#i know the end doesnt scan

[geekthefreakout]

"Guy Fawkes, Who?"

Remember, Remember

The 5th of November

Cas said "I love you" to Dean

Then trended over the US Election

Becoming the number one news-bearing meme

I'll always remember

That 5th of November

When he got sucked to turbo-hell, I screamed

There was some shit with Putin

For Nevada, we were rootin'

When Cas said "I love you" to Dean

Once we remembered

The 5th of November

For gunpowder treason and plot

But who cares for that guy

When Dean got hit with pie

And Cas, the CW forgot

So now on this day

We unbury that gay

With fanfic and art (we've made plenty)

And hold in our hearts the gay angel and hunter

Who broke Tumblr in November, 2020

[lokh]

I think it’s muscle tension, for me, my blood pressure and rate is fine. I had it for i dunno, 3 months? It also felt like I couldnt breathe deep enough. And again another time for a couple of months, which felt even more muscular than the time b4, stabbing pain when I laid on that side for a month, that one started at a social event completely out of nowhere so couldn't have been pulled by anything other than internal tension. I think spending so long researching what it could be, and trying to Make it go away made it much worse because ofc…it was giving me anxiety which made it hurt which made me anxious. I can’t tell you what made it go away, I think seeing a doctor to be like. You’re fine. Was good. But after that trying to accept it and idk, telling my body to do it worst instead of trying to fight it and being scared of it getting worse. I still get it now but usually only for a few days. I also try to get my heart rate up once a day by like. Jumping or running etc. which kinda helps get rid of the anxiety that I feel like…builds up without my awareness.

hmmm interesting... im glad that its lessened for you at least!

[whokilledsamara]

Ik this might be annoying (and I sincerely hope it isn’t☹️), but your works are honestly SOO WELL WRITTEN <333, I just couldn’t help myself asking for more hcs for our red, delulu, obsessive king🤞>.<, anyway.. how would Mr Scarletella react to us randomly deciding to smother him in kisses? - (and extra freaky points, on how he’d react when he deliberately and playfully gets licked by us (ya know, innocent kisses and then a skin lick for funziez, mostly to see if it gets him off🤭)

SCARLET KISSES

a Mr. Scarletella hc about kisses! {slight nsfw} {an: you ARENT annoying me at all!! you have some perfect ideas that make me excited to write! also tysm for the compliment <3}

warnings! : slight nsfw at the end,, nothing too bad. he gets freaky though >.•

well for starters, it would be hard to even find a way to kiss him. usually he doesnt let you touch him, or even be too close to him for that matter.

buuuut... on the rare occasions that he DOES allow your company, good luck.

he is very cold. like, his blood is unnaturally cold. but he's physically hot so its fine.

the moment you press your warm lips to his skin, he teleports away. NOT because he doesn't want it, but because he is shocked.

after seeing your giggling form, he calms down and teleports back to you, this time leaning down so you can do it again.

his body is still, and he lets you shower his face with kisses. his gaze is a flustered face.

his eyes stay closed and his brows furrowed as you kiss him, but the moment your lips press his own, his eyes shoot open.

he stares at you for a second, your eyes locked on each other, before he himself makes the move to kiss you back.

soft kisses of course, almost as if he is experimenting. though when you pull away he definitely has a prominent boner...

on the other path, if you don't press your lips to his, and instead give a soft, experimental lick to his cheek, he immediately tenses

his face turns flushed and he lets out soft pants, his wide eyes locked on yours and scanning your face.

his hand would reach out to grab your neck, sloppily forcing his lips to yours in a desperate and heated make out session.

rest is history...

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[pwnyta]

TW- suicide

(sorta?)

While I was thinking about Stone bein an anomaly to Ivo I was thinking of like... a comic idea where Ivo just wants to fix that. He doesnt want to NOT understand.

A dumb GUN soldier shouldnt be a fuckin MYSTERY...

So Ivo like does a bunch of weird scans and tests on Stone (Stone annoying doesnt complain or question him, the blind trust is a lot for Ivo to process so he puts it in a folder and inserts it into another folder in his mind to try & forgot about the feelings) and then dismisses Stone and starts the REAL tests.

Using Stones tests he creates a simulated version of Stone to see what it will take to push Stone away finally because DAMN hes tried but Stone is ...SOLID. Ivo hates that Stones always there, that Stone knows what he wants and needs, that hes stuck around for YEARS despite Ivo abuses... He 'hates' it. But more importantly he doesnt UNDERSTAND.

He calls his program 'Sycophant Test: ONE' and just starts tormenting simulated Stone but no matter what he does Stone stays until he ends the simulation himself.

Ivo has to contend with the fact that either... A- his program is a complete fucking failure or B- Stone might actually genuinely care for him. Either option sounds IMPOSSIBLE & horrific to him.

So he gives it his all and simulates as much terrible shit that he could conceive himself doing to the bastard just to really finally figure out how to even chip Stones resolve... in the end he tells ST:1 to shoot him.

ST:1 has the free will that Stone does to refuse an order but also Stones personality to NOT want to disobey.

All Ivo learns is that hes more attached to Stone than hes willing to admit to even himself and that is just so cringe and human. He hates it. Hes also gone and done fucked himself up overestimating how much he can tolerate Stones pain... even if it wasnt the REAL Stone.

Im just posting the little doodles I made to remind myself of my idea... but then I realized a comic like this would be a whole lot of work so I dont wanna do it anymore.

So im just posting the idea.

(It wasnt intentional... but this DOES remind me of a BtAS episode now that I typed it all out. LMAO Oh well.)

[leafostuff]

5 out of 5 Customer service [Ft. Lightsum's Nayoung]

Author note: a super fast quickie until i either post another quickie, or whenever i will eventually start working on a longfic, whatever comes first.

Fuck Nayoung is too hot

P.S; i am sorry for the puns

=================================

Let's be clear about something; This will probably wont be your proudest moment.

"Dude just do it, what's the worst that can happen?"

"She calls me a creep and kicks us out of the diner?, thought about that dumbass?" You ask, how are you even friends with those idiots again?

"Come on bro, have fun now, cringe later, and laugh about it even later" your other friend chimes in.

"He's right, if they throw us out, then next time i pay for your entire meal, deal?" Your fourth friend joins the conversation, he knows your weaknesses, so with a deep sigh you shake hands with him, just hoping to get this shit over with

And right on time, the barista comes to your table, a cute pink apron, blonde hair tied to a neat bun on top of her head and a joyful smile that adds to her character, "hey guys, welcome to 'Light sum pancakes', what do you want to order this morning?".

A light smack to your waist by the friend sitting near you, they all wait for this cheesy pick up line, and you've been quiet for too long so backing out is stupid.

Have fun now, cringe later they said, what the hell can go wrong?

"Actually..." A small gulp, "i would like to order you".

If it wasn't for the busy crowd around, you could've heard your friends giggling like crazy about this so-called 'prank', just hope the other customers are not looking at your table, having a free show of a college student making a fool himself at 9:AM.

The barista simply just eyes you up and down, her smile doesnt seem to leave her face when she scans to see any hint of awkwardness in your body and in the end she just replies with a nonchelant.

"Okay"

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

Update: it seems like the 'cringe later' part of the process does not seem to be anywhere close.

Her hair is still in the same bun as before, her clothes are now off her body, thrown somewhere on the toilet's (probably) dirty floor, and her smile? now turned into red-covered lips moving back and fourth from the base of your cock all the way to your tip, giving an teasing kiss, a playful and then - she goes back to her pace.

She's insane, you think to yourself, though you will admit that its not really the bad type of insane. Not even 5 minutes have passed and she is already taking your length entirely in her mouth, meanwhile her hands go off from your lap grabbing both of them and placing them on the back of her head, as if she trying to signal you to push her deeper.

She knows you are close, there's no way she doesn't.

Its even worse when she lets her tongue play with your balls, licking around like its her favorite candy while she looks directly at you with a sweet, innocent look, as if she's trying to say to you telepathically 'i know you want it, i know you want to fill this adorable little mouth'.

And eventually, you do

Cum quickly moves up into her mouth, river after river after river of the white, sticky fluid erupts without any form of control from you. Its cursed how she happily accepts it into her mouth, even adding a slurping motion to make your release more efficient to her, and even more pleasuring to you.

"Fuck, this was hot" she says in a casual tone, as if she didn't basically deepthroated you against the wall just now. she rises up to face you, hands swiping up any remains of cum left on her cheeks and beads of sweat that move slowly on her neck down to her collarbone, meanwhile you are still a panting mess, struggling to collect your breath.

She laughs at your situation. "What, don't tell me you already spent, my job states i can't leave any customer...unsatisfied~" she heads over even closer than before, her naked chest pushed over your chest while two fingers playfully move around your dick, quickly getting it once again hard and ready.

A cheeky giggle, "THAT's what i like to see in the morning, so what would like to order today?" she asks, looking directly at your eyes with a wink, however you cant muster up a response before she continues. "Do you want some ASS-cakes for a light meal?" she quickly turns around, having her butt wiggle dangerously close to your dick, looking behind to see your reaction.

"Or maybe...a Heavy meal of some Tit-burgers would be great to feast on?" another spin, now facing your with her hands on yours, taking them to each one of her mounds, prompting you to give a light squeeze. you can feel how it gets her tensed up, excited even to see how her 'shift' is gonna feel like, but she is not done.

"Or maybe..." she now lightly shoves you into one of the toilet stalls, quickly joining you while she locks the door behind her and straddles your lap, your dick inches apart from her pussy as she gives you a wink. "...your little customer would like its meal of its own?"

I think its safe to say it now gotten to the part where you will laugh about it way, way later.

[jensettermandu]

beware - kim minjeong

genre; smut

pairing; tattooist!winter x rockstar!female reader

content; smut, cunnilingus (r. giving), fingering (r, giving), brief mention of choking and spanking, implications of an unhealthy relationship, winter and reader both have piercings and tattoos but it doesnt go too much into it!

wc; 3.8k+

masterlist.

Her feet came to a stop, looking at the tattoo place and hoping that Minjeong wouldn’t throw her out this time too, last time was in the middle of the night, out in the middle of nowhere in a cheap motel. Her eyes scanned through the big glass windows, seeing the shorter girl who was sitting on the saddle chair with her back facing the window.

Minjeong slowly finished fixing her station, cleaning every little thing and organising everything, hating when her workstation would be messy. It wouldn’t even pass by Richie if it was and she was sure she would get fired as the guy had a lot of high-end clients because the place was known and had celebrities stopping by. 

She was somewhat underpaid despite having more clients than most of the other tattooists because of her designs and skill, but she knew that if she got hired anywhere she wouldn’t even get half the pay. It was a dog-eat-dog world in the end. 

Her ears were being graced with the heavy instrumental and the aggressive vocal fry of the metal song playing, that was until they were graced with the opening of the door. 

She was closing tonight and hated people who couldn’t read closing hours that were written clearly on the glass doors. “It clearly says that it’s closed.” She informed with an annoyed grumble, sighing as she waited for a response only to get none. 

Her ears tried to catch any sound of whoever entered as she had yet to turn around which was difficult with the music distorted music. She at last decided to turn around only to get stopped, her heart jumped up in rate at the cold hand that clasped over her mouth, the yelp muffled—in fear the first thing she did was elbow the person.

“Fuck–” She quickly turned around at the familiar voice that groaned in pain. “You’re fucking strong.” Y/n whined as she crouched down, holding onto the side of her ribs after the powerful blow. She was aware that Minjeong was strong after being manhandled by her in bed, but she didn’t expect her to have such reflexes. If she knew she wouldn’t have tried to scare her. 

“Are you fucking crazy?” Minjeong exclaimed, her hands wrapping around the girl's arms who looked up at her with her lower lip puckered. The girl’s heart eased from the galloping that it did when she thought she would die or get kidnapped. 

“You should know the answer.” Y/n’s voice came out somewhat strained from the pain.

Minjeong helped her back up on her feet, dragging the frail girl up by the arms. The strong scent of vanilla on the singer invaded her nose as she hadn’t been around the scent for a while. 

Minjeong sucked air through her teeth and shook her head, looking at the girl although her eyes trailed her stomach and the pierced navel first before going higher up. The band member was busy massaging her ribs slightly. “You’re a female yourself, you should know what is bound to happen if you think from my perspective for a second.” The girl complained and Y/n’s gaze fell on her at last. 

“I’ve been told that I see from the perspective of an idiot and not a woman and anyone can be an idiot.” She said with a small shrug, fixing the leather jacket as it had moved around from how she tried to see if Minjeong managed to bruise her. It was just slightly red. 

She hummed and turned back around on the chair to her station to finish up what she was doing. “Whoever said it was right,” Minjeong confirmed as the girl seemed quite reckless from what she’d seen on stage and now. 

“It was Richie—Is he in?” Y/n replied and looked back, deciding to sit down on the tattoo chair. 

“No, I’m closing tonight.”

Y/n looked around the chair that had a bunch of levers to be pulled and whatnot. The girl pulled one and reclined it further back before lifting her head and looking at the two separate legrests connected to it. “This could pass as some BDSM type of chair, would you let me eat you out on it?” Y/n questioned as ideas started to pile in her head about how she could position the girl in the chair or the tattooist position her. 

Minjeong finished and she turned back around to see the girl playing around with the levers and adjusting the chair. “No, there are windows right there and stop before you break something.” She slid over on the saddle chair she was in and grabbed hold of the girl’s hand, making Y/n look back up as she had been looking under the chair. 

The rockstar that had been plaguing Minjeong lately blew away the strand of hair that fell in front of her eyes and the two locked eyes, Y/n smiling at the girl. “But it could work if there weren’t any windows.” Y/n prompted as the idea as a whole didn’t have to be excluded if it hadn’t been for the windows. 

Minjeong let go of her hands and manoeuvred around to be in front of the girl. “If you’d do this…” She trailed off as she grabbed hold of the girl's legs, making sure that each was on the leg rests. Y/n watched the girl with a small smile, both of them in a better mood than the last time they were together. 

They had been able to wind down and relax after their latest rendezvous that had been intense with emotions; from the night they spent on the shitty mattress in the cheap motel to the constant fights they could have whenever they were together. Passionate, but in all the wrong ways as they both could still taste the bitterness of alcohol and the saltiness of tears on their lips. 

“Is this what you had in mind?” She asked as she pushed each leg rest apart, biting her lip as she parted the girl's legs and slid closer. Minjeong’s hands trailed over Y/n’s smooth and long legs, the scent of caramel and vanilla lingered along her skin.

Y/n hummed as the fingers ran over her knees and to her inner thighs. Minjeong’s fingers gently traced up creating goosebumps while she watched her fingers disappear under the black mini-skirt. Y/n expectantly watched until Minjeong caught her lust-filled gaze.

“Too bad there are windows then.” Minjeong reminded as she wasn’t going to risk getting fired if someone saw them and wouldn’t mind their business. She slid right back, teasing the girl and Y/n frowned, pulling the seat back up to sit straight as it had been reclined. 

“When do you get off?” Y/n asked.

“In 15.” She informed her and slid right back to her place. The heat that was pooling would have to wait a bit more, although neither knew how to make the time pass quicker because talking would mean having to beat around the bush of their last fight or talking about it which they never did. It was easier to fuck away the memories. 

“I won’t need more to make you tremble,” Y/n said and hopped down the chair, Minjeong’s eyes widened slightly when the taller girl grabbed hold of her hand and pulled on her. The girl rolled a bit on the chair before she managed to get up–ignoring her chair that fell over in the process. 

“Y/n–”

“It’s 15 minutes to waste doing something better than sitting around.” The lithe girl cut her off and Minjeong followed the girl who knew her way around the place. 

They walked past the counter and pushed aside the grey curtain that hid the small corridor that led to the office, bathrooms, changing room, and the first door on the left that Y/n decided to push open to not waste time—the supply room. The girl opened the door and blindly reached for the small light switch while entering and pulling Minjeong in after her. 

“I’m not trying to get fired for having sex in the supply room,” Minjeong muttered as all the ink, sanitisers and whatnot were stacked on the metal storage shelves. The door closed in the dimly lit room that just fit them both. 

