#i'm actually leaning towards operators

[gf2bellamy]

concerned — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you have to go undercover and spencer doesn't like it content warnings: mention of unsub and his victims a/n: i'm definitely back in my spencer era <3

You had been working tirelessly alongside the team for days, pouring over profiles and victimology. The unsub had a clear pattern, targeting young women in bars, women who exuded just the right mix of confidence and vulnerability.  Hotch stood at the front of the room, outlining the plan. As he reached the part about luring the unsub out, his gaze shifted to you.   

“You’ll be the target,” he said simply, like it was the most logical conclusion.   Your stomach did a small flip, but you nodded, pushing aside any hesitation. After analyzing the victims’ profiles, it made sense. You fit his type. But before you could fully process the plan, a voice broke the silence.

“Wait—what?”   

You turned, startled, to see Spencer, his wide eyes darting between you and Hotch. The entire team paused, their attention snapping to him.   

Hotch’s brow arched slightly. “Is there a problem, Reid?” he asked, his tone pointed.  Spencer froze, his face flushing a deep shade of red. He clearly hadn’t meant to speak out loud, and now he was trapped under the weight of everyone’s gaze.   

“Uh—uhm, I just… I thought maybe she could…” He stumbled over his words, gesturing vaguely toward the case files as if searching for an excuse. “...help me with… uh… something else? Or maybe—”   

He cut himself off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.   

Derek leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. His gaze flicked between you and Spencer, and you knew instantly that he had caught on to what was happening. Hotch didn’t look amused. His focus returned to you, dismissing Spencer’s flustered protest.

“Get ready,” he nodded at you, before returning to the briefing as if nothing had happened.  As the team dispersed to prepare for the operation, Emily sidled up beside you, her expression sly.   

“Looks like someone’s a little worried about you,” she said with a teasing smile, her voice low enough that only you could hear.   

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth rising in your cheeks betrayed you. “He’s just being... Spencer,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant.   

Emily chuckled as she patted your arm. “Sure. Whatever you say.”   

She walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart thudding a little harder than it should have.   

You glanced over at Spencer, who was still at the far end of the room, pretending to busy himself with paperwork. He wasn’t looking at you now, but the pink flush on his cheeks hadn’t faded.  You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. Maybe Emily wasn’t entirely wrong.   

Spencer was hunched over the file, his eyes darting across the page, but you could tell he wasn’t actually reading it. Every so often, his gaze flicked up toward you and then quickly back down, like he was trying to be subtle and failing miserably.   

“Spence,” you said softly as you walked over to him.   

He stiffened slightly but looked up, meeting your gaze for the briefest of moments. “Hmm?” he hummed, his voice nonchalant, though you could see the unease written all over his face.   

You stopped in front of him, offering a small smile. “I’ll be okay. You know that, right?”   

His hand went to the back of his neck, scratching it nervously as he avoided your eyes. “I know that,” he mumbled, though his tone wasn’t convincing.   

“Do you?” You tilted your head, trying to catch his gaze.   

Spencer finally looked up at you, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “He just seems dangerous,” he said, his words spilling out quickly. “And fast. And I’m concerned that we won’t be quick enough, that something could happen to you before—”   

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm to stop the ramble before he could spiral further. The touch was brief, mindful of how Spencer felt about physical contact, but it was enough to catch his attention.   

“Spence, stop,” you said softly, cutting through his anxious train of thought. His eyes met yours fully now, the worry in them clear as day.

“How about I ask Hotch if Derek can be in the bar too?” you suggested, your tone light, though you were serious. “As extra backup? Will that make you feel better?”   

He hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing the idea. Then, with a small exhale, he nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said, a faint, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips.   

“Good,” you said, grinning softly. “See? Problem solved.”   

Before you turned to leave, you gave his arm a light squeeze. “I’ll be fine, Spencer,” you said again.

He watched you walk away, his eyes following you as if to reassure himself. Though he didn’t say it aloud, the small, grateful smile on his face told you everything you needed to know. 

[bittertasteofhoney]

Good Day Sunshine | Ch. 1

Seems Like Years Since It's Been Here

Summary: You’re fully immersed in your sunny life in Jackson when a certain Miller brother’s harsh nature cracks your bright demeanor.

|| angst, jackson!joel, jackson!tommy, this will be a slooooooowwww burn, joel being a bit of a butthole ||

Notes: My first time ever posting on tumblr so please be kind! Also if this isn’t your thing, feel free to keep exploring. :) I had to put my brain rot somewhere. This idea would not leave me alone. 

The characters, names and characterizations belong to HBO Max and The Last of Us franchise. This work is my creative property and aside of re-blogs and shares, I do not give permission to share or copy my work without permission or consent.

The sun burns your back in a way that translates to a hard day’s work. Your knees ache and you are elbow-deep in soil, but your cheeks also hurt from grinning with your co-workers. Being a part of the gardening crew in Jackson wasn’t an easy task but in your opinion, it was one of the most gratifying. 

Everyone had their talents. Some were good with their hands in the way that saw wood transformed into reinforced gates for the town or furniture to welcome a newbie home. Others were the brains behind the operation, making sure the cogs in the great machine that was Jackson were well-oiled and plentiful, to not only make sure everyone was safe but they had room to thrive and help the town in turn. 

Within the garden, you got to witness the beauty of the deep soil nurturing the seeds and growing the food that kept the town going. In tandem with the farmers, you made sure each citizen of Jackson went to bed with a stomach filled with wholesome food. 

It was life complete with such harmony that it was easy to forget what lurked beyond the gates. You rarely ever ventured out thanks to your steady position in the rows of produce. There were times where you wished you could be of more help but the days of prowling through the woods with a gun clutched in your hand were thankfully behind you. 

Life existed before Jackson but you were only interested in keeping your sights on your future here. 

You stand, bracing your hands on your hips as you stretch out your legs and back from hours spent knelt over weeding and clipping. 

“You goin’ to check the inventory?” Your head snaps to your coworker, Roberta, who was also standing for a stretch break. Her bright, red hair shining under the midday sun and her clothes equally speckled with dirt. You flash her one of your well-known smiles and give her a small shake of the head. 

“No. Actually, I'm going to check to see if that welcome box got picked up before I grab lunch for everyone.” She gives you a nod of her head and continues twisting from side to side to stretch out her joints. You lean down to grab the mason jar you keep near you during the day to stay hydrated and head to the greenhouse. 

You pass by rows of your other coworkers working through their to-do list under the Wyoming sun, waving and smiling as you pass. 

Your nickname, Sunshine, was well-earned throughout town. You didn’t realize it but after a year or two living here, you became known not by your overall appearance or bright personality but the thousand-watt smile you always flashed towards people, friends or strangers. Like everyone in Jackson knew, life past the gates was harsh beyond words. In your mind, a smile could go a long way if someone was struggling with memories from life before or if they were still recovering from those monstrous memories.

However, your smile never seemed to work on a certain Miller brother, recently returned from an seemingly impromptu trip outside Jackson. He left just as fast as he came and the most you were able to see of him was a glimpse of a tense conversation between him and his brother Tommy, Maria and the little girl Ellie in the mess hall before he and Ellie were gone again the next day.

When the pair returned, they kept close to one another, leaving little for any outside introductions. Eventually, Ellie befriended one of the local girls and in turn, settled into the younger Jackson population. Meanwhile, Joel kept close to Tommy and Maria. You occasionally bumped into him around town, while walking to work or at the Tipsy Bison. Like clockwork, you always flashed him a smile but in turn rarely got anything more than a grimace and if you were lucky, a grunt. Those always turned out to be good days. 

Despite how many smiles you flashed at him, knocks on his front door and reminders to Tommy, neither Joel nor Ellie ever came to pick up their welcome produce box. To make the transition into Jackson life simpler, your team always curated a box filled with the season’s fresh veggies and fruits, a selection of canned spreads, a baked good or two and coffee. 

Jackson’s citizens picked up their weekly rations like clockwork and ate a majority of their meals at the mess hall. These boxes and weekly rations made it easy to make breakfast at home, have nutritious snacks on hand and host the occasional gathering at one’s own home. Joel however, took it upon himself to not even bother with stocking up the home and instead make the mess hall his and Ellie’s only food destination.

You couldn’t blame them really. It was convenient and there was always friendly conversation to be had but all the same. Their welcome box was starting to wilt.

You step into the greenhouse and spot the cardboard box sitting next to the inventory station. Dropping your mason jar in the communal sink, you pick up the box and head up the road towards the direction of the Miller house. The walk was on the long side but you welcome the feeling of the breeze and a chance to move more than from one row of tomatoes to the next. You spot a patch of wildflowers and decide to pluck them to add a little life to the box.

You spot their crooked mailbox and walk up the path, dropping the box on their stoop before knocking on the door. After a few minutes of polite tapping, you realize no one is home. You could drop the box on the stoop and head to the mess hall but you want to make sure they knew how the town’s ration system worked and you couldn’t trust Tommy to explain it truthfully. That man will flash a wink and smile any day of the week if it means he can snag a little extra of anything to surprise Maria with. It usually worked too. It was hard saying no to the town’s resident hero and handyman. 

You shake your head to yourself and lift the box again to head into the main part of town to hit up the mess hall for sandwiches for your crew. A few minutes of smiles and neighborly waves later, you enter the bustling building filled to the brim thanks to the lunchtime hour. 

You step inside almost tripping over a gaggle of your neighbor Lisa’s kids playing near the entrance. You smile off the almost misstep and continue inside, spotting the serving station. You weave around a few tables almost reaching the counter when you hear a familiar booming laugh. You smirk, knowing that goofing cadence anywhere. Tommy Miller. 

Your eyes scan the room until you see the mop of curly, black waves and next to him, a shorter set of grayer waves. Bingo. Smiling to yourself, you redirect your path up to their table, slowing down when you catch a piece of their conversation. Joel’s back was to you and Tommy was too busy frowning at his brother to notice your slow approach. Both were clothed in dusty plaids and denim, matching the overall town population.

“Oh, c’mon Joel. Stop being so hard. All you gotta do is pick up the damn box and get on with your day. Stop making work for everyone else.” You see the back of Joel’s head snap up, previously fixated on the plate in front of him.

“I ain’t making work. It’s plenty easy grabbin’ food here throughout the day and plus it saves me from Little Miss Sunshine.” You freeze about a table’s length away from them. 

Jesse, one of the town's younger patrolmen notices you pause next to him and he half turns to you, cracking a crooked smile. You don’t notice him until you feel a slight tug on your work shorts. You frown down at him, still listening.

Tommy groans in annoyance. “Really? Of course you’d have a problem with the sweetest girl in town.”

“I don’t have a problem. I just don’t feel like wastin’ my time on idle small talk is all. There’s no point.”

“She’s just bein’ nice, Joel. Can’t really blame her.” You can almost feel Joel’s eyes narrowing at his brother.

“I ain’t got time to spend losing brain cells to listen to some airhead talk. Don’t worry. I’ll send Ellie to pick it up.” You see Tommy scrunch his eyebrows at Joel, half incredulous and half pissed.

“Really? And she’ll pick up your weekly rations too? Scared Sunshine’ll flash you a smile and you’ll fall-” 

You don’t wait to hear the rest. You take a deep breath and finally turn towards Jesse and hold out the box to him. “Mind handing that over to Joel for me?” You give him a weak, watery smile. “I gotta grab food for the crew and he seems a bit tied up.” 

Jesse nods at you confused and replies, “‘Course.”

You scurry off to the counter to quickly grab a set of sandwiches before beelining for the exit, counting to twenty in your head to keep the tears at bay. Airhead. You shake your head to propel the thought momentarily away while you walk outside. 

Meanwhile, Jesse walks up to the table and deposits the produce box in front of Joel. The older Miller peers down at the arrangement of goods in confusion and looks up at Tommy who passes the look to Jesse. The younger boy shrugs and motions to your hurrying form. “She asked me to drop it. Said y’all looked busy.”

Tommy’s eyes catch a glimpse of you and he’s quick to notice your rushed steps.“Shit. She hear anythin’?” The only response the two brothers get to Tommy’s question is the narrowed look Jesse gives Joel. 

Joel hangs his head muttering under his breath before swinging his leg over the bench, abandoning the harsh look his brother was pointing towards him and the box of good intentions. He takes quick strides to the exit, hoping to catch you before you get too far down the street but when he steps back into the sunlight, you’re long gone down a side street he has yet to discover.  

Next Chapter.

[won1eluv]

dating with baek kang hyuk headcanon! sfw-nsfw(If you are going to be uncomfortable with the nsfw content, please do not read)

SFW

⌕ back to the beginning, if he realizes he likes you, he might get confused, even if he’s dated someone in the past, he didn’t know if it was the right time. but when his feelings grow, it’ll be hard for you to even understand when you’re dating.

⌕ because he’s a straight-laced guy and will say it openly. he might not be very romantic but when he’s drinking coffee with you on the roof, he’ll say “you know what? i love you” before taking a sip and it might make you spit the coffee in the air.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

“I SAID I LOVE YOU! do i have to yell like you?”

⌕ even though he’s always on the job, his eyes are always on you (except in the operating room, you know he needs to focus and he’ll try not to let you ruin it)

⌕ but of course, if he notices someone acting too close to you when he’s spying on you, it’s a different story. even if they're not very flirty, that smile on your face is enough to make him frown and come over to you two.

"yah! anus! don't you have any work to do, are you still hanging around here? get out!" the nickname he gave him made you laugh, while jae-won smiled shyly at you and quickly left because of kang hyuk's fear. kang hyuk looked around with a fake stretch and finally turned to you "it looks like you still have time to flirt with someone. should i give you more work?"

or if you can't find the person you're looking for, you can be sure that it's because of him.

"have you seen jae-won? he invited me for coffee but didn't show up after that."

"oh him? he's a little busy right now."

"really? but he said-"

your sentence was cut short as jae-won, who was running around, quickly passed you in the hallway, kang hyuk turned to you and narrowed his eyes, leaning towards you a little "what a shame. i have to fill your coffee time now."

⌕ It might be hard for him to admit that he's jealous at first, let's say his ego won't let him.

"wait a minute - were you jealous just now? that look is definitely different."

"don't be ridiculous. I'm just trying to distribute the work properly."

but if you push him...

"what's the problem if I'm jealous? we're dating, right? so stop yapping and get back to work."

⌕ we all know that he likes to give people nicknames. and yes. you have a too. and no. it's not romantic(yet)

he mostly likes to embarrass you in front of people. he likes your furrowed eyebrows and shy looks when you're angry at him. he's actually looking at you with love at the moment, but you might not notice it because you're angry (everyone but you see and know this look)

"chicken, can you give me that file?"

"how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?" you dropped the file in his hand harshly and he just grinned at you. "what's the problem? It suits you."

but things can change when you don't expect it. in the middle of the night, as you are getting ready to fall asleep with difficulty, the hand caressing your hair and the small kiss he places on your head, followed by the sentence "my best medicine." makes you open your eyes quickly and look at him.

"what did you just say?!'

a small giggle filled the room, his voice deep and sleepy, then looked at you with a smile "what happened chicken? are you surprised?"

⌕ he has a hard time sleeping. he definitely makes sure you get enough sleep but it can't be said that he does the same for himself, no matter how much you insist.

but when he finally finds a time to sleep, if you don't have anything important to do, he quickly calls you into the room and doesn't hesitate to bury his head in your neck. "i'm tired. stay still."

or...

"finally. this place doesn't smell like a hospital."

he just needs your scent and warmth at that moment. even if he doesn't get enough sleep, it's okay, that 3 minute calm moment is enough for him to regain his energy.

NSFW

⌕ he is definitely dominant and likes to take control. If you try to be in control, he is likely to make fun of you "do you think you can do this?"

⌕ he doesn't like to rush when he has a lot of time. he mostly likes to watch your reactions, observe what you like and don't like, and get to know your body.

⌕ oh and speaking of bodies, he definitely understands bodies very well. sometimes he stop it especially at the point of pleasure because hearing your whines gives him new reasons to make fun of you.

"I'm not even in, are you giving up already?"

"oh, you like it? then stop holding your voice, there's no one here to hear you."

⌕ we all know this guy is a doctor. so why this detail?

because he definitely has a strong body that can go on more rounds.

sometimes when you think you're done, he can ask for more because he can't resist you. but he also knows that too much pleasure will hurt after a while so... If you're lucky, he will care about that and give you time to rest. "one more round, hm? one last time, I promise. I know it hurts, this will be the last" (liar)

⌕ straightforward. loves to embarrass/annoy you and has a big ego. the only result of this combo is that he's a big expert in dirty talk.

it's not something he can do, he just likes to tell you the way you make him feel, he wants you to know how you drive him crazy.

especially when he whispers in your ear when he's out of breath...

"look at you, you were bolder a moment ago. now you're shaking with pleasure under me. are you going to keep talking big now?"

"hm? do you want me to go faster? what a shame, we still have time. let's stay like this for a while hm?"

"tired already? you wanted to be on top so don't whine and keep moving those hips."

"fuck- that's it. hang on for me a little longer, you feel so good."

⌕ he becomes the sweetest person in the world in aftercare :')

it's important for him to you relax and fall asleep after sex. so even if you're tired, he'll carry you to the bathroom in his arms if necessary and take care of all the work.

"after 5 minutes-" you find yourself in his arms without letting you finish your sentence "I better clean you up before those 5 minutes turn into 5 hours."

he'll caress your back, waist and hair until you fall asleep. a few kisses on your forehead and sweet little whispers. after he's sure you're asleep, he'll whisper one last time before closing his eyes "i love you."

hello??? I need him😭

[witherby]

I come with a trade proposal

You receive: 🧋🍩❤️🔁

I receive: mermaid reader pt 3

Hmm 🤔 I think I can cobble together some more mermaid content. Deal!

Human!Damian x Mer!Reader, Part 3

Click here for Part 1

Click here for Part 2

Reader will come back in the next part. Reblogs will make that part come out faster!

"Father."

Bruce looks away from the computer and sits back, the leather of his chair squeaking slightly. He shoots his son a brief smile and gestures him further into the Aquarium's office. Damian complies, walking past ugly, water-themed wallpaper and varying plaques and certifications that proclaim their successful operations, until he's standing on the other side of the desk. He watches his dad push a small stack of files aside, then use his coffee mug as a paperweight. He just barely hides a grimace.

"How can I help you, Tadpole?"

"I've observed a new behavior with our mer," Damian says, straight to the point like always. He lets his palms splay onto the desk, brushing against mahogany riddled with chips, scratches, and ring stains from a total disregard for coasters. "It started about a week ago. I'd like to grab the files we have on wild mer behavior and cross-reference what I can with what they're doing."

Bruce snorts. He's already standing to pull the research from its corresponding cabinet. "Surprised you don't have these documents memorized already, or photocopied for yourself. What's the new behavior you're seeing?"

"They're more eager than ever to get me into the tank," Damian says, grabbing the binder and flipping through each page with clear familiarity. "I thought perhaps they were finally getting lonely, or bored enough to form a stress response, but they're not doing it to any of the other handlers. They're also leaving gifts for me on the lip of the tank where they take their meals. When I do get in to swim with them, they won't stop bumping me with the edge of their tail, and —"

Damian stops talking when his father puts his arms on the desk and sits his head on top.

"Do you know something about this?"

"Can't believe..." Bruce mumbles, the rest of his sentence lost. Damian leans towards him eagerly, green eyes alight.

"Repeat that?" He asks. Bruce hardly ever interacted with their mer, so the fact that he knows something Damian doesn't is intriguing beyond belief. "Father?"

"I, ah..." Bruce sits up and rubs his temples. He looks a combination of stressed and amused, like he can't tell if he wants to laugh about the situation or cry. "I said, I can't believe my first child-in-law is gonna be a mer."

Damian frowns. "Elaborate."

"What you've described, Tadpole," Bruce says, waving a hand in his direction, "is courting behavior. They think you're their mate. Prospective mate at the very least."

The taller man walks around the desk, is easy, almost jovial attitude replaced by deadly seriousness.

"I'm gonna come with you at dinnertime to watch their behavior more closely," Bruce states, tone leaving no room for argument. "If there's a chance this mating isn't actually "completed" yet, then you'll have to be unassigned from their care."

Damian feels his heart clench, something inside him twisting almost painfully as he stares wide-eyed at his dad.

"What!?"

[kyunghwannie]

"Second Chances" (Part:1)

Yoo Jeongyeon x M!Reader

➤Genre: Romance, Smut, Second Chances in Love, Slight and minor little angst(?)

➤Tags: It's just fluffy lovemaking (Still a smut though)

➤Teaser: Losing the one you loved doesn’t mean you can't find that love in someone else. Because you certainly changed her mind about that. (A/n: Small rant: I hate the 1000 Block limit)

Chapter 1: A Night to Remember

Scene: Jeongyeon’s House – Late Afternoon

The sun peeked through the half-drawn curtains, casting a soft orange hue across the modest living room. Toys were scattered here and there—plastic dinosaurs, crayons without caps, a half-built LEGO tower leaning like it was exhausted too.

Jeongyeon stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, a pot simmering quietly on the stove. She stirred out of habit more than need, her eyes drifting toward the living room where her five-year-old son was sprawled out on the carpet, deeply engrossed in a cartoon.

There was peace in this routine. And a quiet loneliness she didn’t talk about.

"You should really get a dishwasher," came Nayeon’s voice from behind as she leaned against the kitchen counter, munching on a baby carrot she’d stolen from the fridge.

Jeongyeon didn’t even flinch. "You should really stop showing up uninvited."

"Please. You’d miss me if I didn’t." Nayeon smirked, tossing a piece of carrot toward Jeongyeon, who dodged it with the grace of someone who’d been friends with her too long.

"Don’t encourage her," Jihyo chimed in as she stepped through the front door, holding a bag of groceries. "You know how she gets when she's bored."

Jeongyeon shot both women a tired look but smiled anyway. "You two act like you don’t have lives of your own."

"We do," Jihyo said cheerfully, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. "But this is more fun."

"Intervention, actually," Nayeon added, brushing imaginary lint from her jeans. "We came for a mission."

Jeongyeon raised an eyebrow. "A mission."

"Operation: You-Need-To-Get-Laid," Nayeon said with zero shame and both hands in the air like she was announcing a game show prize.

Jeongyeon blinked slowly. "You’re unbelievable."

"No, she’s just observant," Jihyo defended, lifting out a bottle of wine and setting it aside like a prop. "And she’s right. When was the last time you went out just for yourself? No kid. No work. Just... Jeongyeon."

There was a pause. Jeongyeon stirred the soup again, slower this time.

"It’s been five years, hasn’t it?" Nayeon asked, her tone softening. "Since he passed."

Jeongyeon didn’t answer, but the shift in her posture said enough.

"You’re still young, Jeong," Jihyo said gently. "You deserve more than just bedtime stories and reheated soup."

From the living room, her son let out a laugh—small, pure, and full of joy. Jeongyeon’s lips curled into a faint smile.

"He’s enough."

"He’s your whole world, we know," Nayeon replied, stepping closer. "But you’re still part of that world too. You can’t forget yourself forever."

Jeongyeon met her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t push the thought away instantly.

Jeongyeon leaned against the counter, arms crossed now, as if trying to shield herself from the invisible pull of their words.

"I'm serious, guys," she said, though her voice was softer. "I’m not ready for... anything like that."

"No one's asking you to marry a stranger," Nayeon replied, leaning her hip on the counter, voice smooth. "We just want you to remember what it feels like to be noticed. To laugh with someone new. To look at a man and know he’s looking right back at you—not because you're a mom, or a widow... but because you're you."

Jeongyeon’s throat tightened. She looked away, but Jihyo stepped into her line of sight, eyes shining—not with pity, but with affection.

"You're still beautiful, Jeong," Jihyo whispered. "You still deserve to feel adored."

"You act like I’ve turned into a ghost," Jeongyeon mumbled with a light chuckle, trying to defuse the weight in the air.

"You act like you’re not the most effortlessly stunning person in any room you walk into," Nayeon shot back, flashing her a look. "Do you know what it’s like watching men glance your way when we go shopping? Or that barista last week who practically melted handing you that latte?"

"He spilled milk on his own shoe," Jeongyeon said dryly.

"Exactly," Nayeon grinned. "You're still magnetic. But you’ve locked all that charm away like it’s a sin."

