The difference between the left and right in America is that if a prominent left wing voice, like say AOC, was shot in the neck in front of a crowd the right would meme the hell out of it. Her slumped over corpse would be redrawn as a wojack and "you talk like you have a hole in your neck" would be the buzz response to any left wing comment anywhere.
They would have zero remorse and they'd be having the time of their lives, yet if a leftist so much as smirks at Charlie Kirk's ironic death then you'll get a half hour lecture about how gun violence is always bad and that killing talking heads won't help the revolution or some obnoxious shit.
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synopsis: both you and your husband, being the addictive workaholics you are, eventually reach a breaking with your overwhelming perfectionism, how will you both quench this insaitable tension? oh i wonder
a/n: be patient n' listen to the song after you finish (reading), ik you horny as shit
warnings: mdni cuz i said fuck like twice, no hard smut (yet?) but very steamy
music: granny got hit by a bazooka by miami xoÂ
wc: 1.3k
this was probably the worst fucking week you've ever had.
your work was seriously getting so exhausting to the point where even coffee couldn't keep you sane, you were awake on raw will power and the fear of not being able to meet your deadlines.
sure you loved your work and how you drowned in it, it made you feel alive, but this week in particular
everything you did, and i mean everything you did, kept fucking up
and being the perfectionist you are, you hated it.
the only thing grounding you was probably your phone wallpaper, which was you and your husband holding up a bouquet of flowers, which's card read ''anything for you, love'' in a beautiful shade of pink
and you smiled
maybe this week wasn't as bad as you thought
until you see a notification pop up, another email from your boss, and you sighed clicking your phone shut
nevermind.
this week was full of just cursing yourself over every minor error, and it all started pilling up one by one, mistake by mistake, complain by complain and finally,
you hit your breaking point.
''darling please dont test me right now.'' your husband's voice rasps
.
.
.
.
.
''excuse me?''
you turn around, wide eyed with frustration
your husband just got home from work, it was a rainly night with his eyes tired and his shoulders incredibly tense under his expensive suit, his hair was neatly kept, as a way of holding onto the last shreads of his composure, yet a single strand of hair dripped down his forehead, defying his perfection.
he settles down the soaked umbrella the held and walks to the couch losening his tie, right before
''test you? are you fucking kidding me right now?'' you snap back
he turns his head towards you, dropping his suitcase on the table and you both just stare at each other for a very
very
uncomfortable 10 seconds
''honey'' his deep voice echos, being as patient as possible
''speak.'' you snap back, with a sassy tone
he looks at you again, dead in the eyes, and just for a second, just for a minuscule second
you see it
his composure wavered.
with the ever so slight twich of his jaw, and you ofcourse, didn't leave that unnoticed
''what? you're mad now? YOU'RE the one who's mad?'' your voice now raising as you took a step forward
''I just told you to pick up my goddamn order from the fucking resturant and thaâ''
he takes step towards you with a big thud, the sound echoing in the room and you pause, not even realising when you're backed into the wall
''I'll order it.'' he says coldly, and you swear you could see the rage radiating off him, and he was trying oh so hard not to show it
''No resturant is gonna' deliver SHIT at this hour!'' you yell while he just, stares
''You had one job and we both know I don't ask you for favours if its not importanâ''
''I said I'll fucking,'' he interrupts, the cuss foreign to his lips
''order it.''
''and I said there's isn't any fucking resturanâ''
before you know it
he smashes his lips onto yours, effectively shuting you up, but his hands weren't on you, they layed flat on the wall right above your head
you couldn't even process how the kiss was before he pulled alway, his eyes staring at you with the weight of his boiling rage laying right on display, not a single inch of him was touching you and yet, you could feel him all over your body
and it pissed you off.
''fuck you.'' you spat out, tilting your head upwards, almost challenging him with your cold expression, and fuming with anger
''fuck me?'' his voice rasps, accompanied with the faint twitch of his jaw
''honey, i already said don'tâ'' he leans down, emphasising the last word
''test me.''
.
.
.
.
