#i loved making something for someone else
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summertimesadnessirl ¡ 4 hours ago
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Actually if suicide is illegal anything that makes you happy should be free because the world owes you a living if it will not allow you to die.
If suicide is illegal anyone who consistently does things that give people clinical depression or chronic stress on purpose should go to jail for entrapment.
Abusive partners, abusive therapists, abusive bosses, people who design bad living environments, unjust labor laws, towns that are hard to live in.
If suicide is illegal the world owes you never once wanting to die by any means necessary or they are criminals.
sweet treats should not cost money they should come as complimentary gift for not giving up
#im not kidding#i also think anyone who stops anyone from unaliving#literally in a tangible physical sense#should be sent to prison unless they spend the rest of their entire life fixing all the problems that person has so they never want to die#like#if you save someones life you are their slave and you go to prison if they ever cry or scream or are unhappy again#you literally do not get to do anything ever again other than make that person happy and get justice for them#anyone who hurt them or laws that opress them are now your responsibility to fix#i mean literally#if you refuse to allow someone to die you owe it to them to turn their life into a paradise#if they want for anything you must fix it and you cannot do literally anything else or prioritize#anything above their happiness ever again#you want to force someone to live you have to make sure they are living not merely surviving because you are selfish and dont want to think#which is why people force people not to kill themselves#because they want to believe in the just world fallacy#either suicide needs to be free and easy for every single adult#or we have to make everyone happy#actually happy#not force them to pretend to smile#not pretending we are pushing them through something hard and its tough love#i mean literally everyone should have their ideal life because it is owed to them#the maximum amount of personal automy the best education the best food the clothes they want the body they want the daily routine they want#the living space they want the accommodation they need the ability to leave any company they dislike and seek out the company they enjoy#all the food all the toys all the media all the time all the fun#it is owed to you because suicide is illegal#anyone who does anything that prevents anyone from thriving should be in prison
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thehoneybeestings ¡ 2 days ago
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Service Top!Sevika at Babette's 
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Word Count: approx. 640
Synopsis: There's a reason the girls at Babette's fight over who gets Sevika for the night when she comes in, and you're about to find out why
Content/Warnings: nsfw, porn w no/little plot, brothel worker!reader x service top!sev, bottom!reader, oral (sev & r receiving) strap (r receiving), pillow humping, reader has female anatomy, reader referred to as girl, doll, like 75% of afabs can't cum from penetration alone so this is for us
A/N: OKAY okay since everyone is asking (no one asked girl), i guess i'll give you guys some service top!vika x brothel worker!reader while we wait for the kassandra poll results. since everyyyone is asking. service top!sevika holy fuck save me. enjoy !
Love, Bee ୨ৎ
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୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who frequents the brothel to blow off steam in a way that has the girls fighting over who gets her for the night
୨ৎ You've only been working at Babette's for a month now, so you're not really sure what the hype is all about…
୨ৎ Until, she comes in one evening and everyone else is already with a client, leaving you to take care of her
──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──
୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who walks into your room through the beaded curtain that's twinkling like the grey eyes traveling up and down your figure
୨ৎ “You new?” She asks, unbuttoning her cloak to reveal a beautiful arm of bronze
୨ৎ Beautiful, but intimidating; this is made clear by the wide eyes you sport when responding with a hesitant, “Y-yes…”
୨ৎ She takes note of your weariness and makes quick work of easing your worries 
୨ৎ “Not gonna hurt ya;” she states, throwing her cloak over the wingback chair next to the door, “not what i’m here for.” 
୨ৎ “What are you here for then?” You respond; this time, more confidently 
୨ৎ She strolls over to the bar cart, and you don't miss the smirk that appears on her face before her back is to you as she pours herself a glass of whiskey
୨ৎ “That depends on you.”
──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──
୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who’s got you baffled, because it’s been a long time since someone asked you what you liked
୨ৎ She's got you sprawled out on the velvet couch, her head between your legs, only coming up for air to ask if you if “You want it faster?” “You want another one of my fingers?” “You're gonna cum for me, aren't you doll?”
୨ৎ No fucking shit you're gonna cum; this is the best head you've ever gotten
──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──
୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who's got you on your knees in front of her, wetting her strap so it's nice and ready for you
୨ৎ You're quick to coax every inch into your mouth, eyes watering as you try your best to breathe through the jabs to the back of your throat 
୨ৎ But then, she's cupping your jaw with her flesh hand, pulling you off of its length
୨ৎ “Slow down, doll,” she soothes, “you're gonna hurt yourself.”
୨ৎ You'd sputter out an apology, explaining that you were only doing what your other clients liked
୨ৎ “Don't care what they like. Take your time; just need my strap wet enough to make you feel good.” 
୨ৎ Of course, you show your immense appreciation for her consideration by giving her head so good she swears she can feel it through the strap
──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──
୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika whose got you babbling on her cock, completely drunk off of how good she's fucking you
୨ৎ She's got you in a prone bone, (because she asked what your favorite position to take strap in was) leaning down to tell you how good you're doing, how well you're taking her
୨ৎ “Can you cum like this?” She suddenly asks, slowing down 
୨ৎ “Not usually,” you pant, “need something on my clit.”
୨ৎ “Good. Want my mouth on you anyway.”
──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──
୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who’s coaxing another orgasm from you, fingers massaging your walls, tongue drawing figure eights on your clit
୨ৎ Her arms are wrapped around your thighs, holding them down as you twitch and thrash with your release 
୨ৎ Only once you've ridden it out until you're reaching down to push her away does she crawl up to fall beside you on the pile of blankets, furs, and pillows 
୨ৎ Her breath is labored, eyebrows knit together, and her own thighs are twitching now 
୨ৎ “Your turn?” You ask breathlessly
୨ৎ She reaches down to grab a pillow before dropping it beside your head; and only upon seeing the dark patch on the pillow case do you realize that she'd gotten off grinding into it as she ate you out
୨ৎ “Already went. You wanna go again?”
──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──
୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who is-naturally- your favorite client; and luckily for you, you're her favorite girl
End ୨ৎ
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bestalbertcamuslover ¡ 3 days ago
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Her Ex Got Engaged
↳ Masterlist
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︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
✯ pairing: Max Verstappen x GF! Reader ✯
✯ content warnings: None✯
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
Almost two years had passed since the end of the longest relationship she had ever had. Six years that had introduced her to romantic love—and to romantic deception. She could still picture the subtle yet undeniable shift in his expression as she spoke animatedly about the future she envisioned for them. It wasn’t until much later that she realized that moment had been a warning, a quiet revelation that he did not see her in his.
She soon learned what a breakup truly felt like—the endless crying, the ache in her chest, the unbearable helplessness. Absolute hell.
Looking back, though, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the conversation that ended it all. Painful as it had been, it had given her the clarity she needed. It had hurt—stung far too much—to realize he had known for some time that she was not the one but hadn’t ended things sooner. She had spent too long wondering why. But perhaps, if he had, she wouldn’t be where she was now—with someone who loved her the way she deserved. And for that, she was grateful.
It was late morning, and as Max played with the cats beside her, she scrolled through Instagram stories to see what her friends and other people were up to. Clubbing, dinners, traveling, running—the usual things people posted. She would glance at each for just a second before swiping to the next. But then she stopped, her finger frozen on the screen as she stared, at one point almost vacantly, before tapping on the shared post.
Engaged. She stared blankly at the caption, the single word mocking her. After what—a year? He was already engaged to someone else? How? Max barely glanced at her phone at first, still focused on scratching behind the cat’s ears. But when he noticed the way she had suddenly stilled, eyes fixed on the screen, he leaned in slightly.
“Who’s that?” he asked, peering over her shoulder. “One of your friends?”
She blinked, hesitating a second too long. “Uh—”
Max smirked, nudging her playfully. “Tell me it’s not another wedding. I’m running out of excuses not to go.”
That earned a small, breathy laugh from her, but it wasn’t quite right—too forced. She locked her phone and placed it face-down beside her. “No wedding,” she said lightly. “Don’t worry.”
Max tilted his head. “Then why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”
“I don’t,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing.”
His smirk faded slightly as he studied her face. “It’s someone, though.”
She sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. “My ex,” she admitted. “He got engaged.”
Max’s expression didn’t change immediately. He just stared at her, then let out a quiet huh.
For a second, she thought maybe he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. But then, with that signature bluntness of his, he asked,
“So why do you care?”
She turned her head sharply. “I don’t.”
Max gave her a look, eyes flicking to her phone. “You do.”
His eyes met hers again, piercing through her, almost imploring an answer. Why did she care? It had been two years. She was happy—with herself, with him, with her life in general. And yet, it felt like a hard punch to the stomach.
“I don’t know,” she sighed.
Max’s jaw tensed slightly, his fingers drumming against his knee as he studied her. He wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but something about this—about her reaction—itched at him in a way he didn’t like.
“You don’t know?” he echoed, his voice quieter now, but there was an edge to it.
She ran a hand through her hair. “I mean, it’s offensive,” she said, trying to explain. “That he just—engaged so fast.”
Max’s brow furrowed. “And that bothers you because…?”
She sighed. “Because it makes me wonder how long he knew I wasn’t the one.”
Max was quiet for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, in a tone sharper than before, he asked,
“And do you still care?”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“About him,” Max clarified, his expression unreadable. “Because you look like someone just punched you, and I don’t know why else you’d be this upset if you were actually over it.”
She blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor.
“Max, no—”
“Because if you’re not happy with me, you should tell me,” he continued, his voice still controlled. “If you still want him—”
“I don’t,” she cut him off, shaking her head firmly. “I swear, I don’t.”
He exhaled, looking away for a second, his fingers tightening into a fist before relaxing. “Then why?” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “Why does it feel like you’re still stuck in it?”
She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come right away. It wasn’t about her ex, not really. It was about time, about the fact that she had spent years loving someone who hadn’t loved her back the same way. It was about realizing that she had been so blind to it.
But looking at Max now—his guarded expression, the slight clench of his jaw, the way his fingers twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for her or pull away—she realized that he didn’t see it that way.
Her chest tightened.
She reached for his hand, curling her fingers around his. “Max, I’m happy, the happiest I’ve ever been,” she said, her voice softer now. “With you. I swear, I don’t want him back. I just—it caught me off guard. That’s all.”
His shoulders didn’t relax immediately, his thumb ghosting over her knuckles as he studied her face, searching for something.
“Are you sure?” he asked, and for all his bluntness, there was something vulnerable about the way he said it.
She squeezed his hand. “I’m sure.”
Max exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly like he was mad at himself for even thinking otherwise. Then, finally, he tugged her closer, his hand slipping to the nape of her neck as he rested his forehead against hers.
“I don’t like seeing you like that,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “And I really don’t like the thought of you still caring about him.”
She smiled, brushing her nose against his. “I don’t.”
His lips barely curved, but the tension in his body faded just slightly.
“Good,” he murmured before kissing her, slow and deliberate, like he was grounding himself in her. Like he was making sure she was here. With him.
Max pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand still cradling the nape of her neck. His expression had softened—still serious, but there was a hint of something else now. Something almost teasing.
“So,” he murmured, thumb brushing absently over her skin. “If you’re so bothered by him getting engaged, you wanna just… get engaged too?”
She blinked. “What?”
Max shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, why not? Even the score.”
She scoffed, shoving his shoulder. “Oh, now you want to propose, just to be petty?”
He chuckled, but there was a glint in his eyes, something more thoughtful than his usual teasing. “Maybe. I think we’d look better in engagement photos, anyway.”
She rolled her eyes while smiling. 
Max smirked and leaned in again, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth before murmuring against her skin, “One day, though.”
Her breath hitched slightly.
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his usual cocky demeanor softened by something undeniably genuine. “Not just to ‘even the score’ or whatever,” he added, his voice quieter now. “But because I want to.”
She swallowed, her heart skipping a beat at the certainty in his tone.
“One day,” she echoed, her lips curving slightly.
Max’s grin widened. “Good, and it will be a much fancier ring than that, okay?.”
She laughed, shaking her head as he pulled her into him again. “Okay.”
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3
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rafesangelita ¡ 16 hours ago
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♡ it’s that time of year again, and kook!sweetheart!reader is here and ready to kiss for charity in her annual kissing booth! however, rafe is first in line.. and a peck on the cheek is not the only thing he’s interested in..
warnings: s1!rafe, flirty banter, dirty talk, heavy petting, fingering, overstimulation, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), hair pulling, multiple orgasms
a/n: now presenting… ‘KISSING BOOTH’ 🤍 i was so obsessed with this idea, i had came up with it last year but decided i should wait for valentine’s day to write it, so to say it’s been a long time coming is an understatement! i’m so excited for this valentine’s day celebration, i hope you all will love it <3
link: VALENTINE’S DAY CELEBRATION ໒꒰ྀི。- ˕ -。꒱ྀི১
wc: 1.5k
“wow, it looks like cupid threw up in here.” you smiled at the familiar voice, your best friend rolling her eyes when she saw the way your cheeks heated at rafe’s teasing words. while she thought rafe was annoying and insufferable, you absolutely adored him, always laughing at his lame jokes and letting him hold you close at parties as if to let everyone know that you were off limits. “you don’t like the way i decorated the booth?” you pouted up at him as he leaned over the front counter, a smug grin gracing his features. “yeah, it’s cute..” he trailed off, “but are you really gonna kiss some random assholes for a fuckin’ dollar?”
you sighed, pointing towards the tip jar. “it’s for charity, rafe.. and i’m not really ‘kissing’ anyone, i’m barely grazing their cheek!” rafe scoffed before studying you for a moment. you were such a pretty thing, the idea of some losers waiting in line to get something as little as a peck from you made his blood boil. “how much money do you have to make today?” he was fishing in his pocket for his wallet before you even answered. “i would like to make at least three hundred dollars.” you watched him curiously as he managed to get some crisp bills out of the expensive leather.
“i’ll do you one better, and give you five hundred dollars to ditch this joint right now.” you blinked, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “are you serious?” he dropped the money in the jar that you decorated with pink heart-shaped stickers and red rhinestones. “yeah, but i don’t just want a kiss..” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “i’d rather see those pretty, sparkly lips wrapped around my cock instead, yeah?” you felt butterflies flutter in your tummy, your needy gaze meeting his own. “come on, baby.” he took your hand in his, his thumb rubbing into your skin.
swallowing thickly, you glanced over at your bestie. “i can’t leave her to do this all by herself..” just as you were going to apologize and tell him maybe another time, she took the money out of the jar and placed it into an envelope. “i’m gonna go turn this money in to the charity organizers and close up shop, ‘looks like the boys of kildare will have to be kissed by someone else today.” you giggled, motioning for rafe to come inside once your friend left. he wasted no time, locking the wooden door shut as you closed the window, moving the silky red curtain over the glass.
rafe’s hands were palming the soft flesh of your ass in an instant, his large hands shamelessly flipping up your skirt to get a better grip on your skin. despite the small amount of pain he drew from squeezing you so hard, you still moaned blissfully when he took you in a sloppy kiss, his tongue wetting your bottom lip in the process. “you’re so sweet, y’know that? letting me have my way with you like this.” without warning, rafe took ahold of your thighs before hiking you up onto the counter. “i’ve been wanting to know how you taste for so long..” he groaned, both of you moaning as he rubbed you through your panties.
moving your hands to run down his chest, you and rafe shared a look before he slowly peeled back the pink lace. “all i gotta do is chat you up, and you’re already soaked like this?” he laughed incredulously, “fuck, you’re just dying for it.” you couldn’t help but whimper when he gathered the pool of slick between your folds, circling your clit slow and hard before popping his digits into his mouth. “rafe!” you’re shocked but so turned on at the same time, the look of pure disbelief on your face making him smile in amusement. “as much as i’d love to eat this sweet pussy, i need to feel you wrapped around me even more.”
fingertips hooking in the waistband of your panties, rafe slid the material down your legs before placing them in his pocket. “i’m keeping these for later, ‘that alright?” you nodded frantically, spreading your thighs open for him before he stroked your glossy slit. “m’gonna stretch you out just right..” you gasped, your eyebrows knitting together as he slowly inserted his middle finger. “shit, you’re so tight.” he smiled down at you, watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open. “if you think this is a stretch, just wait til’ i have my cock inside of you.”
rafe was knuckle deep at this point, your pretty moans giving him all the encouragement he needed to insert another finger. “oh, god!” your heel clad feet began shaking when his palm met your swollen clit, the pressure making you keen. rafe fisted your ponytail, pulling your head down so you could watch him curl his digits in order to hit that soft, gummy spot inside of you. your top was out of place, your tits threatening to spill out of your bra as rafe used his free hand to keep your chin pointed down. the closer you got to your orgasm, the more you tried to pull away from him, the intensity of your climax already coiling tight in your tummy.
rafe let go of your hair and pinned you down by your hip as he pushed you over the edge, the band in your stomach finally snapping as you came undone. you cried out, your nails raking down his forearm as he hissed at the stinging sensation. “you’re doing so fucking good, holy shit!” he cursed, the sound of your slick juices making your cheeks heat. you shook and writhed beneath him, your heart beating in your ears as you felt the pure unadulterated pleasure wrack through your system. surely, it couldn’t get better than this.. right?
wrong.
rafe wasn’t lying when he said the stretch from his fingers was nothing compared to the stretch of his cock, the tip of his length now kissing your poor cervix with each thrust. “t-too much! rafe, slow down!” he ignored your pleas, instead taking your arms and pinning them to your back so you couldn’t push against his abs anymore. you swore if it wasn’t for him holding your leg up, you would’ve fallen to the ground already. “ah, nah you got it, pretty girl.” he leaned down, pressing kisses to your shoulder. “this is all you, sweetheart, you’re sucking me in like a fucking vice.” he panted.
rafe was close, but he meant what he said earlier— he needed to see you on your knees for him, he needed to see those swollen lips wrapped around his cock just like how he’s imagined for so long. just when rafe felt like he was going to fill up your cunt, he pulled out, quickly pushing you to the floor so he could use your throat instead. you’ve given him complete control, and the power to throw you around as he got you on your knees, kicking your thighs apart so he could see the mess you made between your legs. rafe nearly came when he saw you open your mouth so willingly for him, almost like it was your instinct to take him whole.
taking the hem of his shirt between his teeth, rafe kept the cotton material out of the way as he slid between your lips with ease. you were so warm and so wet, and just so, so, so pretty with your mouth full, he took a breath before tugging at the roots of your hair. “make me fuckin’ cum,” your eyes widened slightly when he whimpered, the sound making you take him even further until your nose was nudging at his base, “oh, what the fuck, what the fuck—” he was done for as soon as you swallowed around him, your eyes watering with tears as you felt the warm ropes of his seed paint your throat.
rafe kept your head in place, his jaw slack as he emptied himself inside of you. it wasn’t until you tapped on his leg that he pulled you off, a strangled gasp leaving your lips as you finally sucked in a breath. he felt dazed, just the same way you did. “damn, sweetheart, should i bribe you more often?” you laughed, accepting the hand he held out for you. standing up on shaky legs, rafe got his shorts on, helping you readjust your clothing shortly after. “you don’t have to bribe me..” despite just doing the most filthiest things you’ve ever done, you still couldn’t help but feel shy underneath the intensity of his stare.
rafe kissed you, taking your hand in his before placing another kiss to your knuckles. “come on,” he poked his head out of the booth to make sure no one was around, “let’s get you back to my place, i need to get my head between those thighs like asap.”
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ceilidho ¡ 3 days ago
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fear of god
There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 10 masterlist
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Only after incinerating the original samples do you second guess your actions.
Too late by then. By the time it occurs to you that it might’ve been smarter to keep the samples to reference later, they’re already in biohazard bins, autoclaved and in the process of being incinerated, flames dancing behind the glass. 
You can only watch dispassionately. Mistakes made in crisis; you keep yielding to the thin stretch of fear across the vanishing point of your paranoia and hoping you won’t make the same mistake again, only to repeat the same pattern. 
Over lunch in the mess, you bite back your anxiety and ask Gaz to come by the lab in the morning in order to draw another vial of blood. He spreads his legs under the table until his knees taps against yours.
There’s a glint in his eye when he smiles. “Something wrong with the one from yesterday?”
Stare and swallow your pride. “I…accidentally contaminated it. Can you come by?”
“Of course, doctor. Anything for you.”
You grit your teeth to avoid snapping at him in front of everyone else, the mess full for a change. Under the table, you press your knees together until your legs tremble. 
True to his word, Gaz comes by first thing in the morning, perky enough to rub you the wrong way. You slept poorly again though, so it’d be hard to rub you the right way. 
“You look tired, love,” Gaz observes quietly, the paper crinkling under him as he sits himself down on the exam table.
“I am tired.” Your voice is subdued, weary, but somehow the thought of being vulnerable in front of him doesn’t scare you the way it once did. Your dynamic these days is an interesting one. Two people in on the same secret. It makes you feel almost close to him in a way, a shared intimacy that doesn’t extend to the rest of the crew. 
“Didn’t get enough sleep?” he asks.
“No, I—” 
A man stands at the end of a long corridor, shrouded in darkness.
You are powerless to stop him unless he wants to be stopped.
He is coming for you. He is holding out his hand and waiting for you to take it.
You rub your forehead where it aches. “No. Not enough.”
Hadir follows not long after, the door sliding shut behind him as you prep the syringe. You don’t respond when he says good morning, not in the mood for pleasantries or conversation with everything else going on. It’s hard to feel up to being friendly when this whole situation feels like a thinly veiled attempt to monitor you, like you’re the untrustworthy one when two feet away, Gaz sits with a serene smile on his face and twiddles his thumbs. 
There’s a small pleasure in plunging a needle into his vein again, but you’re not cruel enough to try and make it hurt. You’re not even sure if you could. 
He doesn’t so much as wince. 
You’re much more efficient about it with Hadir hovering over your shoulder, immediately transferring Gaz’s blood into capillary tubes after drawing it from him and flitting to the other side of the room to place the tubes into the centrifuge. It’s not a long wait—ten minutes tops—but you spend it hunched over the centrifuge. On the other side of the room, Gaz and Hadir chit chat like nothing’s wrong. 
The second the centrifuge beeps, you pop the lid and remove the tubes. Perfectly separated; no different than the day before. You repeat the same steps as Hadir watches, pipetting the supernatant fluid into a new test tube and preparing the slides, shoulders tense the whole time. Waiting for him to stop and correct you. 
It never comes—as it shouldn’t. You may not be above question, but you’re good at your job. You wouldn’t have messed up something as simple as a blood test of all things.
Then, you sit down in front of the microscope. 
Something in your gut tells you what’s going to happen before it does. You slip the slide under the microscope and lean forward into the eyepiece only to find perfectly normal red blood cells. No strange wandering cells bending into confounding shapes. Just erythrocytes sitting peacefully on the blood smear slide, not overlapping and not too widely spread apart.
You look over at Gaz when Hadir takes your place, the man still sitting on the examination table as if waiting for your permission to leave. The smile on his face is as placid as ever, almost affectionate. You’d almost believe it too, if you didn’t know any better. 
Why are you doing this? You wish you could just ask him outright. It borders on the cruel. Like a humiliation ritual, the both of you knowing that the blood cells under the microscope aren’t what they seem. Why are you putting me through this?
His eyes twinkle. Because I can, they say. 
It doesn’t take Hadir very long to come to the same conclusion as you. 
“Looks all good to me,” Hadir pronounces, smiling brightly when he pulls away from the eyepiece. “See, doc? Yesterday’s must’ve been a fluke.”
You nod instead of answering. It seems trivial to respond with words; nothing you could say would express the deep well opening up inside of you, the ever widening gap between you and the reality you once took for granted. All you can do is sit there in silence as the two of them leave together.
That seemingly no one aside from you can seem to articulate or even comprehend the magnitude of the situation at hand is starting to get to you. 
Deep within every quiet corner of the universe lie the seeds of destruction; a throbbing, cancerous heart. There’s no epiphany there though, no revelation or moment of enlightenment to shock you to your core—you know that life and death are inextricably intertwined, an egg nesting within another egg. Supermassive black holes at the centre of galaxies. Figs and wasps. Beginnings and endings.
Now one is knocking at your door, asking to come in.
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The day severs itself into two when Farah finds you making a cup of tea in the galley. Your guard is already up when the door slides open and she marches in, so geared up to be scolded that you flinch at the sound of the door sliding shut. 
“We need to talk,” Farah says. Her tone brooks no argument. You’ve been dreading this confrontation, but you aren’t particularly shocked by its arrival. News travels fast in confined spaces; gossip faster. You knew from the second that you got Hadir involved after promising that you wouldn’t share your misgivings about Gaz with anyone other than Farah that this would be coming.
“Now?”
“If you’re not busy.”
You’re not and you know she knows that, so instead of arguing you just nod and pour your tea down the sink, following her out of the galley.
She steers you down a hallway away from the main corridor that leads towards the brig and several supply rooms. At the end of the hall, the brig just around the bend behind her, Farah stops and turns to face you, arms across her chest. Her face is set in a stern cast. 
“Why did you ask Hadir to help you with a blood test? He’s not the ship’s medic.”
That being her first question does come as a surprise. You’d assumed she’d immediately tear into you about involving Hadir in your arrangement, not interrogate you about leaning on another crew member for advice and support. 
“I didn’t ask him to. He volunteered.”
“Why did he volunteer?”
“I…thought there was something wrong with Gaz’s blood sample from the other day. I asked him if he could confirm if there was something wrong. I just needed a second pair of eyes.”
A terrible idea in retrospect. You should’ve anticipated Hadir’s reaction and the subsequent fallout. 
“He told me about what you said yesterday. About Gaz. Do I need to be concerned?”
“Well, I am concerned about Gaz. If you’d seen his blood the other day—”
“I mean concerned about you.”
You blink, floored. “Concerned about me?” you ask in bewilderment. “What did I do?” 
“You told Hadir that you didn’t think Gaz was human. How is anyone supposed to take that? You might not like him, but he's part of the crew now, and insinuating that about someone on the crew is—”
“Wait, wait—I’m sorry I got Hadir involved when I said I wouldn’t, but—I thought when you said you’d keep an eye on Gaz that it meant you…had similar suspicions.”
She looks at you strangely. “I never promised to keep an eye on Gaz. What are you talking about?”
Her response leaves you at a loss for words. Suddenly and acutely aware that you have been having two separate conversations—you assuming that Farah’s frustration stemmed from involving her brother when she previously asked you not to, and her assuming something entirely different. 
“Yes, we did,” you insist. “You told me the other day that you would as long as—”
Something moves in the shadows. 
Your eyes flick towards it instinctively. Then your body goes rigid.
A slender, dark eyed woman watches you from the end of the hall, her lips tilted up in an enigmatic grin. Half-shrouded in shadow, you notice her only because you catch her moving in your peripheral vision when she shifts her weight to one leg. You notice first the familiar stripped headscarf wrapped around her head. Then, the smaller details of her face—full eyebrows and aquiline nose, the soft rounded corners of her jaw pulled tight with her smile. 
“Doctor?” the Farah in front of you asks. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, blood pressure spiking. 
The other woman takes a step into the light. It’s Farah in shape and appearance, but there’s something off about it. Like you’re aware now of something intrinsically lesser about it when shown in opposition to the real thing. 
The Farah in front of you frowns, concerned at your sudden silence. You’re aware now of how much more solid she is, real as a gut punch. Real as grass beneath your feet back on Earth or the heat of the sun on your face, all dulled out in space.
“Did we talk the other day?” you ask. “The other day—after the navigation system was fixed?”
And her eyes say it before her lips do. 
“We haven’t spoken in days. I stayed back to help Alex after that meeting.”
Cold reality flashes briefly before you: hollow voices and replicas. What have your eyes been seeing? Reality laps against the smoothened rocks of your mind. Do you know what’s happening to you?
Can you trust what’s really in front of you?
The thing behind Farah wearing her face approaches without sound, coming closer and closer until it stands right beside her, mirroring her stance, its face screwing itself into a similarly serious expression. Double vision. Your vision is blurry around the edges, fear making you tremble something fierce. 
You keep waiting for Farah to notice it standing right beside her, for her to suddenly turn her head and see it there, but she doesn’t. She stares at you with mounting concern. 
And then you blink, the two versions blurring and then overlapping. 
Your throat makes a sound like a whimper. You take a step back, the metal clang of your boot against the floor jarring in the silence. 
“I have to go,” you whisper, the blood draining from your face, your lips almost numb.  
She calls after you when you turn around, hurrying back down the hall whence you came, but you don’t stop, breaking into a run when you hear Farah come after you.
Rat in a maze. Mouse in a trap. You scurry down corridors knowing that there’s no place to run to. At every point, there is a wall past which you cannot go. Hauntingly familiar twists and turns, everything saturated with the memory of itself, the same walls you’ve seen innumerable times. The ship fills with low creaks and hollow sounds, cramped quarters and over familiarity to the point of suffocation. 