Jihyo stepped closer, voice softer now—more persuasive than pushy.

"We’re not trying to push you into anything," she said, gently taking Jeongyeon's hand. "But tonight... let yourself just exist. No titles. No expectations. Just Jeongyeon. Let her breathe a little."

"Let her dance," Nayeon added, her eyes twinkling. "Let her flirt. Hell, let her be kissed."

Jeongyeon held back a smile, but it flickered at the corner of her lips. The warmth in the room shifted, like the wind had changed direction.

"And if something... or someone... catches your eye," Jihyo said, squeezing her hand, "you don’t have to run from it. You’re allowed to want more."

"More what?" Jeongyeon asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nayeon stepped beside her and whispered with a teasing smile, "More smiles. More sparks. Maybe... more hands in your hair and whispers in your ear. You know. The good kind."

Jeongyeon rolled her eyes, but she was laughing now—and the laugh sounded like a piece of her long buried under grief had peeked out again.

"You two are dangerous."

"No," Jihyo said, tugging her toward the hallway. "We’re your best friends."

"And tonight," Nayeon added, already flinging open Jeongyeon’s closet, "we're your fairy godmothers. Now go shower. You're not wearing those mom jeans to meet your destiny."

As Nayeon tore through outfit after outfit, tossing half of Jeongyeon’s closet onto the bed with theatrical grunts, Jihyo remained quiet—just watching her best friend with that knowing, grounded look only she ever truly mastered.

Jeongyeon sat on the edge of her bed, arms limp at her sides, her smile from earlier fading into something more solemn. She stared out the window, watching the sun dip lower, as if uncertain whether she should let the night arrive.

"You know what this feels like?" she said softly. "Like I’m betraying him."

The room stilled. Even Nayeon froze mid-blouse toss, her arms half-raised.

"Jeong..." Jihyo said carefully, stepping forward.

"I know you two mean well," Jeongyeon continued, not looking at them. "But every time I think about putting on a dress, or letting someone flirt with me, I see his face. And it hurts. It makes me feel like I’m choosing someone else over him."

Her voice trembled on the last word.

And that’s when Jihyo stepped in—slowly, purposefully—and knelt in front of her.

"You’re not choosing someone else over him," she said, taking Jeongyeon’s hand. "You’d be choosing someone because of him."

Jeongyeon blinked, eyes glossing.

"You remember that letter he wrote?" Jihyo asked gently. "The one you let us read that night after the funeral... when the baby was just a few months old?"

Jeongyeon swallowed hard.

"I remember."

"Then you remember what he said in the last paragraph," Jihyo pressed, squeezing her hand. "That he didn’t want to be the reason you stopped living. That if you ever found someone who made your heart skip again... someone who could hold your hand when things get quiet and the grief comes creeping back... he wanted you to take it. Take the chance."

Jeongyeon’s lips parted like she might speak—but no words came.

"That’s not betrayal, Jeong," Jihyo said softly. "That’s honoring him. He gave you permission to keep loving. Because he knew you’d have so much of it left after he was gone."

Nayeon slowly walked over, holding a soft navy dress in her hands—simple, elegant, understated.

"You’re not forgetting him," she said, her voice quiet for once. "You’re just remembering yourself."

A silence settled, deep and meaningful. Then finally—after what felt like a century—Jeongyeon exhaled.

Long. Shaky.

And nodded.

"Okay."

Nayeon’s eyes widened. "Okay?!"

Jeongyeon smiled, this time with something lighter in her chest. "Okay. I’ll go."

"Girl, you better—!" Nayeon squealed, rushing forward and throwing the dress into Jeongyeon’s lap.

"But if I end up in the news for kicking some sleazy guy’s shin," Jeongyeon warned, pointing at them, "I’m blaming both of you."

"Please. With that face, that voice, and those legs? They’ll be the ones crawling to you," Nayeon grinned.

Jihyo chuckled. "Let’s just get her ready before she changes her mind."

The navy dress was gently set aside as Nayeon sprang to her feet with a dramatic gasp.

"No, no—wait! I just remembered something better."

Jeongyeon blinked. "Better than that?"

Nayeon darted out of the room like a storm on heels, yelling from the hallway,

"Jihyo, remember that vintage dress we got on that impulse shopping trip last year? The one we said Jeong would never agree to wear?"

Jihyo's eyes lit up. "The polka dot one with the pleats and the bow?!"

"Yes!! Get the steamer ready!"

Jeongyeon raised an eyebrow, skeptical but too exhausted to argue.

"You two are acting like I’m about to walk a red carpet."

Jihyo shot her a look. "You’re walking into a bar with us. That’s our red carpet."

Moments later, Nayeon returned, dress draped over her arms like she was presenting a priceless treasure.

"Tada!" she beamed.

Jeongyeon’s eyes widened. It was beautiful—more than she expected. The fabric shimmered subtly under the light, the light beige and dark green tones catching her breath. Black polka dots danced across it with just enough flair to be playful. Ruffles framed the front and sleeves, not in an overpowering way, but enough to make a statement. The bowtie neckline sat just beneath the striped high collar, all wrapped up in vintage sophistication.

"You seriously expect me to wear that?" Jeongyeon asked, eyeing the sheer sleeves and dark green pleated panels along the sides.

"I expect you to wear it and make men cry," Nayeon replied proudly.

After a few playful protests and a whole lot of laughter, Jeongyeon found herself standing in front of the full-length mirror, now dressed—unrecognizably so.

Nayeon was behind her, carefully working on her hair. A few elegant twists, pinned and tucked, turned her soft brown strands into a messy updo, with a couple wispy tendrils curling by her cheeks and ears. A faint spritz of floral mist hung in the air.

"I look..."

Jeongyeon didn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t.

Jihyo, sitting on the edge of the bed, gave her a soft, satisfied smile. "Like a woman who deserves to be loved again."

"You’re not just a mom," Nayeon added, tying the bow around Jeongyeon’s collar. "You’re still you. And tonight, we want the world to remember that too."

Jeongyeon looked at herself in the mirror. The dress, the hair, the gentle blush of makeup across her cheeks—it was like seeing a memory of someone she used to be, but now stronger, wiser... ready to feel again.

And in her chest, something fluttered. Not fear. Not guilt.

Something closer to hope.

The sound of the front door creaking open was followed by a sudden thud and a loud:

"AUNTY CHAEYOUNG!"

A flurry of small footsteps galloped across the hallway tiles before Jeongyeon’s son, Minjae, launched himself toward the door like a mini cannonball. The boy’s squeal of excitement echoed through the house.

"I’m here! I’m here! I brought snacks, I brought games, and—yes—I brought slime!" Chaeyoung’s voice rang out with chaotic energy, right before Minjae practically tackled her knees.

"SLIME?!" he gasped in awe, his voice bouncing with uncontainable joy.

"Shhh! Indoor voices, tiny human," Chaeyoung teased, ruffling his hair before tossing her oversized tote bag onto the couch.

She crouched down to his level, holding up two fists like she was unveiling treasure.

"Okay, tonight’s options: galaxy slime, or... glow-in-the-dark dinosaur goo. Choose wisely, young warrior."

Minjae’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. "BOTH!"

"Wrong answer," Chaeyoung grinned, scooping him up and spinning him once. "But I like your spirit!"

From the hallway, Nayeon called out,

"Don’t spoil him too much or he’s going to start thinking you’re the fun mom!"

Chaeyoung peeked around the corner with Minjae clinging to her like a backpack.

"I am the fun mom. Just ask him."

Minjae stuck his tongue out at his actual mother. "She lets me eat ice cream before dinner!"

Jeongyeon stepped into the living room, her arms crossed—but a smile tugging at her lips.

"And that’s why I said no sugar tonight, Son Chae."

"Relax, I brought sugar-free fruit snacks. I’m not trying to turn him into a raccoon," Chaeyoung said with faux offense, setting Minjae down gently. The boy immediately ran toward the kitchen, yelling something about showing her his new toy spaceship.

As soon as he disappeared, Chaeyoung walked over to Jeongyeon, her eyes traveling up and down with impressed delight.

"Whoa."

"What?" Jeongyeon asked, fidgeting with the sleeve of her dress.

Chaeyoung gave a slow whistle. "I didn’t know we were sending royalty to the bar. Who are you and what did you do with Minjae’s mom?"

Jeongyeon flushed. "I feel ridiculous."

"You look beautiful," Chaeyoung said sincerely, placing a hand on Jeongyeon’s shoulder. "Like... vintage Chanel magazine-cover beautiful."

"I told you!" Nayeon shouted from the kitchen, grabbing a juice box for Minjae.

Jihyo appeared behind her, holding Jeongyeon's coat like a fashion stylist on standby.

"Honestly, if you don’t get hit on at least twice tonight, I’m filing a complaint with the universe."

Jeongyeon rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"You three are too much."

"You’ve been ‘too little’ for too long," Nayeon murmured, her voice softening.

Chaeyoung caught the tone and stepped back, giving them their moment. "Don’t worry. I’ll make sure this little whirlwind is fed, washed, and not jumping off furniture. Go be hot, have fun, and come back with a mysterious story I can pretend to believe."

Jeongyeon turned to her, gaze grateful. "Thank you, really. I don’t think I’d feel comfortable leaving him with anyone else."

Chaeyoung smiled. "Hey, he’s my favorite human under four feet. You deserve one night where your name isn’t ‘Mommy.’"

Minjae came running back, clutching his spaceship in one hand and a crayon in the other. "Aunty Chae! Look, I made him a jetpack! Wanna help me draw fire?"

Chaeyoung dropped to the floor like it was her natural habitat. "Let’s make it explode!"

As Minjae giggled and dove onto the living room rug with her, Jeongyeon stood watching for a moment. The sound of her son's laughter, the softness in the air, the gentle tug of her ruffled dress—it all swirled into a moment of stillness in her heart.

Maybe... just maybe... tonight could be a good thing.

Maybe she was ready to feel something new.

The car engine purred to life as Jihyo pulled out of Jeongyeon's driveway, the city lights starting to flicker in the distance like they were winking at them.

Jeongyeon sat in the passenger seat, her hands clutched around her purse like it was a lifeline. In the backseat, Nayeon had already kicked off her heels and was cranking up the volume on the car stereo.

“Okay, I need to set the tone for tonight,” Nayeon announced. “We’re not going out with the ghost of Jeongyeon’s past clinging to her ruffles. We’re going out with her future sitting on her neckline like a damn diamond.”

Jihyo laughed. “Preach, Sister Pastor.”

Jeongyeon turned with a sigh. “I didn’t even want to come out in the first place, you maniacs.”

“And yet,” Nayeon drawled, sliding forward to point at Jeongyeon’s legs, “those silky stockings say otherwise. Don’t lie to us with your mouth when your calves are giving single-but-open-to-fun.”

“She’s right,” Jihyo added, grinning as she switched lanes. “Your dress says Downtown Abbey, but your eyes say Downtown Daddy.”

Jeongyeon groaned, covering her face. “Why did I let you two do this to me?”

Nayeon reached forward and gently tugged at the bowtie at Jeongyeon’s neck. “Because deep down, under all that ‘Mom Mode,’ there’s still a woman who misses feeling wanted. Touched. Adored. You don’t have to marry someone tonight, Jeong. Just remember what it feels like to be the center of someone’s attention.”

Jihyo nodded, voice softening. “You were always the quiet beauty. The kind people don’t forget. You didn’t stop being that just because life got hard.”

Jeongyeon didn’t reply for a moment, staring out the window as streetlights brushed across her face in a golden rhythm.

“He really wanted this for me,” she murmured.

“Who?” Jihyo asked gently.

“My husband.” Jeongyeon smiled faintly. “He left me a letter. Said he knew I’d bury myself in motherhood and grief. Told me I deserved to smile again. Even if that smile came from someone else.”

The car fell into a still silence.

Even Nayeon, who was rarely quiet, simply leaned forward and rested a hand on Jeongyeon’s shoulder. “Then tonight... we honor him by letting you feel alive again.”

Jeongyeon swallowed hard, blinking away the unexpected sting behind her lashes. “God. Why do you two have to make me cry right before I walk into a bar?”

“Don’t worry,” Nayeon smirked. “If your mascara runs, just cry on some hot guy’s shirt. Works every time.”

“I’m not you.”

“No one is.” Nayeon leaned back smugly. “But tonight? You’re my protégé. Mama Bunny’s teaching you how to flirt again.”

“I don’t need flirting lessons.”

“You haven’t flirted in five years, Jeongyeon. That’s like... 35 in Flirt Years. You're practically a fossil.”

“Then you’re my fossil friends dragging me into extinction.”

Jihyo cracked up, slapping the steering wheel. “Shut up, that was actually good.”

“See?” Nayeon grinned, reaching over the seat to nudge Jeongyeon’s arm. “The sass is returning. She’s back, baby.”

“Halfway back,” Jeongyeon muttered. “Still feel like vomiting.”

“Totally normal,” Jihyo replied. “That’s just your body rebooting its hot-girl system. Happens to all of us after a dry spell.”

Nayeon tapped on her phone and held it up as a familiar beat filled the car.

“Okay. Final prep song. Cue confidence.”

The unmistakable bass of Doja Cat’s “Woman” flooded the car, and Nayeon howled.

“JEONGYEON, CLAIM YOUR INNER GODDESS!”

As the beat picked up, Jeongyeon couldn’t help but laugh, covering her mouth as her two best friends screamed lyrics and danced like lunatics in a moving vehicle. It was wild. Ridiculous. Loud.

But it was also warm.

It was home.

And somewhere between the thumping bass and the city lights growing brighter, Jeongyeon realized...

Maybe she was ready.

Meanwhile…

You tug your jacket over your shoulders and slide into the driver’s seat of your modest but clean car, the scent of worn leather and fresh air settling into your lungs like a balm.

The key turns. The engine hums awake.

It’s been a good day. A quietly fulfilling one.

Not loud. Not thrilling. But the kind that leaves a gentle smile tugging at the corner of your lips—like something inside you has finally exhaled.

“Alright,” you mumble to no one in particular, eyes on the soft orange hues bleeding into the horizon. “Just a drink. A soft seat. And a little music.”

It wasn’t about meeting someone. It never was.

You weren’t dressed like a man on the hunt—no cologne, no sharp-cut blazer, no coldblooded swagger. Just a loose button-up rolled to the elbows, slightly tousled hair from the breeze, and a book still sitting in the passenger seat like your most loyal companion.

The city moved around you like a lazy river. Headlights flickered past. Some couple laughed on a sidewalk. A dog barked in the distance.

You tapped your fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with the faint hum of jazz spilling from the radio.

You weren’t rugged. Or overpowering. There was nothing loud in your presence.

But people noticed you.

The way your eyes lingered just a second longer on a moment. How your words seemed like they were chosen from a shelf of poetry instead of a bin of clichés. How you smiled like you’d seen heartbreak... and forgiven it.

You were the type that women remembered long after forgetting the names of men who shouted for their attention.

“Peace and a pint,” you muttered, parking outside a small tucked-away bar you’d passed a dozen times but never entered.

It didn’t look wild.

It looked... right.

Dim lights. Soft music. A little warmth spilling from its windows like it knew you needed it.

You stepped out, closed the door gently behind you, and with one hand tucked into your pocket, walked in like a breeze—not a storm.

There was no story waiting for you inside.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

But the universe doesn’t always ask your permission before writing the next chapter.

The car rolled to a smooth stop in the dimly lit parking lot behind the bar, the neon glow from the front sign casting flickers of amber light across the windshield. Inside, the music was muffled, more like a heartbeat than a song.

Jihyo popped the door open first, stepping out in sleek heels with a casual grace. She took a moment to stretch, arms overhead, as if preparing for battle.

“Alright, ladies,” she announced like a general. “Tonight, the mission is clear: make Jeongyeon remember that she is hot, wanted, and not a ghost living in a Victorian novel.”

“Says the woman who brought two backup dancers to a low-key bar,” Jeongyeon muttered, but her lips were already twitching upward as Nayeon rounded the car.

“Backup dancers?” Nayeon scoffed, flicking her hair dramatically as she shut the passenger door. “Please. We’re the main act. You’re the special guest star. Mystery. Vintage. Forbidden fruit. You're like... emotional Dior.”

Jeongyeon laughed, trying to suppress it, but Nayeon knew that tone was a win. She circled her arm around Jeong’s and looked her up and down.

“No but seriously, this dress is insane on you.”

“It's... weird. I haven’t dressed up like this in years,” Jeongyeon admitted, smoothing the pleats near her hip, feeling the way the silky fabric clung and flowed. “I look like a time traveler who got stuck in the wrong decade.”

“Yeah, the decade where she was the heartbreaker every poet cried over,” Jihyo added, meeting them at the back of the car. “The messy updo? The ruffles? The bow? Jeong, you’re walking cinematic tension. Men will write songs after this.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Jeongyeon’s voice was quieter now. The nerves were creeping back in, her thumb grazing her ring finger out of habit. “I don’t want to be anyone’s song. I just... want to have a night where I’m not ‘Mom’ or ‘Mrs. Yoo.’”

The air turned softer. Nayeon’s grip on her arm loosened but didn’t let go.

“Then that’s all this night has to be.”

“And if something more comes along,” Jihyo added, nudging her side with a wink, “that’s just... dessert.”

Jeongyeon glanced at the warm glow leaking from the bar windows. Inside, she could hear laughter. Glasses clinking. A low hum of music and life.

She hadn’t felt part of something like that in... years.

Not since her world became smaller. Quieter. Not since everything good she had felt like it belonged to someone else first—her son, her job, her memories.

Tonight, maybe she’d belong to herself again.

“Okay,” she said softly, squaring her shoulders. “Let’s go inside before I change my mind.”

“Too late.” Nayeon grinned. “Operation: Jeongyeon Glows begins now.”

And just like that, the door to the bar opened with a low chime.

Unaware, just a few feet away, someone else had walked in not long ago—quietly, gently, without expectation.

The door swung open with the soft chime of a bell overhead, spilling warm golden light into the cool evening air. The three women stepped inside, and immediately, the world outside melted away.

It wasn’t what Jeongyeon expected.

No pounding bass. No crowds grinding against each other. No headache-inducing neon. Instead, there was soft jazz laced with the occasional acoustic cover floating through the air. Amber pendant lights hung low over dark wooden tables. Shelves lined with books and vintage record covers adorned the walls. And in the far corner, a modest bar glowed with the gentle flicker of candlelight and a smiling bartender polishing glasses like a movie character who probably had sage advice.

Jeongyeon slowed her steps, eyes scanning the space with open surprise.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she whispered, a low whistle slipping from her lips. “You two really didn’t bring me to a hookup factory.”

Nayeon gave a knowing smirk. “You thought we’d dump you in some club with twenty-year-olds doing body shots?”

“Yes,” Jeongyeon deadpanned. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

Jihyo giggled beside her, slipping off her coat as she surveyed the scene like she owned it. “This place has an energy. Like... slow-burning romance. Or whispered secrets.”

“Or freshly-divorced writers meeting strangers who buy them tea,” Nayeon added, pointing to a pair in the corner, laughing quietly over what looked like a plate of shared fries.

“That’s oddly specific,” Jeongyeon muttered as they approached an empty table near the window, tucked just enough into the shadows to feel cozy.

“Point is,” Jihyo said, sliding into her seat, “we picked this place because it felt like... you. Not some version of you we think should exist. The actual you. The real Jeongyeon.”

Jeongyeon paused before sitting, fingers brushing over the back of the chair. That simple statement... it settled deep. Like honey stirred into tea.

She looked around again. The quiet laughter. The clinking of soft drinks and wines. The music drifting through the space like it had nowhere else to be.

It didn’t feel like a bar.

It felt like possibility.

She sat down slowly, exhaling in a way she hadn’t done in months.

“I like it here,” she admitted.

Nayeon reached across the table and took her hand for a second, squeezing it. “We knew you would.”

Jeongyeon sat in the soft velvet seat, letting herself settle into the unfamiliar comfort. The place still wrapped around her like a new coat—foreign, but warming fast.

The low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the flickering candlelight on the table—it all created an atmosphere that felt suspended in time. She watched the way people leaned in a little closer here, spoke a little softer, smiled a little slower.

It was…intimate. Not in the way that begged for rushed romance or one-night blurs. It was the kind of intimacy built from noticing—the small details, the pauses between sentences, the second glances.

“You good?” Nayeon asked, chin propped on her palm.

“Mm-hmm,” Jeongyeon replied absently, eyes drifting across the bar. “It’s... peaceful. Not what I expected. But in a good way.”

“You look like you’re actually thinking of relaxing,” Jihyo teased with a smile. “Careful, or we’ll think you're enjoying this.”

Jeongyeon chuckled, rolling her eyes before standing. “I’ll grab us some drinks. My treat.”

“Ooh, responsible and generous,” Nayeon smirked. “You really are a catch, Jeongie.”

“Shut up,” Jeongyeon muttered, brushing her fingers through her loosely styled updo as she made her way toward the bar.

The floors creaked softly beneath her boots, the scent of old wood and citrusy cocktails mingling in the air. She wasn’t in a hurry—just letting herself drift between thoughts and the ambiance.

And then—

Thump.

She bumped into something—or someone—solid yet warm.

Her balance tilted, just slightly. Enough to send a quick flutter of panic through her chest, until—

A hand caught her arm. Gentle. Firm.

Steadying.

You.

You looked down at her, brows lifted in gentle surprise, the corners of your lips pulled into the beginnings of a smile.

"Oh—careful," you murmured, your voice a soft lilt, calm and melodic. "You alright?"

Her breath caught.

Not because she was hurt. But because—god—who the hell did she just bump into?

And across the room, Nayeon’s elbow met Jihyo’s ribs.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, her eyes laser-focused on the scene.

“Did Jeongyeon just bump into some novel protagonist level man?”

Jihyo blinked once, then again.

“Is he glowing?”

“He might be glowing.”

They both leaned slightly forward, drinks forgotten, curiosity taking full control.

Jeongyeon, meanwhile, blinked up at you, stunned into silence for a beat too long.

"I—uh, I’m okay. Sorry," she finally managed, her voice laced with that involuntary softness that came from being caught off guard.

Your hand lingered just a second longer on her arm, not presumptuous—just enough to make sure she was stable.

"No harm done," you smiled again. "You’ve got the kind of entrance people write about, though."

And that was it.

Something shifted. In the air. In her chest. In the quiet way her fingers curled inward when you let go.

She didn’t even notice Nayeon and Jihyo staring like they were watching the start of a drama they didn’t know they’d been waiting for.

You didn’t move just yet.

Your fingers slid away from her arm slowly, respectfully, and your head tilted just a little as your eyes met hers—curious, but warm. There wasn’t a trace of urgency in your gaze, nor anything predatory. Just... wonder. The kind of wonder reserved for art you didn’t expect to find hanging quietly in a forgotten hallway.

And then you said it.

Soft. Clear.

"You’re... stunning."

Jeongyeon blinked.

There was no smirk behind your words. No suggestive lean-in. No glance downward or over her shoulder. Your compliment wasn’t aimed at the shape of her or the dress she wore. It was aimed at her.

The energy she gave. The quiet grace. The way she stood there, framed in polka dots and soft light, still a little dazed from the bump, still grounded by your presence.

"There’s something about your aura," you added, voice as smooth as old vinyl on a rainy night. "It’s peaceful… like you’ve lived through a lot, but it didn’t break you. It just made you glow differently."

Her lips parted. Nothing came out.

What the hell do you even say to that?

Across the room, Nayeon nearly spilled her cocktail as she leaned into Jihyo’s shoulder with a giddy squeal.

“Jeongie’s blushing.”

“That’s not a blush, that’s a slow emotional meltdown,” Jihyo whispered, her eyes wide with delight.

“He’s like a soft-spoken Miyazaki character—with a jawline."

Jeongyeon felt the heat on her cheeks rise. This wasn’t a line. She knew lines. She could sniff them from ten feet away. But this? This was… disarming.

“Thank you,” she said, quieter than she meant to, eyes searching yours as if trying to find where the strings were hidden.

There were none.

Your smile remained, gentle and easy.

You didn’t reach for her again. You didn’t push. You simply looked at her like someone who’d bumped into beauty and couldn’t help but say so.

