#so i needed someone to be able to get through to her gently

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Can we get more hurt reader for Quinn to care for pretty please with 🍒s ontop?

I think it's about time I get the reader to a game, don't you?

Nothing could beat the energy of a sold out Canucks game.

Tonight was poised to be a tight game against the Atlantic Division's Toronto Maple Leafs and the hometown boys. You had made the plans weeks ago to attend the game, but none of your friends were available to go, so you were going solo. It hadn't been the first time sitting with no one to talk to in the stands, as there was always someone to strike up a conversation with, argue a wrong call over, or heckle one of the visiting players with. You wouldn't be without company that night.

Things had started off fast paced, with Quinn scoring the first puck mid-way through the opening period. It was always special getting to see him score in person, hearing the fans cheer for their beloved captain, and also with you being able to join them as just another fan. No one knew who you were; best as anyone else knew, you were just another girl in a Quinn Hughes jersey, and that was enough.

The players would take their positions back at center ice and Vancouver would lose the faceoff, and play would move into the Canucks' territory. Defensively, they seemed to be struggling to get a turnover and multiple shots would be deflected by Demko before the puck would get back to the neutral zone. However, it would get tipped and go up and out of play, with Toronto trying to return back to the offensive zone. You had been guilty of watching Quinn instead of where the puck was and that would be your downfall that night.

At first, you thought the guy sitting next to you had clocked you in the side of the head by accident. It wasn't after you heard a kid yell, "Get it! Get the puck! I want it!" that you were able to discern that you had missed the rogue puck sailing towards you and that had been what had your head spinning. That was your last, straightforward thought.

The rows behind you, who had seen the contact be made, gasped collectively and several reacted around you to make sure you were alright. Your ears were ringing, and you weren't quite sure where you were as you slumped forward and to the side, nearly slipping out of your seat. Everything was getting hazy and your vision was fading out. Your head had never hurt so bad in your life.

"Yeah, I need medical to section 116", you heard the usher radio in, your eyes slowly opening. Everything was too bright, too loud, and you were dizzy. There was a towel placed to the left side of your head and the throbbing felt like someone was hitting you with a hammer repeatedly. "Ma'am, try to stay still, please. We're going to get someone to help you."

You gritted your teeth against the sound of the packed arena and how it aggravated your brain, and you had to keep your eyes closed against the harsh lights above. All you wanted to do was slip away into sleep.

"We're going to help you up, okay? Are you good to stand?" A woman's voice asked you, feeling gentle pressure to your upper right arm. Slowly, you'd turn your face towards her and nod. "Okay, gently now. Go slow for me, okay? We're going to make sure you don't fall. "

You bit your lip as you made your way to the aisle, still holding the towel to your face. "Still doing alright?" She asked again once you were up and out of the seats. After you nodded, she'd change her hold to your left arm and slowly, you'd be escorted up the stairs as clapping would follow you as a sendoff.

"We have an ambulance coming around to take you to the hospital and get you checked out."

You couldn't focus on anything and just kind of mumbled at whatever it was she was saying, and since she and no one else around was frantic, you remained calm despite being told you were going to the hospital in an ambulance. Sure enough, you'd be strapped to the stretcher in the lobby, a neck brace fastened in place, and wheeled into the awaiting transport out front. Everyone was so kind to you, but there was one person you couldn't get off your mind. You hoped Quinn hadn't noticed it was you who had been hit by the puck, but if he had, you wished it wouldn't interfere with his playing for the remainder of the game.

- - -

It would be after the game clock ran out before you'd be done with your visit at the hospital.

You had a series of stitches above your left eye and a concussion, but otherwise you were fine. The Canucks had won the game which was a relief to you, because what kind of fan would you had been if you didn't feel like whatever you did --or had caused-- had directly affected the game? Wore the wrong jersey and they lost? Your fault. Changed your order from your usual pre-game selection and they lost? Also your fault, and yours alone. That was just the overly superstitious sports fan brain at work.

Once cleared to leave, you had called a girlfriend and told her what had happened and if she could take you back to Quinn's apartment. She had offered to stay with you until he came back, but you had managed to convince her that you wouldn't have to wait for too long before he was home. There was reluctance to leave you, after saying you had sustained a concussion, but you had apparently been persuasive enough and she would leave shortly after getting you settled on the sofa.

You were thankful for the darkness and the silence of his apartment. The hospital had been busy and terribly bright, so just a smaller arena atmosphere, and you had suffered for hours before finally getting to actually relax. Your phone was next to you but looking at the screen, even with the brightness down, shot through your head like a bullet. The light sensitivity had been incredible, yet you were told it was common and nothing to worry about. You wanted to message Quinn, but typing was impossible, so a voice-to-text message would have to do the trick.

Y|N: Hey baby I'm okay. Just got home from the hospital. If you didn't know I'm the girl who tried to catch the puck with her face. Ha ha, lucky me. Anyway, I just wanted you to know I'm fine. Love you. (11:55pm)

Quinn: I was hoping that wasn't you. :( I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm glad you're okay. I'll be home shortly. I love you more. (12:09am)

When Quinn got home you were still sitting on the sofa, an ice pack pressed against your browbone where the new stitches were. The lights in the kitchen were dimmed, as you had gotten up shortly after his text message and turned them on, so he wouldn't come home to a pitch black apartment. You didn't want to scare him by being a creep in the dark, just waiting for him to get in.

"Hey Quinny," you said, half asleep and leaning against the corner of the sectional.

"Hey," Quinn replied, voice soft and low as he wasted no time getting to your side. "How are you feeling?"

He'd sit down beside you and try to see just what had happened. You'd drop the ice pack to you lap, fingers cold after having to hold it for so long. "I'm tired."

Quinn frowned, tipping your chin to the side just slightly, "Looks like it got you pretty good, babe."

"Yeah, I was watching you...so I didn't see it coming," you breathed out ashamed.

"Now, what would you do that for?" He laughed, hoping to raise your spirits. "I didn't see it happen."

"I'm glad you didn't," you mumbled, returning the ice to your face, feeling it throb again. "I got blood all over my jersey, too."

He gave a weak smile, hoping you were trying to be sarcastically upset, seeing the stains for himself. "I'll get you a new one. I'm just glad you're okay. It could have been a lot worse." His voice was near a whisper at the end.

"I don't want a new jersey! That one is special, don't you remember?" You cried out with emotional hurt, growing more upset thinking about how quickly the night had spiraled.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he said trying to keep you calm. "It's been a long time since that date, babe. I'm sorry I forgot it was (that) one. I'll take it with me and see if one of the equipment guys can clean it for me, okay? We'll get it taken care of. Now, can I get you anything?'

You just shook your head.

"Why don't you go lay down? You've had a long day."

You wouldn't say anything to him, but instead, would get up and try to walk past him but he would stop you. His arm would block your path, his hand gripping your thigh gently. The way he looked at you conveyed his concern, while his words remained minimal. "What's wrong, babe?"

"Nothing," you replied flatly, wishing he'd let you pass.

Your response prompted him to stand up. Now you wouldn't be going anywhere until he felt better about your situation. "Will you talk to me?"

"I don't want to talk, Quinn," you grumbled, your head pounding harder now that you weren't at rest.

Without a word, Quinn brought you into his arms. He knew how concussions could affect a person, how they could make you irritable and emotional out of nowhere. All he hoped was that a quiet moment would calm you down. He wasn't upset with you and your sudden attitude change; he knew how being hit with pucks felt and you hadn't been wearing the gear like he did. Not to mention you had been hit in the face.

"You're okay, baby. You just need to rest. I wasn't trying to order you around. And I'm sorry about the jersey thing."

Out of habit, you'd lay your head against him, but it would be those tender stitches that would make contact with his shoulder, causing you to pull back in pain.

"Ouch!" You hissed, fingers shielding the area.

"Careful, careful," he soothed, taking your face in his hands. When your hand fell away to your side, Quinn placed the most delicate kiss to your forehead, just above where your skin was split. His softness made your eyes close. You felt so touch starved all of a sudden, like you wanted to beg him for more. How had one kiss melted your sour mood away like that? You'd stand there like a statue, eyes still closed, feeling his warm hands cup your face.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked, having expected a different reaction from you.

"No," you replied, opening your eyes to his face, "that just felt so nice."

Quinn would smile, relieved that you finally had one moment of comfort against everything else that had happened that night. He'd take all of your pain away from you if he knew how. If little angel kisses made you better, he'd take as much time as was needed to pepper ever inch of your skin with them.

"How about I get you ready for bed and make sure you get to sleep, hm?

"I can do it."

Quinn's thumbs caressed your cheeks, while he still remained holding your face, "Let me help you. I promise to be gentle."

Your eyes softened when you gave him an affirming nod. You hadn't wanted to bother him with anything after a game, but he was insisting and who were you to deny him wanting to do such sweet things for you?

"Come on, princess. Let's get this done so you can get some sleep."

His hands would fall from your face, to take one of yours and lead you down the hallway. Quinn's pace was slow and cautions even though there was nothing wrong with your ability to walk; he would never rush you a single step.

"I'm only going to turn on the vanity lights, okay? They shouldn't be as bright."

"Okay."

The Edison bulbs came to a glow over the mirror, casting a soft, golden hue to the bathroom. Your head felt plagued by the worst migraine you could remember, but you'd struggle through while Quinn did whatever he had in mind for you. He'd have you put your back to the counter and would lift you up, so you were sitting slightly above his eye level; your feet kicking gently as they dangled in front of the numerous drawers.

"What do I need to take your makeup off, baby?" He asked, hands resting on either side of your thighs.

"In the basket, under the sink, there is a pink package of wipes. Those are fine. The Micellar ones."

"Under the sink, okay," he said softly to himself, giving your leg a tap before looking under his sink for this particular basket, and sure enough, like you had said, he was able to find them. "Just one?"

"Mhm, just one," you said, hand out-stretched for the product but he wouldn't hand them over.

"No, sweetheart, I said I'd do this for you," he smiled, removing one of the large sheets. "Just tell me if I do something wrong."

His touch was so delicate as he worked around your eyes, paying special attention not to graze your stitches. The nurses had washed most of your face of blood and some makeup at the hospital, but you were happy to let Quinn finish the rest. He pressed the cloth to your eyelashes for a couple seconds before pulling away the difficult product from them. Had he been paying attention to you all this time? He seemed confident in his approach and you appreciated the caution he implied.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, but I don't want to do them right now," you told him, finally opening your eyes once he was done.

Quinn wondered if he had done something wrong to make you not want anything more from him, "Like what?"

"There's a whole routine, but I don't care enough right now. My head hurts," you said, frustrated, tossing the melting ice pack in the sink.

"Alright, sweetheart, it's whatever you want." He pressed forward for a kiss which you would give before Quinn would get you down off the counter. For some reason, each step you took felt like it rippled through your feet straight to your pounding skull. Thankfully his bed wasn't too far away now.

"I should have carried you," Quinn lamented, only after having you sit on the bed. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. My legs work."

"I know they do, but anything to make things easier on you," he whispered, hands finding their place on your legs again. "Let's get you out of these clothes, okay?"

- - -

"I'll join you in a little bit. I'm going to put this in my backpack," he said, carefully folding the jersey. "But I've gotta get something to eat. I'm a little dizzy myself."

From the bed he had you carefully tucked into, you frowned hearing that he wasn't feeling to good himself. Now, you wanted to be the one to help him, but you knew there was no way that he was going to approve of you being out of bed, especially to wait on him.

"Have you had anything to eat today?" He asked you before fully leaving the room.

"I had something at noon."

"That's it?"

"Mhm, but I don't want anything. This headache kind of has me nauseous," you confessed, pulling the blankets up closer to your face.

You could faintly see him frown at your admission. "I can make you some tea. Would you like that?"

Smiling through the pain you'd nod, "Yes, please."

Unfortunately, you'd fall asleep before he could get back to you with the tea. He'd put it down on your nightstand and look at you for a moment. His lamp was still on so he could see you fully. You looked so delicate laying there aside from the deep bruising becoming more evident under your skin. He was so thankful you were okay, but vowed the next time you went to see him play, you'd be safely in a seat behind the net. He couldn't stand seeing you hurt like this again. Not if he could do anything about it.

[v1x3n]

REUNITE! ── ripped apart.

♯ PAIRINGS - john price x falsely accused reader x 141

♯ SYNOPSIS - tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

♯ TAGS - angst - mentions of torture, panic attacks and breakdowns.

─ previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter ─

Days go by, long fucking days where you're practically stuck in this bed. You could get up and walk around but you didn't want to. You stared at the ceiling, kind of hoping it would fall down on you but it never came. Your face stuck in the same position for hours as you melted into the bare sheets of the hospital bed. A singular tear pricks down your cheek while you look towards the dying flowers that sit on your bedside table.

"Hi honey!" Your nurse walks into your room with some food clumped on the plate. You glance up at her with weak eyes. She places the food on your bedside table. Glancing at the withered flowers, she sighs. "They been in here recently?" Jane asks with a hint of disappointment. Your head shakes, not really wanting to even think about or even talk about them, let alone speak to them. "Listen, I know what they did to you was terrible and you probably never want to open that wound but-"

When you scoff and look away after the 'but', she continues talking. "...You should talk to someone about it. I'm not asking you to talk to them. Because god knows I wouldn't even look at them, but you should see a therapist. You do need one and you can't keep pushing away everyone who wants you to get better." Jane's sweet smile makes you acknowledge that there are nice people in this world.

"I-I uhm- I was forced to go to a session like within the first week of being here but they just..." you trail off, looking towards the flowers that had lost nearly all their life. Huh, you never thought you could relate to flowers.

"I understand, I do." She gently puts her hands on your knee. This time you don't flinch though. This time, memories didn't flash through your eyes - forcing you to relive the horrible things those fucking four put you through. This time, it was peaceful, it was comforting. "You should still give it another go, after what you went through - you need someone safe." Your nurse's thumb rubs against your knee as she speaks.

You take in her words, the lingering feeling of wanting to get better - to heal - stabs at your heart but you also wanted to show those fucking horrible four that this is what they fucking did to you. Not wanting to waste time getting better, if you even could, you knew deep down you'd always hurt. You wouldn't be able to trust anyone again - especially a man. What they did to you tore you apart.

So, you shrugged off your nurse's words before she let you be, to eat your hospital food. The slop slumped onto the plate looked so disgusting. The sandwich that you could tell would stick to the roof of your mouth was unappetizing. Honestly the food there made you less hungry. After sighing and shoving the meal to the bedside table, pushing the dead flowers off the wood so they splattered all over the floor. The hard floor was littered with wilted petals and the dark, pale green stems.

So here you are. Sat in another white fucking room, except there wasn't a lonely bed or flowers scattered across the floor. There were two cream couches and a massive window. And a woman wearing a tight pair of trousers, a white blouse with a blazer swept over the couch she was sitting on top of. The girl was holding a clipboard with text filling the papers. Her hair was straight and was neatly brushed - the total opposite of you. “Ah, y/n? Right? You can call me Jones." she smiled as you came into her viewline. You nod nervously as you swipe down on your little gown the hospital gave you. 

Multiple panic attacks. Your body was in pain. The wounds that litter your body - not to be healed ever again. Your 8 fingers that trailed over the stitched up cut across your cheek. The breakdown you had just a week ago. How you flinch when anyone (but Jane) gets close.

All of that flashes through your head while you sit opposite the women. "You're quite famous, you know?” the woman states. You tilt your head towards the left. 

“Oh?” you hum, looking around the room, clearly avoiding eye contact. She scribbles something quick onto a clean bit of paper, the one with text flopped over the top of the clipboard. “Heard about your ‘story’ a lot, from a lot of different people.” You slump against the sofa. Feeling the soft fabric beneath your fingertips. “Oh.” mumbling when your eyes finally meet hers for the first time. Her blue eyes connect with yours. A deep passion for helping was buried in her eyes. You could tell. 

“I haven't heard the story from the person who went through it all though.” Jones looks down at her clipboard, “why don't you tell me about it? How are you feeling?”

“What's there to tell?" you scoff. Sweat starts pouring from your forehead so you pull an arm that was littered with healing bruises up across it. Your question was not much of a question, more of a statement. What was there to tell? She knew the story, everyone fucking did. “Let's start with how's your day?” Jones smiled with a hint of amusement when your scoff reached her ears. “Fine.” She raised an eyebrow skeptically at your answer but didn't comment on anything. She leaned forward. Placing her clipboard on the seat beside her. 

Your figit uncomfortably, "that's.. all? Fine?” Jones questions, her voice hinting at suspicion. “Yep.” 

“You know if you aren't honest, I can't help you." 

After burying your head into your hands, you drag your cheek down with your palm as you let out a long sigh, "I'm doing better.” 

“Well that is good to hear,” she coos, reaching for her clipboard and writing down a few words in the margin. “Has anyone visited you lately?” Her question makes you hesitate for a moment. “Like family and friends?” Jones nods whilst leaning back.

Looking around the office you notice the way the woman in front of you tilts her head in the slightest when you shake your head. Her ramblings go on and on but you end up blurring them out. High squeaking forms in your ears, blinding out your therapist talking. 

That's when a loud bang sounds from the door that you entered through. It brings you back to life. You flinch back as the door opens. “Hey Jones, sorry 'm late just got outa trainin’” the blurred man walks through the door, holding tight onto a notebook. His scruffy appearance so familiar.

You wish you didn't have to face him yet.

“Your session is on a Thursday from now on, I told you-” she gets cut off when Johnny drops the book in his hands as he stares at you with wide eyes, his mouth opening slightly as fear shoots through your stomach and heart. The man before you mumbles one quiet word.

 “...Bonnie.”

[lyracarvahall]

HeartBeat Sync Part 12

A Fashionably Fun Fling

Part 11 Here

Trigger Warnings: dirty talk, body insecurities, and bullying, fat shaming

As they made their way through the doors and into the VIP hallway to the elevator, the other members seemed to sense her tension. They were not able to touch her, but they lagged a little behind so they were physically closer to her. Seonghwa had darted a bit ahead until he noticed no one was near him and looked back to see his fellow member's protective stances and tense shoulders. Y/N looked up to see his eyes tearing up as he paused and awaited the other members to catch up before he matched their pace at the head of the pack.

Y/N pulled out her phone really quickly and sent out a reassuring message to Seonghwa. She saw he felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out of his back pocket. He looked down, nodded slightly, and typed out what seemed to be a lengthy response before harshly shoving the phone back into his back pocket. A moment later, her phone vibrated.

Y/N let out a shuttering breath reading this. This was the first time someone from the group had even mentioned love, and it was not even from one of her bonded. A finger sneakily grazed her side. She looked to her right to see Mingi looking at her with concern in his eyes but she gave him a soft smile to let him know these were happy tears. He nodded in a subtle way as they finally reached the elevator.

As the group filed in, Seonghwa and her still ended up on opposite sides of the elevator, but this time it was not anxiety that filled the air. It was warmth. It was palatable in every fiber of her being. She saw him eyeing her with a gentle fondness with his eyes crinkling in the corners. No hostility. No hatred. She felt hope that this could work and she returned his smile with a big bright one in return.

Once they reached their floor, again a staff member from the hotel stood with the member's keys in hand. This time however, they were all in one giant presidential suite. It seems the staff members took up all of the other available rooms as well as Lexi (who was basically Y/N's PR staff let's be honest). As the members walked into the room, they ran around and looked at all the luxuries in the room.

Y/N hesitantly stood in the doorway until Mingi yanked her in and slammed the door closed. Instantly he had her pinned against the doorframe and began to kiss her furiously. "I missed you baby." She got caught up in his pillowy lips, tugging his hair as he continued. A clearing of the throat echoing from across the grand living space showed Jongho sitting on the loveseat with a raised eyebrow.

Y/N blushed furiously while gently shoving Mingi away. He pouted and went to go sit next to Jongo on the loveseat, punching him on the arm. A wrestling match quickly ensued between the pair. Hongjoong walked forward and shouted, "GUYS! Hey! we need to talk. Gather around! Teem meeting." He looked exasperated a little bit with the antics taking place. Everyone took their places on various pieces of furniture around the room and waited for their leader to speak.

"I know that we are all clamoring to get our hands on our soulmate. I am sure she appreciates the attention but it may also be a bit overwhelming for her. We should be taking the time to get to know her as a person. I know the connection is irresistible, but let's try to be gentlemen."

The guys looked over at Y/N with apologetic glances. "It is okay guys. I understand the connection. I feel it too. With all of you. She looked at each of the members, making sure to include Seonghwa in her statement. His eyes widened a bit. "I would love to explore our connection as people as well too. I have been overwhelmed with the celebrity and the lifestyle changes. I admit it would be nice to have dates and meetings for a sense of normal relationship stuff."

The guys nodded in understanding and several apologies were muttered. "I plan on taking her on a date today. No one fight me on it. She happens to need more clothes so I figured it is a good opportunity to know our beautiful girl better." Y/N blushed at the compliment.

The other members looked like they were about to speak up in protest but they saw how happy she looked at the prospect and decided against it. "Speaking of which, firebird, we should probably get going. There are a couple of places I booked private shoppers for."

"Okay, let me grab my purse." Y/N scurried over to where her purse had fallen on the floor after Mingi's affection attack. Hongjoong squeezed her hand and helped her up, lifting her hand to kiss the knuckles. With a few snickers heard from the other members, the pair went out the door back into the hallway.

Professional mode turned back on, with Y/N trailing Hongjoong slightly as they made their way to the private elevator once again. After a quiet ride down, he guided her to a two seater black BMW sports car.

"Hongjoong what is this?"

"Surprise baby. I figured it would be nice to ditch the security detail and check out the city by ourselves. Did you want to drive or did you want me to drive?" Y/N wondered if he knew how to drive in this country or if he was even legally able to. Instead of asking, she just said. "I'll drive."

After they both sat in their seats, Hongjoong hooked his phone up to the GPS to guide them to where they needed to go. Pulling out and driving carefully since she did not want to wreck the super nice rental vehicle, she got them to the location without a scratch. She pulled into the parking spot before the realized that Hongjoong would totally be spotted. She forgot sometimes that she was dealing with an actual celebrity.

"Uh Joong...people are going to recognize you."

He swiftly pulled the cap off of her head and placed it on his own, sticking his tongue out playfully at her. "Now they won't." Y/N quickly pulled off the STAFF shirt and placed it in the backseat, leaving her in a white tank top. Hongjoong looked like he was trying to avoid staring at her luscious curves and was doing a terrible job at it.

Getting out of the car, the pair walked towards the high end boutique. "Honey I fear even breathing on anything in here. I can't afford to buy anything here."

"Don't worry about it. I set up an account here."

"What? I cannot possibly ask you to do that. I don't like being in debt to anyone. Please just let me pay you back at least."

"You can pay me back by being by my side for the rest of my life, how about that?" With that he pulled his cap down and took her hand. What was she supposed to say against that?! They walked into the store like any other couple would and Y/N had to admit this was a great change. A nice normal couple thing to do.

He held the door open for her like a gentleman and she made her way inside the boutique, feeling massively underdressed just looking at the clothing in there. Fun and funky clothing with a rock theme. He seemed to know exactly her taste without her uttering a word. She loved how there was plus-sized inclusion as well. He really had thought of everything.

"I hope you like it baby. I had the place closed for the day so you can take your time in here." He looked proud of himself.

"You did good Joong. Thank you for this. Really."

"No problem baby. This is also for me too you know. I get to show you my special interest and I get to see you in some sexy clothes." He wiggled his eyebrows. Just then a staff member came over to the pair.

"Hello! My name is Melody! You must be Hongjoong?" He nodded politely. "This is Y/N. This is who will be the model for the day." He smirked and gently rubbed her back. Melody's face tensed briefly and then her professional smile was back on. "Awesome! Right this way Y/N. Let me grab some stuff and you can try it on to see what you prefer. You have any color preferences or style things you don't like?"

"Um I am not too picky." Melody let out a soft snort of laughter. Y/N ignored her and continued. "I don't like turtlenecks and I don't like too much pink. Beyond that it is fair game.

"Okay cool! A great start. Why don't you pick out a handful of things in your size and we will build a collection from there." Y/N walked around and picked out a few cool pieces that caught her eye in her size. Making her way to the back fitting room, she tried on the first outfit of pleather skinny leggings with lacing up the sides, a gold silky sleeveless shirt, and a black leather jacket. Stepping out of the fitting room, she approached the floor length mirror directly across from it. She normally was not a fan of tight fitting clothes due to her body type but she had to admit the leggings made her ass look good.

Hongjoong came around the corner and nearly dropped the items he had procured for her. Before she could be embarrassed that he now knew all of her sizes, he shouted "GET IT! Baby, you look amazing!"

Y/N giggled and quickly changed into the next ensemble. On and on it went with Hongjoong approving of every outfit she had picked out and adding it to the pile at the register. Then came Melody's choices. Each piece she put on was unflattering and a little too small. Each piece brought her a little bit more insecurity. It eventually got to the point that she was done trying this on. Leaving the few remaining items hanging without touching them, she reached to her clothing she came in wearing and pulled them back on.

"Honey, you haven't come out in a while. Everything okay?"

"Yeah it's fine. I'm getting tired. It okay if we go now?" Hongjoong felt the sudden exasperation through the bond.

"Baby I am coming in there. That okay?"

"Yeah I guess. I am dressed now. Could you help me put all these clothes back?" She opened the door and he made his way into the fitting room.

"You didn't like any of these firebird? What happened?"

"They didn't look good. It's okay. Par for the course I guess." She finished hanging up the clothing and went to grab all of the items when Hongjoong wrapped his arms around her and peeked over her shoulder to face her to the small mirror in the fitting room.

"What are you talking about darling? You are beautiful and those outfits you picked out looked fantastic on you."

"Melody's choices were not good on me at all. She would know best as she is the expert, right?" Hongjoong went to grab a couple of the items that were hung up and took a closer look at them. "Well no wonder! They are the wrong cut and size! She saw what you had picked out previously and should have worked off what you had. How can she fuck that up?!" He took a second and realized "That little bitch did that on purpose!" With that he went to go storm out of the fitting room.

"Joong please don't! It isn't worth it!" Y/N grabbed his arm to try to stop him.

"Don't you get it get it yet, firebird? You are worth it. You are worth everything." He grabbed her hair and pulled her face to his. "No one fucks with what is mine."

After a brief and passionate kiss that left her dumbfounded, he took off towards the register. Before she could catch up to him, he has already reached the counter. A blonde woman who appeared to be a few years older than Y/N stood behind the counter. She had a harshly tight high ponytail and an equally harsh look on her face as Hongjoong spoke to her in low tones. By the time Y/N made it there, their conversation seemed to have concluded.

"Hello. My name is Amber and I own this place. I have been made aware of Melody's behavior and sadly this is not the first instance of this behavior. I apologize and will deal with this at once. I told Mr. Kim the items are complimentary as they will be equal to what I would have paid Melody for the next month."

"Thank you but that isn't necessary. Truly. I don't want to make you lose your profit for one person's actions." Y/N was truly embarrassed with what this day had turned into. Hongjoong quickly grabbed her hand and rubbed her fingers. This was the moment Melody chose to reappear from whatever hellhole she crawled out of.

"Ah Melody. Welcome back. Now you can turn back around and leave."

"Wait what? What are you talking about? I didn't do anything!" Melody was turning red in the face to match her bright red face framing highlights.

"I told you the last time that I was sick of your pick-me bullshit. I also told you that you were not going to embarrass me in front of our celebrity clientele. You struck out twice."

"Are you seriously going to take the word of some COW?!"

"Get out. I will mail you the measly check you got in the mail. You definitely didn't earn any commission today. You will never set foot in here again. Get out."

"Fuck you and fuck this place then. You know he is only with you out of fucking pity right bitch?" She got right in Y/N's face. "Why else would he want you?" Hongjoong squeezed her fingers tightly but didn't say a word. He had a feeling she wanted to deal with this herself.

"Green isn't a good color on you. You are a pathetic and petty bitch. My SOULMATE obviously is not with me for pity and cares for me. You are just some gutter trash without an ounce of class who deserves the instant karma you just received. You heard your boss. Get out. Good luck getting another job with your shitty attitude."

Melody screamed in Y/N's face. "You will pay for this!" and stormed out of the building. Y/N was visibly shaking not in fear or sadness, but rage. She was tired of judgement and now it had ruined her first soulmate date.

"Hey guys I am truly sorry again. I will make sure that the word spreads around town so no other store is stuck with her. Also While I am making calls, I will have a few buddies at other boutiques send collections in your measurements to your hotel. He already gave me the info." She pointed her thumb at Hongjoong. "You crazy kids enjoy the rest of your date. Don't let dumb bitches ruin something so special."

Y/N shook the anger off the best she could, though echoes still rolled under her skin. "Thank you for everything Amber. Sorry this turned so dramatic."

"Girl no worries. Your body is banging. Melody just wanted your man for herself and was pissed he wanted you instead. Like I said, pick-me. "

Hongjoong took the shopping bags he must have paid for earlier and grabbed her hand without another word. Once they got back into the car with Hongjoong behind the wheel, he grabbed her chin and pulled her towards him. Licking her lips with the tip of his tongue he chuckled. "Baby, once we get back, I am going to show you how much I appreciate your body in AND out of those clothes."

Next Part Here

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Taglist: @mrsminseocheol @imbaebi

[good-beanswrites]

If it's okay with you, could you write a drabble about the hypothetical aftermath of Amane getting attacked by Kotoko?

Welp thank you pal for making me absolutely insane with this request ��� I ran through a few hypotheticals and realized I had to shift some things around since there were so many absolutely tragic outcomes. I worked something out but damn if it didn’t make me emotional to think about how uniquely rough Amane has it. Even making sure she's in a good place at the end, this got pretty serious, so warnings for child abuse and cult references. 

(So in canon, Kotoko goes in order and attacks Fuuta, but Kazui steps in. Then she attacks Mahiru while he’s distracted with his injuries. She’s about to attack Amane, but Mikoto gets in the way (my hc that he did it on purpose survives!). By the time they reach a draw, Kazui is back, and the two of them can prevent Kotoko from any further action against Amane. Sticking to this apparent system of three attacks and one rescue, I’m just shuffling around the injuries for this story. Fuuta’s attack went unnoticed, and he’s in the same state as canon Mahiru. Mikoto steps in before Kotoko can fight Mahiru, so Mappi’s the one who get out physically unscathed. While Mikoto checks on Mahiru, recovers himself, or discovers Fuuta, Kotoko is able to attack Amane next. Kazui comes to help, but not before she leaves Amane looking like canon Fuuta.)

Mahiru could practically feel her heart shatter into a million pieces when Amane finally cried in front of her. She hadn’t shed a single tear yesterday – it was the shock, Shidou said. Mahiru was skeptical. After all, she had been shocked, too, and cried plenty.

