#they have all the time in the world and they want to use it

[wooyoungiewritings]

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: Your husband of 8 years suggests an open marriage, and while he's out finding a new girlfriend, you feel like it's wrong to even glance in another man's direction. But it all changes when you download Tinder and match with Seonghwa. The man who's about to turn your world upside down. And he even happens to be your husband's boss.

Word count: 11.7K

Genre: Fluff, Rich Seonghwa, some angst, slow burn, a little smut (something almost happens, that's all I'm saying)

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), crying, betrayal, dry-humping, lmk if I missed anything!

PART 2

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way.

It’s been four months. Four months since you had the conversation with your husband about having an open marriage, because he wanted to try something new. The conversation is still taking up space in your mind like it was yesterday he sat you down on the couch in the house you share.

“Honey, you know I still love you,” He kept repeating after saying the possibly most shocking things you’ve ever heard. “I’m just afraid we’ll get tired of each other if we don’t try this.. We promised to be together forever, but aren’t you wondering what else is waiting for you out in the world?”

“No,” Is all you could say. A million questions run through your mind as he sits in front of you, kneeled down on his knee with your hands in his as you sit on the couch. “I married you because I want to be with you. And only you.” Your voice is shaky, trying to hold back the tears.

He notices the way you react and squeezes your hands in his.

“And I want to be with you, baby. I wanna be with you for the rest of my life, which is why I feel like this is the best we can do for now.” He tried explaining, but it didn’t help. 

“I just don’t understand? Are you not happy with me? Am I not satisfying you enough? Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?” The questions fly out of your mouth before you’re able to hold back. He quickly shakes his head, holding your hands even tighter. 

“No, no not at all. Look, I was just thinking we could do this for a year, maybe? A year where we are still married, but see other people in the meantime. When the year ends, we’ll be back to just us, and because we promised to stay together for the rest of our lives, a year won’t seem as much. This will be the only time we get to see other people for the rest of our lives, baby. It’s not a bad thing, it's only gonna strengthen our marriage in the end.” 

For some twisted reason, you saw his point. If you agreed to this, he would have a year to be with whoever he wanted, to get everything out of his system. So you agreed. You told him you agreed to do this for a year, but there had to be rules.

You had to tell the other person when you started seeing someone. No sleeping with a bunch of people, you have to tell the other person who you’re sleeping with (mostly for safety reasons). And NO one is allowed into the bedroom besides husband and wife.

And so this has been going on for four months now, and your husband is out with his girlfriend. Since this wasn’t against your deal, you couldn’t say much against it, so you just nodded and pretended to be okay. He started seeing her a week after the deal was made, a woman from his office, and the news broke your heart. He was barely home anymore, spending all of his time at her place.

The pain of hearing your husband of 8 years loving someone else was unbearable, and yet you couldn’t even get yourself to see someone else. It felt so wrong. 

It was a friday night and you’re sitting on your couch in your shared home, and your husband just left to have a weekend getaway with his girlfriend. You’re staring at the TV that has been going for hours with some bad reality TV-show, when you finally realize how sick you are of sitting home alone while your husband is out. You grab your phone and without thinking too much, you download Tinder. 

It wasn’t an app you’ve ever tried before, since your husband and you have been dating since you were teens and got married at an early age. But you quickly figured out the app and set up your profile. 

Swiping left and right on guys was more fun than you imagined, getting a few matches here and there. There were all different types of profiles on this app. Guys looking for serious relationships, guys looking for hookups, couples looking for a woman to add to their threesome. Men who opened with “hey sexy” or bios that included “I’m not looking for anything serious unless it’s with Sabrina Carpenter.”

So when his profile popped up, you hesitated.

His picture captures you immediately, and you’re taken back with his beauty. He was… breathtaking. But not in that overly filtered, red flag kind of way. There was warmth in his eyes, even in photos. A calm kind of confidence. One picture had him sitting at a piano, another laughing in the passenger seat of a car, sunlight washing over his face like it knew exactly where to land.

No shirtless mirror pics. No awkward drunk group-pictures. No fish.

“Park Seonghwa.” You read his name out loud. His bio was short. “Looking for something good. And maybe someone to watch bad TV with.”

You stared at his profile for a full two minutes before swiping right, mostly convinced it wouldn’t be a match anyway.

But then-

It’s a match!

Suddenly your heart starts to beat faster and you sit up straight on the couch while looking at your phone.

Did you just match him? Probably the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?

Your stomach did a weird little flip. You waited. Twenty minutes. An hour. Maybe he wasn’t the type to message first. Maybe he matched by accident. Or maybe-...

Park Seonghwa Are you watching something awful right now? Be honest.

You look at your screen for a few seconds before reacting. A smile spreads across your lips as you open his message and type back.

Me Love Mansion: Season 6. There’s a guy crying because no one likes his magic tricks.

You quickly see the dots that indicate he’s typing.

Park Seonghwa That sounds deeply tragic. And also like something I’d binge while pretending I hate it

Me You’re one of those people? “This show is terrible” but suddenly you’ve watched 8 episodes and you know everyone’s star sign.

While you wait for his answer, you enter his profile once again. You can’t help looking at his pictures, mesmerized by how beautiful this man is. You almost get a feeling of recognition while looking at him, like you’ve seen him on a poster or in an ad or something. His profile doesn’t inform about his occupation, but you’re sure he must be showing that face off somewhere. 

A new message pops up.

Park Seonghwa: I have a spreadsheet

You laughed out loud for the first time that night.

You: So what’s your favorite actually-good movie then?

Park Seonghwa: You’re asking a very serious question to someone who owns a full set of replica lightsabers

You: Oh, so you’re very serious about it

Park Seonghwa: Yes. Star Wars. All of it. Even the prequels. Especially the prequels. I said what I said

I’m at my third Star Wars movie of the day. The movies are over two hours each, so you can imagine how eventful my day is so far

You can’t help but smile while you type out your answer. 

Me As a person who doesn’t know much about the franchise, I can’t tell you whether I’m impressed or slightly worried. Maybe I should put on a Star Wars movie and give it a chance?

An answer ticks in a few seconds later.

Park Seonghwa If you do, watch “The Last Jedi”. I just started mine, we can watch it together but separately

You don’t know how a guy you’re only a few messages deep with has you convinced this is the best way to spend your night. You decide to play the movie and message him you’re watching it too. This is the most action you’ve gotten in months, but somehow it's the perfect way to start this journey of an open-relationship. 

Maybe.

The movie begins and Seonghwa introduces some of the characters as they show up on screen. You find yourself laughing at his messages, smiling and waiting for him to text you the next thing. A feeling you haven’t felt in years, despite being married to who you’re convinced is the love of your life. But you can already tell that Seonghwa is a completely different type of guy, and for once, you actually don’t feel alone in the house you share with your husband. 

The movie ends and you’re hundreds of messages deep.

Park Seonghwa Now that we’ve concluded that “The Last Jedi” is part of an amazing franchise but not at all the best movie, I wanna admit that I’ve never looked so much at my phone during a Star Wars movie. I feel like I’m cheating on my favorite series

The text makes you giggle and you’re quick to type your answer.

Me Despite enjoying the movie, I must admit that I didn’t see half of it because I was focused on my phone. But I’ll gladly give Star Wars another chance someday

You see the text bubble appear and then go away a few times, making you curious about what he’s about to say. 

Seonghwa: We could talk about the movie over dinner tomorrow?

You stare at your screen for what feels like forever, feeling like a teenager receiving a text from her crush. This overwhelming feeling Seonghwa leaves you is something completely new, but despite it being a new and slightly scary feeling, you can’t help but feel excited. And so your fingers start typing.

Me I’d love to! After arranging your upcoming date with Seonghwa, you decide to head to bed. You’re meeting him at a restaurant in the city tomorrow, Saturday. He offered to pick you up, but you’ve seen too many horror movies to give your address to a stranger before meeting them, so you came up with an excuse to meet him there. 

You get comfortable in bed before opening his profile once again to look at his pictures.

This man… wow.

But just like before, a feeling of recognition hits you and you study his pictures a bit more. You’re sure you would remember him if you had met him, because who would forget a face like that? But it doesn’t ring a bell.. 

You open a new tab on your phone and search for his name. Perhaps he has been in a show you’ve seen on tv, maybe on a poster somewhere. There’s no way this man isn’t showing off his looks somehow. 

His name pops up on your screen.

A gasp leaves your lips and you stare at him in awe. 

It can’t be him! No no no no no… 

The name, the face, him in a suit. Everything washes over you. You throw your phone away from you and bury your face in your pillow. 

In your mind, you’re getting transported to a specific night, one year ago. Your husband has your arm in his and you’re walking side by side in your finest attire. You’re laughing at something your husband's co-worker said, when you sense a powerful presence enter the circle at the company dinner at your husband’s job.

“Oh, I want to introduce you to someone,” Your husband says as he turns you towards the newest member of the group. “My boss, Park Seonghwa.”

You stare up at him, Seonghwa slightly taller than your husband. His gaze adverts to you as he reaches out his hand. But as you give him your hand, he doesn’t do a normal handshake. He gently takes your hand in his and sends you a warm smile. Something in his eyes makes you lose all concentration, as you’re lost in his beauty. 

And then it all made sense. You’ve thought these exact thoughts before. A year ago at the company dinner and again tonight. 

Everything in your mind is going 100 m/ph and you suddenly feel confused. Does he know you’re married to his employee? Does he remember you? You’re pretty sure he doesn’t, or else he would have said something. And now you’ve arranged a date with him. 

You grab your phone again, considering if you should cancel the dinner, but something in you stops that from happening. The words don't appear in your head when you try to get out of the situation, so you delete the nonsense you’ve written so far, and decide to take things as they come. You place your phone on your night stand and get comfortable under the covers, trying your best to fall asleep.

On a couch across town, Seonghwa is still looking at his phone, looking at the text-bubbles come and go. When it doesn’t result in a text from the woman he has been texting all night, he goes to look at your profile for the 29th time tonight. 

He didn’t expect much from Tinder.

Honestly, it had been a joke. A dare, technically. His assistant downloaded it on his phone one night after too many glasses of wine at a company dinner and said, “You need to date someone who doesn’t know what your net worth is.”

So fine. He swiped. Occasionally. Mostly out of boredom, sometimes out of curiosity. Everyone started blending together. Bios full of yoga poses, forced “entrepreneur” energy, one woman who said she manifested her future husband every morning through herbal tea and moon rituals.

But then he saw you.

He found himself leaning back against the cushions, phone in hand, grinning like an idiot as your replies came in. You weren't trying to be impressive. You were just herself. And that was more magnetic than anything he’d seen in months. He didn’t even realize he’d been texting for two straight hours until his phone buzzed with a calendar notification:

Dinner with Executive Team – 9 AM monday.

He groaned. Whatever. He’d been in back-to-back meetings all week. He could allow himself one night to just… feel normal. Human.

“What’s a woman like you doing here?” he’s asking himself with a smirk, scrolling through your pictures. 

He had planned to go to bed early, have a peaceful night and get up early tomorrow, but he’s been too fascinated by the woman on the other side of the app. The tug on his lips doesn’t go away as he gets up from the couch and decides to head to bed, already accepting that he won’t get up early tomorrow. 

But one thing is for sure.

He’s very satisfied with the way his night went.

***

Saturday arrives, and you find yourself in front of the restaurant you agreed to meet Seonghwa at. You haven’t had any contact since you arranged the date, besides the check-in he made earlier today to ask if you were still down for dinner.

You feel the nerves in your body when you open the door, not having felt this feeling since you started dating your husband. The restaurant is in an area of town you usually didn’t visit - it is more expensive than you are used to. But not spending money on dates with your husband, and only cooking food for one for the past four months has resulted in you having a bit more money than you usually do, so you could go big for one night and spend some money on a good restaurant. 

The restaurant has a dark design with marble and wooden interior. The light is dimmed and you notice couples occupying tables throughout the restaurant. 

This is actually happening. You are going on a date with him.

With Seonghwa. 

It suddenly hit you and once again, you starting to doubt if this was a good idea. You have come to the point where you wanted to date, but dating your husband’s boss seems like the next level. Will your husband be okay with this? Will Seonghwa be okay with this?

Suddenly feeling like your legs are about to give out, you turn around to head outside but you are instead met with a human wall. A set of hands grab your waist to steady you, making sure you won’t fall by the sudden collision. 

“Running away already?” The voice asks, darker than you remember but also soft with a small tease. You look up to see Seonghwa’s soft eyes, slightly covered by some dark pieces of hair. Being a few inches from his face, you can’t help but freeze to study how absolutely amazing he looks up close. 

His almost black eyes, bushy brows, how his upper lip looks slightly bigger than the other, the most perfect nose you’ve ever seen.. Everything is too perfect, you don't know how to react. 

The sudden realization that his hands are on your waist wakes you up, and you stand back up straight to take a step away from him and his undeniably stunning face. 

“Uhm, no I.. I mean, I- no. I didn’t..” Your struggle with words makes him chuckle and he seems to brush off your awkward first meeting quicker than you. 

“How about we find our table?” He asks with a smile, placing his hand on your back to lead you further into the restaurant. 

“Mh-hmm.” Is all you manage to get out, wanting to kick yourself in the head for almost walking out on this man. 

The restaurant is a rooftop spot. Quiet, upscale, city lights spilling in through the glass walls. A jazz trio played somewhere in the background, subtle and elegant. The staff seem to know him, your table is ready immediately, tucked in a quiet corner with a view of the city lights. He orders a bottle of wine without looking at the menu, his tone smooth and confident, and then turn all his attention to you.

“Tell me something,” he says, resting his chin on his hand, “How have you lived your entire life and last night was the first time you watched a Star Wars movie?”

You blink at him. “You start with the hard questions?”

He smile. “I like to skip the small talk.”

You giggle. And from there, the conversation goes rather smoothly. Then easier as the wine warms your chest and his eyes never stop watching you like you were the most interesting person in the world. He asks thoughtful questions. He doesn’t talk about himself unless you ask. And when you do, he’s vague, says he works in business, likes privacy, that his life isn’t all that exciting.

Which is a lie, you are sure.

This man radiates luxury. His watch alone could pay for your college loans, and he never once checked it. And then somewhere between the wine and the main course, it starts to gnaw at you. The weight of the secret you’re keeping. Or at least… the one you thought is yours alone.

You clear your throat, reaching for your glass again even though you didn’t really want another sip.

“I should tell you something.”

He tilts his head. “Are you okay?” he senses the way your behavior changes and tries meeting your eyes.

“Yeah,” your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, too nervous to break the truth that you know this man in front of you. “Or.. I don’t know, no, yes-no..” Your heart is beating fast. “Look, I’m sorry, but I feel like I have to be honest with you. I don’t want you to waste your time sitting here, and if you don’t feel comfortable after receiving this information I totally understand, so if you’re freaked out we can pretend this never happened and I won’t-..”

“Look,” Seonghwa places his hand over yours, totally calm, meeting your eyes. “Did you kill someone?”

“No!” You try keeping your voice down. Try.

“Do you need me to hide a body?”

“No!?”

“... Are we related?”

You tilt your head “No? I hope not…?”

