfast, eyes on his phone, fingers tapping away at stock reports and news articles, as if you were part of the background — as if your presence was nothing more than ambient noise.

“you need to be ready by seven,” he’d say without looking up.

“don’t wear white. it clashes with the decor.”

and you would nod. always nod. because what else was there to do?

you played the part. you smiled when your in-laws visited. you stood beside him at every event with your hand wrapped gently around his arm, your voice sweet, your gaze rehearsed. when his hand slid onto the small of your back for the cameras, you leaned into the touch as if it belonged there.

but the second you were alone, the warmth disappeared.

you would walk down opposite corridors, into opposite beds, and try to fall asleep beside the ache of being unwanted.

you never asked him why. never begged for attention or tenderness. you had learned, from a very young age, that feelings were fragile, disposable things — and that love had no place in contracts.

your marriage was not a love story. it was a transaction sealed with gold and paper, a deal between two families who saw you as an extension of their legacy. you were beautiful, accomplished, poised — a perfect bride. and taehyun was a perfect son. loyal, brilliant, emotionally vacant. the kind of man who could run an empire and feel nothing when he held your hand.

and you —

you were so good at pretending that it almost felt real sometimes.

until you saw lee heesung again.

the invitation arrived embossed in gold — another affair hosted by the choi family, all shimmer and status. you wore emerald silk that night, low-backed and elegant, with your hair twisted up and pinned with mother-of-pearl. taehyun wore black, as always, his presence severe and pristine beside you.

he didn’t compliment your dress.

you didn’t expect him to.

the ballroom was all crystal and candlelight. strings played softly beneath the murmur of conversation, and champagne flutes clinked like bells. you smiled when expected, danced twice with taehyun in front of curious eyes, then slipped away toward the edge of the room for air.

and that’s when you heard it.

“y/n?”

you turned at the sound of your name — tentative, soft, almost disbelieving.

he was standing near the edge of the terrace, champagne glass forgotten in his hand, dressed in a dark suit that clung to his frame more confidently than it had when you last saw him. his face was older now — sharper jaw, deeper eyes — but the smile… the smile was exactly the same.

“heesung?” your voice was breathless. like it didn’t belong to you.

he stepped forward slowly, as if afraid you might vanish if he moved too quickly. “i almost didn’t recognize you. you—” he laughed under his breath, eyes roaming your face with a mix of awe and disbelief. “you’ve grown up.”

you blinked, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “so did you.”

it had been ten years. ten whole years since he left — packed off to europe for school, his family’s goodbye rushed and quiet. you had cried for two nights straight, then spent years pretending you hadn’t. and now here he was, in the middle of a gala, as if nothing had changed.

except everything had.

you were married now. in name, at least.

but still, when he smiled at you — wide and warm and genuine — something fluttered in your chest you hadn’t felt in years.

“you look incredible,” he said, eyes dancing. “i mean, not just the dress. you— i don’t know, you shine. always did.”

you lowered your gaze, cheeks warm. “you’re still a flatterer.”

“only when it’s true.”

you heard footsteps behind you before you could reply.

“taehyun,” you said quickly, straightening. “this is… lee heesung. an old friend.”

taehyun’s eyes moved from you to heesung in a single sweep. his face didn’t change, but something in his posture did — his jaw just a bit tighter, his stare a little too direct.

“taehyun,” heesung offered his hand, unbothered. “pleasure to meet you. i’ve heard a lot about you.”

taehyun shook his hand. short. firm. “have you?”

“well,” heesung chuckled, glancing at you, “maybe not a lot. but enough.”

you felt taehyun’s hand settle on your lower back — a gentle but deliberate touch, the kind he only ever used in public. you could feel the tension in his fingers, though. not affection. not comfort. something else.

you smiled politely, masking the strange electricity crackling between them. “heesung was my neighbor growing up. we were… close.”

“very close,” heesung added, too casually.

taehyun said nothing. but his hand lingered longer than usual.

his tone was pleasant. perfectly civil. but his fingers pressed slightly harder against your waist, and when you looked up at him, his jaw was clenched just enough to betray it.

and for the first time in a year of cold silences and empty gazes, kang taehyun looked... bothered.

you met heesung again three days later. this time, alone.

you told yourself it was just a reunion. a friendly catch-up. nothing more.

but he made you laugh in ways you hadn’t in years. he remembered everything — the way you used to hate thunderstorms, the songs you’d sing under your breath, the stupid nickname he gave you for always carrying too many books. he looked at you like you mattered. like you were more than a name in someone else’s contract.

you didn’t tell taehyun. and he didn’t ask.

you met again the next week. and the one after that. coffee turned to lunch, lunch turned to long walks through hidden parts of the city, where no one knew your last name. you smiled wider. your skin glowed. you started wearing the perfume you liked, not the one his mother approved. you began laughing out loud, not just behind a polite hand. and people noticed.

especially him.

the first time taehyun said something, you had just come back from lunch. your hair was windswept. your phone buzzed with a new message from heesung: i miss talking to you already.

taehyun was standing in the kitchen, sipping wine like always. he looked at you for a long moment before saying, “you’re seeing him again.”

you froze. “he’s my friend.”

his stare didn’t waver. “and i’m your husband.”

the silence was suffocating. you didn’t reply. you didn’t need to.

“don’t be careless,” he added after a pause. “people notice.”

but you couldn’t stop. because every time heesung smiled at you, you remembered what it felt like to be loved — or at least wanted. and every time taehyun’s eyes darkened across the room, you felt something crack open between you, something ugly and raw and dangerous.

and it was only a matter of time before it spilled.

you weren’t supposed to see heesung again.

you told yourself that the moment you stepped out of the café that night — that it was enough. enough catching up, enough smiling too much, enough letting your heart remember what it felt like to be looked at like you were something bright. but the next day, he texted. just a simple “remember the old bookstore by the river?” and without thinking, you replied. you remembered everything.

you met there the following sunday. it was quiet, tucked away behind overgrown ivy and the whisper of autumn wind. the inside still smelled like sun-warmed paper, and heesung still laughed like you were the most interesting story on the shelf. you wandered between aisles, letting your fingers trail along spines, and for a little while, it felt like you’d slipped through time — like nothing had changed. like you weren’t twenty-five and married. like your last name wasn’t kang.

he took you to lunch after, somewhere casual, small, a place you never would’ve stepped into with taehyun. there were no cameras, no eyes, no pressure to sit up straighter or speak more delicately. you ate slowly, letting the warmth of soup melt the cold that had crept into your bones over the last year. heesung talked about his travels, the people he met, the music he was trying to write. and when he asked about you, really asked — what do you like now? what makes you happy? — your throat felt tight.

you didn’t know how to answer. not honestly.

later, walking by the riverbank, you laughed when he called you “bookworm” again. you shoved his shoulder lightly and he caught your hand — fingers threading through yours like it was still summer and you were still fifteen.

and just for a moment, it was too easy to pretend.

but as the warmth of his skin soaked into yours, your stomach twisted. not with guilt, not yet. something more dangerous — doubt. was this what you were missing?

“heesung,” you said softly, eyes still on the water. “do you ever think we were supposed to be something?”

he was quiet for a beat. then, “i thought about you more than i should have.”

your heart thudded — but it wasn’t joy. it was grief.

you pulled your hand back gently, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. “i used to think that too,” you whispered. “but that version of me… the one who wrote your name in the margins of her notebooks and cried when you left… she doesn’t exist anymore.”

he didn’t argue. he just nodded, like he understood.

you parted ways with a hug. longer than necessary, but not intimate. not improper. just... sad.

and when you stepped into the house that night, the silence hit harder than ever. no message from taehyun. no note. no light left on. only the familiar echo of emptiness.

you wandered into the kitchen, fingers still cold. you didn’t expect to see him standing by the window.

he turned, startled for a split second — rare for him — before composing himself.

“you’re late.”

“i went out,” you answered, setting your purse down. “with a friend.”

he didn’t respond. just stared at you like he was searching for something beneath your skin.

you avoided his gaze. “do you want tea?”

“no.”

you nodded, stepping past him. the silence stretched, heavy and full of things unsaid.

“you look different,” he said quietly.

you froze. “different how?”

he hesitated. “lighter.”

you didn’t know what to say. so you didn’t say anything at all.

when you finally made it to your bedroom, you sat on the edge of your bed, breath shallow. you thought about heesung’s smile, the sound of his laugh, the way he made you feel like your teenage self again — untouched by the cold calculations of your family, unburdened by the weight of your name. but you also thought of taehyun — the tension in his jaw tonight, the way his voice had shifted ever so slightly when he said you look different.

and that’s when you realized the truth.

you liked heesung, yes. you liked what he represented. freedom. comfort. the girl you used to be. but taehyun? he wasn’t the boy of your past — he was the man in your present. and despite his silence, his coldness, the way he looked right through you some days... you wanted him.

you wanted him to see you. want you. need you.

and that hurt more than anything.

because you were starting to realize... maybe you already loved him.

the room was all golden light and champagne — delicate strings of music trailing through crystal chandeliers, waiters gliding past with silver trays, women in gowns that shimmered like moonlight.

you stood near the center of it all, wrapped in a dress the color of soft wine. off-the-shoulder silk, cinched waist, a slit that whispered against your leg when you moved. your hair was swept to one side, exposing the slope of your neck. taehyun hadn’t said a word when he saw you leave your room, but his eyes had lingered. too long to be empty. too cold to be warm.

he escorted you, as always, arm linked with yours — not too tight, not too loose. he greeted the right people, nodded at the appropriate times, made you laugh when he needed to keep up appearances. you smiled when the cameras turned. you leaned into him when the board members looked.

but the minute your mutual obligation ended, he released your arm without a word and stepped off to speak with someone from the finance division.

you didn’t follow.

you wandered to the bar instead, thankful for the small reprieve, and that’s when you heard it — your name, light and warm like summer.

“you look like you stepped out of a painting,” heesung said, smiling, holding two glasses of rosé. “guess i’ll have to pretend i belong here.”

you smiled before you could stop yourself. “you look good in a suit.”

“don’t sound so surprised.”

you laughed, taking the glass he offered. his fingers brushed yours — brief, innocent — but still enough to make your heart stutter. you hated how easy it was to feel fifteen again. and you hated that you missed it.

“you didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

“i didn’t know,” he shrugged, sipping slowly. “my manager’s friend works with the caterer. said he needed a last-minute hand. i said yes without thinking. figured it’d just be another fancy party where no one would remember my name.”

“you’re wrong,” you said softly.

his eyes flicked to yours. there was something in them — something unspoken. something that a married woman shouldn’t try to read too closely.

“are you here alone?” you asked.

he nodded. “unless you’re counting all the corporate execs who’ve asked me if i play piano.”

you laughed again, this time quieter. “you do.”

“not for them.”

heesung's voice was low, almost teasing. but there was a weight behind it — an ache, maybe, or just the memory of something never lived.

you didn’t notice the man watching you.

kang taehyun stood on the other side of the room, his glass untouched in his hand. he wasn’t smiling. wasn’t even pretending. his gaze was locked on you — on the way your lips curved when heesung leaned in to say something; on how your fingers played idly with the stem of your glass; on the tilt of your head, the brightness in your eyes.

he hadn’t seen you smile like that since before the wedding. maybe never.

he finished his drink in a single swallow.

when he approached, it was silent — sudden. you only noticed him when the air beside you shifted, cool and sharp. he placed a hand on the small of your back, a gesture you were both used to in public, but this time... his palm stayed. firm. possessive.

“everything alright?” his voice was smooth, but there was steel underneath.

you blinked. “yes. taehyun, this is—”

“lee heesung,” he cut in flatly, gaze unwavering. “we met.”

heesung offered a polite smile. “good to see you again.”

taehyun nodded, but didn’t return it.

“your wife was just telling me how beautiful the venue is,” heesung continued, tone light. “honestly, this place looks like something out of a dream.”

taehyun’s fingers pressed a little deeper into your back. “she has good taste.”

you froze for a second — not at the words, but the way he said them. not like a compliment. like a reminder.

the silence stretched.

“i should get back to the kitchen,” heesung said eventually, glancing at you. “don’t disappear too fast.”

you nodded. “i won’t.”

he walked away.

taehyun didn’t move his hand.

“you’re close,” he said, eyes still on the crowd.

“we’re old friends.”

“looked like more than that.”

you turned to him, brows drawing together. “why does it matter?”

he didn’t answer. his jaw tightened.

you exhaled slowly, pulling your arm from his and stepping half a pace away. “you don’t get to be jealous, taehyun.”

his eyes snapped to yours, sharp and unreadable. “who said i was?”

you didn’t reply.

neither did he.

but when you walked ahead, you felt it — the burn of his stare against your back. the heat in the silence.

the car ride home had been silent.

not the usual quiet — the polite, professional kind that hovered between you like a well-dressed wall. this one buzzed. like static. like heat trapped under skin. taehyun sat beside you, eyes fixed on the dark city flashing past the window, one leg crossed neatly over the other, jaw locked so tight you could hear it click when he swallowed.

you didn’t speak. neither did he.

not until the front door of your shared home closed behind you with a soft, final sound.

then his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“do you think it’s appropriate to smile like that in front of the board?”

you turned, slowly, heels clicking against the polished marble. “excuse me?”

“with lee heesung,” he said, dropping his watch onto the side table without looking at you. “you looked like a schoolgirl with a crush.”

you laughed, sharp and humorless. “so you were watching.”

he turned to you finally, his tie half loosened, shirt still perfectly tucked into tailored slacks. he looked angry — but not wild. not loud. just cold. tightly wound. exactly like you’d expect from a man who built walls instead of raising his voice.

“i didn’t have to watch,” he said. “the whole room saw it.”

“saw what? that i was happy for five minutes?”

his expression didn’t change. “you’re married.”

“are we?” your voice rose. not a shout — just enough to cut. “because from where i’m standing, it feels like we’re just two strangers with matching rings.”

he took a slow step forward.

you didn’t move.

“then don’t embarrass me,” he said, quieter now, like it hurt to say it. “not in front of people who matter.”

you stared at him — tall, beautiful, indifferent. you hated how good he looked like this. hated the way his presence still made your skin ache even when his words made you feel disposable.

“i’m sorry,” you said, stepping closer, voice trembling with restraint. “am i supposed to stay quiet and smile at your side like a fucking ornament while you pretend i’m not even there?”

“that was the agreement,” he said flatly.

you blinked.

taehyun flinched.

the silence after that was thick. awful.

you stepped back.

he didn’t stop you.

“you didn’t care before,” you whispered. “why now? why tonight?”

he didn’t answer right away. he just looked at you — really looked, for maybe the first time in weeks. and it wasn’t the way he looked at you at galas, or dinners, or in family portraits. it wasn’t performative.

this time, it felt like he couldn’t look away.