Amane woke as she came in with breakfast. She took a moment to survey herself, bandages peeking out from beneath her pajamas and an eyepatch securely over her right eye. As calmly as one might say “good morning,” she started to cry. Mahiru might have missed it, if Amane hadn’t wiped at her good eye with her sleeve.

“Oh, sweetheart…!” Mahiru rushed over to her. “It’s okay, I’m here.” She wanted nothing more than to wrap the girl in a secure embrace, but she remembered the mass of bandages that were around her chest. Shidou had mentioned broken ribs and bruises. It took everything in her not to cry along with Amane, at the thought.

“I can get you another ice pack, if you need. Or more medicine.” Her mind spun with ways to help with pain. Many of the first aid supplies had been used to keep Fuuta from the brink of death, but surely there were extras to spare for Amane. 

The girl just shook her head. 

She muttered, “I can’t… I…I’m going to be punished, I’m going to be punished…”

“No! You’re safe now.” Mahiru placed her hands gently on Amane’s arms. “Kotoko’s not coming back. We’re all watching over you. You’re safe. She’s not going to hurt you anymore.” 

“That’s not…” Amane pulled away. Her voice stayed level, despite hiccups interrupting her. A hand reached up to her eyepatch. “It’s this. It’s all of this. It’s sinful. I took it off last night, but he must have…” She started unwrapping it. “They’re going to punish me...” 

With a careful motion, Mahiru held it in place and took Amane’s hands into her own. She’d been picking up on the signs ever since they arrived here together, and a final wave of understanding washed over her. 

“I can’t let you do that.”

Amane’s expression twisted, though words came out far more frantic than fiery. “Let me go.” 

Mahiru didn’t. “I’m sorry. Amane, you need this treatment.”

“That is not your decision to make. That is not any human’s decision to make.”

Mahiru pressed her lips together. “I know. But I can’t watch as you… I can’t sit by again while someone…” She was careful not to apply any pressure, but she could no longer fight the urge to gather Amane up in her arms. “You don’t need to be afraid of those people, anymore.”

“I’m not afraid.” Amane hiccuped. “They love me, and I love them. I need to be good for them.”

“I love you, and I don’t want to see you in pain.”

“You just pity me because I’m young.”

“Why does your age matter? You are a lovely young woman – you are my friend – and I can’t bear to see you in pain.”

The two sat in silence for a moment. Mahiru doubted she would take that as an answer; Amane had refused to call any of the others her friend. At least she didn’t argue. In fact, it seemed she was leaning into the embrace a bit more. She sighed a shaky breath into Mahiru’s uniform.

“Listen, Amane. Can you do me a favor? I’m trying to be a good girl, too. To make up for something awful, I need to make sure you’re alright. Can you help me? Can we be good together?”

A long pause followed. Amane’s voice spoke up, ever so gently.

“I suppose I can consider it.” She added quickly, “for the sake of your redemption. Of course.”

“Of course.”

[ponderingmoonlight]

Reader falling obsessively in love with kny men after getting poisoned

Pairings: Rengoku x fem!reader; Sanemi x fem!reader; Giyu x fem!reader; bonus Genya x fem!reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: There's no smut going on but it's definitely a close call lol, I just thought this concept is funny so the fics itself and the whole scenarios aren't 100% serious it's getting absolutely heated in every single one though hehe, Not proofread bc I literally finished this last minute before my flight lol, I'm currently in Greece when this gets published so surprise ya girl with your support until she's back 🤍

Rengoku Kyojuro

“And you’re sure this is safe?”, you question while looking up at Shinobu with frightful eyes.

It should be fine. After all, Shinobu is the one who invented a medicine that is supposed to finally force your headache away. She’s a professional, so well-educated that even Kagaya-sama’s very own children get treated by her.

Even though she didn’t have the chance to test this medicine, you should be fine.

Right?

“As you know, I’ll never promise something I can’t keep, (y/n). But you’re here with me and if something goes wrong, I will find a way”, she tries to reassure you, only to spike your panic up even higher.

“Listen Shinobu, maybe I’ll try something e-“

Before you’re able to finish your sentence and stop her, you feel a needle poking through your arm oh so gently.

For a moment, you simply sit there and blink in confusion. Huh, not as bad as you thought. It really seems like your headache slowly but surely starts fainting away while the medicine burns every so slightly through your veins.

Not bad at all.

Until your heartbeat picks up so suddenly that your eyes dart wide open. Like in trance, you yank out of the chair you were sitting in, orbs darting around without a real aim while frantically searching for something.

Or rather someone.

What a quiet and peaceful day it is to roam around the beautiful butterfly estate. Rengoku actually didn’t even plan to come here. After all, he isn’t injured nor does he need something from Shinobu-san. To be honest, he’s only here because of you.

You told him yesterday that you’ll see Shinobu today in order to test medicine that is supposed to end your ongoing headaches. You were a little frightened when you thought about getting an injection, so it was never a question for Rengoku to be there for you. Hopefully, he made it on time.

“Kyojuro.”

He furrows his eyebrows and turns towards that unusual seductive voice.

When your eyes meet his, he forgets how to breathe. There you stand, your kimono opened just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your chest like never before. But what simply sweeps him off his feet are your eyes. As gorgeous and captivating as ever, but this time igniting an so unknown spark, inviting him to a silent dance.

“(y/n), are you feeling alright?”

Your hips swing from side to side as you draw closer to him and place your hand straight over his beating heart.

“I’m feeling better than ever before, Kyojuro.”

Kyojuro can’t help but blush deeply, eyes widening in surprise. A nervous smile plays on his lips while he stammers slightly, unable to hide his flustered state. Is this really you, the secret love of his life, discovering his body with your bare hands? The second your flat palms start wandering over his back, his hands start to fidget. Out of instinct, he avoids eye contact, his very own hands now keeping you in place.

“W-What’s going on. (y/n)?”, he stammers like he never did before.

“Take me, Kyojuro.”

His eyes grow even wider, usual confidence momentarily faltering like a house of cards.

“I-I…um, what?”

With a force he didn’t even know you have, you shove him against a nearby tree, your knee gliding between his legs.

“I want you since the first time I saw you. I won’t wait for another opportunity when you’re right here.”

“(y/n)…D-did you already meet Shinobu-san?”

Are you sick or injured? A quick scan of your body reveals nothing that could indicate a serious wound. No, to be precise, you reveal nothing but your soft curves, your gorgeous frame he has never seen like this before. With your kimono slightly opened and the cleavage that peaks at him oh so invitingly…He never felt your hands pressed against his chest like that before, never got a taste of how well you fit inside of his arms.

No. He shakes his head ever so slightly, forces his own mind back to reality. This isn’t the (y/n) he knows. You’d never sneak up on him like this, even if the words you just spoke are true.

Oh, please let them be true.

“All I care about is you”, you purr, face now only inches away from his.

If his back wasn’t pressed against a tree already, Kyojuro would lose his balance for sure. He was always captivated by that gorgeous colour your eyes have, never able to look away. But now, with that dark gleam inside of them, your hands wrapped around his neck. A little innocent kiss, a dream that comes true right here and now-

“(y/n), come back right now!”, a voice cries behind him so suddenly that he jumps up inside the cage of your comforting arms.

“We are here, Shinobu-san!”, he replies automatically.

Only to regret his words instantly. Just one second more and his lips would have touched yours, only a few moments more in your embrace before it all ends again. It takes him all his strength to let go of you when Shinobu arrives with an injection ready in her hand.

“I’m beyond sorry, Rengoku-san! (y/n)’s strange behaviour is all my fault. But don’t worry, I’ll bring her back in just a moment.”

Faster than he’s even able to comprehend the insect pillar’s words, she sticks a needle into your arm and releases the injection.

You blink a few times, head spinning uncontrollably as you stumble backwards. Where are you? What happened? Your head pounds so roughly against your skull that you feel like puking any given minute.

“How are you feeling, (y/n)?”, Shinobu’s comforting voice rings in your ears.

Slowly but surely, your foggy vision starts to get clear again.

“Since when are you so tall, Shinobu?”, you mumble absently.

“It’s me, (y/n). Kyojuro.”

Oh.

“Kyojuro!”, you mumble in utter surprise.

“But…what are you doing here?”

“Let’s not talk about it. I-I…I need to go now”, the flame hashira announces before turning on his heels and walking away.

You stare at his back in nothing but confusion. What is wrong with him? Is he not feeling well, maybe?

“Is it just me or does Kyojuro walk very strange today?”, you question, earning endless giggles from Shinobu next to you.

“He does indeed.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

“Watch out idiot, you’re gonna get hit!”, the white-haired man barks harshly at you before dashing towards again.

It happened faster than you were ready to react. A little troll through the woods at night, a deep conversation with the wind hashira. And just a few seconds later, an upper-ranked demon appeared out of nowhere.

“Don’t let it hit you, (y/n)!”

“I’m not stupid, dumbass!”, you bite back while dodging another hit with a tendril.

What a strange-looking demon that woman is. With countless pink tendrils that act as her hair and her long tongue, she really looks different from every demon you’ve seen before.

“Still fighting for your love, you fool?”, she jeers at Sanemi before trying to hit him once again.

"I will show you what love really is! It's a consuming fire that burns away your sense of self, leaving you hollow and desperate. It's an obsession that blinds you to reality, making every thought, every breath, every heartbeat revolve around the one person who becomes your entire world. In this love, you lose your freedom, your identity, and your sanity, as you sacrifice everything to feed the insatiable hunger that never goes away-“

“Can you just stop talking shit, ugly bitch? I just wanna go home”, Sanemi interrupts her dryly

You chuckle to yourself. As if a demon would know anything about love. Their only purpose on this earth is to kill innocent humans for the fun of it.

“What the hell do you know about love, huh? All you do is destroying it”, you blurt out.

Just a moment of sloppiness, a second of turning your back to the tendrils that surround you like a prison. The second you feel it, it’s already too late.

“(y/n)!”, Sanemi cries out, feet rapidly carrying him to your side in order to slice through that fucking piece of tendril that pierced itself through your leg.

He wraps his arms around you tightly, saves you from clashing onto the ground. But the second you open your eyes again, they don’t look like they did before. No, you look obsessed.

“Hey, look at me (y/n). Come back to me”, he insists, a slight tone of panic now taking over his usual so harsh voice.

What if that bitch poisoned you? Shinobu is miles away, there’s no way in hell he’d make it on time. And even now, tendrils continue to circle both of you, waiting for an opportunity to hurt him as well.

“Just see what love does to you! You’ll have to kill her!”

“What the fuck are you talking about”, he hisses under his breath.

“(y/n)?”

“Sanemi.”

Your voice sounds dark, unpromising, coated in something he’s never heard before.

“Hey, are ya alright?”

You’re moving too fast for him to react. In the split of a second, you sit on top of him, your hands holding his in place while your lips start tracing up and down his neck.

For a moment, Sanemi forgets how to exist.

You’re sitting on top of him.

With your lips pressed against his neck.

Almost instantly, blood shoots up his face and straight into his private parts, eyes widen in…horror?

No, not because of you, not because he doesn’t enjoy to finally feel you this close. But this isn’t you. This is the poison of that fucking demon.

Just before he gets hit as well, he slices through another tendril that was ready to attack both of you.

“You can’t save her and yourself!”, the demon shouts at him in sheer amusement.

“Your love will get you killed!”

“(y/n).”

His voice is as tender as never before, hands now grabbing your arms oh so gently.

“You need to come back to me, okay? This isn’t you, this isn’t…how you feel for me.”

He hates the way his heart starts aching as soon as those words leave his mouth. There’s no way in hell someone like you would ever fall for someone like him if it wasn’t for that demon. Not when you’re so gorgeous, so breathtakingly beautiful, so smart-

“But I love you, Sanemi! And I need you!”, you cry out, lips now only inches away from meeting yours.

“You don’t love me, (y/n). How could you ever love me?”

“Let me show you.”

Just before your hand gets the chance to grab his pants, he swings you around in order to lay on top of you – completely out of breath and flustered like never before.

“You need to focus. We need to kill that bitch”, he tries to remind you while dodging another wave of attacks with his free hand.

“You’ll need to kill her!”

“Shut up!”, he barks at the demon behind him.

But that thing’s right. With you writhing like a snake underneath him and those countless merciless attacks, he can concentrate on neither.

“I’m the only one who’s able to save her-“

“I said shut up!”

“(y/n), please get yourself together”, he breathes out.

God, why do you have to look so damn tempting with your legs wrapped around his waist and eyes as flustered as he’s never seen before? Countless lonely nights, he imagined what you might look like, feel like, sound like.

But this isn’t real. That sudden outburst of love isn’t real.

“Looks like you’re busy, Shinazugawa. Maybe you should do things like that somewhere other than on the battlefield”, a painfully known voice comments behind him dryly.

“Shut up at take care of that bitch. I need to look after (y/n)”, he instructs the serpent hashira sharply before picking you up and sprinting into the woods.

“I need you. Please”, you beg between his arms, the way your hands roam around his chest simply driving him insane.

“You can’t help her!”, a faint female voice cries behind both of you.

Screw that fucking demon. He needs to get the real you back, needs to finally confess his damned feelings. Even if all of this is nothing but poison, he simply can’t live like this anymore. Not when you’re so close to him every day, not when he secretly can’t get enough of that sight in front of him right now.

“Come back to me, (y/n)”, he almost begs while letting you down.

Fuck, what is he supposed to do? What if he’s not able to help you? Even if he sends after Shinobu, you might go insane until she arrives. And what if you do something stupid, what if he isn’t able to protect you? And what if this isn’t the only thing that cursed poison does?

“Don’t you love me? I thought you like me back, I thought we have a future together, I…I can’t do this without you!”, you suddenly scream on top of your lungs while bursting out in tears.

“What? I never said that-“

“I don’t wanna live without you. I…I’ll end this!”

It happens almost too fast for him to react. In the matter of milliseconds, you grab your sword and direct it towards your throat, ready to slice it open with full-force.

“You little idiot”, he hisses through gritted teeth while forcing your blade away.

“I love you so fucking much that it hurts, you’re the only thing I’m thinking about constantly! Can’t you see that you’re driving me crazy since joining the corps!? I love you, (y/n)! I always did and I definitely always will! You’ve got me trapped, goddamn!”

And then he presses his lips against yours. Longingly, passionately, as if you’re air and he cannot breathe. Never in his life, Sanemi longed for something so small yet so big. Each and every night, his mind wandered to your lips, your laugh, just you and your fucking perfect self. He can’t stand the thought of you talking about yourself so badly. Him not loving you? Are you fucking insane?

“Sanemi.”

You breathe his name against his lips oh so sweetly.

Sweetly, with that cheeky undertone he knows so well.

“Is that you, (y/n)?”

When he opens his eyes again, he gets greeted by the gleaming kindness that radiates from your orbs just inches away from his.

“I’m sorry for…throwing myself at you like that…”, you mutter with reddened cheeks.

How embarrassing. You can’t believe you were about to touch his groin without permission. Even if you were poisoned, what the hell has gotten into you? And why do you have to remember all the things you’ve said and done? That would have been the least that cursed poison could have done…

“Don’t be, it’s fine”, Sanemi replies equally awkward.

“But…are you actually into me?”, you mumble followed by a swift gaze.

“I…I mean…-“

“He totally is”, Obanai barges into the conversation from behind.

Giyu Tomioka

“Didn’t you say that-ah! This was supposed to be easy?”, you press out while fighting a bunch of demons.

You really have no idea how you ended up here. Just a few seconds ago, you were having the best sleep of the week when your crow interrupted your slumber as rude as ever and literally dragged you onto the battlefield straight on his side.

His side. Giyu Tomioka, to be exact. The mysterious yet captivating water hashira you are eyeing since the first day of joining the chosen circle of pillars. What is it that ties you onto him like a chain, that forces your mind to wander towards him each and every day without any break?

“I will take care of the right side. Stay focused”, he instructs you as absent as ever, not even sending you a single look while your heart is all over the place.

It’s ridiculous and you know it all too well. A man like Giyu would never fall for someone as clumsy and unsettled at you. He will never look at you the way you look at him, not even daring to send you a single smile. Because you’re nothing but comrades, distant known. If it wasn’t for your responsibilities as pillar, he would have never even talked to you.

And you absolutely hate the way this stinging fact bugs you every single day of your life.

“You’re not focused enough, stupid girl”, a voice way too close suddenly purrs inside your ear.

There’s no time left to react. Not even Giyu Tomioka is able to reach you in time when the demon scratches your neck oh so slightly.

Only enough to spill your blood.

Only enough to make you go absolutely insane.

Your mind gets flooded by a wave of emotions, memories, thoughts. All at once. So rapidly that you feel like fainting any given minute.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing hurts more but the truth. Did you ever wonder about what she might feel for you, even love, maybe? I will reveal her darkest secrets, her thoughts that were never said out loud. And when she finally loses her mind completely, I will force her to kill you and afterwards herself!”

Giyu’s eyes widen at those words. You, loving him? He never even dared to think about something like this, not when you are admired by everyone around you. Why would you fall for someone as quiet and boring as him?

He swallows hard. But knowing that deep inside him is definitely different from hearing those words coming out of your mouth.

“Giyu.”

Your voice sounds cold and distant, eyes completely blank.

“(y/n), I will get you out of here, I’m sure Shinobu is able to-“

“I love you.”

You hate him.

No.

You love him?

“And I’ve loved you for so long that I lost count a long time ago. I love the way you walk, the way you inspect the world around you so carefully. I love how tender you are when it comes to children. I love your kindness, your calm voice-“

“Wait, this wasn’t supposed to go like this!”, the demon cries out.

“I love the feeling of your eyes set on me even though I know I’d never stand a chance. You are so much more than a friend to me, so precious that it hurts. And I can’t help but imagine myself lying inside your arms every night. I can’t help but stare at you whenever I catch you training. I can’t stop those butterflies from invading my stomach every time you’re around. I love you with all my heart even though I know you’d never love me back.”

HIs mind goes blank, ocean blue eyes staring at you in sheer disbelief. Suddenly everything else around you goes silent. The demon, the screams from afar. All he’s able to see is you with those tears glistening in your orbs.

Giyu’s heart skips a beat when he begins to realize.

You really mean it. Every word you just said is true.

“But I do feel the same way about you”, he finally replies while cupping your hands with his.

“I just never thought someone like you would fall for someone like me.”

“I would always choose you”, you clarify in an instant.

And then your eyes roll back into your skull, your lifeless body threatens to hit the cold ground.

-later-

“Giyu? Where’s Giyu?”, you croak out before you even open your eyes, your heart hurting so bad that you feel like puking.

What happened? All you’re able to remember is Giyu’s hands intertwined with yours before everything turned black. Or was it just a dream?

“Finally, I was so worried about you, (y/n).”

But no. At this very moment, he still holds onto your hand tightly while looking down at you with his brows furrowed.

“What happened?”

“You were poisoned by a demon and lost consciousness. I carried you to the butterfly estate”, he explains as briefly as ever.

“You…carried me?”

“Of course I did. You were unconscious, like I said.”

“Did we hold hands?”, you blurt out so suddenly that you even scare yourself.

You can feel Giyu sliding back and forth on his chair, eyes avoiding yours at any cost. Oh no, did you make him feel uncomfortable? What if he’s annoyed because of your foolish mistake? You should have never asked him-

“(y/n), do you remember the conversation we’ve had on the battlefield?”, he questions with unspoken hope glimmering inside his orbs.

“I…I don’t remember anything…”, you finally admit.

What did you talk about? Did you insult him? And what about that demon? That thing definitely wasn’t a lower ranked demon.

“You told me you love me.”

Your heart leaves your body and soul behind, glossy eyes staring at him in sheer disbelief. Fuck, did you hear that correctly? You told him you love him?

“I…I said that?”, you stutter.

“I mean…M-maybe I h-hit my head a l-little too h-“

“And I love you too.”

Oh.

This is even more ridiculous.

“You love me?”, you shriek in reply.

“I never thought about the possibility that you might actually like me back. But when that demon poisoned you, when you told me that you love me…I can’t keep this lie up any longer. I love you, (y/n).”

Gently, he wraps his comforting arms around your aching body, allows you to take in his calming scent.

“It embarrasses me that it took a demon to finally say this out loud.”

“But…would you mind telling me what I said?”, you mumble against his neck.

He lifts up your head enough for you to catch a glimpse of his breath-taking smile.

“I’d rather keep these words for myself.

Bonus: Genya Shinazugawa

“Where’s (y/n)!?”, Mitsuri cries out in sheer panic while darting around the estate in a haste.

“(y/n)? I’ve seen her on her way to the hot springs just a few moments ago”, Tanjiro replies in utter confusion.

“Is there somebody else, Tanjiro-kun?”, Mitsuri continues while grabbing Tanjiro’s shoulders roughly.

“Hello, Genya”, you purr.

“(y-y/n)!? What the hell are you doing here, I’m taking a bath!”, Genya cries out with his cheeks already bright red.

But instead of getting lost like he told you to, you let your towel fall to the floor.

And stand in front of him.

Completely naked.

“What are you doing!?”, he shrieks.

In the matter of seconds, he turns himself away from you, his face burning like a thousand fires. Fuck, he’s already flustered when you’re around him in your uniform. But you, butt-naked, in the same hot spring? He’ll definitely die here.

“I needed to see you. There’s actually something I wanted to tell you in a long time, Genya.”

When the water around him starts to move due to you entering the hot spring, he feels like dying out of excitement and fright. You shouldn’t be here together, not when you’re completely naked, not alone. He never prepared himself for something like this to happen, didn’t even allow his mind to wander such places. Fuck, what is he supposed to do?

Suddenly, he finds himself whirled around in your arms, your chest pressed against his.

Your very naked chest.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“What are you doing!?”

“Come on, I saw the looks you were giving me when you thought I wasn’t watching”, you purr while drawing small circles onto his chest.

“I…no…I didn’t mean it…that way…I just think that…that you are awesome. And cute…”, Genya mumbles.

“(Y/N)!”

Another splash, another butt-naked woman that now grabs your shoulders and pulls you out of the water with impressive strength.

“I’m so sorry, Genya! I fear (y/n) mistook the love portion I made for juice!”, Mitsuri bubbles while trying to tame you down.

“CAN THE TWO OF YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE NOW!?”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt @sanemifucker

[take-it-on-the-run]

Not A Lot, Just Forever

Dean Winchester x Pregnant!Reader

After throwing up morning after morning, the reader discovers her illness isn't what she initially thought.

Word Count: 4.1k

Tags: Pregnancy, unexpected pregnancy, brief description of motel bathrooms, vomiting (repeated), self-blame, mention of reader's mother dying in childbirth, mention of childbirth related deaths, anxiety, brief loss of consciousness, Dean is a sweetheart and will make a great father.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Pregnant!Reader, Sam Winchester, Castiel

@ghostlyaccurate requested: "Hii! I'm not sure if I already sent you this request, or if I sent it to someone else (oops🤭) but could I request a Sam Winchester and/or Dean Winchester x reader (your choice which one of them, if not both sepperately) where he helps reader deal with morning sickness, though he only finds out she's pregnant on the third day in a row that he's with her while she throws up. Ty!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Adrianne Lenker title. I really really loved this request! I feel like writing the pregnancy trope is a sort of hard task to do, so I hope I brought it justice. I love love loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it! Thank you for the request @ghostlyaccurate, and I promise I'm trying my damnedest to work through my inbox <3. Every mistake here is completely and 100% my own and of my own doing. (P.S. can you guess how hard it was to find "aesthetic" pictures of a bathroom and pregnancy tests for the pictures for this fic?? I think the ones I found actually work pretty well! Another thing, what happened to the yellow text color? I use it to tag fluff fics, and it's gone :( ).

Dean Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Your head hung over the foul toilet bowl of whatever motel you, Dean, and Sam were holed up in, and a rancid smell invaded your nose. In earnest, you didn’t have the slightest idea where you were. The past couple of hours had been filled with a slight fever and the constant need to use Dean as a pillow. Halfway through the drive between towns, you convinced him to switch out driving with Sam so he could join you in the back seat.

The worn tile of the bathroom floor offered you minimal comfort, and the fact you’re supposed to be up for a case in two hours made your stomach churn over again. Ditching your normal avoidance of motel bathrooms, you gripped the edge of the toilet and emptied your stomach again.

“Y/N?” Dean’s groggy voice called out from behind the door, “Are you okay in there sweetheart?”

You squeezed your eyes together, cursing yourself for being loud enough to wake him up. Sneaking out from his arms was a feat enough already, trying to suppress the sound of you losing your guts at four in the morning wasn’t going to happen; even in a perfect world.

“No,” you groaned as he softly opened the door, “I feel like shit De, and you know how much I hate throwing up. And how much I hate motel bathrooms.” You whined. Your hair was falling to the front of your face and you were cursing whoever decided a bathroom didn’t need a working air vent.

Dean hummed softly, pulling the hair back from your face and holding it with one hand as he sat behind you on the floor. He pressed his lips to the back of your head softly, and gently traced shapes on your collarbone as you laid back on him.

“Just breathe, I’ve got you if you need to go at it again.” He said softly, cradling you in his lap as you tried to breathe. He ran his hand through your hair as your breathing started to hiccup less, and eventually, he sat you on the closed toilet lid to get you water.

You felt ashamed to be keeping him up at this hour. Your phone clock read 5:13 AM, almost an hour past when you’d originally gotten up. He already doesn’t get enough sleep as is, and here you are sitting, waiting for him to get back like you aren’t able to take care of yourself.

“Here you go, drink slowly. Did you use the mouthwash I gave you?” He asked as he handed you his water bottle. He stood across from you, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants. You nodded softly, gratefully gulping down the contents of the bottle.

The bags under his eyes were already enough to make you feel guilty. Hunters were used to running on minimal sleep, but with you around, he’d just gotten into the six-hour range. He rubbed his face, inhaling like he normally did when he was trying to make a decision. You didn’t want to go out for the case. You barely wanted to move your body to get back in bed and salvage what little sleep you could before life kicked you back into gear.

“Do you want to stay here while Sam and I talk to the family?” Dean asked as if he could read your mind.

I love you so damn much. You thought, bowing your head with a sigh of relief. You didn’t want to be the one to bring up staying in; neither of you ever wanted to admit you needed breaks, but if the other one was to bring it up, it made the process easier.

You nodded, pushing yourself to your feet as he opened the door for the two of you, “yeah, I think that’s best for all of us. Don’t need me puking in the victim’s bathroom as you guys ask your questions.” You tried to joke as you and Dean crawled back into bed, tucking yourself into his arms, and splaying your legs haphazardly on top of his.

The next morning wasn’t any better.

Sam and Dean had come home late from questioning the family, and you were barely aware of them unloading the Chinese food they brought for you. Dean sat with you against his chest, still half-dressed as an FBI agent, as you wolfed down the egg rolls he got. You found yourself starving when they offered you food, but now you regretted eating anything at all.

You found yourself hung over the toilet again, but thankfully only had to put up with one round of saying goodbye to your lunch. You were able to get yourself up and over to the sink, where you repeated Dean’s routine from the morning before.

You leaned against the counter in the small kitchen, Dean’s water bottle filled with tap water in your hand. You turned to dump the rest in the sink when the creak of a floorboard behind you had you spinning on your heel in record time.

“Jesus Christ, Dean. Why are you up?” You asked in a hushed tone, placing your hand over your racing chest.

“I could ask you the same thing,” He crossed the small room and came over to embrace you in his arms, “did you get sick again?” He asked innocently, but the combination of those words, and the pitiful shift of his eyes was enough to make you feel like a child. You were a grown woman, you knew damn well how to take care of yourself much before the Winchesters were in your life.

You huffed in annoyance, pulling back from Dean’s chest. You felt your face begin to heat up, and it felt like anything Dean could say had the chance to send you over the edge.

“Yes, I did. Right now, I feel like my body is too hot and too tight for my bones, and I also feel like anything you say is going to make me hit the roof. Even if it’s nice, I just don’t think my brain can take in any more words without wanting to jump ship.” You said you rubbed your temples. Things like this had happened occasionally in the past, and before Dean, you figured it was just because you were a rigid person. One night a particularly bad migraine had led to you yelling at him because he offered to get you some medicine. Instead of just leaving you to stew, like every other partner did, he simply asked you to explain what you were feeling. No judgment, no interruptions, and he’d do whatever you said would make you feel better in that moment.

Now, whenever you felt overwhelmed, he did the same. He’d swallow any sarcastic comment or solution to your problem and listen to you. No matter what was bothering you, at whatever hour of the day, he was at your side, doing what you asked of him without hesitation.

He just nodded, pressing his lips to your forehead before he led you back to the bed you two were sharing for the case. His body threw off heat like a bonfire, and your normally freezing hands were appreciative of that. In this moment, however, it felt like you were burning from the inside out.

You adjusted yourself between the sheet and the comforter, so the two of you could still touch without pressing your skin together. Dean waited for you to still before he made himself comfy, and he gently ran his fingers through the ends of your hair.

“Is this okay right now? Do you want me to leave you be?” He asked, in as soft of a voice as he could. You hummed, smiling at the tingling sensation running through you. Comfort, and a warmth that wasn’t burning to the touch, crawled up your back, and into your head. You tried to focus your eyes for a couple of seconds more, but without your control, they forcefully fluttered shut.

“Y/N.”

Sheet tangled between your limbs, and you could see the light through your closed eyes. Opening them, you find an unexpected sight. Instead of Dean, or Sam, standing at your bedside, the trench coat-clad angel you’d met five years ago stood awkwardly, waiting for you to fully wake up.

“Cas,” you rubbed your eyes as you sat up, “what are you doing here? Where’s Sam and Dean?” You asked.

Cas sighed and sat at the end of your bed. He shot you a quick look, before focusing his eyes on the blank wall in front of him. He tapped his fingers on his legs, a habit he picked up from Sam.

“Dean called me and told me you were sick. I came in, and told him I’d try and cure whatever… ailment is afflicting you.”

You smiled at the way he spoke, and the fact Dean went out of his way to try and help you out, but there was something off about Castiel’s demeanor. You sat up and touched his arm to get his attention.

“Cas, what’s wrong? Did something happen that I should know about?” You asked softly.

“I think you’re pregnant, Y/N.” He looked at you, and there was a rift of guilt lingering in his eyes.

A course of confusion and shock coursed through your body before you felt a rotting pit settle at the bottom of your stomach.

“Why would you… think that, Cas?” You felt a tightness taking over your throat, rubbing your hand across your neck to try and loosen it.

“I can sense life forms. Human ones, at least. It was hard to tell with Sam and Dean here, but once they left I was able to confirm my suspicions.”

Your hand traveled to your lower abdomen before your mouth spat out a request without thinking.

“Pregnancy tests. Can you get me some, please? I just,” you ran your hand across your forehead quickly, “I want to confirm, using non-magical means.”