Back at the table, Nayeon elbowed Jihyo again.

“This is it. Push her. Go.”

“Push her where?” Jihyo whispered, still entranced.

“To the bar. To him. Push her into fate!”

“You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

Jihyo gave her a look—and then stood.

She approached with all the grace of a seasoned general in stilettos, catching Jeongyeon’s eye and mouthing something quick and quiet:

“Get drinks. With him. We’re watching.”

Jeongyeon’s brows shot up in panic, but her mouth betrayed her with a small, flustered smile.

She opened her mouth like she had something to say… then closed it. Then opened it again.

“W-Would you… maybe—want to sit? A drink? With me, I mean? Just—if you’re not busy.”

Her fingers fidgeted with the bowtie near her collar as she said it. Her voice wasn’t the smooth, commanding tone she used when managing a house, calming a child, or brushing off small talk. This voice… was shy, unsure, yet blooming with something that hadn’t stirred in years.

You let out a warm, air-soft chuckle—not at her, but in gentle amusement. She was adorable in the way a spring bloom is after a long frost—uncertain, but undeniably vibrant.

“I’d love that,” you said with a small nod.

Then, you made no move to lead. You let her take the lead.

Her hand gestured toward a more secluded two-seater table, half-tucked near the warm golden light of a wall lamp. The bar buzzed with a calm hum of conversations and clinking glass, but this little corner? It might as well have been its own world.

She sat first, a little stiff. You took the other seat slowly, giving her time to adjust to this unfamiliar gravity between you both.

You smiled again—this time introducing yourself, voice gentle like you were speaking not just to her ears, but to the hesitation in her chest.

“I’m L/N Y/N.”

You didn’t add more. No title. No job. No posturing. Just… a name. Like it was an offering.

She nodded, her fingers still lightly fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

“Jeongyeon.”

Then, like realizing how dry that sounded, she added quickly,

“Sorry, that was—Just. Jeongyeon.”

You smiled deeper, folding your hands on the table as you leaned in just enough to show you were fully present, fully listening.

“That’s a beautiful name.”

She looked down at her hands for a second… then smiled. That rare smile—the one people wear when something inside them dares to believe they’re still allowed to be noticed. Desired. Human.

Meanwhile, Nayeon and Jihyo, a few tables down and half-hidden behind a tall potted plant, were peeking like teenagers watching the first episode of a drama they instantly knew they’d binge.

“He said her name like it meant something,” Jihyo whispered, stunned.

“If she doesn’t marry him by winter, I’ll do it myself,” Nayeon muttered, sipping dramatically from her drink.

You didn’t rush anything. The moment had a rhythm of its own, and you let it breathe.

Jeongyeon sat across from you with a polite posture, one hand resting on the stem of her drink, the other slightly curled in her lap. But her eyes—they searched yours like they couldn’t decide whether to retreat or lean in.

You leaned forward slightly, just enough to make your voice feel closer.

“You know… you carry a kind of stillness with you.”

Her brows arched.

“Stillness?”

“Yeah,” you said, with a soft smile. “Not silence. Not distance. Just… something quiet and strong. Like you’ve been through storms, but never let them take away your sun.”

Her lips parted, the compliment slipping into her like warmth after a cold breeze.

“That’s… oddly poetic.”

You tilted your head with a small grin.

“I like finding poetry in people. Especially ones who don’t realize how much of it they carry.”

Jeongyeon chuckled—really chuckled—and something about it loosened the stiffness in her shoulders.

“That’s new,” she said, brushing a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Usually when I get approached, it’s a ‘You look like you’ve got secrets’ or ‘Are you a model from the 80s?’”

“Oh no, definitely not from the 80s,” you teased, your eyes gleaming. “Maybe timeless. Or someone who looks like they stepped out of an old French film, wearing ruffles and stealing hearts with one uncertain smile.”

Her hand flew to cover her mouth, half from laughing, half from surprise at how easily your words slipped under her skin.

“Are you like this with every woman you meet?” she asked playfully, narrowing her eyes with a tiny smirk.

“Only when they make me forget I came here alone,” you answered, sincere, no pause in your tone.

Her fingers tightened slightly on her glass, but her gaze didn’t turn away. She wasn’t used to this—being looked at like she was more than just a pretty face, more than a passing interest.

You gently asked, “So… Jeongyeon. What makes you laugh when the world’s heavy?”

That question. It surprised her. She looked away briefly, then back, and something in her shifted. The part that had been locked behind grief, behind duty, behind years of putting herself last.

“My kid,” she said quietly. “He’s… five. And wild. Like a spark that just never dies out.”

You leaned in slightly.

“He sounds like someone who inherited that spark from you.”

She smiled—this time without hesitation.

And she continued. Talking about her son's obsession with dinosaurs, his habit of making up bedtime stories, how he once dressed as a ‘superhero doctor chef’ because he couldn’t pick just one career. You listened with real curiosity, eyes steady, head tilted occasionally, a soft smile gracing your face like you were learning the story of your new favorite book.

Her guard melted more with each passing minute.

And somewhere between her laughing about her son drawing on the walls with jam, and you sharing a story about how you once tried to "fix" your microwave with YouTube tutorials and nearly blew the kitchen up—Jeongyeon… relaxed.

She leaned her elbows on the table. She played with her straw absentmindedly. She met your gaze without flinching.

The soft hum of conversation and mellow jazz threaded through the bar like silk, gentle and soothing. The lights above cast a golden warmth on the table between you two, but Jeongyeon hadn’t spoken for a moment.

Not since she noticed it.

You hadn’t flinched when she said “my kid.”

You hadn’t leaned back, blinked rapidly, asked, “Wait, you have a child?”

You hadn’t done what every other man she’d met over the years had done—turn that curious sparkle into retreat.

She turned her glass slowly in her hands, watching the condensation bead down its side. And then, after a quiet beat, her voice came out gentle but testing.

“You didn’t react.”

You glanced at her.

“To what?”

“When I said I have a kid.”

You tilted your head, a small, curious smile playing on your lips.

“Was I supposed to?”

She hesitated. Then offered a dry, self-aware shrug. “Most do. Some ask how old. Most don’t ask anything. They just politely excuse themselves. Or they stay… but you can see it in their eyes. That they already checked out.”

You leaned back slightly, folding your arms loosely on the table. Not defensively. But comfortably. Like you were settling in to listen to something important.

“A woman like you,” you said softly, “doesn’t walk into a bar like this alone unless something’s changed. A woman with a child wouldn’t come here on a whim—not unless there was someone to trust the child with. And not unless… maybe she needed to breathe again.”

You paused. Met her eyes fully.

“So I figured. Either you’ve parted ways with the man you had him with… or…”

You trailed off—not out of fear, but respect. Leaving space. Letting her choose.

Jeongyeon exhaled slowly. Something flickered across her face—recognition… and permission. She didn’t even realize how tightly she’d been gripping the ruffles of her sleeve until she let go.

“He passed.” Her voice didn’t break. Just softened. “Five years ago. Illness.”

Your expression didn’t shift into pity. Not the patronizing kind, anyway. Just a stillness. Reverence.

“I’m sorry,” you said gently. “That must’ve been a cruel weight. Especially right after bringing life into the world.”

She looked at you with a mixture of surprise and reflection.

“He knew.” She smiled faintly, not bitterly. “We didn’t talk about it much, but he knew he didn’t have long. He was sick before I even got pregnant, but we hoped… we tried anyway. And when the baby came, he said it was worth it. That even if he couldn’t stay, he wanted to leave part of us behind.”

You didn’t say anything. Just listened. Her eyes glossed over slightly as her words tumbled out, careful but unfiltered now.

“After he passed, I didn’t try again. Not dating, not intimacy, not… being wanted. That part of me just shut off. I had a baby. I had grief. I didn’t have space for anything else.”

A silence sat between you both. Not awkward—just… honest. She wasn’t someone who aired her heart often. And you? You treated it like something sacred.

Your fingers brushed against your glass absently before you leaned in just enough.

“You know…” you said, voice a low murmur, “you don’t wear sadness the way people think grief should look. You wear it like armor. Beautiful. Silent. But heavy.”

Jeongyeon blinked. Slowly.

“You don’t see me as… broken?”

You smiled, the kind that curved with warmth but didn’t lighten the gravity of her question.

“No. I see you as… someone who’s been full of love. Enough to carry two hearts. And maybe now, your own heart wants to feel something for itself again. Not out of guilt. Not out of need. But because you’re still here.”

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her drink again.

Your voice lowered even more.

“If love came once… it can come again. And I don’t mean to replace anything. Some things aren’t meant to be replaced. Just… honored, as we allow more in.”

Jeongyeon swallowed thickly. She had been strong for so long. Smiling for others. Crying in quiet corners. Rebuilding herself piece by piece after the storm.

And now, here was someone… offering to see her. Not save her. Not fix her. Just see her.

“You’re kind,” she whispered, her eyes soft now. Exposed. “Maybe too kind for someone like me.”

You tilted your head with a soft laugh.

“I’m not sure you get to decide who you’re worthy of, Jeongyeon.” You met her gaze. “Not tonight, at least.”

And for a moment… she smiled. A real one. Not the polite smile she offered in passing or the practiced one for her son. But a smile from her.

And somewhere near the bar’s far corner, two pairs of eyes—Nayeon and Jihyo—watched with glimmering awe and matching grins.

Jeongyeon didn’t even notice how close she’d leaned in.

Maybe it was the warmth of the booth light catching on the curve of your jaw, or the calm way your fingers played with your drink as if nothing in the world could startle you. Or maybe it was the way you didn’t press too hard, didn’t try to perform.

Whatever it was… she liked it.

And she was liking you.

She straightened slightly, brushing a finger over the ruffles of her sleeve with a smirk tugging on her lips. Her voice came with a familiar lilt—cool, teasing, a bit challenging.

“So…” she started, eyes narrowing playfully, “are you always this smooth, or do you just turn it up when you see a hot single mom in a vintage ruffle dress?”

You blinked, then let out an easy, low laugh.

“Only when the dress comes with a woman who could silence a room just by raising her eyebrow.”

She scoffed. “Okay, that was smooth.”

“I practice in the mirror,” you quipped. “Sometimes I imagine I’ll bump into someone who looks like she walked out of an old film reel.” You gestured to her whole ensemble with a nod of appreciation. “Guess I manifested it.”

Jeongyeon chuckled and rolled her eyes, but it came with the kind of blush she didn’t even try to hide.

“Manifested a woman with a kid, emotional trauma, and sarcasm issues?”

You leaned in slightly, gaze steady.

“No, I manifested a woman who knows who she is. And looks like she could flirt and win a bar fight in the same breath.”

That made her laugh—head tilting back, one hand instinctively reaching for your wrist for support as she wheezed.

From their spot at the bar, Nayeon let out a small squeal and practically slapped Jihyo’s arm.

“Look at her, Jihyo! She's touching him. She's literally touching him.”

Jihyo, biting back her grin, sipped her drink and said, “They’re matching energies already. We should leave before it turns into a drama series.”

Back at the booth, Jeongyeon finally composed herself and gave you a mock squint.

“Alright, Mr. Novel Character. You’ve clearly been trained by romantic comedies. What’s your tragic flaw?”

You blinked like you had to think seriously about it. Then leaned in and said solemnly,

“I snack on cereal at midnight like it’s a drug.”

She bit her lip to suppress another laugh.

“Okay, fair. But if it's cornflakes, I might walk out.”

“Only the sugary kinds,” you said with mock offense. “I’m a man of decadence, Jeongyeon.”

She smirked, her elbow propped on the table now, fingers resting under her chin.

“That so?” she asked, eyes gleaming. “Then tell me, decadent man—what made you come here tonight?”

You paused for a second. Not for dramatic effect—but to be real.

“Good day. Clear sky. Thought I’d end it quietly. Something about mellow bars and soft jazz just makes the soul… hum, y’know?”

She hummed softly, mirroring your answer.

“Maybe we both came for quiet… but found something that made the hum turn into music.”

You smiled at her. Genuinely.

“Maybe.”

And that was when the tension shifted. Still playful. Still dancing on the edge of something flirtatious.

But now it pulsed with something warmer, more magnetic—an energy not born out of want, but mutual curiosity. The kind that builds not from fast-paced sparks but from slowly lit candles.

Jeongyeon tilted her head at you, eyes unreadable but glowing softly.

“I don’t know if I want to kiss you or roast you for being this poetic.”

“Why not both?” you teased, resting your chin on your hand.

“Dangerous man.” She smirked, but her fingers—delicate and slow—tapped twice on the table, her subtle sign of wanting the conversation to keep going.

And so, it did.

Jeongyeon swirled her glass lightly, the ice clinking as her gaze floated from the amber liquid to your face. Her tone stayed casual, but there was a softness behind her next question—curious, not prying.

“So… have you ever had anyone?”

You didn’t pretend to misunderstand. You leaned back a bit, resting one arm on the edge of the booth, your lips quirking up.

“Only once. After high school.”

Jeongyeon blinked. “Wait—just once?”

You nodded. “One. Singular. Dramatic. Cringeworthy. Absolute first love type.” You let out a soft laugh, not bitter, just reflective. “The kind where you think you’d give up everything and leap off rooftops for them if they asked.”

“Yikes,” Jeongyeon muttered, amused. “So what happened?”

You offered a soft shrug, your fingers now lazily tracing the rim of your glass.

“Got two-timed. The guy was older, richer, and apparently knew how to talk like a movie character. And I was just... me.”

Jeongyeon winced, tilting her head. “Ouch.”

“Yeah,” you smiled faintly. “Cried over her for two whole years. Proper main character arc. Even wrote bad poetry and drank instant coffee like it was whiskey.”

That made her laugh—loud and unfiltered. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” you chuckled, raising a hand in mock surrender. “Dead serious. Like tragic-boy-in-a-hoodie serious. It was my full-time job, grieving that heartbreak. Nine years ago, though. And no regrets.”

Jeongyeon blinked at you for a moment, mouth parted just slightly. Not just from amusement—but intrigue. You didn’t tell the story like it was a badge of honor or a dramatic wound to show off. You told it honestly. Easily. With enough distance to show you healed, but not so much that you forgot the weight of it.

“That’s…” she started, voice a little lower, “...honestly kind of beautiful.”

“The heartbreak?” you raised a brow.

She smiled softly. “No. The fact that you grieved it, and then grew from it instead of pretending you didn’t care. Most people fake it. You sat with it.”

You met her eyes, and this time you didn’t speak right away. Just smiled.

“Yeah. I think pain’s only useful if it becomes fertilizer.”

Jeongyeon stared at you for a beat longer than necessary. Her lips were still curved in a half-smile, but her throat worked in a subtle swallow. Something warm spread along her spine.

It wasn’t just your words—it was the way you said them. Like they had been marinated in years of lived experience, then served up gently without expectation.

And suddenly, she was aware of how close your knees were under the table. Of how the booth light caught the slight gloss of your lips, the graceful tilt of your neck, the calm way your body existed without trying to command attention.

She crossed one leg over the other, maybe just to ease the tension. Or maybe to release it.

“So you’ve been single for… a while then.”

You grinned at her teasing tone. “A long while. Nothing’s stuck since. I don’t chase. If someone stays, they stay. I’ve learned people leave no matter how tightly you hold.”

Jeongyeon’s smirk flickered—there was heat behind it now, tucked beneath her cool exterior. Your honesty had drawn her in. But it was your patience and lack of motive that made her feel safe... and uncomfortably curious.

And you? You hadn’t noticed. You were too busy admiring how expressive her eyes were when she listened. How she sometimes bit her lip to keep from smiling too much.

But the sexual tension? The way her body subtly shifted toward you, her breath slowing when your hand brushed the edge of the table near hers? You were still clueless. She wasn't.

Jeongyeon’s next words came a little quieter, her head tilted.

“You talk like someone who’s had a lot of time alone.”

You smiled faintly. “Alone’s not bad. It makes you more aware of how lovely company can be.” You looked at her with a little tilt of your own. “Present company, especially.”

Her breath hitched just slightly. She covered it with a smirk. “Careful. I’ve got a weakness for poetic men who don’t realize they’re flirting.”

“Ah,” you grinned, playing along, “then I must be a danger to your type.”

“You really are.” Her tone came almost under her breath.

A brief silence passed. Not awkward. Just thick with something. Something warming between the two of you like a low flame.

From across the bar, Nayeon whispered to Jihyo:

“She’s doomed. She’s totally doomed. Look at her! Her legs are crossed, her head’s tilted, she’s���God, she’s in trouble.”

“He doesn’t even know,” Jihyo murmured, sipping. “That’s the worst part. He’s just existing and she’s two inches from falling for him.”

Back at the booth, Jeongyeon was still watching you, her fingers now idly brushing a strand of hair from her neck.

And for a brief second, she wondered what your voice would sound like in the dark. Not just the flirting, not just the clever lines… but the voice that came when lips were close and breaths were shared. And that thought made her shift in her seat. Just barely. But enough to feel her own pulse.

Your booth was dimly lit, with the warmth of golden lights painting her skin like candlelight. Jeongyeon leaned her elbow on the table now, chin cradled in her palm as her eyes fixed on you like a cat sizing up a very interesting beam of sunlight. You weren’t trying. That’s what killed her the most.

You weren’t leaning in too close, weren’t dropping cheesy lines or overly-present hands. You were just you. Calm. Curious. That unbothered charm with no strings dangling behind your words.

And it was working better than any rehearsed move she’d ever known.

She caught herself laughing again—hand over her mouth this time, her head thrown slightly back as you told her the story about trying to cook dinner for your date once and nearly setting your curtains on fire. The way you reenacted it, flailing like an idiot with a flaming towel and a fire extinguisher that wouldn't work, had her wheezing.

But then she looked at you again, and realized something even more dangerous than your sense of humor.

You were handsome, yes. But it wasn’t that. It was how present you were. How your eyes didn’t wander. How you noticed the way she twisted her ring and asked about it. How you smiled like she wasn’t one woman in a sea of options—but like she was the most interesting story you'd found that night.

Her chest tightened. She shifted again—closer without meaning to. Your knees brushed lightly. You didn’t flinch away. You just smiled, and asked her what kind of music she listened to when she couldn't sleep. And that did it. Jeongyeon exhaled, subtly pressing her thighs together under the table.

Across the bar, Jihyo leaned back against the counter, sipping her drink with a raised brow.

“She’s on a roll.”

Nayeon turned, her cheeks already pink from the wine. “Mmhmm. It’s getting warm in here or is that just her sexual tension?”

Jihyo didn’t look away from the booth. “Girl’s vibrating like she’s sitting on a speaker. But she won’t pull the trigger unless we give her a little nudge.”

Nayeon’s lips twisted into a devious smirk. “You want me to go save her with a bathroom break?”

“Save her? No. Coach her.” Jihyo turned, holding her glass lazily. “Tell her to go for it. Just for tonight. Feel it out. Doesn’t have to be a forever-thing. Just a moment.”

Nayeon chuckled. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m a realist,” Jihyo said, swishing her drink. “She deserves something that doesn’t come with baby bottles and snack crumbs. Tell her—impulses can be good. Sometimes they lead to the best decisions.”

A minute later, Jeongyeon blinked as Nayeon slid into the booth beside her, gently tapping her on the knee.

“Bathroom. C’mon.”

“Huh—what, why?” Jeongyeon glanced at you, then at her, confused.

“You need air,” Nayeon whispered with a knowing smirk. “And also, I need to talk to you.”

You politely smiled and gestured. “Take your time.”

As they disappeared into the hallway, Nayeon tugged Jeongyeon into the women’s bathroom and locked the door behind them.

“Alright,” she whispered, leaning back against the sink, “here’s the thing. I’ve seen you flirt. I’ve seen you date. But I’ve never seen you like this.”

Jeongyeon scoffed, brushing her hair out of her face. “Like what?”

“Like you’re two seconds from crawling into his lap and whispering Shakespearean sonnets.”

Jeongyeon tried to laugh it off, but the fluster in her face betrayed her.

“I’m not—look, it’s just... he’s different, okay? He’s not pushy. He’s not weirdly smooth. He’s just... nice. And thoughtful. And hot, like a dark academia dream without the pretentiousness.”

“So?” Nayeon stepped forward, arms crossed. **“You’re here. You’re single. He’s clearly into talking to you. If you feel it... go for the moment.”

Jeongyeon blinked. “You mean... like—”

“Yes,” Nayeon said flatly, “I mean sex. One night. Test the waters. See what it turns into. Maybe nothing. Or maybe something. But don’t overthink it.”

Jeongyeon laughed breathlessly. “You make it sound so casual.”

“It is casual,” Nayeon said, tilting her head. “If you want it to be. But here’s the thing, Jeong.”

She stepped closer, gripping her friend’s shoulders gently.

“You’ve been everything for everyone lately. A mom. A sister. A provider. A protector. But tonight... maybe just be a woman.”

Jeongyeon swallowed. The words hit her harder than she expected.

“If it doesn’t feel right, walk away,” Nayeon added, softening her voice. “But if it does… then don’t. Don’t rob yourself of a good moment just because you’re afraid of how it might end.”

Silence hung for a few seconds. Then Jeongyeon exhaled. Looked at her reflection in the mirror. And for once… she didn’t see just a mother. Or a tired woman trying to hold everything together. She saw someone a man like you looked at like a warm story.

Back at the booth, your fingers were tracing a ring of condensation on your glass. You glanced toward the hallway, smiling softly to yourself—no rush, no expectations.

Just hoping she’d come back. And she would. But when she did… something in her eyes would be different. And maybe the night wasn’t going to end as quietly as you thought.

The women’s bathroom wasn’t silent anymore.

The moment Jeongyeon turned from the mirror, still processing what Nayeon had just whispered into her soul, the door creaked open—and in stepped Jihyo, heels clicking, lips curled in that “don’t-worry-I’m-already-caught-up” kind of smirk.

“You look like someone who’s about to back out,” she teased, closing the door behind her.

Jeongyeon groaned and leaned her head against the tiled wall, both palms braced on the sink. “This isn’t just ‘hook up and go,’ Jihyo. He’s different. I know it. What if I mess it up?”

“Or what if you don’t?” Jihyo replied simply. “What if this time… you get to be the one who wins?”

Jeongyeon turned to say something, but Nayeon cut in with a grin so smug it could start a fight.

“Well, if you’re not going to make a move,” she began, sliding her lipstick back into her clutch, “I might go take your place.”

Jeongyeon blinked. “What?”

Nayeon shrugged casually. “I’m single too. Divorced. Been through hell. That man outside? Looks like someone who could make me forget my ex and probably massage my back after I collapse from joy.”

She grinned and added slyly, “And you know… my daughter does deserve a good male role model someday.”

Jeongyeon’s jaw dropped.

“Yah—Nayeon!”

But the way her hands immediately gripped the edge of the sink… the way her eyes flared with something protective, possessive, primal—didn’t go unnoticed.

Jihyo raised both eyebrows and crossed her arms. “Ohhh. That’s new. You jealous?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m not—!”

“Jeong,” Nayeon cut in, chuckling now. “If you don’t want to act on it, then don’t. But don’t expect me to just sit here when I’m watching someone give you exactly the kind of attention you haven’t had in years.”

“He’s mine,” Jeongyeon muttered without thinking, her voice low, like it belonged to someone more confident than she’d felt in ages.

There it was. Jihyo gasped dramatically. “Okay, ma’am.”

“Didn’t know we were doing declarations tonight,” Nayeon added with a grin. “Go then. Take your seat back. Before I do.”

Jeongyeon rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the tiny smirk tugging at her lips. She fixed her hair in the mirror one last time. Her cheeks still had that warm flush—not from the wine—but from you. When she walked out, she didn’t hesitate.

You were sitting exactly where she left you. Elbow resting on the table, chin on your hand, slowly rotating your glass by the rim like you were passing time with your thoughts. But the moment your eyes caught hers across the room, something happened.

They widened. Not dramatically—but just enough to be noticeable. You tilted your head slightly. A subtle furrow creased between your brows. There wasn’t a trace of suspicion or discomfort—just simple, gentle concern.

Like: "You okay?" “Did I do something?” “Was it something I said?” And for some reason, that tiny, honest reaction knocked the breath out of her. God, he’s so—adorable. Not even trying. And here she was burning up inside.