“you were mine tonight,” he said finally. “and you forgot that.”

you stared at him.

you didn’t say anything.

but your hands shook a little as you reached up and unclasped your necklace, one jewel at a time. your earrings. your bracelets. everything expensive he’d helped you put on earlier that evening, now coming off piece by piece like armor being stripped away.

you didn’t cry. you didn’t yell. you just walked past him, brushing his shoulder as you left the room.

“don’t worry,” you said over your shoulder, voice like ice. “i’ll remember next time.”

his footsteps followed you down the hallway. unhurried. deliberate.

“you’re not going to pretend this didn’t happen,” he said, voice low, firm.

you paused at the edge of the bedroom. didn’t turn around.

“what do you want from me, taehyun?” your words were a whisper, sharp and tired. “you barely speak to me. you barely look at me. and then the second someone else does—”

“i’m not just someone else.”

“no,” you said bitterly. “you’re my husband. legally. contractually. nothing more.”

that did something to him. you could feel it — the tension shifting, thickening in the space between you like a storm waiting to snap.

his voice came closer. behind you now.

“do you think i haven’t noticed the way you look at me?”

you turned then. slowly. eyes burning.

“what way?”

his jaw clenched. “like you want something from me. like you want me to be someone i’m not.”

your breath caught. not because he was wrong. but because he wasn’t.

“and you,” you hissed, stepping forward now, chest brushing his. “you act like you don’t want me. like this marriage is just a formality. but the second someone else so much as smiles at me, you break.”

he said nothing.

his eyes dropped to your mouth.

then back up.

“tell me i’m wrong,” you demanded.

silence.

“taehyun.”

his hands moved before his mouth did — gripping your arms, not hard, but with purpose. pulling you closer until there was no space left to pretend with. his breath hit your cheek, fast and uneven.

“you’re not wrong,” he said finally.

and god, it burned.

because that was all you had wanted to hear — some crack in his mask, some proof that you weren’t crazy for feeling the pull between you. and now that you had it, it only made everything worse.

“then why do you treat me like this?” you asked, voice barely a breath. “why push me away every single time i try to reach you?”

“let's sleep together,”

the door slammed shut behind you, hard enough to rattle the frame. your heels clicked against the marble floors of your shared home—too loud, too sharp in the silence. you stormed through the living room, toward the master bedroom, your dress dragging behind you in a frustrated blur of expensive silk and lace.

you didn’t even look back.

“you’re not sleeping here tonight,” you said coldly, pushing open the bedroom door and stepping inside. “use one of the guest rooms. i don't care which one.”

taehyun followed you, of course. always the quiet shadow behind your anger, never raising his voice—but tonight was different. his jaw was tight, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them. something was burning under his skin.

he stepped into the room before you could close the door on him. “the hell i’m not.”

you turned to him, chest heaving, tears stinging your eyes though you refused to let them fall. “don’t make a scene, taehyun. i’m not in the mood.”

“you think i give a fuck about your mood right now?” he bit back, stepping closer. “i watched you smile at him like that. laugh with him like that. and then you come home and tell me to sleep somewhere else?”

“we don’t even sleep together, taehyun!” you shouted, finally losing it. “we’ve been married for a year and you still treat me like some damn business contract! so why should you care who i talk to?”

he was in front of you in two long strides. too close.

“because you're mine.”

his voice was low. not yelling. not angry in the way you expected. but full of something darker—possessive, raw.

your breath caught.

“you don’t get to flirt with old friends like you’re single,” he said, crowding you backwards until your spine hit the wall. “you wear my ring. you sleep in my house. you're my fucking wife.”

“in name only,” you spat, but your voice trembled.

his eyes dropped to your lips.

“no,” he said, fingers brushing the edge of your jaw. “not anymore.”

and then he kissed you.

not soft. not slow. it was messy. angry. real.

a year of silence poured into that kiss — the frustration, the jealousy, the ache of sleeping in separate rooms while pretending to be a couple to the world. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t pretty. it was honest.

his mouth moved over yours like he was starving. like he hated himself for needing this. needing you.

your robe fell to the floor.

his hands were everywhere — your waist, your back, your thighs. he lifted you without effort, your legs wrapping around his hips as your back hit the nearest wall with a quiet thud. his mouth never left yours.

you gasped when his hands slipped under your silk nightdress. he groaned when he felt you bare and burning beneath it.

and when he whispered your name — hoarse, like a confession — you knew this wasn’t about duty anymore.

this was need. raw, dangerous, undeniable.

this was taehyun, breaking.

for you.

“stop pretending,” he growled against your mouth. “you want this too. don’t you?”

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t have to.

because your body gave you away.

he kissed you again, deeper, pressing his thigh between your legs as he cupped your face with one hand and slid the other down your back. you melted into him, your fists gripping his suit jacket. he pulled back just enough to speak.

“bed,” he ordered.

taehyun’s hands were steady as they moved over you, but there was something in his touch that made your breath catch — as if he was testing the boundaries of something fragile, something new.

your heart raced. you weren’t sure if it was the heat of his touch, the way he kissed you, or the slow realization that everything you had felt for him, all the confusion and desire, was now colliding into something far more real.

his hands traveled down your body, slipping under the hem of your nightdress. when his fingers touched your skin, it was like a spark. you gasped, and he froze for just a moment, before continuing, his fingers sliding up your thigh, almost teasingly slow.

he moved, lips trailing down your neck, sucking gently at the soft skin near your pulse. you arched into him, silently asking for more. the way he touched you, the way he made every inch of your skin burn under his fingers — it made you feel like you were breaking open in the best way possible.

you swallowed, hesitating for only a second.

taehyun’s hands were firm as they spread your legs, gently but with purpose, pulling you closer to him. his lips left your neck to trace down to your collarbone, each kiss a promise, each touch a slow unraveling of control. his breath hitched as he touched you where you needed him most, slipping past the fabric of your panties. you gasped, your body instinctively tensing, but he didn’t stop, didn’t falter. he was careful, tentative even, but the heat in his touch made it clear he wanted this, wanted you, desperately.

then you turned and walked toward it—slow, steps shaky—and sat at the edge.

he followed, kneeling in front of you, his fingers pulling off your heels, one by one, then slowly, reverently dragging his hands up your calves.

“your first time?” he asked, voice softer now. darker. laced with something almost like awe.

you nodded.

“i’ll be gentle,” he said, kissing your inner thigh. “at first.”

he lifted your dress slowly, exposing lace panties soaked through from everything he’d said, everything he’d done. he groaned low when he saw the mess between your thighs.

“look at that,” he muttered. “my pretty wife. dripping for me.”

you gasped as he licked a stripe over the lace, tongue hot and wet and slow. he took his time—kissing, teasing, tasting you through the fabric until you were panting, hips grinding against his mouth without shame.

“taehyun—please—”

“you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice hushed but intense. “so perfect.”

“let me in,” he whispered, his voice almost breaking, as if he was asking for permission, even though he had already claimed you.

“lie back.”

you obeyed.

he climbed over you, dragging the dress up and over your head until you were bare beneath him—your chest rising with every breath, your skin flushed.

he kissed your collarbones, your neck, your breasts—fingers tweaking your nipples, mouth trailing lower. then he was lining himself up, one hand gripping your hip as he kissed you again, deep and dizzying.

“relax,” he whispered against your lips. “i’ve got you.”

you nodded, the tension in your body thick as he carefully, slowly, pressed into you, watching your face the whole time. it hurt at first — the stretch, the unfamiliarity — but he didn’t rush. every movement was deliberate, tender, as if he were trying to make it as gentle as possible, as if he feared breaking you in the process.

your back arched at the stretch, tears welling up in your eyes from the fullness, the ache. he kissed them away.

“fuck,” he muttered. “you’re so fucking tight. like you were made for me.”

your breath hitched, and you held onto him, your hands gripping his shoulders as he pushed deeper, his lips finding yours once more. his kiss was hard, almost desperate, like he couldn’t get enough of you. his pace was slow, at first, allowing you to adjust, but the need in his body was impossible to ignore.

“you feel so good, baby. taking me so well. fuck—i can feel you squeezing me.”

but it didn’t stay soft for long.

because once you got used to him—once the sting faded and the pleasure bloomed—taehyun changed.

“this what you needed?” he growled, pounding into you harder, “a reminder that you're married? that you belong to me?”

he gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head, fucking into you harder, deeper. his jaw clenched as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

“mine,” he growled. “you belong to me. this pussy’s mine. not heesung’s. not anyone’s.”

“taehyun—god—”

“say it.”

“yours,” you moaned, breathless. “i’m yours.”

“that’s right,” he hissed. “and i’m gonna fuck you like it.”

he flipped you over before you could think—hands on your hips as he thrust into you from behind, one hand fisting your hair, the other slapping your ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“you like this?” he said, breath hot against your neck. “like getting fucked like a wife should?”

you couldn’t answer—you were too far gone.

he pulled you up against his chest, your back flush to him as he kept fucking into you. his hand moved to your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles until you were shaking again, sobbing from the pleasure.

“you’re gonna come again,” he said, voice rough. “you’re gonna come all over my cock while i fill you up.”

and you did.

your whole body convulsed, a scream torn from your throat as he groaned behind you, emptying inside you with a final, brutal thrust.

he didn’t pull out.

instead, he dragged you back into bed, still inside you, kissing your shoulder, your jaw, your lips.

“again,” he whispered. “we’re not done.”

you were still trembling when he kissed the sweat from your temple, when he pressed his chest against your back and held your hips tightly against his.

he hadn’t pulled out.

you could still feel him inside you—thick and hot and pulsing. the room smelled like sex and perfume and expensive cologne. your skin was burning everywhere he touched you. everywhere he kissed.

taehyun’s hand slid from your hip to your waist, then up to your throat. not squeezing—just resting there. possessive. grounding.

his voice was low, rough against your ear.

“feel that?” he murmured. “still so fucking hard inside you.”

you whimpered, thighs twitching. he groaned in response, hips rolling slowly, deliberately, grinding deeper.

“fuck—taehyun…”

“don’t say his name,” he snapped. “you moan mine. no one else’s.”

his hand tightened just a little around your throat, enough to make your eyes flutter closed, to make your breath catch.

“say it,” he demanded.

“…taehyun.”

“again.”

“taehyun—fuck—please…”

he pulled out then, and you almost cried from the sudden emptiness. but he wasn’t done. not even close.

“on your stomach,” he said.

your limbs obeyed before your brain could catch up—body pliant, aching, desperate.

he spread your legs with his knee, dragged your hips up, and slid back into you with a groan so guttural it echoed through the room. your fists clutched the sheets, knuckles white, back arching at the angle.

this time, he didn’t hold back.

his thrusts were deep, punishing, endless. the bed creaked beneath the force of him. his name spilled from your mouth like a prayer, like a cry for help. but he wasn’t stopping. he wanted to hear it.

he needed to ruin you.

his hand tangled in your hair again, yanking you up until your back hit his chest.

“you think anyone else could fuck you like this?” he hissed. “you think he could make you feel this full? this fucking owned?”

your moan was broken, desperate. “no—taehyun—fuck—only you—”

he bent you forward again, pressing your face into the sheets, his hand gripping your ass as he pounded into you harder, messier.

“that’s right. you belong to me.”

“taehyun—i’m gonna—i’m—”

“come for me. now.”

you shattered beneath him, legs trembling violently as he fucked you through it, not relenting, not even slowing.

“god, baby,” he groaned, losing rhythm, “you’re fucking milking my cock.”

he came deep, with a grunt that sounded more like a growl, his hips still grinding into you, desperate to push every drop inside.

neither of you moved for a long time.

his body collapsed over yours—heavy, solid, grounding. your face was buried in the sheets, lungs barely able to keep up, body boneless beneath his weight.

then, slowly, he pulled out.

you gasped softly at the mess that followed, at the mix of fluids dripping between your thighs, down to your trembling legs. he watched it happen with dark, hungry eyes.

“fuck,” he muttered, thumb dragging through the mess before spreading it back into you. “look at this. took all of me like such a good fucking girl.”

you whimpered, shivering.

taehyun leaned down, kissing your shoulder, your spine, your lower back. then he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you with him, both of you sinking into the sheets, tangled together.

he didn’t speak for a while. neither did you.

then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it:

“don’t ever look at him like that again.”

his voice was low. dangerous.

your eyes fluttered closed, your fingers curling into his chest.

“i won’t,” you whispered.

he kissed your forehead.

“good,” he said. “because you’re mine. and i’m not letting you forget it.”

the room was dim, the soft golden light from the hallway spilling through the cracked bedroom door. taehyun hadn’t let go of you. not since the moment you both collapsed into each other, skin against skin, breaths uneven, hearts pounding too loud for either of you to ignore. the air was still heavy with the scent of last night—sweat, sex, his cologne lingering on your skin. your legs ached. your throat felt raw. but it was a quiet ache. a sore you didn’t mind.

but now, the high was gone, replaced by something raw and heavy.

his fingers traced idle shapes along the curve of your bare spine, but his eyes were distant. not cold — not like before — but unreadable. he wasn’t looking at you. he stared at the ceiling, his chest still rising and falling beneath yours.

you shifted slightly in his arms, pulling the sheets tighter around your body. your voice was quiet when you spoke.

"i know you don’t love me." you felt his breath catch. his hand stopped moving. "you never have."

taehyun didn’t answer at first. the silence made your throat close up. maybe you shouldn't have said it. maybe it was better when everything was unspoken — easier to pretend.

"you’re right," he said finally, his voice low, flat. "i didn’t."

you nodded, heart sinking, even though you told yourself you were prepared for that truth.

"but i loved you," you whispered, eyes stinging.

that made him look at you.

not glance. not flick his gaze and move on.

he turned his head, slowly, and looked at you like he had never seen you before. his eyes searched yours — not just your face, not your lips or your lashes or the outline of your cheek — but you. like he was trying to piece together something he hadn’t noticed until now.

"you what?" he asked, almost breathless.

"i loved you," you repeated. the words burned on your tongue, bitter and hot and trembling. "quietly. without reason. without hope. even when you wouldn’t look at me. even when you kept me at arm’s length for a year. i still—" you paused, swallowing hard. "i don’t know when it started. maybe it was the way you always pulled my chair out at those family dinners. or the way you’d always place your hand on the small of my back when we had to play pretend in front of everyone. it was nothing. always nothing. but it meant something to me."

taehyun sat up slowly, the sheets slipping down his bare chest. he looked like he wanted to say something, but nothing came. he was frozen, and that silence felt worse than any rejection.

you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. "it’s okay. you don’t have to say anything. i just… i needed you to know. even if it changes nothing."

"stop," he said suddenly. his voice cracked.

you blinked. "...what?"

"don’t say it meant nothing," he said, turning to face you completely. there was a tension in his jaw, his hands clenched in the sheets like he didn’t know where else to put them. "don’t say that."

you stared at him, lips parting, but he beat you to it.

