#he was simply vibing and Unbothered

[eddieintheocean]

GUESS WHOS AN OCEAN DIVER NOWWWWWWWW

[moonastro]

Groom persona chart

Vertex in the houses

what is a groom persona chart? this chart exhibits qualities that your husband will have and possible placements that can be seen in their chart. it is simply a chart all about your spouse in a woman's chart. the asteroid groom can be identified using the code 5129.

The vertex represents what your husband may find destined in life or what he may have genuine fate intentions within the relationship.

Vertex in 1st house: this placement may bring a lot of self assurance and self awareness and just overall confidence to your spouse, he can feel very proud and confident around you and to be seen with you also. He may find himself when he is in a relationship with you, like he may literally find himself in you.

Vertex in 2nd house: your spouse can feel fate working its things whenever you are doing regular homely things together, watching tv in the couch, eating a meal at the dinner table etc. this placement signifies how your spouse just values little things with you and the simple ones as well. He may be the type of person who also spends his money on just YOU and no one else. He may feel gratitude towards you and may feel as if he needs to pay you back with gifts to show it. He may view your relationship as one where he provides for you, where he does the labour and hard work and make the money int he relationship.

Vertex in 3rd house: spouse may value your opinion and treat it like a sacred temple. Your words can cut him like one hundred sharp knives at once, that’s how much your opinions and words may mean to him. He may view simple and honest conversations with you to be healing and overall fated for your relationship. It’s something that makes him let things out of his chest. Your spouse may have certain things that he may just share with you no matter what his intentions towards may be at that moment, he will always come back to you to tell you the truth.

Vertex in 4th house: this placement can cause a lot of childlike and emotional and just overall sensitive vibes. Your spouse may feel as if they are free to feel things with you. They may be very comfortable expressing himself to you and may just feel like living with you and your whole family life is destined for him.

Vertex in 5th house: your spouse may envision himself being the best version around you, he may feel very inspired and overall himself around you. He feels as if he is not tied down to do things and may feel as if it is a both party contribution. He may view you to be very freeing and allow him to do his own thing, not bossing him around, not tying him down to a belief or to have children. This placement can feel as if his true personality allows itself to present to you fully.

Vertex in 6th house: with this placement usually the husband will value the little things you do together, will find that your routine has a special meaning more than you both speak it to be. He can also view that whatever he does within the house whether it be money, routine etc is something that fits well for both of you. This can be a placement that is prone to illness so your fs may not think much of whenever someone or something goes unplanned such as an illness or a disturbance in your daily life, they may be a bit unbothered by it.

Vertex in 7th house: your spouse may view your relationship to be something that allows him to connect with other people. Perhaps it’s also choosing something that may not satisfy everyone and so he may view that there will always be people that either like you or don’t- this may be something he realises while being in a relationship with you. He may find fairness to be something that is huge within the relationship between you, honesty and overall justice plays a huge part here.

Vertex in 8th house: for this placement, your fs will likely view the hardships and occasionally sensitive occurrences to be something that was meant to happen for the better. Your fs may be a believer of living life even after it feels like the end, he may feel like his relationship with your immediate family may not be the best but that’s also something that is for the better. There can be a theme of just not getting along with your side of the family no matter how hard they try to get along. This placement may also bring the mentality to your spouse that the transformation and transitional things that happen aren’t a big deal and that makes him to be someone who goes with the flow. Your spouse may find it abundant to go with the difficult things with you as it almost may feel like it makes you both get through it with less stress.

Vertex in 9th house: your spouse may view this relationship to be highly spiritual. Something that he constantly needs to study and learn from. He may feel there is sooooo much to learn from you, he can literally feel as if he is constantly learning something new. He may enjoy viewing things from different perspectives and that may feel heightened for him. It gives different outcomes and gives him self control of a situation and not falling into what others say. Having his own view and beliefs is very important here.

Vertex in 10th house: this placement may have a spouse that is particularly very hardworking. They may feel like an authoritative within the relationship, very mature, wise and dedicated. Whether it’s dedication to your relationship, or dedication to give the best lives for the both of you. He may view this relationship to be fated in a way that is rewarding, something that may happen that gives recognition to the relationship, whether it be your careers, your motivation or your achievements.

Vertex in 11th house: spouse may view this connection to be part of something more connecting to others. Let me explain, this placement can definitely involve other people, perhaps he may feel grateful for HOW he came across to you or he may feel as if others were involved in how he feels towards you. It is something that he may view as destined or planned. He may view your relationship to be pure luck, and fulfilment. He can enjoy spending time with you and doing social things with you whether it be going to a cafe, going on a road trip or simply just going shopping.

Vertex in 12th house: vertex here can bring a lot of illusion, addictions and mental health issues but not in a way that is harmful. There may be some spiritual things you two may do both to make your relationship stronger or it’s something that you do casually. So for example, may go to therapy together or may have a regular spiritual ritual that you do once in a while, this may feel destined to your partner as he may feel as if he isn’t being judged and he is free to express his own self. Your spouse may view this to be something YOU get in side of him, it’s something that deep deep down he feels you get him that no one else does.

🌼THANK YOUUUU SOOO MUCH FOR READING. I hope you have a lovely rest of your day!!

[aftertheleaving]

Not A Threat

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

Genre: Light humor, fluff, slow-burn setup(kinda), soft enemies to lovers(again kinda), workplace antics

Warnings: swearing, caffeine abuse, reader is unbothered and slightly feral, Damian is suffering (but not really), no plot just vibes

Notes: for @ur-mums-house, who is my sleepy muse and deserves a fic where Damian gets emotionally steamrolled by a tech intern. Anyway I totallyyyy didn't find this while scrolling through all my drafts that I never posted (this is like from forevrrrrr ago when i told myself i'd start posting but never did). 🙃

1, 2, 3

You’re halfway through your fourth energy drink and at least eight hours into the worst debugging sprint of your life when you crack into a corrupted server cluster and find a file labeled:

"batcave_logs_alpha / GraySon_Phase02 / CodedAssets_v3"

Your first thought is:

Oh my god, they named a prototype ‘Grayson’? What is this, an anime?

Your second:

Cool. More dumb WayneTech documentation. Maybe I can finally go home.

So you click it.

And twenty seconds later, after bypassing a laughably weak encryption key (seriously, who still uses birthday codes?), you’re staring at a directory full of what are clearly mission logs. From vigilantes. Who operate out of a cave. With bats.

You lean back, sip your drink, and sigh.

“Well. That explains so much about this company.”

You don’t tell anyone—not because you’re scared, but because you’re underpaid, overworked, and Jenkins is still crashing. You simply do not have time for Batman’s extracurriculars.

Which is why, when you return from lunch the next day and find Damian Wayne himself waiting at your desk like a final boss, you groan out loud.

“You accessed a restricted directory,” he says flatly.

You drop into your seat. “Congrats. Want a cookie?”

He stares. “That information is classified.”

“So is the state of your backend infrastructure,” you reply, pulling up your terminal. “Your firewalls are like, held together with duct tape and prayer. You’re lucky I didn’t accidentally trigger a missile.”

He’s silent for a beat. You look at him, smirk creeping across your face.

“Oh wait,” you say, “I’m supposed to act shocked, right?”

You cup your hand around your mouth and whisper dramatically, “You know who.”

Damian visibly restrains the urge to walk into traffic.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” you assure him, typing lazily. “I’m too busy fixing Jenkins and wondering if I can make rice in a coffee pot. I have bigger problems.”

“…What is Jenkins?” he mutters.

“A CI tool,” you say. “It breaks. Constantly. Like you, apparently.”

He mutters something in Arabic that you think is an insult, but you’re too caffeinated to care.

“Besides,” you say, grinning, “You’re kinda short for a terrifying vigilante.”

“I am five-foot-five.”

“Sure”

A few days later…

You see him again, lurking in R&D like a disgruntled gargoyle.

You walk right up to him. “I have an idea.”

He immediately sighs. “No.”

You grin and hand him a rolled-up blueprint. “It’s a modular shock baton with thermal sensing and EMP shielding. Built it on my break. While eating a sandwich.”

He unrolls it and—you see the exact second he realizes it’s actually… good. Really good.

“This is—” he starts, then stops. Glares at you. “You should not be this capable.”

“Aw,” you say, patting his shoulder, “is that your way of saying thank you?”

“I said no such thing.”

“You did in spirit.”

“…Why are you like this?”

You smile, eyes glinting. “You’re fun to mess with.”

I think I’m actually dying. I was working on a Tim fic, minding my business, and then I got a comment from ur-mums-house and genuinely tweaked. Like. Fully spiraled. So then I went rummaging through the massive (for some reason??) collection of fics I’ve written and never posted, searching for anything Damian-related for ur-mums-house—and now here we are. Okay. Gonna go back to working on my Tim fic now. Bye bye 👋 .

[pigfacedbitch]

First Doesn't Mean Forever

summary : second to none but Annabeth's POV.

word count : 0.9k

type : imagines

pairing/s : Percy Jackson x Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson x Daughter of Hades! Reader

warning/s : angst, insecurity (?), and Annabeth showing her prideful nature.

here's my masterlist! along with the Part 1!

Note : Green aesthetic for envy, because that's how Annabeth feels. Along with some dark, devilish vibe. Not going to lie, I have no idea how to end this.

Mention/s : @leo-lvr, @m4n-eat3r, @raysmayhem-72, @jeudieohvjdjtg, @wolfyychan, @heavensenthellsbent, @gabrielle-tia, @icanmeltanigloo, and @alexos-stuff.

Annabeth had always been the one who controlled the world around her.

Daughter of Athena, the embodiment of wisdom and intellect, she had always been the strategist, the planner— the one who knew how to handle every situation.

But when she ended things with Percy Jackson, she learned that even she could lose everything.

Not because she didn’t love him anymore. She always would.

Percy wasn’t just a part of her life; he was part of her soul. He was woven into every fiber of her being, a piece she couldn’t rip away, no matter how hard she tried.

Yet, she needed to find out who she was without him.

For so long, she had defined herself by what she built with him, by their bond.

She had been the architect and hero of Olympus. But with Percy beside her for so long, she wondered if she could stand on her own two feet.

Percy never argued. He saw the pain in her eyes, but he didn’t fight her. He simply nodded, his face filled with quiet understanding, a sorrow so deep it almost suffocated her.

At first, being alone felt liberating.

She threw herself into her studies, into her work, into building her own future. She was pursuing her goals, trying to convince herself this was the right thing to do— that she needed to be Annabeth Chase without the weight of Percy Jackson’s name trailing her every step.

But then came the emptiness she wasn’t prepared for— the silence where his laughter used to fill the air, the absence beside her as she walked along the shores of Long Island, the hand that was always holding hers.

And then you arrived.

You, the daughter of Hades, with your wild laughter, your infectious smile, your voice so sweet it made even the campfire seem to dance along with you.

You, who had the uncanny ability to make even the coldest of souls melt under your warmth.

You, who made Percy fall off Blackjack when he first laid eyes on you. The girl who made his nose bleed with a smile, who had him choking on his pizza from laughter, who convinced him to dance in the meadows with the nymphs.

Nico called you the "Sunbeam of the Underworld" and he couldn’t have been more right.

Annabeth watched from the sidelines as you slipped effortlessly into the life she had fought for years to build.

You charmed everyone— not with intellect or manipulation, but with empathy, a carefree spirit that made everyone around you feel seen, understood.

Percy, especially.

She told herself it was fine. She had ended things. Percy deserved to move on. But no matter how much she told herself this, a quiet jealousy stirred inside her— sharp, relentless, impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t even the growing bond between Percy and you that gnawed at her. It was the way you fit into his life. You, with your peaceful, unbothered way of existing, like you didn’t have to prove anything to anyone.

The complete opposite of her.

Annabeth had always been driven— always pushing herself to be better, always striving to do more.

But you? You didn’t try, and yet, with every word and laugh, it was clear you and Percy were two halves of something that made Annabeth’s heart ache in a way she couldn’t escape.

So she made a choice. It wasn’t fair.

She is Annabeth Chase, Percy’s first love. The one who had been there through every battle, every nightmare, every obstacle. She had bled for him, fought for him, stood by him when the world tried to tear them apart.

How could he just forget all of that?

She knew Percy wouldn’t come back on his own. So she made him remember.

She started to spend time with him again— reminding him of their history, their bond, the love they had once shared. She wanted him to know how much she still cared, how much she still loved him. The one who knew him best.

She saw the hesitation in his eyes— the flicker of uncertainty. Torn between the past they shared and the present he was building with someone else.

For a moment, she thought it worked. She thought she had him back.

And you saw it too.

You, who didn’t need to be told anything. You could feel the shift, the tension, the way Annabeth’s presence made Percy falter, made his heart waver. And you knew.

Annabeth could see it in the way your smile faltered, in the way your eyes flickered with discomfort when Annabeth made a comment only she and Percy understood. The way your shoulders tensed whenever Annabeth’s innocent touch seemed to mean more than it should.

And then, one night, when the time felt right, Annabeth made her move. Alone in the woods with Percy, she kissed him.

"Choose me, Percy. You know it’s always been me. Be with me again."

She expected him to kiss her back, to remember what they once had, to feel the way she did. Because this— their first love —was something no one could ever take away. She had to believe that.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there, as if she had shattered something irreparable. There was no warmth, no affection, no return to what once was.

He murmured an apology and walked away.

The next day, she heard you left. And for the first time in weeks, Annabeth felt hope stir inside her. Percy would come back. He had to.

But then Percy disappeared too.

She convinced herself he just needed time, that he was figuring out his feelings, that when the dust settled, he would come back to her, and everything would be right again.

Until Grover gave her the answer she had always feared.

"Percy is looking for (Y/N), Annabeth. She left him a note, and... It wasn't pretty. I've never seen him so distraught. He almost left with just his sword, I had to tackle him down before gathering supplies."

"Where is he now?"

"He traced her to the Underworld, in Hades' palace. He's going there now. I'm so sorry."

You hadn’t fought for him. You hadn’t needed to. You were simply yourself, and that was more than enough for Percy.

He chose you.

Annabeth had never truly lost before. She always found a way to win. But this… this was a loss she didn’t know how to fight.

Now, standing on the edge of the sea, all she could feel was the vast, cold expanse before her.

Once, this water had been Percy— his love, his presence, his devotion. Now, it was just the sea— cold, endless, unforgiving.

For the first time in her life, Annabeth Chase felt like she was drowning, without Percy there to pull her back to the surface.

She'll always be his first.

But first doesn’t mean forever.

[sosasturns]

shoota!chris ACTIN HARD

…IN WHICH CHRIS GETS IN A FIGHT OVER YOU, BLURB

it’s supposed to be a chill night. couple drinks, couple laughs, chris right by your side—hand on your hip, drink in his other, keeping you close, just how he always do.

your girls talking, music bumping, the whole spot got that warm buzz of liquor and bass. it’s good. until it’s not.

popped collar. polo. creased ass jordans.

this motherfucker saunters up like he god’s gift, chin high, breath smelling like he been nursing the same crown and coke for the past hour. and he talking to you.

“you too fine to be standing next to him.”

chris exhales slow through his nose, takes a sip of his drink, blue eyes cutting through the dim lights, locked on this dumbass like he three seconds from turning his ass into swiss cheese.

he don’t say nothing yet. just watching. waiting. sizing him up.

but popped collar wanna act bold. he don’t peep the way your body leans into chris’s touch, don’t clock the warning signs in his stare. he keeps going.

“you the kinda girl that need a real man.”

oh. yeah. it’s wraps.

chris tilts his head, licks his teeth, hand on your waist gripping just a little tighter. real man? that’s cute.

“word?” he drawls, voice slow, cocky, already knowing where this about to go.

popped collar nods, goes to touch your wrist like he really just said some smooth shit. you don’t even get a chance to pull back before chris moves.

bap bap bap.

polo on the floor.

chris gripping that fuck ass lauren polo collar, damn near tearing it off the seam, and now it look like the little polo player embroidered on his chest been rode into the ground. what in the fuck was that body cross bag placement? shit draped over the polo logo—that motherfucker look like he was riding a god damn tiger. hold up.

your girls screaming, grabbing at your arms, pulling you back before you can get caught in the crossfire. chris’s boys trying to hold him, but soon as polo’s friends jump in, it’s a wrap. hands flying. drinks spilling. whole damn club in chaos.

your friend jumps up on a chair. “ohhhh shittt.”

security late as hell, finally yanking chris and his people up off those bums, dragging them toward the exit. you and your girls follow cause you damn sure not staying in there after that. plus, the vibe was ass anyways.

but chris? he still talking his shit. walking backwards as security leads him out, chin high, all smug like he ain’t just rocked some justin bieber looking motherfucker’s shit.

popped collar trying to talk back, but it’s real hard to sound tough when you still dazed, leaning against the bouncer for support.