“Trust me—” Y/n started and turned the girl around, Minjeong somewhat squirming at how cold the hands that gripped the flesh of her ass were. “We aren’t getting caught.”

Minjeong didn’t get the chance to question the girl’s words when all she did do was push her tongue against Y/n’s tongue when their lips met in that familiar kiss that was needy and somewhat sloppy. The barbell massaged against her tongue, making Minjeong play with it as she tilted her head to get more of Y/n’s mouth and lip gloss that tasted of vanilla. 

It was the least Y/n could do after their messy night.

Y/n squeezed the flesh in her hands, Minjeong hummed and ran a hand under the cropped tee. “You have a nice ass.” Y/n breathed out as Minjeong ’s fingers trailed up her ribs before she cupped the girl’s breast and ran her thumb over the hard nipple, this time the girl had simple barbells, making it easier for Minjeong to tug at the bud. 

“I’d have to say the same to you.” The shorter girl replied with her face nuzzling into the taller girl's neck to leave kisses that sent shivers through her whole spine, her lip rings gracing Y/n’s skin with a slight cold.

Y/n bit her lower lip as she pulled the skirt up over Minjeong ’s ass who pulled away and looked up at her. The air was cold against their hot skin and the blonde’s ass was left exposed in the lacy underwear. 

“But I love your hands on me.” The vixen hummed at Minjeong ’s words and pulled her right hand away, the other still gripping her other ass cheek.

The slender hand came to view, the same fingers that worked Minjeong’s pussy until it hurt and left her dripping wet onto her sheets, the hand that made her arch and squirm. Somehow just seeing the singer and guitarist's hand made Minjeong imagine what it had done and what more it could do. 

It made Minjeong lean in as Y/n gripped the side of her neck, thumb caressing the thudding pulse below the soft and inked skin where a tattoo started and trailed down. Their breaths mingled the tattooist stared up at her scum of a girlfriend if she could even call the problematic rockstar that. At least she was her tattooist, wasn’t she? She felt at mercy under Y/n’s touch and gaze, it was predatory, but she found comfort in the danger. 

Her peaceful life of tattooing people day to day turned into one of chaos drenched in ecstasy which made everything bearable. God, Minjeong despised her girlfriend as much as Y/n probably despised her, but at the same time, she loved just as much as she hated, the same way Y/n did. 

Y/n’s tongue stuck out, smoothing her hand over the slim neck until it was in her hold, toying with the lip ring on Minjeong’s plump lips that were wet and swollen. 

“Y/n.” Her voice was thick with lust, her cunt already throbbing as she wanted the fingers to work on her until her pussy was raw and aching from being at it for too long once again. A barely there whine at the teeth that tugged at her bottom lips, loving how the hand gently squeezed her throat while another kneaded her ass. Her nails dug into the side of Y/n’s ribs where her hand was under the girl's shirt. 

The two pulled back into each other, tongues moving against each other in heat and slickness. A gasp followed with a hum at the stinging when Y/n’s hand harshly clasped with Minjeong’s ass cheek the sound bouncing off the walls, gripping it and pulling her closer while Minjeong squeezed the breast she cupped in her hand.

The two stepped back as Y/n guided the way between the two metal shelves with her hands letting go of Minjeong and moving to grip her slim waist. Their lips parted from the messy kiss, only leaving remnants of salvia after each other. 

She slipped her hand from under Y/n’s shirt, running both her hands to her shoulders as Y/n leaned into her jaw, kissing along it with lips leaving a trail of shivers and goosebumps after, making Minjeong ’s chest heave a bit quicker.

“Fuck.” Minjeong sighed at the way Y/n nipped at her skin and moved her hand up to play with her nipples, her pace picking up as she kissed along her exposed collarbones. Her hand kneaded Minjeong’s breast through the spaghetti top that stopped right by her belly button, the hard and sensitive nipples protruding through the dark material as she was without a bra. Y/n pulled Minjeong closer by her waist, making it easier for her to lean down to her breasts. The blonde gasped when Y/n’s teeth tugged at her bud through the shirt, making her whine at the pain yet pleasure as she unconsciously tried to push Y/n to get down on her knees.

The singer hummed before pressing her pierced tongue against the same nipple through the shirt. It eased the pain and increased the throbbing of Minjeong’s clit who was holding back on moans because she had yet to touch her wet cunt and she already felt whiny. The words that followed from Y/n’s mouth made Minjeong push her onto her knees at last. 

“Gonna spend all my love and money on you.” Y/n’s voice humidly left her as she got down on her knees in front of Minjeong who held onto the top of her head. Their words tended to be fabricated and Minjeong was tired of listening to them; she preferred to have Y/n show it even if it would be in a different way from what anyone would expect.

The tattooist only had herself to blame for falling and getting tangled in the web of an unstable rockstar who was running a reckless life. It left marks on Minjeong, probably scarred and the only marks she left were with a needle and ink. 

“Shut up and show me instead.” Y/n looked up at the girl above her and smiled while running her hands up Minjeong’s smooth thighs which would have her in a choke hold while her face would be buried in her sweet pussy. 

The girl pushed up the skirt before attaching her lips to Minjeong ’s thighs. She could feel the girl holding back from squeezing her legs shut as she continued to kiss the inside of them with her nimble fingers running to the hem of the black lace panties.

Y/n pulled away and pulled down the panties, seeing the clear spot of wetness that Minjeong had left after her. She helped her out of them before stuffing them in the pocket of her jacket. 

“I want them back after.” The blonde managed to let out during her anticipation of getting her pussy eaten by the girl on her knees in front of her. 

“Do I come off as someone who steals panties?” Y/n questioned as she made Minjeong part her legs, giving her a perfect view of the glistening heaven between her legs. The vixen licked her lips and guided Minjeong’s right leg, her converse covered foot planting on the bottom shelf of the storage shelves. 

“You do, I’ve known you long enough.” Minjeong grabbed hold of Y/n’s head, her back pressed against the wall as her chest heaved. 

“You’re not wrong.” A cheeky smile covered Y/n’s lips as she leaned back in and started to kiss along Minjeong’s right thigh, the leg being propped against the shelf.

“I know I’m not, I’m missing pairs.” The girl breathily mumbled.

Y/n didn’t reply and instead reached her fingers up to Minjeong’s puffy and swollen lips using two fingers to part them. She leaned in between her legs—Minjeong releasing a light moan at the tongue that ran up from her clenching hole up to her throbbing clit. 

Y/n gathered the slickness around the bud that she swirled with her tongue before going back down and doing the same thing again. Minjeong’s juices gathered themselves on her tongue, the taste robust on her tongue and addicting, making Y/n dp it much messier to have as much as possible to lick up after leaving Minjeong a sopping mess.

The light moans and whimpers gradually picked up as Y/n continued to run her tongue along the lips she held spread with her fingers. As she gathered enough around the swollen clit she made Minjeong gasp, the grip tightening in her hair and Minjeong’s other hand quickly grabbed hold of the shelf post for balance. Things clattered as they fell from how abruptly she grabbed it, the shelf not being mounted to the wall. She hadn’t been prepared for the harsh suckling Y/n would provide with her mouth on her clit. 

“Fuck—that’s so good,” Minjeong whined, her head slumping against the wall as she closed her eyes. Her hips gyrated into Y/n’s face, unable to even try and hold still at the tongue that was flicking at her clit while Y/n moved her fingers down, teasing around the grasping hole that seeped with more wetness, running down her thighs. 

“I want you to fuck me with your fingers.” The girl moaned out, feeling Y/n tease around her hole with her fingers, remembering the view of them from earlier. The words made Y/n moan against Minjeong ’s cunt, the girl on her knees squeezing her thighs together. “To just play with my pussy until it hurts.” She spurred, wanting to get fucked until her vision would blur again, to get fucked over and over again as it made her forget everything. 

Minjeong moaned, her back arching at the two fingers that pushed into the warmth of her walls that were thudding, tightly engulfing them as they got clenched around with each moan. 

With her lips wrapped around the girl's clit she continued to suckle while flicking her tongue, Minjeong’s moans becoming louder and her grip on her hair tighter as her hips bucked into Y/n. She continued to scissor her fingers inside the girl, doing her best to adjust the tight hole more. The room filled with the moans, whines, whimpers and squelching of her pussy and the mess Y/n’s mouth was making.

The blonde could feel her body heat up at the firm yet soft muscle flicking at her swollen bud. She hummed, swallowing the dryness in her mouth as she tugged Y/n’s face more into her dripping pussy, the fingers stretching her out from the motion and being eaten out was one of the best things she could have gotten from her girlfriend at the moment. 

“Can you take one more?” Y/n pulled away mumbling, making Minjeong look down. The heat crashed in her stomach at the lead singer who was so assaultive on stage but was on her knees with a glint of submission in her eyes that were circled by the smudged eyeliner as her chin glistened with her juices, looking like she hadn’t eaten in years. It made Minjeong believe that Y/n could be different to her compared to what she truly was in front of everyone else. 

“Yeah, just keep fucking me.” 

Y/n couldn’t have gotten a better confirmation as she leaned back in with her tongue licking up and lips wrapping right around Minjeong’s clit again. This time she slowly pushed a third finger inside Minjeong’s snug walls which was enough for them to tighten at the stretch. She slowly moved her fingers, massaging and pressing her spongy wall while her tongue worked quickly, contrasting the slow strokes of her slender fingers. 

The pleasure overwhelmed the slight sting of three fingers being pushed right into her tightness. Her juices leaked, running down Y/n’s wrist who was lost in the way she had Minjeong so worked up. 

The build-up was fast at how her g-spot was pressed at and the work of the quick tongue, the hard barbell occasionally massaging added to the sensations that were blurring her head. All that Minjeong could hear were her noises, Y/n’s purr-like hums and how messy it was. Her mind filled with black as her eyes shut tightly and she gripped the post hard—something shifting and falling once again at how her body spasmed and she accidentally yanked on it from how sudden it was. 

Y/n glanced up at the girl who arched her back off the wall and threw her head back, her cunt pushing into Y/n’s mouth. A splatter of words fell from Minjeong and the girl couldn’t figure out what they were as they sounded more like whimpers. 

“So good, I want to cum all over your tongue, Y/n.” It made Y/n moan once again, wanting nothing more than for Minjeong to let go of everything on her tongue and face.

Minjeong felt the tingling spread through her body, her legs trembling and her eyebrows furrowed. Her breath hitched and warmth washed over her like a hot shower. Crying out at the orgasm that was way more intense than she expected in these circumstances as she felt lightheaded and white flashed behind her eyelids. 

Y/n tightened her grip on Minjeong’s hip, feeling the girl’s knees buckle. “Oh fuck…” Minjeong breathed out, the energy draining from her body as it relaxed. She blinked her eyes open—Y/n pulling her skirt back down as she pulled away, pulling her fingers out and helping the girl who unconsciously slid down to the floor with her. Her eyes shutting once more.

She looked at the girl in front of her whose cheeks were all flushed, her knees slumped against each other and her hands limp on the floor as she panted for air in the tight and hot space. Y/n leaned forward, restraining Minjeong of any possible room with her hands on each side of her on the cold ground. 

Her eyes opened, coming face to face with Y/n and despite feeling like she was held down by stones her hand came up. The tattooist cupped the singer’s cheek and pulled her in as she couldn’t get enough, she constantly needed more of what they had. 

It had all been so seemingly innocent, but before Minjeong knew it she was dragged into deep waters, drowning in Y/n's arms with no way out as it grew like an addiction. It had been too tempting no matter how many people told her to beware of what was disguised as innocence but only led to harm. They both dragged each other and what made it work was that it was always a one-way ticket to the gates of hell. 

masterlist.

[elryuse]

jang wonyoung-------- where oc is three years older than wony and have been dating before ive debut but its a secret in the public eye,but then thing happened wony kind of cheated oc finds out about it but he just can't let her goo so he endure at first but then it become worse and then they kind of parted ways even though wony doesnt seem to want to let go of oc.They really cant stay away from each other even though wony and oc parted ways they are still intertwined.Lets say oc is in the palm of wony hands kind of pretty toxic but sweet yeah...

Toxic Till The End

Wonyoung X Male Reader

Disclaimer : Don't Be Toxic Kiddo, :D

You glance at the clock hanging on the wall behind the counter, wiping your hands on your apron as you wait for the next customer. It's early afternoon, a little after lunch, and the regular crowd has started to trickle in. Your café, tucked away in a quiet alley just a short walk from the busy corporate district, has always had a steady stream of customers. But lately, you’ve noticed a particular customer who has caught your attention.

It’s Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung. You’ve known her face for a while, even before she began frequenting your café. As a popular idol, her posters and commercials are everywhere, but the first time she came into your café, it felt different. You weren’t just seeing her through a screen. She was right there, in front of you, asking for a latte with the softest voice.

At first, it was nothing special. Just a polite exchange, like with any customer. You kept your cool, even though you were a little starstruck. But the more she visited, the more those polite exchanges became something more. A smile here, a small compliment there. You found yourself looking forward to the days when she’d step through the door, her eyes scanning the room before they settled on you with a glimmer of recognition.

The bell above the door jingles, and like clockwork, Wonyoung steps inside. She’s wearing a simple, oversized coat and a cap pulled low over her face, but you’d recognize her anywhere. Today, though, something is different. She looks tired, her shoulders slightly slouched, and her usually bright expression is dimmer.

“Hey,” you greet her, offering a warm smile. “The usual?”

She nods, pulling her cap a little lower as she approaches the counter. “Yeah, please. One vanilla latte.”

As you start preparing her drink, you decide to strike up a conversation like you’ve done before. “Rough day?”

She chuckles softly, leaning her elbows on the counter. “You have no idea. It's been non-stop meetings and rehearsals. I just needed a break.”

You hand her the drink, watching her fingers brush against yours as she takes the cup. The small contact makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly focus back on the conversation. “Well, I’m glad you came here to take that break. The world can wait a little, right?”

She looks up at you through her lashes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I guess so. This place has kind of become my escape.”

Her words stir something in you. An idol like her, with the entire world watching her every move, finding a sense of peace in your small café? It’s flattering. You lean against the counter, trying to play it cool, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable.

“You’re welcome here anytime, you know that,” you say, your voice dropping slightly. It’s an invitation you’ve given before, but somehow it feels more meaningful now.

Wonyoung sips her latte, the steam rising between you two as she lets out a content sigh. “Thanks. That really means a lot.”

There’s a comfortable silence for a moment, the two of you just enjoying each other’s company. But then, as you’re about to ask her something, a group of fans passing by outside catches your eye. They don’t seem to have noticed her yet, but you know it’s only a matter of time. Wonyoung must sense your unease because she follows your gaze and tenses slightly.

“Do you need to go?” you ask, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

She hesitates, glancing toward the door. “I probably should…”

You don’t want her to leave. Not yet. Not when it feels like you’re finally getting closer. Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Would you maybe want to hang out sometime? Outside of here, I mean.”

Her eyes widen slightly, surprised by your sudden boldness. You can feel your palms getting sweaty, and you mentally curse yourself for being too forward. But then, to your surprise, she smiles—a real, genuine smile that lights up her face.

“Are you asking me out?” she teases, her tone light but her gaze intense.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Uh, yeah. I guess I am.”

She looks down at her drink, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup. For a moment, you think she’s going to turn you down, but then she looks up again, her smile still there.

“I’d like that,” she says softly, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “But… we’d have to keep it a secret. My company has strict rules about… well, you know.”

You nod, understanding immediately. Dating an idol? You’ve heard the horror stories of how fans react. But the thrill of the secrecy only adds to your excitement. “I can keep a secret if you can.”

She giggles, the sound like music to your ears. “I guess we’ll see.”

As she stands to leave, you can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline. You just asked out Jang Wonyoung—and she said yes.

“When should we—” you begin, but she interrupts with a sly smile.

“I’ll text you. We’ll figure it out.”

She waves goodbye, leaving you standing behind the counter, your heart pounding in your chest. You watch her disappear down the street, the bell on the door chiming softly as it swings shut behind her.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like something big is about to happen. Something that could change everything.