Cas nodded, “of course. I’m going to assume you don’t want me to let Dean know?”

You nodded your head before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Deep down, you knew Cas was right. You were late by a few days, but you’d chalked it up to the illness that’s kept you on the bench for this case. You didn’t usually react as poorly as you’ve been to an illness, even when you’d gotten a terrible case of Pneumonia.

Getting up from the bed, you walked into the bathroom as Castiel vanished to get you a couple tests. Looking to the mirror, you’re met with a form of you that was a little scary; purple, slightly-puffy eyes, smeared makeup that hadn’t been washed off from days before, and your skin was breaking out in places it hadn’t before.

Dean hadn’t said a word about it, but even someone as blissfully ignorant as him had to have noticed the way your face wasn’t looking like your own.

Dean.

You’d have to tell Dean you were pregnant, with his child. That you’re going to be parents.

What if he didn’t want to be a father at thirty-six?

Children weren’t one hundred percent out of the question, but they were longer down the line in hunters’ lives. If you were lucky enough to get out of the life unscathed and find someone who would want to settle down with, you’d likely be creeping into your mid-forties, at best. Mary had gotten lucky with John, but now they’d both been taken away by the thing they’d spent half of their marriage avoiding.

What if you weren’t ready to be a mother at thirty-five?

For you, it wasn’t the question of wanting to have kids, but you never saw you or your boyfriend backing out from hunting anytime soon. To add on, you’d heard of many nasty births that ended in fatality for the infant or the mother, including your own. Every time you and the boys were on a case involving a child, you’d be extra reckless. Dean picked this up within the first couple of times you’d almost gotten yourself killed to save a kid, and you explained your fear to him. The fear of a mother not being able to welcome her child home in her arms, or the child not seeing his mother again, and their fate lying in your hands. You’d already ripped apart your family, and you tried your damnedest to keep as many together as possible.

A ruffle of feathers and a sharp knock on the bathroom door snapped you out of your thoughts.

“You can come in, Cas.”

Wordlessly, the angel stepped into the small motel bathroom holding a plastic bag. He pulled out three different pregnancy tests and set them on the counter.

“The woman working there said I should get a couple just in case one doesn’t work like it should.” He said as you picked up the first test. “I’m telling the truth, but I understand you wanting to confirm this to yourself.”

I know Cas, you thought, but you didn’t say a word. Instead, you stared at him, waiting for him to leave the bathroom, but he had a blank look on his face and didn’t move a muscle.

“Cas, I’m going to need you to leave the bathroom for me to do this.”

“Oh, sorry. Of course. I forgot how ‘hands-on’ human tests can be. I apologize.” He said blatantly before stepping out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

Fuck me.

That’s what got you into this in the first place, dumb ass.

After twenty disgustingly long minutes in the decrepit motel bathroom, you walked out holding four positive tests. Cas was sitting on Sam’s bed, staring out the window, but immediately stood up and crossed the room to you. You handed him the tests, and he placed them on the table between the two beds.

“How do you feel?” He asked. Another thing he picked up from his years on earth was the ability to know when to ask what questions.

You felt blank. Void of answers and solutions to the situation at hand. Whether or not to turn left, or right.

“I… don’t know what to do, Cas.” Your voice broke along with the tears you were holding back, and a sinking feeling of hopelessness began to dig its way through your head.

Neither you nor Dean are ready to be parents. What if Dean’s angry? He would never kick you out of the bunker. The bunker is the only real home any of you have had in a long time, but is it safe? Is the world safe enough to bring a baby into? A Winchester baby, who would no doubt be a target from birth. What if the baby doesn’t make it to full term? What if this baby kills you like you killed your own mother?

“Y/N,” Cas placed his hand on your shoulder, “I’m going to ask you to take a breath.” He drew his hand up and waited for you to inhale. Taking in a shuddered breath, you followed the flow of his hand, stopping your heart from running up your throat.

“Thank you.” You said, sitting down on your bed and grabbing the pregnancy tests off the nightstand. Two pluses, two double lines. You and Dean were careful and used a condom whenever you found extra time together, but somehow God decided that rubber wasn’t going to work as intended.

“I think I’m going to just lay here,” you tuck yourself under the bed sheets once more, the tests shoved into your pajama pants, “and wait for Dean and Sam to get home. I’ll get him out of this stuffy ass room and tell him in private. Sam shouldn’t have to witness if we- if we argue. I know it makes him feel awful.”

“That’s a smart plan. You need to take this one step at a time and do it carefully. I know Dean cares for you deeply, but if you need someone to support you, all you have to do is call for me.” Cas squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“Thank you, Cas.” You yawned, pulling your body further under the covers of the bed. Castiel smiled slightly, before turning away and disappearing with a familiar rush of wings flapping.

Your body was covered head to toe in sweat, and the bed sheet you wrapped around yourself was thrown onto the floor. No light entered the room, and the time on the alarm clock read 1:43. Your stomach churned in a familiar way, and as you got to your feet you finally noticed neither of the boys were in the room.

You clambered to the bathroom, phone in hand, trying to call Dean. One hand braced on the toilet, and the other tried to thumb down to his contact. There wasn’t any time to think about the fact you were carrying a baby inside of you, the baby whose father is missing in the middle of the night with no calls or messages.

They always call. You thought before you set your ringing phone on the floor to throw up for the first time that morning. The phone rang, the sound slowly driving you insane each time you redialed Dean’s number between dry heaving into the bowl.

Your hair was sticking to your forehead, poorly swept away and held back by a rubber band you found on the sink. The heat, the pain, and the fear of losing contact with the Winchester brothers combined with the reality of you being pregnant was finally built up enough to break the swarm of emotions you barely choked down when Cas was in the room earlier.

Eyes burning, you slumped against the sink cabinet and brought your phone to your ear as you called Dean once again. You let out a sob, tears rushing down your face and neck, leaving behind a slightly burning trail. Your breathing became uneven, the sound of your own heart drumming through your ears drowning out the ring of your phone. Letting your phone slip to the floor, you brought your knees to your chest and folded your arms as a nest for your forehead.

Neither of the boys called within the twenty minutes you were in the bathroom, your phone was now close to being dead, and no muscle in your body wanted to obey your brain telling them to move and do something. You weren’t a weak woman, you took the cards you were dealt and tried your best to win, but sometimes all you could do was fold.

“Y/N? Y/N?”

A hand pulled your face from your knees, and you could barely see with the light of the bathroom now on and blinding you. A warm hand rested against your cheek while another briefly touched your forehead.

“Help me get her up, Sammy,” your eyes fluttered closed and you felt two arms hook under both your arms, laying them over shoulders as your feet lightly dragged across the floor.

“I’ve never seen her this bad, Dean.” The voice you now recognized as Sam said. Your legs were swept up from under you and you were laid on the bed you’d crawled out of.

You felt the tests still pressing in your pockets, and you thanked whatever greater being was willing to listen. There was no way you wanted to Dean to discover that information on accident.

Dean.

The other voice was Dean.

You moron, who else would it be?

The bed next to you dipped down, and you felt a gentle hand tuck a few stray hairs behind one of your ears. The sweat covering you was sucking every inch of clothing to your skin, and all you wanted to do was peel either of the pair off.

“I thought Cas was going to come here and help her out,” you heard his voice straining as he spoke, and you felt your heart snap in two.

You moved your hand, as heavy as it felt, and squeezed the first part of him you touched.

“Sweetheart,” you could feel Dean’s breath as he hovered over you, “you’re scaring me here.”

“Cas…” you gave out a heavy cough, “he came. He helped me figure out what’s been happening.”

A glass of water was brought to your mouth, and you took every drop of it. After swallowing the cup, your eyes finally were able to open. You were greeted by a worried Dean hovering very close to you, and a worried Sam crossing back from the kitchen holding Dean’s water bottle.

Sam set the bottle on the bedside table and sat on his bed, facing you and Dean. Dean’s attention was solely on you. His hands grabbed both sides of your face and brought his lips to your forehead, before resting against it.

“Hey,” you said, chuckling slightly, “I didn’t mean to scare you, De. You, or Sam.” You sat yourself up in bed.

“Did Cas tell you what’s wrong?” Sam asked, looking at you expectantly.

“He did, but… is it okay if I talk to Dean? Alone?” You asked softly.

Sam shot Dean a look, which Dean promptly returned with one that had Sam standing up, and walking into the hall.

Orange rays of light shone from the window of the room, and you could just barely see the sun climbing on the horizon. Dean moved to hold you in bed while you gained the composure to tell him you were both parents.

“Dean…” you breathed steadily, trying to even your heartbeat that was ramping up once more, “I have to tell you something-”

“I kinda gathered as much sweetheart,” he said lightly, lines forming around his forest-lorn eyes beautifully.

“- it’s important. I mean, it’s going to change our lives, for the rest of our lives.”

Dean’s face became more serious, pulling you to face him as he crossed his legs.

“You know you can tell me anything, Y/N.”

Do it, now. Just say-

“I’m pregnant.”

The air hung heavy around the pair of you as you handed him the tests in your pocket, and you could see the clocks turn in Dean’s mind as he stared down at them.

“But we used a rubber?” He said, and you could guess where his thoughts were wandering.

“We did, but you’re the only person I’ve been with for years, Dean, I need you to believe me when I say that.” You said reassuringly as you could without sounding like you were lying.

His face broke into a small smile, and he brought his thumb to trace over your lower cheek, “I know, sweetheart. I trust you with my heart, I just know not to use that brand anymore, seems like their effectiveness is questionable.”

You laughed, tears drying in your eyes as you pushed at him playfully, “Dean! You gave me a heart attack, you son of a bitch!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry okay!” He laughed, capturing you in a giant bear hug and rolling you on top of him. You looked down at him and brought your lips down to his.

“You’re going to be a father,” you said, beaming at him while smiling the hardest you’d ever in the longest time

“You’re going to be a mother,” he replied, smiling just as hard. Your face fell slightly, and the word mother finally kicked into your head. “Hey,” Dean said as he saw your face shift, somehow remembering the story you told him all those years ago, “Remember, we’ve got an angel on speed dial, and you know how hard it is to take out a Winchester.”

Your heart warmed at the statement, the baby inside of you was just as much L/N as it was Winchester. You loved Dean with your heart, as did he love you, and now the two of you were going to brace the dangerous world you’d spent years protecting with the amalgamation of that love.

You brought Dean’s hand to your stomach as he brought his other hand to your face. His calloused fingers were gentle on your skin, and small crinkles formed around his eyes as he smiled, holding his hand at your stomach as you gazed back at him.

A knock sounded at the door, making you turn your head around before you and Dean burst into laughter, and told Sam he could come back in the room to tell him the news.

[avocado-writing]

Avo please I need Pregnant reader x DP&W headcanons 😩 I love both these men so much. I just wanna a little life with them. These men have been through so damn much. Let them have some softness in their life.

I don’t really want kids but good lord- if they asked me too, I would push out an entire hockey team for them

Wade is so fucking happy when you tell him you're pregnant. They've been trying to knock you up for ages now, about damn time it worked!

Logan is pleased too but he's a little more... reserved about it. Doesn't want to run around telling everyone like Wade does. It's hard for him to embrace happiness, because he's so used to it slipping through his fingers. Get past your first trimester and he's able to start smiling about it though.

Expect to always be sitting down. If you get up to do something, one of them will be gently guiding you back to your seat. "Sweetie you sit your fine pregnant ass right back down, I'll get whatever you need. Soda? Chips? A whole tub of Ben & Jerry's?" or a softer, "Stay there baby, I'll grab it."

One of them is always with you, like a fucking guard dog. They're dangerous men after all, who knows who might be looking for them? Usually you can handle yourself but they have an extra reason to worry now.

Al makes it very clear she does not want a baby in the apartment (can you blame her?) so you have to find a new home. It's an added stress for you so the boys usually go out scouting. Eventually you're able to find a cute little place to afford with the three of you (being in a polycule is the only way to make rent these days)

You love to spend those days doing up baby's room and singing silly little songs as you do it. "Am I gonna paint your nursery green or yellow, who knows... ♫" If one of them catches you, they'll lean against the doorframe and watch you with absoloute heart-eyes.

Logan's been around for long enough that he's had experience with young kids before, so when you or Wade panic about something, he's usually the one to temper it. Reminds you that you'll both be fine.

Wade never shuts the fuck up talking to your bump. Truly, a stream of consciousness about the world to baby. Gets little Deadpool onesies for them too, because he thinks they're cute. Logan is quieter, hand on your belly, a quiet few sentences just so they know that he has a voice and it's not just Wade.

They're pretty good when you go into labour. Wade panics a bit but Logan hits him with a look which implies that now is not the time, and he buckles down. Delivery goes smoothly. It's great to have two guys who can heal their bones when you need to grip down on something as you push.

And when you get home? Crib is barely used. Baby is pretty much always in someone's arms: Wade's who's always babbling to baby's delight; Logan's solid embrace as he hums quietly; against your chest as you whispered how loved they are.

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk @starfleetteddybear

[thedensworld]

Complexity of Us | J.Ww

Genre: Street Racer au, Friends to Lovers, angst (18+ only!)

Summary: Being a friend to Wonwoo is hard. After Wonwoo saw you coming to race with another guy, it added to the complexity.

All your friends knew Wonwoo. In fact, almost all of your friends were also his. That’s just how close the two of you were. At first, they might ask a few questions,

“Are you two dating?”

“You’re only friends?”

“You lived together?”

“How could you never like each other?”

But then they would realize that Wonwoo was like a brother to you, and you, a sister to him. That was your relationship—a family.

You were five years old when your mother brought Wonwoo home for the first time. He stood silently in the doorway, his wide eyes roaming over your home as he clutched the small bag in his hands. You didn’t ask any questions, though you were curious. Your mother seemed busy preparing a meal for him, so you just stayed quiet, glancing at him now and then as you chewed your food.

"Eat, Wonwoo," your mother said gently, setting a bowl of rice and soup in front of the little boy. You watched as he looked from the food to your mother, then let out a tired sigh. It was the kind of sigh you made when you didn’t get your way—like when your mom refused to buy you the candy you wanted.

"Did my mother abandon me?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

At the time, you didn’t understand, but later, you learned the truth. Wonwoo wasn’t just some random boy your mother decided to help—he was the son of her best friend, a woman who had tried to take her own life after her husband remarried, leaving Wonwoo alone. Your mother took him in without hesitation, offering him the care and love he needed. From that day forward, he became a part of your family, though you never needed to question it. He was simply always there, like the brother you never had.

Now, watching him race, with every twist and turn of his bike seeming like it might be his last, you felt a knot tighten in your stomach. You couldn’t help but feel both pride and worry. For the first time, you truly understood why your mother used to nag him about his racing.

"He’s an adult, Mom. Stop worrying so much," you’d say, trying to ease her concerns every time she brought up his dangerous hobby.

"It’s reckless! I don’t want anything to happen to my son," she would reply, her tone sharp with anxiety. "If he needs money, he could just ask me or his father."

You’d always dismiss her concerns, but deep down, you knew your mom’s worries weren’t unfounded. Wonwoo’s relationship with his father had always been strained, at best. His father, a cold, distant man, had barely acknowledged Wonwoo’s existence after his mother’s death. With his father remarried and distant, Wonwoo had only his older half-brother, Jisoo, who helped him get his first bike and gave him the encouragement their father never would. Racing had become Wonwoo’s escape—a way to make money and prove himself on his own terms, far from the shadow of the man who refused to claim him as his own.

"I heard from Seungcheol that you’re here. What are you doing?"

Wonwoo’s voice cut through the noise of the dispersing crowd as he approached you, helmet in hand. His hair was damp with sweat from the race, and his eyes held a mix of confusion and irritation. He never expected to see you at one of his races. You never cared about his racing—so why now?

"She’s with me."

Lee Jiseok, another racer, appeared out of nowhere, draping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer to him. It was an unmistakable statement, a silent challenge to Wonwoo. His smirk was as irritating as the gleam in his eye, like he was enjoying this little game.

Wonwoo scoffed, barely able to hide his disdain. He knew Jiseok’s type—a classic playboy who treated girls like trophies. And he knew you better than anyone. You wouldn’t settle for someone like Jiseok, not with your values, your standards.

Yet, you said nothing.

Your silence hit him harder than he expected, as if it confirmed Jiseok’s words. You really came with him?

Wonwoo clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep his composure. You’re my best friend, he thought bitterly. I’ve invited you to my races so many times, but you never came. And now you’re here—with him?

The next morning, Wonwoo stood outside the front door—his next door. He knocked twice before your mother opened the door, already dressed for work. She greeted him warmly, as always, her smile a comfort that momentarily softened his mood.

"I’m sorry I had to call you so early," she said apologetically, slipping on her shoes. "She has class at eight, but if I leave now, I’m sure she’ll skip it. Please wake her up for me, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Sure, Mom. Don’t worry—I’ll flip her room upside down if she oversleeps."

When the clock struck the time you were supposed to wake, Wonwoo rose from the couch with a determined sigh and headed to your room. There was no need to knock—he knew you well enough to predict you’d still be buried under your blanket, arm flung over your head in your usual deep slumber.

But when he opened the door, his eyes widened in shock.

"Shit! What are you doing?!"

You stood there, fresh out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but your underwear. Your hair was still damp, and you were fumbling with a towel. Wonwoo froze, completely caught off guard, his brain short-circuiting for a few milliseconds before he slammed the door shut.

What the hell? He just saw you almost naked!

His mind flashed back to the last time he saw you with so little on. Right—when you were both six, taking a bath together at your mom’s insistence because “it saved water.” But that memory was far from comforting now.

Clearing his throat, he spoke through the door, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Breakfast is ready. Hurry up!"

The table was quieter than usual as you sat across from each other, eating in awkward silence. You didn’t seem fazed by the earlier incident, casually scrolling through your phone between bites, but Wonwoo couldn’t relax. His mind replayed the scene from your room like a broken record.

"Accompany me to get a new broadcasting supply," you said out of the blue, eyes still glued to your phone.

Wonwoo frowned, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "Don’t you have a boyfriend for that?"

You looked up, startled by his tone. His words were sharp, laced with pettiness. He still couldn’t let go of last night—the sight of you at the race, with Jiseok.

You sighed, already tired of explaining. "He’s just a friend. It was an impromptu invitation. What was I supposed to do? Say no?"

Wonwoo scoffed, crossing his arms. "You said no to me plenty of times. I guess I’m just your personal driver, huh? Always at your service when it’s convenient for you. Have I ever missed your events?"

You groaned, setting your phone down as frustration flared between the two of you. At moments like this, it felt like neither of you had matured past five years old.

"You have!" you shot back. "You missed my interview with Woo Do Hwan, remember?"

Wonwoo groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. "I told you I was stuck at the supermarket with Mom! She made me wait an hour just to get free soy sauce!"

Slamming your hand on the table, you leaned forward, glaring. "Exactly! So don’t act like you have the right to be mad at me just because I went to the race last night!"

The tension fizzled as quickly as it had flared, both of you slumping back in your seats. That was just how you and Wonwoo were—bickering like siblings one moment, laughing at your ridiculousness the next.

Moments like this were why you didn’t understand why so many people mistook the two of you for a couple. How could they? This was far from romance—it was chaos.

*

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, phone buzzing on the desk beside him. He glanced at the screen—another message from Hansol.

"Bro, I think I gave you the wrong flash drive," Hansol had texted, followed by a facepalm emoji.

Wonwoo frowned, grabbing the drive from his desk and plugging it in. Moments later, he sent Hansol a picture of the folders inside.

"Yeah, that’s mine," Hansol confirmed. "But, uh, I think I handed you the one with… semi-movies."

Wonwoo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hansol was one of his newer college friends, part of the crowd he’d reluctantly fallen in with after starting school late. Unlike Wonwoo, who entered college later, most of his classmates were still wide-eyed and full of energy—whether it was for studying, partying, or chasing girls. Wonwoo had been there before, though, so he understood their eagerness to experience everything.

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, the room dim except for the soft glow of his computer monitor. "It happens," Wonwoo muttered to himself, shaking his head.

Hansol sent another text: "Mingyu says number 12 is the best. Just saying."

Wonwoo rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress his curiosity. He sighed, grabbed his headphones, and positioned himself comfortably in his chair. He clicked on the folder labeled “12,” his finger hesitating for a moment before opening it.

The video started, and Wonwoo settled in, one part reluctant and another part intrigued. Hansol and Mingyu had hyped it up, after all.

But just as things were getting, well, intense, a notification popped up in the corner of his screen.

He groaned, annoyed by the interruption, until he saw it was a text from you.

"Where are you?!" the message read, followed quickly by another: "You said you were coming with me!"

Wonwoo’s eyes widened in realization.

Days before, you’d asked him to help you pick out new broadcasting supplies, and like the idiot he sometimes was, he’d completely forgotten. Now you were probably standing somewhere, annoyed, waiting for him.

Why would Wonwoo care about anything else when he had his cock in his hand?

His other hand hovered near his mouse, desperately trying to click away the endless notifications cluttering his screen. Yet the scene unfolding before him commanded every ounce of his focus. The moans echoing in his ears and the rhythmic slap of flesh through his headphones sent jolts of heat coursing through his body. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen, couldn’t slow the frantic pace of his hand as he worked himself closer to release.

The tension tightened in his stomach, pleasure building with every stroke. His grip grew firmer, movements more urgent, as he chased that blinding high. His jaw clenched; his breath hitched. It was so close. So, so close—

Another notification popped up, your name and profile picture covering the screen. Goddammit. Wonwoo groaned in frustration, his free hand fumbling to get it away, but in his haste, he tapped your profile picture instead.

Your face expanded across the screen, your bright smile abruptly replacing the explicit video. The sudden shift broke his focus, and his cock twitched impatiently in his grip. He growled under his breath, fumbling to switch back to the other tab.

But just as he was about to, a noise froze him in place. A sharp intake of breath.

Wonwoo’s head snapped up, his stomach plummeting like a stone.

There you were, standing in his doorway, eyes wide as saucers, mouth slightly agape. And you weren’t just looking at him masturbating—you were looking at him masturbating with your profile picture plastered across the screen.

His heart stopped.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall silent. No moans. No rhythmic slap. Just his ragged breathing and the deafening beat of shame pounding in his ears.

“Oh… fuck,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. He scrambled to cover himself, his hands awkwardly darting between the computer and his lap as if any amount of damage control could salvage the situation.

But it was too late.

The damage was done.

And God had officially crowned him the biggest loser in the universe.

*

You sat in front of your computer, staring at the words you typed into the search engine box.

"Why would a friend masturbate with our picture?"

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard, unsure whether you were about to dive into an existential crisis or just make a bad decision in the name of curiosity. You glanced around the room as if someone might pop up and say, “Don’t do it, this is a terrible idea,” but no one did. It was just you, your increasingly weird search history, and the growing suspicion that you might be losing your mind.

You clicked on the first link. A vague, clickbaity headline stared back at you: “The Psychology Behind Bizarre Friend Behavior: Why Did They Do That?”

Oh, great. You were now entering the realm of psychology and potentially ruining your future Google search recommendations for life.

You closed the tab and slumped back in your chair, rubbing your temples.

Your phone buzzed, breaking the awkward silence. You glanced at it, half-expecting it to be some random spam message or a notification you could ignore. But no, it was from Lee Jiseok.

You hesitated before opening it. The message read: “Hey, you look pretty in your new profile picture.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Pretty?” you muttered under your breath. Seriously? You sighed. Yeah, right. You needed to delete that profile picture, now. That image had clearly caused more trouble than it was worth.

Trying to move past it, you quickly typed a reply: “Jiseok, want to help me grab some broadcasting supplies?” Hopefully, that would steer the conversation away from your now-infamous photo.

And here you were now, roaming around the store, hunting for a new microphone.

“Do you find it?” Jiseok asked, looking at you expectantly. You shook your head and sighed. “They don’t have it until next week. We have a podcast this Thursday, though.” You added, your voice tinged with frustration.

Jiseok nodded, an idea forming. “Let’s try another store. We’ll find it.” He was always the optimist.

The two of you stepped out of the store, but as you walked, a familiar figure almost collided with you. You looked up—of course, it was Mingyu, the engineering student you were doing the podcast with, and, to your absolute delight, Wonwoo.

Your eyes widened, and a chill ran down your spine when you locked eyes with him. Two days after that... incident, you couldn’t look at him the same way again. He masturbated to your picture, for god's sake! And now it felt like the words were written on his forehead—only you could see them, though.

“Y/N, how are you? Nice to see you here!” Mingyu’s friendly voice pulled you back into the moment. You forced a smile, saying the usual pleasantries, before introducing Jiseok.

“Wonwoo’s a racer too. You know him?” Mingyu pointed to Wonwoo, who, to your amusement, now seemed to be avoiding eye contact with everyone.

You internally scoffed. He acted like he didn’t like the attention, but deep down, you knew he secretly loved it when people talked about him. What an idiot.

Jiseok, ever the social butterfly, grinned. “Sure. Who doesn’t know him? He’s the best.”

Mingyu turned his gaze to you, a puzzled look on his face. “Then why did you want to do the podcast with me, rather than Wonwoo? He’s got more achievements.” He said it so casually, completely oblivious to the tension hanging in the air.

Oh, Mingyu, you thought, rolling your eyes inside your head. Now you understood why Wonwoo always complained about Mingyu’s lack of awareness when it came to reading a room.

You forced a smile. “We’ll have the podcast later, but right now, we have to go. We’re in a hurry. Bye, Mingyu!” You grabbed Jiseok’s hand and pulled him in the opposite direction, away from Mingyu and Wonwoo’s destination.

“Why did she only say bye to me? Do you guys fight or something?” Mingyu called out, turning his head as he asked Wonwoo, confusion written all over his face.

Wonwoo sighed deeply, shaking his head. He looked at Mingyu for a long moment, then made his way into the store by himself. “You really don’t know how to read a room, Mingyu.”

Mingyu blinked, still not quite understanding, and then shrugged. “Well, whatever.”

*

Wonwoo heard a knock at his door while he was unpacking the late-night snack he’d ordered to accompany the game he was streaming. He immediately ran to the door, expecting it to be your mother, perhaps returning something she’d forgotten or maybe just dropping by to see him. But when he opened the door, there you were.

"What's wrong?" Wonwoo asked, his voice sounding oddly stiff. It had been a week since you last spoke, and though you’d fought plenty before, never had there been such a long stretch of silence. And definitely never because he had—well, you knew what had happened.

"The electricity went out next door," you said, your voice a little shaky as you stepped inside. "I called the owner, but they said they won't fix it until tomorrow morning. I’m... I’m kind of scared."

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. Your mother had gone to Busan for a trip with friends, leaving you alone for the night. She had asked Wonwoo to look out for you while she was gone and had even handed him a bottle of whiskey her colleague had given her. Wonwoo had shrugged it off at the time—it was just another night—but now here you were, knocking at his door for the first time in ages, even though you knew the passcode. Something had clearly changed after what happened last week.

"Oh my god!" you gasped suddenly, snapping Wonwoo out of his thoughts. He assumed it was because of the food, but then he turned and saw what you were holding—the whiskey.

"Mom gave this to you? I've been wanting to drink it, but she gave it to you? So unfair!" you exclaimed, looking at the bottle as if it were a treasure you had just discovered.

Wonwoo smirked. "Now you know who the favorite is."

You immediately pouted, ignoring the playful tone in his voice. "Let's drink it!" you insisted, eyes sparkling with excitement as you held the bottle up like it was the holy grail.

"No," Wonwoo replied, shaking his head and taking the bottle from your hands. "She just gave it to me. Plus, you haven’t had dinner yet. You shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach."

You stared at him with big, watery puppy eyes, your lower lip sticking out in a dramatic pout. You were sending a signal that clearly said, “Please?”

Wonwoo sighed in defeat, his resolve weakening. He looked at the food he’d ordered and then back at you, who was now practically bouncing on your toes in excitement.

"Alright," he relented, “Eat first.”

You let out a delighted squeal and grabbed the plate, skipping over to the coffee table in front of the TV, already too excited to even think about the conversation that had just unfolded.

Wonwoo watched you go, shaking his head with a bemused smile. It wasn’t often he had to deal with this kind of energy from you, and the contrast to last week’s... incident was striking. But still, it was good to have you here again—even if things were a little weird—and he wasn’t about to let you get away with skipping dinner.

He was already mentally preparing himself for whatever chaos might come next.

23:00.

00:00.

01:00.

You poured another glass of whiskey, the bottle now more than halfway empty. Beside it sat a bottle of Soju and a few cans of beer—clear evidence of the drinking escapade you and Wonwoo had been on.

Wonwoo slapped your hand lightly, his fingers brushing against yours as you reached for the whiskey bottle again. You winced, offended, before giving him a pointed look and downing the shot in one go.

"Who drinks whiskey in one shot, idiot?" Wonwoo scoffed, his words slightly slurred.

The two of you were definitely drunk, but if the scale of your inebriation had a measure, yours was definitely tipping the higher end. Wonwoo, ever the stoic, had become quieter as the alcohol hit him. On the other hand, you turned into a full-on talkative monster—something Wonwoo had often referenced before, claiming alcohol was your “serum truth.” You never could hold back when tipsy.

"Now, tell me," Wonwoo began, eyes narrowing, "Are you dating Lee Jiseok?"

You didn’t answer, not even giving him a glance. You just kept swirling the last of your whiskey, pretending to focus on the glass in your hand.

Wonwoo chuckled lightly. "Who could guess you'd date a playboy like him?" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

You kicked his arm, hard enough to make him flinch. "You're not in the place to call anyone a playboy, Playboy!"

Wonwoo frowned, giving you an incredulous look. "I'm not a playboy," he retorted, his words slow and careful, "Haven’t dated in a while. And I’m loyal too."

You gestured with your hands, mocking his serious tone. "Blah blah blah, whatever, Mr. Jeon Playboy," you teased, clearly having fun with this back-and-forth. "I saw you with that pretty junior, walking to the café next to my campus."

Wonwoo’s expression hardened. "It was for a project," he said quickly, his tone defensive, "She's too young for me, not even twenty."

You suppressed a laugh, trying to hold back the drunken grin that was threatening to spill out. "Shut up, Wonwoo. I know you dated a high schooler before. Did you teach her how to kiss?"

Wonwoo’s eyes widened in shock, and he gasped, flustered. "When was I? You think I’m a criminal? You think that low of me?"

Did you mention that Wonwoo also got angry a lot when he was drunk? His tone had shifted from playful to defensive, the edge in his voice sharper than usual.

You smirked, your mind racing with more teasing remarks. "Lost your virginity at 18?"

"Who told you?!" Wonwoo shot back, his face flushing with a mix of indignation and embarrassment.

