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hoseoksluna · 2 months

Text

WINE | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader

genre: smut

word count: 4.7k

summary: both of you have a party to go to, but jungkook makes you needy again.

playlist: it's jeon time / pinterest board: wine

warnings: forced drinking, neck kissing, dom/sub dynamics, use of pet names and one particular title <3, degradation and praise, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), sensual dancing, dirty talk, spanking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, squirting, rough sex, plushie used during intercourse, hair pulling, jungkook needing to be in control, the importance of dom/sub role-play being just a role-play and not extending past the sex practice, aftercare

note: this was meant to be a fluff fic with jimin but then jungkook x calvin klein happened and i was fucked. my libido was awakened by that man, my ovulation triggered by his seductiveness and fucking godly beauty. this might be tmi, but i genuinely felt turned on while writing this, so i hope you enjoy. my bestie who always reads my work first said that my jungkook fics are vastly different from the ones with other members, and i agree. the sole reason behind it is the simple fact that jungkook owns my sexuality. so, yeah. please, show some love in the comments. happy reading!!

side note: HAPPY BDAY HOBI ᡣ𐭩

“A bit tipsy, aren’t we?”

You’re twirling. Twirling in golden circles as the late afternoon sunset traces the curves of your figure with its fingers, giving willingly a brisk dose of vigor to the movement as your delicately tousled curls spin around you. The warm light hits the shimmer on the highest points of your cheeks—coalesces with the glitter and you smile at the sun, fluttering your eyes shut. The ardent giggle spilling out of the mouth of your close friend is the music you dance to, and it helps your smile to grow in width.

You have somewhere to be. Both of you do. But you deem this is more important—it is your pregame after all, even though the wine glass in your hand is empty. Small drops of the white nectar make traces on the parquet floor, leaving behind the evidence of your joy, light as a feather somewhere within you.

Freshly showered, Jungkook watches the show you put on for him. With one shoulder, he leans against the large wardrobe and rolls his sleeves upwards on his forearms, wrists adorned with golden bracelets that tinkle with each effort. He does it slowly, blindly. Prefers to focus on you, and not on the task he’s done too many times. You face him, aware of his warm gaze, and you lean your glass towards his chest, tilting your head to the side.

“Barely,” you say. “Had one glass. Have another one with me?”

Jungkook smiles fondly, dropping his eyes to his wrists as he fixes the stacking of the thick gold. The cherry wood accentuates his countenance in a way that magnetically pulls you closer to him. Your legs act on their own, feet making their way to his. Something about the way they are shod in shiny dress shoes and yours are bare, toenails painted in cotton candy pink, drives a certain scarlet hue to go mad upon your dew-kissed face. Or maybe it’s the fact you two fucked hardly an hour ago that does it. You’ve always liked the scene, in which you’re naked and he’s fully dressed. Or it’s your ever persistent daddy issues and your obsession with Lolita. Maybe it’s a mixture of both.

You notice a ring on his pinky finger as he sweeps his ebony hair back. It wasn’t there when he had those digits wrapped around your throat in missionary. You take his inked hand to get a closer look, noticing the engraving of his last name. His father must have the same one. You caress it with your thumb. Its yellow gleam seeps into your skin—illuminates you and envelops you in its aura, fixing a heavenly halo above your head. You find yourself smiling when you look up at him and find that he’s been gazing down at you the whole time, his very own angel.

“If I were to have a glass of wine with you,” he mutters, and the mischievous twinkle that appears in his eyes excites you in a way that angels shouldn’t be provoked. “Then, there would be no party to go to.”

You know what he means, but you play dumb. You want to hear him say it.

“How so?” you ask and you widen your eyes softly to appear more alluring. You’re not sure if your body would handle another round, but you do enjoy the teasing—you enjoy the talk, the chase, the fuzzy feelings in your tummy.

Jungkook straightens and reaches for the bottle on the coffee table four steps away from you. Sinks the body of the glass onto his palm, pouring a good amount of the liquid inside. Nibbles his bottom lip as he stalks towards you, handing you the nectar, although he doesn’t let go. Your fingers wrap around his and it’s him who does the first move—lifting his arm to tilt the glass to your mouth. He’s gentle, a safe distance away to watch his whimsy unfold, but firm. He doesn’t lower his hand until the spillage of the gilded liquid trickles down your throat. Only then does he chuckle, setting the glass down. Satisfied.

Dizziness stirs your mind and you hardly have time to take a breather before Jungkook latches his mouth onto your wine-stained neck, tongue coming out to play—cleaning you up in figure eights that cause you to roll your eyes back. The ends of your curls tickle the back of his hand as he brushes his fingers along the dip of your spine, the skin bare in the open back of your knitted dress—made perfect for his sly touches.

He doesn’t press you against his body when he begins to suck on your neck; he still keeps the distance. Perhaps to make you needy, perhaps to make you ask for more. And it’s working, the magnetic pull does its thing once more and you roll your chest against his, aching to fit in the spaces of his figure that you know full well are there for you to hide in. Your nipples perk up at the slight attention, and electrifying sparks glide down the perimeters of your form in a way that you wish his hands would.

Absentmindedly, you touch them and Jungkook notices as he switches to the other side of your neck, the more sensitive one, the one that always leaves you dripping with your essence. You let him know, vocally, how much you like him there, and the sounds of pleasure you utter into his ear force him to pull out his phone from his pocket, steal your hand from your breast and place it in your palm.

He withdraws with a pop, plump lips coming to trace the shell of your ear. “I think we need some music,” he whispers, fingers skimming the curve of your ass. “Can you play some? Can you do that for me?”

Oh, that degradation kink of his. He knows he flung you out of his world into a pretty pink planet somewhere out there in the universe with that skilled tongue of his. He knows how dumb you get when horniness flushes your body with heat—he knows it intimately, for he’s the one who fucks you, the one you give yourself to when you blossom with the need to do so. He’s the one who opens the petals one by one, never to tear them, but to smell them, kiss them, hover them over the tender skin of his face just to be close to you. He knows you and he knows how to play with you just how you like it.

And you like to get into this state of mind. You like to be degraded, even though you’ll never admit it. You particularly like to get degraded by Jungkook.

Because of that reason, he likes to awaken it in you, beckon it to come out. How he found out is beyond your understanding. You reckon he sensed it while having your orgasms in his control. Somewhere in that dynamic, he found a little nook of a library and its contents fell into his grasp when he sank his fingers inside of you. All he had to do was read. And, also, listen.

Your bodily and vocal reactions didn’t protest.

You can’t even see his lockscreen, the numbers as you type in his mother’s birthday because Jungkook begins to toy with your earlobe, nibbling at the flesh ever so slightly. The pleasure, the wine getting into your head—it’s all suddenly too much. Paradoxically, you find the app somehow without looking out of a habit you learned throughout the months you’ve been casually seeing him, for Jungkook never fucks without his ‘It’s Jeon Time’ sex playlist. And he always wants you to pick out the first song.

It impacts what he does to you later.

You scroll and you tap on a random song.

No BS by Chris Brown.

You return the phone and Jungkook begins to pepper soft kisses on your throat, pocketing the device. A sudden throbbing on your bundle of nerves makes you tenderly whine and in your head, you curse him out for making you needy again. He pretends not to hear you, making a way to your chin. He kisses it. Ghosts his lips over yours, puckers them to tease you and hums in appreciation for the song. You grab him everywhere you can. Hair, neck, shoulders. Squeezing. As if he hadn’t fucked the soul out of you earlier. As if you weren’t spent. And he just laughs.

No matter how soft the sound is, it forces all of the peach fuzz on your body to rise.

Oh, you’ve made him horny. You’re fucked.

No party for you.

“Good little girl,” he coos, grabbing your ass and pulling you flush to his body. The praise before the degradation—the calm before the storm. “Can always expect the best from you. You never fail to please me.”

His hardness greets you first, pressed torturously against your mound. You mewl at the feeling, but he silences you. His lips are second to say a playful hello as they delve into a firm kiss, hand grasping your hair in his fist. He inhales against you and before the two of you know it, you’re moving your bodies to the slow, sensual rhythm of the song. Jungkook kisses you again, parts your lips with his and slips his tongue inside.

Just to taste you, briefly.

He spins you around.

Towering over you, he wraps his arms around your middle and sways with you, pushing your hair to one side, so he can focus on your neck once more. Gliding his lips up and down your neck, nose nuzzling into the safe space there near your ear, he inhales again, your scent being the translucent ship that gets him to heavenly places he dreams of every now and then. He guides you with his hips, needing to be in control of everything, even of something as insignificant as a simple, intimate dance. You love it, you could never get enough of it. The stability being the foundation that holds it is what attracts you to it, the stability that you never had, the one that your inner child deserves.

Palms flat on your tummy, Jungkook drifts them down and stops at your hips, fingers reaching your mound.

“Those hips will be the death of me,” he murmurs, caressing your sides while continuing guiding you, pressing you just right against his prominent length. “Did you really expect me not to get hard seeing you dance like that?”

You bite your lip, furrowing your eyebrows, rotating your hips to the chorus of the song, head empty.

Jungkook grunts. The sound intoxicates you even more.

“My princess doesn’t really know what she’s doing to me, does she?” He hooks his fingers under the hem of your dress. “Too horny, too needy to think, hm?”

Shamelessly, you nod. “Want you again. Want to feel you inside of me.”

Jungkook hums, then breaks into a gentle laughter. Lifts your garment and lets his fingers roam on your clothed folds, the white fabric drenched in your dewiness—pellucid enough to show the beauty of your flesh.

Aware of how wet you are, he clicks his tongue. “You filthy girl, how many times do I have to fuck you in order for you to have enough?”

You grow silent. Brimming with a woozy desire, you opt to grind your ass against him again. Your brain cannot come up with any smart answer that would please him, so this is the best you could do. Jungkook curses under his breath, leans back to watch you. He meets each and every movement of your hips and completes them, creating waves that spur the butterflies in your belly to life.

“Filthy”—He spanks you—“Fucking”—Another spank—“Girl.”

Knees bent, Jungkook grinds against your core, cutting short your hissing. He turns you around and bends you against the wardrobe, places your hands flat on the cherry wood. Takes off your panties swiftly and lets them pool by your ankles. Spanks you below your ass cheek, moaning at the lift and ripple of your plumpness. Does it again on the other one, letting out a sound that makes your dewiness, similarly like the wine down the sides of your neck, leak and stick to your inner thighs. Something between a dark chuckle, a moan and a purr of endearment.

“What am I to do with such a greedy girl like you?” he says, fingers tracing each curve of your ass to etch the memory of it deeper into his brain. “You deserve to be fucked like this. Mercilessly, for my pleasure. Like the little slut you are. But I’ll be good to you.”

He pushes your left inner thigh, guiding you to spread your legs. Cups your pussy, digits spreading your essence all over you.

“I’ll be good to you because you just can’t help it, can you? Poor little baby is just a slut for this cock.”

You mewl at his words, but then you discover that he didn’t lubricate your cunt for you, but for himself.

You yelp when you feel his tongue right there on the softness of your inner thigh, licking up a stripe to drink you. You didn’t expect him to do it so quickly and your whines increase in volume when Jungkook buries his head in your pussy, the deft muscle swirling around your pulsating bundle, licking between your folds and teasing around your hole. You push your hips back, wanting him there more than ever, but he spanks you, bites your flesh before he soothes the pain with his kisses. Big kisses as he calls them, the ones with full tongue. The nasty, the dirty. Big kisses for big girls with experience—those he teaches.

Jungkook stands up and wraps his fingers around your jawline, holding you like that as he draws closer to your ear.

“Looks like you can’t go out with your little pussy wet like that and those pretty panties soiled like they are, can you?” He turns your head so you look at him and you let him see your star-filled eyes, damp with the cosmos. “What would they think of you?”

“Koo,” you cry out.

He purrs in mock sympathy. “I left you alone for what, half an hour? And your pussy is needy again. That’s not right, is it? You should stop and think about this. Daddy’s not fixing it for you.”

As if he hadn’t spoken a word, he sinks his fingers inside of you. Middle and ring. Jackhammers them until you scream, then he pulls them out and spanks your pussy once, twice. With all four of his digits, he rubs the entirety of your femininity, sloppily and rapidly, the drops of your essence joining the company of the drying wine on the parquet floor. You’re seeing white, your orgasm inches away from you.

“Jungkook, please, don’t stop—” Your mouth rounds, voice breaks into a moan. “I’m gonna come, please, please—”

He withdraws his fingers. Entire body, too. Like a starved animal, head tipped low, he stares you down.

You struggle to catch your breath, swallowing dryly, leaning your head against your forearms.

“You said—you said you’d be good to me,” you croak out, throat dry, eyes lidding, mind absolutely fucked out.

“I am.”

The meaning of his words eludes you, but you soon forget about thinking when he licks his fingers clean. Wraps those pretty, puffy pillows around his slender fingers and sucks them. Then, he undoes the few buttons left of his ebony shirt, slowly and precisely. You clench around nothing, walls pressing together tightly. You’d slip a finger inside if you weren’t holding the side of the wardrobe for dear life.

“Get on the bed, now,” he orders. “Leave the dress on. Panties, too. I’ll show everyone how much of a little slut you are.”

Without a second thought, you do as he says.

You sit down on the edge of the bed and spread your legs as wide for him as the undergarment enfolding your thighs allows you, the ivory material pulled taut—your dewiness on show. Jungkook walks into the room like he has all the time in the world, like you aren’t gripping the flesh of your sides in order not to touch yourself. His shirt is fully unbuttoned now and the fabric lets you see a slither of his defined abdomen and fine black pubic hair peeking out of his Calvins due to how low his slacks are fixed on his hips. You lick your lips, dig half-moons into your skin until your knuckles turn white.

You need him. You need him so much that tears pool within the cosmos of your eyes.

“If only they were to see you right now,” he mutters. “So desperate for me. It’s too bad only I get to see you like this, isn’t it?”

He worsens your desire with that mouth of his. It’s extreme. You scratch your nails down your thighs to relieve yourself at least a little bit.

Fists on each side of you, Jungkook leans towards you. His simple gold chain swings in your face and you bite your lip to keep your needy mewls at bay.

“Am I talking to myself?”

You shake your head ‘no’.

“Did you forget how to talk?” He cocks his eyebrow.

“I need you so bad. I can’t take it anymore,” you whine out, the best your brain could muster.

Jungkook puckers his lips at you in feigned sympathy again and you expect the worst to come out of his mouth, but he surprises you when he says, “what do you want me to do to you?”

You gasp almost soundlessly. Your heart skips in your chest happily. Fire of the starlight shines in your eyes and a brand new flush finds its way to your cheeks, hotter than the one from earlier when you were dancing with the sun. Before you can think you answer through, it slips out of you.

“Lick my pussy, please.”

Jungkook smirks and the blush of roses smears across his cheeks and nose as well. He wipes at his mouth as if your answer made him drool—cuts the anticipation and kneels down at the bed, pushing your legs back.

“Who am I to deny you?”

The butterflies within your tummy go berserk.

Tongue flat, he licks up your cunt. Over and over, lapping up your wetness, moaning, seizing your girlishness and rolling it over in his mouth. You tip your head back between your shoulder blades and your arms begin to shake, holding all of your weight. Like you were previously grinding against him, you do the same movement now into his face. Recreate the waves as he rides his tongue against your clit.

He stops when you catch his gaze.

You cry out for him, bucking your hips. He shakes his head, eyes never leaving yours. His puffy lips glint in the dimmed light, the sun rays seconds away from saying their final goodbye.

“Needy little whore.”

Jungkook flicks at your little seashell, wraps those pillows around the muscle out of habit, but decides against it. Denies you the pleasure, knows too well you come too quickly from the suction. Decides to flutter his tongue instead, the pressure light, making you tremble like a butterfly wing. Retracts. Starts the torture again, alternating between light and hard. Fucks with your brain. Fucks with you.