And then the nothingness that waits for you right outside the ship. Billions upon billions of miles of dark emptiness surrounding you, only occasionally interrupted by pockets of cold clouds of gas, even more seldomly coming together in precisely the right way for a star or planet to be born. 
Set in contrast with the vast infinity just beyond your walls, the ship feels impossibly small. A tiny speck floating through the cosmos. 
You wish you could wrench a window open and climb out of it. 
You can feel it swell up in your chest at first, bigger and bigger, stretching you around its immensity. Suddenly unable to take in a full breath, your chest too tight for your lungs to fill. Your body is somewhere else behind you, on a ship drifting through space, no certainty that you’ll ever return home. Earth is so far away—tens of millions of miles away from you and no way to get back. 
There’s a hand on your nape suddenly. 
“Hey,” a low voice murmurs. “Are you alright, love?” 
You don’t answer, heaving for breath. Chest collapsing in on itself. A dying star; tiny, tiny light flickering in and out of existence. Hands sweating profusely. Heart hammering against your chest so hard it hurts. 
“I’m with you, love—I’m not going anywhere.”
The voice murmurs low in your ear again, susurrus but too far away for you to make out. Then, a hand on your low back guiding you away, tucking you into a soft, warm place. You go with it. Dark. No blinding artificial lights blinding you. 
“C’mon, breathe with me,” the voice guides you. “Deep breaths. In, out, in, out—”
You follow their instructions, taking in a shaky breath and holding before expelling it. 
“There you go—that’s good,” he praises softly.
The come down is rough. All that adrenaline dumping straight out of you, heart still lurching in your chest. You’ve never had a panic attack before, but you know what to expect in the aftermath and it doesn’t disappoint. You might as well have been hit by a truck for how much your body aches. 
When you finally have the wherewithal to look around and take stock of the situation, you notice that you’re in someone else’s quarters, the lights dimmed until only a sliver of light penetrates through the dark. It’s one of the smaller rooms, no porthole to gaze out through into the blackness of space—only a cot and a folding table mounted into the wall. 
Crouched in front of you, your limp hands held in his while his thumbs rub soothing circles on the backs of your hands, is Gaz. 
Your horror is a beast on the periphery of your consciousness. Too depleted for it to overwhelm you. But you feel it balloon in your chest even though it doesn’t have the strength to move you. 
“Love, listen—shh, no, no, no,” Gaz shushes you when you try to cry out. “No, enough, you need to calm down. Just let me speak, alright?” 
He shuffles closer to you until he looms over you, your knees spread wide to accommodate him. You get a better sense of his true size from this angle, the man composed of solid, compact muscle, his narrow waist deceptive, giving him a leaner appearance from afar than up close. You know now how much room he can take up when he wants to. 
“None of this is your fault,” he says. He shifts, releasing your hands to cup your elbows instead, smoothing his hands up your arms. “You’ve worked so hard to show them the truth, but they just don’t want to see.”
“It’s—they can’t see because of you—” you croak. 
Gaz shakes his head. “No, no. If they wanted to, they’d see through it. Like you have.”
“No—you’re doing something to me.” 
His lips flick up into a smile. “Doing something?”
“You’re making me see things that aren’t there,” you whisper, shrinking into yourself. “I don’t even know what’s fucking real anymore—you’re scaring me.”
Even this close, you smell nothing. No heat emanates from his body or breath puffs from his lungs. It’s like a monolith looms over you, staring down at you through eyes that you can see but cannot comprehend. For all intents and purposes, he looks like a man. But he is not; he is something altogether different. 
A habitation of otherness smiling down at your unraveling interiority.
“I can make them believe you. I can help them see it with their own eyes. Would you like that, love?”
He says it with so much tenderness, stroking the backs of his knuckles over your cheek. 
“What do you mean?” you ask.
He doesn’t answer at first. You’re stuck gazing into his eyes. 
“What I mean,” he says, leaning in until his words are all you can hear. “Is that I can take away every shadow of doubt from their minds until all that’s left is the cold clarity of certitude. Show them what I’ve shown you.”
Gaz cups your face in both hands, fingers spread wide over your cheeks and neck, drawing you in until your lips brush against his. Softer than you expected, with a touch of texture. You don’t know what to think of him anymore, whether it’s your lips touching his now or whether this is all happening in your head. 
Then your lips part and he sighs into your mouth. His lips glide over yours, tenderer than you expected. Soft and wet; silky. Warmth spreads across your chest, everything suddenly concentrated on his kiss. It deepens almost naturally, your hands lifting to fist in the collar of his shirt and drag him closer to you, exhaling harshly into his mouth when you pull back to breathe, only to fall back into him again. Mouth tasting of something you can’t put your finger on; almost ambrosial. 
Is this what he’s wanted this whole time? The thought vanishes as soon as it comes. You’re a ball on a tether swinging in circles, a small planet orbiting this sun. And you’re slowly, but surely, sinking into him, gravity pulling you so close that you can feel the heat of flames against your cheeks. 
He breaks the kiss and your eyes flutter open to find him staring back at you through half-lidded eyes. “Well?”
“Please.”
Gaz smiles against your lips.
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fangdokja ¡ 2 days ago
Text
🔞Every glance you give someone is a dagger in his heart, and he's ready to make you bleed.
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❤︎ Synopsis. In the shadows of his love, your every breath becomes a betrayal. His jealousy is a silent poison, and you are its only cure—or its next victim.
♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.
♡ Pairing. Yandere! Mr. Reca x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Mydei x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Anaxa x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Phainon x Fem. Reader
♡ Headcanons. Falling Into Darkness - Part 2
♡ Word Count. 8,536
♡ TW. dom + top + older + slightly sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, rape, psychological + mental conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, rough play and sex, psychological + emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, Stockholm Syndrome, name calling, slight degradation, humiliation, choking, slapping, fingering, forced oral, forced penetration, orgasm control, orgasm denial
♡ Note. This was made before the official releases of characters, so be warned that some information may be inaccurate once additional lore comes out.
♡ A/N. I'm so mindblocked lol. Horror content is not cooperating with me this week. Genuinely tweaking rn. So, time for some long-awaited vanilla yandere content, before I ruin these characters dead-dove style. haha jk jk maybe. This is mostly a prequel to my actual dead dove style. Also, I did not mean to make this spicy... it just happened when I was experimenting, but oh well. Don't expect anything intense though, just generic vanilla sex. Tch, boring vanilla rape. But I can't put intense sex yet, because I'll go overboard with the word count. It's why I'm separating each character with their own unique dead dove AHD sex style for the SNAPPED Jealousy headcanons.
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♡ Mr. Reca.
"You’re mine, every piece of you—don’t you dare forget it. If anyone else dares to claim even a fraction of you, I’ll tear them apart with the same hands that make you scream my name."
The film reels of jealousy and desire—that’s how he would describe it. It’s never just rage that ignites Mr. Reca’s blood when someone else dares to linger too long in your shadow or lets their voice settle too comfortably in your ears. No, his jealousy is something far more visceral, more layered, more artful. He doesn’t just feel it; he directs it, letting it curl around his mind like the smoke of an old projector, every scene carefully composed to bring him closer to you. And when his jealousy crescendos into action, it is a masterpiece of possessive control and agonizing intimacy.
He sees you standing there—your figure illuminated by a faint and indifferent light, a half-smile on your lips as someone else dares to reach into his frame, contaminating the edges of his perfect shot. You don’t notice it at first, the way his dark eyes narrow, calculating and predatory, as though you are a wayward actress forgetting her role. You’re too distracted, too naïve, too willing to let your attention stray.
But not for long.
"You’re quite the little performer, aren’t you?" His voice is warm, teasing, as if you’re still unaware of the undertow beneath his words. The others in the room may laugh at his seemingly harmless tone, but you feel the subtle coil tightening around you. There’s always that edge of danger, of barely concealed madness, in the way he speaks. And as he takes measured steps toward you, his towering frame eclipsing everything else, you begin to realize you’re already in his trap.
Later, when it’s just the two of you, his true colors bleed through. His hands—so deft, so controlled when holding a camera or framing a shot—grip your wrists with precision that borders on clinical, pinning you against the cold, unforgiving wall of his studio. There’s no escape here. The room smells faintly of old film and chemicals, a suffocating aroma that mixes with the heat of his breath on your neck.
"Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t see you handing out smiles to someone else like a whore handing out free tickets? Let me tell you something, darling…" His lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, his teeth grazing the delicate shell of your ear. You flinch, and he chuckles low and dangerous, the sound vibrating through your entire body. "I notice everything. Every flicker of your eyes, every shift in your tone, every breath you take that isn’t meant for me."
His jealousy isn’t just anger; it’s possession laced with hunger, a ravenous need to mark and claim every inch of you. He doesn’t just want to punish you for daring to let someone else see your light; he wants to remind you of what you belong to—who you belong to. His hands trail down your body, slow and deliberate, as though you’re something to be dismantled piece by piece. He doesn’t ask for permission. Why would he? In his eyes, you’re already his—have always been his.
"Do you think they could touch you like this?" he growls, his fingers digging into your skin just hard enough to make you gasp. The sound sends a shiver of satisfaction through him, his smirk widening. "Do you think they could make you feel this...helpless? This raw? No one else will ever get this close to you, not while I’m alive."
And he means it. He would burn entire galaxies to ensure it.
The intimacy is suffocating, a blend of terror and thrill that leaves you trembling. He drinks in your fear as if it’s the finest wine, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic pleasure that borders on reverence. His lips find yours—not to kiss, but to devour, his teeth biting down just enough to remind you of the power he holds. His touch is everywhere, overwhelming, pulling you deeper into the dark labyrinth of his control.
"You don’t get to look at anyone else, talk to anyone else, breathe for anyone else," he murmurs against your lips, his voice honeyed with venom. His hands tighten their hold, leaving imprints that feel more like brands, as if his touch alone could etch his ownership into your very bones. "And if you try, darling, I’ll make sure you remember why that’s the last mistake you’ll ever make."
His jealousy doesn’t fade when the moment is over; it lingers, a constant shadow that follows you wherever you go. He watches you like a hawk, always poised to swoop in the moment you step out of line. And yet, beneath the suffocating weight of his obsession, there’s something almost tender in the way he looks at you—as if you’re the one thing keeping him tethered to the madness spiraling inside him.
But even that tenderness is sharp-edged, dangerous, a reminder that his love is not something you can escape. It is a cage, beautiful and gilded, with bars made of his unyielding devotion and walls built from his insatiable need. And as you stand there, trembling beneath him, you know there’s no way out.
———
The air between you is thick—charged with something that crackles like the flickering reels of a forbidden film, a masterpiece only the two of you will ever see. You can feel him, the heat of his body pressing close, his fingers tracing idle patterns down your arms before gripping your wrists once more, this time with something more than just control. There’s want in the way his thumbs press into your pulse points, a quiet thrill in the way he feels your blood racing beneath his touch.
"Look at you," he murmurs, voice dark with amusement. "So easy to rile up. So easy to break."
You don’t respond. You can’t. Not when his mouth trails lower, ghosting over your jawline, the rough scrape of his teeth barely grazing your skin. Your breath hitches as he tilts your chin up with two fingers, forcing your gaze into his. Those dark eyes burn with something predatory, something deeper than mere jealousy—it’s hunger, raw and insatiable, and it’s all for you.
"You like this, don’t you?" he breathes, his lips brushing yours, not kissing—teasing, taunting, waiting for the moment you finally shatter beneath him. "The way I claim you. The way I remind you who you belong to."
His hands move—one curling possessively around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but just enough to make you aware of his dominance, of the power he holds over you. The other drags down, fingertips ghosting over your collarbone before slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt. His touch is deliberate, a slow descent that makes you ache with the anticipation of what’s coming.
"You can pretend all you want," he continues, his breath hot against your ear, "but your body knows. It always does."
And then, suddenly, he presses you harder against the wall, his knee slotting between your thighs, his touch turning demanding. The moment you let out that quiet, breathless gasp, his smirk widens.
"That’s it," he purrs. "There’s my good girl."
He doesn’t wait. He doesn’t ask. He never does. Because you are his—his to own, his to ruin, his to worship in the way only he knows how. His fingers move lower, slipping beneath fabric, finding the heat of you, the evidence of just how much his jealousy has already claimed you.
"You’re dripping," he chuckles darkly, his fingers tracing over your slickness with agonizing leisure. "And all because I reminded you that you belong to me. Should I make you say it, sweetheart?"
He pushes one finger inside, slow and unrelenting, watching the way your body responds to him, watching the way your lips part in a strangled sound you barely contain. It’s intoxicating—the way you tremble, the way you fight against the pleasure even as he coaxes it out of you.
"Say it," he commands, his voice dropping into something lethal, something that leaves no room for disobedience. His grip tightens around your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to send another wave of heat pooling low in your stomach.
You swallow, your body betraying you, your mind spiraling as his fingers work you open, slow and devastating.
"I…"
He doesn’t let up. Another finger joins the first, stretching you, teasing you, driving you closer to the edge you both know you won’t be able to resist for long.
"Say it," he growls, his lips brushing against your ear as his pace quickens, as he forces you closer to that delicious, agonizing release.
And when you finally break, when you finally let the words slip past your lips in a desperate, breathless plea, he only smirks, pressing a possessive kiss against your throat.
"That’s right," he whispers, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Mine."
And he’s nowhere near done with you yet.
His smirk is razor-sharp, dark amusement curling at the corners of his lips as he watches you shatter beneath his touch. But he isn’t satisfied—not yet. No, this is just the prelude, the first scene in a long, unrelenting performance of control and desire.
"You think that’s enough?" His voice is low, velvety, curling around your spine like smoke. "That just saying it once will make me believe you?"
His fingers don’t stop—if anything, they move with more purpose now, curling, pressing against the spot that has you twitching, trembling, your knees weak beneath his relentless grip. You try to catch your breath, try to steady yourself against the wall, but he won’t let you. His free hand snakes around your waist, yanking you closer, crushing you against the solid heat of his body.
"You don’t get to come just because I let you," he murmurs, nipping at the sensitive skin of your throat, leaving marks that bloom under his teeth. "You come when I say. And right now? I don’t think you’ve earned it."
You whimper, a frustrated, desperate sound, and his grin deepens.
"That’s adorable," he chuckles, withdrawing his fingers suddenly—leaving you empty, aching. You make a sound of protest, but he silences you with a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding past your lips, claiming every inch of your mouth with the same ruthless possessiveness he exerts over the rest of you.
"Turn around," he orders against your lips, voice rough with unspoken hunger.
There’s hesitation in the way you move, in the way you glance at him with wide, hazy eyes. He sees it, and it makes something primal flare in his chest. His hand grips your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.
"Now."
A command, sharp as a blade.
You obey. Of course you do. Because no matter how much you fight, no matter how much you resist, your body already knows who it belongs to.
He presses you against the cold wall, his body flush against yours, his arousal hot and demanding against the small of your back. His hands make quick work of your clothing, pulling, tearing, stripping you of anything that separates him from what’s his.
"You wanted their attention," he growls, one hand fisting in your hair, tugging your head back as his other hand drags down your spine, nails raking over sensitive skin. "Letting them linger too close, letting them think they had a chance."
He laughs, a sound laced with dark amusement.
"They never did. And I’ll make sure they know it."
And then—he’s pressing inside you, slow, unyielding, filling you in a way that has you gasping, clawing at the wall, struggling to take all of him. He groans against your ear, his breath ragged, his control hanging by a thread as your body adjusts around him, gripping him like you were made for him.
"Fuck—" He barely gets the word out before his teeth sink into your shoulder, a possessive, unrelenting mark. "That’s it. Take it. Take what’s mine."
He doesn’t start slow. He doesn’t ease you into it. He sets a brutal pace from the start, dragging you back onto his cock with every thrust, forcing you to feel every inch of him. His grip on your hips is bruising, his fingers digging into your flesh with the kind of desperation that borders on madness.
"Let them hear you," he growls, voice thick with lust. "Let them hear who you belong to."
You try to muffle your moans, but he won’t allow it. His hand slides up, wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin, to remind you that every breath you take belongs to him.
"You love this," he hisses against your ear, his pace unrelenting. "Being fucked like this. Being ruined like this. Tell me."
You can barely think, barely speak, but he doesn’t let up until you do—until you gasp out the words he’s been waiting for, until you beg him not to stop, until you tell him, over and over again, that you are his. Only his.
And when you finally break again—when pleasure slams into you so violently that your vision whites out—he follows with a groan, spilling inside you, burying himself to the hilt, making sure that even your body remembers who owns it.
He doesn’t pull away immediately. No, he stays there, still inside you, pressing lazy, possessive kisses along the curve of your neck, savoring the way you tremble, the way you sag against the wall, completely wrecked.
"You’re never running from this," he whispers, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. "Not now. Not ever."
And you believe him.
Because you know, deep down, there is no escape.
You belong to him.
Now, always, forever.
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♡ Mydei.
“Every time they look at you like that, I can’t help but wonder how much I’ll enjoy ripping their eyes out, watching them beg for forgiveness... while you scream my name, knowing you’re already mine.”
He’s watching you again.
Not the casual glance of someone observing from a distance, but the dissecting, scalpel-sharp gaze of a man who intends to understand you down to your barest threads. Mydei’s eyes, an unholy mix of apathy and predation, track your every movement as if cataloging the way your lips part, the delicate tremor of your fingers as you shift uncomfortably under the weight of his stare.
He doesn’t look away, and why would he? You’re the one trespasser in the chaotic web of his mind—an anomaly, a puzzle he has no desire to solve but every intent to shatter and claim as his own.
Jealousy is not a storm with him. It’s a silent poison that seeps through his veins and curdles his usually indifferent demeanor into something sharper. He thrives on control, a man who can reduce enemies to pulp with efficiency and precision, but with you? Oh, with you, the control unravels. It burns like acid behind his ribcage when someone dares to stand too close, when they look at you like you might just save them from the abyss.
They don’t realize you’re already lost. That he has taken you, even if your body hasn’t yet realized it.
There’s something raw about the way he prowls toward you in moments like these—jealousy coiling tightly around his chest. The man you know, or thought you knew, is eclipsed by the darker urges buried beneath his skin. Mydei doesn’t explode, doesn’t shout or rage when the green-eyed beast rears its head. No, he moves with purpose, with silence, with the kind of quiet horror that lets you feel the heavy weight of his presence before you see him appear at your side.
“Who was that?” His voice is low, deceptively calm, a rich baritone that makes your stomach knot. It’s the quietest he’s ever been, and yet it terrifies you more than any outburst.
The words catch in your throat. You don’t know what to say. What could you possibly say to a man who looks at you like he’s starving?
But his hand comes next—cold, rough, and unrelenting. He grips your chin, forcing your face up toward him. “Do you think I don’t see the way you smile at them? That coy little glance? Or are you too naive to understand how that feels? I’ve seen men kill for less, you know.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and there’s something almost clinical about the way he looks at you, as though debating which piece of you to dismantle first.
His thumb strokes your cheek, a grotesque parody of tenderness. You flinch, but his grip only tightens, the faint sting a warning more than a punishment. “Do you know what they’ll see when they look at you tomorrow?” he whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Nothing. Because they won’t have eyes left to look with.”
Your heart lurches, a mixture of fear and... something darker curling low in your stomach. The way he speaks, the way his words weave between violence and possession—it’s intoxicating, horrifying. You should run. You should scream. But the world feels so much smaller in his presence, like you’ve already been swallowed whole.
And oh, he knows it. He can see the way your breath hitches, the shudder that runs through you despite your better instincts. It’s written all over his face—the way he revels in the power he has over you. It’s not enough to take your body, no. Mydei isn’t so simple. He wants to unravel your mind, wants to break you open and piece you back together in the image he’s chosen. He doesn’t just want you; he wants every piece of you to bear his mark.
Later, when the world narrows to just the two of you, his jealousy becomes something more primal. He doesn’t bother hiding the raw need in his movements, the desperation that seeps into the way his fingers trace every inch of your skin. It’s not love. Mydei doesn’t love in the way most men do. His affection is a devouring, brutal force—a hunger that will never be sated, no matter how much of you he consumes.
“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough and thick with possession as his hands tighten around your wrists, pinning you beneath him. His weight is suffocating, his touch both cruel and worshipful as though he can’t decide whether to crush you or praise you. “Say it.”
You don’t respond fast enough, and his lips crash against yours, bruising, punishing, and claiming all at once. He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot and ragged against your trembling lips. “Say it, or I’ll make you scream it.”
And you do. Because resistance feels pointless, futile against the tidal wave of his dominance. But deep down, there’s a part of you that knows—knows that no amount of pleading will ever be enough to free you from him.
Mydei isn’t the kind of man you escape from. He’s the kind you survive. Or don’t.
———
You never understood how thin the line between love and annihilation could be until he had you beneath him, caged by muscle and rage, his hands branding your wrists against the sheets like iron shackles. Mydei’s jealousy when you're alone with him was not a flickering ember—it was a consuming wildfire, roaring through every synapse of his body, and you were the oxygen feeding it.
“I should kill them,” he muses, as if discussing a minor inconvenience. “Gut them like the useless insects they are. Then, maybe you’d understand.” His grip tightens. “You are mine.”
He didn't just want to own you—he needed to. The thought of another so much as looking at you with hunger, breathing the same air you exhaled, sent a sickness crawling through his veins.
"Say it," his voice was molten, dripping with something darker than fury. A command, not a request. "Who do you belong to?"
Your lips were swollen, bruised from his kiss—if it could even be called that. It had been an assault, a declaration of war, his teeth claiming the softest parts of you as if biting down hard enough would tattoo his name inside your skin. He loomed over you, sweat slicking his broad frame, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. The heat between your thighs was unbearable, a mixture of shame and something primal, something ugly and needy that he had forced out of you.
"Say it," he growled again, fingers tightening around your throat, not enough to cut off air completely—no, Mydei was far too controlled for that—but enough to remind you that every breath you took was his to grant.
The moment your lips parted, even before you could surrender, he was inside you—stretching, splitting, ruining. There was no preparation, no patience. He wasn’t making love to you—he was destroying you, fucking you into something unrecognizable, something only he would ever be able to piece back together. The sharp sting of pain melted into something else, something worse, something addictive. He could see it in your eyes, the betrayal of your own body, how it welcomed him, clenched around him.
"This," he hissed against your ear, his teeth scraping the sensitive shell, "this is what you were made for. No one else will ever—ever—have you like this."
His thrusts were merciless, punishing. Every snap of his hips drove his point deeper than words ever could, carved his jealousy into your bones. There would be no part of you left untouched, unclaimed, unstained by him. You whimpered, and that sound—it sent him into something beyond madness, something feral.
He pressed your knees higher, forcing you open, spreading you wider beneath him, like a sacrificial offering on an altar built for him alone. The wet, obscene noises of skin against skin, the slick heat binding you together—it was filthy, primal, irreversible. His fingers dug into your flesh, nails biting, bruising, marking. Tomorrow, you wouldn’t be able to walk without remembering this moment. You wouldn’t be able to breathe without feeling him still inside you, stretching you, filling you, consuming you.
"You think anyone else could handle this?" His voice was raw, guttural, an animal barely clinging to reason. "You think anyone else could fuck you like this? Break you like this?"
His hand found your throat again, his grip tightening just enough to make your vision blur, to make the pleasure spiral into something terrifyingly exquisite.
"Answer me."
But there was no answer, not really, because Mydei already knew. He already knew there was no escaping him. Not from this. Not from him. Not when your body had already given him the only answer he would ever accept.
"Do you even know what you do to me?" he grits out, teeth catching your lower lip in a punishing bite before his tongue soothes the wound. "How fucking insane you make me?"
He moves like he wants to break you—wants to ruin you for anyone else, to carve himself so deeply inside you that no one would ever dare lay claim. Each thrust is punishing, deep, deliberate, meant to tear you apart and mold you into something that belongs only to him. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, hunger and fury tangled in his gaze, devouring every twitch, every helpless gasp, every slick, messy sound that escapes your lips.
"That's right," he murmurs, voice dangerously soft as he fucks into you, pace unrelenting, cruel. "Take it. Take everything I give you. There won’t be anything left of you when I’m done—nothing but me."
Your body is his altar, his obsession, his sickness, and he worships you in the only way he knows how—with destruction, with unrelenting, all-consuming filth, with the kind of love that tastes like blood and ruin. His jealousy isn't just a fire—it’s an inferno, and you are helpless in the blaze.
His grip tightens until your bones creak, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he forces you deeper into the mattress. The weight of him is unbearable, a punishment, a claim—his body branding you as his. The jealousy seethes in his every touch, his nails dragging down your thighs, leaving behind angry welts that throb in time with your pulse.
"You think you can look at him and still walk away from this unscathed?" His voice is pure venom, thick with something far darker than anger, something primal, something sick. "Let me remind you, little thing—there’s nowhere to run when I’m inside you."
Your thighs tremble, spread wide by his knee, a cruel display of submission forced upon you. He drags his tongue down your spine, slow, methodical, savoring the way you shudder beneath him. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow—this isn’t about pleasure, not yours anyway. It’s about obliteration, about making sure that no part of you remains untouched, unstained by him. His hips snap forward, ruthless and unforgiving, forcing desperate, broken noises from your throat.
"Louder," he commands, yanking your head back by your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze in the dim, suffocating heat. "If you’re going to let someone else’s eyes linger on you, then they might as well know exactly who you belong to."
The stretch of him is unbearable, a brutal ache that borders on pleasure only because he wills it to be. He leans in, his lips ghosting over your cheek, deceptively soft. "Mine," he rasps, voice molten, dangerous. "Say it."
You barely choke out the word before his pace grows merciless again, dragging you deeper into the abyss of his obsession, into the space where only he exists. There is no escape. There never was. And as his fingers dig deeper into your flesh, forcing you to take him, to bear the full brunt of his possessive hunger, you realize—you don’t want to be saved.
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♡ Anaxa.
"Every breath you take around them, every laugh, feels like a knife twisting deeper into me—do you think I won't make you regret it when it's just us, alone in the dark?"
His jealousy was not loud. It was not the kind of tempest that raged in obvious storms or shattered glass in fits of fury. No, Anaxa’s jealousy was the chilling silence that lingered long after the frost had claimed the earth, the quiet certainty of death’s encroaching grip. It was the moment before the blade fell, the breathless tension that promised violence not out of impulse but design.
You didn’t notice at first, not in the way he stared a second too long at the stranger who dared to speak to you with too much familiarity. Nor in the way his hand ghosted over your lower back in public, as though staking a claim in a language no one else could hear. His touch was subtle, his movements measured, but there was an unmistakable weight to them—a promise of ownership, a warning to anyone who thought they could take what belonged to him.
“You think they see you,” he said one evening, his voice soft, almost conversational. You were in the library, the two of you surrounded by tomes that reeked of knowledge and decay. His tone was calm, but his words sliced through the air with surgical precision. “But they don’t. They see an idea, a shadow of who you are. You…you are so much more than that. And they could never comprehend it.”
You didn’t realize he’d moved closer until the chill of his presence seeped into your skin, and when you turned to face him, his expression was unreadable, a mask of control that barely concealed the chaos beneath. His single visible eye gleamed with something darker than anger—something more insidious.
“They don’t deserve your time,” he continued, his gloved hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. The gesture was intimate, almost tender, but the slight tremor in his fingertips betrayed him. “They don’t deserve your mind. Or your body.��� The last word lingered on his tongue like a forbidden prayer, dripping with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.
His jealousy festered in the quiet moments, growing like a parasite that fed on every glance you shared with someone else, every smile that wasn’t meant for him. He never confronted you outright, never demanded explanations. Instead, he made himself a shadow, watching, waiting, calculating. The conversations you had with others became ammunition for his obsession, every laugh, every fleeting touch another thread in the intricate web he wove around you.
And then came the night he snapped—not in an outburst of rage, but in the kind of madness that only someone like Anaxa could embody. It was after a gathering, one where you’d spoken too freely, laughed too brightly, and lingered too long near someone else. You returned to your quarters to find him waiting, his silhouette a dark smear against the dim glow of the room.
“You looked…happy tonight,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. His eye locked onto yours, unblinking, as he stepped closer. “It’s rare to see you like that. I wonder…was it them? Did they make you smile like that?”
Before you could answer, he was on you, his hand curling around your wrist with a force that bordered on painful. His touch was cold, his grip unrelenting, and yet there was an eerie calm to him, as though every movement had been rehearsed in his mind a thousand times.
“I’ve been patient,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over your ear as he pulled you closer. “I’ve given you freedom. Space. And yet…you still stray.” His lips brushed against your neck, a featherlight touch that sent a jolt of fear and something darker coursing through you. “Do you know what that does to me?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he pressed you against the wall, his body a cage that left no room for escape. His hands roamed over you with a desperation that felt like possession, each touch a claim, each kiss a brand. “You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and longing. “You’ve always been mine. And if I have to remind you, I will.”