“fuck outta here, man,” chris scoffs, shaking them off as they get outside. he’s still hot, jaw tight, nostrils flaring. but he done now. his point been made.

car ride? dead silent. not even music. just the low hum of the road and chris’s heavy ass breathing. you glance over, lips pressing together. “at least you won.”

chris don’t react. just keeps looking out the window. few seconds later, you try again. “you really rocked his shit, though.”

he flicks his gaze to you, expression unreadable. “shut the fuck up.”

you smirk, looking out your own window now, unbothered. he’s always like this—simply hotheaded.

he pulls up to your place, hazard lights on, hands gripping the wheel. lets out a long ass sigh, staring straight ahead.

you tilt your head. “you not coming in?”

he shakes his head, eyes still on the street.

you don’t argue. just grab your purse, open the door. pause. glance back. “park up there.”

then you get out.

inside, you drop your keys, set your bag on the counter, start digging through drawers for the first aid kit. cause you already know.

minutes later, the front door creaks open. he’s quiet, moving through the space like a shadow. you don’t even turn around. just pop open the kit, lay out some gauze.

“c’mere.”

he steps closer. hands bruised, knuckles split, but none of polo’s punches connected. that boy was throwing air, meanwhile chris was landing every hit.

you clean him up, working fast, efficient. he’s standing there huffing and puffing, acting like he got somewhere to be.

you exhale through your nose, look up at him, unimpressed. “go sit the fuck down ‘til you cool off. you starting to piss me off.”

he let out a breath, real heavy, but did what you said, sinking into the sectional, legs spread, arms slung over the back like he owned the place. two little ass sanrio bandages sat across his knuckles now, a dumb contrast to how hard he was acting. you smirked at the sight, clipping your hair up as you restarted the load of clothes you left in the dryer before heading out earlier.

as you pass the couch, chris reaches out, fingers curling around your hip. next thing you know, you’re landing on his lap with a small oomf, his hands already wandering.

"you done actin’ stupid now?" you murmured, hands pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of it.

chris scoffed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "nah.”

you roll your eyes. his grip tightens. “shut up.”

so you do.

and then he kissed you. hot, deep, tongue sliding against yours like he was tryna prove a point. his hands roamed, squeezing at your hips, your ass, your thighs, pulling you tighter against him so you could feel just how much you got to him.

"gon' let me have you?" he muttered against your lips, already knowing the answer. and you did. right there on that sectional, with your dress bunched up around your waist and chris gripping onto you like he owned you. his hands never left your skin, his mouth never stopped moving against yours, against your neck, against every damn place he could reach. he made sure you felt it. made sure you knew that even with all that nonchalant shit, all that attitude, he wanted you. only you.

the next morning, you wake up on the couch, makeup smu-dged, dress wrinkled, weave tousled to hell. no bonnet. an L.

you stretch, sit up, reach to fix your hair—pause.

something’s caught in the strands.

with a frown, you pluck it free, hold it up to inspect.

a god damn sanrio bandage.

@ sosasturns

sosa’s notes: had writers block for a hot min n started typing this up. literally could not stop giggling. popped collar lowk my fav npc like

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!yoongi (19) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

note: the last. freaking. written. oh my god,, where did the time go !!! i honestly could've finished this fic in dec but got so busy w family stuff,, but i'm glad i'm wrapping it up now.. slower and more content <3 so happy to have seen all the love and support this bbydaddy ,, and can not wait to share more of the series with u !!! love u,, see u at the end :)

warnings: dirty talk, ass slapping, titty play, doggy,, missionarykissing, creampie and so much vibes !!!

//

“hi mommy!”

you roll your eyes and almost shut the door in his face.

“go away, jungkook.”

he laughs, loud and shameless. then, without warning, jungkook wedges his body between the door and the frame, stopping you from fully shutting the door. his arms are full of takeout bags, the smell of fried chicken and tteokbokki filling the entryway immediately. the aroma should make you hungry, but instead, it twists your stomach. 

you're too tired to want anything.

“you look radiant,” jungkook teases, setting the bags down on the nearest counter. he can’t help but notice how pale you are and how slumpy your posture is. though he teases, he still means it as he says; “glowing. motherly. beautiful.”

you give him a flat look. 

“i will hurt you.”

“sure you will,” jungkook says, grinning like you’ve just handed him the greatest compliment in the world. “why would you? actually, how can you when you have that giant thing in front—”

the sound of more footsteps behind him makes your heart sink.

you lean to the side, peeking past his broad shoulders, and your suspicion is confirmed—hyemi isn’t alone. the rest of the friend group piles in behind her, all laughter and overlapping voices. and then it hits you. 

it’s just like last time. 

the time they all found out you were pregnant—and you can’t figure out what to feel first. 

relief? excitement? annoyance? 

“surprise!” jin exclaims, throwing his arms out dramatically. “we’re here to cheer you up!”

you blink at him, then at everyone else, too stunned to speak.

“what’s that face?” hyemi asks, stepping inside with a bag of desserts in hand. she glances over her shoulder at the crowd behind her. “awh, ___… don’t look so excited, or they’ll think you’re happy to see them.”

“i’m not.”

“we know.” namjoon smiles as he ducks into the hallway, carrying what looks like half a pharmacy’s worth of supplies.

“why are there so many of you?” 

you feel yourself beginning to get lightheaded. 

“because we love you,” hobi says simply, dropping his shoes at the door before making a beeline for the kitchen. “now sit down before you pass out. you look exhausted.”

there it is. 

health care friends at their finest. 

you love your friends. you love your friends. they care for you. you love them. you love them. you love them. you love them—

hyemi hums in agreement, giving you a once-over. 

“shit, ___. you’re grumpier than usual. reminds me of when you’re on your period.”

the jab earns her a collective groan from everyone else.

“don’t start,” hobi says, holding a hand up like he’s warding off bad energy.

“what? it’s true!” hyemi grins, clearly unbothered by their reactions. “___’s been pregnant for 9 months and suddenly you all forget what she’s really like when she’s over it.”

you’re too tired to even retort. 

you are really over it.

“i wasn’t expecting all of you, that’s all. feels a little invasive especially when i’m about to birth an entire being.” you say, attempting to defend yourself.

“and we support you,” taehyung chimes in, entering with a huge smile on his face. “isn’t this the best-case scenario? yoongi wouldn’t let us bring any drugs but if we stress you out enough—we can help deliver the baby!”

the voices fade into the background as you sink onto the couch, the ache in your lower back easing slightly with the change in position. your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as you exhale slowly.

the sound of the front door opening again makes you lift your head, though, and when you see who it is, your pout returns.

yoongi steps inside, looking a little sheepish, and offers you a soft smile. 

“hey.”

“hey,” you mumble back, watching as he crosses the room toward you.

he leans down, kissing your forehead before his lips find yours, gentle and familiar. the kiss lingers, quieting the irritation buzzing under your skin. 

at this point of your relationship, it feels like every kiss after the other was a million years ago. like you need to be kissed by him every 5 minutes just so you can function. it’s a high you never expected to get addicted to, but who cares? 

he’s all yours. 

“i’m sorry. i really thought this would cheer you up. hyemi suggested it—and… i-i didn’t think they’d annoy you this fast—”

“i wasn’t flirting with jungkook,” you grumble against his mouth, the words spilling out before you can stop them. your sudden change of subject has yoongi pulling back. 

a smile tugs in, soft but apologetic. he brushes a thumb over your cheek, leaning in close again. “i know,” he murmurs. “i’m sorry for overreacting.”

just like that, the fight is over. 

yoongi then slips an arm around your waist, helping you to your feet with ease. his hand lingers on the small of your back as he leads you back toward the group, his presence steadying you as the noise and laughter fill the space once more.

you lean into yoongi instinctively as he helps you back into the living room, his hand firm and steady on your waist. you swear he moves slower than necessary like he’s afraid you might topple over if he so much as lets go for a second.

“yoongi, i’m pregnant. i’m not glass,” you hiss, though you don’t pull away.

“same difference.”

you sit back on the couch with a little huff, and yoongi crouches beside you, carefully adjusting the blanket draped over your legs like he’s tucking you in for the night. his fingers brush your knee through the fabric, and the touch sends a ripple of warmth through your chest.

“anything you need?” he asks softly, voice low enough that only you can hear.

“for them to leave.”

he chuckles under his breath, a low sound that makes your pout falter. 

“i’ll take care of them later. they want to be here for you right now. is that okay?” 

“it’s okay.”

“good—”

“don’t go anywhere,” you stop him for getting up. “stay besid me. i’m scared of taehyung right now. he wants to deliver my baby—”

yoongi snorts. 

“okay, okay.” he promises, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knee before he stands. but he doesn’t go far. instead, he perches on the arm of the couch, staying close enough that his hand finds its way to the back of your neck, his fingers curling there with a familiar ease.

“what’s this?” jin’s voice cuts through the moment, his tone pitched just enough to be obnoxious.

you glance up, startled, and catch him pointing at your hand. more specifically, the small, delicate ring glinting on your finger.

“that’s been there,” hyemi says, leaning back against the armchair with her arms crossed. she tries to act coy with it, but she’s only really seen the ring on your finger once. “you’re just noticing now?”

“wait… that’s new,” jungkook interjects, squinting. “like... really new.”

a ripple of realization passes through the group, and their gazes flick between you and yoongi with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement.

“it’s a promise ring.”

“sure,” namjoon says, dragging the word out as he adjusts his glasses. his lips twitch, failing to hide a grin. “are you two even together?”

you and yoongi pause. 

“promise ring this, promise ring that… everything but boyfriend and girlfriend. baby and all. holy shit, do you even love the lord?” jimin teases. 

“promise ring? what are you guys? 16?” jin adds, earning a round of laughter.

“can you not?” yoongi mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. his hand shifts to your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

hyemi catches the way you lower your gaze. 

“what i think they mean to say is that… we’re happy for you,” hyemi says, her voice softer now, a rare moment of sincerity slipping through her usual banter. she attempts to correct the guys but steers the ship in a completely different direction. “you two are good together. and even though ___ would’ve said yes if that was an engagement ring—”

“w-wait, what?” yoongi’s head snaps toward hyemi so fast you’d think she just revealed a state secret. his eyes are wide, disbelief etched across his face. “hyemi, what did you just say?”

hyemi grins, clearly enjoying the chaos she’s unleashed. 

“you heard me.”

you groan, dragging a hand over your face. 

“god, don’t listen to her. she’s talking nonsense.”

but it’s too late. 

yoongi’s gaze is locked on you now, searching for something in your expression. 

“but is it true?”

“no,” you say quickly, your voice sharper than intended. “why would you even—”

“___, if it was an engagement ring…” hyemi chimes in, her voice sing-song, “wouldn’t you have said yes, ___?”

“hyemi!” you snap, glaring at her. your cheeks burn, the heat spreading all the way to your ears.

yoongi blinks.

his lips parting as if he’s about to say something, but you cut him off.

“can we not do this right now? i’m tired, i’m grumpy, and i’m this close to kicking you all out.”

the room goes quiet for a beat, the tension hanging heavy in the air.

then taehyung, ever the instigator, leans forward with a wicked grin. 

“so… that’s a yes.”

the teasing simmers down after that, the room settles. namjoon and jin argue over whether or not they should check your blood pressure, while jungkook, taehyung, and jimin try to beat hyemi and hobi with some card game. 

yoongi hasn’t left your side. his arm draped casually along the back of the couch. when your head tips onto his shoulder, he doesn’t hesitate, pressing a kiss to your temple like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“they’re not leaving anytime soon, are they?” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“probably not,” he replies, lips quirking in a small smile.

you sigh, closing your eyes. the room is loud, but his presence is grounding. for a moment, you let yourself sink into it, the warmth of his hand on your arm and the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your ear.

“okay, let’s be serious for a second,” namjoon announces, standing in the middle of the living room with a no-nonsense expression that only half-convinces anyone. “you’re due any day now, so we should probably—”

“no.”

you cut him off so fast that it takes him a moment to register.

“but—”

“no.” you shake your head, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “absolutely not. you’re not poking me, prodding me, or whatever else you have planned. not happening.”

jin sets his drink down and raises a brow. “we’re doctors. we’re just trying to help.”

“you run a dermatology practice. you are not my OBGYN. you’re my friends,” you retort, glaring at them. “i love you all so much. thank you for caring and for all the support you’ve given me for the past 9 months. whether it was running an errand or picking up a craving, to planning a surprise baby shower and for this—i am so grateful. but holy fuck, i do not want to be touched. if you guys are here as my friends, then do that. be my friends right now and distract me since no one brought any fucking drugs.”

yoongi glances between you and the two men, hesitating. “honey, maybe just—”

“no.”

“you seem stressed. maybe checking your blood pressure isn’t an awful idea—”

“yoongi,” you snap, turning to him with a warning look. “don’t.”

he holds his hands up in surrender, lips twitching as if fighting a smile. 

“okay, okay. no check-ups.”

“she’s scary,” jin mutters to namjoon, who nods in solemn agreement.

the moment is interrupted by jungkook’s sudden, blunt proclamation: “you’re really pretty, though. personally, i like it when you’re bitchy.”

your head whips around to look at him, eyebrows raised. 

“what?”

“i mean, you’re glowing and all that,” he continues, shrugging like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “but also... just pretty. i can’t wait to see your boobs get all big and milky—”

you stare at him for a beat before snorting, laughter bubbling up despite your irritation. 

“shut up, jungkook.”

“i’m serious!”

“she said shut up,” yoongi interjects, his tone calm but edged with something sharper. he leans forward, smacking jungkook lightly on the chest. “remember what we talked about before coming here? boundaries, right? she’s the mother of my child, not some girl you get to flirt with.”

“but... she’s ___. our ___.” jungkook protests, gesturing at you. 

“my ___,” yoongi corrects him. 

your heart skips a beat, the simple declaration sending a wave of warmth through your chest. you glance down, fiddling with the edge of the blanket to hide the smile threatening to break free.

“ugh, you’re both annoying,” hyemi interrupts, rolling her eyes. “can we focus on something fun? karaoke, maybe? or better yet, you guys can cook.”

“cook?” you echo, sitting up straight. “absolutely not. do you know how much yoongi paid for that stove? you’ll burn the kitchen down.”

“you need to relax,” hyemi says, waving you off. “it’s your last few momments of peace before you officially become a milf. let us take care of everything.”

“i don’t need to be taken care of,” you argue, even as yoongi gently pushes you back against the couch.

“you do,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “just for tonight.”

you glance around at the group, their faces bright with amusement and affection, and something in you softens. 

no one waits for you to answer. 

truth be told, you don’t have much left in you. so, you let them do their thing. soon enough, the room buzzes with laughter as the guys head to the kitchen, their voices mixing with the clatter of pots and pans. hyemi sets up the karaoke machine, throwing you a wink before belting out an off-key rendition of some pop song.

yoongi stays by your side, kneeling in front of you with a plate of food in hand. he picks up a piece of kimbap and holds it out, his expression soft and expectant.

“open,” he says simply.

you narrow your eyes at him, but the corners of your lips tug upward despite yourself. 

“i can feed myself, you know.”

“we talked about this, remember?” yoongi reminds you. “figure out how to need me.”

“i’m fine—”

“then humor me.”

with that, you sigh but obey. you lean forward to take the bite. his thumb brushes against your bottom lip as he pulls his hand back, and your cheeks warm at the casual intimacy of the gesture.

the noise in the background fades for a moment, replaced by the steady thrum of your heart.

you glance around the room, taking in the laughter, the teasing, the warmth that fills the space. it hits you all at once—this is the last time you’ll all be like this. the next time they come over, there’ll be a baby crying in the background, diapers on the counter, and toys scattered across the floor.

your throat tightens, a mix of happiness and nostalgia swelling in your chest. you reach for yoongi’s hand, squeezing it gently. he looks up, his gaze softening when he meets yours.

“what?” he asks quietly, leaning closer.

“nothing,” you murmur, resting your head against his shoulder. “just... thanks for being here… and for not letting them touch me right now. i just… i only want you. i'm sorry i'm being such a bitch.”

“don't be... and for the record; i want you to only want me,” he replies, his voice steady and sure. “because me? i want you always.”

and somehow, in the chaos of it all, everything feels exactly as it should be.

always.

by the time everyone leaves, you fell asleep about 3 times. 

as yoongi manages to kick taehyung, jimin, and jungkook out, he wakes you up gently and helps you get to bed. in between little giggles and stumbles along the way, yoongi manages to tuck you in. 

he leaves you be as he gets ready for bed. then, after what feels like an eternity, he joins you. laying beside you, he pulls you close. 