“Then we’re good. I won’t be freaked out.” He shrugs, leans slightly back in his seat and sends you a smile as he picks up his glass.

You look at him, really look, and then just say it.

“You’re my husband’s boss.”

A beat. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just blinked once, slowly.

“Is that so?” he asked softly.

“I figured it out when I looked you up after we matched. I wasn’t… trying to snoop, I swear, I just got curious. And then I remembered you from the company dinner last year. Anyway, I wanted to say something in case it made this… weird for you.”

He smiles gently, setting down his glass. “It doesn’t.”

You blink. “Really?”

“I knew who you were the moment I saw your profile.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh.”

“But I still swiped right,” he adds, voice low, calm. “And I still wanted to meet you.”

“…Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you for a moment, and something in his gaze makes your skin heat. “Because I wanted the honor of inviting you out for dinner.” he says.

Your breath catches. You don’t know what to say to that, so you stay quiet, letting the words sit between you like warm embers.

“And now that we’re being honest,” he continues gently, “That little thing on your finger.” He points to the gold band with a small diamond around your finger, proving to everyone, including yourself, that you’re still in a marriage.

You give a small, helpless laugh. “Oh.. Yeah, it’s not what it looks like. Or maybe it is? I don’t think so, actually, I don’t know what this looks like, but I’m not doing anything I’m not supposed to do-...”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he says.

“No, I want to,” you reply, surprising yourself. “I need to.”

So you tell him. About the open marriage your husband suggested. About how you agreed, naively thinking it would be equal. About how he’d found someone in a matter of weeks while you’d sat at home, trying to convince yourself you weren’t just waiting. You watch Seonghwa carefully for a reaction. There is none, no judgment, no discomfort. Just a quiet focus that made you feel safer than you’d felt in months.

“But it’s actually a really good idea. I mean, we get the chance to see other people and do whatever we want, so we won’t cheat on each other later on,” you shrug, looking down at the wineglass instead of the piercing eyes in front of you. “It’s preventing us from hurting the other person in the end.” you say, finally. 

He sits quiet, just taking in your words. You can’t read his eyes, he just listens. But you don’t feel judged by the man in front of you. His eyes show too much warmth for you to be intimidated. 

“I don’t understand.” he finally says. 

“You know, if we date other people now, we won’t feel the need to do so in the future.” 

“No, I heard every word you said loud and clear,” he leaned forward in his chair, voice still soft. “I just don’t understand why he would need to.. you know.. date others when he has you.” 

Seonghwa was trying his best to not push. He could easily have said “I mean, if I was your husband, I wouldn’t want to see other people. I wouldn’t ever want another woman.” but he is still in the stage of getting to know you, doesn’t want to scare you away, and despite remembering you from the company dinner last year, he only remembers what impression you left him. A quick introduction and laughs shared in a circle of multiple people, but somehow his eyes kept drifting to you.

Your laugh, your dress, the way your eyes sparkled under the lights. It had stayed with Seonghwa for a year, so when he saw your profile on a dating app, he knew he had to shoot his shot. Unaware of what the circumstances are between you and your husband. 

But he doesn’t ask for more explanation. Instead, he shifts the conversation, just slightly, easing it toward lighter things, books, music, how you both secretly hate networking events.

And somehow, the night never felt heavy again. When dessert comes, some delicate French pastry you can’t pronounce, he insists you try the first bite. When your laugh returns, brighter this time, he smiles like that was the reward he’s been waiting for.

Later, as he walks you to your ride, you feel lighter. Like maybe it was okay to want something new. Someone new.

“I still want to see you again,” he says, standing beside the car door. His hand brushes your wrist, soft and brief. “If you want that too.”

You nod.

“I do.”

He opens the door for you, then leans down just enough to meet your eyes.

“Then let’s take our time.”

In the cab on the way home, you can’t stop smiling. You haven’t even finished closing the door behind you before your phone buzz.

Seonghwa: Text me when you’re home safe, yeah? No pressure, just want to know you’re good.

You smile into the hallway light. God, he’s that kind of man. You kick off your heels, phone still in hand, fingers already typing back.

You: Home. Warm. A little wine-dizzy but safe. Thank you for dinner.

Seonghwa: Thank you for giving me a chance. Sleep well xx

You sit on the edge of your bed for a moment longer than necessary, phone against your chest, still fully dressed. The night felt soft around the edges, like it wasn’t quite real. Like maybe you’d dreamed it. His smile, the way he listens to you like your words matter, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

And he knows. That was the wild part. He knows you’re married, to his employee, no less, and he still treats you with more care and curiosity than your own husband had in months. You let yourself fall back into bed, fully clothed, staring up at the ceiling with the ghost of his cologne still caught in your hair.

***

On this incredibly boring Monday, the rain started halfway through your meeting, and by the time you stepped outside, it had gone from a gentle drizzle to a full-on, cinematic downpour. You stand beneath the awning outside your building, arms crossed, watching as the other employees disappeared into warm cars and dry seats.

Your husband was supposed to pick you up. You agreed to that last week, so you texted him before you left, but no response. Not a word. That was twenty-five minutes ago. 

Your fingers tightens around your phone as you glance down the street for the fifth time. Just water streaking down your coat sleeve and your phone screen lighting up.

Not from him.

But from Seonghwa.

Seonghwa I debated texting you for ten minutes. This is me giving in. Hi.

You smile immediately, shoulders relaxing under your scarf as you type back.

You Ten minutes? I’m flattered. 

Three dots. Then:

Seonghwa Are you still at work or did you escape?

You exhale slowly, already smiling before your fingers move to reply.

You Currently trying to escape. But I’m waterlogged and standing under a leaky bus shelter.

A pause.

Seonghwa Do I want to know why you’re waiting for a bus in a rainstorm?

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to tell him, but because you did. And that felt… a little dangerous. But you type anyway.

You Husband said he’d pick me up after work. Then forgot.

You don’t know the reason why your husband didn’t pick you up today. But it was not the first time this has happened. Last time he was busy hanging out with his girlfriend, having his phone on silent. 

Three dots danced at the bottom of the screen for a long moment before his reply came in:

Seonghwa Tell me where you are

You don’t answer right away. Another bus pass, wrong line again, and your fingers ache from the cold.

You Seonghwa. I’m fine. It’s just a little rain

Seonghwa Sure. And I’m a little meteorologist. Tell me where you are

You bite your lip, watching as a bus rumbled past - not yours. 

You Seventh and Willow. But you don’t have to, it’s okay

Seonghwa I’m already in my car. Don’t argue with me while you’re catching pneumonia

Your lips curve in spite of yourself. You pulled your scarf tighter.

Seonghwa On my way. Five minutes. Don’t wander off or find a mysterious love interest in a bookstore while I’m driving

You spotted his car before you saw him.

It turns the corner slowly, headlights washing across the slick pavement, wipers dragging across the windshield in a steady rhythm. The passenger window rolls down just enough for him to lean towards it.

“Hey, get in,” he says, his tone easy and unaffected by the weather. “You look like you’ve been here a while.” 

You step forward, your boots making soft splashes in the puddles, and slide into the passenger seat. The warmth of the car is immediate, and you exhale, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders. The car hums quietly as Seonghwa drives through the rain-slicked streets. He’s keeping his eyes on the road, but every now and then, his gaze flickers over to you, the small, concerned crease in his brow visible in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice steady but soft. He’s not pushing, just checking in.

You nod, brushing your damp hair back and glancing out the window. The cold air from the rain has soaked through your coat, and your clothes cling to you uncomfortably. The heater in the car is doing its best, but you can still feel the chill.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your voice sounds a little too quiet. “Just... a little wet. Didn’t expect next time you’d see me, to be me looking like this.”

Seonghwa doesn't respond right away, but you catch the small shift in his demeanor, a brief, thoughtful silence. His hands grip the steering wheel lightly as he drives through the darkened streets, navigating without hurry.

“Do you want to stop somewhere?” he asks, keeping his tone casual, though you can sense the care behind it. “Grab something warm?”

You think about it for a second. A warm drink, maybe a cozy corner of some café, those were things you used to enjoy. But the idea of sitting in a café, dripping wet and freezing, doesn’t feel right tonight. It feels… forced. You want warmth, sure, but not from the outside world.

You glance at him, then back at the road ahead.

“Actually,” you start, “could we just... go to your place?” your words surprising yourself. “If it’s not too much, of course.”

Seonghwa blinks, a soft smile curling at the corner of his lips, but he doesn't ask any questions. Instead, he simply nods, his gaze shifting back to the road as the corners of his mouth deepen into a fond, knowing expression.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low. “I mean... you’ve had a long day. You’re drenched.”

You shrug, even though a small part of you is shocked by your own words. "I’m fine. I’m not in the mood for a date-date or whatever. Just... somewhere warm. And I don’t wanna be alone tonight. If you don’t mind.”

The silence between you two feels more comfortable now, the tension from the earlier moments gone. It’s like a weight has lifted, neither of you needs to pretend anymore.

“Alright,” he says, his voice warm, “to my place it is.” The car turns into a quieter street, and Seonghwa taps his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, his smile still lingering.

When you step out of the car and into the rain, Seonghwa’s hand briefly touches the small of your back, guiding you toward the building. The touch is gentle and reassuring.

His apartment is warmer than you expected when you step inside. It’s spacious, sure, but it’s not the cold, intimidating type of wealth you might expect from someone like him. It’s cozy in a way that’s unexpected, like he’s curated it with care, each little thing in its place. You can tell he’s put thought into making this space a refuge, a place of comfort. 

“I can grab you a towel,” Seonghwa offers immediately, his voice soft. He’s already moving toward the bathroom, but when you shake your head, he pauses. “Are you sure? I’d feel better if you changed into something comfortable.”

You glance down at yourself, feeling how soaked your clothes are, and how tired you are of pretending like you don’t need help. You nod. “That would be nice, actually.”

He smiles, but it’s not a proud smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like he’s quietly relieved, like he wants to take care of you in a way you didn’t realize you needed. “I have a few shirts you can borrow,” he says, a hint of hesitation in his tone. “Nothing fancy, just... dry.”

You watch him for a moment, the way he’s trying to gauge your comfort level without pushing too hard. It’s the first time you’ve seen him unsure of anything, and it’s a little disarming.

“That sounds perfect,” you say, giving him a small, appreciative smile.

He moves quickly, purposefully, heart thudding a little harder than usual. Not from nerves, but from quiet anger. Who forgets to pick up their wife in the middle of a downpour? He doesn’t let the frustration show on his face. He just breathes through it, reminding himself that this moment isn’t about him. It’s about making you comfortable. It’s about undoing a little bit of whatever damage your husband didn’t think twice about causing.

He returns with a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. A soft, worn-in tee, and hands it to you. The fabric is warm to the touch, and it smells faintly of him. He doesn’t linger too long, but there’s something in the way he carefully places it in your hands that makes you feel safe, like he genuinely wants you to be okay, not just physically, but emotionally too.

“Take your time,” he says softly, backing away. He nods toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s down to the left. I’ll make some tea. You’ll feel better.”

It’s a simple offer, like he’s willing to offer you warmth without making you feel indebted to him. When you disappear into the bathroom to change, you can hear him bustling around in the kitchen. You take a deep breath and let yourself relax for the first time in what feels like forever.

When you return, towel-drying your hair with one of the fluffy hand towels he left out for you, you’re practically swallowed in his clothes. The shirt hangs loose over your frame, the waistband of the sweatpants tied tight around your hips. You’ve never felt so ridiculous and so safe all at once.

Seonghwa looks up from the kitchen and immediately gives you that soft, amused smile. “Okay, that’s a look.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Stylish, right? You might not get these back.”

“I was just about to say they suit you,” he replies, not missing a beat.

You laugh, and it’s small, but real, and it makes something warm twist in his chest. He’s pacing, sleeves pushed up as he moves easily around the kitchen. A kettle is on, two mugs already waiting. You catch the scent of honey and ginger in the air, something warm and slightly sweet.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmur, padding into the kitchen and wrapping your arms around yourself.

He glances up from stirring the honey. “You’re cold. You’re tired. I want to.” Then, with a softer voice: “Let me take care of you. Just a little.”

That shouldn’t make your stomach flutter the way it does.

You sit at the counter, fingers curling around the mug he places in front of you. You’re so used to handling everything on your own that this small act of care feels like a luxury.

He leans against the counter opposite you, arms crossed casually, like he’s trying to keep a respectful distance. But he can’t help stealing glances at you. Not hungry, not suggestive, just thoughtful. Quietly admiring.

“You’ve had a long day,” he says after a pause, not prying. “Want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, sipping your tea. “Not really.”

“That’s okay,” he says immediately. “We can just sit.”

No questions. No expectations. He wouldn’t make you relive any of it. Not the rain, not the waiting, not the part where someone was supposed to show up and didn’t.

You let a little smile play at the edge of your lips. “You’re... very good at this.”

“At what?”

“Being comforting. It’s like you have a degree in it or something.”

Seonghwa chuckles, eyes crinkling just a little. “I’m just treating you how I think you deserve to be treated.”

He means it.

He means it.

You set your mug down. “You don’t even know me.”

Seonghwa smiles, not missing a beat. “I’m working on it.”

He leans slightly on the counter, arms still crossed, eyes steady on yours. “But I’ve picked up a few things. You’re the kind of person who checks in on others even when you’re the one having a bad day. You’re a little stubborn when it comes to letting people take care of you - you want to do things yourself. And when you’re tired, you get kind of funny. Like, weirdly funny.”

You laugh under your breath, and so does he.

“And tonight?” His smile softens. “You needed someone. I was close by. That’s all it takes.” There’s no hidden meaning in his voice. No pressure. Just the kind of honesty you’re not used to from a man.

You meet his eyes, and there it is. The kind of tension that doesn’t scream or flirt, it just hums. You glance around his kitchen. The wooden cabinets, the tiny potted herb garden on the windowsill, the slightly chipped mug in front of you. “Your place… it’s not what I expected.”

“Let me guess,” he teases, “you thought it’d be floor-to-ceiling glass, steel counters, and an automatic espresso machine?”

“Something like that.”

He grins. “I like homes that feel lived in. I don’t like that cold, overly-modern stuff. I like that I can comfortably show off my collection of magnets without having to worry if it fits in with the rest of the home.” He points to his fridge and you notice the huge collection of magnets. You let out a soft giggle.

You like that answer too much. You shouldn’t, but you do.

“I like it,” you say softly, not just about the apartment. The warm cup rests between your palms, grounding you, and Seonghwa leans back against the counter beside you, sipping his own. Then, without a word, he sets his mug down and starts rummaging through a cabinet.

You squint at him. “What are you doing?”

He glances over his shoulder with a small, almost mischievous smile. “We’re making cookies.”

You blink. “We are?”

“We are now,” he says simply, already pulling out a bag of flour.

You let out a soft laugh and step up beside him. You don’t ask if he needs help. You just join in. And he doesn’t say anything, just gives you a smile so gentle. Ten minutes later, the kitchen is a disaster.

The butter refuses to cooperate, slipping through your fingers and plopping to the floor. You try again, and this time it sticks to your hands so stubbornly that Seonghwa has to come to your rescue, giggling as he wipes it off with a spatula.