You couldn't resist. "Your first kiss was with the aunty neighbor, from ten years ago!"

"Y/n, you better shut your mouth!" Wonwoo growled, eyes narrowing, clearly irritated now.

But you weren't done. "You masturbated over my picture."

The room went completely silent, like a cold wave crashing over both of you. For a moment, everything stopped. The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. You felt your heart skip a beat, realizing, in horror, what you had just blurted out.

The weight of your words hit you like a punch to the gut. It felt as though time froze for a brief second, the drunken haze clearing just enough for you to realize the enormity of what you had just said.

Wonwoo’s face went pale, his expression unreadable. The playful banter had evaporated, replaced by an uncomfortable, pregnant silence.

And then, the awkward tension settled in, wrapping around both of you like a heavy, unspoken confession.

"It was a misunderstanding!" Wonwoo blurted out, his voice rising defensively. "You think I’d ever make you an object? That’s completely the opposite!"

You stood abruptly, the alcohol fueling your indignation. "Yeah? What do you mean by that? Are you saying I’m not good enough? For your information, I do have decent boobs!"

Before he could respond, you grabbed your chest dramatically, emphasizing your point.

Wonwoo's mouth opened, then closed. He blinked at you in disbelief. "Not big enough for me," he mumbled under his breath, as though he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

Your jaw dropped, and you hissed at him, “Oh, really?” fueled by liquid courage and your mounting irritation. Without thinking, you plopped down onto his lap, challenging him with your eyes. "Let’s see if that’s true.”

You grabbed the hem of your T-shirt and, in one swift motion, pulled it over your head.

There you were, sitting on Wonwoo’s lap, your black lace bra on full display. He froze, his brain short-circuiting as his eyes instinctively dropped.

Sure, he’d accidentally caught a glimpse of you changing once before—an awkward, fleeting moment that had plagued his thoughts for weeks. But this? This was something else entirely.

"Eyes up here, Jeon Wonwoo," you snapped, reaching out to tilt his chin up so his gaze locked onto yours.

His breath hitched as he met your intense stare.

"Are you good at kissing, Wonwoo?" you asked, your voice lower now, almost a whisper.

"Why?" he managed, his voice cracking slightly.

You shrugged, leaning in just enough to close some of the space between you. "I don’t know. I’ve never kissed anyone before. I’m curious... Can you kiss me?"

Wonwoo’s eyebrows shot up, the shock breaking through his haze. "Are you serious?"

You nodded, your determination unwavering.

And just like that, his lips met yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like he was afraid you’d change your mind. But as you leaned in closer, your fingers brushing against his jaw, he deepened it, his confidence growing with each passing second.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wonwoo told him to stop—he was sober since an hour ago when you sang that trot song. But right now, with you in his lap, your lips on his, and your scent flooding his senses, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

*

The kiss, once soft and tentative, quickly turned into something deeper, more passionate. Wonwoo’s hands slid beneath you, lifting you effortlessly as he laid you down on the couch. He was painfully aware that you were half-naked beneath him, but he held himself back, his hands hovering, unsure where to land.

Your eyes fluttered open, locking onto his. "Why aren’t you touching me? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do during a kiss?"

Wonwoo froze, his breath hitching. "You... want me to touch you?"

You tilted your head slightly, your tone teasing but curious. "I don’t know. I told you—I’ve never kissed anyone before."

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, a mix of amusement and disbelief flickering across his face. "Right... You did say that."

Without another word, Wonwoo leaned back in, his lips crashing against yours with newfound determination. This time, his hands began to move, sliding across your body as though committing every curve to memory. His touch was hesitant at first, then more assured, igniting every nerve he brushed against.

"Is this what you call making out?" you asked, your voice breathless as his lips trailed down your jaw to your neck.

Wonwoo hummed in response, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. He licked a slow, deliberate line along it before gently biting down, just enough to leave a faint mark.

Your body jolted slightly at the sensation, and you exhaled shakily, your voice wry as you added, "Isn’t making out supposed to lead to... you know, sex? Are we going there?"

Wonwoo froze mid-movement, pulling back to look at you. His dark eyes searched yours, conflicted yet filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. "Wait. You’ve never had sex before?"

You scoffed, the tiniest smirk tugging at your lips. "I’ve never even kissed anyone before tonight. What do you think?"

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. "You’re serious?"

"I’m inexperienced," you admitted bluntly, meeting his gaze head-on. Then, with the same boldness that had started this whole mess, you tilted your head, challenging him. "Why? Does it matter?"

His face softened, but hesitation lingered in his voice. "It doesn’t matter," he said finally, low and steady. "I just don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for."

He laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair as he looked down at you, his cheeks slightly flushed.

Then you whispered the words that made his breath catch: "Teach me."

Wonwoo froze for a moment, his mind racing, but the determination in your gaze erased his doubt. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned back in, his lips brushing yours. This time, his touch was more confident, more intentional.

"I’ll go slow," he murmured against your lips.

And you, already captivated, whispered back, "I trust you."

Wonwoo’s lips moved with an intoxicating rhythm, each kiss deepening the connection between you. His hands roamed freely now, exploring the curves of your body with an addicting reverence. You gasped softly as his fingers danced over your skin, igniting a fire within you that demanded more.

"Wonwoo," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation, "don’t stop."

His response was a low hum against your lips, his hands now tracing the delicate straps of your bra. He slipped them down your shoulders, his lips never breaking contact with your skin as they trailed along your collarbone.

The tension in the room was palpable, every touch and kiss feeding into the desire building between you. You tugged at his shirt, frustrated by the fabric that separated you. He obliged, pulling it over his head and revealing his toned chest. Your hands instinctively moved to explore him, marveling at the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers.

His lips found yours again, hungrier this time. His hands slid to your hips, and he pressed his body against yours, every inch of him screaming with want. The air around you was charged, and it felt like nothing could stop the moment from escalating further.

But then Wonwoo froze.

You blinked up at him, confused by the sudden halt. "What’s wrong?" you asked, your voice breathless.

Wonwoo sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he sat back slightly. "I… don’t have a condom," he admitted, his voice laced with frustration.

Your cheeks flushed as his words sank in, the realization hitting you like a tidal wave. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The charged tension hung in the air, thick and undeniable, but now it was accompanied by an awkward hesitance that neither of you knew how to navigate.

"Well…" you finally broke the silence, your voice softer than you intended. "Maybe we should stop here. I don’t want to… you know… end up pregnant."

Your words hung in the air, blunt yet honest, making you cringe inwardly. Wonwoo’s lips quirked into a small, sheepish smile as he leaned back slightly, giving you space.

"Fair point," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement but also relief. "Guess we got a little carried away."

You nodded, smoothing down your hair and trying to regain some semblance of composure. "A little?" you teased, trying to ease the lingering tension.

Wonwoo chuckled, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, maybe more than a little," he admitted.

Silence settled between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was filled with an unspoken understanding, a mutual acknowledgment that what just happened meant something—something worth protecting.

He shifted, reaching for his discarded shirt and slipping it back on. "You know," he began, glancing at you, "I’m not just here for… that. You can trust me."

You looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. A small smile crept onto your lips. "I know, Wonwoo," you said softly. "And I trust you."

The tension melted away as the conversation turned lighthearted again. You grabbed a throw blanket from the couch and wrapped it around yourself, feeling the heat in your cheeks finally subsiding.

"Guess that’s enough excitement for one night," you joked, earning a laugh from Wonwoo.

"Yeah," he agreed, standing up and stretching. "Next time, we’ll be more prepared. Or… not let it get that far."

Wonwoo turned his head to you and found you fell asleep.

*

After that night, you and Wonwoo returned to your usual dynamic as if nothing had happened. Conversations flowed naturally, and you still found yourself knocking on his door whenever you had a fight with your mother. The kiss and everything that followed seemed to have been swept under the rug, left unspoken and untouched. Perhaps it was better that way—a mutual, unspoken agreement to let it stay buried.

One afternoon, Wonwoo received a call from his half-brother, Jisoo, inviting him to lunch. Despite sharing the same father, Jisoo was the only person from that side of the family Wonwoo didn’t dislike. Their relationship had started in his high school years when Jisoo visited him for the first time. Reflecting on it now, Wonwoo thought it was better that they met when he was mature enough to understand Jisoo’s intentions were genuine. He wasn’t there to mock or judge but to offer familial support.

The two met at a renowned high-class restaurant, a place Jisoo often frequented. As Wonwoo took a seat across from his older brother, he observed how composed Jisoo was—every bit the polished executive who worked as a director in their father’s automotive company.

Despite his disdain for anything related to their father, Wonwoo had to admit the bikes the company produced were unrivaled. He even used them for racing, albeit grudgingly.

"How's Y/N and her mother?" Jisoo asked, his tone genuinely curious. He knew how much your mother had done for Wonwoo, essentially raising him as one of her own.

"They're great," Wonwoo replied, leaning back in his chair. "Mom’s still working, though. She doesn’t want to stop."

Jisoo frowned slightly, setting down his glass of water. "I send them an allowance every month. Why is she still working?"

Wonwoo shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I give her money every month too, but I don’t think she ever uses it. She says she prefers to stay busy."

Jisoo smiled knowingly, shaking his head. "She’s a remarkable woman. Your mom must be incredibly grateful to her for raising you so well."

Wonwoo’s gaze softened, a rare warmth in his usually stoic expression. "She is," he said simply.

Their food arrived, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics as they ate. They caught up on life updates, with Jisoo regaling Wonwoo with stories of his complicated love life, which seemed to amuse the younger man.

But as the meal neared its end, Jisoo’s tone grew more serious. "By the way, as I mentioned earlier, Father wants to talk to you."

Wonwoo paused mid-sip of his drink, his brow furrowing. "What’s that about?"

Jisoo tilted his head, clearly unsure. "I’m not entirely certain. But I think he wants you to join the family company."

Wonwoo let out a dry laugh, leaning back in his chair. "It’s funny that he suddenly considers me family."

Jisoo didn’t respond immediately, his expression neutral but thoughtful. "He knows you’re passionate about automotive engineering," he finally said. "And he knows you studied it for a reason."

Wonwoo’s smile faded as he stared at his brother, trying to decipher the real meaning behind their father’s intentions. "It’s not about passion, hyung. It’s about control. That’s all it’s ever been with him."

Jisoo sighed but didn’t push further. He knew better than to try to bridge the gap between Wonwoo and their father. Instead, he finished his drink, offering his brother a small, reassuring smile. "Whatever you decide, just remember—you’re not alone in this."

Wonwoo nodded, appreciating the sentiment even if he didn’t fully believe it. As they parted ways, his mind lingered on the conversation, the idea of stepping into his father’s world stirring a mix of emotions he wasn’t ready to comfort.

"You're daydreaming, man," Mingyu teased, nudging Wonwoo with his elbow. His words snapped Wonwoo out of his thoughts, dragging him back to the present moment in the workshop.

Hansol returned from the restroom, joining the duo as they worked on the hybrid and electric vehicle management system. Their lecturer had invited a professional from the field to guide the session, someone who, to Wonwoo’s dismay, worked for N-Jeen, a subsidiary of his father’s company, Jeon Dynamics Automotive (JDA).

"If any of you are interested in joining us through an internship, please let us know," the professional announced. "We’re currently running a program tailored to your major."

As the workshop concluded and the trio transitioned into their cleaning shift, Mingyu brought up the internship opportunity. "So, what do you guys think?" he asked, his mop sliding across the floor with ease.

Hansol paused, leaning on his mop handle. "I think it’s a great opportunity, but it’s not for everyone," he said thoughtfully. His tone hinted at his own limitations, given his part-time job at his parents’ café.

Mingyu nodded, understanding. "Yeah, makes sense," he said before turning to Wonwoo. "How about you?"

Wonwoo’s response was blunt, his tone laced with disdain. "I hate JDA."

Mingyu froze, taken aback. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Chill, dude! It’s just N-Jeen. I know you hate JDA—you’ve mentioned it a thousand times. But you still race with their bikes!" he exclaimed, his voice rising in mock disbelief as he gestured dramatically.

Wonwoo chuckled, walking to the other side of the room to tidy up the supplies. "I race with them because I know what their products lack," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I won’t waste my time learning from a company that's lacking."

Mingyu groaned, dramatically throwing his head back. "So, I’m the only one signing up for this internship? Just me? As always! No one cares about poor Mingyu," he whined, flopping onto a nearby stool with exaggerated defeat.

Hansol smiled, shaking his head as he resumed mopping. "You’ll survive, drama king. Think of it as your time to shine."

Mingyu pouted for a moment before perking up. "You’re right! I’ll be the star intern they can’t live without!" He grinned, clearly imagining a heroic montage in his head.

Wonwoo smirked as he glanced at his friends. "Have fun with that, Mingyu. Let us know if you discover anything groundbreaking."

*

You decided to put everything in the fridge as it became clear Wonwoo wasn’t coming home tonight. You had tried calling and texting him. You even reached out to his college and racing friends, including Seungcheol, but none of them knew his whereabouts.

Settling into the quiet of his house, you decided to make the most of it by binging entertainment shows on his Netflix account. Hours passed, and just as you started to feel drowsy, the sound of the door opening startled you. Wonwoo was finally home.

But something was different. He wasn’t wearing his usual racing suit. Instead, he was dressed in formal attire, his tie loosened, and his suit jacket slung over his arm. His expression was stormy, his brows furrowed, and he looked straight past you as he made his way to his closet.

You stayed silent, sensing his mood. After knowing him for almost 20 years, you had learned that asking him questions when he was upset would only make things worse. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a growing curiosity—and concern—about what had happened.

"Turn off the TV when you leave," Wonwoo said curtly, his voice clipped and final. Without another word, he stepped into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. Something had definitely happened.

You must’ve fallen asleep on the couch at some point, because the next thing you knew, sunlight streamed through the windows. Groggily, you checked the clock: 11 a.m. Thankfully, you didn’t have class today.

Where was Wonwoo? Was he still home? You stretched and got up, heading to the kitchen. The food you had prepared last night was untouched, exactly where you’d left it in the fridge. You sighed, noting the little sticky note you’d left him, reminding him to heat it up before eating.

Curious, you made your way to his bedroom and knocked softly on the door. A muffled hum confirmed he was awake. Turning the doorknob, you peeked inside and saw him lying in bed under the covers.

"You didn’t go to campus?" he asked, his voice groggy.

You shook your head as you walked in, heading straight for his bed. "Nope. Scoot over—my back’s killing me from sleeping on the couch."

Wonwoo immediately shifted, making space for you without a word. You climbed into the bed, settling beside him. For a while, the two of you lay in silence, the room filled only with the soft sounds of breathing.

Then, out of nowhere, Wonwoo dropped a bomb. "I met my father last night," he said calmly.

The words jolted you awake. You sat up, staring at him in disbelief. His eyes remained closed, his tone too nonchalant for the weight of what he’d just revealed.

"You what? Why didn’t you tell me?" you asked, your voice tinged with both surprise and frustration.

Wonwoo shrugged lazily, turning his back to you. "Too lazy," he muttered.

You smacked his arm, earning a groan of protest. "You should’ve brought me along! I definitely would’ve punched him in the face."

That made him chuckle, a rare sound given his current mood. "That would’ve been funny," he admitted.

You pouted, watching him. His brief moment of amusement faded quickly, and the weight of whatever had happened during that meeting returned. Now it all made sense—why he’d been so distant and angry last night.

"Wonwoo," you said softly, the concern evident in your voice.

He didn’t respond, but the way his shoulders tensed told you he was listening. Something about the meeting had clearly upset him, and though you knew better than to push, you couldn’t help but worry.

"If you ever feel like talking about it, I’m here," you offered, your tone gentle.

For now, you’d let him take his time, but deep down, you resolved to stick around—because no matter how much he tried to hide it, Wonwoo wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be.

Jiseok had asked you to accompany him to the races tonight. It was only your second time attending one, and you still had no idea what to do while he raced. That was one of the reasons you always turned Wonwoo down whenever he invited you. Watching the chaotic speed and adrenaline-fueled madness wasn’t your thing—you could barely stand to be there.

Yet here you were, holding tightly to Jiseok as he rode his bike to the arena. The roar of engines filled the air, and the energy was electric as racers stood by their bikes, preparing for the event. Your gaze scanned the crowd, and a familiar face caught your eye.

Seungcheol, one of Wonwoo’s closest friends, waved at you enthusiastically. But his expression quickly shifted to one of surprise when he saw who you were with—Lee Jiseok. You didn’t know much about Jiseok beyond the fact that he’d been trying to get closer to you these past few weeks.

Before you could dwell on Seungcheol’s reaction, you felt a tug on your arm. Looking up, you met Jiseok’s intense gaze.

“I’m racing tonight,” he said, his voice low but confident. “Let’s bet on something.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Alright… What’s the bet?” You’d heard that races often came with bets, though you’d never been involved in one yourself.

Jiseok smirked, his confidence practically radiating off him. “If I win, be my girlfriend.”

It took you a moment to process his words. He wanted to date you? A flush crept up your cheeks, and you found yourself studying his face. He seemed dead serious.

“And if you lose?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He shrugged nonchalantly, throwing his hands in the air. “That’s up to you. But I hope we can still be friends.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Did you even like him? He was charming, sure, but your feelings were still unclear.

After a brief pause, you nodded, deciding to go along with it for now. “Alright. Deal.” You shook his hand, sealing the bet.

As you continued walking, the excitement in the air grew palpable. Your thoughts, however, were distracted when you spotted another familiar figure—Wonwoo. He was leaning against his bike, looking as calm and collected as ever.

Your lips curled into a small smile at the sight of him. Despite the chaos around him, Wonwoo always had this steady presence that put you at ease.

By the end of tonight, it wasn’t just about the race anymore. Whether Jiseok won or lost, you found yourself wondering whose victory you’d truly be rooting for—Jiseok, the confident charmer, or Wonwoo, the friend who had always been there.

*

Wonwoo was adjusting his helmet when the murmured conversation of two nearby racers caught his attention. He wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but the mention of your name made his ears perk up.

“So Jiseok won? That’s why she’s with him?” one of them said, loud enough for Wonwoo to catch.

The other racer chuckled in agreement. “I guess so. They were talking about her—the prettiest broadcast student. I can’t believe she fell for him.”

“I know, right? She doesn’t even look like the type. I bet she’s a wild one then.”

The first racer snickered. “She slept with him. Of course. That’s why he’s so smug.”

Wonwoo froze, his jaw tightening as their words settled in his mind. Without hesitation, he turned to face them, his piercing glare cutting through their laughter.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice low but menacing.

The two racers immediately looked intimidated, their smug expressions faltering under his stare. One of them stammered, “I-I’m just saying… I heard from Jiseok’s crew. They’ve been betting on her.”

“Betting on her?” Wonwoo’s tone turned ice-cold.

The second racer swallowed hard. “Yeah, uh… whoever sleeps with her first gets the newest JDA bike. It’s just… a stupid bet, man. Jiseok’s been bragging that he’s already won.”

Wonwoo’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white as he suppressed the urge to lash out. His mind raced, but one thing was clear—he wasn’t going to let this slide.

Without another word, he stormed off to where Seungcheol was sitting, scrolling through the lineup for tonight’s races on his phone.

“Who’s in the lineup today?” Wonwoo asked, his voice sharp.

Seungcheol glanced up, sensing his friend’s tension. “A lot, man. You’re always the last one, though. Why? Thinking of changing it up?”

Wonwoo patted Seungcheol’s shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Tell a guy named Lee Jiseok I want to race him tonight.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows shot up. “Jiseok? What’s this about?”

Wonwoo didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the arena ahead. “Just make it happen.”

Seungcheol shrugged, sensing that this wasn’t the time to ask questions. “Alright. I’ll let him know.”

As Seungcheol walked off to relay the message, Wonwoo took a deep breath, his mind replaying the racers’ disgusting words. This wasn’t about the race anymore. It was about protecting you—from Jiseok, and his crew’s vile games.

The engines roared, and the air was electric with tension as racers lined up at the starting line. Wonwoo tightened his grip on the handlebars, his eyes fixed straight ahead, but his mind was anything but focused. The words he overheard earlier echoed relentlessly in his head.

Jiseok's been bragging that he’s already won.

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched as he thought of you.

So you kissed me while you were dating someone else?

The memory of your lips on his played like a cruel taunt. He had thought that kiss meant something—that it was real. But had you been with Jiseok all along? The idea of you lying about being inexperienced, only to give yourself to someone like Jiseok, made his stomach churn.

You were always so shy... was it all an act?

The flag waved, signaling the start, and the racers took off. Wonwoo accelerated, but his focus wavered. Every turn, every gear shift felt slower, heavier.

“Get it together,” he muttered under his breath, trying to shake off the whirlwind of emotions.

But it didn’t help. With every lap, his thoughts consumed him.

Jiseok is a player, a nasty piece of work who uses girls and brags about it. Why would you be with someone like him?

He remembered asking you outright if you were dating Jiseok. You had avoided the question, brushing it off with a nervous laugh. That laugh haunted him now.

Why am I doing this?

Lap after lap, the internal conflict raged. Wonwoo kept telling himself he was racing for your safety, to put Jiseok in his place. But the more he thought about it, the more the hope drained from him.

What’s the point of protecting someone who doesn’t want to be saved?

The finish line was in sight, and Wonwoo pushed the bike harder, trying to catch up, but his distracted mind had already cost him too much time. Jiseok crossed first, throwing his hands in the air in victory.

The crowd erupted, but Wonwoo barely registered it. He pulled off his helmet, his breathing labored—not from exertion, but from the weight in his chest.

And then he saw you.

Jiseok ran straight to you, grinning like a king. Before Wonwoo could process what was happening, Jiseok pulled you into a kiss, right there in front of everyone.

Wonwoo’s stomach dropped. The sight knocked the air out of his lungs.

So it’s true…

He watched as you smiled at Jiseok, your cheeks red, the kind of look he had only dreamed of seeing directed at him.

The crowd blurred, and the noise faded. Wonwoo turned away, swallowing the lump in his throat. He had lost—not just the race, but you.

And for the first time in years, he felt completely powerless.

*

Wonwoo leaned back in his seat on the flight from China to South Korea, staring out the window as the city lights below blurred into streaks of gold. He exhaled deeply, a weight he had carried for years pressing heavier as the plane descended. After nearly six years, he was finally going home.

His mind drifted back to the night it all changed—the night he confronted his father for the first time in years. It had been an uncomfortable meeting, one where his father barely looked at him, keeping his tone clipped and professional.

“You have two options,” his father had said, sitting across from him with a glass of whiskey in hand. “Study business overseas or join the internship at N-Jeen.”

Wonwoo’s stomach had churned. He didn’t want either option. All he wanted was to keep racing, the one thing that gave him freedom, an escape from the heavy shadow of his family name. But his father had made it clear that freedom wasn’t on the table.

“Choose between those two,” his father continued, his gaze piercing, “or stop racing altogether.”

It wasn’t a choice—it was an ultimatum. Wonwoo felt trapped, suffocated by the invisible leash his father had placed on him.

Wonwoo still remembered the moment he let his guard down and told Mingyu the truth about who he was. They had been in the middle of a grueling project late one night when Wonwoo casually mentioned, “My father owns JDA.”

Mingyu had frozen, tools in hand, his jaw dropping. “Wait. What?! You’re… you’re a conglomerate’s son?!”

It took him a while to process. Mingyu had always wondered why Wonwoo had such a strong disdain for JDA, but after hearing how distant and controlling Wonwoo’s father was, everything clicked.

“Man, your dad sounds awful,” Mingyu had said bluntly, his loyalty to his friend overriding any hesitation. Despite Mingyu eventually landing a marketing manager position at N-Jeen—a position Wonwoo applauded him for—his opinion of Wonwoo’s father never softened.

Wonwoo smiled faintly at the memory. Mingyu deserved every bit of success he’d earned. He had worked tirelessly, and when Wonwoo had given him a standing ovation at his promotion, it had been one of the few moments of genuine joy amidst the chaos of his life.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo had chosen a different path, one that took him far from South Korea and deeper into the family business he had always resented. Studying engineering overseas was his way of carving out a space in the empire without fully submitting to his father’s control. For the past three years, he had managed JDA’s branches in China, putting his skills to use while keeping a measured distance from his father’s world.

Now, as the plane touched down, Wonwoo couldn’t shake the mix of dread and anticipation swirling in his chest. South Korea wasn’t just home—it was where everything had started. It was where the scars of his childhood lingered and where unresolved pieces of his life waited.

As Wonwoo stepped into the arrivals hall, a man in a tailored suit approached him, offering a polite bow. "Mr. Jeon, the car is ready to take you home," the man said with practiced precision, gesturing toward a sleek black sedan parked outside.

Wonwoo paused, his hand tightening on the strap of his bag. Before he could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw a message from Mingyu:

"Hansol and I are on our way to pick you up. Don’t let your father’s people drag you off—we have better plans."

A small smile crept onto his face. Without hesitation, he turned to the driver. “I’ll pass. Tell my father I’ll find my own way.”

The man blinked, momentarily stunned, but nodded curtly. Wonwoo didn’t look back as he walked toward the pickup area, where Mingyu’s car soon pulled up.

The familiar beat-up car, with Hansol’s booming laugh spilling out before the door even opened, was a stark contrast to the polished image of his father’s world. Wonwoo slid into the back seat, greeted by Mingyu’s playful smirk and Hansol’s cheerful wave from the passenger seat.

“Look who’s back from the dead!” Hansol exclaimed, twisting around to face him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wonwoo said with a chuckle. “Missed me that much, huh?”

“More like missed having someone else to make fun of,” Mingyu quipped as he pulled the car onto the main road.

They fell into their usual banter, the kind that felt effortless and warm. Mingyu and Hansol weren’t just friends—they were family, the kind he had found later in life. Wonwoo thought about how rare it was to meet people like them as an adult. Before Mingyu and Hansol, there had only been you.

How were you, by the way?

The thought hit him unexpectedly, his gaze drifting out the window. He had caught glimpses of you on TV over the years, presenting news on a Korean broadcasting channel with the same poise and determination he remembered. But beyond the polished facade, he had no idea how you were really doing.

He still regretted leaving without a word six years ago. Not explaining. Not saying goodbye. He wondered if you hated him for that.

His chest tightened as his thoughts turned to your mother. She had always treated him like her own, welcoming him into your home with warmth he rarely felt elsewhere. Mingyu had told him about the car accident that took her life. Wonwoo couldn’t imagine how devastating it must have been for you.

He was ashamed to admit that while everyone else had been there for you, he hadn’t been. He had been thousands of miles away, too wrapped up in his father’s plans and his own resentment to return when you needed him most.

“You okay back there?” Mingyu’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Wonwoo blinked, realizing he had been silent for too long. “Yeah, just... thinking.”

Mingyu glanced at him in the rearview mirror, his expression softening. “Well, stop overthinking. You’re home now. That’s what matters.”

Home.

The word felt heavy. Because for Wonwoo, home wasn’t just a place—it was the people he had left behind. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, part of him hoped that somehow, some way, he could find his way back to you.

*

You stood in front of Wonwoo, your best friend—or at least, he used to be—that you hadn’t seen in six years. His expression was calm, his handshake professional as though he were meeting a stranger. You mirrored his demeanor, shaking his hand briefly before stepping aside to let your team brief him on the details of the interview.

You knew you were going to interview him today. You’d read the script and his profile yesterday, preparing for this as if he were just another guest. As if you hadn’t spent over 20 years knowing him better than anyone else. But with each passing moment, anger churned inside you. What are you even doing here, Wonwoo?

Wonwoo had just returned from China, now representing N-Jeen, a subsidiary of JDA. Your role in the interview was clear: help him gain recognition among students for a new program designed for engineering majors.

“No personal questions,” the producer reminded you. “Everything should focus on his professional journey and the program.”

Wonwoo smiled softly, his demeanor composed as he took a seat beside you. You cleared your throat, trying to ignore how much he had changed—or how much you hated that he had.

“I’ll go over the list of questions once more,” you said, scanning your notes.

“I already read them on the way here,” he replied, his tone casual but polite.

You blinked at his unexpected thoroughness and nodded, apologizing. “Do you have anything you’d like to add, Mr. Jeon?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at his watch. “Let’s converse for a bit,” he suggested, his voice dropping to the familiar, easy tone you used to know. “How are you, Y/N?”

The question was kind, friendly—even gentle—but it threw you off balance. You could hear Mingyu’s voice in your head, telling you how much Wonwoo had grown as a person. Yet, it didn’t make his sudden reappearance in your life any easier to accept.

“I’m great,” you replied, your voice steady but clipped. “Thank you for asking. I see you’re doing well, Mr. Jeon.”

Wonwoo chuckled softly, the sound painfully familiar. “Mr. Jeon,” he repeated, amused. “It’s the first time I’ve heard you call me that. You used to hate that name…” His reference to your shared disdain for his father stung more than you wanted to admit.

You sighed deeply, reaching for your water as the producer motioned that the interview was about to begin. Thank God. Bowing to the crew, you quickly excused yourself and left the set the moment the interview wrapped up.

Wonwoo stayed behind, chatting amiably with everyone like the polished professional he had become. You, on the other hand, grabbed your bag and practically bolted from the room.

The sound of footsteps followed you to the elevator, and you knew without looking that it was him. When the elevator doors slid open, you stepped inside, hoping the ride down would be short and silent.

“Are you free after this?” Wonwoo asked suddenly, his voice carrying the warmth of the boy you once knew. “Let’s grab some lunch.”

You stared ahead, your grip tightening on your bag. He still looked at you as though nothing had changed, as though the six years of silence between you hadn’t happened.

“I have things to do,” you replied curtly.

The elevator dinged, announcing its arrival at the lobby. You stepped out quickly, eager to escape, but Wonwoo’s long strides easily caught up to you. His hand on your arm stopped you in your tracks.

“At least give me your number,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

You hesitated, glancing at him briefly before snatching the phone and typing in a number. Handing it back without another word, you walked away, your heart pounding in your chest.

Sliding into your car, you let out a shaky breath, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Your phone buzzed in your bag, breaking your brief moment of reprieve. It was your boss.

“What now?” you muttered before answering, your voice polite despite your irritation.

“What’s your agenda tonight?” your boss asked without preamble. “Join me for dinner with the chief of SKB.”

You sighed, closing your eyes as frustration bubbled to the surface. Since when had you accepted being treated like this? But you knew the answer. It was the same reason you had agreed to this interview in the first place. Because you always put duty first, even at the expense of your own peace.

“Understood,” you replied quietly, ending the call.

Staring out of the windshield, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep this up. And if you’d ever find the courage to tell Wonwoo exactly how much he had hurt you by leaving.

*

It was unexpected. Wonwoo had just stepped out of the restroom when he caught a glimpse of you through the slightly open door of the private dining room beside his. He froze for a moment, certain it was you—your attire was the same as it had been this morning, leaving no doubt in his mind.

