#i'm fine. i'm good. i'm normal about this. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arilevenatz · 2 days ago

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By Her Side

Pairing: Bodyguard! Mingi x princess!reader

Genre/trope: fluff, comedy (?), Modern royal au

Word count: 8.5k

Warnings: Age difference, reader is 10 years younger than Mingi, Mingi and reader first met when she was 10, but it was just cute relation back then, reader's hand gets burned. Lmk later if I missed something!

AN: phewww now this might not be for everyone guys. It's a risky trope for some people but because I have parental issues I'm fine with this. But if u still decide to read this after ignoring the warnings and then proceed to hate my work, I'm gonna delete and block you. That being said, enjoy Mingi being an absolute cutie

The Kang family had always been at the center of their nation’s identity, revered for their grace, strength, and modern leadership. Crown Prince Kang Yeosang, the epitome of royal perfection, was frequently seen fulfilling his duties with calm authority. The press adored him, and the people admired his unwavering commitment to the country.

But then, there was her—the mysterious younger sibling, the princess. Her name was only whispered in the media, her face hidden behind the shroud of privacy. She was unlike any princess depicted in the movies or books. She spent her days like an ordinary teenager, far removed from the royal spotlight, in oversized hoodies and sneakers. To her, the palace gates were more like walls keeping her in than protecting her from the outside world.

The princess rarely appeared at public events, and even when she did, the cameras were only granted fleeting glimpses of her, often from the side or with her head bowed. While the media speculated about her personality, the truth was far simpler—she just wanted a normal life.

To the world, she was Princess YN of the Kang family—a figure shrouded in mystery. But to the people who mattered, she was just YN. She attended a regular high school, sat in the same classrooms as everyone else, and blended into the crowd so seamlessly that most of her classmates often forgot about her royal title. She was the girl who shared notes, cracked jokes, and groaned about exams like everyone else.

Her friends treated her like one of their own, never bowing or tiptoeing around her. They teased her when she tripped in gym class and cheered her on during group projects. They knew who she was but never made it a big deal. She loved that.

What wasn’t so normal, however, was the tall figure who accompanied her everywhere—Mingi, her bodyguard. Dressed in unassuming clothes and rarely speaking unless needed, Mingi was her silent protector, always lingering at the edges of her life. Whether she was walking to school, grabbing ice cream after class, or spending hours at the library, Mingi was there.

He wasn’t just a bodyguard, though. To YN, he was more like a guardian, someone who quietly guided and watched over her. While her friends sometimes teased her about having her “personal watchdog,” she never minded. Mingi had been a part of her life for so long that she couldn’t imagine going anywhere without him.

During lunch breaks, while her friends chatted and laughed, Mingi often sat a few tables away, scrolling through his phone but always aware of her. When they walked home from school, she’d casually chatter about her day, and though Mingi’s replies were short, his presence was steady and comforting.

“I bet you think my math teacher hates me,” she said one day, munching on a bag of chips as they walked to her favorite bookstore.

“I don’t think he hates you,” Mingi replied, glancing at her. “But maybe stop arguing about every grade?”

She grinned. “Never. Someone has to keep him on his toes.”

“You’re going to give me gray hair before I’m 30,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“You’d look good with gray hair,” she teased, nudging him.

Moments like these made YN feel like the luckiest girl in the world. She might have been born into royalty, but with Mingi by her side, she got to live a life that felt wonderfully, perfectly normal.

How did they meet? Well the meeting was a bit chaotic.

It had been a quiet spring afternoon when ten-year-old YN first met Mingi. The palace halls were dappled with sunlight, and the faint hum of gardeners at work outside filled the air. YN, dressed in her favorite pale blue dress, sat in the corner of the grand library, building a lopsided tower of books. She was humming to herself when a knock interrupted her focus.

“YN,” the King’s voice came from the doorway, deep and steady as always, “I want you to meet someone.”

She turned, pushing her hair out of her face, and blinked at the tall figure standing beside her father. He was lanky but strong, with wide shoulders and a quiet confidence that seemed far too mature for someone who looked only a decade older than her. His black hair was neatly combed, and he looked stiff in his uniform—nervous, even.

“This is Song Mingi,” the King continued, his tone softer now. “He’s going to be your bodyguard from today onward.”

“Bodyguard?” YN tilted her head, confusion written all over her face. “Why do I need a bodyguard?”

The King smiled. “Because you’re very special, YN. And special people need someone to look after them.”

Mingi bowed deeply, his voice low but clear as he spoke for the first time. “It’s an honor to serve you, Your Highness.”

YN frowned, her gaze darting between her father and the stranger. “So… what does he do? Stand around and look boring?”

Her father chuckled, patting her head gently. “He’ll be here to keep you safe and help you with anything you need.” With that, the King left, leaving YN alone with the unfamiliar young man.

For the first few days, YN wasn’t quite sure what to make of Mingi. He followed her everywhere, always a step behind, silent and watchful. Whether she was in her room playing with her dolls, exploring the gardens, or eating her meals, he was there.

“Do you ever talk?” she asked him one day, spinning around to face him as he stood by the door to her room.

“If you want me to,” he replied simply, his voice calm.

“What’s the point of you being here if you’re just going to be boring?” she huffed, crossing her arms.

But things began to change after a few days. It started with little things—how Mingi always made sure her favorite snacks were on hand during study time, how he carried her books without being asked, or how he gently guided her away from muddy puddles in the garden without a word. When she tripped during a game of tag with her friends, Mingi was the first to rush to her side, kneeling to check her scraped knee.

“You’re not hurt badly,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “But let’s get this cleaned up.”

From that moment, something shifted. YN began to trust him. Soon, she found herself clinging to him more and more. She’d tug at his sleeve whenever she wanted something, ask him endless questions about his life, and insist he sit with her during meals, even if he tried to politely decline.

“Mingi, do you like chocolate or vanilla?” she’d ask, holding up two bowls of ice cream.

“Vanilla, I guess,” he’d reply, only for her to shove the bowl of chocolate into his hands with a grin. “Well, I like chocolate, so you’re eating this one.”

It wasn’t long before Mingi became the center of her little world. To her, he wasn’t just a bodyguard—he was a constant, someone who made her feel safe in a way she didn’t even realize she needed. She didn’t care about the circumstances that brought him to the palace, or that he was the son of a noble family that had fallen from grace. To her, he was simply Mingi, her guardian, her protector, and the one person she trusted with everything.

By the end of the first month, she was practically glued to his side. Wherever YN went, Mingi wasn’t far behind—and she made sure of it.

The palace soon became accustomed to the sight of YN clinging to Mingi like he was a second skin. Wherever she went, her tiny hands were either clutching his sleeve, gripping his uniform jacket, or reaching up to be carried. And Mingi, with his endless patience, always obliged her, no matter how exhausting her energy seemed to be.

One day, while attending a charity event with her parents, YN grew bored of the endless formalities. The long speeches and handshakes weren’t exactly ten-year-old-friendly. Spotting Mingi standing a short distance away, she made her way over to him, ignoring her mother’s disapproving glance.

“Mingi,” she whined softly, tugging at his sleeve. “I’m tired.”

He crouched down, his expression softening. “Want me to take you somewhere quieter?”

“Carry me,” she demanded, lifting her arms up dramatically.

Without hesitation, he scooped her up, balancing her effortlessly on his hip. She snuggled into his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. The cameras caught the moment almost instantly, flashes illuminating the hall as reporters whispered to each other. The next day, headlines were plastered across every paper: “Princess YN Finds Her Comfort in Her Shadow, Bodyguard Mingi!”

It didn’t stop there. The media couldn’t get enough of their dynamic. During a public library visit, YN decided to curl up in Mingi’s lap while reading one of her favorite picture books. It was an innocent gesture—she had always leaned on him as a source of comfort—but the sight of the princess slouched against the stoic bodyguard with her book upside down made the perfect photograph.

“Do you think you could sit any straighter?” Mingi teased in a low whisper, glancing down at her as she adjusted herself against him.

“Nope. I’m comfy,” she mumbled without looking up.

The royal PR team later joked that the image single-handedly made the entire nation collectively “awww.”

Another instance came during a school event. YN, participating in a relay race, tripped over her shoelaces midway. She wasn’t hurt, but her face scrunched up in frustration as the other kids raced ahead of her. Before anyone could step in, Mingi walked straight onto the track, kneeling beside her.

“You okay, Princess?” he asked gently.

“No!” she pouted. “I was winning!”

“Want me to carry you to the finish line?” he joked.

Her eyes lit up instantly. “Yes!”

Despite the protests of her teacher, Mingi picked her up, her arms looping tightly around his neck, and jogged to the finish line. The other kids laughed and cheered, and YN wore a smug grin for the rest of the day. The moment was, of course, caught on video and quickly went viral.

In quieter moments, their bond shone just as brightly. During long car rides to royal functions, YN would inevitably fall asleep against Mingi’s shoulder, her little body slouching into his side. No matter how cramped or awkward the position, Mingi never moved until she woke up, even if his arm went numb.

“Doesn’t she get heavy?” one of the royal aides once asked him, watching as Mingi carried a dozing YN into the palace after a long day.

“Not at all,” he replied simply, adjusting her slightly so she’d be more comfortable.

Mingi didn’t care about the headlines or the public perception. To him, YN wasn’t just his responsibility—she was his charge, his little princess. And to YN, Mingi wasn’t just her bodyguard. He was her rock, her protector, and the one person who never let go.