His jealousy was not an explosion—it was a slow, suffocating burn, a fire that consumed everything in its path until there was nothing left but ash. He didn’t just want your love; he wanted your submission, your surrender. He wanted every piece of you, mind and body, stripped bare and laid at his feet. And in the moments where his control slipped, where his hunger overpowered his reason, you saw the depth of his madness—the lengths he would go to keep you, to ensure that no one else could ever take you from him.
“You don’t understand,” he said once, his voice breaking as his hands framed your face, forcing you to look at him. “You can’t understand. I’ve seen the end, the void that waits for all of us. And you…you’re the only thing that keeps me tethered to this world.” His lips found yours then, harsh and unyielding, a clash of desperation and desire that left you gasping for air.
And as the night stretched on, as his jealousy consumed you both, you realized that there was no escaping him. Not because he wouldn’t let you—but because a part of you, the part he had meticulously broken and rebuilt in his image, didn’t want to leave.
———
"You can run, but you won’t get far."
Anaxa’s voice is a razor against your skin, soft, deliberate, laced with the kind of quiet promise that sends a shiver straight through you.
You should have known better.
You should have never let that stranger’s hand linger too long on your wrist, should have never let their voice settle too comfortably in your ears. Because he saw. He always sees.
And now, you’re here—pinned, bound, trapped—back arched against the cold surface of his desk, the scent of parchment and candle wax thick in the air, nearly drowned out by the heat radiating from him.
"You really don’t understand what you’ve done, do you?" His single visible eye gleams in the dim light, hunger and fury warring beneath the surface as his gloved fingers trail down your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. "You give your attention so freely—laughing, touching, tempting—as if you aren’t already mine."
His hands are cruel, teasing, gliding lower, parting your thighs without hesitation, without permission—because you have no permission to give. You belong to him. Your body, your pleasure, your very breath—it’s all his.
And he’s going to remind you.
A sharp, punishing slap lands between your legs, sending a jolt of pleasure-laced pain through your entire body. You whimper, your back arching instinctively, but it only makes him laugh—a dark, mocking sound that vibrates against your throat as he presses his lips there, kissing, biting, branding you with his teeth.
"Look at you," he murmurs, voice rough with barely restrained lust. "Falling apart already. And I haven’t even begun."
His fingers plunge into you, spreading, stretching, as his other hand tightens its grip on your throat. Slow, merciless, unrelenting.
"You don’t deserve my patience," he breathes, lips dragging down your chest, teeth scraping, biting, marking. "You deserve to be ruined."
And he does.
He takes everything—drags his gloved fingers through your slickness, spreading it, smearing it across your thighs like proof of your surrender. When he replaces them with his tongue, his mouth is just as vicious, lips and teeth working in perfect cruelty, leaving you writhing beneath him, desperate, needy.
But Anaxa doesn’t let you fall so easily.
No, he stops—pulls back just enough to make you feel the loss, to leave you shaking and ruined, right at the edge of oblivion.
"You want to come?" he taunts, voice like silk, wicked and knowing. His gloved fingers ghost over your soaked heat, but never give you what you need. "Then beg."
Your pride wants to resist—but you can’t.
Not when he’s watching you like this, eyes dark with amusement and pure, unfiltered ownership. Not when his knee is pressing between your legs, forcing you open, forcing you to want.
So you break. Of course you break.
"Please," you whisper, voice barely above a breath. "Please—please, I need—"
The sharpest, filthiest grin spreads across his lips.
"Oh, sweetheart," he coos, dragging his fingers achingly slow over your sensitive, desperate heat. "You need? Be more specific, my dear."
His hands move suddenly—gripping your thighs, flipping you over, pressing your chest against the desk.
"Then take it."
There’s no more patience. No more teasing.
Anaxa buries himself inside you, one sharp, punishing thrust that sends your breath shattering into a cry. Stretching you, filling you, claiming you.
"You feel that?" he growls, his gloved hand fisting in your hair, yanking your head back as his hips snap against you, relentless, ruthless, unforgiving. "That’s me. That’s mine. Every inch of you—mine."
And he doesn’t stop.
Not when you gasp his name, not when you clench around him so tightly he groans, not even when your body trembles beneath him, overwhelmed and wrecked beyond recognition.
He pounds into you with a fury that is both punishment and devotion, his gloved fingers finding your throat again, his other hand slipping lower, rubbing circles against your swollen, aching clit, forcing you into pleasure so unbearable it borders on pain.
"You think anyone else could take you like this?" His voice is breathless, hungry, filled with something dark and twistedly reverent. "You think they could break you like I do? Make you scream for them like this?"
The coil inside you snaps so violently that your legs nearly give out. But he doesn’t let you fall—he holds you, forces you through it, fucking you through the aftershocks, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure until you’re nothing but a shaking, ruined mess beneath him.
And still—still—he doesn’t let go.
His lips find your ear, whispering the last thing you’ll ever need to know.
"This is what you wanted, isn’t it?"
He smirks when you don’t answer—when you can’t answer.
And then, with a slow, devastating thrust that makes your entire body shudder, he growls—
"Say it."
After all, that was all you were trained to do, lest he punish you once more.
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♡ Phainon.
"Every time you smile at someone else, I feel the urge to ruin you—piece by piece—until you understand that no one else can make you feel what I do, not even close."
Phainon had always been the portrait of refinement. His words, smooth and calculated, dripped with an almost divine grace that made those around him lean in just to catch every syllable. He carried himself like a savior—a self-anointed guardian of the universe, an eternal being who bore the weight of countless lives with a smile as serene as the still surface of a poisoned lake.
But beneath the godlike composure lurked something darker, something jagged and unyielding. He had perfected the art of patience, of wearing his charisma like armor, yet when it came to you, his façade cracked, if only slightly. The thought of you—his delicate, radiant, fragile little mortal—turning your attention to anyone else was an aberration he couldn’t tolerate. It made his carefully constructed calm unravel, one golden thread at a time. And for someone like Phainon, unraveling wasn’t a descent into chaos. No, it was a meticulous, deliberate destruction of anything—or anyone—that dared to take you from him.
Today, it had been a smile. A brief, fleeting smile you had offered to another—an insignificant flicker of kindness you likely thought nothing of. But to Phainon, that smile was a betrayal. His, his, his. It was supposed to be his privilege, his right, to see that softness, that vulnerability. And now, someone else had stolen what was his by design.
He didn’t confront you immediately. That would have been too simple, too crude. No, Phainon preferred to let his fury simmer, curling and twisting inside him until it became something potent enough to wield. You didn’t even notice the subtle shift in his demeanor when he approached you later that evening. His smile was as warm as ever, his blue eyes alight with something you mistook for affection.
But then the door clicked shut, and the lock twisted into place. The sound echoed in the room, sharp and deliberate, and when you turned to face him, the air between you was heavy, suffocating. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“You’ve been very... lively today,” he began, his voice smooth and measured, each word carefully chosen. His tall frame cast a long shadow over you as he stepped closer, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. “That sparkle in your eyes—it’s lovely. Was it him who put it there?”
Your stomach dropped, and you took a cautious step back, but the corner of the table stopped you. His gaze pinned you in place, unwavering, and there was no mistaking the steel behind his gentle tone.
“I wonder what you said to him,” he mused, his head tilting slightly as if he were genuinely curious. “What could possibly have made you smile like that? Did he compliment you? Make you laugh? Or perhaps... did he touch you?” The last question came out softer, but it hit you like a slap, the weight of it heavy with accusation.
“I didn’t—” you started, but the words faltered under his piercing stare.
“Did I ask for excuses?” he interrupted, his voice still maddeningly calm. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your face upward so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. His touch was gentle, almost tender, but the intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re avoiding the question, my dear. And you know how much I hate being ignored.”
The grip on your chin tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the strength behind it, the strength he could so easily unleash if he wanted to. “You think I don’t see it? The way you invite attention without even realizing it. You make it so easy for them to believe they have a chance with you, don’t you?” His tone was still calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it now, a simmering anger barely contained beneath the surface.
When you tried to pull away, he let you, only to catch your wrist in a vice-like grip a moment later. His smile returned, but it was sharp and humorless, his blue eyes glowing faintly as the room seemed to grow colder. “Ah, there it is,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over the pulse point in your wrist, feeling the frantic beat of your heart. “That fear. That delicious, exquisite fear. You know, I envy it—because it means you still have something left to lose. But don’t worry, my darling. I’ll take it all away soon enough.”
He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t understand, do you? You’re mine. Every thought, every breath, every inch of your soul—it all belongs to me. And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”
Before you could respond, his lips descended on yours in a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It wasn’t soft or tender—it was a claim, a punishment, a reminder of his dominance. His hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that left no room for argument, as if he were mapping every inch of you, ensuring there was no part of you he hadn’t claimed.
When he pulled back, his breath was ragged, his eyes dark with an unholy mixture of desire and madness. “You’ll stay with me,” he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. “Not because you want to, but because you have no other choice. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll shatter every door, burn every bridge, destroy every hope you have of escaping me. And when there’s nothing left, you’ll see that you were always meant to be mine.”
———
The weight of his body pressed you down, his breath hot against your ear, the shuddering exhale betraying restraint he was seconds from shattering. His fingers, calloused from years of wielding his claymore, dragged down your spine with aching deliberation, savoring the way you trembled beneath him. "Mine," he whispered, the syllable drawn out like a prayer, or a curse.
His breath is ragged, hot, his lips ghosting over your jaw, your throat, your parted lips—but never quite kissing you, never giving you what you want. His control is slipping, unraveling, but still, he wants to hear you beg.
"Say it again."
His voice is a growl, deep, guttural, animalistic in its need. His fingers tighten around your wrists, pinning them above your head, his other hand crushing your thigh apart, forcing you open, making sure there is nowhere for you to run.
"Tell me who you belong to."
Your breath shudders, your mind blank, drowning in the heat, the pressure, the pure ownership of his touch.
"You," you gasp, barely able to form the word. But it’s not enough.
"Not like that." His teeth scrape against your throat, biting down, sucking bruises into your skin, a mark of possession so deep it will never fade. "Say it like you mean it. Say it like you understand what I’m about to do to you."
You whimper, writhe, your thighs trembling as he grinds against you, slow, devastating, teasing you with the thickness of his cock, with the unbearable pressure that makes you ache, makes you burn, makes you lose every last ounce of shame.
"Phainon," you plead, desperate, mindless, completely ruined.
And that’s when he snaps.
His fingers thread into your hair, yanking your head back, exposing your throat to his teeth as he slams into you, all at once, stretching you, forcing you to take him, forcing your body to mold around him.
The force of it steals the air from your lungs.
A strangled, broken cry escapes you, but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t give you a moment to adjust. No, he drives himself into you, deeper, harder, merciless, relentless, so fucking big it feels like he’s splitting you apart, ruining you, reshaping you into something that can only ever belong to him.
"Mine," he growls, his voice shaking with need, with pure possession. His hand wraps around your throat, not squeezing, just feeling the way your pulse races beneath his fingers. "Do you feel that?" His hips snap forward, forcing you to take every inch, burying himself inside you so deep it makes your toes curl.
You can’t speak. You can’t breathe.
"You were made for this," he whispers, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "Made for me."
There was nothing gentle in the way he claimed you. His grip on your wrists was bruising, pinned tightly above your head as his mouth descended upon you, ravenous, unyielding. He bit down on your throat, leaving marks that would never truly fade, his tongue following in their wake, soothing, as if apologizing for the possessive violence of his touch. But you knew better. There was no regret in him—only hunger, only the furious need to carve himself into your very being, to make you feel him in the marrow of your bones.
Each thrust was punishing, measured, tearing gasps from your throat as your body burned beneath his. The air between you was thick with heat, with the scent of sweat and something darker—something raw and desperate. His name spilled from your lips, but that wasn’t enough for him. His fingers found your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze, eyes dark with obsession. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice rough, shaking with the effort of holding himself together. "Tell me who you belong to."
You barely had the breath to respond, but the moment you did, he rewarded you with something deeper, something harsher, his pace quickening until the world around you blurred into nothing but him. His teeth raked across your skin, his hand slipping between your thighs, drawing out cries he swallowed with his mouth, feeding off the way you unraveled beneath him.
His hand slips between your thighs, fingers finding that sensitive, swollen place, rubbing in slow, teasing circles. The contrast is unbearable—his brutal pace, the gentleness of his touch.
His grip tightens as his pace picks up, brutal, overwhelming, devastating. Every thrust pushes you higher, higher, spiraling toward ruin, your body completely at his mercy, his cock dragging against the deepest parts of you, pushing you into a haze of pleasure so sharp it borders on pain.
"You like this, don’t you?" he taunts, breathless, wrecked, but still in control. "Being fucked like this—pinned down, stretched open, completely owned. Tell me."
"Yes," you sob, your body trembling, clenching around him, dragging a low, broken groan from his lips.
That’s all he needs.
With a harsh, guttural curse, his pace turns punishing, primal, fucking you like he wants to break you, like he wants to carve himself so deep inside you that no one else will ever reach you again.
"Say my name," he demands, his voice a low snarl, his hand slipping down, rubbing you faster, harder, forcing you closer to the edge.
You scream it.
And then you shatter.
Your entire body locks up, pleasure slamming into you so hard it steals the air from your lungs, dragging you under, drowning you in a release so intense it borders on agony.
But he doesn’t stop.
No—he rides you through it, chasing his own pleasure, his rhythm stuttering as he loses himself, burying himself as deep as he can go, groaning your name like a prayer as he spills inside you, claiming you in the filthiest, most undeniable way possible.
But it wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
Your world is reduced to the weight of him, the sheer power caging you against the bed, against the force of his body, against the raw, overwhelming intensity of Phainon’s hunger.
His grip tightened as he drove himself deeper, chasing that place inside you where pleasure curled dangerously close to pain. "No one else will ever touch you like this," he murmured, a promise, a warning, punctuated by another thrust that left you gasping. "No one else will ever have you the way I do."
The weight of him collapses over you, his breath hot, ragged, his lips pressing against your sweat-damp skin, murmuring something—something possessive, something final.
"You’ll never leave me."
A promise.
A threat.
A fucking vow.
────────────
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❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.
♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2 [you are here]. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.
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heavysighing-dreamyeyes ¡ 2 days ago
Text
Being In Love (and how to get you to love him back)
You're a vigilante in this one, but it's only semi-relevant to the plot (I think it classifies as a fluff piece) ~1.1k words 
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Jason has never liked things easy. Well, that's a lie, he's never had things easy. What is true is that Jason Todd likes a challenge. And that's something you certainly are. 
He's never meant someone so stubbornly insistent on staying at his side, has never had someone so willing to throw themselves into danger right alongside him. He can tell you to hang back– demand, even, that you wait for his all-clear before storming the drug bust or robbery of the week, but you never listen. You always just follow him, stand by him, have his back. 
You're always there for him, never pressing, but always present. So he really shouldn't be surprised that he falls head over heels for you. 
It was slow, gradual, something that crept up on him before he even had a word for the feeling growing inside his chest. And then it crashed over him like a tidal wave. Flooded his senses and became so undeniable that he forgot how to breathe. 
There was no grand moment, no pivotal event. You just smiled at him, and oh, he knew. He knew he was a goner, and nothing would ever be the same. No excuse could get him out of there fast enough, once he realized exactly how much of his heart you held.
With his face flushed, eyes wide and starry, and chest so tight it hurt, he ran. He's not proud of it, but he did. It took him days to figure himself out. To come to terms with the fact that you were it for him. And when he finally crawled his way back to your side, you were there. Waiting. Ever patient, ever smiling, ever willing to let him mess up again and again. 
He thought it would be simple, once he accepted that love was the only way to describe the depths of his feelings for you. But you, despite how easy you seem to make everything else in his life, stubbornly (or obliviously) don't seem to notice how enamored he is with you. 
Jason does every single thing he can think of to earn your attention, to deserve your affections. He gives you his jacket when it's cold. (You try to turn it down every time, but you always give in. You always smile that soft, gentle smile that makes tingles run from his spine to his toes– his entire world fixating on you)
He makes you food, buys you food, takes you out to eat, recommends recipes, shares his favorite meals with you. (The way to one's heart is through their stomach, right? But you return the favor every time, for every meal he buys, you treat him to one. For every dessert he bakes, you bake one of your own. It's almost frustrating, if your food wasn't so good. He just wants you to let him take care of you for once without needing to do anything in return)
He brings you flowers, trinkets, anything he can think of that would make you smile. (And you do smile, every time. But then you tell him he doesn't have to go out of his way like this for you. He wants to, so badly, if you would just let him)
He picks invisible lint of your shoulder, smoothes out the wrinkles in your shirt. (You just smile, the same sweet smile you always do, and he has to wonder if that's your way of letting him down easy, if you're not so oblivious as you seem)
He tangles his fingers in yours when the need for night vision arises on missions. (He knows your mask has it, knows you can traverse the dark without the need of his help, but he claims that the one in his mask is better every time. It's not, but you never call him out on it)
He shares every little detail of his life you ask for, and listens to everything you say, memorizing every word that falls from your lips for the future. (He tells you things he'd never tell anyone else, but you deserve to know– deserve to know him and all the reasons why you should and shouldn't love him back)
He checks in on you. He texts you on the days you don't see him, holds you back after patrol to check if you're doing all right. He pays attention to your moods, the set of your shoulders, and does everything he can to lift your spirits when you're down. (You do the same for him. He can't tell you how much that means. He wants to, he just doesn't have the words)
But despite everything he tries (everything but outright saying that he loves you) you don't offer him more than what a friend would. (A best friend, sure, a confidant like no other, but that's not what Jason wants)
He resigns himself to just this– to friendship and nothing more– for the rest of his life. (And that would be enough, just to linger in your space would be enough forever) Until a mission gone wrong, until an explosion that leaves his ears ringing and his head spinning and his only thought is the aching fear of not knowing if you made it out.
You do– did– you're standing in front of him and even if you're favoring one leg over the other you're alive and he can't hold himself back any more under the wave of relief that nearly sends him to his knees.
Jason rips the mask from his face and kisses you like it's the only chance he'll ever have. (It might be. He fully expects you to punch him in the face once he pulls away)
When he does pull back to catch his breath, his hands lingering over your cheeks like he's scared you'll disappear, he watches something flash over your face. Realization. A quiet 'oh' escapes your throat, and suddenly, you're kissing him with a passion he never dared hope for from you.
Your arms thrown around his neck, his fingers digging into the small of his back, the smell of smoke and ash clinging to your skin. It's nothing like he expected, but so, so perfect and you and everything clicks into place when you suck his bottom lip between your teeth and lean your weight into him, trusting him to hold you steady.
Jason has never had things easy, but this moment– kissing you, loving you– feels like the most natural thing in the world, and he wants that to last forever. Wants you– this– all of it, held in the palms of his hands for eternity. (And you want the same, you always have, because how could you do anything less than love him just as much as he loves you?)
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revelboo ¡ 3 days ago
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Great monarch Revelboo if I ask you nicely could you please assign me a mech to cuddle 🥰 I can’t decide who I would want to cuddle with the most! Which mechs would enjoy it the most and which would enjoy it but refuse to admit it? ty ty you are the best 👑
Ahh! Love this 💕
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Cuddle Time Headcanons
ES Wheeljack
- tries his hardest to convince you that you don’t actually want to cuddle with him. Painfully awkward guy, but he just gives up and allows it if you insist. Secretly loves it even if he’s embarassed
• Optics wide, he freezes when you just climb up into his lap and sit down. Like you belong there. And then you’re leaning into him and he hears Elita and Optimus make noises that sound suspiciously like badly suppressed laughter. Surely you’d rather sit with someone else? No? Embarrassed enough even before you lean into him with a happy little sigh. Venting softly, he loosely drapes a hand against you, freezing when you latch onto a servo and snuggle against his palm. Apparently no one wants to help him and he has no idea why you’ve latched onto him. Chosen him as your protector and safe spot. And okay, maybe it makes warmth spread through him, makes him want to protect you. But they’re all still staring at him and not even hiding that they think it’s funny. They have to realize he’s not cut out for this.
Bluestreak
- aware that he can be clingy, but if you encourage or just don’t tell him to stop, he just wants to cuddle with you.
• Servos flexing because you’d gone to sleep curled in your nest of blankets while he’d been out too late. And knows he shouldn’t disturb you when you look so relaxed, but still slides his servos under you. Hears the soft, sleepy sound you make, head lifting before you realize it’s him and relax in his hands. Lying down curled on his side, he cuddles you up against his chassis and folds his door wings out behind him. Cups a hand against you, chin tucked against his chassis and legs drawn up until he’s curled around you as much as he can. Letting the warmth of you keep the nightmares at bay.
Swerve
- if you give him permission to cuddle or just seek out his body heat, he’s all for it. But the narrative in his head is probably that you’re deeply, madly in love with him, not just cold
• Startling when you drape yourself against him, eyes closed and making a pitiful little noise of misery, he mass shifts for you, arms open wide. “Cold again?” He asks, feeling almost guilty that he’d been cutting down the temperature in his habsuite on purpose just so you’d curl up against him. And you just sprawl in his arms, letting him wrap himself around you. “I’ll file a complaint with Mags, let him know there’s something wrong with the heat again,” he lies, resting his chin on top of your head. And it’s just a little, bitty lie. You understand, right? Getting used to the pulse of his spark just like he’s used to the beat of your heart. And pretending you’re his, that you want to be in his arms. That you know you belong right here.
Jazz
- wants you to read one of your smutty books to him, promising he’ll behave while you sprawl on top of him
• “Hand,” you mutter as he drapes a hand over you, one servo on your butt. “Jazz.” And his crooked grin is completely unapologetic. Even if he’d promised to behave. Huffing, you flip open the book to the page you’d folded the corner of the night before. You swear he likes these cheesy romance novels more than you do as you begin to read to him, relaxing with the feel of his warmth against you, sprawled on him.
Hound
- wants to share with you the vast, green world outside the Ark. To curl up with you by a lake and relax
• “Oh.” The area’s heavily wooded, sun lancing through the leaves to dapple the mass shifted mech in gold as you look from him to the calm lake. Realizing that he’s sharing this with you, something that matters to him and his arms come around you, tugging you back into his frame. And you relax, feeling the heat of the sun and warmth of the mech at your back. “It’s beautiful.” Playing with his servos as his chin rests on top of your head.
TFA Bulkhead
- big, awkward guy. Lets you sprawl on top of him, a big hand draped over you as you both watch TV and whisper (and Sari and Bee both complain)
• Laughing as he slowly goes over backwards and you end up sprawled on top of him, he drapes a big hand over you, head back to watch the TV upside down. Laying your chin on him as a big servo runs between your shoulder blades, you can hear Sari and Bee’s loud ‘ewww’ at you both. It’s not like you’re making out, but they’re carrying on like you are and you reach to touch Bulkhead’s chin. Relaxed and comfortable where you are.
Armada Starscream
- wouldn’t admit that he needs the feel of you, your scent and warmth against him to be able to recharge. If you want to cuddle up against him, he allows it. Won’t ask for it even though a part of him loves it
• Venting he doesn’t resist when you and the mini-cons all sprawl on him. There’s no fighting it at this point, acting as your bed. Suspects you’re only after his warmth, but he doesn’t really mind having you there. Recharges better knowing where you are, feeling your heart beating against him. Because this is as close to home and family as he’s had in forever. Wants to protect this feeling, to hold onto it.
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rosiewitchescottage ¡ 2 hours ago
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Let's get context here.
When we're talking
'let's get rid of or discourage anyone from reading these books'.
- Reason? Usually because there's some theme that certain people don't want to be known about it because someone has issues with an author.
100% agreed that this is BAD - Books that talk about slavery, books that talk about The Holocaust.
These should always be widely available, even if they're not very well written, tell the story from an unusual angle or maybe get facts wrong.
All these have the value of getting the subject talked about, and the history studied.
Books that tell m/m or f/f love stories or show a family that simply has two dads or two mums. These books should be available, because whether people approve or disapprove, same sex relationships are a reality.
And as long as they're treated the same way as we'd expect a m/f couple to be, in a book aimed at the same age group, then where's the harm?
Then there's the saga of J K Rowling. You don't like her? You don't want to read her books? Well good news, because you don't have to do either.
But say that no one else should either? Try to erase J K Rowling as author of her own work?
Then don't go expecting to be seen as doing something 'good'.
When we're talking
"These books contain sexual/sexually related words and/or images, which makes them unsuitable for children and young teens. They do not belong in a school library or children's library'.
Then why would anyone have issue with these books being removed from such places?
As far as I know these books can be bought by parents for home use. So they're not getting outright banned.
People talk about children who've been sexually assaulted and needing to talk about what happened to them. And that's important. But I'm still not seeing how all these overly sexual details are necessary.
There's a world of difference between simply naming the body parts where no one should be touching them, especially not grown ups, and using the language of sexual acts!
We can and should be able to name all our body parts, using the right words. And children should know what constitutes a healthy and loving relationship.
But we can help them to talk about violations of this without language that they shouldn't need to know before the middle teens, at the earliest.
And this is NOT supposed to be an anti LGBT matter. This should apply whether a book is showing opposite sex or same sex couples.
As I said earlier. Little children should be able to see families with two same sex parents as well as opposite sex parents, or indeed grandparents.
The issue with 'Grandpa's Pride' shouldn't be that Grandpa has a male partner.
If this was shown exactly the same way that any other grandparents would be. Then I'd be singing a different tune.
Show Grandpa and his partner holding hands and happy, fine. But why the heck do little ones need to see leather BDSM Daddies?! 😡😡😡
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scarletwinterxx ¡ 2 days ago
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maybe maybe - jeon wonwoo imagine
hellooooo ~ i need to give myself a pat in the back for this bcs OH MY GOSH EVEN I WAS GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET WHILE WRITING THIS. the slooooow burn on this🫠 we love a nonchalant and oa combo (if u know u know)
also i was listening to maybe maybe by lola amour while writing this. give it a listen to get the maximum feels😅
for my other svt fics, check them here
All works are copyrighted Šscarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.
(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)
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You’ve liked Jeon Wonwoo for as long as you can remember. It’s not a fleeting crush or some shallow infatuation—it’s the kind of feeling that lingers, like a persistent shadow. He knows it; everyone does. But as much as your friends tease you about your obvious affection for him, Wonwoo has never acknowledged it.
Not once.
Wonwoo is the epitome of calm indifference. He’s polite, sure, but he never goes out of his way to engage with anyone outside of his tight-knit circle of friends, Vernon and Minghao. They’re always together, laughing at inside jokes and radiating an air of effortless cool that only makes him seem more unreachable.
And yet, you can’t help yourself. You’re drawn to him like a moth to a flame, even though he treats you no differently than anyone else.
Sometimes you wonder if he even notices the little things you do for him—the way you save him a seat in class when he’s running late, or how you always bring an extra drink to study group just in case he wants one. You tell yourself you’re just being nice, but Mimi, your best friend, sees right through you.
“This is ridiculous,” she tells you one afternoon, leaning back in her chair with an exasperated sigh.
The two of you are sitting outside on the campus lawn, the warm sunlight doing little to ease the frustration in her voice. “You’re bending over backward for a guy who can’t even spare you a second glance.”
“He’s not that bad,” you argue weakly, though even you know it’s a poor defense. Mimi raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Not that bad? Y/N, he’s like a brick wall with glasses. Sure, he’s good-looking, but you can’t build a relationship on eye contact alone.”
“I’m not trying to build a relationship!” you protest, though your cheeks heat at the lie. “I just… I like being around him, that’s all.”
Mimi rolls her eyes. “You like torturing yourself, is what you mean. Honestly, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you enjoy the challenge.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe there’s a part of you that holds onto this unrequited crush because it’s safer than the alternative. If you never confess, you can never be rejected. And as much as Wonwoo’s aloofness stings, it’s still better than the thought of him outright telling you he doesn’t feel the same.
But then there are moments—rare, fleeting moments—when you catch a glimpse of something softer beneath his exterior. Like the time you lent him your notes for a class he missed, and he returned them with a quiet “Thanks” and a small, almost imperceptible smile. Or the way his eyes lingered on you for just a second longer than usual when you bumped into him at the library last week.
It’s those moments that keep you hanging on, no matter how much Mimi scolds you for it.
“You’re hopeless,” she says with a shake of her head. But there’s no real malice in her words, just the weary affection of someone who’s watched you pine for too long. “I swear, one day you’re going to look back on this and laugh.”
You doubt it, but you don’t say that out loud. Instead, you change the subject, steering the conversation toward something less painful.
Later that day, you find yourself crossing paths with Wonwoo outside the campus café. He’s with Vernon and Minghao, as usual, but when he sees you, he slows his pace, letting his friends walk ahead without him.
“Hey,” he says, his voice as steady and unreadable as ever.
“Hi,” you manage, your heart doing its usual somersault at the sight of him.
For a moment, you stand there, unsure of what to say. But before the silence can stretch too long, Wonwoo speaks again.
“Thanks for the notes,” he says simply.
It’s not much, just two words, but the sincerity in his tone catches you off guard. For once, it feels like he’s really looking at you, not just through you. And in that moment, you think that maybe, just maybe, there’s hope after all.