The days that followed felt like a blur of anticipation. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart would leap, hoping it was her. And then, one night, just as you were closing up the café, her name flashed across your screen.

“Tomorrow. 8 PM. I know a quiet place.”

You read the text over and over, a smile creeping across your face. It was happening. You were actually going on a date with Wonyoung, and no one else knew.

The next day, you close the café a little earlier than usual, making sure everything is perfect before you head out. The nerves hit you the moment you step outside. What would it be like? What would you talk about? But there’s also an excitement bubbling beneath the surface—a thrill you haven’t felt in years.

When you arrive at the spot she mentioned, you’re surprised to find it’s a small, dimly lit park, tucked away from the busy streets. It’s quiet, serene, and the perfect place for two people who didn’t want to be seen.

Wonyoung is already there, sitting on a bench, her face partially hidden by the hood of her coat. But when she looks up and sees you, her face breaks into a smile.

“You came,” she says softly, standing to greet you.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice a little shaky. You try to play it cool, but your heart is racing.

You sit beside her on the bench, the cool evening air wrapping around the two of you. For a moment, neither of you says anything, just enjoying the rare moment of privacy.

“So,” she begins, breaking the silence. “You really weren’t scared to ask me out? Most people wouldn’t dare.”

You chuckle nervously. “Well, I guess I’m not like most people.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling. “No, you’re not. That’s why I said yes.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but feel drawn to her in a way that’s both intoxicating and terrifying. The fact that you’re sitting here, in the dark, in secret, makes everything feel a little more dangerous. But you like it. You like her.

As the conversation flows, it becomes clear that there’s more to Wonyoung than what the world sees. She tells you about the pressures of being an idol, the constant scrutiny, the expectations that weigh on her shoulders. You listen intently, feeling protective over her in a way you hadn’t expected.

“You must get lonely,” you say, your voice soft.

She nods, looking down at her hands. “I do. Sometimes it feels like I’m living two lives—one for the public and one for myself. But the lines get blurred, and I don’t know which one is real anymore.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand over hers. “This is real,” you say firmly. “Whatever this is between us—it’s real.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable. For a moment, you think she’s going to pull away, but then she squeezes your hand, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

“I hope so,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

The warmth of your bond with Wonyoung had grown over the years, weaving itself into every corner of your life. From stolen evenings in the quiet corners of the city to shared laughter over cups of coffee in the dim glow of your café, your relationship had become something sacred. She trusted you, and you loved her with every fiber of your being.

But things started to shift when Wonyoung sat across from you one evening, her face pale and serious.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

You set down your cup, leaning forward. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her mug. “It’s… good news, really. But…” Her words faltered, and the worry in her eyes twisted your gut.

“Wonyoung, just tell me,” you urged gently.

“I’m debuting,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You stared at her, trying to process what she’d just said. Wonyoung had always talked about her dreams of becoming a star, of standing on the biggest stages and sharing her talent with the world. You should have been happy for her, proud even. But all you could feel was the growing pit in your stomach.

“That’s… amazing,” you said, forcing a smile.

She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It is. It’s everything I’ve worked for. But… you know what this means, right?”

Your heart sank. “What are you saying?”

She looked down, her hands gripping her mug tightly. “The company’s rules are even stricter now. I’ll be busier than ever. Training, schedules, promotions… I won’t have time for…” Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip, trying to hold back her emotions.

“For us,” you finished for her, your voice hollow.

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t what I want, but I don’t have a choice. If they find out about us, it could ruin everything—for both of us.”

You sat back, the weight of her words pressing down on your chest. This was it. The moment you’d feared since the day you started dating her. You knew the risks of being with an idol, but you’d always hoped you could make it work. Now, it felt like that hope was slipping away.

“I understand,” you said quietly, your throat tight. “Your dream has always come first. I don’t want to hold you back.”

She reached across the table, taking your hand in hers. “You’ve never held me back. You’ve been my anchor, my safe place. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” you promised, squeezing her hand. “Even if we can’t be together the way we want, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

Her tears spilled over, and you pulled her into your arms, holding her tightly as she cried. You wanted to believe your own words, but deep down, you knew this was the beginning of the end.

The days that followed were the hardest of your life. Wonyoung’s visits became less frequent, her texts and calls more sporadic. You understood why, but that didn’t make it any easier. You poured yourself into your work, trying to distract yourself from the emptiness she left behind.

Then, one day, the messages stopped altogether.

At first, you told yourself she was just busy. Her debut was approaching, after all. But as weeks turned into months, the silence became deafening. You stared at your phone every night, hoping for a message, a call—anything. But nothing came.

You threw yourself into your café, hoping the familiar routine would keep you grounded. But even there, reminders of her were everywhere. The table by the window where she always sat, the scent of vanilla lattes that lingered in the air—it all made your heart ache.

Your only solace was watching her from afar. You followed her career, watching every performance, every interview, every commercial. She was incredible, just as you always knew she would be. But the bright lights and the adoring fans only reminded you of how far away she was now.

Still, you held onto hope. You told yourself that one day, when the world wasn’t watching so closely, she’d come back to you.

Years passed, and your life settled into a routine. The café grew busier, and you built a reputation for being the cozy little spot that people loved. But no matter how much time passed, Wonyoung was always in the back of your mind.

Every time the bell above the door jingled, your heart leapt, hoping it was her. Every time you saw someone with long, dark hair or heard a soft laugh, you thought of her.

One evening, after closing up, you sat alone in the café, a cup of coffee growing cold in your hands. The dim light from the streetlamps outside cast long shadows across the walls, and the quietness of the night only amplified the loneliness in your heart.

You pulled out your phone, scrolling through old messages from Wonyoung. You hadn’t deleted them, even though it hurt to read them. They were all you had left of her.

“I miss you,” you whispered into the empty room, your voice breaking.

You didn’t know if she’d ever come back. You didn’t know if she even thought about you anymore. But you couldn’t let go. She was your first love, and a part of you would always belong to her.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you continued to wait. You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew one thing for sure: if Wonyoung ever walked through that door again, you’d welcome her with open arms.

For now, all you could do was hope. Hope that somewhere, in the midst of her glittering, chaotic life, she still remembered the little café where it all began.

The bell above the café door jingled softly as another customer walked in, but your mind was elsewhere. The days had blended into a monotonous cycle—serving coffee, cleaning tables, and quietly hoping. Hoping that one day, Wonyoung would return, her familiar presence lighting up the small café once more.

You told yourself every day that it was foolish. That she had likely moved on, swept away by the tidal wave of her career. But a small part of you clung to the memories, refusing to let go.

Then, one fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, you saw her.

It was a glimpse at first—a flash of her unmistakable silhouette passing by the large window of your café. Your heart leaped, the familiar rush of emotions flooding your chest. Without thinking, you dropped the cloth in your hand and hurried to the door, your pulse racing.

“Wonyoung!” you called out, stepping onto the quiet street.

She didn’t turn around.

You froze, your voice caught in your throat as your eyes locked onto her. She was walking down the street, her delicate figure wrapped in a soft beige coat. But she wasn’t alone.

There was a man beside her, tall and well-dressed, with an air of casual confidence. Wonyoung clung to his arm, her smile bright and carefree. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as she tugged his arm playfully, her laughter floating through the crisp evening air. It was a sound you knew all too well, one that used to be yours. And that smile—the same radiant smile she’d given you on your first date—was now meant for someone else.

Your heart clenched painfully, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Was it just a colleague? A friend? Or… something more?

The rational part of you tried to dismiss it. She’s an idol. She must have many colleagues, right? But deep down, a gnawing doubt began to take hold, and with it came a wave of desperation.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. The image of Wonyoung with that man replayed in your mind like a cruel, endless loop. You tried to push it aside, to reason with yourself, but the knot in your chest refused to loosen.

You kept telling yourself that it didn’t mean anything. That there had to be an explanation. But the doubt lingered, growing stronger with each passing day.

“She’ll come back,” you whispered to yourself as you cleaned the counter the next morning. “She’ll explain everything.”

But she didn’t.

Days turned into weeks, and Wonyoung never walked through your door. You scrolled through her social media, searching for clues, but found nothing. Her life seemed to be as glamorous and untouchable as ever. Meanwhile, you felt yourself spiraling.

Your thoughts became consumed with her. You replayed every moment, every smile, every touch. You clung to the memories like a lifeline, even as they began to feel like a weight pulling you under.

Every night, you prayed silently, your hands clutching your phone as you stared at her name. You prayed that she’d text, that she’d call, that she’d walk through the door with that familiar shy smile.

But she never did.

One evening, as you closed up the café, you found yourself back at the place where you’d seen her with the man. You didn’t even know why you were there, only that you couldn’t stop yourself.

You sat on a bench nearby, staring at the street as if willing her to appear. The desperation in your chest had grown into a hollow ache, one that refused to go away.

“She wouldn’t do this to me,” you muttered under your breath, your hands gripping your knees. “She wouldn’t cheat on me.”

But the memory of her smile—the one she gave that man—gnawed at your resolve.

Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of her. Your friends began to notice the change in you. They asked if you were okay, if something was wrong. But you brushed them off, retreating further into yourself.

Your café became your only refuge, the one place where you could pretend everything was still normal. But even there, the memories of her lingered like ghosts.

Every time the bell above the door jingled, you looked up, hoping it was her. Every time someone ordered a vanilla latte, your chest tightened with longing.

But Wonyoung never came.

The toxic cycle began to take its toll. You stopped sleeping, your nights spent staring at your phone, waiting for a message that never came. You stopped eating, your appetite replaced by a gnawing emptiness that nothing could fill.

Your friends tried to pull you out of it, but their words fell on deaf ears. How could they understand? They didn’t know what it was like to love someone like Wonyoung. To love her so deeply that it consumed you.

“She’ll come back,” you told yourself again and again, your voice growing weaker each time. “She has to.”

But deep down, a part of you knew the truth. You’d seen it with your own eyes. Wonyoung had moved on. She had someone else now.

And yet, you couldn’t let go.

You kept praying, day after day, for her to come back. You told yourself that if you just held on a little longer, she’d walk through the door and everything would be okay again.

But as the weeks turned into months, the hope that had once sustained you began to wither away.

You were losing yourself in the waiting, in the longing, in the toxic spiral of loving someone who no longer cared.

And still, you couldn’t stop. Because as much as it hurt, the thought of letting go hurt even more.

The rain came down in heavy sheets, drumming against the windows of the café as the sky wept its sorrow. You stood behind the counter, absentmindedly drying a mug as you stared out into the gray, dismal street. The café was quiet tonight, save for the occasional rattle of thunder in the distance.

Then, through the streaks of rain on the glass, you saw her.

Your breath caught in your throat as Wonyoung’s familiar figure emerged from the downpour, standing just outside the café. Her hair clung to her face, wet from the rain, and her shoulders trembled as she hugged herself tightly. She looked… broken.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing. This was the moment you’d prayed for countless nights. Yet now that it was here, something inside you felt different.

With a deep breath, you walked to the door and gently pushed it open.

The bell jingled softly, but Wonyoung didn’t move. She stood in the rain, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the raindrops.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice trembling.

You stood there, watching her cry, her words cutting through the sound of the rain. In the past, you would have rushed to her, held her close, and whispered soothing words until her tears stopped. But tonight, something in you had changed.

You stepped aside, motioning for her to come in. “You’ll catch a cold out there,” you said quietly, your tone calm but distant.

She looked up at you, her eyes red and swollen, and hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

Wonyoung sat at her usual spot by the window, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea you’d prepared without a word. The warm light of the café cast soft shadows across her face, accentuating the sadness in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. “For everything.”

You sat across from her, your expression unreadable. “What exactly are you sorry for, Wonyoung?”

She flinched at the coldness in your tone, her fingers tightening around the cup. “For… disappearing. For not calling. For—” Her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes again. “For hurting you.”

Your heart clenched at her words, but you forced yourself to remain composed. You couldn’t fall into the same cycle again. Not this time.

“Why are you here, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice firm but not unkind.

She looked up at you, her eyes searching your face for some sign of warmth, of forgiveness. “I missed you,” she said softly.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Missed me?” you echoed, your voice tinged with skepticism. “Or are you just bored?”

Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, she was speechless. “How could you say that?”

“Because, Wonyoung,” you said, your voice steady, “you walked away. You left me here, waiting for you, while you moved on with your life. And now, after all this time, you show up out of nowhere, crying and saying you’re sorry. What am I supposed to think?”

She stared at you, her lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought… I thought you’d understand.”

“Understand what?” you asked, leaning forward. “That I wasn’t worth even a text? That you could just show up whenever it suited you and expect me to be here, waiting with open arms?”

Her tears spilled over, and she buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t know what to do,” she sobbed. “I was scared. Scared of losing everything.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I understand fear, Wonyoung. But you don’t get to use that as an excuse to treat me like I don’t matter.”

Her sobs quieted, and she looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of guilt and confusion. “You’ve never talked to me like this before,” she said softly.

“Maybe I should have,” you replied. “Maybe if I’d been more honest with you from the start, we wouldn’t be here now.”

The silence between you was heavy, broken only by the sound of rain tapping against the windows. For the first time, Wonyoung seemed at a loss for words.

“You’ve always been there for me,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. I don’t want to lose you.”

You sighed, leaning forward and resting your elbows on the table. “Wonyoung, this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what’s fair—for both of us. I’ve spent years waiting for you, hoping for something that might never happen. And it’s taken me this long to realize that I deserve more than that.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she reached across the table, her hand trembling. “Please… don’t give up on me.”

You hesitated, staring at her outstretched hand. Every part of you wanted to take it, to pull her into your arms and pretend everything was okay. But you knew that would only lead to more pain.

“I’m not giving up on you,” you said quietly. “But I can’t keep doing this. If you want me in your life, you need to show me that I matter. Not just when it’s convenient, but always.”

Her hand faltered, and she pulled it back, clutching it to her chest. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

You nodded, your heart breaking all over again. “Then maybe it’s time we stop pretending this can work.”

She stared at you, her face a mixture of shock and devastation. “Are you saying it’s over?”

You took a deep breath, the words catching in your throat. “I’m saying that I can’t keep holding onto something that’s tearing me apart.”

Her tears fell freely now, but she didn’t argue. She simply nodded, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

The rain continued to fall outside as you sat there, the weight of your decision settling over you like a heavy blanket. For the first time in years, you felt a strange sense of clarity.

This wasn’t the ending you’d hoped for, but maybe it was the one you needed.

The days that followed Wonyoung’s tearful return were bittersweet. She seemed genuinely sorry, her apologies heartfelt and tear-streaked. For a while, it felt like things might finally be different. She softened around you, her laughter returning, her gentle touches and warm smiles reminding you of the Wonyoung you had first fallen for.

But as time passed, the cracks began to show again.

It started small—missed calls, vague excuses about her schedule, and moments where she seemed distracted even when she was with you. You told yourself it was fine. That she was busy. That you could be patient.

But then came the nights when she wouldn’t respond to your texts at all. The whispers online about her being spotted with someone else. The photos of her arm linked with another man’s, her smile radiant and carefree, just like it had been the first time you saw her with someone else.

You confronted her one evening when she finally came back to the café, her expression tense but defensive.

“Who is he, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice quiet but trembling with restrained emotion.

She froze, her eyes wide, then quickly looked away. “It’s not what you think,” she said, her tone evasive.

“Then tell me what it is,” you pressed, your patience wearing thin. “Because this keeps happening, Wonyoung. You disappear, you’re seen with other guys, and then you come back here, apologizing like it’ll make everything okay.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached out to you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered. “You have to believe me.”

You pulled back, avoiding her touch. “That’s what you always say. But you keep doing it.”

She began to cry, her hands trembling. “I love you. I just… I don’t know how to handle everything. The pressure, the expectations. You’re the only thing that feels real, but sometimes it’s too much.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold onto the idea that she loved you, even if her actions said otherwise.

But the truth was undeniable. This wasn’t love. It was something toxic, something that was slowly destroying you both.

The cycle continued. Wonyoung would vanish for days, sometimes weeks, only to return with teary apologies and promises to do better. And every time, you forgave her.