As YN grew older, her dynamic with Mingi evolved, but in many ways, it stayed the same. He was no longer the one carrying her around or fetching things for her—she had plenty of palace staff to do that—but Mingi remained her constant, her anchor, and most importantly, her best friend.

“Hey, Mingi,” she said one day, sprawled across the palace couch, flipping through her phone. “Can you believe someone asked me to bring them a cup of water today? Me. A princess. I mean, can you imagine?”

Mingi, who was sitting nearby with a book in hand, glanced at her, unimpressed. “You could’ve just gotten it for them.”

“I don’t think so.” She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “That’s what staff is for.”

He shook his head, hiding a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“But you like me this way,” she quipped, tossing a cushion at him.

Mingi might have been her bodyguard, but to her, he was the one person in the palace who never treated her like royalty. He didn’t bow, didn’t rush to fulfill her every whim. And she liked that. She didn’t need to ask him for anything—he already gave her his loyalty, his protection, and his steady presence.

She didn’t hesitate to make the distinction clear to others, though. If anyone dared to suggest Mingi do something outside of his role, she was quick to shut it down.

“Mingi isn’t staff,” she’d say firmly. “He’s my friend. Get someone else to do it.”

Her other staff quickly learned that Mingi held a special place in her life, and they respected it. Meanwhile, YN never held back from treating him like a confidant. She’d drag him to her favorite places, tell him all her secrets, and share everything from her late-night worries to her wildest dreams.

“You know, sometimes I think you’re the only person who actually knows me,” she told him one evening as they sat in the palace garden.

“That’s because you talk my ear off,” Mingi teased, though his voice was warm.

“Well, someone has to listen,” she shot back with a grin, leaning her head against his shoulder.

And though Mingi never said it, he valued their friendship just as much. To him, she wasn’t just a princess—she was YN, his closest friend, the one person who treated him like family in a world that often felt far too formal.

It was a crisp winter evening, the kind where the cold seemed to seep into your bones despite the layers of warm clothing. The royal family stood on the grand balcony of the palace, gazing down at the crowd gathered for the annual winter gala. A sea of people, elegantly dressed in thick coats and scarves, murmured excitedly below, admiring the lights twinkling across the square.

YN stood near the railing, her eyes wandering over the scene, but she wasn’t paying much attention to the event itself. Instead, she was focused on the warm presence beside her. Mingi stood just behind her, always watchful, his dark coat blending with the night as he ensured she remained comfortable despite the chill in the air.

Every few moments, Mingi would glance down at YN, noting how her scarf had slipped a little, exposing her neck to the cold. Without a word, he gently adjusted it, making sure it was wrapped securely around her. YN barely noticed—she was used to it by now. Mingi’s careful attention to her every need had become second nature.

“YN,” Mingi’s voice cut through the soft hum of the crowd, “your scarf came loose again.”

YN sighed, her breath visible in the cold air, and shifted closer to him, her cheek grazing his coat as she stood slightly slouched against his side. She had grown used to his hovering, his need to ensure she was always warm and taken care of. It wasn’t annoying to her—it felt like normal.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the cold air, but she made no move to pull away from him. She liked the way Mingi was always there, always making sure she was safe and comfortable.

Mingi didn’t argue. He simply adjusted the scarf one more time, then slipped a small heat pack into her hands, holding one against her ear, knowing how much she hated the cold seeping into her sensitive skin. He didn’t even ask if she was okay. He just knew.

YN clutched the heat pack with both hands, pressing it against her ear, and looked up at him, offering a small, thankful smile. There was no need for words—Mingi's actions spoke for him. She wasn’t bothered by the constant attention, the way he fussed over her in the cold. To YN, it was just how things had always been, and she couldn’t imagine a winter night without Mingi there, making sure she was taken care of.

She let out a soft breath and leaned against his side, her body instinctively seeking the warmth he always provided. Mingi didn’t pull away. In fact, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her a little closer to shield her from the wind.

To the royal family, the people on the balcony, and the watching crowd, this was simply the expected sight—the princess, calm and composed, standing with her ever-vigilant bodyguard. But to YN, this was the norm. It wasn’t a chore or anything unusual. It was Mingi. Her best friend. Her protector. And for the first time, with the wind biting at her skin, she leaned into him even more, grateful for the comfort that only he could give.

The next morning, as YN sat in the grand dining room with her family, sipping on her warm tea, the morning papers were spread across the table. She glanced lazily at the headlines, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup absentmindedly. As usual, there was a flurry of royal gossip, but one headline caught her eye.

"Princess YN and Bodyguard Mingi: A Winter Night of Comfort and Protection"

She frowned, her brow furrowing as she skimmed through the article. Pictures of her and Mingi on the balcony the night before had been plastered all over the page—images of her clinging to his side, the heat packs in her hands, and Mingi adjusting her scarf. It was clear the media had turned their attention to their every move, almost as if they were trying to capture some deeper meaning behind their closeness.

“Why are they so obsessed with me?” YN asked, looking up at Mingi, who was quietly standing beside her, ever-watchful.

Mingi glanced at the newspaper but said nothing, instead focusing on adjusting the setting of her teacup. He knew what was coming.

“Well?” she pressed, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. "I mean, it’s not like I did anything special. It’s just cold, and you were just… looking out for me.”

Mingi smiled softly, his expression gentle as he gave her a small nod. “You’re not just anyone, YN.”

She blinked, still not fully understanding. “But why? I’m just me.”

“That’s just it,” he said, kneeling beside her so they were eye-level. “You are a princess. People look up to you. They admire you for who you are, for everything you represent.”

YN’s brows furrowed even deeper, and she leaned back in her chair, trying to wrap her head around his words. She was so used to the quiet normalcy of her life that she had never truly realized how the world saw her.

She mumbled softly, tracing a line in the condensation on her teacup. “I don’t want all this attention. It feels so… weird.”

Mingi chuckled softly, his tone warm but reassuring. “It can be a lot, yes. But that’s just the way it is when you’re born into the royal family. You’re not just living for yourself. Your actions, your presence, it matters to people. They care about you because they see you as someone who represents the country, its hopes, its dreams.”

YN blinked, trying to absorb his explanation. “So it’s not because I’m cute or something?” she asked, her lips curling into a small, playful smile.

Mingi chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course, you’re cute. But it’s more than that. You’re the princess. The future of this kingdom.”

YN paused, staring down at her tea. She didn’t fully understand all of it, but there was something about the way Mingi explained it that made her feel both strange and important.

“You always say things that sound so serious,” she muttered, not quite grasping the weight of what he meant.

Mingi smiled at her, knowing how young and innocent her thoughts still were despite her royal title. “You don’t have to understand everything now. Just know that you’re more than you think you are. And that’s why people are watching.”

YN let out a sigh, her head drooping as she thought about it. “I guess I’ll have to get used to it, huh?”

Mingi nodded, giving her a light pat on the back. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

And even though she didn’t fully grasp the complexities of her status, YN knew that one thing would never change: Mingi would always be there by her side, keeping things normal, keeping things grounded—just like a friend.

A few days after the whole winter gala incident, YN and Mingi found themselves attending a royal charity dinner, an event full of formalities and stiff faces. YN, however, wasn’t one to enjoy the seriousness of these events. Her mind often wandered, especially when the speeches began. That evening, as she sat next to Mingi, her attention started to drift.

At first, she tried to occupy herself with her phone under the table, but her restless fingers quickly grew bored. She glanced over at Mingi, who was dutifully standing beside her, observing the guests with his usual focused expression.

“Hey, Mingi,” she whispered, poking him lightly in the ribs. “Do you think the soup is too hot? Or do you think they put something weird in it?”

Mingi glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean by ‘weird’?”

“Like… I don’t know,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “What if they secretly put... chocolate in it?”

Mingi chuckled, clearly amused by the absurdity of her thoughts. “YN, don’t be silly. Chocolate in soup is—”

But before he could finish, YN's mischievous grin appeared. She leaned over toward him and whispered in a stage whisper, “What if we just sneak a taste? You know, just to see if it’s chocolate or not.”

Mingi looked at her in disbelief. “YN—no, we’re not sneaking food under the table.”

But that was exactly what she was about to do. Without further hesitation, YN grabbed her spoon from the table and casually dipped it into the bowl of soup, all while trying to act as if she were merely adjusting it. The only problem was, she hadn’t quite thought it through. As she tried to raise the spoon to her lips, she accidentally splashed some of the soup onto her dress.

“Oops,” she muttered, trying to cover the small spill by quickly wiping it with her napkin.

Mingi, ever the protector, quickly leaned in to help, but the moment he did, he accidentally knocked his own drink—an expensive glass of red wine—right onto YN’s lap.

“Ah! Mingi!” she yelped, wide-eyed. The wine spread across her dress in an instant.

The room went silent for a moment, and YN couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Oh my god, what did you do? You just exploded my lap with wine!”

Mingi looked horrified, his face flushed. “I’m so sorry, Princess, I didn’t—”

“Don’t worry,” she interrupted, still giggling. “At least the wine looks kind of fancy, right?”

Mingi quickly grabbed some napkins and tried to dab away the mess, but YN was now laughing so hard that she could hardly keep her composure.

“What’s going on over there?” someone whispered nearby.

“Oh, nothing,” YN said between fits of laughter. “Just Mingi trying to drown me in wine and soup.”