Curiosity pulled him in. As he returned to his own dinner with a board member, his thoughts lingered on the sight of you sitting among what appeared to be senior executives. So, this is what your life looks like now? He found himself wondering. Entertaining superiors... Is this normal for a presenter?

When his meeting ended, Wonwoo stepped out and waited near the entrance of your room, watching as you graciously bid farewell to the older men you had been dining with. You looked tired, but your professionalism didn’t falter until the last of them left. As you turned to head out, his sudden presence caught you off guard.

“Wonwoo?” you said, surprise flickering across your face.

He gave you a small smile and gestured to the room behind you. “I was in the one next door. I saw you.”

“Oh…” You hesitated before nodding. “It’s part of the job.”

“Wanna grab a drink together?” Wonwoo asked, his voice soft but hopeful.

You glanced at your watch, shaking your head. “I have a morning show tomorrow.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a nod. A small, awkward silence fell between you before he spoke again. “You did great, by the way. I’ve seen you on TV a few times.”

“In China?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, sometimes.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence between you was heavy, filled with unspoken words. Finally, Wonwoo broke it, his voice quieter than before. “I’m sorry… about your mom.”

Your expression faltered for a split second, but you recovered quickly.

“I wish I’d been there for you,” he continued, the regret in his tone unmistakable.

You didn’t respond immediately, your face unreadable. It was only after a moment that you quietly said, “Thanks,” before shifting your weight, glancing at the time again. “But I have to go.”

You bowed slightly before walking away, your steps hurried, as though putting distance between you and him was your priority. Wonwoo stood rooted in place, watching as you got into your car and drove off.

His chest felt tight as he glanced at the watch on his wrist. 10 PM. Too early to call it a night, especially with the emotions swirling in his chest.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number. “Hansol,” he said when the call connected. “You free?”

Because tonight, more than ever, he needed a drink—and perhaps someone to help him figure out the mess of feelings he didn’t know how to untangle.

Hansol slammed his hand on the table, the sound reverberating through the quiet cafe. He was definitely more drunk than Wonwoo at this point, his frustration spilling over with every word. They were seated in the dimly lit interior of Hansol’s closed café and bakery, Vernon’s. The place was a stark contrast to its usual bustling charm, now filled with an air of tension between old friends.

Wonwoo glanced around, his mind drifting briefly to the thought of how much Hansol had changed. Once the rebellious kid who scoffed at the idea of business studies, Hansol had chosen engineering instead. Yet here he was now, managing a family-owned café—a surprising turn of events. Wonwoo recalled Mingyu mentioning it had taken Hansol three months just to start his first day of part-time work. But people did change, didn’t they?

“You left, man!” Hansol exclaimed, his voice louder than necessary in the quiet space. His hands waved animatedly as he leaned across the table. “What the hell did you expect? You didn’t even send a text when her mom died. You just… poofed!” He mimicked an explosion with his hands, his indignation almost comical if not for the weight of his words.

Wonwoo grimaced, holding the can of beer in his hand like it was his lifeline.

“I met Y/N,” Wonwoo murmured earlier.

Hansol snorted and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, and I bet she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see you.” He took another sip of his beer before pointing at Wonwoo. “But here’s the real question, Wonwoo: why is she mad at you? What did you do to make her this angry?”

Wonwoo’s gaze dropped to the table, his fingers tightening around the cold can.

“If nothing happened, she wouldn’t be this mad,” Hansol continued, his tone sharp and unforgiving. “And let’s face it—you wouldn’t be this much of an asshole, leaving her without a single word, text, or call.”

Hansol wasn’t wrong, and that was what made it sting. Wonwoo knew there was something more, something unspoken, that had driven you both to this point. And he hated that Hansol could see through him so easily.

Two weeks after that fateful night when Jiseok beat him in a race, Wonwoo disappeared from the arena. It wasn’t like him to skip races, especially after being undefeated for years. Rumors spread like wildfire—was he too embarrassed to show his face? Beaten by someone with only two years of experience?

But the real reason wasn’t embarrassment. It was you.

Wonwoo hadn’t wanted to see Jiseok, and by extension, he hadn’t wanted to see you. That night, when he saw you and Jiseok kissing after the race, something inside him shattered. He couldn’t bring himself to face either of you. Instead, he texted Seungcheol.

“Can you keep an eye on Y/N for me?”

Seungcheol had questioned him, but Wonwoo offered no further explanation.

That same week, Jisoo approached him to discuss his career. “So, what’s next? Another championship?”

For the first time, Wonwoo hesitated. “I think I’m done with racing, hyung.”

Jisoo’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’ve been racing for almost ten years. You’re at the top of your game.”

But Wonwoo had already made up his mind. He’d had enough. Between the weight of seeing you with someone else and his father’s relentless pressure to “grow up,” he decided it was time to walk away. Following his father’s advice, he chose to pursue business—while still holding on to his passion for automotive engineering.

Under Jisoo’s guidance, Wonwoo applied for a program in China that combined engineering and business studies. What was supposed to be a two-week observation trip and a visit to JDA turned into something more.

He stayed.

Wonwoo let everyone know he was leaving—everyone except you. After the argument you’d had before he left, he assumed you wouldn’t care. But your mother... he couldn’t bring himself to leave without telling her. He called her, explaining his plans and promising to visit soon.

That promise, like so many others, remained unfulfilled.

Months later, on the very day of his final test, Wonwoo received the news: your mother had passed away in a car accident.

The guilt was suffocating. He’d failed you.

He’d called Mingyu immediately. “Can you watch Y/N for me? I can’t leave the test.”

Mingyu hadn’t hidden his anger. “You should be here, not me.”

Wonwoo sighed, his grip tightening on the phone. “I know. Just... please."

Now, years later, Hansol’s words echoed in his mind, each one a painful reminder of his mistakes. Wonwoo stared at the beer can in his hand, his reflection faintly visible on its surface.

“Maybe you’re right,” he muttered, barely audible.

Hansol raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Of course I’m right. Now, the real question is: what are you going to do about it?”

*

You stared at the clock, watching the seconds tick by. Midnight was minutes away, and with it, your 32nd birthday. The thought filled you with a strange hollowness. Taking a sip of the wine in your hand, you let its warmth spread through you, but it did little to soothe the ache.

The buzz of your phone jolted you from your thoughts. The screen lit up with a name you recognized instantly—Mr. Park, the Chief of Broadcasting at EBS. You exhaled deeply, setting your glass down before answering.

"Good evening, Mr. Park," you greeted with a carefully polished tone, a professional smile forming on your lips despite the late hour.

"Good evening, darling. What are you up to?" His voice was warm, rich with the kind of charisma that made him magnetic in meetings.

You forced a small laugh, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "I’ve got a morning show tomorrow, so I came home early tonight."

His laughter echoed on the other end, deep and indulgent. "Always the hard worker," he teased lightly. The conversation flowed effortlessly, the two of you exchanging pleasantries and updates until he decided to call it a night.

"Rest well, darling. I’ll send you a little something to thank you for listening to my day."

You hung up and sank back into the couch, the smile vanishing from your face as the weight of his words lingered. You rubbed your temples, feeling the heaviness settle in your chest.

What was all of this for? The spacious apartment, the expensive wine, the silk robe that felt like a second skin—none of it brought you happiness.

Six years had passed since your mother’s death, and you’d worked tirelessly to claw your way to the top. You had fought for everything, even compromising pieces of yourself you once held sacred. But now, as you sat in the quiet of your curated life, you couldn’t help but wonder: What had all this hard work been for?

You had powerful men offering you money for a few minutes of conversation. You entertained your superiors, earning their favor and securing promotions. But at what cost? When had you become this person?

Each passing day seemed to erode the parts of you that once sparkled. The vibrant, hopeful version of yourself was long gone, replaced by someone you barely recognized. A stranger. The weight of that realization was suffocating, the feeling of being submerged in endless blue—a deep, inescapable sadness that had consumed you entirely.

As you sat there lost in thought, your phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text message.

Happy birthday.

—Wonwoo

Your heart stopped for a moment. Wonwoo.

After a month of silence, he had finally reached out.

You had told yourself not to expect anything from him, but deep down, you had waited. You had hoped. And yet, his simple message brought more pain than comfort. Six years ago, he had disappeared without a word, leaving you to pick up the pieces.

You sighed and set your phone down, determined not to let the message haunt you. But as the hours dragged on, exhaustion eventually overtook you, and you drifted into an uneasy sleep.

You woke with a start, your body trembling, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The image was still vivid in your mind—a shadowy figure looming over you, their weight pressing you down. It felt so real that your skin prickled, and your heart raced as if you had just escaped something dangerous.

Your hands fumbled for the lamp, flooding the room with light. You scanned every corner, your eyes darting to the shadows, but there was no one there. Just your empty room.

Another nightmare.

Your hands shook as you reached for the pills on your nightstand, swallowing one without hesitation. These dreams had been haunting you for years, each one more vivid and terrifying than the last. Sometimes it was a man chasing you, other times a car accident, or the suffocating sensation of being trapped. They felt so real, like memories etched into your subconscious, leaving you trembling long after you woke.

When was the last time you slept peacefully, without pills to dull the edges of your fear? You couldn’t remember.

You wrapped up your morning show with a warm smile, thanking the crew and bowing deeply to the staff before heading backstage to gather your belongings. The long hours and early mornings had become second nature, but today felt slightly different, like something was lingering in the air.

As you walked down the hallway toward your office, your name was called. You turned to see your superior waving you over. "Y/N, come to my office, please."

Without hesitation, you changed direction, your heels clicking against the tiled floor as you made your way to the 6th floor. As you stepped into his office, your eyes immediately landed on a familiar figure sitting comfortably in a sleek suit—Wonwoo.

Beside him sat one of his staff, equally polished and professional. Your superior greeted you warmly, gesturing toward the two men.

"Y/n, this is Mr. Jeon Wonwoo," he said, though you both already knew each other. "He wanted to personally thank you for the interview you conducted. Thanks to your efforts, the student selection process has run smoothly."

Wonwoo's lips curved into a polite smile, and you mirrored it with a carefully practiced business smile of your own.

Your superior, Mr Won, continued, oblivious to the tension. "The program will be broadcast nationally, and Mr. Jeon has specifically requested you to be the presenter."

"Me?" You raised your brows in surprise, masking the irritation bubbling beneath your surface. Of course, Wonwoo would pull something like this—using his influence to drag you into his orbit, all under the guise of professionalism.

You forced a polite response, your tone steady and composed. "If that's your decision, Mr. Won, I’ll follow your instructions. You know what’s best for the me."

Once the meeting concluded, you exited the office, determined to shake off the encounter. But as you walked down the hallway, Wonwoo caught up to you, his voice low and teasing.

"Impressive communication skills," he remarked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You stopped abruptly, turning to face him with narrowed eyes. His staff, preoccupied with a phone call, trailed behind before you motioned for him to go ahead. Wonwoo nodded subtly, dismissing his staff to give you two privacy.

"You’ve really changed, haven’t you?" he said, his tone laced with a familiarity that made your skin crawl. "Who would’ve thought the rebel Ji Y/N would be tamed by work? Following orders, smiling for the cameras—so unlike the opinionated girl I knew."

You froze mid-step, his words hitting a nerve. Slowly, you turned back to him, your voice cool but firm. "What do you mean by that?"

Wonwoo raised his hands slightly, feigning innocence. "I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just… the Y/N I remember wouldn’t have played the corporate game so well. She had a mind of her own."

You glared at him, your patience wearing thin. What did he know about you now? Six years had passed since he left, and he thought he could waltz back into your life with snide comments about who you had become?

"And what about you?" you shot back. "Have you learned this condescending attitude from running family businesses or by charming people at dinner meetings?"

His smirk faltered, but you didn’t care. This wasn’t the time for his petty observations or thinly veiled jabs.

"I do what I need to do to survive," you said, your voice steady but heavy with meaning. "You can think whatever you want, but you don’t have the right to judge me."

You turned to leave, the conversation clearly over in your mind. But just as you walked away, you stopped abruptly and looked back over your shoulder.

"I’ve worked harder than anyone these past six years because I didn’t have the luxury of a family supporting me. I didn’t have someone handing me opportunities or funding my dreams. Everything I have, I earned. So don’t act like you know me, Wonwoo. You don’t."

*

Back in high school, you and Wonwoo often spent time talking about your dreams, painting pictures of futures that felt so distant yet so vivid in your minds.

"I want to be a successful racer," Wonwoo had declared one afternoon, the confidence in his voice unwavering.

You grinned, leaning back on your elbows. "And I want to be like my mom. You know, get married to someone nice, have a family, maybe work part-time at a cute shop or something. It sounds simple, but it feels fun."

Wonwoo snorted, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "With your attitude and behavior? Good luck with that."

Your eyes widened as you playfully swung your hand at him, but he dodged, laughing as he hopped out of reach.

"I'm serious, though," you said, letting your hand drop. Then, after a pause, you asked quietly, "Do you still hate your dad a lot, Wonwoo?"

He shrugged, the laughter fading as he glanced at the sky. "I don’t even know what I feel about him anymore. He’s been out of sight for so long that… he’s kind of out of mind."

You nodded thoughtfully. "That’s probably for the best, right? It’s less tiring that way. You don’t have to waste energy hating him." Then, with a teasing grin, you added, "But if you ever need someone to hate him more on your behalf, call me, okay?"

Wonwoo chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You’re such a weirdo."

"Sometimes I hate my mom, though," you admitted, your voice softening. "Every time she dotes on you like you’re her real son and I’m just… there. But I don’t hate her all the time. I guess that’s just how emotions work, right? They come and go, like waves."

He laughed at that, nudging you with his shoulder. "Of course, I’m her favorite. Who wouldn’t love me?"

"Shut up!" you shot back, rolling your eyes. "If I hadn’t been so nice to you when we were kids, you and your Pokémon bag would’ve been stranded with nowhere to go. You better thank me for being such a kind-hearted kid back then."

Wonwoo sat at the dining table with Jisoo and his father, the atmosphere heavy with an unspoken irony. At the end of the day, it was just the three of them—Wonwoo and Jisoo, the two sons his father had once abandoned, now seated by his side.

The clinking of cutlery was the only sound for a moment until his father broke the silence. "How’s the production plan for N-Jeen coming along? I heard you’ve decreased the credit allocation." Even outside office hours, his father’s mind never strayed far from work.

Wonwoo leaned back slightly, meeting his father’s gaze. "The reduced allocation is intentional. Most of our budget is spent compensating for inefficiencies caused by a lack of skilled personnel. I’m planning to recruit professionals—people who genuinely know what they’re doing."

Jisoo nodded in agreement, his voice calm but encouraging. "That sounds like a solid plan. Do you have specific candidates in mind?"

"I’ve already extended offers to a few people I know who have proven expertise in their respective fields," Wonwoo replied, his tone confident but measured. "I’ve also been looking into recruiting experienced racers. They’ve used our products firsthand and understand our shortcomings better than anyone else."

His father paused mid-bite, considering the proposal. "It’s good that you’re involving people who understand the industry from the ground up. Make sure the contracts are watertight. We can’t afford any liabilities."

Wonwoo’s lips quirked slightly. Even a compliment from his father was veiled with caution. "Of course, I’ve consulted with the legal team about that already."

Jisoo interjected, his voice lighter, diffusing some of the tension. "It’s interesting how you’re integrating practical experience into production strategies. Maybe we’ll finally see N-Jeen at its full potential."

Wonwoo glanced at Jisoo, appreciating the support. Despite everything, Jisoo had always been the steady bridge between him and his father. It felt strange—almost bittersweet—sitting here now, discussing plans for a company that had been both a family legacy and a source of familial discord.

His father set his fork down and studied Wonwoo for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You’ve come a long way from being the reckless kid who only cared about racing."

Wonwoo didn’t flinch, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. "I'm not the only one who was reckless."

In the quiet ambiance of the restaurant, Wonwoo sat across from Seungcheol, who casually sipped his coffee. As their lunch ended, Wonwoo handed over a proposal, his tone calm but professional.

“This is for the new product launch next year,” Wonwoo explained. “I’d like you to join the production team as part of the assessment division. With your expertise, you’d oversee racer recruitment and have them test our samples.”

Seungcheol glanced at the document and nodded. “Interesting. I’ll need some time to think it over. Is the end of the week okay?”

“Perfect,” Wonwoo replied.

The conversation shifted, and Wonwoo leaned forward slightly. “Do you have any recommendations for racers? Someone with the experience we’re looking for?”

Seungcheol thought for a moment, then nodded. “There are a few people I could suggest. It’s hard to find real talent these days, but I’ll introduce you to some promising names. Drop by when you have time.”

“Sounds good,” Wonwoo said with a faint smile. “By the way, what about Lee Jiseok? He used to be quite skilled.”

At the mention of Jiseok, Seungcheol froze, his brows furrowing. He placed his coffee down carefully, his expression growing serious. “Lee Jiseok?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo said, sensing the shift in Seungcheol’s demeanor. “What about him?”

Seungcheol let out a deep breath, leaning closer. “You don’t know, do you? He was jailed a few years ago.”

Wonwoo’s brow furrowed. “Jailed? For what?”

“For a sex crime,” Seungcheol said bluntly, his tone laced with unease.

Wonwoo’s eyes widened in shock. “What? That doesn’t make sense. Jiseok was dating Y/n at the time.”

Seungcheol shook his head, his voice heavy with seriousness. “No, Wonwoo. They weren’t dating. Jiseok made a bet with his crew to sleep with her. When she refused, he forced himself on her.”

Wonwoo’s heart sank, and his fists tightened on the table. “Y/n?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Yes,” Seungcheol confirmed grimly. “It happened not long after her mother passed away. She was vulnerable, and he took advantage of that. I assumed you knew. You and Y/n were close. I can’t believe no one told you.”

Wonwoo sat back, stunned. He hadn’t heard from you in years, and now this revelation was unraveling everything he thought he knew.

“No one told me,” Wonwoo said, his voice trembling with anger and regret.

Seungcheol studied him carefully, his expression softening slightly. “I thought you knew. That’s why I was surprised when you brought up his name.”

Wonwoo stared at the table, a storm of emotions raging within him—anger at Jiseok, guilt for not being there for you and regret for how distant you had become.

“Shit…” he muttered, the word slipping out as the weight of the truth bore down on him. You, his once-close friend, had endured unimaginable pain, and he hadn't been there to support you.

Wonwoo loosened his tie as he sank into the passenger seat of his car, his mind racing. His secretary, seated behind the wheel, glanced at him with concern.

“Sir, are you alright?” the secretary ventured, but Wonwoo waved him off, his jaw clenched.

The ride back to the company felt agonizingly slow. The moment the car stopped in front of the building, Wonwoo threw the door open and strode in with determined steps. His heart pounded, not from exertion, but from the tumult of emotions threatening to spill over.

He stormed into Mingyu’s office without knocking, startling his friend, who was seated behind his desk.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Mingyu asked, his eyes widening at Wonwoo’s flushed face and labored breathing. “Bro, are you okay? You look... upset.”

Wonwoo ignored the question and closed the door firmly behind him. He turned to Mingyu, his voice low but sharp. “Tell me the truth. Was Y/n a victim of sexual violence?”

Mingyu froze, his mouth opening as though to deny it. But he hesitated, his expression faltering. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

“Wonwoo, listen—”

“Answer me!” Wonwoo bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. His hand clenched into a fist, trembling at his side.

Mingyu swallowed hard, then nodded reluctantly. “Yes... it’s true. But let me explain—”

“Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me?” Wonwoo shouted, his voice cracking with anguish. In a fit of frustration, he kicked the sofa beside him, sending a loud thud through the room. He turned away from Mingyu, his back heaving as he tried to control the whirlwind of anger and betrayal consuming him.

“Wonwoo, we didn’t mean to keep it from you,” Mingyu began, his tone pleading. “It wasn’t our decision to hide it from you. You didn’t want you to know. She didn’t want anyone to know.”

Wonwoo spun around, his eyes blazing. “I was her friend! I should’ve been there for her. You all knew, and I was left in the dark like some outsider.”

Mingyu stood, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. “And what would you have done, huh? You were in China, handling your own life. She didn’t want to drag you into her pain!”

“That wasn’t your choice to make!” Wonwoo roared, slamming his fist against the wall. His chest heaved as he struggled to process it all—the betrayal he felt, the pain You must have endured, and the guilt clawing at him for not being there.

Mingyu softened, his voice quieter now. “Wonwoo... she didn’t want you to carry this burden. But if you’re this upset, imagine how she felt, going through it alone.”

The words hit Wonwoo like a punch to the gut. He sank onto the sofa he had kicked moments earlier, his head in his hands.

“She didn’t deserve that,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No, she didn’t,” Mingyu agreed, sitting across from him. “But she survived. She’s still here, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and determination. “I need to see her.”

Mingyu gave a small nod. “Then do it. But don’t come at her with guilt or anger. Just... be her friend.”

Wonwoo clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. He would find you. And this time, he wouldn’t fail you.

Wonwoo drove his own car to your broadcasting company, the hum of the engine a constant reminder of the tension that had been building between the two of you. You were in the middle of your last schedule when he arrived, but as soon as he caught sight of you, he immediately rose from the sofa, his eyes searching yours.

You were caught off guard by his sudden appearance. For a moment, you froze, unsure of how to react. But you quickly regained your composure, as you always did. The years of learning to keep your emotions hidden were not wasted.

"Follow me," Wonwoo said, his tone firm but pleading. You hesitated, instinctively preparing to decline.

"I'm busy," you replied, though the words felt hollow in your mouth.

He didn’t give up. "I know it’s your last schedule. Come with me."

His grip on your arm tightened just enough to remind you that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. The heat of his hand on your skin made it hard to pull away. Reluctantly, you gathered your things and followed him.

As he drove, you tried to break the silence. "Where are we going?"

But he said nothing, his gaze focused on the road ahead. The world outside the window seemed to blur as your thoughts spiraled. You knew he wasn’t the type to drag you around without a reason. Something was clearly bothering him, but you couldn’t make sense of it.

Eventually, the car slowed, and you recognized the familiar stretch of road. The sound of the waves in the distance grew louder.

You were at the beach.

A sense of unease filled you as memories flooded back. This was the same beach where he had brought you years ago, after your father's funeral, when you felt like your world had crumbled around you. You could feel the weight of time, the shifting of your past and present, all converging in this one place.

The car came to a stop, and he stepped out, his movements purposeful, as though he already knew what he needed to do. You sat frozen for a moment before instinct kicked in. You quickly took off your heels and followed him, your steps leaving imprints in the sand.

"Wonwoo!" you called, your voice rising above the sound of the crashing waves. "What’s going on? What are you doing?"

But he didn’t answer, walking farther away, his back turned to you. You couldn’t make sense of it. Why was he acting like this? Why now, after all this time?

You quickened your pace, calling his name again. "Jeon Wonwoo, what’s wrong with you?"

As you reached him, you tried to grab his arm, desperate to get his attention, to force him to explain himself. But before you could, he suddenly turned to face you. His expression was soft but strained, and before you could process what was happening, he pulled you into his embrace.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair, his voice breaking the silence between you like a cracked dam.

The words were simple, but they carried so much weight. You stood still for a moment, the shock of the gesture leaving you breathless. His arms felt like a refuge, but you couldn’t shake the confusion swirling in your mind.

You stiffened in his arms, the warmth of his embrace both comforting and overwhelming. For a moment, you simply stood there, unsure how to react, your body frozen in his grasp. The familiar scent of him—the cologne you remembered from years ago, the scent that somehow always felt like home—filled your senses. But there was also something else: regret, a deep, aching remorse in the way he held you.

"I'm sorry..." Wonwoo repeated, his voice softer now, as though the weight of his apology had finally found its place in his heart.

You both stood there in the silence, the crashing waves behind you and the setting sun painting the sky with colors of hope.

*

You saw Wonwoo running through the school corridors toward you during lunch break. You were taken aback when he suddenly pulled you into an embrace, his grip tight on your shoulders, his breath uneven, and his eyes brimming with tears.

"Promise me you'll remain calm," he whispered through his breathless words, his hands trembling as they held you tighter. You were stunned, your heart racing as you looked up at him, confusion flooding your mind. What was happening?

"Father..." His voice cracked, and his gaze flickered with a mix of fear and anguish.

"He had a heart attack," he continued, his voice strained, "and now he's being rushed to the hospital."

The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud, and despite your shock, you immediately nodded, swallowing your panic. You couldn't let yourself crumble in the school cafeteria.

Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs as Wonwoo took your hand and led you into a run. His steps were hurried, his determination pulling you along with him as he rushed toward the parking lot. The sound of your shoes pounding against the floor seemed to mirror the racing of your thoughts.

In a blur of motion, you both arrived at his bike, and without wasting a second, he revved the engine and sped toward the hospital.

But it was too late. By the time you arrived, the hospital doors felt like an insurmountable distance between you and the unbearable reality. The news hit like a thunderclap. Both you and Wonwoo had lost your fathers that day.

Wonwoo, in the midst of his own grief, stepped into a role you never thought you’d need him to. He became your rock, your father in ways you never imagined. He stayed by your side through the funeral, comforting you and your mother while silently bearing his own pain. He served everyone, trying to keep a stoic face, but you saw the cracks, the weight of the loss bearing down on him. He had seen your father as his own, a mentor, a second father.

And just like him, you buried your grief deep inside, unable to break down in front of your mother. You had lost your father, but she had lost everything. You couldn't bear to add more sorrow to her heart.

Wonwoo, ever the steadfast presence in your life, took you away from the heavy emotions of the funeral. He brought you to a beach near Incheon, one that your father had taken both of you to when you were just six years old. It was the first time either of you had ever seen the sea, a small, secret escape when your parents had fought. You hadn’t been there in years, but the memories flooded back instantly—the sound of the waves, the salty air, and the way your father had held your hand, guiding you along the shore. It was a place you hadn’t even realized you missed.

Standing behind Wonwoo as he faced the sea, the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, you felt the weight of everything—your father's absence, your mother’s pain, and your own silent grief.

"Just cry. Mom isn’t here," Wonwoo said softly, his voice low and soothing, his broad shoulders unmoving as he looked toward the horizon.

The permission to break, to let go, was what you needed. Your tears came suddenly, unbidden, falling down your cheeks like a river, each one a memory, a piece of the pain you had held back. You sobbed quietly at first, but soon the floodgates opened. The grief you had kept hidden for so long poured out, carried away by the wind and the sea.

As your sobs became harder, more uncontrollable, you leaned your head against Wonwoo's back. His presence, so solid and unshakable, gave you the comfort you desperately needed. You felt his hand on your shoulder, a silent support, as you cried for everything you had lost—and for everything you were still holding on to.

You woke up to the sound of your own sobs, the remnants of tears still streaking down your cheeks. Blinking, you wiped your face with the back of your hand as you sat up on the edge of your bed. The room was dim, and the weight of the night pressed heavily around you. You hadn’t even realized you had fallen asleep—everything felt hazy, as if the moments between waking and dreaming blurred into one.

Wonwoo's words from earlier that afternoon echoed in your mind. "I'm sorry for leaving you..."

The words felt like a haunting whisper, lingering long after he had said them. Despite the years that had passed without any communication between you two, despite the distance that time and silence had created, his apology still had the power to stir something deep within you. The ache that you had buried for so long resurfaced, raw and tender, as if it had never left.

You let out a soft sigh, running a hand through your hair. After all these years, it was strange how much of an effect he still had on you. Even after everything, even after all the distance, he still found a way to worm his way into your heart.

"I like you," you confessed to Wonwoo, just weeks before he disappeared without a trace.

The memory of that night felt sharp—too sharp. You could still remember the heat of the argument, the first time you had seen Wonwoo lose control, shouting at you after days of silence. Whatever sparked the fight, you couldn’t recall. But you did know one thing for sure: he was jealous.

Jealous of Lee Jiseok, who had won the race that day.

At first, you had thought it was childish—until you realized that the jealousy ran deeper. It wasn’t just the race that had sparked his anger. It was the kiss. Jiseok had kissed you in front of everyone, and that’s what really set him off.

The argument escalated, and before you could even process it, you found yourself grabbing his collar, pulling him toward you, and kissing him. For a moment, he froze, but then his lips moved against yours, answering you in the only way he knew how. He pushed you back against the wall of his apartment, lifting you so that your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

"You kissed Jiseok, and now you’re kissing me?" His voice was low, almost dangerous, but there was something else behind it—desire, frustration, longing.

The kiss deepened, and before long, you found yourselves shedding clothes, your breaths coming in quick, heated gasps. But in the midst of it, you stopped.

"I like you, Wonwoo," you said, your voice trembling but steady.

He paused, his lips lingering against yours, searching your eyes. "Yeah?" he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

"I like you," you repeated, your heart racing. The truth had finally spilled from you, the words you had been holding in for months, or maybe years.

For a moment, you both just stared at each other. And then, without speaking, he closed the distance between you again, pulling you back into the storm of kisses and touches.

But in the middle of it all, as you looked into his eyes with burning desire, your thoughts spoke louder than anything else. "Fuck me," you thought.

Wonwoo pulled back suddenly, his expression unreadable. He grabbed your shirt, hastily putting it back on you, his movements sharp and cold. Before you could even understand what was happening, he was pushing you out of the door. The finality of it hit you hard as he slammed the door in your face without a word.

That night, you waited. But there were no apologies, no explanations, nothing. He didn’t show up the next day—or the day after that. Weeks passed, then months. You started to wonder if something had happened to him. If he had vanished entirely from your life.

Then Jisoo informed you—he had gone to his father's house.

Three months later, you discovered the truth. Everyone knew he had gone abroad, except for you.

The silence, the absence, it stung more than you could have ever imagined. And now, here you were—left with only the memories of a night that had changed everything, wondering if he had ever felt the same.

*

"What?!" Both Mingyu and Hansol shot up from their seats in surprise as Wonwoo casually dropped the bombshell.

He had invited Mingyu and Hansol over for a warm housewarming gathering—he had just moved into a new apartment. It was spacious, well-lit, and definitely something Wonwoo could afford with all his success. The minimalist decor, the clean lines, the neutral tones—it was a perfect reflection of Jeon Wonwoo himself, according to Hansol’s personal opinion.

Mingyu and Hansol had brought a variety of food and drinks: fried chicken, spicy tteokbokki, beer, soju, and even a bottle of expensive whiskey Mingyu had been saving for a moment like this.

"Should we invite Y/N? She's next door," Wonwoo said, causing Mingyu and Hansol to freeze mid-bite. The words hung in the air like a shockwave.

"You moved next door to her?!" Hansol blurted out, disbelief written all over his face.

"You're crazy, man!" Mingyu groaned, slapping his palm to his face in frustration.