You hated yourself for it. Hated how weak you felt, how easily you crumbled under the weight of her tears and her soft words. But no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t let her go.

Until one night, when everything came crashing down.

You’d seen her again, smiling and laughing with someone else. The sight was like a knife twisting in your chest, and for the first time, something inside you snapped.

You went home that night and stared at your phone, the screen glowing with her name. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of anger, sadness, and despair.

Finally, you began to type.

“Wonyoung, I can’t do this anymore. You’ve hurt me too many times, and I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I love you, but I need to love myself more. Goodbye.”

Your thumb hovered over the send button, your chest tightening. You knew this was the right thing to do, but it felt like tearing a piece of your soul away.

With a deep breath, you pressed send.

The message delivered instantly, the small checkmark mocking you as you stared at it. And then, you turned off your phone, the weight of your decision crashing down on you.

The days that followed were a blur of pain and emptiness. You tried to focus on the café, on the simple routines that had once brought you comfort. But everything reminded you of her—the scent of vanilla lattes, the sound of the bell above the door, the corner seat where she used to sit.

And then, one evening, your phone buzzed.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you stared at the screen. It was her.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

You closed your eyes, the familiar ache in your chest returning. You knew you shouldn’t reply. You knew this was just another loop, another step in the endless cycle of pain and forgiveness.

But even as you told yourself to ignore it, your fingers betrayed you, typing a response before you could stop them.

“I’m here.”

You hated yourself for it. Hated how easily she pulled you back in, how much power she had over you. But deep down, you knew the truth.

You and Wonyoung were toxic. You hurt each other, over and over, and yet you couldn’t let go.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken it made you feel, you still loved her.

And some part of you always would.

[cxffecoupx]

love languages: lee jihoon

lee jihoon x reader fluff, headcanons warnings: none ig wc: 472 author's notes: we're ending the '96 line with this one!! i'm not very proud of this one tho, feels a little rushed. jihoon deserves the absolute best. but i hope you like it!

acts of service:-

jihoon always worries that you might feel underloved because he never says it out loud, but he doesn't realise the fact that you see the things he does for you out of love: tucking you in when you're too tired and sleep on the bed, helping with the dishes, refilling all your work or academic supplies when he sees you're about to finish them, wrapping a scarf round your neck when you're going out, picking you up from work or school... the list could go on. he does it out of love, but he doesnt know how much this makes your heart flutter.

"ji, sorry i got late, i had to work a little overtime. i'll take a cab and get home-" you tell him on the call as you get ready to leave your office. "stay right there. i'm coming to get you."

gift giving:-

also loves to spoil you by getting you things. you name it, he'll get it for you: dresses, jewelry, lingerie (this one's his fave because he gets to rip it off you and that gives him an excuse to buy even more), jackets, shoes. even when you try to get him to stop, he wouldn't budge; he's making all this money, it's to spend on you, why else would he need it? loves to see you all dolled up in dresses he picked out for you (and mind you, his choices are immaculate), and seeing you blush from all the compliment you get for it.

you step out of the washroom in a dark red bodycon dress. you could feel jihoon's eyes scanning you top to bottom as you walked to your dressing table to fix your hair. "you look so beautiful," his breath hitches as he speaks. "i always look good in dresses you pick for me."

making playlists for you:-

jihoon's world revolves around music. it also revolves around you. so what other best way to show his love than to create a playlist with all the songs that remind him of you? it all started by him listening to songs that end up reminding him of you. he decided to make a playlist of it so that he can hear it later, during work or gym. one day, he reveals to you about the playlist and absolutely bursts when he sees your enthusiasm. since then on, he's made playlists for you for every occasion, casual events like cooking or doing laundry to special days like birthdays and anniversaries.

the house was weirdly quiet today, with you having an off-day and jihoon being out for a work trip. you browse among the various playlists he's made for you before picking out one and heading to the kitchen to make dinner. now playing: for days i miss you a little too much

[maybaankk]

⠀ roses n thorns ⠀⠀﹒⠀　a.h x reader

this work includes / may include : rossi!reader, age gap (8 years), reader was born in 1979, aaron was born in 1971, reader is heavily italian, reader works at the bau, angst, rude!aaron because hes a sucker and doesnt know how to come to terms that he likes Y/N, fluff at the end, canon typical violence, fem!afab reader, reader is literally a ball of sunshine, religion mentions.

summary : when Y/N Rossi joins the bau at the recommendation of her father; aaron hotchner cant possibly see past the fact that she is far too happy to be in this field.

wc: 11.2k

The first thing aaron hotchner notices about Y/N is the smile plastered on her face and the box of canolis’ in her hands as she greets her new coworkers; he stares from his office window, arms crossed over his chest.

When the girl makes a b-line for his office a heavy grumble leaves his chest, he expects her to barge right in, but instead; she knocks and waits there patiently, holding the box of canolis’ in her hands.

He answers the door and she looks up to meet his gaze, that same sickly sweet smile plastered on her face, it makes his stomach turn and his chest feels like thousands of thorns are encircling it; he had only ever felt this way about Haley, and that was when he was in private school.

“Ah! SSA Hotchner right? my father said you’re the boss of this place.. he also told me that you like his canoli recipe.. so i uh, prepared a box of them last night” She smiles, and he can recognise that heavy twinge of italian in her voice, much like he can her fathers.

“Yes. That’s me, and you’re Y/N Rossi, correct?” He grumbles, and she notices how uncomfortable he looks, her brain flooding with thoughts before she stops herself; she’s not even been in the building an hour and she’s already accidentally profiled her new boss.

“Yes sir, that’s me.. where should i place these?” She squeaks, almost nervously, the confidence she once carried herself with dissipating into nothing, the smile also dropping from her face, in exchange for a nervous bite of her lip.

“The break room fridge, agent. it’s down the mezzanine to the left.” His arms still crossed over his chest, his eyes scanning the woman in front of him; watching as she walks away.

“Thankyou sir, i’ll be on my way now, goodbye” She mutters, and he could wear he heard her voice crack as she left.

He starts to feel bad, but he can’t place his finger on why, but when you leave, the thorns in his chest slowly unwind themself, and he’s at ease once more.

In the roundtable room, you take your seat inbetween your father and your newfound friend Emily Prentiss, you engage in friendly chatter as everyone filters in; and eventually the brightly and beautifully dressed tech analyst, Penelope takes the remote, clicking it to show the photos of 4 men, all without their eyes and a cross carved into their left thighs.

“These men were found in alleyways all over arkansas last week; the local PD didn’t think much of it until they got.. this letter” She pauses before a note on worn lined paper flashes up, an intricate rose stamped onto it.

You speak up, gesturing to the crosses on the men’s thighs; your father looking at you approvingly; “Those aren’t christian crosses.. they’re upside down those are petrine crosses, more recently dubbed the saint peters cross, it’s possible the killer believes he’s not high enough next to god to carve a christian cross; as peter crucified himself upside down because he believed he wasn’t as worthy as jesus..”

Hotch only stares as Spencer nods at youe statement, chiming in “Y/N is correct; he may believe that these killings are for god, and that they’re messages.”

And then penelope shows something else on screen; “Well.. it gets so much worse, my religious geniuses, because their eyes were found near them with bronze chains next to them..”

Hotch finally pipes up, asking the table for input and he rolls his eyes when you pipe up again.

“That’s similar to Jeremiah 39:7.. Zedekiah watched his sons be put to death and then his eyes were put out where he was bound with bronze chains and he was dragged to babylon..” You wince at the cold eyes of hotch as you look at Emily; she only shrugs her shoulders.

When you and Emily arrive at the latest crime scene of the victim, you lift the tape; stepping under it and holding it for your partner, you greet the local detective at the scene.

“Hello i’m Agent Y/N Rossi, and this is Agent Emily prentiss..” you smile, though it’s not as bright as the ones you extended to your coworkers, afterall you’re at the resting place of a victim.

“Detective Peter Warner, Fayetteville PD.” The slightly shorter man speaks as he shakes your hand.

“Do you know anything about who found the body, and when? we weren’t briefed on that..” Emily asks, and you nod, crouching down at one of the evidence cards, shifting one of the bronze chains, your eyes widening.

“Emily! cmere look, theres.. theres a- oh holy fuck!!” You jump when you realise what you had touched was a slab of skin, specifically with a rose tattoo on it.

“What?! oh what the.. is that the victims skin??” She crouches next to you, picking up the dirt and pebble covered flesh in her hands.

“Yeah- it it’s.. wait a second; let me call up the office real quick..” You mutter, stepping back to make a call as emily requests an ice bag.

“This is SSA Derek morgan, what’s poppin’ sweetcheeks?” His voice rings out, and you roll your eyes softly.

“Ha-ha Derek.. anyway, do you know if any slices of flesh where found at the crime scene.. or if any of the victims had rose tattoos?” You ask, looking back as Emily holds up the bag with the flesh in, you grimace.

“Uhh.. yeah; they all had rose tattoos.. why’d ya ask?” Derek chimes over the phone, you can hear the chatter of the department over the phone.

“Well me and Emily just found a piece of flesh from the victim, with a rose tattoo on it.. i believe this might mean something to the unsub, maybe something religious again.. we’ll be back at the station soon” You walk back over to Emily, sighing softly as you get back into the SUV.

Back at the station you lean over the files, biting your lip softly; staring at the tattoos of the victims, all cut off with a razor blade.

“Hey, papa can you come over here for a second?” You call out to your father, and it feels like recently everywhere your father goes that pertains to you and the case, Hotch follows.

“Which bible verse was about roses and brides.. was it Song of Solomon 2:1-2?” You mutter softly, tapping the end of your pen on your lip.

“Why yes Picolla Mia; it does.. the bride replies-”

“I am the rose of Sharon and lily of the valley..” You cut him off, immediately dialling up Penleope; your brows knitted together tightly as you exhale.

“Office of Unfettered Omniscience. Penelope Garcia is in. Speak, oh fortunate one.” Penelope Answers, and a small giggle escapes your mouth.

“Hiya penny it’s Y/N.. can you search the names of the wives of all four men for me?” You speak, hearing her hum in approval.

“Sunshine, I can run marriage certificates from here and still participate in simultaneous Tetris tournaments.” She hums, you snicker again.

“Okay.. are any of them named Sharon and Lily?” You ask, and Garcia gasps.

“Oh my god what a freaky coincidence.. yes- All of them are named Sharon and lily..” She sounds scared, and you look at the brooding figure of your boss behind you.

“and where they married for number’s with 1 & 2 in them?” Your voice quavers softly, writing it down quickly in your cursive handwriting.

“yes.. victim one- Hector Mariposa was married to Sharon Mariposa for 21 years.. victim two- Nikita Ivan was married to Lily Ivan for 12 years.. victim three- vitores fausto was married to Sharon Lily Fausto for 1 and 2 months at his time of death. and victim four- Abram Katz, to his wife Lily for 12 years..” She sounds like shes going to puke.

After 6 more gruellingly tension, religious and gore filled days you finally caught the unsub, Brian Vitores; a schizophrenic tattoo artist and ordained officiant.

He would tattoo the men he killed, and them weasel his way into the lives, and he had in turn ended up officiating their weddings, because he was close to them; at first it was a coincidence they all had rose tattoos and wives named Sharon and Lily, and their dates contained the numbers 1 and 2.

But when his religious psychosis began, he believed he should kill them for god, because only god would bless them with such wives.

On the plane back home, you slumped into your seat, staring at the roof as you hear Hotch over the other side of the plane, you frown softly as he seems so free and happy with the others.

You stand and pour yourself a glass of red wine, sitting back in your seat as you sip on it, starting to read your book with your headphones in.

And before you knew it, you had landed; you pick up your bags, but not before Hotch stops you, you look up at him, not with the same smile you once had during your first encounter.

“Agent Y/N, we need to talk about your workplace condcut. you cannot be laughing during such a serious moment, especially not in the middle of the station.” He says to you, and you feel tears well in your eyes, you dab them away subtly.

“Yes sir, I apologise.” You speak solomnly, and you push past him, walking to your car in the parking lot, quickly sliding into the seat, turning it on and beginning the drive home.

In your head you can’t tell yourself why your boss seems to dislike you so much, you can feel your phone buzzing in the cup holder, it’s JJ.

“Hiya JJ- i’m on my way home, what’s wrong?” You sigh, pulling up into the driveway of your home, locking your car as you sit and talk to JJ.

“We were going to invite you out for drinks, me and rest of the team but we couldn’t find you anywhere.. are you okay?” She asks, her voice concerned and confused.

“Y-yeah.. i just, had a bad encounter with Hotch on the plain, he uhm. doesn’t seem to like me all too much.” You whimper, tears smudging your mascara down your face.

“Yeah.. me, em and spence noticed that, i’m not sure what he’s doing at all.. i’m so sorry girl..” She say’s empathetically.

“I don’t know either, but he got quite angry that i laughed at how penelope answers her phone so i just left without a word..”

At your fathers house, it’s a pasta night and everyone from the BAU is gathered in the kitchen, you however already know how to cook this meal, and so you’re upstairs getting ready for the night.

You walk down the stairs, adorned in your designer attire, your hair curled, everyone’s eyes land on you as you pad over to stand next to Penleope.

By the time everyone has finished the pasta and a the glasses of whiskey and wine are flowing, you can only fees his eyes on you, and by his you mean aaron.

Being followed to the bathroom and cornered by him was also not on tonights bingo card but here he is, cornering you in a hallway.

“Listen Y/N you’re driving me crazy and i- i wanted to apologise for how horrible i’ve been toward you..” he mutters, his big hands moving to yours.

“It’s quite alright sir-” You mutter, desperately avoiding the eye contact he’s trying to engage in.

“Please, call me aaron..” He speaks, his voice softer now, he squeezes your hand gently too.

“I haven’t felt this way since i was a dumb teenager in private school.. and by this way i mean that i like you, Y/N Rossi.” He blurts out, and that makes you look at him now.

“I- i’m inclined to say i like you too, aaron.. you’re extremely handsome..” you admit, blush coating your face in a deep red tone.

“If you’ll allow me.. i’d like to take you on a date soon.. possibly wednesday, next week.” Aaron speaks, now holding your waist, his hands bigger than your waist by a long shot.

“Yes- i’d love to go on a date with you, Aaron.. wednesday sounds perfect.” You smile, and then it was set, you figured out why your boss hated you, he didn’t, he was just lovesick and confused.

Authors note: Hello my lovelies, this is my second fanfic in two days.. i’m finally out of writers block; so here’s something for my coworker enemies to lovers fans and my aaron fans :3

[shuastar]

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ (JWW)

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 8.2k (swear it doesnt get any shorter....) ᴀ/ɴ: ᴏᴍɢ ɪ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴅᴀʏꜱ ᴀɢᴏ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ㅠㅠ ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ 1ꜱᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ (ʟᴏɴɢ) ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ,,, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3 ꜱᴏ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ (ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2)

The honeyed spring air only proved to prod at your deep, growing, carnal fury at the scene in front of you. The wooden stilts of your fan dug further and further into the expensive lace of your thin sheer gloves, leaving bright red lines in its wake. As you stared at the traitorous scene in front of you, you felt as if your entire being was thrown into a wall. 

You should’ve known, really, that it was going to end like this. You should’ve known when the greasy money-tainted rat of your soon-to-be ex-fiance crawled out of his cave and to the royal palace, rubbing his hands together in faux prayer as he asked about your dowry. You were sure Seungcheol told him too – all fifteen million won of it. You could imagine how Lord Paree’s eyes would have seen the backs of his skull at the number — how he probably left the gilded royal palace in sheer bliss at the thought of receiving the monetary sum of three city estates just for a single marriage. Maggot, you thought, nails almost digging through the lace. Money-drunken parasite. 

A high-pitched dolphin giggle and a snap! of a fan slapped you out of your red-seeing stupor. 

Right. Yes. 

Dealing with (yet another) failed engagement was more important than the consequences that would follow. You could almost hear the concerned jabberings of Seungcheol, fur-wrapped on his stupid golden throne in the palace, as you stood in front of him. 

“Your highness, you aren’t married either,” you would point out, like you always do. 