“This feels too good, Daddy, oh my god.”

You watch him at work, mouth parted open, sounds of gratification coming out freely. He’s never done this to you before. It’s new, it’s different and it feels otherworldly; it feels like he’s transporting you back to pink planet again. The faint pleasure, the build up, the hard intensity at last before he starts again. He pins your hips down to prevent you from getting ahead, lidded eyes zeroing on yours, and the cord in your belly tightens. You near to the edge, gusts of gasps and ragged breaths flowing out of your mouth.

“I’m coming, Daddy, I’m coming, oh fuck.”

The harsh light of stars comes down slowly upon your eyesight. You’re almost there. You roll your hips to meet his tongue one last time, despite the deathly grip he has on your hip bones, but he lifts his head. Rips the orgasm away from you.

“No.” He wipes his mouth with his hand.

Your vision blurs and frustration burns you hot.

“What?”

“You’re not coming.”

You stare at him, eyelashes flittering. At loss for words.

“We have a party to go to, don’t we?”

You scrunch up your eyebrows. You thought you weren’t going anywhere?

“And if you’re good, I’ll think about letting you come tonight.”

Your mouth falls open.

“Close it before I fuck it.”

He cups your chin, closing it for you. Wraps his fingers around your throat and pushes you back on the mattress. Your hair fans all around you and you hold your clothed breasts for emotional support, your brain not really registering that you’re getting fucked and that you’re not allowed to cum. You sob tearlessly at his cruelty, lifting your head to look at him.

Jungkook unzips his slacks. Doesn’t bother to lower them, only pulls out his heavy length out of the tight confines of his boxers. His precum shines prettily on his mushroom and he spreads it all around him, jacking himself off, grunting, groaning, throwing his head back. All while being completely ignorant to your inner turmoil.

“Look at what you’ve done to me,” he whispers, letting go of his cock to show you just how hard he is.

Your head spins. His tip reaches his belly button and the thickness of his shaft obscures most of his pubic hair. You moan, aching to have him inside of you. Feel your slick trickle down onto the bedding.

“So hot,” you say, lifting your eyes to catch him focused on the reactions painted on your face with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth, chest heaving quickly. “You’re so beautiful.”

Abruptly, Jungkook flops you onto your stomach. Crawls over you. Straddles you. Veiny forearms, partly shielded by the waterfall of your hair, come to stay on either side of your head.

He reaches for the white bunny plushie resting against the pillows and hands him to you. Brushes your hair away from your face to whisper into your ear, “you better hold onto him.”

You clutch him to your chest and bury your face in his soft fur.

“Remember the rule?” he asks and you feel him drag the tip of his cock down the line of your ass—you feel him stop at your tight hole.

Your breath shakes. “I can’t come.”

Body reacting on its own, hips lifting, you allow him to glide down to your pussy.

Jungkook hums in appreciation. “That’s right. Look at you, so good for me already.”

He chuckles darkly and you hate your life.

“You only know how to behave yourself when you want to come, don’t you? Such a slut.”

He punctuates his sentence by sheathing himself inside of you. You grip your plushie tight, groaning into his fur. He does it all in one go, not stopping once to let you adjust around him. He huffs against your hair, mocks your sound, eyelashes fluttering at your tightness, mouth agape. It’s otherworldly how he fits. It’s otherworldly how you can make out his expression, how you see it clearly behind your closed eyelids—how him mocking you and imitating you makes you drip even more, the lewdness of your juices encouraging him to go balls-deep.

He rams into you.

You scream into the bunny.

He rams into you in staccatos, the headboard of the bed colliding over and over again into the wall. Swift jerks. Hard.

You feel so full.

“Slutty fucking pussy,” he whispers, gathers all of your hair into his fist and pulls your head back. Begins to fuck you evenly, picking up the pace. “So tight around Daddy, fuck.”

You must be floating. Somewhere out there within that pink planet. All your surroundings are bleary, distorted, but so vibrant. Just as your hair is pulled back so are your wings retracted in the same way, held by your captor. You feel his lips at your temple, parted, breath hot and heavy. You can’t even hear yourself amidst your pleasure and his, but somehow—all of a sudden—you hear the voice of your favorite singer echoing in the living room.

Do I Wanna Know by the Arctic Monkeys.

Little by little, you feel yourself returning back to planet Earth. Drool wets the corners of your mouth and you don’t have the strength to wipe it off, focusing all of your strength on stalling your orgasm, the voice of your beloved Alex pushing against you in a fight.

Jungkook lets go of your hair, but wraps the same arm around your shoulders, plushie and neck, his weight coming on top of yours. Continues to slam into you without any care of the world, heedless of the way you’re fighting for your life.

“If I’m not mistaken, this is your song, baby, isn’t it?” he breathes into your ear, slowing down his pace, hips rocking against you to the rhythm.

You sob at the mercy, the ferocity of your incoming orgasm dwindling away.

That is until he starts pounding you into the mattress again.

You scream out. White vision begins to chase you again, the cord tightening in your full lower tummy.

“Jungkook, please, I can’t—I can’t—”

He grunts at your helplessness, hand gripping your mouth. Pace so fast your head knocks back into his shoulder.

“You can take it. It’s your song.” He squeezes your cheeks. Grinds his hips slowly. You roll your eyes back, feeling him nudge your cervix.

He begins to kiss along your jawline, your earlobe, the contours of the shell. You do the same, peppering kisses upon his forearm as your position allows you.

“We could be together, if you wanted to,” he huffs the lyrics into your ear, just for you to hear.

The cord snaps.

Wetness gushes out of you; a sweet stream of your dewiness forces him to pull out of you—and your wet orgasm triggers his. He paints your open back white with his hot spurts of cum, sealing you, completing you. Jacks himself off with one hand while the other rubs your pussy, spanking it. You’re squirming, screaming, the orgasm long and so intense that you don’t even know where you are. Jungkook fingers you with three digits and coaxes another surge out of you. Slacks destroyed, dress soiled, bodies spent—your screams silent.

He caresses the roundness of your ass to calm you down.

“Breathe for me, baby,”

You try, but you can’t.

Too exhausted.

You feel him leave, but in a moment you sense the mattress dipping beside you. The coldness of wet wipes on your skin, getting rid of the evidence of his pleasure. The warmth of his thumb on the tear-stained skin under your eyes as he turns you to your side.

A glass of cold water is in his hand. You suddenly feel parched. His touch brought your senses back to you.

“Sit up.”

You finish the glass in gulps. Some of it leaks down your throat. Jungkook smirks.

“Well done.”

You hug your plushie tighter. “I’m sorry for coming.”

Jungkook caresses your hair. You’re sitting on your legs while he’s standing by the side of the bed. Running his fingers through your disheveled, ruined curls.

“I fucked you that hard on purpose,” he murmurs, curling a strand of hair behind your ear, finger coming to a stop at the beginning of the line of your jaw. “It was my intention to make you come.”

You lean into his touch. Kiss the edge of his palm. Drowsy, droopy eyes still bearing into his.

“Like I said. You did well.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Arms up.”

He takes off your dress and slinks your arms through the sleeves of his black shirt that he had discarded while fucking you. Your eyelids are shut when he lays you down on the cold side of the bed, tucking you in, and you’re halfway through the footpath to your pink planet when he promises, “I’ll make it up to you about that party.”

BACK to masterlist / read part two

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

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dreamgrlarchive · 6 months

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A Prissy Girl’s Guide to Fall

back by popular demand, i’m here with another prissy girl guide! this post is a bit late for the fall but it’ll allow you to finish the season off in a pretty fashion, and transition to the winter smoothly. i’ll be discussing the look i’ve been adorned in as of late and my fav products i’ll be using for the spirit of fall! 💓

what’s the look this fall?

the look this season is “divalicious barbie.” voluminous hair, tapered square nails and fur details + neutral color palettes. add in a few pops of pink and some sparkly detailz and you got my look this fall. “sexy chic.” i’ve been really leaning into the vibe of a runway supermodel diva emulsion. as you may have seen, my birthday outfit drew from many inspirations, focally the early nineties alaia runway shows. just immense glamour, class and girliness with a healthy dose of sexy.

“it's officially fall bbys. uggs, tracksuits, sew ins are in”

“in are warm scents, fur, leopard prints, brown lip gloss with voluminous blowouts for the fall to enhance my diva essence!”

- @realprissygrl on twitter 🎀

first and foremost…

the weather is turning so a lot of us are catching colds. take care of your health and rest. protect your immune system and dress according to weather. i almost always get sick around late september/early october and its because of the dip my immune system takes due to the change in climate.

preparation

some of you are in school like me. one of the reasons the fall is my fav season is because it’s time to get back to the basics. you should be developing new study routines around this time or perfecting the ones you have already

new school supplies + stationery. pretty girls deserve to stay stocked up on glitter ink and fuzzy pens

start saving money for the holiday season

get a handle on your halloween look early so not to scramble when the day comes

stock up on tea, immune boosters like emergen-c and medicine

start going outside in the morning to get the vitamin D and K you may lose out on as the seasons turn

set new goals and track them in a diary or planner

try to get well rested. the change from fall to winter can cause a lot of mood and energy complications due to lack of rest

essentials

a metallic pink starbucks tumbler or stanley cup

new books to read this season

chai tea and espresso for at home lattes + a pink thermos for travel (mine is a barbie pink micro shimmer one by starbucks)

hello kitty pencil caps and planners

velcro roller kit

super cute straw toppers

juicy couture laptop case for school

dry shampoo and clean paddle brush

pink ipad for productivity

victoria’s secret anything

cute hydrophobic jackets + umbrella

cute planner, i take my corset planner everywhere

clothes and accessories

warm neutrals + pink

layers, layers, layers! i’ve been pairing fur vests/cardigans, and sheer tops

cheetah and leopard print (yes they’re different lol) i’m going for the galleria chanel look this season

preppy looks! tartan, tweed and pleats have been such an essential for me on class days

cute little purses that are only big enough for your phone, lip gloss and keys. they come rhinestoned, fur trimmed or beaded and go very well with preppy lookz

chocolate brown accessories and layers

rhinestones and pearls add the perfect diva touch to any look

hoops 4ever

diamond studs for when your hair is pulled back, the prettiest detail ever

velour tracksuits

shimmery neutral pieces

feathers and gold jewelry to achieve that regine hunter/hilary banks aesthetic

fur trims on sheer tops

fuzzy trimmed half jackets

neutral toned designer tote bags

leopard print totes

blacked out shades

berets

sheer tights including tights with patterns like lace and stripes

ted baker arycon bags. they’re affordable and super freaking cute

fuzzy knitted pieces

knee high socks

cute little pumps + kitten heels

leather booties

uggs… obviously

medium telfar in either ballerina, bubblegum or gold

rubber boots with cute details like metal buttons or fur

furry moon boots

apple watch + charm bracelet stacking

beauty

brown + pink all season. cinnamon strawberry dessert girl

tape ins + sew ins or clip ins for a budget

soft matte makeup. not too matte (winter) and not dewy (summer)

neutral eyeshadow with a pink glossy lip

voluminous side parted hair with velcro roller curls OR

pin straight silk presses with a middle part

adequate moisture in hair is imperative to ensure hairstyles last long and stay sleek. if my hair reverts too fast i know it’s because its dry

sparkly hair clips

deep pink, mauve and berry blushes

lip balms like tree hut, summers friday and patrick ta

high ponies and half up half down stylez

long curly lashes. my favs are by kiss and lilly lashes or sold on amazon in the pink packaging

invest in a metal roller brush (ulta has super cute pink ones omg) OR a round brush blow dryer to add body to hair

makeup by pat mcgrath and patrick ta for sparkly lookz

beauty blender cleanser is my fav for cleaning my brushes

lip glosses + lipstick in nude pink, nude, deep brown, and baby pink

tapered square french tipz and nude nails

eyeshadow palettes with blacks, reds, browns, grays, and creams. my favs rn are naughty nude and new nude by huda, glam palette by natasha denona and the master mattes by mario

claw clips have been my fav for cute updos

warm scents with notes of wood, oud, musk, cinnamon, pastry, soft florals and brown sugar

smoky eyes + smudged liner + wings

#the prissy girl agenda #fall #dream girl beauty #dream girl fashion #dream girl journey #my posts #diva seasonz!

548 notes · View notes

swordgrace · 28 days

Note

Okay I know you've already written "vampire eating out reader who's 'on the rag'" (to quote Paul) BUT... Can we have one with Astarion? 😩

𖣊 pairing — astarion x fem!human!reader.

FORMAT: drabble — requested.

WORD COUNT: 3.5K.

WARNINGS: SMUT! (mdni), period sex, bloodplay, blood drinking, oral sex (f!receiving), cunnilingus, praise kink, hair pulling, fingering (f!receiving), dirty talk, semi-public sex, risk of getting caught, unspoken feelings, astarion gives mad head (I don’t make the rules)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Well, here we are, back to my vampire obsession. I’m so addicted to Baldur’s Gate right now that it’s insane. I had so much fun writing this! This is also my first time writing for Astarion, so feedback is definitely appreciated! I’m hoping to write so much more of him! Thank you all for the support! ❤️

A distant, whistling breeze swept across the tall strands of sungrass, rustling against the threadbare canvas of your tent. It was shoddy lodging at best — certainly not a paradise. Gale and Astarion could afford such luxurious accommodations, but you were left to your own devices. You even envied Lae’zel’s tent, and it wasn’t much better than yours.

Crackling waves of dulled pain continued to ripple throughout the pit of your stomach, a familiar tightening and seizing of muscles that left you restless. Sometimes, humanity could be a horrible thing — you were a slave to your own basic bodily functions.

Shadowheart had bluntly broached the subject of menstruation with you earlier in the day — offered you rags to keep yourself clean. It was embarrassing, admittedly — you wanted to try and keep it all discreet.

Being underprepared for this scenario left you flustered and embarrassed, but you were thankful for her assistance, wariness aside.

Your newfound band of parasite-toting compatriots were becoming the closest thing to family that you had, but there were some you trusted more than others. You often regarded Shadowheart with a healthy dose of skepticism, but she’d been helpful enough.

Glittering rays of silvery moonlight struck through the worn spots on your tent, pooling across your form as you tossed yet again, hands folding together atop your stomach. The dying embers of the campfire dissipated out of existence — the world was dormant.

Sleep eluded you, replaced by the toils of your monthly blood moon that frustrated you to no end.

Halsin was generous enough to concoct an herbal poultice that was supposed to help, but one swig of the earthen liquid, and you were spitting it right back out into the dirt. Much to your dismay, you would be left to endure your cycle in its raw state, no remedies.

The gentle ambiance of swaying grass and the buzz of nature at dusk served as your atmosphere, accompanied by your deep breaths and occasional stifled groans. You rolled over, form awkwardly contorted on your side in an attempt to find some relief.

Your evening clothes were made of thistledown and spidersilk, far more comfortable than the linen-sewn rags you’d been trekking in for the last few weeks. It was all courtesy of a fashionable Drow you’d met in a village in the Underdark.

Your gaze fixated on the low, dimmed glow of a flickering lantern situated in your quarters, sitting soundly alongside your backpack. Orange light danced within the colorful glass, producing minuscule refractions that became a worthwhile distraction.

A fluttering of cloth tore your attention away from the luminous object, and you directed your gaze toward the agape flap of your tent.

Two glittering rubies peered down at you, sanguine hues dancing with a peculiar sheen amongst a canvas of smooth, marblesque flesh. The black ties of his silken nightshirt were left unkept, sleeves pulled toward the crooks of his pale elbows.

Astarion’s vampirism was something you’d become intimately acquainted with.