Mingi shot her an exasperated look, but even he couldn’t hold back a smile. “You’re impossible.”

The rest of the evening went on with everyone around them trying hard not to giggle at the mess they had unintentionally made. And though YN’s dress was ruined, it was just another one of those funny moments that felt normal between the two of them—a princess and her overprotective bodyguard, who never seemed to do anything quite by the book.

One afternoon, as YN lounged lazily in the palace, scrolling through her phone, she noticed Mingi, who had just returned from his usual workout. The sight of him, all flushed from his session and wiping sweat from his forehead, made her pause mid-scroll.

Her mind, never short of strange ideas, suddenly lit up with a random, ridiculous thought.

What if... she mused, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes. What if I swing from his biceps?

Without a second thought, she stood up and walked casually toward the workout area where Mingi was cooling down with some stretches. His attention was focused entirely on his breathing, unaware that YN was about to disrupt his hard-earned relaxation.

“Mingi,” she said in the sweetest tone she could muster, stepping into his personal space, “I’ve been thinking.”

Mingi, still slightly out of breath, raised an eyebrow, giving her a suspicious look. “Uh-oh. That’s never good.”

“No, no,” she said, holding up her hands in mock innocence. “It’s a good thought. A very good one.”

He groaned. “What are you plotting now, YN?”

She grinned widely, moving closer and without warning, gently tugging on his arm. “I want to swing from your biceps.”

There was a long pause, and Mingi blinked in disbelief. “What?”

“You heard me,” YN said with a shrug, grinning even more mischievously.

“Do you want me to install a swing in the garden for you?” Mingi asked hesitantly.

“No! I’ve seen you working out so hard, and I’m curious. You look strong enough. Come on, just once. Let me swing from your biceps.”

Mingi, still processing what she said, stared at her for a moment. Then, without much else to do, he rolled his eyes and sighed, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know, this is the weirdest request you’ve ever made.”

“I know, right?” YN said, bouncing on her feet in excitement. “But come on, you owe me for making me stay in all these boring royal events.”

Mingi could only shake his head in disbelief, giving in because he knew YN was never going to let it go. “Fine, fine. But if you hurt yourself, I’m not responsible.”

“Deal!” she said, her voice full of joy.

With one smooth motion, she jumped toward him, wrapping her arms around his thick bicep. He flexed slightly, just enough to lift her off the ground, and YN squealed in delight as she swung from his arm like a monkey.

“See? This is fun!” she exclaimed, giggling wildly.

Mingi stood there, still holding her with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “You are ridiculous.”

“I know,” YN grinned, her legs swinging back and forth. “But it’s a good kind of ridiculous, don’t you think?”

“You’re lucky I work out so much,” Mingi muttered, though there was affection in his voice.

“Thank you!” she laughed, then swung once more before jumping down. “This was exactly what I needed.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

But YN didn’t mind. She was already back to lounging, her weird request fulfilled. Mingi might have had his personal workout time invaded, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but smile at how his friendship with YN always kept things unpredictable—and oddly fun.

It was a sunny afternoon, and YN was feeling particularly adventurous—or rather, particularly bored. Mingi had been called to attend a brief meeting with the palace security staff, leaving her to her own devices. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue, but YN being YN, boredom wasn’t something she handled gracefully.

She decided to take matters into her own hands.

“I don’t need Mingi for everything,” she muttered under her breath, determined to prove that she could function just fine on her own. “How hard can it be to make a cup of tea or something?”

She strolled into the palace kitchen, glancing around at the unfamiliar appliances and shiny surfaces. She had seen Mingi brew tea for her countless times before—it looked easy enough. She grabbed a kettle, filled it with water, and placed it on the stove. With a smug grin, she flicked the stove on and waited.

Moments later, the kettle started whistling, and YN panicked. “Oh no, it’s screaming at me!” she yelled, fumbling with the knobs. Instead of turning the stove off, she accidentally turned it higher. The whistle got louder, and in her panic, she grabbed the kettle with her bare hands.

“HOT! HOT! HOT!” she shrieked, flailing her hands and dropping the kettle back onto the stove with a loud clang.

Hearing the commotion, several staff members rushed into the kitchen, only to find the princess standing there, her cheeks flushed, holding her now slightly red hands.

“Your Highness, are you alright?” one of them asked, clearly concerned.

“I’m fine,” YN grumbled, glaring at the offending kettle. “This thing just hates me.”

Before the staff could offer assistance, the door to the kitchen burst open, and in strode Mingi, looking mildly out of breath and thoroughly unimpressed.

“What is going on here?” he asked, his voice low and calm, but his eyes scanning her for injuries.

YN froze, caught red-handed—literally. “Nothing,” she said quickly, hiding her hands behind her back.

Mingi crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Nothing? Because it doesn’t sound like nothing. It sounds like someone decided to play chef without supervision.”

“I was just trying to make tea,” she muttered, pouting. “How hard can it be? You do it all the time.”

Mingi sighed, stepping closer and gently pulling her hands into view. He inspected her reddened palms, his frown deepening. “You burned yourself.”

“It’s just a tiny burn,” she protested.

Without a word, Mingi grabbed a small first-aid kit from the counter, pulled her to a nearby chair, and sat her down. As he carefully applied some ointment to her hands, YN watched him silently, feeling both guilty and oddly comforted.

“You’re not allowed in the kitchen alone anymore,” Mingi said firmly, wrapping a bandage around her hand.

“But I was just trying to—”

“YN,” he interrupted, looking her straight in the eye. “You are truly hopeless without me.”

She opened her mouth to argue but then closed it again, realizing he wasn’t wrong. “Fine,” she muttered, leaning her head on his shoulder dramatically. “I guess I do need you for everything.”

Mingi chuckled softly, his expression softening. “That’s what I’m here for.”

From then on, YN stayed far away from the kitchen—unless Mingi was there to supervise. And though she occasionally teased him for being overprotective, deep down, she knew she wouldn’t have it any other way.

It was a chilly, overcast morning, the kind where the sky hung low and gray, promising rain at any moment. YN sat with her group of friends in the school common area, bundled up in her scarf and coat. The conversation drifted from homework to weekend plans, and finally, as it often did, to crushes and dream weddings.

“I think I’d want someone who’s athletic,” one friend said, her cheeks pink as she laughed.

“Yeah, but he also has to be super smart,” another added.

“What about you, YN?” one of them asked, leaning in with a teasing grin. “You never talk about this stuff. Who’s your dream guy?”

YN blinked, caught off guard by the question. Normally, she’d deflect with a joke or tease them back, but today, she hesitated.

Her friends stared at her expectantly, but instead of conjuring up a romantic fantasy, her mind went somewhere else entirely—to Mingi.

She thought of how he always stood by her, carrying her heavy school bags without complaint. How he remembered to pack her favorite snacks on long days and made sure she had an umbrella when the sky threatened rain, just like today. How his steady, quiet presence had been the one constant in her life for as long as she could remember.

But then, like a sudden gust of wind cutting through the chill, another thought hit her: One day, I’ll have to leave him behind.

Her stomach twisted. She wasn’t like her friends, free to imagine marrying their crushes or choosing their own futures. She was a princess, bound by duty. One day, she’d be expected to marry someone suitable—a prince or nobleman chosen by her family, someone who fit the royal image. And Mingi… Mingi would remain as he was, her protector, her shadow. But never more.

The thought felt like a weight pressing down on her chest, and she didn’t know why it hurt so much.

“YN? Hellooo?” her friend waved a hand in front of her face, snapping her out of her daze.

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” YN mumbled, forcing a small smile. “I was just… thinking.”

Her friends exchanged amused looks, laughing lightly. “Thinking about your crush, huh?” one teased.

“Something like that,” YN muttered, though her heart wasn’t in it. She laughed along with them, but the unease in her chest lingered for the rest of the day.

The school bell rang, signaling the end of the day, and YN packed her things slowly, her thoughts still clouded from the earlier conversation with her friends. The idea of leaving Mingi someday had weighed heavily on her throughout the day, and she couldn’t shake it.

As she exited the school building, there he was, as always—Mingi. He leaned casually against the sleek black car, dressed in his usual suit, an umbrella in hand just in case it rained again. His watchful eyes immediately softened when they met hers, and he straightened up, opening the car door for her.

“Rough day?” he asked, noticing the faint frown on her face as she approached.

YN didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she stood there for a moment, looking at him, her thoughts racing. She thought about how he was always there, waiting for her, protecting her, ensuring she never had to worry about anything. And the idea of losing that—of losing him—was unbearable.

“Mingi,” she said suddenly, her voice firm but her eyes filled with emotion.

He blinked, surprised by her tone. “Yes?”

“I’ve decided,” she said, stepping closer to him, her hands clutching the straps of her backpack. “I’m not leaving you. Ever.”

Mingi tilted his head, confused by her sudden declaration. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean it,” she continued, her words tumbling out impulsively. “If I have to marry someone, it’ll be you.”

There was a brief, stunned silence as Mingi processed her words. His eyes widened slightly, and for the first time in a long while, he looked genuinely flustered.

“YN,” he started, his voice gentle but firm, “you can’t just—”

“I��m serious!” she interrupted, her cheeks flushing but her gaze unwavering. “Why should I marry some random prince or noble when you’re the one who’s always been there for me? You’re the one who takes care of me, who knows me better than anyone else. Who else would I want by my side?”

Mingi exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to find the right words. He crouched slightly so they were at eye level, his expression softening.