"i saw you tonight," he said, his voice lower, steadier now. "with him. laughing like that. smiling like it didn’t hurt. like you weren’t trying to survive this fucking arrangement. and for the first time, i hated myself for not trying harder. for not seeing you sooner. i thought i could stay distant. keep it clean. keep it safe. but then—"

he exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair.

"then you looked at me like you didn’t need me anymore."

your heart thudded in your chest.

"so maybe i didn’t love you then," he said, his voice quiet again. "but don’t tell me it meant nothing. because right now, i think it’s starting to mean everything."

you stared at him, breath caught in your throat, chest tight with the ache of all the things unsaid between you.

slowly, carefully, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his.

"then let it mean something," you whispered.

taehyun closed his eyes. and for the first time — truly, deeply — he held you like he didn’t want to let you go.

he opened his eyes a little at the time. he stared a moment longer—at your lips, your eyes, the faint tremble still in your voice. then, for the first time, he leaned in without hesitation. without obligation.

his kiss was soft. warm. nothing like last night.

when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“i’ll draw a bath for you,” he said. “stay in bed.”

you blinked. “you…?”

“you can’t walk properly,” he added, and this time, a tiny smirk curved at the corner of his mouth. “my fault.”

you flushed. “taehyun—”

“don’t argue,” he said, sitting up. the sheets slid down his bare torso, revealing the lines you’d traced with your fingers just hours ago. “you married me. you’re mine. that means i take care of you now.”

you stayed quiet as he got out of bed, the tenderness in his tone still ringing in your ears.

you’re mine.

i take care of you now.

but for the first time, you felt it in the way he walked toward the bathroom. in the way he turned on the water. in the way he reached for a towel and hung it over the warmer. in the way he came back to you with a robe in hand and helped you into it without asking.

he wasn’t warm. not exactly. but he was no longer cold.

he was changing.

and god help you—so were you.

[writer-freak]

Twst birthday headcanons

Characters: Leona, Vil, Idia, Lilia and Cater

A/n: So today is my birthday!!!! And I wrote some headcanons for my favorite twst boys and how they celebrate with you <3

Leona Kingscholar

You wake up with Leona's arms around you, sunlight barely shining through the curtains because he made sure they were drawn shut the night before. He’s not a morning person, and if it were up to him, you wouldn’t get out of bed at all.

"Tch. You’re already awake? Go back to sleep, it’s your birthday. No one’s expectin’ you to be up this early." He grumbles, pulling you closer.

Eventually, after lots of coaxing (and maybe a few bribes in the form of kisses), you are able get out of bed.

Leona’s not the type for big parties, but he does something thoughtful in his own way, like making Ruggie organize you a romantic picnic in the botanical garden. He doesn’t even complain when you take loads of pictures with him.

The day ends with you lying in bed the same as that morning, Leona holding you in his arms, muttering one last “Happy birthday, herbivore,” before drifting off to sleep.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil insists that you start your birthday right, which means waking up in silk sheets, with a a perfect breakfast that is perfect in taste, aesthetic and nutrition because you only deserve the best.

He personally supervises every step of your morning routine, making sure your skin is flawless and that you’re as radiant as ever. "It’s your day, and I won’t have you looking anything less than perfect."

You’re going to to be pampered the entire day (even more than usual). A shopping trip? A spa day? A private dinner with an exclusive menu? He’s thought of everything.

His gift is something incredibly personalized, maybe a fragrance he designed just for you, or a limited edition item from your favorite brand.

At the end of the night, he sits with you on the balcony, sharing a quiet toast to another year together. "My darling, every day with you is a gift. But today, the world itself should celebrate you."

Idia Shroud

The morning starts with you waking up alone, only to find that Idia technically never slept. Instead, he was up all night setting up the ultimate birthday gaming experience for you.

"G-Good morning! Uh—sorry if I woke your up, but look! I made a whole list of games that fit your tastes, and we can play all day, no interruptions."

He isn't the type for regular parties but maybe he set up a virtual surprise where NPCs from your favorite games wish you happy birthday.

His gift? Probably something like a customized controller, or even him buying you any game skin you want. He tries to act nonchalant about it, but his ears are burning red when he gives it to you.

At the end of the night he shyly offers you to lean against his shoulder while you continue gaming. "I-It’s fine if you wanna sleep here. I mean it’s your birthday, so… whatever makes you happy."

Lilia Vanrouge

You wake up not because of an alarm, but because Lilia is already hovering over you, grinning mischievously. "Rise and shine, birthday star~!"

He’s so excited. Probably already made breakfast especially for you (though whether it’s edible is another story).

The whole day is a bit of chaos and fun, he drags you to some kind of adventure, even if it’s just sneaking into different parts of the campus for fun.

His gift is maybe something sentimental like a charm with protective magic or a handwritten letter filled with reasons why he loves you.

The night ends with him humming a soft melody for you, coaxing you to relax. "Another year older, another year more wonderful. You’ll always have me by your side, my dear."

Cater Diamond

You wake up to your phone blowing up, Cater’s already posted a barrage of cute birthday messages and pictures for you. "Gotta make sure everyone knows it’s your special day, y’know?"

He wanted to really make your day special for you so he hid little gifts all over for you to find. Each one has a cute note attached, making you feel extra appreciated.

His actual gift? A scrapbook filled with memories, photos, little doodles, messages from your friends. He loves seeing you smile while you look at each of the pages .

At the end of the day, he insists on a sunset selfie, just the two of you, with the golden light making everything look unreal. "This one’s for the memories, babe. Here’s to another year of being iconic together!"

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

[epicsims]

SANDSTORM HAIRSTYLE | TS4 Designed for females from Teen to Elder, this mod features more than 80 stunning swatches and is Color Wheel Slider Ready for unlimited color customization. • Smooth Weights for a flawless fit • Morphs for enhanced flexibility and realism • Custom Thumbnail for easy browsing in your catalog • HQ Mod Compatible for top-notch quality DOWNLOAD HERE | JOIN FOR FREE TO GET ACCESS! Want to see more? Support me on Patreon for exclusive content. Hope it brings you joy!🌷 Share your snaps with #epicsims

[coldfanbou]

The First One is On The House

Ningning fic once again a challenge given by @i-am-lifeform24

Length 2K

Ningning X Mreader

“Hello? Yes, I can fit her into my schedule. I should have an opening at 7. Later? I guess I could take her in after the show. Alright, I look forward to her visit.” You put the phone back on the receiver and walked back to the table; you were so looking forward to going home early for the evening when you got a call from that customer. You would've preferred taking the appointment for another day, but you wanted to keep your weekend free. You sit back in your office chair and stare at the ceiling before gazing at the clock hanging on the wall. Three hours, that’s how long you’d have to wait for your guest to arrive. 

Getting bored, you pulled out your phone and checked social media, seeing posts from stars from earlier in the day as they walked the red carpet for some fashion event nearby. You see a few of your usual clientele post pictures, liking them before moving on. Eventually, you get tired of that and begin some repetitive tasks, trying to seem busy as you wait for the client to arrive despite them arriving a couple of hours from now. 

Soon enough, you went back to looking at your phone, checking out photos from the event, and seeing the different kinds of people that went. You stopped on a picture of Ningning from the group Aespa when you heard the door open. It was your friend, a manager for various groups. “Sorry for getting here late. She just felt so tired during the show, and we thought it best to call you.”

“Just who is it? That they needed a massage so desperately? I could’ve had a nice evening for myself.”  

Your friend stands aside, letting his gues walk forward. “I’m sorry for making you stay late.” You recognize the woman as she bows her head; it’s Ningning. She was still in the same clothes you had seen in the picture a moment ago, a revealing short black dress that clung to her body.

You wave her off as you refocus. “It’s fine. Just prepare for the massage. I’m going to talk to your manager a bit.” You point the small woman toward a changing room and look back toward your friend. 

You see him heading out the door before you can say anything. “I’m going to get some food. I’ll be back in an hour.” 

“Hey!” The door shuts, and you’re left alone again. You head toward the window and watch him walk toward a nearby restaurant, shaking your head. “I’m gonna talk that guy's head off when he comes back.”

A small voice catches your attention, “I’m ready.” You turn back around to see Ningning covering herself with the towel provided. “Where did my manager go?”

“He went to go eat across the street. Anyway, please follow me.” You lead Ningning into one of the massage rooms and have her lie face down on the table. “I hope the clothing in there wasn’t too tight. I’m going to move the towel down now.” Ningning nods her head.

You move it down slowly, revealing the tan bra that was provided to all female guests who would rather not be naked. It was thick and padded, meant to be comfortable. Your eyes move down her back, noting her flawless skin. You lather your hands in an unscented oil, rubbing it in between your fingers before placing your hands on her lower back. You apply slight pressure on her back, dragging your thumbs away from the center of her body. “Did you have a good time at the fashion show?” 

“It was alright, but the chairs were so uncomfortable. My body started to ache from sitting in them.” 

“I see. Is there anywhere that aches specifically?” 

“I mean, my butt hurts,” Ningning says with a laugh. You just nod along, creating an awkward atmosphere. You kick yourself for not laughing at her joke. Continuing the massage, you move your way up her back, reaching her shoulder. You could feel the tension in them and increase your strength as you began to massage all the knots out. Ningning groans as she feels your hands dig into her shoulders and release the tension in them. “Ooh, that feels so good.” You focus your efforts on Ningning shoulders, and once they relax, you take a step back. 

“I’ll be moving down now.”

“That’s fine,” Ningning moans as she places her head on top of her hands. You move the towel up slightly, keeping her ass covered as you begin to work on her thighs. As you ran your hands across them, you could feel the toned muscles underneath. Working on the one nearest to you, you give her thigh a strong squeeze.

Feeling your hands move across her thighs, Ningning feels her body getting warmer. She used her hands to cover her mouth, struggling to keep her groans from filling the room. Your hands felt good; Ningning could feel a growing wetness between her legs as your finger brushed against the inside of her thigh. Her cheeks begin to turn red as you switch to the other side, starting the process over again. When you accidentally squeeze her thigh a bit too hard, Ningning couldn’t hide her moan—letting the long, smooth sound of her voice fill the room before catching herself. She buries her head in her hands, too embarrassed to look anywhere in the room. You try to ignore it and continue on.

Needing Ningning to turn onto her back, you finally speak up, “Ningning, I finished with your backside; I need you to turn over.”

“O-okay,” She turns herself over slowly, glancing your way. You began to massage her arms, and as you got to her shoulders, you noticed Ningning continually glancing at you.  Nearing her chest, Ningning groaned again. She rubbed her legs together, growing more aroused as your hands glided along her body. Moving down to her legs, you noticed the wet spot between Ningning’s legs, and she knew it too.

You tried to ignore it, but Ningning continued to rub her legs together as you tried to massage her. “I…I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. We’ll just stop here.”

Ningning grabs your hand. “Wait!” She let go briefly before grabbing your hand again. “I-is there any other services you offer?” You understand what she means. Ningning’s voice grew smaller as she went on. “I mean, I see in videos that sometimes masseurs offer special services. Is that an option here?” You were about to reply when Ningning placed your hand on her breast. I can pay you. I-my body just feels really good when you touch it.”

You had to admit that Ningning was a beautiful woman that you’d be lucky to have sex with, and you considered your options. You look at the clock on the wall; half an hour has passed. Knowing your friend, he’d likely be going for seconds right about now and want to take his time getting back. “Alright.” Ningning gives you a soft smile and lets go of your hand. You place it over her slit, the briefs she was wearing keeping your away. Still, it was enough to make her groan. Like the bra provided, the briefs were meant to keep customers more comfortable. Ningning stares at you with lustful eyes as she squirms on the table.  You snake your hand under the briefs and drench your fingers in her nectar as you slide your hands along her slit. Feeling your fingers touch her sends Ningning over the edge; you watch her toes curls and eyes shut as she cums at that moment. “I’m sorry. It’s my first time,” She mumbles.

“I…figured.” You reply as you begin pulling down the briefs. Ningning covered her face, her shyness taking over. You turn her body towards you before dropping your pants. Ningning’s eyes become glued to your growing bulge. “It’s not polite to stare.”

“It just looks so big.” Her comment makes you chuckle. You pull down your underwear, revealing your cock to the young woman. She reaches toward it without uttering a word; you feel her soft hand wrap around the tip. “It’s so warm…”

“So you’ve used toys?”

“...yes,” She says shamefully. 

“It’s natural, Ningning. No need to be ashamed, but let’s see how the real thing compares.” You tell her as you take a step forward and rub the tip of your cock against her slit. Ningning whimpers and stares at your cock as it runs along her cunt. You lean in, kissing her neck softly as you push your head against her cunt. She wraps her arms around you, holding you closely as she begins to fill the room with her moans. You feel her walls squeezing your cock as you push inside of her. 

“Ahh, hold on,” Ningning moans, her hands gripping your shirt. You stop moving, giving her time to adjust. You pepper her with kisses as you wait, softly squeezing her body. “You can move now.”

You push more of your cock into Ningning, watching her expression carefully. You see her shut her eyes and moan as you bury yourself inside her. Her walls are tightly wrapped around your cock, rubbing against the head. You begin thrusting slowly, holding onto her hips to keep her in place. Each thrust brings out more moans from Ningning.

The small woman holds you tightly, wrapping her legs around you as you thrust deeply into her. You could feel Ningning’s walls tighten around your cock, as she neared another climax. “I’m cumming again,” She whimpered. “I’m going to cum.”

You speed up your thrusts, making her cry out from pleasure. You feel her thighs squeeze your sides as she cums. You continue thrusting into Ningning, making her let out a high-pitched whine. Each one was driving her crazy as you overstimulate her. You force your tongue into her mouth as her eyes roll into the back of her head. 

Ningning’s arms lose strength. Falling onto her back, Ningning lets out weak moans. You revel in the feeling of her walls clamping down on your cock. When you feel your orgasm coming, you begin to slow down. You pull out entirely and turn Ningning onto her stomach. You press your cock against her cunt, holding onto her waist with one hand. You ram the length of your cock back inside the petite woman, slipping in with ease. As you drive your cock in and out of Ningning, you watch her ass bounce as it slaps against your body. “You’re so tight, Ningning. I’m getting pretty close to cumming.”

“Cum…” Ningning mumbles as her head bobs with every thrust. You feel yourself getting closer. Your hands dig into Ningning’s flesh. 

“Where do you want it?” You ask as you ram your cock deep into her cunt. Ningning doesn’t respond to the question, only repeating the word cum. You make the quick decision to pull out, knowing it would only cause trouble if she got pregnant. You pull out at the last moment, painting her back as you spurt cum onto her. Ningning feels the warm cum hit her back, groaning as her mind slowly returns to her. 