“so… are we getting married or—”

“oh my god.” you bury your face into his chest. you mutter curses under your breath.

yoongi chuckles, bringing his hands to your hair. as he pats your head and plays with your hair, you feel his hand up your cheek. lifting your face up, his eyes look into yours. 

“you’d really say yes?” he asks.

with wide eyes, you look at him and feel it. your heart stutters at the way he’s looking at you. it’s too much—too sincere, too raw—and frankly? you aren’t too sure if you’re in the mood to dea with it. 

“would you stop?” you sigh, averting your gaze. “it’s late.”

“so… yes?,” yoongi echoes, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

you huff, reach up and place a kiss on his lips. 

“yes,” you admit. “if you had asked me to marry you, i would’ve said yes.” 

“noted.”

“go to sleep, babydaddy.”

“is that all i am to you?”

“yup.”

you’re past your due date. 

to be exact, you’re 1 day past your due date. 

to be even more exact—it’s 2AM on the day of your due date. 

you’ve been tossing and turning in bed, unable to get a wink of sleep. perhaps it’s the excitement or perhaps it’s the fact that you’ve never been so fucking uncomfortable in your entire life until now. regardless, you push and shove the blanket off of you and get up from bed. 

yoongi is asleep, his face half-buried in his pillow with one hand tucked under it, the other resting on your side of the bed like he’d been holding you before you slipped away. you glance at him, briefly considering crawling back in just to steal some of his calm. but the restlessness gnaws at you, so you leave, careful to avoid the creak in the floorboards as you shuffle out of the bedroom.

in the living room, the hospital bag sits exactly where you left it by the door. it’s already been double-checked—more than triple, honestly—still, you kneel (slowly and not so prettily) and unzip it again. 

clothes, baby onesies, snacks, charger. waterbottle. pillow. pajamas. fully charged iPad. 

your fingers brush over each item as if they might’ve magically disappeared since the last time you looked. satisfied, but still not satisfied, you zip it back up and wander into the kitchen. 

the fridge hums softly, and you open it, scanning the shelves of prepped meals, labeled containers, and the stash of snacks yoongi insisted on packing "for himself, but really for you.” he’s always prepared like that—calm, measured, thinking five steps ahead. 

it’s part of what’s kept you grounded through this whole thing, but right now it’s also infuriating. 

how can he be so fine when you’re this... this?

your hand rests on the counter as you exhale sharply, shoulders slumping. keys, wallet, slippers—all lined up neatly by the door. 

everything’s ready. 

except you. 

you feel a swell of emotions—anxious, impatient, annoyed—and it only intensifies as you pad into the bathroom, flipping the light on softly.

the mirror reflects your tired eyes first, then your body. your hands instinctively go to your belly, fingers tracing over the curves and stretch marks that have formed like vines around your stomach. it’s beautiful, really. the garden that you are and the flower that blooms inside of you. 

it feels almost bittersweet now. 

“what’re you doing up?”

yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, gravelly with sleep. you meet his eyes in the mirror, his hair tousled, a crease from the pillow faintly etched into his cheek.

“couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, watching as he steps closer. his arms wrap around you, warm and secure, his hands resting on the swell of your belly. he presses his chin into the crook of your neck, placing a soft kiss against your cheek.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low and soothing. “hmmm? tell me, honey.”

you sigh, leaning back into his hold. 

“i feel… anxious. and annoyed. and so tired but not tired enough to sleep. and you’re just in there snoring like nothing’s happening.”

“you’re mad at me for sleeping?”

“yeah.”

he chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through your back. “okay. you’re cute when you’re mad.”

“don’t start,” you warn, glaring at him in the mirror, though the edge in your tone is dulled by his touch.

“seriously, though,” he says, turning his head to kiss your temple this time, “you’re doing amazing, and everything’s ready. we’ve checked through everything over and over again. ___, you don’t have to stress.”

you huff, crossing your arms over his. “easy for you to say. you’re not the one carrying a human who’s decided to take their sweet time coming out.”

he chuckles softly, nuzzling into your neck. “baby injeolmi is taking their time because the home you are for them isn’t an easy goodbye. you’ve been glowing throughout this entire pregnancy. you’ve been so healthy and perfect, ___. baby injeolmi is allowed to take their time. you’re the perfect home.”

“well, i’m ready,” you snap, twisting around in his arms to face him. the irritation bubbling in your chest spills over, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “maybe we should just—i don’t know—have sex or something. isn’t that supposed to help?”

yoongi freezes for a beat, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “...what?”

“i heard that if you cum inside of me, it helps soften my cervix,” you say, arms akimbo now, glaring up at him like he’s the one keeping the baby from arriving. “this baby’s already late, and i’m losing my mind. i don’t really care to try other remedies right now—”

“you’re serious?” he cuts in, his lips quirking up into that infuriatingly lazy grin. “you’re actually suggesting this right now?”

“what’s wrong with the suggestion?” you grumble, the heat rising to your cheeks more from frustration than anything else. “you don’t want to have sex with me, is that it—”

“shut up,” he bites back a laugh, his hands coming up to rest gently on your waist. “i can’t take that sentence seriously… but you know, most people don’t demand it like they’re negotiating a business deal.”

“yoongi,” you warn, shooting him a glare that could burn a hole through steel. 

he leans down slightly, his face softening as he brushes a thumb over your cheek. 

“alright, alright,” he says, voice dropping to that low tone that makes your knees feel a little less steady. “if it’ll make you feel better.”

you roll your eyes but don’t move away when he tilts his head, kissing you slow and deliberate, like he’s determined to tease you just a little more.

“make it worth it,” you mutter against his lips, still annoyed, but letting yourself be pulled under his warmth anyway. 

“oh, i’ll make sure of it,” he murmurs back, his smirk pressing against your mouth as his hands trail lower. 

you giggle as he begins to feel you.

the night gown you’re wearing is pretty thin and and low. yoongi has no problem tugging the top part down, revealing your breasts. he stares at them through the reflection of the mirror as he guides his hands around them. massaging your breasts, you let out a moan as he sloppily kisses your cheek. 

“y-yoongi?”

“yes, honey?”

“i love you,” you breathe. “need you to know that… because i want you to fuck me like you don’t.”

for a moment he’s stunned. 

“you want it rough, baby?” 

“so rough…” you hum. “bend me over, slap me around, and treat me like your favourite toy.”

he hisses. 

“not my toy,” yoongi mutters. “___, you’re the love of my life.”

you pause. 

“w-what?”

yoongi pauses too. he brings his hands to cup over your cheeks and looks into your eyes. 

“i love you. i’m in love with you. you’re the love of my life, ___. nothing has ever made more sense than this.” 

yoongi fucks you like he never has before. 

it’s fucking wild. 

the way his pelvis hits your ass as he pulls your hair has you absolutely floored. every time your knees shake, he slaps your ass and hisses at you. you can’t help but feel so fucking horny. 

“take more,” yoongi grunts. “you wanted more, right? you said you could handle it? fucking handle it.” 

he thrusts in you, hard and rough. his pace is selfish—almost relentless… but it also feels so fucking good. yoongi fucks you like he has been wanting to this entire time. 

“n-nghhh,” you moan. “y-yes… like t-that daddy! fuck me so good…” 

yoongi continues to fuck you like a dog. he whimpers and mutters things under his breath, causing you to focus on his breathing. you like the way he’s panting and losing his mind over your pussy. before you can make a comment about it, he holds you in such a way that turns your body over. 

he towers over you and practically drools at the sight of your tits. 

yoongi lowers himself, shoving his face into them. he licks your nipples, flicks them, and bites. you throw your head back, feeling how sensitive they are as he uses his tongue to play with them. they harden but it’s nothing compared to how hard his fucking cock is. 

he lifts himself up and hits your his dick agaisnt your folds. without warning, he sinks his heavy cock inside you. you gasp, but he interrupts it with a kiss. 

the kiss starts slow—like yoongi’s testing your resolve, coaxing you out of your annoyance with the deliberate press of his lips. but when your hands grip his hair, pulling him closer, his control unravels. his mouth moves against yours with a deeper urgency, his fingers curling into your waist like he’s anchoring himself. whatever frustration you have suddenly dissolves, replaced by the heat pooling in your chest as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. 

fuck.

it’s not just a kiss; it’s a conversation, a promise, a distraction. 

yoongi kisses like he’s reminding you of every reason to trust him, to lean into him, to let him take care of you. and for a moment, you forget why you were ever annoyed in the first place. 

against his lips, you murmur; “i love you.”

he smiles. 

“i love you too.”

with that, yoongi digs himself deeper inside you. 

you feel him everywhere. his fat cock hits different angles and reaches further than what you remember. you feel choked about it to be honest… his dick has always been big and it’s never been easy for you to adjust to—but perhaps with all the pregnancy sensitivity, his cock feels even more insane to you. 

it’s so insane. 

like, you’re near sobs insane. 

“a-are you crying?” 

“no,” you pant. “i… i just… fuck, i love this so much. i’m gonna cum soon—o-oh, god! y-yoongi… mhmmm…”

he chuckles, tucking your hair back. yoongi fucks you, deep and fast. you gasp from the sharpness that suddenly occurs. he smirks at the way your lips curve. they twitch and it boosts his ego. 

“you like that, mama? you like that i’m fucking your pretty pussy like this? like a fucking dirty slut? been fucking flirting with jungkook all week—”

“i wasn’t—”

“should’ve just stayed patient, honey,” yoongi growls. “what? you think he can fuck you like this? fuck you like you’re the most perfect thing on earth? no. he can’t. only me, mama. only i can fuck you like this, okay?”

“o-okay—”

“say it,” yoongi demands. “fucking say it.”

“only you.”

yoongi inhales sharply. “yeah, that’s fucking right. my little creampie slut… god, you love my cum, don’t you?”

you nod. “love is so much. so milky and creamy—so fucking good. want you to fill me up again, daddy… i want it so bad. will you do it? cum inside me? love it so much…”

“whatever you want,” yoongi breathes. “but first, tell me how good i fuck you.”

you don’t hesitate. instead, you let your words spill out. 

“you fuck me so good, daddy. so fucking good, i can’t breathe… your cock is so thick and big—i’m so sad i can’t suck it. i love how it fits inside me… i love how it makes me feel. so big. so fucking b-big… ughhhh… you have my pussy drenched, honey. so fucking wet for you all the time… i love your cock s-sooo much… don’t even know how to say thank you for fucking me like this. thank you, thank you, thank y-youuu… o-ohhh… oh my god! oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! yoongi—”

yoongi picks up the pace and fucks you so good that you’re at a loss for words. 

you begin to sob, wrapping your arms around him. you hold tight as he drills himself inside of you, using you like a fuck toy. but you don’t mind… espeically when he’s this hot and this fucking perfect for you. 

before you know it, he mutters; “holy fuck.” 

and you feel it. 

a big gush of his cum floods your insides. you feel his cum spill out but he continues to pump himself inside and out of you. you hold onto him, attempting to catch your breath too. truth be told, you came minutes ago… you’ve just been too into it to stop. 

as he’s about to move, you stop him. 

��don’t pull out. want to keep as much cum inside me.”

“i can’t get you pregnant again.”

you laugh as he kisses your neck. 

he joins your laughter and holds you close too, his arms warm and steady around you. the sheets are tangled at your feet, your body still humming with the intimacy you just shared. for the first time all night, the tension that had been coiled in your chest is gone, replaced by a deep, bone-deep exhaustion and something softer—something sweeter.

“you good now?” he murmurs against your shoulder, his lips brushing over your skin in a lazy kiss. “can you get some rest?”

you hum, resting your cheek against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a comfortable haze.

“yeah. i think i might actually sleep now.”

“good,” he says softly, his voice thick with sleep as he presses his chin to the top of your head. “you need it, mama. we have the next few years to lose sleep.”

his hand strokes absentmindedly over your back, his touch grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into the quiet. the two of you are on the edge of drifting off when the words spill from your lips, unfiltered and raw.

“yoongi?”

“hmm?” he replies, barely awake but still tuned in, like he always is with you.

“i’m really glad it’s you.”

his hand stills on your back, and you feel him shift slightly, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

“what do you mean?”

you glance up, meeting his gaze. the room is dim, the glow from the streetlights outside casting faint shadows across his face, but his eyes are clear and focused, waiting for you to continue.

“i mean…” you take a breath, your fingers tracing the curve of his collarbone as you search for the right words. “i’ve always wanted this for myself, you know? the baby thing. the family thing… honestly? us. ever since the day i met you, i think i’ve always known you had the qualities i looked for and find attractive in a man… i never did anything because we barely knew each other but honestly? i’m so relived it’s you.”

“oh, are we confessing?” yoongi sighs. “i’ve wanted you for a long time.”

“really?”

“mhmm,” he kisses the top of your head. “all of this? all of you? worth the wait.”

the air stills. 

“yoongi?”

“yeah?”

“the most healing thing i’ve ever done for myself is choose a good man to be the father of my baby. and that’s you.”

his lips part slightly, his expression softening as the words sink in.

“you’re patient and kind and thoughtful. you make me feel safe, even when i’m a mess. you make me laugh and you let me cry. you… sit with me through it all. you hold my hand and when i’m ready to run again, you’re right beside me. i can’t tell you how much i wanted this—how much i had convince myself i was worth being with a man like you… yoongi, you make everything better.” your voice cracks a little, and you laugh at yourself, shaking your head. “i don’t know how else to say it and it makes me so sad that you will never know the extent of it all but—i’m really glad it’s you.”

he’s quiet for a beat, his gaze steady, his thumb brushing over your cheek where a tear had slipped out unnoticed. then, he leans down, kissing you—not with heat or urgency, but with a tenderness that feels like an answer, like a promise.

when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“you have no idea how much that means to me,” he says, his voice low and steady, but the emotion behind it makes your chest ache. “to know that i’m good enough for you—it’s overwhelming. beyond anything i’ve ever imagined for myself. but to have you like this? to have you trust me, to love me the way you do... it’s everything, and i can’t fathom it. you and baby injeolmi are my everything. you always have been.”

9 months ago, yoongi murmured; "what are friends for?"

this.

moments like this.

where you’re reminded of how incredible it feels to love, to fall in love, and to be in love with someone like him. it’s not just a relief—it’s a revelation, a warmth that blooms in your chest and refuses to fade.

it's always.

[fanbasetwo]

✦ WHEN YOU MATCH RIIZE’S FREAK — PT.01

001. PAIRING , riize ! maknae line × afab reader 002. GENRE , scenario, drabble work . . . NOTE FROM SENA , just a filler work since I don't want to stay inactive :( will post the hyung line version someday lol 🤎 MASTERLIST!!

HONG SEUNGHAN . . . ✦

The cashier’s question hung in the air, dripping with innocence. “Is this for your baby?”

You glanced at your boyfriend, Seunghan, whose lips were twitching as he fought back a laugh. The overflowing basket in front of you didn’t help—chocolate bars, plush toys, and Lego sets practically screamed wholesome parent vibes. Seunghan gave an exaggerated nod, his expression far too serious for the situation. “Of course,” he said, his voice betraying the slightest quiver of amusement. Your jaw dropped. “You’re not helping!” you hissed, but he only grinned, entirely unbothered.

The truth? There was no baby. The weekend haul wasn’t for any hypothetical child but for two grown adults—specifically, you and Seunghan—who spent lazy afternoons building Lego houses and hoarding plush toys like the overgrown kids you secretly were.

At home, the living room looked like a toddler’s dreamland. Lego pieces were scattered across the carpet in chaotic piles. Seunghan was sprawled on his stomach, his brows furrowed in intense concentration as he assembled a construction truck. You sat cross-legged nearby, your fingers carefully snapping together brightly colored bricks. “Look at this!” you exclaimed, holding up a newly completed Lego house. Its tiny windows and mismatched roof were pure perfection—or so you thought. Clapping in excitement, you beamed. “This one’s gold!”

Seunghan rolled his eyes, shooting you a half-hearted glance before returning to his truck. “Gold? More like beginner level,” he teased, smirking as he expertly clicked two more pieces into place. “Rude,” you pouted, nudging him with your foot. “If someone saw us like this, they’d probably think we’re insane. Adults playing with kids’ toys?” He didn’t even look up, his focus unshaken. “Let them think whatever they want,” he replied smoothly. Then he added, without missing a beat, “But we’re together, right? That’s what matters. Who cares if we’re a little weird?”

You paused, his words sinking in. A warm smile spread across your face as you set down the Lego house. He was right—being “freaky” or unconventional didn’t matter when it was with him.