Seungcheol would sigh and pout, “I know, y/n. That seems to be the problem.” Then, he would scan you up and down before clapping, jumping out of his throne and meandering his way down to where you were standing with a grin. “What kind of guardian,” he offered you his arm as he led you out of the throne room, “would I be if I got married before I saw you get married?” He pinched your cheek lightly, letting out a loud laugh at your severely disgruntled expression. “Don’t you agree, Duchess Park?” 

You would close your eyes with a long sigh, pretending like this conversation wasn’t one of Seungcheol’s only topics of interest since her debut into Society. “Of course, your highness,” you would mumble, muttering a few more colorful adjectives under your breath as you were led unwillingly to your fifth courtship date request of the month. 

If you knew then that your fourth engagement – in one and a half years, mind you – would end up shattered shambles yet again, you wouldn’t have even let Seungcheol drag you to the royal garden’s mezzanine for afternoon tea with that bastard in the first place. 

Really, you weren’t quite sure whether you were more angry at the fact that the idle-headed useless block of skin tissue or at the all gracious, ever-knowing royal highness for setting you two up together in a future cheating scandal. That was true. Yet fucking again. 

You were so tired of snatching the tea pot off of the wire-frame tables and throwing it at the girl (like it was the poor lady’s fault) before bitch-slapping your ex fiance with as much malice as you could muster at the time. Genuinely. You were so sick of walking into the next ball with no one by your side, save your secretary and personal guard, yet again. You were going to throw up if you heard your name with the words cheating, scandal, and shame in a Society gathering again. But most importantly, you were so sick of the look he would give you from across the ballroom and during your dances. 

“I heard about you and Lord Paree.” 

A step into a waltz.

“So has the rest of the fucking country, apparently.” 

A stifled cough let out due to your unexpectedly colorful language. 

“I wouldn’t say the entire nation, y/n.” 

“Hm, I fear I will have to disagree, your grace, as I heard even Duke Hong’s footmen murmur among themselves regarding my unfortunate turn of events.” 

A falter in his soft smile. 

“Forget him. I’ve always thought of him as an undeserving bastard anyways.”

You laugh, head thrown back – the most joyous you have been since last week. 

“Shall I be glad that you’ve thought so, your grace?” 

Wonwoo shrugs, twirling you around in tight circles. You feel almost lightheaded from his cologne, mingling in with the gentle puffs of breath from the waltz. 

“Think of it however you want,” he hums, dipping you ever so slightly against the sudden base of the cello. You swallow a surprised gasp as his hand, originally on your upper back, dips dangerously low – for a moment, sitting gently against the hem of your corset. 

The two of you come to a halt near the edge of the ballroom floor. You hate how you can feel a flush coming on the apples of your cheeks the longer Wonwoo stares at you, an odd mixture of pity and something else swimming in his eyes behind the metal-frame glasses. 

You bow, one hand on your chest. You know you don’t have to – he is of the same societal position as you. You know you don’t have to, but it feels almost second nature to go low into a curtsy of some kind in front of a man. 

“Thank you, your grace, for this dance,” you murmur, lifting your head back up. Wonwoo stays quiet for a good moment, before he blinks. 

“Find yourself another date for your second dance, yes? Someone better than that cheating bastard,” he hums. You think he’s about to reach for your gloved hand but his hands stay at his side – the only indicator of movement a slight twitch in his fingers. You force down your disappointment. 

Instead, you smile. There is nothing else for you to do, anyways. Seungcheol, although good of heart, would have another engagement for you lined up in no time. And with that, you would need to forget. Forgive and forget. You realize you’ve spent too much time in front of the Archduke’s son when you feel the presence of your guard behind you. 

“I will see you soon,” you greet, before you turn and leave. If you had stayed to hear his response, you feel like you would have stayed with Wonwoo for the entire night. And that was not very ladylike.

Wonwoo

“Wonwoo, one day you’re going to have to live for something else.” 

Seungcheol’s breaths came out in heaving pants as the two took a brief break from their sparring session in the royal palace’s courtyard. 

Wonwoo just raised a brow, wiping sweat off of his brow with his discarded shirt. “What do you mean by that, your majesty?” 

Seungcheol waved away the title. “Drop the pretense, friend. What I mean is,” Seungcheol dropped his empty water jug on the wooden bench, before bringing his sword up to his face, “one day you’re gonna realize you have more to live for than just this.” Seungcheol gestured vaguely towards the desolate sparring grounds. 

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, brushing dusts of sand off of his glinting blade. His fingers flexed on the leather grip. “I don’t live for just this, Coups. I know my responsibilities more than you think I do,” he sighed.

Seungcheol raised a questioning brow, stepping back into the sparring grounds with a twirl of his sword. “You sure?” his voice echoed, which was followed by unfamiliar click-clacks of a woman’s heels. Seungcheol cocked his head and grinned, canines showing, as he squatted down low, flicking his fingers at Wonwoo. “Then why are you asking to go out to fight? You might die.” 

Wonwoo cracked his neck before running at the young king, Their swords clashed in the middle of the sparring grounds, flickers of their manas bursting outwards. Smoky tendrils of black gravitated and fogged the ground near Wonwoo’s feet, curling themselves around his chest and slowly inching up his neck, before blending in with his hair. 

Wonwoo grunted in exertion, pushing Seungcheol back with the help of his mana. The king slammed into the back wall before landing back on his feet. Wonwoo stood over him, panting. Sweat dripped down his temples and his mana curled itself around his bare arms, against the contours of the muscles that laid there. 

“It is the only thing I am good for,” Wonwoo stated. His words came out soft, almost a whisper, as his hand stretched out towards Seungcheol. 

Seungcheol took a second more in his position, staring into Wonwoo’s despairing eyes. The dark browns looked more conflicted than Seungcheol had ever known. His own eyes darted towards the figure that stood in the opening archway of the courtyard. He could barely make out the face, under the layers of shadows, but he knew. He had called her here anyway. Not here as in the courtyard but here as in the palace. It was though, of course, purely coincidental that she had walked to the courtyard of her own volition. 

Seungcheol grasped Wonwoo’s hand, hauling himself off of the sandy ground. 

“You’re willing to leave your duchy? Your Society life?” Seungcheol stood in front of Wonwoo with his sword at his side. He gave the young archduke a knowing look. “Even the duchess?” 

Wonwoo stiffened at Seungcheol’s ending words, his hand stilling, hovering the tip of his sword at the entrance of its sheath. He swallowed. The sword dropped with a loud CLANG into its home in the sheath. He looked up at the king, who looked almost expectant. 

“Yes,” was his answer. He straightened, brushing sweaty strands of his black hair out of his eyes. “Yes, I am.” 

Before Seungcheol, with furrowed brows and disappointment flurrying in his eyes, could open his mouth, a quiet scoff rang out, ripping the silence between the two men into shreds. 

Wonwoo’s head snapped to the archway where the sound had echoed from, fingers curling around the grip of his sword. His other arm pushed Seungcheol behind him, which earned him a noise of protest from the older man. 

“Won-”

“There’s someone there,” was what Wonwoo said, before he stepped closer, into the shadows of the archway. The face that met him left him unable to breathe – as if his lungs had been squeezed out of oxygen from the inside; as if his entire being was wringed; as if someone had, one by one, cut the tendons of his muscles, rendering him absolutely useless. 

“I have been delusioned,” a cold, shaking voice started, “of our relationship, your grace.” You bowed deeply, silken hair falling over your shoulders, petals of the flowers in your hair dancing in the soft breeze, hand tight-fisted on your chest. “I ask for your apology in my,” a deafening pause, “assuming nature.” 

BANG

The sword fell out of Wonwoo’s limp hand. He rushed forward, almost tripping over his own feet and forgetting his look of indecency, leaving Seungcheol long forgotten in the edges of the sparring grounds. 

“Y/n,” he breathed, hands gently holding your upper arms. “Y/n, you misunderstand,” he hurried, forcing you to stand properly. The sight afterwards almost made him wish he let you stay in your bow. 

Your crystalline eyes were glassy and he could make out the glistening pools of unshed tears that poked against your charcoal waterline. Your lips stretched thin over your teeth in an attempt at a reassuring smile. But he knew you better than that – he knew more than half of the emotions that swirled behind your watery eyes and he knew what the tremblings of the corners of your lips meant. What it meant for you, for him, for the two of you. 

You shook your head, shuffling back against the rough grounds. A small laugh escaped your mouth. Your glossy pink lips curled up in a practiced smile – too robotic, too mirror-practiced, too Society for him to comprehend. It sent his mind reeling. It sent his mind reeling because you had heard what he shouldn’t have said. Because he was so used to seeing your dimpled smile in his embrace.

“No,” you responded, pushing his hands off of your lace-covered arms with trembling fingers. Your touch was soft but firm – a boundary that was unfamiliar in his realm. “I apologize for intruding, your grace, your highness,” another bow – this time at Seungcheol, who just waved her off from his position picking up the strewn wooden swords, “I will take my leave now.” 

A noncommittal noise rose from the back of Wonwoo’s throat and his hand wrapped around your wrist habitually, only to be shaken off without a single backwards look and a shuddering sigh as you walked away, head held high and hands shaking by your side. 

Wonwoo wasn’t stupid. He knew when to take a hint. 

“I’m not sure if you started a problem or made an existing problem worse.” 

Wonwoo shot a glare towards Seungcheol. “Thank you for your wise words, your highness. They are so helpful in my current situation,” he muttered, running a frustrated hand through his hair. 

Seungcheol sighed, shrugging as he dumped the wooden swords inside of a crate. “Look at it this way,” he pointed out, “now you are free to go do your battling. Without any ties.” 

Seungcheol handed Wonwoo his discarded sword, eyebrows raised. 

“Right?” 

Wonwoo gave him no answer, only staring at your shadowed retreating form that walked now in the sunlight past the archway. He only stared as you, with a curt nod to a footman, entered the main palace halls again. 

“Wonwoo?” Seungcheol repeated. “You there?” 

Wonwoo blindly nodded, fidgeting with the loose ends of his sheath. “Yes. Yes, maybe,” was his vague answer, mumbled softly under his breath. And all through Seungcheol’s next set of rants about Society politics and the ongoing problems around the Northern border of Obella, the only thing Wonwoo could think of was the alien tightening of his chest – so much so that his lungs felt off and his heart hurt to breathe. 

Wonwoo was sick and tired of the stench of blood and rusting iron. He was sick and tired of the habitual curl of his fingers around the hilt of his battle-worn sword at every small crack in the woods. And he was sick and tired of being away – away from the Capitol, away from his duchy, away from her. 

So when, one morning, his best friend and commanding officer Soonyoung, came into his tent with a cream-colored envelope with a familiar crest stamped on the front, it felt like a weight had lifted off of his shoulders.

His tent flap fluttered as a head of blonde ducked in Wonwoo’s sleep tent. 

“Guess what a little birdie flew in with this pleasantly fine morning?” Soonyoung grinned, leaning against one of the poles of the tent, arms crossed.

Wonwoo looked up from his place sitting on his chair, sharpening his sword. His glasses hung low on his nose and his naked back rippled with aching muscles. He deadpanned, recognizing the crest as the royal crest. “What?” he hummed, standing up and setting his sword and whetting stone down. “Another commission from our dear king?” he scoffed, unwilling bitterness seeping into his words. 

Of course, he did not blame King Seungcheol for his current predicament. Actually, he did, just a little bit. But of course, not all of the situation. Around three fifths was because of himself – because he was greedy and ambitious and begged to be sent to the National Academy and rose to the top of his Weapons class. It was his fault, was what he told himself, that he was on his third year out in the battlefields in the north, fighting the royal battles for a king that presented himself to be one of Wonwoo’s closest friends. Of course an inconspicuous bitterness would form. 

Hoshi laughed, his own bare torso glinting in the early morning sunlight. He handed Wonwoo the letter. “Oh, you wish, Wonwoo,” Hoshi said, clapping his friend on the back. He squeezed as Wonwoo’s eyes skimmed over its contents. He could almost feel Hoshi’s smile from behind him. 

“Congratulations, my friend,” Hoshi laughed, “You have officially been reinvited to Society!” 

Wonwoo’s face crumpled into an off mixture of disappointment, relief, and boredom. Society? That was what Seungcheol was pulling him out of these battles for? Out of everything, Society? 

“Society?” he scoffed. The hollow, fakeness of The Capitol’s Society was what awaited him outside of the violent woods? His fingers tightened on the thick parchment. 

The fact that it was Society wasn’t the aspect that pissed him off down to his bones. It was the fact that Seungcheol knew why he gave up Society to begin with. 

Suddenly, Hoshi’s squinted eyes filled Wonwoo’s vision. His blonde-bleached eyebrows were furrowed on his face. “Why do I feel like you’re not happy to be going back?” 

Wonwoo let out a deep sigh, his eyes closing ever so slightly. His chest felt tight. “Because, Hoshi,” he grumbled, ripping up the letter and tossing it into his lantern flame, “I fucking hate Society.” 

Wonwoo watched as the tattered pieces of the ripped parchment crumble into the orange-red flames. It was his fault, he guessed. Going back to Society, to the Capitol, was something he knew he had to face, once his reign among the knights was over. Three years, even for a man like him, was a long time to not show your face even once in a public Society event. He guessed this was Seungcheol’s passive reminder: get to your duties. He could almost hear it in his head. 

Hoshi shook his head in faux disappointment, tsking. “Thought you knew better than that, Archduke Jeon. You nobility need to perform part of your duties, after all.” Hoshi’s grin makes Wonwoo’s lips stretch into a slight smile. “What? Has the battlefield ridden you of your noble blood, your grace?” Hoshi asked with an eyebrow raise. 

Wonwoo just shook his head with a small smile and a sigh. But he couldn’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling of being called an archduke. Being called your grace. Those were titles he was used to seeing his father carry – his father, who was a charismatic ruler, his father, who loved deeply and truly, and his father, who lay cold and lifeless in the Jeon Family cemetery next to his mother for two years. 

Hoshi was not wrong, he knew. He knew there would be a time he would have to return to the very thing he hated the most about staying in the Capitol, about being a noble; whether or not he returned by his own volition was the question. And apparently Seungcheol had deemed three years, three years too much. The churning in his stomach could not be described as anything else but uncertainty. 

As Hoshi talked animatedly, with flailing arms, about the night before, when the soldiers had broken out crates of rum and beer to celebrate the strengthening of the Northern borders from the “evil spirits,” as they had called them, Wonwoo stared into the crackling lantern flame. If he returned to Society, as per the royal decree and as per his friend’s request, he would have to face the portraits that hung on his Capitol estate’s portrait hall. He would have to walk through the halls of his own home that had once been full of deeper, older, wiser, laughter of his parents without them. He would have to face the claustrophobia-inducing, over crowded ballrooms of the private high society gatherings, attend meaningless hunting outings, and present himself to the greater nobility public like some sort of relic or trophy to be garnished with wreaths and golden medals of bravery after the three year battle. 

But, of course, that was not all of the Society he had left behind. He had left behind a deeper, lovelier Society as well. Something – someone, he should say – that if he had any say in, he would keep hidden in the deepest parts of his heart. Someone, if he returned, who would – no, could – never be his again. She was not someone who waited around – especially if they had left like he did. 

But perhaps…

No. 

No, no, no. 

He shook his head. 

He could not bring his hopes up for nothing. He had a duty – to his duchy, to his family, to the legacy his father left behind, and to his country. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” Wonwoo mumbles. Mostly to himself, yet Hoshi quietens in his rant at his friend’s words. 

Hoshi drags a wooden chair over, swinging his legs around it to sit – chest against its back. “For Society or…” Hoshi does not need to finish his question for Wonwoo to understand. It is implied, as it always had been between the two of them. 

Wonwoo sighed, burying his head in his hands. The balls of his palm rub into his battle-weary eyes. “For everything. My responsibilities, Society, the entry celebrations, and…” Now Wonwoo poses the discarded ending. Hoshi knows, he decides for himself. He knows already. Wonwoo could tell from his knowing glance out the tent flap. 