It’s a small step, but it’s enough to keep you going.
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Mimi is relentless, as she always is when it comes to your love life—or lack thereof. She’s leaning against your desk chair in your dorm room, scrolling through her phone with a dramatic sigh.
“I’m telling you, Y/N, this guy is perfect for you. He’s into photography, loves indie films, and he’s even in your lit class. Plus, he doesn’t act like he’s living in a perpetual state of indifference.” She shoves her phone in your face, showing you a photo of a guy you vaguely recognize from class. He’s cute, objectively speaking, with a kind smile and a soft, approachable vibe.
But you shake your head before Mimi can even finish her pitch. “I’m not interested.”
Mimi groans, tossing her phone onto your bed. “Why do you do this to yourself? It’s not like you’re dating Wonwoo, or that he’s even trying to date you. You’re wasting your time on a guy who can’t even bother to hold a real conversation with you.”
Her words hit harder than she probably intended, and for a moment, you feel the weight of the truth behind them. She’s right—nothing about your feelings for Wonwoo makes sense. You know it’s a losing game, but every time you even consider the idea of moving on, it feels wrong. Like you’d be betraying something you’ve held onto for so long.
“It’s not that simple,” you say finally, your voice quieter than you intended.
Mimi softens at your tone, sinking onto the edge of your bed. “Then make it simple, Y/N. I get it—you like him. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You deserve someone who actually sees you.”
“I don’t know if I want someone else to see me,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.
It’s frustrating—you’re frustrated with yourself.
Every time you see Wonwoo, it’s like all the logic and advice you’ve been given evaporates into thin air. All you see is him: the way his glasses slide down his nose when he’s reading, or the rare laugh that lights up his face when Vernon says something ridiculous. It’s like he’s carved a permanent space in your mind, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t make him leave.
Mimi looks at you like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re not even ready to like someone else, are you?”
You shake your head, a small, self-deprecating smile playing on your lips. “I don’t think so. It’s stupid, right? Holding onto feelings for someone who probably doesn’t even think about me.”
“It’s not stupid,” she says, surprising you. “It’s just… hard to watch. You’re one of the best people I know, Y/N, and it sucks to see you stuck on someone who doesn’t appreciate that.”
You’re about to respond when your phone buzzes on the desk. It’s a notification from the group chat for your literature project, and your heart skips a beat when you see Wonwoo’s name among the participants.
“Speak of the devil,” Mimi mutters when she notices your expression. She doesn’t need to ask who the message is from.
You open the chat to find a simple message from Wonwoo: I have some extra notes from class if anyone needs them. Just let me know.
It’s not directed at you specifically, but your heart still flutters at the thought of him offering to help. Mimi catches the way your lips twitch into a faint smile and groans dramatically, flopping back onto your bed.
“You’re hopeless,” she declares, though her tone is more resigned than annoyed.
You don’t argue with her this time. Maybe you are hopeless, but you’re not ready to give up just yet. Because even though it doesn’t make sense, even though it’s frustrating and irrational and probably a little pathetic, a part of you still believes there’s something worth holding onto.
The next day, you’re determined to take a small step forward.
Wonwoo’s message about the notes keeps replaying in your mind, like a sign you can’t ignore. It’s a flimsy excuse to talk to him, sure, but it’s enough to make you gather your courage and head toward the study hall where you know he likes to hang out.
You spot him right away, sitting at his usual corner table. His laptop is open, and a notebook lies beside it, his familiar neat handwriting filling the pages. But before you can take another step, you see her.
She’s sitting across from him, her dark hair tied back in a sleek ponytail. She’s gorgeous in a natural, effortless way that makes you want to disappear on the spot. And the way Wonwoo looks at her—it’s like someone punched you in the stomach. His smile is soft, easy, like he’s known her forever. He’s speaking to her with a comfort and warmth that he’s never shown you.
You freeze in place, your confidence evaporating in an instant. All the what-ifs and maybes that have kept you going suddenly feel childish and naive. You turn on your heel and leave before either of them can notice you.
The rest of the week feels like a blur. You don’t have the energy to pretend everything is fine, and Mimi is quick to notice.
“What’s wrong with you lately?” she asks on Thursday, her eyes narrowing in concern as she sits across from you in the campus café. “You’ve been moping around like someone stole your dog.”
You shrug, poking at your untouched sandwich. “It’s nothing.”
“Liar,” she says immediately. “Come on, spill.”
When you hesitate, she leans in closer, her voice softening. “Is it Wonwoo?”
The look on your face is answer enough.
Mimi lets out a groan, rubbing her temples. “Y/N, you’ve got to stop doing this to yourself. If he’s making you feel like this—”
“It’s not his fault,” you cut in quickly. “He doesn’t even know how I feel.”
“Exactly,” she says, exasperated. “You’re tearing yourself apart over a guy who doesn’t even know what he’s doing to you.”
You don’t respond, and Mimi sighs. After a moment of silence, she leans forward with a determined look in her eyes.
“Alright, that’s it. I’m not letting you mope around all weekend. There’s a party on Saturday, and you’re coming with me.”
You open your mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand to stop you.
“No excuses. You need a distraction, and I’m going to make sure you have fun whether you like it or not.”
True to her word, Saturday evening finds you standing in front of the mirror, dressed in an outfit Mimi picked out for you. It’s a little more daring than your usual style—an off-the-shoulder black dress that hugs your figure in all the right places—but Mimi insists it’s perfect.
“You look hot,” she declares, grinning as she adjusts the necklace around your neck. “Wonwoo who?”
You laugh despite yourself, though the sound feels hollow. Mimi doesn’t miss the way your smile falters, and she grabs your hands, forcing you to meet her gaze.
“Listen, Y/N. Tonight is about you. Forget about Wonwoo, forget about everything else, and just have fun. You deserve to feel good about yourself, okay?”
“Okay,” you murmur, even though you’re not sure you believe it.
But as Mimi drags you out the door and toward the party, you can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, she’s right. Maybe it’s time to let go, even if just for one night.
The bass from the speakers reverberates through your chest the moment you step inside the party venue. It’s dimly lit, with neon lights flashing and a sea of people crowded around the dance floor and bar.
You feel out of place immediately, but Mimi, ever the extrovert, is in her element. She practically radiates confidence as she scans the room, her hand firmly gripping your wrist.
“This is going to be fun,” she says with a grin, already pulling you toward the bar.
“Mimi, wait—” you start to protest, but she’s not listening. Within moments, she’s ordering shots, her energy infectiously bold.
“Two tequila shots, please!” she calls out over the noise, turning to you with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Come on, Y/N. You said you’d let loose tonight!”
“I didn’t say I’d drink,” you mumble, eyeing the small glasses as they’re placed in front of you.
Mimi rolls her eyes. “One shot won’t kill you. It’s called liquid courage. You’ll thank me later.”
Before you can object again, she’s shoving one of the glasses into your hand. Everything feels like it’s happening too fast—the music, the lights, the crowd, and now this. You glance down at the clear liquid and then at Mimi, who’s already downed hers like a pro.
“Cheers to forgetting about all your worries!” she declares, clinking her empty glass against yours.
You sigh, realizing you have no way out, and tip the shot back. The alcohol burns as it goes down, and you cough slightly, grimacing at the taste. Mimi laughs and pats your back.
“There you go! See? That wasn’t so bad,” she says, already signaling for another round.
As Mimi orders more drinks, you glance around the room, trying to get your bearings.
You don’t notice the way heads turn in your direction, but Wonwoo does.
From his spot in the corner of the room, he’s watching you.
He’d seen you the moment you walked in, though he wasn’t the only one. It’s hard not to notice you tonight. You look stunning, completely different from your usual casual, understated style. The black dress you’re wearing accentuates your figure, and there’s a confidence in the way you carry yourself—even if you don’t feel it.
Vernon nudges him lightly, leaning in to murmur, “Isn’t that Y/N?”
Wonwoo doesn’t reply, his gaze fixed on you as you stand at the bar with Mimi. He’s used to seeing you in hoodies and jeans, always looking comfortable and approachable. But tonight, you’re turning heads left and right, and it’s clear you’re out of your element.
“She cleans up well,” Minghao comments casually, sipping his drink.
Wonwoo doesn’t respond, but his jaw tightens ever so slightly. He watches as Mimi drags you further into the chaos of the party, her energy pulling you along like a whirlwind. You seem hesitant, your eyes wide as you take in the unfamiliar environment, but there’s something endearing about it.
For a moment, Wonwoo feels a strange pang in his chest, though he can’t quite place it. Maybe it’s because he’s not used to seeing you like this, so far removed from the quiet kindness you usually exude. Or maybe it’s the way other people are looking at you—the guys whose eyes linger a little too long, the girls whispering behind their hands.
“Dude,” Vernon says, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You good?”
Wonwoo blinks, finally tearing his gaze away. “Yeah,” he mutters, though his voice lacks conviction.
But even as his friends return to their conversation, Wonwoo can’t help but glance back at you. There’s something about tonight that feels different, and for the first time in a long time, he wonders if he’s the one being left behind.
The alcohol was starting to buzz in your veins, making the room feel warmer and the noise more distant. Mimi was in her element, laughing and chatting with a group of students you vaguely recognized from campus. Somehow, you’d gotten swept up in their drinking games, and before you knew it, one shot had turned into two, then three.
Now, you were standing in a loose circle, your nerves on edge as you watched the current game unfold. Someone had explained it a moment ago: take the shot, then grab the lemon wedge held between another person’s lips. It was bold, far outside your comfort zone, but you didn’t want to be the odd one out.
“Your turn, Y/N!” someone called, handing you a small shot glass filled with tequila.
Your hands felt clammy as you accepted it, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t even look at the person who was supposed to hold the lemon for you—your nerves wouldn’t let you. All you could think about was how awkward this was going to be, and how much you wished you could disappear into the floor.
You took a deep breath, closing your eyes briefly as you downed the shot in one go.
The burn of the alcohol hit first, followed by a rush of heat in your chest. When you opened your eyes and turned your head to face whoever had volunteered to hold the lemon, you froze.
Wonwoo didn’t expect it to happen so soon, but there you were, standing at the bar with a shot in hand, the challenge in your eyes as you glanced at the person next to you holding a lemon.
And then—before he even realized what he was doing—he found himself walking over.
You blinked, wondering if the tequila was playing tricks on you. But no—he was standing right in front of you, his hands gently cupping your face as if this was the most natural thing in the world. The room seemed to fall away, the noise and chaos fading into the background.
The lemon wedge was between his lips, his sharp gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.
Your heart felt like it might burst out of your chest as he leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours. His touch was warm, steady, grounding you even as your mind spiraled.
Every nerve in your body was on high alert, the proximity making your head spin even more than the alcohol.
The way you looked at him when you saw him standing there, so close, made something stir in his chest. He was used to seeing you in passing, in casual greetings, but never like this.
Never with this... spark in your eyes, the nervous energy swirling between you two as if the whole room had faded into the background.
His hand found its way to your face without him thinking about it. It was like instinct, like he was meant to touch you, to make the moment real, to ground you in the present. He could feel your breath against his lips as he held the lemon between his teeth, his own heartbeat quickening as he leaned in. The closeness was intoxicating, and even though everything around you was chaotic, there was a stillness between you two—something unspoken that hummed in the air.
His lips brushed against yours, and for a split second, the world stopped moving. The taste of tequila, the sharpness of the lemon, it all blurred together, leaving just the feeling of your presence, warm and electric. It was over in an instant, but the memory lingered like an echo in his mind.
When he pulled away, he noticed the slight tremble in your breath, the flush creeping up your cheeks. His fingers lingered on your skin, just for a moment, before he let go and took a step back. He couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or something else that made him act on impulse, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
“Careful with those shots,” he said, his voice steady as he turned to leave, wanting to disappear into the crowd before he did something even more foolish.
And just like that, he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd.
You stood there, your heart racing and your mind spinning, wondering if what had just happened was real—or if it was just another tequila-induced dream.
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The morning light is harsh, seeping through the blinds and hitting you like a freight train.
Your head pounds, your mouth is dry, and you feel like your body is made of lead. Every movement feels like a chore, and the only thing you want is to pull the covers over your head and pretend like the world doesn't exist.
But then you remember last night. Bits and pieces of the party flash through your foggy mind—Mimi dragging you into the chaos, the shots, the people... and then, the moment with Wonwoo.
You sit up, your stomach flipping at the thought of it.
What had happened? Was it real? Or just a tequila-fueled dream? Your heart sinks into your stomach as the hangover makes itself known in full force. You groan, leaning back against your pillow.
Mimi, ever the morning person, bursts into your room without knocking, as if she doesn’t notice the state you’re in.
“Morning!” she says brightly, a little too brightly, given your current condition. She’s holding a water bottle and some aspirin in her hand. “Here, drink this. You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”
“Thanks,” you mutter, taking the bottle gratefully, but your eyes are still squinting against the harsh light. “Mimi... what happened last night? What... what did I do?”
Mimi plops down on the edge of your bed, clearly already recovered from whatever wildness the night had thrown her way. She grins, almost too smugly for your current state.
“Let me think,” she says, tapping her chin like she’s in deep contemplation. “Well, first you got a little tipsy, then you got a lot tipsy... You were a little shy at first, but after a few shots, you really started to loosen up!”
You wince, already imagining how embarrassing you must have been. “And…?”
“Then,” she continues, barely able to contain her laughter, “you and Wonwoo had a moment.”
You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. “Wait, what?”
“Oh yeah,” Mimi says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You two were definitely the talk of the night. You guys played that game, and then...” She pauses for dramatic effect, clearly enjoying every second of your discomfort. “...Well, let’s just say the lemon wedge wasn’t the only thing shared.”
Your brain stumbles over the words as the memory floods back. You and Wonwoo, so close, his hands on your face, the taste of tequila and lemon... And then the kiss, the soft brush of his lips against yours, lingering for just a heartbeat.
You feel your cheeks heat up, even as you cringe internally. “That wasn’t a kiss, was it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Oh, it definitely was,” Mimi says with a teasing grin, clearly delighted by the reaction she’s getting from you. “A very brief one, but yeah. It happened.”
You bury your face in your hands, groaning in embarrassment. “Oh my god, I’m going to die.”
“No, no, no.” Mimi leans in, trying to comfort you—though her laughter is a little too apparent. “It wasn’t a big deal! You didn’t embarrass yourself too badly. Besides, from what I saw, he didn’t look like he minded.”
You look up at her, eyes wide. “What do you mean? Did he say anything?”
Mimi shrugs, her grin turning a little more thoughtful. “He didn’t say much”
Your heart skips a beat. You hadn’t even considered that. Did he... stay because he was just being polite? Or was there something else there?
"Did anything else happen after that?" you ask cautiously.
Mimi shakes her head. "No, you two went your separate ways pretty quickly after that. I mean, you were a little tipsy, so I didn't want to push you too much. But trust me, you're not imagining it. Something happened, even if you're too hungover to remember all the details.”
You lean back against the pillows, the weight of her words settling in your chest. Wonwoo. That moment. Had he really felt something too? Or was it just the alcohol making you think there was more to it than there actually was?
"Mimi..." you trail off, unsure how to even phrase your next question. "What do I do now?"
Mimi's expression softens slightly, though she still has that mischievous glint in her eye. "You let it play out. Don't overthink it. If something’s meant to happen, it will. If not, then at least you got a pretty wild story to tell."
You nod slowly, still unsure about everything. The hangover isn’t making things any easier, and your head feels like it’s full of unanswered questions.
But as you drink the water and swallow the aspirin she handed you, you can’t shake the feeling that this could be the beginning of something you’ve been waiting for. Even if you don’t have all the answers yet.
The next few days felt like an emotional rollercoaster, and you were stuck somewhere near the top, trying to keep your balance.
After last night’s chaos, you couldn’t bring yourself to face Wonwoo. You avoided him like the plague, keeping your distance whenever you saw him around campus. It wasn’t because you regretted what happened, but because... well, it felt like you were the only one who cared about it, and that made everything awkward.
Wonwoo didn’t say anything, didn’t acknowledge you or the kiss. He acted like it was nothing, like it was just some silly game, just like the other shots and the other people. But the longer you avoided him, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of it—aware of you. And that only made it worse.
His friends had caught on, too. Vernon had laughed it off, saying it was cute how you were avoiding Wonwoo. Minghao seemed amused. They didn’t think much of it, but you couldn’t ignore the tension that built up every time you crossed paths with them.
But it wasn’t just them noticing. Wonwoo was noticing too. You could feel his eyes on you whenever you went to class or sat in the library. His usual nonchalant demeanor didn’t give anything away, but there was something in the way he lingered a little longer, just enough to make you feel seen, even when you wanted to disappear.
Then, one afternoon, when you thought you were finally in the clear, it happened.
You were walking home, head down, lost in your thoughts as the weight of the last few days pressed heavily on your shoulders. You should’ve stayed in and avoided the outside world. But, no, you were out here, walking alone, hoping the fresh air would clear your head.
And then, you heard the familiar sound of an engine approaching. You looked up just in time to see Wonwoo’s car slowing beside you. Your heart skipped, and for a moment, everything inside you screamed to turn around and run. You were already panicking, your steps quickening, but before you could escape, the car came to a stop beside you.
Wonwoo rolled down the window, his expression as unreadable as ever, but his voice—his voice was what made you freeze.
“Y/N,” he called out, and your pulse quickened. You turn slowly to face him
"Hey, Wonwoo. Uh what's up?" you casually, trying to hide the fact that your face is burning because of him and not the cold winds
"Just got out of class, are you walking home?"
"Yea, on my way home too. Anyways, I better get going. See you... around" you wave goodbye and started to walk again.
You hear the car door open and steps behind you, "Are you avoiding me?" his question makes you stop on your tracks. Turning around to see him leaning against the passenger side of his car
“Uh... I... It’s just—” you stutter, and then you realize you can’t lie about it anymore. “It’s because of... the kiss.”
His face doesn’t shift, no surprise or confusion. He just looks at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours for a moment too long. And then, as if it’s nothing at all, he shrugs.
“It wasn’t even a kiss, Y/N,” he says coolly, as though it’s no big deal. “It was just... part of the game. Nothing to worry about.”
The words hit you like a bucket of ice water. You’re disappointed, though you try not to show it. You wanted something more. You wanted him to acknowledge the tension, the fact that there was something between you two, something real.
But of course, that was just how Wonwoo was—nonchalant, distant, and always acting like everything was just nothing.
You couldn’t help the slight sinking feeling in your chest. You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Right. Of course,” you mutter, hoping your voice doesn’t betray the disappointment you feel.
For a moment, neither of you says anything. You feel awkward, standing there on the sidewalk, his car still idling beside you. But then he speaks again, his tone softening just slightly, though still with that signature aloofness.
“Get in. I’ll drive you home.” he opens the passenger door, waiting for you.
You hesitate. You should just say no, continue walking, put some distance between you. But you’re tired, emotionally drained, and there's something about his voice—something about the way he’s offering that makes it hard to refuse. You sigh, not knowing what to say but not wanting to make things worse. You step toward the car, sliding into the passenger seat without another word.
As he pulls away, the silence in the car is thick, and you can’t stop the thoughts that swirl in your head. You want to ask him, want to know if that kiss meant anything to him, or if he really did feel nothing about it.
But that’s just how Wonwoo was, wasn’t it? Always distant, always playing it cool, never letting anyone get too close.
The drive to your place feels like an eternity, but in the back of your mind, you know this silence between you two is only going to build the tension more. You just wish he would break it.
It wasn’t easy, but you were getting better at avoiding him. The subtle things you used to do for him—saving him a seat in the library, offering him drinks or homemade cookies—had all stopped. You still couldn’t bring yourself to fully confront your feelings for him, and honestly, it felt like the only way to protect yourself was to distance yourself from him as much as possible.
You told yourself it was for the best. You told yourself that the space you were creating would help you get over him. But no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much time passed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was always watching, always noticing.
And, of course, he noticed. Wonwoo wasn’t the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he was observant, maybe more so than he let on. He noticed that you stopped going out of your way to be kind to him. He noticed the absence of the small, thoughtful gestures you used to offer. At first, he didn’t say anything, uncertain of what was going on, or whether he even had the right to ask you about it.
But eventually, he couldn’t take the silence anymore.
It was late in the afternoon when you were walking alone on campus, heading toward the library to meet up with Mimi. The cool breeze made your hair dance around your face, and the noise of the campus life seemed distant, as if you were in your own little bubble.
As you passed by the gym, you saw him. Wonwoo. He had just finished his workout, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, his T-shirt sticking to his body in that way it always did after a session. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, but you quickly turned your attention elsewhere, pretending you hadn’t seen him.
But he saw you. Of course, he did.
“Y/N,” Wonwoo called out, his voice cutting through the ambient noise, his footsteps quickening to match yours. You tried not to flinch as you heard him approaching, but your pulse was racing.
You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him, hoping your expression didn’t betray the nervousness bubbling up inside you. “Wonwoo?” you said, keeping your voice steady even though it felt like your heart was about to leap out of your chest.
He stopped in front of you, looking at you for a beat too long, like he was sizing you up. The look on his face was unreadable, but you could see the confusion in his eyes, the way his brows furrowed slightly as he took you in.
"Why did you stop?" he asked, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you heard him correctly.
"Stop?" You repeated, confused by his question. What was he even talking about?
"Yeah," he continued, his voice casual, but there was something different in it now. Something that made you feel like you were under a microscope. "You stopped... saving me seats, or bringing me stuff. You used to do that all the time."
You didn’t know how to respond. A part of you wanted to lie, to say it was no big deal, that you were just too busy or distracted with school, but something in his eyes made you hesitate. The truth, the real reason you were avoiding him, was too complicated. You couldn’t say it outright.
“I just… I guess I’ve been busy,” you said quietly, avoiding his gaze. “Things just… changed, I guess.”
Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, as though trying to understand, but he didn’t push. There was no challenge in his voice, no annoyance. It was just curiosity, genuine and unassuming.
"Okay," he said after a beat, his eyes still locked on you. “I just thought you were mad at me or something.”
You felt a pang of guilt at his words, but you brushed it aside. “I’m not mad, Wonwoo. I’m just... I don’t know." You shook your head, unsure of how to explain your feelings without making things even more awkward. “I guess I just needed space.”
There was a pause, and then, for the first time in a while, he looked almost... vulnerable. "Space? For what?"
You swallowed hard, your throat dry. You could hear the underlying question in his voice, even if he wasn’t asking it directly. Why had you pulled away from him? Why had you stopped the small things that used to come so naturally?
Before you could say anything else, Wonwoo let out a small sigh, and though his expression was still unreadable, there was something softer in his tone. “Alright. I just wanted to know.”
Without waiting for you to respond, he turned to leave, his steps slow but purposeful. For a moment, you just stood there, watching him walk away, the weight of his question lingering in the air between you.
You couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment, though you weren’t sure what exactly you were disappointed in. Was it because he hadn’t pushed you to explain? Or was it because, deep down, you were still waiting for him to say something, anything, to make you feel like your feelings weren’t so one-sided after all?
But that was just how Wonwoo was, wasn’t it? Detached, distant, and never quite giving you the answers you needed.
And yet, even as you watched him disappear into the distance, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder—maybe he did want to know.
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The cool breeze of the evening felt nice against your skin as you walked through the quiet neighborhood, sipping on your banana milk. The streets were relatively empty, the soft hum of the evening a welcome relief after a busy week. You didn’t have a particular destination in mind—just wanted to clear your head and enjoy the peace for a while.
As you walked past the familiar basketball court, you spotted a figure out of the corner of your eye. At first, you didn’t think much of it, but then the silhouette registered in your mind. It was Wonwoo.
You stopped in your tracks, unsure whether to approach him or just keep walking. He didn’t seem to notice you at first, too focused on dribbling the ball and taking shots at the hoop. The setting sun cast a warm glow over the court, and for a moment, you found yourself just watching him. There was something about his movements that seemed different, something tight in the way he played—like he was working through something that was bothering him.
Maybe it was the way his jaw was clenched or the way his shoulders were hunched. He looked almost frustrated, the usual nonchalance replaced by something more intense. You stood there, quietly sipping your drink, lost in thought as you watched him.
You were so absorbed in the moment that you didn’t see the ball coming toward you. It hit you squarely on the head before you could react.
"Ouch!" you exclaimed, wincing as you staggered back a step.
Wonwoo’s head snapped toward you immediately, his eyes wide with concern. He jogged over, his long legs covering the distance quickly.
"Are you okay?" he asked, voice laced with worry. He stood in front of you, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of injury.
You rubbed your head, trying to play it off as no big deal. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just wasn’t paying attention,” you muttered, but you could tell by the way Wonwoo was looking at you that he wasn’t convinced.
“Are you sure?” He reached up to gently touch the spot where the ball had hit you, his fingers lightly brushing the area. His touch was surprisingly soft, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest despite the situation.
“Really, I’m fine,” you said quickly, pulling back slightly. The last thing you needed was to be caught up in another one of these awkward moments with him.
But before you could brush it off entirely, something in you gave way. The distance you’d been trying to maintain, the walls you’d carefully built to protect yourself—suddenly, it felt so fragile. Maybe it was the way Wonwoo was looking at you so intently, or maybe it was the fact that it had been days since you last spoke. Whatever it was, the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them.
"I just thought I was being too much," you murmured, your gaze dropping to the ground. "And it’s not like you liked it."
Wonwoo froze, his expression unreadable for a moment as he processed your words.
The air between you seemed to thicken, the awkwardness of the situation now mixed with something more vulnerable. You could feel your heart beating faster, the confession hanging in the air like a weight.
You regretted saying it the moment it left your lips, but it felt like the truth—no matter how painful it was. You didn’t want to keep putting yourself out there, offering him small gestures and favors if he wasn’t interested in them, or in you.
For a long moment, Wonwoo didn’t say anything. His gaze softened, and he seemed to be carefully considering his next words. It wasn’t the detached, nonchalant Wonwoo you were used to.
This time, he seemed almost... human.
"You’re not being too much," he said quietly, his voice lacking its usual coldness. He met your eyes, and for the first time in a while, you saw something different in his gaze—something that wasn’t easy to define. "And I didn’t think it was annoying or anything."
You weren’t sure if you believed him, but the sincerity in his voice made you hesitate. Was he really saying that? Did he mean it?
“I thought you wouldn’t want me to keep doing those things for you if you didn’t care.”
Wonwoo’s expression softened even more, and he let out a small sigh, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that was far more human than the usual composed Wonwoo you knew.
“You’re not being too much, and I guess I see why you think I didn't care. I never said I didn't” he says, this time with more conviction. “I just…” He trailed off, like he was searching for the right words. “I just didn’t know what to make of it. You were doing all these things, and I didn’t know how to react.”
There it was. The reason for his distance. The reason for his coldness. He hadn’t known how to handle your kindness. He hadn’t known what to do with the way you made him feel, and so he had kept his distance, just as you had.
“I’m sorry,” he added after a beat, looking slightly embarrassed, as though the admission was a little difficult for him.
You didn’t know what to say, your mind swirling with a mix of emotions. Had you really been wrong all along? Had he cared, but just not known how to show it?
You were so taken aback by his answer that your mind couldn't keep up. The words he had said, so simple, yet so unexpected, rattled your thoughts. I never said I didn’t care. Had you misread everything? Had all your attempts to keep your distance been for nothing?
"But then the kiss..."
"That was me being stupid, I should've apologized for invading your space like that and you look really bothered by it. I was being dumb"
"Well you did say it was just a game" you mumble
"Like I said, I was being dumb and I apologize" he shoots you a quick apologetic smile
Before you could process anything more, your face heated up with embarrassment. You felt suddenly shy, the weight of the conversation pressing down on you, making it harder to breathe.
“I—” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt a nervous energy surge through you, a mix of confusion and the rush of emotions you were trying to keep hidden.
“I’m fine, really.” You managed to give him a small, flustered smile, hoping it would make him stop worrying about you.
But Wonwoo wasn’t convinced. He stepped a little closer, eyes scanning you with concern. “You don’t seem fine,” he said, his brow furrowing as he looked you over. “You sure you’re not concussed or something? You hit your head pretty hard.”
Your heart raced at the proximity, and you could feel the overwhelming urge to escape before you made a bigger fool of yourself. He was too close.
“No, really, I’m fine,” you said quickly, the words coming out in a rush as you took a step back. You were panicking, trying to make sense of everything, but all you wanted in that moment was to get away from him. To breathe. To process what had just happened.
Before you knew it, your feet were already moving, backing away from him at a faster pace. You didn’t even think about it—your body just reacted, the instinct to escape taking over.
“Y/N?” Wonwoo called after you, his voice filled with concern, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t deal with this right now. Not with him standing there, looking so sincere and worried, when you were still trying to understand everything that had just happened.
“I’m sorry, I really have to go!” you shouted over your shoulder, not daring to look back.
You could hear him calling your name again, but you didn’t stop. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you turned down the nearby street, running as fast as you could without looking back.