You check the clock; your friend should be back in a few minutes. You grab a few towels and wipe the cum off Ningning's back. “Your manager is going to be coming back soon. You better get changed.” 

“Manager?” Ningning slowly blinks as she realizes. He’ll be coming back soon. She struggles to stand up, and you’re forced to help her get into the changing room while you clean up. You wait by the entrance for her manager to show up, and soon enough, he appears. 

“I’m back.” He says with a burp. “Where’s Ningning?”

“You really didn’t hold back on eating, did ya? Did you get me anything?”

“Uh, no, sorry.” Ningning steps out of the changing room looking like she did when she first stepped foot inside, the only difference being her slightly frazzled hair. “Oh, there you are.”

“Sorry for the wait. I struggled with the heels.” 

“That’s okay. Let’s get you back to the dorms. Thanks for dealing with her.” Ningning nods her head and follows her manager out the door, picking up a business card before giving you a wink and leaving.

[eloquentlytired]

18+ NSFW. MDNI.

fisherman! logan howlett x older! reader

word count: a lot

warning(s): smut, build up to smut, logan is 30 while the reader is in her 40s ( u choose how much ), cheating, logan is smitten with his beloved customer, reader has a daughter, and logan calls the reader mama sometimes bc she is indeed the best mama, reader’s husband is a dckhead if it makes u feel better, mentions of neglect and shitty behavior ( from husband ), but logan makes everything better, I LOWKEY LOVED WRITING THIS

note: I haven't written for older!reader before but I hope I didn't disappoint you my beloved anon! In the meantime I hope everyone enjoys reading this one if YES pls interact it'd make me happy🩷🥰 thank you always for the support !!!

There's nothing that makes Logan happier than doing the work he likes. It's a blessing to have found a small area he's fond of and an even bigger blessing to help out customers. Or to help you specifically.

Logan sees you for the first time when he opens the fish shop — it's the first one to open after the old one has shut down. You greet him with the sweetest smile while your daughter holds your hand.

“Good morning.” You tell him so kindly and your smile turns out to be contagious because Logan returns it instantly.

You ask him about his life and how he's ended up in this place while Logan prepares your groceries. He tells you but purposely leaves some things out of the way. It isn't wise of him to talk about his mutant abilities either way, he wouldn't want to scare you.

He finishes your order purposely slow but you don't tell him off, you don't even reprimand him for it. You smile and wave him off — and your sweet daughter does too.

After that he sees you many times. If he was a fool he'd assume that your diet is mostly sea food but no — Logan has caught on. And you have caught on his stares in return.

“My husband likes this but I much prefer tuna. I'm not sure why.” You tell him as you scan the new products he's stuffed his shop with.

Logan nods.

“Tuna is the best in my opinion.” He says.

“You really think so?” The way your eyes sparkle when you ask him, happy to just share something common with another person.

Logan is an absolute loser— “I really think so.” —and he actually despises tuna.

It's raining heavily when you enter his shop one day, drenched from head to toe. You're shivering while your hands are filled with shopping bags, making your shoulders fall because of the weight. Logan rushes to you — he was about to close up but it doesn't matter anymore — and takes the bags from your hands, stacking them on the counter of his shop.

“I’m sorry.” You tell him softly and Logan can hear the regret in your tone. “I know I shouldn't have come so late. I was trying to stack up the fridge because of the incoming storm. And I've left my daughter in the house alone too, my husband wouldn't pick up the phone—” He's heard that one before from you surely. The bastard.

You stop talking when Logan is suddenly by your side, wrapping a blanket around your shivering body. Your eyes meet and Logan prays that he stays sane through it all. Promises he hasn't noticed the way your long dress has become one with your skin or how the little mascara you've worn has run down your cheeks. Yet you look flawless to him.

“Hey.” Logan calls your name softly and you wonder when it's the last time you've heard someone say it like that, in that loving tone.

Logan doesn't speak your name to order you around to do his laundry or his food. Or the dishes. Or the chores. Or the gardening. Or...

His palm is warm when it settles on your shoulder and it pulls you off your trance. He's kind with his touch and with his gaze — Logan always has been with you. “I’ve got you.” He mutters and you break down in his arms.

Moments later, he's dragged you into the back of the shop and you sit on top of a counter wearing his clothes, sweatpants and a sweater, which barely fit. Logan is big— really big.

“I look ridiculous.” You say with a small chuckle but Logan's eyes regard you differently as he cooks. For you.

“You look perfect.” He whispers and it makes you freeze a little, makes you question everything that the golden ring around your finger stands for.

He notices, of course he does, but he doesn't mention it. Hell, Logan doesn't even think he cares when your husband is the way he is.

“Tell you what.” He suddenly says breaking the long silence. His hands move swiftly as he finishes preparing a giant portion of tuna and rice. You watch as he places the food in tupperware, counting the little boxes. “This is big enough to feed three people and coincidentally—” Both of you smile at the last word. “— we are two. And your daughter is one more, isn't she?”

Your heart beats fast within your chest and your tears prickle your eyes. It's perfect. It's too good to be true.

“I would hate for this food to go to waste and I'm sure the two of you are starving.” You watch him as he uses one hand to hold the food bag and the other to carry your other six shopping bags.

You move forward, hands reaching out so you can help him but Logan tuts instead and uses his knee to keep you back.

“I dare you.” He grumbles playfully and you nearly shudder because of the way he says it.

“You should respect your elders, Logan.” You manage to say between heavy breaths but all Logan does is feel amused.

He grins, then takes a step closer and you momentarily lose air when he leans too close. “Careful, mama. I wouldn't want you to be late.”

You stare at him still processing his words as he walks away to start his car. The ring around your finger feels weightless.

The dinner is good and you can't register a time when both you and your daughter have laughed so hard before. Dinner is usually dull, especially with your husband around, but you didn't even miss the good old times anymore. They were always overshadowed by the bad ones.

You watch as Logan plays with your daughter and your heart secretly flutters. Yearns for a different life than the one you have right now.

But it's too late, you think, and Logan could still build a good life with someone his age. Why would you even destroy that when he's been so good to you?

But then Logan turns to you and begins to talk. I'll do the dishes, don't you dare move. Stop thinking so much, you'll hurt your pretty mind. What a lucky girl to have a mama like this one.

So that's why you can't let go.

Your daughter is fast asleep. Husband nowhere in sight. No answers, no nothing.

Logan watches you from where he's doing the dishes, sitting on the couch and looking outside. You've drawn the curtains open to watch the rain. It's worrisome weather but it somehow soothes you.

“You worried about him?” Logan suddenly asks, taking you by surprise.

“I should be but I..” You shake your head and leave it at that. Logan understands.

There's more silence but it's not uncomfortable. There's no such word when Logan is around you, taking care of you. He wraps it up with the dishes and heads over to your stereo, fidgeting with it to find a signal.

“It won't work, Lo. Leave it.” You tell him softly and the petname makes him want to drop dead. In a good way of course.

Logan doesn't listen — he searches and searches. Then he finds it and turns to you with a wide grin in his face as if expecting some sort of praise.

Instead, he walks to you while the unknown beat of jazz fills the living room and offers you his hand.

“I don't think we should..” Your voice trails off when Logan doesn't budge. He simply won't.

You take his hand as he pulls you to the center of the room and slides an arm around your waist being so carefully. You rest your hand on his shoulder while your other two intertwine.

He sways with you and you sway with him. There's rhythm, there's harmony. There's something there you haven't had for over a decade and although Logan could have anybody else in this world, he looks most content there. With you.

“There are many people out there for you.” You begin to say as he leans his head closer to yours.

He doesn't reply so you insist.

“People your age. As old as you are—” Logan spins you around and then presses his chest against your back. You're somehow all over him, moving against him.

Both of his hands move to your waist and Logan takes the courage to press his lips against the spot behind your ear.

“I hate tuna.” Logan mumbles, his voice raspy and filled with need. His next actions shock you as he slides one of his hands over yours and strokes over your wedding ring. Logan grips it, removes it and lifts it to your eye level. “But I hate this more.”

The moment he tosses it away, he turns you around and his eyes speak so many things. Need. Desperation. Love. Struggle.

“Wear it back and I'll leave. Don't—” He swallows nervously. “—and I'll make you happy, mama. I swear I will.” But you've never doubted that for a second.

You stare at the carpet, at that little golden band shimmering somewhere. Then back at Logan.

“I’ll hold you back. You'll get bored with me, of me. Having me and my daughter— you won't—”

Logan kisses you because he can't stand listening. But he also can't stand holding back anymore.

The surprise is momentary as you squeeze your arms around his shoulders, struggling to fit all of him into a hug. Logan surprises you more when he uses a single arm to pick you up by your hips, your legs instinctively locking around his waist.

“Lo—”

You're more desperate than he is and for so many different reasons. He carries you to the nearest efficient surface — the dining table — and sits you there carefully.

Your eyes lock for a moment as Logan steals another kiss from you. “You want the ring?” He asks and you almost laugh. Fuck the ring.

You're the one who initiates the next kiss, tilting your head to deepen the action. Your hands tremble with excitement, Logan's tremble because he's never touched such a beautiful woman before in his entire life. His woman.

He's quick with your his clothes although a little messy. You can feel his excitement but also his nerves shifting as he reaches for your bra next, struggling to take it off.

“Easy.” You whisper against his lips and Logan is surely dead, must be dreaming. The hook never comes off because Logan rips the front of your bra with his bare hands and disregards it like it's nothing.

You can feel yourself physically react, cunt clenching around nothing although you want it to be around him. Now.

He's right here, your arms wrapped around his head as Logan takes a bud into his mouth and sucks. You react by whimpering softly and Logan sucks harder as his hand occupies your other breast, fondling it within his fingers.

The attention on your chest makes you weak, you love it. You're sensitive, he murmurs before grazing your nipple with his teeth. “I need more.” You find the courage to tell him and Logan nods because so does he.

His fingers grip your panties and rip it too — he has no control over that. It's like a primal urge to do it.

“How long?” Logan asks as he rubs two fingers across your cunt, parting your lips teasingly before releasing them. Every motion offers a wet noise from you. It's embarrassing.

“I don't remember.” You answer and it's all he needs to know to confirm about the failure your husband is.

You watch Logan drop to his knees. His eyes are blown wide with lust and his mouth parts as if starving. You realize what he wants and that he's been craving this moment since forever. The thought alone makes you shiver.

“I have never—” done this, you want to tell him but Logan let's his youth take over his reactions.

His hands are strong around your thighs, they're secure and sure. He won't drop you and you fucking know it as he guides your lower half over his face and sits you down hard.

Your hands shoot up to cover your mouth.

Logan mouths against your pussy before parting your folds with his tongue, dragging it high and low. Your hips shake and he flexes his fingers around your thighs, squeezing every skin he can get.

He licks everywhere. All of you.

His face gets buried into your weeping pussy as his nose grinds against your clit and his tongue circles your entrance teasingly slow. There's too much coming out of you, you're like an endless stream, and Logan isn't afraid to taste every drop.

It becomes worse when he distances you from the table and your legs dangle off the floor. You stare wide eyed because your only means of support is Logan's hands on your hips oh — and his face which has basically turned into your personal seat.

“Logan wait—” You yelp but your voice is muffled by your hands.

Logan doesn't listen, doesn't even pull away to breathe. The man is starved and there's only one thing he wants to achieve — to eat you whole.

You've given up trying to reason with him especially when he eats you out this way. You move your hips fast and are desperate to reach your peak. Logan's fingers tighten around your thighs as he guides your thrusts, moaning while you ride his face.

You bite your lip as you throw your head back and arch your entire body, thighs shaking around Logan's head. He wiggles his tongue against your clit as you orgasm, the stimulation of your bud making your entire body quiver.

He's got you, hands steadier than ever and keeping you safe, as you come.

When he slowly pulls you off, you look down at him but the concern melts away. You stare at his face and faint beard covered by your slick. It's not embarrassing anymore — it's different. You can't have enough.

The door of your marital bedroom is shut and locked firmly. Whatever shame or guilt you might have felt at the start, it doesn't exist anymore.

Your legs dangle on Logan's shoulders as he pounds you, his cock rummaging through your tight walls and hitting spots you didn't even know existed. Not like this.

His balls are heavy again and full of the load he wants to fill you with. But it's been hours like this and he hasn't stopped — Logan is something else.

“You think you can fit one more for me? Let me fill you up?” His lips brush against your ear and you shiver. You nod, lips fallen wide for sometime now and blabbering incoherent words. Logan only catches the more leaving your lips.

His hands keep your legs risen and over his shoulders as he fucks you, his balls smacking against your skin with each pound. They're covered in cum too because of how many times Logan has filled you, some of it pouring out.

It's too much but at the same time not nearly enough.

Your hands twist the bedsheets beneath you and you look at him — silently pleading with him to swallow your noises. Logan knows and his lips find yours, silencing you just in time as he comes again and pours his seed into you for the last time.

His heels dig against the bed because it's so intense as you squeeze around him and use one of your hands to toy with your over sensitive clit, feeling it all. Taking everything in.

“Logan.” You moan against the kisses and he grunts softly, swallowing every sound and word. You come around his cock with a shuddering gasp again and Logan releases your legs to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into him.

Your hands move enough to grip his bare shoulders, scratching them.

“Ride it out. So good.” Logan pants while squeezing you by your waist, lying on his side and dragging you with him.

He guides your hip around him, letting his hand linger there as his cock softens within you.

“There she is.” Logan whispers, looking at you. Seeing you receiving pleasure is one thing but to witness your peaceful expression, looking so content and happy... How could Logan ever let go of that?

You grab a hold of the hand that caresses your thigh and bring it to your lips. Logan watches you as you kiss every space between and on top of his knuckles, eyes fluttering. Your gaze lingers and so does his.

“You know.” He states after a while, nose brushing against yours.

“I know.” You reply and his heart jumps a little; not knowing if it's good or bad that you've discovered his true nature. His mutant side.

You kiss him, slow and gentle.

“You’re beautiful.” Is the answer that slips out of your lips and Logan wants to take you all over again but he doesn't. It isn't his intention to break you in such little time — now is just the start.

His strong arms pull you close and he blindly reaches for something. A blanket. He covers you with it and when your eyes meet again, Logan nudges your nose with his.

“You’re so perfect.” He says, voice raspy per usual, and kisses your face. Your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. “Gonna fucking die for you. Kill too.”

Your heart fills with affection and love. Your worries and the demons keeping you away from him are long gone now — Logan is right there. He's chosen you like you've chosen him. There's only one thing left to do.

“You happen to have two spots open in your heart?” You ask him and Logan smiles — it's the widest smile you've ever seen from him.

He nods.

“Just two? We can make it more than that. If you want I'll make you a mama again right now—” He's blowing raspberries at your nape as you wiggle, supposedly trying to shake away from his grip. That hollow room is filled with laughter after years of dullness.