“You’ve had responsibilities out on the battlefield, Woo. I believe your archducal duties are of a similar hierarchy?” Hoshi twirled a quill in his hand. The commander veers out of the way of the silent topic with a quick glance that promises Wonwoo another conversation – preferably over a glass of wine – in another time. 

Wonwoo let out a tired laugh. “You jest. I fear my archducal duties far outrank the simple hierarchy of my responsibilities on the battlefield.” 

Hoshi shrugged. “It is what you believe, sir.” 

“It is what I believe,” Wonwoo murmured to himself. A hand slid down his face as he slouched down in his chair, a tired sigh escaping the battle-worn caverns of his lungs. “Fuck.” 

One of King Seungcheol’s infamous re-entry balls was decided to be held in honor of Archduke Jeon returning to the Capitol, signifying his re-entrance into Society’s cluster of feathers and prim-propers from his years in the battlefields. 

“Do you know how uncomfortable wearing this cape is?” Wonwoo complains for the fourth time, tugging at the golden lapels that hold the thick fabric to his shoulders. He huffs in apparent annoyance as the golden tips of the royal palace’s towers loom overhead when the carriage rattles to a slow trot and then a stop. 

Hoshi, from his seat across Wonwoo, rolls his eyes, his own body decorated with the uniform of the royal knights, and a long gleaming sword hanging off of his hip. “Oh boo hoo,” he mutters, stepping out of the carriage as soon as the door opens. He dusts his white pants with a concluding groan as Wonwoo mutters something under his breath. 

“What?” Wonwoo snaps, “When has it changed so that a man cannot simply complain about his uncomfortable and ill-fit dressings for a ball?” Wonwoo retorts. A strand of hair fell in his face as he crossed his arms. His tight military uniform – decorated diligently with captain stars, rings of honor, and golden medals of bravery – strains against his biceps. He stands next to Hoshi, adjusting his formal tie with a displeased wince of discomfort. “I would have much rather preferred-”

“-Wonwoo!” Hoshi interjects, a rough hand coming down harshly against Wonwoo’s back. One look in Hoshi’s eyes and Wonwoo hesitates to finish his sentence. “My friend, please, for the love of God, shut the fuck up. You look fine,” Hoshi groaned, walking up to the palace doors with Wonwoo in tow. “You should have expected this anyways,” he continues, giving a curt nod to the footmen that open the doors, “This is a ball held in your honor,” a familiar turn into a wider hallway, “Remember?” Hoshi’s neat uniform is pin-straight as he walks down the marbled halls. “And we’re already late. Do you want to get passive aggressively eaten alive by Society the first day back in noble action?” he throws Wonwoo’s way with a quick glance over his shoulder with a teasing grin.

Wonwoo sighs, following Hoshi through the gilded halls of the too-familiar palace. He could almost picture his younger self – five years old – running through the very halls, with Prince Mingyu and (then) Prince Seungcheol hot on his heels, all three of them giggling about something for another. He could picture the two of them, laughing – him with his head thrown back and her with her fan over her pretty pink lips – during the boring parts of each and every palace ball. The gilded palace was gilded – but not just in gold. 

y/n

You were very confused. 

And confusion never was something any noble wanted during a ball, nevermind the King’s re-entry ball, no matter how close your family’s ties ran. 

Of course, you were not confused about who it was for. It was obvious. The Capitol’s newspapers (and most likely every other newspaper business in the nation), had spent the entire past week dedicating their front covers to the headlines that included, but were not limited to, one of the five following words: Archduke, Jeon, Return, Battle, Ball. 

It was as if the entirety of noble society had decided to come together for this one re-entry event, which apparently had people jittery at the edges of their seats because the most eligible bachelor of any season, really, was back on the market. The one high noble who could pay off even the most expensive dowries, who could save a breaking family from complete, utter, desolate ruin, whose dark hooded eyes had enticed so many of the daughters from the highest noble classes, was back. He, on orders and grounds unknown, was returning from his three-year-long disappearance from Society and out into the vicious battlefields of the north. 

And you were absolutely, jaw-droppingly so confused as to why both King Seungcheol and Prince Mingyu (mostly Seungcheol, though Mingyu posed no help), held you (almost) hostage at their sides, rambling and fluttering on about how you should stay with them until the entrance of the “main character.” 

“Your highness, may I ask why?” you ask. Behind your proprietary fan covering the bottom half of your face, your lips curl in distaste. If it was wholly up to you, you would have been in a silken nightgown, getting ready for bed. 

“Is brother still holding you here against your will?” Prince Mingyu’s laughing voice reaches your ears. You turn, meeting his broad frame. His one-shoulder cape glints at the top with a pure-gold cap, in dazzling contrast with his cream-white suit. In his hands are two flutes of bubbling champagne. He outstretches his arm, tipping one flute towards you with a grin, canines pushing down against his bottom lip. “For you, my lady,” he teases, slipping the flute into your gloved fingers. He gives you a cheesy wink, before breaking into a dimpled smile. 

You roll your eyes, habituated with the prince’s oftentimes off-handed flirty remarks. “You ask that as if you have not been doing the exact same thing, your highness,” you huff, but you don’t reject the champagne flute, taking a sip of the bubbling liquid with a satisfied sigh. You clear your throat before turning to both Mingyu and Seungcheol, who is surveying the crowd. “Now I ask the both of you the same question.” 

Mingyu throws an arm around Seungcheol, who stands still, staring at the entrance door to the ballroom with an impatient-tapping foot. “You know why.” He leans his head against Seungcheol, lightly stepping on his older brother’s furious foot with a mutter of maintaining a mask of patience. Seungcheol responds with a simple furrow of his thick eyebrows.

You tilt your head. Mingyu’s lack-luster responses and Seungcheol’s decision to blatantly ignore your words are doing absolutely nothing to quell your curiosity, let alone your confusion. 

Usually, if this was like any other royal-hosted ball, Seungcheol would only keep you for a brief moment. That would frequently consist of introductions to any new or unfamiliar royal cabinet members. And then, he would let you go, which usually meant, for you, going to the closest empty table with a chair and sitting down for the rest of the night. At least until you deemed you had spent enough time brooding in peace in your despairing corner, that it was respectable enough towards both you and the royal family, to leave the ball and return to your estate. 

Of course, you were not unapproachable. You were born and raised in Society. One of the first classes you remember taking with your grandmother was ballroom dance. Before (or many times during) your brooding solitary peace, either Mingyu, Seungcheol, or Duke Hong would leisurely make their way towards you and offer you your dance of the night. 

Those times, when the familiar strings of the orchestra and the notes of the hired singer flowed through the crowded ballroom, you let yourself be guided. After all, it was your job. 

“The lady is always supposed to be guided,” your grandmother used to say, “If a man, especially of high standing, does not guide a lady through a simple waltz, he is not a man. He is a coward not ready to face even the simplest of pleasures.” 

“Save your first dance, y/n,” Seungcheol suddenly says, turning to her. His words seem oddly like an order, and you would not put it below him for it to actually be an order. His grin matches his younger brother’s. The furs of his dress stick out against his dark hair. And his entire being seems that much more irking in your eyes. 

If he has another fucking suitor lined up already, I’ll kill him. To hell with the monarchy.

From next to him, Mingyu chuckles, as if he (they) knew something you did not. Which is usually the case, actually. You need to stop being so surprised. 

“Why?” Your nose scrunches. Your fan is forgotten at your sides.  

Seungcheol sighs, shaking his head slowly like you’re some under-developed child who could not get the full picture. ���You’ll see.” 

You snap your fan shut, crossing your arms. “Sometime soon, I hope?” A jolt of pain waves over your ankle, a testament to how long you’ve been standing in one place. You force down your wince.

Mingyu pokes your puffed cheeks with his white-gloved hand and a laugh. “Impatient much, duchess?” 

You swat away his hand with a glance. Your head swivels as you say, “I have been waiting with much patience, thank you very much.” A lick of annoyance flickers in you when you catch at least seven pairs of eyes and gossiping mouths staring at you and the royal brothers. “It seems as though the Archduke is late,” you add, glancing at the giant clock on top of the entrance doorway. 

Mingyu, now arm over your shoulder, tugs at your dress sleeves. “Awfully interested, aren’t you?” he grinned, a small bout of laughter ensuing at your barely concealed tick of anger. Not only at his words but also at his careless touches. He should be glad all of high society knew of your close family relations, or else his actions would have had dire consequences.

You push him away lightly, flicking your fan open again as you gently fan yourself, covering your mouth. “Awfully not, your highness,” you snap. Mingyu knew not to talk about that. You try to ignore the fact that the wound you had once thought was fully stitched up and closed, still hurts when poked. “If I can-”

BANG

“ANNOUNCING ARCHDUKE JEON AND THE COMMANDER OF THE ROYAL KNIGHTS, SIR KWON!” The herald’s voice echoed through the ballroom. 

It was as if the entire ballroom was on a brief pause – the gossiping groups of ladies, the loud laughter of the business men, the rolling children, and even the orchestra. The violinists, cellists, and singer all paused, craning their heads to see through the throng of people who awaited the arrival of the main character – the battle-won most eligible bachelor of all the seasons: Archduke Jeon Wonwoo. 

And all you wanted to do was to never see his face again. 

And of course you prepared yourself. You prepared yourself the moment you had received Seungcheol’s and Mingyu’s separate request letters of your presence at tonight’s ball as part of the royal cabinet. You prepared yourself throughout the time Nai, your maid, rubbed oils into your skin, braided and twisted your silken hair, and pulled your corset tight against your straining ribs. Yet nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the real thing. The thing that was not born out of your imagination that had severely overworked itself over three years. 

Because not only does Wonwoo look the part of the most eligible bachelor, he looks the part of a successful military commander, with his dark military uniform, draping cape, and glinting golden medals. It feels as if the entire ballroom moves towards him, like he has his own gravitational force, as if everyone is attracted to something in the man. You can already see the cliques of the younger ladies fan themselves lightly as their eyes glaze over his wide shoulders and chiseled face. The military uniform does nothing to hide his physique. 

Your fan slowly rises to your face. 

Your corset feels especially restricting when you see Wonwoo’s sharp eyes scan the ballroom. If this were any other situation, you would find the way Wonwoo leans down briefly to Soonyoung to whisper something with a confused furrow and Soonyoung breaking out into a shit-eating grin and tossing a wink towards the general crowd, exponentially more amusing. That had more fans fanning quickly towards the ladies’ face. 

The entire scene reminded you briefly of when you were seventeen, when you had first been introduced to Society, standing almost in the same position as you were currently – next to the two princes who flanked you protectively with crossed arms – and Soongyoung, who was fresh into the Corps of Royal Knights then, and Wonwoo, who had just graduated from the National Academy, striding into your debutante ball late. The small waves and winks Soonyoung sends now towards the various gaggle of young, single ladies of Society reminds you, rather nostalgically, of when you, Soonyoung, Wonwoo, Seungcheol, and Mingyu had all spread out in Mingyu’s foyer on a wintry December day, and all you had talked about were the numerous engagement offers Soonyoung was getting from noble families. 

“What is this? Your thirteenth?” Seungcheol huffed, looking up briefly from Mingyu’s wide oak desk. He dropped his quill in the golden holder. “You’re gonna take away all the ladies from us at this rate, friend,” he laughed. 

You missed, in a small part of your heart, the times when Seungcheol had not been pressed to marry, find his match, continue the legacy. Now, his smile never crinkled his eyes when breeching on the topic of marriage and engagements. 

Soonyoung shrugged, legs dangling off of the couch’s arm rest as he flipped through a newspaper from last week. “Don’t know. You can have all of them, if you want, Coups,” he says, looking up from the tiny print. He gives a sideways look towards Mingyu. “And you too. Don’t want any of them. Not right now, anyways.” 

Seungcheol and Mingyu both grumble about the unfairness of knightly and royal duties as Soonyoung goes off on a separate tangent about the recent addition of a tiger to the park zoo. 

From the corner of your eyes, you see Wonwoo and Mingyu exchange an exasperated look. To be honest, you think it’s kind of cute – Soonyoung’s obsession with tigers, that is. It gives the man something childish in him. God knows he’ll need it in the battlefields one day. 

Suddenly, from the open window, the winter wind blasts through Mingyu’s parlor, wiping papers off of the low tables and out of your hands. 

You shiver, arms crossing around your torso. You rub against your thinly-clothed arms. 

“Sorry,” Mingyu apologizes sheepishly, quickly glancing over at you. “Should’ve closed that thing.” 

You wave him off, about to say something, when suddenly, a thick fabric is draped over your bare shoulders. You flinch at the sudden contact on your skin. From in front of you, Soonyoung’s eyes are wide, which looks rather comical when you see it in his entire position – upside down, legs spread around the backrest, black hair flapping. 

“I told you to close it.” Wonwoo’s tone is almost chastising as he moves from behind you to back to his original spot next to you. He gives Mingyu an almost-glare that has the prince sheepishly standing. Wonwoo picks up his book again, shaking his head ever so slightly. 

Mingyu gives Seungcheol a passive look before he sits down as well, eyeing the coat around your shoulders. 

One quick glance down at the lapel, and you find what you were looking for. The Jeon Duchy’s coat of arms glints up at you, the house crest shining proudly under the chandelier lights. Your cheeks heat when you recognize the expensive cologne that fills your nose. When you turn towards Wonwoo, he’s back in his book, absorbed, apparently, in the tiny printed words on the page. Your previously scattered papers are neat on the table in front of you. 

Wonwoo suddenly looks up from his book, catching your zoned-out stare. 

Your eyes widen. 

Wonwoo just gives you a small smile, before leaning forward and grabbing your papers. He lays his book face-down on his lap. “Do you need a quill?” he asks, handing you your papers. 

He catches you so off guard (as if you were only staring at his face, not listening to what he was saying), that you almost stumble over your own tongue trying to respond casually. 

“Er- Um- I mean, no. No, no, that’s fine,” you mumble, snatching the papers from his hand and scooting towards the other side of the long couch. “Thank you, though.” 

It feels like Wonwoo’s smile grows at your words. If you looked a little bit closer, you would have seen the tips of his ears turn a blush red when you glance down, fiddling with the academic medals on his lapel. 

“Anything for you,” he breathes, like it's a secret shared between you two. 

Mingyu and Soonyoung stare at the whole interaction with a mixture of forced disgust, confusion, and awkwardness, and you don’t miss how Soonyoung pretends to gag, Mingyu following suit, before the two of them go back to their lengthy tangents.

From next to you, you miss Mingyu’s quick glance down at your movements and the knowing glance he and Seungcheol share. 

Whispers break out as the two men – vastly different in the charismas they exude – stride towards the two royal family members. 

And you realize they are heading towards you before you remember you are standing with the royal brothers. And everything suddenly clicks into place. Why the two, more Seungcheol than Mingyu, wanted you to stay for so long – until the “main character arrives.” There is a bubbling pot of the sudden innate need to whack the king over the head with your fan. But of course. That would be terribly unladylike. Nothing a woman in your station should be doing, let alone thinking about doing. 

And it seems as if Wonwoo is as surprised at your presence on the royal platform because his dark eyes widen behind his glasses as he and Soonyoung stop in front of the raised platform you, Mingyu, and Seungcheol were standing on. 

You feel horribly awkward. And Soonyoung’s gaze flitting between you and Wonwoo before bowing his head, trying to conceal his laughter, is doing nothing to make the situation better. 

Seungcheol throws his arms out at the same time Wonwoo drops into a one-knee bow, Soonyoung in tow moments later behind him. At his sudden show of veneration, the crowd gasps softly and you shuffle backwards, only to hit Mingyu’s broad chest that blocks you from leaving the platform. You swallow. 

You need to get off this stupid fucking platform. 

But when you open and shut your fan, looking back at Mingyu, he seems awfully interested in exchanging eye contact with the ballroom’s chandelier. You know he heard your fan shut. The same, familiar spike of rage bubbles in your chest. 

These fucking brothers. 

“Success to your highness and peace to the nation.” Wonwoo’s deep voice, the one you had tried so desperately to forget, to lose in your discarded memories, to rip apart to shreds and feed to the dogs, echoes out against the quiet ballroom. If you strain your ears, you can hear, though, the stuttered gasps of the younger ladies and chaperones, on the verge of swooning at his first nine words. Resentfully, your brain conjures itself to the years when you were the same – fanning yourself to catch a handsome man’s attention.  