“Here,” he says, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Let’s try that again.” 

You giggle, brushing hair out of your face. “I swear, never make cookies.” 

“Oh, I can tell,” he teases, but there’s no judgment in his tone, only encouragement. “It’s okay. It’s the thought that counts.”

Later, flour explodes from the bag as it’s accidentally knocked over. It snows down across the counter, your arms, his shirt. You both freeze, and then burst into laughter. A moment later, the chocolate chips spill, scattering everywhere. 

Eventually, you both give up, the half-mixed dough resting lopsided in the bowl. You sat on the counter, legs swinging slightly as Seonghwa stood beside you. The bowl rests on your lap as he hands you a spoonful of raw dough, and you take it without hesitation.

“I think we killed it.” Seonghwa says proudly, scooping up some cookie dough for himself, using the same spoon.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” you say around a mouthful. You sit side by side in the wreckage of flour and chocolate chips, warm tea forgotten, sharing bites of something that didn’t quite turn out the way it was supposed to, but still feels like a win.

You’re mid-laugh when he pauses, his eyes softening as they settle on you. Without a word, he steps a little closer, and his hand lifts. Gentle and careful.

“There’s a little…” he murmurs, brushing his fingers just above your eyebrow, where a streak of flour has settled. His thumb grazes your skin as he wipes it away, but he doesn’t pull back right away.

His touch lingers.

You feel it all the way down to your spine. His warmth, the closeness, the way his eyes briefly drop to your lips before meeting your gaze again. The air feels thick, like something unsaid is pressing at the edges of the moment. 

“Got it,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t move. And neither do you.

You’re still perched on the counter, his body angled toward yours, only a breath between you. He leans in slightly, gaze dropping again, first to your lips, then back up to your eyes, like he’s asking without words.

You lean in too.

Your knees bump against his hips, and your breath catches, held in your chest like it’s afraid to break the moment. His hands finds the counter next to you, grounding him, pulling him even closer. So close you can count every faint freckle on his skin. So close his breath hits your cheek.

And your phone rings.

Loud. Sharp. Invasive.

You freeze.

The moment shatters like glass.

Seonghwa pulls back slowly, but his hand stays on the counter near you, and he doesn’t turn away. Your phone rings again, and your eyes flick to the screen.

“Husband.”

You swallow hard, something sinking in your chest. Seonghwa doesn't say anything. He just watches, his expression soft but unreadable, and steps back enough to give you space. Not far, just enough. You hesitate for half a second. Then you slide off the counter, still warm from where your knees had brushed against him, and answer.

“Hello?” Your voice is thinner than you meant it to be.

He turns away, not out of anger, not even disappointment, just… quiet. Respectful. Still the same steady, gentle man, already reaching for the dish towel to start wiping flour from the counter like he’s giving you time. Giving you privacy.

But the warmth between you hasn’t disappeared.

It just simmers now, quiet and unsaid. Still there. Still waiting.

You murmur a few short replies into the phone, keeping your tone neutral. You hang up a moment later, your fingers still loosely wrapped around the device, like you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Seonghwa glances at you, not questioning, not pressing. Just that same soft-eyed look, like he sees everything without needing it explained.

You clear your throat and set the phone down on the far end of the counter. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” His voice is quiet. He offers you the tiniest smile. “You didn’t miss much. The cookie dough was starting to melt anyway.”

You laugh under your breath, and he smiles a little wider.

“I should… probably get going soon,” you say.

“Yeah.” He nods slowly, “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll give you a ride.”

You change into your old clothes, now warm and dry after Seonghwa took care of it. You finish tying your shoes and glance up at him. His movements are calm, deliberate, like he’s giving you space to process, to gather yourself. His gentleness is almost too much to handle right now, and you wonder if he knows how much he’s doing, just being there. Just being himself.

The drive back to your place is calm, the city lights flickering by as Seonghwa keeps his focus on the road, his hand steady on the wheel. Every now and then, his eyes flicker toward you, like he’s checking, making sure you’re okay. 

When he finally pulls up to your house, you hesitate for a second before opening the door. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, “You really made my day.” and finally, and he offers you that smile of his. It’s small, but it reaches his eyes. 

“Anytime,” he replies softly, as if there’s no question.

You step out of the car, the door closing behind you with a soft click. You stand there for a moment, watching his headlights fade into the distance, a quiet warmth settling in your chest.

***

A week has passed since that night. The one where everything had almost felt like it could change. The small, sweet moments that lingered in the kitchen, the silent tension, and that quiet brush of his fingers against your face. But you hadn’t really spoken much after that.

Seonghwa had been giving you space. He never pressed, never pushed, just sent a message here and there, something light, something simple. Asking how your day was, letting you know he was there if you needed to talk. It was as though he understood the weight on your shoulders, the things you were still trying to process, and he respected that.

You’d found comfort in those texts. They were a gentle reminder that there was still kindness out there, that not all men were careless or indifferent. But you hadn’t been ready to dive into anything more. Not yet.

So you let the days pass, lost in work and the usual noise of life, where everything felt like it was moving forward and standing still all at once.

When you walk into the house that evening, expecting to be alone, the air feels too still. Almost oppressive. You take off your shoes, drop your bag, and then, suddenly, you hear it.

Moans.

Loud and unmistakable.

Your heart skips a beat. The noise comes from the bedroom.

You freeze, panic washes over you in a way you never thought you’d feel. The reality hits harder than a slap, and before your mind can catch up to your body, your feet are already moving, silent, quick, out the door.

Your husband. With her.

The woman he’d been seeing for months. The one you knew about. From his work. The one he swore wouldn’t ever step foot in your bedroom.

But she had. They had.

The rules didn’t matter now.

You can barely remember how you made it out of the house, your heart pounding like it’s trying to escape your ribs. You don’t stop to think. You just grab your coat and rush outside, the cold air stinging your cheeks. You get on the bus, not thinking clearly or caring about anything other than getting away.

Away to the last place that felt safe.

Seonghwa opens the door looking completely confused in a loose hoodie and gray sweatpants, as if he’s been lounging or about to sleep. His hair is slightly tousled, his face soft with surprise, but when he sees you standing there, shaking and crying, everything about him changes.

His eyes widens, his body tensing as if his instincts slammed into overdrive.

“Hey-..hey, what’s going on?” His voice cracks a little, pure concern bleeding through. “Are you-, are you okay? What happened?” He barely waits for an answer before stepping forward, one hand reaching out like he’s afraid to startle you, the other already pulling the door wider. “Come in. Come here. Please.”

You don’t even remember how you’d made it to his place. You didn’t call, didn’t text, didn’t even know where else to go. You are just… there. Your legs moved on their own. He gently takes your wrist, guiding you inside like he thought you might fall apart if he let go. And maybe you would.

“I-I didn’t know where else to go,” you whisper, your voice trembling so much the words barely came out. “I walked in and they were… in the bedroom. Our bedroom. I heard her, and him-”

Your breath hitched. The shame, the heartbreak, the betrayal all crashed into you again like a tidal wave. Seonghwa freeze, his face shifting from confusion to something like disbelief, followed by an ache so deep it flickered across his features before he could hide it.

“You’re shaking,” he breathes, like that was the only thing he could focus on to keep himself from doing something rash. “Gosh-, come here.”

Then he pulls you in. Not tentative. Not gentle like before. But firm. Warm. Protective. His arms wrap around you completely, hands cradling the back of your head, the middle of your back, holding you like he was trying to piece you back together with just his embrace.

You broke.

The sob that escaped you was raw, tearing through your chest as you collapsed against him. His hoodie quickly dampened with your tears, but he didn’t care. He only held you tighter.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your hair, over and over again, his voice thick, arms unyielding. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

A few hours passed. The silence of the apartment is heavy, and the soft hum of the city outside filters in through the windows, but none of it seems to matter. Seonghwa sits on the edge of the couch, his gaze fixed on you as you sleep, curled up with a blanket around you. Seonghwa didn’t move you. He wouldn’t dare. Your face is peaceful now, but he knows, he saw the remnants of the tears still streaked on your cheeks.

He watches you for a long moment, longer than he should have, just to be sure you were breathing easy, that your face wasn’t tight with the pain you’d carried in. He adjust the blanket around your shoulders once more, fingers brushing your arm like a silent promise: I’m here.

Then he slips away into the kitchen.

The lights are dim. He doesn’t turn on the overheads. Only the small one above the sink cast a quiet glow, painting gold over the counter and the delicate steam curling from the mug of tea he never ended up drinking.

He cleans slowly. Methodically. Not because there is much to clean, but because he needs to do something with his hands. He needs to focus on anything but the image of you curled on his couch with your cheeks still damp from crying. Something about seeing you so hurt, so vulnerable in his home, keeps his chest tight and his thoughts moving. He wants to be nearby, just in case you wake up and need him. 

He didn’t know what to do when you broke. His instinct was to hold you, to gather you up and shelter you from everything, but he’d hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to. God, he wanted to, but because he didn’t know if it was what you needed.

You are still married. Still healing. Still so fragile it makes his chest ache.

And yet, he can’t stop thinking about how you came here. To him. Not a friend. Not a hotel. Him.

What did that mean?

What could it mean?

He’s still standing at the sink, drying his hands on a dish towel, when he hears the soft shuffle of your footsteps behind him. You’re quiet, hesitant, still wearing the same clothes from earlier. Sleep clinging to your features, eyes puffy, hair slightly mussed, your voice rough when you speak.

“Seonghwa?”

He turns once.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, barely looking at him. “For just… showing up. For staying. I didn’t mean to take up your whole night.”

Seonghwa sets the tea towel down gently and shakes his head “You didn’t take anything,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You look at him, startled by how easily he says it, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather have you.

“I feel ridiculous,” you say quietly, fingers curling around the edge of the counter. “Showing up here. Crying like that. Falling asleep like a mess on your couch.”

Seonghwa looks up from the sink where he’s rinsing a cup, then reaches for the towel draped nearby to dry it. He moves slowly, deliberately, as if not to startle you. “You’re not a mess,” he says. “You’re human. And tonight was… a lot. You shouldn’t have had to hear that. Especially not in your own home.”

You nod once, lips press tight, your eyes tracing the pattern of the granite countertop.

“I guess I just didn’t expect it to hurt like that,” you whisper. “I agreed to this open marriage, I knew what it meant. All he had to do was follow the simple rules we made; let the other person know when you’re dating someone and don’t bring them into the bedroom. But hearing them like that… it was like everything I’d been pretending not to feel came crashing in.”

He steps a little closer, still drying the mug but slowing as he listens.

You look up at him then, eyes glassy. “I didn’t mean to bring it all here.”

“You didn’t bring anything but yourself,” he says, voice softer now. “And for what it’s worth… I’m glad you came. I’ve only seen you a few times, but I-” He hesitated, then smiled faintly, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to go anywhere else tonight.”

Your chest tightens. Something in his words, his expression, the way he stands there drying a cup like it was the only way he can keep his hands from holding you.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he adds, glancing down at the towel in his hand, placing the cup on the counter. “But when I saw you at my door, I didn’t feel interrupted. I felt relieved.” he huffs a quiet breath, laughing under it, ”I didn’t want anyone else to be the one you went to. Is that selfish? Maybe. But—”

He didn’t get to finish.

The towel was halfway folded in his hands when you moved.

Three fast steps.

Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulled him down before he could process what was happening, and you kissed him.

Hard. Needy. Quietly desperate.

You needed to. You needed to feel if this was more than just you feeling crazy. Could you really find safety in someone who isn’t your husband? How could this man you’ve met 3 times the past two weeks, be the most thoughtful and supportive person in your life at the moment?

The towel slips from his hand, landing forgotten on the kitchen floor. He kisses you back like it’s the most natural thing in the world, hands finding your cheeks, pulling you close without hesitation. The warmth of him spreads through you instantly, grounding, solid, safe.

You don’t speak.

Neither does he.

Not until the kiss breaks, just enough for breath.

“I…” you whisper, suddenly unsure.

He smiles, gently, almost in disbelief. “You caught me off guard.” He’s smiling, eyes warm, his thumb brushing your side like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s started. 

“I don’t know why I did that,” you whisper, nervous now, terrified he might say it was too soon. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m really glad you did it.” His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with hunger, and you can feel the weight of his desire pressing against you, but there was hesitation, just a flicker of it.

You mumble the words, barely loud enough for either of you to hear. “Is this... too fast?”

A beat passed. Then another. 

“No,” he says softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Not if it’s you. Not if you’re the one reaching for me.”

Your breath catches, the lump in your throat returning. Not from grief this time, but from something gentler. Something like hope. 

“You set the pace. I’ll follow.”

And he means it. Every word.

You reach for him again, pulling him in. The kiss is firmer this time, your lips claiming his with more urgency, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as if you couldn’t get close enough. He groans into your mouth, his hands tightening around your waist, as if holding you in place is the only thing keeping him from losing control.

Your hands slid by the hem of his shirt, fingertips barely grazing over his warm skin, and you feel him tense beneath your touch. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Fuck,” he rasp. “I’m barely holding on.”

“Good,” you whisper, and lean up to kiss him again.

His hands are on your waist, his grip tight, but there is still a slight hesitation in him. It’s as if he was torn between wanting to be the good guy, wanting to respect your boundaries, and the overwhelming, suffocating need to give in to everything you’re offering. His lips meet yours again, deeper this time, and the kiss is frantic, hungry, as though he can’t get close enough, can’t touch you enough.

You barely register your back hitting the edge of the kitchen island until his hands curl under your thighs and lift you effortlessly. You gasp, startled by the sudden motion, but his strength… the ease of it, the way he settles you gently onto the counter like you’re precious, it makes you shiver.

You wrap your legs around his hips instantly, locking your heels at the small of his back, and it pushes him in deeper, his length perfectly aligned with the ache between your legs.

The moment your bodies aligned, you both gasped.

You feel him.

Thick and full and undeniably hard, straining against the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants. He’s pressed right against your center, the outline of him so vivid you can practically trace it with your eyes.

You gasp. He curses. 

“I can see you,” you whisper, voice wrecked, eyes flicking down to where his sweatpants clung to him, every thick inch outlined and throbbing. “You’re so hard.”

He lets out a strangled groan. “Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that-”

You can't help but grind once against his member, and you whimper as his hips rolled forward, slow and deep. His cock drags up the seam of your heat, the head catching perfectly where your clit throbs. It’s too much and not enough. The layers between you only made it worse.

He feels you. Wet, warm, pressed against the inside of your panties, where your thin leggings clings like a second skin, doing nothing to hide how badly you want him. His mouth crashes onto yours, and it was different this time, no hesitation, no restraint. Just teeth and tongue and desperation. Your hands were in his hair now, tugging, dragging him closer. He presses against you, hard enough to make you moan, and God, you feel him, thick, hard, straining against his pants.

But something occupies your mind.

“Wait,” You keep your legs wrapped around him. You don’t let go. Immediately, he stills. His breathing ragging, chest rising and falling against yours. His hands are warm on your thighs where they rest, thumbs rubbing soft, slow circles into your skin like he’s grounding you. His forehead presses gently against yours, both of you still catching your breath. 