LEE SOHEE . . . ✦

Living together had turned into a whirlwind of unpacking, decorating, and adjusting for you and Sohee. Between all the chaos, there was one thing you’d managed to avoid—shaving. It wasn’t intentional at first, but the moment razor bumps made their unwelcome appearance the last time you tried, you vowed to steer clear. The solution? Long pants and full-sleeved pajamas, even in the heat of summer.

It worked—until it didn’t.

One evening, as you lounged at home, Sohee’s sharp eyes finally caught on. His gaze lingered on your covered legs, his expression unreadable. “You’ve been avoiding something,” he stated matter-of-factly. Caught off guard, you hesitated. “What do you mean?” he didn’t answer right away, just leaned forward and tugged lightly at the hem of your pants. “Why are you hiding your legs?”

Flustered, you looked away, mumbling, “I messed up last time I shaved, okay? Razor bumps are no joke.”

His brows raised slightly, and then—to your surprise—he chuckled. Not the mocking kind of laugh, but one filled with warmth. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

Before you could respond, he disappeared into the bathroom and returned with your razor, a small towel, and shaving cream. “Sit,” he instructed, pointing to the couch. “What? Why?” “I’m doing it for you,” he said simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Reluctantly, you pulled on a pair of shorts and sat down, watching him with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. He knelt in front of you, focused as he lathered the cream onto your leg.

“You have to shave in the direction of hair growth,” he explained, his tone almost professional as he carefully ran the razor along your skin. “That way, you avoid razor bumps.” You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You sound like a tutorial video.” He smirked without looking up. “And you’re a terrible student if you didn’t know this already.”

His touch was gentle but precise, his attention entirely on the task. The awkwardness you feared never came. Instead, there was comfort—a kind of intimacy you hadn’t expected. When he finished, he leaned back, inspecting his work. “There. Smooth as silk. Now you can stop hiding from me.” you blinked down at your leg, then back at him. “You’re not even a little grossed out?”

He scoffed, standing up. “Why would I be? You’re mine, freaky shaving habits and all.”

You grinned, your chest warm. If this wasn’t love, you didn’t know what was.

LEE ANTON . . . ✦

The room was quiet except for the faint sound of a movie playing on your phone screen. You pointed at the screen, where two actors were locked in a dramatic kiss, a cube of chocolate passed between their mouths. “Hmm, you think that’s dirty?” you asked, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you glanced at him. He didn’t answer right away, his eyes lingering on the screen before shifting to meet yours. “Don’t know unless I try,” he said. His voice wasn’t teasing, though—it held a certain seriousness that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could retort, he grabbed a cube of chocolate from the table and slipped it into his mouth. You blinked, taken aback, but before you could fully process his intentions, he leaned in. His lips met yours, soft and warm, tasting faintly of the rich chocolate he was intent on sharing. The sweetness melted further between your mouths as his tongue pushed the piece into yours, teasing and deliberate. The sensation of the chocolate melting, mixing with the heat of the kiss, was intoxicating. Your hands instinctively flew to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as the moment deepened, every sense heightened.

The chocolate dissolved into a mix of flavors and warmth, making the kiss feel lighter yet more overwhelming. The world outside disappeared as you leaned further into him, his firm grip on your waist grounding you in the dizzying moment.

When the kiss finally broke, you both gasped for air, your foreheads resting against each other’s. Anton’s lips were smeared with chocolate, as were yours, but neither of you made a move to clean it. Instead, he leaned back slightly, a crooked, chocolatey grin spreading across his face. “It’s not dirty,” he declared with the utmost confidence, his voice low and steady, as if his conclusion were a scientific fact.

You stared at him, half-stunned and half-impressed, your lips tingling from the kiss. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, a laugh bubbling up from your chest. He grabbed the remote and paused the video, turning to you with a playful glint in his eye. “Unbelievably good, you mean.” That was the moment you realized something undeniable: your boyfriend didn’t just match your freak—he might actually surpass it.

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[formulakracing]

jealousy, jealousy - t.w.

pairing: fem!reader x dbf! toto wolff

word count: 2.1k

warnings: age gap, smut (oral - male receiving!), questionable power dynamics, cursing, vague toxic vibes from toto, allusions to sex, slight choking, poorly translated german, dominating vibes from toto for sure, writer has no idea how university in europe works, dad's best friend! trope, reader is lowkey a little brat, dirty talk, yadayadayada

a/n: here is the highly anticipated second part of sunbathing! and yes, it is loosely based off of jealousy, jealousy by olivia rodrigo. i hope y’all enjoy this just as much as the first part! <3

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no matter how hard you tried to shake it, it lingered.

it was always present, nagging away, gnawing at you. nearly consuming you whole.

it kept you awake at night as you tossed and turned, your mind wandering, wondering what could have been.

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚

what could have happened if the two of you were alone that day. how he could have made you feel. how he could have fulfilled every single one of your sleazy, dirty, downright sinful fantasies.

how he could have fucked you like the whore you were for him, aching for some sort of relief from the fiery desire burning within.

you were desperate. desperate to replicate the way he touched you that day. desperate to hear that sickeningly sweet lust dripping in his words. desperate to squirm under his intense gaze, his mocha depths picking you apart.

no toy in your nightstand drawer even came close. there was no porno that could even recreate the memory. there was nothing that could satisfy the craving.

the craving to feel toto wolff spread you open and tear you apart.

ever since that summer afternoon, you maintained your distance. you stayed as far away as possible, ensuring that you remained upstairs whenever he came over for a couple drinks. you would purposefully only pop into your dad's office if you knew toto was out. there was one morning where you fibbed that you had an upset stomach, just so that you didn't have to tag along for another dinner on his luxurious yacht.

of course, you didn't want to avoid him. but you knew you had to.

simply because the mere sight of him was enough to bring you to your knees.

although, missing numerous grand prixes did have it repercussions.

while your dad was in the garage, you would be at home in bed, scrolling endlessly through social media. in turn, a nasty, unsettling feeling began to bloom, only growing with each passing weekend.

and that feeling was jealousy.

to put it simply, you were envious of the girls. how they were able to prance around the paddocks every weekend, donning the latest designer clothing and sipping on the finest champagne. giggling among one another as their boyfriends zoomed past. gossiping about everything and anything, from their sex lives to which one of their manicurists perfected the glazed donut look.

you longed to be with them, to join their elite status as a formula one wag. you ached to be that it girl, strutting into the garage, unbothered as tik tok pages buzzed and tabloids raved.

yet, with the man you had in mind, you knew it wasn't attainable.

not in the slighest.

there was no world in which you would be toto wolff's girlfriend.

it simply was never going to happen.

and facing that fact? fuck, did it have you spiraling.

it left you dejected and defeated, wanting nothing to do with anything and everything related to formula one. the sport you once loved was now a stark reminder of what you could not have.

an innocent dream crushed by the harsh weight of reality.

however, your withdrawn nature did not go unnoticed. by the third or fourth weekend spent home alone, your father decided it was time to "go out and socialize!" and "keep your mom company while he was at work."

you couldn't fight it any longer, either.

you had to attend the hungarian grand prix.

whether you liked it or not.

of course, your father was oblivious. he teased you, wondering if it had something to do with that "verstappen boy" or "that chuck leclerc fellow." although he did not press, you knew that he was aware it had something to do with a boy.

well, not just any boy.

a man. a fifty-two year old man.

his best friend and boss, at that.

so, here you were, using your mother as a shield as the two of you hung out in the garage. with carmen mundt and lewis hamilton's mom, nonetheless.

"so, how is university going?"

a delicate voice floods your right ear. blinking, you realize that it was carmen trying to speak, heat flushing into your cheeks as she giggles, your mom chiming in.

"she's been a little spacey today, so you might wanna make sure her antennas are adjusted correctly."

"mom!" you hiss, eyes narrowing into slits. however, you suck in a breath, turning to carmen, "i haven't started yet, but i am excited about this semester! i have a lot of classes online, so i can work while i travel."

"that's great!" carmen gushes, her lips forming a radiant grin, "i understand how difficult working on the go can be at times, but i have full faith that you'll have another great semester. your dad informed me that you were quite the scholar."

"oh please," you scoff, rolling your eyes, "i'm not that-"

"guten tag miene damen. i hope hospitality has been treating you well!"

your breath hitches in your throat as that brassy voice fills the air, his thick accent seeping into every word.

"toto!" your mom rises to her feet, wrapping the team principal up in a tight embrace, "it's nice to see you!"

"wie ich sehe, hast du den kleinen mitgebracht," the team principal shoots you a wink, folding his arms across his chest, "it's nice to see you, again. i don't think i've spoken to you since-"

"the afternoon we went out on your yacht," you finish, heart thudding against your rib-cage as he nods, "i've been a bit busy."

"is that so?" toto arches a brow, his tongue swiping along his lower lip, "busy with school or?"

"preparing for the semester to begin," you respond, a shiver running down your spine as he maintains eye contact, "i begin my last year of university in a few months."

"very good," the team principal clicks his tongue. tilting his head ever so slightly, he shifts to your mom, "would you mind if i stole her for a few minutes? i don't think she's gotten to see the upgrades we've made to the car."

"oh please," you mom waves a hand, "you know i don't mind!"

"well," his attention floats back to you, his elbow extending, "would you like to see the car?"

"sure," you mumble, your knees nearly buckling as you stand, "as long as i'm back before the first session."

"i'll have you back in no time," giving one last wave to the women, you hesitantly accept his gesture, linking your arm with his, "you better make this quick."

"is that right?" he counters, "you can relax, you know. you don't have to be so tense."

exhaling, your shoulder droops, "sorry. just a little nervous."

"you of all people know i don't bite," as the two of you weave through the garage, he chirps greetings to members of the crew.

as he strolls through a door, you realize that you were not looking at the new cars. in fact, the cars were in various pieces, the engineers tinkering away as you passed by them minutes ago. he was leading you in the opposite direction of the garage, deep into the paddock, far away from your parents.

"the cars were in the garage you know."

toto clicks his tongue, his gaze directed toward the sprawling labyrinth of hallways and doors. his pace picks up, and for a moment, you find it a bit difficult to keep up with his lengthy strides.

yet, he doesn't speak, eventually coming to a halt in front of an office space. he pauses, shoving a hand into his pocket. fishing out a lanyard, he flashes a badge in front of a black square. at the top of the device, a light beams green, the lock turning.

his hand wraps around the handle, pushing the door open. he draws the blinds, taking a brief moment to scan his surroundings, ensuring that the two of you were completely concealed.

swallowing thickly, you shift in place. the air is still, thick with tension as toto turns on his heel, coming face-to-face with you.

in that moment, you swear there's a crackle, as if there was some sort of electricity. a hand cups the back of your skull, bringing you in close.

"where have you been?"

his inquiry is harsh, almost as if he was scolding you.

"home," your lip trembles as he studies you, taking in every little mole, every little scar, and the way your eyes glimmer in the dim light, "i've been at home."

"avoiding me or avoiding the what ifs?"

"both," you sputter out, the word thready as he leans in even further, your mouths only millimeters apart, "i was scared if we saw one another again, i would put you in some sort of fucked-"

"you're adorable," the team principal coos, tilting your head back, "absolutely precious."

"why do you say that?"

the tip of his nose brushes against yours, his voice merely a whisper.

"because no matter how badly i want to fuck you right now, i still have some sense of control."

"then what are you going to do?"

"feel those pretty little lips around my cock. get on your knees."

"t-toto," you stammer, fighting a moan as his mouth drifts down your jawline, planting sloppy kisses down your neck, "i-i don't know if we should-"

"just say the word and i'll walk you right back to mommy and daddy."

adrenaline courses through your veins, your mind scrambling to form a response as his fingertips glide along the waistband of your jeans, tenderly stroking along your heated skin.

the angel on your shoulder was telling you to walk away, to end it right now before it grew into something more.

yet, the devil was a little bastard, reminding you that you finally had him alone. the filthy fantasies that clouded your dreams at night could finally be fulfilled.

and who knew how long it would be before an opportunity like this arose.

it was now or never.

licking your lips, you lower to your knees, the coolness of the concrete littering your limbs with goosebumps. toto dips his head, prompting you to proceed.

"show me how much of a good girl you really are."

bringing your hands to his slacks, you hastily undo the buckle of his belt. hooking the waistband of his boxers, you slide them down, eyes widening at the sight before you.

his hardened cock, far larger than your fantasies, was before you, stiff as the blood pumped through it. his tip was a rosy pink, tinged with the glow of lust. there were several veins prominent, wrapping around his length.

sticking your tongue out, you swirl around his tip, humming as his legs shake momentarily, pleasure crashing over him like a tidal wave. his chest rises and falls, breathing ragged as you begin to take him in your mouth, lashes fluttering as one hand wraps around the base.

"that's it," he pants, fingers tugging at your roots while your cheeks hollow out, "you take it so well. good girl."

spit begins to dribble from your lip as you begin to bob your head, your hand pumping along his length. with each stroke, you can feel him tense, his jaw clamped tight.

you can feel the bruises forming as obscene noises bounce off the walls, the team principal's grip loosening by the second. you're soaking wet, the juices pooling between your thighs as his head falls back.

fuck, did you like this.

no, you loved it as he shuddered against you, his voice breathy, barely audible.

"y-you're going to make me cum. f-fuck you're going to make me cum."

seconds later, you feel it.

threads of cum spill down your throat, his hips bucking against you, "good girl. get every last drop."

pulling away, you swallow, the team principals' hands finding yours. fingers intertwine together, helping you to your feet.

"come here."

mouths mold together, the kiss blazing with passion. a tongue slides along your lower lip, delving in. it's pure bliss, breathing life into your lungs as he brings you in closer than you ever thought possible.

the tender moment is brief, leaving a tingling sensation that buzzes all the way down to your toes.

"we will finish this," eyes interlock, a finger sweeping along your jaw, "i promise."

"when?" the inquiry tumbles out, "when will we see each other again?"

"as soon as possible," he murmurs, "promise me something though, schatzi."

"that is?" you arch a brow, wondering what could possibly come next.

"promise me that you won't let another man near you until i get to finish what i started."

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master taglist: @ts1m1kas @joalslibrary @bxuzi @swifth0lic @dounib67 @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie @invictax @pretzelsarenice @lizxoxeth @marknolee @f1kenzzz @statuewoman @jeannealicette @chuxk-lerclerk @manianoola @lokideservesahug @noooway555 @vimayxo @p3rcyp1g

[paulyenvol6]

Let It Out

Based on this lovely request! This is my first time writing for Aegon, so please don't be too hard on me. Enjoy :)

Contains: smut, oral (m receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, lots of praise, comfort, fluff, slight dom!Aegon vibes but he's very sweet, Aegon being a little unhinged, established relationship

Wordcount: 3,038

Masterlist

You twitched at the loud noise, looking over your shoulder and frowned when you saw Aegon rush through the door, heading towards the table in the middle of the room.

"My love," you said loudly, a worried crease appearing between your brows when you saw your husband reach for the wine bottle.

"Aegon."

You quickly climbed off the bed, approaching him and hugging him from behind, your arms wrapping around his waist.

"My love, are you alright?"

He shrugged his shoulders, scoffing quietly while you firmly held on to him, hands drawing patterns over the fabric of his shirt.

"Yes?" he whispered but it sounded like a question.

"What happened? You are upset."

He sighed loudly and then turned around to look into your eyes, a defiant pout on his lip that you were more than familiar with. Of course he wasn't alright and if he stormed into a your chambers like that it was either because of his brother or his mother.

"Just a little fight," Aegon said, lifting his left eyebrow. It was clear that he was trying to talk it down, appearing to be unbothered but after almost 5 years of marriage you were able to see right through him.

"Aegon…," you whispered and cradled his face, his eyes softening at the warmth your hand radiated. "Come here."

You pulled him in for a hug, hands combing through his hair and softly smiling at the way he kissed your shoulder.

"It's alright… I'm here… You can tell me what happened."

Aegon's large hands held on to your waist, squeezing it a few times before pulling back and watching you under his lashes.

"My mother. She acted like a… like a fucking maniac."

Your husband grabbed your hand guiding you with him to the bed and pulling you to sit on his lap. His hand reached for your waist again, massaging your flesh softly while he dropped his head to rest against your chest.

"She's calling me irresponsible… and reckless and… I don't know... I heard it all a thousand times but you know her. Always using Aemond as an example for the perfect son."

You exhaled deeply, running your hands through his silver hand and kissing his forehead.

"I know. But was there a reason? Did something happen?"

You felt him shrug, hands traveling to your arse to trail your skin through the fabric of your dress.

"I guess, yeah… I told Cole to hang a guy."

"What guy?"

Aegon let out a frustrated moan and then threw his head back, looking at you through lazy eyes.

"Some guy. Some guy bothering me in a tavern. Seven hells, it's not a big deal. But my mother… She acted like I put one of the seven kingdoms at risk!"