.
suddenly
under all your supressed temper, you yank his tie and pull him in, your lips crash against each other once again, into the most messy and sloppy kiss you've both probably ever had
and that's when he finally
finally
grabs your jaw and tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue in with his hands holding your face roughly, not enough to hurt you but enough to squish your cheeks visibly, enough to make you feel that he's not playing nice
the kiss turns wild and aggressive with one of his legs now shifted right between yours while your hands kept pulling his tie, choking him harder and harder by the second, and you could feel a smirk forming on his lips as you both devoured each other
his hand slowly shifts to your hips, pulling you by the waist and you could feel his hard length right on your core, you both were running out of air at this point, suffocating each other, before you feel his hands run under your shirt, the cold touch only makes you shiver as you let out a small whimper in his mouth
and its then, when he barely breaks the kiss, with your lips still touching and his tongue still ever so slightly on your mouth, he whispers
''I dont want tâ'' he whispers
''use you like this, love.'' he hums into you, pulling you hips closer which makes your core grind over his thigh and you supress your moan, bitting his lower lip which makes him groan
he's being so aggressive and yet
still so gentle
you never answer him, just chasing his lips and hiding the blush growing on your cheeks
and ofcourse he gladly complies, while uttering small nothings like ''im so sorry'' and ''i was too rude'' or ''my apologies'' as they drown into your kisses
the kiss slowly grows gentle, despite your attempts on tugging his tie and choking him, or pulling on his hair, or even making his lips bleed, he still held you in place, strong hands that dug deep into your hips, just grinding his thigh against the, now wet, shorts that you wore
and as much as you would have loved his beautiful and gentle patience on any other random tuesday, tonight, you wanted to be fucked like he hated you with his soul.
nothing more nothing less
so when you noticed his touch growing supressed, clearly wanting to be rough but still holding back, it pained you
''honey'' you break the kiss, ever so slightly with your thumb over his lips to replace it missing touch
and he looks at you, silent and waiting for you to continue
you could see it
the hunger in his eyes, the sweat that dripped off his forehead, the flushed expression on his cheeks as if he was fighting for his life, still hanging on the threads of his composure while he just ripped your own to shreads
''how much more obvious do i have to make it, you idiot'' you say as your hands travel to the rim of his belt
and he just stares at you for a hot second, almost as if he's contemplating what to say or do
finally, his hand moves and cricles around your neck, not applying any pressure but just
there
''so you want me to'' he tilts his head and you could see his smirk tugging at the corner of his lips
''honey.'' you say deadpan
''mm?'' he hums, clearly amused
''dont do that.''
''do what~''
''don't test me.'' you stare
''oh im testing you? but its not my fault that you'll not be able to handle it my lovâ''
and that sends you
you snap and reach out you hand, grabing his neck and choking him
hard
''just fuck me'' you say in between your teeth, just above a whisper, still shy and unable to say the words properly while he chuckles in response, still suffocating under your grip
''fuck you?'' he asks, with a tease
''don't.'' you warn him again, and that makes him laugh
''alright alright''
finally
he picks you up, with almost no effort and begins to walk towards your shared bedroom, you circle your legs around his waist and hug him close, and thats when he looks up at you and whispers
''anything for you, love''
part 2?
comment to be added to the taglist !
not my proudest work i fear </3
started this like a long longgg time ago but life kinda fucked me real good for the past 3 weeks so dont mind mee :p
tbh i have a pure smut planned revolving around a senario just like this cuz im a SUCKER for hate sex so dw part 2 will come up very soon!!
and as always, i love you all so so soo muchh my lovely children
hiii! just wondering if youâd be able to write a short like fluff blurb about that one scene from outerbanks where rafe yells back at ward and says âiâm talking nowâ or wtv, but like, fhat happens and then rafe notices his girl showed up and heard that and he always tries not to be aggressive around her and like yeah idk
iâve tried my best!! :)
iâm talking now âșâ§âË
summary: rafe always tried to be calm around you
warnings: none imo
a/n: this is a shorter story!!