You wish you had the courage to laugh. To elegantly step off this damning platform. To get away (run away) from the man in front of the king.

You feel Mingyu moving ever so slightly behind you until you stand perfectly in between him and Seungcheol. Then, in the softest hiss of a whisper he is capable of, he mumbles, “Stay still. You’re sitting with us now.” 

You scoff quietly, raising your fan to your left cheek. The tips of the wooden stilts tickle your painted cheek.

From the corners of your eyes, you can see Mingyu pout. “Oh come on, duchess,” he whines. “I’m degraded down to fan talk?” His fingers wrap around your fan, pulling it down.

You’re glad you and Mingyu stand slightly off to the side because you don’t think you would be able to handle any more whisperings of your relationship with the men in your life Society has to cruelly offer. 

“You read right? The Archduchies are part of the direct royal council, now.” 

That makes you whip your head towards Mingyu’s. He is still facing forward with a practiced smile on his lips and hands in his pockets like this moment was the most relaxing all night. 

You, however, probably look slightly insane. Any fan etiquette goes flying out of the ballroom door at Mingyu’s words. You? On the royal council? Of course, on the surface, it is a great honor. You would be the first non-married matriarch to hold some semblance of power in the royal courts. But you could stitch together the gist of how Society would react to this. And based on Mingyu’s decision to tell you this late into Society’s winter season, you could land a (very accurate) educated guess that Seungcheol was going to announce in the next twenty minutes. 

“Are you crazy?” You whisper furiously, turning back to face the crowd. You can already see eyes slowly turn to the two of you, noticing your, now, not-so-subtle interaction. 

Mingyu just grins, bumping his shoulder with yours. And you don’t even get a chance to hear what he says because Seungcheol suddenly says, “Of course! Of course!” with the most excited tone of voice you had ever heard him use. Apparently Mingyu thinks the same because his head follows yours in staring at Seungcheol. Both of you, but mostly you because Mingyu is still surveying the crowd with a bright, confident, blazing smile that has the ladies of the court drowning in his eyes, are too embarrassed to look confused at what his words mean because you had zoned out of his rather one-sided conversation with Soonyoung and Wonwoo a long time ago. 

You can only stand stiffly in your place sandwiched between Seungcheol and Mingyu as both Soonyoung and Wonwoo rise slowly, giving Seungcheol a curt bow before turning to you and Mingyu. Your fan trembles with your hand as Wonwoo steps closer. 

You had forgotten how it feels to know nothing of what was to come. Especially when it pertained to him.

Your heart stills momentarily when his eyes land on you, moving up to your face and holding you in your place for a split second. You can’t even describe it. The feeling of seeing him so up close after all these years. After you had promised yourself to forget him. After you had spent hours crying in your bathtub, Nia rubbing your back soothingly. After you had fallen asleep, at least in the first weeks, on top of your duvet, letters he had once sent you crowding half of your bed, fresh tear stains ruining the expensive ink and paper. 

He looks so familiar it pulls at some part in your heart that you had thought was buried three years ago at a sparring ground. You observe him as he and Soonyoung pay their respects to Mingyu, who looks a pinch uncomfortable when his friends kneel in front of him. 

Black strands of his hair fall in front of his eyes and crowd his forehead. His military cape pulls your attention to his shoulders, which look broader than you remember them to be. And you can’t help but admit that his tight military top does nothing to hide his worked physique. His family crests glints at the connecting junction of his cape and his uniform, and his sheath, hand-crafted as a gift for his seventeenth birthday, holding his sword, rests against his hips. He looks regal, noble, eligible – so much so that it almost shakes the foundations of the walls you had built. 

Then he turns to you, those piercing eyes refocusing onto yours that don’t know where to land. His eyes? His lips? His chest? His shoulders? The crowd? A shadow of a smile paints itself onto his lips and you swallow. 

Your mouth feels dry. 

This can’t be real. 

When you had imagined the re-entry ball, meeting Wonwoo, nevermind seeing him so personally, had never once crossed your mind. 

Your fan slowly traced its path up to your right ear. 

From behind Wonwoo, Soonyoung grins, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling at your fan movement. Your own lips curl up in your practiced way. 

For the crowd, you tell yourself. 

The entire ballroom seems to watch the two of you in your silence, which was turning more awkward by the second. Wonwoo’s eyes carve a road up and down your figure. It makes your hands clench your fan tightly. 

You glance at Seungcheol, who nods, urging you to speak. You let out a small cough, averting your eyes briefly before your smile paints itself onto your lips again. Your fan falls. 

“It seems the battlefield has treated you well, Archduke Jeon,” you smiled, opening your arm briefly in a practiced welcome. 

It seems as if Wonwoo had not expected you to speak first, and for a second, he stands frozen, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, and hands still next to his body. At Soonyoung’s small embarrassed cough, he blinks rapidly, following your smile in suit. Except his looks too genuine, it tugs at your heart strings. And you berate your traitorous heart in wanting to pull him into a warm embrace. 

Remember how he left you. He doesn’t want you. 

The corners of your lips tremble. 

Instead, you feign indifference, lifting your chin. 

Wonwoo bows deeply first, followed by Soonyoung. He rises. 

“I see Society has welcomed you back with open arms,” he replies, his voice a pinch above a whisper. His small smile offers it as a jest but his words stab a knife into your gut. He has absolutely no right in jesting about your failed engagements. Not after everything. 

From behind him, you can see Soonyoung pinch his nose bridge, shaking his head ever so slightly, mouthing an apology to you. 

Wonwoo’s eyes linger a moment too long on you, before reaching for your hand. Out of pure etiquette that has burned itself into your entire being, you offer him your hand, and his head is bowed, lips hovering mere centimeters over your lacy knuckles before you realize what you are doing. And by then, it’s too late to retract your offered hand. 

Wonwoo’s lips meet the back of your hand. 

His own gloved fingers hold your hand like you are made out of the most delicate of china, his touch barely-there. 

And just as quick his lips are on your hand, it disappears from your skin. 

“May tonight bring you as much warmth as your presence brings to it,” he murmurs, so softly that you have to strain your ears to hear it. But it’s there.

Wonwoo rises before you have a chance to process his greeting words that were murmured into your hand. You almost miss the way the tips of his ears are blush-red between strands of his hair. 

Before you can say something else, Soonyoung is in front of you, bowing over your outstretched hand, pressing a light, airy kiss. You can feel him grin against your skin. 

When he looks up, he has a teasing grin painted on his face, and you have to force yourself to not roll your eyes at how he wiggles his eyebrows up and down. 

“Success and love for the Archduchess.” Soonyoung’s words echo across the ballroom, unlike Wonwoo’s. 

Too busy retracting your hand from Soonyoung’s grip, you miss the way Wonwoo’s jaw clenches, face hardening at Soonyoung’s words. 

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @mj-szaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617

[rosekeu]

click here for part two!

- - -

thinking of when the league works with the shie hassaikai, and dabi is strolling through the cold sterile hallways he finds a cell, dangerously marked with warnings. a small window on the center of the metal door. he takes a peek and meets a messy and gross room.

with only a matress with old bloody stains.

an old fashioned tv. and a girl. (you)

wearing a tainted hospital gown, her knees up to her chest. eyes trained on the tv that displayed a shitty rom-com.

dabi kicked the door opened, and the girl's muscles tense, slowly looking over at his figure.

dabi doesnt say a word and just leaves. a few of the hassaikai workers were now passing by and their piercing screams could be heard. the girl, red energy surging through her bloody fingers killing the yakuza men in cold blood.

when dabi looks back, the girl is gone.

weeks past since the leagues affair with the yakuza and that itch to find that weird girl claws at dabi's mind. with a helping hand from giran and shigaraki (albeit reluntantly. he convinces him that she could be a valuable asset) he finds her. holed up in an abadonded home(a shed really). the floors littered with ancient newspapers and trash. rotting food and plastic bottles.

dabi's footsteps aren't exactly light and the girls body twitches before rapidly standing in a defensive position. eyes scanning his body, some familiarity flickering in her eyes.

"easy, i didn't come here to fight, princess."

she doesnt respond. her head tilting trying to catch any deception in his tone. but her stance tells him everything he needs to know.

why are you here? why did you come find me?

does he even have a real reason? he might tell himself it’s just curiosity. or maybe he found himself thinking about her more than he’d like to admit. he doesn't like loose ends, and this girl—this weapon—was left unchecked.

dabi exhales a slow breath, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he takes a lazy step forward.

the girl doesn’t move—doesn’t even blink—just watches him with those eerily sharp eyes. like she’s waiting for him to make the first move.

"relax," he mutters, cocking his head. "you look like a cornered animal."

she stays silent. he thinks that she's just scared maybe even doesnt like to talk- he had'nt heard a single damn word from her back at the compound either.

its the way she tilts her head and how her muddy fingers twitch unaturally like shes holding back.

“y’know,” he drawls, stepping over a pile of crumpled newspapers, “i saw what you did back there. to those hassaikai bastards.”

nothing.

“didn’t even hesitate, huh? just ripped through ‘em like paper.” he smirks, kicking at an empty bottle on the floor. “brutal. i like it.”

her expression remains the same but he sees a flicker of that same red pulsing energy lingering around the tips of her fingers.

he huffs. there it was.

“alright, princess, let’s cut the bullshit.” his tone turns sharp, all amusement fading. “you’re coming with me.”

her stance hardens.

and then, in his head—soft, but carrying weight—“no.”

dabi stops. his smirk twitches. telepathic. just great.

“figures,” he mutters. “not the type to follow orders, huh?”

silence. but her eyes darken like she’s daring him to try something.

dabi sighs, rolling his shoulders. “yeah, see, i was expecting that.”

before she can react, his arm moves in a practiced motion—swift, precise. a sharp hiss cuts through the air as the tranquilizer dart embeds itself into her neck.

her body jerks. her pupils dilate in shock. the red energy crackles violently at her fingertips before flickering out, like a fire suffocated too soon.

dabi watches her body sway, trying to fight it, her breaths becoming labored. the drug works fast though(what an advantage having a scientist on his team cough cough dr. garaki) her legs wobble and give out but before she can hit the filthy floor, dabi catches her by the waist.

“damn,” he mutters, shifting her weight effortlessly. “you’re lighter than you look.”

her fingers weakly grasp at his jacket. her mind claws out, sending a fractured thought his way—

“…why?”

dabi clicks his tongue.

“dunno. maybe i’m bored.”

her body stills. her grip goes slack.

dabi exhales, hoisting her up like dead weight. shigaraki better fucking appreciate this.

then, without another word, he steps out into the night, carrying her away from the only home she’s ever known.

[allisluv]

a little self indulgent but finnick with reader who has a lisp and has always been insecure about it and one day they hear others making fun of it and it ends with him comforting them :(

water off a ducks back.

pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!reader

content warnings: pre-established relationship, men being men (not finnick though we love him), reader has a lisp and gets made fun of for it, crude comments, finnick being protective, the capitol, light-hearted banter between reader and finnick, mainly comfort

word count: 1.1k

a/n: two finnick blurbs in one day watch me drop off the face of the earth for a month now (/hj.) i do not have a lisp but i do hope i've handled the topic with care! <3

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!!

Finnick is practically glued to your side as the two of you glide through the Capitol gala, forced to make small talk with new and old Capitol elites alike. Neither of you enjoy these parties really, but as Finnick had reiterated as he zipped up your dress in the hotel, it was a simple formality, one of the many prices of being a victor.

After your twenty-fifth conversation with a group of men who keep making explicit remarks, too strewn out on alcohol or other substances to pay attention to Finnick’s pointed glares and the forced laughs that slip past your lips, you excuse yourself to get a drink.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Finnick asks, tightening his grip on your hip ever so slightly. It’s not even done intentionally; it comes as second nature to him now, especially when you’re in the Capitol.

“I’ll be fine,” You reassure him, offering your boyfriend a small, tight-lipped smile. You squeeze his hand before prying your fingers out of his gentle grasp. “I’ll be right back.” You say over your shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Multiple people try to pull you into their conversations, but you pretend not to hear them. You’ve always been painted by the cameras as a bit of a ditzy person, anyway, so you’re playing right into that narrative. It’s a win-win, really.

Only a few stragglers remain at the bar as you hop up onto a mahogany stool. You scan the drinks menu, tapping your fingers on your thighs as you think of what to get.

Your attention is pulled to a womans high-pitched voice, and you try not to eavesdrop, really, you do— but then you hear your name, and all bets are off the table. You shift your position on the bar stool and subtly lean in closer, trying to catch what they’re saying.

The woman has a posh tone and you immediately recognise it as a Capitol born accent. She doesnt bother trying to keep her voice down, and you know for a fact that she wants you to hear what she is saying. “Yeah, her.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see her nudge her partner in the ribcage, and gesture to you with her flask of champagne.

A loud hum, followed by a man’s voice. “Ah, yes, I remember her. She’s the one who talks funny. Pronounces her words like a child.” He scoffs. “Its a shame, really. A pretty face like that.” He tilts his head to one side, scrutinising you.

You can feel the heat flooding your face, and you duck your head, digging your fingernails into the skin of your thighs to stop the shame from eating you alive.

The woman nods her head furiously. “Uh-huh. Imagine having to hear that in bed,” she snickers, sipping her champagne. You can hear her mock the way you spoke in your victory speech, and that is the final straw for you.

As quick as a flash, you wobble to your feet, head held high. You refuse to shrink underneath their gaze, despite the roiling in your stomach and the embarrased blush on your cheeks. In your haste to put some distance between the two of you, you bump into someone. An apology lingers on your tongue, but you relax as the smell of saltwater and expensive cologne fills your nostrils.

Finnick arches a sharp eyebrow, taking in your expression. “Are you okay, angel?” You nod once, feeling too stupid to open your mouth in case they poke fun at your speech again. He tilts his head to one side, analysing you. “I call bullshit.” He says firmly, but not unkindly. “What’s going on?”

“N—Nothing!” You squeak out, but your voice wobbles, and it definitely doesn’t help plead your case of being fine.

The couple at the bar burst out laughing, and you tongue the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to keep the tears at bay.

Finnick picks up on the sudden shift in your mood, and while he may not understand exactly what is going on, hes atuned to you enough to know that something is going on. Narrowing his eyes, he turns to the couple, who keep giggling and staring at you. “Is something funny?” He asks coldly.

The man shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “Not a problem here, darling. Although, I do have a question.” He doesn’t wait for Finnick to answer before asking, “She talk the same way while the two of you are screwing?”

The woman coughs out a laugh into her flask of champagne.

Finnick scoffs, and shakes his head in disbelief. Taking your hand, he turns to the woman, who’s still trying to catch her breath. “I hope you choke on that.” And with the last biting comment, he guides you to the exit, point-blank ignoring people who try to strike up a conversation with him.

He waits until the two of you are out of the ballroom and hailing a cab back to the hotel before he talks. “What else did they say?” His jaw is set in a firm line.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Like hell it doesn’t. Prick’s lucky I didn’t deck him right then and there.”

“I’m used to it, Finn. It doesn’t bother me anymore.” You lie. “Like water off a ducks back.”

Finnick sighs and helps you climb into the back of the cab. Instead of sitting on the opposite side, he settles in the middle seat, clipping in your safety belt. As the car begins to move on the road, he takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

You rest your head on his shoulder. “I hate this place,” you mutter.

“Yeah. Me too, angel. Me too,” He sighs, letting your intertwined hands rest in his lap. A beat of silence passes. “They had no right to say that.”

You shrug. “It happens.”

“It shouldn’t.” He says firmly. “There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with the way you speak, and there’s nothing wrong with you. Do you hear me? That says more about them than it does about you. And I know it doesn’t mean a lot, but I wouldn’t change a thing about you for all the money in the world. You’re perfect. Just the way you are.”

“You’ll make me cry,” you warn, leaning over to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

“You can cry if you want to. No shame in that.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t wanna ruin my makeup.” You pout.