Perhaps it wasn’t your brightest move, letting him feed from you — but you had no qualms or regrets. Beneath the facade of allure and arrogance, Astarion wasn’t all bad. In the many moments you’d shared of allowing him to drink, you’d learned more, little by little.

“Astarion,” You exhaled, wondering why he’d come to you at this particular hour. He’d fed not long ago — from a nearby stag, and not you. He was ethereal beneath the moonlight, all lean and akin to a statue, living perfection as he lingered within the entryway of your tent. “Is everything alright?”

A sardonic huff escaped him, followed by a familiar tilt of his head, ivory curls swaying with his movements. “I could ask you the very same, darling.” He mused. “It seems that you cannot sleep.”

You swallowed the lump within your throat, sitting up enough within your bedroll to face him fully. “No,” You didn’t want to shower Astarion with the grisly details of your womanly cycle. It was of little importance. “Halsin’s awful concoction left a bad taste in my mouth.”

Astarion hummed, senses attuned to you — truthfully, he could smell you from across the camp.

That familiar siren’s song of blood echoed his name — your blood, above all. He wasn’t above lecherous thoughts, especially when it came to the likes of you. His solution to your little problem was unorthodox — Astarion wondered if you would be open to it.

“Was it that mess of an elixir that left you restless, or perhaps something else?” The pale Elf inquired, noticing the little flickers of realization settling into your features. “I have quite the keen sense of smell, you know. Your predicament is rather obvious.”

As your lips fell apart, Astarion chuckled — it was a rich sound, deep from within the confines of his chest. Embarrassment rippled through you, spreading like a wildfire throughout your body. Tendrils of heat crept along the back of your neck.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” You mumbled, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “Is it bothering you?” You hadn’t considered that your blood might’ve had an adverse effect on the vampire spawn, but he dismissed your concerns with a simple wave.

Astarion stepped inside, dropping the burlap flap as it fluttered back into place. His flesh was a beautiful shade, encapsulated by the flickering glow of lantern light as he stood before you. “No,” He clicked his tongue. “I do have a solution to your predicament — with my own assistance, of course.”

Confusion settled into your countenance — Astarion wasn’t necessarily shocked by this, either. You were a delicate little human, a sweet, pious creature that he intended to ravish when opportunity presented itself — such as now.

He drank in your innocence, feeding from your piety as if it were your lifeblood. It was easy to charm you, let you slip into his intricately-spun web of seduction, but in reality, he found himself becoming soft on you.

What a horrid thing — soft on you.

Yet, Astarion couldn’t help himself. Your presence was soothing, providing a warmth that even enveloped his own icy heart. You never asked him for anything — you never used him. He wanted you all the more for it, desired to keep you for himself.

“How could you help me with this?” You questioned, assuming that he had some remedy for you that countered Halsin’s. Anything would do — you were becoming desperate for a solution.

Something shifted in Astarion’s eyes — his gaze became hooded, glazed with some indiscernible notion that caused your stomach to swirl with uncertainty. Your breath hitched within your throat when his cold digits swept across your cheek.

“In a way that I know best,” He crooned, thumb gingerly sweeping along the curve of your jawline. “You would lay back and let me taste you.” Astarion’s suggestion struck you as unorthodox and crude — and you nearly gasped at the insinuation of his words.

“You don’t mean it.” You countered, shivering beneath the icy bite of his embrace. Your flesh felt like scorched earth, blistering with a fever that you couldn’t sweat out — and your remedy, your cure — he stood before you like an ethereal god.

Astarion chuckled, head canting to one side. “I do, darling,” He uttered, voice dropping to a delicious octave that seemed to curl around you like a vice, spreading to parts of you that you never thought possible. “It would be mutually beneficial, I assure you.”

A guttural whimper of sheer want coalesced within the depths of your throat, goosebumps dancing across your spine as you contemplated. It felt so intimate — if you were to go through with it, the lines of your relationship with Astarion would be blurred completely.

The desire for relief and for him outweighed logic, and you exhaled, eyes silently pleading with him for his touch. Astarion was enticed — admittedly, he wanted to taste you, bloodied or not.

“If you are worried about the mess, you needn’t trouble yourself, my sweet.” Astarion mused, pearlescent fangs glinting in the low light. “I will take care of you.” Something about his tone made you shudder, wanting nothing more than to give yourself to him — every fiber, every piece.

His growing fondness for you was becoming increasingly difficult to suppress. He hungered for your blood and he yearned for you — a naive human that he initially cared little for. Now, he was enthralled, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“I’ll let you,” You whispered, voice barely above a shrewd whisper as you watched his expression blossom into one of sheer desire. Those crimson hues raked over you, devouring you without action, leaving you a mess, surrendering to him willingly. “Please.”

“How kind of you,” Astarion hummed, sinking onto his knees as his palm spread across the swell of your hip. “I wonder if you taste just as sweet as you look.” His honeyed purr dripped with a warm reassurance, all wrought with want as he eased you down onto your back.

A fire burned within your belly, demanding to be extinguished as you settled down onto the many layers of a tough leather bedroll and feathered blanket. Astarion loomed like a hungering predator as he slipped between your legs, throat hoarse with the sting of thirst.

His cold hands pried at your silken nightshirt, gingerly lifting the fabric towards your chest as it bunched up just beneath your breasts. A wave of cool, brusque night air licked across your stomach, but the sudden presence of Astarion’s lips made you tense up.

He made sure to touch you — caress your supple frame wherever he could. Despite his one-track mind, Astarion wanted to make you feel good. Those practiced digits of his slipped across your ribcage, dragging down toward your abdomen.

“I’ve dreamed of this, coveted this,” He murmured into your flesh, kissing his way toward your weeping cunt. Nimble digits caressed their way to the waistband of your undergarments, tugging them down and away from your body. “Your sweet flesh, your body beneath mine, crying my name from your lips.”

None of this felt real — your head was spinning, mind deliriously dizzy with a newfound desire. You couldn’t discern if his confession was genuine or simply a ploy to subdue you. Truthfully, you didn’t care either way.

Astarion hummed again, nose brushing along the supple skin of your thigh. “Astarion,” You mewled, unable to keep from saying his name. “I—I …” You babbled, savoring the sensation of his mouth on your skin.

You felt his body quiver with a gentle chuckle as he inhaled a gust of your intoxicating scent. It was your distinct perfume intermingled with that of blood — the twang of coppery menses that he intended on consuming.

Even when prone between your thighs, Astarion exuded a rather domineering aura, icy lips peppering a string of kisses against your inner thigh. He wanted nothing more than to bite — indulge himself in your sanguine ichor. The scent between your legs invited him in, instead.

As crimson wept from your core, the vampiric Elf moved forward, skilled tongue languidly dragging across your aching cunt. He shivered when your cruor fell upon his mouth, a taste of your blood that he so desired.

His palms settled themselves atop your plush hips, hooking underneath your legs. He pressed into your flesh, gripping you tightly as he held you firmly in-place. Astarion could feel the visceral, unrestrained way in which your body reacted to him, twitching and shuddering, thighs flexing.

“How delicious,” Astarion purred, voice dropping to a sultry octave. It stroked every recess of your mind, setting your nerves ablaze, making your stomach churn with a wave of butterflies. “My sweetest pet.” He uttered, licking at any drop of scarlet.

Flushed and flustered, arousal pooled between your legs, intermingled with that of your menses. One of your hands haplessly fisted the feather blanket, the other roaming towards that crown of ivory curls. A low, bemused growl tore past his throat when you gripped his tresses.

If anything, it simply encouraged Astarion, whose greed knew no boundaries. He eagerly lapped at your cunt, tongue tracing across your slit. You felt the little twang of relief that he offered, and you were beyond grateful. You felt the desire to reciprocate — if he let you.

It became increasingly difficult to stifle your pleasured mewls and moans, back beginning to arch slightly off of your bedroll. His continued string of lascivious praise and salacious comments made your flesh turn hot, begging for a release of any kind.

The dull burn within his throat was quelled, soothed by your cruor. Astarion was eager, delighting in your pretty noises and the way your body gave into him. He greedily lapped at the sticky menses trickling from your core, lips twitching into a smirk.

His crown of ivory curls felt like Githyanki silk beneath your fingertips, and for a moment, you peered down — you needed to sate your curiosity.

The mere sight of Astarion, coiled and poised like a lithe predator, wedged between your thighs sent you reeling. He could detect your beseeching gaze, and without pause, those vermilion hues flickered to hold your stare.

Instinctively, your body shivered, goosebumps cascading down the length of your spine. You watched in silent reverence as the broad flat of Astarion’s tongue lapped at your cunt, showering your clit in newfound affection. A stray curl fell across his temples — he was beautiful.

A strangled gasp escaped you, and you fell flat once more, fingers seizing up within his tresses. Astarion’s form rumbled with subtle laughter as he keened forward, mouth suckling on that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your reaction was well worth it.

“Astarion,” You cried, thighs rattling like leaves upon a swaying tree. You wanted to thank him over and over again for this — the tight waves of aching pain had subsided. “Gods, I — Feels so good.” A pleasured moan tore past your lips once more.

A sliver of you feared waking the others, potentially alerting the camp to your nightly accolades. You didn’t want to allow your worry to fester, hips rocking forward when his tongue embraced your cunt once more.

One hand traveled from the curve of your hip to the apex of your thighs, two fingers stroking over your weeping entrance. You gasped, soothed by Astarion’s soft laughter as he lifted his head slightly. “So sensitive.” He purred, lips stained in a glistening layer of crimson. He kissed the inside of your knee.

Heat rolled through you in pleasant waves as pangs of ecstasy gripped you. Seeing Astarion’s bloodied mouth made you shiver, only wanting him to continue, bring you to climax. He sank two digits into your cunt, tongue dutifully returning to lap at your clit.

If you were to perish now, you’d die happy and within the throes of your own ecstasy — with a pale, Elvish deity between your thighs.

You’d wanted him for some time, and to finally drown yourself in his affections — it almost didn’t feel real. The practiced, needy lap of his tongue brought you back to reality, making your hips lurch forward once more. Those digits of his gently pistoned in and out of your cunt, ensuring a level of softness.

Rivulets of your menses coated his fingers, much to his delight. Astarion was relentless, driven in his quest to simultaneously feed and soothe your blood moon pains. His perfectly-timed movements of his fingers worked in-tandem with his mouth, tongue flicking from your clit to your weeping core.

A white-hot pleasure blistered through you, beginning to mount into your encroaching release. Your climax was close, stomach swirling with molten heat, body feeling as if it could simply float away.

“A—Astarion,” You whimpered, desperate to get rid of your nightshirt. The coolness of dusk could not alleviate the pure heat you felt now. A shrill cry left your lips when he withdrew his fingers, simply exchanging them for his tongue as he dragged you closer. “Astarion!”

His name felt like an incantation upon your tongue — it was a sultry, desperate plea for him. The Elf thoroughly reveled in your innocuous cries, wanting to hear you chant his name like a prayer. It felt so genuine, affection intermingled with desire.

Astarion’s gaze lingered on you, chest heaving, flesh glistening with a sheen of perspiration, countenance contorted into sheer ecstasy. There was something rapturous in his eyes — you couldn’t see it, but it was certainly present.

A low hum of approval escaped him when you absentmindedly tugged on his curls again, and he rewarded you with a barrage of his tongue. It was a greedy assault on your cunt as the vampire spawn drank from the source, inhaling a gust of your scent.

“Such a pretty voice, darling,” Astarion uttered, and you soared underneath his reverent praise. You were prepared to burst, body tensing, like a blossom unfurling within the sunlight. “You taste delightful.” He knew what it would do to you — he reveled in it.

You shivered, feeling his nose brush along your thigh as he kissed at the skin there, teeth teasing and grazing along your sensitive flesh. He returned to your core once more, lapping at your oozing cunt with glee — and that seemed to be enough for you.

Everything seemed to spin in circles, head fuzzy and body sinking into sheer bliss. Pleasure washed over you in hot, visceral waves as you were brought to your climax, hips tilting upward as you came.

The coil within your stomach snapped, muscles relaxed — the uncomfortable pain had subsided. Even if the relief would be fleeting, you were beyond grateful to Astarion for assisting you. You came to, flushed and flustered, sitting up enough to see Astarion finishing up.

He emerged from between your legs, tongue languidly lashing across his pearlescent fangs and lips. Speckles of crimson were splattered across his chin, but you nearly collapsed at the sight of him sucking on his fingers.

Whatever mess you made, Astarion had cleaned it all away — he never spilled a drop. “That, ah …” What did you say? “Thank you for doing this, Astarion. I don’t know what else to say.” You confessed.

Astarion chuckled, head canting to one side. “Speechless, are we? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve left someone in such a state.” He crooned, and before he could move to stand, you reached for his arm, coaxing him back.

“Don’t ever feel obligated to do this,” You mumbled, somewhat embarrassed at the sight of your cruor on his chin. Sheepishly, you swiped it away with your thumb — but he caught it. “I feel like I didn’t do anything in return.”

Instead, the pale Elf held your wrist, ruby hues drinking you in, picking you apart. Astarion remained hushed for a moment as he considered his words, lips quirking into an abnormally tender smirk. “You did return the favor, darling. Your blood is tribute enough.”

Your breath hitched within your throat, but you didn’t protest, gaze subtly absorbing his porcelain features. He was gorgeous — you often felt inferior in his presence, shadowed by his timeless beauty. You smiled at him, fingers reaching to squeeze at his hand. The gesture was unexpected for him, but he made no comment.

“Thank you. I do feel better,” You cleared your throat, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “Did you mean what you said, about coveting me and dreaming about this?” For your own peace of mind, you wanted to know where you stood with Astarion.

He should’ve known that you’d ask.

Astarion hummed, neglecting to disclose the truth about how he felt towards you. Part of him was fearful of the implications, of what it could mean — he felt unworthy of you and your piety. “Of course,” He uttered, voice dropping into a more alluring octave. “I would not mind indulging in this again.”

Part of you deflated — intimacy wasn’t the only thing you wanted from Astarion. You wanted his heart. It gave you something to think on, but for now, you were simply content to enjoy his company, lewd or otherwise.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You murmured, visibly sheepish as you glanced back towards your bedroll. “I should try and sleep, I think.” You nearly asked if he wanted to stay with you, but fear and insecurity gripped you in that moment.

“I should hope that your rest is much more productive.” Astarion smirked, pressing a feather-light kiss against your knuckles before rising to his feet. Sharing your bed didn’t seem prudent — for him, it would only make his feelings for you worse.

A soft laugh bubbled forth from your lips before you pulled your clothes back into place, descending onto the feathered blanket. “Goodnight, Astarion.” You exhaled, watching him as he slipped towards the burlap flap of your shoddy tent.

“Rest well, my sweet.” Astarion hummed, and like a shadow, he disappeared into the star-speckled gloom of the night.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #baldur’s gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #baldur’s gate 3 fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader

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messylustt · 10 months

Note

Going without a bra in your spider suit because you only need to report to Miguel and then your changing so why bother? Completely forgetting that you have your nipples pierced, meaning Miguel can see the barbells and your nipples through the skin tight suit. He’s going feral: both because of the image of them and that someone else would have had to see your naked breasts in order to pierce them.

you were pierced where? — miguel o’hara ( nsfw ). oml—hfndkkkdkkem.

miguel was busy, staying distracted with the nearing mission as he listened to lyla. but the moment you walked in, all suited up and ready, his hard gaze and body simultaneously tensed and widened. because what were wearing? your spider suit, yes. but it was what was poking through that caught miguel’s attention. his eyes grew fixated on your tits as you walked in alone, and oblivious. he quickly waved lyla away, jumping down and stepping closer to you.

