#hope you don't mind if i continue from here!

[niwaart]

LOST OMEGA

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Robin has been kidnapped...yes everyone, Robin, also known as Damian Ghul Wayne has been kidnapped...by who and how?...well, who else but the Joker is after Batman's Robins?

Damian fell into another evil trap of the Joker, and now he is trapped inside a cage like a caged bird, but he is not afraid, he trusts Batman, his father, to save him, but he is nervous and confused, and wants to get out of this place as soon as possible, why? Because there is another prisoner in the same cage and they are a stranger!!! When he lost consciousness because of the Joker's sleeping gas, he woke up in this cage and above his head a strange person crying and screaming and shaking him to wake up, and now since he woke up, this person has not left his side....

That's not what it is, they say strange things like, "Don't worry, I will get you out of here alive this time, I promise" and like "I am glad you are alive, I hope this is not a dream."... Maybe this person lost his mind because of the Joker? Yes maybe, well he would have pitied him if they stopped rubbing his pheromones around him!! This person is an omega, it is clear from their smell to those rabbit ears. But he was still confused that this stranger's scent wasn't bad or even unpleasant... but rather soothing, that was strange, usually the members of the pack were the ones who smelled soothing to the rest of the herd, he had met hundreds of omegas, but this was the first time he smelled an omega and wasn't disgusted by it, was this normal?... It didn't matter, at least he wasn't choking on a bad smell, which was good... almost... but this person needed to stop rubbing their scent on him!

"I told you to stop!" Damian said in annoyance. The stranger looked at him for a few seconds then continued to spread their scent on Damian's body. "No, this won't happen again, you have to stay close to me." the stranger said as they hugged Damian and pulled him into a tight hug while Damian tried to get out but the soothing scent of Omega wasn't helping... So Damian resigned himself to the fact and prayed with all his heart that his father would come here as soon as possible.

[the-void-via]

TW: TALK OF GUNS, INJURES FROM GUNS, DEATH, ANDROID GORE IG?

Second part of my Rota Fortunea fic!

“The leader of the resistance, Sunday, was found dead fifteen system hours ago. Forensic experts have deduced the cause of death to be a gunshot wound to the head. However, upon finding the gun at the crime scene, only Sunday's fingerprints were found on it. Law enforcement is investigating the crime scene-”

Ratio shut the TV off with a grumble, glaring at his reflection in the dark screen. He set the remote down and turned to the nearby table, Aventurine’s sleeping body laying atop it.

He glanced at Ruan Mei and Herta. Oil stained their hands, working on hooking Aventurine up to a power source before they worked on fixing him. He—reluctantly—stayed a few feet back, after both women had practically ripped the android from his arms when he walked through the door.

Barely a word had been exchanged between the women and Ratio, putting all their attention and focus into Aventurine. He could do little but stand back, peering over their shoulders from time to time to try and check their progress.

Ruan Mei moved, allowing Ratio a clear view of Aventurine’s face-

He cringed. Some layers of machinery had been stripped away near his right eye, leaving a red LED light to stare back at him. His eyes drifted, the metal of his neck slight exposed–

He turned away. It was too much to bear. Seeing someone who used to be his friend– no. The man he loved in such a state killed him inside. He moved to sit down, sighing heavily.

“Don't move much,” Ruan Mei softly scolded, not even turning to look at him. “You sustained three gunshot wounds from Sunday. You don't want them to open.”

He grumbled a little bit, muttering something under his breath as a reply. Ruan Mei didn’t say anything else, fully focused on the android laying atop the table in front of her.

Herta was no different, the only indication of her presence being her soft mutterings to herself, working with Ruan Mei as if they had some telepathic connection they were communicating through.

It was unnerving, to say the least. The silence in the room.

Ratio sighed again and leaned against the chair, staring up at the ceiling. His body relaxed into the chair; the adrenaline had long worn off, slowly being replaced with exhaustion. He fought it as long as he could, fought to keep his eyes open- but his body knew he was safe.

His eyes started to slip closed, hoping for just a little cat nap…it sounded nice at this point…

…

Knock, knock, knock. …knock-knock!

His body jerked, sitting up straight in the chair. The two geniuses had made progress on Aventurine, he deduced they were just over halfway in connecting him to a power source- but that wasn't the priority at the moment.

Someone knocked on the door.

Herta had walked away from the table, leaving Ruan Mei to continue for a moment by herself. She turned to look at Ratio as she heard the chair jerk, her expression unreadable.

“You're awake.” She said bluntly.

“W- ahem- what was that?” He asked, rubbing his eyes. “That knock. Is it-”

“Thank you, Miss Herta,” A voice—definitely not Herta’s—came from the hallway she had disappeared down a moment ago. “I'm sorry to inconvenience you at a time like this. I had a run-in with a few androids above ground, and I just need a few tune-ups on my arm–”

A male figure, clad in a dusty dark pink cloak, walked into the room at Herta’s side. He pulled his hood back, his hair dyed pink with long, white roots. Deep crimson eyes scanned the room as he stopped dead in his tracks, blinking at the two new figures.

“Oh.” He mumbled in surprise. “There's other men here. That's…intriguing.”

“Never mind them,” Herta shooed him to another table, aiding him in sitting atop it. “You said you need me to fix your arm? Which one?”

The man shed his cloak, revealing himself to be wearing a tight black tank top, as well as black shorts with knives tucked inside harnesses. He carefully extended a mechanical arm, using his other hand to point to his elbow. “This one, the joints got busted up real bad. I was afraid it would fall off before I got here.”

Ratio’s eyes widened upon seeing him. His arms and legs were very visibly mechanical, white metal with elegant dark pink accents. His stomach almost sank upon the realization.

Another android?

“Wow, Shilou,” Herta mused, taking his arm into her hands and examining his joint. “This is really badly damaged. You really are lucky it didn't fall off on the way.”

“I know,” Shilou chuckled a little. “Thank you again, Miss Herta. Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you? Any materials you need? I can't keep letting you fix me without any sort of payment-”

“Excuse me,” Ratio’s voice cut him off, his arms folded across his chest in an almost standoffish manner. “Who are you?”

Tags: @havanillas @serendipminie @blak-ie @blackcat2907 @drowning-in-cabbages @lumin-arii @kyl13sm1l3y @darkluminosity @smellofsnoww (lmk if you wanna be tagged or not when I post about my oc's!)

[woozinhos]

your writing is very good 😭 love it so much <3 could you do office sex with wonwoo ? 🫰🏻🥵

Oh my god thank you so so much anon I hope you enjoy this one! And hope you enjoy my new layout!

Office nights

Wonwoo and you are the only ones left in the office, working late into the night. The building is mostly quiet, save for the sound of your typing and the occasional shuffle of papers. Wonwoo glances over at you, noticing the way your eyes are fixed on your screen. He can't help but admire the way you look in your office attire, professional and polished.

"You're working too hard," he says, his voice low and soft. "You need a break."

You look up from your computer, a small smile on your face.

"I'm almost done," you say, stretching your arms above your head. "But I suppose a break wouldn't hurt."

Wonwoo grins, pushing his chair back from his desk.

"Come here," he says, gesturing for you to come over to him.

You look up from your computer, a small smile on your face.

"I'm almost done," you say, stretching your arms above your head. "But I suppose a break wouldn't hurt."

Wonwoo grins, pushing his chair back from his desk.

"Come here," he says, gesturing for you to come over to him.

You raise an eyebrow at Wonwoo's request, but you can't help the way your heart races a little faster. You push your chair back and walk over to him, a mixture of curiosity and excitement in your eyes.

"What do you have in mind?" you ask, standing in front of him.

Wonwoo looks up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. He grabs your hips and pulls you onto his lap, your legs straddling his waist.

"This," he says, his hands sliding up your thighs. "I've been thinking about this all day."

You gasp in surprise as Wonwoo pulls you onto his lap, but you quickly settle into the position, enjoying the feeling of his strong hands on your thighs.

"Wonwoo," you murmur, your voice filled with a

mix of desire and caution. "We're at work..."

Wonwoo ignores your protest, his hands continuing to roam over your body. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I don't care," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I want you now."

Your breath hitches as Wonwoo's words send a shiver down your spine. You can feel the heat of his body beneath you, his desire palpable.

"Wonwoo, we could get caught," you whisper, your voice barely audible. But even as you say it, your body is betraying you, pressing closer to his.

Wonwoo chuckles, his lips trailing down your neck.

"Don't worry," he says, his voice low and rough. "I'll make sure the security footage is erased."

He pulls you even closer, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"No one will know what we're doing here," he promises.

You let out a soft moan as Wonwoo's lips continue to explore your neck, his hands roaming all over your body. The thought of getting caught sends a thrill of excitement through you, even as you try to maintain some sense of reason.

"Wonwoo, this is crazy," you say, your voice breathless. "What if someone walks in?"

Wonwoo lifts his head to look at you, his eyes dark with desire.

"No one's here," he repeats, his hands slipping under your shirt to caress your skin. "It's just you and me. No one to interrupt us."

He leans in to kiss you, his lips capturing yours in a hungry, possessive kiss.

You melt into the kiss, any remaining hesitations fading away as you surrender to the heat between you. Your arms wrap around Wonwoo's neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepen the kiss. Wonwoo's hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour as he pulls you closer. His lips move down to your jawline, then to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses in their wake. Wonwoo's hands slide lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your skirt to grip your ass. He pulls you flush against him, grinding up against you as he kisses you hungrily.

"God, you drive me crazy," he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need.

You moan in response, arching into his touch as his hands explore your body. The feeling of him pressed against you, the heat of his breath on your skin, is driving you wild.

"Wonwoo," you gasp, your hips moving in time with his as you seek more friction. "I need you."

Wonwoo growls in response, his grip on you tightening as he pulls you impossibly closer.

"I need you too," he says, his voice low and husky. "I've been wanting you all day."

He stands up suddenly, lifting you up with him and carrying you over to his desk. He sets you down on the edge, his body pressed between your legs. Wonwoo leans in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss as he stands between your legs. His hands roam over your body, pushing your shirt up and exposing your skin to his touch.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck and chest. "I can't believe I get to have you like this."

You gasp as Wonwoo's lips and hands explore your body, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. Your hands roam over his chest, tracing the muscles beneath his shirt.

"I want you," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Now."

Wonwoo's eyes darken with desire at your words, and he moves quickly to comply. He reaches down and unbuttons your shirt, exposing your bra-clad chest to his hungry gaze.

"You're so perfect," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the lace edge of your bra. "I could spend all day worshiping your body."

You moan as Wonwoo's hands and lips continue to explore your body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your bra, gently teasing your nipples.

"Please," you gasp, arching into his touch. "I need more."

Wonwoo looks up at you, his eyes burning with desire.

"Can I bend you over the desk?" he asks, his voice low and rough. "I want to see you bent over for me."

You bite your lip, the idea sending a shiver of excitement through you. You nod slowly, your eyes never leaving his.

"Yes," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Bend me over the desk."

Wonwoo grins at your response, his eyes flashing with excitement. He steps back and gently guides you to stand up. He turns you around and pushes you down over the desk, your chest pressed against the cool surface. He runs his hands over your body, caressing your hips and thighs as he positions you just the way he wants.

Wonwoo stands behind you, his eyes raking over your body as you lay bent over the desk. He's completely speechless, the sight of you like this taking his breath away. He runs his hands over your ass, squeezing and caressing the soft flesh. "God, you look so good like this," he finally manages to say, his voice rough with desire. Wonwoo's hands slide up the back of your thighs, his fingers tracing the edge of your lace panties.

"These are beautiful," he says, his voice husky. "But I want them off."

Wonwoo's self-control is rapidly slipping away as he looks at you bent over the desk, your lace panties still covering your most intimate parts.

"Please," he says, his voice almost pleading. "I need to be inside you. Right now."

You push back against him, your body arching into his touch.

"Then take me," you say, your voice filled with need. "I'm yours."

Wonwoo growls at your words, his control snapping completely. He reaches down and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and tossing them aside. He runs his hands over your bare skin, his touch sending shivers of anticipation through you.

"Mine," he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "All mine."

Wonwoo positions himself behind you, his hard length pressing against your entrance. He leans down, his chest pressed against your back as he whispers in your ear.

"You're so wet for me," he says, his voice low and rough. "I can feel how much you want me."

You gasp at the sensation of his hardness against your sensitive skin, the anticipation building within you.

"Please," you moan, pushing back against him. "I need you inside me, now."

Wonwoo can't resist any longer. He positions himself at your entrance and slowly pushes inside, groaning at the feeling of you surrounding him.

"Fuck," he grunts, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he buries himself deep inside you. "You feel so good."

You gasp as he fills you, the sensation of him stretching you almost overwhelming. Your hands grip the edge of the desk as he begins to move, his thrusts slow and deep.

"Yes," you moan, arching your back and pushing back against him. "Just like that."

Wonwoo's hand tangles in your hair, gripping it tightly as he pulls your head back, exposing your neck. He leans down and bites down gently, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites along your skin. His other hand grips your hip, his fingers digging into your skin as he continues to thrust into you, his pace gradually increasing. You moan loudly as Wonwoo continues to move, his hands and mouth driving you wild with pleasure. The combination of his thrusts and his touch has you on the edge, your body aching for release.

"I'm so close," you gasp, your voice filled with desperation. "Please, don't stop."

Wonwoo chuckles as he sees you knock over the paper on the desk, his grip on your hair and hip tightening.

"Careful," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Don't break anything."

You moan again, your hands grasping for purchase on the desk as Wonwoo picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster.

"You're so close," he growls in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I can feel it. Come for me."

Wonwoo groans as he feels you tighten around him, your body shuddering with pleasure as you reach your climax.

"That's it," he says, his voice low and rough. "Good girl."

Wonwoo continues to thrust into you as you come down from your high, chasing his own release. His grip on your hair and hip is almost bruising, his movements becoming more erratic as he nears his own climax.

"Fuck," he growls, his voice strained. "I'm so close."

You push back against him, wanting to feel him come undone inside you. Your body is still trembling from your orgasm, but you want to give him the same pleasure.

"Come for me," you moan, your voice breathless. "I want to feel you fill me up."

Wonwoo's thrusts become erratic, his body tensing as he approaches his own climax.

"Fuck, I'm going to come," he groans, his fingers digging into your skin. "I'm going to fill you up so good."

With one final thrust, Wonwoo comes, his body shuddering as he spills himself inside you. He buries his face in your neck, panting heavily as he rides out his orgasm.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "That was amazing."

You turn your head to look at Wonwoo, a satisfied smile on your face. He smiles back at you, his eyes still dark with desire.

"You're amazing," he says, leaning in to kiss you gently.

You both freeze as you hear the jangle of the door, your eyes widening in surprise.

"Who's there?" Wonwoo calls out, quickly pulling out of you and straightening his clothes.

[kissbyoon]

( 🌲 ) ݁₊ “I ALWAYS COME BACK.”

╰┈ Jeonghan knows how to make you relieved and smile.

₍ 𝑓𝘵. ₎ 𓈒 정한 ˶ fluff, angst, comf * kissing, petnames (love, baby) ⎯⎯ 1.2k ꒱ ✦ husband!jh x wife&f!rea

♪ A/N : this was completely based on this reel I suddenly came across in my highlights and I knew I had to do this !! big thanks to @wonkierideul ღ hope u enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing!! (◠‿◠)

"love?" You called out.

Wiping your eyes, you tried to clear your vision as a yawn escaped your mouth.

You move your blanket to get up, but as soon as the cold air hits your skin, you're under the comfort of your blanket again.

Sighing, you wrap the blanket around yourself and groan as you use all your strength to lift yourself up.

The weather was undoubtedly not suitable for outings, but you're sure you hear some rambling coming from the next room and you panic.

“No, he can't be…” you murmur, immediately getting up and dragging your feet along the floor towards the living room.

As expected, your eyes landed on your husband, Jeonghan, who was stuffing clothes into a suitcase. It hadn't been months since his military discharge yet the company is already putting him on work.

You halt, observing his every move; when you have no idea, your eyes start to tear up.

Jeonghan leans back and rests his hands on his hips with a sigh. Just as he begins to zip up the suitcase, he feels someone staring at him.

He turns around, a bright smile spreading across his face as his eyes land on you—standing by the door in his clothes. But it soon vanishes when he realises that you were crying.

You don't remember for how long you've been standing by the doorway of your shared bedroom, sniffling and sobbing, using the sleeve of your (Jeonghan’s) t-shirt to wipe your tears away.

“Wha— baby?” Jeonghan was quick to throw his phone on the bed and rush to you, his face painted with concern. His one hand held yours, with the other on your cheek.

“Baby? Look at me, please?” He urged, his touch gentle as he stroked your cheek.

Raising your head, you tried to look at him, but it only made you burst into tears loudly, and Jeonghan tried to hold in his chuckle at the sight of you crying like a toddler.

Which, by the way, he found adorable.

You buried your face in his neck, crying out loud—your husband wrapped his arms around you, softly patting your back to calm you down.

“Shh… it's all okay, I'm here.” kissing the crown of your head, his words came out in a comforting tone; soothing the trembling of your body.

But your crying continued.

“Baby—”

“Don't go… please.” Your words came out as a plea; desperate and helpless. Jeonghan paused, staring at the floor.

He was expecting it, but not in this way.

He looked at you—who was clutching onto his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart, and it broke him.

“I'm not going anywhere, my love.” He inhaled deeply, and looked at you with a softened gaze.

Jeonghan was patient. He was patient as he waited for you to calm down before he could talk to you; gently holding you in his arms, swaying your body with his. Something that Jeonghan always did to relax your mind.

When you finally calmed down, your heartbeat and breathing steady—he placed one of his hands on the back of your head, slowly leaning back so he could face you.

As soon as your eyes met, the same beautiful smile spread across his face and he tilted his head. “So, that was the thing bothering you?”

His voice was comfortingly soft, with a hint of amusement that he always carried around to lighten the mood.

Nodding, you maintain eye contact with a pout on your face, sniffling. “When was the last time you stayed home?”

Jeonghan paused, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

“Uh, before… military…?”

“Exactly,” you choked out those words, puffing up your cheeks while a bright shade of red dusted your face.

He breathes a laugh, tightening his grip around you. Leaning down to bury his face in your neck, he rubbed your sides and smiled when your familiar sweet scent hit his nose.

“I'm sorry~” he cooed in a soft whisper, a hint of teasing in his voice that you could never miss.

“This won't make me happy by the way.”

Jeonghan pecked your neck, leaning back to kiss your cheek and jaw. “Now?”

“No.” you simply huffed, not even hugging him back as you kept your arms folded against your chest.

He lifted his head, eyes locked with yours and a gentle smile played on his lips that you wish you could snatch away with a kiss—

“It's just for a week, love. I'll come back and I'll not go anywhere else.” He widened his smile, cupping your cheeks that made you smile faintly. For a few seconds, you both stared at each other, his smile never leaving—he suddenly leaned in, pecking your lips.