You nodded understandingly and then brushed over his cheek, trailing his cheekbone which made him sigh out.

"I'm sorry, Aegon. But I'm sure the two of you will reconcile soon. Your mother calms down as quickly as she gets angry."

"Mhmm, yes. Sure," Aegon hummed, his eyes closed as he gave himself to your hand that was softly caressing his skin. You weren't certain whether your husband was in the mood to talk to you right now or if he simply wanted the comfort of your touch so you thought about it for a moment before opening your mouth again.

"Maybe your mother had a bad day… and she was already upset." Sad big eyes darted up to you and your chest tightened at the pout on his lips.

"You think so?" he whispered, snuggling his head against your nape again.

"Yes, my love," you answered equally gentle and then had to giggle when Aegon's grip on your back became more firm.

"I want you, my sweet darling," his hot breath brushed over your neck and you pressed your thighs together, trying to defeat the throbbing heat in your center but of course you didn't stand a chance. Aegon was the only person that could really make it go away.

"Are you sure, Aegon? Are you sure you're in the mood – oh fuck!"

He had slid a hand under your skirts, cupping your sex and pressing his palm against your pulsating pearl.

"No words now," he breathed. "Just enjoy it."

A chuckle escaped from your mouth that made him smirk as well and you took his head in both of your hands, pressing your forehead against his and closing your eyes while he began peeling off your underwear, leaving you bare for his hands.

"Aegon," you panted, searching for his eyes but they were fixed on your rapidly heaving chest.

"Shh, sweetheart. I want you to enjoy this. All you have to do is enjoy it…"

Your hands tightly held on to him as you felt two fingers at your clit, circling it before dipping them inside of you to collect some of your arousal.

"She's always waiting for me, isn't she?" Aegon whispered against your lips and then smeared your wetness over your pearl to use it as lubrication.

"Yes, Aegon," you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut when he rubbed your pearl in slow gentle circles that had nothing soothing about them.

"Huh. Fuck, yes."

He grabbed the side of your neck, pulled you in for a kiss, and then used his index and middle fingers to encircle your pearl, creating an intoxicating friction.

"My sweet perfect girl…," he chuckled at the way you started to rock your hips according to his movements slapping your cunt once which made you jolt.

"Mhmm, I know, I know," Aegon growled pulling you back towards his chest and pushing your head down so he could press a kiss to your brow. "Just let me have some fun with you, huh? Have to take my fucking frustration out on something."

You nodded although you were't sure whether your husband had noticed it but he continued nevertheless, toying with your clit until you were a brainless mess on top of him. After a few minutes Aegon eased two of his thick fingers inside of your hole, making you shiver at the stretch but the soothing touch on your clit that was as light as a feather quickly put your thoughts elsewhere and you got lost in the way the rough, yet soft skin of his thumb took care of your throbbing pearl.

"Come on, babygirl. I wanna hear you. I know you wanna let it out and you can. Let me hear how fucking good I make you feel."

Your trembling hands came down to rest on his shoulders and Aegon could swear he heard you pur like a sweet little cat as he curled the fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot that never failed to squeeze out your beautiful whines.

"Aegon. Fuck, right there. Please."

"I know, sweetling. You wanna soak my hand? Come all over me and make a mess?"

You could only whimper in response, nails buried in his shoulders which surely must sting but Aegon didn't even flinch. It felt so good that you almost didn't wish to come and instead savour the way his fingers made you feel for all time but the knot in your stomach that threatened to explode was seducing as well and so when pleasure started to spread in your body you didn't fight it.

"Fuck, I'm coming," you pressed, your face nudging against his nape while you let out sharp breaths. "Oh fuck… Aegon, oh gods be good."

In the way his body vibrated you sensed that he was chuckling, holding you through it, his hand making no attempt to stop touching you.

"There you go… That's a good girl right there," he praised you, smirking down at you when you lifted your head a little to meet with his gaze.

"Oh Aegon," you whispered, stroking his arms and trailing a line down to his toned stomach.

"Yeah? You liked that?"

You nodded, dropping your gaze and then biting your lip at the tent in his pants.

"I think we should do something about that, love," you said quietly, twitching as his hand gripped your chin because you hadn't seen it coming.

"Mhmm I like the way your brain works," he said, returning the wide grin you gave him. "You wanna get on your pretty knees for me?" he asked and you were already seated on the floor as he spoke out the last syllable.

He watched you, his face glowing with a mixture of pride and awe and then carefully pushed two fingers past your lips.

"Go on. Show me what you would do if it was my cock."

Your eyes flickered up to him, fixed on his slighty open mouth, and your tongue twirling around the pats of his fingers as you sucked on them like it was the most delicious thing you had ever tasted. Then you kissed your way up and down his digits, licking the salt off and feeling your heart flutter at his soft praise.

"You're so amazing, you know that? I fucking love you, y/n. So perfect for me…"

You felt him brush over your hair and just as you snuggled against his hand he suddenly yanked you off his fingers to swiftly open his pants and breeches while panting rapidly.

"Keep your mouth open," Aegon demanded, a muscle in the corner of his mouth twitchting, his eyes still on you who sat patiently, hands folded in your lap. Once he had freed his cock he pumped it a few times giving you time to stare at his impressive length and the angry red tip that glistened with precum. It looked delicious, the familiar scent of his arousal filling your nose and you greedily licked over your lips and then offered him your tongue.

"Fuck, darling. That's right, open your mouth wide."

You moaned when he finally slid his cock in your mouth, throwing his head back in ecastasy and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

"Fucking hells..."

Although he had closed his eyes you kept your gaze on him, your pussy uncomfortably clenching around nothing at the way he hectically panted and his teeth relentlessly sank down onto his bottom lip until it was bloody. He was all the way in your throat now and to make sure you would be able to take it all you forced yourself to breathe through your nose instead of focusing on the way his tip kissed the back of your throat every time he thrusted back in. Aegon didn't grant you a lot of comfortability tonight but it was worth it. The gentle strokes on your head, his words of praise, the sweet growls… His reactions were addicting and made you crave more.

You let your tongue swirl around his tip, ignoring the ache in your jaw and swallowing all of him. Precum mixed with your saliva and you felt it drool from the corner of your mouth but Aegon immediately reached to your cheek giving it a gentle squeeze while his eyes now glanced at your fucked out face.

"You're doing so incredible for me, you know that? Let it all go, yes… I want it to be messy. Just keep those pretty eyes on me and just… continue exactly this way," he moaned his grip on your hair getting more firm.

You coughed and held on to his thighs, blinking a few times while fighting your retching reflexes. Then you exhaled deeply, his cock painfully grazing your bruised throat but you wanted to do this for Aegon. You lived and breathed for his love and the look of pure affection and pride on his face was all it took for you to keep going.

But it didn't last much longer anyway because soon Aegon pulled you off his cock, a surprised frown passing over your face but he was quick to lean down and kiss you, shutting you up before you could even express your confusion. His mouth crashed against you but there was nothing careful or exploring about it; he devoured your lips, taking and demanding more and you were happy to let him feast on you. You could see, no feel how honry he actually was, hands relentlessly pulling you closer to him and his head shoving you backwards until you lay on your back right next to the comfortable feather bed.

"Aegon," you giggled against his mouth and bit your lip as his rough hands pulled down your gown. "We have a wonderful bed right there just for us."

"Mhm no…," he mumbled, his forehead pressed to yours. "Takes too long."

Aegon's skillfull hands undressed you until you were bare from your waist up and immediately kneaded your breasts, paying a special amount of attention to your nipples that he circled and enclosed with his fingers. You were ready to relax in his arms and simply enjoy the treatment but you should have known that he was far too horny to wait long before finally thrusting his dick into you so you weren't surprised when, after a few minutes, his hands fumbled with the hem of your dress.

"You're ready to take it, mhm?" he asked aligning himself with your drenched cunt, his left hand squeezing your waist while his right guided his tip through your slit to evoke more of these little pleas in you.

"Always," you whispered and pulled his head down to capture his lips in another heated kiss.

"I know you are," Aegon chuckled and then the both of you gasped as he eased himself inside of you, your hands tightening around his face, your knuckles turning white from the pressure of burying your fingers in his flesh.

"Always so fucking needy, huh? All day and night this cunt's all soaked for me, isn't that right? Only waiting for me to fuck you."

You whimpered as he went so deep with his first thrust that you felt his balls slap against your cunt.

"Yes, Aegon, gods… Please go hard…"

His lips twisted in a mischievous smirk at your words and then you felt him bottom out and start fucking you at a steady pace. He had really listened to your words because he pushed into you with such a roughness, it made your legs tremble.

"Aegon," you moaned, lashed fluttering and toes curling at the way his cock touched you right where it itched. This spot deep inside of you that yearned for him.

He exhaled loudly, his hair tingling you at your chin as he pounded your cunt like he hadn't done it countless times already. That was one thing you loved about your husband. He never failed to make every time you had sex feel special. After all these years, he still went feral seeing you naked underneath him, praised and complimented you like he was still in awe of you.

"So fucking good, fuck… Stay right there, yes… You're gonna make me spill into that perfect little cunt of yours. You're close?"

You nodded, biting down on his shoulder, a pain that Aegon welcomed with a sharp gasp.

"Just need…"

You weren't even able to finish the sentence and request additional stimulation on your pearl because he had instantly glid his hand between your legs and connected it with your bundle of nerves, rubbing you clock-wise just the way he knew you liked it.

It was all it took to drive you over the edge and after a few seconds your insides clenched as you buckled from the hard ground, legs possessively wrapping around his waist.

"I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come, Aegon, fuck!"

He held on to your neck, kissing along your jaw and then let out a deep growl and pushed deep inside of you one last time to empty himself in you.

"Oh gods be fucking good," he pressed, his eyes shut and his body crashing against you as he just couldn't prop himself on his elbows any longer. He dropped his head and waited a few seconds to collect himself before watching you under his lashes, a smirk creeping up on his face.

"That was fucking amazing," he chuckled and pulled his flaccid cock out of you in one motion. You fell back, ignoring the hardness of the ground beneath you and pressed a hand on your chest that was still rising and falling rapidly.

"Yes. It was," you answered and then darted up to him.

He was already up, rubbing over his sweat-covered brow and putting on his shirt which made you narrow your eyes.

"What are you doing? We're not in a rush, are we?"

"Actually we kind of are," Aegon answered, his lips forming a pout. "At least I am."

You moaned in disappointment and rolled on your stomach to rest on your elbows.

"Why," you sighed, furrowing your forehead when your husband leaned down to kiss your hair.

"Because I have a small council meeting," he whispered and you pinched his calf in response.

"Of course. Because no one in this castle wants me to have a relaxing afternoon with my husband."

He chuckled and then put on the rest of his clothings before kneeling in front of your still lying body.

"I'll be back soon. And then we can have supper together. Just the two of us. And afterwards we can fuck again."

Now you couldn't hide your amusement and grinned as he cradled your head in his hand.

"Just think of me while I'm gone. Think of all my amazing traits… my beauty… my charm and my cock. Then time will fly."

"I will," you whispered and pressed a kiss to his chin.

"And think about what I'm going to do to you later. Because I haven't had a taste of your pretty cunt today. I'll make it up to you later, I promise."

Your heart fluttered at the prospect and the smile remained on your face even when he rose from the floor to head to the door.

"Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone," he shouted as he rushed out and you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself even long after the door was shut.

[zeroseuniverse]

A Vibe

Word Count:662 Summary: Vernon, ever the voice of unbothered neutrality, shrugged. "I think he’s rather nice." "He looks like an idiot," Seungkwan shot back, his nose scrunching in disapproval. Pairing: Minghao X Fem reader

Navigation

The dim glow of the bar cast long shadows over the polished wooden tables, the hum of chatter and clinking glasses blending into the kind of Friday night ambiance that should have been relaxing. Instead, you sat sandwiched between Seungkwan and Vernon, both of whom were conducting a not-so-covert analysis of your date.

Minghao had only stepped away for a moment to take a call, and in that short span, Seungkwan had already launched into a dramatic evaluation.

"Seriously? This guy?" He leaned in closer, brows furrowed as he studied the empty seat Minghao had left behind, as if it alone could reveal his deepest flaws.

Vernon, ever the voice of unbothered neutrality, shrugged. "I think he’s rather nice."

"He looks like an idiot," Seungkwan shot back, his nose scrunching in disapproval.

The universe, with its impeccable sense of timing, decided that would be the exact moment Minghao returned.

"..You do know I can hear you two, right?"

Silence.

Seungkwan stiffened like he’d been caught in a crime scene. Vernon, still mid-sip of his drink, merely blinked at Minghao, offering zero attempt at damage control. And you? You let your head fall into your hands.

Minghao, to his credit, didn’t look offended. Amused, yes—his lips twitched like he was suppressing a smirk—but not offended. He slid into his seat with effortless grace, one elbow resting on the table as he leveled Seungkwan with a calm but knowing gaze.

Seungkwan cleared his throat. "Well… that’s awkward."

Minghao tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes gleaming with curiosity. "So, I look like an idiot?"

Your mouth opened—No, absolutely not, I don’t think that—but before you could even form words, Seungkwan doubled down. "It’s just a vibe I get."

"A vibe?" Minghao repeated, his tone edged with something unreadable.

Vernon, still eerily unfazed, finally looked at him. "To be fair, you do give off that mysterious guy who secretly knows five ways to kill someone with a chopstick energy."

Minghao actually laughed at that—low and rich, like he wasn’t even surprised by the description. "That’s oddly specific."

Seungkwan crossed his arms, unimpressed. "She deserves someone warm, someone who isn’t just sitting here looking like he’s two seconds away from reading our auras or whatever it is you do."

At that, Minghao’s expression shifted, his gaze flickering to you for a brief second before he looked back at Seungkwan. This time, the amusement in his eyes softened, replaced by something more sincere.

"You think I’m not warm?" he asked, and for the first time that night, his voice lacked playfulness. It was a quiet, almost vulnerable question—one Seungkwan wasn’t expecting.

Seungkwan hesitated. He wasn’t heartless; he was just protective. But Minghao wasn’t like the others you had dated before—the ones who smiled too wide, said all the right things, and left wreckage in their wake. Minghao was composed, almost unreadable at times, but he showed up. He was here, meeting your friends, enduring Seungkwan’s sharp tongue without complaint.

And then there was the way he looked at you. Not like you were a conquest, not like you were just another girl in a string of meaningless dates. But like he saw you.

Seungkwan exhaled sharply through his nose. "I don’t know yet," he admitted. "But I’ll figure it out."

Minghao didn’t argue. He simply nodded once, as if he understood.

Vernon leaned back in his chair. "I like him," he stated plainly.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling Minghao’s fingers brush against yours under the table—a silent question, a quiet reassurance. You turned your hand over, letting your fingers lace together, and he squeezed gently.

Seungkwan huffed. "Fine. But if you do turn out to be an idiot, just know I’ll be here to say ‘I told you so.’"

Minghao finally smirked. "I’d expect nothing less."

And for the first time that night, Seungkwan let the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Just barely.

Minghao had won the first round.

[clumsydolly]

Obey me x Maomao!Reader! Part 2!

Warnings!⚠️: none but if you catch anything tell me!

Thank you for the ask! 🩷 Please send more I love these!

Diavolo

Diavolo was immediately intrigued the first time he met you.

Jinshi 🤝 Diavolo

Not because you bowed with flawless etiquette, or because you had a mysterious air about you, or even because you wore a faint expression like you were calculating how many ingredients it would take to paralyze everyone in the room.

No, he liked that you were so obviously unimpressed by him.

That alone made you fascinating.

“Y/N, is it?” he beamed, clapping his hands together as if greeting an old friend. “I’ve heard you’re a specialist in… toxic substances?”

You blinked. “Medicinal compounds with occasional unfortunate side effects.”

Barbatos visibly tensed. Diavolo laughed.

You were used to authority figures looking down on you. The upper court at Jinshi’s palace, the demons who mistook your small frame and quiet tone for harmlessness all the same breed. But Diavolo was different. He didn’t underestimate you. He overestimated you with overwhelming enthusiasm.

“You simply must come to the next diplomacy dinner! We’re hosting the Eastern realm’s nobles imagine the tension! You’ll love it!”

“I won’t,” you said flatly.

He invited you anyway.

Your relationship with him started with mild panic. You were allergic to optimism. Diavolo had it in gallons. You were realistic, careful, skeptical. He ran on vibes, big gestures, and the blind confidence of someone who’d never failed a group project in his life because he was the group project.

He once brought you a demonic fruit with glowing thorns and said, “It reminded me of you, small, dangerous, mysterious!”