-> dividers credits: @bhavihelps & @anitalenia
"stop, stop! iâm talking now, alright! this isnât about you." rafeâs words echoed through the room while his father sat on the edge of his bed and stared at him in silence.
rafe paced around the room, trying to calm himself down but it was really hard thanks to his fatherâs presence. "i was held hostage at Singhâs.."
rafe kept arguing with his father, completely unaware of you being downstairs and hearing it all. they were pretty loud. you just walked upstairs and listened to their conversation, flinching once and then at rafeâs harsh words.
youâve seen him angry, but you were never the reason. you are the only person rafe truly cares about and loves, thatâs why he always wants to be gentle and calm with you.
when his father left, you walked into the room and saw rafe standing with his back towards the door, breathing heavily while he was leaning with his hands against the table.
you stepped closer. "are you okay?" he quickly turned around and rubbed his buzzed head before he nodded. "yeah." he stepped closer to you, his voice now much softer than it was just a few minutes ago.
"youâve heard it." you nodded and when you did he sat down on his bed and patted the spot next to him. you did what he suggested and he couldnât help but pull you closer.
"you know iâd never shout at you like this, right?" you rested your head against his shoulder which made him relax almost immediately. "mhm." you mumbled for yes.
he kissed your forehead softly before he started caressing your back. "iâd never. i promise." he murmured and you smiled lightly. "i know."
Simon couldn't stand you. Maybe it was your happy attitude, your constant smiles and jokes, a spirit unwavering to the world around them. Maybe it was how you never took the hint that he didn't want you around. Or that no matter where he went, you happened to be there too.
He didn't think secretaries got so many steps in, especially around a military base. Maybe he just hadn't paid attention before you. With your unwavering enthusiasm it was impossible not to notice you now. Always smiling, always joking, always light-hearted, and genuine.
It made Simon feel sick. He doesn't interact with you if he can help it, which proves pretty easy. You don't bother him beyond a hello when you see him and a goodbye when you leave. But he's still stuck in the break room with you and Johnny while the two of you chat. About what, he doesn't care, he tunes it all out.
He wishes he could tune out your laugh. Why do you laugh so much? He watches you for a moment as you chuckle at the joke Johnny made. "Do you always fake laugh like that?" The silence that fills the room is thick and instant. You look at Simon with a raised eyebrow as you lean back in your chair.
"Fake laugh... Have you gone so long without joy that you don't know what a real laugh sounds like?" You shoot back with a look Simon had never seen before.
"You pretend. You aren't really happy -"
"You don't know me, Simon." You scoff in his face, cutting him off mid sentence. "You've said maybe ten words total to me since I started working here three months ago." You point out, which makes him scoff in return.
"I don't need to speak to you to know your faking, Y/N. Always digging into our conversations like a thorn in our sides. I don't speak to you because you say nothing of value. Do you think I want to talk about the movies playing this week? No, love, we've got real jobs. Do yours and push some papers around." The words come out in one quick flood, harshly washing over you; shattering anything that remained of the peaceful atmosphere in the break room.
Your watch beeps, catching your attention and giving you a perfect excuse to leave. "Oh, break times over. Guess I'll go push those papers." You chuckle, though Simon can tell there's a lot less joy in the sound. Johnny looks like he's about to say something, but you're already grabbing your coffee and hurrying out of the room.
"You're a right bastard, you know that?" The smugness in Simon's chest dims when he hears the genuine anger in Johnny's voice. Simon wanted to say something, but there was nothing he could say that would fix what had happened just now. Johnny grabs his own mug and leaves the room. If Simon wanted to stew, he would leave him to it.
You made yourself scarce for the rest of the day. Simon pretends he doesn't notice because he doesn't.
The argument starts quietly, which somehow makes it worse.
Martin is over at your apartment, standing in the kitchen as he cooks ramen, earbuds in, listening to who knows what. The soft clatter of utensils and the low hum of the stove fill the space.