You kept running, trying to outrun the mess of emotions that swirled inside you. The awkwardness, the guilt, the confusion—it was all too much. And you couldn’t deal with it now.
As you finally slowed down, your breath coming in heavy gasps, you leaned against a nearby wall, closing your eyes as you tried to steady your heartbeat. You’d never done anything like that before—just ran away from a conversation like it was nothing. But in that moment, it felt like the only thing you could do.
What had just happened? Why did his words make you feel like everything inside you was unraveling?
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You were doing well—at least, you thought you were.
For the past few days, you had managed to avoid any direct interaction with Wonwoo. You kept your distance, keeping your head down whenever he was around, avoiding his gaze, and hiding whenever you could. It was easier that way. You convinced yourself it was better this way.
But then, on this particular day, as you were gathering your things at the end of class, preparing to leave, you felt a tug on the hood of your jacket. You froze, instinctively jerking away from the sudden contact.
"Y/N," a calm voice spoke, and you looked up to find Wonwoo standing there, looking down at you with a slightly amused, yet nonchalant expression. He didn’t seem angry, just... observing.
You felt your heart skip a beat, and before you could stop yourself, your cheeks began to heat up. His gaze was steady, a little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as if he was asking you, Are you really doing this?
You didn’t know how to respond. Every part of you wanted to turn away and just leave before things got any worse, but your feet felt rooted to the spot.
“I... I wasn’t... trying to hide,” you stammered, but your voice came out weaker than you’d intended.
Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, not saying anything at first. He didn’t need to. His gaze alone spoke volumes. He was just waiting for you to admit what was going on.
You shifted uncomfortably, biting your lower lip as you awkwardly tried to avoid his gaze. “I... didn’t know how to talk to you,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s been... confusing. And I thought... maybe it was better to just keep my distance.”
Wonwoo didn’t seem angry. In fact, the amused look on his face lingered, but there was something else there, something softer that you weren’t used to seeing from him. “You’ve been avoiding me for days now,” he said in that same calm tone, his voice unbothered. “But running away won’t make this go away, you know.”
You winced at his words, feeling the weight of them more than you wanted to admit. But you couldn’t deny that he was right. It wasn’t going to disappear just because you ran away from it.
“I... I don’t know what to say to you,” you confessed, feeling all your anxiety bubbling up again. “I don’t want to make things awkward. I just...”
“Just what?” Wonwoo asked, his expression unreadable now, his voice still quiet but insistent. “You think I won’t understand?”
You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know if you will,” you murmured, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “I thought maybe... maybe it was easier to just pretend it didn’t matter.”
Wonwoo studied you for a moment, his gaze softening slightly. “You think it doesn’t matter?” he asked, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “You’re the one who’s been giving me things, doing things for me. It matters.”
You felt your heart beat faster, unsure of how to handle this newfound vulnerability in his voice. It was unlike him, and it was making everything even more complicated.
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you said quietly, your hands still fidgeting with the sleeves of your jacket. “I thought... maybe I was just being annoying.”
Wonwoo let out a soft sigh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Y/N... you weren’t being annoying. I just didn’t know how to respond to you, okay?” His voice softened further, a hint of frustration in it now, but not at you—at himself, maybe. "I didn't know what you wanted from me."
You stared at him, unsure what to say. His words were hitting you in a way you hadn’t expected, and the confusion that had been gnawing at you for so long started to ebb, replaced by a different kind of uncertainty.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.
He looked away for a moment, as if embarrassed by his own admission, but then his gaze returned to yours. “I didn’t know how to. It’s easier for me to just... not talk about these things." He paused, then gave you a small, almost hesitant smile. "But I’m trying, okay?”
The sincerity in his words made your chest ache, and you felt a weight lift off your shoulders, but at the same time, it was replaced by something new—something you weren’t sure you were ready for.
“So... what now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, almost afraid of the answer.
Wonwoo stepped closer, a subtle movement that somehow felt like the most intimate thing. His expression was still calm, but there was a softness in it now that made your heart race. “Now, we talk. No more running away.”
You didn’t know what that would mean for you, for him, for whatever this was between you. But right now, it felt like you might finally be able to stop avoiding the truth.
You find yourself sitting across him at a diner outside campus. The booth was cozy, the dim lighting giving the place a warm, inviting atmosphere. But despite the warmth of the surroundings, you felt cold. The walls you’d carefully built around yourself seemed to be crumbling, and the closer you got to Wonwoo, the more vulnerable you felt.
You hadn’t said much since you’d arrived, your gaze bouncing around the diner, avoiding his eyes whenever they found yours.
Wonwoo, however, was watching you with quiet amusement, his gaze flickering between you and the menu in his hands. He could tell you were uncomfortable, restlessly fiddling with your hands, your eyes constantly darting away whenever he caught you looking at him.
"Hey," he finally said, his voice calm but carrying a teasing edge. "You seem a little... tense."
You bit your lip, unsure how to respond, but before you could say anything, you noticed your own body language—a slight fidget, your shoulders stiff, your legs crossed tightly. You shifted in your seat, trying to make yourself comfortable, but it wasn’t working. You couldn’t shake the feeling of his gaze on you.
“I... I just don’t like sitting across from people,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your gaze still averted. “It’s too much pressure, I guess.”
Wonwoo didn’t hesitate. Without saying a word, he slid out of the booth, shifting to the side next to you. The movement was casual, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and in that moment, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. He wasn’t judging you for your discomfort. Instead, he was meeting you halfway, making you feel... seen.
He settled beside you, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned back against the booth, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. He was so close now, and you felt a sudden rush of warmth flood your chest. Your heart skipped a beat, but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. It was from the unexpected comfort of his presence.
“Better?” he asked, his voice low and surprisingly gentle, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of unease.
You nodded, but this time, you didn’t shy away from meeting his gaze. The proximity made everything feel a little more real, a little more grounded. And, for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel the need to run away.
“Yeah,” you murmured, still a little flustered, but this time, the smile on your lips was more genuine, more relaxed. “This feels better.”
Wonwoo smirked, clearly pleased with your response, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your chest tighten. “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable around me.”
“So…” You hesitated for a moment, still unsure of how to navigate this new dynamic between you. “What now?”
Wonwoo’s gaze softened, and he shrugged casually, though his eyes held a certain sincerity. “Now, we eat, and we talk. You don’t have to worry about running away anymore.” He paused, then added with a small smile, “And no more avoiding me, okay?”
You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. This wasn’t going to be easy, but maybe, just maybe, you were ready to start figuring things out—with him, and with yourself.
You nodded slowly, the silence between you wasn’t exactly awkward, but it wasn’t easy, either. It felt like there were a thousand unspoken words hanging in the air, and neither of you knew how to address them.
Then, Wonwoo spoke, his voice calm and steady. “What’s your go-to drink order?”
You blinked, startled by the question. Out of all the things he could’ve asked, that wasn’t what you expected. “Uh…” You hesitated, glancing at him briefly before looking back down at your hands. “Probably... iced vanilla latte. Or banana milk,” you added with a nervous laugh, gesturing to the nearly empty carton in front of you, you pulled it out of your bag a few minutes ago.
Wonwoo nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I figured you liked banana milk. I see you drinking it a lot.”
Your cheeks heated up at his observation, and you ducked your head, suddenly very aware of how closely he paid attention to you. “Yeah, it’s kind of a comfort drink,” you admitted softly. “What about you?”
“Americano,” he replied easily. “No sugar.”
You scrunched your nose at that, and Wonwoo let out a soft chuckle at your reaction. “What?” he teased. “Not a fan of bitter drinks?”
“Not really,” you admitted, daring a quick glance at him before looking away again. “I like sweet things.”
Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving you. “What’s your favorite dessert?”
You bit your lip, trying to think. The way he was watching you so intently made your brain feel foggy, and it was hard to focus. “Probably... cheesecake,” you finally said. “Strawberry cheesecake.”
He hummed thoughtfully, as if filing that piece of information away. “Strawberry cheesecake,” he repeated, his voice soft. “Noted.”
“Why are you asking me this?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.
Wonwoo shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Just trying to get to know you better.”
That answer caught you off guard. You looked down at your lap, your hands twisting nervously. “But... why?”
He didn’t answer right away, and when you finally gathered the courage to look up at him, you found him watching you with a softness in his eyes that made your heart ache. “Because I want to,” he said simply, his voice quiet but certain.
Your breath caught in your throat, and you quickly looked away again, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, and you could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears.
Wonwoo didn’t push you to say anything else. He let the silence settle again, but it didn’t feel as heavy this time. It felt... different. Like he was giving you space to process, to breathe.
And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe he wasn’t as far out of reach as you’d always thought.
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It's suppose to be another normal day. You're in class, sitting next to MImi still feeling sleepy but then something slides infront of you.
You stared at the banana milk on your desk like it had suddenly sprouted wings. Slowly, you turned back to look at Wonwoo, who was casually flipping through his notebook like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Mimi, sitting to your right, nudged your arm, her expression a mix of confusion and barely-contained glee. “What’s going on?” she whispered, her eyes darting between you and Wonwoo like she was trying to piece together a crime scene.
“I have no idea,” you whispered back
You leaned slightly toward Wonwoo, lowering your voice as much as possible. “What are you doing?”
“Attending class,” he replied, not even looking up from his notebook. His tone was so calm, so casual, that for a moment you thought you’d imagined him moving seats altogether.
“Here?” you pressed, glancing over your shoulder again to see his friends Vernon and Minghao, who were both watching the two of you with poorly hidden smirks. Minghao even gave you a small wave, which only made you more flustered.
Wonwoo finally looked at you, his expression as neutral as ever. “Why not?”
Before you could respond, he nudged the banana milk closer to you. “You like this, right?”
You blinked down at the carton, your brain short-circuiting. “I... yeah, but—”
“Then drink it.” His tone was soft but firm, leaving no room for argument.
Beside you, Mimi’s jaw was practically on the floor. “Okay, what is going on here?” she hissed under her breath, leaning closer to you. “Did you bribe him? Threaten him? Sell your soul to some matchmaking demon?”
“I don’t know!” you whispered back, your voice frantic as you stared at the banana milk like it held all the answers to life’s mysteries.
Wonwoo, clearly aware of the hushed conversation happening beside him, leaned back in his chair and glanced at Mimi. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his calm demeanor never faltering.
Mimi froze, her eyes wide as she realized he was addressing her directly. “Uh, no? Nothing’s wrong,” she stammered, clearly trying to play it cool. “Just... curious, that’s all.”
Wonwoo nodded, satisfied with her answer, and turned his attention back to his notebook, leaving you and Mimi to exchange bewildered looks.
The rest of the class passed in a blur. You were hyper-aware of Wonwoo’s presence beside you, the subtle sound of him turning pages, the occasional shift in his seat, even the faint scent of his cologne. You couldn’t focus on the lecture to save your life, and every time you caught Mimi looking at you, she wiggled her eyebrows in a way that made you want to crawl under the desk.
When the class finally ended, you quickly packed up your things, eager to escape before your brain completely melted. But as you stood up, Wonwoo grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
“Walk with me,” he said, his tone more of a statement than a question.
You glanced at Mimi, who was watching the scene unfold with wide eyes and a grin that was far too smug for your liking. “Go ahead,” she said, waving you off. “I’ll meet you later.”
Before you could argue, Wonwoo gently tugged your wrist, guiding you toward the door. You followed him, your heart racing as you wondered what on earth he was up to now.
You were half jogging to keep up with Wonwoo’s long strides, his hand still loosely wrapped around your wrist as he led you through the campus. It wasn’t like he was walking that fast—it was just that his legs were ridiculously long compared to yours.
Your steps were hurried, almost clumsy, as you tried to keep up. “Wonwoo,” you huffed, glancing at his back, “can you slow down? Not all of us have tree trunks for legs, you know.”
He glanced back at you, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “We’ll be late if I slow down,” he said simply, but his pace did ease up slightly.
It was almost cute—too cute, honestly. The height difference, the way you had to trudge along behind him like a kid trying to keep up. And then there was him: calm, composed, and acting like dragging you to your next class was just a normal, everyday occurrence.
By the time you reached the door of your classroom, you were slightly out of breath. Wonwoo, of course, looked as unbothered as ever. He gently let go of your wrist and gestured for you to go in.
“Go,” he said, his tone soft but firm.
You blinked up at him, confused. “Wait, where are you going?”
“To my class,” he replied, as though it was obvious.
You frowned, gesturing vaguely in the direction you had just come from. “Your class isn’t here?”
“Nope,” he said, already turning on his heel to walk away. “It’s on the other side of campus.”
You stared at him, your jaw dropping. “The opposite side?”
He paused, glancing over his shoulder to meet your incredulous gaze. “Yeah,” he said nonchalantly.
“Then why did you—” You cut yourself off, not even sure how to finish the sentence.
Wonwoo just shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Felt like walking you,” he said simply, as though it was no big deal.
And then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing at the door of your classroom, completely flustered and at a loss for words.
What is he doing to me? you thought, burying your face in your hands. Whatever game Wonwoo was playing, it was definitely working.
This new routine had become so normal that you almost stopped questioning it—not that you were any less flustered every time Wonwoo waited for you after class or walked you across campus. It was just easier to let it happen, even if your heart constantly felt like it was doing somersaults. Mimi teased you endlessly about it, of course, but you’d stopped trying to defend yourself. What could you even say?
One afternoon, just as class was ending, Wonwoo approached you while you were packing up your things. You were expecting him to grab his bag and lead you out of the room like usual, but instead, he hesitated.
“I have something to do after class today,” he said, his voice soft yet direct, his hands casually shoved into his pockets. “I can’t drive you home.”
You blinked up at him, surprised. “Oh, that’s okay. I can just—”
“Wait,” he interrupted, giving you a look that made you freeze. “Are you going to walk home alone?”
You faltered, unsure how to answer. “I mean, it’s not that far...”
He frowned at that, clearly not liking your response. “I don’t like the idea of you walking home alone.”
Your heart did a little flip at his words, but you quickly brushed it off, waving your hand dismissively. “It’s really fine, Wonwoo. I’ve walked home alone before.”
“Not anymore,” he said firmly, pulling out his phone.
You raised an eyebrow as he started dialing, wondering what on earth he was doing. “What are you—”
“Hey,” he said into the phone, cutting you off. “Where are you right now? Can you drive someone home for me?”
You stared at him, dumbfounded. Was he really calling someone just to make sure you didn’t walk home alone?
A few moments later, he hung up and turned back to you. “Vernon and Minghao are nearby. They’ll drive you home.”
“Wait, what?” you asked, your voice rising slightly in disbelief. “Wonwoo, you don’t have to—”
“I already did,” he said simply, grabbing his bag. “They’ll meet you outside in five minutes. Just wait for them, okay?”
You opened your mouth to protest, but the look he gave you stopped you in your tracks. It wasn’t stern, exactly, but it was... serious. Protective. Like he genuinely wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened to you.
You sighed, realizing there was no point in arguing. “Fine,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
He softened at that, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Good. I’ll text you later.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and your mind reeling.
When you made your way outside, Vernon and Minghao were waiting by Vernon’s car, both of them looking far too amused for your liking.
“So,” Vernon said, leaning casually against the hood of the car, “you’re the one Wonwoo’s been babying lately.”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Can we not talk about this?”
Minghao chuckled, opening the passenger door for you. “Don’t worry, we won’t tease you too much. Wonwoo’s been... different lately, though. It’s kind of interesting to watch.”
“Different how?” you asked, sliding into the car and buckling your seatbelt.
Vernon smirked as he started the engine. “Let’s just say you bring out a side of him we didn’t know existed.”
You couldn’t decide if that made you feel flattered or even more flustered. Either way, as they drove you home, you couldn’t stop thinking about the lengths Wonwoo had gone to just to make sure you were safe. And even though it was embarrassing, a small, shy smile found its way to your lips.
Later that night, just as you were about to settle into bed, your phone buzzed with an incoming call. You blinked at the screen, momentarily stunned when you saw the name.
Wonwoo.
Your heart immediately started racing. He had texted you before, sure, but calling? This was new. Hesitantly, you picked up, bringing the phone to your ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” His voice was deep and smooth, laced with a certain warmth that made you grip your phone a little tighter. “Did you get home okay?”
You felt your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself. “Yeah, Vernon and Minghao dropped me off. You really didn’t have to go that far, you know.”
“I did,” he said simply. “I told you, I don’t like you walking alone.”
There was something about the way he said it—calm, steady, certain—that made your chest feel warm. You bit your lip, trying to ignore the giddy feeling bubbling inside you.
Instead, you changed the subject. “How was your thing after class? You never said what it was.”
“Just something for a group project,” he answered. “It took longer than I expected.”
You hummed in understanding. “That sucks.”
He let out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah. Anyway, how was your day?”
At that, you perked up, launching into a detailed retelling of everything that had happened since class. You told him about Mimi’s latest antics, how she nearly got into an argument with a professor because she was convinced she turned in her assignment when she actually hadn’t. You talked about how Vernon and Minghao teased you the whole car ride home, about the new café you wanted to try, and even the silly little things that made you laugh that day.
Somewhere along the way, you noticed he had gone quiet.
“Wonwoo?” you called, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Are you still there?”
There was a pause, then his voice came through the speaker—soft, almost gentle.
“Go on, I’m listening.”
Your breath caught in your throat.
There was something different about the way he said it. He wasn’t just saying it to fill the silence. He meant it. He liked listening to you.
You felt heat rush to your cheeks, but you pushed forward, finishing your story despite how shy you suddenly felt.
When you finally ran out of things to say, he let out a contented hum. “You should get some rest,” he murmured. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Your heart melted at how soft his voice was. “Okay,” you said quietly.
“Goodnight,” he added, and you swore you could hear the smallest smile in his voice.
“Goodnight, Wonwoo.”
The call ended, and for a moment, you just sat there, staring at your phone. Then, all at once, the emotions hit you like a tidal wave.
You let out a loud groan, grabbed your pillow, and screamed into it.
“What are you doing to me, Jeon Wonwoo?!”
Your pillow, of course, had no answers. But one thing was clear—you were so doomed.
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It's a few weeks later, you're at the cafe you frequently hang out when you have free time. The usual, you're on your yapping mode while Wonwoo listens. But then you said something you didn't mean to tell him.
The moment the words left your mouth, you froze.
You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It was just one of those things you only ever admitted to Mimi—how you were so confused about what was going on between you and Wonwoo.
But now, you had just said it. Right in front of him.
Your heart stopped.
Slowly, hesitantly, you turned to look at him.
Wonwoo was already staring at you, that small, amused smile still lingering on his lips—but his eyes held something else. Something unreadable.
For the first time, he didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t tease you, didn’t brush it off. He just watched you, as if he was carefully thinking about what to say.
You scrambled to fix it. “I-I mean—” you let out a nervous laugh, waving your hands. “Forget I said that! It was just, um, something stupid I told Mimi—”
Wonwoo tilted his head, his gaze still locked on you. “You’re confused?” he asked, his voice calm.
You swallowed. “I mean... yeah?”
Silence.
The tension was unbearable. Your heart was practically screaming in your chest.
Finally, he leaned back, eyes flickering to the coffee in front of him. Then, after a long pause, he spoke again.
“What do you want us to be?”
Your breath hitched.
You stared at him, unsure if you heard him correctly. Your mind raced, completely unprepared for the question.
“I—” you fumbled, gripping the edge of your sleeves. “I don’t know...”
Another pause. Then, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Liar.”
Your head snapped up. “Excuse me?!”
Wonwoo met your gaze again, eyes knowing, almost too knowing. He didn’t look mad. If anything, he looked fond—like he had already figured out the answer before you even realized it yourself.
Your face burned. “I’m not lying—”
“You’ve liked me for a long time.” His voice was so casual, so matter-of-fact, that it left you speechless.
Your entire body tensed.
Oh my god.
He knew.
Of course, he knew.
Everyone knew. You knew he knew. But hearing him say it so bluntly, with no hesitation—it made your stomach flip.
You wanted to disappear.
“I—” You swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at him. “Okay, so maybe that’s true, but—”
“But?” He was still watching you, waiting.
“But I don’t know what you want.” The words came out smaller than you intended, but they were honest. “You... you’re always around now, Wonwoo. You drive me home, you wait for me after class, you listen to me ramble all the time. I just—” You bit your lip. “I don’t know what that means to you.”
Another silence.
Wonwoo didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he reached for his coffee, taking a slow sip. Then, with the same infuriatingly calm expression, he set it back down, resting his chin against his palm as he gazed at you.
And then—
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
Your hands clenched under the table, heart pounding in your ears. You knew what he was implying, you felt what he was saying without words, but you still couldn’t believe it.
And Wonwoo—knowing you so well—could see that.
So, he leaned in slightly, his voice quieter this time.
“I wouldn’t do all of this if you weren’t special to me.”
Your brain short-circuited.
You felt like your heart had stopped entirely, like you had forgotten how to breathe.
Jeon Wonwoo—who had spent years acting nonchalant toward you—was now sitting here, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
You didn’t know what to say.
So, naturally, you panicked.
“I—um—I need to go to the bathroom!” you blurted out, shoving your chair back as you stood up abruptly.
Wonwoo blinked, a bit startled, before letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re running away?”
“I am not running away!”
“You’re literally running away.”
“I need to pee!” you lied, voice high-pitched as you quickly turned toward the restroom.
Behind you, you heard Wonwoo laugh—actually laugh—before calling out, “I’ll be here when you get back.”
You groaned, covering your face as you rushed away.
This was too much.
Jeon Wonwoo was too much.
When you finally gathered the courage to come back, your heart was still hammering in your chest. You had taken extra minutes in the restroom just to stare at yourself in the mirror, mentally screaming and trying to convince yourself to act normal.
Except—how could you act normal after what just happened?
You cautiously made your way back to the booth, and there he was—Wonwoo, sitting comfortably with one arm draped over the back of the seat, sipping his drink as if he hadn't just dropped that bomb on you.
And then, when he noticed you, his lips curled into that teasing smile.
“You good?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement. “Took you a while.”
Your face heated.
“I had to—um, you know—actually pee.” You sat down stiffly, eyes fixed on the table.
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t look convinced at all.
You fidgeted, not knowing what to say. Now that you knew he felt something for you, you had no idea how to act around him. You weren’t prepared for this. You had spent so long assuming your feelings were one-sided that the moment he admitted otherwise, your brain completely shut down.
And Wonwoo—of course—noticed.
He watched you with that quiet amusement, letting the silence stretch between you. Then, after a beat, he spoke again.
“Are you still confused?”
Your breath caught.
You looked up at him—finally meeting his gaze—and you regretted it immediately because he was already staring at you.
His dark eyes, calm and steady, held a kind of certainty that made your stomach flip.
“I—” You swallowed. “I don’t know.”
Wonwoo hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly. “I see.”
You thought that would be the end of it, that he would back off and give you time to process—but no.
Instead, he leaned in.
Not dramatically, not forcefully. Just enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, enough that your breath hitched and your hands curled into fists in your lap.
Then, in a voice so quiet that it sent a shiver down your spine, he whispered,
“Then tell me…”
His eyes flickered to your lips before locking back onto yours.
“What do you want me to be?”
Your brain short-circuited.
Your body went completely still.
The weight of the question—the meaning behind it—hit you all at once, and suddenly, everything felt too real.
Wonwoo was still watching you, waiting, his face unfairly close to yours. He wasn’t teasing anymore. He wasn’t joking. He was giving you the choice—asking you to decide what this was between you.
And you…
You had no idea how to answer.
Because for the first time ever—
You realized that your silly little crush wasn’t so one-sided after all.
Your heart pounded so loudly in your chest that you were sure he could hear it.
What did you want him to be?
For so long, you had thought the answer was simple—you wanted him, you always had. But now that he was actually asking you, the words caught in your throat.
You were frozen, caught between the overwhelming weight of your long-time feelings and the terrifying reality of facing them head-on.
Wonwoo didn’t move. He was still leaning close, his dark eyes fixed on yours, waiting patiently. He wasn’t rushing you, wasn’t pushing you to answer, but that only made it worse.
You wanted to say something, anything, but all that came out was a small, breathless,
“I—”
And then you panicked.
Your body moved before your brain could catch up—you quickly grabbed your drink and took the biggest gulp imaginable, as if that would somehow wash away the moment.
It didn’t.
Instead, Wonwoo let out a quiet chuckle, finally leaning back, giving you space.
“You’re cute when you panic.”
You almost choked.
“I’m not panicking,” you sputtered, setting your drink down with a little too much force.
His lips twitched, clearly not believing you. “So, what’s your answer?”
“I—” You exhaled, gripping the hem of your shirt. “This is a lot, okay? You just—you never made it seem like you liked me before, and now you’re—” You gestured vaguely at him. “—doing all this and it’s messing with my brain.”
Wonwoo tilted his head, looking at you with quiet curiosity. “I never made it seem like I liked you?”
You gave him a look.
He hummed, gaze flickering downward for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “That’s not true.”
Your brows furrowed. “What?”
“I just… don’t show it the way you do.” He said it so casually, so matter-of-fact, as if it was something you should’ve known all along.
You stared at him, your brain struggling to process his words.
And then, as if to prove his point, Wonwoo reached out—his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting moment before he grabbed your wrist, gently pulling your hand closer to him.
Your breath hitched.
“Do you really think I would’ve let just anyone take care of me the way you did?” His voice was lower now, softer, as his thumb absentmindedly traced slow circles against the back of your hand. “I noticed, you know. Every time you saved me a seat, every time you gave me something without expecting anything in return.”
You swallowed thickly.
Wonwoo glanced down at your intertwined hands, as if realizing he was still holding you. But instead of letting go, he gave your fingers a small, almost hesitant squeeze.
“I didn’t ignore it because I didn’t care,” he admitted. “I just… didn’t know how to respond.”
The confession made something in your chest tighten.
Wonwoo had always been unreadable to you—his quiet, nonchalant demeanor making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. But now, sitting here with him, listening to him actually talk about his feelings, you realized that he wasn’t cold at all. He was just careful.
He let out a quiet sigh. “But when you stopped…” His grip on your hand tightened slightly. “I didn’t like that.”
You blinked. “You didn’t?”
He shook his head. “No.”
It was such a simple response, yet it made your heart race all over again.
There was a small beat of silence before he spoke again, quieter this time.
“I missed you.”
Your chest ached.
All this time, you had thought your feelings were a burden to him—that he barely noticed you, let alone missed you. But here he was, telling you otherwise, proving you wrong in the gentlest way possible.
Your fingers curled around his, gripping back.
“…I missed you too.”
Wonwoo smiled, the kind of small, rare smile that made your stomach flip.
“So,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement, “are you still confused?”
You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck. “��Maybe.”
He chuckled. “Then should I make it clearer?”
You sucked in a breath when he leaned in again, just close enough that you could see the soft curve of his lips, the warmth in his eyes.
His gaze flickered to your mouth, then back to your eyes.
“What do you want me to be?” he asked again, voice barely above a whisper.
"Do I have to answer now?"
Wonwoo just smiled at your question. That soft, knowing kind of smile that made your stomach do flips.
“Take your time,” he said simply, "You waited for me, without expecting anything. It's my turn now" he tells you.
You could barely meet his eyes, your fingers twitching against his. “I just—this is a lot, okay?”
“I know.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles in a soothing motion. “That’s why I’m letting you decide.”
That didn’t help at all.
You groaned internally, dropping your forehead onto the table in defeat. “You’re making this so much worse, Jeon Wonwoo.”
He chuckled, and you could feel his amusement. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the one blushing like crazy.”
“Shut up.”
He laughed again, and you hated how much you loved the sound.
After a moment, you hesitantly lifted your head, still unable to look at him directly. “…So, you’re not gonna, like, be weird about this?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not gonna pressure me?”
“No.”
“You’re just gonna… wait?”
Wonwoo leaned back against the booth, his hand still comfortably wrapped around yours. “As long as you need me to, as long as you want me here”
Your breath hitched.
Oh.
You bit your lip, feeling your heart squeeze at his words.
“…Okay,” you mumbled.
“Okay?”
You nodded shyly, finally—finally—glancing up at him. “I’ll think about it.”
His lips twitched, amused. “Good.”
And then, like it was the easiest thing in the world, Wonwoo lifted your hand to his lips and pressed the lightest, softest kiss against your knuckles.
Your brain completely shut down.
“You—” You squeaked, yanking your hand back as if you had just been electrocuted.
Wonwoo just smirked.
“Take your time,” he repeated, looking way too satisfied with himself. “I’ll wait.”
And you knew—you knew—that no matter how much you tried to think about it, your heart had already decided.
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ready-to-read7 ¡ 3 days ago
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Prompt #8
Okay I absolutely love the idea of pariah dark adopting Danny and I don’t see it quite often and I really like dead serious/Danny x Damien
After a bad Fenton parents revealed Danny escape to the ghost zone where he meets up with a very confused pariah dark who doesn’t understand why this baby ghost is acting hostile towards him and why the baby ghosts also injured so he asks and Danny is obviously confused on why pariah is acting so nice.