“Wait here, okay?” In such a sweet voice, he said. It melted every part of you that was mad at him as he quickly ran towards your shared bedroom and soon returned with something in his hands.

Doljjongie. His pet rock, whom he often refers to as ‘our child’.

“Tada!” He squealed, taking your hands to hand you Doljjongie. You let out a laugh, holding it so gently as if it was alive and moving.

Your face brightened with a smile as you caressed Doljjongie—the silly face Jeonghan had drawn, making you giggle.

Jeonghan was satisfied.

He took a few steps behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pecking your shoulder. His hands reached out to rest over yours; caressing Doljjongie as you did so too.

“Take care of mom, okay? Protect her like I've taught you!” Jeonghan pressed his lips into a thin line, furrowing his eyebrows like he was lecturing a child; it made you burst into laughter.

He chuckled when your laughter echoed in his ears. Resting his chin on your shoulder, he kept his eyes fixated on you; the look of relief on his face accompanied by his boyish grin.

“Feeling better?” You could barely hear him, his tone hushed and soft, like you're the most gentle thing. Tilting your head to look at him, you nod; your smile growing when you made eye contact with him.

“I'm sorry,” you sighed, moving one of your hand over his to caress it. “I overreacted, didn't I?”

Jeonghan shook his head, not leaving you with any more questions.

“You didn't, my love.” He simply stated, sighing in contentment as he closed his eyes; settling deeper in the peaceful moment shared between you two.

His words were out quick but it was reassuring.

“I always keep you waiting, don't I?” He broke the silence.

“Hm, you do.”

“But I always come back, right?” He peeped his head a little forward to look at your face, and when you did turn your head towards him; he smiled with his eyes closed. You did too.

Jeonghan pecked your cheek, taking your hand to intertwine your fingers with his.

“Don’t skip meals and sleep well while I'm away. Call me everyday, text me about your day, send me your outfit of the day. I'll be waiting, hm?”

You nod, putting doljjongie aside on the couch, turning around to face him.

“I'll be waiting too.” Smiling, you press a quick peck to his lips and pull away—to which he immediately responds by pulling you by the waist to deepen the kiss.

@kissbyoon ⌕ ۫ all rights reserved/copying strictly prohibited. @/kstrucknet !

[slaytheday12]

Omg I had the cutest idea for a fix for Walker and if I'm being honest I just didn't want to write it myself 😂

But, hear me out, Walker and reader aren't dating but they're hanging out on like TomTom live and the chat keeps shipping them together and they like secretly like each other.

Idk I think it would be cute, don't feel pressured to make it PR anything. Love you ❤

Chat knows best

Walker adjusted his phone on the stand, his easy smile as his live stream began. You sat cross-legged on the couch beside him, a little more nervous than you cared to admit. It wasn’t your first time joining his live, but every time you did, the chat seemed to erupt with shipping the two of you.

“Hey, everyone!” Walker greeted, waving to the camera. “Hope you’re all doing good tonight. And look who’s with me, Y/N decided to crash the party again.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him. “Yeah, because you begged me to join,” you teased.

The chat instantly exploded.

“Y/N AND WALKER TOGETHER AGAIN 😍” “Okay but are they dating yet?” “Besties or something more? 👀”

Walker laughed, glancing at you. “They’re starting already,” he said under his breath.

You smirked, leaning closer to the screen. “You guys have no chill, huh?”

“STOP FLIRTING, OMG.” “Just date already!” “They’re literally soulmates, I’m calling it.”

Walker cleared his throat, scrolling through the flood of comments. “Alright, let’s try to keep it semi-normal tonight. We’re here to hang out, answer some questions, and maybe argue over movie rankings.”

“Which I’ll win,” you added confidently, earning a laugh from Walker.

The two of you started answering questions, most of them harmless. But every now and then, a comment would pop up that made your cheeks heat.

“What’s your dream date?” “Are you guys secretly dating? Be honest.” “They HAVE to like each other. Look at them.”

Walker hesitated as he read one of the questions aloud. “Uh… ‘If you could go on a date, where would it be?’” He looked at you, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Any thoughts?”

Your stomach flipped, but you kept your voice steady. “I don’t know… maybe something fun, like a theme park. Rides are a great distraction.”

“Solid choice,” Walker said, nodding. “I’d go for something low-key, like a picnic on the beach or something.”

The chat immediately lost it.

“OMG HE WANTS TO TAKE HER TO THE BEACH.” “STOP, THEY’VE DEFINITELY TALKED ABOUT THIS.” “Walker, just confess already!”

You laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Your fans are… relentless,” you muttered, though you couldn’t stop the blush spreading across your cheeks.

“They’re passionate, that’s for sure,” Walker said, rubbing the back of his neck.

The live continued, but the energy felt different. Every teasing comment or playful glance only added to the undercurrent of the unspoken energy. By the time Walker ended the stream, both of you were flushed and grinning.

“That was… intense,” you said, leaning back against the couch.

“Yeah,” Walker agreed, his voice a little quieter now.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, but more like you were both reflecting on something.

Walker broke the tension first, glancing at you with a small, hesitant smile. “You know… they’re not entirely wrong.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat. “What do you mean?”

He looked down, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. “About me liking you,” he said softly. Then, as if he couldn’t stop himself, he looked back up at you. “I’ve been wanting to say something for a while, but I didn’t know how. And, well, leave it to the live to push me over the edge.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. He liked you?

“Walker,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “For the record… they weren’t wrong about me, either.”

His eyes widened slightly, a grin spreading across his face. “So… does this mean we’re giving them what they want?”

You laughed, your heart lighter than it had been all night. “I guess we are.”

Walker reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. It was a small gesture, but it felt like the start of something so much bigger. And for the first time, you didn’t mind the chat being a little too nosy. After all, they’d just given you the push you both needed.

A/N: not me completing a request in one day.... can u tell i have to much time on my hands lol. send me request pretty please with a cheery on top. also thank u for the request love u moreee

Tags: @izzystylinson, @sophand4n4, @kaiwrites092

[limethefirst]

I've been reading all your recent Shadow fics and they're all SO CUTE!!! It makes me so happy to see where Shadow sort of gets to have a second chance with a new Maria, one where he can keep them safe. I was wondering though, how do you think he would react if they dyed red streaks into their hair to look like him?

Red Hair Dye

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x reader (platonic)

warnings: none

summary: after a trip to the store you see a hair dye that reminds you of your favorite little hedgehog

a/n: hey guys sorry i was gone this week, school started back up so slow updates and i just went through a break up so just taking things slow, here's your request tysm for your patience! (This reminds me of when I had pink highlights 😭)

The store was quiet, it was late so it wasn't very strange. You walked through the aisles, looking at all its contents. It was a small corner store no more then a 3 minute walk from your place. Light jazz music played as beeping of machines echoed through the front of the store.

You stopped in the hair dye section, taking a look at all the colors, thinking which one you liked best, not that you were sure you were even going to dye your hair. Until you spotted it, a crimson red hair dye that looked like it was on sale.

Pausing, you stared at it a bit before ultimately picking it up. You looked at the brand, knowing it was a trust worthy one when it came to hair damage and color, so without a second thought you quickly shoved it into your basket before continuing to browse a bit more.

The trip was short lived and quickly you found yourself rushing to your bathroom, excited to try the new color you'd bought. Shadow was somewhere about but didn't seem to try and find you, seemingly hearing your rush to reach the bathroom, almost paying no mind to it.

Opening the box you grabbed everything inside, basically dumping it out onto your sink as you sorted through it. The instructions were simple, so you just went with the flow, prepping your hair and sectioning it the way you wanted.

After your hair was ready, you started to mix some of the paint, making sure to add the right amount of color so that it would be bright enough on your hair. After a bit of mixing you grabbed the small brush that came in the box, as well as the gloves. You slipped the gloves on slowly and started to apply the red.

It was a tiring process, taking you over 20 minutes to finally finish. By that point your arms were tired from being held up so long. Swiftly you exhaled and sat down against the wall, making sure your hair wasn't messed up.

A small knock interrupted your waiting. You slightly opened the door, not realizing how strong the smell of paint truly was, as the hedgehog took a quick step back, his nose scrunching.

"What are you doing?" He asked, arms crossed, not being able to fully see you as you hid behind the door, wanting to keep the hair a surprise.

You let out a small chuckle before playfully responding, "It's a secret," Shadow just gave a small sigh, knowing you wouldn't tell him till later with that type of answer.

"Don't take long then" Shadow said before turning away, probably going to go sit in your room, although he'd never say it he found comfort around you more then he did most. It was nice to be special.

You closed the door quickly, and sat in the bathroom a bit longer, waiting at least 30 minutes so that the dye would set. Shadow found it a bit annoying at how long you were taking and he was very curious as to what exactly that smell was, it was like chemicals. Maybe you were cleaning, but the more Shadow thought the more he knew it would not be cleaning.

You took a quick shower, the water was cold to make sure not a lot of dye left your hair. Once you were done the bathroom was a red mess that you'd hope would be able to come off later.

Drying yourself and changing you put on some of the lasting products in the box which were supposed to make the dye last longer as you fixed your hair, excited to show Shadow the result.

Walking towards your room you found Shadow on the edge of your bed, his arms still crossed and his posture straight as he kept his gaze steady on the novela in front of him. His eyes quickly changed over to you as he saw you enter, the first thing that caught his attention though was your hair.

It looked like you had red highlights in your hair, he was shocked to see your new look.

"I thought we could match!" You cheerfully said making your way over to him as he saw bits of red.

He let out a small huff of approval, "It looks nice," He now stood up, as you sat on the ground taking in the sight.

"So you like the emo highlights?" You jokingly asked him, knowing how Sonic and his friends had called him the emo hedgehog before.

Shadow just gave you a straight face before walking past you and out your door.

Quickly you sprung to your feet, apologizing as you followed him out, "I was kidding come back!"

[backseatsoldier]

"Broken", Not Stupid - 16: I Am Broken

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC (13)

CW: Omegaverse; dehumanization; beginnings of an anxiety attack, though it's not labeled as such; some negative self-talk (13)

Author's Note: Ok... one more then we'll get into 13 starting to spill the beans. She'll be ok - Simon's there now! I think I'm going to pause on 13's story for a bit, though. I've got things brewing about other OCs so I'm gonna get started on their stories uwu <3

When I open my eyes again... my head is still on Simon's lap. I adjust carefully so I can look up at him. His eyes are closed and his head is resting on the back of the couch.

"Simon," I call to him softly. "Hey," I say a bit louder and poke the center of his chest.

His lashes flutter and he opens his eyes. With a groan, he tilts his head to look down at me.

"What's wrong?" he asks in a voice rough with sleep.

"The way you're sleeping, mostly. C'mon. We should both go to bed."

As I sit up Simon's hand snakes around my waist, but over his blanket.

"No," he mumbles, "stay here."

What the hell is he on about? Damn, he needs more sleep.

"Simon," I call to him louder. "Wake up."

I reach out and gently poke his cheek through his mask. His eyes open wide at the contact and his breathing gets heavier. Slowly, with a shocked expression of my own, I slowly pull my hand away from his face.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to... freak you out. You ok?" I ask with a gentle voice.

"Fine," he says, shaking his head then letting out a heavy sigh. "Just not used to people touching my face."

"Right. Fair enough," I agree then get up from the couch to make my way to my room.

The smell of pancakes cooking wakes me in the morning. As I roll to get out of bed, though, I nearly roll on to Selene. She yawns at my sudden intrusion then gets up to stretch.

"Good morning to you too." I smile at her then run my hand over her back and up her tail, causing a small chirp to leave her. "I smell pancakes... but do you think your dad is making more bacon too?"

She blinks slowly at me in response and I give her a quiet laugh then truly make my way out of bed. When I reach the kitchen I pause in the archway for a moment.

Johnny's here. Making breakfast. And Simon's nowhere to be seen.

"Lass! Good morning! Simon had to run to grab a few things to make sure all five of us would be fed properly today," he chuckles then yawns. "I knew he'd call me over early so I showed up a few hours early. Hope you don't mind?"

"Not my house," I shrug and step up to the counter I continue to sit on while Simon cooks.

"Isn't it?" Johnny asks with a smile as his focus returns to the pancakes.

Unsure what he means by that, I hop on the counter and change the subject.

"So... what are the other two like?"

"Other two? Oh, you mean Cap and Kyle? Cap's a bit of a, uh," he leans towards me, like he's sharing a secret, "workaholic. I'll have to make some strong coffee all day to make sure he stays awake," he chuckles then straightens. "Kyle is a secret trouble maker, but he's a sweet heart. Would adopt and love all the kittens in the world, if given the chance, I think."

"What do you mean 'secret trouble maker'?" I push with an eyebrow raised.

"He's not as open about his chaotic nature as I am," Johnny says with a wink.

I nod, accepting his answer and glance around the kitchen. The kitchen feels... weird... without Simon here.

"Missing him?" Johnny asks suddenly with his eyes on the pancakes but a knowing smile on his face.

"Who?"

"Your alpha. Who else?" he asks with a laugh.

"My... hm. Well, is he, though? We haven't really... discussed any of that," I admit with a slight frown.

"You knew who I meant, though." He's got this smug look on his face, like he's just outwitted someone.

"Johnny, besides you, Simon's the only person I've actually met in the area," I remind him flatly.

Johnny's smug looks falters.

"True. Didn't think about that. I wanna go back to what you said, though. Haven't discussed what?"

"Him officially being my alpha and all that. I tried to initiate the conversation last night but I mentioned-"

My mouth snaps shut, remembering Simon's reaction to how Salvation handled the heats of the omegas they care for.

"I mentioned some things about Salvation and heats, but he... didn't take it well. Sliced his finger and just seemed so angry," I explain with a frown. "After we cleaned up the cut and I banaged it, he told me that all three of you would be here today. That all of you would listen to my story."

He stays silent for a while, removing pancakes from the pan and adding new batter.

"I won't ask for specifics. I'm sure I'll hear about it at some point, but, lass." He turns to me fully. The expression on his face reminds me of a puppy. "We're here for you. All of us - me, Cap, Kyle, and epsecially Simon. And there will be more on that list when you're ready."

Part of me wants to argue, but the rest of me just can't deny the adorable face he's making. So I sigh and nod my head.

"I appreciate it. I don't understand why that needs to be said, but I do appreciate it," I tell him softly and pick at the hem of the shirt of Simon's that I wore to bed last night.

"What's wrong, 13?" Simon says from the front door.

I can't see him and I can't smell him, but that was definitely his voice. Johnny smiles at me and nods in that direction so I slide off the counter and make my way to the front door.

There's multiple grocery bags hanging off of both of Simon's arms and I have to supress a laugh at the sight of him.

"What's wrong?" he asks again, voice serious.

"Nothing. Was just talking to Johnny. Let me take a few bags," I insist as I reach for his left arm.

"It'll put me off balance. I've got it," he says as he pulls his arm away. "Thank you, though," he adds like it's an after thought.

Then he shoos me to the living room as he makes his way to the kitchen. When he's done putting away the groceries, he joins me.

"Why did you think something was wrong?" I ask immediately from underneath the blanket he let me use last night.

"I could smell your distress," he says simply as he motions for me to come closer.

Confused, I slide closer and lay on my back with my head on his lap.

"You could... smell- I wasn't distressed, though." I frown up at him as his hand begins smoothing my hair back.

"You can't smell anything. Can you?" he asks softly.

"I can smell the pancakes just fine."

"I mean others' scents. You can't smell others. At least not well."

I consider what he's asking. It took being right up to him or wearing his clothes for me to know what he smelled like. Cinnamon and cedar, I can smell it now. But I don't know what Johnny smells like. And I couldn't tell him what anyone else smells like either.

"13," he calls to me and gently turns my head so I look directly at him. "What's going through your head?"

"I'm broken," I say softly. "I always knew I was, but... you're right. I can't smell anyone. I can only smell you if I'm close, like right now, or wearing something that you give me. I don't know what Johnny smells like-"

"Take a deep breath. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Do it with me," he instructs and begins doing so.

My eyes prick with tears but I follow his lead. When my eyes no longer hurt and my chest doesn't feel like there's cement in it, he speaks again.

"You're not broken, sweetheart. You've just been through things; a lot of things, I'm sure. Those things have not been kind to you. But I'm here to help you now. I'm here," he assures me, his hand still gently gliding over my hair. "Why you don't take a nap while we wait for the others? I'll stay right here with you, if you want."

His offer is tempting, but doesn't he have things he needs to do before Kyle and 'Cap' arrive?

"I think I'd rather shower then just... exist on the couch for a while. Until they get here. Selene can keep me company when I come back out."

Simon studies me for a moment and lets out a heavy breath.

"Alright, but if I detect even a hint of your distress, I'm either kicking down whichever door or coming back out here and-"

"Are you about to threaten me, the distressed omega?" I ask with a small smile.

"Yes," he nods. "I'm threatening you with being held and comforted."

Oh. That's... a different feeling. Set that aside for later, though...

For now I just get up, leaving the balnket on the couch, and make my way back to my room to gather clothes. I catch a glimpse of Johnny in the kitchen on my way through the house. He looks... so sad, but his focus is on the pancakes.

What I went through when I was with Salvation... was it really that bad?

Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | Part One

Tag List: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog @scaredyspooks @tessakate @one-really-annoying-tree-rat @nerdyphantomtheorist @gazsluckyhat @peanutismynickname @jeanzoriley-cod

[luvvzinspo]

(I HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER ❤️❤️)

I have a terrible idea, and I need to tell someone... imagine cuddling with Daisuke for the first time. Everything is fine, you lie on him, hugging him gently. when you suddenly feel his erection in his pants( idk how to explain it more, so iykyk) . He is so embrassed about it, But both of you don't comment on it (if you want you can change it). (You dont need to make NSFW, its your choice) You dont need to write this or anything, if you are uncomfortable, just leave it here

KISSES and have a nice day/ night 😘❤️

ans: okay, I'm not sure how exactly to write this, but hell yeah! 😼 (Btw yeah, I kinda got straight to the point aha)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

(read anon's question for summary)

(NSFW)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

•❀• You and daisuke were cuddling after a long day, your leg over his, his face pressed against your chest.

•❀• You hear him mumble something incoherent, and he shifts uncomfortably.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"You okay?"

"Uhm.. hah, yeah. I'm fine."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

•❀• He tries to cross his legs slightly, but it just seems to make whatever he's hiding even worse.

•❀• He looks up at you, so you tilt your head, obviously confused.

•❀• He shifts a bit more, and you feel something against your thigh, You look down. He's crazy, isn't he?

•❀• He knows you know, but he doesn't want to say anything just yet. He squeezes his eyes, hoping you won't say anything either.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Daisuke? Are you..? Um, I'm guessing you know what I'm talking about."

"W-Well, yeah!.. It's all your fault though, and it's a natural reaction so..!"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

•❀• His face gets completely red with blush, and he looks incredibly embarrassed and nervous.

•❀• He avoids your gaze, not wanting to continue the conversation. But you decided to speak up.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Do you wanna.. take care of it?"