“YN,” he said carefully, “I’ve been by your side since you were a kid. My job is to protect you and make sure you’re safe. That’s what I’m here for. But marrying me?” He shook his head lightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “That’s not how it works.”

“But why not?” she pressed, her voice quieter now but still determined. “I don’t care about what’s ‘supposed’ to happen. I just… I don’t want to lose you, Mingi.”

His expression softened even more, and he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said firmly. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be here. That’s a promise, remember?”

YN bit her lip, her shoulders relaxing slightly at his reassurance. “You better mean it,” she muttered, her cheeks still pink.

“I do,” he said with a quiet chuckle, straightening up and opening the car door again. “Now, come on. Let’s get you home before you decide to propose to me in front of the whole school.”

She let out a small laugh, climbing into the car, her heart feeling a little lighter. As they drove away, YN glanced at Mingi through the rearview mirror, her mind still replaying their conversation.

That evening, after they arrived back at the palace, YN couldn’t keep the thoughts swirling in her head any longer. As soon as dinner was over, she excused herself and marched straight to her father’s study.

The king was sitting at his large oak desk, reading through a stack of documents when she entered without knocking—a habit he often teased her about but secretly adored. Her mother, the queen, was seated on the nearby couch, sipping tea as she reviewed her own set of papers. Both of them looked up in surprise when YN stood before them, her face set with determination.

“Father, Mother,” she started, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her chest, “I need to talk to you about something important.”

The king raised an eyebrow, setting down his pen. “What is it, my dear? You look serious.”

“I’ve been thinking about the future,” she said, clasping her hands together. “About how one day, I’ll have to marry someone. But I don’t want to marry some stranger or someone chosen just because of their title. I want… I want Mingi.”

The room went silent, the words hanging heavy in the air.

The queen blinked, clearly taken aback. “Mingi? As in your bodyguard?”

YN nodded firmly. “Yes. He’s been there for me my whole life. He’s the one who truly knows me, who understands me. I don’t see why I have to marry someone else just because it’s tradition. It’s not fair.”

The king leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful but hesitant. “YN, you know we’ve always respected your opinions and wishes. But this… This isn’t something we can decide so easily. Mingi is—”

“—not a royal,” the queen finished gently, though her tone carried a note of concern.

“I don’t care about that!” YN interrupted, her voice rising slightly. “Why does it matter? Times have changed, haven’t they? People don’t care about traditions as much as they used to. They care about love and happiness. And I know what I want.”

The king exchanged a glance with the queen, both of them clearly unsure how to respond.

It was then that the door opened, and Yeosang stepped in, his brows furrowed as he looked between his parents and YN. “What’s going on?” he asked, sensing the tension in the room.

“She wants to marry Mingi,” the queen explained, her voice laced with a mix of disbelief and worry.

Yeosang’s eyebrows shot up, and then, much to everyone’s surprise, he smiled slightly. “Well, why not?”

“Yeosang!” the queen said, shocked by his response.

“Mother, Father,” Yeosang said calmly, stepping closer, “it’s not the old days anymore. Things are different now. People won’t revolt just because the princess marries someone who isn’t royal. In fact, they’ll probably love it. You’ve seen how the media adores her bond with Mingi. They’d see it as proof that she’s grounded, that she cares about real connections instead of outdated customs.”

The king frowned, clearly conflicted. “It’s not just about the public, Yeosang. It’s about the responsibility, the image, the—”

“The happiness of your daughter,” Yeosang interrupted gently but firmly. “Shouldn’t that come first?”

YN looked at her brother, her eyes wide with gratitude. She hadn’t expected him to stand up for her so strongly, and it gave her a surge of hope.

The queen sighed, looking at her husband. “He’s not wrong, you know. But… it’s still hard to let go of traditions we’ve followed for so long.”

The king rubbed his temples, clearly torn. After a long pause, he looked at YN. “This isn’t a decision we can make overnight. But… if this is truly what you want, we’ll consider it. Just give us some time.”

It wasn’t a definitive yes, but it wasn’t a no either. YN’s heart swelled with a mix of relief and hope.

“Thank you,” she said softly, bowing slightly before leaving the room.

As YN left the study, her thoughts still buzzing with hope and relief, she heard familiar footsteps behind her. She turned to see Yeosang following her down the grand hallway, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“What?” she asked, stopping in her tracks and raising an eyebrow at him.

Yeosang sighed, motioning for her to keep walking as he fell into step beside her. “I need to talk to you,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

She rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to tell me I’m being ridiculous, don’t bother. You already supported me in front of Mother and Father.”

“I did,” Yeosang agreed, glancing at her. “But only because I’m tired of those outdated customs, too. And because, if anyone deserves you, it’s Mingi. He’s practically perfect for you.”

YN blinked in surprise at his honesty, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Really? You think so?”

“Yes, I do,” he admitted with a shrug. “He’s loyal, reliable, and has been by your side for years. I know he’d do anything to keep you safe and happy. That’s the kind of person you need in your life.”

Her smile grew, but before she could thank him, he stopped walking and turned to face her, his expression more serious now.

“But, YN,” he said firmly, “you’re still too young to make decisions like this.”

Her smile faltered. “What do you mean? I know what I want.”

“You think you do,” he replied, his tone gentle but unyielding. “But you’re only a teenager. Marriage isn’t just about liking someone or thinking they’re a good person. It’s a huge commitment, and it comes with responsibilities you can’t even imagine right now.”

“I’m not saying I want to marry him tomorrow,” she argued, crossing her arms. “I’m just saying that when the time comes, it should be my choice. And I chose Mingi.”

Yeosang sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I get it. You’ve grown up with him. He’s been like your rock, your anchor. It makes sense that you’d feel this way. But you need to take a step back and really think about what you want in life—not just right now, but years from now.”

YN frowned, her arms dropping to her sides. “You don’t think I’m serious?”

“I think you’re serious,” he said honestly. “And I think your feelings are valid. But feelings change, YN. And you’ve got so much time ahead of you to figure out what you really want. All I’m saying is, don’t rush into something just because it feels right now.”

She looked down at the floor, his words sinking in. As much as she hated to admit it, Yeosang had a point. She was still young, and the future felt like a vast, uncharted sea.

“I just… I don’t want to lose him,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You won’t,” Yeosang reassured her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Mingi’s not going anywhere. You’ve got time, YN. Don’t let fear make you rush into a decision. Trust that the right moment will come when it’s meant to.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed on the floor. “Thanks, Yeosang. I… I’ll think about what you said.”

He smiled faintly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That’s all I ask. Now, go get some rest. You’ve caused enough chaos for one day.”

She laughed lightly, the weight on her chest lifting just a little. As she walked away, she couldn’t help but feel grateful for her brother’s honesty and support. Even if she didn’t have all the answers yet, she knew she had time—and the people who cared about her to guide her along the way.

The sound of tennis balls being hit back and forth echoed through the royal court the next morning. Yeosang and Mingi were engaged in a competitive match, their banter as sharp as their serves. Despite the casual atmosphere, Mingi could sense there was something on Yeosang’s mind.

“Nice shot,” Yeosang said as Mingi delivered a powerful forehand that he barely managed to return.

“You’re getting slow, Yeosang,” Mingi teased, smirking as he prepared for the next serve.

“Not slow,” Yeosang retorted, adjusting his stance. “Just distracted.”

Mingi raised an eyebrow but said nothing, focusing on his serve. He sent the ball flying across the court, and Yeosang returned it with surprising force. The rally continued for a while before Yeosang finally missed, and Mingi stepped forward, spinning his racket casually.

“All right,” Mingi said, tilting his head. “What’s on your mind?”

Yeosang sighed, walking to the side to grab his water bottle. “It’s YN,” he said simply.

Mingi tensed slightly but kept his expression neutral. “What about her?”

Yeosang took a sip of water, then leaned against the net, looking directly at his friend. “She told me last night that she doesn’t want to marry anyone but you.”

Mingi froze for a split second before letting out a quiet sigh. “I know,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “She told me the same thing yesterday.”

Yeosang raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “And?”

“And… I told her that’s not how it works,” Mingi said firmly, his voice calm but resolute. “She’s still young. She doesn’t fully understand what she’s saying. It’s just… attachment. She’s known me her whole life, so she thinks I’m the answer to everything.”

Yeosang studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re probably right,” he said eventually, setting his bottle down. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s serious about how she feels.”

Mingi sighed again, sitting on the bench and resting his elbows on his knees. “I know. And that’s what worries me. I don’t want her to make decisions she might regret later. She’s a princess, Yeosang. Her life is already so complicated, and she deserves better than—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Yeosang interrupted, walking over to stand in front of him. “If you’re about to say she deserves better than you, don’t. Because it’s not true.”

Mingi blinked, clearly taken aback. “Yeosang, I’m just her bodyguard. You really think—”

“I think you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met,” Yeosang said firmly, crossing his arms. “And I think my sister deserves someone who will treat her with the care and respect you’ve shown her every single day of her life. Do I think she’s too young to be thinking about marriage? Yes. But do I think you’re a bad choice? Absolutely not.”

Mingi stared at him, stunned into silence.

Yeosang smirked, amused by his friend’s rare speechlessness. “Honestly, I expected you to freak out more when I brought this up. But it seems like you’ve already thought this through.”

“I have,” Mingi admitted quietly. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since she first mentioned it. I just… I don’t want to cross any lines. My job is to protect her, not—”

“Not fall in love with her?” Yeosang finished, his tone teasing but not unkind.