She slid back into her seat, fingers lightly trailing over the edge of the table before resting neatly in her lap. She tried to say something casual. Didn’t work.

“Sorry, bathroom break turned into girl gang therapy.”

You chuckled softly. “I figured. I was close to sending the bartender with a search party.”

That made her giggle—husky, warm, from deep in her chest. She tilted her head as she looked at you, feeling herself slip right back into that easy current you seemed to create around you.

You smiled at her, eyes still holding that soft glow.

“You okay?” you asked gently. “You seemed a bit… out of it for a second.”

Jeongyeon leaned her cheek against her knuckles now, eyes narrowing playfully.

“You always this observant?”

“Only when I care,” you replied with a playful wink. “Which apparently is… now.”

She laughed again—fully this time. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m honest.” You sipped your drink, then added with a tilt of your brow: “Big difference.”

The air between you thickened again, but now it was warmer. Heavier. Like something shared and unspoken was starting to wrap around you both.

Jeongyeon ran her thumb along the base of her glass.

“You really wouldn’t have blinked if I said I had five kids, huh?”

You leaned back and grinned. “I’d probably ask if they’re all carbon copies of you or if the world got lucky and mixed in some chaos.”

She blushed—again. And it hit her again: this… whatever this was? It was starting to feel dangerously good.

So when her knee brushed yours again, she didn’t pull away. When your elbow grazed hers while reaching for your glass, she let it linger. And when she caught your gaze lingering on her lips—just for a split second—she didn’t look away.

Maybe Nayeon was right. Maybe it was just a moment. But maybe… just maybe, it was her moment.

The glasses between you both were nearly empty, the clink of melting ice cubes in yours the only sound between the playful laughter and the occasional brush of arms.

Jeongyeon’s eyes had grown a shade softer, lashes fluttering a little slower, gaze lingering longer with each sentence you said. There wasn’t much left of her mask—the cool sarcasm, the effortless hot girl energy. It was still there, sure—but softened now. Not because she was hiding anything. But because, for the first time in what felt like years, she didn’t feel like she had to pretend anything.

She looked up from her drink, resting her cheek in her palm again, but this time her fingers swept lightly across her jaw, showing more of that easy, quiet flirtation.

“You know…” she began, voice slower now, lower, “you’re kind of annoying.”

You blinked, half-laughing as you tilted your head.

“That so?” you grinned. “Didn’t realize I was causing you such distress.”

She leaned forward just a little, elbows on the table, her chin now resting on the back of her hand. “Mmhmm. You’re all… kind, and real, and charming in that annoyingly comforting way.”

“Annoyingly comforting?”

She smiled, shoulders swaying just slightly with that husky chuckle of hers. “Yeah. Like, you say the right thing without even trying. You’re gentle, but not boring. Funny, but not trying too hard.”

You rested your forearms on the table now, mimicking her posture without realizing it. Your smile softened as you replied:

“That’s a lot of overthinking for someone who called me dangerous a few minutes ago.”

She smirked. “You are. That hasn’t changed.”

The music from the bar's speakers shifted to something smoother, more sensual—but not overtly romantic. Just enough to make the space feel closer. More personal.

You didn’t notice it at first, but Jeongyeon’s knee had moved again. This time not brushing—but resting lightly against yours under the table. Her body slightly turned toward you. Like she had stopped debating with herself and simply decided to be there with you. Fully. No hesitations.

You hadn’t pulled away either. Maybe it was the slight warmth from the whiskey. Maybe it was the way she tilted her head when she laughed. Or how your name sounded softer in her voice every time she said it.

But your voice dipped slightly now, your words a little more careful. A little deeper.

“You’re fascinating, Jeongyeon.”

She blinked at that. Not pretty. Not hot. Not fine as hell. But fascinating.

She swallowed once, and that shift? That invisible line between playful flirting and something smoldering underneath? It flickered into place.

“No one’s called me that before,” she admitted, letting her fingers lightly trace the condensation ring from her glass. “It’s always something skin-deep. Sexy. Gorgeous. Fun.”

You tilted your head, voice softer now.

“Well, you’re all that too. But you also got layers. Hidden storms. Quiet confidence that doesn’t beg to be noticed.”

Jeongyeon was suddenly very aware of how warm her chest felt. How the alcohol wasn’t making her dizzy—it was you.

Her lips curled into a softer smile than any before, a hint of shyness breaking through her usual confidence. Then she said:

“What about you? Feeling brave yet?”

You raised a brow, amused. “Brave?”

“To say something about me that’s not poetic,” she challenged gently. “Something bold. If you dare.”

You chuckled lowly. “You sure?”

“Mmhm.”

You leaned in a little closer—nothing dramatic. Just enough so she had to breathe you in a little more.

“I think you’re dangerous too,” you murmured. “But in a slow-burn kind of way. The kind that sneaks into people’s heads at night when they’re alone. And keeps them warm without asking for permission.”

Jeongyeon laughed again, but this one was breathy. Flushed. That laugh that happens when a woman hears something she didn’t expect to love so much. She reached out this time. Fingertips grazing your wrist where your hand rested near your drink.

You looked down, then back at her. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t move. Just let her touch linger. She was quiet for a moment. Then:

“If I kissed you right now… would you stop me?”

That made your throat tighten. You blinked once, expression unreadable for half a beat. Then, your voice—low, calm, honest—spoke:

“I’d ask why you waited so long.”

And her smile—slow, dangerous, magnetic—curled at the corner like the start of a fuse being lit.

But she didn’t kiss you. Not yet. Instead, she let her fingers trail back to her lap, let the tension thrum between your locked eyes, and said with a whisper:

“Good answer… L/N Y/N.”

The game had shifted. And neither of you were playing anymore.

The song shifted again.

A slower groove now—a rhythm with soul, laced with light percussion and that kind of bass that could make your chest thrum if you stood close enough to the speakers. The bar’s lighting dimmed just enough to cast soft golden hues on the scattered dancers by the wooden floor near the back.

You had just taken another small sip when Jeongyeon suddenly stood, smoothing her shirt down casually and reaching for your hand.

“C’mon,” she said.

You looked up, one brow rising with a laugh already building in your chest. “What?”

“Let’s dance.”

“Jeongyeon,” you chuckled, keeping your voice low, a little teasing, “I’m warning you. I dance like Mr. Bean. Real floppy arms. Wrists everywhere. A national tragedy.”

She didn’t even blink. She leaned down slightly, grabbed your wrist, and tugged.

“Good. I need a partner who isn’t afraid to embarrass himself with me.” Her grin was pure fire, teasing and electric. “Besides, camaraderie, remember? Shared humiliation builds stronger bonds.”

“That’s not in any psychology book.”

“Yeah? Sue me.”

You let yourself be pulled, half-laughing, letting her lead you out of the booth like a dare you never intended to take. But here you were, feet moving across the cozy wooden flooring toward the not-so-crowded dance floor.

The first few steps were awkward—on your part.

You did try. It was maybe one part shoulder shimmy, two parts foot shuffle, and ten parts ‘what the hell am I doing with my limbs?’ Jeongyeon, however, was swaying like it was muscle memory. The bass carried her hips, her shoulders relaxed, her body confident.

She turned her head, grinning as she caught your effort.

“You’re not that bad,” she said, laughing.

“You’re lying.”

“Of course I am. But you look hot doing it.”

You gave her a look—mock offended, mildly stunned, and deeply amused. She laughed again, that husky giggle echoing as she moved in closer now, until her hands found your sides, fingertips brushing the hem of your shirt.

You froze slightly at the contact—not because you were uncomfortable. But because it was the first time she touched you with intent. Not teasing. Not playful. But guided. Sure.

Her fingers gripped gently and guided your hips just a little. “Follow the beat. Let your body loosen. Just… feel it.”

You weren’t great—but you let go. You didn’t care anymore. You let the beat thump in your chest. You let your hands lightly hover near her waist, careful not to assume anything. She noticed that too. The respect.

She rewarded it.

Jeongyeon stepped in again—this time much closer. Her body pressed just enough to your front to feel the low warmth between your ribs. And her arms, snake-like, slipped around your neck as she whispered:

“There… better already.”

Her eyes were on you again. Those mischievous, unreadable eyes—burning under dim amber light.

You were about to say something, maybe tease her back—

—but then she tilted her head.

And kissed you.

There was no pause. No hesitation.

She leaned in slow, lips brushing yours like a soft question, then answering it herself with a kiss full of ease and quiet fire. Her fingers curled slightly against your nape as her mouth moved against yours—testing, savoring, not rushing anything.

You froze for half a second.

Then your hands found her waist, light and respectful but steady. You kissed back—slowly, honestly. Letting her lead. Letting her decide where this moment would go.

But you met her there. With warmth. With intent. She pulled back just an inch, breath brushing your lips.

“You kiss like you speak,” she whispered.

“How’s that?”

“Like you mean every fucking word.”

She kissed you again—hungrier this time.

And something in your chest opened like a floodgate. All the warmth, all the tension, all the soft affection now rushing toward heat. Toward something that went beyond playful drinks and dancing.

Jeongyeon pressed closer, her body flush with yours now, her lips moving in sync with yours as the music wrapped around you both like a cocoon.

You didn’t notice the others. The other dancers, the bar chatter, even the world outside. Just the smell of Jeongyeon’s perfume—earthy and elegant—and the feel of her body leaning into yours like gravity had finally found its way.

She murmured against your lips between kisses:

“Still think you’re embarrassing me?”

“Not unless this is a public punishment.”

She chuckled, breathy, one hand sliding behind your neck to tangle softly in your hair. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew where this night was going. But neither of you said it. You didn’t need to.

Jeongyeon had barely broken the kiss when something over your shoulder caught her eye.

She blinked, a little dazed but still sharp enough to spot the two culprits near the bar—Nayeon and Jihyo watching like a live drama audience.

Nayeon’s smirk could be seen from a mile away, glass in hand like a toast to Jeongyeon’s success. Jihyo winked, subtly mouthing, “Get him out of here.”

Then Nayeon raised her brows and pointed to the door like some sexy, smug Cupid.

Jeongyeon bit back a laugh, shook her head slightly, but gave the smallest, most evil smirk in their direction. She tilted her head like, “Yeah yeah, I got it.”

The girls made no effort to stick around. They waved off any sign of goodbye and subtly slipped out the side exit—grinning like they’d just passed a romantic baton into Jeongyeon’s hands.

You were still breath-warm and dazed when Jeongyeon turned her head back toward you, biting her lower lip, debating something silently.

But instead of asking… she just acted. Her fingers slid down from your nape and slipped into your hand—intertwining with a grip that left no room for questions.

“Let’s go.”

“Go?” you echoed, amused.

“Somewhere private,” she said with that same low, husky edge you were growing more addicted to by the second.

And then—without waiting for your nod—Jeongyeon tugged you by the hand, threading through the low-lit bar, through the blurred dancing bodies, and out into the cool evening air.

You didn’t resist. Not once. Your heart was thudding behind your ribs, not out of nerves—but anticipation. A calm, assured pull toward something magnetic and raw.

The two of you reached the curb, breaths fogging lightly in the cool spring night. She stopped, realizing the pause.

“I can’t go home,” she said, almost apologetically. “My son’s with Chaeyoung tonight. I don’t… want to explain why I’m bringing a man home at 1AM.”

You nodded. “Makes sense.”

“There’s a hotel I know. Cozy. Clean. Not a hookup spot. Just…” She paused, eyes locked with yours. “Nice. And quiet.”

You pulled your car keys from your pocket and held them up between two fingers.

“Lucky for us—I drove.”

Jeongyeon blinked at the keys, then looked at you.

Then she smiled. Not a cheeky smirk. Not a flirty grin. A real one.

Like for the first time all night, she was letting herself be present in the idea of this. Of you. No more nudges, no more jokes. Just something that felt right. Spontaneous, but not stupid. Impulsive, but safe.

She led the way to your car, still holding your hand like a quiet lifeline. Neither of you rushed—but there was a tension, a hum beneath the silence.

And when she slid into the passenger seat, she looked over as you settled behind the wheel.

“Is this okay?” she asked softly, even though she had been the one to drag you outside.

You turned your head slowly, meeting her gaze, voice steady.

“It’s okay if you want it.”

That made her inhale. Sharp. Soft. Honest. She nodded, her voice nearly a whisper:

“I do.”

You pulled onto the quiet road, the world around dim and hushed. Only the occasional passing car or night breeze filling the gaps in conversation. Jeongyeon rested her elbow on the edge of the window, her other hand still linked with yours over the gearshift.

Nothing more needed to be said.

The hotel wasn’t far. It wasn’t grand or flashy—but when she led you through the lobby and up the elevator, you saw it was exactly like she said. Quiet. Warm lighting. Comfortable.

You entered the room behind her. She didn’t speak, didn’t joke. She just turned to you once the door closed.

The silence in the room wasn’t awkward. It was full. Loaded with all the unspoken things you both wanted to explore.

She stepped closer again. Hands finding your collar. Eyes scanning your features like she was trying to memorize how you looked before things changed.

And her voice was a soft hush when she said:

“Still not regretting letting me pull you to the floor like that?”

Your smirk was gentle, your tone even more so.

“I think you’ve got a talent for making good decisions.”

She leaned in, forehead pressing to yours. And kissed you again. And this time… it wasn’t just fire. It was home.

The moment the hotel door clicked shut behind you, the air thickened—charged with something slow, deliberate, and intoxicating. Jeongyeon’s hands were still tangled in your collar, her breath warm against your lips as she kissed you again, deeper this time. There was no rush, no frantic urgency—just the quiet, aching need to savor every second of this.

Her fingers slid down your chest, tracing the outline of your muscles through your shirt before settling at your waist. She pulled back just enough to look at you, her dark eyes searching yours.

"You’re sure?" she murmured, her thumb brushing over your hipbone.

You answered by cupping her face, tilting her chin up to kiss her again—softer this time, lingering against her lips. "I’ve never been more sure of anything."

A small, breathless laugh escaped her as she leaned into your touch, her body pressing flush against yours. The heat between you was undeniable, but neither of you moved to undress just yet. Instead, Jeongyeon’s hands roamed over your back, fingers kneading into the fabric of your shirt as if memorizing the shape of you.

Her lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your throat, her teeth grazing lightly over your pulse. "Mmm… you smell good," she hummed, her voice low and husky.

You shivered as her hands slipped beneath your shirt, her palms warm against your skin. She took her time exploring—tracing the ridges of your abs, the dip of your waist—before sliding back up to push the fabric up your chest. You helped her pull it off, tossing it aside, and Jeongyeon exhaled sharply at the sight of you.

"Fuck…" she whispered, her fingers ghosting over your collarbones. "You’re—"

You didn’t let her finish. Catching her wrist, you tugged her closer, your mouth finding hers again in a slow, deep kiss. One of your hands slid up her side, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of her breast through her blouse. She gasped into your mouth, arching into the touch.

"Jeongyeon…" you murmured against her lips, your other hand slipping to the small of her back, pressing her even closer.

She let out a soft, shaky breath, her fingers tightening in your hair. "Yeah…?"

"Tell me what you want."

She pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, her cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted. For a moment, she just looked at you—like she was deciding how much of herself to give. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she took your hand and guided it to the first button of her blouse.

"This," she said quietly. "But… slow."

You nodded, your fingers working the first button free, then the next, revealing smooth, pale skin inch by inch. Jeongyeon watched you, her breath hitching as your knuckles brushed against her stomach. By the time the last button came undone, her blouse hung open, the lace of her bra just barely concealing the swell of her breasts.

Your hands settled on her waist, thumbs stroking over her ribs as you leaned in to press a kiss to the hollow of her throat. She tipped her head back with a quiet sigh, her fingers threading through your hair.

"God…" she breathed, her voice trembling. "You have no idea how long it’s been since someone touched me like this."

You kissed lower, your lips brushing the curve of her breast just above the lace. "Then let me remind you," you murmured against her skin.

Jeongyeon shuddered, her grip tightening in your hair as you continued your slow descent, worshipping every inch of her with your mouth and hands. The air between you was thick with want, but neither of you rushed—content to let the moment stretch, to savor the way her body responded to every touch, every kiss.

This wasn’t just about pleasure.

It was about rediscovery.

And Jeongyeon was letting herself feel it—all of it—for the first time in years.

The bed dipped beneath you as Jeongyeon guided you both backward, her fingers still tangled in your hair as you continued to trail slow, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. The vintage fabric of her dress whispered against the sheets, the high collar and ruffled sleeves framing her like something out of a dream.

You pulled back just enough to take her in—really take her in. The way the soft lamplight caught on the sheer panels of her sleeves, the way the dark green pleats contrasted against her smooth skin, the way the bow at her neck trembled slightly with each unsteady breath.

"God, you're beautiful," you murmured, your fingers tracing the edge of her collar.

Jeongyeon’s cheeks flushed darker, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she reached up, slowly undoing the bow at her neck with deliberate fingers. The high collar loosened, revealing more of her throat, the delicate hollows of her collarbones.

"This thing…" she said, voice husky, "is a pain to get out of."

You smirked, catching her wrist and pressing a kiss to her palm. "Then let me help."

With painstaking slowness, you worked your way down the tiny buttons at the back of her dress, each one giving way beneath your fingers like a small victory. The fabric parted gradually, revealing the smooth slope of her back, the delicate straps of her bra, the faintest hint of lace at her waist.

Jeongyeon shivered as the cool air hit her skin, but she didn’t rush you. She just watched—felt—as you pushed the dress from her shoulders, letting it pool around her hips.

"Fuck…" you breathed, your hands skimming up her sides, over the dip of her waist, the gentle swell of her ribs. Her body was a masterpiece—soft yet toned, curves that begged to be touched, skin so smooth it felt like silk beneath your fingertips.

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist, then the crook of her elbow, then the slope of her shoulder. Every inch of her deserved reverence.

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched as your lips found the curve of her breast just above her bra, your tongue flicking over the lace. "Ah—" Her fingers tightened in your hair, not pushing, just holding, like she needed something to ground her.

You took your time, lavishing attention on every exposed inch of her—the dip of her navel, the subtle arch of her hipbones, the sensitive skin just beneath her ribs. When your fingers finally brushed the waistband of her panties, she tensed for a fraction of a second before melting into your touch.

"Okay?" you asked against her skin.

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "More than okay."

You hooked your fingers into the lace, dragging it down her legs with agonizing slowness, kissing every new patch of skin as it was revealed. By the time the last scrap of fabric fell away, Jeongyeon was trembling, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You settled between her thighs, hands sliding up her legs, thumbs brushing the inside of her knees. "Look at you…" you murmured, your voice thick with awe.

Jeongyeon bit her lip, her messy updo coming undone in soft waves around her face. "I—I haven’t let anyone see me like this in…" She trailed off, her throat working.

You leaned up, catching her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. "Then I’m honored," you whispered against her lips.

And with that, you began your worship in earnest—hands, lips, tongue mapping every curve, every dip, every shuddering breath she gave you.

Because tonight wasn’t about taking.

It was about remembering.

And you intended to make sure she never forgot.

The air between you was thick with warmth, with want, but neither of you rushed. Jeongyeon’s hands cradled your face as she kissed you deeply, her tongue sliding against yours in slow, intoxicating strokes. Every movement was deliberate—every sigh, every shift of her body against yours spoke of years of pent-up longing finally being set free.

You let her lead, your hands resting lightly on her waist as she explored your mouth with hers. When she finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her eyes dark with something tender yet commanding.

"Tell me what you want," you murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

Jeongyeon exhaled shakily, her fingers trailing down your chest. "I want…" She paused, considering, then guided your hand to her thigh, pressing your palm firmly against her soft skin. "I want you to touch me. But how I say. When I say."

There was no harshness in her voice—only quiet certainty. A request, not a demand.

You nodded, your thumb stroking absent circles against her inner thigh. "However you want me."

A slow, pleased smile curved her lips before she leaned in to kiss you again, this time with more insistence. Her hands slid down your arms, guiding your touch where she wanted it—first to the curve of her hip, then higher, skimming the dip of her waist.

"Here," she whispered against your mouth, pressing your fingers into her skin. "Just… like that."

You obeyed, kneading gently, relishing the way her breath hitched when you found a particularly sensitive spot. She arched into your touch, her nails scraping lightly over your shoulders.

"Good," she breathed, her voice low and honeyed. "Now… slower."

You slowed your movements, letting your hands roam her body with agonizing patience—tracing the swell of her breasts over her bra, the flutter of her ribs, the softness of her stomach. Every touch was deliberate, every caress designed to draw out another quiet gasp, another shiver.

Jeongyeon’s control never wavered, but her breaths grew uneven, her kisses more desperate. When your fingers finally brushed the lace of her panties, she stilled your wrist with a firm grip.

"Not yet," she murmured, her lips grazing your jaw. "I want to feel you more first."

You let her guide your hands back up her body, let her set the pace, her quiet commands leaving no room for disobedience—not that you’d ever want to disobey.

This was her night.

And you were more than happy to let her take what she needed.

The room hummed with quiet breaths and the soft rustle of fabric as Jeongyeon arched beneath you, her fingers threading through your hair to guide your mouth lower. You obeyed without hesitation, lips brushing the delicate column of her throat, savoring the way her pulse jumped against your tongue.

"Mmm… right there," she sighed, tilting her head to give you better access.

You nipped lightly at the sensitive skin beneath her ear, smiling when she shivered. Her bra straps had slipped down her shoulders, the lace barely clinging to her curves, but neither of you moved to take it off—not yet. This was about the almost, the not quite, the torturous pleasure of feeling but not taking.

Jeongyeon’s hips rolled up against yours in a slow, deliberate grind, the thin barrier of your boxers and her panties doing little to dull the heat between you. She let out a shaky exhale, her nails scraping down your back.

"Touch me," she murmured, guiding your hand to her waist. "But don’t—ah—don’t move yet."

You stilled, palm pressed to the warm skin just above her hipbone, letting her set the rhythm. She rocked against you again, her breath hitching when your cock strained against the fabric separating you.

"Fuck…" she whispered, her forehead dropping to yours. "You feel so good."

You kissed her deeply, swallowing her moans as she ground down again, her thighs trembling with the effort to keep the pace slow. Her hands slid down your arms, fingers intertwining with yours as she pinned them to the mattress beside her head—not to restrain, but to share the moment.

"Like this," she breathed against your lips. "Just like this."

And so you let her lead, let her take what she needed—your bodies moving together in a haze of want and restraint, every touch, every kiss, every whispered plea building the tension higher.

The air between you was thick with reverence, every touch a whispered prayer against her skin. Jeongyeon lay beneath you, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as your lips traced the slope of her shoulder, the delicate hollow of her collarbone. The straps of her bra had long since slipped down her arms, the lace clinging to her curves like a final, flimsy barrier between you and heaven itself.

You took your time.

Your mouth followed the path of your hands—kissing the inside of her wrist, the soft skin of her inner elbow, the gentle swell of her breast just above the lace. Jeongyeon shuddered, her fingers tangling in your hair, not pushing, just feeling.

"God…" she breathed, her voice trembling. "You’re killing me."

You smirked against her skin, nipping lightly at the curve of her breast before soothing it with your tongue. "Good."

Her bra was a work of art—black lace, delicate straps, the kind of thing meant to be seen but not worn for long. Your fingers traced the edge of it, teasing, toying with the clasp at the front.

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched.

"You gonna take it off?" she asked, her voice low and husky.

You hummed, pressing a kiss to the lace-covered peak of her breast, feeling it harden beneath your lips. "Not yet."

She groaned, her head falling back against the pillows as you continued your torment—kissing, licking, worshipping every inch of her through the fabric. The lace grew damp with your saliva, her nipples pebbled and desperate for more.

Finally, when her hips were rolling restlessly against yours and her breaths came in ragged gasps, you unhooked the clasp with a single, practiced flick of your fingers.

The bra fell away.

And fuck—

Jeongyeon was gorgeous.

Her breasts were full, perfectly shaped, her nipples flushed and begging for attention. You didn’t rush. You just looked, drinking in the sight of her like a man starved.

"You’re staring," she murmured, her cheeks pink.

"Yeah," you admitted, your voice rough. "Because you’re fucking perfect."

Then you leaned down and took her into your mouth—slow, deliberate, savoring the way she arched off the bed with a broken moan. Your tongue swirled around her nipple, your teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.