“what are you wearing? or should I say…what aren’t you wearing?” miguel speaks slowly, and lowly. you glance down at yourself. he’s seeming to really focus in on the fact that your nipples look pierced — the metal bars poking through. you had chosen not to wear anything under your suit today. it was only going to be you and miguel. you glance back up at him. “what? it’s just you this mission.” you say, thinking it’s about the ‘no bra’ situation. but miguel isn’t focusing on the fact that anyone else could see you, because someone else has seen you.

he steps much closer, his gaze hardening again. “when did you get them pierced?” he asks, his teeth grinding. you look down again. “oh…” you drift off. “a few days ago.”

“a few days ago?” miguel reiterates harshly. “and you…what? didn’t think to tell me?”

“well i was gonna tell you. i am telling you. right now.” you smile, and miguel’s lips twitch in a snarl. “no no, you can’t just decide that.”

“what do you mean — ” but your words are dying off because miguel is now breathing over you. his towering position actually making you gulp. “who did it?” he asks.

and his almost calm tone is making your breathing increase. “uh…someone who does piercings…” you say, eyeing him. “look, miguel, it’s not that big of a de — ”

“who. did. them?” miguel interrupts, his red eyes nearly making you flinch. “i didn’t catch his name.” you mutter, moving to bypass miguel. “now, don’t we have a mission — ”

miguel’s hand is now tightly wrapped around your upper arm, halting your movement. “his?” he asks slowly, as you move to step away again, only earning miguel to yank you back into his chest, as he grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “a guy pierced them?” he double checks the fact that is making his claws itch to sink into something. “a professional did.” you point out, grabbing his wrist to remove his hold.

when he doesn’t shift you instead decide to quickly lean up to place a quick kiss on his lips as a small distraction. that gives you a moment of looseness in his wrist, for you to take his hand away, but then miguel is slipping his hand to the back of your neck, drawing you back in for a more heated kiss. his lips drawing you even closer as he nearly snarls past your teeth, tongues clashing.

but then you’re drawing back and miguel has the urge to sink his fangs into your bottom lip, because why were you moving away?“miguel, we’re working.” you quietly say, darting your gaze around as if you’d see gaping spider-people. but miguel is leading you back, the empty office exactly that. empty. his hands are now purchased around your waist, pulling your lower body against his.

“are you sure you can’t give me a name?” miguel has started placing sloppy kisses along your jaw, as your back hits the wall. “hm?” he’d ruin the guy who touched you. he needed something to sink his claws into with all this pent up jealousy. “i told you…i didn’t catch it…it’s not like we grew close — ”

“but that’s exactly what you were.” miguel interrupts, grabbing part of your neck and jaw again as his breath hits your slightly parted lips. “…close. he was especially close. touching you.” his fangs are now visible with how much he spat the words. “that’s what they do, miguel.” you try to console.

“he stayed professional — ” he keeps cutting you off, mouth now up close and open against your own. “but they’re mine, cariño…mine to touch, mine to play with…” his clawed hand moved to trace over your spider suit covered nipples, feeling the metal bar, as you flinch a fraction.

“aw…” he coos. “they feel hard, cariño…” then he’s leaning towards your ear. “were they hard for him?” you shake your head. but miguel persists. “of course they were. i know how sensitive you can be. and by someone touching them, you would have started to feel…hot…down here…” he runs two claws down your stomach and over your pussy, making your hips shift.

“…isn’t that right?” your breathing is shallow, as he goes to rub experimentally through your suit, his lips now re-attaching to your skin, drawing the edge of your suit down to lick at your neck, making your pulse quicken. “next time you want help involving things like this…” his claw dragged back across your nipples. “…you’ll come to me.” he grabs your chin again, forcing you to agree. “won’t you?”

you quickly nod, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. miguel’s lips finally curve up in a smile. “but since he got to see you all flushed and turned on…i get to see you writhing and spread open under me…that’s sounds about right, doesn’t it?…yeah.” miguel moves your head in a nod, before his hand is dropping back to your throbbing pussy. “there’s a good girl…”

11K notes · View notes

why-animals-do-the-thing · 2 months

Note

That “telling animals apart” ask reminded me of a bit I saw on a zoo show once, can’t remember which. They needed a stool sample from a specific African Painted Dog, and so the way they went about it was adding glitter to a meal. Color coded glitter. Which, clever, but also hilarious. Whatever works, I guess. XD

This is very common! Since you can’t observe animals in a shared exhibit constantly so you can know whose poo is whose, a dose of differently color glitter in everyone’s dinner makes telling them apart easy.

(I think generally it’s thought to be harmless and they pass it without any medical issue, although I do worry about microplastics exposure. Then again, it’s not like animals in the wild aren’t exposed to way more. Not my area of expertise.)

#zoo animals #zoo animal management #glitter as an identifier #tw poop talk #I have no idea what to tag this

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tteokdoroki · 11 months

Note

(🦭) ah yes grippy graspy handsy deku.. . . .. much to think abt.. . .. . also hELO i hope ur doing okay this week )):

☆༉ — IZUKU MIDORIYA. handsy.

about. he likes when you show him how to touch you. hi baby!! im doing okay, thank you for asking! i hope you are too <3

warnings. [n]sfw & smut. minors & ageless blogs do not interact. exhibitionism, dry humping, fingering, praise, use of good girl / baby, light choking & fem!reader.

the idea of deku’s hands always being on you. him always secretly observing how you touch yourself with your own hands too, making mental notes on how to replicate the feelings that you give yourself.

day to day, he notes the way your fingertips brush up and down your sides before you get dressed. how you sometimes cup your own neck for comfort and rest your palms on the swell of your thighs to keep yourself together in the image of a perfectly tied bow. and izuku watches, from his place in your bed — leaning back against the headboard with his mop of forest green curls curtaining his trained eyes. he stares from across the room at galas and summits as you toy with the pendant that cages your throat (his initials dangling at the nape, the emeralds glittering under the glow of the lights up above). his calculating gaze settles on your twitching thighs and quivering legs whenever he’s seated beside you, anticipating the moment you both can leave for home and the world consists of just the two of you once more.

izuku watches how you touch yourself in the most mundane ways so he can do it better. he wants to be the only one who knows how what makes you tick, what has your body twitching and writhing and those sweet sounds tumbling from between precious lips.

“sit back for me, sweetheart,” lust pools between your thighs as he speaks to you in a low whisper. izuku can be performative, play the nice guy and the hero with a smile but when it’s the two of you behind closed doors he changes — let’s the darker parts of him overshadow all of the rest, consuming you whole. “spread your legs nice and wide. i want to see you touch yourself.”

“izuku—“

he doesn’t take no for an answer and nips at your ear in warning. “oh i’m sorry, should i have asked?” his scared hands smooth over the swell of your thighs, his voice like high dose of ecstasy to relax you. “please, show me how you touch yourself.”

he squeezes and tugs at the rest of your body — the spots he knows are sensitive become victim to deku’s surprisingly sharp teeth and rough padded hands. your own nervously dance their way up to the crotch of your panties, your face hot at the wetness pooling in their seam. izuku could have easily taken over from here, he’s stroked your cunt to orgasm more times than he’s had to sign his name away for fans. but he knows that this is the one thing you can’t do without him.

the one thing about your body that he knows better than you do.

deku grunts softly when your hips buck into your own hand, chasing the light pressure you put on your clit — and he lets the sound bleed out into a syrupy moan as your fingers disappear beneath the flimsy material to play with the sticky mess between your folds.

“there she is, my good girl. i like when you play with yourself for me.” he praises you, sickly sweet like saliva mixed with honey. pleased with the sticky sounds coming from your pussy. green eyes drink in the way you start off slow and pick up the pace each time he moans or huffs or clicks his tongue in approval. you stuff your little fingers deep inside the hot veil of your quivering cunt, rut into the seat of your palm and grind your swollen clit into it because you like it when deku watches. when he touches you.

your hips stutter and deku’s chest heaves — you can hear him swallow thickly from behind you, the thought of him being so wrecked by the sight of you fingering yourself makes you gush. “is this how you do it…when i’m not here?”

“yeah… but it’s never enough.” you keen into his forest fire-like heat, let his arms wrap around you to keep you steady against his chest, let him tongue a wet stripe from your neck to your ear hungrily. “baby please—”

“i know baby, you’ve done so well. you know i like it when you put on a show for me.” pride swells up from his lower stomach, spreads into all four of his limbs then straight to his cock nestled against the curve of your ass. “let me take over from here.” taking your wrist into his much larger hand, you jolt as the raised and scarred skin that criss crosses over his palms and knuckles bumps your thighs.

and even though you’ve been working yourself open, each of your muscles seize and tighten as izuku pushes two thick fingers into your heat. he stretches you out like you’re about to take his cock, skilfully drags his thumb over your sticky messy clit just indulge himself.

izuku’s resolve is as strong and as firm as he stands — but even he isn’t immune to the high pitched cries and little mewls you let out as he fucks you open and mimics the way you make yourself shake with ecstasy. he’s awfully good at it, curling his fingers until he’s able to brush over that salacious spongy spot deep within your walls.

an airy chuckle vibrates in your ear at the sight of you gushing into his scarred palm. “that’s it, huh? the spot. fuck baby.” mossy curls send the ghost of goosebumps over your body as izuku nuzzles himself against you, like a cage or a blanket of dark lust that keeps you trapped in his reach. he manipulates your body with slow methodological shapes etched over the heartbeat in your pussy, spreading your arousal all over you until you’re both glossy and shiny.

lewd, unmissable squelches echo through your room — sounds you couldn’t achieve on your own. a wetness you couldn’t get without izuku’s help. you can’t even pin point the source of your own pleasure, not when his free hand maps out the curves and dips to your body even though deku knows them off by heart. he pinches and pulls you apart, forces you to fall apart underneath his touch as he tweaks your hardened nipples and taps his fingers against your pretty throat.

leaning forward into his hand, you let him give your airway a gentle squeeze.

“ah, you’re so fucking good, sweetheart,” you can tell that izuku is pleased with the way his tone jumps. his husky voice bounces around in the empty walls of your skull and you stretch accommodatingly around the third finger he gives you as a reward. “i think…i think i want to see you cum. doesn’t that sound nice?”

“i-izuku!” you reach behind you blindly and anchor your fingers into the roots of deku’s hair — pulling and tugging, anything to cope with the unimaginable ripples of lust that pulse through your shaky frame. he lets you writhe against him, grins to himself as you wildly buck into his hand as he pumps his digits in and out you equally as wild.

he moans heartily, frantically fucking you through the white hot pleasure. “again, say my name again.”

“izuku,” you cry again, but louder this time. you claw at his hand around your neck and the sheets and his skin because it all feels so good when he touches you. “izuku! izuku please!”

with your head thrown back against his shoulder, he marvels at the crease forming between your brows and the delicate way your mouth falls open around the shape of his name. “that’s my girl, that’s it. cum for me, sweetheart.” he goads as your orgasm washes over you hotly. it’s like the ground has been yanked out from beneath you and you’re free falling faster than your mind can catch up.

you clench hard around izuku’s sloppy fingers, letting him catch you and guide you through it all. “so pretty when you cum, keep that orgasm going for me, okay?” he’s sweet, pressing soft kisses to your temple and you feel a loving warmth blossom at each spot while deku grounds you. he’s there while the aftershocks make their way through you and your cunt seeps happily with your arousal. he holds you close, lazily tongues at your neck while he pulls out of you — as though not to cause you any pain.

deku lets his arousal soaked hand rest lovingly on your navel as a reminder of what’s to come and how far he could reach if he decided to fuck you later on. for now he whispers cotton-wrapped and honey dipped praises into your ear, massaging the parts of you that might be sore from spreading yourself for him. “did that feel good? are you okay?”

“yeah, yeah. ‘m more than okay,” you hum, all sleepy like, and croon your head upwards in search of a kiss and a handsome face full of freckles. “did you—?”

deku’s hands tighten on your waist. “did you expect me not to cum in my pants from feeling you up?” he laughs brightly. “i like touching you, you feel good. it feels good to me.”

that’s hot. he’s hot.

and you’re suddenly aware of the warm stickiness against your backside.

“n-next time, izuku,” you lower your voice to a purr, rolling over in his arms so that you’re both chest to chest. your hand dips between your bodies to stroke at his semi-hardness, boldly. “you’ll let me touch you? let me have you…it feels good for me too.”

and who is deku to deny your hungry request.

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dailychristmas · 2 years

Photo

A very merry Christmas is upon us in 122 days. 💗

#christmas #baubles #christmas baubles #pink christmas #pink #Aesthetic #glitter #daily dose of christmas #daily christmas #merry xmas #Merry Christmas #ornaments #Countdown #Christmas countdown #countdown to christmas

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grandlinedreams · 6 months

Note

Hii !!! If you haven't done it already , can you make a part 2 to https://www.tumblr.com/grandlinedreams/732931737043255296/hehe-hi-lovelov-luvvv-the-angst-u-write-could (sorry I can't create hyperlinks due to my pc crashing everytime I try !) ? I loved it so much that I neeedddd a 2nd part that's just as angstyyyyy. I love your angst so much !!

Hiya!! I absolutely can, but i also got asked to resolve it well so I hope I can do this justice for everyone who wanted a part two! First part [here]

[Heads up!: canon typical violence, hefty dose of angst, hurt/comfort]

It's been a week since you bargained your freedom for Law's, offered your services to barter for his safety ㅡ and you still don't regret it.

The ship you've been forced onto is a far cry from the comforts of the Polar Tang with battered wooden floors and a hull that you're surprised withstands the waves that crash against it.

The crew also is nothing like the one you're used to ㅡ not that you see much of them. You spend most of your time at a desk with varying maps spread out before you, pen in hand as you're demanded to make note of any and all locations to treasure or anything of interest regarding the One Piece.

"If I find out you're lying, or if any of this is a trap," your captor hisses, pressing the sharp edge of a blade to your throat, "don't think I won't slit your throat and throw you overboard for the sea kings."

You don't bat an eye, even as metal bites into your skin, the warm drip of blood that follows. "I don't doubt it."

Your captor ㅡ Hendle, or whatever he'd said his name was ㅡ glares at you, clearly unhappy that he hadn't gotten the reaction he wanted. "I'll have someone drop food off. Don't even think of looking for an escape."

And then he's gone, leaving you with only maps and the guttering glow of an oil lamp for company. You reach out with the clink of the ever present seaprism stone cuffs, trace a narrow line of ink towards a place you've circled, tapping it thoughtfully.

Though it's a long shot and requires a heap of hope, if you can somehow leave a clue or evidence behind, if Law is tracking you (which you have no doubts he is, Trafalgar Law is a lot of things but one to abandon crewmates is not one of them), he can find it.

You bite your lip. It's a stretch and it'll have to be something both subtle and obvious enough to be from you ㅡ but you can at least try.

ㅡ

Though you're also a pirate, helping these kinds of pirates makes you feel slimy as you watch yet another chest of glittering gold and jewels be pried from its hiding spot and hauled back towards the ship.

"You've got an eye for treasure," Hendle tells you, eyes you in a way that makes your skin crawl and your fingers twitch with the urge to ball into fists. "I could get used to having you as part of my crew."

Anger flares. "I'm already part of a crew," you tell him flatly. "And it isn't yours."

The fist that connects with your jaw is expected given that the other times you've spoken out it's been met with swift violence, but the ring on his finger catches on skin, splitting it open.

"They're not going to rescue you," he growls, fury clear in his tone. "The sooner you understand that, the better."

And then he stalks off, leaving you alone. He clearly thinks you'll follow and while the idea of bolting is tempting, you know you're not going to make it far.

Blood drips slowly down your cheek, and you bring your hands up with the rattle of chain that's become frustratingly familiar. Swiping a finger against your skin, you stare at the tacky red, debating.