Finnick laughs heartily. “Well, stained makeup or not, you’re still the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He kisses your forehead and sighs. “Now, I think when we get back to the hotel, we make some calls and find out who those bastards are.”

“Why?” You ask suspiciously.

“I think they have a parcel in the shape of laxatives coming their way.”

[yeonmuse]

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x Park Sunghoon ── 𝒢enre. Uni au. fluff, non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are closed] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary ⛸️

⍣ ೋ AUTHORS NOTES . This is part of admins Enhypen University Special Event. This series also has slight connections to every series in said event so occasionally characters from the other members chapters may appear in this series as well.

˗ˏˋSUMMARY ´ˎ˗ Park Sunghoon doesn’t usually like getting close to new people, but when a little shows up to his place of work in need of skating lessons he finds himself getting oddly close to his older sister. He finds himself developing some uncontainable feelings while having to teach not only her little sister to skate, but her as well.

TAGLIST IS CLOSED❕ 🏷️

UOA VS DVU

Tonight was the night, the crowd was loud and she had been wondering exactly what was persuading her to actually attend this game. She wasn’t exactly the school spirit type and she’d be lying if she said she understood anything about the ongoing game. All she knew was that by the end of this if Yeonjun hadn't won the groupchat would never hear the end of it. Having stupidly made a bet with his friend that attended the rival school Kim Chaewon. She wasn’t entirely familiar with the girl, she’d only met her a handful of times or casually seen her on her Twitter timeline going back and forth with Yeonjun like they were siblings.

But here she was tonight at the girls school, she’s scanning the crowd to see if she spotted her familiar face.

“Do you think we’ll actually win?” Fatou asks, filling the spot at her side as she popped a few pieces of candy in her mouth.

“I mean it’s not like our team is terrible.” She responds, earning a snort from Riwoo, who finds her ability to unintentionally dodge a question amusing.

“So that’s a no then.” He counterattacks, pushing his glasses up to sit more comfortably on the bridge of his nose.

“Well i didn’t say that- it’s just the new recruits for this season aren’t exactly the best. Soobin, Taehyun, Kai and Yeonjun always have to carry the team and as far as i know UA’s team is one of the best in state.’’ Jinsoul looks at the girl as if she’d suddenly spawned two heads.

“How do you know that? Why do you know that?”

“Are we forgetting her dad was a literal hockey coach before he retired.’’

“May be retired but that doesnt mean the hockeys left the household.’’ The two girls shrug before redirecting their attention to the rink. It was only a matter of time until they lost interest, the three of them scrolling aimlessly through tiktok or their other socials to pass the time.

“Have you guys seen this?’’ Jinsoul turns her phone allowing the rest of them to see the video that had been playing on her tiktok.

“Why exactly is he crashing out over matcha?’’

“Oh the matcha guy, jake.’’

“Well from what i know a month before when he posted his crash out he was making a video series about his friend and how he had been taking too long to ask the girl he liked out. He made an entire series about the two getting together and how he and their other friends were playing matchmaker. I don’t know what the matcha had to do with anything but i do know the majority of the video he was crashing out because of the friend and his crush.’’

“You explained all of that in one breath i'm kind of impressed.’’ Riwoo comments earning a hair flip from Jinsoul before she goes back to her doom scrolling.

“Well did they get together?’’

“I’m pretty sure they did, he made a tiktok stating ‘the war is over’ and that the operation xo series would be coming to an end so I assume they did.’’

“You guys are way too invested in other people's lives.’’

“If there's love involved, yes, I’m a romantic at heart.’’ Jinsoul responds with an adorning smile.

“Is that why you’re still single?’’ Chanhee vocalizes earning a scowl from Jinsoul.

“Well no she’s single because she’s picky.’’ Riwoo responds without even bothering to look up from his phone.

Their useless banter continued, their voices blending with the screams and chatter of the crowd amongst them as her focus returned to the game. From the looks of it Yeonjun would not be winning if the score didn't change soon, 50 to 35 was not a good look for their team. The game itself was quite intense and not one player in the rink had been lacking. To yns surprise the newbies on their team had been putting up a good fight, they’d held their own against UA’s team but unfortunately it hadn’t been enough. Their team lost 70 to 60, which meant Yeonjun and the rest of their team were completely doomed.

“Well it looks like Yeonjuns going nude.’’ Riwoo stated as he stood from his seat and stretched out his limbs.

“Ugh I really don’t want to have to deal with that visual for the rest of my life.’’ Mari who had been quiet for the most part finally vocalizes earning a laugh from yn.

“What were the stakes for their team losing anyways?’’

“I honestly have no idea, and i guess we’ll never find out.’’

CHAPTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

🏷️ @getoxo @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @sol3chu @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @jwonistic @nithxhoon @lakoya @iichuuo @letmein2urheart @mitmit01 @enhaz1 @hollxe1 @brianashiftz @starbyeol1512 @tinyteezer @jkslvsnella @manobillie @vvenusoncasual @i03jae @blackhairandbangs @sunooqvrlsx @addictedtohobi @gaytron3000 @firstclassjaylee @riribelle @ivyvioletcarson @academiq @claumbeju @bubblytaetae @pkjay @httpenhoon @starniras @semi-wife @nightowlpudding @urmomssneakylink @emmacyc @heartheejake @papichulomacy @celestnlav @50-husbands @kukkurookkoo @neptunediaries @nujeskz @gweoriz

[opiopal]

yall wanna know something I think abt a lot? teenage/ little sibling mc au's. Mc gets brought down to the devildom at like 15-16 yr, obviously there is zero romance and instead they just get kinned as the 8th sibling in the HOL.

you guys wanna know what else I think of a lot? little sibling Mc being an agent of chaos when their found family trope isnt paying attention.

I can't help but imagine that once mc is kinned they get crazy spoiled. not spoiled rotten but they know they can get away with a LOT because they're now seen as the cute youngest that doesnt know any better. but obviously they do since they are a teenager who knows how the world works.

and I mention the agent of chaos thing is because they were already attending highschool before hand, so they quickly notice how highschoolish RAD feels, so they were able to jump into the social ring a lot faster then regular Mc. and thus have the ability to get information from people who trust them/like them. so it ends up being useful to them. and now to my leading point: imagine a sort of friendship with Mephisto. its really more like, a symbiotic relationship. they are around each other for a reason. and that reason is RADs newpaper club.

it first started out with Mc staying after at RAD with lucifer to help with a few things, eventually Mc was put in a random room to hang out in after they did all that they could. which turned out to be the room for the newspaper club. after a while they get bored because their D.D.D died and they snagged a paper that was meant for the next day. eventually Mephisto enters the room, goes to tell them to leave which quickly they say "Dia told me I can be in here, if you have a problem with what the lord wants you could always go tell him that!" which shut him up fast. a good couple of minutes go by before the silence is broken by Mc speaking up and going, "You know, this is kinda boring." offended, he whips around, "excuse me?"

"theres nothing interesting here. interviews.. talking about things that everyone already knows about.. like, I could google half this junk." "I- well what would you know!?" "a lot actually. you dont appeal to any of the students here."

he glares for second before inhaling slowly, remembering that diavolo might be nearby.

"oh yeah? as if you could do better." "I could actually," "well i would love to hear it then."

he says sarcastically. though Mc speaks anyways.

mc adjusts how they were sitting and scans over the paper for a second.

"a gossip section would do it good." "what?" "come on dude, its non-sports club 101, if you want people to pay attention to you, you need to appeal to them. I was in theater for a while and we'd bribe people with free food if they sat through the whole show. this place loves drama. and lucifer being drawn riding on a unicorn isn't funny enough to get more then one person to buy it."

slowly they start talking a bit more casually and stop being so hostile. eventually Mc says that they could tell him the gossip they hear if he wants to make a part in the paper for said gossip. so, from then on they slip notes to him about student drama. which does indeed get more papers told!

though one day, someone pisses Mc off. not really that they were the one insulted, but they heard a few demons talking shit about their older brothers. so for the next week Mc takes a good amount of notes on those demons. which eventually they go to Mephisto with their notes and gave them to him. when he questions why these particular demons, he's met with a very angry "if those cunts want to talk shit and not mind their business then why shouldn't their own business get talked about." for a moment he wants to press further... but unfortunately for him he found himself actually caring about this human very much so he couldn't help but just want to make them feel better... and this much of a consititant story would draw people in so its totally not that he kinned this kid as well, totally!! so for about two weeks the gossip section has an ongoing story that causes nearly the whole school to get a paper to stay updated.

of course every bit of gossip uses code names to keep people from being outed on anything. and honestly some of the gossip might end up being people bringing it to the newspaper club themselves, so maybe a small confessions page ends up being opened.

obviously this is something a little cracked, and just a not very thought out thing that exists bc it makes me giggle when I'm daydreaming before I fall asleep<3 and honestly I wouldn't be surprised if there was already a gossip section in the school papers, but unfortunately I was never ever able to make it past the first few lessons of session 2 of obey me, which sucks:/

[erwinsvow]

ive been rereading ur bitchy reader stuffs n pleek do more of the pope cameo.. HER SAYING DICK APPT WHEN RAFE COMPLAINED ABT HER HAVING POPES NUMBER MADE ME GIGGLE OUT LOUD pretty please give us more of them 🤲

i imagine her being pissed off at rafe so she keeps giving him the cold shoulder and when he asks something she’d just go “maybe i should’ve gone to heywards instead he wont treat me like this 🙄” BUT ITS SO FUNNY KNOWING SHE DOESNT LIKE POGUES !!!!

LMFAOOO THIS IS KILLING ME!! one thing about my readers, their secret pogue crush is always gonna be pope <3

one thing you had in common with rafe—despite the glaring differences that were so hard to ignore—was that you both didn't care much for pogues.

that was putting it lightly, rafe despised them and you just didn't like them. but some were more tolerable than others—for example, the maybank boy who seemed to you the equivalent of a toddler with sticky hands versus pope heyward, who used to tutor in math. you don't know why or how they're friends, just that you like pope enough to be friendly, or rather polite, and you definitely don't like maybank enough to even think about him.

rafe didn't like any of them, and you didn't really care. you weren't in the habit of defending pogues, and certainly not when you were constantly trying to remind sarah to stay away from them, even though she never listened.

but seeing how angry rafe seemed to get at the mere mention was enough to give you some ideas. when you had jokingly—although now you remember you hadn't really ever clarified—said that you had pope's number because of dick appointments, rafe had gotten so angry it had resulted in the best sex of your life.

you were curious to know what else you could get out of it. unfortunately, your curiosity didn't last for very long. rafe pissed you off just as much as you pissed him off, and though these thoughts were often in one ear and out the other for you.

like today. you had been waiting for twenty whole minutes at the club for rafe, who had insisted he would be on time even though you knew he would probably run late since he was coming from barry's—all the way across town.

all he had to do was admit it, and you would have come later, but instead he had told you to show up at noon and that he wasn't going to be late.

normally you would show up at half past and just tell him to fuck off, but if he really was on time you would never hear the end of it. so you showed up on time and waited... and waited.

rafe finally shows up about forty minutes later, and you stare at him with your signature look—eyes rolling back, an i-told-you-so expression with arms crossed. you could make it more withering if you wanted, but right now you just wanted to hear rafe admit he was wrong.

"shut the fuck up," he says, taking a seat the table. your half drunken diet coke has left a ring of condensation, and you move the cup towards you, wondering how you'd become the kind of girl that waits forty minutes for a guy to show up.

"first of all, i didn't even say anything. second of all, you shut the fuck up. i'm the one who was forty-fucking-minutes late."

"it took longer-"

"longer than you thought? yeah, i said that. yesteday."

"well m'here now, so just order."

you huff, scanning the menu and not sure exactly what retort to use. instead you settle for shutting up entirely, not speaking to rafe the entire time. the waitress comes and goes, the food comes and goes, and you look up when rafe speaks but don't say anything back.

rafe thinks you'll give it up once lunch is over, but you grew up in a household where an hour of silent treatment is child's play. so the car ride to tannyhill, throughout the movie you put on and when you walk away to make popcorn, you haven't said a word.

while the movie credits roll, you look down at your phone, waiting for your apology and deciding when to leave if you don't get it.

"are you seriously gonna ignore me the entire day?"

you stare at rafe, not answering. this is your withering look.

"fine, princess. your choice," rafe shrugs. "finally got you to shut up for once."

you take a moment for his words to really hit you. like any other girl in the world, that comment from your boyfriend hurts a little. it even stings. you don't like the words in the air and you can even tell it left a bitter taste in rafe's mouth. he looks like he's just realizing he overstepped a little. then, for the first time since you saw rafe that day, you speak.

"you know, it's a good thing i didn't delete heyward's number from my phone. times like this i realize how handy it can be."

"what the fuck is th-"

"i mean, really, rafe. even these pogues you hate so much would treat me better than you do. i should go call him up now-"

"okay, princess i get it-"

"bet he'd probably fuck me better than-"

"okay, enough. jesus, i get it. m'sorry, okay? can you knock it off now?"

"i'm not knocking anything off. and you can go fuck yourself if you can't apologize for a little thing like being late-"

"i'm sorry, okay? now can you stop talking about pope fuckin' heyward?" you huff, finally a little pleased he apologized.

"thank you. was that so hard?"

"oh shut up-"

"you shut up. and don't be late again. or i'll show you fuckin' heyward-"

"enough!"

[girlnadian]

wifies wear skirt. for his Birth

a little. silly birthday shopping trip for the birthday boy :) he doesnt actually wear it. but. um.

536 words // divider

"You've been wearing basically the same outfit since I found you," Ken says, and then Wato looks up from his schematics, and Wifies sees the setup immediately. Ken is not-so-good at being subtle.

So Wifies says, "I suppose I have," because he doesn't feel inclined to dissuade it, and he's being dragged to a marketplace some thirty minutes later, Wato tailing closely behind while Ken tugs Wifies forward.

It's not the first time he's been somewhere like this—Wifies does own other clothes, also mostly at Ken's insistence. The problem is that every time the three go shopping together, they fall into the exact same pattern: Wifies opts for familiarity, and will gravitate towards the greys and blacks he's always worn, soft sweaters and loose-fitting pants that keep him covered without being constrictive; Ken opts for comfort—he likes large jackets and sturdy boots, anything that looks nice while also being practical; and Wato, definitely the most well-dressed of them, will wander towards the most expensive and finely made items. Fifteen minutes into the trip, Ken will scamper off from the group, and Wifies will be left to follow Wato around. Wato is picky and won't push Wifies to look around more, and Ken will find plenty of stuff he's interested in but grumble and put half of it back because he hates trying things on in the store. It's not a bad way to spend an afternoon, but Wifies comes for Ken and Wato, not because he expects to buy anything.

Wato has been turning over a few ruffled dress shirts for a while now, though, so Wifies finds himself scanning the displays nearby, and…

A cascade of black fabric catches his eye. He tilts his head.

He blinks, expecting his gaze to move away naturally, but he keeps staring. It's long (long enough to fit him), with a delicate white floral pattern embroidered at the ends, modest and cute, and–

"What are you looking at?"

Wifies hears Ken's voice approximately one second before the feline bumps hard into his side. Ken doesn't actually wait for an answer, following Wifies line of sight, ears flicking upwards.

"Oh. Do you like it?"

"It's nice," Wifies says, carefully neutral. He's not sure why hesitates to let Ken know he likes something. It doesn't matter in the end, though, being careful immediately gives him away—Ken's ears flatten along with his expression.

"Ken's back?" Then Wato walks up, perfectly timed to have Wifies fighting down a blush. He feels– he feels caught. He shouldn't feel like that with Ken and Wato.

"Wifies wants a skirt." 

"I did not say that."

"You didn't have to," Ken sounds put upon, like Wifies is the one being childish. Wifies sniffs and reaches over to pinch Ken's ears.

"We can get it for you," Wato says over Ken's hissing.

Ken wiggles out of Wifies' reach and ducks behind Wato's arm. "Wato can get it for you."

"Ken."

"You just finished a commission! I haven't uploaded in a while, okay, things are– it's rough–"

They get caught up bickering, and in the end, Wifies doesn't have room to stop them from picking up the skirt and herding him towards the changing rooms to try it on.