Like you've said.

There's only one thing left to do.

[durtblog]

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CHECKMATE (3/20)

You will know more about our governor... I know I know... is taking a while for them to interact, but is a slow burnnn. Let's feel it, okay?

About the US elections, I'm not a us native, so if you find something wrong. Please, let me know!

Enjoy!!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: +18, angst and blood mention. (Proceed with caution)

Pairing: Governor!Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: Agatha tries to find you and can't believe you were there the whole time.

Queen

noun

The most powerful piece of the game. It can move freely in any direction and any number of places, since there aren't other pieces in its front.  

Her makeup was flawless. Not because she wanted to look pretty—that was quite trivial—but because image was everything on national television, and Agatha Harkness knew how to manipulate image like a general commanding troops.

The TVW logo flashed in blue and white on the screen, followed by a deep musical cue that announced: "Washington Governor Debate: The Future at Stake."

Cameras cut to the austere stage set at Kane Hall, University of Washington, with tiny American flags hanging like sentinels behind the three lit podiums.

Steve Rogers, a decorated veteran and fervent advocate for national security, adjusted his red tie. His jaw clenched between each pause.

Bruce Banner, an award-winning scientist and environmentally focused candidate, stood composed. His gaze was calm, though his fingers drummed nervously on the podium.

And at the center, between the two men, stood former senator Agatha Harkness. She wore a custom navy blue suit. Shoulders squared, chin raised, eyes cold and calculating like the tip of a queen.

Moderator Lisa Monroe addressed the camera:

“Good evening, America. We’re live at the University of Washington with the top three candidates for governor of the state of Washington.”

Turning toward the candidates, she asked:

“Candidates, homicide rates in Washington have risen 33% compared to last year. What is your solution… Candidate Rogers?”

Steve leaned into the mic. His voice was deep, confident, rehearsed.

“The answer’s simple, Lisa. We need to reinforce police presence. Authority. Order. When a hardworking citizen leaves for their job, they should know they won’t be mugged or killed, and that criminals will think twice before acting. I support increased police funding across the board. Peace must be kept by strength, and that’s a fact.”

Applause followed and Agatha resisted the urge to roll her eyes. God. Steve sounded like he lived in a comic book.

She tilted her head slightly, watching him like a strategist observing a move.

“Candidate Banner?”

Bruce took a breath, adjusting his glasses.

“I believe the problem is systemic. Violence stems from inequality, from abandonment. The solution lies in education, mental health, social reintegration programs. We don’t need more bullets. We need more teachers. More psychologists. Fewer overcrowded prisons and more real opportunities.”

Applause came from another side of the auditorium. Lisa then turned to Agatha, who had yet to speak.

“Candidate Harkness?”

She leaned slightly toward the microphone. Her voice was calm, low, yet it filled every corner of the hall.

“What my opponents offer are outdated formulas. On one hand, the heavy hand of repression. On the other, an educational utopia that overlooks the urgency of this crisis. I don’t believe in one-size-fits-all answers. The truth is… the problem is multifactorial and so must be the solution.”

She turned slightly to face the audience, her gaze locked on the main camera.

“I support the use of technology to map out high crime zones, increased presence of trained police with demilitarization protocols, and at the same time, grassroots public policy implementation. No investment in security should come without investment in prevention.”

Bruce tried to interrupt, but she raised her hand ever so slightly—not even touching the mic, just a gesture. And magically, he fell into a silence chocked with saliva.

“And before anyone accuses me of ‘administrative coldness,’ as they have before…” she said, turning now to Lisa, “Let me say this: coldness is ignoring hard data. Coldness is watching mothers bury their children while we debate academic theories or empty speeches about force. I am rational. I am pragmatic. And that’s what this country needs.”

A heavy silence lingered for a moment.

“And just to be clear, Candidate Rogers…” she turned to Steve, her eyes now nearly glacial, “Putting more officers on the street without questioning the culture of force and racism is like trying to put out a fire with gasoline. Your answer is disturbingly convenient for those who don’t want change anything.”

She gave a rehearsed, toothy smile.

“And to Dr. Banner…” she addressed Bruce, her tone a touch softer. “Your heart’s in the right place. But good intentions aren’t enough when there’s blood on the sidewalks of our cities.”

She finished with a slight nod. Applause erupted from every section of the auditorium.

Harkness was known for her pragmatic, urgent speeches. She understood that change was needed and she was willing to make it happen.

Lisa swallowed hard, visibly rattled.

“Well… let’s move on to the next topic.”

Agatha Harkness adjusted her blazer and leaned back slightly against the podium. She didn’t need physical strength, nor passionate outrage.

Her weapon was intellect.

Control.

Strategy.

In the game of power, she already knew she was winning. 

The debate continued, growing more heated. Behind the cameras, Barkley celebrated in silence, watching Agatha maneuver exactly as rehearsed.

When Lisa finally closed the debate, Jennifer made her way toward Agatha with the satisfied smile of someone already tasting victory.

Agatha removed the mic from her lapel and turned with surgical precision toward Jennifer Barkley, who approached like a Hollywood star crossing a red carpet.

“How is my champion?” Jennifer beamed, red lipstick matching her over-the-top confidence. “You annihilated them. Steve looked like a lost boy scout, and Bruce? A tired environmentalist. Honestly, a very elegant bloodbath.”

Agatha raised one brow, her expression as composed as ever.

“If that was a bloodbath, I hope someone cleaned the splatter. I hate mess.”

Jen laughed and threw an arm around the candidate’s shoulders, gently steering her toward the backstage exit.

“You need to relax. We’re celebrating at the new downtown bar. Stark will be there.”

Agatha paused, rolling her eyes like someone who’d just been told she had to share a flight with a talking pig.

“Tony Stark?” She sighed like she'd just heard a bad joke. “The mayor-entrepreneur-privatization messiah? The man who thinks good Wi-Fi solves structural inequality?”

Jennifer burst out laughing. “The one and only. But he’s got good connections. And let’s be honest, he is fun when he is drunk.”

“A radioactive orange can be fun too, Jennifer. And it doesn’t mean I want one floating in my drink.”

“You’re impossible, darling,” Jen said in a tone that suggested she was used to the acid. “But it’ll be good for you. Take a moment to enjoy your win. You’ll be with me—it will be amazing.”

Agatha didn’t reply. She merely tilted her head slightly, as if already accepting the inevitable.

Minutes later, alone in the dressing room, she pulled out her phone and called Nicky. It rang twice before his young, hoarse voice picked up.

“Hey, Mom. The debate’s over?”

“Yes." She said, her voice gentler now. “And now I’m going to a bar with Jennifer. It’ll probably be a long night. Don’t wait up.”

She heard him yawn on the other end.

“Okay. Good luck with your billionaire suit friends.”

She smiled, and for a moment, her eyes lost the steel they held in public.

“You know me too well.”

“I’m your son,” he replied. “Someone has to.”

A quiet pause followed— very heavy with unspoken affection.

She broke it first.

“I… I love you, honey.”

She loved Nicholas more than anything in the world, but saying it out loud still felt foreign.

Luckly, Nicky knew the mother he had.

“Love you too, Mom.”

As the call ended, Agatha stared at her own reflection in the mirror. Her face was unreadable, almost impenetrable — but beneath it there were always scars.

Thanos used to say she was a fortress. That he loved how firm, how decisive she was. And he truly did. He was a good man, generous—a businessman who read poetry and cried at weddings.

But Agatha never loved him.

And that was the silent tragedy of her life: marrying a good man and still feeling locked inside herself. The frustration of knowing her love was never meant to shape itself around softness.

Maybe that’s why she learned to love power, the only relationship that never disappointed her.

The bar was a showcase of carefully calculated excess— amber lighting, polished black marble, waiters who looked like magazine models. It was still empty at that hour, and the soundtrack played softly in the background. 

Agatha Harkness settled into a dark brown leather armchair, crossing her legs with the elegance of someone who knew everyone was watching and more importantly, knew how to use it.

As if it were the most ordinary thing: a gubernatorial candidate walking out of a debate into a bar.

She made a simple two-finger gesture to the waiter, her voice landing like a signature on fine stationery: “A martini. Dry ice.”

Jennifer laughed beside her, already sipping from a glass of sparkling wine that matched the gleam in her eyes. “Martini? Oh, dear. You really know how to have fun.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, as if debating whether a response was worth it. She took the glass with a grace so sharp it almost hurt, and brought it to her lips without hurry.

“Fun is a subjective concept, Jen. I just drink something that doesn’t offend me.”

Jennifer let out a laugh a bit too loud for the still-empty room, tossing her hair back. The kind of woman who knew how to be loved and hated in equal measure and enjoyed both.

“You don’t relax even when you’re about to win, do you?”

Agatha turned her face toward the window, eyes sharp as she watched the first cars pulling up outside.

“Because I haven’t won yet.”

“But you will.” Jennifer smiled like someone already cashing in lottery winnings. “Washington is just the beginning. With Stark in your damn pocket and this campaign in your hands, babe… we’re shaping the fucking country.”

At the mention of the name, Agatha drew a slow breath, her eyes drifting into her glass as if searching for patience inside it.

“Tony Stark is a billionaire buffoon with an ego the size of the national deficit. If he could privatize air, he already would’ve.”

Jennifer laughed harder, tapping Agatha’s arm playfully. “But he has influence. And you need that. This bar, by the way, is his. It’s all networking, baby.”

Agatha looked around like a woman trapped in a play written by idiots. Even the sophistication of the place seemed to scream: new money, old power.

But she was there.

Because in the game of power, even lions must dance with clowns.

Speak of in the devil—Tony Stark walked in. Hair slicked back, beard trimmed to perfection. A long coat and an expensive suit.

Old money. Real money.

The room seemed to tilt slightly toward him—waiters straightened up, conversations dropped in volume, and even the lighting seemed to land better on him.

Agatha didn’t turn immediately. She could recognize Tony’s footsteps anywhere: Italian leather shoes, sharp, arrogant.

He was the kind of man who made sure to leave behind a trail of expensive cologne and unspoken promises wherever he went.

“Oh, the peacock’s arrived,” she murmured to Jennifer, without moving a single muscle on her face.

“Be nice,” Jen replied with a crooked smile. “He wants to see you in the Oval Office, Agatha. Not at the altar.”

Agatha let out a quiet snort. “Which would be worse, I wonder.”

Tony was already approaching, arms wide, wearing that half-smile he believed was charming but was pure performance.

“Well, if it isn’t the most feared woman of the evening,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Agatha tilted her chin slightly, accepting the gesture with the same indifference one gives to an inevitable, useless meeting.

“Tony,” she replied, voice low and sharp like polished glass. “Here to celebrate a victory I haven’t declared yet?”

“I’m a man of vision. I like betting on winners.” He sat beside her, ignoring Jennifer entirely. “And you, my dear Agatha, are a racehorse in a field of donkeys.”

Jennifer laughed, but Agatha only sipped her martini. “The problem with visionaries, Stark,” she said, “is that they mistake projection for reality.”

“Maybe. But reality, as we both know, is bendable.” He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “Imagine the two of us. My capital. Your mind. We’d be unstoppable.”

She finally turned to him, smiling a smile that was all blade. “Tony, you talk like this is a marriage proposal.”

“And why couldn’t it be?”

“Because I don’t marry billionaires who use drones to deliver flowers.”

“It was meant to be romantic.”

“Oh. The NSA must be jealous, I’m sure.”

Tony burst out laughing. He loved this about her—the disdain, the coldness, the fact that she’d never kiss him—which only made him want it more.

Agatha knew that. 

She knew that to him, she was a trophy that refused to be displayed and she knew how to perform. She knew how to smile with just the right teeth, tilt her body at the right angle, laugh at the things that needed laughing—like a trained actress.

She pretended well.

Until she felt it.

Eyes.

Not the dull eyes of sycophants. Not the ones looking for power, or seeing her only as a candidate to be manipulated—a valuable piece in their dirty games.

No.

This gaze was something else.

Like the flame of a candle in a dark room—small, silent, but impossible to ignore. Its presence burned gently, yet more intensely than anything around.

Agatha turned her head with the calculated slowness of a woman who knows every move she makes could shift the gravity of a room.

And then she saw you.

Sitting on the other side of the bar, alone.

Your small frame looked fragile, hunched slightly forward, elbows resting on the edge of the counter. Your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol. The heavy makeup and short dress trying to make you look older.

The glass forgotten between your fingers. And your eyes—your eyes were watching her with a rare kind of intensity. Not political interest or fame.

Something more human, something more dangerous.

Curiosity.

Desire.

Defiance.

When your eyes met, you smiled. A short smile—not arrogant at all, but with a hint of shy provocation. And then, you looked away. Like someone casting bait... and waiting.

Agatha remained still, the martini glass still near her lips. One brow arched. The exchange was brief, but it left a hum.

Were you flirting?

She didn’t know what was more intriguing: the boldness of the gesture or the fact that, for a second, it worked. For a second, Agatha Harkness found herself... curious.

But before she could give it more thought, you stood up. Without haste. Without looking back. You walked through the golden bodies of the lounge like you belonged nowhere, and disappeared into the sea of people swelling as the night grew older.

Agatha followed the motion with her eyes, like watching something come unhinged. Jennifer said something beside her. Tony too. The bar pulsed now with louder music.

But Agatha wasn’t fully there anymore.

Who were you? she wondered.

She didn’t know your name. Didn’t know why your gaze had burned more than any compliment or political alliance proposed that night.

“Are you okay?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it. Cold. Direct. And almost robotic.

But the truth was, she didn’t know why she had followed you. She only knew she saw your body disappear through the back door, and something inside her—maybe some ancient impulse, maybe a stupid desire to feel something —had made her follow.

She hated when that happened.

The silence that followed her question was almost worse than any answer. She saw the faint nod, the way your expression tried to mask a pain she knew far too well.

A kind of sadness that lives in the corners of the mouth, in eyes that don’t want to be seen.

“I just needed some air.”

Your voice was fragile, and even so, Agatha felt the blow. She could recognize that sound — someone trying not to fall apart. And what infuriated her was how much it affected her.

She sat down. Not too close, but close enough to feel it.

It was always like this. Agatha approached danger carefully, with the stupid illusion that control was enough to stop the abyss from swallowing her whole.

But it wasn’t.

Your presence made her uneasy. Eyes too big, too sincere, too alive. As if they stripped away everything she’d spent her life trying to bury.

“Why are you here?” you asked.

And Agatha almost laughed at your boldness.

Why, indeed?

She didn’t know.

The answer she gave was the only honest thing to leave her mouth in weeks: “I saw you leave. And… I came.”

She didn’t know how to explain what that was. A heat that threatened to melt her logic. An absurd attraction born from absolutely nothing, like being pulled by something stronger than herself—and she hated feeling weak.