You stared at it. “This is a class-five paralytic spore pod. Did you… touch it?”

“I may have.”

You administered an antidote in record time.

Over time, you discovered something unsettling: Diavolo was actually competent. Chaotic? Yes. Loud? Absolutely. But he paid attention. He remembered that you hated sweets but liked tart plum wine. He asked questions about your remedies, not just to be polite but because he genuinely wanted to learn. He listened when you muttered under your breath about dosage ratios, and he asked why you wore three different perfume oils layered in specific order, not realizing it was to hide the scent of toxic herbs from curious demons.

“I’m amazed you get away with so much,” he said once, not disapproving, just curious.

“I’m small,” you replied. “People talk over me. I listen.”

His golden eyes gleamed. “Sounds like you’d make an excellent spy.”

You sipped your tea. “Sounds like you’re planning something stupid.”

He grinned. You were correct.

Where Diavolo really surprised you was how much effort he put into making you comfortable. He didn’t push you to speak in crowds. He redirected attention when nobles got nosy about your past. He offered you your own private garden lab in the castle, stocked with ingredients from the human world. When you raised an eyebrow and asked if this was all a bribe, he replied, “It’s a thank-you. For saving my entire council from poisoning last week.”

You let it slide. Barely.

There was a moment, during a long diplomatic meeting where you quietly slipped him a remedy for a pounding headache, when he caught your hand mid-pass and held it just a second longer than necessary. His smile softened. You rolled your eyes, yanked your hand back, and hissed, “Don’t get sentimental. It makes you look weak.”

He laughed. Loud and bright and unbothered. “That’s where you’re wrong, Y/N. It makes me look approachable.”

The two of you made an unlikely duo. You, all edges and science and suspicious glares. Him, a walking sunbeam in royal regalia who could charm even the crankiest demon into playing charades. And yet, somehow, it worked.

When chaos erupted at a royal banquet (because of course it did), you were the one who noticed the subtle signs of magical contamination in the wine. You snatched the goblet from Diavolo’s hand without hesitation, sniffed it, and muttered, “Told you letting Mammon host the bar was a terrible idea.”

“You care about me,” he said cheerfully.

“I care about not having to resuscitate the future king of the Devildom at midnight in front of fifty nobles.”

“Same thing."

You elbowed him. Lightly.

The strange thing was, you never planned to get close to someone like Diavolo. But he cracked past your walls without force. Just sheer consistency. Endless, annoying warmth. Unshakeable belief in your worth — even when you muttered things like “love is a chemical imbalance" and “you’re definitely going to die from something stupid.”

He’d just laugh, hold your gaze, and say, “If I do, I hope you’re the one who prepared the poison.”

You never answered.

But you stopped diluting his tea.

Barbatos

Barbatos knew from the moment he saw you that you were going to be trouble.

Not in the traditional Mammon way, loud, dramatic, chaotic, but in the quiet, calculated sort of trouble that made you linger in a room two seconds longer than anyone else… just long enough to overhear something you weren’t meant to.

You were unassuming. Polite. Soft-spoken in that “I’m not threatening unless you breathe wrong” sort of way. And Barbatos, of course, noticed the vial of powdered belladonna hidden beneath your sleeve. He also noticed that you never drank from the same cup twice and that you smelled faintly of medicinal herbs and something metallic.

You made him nervous. That didn’t happen often.

You arrived in the Devildom as part of a "cultural exchange," and somehow immediately developed a reputation as the weird little human with a poison cabinet and zero social fear.

Lucifer called you unsettling.

Mammon called you cute and also “probably cursed.”

Asmodeus begged for your secret skincare routine and screamed when you said “tiger leech salve.”

Barbatos watched it all unfold with faint amusement and absolutely zero trust.

“You’re not what you appear to be,” he remarked once, as you worked quietly in the castle garden, rearranging the Devil’s Trumpets by petal size.

You didn’t even look up. “Neither are you. I saw that time magic twitch earlier.”

He paused. Blinked.

Then smiled.

“Interesting.”

What started as mutual suspicion quickly morphed into something else, an elaborate, unspoken contest of wills. You found ways to sneak into his pantry without setting off traps. He “accidentally” rearranged your herb drawers so your paralysis powders were alphabetically misfiled. You left a salve on his desk labeled “For Tired Butler Joints.” He returned it two days later, perfectly sealed, with a note: Too obvious. Try harder.

You bickered over the best way to brew antidotes. He called your preservation methods “quaint.” You called his magic shortcuts “cheating.” And yet when a visiting noble collapsed from a cursed drink during a banquet, you moved in sync like you'd practiced it.

You slipped the counter-agent into his tea before he hit the floor. Barbatos caught him mid-fall.

“I was already on my way to intervene,” he said mildly.

“I noticed you took too long,” you replied.

There was a strange, quiet rhythm between you. Both of you understood the value of observation. Both knew how to weaponize subtlety. And both knew how to play the long game.

Barbatos was the only one who didn’t underestimate you but he also didn’t try to soften you. He didn’t say you should smile more. He didn’t ask you to share your past. He respected the fact that you didn’t want to be known and perhaps that was why you found yourself letting him know you, anyway.

It started in your shared experiments long hours in the lab, murmuring theories, exchanging ingredients without needing to ask. He gave you access to rare magical plants from his time-locked garden. You gave him a toxin that could knock out Beelzebub without permanent damage (just in case, you said).

You didn’t flirt. You traded threats like compliments. You told him he was terrifying. He called you “endearingly unhinged.” It was weird. It worked.

One night, after a particularly long session cataloguing mutagenic effects on soul residue, he offered you tea. Not the poisoned kind. The real kind. Carefully steeped. The scent was soothing, complex, almost… thoughtful.

You stared at the cup. “Did you poison it?”

He smiled. “Would it matter?”

You drank it anyway. He took that as trust. You took it as a test.

Neither of you were wrong.

When Diavolo inevitably roped everyone into some ridiculous team-building retreat, you tried to opt out. Barbatos didn’t stop you, but the next morning, you found a packed bag with your exact favorite snacks and a note in neat cursive: Just in case you reconsider.

You rolled your eyes. You still brought the bag.

There was no dramatic confession. No grand romantic gesture. Just two terrifyingly competent people gradually orbiting each other until it was too obvious to deny.

“I trust you,” Barbatos said once, apropos of nothing.

You paused. Blinked.

Then smiled.

“Interesting.”

And from then on, you started drinking from the same cup more than once.

Simeon

Simeon had met many humans in his long, long life, saints and sinners, poets and philosophers. He liked to believe he had seen it all. That is, until you walked into Purgatory Hall with a blank expression, ink-stained fingers, and a jar of fermented toad bile in your bag.

"Hello," you said calmly, completely ignoring the fact that Luke was clinging to Simeon’s leg like he’d just seen a ghost. "Do you have a clean surface where I can extract venom?"

That was the beginning.

Simeon had always appreciated calmness, but yours wasn’t serenity, it was eerie control. You were polite, yes, but in that “I will dissect you with tweezers if you annoy me” kind of way. You did not simper. You did not flatter. You did not giggle.

When Luke asked what your hobby was, you answered without hesitation: "Analyzing blood samples for fungal infections."

There was a silence.

You didn’t blink.

Simeon blinked twice.

Still, he was intrigued.

You weren’t needlessly cruel, in fact, you were deeply compassionate in an intensely practical way. You didn’t cry when someone got hurt. You immediately started assessing whether their organs were intact. You had no patience for theatrics but carried candy in your sleeve for distressed demons. You treated wounds with detached precision and refused to take credit.

Simeon caught onto it quickly: you didn’t like attention. You didn’t trust affection. And if someone tried to compliment you, you’d deflect it with a clinical fact about digestive parasites.

But he was patient.

He noticed how you always tested your potions on yourself first. He noticed the way your hands trembled after healing someone, only when you thought no one was watching. And he noticed that, for all your talk of being “just a humble apothecary,” your knowledge bordered on terrifying.

"You know," he mused gently one afternoon as you sorted dried corpse lily petals, "you remind me of the old doctors in Celestial records. The ones who treated wounds with wine and prayer and knew more than they let on."

You didn’t look up. "That’s flattering. Unless those doctors also got burned at the stake for being too smart."

He chuckled. "Some of them did. But the best ones lived long lives. Quiet ones."

You gave him a look. The Look. The one that said I’m too nosy for a quiet life and you know it.

He smiled.

And you didn’t smile back exactly, but your eyes softened.

You weren’t interested in Simeon at first. He was too kind. Too gentle. You assumed it was a performance, like most people’s sweetness was. But over time, you started to realize, it wasn’t that he was oblivious. It’s just that he didn’t expect anything in return.

He praised your work without hovering. He brought you sun-dried tea leaves for no reason other than “I thought you might find them interesting.” He’d listen patiently to your tangents about poison resistance in low-grade demons, and never once interrupted.

He didn’t try to fix you. Or change you. Or even interpret you.

He simply stayed.

And that, more than anything, disarmed you.

One evening, after treating a sick noble’s curse-infested lungs (which involved more screaming and pus than anyone cared to describe), you showed up at Purgatory Hall looking dead-eyed and bloodstained.

Simeon didn’t say anything. Just handed you a clean towel and gestured to the porch. You sat together in silence, side by side, the stars soft and patient above you.

"...I think I hate people less when they’re unconscious," you murmured.

He laughed, warm and quiet. "That’s one way to avoid disappointment."

You blinked at him. "That was almost cynical. I’m impressed."

"I’ve been spending time with you," he said, teasing just a little.

You didn’t say thank you. You never did. But the way you didn’t leave for another hour spoke volumes.

Eventually, people started assuming you and Simeon were together. Neither of you confirmed it. Neither of you denied it. And when someone asked, you’d just quip, "He’s good at keeping me from poisoning myself accidentally. It’s symbiotic."

Simeon would smile gently beside you, sipping tea he let you steep, even though it tasted vaguely of bark and regret.

And somewhere in the quiet understanding between your logic and his grace, something bloomed. Not fast. Not loud. But real.

He never asked you to soften.

But you did anyway.

Only for him.

Solomon

Solomon knew danger when he saw it.

And when you walked into the House of Lamentation, no invitation, no fanfare, just a calm, mildly irritated look and a paper-wrapped bundle of dried centipedes under your arm, he recognized a kindred spirit.

"You’re the human alchemist," you said by way of greeting, eyeing him like he was a questionable ingredient.

"And you’re... the one who just tried to barter bat spleens for library access?"

"Bat spleens and moldy sugar cane," you corrected. "I’m not an amateur."

It was the start of something disastrous.

Delightful, but disastrous.

Solomon was used to people being intrigued by his magic. Curious. Awed. Afraid. But you? You treated his century-old spellwork like a homemade experiment gone slightly wrong.

"This charm circle is crooked," you said during your first shared lesson. "You sure you didn’t summon a mild stomach flu instead of protection?"

He grinned. "You try drawing a perfect circle with a sleep-deprived demon chewing on your arm."

"That’s why I use chalk infused with nightshade oil. Dries faster. Burns less."

You were brilliant. Terrifyingly brilliant.

Solomon was enchanted.

You, on the other hand, didn’t trust him at all. You made that clear within the first ten minutes of your acquaintance.

"I’m familiar with charming types who smile too much and keep secrets like currency," you said flatly. "If you sell my soul to a minor demon, I’ll reverse your blood flow with herbs."

He thought he was immune to fear. But you said it so calmly.

He might have fallen a little in love right then.

Still, he knew how to earn your attention, and more importantly, your respect. It wasn’t through flattery (you deflected every compliment by questioning his sample size), or gifts (you sniffed all potions twice before accepting), or grand romantic gestures (you literally ran away when someone gave you a flower bouquet, “What do I look like, an invalid?!”).

No. What worked was evidence. Consistency. Challenge.

He'd show up with new ingredients you’d never seen before, venomous jellyfruit, glowing mold spores from the northern caves, just to hear you theorize their chemical properties. He’d let you rework his potions when you mumbled, “Your ratio’s off. This will evaporate in ten seconds.”

Eventually, you started calling him “Functionally Useful.”

Which was, coming from you, high praise.

You’d argue about the best antidotes for experimental curses like other people argued over dinner plans. You made a game out of who could sneak poisons into each other’s tea without causing permanent damage. You both ended up in the hospital wing at least twice a month, grinning like maniacs while Lucifer screamed in the background.

"What happened this time?" the nurse would sigh.

"Y/N switched my sugar cubes with freeze-dried banshee spleen."

"He started it," you’d mutter, poking Solomon’s forehead to make sure he hadn’t died.

Solomon, in turn, never quite knew whether you were flirting with him or plotting his assassination. Sometimes you’d drop deeply personal insights about him mid-conversation, then immediately switch topics to fungal decay rates.

"You pretend to be easygoing, but you’re scared of being forgotten," you said once, not even looking up from the dried herbs you were grinding. "Also, your body temperature rises by two degrees when you lie."

"...Is that why you always hand me a thermometer during conversations?"

"Just verifying."

He wanted to kiss you and/or run far, far away. It was unclear which feeling was stronger.

But despite the games, the sarcasm, the poison threats , he noticed you were always gentler than you let on. You insisted on testing volatile mixtures on yourself first. You checked Solomon’s pulse twice after each experiment even when he laughed it off. You grumbled about his recklessness but always left antidotes in his coat pocket, labeled only with things like “If your skin starts melting, take two.”

Eventually, you stopped threatening to dissolve his kidneys in acid and started saving the best samples for him. Which, in your language, was a confession.

And Solomon… Solomon stopped flirting just to push your buttons and started doing it because your eye rolls were softer now. Because you made the world interesting again. Because, under all your prickly logic and cold detachment, you cared.

He noticed when you finally stopped checking his tea for toxins.

He noticed when you started saving the seat next to you without comment.

And when you casually said, "You’re still irritating, but I’ve decided to let you live," Solomon grinned and replied:

"That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me."

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! As usual Reblogs are encouraged and appreciated!

[big-ooof]

No One Has To Know

idol!Jake x f!reader isn't familiar with ENHYPEN

note: sexual content 18+

You don't even know the name of the band playing the after party, just that your friend had scored you access to the VIP lounge of the hotel bar downtown. It's supposed to be a vibe, and it was. Whoever was DJing knew what to play, the lights were moody, and the drinks were free.

You were leaning over the counter, trying to flag down the bartender when you felt it, eyes on you. Not the creepy kind, the heavy, deliberate kind. You turned your head just slightly and met the gaze of a guy across the room. All black outfit. Dress shirt slightly unbuttoned. Confidence for days.

He didn’t smile. Just tipped his head like he was waiting for you to catch up. And something about him, his stillness, the way the crowd seemed to part around him without him moving... made you pause.

You finally got your drink, sipped it, and turned around like you weren’t about to walk straight toward him. But of course, you did. “You’ve been watching me,” you said, unbothered, playful.

“Was I that obvious?” he replied, accent foreign, voice smooth.

You glanced down at the drink in his hand, half-full. “Kind of. You planning to just stare all night or actually do something?”

He licked his lips before smiling. “Depends. You here with someone?”

“No.”

“You are now,” he said simply.

You didn’t find out he was an idol until after the first time. Or the second. Or the third. He never lied. Just never brought it up, and you never thought to ask. Jake was just Jake. Distressingly hot, flirty, insanely sweet, and very fucking good in bed.

Now, weeks later, you were in another city, in another club. One of those sleek, impossible-to-get-into places, and his chest was pressed against your back on the dance floor.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he murmured into your ear, his hand already sliding down your side.

You rolled your hips back against him. “Why, what are you gonna do about it?”

He laughed, but there was strain in it. His hand tightened at your waist, guiding you, shielding you. Even though you weren’t famous, you had learned quickly that people liked to watch him, girls, guys, phones always out. Jake wasn’t just hot; he was famous. And it made this— whatever this was... feel fragile.

“I want to take you home,” he whispered.

You tilted your head, brushing your lips against his jaw. “I don’t want to wait that long.”

“Y/N—”

“Tell me no,” you dared him, pressing your ass harder into his crotch, grinding slowly to the beat. “If you really mean it.”

His hand dipped between your legs under the edge of your dress, just for a second, testing. You were already wet.

He growled under his breath. “Fuck.”

You ended up in a back hallway behind the VIP section. Half hidden behind a curtain, barely lit. It was reckless, and you didn’t care. He shoved your panties to the side and had you braced against the wall with your dress bunched up around your hips.

“Keep your voice down,” he said against your shoulder as he pushed inside you.

You whimpered, gripping his forearm, nails digging into his skin.

Jake held you there, letting you feel the stretch, the weight of him inside you. “You’re insane,” he whispered like it was the highest compliment.

“And you love that about me,” you say breathless, looking into his eyes.