“I want to,” you admitted, your voice wrecked. “So bad. But I need… I need to say it first. To him.”

Him. Your Husband.

For the first time in months, you hated that your husband was in your mind right now. 

His gaze lifts to yours instantly, and for a second, you brace yourself for disappointment. But it never comes.

He nods. “I know,” he pulls back and kisses your forehead. “Just because he broke your rules does not mean you should do it too.” He’s way quicker to understand than you’ve ever imagined. He’s too good.

“I’m sorry… I really want to.” You say, finding his eyes. “But I feel like I have to tell him that I’m seeing someone, let alone his boss, before I do something.”

“Hey,” he cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin, the warmest eyes you’ve ever met. “You don’t have to explain, I totally understand.”

You try smiling but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. “It’s not you. I’m just not in the right headspace, and if we did this right now, I think I’d just… think too much. Regret it. Not because of you! But because of everything else.”

“I know,” he says gently, brushing your hair back with a touch that’s nothing short of reverent. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. If you want to do this or not. Whatever you end up deciding, I’ll respect. But if you decide you want to do this, with me sometime, I don’t want you to feel any pressure. I’m not going anywhere, I’ll wait for you.”

And God. That. That is the thing. He isn’t demanding. He isn’t jealous. He isn’t angry or annoyed or trying to guilt you into a decision.

He just understand.

“You’re kind,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You’re really fucking kind.” 

A silence fills the space between you, your gaze dropping down to where your bodies meet. You look up at him, cheeks flushed. “If I hadn’t said stop… would you have?”

His eyes darkens. He smile, not cocky. But honest.

“Not a chance in hell.” The weight behind those words makes your chest ache. “Can I do anything for you?” 

You glance down at yourself, then let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I probably need a shower. I look like someone who lost a fight to her own life.”

He grins at that, easing back just enough to slide his hands to your waist. Before you can say another word, he’s lifting you down from the counter with a firm but gentle grip, like you’re something precious, and threading his fingers through yours.

“Come on,” he murmurs, tugging you softly. “Shower. I’ll get everything ready.”

You trail behind him to the bathroom, your hand still tucked in his. He moves around the space with practiced ease, grabbing towels, adjusting the water, and even laying out the same sweatpants and oversized t-shirt you wore the last time you were here.

When he places them carefully on the counter, he gives you one last glance, warm and soft. “Take your time, your clothes are on the counter. I’ll be in the living room when you’re done.”

You nod, suddenly overwhelmed in a completely different way. “Seonghwa?”

He pauses in the doorway, looking back at you.

“Thank you. For… not making this weird.”

His smile is soft, patient. “It’s not weird. It’s okay.”

A few minutes later, you’re still in his bathroom, the warmth of the steam and the quiet hum of the fan giving you a moment to breathe. To be alone and let the water rinse some of it away. Not the pain of today, but the weight of it, just for a moment.

You change into the familiar sweatpants and soft T-shirt he left folded neatly by the sink. They still smell like him. When you open the door again, the hallway’s dim, and the softest light glows from the living room. 

He’s sitting on the couch, one arm resting over the back, a blanket already draped across the cushions, like he’s been preparing your little corner of the world for you. 

“Perfect timing,” he says, patting the space beside him with a grin that’s equal parts teasing and gentle. “I was about to start a movie without you and pretend I didn’t.”

You laugh, your heart lighter already. And as you cross the room and curl into his side beneath the blanket, it’s not the movie that matters. It’s the feeling that you’re safe here, with him.

And for the first time in a long time, that’s more than enough.

***

The boardroom is quiet when Seonghwa walks in the next day.

He’s always early, by design. It gives him time to breathe, to set the tone, to sit at the head of the glass table with everything already in place. His laptop is open, a black pen lined up perfectly beside his notepad, and his eyes skim the agenda, though he already knows it. But his focus isn’t on the day’s schedule.

Not yet.

It’s still on you.

Not the way you looked when you walked into his apartment yesterday. Exhausted, crying, your whole body weighed down by things you hadn’t said yet, but the way you looked curled up against him hours later, asleep on his couch, tucked into his side beneath a blanket like you’d always belonged there.

You had cried. You had kissed him. You had let him hold you. He’d kissed the crown of your head.

And he didn’t sleep much that night.

Not because you didn’t let him, if anything, you were warm and quiet, breathing slow against him. It was the way you felt in his arms that kept him awake. Like he was holding something fragile and sacred. Like if he moved, even slightly, you might disappear.

In the morning, you stirred first. Groggy and quiet, blinking sleepily against his chest before murmuring something about needing to go home and change before work. He offered to take the day off. Said he could cancel everything. That he didn’t care.

But you shook your head with a tiny smile. Insisted that he go.

You even teased him for hovering. Called him “overly attentive.” He’d rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but when you leaned in and kissed him goodbye, soft and sleepy, he nearly asked you to stay.

But you left. And he watched the door long after it closed behind you.

Now he’s here. Under sterile lighting. A boardroom full of chatter. And across the table sits the man who used to be your husband in everything but legality.

He walked in laughing - with her - like it’s just another Thursday. The girlfriend is practically attached to him, all smiles and subtle touches, like they don’t work under the same roof. Like they’re not sneaking around as if people haven’t noticed. Seonghwa doesn’t look up immediately. Just lets his fingers tap softly against the side of his coffee cup. 

Measured. Calm. Focused.

“Morning,” your husband says with that too-casual tone, like everything’s perfectly fine.

“Morning,” Seonghwa replies, flat and cool.

He doesn’t do anger like most people. It simmers quietly in him, contained, controlled. He doesn’t lash out. He remembers. He watches. He files things away until the time is right.

Today’s not the day.

But he is watching.

The meeting starts. The others file in, small talk filling the space. Projector humming, documents shuffling. Seonghwa opens the presentation. Keeps his voice even.

“I’d like to keep today’s meeting brief,” he says, voice smooth and low. “We’re focusing on timelines, project deliverables, and accountability.”

His gaze flicks to your husband. The pause is barely a second too long. “Especially accountability.”

There's a flicker in the man’s expression. He shifts in his seat, coughs once like he’s about to make a joke, but one look from Seonghwa shuts him down. The meeting ticks forward. 

Then your husband speaks up.

“I think the delay in deliverables came down to a lack of communication, not really our fault,” he says, flashing a grin at his girlfriend like she’ll have his back.

She does.

But Seonghwa is already leaning forward, calm but sharp. “And who was responsible for communicating that timeline to the vendors?”

Silence.

Your husband clears his throat. “Well… technically, I was. But-”

“Then let’s not redirect blame.” Seonghwa’s voice doesn’t rise. It never needs to. “If you were the lead, you’re accountable. End of story.”

The table goes quiet. The girlfriend shifts awkwardly. And your husband, he looks like he wants to argue but doesn’t dare.

Good.

Seonghwa could say more. So much more. He could talk about how you came to him last night after being ignored for months. How you told him things you never said to anyone. How you almost gave yourself to him. How you let him hold you, warm you, kiss you, keep you safe. How you fell asleep against him like he was the only place you felt okay.

He could say how he’s never going to forgive this man for not seeing you. For making you feel small. For letting you cry alone in your kitchen while he flirted with someone new on the clock.

But Seonghwa keeps it inside.

He lets the meeting run its course. Makes his points. Keeps his composure. Because no one knows what you are to him.

Yet.

And when it’s finally over, he gathers his papers slowly. Closes his laptop with care. And doesn’t look back once.

Because there’s something about seeing that man across from him, pretending like he still owns your heart, when Seonghwa knows what it feels like to have you kiss him good morning, in nothing but his hoodie, after a night of quiet healing.

He’s not done protecting you.

And your husband? He doesn’t even realize he already lost.

TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx @lveegsoi  @vixensss  @yizhou-time  @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @hwaskookies @vent-stink @desanslogique @taestrwbrry @hannahstacos

[morverenmaybewrites]

Iced Coffee (Jason Todd x Reader)

Summary:

In which Dick Grayson tries to give Jason some relationship advice. And ends up learning a few new things about his little brother.

Pairing:

Jason Todd x Reader

(AO3)

Imagine Dick Grayson wanting to talk to Jason about his new girlfriend. That is, you.

Imagine Dick Grayson, talkative Dick Grayson, whose laughter and words bubbled easily from his throat, like air released from an opened soda can.

Imagine Dick Grayson, who's used to going into any situation utterly confident in his ability to coax a smile and a story out of even the grumpiest civilians.

And now imagine him being utterly on the back foot ever since Jason came back.

The smile that's more reliable to him than his own mask now feels more like a grimace whenever Dick is around his little brother. His jokes and short little stories meant to put people at ease dry up on his tongue, and he's often left with his mouth hanging stupidly open like a fish washed-up on Gotham Bay.

For all of his hard-earned people skills, Dick Grayson simply couldn't find the right words to reach his little brother.

Perhaps it's because his last image of Jason Todd was that of a prepubescent boy, growing so fast that their father barely had enough time to put clothes on his back before he's outgrown them again.

And now, in his place was a hulking giant that Dick had to crane his neck to look in the eye.

Perhaps it's Jason's voice, and the fact that before his kidnapping, he hadn't come into adult voice yet. It was still high-pitched and bright and excited whenever they bent their heads to look over maps of Gotham. This new Jason, on the other hand, had the voice of a man, harsh and gritty, like stone grinding against stone.

One that often made him seem far too old than his actual age.

Or perhaps it's the simple fact that a decade ago, the Joker took away Dick Grayson's little brother.

And the man who came back was now a stranger.

Dick tried, of course.

He tried his best, like anyone would, given his position. After all, how many people were given a second chance to make their family whole again?

It's just that he didn't know how.

While the previous Robin had been talkative and curious and hung onto every word Dick said as if it was gospel, this new Jason was quiet, taciturn.

He spoke with a wince, as if every word hurt him, and Dick had to work hard not to wonder why this was.

He wasn't usually interested in drawing up battle plans, often choosing to do missions alone.

Now imagine Dick Grayson, crammed in what feels like the world's tiniest Jetta during a stakeout, quietly trying not to go insane. He had never done well with silence, even before Jason had been kidnapped. He hated the idea of sitting in it, stewing in his own thoughts until he could feel them scratching along the inside of his skull.

But try as he might, Dick just couldn't draw his little brother into conversation. His answers, when he bothered to give them, were short and irritated. As final as a door slammed shut.

"So, you know much about this guy we're staking out?" Dick tried.

"About as much as you. Wanted for human trafficking." Jason paused, massaged his throat as if speaking two whole sentences hurt him.

Someone's phone pinged. They both looked at theirs.

After a minute, Dick tried again.

"Barbara said he used to work out of Peru. I wonder what made him move to Gotham. Got any ideas?"

Another ping. Jason looked down at his burner phone. Caught Dick's expression out of the corner of his eye and mutely shook his head.

"Well," Dick pretended to stretch, more to have something to do than anything else.

He decided to try a third time.

"Seen the Bloodhounds’ game last night?"

Jason looked at him as if he was speaking in tongues, and Dick decided that it was high time he tried shutting up for a while. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, fidgeted with the radio, trying to decide which station was the least likely to drive him insane over the course of what seemed to be a very long, very boring stakeout.

Dick settled on easy R&B. Leaned back in his seat, or at least pretended to, as he watched Jason fiddle with his phone.

"Barbara got any updates for us?" he asked as Jason read over a text.

There was an awful moment when Jason startled, and the first thing he did was reach for his guns. It must have been instinct, his hands flowing smoothly from one location to the next. And it was only the quiet click of the safety turning off that seemed to bring Jason back to himself.

Dick could practically see his little brother forcing himself to relax: the visible unclenching of his jaw. The conscious decision to let go of his guns.

And Dick tried, very, very hard not to think about how he must have spent the past few years, if his first reaction to being surprised was violence.

If he could somehow revive the Joker just so he could kill him again, Dick would do it. He could have sworn he could hear his own teeth grinding. The air in the car suddenly felt thick, the silence suffocating, as both of them tried not to acknowledge what just happened.

And just as Dick was mentally rehearsing his speech to get coffee and stale donuts from the shop across the street, Jason spoke.

"It wasn't," he said.

Dick blinked. The number of times that Jason initiated conversation was few and far in between.

"Pardon?" Dick said, wondering if he heard it right.

"It wasn't Barbara on the phone," Jason clarified, this time slower, as if he was talking to a particularly dim child.

"Alfred, then," Dick guessed.

"No. And I didn't."

"Didn't what?'

"I didn't watch the Bloodhounds' game last night. I was on patrol and must have missed it."

"Oh."

Dick wasn't even sure if Jason watched baseball anymore. It was just another conversational Hail Mary he threw out there. But at least Jason seemed willing to talk, even if it was in broken fragments. But if Jason was on patrol the night before, and he was on stakeout tonight then he must not have gotten much sleep.

"Want to get some coffee?" Dick said, jerking a thumb at the corner store he was eyeing earlier. "My treat."

While Bludhaven didn't have the abundance of street vendors and overnight kiosks that Gotham City offered, it at least offered similar 24-hour joints that could offer the same overpriced, watered-down coffee that one could get in Gotham City.

And in its own small way, it was like Dick Grayson never left home.

Josiah Johannes Salazar was almost certainly the made-up name of the man they were staking out. A small-time thug, at least by their usual standards, he mostly dealt in human trafficking and came under Barbara's radar after a rash of missing person reports were linked back to him.

A gifted art student from the local college.

A stand-up comedian who often performed to packed bars on rowdy weekends.

A used-car salesman from the Burrows.

Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Just your usual run-of-the-mill scumbaggery. Kidnapping people to be bought and sold on the flesh market. Or so, that was Barbara's current theory. An easy enough case. Sure to be closed by the end of the week. In fact, Tim already had several hopeful leads on the victims' possible locations.

Which was why it was such a mystery that Jason insisted–insisted!–on accompanying Dick on this particular stakeout.

It wasn't like he was unwelcome–Dick would jump at any chance to bond with his little brother again–it was just unexpected. Certainly, when he had rounded the parking spot where he kept the second hand Jetta, he hadn't expected Jason to be there, a duffel bag slung across his shoulder and a scowl on his face.

And as soon as Dick unlocked the car, Jason opened the door and planted himself so firmly in the passenger's seat that for a moment, Dick wondered if they really did have a prior agreement he forgot about. But now in the garish yellow light of the donut shop, one fact was becoming increasingly obvious–his little brother was tired. The lighting made him look positively jaundiced, and the shadows under his eyes were as fat as bruises. His clothes were rumpled, and Dick found himself wondering if he had changed into them immediately after his patrol.

The scar on his face looked more terrible than ever.

There was a sudden tension in Jason's shoulders that made Dick realize he was staring.

He immediately dropped his gaze.

Only to find an even more incredible sight.

"Hey, Jason..."

Jason frowned at him, and glanced around the shop to see if anyone was listening. But apart from the cashier, a pimply teenager flicking through skin magazines, the place was empty.

Jason never did like hearing them use their real names while out on missions. And it was only after careful assessment of the area did he finally speak.

"What?"

His response was short and irritated, a clear sign that he was beginning to weary of conversation. But Dick couldn't help himself.

"Are you drinking iced coffee?"