"Wha—... Huh?!"

"I mean, we were about to go to bed, but I can like.. stroke you off, y'know?"

"...Yeah, okay.. I'd like that.."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

•❀• He tries to hide his excitement, but he's basically shaking. He sits up in the bed, and so do you.

•❀• You tug on his pants, he gasps slightly but lifts his hips, allowing you to pull them down, leaving him in only his boxers.

•❀• He looks at you, pleading, as you take his boxers off too, the fabric simply brushing against him is a little bit too much to handle.

•❀• Once they're all the way off, his erection springs free. He gently bites his lip, fighting the urge to just do it himself.

•❀• You wrap your hand around his hardened member, before slowly beginning to stroke him.

•❀• He lets out a shaky breath as your hand envelopes him, the feeling of your touch sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. He lets his head fall back against the pillows, his eyes fluttering shut as you start to move your hand.

•❀• His hips buck up involuntarily as you continue, your touch driving him insane. His breathing becoming heavier, his chest rising and falling with each pant as he moans softly.

•❀• He grips the sheets tightly, his knuckles turning white as he tries to hold back his release. His eyes snap open and he looks up at you, a pleading look in his eyes.

•❀• He can barely form words right now, but the desperation in his expression is clear. He’s so close to finishing already, but he wants to hold out a little longer.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"You're almost finished, already?"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

•❀• He nods eagerly, unable to speak as he struggles to keep himself from coming. His body is trembling with the effort, his breaths coming in short gasps. He can feel the heat pooling in his stomach, the tension building with every stroke of your hand. You decide to speed it up.

•❀• A strangled moan escapes his lips as you quicken your pace, his hips bucking up into your hand. He’s completely lost in the sensation, his mind clouded with pleasure. He can feel his climax approaching rapidly now, and he knows he won’t be able to hold it back much longer.

•❀• With a final gasp, he reaches his limit, his whole body tensing as he spills into your hand. He lets out a loud, drawn-out moan, his back arching off the bed as he rides out his orgasm. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes still squeezed shut.

•❀• You smirk slightly, proud of yourself, as he grabs onto your hand, exhausted.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Mmph.. thank you.."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

•❀• He mumbles against your chest, clearly tired from everything that just happened.

•❀• You rest your leg over his, and gently massage and scratch his scalp as you both return to cuddling.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

I might do a Q&A, idk, I'm so bored for some reason. But this was really fun to write, thanks anon!! 🎀

[luv-beam]

IM BAAAACK!!! i was gonna save this as my bedtime story, but then i realized i can't stay up tonight 😭 but all the better for me bc i get to read this little masterpiece early 😌:

• when you don't just have a feeling that today isn't going to go well, but it's DESTINED not to go well... good lord time to panic! also the description of the dress is so pretty rah like the quiet dignity and refinement over opulence, rhe soft rustling of the skirts,, u can really feel the vibe of the family thru this and also the tension w the fact that yn feels everything BUT perfect

• WHISPERING THAT A LADY'S VIRTUE LIES IN RESTRAINT OHHHHHH U CANT DO THIS TO ME NOT WHEN YN LITERALLY IS LIKE RESTRAINING HERSELF FROM HER OWN DESIRES THIS WHOLE FIC U CANT

• fun fact but corsets were never meant to be suffocatingly tight; its kind of just a modern stereotype, but im not mentioning this to diss ur writing or anything !!! 😭😭 i think the tightness of the corset and yns lack of room to breathe is a really important symbol that lends to how she's really feeling. like the physical connecting to the emotional

• okay another comment abt ur imagery bc ur descriptions of the palace are utterly breathtaking 🤧 like White Room Syndrome is scared of u, tara

• i know whats gonna happen, but like the tension and suspense u create is enough to have anyone on the edge of their seats!! like u dont need future sight to be anxious abt what's gonna happen. like will yn get out of this scot-free or will something horrible happen?

• "you are a xu, do not falter" ugh all the pressure and expectations yn is burdening herself w just continue to distress and weigh her down further...

• GIVE THIS GIRL A HUG 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

• i hate that i like,,, get their mother's argument. like im on yn and hao's side fs but also... idk i think she just had sm going on and like mental struggles can be just as harmful as physical ones. im glad hao is so compassionate, and that her mother does have some sympathy for her daughter

• (but i know what comes next 😭😭😭😭😭)

• "a splendid display of athleticism" PLS IM GONNA SNORT SKFNDKFNFNF seokmin does have a knack for brightening the room :'))) even i was trying to mope w our mc, but then that line made me break lol

• HOPE CAN BE A SLIPPERY CREATURE YES WE KNOW .

• TARA U WANT ME TO CRY DONT U (´Д⊂ヽ NOT IN THE WAY U LONG FOR?? THE CHASM BTWN UR FEELINGS AND HIS INDIFFERENCE???? EEEUUUGHHHH!!!

• i hate how supportive seok is being, like hope truly is a slippery creature. i feel like me and the mc both r getting strung along goddamn......

• love the details of the lady's tea and the garden party — great worldbuilding details to get me even more immersed

• AWWWH THE NEW DRESS, HER MAMA'S ADORATION FOR HER UGH 😭😭😭 i hate knowing the future. besides that, love the imagery of the dress like i can piece it together in my mind as if im sketching it out!! its so pretty :')) def befitting of a princess

• such a "slipping thru my fingers" moment 🤧🤧 like it's so starkly different from the time yn was getting ready for the debut presentation where she was just worried and freaking out; now she and her mom are /laughing/ and tho there r expectations, this will undoubtedly ease a couple of those worries

• oh the the anticipation is killing me — and then the ball is positively dismal >~<

• I WAS WAITING FOR SEOK TO FINALLY COME BY AND OFFER A DANCE LIKE UR YNS BESTIE COME HERE AND GIVE HER A HAND BY ASKING FOR HER HAND WINK WINK

• the mamas leading an army line is so funny lol and who said women cant fight??

• BRUH i just speedran five different emotions like HOLY SHIT I LOVE SEOK > holy shit. does he love yn back? > holy shit this hurts > holy... shit... > oh fck. like the immediate realization that snaps into place when u out two and two together. i wanna say she's jumping to conclusions based on seok's initial surprise, but im also cynical like yn is being in this moment and yeah... idk

• OPEN HONEST DEVASTATING. TAKE A KNIFE THROUGH MY HEART ALREADY THE WAY THOSE THREE WORDS PUNCTURE MY CHEST

• the "how foolish of me" not only meant for the fact that she thought he'd gone into this w pure intentions, but also foolish of herself for believeing he actually wanted to dance w her, that she actually had a chance w him... oh i want to yeet myself off a cliff

• omg the argument btwn yn and hao... tensions were high, im afraid... like idk if chucking a shoe at his face was supposed to be funny but i feel yns fury and the angry tears like i know there were better ways to go abt this, but i am all for female rage!!!

• "the bitterness in ur chest is a wellspring of anguish" OHHHHHH 😭😭😭😭😭 oh 😭 like it's catching up to her now. also, just the fact that hope is so slippery and caused her to make her entire reputation crumble is just... someone give this girl a hug, she was not built for this

• YOU'VE TAKEN SOMETHING PRECIOUS FROM ME???? some might say its her dignity, her reputation, her agency,,,, but we all know what it really was... or who...... i love snarling female rage dialogue

• do u know the taylor swift "right where u left me"? yeah thats this whole next section 😭💔 baby just becomes a ghost who haunts the place she was abandoned and wronged

• THAT LAST LINE IS LIKE THE EXECUTIONER'S PULL ON THE PULLEY TO LET THE GUILLOTINE BLADE FLY. LIKE OH THE POWER OF A SINGLE LINE LIKE THAT

despite knowing what was gonna happen, it still hit so hard, or rather, EVEN HARDER this time 😭😭😭 like my mouth is pulled into a permanent frown skcnekfnjf IM SO SAD FOR HER LIKE I DONT MIND BEING A SPINSTER MYSELF, BUT THE EXPECTATIONS THAT COME W HER SOCIAL STATION WONT ALLOW HER TO BE 😭😭😭 she will forecer be haunted by her choises and foolishness and im so sad for her 😭😭😭 tara, u are a cruel (yet talented...) mistress 😭

i... will be back tmrw... 🥲👍

The Somerset Affair | Chapter 2: When the Music Stops

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.8k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, crying, mentions of a panic attack (not being able to breathe), eventual smut, more to be added a/n: sorry sorry i know ch 2 took forever // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // 3rd chapter will be up faster than this one i swear!!!

summary: when the music stops and everything goes wrong, will seokmin always be there to defend you?

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here!

The morning of your debut should have been perfect. Every detail had been painstakingly planned over months, from the delicate lace of your gown to the pearls in your hair. But as you sit in front of your vanity, eyes bloodshot and heavy with fatigue, you know deep in your bones that this day is not destined to go smoothly.

You had stayed up the entire night, restless, thinking about Seokmin. Every word he had said, every smile, every fleeting touch that had seemed so innocent before now felt charged with meaning, occupying your thoughts and stealing away any hope of restful sleep. The result was staring back at you in the mirror: bloodshot eyes, dark circles beneath them, and lips that trembled as your maid worked tirelessly to dress you. It’s a pity – no amount of powders or rouge can hide the exhaustion and heartbreak written plainly across your face.

The soft rustling of your white debutante gown fills the room, each movement whispering of elegance and careful tradition. The gown is a masterful creation, carefully chosen by your mother months ago to reflect the quiet dignity of your family’s name. Its bodice is fitted, meticulously embroidered with the finest ivory threads that weave delicate patterns of lilies and vines across the fabric, adding dimension without overpowering.

Around the neckline, a border of tiny pearls catches the morning light, giving the gown a subtle shimmer that, like everything else about it, speaks of refinement over opulence. The gown’s sleeves, long and sheer, are trimmed in lace as fine as a spider’s web, designed to lay gently against your skin rather than cling, as if even the gown itself recognizes the demands of decorum.

The skirts cascade from the waist in a perfect fall of lace and satin, layers upon layers of gossamer fabric that float with your every step. Each layer, though fragile to the touch, is artfully arranged to maintain the gown’s perfect shape, a testament to the skill of its makers and the patience it took to assemble. At the hem, more intricate lacework peeks out, creating a subtle scalloped edge that brushes softly against the floor, finishing the gown with a grace that echoes the restraint of your mother’s discerning eye.

You cannot deny that the gown itself is a marvel, designed to highlight and enhance rather than dominate. It is beautiful, in the way a rose is beautiful—with an elegance that feels both timeless and delicate, whispering that a lady’s virtue lies in restraint, in never asking to be noticed and yet never failing to command attention.

But the corset. Oh, the corset. It felt as though it were designed to squeeze the very life from you.

“Breathe in, my lady,” your maid instructs, her voice strained from the effort of pulling at the stiff fabric. She pulls at the stays until your ribs protest in pain.

“I can’t breathe in anymore,” you bite out, trying and failing to draw in a proper breath. The corset feels like it’s made of iron, constricting your lungs until your vision begins to blur. “It’s too tight. I— I can’t—”

But your lady’s maid is relentless, ignoring your protests as she cinches you even tighter. She ties the final knot with a satisfied sigh. “There. That should hold.”

Hold? It felt more like it was keeping you prisoner, you think grimly, but before you can voice any more complaints, your mother sweeps into the room, her graceful presence filling the space with a quiet authority. Dressed in an elegant gown of soft gray silk, she pauses to take in your appearance, her sharp eyes noting every detail.

Your mother’s eyes scan your dress approvingly, but when her gaze lands on your face, her expression falters. “Dearest, you look... unwell.”

Your heart sinks. “I didn’t sleep much last night,” you confess, eyes cast downward, though you don’t dare mention why. The last thing you need is your mother knowing Seokmin has occupied your thoughts in such a way.

Your mother sighs softly and moves to stand beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “This day is important, darling. I had hoped you would be well-rested, but...” She trails off, her tone not unkind, but laced with concern. “There is no time now to dwell on it. The Queen waits for no one.”

You nod, feeling a rush of guilt, knowing how much effort has gone into preparing you for this moment. But the weight of the corset and your sleepless night are conspiring to make you feel utterly overwhelmed. Your mother notices, of course. She always does.

“Try not to worry too much,” she says, her voice softening, though it still holds that undercurrent of expectation. “You must keep your chin high, shoulders back. No one need know what little sleep you had. You are beautiful, my dear, no matter the circumstances.”

Her words, though comforting, do little to ease the anxiety building in your chest. But there’s no time left. Your lady’s maid places the final pearl pins in your hair, and your mother gives you a reassuring squeeze before she gestures toward the door. “It’s time.”

Your nerves flutter violently as you’re escorted downstairs and into the awaiting carriage. The ride to the palace feels both endless and far too short. Every bump in the road jostles your already-tight corset, pressing against your ribs and leaving you breathless. The palace is as magnificent as you had heard—no, it’s more. The palace itself is a marvel of architecture, an opulent structure that seems more the work of fantasy than reality. Vaulted ceilings soar impossibly high, held aloft by marble columns adorned with delicate carvings of ivy and mythical creatures that seem to come to life in the flickering candlelight. Every archway is flanked by gilded moldings, winding and curling like golden vines, each detail rendered with the precision of a master sculptor.

Each corner, each angle of the palace seems to lead to something grander than the last, as if it were designed to swallow you whole in beauty. And perhaps it is, you think, as you press a hand over your fluttering heart. For despite the elegance, there is an undeniable sense of intimidation in the sheer scale of it all—a reminder of how small you are in the face of such a place, and of the scrutiny that awaits within these towering, timeworn walls.

You can feel the architecture itself imposing upon you, weighing down like the firm hand of tradition. For a fleeting moment, you imagine yourself wandering through the palace alone, exploring every column and arch, free of the hundreds of eyes upon you. But here, now, with the gaze of history and expectation pressing down, you straighten your shoulders, drawing in a steadying breath, and follow your Mama into the Great Hall. 

The hall is grander than anything you had even dared to imagine. The polished marble floors shine like glass, capturing reflections in delicate ripples that turn the passing gowns of debutantes into pools of lace and silk. Chandeliers hang from above, so immense and dazzling that they appear to drip crystal stars. They illuminate the room with a glow that is almost celestial, casting every inch of the hall in a warmth befitting the Queen herself.

To your right and left, mirrors taller than any man stretch to the ceiling, framed in gold leaf as intricate as lacework. The mirrors hold your gaze as you pass, capturing the girls beside you as they float forward with their mothers, each one a shimmering, blushing vision in white. You see yourself in these mirrors too, and although the gown fits you perfectly, somehow you feel like you’re wearing another’s skin. For a moment, you imagine your reflection whispering back, “Are you really here?”

The walls are covered in the richest velvet, deep greens and ruby reds that somehow make the hall feel even grander, as if you’ve stepped into the very heart of royalty itself. Enormous portraits of past queens and kings line the hall, each gaze strong and serene, as if they’re assessing every girl who dares to walk beneath their painted eyes. Somewhere in your chest, a knot forms and tightens. It’s strange, the feeling of being surrounded by so much opulence, as if the walls are watching, waiting for something that only they understand.

And perhaps that’s why your breath is so unsteady, why your heartbeat seems to echo through the hall in time with your footsteps. The palace, beautiful as it is, leaves you feeling like a creature of some lesser world, an intruder who has somehow wandered into a realm that does not belong to you. It’s not so much a place as a spectacle, a stunning, overbearing reminder of all that you must live up to, of all the scrutiny you’ll face from these grand walls, these glittering chandeliers, and yes, the very Queen herself. Every step feels like you are walking deeper into a lion’s den, where your every move will be scrutinized, your worth as a young lady judged by the sharpest eyes in the kingdom.

You move with the other debutantes, each girl dressed in white, adorned with jewels and delicate veils, the picture of youth and grace. The line seems to stretch forever as you wait your turn to be announced. The air is thick with anticipation, the rustle of satin and silk as the ladies murmur quietly to one another, some excited, others as nervous as you feel. Your own dress, despite its beauty, feels like a trap. The corset restricts your every breath, and the weight of expectation presses on your shoulders like a leaden cloak.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the room, your nerves growing worse by the second. And then, in the far corner, you spot them. Minghao stands with an air of composure, his eyes quietly observing the room, his presence as regal as ever. Your brother watches the proceedings with a detached elegance, his eyes flickering over the debutantes without much interest. His gaze flicks to you, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of calm knowing your brother is watching.

But next to him, is Seokmin.

He stands taller than most, his posture rigid but his face warm, though tinged with concern. While your brother is a portrait of his birthright and title, Seokmin is different. His gaze is sharper, more intent, and when his eyes find yours, the familiar comfort of his presence makes your heart stutter. You try to remind yourself to breathe, but the memory of his touch, his words, from the night prior clings to you like a shadow.

Seokmin’s expression softens when he sees you, and for a moment, the whole room seems to fall away. His lips quirk in a small, reassuring smile, and though you try to return it, your own face feels tight, your nerves too frayed to muster anything convincing.

As if sensing your unease, Seokmin’s eyes narrow with concern. Does he notice how your corset presses too tightly into your ribs? Or how your eyes are puffy from lack of sleep? The warmth in his gaze is mixed with a flicker of something unreadable, something almost protective. You are painfully aware of his gaze, and the thought of him watching you stumble through this day feels like too much to bear.

The line of debutantes inches forward, each young lady presented with grace and poise, or at least, the appearance of it. Your nerves churn violently in your stomach as your name is finally called. Your mother tightens her grip, ever so slightly, and it’s a silent reminder – You are a Xu. Do not falter. 

“Miss Y/N Xu, sister of the Duke of Somerset,” the herald crows, and every eye in the room fixes on you. “Presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Dowager Duchess of Somerset.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you take your first step forward, your skirts swishing around you. The weight of the gown, the tightness of your corset, and the heavy stares from all corners of the room press down on you. You try to steady your breathing, but the corset refuses to allow for even that small comfort.

Just as you take a step, disaster strikes.

Your heel catches on the hem of your gown.

You stumble forward, arms flailing slightly to catch yourself, but the weight of your skirts and the tightness of your corset make it impossible to recover gracefully. A collective gasp echoes through the room, and you feel your cheeks flush with mortification.

The whispers are instant, rippling through the crowd like wildfire. You can feel the stares—sharp, judgmental, unforgiving. Your mother’s grip tightens, and though she says nothing, you can feel her disapproval radiating through her hold. She doesn’t need to scold you—not in public. But the sting of her disappointment is enough to make you want to shrink into the floor.

Still, you manage to regain your footing, if only barely. You take a shaky breath and continue forward, your knees trembling with each step. But it gets worse. With every move, the corset seems to tighten further, squeezing the breath from your lungs until black spots dance in the corners of your vision.

Just as you’re about to curtsy before the Queen, your knees buckle.

A choking cough rips from your throat, loud and desperate, echoing through the grand hall. You’re bent over at the waist, gasping for breath, your corset pressing tighter with every moment. You cough again, and again, unable to stop, your eyes watering as you struggle to compose yourself.