"Ah! Fuck—" Her hands fisted in the sheets, her thighs squeezing around your hips. "Don’t stop, don’t stop—"

You didn’t.

You worshipped her like this for what felt like hours—sucking, licking, switching between her breasts until she was writhing beneath you, her skin flushed, her body trembling with need.

And when you finally pulled back, her chest glistening with your saliva, her nipples red and swollen from your attention, she looked at you with hazy, desperate eyes.

"You—" Her voice cracked. "You’re mean."

You grinned, kissing your way back up her body. "You love it."

She did.

And you were far from done.

The moment your palms cupped her bare breasts, you felt the difference—the way her flesh yielded more generously under your touch, the weight of them heavier in your hands, the faintest stretch marks like silver threads against her skin. Motherhood had reshaped her body, and god, it was perfect.

Jeongyeon let out a shaky breath as your thumbs brushed over her nipples, already stiff and flushed. "They're... softer now," she murmured, a hint of self-consciousness in her voice.

You answered by leaning down and taking one into your mouth, sucking deep—not rough, but with enough pressure to make her back arch off the sheets. "Mmmf—fuck," she gasped, her hands flying to your hair.

The taste of her skin, the way her breast molded against your tongue—it was intoxicating. You lavished attention on one while your hand kneaded the other, your fingers sinking into the impossibly soft flesh. Every gentle pull of your lips drew another broken sound from her throat, her hips rolling helplessly against the air.

"S-sensitive—" she choked out as you switched sides, your tongue flicking over her nipple before drawing it back into the wet heat of your mouth. Her back arched beautifully, pressing more of herself against you. "Oh god, right there—"

You worshipped her like this—sucking gently, then harder, then easing off to lap at the stiff peaks until they glistened. Your free hand roamed the fuller curves of her stomach, her hips, committing every new slope and swell to memory.

When you finally released her with a wet pop, Jeongyeon was panting, her chest heaving, her skin flushed pink from collarbones to cheeks. A thin string of saliva still connected your lips to her nipple for a second before breaking.

"Look at you," you murmured, thumbing over her slick, swollen nipple. "So fucking beautiful like this."

Jeongyeon whimpered, her thighs pressing together. "You—ah—you really love them, huh?"

You answered by sealing your mouth over her again, sucking hard just to hear her cry out, your hand squeezing the other breast possessively. The way her body gave under your touch, so soft yet so responsive—

It was enough to make you dizzy.

A quiet moment settled between you as you pulled back, your lips leaving her flushed skin. Jeongyeon’s chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, her eyes half-lidded but searching yours—not with hunger now, but something softer. Something vulnerable.

Her fingers brushed your cheek, hesitant. "You’re... not what I expected," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You tilted your head, thumb stroking the curve of her hip. "What did you expect?"

She exhaled a laugh, though it trembled at the edges. "Someone in a hurry."

The honesty in her words made your chest tighten. You leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead—slow, lingering, letting your lips linger against her skin like a promise. "I didn’t come here for expectations," you murmured. "I came for you."

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched. For a heartbeat, she just looked at you, her dark eyes shimmering with something unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, she pulled you down into a kiss—not heated, not desperate, but deep, her fingers curling into your hair like she was anchoring herself to you.

When she finally broke away, her voice was steadier. "Then show me more."

And so you did.

Your mouth returned to her breasts, but slower now, savoring. Each flick of your tongue, each gentle suckle drew a sigh from her lips, her body melting further into the sheets. Her hands roamed your shoulders, your back, not guiding, just feeling—relearning the pleasure of being touched without urgency.

The room filled with quiet sounds: the rustle of fabric, the soft wetness of your lips against her skin, her breathy murmurs of encouragement.

No rush.

No demands.

Just her, and you, and the slow, aching pleasure of rediscovery.

Your lips left a trail of slow, worshipful kisses down the soft plane of her stomach—each one a silent question, each pause a chance for her to breathe. When you reached the delicate lace of her panties, you hovered there, your breath warm against the damp fabric.

"Jeongyeon," you murmured, lifting your gaze to meet hers. Her eyes were dark, her lips slightly parted. "Can I keep going?"

A shiver ran through her. For a moment, she just looked at you—really looked—as if weighing the years of absence against the heat of now. Then, with a slow exhale, she nodded.

"Yes," she whispered. "But... go slow. It's been—" Her voice caught. —"a long time."

You pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, feeling the tremor that raced through her. "However you need," you promised.

And then, with aching slowness, you hooked your fingers into the lace and drew them down her legs, revealing her fully.

She was beautiful—flushed and glistening, her thighs pressing together instinctively before she forced them to relax. You didn’t rush. You just kissed the crease of her hip, the softness of her inner thigh, letting her adjust to the vulnerability.

"Okay?" you asked against her skin.

Her fingers tangled in your hair—not pushing, just holding on. "Yeah," she breathed. "Just... gentle."

You obeyed.

Your first touch was featherlight—a slow, reverent stroke that made her gasp. Your name spilled from her lips like a prayer as you leaned in, your mouth following where your fingers had been.

And when you finally tasted her, she arched off the bed with a broken cry, her hands clutching the sheets.

"Oh—god—"

You held her hips steady, your touch as tender as your kiss had been. This wasn’t about claiming.

It was about remembering.

And you’d take all the time she needed.

The first slow drag of your tongue through her folds drew a sound from Jeongyeon that was half gasp, half sob—her hips jerking instinctively before she forced them still. You could feel the tension in her thighs where your hands rested, the way her body trembled with each careful stroke.

"Breathe," you murmured against her, your lips brushing her sensitive skin. "Just feel it."

She let out a shaky exhale, her fingers flexing in the sheets. You took your time, mapping her with unhurried laps of your tongue—learning what made her shiver, what made her whimper, what made her thighs tighten around your shoulders. Every flick, every slow circle was a question, and her body answered in trembling sighs and hitched breaths.

When you finally closed your lips around her clit and sucked gently, her back arched off the bed with a broken cry.

"Oh—oh—" Her voice was raw, unfamiliar with this kind of pleasure after so long. "That’s... different, it’s—"

You hummed against her, the vibration wringing another gasp from her lips. Her hands flew to your hair, not pushing, just holding on, as if she might float away otherwise.

And you didn’t rush.

You licked into her like you had all night, savoring the way her taste bloomed on your tongue, the way her body clenched around nothing, desperate for more. Every soft noise she made, every twitch of her hips, was a gift—a reminder that she was here, with you, relearning what pleasure could be.

When her thighs began to shake, her breaths coming in ragged pants, you eased back just enough to meet her dazed gaze.

"Good?" you asked, your thumb brushing her inner thigh.

Jeongyeon stared at you, her chest heaving, her lips parted around unspoken words. Then, with a helpless laugh, she covered her face with one hand.

"I... forgot," she admitted, her voice muffled. "I forgot it could feel like this."

You kissed her hip, smiling against her skin. "Then let me remind you."

And as you lowered your mouth to her again, her fingers tangled in your hair, her body opening to you like a flower to the sun—slow, aching, and so damn beautiful.

The moment your lips returned to her, Jeongyeon made a sound like shattered glass—high, fragile, beautiful. Her thighs quivered where they bracketed your shoulders, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers wove through your hair, not guiding, just anchoring herself to the sensation as your tongue traced slow, worshipful circles around her clit.

"That’s it," you murmured against her, your voice honey-warm between her thighs. "Just like that. Let me take care of you."

She whimpered, her hips lifting in tiny, involuntary rolls against your mouth. You rewarded her with a long, luxurious lick from her entrance to her aching peak, savoring the way her taste bloomed sweeter with every passing second. Her breath came in staggered sighs, her stomach fluttering like a trapped butterfly as you teased her—alternating between broad, flat strokes and pinpoint flicks that made her jolt.

When you finally sealed your lips around her clit and sucked—gentle but insistent—her back arched clean off the mattress.

"Ohgod—ah! AH!—" Her voice cracked, her thighs clamping around your ears as she trembled. You didn’t relent. You hollowed your cheeks, drawing her deeper into the heat of your mouth, your tongue swirling in relentless, perfect circles.

Jeongyeon dissolved.

Her orgasm crashed through her with a sob, her body bowing tight as a drawn bowstring before collapsing back into the sheets. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not when she was this radiant—her skin dew-kissed, her lips parted around silent cries, her cunt fluttering around nothing as you gentled your touch but never ceased.

"T-too much—" she gasped, her hips twitching away instinctively, but you caught her waist with careful hands, holding her still without force.

"Shh, I’ve got you," you soothed, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh before returning to her with a slow, savoring lick. "Just a little more. You’re doing so well."

And Jeongyeon, oversensitive and shuddering, let you.

Her thighs fell open wider, her fingers tightening in your hair as you laved at her with unhurried devotion, coaxing out every last ripple of pleasure until she was writhing again—not away, but into you, her breathy moans rising in pitch like a hymn.

"I—I can’t, I can’t—oh!"

Her second climax was slower, deeper, a tidal wave rather than a crash. You drank her in, your name spilling from her lips like a prayer as she trembled through it, her body pliant and boneless when you finally lifted your head.

Jeongyeon blinked dazedly down at you, her chest heaving, her lips kiss-swollen and parted. For a long moment, she just stared, her expression caught between awe and something dangerously close to reverence.

Then, with a shaky laugh, she covered her face with both hands.

"You’re…" Her voice cracked. "That was filthy."

You grinned, pressing a kiss to her hip. "And you loved every second."

She peeked at you between her fingers, her blush deepening.

She couldn’t deny it.

Her stomach quivered beneath your lips as you traced idle patterns across the soft expanse—kissing the faint silver lines left by motherhood, the gentle curve of her waist, the warmth of her skin as it rose and fell with each shuddering breath. Jeongyeon exhaled a laugh, half-dazed, her fingers combing through your hair with lazy affection.

"Mmm… what’re you doing down there?" she murmured, her voice still thick with pleasure.

You smiled against her skin, pressing another kiss just below her navel. "Admiring you."

She huffed, but you felt the way her body arched subtly into your touch, seeking more. "Flatterer."

"Truth-teller," you corrected gently, smoothing your palms up her sides in a slow, worshipful glide. "Look at you. All unraveled and glowing. Like something out of a dream."

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched—not from overstimulation this time, but something quieter, more vulnerable. Her hands stilled in your hair, her thumbs brushing your temples as she watched you through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Been a while since someone looked at me like this," she admitted softly.

You lifted your head just enough to meet her gaze, your lips grazing the dip of her waist. "Then they were blind."

The sound she made was barely a whisper—half a laugh, half a sigh—before she tugged you up by your hair, her mouth finding yours in a kiss that tasted like shared warmth and something dangerously close to tenderness.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were pink, her lips swollen, her eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.

"Keep talking like that," she murmured, nipping at your lower lip, "and I might just believe you."

You grinned against her mouth. "Good."

The kiss lingered—soft, unhurried, her lips moving against yours with a sweetness that made your chest ache. When you finally pulled back, Jeongyeon’s eyes fluttered open, her lashes casting delicate shadows on her flushed cheeks. You brushed your thumb along her jaw, marveling at the way the dim light caught the faint sheen of sweat on her skin.

"You’re staring again," she whispered, but there was no teasing in her voice now—just quiet wonder.

"Can’t help it," you admitted, tracing the curve of her bottom lip with your fingertip. "You’re…" Words failed you for a moment. How could you describe the way her laughter lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes when she smiled? The way her breath hitched when you touched her just so? The way she looked at you—like you’d hung the moon and stars just for her?

Jeongyeon tilted her head, waiting, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of your neck.

"You’re alive," you finally murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. "Like… sunlight through leaves. Or that first sip of coffee in the morning."

She let out a breathless laugh, her nose scrunching adorably. "That’s the cheesiest thing anyone’s ever said to me."

"And yet," you teased, nipping lightly at her lower lip, "you’re still blushing."

She was. A pretty pink flush spread from her cheeks down to her chest, her pulse fluttering beneath your lips as you kissed your way along her throat. Her fingers tightened in your hair, tugging just enough to make you groan—and god, the way her breath caught at the sound, like she was filing it away somewhere precious.

"Say it again," she breathed, arching into you.

"What? That you’re beautiful?" You grinned against her skin, relishing the way her stomach muscles tensed at the words. "That you taste like honey?" Another kiss, this time to the hollow of her throat. "That I could spend forever learning every way to make you sigh like that—?"

Jeongyeon cut you off with a searing kiss, her hips rolling up against yours in a slow, deliberate grind that stole the air from your lungs. When she pulled back, her eyes were dark, her lips swollen, her voice a husky whisper:

"Keep talking. Please."

And so you did—between kisses, between touches, between every shared breath—until the room spun with nothing but her name and the honeyed weight of your admiration.

Her hands were gentle but insistent as she guided you onto your back, her lips trailing fire along your collarbone as she settled between your thighs. You could feel her smile against your skin when her fingers brushed the waistband of your pants—the way she paused, just for a heartbeat, to savor the way your breath hitched.

"Let me," she murmured, her voice thick with promise.

And then, with agonizing slowness, she peeled the fabric down your hips, freeing your aching cock into the cool air. Her breath caught—a soft, reverent sound—as she took you in, her fingers hovering just above your length like she was afraid to touch something so sacred.

"God, you're beautiful," she whispered, her thumb brushing the swollen head, smearing the bead of precum that had gathered there.

You shuddered, your hips lifting instinctively, but Jeongyeon pressed a firm hand to your stomach, holding you down with a smirk.

"Patience," she chided, her eyes flicking up to yours. "I want to savor this."

And then she leaned in, her lips parting, and took just the tip of you into her mouth.

The heat of her tongue was electric—a slow, swirling caress that made your toes curl into the sheets. She hummed around you, the vibration shooting straight to your core as her fingers stroked the base of your shaft in lazy counterpoint.

"J-Jeongyeon—" you gasped, your hands fisting in the sheets.

She pulled off with a wet pop, her lips glistening. "Mm? Too much?"

You shook your head frantically, your cock twitching against your stomach. "Not enough."

Jeongyeon laughed—a low, throaty sound that went straight to your already throbbing length—before diving back in, her tongue lapping at your slit like she was tasting the finest wine.

And as she worshipped you—with her lips, her hands, her words—you realized:

This wasn’t just about pleasure.

It was about belonging.

Her lips were softer than you remembered—or maybe you'd just never noticed before how tenderly they could worship. Jeongyeon took her time, her mouth a slow, searing brand against your length as she kissed her way down your shaft, pausing to nuzzle the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before returning with deliberate care.

"You taste like sunlight," she murmured against your heated flesh, her breath ghosting over your tip. "Warm. Sweet."

The words alone made you throb, but it was the way she looked at you—eyes dark with affection rather than hunger—that unraveled you completely. When she finally took you into her mouth again, it wasn't with the frantic pace you'd expected. Instead, she lavished attention on every inch, her tongue tracing the veins along your length as if memorizing them, her lips sealing around you in slow, sucking pulls that drew moans from your chest rather than your groin.

"Jeongyeon—" Your voice cracked as her thumb brushed the base of your cock, her other hand cradling your balls with a gentleness that bordered on sacred.

She hummed in response, the vibration traveling straight to your spine. When her eyes flicked up to meet yours—holding your gaze as she swallowed you deeper—it felt less like a blowjob and more like a confession.

Every movement was a whispered I see you.

Every suckle a silent I adore you.

And when your hips jerked involuntarily, she didn't pull away. She simply pressed a soothing hand to your stomach, her rhythm never faltering, her devotion never wavering—

Until the pleasure crested like dawn breaking, spilling into her waiting mouth with a gasp of her name that sounded more like a prayer than a curse.

Jeongyeon swallowed every drop, her lips lingering at your tip to kiss away the aftershocks before resting her cheek against your thigh with a sigh.

"Beautiful," she whispered, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip. "You're so beautiful like this."

And for the first time in your life—

You believed it.

The moment your lips brushed her temple, Jeongyeon stilled beneath you—her breath catching in that fragile way that had nothing to do with pleasure. You paused, your hand hovering over her hip, waiting.

"We don’t have to—"

"I know," she interrupted softly, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. A single tear slipped free before she could stop it, glinting in the low light. "It’s just… he used to say that. ‘Be happy.’ Like it was that simple."

Your chest ached. You caught her tear with your thumb, cradling her face as if she might dissolve under your touch. "And are you?"

Jeongyeon closed her eyes, her lashes fluttering against damp cheeks. For a long moment, the only sound was her unsteady breath. Then, with a shuddering exhale, she pressed her forehead to yours.

"I think," she whispered, "I could be."

The kiss that followed was salt-edged and slow, her lips trembling against yours before steadying—choosing, with every brush of her tongue, every sigh into your mouth, to stay here, in this moment, with you.

When she finally guided your hips between her thighs, it wasn’t with desperation, but something far more vulnerable: trust.

"Show me," she breathed against your lips. "Show me how you love."

And as you slid into her—slow, reverent, achingly careful—Jeongyeon didn’t cry. She bloomed.

The first push inside her was met with a gasp that had nothing to do with pain—her body arched like a bowstring, her nails scoring lightly down your back as she adjusted to the stretch. You stilled, forehead pressed to hers, your breath mingling in the scant space between your lips.

"Okay?" you murmured, your voice rough with restraint.

Jeongyeon nodded, her hips canting up in silent demand. "Mmm… more."

You gave it to her—not with a snap of your hips, but with a slow, rolling thrust that drew a moan from her throat. Her legs wrapped around your waist, her heels pressing into the small of your back as if to keep you there, deep, where the heat of her threatened to unravel you.

The way her body clung to yours was obscene—every inch of her fluttering around you, her inner walls pulsing as if trying to memorize the shape of you. You groaned, your fingers tangling in her hair as you angled your hips just so, watching her eyes flutter shut at the new pressure.

"There?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeongyeon bit her lip, her thighs trembling where they bracketed yours. "Y-yes—god, yes—"

You set a rhythm then—not fast, not frantic, but deep, each thrust a deliberate stroke designed to wring every ounce of pleasure from her. Her breasts swayed with the movement, her nipples pebbled and begging for attention, but you resisted. This wasn’t about chasing an end.

This was about savoring.

Her fingers traced the sweat-slick planes of your back, her breath coming in ragged pants against your ear. "You feel—ah—so good—"

You swallowed her words with a kiss, your tongues tangling as you moved inside her, the slide of your bodies slick and sinful. The bed creaked beneath you, the sheets tangled around your ankles, but neither of you cared.

Not when she was looking at you like that—like you’d hung the moon and stars just for her.

The room filled with the slick, sinful sounds of your bodies moving together—each thrust drawing Jeongyeon higher up the sheets, her breasts bouncing slightly with every deep stroke until her head nearly touched the headboard. You caught her hips, pulling her back down your length with a groan, the muscles in your arms straining as you angled yourself just right to watch her face crumple in pleasure.

Her thighs trembled where they hugged your waist, her slick folds clinging to every inch of you as you withdrew only to sink back in with deliberate, aching precision. A pearl of sweat rolled down between her breasts, catching on her peaked nipple before disappearing into the valley of her chest. You followed its path with your tongue, laving over the stiff peak until she gasped, her back arching off the mattress.

"Mmm... sensitive?" you murmured against her skin, your lips brushing the flushed swell of her breast.

Jeongyeon whimpered, her fingers scrambling against your shoulders. "Y-you know I am," she panted, her voice honey-sweet even as her hips rolled up to meet your next thrust with a wet slap. "A-ah! Right there—"

You obliged, your pace never faltering as you drove into her again and again, the heat between her legs bordering on scalding. Her inner walls fluttered around you, her body trying desperately to pull you deeper even as you kept the rhythm slow, maddening.

Her hands found your face, her thumbs brushing your cheekbones as she pulled you down for a kiss—deep and messy, her tongue sliding against yours between breathy moans. When you broke apart, her lips were swollen, her gaze hazy with need.

"You're beautiful like this," you breathed, your voice thick with awe as you watched her body take you—her stomach quivering with each thrust, her thighs squeezing your hips in silent plea.

Jeongyeon whined, her nails digging half-moons into your biceps. "T-talk too much," she managed, though the grin tugging at her lips betrayed her.

You chuckled, rolling your hips in a slow, circular grind that had her seeing stars. "You love it."

She did.

And as the room filled with the sounds of your lovemaking—skin against skin, breathless laughter, whispered praise—neither of you cared about anything but this moment.

This feeling.

This love.

The moment your hands found her waist, rolling her hips against yours in a slow, filthy grind, Jeongyeon shattered—not with an orgasm, but with something deeper. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her nails biting into your shoulders as she clung to you like you were the only solid thing in a spinning world.

"F-feels like—" Her voice broke as you angled your hips just so, the head of your cock brushing that sweet spot inside her that made her thighs quake. "Like I'm waking up—"

You understood.

Every drag of your length inside her was a reminder—of heat, of sensation, of the way her body could still sing beneath someone's touch. Her back arched off the mattress, her breasts flushed and heaving as you set a pace that was less about friction and more about feeling—deep, rolling thrusts that had her seeing stars with every slow withdrawal, every aching push back in.

Her legs locked around your waist, her heels digging into the small of your back as if to keep you there, buried to the hilt where the heat of her threatened to undo you. The way her walls fluttered around you—clenching rhythmically like a heartbeat—was obscene, the slick sounds of your joining filling the room alongside her breathy whimpers.

"Look at me," you murmured, your voice rough with restraint as your thumbs brushed the damp hollows of her collarbones.

Jeongyeon's eyes fluttered open, glassy with unshed tears—not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelm of it all. The way you moved inside her, the way your breath hitched when she clenched around you, the way your hips stuttered when she rolled her own to meet you.

"I see you," you whispered, your forehead dropping to hers as you pressed in deep, holding there as her body trembled beneath you. "God, Jeongyeon—alive, so alive—"

Her answering sob was muffled against your lips as she kissed you—desperate, messy, her teeth catching your lower lip as her hips lifted to take you even deeper. The stretch burned, her inner muscles fluttering wildly as if trying to memorize every ridge, every pulse of your cock as you moved within her.

And when your hand slid between you, your thumb finding her swollen clit in slow, deliberate circles, she broke—her back bowing off the bed as her thighs shook, her walls clamping down on you in rhythmic waves that had you seeing stars.

But you didn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

Not when every gasp, every twitch, every tremor was proof that she was here—Alive, Loved, Maybe...yours

Her orgasm hit like a slow-moving storm—building in the tremors of her thighs first, the way her toes curled against your calves, the desperate clutch of her fingers in the sheets. You felt it everywhere: in the way her breath stuttered against your neck, in the sudden flutter of her walls around your cock, in the choked-off whimper that escaped her lips as the first wave crested.

"Oh—oh god—"

Jeongyeon's back arched beautifully off the mattress, her head tipping back as pleasure rolled through her in relentless waves. Her breasts heaved with each ragged gasp, her nipples pebbled and flushed, her stomach quivering as the sensations wracked her body. You held her through it—your thrusts gentling but never stopping, your lips pressed to the frantic pulse at her throat as she trembled beneath you.

"That's it," you murmured, your voice thick with awe as you watched her come undone. "Let go. Just feel it."

And she did.

Her climax was a living thing—rippling through her in slow, syrupy pulses that had her clenching around you rhythmically, her inner muscles milking your length as if trying to draw you deeper. Her thighs shook where they bracketed your hips, her heels digging into the small of your back as if to anchor herself.

"T-too much—" she sobbed, her hands flying to your shoulders, her nails biting into your skin. But even as she said it, her hips rolled up to meet your next thrust, her body demanding more even as it threatened to overwhelm her.

You obliged, your pace never faltering as you guided her through the aftershocks—each slow, deep stroke prolonging her pleasure until she was gasping, her eyes screwed shut, her lips parted around silent cries.

When the last tremor finally subsided, Jeongyeon went boneless beneath you, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her skin glistening with sweat. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, her touch feather-light as she floated back to earth.

"Alive?" you teased, brushing a damp lock of hair from her forehead.

She cracked one eye open, her lips curving into a drowsy, sated smile. "Mmm... very."

The room was quiet save for the sound of your mingled breaths, the sheets tangled around your legs like afterthoughts. Jeongyeon lay sprawled beneath you, her skin still flushed, her chest rising and falling in slow, contented waves. You traced idle patterns along her hip, smiling when she shivered at the touch.