Mingi’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked away, unsure how to respond.

Yeosang chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Relax, Mingi. I’m not here to tell you to stay away from her. If anything, I’m telling you the opposite. Just… don’t rush anything. Let her grow up, figure things out for herself. If this is meant to be, it’ll happen in time.”

Mingi looked up at him, his expression softening. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” Yeosang said with a small smile. “You’re my friend, Mingi. And more importantly, you’re someone I trust. I know you’ll do what’s best for her.”

Mingi nodded, his chest feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time. “Thanks, Yeosang.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Yeosang said with a smirk, grabbing his racket. “Now, let’s finish this game. I’m not letting you win just because we had a heartfelt moment.”

Mingi laughed, standing up and grabbing his racket. “We’ll see about that.”

As they returned to the court, Mingi couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of responsibility. Whatever the future held, he would make sure YN was happy—whether that meant staying by her side as her bodyguard or something more. For now, he’d take it one day at a time.

Months passed, and YN’s relentless determination, along with Yeosang’s support, slowly melted her parents’ hesitation. It wasn’t an easy road, but the Kang family eventually came to terms with the idea. The modern world was changing, and so were the rules of royalty. What mattered most was YN’s happiness, and it was clear that her bond with Mingi was unbreakable.

One crisp autumn morning, YN was called into the royal study. Her parents were there, seated at the same desk where she had once pleaded her case. Yeosang stood beside them, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“We’ve discussed it,” the king began, his tone gentle but formal. “And we’ve decided that if this is truly what you want, YN, we will support your choice.”

For a moment, she just stared at them, her mind struggling to process the words. Then, as the realization hit her, her face lit up with pure, uncontainable joy. “Really?” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with excitement.

The queen smiled softly. “Yes, really. We only want you to be happy.”

Before they could say anything else, YN bolted out of the room, her heart racing as she ran through the palace halls. She knew exactly where to find Mingi—in the training grounds, where he often started his mornings.

As she burst into the training yard, Mingi was mid-swing, sparring with another guard. He paused when he saw her, his brow furrowing in concern. “Princess? What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer right away, instead running straight to him and grabbing his hands. Her grin was so wide it almost hurt, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. “They said yes!” she blurted out.

Mingi blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“My parents! They said yes!” she repeated, practically bouncing on her feet. “They’re okay with it—with us! You don’t have to just be my bodyguard anymore. We can actually—”

Her words were cut off as Mingi let out a soft laugh, his shoulders relaxing as relief and happiness washed over him. “They really said that?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, squeezing his hands tightly. “We don’t have to hide how we feel, or worry about traditions, or anything. They’re okay with it!”

Mingi smiled down at her, his heart swelling with emotions he could barely put into words. “I’m happy for you, YN. For us.”

She laughed, the sound bright and carefree. “You’re happy? Mingi, I’m the happiest person alive right now! I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy!”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re something else, Princess.”

“Of course I am,” she said playfully, sticking her tongue out at him. “Now come on, we have to celebrate! Ice cream, movies, anything you want—just name it!”

Mingi laughed again, letting her excitement wash over him. “Whatever you want, YN. Today’s your day.”

As they walked back toward the palace, YN chattering excitedly about all the plans she wanted to make, Mingi couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. He’d always been content just being her protector, her shadow. But now, as he looked at her radiant smile and heard her joyful laughter, he realized that being by her side in this new way was more than he’d ever dreamed of.

For YN, the future felt brighter than ever. And for Mingi, there was no place he’d rather be than right there beside her, no matter what came next.

Taglist: @jonghosbrainrot

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flinny-so · 3 days ago

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As someone with extremely high pattern recognition; I was in a terrible mood the other day. I felt like WW3 is gonna happen for sure and shit's gonna be f**ked completely. That is because Elon didn't seem to get any blowback at all for his salute and Trump reversed all of the little progress Biden made.

Now I think things are gonna be fine in the end because now I see that enough people realize now that Trump is actually gonna do the fascism thing and does not have any qualms of selling out the american people and actively make life worse for every ordinary person. Elon, who's pseudopresident, also qualified himself as a walking civilization hazard.

Everything is gonna be fine, I think, because people only put up with so much and we're already seen how much everyone celebrated Luigi. They're not gonna get away with this indefinitely in a country with more guns than people.

Especially exiting climate agreements, exiting solar energy programs, all the orders he reversed, deregulation is the second most worrying for me.

LGBTQI+ issues of course is not gonna get much better (in particular the availability of drugs, safety of queer kids in school. I don't think they'll touch queer marriage though.) AND let's not forget the constitutional rights of US birthright they're trying to reverse? Crazy. But they are already getting rebuffed for that.

The biggest police union also critisized him for pardoning the January 6 protestors.

Throwing immigrants out of the country is gonna blow back sepctacularly if they really do that. Even conservative farmers are already warning that those people farm all of y'alls food.

These people need to leave office. Especially Elon. Trump needs a puppeteer that is not absolutely stupid and insane the way whoever is telling him what to do now is. (I'm assuming it's the project 2025 guys and the billionaires, you know, some of the worst and dumbest people on the planet) He's a senile, evil man that's a loose cannon. You're probably not gonna manage to topple him because that would mean to throw the whole democracy facade out the window but maybe you'll manage to get him to be more normal (And I can't believe I'm saying this) a little more like last time, best case less insane than back then.

But until then it looks grim not gonna lie and even with the good outcome it's probably not gonna be pretty. This is not a time to be polite. F**k cordiality. The democrats that think they can collab with Trump? They're selling you out. F**k them. You need to make the mfs that justify this evil insanity cry. Roast them so hard that they cry at home and are gonna tell their mom about it. And if they don't stop then and especially if you see them infecting and emboldening other people with this brain disease, tell them you're gonna kick their asses (I say it like that to be polite) if they don't stop. And keep to your word. Sometimes people absolutely need to get their asses kicked. I'm sorry.

Be loud, do not let these people get away with behaving in that way. They need to learn a lesson and at least see that this is gonna make people hate them. And they deserve it.

seeing posts like “is anyone with high pattern recognition really anxious right now?”

girl idk how to break it to you but we are at “that’s right, it goes in the square hole” levels of pattern recognition rn

#fedpost #us politics #donald trump #elon musk

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esote-rika · 2 days ago

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lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well.

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since.

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything.

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals.

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing.

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic.

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together.

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.”

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions, you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak.

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him.

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost.

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him.

That’s inaccurate.

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification.

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body.

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat.

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices.

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body.

Soft. So damn soft.

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps.

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat.

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks.

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience.

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh.

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock.

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his.

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength.

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face.

There’s nowhere else he would rather be.

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed.

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock.

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs.

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust.

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him.

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!”

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.”

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds x you #waldorf!reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid

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shuenkio · 3 days ago

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𝗔 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱 | 💨 정원 ｡𖦹°‧

Paring: Jungwon X M!reader

Synopsis: Helping Jungwon who's too embarrassed to deal with his own problem.

Genre: Smut very. | Cw: heavy smau.

Non proof read | English is not my 1st

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

After a long day of practicing, you were left alone with only the leader while the others had already finished their schedule. It was both quiet and also lonely at the time since whenever all the members are together, it's chaotic like husky puppies. However it is fine.

Leaning against the wall, facing your front in the mirror, while gulping down water for dehydration. Everything seems normal until you glance over to see Jungwon who's at the corner, feeling something's off. You can't help but to ask him is everything ok, like you usually have but all you got was him shrugged as if he was fine when deep down he's not.

Apparently, after Jungwon finished his practice he was the first to take a rest before M/n when he casually pull out his phone and scroll through. Not until he scrolls by the heated posts and stuff that makes him can't take his eyes off and just let his mind sink in to the point he can't back down, and now his pants tighten, kinda hard to the state it was painful. Yet he didn't dare to tell M/n about it, it would be embarrassed to even say this personal problem.

Curiosity killed the cat, you furrow your brows, and began dragging your feet toward Jungwon. Peeking your neck to see what's so interesting that he can't pull his eyes off, even when he responded to you. But Jungwon is also not soft either, he won't let you see what's on his phone tho, which makes it harder to figure what makes Jungwon acting like this all of sudden, this is so childish of him.

"Come on, Hyung. I promise I won't scream or cry what's so good on that phone you're staring at right now. I know you're hiding something, if you won't let me just say honestly, I don't care what it was!!" Both are tough, one wanted to know while the other is too embarrassed to say. Jungwon didn't know what to do either, avoiding your snatch is just exhausted, he knows damn well that if you can't get something, you'll get it. So he let out a deep sigh, accepted his defeat before telling the truth.

"okay fine! I stumbled on this... Pay gorn, and ashhh I'm so hard right now ok? This is not good" Jungwon replied, shove his phone to your face, while his cheeks spread out a red tomato blush. Clearly he's too shy for this conversation.

"uhh oh I meant wait what pay gorn— oh wait OH WAIT oh" you realized, puzzle the words together when the missing pieces complete. This is the first time you have seen this side of him, or not? Jungwon is still a man by the end of the day, not to mention. He was kinda attracted to even men having things together ? Explained enough.

When Jungwon spit that he was hard, your eyes rolling over to see his sweatpants without yourself realizing. The sweatpants also can't defend him either, the defined bulge appears sharply on it, you almost thought he didn't have a boxer underneath since it so sculpture you get it.