The Queen, perched on her throne in all her regal glory, watches with a raised eyebrow, her disapproval palpable. Her expression is one of distaste, as if you are a spectacle—an amusing disaster.

Your mother murmurs beside you, “Steady yourself,” and her grip tightens with fury and disappointment in equal measure. It’s too late. Your corset has robbed you of the ability to breathe, and the weight of the entire room’s gaze crushes you. Your vision swims again, and for one horrifying moment, you think you might faint right there in front of the Queen.

Finally, you manage to straighten yourself, gasping for air, your face flushed and tear-streaked. You risk a glance toward the far side of the room, where Minghao and Seokmin still stand.

Minghao’s face is impassive, though his eyes are dark with what could only be disappointment. Seokmin, on the other hand, looks as though he might bolt across the room to help you. His hands clench at his sides, his jaw tight as his eyes flick between you and the Queen.

The Queen’s cold, cutting voice slices through the silence. “Miss Xu,” she says slowly, her tone dripping with disapproval. “It seems you are... unwell.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You manage a wobbly curtsy, your knees nearly giving out beneath you again as you lower yourself.

“Perhaps Miss Y/N should reconsider her readiness for society,” the Queen continues icily. “A young lady of such delicate constitution may not be suited for the rigors of court.”

Her words land like a blow. You rise slowly, trying to keep your chin held high, though your hands tremble and your vision remains blurry from the humiliation. All you want is for this moment to end. To disappear.

As you retreat, the whispers rise in volume, filling the grand hall with gossip and speculation. You can feel the weight of every gaze on you, every judgment passed in an instant. But it is Seokmin’s gaze that you search for in the crowd. His eyes meet yours, and though they are filled with concern, they are also gentle, understanding. A small comfort in the midst of your disaster.

Your mother, ever composed, whispers to you as she leads you from the room, her voice calm but firm. “We will speak of this later, darling. But for now, we must leave with grace.”

You nod weakly, still too breathless and embarrassed to respond. And as you step out of the grand hall, the day that was supposed to mark your entrance into society feels like anything but. All you can think about is how miserably everything went wrong—and how, even in the midst of it all, Seokmin’s gaze had found yours, steady and unwavering.

The silence presses on as the carriage trundles through the city streets, each wheel hitting the cobbles with a sound like a hammer to your heart. You’re trapped, here in this carriage, with no escape from your mother’s disappointment or the day’s memories—the whispered laughter, the blunder before the Queen, and the sheer, unbearable heat of your mortification.

Minghao’s hand rests over yours for only a heartbeat, but it’s enough to keep you from crumbling entirely. Though he releases your hand quickly to avoid Mama’s watchful eye, the gesture is enough to ground you, pulling you back to this place instead of letting you spiral into all the things you could have, should have done differently.

At last, your mother clears her throat, a carefully composed sound that cuts through the quiet like a knife.

“Well,” she says, her voice clipped and precise, “that was… quite the spectacle.” Her tone is a blend of disappointment and a tight, forced restraint. “I had hoped, naturally, for a… more dignified presentation.”

You swallow, feeling the flush of embarrassment burn anew. “I—” you start, but the words catch, failing under the weight of everything you wish to explain and the knowledge that no explanation will undo what’s done.

She adjusts her gloves with a sharp, precise tug, a calculated movement that somehow manages to convey her frustration without a single word. “I trust,” she begins slowly, every syllable measured, “that you understand the gravity of today’s events.”

You swallow, focusing on the intricate embroidery of your gown, tracing the delicate threads to distract yourself from the pressing sting of her words.

“Mother, I—” you stammer, but she holds up a gloved hand, silencing you before the words even form.

“We spent months preparing for this moment,” she continues, her voice tight with restrained emotion. “Months, to ensure you would have the debut any young lady of our family should. Your dress, your bearing, every detail was attended to so you would represent us with grace, with decorum. And yet, today…” She trails off, her eyes gliding over you with a look that could curdle milk.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Minghao interjects quietly, and though his tone is gentle, there’s a faint edge to his words, as though even he cannot quite hold back his defense. He shoots a quick, sidelong glance at you, a small, reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The Queen’s hall was suffocating, and the entire affair was clearly designed to unnerve anyone in attendance.”

Your mother’s expression softens just a fraction as she regards her son, but she’s hardly swayed. “The Queen’s hall has been the site of countless debuts. If anything, the occasion called for composure, not… fainting spells.”

You clench your fists, the fabric of your dress twisting between your fingers, and look resolutely at the floor. As painful as it is to hear, you know your mother is not entirely wrong. Today was supposed to be your moment of triumph, the day you stepped forward as a young woman ready for society, carrying your family’s reputation with poise and dignity.

But instead, you remember the heat that had pressed in from all sides, the feeling of your corset cutting into your ribs, how your hands had trembled with each step. It was supposed to have been an easy task, to walk forward, cursty, and meet the Queen’s gaze with calm respect. And yet, you had felt every gaze upon you like a burn, each stumble echoing through the endless hall. And then, Seokmin’s eyes finding yours, calm and steady…

The memory stirs something warm within you, a faint flicker of relief that somehow dampens the embarrassment. The Queen’s gaze may have been unyielding, your mother’s disappointment all-consuming, but for that one moment, you had felt tethered, no longer alone.

Outside, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the city as the carriage continues its steady roll homeward. The silence stretches again, and the weight of it settles around you like an invisible veil. Minghao catches your eye, and though he says nothing, the look he gives you speaks volumes—a quiet reassurance, a reminder that this one day does not define you, that he still believes in you despite every misstep.

Your mother finally sighs, a faint softening in her shoulders. “We’ll regroup,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “There will be more opportunities, of course, but we’ll need to be mindful, thoughtful. A second chance may not be as kind.” She glances at you, and though her expression remains stern, there’s a glimmer of something almost like understanding.

The carriage ride stretches on in silence once more, each of you lost in thoughts. You glance out the window, watching the city roll by, lanterns casting fleeting golden glows against the carriage walls. It feels surreal, how a day so longed for turned into a series of mishaps, one after another. But as the carriage rounds a corner, you catch a memory from earlier: Seokmin’s eyes, grounding you, unwavering, somehow knowing how terrifying each step felt, how every misstep seemed amplified beneath the weight of so many watching.

As the carriage wheels finally begin to slow, approaching the gates of your family estate, you feel a shift within yourself. Today may have been a disaster, and yet, Seokmin’s gaze and Minghao’s quiet support linger, like small anchors in the storm of the day.

The drawing room is a sanctuary of elegance, its ornate moldings and rich fabrics designed to impress. Tall windows frame the view of the manicured gardens outside, sunlight pouring through in golden streams that dance across the polished wooden floor. Yet, despite the beauty surrounding you, it feels more like a gilded cage today. The delicate scent of lavender from the nearby vase does little to soothe the turmoil within.

You sit hunched over a needlepoint project, your fingers fumbling with the bright threads that feel foreign against your skin. The canvas before you, a swirl of colors and patterns, seems to mock your inability to focus. Your mind wanders far beyond the needlework, replaying the events of your disastrous debut like a never-ending nightmare. Each time you think of it, a fresh wave of humiliation washes over you, sharp and unyielding, like a thorn that refuses to dislodge itself from your heart.

“Goodness, how is one expected to focus with this nonsense?” you mutter under your breath, the needle slipping from your fingers yet again and leaving a careless knot in the thread. You curse softly, frustration bubbling to the surface.

Your mother sits comfortably in her armchair, her brow slightly furrowed as she loses herself in the pages of a novel, the rustle of paper punctuating the silence. Minghao lounges on the settee across from you, flipping through a collection of sketches, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement at his artistic efforts. Every so often, his gaze flickers towards you, a mixture of concern and curiosity etched into his features, but he respects your silence, understanding that you are still recovering from the scarring events of your debut into polite society.

Just then, the door swings open, and Seokmin steps into the room, his presence a burst of light that seems to chase away the shadows clinging to your thoughts. It has been years since the butler last announced his arrival—his visits are far too frequent now, and you can’t help but feel a mix of warmth and apprehension at his entrance. His usually buoyant demeanor is tempered by a trace of concern as he takes in the scene before him, the way your shoulders droop as if weighed down by invisible chains.

“Good morning!” he declares, his voice bright yet careful, testing the waters of your melancholy. “I do hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” your mother replies, glancing up from her book, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “In fact, you may be just what our dear girl needs.”

You offer a small, half-hearted smile, the corners of your lips barely lifting. “And what would that be? A distraction or a dose of reality?”

Seokmin approaches, his smile as warm as the sunlight flooding the room. “A bit of both, if you’ll allow me.” He perches himself on the arm of your chair, leaning in just enough to draw your focus from the needlepoint chaos. “That was quite the debut you had, dear friend. How are you holding up?”

“Barely,” you sigh, tossing the errant needlepoint aside as if it were the source of all your woes. “I feel as if I’ve stumbled through a door marked ‘exit’ into an abyss of mortification.”

His eyes widen with sympathy, and in that moment, your heart flutters, torn between admiration and the painful reality that he may never feel the same. Seokmin has a way of making the world feel lighter, yet your feelings for him are a weight that often threatens to pull you under.

“Ah, yes,” he nods sagely, as if you have just shared the most profound wisdom. “The abyss of polite society can be quite unforgiving. I believe it’s marked with ‘no entrance’ signs, but alas, they are easily overlooked.”

Minghao chuckles softly, his attention now fully diverted from his sketches. “You do have a gift for exaggeration, Seokmin.”

“It’s a talent,” Seokmin replies, feigning an air of grandeur, his hand pressing dramatically to his heart. “But truly, do not let the Queen’s judgment define you. You are far too radiant for that.”

You snort, the sound escaping before you can suppress it. “Radiant? Is that what you call it when one trips over their own gown and nearly faints in front of our sovereign?”

“Why, yes! A splendid display of athleticism!” he shoots back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve inadvertently entertained a room full of people—something they are certain to remember for ages.”

“But not in the way I had hoped,” you reply, frustration seeping into your voice as the memory of the evening flashes before your eyes, a storm of embarrassment churning within you.

“Ah, but hope can be a slippery creature,” he counters, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “What matters is how you choose to move forward. I have heard of many a lady whose debut was marred by similar accidents—yet they rise from the ashes like phoenixes, dazzling everyone with their resilience.”

“Is that your way of saying I should make a grand return to society?” You raise an eyebrow, your heart flickering with the suggestion. “Perhaps adorned in feathers and sequins to distract from my previous mistake?”

“I’d be the first to support such a feat,” he replies earnestly, the sincerity in his voice a soothing balm for your frayed nerves. But beneath your amusement lies an aching truth: his encouragement only highlights the chasm between your feelings and his indifference. He will never look at you the way you long for.

“Yes, Lord Lee, what a wonderful idea!” your mother exclaims, her book long forgotten. “The Fitzwilliam Ball is to be held in the coming weeks—what a splendid way for our darling girl to re-enter society!”

Your face falls. A ball? So soon? The very thought sends a tremor of panic racing through you. “Mama, I—”

“Yes, Mother, a splendid idea indeed,” Minghao muses, a teasing glint in his eye. When you turn your glare to him, he sticks his tongue out meanly, and Seokmin suppresses a chuckle.

You take a deep breath, fighting against the swell of anxiety rising in your chest. “I’m not certain I’m ready for another ball, not after—” you start, but the words die on your lips as Seokmin’s gaze locks onto yours. His expression is gentle yet determined, a silent encouragement that stirs something deep within you.

“Ready or not, life moves on,” he says softly, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “You have to take the reins, even if the prospect is daunting.”

You want to believe him, to embrace his unwavering optimism, but doubt gnaws at you. Can you truly face another crowd, the whispers, the judgment? Your heart flutters erratically, caught in a tempest of affection and despair. Seokmin’s eyes shine with an earnestness that quickens your pulse, yet it only reminds you of the gulf that lies between your feelings and his casual indifference.

“Life indeed moves on,” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. “But what if I stumble again? What if I make an even greater fool of myself?”

Seokmin’s smile falters for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of understanding that cuts through the air like a knife. “We all stumble, but that’s how we learn to rise,” he replies, his tone steady yet soft. “And besides, I’ll be there. I promise I’ll help you navigate any disaster.”

His words wrap around you like a lifeline, a flicker of hope igniting your heart. But as the warmth of his promise settles in, a cold weight begins to press upon you. You look into his eyes, searching for something more, but find only the steadfast gaze of a friend—someone who would catch you if you fell, but only as a friend.

“Right,” you murmur, the pain of acceptance settling in your chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding, a reminder of the distance between you.

The late evening light filters softly through the sheer curtains of your room, casting a warm glow that barely reaches the pile of books haphazardly stacked beside your bed. These books, filled with tales of love and adventure, have provided a much-needed refuge from the reality of your recent debut. For days now, you’ve chosen to cocoon yourself in their comforting embrace, avoiding the whispers and curious glances of society that followed you after your disastrous introduction.

You had resolutely refused to attend any of the society events your mother deemed essential—the lady’s tea, with its orchestrated conversations and veiled judgments, or the garden party, where laughter seemed to echo around you while you felt only isolation. The thought of facing the same debutantes, the same mamas, their glances lingering a moment too long on you, made your stomach churn. Instead, you preferred the solace of your room, the pages of your books offering both distraction and comfort as you lost yourself in worlds far removed from the judgmental eyes of the ton.

But tonight, your mother is insistent. At last, the Fitzwilliam Ball is upon you, and you have no escape from your mother’s gentle chiding. “Darling,” she calls gently, her voice a melody that pulls you from the pages of your latest escape. The delicate scent of lavender wafts through the air as she steps into the room, her presence commanding yet warm. It is an unusual moment—your lady’s maid typically oversees your dressing, managing the layers of fabric and the intricate details of your ensemble. But today, it is your mother who steps into that role, a significant act that carries with it the weight of her affection and a chance to bridge the gap that your previous missteps had created.

“It’s time to get ready, my dear,” she says, her tone gentle but firm, as she approaches your wardrobe. As she opens the doors, the sight of your gown hanging inside takes your breath away.

The dress, an ethereal creation of lavender silk, shimmers like moonlight trapped in fabric. The bodice is adorned with intricate embroidery that depicts delicate vines and blossoms, each stitch telling a story of artistry and care. The sleeves are fitted, with lace cascading down to create a soft ruffle at the wrist, and the skirt flows in layers, each tier of lace and silk billowing like clouds as it moves. It is a gown befitting a princess, meticulously designed to showcase your family’s esteemed standing while allowing a hint of youthful exuberance to shine through.

“This gown is truly magnificent,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the embroidered flowers as your mother gently lifts it from the wardrobe. “I can’t believe you chose it yourself.”

“Of course, I did. It’s time for your grand re-entrance to society, after all,” she replies, a smile dancing on her lips as she helps you into the gown. The fabric wraps around you like a dream, soft and luxurious, but as your mother laces the bodice, the realization of how tightly it pulls leaves you breathless. Each tug of the laces feels like a reminder of the expectations that have come to define you, but your mother’s presence softens the edges of that pressure.

Yet, it is not discomfort that fills the room. Instead, the sounds of your mother’s laughter and intelligence wrap themselves around you. Your mother’s hands are gentle as she fastens each lace, her fingers brushing against your skin in a manner that reassures you. The stern disappointment of your debut, where you felt like a shadow beneath the weight of expectations, seems to dissipate, replaced by her usual grace and kindness. As she works, her voice drifts like a melody, recounting stories from her own youth, her laughter echoing softly against the mirror as if the memories bring light to the room.

With every loop of ribbon and every gentle tug, she weaves a tapestry of love and support, a tangible reminder that tonight is not merely a duty but a celebration of who you are. As she arranges your hair into an elegant updo, delicately weaving in pearl pins that glimmer like stars, you catch a glimpse of the woman she has always been beneath the layers of propriety. The warmth of her presence washes over you, igniting a flicker of hope that perhaps tonight will mark a new beginning.

“Are you ready?” she asks, stepping back to admire her handiwork, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“I suppose as ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, taking a moment to admire your reflection. The gown transforms you into a vision of beauty, yet beneath the surface, you feel a tempest of uncertainty swirling within you.

“Now, let’s see what your brother thinks.” Your mother gestures toward the door, and as you descend the staircase, your heart quickens with every step.

At the foot of the stairs, Minghao waits patiently, the embodiment of duty and familial pride. His presence, regal and calm, adds to the moment’s gravity. Dressed in a tailored coat that accentuates his stature, he stands as the dutiful son and duke, ready to escort both you and your mother to the ball. The contrast between his composed demeanor and your own fluttering heart is stark, yet comforting. As you make your way down the stairs, your mother’s gentle squeeze of your hand gives you a modicum of strength, each step drawing you closer to the world outside that awaits your return.

“Sister,” Mighao greets, mirth dancing in his eyes. “I suppose if tonight is your big night, this gown does not offend the eyes.”

“Minghao!” Your mother’s rebuke is instant, a gentle reprimand that lightens the atmosphere with her authority.

“For goodness’ sake, brother,” you admonish, donning a façade of false bravado to hide the anxiety swirling within. “It seems as if you would simply keel over before you ever paid me a proper compliment!” You attempt to feign indignation, but the corners of your mouth betray you with the hint of a smile.

As you reach the bottom step, he extends his arm, a silent invitation to escort both you and your mother to the ball. It’s a gesture of duty, but there’s an undertone of affection that brings warmth to your heart. He may be the dutiful son and duke, poised and impeccably dressed in his tailored attire, but in this moment, he is simply your brother—standing beside you as a steadfast protector against the uncertainties of the evening ahead.

Your mother glances at both of you, her eyes sparkling with pride and a hint of nostalgia. “Shall we?” she prompts, her voice carrying a note of excitement that sends a flutter through your stomach.

With a deep breath, you take Minghao’s arm, feeling the reassuring strength of his presence as he leads you both toward the waiting carriage. The air outside is brisk, filled with the scent of blooming jasmine and the distant hum of music preparing to fill the grand halls. Each step you take resonates with the rhythm of your heartbeat, a mix of trepidation and hope.

As you settle into the plush interior of the carriage, the door closes with a soft click, sealing you away from the familiar confines of home and ushering you into a world of possibility. The grandeur of the evening awaits, and as the carriage rolls forward, the cobblestones beneath you echo with the anticipation of what’s to come.

You can’t shake the feeling that this night holds the promise of something new—perhaps redemption, or at the very least, the opportunity to reclaim your place among the society that had once felt so cruel. As the carriage sways gently with each turn, you steal a glance at your mother and brother, their expressions a blend of excitement and encouragement. In this moment, surrounded by their unwavering support, you begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, tonight could be different.

Fate is certainly a cruel mistress—despite your greatest hopes, the ball is positively dismal.

The ballroom is every bit as grand as you’d imagined—no, grander. Chandeliers dripping with golden light cascade overhead, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the polished marble floor. The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of roses and jasmine, mingling with the lively music of the orchestra, where violins soar and the occasional trill of laughter punctuates the harmony. Silks and satins swirl in every direction as the season’s debutantes twirl with their suitors, their gowns a riot of color that makes you feel like a ghost in comparison.