"Tickles," she murmured, her voice drowsy and thick.

You hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. "Good tickles or bad tickles?"

She cracked one eye open, her lips quirking. "Annoying tickles."

You laughed, your fingers dancing higher, skimming the dip of her waist. "What about here?"

Jeongyeon squirmed, her breath hitching when your thumb brushed the underside of her breast. "You," she accused, though there was no heat in it—just a fond exasperation that made your chest warm.

You grinned, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. "Me."

She huffed, but her arms wound around your shoulders anyway, her fingers carding through your hair in a way that was more affectionate than teasing. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet," you murmured, kissing the spot just below her ear that always made her gasp, "you haven’t pushed me away yet."

Jeongyeon sighed—a long, exaggerated sound—before rolling you onto your back with surprising strength, her thighs straddling your hips with practiced ease. Her hair was a mess, her lips still swollen from earlier, her eyes bright with mischief.

"Who said anything about pushing you away?"

And then she leaned down, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that was less about heat and more about promise—slow, sweet, and entirely too confident for someone who’d just come undone beneath you minutes ago.

You groaned, your hands settling on her waist. "You’re gonna be the death of me."

She smirked, her teeth nipping at your lower lip. "Good."

The words left her lips in a breathless rush, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your chest. "I love how you love me," she murmured, her voice still hazy from her first climax. "But... I need you to ruin me now."

A shiver ran down your spine at the quiet plea in her tone. You cupped her face, kissing her with a reverence that bordered on worship—slow, deep, your tongue sliding against hers in a silent promise. When you pulled back, her lips were parted, her eyes dark with anticipation.

"How bendy are you, baby?" you asked, your thumb brushing her swollen lower lip.

Jeongyeon blinked, her brows knitting together in adorable confusion. "I—what?"

"Yoga. Stretches. That kind of thing," you clarified, your voice dropping to a husky murmur as your hand trailed down her body, skimming the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip.

A slow, dawning realization lit her features, followed by a smirk that was all mischief. "Oh, please. I could out-stretch a pretzel."

You grinned, pressing one last kiss to her lips before shifting your weight. "Prove it."

With careful hands, you guided her legs up, folding them toward her chest until her knees brushed her shoulders. The position arched her back beautifully, her body open and achingly vulnerable beneath you. Jeongyeon gasped as you settled between her thighs, the new angle allowing you to sink into her with a single, devastating thrust.

"F-fuck—!" Her voice cracked, her nails scrabbling at the sheets as you bottomed out inside her, the stretch bordering on too much.

You stilled, your forehead dropping to hers as she adjusted, her inner walls fluttering wildly around your cock. "Okay?" you breathed, your voice rough with restraint.

Jeongyeon nodded frantically, her hips canting up in silent demand. "More—"

You obliged.

The first pullout was slow, deliberate, your cock dragging against her walls in a way that had her seeing stars. The second thrust was harder, deeper, the head of your length brushing that sweet spot inside her that made her scream.

"There—right there—!" she sobbed, her thighs trembling where they bracketed your shoulders.

You set a brutal pace then—each snap of your hips driving into her with pinpoint precision, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room alongside her broken moans. The angle was obscene, allowing you to watch every inch of your cock disappear into her, her slick folds stretched taut around your girth.

Jeongyeon unraveled beneath you, her back arching off the bed, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. Her hands flew to her own nipples, pinching and tugging at the stiff peaks as if chasing even more sensation.

"Look at you," you groaned, your fingers digging into her hips as you pistoned into her. "—god, you feel unreal—"

She could only whimper in response, her body alight with pleasure, her walls clenching around you in rhythmic pulses as if trying to pull you even deeper.

And as the room filled with the sounds of your joining—her choked-off cries, your ragged breaths, the lewd squelch of your cock moving inside her—neither of you cared about anything but this.

[etheries1015]

after learning Silver uses a BAR OF SOAP to wash his hair...AND wanting to wish him a happy birthday, I decided he must be pampered with a...little spa day, and something a little special near the end <3 Happy birthday, Silver!!

General warnings: gender neutral reader

Upon visiting Silver in his dorm for a small birthday celebration and finding out the unfortunate truth behind his hair-washing habits, you were quick to insist you take him out shopping or teach him the ways of proper hair care.

"I had no clue it wasn't normal to just use a bar of soap," Silver shrugged, "As long as it makes me clean, right?"

"Just hearing you say that hurts," you joked exasperatedly, "I feel it's my duty now to train you in the ways of making your hair clean and feel like you're touching a cloud."

"Well," Silver pondered, "I guess it wont hurt to learn."

"Perfect!" You jumped up from your seat, the Diasomnia lounge, "you guys are done here, right?" Lilia looked as startled as Silver at your sudden outburst, before taking a glance at the already eaten birthday cake and open presents that lay out on the table.

"I suppose it is time to retire, I have a gaming session happening soon anyways," Lilia pointed out, before a sly smile crawled upon his lips and looking at you with a glint of mischief in his eyes, "Feel free to take him!"

"Take me?" Silver perked up, sitting up straight. Giving an...unsettling cackle and grabbing Silvers hands, you began to pull him up and urge him to follow you.

"Perfect. Yes, i'm kidnapping you. Remember, I told you that I left my present for you at Ramshackle anyways. AND this is a perfect opportunity for me to initiate my next mission..."

"Mission...?" you heard Lilia sing his goodbyes and waved a quick farewell to the other members of Diasomnia, before dragging Silver out the door and towards the direction of the hall of mirrors.

"Operation: spoil the birthday boy with a spa day!"

Wearing the world's softest robe you had let him use, Silver dosed off a few times after being completely pampered like a princess, and not as a result of his typical condition. You messaging his scalp was probably the most heavenly thing he had felt in a long time, the way your fingers worked on his head left his eyes fluttering shut. He was honestly sad when he realized he had fallen asleep and missed half of the process, but he could still feel your touch linger on his head and immensely enjoy the newfound softness of his silver locks.

You woke him up when you had placed a cool face mask on him, and fell asleep once more when you had started to massage his tense shoulders and cut his nails... He felt like floating on clouds, and those clouds also smelled like you.

"It's nice..." Silver hummed, eyes fluttering open watching you finish filing one of his nails, "You have a very nice scent. I would like to know where you get your hair products," He smiled at you.

"We can find you a scent that suites you more," you offered, "every person has their own unique scent! I'm sure with some time, we can find the perfect one for you." However, Silver shook his head in earnest. It was much more romantic than he probably intended, yet he leaned forward and took a light smell of your also freshly washed hair.

"I like your scent," he smiled, "besides, it would be nice to share something similar, right? So when we aren't together, there's always a piece of you there. You also convinced me that hair care is more important than I gave it credit for..."

Your face took a rosy hue, you groaned in embarrassment, covering your face with your hands.

"You're so...cheesy! You don't need my shampoo and conditioner to be reminded of me, I actually...got you...something. For your birthday." Silver raised a curious eyebrow and tilted his head with widened eyes.

"I thought you spoiling me with a little 'spa' was my birthday gift? you've already spoiled me plenty, I don't need-"

"Of course that's not all I have planned!" You exasperated, pushing Silver down onto the couch in Ramshackle lounge, "Wait here." Sprinting away, you were back almost as fast as you had left, in your hands you held a small box obviously held for some type of accessory. Taking it gracefully, Silver opened the box to reveal a silver bracelet adorned with...

"Acorns?" Silver asked startled, holding up the bracelet and examining it with curious and starry eyes.

"I saw the one you made for Lilia," You pointed out shyly, "Out of real acorns. I thought of making one myself for you, too...but, I wanted something a little more durable, something you can wear more often. If...you don't mind accessories." You hid your hands behind your back fidgeting with your fingers nervously, before a smile spread ear to ear and cheeks rose with a blush from the male. He gripped the bracelet with eagerness, and you swore the bright look on his face would surely give the sun some competition.

"I love it," Silver replied with a voice dripping in enthusiasm, "I won't be able to wear it while I'm training, but I'll be sure to have it on at all times. I'll take great care of it, thank you." You were visibly relieved, chuckling and bringing your hands to your front as you revealed an exact match of the same bracelet you had just given him.

"i'm glad, otherwise it would have been pretty embarrassing to wear a matching bracelet with nobody actually matching with me..." Silver stared with wide auroral orbs, mouth ajar upon seeing it. "So...we have something to share! Just like you were talking about before, right?"

Engulfing you in a hug after putting on the accessory in one fell swoop, Silver couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of affection for the prefect of ramshackle dorm. He squeezed you tightly, yet not enough to harm you. You smiled and returned the hug in full, chuckling at his sudden display of fondness.

"This has been a wonderful birthday," Silver said, "Thank you, truly. I will remember this day for a very, very long time." leaning into his touch, you pushed aside the urge to tell him he was overreacting, and took the honest boys words at face value.

"Of course...Happy birthday, Silver!"

[saturneras]

Private Eyes II

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It has been a couple of weeks and the job has worked you to the bone. You haven't finished your shift at the station once during daylight hours and the tasks keep piling up. The worst of it all? Joel Miller has made himself scarce and you only ever see him leaving the office exactly when you appear. One could assume he is trying to avoid you on purpose. Be as it may, after what happened in the archives, you are not letting him off the hook this easily. After all it is your brother's poker night and you know a certain chief of police who hasn't missed a game in weeks. Isn't it a wonderful night for a game?

Note: I am so happy you guys liked the first part and I hope this one makes you kick your feet.

Part I

When you sort the last report into the file and place them on the rookie's desk, you let out a big sigh. Finished. And it is not even eight o'clock. What a win. Almost everyone is already gone for the night and as you gather your jacket out of the little cubicle Lori assigned you on your first day, Daniel calls out from behind you.

"Still here?"

"Justice never sleeps,” you joke and pull on your jacket.

He grins, "I feel like this is something I should say."

His smile is handsome, attractive even. His uniform is very well fitted and you can tell that he probably works out regularly. Does seem like a guy who drinks an insane amount of protein shakes and doesn't do caffeine though.

You shrug and grab your bag. "You can use it, I won't tell."

Another laugh and you brush past him toward the door. If you’re quick you’ll catch them right when they’ve already had a drink or two. Alcohol makes for lose tongues and quick tempers, equaling lots of fun.

“You need a ride?” Daniel asks.

You shake your head. "I'm good, but thanks."

Before you turn around again, Daniel takes a step toward you. "It's no problem, really. I'm just finishing up myself."

"Actually," you reply. "I'm just on my way down to Mickey's."

His eyebrows lift up. "Oh no way, I was just heading over there myself."

That's probably a lie and you can tell by the way he so desperately wants to seem nonchalant, but you don't care and would rather take the 10 minute drive than walk for 30 in this heat.

"Oh, what a coincidence," you say and can't help the slight sarcastic undertone. You like Daniel, just as much as the next girl likes a nice guy. He has had you work on some reports he had to write and let you draft up a proposal to the city for some funding allocations last week that you actually put a lot of work into. But you can't shake the feeling that he seems like the kind of guy to take credit for other people's work.

"Yeah," he says and smiles easily. "Funny."

"I just need to change really quick, is that okay?"

Daniel nods, "Of course, take your time."

You quickly change into some jeans and a white tee in the women's changing rooms.

Out in the station's parking lot he opens the door for you. Daniel drives a BMW, which does seem like quite a fancy car for a police officer. "You like the car?" He asks.

You can't help but chuckle slightly at his eager tone. You don't really care for cars, but reply, "Sure."

Daniel starts the engine and you smoothly glide out of the parking lot and the buildings rush past you on the side of the street. You lean back into the seat a little and close your eyes for a second, letting the work day fall away.

"Have you been settling in nicely?" Daniel breaks the sweet silence between you two.

You turn your head to face him and say, "You do know that this is my hometown, right?"

He laughs as if you had made a joke. "Oh sure, sure, I just meant with the station and all."

"It's a lot of work," you reply honestly. "I just wish I could see some operations, some action, you know?"

"Right," Daniel replies. "The chief likes you in the back office, huh?"

"I don't think the chief likes me to do anything," you say a little too snappy.

Daniel grins. "He isn't the most accommodating person here, let's be real."

When you say nothing, he adds, "But not everybody is like that. I really appreciate all the stuff you've been helping me out with. Your report was really good, by the way. Maybe I can take you out on a ride that's not too dangerous some time."

"Sounds good," you say. "I'm glad I could help."

"It actually went pretty well, the city agreed to all the terms you suggested. You're really good at this."

You laugh. "Maybe they're just easily convinced."

Right when you pull up into the parking lot at Mickey's, Daniel says, "I bet you can be pretty irresistible, huh?"

You know how this goes and are not in the mood for a "I'm just a nice guy trying to be nice" kind of conversation and just ignore the comment. He pulls into a spot in front of the entrance and you can't make out your brother's truck anywhere. Maybe you've mixed up the days?

When you step into the bar, the first couple of notes of Two Dozen Roses fills the air and your ears immediately. You've always liked it here, even though as a teenager you never used to drink go. Mickey's seemed more like a bar for dads and older brother's who didn't like to talk or listen to anything other than country. And as a 19 year old all you want to do is talk and listen to anything but country. You can tell Daniel is somewhere behind you, rambling about something.

"I'll go get us a drink," Daniel says and puts one hand softly on your back faster than you can react and struts off to the bar.

You take a look around and see the usual crowd hanging around the bar and the little dance floor. But just as ocean calls to the shore, you can sense his eyes on you even before you spot him a couple of tables further in the back. He is sitting facing the entrance, like a good chief of police should, in between his brother Tommy and some guy you haven't seen before. You spot your brother with his back turned toward you, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"You should've thought of that before you invited him to join, Tommy," Casey says between laughs.

Joel Miller hasn't stopped looking at you this whole time you're standing in the middle of the room. His eyes are like honey stuck to a spoon, lazily clinging to every bit of you. The chief also has changed out of his usual white shirt and tie and is wearing a dark green flannel that stretches over his chest the moment he leans back into his chair, taking a sip of his drink. The ice cubes slide toward his mouth and the thought of the warmth of his lips melting the ice with each sip hits you like a curveball. For some reason, inexplicable to you, it makes your stomach tighten. Okay, that's a lie. You can admit, perfectly indifferent, of course that Joel Miller is .. not hard to look at. His dark eyes are still on you. Taunting. As if he's reading your mind, he raises his right eyebrow and you can't help but make your way over, as if he's got some gravitational pull forcing you to submit. Calling something inside of you that you hadn't realised was there.

"Well well well," Tommy says loudly. "Who do we have here? Isn't it the future attorney general?"

You can't help but smile at Tommy, who gets up immediately, moving around the table to engulf you in a tight hug. He is the friendliest man you've ever met and you're happy your brother chose someone so lovely to build a business with. Casey turns his head and grins.

"Off before midnight?" Casey asks mockingly. "What's gotten into you?"

"Midnight?" Tommy barks. "What have you been making her do, Joel?"

All eyes turn to him and he doesn't even flinch, just looks at his brother and says, "Nothing she can't handle."

Your eyes meet for a split second and then he glances at his brother again.

"This sounds like a case of employee exploitation, if you ask me," Tommy says.

"Nobody did," Joel replies gruffly and gets up from his seat.

"Hey," Tommy turns to me. "You want a drink?"

Just in time, Daniel materialises behind us, two bottles in his hands. "Hey, guys."

Casey turns toward the table again, mumbling something that did sound quite a lot like hell nah. It takes a second before Tommy's furrowed brows ease up and he smiles. "You brought the little Sheriff?"

"Who?" You ask, confused.

Tommy points to Daniel, whispering in my ear. "His dad is the Sheriff."

"Oh," you say. "I didn't know."

Tommy nods and takes the beer out of Daniel's hand. "Thanks bud, you play poker?"

Daniel looks as if he might protest but then remains silent and nods his head.

"You can join if you want," Tommy suggests and elicits a muffled groan by Casey and the other guy. "I think Joel has stripped us of enough money tonight."

"Yeah, sure," Daniel nods eagerly. "I just need to call my Dad to let him know I won't make it to dinner."

Joel huffs and grabs his glass from table. You take a step back and let Daniel slip into Tommy's seat, while Tommy mumbles something into his brothers ears and pats him on the back. Joel turns around and heads for the bar. You watch him go and then watch them play for a bit. You've played enough poker with your dad that you realise they're all trying hard not to make Daniel look like an idiot, who continuously makes every possible mistake.

"I'll be right back," you say to Casey and make your way to the bar, turning left toward the restrooms. Behind a cherry red door leads a narrow hallway. You open the heavy door and after having stepped inside for a couple of steps, collide with the broad chest dressed in a dark green flannel button down.

"Didn't I tell you to be more careful?" His voice is calm and has the tiniest bit of bite to it.

"I probably wasn't listening," you reply.

"Why did you bring your puppy?" He says.

"My what?" You say and then realise who he is talking about. "Oh, Daniel just gave me a ride from work."

"Since when do you dress for work like this?" Joel's eyes graze down your body in a calculated measure. You think you must imagine the way his eyes darken when they roam over your white shirt. And you can't help but cross your arms under his scrutiny, feeling like it's burning through you.

"You know there are changing rooms at the station and you would know what I had been wearing to work if you would ever bother to show up yourself."

Now it is his time to cross his arms defensively. "I've been busy."

"With what?" You press.

"With shit that is none of your concern," he replies roughly.

"So it is only my concern, when you need someone to do your shitty paperwork?"

"You wanted to see how the real world works," he says. "There you go."

"Daniel at least lets me do some actual work and not just digitalise files from the 70s," you say.

"I knew he did not fucking write that report," Joel mumbles more to himself than you. "He shouldn't have done that."

"I enjoyed writing it."

"I don't care if it made your little lawyer heart race," he says. "It was Riley's job and he didn't do it."

"It got done, didn't it?" You say.

"That's not the point," Joel says sharply. "He had a direct order and he disobeyed it. It's not your job to do his work. I assigned him that task to make him familiarise himself with the issues our station is facing."

You stay silent and Joel clears his throat.

"Never mind, he'll hear the end of this."

"I didn't realise I was disobeying your order," You say.

Joel furrows his brows. "You weren't."

"You sure?"

"Believe me," he replies. "If you were disobeying my orders, you would know."

His gaze is lowered down to you and you feel your body tensing.

You let your arms fall to your sides and slightly lean forward. "Remind me to never disobey your orders then."

"Following orders does not seem like your strong suit." His face remains impassive.

You grin slightly and focus on his face. It would only take one small step to close the distance between you two. Not even a second.

Once again his eyes have turned to molten chocolate and you can't help but watch their specks of gold catch the dim light. He looks like he hasn't shaved is beard in a couple of days and you wonder what his stubble feels like scraping against your neck. The sudden thought surprises you. How would it feel to be pressed against his front with his arm around you and his tongue on your neck? The sudden image of it runs on a loop inside of your head, when Joel interrupts, "Casey can't drive you home. He's been drinking."

The change of subject confuses you for a second, as if you both were watching the same movie but he switched the channel.

"I know," you say. "But I'm staying a bit later anyways."

"You need to call your daddy first, too?" Joel asks, raising his eyebrow. And you know he cannot not like this, enjoy this understanding between the two of you.

"Which one?" You retort and he isn't quick enough at hiding his surprise.

He grunts and leans the slightest bit toward you. "Why do I feel like a broken record when I tell you to watch your goddamn tone."

"Maybe you should ask nicely," you say.

"That is not something you should say to your boss, sweetheart" Joel says.

"As I am officially clocked out and due to you not carrying your badge or your gun it is safe for me to assume you are off duty. So technically, you're not acting as my boss right now, sir."

"Just because you can't see it, does not mean it isn't there," Joel says and you raise your eyebrows.

"A grower not a shower, huh?"

Joel's eyes narrow. "You need to watch it, Darlin'."

He turns his body, forcing you to do the same, so your back is pressed against the wall of the hallway. You're trying to concentrate on his words but his smell makes its way up your nose and seems to cloud your brain. He is so close that you can feel his hot breath on your skin, laced with a hint of whiskey. You thought it would be much easier to navigate this conversation but now it seems almost redundant and you slowly forget why you wanted to talk in the first place.

He raises his arm and places one hand next to your head. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a piece of work?"

Your chin raises slightly in defiance. "You're not the first one who has given me such a compliment."

Joel's jeans touch your bare legs and if he wanted to he could flush your bodies by the push of his hips. He is towering over you, his eyes looking like they're looking for something on your face, they haven't been able to find yet. And you feel like telling him you want him to never stop searching for it. You hear the first couple of notes of Chris Stapelton's "You Should Probably Leave" resound from the bar, as he lifts his other hand slowly as if not to startle you.

When his large hand has almost touched your hip, he says, "Let's see if I'll be the la-"

The door to the bar opens and Joel immediately yanks his hands away and puts two step between you.

Daniel appears in the doorway and his eyes widen in surprise. "Oh, there you are."

"Here I am," you say, trying to sound relaxed. Probably failing. What the fuck was that just now?

"I was just gonna say that your brother just headed out over to Tommy's house for more drinks and I need to go to my dad's house to pick some stuff up," he says.

It takes you a second to figure out that he is waiting for you to relieve him of the duty to give you a ride home.

"No worries, I'll just get an Uber," you say exactly at the same time Joel says, "I'll take her."

You turn around and glare at him. "That won't be necessary."

"Awesome," Daniel exclaims. "Thanks, Chief. See you tomorrow."

And with that he steps back into the bar, leaving you standing there with Joel.

"I can just get an Uber, it's no big deal."

"I'm taking you home and it's not a topic of discussion, so you can shut it," he says and starts walking toward the door. You follow his steps quickly.

"I am an adult, I can get home by myself," you protest.

"Do you even know how many women get kidnapped or assaulted by their driver?"

"This isn't New York, Miller," you say. "We are in Texas."

"What do you think I'm doing at my job?" Joel says and opens the bar entrance door for you to walk through. "Cutting ribbons and issuing speeding tickets?"

"Something like that," you say and stop in front of his truck.

"Why do you think we established our office hours for women?" He looks at you as if he's actually waiting for a response, but you know he isn't. "People are dangerous and it is my job to protect you."

"I don't need protection," you snap and add, "From you."

"You might not need it," Joel says, opening the passenger door. "But you sure as hell will get it. Now get in the truck."

You don't attempt to make a move and he shifts his weight.

"It might make it easier," Joel warns. "But I don't need a badge nor gun to make you get into this truck, Darlin'."

"I'd love to see you try," you press and almost see a grin appear on Joel's face.

"I ain't above throwing you over my shoulder."

"Is that supposed to make me feel scared?"

He stoically remains next to the passenger door and just watches you. "Just get in the goddamn car, will ya?" Once again is voice is pure cool ice and it impresses you how he can say something so decisively, leaving no room for disobedience.

You sigh and walk toward him, stepping onto the side step of his truck. Now you're at his eye level and without thinking, your head moves to the side, hovering directly in front of his. A strand of hair has fallen from his head into his eyes and you feel the urge to push it back. The urge to run your fingers through his hair hasn't faded ever since that moment in the archives. When his eyes lower themselves and cling to your lips, you can't help but release a soft breath. His jaw clenches almost imperceptibly, but he slowly steps out of the door and moves to the side for you to sit down.

You wait for him to shut the door but it doesn't happen. Instead you suddenly feel that familiar breath on the side of your neck, dancing down your neckline. Goosebumps give away your receptiveness to his warmth, but you can't turn your head, you can't risk to look.

Joel has one arm propped on the car, one is holding the door. His shirt is pulled across his chest, revealing a slither of his tanned skin. You inhale shakily, when he whispers only for you to hear.

"And I didn't even need to ask nicely," he says. "Such a good girl."

[drdemonprince]

I keep seeing the posts about male socialization and idk it makes me feel weird because I identify as transfem and I *do* believe I had male socialization. I find it easier to identify with and understand male groups and to feel involved in the while I feel less at ease understanding how women feel and think even though my personal view of myself leans more towards a feminine identity. All these posts make me doubt that I am truly "transfem" and that even if I am, that I am fundamentally transfem in a different way than most other transfems I run into. Is there any sources or writing out there that either provides a counter-perspective or at the very least points to nuance on this subject from a transfem lens? I wish I didn't feel so alone with these feelings.