You can't ask for a pen, have no way of leaving proof you were here that won't disappear otherwise or be overtly obvious ㅡ this will have to do.

ㅡ

And so it goes ㅡ with every island that you end up on, you find some way to leave proof of your presence and hope that it's enough to point the right way.

If Law is even looking for you. You want to believe that he is, but what if he isn't? Logic is cruel ㅡ that he's wasting more resources than necessary to come after you. That he should cut his losses and move on.

It's a cold knife thrust between your ribs and up into your heart, piercing with the ache and fear that this is your life now, days measured by how useful you are.

What happens when you stop being of use? After all, there's only so many places you know of, and only so long you can get away with lying about information pertaining to the One Piece. Hendle is bound to figure it out sooner rather than later.

You stare at your wrists, the rubbed raw quality where the stone has chafed, the slow sap of any and all energy you manage to find by sleeping. And even when you do sleep, it's far from well ㅡ worries and fears follow you into dreamland, torment you with what could happen.

And what would have happened if you'd never done any of this in the first place. You've lost count or how many dreams you've been wrenched out of with a gasp, cold sweat beading on your forehead as you tried to push away the images of Law being killed in front of you, of feeling helpless to save him.

This, you decide, is far better than that.

ㅡ

This is the last island you've been able to mark on the map. Hendle has said nothing to you about what he plans to do with you, but you can assume it's nothing good.

Which is why you keep your eyes trained on him and the men that follow him, waiting until their attention is elsewhere ㅡ and then you bolt.

You know you're unlikely to make it far, but it's worth the way you can hear shouting behind you as you run as fast as your legs can carry you.

The chain clinks as you gasp for air, acutely aware of the burn of your muscles and ache of your body ㅡ but you keep going. You have to. Whether Law rescues you or not, you can't stand the idea of being around those thugs for another minute.

You'd rather die.

Something sharp bites into the meat of your left shoulder, makes you stumble and nearly topple before you correct your balance and keep going. Warmth leaks down your arm, white-hot pain that you use to ground yourself.

You can't defend yourself, best bet being that of running into someone who will be kind enough to help ㅡ and if you can make it that far in the first place.

You want to go home. You want the warm metal walls of the Polar Tang and the hum of machinery, the dumb jokes and silly arguments ㅡ you want your family. You want ㅡ

"Room."

Law.

"Shambles."

Your feet aren't kicking up dirt and pebbles anymore, the brief jolt jostling your shoulder and making you hiss as your legs give out.

You don't fall, though ㅡ familiar hands catch you, familiar tattoos ㅡ Law. He's here, he's real ㅡ he came to rescue you.

"You made it," you say softly as he picks you up, mindful of the way your shoulder is still bleeding. "You're late, though."

"I know." Law's lips press to your temple, and he closes his eyes as you lean into the touch. "I'm sorry."

#ㅡanswered.#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader

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thedensworld · 7 months

Text

On Scene | Yoon Jeonghan

Pairing: Detective!Jeonghan x Writer!reader (ft. Junior Detective!Soonyoung)

Genre: Action, Crime, Comedy, Angst, Romance

Synopsis: Yoon Jeonghan, once a dedicated police officer, finds himself embroiled in a web of corruption and is subsequently transferred to a unit that is shunned by his colleagues. Just when he thought his life couldn't get any more complicated, a murder case emerges, and it appears to be connected to his ex-girlfriend.

Author Note: this haven't been proofread, you might found typos and grammatical error. Reader is she.

Since the manipulation incident that marred Jeonghan's record years ago, he found himself transferred to the last place any police officer wanted to be: Unit 10, specializing in domestic case. The reason was painfully clear – it was where they stashed away the 'undesirable' officers, far from any significant cases. It's like being exiled to the Island of Misfit Toys, only with less glitter and more restraining orders. Jeonghan couldn't quite label every missing pet he'd tracked down as a 'case'; it felt more like passing the hours than true investigative work.

Jeonghan couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. He'd gone from potential super-sleuth to the guy who mediates couple over who gets the sofa in a messy breakup. It was a far cry from chasing down notorious criminals, but hey, at least he was saving furniture from an untimely demise.

His colleagues in the 'real crime' units would swagger in, regaling the office with tales of high-speed chases and epic takedowns. Meanwhile, Jeonghan was learning the delicate art of diffusing family feuds with nothing but a clipboard and a well-timed dad joke.

There were days when he felt more like a referee in a dysfunctional game show than a police officer. He'd wade through tangled disputes over who left the toilet seat up and who finished the last of the cereal. It was like a twisted episode of "Law and Order: Household Edition."

Yet, amidst the chaos, Jeonghan discovered a strange kind of satisfaction. He was the unsung hero of household havoc, the Sherlock of sock-stealing roommates. He brought order to the chaos, one misplaced remote at a time.

So, while his colleagues chased after masked bandits and international spies, Jeonghan patrolled the treacherous terrain of domestic disputes, armed with a sense of humor and a hefty supply of marriage counseling brochures. And as he stood amidst the wreckage of yet another epic laundry detergent argument, he couldn't help but grin. After all, someone had to keep the peace in the war zone of weekend warriors and sibling rivalries.

No, in contrary, everyone. He didn't enjoy every second of it at all.

Well, karma finally caught up with Jeonghan, and it wasn't pulling any punches. After years of playing fast and loose with evidence and dabbling in a little graft on the side, it turned out his best buddy on the force was the one to spill the beans. Talk about a double whammy – not only did he get a serious case of red-faced embarrassment, but he lost a pal in the process.

And if that wasn't enough, the universe decided Jeonghan needed another dose of cosmic payback. His ex, the one and only former flame, broke up with him without so much as a hint of an explanation. Talk about adding insult to injury! Suddenly, he was single, friendless, and jobless faster than you could say "karma's a real stickler".

Jeonghan's muttered curses could probably be heard from Mars every time he recalled the trainwreck that had been the past three months. It was like a twisted sitcom, where the universe was the ruthless showrunner and he was the hapless protagonist, stumbling from one catastrophe to the next.

As Jeonghan sat at his desk, wallowing in regret for all the missteps he'd taken, his lone senior – the only other soul sharing this forsaken office – made a grand entrance. And who should trail in behind him but the one and only Soonyoung, his former junior from the 2nd unit of the Criminal and Violence division.

Jeonghan practically catapulted out of his chair, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the comrade he'd spent seven years alongside. "What brings you here?!" he blurted out, silently praying that his internal alarms were just a false alarm. Soonyoung was no slouch when it came to policing; having him end up in this backwater felt like casting Tom Hanks as the office janitor. It was a crime against justice itself.

Jeonghan couldn't help but feel like he was witnessing a talent show on a cruise ship, with both himself and Soonyoung reduced to performing card tricks for the tourists. It was a spectacle, but not in a good way. Placing Jeonghan here was already like using a Lamborghini as a glorified paperweight, but now, with Soonyoung in tow, it was like throwing in a Ferrari for kicks.

"I requested to be moved here, sunbae," Soonyoung chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Jeonghan's jaw nearly hit the floor. It was like watching a penguin declare it had always dreamed of being a flamingo. He blinked, momentarily lost for words. "You... requested this?" he managed to sputter out, disbelief dripping from every syllable.

Soonyoung grinned, his expression unapologetically cheeky. "Yep, I figured that i haven't learned enough from you." he quipped, casting a theatrical gaze around the modest office space.

Jeonghan couldn't decide if he should laugh or stage an intervention.

"Well, you've certainly right on that," Jeonghan finally replied, unable to suppress a chuckle.

As the three of them stood there, an odd trio in a sea of mediocrity, Jeonghan let out a nervous laugh. It was the kind that bubbles up when you're faced with the sheer lunacy of life The station might not know it yet, but it had just become the backdrop for the most unconventional buddy cop sitcom of the century.

"Did you find the corby that was assigned two days ago?" Yang Beomjae, a senior with nearly two decades of police service, inquired, extending a brochure featuring a forlorn-looking dog named Jennifer.

Jeonghan let out an exasperated sigh, momentarily closing his eyes, as if hoping to teleport himself out of this never-ending parade of missing pets. South Korea seemed to have developed a sudden epidemic of disappearing furry friends. It was as if he'd been drafted into some sort of secret 'Pet Detective Division' without his consent. He couldn't help but wonder if his badge was equipped with a hidden GPS tracker for runaway pets. This was beginning to feel like a full-time gig, and he was pretty sure he didn't sign up for this in the police academy.

He took the brochure from Beomjae with a resigned nod, already mentally preparing for another round of 'Where's Waldo: Pet Edition'. Jennifer the missing corby was just another puzzle piece in this bizarre pet-sized jigsaw. The poor dog probably thought it was auditioning for some canine version of 'Amazing Race'.

Jeonghan glanced around the office, half expecting to find a secret stash of 'Missing Pet Bingo' cards tucked away somewhere. He couldn't help but marvel at the sheer dedication of the pet-owning populace to misplace their furry companions. If only they put this much effort into remembering their anniversary dates.

With a wry grin, he set off on the latest leg of his unexpected pet-finding adventure. Jennifer, here he came – detective extraordinaire, now specializing in the clandestine world of runaway corbies.

"I'll come with you!" Said the very loyal junior of him, one and only Kim Soonyoung.

"It's a whole different ball game," Jeonghan remarked, steering the car towards the potential location of Jennifer. "No late-night stakeouts with a lot of suspect profiling and plenty of downtime for laughs. That's pretty much the drill in this unit." He regaled his three-month rollercoaster of an experience to the wide-eyed rookie, Soonyoung, who listened intently, though a hint of disappointment flickered in his eyes. Jeonghan secretly hoping to instill some regret in the younger officer for joining this supposedly undesirable unit.

After they parked, Jeonghan stepped out of the car, the block of apartments standing like a sentinel miles away from Jennifer's last known location. Memories of a similar case flashed in his mind - a friend of Jennifer's vanished, only to be found in this very vicinity, being fed by a benevolent fifty-something woman. As they strolled, the tranquility shattered by a sudden scream, and there she was: the familiar woman, who'd taken up the noble task of nourishing the neighborhood's furry inhabitants, now sprinting out of the building.

The sight struck Jeonghan, momentarily caught between amusement and concern. He glanced at Soonyoung, who seemed to be processing the scene with wide eyes and a barely contained grin. "Welcome to the wild ride, Soonyoung," he said, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Buckle up, it's never dull in this unit."

"Help! Help!" The woman's panicked cries reached Jeonghan and Soonyoung, sending a jolt of urgency through them. Jeonghan swiftly approached, pulling out his badge, a beacon of authority.

"Ma'am, I'm a police officer. Take a deep breath and tell us what happened," he reassured her, his voice steady.

The woman's words tumbled out in a rush, "My neighbor, I-I found her... blood... and..." Jeonghan didn't wait for the sentence to finish, already in motion. He gestured for Soonyoung to follow, their training kicking in.

"Soonyoung, call for assistance from the station," Jeonghan directed firmly, trusting in his partner's quick thinking. The urgency in the air was palpable, a stark reminder of the unpredictable nature of their work.

Once Jeonghan had donned his gloves and protective shoe covers, he stepped onto the scene. His heart clenched in his chest as he beheld the gruesome sight: a familiar woman, bathed in her own blood, with several stab wounds marring her body. It was his former girlfriend's mother, your mother.

Time seemed to slow as a flood of memories and emotions washed over him. He pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand. He couldn't afford to let personal ties cloud his judgment now. This was a crime scene, and he was a detective sworn to uphold justice.

"What's happened, sunbae?" Soonyoung stood beside him, scrutinizing the victim's condition. It was clear she had been murdered around eight hours ago. Jeonghan observed the other officers diligently executing their roles, gathering evidence while the forensics team prepared to process the victim. He took a deep breath before attempting to call you, fully anticipating that you might not answer. As expected, there was no response. He resorted to sending you a series of urgent texts, conveying that he had something crucial to discuss. Nearly half an hour passed before you finally returned his call.

"Hey, what's wrong? Something's happened?" Your voice carried a cheerful tone, blissfully unaware of the devastating news that awaited you.

"I need you to brace yourself for what I'm about to say, okay?" Jeonghan implored, his voice carrying the weight of the somber revelation he was about to deliver. After a heavy sigh, he mustered the strength to speak the words, "Your mom was found murdered just an hour ago. I'm here at the scene right now."

There was a palpable silence on the other end of the line, broken only by the sound of your slow exhale, as if you had been holding your breath since the moment he uttered those shocking words. The weight of the news hung heavy in the air, a painful truth that now bound both you and Jeonghan in shared sorrow.

"Where is she?" Your voice came out in a hushed, trembling whisper. Jeonghan gently relayed the location, the somber apartment building where your mother had made her home for several months.

"She's been processed by the forensics team, but we need you to discuss authorizing an autopsy," he explained, his own voice tinged with empathy and understanding.

"I'll be there," you replied, determination and grief tightly woven into your words.

As the call ended, Jeonghan took a moment to collect himself. He braced for the meeting that awaited him, knowing it would be the first time he'd see you in three long months. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, a mixture of grief, determination, and a shared resolve to seek justice for your mother.

Jeonghan hadn't laid eyes on you in what felt like an eternity. He'd been tip-toeing around the boundaries you'd set after the breakup, which he was convinced were more convoluted than a Rubik's Cube in a tornado. As you approached, your hair danced like rebellious spirits in the zephyr, adding an extra touch of magic to your already enchanting presence. Even in a moment like this, you were a vision. Jeonghan, for a second, had the wild urge to sweep you into a tight embrace, but alas, duty called, and he was stuck in the middle of work. Soonyoung's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of you. He knew you were Jeonghan's former girlfriend, but the whole situation had him more puzzled than a cat trying to understand calculus. He glanced at the victim data, then it clicked – you were the victim's daughter. He shot a glance at Jeonghan, a mix of encouragement and disbelief dancing in his eyes. It was like watching a soap opera, but with less dramatic background music. Jeonghan wrestled with a storm of emotions, a tornado of regret and longing whirling within him. If only he could find the right words to bridge this canyon of misunderstanding and boundaries. But alas, words seemed to have taken a vacation without sending a postcard.

The air was thick with tension as you finally stood face-to-face with him after three long months. Your first words cut through the heaviness, a desperate plea for answers, "Where's she?"

Jeonghan's gaze shifted to the forensic ambulance, a somber acknowledgment of the grim reality. "She's currently being processed," he began gently, his voice carrying the weight of the situation. "I'm afraid you can't see her right now. We need your consent for an autopsy. There are signs indicating potential violence."

You bristled at the notion, your principles steadfast in opposition. The thought of subjecting your mother's memory to such an invasive procedure was a bitter pill to swallow. In your heart, you longed to remember her in the light that was true to her essence, not tainted by the brutality of her passing.

Jeonghan, acutely aware of your emotional turmoil, presented a compelling argument. His words were carefully chosen, emphasizing the greater good that could come from uncovering the truth. He knew the delicate balance he walked, aware of your sensitivity and the fragility of your heart.

Your voice trembled with apprehension as you asked the question that weighed heavily on your mind, "It's gonna hurt, isn't it?"

Jeonghan felt the weight of the answer he needed to provide. How could he possibly encapsulate the complexity of the situation? Should he be brutally honest about the intensity of the process, or should he offer reassurance that your mother would feel no pain?

Just as the silence began to stretch, Soonyoung stepped in, offering a perspective that hadn't crossed Jeonghan's mind. "Rather than hurt, I think your mother would want the world to know the truth," he affirmed, his words striking a chord.

You, grateful for the support, implored for a moment to collect your thoughts. "Can you give me time to think about it? I promise it won't be long. But so much is happening and I can't think straight," you pleaded, directing most of your gaze towards Soonyoung, who seemed to radiate a comforting presence.