Wonwoo shrugged nonchalantly, refilling his drink with ice from the fridge before taking a seat beside them. "You weren't this surprised when I told you I lived with her until I was 20."

Hansol, still processing the information, shook his head in disbelief. "But you saw her as a sister. What about now, dude?"

Wonwoo nodded, his expression calm, his eyes steady as he sipped his beer. "She's still a sister."

Mingyu snorted, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Sister my ass."

Wonwoo shot Mingyu a knowing glance, his gaze sharp. He knew Mingyu was onto something, but it seemed Hansol, the one who usually got tipsy first, was completely oblivious to the crucial piece of the puzzle—something he had been wondering about for a while now.

The tension hung in the air, and Hansol, now furrowing his brow, leaned back in his chair. He didn’t quite understand what was going on, but whatever it was, it felt like there was more to this story than they were letting on.

"You two are something else," Hansol muttered, still trying to wrap his head around it all. "I thought I knew everything."

The weight of those words lingered in the room, and for a brief moment, all three of them were lost in their own thoughts.

A day before his flight to China for "observation," they had drunk heavily. Hansol passed out first on the couch, leaving Wonwoo, who had definitely overdone it with the soju, still awake. Mingyu, ever the drinker, kept refilling his glass as if there were no alcohol limit for him.

"I kissed Y/N," Wonwoo mumbled, his voice slurred.

Mingyu froze mid-motion, his hand half-raised with the soju glass still hovering in the air. "What?" he asked, disbelief in his tone.

"I kissed Y/N. Twice," Wonwoo continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. "We made out. We almost... We almost... I don’t know! I messed up everything!"

Frustration laced Wonwoo’s voice as he threw the squid snack in his hand across the room. Mingyu blinked, processing the words before his lips curved into a smirk.

"You what?" Mingyu laughed in disbelief. "You made out with Y/N? Almost...?" His voice trailed off, then he put his glass down and fully turned to face Wonwoo, his interest piqued. "But you told me she was like a sister to you?"

Wonwoo sighed deeply, slumping back into the chair, clearly lost in his own confusion. Mingyu, on the other hand, was looking at him like a curious child—amused and expecting to hear it all.

Mingyu had never bought into the idea that Y/N was just a sister to Wonwoo. Hansol? He believed whatever he heard, but Mingyu always knew there was something more beneath the surface.

"She was," Wonwoo muttered, his voice barely audible. Mingyu suppressed a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

"But then—" Wonwoo’s words grew heavier, full of bitterness. "She slept with Jiseok... They kissed that night I lost the race... Fuck, I don’t care about her anymore."

Wonwoo grabbed Mingyu’s glass and downed it in one swift motion, the burn of the alcohol momentarily distracting him from the tangled mess of emotions inside him.

Mingyu’s face fell, no longer amused. The atmosphere shifted, and for the first time that night, the weight of the situation truly sank in. He watched as Wonwoo’s facade of indifference faltered, the frustration and hurt clear in his eyes. Mingyu knew then that this was more than just a drunken confession—it was a broken heart, disguised by anger and too much soju.

*

Your eyes widened at the sight of Wonwoo and Mingyu struggling to support a completely drunken Hansol as you stepped out of your apartment door. The three of them looked like a chaotic trio, Hansol barely conscious, his head lolling from side to side, while Wonwoo and Mingyu worked together to keep him upright. They must have been drinking together.

Mingyu, ever friendly and cheerful, greeted you with a grin as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “Hey, Y/N,” he said casually, as though hauling around a passed-out Hansol was just another day for him. Wonwoo, on the other hand, gave you a nod, his expression calm but tinged with slight annoyance as Hansol slumped more heavily against him.

Your finger instinctively pressed the elevator button, and you stepped aside, allowing the three of them to enter first. Hansol let out a groggy mumble, which made Mingyu chuckle as they maneuvered him inside. Once they were settled, you followed, glancing at Hansol with concern.

“Is he always like this?” you asked, your voice laced with curiosity and a hint of worry.

Mingyu nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. “Yeah, he’s kind of a lightweight compared to us. This happens a lot, don’t worry. He’ll be fine once he sleeps it off.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused but still skeptical, as you watched Hansol mumble something incoherent before his head drooped onto Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo sighed, adjusting his grip to keep him from sliding to the floor. Despite his slightly irritated demeanor, you could tell Wonwoo was used to this.

When the elevator doors opened, you followed them outside to the street, where they carefully loaded Hansol into a waiting cab. Mingyu climbed in after him, ensuring he was seated properly. Before the door closed, Mingyu leaned out and waved at you and Wonwoo.

“Goodnight, Y/N! Take care of this grumpy guy,” he teased, jerking a thumb in Wonwoo’s direction.

You chuckled softly, waving back. “Goodnight, Mingyu. Drive safe.”

As the cab pulled away, you turned to Wonwoo, who stood beside you with his hands stuffed into his pockets, watching the car disappear into the night. The streetlights cast a soft glow over his face, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Wonwoo let out a sigh before turning to you, his gaze steady. “Where are you going this late?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

Where were you going? Nowhere, really. You had stepped out because of all the commotion outside your door, curiosity getting the better of you. But you couldn’t exactly say that, could you?

“Convenience store,” you replied with a casual nod, trying to sound convincing. “To grab some ramyeon. Or beer.”

Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting as he studied you. “You don’t eat ramyeon,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow as if calling your bluff.

Well, that was true. You didn’t. But you weren’t about to explain yourself. “I eat it now,” you retorted, crossing your arms and raising your chin slightly.

Wonwoo stared at you for a beat longer before nodding in quiet acknowledgment. “Fine. I have some at my place. Come on, I’ll cook it for you.”

You stepped into Wonwoo's apartment for the first time in years. It felt oddly familiar—still carrying the same understated charm that mirrored Jeon Wonwoo himself. However, the living room was a bit of a mess, likely remnants of their drinking session earlier. Empty bottles and snack wrappers lay scattered across the coffee table.

"Don’t mind that," Wonwoo said casually, gesturing toward the clutter before leading you toward the kitchen. You followed him, settling on one of the bar stools by his kitchen island.

“It’s past midnight. Don’t you sleep?” he asked, his voice low as he filled a pot with water and placed it on the stove.

You sighed softly. Sleep wasn’t something you got much of these days. “I was awake already.”

Wonwoo glanced over his shoulder at you. “Was it because of us? Sorry if we were too noisy,” he said with a faint look of guilt.

You shook your head quickly. “No, it’s not that. I woke up about an hour ago.”

“And you’re suddenly craving ramyeon?” His eyebrow quirked slightly, and his tone was teasing.

You nodded with a small, embarrassed smile. “Yes. Craving ramyeon.”

Wonwoo chuckled softly as he opened a cabinet, pulling out a packet of ramyeon. He began preparing it with an easy confidence, adding a few extra ingredients here and there. As the water boiled, he glanced at you. “You never liked ramyeon before. What changed?”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. You stayed quiet, watching him cook.

A few minutes later, he placed a steaming bowl of ramyeon in front of you, along with a small plate of kimchi from his fridge. Then he settled beside you on a stool, leaning back slightly.

Tentatively, you picked up your chopsticks and spoon, giving the food a cautious taste. You never liked ramyeon because it was always too salty or heavy for your taste. But the moment the soup touched your lips, you froze, surprised.

“It’s not salty,” you said, looking at him in shock.

Wonwoo smiled knowingly. “I figured. You never liked ramyeon because it’s salty and ruins your diet. So, I adjusted it a bit.”

Your eyes widened further. He remembered. He always remembered the little things about you, even things you had forgotten.

“It’s really good,” you admitted softly before taking another spoonful.

Wonwoo stood up, his hand brushing lightly over the top of your head in a familiar, comforting gesture. “Finish it and go get some sleep,” he said gently. “I’ll clean up the living room.”

You watched him walk away, your chest tightening slightly. For someone so stoic, Wonwoo had always had a way of making you feel seen, even in the smallest moments.

You woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed the next morning. However, the moment you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a groan escaped your lips. Your face looked a little puffier than usual—a direct result of finishing that bowl of ramyeon last night. You made a mental note to stick to your usual late-night snacks moving forward.

Shaking off your regret, you took your time getting ready, thankful you didn’t have a morning show to rush to. After slipping into a work attire, you grabbed an apple from the kitchen and bit into it as you headed out the door.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect—or awkward—as you stepped into the hallway and found yourself face-to-face with Wonwoo. He was already dressed sharply in his work attire, his tie perfectly knotted and his expression calm yet focused.

“Morning,” he greeted you with a warm smile.

You nodded in acknowledgment, the apple still held between your teeth, muffling any verbal response.

Wonwoo glanced at the time on his watch, then back at you. “Running late?” he asked casually as the two of you stepped into the elevator together.

You shook your head, taking another bite of your apple as the elevator descended.

“Good. Let me drive you,” he offered, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “We can grab some proper breakfast on the way.”

You blinked at him, startled by the suggestion. “This is my breakfast,” you replied, holding up the half-eaten apple.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and disapproval. “That’s not breakfast. Come on, I know a good place nearby. My treat.”

Before you could protest, the elevator doors opened, and he stepped out confidently, already heading toward his car. You followed reluctantly, wondering how he managed to convince you so effortlessly.

As Wonwoo navigated the early morning traffic, the soft hum of the car engine filled the silence between the two of you. You sat quietly, gazing out the window, your hands resting on your lap. The city streets blurred past, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

“I never really told you what I was doing in China, did I?” Wonwoo suddenly broke the silence, his voice steady but laced with an undertone of vulnerability.

You blinked, startled by his openness, and turned to glance at him. He kept his eyes on the road, but you could see the tension in his jaw.

“I spent the first six months there working on a project my father insisted I take over. It was… exhausting. But it wasn’t just work that kept me there,” he began. “I wanted to find a way to clear my head. To figure out what I really wanted in life.”

You didn’t respond, unsure of what to say, so you simply listened.

“I went back to school,” he continued, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Enrolled in a business program. It was something my father had always pushed for, but I never really considered it until… well, until I left.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but you stayed silent, letting him continue.

“I wanted to prove I could handle myself. That I wasn’t just running away. So, I worked during the day at my father’s company, managing operations and learning the ins and outs of the business. And at night, I studied.” He let out a dry laugh. “It was brutal at first, balancing everything. But I needed to do it.”

Wonwoo glanced at you briefly before continuing. “I kept thinking about all the things I left behind—what I left unresolved. And when I said I wanted to fix things, I meant it.” His tone was firm now, as though he wanted to leave no room for doubt.

You shifted slightly in your seat, still unsure how to respond. The weight of his words hung in the air, and you could feel your chest tighten. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about him during his absence, but hearing him say it out loud made it all too real.

“I know it might sound selfish,” Wonwoo added after a moment, his grip tightening on the steering wheel, “but I needed that time to sort myself out. To come back and face you—not as the guy who walked away, but someone who could try to make things right.”

You turned back to the window, your reflection staring back at you. The raw sincerity in his voice was undeniable, but the wound he left behind was still there, faint but persistent.

The light turned green, and the car moved forward, but the heaviness of his words stayed between you.

“I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me for leaving the way I did,” he added, his voice hesitant. “But I’m serious about fixing things. And I’m starting with myself.”

You didn’t know how to respond. His confession felt like a wave, crashing against the wall you had built over time. So, instead of speaking, you nodded faintly, letting the silence settle.

“I just want you to know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I’m not asking for anything from you. I’m just… trying to do better this time.”

As he pulled into the parking lot of a café, Wonwoo turned to you with a small, hopeful smile. “Breakfast on me,” he said lightly, trying to shift the mood.

You managed a weak smile in return, unsure what to make of everything he had just shared.

*

Once you stepped out of his car, Wonwoo sat motionless in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. The faint sound of the car door shutting echoed in his ears, and an overwhelming sense of failure washed over him. He had messed up everything. Again.

Wonwoo replayed the conversation in his mind, cringing at how he had rambled, explaining and justifying himself like a desperate man trying to prove he wasn’t in the wrong. The realization hit him like a freight train—he had become exactly what he swore he’d never be.

Just like his father.

Your parting question lingered in the air like smoke.

"Do you still hate your dad?"

He had frozen at the sound of it, his mind scrambling for an answer he couldn’t give. Did he still hate his father? No, not anymore. But that realization didn’t bring him peace. If anything, it made him uneasy.

He didn’t hate his father. He disliked him. He resented the ways his father had molded him, the expectations, the cold lectures disguised as wisdom. But the anger that used to burn so fiercely had faded, replaced by something he couldn’t name.

And now, here he was, mimicking the very behaviors he had once despised. He had told himself for years that he would never turn out like his father. That he would live on his own terms, follow his own passions. Yet here he was, no longer a racer, no longer the man you had known. He had left you.

He became the kind of person he hated the most—explaining his mistakes, trying to rationalize them, as if that would make them disappear. He hated it.

But what he hated more was the possibility that you could see it too. That you could see how much he’d changed, and not necessarily for the better.

Wonwoo leaned back in his seat, staring blankly at the dashboard. He was different now, there was no denying that. He had done the opposite of everything he had once vowed to do. The boy who had once been so sure of his dreams, of you, was long gone.

He closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. What was he now? And was this change something he could ever come back from?

As you disappeared into the distance, Wonwoo sat there, feeling like a stranger in his own skin.

*

Wonwoo leaned casually against the railing, observing the bustling set of the N-Jeen program shoot. It had been over a month since the icy tension between you two began to thaw. You had started talking to him again, and on occasion, when his schedule allowed, he would drive you to work. It was a small gesture, but it felt like progress—a step toward mending the fractured relationship.

He had arranged a lunch meeting nearby that day and decided to drop by the shoot when he heard it was close. As you stood a few meters away, chatting with one of the students involved in the program, Wonwoo motioned for his assistant to distribute the energy drinks he had brought for the crew. His gaze softened when it landed on you. Though he quickly redirected his attention, the fleeting smile didn’t go unnoticed.

"Mr. Jeon," the producer spoke up cautiously, pulling Wonwoo out of his thoughts. "May I ask you something? I hope you won’t take it the wrong way."

Wonwoo turned to face him, his expression calm and polite. "Of course. Go ahead."

The producer hesitated briefly, glancing at you before continuing. "Are you and our presenter, Ji Y/N, in a relationship? Forgive me if I’m overstepping."

A faint smile tugged at Wonwoo’s lips. "Why do you ask?" he replied, his tone measured, though the question amused him.

The producer scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Well... some of the crew have noticed you driving her to work pretty often. And, well, you seem... a bit affectionate toward her."

Wonwoo hummed thoughtfully, letting his gaze wander back to you for a moment. You were laughing at something the student said, your eyes sparkling under the afternoon sun. He looked away, his expression unreadable.

"I’ve known her for a long time," he finally said, a small, almost imperceptible smile lingering. "Maybe that explains it."

The producer nodded, though he still seemed curious. Wonwoo, however, didn’t elaborate. Instead, he shifted the conversation back to the shoot logistics, steering it away from personal matters.

"PD, there's something I need to show you," the assistant producer said urgently, stepping closer with an iPad in hand. His face was pale, and his tone carried a weight of concern.

Wonwoo watched as the producer took the device and stared at the screen. At the same moment, Wonwoo's secretary approached, holding out her own phone with a grim expression. "Mr. Jeon, you should see this."

Wonwoo frowned and glanced down at the article. His jaw tightened as he scanned the bold headline splashed across the screen:

"KBC's Presenter, Ji Y/N, Rumored to Be a Call Girl."

His eyes flicked over the details—a damning accusation from the wife of a high-profile broadcasting executive. The article claimed that you had been involved with her husband for years, presenting call logs, text history, and alleged money transfer records as evidence. Though the photo of you was clear, the man in question was conveniently blurred.

The producer let out a heavy sigh as he finished reading. "This is serious. I'll need to speak to the chief about this immediately," he said, his voice laced with urgency.

Wonwoo’s secretary leaned in closer. "What should we do, sir?"

For a moment, Wonwoo said nothing, his eyes fixed on you. You were completely unaware of the storm brewing around you, laughing and chatting with the students during the break. That carefree smile made his stomach twist.

"We’re facing an internal issue," the producer announced suddenly, his voice carrying across the set. "Let’s call it a day. We’ll reschedule once this matter is resolved."

The cast and crew exchanged confused glances, murmurs rippling through the set. You turned to look, your brow furrowing at the sudden decision. But one by one, everyone began to pack up their equipment and bid each other goodbye, leaving the scene scattered with uncertainty.

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched as he stalked toward the exit, his secretary trailing behind him. Anger simmered beneath his composed exterior, and his usually calm demeanor was replaced with an edge of frustration.

"Cancel the rest of my day," he barked at his secretary without looking back.

"Sir—" he began hesitantly, unsure how to proceed.

"Just cancel it," he snapped, his tone sharper than usual.

As he stepped into the car, Wonwoo slammed the door shut, his fists clenching on his lap. The driver cast a wary glance in the rearview mirror before silently starting the engine.

Wonwoo stared straight ahead, his mind swirling with questions and accusations. He didn’t know who to blame—was it you for not telling him about this mess? Was it himself for thinking things between you could finally settle? Or was it the faceless person behind this rumour?

The image of you laughing with the students earlier flashed in his mind, your carefree expression so out of place in the chaos now unfolding. He felt a pang of guilt for walking away without saying anything, but his anger was louder than his regret.

"She didn’t even know," he thought bitterly. "And I still left without a word."

The silence in the car was heavy, broken only by the sound of the tires on the road. Wonwoo refused to look at his phone or even acknowledge the world outside the vehicle. For now, he let the anger consume him, unsure of where it would take him next.

*

You spent the day trapped in a whirlwind of complicated emotions. The producer and his assistant had immediately pulled you aside, sliding the damning article across the table. The moment your eyes skimmed the headline, your heart sank.

So, this is how it ends?

“Is it true, Y/n?” the producer asked, his voice tense but steady.

Your breath hitched as you forced yourself to read the article again—every word, every comment, every accusation. It all stared back at you, cruel and unrelenting. The headline screamed louder in your mind than any voice in the room.

“We can’t continue the show, Y/n. You know how critical this project is for us and for N-Jeen. Having your name associated with this... it’s the last thing we need,” the producer said, his tone tinged with regret but firm.

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words crashing down on you. Of course, you understood. How could you not?

“It’s true,” you murmured, barely audible.

Both men froze, exchanging uneasy glances before focusing on you again.

“It’s true that I received money from him,” you clarified, your voice trembling as you gestured toward the executive mentioned in the article.

The producer let out a weary sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, that’s all we need for now. We’ll discuss this with the production team and let you know how we’re proceeding.”

You nodded again, too numb to respond.

Later, the call from KBC News came, pulling you into yet another interrogation. They asked the same questions—relentless, prying, cold. But no matter how many ways they asked, you couldn’t bring yourself to say more.

They didn’t want the truth. They didn’t care about your side of the story. At the end of the day, they only wanted to see you fall.

By the time they summoned you to the office that afternoon, the thought of stepping inside filled you with dread. Would this meeting be about finding answers, or would it be the final nail in the coffin of everything you had worked so hard to build?

You struggled after everything fell apart. Life had been cruel to you, but the hardest blow came when your mother passed away in a tragic car accident. She was simply passing by when a speeding car lost control and crashed into her. Grieving alone, you felt the crushing weight of loss, with no one to lean on.

In the midst of your sorrow, Jiseok and his crew appeared, trying to make you smile, to pull you out of your misery. For a fleeting moment, you thought maybe they cared. But their kindness came with a hidden motive.

You didn’t realize the truth until that fateful night. You found out they had been betting on who would sleep with you first. The revelation hit you like a punch to the gut, and it didn’t stop there. That night, Jiseok tried to take things further—he got you drunk and pushed you to the edge of your limits.

You tried to escape, head pounding, your senses clouded by the alcohol. You don’t remember how it all unfolded, but you woke up in a hospital bed days later, disoriented and broken. The doctors said you’d been there for a week. The psychological scars, however, would last much longer. They sent you to a psychologist, and for months, you worked to piece yourself back together.

Life took an unexpected turn when you met Mr. Park, a director at EBS. He had noticed you at a university campus event and approached you with an offer. At first, you were skeptical, but when he said he wanted to meet with you, you knew this could be the break you had been praying for—a chance to pursue your dream of becoming a presenter, a dream you had long buried under the weight of your circumstances.

At dinner, Mr. Park offered to pay for your tuition and even helped you secure a spot at KBC. The only condition? Talking. Just talking.

Conversations with him were nothing like what people would imagine. There were no ulterior motives, no inappropriate behavior—just the words of a man who missed his late wife and longed for the daughter he never had. He said you resembled his wife in her youth, and he found comfort in your presence.

But you understood why the rumors spiraled. Who would believe your story? Who would believe that Mr. Park’s intentions were purely paternal? That all he wanted was someone to fill the void of a lost family?

In a world as harsh and unforgiving as the one you lived in, desperation was a language not everyone could understand. You and Mr. Park were kindred souls in your own way—two people who found solace in the simplest connection. Yet, the world would never see it that way.

There were moments when you couldn’t help but feel disgusted with yourself—disgusted with everything you had done to get to this point. No matter how much you tried to justify it, the weight of those choices hung heavy on you. You told yourself it was just you working harder than anyone else, sacrificing more, pushing further. But deep down, you knew the truth: you were desperate.

Not everyone understood what it meant to be this desperate—to fight tooth and nail just to survive, just to carve out a place for yourself in a world that never gave you a chance.

You thought your hard work, your sacrifices, would pay off. That they would see you as a Presenter—a voice, a face, someone who had earned her place. But now?

Now, they called you a Call Girl. Not a Presenter. Not a professional. Just a scandal waiting to be torn apart.

And no matter how much you had fought to rise above, that label felt like it would bury you alive.

*

Wonwoo realized he shouldn’t have been like this—caught up in legalities and anger. He should have been by your side, supporting you through everything. That thought brought him to your door, hand hovering over the doorbell. He pressed it once and waited, feeling the seconds stretch into an eternity. When no one came, he pressed it again, this time hearing your voice call out, “Wait!”

You opened the door moments later, wrapped in a towel with damp hair and wearing pajamas.

“Come in,” you said hurriedly, disappearing into the kitchen. The warm, aromatic scent of cooking greeted him as he stepped inside.

“You’re cooking? It’s almost midnight,” Wonwoo said, following the smell into the kitchen. He stopped to see a pot of chicken soup simmering on the stove, the rich aroma filling the air. It reminded him of the comfort food your mother used to make when times got tough. The thought tightened something in his chest.

“Go dry your hair,” Wonwoo said softly, stepping closer to tap your arm. “I’ll take care of this.”

You hesitated but eventually nodded, leaving the kitchen. Wonwoo turned off the stove and carefully moved the pot to the dining table, preparing the side dishes and scooping out two bowls of rice. Once everything was set, he sat down and texted his lawyer, his phone in hand when you returned to the room.

“I’m fine, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Wonwoo looked up as you sat down, a faint smile crossing your face as you opened the pot. The fragrant steam curled up into the air, and you let out a small sound of delight.

“It smells amazing,” you said, scooping some soup into your bowl.

Wonwoo watched as you took a bite, savoring the taste. For a moment, it felt like everything was normal.

“I’ll help you sue them,” Wonwoo said quietly, placing his arms on the table. “You don’t need to act fine with me.”

You glanced at him but shook your head. “No need. Mr. Park said he’ll handle it.”

Wonwoo frowned, his brows knitting together. “You mean it’s true? The rumors?”

You paused, setting your utensils down. “Yes. I took money from him. This apartment? He paid the down payment.”

Wonwoo stared at you, his mind racing. What could have pushed you to this? You never used to take money from anyone—not even from him. Back then, he had to secretly give money to your mother just to help you. Were you really that desperate?

“What happened to mom?” Wonwoo asked suddenly, his voice quieter now.

You froze, your hand hovering over your bowl. “I thought you were going to ask why I did it.”

“I’m not curious about that,” Wonwoo said firmly. “I know you have your reasons.”

There was a heavy silence before you finally spoke, your voice breaking the stillness. “It was a hit-and-run. I was in the middle of work when I got the call. By the time I reached the hospital… she was gone.”

Wonwoo exhaled slowly, the weight of your words sinking in. “And after that?” he asked gently.

“I moved,” you said, your tone detached, as if recalling a distant memory. “But Jiseok found me. He was there, but not really there. A lot happened after that—I ended up in the hospital, had regular visits to a psychiatrist, and went through court proceedings. Jiseok was sentenced to ten years.”

You bit your lip, pausing before continuing. “I told Mr. Park everything. He promised to make sure Jiseok wouldn’t bother me again, even after his release. Mr. Park… he cares for me like I’m his daughter.”

Wonwoo sighed, leaning back slightly. “So the rumors aren’t true.”

You chuckled humorlessly. “I told you—I did take the money.”

“But it wasn’t anything like what the media is claiming,” Wonwoo said, his voice tightening with anger.

You shrugged, your tone calm but tinged with bitterness. “It took me years to heal from what Jiseok did. I would never sell my body for money.”

Wonwoo clenched his fists under the table, anger surging through him—not at you, but at the world that had twisted your story into something it wasn’t. He wished he could have been there for you sooner, to stop this from ever happening.

“You have me now,” Wonwoo said softly, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of emotion.

You glanced at him briefly before turning your eyes back to your food. “But you’ll go,” you murmured. “You’ll have your own family one day.”

Wonwoo frowned, leaning closer. “You’re my family.”

You shook your head with a faint, sad smile. “We’re not kids anymore, Wonwoo. My mom was the one who took care of you, not me.”

“Then I’ll take care of you,” he said, his tone firm, almost defiant.

You chuckled bitterly, a sound devoid of joy. “It’s not as easy as that.”

Wonwoo leaned back slightly, studying you, the flicker of doubt and vulnerability in your eyes. “But you said you liked me,” he said quietly, almost as if testing the waters. “Do you… not like me anymore?”

You froze for a moment, the question hanging heavily in the air. Then, with a deep breath, you looked up at him. “I do,” you admitted, your voice soft but steady.

His heart leapt, but the words that followed stopped him in his tracks.

“Because of that… it’s not as easy as it used to be,” you continued, your eyes dropping to your hands. “Because I still like you. And I don’t know if it’s mutual or not.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with unspoken emotions. Wonwoo’s gaze softened as he processed your words, a mix of relief and guilt flashing across his face.

“It is,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s mutual.”

You looked at him, your breath hitching as his words sank in. But the weight of reality kept you grounded.

“Then you know it’s not simple,” you said. “Not after everything. Not with everything that’s happened.”

Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t waver, determination replacing the uncertainty. “It’s not simple,” he agreed. “But nothing worth it ever is.”

The two of you sat there in silence, the air between you heavy with the past and the possibilities of what could come next. For the first time in a long while, the tiniest glimmer of hope began to break through the storm clouds surrounding you.

*

Two years later, the air was filled with the gentle hum of a string quartet playing a soft melody as guests gathered in the garden of a picturesque villa nestled on a hillside. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the ceremony, making everything feel surreal.

Wonwoo adjusted his cufflinks nervously, standing at the altar. He looked every bit the dashing groom in his tailored navy suit, but his usually calm demeanor was tinged with impatience. Hansol, his best man, nudged him with a grin.

“She’s coming, relax,” Hansol teased. “You’ve waited for years; you can handle a few more minutes.”

Wonwoo glanced at him, rolling his eyes. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one getting married.”

Hansol chuckled but didn’t push further. Wonwoo’s gaze returned to the aisle, where the chatter of the guests softened into a hush as the first notes of the wedding march played.

And then, you appeared.

The world seemed to stop for Wonwoo. You walked down the aisle in a simple yet elegant gown, its soft fabric flowing effortlessly with each step. Your veil framed your face, but it was your smile—radiant and genuine—that captivated him most.

You caught his gaze, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you. Memories of the past flashed in your mind: the struggles, the heartbreak, the nights spent wondering if happiness was meant for you. But now, here you were, walking toward the man who had stood by you through it all.

Jisoo, Wonwoo's half brother, walked you down the aisle, his arm steady as he whispered, “You’ll be happy.” You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

When you reached the altar, Wonwoo stepped forward, his eyes never leaving yours. He extended a hand, and when you placed yours in his, it felt like everything in the world had fallen into place.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“And you look nervous,” you teased softly, earning a quiet laugh from him.

The officiant began, but neither of you could focus on the words. Your eyes were locked on each other, the vows exchanged feeling like an extension of the promises you’d made to each other in the quiet moments of the past two years.

“I promise to love you, protect you, and stand by your side no matter what,” Wonwoo said, his voice steady despite the tears glistening in his eyes.

“And I promise to trust you, support you, and never let the past define our future,” you replied, your voice trembling but firm.

When the officiant declared you husband and wife, the cheers from the guests were drowned out by the sound of your heart pounding as Wonwoo leaned in to kiss you. It was a kiss filled with relief, joy, and the promise of a new beginning.

As you walked back down the aisle hand in hand, laughter and petals filling the air, Wonwoo whispered, “See? Not simple, but worth it.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Worth it.”

The reception that followed was a lively celebration of your love, with speeches that had everyone laughing and crying in equal measure. Wonwoo danced with you under the stars, the twinkling lights above mirroring the warmth in his eyes as he held you close.

“Here’s to the rest of our lives,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, tears of happiness brimming in your eyes. “And to never giving up.”

The past may have shaped you, but together, you were ready to create a future filled with love, trust, and endless possibilities.

*

The soft evening light filtered through the living room windows as you sat cross-legged on the carpet, your small hands fiddling with one of Wonwoo's toy cars. Your mother was seated nearby, knitting a scarf while humming a soft tune. The atmosphere was warm, though a certain sadness lingered as you asked, “Why did Wonwoo’s parents leave him?”

Your mother paused for a moment, her knitting needles coming to a gentle halt. She looked at you with a thoughtful expression, carefully choosing her words. “It’s because adults sometimes have problems they don’t know how to fix. They get overwhelmed, and instead of solving things together, they make decisions that affect everyone. That’s why they left Wonwoo with us.”

You furrowed your brows, your small mind trying to understand something so complex. “But don’t you and Dad have problems too?”

Your mother smiled softly, nodding. “We do, Sweetheart. Every family has challenges. But having you helps us solve them in a better way. You remind us of what’s most important.”

You huffed in frustration, your tiny fists gripping the toy. “Wonwoo is a good kid, though! He even lets me borrow his toys. Why are his parents so mean to him?”

Your mother reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s why you should always be kind to Wonwoo. What do you think about him? Don’t you think he’d make a good brother?”

At that, your face lit up with excitement. “I like him! He’s like Dad! I want to marry him when I grow up!”

Your mother laughed, the sound light and melodic. “That’s sweet, my love, but marrying him will take a very long time. You have plenty of time to decide.”