Danny then explains angrily to pariah about everything and based on the look on pariah’s face Danny can tell that something isn’t right and he finds out from clockwork that apparently the observance were being massive jerks and were manipulating pariah in order to get whatever the hell they wanted and of course pariah is furious with this because he was trying to make the realm a peaceful and happy place but he was being manipulated and controlled into being a tyrant and then imprisoned for it by the exact same people or beings that were controlling him.
pariah dark immediately then overthrows the observance stripping them all of their power and making them pay for what he did to everyone in the realm because technically it was their fault for controlling him. he then goes to Danny and tells him since he defeated him in combat he has the right to the throne but he is aware that Danny is too young, and will have him first  get a bit older before he becomes the next king at that point Danny Lets it  spilled that his parents are the ones who injured him and that they were still human and all of that and obviously pariah is not happy so he tries and succeeds in forming a bond with Danny essentially becoming Danny’s father.
And he also automatically takes Danny after forming the bond to the far frozen to get him checked out because there are severe injuries that  are definitely not okay, and obviously everyone from the far frozen is shocked to see Pariah dark holding Danny, but after he explains exactly what happened they let him see Danny again but by that point Danny had retracted into his core due to his injuries.
Pariah obviously being concerned because he is Danny’s new father figure would try his best to get his new son to reform but what he wasn’t expecting was for his new son to reform  into a toddler round about three years old.
After sorting all of that out pariah dark would then return to his castle and set everything up for his new son/Danny, and after setting everything up he would make an announcement to a very  terrified realm exposing the bad deeds of the observers and declaring Danny the high prince of the infinite realms the next to take the throne.
Pariah dark then spends two years taking care of Danny and fixing the realms
As soon as Danny turns five pariah dark decides to do something that he still thinks is normal because he’s so gosh damn old he doesn’t know that arranged marriages are out of style or not really done anymore but nonetheless he tries to find someone perfect to engage his half mortal son to, and he finds them , he comes across a natural portal of corrupted ectoplasm and learns that there is a group that literally treats this portal like it’s a gift from a higher being or something so he thinks these people might be liminal enough that if there is a child there to engage his son with they will be closer to what Danny is than anyone else.
So during the next ritual the group has he appears and tries to make a deal with the leader to engage his son with any child near Danny’s age and luckily there is a six-year-old boy named Damien.
ra’s al ghul  obviously not expecting a being to  come out of the pit is a bit wary on what he wants but when he hears that this creature is the literal king of the afterlife and that he is looking for a partner for his son he immediately jumps on giving him any one of his own children but when he learns that the being has a five-year-old and does not want his son to be engaged anyone too old for him ra’s then offers Damien since Damien is only six and this is like the best thing that could ever happen having his grandson betrothed to the next ruler of the afterlife is like the best thing that could ever happen to him, and pariah and ra’s end up agreeing to betroth Danny and Damien.
Damien being a child raised by the leag of assassins obviously takes it as a great honor to be the fiancĂŠ or whatever to the prince of the afterlife and sees himself as the perfect and only good option so he is going to fully commit to proving that he is the perfect option for the Prince of the afterlife.
And as they occasionally meet up and get to know each other and they both start getting feelings for each other, but they both are  kind of dense  so they don’t really realize it, Danny is the first to realize that he likes Damien after  Damien leaves to go live with his father, and is kind of sad that he can’t hang out with Damien anymore.
Damien on the other hand after spending a single year with his father realizes that he really really misses Daniel/Danny and then comes to the conclusion that he had actually gained feelings for his betrothed and is now upset that he can’t see Daniel/Danny anymore .
And like maybe a year or two or maybe even three later under some circumstances they meet up again and they literally won’t leave each other alone because they haven’t seen each other in so long.
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loafysainz ¡ 2 days ago
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DADDY DUTY | CS 55
carlos sainz x fem!reader
no warn
I got inspired by a request where Charles/Carlos gets sick, and their y/n takes care of them—but I made a version where Carlos takes care of his baby instead. Thanks for the idea, sender! 🤍
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Carlos had just come home from a long, exhausting F1 season. The moment he stepped into their house late at night, all he wanted was to collapse into bed. But as he entered the bedroom, his gaze softened.
There she was—Y/N, peacefully sleeping, curled up under the blankets. The dim glow from the bedside lamp illuminated her face, making her look even more delicate. Carlos felt a tug at his heart. She looked tired. No, more than that—she looked exhausted. And of course, she would be. She was carrying their second child, and pregnancy had been tough on her.
Instead of getting ready for bed immediately, he knelt beside her, just watching for a moment. His fingers brushed against her cheek, gentle and slow, as if afraid he might wake her. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then leaned in, pressing the softest kiss on her forehead. She didn’t stir, just let out a quiet sigh in her sleep. He smiled, a mix of love and guilt weighing on his chest. He had been away for too long.
After a few more seconds of just looking at her, he finally stood up and headed to the bathroom to shower. But even after cleaning up, he didn’t go to bed just yet. There was someone else he needed to see.
Carlos walked down the hall and pushed open the door to his daughter’s room. There she was, his little girl, fast asleep in her tiny bed, her long lashes resting against her chubby cheeks. She was three—almost four—but still his baby.
He crouched down and kissed her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek, unable to help himself. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake up.
“Te extrañé, princesa,” he whispered, running a hand through her soft hair.
With one last look at his daughter, he finally returned to the master bedroom, climbing into bed beside Y/N. He wrapped his arm around her, careful but firm, holding her close without pressing against her stomach. She let out another soft sigh, unconsciously shifting closer to him. Carlos let out a deep breath, finally feeling at home.
***
The next morning, Y/N woke up first. She turned to see Carlos still fast asleep beside her. His face was relaxed, but the exhaustion was evident—dark circles under his eyes, the slight furrow in his brow even in sleep. Her heart ached a little. He had been running on fumes, and now that he was home, he finally allowed himself to rest.
Not wanting to disturb him, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Carlos stirred slightly, but instead of waking up fully, his arm tightened around her waist. His voice was raspy when he mumbled, “Stay a little longer. Still wanna cuddle.”
Y/N let out a soft laugh. He sounded so clingy, so unlike the Carlos the world saw. “I need to make breakfast,” she whispered. “our daughter will be wake up soon.”
Carlos groaned but didn’t let go. “Five more minutes. Please?” His voice was still thick with sleep, and he was being so dramatic about it.
Y/N sighed but smiled. “Fine. But just five.”
He hummed in approval, but before letting her go, he tapped his lips—a silent request. Y/N rolled her eyes playfully but leaned in, pressing another soft kiss against his lips. Only then did he loosen his hold, allowing her to slip out of bed.
But just as she stepped out of the room, a loud wail pierced through the quiet house.
Y/N’s heart dropped. That was their daughter.
She hurried down the hall and into her daughter’s room. The little girl was sitting up in bed, face scrunched up as she sobbed. Y/N’s concern deepened when she pressed a hand against her forehead—warm.
“Oh, baby,” she murmured, stroking her daughter’s back. “What’s wrong? Does something hurt?”
Her daughter only cried harder, arms reaching up. “Mommy… I want a hug…”
Y/N’s heart twisted. But she couldn’t. Not while she was pregnant.
“Baby,” she said softly, rubbing circles on her daughter’s back. “Mommy can’t hug you right now, There’s a baby in Mommy’s tummy. But how about I hold you in my lap instead? Will that be okay?”
But the little girl just wailed louder, her tiny fists gripping Y/N’s shirt. Tears pricked at Y/N’s eyes, hating that she couldn’t give her baby what she wanted.
The noise must have woken Carlos, because within seconds, he was at the door, hair a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was alert despite just waking up.
Y/N looked up at him, concern written all over her face. “She’s got a fever. And she wants to be carried, but I can’t…”
Carlos immediately crouched beside them, his hand brushing over their daughter’s forehead. He clicked his tongue. “You’re burning up, princesa.”
Their daughter sniffled but shook her head when Carlos reached out. “No… want Mommy…”
Carlos let out a small sigh, but instead of getting frustrated, he softened. “I know, sweetheart. But Mommy has to be careful with the baby, remember? How about Daddy carries you instead?”
The little girl whined, hesitating, still clutching onto Y/N. Carlos pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering, “Come on, just for a little bit? Mommy will still be here, I promise.”
After a few more sniffles, she finally relented, reaching for Carlos instead. He lifted her easily, cradling her close. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, rubbing slow circles on her back. “You scared Daddy for a second there.”
She buried her face in his neck, still sniffling. Carlos rocked her gently before looking at Y/N. “I’ll take care of her. You go rest.”
Y/N shook her head. “No, I’ll get the thermometer and some fever patches.”
Carlos didn’t argue. He just kissed the top of her head. “Okay. But after that, you rest.”
Y/N gave him a knowing look but smiled before heading off. Meanwhile, Carlos sat on the bed, still rocking their daughter gently, whispering soothing words.
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cool-fancier ¡ 3 days ago
Text
Bitter Devotion
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Karina(Yu Jimin) x Female Reader
Synopsis: When love blossoms between two women, one finds salvation while the other hides a sinister agenda. Lies unravel, hearts break, and a single betrayal threatens to destroy everything.
Word Count:2.2k
— — — — — — —
The first time you met Karina, it was as if the universe had finally decided to show you mercy. You were drowning in the suffocating world your parents had created—a world where love was measured in favors and worth was tied to success. The charity gala was one of many events you'd been forced to attend, another chance for your mother to parade you like an accessory. You'd perfected your role over the years: polite smiles, graceful nods, the right words at the right times. But inside, you felt like a hollow shell.
Karina shattered that the moment she walked into your life.
It was a fleeting interaction at first. She'd introduced herself with an easy confidence, her voice like silk against the din of polite chatter around you.
"You look like someone who's good at pretending to care about all this," she'd said, smirking as she tilted her head toward the ballroom full of polished guests. "But I can tell you don't."
You'd blinked at her, startled. It wasn't often someone saw through you so quickly.
"And you're different?" you asked, your voice teasing but cautious.
"Completely," she said without missing a beat, her eyes locking onto yours. "I'm here for the wine and maybe one interesting conversation. Looks like I just found it."
It was bold, unexpected, and utterly disarming. For the first time in years, you felt the weight on your chest lighten, if only slightly. That night, you laughed more than you had in years. Karina's humor was sharp but never cruel, her insights revealing a depth that left you wanting more.
And more you got.
— — — — —
Karina became a fixture in your life almost overnight. She texted you after the gala, her messages casual but consistent, like she'd known you for years. Lunch dates turned into late-night phone calls, and before you knew it, you were spending nearly every waking moment with her. She was warm in a way no one else had ever been. She remembered the little things—how you liked your coffee, the books you loved but never had time to read, the way you hated the rain but loved the sound of it against the windows.
When you told her about your family—how your mother's cold ambition had shaped your entire life, how your father followed her lead with quiet detachment—Karina listened without judgment. She didn't try to fix anything or offer hollow platitudes. Instead, she gave you something you'd never had before: a safe space to just be.
"I don't know how you survived growing up like that," she'd said one evening, her voice soft as you lay tangled together on the couch. "But I'm glad you did. I'm glad I found you."
Those words had stayed with you, burrowing deep into your heart. For the first time, you felt like someone saw you—not the polished version your parents had crafted, but the raw, unguarded you. Karina made you feel special in a way you didn't think was possible.
— — — — —
The proposal came a year later, under a canopy of stars. Karina had taken you on a surprise trip to a secluded cabin, the kind of place where the world seemed to fall away. You'd spent the evening by the fire, sipping wine and sharing dreams for the future. When she knelt in front of you, holding out a delicate ring, your breath caught.
"I love you," she said, her voice trembling. "More than I ever thought I could love anyone. You've given me a reason to believe in happiness, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you feel as loved as you've made me feel."
Tears blurred your vision as you nodded, barely able to get the word "yes" past the lump in your throat. That night, you felt like you'd finally found the family you'd always longed for.
— — — — —
A year into your marriage, Karina suggested a dinner with your parents. It had been a while since the four of you sat down together, and you hoped it was a sign that things were improving. Karina had been distant lately—her once-effortless affection replaced with brief, almost obligatory gestures. You told yourself it was work stress. She'd been expanding her business, taking on larger clients and more demanding projects.
The dinner started well enough. Your mother was in high spirits, no doubt pleased to have such an impressive daughter-in-law to show off. Karina played her role perfectly, charming your parents with her wit and business acumen. Even your father, typically reserved, seemed taken with her.
"So, Karina," your mother said, swirling her wine. "What's next for you? Surely someone as ambitious as you has a grand plan."
Karina smiled, the picture of grace. "Oh, always," she said lightly. "But right now, I'm focused on building something lasting. Both in business and in life."
Your mother nodded approvingly, clearly pleased with the answer. You felt a swell of pride, convinced once again that Karina was the best thing that had ever happened to you.
— — — — —
Later, as the conversation continued, Karina excused herself to use the bathroom. It wasn't unusual, but something about the way she glanced toward your father's office before leaving the table stuck with you. You brushed it off, focusing instead on your parents' rare moment of warmth.
It wasn't until much later, after dinner had ended and your parents had retired for the night, that you noticed something strange. Passing by your father's office on the way to the kitchen, you saw the light was on. Curious, you pushed the door open slightly and froze.
Karina was at the desk, rifling through papers. She looked up sharply at the sound of the door, her expression unreadable.
"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice low and uncertain.
She straightened, closing the drawer she'd been searching. "I was just looking for a pen," she said smoothly. "Your father mentioned needing to sign something earlier, and I thought I'd save him the trouble."
It was a plausible excuse, but something about it felt off. You wanted to ask more, but the exhaustion of the evening weighed on you, and you let it slide.
— — — — —
Unbeknownst to you, Karina had found exactly what she was looking for. Among the neatly organized files were documents that confirmed her suspicions: years ago, your mother had manipulated Karina's family out of their fortune. Karina's mother had been left destitute, forced to rebuild from nothing while your mother profited from her downfall.
Karina had spent years climbing her way to the top, meticulously crafting the perfect façade to get close to your family. And now, she had everything she needed. Bank statements, contracts, correspondences—proof of your mother's deceit. With this, she could destroy your mother's empire, just as her mother's had been destroyed.
But as she stood there, holding the evidence in her hands, a pang of something unexpected twisted in her chest. She thought of you—your smile, your laugh, the way you'd looked at her when she proposed. For the first time, she hesitated.
— — — — —
Her hesitation didn't last. A week later, your mother was arrested for fraud, her assets seized, her reputation ruined. Karina had orchestrated it all, her plan unfolding flawlessly. But her triumph was hollow. No matter how much she tried to justify her actions, she couldn't shake the image of your tear-streaked face when you learned the truth.
And you would. Because secrets like this never stayed buried for long.
— — — — —
After your mother's arrest, everything changed. Karina didn't seem triumphant or even relieved—she just seemed different. The warmth she once radiated, the way she would reach for your hand without thinking, the lingering kisses that used to make you feel cherished—all of it vanished. She became distant, like a ghost of the woman who had promised to love you forever.
At first, you tried to rationalize it. The stress of the past few weeks, the pressure of running her business—surely those things were taking a toll. But as days turned into weeks, her coldness only grew. She was no longer the Karina who brought you coffee in bed or whispered sweet nothings in the quiet hours of the night. Instead, she snapped at you over small things, ignored your attempts to connect, and retreated into her office for hours at a time.
— — — — —
One evening, after another strained dinner, you tried to confront her.
"Karina, what's going on?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and sadness. "You've been so... distant. Did I do something wrong?"
She didn't even look up from her phone. "You're imagining things," she said flatly, scrolling through emails.
"I'm not imagining it," you pressed, your chest tightening. "You barely talk to me anymore. You don't even look at me the same way."
Her eyes flicked to you, cold and unreadable. "Not everything is about you, you know. Maybe I'm just tired."
Her words hit like a slap, leaving you momentarily speechless. Tired? That was her excuse for the growing chasm between you?
"Karina, I love you," you said softly, desperately. "I just want to help. Please talk to me."
She sighed, setting her phone down with deliberate slowness. "Maybe I don't need help. Maybe you should stop trying to fix things that aren't broken."
The words were like daggers, and you felt tears prick your eyes. She had never spoken to you like this before, and the pain of her indifference was almost unbearable.
— — — — —
The weeks that followed were no better. Karina became colder, her dismissive tone and distant attitude leaving you reeling. She started staying out late without explanation, her phone glued to her hand whenever she was home. The intimacy you'd once shared was gone, replaced by a suffocating silence that made your heart ache.
One night, unable to sleep, you wandered into the kitchen to get some water. As you passed Karina's office, you heard her voice through the slightly ajar door. Curious, and more than a little desperate for answers, you paused.
"No, everything went according to plan," she was saying, her tone sharp and businesslike. "Her mother's assets were seized, and the old woman's in prison where she belongs."
Your blood turned to ice.
"She never saw it coming," Karina continued, her voice tinged with something cruel. "It was almost too easy. Playing the devoted wife was the perfect cover."
Your stomach dropped as you clung to the doorframe for support, your mind racing to make sense of what you were hearing. Playing the devoted wife? What was she talking about?
"Yes, I used her," Karina said, her voice colder than you'd ever heard. "She was just a means to an end. The perfect way to get close to her family."
Your heart shattered as the full weight of her words sank in. Every tender moment, every whispered promise—it had all been a lie. Tears streamed down your face as you stood frozen, unable to move or speak.
Karina's next words cut through you like a knife: "No, I don't regret it. Her family got what they deserved. And she... she was just collateral damage."
That was it. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, your breath hitching as a sob escaped your throat. Before you could stop yourself, you pushed the door open, your voice trembling with pain and fury.
"Tell me it's not true," you demanded, your tears falling freely. "Tell me I didn't just hear you say that."
Karina's head snapped up, her face a mask of shock and guilt. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words, but the coldness quickly returned to her expression.
"You shouldn't eavesdrop," she said, her voice devoid of emotion.
Her dismissiveness made something inside you snap. "Eavesdrop?" you repeated, your voice rising. "Karina, you used me! You lied to me, to my face! Was any of it real? Any of it at all?"
For a brief moment, you saw something flicker in her eyes—regret, sorrow, maybe even love. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the icy mask you'd come to dread.
"It doesn't matter," she said quietly. "What's done is done."
You stared at her, your chest heaving as the weight of her betrayal crushed you. "You promised me forever," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I loved you. I trusted you. And you used me like I was nothing."
Karina looked away, her jaw tightening. "You were never nothing," she said, almost too softly to hear.
But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
— — — — —
You turned and stumbled out of the room, your vision blurred by tears. Karina didn't follow you, didn't call your name. You made it to your bedroom before collapsing onto the floor, your sobs echoing in the empty space.
In the silence that followed, one thought consumed you: Was this love ever real, or had it always been a beautifully crafted lie?
And in her office, Karina sat alone, her phone still in her hand, staring at the door you'd just walked through. For the first time in her life, she felt the weight of her choices—but pride kept her rooted in place. Even if she wanted to chase after you, she couldn't bring herself to do it.
Not yet.
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woniedarlin ¡ 2 days ago
Note
Hi! I actually absolutely love your fic of jungwon being down bad for tsundere reader so I was wondering if you could write something where the roles are reversed and jungwon is the tsundere one 🤍
Chasing a Tsundere
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pairing: tsundere! Jungwon x fem! reader
synopsis: You fell for Jungwon—hard. Unfortunately for you, he just had to be the grumpiest, most emotionally unavailable person ever to exist. He pushed you away, rolled his eyes at your persistence, and made it very clear he wasn’t the romantic type.
But giving up? Not an option. Because this is Jungwon we’re talking about.
author's note: Hello, my lovelies! This was so much fun to write. Big thanks to Anonie for the request—I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading!
caution: cursing and a bit of angst (tell me if there’s more!) , this story contains excessive tsundere behavior and a very persistent main character. Side effects may include secondhand embarrassment. Read at your own risk!
permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n
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You leaned over Jungwon’s desk with your brightest smile, holding out a bento box wrapped in a pink cloth. “I made this for you. It’s your favorite! I even cut the veggies into stars!”
"Tch," Jungwon dismissed. "I don't want that disgusting slop."
If only he could have tasted that heavenly creation at least once. I mean, imagine turning down a homemade dish made with such effort? Poor you, who only deserved so much more.
He barely glanced up from his textbook as his pen continued to scribble down notes. “Why would I eat food from someone who burns toast?”
You pouted and clutched the bento to your chest. “That was one time, Jungwon. One time! Besides, I didn’t burn this.”
"I don't want your germs. Who knows what kind of gross crap is in there," he said; in which you glanced around the classroom; a few of your friends sent pity looks on your way. No one understood why you were so smitten with him, but they respected it nonetheless.
A few of your classmates looked to be in a similar state of enchantment. Maybe you should try it with them instead of the grinch?
"What do I have to do to make you go away?” Jungwon's words sting a bit.
“I don’t know.’’
You weren't even slightly intimidated or bothered, which was amusing. Most people would have backed off, but you just stood there. It wasn't enjoyable but also somewhat impressive. Not that he'd ever admit that. A long sigh erupted from his lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He slammed his pen down, causing a few heads to turn, but he cared little. “Sit. Down. Go bug someone else.” He gritted out through clenched teeth.
”Please accept?’’ you showed the bento.
You were persistent with your efforts; he had to commend you for that, though he’d never admit it to your face. That would give you too much of an ego boost.
He eyed the bento in your hand, his stomach betraying him by growling quietly. He hadn’t eaten all lunch, so the aroma of the homemade food was almost too tempting to resist. But still, the stubbornness won out. "No. I’m not interested in your food. Why do you insist on wasting your efforts on me?”
“Please?”
Shit. He couldn’t help but think, “How can I say no to someone so sweet?”
He sighed, finally looking at you with that familiar, unimpressed stare. “Just leave it on the desk. I’ll think about it.”
A small victory! You quickly set the box down. “I knew you couldn’t resist. I’ll see you later!” You skipped away before he could respond.
He glanced between the bento and the door you’d disappeared through. His stomach growled once more, begging to be fed. With another sigh, he opened the bento box and slowly ate. “Not bad…”
☔️
The rain fell hard as you stood at the school gates, holding your bag to keep it dry. You sighed and watched the heavy rain, getting ready to run for it. Just as you were about to leave, a familiar voice called out to you.
"You planning on running out in that weather? Do you have a death wish or something?"
Jungwon approached you, umbrella in hand. Before you could even respond, he thrust the umbrella into your hands. “Take it,” he said curtly, glancing at you for only a second before entering the rain, completely unprotected.
“Wait!” you called after him, holding the umbrella out. “What about you?” You extended the umbrella, an offer of protection from the relentless rain. Jungwon paused, glancing at you over his shoulder.
"I don't need it."
His face didn't reveal it, but the gesture touched him. He had been trying to push you away, to make you dislike him, but all you did was offer him shelter from the downpour when you needed it. He couldn't help but admit the irony.
“Don’t catch a cold, idiot.”
☔️
It was another typical day. The hallways were busy with students. But all you could think about was how warm Jungwon’s arm felt as you held onto him.
You had been walking together, but you wanted to be closer. So, you wrapped your arm around his and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt the tension leave your body as you relaxed into him. He was always warm, and being this close to him felt right.
You noticed Jungwon stiffen almost instantly, his eyes widening. “What are you—” he started, his fingers twitching slightly, unsure what to do, before reluctantly relaxing. Slowly, Jungwon’s shoulders relaxed, and the scowl that so often resided on his face faded away. You felt his arm loosen, “Weirdo,” he muttered.
For the rest of the walk, you were quiet. Strangely.
He led you through the crowded school corridors, expertly weaving around the students and making a ruckus. Eventually, he spoke up. " Are you okay?" he asked, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.
“More than okay,” you sighed, a dreamy smile forming. “I’m in love.”
Jungwon scoffed. “Love? Seriously?” he retorted. “You fall too hard.”
Suddenly, a girl appeared out of nowhere, walking up to Jungwon and batting her eyelashes at him. “Hey, Jungwon,” she cooed, giving him a flirty smile. “You look so handsome today.”
Oh, the audacity.
You felt your grip on his arm tighten, and without thinking, you made a slight hissing noise under your breath. Like an actual cat. Because that’s totally normal behavior.
Jungwon looked at her blankly. "Uh, thanks," he said, shifting his weight to put some distance between her and himself. After a few moments of awkward silence, the girl caught the hint and excused herself, shooting you a dirty look before sauntering away.
You furrowed your eyebrows. Jungwon noticed and let out a long sigh. He reached over with his free hand, gently touching your arm. "Hey, hey, calm down, alright? I can practically see the green flames of envy raging in your eyes," he says with annoyance. "She means nothing. No one does."
He pauses, "Except you, I guess?" he mumbles under his breath, his voice so low you missed it.
☔️
You were hauling a heavy box of basketball equipment to the gym hours later when a sharp voice stopped you.
"You're an idiot to carry that much all at once. Hand it over before you collapse." Jungwon came out from the corner with a frown on his face. He eyed the box in your arms and rolled his eyes as he took it from you, holding it quickly. “This is what happens when you don’t ask for help.”
“It’s not a big deal,” you replied with a sheepish smile. “The team needed help—”
He shook his head. "There's helpful, and then there's being too nice. You've got to stop saying 'yes' to everyone. That was what? A 40-kilogram box of balls and equipment? Your back would’ve snapped in two by lunch."
Jungwon continued, "Besides, Do they not have arms? If you need help, ask me.”
You opened your mouth to protest but hesitated when you noticed his face, “I’m fine, really,” you reassured him.
"And that's the problem. 'I'm fine.' What happens when, one day, you're not? When you're tired or overwhelmed and still say 'I'm fine' while falling apart inside?" He scolded you, "It's okay to say 'no,' and it's okay to ask for help. Do you not understand? This isn’t a game, and you’re not invincible!"
He turned and walked away, his final words echoing down the hall.
"Don't wait for a mistake to learn."
You didn’t expect this from him.
☔️
For weeks, you did everything. You put in the effort that he rejects, but on rare occasions, he accepts it. Well, you force him to take it. After classes, you were sitting on the rooftop, watching the view. For once, you weren’t seeking Jungwon out; you were trying to gather your thoughts.
Were you tired of chasing someone who always seems to push you away? Absolutely.
Jungwon noticed you perched on the rooftop. He couldn't help but wonder, what's got her so down? He knew he was causing you heartache but he also knew that with every rejection, you came back with more effort. He wanted you to see him as what he truly was. A jerk. Someone not worthy of your devotion... but you never seemed to give up, that determination was something else.
He wondered if he may have gone too far…
“Hey.”
His voice startled you, and you turned to see him standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets.
“What are you doing here?” you asked softly.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, walking closer. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.”
You looked away, fidgeting with your hands. “I… I don’t think I should bother you anymore.”
Jungwon froze. “What are you talking about? Bother me? You’re not…” He trailed off, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I know I’m an ass. I push people away and make it seem like I don’t want anyone’s company. But you… you never left, even when I wanted you to.” He sat down next to you, keeping a comfortable distance.
“I mean… you’re always annoyed with me. I just figured…” You trailed off, biting your lip.
“Stop saying that,” he interrupted, his tone sharper than usual.
“You think I enjoy acting like a jerk to everyone?“ He let out a humorless laugh, his eyes focusing on the horizon. ”The truth is, I am afraid to open up, to let people in because I know how easily they can break me.” He glanced at you briefly before averting his eyes again. “I’ve seen it happen to my parents and my friends. I don’t want to be another sad soul wandering the world broken.”
You hesitated before whispering, ‘’I’m sorry…’’
“Don’t apologize. Hell, I’m sorry. I’ve been so caught up in pushing you away that I didn’t even realize how much you were trying to get closer to me. I don’t deserve your attention, let alone your kindness.”
He continued, “You’re not… You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met, sure. But if you stopped being around…” He trailed off, looking away as his cheeks turned red. “I’d probably hate it.”
“Jungwon…”
“What? It’s true. I don’t know when or how it happened… but my day feels..lacking if you’re not there.” He shrugged as though admitting that wasn’t a big deal. “So…don’t you dare think about stopping.” He added sternly. “I like you, alright?”
“Thank you…for liking me back’’ you said shyly.
He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “Don’t get all mushy on me. You make it sound like I’d run into a burning building for you. I like you, but it’s not like I would get matching tattoos or serenade you under your window.”
“But will you?’’
He scoffed. “Really? Of all the things I’ve said, that’s what you focus on?” He shook his head, then looked directly into your eyes. “Fine. Yes, I'd run into a burning building for you. I’ll do anything for you. Happy now?’’
“Very.’’ You giggled, ‘’Come on, walk me home, boyfriend.’’
“Boyfriend?”
He raised an eyebrow at your quick upgrade in the relationship. “You're lucky I like you cause anyone else suggesting that might've been laughed out of the school." He stood up, dusting off his pants and offering you a hand. "Well, come on, girlfriend.“
☔️
Days later…
You sat across from Jungwon at the small restaurant table, your heart doing little flips every time he glanced your way, even though his usual unimpressed expression hadn’t faltered since you arrived. The date wasn’t even bad—just, well, awkward. But awkward in a way that had you wanting to laugh every five seconds because of how seriously Jungwon took things.