Soonyoung nodded, his eyes filled with empathy. "Take all the time you need, Y/n. I know this is an incredibly tough moment for you. Would you like to sit down? Maybe some water?" He gently guided you towards a nearby bench, leaving Jeonghan standing alone to process the whirlwind of events that had unfolded.

Jeonghan's voice held a weariness that spoke volumes. "I don't want to take this case, sunbae," he confessed, sinking into his seat, trying to make himself appear as inconspicuous as possible.

Beomjae let out a resigned sigh, clearly hoping for a spark of the old Jeonghan he used to know. "I thought you were missing your old self, that's why I accepted this case."

Frustration radiated from Jeonghan as he roughly tugged at his own hair. The situation before him was a tangled mess, a cruel reminder of the life he used to lead. He yearned for the days when he pursued real criminals, not navigating the intricacies of Jennifer and her companions. This case, though, was an entirely different beast. It was your mother who was the victim, and the thought of facing you, speaking to you, without stumbling over his own words and appearing foolish was a daunting prospect.

He knew he wasn't foolish, not by a long shot. It was the effect you had on him, the power you held to unravel his composure with just a glance. Jeonghan was acutely aware that your presence had the uncanny ability to turn him into someone he scarcely recognized, a vulnerability he wasn't accustomed to.

Jeonghan's conviction rang through the room, his resolve unwavering. "It's different. I don't want to do it!" he asserted, his eyes reflecting a mixture of determination and frustration.

Suddenly, Soonyoung sprang from his seat, a burst of eagerness propelling him forward. "I'll do it, sir. I'll work on it hard," he declared, eager to seize the opportunity.

Jeonghan's ire flared at Soonyoung's impulsive offer. "I thought you wanted to learn from me? If I'm not taking the case, then neither are you," he scolded, his words stern.

Soonyoung's shoulders slumped, a pout tugging at his lips. "It's just... I feel bad for Y/n. I understand you can't take it because she's your ex, so I'll do it on your behalf," he explained, his voice carrying a hint of remorse, which only fueled Jeonghan's irritation.

"It's not about that! I— i just don't feel up to handling such a heavy case right now. I'm still adjusting here. And besides— why is our unit being tasked with cases from Criminal and Violence? We're domestic division!" Jeonghan vented his frustration, his discontentment with the situation bubbling to the surface.

Beomjae interjected, his voice calm but authoritative, shedding light on the matter. "You haven't heard, have you?" he questioned, capturing their attention. "Her daughter is a suspect. They found her fingerprint on the weapon. Its status is domestic homicide."

Jeonghan and Soonyoung were left dumbfounded, their minds struggling to process the revelation. It felt as though the air had shifted, reality tilting on its axis. "The results came in hours ago," Beomjae added, handing them the report. Jeonghan's eyes scanned the words, his disbelief echoing in the repeated refrain of 'no way.' There was no conceivable reality in which you could be the suspect. It was inconceivable.

"Since we found the evidence and the suspect, i don't think it's a heavy case."

Jeonghan couldn't help but feel the tangled mess of emotions threatening to engulf him. It was a whirlwind of complications he never imagined he'd face. First, you'd walked away from him three months prior, leaving behind a void of unanswered questions. Now, here you were, seated before him, a suspect in your own mother's tragic demise.

He let out a sigh, the absurdity of the situation almost too much to bear. In some twisted, cosmic joke, fate had decided to bestow upon him this absurd cop sitcom scenario. The irony wasn't lost on him, and he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. But then, there you sat, an enigma he couldn't begin to unravel.

You were, without a doubt, one of the most unpredictable people he'd ever encountered. Your actions had always been a dance of spontaneity and caprice. Yet, the notion of you being connected to such a heinous act, especially involving your own mother, was beyond anything he could have fathomed. It was a curveball that left him reeling, struggling to find his footing amidst the chaos of emotions that swirled within him.

The atmosphere in the room was tense as Soonyoung settled beside Jeonghan, fingers poised over the keyboard, ready to transcribe every word that fell from your lips. Jeonghan, still grappling with the surreal nature of the situation, took a deep, weighted breath before beginning the interview.

"Kim Y/n, 34 years old, a writer, graduated in criminology," he recited, each word a heavy acknowledgment of the facts before him. He couldn't help but berate himself internally; your background in criminology only added a layer of plausibility to the notion that you might be involved in the tragic incident. It was as if the pieces were aligning in a way that painted a damning picture.

The room hung heavy with tension as Jeonghan began the interview, his words etching the grim reality into the atmosphere. His gaze bore into you, your silence speaking volumes, a stark contrast to the weight of the accusations.

"Park Haerim, your mother, was found dead on July 23rd in her apartment," he stated, the words landing heavily in the room. "We found a knife with her DNA on a pile of trash in front of your apartment, with your fingerprint. Do you have any word on that?"

The silence that followed was deafening, a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The weight of the evidence was a damning testament to the gravity of the situation, hanging over the room like a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury. Jeonghan's gaze remained fixed on you, a silent plea for an explanation, a denial, anything to break the silence that threatened to suffocate them all.

Jeonghan's voice carried a weight of solemnity as he began the interview, the gravity of the situation palpable in the air. His gaze shifted to you, your silence a stark contrast to the weight of the accusations.

'Say something, Y/n. Say something,' he pleaded internally, his eyes silently urging you to break the silence. He knew that in the absence of a strong alibi or evidence of your innocence, the mounting evidence could easily paint you as the perpetrator. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled in the pit of his stomach.

As the seconds stretched, Jeonghan silently prayed for you to find your voice, to refute the damning sentence that hung in the air. The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of the truth and the potential consequences pressing down on everyone present.

Jeonghan's questions hung in the air, each word pregnant with expectation and dread. The room was stifling, the silence pressing in from all sides. Soonyoung could feel the weight of it, an oppressive force that seemed to squeeze the air from his lungs.

Your silence was deafening, a void that threatened to swallow them all. It weighed heavily on Jeonghan, his eyes fixed on you, imploring for a response. His voice grew more insistent, edged with a desperate hope that you would say something, anything to break the deadlock.

"Where were you when the incident happened?" he pressed, the question hanging like a pendulum. You took a deep breath, but still, no answer came.

Jeonghan shifted tactics, trying a different approach. "How many times did you stab Park Haerim?" he asked, his gaze unwavering. Your eyes met his, a look that held a thousand unspoken words.

Then, without warning, Jeonghan stood abruptly, a palpable frustration radiating from him. "Let's take a break," he muttered, his voice strained. He made his way to the exit, his steps heavy with the weight of the situation. The room seemed to exhale as he left, the tension dissipating, if only slightly. Soonyoung let out a silent breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his gaze flickering briefly to you before returning to the floor. The room was heavy with uncertainty, each breath a struggle against the suffocating atmosphere.

The whispered admission halted Jeonghan in his tracks, his eyes locking onto you. "I was at home," you confessed, your voice barely louder than a breath.

"You were at home?" he echoed, seeking confirmation, and you nodded, a fragile glimmer of hope flickering in your eyes. "Writing," you added, your words a hesitant but crucial addition to the narrative.

Jeonghan's gaze shifted to Soonyoung, a silent directive to continue recording your testimony. He knew the weight of this moment, the pivotal importance of your alibi. "Do you have anything that can prove your alibi?" he inquired, his tone tempered with cautious optimism.

You nodded, a newfound determination in your expression. "I didn't leave the house for two days. I was calling my friend, Lee Chan, and he visited my house that night. I was with him until the morning." The details spilled from your lips, each word a lifeline in this maelstrom of uncertainty.

Jeonghan's mind raced with questions, a whirlwind of curiosity and concern. Each query was a piece of the puzzle, a glimpse into a part of your life that he hadn't been privy to.

1. Why did you call him?

2. Why did he stay in your house?

3. What was your relationship with Chan?

These questions danced on the tip of Jeonghan's tongue, eager to find their way into the conversation. But he knew now wasn't the time. The priority was to verify your alibi.

"Could we check your alibi?" he asked, his voice measured. You nodded in response, your determination unwavering. "You can check my apartment's CCTV, my writing history. I never left home," you explained, offering a straightforward account of your whereabouts.

A part of him yearned to immediately reassure you, to say, 'I believe in you,' based on the history you shared. He knew you intimately, understood the rhythms of your life. Yet, the weight of the case and the complexities that lay ahead left him hesitant.

He let out a sigh, the weight of his decision settling on his shoulders. Regret gnawed at him, a persistent thought that maybe he should've pursued Jennifer's case instead. The path ahead was uncertain, and he was acutely aware that every step he took would have far-reaching consequences.

"Okay, we're going to check on your alibi."

Jeonghan's jaw tightened in frustration as he watched the news, the headline a harsh indictment of you. "Popular Crime Writer Has Killed Her Own Mother." The words blared from the screen, painting a damning picture. He couldn't bear to hear any more, swiftly turning off the television. The label of 'suspect' felt like an unjust brand searing into his mind.

'Suspect! Still a suspect,' he repeated in his thoughts like a mantra, a silent plea for the truth to emerge.

Soonyoung approached him, report and phone in hand. He handed over the report detailing the activities captured by the apartment building's CCTV. Jeonghan's eyes scanned the pages, each frame a snapshot of your movements leading up to the incident. The images painted a picture of normalcy, of someone going about their daily routines.

Soonyoung pointed out the key moments, the times your door had been opened. Each entry was a piece of the puzzle, a glimpse into the timeline of events. Jeonghan meticulously examined the records, each entry a crucial piece of the puzzle. The timestamps and descriptions painted a vivid picture of your movements in the days leading up to the incident.

"Two days before the incident," he mused, studying the image of you carrying groceries. It was a mundane scene, but it held significance in establishing your routine.

"Chan's visit," he noted, his eyes tracing the time you spent with your friend. It was a confirmed alibi, a crucial point in your defense.

"And when you left after receiving information about your mother," he murmured, the gravity of the situation settling in his chest. That moment, that choice, was a turning point in the narrative.

Each entry was a window into your world, a chronicle of your actions. Jeonghan knew that within these records lay the truth, waiting to be uncovered. The weight of responsibility bore down on him, urging him to piece together the fragments of evidence and find the answers that could exonerate you.

Jeonghan absorbed Soonyoung's explanation, frustration simmering beneath the surface. The broken CCTV felt like a cruel twist of fate, a critical piece of evidence just out of reach.

"How about Chan's alibi?" Jeonghan queried, seeking reassurance in the face of the mounting doubts.

"He confirmed that they were together that night, so there's no way Y/n was coming to her mother's house," Soonyoung assured, presenting yet another piece of the puzzle. The weight of relief settled on Jeonghan's shoulders. It was a crucial confirmation, a solid alibi that could potentially shift the tide.

"Also, Y/n was last seen visiting her mother a week before the incident. That's the last time they seemed to see each other," Soonyoung added, his voice steady. Jeonghan absorbed this information, the timeline of events slowly coalescing in his mind.

The revelation about the CCTV being under maintenance on the night of the incident was a frustrating setback, but Jeonghan knew they had made progress. With Chan's alibi and the knowledge of your last visit, they were building a case that could potentially exonerate you.

Jeonghan's mind raced, formulating a plan of action. The truth was out there, waiting to be uncovered. He was determined to find it, to clear your name and bring justice to both you and your mother. However—

"Argh! My head is about to explode!"

Soonyoung jumped, startled by Jeonghan's sudden outburst. He quickly turned to his superior, concern etched across his face. "Sunbae, are you okay?" he asked, worry lacing his voice. The stress of the investigation seemed to be taking a toll on both of them, but seeing Jeonghan in such distress was particularly alarming.

Soonyoung furrowed his brows, concern deepening as he met Jeonghan's gaze. The whispered admission caught him off guard. Jeonghan was known for his unwavering determination and resilience, especially when it came to solving cases. Seeing him like this, openly expressing exhaustion, was a rare occurrence.

"Sunbae, maybe you should take a break," Soonyoung suggested gently, recognizing the toll this case was taking on his superior. The weight of the investigation, coupled with the emotional turmoil surrounding you, seemed to be wearing Jeonghan down. It was a stark reminder of the human cost of their work in law enforcement.

"You stay here, I'll go for a walk," Jeonghan stated, his tone tinged with an air of quiet determination.

True to his words, he set off on a walk. However, he couldn't fathom how his own legs had led him to the detention facility where you were being held as a suspect. It was midnight, the facility cloaked in shadows, with only a few weary officers manning their posts.

Seeing you there, sitting with a book in hand, was surreal. He couldn't believe his eyes. You appeared strangely composed, far from the image he'd conjured in his mind.

"I thought you'd be frightened or anxious, being held like this," he confessed, approaching you cautiously. Your gaze lifted from the book to meet his, a weak smile playing on your lips as you closed it.

"Done checking my alibi?" you inquired, getting straight to the point. He nodded slowly, finding his way to a seat near the entrance of the cage.

A heavy silence settled between you, the weight of the situation palpable. Then, finally, Jeonghan found his voice.

"I'm sorry for your mom," he murmured, the words heavy with sincerity and regret. They hung in the air, a feeble attempt to offer solace in the face of such a devastating loss.

"There's so much going on, and suddenly I'm a killer. I can't even process it," you confessed, a wry chuckle escaping your lips at the absurdity of the situation.

Jeonghan listened, his mind still processing the newfound information he had about your medicine consumption. Finally, he mustered the courage to ask, "Why do you take the medicine?"

You chuckled in response, acknowledging his discovery. "It helps regulate my sleep schedule," you explained casually. When he inquired about your sleep troubles, you nodded. "Not everyone can find rest as easily as you, Jeonghan," you noted with a gentle tone.

"It's not a remedy for a terrible illness, is it?" he probed, seeking to understand the reasons behind your medication.

You didn't directly respond. Instead, you opened your book and pointed to a sentence. "I've been reading this since I was brought here."

Jeonghan's eyes fell on the words, "Time is a gentle stream that gradually wears away the hardest stone." He looked to you, a silent question in his gaze.

You took a breath, the weight of your situation evident in your words. "I saw a news about me. People think I killed my mother when I have no idea how all of this happened. I want to tell, to scream, to announce that I'm not the killer. But would it make a difference? Would it be anything more than a waste of time?" you wondered aloud, your voice tinged with frustration and helplessness.

"So, you're just going to wait and let time unveil the truth?" Jeonghan sought clarification.

You nodded, your conviction clear. Jeonghan couldn't contain his concern. "You shouldn't do that! If you truly are not the killer, explain it to people! Clear up the misunderstanding. Your words hold so much power, sometimes more than you realize," he implored, his disagreement evident in his tone. The urgency in his voice mirrored the weight of the situation.

You chuckled at his words, a lightness in the sound that contrasted with the gravity of the situation. "Why are you getting angry?" you inquired, your eyes meeting his with genuine curiosity. Jeonghan found himself without an immediate answer. He couldn't quite pinpoint why his emotions were running so high. It was as if a whirlwind of concerns and fears had taken root within him.

As he grappled with his own emotions, he questioned himself, 'Why are you getting angry?' The inner dialogue mirrored the external one.

"It's just— you were on the brink of being sentenced. If you hadn't spoken up during the interrogation, you could have been handed a 15-year sentence!" he tried to explain, the weight of the near-miss still fresh in his mind.

"But I won't, right?" you responded, your voice calm but the implications chilling.

Your words sent a shiver down Jeonghan's spine. He rose from his seat, his gaze unwavering as he looked at you one more time. "Tomorrow, during the interrogation, I want to hear everything that is the truth from you," he stated with a determination that matched the gravity of the situation.

While being interrogated, you were not alone today. Your lawyer, Hong Joshua, had come to keep you company before your 48-hour detention came to an end. The interrogation had gone smoothly, at least as far as Jeonghan could tell. You answered all of his questions and vehemently denied any accusations of murdering your mother—something that brought a sense of relief to Jeonghan.