Before you could protest, the front door swung open, and your father’s voice called out cheerfully, “We’re home!”

Wonwoo’s small voice chimed in, excitement evident in his tone. “Y/N! I got your strawberry milk!” He dashed into the room, his little legs carrying him swiftly as he held the carton out to you, his grin wide and proud.

You gasped in delight, jumping to your feet to accept it. “Thank you, Wonwoo! You’re the best!”

Your mother watched the two of you, her heart swelling at the sight. As she exchanged a warm glance with your father, who had followed Wonwoo into the room carrying grocery bags, she whispered to herself, “Maybe she wasn’t entirely wrong.”

Wonwoo beamed at you as you took a sip of the milk, your happiness evident. “See? I told Dad to get this one for you.”

“Wonwoo, you’re my favorite person ever!” you declared, earning a bashful smile from him.

Your mother chuckled, resuming her knitting. She couldn’t help but wonder if, years from now, you’d look back on this moment and smile, the seeds of a bond already deeply rooted.

The end.

[luveline]

How about Steve with a reader who already has a kid? Like they're in their twenties and she has maybe 2 or 3 year old. Her ex isn't in the picture so it's just her. Maybe the fic is Steve finally getting to meet readers son/ daughter. Maybe she has to leave their date earlier due to a babysitter problem and Steve just comes along with her and they spend the night together.

ty for requesting <3 mom!reader, 2k

“Try not to show fear,” you’re saying, your hand pulled tight against his. He savours the softness of it even as the concrete steps to your house force you apart. 

“I’m not scared.” 

“I’m just saying, Steve. Toddlers know when you’re scared.” 

“But I’m not scared.” Steve has handled worse than toddlers. If your kid is anything like you, this will be a walk in the park. 

You grin at him and give him one of your cute shrugs, though shyness he recognises from your first date stiffens your shoulders again as you open your front door. 

Your home is small. The first thing he notices is the cramped space walking in, the tight stairs, but the second thing he notices is the amount of life, photographs that deck the walls and colour everywhere, clothes folded and waiting to be taken upstairs, little shoes in a stand by an open bathroom door. 

“Melanie?” you call. “You okay?” 

Melanie appears in the door with a huge watery frown, who Steve assumes to be your young son smiling on her hip, unperturbed. “I’m so sorry.” 

She’d been incoherent on the phone, though eventually squeezed out that it was nothing wrong with Noah. Melanie’s boyfriend appears to have broken up with her over the phone. 

You scoop Noah off of his babysitter's hip, holding him with far more ease. He drops his face with affection to the curve of your bare shoulder. It’s a shame you and Steve had to come home —you’re wearing the nicest dress he’s ever seen. But not a shame, because Steve’s excited to meet the baby. 

You could’ve sent him home. He assumes this means some level of trust and, better, permanency. If all goes well, he might be able to ask you to go steady soon. He’d love to do it tonight. 

“Don’t worry, Melanie, you can’t help it if something bad happens, can you? I’m really sorry about your boyfriend. Do you need me to drive you home?” 

Melanie sniffles miserably. “No, that’s okay, I can drive. I’m sorry.” 

You rub her arm. “It’s okay, really. We were just gonna have dinner and head home.” 

Steve internalises his reaction to that tidbit well. Melanie gives him a sad smile and passes by, her shoes heavy and smacking as she leaves with a mumbled farewell. 

“She’s a little emotional,” you say sympathetically, before turning your attention to the sleepy kid on your shoulder. “Sorry, Noah, guess you’re stuck with mommy and her new friend. Do you want to say hi?” 

Noah lifts his head, following your hand where you point at Steve, a smile like yours on his lips. 

Steve genuinely isn’t scared of kids, he loves them, and he loves talking to them. “Hi, buddy. It’s nice to meet you.” 

You hum appreciatively. “Go on, say hi to Steve.” 

“Hi,” Noah says quietly. 

Your voice is different around the baby, not any less pretty but softer, and quieter. It has Steve lowering his own voice in an attempt to mimic you. “Hi, bud.” 

“He’s my new best friend,” you explain, ushering Steve closer, your hand touching gently to his shoulder. 

Noah’s even more your image now he’s closer, all your eyes and smile and brightness, but he’s got someone else’s nose, and he’s got a bad case of yawns. You laugh at his scrunched nose, wiping your thumb lightly over his bottom lip. “You want to go to bed, sweet boy?” you ask. 

“No… buppy.” 

“You want your buppy. Okay, I’ll get it for you.” You pull your arm through Steve’s. “Let’s go.” 

He laughs and goes happily. Your kitchen is empty compared to the hallway, it’s surprising, but then you open a cabinet for the aforementioned bubby and a couple of things come tumbling out. “Whoops,” you say, popping Noah down on the floor. “Can you put those away for me, please? Thank you.” 

Noah tries his best, but everything he puts in comes tumbling back out, earning a few high-pitched giggles. You crack the fridge open for a pint of cows milk. 

“He doesn’t have formula?” 

“No, you can give them whole milk after a year, but he doesn’t really need it anymore, it’s just to help him self-soothe at nighttime.” 

“Mom, I can’t do it,” Noah laughs. Steve thinks that great, that laughing. He could’ve had a tantrum (Steve wouldn’t blame him). 

Steve crouches down. “Can I help?” 

Noah gives Steve a smile, eyes squinting nearly entirely shut. “Yes.” 

“Okay, awesome. Looks like your mom needs more cabinets for all your stuff.” He starts to pick up the pieces. 

“I need a whole new house,” you say, filling the bottle about three quarters before sticking it in your microwave uncapped. You set the timer for fifteen seconds and prop your chin in your hand, elbow on the counter. Steve thinks it’s your best angle yet, your dress, your arms, the friendly smile you’re wearing that hasn’t once ebbed since the first date. It all gets his chest in a twist. 

He knows getting your baby to like him is make or break. And he really wants to give this a shot, you and him, you and Noah. He thinks you’d be good together. (Maybe he’s crazy and too forward, but you really are beautiful in your dress.) 

“How’s that?” he asks, closing the cabinet behind a tower of bottles and baby bowls.

“Perfect! Good job, baby,” Noah says, tapping Steve on the knee. 

Steve snorts. “Thank you.” 

“He’s going through a phase of saying everything I say,” you explain, yanking open the microwave to test the milk on the back of your hand. 

You deem the milk sufficiently warmed and offer Noah your hand, swiping a takeout menu from the fridge as you pass, and once again grabbing Steve by the arm to drag him along. He’s content to be dragged. You lead everyone into the living room, and he’s again surprised by how small it is. 

You catch his look. “Are you judging me, Harrington?” 

“What? No? Of course not.”

“Messing with you. There’s an extension out back, on the kitchen? That’s where I keep the rest of the toys.” You drop down onto the couch with a sigh. “Come here, babe, come cuddle with mommy.” 

If Noah weren’t in earshot, Steve would make a joke about how he hopes you aren’t talking to him. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t.

You lay back and Noah climbs up onto one side of you, his hands out ready for his bottle, while your arm stretches out for Steve. “Come ‘n’ sit.” 

Steve sits knee to knee with you. He’s not scared of kids, and he isn’t scared of you, either. He knows exactly what he wants, and he isn’t afraid to let you know it, taking your hand where it lies open on your thigh. 

“What were you gonna get?” you ask, nodding to the takeout menu. 

“I don’t know, I’ll have what you’re having,” Steve says. 

“What if you don’t like what I’m having?” 

“I’ll learn.” 

You tip your chin up at him, beaming. “Yeah? What if I like something completely unamerican?” 

“I gotta learn sometime, right?” He squeezes your fingers nicely. 

“Well, my Noah likes everything.” You kiss Noah’s forehead, stealing his attention from his bottle, bright eyes tracing your face and then your hand where Steve is rubbing the back of it. 

“Then he can have some of everything.”

You and Steve share a loving smile. Smiles smiles smiles, everybody’s getting on, this is the best sixth date anyone’s ever had, best date full stop, though your fifth date was a close second. You and Steve had spent hours together in a park in the city eating picnic foods and soaking in the sun together, your nose brushing off of his ribs, his jacket balled up under your head. He’d kissed you twice that night when you finally, sorrily had to go home, and you’d said, Aw, I really like you, as you held hands on the stoop. He should’ve asked you then to give it a proper go, but now he’s met Noah he figures it’s as good a time as any. 

“Hey,” Steve begins, clearing his throat, “would you–”

“Woh!” Noah shouts around the teet of his bottle. It falls from his lips. “We wiw hands,” he garbles, a bunch of baby flavoured gibberish as he leans over your stomach to cover your hand where it’s held in Steve’s. “Mom!” 

“What, babe?” 

“My hand!” 

“You’re not jealous, are you?” you ask with a laugh. 

“Mom!” he says, slapping your hands insistently with his own. 

Steve loosens your fingers, leaving a gap between your palms. “Quick, bud, put your hand in.” 

Noah climbs onto your leg and presses his hand into the fold, though he grows annoyed at the weird fit, and immediately starts to sniffle. Steve winces, but you’re used to it. “Aw, don’t start the waterworks. Come on, what happened to sharing? We’re good sharers.” 

Steve lets go of your hand. He’s reluctant, sure, but he doesn’t wanna be on anyone’s bad side. Noah cries for a few seconds like he’s forgotten why he’s upset, but he sees your open palm and the cog finishes turning. 

“Hold mommy’s hand,” you say, wiggling your fingers. 

Noah thinks about it. He ends up on his side across your leg staring at you, then at Steve, who smiles at him cheerfully. “He’s so handsome,” Steve says. “He has your face. Guess that’s why you’re so handsome, huh?” He shakes his head at Noah gently. “‘Cos you got all your good looks from your mommy.”

“He knows what that means,” you preen, leaning down to speak closer to Noah’s ear. “Don’t you? You’re my handsome boy.” 

Noah puts his hand in Steve’s with another tinkling laugh. 

“Oh! I see how it is, you wanna be Steve’s friend too. Can’t let me have anything for myself, can you?” 

“No,” Noah says cheekily. 

Steve collects Noah’s little hand in his. “Good!” he says. “You should get everything you want, just like mom.”

“Think so?” you ask. 

Steve nods. 

You cover Noah’s eyes with your hand and move up to press a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “Like you?” you ask. 

Steve’s just stoked to have someone he likes actually like him back at the same level. Noah squirms away from your hand to squeeze Steve’s tighter. Two someones. 

“Like me,” he says, grinning. 

“Mommy, kiss!” Noah says urgently. “Kiss!” 

You pull your gaze from Steve’s. “Sorry, I’m sorry! Come here, baby, I’ll give you a kiss too. I guess I’m gonna be giving double the kisses I used to, my poor chapped lips.” You kiss kiss kiss Noah across the forehead. 

Steve flusters thinking about it, making a mental note to get you some chapstick. He’d go pretty crazy for a crown of kisses like that. 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Hair

Irene Paredes x Child!Reader

Summary: You help your Mami when she gets a red

You’ve travelled with Mami for once.

Mama is at home with your little brother Matteo but you’re not really worried.

You’re a good traveller. Mami says so because you were born when she used to play in France so you’re used to going back and forth between countries. You know how to amuse yourself by playing or doing your homework or your reading.

Mami says you’re very responsible.

Since coming home to Spain and to Barcelona, you’ve not travelled as much. You’ve stayed with Mama at home even though travelling and going on planes is much more interesting.

You don’t know why Mami decided you could come with her this time but you have and you’re happy.

Or you were happy until Mami got her red card.

You’re not quite sure what happened apart from the fact that her leg was too high.

You know all about high legs.

At Taekwondo, your teacher explains all about how head shots are very dangerous because the head is a very important part of your body and that’s why people wear caps to protect them during sparring.

You’re still kind of small (but growing all the time!) so you’re not allowed to do any head shots of your own. But you know they’re dangerous and you know Mami is not going to argue her card even if someone else will.

“Mami?”

“Go back to the bench, squirt,” Irene says as she breezes past you to the locker rooms.

When you were younger, that used to work but you’re nearly eight now and Mama says you’re moving under your own power so you think that means that Mami’s orders don’t work on your anymore.

“No!” You say stamping your foot right in the tunnel.

Irene scrubs a hand over her face as she turns around to face you. “I don’t have the patience to deal with a tantrum right now, squirt. Go back to the bench and finish watching.”

You stamp your foot again. “I’m not having a tantrum, you’re having a tantrum!”

Irene sighs. “If you come with me now, you’re not allowed back out. We stay in the locker room. But you can keep watching the match if you head back outside.”

Your foot goes again. “With you.”

You’d inherited her stubbornness, Irene notes. Her hair. Her eyes. The tight set of her jaw. And her stubbornness.

Irene holds her hand out for you. You take it.

You’re a different beast to your brother.

Matteo is still small, still practically a baby. She and Lucia had been worried about the age gap between you both. At nearly eight, you towered over him with your toys and your rambunctious nature.

You were not unlike Lucy and Keira’s (and increasingly Ona's) Pup but maybe a bit lower energy now that you’re gotten older. More disciplined is what Lucia would say, now that you’ve had your energy redirected into Taekwondo. Disciplined and strangely emotionally intelligent.

Irene supposes she should pat herself on the back with that. She’d never agreed with hitting kids even if it’s a little scuff on the back of the head to redirect them. No whacks, no spanks, no hits.

She talked your through your emotions and now that you were older, you were able to talk her through them too.

You hold her hand now as she walks back to the locker room.

“Mami, are we showering?”

“Aren’t you a bit too old to shower with me, squirt?” She teases, grabbing her toiletries and a towel. “You’re nearly eight now.”

You puff out your chest at the reminder. “I’m not going in with you! Just wanted to know.”

“I’m going to shower. You can take a shower if you want but you have to come into mine if you’re going to be washing your hair.”

You tug at the end of your braid.

Lucia likes your hair long and Irene has to admit that she does too.

You’d come out with a full head of hair, screaming and crying your arrival to the world as Irene panted from all the energy she’d spent pushing you out. Screaming, crying, with thick hair as you were gently rest on her chest.

Your hair had remained just as thick as then, growing quickly to the point that regular trips to get it cut were needed.

But washing it was always a challenge. Lots of shampoo. Lots of conditioner. Lots of time spent in the tub trying to get it all washed.

It’s part of the reason why it’s done in the morning too. You hate the hairdryer but you hate sleeping with wet hair even more so washing it is always done in the morning so it can air dry before bed.

“Wash my hair?” You ask and Irene nods.

“You’ll have to shower with me then if we’re washing your hair. Is that okay?”

You nod. “Uh-huh.”

“Alright, squirt. Let’s go.”

Irene’s original plan was to drown herself in the shower, to stay there until the match was over and she could finally face her teammates again. The red card was justified, she knows that but it doesn’t mean there isn’t still a bit of a sting.

She was happy to leave you on the bench, safe with the others so Irene could wash away her anger and resentment while you were occupied.

But now you’re here with her, asking to have your hair washed and looking up at her like you just know she needs something like this to keep occupied.

It’s an easy routine to get through, to lather her hands with shampoo and massage it into your scalp. To wash it all out before moving onto the conditioner.

Two rounds of conditioner and you look up at her with a smile.

“I can wash your hair now, Mami?” You ask and Irene laughs, pushing away the wet strands from your face.

“I think you’re a little small to be doing that, squirt.”

You puff out your cheeks. “Are you sure? I’ve definitely grown since Mama last measured me!” To demonstrate, you stretch up to your tiptoes and reach as high as you can.

“Maybe when you’re taller,” Irene says placidly,” Come on. Grab your towel and we’ll get out.”

Irene’s just gotten yours and her own clothes on by the time that everyone else has arrived.

“Whoa,” Jenni says as she comes in,” You’re dripping everywhere, squirt!”

Irene sighs as she turns around. “You should have seen just how wet it was earlier. Absolutely everywhere.”

“We can tell,” Codi snickers,” There’s a river to the showers.”

“I’ve braided it back again,” Irene offers up weakly as she watches Alexia crouch in front of you.

“You know you’ll have to sleep with that wet hair,” Alexia reminds you.

You giggle. “No, I won’t. We call Mama and Matteo tonight. Mama will see my hair. She won’t let Mami put me to bed with wet hair. She says it’s naughty.”

“Devious,” Alexia says approvingly.

You high five her and look back at Irene, who shakes her head fondly at you.

“We’ll be having words about your eversion to the hairdryer.” She wiggles her finger teasingly at you and you grin.

You stick your tongue out. “You have to talk to Mama first.”

[liiixsturniolos]

𝒮𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒹𝒶𝓎

chris sturniolo x reader!

(just fluff, use of 'baby', 'y/n')

♡ You are adamant about going to work, although you're in horrific crippling pain from cramps and back ache on your period. The triplets are NOT letting you leave. You're in for a cozy day inside instead.

Your eyes flutter open uncomfortably, you blink away your sleep, and try to sit up. Turning to your bedside, you pick up your phone wearily, missing it with your shaky hand the first time, and turn it on. The screen blinks "4AM." A rippling, aching pain is shooting through your lower stomach.

You sigh to yourself, "Fuck." as you lift yourself up from your cozy, warm bed and into the freezing bathroom to shower.

"Baby?" Chris knocks on the door worriedly, "Are you okay?" You shout a shaky reply from the shower, barely able to speak or stand up and wash yourself. The pain from your stomach was crippling.

Bursts and shoots of pain would linger for minutes on your lower abdomen, making you curl over in pain. You're yelping like an injured dog, Chris then bursts in to check on you. You stand there, curved over in the marble shower, groaning in agony as you attempt to stand straight and wash yourself.

"Let me help you, okay?" Chris asks, lifting up an eyebrow and beginning to remove his clothes. He slips into the shower and up next to you. You look up at him with sad, wide eyes. "Awh, I'm sorry baby." He tells you, as he cleans your back gently with some soap.

You breathe in vanilla scent of your shampoo, and for a second forget how bad the cramps are, focusing just on Chris' hands massaging through your hair. But of course the pain comes crashing back again eventually.

Chris jumps out of the shower first, bravely making himself freeze so he can lift a warm towel off of the rack for you.

He waits for you to step out of the shower and then wraps you up in it. You shiver and shuffle back to your shared bedroom. He gets himself changed, into a plain black t-shirt and his underwear. Then crawls immediately back to your bed next to you, to rub your shoulders with his hands and try to warm you up.

"Want me to get you some pyjamas out?" He asks softly.

"No, I'll need my work clothes." You respond. Putting on your bra.

"What?" He snaps back confused.

"I can't miss work." You tell him. Slinging the rest of your clothes.

"Of course you can, you can barely walk." He insists.

You slowly scrape yourself up from the bed. "I can walk." You mumble, limping over to the wardrobe.

"You're kidding me." He chuckles.

"Y/n, you are not going to work, you're in pain." He demands.

"I'll take some medicine, I'll feel better once I just get moving." You lie through your teeth. Exiting the room you some how climb your way upstairs and into the living room where Matt and Nick are. Flopping yourself down onto the couch.

"You don't look good y/n." Matt retorts.

"Yeah, I'm well aware." You say grumpily, with a pout on your face and a groan out in pain as your lower back starts to ache.

"Someone tell her she is not going to work today, the woman can barely walk from her cramps." Chris rolls his eyes.

"I'm going." You sigh.

"You definitely aren't y/n." Nick laughs.

"You guys don't make my decisions for me! I'm grown. I can go to work if I want to! Stay out of it!" You lash out, jumping up from the couch and attempting to storm away.

Until you realise this is stupid, you love your job but not this much. Standing up so fast made you realise how much pain you actually were in and how right the triplets were. You flunk back onto the couch, cramps practically stabbing your stomach. "Shit- nevermind." You cry, tears running down your face faster then you could try to stop them.

"C'mere baby, awh." Chris kisses your forehead, pulling you on top of his body, your head resting on his chest.

Matt gives you a gentle stroke on the arm, and Nick mutters an "I told you so." then fetches you your hot water bottle.

"Your gonna be jus' fine baby, its okay." Chris whispers, pushing stray hairs behind your ear and stroking your face with his thumb.

"Let's watch a movie, kay baby?"

"Mhm." You crack a small smile. He'll always make you feel better. You cuddle up closer to him, pulling the blanket over you both and breathing in the freshly washed smell of his wet hair, and his clean, soft shirt. You feel his heavy, slightly muscly arm wrap around you.

This one was dedicated to the bitches on their periods 🥲

I haven't written fluff in a while, so I thought it was due! :) I hope you liked this! <𝟑

taglist hoes: @matthewsroses @chrislilcumslvt @pvssychicken @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @sturniolo-fann @matts-myloverboy @emely9274 @sophand4n4 @uncannyguava @chrisfavoritewhore @certifiedstarrr

[fastandcarlos]

Little Interruptions : ̗̀➛ George Russell

summary: it's been a while since you and george got any alone time, however when that time arrives, you forget about the other little additions to your family who are around

You didn’t quite know where to look as George hovered over you, even after so many years together he found a way to make your heart race. Your eyes didn’t quite know where to look as a result of the close proximity between you both, resting your hands against his stomach. 

“How did I ever get so lucky?” George whispered to himself, “it’s been a while since we had a moment, just the two of us.” 

“It’s rare these days,” you chuckled, “fancy making the most of it?” 

You didn’t even need to ask George as he pressed a kiss to your lips. “I couldn’t think of any better way to spend my time. We might have to make it a quick one this time.” 

“You’re not as young as you once were Russell,” you teased, moving your hands to brush through his hair, “you sure you’ll be able to do it?” 

George’s eyebrows raised at your challenge, head shaking that you dared doubt him. “In that case sweetheart, allow me to remind you just why you fell in love with me in the first place.” 

“I’m not complaining,” you grinned, “it’s been a while since you reminded me of that, don’t you think?” 

George continued to scoff as you messed with him, a shrug of your shoulders following. “Trust me, by the time I’ve finished with you, you won’t be walking straight for the rest of the day.” 

“Challenge accepted,” you smirked, stretching upwards so that you could catch George’s lips with your own, teeth gently pulling against his bottom lip, allowing yourself to take control. 

As your lips parted, George briefly sat up and tossed his shirt down onto the floor, allowing you to take a moment to admire the definition in his arms that were either side of you. 

“Would it be the worst thing in the world if we made another baby?” George asked, watching as your head shook, your breath already starting to hitch as he spoke. 

“Let’s do it,” you chuckled, much to George’s delight. 

He took a moment to pull away from you, studying you closely. “It’s been a decade and I still count my lucky stars every day that I have someone like you in my life.” 

George gave himself a moment before kissing your lips one more time, slowly trailing along your neck, your chest, and down to your stomach, stopping just as he got to where your bottoms were. 

“Still just as good,” George spoke, beginning to pull your waistband down. 

Your body wriggled as you went to help George discard your bottoms, only to flinch and quickly pull them up again. Your bedroom door flew open as your daughter ran in. George scrambled back up and laid beside you, brushing his hands through his hair to try and appear composed. 

“Good morning,” she excitedly grinned, rushing around to your side of the bed, jumping up so that she could see you and George. 

You didn’t quite know how to react, your heart racing as you pulled the duvet back over your body, glancing to George with a helpless look in your eyes. 

“Sweetheart, it’s early,” George told her, “you should still be in bed sleeping.” 

Her head shook as she climbed over you to lay in between the two of you, completely unaware of the moment that she had managed to interrupt between you both. 

“I want to go downstairs and play, laying in bed is boring.” 

“Jesus,” George muttered underneath his breath, knowing exactly what he was going to end up doing.  

George sat himself up, hurrying your daughter out of the room, promising to be right down after her as he leant down and picked his shirt back up again. 

Once his shirt was on, George turned to look at you, neither of you quite knowing what to say. It was rare for you to feel awkward around George, but right now, all you wanted was the ground to swallow you up. 

George felt guilty as he looked at the nervous expression on your face, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the top of your head, silently assuring you not to worry. 

“Now I remember why we don’t have sex anymore,” you whispered across to him, “I dread to think what she could’ve walked in on George if she was any later.” 

“Don’t worry, she saw nothing, don’t worry about something like that.” 

Your head nodded, trusting George and knowing that somehow you had managed to react quick enough to save yourselves from scarring your daughter for life. 

“That doesn’t mean that I’m finished with you yet,” he warned you. 

“You’ve got no chance if you think we’re doing anything after that near miss.” 

George huffed at your stubborness, secretly confidently that he would manage to pull your strings and get his own way with you eventually though. 

“I’ll go and put something on the television,” he informed you, “take your time and come and join us whenever you’re ready, I’ll make sure that she’s entertained.” 

You smiled appreciatively across at George, burying your head into your pillow once he closed the door behind himself, wondering where it all went wrong for you both. 

As you got yourself dressed and ready for the day, you couldn’t remember the last time you and George were intimate together.  These days it was like you only recognised yourselves as parents, not the fun loving young adults that you once were. 

Once you were ready, you headed down the stairs to see George laid out on the sofa, your daughter sat on the floor with her eyes fixated on the screen, giggling away at the episode you were sure she had seen several times. You moved to where George was, sitting yourself down in the space that he tapped beside himself, inviting you to lay down next to him with his arm draped around your shoulders. 

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable earlier,” George whispered into your ear. 

Your head shook straight away, “you don’t need to be sorry, I just got panicked knowing that she walked in. You’re right though, we shouldn’t do nothing just because she’s around.” 

“We just need to be more careful, that’s it,” George encouraged. 

You hummed in agreement with you, neither of you wanted to lose the passion that you once had, even if your daughter was around. There was still plenty of time available for the two of you, you just needed to try and be better at finding it and making the most of it too. 

“I get that it’s scary, but I was serious earlier when I said about having another one,” George added, “she’s getting older and I’d love for us to complete our family now.” 

“I agree,” you smiled, resting against George’s chest. “We might just have to be a bit more selective about our opportunities to try and make a baby this time around compared to last time.” 

“I’m sure if we spoke to our families too they’d help us out,” George suggested, “I know we’re mum and dad, but they say it takes a village to raise a baby, don’t they?” 

Once again you hummed in agreement, “we’re not going to end up losing ourselves, are we? Not like those couples you see as they get older.” 

“No way, I love you too much anyway to ever be able to stay away from you.” 

“Good, because I love you too.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: You Falling Asleep

A/N: Not requested! I just thought it would be a cute idea! Requests are still open. Be sure to read my rules in the pinned post :) Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Butcher didn't want anyone visiting him in the hospital, but you weren't taking no for an answer. He'd been sleeping on and off, but when he work up again, you were asleep. Curled into a ball in one of the visitor chairs. You looked uncomfortable and cramped, but your expression was that of relief. For a little while you weren't worried about the state of the world or the future or his health. He knows you haven't been getting enough sleep. That didn't really matter when it felt like the world was ending every other day. When the nurses come in he makes sure to warn them. He couldn't be the cause of your fears and the one to wake you up. Someone brought a blanket and he gently placed it over you. He watched you, taking in this moment. You were finally relaxed. He knew you'd only done this because you were completely exhausted, you could barely keep your eyes open. It hurt him to know that he was a big reason why you couldn't eat or sleep or take care of yourself. He never meant to hurt you like this.

Hughie notices you can barely keep your eyes open. After that night at Tek Knights, you haven't been sleeping very well. You'd been so scared, so sure you were going to die with five new holes punctured into your body. You woke up from nightmares gasping for air, checking your skin for holes, afraid you were still in the sex dungeon. That you never got out. He's not sure how to talk to you about it and the guilt eats him alive. You and him are going through his files on Neuman when your head starts to fall only for you to startle awake. He insists you take a nap in his bed. You're reluctant, but you're so exhausted you eventually give in. He doesn't shut the door completely, wanting to be there if you have another nightmare. It's the least he can do.

Annie insists she'll stay awake for the both of you. The shape shifter captured you both. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. They ended up drugging the both of you. They switched between your two identities, tearing off their skin, taking your memories as well as your faces. Annie can see just how tired you are. Your skin is raw and you've run out of tears. She doesn't hold it against you. She fights against the chains quietly, hearing your breathing turn shallow. She would find a way out of this. She would get you out of this. You'd feel better after getting a good night's sleep. You weren't a Supe. You didn't have the abilities she had. And yet, she couldn't get them to work. She cursed herself for not protecting you, not saving you, not being a good enough Supe. She was grateful you weren't awake to see her fall apart like this.

M.M. does everything in his power not to wake you. You fell asleep on a surveillance mission in the van. You'd gotten so quiet, he felt like he was talking to himself. When he looked over, putting the binoculars down, you were curled in a ball in the passenger seat, fast asleep. He knows you haven't been sleeping well. If it's not the nightmares, it's the fear, the worrying. You recently admitted you'd kept a loaded gun where you could easily reach just in case. You were petrified something terrible would happen if you relaxed even a little, if you let your guard down. You needed this. He turns the engine off and puts his coat over you. He would've loved being able to talk about your heightened stress and anxiety, ways to cope, but this was a lot better. He hoped you'd feel safer, calmer after you woke up.

Frenchie freaks out a little internally. He thought you were dead. Your head was resting in your folded arms on your desk. Once he saw your body rise and fall with your breathing, he realized you weren't knocked out or dead. You were asleep. He thinks it's a little funny after getting over his initial panic. You've been working really hard lately. He wasn't sure how much sleep you were getting, if you were getting any at all. When the others walked in, bickering and laughing, he motions for them to be quiet. You needed this. Everyone whispers, going their separate ways. Frenchie turns down the lights, leaving a lamp on so that you're not totally in the dark. He wants you to rest as long as possible. You've been giving everything to this job, this cause, lately. You needed a lot more rest than this.

Kimiko knew you'd been having nightmares. It wasn't a secret. You confided in her one night that you haven't been sleeping well. Every time you close your eyes, you see Homelander. You feel his lasers slice through you until you're two halves. He's not just angry or upset, he's furious. You can't escape him. You two are hanging out when she notices you can't keep your eyes open. She tells you to lay down with your head on her lap. You laugh it off, but she's serious. She rubs circles between your shoulder blades, trying to ease you to sleep. When she notices your eyes are closed she doesn't stop. It brings her a lot of ease and relief knowing she can help you, at least a little. If you have another nightmare, if you face Homelander alone again, she'll be there when you wake up. She'll be there.

Bonus! Homelander either let's you sleep or orders you out of the room. If he likes you, he might warn the others to shut the fuck up. He'd move your meeting to another time and simply let you be. He might check on you every so often and when he sees you stirring he would gently wake you up, walk you to your room where you can sleep in a real bed instead of holding your head up in the board room. If he doesn't like you, he yells and berates and is this close to firing you before he realizes The Seven and Vought need you for your powers. You can apologize all you want, he won't listen. Either way you're completely embarrassed. You've just been so busy lately, it's been hard to fall asleep with everything going on.