“I don’t usually do this.”

And that was true, too. She didn’t. Actually, Agatha never did. But there, with you in front of her, the never seemed to dissolve far too quickly.

“You’re… different,”

The word scorched her tongue like alcohol on open skin. She practically spat it out, hating every syllable. Every damn syllable and what they meant. Because it wasn’t just any difference, it wasn’t about style or looks. It was something she couldn’t name—and Agatha hated not knowing.

Her whole body was on alert, like you were a glitch in her control matrix.

And worst of all: a fascinating one.

And you asked. Oh, God. Of course you asked.

“What do you mean?”

Agatha felt a flicker of irritation, like you’d touched a part of her even she didn’t dare approach. A pout formed on her lips—an involuntary expression of frustration she hated revealing.

She didn’t know how to answer.

Worse: she didn’t want to answer.

But her eyes, always so disciplined, faltered. They dropped to your mouth.

Damn her body. She hated that. Hated you.

“I don’t know,” she said at last, her voice laced with something deeper. An unwanted recognition.

But the truth, raw and unbearable, was right in front of her: You destabilized her.

And Agatha hated being destabilized.

“But I despise it,” she confessed. The venom in her voice wasn’t for you, it was for herself. For this fucking weakness you had unearthed in her.

You were too young, too reckless, and you had no right.

“Why?” you asked, with that voice that felt like an invitation to disaster.

Agatha felt the blood throb harder, her jaw tightening.

She turned to you like someone bracing against an invisible threat — but on your face, there was only the war inside her.

A volcano of colliding urges.

Because everything in her was control.

Everything.

Even you.

Especially you.

“Because I hate losing control,” she said.

It was a warning, but it was obvious you’d choose to stay.

The wind blew hard, covering part of her face with her hair. She let it, because hiding was easier than letting you see what was burning inside.

But you saw it, and that terrified her.

“Maybe… maybe it’s not such a bad thing.”

Oh. Sweet illusion.

She let out a harsh, dry laugh. The laugh of someone who’d seen the end of the world and survived only to laugh at the ashes.

“You have no idea what you’re saying.”

And it was true.

Come on! you had no idea how bad this was, how dangerous. And still, ignoring everything you didn’t know, you stepped closer.

Then again.

And now, there was no more space left between you.

Agatha could feel the heat of your body like electricity against her skin. You burned her, and still… she didn’t move back.

Why didn’t she move?

Because of your fucking needy eyes that met hers, and something in her cracked. Because you saw. You saw what no one should ever see, and she hated you for that too.

“Then tell me,” you whispered. “Make me understand.”

The request was a blade—sly, needy—that cuts and makes you thank it for the blood.

“I can’t do that.”

Her voice faltered. God, her voice cracked.

She turned away. She needed to leave, she wanted to run and never see you again.

But she didn’t run. 

Fuck. Why didn’t she run?

Agatha stood there, hand on the doorknob, waiting for something she couldn’t even name.

You approached.

Slow and intentional.

As if you knew she had nowhere else to go.

When your fingers touched her hair, Agatha shivered. The sound that escaped her mouth—God. She wanted to hate you. Hate you so fucking much, but no. Agatha wanted this. She wanted you.

“Please…”

You whispered it against her skin, and it felt like an ancient spell.

She turned. Her back pressed to the door, eyes heavy with everything she tried to hide.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” she growled, voice torn. She stared into your eyes, pupils blown wide, begging for something—anything.

God, you were so aroused.

And without asking, you kissed her. Not her lips, but her neck. Slow, feverish kisses, damn near perfect.

“Please, please, please.”

The words echoed in her mind, burned onto the neck you just kissed. Branded like whispered promises on a dangerous night.

You rose, almost a real kiss.

Almost…

And when she leaned in, you pulled away, the absence hurting more than any touch, and in her eyes now, there was fire.

Primal, wild.

“Fuck.”

She kissed you.

Like someone surrendering, like someone sinning with full knowledge they’d burn in hell.

And it wasn’t gentle.

It couldn’t be.

Because you were different.

And she despises that.

Agatha knew, from the second you pinned her against the iron door, that she had crossed a line she should never have even approached.

You moaned softly into her mouth, your lips fitting with an old urgency—she felt everything.

Everything.

As if your taste was the secret key to a prison she’d locked herself in for decades. And for a moment, she wanted to be free.

The campaign, Jennifer and Stark. The politics, the numbers and cold calculations could go fuck themselves. 

None of it mattered.

Not there, with your fingers slipping lower and lower.

Agatha only wanted to feel worshiped. And you… You were young, and you did it with a devotion that bordered on blasphemy. The way your tongue surrendered and defied at the same time… Hell.

She hated herself for loving it. For finding pleasure in being kissed by someone who shouldn’t even belong in the same world as her.

Her hands grabbed you like iron, and you—so insolent, brave, stupid— let yourself be marked, as if belonging to Agatha was the most natural thing in the world, as if you knew you were made for it.

Why? Why was it so easy for you to give in??

That’s what threw her off.

Agatha had always been cold, frigid. That’s how Thanos used to put it, even when trying to sound kind. That’s what the men in parties called her behind her back. That’s how she saw herself for years: a woman who knew how to use her body, but never actually felt anything.

But now? Now, with you… She was burning like fire. Because the heat was coming from you. From a young, unruly, disobedient body.

And fuck... that was dangerous.

Because feeling was dangerous. Feeling meant stripping down and stripping down meant dying in her world.

The heat in her thighs. The pulsing in her wrist. The sweat at her nape.

Everything was too alive. Too real. You made her feel, and that was a fucking problem.

She tried to control it. Tried to take back control. Pulled away from the kiss. Said “no” with her forehead still pressed to yours.

But you leaned in again.

You licked your lips and promised you’d take care of her. Your scent was everywhere driving her insane.

That sentence…

“I can do this for you.” 

Would be the death of her.

And the worst part?

 You did.

Agatha moaned, yes. Loud and shamefully. Her body trembled. Heat rose through her legs, gathered at her center, pounded in her chest.

With your fingers. With that pretty mouth of yours. With your doe eyes. With the fucking way you begged her to feel it.

You whispered promises and sweet words like poison while you explored her—mouth, fingers, eyes.

She lost her breath, lost her grip.

“Fuck! It’s been so long!” she cried, bouncing shamelessly on your fingers.

It had been ages since she let anyone give her pleasure. But it happened... in a dirty, cramped emergency exit. With a stranger young enough to be Nicky’s friend.

And you knew exactly what to do. How did you know? How could someone so young touch her with that much reverence and filth at the same time?

Fuck… she was lost.

And when you whispered: “I’m a good girl.”

That phrase. That fucking phrase pushed her to the edge of her own madness. It shook her. 

She wanted to laugh because you were so pathetic and cry because she tightened around your fingers. Agatha came, clinging to you like you were the only thing anchoring her to reality.

And that’s when she understood the real danger.

She needed to pull herself together. Fast. Return to herself. To the real world.

“This never happened.”

The words were cold. Sharp and ruthless. But even as she said them, your taste was still on her lips. Her breath still came in gasps, her panties still damp.

She told you that you meant nothing, because that’s what you should be. However her still-shaking body betrayed her.

“Go fuck yourself,” you said.

The way you said it, the way your eyes pierced through her… 

Agatha felt the floor vanish beneath her. She didn’t answer, she couldn’t. She just swallowed hard, jaw clenched, fighting the rising panic beneath her polished surface.

And then, you moved.

Not back, you didn’t leave in that scenario. In this time you moved forward, with your doe eyes transformed into blood.

Something glinted under the harsh corridor light. 

Too fast.

Too sharp.

A silent snap, the sound of metal breaking skin. And for a second, Agatha didn’t understand what was happening.

She just felt the stabbing pain.

The heat blooming in her abdomen.

The blood.

Warm.

Sticky.

Red.

The knife was in your hand and it was inside her.

Agatha dropped to her knees with a choked, raspy groan. Looked down and saw blood slipping between trembling fingers.

Her blood.

But you were already turning away.

“What… what did you do?” she whispered, eyes wide.

Her face pale, frozen in panic.

And you left. So calm and innocent like a child, as if nothing had happened.

The sound of distant alarms exploded in her head. 

A distorted noise, like sirens tearing at her ears.

A buzzing. A scream. A torn memory.

The floor spun, and Agatha woke up with a gasp caught in her throat, chest heaving like she was drowning.

She was in bed.

Her bed.

Sweat ran down her temple. Her hands were shaking. The sheets were soaked. Her heartbeat erratic. She clutched her stomach in terror, but there was no wound.

No blood. No knife.

Just the ghost of everything.

But the taste of your mouth, the echo of your bitter laugh—still felt real. She stayed there for long minutes, trying to convince herself it had only been a dream.

Just a dream.

Morning light stabbed through the curtains, and for a moment she felt like she hadn’t truly woken up. Like she was still in that cold hallway, blood running down her belly, watching you walk away like you'd stolen a part of her.

But the sound of the news on TV, the smell of coffee, the crackle of cereal broke the spell.

She was home.

Safe.

Alive.

She stood up with effort. The floral robe slipped over her shoulders. Agatha tried to look composed before walking into the kitchen, even if she was shattered inside.

“Good morning.” Her voice came out hoarse, scraped raw by a nightmare that hadn’t fully left her.

Nicky looked up from his phone, spoon frozen mid-air. He studied her for a second, brow slightly furrowed. 

 “Damn… you slept in.”

She forced a smile—the kind that hurt the muscles in her face. Ran a hand through her tangled, wild hair, as if the distracted gesture could erase the chaos of the night before.

“Had a long night.” Her voice was low, tired.

She sat at the table. Picked up the mug of lukewarm coffee like it could anchor her back to reality—a caffeine and routine anchor against an ocean of delirium, sex, and blood.

She tried to seem like a mother. Just for a moment. Tried to pretend she still remembered how to be one.

“Did you check the news?” she asked, feigning casual. “Anything about last night’s debate?”

Nicky shrugged, chewing slowly. “Just the usual… old dudes freaking out ‘cause you humiliated Rogers and Banner live on air. You’re trending, by the way. A bunch of people calling you a milf.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Milf?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, Mom.”

She let out a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “Oh god, why are you young people like this?” She rolled her eyes. “Does everything have to be sexual?”

“You’re kinda scary sometimes, you know that?” he said suddenly, with a crooked smile. “I think that’s what attracts the porn-addicted young guys or whatever.”

She pressed her lips together, almost laughing for real. Almost.

“Why are we talking about this so early?”

“It’s almost nine, Mom.”

Agatha raised a brow.

“Exactly. Early.” she muttered playfully, making Nicky stifle a chuckle.

For a second, she wanted to just be there.

With him. With her Nicky. The only real tether she still had to the world.

But her mind was a feral bitch and it always came back.

The nightmare.

The taste of your mouth.

The blood.

Your shy gaze that clashed with the brutal confidence of the way you fucked her.

You.

Again, you.

She ran a hand over her forehead, trying to push the image away.

Fuck.

"Someone from the security department called," Nicky said casually, scrolling through his phone.

The world stopped.

Agatha tried to keep her expression neutral, but her heart was pounding.

"Oh, really?" she asked, her tone deliberately flat.

"Yeah," he replied, already standing and throwing his backpack over one shoulder. "I told them you weren’t in, but that you’d call back as soon as possible."

Agatha nodded slowly, as if she needed to sync her thoughts before they spilled out through her eyes. “You’re so clever, sweetheart.” She stood and walked over to him. “So… how’s the studying for Harvard going? It was medicine, right?”

Nicky swallowed hard, clearly uncomfortable. “Studying’s fine. I ranked fourth on the class mock test.”

“Hmm, not bad.” She adjusted the collar of his shirt, even though it was already perfectly aligned. “But we can always do better, can’t we?”

“Of course, Mom,” he muttered under his breath.

Agatha leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Study hard, sweetheart.”

He gave a small nod, not too enthusiastic, and walked out. The door clicked shut softly—but to Agatha, it sounded like a gunshot.

As soon as she was alone, her posture collapsed. Her shoulders sagged. The composed look in her eyes dissolved into something close to panic.

Now that she was alone, she could finally breathe. She picked up the phone and called Peggy.

“Harkness. To what do I owe the pleasure?” the woman answered, casual as always.

“Any updates on what I asked?”

“Straight to the point, huh?” Peggy teased, her voice playful. Then silence. “Alright. The name you sent me… Melinda Nox, right?”

Agatha kept her chin up, eyes fixed on the untouched coffee mug on the counter. The white porcelain stood in stark contrast to the dark polish on her nails.

“And?” she pressed, her voice colder than she intended.

“She doesn’t exist,” Peggy said bluntly. “I mean, the ID exists... but it’s not official. No entry in the database. It’s like it was made on the side. A fake identity. And a sloppy one, at that.”

Agatha went silent and Peggy went on.

“I’m digging into whoever’s been distributing these. Something’s off, Agatha. And if I’m right, you’re tangled up with someone way more dangerous than they seem.”

Agatha narrowed her eyes.

She could still see her face —or rather, the face of the woman calling herself Melinda. The way her lips curled when she smiled—it was real, seductive.

Agatha had spent days trying to rationalize what happened, convincing herself it was just a lapse. Just desire.

But now...

Now Melinda had vanished. No trail. No trace. Like a ghost.

You were a lie.

You fucked her—and lied.

You were a fucking lie.

You could ruin her entire career with a single click.

And it was ruining her.

“Any idea who might’ve issued this kind of identity?” Agatha asked, arms crossing tightly.

“Maybe,” Peggy replied, evasive. “But I’ll need to dig deeper. This could involve big names. And you know how big names hate being dug into.”

“Dig anyway.” Agatha hung up before she could respond.

She stood still for a moment, staring at her blurry reflection in the kitchen window. The sky outside was gray — just like her mood.

Melinda Nox.

That name spun like a knife in her mind, and no matter how hard she tried to pretend she didn’t feel it, it was already seared into her.

Agatha didn’t know who you were. But the fact you dropped that identity… it felt deliberate. Like deep down, you wanted to be found or like you knew exactly what you were doing to her.

And now that you weren't you?

It made her furious.

Because Agatha Harkness hates not knowing.

[...]

Running her hands down the navy blazer with the precision of someone adjusting armor before a war, Agatha took a deep breath. The elevator dinged open with a metallic chime, and she stepped into the office hallway like she owned the floor — which, in many ways, she did.

The chaos was almost comical. Staff yelling into phones, rushing around with clipboards, dropping papers, tripping over their own feet. The tension in the air was thick. The night’s debate still echoed through the corridors like a post-impact earthquake. And Agatha, of course, was the epicenter.

“Ms. Harkness. Hi!” A young assistant greeted her with a rehearsed smile. “Jennifer’s already waiting for you in the conference room.”