After asserting your innocence and claiming that the actual killer was still at large, you were finally released from your detention. As you, Joshua, and Jeonghan stepped out of the interrogation room, there was a palpable sense of lightness in the air. However, Jeonghan knew that his work was far from over. He immediately tasked Soonyoung with initiating a request for a thorough investigation into the case.

"Thank you so much for coming," Jeonghan expressed his gratitude to Joshua, a friend of both him and you, who had come at his request since you had initially declined legal representation.

"It's a pleasure," Joshua replied, his gaze shifting to you. "I'm truly sorry about your mother. Please don't hesitate to call me if you ever need assistance, alright?" he offered, his words carrying a warm sincerity. He then gently embraced you in a show of support.

"Thanks, Josh," you replied, mustering a weak smile. The weight of the situation was still very much present.

As Joshua stepped away, leaving you and Jeonghan alone, he turned to you with a sense of urgency. "I need your help," he implored, his eyes searching yours.

He explained his request before you could interject, acknowledging that while you were no longer an active member of the police force, he valued your insights immensely.

Before Jeonghan could delve further into his plea, the audible growl of your stomach served as a distraction. He looked at you with concern, his brow furrowing. "Don't tell me you haven't had a meal?" he asked, worry lacing his words.

You nodded hesitantly, admitting, "My last meal was two days ago." It explained the weariness and weight loss that was noticeable to him.

Without hesitation, Jeonghan guided you to his car and drove you to the nearest restaurant. As you waited for the food to arrive, he attempted to pick up the conversation from earlier, though he did most of the talking, noting how your words had left an impression on him.

"Your words linger in me," he confessed, his gaze locked onto yours. "You mentioned how your fingerprint could be anywhere, but you were at home," he recalled from your earlier discussion at the police station.

"If anyone knows your background well, being a former top profiler—ouch! Okay, okay, I'll stop," he protested playfully as you swatted his hand in mock reproach. "What I mean is, those who know you would never think you could be the killer," Jeonghan explained.

"But you were hesitant, weren't you?" you astutely pointed out, catching him off guard.

Jeonghan sighed, conceding, "I was... I admit, I did consider that you might be involved. Don't blame me! No one can predict what's going on in your head, Miss Writer."

"If only—if only you hadn't confessed to being at home and we hadn't checked your alibi, you might not be here, enjoying your meal so comfortably. Thank you," he said sincerely, first to you, and then to the waitress who brought your food.

As she left, he continued, "You might be in court right now, and I wouldn't have to work my ass off to find the real culprit. I was actually starting to enjoy my simple domestic cases."

Your puzzled look prompted you to ask, "What do you mean? Did you switch to the Domestic Division?" He nodded, indicating with his fingers that he had been in the unit you once ended up in before leaving to become a writer.

Suppressing a laugh, you responded, "Really? Since when? Is Beomjae sunbae-nim still there?" He confirmed your question with a nod.

"Next week will mark my fourth month," he added.

Returning to the matter at hand, Jeonghan sought your assistance once more. You shook your head, declining his offer. "Why?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I'm done playing the role of a real detective, Jeonghan. And honestly, I don't think you need my help. You're doing an excellent job. Besides, Soonyoung is a capable partner, isn't he?" you explained, firm in your decision.

Jeonghan found himself taken aback by your choice of address, 'Jeonghan'. It had been years since you called him that—back in the rookie days of being an officer, nearly a decade ago. In private moments, it used to be 'babe' or 'love' between just the two of you. The shift didn't go unnoticed, and it stirred his curiosity about why you had decided to end things.

"But still, it's your mom's case," Jeonghan murmured, trying to find a way to understand your perspective.

You chuckled, a touch of irony in your laughter. "Don't you dare try to gain my empathy. I wasn't planning on authorizing an autopsy until my fingerprint turned up on the knife. I was just going to move on and live my life in peace."

Jeonghan scoffed, unable to resist a teasing remark. "You talk like you only live for months. Why choose a peaceful life when you can savor a taste of chaos?" he countered.

"Like mediating break-up couples about who gets to keep the house?" you playfully teased, earning a groan from Jeonghan. "Thank goodness we don't have to deal with that. There are already too many cases like that," he remarked, realizing the irony of his words a moment too late. He glanced at you, half-expecting a knowing look, but you simply continued to eat your food, unfazed by his slip of the tongue.

Sometimes, Jeonghan realized, he tended to talk too much.

"Babe?" Jeonghan's voice broke the morning stillness, sensing the absence of warmth beside him. He hurriedly made his way out of the bedroom, drawn by the sound emanating from the bathroom. As he pushed open the door, concern etched on his face, he found you hunched over, struggling through a bout of vomiting.

He stepped in, a comforting presence, offering a steadying hand on your back and gathering your hair away from your face. Despite his gentle efforts, you insisted, your voice a soft mumble, "It's gross."

"It's okay. Do you need anything? Can you make it to the couch? I'll assist you," Jeonghan offered, his worry palpable.

Once settled on the couch, he hurried to fetch water, gently tilting the glass to your lips. He studied you, his gaze filled with both concern and curiosity.

"Are you alright? Is something bothering you?" he inquired, his voice laced with worry. You simply shook your head.

"I think I must've eaten something off last night. My stomach's not too happy about it," you explained with a faint smile.

The next day, the same scenario unfolded. Morning and night, you found yourself battling waves of nausea. Jeonghan couldn't help but worry.

"Do you really think it's fine? Maybe we should consider going to the hospital," he suggested, concern etched in his features. You shook your head, assuring him that a hospital visit might not be necessary.

"I'm open to a check-up, though. It's been a while since we had one, hasn't it?" you proposed.

"I'm okay with that. But for now, get some rest. I'll come back tomorrow, alright?" Jeonghan said, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and then your lips. With one last worried glance, he left for his night shift.

Jeonghan didn't return home for the next three days, only sending a message that he'd be back once he wrapped up his work. When he finally arrived, he found you peacefully asleep in bed. He took a quick shower before joining you, hoping to catch up on some much-needed rest.

However, his slumber was abruptly interrupted as you suddenly pulled away from his embrace and hurried to the bathroom, your body wracked with another bout of vomiting. Concerned, Jeonghan swiftly followed, taking care of you as best he could. He prepared a soothing mint tea, something you had mentioned you kept handy in case of further discomfort. Sitting beside you on the couch, he finally voiced the worry that had been gnawing at him.

"You've been going through this for nearly a week now. Do you really think you're okay?" he gently asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"It's just my stomach acting up lately. I think it might be my irregular eating habits," you explained, attempting to reassure him.

"No, love. I mean... is this normal? All of this... I mean... are you... are you pregnant?" Jeonghan finally mustered the courage to ask the question that had been on his mind for days.

You shook your head, meeting his gaze with a reassuring smile. "No, I'm not. I took a test, and it came back negative. I even went to the doctor yesterday," you assured him.

"Then what's wrong? Why have you been experiencing this?" he asked, concern etched on his face. You sighed softly, a hint of pain in your voice, "I think I might need to see a doctor. It's starting to hurt." You gently rubbed your stomach, and Jeonghan felt a pang of helplessness wash over him.

"Would you like me to accompany you tomorrow? I can take a day off," Jeonghan offered, his eyes filled with concern. As he expected, you shook your head, insisting on going alone. He nodded, respecting your wishes, though his worry for you lingered.

The memory of the night three months before the breakup was still vivid in Jeonghan's mind. The slow unraveling of the relationship, like a frayed thread that couldn't be mended. Jeonghan, consumed by his demanding job in preparation for a promotion, found himself growing distant, while you were engrossed in the revisions and release of your upcoming book. The gap widened, and in just three months, a nearly six-year relationship began to crumble under the weight of miscommunication and emotional disconnection, at least from Jeonghan's perspective.

After two weeks of being largely absent due to work, Jeonghan returned home, half-expecting not to find you in your usual spots around the house, absorbed in your own tasks. However, that night was different. He discovered you sitting on the couch, tears streaming down your face, body trembling. He'd seen you emotional before, but never like this – it was a raw, heart-wrenching display of sorrow and despair.

Approaching you cautiously, Jeonghan inquired softly, "Baby... What's wrong?" He wanted to offer comfort, but when you pulled away from his touch, he was taken aback. It was unlike you to avoid him.

"No, stop," you pleaded through tears.

Confused and hurt, Jeonghan couldn't understand. "Why? What happened? Am I doing something wrong?" He reached out for you again, determined to provide comfort.

"Don't... Stop it," you mumbled, struggling to evade his grasp.

"Tell me! What's wrong?!" Jeonghan's frustration boiled over.

"Let's break up," you whispered, the words shattering something deep within Jeonghan. He needed to be sure, to hear it again, worried that perhaps he'd misunderstood.

"Tell me a reason why you... suddenly, want to break up?"

"I fell out of love. I don't love you anymore."

"What? Out of the blue, after six years – out of the blue, you fell out of love? Tell me! Be honest with me? What's wrong?"

"I'm being honest?"

"It's not because you're pregnant, right? And you don't want to face me because my family is pretty conservative. Are you pregnant?"

"No! I'm not pregnant. How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not pregnant!"

The weight of the moment hung heavily in the air, both of you grappling with the reality of what was unfolding.

"Tell me once again. Why?"

"I don't love you anymore. Let's break up."

Jeonghan finally caught a glimpse of the mysterious man, the suspect who had killed Park Haerim. He was seen discarding the knife in a trash bin near your apartment building. Frustratingly, the car's blackbox only captured the man's back before he vanished into areas not covered by the CCTV.

With this newfound evidence, Jeonghan was able to confirm that you were not the perpetrator behind Park Haerim's murder. The focus shifted towards apprehending this mysterious man, prompting a thorough search by Jeonghan's team.

In the ensuing days, Jeonghan was immersed in monitoring the CCTV footage from the day of the incident, hoping to uncover any additional leads. It was during this intense scrutiny that Soonyoung unexpectedly approached him.

"What is it?" Jeonghan inquired, his eyes fixed on Soonyoung who seemed visibly uneasy.

Soonyoung's fingers danced nervously, grappling with the weight of what he was about to reveal. "It's not directly related to the case," he began, causing Jeonghan's brows to knit in confusion. Yet, knowing Soonyoung's tendency to leave him astounded, he held his questions.

"I debated whether to keep this to myself, but I don't think I can," Soonyoung confessed, taking a seat across from Jeonghan and producing an envelope from his jacket.

The hospital logo on the envelope caught Jeonghan's eye, and his heart quickened. Your name adorned the front. Jeonghan's curiosity mingled with a growing sense of trepidation.

"I discovered this during our investigation at her house. I assume you haven't seen it," Soonyoung ventured.

Jeonghan studied Soonyoung's face, searching for any hint of what was to come. The seal on the envelope gave way to Jeonghan's careful touch, revealing the contents within. His eyes scanned the words, and the air seemed to still around him. Gastrointestinal cancerous tumor, grade II. The date on the report sent a jolt through him—it was issued a mere week before your breakup.

The room felt charged with a palpable mix of disbelief, concern, and an urgent need to understand. Jeonghan's gaze shifted from the report to Soonyoung, his emotions swirling within him. The weight of this revelation settled heavily on his shoulders, knowing that you had faced this diagnosis alone.

"Why didn't she tell me?" Jeonghan's voice wavered with a mixture of disbelief and worry. He couldn't fathom the pain you must have endured in silence.

"When I read that, it struck me that she probably didn't want you to know, considering... well, it's cancerous, right? And it can be life-threatening," Soonyoung explained, his voice laden with empathy.

Jeonghan's mind whirred, trying to process the weight of Soonyoung's words. "What are you trying to say?" he queried, a touch of urgency coloring his tone.

Soonyoung's voice took on a somber note. "This could be the underlying reason she felt so hopeless after her mother's tragic end," he murmured, the implications sinking into the room.

The revelation hit Jeonghan like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the shadows of the past few months. 'She was preparing for the worst... for herself.' The realization clenched at Jeonghan's chest, stealing his breath.

He shot up from his seat, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. This was why you had chosen to end things, sparing him from the pain of a potentially devastating future. It was a selfless act, but Jeonghan couldn't help but feel a profound ache in his heart.

In a flurry of emotions, Jeonghan dialed your number repeatedly, his concern growing with each unanswered call. Texts went unanswered, and a feeling of dread settled over him. He couldn't shake the urgency to see you.

As he approached your apartment building, he was still trying to reach you. Lost in his worry, he collided with someone in his haste, the phone slipping from his grip. "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, his apology rushed before he hurried up the stairs to your floor.

Jeonghan pressed the doorbell insistently, knowing you could hear it. The loud chime had often been a point of contention for you. He called out your name, his voice filled with worry, but there was no response.

In a desperate bid, he hoped that the password was still the same - your anniversary date. Fumbling to enter it, the lock clicked open, and he hurried inside. The darkness greeted him, and he quickly located the light switch. As the room flooded with light, his heart sank at the sight before him.

There you were, lying weakly on the couch, a hand pressed to your stomach which was stained with blood. Jeonghan's eyes widened in horror, fear coursing through him.

"Y/n!" Jeonghan rushed to your side, his hands trembling as he assessed your wounded stomach. It was a stab wound, and the sight filled him with dread. You were still conscious, your voice a weak whisper.

"Hold on, please..." Jeonghan's voice trembled as he dialed the emergency number, urgently requesting immediate medical assistance.

"It's Chan.." Your whisper cut through the tense air, and Jeonghan's heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"He wanted to kill me too.." You continued, your words coming out in strained breaths. Fatigue was starting to claim your consciousness.

"No, no, no! Stay with me, okay? Baby..." Jeonghan's voice cracked with emotion. He could feel your breaths growing heavier, and he pleaded with you to keep fighting, gently trying to coax your eyelids open.

"Baby! You can do it, okay! You're strong.. And you have to stay awake, alright? I'm right here with you." Tears streamed down Jeonghan's face, his voice desperate and filled with worry. Seeing you in this state was a pain he couldn't bear.

"It hurts.." You whispered, your voice strained with pain. Jeonghan nodded, his heart breaking for you. "I know, bear with me, okay? Take a deep breath, the medic is on their way. Please stay with me.."

Your trembling hand reached up to his cheek, brushing away the tears that fell. "I love you... I love you, Yoon Jeonghan.." The whispered confession sent a sharp pang through Jeonghan's heart. He held you tighter, feeling you grow weaker in his arms.

"I love you too, baby.. Please, stay with me." Jeonghan's voice trembled, a plea for you to hold on. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you.

As Jeonghan could hear the sound of ambulance and police sirens approaching, he scooped you up and carried you out of the house. He rushed down the stairs, desperate to get you treated as soon as possible.

"Help her, please. She's losing so much blood," he pleaded with the medic they encountered in the building.

Jeonghan met Soonyoung once they were outside the apartment complex. Soonyoung's eyes widened in shock when he saw Jeonghan covered in blood. "It's Lee Chan, he attempted to kill her. I saw him earlier on the stairs. He must still be around here. Find him!" Soonyoung swiftly directed the officers to search for Lee Chan.

Jeonghan accompanied you in the ambulance, his hand holding yours tightly as the medical team worked quickly to stabilize you.

"She has gastrointestinal tumor. There might be internal bleeding as well," Jeonghan informed the medic. As you received a blood transfusion, you began to regain consciousness. Your fingers moved slightly, and your eyelids fluttered open.

"Miss, I want you to blink your eyes if you can hear me," the medic instructed, but you didn't respond. Meanwhile, Jeonghan felt the grip of your hand tighten, and he heard you whisper his name.

"I'm here, baby. I'm always here," Jeonghan reassured you, gently rubbing your hair. Your eyes seemed heavy, but they focused on him. You mumbled something, though it was inaudible due to the respiratory device.