But none of it feels as magical as you once thought it would. Instead, you stand to the side, clutching the silk of your gown, its intricate lace and delicate pearls feeling like a weight rather than a luxury. Your mother had ensured that every stitch was perfect, every detail immaculate, to help erase the memory of your disastrous debut. Yet, it hasn’t worked. The whispers haven’t stopped. Even here, amidst the splendor, you can feel the gazes sliding over you, only to dart away, as if your very presence is a reminder of your failure.

The other debutantes are radiant, their smiles bright as they are swept onto the dance floor by handsome, eligible gentlemen. But you... you might as well be invisible.

Your heart sinks as you watch them, a heavy weight settling in your chest. This is meant to be a night of joy and celebration, yet you feel like a fragile glass ornament left behind, forgotten in the bustle of a festive occasion. The laughter and music create a vibrant tapestry of life around you, but inside, you’re drowning in a sea of insecurity and self-doubt.

Just when despair threatens to envelop you entirely, a presence beside you breaks through the haze. Seokmin, as effortlessly charming as ever, sidles up, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” he remarks, his voice low so only you can hear. “I’m certain some of these mamas could lead an army with the way they maneuver their daughters.”

You blink at him, surprised by his lightheartedness. Despite the heat of embarrassment burning your cheeks, a smile pulls at your lips, momentarily pushing aside the shadows clouding your heart.

Before you can respond, he holds his hand out to you, a silent invitation, and for a moment, you hesitate. Seokmin, who could have any lady in the room, is asking you to dance? Your heart stutters, a wild flutter of hope mingling with anxiety, and you glance around, acutely aware of the whispers beginning to stir again. People are noticing the exchange, their eyes narrowing in speculation. But Seokmin stands before you, his hand outstretched, waiting with an easy confidence that momentarily disarms you.

With a deep breath, you place your gloved hand in his, and he leads you to the center of the ballroom as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The moment your feet hit the floor, however, the murmurs begin in earnest, slicing through the enchantment that had briefly settled around you.

“Isn’t that the girl?” someone whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. “The one who fainted?”

“I’d heard,” another voice chimes in, “that no one would ask her to dance. Poor dear, but what did she expect after such a performance?”

You keep your eyes firmly fixed on Seokmin, but each word is like a needle, sharp and painful, pricking at your composure. The worst of it comes when you catch sight of one of the mamas, her face set in a smirk as she whispers to her daughter—the same daughter you had once taken pianoforte lessons with. The girl lets out a small, mean-spirited laugh, and your stomach twists, the laughter echoing like a death toll.

The memory of your debut hangs over you like a dark cloud, heavy and suffocating. Your embarrassment simmers, threatening to boil over. The murmurs become unbearable, and instinctively, you move to pull away from Seokmin, ready to flee. But before you can, his grip tightens, firm but gentle.

“Leaving so soon?” he teases, his voice low and playful, a lifeline in the midst of the storm. “Didn’t your mama teach you it’s bad manners to leave in the middle of a dance?”

You try to focus on his words, on the feel of his hand in yours, but it’s no use. You feel like every eye is on you, dissecting your every movement, judging, whispering, laughing. Seokmin is a shield, but he can’t block all the venom aimed at you.

“I can’t—” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but Seokmin cuts you off.

He reaches up, loosening a perfectly pinned curl from your hair, letting it fall gently by your cheek. His eyes are soft, almost tender, and in that moment, you feel something flutter to life in your chest. “Eyes on me, Tulip,” he murmurs, and the way he says it—so calm, so sure—makes your heart skip a beat.

For the briefest moment, you think he might love you. That despite the gossip, despite the humiliation, Seokmin sees you—the girl beneath the debutante, the one who has admired him from afar for so long. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Minghao. He stands by the edge of the ballroom, watching. And then—he nods. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but Seokmin notices, and he nods back.

Your blood runs cold.

You blink up at Seokmin, the warmth in your chest turning to ice. “Did you do this because Minghao asked you to?” The words slip out before you can stop them, low and desperate, laced with betrayal.

Seokmin’s brow furrows. “Do what?”

“This. The dance.” You glance around at the swirling crowd, the eyes that have never left you. “The attention. Did you ask me because he wanted you to? To salvage my prospects?”

His confusion is genuine, but the truth is written in his face—open, honest, and devastating. He hesitates, and it’s all you need to know.

“Damn you,” you whisper, voice shaking with fury and hurt. His eyes widen, shocked by the venom in your voice, the curse slipping from your lips like something foreign. “Damn you, Lee Seokmin.”

“Y/N—” he starts, his voice softening, trying to explain, to defend himself. But you don’t give him the chance.

“I thought,” you continue, the words tumbling out in a rush, “I thought you asked me because you wanted to, not because you were told to. I thought you held me in higher regard than this.” You laugh bitterly, a sound that catches in your throat. “How foolish of me.”

The onlookers are whispering more now, their curiosity piqued by the tension in the air, the way your voice trembles with barely contained emotion. But you don’t care. You’re done caring.

With a mocking curtsy, you drop your hands from his and step back. “My lord,” you say, dripping with sarcasm, “I do apologize for any inconvenience to your social standing.”

Seokmin’s eyes widen, panic flashing in them as he realizes the gravity of your words, the weight of what you’re about to do. “Y/N, wait—”

But you don’t wait. You turn on your heel and stalk toward the ballroom’s exit, your skirts swirling around you in a flurry of lilac silk and lace, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. The gasps and murmurs of the guests fade into the background as you flee, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

Behind you, Seokmin’s voice calls out, desperate, pleading. “Y/N, please—stay—”

But you don’t look back. You run.

The chill of the night air bites at your skin as you emerge from the grand ballroom, the sounds of the festivities quickly swallowed by the night. Minghao is hot on your heels, and you hear the familiar click of his shoes echoing against the cobblestone streets. As you enter the carriage, your fury erupts like a dam breaking.

“How dare you meddle in my life?” you exclaim, the words bursting forth with a fervor that sends a shiver down your spine. The tears spill over, mingling with the delicate fabric, each droplet a testament to your exasperation. “I wish to be left alone!”

Minghao, ever the picture of serene composure, raises an eyebrow, though his calm demeanor only serves to ignite your temper further. “I’m only trying to help you, dear sister,” he replies, his voice as soothing as a summer breeze.

“Help? Is that what you call this? You think I’m some delicate flower that requires your constant tending?” Your heart beats faster, each pulse an echo of your indignation. “You are not my keeper, Minghao!”

He opens his mouth, surely to deliver some well-meaning retort, but you are not in the mood for restraint. “You think I can’t manage my own affairs? That I need you to dictate who I should associate with? Let me remind you, I am not a child!”

In a fit of fury, you throw one of your shoes toward him, the delicate slipper soaring through the air; Minghao ducks just in time, the shoe landing with a soft thud against the carriage wall.

“Is this truly your idea of a civilized discussion?” he remarks, feigning offense. “Throwing footwear instead of engaging in rational discourse? My, how you’ve mastered the art of temper tantrums!”

“Better to throw a shoe than to be lectured like a schoolgirl!” you counter, your voice rising to match his. “You presume to know what is best for me, but you are merely reflecting your own apprehensions! You have no concept of my struggles!”

Minghao’s brow furrows, and for a fleeting moment, his expression softens, as if he might relent. But then he leans forward, his voice low and fervent. “And you believe that sulking in the corner will resolve anything? You are only isolating yourself further!”

“Perhaps I wish to be alone!” you declare, your voice ringing with defiance, the words spilling out like water from a broken dam. “Perhaps I grow weary of this charade, that everything is perfect when it is most decidedly not!”

A tense silence envelops the carriage, the air thick with unspoken words. You both breathe heavily, the conflict hanging between you like a fine silk thread ready to snap. The rest of the ride is steeped in a heavy silence, each passing moment thickening the air with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You lean against the plush seat of the carriage, your gaze fixed on the world outside. The blurred lights of the city flicker past, dimming into the encroaching darkness, and with each glimmer that fades from view, a piece of your heart seems to shatter.

Inside, your thoughts spiral. Betrayal gnaws at you like a ravenous beast, devouring any remnants of confidence you had managed to muster before the ball. Seokmin was supposed to be your ally in this fight, your so-called “loyal servant”; a beacon of warmth amidst hushed whispers. Yet now, as the reality settles in, you realize he is merely Minghao's friend, not yours. 

How could you have been so naïve? Your mind races back to moments you once cherished: the laughter shared over private nicknames, the comfort of his presence when you felt small and insignificant. He had danced with you, yes, but it had been an act of duty, an obligation to your brother, not a genuine desire to hold you close. You had hoped, foolishly, that he might look beyond your failed debut, that he might understand the person beneath the gown and lace. Yet here you are, reduced to a mere pawn in a game you didn’t even want to play.

A sob catches in your throat, but you swallow it down. Instead, you grip the edges of your gown tightly, feeling the intricate lace and delicate pearls dig into your palms, until you are sure you will have bruises in the morning.

How could Seokmin have allowed himself to be used this way? Did he not care enough to stand by you when it mattered most? He had seen you, yes, but only through the lens of loyalty to Minghao, not as the woman you wished to be, not as the friend you had thought he saw.

By the time the carriage arrives at your home, the bitterness in your chest is a wellspring of anguish. The vibrant ball is now a distant memory, a dream turned nightmare, and all you can do is silently mourn the friendship you thought would endure. You glance at Minghao, his face set in a mask of determination, oblivious to the storm of emotion swirling inside you.

As you step out of the carriage, he follows closely behind, his footsteps heavy with regret. “Y/N,” he begins, his voice low and earnest, “I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought—”

You cut him off, spinning to face him, your expression fierce with hurt. “It’s too late, brother,” you declare, the words like shards of glass spilling from your lips. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You’ve ruined everything.”

His eyes widen, a mixture of shock and remorse flooding his features. “I never meant to hurt you—”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant!” you snap, frustration and pain intertwining in a chaotic dance. “You acted without thinking. You’ve taken something precious from me.”

Minghao opens his mouth to argue, to defend himself, but the words die on his lips. The truth hangs in the air, heavy and palpable, as the reality of your fractured trust settles between you.

For the rest of the season, you do your best to blend into the walls at every ball, and you succeed. You become a shadow flitting between vibrant gowns and boisterous laughter. Each event becomes a blur of swirling colors and muffled sounds. You move quietly, navigating the sea of opulence with a heavy heart, wearing a mask of indifference that hides the turmoil brewing just beneath the surface.

You linger in corners, your fingers tracing the intricate patterns of wallpaper as if seeking solace in their delicate designs. The bright chandeliers above cast their warm glow on the happy couples swirling in perfect harmony, while you remain firmly anchored in your solitude, an invisible wall erected around your heart. You watch as others twirl and laugh, and your heart aches for Seokmin’s easy companionship, the lively conversations and playful banter that now feel like a distant memory.

With each passing ball, the weight of your isolation grows heavier. Minghao’s well-intentioned apologies echo in your mind, but their impact fades against the reality of your existence. You’ve become an expert at deflecting curious gazes, practicing the art of blending in so well that the laughter and music seem to wash over you like water off a duck’s back.

But it is Seokmin’s absence that echoes loudest in your heart. He might have always been your brother’s best friend, but you had hoped he would be something more—something real. As the music swells, the realization settles heavily on your shoulders: you are utterly, irrevocably alone.

Seokmin doesn’t ask you to dance again for the rest of the season. 

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits@moondustmemories@shinwonderful@ivehypnosis@gwend0lyne @thestoryofana13 @mellowamour @blissedjoon @begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld @archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange

[justleaveacommentfest]

hi i just wanted to say this so here it goes

i didn't used to leave comments on fics. i felt very awkward about doing so, because I'm not good at articulating /what/ i like about a story, and i didn't want to say the wrong thing.

it's really weird looking back, but that's how i felt.

then, idek when, but at some point your posts came across my dash

and i didn't participate, mind you, but it did stick with me.

it tossed and turned in the back of my head, and sometime this summer I've started leaving comments on most fics i like enough to finish

and, like. it's not just good for the author. it's been good for me. writing about fics i like helps me remember them in the future, and it feels so good to leave a comment whether or not the author responds (but especially when they do) - it just feels, nice? i don't know how to explain it. but its a good feeling

from the author side of things too, i love getting comments.

sorry im kind of rambling but just take this as a thank you note for your blog and for what you do. i hope you have a good day/night!

YOU TOOK OUR SLOGAN OF NO EXCUSES JUST RESULTS AND YOU EMBODIED IT! YOU PUT ASIDE YOUR ANXIETIES, YOUR WORRIES, AND YOU DID WHAT YOU KNEW WAS RIGHT: LEAVING COMMENTS!

AND TO HEAR HOW IT HAS NOT ONLY BROUGHT JOY TO THE AUTHORS BUT ALSO TO YOU THE COMMENTOR!!!!! I ADORE IT THIS SKELETON IS SO PROUD OF THE WORK YOU HAVE ACCOMPLISHED AND WILL CONTINUE TO ACCOMPLISH AND HOPE OTHERS FOLLOW YOUR EXAMPLE!!!

[eclipsethemagic]

Snowed in |KNJ| |M|

Summary: Being roommates with Namjoon has always had it's ups and downs, but being snowed in with him? Well maybe it will be fun

Paring: Nonidol! Namjoon xf!reader

Genre: Smut, fluff, lil bit of angus

sw: unprotected sex ( don't do- be safe), soft Dom Joon ( we love gentle Joon), spit, ( you'll figure it out when you see it ), praise kink, choking (f.rec), semi rough sex, expedition kink?, breeding kink ( more so reader then Joon), hand kink ( you'll see)

Song of the day: worth it by: avant + railway by: stray kids

[s.masterlist]

w.c: 3,268

a/n: I’m sorry! This was been supposed to come out, and I got so back tracked from work and then school that I just am now posting it. Don’t worry the rest of the Christmas oneshots will be posted, and if there’s any mistakes in here I’m sorry :(

Namjoon has to be an idiot if he thought that it wouldn't snow. Namjoon has to be an idiot to book a vacation with all of his friends in the middle of the mountain in the middle of December and didn't think it wouldn't snow.

He's an idiot.

He felt like the universe was laughing at him, telling him that he is indeed an idiot. And it wouldn't have been bad if he wasn't stuck with you. His roommate, one of his very best friends. But you and Namjoon weren't on talking terms at the moment, and it wasn't like he hated you. Oh no, he actually enjoyed your company throughout the whole vacation. It was just- you hated him. And it wasn't like it was a good reason too.

You and him had a disagreement about one of your good friends that Namjoon hated and he didn't want them there. Which you invited the person anyway and it sent Namjoon into a spiral. He stopped talking to you for a week, and then the week turned into a month before your trip. Yoongi, Namjoon other best friend, suggested that you two should talk before the trip, which you did on your ride there to the cabin. Namjoon and you had agreement that you two would be civil, and that you should keep your friend away from him during the trip.

Which you did.

But that was until the night before. Namjoon had just got out of the shower, he had on his sweatpants and a hoodie as he walked downstairs to the living room. Everyone was doing their own thing, Yoongi, and his boyfriend Jimin was packing their things up to leave that night leaving just you, Namjoon and that annoying ass friend of yours May. Namjoon didn't see that May was on the couch waiting for you to come downstairs, maybe it was the simple fact that any time he seen her he would just ignore her existence. "Oh it's you." Namjoon hears her voice from the bottom of the steps. A groan escapes his lips, he had two options. One was just going straight back upstairs and going to his room until she left or two go in the kitchen, hope she doesn't say anything to him and then go back upstairs. Before he could even pick any of those options the small girl walks up to him.

She smiles, flashing her pretty white teeth. May always tried to get Namjoon's attention whenever she could. And he hated it. Namjoon had a type, and May didn't check those boxes off. You know what else he hated? Was when he kissed her on new year's eve the year before. And he told her, he was drunk out of his mind when he seen her but nope. May just couldn't let him go. "Hi." It was simple enough to let her get the hint that he didn't want to talk to her. But knowing the girl in front of him, it didn't click in that tiny brain of hers. Namjoon walks past her, walking into the kitchen like planned. He then goes to grab a cup from the cabinet and opens the fridge to get some juice.

"You know, we been here for two whole weeks and haven't said a word to me." Namjoon mentally wants to shoot himself. He doesn't respond as the girl continues talking to him. "Did I do something wrong?" She ask. "Because if I did you a can tell me.." she whispers. Namjoon turns around to see her near the kitchen door, her hand playing with one of the ringers on her finger. She's not even looking at him and deep down Namjoon feels bad. I mean, she's right. He hasn't said a word to her the whole trip, but he also didn't even talk to her friend who just so happens to walk in the kitchen as well looking at them both.

"What's going on..?" You say, "is he being a dick again?" May doesn't say anything at first, her eyes still looking at the floor. Namjoon continues to pour his juice, before he hears May's voice. "I just asked him why he's been ignoring me all week." She smiles at you, it was a weak one, But she still tried to smile. You could hear the sadness in her voice as she spoke and it made you feel bad. "Joon stop being an asshole."

Dick? Asshole?

"Asshole? You're calling me an asshole?" He repeats back to you, his eyes widen and his long pointy fingers digs into his chest as he points to himself and then back at you. May's mouth goes to open before she's cut off by you. "Yes. You. You're being a dick and asshole, stop being an asshole." Namjoon lets out a little laugh, you see his jaw moves a bit before he slams the fridge close when he puts the juice back. With his glass in his hand he walks past you both, and the kitchen door slams causing May to flitch a little.

And after that, Namjoon hasn't said a word to you. Even when May left early the next morning Joon didn't even say bye to the girl, even now as the snow leaves you two stuck in, he hasn't left his room and it started to worry you. Maybe calling him an asshole and a dick was too much, but if felt right at the time. It needed to be said, because truth be told Namjoon was indeed being a dick, a bitch and everything above, over a girl who did nothing to him. Deep down his and May's relationship was never like that. Even since high school they always been somewhat cordial. But if you think about it too much, your brain starts to hurt. You knock twice on your best friend's door, nothing, so you knock again. "Hey Joon? I made you a grilled cheese and some soup. I haven't seen you all day, or have you left that room. Joonie I'm starting to worry." With a sigh you place the tray near his door. "I'll leave it by your door..please eat." And with those words you leave, going to your own room and shutting the door softy.

Namjoon doesn't open the door until he hears your door shut. Looking down he notices the food, smiling softy. Even if he was still mad at you, somehow you knew how to make his heart hurt less. He shuts the door after grabbing the food and setting it on the desk near his bed. The snow was still falling, hitting the trees and covering the ground. Growing up Namjoon loved the snow, he loved looking at it, playing with it and he loved being in it. If his parents would have gave him a chance he'll probably live in it if he could. But that's what the thing was about Namjoon, snow reminded him of you oddly enough. You were beautiful just like snow, he could look at you and not get tired of looking at you, just like snow. His heart grew 10 times more when he was near you like snow, and his mood would get 10 times better being with you like snow. And if you would give me a chance like the snow does, he'll make your life worthwhile.