“I shouldn’t,” he groaned as he started to thrust, slow and deep. “You make me forget who I am. Who I’m supposed to be.”

You turned your head to kiss him. “Maybe that’s why you keep coming back.” His mouth found yours, hot and desperate. He wasn’t controlling this time. He was lost. And you were the reason.

After, in the hotel room he had reserved under a fake name, you laid on top of him, still catching your breath. “You’re gonna break my heart, aren’t you?” you asked quietly.

Jake blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I’m not like your fans. I didn’t even know who you were.”

“I know.” He touched your cheek. “That’s what makes this different. Real.” You held his gaze, waiting for him to flinch. Waiting for the inevitable. “I don’t want to hide you,” he said eventually. “But I have to. For now.”

Your throat tightened, but you nodded. “I can be your secret. Just… don’t treat me like one.”

Jake pulled you into his chest and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “You’re not a secret to me. You’re the only thing that feels real right now.”

And that’s what made it hurt more.

[emperordinozenmon]

Roommates

Despite Dio’s love of fantasy I had him write something a bit more down to earth.

Yuma was jolted awake by a cacophony of sounds no one should have to process before sunrise—screaming, moaning, and the unmistakable gnashing of teeth.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, dead-eyed, willing the noises to be anything else. A horror movie. A particularly aggressive raccoon in the vents. Anything but what he knew it was.

With a long, theatrical sigh, he swung his legs out of bed and trudged toward his bedroom door. As he opened it, the sounds only intensified, confirming his worst suspicion.

There they were. Niles and Sunny. His roommates. Half-dressed and tangled on the living room couch like a pair of exhibitionist eels, completely unbothered by the fact that they had walls and doors in this apartment.

Yuma didn’t even flinch. His eyes briefly locked with Sunny’s over Niles’s shoulder—an awkward moment of accidental acknowledgment—and then he quietly closed the door.

Back in the safety of his room, he reached for his speaker, turned the volume up to something just below “deafening,” and flopped back onto his bed.

“I need a new roommate,” he muttered, the bass thumping beneath him as if agreeing.

By the next afternoon, the mission had begun.

He started scrolling through roommate matching forums, housing apps, even mildly sketchy subreddits. A few interviews and even more red flags later, he stumbled upon someone with the username RedRacer95. Their profile picture was a pixelated image of Red Racer from Gekisou Sentai Carranger, and their bio simply read:

“Just trying to keep my engine clean and my vibes cleaner.”

Yuma raised an eyebrow but kept reading. The way they typed—direct, meme-literate, and just self-deprecating enough—made him think this was probably someone in their early twenties with at least a functioning grasp on hygiene and personal space.

The two hit it off quickly, trading messages about toku shows, bad roommates, and the eternal struggle of splitting Wi-Fi bills. Yuma hadn’t even met them in person yet, but for the first time in a long time, he felt cautiously optimistic.

Maybe—maybe—he’d finally found someone who wouldn’t traumatize him on a Tuesday morning before coffee.

Three months later.

The morning was unusually crisp for late summer, and Yuma was standing outside his new apartment complex with a dolly full of boxes, balancing a coffee cup between his teeth and internally repeating his moving mantra: Don’t drop anything, don’t make eye contact with weird neighbors, don’t drop anything.

So far, so good.

He glanced down at his phone again. Red Racer—his future roommate, texting under their real name now—had said they’d be a little late but were bringing snacks and energy drinks. Yuma assumed that meant some guy in joggers and a racing tee who’d pull up in a beat-up hatchback blasting Eurobeat.

So when the black luxury van pulled up and a small cluster of people jumped out—stylists? handlers? security?—he nearly dropped the dolly.

And then she stepped out.

Eunbi Kwon. Not just a K-pop idol. The K-pop idol. The one with three platinum albums, a sold-out world tour, and a rabid fanbase that once doxxed a radio host for mispronouncing her name. She was casually dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, but her face was unmistakable.

Yuma blinked. “…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

She spotted him, grinned, and jogged over—totally unbothered by his slack-jawed stare. “Yuma?”

“Uh. Yeah.” He tried not to stare. Failed.

She offered her hand. “Red Racer. But you can call me Eunbi now.”

He didn’t shake her hand. He just looked at it, then at her again, then at the dolly, like this was some kind of elaborate prank and the punchline was in one of his boxes.

“You—you’re Red Racer?” he asked finally, voice cracking like a teenager hitting puberty for the second time.

“Technically I’m RedRacer95, but yeah.” She shrugged. “I told you I loved Carranger. Why’d you think my username was ironic?”

“I don’t know, everyone’s ironic on the internet,” Yuma blurted. “I thought you were like, a guy. In a hoodie. Eating ramen. Not a—K-pop juggernaut with her own Funko Pop.”

Eunbi laughed, bright and unfiltered. “I mean, I do eat ramen. Usually after midnight. Sometimes shirtless.”

Yuma was absolutely, positively malfunctioning.

She leaned in slightly, amused. “So, we still roommates? Or do I need to find someone else to split the rent?”

“I—I—yeah, no, yeah, we’re—this is fine. Totally fine. Great.” He pointed at the dolly. “That’s your half of the kitchen.”

“Sweet. I brought kimchi and three slow cookers. Let’s ride.”

As they entered the building together, Yuma couldn’t help but look at her sideways, still trying to reconcile the meme-loving tokusatsu nerd he’d messaged with the woman walking beside him—glamorous, chill, and absolutely real.

Somewhere deep in his soul, he heard the faint cry of thousands of stans screaming in jealousy. And then the quiet, creeping realization:

He was going to die trying to pretend this was normal.

But the longer they lived together, the harder it became to keep up the charade—mostly because Eunbi Kwon, global icon, was startlingly, disarmingly normal. Clingy, sure. Occasionally dramatic. But normal in the kind of way that made you forget who she was until you saw her face on a billboard and remembered that you’d seen her eat string cheese in a Snorlax onesie the night before.

When she wasn’t booked, filmed, photographed, or swept away to rehearse choreography at ungodly hours, she was home—barefoot, barefaced, and curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her like a burrito. She and Yuma—Yumaton, as she stubbornly insisted on calling him in full like some sort of Digimon evolution—would marathon Digimon Tamers, Carranger, or whatever off-brand mecha series they were currently obsessed with. They argued over opening themes, ranked transformation sequences, and once spent an entire night trying to figure out if Agumon could beat a Gundam in a fight.

It was chaotic. And easy. And kind of perfect.

As days blurred into weeks and weeks into months, something subtle shifted. They didn’t just share space—they began to share pieces of themselves.

Eunbi, once cryptic and media-trained to within an inch of her life, started cracking open. She’d pad into the kitchen in the middle of the night with bed hair and eyes still heavy from sleep, mumbling about dreams or the pressure to keep smiling during interviews. Yuma didn’t press. He just listened. Let her talk. Made her tea.

And somewhere in that soft, unspoken space, they became friends. Real ones.

Yuma started keeping her favorite peach ramune and honey butter chips stocked in the fridge without her asking. He even learned how to cook the particular kind of bland comfort porridge she liked when she was sick or emotionally fried.

He also dusted off her little Christmas tree once a week—the tiny plastic thing she had proudly placed in the middle of their dining table the day she moved in. It was glittery, crooked, and decorated with mismatched charms and fandom pins. It stayed up year-round. At first, Yuma had thought it was a joke. But Eunbi treated it with sincere reverence, occasionally rearranging its tiny ornaments like it was a sacred altar.

In return, she tried not to blast Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” every time she came home, though sometimes the temptation got the better of her. On those days, Yuma would just sigh and let her dance through the apartment in oversized socks like it was December 24th.

They fell into that rhythm without noticing—inside jokes, shared playlists, quiet understanding. It wasn’t glamorous, or dramatic, or anything out of a tabloid. It was better.

It was theirs.

And in the quiet corners of those days, Yuma started to realize: maybe this wasn’t so hard to pretend was normal after all.

Maybe, it was.

The elevator dinged on the 9th floor with the usual sluggish groan, and Yuma stepped out, shoulders hunched under the weight of another long shift. His bag felt heavier than it should’ve, his earbuds were dead, and the sunset had already dipped below the buildings, leaving the hallway cast in that sterile blue-gray of early evening.

He just wanted to get inside, kick off his shoes, and maybe sink into the couch like a corpse.

He unlocked the apartment door and pushed it open, already toeing off his sneakers—only to be hit with the comforting hum of the living room TV and the familiar jingle of anime dialogue in the background.

He blinked.

Eunbi was sprawled on the couch in an oversized hoodie, legs curled under her, a half-empty can of Sprite balanced precariously on the armrest. On screen, Oresuki played, its chaotic romantic hijinks washing through the room like low-level emotional static.

She looked up the moment he walked in.

Her face lit up.

“Yumaton!!” she squealed, practically throwing the can onto the coffee table as she jumped up.

Before he could even respond, she bounded across the room in socked feet and launched herself into him, arms wrapping tightly around his torso.

Yuma staggered slightly, caught off guard, but instinctively steadied her. “Whoa—careful, you’re going to break something. Possibly me.”

“I missed you so much,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “It’s been forever.”

“It’s been eight hours,” Yuma deadpanned, though he didn’t move to let her go.

“Eight agonizing hours,” she corrected dramatically, squeezing tighter. “And I finished the first arc of Oresuki alone. I suffered. In solitude.”

He chuckled, low and tired. “Truly, the greatest tragedy of our time.”

Eunbi pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes soft, her expression suddenly quieter, more honest.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Something in the way she said it landed differently. Not casual. Not performative. Just… full of something warm and unguarded. Like she meant it—not just because he paid rent or brought her favorite snacks or killed spiders in the bathroom. But because he was the one who walked through that door. Because she missed him.

Yuma’s heart stuttered, the fatigue from the day sinking a little more gently now.

“I’m glad I’m home too,” he murmured.

She smiled, radiant and crooked, and tugged him toward the couch. “Come on. I saved the best episode. We’re watching it together, or I riot.”

He let her drag him down into the cushions, the hoodie she wore soft against his side, the can of Sprite fizzing gently in the background.

Outside, the city buzzed on without them.

Inside, it was warm. Familiar. Home.

It started as a distraction.

Yuma had been sitting at his desk, supposed to be working on a client’s branding mockup, but instead he found himself idly scrolling through his browser tabs. His fingers moved on autopilot. One moment, he was flipping through color palettes. The next, he was on a ticketing site.

LE SSERAFIM – Seoul Encore Show.

He hesitated. His cursor hovered over the event banner.

It wasn’t like he’d never listened to their music before—Eunbi played their songs around the apartment all the time, usually while dancing in pajama shorts and an old Twice hoodie. Sometimes she’d drag him into spontaneous choreography practice, laughing as he flailed helplessly through half-remembered moves. He’d grumble about it, but the truth was, he always looked forward to those moments.

Still, he couldn’t explain why he clicked on the ticket page.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was muscle memory. But within seconds, he was scanning seat maps and availability.

Without thinking, he selected two tickets. Good seats. Not nosebleeds, not VIP. Just… good.

One for him. One for her.

His thumb paused over the checkout button.

That’s when it hit him.

Wait—why am I buying two?

He stared at the screen.

It wasn’t just the act itself. It was the reflex. He hadn’t even questioned it. As soon as the idea had entered his head, he’d assumed Eunbi would be coming with him. That they’d go together. That she’d throw on a bucket hat and mask, hum along during the ballads, maybe grip his hand when the crowd roared too loud.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Oh.

It felt like someone had pulled a curtain back in his mind, revealing a room he’d been living in without realizing.

The late-night conversations. The way he automatically checked the fridge for her favorite snacks. How he’d started noticing when her laugh was genuine and when it was one of the fake ones she used on camera. The comfort of her head resting on his shoulder during movie marathons. The ache in his chest the one time she was gone for a whole week and didn’t text back until the fourth day.

He hadn’t just grown used to her presence.

He needed it.

I like her.

It was quiet. Simple. Obvious in hindsight.

And terrifying.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the two digital tickets still waiting to be confirmed. His heart thudded—not fast, but deep, like the beginning of a song that was just starting to build.

Was this stupid? Maybe. She was Eunbi Kwon—bright, untouchable, beloved by millions.

But when she was home, curled up on their couch in mismatched socks and humming along to anime openings with Sprite in her hand—she felt like his.

He clicked confirm.

The tickets slid into his inbox with a soft ding.

Yuma closed his laptop slowly, like the sound might echo through the apartment and give him away. But everything remained still. The quiet hum of life beyond his door. The knowledge that in a few minutes, she’d probably emerge from her room asking if he wanted to finish Oresuki.

And he would say yes.

Because he always said yes to her.

And maybe… maybe soon, he’d find the courage to say more.

Meanwhile Eunbi was going through her own little realization of her own.

The studio was hot, loud, and soaked with the faint scent of body spray, floor polish, and sweat.

Eunbi had been at it for hours—breaking down steps, adjusting her angles, and counting beats under her breath while the track played on repeat. Her new comeback was intense. Faster choreography. Tighter transitions. More emphasis on power and sharpness. She loved it—but it was the kind of love that came with bruises and exhaustion.

She missed her couch. She missed Digimon. She missed—

WHACK.

Her foot slipped just slightly during a spin, and her balance shifted the wrong way. She caught herself quickly, but not before knocking her elbow into a speaker stand.

“Ah, crap—” she muttered, clutching her arm and trying to shake it off.

Then, deadpan, in perfect English: “Well, that sucks. I’mma go jump off the roof.”

The music cut out instantly.

All eyes turned to her.

A beat of stunned silence passed. One of her backup dancers—Jiwoo—lowered her water bottle mid-sip, eyebrows raised.

Eunbi blinked, then waved it off casually. “Oh, that’s just my roommate. Yuma. That’s his signature saying. He says it like five times a week.”

Everyone relaxed, half-laughing, half-staring. Jiwoo narrowed her eyes with a smirk.

“Wait… Is this the same guy who takes care of your little Christmas tree shrine and keeps your Sprite stocked like it’s medicine?”

Eunbi grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. That’s him.”

Jiwoo let out a soft laugh, shook her head, and walked away, muttering something about “must be nice.”

Eunbi turned back toward the mirror, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, but her reflection looked a little… off. Not wrong, just softer.

She replayed the moment in her head. How natural it felt to invoke Yuma like he was part of her day-to-day language. Like a second heartbeat. The way her body had instinctively leaned toward the idea of him—his sarcastic commentary, his sleepy-eyed smiles, the dumb jokes he’d mutter under his breath just to make her laugh.

Without warning, a small ache bloomed behind her ribs.

Not painful. Just… present.

I miss him.

Not home, not my bed. Him.

His voice in the morning. His hoodie she always stole. The way he looked at her sometimes, like she wasn’t an idol at all—just a girl who loved tokusatsu and put too much sugar in her tea.

She shook herself out of it, snapped her fingers, and called for the music to start again. She had a show to perfect. A comeback to own.

But as the beat dropped and her body moved through the steps like muscle memory, she couldn’t help the way her mind drifted—

—to the weight of Yuma’s arm slung lazily over her shoulder as they fought for the last chip. —to his voice humming some dumb Digimon song from the kitchen. —to the unshakable thought:

I wanna go home. I wanna go home to him.

Eunbi had just fifteen minutes between rehearsals. Her makeup artist was touching up another dancer, and her choreographer was resetting the sound system. So she did what any exhausted idol would do in the lull—curled up in the corner of the practice room, hoodie pulled over her head like a tent, and let the hum of the studio fade into the background.

She didn’t mean to fall asleep.

But exhaustion crept in like warm fog, and before she knew it, her mind was drifting.

⸻

They were back in the apartment, lights dimmed, the TV flickering with nostalgic warmth. The Digimon Adventure tri. movie was playing, the voices of old characters filling the room like a lullaby of childhood.

Yuma was sitting beside her, in that hoodie she always stole—except now it was off, tossed somewhere, and he was in a fitted black tee that made her mouth go dry in that not-so-innocent kind of way.

She was curled against him, blanket pulled over both their laps, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Hey,” she asked lazily, “which Digimon makes you think of me?”

Yuma glanced down at her with a smirk, his eyes soft but mischievous. “Mastemon.”

She blinked. “Mastemon? Really?”

He nodded, voice low and teasing. “Sweet, compassionate, noble… but also? Built like a war goddess. A literal body for sin.”

Eunbi’s face burned. In the dream, she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

“Yuma!” she gasped, swatting his chest halfheartedly.

He just grinned. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to fire back with some quip—but nothing came out. Because deep down, she liked hearing it. Liked the way his voice wrapped around her name, the quiet heat in his eyes when he looked at her like she was both sacred and dangerous.

And then, as if possessed by some other version of herself—bolder, braver—she leaned in.