The cups in their hands were nearly identical, condensation beading on the cheap plastic surface, although Dick was sure that Jason didn't have the same obscene amounts of caramel syrup pumps in his. But back when he lived in the manor, Dick was sure that Jason was strictly a hot coffee kind of guy.

A hot black coffee and cigarette type of guy. The result of spending most of his childhood in East End. Alfred despaired at the state of his diet, and Dick would often hear him lecturing Jason on the dangers of nicotine and caffeine addiction.

Jason glanced down at his drink, seemingly unbothered. "Yes."

He seemed content to leave it at that, despite the fact that this new information had hit Dick with the force of a bombshell.

Jason drank iced coffee now?

What else did he like?

Did he like matcha? Chai? Perhaps those overpriced flattened croissants dipped in chocolate? Did Jason still like soft tacos from food trucks? Or did he prefer burritos now?

For a moment, Dick envisioned inviting Jason to go shop-hopping with him and Barbara, the way they used to back when Jason was Robin. Maybe even invite Tim along, now that Jason was finally speaking to him.

Eat questionable street food until their stomachs roiled with grease. Or even better, haul it all back to the Clocktower and make a movie night out of it.

He could even imagine Alfred, somehow unchanged, hovering at the edges, making sarcastic comments about everyone's cholesterol level.

Maybe he could even convince him to try a fry or two.

Maybe Bruce–

The ping of Jason's phone broke Dick out of his thoughts.

"Not an update," Jason muttered at him, before opening his phone to take a look at it.

There was the barest flicker of emotion on his face before he was deleting the message and pocketing it. But not before Dick caught a glimpse of what was on the screen: a grainy image of the interior of a pizza parlor outfitted like it was from the 70s. A bottle of cheap beer and what looked like someone's Scrabble tiles were front and center.

Dick blinked. "Jason..."

The iced coffee. The constant texts from someone.

How could Dick Grayson, son of the world's greatest detective, had missed it?

"Jason, are you texting your girlfriend?"

It was like an explosion had gone off in Dick's chest, like someone had shaken a can of soda and pulled the tab to watch the glorious release of carbon dioxide and sugar. Finally, after struggling all night to find something that he and Jason could talk about, finally Dick found something that he could relate to his little brother about: women.

"Fuck off, Dick," Jason muttered, but he knew his little brother enough to realize there was no heat in it. "It's none of your business."

"Holy shit, you totally are. And while on a stakeout, too!"

Dick felt giddy.

It was unfamiliar, this ribbing. But it was welcome. It felt like the sort of thing that a big brother should do.

"You know Bruce wouldn't approve," he prodded.

He made his voice sound deep, mimicking their father, "Distractions on the field can be a fatal mistake."

"I don't give a rat's ass about what Bruce approves of," Jason said with a shrug, but he failed to hide the amusement in his voice.

"Besides,” he added. “He flirted with Selina Kyle all the time. In full costume, the hypocrite."

Dick laughed, partly because it was true, partly because he was actually bantering–bantering!–with his little brother again.

Jason's phone pinged again, and this time Dick couldn't resist another jab.

"She's got you over a barrel, huh?" Dick said.

"What?"

"Are you in the doghouse?"

Jason frowned at him, and Dick decided to elaborate. "Whenever I took missions one after the other, Barbara would let me have it. Especially if it made me miss date nights. She used to send me these walls of text..."

Jason shook his head. "She's not angry with me."

"Oh." It was nice of you to be such an understanding girlfriend. "It's good that she understands. How long has it been since you took her on a date anyway?"

Jason looked uneasy, shifting his weight from one foot to the next.

"Two weeks," he muttered.

"Two weeks?" Dick was flabbergasted. "Dude, Barbara would definitely have put me in the doghouse for that."

A night on the couch at the minimum.

"I've been busy," Jason said defensively. "We're nearly closing in on this case."

Right. Dick nearly forgot. Josiah Johannes something.

"Well, maybe you should do something nice for her, at least," Dick insisted

"You know, remind her that you care."

He thought of his father, who used to buy bouquets of flowers for his mother, to give to her after every successful performance. The night of her death, there had been a large bouquet of orchids left in front of her dressing room mirror that went unclaimed.

Dick shook his head, dusting away the mental cobwebs.

"Got any ideas?" he asked.

Jason shook his head mutely.

"Come on, give me something," Dick said. "You must have some idea growing up."

Bruce, he knew, was notoriously tight-lipped, so it was unlikely that Jason got any ideas from him. But maybe, once upon a time, Willis Todd did something nice for his wife.

"The men in East End would tip an extra five dollars to whores they like,” Jason snapped.

Dick felt his heart drop to his stomach. He could feel a flush rising to his cheeks.

"Yeah, don't...don't do that..." he muttered.

They grow quiet for several minutes, sipping their coffee and occasionally throwing glances at the building they were supposed to be staking out. It was Jason who eventually spoke first.

"She's not upset," he said quietly. "I just...feel like I should do something for her."

It struck Dick then, that Jason looked woefully young. It was likely that this was Jason's first real relationship. And he had nothing to go on except what he had seen men do to sex workers in East End.

And Bruce...wasn't exactly a model for healthy relationships.

"How about flowers?" Dick suggested gently. "Those are always a classic.

Do you know what kind of flowers she likes?"

A pause.

"No."

"I used to date a girl," Dick began. "Bit of a gardener. She loved roses. She'd snip the ends and put them in water to make them last longer. She loved white roses best of all, because she'd try all sorts of experiments with dyes."

Jason didn't answer, fiddling with the straw of his drink. And when he next spoke, it was in a painfully unsure voice.

"Is that...something I should know?" he asked quietly. "Her favorite flowers?"

Suddenly, Dick hoped–wished–violently that this wasn't Jason's first relationship. That sometime after the Joker and before the Arkham Knight, he carved some semblance of peace for himself. Maybe met a girl or a guy during those few sunlit months in Santa Prisca. Dated. Fooled around. The kind of things that he should have done growing up. The kind of things that Joker stole from him.

"Not necessarily," Dick said, his voice soft. "But it doesn't hurt to pay attention. Girls like that sort of thing. Well, people, really. If she ever mentions something like that, just make sure to take a note."

The nod Jason gave him was oddly solemn, and Dick realized, with heartbreaking clarity, how much his little brother wanted to make this work with you.

"What about chocolates?" Dick suggested again, not wanting to dwell on darker thoughts. "I'm sure we can find a confectionary here somewhere..."

Jason snorted. "Sure. In Bludhaven, the peak of romance."

He grew quiet again, before saying, in hesitant voice: "She likes old movies. There was that one about an urban legend..."

"There you have it," Dick said, trying not to let the relief show in his voice.

"You can have a movie night or something! Hell, you can even go now. Make a surprise out of it–”

But the contemplative expression on Jason's face–the one that made him look so young–suddenly fell away, and what was left now was pure Red Hood.

"Can't," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "We're on a mission."

"For some two-time smuggler? Please, I can solve this case with my eyes closed."

Jason looked at him as if he was insane.

"What?" Dick asked.

"Dick," Jason said slowly, with gravity. "What do you know about Salazar?"

"Hm?" Dick was still mentally going through the catalogue of nearby confectioneries the two of them could go to. "Some human trafficker...don't worry we got Tim tracking down his victims."

"A sculptor who's selling out entire galleries as a student because her work is so lifelike," Jason said, a bite of impatience in his voice. "A comedian who's always performing to packed crowds because everyone says his jokes make their entire week. A used-car salesman who never misses a sale."

Jason paused, waiting for Dick to put the pieces together.

Dick had never thought of the victims that way, and now that Jason was pointing it out, it all did sound rather strange. The realization came to him with slow dawning horror.

"Jason..." he said. "You think he's trafficking metas?"

Jason sighed, and there was something weary in it. Dick remembered that his little brother hadn't seen you in two weeks.

"You think he might target her," he concluded. "That's why you're working so hard on this case."

Jason didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"Does she know?"

"No." Jason's answer was immediate. "It's just...a working theory, anyway. I don't want her scared over a theory."

"It might make her a little more careful if you told her," Dick nudged Jason with his shoulder. "It wouldn't hurt. Plus...well, it's not nice to keep her in the dark, you know?"

Jason looked at him, and for a moment, Dick could see the boy from the manor. The one that used to hang on to his every word as if it was gospel.

He pulled out his phone.

And sent you a quick text.

"Thanks," Jason said quietly. "I'm still...getting used to...all this."

And he gave Dick a small, grateful smile. Just the barest quirk of the corners of his mouth.

But it was there.

Dick smiled back. "You're doing great. Besides, working for two weeks straight on a case to keep your little girlfriend safe? You're a regular romantic. She's going to think you're from one of those old movies she likes."

The smile was gone. The scowl back in place. Jason shoved him, with perhaps more force than he intended to, but Dick rolled with it, laughing.

Maybe getting to know his little brother all over again wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

[bizarrelovetriangel]

captive.

zayne wants to smash but keeps getting interrupted.

wrote the same prompt for this sylus fic. wanted to do one for zayne also <3

starts off suggestive and flufy and ends with smut so mdni. 18+ only. grinding. oral (m and f giving and receiving). creampie. overstimulation.

Zayne traps you against the closed door, wrapping your legs around his hips while his lips devours yours.

He groans as you tug on the strands of hair just above his neck, where your hands are resting as you hang onto him. His ears are as red as his cheeks, and his breaths are heavy as he kisses you deeper.

DING.

Zayne frowns at the phone notification.

Interrupted yet again. It's the third time this week.

It's like the world is testing his patience.

Zayne is finding it harder and harder to keep himself in control.

You two were only saying goodnight to each other, and somehow the parting kiss turned into a heavy makeout session by the door, as neither of you were unable to pull away so soon.

And so his phone demanded attention, letting him know that it's time to head home so he can finish the reports that have upcoming deadlines.

"Alright, I'll be going home now — for sure this time."

"Okay! Goodnight, Zayne."

As you gave him one last goodbye kiss, Zayne used up all his strength to not kiss back as deeply as before. Otherwise, he'll end up on your bed rather than in his home office, where he should've been about fifteen minutes ago, if only he didn't get distracted.

A peck on the forehead should suffice.

For now.

"Goodnight, darling."

Two days later, you and Zayne agreed to have a quick little lunch date in his office in between work hours.

As you ate your meals, you shared all the interesting moments that happened throughout your day so far. Often, you're the one doing most of the talking, as you love to ramble about your Wanderer encounters and mysterious investigations, which you probably should've kept classified, but Zayne is special so he gets to be in the know.

Other times, such as today, Zayne would have some patients that he thinks you'd like to hear about, so they end up being your discussion topic for half of your lunch date.

Somehow, your conversations led to Zayne feeling up your biceps, for science, he said.

He was standing in front of you, between your legs, while partly bent down so that he could properly feel the muscles of your arms.

You've already forgotten why exactly he's doing that in the first place, mostly because the closeness made you forget every thought in your brain, so you're not making any complaints.

You stared at his pretty eyelashes behind his glasses. Suddenly, his eyes darted to yours, and you watched as his pupils dilated not long before his face leaned even closer.

You weren't sure who closed the distance between you two — maybe it was both of you at the same time, equally compelled to press your lips against each other.

Zayne's hands made their way to your face, just underneath your jaw to gently brush his thumbs against your skin, while your right hand traveled to the back of his neck to keep him in place.

He hummed with content against your lips, using one hand to gently adjust your face so he could kiss you deeper.

Neither of you wanted to break apart, taking only seconds to gasp for air before diving back in to each other's lips.

Your face burned along with your body as your heart races. Feeling just as flustered, Zayne reached one hand up to his tie so that he could loosen it, hoping for his body to cool down even just a little bit.

But he doubts it'll be any help. Every part of him has been ignited, and now he can't help but want you close to him.

He kisses you with a little more force that's fueled with hunger while his hands rest on your hips, just for a minute before they started to slowly slide down to your thighs.

Zayne got on his knees in front of you, still positioned between your now-parted legs. He gazed at you with lustful eyes, cheeks burning along with his red ears.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

"Doctor Zayne, do you have a minute?"

Your eyes widened at Greyson's voice from the other side of the locked door.

You looked at Zayne with shock before reaching for his tie to straigten it properly.

He blinked slowly for a moment before sighing then clearing his throat. His hand brushes with yours to help you fix his tie before responding to Greyson.

"Just a moment please."

You jumped up and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I guess it's time for me to get back to work too. See you later, Zayne. Have a good rest of your day ~"

You held back a grin as you caught his brows furrowing.

Once you reached Saturday night, it was time for your weekend date. This time, you decided to go to a restaurant that contained billiards and arcade.

Before dinner, you two challenged each other with a few round of pool. It's been a while since you two had played it, so he wanted to see if you remember the things he'd taught you.

You did remember most of his lessons and your skills have slightly gotten better, though Zayne still ended up as the winner.

You tried your best, but you didn't mind being the loser because you got to see Zayne do a whole bunch of poses that showed off his figure quite well while playing, so you were grinning a lot at the end of it.

"What are you so happy for?" Zayne asked curiously.

"Don't worry about it. Shall we eat? I'm hungry now."

"Yeah."

Dinner was perfect.

All the ordered food and drinks were delicious, so you two agreed to get dessert as well. There were a lot that looked good on the menu, so you two just chose the top two that looked most appealing.

It turns out.... that wasn't the greatest idea.

Neither of you read the tiny information that came with the pictures because you were so entranced by their appearance.

Your chosen dessert was a cute little ice cream cake that both of you finished only with a few bites.

Zayne's dessert, on the other hand....

"Darling, why are you so far away? Come a little closer."

It contained liquor.

And now....

It's better to go home as soon as possible.

You called for a taxi and the ride home wasn't so bad, except for the fact that your face was hot with embarrassment because the driver laughed at you two when Zayne buried his face on your neck while mumbling things under his breath.

A quarterway through the trip, he ended up falling asleep with his face still on your neck and shoulder, so you had to wake him up once it was time to get off.

You're technically strong enough to be able to carry him, thanks to your intense hunter training, but you're not confident that you won't drop him or make him vomit with all the shaking you will be doing to him. The right thing to do was to wake him up.

Zayne tried to press the correct code to unlock his door, but his hazy mind and slightly spinning vision prevented him from doing so.

It was just like that one time he got drunk from eating one alcoholic chocolate. Recalling the memory made you grin, and Zayne didn't fail to catch it despite his current state.

"Are you laughing at me?" he asked with narrowed eyes, and flushed, red cheeks.

"Not at all."

"Liar."

His attention shifted to you, facing away from the door so that he could look at you closely. The distance between you two was so short, you could smell the chocolate and alcohol from the dessert he had eaten.

Zayne leaned down so that his face is only a hair away from yours.

"And since you lied to me.... I might have to punish you..."

His lips suddenly covered yours with enough force for your body to be pushed back, though his hands made their way to your back to prevent you from roughly hitting anything behind you.

One blink and you found yourself trapped against his door, with Zayne's hands roaming all over your figure while his mouth explores yours in such a rushed manner.

"Zayne..."

He groaned against your lips while his hips grinds against yours. You tasted the sweetness of chocolate and the bitterness of alcohol as his tongue clashes with yours.