Agatha followed the young woman —far too green to be working for a shark like Barkley.

Jennifer didn’t even look up when Agatha entered. In a way, it was the greatest show of respect Agatha could receive. Her image director was pacing, deep in an intense phone call. She signaled for Agatha to wait.

“I know,” Jennifer was saying, pacing like a caged lioness. “I know. But something came up, and we won’t be able to receive the interns today.”

Agatha crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, a faint smile dancing on her lips. 

Jennifer was good.

A monster, but a brilliant one.

“I know it’s in the contract!” Her voice rose slightly, before softening with a plastic smile. “Watson, you know I’m in the middle of a major campaign and—”

A muffled voice on the other end, followed by tense silence. Then Jennifer stared at the phone and sighed. “Shit.”

She finally turned to Agatha, forcing a smile.

“Sorry, darling.” She smoothed her blonde hair, clearly exhausted. “The office committed to hosting and training interns from the UW. You know… all that performative nonsense about inclusion, youthful spirit, building bridges with the next generation… It's so exhausting.” She rubbed her temples.

Agatha crossed her arms, blazer pristine.

“Good,” she said dryly. “Maybe one of them will actually be worth it.”

“Let’s hope so.” Jennifer sighed, dialing the internal line on her desk. “Ready for the meeting, darling? We’ve compiled some key points after Friday’s debate.”

As she spoke, the rest of the team entered, adjusting slides, firing up the projector, arranging charts.

Once everything was in place, it began:

“Ms. Harkness, good morning.” Said one of the assistants formally, Agatha responded with a simple nod. “Let’s get straight to it. Here’s the updated overview of voter intent for the state governor’s race.”

The screen flashed, displaying a detailed map of Washington State, shaded in blue, red, and gray.

“As we can see,” he began, “you’re leading in 43% of the metropolitan districts, especially Seattle, Bellevue, and Tacoma. Your progressive stances on gun control, environmental policy, and educational investment have struck a chord.”

He clicked again, and a bar graph appeared.

“Your strongest demographic is the 35 to 65 age group. Liberal professionals, small business owners, middle-aged moms, teachers. They see you as a firm, modern leader. Authoritative, but forward-thinking. A direct contrast to Rogers’ outdated conservatism and Banner’s emotional intability.”

Jennifer leaned in to whisper, clearly pleased. “You’re the woman they respect, maybe even fear. And they like that.”

But before they could continue, there were three knocks on the door.

“Excuse me…”

“Sonya, what is it? This better be urgent.”

Jennifer closed her eyes for a brief moment before replying, as if begging for one last second of peace.

“It’s… the interns. They’ve arrived.”

Jennifer took a deep breath, sinking into her chair, summoning patience.

“Fucking Watson.” She cursed the man—the phone call man. “Sorry, darling.” She turned to Agatha. “But I believe the sooner we get this over with, the better, right?” Jennifer shrugged and adjusted her skirt.

The sound of Agatha’s heels echoed sharply against the marble floor of the hallway. She stepped out of the conference room, her mind still buzzing with charts, numbers, and meticulously crafted strategies.

But none of that prepared her for what she saw as she turned the corner.

The interns were lined up in the main hall, waiting to be greeted. Some whispered nervously to one another, others tried to look effortlessly cool.

And there, among them, was that same body shape, the same height. The hair that, just two weeks ago, had been tangled between her fingers—now perfectly in place, but still the same shade she remembered. The same face with full cheeks. The same eyes with lashes far too long for their own good, and that wide smile, looking genuinely happy to be there.

Agatha couldn’t believe it.

It was you.

Her stomach twisted, like a punch to the gut.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Her gaze locked on you—on every detail of your face, on your tense shoulders, on the posture trying to appear confident. But she knew better. That same young confidence that, just weeks ago, had left her panties soaked against the emergency exit door.

She felt completely obsessed and unhinged.

Agatha blinked, heart pounding in her chest.

“Ms. Harkness?” one of the assistants asked. “Is everything alright?”

She didn’t answer, just kept staring.

Anger rising. Hot, sudden, raw.

You lied.

You fucking lied to her.

How dare you?

Who even were you?

“Who is that girl?” Agatha asked, eyes never leaving your face.

The assistant hesitated. “Oh, right. One second.” She turned toward the reception desk and pulled out an ID folder. “Here. One of the top students at UW. Really impressive. Very mature for her age and—”

But Agatha wasn’t listening anymore.

She snatched the folder from the assistant’s hands with a sharp, almost feral motion. The papers inside trembled as her eyes scanned the first page.

And then, she saw it.

Your real fucking name.

Your real fucking age.

20 years old.

“Twenty...?” she whispered, choking on the word, as if each syllable scraped its way up her throat.

Fuck.

Agatha’s mind exploded into a dizzying storm of rage, guilt, disbelief, and repressed desire.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You hadn’t just lied.

You were underage.

Too young to be in that bar.

Too young to be drinking.

Too young to touch her the way you did.

And yet… you had done it all.

Agatha ran a trembling hand through her hair. The folder shook in her hands like a bomb about to go off. She turned slowly. Wished you’d disappeared. That it was a delusion.

But you were right there.

And when your eyes met hers—wide, yes, but not exactly surprised—something inside her collapsed.

Shame.

Desire.

Guilt.

Hatred.

A kind of regret she didn’t dare name.

She had to get out of there.

Or make you leave.

For the first time in a long time, Agatha felt completely out of control. Like the game had finally slipped from her grasp.

Because in the end, it wasn’t power that was in check.

It was her.

The woman who had always known how to move every piece flawlessly. Who had sacrificed everything to remain untouchable on the board.

The queen was exposed.

Lost.

And, for the first time, unsure of her next move.

~*~

I think we all need this after last chapter, huh? How about we druve the governor all little crazy?

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi @milfovers4 @jaylie-bee @holystrangersalad @chlondykebar @natashashill @harknessshi @whoreforolderfictionalwomen

[azuhrasims]

A Little Mod Showcase

Mods created by @janesimsten and @littlbowbub that add flavor to old fashioned game play. You should check out both of these awesome creators though, they have more mods than I'm showing you here!

Archery Skill by JaneSimsten. This mod comes with multiple bow options, three different target ranges, and options to compete with your fellow sims. Kids can practice their bow skills too.Also, its a 10 level skill! This is just a fun flavor to add to any country living save.

Of course if you are into archery, maybe your sims also want to go hunting? You can do that with:

Marksmanship Skill by JaneSimsten. This mod brings your sims rifles, pistols, and 3 different lengths of shooting range to practice their marksmanship. For funsies, you can also get into duels with other sims with this 10 level skill.

The cool part for archery though? This one comes with a hunting spot that works with both guns and bows! Once you reach skill level 3, you can start the hunt. Hunt for multiple critters. These animals actually show up in your inventory and your sim can place them in the world if you need something a little more gruesome for your story telling. That said, you don't actually see any animals killed with this mod - a shot is fired and an animal appears in your inventory.

If you want to use these animals that you've hunted for meat, you can do that with:

Medieval Cookbook by Littlbowbub. This one is so much more than a cookbook - but I will always stand by Jess's recipes and craftsmanship. If you have the medieval cookbook mod installed, you can click on the animal you've hunted and carve it for meat that can be used for cooking.

If you don't want to deal with hunting by marksmanship or archery, the medieval mod has a nifty sign post that comes with it that allows you to do SO MANY rabbit hole activities! Really. You can go to a rabbit hole for fishing, hunting, gathering herbs and plants - which LBB has added some custom herbs for cooking that can be gathered!

You can also go search for firewood, which you want to keep in mind if you get the add-on for this mod that requires firewood for all fireplaces and fire places to light them. You can also download a couple of fun options for custom cooking fireplaces. Using the actual cookbook then, find a variety of medieval dishes to pick from!

Going for hard mode in your sims game? Install this mod with LBB's Homestead Helper and related homesteading mods to be forced to make very part of every food item your sims want to consume.

The Functional Spinning Wheel by JaneSimsten. The spinning wheel looks awesome and the animation is flawless. You get the option to spin thread or pull yarn. With this mod installed, that thread and yarn are required for knitting and cross stitch. Fun side note, if you play as a spell caster, they can cast a spinning wheel curse on a newborn like Sleeping Beauty and isn't that just the neatest thing?

Rideable Dragons by JaneSimsten. Guys, I was not prepared for this little fire starting, flying lizard to amuse me so much. You purchase the egg and hatch the dragon yourself. They start out as manageable smallish sized child dragons and grow up into great big dragons. The dragons have behaviors attached to them like Cottage Living animals, so you can pet them, clean them, feed them, give them gifts. They stay in one spot and do not move around on the ground though. That;s a good thing, Until you train them not to start fires, these guys are hazardous to your lot!

This comes with a 10 level Dragon Rider skill. At level 5 you can begin to take your adult dragons for flights. Its fun. Watch them in Tab mode if you really want to see how far your dragon and riders are going.

Climbeable Tree by JaneSimsten. This one is a little thing that is lovely for screenshots. It will take your sims a few tries to learn how to climb the tree the first time. It appears to be related to the fitness skill though.

Blacksmithing Skill by Jane Simsten. This one is cool. The blacksmithing skill is another 10 level skill. You mine the ore you need to craft from rocks that come as part of the mod (their in the rock category in landscaping!) Then you make that ore into ingots. The ingots can be made into swords, maces, pole arms, sword racks, suits of armor, and more! This would make for an awesome way to make that medieval weapons shop that every town needs. It takes some serious time and effort to get started though!

Lute Skill by Jane Simsten. Its a lute, with custom lute noises! 10 level skill, options to write and license songs and romance other sims are here. Our bards can have lutes!

Playable Harp Skill by Jane Simsten. Guys, the animations and the custom sounds on this are so lovely. I feel like I've stepped into a lovely wonderland when my sims are playing the harp. It just feels magical. 10 level skill.

There are more and I may get to them in the future, but this is what I played with today and it was lovely. Thanks to Jane and Jess for all of their hard work to make our games more magical!

[babybeesims]

She's A Snob | Custom Trait Collection Download

This collection adds five unique traits that give your Sims distinct personalities centered around fashion, beauty, social status, and lifestyle. Each trait affects how your Sim interacts with others, builds relationships, and how they feel.

Sims with these traits gain faster skill progression in relevant areas like social or entrepreneurial skills.

They have unique social interactions and reactions that reflect their snobby, glamorous, or spoiled nature.

Some traits affect how quickly Sims build friendships or romances, or how their needs decay to fit their lifestyle.

These traits add personality quirks, such as critiquing others style, bragging about possessions, or complaining about the woes of being wealthy.

Trait Descriptions & Download Below

Traits:

Style Snob: This Sim is an expert in fashion and stays ahead of the latest trends, gaining friendship faster than other sims. They often judge those who put little effort into their appearance, they love reading celebrity magazines, planning outfits, and critiquing looks. They may compliment sims, offer style advice or critique others looks and become uncomfortable around badly dressed sims.

Socialite Snob: This Sim is dedicated to the glamorous world of exclusive parties and high society events, experiencing slower decay of their energy need because sleep simply doesn’t fit their busy social calendar. They build friendships faster from constant networking but form romantic relationships more slowly, taking love as seriously as their status. Expect them to gain reputation at an impressive pace, often bragging about lavish galas, and surrounding themselves with only the most elite company.

Girly Snob: This Sim adores princess treatment, surrounded by frills, luxury and all things beautifully feminine. They gain charisma faster and build romance more quickly, but form friendships more slowly because they’re so spoiled. Their social need decays quicker because they need attention. Expect them to obsess over flawless outfits, pamper themselves with beauty routines, gush over cute décor, and turn up their nose at anything that doesn’t sparkle.

Beauty Snob: This Sim is devoted to flawless hair, skin, and makeup, developing charisma more quickly and maintaining a slower decay of their hygiene need. They struggle to build friendships with Sims who neglect their appearance, they love indulging in self care, admiring themselves in mirrors, sharing beauty secrets, and offering skincare advice.

Affluent Snob: This Sim thrives in high society, developing entrepreneurial skills faster and building romance more quickly as they always pursue what, and who they want. They surround themselves with the finest luxury fashion and possessions, often brag about their wealth, and struggle to connect with Sims who lack ambition or taste. Expect them to admire expensive items, critique humble homes, and ensure their lifestyle remains nothing less than luxurious.

Download

Download Patreon (free) or SFS

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

You have been so amazing!! I love the little series we’ve got going on here!!!

Do we think that when Kyle finally proposes, that Johnny (and Simon) invites himself to readers dress fitting?

A Perfectly Imperfect Love Story

Pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, emotional moments, found family vibes, Johnny being dramatic, Simon being emotionally repressed but loving, Reader dealing with estranged family feelings.

Author’s Note: I hope you are prepared for the feels and happiness I have provided for you :) THIS GOES OUT TO MY FAVE WHOS BEEN HELPING ME MAKE THE BIG DECISIONS. I hope you enjoy your request luvie

Summary: Kyle had the perfect proposal planned. Romantic, intimate, absolutely flawless—until Johnny and Simon decided to crash it. Then we get the opportunity to see the wedding dress (with the chaos that is Johnny)

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

You sat at the table, staring at the objects in front of you. The tradition had been on your mind for days, and now, as you gathered each piece, it all felt real.

Something Old: A box of cigars from Price. You hadn’t expected him to gift you cigars, but it made sense—Price was always one for a good smoke, and you knew Kyle would absolutely be stealing them for himself. But the box itself? That was yours. It would be the perfect place to store little memories Pressed flowers from your wedding bouquet, Johnny’s jewelry he hand made, Simon’s photo, and later… Kyle’s dog tags.

Something New: Johnny had insisted on making you jewelry— "It has to be perfect!" —but he had also custom-made a new metal piece for your wheelchair. It was engraved with delicate patterns, swirling and elegant, with yours and Kyle’s initials subtly etched into the design.

Something Borrowed: Simon had been quiet when he handed you the small, worn photograph. "Kept it with me on missions," he muttered, looking anywhere but at you. It was a photo of a family —not his, but one he had seen often enough to pretend it was. A reminder of warmth, love, and something worth fighting for. "You can borrow it, just for the day," he had said. "But you got to give it back. You’ll get your own from me later."

Something Blue: Your shoes and bouquet. The soft blue of your heels stood out against the ivory of your dress, and your bouquet—white lilies and delicate blue baby’s breath—was exactly what you had pictured.

Johnny whistled, giving an exaggerated nod of approval. "Oh, look at this! White lilies and blue baby’s breath—proper classy! Absolutely stunning, just like our girl."

Simon grunted. "Hmph. At least it’s not roses. Too cliché."

Johnny scoffed. "Mate, you wouldn’t know romance if it smacked you in the face."

Simon deadpanned, "And yet, I’m the one in a committed relationship."

"Yeah, with me! That you refuse to admit is real."