“Well then,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded, lips just a breath away from his, “let’s sin together.”

Yuma didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate.

He tilted his head just slightly, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he closed the gap—

⸻

And then she jolted awake.

The fluorescent lights above her buzzed softly. Her hoodie was bunched beneath her cheek, her phone had slipped to the floor, and her heart was racing.

She blinked rapidly, disoriented, her pulse pounding in her ears.

It had been a dream.

Just a dream.

But her body was still warm from it. Her lips tingled. Her chest felt like it was holding something back—something real.

Oh no.

She sat up slowly, brushing a hand through her hair as the lingering sensation of Yuma’s voice echoed in her memory.

Sweet, compassionate, noble… body for sin.

She covered her face with both hands, groaning. “I’m so in trouble.”

This wasn’t just a crush. Wasn’t just comfort. She had feelings—messy, spiraling, very real feelings.

For her roommate.

Her best friend.

The boy who refilled her Sprite and rolled his eyes when she blasted Christmas music in April. The one who bought her a Digimon plush last month without saying anything, just because he thought it looked like her.

Eunbi sighed, pulling her knees to her chest.

She didn’t just miss Yuma. She wanted him—in the movie night, hoodie-sharing, falling-asleep-on-the-couch, heart-racing kind of way.

And now she knew.

No more pretending.

No more brushing it off.

She was in deep.

By the time they both were done with their work weeks they had dragged themselves back to their apartment.

Friday Night

The door creaked open at nearly the exact same time.

“Ugh,” Yuma groaned as he trudged in, bag sliding off his shoulder like it had personally offended him.

Eunbi followed seconds later, baseball cap pulled low over her face and sunglasses still on despite it being well past sunset. “I swear, if one more person asks me to ‘just show a little more shoulder’ in rehearsal—”

“—I’ll start flipping tables,” Yuma finished for her with a tired smirk.

She snorted, kicking her shoes off and dumping her gym bag. “God, you get me.”

They barely even said hi. No hug. No big reunion. They just drifted into each other’s space like two puzzle pieces slotting into place after a long day apart.

The front door clicked open just as Eunbi was toeing off her shoes. She turned her head at the same time Yuma did, both of them standing there—slumped, drained, and looking like they’d barely survived the week.

“…you look like roadkill,” she muttered, voice hoarse with fatigue.

Yuma dropped his keys in the dish by the door and gave a low, gravelly laugh. “Takes one to know one, babe.”

She smiled—tired, but real—and without thinking, held out her arms.

He stepped into the hug without hesitation, resting his forehead on her shoulder for a long beat. No tension. No awkwardness. Just quiet, bone-deep comfort.

Eunbi flopped onto the couch with a long sigh. Yuma dropped beside her, leaning his head against her shoulder. She patted his thigh. He rubbed her back.

And then, without thinking—

“Wanna help me make fried rice, babe?”

“Yeah, sure, love,” Yuma murmured, yawning as he stood.

Neither of them blinked at the pet names.

⸻

Saturday Morning

They shuffled around the kitchen in oversized hoodies and mismatched socks. Yuma was stirring eggs. Eunbi was chopping green onions, still humming a Le Sserafim B-side under her breath.

“Careful with your fingers, baby,” Yuma said without looking.

“You’re the one who almost dropped the pan yesterday, sweetie.”

He snorted. “Touché.”

They brushed past each other, instinctively pressing soft kisses to each other’s cheeks in the narrow kitchen space like it was nothing. Like they’d been doing it for years. Like it was normal.

Eunbi didn’t even realize she’d stolen his hoodie until he tugged at the sleeve and said, “Hey, is that mine?”

She pulled it tighter and grinned. “It’s ours now.”

He rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed him.

Eunbi was pouring pancake batter into a hot pan while Yuma hunted for the maple syrup with one eye still closed. She was wearing his gray sweats. He was wearing her headband to keep his bangs out of his eyes.

“Don’t burn it again, babe,” he said without looking.

“I swear to God if you jinx me—” she muttered.

They brushed past each other. He kissed her cheek instinctively. She grabbed his waist as she reached for a mug behind him. Neither acknowledged it, because it was so normal now.

Yuma watched her grab the last Sprite from the fridge and grinned.

“You owe me one.”

“I owe you like, twelve,” she said with a smirk, cracking an egg with one hand like a pro. “Keep tally.”

Sunday Afternoon

They were in a blanket pile on the couch watching some off-brand fantasy anime with terrible animation and amazing music. Their phones buzzed occasionally, but neither looked at them. Eunbi’s head rested on Yuma’s thigh, and he absentmindedly played with the drawstring on her hoodie.

Yuma reached for the envelope on the coffee table.

“Oh,” he said, almost like it wasn’t a big deal, “got us something.”

Eunbi sat up slowly as he handed her the tickets.

Two glossy passes to Le Sserafim’s Seoul concert. Front section.

Her brows lifted. “Wait. You got these?”

“Yeah,” Yuma said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was looking for a concert to go to, just something fun, and I saw their dates. I guess I just… I dunno. Reflexively bought two. Thought it’d be cool to go with you.”

Eunbi blinked, holding the tickets like they were delicate. “You thought of me?”

“Of course I thought of you,” he said simply. “You’re my favorite concert buddy.”

There was something in his voice—light, casual—but underneath it… something else.

She was quiet for a second, then smiled a little. “You know we’ve been acting like an old married couple lately, right?”

Yuma tilted his head. “Have we?”

Eunbi gave him a look. “You call me babe. I kiss your cheek when I’m cooking. We share hoodies and playlists and I literally can’t drink Sprite now without thinking of you.”

Yuma laughed under his breath. “Well. When you put it like that…”

“Yuma.”

His gaze softened, and he leaned in, elbows resting on his knees.

“I didn’t mean to fall into this,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t fight it either. You… make it easy.”

Eunbi’s throat went tight. Her fingers curled around the tickets. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You too.”

They sat there, quiet and close, the room glowing gold from the late afternoon sun.

Outside, the city kept moving.

But in their little apartment, time held still—for just a second longer—as two best friends quietly realized they weren’t just best friends anymore.

The Night Before the Concert at a cozy izakaya tucked in a quiet Seoul alley—paper lanterns swaying in the breeze, the scent of grilled meat and sake in the air. While Eunbi and Yuma were on a double date with Niles and Sunny avoiding their feelings.

Yuma was sipping a plum soda, hunched slightly over the low table, while Niles theatrically argued with the server about whether or not “extra garlic” meant “a stupid amount of garlic.”

Sunny, cheeks already flushed from one shot of soju, leaned closer to Eunbi, whispering loud enough for the whole table to hear, “You know what’s wild?”

Eunbi blinked, chopsticks hovering over a sizzling plate of pork belly. “What?”

“You and Yuma are a better couple than me and Niles,” Sunny declared, grinning like a drunk prophet. “And me and Niles are literally married.”

Eunbi coughed—choked, really. Her hand flew to her chest.

Yuma’s head jerked up. “Wait—what?”

Niles groaned into his beer. “It was a Vegas thing. We don’t talk about it.”

Sunny waved a dismissive hand. “That’s not the point. The point is that you two—” she gestured between Eunbi and Yuma with her chopsticks, “—are grossly domestic. Like, I half-expected you to bicker about who left the towel on the bathroom floor and then kiss on the mouth.”

“Sunny—” Eunbi hissed, cheeks glowing scarlet.

Yuma laughed nervously. “It’s not like that…”

“Oh, babe,” Sunny said sweetly, “you call her ‘baby’ in three different tones depending on whether she’s tired, mad, or wearing your hoodie.”

The table went dead silent.

Even the sizzling grill felt like it stopped mid-pop.

Eunbi stood up abruptly. “Excuse me. Bathroom.”

Yuma shot up right after her. “Same. Too much soda.”

Sunny lifted her shot glass to Niles with a smug little smirk. “And that’s how you break a years-long stalemate, honey.”

Inside the quiet dimly lit Bathroom Hallway away from the laughter and clatter of the izakaya.

Eunbi was leaning against the wall, arms folded tightly over her chest, lips pressed into a line.

Yuma approached carefully, standing just close enough to share the space, but not close enough to assume anything.

“She was joking,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Eunbi replied. “That’s what scares me.”

Yuma blinked. “Scares you?”

Eunbi exhaled slowly. “Because it wasn’t wrong. Not really. We’ve been doing this dance for months. Cooking together. Sleeping in each other’s hoodies. Saying goodnight like it means something.”

“It does mean something,” he said, without hesitation.

She turned her head, eyes searching his face.

“It does?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Yuma nodded, throat tight. “I didn’t buy those tickets just because I like concerts. I bought them because I wanted to go with you. Because you’re the person I want beside me—whether it’s screaming in a stadium or watching Digimon reruns in our pajamas.”

Her breath caught.

“And if you’re scared,” he added, “then I’m right there with you. But I’d rather be scared with you than keep pretending we’re just roommates who accidentally became each other’s favorite person.”

Silence.

Then: a soft, shaky laugh from Eunbi.

She looked at him, eyes misty, lips curling into a smile. “God, I was really about to kiss you in a bathroom hallway, huh?”

Yuma’s voice dropped. “What if I want you to?”

Eunbi took a step closer. “Then don’t stop me.”

And just like that, the dam broke—not with fireworks, but with a shared breath, a soft laugh, and the taste of plum soda and longing on a kiss that had been waiting months to happen.

[totem-but-shark]

I have to give props to foolish for the way he plays qfoolish because whether intentionally or not he really sells the vibe of an ancient immortal character, though not in the expected sense. Where other immortal characters may become jaded by a life so long qfoolish is literally just chilling, he's seen it all before and so can't be shaken so easily. Moments that to other mortal characters are earth shattering are just another Tuesday for him, funny even.

Despite this he's no less enthusiastic for life, he wakes up every morning and simply lives, as he has done for an unknowable amount of days prior.

It's fascinating, hes able to roll with every punch and shrug off every struggle with a laugh. Why should he be upset? in the grand scheme of everything he's lived through it's not even a blip, why cant it be funny instead?

But this makes it so much more impactful when he DOES care, the rare moments where he is affected are heart wrenching when contrasted with his usual easygoing happy-go-lucky laissez-faire attitude. There's something raw and human to me in the way that for however long he's lived he still feels, he loves and grieves. He still lives and so he still feels.

Anyways stan an unbothered king

[concretejunglefm]

“you’re literally the last person I wanted to fall for but here we fucking are.”

with matty pretty please 💗

a little not-really-enemies to not-so-lovers vibe with a sprinkling of that unrequited love 💕

You’ve watched all the movies, read all the cliches, and somehow, you’ve found yourself trapped in a goddamn cloak room with Matt, the last person you’d want to be with right now.

Your wonderful-so-called friends had conspired against you, leaving you alone with this guy.

His erratic behavior, alternating between being hot and cold, has been driving you crazy for the past few weeks. After sharing a kiss, while you were slightly intoxicated, it somehow gave him the excuse to behave even worse than he usually does.

“I swear, if one of you doesn’t let me out of here right now, I’m going to—”

“Haven’t you realized yet that yelling won’t accomplish anything?” Matt interrupts your vague threats, and the silence from the other side of the door makes you think there’s no one there. They’ve probably all left you here to go for lunch.

Add that to the list of reasons for why you’ll later kill them.

“Thank you, Mr. Helpful,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Matt sits back against the pile of coats and other items that he’s moved into a pile on the floor and looking up at you, he offers a two-finger salute.

God, he infuriates you, and perhaps more so now than ever before.

“Are you not even going to help get us out of here?” you ask, and he simply shrugs, his response so nonchalant and unlike him. Usually, he’s the one pushing everyone around, yet you’ve never seen him more laid back.

“Why? And lose the opportunity to relax? Not a chance.” He winks at you before pulling the front of his hat down low enough to hide his face. However, from the edge of his cap, you can see that his eyes are now closed, and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter under your breath, but he ignores you.

You can’t believe there was a time when you found yourself fawning over him, desperate to get his attention, and feeling a fluttering sensation in your stomach that you could only describe as butterflies. However, everything came crashing down after your foolish decision to kiss him while drunk.

Approaching him, you deliberately kick his foot to get his attention, but, he continues to ignore you, which only makes you huff in annoyance.

“You always throw a tantrum when you don’t get your way?” he mumbles, not bothering to remove his hat or look up at you from beneath it.

“Excuse me?” you don’t hide your outrage, feeling utterly offended by his remark. “I don’t throw tantrums,” you scoff, crossing your arms in front of you.

Perhaps there was a grain of truth in that remark, considering your current behavior, but that’s irrelevant.

“It’s adorable that you think you don’t.” He laughs, and you glare down at him, kicking his foot again because you always react foolishly around him. It’s as if he pulls out some ridiculous, childish level of retaliation.

“Hey!” he calls out to you, finally pushing his cap back and actually looking up at you.

“Well, you’re no picnic to be around either.”

“Oh, really?” He begins to shift and push himself back up to his feet in front of you. “How so?”

“Well for one you’re an asshole. Oh! and you can be a bit of an arrogant dick.”

He laughs in response, and that infuriates you even more. It’s as if he’s completely unbothered by anything you ever have to say, especially when you’re trying to insult him.

“Am I supposed to be offended by that?”

“God, why are you like this?” You growl beneath your breath. “You're literally the last person I ever wanted to be locked in a stupid cloakroom with.”

"Yeah well, you’re literally the last person I wanted to fall for but here we fucking are.”

His unexpected confession catches you off guard, but this is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? The moment of the big confession that should somehow bring everything together.

You should embrace him and accept his confession as a sentimental gesture, rather than a reluctant one, but you’re completely taken aback, frozen in place. Speechless, your mouth hangs slightly open, and your eyes widen.

Matt just implied he was falling for you and you say... nothing.

His features begin to change, the cracks in his heart from your silence reflected in the wrinkles forming on his face. Then, you hear the click of the door before a voice you recognize as Nicholas’ calls out.

No matter how hard you try to force yourself to speak, your throat feels tight, and you can’t get any words past.

“Matt, wait!” You finally choke out, reaching out to grab him, but he swiftly brushes past you, walking away without even a glance back in your direction.

[milksnake-tea]

warning: probably an ooc neuvillette i havent touched genshin in three months i know nothing about him this is based purely off vibes. also gets kinda suggestive at the end but dw its open ended BYE

Thinking about being a phantom thief in Fontaine.

A notorious criminal that simply boggles, and quite honestly, infuriates the minds of the authorities.

You leave behind calling cards as a patronizing warning, and take whatever so happens to catch your eye - slipping past any level of security, no matter how strong. You willingly put your (fake) name out to the world, flaunting it even, and yet, no arrests have been made.

How could they, after all? How could you arrest a person who didn't exist?

Your name has become a curse among the voices of officers and lawmakers alike. Whenever a case has your name painted over it, all the investigators can expect is a headache. After all, you're a professional - and professionals don't leave behind any clue unintentionally.

And in a similar fashion, the only way you're caught is when you allow yourself to be caught.

Neuvillette can only sigh in exasperation you enter his office through the window once again, the quiet breeze and the clink of a lock being pried open being the only indicators of your existence.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, a smile on your lips as you press a kiss right behind his pointed ears - feeling as he shivers, just a little bit, under your touch.

"I believe I told you to enter through the door," Neuvillette mutters, leaning back into your embrace, tilting his head up to stare up at you. Your lips tug into a smirk.

"Since when do I listen to you, mon cherie?" you laugh, an airy little chuckle like a windchime. You peck his nose, snickering as he wrinkles it. "Now, now, don't pout. You know I can't come in the normal way. I'd be arrested on the spot if I were to be caught entering the Chief Justice's office."

"You, be caught?" Neuvillette questions, raising his brow playfully. You hum, resting your chin on his shoulder, nuzzling him.

"Yes," you insist. "This place has so much security, all for you, my dear. Even I would have trouble simply walking through the front doors."

"And so you decide to scale the walls and break in through my window?"

"Precisely." Your hand comes to cup at Neuvillette's face, turning him to face you. "And now do you see how much trouble I go through, just to see you?"

"Unnecessary trouble," Neuvillette replies, unbothered. You roll your eyes.

"Goodness, just what did I do to deserve such an ungrateful lover?" you weep dramatically, jutting out your lip as you pout. "You know, there are hundreds of ladies out there who can only wish their husbands did a tenth of what I do for you."

"I apologize." A sliver of a laugh leaves Neuvillette's lips, his eyes crinkling as he smiles at you. "What can I do to earn your forgiveness?"

You hum, your gloved hand taking a firmer hold of his chin, your thumb running over his lip. Neuvillette doesn't resist when you open his lips slightly, pressing down on his bottom lip with your thumb.

"I think you know what," you mused.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!