Namjoon doesn't know when his fascination about you came about, but he knew that you were the most beautiful girl he laid his eyes on. His junior year in high school was the first time you came over to his house, it was the first time he seen his mom be so friendly with a girl he ever brought over. In fact it was the first time he seen his mom so excited that you'll come over the next day, and you did, you came over the next day, and the day after that and the day after that until his mom passed away. He remembers the day before she died, and the words she spoke. "Keep her son, she's a keeper. Do it for mama hm?" And ever since then Joon hasn't left your side.

It had to be 5 in the morning when Namjoon finally came out of his room. His dishes in his hand as he walks down the stairs slowly, trying to not fall. He noticed the Christmas tree lights where still on when he walks in the kitchen, setting his dishes in the sink, he walks back in the  living room to turn them off, that's before he noticed you on the couch, curled up under the covers. You look so peaceful, and as much as he wants to look at you, he's questioning why you're down here in the first place. Namjoon walks over to you, he bends down and shakes you gently. "Petal." He mumbles, and he does it again when you don't wake up. You let out a groan, your eyes squeezes shut. "Petal, you have to get off the couch come on." He says and you open your eyes just a bit to look at him. He smiles softly when you shake your head, the sleep crowning your brain and Namjoon does the next best option. He picks you up, one arm underneath you as he walks back up the stairs. Your head is against his chest, falling back to sleep without a care in the world.

The few days after that, you and namjoon's relationship got better. And the first time since you two been snowed in, you actually went outside with him to play in the snow. It was the first in a very long time that he seen you smile. And that's all he ever wanted for you, was to smile. "So Christmas is tomorrow and we're stuck here." You pout as you flop on the couch next to him. "Is it that bad that you're stuck here with me?" Namjoon says as he looks up from his book. His glasses on the bridge of his nose, and he turns his head at you. "I'm not saying that it's bad that I'm with you, I'm just saying that it's bad that we're stuck here and not at home. Don't you miss your bed? I miss my bed." You still pout and it's hard for Namjoon to not smile at you.

"Technically speaking you haven't even been in your bed, you been in mines. And yes, I do I miss home, but with you? I can make a home out of anything petal." Normally his flirting wouldn't make you feel all hot, and your cheeks burn. But it did, in fact the water you were drinking made you choke after hearing those words leave his mouth. Who was he to tell you that? And why did his words have such an affect on you? And what made matters worse, is that Namjoon knew how to use his words for use- he's smart like that. And his words made your cunt throb. Yeah maybe you do need to get laid.

"Shut up." Is all you could say, Namjoon lets out a deep chuckle. his dimples on full display as he continues to look at the book he was reading. "Aw, did I make you shy?" He questions as he grabs a sticky note from the coffee table and puts it in between the part he was reading and shuts the book. "No."

"No?" He questions again as he looks at you. He notices that you quickly look away, a small smile forming on your lips that makes him want to laugh. "Okay maybe. But who just says that?"

"Say what?"

"That- are you trying to trick me right now?" Namjoon sees you tilt your head. "No, I'm being serious." He laughs and shakes his head. "Use your big girl words." Fuck, did your pussy get wetter? "Do you mean it? That you can make a home out of anything if I'm by your side?" You see Namjoon nod his head and smile. He shoots closer, and you feel like your heart is beating out of your chest. "Yeah, I mean it petal." He stares in your eyes, his dragon shaped eyes staring back at you. "Can I kiss you?"

What?

Your eyes widen as you hear your own words leave your mouth. And it doesn't make it better when Namjoon blinks, his eyes widen just like yours. "Kiss me?" He switches from English to Korean so fast that it makes you nervous. "I mean- sure?" It was a question, and that made you more nervous than before. "We don't have to-" you're cut off when you feel his plumped lips on yours. You could taste his strawberry chapstick, and a groans leaves your lips when he pulls you closer. His lips moves against yours, it was like his lips were meant for yours. Namjoon feels your hands grip his shirt, his own hands moving from the back of your neck to your waist, squeezing the fat just a bit. You don't know when you two pull away, but he looks at you, a small smile forms on his lips as he grins at you. "I'm so glad I wanted to do this." And you don't comment on it, as you pulls his face to yours to kiss you again.

Everything happened so fast, at first you two were just kissing, but then you crawled in his lap, and then you started grinding on him, and the next thing he knows is that he's on top of you, rubbing his dick against your wet folds. He's mesmerized. His dragon like eyes glued on your cunt, the way it feels so warm against him. And the sounds it makes, the sounds you make, his brain is spinning. And what makes matters worse is that he thinks your pussy is so pretty, he actually mumbles it when he first seen it. And that made you feel all warm inside. "Joon? Please? Can you fuck me please?" He hears you say, a whine leaves your throat when he groans, a fat glob of spit lands on your cunt and Namjoon rubs his dick again against you for good measure before he slides into you.

It's uncomfortable at first, since he didn't prep you and he's so big. You felt like he would split you in half, thick and big, and you should have known the stretch would burn. You feel him stop at first, your eyes fluttering close. "Do you want me to stop baby?" God the pet name. You let out a low hum opening your eyes just a bit. "No, you can keep going." He nods, and continues to slide in. When he bottoms out you feel namjoon big hand bring your legs up against your chest before he moves his hips. The couch was smaller than him, and he really tried his best not to hurt you. The last thing he wanted for yalls first time was to hurt you and for you to never let him touch you again.

Once he got the rhythm just right, a loud moan is heard from your lips. Your hand grips his arm to sturdy yourself and you feel namjoon go deeper if that was possible and his hand presses down the bottom of your stomach. "Fuck you're so tight petal." He grunts, and you're so fucked out that you don't even notice Namjoon slowing down his movements. A whine leaves your lips, and Namjoon looks down at you, he leans down to pull you in a kiss, taking your breath away before he slams his hips against yours. "S-Sorry, I thought I seen someone outside." Oh, that's right, Namjoon left the curtains wide open when he came down after he left his room in the morning. Usually it would turn you off to know someone could see you getting dicked down by your best friend but for some reason the thought of someone seeing you like this, so fucked out of your mind, being your best friend flush light, his little sex toy, that it made you even more wetter then before. "Shit- baby did you get tighter?" Namjoon lets your legs go for a moment, you feel his thumb rub against your puffy clit and your eyes roll back.

"There you go, go ahead and cream on my cock baby, that's it good fucking girl." You don't know when your orgasm hit, but you felt like you were floating. A white ring of your cum coats his dick as he goes harder, he could feel his orgasm in the bottom of his stomach. You bring namjoon's free hand to your throat, and he tilts his head for a moment. When it finally clicks, he nods and squeezes your throat and you moan. "F-Fuck baby I'm going to cum, where you want it?" In you. Is the first thought that comes to your mind. The thought of Namjoon hot seed filling you up makes your brain shut down in the best way. "In me, please baby? I want your babies, don't you want to mark me as yours? I'll be yours forever."

Fuck, Namjoon wanted that. He lets go of your throat and goes faster, with a few thrust later Namjoon cums inside you and a moan leaves his throat. After riding out his high he pulls out slowly, and he goes to kiss you again.

After you two finish cleaning up and showering you end up laying down in his bed. Your head on his chest as he rubs circles against your back. "What now?" He hears you say against him. Namjoon doesn't say anything at first, afraid of saying the wrong thing. "You..I mean do you like me?" He ask, and it makes you think. Do you like him? I mean the signs were there. You hated him when he kissed May that night, you actually hated any female he ended up dating because it wasn't you. So do you like him?

"Yeah.. do you like me?"

"I thought it was obvious." He snorts and you look up at him. "The fuck do you mean you thought it was obvious? I ain't know shit Namjoon." He bites the bottom of his lip, a laugh threatening to leave his lips. "Pay attention more?" He says and you hit his chest playfully. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He laughs. "Yes petal, I like you, I like you a lot actually. Why you think I turn down May every chance I get?" Well, you always thought it was because he was playing hard to get, or just being a dick. "Because you're a dick, why else?"

"Don't piss me off." He mumbles and rolls his eyes and it makes you giggle just a bit. "Well if that's the case, I like you too." You smile and peck his lips before laying back down. "Well that was easy enough." You hear him mumble and it makes you laugh. "Yeah, yeah."

[just-hyde]

AI is theft.

Character.Ai still uses **stolen** data. Support real artists and writers. RP with real people.

IAMREALpleasegimmeahotchocotugmeinandgimmeasinglegoodreasontoliiiveeeeaaaaAAAAAAA

*Breakdown joins the chat*

An anon? How courageous of you. /lh

Actually right now you did what many chatbot users do— hide behind Persona just in case people don't accept your writing/rp style. But it's easier to play safe, I give you that. Your mental health should be your first priority no matter what people say

I do my art, write snippets of text, develop OCs and RP with people, but still make chatbots on different platforms

Why?

For shits and giggles

But no, friends, seriously

We already live with that and apparently are gonna continue to, unless the authorities decide to step in

For me cai was a tool to improve my vocabulary since 1) not so many native speakers were willing/had time to help, 2) even if they did, we had jobs and damn timezones which made our coordination harder, 3) I found out that ppl were simply too shy to play

Recently I've learned the term "Cringe culture" which is cringe itself and hella annoying at that— some writers are fucking scared to post, to be met with toxicity instead of actually useful critique

Anywho, the topic is controversial af.

On one hand, it did writers dirty. Well, fuck. On the other hand, your T9 was also trained on something and I deem LLM no much smarter than a huge T9 [a predictive text technology which almost every keyboard for phones and tablets has]

The problem I see is that the ai developers didn't ask for any data

How much easier everything would go if they had manners and/or paid for some materials? I usually don't mind lending a pen if someone asks, but can bite one's hand off if they grab it

As you might've noticed, I wanna use this ask to bring up some other interesting topics

My man, I've heard enough of "Why trying if ai renders better than me/uses better words"

Anxiety.

That's what makes me sad

If we ever manage to change that, to make people realise that human-made art is a freaking precious treasure with hours of effort spent on it, maybe earth heals and unicorns return

You buy funny one-nickel-worth stuff from Aliexpress, no? That's AI. As well as a half-gnawled pencil one finds in their old school backpack to write down an anecdote they've just heard

It's easy to focus on the bad side

If fish is ill in a dirty tank, are you gonna add more sand? Pfftt. I assume you gonna change filters, scrub that bastard clean and add more lil fishies to make others feel less lonely, instead of rumbling that you shouldn't have gotten any new weeds for the the bowl in the first place, because, who would've guessed, fish eat that. And poop. —a process natural as breathing

My suggestion is that we try to create a safe space which would encourage writing outside of roleplay, make young artists feel safe regardless of their level of skill

Or maybe I'm too far from the Internet in general and don't understand why writing example messages for a silly toy is suddenly a bad thing when it encourages kids to try themselves in text RPGs without any risk of being judged for that

An interesting topic you gave me, really, I've spent some time contemplating about it

Feel free to suggest things that we, as a community, can do right here and right now, because, gods know, I'm personally unable to atta-ta a corporation for "using language we all speak", especially when chatbots have some features which would be a damn shame not to use in language learning since it's so engaging and teaches kids new words in a forgiving game-like way

Though I hope there will be some law regulating ai and the use of ai-made products soon. Let's give it some time

[xaytheloser]

For Your Own Good.

Prowl X Cybertronian! Reader who was raised on Earth scenario! warnings: obsessive behavior, no specified continuity, Prowl is a delusional prick I suppose, possible ooc Prowl, implied death of a family member

Earth had been your home your entire life, from the moment your mom found you in a tiny safety pod that crashed into the backyard of her farm away from the large city she lived near. She had no idea what you were, but she knew that she couldn't leave you there, small and defenseless..

you were just like a normal human baby, but, well... metal?? you grew a lot bigger when you reached your teenage years, nonetheless, your mother took care of you. she feed you what she thought a baby of you,, unique qualities would consume, she washed you when you got dirty, and of course when you got older she taught you how to help around the farm.

there was only one rule.

stay at the farm.

mother was so worried about a scenario where you are discovered by another human. what would happen to you? would you be taken away and experimented on like those awful sci-fi movies? would you have to be on the run? she couldn't bear to think it. so she made the stern rule that you are to never leave the farm unless absolutely necessary.

...

then they came.

creatures that looked like you, made of metal, you saw them whilst watching t.v. with mom through the house window. you where so excited! finally! you found out what you were! where you came from! it was also the day that mother finally decided it was safe for you to explore outside the farm, meet the creatures that were like you, find out who and what you are. it was hard for her, but she knew that you would be alright... at least she hoped...

...

Prowl had very mixed feelings about you when you first meet him and his fellow autobots.

you were... odd. you were loud. you were annoyingly curious about everything... and worst of all, he strangely didn't seem to mind..?

something about you.. drew him in. you had no idea what you even where, and for some reason, you stuck to him the most. it was odd.. like a breath of strange fresh air..

the way you looked at him as he spoke about basic knowledge that every other regular cybertronian should know already, but you didn't.. the look of wonder and amazement you had on your face only drew him in more..

you were so strange.. yet so... endearing..?

of course he never said any of this to you out loud, but he found himself growing more attached to you, which he found ridiculous in his own regard..

you are a distraction. he would tell himself. someone who strays him from his intended purpose.

but on the other hand.. he didn't want you to leave him alone either..

he could be selfish just this once, no? indulge you in facts that every other cybertronian should know at this point.. in fact, it's not entirely selfish is it? no! he's helping you learn who you are. who you were meant to be..

It's for your own good... right? you should know where you truly come from.... in fact... he'll do you one better.. he can bring you there.

one day, he offers to bring you to cybertron, to actually be where you truly came from.. to taste actual energon for the first time.. he'll be your guide, teach you everything the is to know and more-

"no."

"...what do you mean 'no'..?"

"I mean, I don't want to go to Cybertron."

...what?

"what are you even saying? all these months of telling about Cybertron, of you constantly asking where you came from, I give you a chance to actually go there and you say 'no'-?"

"I appreciate everything you've taught me, all of it, really. but I have a home here. With my mom. I can't just leave her here. everything I know is here. on Earth."

oh yes. your "mother", Prowl had meet her a couple of times. to be honest, he never really cared for her to begin with. she was paranoid, always being so paranoid. always nagging.

... Maybe he should do something about that.

"..."

".. Prowl..? are you ok?"

".... I have to do something."

Prowl transformed into his alt mode, and he sped off.. you've never seen him in such a hurry before.. you were worried.. ....

........

you fell to your knees.. eyes wide in terror and disbelief..

the farm... your house... the only thing you've ever known since you've landed here on Earth..

It was all in flames.

"...It was the most efficient solution." Prowl muttered behind you. you turned your helm and looked at him, you opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out.. it was like you voice box was frozen.. "this place was in the way, it was distracting you. now, you can come ho-" "... wh... where's my mom..?" Prowl was silent, he looked away for a brief second, and then looked back to you.. you repeated your question, only louder, and angrier.

"WHERE IS SHE PROWL?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY MOM!?"

"... that doesn't matter." was his only response. he placed his servo along you back, like he was trying to comfort you in a sick sense... "now you have nothing left to stay here for," he shoved you to the ground, holding your servos behind your back as he forced them into stasis cuffs. "now you can come back home. your real home. with me." his look softened, if only for a second..

"you may not understand it now, but I am doing what is best for you."

[honeydixonn]

Back to Friends, Myung Gi

four, x’s and o’s

6200 words

The mother and son stepped forward, trembling. The dim fluorescent lights cast long shadows over the cold concrete floor. Her knees hit the hard surface with a hollow thud, her body quivering as she clasped her son close, shielding him with what little she could muster.

"Sir! Please, don't kill us! I beg you!" Her voice cracked, desperation twisting every syllable. She clutched at the boy's threadbare clothes, pulling him down alongside her as tears streamed down her dirt-streaked face. "For my son's debt, I'll do anything! Please, forgive us!" Her head bowed repeatedly, almost striking the floor, her sobs echoing through the vast, sterile space.

The son, too stunned to resist, clung to her arm, his face pale and drenched with tears. She shook his hand, anchoring him to the floor as though their lives depended on the gesture alone.

"Don't just stand there!" she pleaded, her voice rising with panic. "Beg for his forgiveness!"

Around them, others began breaking, their fear spilling over into action. More bodies threw themselves to the floor, knees scraping against the unforgiving surface as pleas rose like a chorus, raw and unfiltered.

Nari stayed frozen, watching from the upper bunk, her chest heaving in quiet, controlled breaths. Her body wanted to move, to join the desperate mass, but her legs locked stiffly beneath her. Fear held her still, her mind racing.

From the shadows, the masked man's voice pierced through the chaos like the sharp edge of a blade. "There seems to be a misunderstanding." His tone was calm, measured, but devoid of any warmth.

The people groveling on the floor hesitated for a moment, their cries faltering as they glanced up.

"We are not here to harm you," he continued, his gloved hands clasped behind his back.

A bitter laugh rose in Nari's throat, but she swallowed it, her gaze narrowing as her fingers gripped the edge of the bunk. If she weren't so afraid of dying, she might have shouted at the absurdity of his claim.

"We are presenting you with an opportunity." His words echoed eerily in the sterile room, his calm demeanor contrasting with the raw panic in the players' faces.

An opportunity? Nari's stomach churned. This wasn't an opportunity. It was a sadistic spectacle, a game designed to turn them into pawns for someone else's twisted entertainment.

Then, a voice broke through the tension—a voice filled with conviction.

"Clause three of the consent form!"

The players turned, heads swiveling toward the man who had spoken. Player 456 stepped forward, his face taut with fury. "The games may be terminated upon majority vote, correct?" His question was sharp, cutting through the room like a knife.

The square-masked figure paused, the silence stretching as he responded. "That is correct."

The room stirred with murmurs, hope flickering faintly in the eyes of those who'd been begging moments before.

"Then let us take a vote right now," 456 demanded, his voice unwavering as he stared down the masked man.

The square mask tilted slightly, as if weighing the request. "Of course," he finally replied. "We respect your right to freedom of choice. But first, let me announce the prize amount that has been accumulated."

The masked man raised a remote, pressing a button. The lights dimmed as a mechanical hum filled the air. The ceiling opened, revealing a massive golden piggy bank that descended slowly, glowing under spotlights.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as a series of metallic clinks echoed above. Stacks of bills slid down a transparent tube, funneling into the piggy bank. The players, who had been pleading for their lives moments earlier, now stared in mesmerized silence, the allure of money drowning out their fear.

Nari's breath hitched as she found herself standing with the others, drawn toward the light reflecting off the pile of cash. The sight was hypnotic, the promises it held almost tangible.

"The number of players eliminated in the first game is 91," the masked man announced. "Therefore, a total of 9.1 billion won has been accumulated. If you quit the games now, the 365 of you can equally divide the 9.1 billion won and leave with your share."

A murmur spread through the crowd, confusion and greed mingling in their expressions.

"How much is that?" someone asked, the question pulling everyone from their trance.