Like now.
He's been staring at his menu for ten minutes. It's three pages long, and each item has a picture next to it. How complicated can it be?
"What's taking you so long?" you say, resting your chin in your hand.
"Shut up." He replies, never taking his eyes off the menu. “Do you want water?” he asked, his brows slightly furrowed.
“Uh, sure?” you said, smiling awkwardly.
He waved the waiter over and ordered two glasses of water. After all this careful deliberation, he's just ordering water?
He barely looked at you as he added, “Bring her water. Lemon water.”
You bit your lip to keep from laughing, which Jungwon noticed.
Jungwon blinked at you, tilting his head slightly. “What? You don’t like lemon?”
He looked a bit hurt at the rejection of his thoughtfulness. This was the same guy who'd throw paper planes at the teacher but couldn’t handle not knowing if you liked lemon in your water? You were so endeared that it took every ounce of self-control not to squeal.
“Oh, no, you’re adorable today,” you assured him, finally letting out a soft laugh.
“Cool,” he managed, cheeks turning pink as he looked down at the table.
“No, I mean—it’s just water,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll live either way.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “It’s not a big deal. Just let me handle it.”
The corner of your lips quirked up. Why is he so serious about water?
The date went on, and the conversation flowed a little more naturally (after you decided to do most of the talking). Jungwon, though, still had his moments. “So, how much do you like me?” you teased halfway through your meal, grinning at him over the rim of your glass.
He choked on his drink.
He coughed, hitting his chest slightly as he cleared his throat. You didn’t think the question warranted that kind of reaction. But then again, you talked to the boy who spent ten minutes deciding whether he should get fries. “W-what kind of question is that?” he asked once he regained composure
You leaned in a little, resting your chin on your palm. “I’m just curious. Am I your type?”
He met your gaze, his eyes softening slightly. It was the first time all evening he'd looked directly at you without an expression of mild annoyance.
“What, you think I’m here for the ambiance?” he replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You’re… not that bad a company when you’re not talking about nothing.”
It is a backhanded compliment, but from Jungwon, it might as well be a love confession.
“So,” you continued. “How much do you think I like you?”
Jungwon avoided your gaze, shoving a piece of meat into his mouth to avoid answering. “You’re so annoying,” he muttered, cheeks puffed slightly as he chewed. He ran a hand through his hair, looking quite flustered. His eyes darted around, possibly seeking an escape route. No dice, he’s sitting opposite you in a relatively small restaurant.
He asked again, “What kind of question even is that?”
“A valid one,” you teased, grinning. “But you’ll have to pay me if you want the answer.”
He frowned, confused. “Pay you?”
“Yeah, like—give me, I don’t know... probably 500,000 won, and I’ll tell you all my secrets.” You held up your hands dramatically.
“You said 500,000 won, didn’t you?” he said, pulling out the exact amount and sliding it across the table with an entirely serious expression. “Here. Talk.”
He stared at you expectantly, looking like he expected you to take the money and answer. It was a ridiculous situation. Here you were, in a normal restaurant on a Friday night, with your new boyfriend, who had just put 500,000 won on the table, waiting to know how much you liked him.
It took every ounce of will in your body not to laugh. Oh, he’s so cute…
Your jaw dropped. “Jungwon, I was joking!”
He froze, the faintest flush creeping up his cheeks. “What?”
You could see the cogs turning in his head as if he was contemplating what to do with you now. The situation was getting more absurd, and you pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. It was probably rude to laugh in his face when he just tried to pay you for the information he thinks is valuable.
Still, you laughed.
“I didn’t actually mean it!” you laughed, pushing the money back toward him. “I wouldn’t charge you to know something like that.”
He looked down at the table, “Yeah, well, you started it,” he muttered, returning the money. After a few seconds, he slid a 50,000 won bill across the table, looking slightly embarrassed. “Fine. But this will do?”
He looked up at you, his gaze uncertain. You smiled, tucking this little tidbit of information away for later. The Jungwon is willing to pay you to know you like him. What a night.
“Jungwon, you don’t have to pay me.’’
“Look,” he said, looking at you pointedly. “Just..” He huffed, rubbing a hand across his face. “Just take the damn money, okay? It’s not like I’m breaking the bank here.”
He nudged the money towards you again, his eyes holding a silent plea. Clearly, he didn’t know how else to go about the situation, resorting to his only known means of communication: his wallet.
“Uh…okay?” You accepted it with amusement.
He smiled, nodding in relief. “Good. Now what…what were you saying before?” He asked, trying to hide his embarrassed flush with a cough. “About how much you like me,” he mumbled, his words barely audible.
“You know, you’re too serious,” you teased, poking at his hand lightly. “But I still like you anyway.”
Jungwon looked away, but a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “Hmph,” he finally said, flicking a sugar packet towards you. “You’re not so bad yourself. In small doses.”
☔️
The date continued similarly. You’d offer to split the bill, but he’d insist on paying. You’d reach for the menu, but he’d swat your hand away, insisting on ordering for you instead.
He was trying hard, and you couldn’t help but adore him even more despite the awkwardness.
Just as you finished teasing Jungwon, music began to play in the restaurant. The lively beat echoed through the room as the servers clapped their hands and started encouraging diners to join them in the center of the floor to dance. You perked up immediately. “Oh my gosh, Jungwon! They’re dancing!”
He glanced at the crowd gathering in the middle of the restaurant and frowned. “Yeah, I can see that. What about it?”
“Let’s go!” you squealed.
His brows shot up. “What? No way.”
“Come on!” You were already out of your seat, grabbing his hand and pulling him up. He barely had time to protest as you dragged him toward the impromptu dance floor.
“I don’t dance,” he muttered, resisting slightly, but you didn’t let go.
“Well, you’re about to learn!” you declared with a grin, already swaying to the music as you pulled him into the crowd.
Jungwon looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but he sighed in defeat as you started twirling. He awkwardly moved his arms, shuffling his feet in time with yours. “This is embarrassing,” he grumbled, his face heating up.
“You’re doing great!” you cheered, beaming at him as you twirled again, laughing. “Come on, loosen up a little!”
“Loosen up?” he echoed incredulously. “I’m not a dancer!”
“You don’t have to be! Just have fun!” You reached for his hands, placing them on your waist as you guided his movements. “See? Not so bad!”
Jungwon muttered something under his breath, but his steps started to match yours. He tried to keep a scowl on his face, but the way you were laughing so freely made it impossible for him to stay annoyed.
“You’re smiling!” you teased,
“I’m not,” he argued, though the pink tint on his cheeks betrayed him.
“You are! Oh, Jungwon, you’re having fun!”
“I’m not having fun,” he deadpanned; his hands didn’t leave your waist as you swayed together.
“You’re lying,” you sang, twirling yourself and accidentally stepping on his foot.
“Ow—okay, now I’m definitely not having fun!” he groaned, wincing.
You gasped. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, shaking his head. But when you smiled sheepishly up at him, his chest felt lighter despite himself.
As the song ended and the crowd cheered, you clapped your hands excitedly. “That was so much fun!”
He sighed, muttering, “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” but the faint smile never left his face as you pulled him back to your seats.
☔️
The evening had been fantastic, but it was time to say goodbye. The cool night air surrounded you as you reached your front door. Jungwon walked you home, although he hardly admitted that he liked it. Every second of it.
“Alright,” he said, avoiding your eyes as you stood by your door. “You should lock the door when you get inside. And… don’t forget to check the windows too. It’s late, and you never know.”
You couldn’t help but smile at how concerned he sounded, even though he tried so hard to hide it. “Got it, Jungwon. Thanks,” you said, already knowing how sweet he was, even if he’d never admit it.
He shuffled on his feet, clearly not ready to leave just yet. “I’ll… I’ll call you when I get home, okay? Just in case. And make sure you don’t open the door for anyone unless you’re sure it’s them. You’re… you’re too nice, okay? People could take advantage.” You could hear a slight shake in his voice as he talked on. “And, uh… make sure you stay safe, alright?” He finally looked at you with worry.
You couldn’t help but giggle at how adorable he was being. You stepped a little closer to him, surprising him with a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll be fine, Jungwon,” you said softly. “And thank you. For everything.”
His face turned a deep shade of red, and he immediately turned his head away, muttering something that sounded like, “I-I wasn’t doing this for you to kiss me, okay?” But his voice was quieter now, a little softer than usual.
You laughed, enjoying the moment, but before he could say anything else, you stepped back and smiled at him. “Call me when you get home, okay?”
He nodded quickly, still blushing furiously. “Yeah, I will. You—don’t—don’t worry about me!” he stammered, turning on his heel to leave. But just as he was about to walk away, he stopped and turned back toward you, his face hidden in his hands.
“I-I love you, alright?!” he shouted, his voice cracking. He quickly turned away, clearly embarrassed, and started walking briskly down the street.
You stood there, frozen for a moment, a broad smile slowly spreading. That was all he needed to say, and you knew exactly how much he cared. You couldn’t help but laugh softly to yourself, feeling your heart flutter as you watched him walk off.
“Love you too, Jungwon,” you whispered to the night air, knowing he wouldn’t hear. But somehow, it felt like the most perfect moment.
[Extra Scene]
Months later…
Jungwon lay on his bed with his phone resting on a pillow. He looked at you through the screen.
“You miss me, don’t you?”
You scoffed as you shifted under your covers. “We saw each other three hours ago.”
He hummed. “That’s three hours too long.”
“Why are you smiling like that?” you asked while squinting at him through the screen.
He glanced at you and smirked. “What, I can’t smile?”
“Not like that,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you’re up to something.”
Jungwon sighed dramatically as he turned onto his side. “Can’t a guy just admire his girlfriend?”
You scoffed. “You’re so full of it.”
“I’m serious,” he said, resting his chin on his hand. “You look cute today.”
You blinked. “…It’s a video call. You can barely see me properly.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he replied smoothly. “You’re always cute.”
His door suddenly creaked open before you could even think of a response.
“Mom! He’s at it again!”
Jungwon’s head snapped toward the door, his face instantly turning sour. His older sister stood there, arms crossed, and seemed to be entertained at her brother, who was way out of character.
You burst into laughter.
Jungwon groaned. “Can you not?”
“Oh, wait—” She smirked, peeking at the screen. “Hi! Are you the poor soul who has to listen to his crap every day?”
You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh. “Hi…”
“Oh my God.” Jungwon groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow and chucking it toward the door. “OUT!”
His sister dodged effortlessly. “Okay, okay, lover boy! calm down.” She wiggled her fingers at you. “Bye, future sister-in-law!”
“Just saying! You’re embarrassing,” she said to Jungwon while backing out of the room.
‘’GET OUT!’’
The door shut, leaving Jungwon lying there, face buried in his pillow.
You were still giggling. “Lover boy?”
He exhaled sharply as he peeked through the screen. “We’re never talking about this again.”
You grinned. “Sure, lover boy.”
“Okay, I’m hanging up.”
“No, you’re not.”
“…No, I’m not,” he admitted and groaned.
240 notes ¡ View notes
elryuse ¡ 2 days ago
Text
My Toxic Exes
Genre : Smut
Idol : Yeji, Giselle & Julie
Tags : Ex Gf Yeji, Giselle & Julie, Dirty Talking, Secret Sex, Cheating, Lots of Kissing, Sweaty Sex,
Word : 8,838 Word
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Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this.
That’s what you tell yourself as you stare at the ceiling, your body sinking into the mattress, numb. Your room is dark except for the faint glow of your phone screen, the only source of light illuminating the night.
Her last message still lingers on the screen.
"You’re overthinking."
You squeeze your eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. The images are still there. Her texts to someone else. The photo of them together. The way she denied it so easily, as if your feelings meant nothing.
Yeji.
The first girl you ever truly loved. The first girl who shattered you.
The first time you see her, she’s standing on a stage, dressed in a sharp black blazer and a white button-up shirt, her long, sleek hair tucked neatly behind her ears. She’s in the middle of a debate, her voice unwavering, her gaze sharp.
She’s stunning—not just in appearance, but in presence. She owns the room without even trying, commanding respect with every word she speaks.
You’re not supposed to be here. You only came because your friend begged you to watch their team compete, but now, all you can focus on is her.
When the debate ends, she wins—of course she does. You expect her to be cold and distant, but when she walks past you, she’s laughing with her teammates, her confidence melting into something warm and inviting.
And then, she notices you.
"Hey," she says, stopping in front of you. "Enjoy the debate?"
You blink. For a second, you think she’s talking to someone else. But no—her sharp brown eyes are locked onto yours, waiting.
"Uh, yeah," you stammer, caught off guard. "You were… really good."
She smirks, tilting her head slightly. "Thanks. I try."
And just like that, she walks away, leaving you standing there, completely entranced.
You don’t know it yet, but this is the beginning of something that will change you forever.
Getting to know Yeji is like getting close to a wildfire—intoxicating, thrilling, and impossible to control.
She’s not like anyone you’ve ever met before. She’s driven, passionate, and fiercely independent. She doesn’t need anyone, but somehow, she chooses you.
You start seeing her more often. First, it’s casual—study sessions, late-night talks about life and ambitions. Then, it becomes something more.
One night, after a long day of studying, you walk her home. It’s late, the streets nearly empty, and the cool night air makes your breath visible.
"You’re different," she says suddenly, breaking the silence.
You glance at her. "Different how?"
She shrugs, kicking a small pebble on the sidewalk. "Most guys I meet try too hard to impress me. But you… you’re just yourself."
Your heart skips a beat.
"Is that a good thing?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
She stops walking and turns to face you, her eyes searching yours. Then, without warning, she steps closer, closing the distance between you.
"It is," she murmurs.
And before you can process what’s happening, she kisses you.
It’s soft, hesitant at first, but then it deepens, her fingers curling into your hoodie as if she doesn’t want to let go.
When she finally pulls away, she grins.
"Let’s do this," she says. "Let’s see where this goes."
And just like that, you’re hers.
Being with Yeji is exhilarating. She challenges you, pushes you to be better, makes you feel like you can conquer anything.
She takes you to places you’ve never been, introduces you to people who admire her just as much as you do. She’s everything you never knew you needed—strong, fearless, and completely captivating.
But then, the cracks start to show.
It begins with small things. She gets easily frustrated when you don’t immediately understand something. She makes little comments about how you could "try harder" or "be more ambitious."
"You should be more confident," she tells you one day when you hesitate to speak in a group setting. "I can’t keep carrying the conversation for you."
It stings, but you brush it off. Maybe she just wants you to improve. Maybe she’s right.
Then, she starts getting distant.
She cancels plans more often, says she’s busy, but you start noticing the way she’s always on her phone, texting someone. You tell yourself it’s nothing. She’s popular, she has a lot of friends.
But then, one night, everything changes.
You don’t mean to see it. You’re just grabbing her phone to check the time while she’s in the shower. But the moment you pick it up, a notification pops up.
A message from someone you don’t recognize.
"Last night was amazing. Can’t wait to see you again."
Your chest tightens.
You open the conversation. There are pictures—her with another guy, laughing, leaning into him the way she used to lean into you. The texts are flirty, intimate.
Your hands shake as you set the phone back down. Your mind races, trying to make sense of what you just saw.
When she comes out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around her head, she notices your expression immediately.
"What’s wrong?" she asks.
You swallow hard. "Who is he?"
She freezes for a split second—just a moment, but it’s enough.
"Who?" she asks, too casually.
"You know who," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I saw the messages, Yeji."
Silence.
Then, she exhales, rolling her eyes. "You’re overthinking."
Your heart cracks.
"Yeji, I saw the photos," you say, your voice trembling. "Just… tell me the truth."
She stares at you, and for the first time, you see something cold in her eyes—something detached.
"There’s nothing to tell," she says simply.
No apology. No remorse. Just a flat-out denial, as if you’re the one being unreasonable.
That’s when you realize—you could argue, you could beg for the truth, but it wouldn’t matter. She’s already decided to pretend like nothing happened.
And suddenly, you feel exhausted.
You thought love was supposed to be about trust, about believing in each other. But standing here, looking at her, you realize—this isn’t love. This is a game you’re never going to win.
So you do the only thing you can.
You leave.
You don’t cry that night. You just lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering where it all went wrong.
A part of you wants to believe she’ll call, that she’ll apologize, that she’ll tell you she made a mistake.
But deep down, you know she won’t.
Yeji never looks back.
And neither should you.
Moving on from Yeji isn’t easy.
Even after weeks pass, her absence lingers like a dull ache in your chest. You try distracting yourself—focusing on school, picking up new hobbies—but nothing fully silences the thoughts. The "what ifs" still creep in late at night, and the scars she left still sting when you least expect them.
But then, you meet Giselle.
And for the first time in a long while, you feel something different.
You don’t know much about her at first. You’ve seen her in passing, heard whispers of her name in hallways and classrooms. Giselle is popular—effortlessly so. She has that kind of energy that makes people gravitate toward her, a mix of confidence and playfulness that keeps her at the center of every social circle.
She’s the kind of girl you never thought you’d talk to, let alone date.
But fate has other plans.
It starts at a party—a rare event for you. Your friends practically drag you there, insisting you need to "get out more" after the whole Yeji situation. You don’t expect much. Just a few hours of music, drinks, and pretending to have fun.
But then, you see her.
Giselle is surrounded by people, laughing at something someone said, her presence magnetic. She’s wearing a sleek black dress, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. She looks… untouchable, like she exists in a different world.
And yet, somehow, her eyes find yours.
For a split second, your breath catches. You expect her to look away, to move on.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she smirks. Then, before you can react, she makes her way through the crowd and stops right in front of you.
"You look bored," she says, tilting her head. "Not a fan of parties?"
You chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck. "Not really my scene."
She raises an eyebrow. "Then why are you here?"
"My friends dragged me."
Her lips curve into a smile. "Mine too."
And just like that, a conversation starts.
It’s easy with her. She’s witty, teasing, but not in a mean way. She asks questions that catch you off guard, making you laugh, making you forget—if only for a moment—about everything else.
By the end of the night, you’re surprised to find yourself enjoying her company. And when she casually hands you her phone, telling you to put your number in, You don’t hesitate.
For the first time in months, something stirs in your chest.
Maybe, just maybe, this could be different.
Dating Giselle is like stepping into a dream.
Everything moves fast. One moment, you’re just getting to know her, and the next, you’re in the whirlwind of her world—late-night drives, spontaneous trips to the beach, secret rendezvous between classes.
She makes you feel special in a way you never have before.
"You’re cute when you’re flustered," she says one evening, tapping your nose playfully.
You groan. "I’m not flustered."
She laughs, leaning closer. "You totally are."
She always knows how to make you smile, how to pull you out of your shell. And for a while, you think this might actually work.
But then, the cracks begin to show.
It starts with little things.
She gets irritated when you don’t answer her texts fast enough, even if you’re busy.
"Why are you ignoring me?" she asks one day, her tone light but her eyes sharp.
"I’m not," you reply, confused. "I was in class."
She pouts. "You could’ve at least texted me back during the break."
You brush it off, thinking she just likes attention. But then, it escalates.
She starts getting jealous—of your friends, of your time, of anything that isn’t her.
"Do you really have to hang out with them?" she asks one evening when you mention plans with an old friend.
"They’re my friends, Giselle."
She crosses her arms. "I just don’t get why you need to spend time with them when you have me."
It doesn’t seem like a big deal at first. Maybe she just really likes you, you tell yourself. Maybe she just wants to feel secure.
But then, one night, everything changes.
It happens after a small argument.
You don’t even remember how it starts—something about you not paying enough attention to her, about her feeling like you don’t care.
"You don’t put in enough effort," she snaps.
You blink. "Giselle, I do my best—"
"It’s not enough!" she interrupts, her voice rising.
You’re taken aback. "What do you want from me?"
She glares at you, her jaw clenched. Then, suddenly, she throws your phone across the room.
It crashes against the wall.
You freeze.
For a long moment, there’s only silence. Then, her expression shifts. The anger melts away, replaced by something else—something almost… remorseful.
"I…" She exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. "I didn’t mean to do that."
But she did.
And you both know it.
Still, she steps forward, reaching for your hands. "I’m sorry," she murmurs. "I just… I love you so much, and I hate feeling like I’m not enough for you."
Her voice is soft, almost pleading. And for a second, your heart wavers.
But then you look at the broken phone on the floor.
And suddenly, you realize—you’ve been here before.
This isn’t love. This is control.
And you can’t do this again.
Leaving Giselle is harder than leaving Yeji.
Because she doesn’t let you go easily.
She texts, she calls, she shows up unannounced. She cries, begs, says she’ll change.
But you know better now.
And so, no matter how much it hurts, you walk away.
You think you’re done with love.
You think you’ll never let yourself fall again.
But then, you meet Julie.
And this time, you believe—just for a moment—that things will be different.
You tell yourself you won’t fall for anyone again.
Not after Yeji’s betrayal. Not after Giselle’s suffocating love. You’re tired of love—tired of opening your heart just to watch it be torn apart.
But then, Julie enters your life.
And for the first time in a long while, you start to believe again.
It happens unexpectedly, on a cold evening in a quiet cafĂŠ.
You’re sitting alone, scrolling through your phone, when she approaches.
"Mind if I sit here?"
You glance up, surprised. Julie is beautiful in an effortless way—long, silky hair, sharp eyes that seem to read you instantly. There’s an air of elegance about her, from the way she carries herself to the designer coat draped over her shoulders.
You hesitate. The café isn’t full; there are plenty of empty tables.
But something in her gaze tells you she’s here for a reason.
"Sure," you say.
She sits across from you, her perfume light but intoxicating.
"I’ve seen you here before," she says casually, stirring her coffee. "You always sit by yourself."
You chuckle. "I like the quiet."
She tilts her head. "Or maybe you just don’t like people?"
You blink, caught off guard. Most girls would be shy or polite, but Julie? She’s bold. Direct.
You smirk. "Maybe a little of both."
She laughs, and just like that, a conversation begins.
It’s easy with her. Too easy
She’s different from Yeji, from Giselle. She doesn’t play games, doesn’t test you. She listens. Really listens.
And for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel like you have to prove yourself.
With Julie, you can just be.
Dating Julie feels like a dream.
She’s rich—not just well-off, but the kind of wealthy that makes life effortless. Expensive dinners, surprise gifts, spontaneous weekend getaways—she showers you with things you never thought you’d have.
At first, it feels strange.
"I don’t need all this," you tell her one day when she buys you an expensive watch.
She just smiles, pressing it into your palm. "I know. That’s why I like spoiling you."
And you believe her.
Because Julie isn’t just rich—she’s caring. Understanding. She never gets jealous when you hang out with friends, never accuses you of not loving her enough.
She trusts you.
She makes you feel safe.
And after everything you’ve been through, that’s all you’ve ever wanted.
So, for the first time in forever, you let your guard down.
You let yourself love again.
And that’s when everything falls apart.
It starts with whispers.
Little things you hear in passing.
"Julie’s always hanging out with that guy."
"Did you see her at the bar last night? She was all over him."
You brush it off. Gossip means nothing. You trust her.
But then, the doubts creep in.
She cancels dates last minute.
She starts texting less, calling less.
And then, one night, you see it with your own eyes.
Julie, standing too close to another guy. Laughing. Letting him touch her waist. Acting like you don’t exist.
Your heart clenches, but you tell yourself to stay calm.
Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe there’s an explanation.
So you wait until you’re alone with her.
And you ask.
"Who was he?"
She raises an eyebrow, sipping her wine. "Who?"
"At the bar. The guy you were with."
She sighs, setting her glass down. "Just a friend."
"A friend who touches your waist?"
Her expression hardens. "Are you seriously jealous right now?"
You hesitate. "Julie, I just—"
"God, I can’t believe this," she mutters, standing up. "You’re just like every other guy. So insecure."
Your stomach twists. "I’m not—"
"Yes, you are." Her voice is sharp, cold. "I give you everything, and this is how you repay me? By accusing me?"
You feel like you’ve been punched.
"Julie," you whisper. "I just wanted the truth."
She scoffs, grabbing her coat. "The truth? Fine. Maybe I like the attention. Maybe I like feeling wanted. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you."
Her words hit harder than they should.
Because deep down, you know—love shouldn’t feel like this.
You take a shaky breath. "I can’t do this."
She stares at you. "What?"
"I can’t be with someone who makes me feel like I’m not enough."
For a moment, something flickers in her eyes. A flash of regret, maybe.
But it vanishes just as quickly.
She exhales, shaking her head. "Fine. Do whatever you want."
And just like that, she walks away.
No tears. No apologies.
Just… nothing.
Like you never meant anything at all.
You tell yourself you won’t cry.
But that night, as you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything crashes down on you.
Yeji. Giselle. Julie.
Three girls. Three heartbreaks.
You’ve given love everything you had. And every time, it’s been thrown back in your face.
So, you make a decision.
You’re done.
Done chasing love. Done trusting. Done believing in fairy tales.
From now on, you’ll be alone.
Because at least then, you won’t get hurt.
But then, you meet Yuna.
And suddenly, your heart isn’t so sure anymore.
You don’t believe in love anymore.
Not after Yeji, who shattered your trust.
Not after Giselle, who suffocated you with her possessiveness.
Not after Julie, who made you feel like you were nothing.
You’re tired. You’re exhausted. And most of all, you’re done.
You don’t chase love. You don’t wait for it.
Because you know, in the end, it always leaves you broken.
But then, you meet her.
And for the first time in a long while, something inside you stirs.
Something terrifying.
Something hopeful.
It happens on a rainy afternoon.
You’re in a bookstore, flipping through pages of a novel you don’t plan on buying. The rain outside taps against the windows, a soft rhythm that matches the quietness of the shop.
You like it here. It’s peaceful. A place where no one knows you.
Or so you think.
"You like that author?"
A soft voice interrupts your thoughts.
You glance up.
And that’s when you see her.
She stands a few feet away, holding a book against her chest. She’s dressed simply—sweater, jeans, sneakers—but there’s something effortlessly beautiful about her.
Her eyes, warm and curious, meet yours.
For a second, you forget how to breathe.
You clear your throat. "Uh… yeah. I guess."
She smiles. "You don’t sound so sure."
You chuckle, scratching the back of your neck. "I’ve never read their books before. Just browsing."
She nods, stepping closer. "It’s a good one. Kind of sad, though."
You raise an eyebrow. "You like sad books?"
She tilts her head. "I think sad stories are more honest."
You don’t know why, but that answer lingers in your mind.
She turns the book in her hands, then looks at you again.
"I’m Yuna, by the way."
You hesitate.
But then, for the first time in months, you say it.
You tell her your name.
And just like that, something begins.
Yuna is different.
She doesn’t demand your attention. She doesn’t try to change you.
She simply exists in your life, slowly weaving herself into the empty spaces you never realized were there.
You start seeing her more often—at the bookstore, at the café nearby, in the quiet corners of the world where you feel most at ease.
She never pushes. Never asks too many questions.
But she listens.
And somehow, that’s enough.
One evening, as you walk together under the glow of streetlights, she asks, "Have you ever been in love?"
You stiffen. The memories of Yeji, Giselle, Julie—all of them flood back at once.
You exhale. "I thought I was."
She doesn’t say anything right away. She just walks beside you, her presence steady, unshaken.
Then, after a moment, she murmurs, "It must’ve hurt a lot."
You stop in your tracks.
Because no one—not Yeji, not Giselle, not Julie—ever acknowledged your pain like that.
Your chest tightens. "Yeah," you admit quietly. "It did."
Yuna doesn’t pry. She doesn’t ask for details.
She simply reaches out, her fingers brushing against yours in the most delicate way.
You don’t pull away.
And maybe—just maybe—you start to wonder.
Could love be something else?
Could love, for once, not destroy you?
But love has never been kind to you.
And just when you think you’re ready to move on, the past comes knocking.
Because one day, you receive a message.
From Yeji.
From Giselle.
From Julie.
They miss you.
And suddenly, everything you’ve tried to bury comes rushing back.
Ghosts of the Past
You think you’ve finally moved on.
Yuna is here. She’s warm, kind, and unlike anyone you’ve ever been with.
She doesn’t lie to you like Yeji.
She doesn’t hurt you like Giselle.
She doesn’t betray you like Julie.
With Yuna, love feels different. Safer. Real.
But love has never been kind to you.
And the past refuses to stay buried.
It starts with a message.
"I miss you."
You stare at the screen, your heart tightening.
Yeji’s name glows on your phone, the same name that once made your chest ache with love.
Now, all it brings is pain.
You turn off your phone. You don’t respond.
But the past isn’t done with you yet.
Because the next day, Giselle calls.
You let it ring. You don’t pick up.
Then, Julie sends a message.
"Hey. Can we talk?"
You delete it without reading the rest.
But no matter how much you ignore them, they don’t stop.
The texts become more frequent.