"Stay with me, okay," Jeonghan whispered in your ear, his grip on your hand never wavering.

"I love you," he heard you whisper, and Jeonghan nodded, his gaze locked on yours. "I know, babe. I always know. Stay with me, okay?"

You murmured more words, "be happy," before your eyes closed, and the pressure of your hand on Jeonghan's began to ease.

Jeonghan stood outside the sterile hospital unit, his clothes still bearing the haunting stains of your blood. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead seemed to flicker, casting an eerie glow on the sterile white walls. The passing footsteps and hushed conversations of hospital staff seemed distant, as if Jeonghan existed in a separate world altogether.

Inside that unit, you had fought a battle against the odds. The surgeons worked tirelessly, navigating the complexities of your condition. The room hummed with the controlled chaos of a medical procedure, each member of the team a skilled conductor in a symphony of life-saving efforts.

For Jeonghan, those moments outside felt like an eternity. His mind raced with thoughts of what could have been. The fragility of life, the fine line between presence and absence, weighed heavily on him. He couldn't help but replay the events in his head, each moment etched vividly in his memory.

As he waited, every passing second seemed like a gift, a silent acknowledgment of hope and gratitude. He longed for the moment he could see you again, to hear your voice and feel your warmth. The stain on his clothes, a stark reminder of the reality he almost faced, served as a somber emblem of the fragility of life.

In the midst of that sterile, fluorescent-lit corridor, Jeonghan's heart beat in rhythm with the machines inside your unit. The passage of time was marked by the soft chime of the elevator and the muted footsteps of nurses. And through it all, he held on to the promise of seeing you again, a promise that hung in the air, tangible and intangible all at once.

Your surgery went well. You had lost a significant amount of blood, and there was internal bleeding, which made the operation challenging for the medical team. Jeonghan waited anxiously outside your hospital room, still in the same clothes. The memory of almost losing you just hours ago weighed heavily on his mind.

Beomjae, accompanied by two other officers, approached Jeonghan, offering to take over his watch. "I'll do it here. You go home and freshen up. I'll call you as soon as she wakes up," he insisted. But Jeonghan sat there in silence, unable to respond to his senior's suggestion.

Taking a seat beside him, Beomjae leaned back in the chair, reminiscing about the time when you both shared the same unit three years ago, before your resignation. "I didn't know you are her boyfriend. She used to talk about you a lot," Beomjae remarked, his words tinged with a sense of realization. "I remember she once rushed home after sleeping in the office for two days, saying her boyfriend would be back after a week. It all makes sense now."

Jeonghan turned to his senior, a question lingering in his eyes. "Did she ever say anything bad about me?" he quietly asked.

Beomjae considered for a moment. "Not really bad, just... complaints, maybe? She used to complain that you were hardly ever home. You live together, right? It happens in a lot of relationships these days, I've heard."

"But things are better now, right? You're not as tied up in this unit anymore," Beomjae continued, trying to offer some reassurance.

"We actually broke up before I got transferred," Jeonghan revealed, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

A heavy silence hung in the air. Beomjae nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "So that's why you were hesitant about taking on Park Haerim's case. It has been a shock for me, discovering she was the victim's daughter."

In that pregnant pause, Beomjae and Jeonghan sat in solemn understanding, the weight of the situation settling between them. Jeonghan's resolve was evident as he shook his head, his eyes filled with determination. "I don't think I could ever leave her," he declared, the strength in his voice resonating with unwavering commitment. It was a statement that held a depth of emotion beyond words, a testament to the depth of his feelings for you. The air seemed to hang heavy with the weight of the moment, as if fate itself were holding its breath. Jeonghan's unwavering dedication painted a poignant portrait of his love for you, a love that transcended the boundaries of time and circumstance.

Beomjae's voice was a mix of concern and sternness as he continued, "Look, I understand you care about her, but you'll be no good to her like this. You need to clear your head and come back strong. Trust me, she'll need you at your best."

He motioned toward the exit. "Go home, clean up, and get some rest. I'll keep an eye on things here. We'll update you as soon as she wakes up."

Jeonghan hesitated for a moment, torn between his desire to stay and the practicality of Beomjae's advice. Finally, with a sigh, he nodded and headed towards the door, grateful for Beomjae's support and understanding in such a trying time.

As Jeonghan entered his apartment, a sense of detachment washed over him. It was as if he was operating on autopilot, his body moving without conscious thought. The familiar surroundings of his home felt strangely foreign, each step a blur.

The scalding water of the shower offered a harsh contrast to the numbness that had settled over him. It was a jarring awakening, the heat searing his skin and bringing him back to the present moment. The burning sensation seemed fitting, a physical echo of the emotional turmoil he had just experienced.

His eyes clenched shut, blocking out the world, but the images of the night's events were etched into his memory. The sight of you, weak and bleeding, haunted him. Tears mingled with the water, a silent release of the pent-up emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Regret hung heavy in the steam-filled air, a bitter taste in his mouth. The decision he had made three months ago, to let you go, now felt like a gaping wound. He replayed the scene in his mind, wondering if he could have fought harder, if he could have been the support you needed. The thought of you facing cancer alone, out of a misguided attempt to spare him pain, clenched his heart.

A sob escaped his lips, the sound swallowed by the rush of water. The weight of his own emotions crashed over him, a tidal wave of confusion, grief, and love. In this vulnerable moment, he found himself connecting with the pain you must have felt when you made the decision to let him go. It was a harsh awakening to the depth of his feelings, a realization that he couldn't ignore.

As the water continued to pour, Jeonghan let himself feel it all. The grief, the regret, the love — they all swirled together, mingling with the steam and disappearing down the drain. It was a painful catharsis, but one he knew he needed to face. In the midst of this emotional storm, he made a silent promise to himself — he wouldn't let fear or regret dictate his actions any longer. If there was a chance to make things right, to be there for you, he would take it.

With newfound determination, Jeonghan turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. The air in his apartment felt charged with a different energy, a sense of purpose guiding his movements. He dried off and dressed, the weight on his heart now transformed into a steady resolve.

He glanced at his phone, willing it to ring with news of your condition. The minutes ticked by, each one a heartbeat in the quiet apartment. Jeonghan's thoughts were a whirlwind, but at the center of it all was a simple truth — he loved you, and he was ready to fight for you.

Jeonghan jolted from his quick slumber when his phone rang. He had been waiting for a call from Beomjae, anxious for an update about you. Instead, it was Soonyoung on the line, and he knew it must be something related to Lee Chan. Jeonghan picked up, his heart pounding.

"We've captured Chan, and we've found the knife that was used to attack her," Soonyoung's voice was steady, businesslike.

"We're going to run an interrogation. Do you want to do it, sunbae?" Soonyoung asked Jeonghan.

"I don't think I can do it, Soonyoung," Jeonghan mumbled, his voice heavy with conflicting emotions. "I might just... I might just kill him before I can even say anything." He continued, rubbing his face in frustration.

"Alright, sunbae. I'll handle it from here. Please send my regards to her," Soonyoung's voice was understanding, supportive. Jeonghan hummed in agreement and nodded, before ending the call and preparing to head to the hospital.

Beomjae was surprised to see Jeonghan's presence. "I told you I'll call you once she's awake," he said, rising from his seat as Jeonghan approached him.

"The culprit has been captured. I think Soonyoung needs you," Jeonghan explained, his voice tinged with urgency. Beomjae nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.

"He's informed us already. I was about to go once you were here. But, since you're here already, I'll go. These two will stand by here," Beomjae explained, gesturing to the two young officers.

Jeonghan watched Beomjae leave, his heart heavy with a mixture of relief and anxiety. He turned to the officers, gratitude in his eyes. They nodded in understanding, silently affirming their commitment to keeping watch over the room.

As Jeonghan entered your hospital room, he looked at you, still unconscious but fighting to recover. He took your hand in his, a silent promise echoing in his heart - he would be there for you, no matter what.

The soft hum of the hospital machinery provided a backdrop to the tense atmosphere in the room. Jeonghan's gaze lingered on your still form, his heart aching with a mixture of worry and determination. Every shallow rise and fall of your chest was a testament to your resilience, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness.

He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender and filled with unspoken affection. The room seemed to close in around him, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. He couldn't help but replay the events in his mind, each moment etched with vivid clarity.

The memory of finding you, pale and bleeding, was seared into his consciousness. It was a sight that had threatened to shatter his composure, to drown him in a sea of fear and helplessness. But now, seeing you here, fighting to recover, ignited a fierce determination within him.

As he stood by your bedside, his thoughts turned to the captured assailant, Lee Chan. The mere mention of his name sent a surge of anger coursing through Jeonghan's veins. The thought of facing him in an interrogation room was almost unbearable. He knew he needed to remain composed, to let the law take its course, but the depth of his emotions threatened to consume him.

As your eyelids fluttered open, the soft light filtering through the hospital room's curtains gently greeted your senses. Jeonghan's face, etched with a mixture of relief and worry, came into focus. His eyes sparkled with a renewed hope as he met your gaze.

"You're awake," he breathed, his voice tinged with emotion. He reached for your hand, holding it with a tender grip. "I was so worried."

You managed a weak smile, your voice a fragile whisper. "I'm here, thanks to you."

Before long, Jeonghan was on the phone, urgently dialing for a doctor. They arrived swiftly, their presence a reassuring blend of professionalism and compassion. After a thorough examination, they spoke with a gentle but firm tone, emphasizing the importance of rest and recovery.

"You've shown remarkable strength," the doctor remarked, offering you a small, encouraging smile. "But your body needs time to heal. Pushing too hard too soon could set back your progress."

Jeonghan nodded, his concern for you palpable. "I'll do whatever it takes to make sure they have the time they need."

The doctor's gaze shifted to Jeonghan, a silent acknowledgment of his commitment. "That's good to hear. Keep her stress levels low, ensure she gets plenty of rest, and we'll monitor her closely. We're here to support you both."

As they left the room, Jeonghan settled back by your side, his eyes never straying far from you. "I won't leave you, not for a moment," he vowed, his voice a steady anchor in the midst of uncertainty. "You're my priority, now and always."

In the ensuing days, the hospital room became a cocoon of recovery and gentle care. Jeonghan, a steadfast presence, ensured you were never alone. He read to you, brought you small tokens of comfort, and spoke words of encouragement. The outside world felt distant, as if it could never intrude upon this sanctuary of healing.

"Did you find Chan?" You asked him with a weak voice. Jeonghan nodded solemnly, his gaze steady. "We found him, he's under investigation. We'll make sure he gets what he deserves, so you don't have to worry," he reassured you, his fingers gently running through your hair.

As the weight of the truth settled in, you whispered, "I found out he killed my mom." Your voice carried a mix of intrigue and pain, and Jeonghan, though eager for answers, didn't want to press too hard.

"You can tell me later. Your health is the priority now. You heard what the doctor said, you shouldn't stress yourself," Jeonghan urged, his concern evident in his eyes.

You shook your head softly, determination in your gaze. "I want to tell you now."

"When you asked for help to investigate my mom's case, I already had my suspicions about him. I saw the bloodstain on his shirt that night. When I called him, he claimed he was at the gym, but I knew he wasn't. He's such a perfectionist; he always goes to the gym in the morning."

Jeonghan's brow furrowed in thought. "Why do you think he did that?" His voice was low, giving you the space to share.

You considered the question carefully before speaking. "I assume he was after my mom, since I inherited all my money to her." You paused, your eyes locking with Jeonghan's. "You know my mom," you added, alluding to her penchant for younger men.

Jeonghan's eyes softened with concern as he listened to your heartfelt words. Tears streamed down your face as you poured out your heart. "I thought I could trust him. He was the only person who knew that I only have months left," you confessed, your voice choked with emotion.

Jeonghan's heart ached for you, witnessing the pain etched across your face. He gently wrapped his arms around you, offering a comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry you had to go through this," he murmured, his voice filled with empathy.

As you leaned into him, finding solace in his presence, Jeonghan's mind raced with a mixture of anger towards Chan and a fierce determination to support you. He knew that trust was a fragile thing, and watching it shattered in this way cut deep.

"You deserve so much better than this," he whispered, his words a promise to stand by you, to be the rock you needed in this storm.

He reached out, gently cupping your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Listen to me," he began, his voice steady and reassuring. "I understand that this is incredibly difficult for you, and I won't pretend to know exactly how you feel. But you are strong, and you've already shown incredible courage in facing this truth."

He paused, his gaze unwavering. "We're in this together, and I'll be here every step of the way. Your health is a priority, and we'll do everything we can to ensure you get the best care possible."

You looked into his eyes, grateful for his unwavering support. "I just... I don't want to be a burden to you," you admitted, your voice trembling with emotion. "I know that this situation is hard for both of us."

Jeonghan's grip on your face tightened ever so slightly, his eyes filled with determination. "You are not a burden, and you never will be. We face this together, and I'm not going anywhere. You're not alone in this, and we'll find a way through."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his touch warm and reassuring. "We'll focus on positivity and strength. You're not defined by the circumstances, but by how you face them. And together, we can face anything that comes our way."

His words resonated deep within you, bringing a sense of comfort and resolve. With Jeonghan by your side, you felt a renewed sense of determination to navigate this difficult journey, knowing that his support would be your anchor through it all.

In that tender moment, as his lips met yours, the world seemed to stand still. His touch was gentle, yet it carried the weight of his emotions, a silent promise of unwavering support and love. The connection between you both was palpable, a language of its own that needed no words.

As he cupped your face, his touch was warm and reassuring. It was as if he was trying to convey all the comfort and solace he wished to offer you. In that intimate exchange, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that you were not alone in this journey.

The kiss was a balm to your wounded heart, a reminder that even in the face of pain and uncertainty, there was a love that would endure. It was a testament to the strength of your bond, a declaration that you would face this challenge together.

As you melted into the kiss, a profound sense of gratitude filled your heart. In Jeonghan's arms, you found a sanctuary, a place where you could be vulnerable and find strength. It was a moment that would forever be etched in your memory, a symbol of the unwavering love that would carry you through whatever lay ahead.

The tender moment seemed to stretch, suspended in time, until a voice suddenly cut through the stillness, saying, "Cut." It was the signal that the scene had been perfectly captured.

You and Jeonghan slowly parted, lingering for a moment as you exchanged a silent, knowing glance. There was a shared understanding of the significance of this scene, both in the story and in your own lives.

As the crew bustled around, wrapping up the shoot, you turned to Jeonghan, a soft smile on your lips. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. He returned the smile, his eyes warm with affection. "No, thank you," he replied, his voice just as gentle. "You've been incredible."

As you bowed to every member of the crew on the location shoot, a sense of accomplishment and gratitude filled the air. The bucket of flowers they handed to you was a tangible symbol of the hard work and dedication you and Jeonghan had poured into preparing and shooting the movie.

The director approached both of you, his embrace filled with warmth and appreciation. "I couldn't be more thankful for this," he expressed sincerely.

"The honor is ours to be able to work with you," you replied, touched by his kind words.

Jeonghan nodded in agreement. "It's been such an amazing experience."

The director's eyes twinkled with pride as he looked at both of you. "Your chemistry is undeniable. You're not secretly dating each other, right?" he joked, prompting laughter from all three of you.

After the lighthearted moment, you and Jeonghan headed to your respective rooms to change before heading home. The weight of the past days' work was felt, but it was accompanied by a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. You were both ready for a well-deserved break after the intense and rewarding experience of bringing the story to life on screen. The memories created during this shoot would be cherished forever, a testament to the incredible journey you had shared with the cast and crew.

Yoon Jeonghan: Y/n, do you have time this weekend?

Yoon Jeonghan: How about going to the camping site that you talked about that day?

Yoon Jeonghan: i'll prepare all the stuff and food!

Yoon Jeonghan: what do you think?

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