Such a kind member of you, you offer him a helping hand. Acting like it was normal for you to deal with these types of problems meanwhile Jungwon is more than surprised when those words come out of your mouth.

"um... You're what?"

////

Jungwon started to undo his belt, his fingers fumbling with the buckle in his agitation. He yanked it off, tossing it shyly to the floor before tugging his jeans and boxers down to his thighs. His 6 inches cock sprang free, hard and aching, the swollen head already leaking with pre-cum.

"you sure you can do this M/n? You don't have to... I'm not forcing—AHH" Jungwon groaned as he felt your soft lips parting around the head of his cock, your mouth opening wide and eager like a baby seeking a pacifier.

You pressed the tip of his cock against your lips, demanding entrance. He tightened his grip on your hair without him knowing himself, holding your head still as he thrust his hips forward, pushing more of his thick length into the wet heat of your mouth. He could feel your tongue fluttering against his shaft, could feel the way your throat convulsed around him as you instinctively tried to suck.

Jungwon wanted to back off yet he couldn't do anything, never in his lifetime had endure such pleasure of someone, especially you blow him off too good like this. Jungwon thinks he could faint at any moment soon because of this mind breaking sensations.

"Fuck, just like that...," Jungwon grunted, his voice strained with pleasure. He started to move faster, fucking into your mouth with rough, shallow thrusts. Spit and pre-cum leaked out from the corners of your mouth, drooling down on your chin and onto your shirt. The sight was filthy, absolutely disgusting, and Jungwon started to love every second of it. Damn.

Who'd stop anyway? Not you right? As you carry on, if you had the chance to help your best leader now, why not giving your all.

He could feel his orgasm building, his cock throbbing and pulsing in your throat. But he held back, not ready for this to be over.

"don't hold back hyung- just let go whenever you feel it" Jungwon was lost to the sensation, drowning in the slick heat of your mouth, in the desperate way you were sucking him. He never knows how you can be this experience, he needs to ask you after this for real.

"I'm gonna fucking cum, M/n shit— too much TOO MUCH," he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of their practice room. With a final, brutal thrust, Jungwon buried himself to the hilt in your throat and let go. His cock jerked and spasmed as he shot rope after rope of thick, hot cum directly down your gullet. He held your head in place, forcing you to take every last drop as he rode out the intense waves of his release.

"Fuck, FUCK!" Jungwon screamed, his body convulsing with the force of his orgasm. Jungwon collapsed back and leaned onto the wall, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His cock slipped out of your mouth with a wet pop, a strand of cum and saliva connecting the swollen head to your lips before breaking and splattering onto the floor. He could see your throat working as you swallowed, gulping down every drop of his release like you were starving for it.

"you might want to eat a lil more hmm salty foods because *click tongue* it's not salty enough but still good"

"you're so bad... M/n I don't know how the hell you're this freaky —"

An: well um hey... Hi? This is kinda nasty but I held back, anyway I'm posting jw fic because the last update of him was in October 🥲 so yeah, it's kinda boom. Any thoughts?

Also Advance happy Chinese and Korean lunar new year 🐍

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chxse1atlantic · 2 days ago

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.·:*༺Cardigan༻*:·.

Summary: You and Remus have been married for a few years, you helped him with the full moons and his transformations. But one night, you go out forgetting it was a full moon, and come back to a poorly hurt Remus Lupin.

Content: Fluff!, Remus Lupin x F!reader, cute pet names, taking care of injured Remus, and cuddling.

You had just come home after a night out with a few friends, humming softly to yourself as you set your bag on the table and keys on one of the hooks next to the door. You slip your shoes off with a tired groan, your feet sore from hours of standing and dancing.

You make your way to yours and Remus' bedroom, but freeze by the bathroom, hearing small sobs and coughs. The tiredness is swept from your body as you remember what tonight is and guilt floods your body. With a small curse and a tiny sigh, you slowly creak the door open to see Remus standing in front of the bathroom mirror. Deep, fresh cuts lined his back and torso, tears slowly trickling down his paled cheeks as he tries to clean the blood from his cuts.

His hands trembled terribly as he tried to clean and wipe the cuts. Cursing and crying as the alcohol stung badly. Normally, when you where there to clean the cuts, making him focus on you instead of the small streams of red trickling from his wounds; he would forget all about the pain and the numbness of his body. Just focused on your soft whispers and gentle smile as you looked up at him.

He hears the door creak open, and his darker, tear-filled eyes snap up to meet yours through the mirror. He lets out a soft, strangled noise and nearly breaks down in relief as he sees you standing there. Giving him a small, guilty smile, you fully step into the bathroom

"Hey Moons. I'm sorry I wasn't here tonight. I didn't mean to forget the full moon." You whisper softly as you close the bathroom door behind you. Just the sound of your voice had calmed the shaking, bleeding man in front of you. Remus could never ever be mad or upset with you. He didn't mind you going out and hanging out with a few of your friends. He was used to dealing with the transformations alone until he met you, James, Sirius, and Peter at Hogwarts.

But now, he was just glad you were home. "Never be sorry darling. I feel better knowing you're home now though." He whispers, his voice hoarse and shaky as he slowly sits down on the toilet lid. He looks up at you with soft, tired, and droopy eyes. The fear and anxiety gone by just you being near him and hearing your voice. He let out a small sigh and gave you a lop-sided, lazy smile as he sat there.

You felt your heart flutter as you watched him, both love and guilt tugging at your heart as he sits there. You sigh softly and give him a small smile in return before grabbing a soft cloth, the rubbing alcohol, and a few other things to clean his wounds. You gently kneel in front of him and place a small kiss to his jaw, his eyes fluttering and his heart jumping. No matter how long you guys have been together, his heart still pounded in his chest at every small touch or glance.

You look up at him softly, watching as he relaxed and his body melted slightly, looking so content even though he was bloodied up fairly good. "I will always come home for you Moons. Always." And with that soft whisper, you get to cleaning his wounds.

After thirty minutes of your soft reassurances, soft touches, and Remus' small whimpers, hisses, and groans of pain. He was all cleaned up and exhausted. The guilt of leaving him to deal with this alone still weighed heavily in your heart, even though it was only for one full moon, you promised to never leave him alone.

He slowly looks down at you after a moment of being slumped against the toilet, and sees the guilt clouding your usual bright, soft eyes. With a small sigh and tiny smile, he reaches down and gently combs his rough yet soft fingers through your hair. "Stop feeling so guilty love, I'm fine now. You're home and I'm all cleaned up." He whisper softly before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

You melt softly feeling the kiss on your head and the gentle brush of Remus' fingers through your hair. You give him a gentle smile before slowly standing up and cupping his face. You tilt his head back and lean down, your lips meeting his for a soft, passionate kiss. He hums and gently wraps his arms around your waist before pulling you fully between his legs, smiling against your lips.

After the kiss, you pull away with a small sigh, gently wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling into his hair. His hands playing with your cardigan, well, more of his cardigan that you stole. He buries his face into your neck and grips the soft fabric softly, breathing in your sweet, calming scent. "I love you, y/n." He whispers as he gives your skin a soft kiss.

You smile into his hair, placing a kiss on his head in return to the one on your neck and lightly scratch the back of his head. "I love you too, Remus." You whisper, slowly pulling away before kissing his forehead and shrugging the cardigan off. You softly drape the fabric over his shoulders, figuring he needed the warmth more than you right now.

Minutes pass of just looking into one anothers eyes, peaceful silence floating around as you looked at the man you married. Then, with a small smile, you take his hands and help him stand. You gently start guiding him to the bedroom, fingers laced together and his eyes glued to yours. The cardigan was oddly more comforting than ever now, your scent wrapping around him and clouding his brain.

Once in the bedroom, you both reluctantly release each others hands. Changing into pajamas. Remus finally slips on his plaid pajama pants as you slip on your night shirt...which was also another thing of Remus'. Once changed you both slip under the covers, Remus nuzzling into your chest, his arms wrapping around your waist tightly as you nuzzle into his hair, your arms holding him to you tightly. You brush your fingers through his hair before trailing your fingers down to one of the silver scars on his shoulder, tracing soft, feather-light, stars against his scar.

Remus' breathing slowly evens out as he hears your heartbeat and feels your light touches on his scars, slowly falling into a peaceful, heavy sleep against you. After minutes of listening to his soft breathing, feeling his heart beat against your side, and his warmth enveloping you; you slowly doze off against him. Curling up with your husband, tucking him away from the cruelness the universe had put upon him. Safely nuzzled against you.

A/N: Hello my lovelies! I hope you enjoyed the story, please feel free to comment what you think seeing as this is my first writing! I hope you all have a lovely day/night! Also don't feel afraid to request any stories!🩷

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #fem!reader #marauders #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #moony #married au #remus lupin fluff #fluff

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k0nanharv3y · 2 days ago

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Tim Is A Wayne. AU

Au where Tim joins the batfam early but decides to have a simple life

Most "Tim joins the batfam early" fics end with Jason never going to Ethiopia and Tim becoming Robin while Jason becomes Flamebird or Red Hood. And I'm usually fine with that

But

Listen to me carefully

What if... What if Tim doesn't become Robin? 😦😦😦😦😦

LISTEN TO ME

PUT DOWN THAT ROCK

So... yeah, the kid likes to run around Gotham and take pictures, but let's be honest, Tim is an amateur, the only times he plays the hero are to protect himself or because the situation requires it

So... Tim keeps "sneaking" around to take pictures of Batman and Robin, and I say "sneaking" because even if he walked out the door it wouldn't change the fact that everyone already knows. And Tim doesn't want to become Robin, in canon he never wanted to be Robin, but Batman needed a Robin, but since Jason never died, then Tim doesn't have to become Robin

Do you get my point?