Your feelings and experience do not make you any less legitimate as a transfeminine person. A lot of trans women rightfully and understandably need to counteract the notion that they're oppressive privileged males or whatever by asserting, as clearly as they can, the many ways in which their socialization was a female socialization, with all the double-standards, demanded emotional labor, sexual predation, etc that entails -- but the very need to assert these things is due to the culture's twisted misconceptions about what gender even is and how it operates.

It's not as though a young person only gets the socialization of the binary gender to which they were assigned -- they get mandatory cishet socialization, and they see what is expected of the "other" gender, and that impacts them, and the standards for that other gender also influence how they are interpreted and seen.

And so I do think, to a certain extent, that when trans people assert that we actually didn't get socialized as our assigned gender at birth, we got socialized as the correct gender, actually, we are unfortunately ceding ground to the transphobes on a couple of key points. One, we're conceeding that there is a singular binary socialization that the two genders each get, which are separate from one another and always exhibit specific features, and two, that a person's socialization as a young person is a key determinant of their gendered experience, privilege, and identity forever, no matter what happens after they are young.

And you know, both those things are totally wrong. There is no one female socialization. I've written about this before, but I wasn't raised to be feminine. I was raised the way working-class girls are raised, which is to be no-nonsense, unfrivolous, serious, sporty, and capable -- a wife and mother, but the kind that never wears a skirt or cries in front of people. And there is no singular "male" socialization either -- I cite a few trans femme people in this piece who experienced themselves as having some male privilege before they transitioned, and some more typically "male" experiences, while also quoting a number of trans women whose lives went the exact opposite way. I assert in the piece that their experiences are theirs to name, and that there's a number of different ways we might each understand and categorize them personally -- especially when we take into account how much gendered socialization is dependent upon class, race, immigration status, diasporic status, and much more.

My view is that however you think your live played out, and whoever you find community alongside, you're right. I'm about to answer a similar ask about this from a trans masc perspective, but I'm a guy who has a ton of women friends and always have. I grew up mostly with girls as my closest buddies and we did things like playing pretend and having slumber parties and doing makeovers. I could chalk this up as a "female socialization" experience I guess if I wanted to. But I also grew up with a lot of gay boys, and I am a gay man, and guess what -- a lot of us grow up with predominately female friends. I don't think I have some essential feminine quality because my friends kept insisting on putting eyeshadow on me when I was ten. The fact I was bad at sports and couldn't be the tough, no-nonsense person that my culture expected me to be was gonna affect me whether I was a boy or a girl. And my upbringing was significantly different from that of one of my very best, oldest friends, whose family owned a successful business and were able to buy her a car and a horse and shit.

You're not betraying anything or lessening your own transfemininity by resonating with some typically "male" experiences or for having close male connections. Lots of queer women do! Just like I have plenty in common with lots of women! We don't say that cis women aren't women because they grew up tomboys, or had a ton of brothers, and the same is true of you. Even if you don't think of your younger self as "a tomboy" or even as a girl. You don't have to ascribe to the narrative that you were always one gender and always moved through the world with that identity. To demand that all trans people do so is respectability politics -- we cannot and should not require that all people be trans in the same ways. I have written before that transition to me feels at once both pre-ordained AND a choice that I made. You can say that you lived as a boy for some years or were a boy if that feels right to you, or that you had certain privileges while also suffering from dysphoria and disconnection; it's your life and you know it best and what serves you.

I wish I had narratives from trans women writers to direct you to, but for the most part the trans women who I've heard express feelings like yours have been in the support and discussion groups I've been in, and in private conversation -- I think because the socialization experiences of trans femmes are so unfairly politicized. I hope if any trans femme people see this have anything to share or any words to say that they will!

[st3f13ily]

Jealousy?? Yeah, Right

Summary: Two weeks have gone by since that day, and now Satoru's latest mission is over, he decided to make a new one! Operation: The art of (not) making you jealous!

Timeline: Teenage Arc (2006)

Dual pov

Previous | Gojo Satoru Masterlist | Next

Your Perspective

You noticed it immediately.

The Gojo Satoru is weird.

Well, weirder than usual.

He is standing by the vending machine, leaning against it with all the grace of a soap opera playboy, talking to some random girl from who knows where. His arm is propped up against the machine like he’s in some kind of drama scene.

He laughs.

Loudly.

Obnoxiously.

As if the girl just told the funniest joke in the world.

She looks confused. You feel confused. The vending machine probably feels confused.

And then it click.

You know Gojo Satoru . You know how he operates. You know he likes to poke and prod at people until they snap just to amuse himself.

So it's probably one of his harmless pranks again, he is probably thinking something ridiculous right now.

And yet.

And yet.

Why does your stomach feel weird?

His glasses are pushed onto his head, revealing those ridiculously blue eyes, and they’re locked onto the girl with full intensity.

Your fingers twitch.

It's fine.

You don't care.

You don't care.

But he leans closer, 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲. His hand rests against the vending machine, caging her like some shoujo manga protagonist.

What the!!

That's his signature move.

He actually do that to other girls also??

The worst part? that girl giggles, her cheek turning red.

Then your fingers clench into a fist.

This is stupid. You know it's stupid. You know him too well to fall for this nonsense. It's so obviously a trick, one of his dumb pranks, because every few seconds, his eyes dart toward you, checking for a reaction.

He's trying to make me jealous.

And gosh, it's working.

The realization makes your blood boil. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, but your pride won’t let you just walk over there and call him out.

No.

You will not give him the satisfaction.

You turn on your heel, heading in the opposite direction.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

You don’t.

But the second you hear another giggle from that girl, your feet betray you and start marching straight toward him.

Gojo is mid-sentence, saying something ridiculous.

His attention snaps to you instantly. The girl looks between you both, suddenly nervous.

You don’t even look at her.

"What are you doing?" Your voice is sharp.

Gojo’s lips twitch, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Oh? Were you watching me, sweetheart?"

You knew that from the very start!! You even planned it, idiot!

You scoffed "Ha! No, of course not, I'm just trying to do this girl a favour."

He tilts his head. "Ooh~~ someone's a little grumpy"

You scoff, forcing yourself to get away. "Whatever. Do what you want." You turn to leave.

But then, because he’s an idiot, he says something that snaps the last thread of your patience.

"You’re not… jealous, are you?"

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn back around. "What?"

Gojo grins. "I mean, you are acting kinda—"

"I am not jealous," you snap, cutting him off immediately.

His grin widens. "Ohhh? Then why’d you come over here like you were about to rip me away from my lovely new friend?"

Your jaw clenches.

Your fingers twitch.

Gosh, you hate him.

You hate him so much.

You glare at him for another long second before huffing, spinning on your heel, and stomping away.

Gojo watches you go, grinning to himself. Then, without a second thought, he jogs after you, leaving the poor, confused girl behind.

"Wait up, jealous girl!"

"I SAID I’M NOT—"

"Let’s go get ice cream!"

"...I hate you."

"You love me."

You keep walking, gritting your teeth.

His Perspective

Ok, so—it probably wasn't the best idea.

In theory, it should’ve been flawless.

Step one: Flirt with some random girl in an over-the-top, ridiculous way.

Step two: Make sure you were watching.

Step three: Watch as you get adorably jealous and storm over to me, demanding my attention.

Easy, right?

𝘄𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴.

Because now you’re standing across the courtyard, arms crossed, eyebrows twitching, and you look pissed.

And for the first time in my life, I’m actually kind of nervous.

I glance at the girl in front of me—uh, what’s-her-name again? Doesn’t matter. I barely hear what she’s saying because I’m too busy sneaking glances at you.

Are you watching closely?

Are you jealous yet?

Come on, react.

I lean against the vending machine, flashing my best smirk. "Wow, your hair is so shiny! Like... premium-grade sweets!"

The girl blinks. I blink. Somewhere in the distance, I think I hear Nanami sigh.

....Huh. It sounded way better in my head.

Crap. OK. Damage control.

I push my sunglasses onto my head and try again. "And your eyes! They’re like... uh, a limited-edition soda flavor! Super rare! A once-in-a-lifetime color!"

Silence.

The girl just let out a plain laugh.

I sneak another glance at you.

You’re still watching. But now—oh. Oh.

Your fingers are clenched into fists. Your shoulders are tense.

Your jaw is tight.

And—holy shit—are you actually jealous?

I fight the urge to grin. Oh, this is way better than I planned.

Then, suddenly—movement.

Your marching straight towards me! Oh crap.

"What are you doing?" You demanded, voice sharp. I barely processed two words because—wow you are close.

This is great!!

I smirk, tilting my head. "Oh? Were you watching me, sweetheart?"

You glare at me. Glare. At me.

And for some reason, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

"Ha! No, of course not, I'm just trying to do this girl a favour."

Liar. This girl is completely fine. I think. She seems fine, but it seems like she wants to get out already.

"Ooh~~ someone a little grumpy"

Your fingers twitch, like you’re debating whether to punch me or strangle me. I kind of like both options. But then, you were about to leave. "Whatever, do what you want."

You’re leaving. And I can't help myself but just say it.

"You’re not… jealous, are you?"

You freeze.

Oh. Oh, this is gonna be fun.

You slowly turn back around, eyes sharp enough to kill a man. "What?"

I widen my grin. "I mean, you are acting kinda—

"I am not jealous." Ohhh, you’re so jealous.

I step closer, dropping my voice just a little. "Then why’d you come over here like you were about to rip me away from my lovely new friend?"

Your jaw clenches.

I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you this close to exploding.

And gosh, it’s so cute.

Then suddenly, you huff, spin on your heel, and stomp away.

Wait.

Wait.

You’re leaving?

No, no, absolutely not.

Without a second thought, I ditch the random girl and jog after you.

"Wait up, jealous girl!"

"I SAID I’M NOT—"

"Let’s go get ice cream!"

You pause. I can feel you resisting. Then, without turning around, you mutter, "...I hate you."

I grin, catching up to bump my shoulder against yours.

"You love me."

You didn't tell me to leave. So, Yeah, I totally won.

[irishmammonagenda]

Operation get Satan to Murder You! Part Two! **NOT CLICKBAIT**

by Sheeptastic summary: you attempt a viral devildom challenge :3 word count: 2.3K warnings: OOC characters i havent played obm since november 2024 gng </3

dividers by @/sister-lucifer

The video was glaring, colourful, and utterly bizarre looking. Appearing closer to Human Realm Social Media marketing than to the Devildom's. The demon paused their scrolling and hummed.

Another 'Get the Avatar of Wrath to Murder You' challenge? Ugh. It was seen as one of the most deadly challenges out there. It had been done down to the bare bones at this point. Sending demons to Devildom hospital in droves.

That's not what caught their interest though. What was so interesting was the person who had made the video. MC.

The Devildom's very own famous human.

A human, doing a challenge like that?

Interesting.

They clicked on the video and, like all videos when you have good wifi, it started playing.

"Hello Nemos and Emos! What is up?!" You grin cheekily at the camera set up on your vanity, before looking sheepish, rubbing a hand behind your neck. "So, my last attempt at this challenge failed horribly and I ended up stuck for hours....."

You bristle before waving your arms, looking wide eyed at the camera. "But alas, my unholy brothers and unholy sisters. Today I shall triumph over evil! I shall complete Operation Get The Avatar of Wrath to Murder Me Challenge! And I'll complete it so well Asmo and Levi will have to retrieve this camera from my dead body and make a found footage youtube video out of it after editing! Thanks gang!"

As you say that, pink text appears on screen, "You're welcome MC ;)." Orange appears right after it, "NP ROFL :3"

Your grin widens as you grab the camera into your hands and stand up, the footage is shaky and unfocused for a second before refocusing in on your cheeky smile. "Now, let the challenge commence!"

You pause.

"Also don't forget to like, comment and subscribe."

The clip cuts.

The black screen slowly fades into an all white room, reminiscent of an interrogation room. You hold a pink microphone in your hands, staring pointedly at the tanned man sitting across from you.

"Considering I'm about to probably die, I've brought in an expert. The man, the myth, the legend! Jesus Christ himself!" You grin.

The man gives the camera a polite smile, dark brown eyes glistening with a light in them that could only be described as benevolent.

"Hello."

"So! Jesus, what are your thoughts on the Get the Avatar of Wrath to Murder You Challenge?" You ask, leaning forward and speaking into the microphone that was definitely off.

Jesus hums, scratching the light stubble on his chin. He lean forward as you bring the microphone towards him, dark waves and soft curls falling forward onto his face as he does so. "Yeah.....I'd say actively goading a demon to kill you is a bad idea....but you have free will I guess."

"You don't sound very pleased about this, Mr Christ." You expertly deduce, glancing into the camera for dramatic effect.

Said dramatic effect never comes. You just look like you badly tried to imitate The Office.

"....Well not really." He replies, voice as soft as summer rain. "But it's not like I'm going to actively stop you. Although to anyone watching this who isn't MC, please don't attempt this challenge...."

You grin, "Well you heard it here folks! This idea is stupid, but Jesus is too kind to say that outright!"

The man in question just sighs, soft curls framing his olive toned face like a halo as he pinches the bridge of his hooked nose.

The camera, once more, fades to black.

Text appears on the screen.

CHALLENGE STATUS: NOT YET STARTED.

You hum a tune to the camera as you scribble down notes. It’s clear from your uniform and the ornate bookshelves in the background that you’re in RAD library. You grip the camera and hide it in your books, whispering softly.

"My partner in crime who is actually not my partner in crime and might hang me from the ceiling for a while is set to arrive at any moment-"

As if on cue, you jump when a gloved hand is placed on your shoulder. Only to relax when the demon sits down beside you, an almost bored look in his crimson eyes.

"Hello MC." He nods quietly, making eye contact with the camera that was supposed to be super hidden and raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

"Hi Luci!" You say, loud enough so that a certain blond haired demon who happened to be studying a couple tables away would definitely be able to hear you.

The demon smiles, "So what did you request my presence for?"

You pout. "....Well I hear that next wednesday....there's a big prank planned.....-" You say placing a hand to your forehead like a sickly victorian aristocrat.

Lucifer sighs, brows furrowing as he pinches his hooked nose. "Oh really?" He mutters, unamused.

"Yep! But before you erm...-...try to hang me from the ceiling....remember that it's treason to harm me as a human exchange student!-"

"....MC."

You glance at Lucifer's deadpan, and grin, chuckling nervously. "I, being the sneakiest sneaking sneaker that I am, have stolen the blueprints..." You say watching from the corner of your eye as Satan stiffens and his head perks up.

You gulp, rummaging through your page and producing the blueprints, the Avatar of Pride grasps them with a surprising amount of grace and scans through them.

"....Interesting." Is all the raven-haired demon says. You blink away the emerald stare pinning you down from a table away. "Thank you MC...I suppose you should be deserving of some sort of reward...." The Avatar of Pride gives you an impish smile that's more of a smirk anyway, eyes narrowed almost playfully.

With that he leaves, as gracefully and silently as he came. No doubt to guzzle fifteen cups of coffee and overwork himself which isn't very graceful, but you digress.

After watching the scariest member of the House of Lamentation leave the library, you turn to the second scariest, who is currently glaring you down in said library.

You give him a smile and a wave, his deadly glare softens ever so slightly and he gives you a measured wave back, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like, "Payback Time."

You gulp like a cartoon villain and turn back to your studies. No God or Demon could save you from Solomon's god awful revision sessions if you failed Sorcery 101 again. Last time he made you help a three headed gecko give birth.

You shudder at the thought.

The screen goes black.

CHALLENGE STATUS: PENDING...

You hum as you hop down the grand staircase, letting out an inhumane screech as you fall, the camera clattering behind you.

Silence is heard for a few moments, before you groan, picking up the camera, but staying on the ground.

You wince. "Hopefully Asmo or Levi will edit that out. Geez...."

Text appears on the screen.

No we won't ;)

imagine falling i would ROFL but ur already on the floor L

You groan, standing up and rubbing your hip. "That was embarrassing...." You mutter, continuing on your quest to get some coffee and finally work on the assignment you'd been procrastinating for a week.

You stepped into the kitchen, set down your camera on the counter, --- still recording--- and turned on the instant Devil Bean Coffee Machine waiting for it to spurt out into your mug. As the appliance makes a rhythmic humming, the kitchen door opens once more.

You watch in the camera as Satan stands in the doorway, a black and red box in hand. The corner of his lips quirking up when he spots you. "...Oh hey MC. I just got some Human World style cupcakes. Would you like one?"

You look over to him, watching as the blond sets the box down on the kitchen counter, taking out a particularly cat themed one. No doubt the one that Satan would pick out of the assortment.

You suddenly get a wicked idea.

"...Yeah....They look yummy." You give him a shit-eating grin, picking up the cat-themed cupcake all the while making direct eye contact with him.

Said demon keeps your gaze.

You bring the cupcake to your mouth, licking the frosting off of it, ruining the kitty cat's face.

Satan bristles.

"Wow!" You grin, setting the cupcake down on the counter to grab your cup from the Devil Bean Coffee Machine before it overflows with coffee. "How yummy! Oh...." You smirk like a little shit. "Did you want that one?"

Satan looks at you, gaze unwavering.

You look back.

He stares, unblinking.

You meet his gaze.

He picks up the cupcake you had just set down.

You raise a brow.

His lips quirk upwards, he takes a bite.

"Ew! I just licked that you weirdo-"

Satan takes another bite.

CHALLENGE STATUS: FAILED AND KIND OF GROSS

You sigh, "I was banned from all Anti Lucifer League meetings this week. Mephisto's guarding the door. So there goes that plan...but don't worry I have a plan B that I just came up with five seconds ago."

And so you sneak into Satan's room and steal the book he'd been reading, you set the camera down on the desk as you sneakily sneak it into your backpack, putting your fingers to your lips as you grab the camera and summersault out of his room, knocking into a pile of books on your way out.

"Owwwww....." You hiss rubbing your head, uncaring of the fallen books as you pout and decide to walk the rest of the way out of the Avatar of Wrath's room.

"Meh." You say to the camera as you hide the bag under your bed. "I have a tastetesting video with Mams to film. So I guess I'll just use this clip."

You groan "I'm a full time youtuber dammit!"

And thus a sped up montage of you running into the kitchen occurs. Post-editing cutting a lot of things out. It's not until a yell is heard within the House of Lamentation that the video cuts away from the black screen it had faded to.

You turn to Mammon as you both listen out as Satan screams at Belphegor, asking rather aggressively if the youngest had seen his book.

"He sounds pretty pissed off." Mammon blinks, before taking another bite of a Devilish cupcake. No doubt your favourite new snack, having tried them for the first time that day.

"I'm in danger." you whisper.

"Nah. But I prob'ly am." Mammon nods, before running full speed, as if he was the one that'd stolen the book, which was a good call, seeing as Satan comes bursting into the kitchen not a moment later, demon form out and surrounded by a deathly aura, only to completely melt after seeing you.

His tail flicks around gently, and his lips quirk upwards, the tension in his brows all but fully gone, his voice is softer and a lot less deathly angry. "Oh hello, MC. Have you seen Mammon?"

"Nope." You say, popping the P as you swing your legs up and down on the stool.

"I see...and what do you have there?" The blond points to your Devilish Cupcake, and before you can even react, the demon has grabbed it out of your hand.

"Hey!-" You pout, jaw going slack as he licks a stripe down the middle of your precious cupcake, before offering you a politely menacing smile, as he playfully replies:

"That was revenge."

As he leaves, you look into the camera, eyes wide in disbelief before you groan, placing your head in your hands. "How do I keep failing this challenge."

CHALLENGE STATUS: FAILED AND LEFT WITH A SALIVA INFESTED CUPCAKE. (ALSO GROSS).

"So. I keep failing this dumbass challenge." The camera focuses, capturing you entering a familiar, cozy room with a fucking tree in the middle of it like you’re Penelope of Ithaca or something. But you didn’t design the room, so it wasn't your fault. You continue, your brows furrowing in frustration. "...at this point I should just- oH- what the fuck?!"

You stagger the camera blurs, you quickly turn it around, the lens focuses on a certain blond before falling the the ground like Icarus.

You're nearing the sun.

Satan's lips quirk upwards, "I only came to retrieve my book."

"....Your book...." You repeat. Slowly, so as not to think too hard.

"My book...." Satan nods. "The one I let you borrow last month?"

".....Your book."

You move to your bedside drawers, pulling the book out. As you do so, you get a wicked idea.

The camera angle just about captures the shit-eating grin on your face.

Aware of the demon's eyes on you; you open the book and do the unthinkable.

You dog ear a page.

Satan's eyes glow, a sharp, pointed smile carved into his face. "Oh, you shouldn't've done that...."

That's all you hear before you're falling, limbs flailing at odd angles, before hitting the plush blankets of your bed. Your ankle is not as lucky. Hitting a branch instead.

Why couldn't you have a normal bed.

You gargle, making a rather undignified sound (as the old victorian woman in your nightmares would say) "...Satan. Let me up."

"No. Die."

Text appears on the screen, before a timelapse begins:

THIS SHIT GOES ON FOR NINE HOURS. YOU'RE WELCOME.

"Satan." You groan, having woken up, trying to stretch.

"Nope, this is your punishment" The blond grumbles, "Would've been worse if that book wasn't actually Lucifer's."

"Lemme up" You whine, hitting his back.

"Nope."

"I'm gonna suffocate!"

"Good."

When you do finally get your camera back, your hair is slept in, and your clothes are wrinkled. You pout. "Operation was a fail. I blame Derek Wisconsin of Illinois."

CHALLENGE STATUS: FAILED. MISERABLY.

----------------------------Comment Section---------------------------

666morelike420blazeit: theyre so cute!

MC_FAN201: why do you keep attempting this challenge MC?!

AntiLuciferLeague: You should try this new challenge! It's called therapy! 🙂

orangejuiceluvr: bro havent so many lower level demons been sent to the hospital for this challenge😧🙏

ineverlie: this was definetley clickbait.

hi sorry for the long break, blame the ao3 authors' curse, and also writers block, i also drew stuff for this as an apology

also sorry if any of this is ooc i havent played obm since 2024

this is for @/seerachii-art who requested this in november 2024 and has super duper cool art that everyone should look at. bro can draw men. (geniunely i cant draw men so this is actually very impressive to me)

[syefiles]

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: office activities with alhaitham, zhongli, and diluc. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: a little ooc with zhongli's part, reader is afab, semi public sex, adultery in zhongli's part, nothing too explicit, semi food play with diluc, no actual sex, let me know if there's more to add ! 𝐚/𝐧: hiyaa ! my requests are open for thirsts, fic ideas etc. ‹𝟹 also play miniskirt by aoa [] this was so bad im sorry

⋆ 𝓐lhaitham — 512 words.

you walked to alhaitham's office, holding a stack of blank contracts regarding his work. as you approached his door, you were delighted by some of your coworkers, waving and greeting you with good mornings. your black heels stopped at the front of his wooden door, as you took a moment to pull up your miniskirt, showing a little peek of your thighs with the black tights you were wearing.

you knocked on his door, a slight twinge of nervousness making your palms sweat. boss haitham wasn't up for small talk and wasn't a fan of long conversations either. as usual, he spends his days in his office and comes out occasionally for a cup of coffee.

''come in.'' he said, your hands twisted the doorknob to finally reveal the state he was in. his hair was messy, empty cups here and there, but all organized in one spot. he glanced up at you while you turned around to close the door, noticing how you swayed your hips.

''did you miss me?'' you asked him, walking up to his sad desk, and placing another pile of papers. you walk to the side of his table, taking all of the empty paper cups and stacking them on each other. ''do you ever come out of your office?'' ''when did you learn how to behave like that?'' he rebutted, staring at the loose button on your dress shirt, revealing a small sight of your cleavage.

''what do you mean?'' you ask, leaning on the desk, giving him a better view. he sighed and looked away, sorting the freshly printed stack of contracts you placed on his table. ''you know what i mean,'' he said, taking the cap off of his pen to start signing away again.

he was gone for 5 days, away on a trip to somewhere he didn't mention to anyone for a meeting with an important client. even though he treats everyone in his building like total crap.

it would be an understatement if you said you missed him. after all, you were his favorite. ''i just wanted to check up on you as your loyal operative,'' you said, going behind his chair and turning it around to face you. ''i'm busy.'' he warned, as your finger hooked his tie, pulling him towards you, straddling him.