[pedroscurls]

you put a spell on me (one-shot)

summary: hugh attends a masquerade-themed party and you capture his attention the moment you step into the building. pairing: hugh jackman x fem! reader content warnings: smut (18+, mdni), fingering, oral - m receiving, multiple orgasms (from reader), missionary (legs over hugh’s shoulders obvi), doggy style, cowgirl, light spanking, unprotected p in v sex (be safe folks!), creampie , no use of y/n. word count: 5.2k a/n: so after all the shit that’s happened in the last twenty four hours, I just needed to write something and Hugh’s most recent post is the inspiration of this story. song lyrics are in italics btw. hope you all enjoy! this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. song: you put a spell on me by austin giorgio

A masquerade ball. 

Hugh was speaking with Ryan and Blake when someone caught the corner of his eye. Turning to look in your direction, he feels his breath catch in his throat at the sight of you descending the stairs to the main dance floor. 

Everyone else in this ballroom was either dressed in tones of black, white, and gold, but you… the color of your deep wine red dress adds just the right amount of color to this room. He can’t help but let his eyes take in your frame - the gown trails behind you so elegantly and serene as you walk, an a-line cut with a slit that reveals your leg, an empire waist that clings to every curve, and the slightly puffy sleeves of your dress makes you look so angelic. When you turn slightly, he takes note of the open back as well, biting his lower lip. 

There’s a familiarity to you, that maybe he’s seen you before, maybe even talked to you before too. Hugh watches your eyes sweep the area and when your eyes meet his, he lets the corner of his lips turn upwards and then he sees you bite your lower lip, returning his smile with one of your own. 

But you’re wearing a masquerade mask, just like he is, just like everyone else in this room is. He can’t tell if he knows you, can’t decide if he should just go up to you and strike up a conversation because if he could hear your voice, it’ll at least give him some idea of who you might be. 

Hugh has to peel his eyes away from you for a moment, turning his attention back to Ryan who’s staring at him with a big grin. 

“What?” Hugh asks, bringing a hand up to adjust the mask on his face. 

“You gonna talk to her?” 

“I don’t know her,” Hugh admits. “Or at least I don’t think I do.” 

“Well, go and find out.” Blake says with a smile, gently nudging him with her arm. 

“Yeah?” Hugh asks. “You think it won’t be awkward?” 

“Well, what was awkward was watching you stare at her like you wanted something, if you get what I mean,” Ryan teases. 

Hugh rolls his eyes and lets out a quiet chuckle. He runs a hand through his hair and then straightens out his bow tie as he nods at Ryan and Blake before he leaves the table in search of you. 

Hugh scans the entire room, trying to catch a glimpse of your red dress in the sea of black, white and gold, but he can’t seem to find you. He places his hands in his pockets as he continues to walk casually throughout the room, stopping every now and then to talk with someone he knows. Even in the midst of the conversations, Hugh’s eyes still search for you. 

Just one glimpse, he tells himself. Hugh just needs to see the color of your dress and then he’ll be able to get to you. 

He excuses himself from another conversation and then decides to walk towards the bar. Hugh sighs to himself, not having found you since you first stepped into the building. He takes the champagne glass from the bartender and then turns his gaze back to the entire room. Very briefly, does he see a glimpse of your smile. His eyes move lower and notices the color of your dress. 

It’s you, finally. 

Taking a deep breath, Hugh takes another glass of champagne and walks in your direction. It takes less than ten seconds to get to you, the person you had been talking to leaving you alone conveniently as he moves to stand next to you. 

“Refill?” Hugh asks quietly, handing you the glass of champagne. 

You smile up at him and Hugh feels his heart race even faster. You don’t say anything, instead you just give him a thankful nod and take the glass of champagne from him, your fingers brushing against his. 

“I’m Hugh,” he says with a small smile. 

“I know,” you finally tell him. 

Your voice is quiet and he can’t tell if he’s heard it before, so he leans in closer. Hugh can hear your breath hitch and it gives him just the right amount of confidence to ask you a question. 

“And you? What’s your name?” 

You lift the glass of champagne to your lips and take a small sip. “Well, what’s the fun in that if I just tell you,” you tease, whispering quietly. 

Hugh smiles and pulls back to look down at you. All of a sudden, no one else in this room matters but you. Everyone fades into the background and all he can see is you. 

“Okay,” he chuckles. “Well, do we know each other? Have we met before?” 

“We’ve met before, yes.” 

Hugh bites the inside of his cheek but he can’t focus. He just wants to reach out and slowly lift the mask from your eyes so he can get a clear view of who you are. 

“Have we worked together?” Hugh asks. 

“I think I should be offended that you can’t tell who I am,” you laugh quietly. 

Your laugh. The way your smile lights up your entire face. There’s that sense of familiarity all over again and it’s a fleeting moment where he suddenly realizes where he knows you from. The after party for Deadpool & Wolverine. He remembered leaving that night with a huge smile on his face after spending the entire night talking with you. 

That was months ago and while you two have had brief conversations between then and now through social media, neither of you ever tried to pursue each other. Though, there was an obvious attraction, an obvious pull that you felt towards one another. 

Hugh doesn’t ask anymore questions about you, but instead he watches you finish your glass of champagne. He smiles to himself and finishes his own glass before he takes yours and sets both glasses down on a nearby table. 

“Would you like to dance?” Hugh asks, large hand extending out for you. 

Gently, you place your hand in his and nod, stepping closer to him. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Hugh smiles to himself and leads you to the dance floor, his free hand moving to rest on your lower back. He feels your other hand come to rest on his shoulder as he’s careful not to step on the ends of your dress. Even under the shadows of the dance floor, Hugh can see you so clearly. 

you put a spell on me

I’m losing my mind 

As the song begins, Hugh sways with you, hand splaying on your lower back as he feels your skin underneath his fingertips. He bites his lower lip, staring into your eyes through his own mask. He feels a bit at ease with the mask, like everyone else in the room won’t be focusing on the two of you and how you’re both becoming increasingly closer. 

you better stop things 

it’s a matter of time 

You can feel his fingertips run lightly along your back as his eyes remain locked on yours. Since meeting him, Hugh had occupied your thoughts and the brief conversations you had with him always left you yearning for more. It was easy to talk to him; it felt so natural and he always made you laugh. 

Hugh pulls you flush against him, your body pressing firmly against his as the song continues. 

before I hunt you down 

grab your chin

and kiss your lips 

Your eyes move to his lips, biting down on your lower lip in anticipation. The tension between the both of you thickens and your hand on his shoulder moves to rest on his chest, the muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt tensing and flexing at your touch. 

you bring me back

I lay you down 

and grab your hips 

Hugh then drops your hand and moves both of his own to rest on your hips, gripping them tightly as he lowers his head to press his forehead lightly against yours. Quietly, almost above a whisper, Hugh finally says your name with a cheeky grin on his lips. 

“Y–You figured it out,” you say. 

“Knew it the minute you smiled at me,” Hugh replies. 

As you continue to sway on the dance floor with him, your own hands move to wrap around his neck, linking your fingers together to rest at the nape of his neck. 

I put a spell on you 

and now you’re mine 

I’ve got a hold on you 

at least for the night 

“Do you wanna get out of here?” You ask him hesitantly, looking into his eyes hopefully. 

Hugh nods instantly. “Yes,” he answers. 

—

When you finally get to his penthouse, you walk inside and look around, still wearing your mask. You gasp quietly when you feel his strong hands on your hips, turning you around to face him. He slowly lifts his mask off and away from his face, his hazel eyes now glimmering with excitement. 

He’s so handsome, so beautiful and breathtaking. Hugh then reaches up to slowly lift the mask away from your face, eyes gazing directly into your own once he removes it completely. He feels his heart race faster again at the sight of you. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers. 

“Hugh?” You ask, hand coming up to gently run along the lapel of his white suit jacket. 

“Yes, love?” 

“Kiss me, please.” 

Hugh nods and then leans in to press his lips firmly against your own. His hand moved to cup your cheek, fingers splaying against the side of your neck. Your own hands move to the lapels of his white suit jacket, gripping it lightly as you begin to move your lips with his own. You’ve imagined this so many times, but you never thought that it would feel this perfect. 

His free hand moves to rest on your hip, rubbing his thumb against the fabric of your dress. Hugh darts his tongue out to tease your lips and when you let out a gasp, his tongue slides in your mouth to meet your own. The grip around his jacket tightens further and you feel a familiar throbbing between your legs, your wetness now staining the panties you have on. 

Hugh pulls away from the kiss momentarily to look down at you. You’ve occupied his mind since meeting you and the brief conversations you did share has always left him wondering if this could be more. He didn’t want to push this, push you, into something that wouldn’t become anything but the moment he knew it was you, Hugh realized he wanted you. Bad. 

He’s staring into your eyes, searching for any doubt in your features. Hugh drops his hand to rest on the side of your neck, thumb now brushing against your collarbone. “Tell me…” he sighs. “Tell me I’m not the only one that feels something here.” 

“You’re not,” you admit. “I’ve been– Since the night of the party, I kind of expected you to ask me out or…” you feel the heat in your cheeks rise and you bite your lower lip. “I thought maybe I had just imagined it.”

The hand on your hip moves to your back, fingertips grazing your skin as he dips it lower and lower beneath the fabric of your dress. “I didn’t want to scare you away,” he confesses. 

“I don’t think you ever could.” You move your hands up his chest and slowly undo his bow tie, biting your lower lip in anticipation. 

“And if we do this?” Hugh asks, hopefully. 

“Well, if we do this,” you say quietly, your fingers slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt. “It’s not going to be just a one time thing… but if you want it to be a one time thing, then we should probably establish–”

Hugh shakes his head and interjects, “it’s not going to be a one time thing.” 

You smile up at him, your fingertips grazing the exposed skin on his chest as you continue to unbutton his shirt. “Good. Take me to your room?”

“Yes,” Hugh breathes out. He steps back and away from you, taking your hand in his and leading you to his main bedroom upstairs. You don’t even have time to look around, to get acquainted with his personal space that he allowed you to get a glimpse of because the moment you step inside, Hugh gently sets you on the edge of his large mattress. 

You watch him get rid of his bow tie and white jacket, discarding it on the floor. You’re about to reach down to remove your heels, but Hugh drops to his knees in front of you, taking one foot to slide the heel off. You clear your throat, hands resting on the edges of the mattress as Hugh proceeds to your other foot to remove your heel. Slowly, he lifts the ends of your dress to reveal more of your legs, his fingertips hovering lightly over you.

Once your dress bunches up at the waist and he gets a clear view of your matching red lace thong, he has to reach down to squeeze his throbbing erection. Hugh leans in and presses soft kisses on your inner thigh, the stubble of his beard and his sideburns grazing your skin and causing a shiver to run through your body. 

Hugh stares up at you, eyes silently asking for permission. When he sees you nod, Hugh moves further between your legs, his nose brushing against your clothed sex. It causes a gasp to escape your lips, eyes falling shut as nudges you with the bridge of his nose. 

“Hugh,” you whimper. “Please, baby…”

Hugh smirks and pulls away to look up at you. He stands up – albeit with protest from you – and takes your hand. Once you’re standing in front of him, he reaches for the zipper on the side of your dress and lowers it until the dress becomes loose around your frame. He feels your hands come back up to finish the job of unbuttoning his shirt and once it’s fully unbuttoned, you push it off his shoulders and the shirt drops to the floor. He’s now completely shirtless and your eyes deviate to his strong and chiseled chest. You lean in and gently nip along his collarbone, hands coming up to graze his abdomen and up his chest. 

Hugh lets out a quiet moan at your touch. Slowly, he takes your hands and presses a soft kiss on your knuckles before he reaches out to pull down your dress. Once it pools around your ankles, he feels his breath catch in his throat yet again. You’re standing in front of him in a deep red lace bra and matching thong set. 

“You’re breathtaking,” he compliments. “Fuck,” he adds. 

Hugh has always looked at you like the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, has always given you his undivided attention, and right now is no different. You’d usually be very conscious about your body, about how you look, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel very confident and secure in your skin. 

“I think it’s only fair we take these off, huh?” You say, hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You can see his obvious bulge from beneath his slacks, can see the outline of him and you feel only slightly nervous because he looks big. At least, bigger than you’ve ever had before. 

Hugh nods and then undoes his pants, quickly stepping out of them as he kicks his shoes off. He’s wearing black boxer briefs and you slowly reach out to rest your palm over him, his girth and size not a match for your hand. You’re tugging on his boxers, tugging on the fabric to pull it away from him, but Hugh shakes his head and wraps his arms around your waist instead. 

“Gotta see you first, baby,” he whispers, lips grazing your jawline. Then, Hugh sets you on the middle of his bed, biting his lower lip at the sight of you all splayed out for him. He quickly moves to settle himself between your legs, making sure to press himself against you. When he feels you roll your hips, Hugh lets out a groan. 

Hugh reaches around you and unclasps your bra, pulling it slowly away from your body. He tosses it over his shoulder, eyes moving to your now exposed breasts and he pushes further into you. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your thong, pulling it down your legs. “Gonna keep these,” he growls, bringing the fabric up to his nose and inhales your scent. 

You bite your lower lip and nod up at him, watching him set your panties on his nightstand. When you look back up at him, Hugh’s eyes scan every inch of your naked frame, almost like he’s committing it to memory. When he presses his clothed length against you, he feels your wetness stain the fabric of his briefs. 

Hugh slowly lowers himself further to press light kisses on your collarbone, lips moving further and further until he wraps his lips around your nipple. He groans to himself and uses his free hand to begin kneading your unattended breast. Hugh feels your hips continue to roll upwards into him and he’s throbbing so painfully beneath the fabric of his boxer briefs. He pulls back, flicking his tongue against your nipple before he moves to give the same attention to your other breast. 

“Oh god,” you whimper. Hugh smiles to himself and moves a hand between your legs, a finger slowly grazing your exposed sex. You’re already so wet, juices building and trickling down to his sheets. He slides the tip of his finger into your heat, growling against you as he feels your walls tighten around him, sucking him in. 

He slides his finger further into your heat, pulling away from your breast to look up at you. Hugh rests his forehead against your temple, whispering lowly in your ear. “You’re so wet, baby…” he smirks, nibbling at your earlobe as he begins to pump his finger in and out of your depths. 

Your hands move to his shoulders, gripping it tightly as your walls begin to tremble. When Hugh pushes another digit into you, your back arches and your fingernails dig into his skin. “Hugh!” You moan loudly, your head tossing back slightly against the mattress as you feel your walls begin to clench around his digits, your orgasm approaching faster than what you’re used to. 

Hugh grins to himself and quickens his pace. He can feel your juices around his fingers, can hear the squelching sounds of his fingers pumping into your wet heat. After a few more pumps, Hugh presses his fingers fully into, palm firmly against your bundle of nerves. 

“Come for me,” he growls into your ear. 

And on command, your walls clench further around him and a loud moan escapes your lips. You roll your hips against his hand, his palm providing the right amount of friction against your clit. When you slowly come down from your high, Hugh then pulls his hand away from you. He sees your arousal coat his fingers and he grins, bringing it to his lips and sucking them off his fingers. His eyes flutter at your taste and he leans back against his knees. 

“God, you taste good.” Hugh’s about to lower himself to get a taste of you directly through the source, but his eyes slightly widen when you sit up and gently push him onto his back. “Baby,” he says softly, seeing the dark gaze in your eyes. Hugh feels your hands tug down his briefs, his erected manhood now resting against his lower abdomen. 

“You made me come,” you tell him, licking your lower lip. “Already,” you continue. 

“Oh, you’re gonna come a few more times tonight before I’m done with you,” Hugh grins proudly. 

You don’t answer. Instead, you lie on your abdomen and grasp the base of length, wasting no time in wrapping your lips around his tip. Hugh lets out a loud groan in surprise, hand coming down to tangle itself in your hair. You whimper at the taste of him, at his girth stretching your mouth. He lifts his head slightly off the bed to look down at you, groaning at the sight of you. You smile at him – fucking smile with his cock in your mouth and it makes him go wild. Hugh rests his head back against the mattress, eyes fully shut tight when he feels you lower your mouth further onto him. 

Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t take and he knows that he can’t fucking come right now, knows that he doesn’t want to come in your mouth when he hasn’t even felt how you would feel wrapped around him. 

“Baby, baby, fuck,” he groans, gently pulling you away from his length. Hugh looks down at himself, seeing your saliva coating half of his size and when he looks up at you, you’re fucking smiling again. He rolls you onto your back and settles himself between your legs, grasping his base and running his tip along your throbbing sex. “As much as I loved the sight of you with my cock in your mouth,” he growls, eyes staring deeply into yours. “I still need to feel you.” 

Then, Hugh pushes his tip into you. He groans to himself, pushing his hips into you as he slides into your tight walls inch by inch. You’re so wet, so warm, so fucking tight. He rests his forearms at either side of your head, gently stroking your hair back and away from your face. He stares into your eyes, rolling his hips into you until he fills you to the hilt. 

“You feel good, baby,” Hugh whispers, lips brushing against yours. He feels your legs wrap around his waist, whimpering quietly as your eyes flutter when he pulls out to his tip only to thrust back into you slowly. “It’s taking a lot of restraint in me to not just…” he slams into you roughly, causing a loud moan to leave your lips. “Fuck.” 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, moving your lips to his jawline and neck. “Fuck me, Hugh… I can take it. I promise.” 

Like a switch turned on, Hugh pulls back and sits back on his knees. He brings your legs to drape over his strong shoulders as he slides back into you. He turns his head and kisses the inside of your calf gently, softly, as he delivers a sharp thrust into you. 

Hugh’s thrusts don’t falter, his skin slaps against yours as he picks up the pace. When he leans forward, your legs still over his shoulders, you feel him slide further into your depths. He rests his hands on the mattress, using it to ground him as he feels your walls slide along his throbbing length, gripping him so tight. 

You can feel the tightness begin to build, your walls beginning to clench once more as your orgasm looms closer and closer. You reach out to rest your hands on his chest, feeling like you can’t handle anymore. Your body is overly sensitive and with each drag of his hips, with each push he thrusts into you, is enough for your walls to tighten even further around his length. 

“Oh god,” you moan aloud. “Hugh!” 

Hugh groans at the sight of you, at the feel of your walls clenching and trembling around him. He slows his thrusts for a moment, placing your legs back to your side as he stares down at you. “That’s two,” he grins proudly. Hugh pulls out completely, looking down at his length to see it slick with your arousal. 

“It’s not a game,” you pant, moving to sit up with your legs still spread wide for him. 

Hugh smirks, reaching down and stroking himself slowly as his eyes take in your entire frame. He’s surprised that he’s held out this long, driven by his desire to get you to come at least one more time before he does. 

“Really? Because I’m kind of enjoying myself, baby.” 

You narrow your eyes and then slowly roll yourself into your abdomen. You bury your face against the softness of his pillow as you bring the sheet to cover your lower half. “Good, well I’m gonna get some sleep. You can fix that little problem yourself.” You bite your lower lip, knowing that Hugh’s not going to like that. When you look over your shoulder at him, you can see his lower lip between his teeth and he tugs the sheet down and away from your body. 

“Oh, we wanna be a tease, huh?” Hugh straddles your hips, caging you in as he brings his hand lightly down your ass. The sound of his palm connecting with your backside echoes throughout his room. You gasp loudly, fully surprised that you actually like it. “We like that, do we?” Hugh smirks and then spanks you once more, feeling you wiggle back into him. “Oh, baby, you’re naughty.” 

Then, he slides into you fully, this new position making you feel even tighter around him. You reach back, trying to push him away – your walls so sensitive with two orgasms already. Hugh clicks his tongue and grabs your hands and places them above your head, gripping your wrists firmly. He rolls his hips into you, eyes fluttering at the feel of you around him. 

“Hugh, baby, please–”

Hugh interrupts you with a harsh thrust, resting his chest firmly against your back as he whispers into your ear. “Tell me how it feels, love,” he pants, a groan leaving his lips. 

“Feels good,” you whimper, pushing back against him. “You’re so–” your breath catches in your throat when he pushes all the way into you, filling you so fully and deeply. He’s crowding your space, holding your wrists down, the weight of his body weight firmly pressing against yours, and his tip kissing your most inner parts… it’s enough for you to reach yet another orgasm. 

“Fuck, Hugh!”

Hugh releases your wrists to grab your hips and pull out of you abruptly. He turns you over and leans down to lap at your juices, eyes fluttering at your taste as his tongue helps you ride out your climax. Your hand immediately moves to his hair – what was once neatly done for tonight’s event now is a complete mess as you tug and pull. 

Hugh brings a hand to press his thumb firmly against your clit, feeling your entire body tremble and shake against him. 

“Hugh!” you moan loudly, back arching. You’re truly spent and he’s still so fucking hard for you. When he pulls away, he licks his lips and gently slaps your already-sensitive pussy, which causes a gasp to escape your lips. You’re breathing so heavily, chest raising as you stare at him with a dazed look on your face. 

“Three?” He smirks. 

“How are you still…” you bite your lip and see him move to lie down next to you, his hand dropping down to slowly begin to stroke himself. “Don’t you want to come?” 

Hugh growls lowly, eyes looking at you from top to bottom. “I do,” he answers. “But seeing you come is just as good.” 

You take a few deep breaths and then slowly move to straddle his waist. You take hold of his base, holding it firm in your hand. You keep your eyes locked on his and slowly lower yourself onto him, feeling his girth stretch you out once more. You know you won’t be able to last long, your entire body already on overdrive. When you slowly begin to lower yourself onto him, inch by inch, it surprises you at how deep he feels in this position. Your walls slide down each inch of his length and when you lower yourself completely, until you’re sitting firmly on his lap, your hands move to rest on his chest.

“So deep,” you whisper, slowly rolling your hips forward and backwards, the hair at his base providing just the right amount of friction against your clit. “Now, it’s your turn to come– Hugh!” 

He delivers a sharp thrust upwards, hands moving to grip your hips tightly and his fingertips dig into your flesh. Hugh licks his lower lip, staring up at you as you try your best to hold out another orgasm just so he can come. It’s cute, very considerate, but he needs one more out of you. Hugh isn’t usually like this, but there’s something about you that brings out this feral animal in him. 

One hand moves to grasp your breast, massaging and kneading it into his palm as his other keeps a tight hold on your hip. Hugh lets out a loud moan when he feels you begin to bounce along his length – all the way to his tip and back down completely. He’s close, he’s surprised he’s even held out this long with coming, but he knows he’s close and he can’t hold it anymore. 

“Baby–” Hugh groans, thumb brushing against your nipple as he sits up and wraps his arms around your waist. You continue to move along his length, your own hands moving to rest on his shoulders. In the time that he’s known you, you’ve always been so determined, especially when you put your mind on something and right now is no different. 

He feels you lean in to press your lips against his own. It’s a messy kiss, but fueled with so much passion, so much intensity. Hugh feels the tightness build and build in the pit of his stomach as his hands hold you firmly still, his hips stuttering upwards into you at an erratic pace. 

“Oh god,” he groans, pulling away from the kiss to bury his face against the side of your neck. Slowly, he feels your hips roll forwards and backwards, causing a shiver to run through his body. Hugh pulls back enough to look up at you and he sees that same fucking grin on your face. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he rolls you onto your back and slowly pulls out of you, seeing his release trickle out of you. 

He’s about to say something, but you interrupt him by reaching down to scoop some of his release onto your finger and lift it to your lips. Without hesitation, you suck the remnants of his release off your fingertip and maintain eye contact. 

“Minx,” he groans. 

You smile and lean up to kiss his cheek, resting your head against his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for the next few days,” you giggle. “I can’t believe you made me come three times.”

“Let’s aim for four next time,” Hugh grins.

“I don’t know if I can do four…” you laugh. 

“Oh, baby, I believe in you,” he winks and moves to hover above you again. Hugh’s hand comes up to rest on your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin lightly. “But before we do that, can I take you out on a real date?”

You nod and turn your head slightly to kiss the inside of his wrist. “Yes, Hugh.”

Hugh grins and then leans down to capture your lips in a slow, passionate kiss.

---

forever taglist: @haytchee @wolverigrl

[augustinewrites]

gojo, to no one’s surprise, is very comfortable with his new, self-proclaimed status as a dilf. 

because he’s well aware of the way people stared whenever he walked around with his eight month old daughter sitting snug against his chest in her mobile carrier. he knows the effect it always has when he would lift her little hand to wave at the enamoured strangers. because all babies are cute, sure. but he’s convinced that rina is the cutest.

you’d wanted to leave her with nanami for the day, concerned that she’d be too fussy, but gojo had insisted on bringing her with you. she was the ultimate bargaining chip, with her adorable blue eyes and huge noise cancelling headphones.

well, your bargaining chip’s nap was cut short when her father pulled her out of her car seat to tour the open house, her little face scrunching with the beginnings of a whine as satoru talks about crown moulding with the realtor. you reach into the diaper bag you’re carrying to pull out a container of banana puffs, handing them to him. 

he shakes a handful into his hand and shoves them in his mouth, talking through a mouthful about natural lighting.

“satoru, you’re dropping crumbs on her head,” you scold, taking a puff and placing it in her mouth yourself. her expression smooths and she gurgles happily, letting you rub your thumb over her round cheek.

laughing, he carefully sweeps the crumbs away as rina peeks up and sends him a gummy smile. he can’t help but beam back at her, brushing his lips against her forehead as he sways back and forth. 

the realtor excuses himself to take a call, leaving the three of you to explore the backyard. 

“this is nice,” your husband hums, glancing around. “a patio, lots of grass for rina to crawl around on– maybe even play with the dog…”

“we are not getting a dog,” you deadpan, reaching up to place rina’s little, flower-dotted hat atop her head. she immediately reaches up to grab at it, but satoru is quick to strap it under her chin. she whines, kicking her legs unhappily as satoru turns to you.

“so, now that we’ve seen the whole thing, what do you think?” he asks excitedly. if he had a tail, you’re sure it would be wagging. “a safe neighbourhood, four bedrooms with lots of space and natural light, new appliances. it checks all our boxes, babe.” 

“it’s pretty perfect,” you admit with a nod. “my only concern is that it’s a little far from the school. your family leave is up soon, and the commute through tokyo is crazy—”

“what if i didn’t go back full-time?” he says abruptly.

“what?”

“megumi’s doing better now,” he starts carefully. “and the students don’t really need us anymore. i’ll still swing by just to check up on everyone but,” he gently pulls rina from the carrier, holding her up so his smiling face is level with hers. “i’ve got someone else who needs me now. and i want to be around to watch her grow up in this house. one with lots of natural light and space to run around.”

he presses a kiss to each of her cheeks. she responds by kicking him in the chin, then grabbing a fistful of his hair. 

satoru is nothing if not adaptable (you’ve known this since the time megumi refused to eat anything that wasn’t orange and he still managed to feed the kid a balanced meal). he’s always able to be whatever people need him to be. whether it’s as a friend, a teacher, a boyfriend, or a father. 

and you’ve never seen him as…relaxed as he’s been these past few months. satoru is nothing if not adaptable, always rising early and returning late, going where he was needed when he was needed. but now he’s finally able to be where he wants, and he wants to take care of his family.

he seems to read your silence as hesitation. “i know it might be a little tough later on without my full-time salary, but–”

“but nothing,” you interrupt, smiling as you press a kiss to your daughter’s cheek, making her giggle. “the three of us will figure it out.”

“just the three of us?” he asks, shifting rina to one arm and wrapping the other around you. “what about a–”

“we are not getting a dog, satoru.”

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Crybaby Yandere Boyfriend when he thinks you’re cheating, Part 2

Nsfw ; AFAB

Quick recap : Crybaby boyfriend has you in his clutches after he sees you with another man at the cafe. He confronts you about it and now you’re here. 

“I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t think of anyone else.”

He quickly tugs your pants off, mouth watering at the sight of your beautiful thighs he loves to bite so much. 

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous. Only for me. Only for me…” He mutters that last part to himself, entranced by the way your eyes seem to pierce through his soul. 

Laying on his stomach, he laps at your cunt like he’s was a man in the desert, and your body is his only oasis. You smell divine, and your own moans are rivaled by the volume of his. You arch your back, your boyfriend grunting as you move your hips closer to his face with your hands clutching his hair. 

When you finally reach that mind-breaking orgasm, he looks as you with puppy-eyes, kissing you on the lips with a, “See, aren’t I good? No one can take care of you like I can. He’ll never be able to make you cum like I do.” 

You begin to ask what who he’s referring to but he wants none of it. He silences you with a bite to your neck, whispering in your ear.

“Don’t,” He whines, “I don’t wanna hear you praising anyone else but me.”

You feel your lower part ache with need, and when you reach out to him with so much want and love in your eyes, you swear you see his eyes start to water again. 

You beg, and he can do nothing else than take care of his sweetheart. 

Panties taken off, he gently places a hand on your stomach. He slides his hard member into your entrance, and both of you gasp at the feeling. 

He picks up a ravenous pace in no time, leaving you to melt in a state of bliss as you hear him chant, “Please don’t leave me, don’t leave me, I love you, don’t..” with each hard thrust. 

He pushes your legs back to the point that your tits are squished between your legs, encroaching the deepest part of your being with intense passion. Your pussy throbs in pleasure, lewd squelching noises doing little to overshadow your cries. 

When he starts playing with your clit, the overstimulation nearly breaks you. You’re about to cum again when your loverboy abruptly stops, leaving you empty and craving so much more. 

He looks at you with a ferocity in his eyes. “Tell me I’m the only one for you and I’ll help you finish. Say that you’re mine.”

He starts back up again with an agonizingly slow pace, “Come on, say it!” He coaxes. You relent with ease, and the relief on his features is palpable, so clear that you can’t help but feel bad for making him feel so insecure. Of course you love him. You have no problem telling him that, watching with a loving smile as he grins down back at you, eyes glassy.

“Thank you,” he says, and immediately moves to devour you again, pumping hard into you while you wrap your legs around him. He meets your lips in a sloppy kiss, saliva trailing between the two of you as his tongue explores the crevices of the mouth he loves so much. You tangle your tongue with his and his cock twitches in excitement.

“Fuck it, I want to breed you so bad, cover that sweet pussy in my cum. I wanna fill you up so much. Please baby, please? Let me cum in you.”

With him begging like that, how can you say no? You know he’s close because he grips you tighter, breath stuttering. He looks so cutely pleased when you say yes, and his thrusts become rough and haggard. Warmth fills your core as you hear him cry out, whining against your neck with a bite as he releases into you. 

Despite being finished, he refuses to let you go, opting to pull you into his chest as he rests his head atop yours. He sighs contentedly. 

Minutes pass in peace when you get a text message from a certain someone. 

“Oh look,” you cry, “It’s my sister! She says she’s in town with her boyfriend.

You show him a picture. Much to his shock, she’s your TWIN, smiling with the man he was sure he saw you with earlier in the cafe that day.

If he had any more tears to cry, it’d be of embarrassment.