No? I don't care

There are two paths here, Tim becomes a spy for the Bats and now takes pictures of villains and deals in illegal stuff and... Well, he's an Oracle but physical (SOMEONE GIVE ME TIM A SPY, I AM BEGGING YOU) and now he has backup in case he falls off a building or someone notices him, and now he has equipment that doesn't consist of black clothes and worn out sneakers, but he never becomes a vigilante who fights bad guys, he's... Natasha Romanoff but without the fighting skills

And the other way... Tim... has a normal life 😦😦😦😦😦😦😦 as normal as being Bruce Wayne's son would allow him, he goes to school even though he's ahead, he has two brothers who love him and are willing to kill/die for him, he has Alfred (which, being the only member who doesn't stay up all night hitting people, he appreciates him and teaches him things about life [TIM KNOWS HOW TO COOK LIKE ALFRED, SOMEONE, I BEG YOU TO GIVE ME THAT] and among all his grandchildren, Tim is the favorite). And he has Bruce, who is a good father and is thrilled that one of his sons didn't take his path and is safe at home :D

Here are two more paths from "Tim Joining The Batfam Early" and that is... Jason's Death. It didn't happen: It's a lot of what you read above, not a lot of changes and that's fine. And... Jason does die

But Bruce doesn't get another Robin and Tim doesn't become Robin because his brother just died in that suit... a lot of Angst there. And Bruce doesn't break down because his family won't let him, he can't break down because his other son needs him. And when Jason comes back the first thing he wants to do is see his little brother

And there's plenty of angst there for them to feed on

But let's leave the angst aside, let's get to the fun part

Jason never dies and Tim is kidnapped

Option A) Tim stays silent as he waits for whoever comes to get him out of here, staring at anyone who passes by

Option B) He unties himself and escapes to the roof, waiting for whoever is coming for him to appear

Tim finishes high school and goes to Ivy University and is accepted with a scholarship and the family is happy

Tim welcomes Damian with open arms because he always wanted a little brother (he wanted to stop being treated like the baby of the family, please, he's 15 now) and Damian wants to hate this kid because it seems like everyone in the family loves him, but he's the person who gives the most stability to the mansion and the family and he's the one who convinced Bruce to let him have a cat

Tim is still the smartest of the 3 brothers, he helps out with whatever he can, Superboy has a weird crush on him, he solves all of Nygma's riddles and brags about it on social media, he does his internships at WE but not out of necessity but because it's his father's company. Ra's has his eye on him for some reason ????? But fuck everyone, Ra's looks at him too much and his family will make sure that's the last thing he does

And Tim... he lives a normal life. He goes to college, he has friends outside of the masks, he is loved and he loves and... It's okay

And WOAH WOAH WOAH WHAT IS THIS THOUGHT???? TIM BECOMING RED HOOD????????? WHAT?????? that's another post, lol

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melanieph321 · 2 days ago

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Kenan Yildiz x Reader - The Costume

+18

I'm dead 😭😭 who ever edited this image may the lord bless you and your children, and their children's children. 🙏🙏

This look on him is so hilarious, I don't know why!

Summary - Kenan wants you to wear matching costumes for a party. But you warn him why this is a bad idea. A VERY bad idea.

Enjoy! 🤭

"Come on Y/N. Please come out and let me see you."

"No, Kenan. I simply refuse."

You heard him sigh behind the dressing room curtains. "Come on, baby. We said we would dress up together for Weston's costume party. All of my teammates' girlfriends are going to match each other."

"Kenan, I am not dressing up as a gladiatrix." The curtains drew open as you stepped out of the small dressing room. It was evident, the disappointment on Kenan's face seeing you back in your regular clothes. "It's not happening baby. I'm sorry." You handed him back the costume that he had picked out for you. Although it fit you well, it just wasn't your style.

"Well, I'm still going as a gladiator." He stated bitterly.

"You do that Kenan, you do that."

Despite your firm decision, the days leading up to the event consisted solemnly of your boyfriend insisting that the two of you dress up in matching costumes. "Please baby, please. Did I tell you that there will be a price for the best dressed couple? You know how much I hate to lose, don't you baby."

"Kenan." Your sigh was heavy. "I told you that I'm willing to dress up as anything but a gladiatrix."

"But why?" He cried and rightfully so, considering that one of Kenan's favorite movies was The Gladiator. "You'll look so good. Like a Worrier."

"No, Kenan. I'll look stupid, all to satisfy the male gaze."

"Is that what this is about?" Kenan crossed his arms in suspicion. "You think by weaning the gladiatrix costume you're going to become sexualized by guys at the party."

"'Duh. What else. I'm going to show more skin than what is necessary. And I'm sure that the women of ancient Rome didn't wear push up bras."

"Your words made Kenan chuckle, his adorable smile getting on your every nerve."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"That you'll be sexualized. No." Kenan said. "We're talking about my teammates Y/N, They wouldn't do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. Besides, don't all girls dress a bit loose during these things. It's normal, no?"

There was no getting through to him. Kenan was standing firm on the matter. "You know what fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes, fine. I'll dress up for the party and I'll have a great time doing it. But don't come crying to me once you realize why this is a bad idea."

"Trust me." Kenan grinned. "I won't."

Eventually the night of the party came around, with Kenan picking you up while dressed as a handsome gladiator. You, on the other hand, wore a long coat, with long sleeves to protect you from the winter cold.

"You look beautiful, baby. Your makeup, I mean."

"Thank you Kenan. That's really sweet of you to say."

He leaned forward in the car, pressing his soft lips against your jaw. "I'm really happy that you changed your mind about the costume. You'll see, we'll be the best dressed couple for sure."

You made an effort to smile at him, a stiff smile, knowing what was coming was nothing short of disastrous. Having dated Kenan for the last two years, you were aware of his proud attachment to you. It was almost territorial, meaning Kenan was easily jealous whenever others became aware of you. Other men, that is.

"Hey, you made it!"

Upon arriving at the party, you and Kenen were greeted at the door by the host himself. Weston McKennie, dressed as a very convincing Ninja Turtle.

"You look awesome, Wes. Nice party."

"Thank you, K. The two of you can hang your jackets upstairs. I'll meet you guys around back."

"Okay."

The party was nice indeed. Most of Kenan's teammates were present, and their friends, who brought other friends. It was a bit crowded actually, with Westons villa crawling with people dressed up as anything from cartoon characters, superheroes and historical figures like Julio Cesar. You let Kenan emerge with it all while you headed upstairs to get rid of your coat. There you made the final touch ups to your costume, mainly polishing your plastic sword and pushing up your already suffocating breast. But hey, if this was the only way to prove a pint, so be it.

It wasn't that you were uncomfortable with having all eyes on you. It actually boost your confidence, adding an alluring groove to your walk. However, while all eyes on you was exciting and arousing, you preferred the gaze of one man and one man only."

"Y/N?"

As you returned downstairs, exposed in your gladiatrix costume, a wave of curious mumbles followed you as you sought out your boyfriend who stood chatting with his teammates. As you tapped him on the shoulder with your sword he turned his head, his eyes growing wider than you've ever seen them before.

"How do I look?" You said, batting your lashes.

"Look…" Kenan stammered as he temporarily lost his trail of thought. He regarded your costume with a longing gaze. Admiring the length of your worrier dress, which cut way above your knees, the draft being ridiculously swift.

"I— you look."

"Damn, Y/N. You look like fire." Weston appeared behind Kenan, he too, taking sudden interest in your costume."

"Fire?" You chuckled. "No, I'm supposed to be a gladiatrix."

"Yes you are."

"Hey." Kenan hissed, a slight flush to his cheeks.

Weston chuckled. "Sorry man. But you have to admit you're girlfriend looks hot in her costume. Hotter than you."

"Ha ha, very funny."

"Kenan!" You protested as he without warning grabbed a hold of your wrist dragging you with him through the house. "Is something wrong baby? What's gotten you so upset?"

He threw you a poisonous gaze over his shoulder, his voice slightly changed. "You know exactly what's wrong."

To this you smile. Your boyfriend, the one encouraging you to look the way you looked, barely lasted minute a minute seeing you in it. Utter jealousy overwhelming him as he led you through his teammates house, forcing you to join him in the nearest bathroom. There he let you go, supporting himself against the sink while struggling to yield his rising temper.

You tilted your head, regarding him with a devious grin. "Do you have to pee or something?"

Kenan raised his head, frustration in his eyes. "You think this is funny, don't you?"

"A little." You shrugged.

Kenan stepped away from the sink, regaining his posture before approaching you with slow steps.

"Kenan, baby." You chuckled nervously, lowering your gaze, eyes expanding at the sight of the outline of your boyfriend's trousers.

"Look what you've done to me." He said. "In front of everyone, you've left me this eager to have you."

"Ehm, sorry." You were backed up against a wall, Kenan, bowing his lips towards your ear.

"On your knees, now."

A shiver ran down your spine, the sudan shock causing a damp between your thighs. But as your knees folded beneath you, Kenan acted swiftly, changing his mind boy turning your body around. With arm around your waist he had you arch against him, his hard erection putting pressure against your exposed pantties.