''aw, i thought we could have some fun.'' you said, playing with his navy tie and silver buttons. his hands moved on instinct, placing both hands on your waist. he lifted you up and placed you on his desk, your miniskirt lifting up to give a view of your inner thigh.

''how does it feel?'' he mutters, unbuttoning the buttons left on your dress shirt. three of your colleagues walked past his office, thankfully his blinds were closed. you heard them laughing, probably talking about some random stuff that occurred to them in their day. ''acting like a slut to your coworkers frequent?''

he slips a hand under your shirt and fondled your boob. ''then, i'll make sure they know how needy you are for me.''

⋆ 𝓩hongli — 440 words.

zhongli was also a prolific worker, never seen tired or with eyebags coming out of his office. some would say he wasn't the one doing all of his work and had someone that does it for him.

it wouldn't be that surprising, considering his building looks like it came out of marvel. he would visit your little corner sometimes and would claim it was just for ''inspection''.

''how's that paper going?'' he asked, watching you from behind eagerly. you jump at his sudden approach, but you continue working. ''it's going great.'' you reply, your hand evidently shaking on your mouse. zhongli sighs, setting his cup of tea on your desk and leans in from behind.

your boss only had eyes on you. whenever you came to deliver papers to him in his office, purposely making you come back and forth to his space every so often.

some of your coworkers joke that you were hired as his maid, not his employee. but, that didn't sound half bad. you didn't mind being at his beck and call whenever he wanted, as long as he promised to hide it from everyone else.

thankfully, zhongli was good at it. small pecks here and there, light squeezes on your ass, his eyes were anchored to you and you only. you didn't know what you two were. you heard of these before, friends with benefits? no, you two have never even fucked yet.

you could feel him breathing as his hand landed on top of yours on the mouse. ''it's ctrl+d, darling.'' he spoke, doing the command flawlessly on your keyboard. his neck was close enough to your face, his strong versace eros making you clench your thighs. ''ah.. i forgot...'' you mutter, instantly distracted by scent.

his authority over you only made you wetter and crumble under him. this is wrong, you thought. a lot more because his wife talked to his employees in the other room, sharing laughter and smiles. a part of you was filled with regret, all of these moments you two share were forbidden;

but it only made your head spin more.

he hummed, his hand tightening around yours. ''be quiet for me.'' for a split second you were wondering what he was talking about. suddenly, you felt his warm breath on your neck. ''w-what?'' you ask, your breathing becoming rigid. ''try not to make noises, alright?'' he nips at your skin, occasionally licking and kissing here and there.

your hand landed on his head, gripping his hair, your mouth letting out a small moan that only he could hear. he whispered on your skin, ''good fucking girl.''

⋆ 𝓓iluc— 699 words.

ragnvindr was intimidating. he never spoke to anyone, and never needed anyone's help, he was a lone wolf when he worked. he's always the first one to arrive, the last to leave.

he was never interested in any celebration his employees would have, even if it would be his birthday. he prioritizes his work, but you knew a side of him no one else does. behind closed doors, his headstrong and fierce attitude was contrasted with his caring and subtle side.

he called your number and asked you to bring his delivered food from the lobby to his office. it wasn't out of the ordinary that your boss only eats once a day, many of his employees would bring him food but offer it to someone else instead.

''understood,'' you reply, leaving your chair and taking the elevator. his building was big and modern, a big sign with his brand tattooed on the front of it. you head down to the lobby and see the delivery guy.

''for y/n?'' your eyebrows knit together in confusion, but you take the food anyway. you could smell the scent of it from miles away. you walk up to the elevator and press floor 5, pondering why your boss would name it to you.

nonetheless, you make your way to his office, but a few of your coworkers are interested. ''hey n/n! is that for us?'' your friend jokes, as he waves to you. ''nope, you've already eaten all of the snacks sir ragnvindr provided.'' your friend scoffs at your joke, then giving you a smile as you smile back.

you finally reach his doorstep, knocking subtly. ''it's open.'' the man says from his desk, giving you permission lazily. you open the door. ''good afternoon, i have brought your food.'' you voice, walking up to his table to set the paper bag down.

''have you eaten yet?'' he asked, but you smiled. ''i'm full at the moment, but i appreciate your concern-'' ''sit,'' he demanded, you pulled the chair out of the table and sat across him. you were confused, first, he named the food after you, which isn't normal. usually, the name would be the company's name or his, but this time it was yours.

you were eager to know, but you kept silent in the meantime. he took out the sticky honey roast from the paper bag and took the plastic knife, slicing it in halves. your mouth waters at the sight, of your favorite food ever.

''eat with me.'' he asked, he grabbed the two places he must've requested from the restaurant and placed one in front of you. ''sir, i have work to do. i cannot take breaks in your office while my coworkers are out there working-'' diluc sighed, putting two slices of the roast on your plate.

''i heard this was your favorite,'' he said, completely disregarding what you said, as you smiled in defeat. diluc didn't waste time to take a bite out of it before you, a sparkle in his eye appearing from the taste. you cut out a piece and ate it, not noticing the honey spread on the corner of your lips.

diluc had noticed, ''come here.'' he asked. you tilt your head in confusion, ''why?'' ''just come here.'' you leaned on the table and faced him, your faces inching close to each other. his hand trailed on your cheek, rubbing his thumb on it, as it wandered down to your lip.

he scooped up the honey off the corner and licked it off clean. ''tastes sweet,'' he remarked, while his hand placed itself behind your neck, pulling your face in for a kiss. it was nice, slow, and passionate. you tasted the honey in his mouth, and you were sure he tasted it in yours too.

your hands landed on his shoulders, latching onto him as the kiss deepened further. you can see from the window the view of the paparazzi outside of the building and many people scattered around to take pictures beside it.

he then pulled away, licking his lips once more to savor your taste. ''but, you are sweeter. come here and let me feast on you.''

©adourly 5/11/2024 - do not copy, translate, modify my works.

[loveharlow]

↷⋯♡ᵎ MATCHING WOUNDS

JJ Maybank x Dealer!Reader [ more jj content ]

SYNOPSIS & WC ‧₊˚ [idk] Where you and JJ share a blunt and childhood trauma

WARNING(S) & A/N ‧₊˚ mentions of child neglect, mentions of child abuse, underage drug use, swearing, kind of hurt/comfort

THE TRAILER WAS THICK WITH SMOKE. You and JJ sat on the floor, passing a blunt that glowed like a dying ember between the two of you. Josephine had left for her waitressing shift at The Island Club hours ago, a stark contrast to the way you spent your days.

Josephine's trailer, Betsy, was your shared space in Shady Acres — a trailer park on The Cut known less for its scenic beauty and more for housing a significant portion of the island's drug trade — users and dealers alike. You were a dealer, and Betsy, for the time being, was your base of operations. This exchange with JJ was likely your last of the day.

JJ was a relatively new client. He'd appeared on the scene after his previous dealer acquired a lengthy list of charges and fled the state, leaving the blonde high and dry. Unlike many, JJ hadn't gravitated towards Barry, the other prominent dealer in the area. There was an unexpected ease between you and JJ, a connection that had quickly evolved into shared smoke sessions where the lines of business and something similar to pleasure blurred.

"So,” He started. “It's just you and your sister holding down the fort?" JJ asked, exhaling a plume of smoke. He pinched the blunt between his fingers, offering it to you.

"Yep." You replied with a tight smile, taking the offered joint.

"Where are your folks?" He chuckled, watching you inhale. "Or are they the 'out of sight, out of mind' type?"

"They're gone." You said, smoke curling from your lips. "Probably squatting in some crumbling building in another state, chasing their next high." You passed the blunt back to JJ, his fingers briefly brushing yours. "What about yours?" you countered, resting your forearms on your bent knees. The setting sun painted the trailer's interior in hues of deep orange through the open windows.

"Mom, uh, she split a long time ago..." JJ's tone carried a hint of pain. He ran a hand through his hair, toying with the joint. "And my dad, he's...somethin’ else." He sighed, taking a long drag.

"...’S that why you're never home?" You reached behind you, grabbing your Monster Energy drink. "Sorry, if that's…too personal. I've just noticed you're always here, with your crew, or running ‘round on The Cut."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "You been keeping tabs on me, junkie?" A smirk played on his lips.

You scoffed, taking a swig. "Please. You're just hard to miss." You shrugged, taking the blunt back. "And let's not kill the rotation, alright?" You offered him a sarcastic smile as you leaned back against the cabinet.

JJ rolled his eyes, stretching his legs out. "My old man's an asshole, but only at home. So, if I never go home-."

"You avoid the asshole-ry." You finished for him.

"Exactly." He watched you smoke, then turned serious when remembering your words. "But you've got it worse. No way your folks just bail with two kids in the picture."

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your knees. "You think so?"

"I'm just sayin’," JJ shrugged. "That's messed up. They just left? Just like that?"

"Look, blondie, my family was a shit-show with a kitchen that was only kept clean enough to snort lines off of every surface in it." You said, leaning your head back. "Blood don’t mean shit. If my parents taught me anything, it's that."

"Sounds about right." JJ agreed, taking another drink. "Mine's still a train wreck. Just traded the kitchen for a boatyard. And I don't see my dad leavin’ anytime soon."

"Your old man sounds like a real piece of work..." You said. "I'm surprised you haven't been swallowed up by the system."

"The system? Hell, my dad is the system." Bitterness laced his words. "Predictable, abusive, and you can’t escape him. At least the actual system offers three meals a day."

"Ha!" You laughed, the sound catching JJ off guard. "Hardly. You'd be lucky to get three meals a week. Foster care's a damn joke. It’s just free bread for money-hungry assholes and a place for the state to dump kids they don't want." The lightness vanished, replaced by a cold flatness in your eyes.

"...You were in the system?" JJ asked, his gaze softening. You nodded in response. "When?...Why?"

You groaned, pushing yourself into a slightly straighter position. "You ask a lot of questions, blondie." You sighed. "But fine. You want the condensed version...or the director's cut?"

JJ just shrugged. "I've got time."

You leaned forward, meeting his gaze as you spoke. "Alright then." You adjusted. "My parents were addicts. Name a drug, they did it. The neighbors knew, cops were there all the time, but nothing ever changed. My sister and I slipped through the cracks. When I was eight, Jo had just turned eighteen...and she told me she was leaving." Your voice shook slightly.

"I begged her to stay, or take me with her, but she couldn't. As bad as it was there, she had nothing, no means to care for a kid. But she promised she'd call, send what she could, and that one day, she'd get me out." You bit your cheek, fighting back a wave of emotion. "I was alone with my parents for two years. Jo called, but the calls never went through. Without her, the bills went unpaid — no phone, no electricity, no running water. She had to come visit me at school when she could."

"Damn...."

"Yeah," You sighed, fidgeting with your fingers. "When I was ten, my mom came home, freaking out. Next thing I knew, they were throwing stuff in a bag, telling me they'd be back soon." You clenched your jaw at the memory. "It was no surprise when they never came back. And I was there for two weeks, starving and terrified, before a social worker found me. I guess a neighbor had noticed it was too quiet and called it in. Again."

"Hold up. They just left you?" JJ was incredulous.

"Mhm." You confirmed, watching him snub out the blunt in the ashtray, the cherry burning away as he listened. "I survived on half-empty water bottles and moldy PB&J’s. And foster care wasn't some kind of salvation." A bitter edge returned to your voice. "Most foster parents are just in it for the check. And even with the good ones... the system bounces you around so much, you never get to stay." You shook your head, the memories surfacing.

"Dealing... It's something a lot of us picked up inside. Old sleazebags prey on vulnerable kids to do their dirty work. It's hard to get a job when you're a foster kid. So, a lot of us turn to easier, less legal means. And even when you make it out, it has a way of sticking with you. It's all you know." You shrugged. "Jo finally tracked me down and got me out when I was fourteen. By then, I was old enough that they didn't care who took me. Case closed as far as they were concerned." You laughed, a hollow sound. "And Jo, of course, freaked when she found out what I was doing." You let your head fall, a humorless laugh escaping you.

JJ reached out, placing a hand on your knee. "I'm sorry, dude. That's seriously fucked up."

“Yeah, I guess.” You shrugged, deflecting. "Anyway, enough of the sob stories," you said, voice lighter, the shift abrupt. "You ruined our smoke session with all your questions." You flashed a smile, the change in demeanor so fast it gave JJ whiplash. "Wanna hit another one?" You pulled another pretty pink blunt from your pocket.

JJ just stared for a moment, then nodded, the shared vulnerability replaced by the familiar rhythm of give and take, smoke and survival.

JJ Maybank Taglist & Dealer!Reader Taglist in replies!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

[jasminerva]

You v. Nagumo and Toddler

This is Part 2 of the Papa!Gumo series!

gn!reader co-parent

Check out Part 1 here: What kind of father would Nagumo be?

Want more? Check out my SakaDays Masterlist!

Comments, reblogs, tags appeachiated~! 🍑

Banner img from Gakuen Babysitters by Tokeino Hari.

Was having a convo with @akifordessert about Papagumo and the nicknames he'd give his kiddo(s). And thank you, Memi (@dearsecretlover) for inspo and motivation (and for sharing this Papa!gumo art by mxeong__) as always~!

But I digress! Here's the little scolding imagine I promised!

nagumo x gn!reader = gn!toddler in their terrible twos [c/n] = your toddler's name [f/n] = your first name

You: Nagumo! [c/n]! What the heck happened in the living room?! Nagumo looked around his surroundings. It was as if the usually orderly living room had two tornadoes sweep through it, an explosion of scattered toys everywhere, overturned furniture, ripped paper decorations, and colourful fingerprints adorning the walls. Nagumo & Your Toddler: (both in a kneeling position, getting scolded by you) Nagumo: (trying not to grin) [f/n], it's no biggie. Just some father-child bonding gone awry. [c/n], your rambunctious toddler, mirrored his pose perfectly beside him, eyes wide with feigned innocence that couldn't hide the sparkle of mischief dancing in their depths. Nagumo couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at his miniature accomplice's acting skills. You: Oh, really? Father-child? But I only see two children in front of me. Nagumo: Now, now! (holds hands up) See? No paint on my hands. (wiggles digits) Clearly, I'm just an innocent bystander here. You: Yeah, that doesn't help your case. You're the adult in this disorderly duo, or did you forget? Nagumo: I suppose cleaning duty falls upon us two, hmm? Let's clean up this mess before it becomes an international incident. He cast a conspiratorial wink at your toddler, who giggled delightedly at being included in their imaginary fellowship against their ever-so-serious parent. You: (sighs) Nagumo... I'm sick of having to be the mean parent--let alone adult--in this relationship. They have to learn how to clean up their own messes eventually, you know. Nagumo: You're right. We can't let them run wild like this. But it's just so hard to discipline this angelic face (tickles [c/n]'s chubby cheek, causing them to erupt into a fit of laughter, squirming happily). You: (unimpressed face) Nagumo: All right. (playful but stern enough tone) Focus, Agent [c/n], your mission, should you choose to accept it... Together, Nagumo and [c/n] tackled the mess, turning cleaning into a fun game of hide-and-seek with the scattered toys and art supplies.

Nagumo: (grabs a juice from the fridge) You: Nagumo! [c/n] doesn't need more sugar! Nagumo's grin widened into a smirk as your toddler took advantage of the situation and quickly gulped down the forbidden juice. Nagumo: Aw, shucks. Looks like we're too late. You: (narrowing eyes) If [c/n] doesn't end up learning anything, I'm going to discipline you both. In the 'mean parent' way. Nagumo: (clapping) All right, Agent [c/n]! Operation Clean Slate isn't complete until Big Boss says so. Your Toddler: (salutes and gets back to cleaning, hands and mouth sticky with juice) Nagumo: (grins and walks towards you) You know, [f/n], you were pretty convincing right then. I almost believed you'd actually punish me. You: (crosses arms) The day's still young. Nagumo: (leans down to whisper in your ear) Is that a promise?

[catboypalug]

So, 4chan is dead. I think everyone knows it's reputation of utterly horrific racism and bigotry, but like. i don't want to go "4chan was great actually!!!', but I feel like it's worth pointing out, not unlike Reddit, it was divided into a lot of sub-forums, some awful, some better. /pol/, /b/ and /r9k/ were utter cesspools, some were actually nice. I was a fan of the /tg/ board.

Simply by chance, a group of millions of people operating across 15 years is going to do some bad things and some good things, whether the group as a whole leans towards good or bad. ( of course, 4chan, taken as a whole, was a net negative for everyone.) So, fuck it, here's a random list of cool and funny things that came from 4chan, in no particular order:

Katawa Shoujo, an entire collaboratively-made, actually great visual novel

/v/ Sings the MGRR soundtrack

a whole bunch of greentexts. funny ones like "wireless device" and actual stories. Of the latter, I'd highlight The Ballad of Edgardo and Old Man Henderson , both from /tg/.

/x/ (paranormal board) was the origin of both the SCP Foundation and the Backrooms

/tg/ is also the origin of the modern "internet CYOA game" genre. Check out r/makeyourchoice to see what I'm talking about, I love these things. (also includes Jumpchain and the related Celestial Forge, if you know those)

so many collaborative drawing and writing threads.

the origin point of the Anonymous hacker group, which did a lot of good, attacking hate organizations like Scientology, the Westboro Baptism Church, and a lot more.

/d/ used to be one of the best places to go for incredibly specific porn

That time when they sent Pitbull to Alaska

*I was going to name the Shia Labeouf flag saga, because the fact a bunch of online dudes managed to locate a camera pointed at the sky by analysing airplane flight paths is insane. unfortunately, the political implications leave a very bitter taste, and I can't in good conscience call it 'funny' or 'cool.'

[eye-may]

Could you do Etcetera and Electra now pretty please? The besties

Your drawing style is so cool and pleasant to look at💕💕

Also, Happy Christmas and new year!✨🐱

ty for the kind words! I hope yall had a good holiday!

disclaimer, this is my first time trying to draw etcetera and electra so Im sure my designs for them will change in the future, but that's par for the course with me lol. I draw mistoffelees probably the most and even now I wouldn't say that I'm 100% on even his design. usually when I go about transliterating the costumes I'm looking at the napier concepts and the '98 designs (if only bc they're the easiest to find clear images of lol) but sometimes those leotards and wigs are damn hard to recreate in my style lmaooo

not that anybody asked about all that lmao ANYWAY,

in terms of backstories, these are another pair of kittens that I'm not too decisive about yet lol. I can at least start with surmising that neither were, or are, domesticated, as neither wear collars. I entertained the idea of them knowing each other prior to arriving at the Junkyard, but now I'm leaning more towards them actually having met there instead.

I see Etcetera as very outgoing, sociable, trusting, and so on, with humans and cats alike, so I'm actually thinking that maybe she had been briefly domesticated, but then was abandoned for whatever reason by her humans, maybe discarded somewhere near the entrance to the Yard. I feel like she would have naively thought it was all a game, taking a while to realize that she was left purposefully and her humans weren't coming back from her, nor where they looking to be found. Probably one of the older cats would have spotted her and invited led her back to the Yard to be looked after.

For Electra...personality-wise, I see her as similar in personality/energy levels to Ectetera, but kind of "edgier." She's more bold, brash, and curious, whereas Ectetera is persuadable, impressionable, credulous, etc (heh). she's a little goofier and lighthearted. that's not to say that Electra isn't also fun and goofy, but I think she's more of a "thinker," and more independent. Electra may be a more itinerant member of the tribe, despite being so young. Nobody, after all, is a prisoner there; cats and kittens alike can come and go as they see fit, and Electra is a little too insatiably curious, and a little too courageous, to be confined.

Her backstory is ehhhh...very nebulous to me yet. It's probably something similar to Pouncival and Plato; born to a stray, maybe in an alley, and eventually ended up separated from her family. I'm going to have to think more extensively about where she comes from and how she ended up a member of the tribe. Honestly her and Etcetera both lol.

I think Electra, sort of like Tumblebrutus, is likely to be a ringleader when it comes to mischief among kittens in and out of the Junkyard. Tumbebrutus, though, is always looking to impress and appear tough, whereas Electra operates under no such pretenses; she doesn't care nearly as much about what others think of her. Her concerns lie more in the greater unknown. She's the epitome of a curious feline, wanting to know more about the world, about history, and about what it means to be a Jellicle Cat. Others like Victoria and Jemima more often intuit such things, more likely to allow themselves to be governed by the influences of the Jellicle Moon and their own varieties of mysticism. Electra is a bit more literal, more salt-of-the-earth. She usually convinces the other kittens to accompany her on her sojourns and escapades, but she'll go it alone too; I'd peg her as one of the most organically independent kittens...and also, I think, one of the most leaderly and protective.

She gets along with everyone, but is most often accompanied probably by Etcetera. She probably butts heads the most with Tumblebrutus, although the two of them can be quite a pair when it comes to working together towards a common goal.

Etcetera is less so those things, although she's sort of "daring" like Electra, insofar as she's not prone to fits of pragmatism that make her cower in the face of adversity, real or perceived. she's simply all to happy to be along for the ride. extroverted and containing boundless energy, she feels the need to enjoy the company of others and to be the center of attention almost constantly. I think her and Electra get along so well partly because Electra is so restless, and Etcetera lacks inhibitions, all too happy to be included; she's pretty much the only one of the younger cats who will never play devil's advocate, who will never express doubt, who will never try to talk another cat out of an impending adventure. her only reservation, really, may be getting in trouble with the older cats; but it's not too hard to talk her into disregarding such concerns.

More meaningfully, I think the two go well together because of their polarized approaches to viewing the world and construing more difficult lessons and concepts. Electra is prone to getting too much in her head and overthinking; so it's a good thing Etcetera is there to dumb things down for her, to simplify those more challenging queries in a way that is comfortingly sensible and potent. I.e., when Electra finds herself pondering why is such-and-such right? Etcetera will remind her that right is right, and there's no need to look further. Or in other words, she reminds Electra that sometimes it's time to mind your heart and your intuition, rather than get tangled up in endless cerebral complexities. in her view, sometimes you truly don't need all the answers.

all together the two of them enjoy a very balanced and close friendship, and are jointly the source of a lot of energy and mischief that takes place in the Yard!

[bonefall]

Did Curlpaw's mentor encourage her associations with strength? Was it a good mentor-apprentice bond?

I want to connect much of Curlfeather's dark sense of honor to the absolute carnage she's witnessed over the course of her life, beginning with the Battle of the True Eclipse. Since I'm making her slightly older to be an apprentice who took part in the battles firsthand, it follows that her first major loss should be during that fight.

The RiverClan Family Tree I made was actually the first big one I did, and one thing I kinda regret is that I removed Dapplenose. I'm gonna bring her back in my next draft, and have her be Curlfeather's first mentor.

Dapplenose was kind and sweet. Friendly towards outsiders and a natural storyteller, she would have started Curlpaw's apprenticeship gently. It was important to her that she not only taught her how to fight, but also to appreciate the history of RiverClan and its culture.

Curlpaw felt unprepared for the maelstrom of fury that the Dark Forest warriors brought to the Lake in the devastating second wave. It was CHAOS. Being able to make pottery didn't help her survive, only the battle training did. When the screeching stopped and the demons retreated to regroup, Dapplenose was just one of the corpses.

It's the practical knowledge that Dapplenose taught which Curlfeather retained; How to structure a speech, insight to the overall functions of Clan operations, and that gentleness will get you killed.

She wasn't nearly old enough to become a warrior by that point, so Mistystar had to assign her a second mentor. Curlpaw seems like the sort of person who would have told her grandmother directly that she wanted someone more strict. Mistystar would have obliged.

There's a couple of good candidates, but I'm leaning towards Duckfur. Xey're one of the most practical, intelligent warriors in the Clan, and someone who quickly swung over to Mistystar's side when Leopardstar ""was killed by rogues."" Duckfur's Machiavellian "might makes right" philosophy, combined with xeir regret about TigerClan feels like something that would have contributed to Curlfeather's ruthless honor.

Plus, I've been meaning to give xem some more relevancy, I just think xey're neat.

To answer you directly; Curlfeather considers her bond with both mentors to have been good ones. She would have stayed close to Duckfur until the day xey died. I might even bring Duckpaw BOTC back and have them be Curlfeather's first apprentice.