The masked man didn't hesitate. "Each person's share would be 24,931,500 won."

The response landed like a punch to the gut. Anger replaced hope on many faces.

"Fuck!" Nam-gyu spat, his voice dripping with frustration. "We almost died, and they're giving us 24 million?"

"Twenty million?" Thanos echoed, his outrage evident. "You said 45.6 billion!"

The masked man remained calm, his voice unwavering. "The rule is that 100 million won will be accumulated for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the next game and more players get eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly."

Nari's hands trembled as she clutched the hem of her shirt. The money was so close, yet so far. It whispered promises of a new life, of debts erased and burdens lifted. But at what cost?

Her stomach churned as the masked man continued, his words cold and calculated.

"If you survive all six games, the total prize pool of 45.6 billion won will be yours to divide among the survivors. Or, if you're the last one standing, you'll claim the full amount."

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling over them like a shroud.

"All right, let's vote," the masked man said, snapping them back to the present.

The circle-masked men slide away the floor panels, revealing glowing X and O symbols embedded in the ground. One for life, the other for freedom.

Nari's heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the glowing symbols, the light reflecting in her wide, fearful eyes. The choice seemed simple, yet impossibly heavy. The stakes were higher than ever, and the next decision would define everything.

Sticking a red and blue line down the center to separate the sides, a table was placed at the front with two buttons. "If you wish to continue the games, press the O button. If you wish to end them, press the X button. The vote will be held in reverse order of your player numbers."

"Player 456." The players murmured among themselves as he stepped out from the crowd and approached the center column.

"It's all pointless," a woman called out from the top of the bunk beds, her voice grating on Nari's nerves. "You didn't choose to come into this world, and you can't choose when to leave it either. The gods decided your fate the moment you were born."

Player 456 ignored her rambling, walking past her and stepping up to vote as her voice dissolved into the background. He pressed the X button with a firm hand, the sound of confirmation echoing through the room as the screen updated: one vote for X, none for O.

"Once you finish voting, take the patch you are given and place it on the right side of your chest," the mechanical voice instructed.

A drawer opened, revealing a thick velcro patch, red with a white X emblazoned on it. The head figure motioned toward it, and 456 pulled the patch out, affixing it to his chest with quiet determination.

"Stand on the side you have chosen," the voice continued.

He stepped to the red side, his gaze hard and steady on the screen above.

"Player 454."

A woman bolted forward, her urgency palpable as if she were on a mission. Without hesitation, she tapped the blue O button, barely taking a moment to deliberate.

Nari felt conflicted, her heart twisting as she watched. The gravity of the choice weighed on her—there was no undoing a decision once it was made.

456 cast a glance at the woman, his expression darkening with disgust as she confidently walked to the blue side of the room.

"Player 388."

Nari's thoughts snapped back to reality as the familiar number was called. She watched him step forward, his steps hesitant, before finally pressing the blue button. Even he wanted to stay? Was blue the right choice?

"Player 333."

Myung-Gi walked slowly to the buttons, his gaze lingering on the red button for a moment before being irresistibly drawn to the blue. They both needed the money—why wouldn't he choose to stay?

With uncertainty written all over his face, Myung-Gi pressed the blue button. The patch was handed to him, and he reluctantly placed the blue marker on his chest. His hands trembled slightly as he stepped to the blue side, his mind clearly wracked with doubt. Had he made the right decision? Was Nari going to make the same choice?

Nari's brows knitted as she eyed the numbers on the screen. The tally for "yes" was climbing. He wanted to stay—should she follow his lead?

More players moved forward to vote, each one shifting the balance of the decision. The screen's count flickered with each choice, the outcome swinging toward staying.

Then, player 456 stood up, cutting through the tension and halting the votes.

"Wait a minute, everyone! You can't do this," he shouted, turning to face the remaining players who hadn't yet voted. His voice was desperate, his eyes pleading.

Nari froze as his gaze swept over her, sincere and broken.

"Come to your senses! Don't you see? These aren't just games. We will all die if we keep playing!"

Her breath caught in her chest. She had trusted him this far. He had known about the first game, and he had done what he could to protect them. If he was saying they needed to leave, maybe he was right.

"We have to get out of here now," he continued, his voice rising with urgency. "With a majority vote, we can! We must stop here!"

An older man, player 100, stood up, his voice sharp as he barked back. "Who do you think you are? Why do you keep egging people on like that?"

The old man stalked toward 456, his expression twisting into disdain as he looked him up and down. Now standing face-to-face in front of the other players, the tension between them was palpable.

"This is our only chance to change our lives," player 100 snapped. "What gives you the right to decide for the rest of us?"

"You scared us by saying they'd shoot us before the games even began!" Player 254 shouted, her voice ringing out as she stepped forward from the circle side. "You were going on about how we'd die, and I almost did because I got so nervous!"

"How did you know they were going to shoot us?" Player 226 pointed an accusatory finger at 456, his face twisted with suspicion. He moved to the center of the room, his voice rising above the murmurs. "Are you one of them?"

He stepped next to player 100, who glared at 456 with seething hatred, feeding the tension in the room.

"Are you conning us all by pretending to be a player? Who is this guy?" Player 100 snapped, his tone venomous as he turned toward the men in pink. His scowl deepened as he marched past 456, his eyes burning with anger. "Did you plant him to mess with our heads?"

Nari watched helplessly, her heart pounding as the confrontation unfolded. Each word being hurled back and forth only made her decision loom larger, its weight crushing her.

The room was a chaos of clashing sides—some pleading for the games to continue, others begging for their lives to be spared. Nari felt paralyzed, her mind spinning. She couldn't focus on anything except the glowing numbers on the screen, their movement blurring in her vision.

"I have played these games before!"

The roar cut through the pandemonium, silencing every voice in the room. Nari blinked, her breath catching in her throat. Had she heard him correctly?

"I have done this before!" 456's voice was raw with emotion as his hands clenched at his sides, his frustration palpable.

The players froze, their focus now locked on him.

"I knew about the first game because I've played it before!" he continued, his voice trembling but resolute. "I played these games here three years ago. And everyone who was with me..."

He paused, his lips quivering as the memories crashed over him like a storm. His gaze dropped, the flashes of the past playing vividly in his mind.

"Died here."

The room stood in stunned silence, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Player 226 still refused to believe him, his agitation growing with each word. "If they all died, how did you survive alone? Wait... are you saying you were the sole winner?"

Nari watched as 456 gulped, his silence confirming the accusation. A wave of horror ran through her as his answer sank in.

"Only one...?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes darted to Myung-Gi, standing on the blue side of the room. Despite everything, she still cared for him. Yet, it dawned on her that he hadn't bothered to look for her—not in this game, not when it mattered most.

People were dying around them, and he still acted as though she didn't exist. Did he care about her at all? Did he even know she was here? But he had to know—just as she had known about him.

Her breath quickened, anxiety tightening her chest. A single question burned in her mind: Was she doing all this just to go home to a life where nothing had changed?

Before she could process the thought, a roar erupted from the crowd. Cheers and cries of triumph filled the room as the majority made their decision—they wanted the games to continue.

As the celebration grew louder, 456 moved toward the remaining players who hadn't yet voted, desperation etched into his face. He begged, pleaded with them to choose to leave, his voice cracking under the weight of his words.

Nari's gaze softened as she watched him, his eyes darting from face to face until they locked with hers. His voice broke through the noise, calm yet piercing.

"If we keep playing, more people will die," he said, his tone urgent. "That could be you."

He opened his mouth to say more, but the cold, unmistakable click of a gun interrupted him. A guard with a triangle mask stepped forward, pressing the barrel roughly against 456's back.

"From here on, we will not tolerate actions that disrupt the voting process," the guard declared, his voice sharp and mechanical. "Now, let's resume the vote. Player 228."

Nari's throat tightened as tears began to well in her eyes. It felt as though the warning wasn't just meant for everyone—it was meant for her.

A warning of her fate if they kept playing. What could she do?

The gun stayed fixed on 456 as the guard shoved him aside.

"Player 114."

Nari froze for a moment as her number was called. The line of players had thinned, leaving little room to hide. Myung-Gi, standing on the blue side, could see her clearly now as she emerged from the shadows of the bunk area.

Her eyes were bloodshot, her face dotted with dried blood, yet to him, she was still the most captivating woman he'd ever seen. His gaze followed her as she walked forward, head lowered, her steps hesitant. Unconsciously, his feet moved closer to the edge of the line, desperate to see her better.

"Nari..."

Her head tilted slightly at the sound of his voice. Her sniffles broke the silence as she glanced up, catching him staring at her in shock.

She looked at him differently now—wounded, guarded. Gone was the warmth she once held for him. He missed that look, the way her eyes used to light up for him before he ruined everything.

"Nari, I..." His voice faltered, the words stuck in his throat.

His mouth hung open, as if trying to summon the courage to explain everything, but no words came. He watched helplessly as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She took a step forward, her anguish written across her face, until the masked leader's voice rang out.

"Please continue the vote. If you wish to stay, press the O button. If you wish to leave, press the X button."

Her head snapped back toward the stand, her body stiffening. Her gaze flickered between the voting station and Myung-Gi—the man who had once been her closest friend.

Taking a deep breath, Nari turned away from him, refusing to meet his eyes again. Her tears didn't fall as she swallowed her emotions, her face hardening.

She remembered.

She remembered the night he left her sitting alone in that crowded restaurant. How she'd worn her best dress, her heart swelling with anticipation, only for each passing minute to chip away at her excitement.

She remembered the ticking clock, every second amplifying her heartbreak, until her sorrow was buried beneath a carefully crafted facade.

And she remembered how he never reached out—never called, never explained, never told her the truth. She had waited for something, anything, to prove he cared. But all she had been left with was silence.

As Nari approached the voting station, she pressed her lips together, bracing herself for the choice she had to make.

She cared for him—she truly did—but the hurt he caused wasn't something she could forget so easily, even if she had forgiven him in her heart months ago.

Nari stepped up to the podium, her hand hovering uncertainly between the two buttons. Her fingers trembled as her gaze flicked to the top of the screen. The votes were razor-thin, separated by only four points.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steadying herself before pressing down on the button. A light ding echoed through the room, cutting through the tension like a knife. A quiet groan rippled through one side of the room.

"Ha Nari," Myung-Gi whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief. His eyes widened as she turned to face the group, a blue patch now displayed on her chest.

Her gaze didn't rise to meet his. She stared at the ground, her steps slow and deliberate as she made her way to the circle side, distancing herself from the others.

Myung-Gi swallowed hard, his throat dry, his feet shifting restlessly. He couldn't lose her again—not like this. They needed to talk.

As Player 007 stepped up and voted to leave, the tally shifted, tying the vote at 181 each. The tension in the room grew suffocating, the weight of the decision crushing everyone present.

Player 006 approached next, quickly pressing the X button and giving the red side a narrow lead. Nari groaned quietly, her stomach twisting in knots. She hoped all of this wouldn't be for nothing.

When Player 004 cast their vote to stay, a wave of cheers erupted from the blue side. Excitement surged through the group, but Nari remained still, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

She wanted to go home—desperately. But deep down, she couldn't shake the truth that lingered in her mind. The life she'd left behind was no life at all. It wasn't worth returning to. It wasn't living.

That was the only reason she chose to stay.

"Lastly, Player 001."

The room fell silent as the final player stepped forward. The votes were tied at 182, and both sides erupted into cheers, pleading for their cause, hoping he would choose their letter.

Nari's eyes followed him as he made his way to the podium. He was a mature, distinguished-looking man, his hand hovering between the two buttons. The seconds stretched, each one dragging out painfully as everyone held their breath.

Finally, a light beep sounded. The circles had won by a single vote.

The O side exploded into cheers, some players jumping and shouting in celebration, oblivious to the grim reality of what they had secured—a death sentence for most.

Nari's chest tightened. Regret clawed at her, though not completely. Everyone here had their own selfish reasons for choosing to stay. She had hers too.

Across the room, Myung-Gi threw his head back, his face etched with regret. He silently cursed his decision, wishing he'd voted to leave. Staying here felt like willingly walking into a death trap. How could any of them know if they'd be next?

Nari avoided his searching eyes, retreating into the shadows by the corner of the room. She could see his number, 333, flashing between the gaps in the bunk beds as he wandered through the crowd. His head eventually fell in defeat, realizing he wouldn't find her.

The sound of metal screeching cut through the air as a large door opened. The masked circles pushed in carts loaded with water bottles and lunch boxes, arranging them into four neat lines.

"Please gather in line to receive your meal," the square-masked overseer instructed, his voice echoing from the platform above. He stood rigid, watching the players shuffle into lines like restless cattle.

Myung-Gi spotted her at the far end of the room. The number "114" stretched across the back of her jacket, a familiar figure he couldn't mistake. He hurried toward her, tapping her shoulder as he slid into the line behind her.

"Nari, please," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Can we talk?"

A sigh escaped her lips as she turned to face him, her expression weary. His pleading face, his slightly quivering lip—it was a sight she once found endearing.

"Myung-Gi," she said, her voice carrying both exhaustion and restraint.

His heart ached at the sound of her voice. He hadn't heard it in months, and now that he did, it hit him harder than he expected. But she looked so tired—tired of him, tired of everything. It was the most broken he'd ever seen her.

"Would you even answer what I ask?" Nari's voice was soft but firm, her eyes dim as she turned fully toward him. He stood in front of her, his broad frame blocking the light. Myung-Gi bit his lip, hesitating for a moment before tentatively reaching for her hand.

"I will," he said, his voice low and earnest. "I promise. We can talk while we eat, okay?"

Nari nodded slowly, her movements cautious as the line shuffled forward. When the masked man handed her a lunchbox, she offered him a quiet "thank you," her voice barely above a whisper. Myung-Gi gave the guard a tight smile before following her to the bed she'd chosen—a bottom bunk tucked in the corner.

"Don't get crumbs on my sheets again," she said, attempting a small joke to lighten the mood. But her voice wavered, and her eyes betrayed the weight of her emotions.

A faint chuckle escaped Myung-Gi's lips as he settled beside her on the bed. "I'll try my best," he replied lightly before his tone softened. "So, what did you want to ask, Jagi?"

Her heart stuttered at the nickname. It had been so long since she'd heard it, and now it felt foreign, almost unreal.

"I—why?" she began, her hands trembling slightly as she set the unopened box aside. Just the thought of the conversation made her lose her appetite.

"Why?" he echoed, his brows furrowing in confusion as he twisted open his water bottle. He poured a little onto the edge of his shirt and began dabbing gently at her face, trying to clean the dried blood smudged across her skin.

"Why did you leave me?" Her voice cracked as she forced the words out. "Why didn't you tell me goodbye? Why didn't you give me a simple explanation? Why was it just... nothing?"

Myung-Gi froze, his hand pausing mid-motion as he blinked rapidly, struggling to find the right words. He glanced away briefly, his gaze darting toward the ground before returning to hers.

"It all happened so fast," he finally said, his voice trembling slightly. "People were hacking my phone, following me in the streets, Nari. I had to change my number, disappear... I thought if I stayed, it would only put you in danger. I just wanted to protect you."

Nari's eyes searched his face, her sharp gaze trained on him, watching for the telltale signs of deceit she had learned to read so well. His lips twitched slightly, but his brown eyes held steady, locked on hers, desperate and pleading.

"None of that protected me," she said, her voice quieter now but filled with an edge of bitterness. She took a shaky breath before continuing, "And I know you didn't know... but three of the people who fell apart because of Dalmatian found me."

Myung-Gi's hand stilled against her cheek, his expression crumbling into one of shock and guilt. He stared at her, his lips parting as though to speak, but no words came.

His eyes widened in shock, his grip on her hand tightening instinctively. "What happened, Nari?" he asked urgently, his voice trembling with concern. His pupils dilated, betraying the worst fears swirling in his mind.

She hesitated, her throat tightening as the memories came rushing back. "A few weeks after you left," she began, her voice shaking, "I was walking home from work, and they stopped me at the bus stop. One of them grabbed me... started shouting about how I owed them money."

Myung-Gi winced, his shoulders slumping under the weight of her words. The image of her in danger burned in his mind, and guilt consumed him. This was all his fault. If only he'd stayed and faced his mistakes, she wouldn't have been dragged into his mess.

"They said... if you couldn't get them the money, then I'd have to," she continued, her voice breaking slightly. "So I had to pay them my entire paycheck every week—for the last five months."

Tears pooled in her eyes as she spoke, her voice thick with emotion. "I couldn't afford my rent anymore. I had to sell my house. My phone bill, my bus pass—they all sent my bank account two million won into the negative." She swallowed hard, her gaze falling to her lap. "I've just been bouncing from house to house, staying with coworkers or relatives who'd take me in. It's been... it's been hard."

Knots twisted in Myung-Gi's gut, each word cutting deeper into him. Regret and self-loathing filled his chest, suffocating him. He couldn't even look at her anymore; his shame was too heavy to bear.

"I know it won't be enough," he said softly, his voice trembling as he reached for her other hand. He held both of her hands gently in his, lifting them to his lips and peppering them with light kisses. His head bowed low, as though the gesture might somehow convey the depth of his remorse. "But I have to say it. I'm sorry, Jagi. I am so, so sorry."

Nari's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she looked at him, her expression torn between pain and lingering affection. "Gi," she said quietly, "I forgave you a long time ago. But... I'm still hurt." She pulled one hand away to wipe at her eyes, trying to steady herself.

"You left without a word," she continued, her tone firm but tinged with sadness. "No explanation, no goodbye. You just... ghosted me. I had to find out what happened from the news."

Myung-Gi flinched at her words, the guilt visibly crushing him. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Nari hated the way her words seemed to pierce his soul, but he needed to hear it. He needed to understand.

The pain he had unknowingly inflicted on her didn't deserve to be dismissed so easily. Myung-Gi's voice trembled as he finally spoke, "I don't know what to say. Now you're here in this game, and... I don't know what I would do if something happened to you."

Nari tilted her head, studying him, her own anxiety rising at his words. "It's okay. We can protect each other. We're still friends, you know?"

Friends. The word hit him like a blow to the chest. Myung-Gi forced himself to smile, but inside, the title churned his stomach. Friends? That wasn't what he wanted. It never had been.

His feelings for her had grown quietly but steadily since the day they first met on the college bus. He never dared to act on them, always afraid of pushing too far and ruining what they had. So, he followed her pace, matching her steps and burying his deeper emotions.

Until that night—just days before her birthday dinner. It had changed everything for him. He thought it had changed things for her, too. How could they go back to being just friends after sharing something so intimate? But she seemed to want to, so he had no choice but to suppress it.

"Yeah... friends," he finally replied, forcing the words out. His lips pressed into a thin line as he busied himself with opening his lunch box.

The display of food inside gave him a convenient distraction. Nari quietly went to take a bite of rice when, suddenly, another egg was placed in her container.

"You love eggs," Myung-Gi said gently, a small smile breaking through his inner turmoil.