"God, I should've never let you out of the house in that costume."

"Told you."

Kenan chuckled, adjusting your hair to rest over your shoulder he could kiss you. You tasted each other while he unbuckled his leather belt, dropping his pants to the bathroom floor. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard."

"How hard?" You moaned, your nipples having grown stiff against the wall.

"As hard as you like me to, baby."

"Good. Now get in with it."

You may have won the best dressed couple of the party, who knows? With the loud music pounding the walls of the house, you and Kenan failed to leave the bathroom for the entirety of that night, occupying yourself with some pounding of your own.

The End

#fanfiction #football imagine #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #football angst #kenan yildiz x reader #kenan yildiz #juventus fc

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palhelp · 2 days ago

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What did you pick?

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eeuni · 2 days ago

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getaway car ! eva

angst, eva (from swarm), blood, no happy ending, lies, drama, death, a little suggestive, cuts

all seemed like a cruel lie, as if you two were cursed. when eva met you, she enchanted you with her beauty, she invited you to her house, she lent you her clothes, she took care of you every day. she introduced you to her curious friends who lived with her, you thought everything was normal for a moment. just a cute girl who loved taking care of her plants and loved spirituality.

you didn't know what you were getting into.

you began to notice how eva let you go out less and less, she would suggest that she go shopping for things for the home and that you sit there looking beautiful. and many times she offered you spirituality sessions, and she had in mind to make a blood pact with you. she was madly in love. she needed you so much, she didn't want anyone to touch you. she told her friends to leave you alone, that you were so quiet for a reason.

the reason was that you weren't a psychopath like all of them. you didn't know that in the past eva's hands were covered in blood, like all those girls. they were there so they wouldn't have to deal with the police. you remember to this day how you would get on your knees on the wooden floor, excited because eva would tell you about her childhood. but all that came out of her lips was a slightly modified lie.

she didn't want to lie to you, but she had to make you love her enough so that you wouldn't run away when you found out about her crimes. and over time, despite those attitudes (she wouldn't let you go out, she would be jealous all the time, she would manipulate you, etc.) you fell in love with her. a lot.

it was one night after having made a bonfire with her friends in her garden where she confessed to you what she had done. she took your hands, she spoke to you softly, she even seemed a little sorry for having done it and she told you that her hands would never again be covered in someone else's blood. another lie.

"it's a shame...but, it won't happen again, okay my sweet girl?" were her words.

and to keep you from escaping she stole a kiss from you, silencing in a second all thoughts of 'oh, maybe I should think about all this'. her hand went up under your skirt and with her fingers she made you forget about any problems.

you closed your eyes tightly and repeated in your mind: 'the past is the past.'

after that night it was impossible to fall asleep. you overthought everything eva told you, your hands shook, you were panicking. you felt confused at first, why had she done all that? maybe now her actions came to life. but was it really good to stay with her? you felt tears threaten to fall. you wished eva was normal, that she had never done anything so you could love her freely.

"hey, is everything all right?..." dre.

you raised your head in fear. she was leaning against the frame of the room you shared with eva, you nodded slowly. no one could know that you were starting to want to leave that place.

"yes...i was just thinking." you replied, brushing it off.

maybe then she would leave you alone.

"if you want, ill call eva, she'll know-"

slowly dre was turning around, you panicked once again, shaking your head quickly. "no! i—i'm fine!" you prayed to yourself that dre would just leave and stop talking.

"wow, okay. sorry." she acted a little offended, after looking at you for a few seconds she changed the topic. "by the way...do you know where my phone is? i have to see if ni'jah posted."

"no. i don't." you were starting to get anxious and a little upset, you wanted to be alone and be able to think about everything that had happened. "can you please just leave?"

dre let out a sigh, rolled her eyes at your annoyance and left, closing the door. now you could let out that breath that felt so thoughtful and eternal, you lay down on the bed and closed your eyes. your mind began to replay your best moments with eva, how she made you blush so quickly, how she was so soft and sweet that it seemed unreal. you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't realize she had entered the room when you felt a weight on the bed.

"hi, baby." eva's voice made you open your eyes.

you felt her hand caress your right leg, moving up and drawing her body to yours, almost as if asking your permission to hug you. you left her, loving her too much to push her away, especially when she looked at you like that.

"are you feeling okay?" of course dre had walked into the kitchen and told eva to take care of her upset girl.

this made her curious, she got worried and quickly went up.

you nodded slowly, lying to her a little. eva's hands ran over your waist as she pressed her head against your stomach. "is it because of last night?" she continued talking. "i mean, if you feel—" "eva, stop."

you didn't let her say another word. you looked at her, totally confused about what to do, but you remembered how much she had done for you. maybe deep down she was a good person, but you felt that you no longer knew her fully.

"i love you, eva." you whispered, your hands on her cheeks. she smiled, reassured.

the ties were black and the lies white.

(...)

eva was outside with the girls, in the firelight, you could hear them laughing, talking about nature and its beauty. from the bed, sleep took over you, you told eva that you were too tired to be present that night. she almost called everything off to stay with you, but you told her no, that everything would be okay.

you slept for what seemed like only twenty minutes until you heard heart-breaking screams. frightened, you got out of bed, opening the curtain that led right to where the girls were.

you could see dre coming into the house, screaming and angry. "where's my phone!? i can't miss ni'jah!" she walked up the stairs and into the room, i looked at her in surprise.

she started going through the drawers, breathing heavily. you stood in a corner, starting to shake at the sight of her being so angry. eva came through the door, looking for you. she stood in front of you, as if protecting you.

"dre! its 45 minutes to the festival, by the time you get the—" eva's calm voice was interrupted by dre. "give me my phone."

your skin hit the cold wood of the nightstand next to the bed, you looked at eva. "we are your friends! you belong here."

you still don't really remember how, but dre did break a glass over eva's head. it was the only moment you were able to react. "eva!" you screamed. the woman staggered, falling into your arms and dre tried to attack you. you did everything you could to defend yourself from dre.

"fucking bitch! you're going to die!" dre kicked. you grabbed a sharp glass that had broken loose from the glass and stuck it into dre's shoulder. "f—fuck!" she whimpered.

you stole the keys, took the money, and with eva holding your hand, you locked dre in the room. oh my. what had you become? all the other girls watched you two run down the stairs. drea upstairs was starting to break down the door.

you were so scared but there was no time to think about it.

"oh my god! eva, are you okay?" they were all alarmed to see the blood dripping from eva's head. all those bitches were getting in the way and dre's screams were making you angrier and angrier.

"get out of the fucking way!"

eva was still completely silent, she wanted to see where this whole situation would take you. it was even a little exciting to see you like this. when you opened the door eva followed you, running so she could get into dre's truck and start driving. eva put her hands on the wheel.

"well? drive!" you exclaimed when you saw how she still didn't do anything and dre was already outside, getting into another car.

"yes, ma'am."

she started it, that car became a getaway car. you were lying to yourself, repeating that the person you were was not the real one. you two entered the road, you quickly looked behind your shoulder seeing how dre began to follow the car.

"go, go, go!" your heart was beating so hard you couldn't think straight, all the pressure of the moment was cutting off your breath.

all the commotion on the road made eva leave the road, near a motel-bar she crashed the car into an old tree.

"eva!" you cried, stressed out from not knowing what to do. it was certain that dre would come down and try to kill you two.

you couldn't see anything because of the smoke coming out of the truck, you heard eva cough. you noticed that you two were stuck. from eva's lips came the whisper of your name, you spread the smoke, searching for her face. she let out a moan when you touched her wound on her cheek.

"go...go, please. go somewhere safe." she said.

now you had a reason to leave, but why did you suddenly not want to anymore? you wanted to just die in that car with her. at this point you were crying. the sirens could be heard in the beat of her heart, you two were not far away.

"i can't leave you." you answered her.

you were in a getaway car, you left her at a motel-bar, put the money in the back and then stole the keys.

"go."

that was the last time you ever saw her.

you broke the glass, leaving a kiss on eva's lips that mixed with the taste of your tears and her blood. you should have known you'd be the first to leave.

you were crying,

you were dying,

saying goodbye,

in a getaway car.

two years later.

since the last time you saw her you couldn't stop thinking about her, not knowing if she had survived or what had happened. you had been crying for two whole years, everything that had happened that time was so much that you had to see your therapist three times a week.

eva ran her hands over your body, kissing your skin. you shifted on the bed, letting out a moan. "listen up, hm, i've never paid this much attention to you, ever"

when she looked up, her entire face was covered in blood. her blue eyes were marked on you like two tattoos.

you woke up, letting out a sigh as you came back to reality after that dream. you always dreamed about her. you prepared to tell your therapist about that dream, when you arrived at the place where the session would be, you received a notification. your therapist.

"hello, look, good morning first of all. i have to leave the city due to some health problems my mother is having. it was a pleasure sharing sessions with you, i hope to see you soon. today you will be greeted by a new therapist, i promise it will be fun with her, miss! goodbye and good luck."

you froze when you read that, you had the door in front of you and you wondered once again if you should go in and meet your new therapist. your old therapist was comfortable, and you wanted to tell her about the dream.

you gathered strength and something inside you told you to come in. you opened the door slowly. you noticed a figure identical to....

this must be another dream.

the woman turned around with a sweet smile. of course it was her, she was a mastermind.

"hi, im eva."

her cheek was decorated by a scar.