Forcing yourself to pull away from the intense kiss, you put a hand on his chest and used the other to fix the glasses that had slipped down to the bridge of his nose.

He slightly shook his head and rubbed his eyes, feeling his vision worsening by the second. He was looking more red too, and you're unsure if it's because he's flustered or if it's from all the alcohol. Either way, it's better if he cools off for now.

"Let's go inside and get you some water."

As you turned around to press the security code for his door, Zayne wrapped his arms around your chest to hug you from behind, resting his chin on your right shoulder.

Once the door finally opened, you had to walk towards his bedroom while he was still embracing you, so that was a challenge that took some time to accomplish.

You sat him down on his bed.

"Stay here while I get you some water and the medicine to make you feel better."

Zayne was quick to grab your wrist just as you were about to leave. "Wait, stay here..."

"I'll only be gone for a few seconds, I promise."

He huffs. "Fine. But if you're not back within three seconds, I'll have to punish you."

Somebody is quite intent on punishing you tonight.

Supressing a chuckle, you nodded and patted his head. "Alright."

"One."

"What?! Already?! I haven't even taken a step yet!"

"Two."

"Oh my god — "

You sprinted to the kitchen to fill a glass of water, then you darted to the medicine cabinet for the pill that'd make him sober up, and the one that would make his stomach calm down, just in case.

Out of breath, you returned to his room and found Zayne lying down on the bed, already sleeping and snoring softly.

It was such an adorable sight, you can't help but sit beside him and pet his head.

"So, is this my punishment?" you brushed some strands of his hair away from his forehead. "I get to watch you sleep like a baby?"

You undressed him and put on his pajamas so that he could sleep more comfortably, then you repositioned his body so that he's lying down properly, in a way that won't hurt his back tomorrow morning. Luckily, he didn't wake up from all the movements.

You took a quick shower and got dressed into your night attire before joining him in bed. As you closed your eyes, you recalled his cute drunk expressions, and so you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

You didn't see Zayne for five days due to a faraway mission. On the day of your return, however, you ended up meeting him by accident.

"No way, Zayne!"

His eyes widened as soon as he saw you waving at him, sitting alone on a table at the back of the busy cafe.

He almost ran into a delinquent-looking highschool boy as he quickly made his way towards you.

"Hey, watch it, old man!" the boy growls, but Zayne paid him no attention as all of it are on you.

Zayne set his iced vanilla latte next to your macchiato and took an empty chair, pushed it right next to yours before taking a seat. Your knees touch at the closeness.

"I didn't know you're back already." he gave you a frown. "You didn't tell me anything."

You shrank down into your seat, feeling a little guilty. "We got back two days earlier than planned since we wrapped up everything quicker than expected. I was just about to send you a message right now! See?"

You unlocked your phone to reveal your half-written text message to Zayne, inviting him for dinner tonight.

"I thought you'd be working right now, so I was going to ask you out later."

Zayne relaxed and nodded his head. "I have some time before my next patient's appointment, so I went out to get something to drink. This cafe's latte is much better than the one that the hospital. I had no idea I'd see you in here."

The cafe is not too far from Akso Hospital, and it was on the way to the hunters' headquarter, halfway from the train station. You saw a woman drinking coffee and got jealous, so you got one as well. And now, you're sitting with Zayne as a bonus.

"So, how did your mission go?" Zayne's eyes scanned your figure to see if you had any injuries that required medical attention. "You came back without a scratch this time. I'm proud of you."

You laughed and playfully bumped your knee with his. "So mean! I'm not always injured after a mission!"

"You're right. Not always. For one out of every five missions, you'd successfully return with only two bruises. This time, however, there's not a single scratch on you, so consider it your greatest achievement."

He was on fire today.

"Alright, I get it." you scoff, though you're unable to stop yourself from smiling.

You've only been away for five days but you missed him.

"So, let me tell you about the guy that was behind the whole thing! You're not supposed to know this but I'm gonna tell you anyways so don't tell anyone that I told you."

As you began to ramble about your mission, Zayne tries his best to listen, especially since he genuinely loves hearing about all the crazy things you do at work. You always sound like a cool superhero that fights monsters and saves the day. He'll always be proud of you.

But right now, Zayne can't help but be distracted by.... you.

His eyes studied the features of your face and his fingers want to caress them, so that he could feel your warmth and softness. Instead, Zayne kept his hands wrapped around his cold drink, as if to stop himself from reaching for you.

As you spoke, your legs casually swayed and would ocassionally bump into his. Once again, his hands yearned to feel them. He wanted to run a hand from your knees to your thighs, recalling how it feels whenever he's between them.

And when his mind went to what's in between your thighs, Zayne exhaled slowly before taking a long sip of his iced coffee.

"...and then we discovered their hideout and — Zayne, are you feeling okay?"

He blinked out of his trance as he felt your hand touch his cheek.

"You're so warm and red!"

Zayne held the hand that was on his face.

"I'm alright. I just.... want to hold you..."

Your eyes softened and your thumb gently rubbed his cheek.

For a moment, you two stayed like that without saying anything. Just for a brief minute, it felt like you two were alone, just appreciating each other's presence.

But soon enough, you got a reminder that you were not alone, at all.

"Oops! My bad, old man!" the highschool boy that Zayne almost ran into had passed by right behind him and his elbow accidentally hit Zayne on the back.

After you pulled back from him, Zayne raised one hand in dismissal. "It's alright, no worries."

He then glanced at the time and let out a sigh before turning back to you. "I have to get back to work now."

"Oh, yeah." you almost forgot. "I'll get going too!"

You and Zayne stood up and walked out of the cafe together.

"The dinner that you have yet to ask me about..." Zayne points at your phone. "Send me the time and place. Let's meet up later."

"Oh!" you lit up with excitement, not expecting him to remember the invitation and actually go through with it. "Yeah, I'll send you the details in a bit! See you later, Zayne!"

This time, Zayne made sure to order his dessert carefully, so you two were able to end dinner without worrying about anyone intoxicated.

After getting another plushie to add to your collection, you two returned to his place. As Zayne finished up a paperwork in his office, you decided to take a shower.

The hot water felt so nice, so you ended up being there longer than intended.

So long that Zayne decided to check up on you.

And join you.

"Wha — Zayne!"

"You were taking too long. I need to take a shower too."

It's not the first time you two showered together, so it's not a big deal. Still, seeing him naked out of the blue did get your heart racing, for many reasons.

"Using my shampoo?" you raised a brow, watching as Zayne grabs the purple shampoo bottle instead of the blue one.

"Only because mine ran out faster than usual, for some odd reason..."

"Hmm... that is weird, hahaha!" you're definitely not guilty, at all. "Anyways, let me help you!" you grabbed his arms and forced him to lower down so that you could reach his hair.

Zayne gave no objection and allowed you to play with his foam-covered hair, chuckling at your level of concentration.

A few minutes later, as you're washing off soap from his body, you got the urge to write a hidden message on his back.

With your index finger, you wrote:

'<3 you.'

You grinned at your work despite having no evidence of it.

"If you have something to tell me, say it to my face, not my back."

Zayne turned around to face you, just in time to watch your grin vanish as you became surprised.

"What?! How did you know?!"

He smiled with amusement. "I'm a doctor who knows a lot of things."

"You are such a comedian."

Zayne disregarded your sarcastic reply and held your hands that reached up to his face to pinch his cheeks.

"So are you going to tell me what you wrote on my back?"

"I thought you know it already, Doctor Zayne."

"I do. But I want to hear you say it."

He leaned down towards your face and your entire body became nervous all of a sudden.

"Wow, look at this! We're wasting water! Better turn it off." you tried to run away by moving to the other side to turn off the shower valve.

Zayne didn't let you go easily.

He came up behind you, spun you around and trapped you against the wall, left arm blocking your upper left side and his right hand pressed against the wall, right next to your hips.

"I'm sorry, I can't let you run away again." he whispered before kissing you just under your right ear. "I haven't seen you for days, but it feels longer." He recalled all the times he'd gotten interrupted every time things are just starting to heat up. "I might just have to.... keep you captive."

You failed to come up with a proper response as his words had your mind melting and overheating.

No, it's not just your mind, but your body as well.

As he starts to slowly leave a trail of kisses from your ear to your neck, your heart skipped a beat and your face heated up along with the rest of you body. Your legs weakened, and your core clenched with excitement.

After leaving a couple of marks on your skin, just above your collar bones, Zayne focused on your lips.

Keeping a slow and gentle pace, he kissed you passionately, over and over again, going in deeper everytime.

Once his tongue slipped betwen your lips, your hands moved from his back to his shoulders so that you could pull him closer while simultaneously keeping yourself steady, just in case your knees give out from the way he's making you feel.

Your thighs burned with desire, especially when something hard suddenly poked you.

Zayne moaned as his cock twitched and its tip had grazed your soft, sensitive skin, hot and wet just for him.

"Let's take this inside, okay?"

You vigorously nodded your head and wrapped your arms around his shoulders while he grabbed onto your legs to wrap them around his hips.

At his movement, his cock once again brushed against your pussy and the two of you failed to hold back a gasp from the pleasant wave of sensation that stuck your bodies.

Zayne carried you out of the bathroom and onto the bed, not caring much about his sheets getting wet from your bodies, still slightly wet from the shower.

He sat you down at the edge of the bed and got on his knees, positioning himself right between your legs.

Just then, his phone started ringing.

He freezes, and your mouth drops.

Interrupted again?

This has to be the worst one of all, you thought.

But Zayne ignored it.

His hands went to your legs and parted them so he could make more room for himself.

"Wait, are you not gonna answer that?"

"I told the hospital that I'd be busy and won't be able to get back to them at all. Whatever it is, it's not important."

You are much more important.

Right now, all he wants to do is make you feel good, so that's what he's going to do.

Zayne buries his face between your thighs and his tongue massages your folds, causing you to gasp and grasp his shoulders.

The movement of his tongue increased its pace as he devoured you deeper. He hummed with satisfaction, enjoying how you taste. At last, he finally gets to have you.

He'll be sure to take his time.

He'll make sure every part of you gets the attention it deserves.

No matter how deep, he'll be sure that you feel all of him.

And so, as soon as you reached your climax and squirted all over his mouth, Zayne licked his lips and moved on to your breasts, taking his time to suck each one and leaving a mark near them.

Soon, he led you farther into the bed, ready to get on top of you. However, after seeing his hardening cock coated with pre-cum, you pulled him down on the mattress and straddled his thighs.

Zayne's breath hitched as you lowered your face onto his hips before taking his cock into your mouth. He groans at the feeling of your lips and tongue enveloping and caressing him so tightly, he can't help but thrust upwards just a little.

RING RING RING.

Your eyes widened as your ringtone blared loudly, causing you and Zayne to glance at your phone on the nightstand, right next to his.

Zayne frowned and took a glance at the lit-up screen of your phone.

"Would you like to answer Andrew's call, darling?"

With his cock still inside your mouth, you furrowed your brows and shook your head.

"Are you sure? It might be important."

One death glare from you, and Zayne chuckles and rejects the call. He silences your phone before returning it on the nightstand.

He was just about to say something, most likely a teasing remark judging by the smirk on his face, so you quickly put all of his length in your mouth, taking him as deep as you could. Zayne flinched and threw his head back, grunting loudly while his fingers cling onto the sheets of his bed.

At that moment, he came inside your mouth.

You swallowed as much as you could, though there had been so much that your lips, and portions of cheeks and chin had gotten painted white as well.

Zayne breathes heavily while his cock remains hard and twitching, just like how your pussy is even more wet than before.

He sat up and captured your lips roughly, with one hand on your neck, holding you just strong enough to keep you in place, but nowhere near enough to hurt you.

His kisses are tender and packed with hunger. He only just tasted you, but he wants more. And you're just as desperate, kissing him back just as forceful while one of your hand run up and down his chest, feeling his fast-beating heart.

You slowly start to sway your hips and grind on his thighs, immediately making him gasp. His cock pokes your entrance, demanding to feel you, so you take it and ease it in you.

Zayne rested a hand on the small of your back once you slowly began to move up and down, matching the pace of his lips that dances against yours.

Every part of him wanted to grab your ass and urge you to move faster, but Zayne wanted to take it slow tonight.

He wants to take his time.

He's not going anywhere and neither will you.

Tonight, there won't be any interruptions.

So, there's no need to rush.

You'll have each other for as long as you want, for as long as you can.

When he reached his second climax, Zayne remained inside you. Even when some had spilled out, he continued to thrust into you.

He kissed you as you cried with pleasure, feeling overwhelmed with the euphoric feeling all over your body.

"Just a little more, okay?"

You nodded as a response, barely understanding his words due to your spinning mind. You gasped for air as Zayne gently nudged down on your stomach before going on top of you, aligning his cock against your ass.

He kissed your ear before entering you once again.

Just as promised, he kept you as a captive.

He took his time with you and stopped at nothing until both of you could no longer keep your eyes open.

"By the way..."

Just before you could fall asleep, Zayne, who was lying down next to you, drew something on your back using his index finger.

'<3 you.'

[capellla]

"ᵀʰⁱˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵖʳᵉᵗᵗʸ⁻ᵍⁱʳˡ ᵐᵃⁿᵗʳᵃ, ˢʰᵉ'ˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢᵗᵘⁿⁿᵃ, ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ˢʷⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ʷᵃʸˢ"

Why Are You So Pretty? | PAC

I know it's hard to feel beautiful or confident sometimes and especially in these times many of us are struggling with this. But I believe that we all have a unique beauty. Do you want to know why you are so pretty? Choose the image or images you are most drawn to and see.

Pick an Image

Paid Readings Masterlist Dividers -> @dollywons

1-

Oh first of all, you have so many parts that will make you look pretty. When the wind blows and covers all your feelings and you are one step closer to feeling free, you will realize how beautiful you are. Because there are so many things that really make you beautiful. And let's take a deep look at them.

Your dark side makes you beautiful. Yes, you heard right. When the whole world is dark and everything has lost its color and you have perhaps lost all your light.. you look beautiful. The reason you look beautiful lies deeper. Think of a story in a book where a character living in darkness actually gains and discovers his true power. There is so much to discover in you and your angels and tarot cards whisper that you look like a lotus flower in contrast to all this darkness. Unique and difficult conditions and surrounded by ugliness, but you are truly beautiful in the midst of it all. Purely, even if there are flaws that try to pull you down, maybe a scar or more, but what makes you beautiful is everything that makes you who you are. And that whole that they all form together.

 If nature spoke more it would surround you like a princess or prince and offer you its fruits. There is something natural about you, a natural and commanding beauty. Quiet and only your eyes speak and it is felt in your aura. There are dark parts but it is attractive. I see the leaves falling in the blowing wind, none of these leaves are rotten, they just cannot resist the wind. The words and actions that come from you are exactly like that. There is something irresistible about you. A stunning power. And you truly command silently, and the beholder cannot resist you. There is something deep and peaceful about you in this depth, perhaps you have balanced and calmer facial features. The shape of your body does not matter, every body shape is beautiful and we do not question that in this reading. I am talking about the things that make you unique and beautiful and that are special only to you, and the deeper I look into you, the more I discover in you. A predator tearing apart its prey, a mother adoring her newborn baby... and a calm sky in the middle of all of this, that sky is you. Do you get the vibe I am trying to give? In all that chaos, everything finds you again, everything becomes complicated, maybe it becomes wild, maybe it becomes compassionate, but it comes back to you. You have this aura too, calm but more.