Simon goes up to Johnny, gripping his chin to make him look up at the masked man as he says, “aye luv, you’ll live”

You could hear the smirk as Johnny stutters out a bickering reply.

Kyle, watching the whole exchange, just shook his head before turning to you with a soft smile. "Suits you perfectly," he murmured. "Graceful, strong, and just the right amount of unique."

Your heart swelled at his words, but later, when you looked closer at your bouquet, you noticed something extra—tied around the stems was a small blue ribbon.

Kyle’s ribbon.

You hadn’t seen him do it, but Johnny definitely had—catching him in the act and biting his tongue until later, when he could tease Kyle properly.

Kyle brushed it off at first, but when you asked him about it, he only shrugged, giving you a small, almost sheepish smile. “Figured it’d fit, yeah?" His voice was softer, affectionate, but there was meaning behind it.

A piece of him. With you. When you walked down the aisle.

You squeezed his hand. "It’s perfect."

---

You tried to focus on the wedding dresses. You really did.

But your mind was elsewhere.

Simon noticed before anyone else.

Johnny was busy fussing over lace details, debating with himself over whether you needed "a sparkle element" or "elegance and grace," completely ignoring that you were supposed to be making the final decision.

But Simon? He was watching you.

Your posture was different, your usual excitement dulled, your eyes unfocused.

So, when Johnny finally got distracted by the boutique staff, Simon grabbed the handles of your wheelchair and wordlessly pushed you toward the back of the store, away from prying eyes.

You didn’t fight it.

When you were alone, he crouched in front of you, resting his forearms on his knees, tilting his head slightly. "Talk to me."

You sighed, looking down at your hands. "It’s stupid."

"Not if it’s making you look like a ghost."

You let out a dry laugh but didn’t meet his gaze. "It’s just… my family." You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the armrests. "I always thought they’d be here for something like this. Even though I know it’s impossible."

Simon didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he shifted slightly, his voice quieter. "Yeah."

That single word carried so much weight.

You finally looked at him, and he nodded once, his jaw tightening. "My family’s gone," he admitted, voice rough. "When I met Johnny… I wanted them to be there so bad. But they weren’t. So, the 141 became my family instead." He held your gaze. "And now? We’re your family."

Your chest tightened.

Simon hesitated, then— in the most uncharacteristic move of all time —he leaned forward and pulled you into a hug.

You froze.

Simon. Hugging you.

And then, as quickly as it started, he pulled back, clearing his throat, looking absolutely like he regretted his choices. "You tell Johnny about this, and I’ll deny it. He’d never believe you anyway."

You smirked. "You’re such a liar. We all know you love him."

Simon huffed. "He’s a pain in my ass."

You grinned. "And yet, you want to be with him till the end of time."

He shot you a deadpan look. "You’re insufferable."

"Love you too, Si."

For the first time in a while, your chest felt lighter.

——

"Alright, love, let’s see it!"

You took a deep breath before rolling out of the dressing room.

The moment Johnny saw you, he gasped so dramatically you thought he might faint. "OH. MY. GOD."

Simon, sitting stiffly in one of the fancy boutique chairs, barely glanced up from his phone. "She looks fine."

Johnny slapped his arm. "Fine? Simon, look at her. LOOK AT HER."

Simon sighed, glanced up—

And then promptly stared.

The modern style 60’s dress hugged your figure perfectly, stopping mid-thigh to show off your legs—the very part of you that Kyle always complimented. The blue heels tied everything together, the color soft but striking, standing out just enough to catch attention.

Simon swallowed, shifted in his seat, then muttered, "It’s nice."

Johnny shook him. "That’s it?! She looks STUNNING. BREATHTAKING. SHE COULD END LIVES IN THIS DRESS."

You fought back laughter. "Kyle wanted me to show off my legs."

Johnny gasped again. "That man has TASTE."

Simon huffed. "Well, at least you can move in it. Seems practical."

Johnny froze. Then, very slowly, he turned to stare at Simon. "Practical? PRACTICAL?! MATE, THIS ISN’T A MISSION, IT’S A WEDDING."

Simon shrugged. "Still think she should have a gun holster."

Johnny slapped his forehead. "Oh my God."

"Could be useful," Simon continued, nodding at the skirt. "Hidden compartment for a knife, maybe?"

Johnny looked genuinely offended. "SHE’S A BRIDE, SIMON, NOT A SECRET AGENT!"

Simon sipped his coffee. "Could be both."

You lost it, doubling over in laughter as Johnny and Simon bickered in the background.

Price—who had shown up strictly to make sure Johnny didn’t accidentally ruin everything—sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Can we just get through this without you two giving her a tactical loadout?"

Johnny flung an arm over his chest. "Not my fault Simon wants her wedding-ready and battle-ready."

Simon sipped his coffee again, completely unfazed. "Never know when you’ll need to throw hands."

Johnny threw up his hands. "I CAN’T WITH YOU."

You wiped tears of laughter from your eyes before looking at Price. "I think this is the one."

Price smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Then that’s all that matters."

And as Johnny continued his dramatic meltdown and Simon sipped his coffee like an unbothered king, you knew—

This was going to be the best wedding ever.

---

"Johnny," you said as soon as you wheeled into the room.

He spun around dramatically. "YES, MY BEAUTIFUL BRIDE-TO-BE?"

You bit back a laugh. "Be my Man of Honor?"

Johnny screeched. "YOU MEAN IT?!"

"Obviously," you teased.

Johnny launched himself at you, hugging you so tightly you wheeled back several inches. "IT’S AN HONOR! I’M GONNA MAKE THIS THE BEST WEDDING EVER!"

You laughed, hugging him back. "I know you will."

Meanwhile, in a much less chaotic setting—

Kyle turned to Simon, casually holding out a beer. "Best Man?"

Simon took the beer. "Yeah."

"Cool."

"Cool."

And that was that.

---

You took a deep breath before dialing the number to your older brother, Elliot Sparks.

"Sis?"

"Hey, Elllie," you said softly. "I… I need to ask you something."

There was a pause. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Better than alright, actually. I’m getting married."

Silence. Then—

"You’re WHAT?!"

You laughed, warmth filling your chest. "I want you to be there. I want you to be the one to… well, give me away."

There was another pause, this time softer. "You serious?"

"Of course, I am."

You could hear the emotion in his voice when he finally answered. "Then I wouldn’t miss it for the world."

And just like that, the last missing piece clicked into place.

Your wedding wasn’t just about you and Kyle.

It was about family.

And yours was right here.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[blogport]

EPOXYSHİNE - DRAGON+ (3)

Epoxy floor coating is not just a practical choice for enhancing the durability of your flooring; it's also a stylish solution that can transform any space. Whether you're a homeowner looking to revamp your garage or a business owner seeking reliable commercial flooring solutions, understanding the benefits of epoxy will help you make informed decisions. As you search for "floor polishing near me," consider how an expertly applied epoxy coating can elevate your interiors while providing a long-lasting finish. 

Epoxy Floor Coating

Epoxy floor coating is a highly durable and resilient flooring solution that has gained popularity in both residential and commercial spaces. This type of coating is made from a combination of resin and hardener, creating a strong bond when applied to existing concrete surfaces. The result is a seamless surface that can withstand heavy foot traffic, chemicals, and abrasions.

One of the major benefits of epoxy floor coating is its versatility. It can be customized in various colors and finishes, including high-gloss and matte textures. This means that property owners can choose a look that complements their interior design while still providing the durability they require. Additionally, the smooth finish of epoxy makes it easy to clean and maintain, which is particularly advantageous in commercial settings.

Furthermore, the installation process for epoxy floor coating is relatively quick, often completed within a few days. However, it’s essential to hire professionals who have the expertise and equipment to ensure a flawless application. The right team will properly prepare the surface, allowing for optimal adhesion and longevity of the coating.

Floor Polishing Near Me

When searching for floor polishing near me, it's essential to find a service that not only meets your expectations but also understands the unique needs of your flooring. Professional floor polishing can revitalize old surfaces, restoring their shine and luster while protecting them from future wear and tear.

Many local companies offer specialized services in floor polishing that cater to various materials, including hardwood, tile, and concrete. A quick search in your area will yield numerous options, allowing you to compare prices, services, and customer reviews to find the best fit for your needs.

Additionally, hiring professionals for floor polishing ensures that the job is done correctly and efficiently. They use advanced equipment and high-quality products that not only enhance the appearance of your floors but also extend their lifespan. So, don't hesitate to reac

Commercial Flooring Solutions

Commercial flooring solutions are essential for businesses seeking to enhance their aesthetic appeal while also ensuring durability and functionality. The choice of flooring can greatly influence the overall atmosphere of a commercial space, leading to improved employee morale and customer satisfaction.

Among the various options available, epoxy floor coatings stand out due to their seamless finish and resistance to heavy foot traffic. These coatings not only provide a sleek look but also protect the underlying surface from wear and tear, making them ideal for warehouses, retail spaces, and industrial environments.

Moreover, businesses often explore additional options such as vinyl flooring, carpet tiles, and laminate surfaces to meet specific needs. Each of these materials offers unique advantages, allowing business owners to choose the most suitable flooring solution that aligns with their operational demands and aesthetic preferences.

Metallic Epoxy Floor

A metallic epoxy floor offers a stunning visual appeal that enhances the aesthetic of any space. The reflective properties of the metallic pigments create a unique look, resulting in a three-dimensional effect that can mimic a variety of surfaces, such as water, marble, or even molten metal. This type of flooring is especially popular in modern homes, showrooms, and commercial spaces, providing an eye-catching yet durable surface.

One of the significant advantages of a metallic epoxy floor is its durability. This flooring solution is resistant to stains, chemicals, and impacts, making it ideal for high-traffic areas. Additionally, it is easy to clean and maintain, which means that business owners and homeowners can save time and resources. The seamless nature of epoxy flooring also contributes to a hygienic environment, especially in spaces like hospitals or laboratories.

Installing a metallic epoxy floor can be a customized process, allowing property owners to choose their preferred colors and patterns. Whether you’re looking for a sleek, industrial look or a vibrant, artistic finish, this flooring solution can be tailored to meet your unique vision. By consulting with professionals, you can ensure that your metallic epoxy floor is installed correctly and maximizes its longevity and beauty.

[epicsims]

HAIRSTYLES PACK #4 + 2 GIFT | TS4 I know, I know. We were all craving for something new 🌹. I just released 6 new amazing hairstyles for my supporters. I also released 2 hairstyles as a xmass gift 🎄⭐🎁 for all of you! I hope you like them. The links are below. Designed for females from Teen to Elder, every hairstyle features more than 80 stunning swatches and is Color Wheel Slider Ready for unlimited color customization. • Smooth Weights for a flawless fit • Morphs for enhanced flexibility and realism • Custom Thumbnail for easy browsing in your catalog • HQ Mod Compatible for top-notch quality 💎DOWNLOAD HERE | AVAILABLE FOR ELITE AND SUPPREME TIERS. 🌷DOWNLOAD GIFTS | JOIN FOR FREE AND GET THE GIFTS.

[yanderecrazysie]

Flower Shop AU - Yandere! Iwaizumi

Prompt: Flower Shop AU for @tropetember

Pairings: Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes, I don’t know much about flower language

The tall, dark-haired man in the corner looks out of place here. His serious expression doesn’t seem to match the beautiful assortment of brightly-colored flowers that surrounds him. Iwaizumi Hajime is not typically drawn to delicate or decorative things. He much prefers the gym and fits in much better there, if he’s to be honest.

The first time he entered this flower shop, he was just buying a bouquet of flowers for his mother’s birthday. An innocent, kind gesture. It should have stopped there.

Instead, he has been back every day since.

Any flower you recommend to him, he’ll buy without a second thought. The moment you approach him asking “Can I help you, sir?” an awkward smile will cross his face, almost as though he’s not used to smiling. Really, he’d do anything you asked of him.

After all, he had fallen in love with you at first sight.

“Can you put together something special?” Iwaizumi asks, “I have a special occasion coming up.”

“Ooh, what kind of occasion?” you ask cheerfully.

“A date,” he replies, “Do you have anything that means something like ‘I’m serious’?”

You look excited, “I don’t know about ‘I’m serious’, but if this is a first date, carnations mean ‘new love’, and I could add some tulips- ‘perfect love’!”

Iwaizumi melts at the attention, his eyes looking down at you with pure affection. He watches you cheerfully put together a flawless bouquet.

“You’re very talented,” he says as you hand the arrangement to him, “They’re beautiful, just like-” he catches himself, “Just like the last batch.”

“Hope the date goes well,” you say, waving goodbye as the man leaves your shop, before turning to the next customer.

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

You don’t remember how you got here.

The last thing you remember, you were walking home, then… nothing. And now you were here, tied up tight to a chair in someone’s apartment kitchen. At first, you find no familiarities in the marble countertops and wooden table, but then you spot it.

You know where you are before Iwaizumi even enters the room.

You’d recognize those carnations and tulips anywhere.

[catcze]

LISTEN TO ME— ALTHETE WRIO AND CHEERLEADER READE— *Gets ko’d*

IM SO SAT IM SO LISTENING OH MY GODDHAKSDNAJSN

「 CWS : 」 No pronouns used, and afaik i kept it gender ambiguous! Didn't mention what sport Wrio plays bc i know jack shit about any and all sports lmao

Athlete boyfriend Wriothesley who picks you up and spins you around whenever he wins a game, lifting you by the waist no matter how tired his muscles are, because you're laughing and giggling and telling him, drop me already! It's embarrassing! but you just fit so perfectly in his hold that he can't help but spin you around and hug you to his chest for a little bit more.

Athlete boyfriend Wriothesley who always sings songs of praise to you when you walk out of the venue together.

"I won because of you," he'd grin, nudging your side with an elbow, and you snort, smacking his arm.

"You won because you train hard and you're good at what you do," you always argue back. Wriothesley just shakes his head, draping an arm across your shoulders.

"That helped, yeah, but seeing you cheering for me gave me that extra little push I needed."

Athlete boyfriend Wriothesley who drives the two of you to the location of his games, and will always carry your stuff for you, along with his own things. One hand is for his own bag, with his equipment and a spare set of clothes, and the other is for your bag and your pom poms— custom-made to be black and red, to match his own colors. The others on the cheer team always coo and wave and aww when they see your boyfriend drop you and your things off with them. And if he gives you a little peck on the cheek? They won't let you live it down for the rest of the week.

Athlete boyfriend Wriothesley who comes and watches your cheer practice whenever he has free time! He'll stand on the sidelines and cheers whenever you manage to perform a flip or a trick especially well. He gains a super big respect for cheerleaders whenever he sees you practice and perform. The routines you guys perform are super risky, but you somehow manage to make it look flawless and effortless. He always brings you your water whenever you take a quick break, and never fails to let you know how cool you look.