The calls become more desperate.
And slowly, they start creeping back into your life.
At first, you think it’s just them trying to soothe their own regrets.
But then, they start interfering.
And that’s when everything starts to fall apart.
The first time it happens, you and Yuna are at a small cafĂŠ, sharing quiet laughter over coffee.
Then, your phone buzzes.
You glance down.
It’s Yeji.
Calling.
Again.
You let out a slow breath, ignoring it.
Yuna notices. "You okay?"
You force a smile. "Yeah. Just spam calls."
But your hands feel cold.
Because it’s not just one call.
It’s three.
One after another.
And the moment you step out of the café, Yeji’s voice fills the air.
"You’re ignoring me."
You freeze.
She’s here.
Standing across the street, arms crossed, staring at you like she has the right to be angry.
You don’t know what to say.
"You think you can just block me out?" she continues, stepping closer. "After everything we had?"
Yuna glances between you both, her brows furrowing. "Who is she?"
Yeji smirks, her eyes flickering toward Yuna. "So this is why you’ve been ignoring me."
Your stomach twists. "Yeji, don’t—"
"Did you tell her about us?" Yeji interrupts, her voice dripping with something dangerous. "Did you tell her how much you used to love me?"
You clench your jaw. "We’re done. You need to leave."
Yeji laughs—soft, bitter. "You say that, but I know you still think about me."
She takes another step forward, lowering her voice.
"You used to be mine," she whispers. "And you will be again."
Then, she turns and walks away.
Leaving you standing there, heart pounding.
Yuna touches your arm. "What was that about?"
You force yourself to breathe. "Nothing."
But it’s not nothing.
Because Yeji isn’t the only one who won’t let go.
And soon, things get worse.
It’s Giselle next.
She doesn’t just send messages.
She shows up.
At your work. At your apartment.
Always finding an excuse to see you, to talk to you.
And every time, she asks the same thing.
"Do you ever think about me?"
You want to say no.
You want to erase every painful memory of her.
But Giselle has always known how to push your buttons.
"You were my everything," she whispers one night, standing in front of your door. "I know I made mistakes. But you… you were different."
You grip the doorframe. "Giselle, go home."
She shakes her head, eyes glistening. "I don’t have a home without you."
You swallow hard.
And that’s when you realize—she doesn’t just want you back.
She wants to ruin you.
And the moment she realizes she can’t, she tries something worse.
She finds Yuna.
She talks to her.
She tells her things—half-truths, twisted stories.
And one day, Yuna asks, "Did she really hurt you that badly?"
Your stomach drops.
Because you know exactly where this is coming from.
You reach for her hand. "Yuna, don’t listen to them."
She bites her lip. "I trust you. But I don’t trust them."
And you know—Giselle won’t stop.
Because if she can’t have you, she’ll make sure no one else does.
But the worst is Julie.
Because Julie doesn’t just want to win.
She wants to make you suffer.
One night, she sends you a message.
"Come see me. Just once."
You don’t reply.
Then another text comes.
"I won’t stop until you do."
You sigh, running a hand through your hair.
Maybe if you go, she’ll stop. Maybe she’ll finally let go.
So, against your better judgment, you go.
You find her in a high-end bar, swirling a glass of wine in her hand.
She looks up, smiling like she’s already won.
"I knew you’d come," she murmurs.
You sit across from her, exhaling sharply. "What do you want?"
She leans forward, her perfume familiar and suffocating.
"Are you happy?" she asks.
You frown. "What?"
"With her," Julie says smoothly. "With Yuna."
You glare. "Yes."
She tilts her head. "That’s a shame."
Something about her tone makes your skin crawl.
Then, she smirks. "Because I don’t think she’ll be around for long."
A chill runs down your spine. "What did you do?"
Julie sips her wine. "Nothing. Yet."
You push your chair back, standing. "Stay away from her."
Julie just laughs. "You should know by now, baby. I don’t like losing."
You leave without another word.
But dread settles in your stomach.
Because you know this isn’t over.
Not even close.
And the worst part?
You don’t know if Yuna will stay by your side when the storm hits.
Trapped in the Past.
You’ve been trying to move on.
You tell yourself that Yuna is different. That she’s the one good thing in your life. That your past no longer has control over you.
But the past has other plans.
And today, it comes crashing back—harder than ever.
It’s just another day at work.
Your office is quiet, the usual hum of keyboards and murmured conversations filling the space. You’re buried in your work, trying to focus, when you hear it—
Gasps. Whispered voices. A sudden shift in the atmosphere.
You glance up, confused.
And then, you see them.
Yeji.
Giselle.
Julie.
Standing at the entrance of your office, looking like they walked straight out of a dream—or, in your case, a nightmare.
Your heart stops.
They shouldn’t be here. They can’t be here.
But they are.
And they look even more breathtaking than you remember.
Yeji stands tall, her confidence radiating through the room, a small smirk playing on her lips. She wears a fitted blazer over a sleek black dress, her hair pulled back in a way that makes her look both elegant and untouchable.
Giselle, on the other hand, is effortlessly stunning, dressed in a casual yet expensive-looking ensemble—like she just threw something on and still managed to turn heads. She’s scanning the room, her eyes sharp, predatory.
Julie, as expected, looks perfect. A designer outfit, flawless makeup, an aura of quiet dominance. She’s not here to plead. She’s here to claim.
The entire office is watching, mesmerized.
Because how often do three goddesses show up unannounced, asking for the same man?
And then it happens.
"Where’s Y/n?" Yeji asks, loud enough for everyone to hear.
You freeze.
Your coworkers look around, confused. Some exchange glances before one of them hesitantly points in your direction.
And just like that, the three of them turn to you.
And they grin.
Because Yuna isn’t here.
Because this is their chance.
Because they know—deep down, they still have power over you.
And they plan to use it.
Before you can react, they’re walking toward you.
Your heart pounds as they reach your desk, their presence overwhelming.
"Y/n," Yeji purrs, leaning against your desk like she belongs there. "You’ve been ignoring us."
Giselle tilts her head, feigning innocence. "That’s not very nice, you know. We just wanted to see you."
Julie sighs, a soft, disappointed sound. "You really thought we’d just let you go?"
You swallow hard. "You shouldn’t be here."
Yeji raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Why not?"
You glance around. Your coworkers are still watching, whispering amongst themselves.
You grit your teeth. "Because I don’t want to see you."
Giselle laughs. "Liar."
Julie smirks. "If that were true, why do you look so nervous?"
Because they know what they’re doing.
They know exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you uncomfortable.
And worst of all…
They’re winning.
Because a part of you—no matter how small—remembers.
Remembers Yeji’s strength. The way she used to make you feel safe, like nothing in the world could touch you.
Remembers Giselle’s charm. The way she made you feel special, like you were the only one who mattered.
Remembers Julie’s care. The way she spoiled you, made you feel like you were worth something.
And now, they’re standing in front of you, looking more beautiful than ever, acting like they still care.
And Yuna isn’t here.
Yeji leans in, her voice low. "Let’s go somewhere private."
Giselle rests a hand on your shoulder, her nails lightly scraping your skin. "Just for a little bit."
Julie exhales softly, her perfume intoxicating. "Come on, Y/n. Don’t make us beg."
Your hands tighten into fists.
Because this is exactly how it starts.
How you get pulled back in.
How you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, they’ve changed.
But you know better now.
You have to know better.
You step back. "No."
Yeji’s eyes darken. "Excuse me?"
You exhale sharply. "I said no."
Giselle blinks, her smile faltering. "You’re joking, right?"
Julie’s expression turns cold. "You’re really going to push us away like this?"
You nod. "I’ve moved on."
Yeji scoffs. "With that girl? Yuna?"
You clench your jaw. "Yes."
There’s a long pause.
And then, Giselle laughs.
A slow, mocking laugh.
"Oh, Y/n," she murmurs. "You really think she’s better than us?"
Julie tilts her head. "You think she can love you like we did?"
Yeji crosses her arms. "Do you really believe she’ll stay?"
Something in their words sends a chill down your spine.
Because you know what they’re implying.
Yuna doesn’t play games like they do.
Yuna isn’t manipulative.
Yuna isn’t them.
And that’s exactly why they want to destroy her.
Before you can respond, Yeji steps closer, her voice a whisper.
"If you’re not ours," she murmurs, "then you’re not hers either."
Your blood runs cold.
Because now, this isn’t just about you.
It’s about Yuna.
And you know—this war isn’t over.
It’s only just beginning.
The fluorescent lights of the office buzzed softly, a faint hum that matched the rhythm of my typing. My eyes flicked to the clock on the wall—5:47 PM. Just a little longer, and I could head home. Home, where Yuna would be waiting. The thought of her brought a small smile to my lips. Yuna, unlike the others, was different. She was kind, patient, and she listened. She didn’t play games, didn’t twist words, didn’t leave me second-guessing every interaction. She was… healing.
But that healing was fragile. Like a wound that had just begun to scab over, it could be ripped open with the slightest touch. And the last people I wanted touching it were them.
The soft ding of the elevator down the hall made my fingers pause mid-sentence. I glanced up, my heart skipping a beat as three familiar figures stepped out. Yeji, Giselle, and Julie.
Their heels clicked against the polished floor, a synchronized rhythm that felt like a drumroll before disaster. They were dressed to kill—Yeji in a form-fitting red blazer, Giselle in a sleek black dress, and Julie in a skirt that was far too short for the office setting. Each of them wore a smirk, their eyes locking onto me like predators circling prey.
“Well, well, look who’s still working late,” Yeji purred, her voice dripping with faux sweetness.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “What are you three doing here?”
“Can’t we visit an old friend?” Giselle chimed in, her lips curving into a sly smile. She leaned against my desk, her perfume—a mix of vanilla and something far too intoxicating—washing over me.
“Friend?” I muttered, my voice low. “Is that what we are now?”
Julie chuckled, the sound grating against my ears. “Come on, don’t be like that. We missed you.”
Missed me. The words hit like a punch to the gut. Not because they were true—I knew better than to believe that—but because they were a reminder of all the times I’d fallen for their lies. All the times I’d let them hurt me, let them twist me into something I barely recognized.
“You don’t get to just show up here,” I said, my voice firmer now. “Not after everything.”
Yeji tilted her head, her smirk never wavering. “Everything? Oh, sweetheart, you act like we ruined you. If anything, we made you stronger.”
“Stronger?” I echoed, my voice rising. “You manipulated me. Toyed with me. Made me feel like I was nothing. That’s not strength. That’s just… cruelty.”
Giselle clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “You always were so dramatic.”
“Seriously,” Julie added, her tone dripping with mockery. “We were just having fun. If you couldn’t handle it, that’s on you.”
My hands balled into fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. Fun. That’s what they called it. Playing with my emotions, stringing me along, making me feel like I was losing my mind. Fun.
“Get out,” I said through gritted teeth.
Yeji’s smirk widened, and she stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. “Make us.”
The air between us grew thick, heavy with tension. My chest tightened, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I could smell her perfume, a mix of roses and something darker, something that made my head spin.
“You’re not the same without us, you know,” Giselle murmured, her voice soft, almost… gentle. “You’re boring. Safe. Is that what she wants? Someone safe?”
Julie laughed, the sound sharp and cutting. “Please. He was never boring with us.”
I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that was settling over my thoughts. “You don’t get to do this. Not anymore.”
“Do what?” Yeji asked, her voice a low purr. “Remind you of what you’re missing?”
She was close now, so close I could feel the heat radiating off her body. Her hand reached up, her fingers brushing against my cheek. I flinched, but I didn’t pull away. Why didn’t I pull away?
“You remember, don’t you?” she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. “The way it felt when we were together.”
My heart raced, my mind a jumble of conflicting emotions. Yes, I remember. I remembered the highs, the moments of bliss that made everything else fade away. But I also remembered the lows, the crushing weight of their words, the way they tore me apart piece by piece.
“We could have that again,” Giselle said, her voice a sultry whisper. “All of us. Just like old times.”
Julie stepped forward, her hand resting on my chest. “You know you want it.”
I did. God, I did. But I also wanted to be free, to move on, to finally be happy. And yet… here they were, pulling me back into their orbit, their gravity impossible to resist.
“Just one more night,” Yeji murmured, her lips brushing against my neck. “One more chance to make it right.”
I closed my eyes, my body trembling. One more night. It would be so easy to give in, to let myself fall back into their arms, their beds. But at what cost?
“I…” I started, my voice trembling. “I can’t.”
Yeji pulled back, her eyes narrowing. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
“It’s not the same,” I said, my voice firmer now. “I’m not the same.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then Giselle laughed, the sound cold and dismissive. “You’re right. You’re not the same. You’re worse.”
Julie smirked, her hand trailing down my chest. “But maybe we can fix that.”
I shoved her hand away, my patience snapping. “I’m not something you can fix. I’m not a project, or a game, or… or…”
“A toy?” Yeji finished, her smirk returning. “Because that’s exactly what you were. And you loved it.”
“I didn’t,” I snapped, my voice rising. “I hated it. I hated you.”
“Liar,” Giselle said, her voice sharp. “You loved every second of it.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I loved the idea of you. The fantasy. But the reality… the reality was hell.”
Yeji stepped back, her smirk fading. For a moment, she looked almost… hurt. “You’re really going to throw it all away? Everything we had?”
“We didn’t have anything,” I said, my voice steady now. “It was all in my head. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”
There was a long pause, the air heavy with unspoken words. Then Julie sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Be a bore. But don’t come crawling back when you realize you’re not cut out for… normal.”
They turned, their heels clicking against the floor as they walked away. I watched them go, my heart pounding in my chest. It wasn’t until the elevator doors closed behind them that I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.
But even as the tension left my body, the ache in my chest remained. Just one more night. The words echoed in my mind, taunting me. Because as much as I hated to admit it, part of me still wanted them. Still needed them.
And that scared me more than anything.
The office was quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights the only sound as I tried to focus on the report in front of me. But my mind kept drifting back to the encounter earlier. Yeji, Giselle, Julie—their faces, their words, the way they’d looked at me like I was still theirs. I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away. They’re gone. They’re not a part of your life anymore.
But just as I was about to dive back into work, my phone buzzed. A text from Yeji: “Come outside. We’re waiting.”
I froze, my heart skipping a beat. No. Not again. I ignored it, setting the phone face down on the desk. But then it buzzed again. And again. And again. Finally, I picked it up, my fingers trembling slightly as I read the next message: “Don’t make us come back up there. You know how much we love a scene.”
I cursed under my breath, dragging a hand over my face. Why can’t they just leave me alone? But deep down, I knew they wouldn’t. Not until they got what they wanted.
Reluctantly, I grabbed my coat and headed for the elevator. The ride down felt like an eternity, my stomach twisting into knots. When the doors slid open, I saw them—Yeji leaning casually against the wall, Giselle scrolling through her phone, Julie with her arms crossed, a smirk on her lips.
“There he is,” Yeji purred, pushing off the wall and walking toward me. “We were starting to think you’d forgotten about us.”
“I haven’t,” I said, my voice firm. “But I’m not doing this. Not again.”
Julie laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. “Oh, come on. You’re not fooling anyone. We know you still want us.” She stepped closer, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You always have.”
“I’ve moved on,” I said, though the words felt hollow even as I said them. “I’m with Yuna now.”
“Yuna,” Giselle scoffed, finally looking up from her phone. “She’s sweet, yeah, but let’s be real—she’s not us.”
“She’s better than you,” I shot back, my frustration boiling over. “She actually cares about me. She respects me.”
Yeji tilted her head, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Respect is overrated. What you need is someone who knows how to make you feel alive. And that’s us.”
Before I could respond, Julie grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Enough talking. Let’s go.”
I tried to pull away, but they were already surrounding me, their presence overwhelming. They led me to a car parked just outside the building, and before I knew it, I was in the backseat, the three of them closing in around me.
The drive to their apartment was a blur, my mind racing as I tried to figure out how to get out of this. But every time I thought about making a move, one of them would touch me—a hand on my thigh, fingers brushing against my neck—and I’d feel that familiar pull, that dangerous allure that I’d spent so long trying to escape.
When we arrived, they practically dragged me inside the apartment, the door slamming shut behind us. Yeji was the first to make her move, pressing me against the wall and kissing me hard, her lips demanding and possessive. I wanted to push her away, to tell her to stop, but my body betrayed me, responding to her touch before I could think.
Giselle was next, her hands sliding under my shirt as she undressed me with practiced ease. Julie watched from a distance, a wicked grin on her face as she pulled out her phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice strained as Yeji moved her lips to my neck.
Julie didn’t answer, instead holding up her phone to show me the screen. She was calling Yuna. Panic surged through me, and I tried to pull away, but Yeji and Giselle held me in place, their hands roaming over my body.
“You wouldn’t,” I said, my voice pleading.
“Oh, I would,” Julie said, her grin widening as the call connected. She put it on speaker, and I heard Yuna’s voice, soft and confused, on the other end.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Yuna,” Julie said, her tone sickly sweet. “Just wanted to let you know—your boyfriend’s here with us. And he’s very happy to see us.”
“No,” I said, my voice breaking. “Yuna, it’s not what you think—”
But Yeji cut me off, her lips crashing into mine again as Giselle pulled down my pants. I could hear Yuna on the other end of the line, her voice trembling as she asked, “What’s going on? What are you doing to him?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Julie said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “We’re just giving him what he’s always wanted. What he’s always needed. Isn’t that right, baby?”
I wanted to deny it, to tell Yuna the truth, but the words caught in my throat as Giselle dropped to her knees, taking me into her mouth. I groaned, my body betraying me once again as pleasure surged through me.
Yeji pulled back, her lips curving into a wicked smile as she whispered in my ear, “He’s always wanted us. Not you.”
“Don’t listen to her, Yuna,” I managed to say, my voice strained. “Please—”
But Julie cut me off, holding the phone closer as Giselle worked her magic, driving me closer and closer to the edge. I could hear Yuna’s sobs on the other end of the line, and guilt crashed over me like a wave. But even as I tried to fight it, I knew I was losing.
“You’ll never be enough for him,” Yeji said, her voice cold and cruel. “Not like we are.”
And then, as Giselle brought me to the brink, I heard Yuna hang up, the line going dead. I wanted to scream, to break free, but my body was too far gone, too lost in the sensations they were pulling from me.
Yeji laughed, a low, wicked sound, as she undressed, her eyes locked on mine. “Face it, baby. You’re ours. You always have been.”
And as they took turns with me, their hands and mouths claiming me in ways I could never forget, I knew she was right. No matter how much I tried to convince myself I’d moved on, I was still theirs. And I always would be.
Julie’s phone buzzed again, and she picked it up, her grin widening as she read the message. “Looks like your little Yuna isn’t taking this well,” she said, holding it up for me to see. It was a text from Yuna: “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”
My heart sank, but before I could respond, Giselle was on me again, her lips trailing down my chest as Yeji whispered in my ear, “See? We told you. You’re ours.”
And as they took me again, their bodies moving in sync with mine, I knew there was no escaping them. Not now. Not ever.
The room was a blur of sweat, heat, and tangled limbs. Yeji’s nails dug into my shoulders as she rode me, her hips grinding in slow, deliberate circles that sent waves of pleasure coursing through me. Her breath was hot against my ear, her voice low and sultry. “You’re ours,” she whispered, her words dripping with possessiveness. “You always have been. You always will be.”
Giselle’s laughter rang out as she kissed me, her lips soft but demanding. Her hands roamed my chest, tracing lines of fire across my skin. She pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, her gaze intense. “You thought you could escape us?” she taunted, her voice teasing. “You’re too weak, too addicted to the way we make you feel. Admit it... you’ve missed this.”
I wanted to deny it, to push them away and reclaim some shred of dignity, but my body betrayed me. My hips moved of their own accord, thrusting deeper into Yeji as she moaned in approval. My hands reached for Giselle, pulling her closer, my fingers tangling in her hair as our lips crashed together. And then there was Julie, her tongue tracing a wet path down my neck, her hands gripping my thighs as she positioned herself to take her turn.
“You’re pathetic,” Julie purred, her voice a mix of cruelty and seduction. “But we love you anyway. Isn’t that enough?” She didn’t wait for an answer, instead straddling me and sinking down onto me with a gasp. Her movements were frenzied, desperate, as if she couldn’t get enough. I couldn’t help but respond, my hands gripping her hips as I thrust up to meet her.
The room filled with the sound of their moans, their laughter, their whispers. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and I felt myself slipping further and further into their web. “You’re ours,” Yeji repeated, her voice a sultry chant. “Say it. Say you’re ours.”
I tried to resist, to hold onto some fragment of myself, but the words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I’m yours,” I gasped, my voice choked with need. “I’m yours.”
The trio exchanged triumphant smiles, their eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Good boy,” Giselle cooed, her fingers trailing down my chest. “Now let’s remind you why you belong to us.”
They took turns, their bodies moving over mine in a rhythm that felt both familiar and new. Yeji’s lips claimed mine, her kisses deep and hungry, while Giselle’s hands explored every inch of me, igniting fires wherever she touched. Julie’s voice whispered in my ear, her words a mix of encouragement and command, urging me to give in completely.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the sound of our bodies slapping together echoing in the room. My mind was a haze of pleasure and pain, desire and despair. I wanted to hate them, to push them away and reclaim my life, but my body craved them in a way I couldn’t deny.
“You’re ours,” Yeji whispered again, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos. “And we’ll never let you go.”
As if to emphasize her words, she leaned down, her lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. Giselle’s hands tightened on my hips, guiding my movements as she took her turn, her body moving in perfect sync with mine. Julie’s teeth grazed my neck, her breath hot against my skin as she moaned in pleasure.
The room seemed to spin, the boundaries between us blurring as we became a tangled mess of limbs and desires. I couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the others began. It was as if we were one, connected by something deeper than just physical need.
“You’re ours,” Giselle whispered, her voice a sultry purr. “And you always will be.”
My hands roamed their bodies, my fingers memorizing every curve, every detail. I couldn’t stop myself, couldn’t resist the pull they had on me. It was as if they had cast a spell, one that I was powerless to break.
“You’re ours,” Julie repeated, her voice a tantalizing whisper. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped, my voice trembling with need. “I’m yours.”
The words seemed to ignite something in them, their movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. Yeji’s nails dug into my skin, leaving marks that would serve as a reminder of this moment. Giselle’s hips moved with a furious pace, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Julie’s lips claimed mine, her kiss fierce and demanding.
The pleasure built, a crescendo that threatened to consume me. I could feel myself teetering on the edge, my body trembling with the effort to hold on. And then, with a shuddering gasp, I let go, surrendering completely to the sensations that crashed over me.
They didn’t let up, didn’t give me a moment to catch my breath. Instead, they continued, their bodies moving over mine in a relentless rhythm that left me gasping for air. It was as if they were determined to claim every part of me, to leave no doubt in my mind that I belonged to them.
“You’re ours,” Yeji whispered, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos. “And we’ll never let you go.”
The words echoed in my mind, a mantra that I couldn’t escape. I wanted to believe them, to believe that this was where I belonged, but a small part of me still fought, still clung to the hope of something more.
But as their bodies moved over mine, their hands and mouths claiming me in ways I could never forget, that hope began to fade, replaced by the certainty that I would never escape them. Not now. Not ever.
“You’re ours,” Giselle whispered, her voice a sultry purr. “And you always will be.”
The room was a blur of heat and desire, the boundaries between us blurring as we became one. I couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the others began. It was as if we were connected by something deeper than just physical need.
“You’re ours,” Julie whispered, her voice a tantalizing whisper. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped, my voice trembling with need. “I’m yours.”
The words seemed to ignite something in them, their movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. Yeji’s nails dug into my skin, leaving marks that would serve as a reminder of this moment. Giselle’s hips moved with a furious pace, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Julie’s lips claimed mine, her kiss fierce and demanding.
The pleasure built again, a crescendo that threatened to consume me. I could feel myself teetering on the edge, my body trembling with the effort to hold on. And then, with a shuddering gasp, I let go, surrendering completely to the sensations that crashed over me.
They didn’t let up, didn’t give me a moment to catch my breath. Instead, they continued, their bodies moving over mine in a relentless rhythm that left me gasping for air. It was as if they were determined to claim every part of me, to leave no doubt in my mind that I belonged to them.
“You’re ours,” Yeji whispered, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos. “And we’ll never let you go.”
The words echoed in my mind, a mantra that I couldn’t escape. I wanted to believe them, to believe that this was where I belonged, but a small part of me still fought, still clung to the hope of something more.
But as their bodies moved over mine, their hands and mouths claiming me in ways I could never forget, that hope began to fade, replaced by the certainty that I would never escape them. Not now. Not ever.
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tossawary ¡ 2 days ago
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Every now and again, I'll come across some fanfiction in which an emotionally conflicted character will consult (usually kind of trashy) romance novels or in-universe fanfiction for advice or information. And it almost always snaps my suspension of disbelief.
If it's some terminally online teenage geek character or a hopeless romantic bookworm character? Sure! And, of course, there's great humor to be had in a sporty jock struggling with his queer awakening hesitantly picking up the bodice-ripper that his mum left on the coffee table. There ARE scenarios where "romance novels and fanfic as research" tracks just fine. I also understand the existence of the "I want to give this character I like the hobbies I like" / "I want to poke fun at this type / genre of fiction" aspect on the author's side.
But in any scenario with some normie adult man? Some straight, cisgender guy with normie dude hobbies and no evidence that he even CAN read, much less that he enjoys reading? Then it's a "not only would he not fucking do this, I honestly don't even believe he'd know this course of action exists" characterization situation.
Like, there are an astonishing number of people, especially dudes, who could not even name a romance novel to save their fucking life. No, not even a Jane Austen novel or "Twilight" or something. Their eyes glaze over that section of a bookstore. They are mentally filing that shit out to leave more room for sports or first-person-shooter video games or something. They have no respect for this type of fiction, if they're into reading fiction at all! They unconsciously or even explicitly believe that making eye contact with a bodice-ripper will permanently damage their masculinity, and they would flinch away from touching one like most people are scared of scorpions. They don't know aaaaanything about it! They have no concept of "the good stuff" versus "the bad stuff"; it's all soap operas and pornography to them, not a source of information.
And lots of people still don't even know that fanfiction is a thing. They go through life blissfully unaware of fandom wank. Or if they do know of fanfiction, it holds no appeal for them. Playing with other people's characters, or writing fictional stories about real people, is weirdo fanatic behavior to them! Not a source of information.
(And, to be clear, I'm not saying this tracks for all female characters. No, obviously, plenty of women don't like romance novels or fanfic. Plenty of women who do like those would never look at them as sources of information either, for a variety of very good reasons. It's just really funny when a story has the most normie bro guy to ever bro engage with this type of fiction.)
So, like, no, there are some characters whom I cannot be persuaded would ever read any of this stuff. (Speaking as a terminally online fanatic!) And honestly, there are plenty of more realistic and far funnier options for some normie dude character looking for love advice.
A) Friends and family. Or else colleagues and coworkers. It is almost always hilarious when a character goes up to someone else and says, "Hey, hypothetical scenario: [the stupidest shit you've heard in your life]. Any advice for that?" Also, you can have sincerely emotional conversations between friends! Or else good angst if the friend or family member reacts in a hostile manner or gives bad advice!
B) A magazine or chick flick movie. I can easily be persuaded that a normie dude would at least know these exist, or have one left at his house by an ex-girlfriend who made him watch it one time. Normie dudes are also more likely to consider these big publications more legitimate for advice than random romance novels or fanfic.
C) Some random advice column blog or non-fiction self-help book. Could be legitimately good advice for specific situations by a thoughtful professional, could be a money-grab scam written by a quack! How is some lovesick, emotionally dense guy supposed to tell by a book cover?
D) On that note: a relationship advice TikTok influencer or YouTuber or some random advice forum, probably Reddit or the like. The pros and the quacks are unhelpfully everywhere now! And possibly even have a live chat acting as their studio audience to make airing dirty laundry more toxic than ever. Potentially, you will find the kindest person alive with a terrible username willing to gently walk you through therapy, the online equivalent of meeting a figurative angel in a dive bar, but probably not. Bad advice is much more likely.
E) Doing no research, remaining uninformed, and blustering through the situation based on random pre-conceptions if anything. Honestly, I think some of these guys would just ignore the problem, even a potentially deadly problem, rather than touch a Harlequin romance novel, much less AO3 fanfiction. Sexism and internalized homophobia are a hell of a drug. It's just not happening.
I don't have a clean conclusion for this, it's just a funny thing that I've noticed every now and again. There ARE guys who like these types of fiction, of course! There ARE male characters who own an e-reader full of rom novels, sure, and don't give a shit what anyone else thinks. "This [normie male character who is both pretty offline and worries about appearing sufficiently masculine in a pretty toxic way] is reading a lot of romance novels and/or fanfiction as a form of research!" Yeah, no, that's really hard to pull off. If this guy is touching the internet at all, he's far more likely to make the most ridiculous Reddit post you've ever seen and then start belligerent fights in the comments.
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