When we look at the moon and all the other celestial bodies, we see that they all move in a beautiful order. Sometimes some stars explode and go out, sometimes a meteorite hits the earth and brings an end to it. In all the order, you see both the scary and the beautiful at the same time. And time has no meaning. I am telling you these because your appearance seems to reflect this. Take a look at everything you see as ugly and dark in yourself, you will realize that you actually have a perfect order and its real effect. No matter how you see yourself, everything you find dark and unattractive, that is where your power lies. You may have a balanced facial feature and a plus feature that you think completely spoils your appearance, but this is far from making you ugly, it gives you a strong aura. He who is calm and lost in silence is not weak or ineffective, you should know this.

2-

Wow, I can tell just by looking at the cards how pretty you look. No matter what you do, there is something that shines in you; like love, passion, strength. No matter what situation you are in, you hold your head high and don't let anyone talk bad to you. Because you know that you only have yourself, that you can take refuge in yourself. Others may call it selfishness, arrogance, hypocrisy, but you know very well what the truth is. There are many things that make you beautiful. And knowing your own worth is one of them.

You have a mature energy and you could have more defined features. Maybe more curves or maybe more defined facial features. Your hair suits your face very well, especially when you leave it natural. It suits you very well with its natural color and shape. You look beautiful when you cry. When you show your true strength and are not afraid of reactions, when you carry the difficulties proudly like a victory on your back, and when you work with the calloused curves of your hands, you are truly beautiful.

You make people fall in love with you. And you become the love of their lives. God is looking down and smiling. The sun is showing itself again. Your beauty is a blessing.

Have you ever wondered why other people run away from you or distance themselves? It is because of your power. People are aware of this and are afraid because they are used to superficiality, they are used to fakeness, they are not ready to hear the truth, not at all.

You live like love, the bowl of food you make is full of love, your hands are full of love when you water your flowers, your smile is full of love when you smile at someone. Seeing and loving you is like a long journey, there is so much to discover, so many landscapes to see, deep blue seas, birds flying in the sky. It is very difficult not to get lost in you. If you can find someone who can truly understand you and is not afraid to look at a map, then you will understand. And when the words that come out of this person's lips tell you how beautiful you are, then you will understand. Because while you are moving forward freely and carrying those difficulties on your back, you are missing out on so much about yourself.

Loving you and seeing you is like everything coming together one after another. Your beauty creates a sense of harmony in people, when they look at you, they remember how beautiful life really is. And they want to get lost and discover you.

You have a beauty that stands the test of time, whether it is primitive times, renaissance or modern times, wherever and whenever you are, you have a face and beauty that can be called beautiful.

You have a life-giving and magnificent aura like a willow tree, maybe simple, maybe strong, maybe powerful, maybe flowing like water. And everyone who sees you pauses for a while to digest what they see, because they know, They know how pretty you are.

3-

When people first look at you, they may see arrogance or a power looking down on others. But I know there is more to you than that. They don't see it because they don't actually look, because the truth isn't really hidden deep down.

The sun shines behind you and makes your hair shine, could you have been a king or a queen in a previous life? Maybe a goddess? Even flowers feel ashamed in the face of your beauty. I could call you arrogant, overconfident and spoiling the fun, but these are the words of someone who is superficial and doesn't know how to see beauty.

You walk down the street as if you were on a stage and God is my witness, it is impossible not to look at you. Your beauty lies in the passion within you, your beauty lies in the flame within you. You are beauty itself. There is not a single part of you that doesn't reflect the light of your beauty. That chic necklace you wear as an accessory, your ID that says your name, the touch of your skin and the spark it gives off, you scream I am beautiful.

Keep showing yourself and being free or crazy, because people need to see this beauty. And don't be afraid to go against others or be too much for them, everything that makes you unique was created for this. Show them off and show what beauty is. Because this ugly world needs it.

And what is called "real" to others, ordinary beauty rules don't matter because you are more than them. You are more than superficial beauty rules and you transcend them. I can't lie, you have an energy and aura that not everyone is familiar with or can handle. You can't look at a sun for a long time, it damages your eyes. So you should accept some people's reactions naturally.

There is also something complicated about you. Maybe your hair gets tangled, then you go in front of the mirror with your newly woken up and swollen eyes, looking messy but very sexy. How is this possible? Can we call it a blessing or is it just because of the natural aura you emit that is special to you? I won't give the answer.

You don't think twice, you make a decision with your whole being and get down to business. Courage finds its name and existence in you. Life shows itself in you. It's like a magic spell, but it's nature. Someone who doesn't know may blame you, may say that "this person was born with luck", that everything he has is due to luck. But they will probably never know. They will never know what it means to be you. There is nothing exaggerated about you. It's like blaming the sun for shining too brightly. But there is also the fact that you can't block the sun's light, you can hide behind curtains, but that doesn't mean that the sun isn't still shining. That sun will always continue to show itself and shine. That's the truth.

4-

There is a rich energy in this pile. Clothes or money make everyone look beautiful so I won’t talk about that. I will only talk about the richness that is unique to you. You may have a different and rich cultural origin. And I see that you still somehow preserve these traditions. Whether it is with your style or your facial features. And that makes you look very pretty.

As I write these exact words, a song with the lyrics; “so pretty it hurts” is playing in the background. I know this is not a coincidence. There is something about you that makes you feel distant and at the same time very close. I want to touch you, I want to be closer to you because you are so beautiful but every time I try to touch you, you seem to move away. You make me feel very beautiful. I close my eyes and pray. You have a beauty that prays. In a pure and rich way.

I see you with your compassionate eyes telling someone something and petting a puppy. There is a spiritual air about you, a nostalgic air. Your aura makes me sigh. I feel all the sincere beauty in the world in my heart. The fact that it will all end one day makes everything more beautiful. If you are afraid of losing all the beauties you have, you should not be afraid of this. As long as your beauty exists, it is an inspiration at every age and moment.

Because you are unique and original. You are unique and you should know that one day for someone, today for someone else, you are very special and precious.

Sometimes you have to lose something you have to understand its value, I will not look at what you have lost in your life or go into this painful subject. But every wound and every scratch made you more beautiful. You had to go through these roads to have the richness you have today. Because all these memories and the marks left on your soul are what make you unique. All these marks change themselves and those wounds are filled with colorful healing energy and leave unique marks on your soul.

You are destroyed and reborn, and among all that pain, chaos and ruins, a flag is seen touching the sky. You have this wealth, this aura.

All the cosmic components come together and witness you. They enable your richness. Your beauty has more than what ordinary eyes can see. When I look at you, I see true power and nobility. I witness the true moment. The birth of a world, the birth of a child and its continuation... your eyes that make the world rich come before my eyes. They are full of light and something I cannot name. And all of this inspires me. Your beauty transcends the ordinary of the physical world.

5-

You are very beautiful and pretty. I thought for a long time how to explain it better and put it into words, but I guess there is no need for that. You have a beauty that can be accepted by everyone. You are conventionally attractive. The kind of beauty that people want to serve, want to approach you, want to be near.

There are many different colors in you, but the color I see the most clearly is black. You are like black, noble, darkly rich. But don't take my words in a negative sense because it has nothing to do with it. Black only suits you and shows your own power. Like a black hole, you attract people to you and nothing else shines where you are.

But I see that you are quiet and do not boast about all these beauties. You should not hesitate to appreciate and show them because it is the most natural thing you have and it is your right.

I will say this for those of you who are not aware, from your body shape to your facial features, you are considered beautiful by the vast majority. But is that important? No! Other people's opinions are completely unnecessary. In this reading, I will only focus on why you are truly beautiful, not on other people's selfish opinions.

I am taking the Jupiter and financial gain cards. I don't even need to tell you that you are beautiful. Because you being beautiful is a fact. It's not relative. But if I were to describe you through the eyes of people who truly love you and know you well, that's a completely different topic. You have so much more, there really is so much more.

You are noble, proud, your heart is rich but you don't give more than much to those who don't deserve it. You are aware of your power and value. Even animals and nature are drawn to you. Because you carry the most beautiful aspect of nature on your face and soul. The idea that beautiful people have ugly hearts or arrogant hearts is wrong and you are proof of that.

You are also talented, and no matter how big your dream is, this adds beauty to your beauty. People discover that there is more to you and it definitely surprises them. You have the beauty and talent that can be presented to a movie or a magazine. And you shouldn't ignore all of these, you should let them shine. You are like a reality living in a region where all the swords and lies are. That's how your aura feels. It's sharp and striking, it's noticeable and it makes it hard to even breathe. But then I calm down and the more I feel you, the more I find peace and acceptance. I accept that you are beautiful.

6-

Your beauty is like the moon, like breath, like a newly opened flower. It may seem weak and fragile, but that is far from the truth.

You break people, you break them, you make them dizzy, you make them weak. Because your delicate beauty tells them that you are the one who is fragile, but they cannot see the truth. I see that you have a truly pure beauty and appearance. Very romantic and like a poem. You have the beauty that could inspire a painter, a poet, a writer.

Contemplative and nostalgic, and your eyes shine in the darkness. And suddenly all those songs, poems, paintings come to life. Your style makes you completely special. You are completely yourself and you show and spread something of yourself to those around you. Some people judge this as being too different, while others admire it and want to be like you. But I have to say this. You do not yet know the truth very well in yourself. You do not yet know how much there is to discover in you and how much beauty you have.

The light in a weak lamp, a noble flower squeezed behind a glass, you radiate a beauty that you cannot bear to touch. It embraces you like a dream and makes you forget who you really are. Your beauty is intoxicating, and makes people want to get lost.

I want to hold your hand and show you all the beauties of the world. I want to make you taste new tastes and give you new pleasures. I want to trust you. You awaken these feelings in people. No matter how old you are, you look and will look younger than you are. I must say this. And this is one of the qualities that make you pretty.

This is very interesting because I get the moon and sun cards at the same time. Again. You surprise people.

You have the fragility of a moon but the power of a sun. Some think of you as a powerful source of light and joy, while others see you as the cause of their suffering. You make people experience different feelings at the same time. You make their heads spin and make them question the world. You are far from ordinary.

People claim your fragile beauty but avoid talking about the powerful effect you have on them. This is pure cowardice on their part and a pointless subject that I will not even mention. You are setting people free. You are breaking all those expected and believed standards of beauty and bringing innovation.

[conspiracyofcrazy]

I am so fucking sick of this post. It is the only thing in my notifications. I just thought it was funny and a couple of mutuals would find it amusing. And then Neil fucking Gaiman found it and *boom* there goes my peace and quiet.

I did find the thread about "oh... so *that's* puce" really entertaining, though.

The thing about it that really kills me (and I'm aware that this is the root of it - I've talked to my therapist about it) is that none of it is original to me. All I did was cut and paste and give it ONE tag. Took absolutely no brain power. I didn't contribute a single word. None of my original stuff comes 1/10 as close to this many notes. I come back every 24 hours and clear the 23 - 99+ notifications and get disgusted and tend to not spend time here.

You want to know the worst part? Right under this one, in my timeline is a really funny video of Doofenshmertz singing A Platypus Is Controlling Me, live. With a live band. At a block party. To which I also didn't contribute a word. And I wish that had more notes.

For one thing, it's less depressing. It's fun and light hearted. It doesn't dwell on the outside world. And frankly, I'm really sick of the outside world and want a sanctuary.

The other thing that really gets under my skin is knowing that this wouldn't have gained any traction without Gaiman finding it. Two years ago, I'd have been thrilled that he found it and wanted to boost the message. Now? I want to scrub his fingerprints off anything of mine that he has touched. And that includes the letter from 10 years ago refusing to help me with my master's thesis. I used to put it in perspective and remind myself that he's very busy and doesn't owe me anything and talking about another author wouldn't be good form. In the past year, it has felt very selfish and self-centered. I asked about Douglas Adams and Gaiman wrote Don't Panic before anyone knew his name. I owned Don't Panic before Gaiman wrote Sandman.

And this famous author allowed this nobody journalist interview him and talk about his work with him.

And I just want you to see the newest cover for this same book:

Just me, or does his name look bigger than the title? And it seems to stand out more for being the only black on the cover.

He was never going to help me. And reblogging this post of mine feels like an insult.

And no one will read this or care or anything else, but I needed to purge my craw of the bile I've built up over the past year.

[brittle-doughie]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

∘•············•∘ʚ I’ll Take You: Eternal Sugar Cookie ɞ∘•·············•∘

[They miss you…]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

To each other, you two were a match made in oven. You had an angel would made sure that you were always happy through all kinds of loving affection. And the Sugar of Happiness had a Cookie made for her that she could cherish for as long as she lived. She was all too happy to show you what it meant to feel that joy and love in your heart.

She’d take your hand and fly around the fields of flowers to up in the sky where you two could lay on clouds as you both tell each other’s feelings. Here’s a hint, she loved you and you loved her! Not so much a secret, but always something she loved to hear come from your mouth!

She’d do whatever she could to give you everything and anything, but you’d decline these big gifts she’d give you. It didn’t matter, because as long as you had her, you were always happy. That alone is enough for the Sugar of Happiness to brighten her up the whole day. There was that extra security that you’d never be this close to any Cookie but her!

She was your everything.

To the Sugar of Happiness. You were a Cookie that she can call her everything…

“I never thought that you could make so happy for all these years, my angel…”

“And I could never have been a happier angel without you, my heavenly. I count my stars every day knowing that I was gifted such a wonderful Cookie…”

“What of the other Cookies? I wish they could be as happy as I am with you…”

“I might have the answer for that, my heavenly…”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When she made her paradise, it was to be a place where all Cookies who enter it would be happy. A place where suffering and disease would only be in memory. She gave you your personal spot where all your needs would be met…but to you, that wasn’t what you wanted. You started to see her less and less as she just let her paradise do the work of making you happy. It was her wish after all, to always see you happy.

You wanted her. Your heart yearned for her.

Yes, she’d tend to you when she senses your hurt emotions. You two have that special connection to each other, but she’d now would leave once you’ve calmed down to allow her paradise and the sugar angels to take care of you in her stead.

“My garden is a place where all Cookies must be happy, all of them. I’m sorry I can’t stay like we used to, but that doesn’t mean I love you any less…”

“I want you to stay. I don’t want to be left alone…”

“The Sugar Angels will gift you company, my heavenly. I must welcome the newer guests to my paradise…”

“Wait…”

And she was gone. Just like that…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You missed those times in the past…

Where she could make Cookies happy while still having enough time for you. Weren’t you meant to be for her? If you can’t be with her always, then what were you anymore?

No matter how many times Eternal Sugar tries to paint a smile on your soul, it never lasts…

You were…unhappy….

…

…

…

“What was the world like outside of this place?”

You ponder one night, lying on your back in your bed, looking up at the night sky…was it even a real one?

Just how much of the world would you missing out on when you remained here for all this time?

Were there possibly other places then here that could you feel…happiness? Joy?

….