Her cheeks flushed pink as she glanced at him. "Thank you," she murmured, bowing her head slightly before taking a delicate bite of the egg.

For a moment, things felt almost normal. Almost.

"Enjoying your food?" A sarcastic voice cut through their fragile peace.

Nari froze mid-bite as Nam-gyu appeared, glaring at them with undisguised irritation. Myung-Gi's body tensed immediately, his posture stiffening at the unwelcome presence.

"I couldn't eat," Nam-gyu continued, his tone dripping with venom. "After seeing everyone get shot dead, you two still have a damn appetite?"

He slammed his spoon into his tray with a loud clatter, his agitation radiating off him. His glare fixated on Myung-Gi, as if daring him to respond.

"That crypto ruined my life too. That's why I'm here—to make money," Thanos announced, suddenly appearing in front of them. His presence felt like an intrusion, his sly wink at Nari quickly replaced by a scowl aimed at Myung-Gi. "That's right. You'd better make a lot of money. Because of that damn coin, I lost over 500 million won—the money I earned busting my ass rapping."

Nari's eyes widened in shock. 500 million? Her whisper barely escaped her lips, but Thanos caught it and smirked. "Yes, beautiful. 500 million. You'll help pay it, won't you?"

Myung-Gi's jaw tightened, his fist gripping the edge of his lunch container, jealousy and anger simmering beneath the surface. "I'll pay it. Now leave. Let us eat." His glare locked onto Thanos, just as Nam-gyu snatched the tray of food from Myung-Gi's bed.

"You little shit, eating like a damn pig," Nam-gyu sneered, waving the stolen tray mockingly.

Nari immediately intervened, leaning forward. "Give it back," she demanded, her tone firm despite her nerves.

Nam-gyu merely laughed, shaking his head. "No."

Thanos grabbed the tray next, scooping a spoonful of rice and toying with it. "You want it, señorita?" he teased, holding the rice inches from her lips. "Take a bite, baby."

Before she could respond, Myung-Gi slapped the spoon from Thanos's hand with enough force to send rice scattering to the floor. His voice was sharp, low with barely contained rage. "Leave her alone."

Thanos's smirk twisted into a sneer. Grabbing a handful of rice from the tray, he squeezed it into a sticky ball. "How about you?" he said mockingly, shoving the rice into Myung-Gi's face with a cruel laugh. Myung-Gi stumbled back, wiping the mess from his face, while Nari gasped.

"What's wrong with you?!" she yelled, her voice trembling between anger and disbelief.

Thanos laughed darkly, leaning closer to Nari and patting her cheek like she was a child. "Nothing, baby."

That was the last straw. Myung-Gi lunged at him, tackling Thanos to the ground in one swift motion. "Don't touch her!" he roared, his fist poised to strike.

Before Myung-Gi could land the punch, Nam-gyu yanked him off Thanos, twisting him around and landing a solid blow to Myung-Gi's face. Myung-Gi staggered, only to receive a swift kick to his side that sent him sprawling to the floor.

"Stop! Get off!" Nari shouted, rushing toward the chaos. Before she could intervene, Nam-gyu grabbed her arm, holding her back. "Let me go!" she yelled, stomping on his foot with enough force to make him yelp. Freed, she ran forward just as Thanos continued kicking Myung-Gi, who had curled into himself, shielding his face with trembling hands.

Without hesitation, Nari grabbed Thanos by the collar and yanked him away. Her fist swung instinctively, knuckles connecting with his chin in a sharp crack. "What the fuck?" Thanos growled, stumbling back in shock.

Before he could retaliate, a calm yet commanding voice cut through the chaos. "Enough!"

Player 001 stepped into the scene, his authoritative presence halting everyone in their tracks. His eyes scanned the group, sharp and disapproving. "Boys, what are you doing? No fights during meal time. There are elders present. Mind your manners—and leave the girl alone."

The distraction gave Nari just enough time to kneel beside Myung-Gi, pressing a cold water bottle to his swollen face. Her hands trembled as she whispered, "Are you okay?"

Meanwhile, Thanos scoffed, stepping up to Player 001 with defiance. "You're lecturing me? You're in this shithole too, old man. Stop running your mouth and take care of your own damn kids." His mocking hand waved dismissively in 001's face, daring him.

001's expression darkened, his calm demeanor replaced by a chilling intensity. "What did you just say?" he asked, his voice low and menacing.

Thanos repeated himself smugly, but before he could finish, 001's hand shot out, gripping his neck in a vice-like hold. Nam-gyu rushed to help, only to be stopped mid-charge with a swift kick to his shin that sent him crashing to the floor near Nari and Myung-Gi.

"Son of a bitch!" Nam-gyu hissed, clutching his leg.

001 didn't even glance his way as he shoved Thanos back, glaring at him with black, unwavering eyes. When Thanos tried to swing at him, 001 ducked smoothly, delivering two precise blows to Thanos's abdomen and solar plexus.

"Wait—" Thanos gasped, staggering forward and clutching at 001 for balance. But 001 grabbed his arm and twisted it sharply behind his back. The sickening crunch of bone echoed through the room, followed by Thanos's pained scream.

With two brutal kicks to Thanos's chest, 001 sent him sprawling to the ground, wheezing in agony. He bent down, his hand locking tightly around Thanos's throat as his fist hovered menacingly in the air.

"I'm sorry," Thanos choked out, his voice strained as he struggled against the hand constricting his windpipe.

"Apologize to the girl and her friend," 001 commanded, his grip tightening slightly, sending Thanos into a panic.

Thanos's purple-haired head turned just enough to catch sight of Nari and Myung-Gi on the floor. Myung-Gi's head rested in her lap as she gently dabbed at his wounds, her expression tense but calm.

"Now," 001 pressed, his voice sharper, his fist still raised and his eyes burning with warning.

"I'm sorry," Thanos gasped, his voice barely audible. He winced, struggling to get the words out as his remaining air slipped away.

001's eyes remained locked on him, his grip unyielding. "Say it like you mean it."

"Please..." Thanos croaked, his voice desperate.

Finally, 001 released him, shoving him backward with a force that sent him sprawling onto the ground. Thanos gasped for air, clutching his throat as he crawled away. The room erupted into scattered applause and cheers, a mix of relief and awe.

001 took a slow step back, his expression calm yet unyielding, before turning his attention to Nari and Myung-Gi. He walked over to them, his presence commanding the room into silence once more.

"Are you two alright?" he asked, his voice softer now, though the darkness in his eyes hadn't faded.

Myung-Gi pushed himself upright with some effort, his hand instinctively reaching to touch the tender spot on his cheek. He glanced up at 001, gratitude shining in his swollen eyes. "Yes, thank you."

001 offered a hand to help him to his feet, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'm Young Il," he said simply, his voice steady and composed. "And you?"

[staryscorner]

Monster

Paring: In-ho x reader

You and In-ho have had a steady relationship. You both met at a bar and since that day he has shown you almost every side there is to him. He trusts you with every little secret of his, even how he is the “Frontman” of some sort of game. Although you don't know what type of game it is you just thought it was nothing to worry about. He's your finance. So one day he said that he was going on a work trip which he would take every once in a while. You never went to any of them since you knew it was work, but for some reason you felt like you needed to go this time.

“Hey honey, would you mind if I tag along to your work trip?”

“Um well i'm not sure dear you might get bored and want to go home” He said chuckling nervously. 

Now you definitely had to go! He never acted this weird about his work.

“Come on sweetheart it’s just a week right you always come back looking so happy I want to see what brings you so much joy.” you said pushing him to take 

“And since it’s work I can be there to cheer you on if you ever feel down you know? So that’s why you should bring me” feeling like this would make him bring you.

He did hesitate for a bit but he said you could come 

.

.

.

After packing and heading on a boat you were surprised that it was just you and him.

“Where’s everyone else?” 

“There already at the destination so no need to worry” He said grinning at you 

“But I do need to tell you something … Once we get on this island you might see me in a whole other way and I hope that you feel no different than you do now about me” In-ho said in a worried tone

You were confused but what could make you change the way you feel about him

After finally reaching the island he went to the back of the ship and took out an all black leather outfit and a black mask 

“What's with the outfit?”

He didn't say a word, he just continued to put it all on and he handed you a similar mask and outfit.

“Just follow me and don't speak to anyone once we get off”

He was almost like another person this couldn't be your In-ho he was never this cold to you, but you didn't ask since your head was spinning with questions

You entered from a pit in the mountains and had to do a lot of climbing but once you saw made it to the top it was dark lit room which looked luxurious but one he walked you to the main room your heart sank… there were people put in track suits with panicked expressions 

“In-ho WHAT IS GOING ON!” you yelled at him

“Calm down you haven't even seen what my job is” 

He got up and told the guards dressed in pink to escort the players to the first game. You just keep on thinking is this what he meant when he said game

Once everyone was escorted to what seemed to be a dry land with a robot girl, that's when the true horrors began. You saw the robot turn around and say “green light” maybe this might be nothing to worry about, it's just a kids game. Maybe his job was to entertain people. Then the robot said red light and once she turned around the people who were moving were shot and blood flew everywhere.

Now this was something that you could not unsee. You looked up to now see the man you had trusted he was smiling he looked like he could laugh any second 

“I'm leaving, I'm sorry but I can't be with you anymore after this. I know I said I wasn't going to see you differently but this was something I was expecting.

“NO WAIT YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME” He grabbed your arm aggressively and would let you go

“You know too much and I can't have you reporting this to the police just stay here and nothing will happen to you I swear” 

You were trembling “Im sorry but I just can't I swear I wont tell the police but please just let me leave” 

.

.

. 

He let go of your arm and you just ran leaving the same way you entered Once you made it out you felt a sharp and hot feeling coming from your chest as you looked down you saw blood which made you fall you turned around and saw him the man you once loved the one you thought you knew everything about … your future husband

He had tears in his eyes he tried not to look pathetic but he really was he loved you with all his heart and he had to now kill you just for a selfish reason of him not getting found out and he knew that you wouldn't say anything but he still had to do it 

“I will always love you” Those were your final words before you collapsed and had stopped breathing. He just came near you holding your cold body in his arms

Now he was truly a monster

A/n: OHH YEAAA ANOTHER ONE DONE ISTG LEE BYUNG HUN is just so FINEEEE LIKEEE!!!

I hope y'all enjoy this!!

[unofficial-writing]

Sugar cookies

✵ Pairing: Fred Weasley/f!reader

✵ Word count: 2k

✵ Summary: You were notoriously horrible at any form of baking or cooking, but hopefully having another shot at it could improve the well-earned reputation

✵ Warnings: Established relationship, possible inaccurate cookie baking (I'm no chef), really nothing but fluff

Baking was a form of art, and you had never been that kind of artist. Every time the thought even crossed your mind, something had already gone wrong. Something was on fire, severely burnt, the wrong consistency, or just tasted awful. No matter how many times you tried, there was never any sort of improvement. No food or dessert had ever survived in your hands. So it wasn't often anymore you could be found in the kitchen, having mostly accepted that this was simply not your strong suit. However, every so often, you found a sudden urge to try and prove you could learn, even if you already knew the likeliest outcome. Today was one of those days, that urge tempting you into giving it another try.

It was a warm and quiet morning in the burrow, Molly and Arthur being away and most of the others busying themselves in different ways. You took the opportunity to try yet again at baking something. It was safer for everyone if there were fewer present to witness it, or possibly taste it. If you could get that far this time.

You approached the situation optimistically. The plan was to choose something simple to make and an even simpler recipe to follow. Just cookies couldn't hurt, right? It seemed easy enough, as long as you were careful.

Leaning against the counter, you studied the little book. There were very few ingredients, and that only meant fewer places where mistakes could be made. You were definitely capable of this. So with a newfound confidence, you got to work gathering an array of bowls, pans, ingredients, everything you thought you may need and more. As you scattered them across the counter at random, You were caught by the only other Weasley in the household.

Fred walked in on what was turning out to be a manic episode. You could tell he knew this based on the sudden panic in his face. "What are you doing?" He questioned, fearing the day he'd find you here again. Flashbacks of previous incidents were likely spinning through his head.

"A good morning would suffice." You replied without looking up from what you were doing. Another quick check of your book and you were ready to go, carrying hope for a more positive ending this time. Fred strode over lazily, sleep clearly still clinging to his mind. He slid his arms around you to gaze over your shoulder.

The embrace briefly distracted you from your task. And to further this, he pressed a long kiss to the top of your head. "I'm sorry, love. Good morning." His voice was muffled against your hair, but the way it sounded was almost tempting enough to drop everything in your hands and give him your full attention. Unfortunately, you were far too determined for that.

"That's much better," You remarked, earning a chuckle. Against your better judgment, you wiggled out of Fred’s arms to continue on with your cookies. After a few words of complaint, He leaned an arm on the counter beside you, finding the only open spot that hadn't yet been touched by your wave of disaster. You prepared your first ingredients, movements followed by his curious gaze.

"Now, don't tell me," He started sarcastically, continuing only once you glanced up at him. This look only lasted a moment, as you were in the middle of measuring flour. "You're making something."

"Clearly," Was your simple response. You were so focused on getting everything right.

"Something simple?" Fred gestured down to the not-so-simple mess on the counter. "I'd guess it's something even you couldn't ruin? Dare I say cake? Cookies, maybe?" He watched you pour the flour into a bowl, which came back up to coat the front of you in a white puff of smoke. A snort of laughter escaped his mouth, resulting in an immediate glare from you. It was very early in the game for you to be wearing your cookies.

"That's enough from you." You pointed a finger of your now powdered hand at him. "Unless you'd like to be covered in flour as well."

His expression changed as he considered your words. "Well, I could think of worse things to—” You put an end to his statement by launching a handful of flour at him, coating the both of you in a thin layer of white. He first tried to wipe his face with the back of his hand, only to find it would smudge. You roared with laughter at this discovery.

After your fit had calmed, you picked up a spoon in an attempt to return to your work. But you had started something Fred would be more than happy to finish. "Oh, no you don't." He grabbed your arms and pulled you to him, tickling and completely disarming you. Laughter jumped back into your throat and your utensils clattered to the ground.

"Fred! No!" You struggled to say, squirming to find an escape. By the time he had stopped, you could barely breathe and practically choked on the giggles that tried to escape your lips.

Fred picked up the spoon off the ground, narrowly dodging a slap to the arm. If your cookies turned out poorly now, you could place some of the blame on him. He went to rinse it off, which gave you enough time to add most of the remaining ingredients to your bowl.

You checked back with the book to ensure it was still going well. Other than the rapidly growing mess in the kitchen and all over you, it seemed fine so far. As long as there were no other setbacks, you may actually succeed this time.

As if you spoke it into existence, Fred turned around at the sink, just as you were placing the cookies in the oven. "Slight problem," His hands were held away from himself, face twisting into concern.

Your gaze was pulled to him to see he had tried and failed to rinse the flour off his hands and arms. Instead of washing away, it clumped and stuck to his skin. The realization hit you at the same time and you stared at each other, both covered in more flour than what was in the cookies.

Water did nothing against the powder. It was mixed with whatever other ingredients escaped the bowl, turning it into a glue and making the situation far worse. You took ahold of one of Fred's arms, but it immediately made your hands sticky as well. No matter how much you scrubbed, it only further spread across the skin

"It's not coming off," Fred announced simply, as if you weren't actively trying to fix the problem.

You sighed. "I can see that, love." You pointed to a bar of soap at the edge of the sink, beckoning Fred to hand it over. He obliged and reached for it. The soap helped significantly, freeing some of the sticky paste.

It took no small amount of effort, but you eventually had clean arms and hands. Fred took the bar from you, wetting the soap in his hands and lifting it to work it into the flour on your face. You gazed up at him while he did this, letting out a little giggle as he struggled to keep his eyes from finding yours.

Fred had very little self-control when it came to you. It didn't take any convincing for him to give in and meet your stare. It was intoxicating. Whatever you had been doing previously was easily forgotten the moment the look was exchanged. He practically melted, thumb still brushing across your cheek while his mind drifted away from cleaning your messy faces.

You did try to resist– or so you told yourself– But a flicker of your eyes toward his lips and it was over. You met in a sweet kiss, the chalky taste of flour finding your tongue. It was warm and gentle and filled with the same longing you felt every time you kissed him; even back to the very first time. The act was so simple, and yet was more than enough for him to take over your entire mind and body. You were completely at the mercy of your lover.

His hands cupped your face, the mixture of soap and flour making a mess of your skin. He held you there with no intention of moving and in turn, rapidly draining any of yours. This only lasted until a distinct burning smell reached your nose.

Fred noticed before you, lips parting from yours as his eyes fell on the sight. "Y/n," He muttered and let his hands drift down to your shoulders.

"Hm?" Was your oblivious response, further proof you belonged nowhere near an oven. Realization hit you at the same time as the harsh scent.

"Is that supposed to be on fire?" You jerked your body around to follow his gaze, only to find that your cookies had gone up in flames. How? You had only taken your eyes off them for a few minutes at most. Your hands went to your pockets, but there was empty fabric where your wand should have been. So Fred's was the next best option.

He wasn't one to handle emergency situations well. While you calmly tried to locate a solution, Fred seemed to lose any instinct for survival. "Fred," You snapped a finger to get his attention. "Your wand, love."

"Right," He searched around the counter for it. A sigh escaped your lips and you put a hand on his arm to stop him, taking his wand from his pocket. With a swift flick, water sprayed from the tip of it and extinguished the flames, which had roared on during the moment of panic.

As the fire subsided, you lost any hope in salvaging your dessert. They came out of the oven pitch black, hard as a rock, and now waterlogged; definitely not edible. You set them on the counter so you both could get a good look.

After a moment or two of dead silence, Fred made a poor attempt to lighten your disappointment. "Well, this isn't the worst thing I've seen you take out of an oven." You shot him the makings of a glare, which confirmed his attempt had ended in failure.

The expression turned into a frown. "Maybe I'm just destined for burnt cookies." As the words came out, so did a giggle. You really were cursed. Every single time, without fail, something goes wrong. You were convinced you were the only one with such terrible luck when it came to baking.

"Or maybe you just need more practice." Fred suggested, giving you his smile. Somehow he had become more enthusiastic about this than you.

You leaned onto the counter, sinking down in defeat. "I think I’ve had a little too much practice." Adding another kitchen disaster to your resume didn't make you any more eager to jump back into it.

"One more couldn't hurt, darling." He pulled out another set of ingredients, this time indenting to help you rather than distract. With Fred, your chances for success were greatly increased but still slim. Even with the odds stacked against you, how could you refuse? Especially at the sight of him standing there, so ready to try again with you. So with an exaggerated sigh, you got back to work.

These cookies had made it much farther than the previous batch. Even just surviving long enough to make it out of the oven was a victory. You could admit there was an obvious improvement. But even though they looked the part— mostly— One taste and you found they were not the most appealing to consume. It was a sign of progress, but still not something anyone else would find edible.

Finally, you were able to start coming to terms with your skill; or lack thereof. Baking was such a delicate art, and you just had to accept that not everyone was meant to be that type of artist.

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