You hoped your Creators were listening. You ask for them to please give you a sign…

….

…You noticed a faint red string coming from your chest, you somehow didn’t notice that up until now…

You went to reach for it, only for it to somehow come loose and float away into the air…

That felt…freeing? That weight in your chest from your emotions suddenly felt light, as if you weren’t weighed down anymore…

Your angel didn’t pay you mind as much anymore, she won’t seem to fret that much if one Cookie left her paradise…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The garden stood still.

The Bringer gasped suddenly as she clutched her chest, where her heart was located. She brought a hand to her eyes to see that she was crying, her hands start to tremble as she felt her heart being torn in two…she felt…forgotten…

She immediately knew what was wrong with her…

How was she so foolish…

…

…

…No.

She won’t allow it to end like this.

She can make you happy, just like she should’ve always been doing…

And if you refuse, she’ll just have to take you…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You had taken your first steps into this new world, for you. It wasn’t anything like the paradise, with the variety of colors and plants that littered the placed.

You were nervous about this, but you also felt excited.

What did this world have in store for you-

“Heavenly….? Where are you going…?”

You froze up at the worried voice behind you, knowing it too well to mistake it for any Cookie.

“I was just wondering what outside the garden was like. You told me not to go out in fear of monsters, but..I just wanted to see it had in store.”

“Heavenly…”

“Please, call me Y/N Cookie…”

This formality only brought fear to Eternal Sugar’s heart. It was like you two were just strangers in comparison to the soulmates you two always were…it only made her want to get you more quickly…

“Y/N Cookie. I’m relieved to hear you were only curious. Please return to the garden, I..want to talk to you there about something.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you can tell me…”

“Y/N Cookie-“

“Stop.”

…

…

…

…

“I’m sorry….”

“Sorry?”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone like I did. My paradise was meant to make every Cookie that live in it happy, but I failed to see that doing that only made you unhappy.”

“No, that was just your duty. It was just how…you’d leave me to let your paradise make me happy when you’re the only one that can…”

“I see that now! So please, come back with me! I want to make this right! To have things go back to how they were!”

“I’m sorry too, my angel. The world is calling for me, and I want to see what it can give me for my own happiness now…”

Eternal Sugar sighed solemnly. It looked like she really ruined things now….

And she aims to fix that.

“Your happiness is with me.”

She immediately flew at you and grabbed you, you try to resist as she pulled you back towards the garden.

“My angel, please!”

“Don’t worry, my heavenly! I’ll make things better!”

“You’re holding me too tightly!”

“Why wouldn’t I? I need to show you how much I love you!”

“If you love me, you’d set me free!”

“But I REALLY love you, so I’ll keep you here with me! Oh, just think of the memories we can make here!”

She held your face close to hers…

“Don’t you get it, my love?”

“You’re EVERYTHING to me….”

You’d never get to see the world. Why would you? SHE is your world now…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[imwastingmylifehere]

i wonder how productive the world would be if people realized that magnus and alex would not get together really fast

[rock-omelette]

I think it always goes unsaid (thus forgotten) that in order to believe Stobotnik "matches" e/o's freak, as it were, Stone believes much of the same things Robotnik does. You need to understand people like Stone DO believe they're better than you. Worse than that; they're RIGHT.

They're BOTH psychopathic (they relish in the pain and suffering of others, especially those they deem subordinate or below them. Read: everyone.) but where Robotnik's psychopathy dips into narcissism, Stone's psychopathy dips into Machiavellianism. Kindness and empathy--at best, means nothing to him, and at worst, is deemed fucking stupid. He views others in a range of usefulness.

Stone is not a man without emotions, but they are separate, and they are considered bias in the long term achievement of goals. Sure he can ACT empathetic, that's easy. Being charming and acting sweet and kind it's easy. Crucially, to Stone, it is an important and useful manipulation tactic. Personally, I think the only person Stone has ever, and truly could love is Robotnik. On top of everything, Ivo GETS IT. Ivo is the only one Stone believes IS worthy of respect, who can put his money where his mouth is, every time, and does better than you can ever imagine. Ivo IS the pinnacle of success. And to not SEE this, in Stone's eyes, is fucking stupid. He genuinely, sincerely, from the bottom of his fucking heart and soul believes that being unable to SEE how powerful Ivo is STUPIDITY IN THE HIGHEST ORDER.

Emotions are an indulgence for Stone, and thats what his love for Ivo is. To choose and love Ivo--in Stone's eyes--is the one, selfish indulgence he ever lets himself have, regardless of any long term goals. You need to understand that Stone WANTS Ivo, and he fucking GETS what he wants, regardless of Ivo's opinion on the matter btw. This is pillar of Stone's character, to me. Which is why reading fics where Stone is kinder or more compassionate than this doesn't quite scratch the itch that I have about it

[lazylittledragon]

i think thats supposed to be about sex things but Not One Of Those, this is the fourth, fifth? couple youve given a lil baby and i think you maybe love lil babys

i too, give the Characters lil babys, because i love them

as well as the myriad of Situations it puts the blorbos in

fourth or fifth publicly/in recent memory, i've been doing it for Years in art i haven't posted akfdhdjhd

i do just really love putting them in Situations you're right

[introspectivememories]

thinking bout 14yr finnick winning the games and thinking about the victors+effie looking at this child and going "fuuuuck!!! guess we're co-parenting now"

[gurggggleburgle]

the reason why Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan can't attic wife each other in there house and never leave is that they don't have internet or anything else around to help keep them moving. I think we chalk too much of Shen Qingqiu being a super productive person post transmigration often too much to reading into things and treating his unreliable narration as fact.

But like, what is he supposed to do all if not actually go outside and talk to people and get a job. Luo Binghe needs to do things other than be a housewife for his own sanity so he doesn't cabin fever. He can't live focusing his day around a singular person being in the room its not healthy and would drive him insane. These are not overly productive constantly doing things people. These are people doing things to make sure they aren't malaise slugs feeling nothing in their day to day drudgery.

This is just what a healthy post/pre internet mental state kinda looks like.

[daughterofhylia]

it's dangerous to go alone

[ashmacg]

I am staunchly against the idea that queerbait even really exists, at least to the extent it sounds like folks believe it does or in the way people seem to be defining it. All that is vague to me, though, so let me explain what I'm getting at: First of all, let's establish that any and all moments anyone experiences queerness—and all humans are capable of experiencing queerness, mind you—are an absolute good. Any and all moments of performative queerness, done for any reason, are in and of themselves queerness. To act queer is to either be or experience or perform queer for the duration of the behavior, which is to engage in queerness. Lifelong or five seconds, it matters not. Queerness is always queerness and always valid. Queerness is an experience and feeling and state of being that can exist in any person, at any time, for any duration, for any reason, and independent of the knowledge of anyone other than said person. In all scenarios in which queerness exists, the queerness is in and of itself absolutely valid, and it is entirely valid to manifest in the way that it does. If queerness is somehow used to harm, the queerness and its provenance are not wrong—the act of harming, specifically, is wrong. If a cishet man does drag badly to insult queer folk, it is not wrong that he is doing drag badly—slay, queen. It is wrong that he is attempting to foment stigma and queerphobia in society. Promoting queerphobia and doing drag badly are two separate actions even if done simultaneously. This is an example of why criminal law (let's use an NTSB case w/ plane crash as rhetorical example) is vastly written to require both an action (say, doing thing[s] that result in death) and an intent (desire to make ppl dead) and this is why an airline pilot who simply makes a mistake under pressure or cannot recover from a bad situation is not charged with murder or even manslaughter. Yes, the pilot did a thing that caused death to happen (mistake) or didn't do a thing that would have made death not happen (attempted to prevent crash but was not capable). We do not blame the pilot unless they consciously wanted death to happen (murder) or failed to attentively want death not to happen (manslaughter). We do the investigation in order to determine whether or not someone did something that is wrong under the Action+Intent definition of the law. Sometimes 150 people die and no one did a damn thing wrong. Cpt Picard would define that as part of life. Those things happen. Sometimes it's weather, sometimes it's because it wasn't possible to know that some component would fail or malfunction because maybe metallurgy hadn't gotten there yet or we didn't have the tech to simulate the range of conditions that caused the particular accident. Those things don't necessarily constitute crime or injustice, because we don't live in a just universe. We may all be char-broiled tomorrow by a Gamma Ray Burst aimed at us purely by astronomical chance and while it would be massively and horrifically tragic, it wouldn't be wrong. There would be no culprit, no being remotely at fault, and it wouldn't be wrong at all. It would just be something that happened.

This is why, like OP, I am not at all convinced that Naruto and its canon are queerbait. We have no evidence that can convince us that Kishi intends to make Naruto and Sasuke's subtextual romance be taken as a reason for gay=bad or w/e or that gay guys should never be open about it. Being closeted happens to people just as Kishi wrote it to happen to Naruto and Sasuke. Indeed, we instead have evidence that vaguely suggests Naruto is meant to be a tragedy about two gay young men learning to love in a world that is so against their love and even love in general: homophobic enough for Sasuke to say nothing and Naruto to internalize homophobia—and also full of killing and oppression and injustice. Full of misogyny, too, and we see it erode the explicitly intellectually-brilliant Sakura like a strong acid. We can even conject, without it being batcrap crazy, that Kishi might be a closeted gay man trying to sneak pro-gay shounen content past the censors at Weekly Shounen Jump and Studio Pierrot, because how else in early 21st-century Japan can one reach the shounen demographic to that extent with a pro-gay message?.

If we were talking about J* R*****g writing as Robert Galbraith and making a subtextually trans character as the bad guy on account of gender identity; then, yes, that would definitely be queerbait, because it baits queer representation and SWITCHES it with queerphobia. Pretty sure that's what ____bait is meant to entail. Bc otherwise, at least in terms of queerbaiting, if we define it as suggesting queerness in a character but never actually confirming it in the narrative, it's no different from writing a character who is closeted without privileging the narrator with that information.

Remember, 3rd person omniscient means universal knowledge, like an actual factual god, and is different from 3rd person surveillance state or 3rd person w/ access to the console log of Deep Thought or 3rd person Minority Reporting absolutely everything within a 12-megaparsec radius, all of which are very different from 3rd person who works in the cubicle nearest the water cooler; additionally, why would we rely on the narrator of any nth-person and class to be absolutely reliable and forthcoming? Deities are allowed to have discretion and it's entirely possible for a universal god to lie and withhold info for any reason, even malicious ones. And it's not like authors are actually explicitly telling us exactly what narrator type they are using at any point in the story, because many types can use the same linguistic patterns and have the same apparent scope of knowledge at various points in the narrative. It's better reading when writers "show it, don't tell it", so we can't hold them accountable for describing in detail every plot element. That would make the average children's storybook balloon to the word count of War & Peace. Do you want Snow White to have the narrative sprawl and density of Tolkien's Legendarium?

To conclude:

As I see it, in order to determine if a work (containing a potentially- but unconfirmed-as-queer character) is queerbait, we must answer the following question:

Can we reasonably assume the queer bait is deliberately being SWITCHED with a queerphobic message or vibe, whether by apparent conscious intent or subconscious motivation?

If yes, queerbait.

If no, not queerbait. Just a character who isn't out in the scope of the narrative. Don't punish queer characters for staying in the closet, that's queerphobic. The characters don't owe you visibility. Don't expect the narrator to be reliable and don't expect them to just tell you what the main idea is or tell you what message to take from the story. The narrator may be an asshole in a story meant to change minds for the better, so don't act like they are required to be an ally or even virtuous—the narrator can be like another character external to the plot itself. Don't punish authors who without malice write implicitly closeted characters by intent or accident, that's queerphobic to the author, from whose experience and imagination came the character in question. The authors don't owe you their own authenticity or their characters'. The author may be so far back in the depths of the closet they can't even tell the closet is present and it would be queerphobic to punish them for accidentally writing their truth that we find lacking in representation. It would also be queerphobic to end up criticizing an author for failing to be out of the closet or write queer visibility into their works when they may be afraid to do so, because for one thing, net worth can't make up for being tarred and feathered by bigoted media or society*. Nor should we expect a closeted queer creator to suffer abuse for any reason.

*Look at what happened to Ryuchell. Fame and wealth did *exactly* nothing to save them from queerphobia. You don't know what Kishi's expenses are like for his work; and if he is never published again bc of homophobia, he has to make it last the rest of the duration of life he hopes to live—and that's assuming his $20-30mil net worth is in liquid assets and not largely made up of the Naruto IP, which SJ and/or SP could use a corrupt legal system and public homophobic ire to strip from him. You don't know what his family would do nor how that would affect him emotionally or psychologically. POTENTIALLY QUEER CHARACTERS & AUTHORS & CREATORS DON'T HAVE TO TAKE ON SOCIETY'S ABUSE JUST SO YOU CAN FEEL SEEN. That's not how queer liberation works....

Someone in that poll said not to watch naruto bc it's queerbait and I hate to tell you this but naruto wasn't trying to queerbait you it's actually the number 1 example of "text is so misogynistic it becomes gay"

[mizzyislost]

apparently theres some rain world fandom discourse going around?? thats crazy anyways heres my gourmand and artificer as one of my favorite pieces of sonic fanart (its the last one)

[dollypopup]

"Penelope should have chosen Debling!"

My sister in Christ. . .he literally dumped her???

Like just before Colin Bridgerton was on his knees after outrunning her carriage to profess how he can't stop thinking about her in his love me, choose me, I'm yours speech, Debling did the Regency equivalent of calling her a floozy who would undoubtedly cheat on him when he abandoned her for several years to chase his passions (because she would never be one of said passions since she asked outright if he could ever come to care for her and he went 'hmmmm seems unlikely! good thing you have solitary hobbies to occupy you instead!') when he has been given 0 evidence of such other than realizing she liked to look out the window because she had a crush on the boy across the street. I was ready to challenge that man to a duel for Pen's honor

His feelings for her were middling at best, I mean Christ on a Pogostick, after he asked her mum for permission to propose he isn't even happy when he opens the door and Pen is there? She's looking like a snack- nay, a whole ass MEAL, and he can't even smile? He just nods at her and dips the fuck out? You don't think it would kill Penelope to know that both her sisters have husbands who absolutely adore them and she's out here with an absent dude who likely won't even write to her?

Portia's 'Love is make believe!' speech is so transparently full of shit when you realize that we've got Dankworth who is so obsessed with Prudence that he makes heart eyes at her every waking moment and considers her his little bonbon and Albion who loves Phillipa so much that he was waiting for her to consent to sex (not realizing she didn't know what it was) for two entire years because he would never pressure her and so he was content with finishing in his pants when he kissed her to make sure she was comfortable. And you want Penelope to settle for a life of loneliness? When Colin is so besotted with her that he dreams of her and breaks every societal expectation in the book as a notorious People Pleaser to run after her and cannot even wait for the morning after being intimate with her to introduce her as his wife to his family in the middle of the night? You want her to turn down Mr "When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible" Bridgerton? For LORD PENGUIN?

Be so serious right now

[turtleblogatlast]

Something I like about Leo is that he’s honestly really chill? It’s easy to remember the moments where he’s being obnoxious or excitable but I feel like most of the time he’s incredibly “go with the flow” and has an overall affable demeanor.