Youâre sitting on the edge of the couch, phone in your hand, mindlessly scrollingâuntil a viral clip of your boyfriend pops up.Â
Normally, you avoid his content. You know how easily things can be taken out of context, twisted by fans and media alike.Â
But Martinâs laugh rings out from the screen, warm and familiar, and it makes your thumb pause.
Itâs easy. Charming. The same effortless smile he wears on stage.
Heâs sitting at a table across from a fanâolder than most, from the looks of it. His posture is relaxed, eyes soft, voice lowered as he leans in slightly.
âYou are my type,â he says smoothly. âI love you, noona.â
Your stomach drops.
The tone. The expression. The warmth in his eyes. You thought those were things he saved for you.
You tell yourself not to overthink it and keep scrolling. One more video wonât hurt, right?
Wrong.
Your feed floods instantlyâclip after clip ofÂ
Martin flirting, smiling, laughing with different girls.
âYouâre my girlfriend.â
âYouâre the prettiest girl Iâve ever seen.â
âLetâs get married.â
You let out a bitter breath, shaking your head.
I mean⊠the bills canât be that high.
Youâre so lost in your thoughts that you donât even hear Martin calling out that the foodâs ready.
âHey,â he says gently, tapping your shoulder. âI added more spiceâjust how you like it.â
You look up at him, and the smile he was wearing falters when he sees your expression.
âWhatâs wrong, baby?â he asks, concern slipping into his voice.
You donât look at him when you speak. âDo you have to do that?â
Martin freezes where he stands. âDo what?â
You finally turn the phone toward him. âThat. The flirting. The way you look at them likeââ Your voice cracks, betraying you.Â
âLike they matter more than I do.â
His brows knit together immediately. âThatâs not fair.â
And just like that, the room shifts.
âYou donât get to decide whatâs fair,â you snap.
âI sit here watching you give pieces of yourself away every day. Smiles. Words. Gestures you used to save for me.â
âThatâs my job,â he says, too fast. Defensive. âYou knew that when weââ
âI knew you were an idol,â you cut in. âI didnât know Iâd feel like I was sharing my boyfriend with thousands of people.â
Silence slams between you.
Martin runs a hand through his hair, pacing once, twice. âItâs fan service. It doesnât mean anything.â
âBut it means something to me,â you whisper. âAnd you didnât even ask if I was okay with it.â
Thatâs when he stops.
Really stops.
He looks at youânot like he does on stage, not polished or composedâbut like heâs seeing something fragile he didnât realize heâd been holding. âI didnât think it hurt you,â he admits quietly. âI thought⊠I thought you were stronger than that.â
The words sting instantly, even as regret flashes across his face.
âSo now Iâm weak?â you ask, standing.Â
âFor wanting boundaries?â
âNo,â he says quickly. âFor wanting me. Just me.â
The fight escalates thenâvoices raised, old frustrations spilling out. You tell him how lonely it feels watching him belong to everyone else.Â
He tells you how suffocating it is to feel like heâs failing you no matter what he does. At one point, he turns away, fists clenched, breathing hard.
âI donât know how to win here,â he mutters.
You swallow. âIâm not asking you to win. Iâm asking you to choose.â
Thatâs when he leaves the apartmentânot in anger, but in defeat.
Hours pass.
Ramen definitely got cold.
When he comes back, itâs late. Heâs changed into soft clothes, hair still damp from a shower, eyes tired in a way that has nothing to do with schedules. He doesnât sit right away. Instead, he kneels in front of you.
âI thought about everything you said,â he begins. âAnd everything I didnât want to hear.â
You stay quiet.
âI canât stop being an idol,â he continues.Â
âBut I can stop crossing lines that make you feel invisible. I didnât realize I was doing thatâand I hate that it took hurting you to see it.â
He pulls out his phone and opens a notes app.Â
âThese are boundaries I wrote down. Things I wonât do anymore. Touching. Certain phrases. Eye contact that feels too intimate. I already talked to my manager.â
Your breath catches. âYou⊠already did?â
He nods. âBecause saying sorry isnât enough if nothing changes.â
Then, softer: âAnd I need you to tell me when it hurts. Even if itâs ugly. Even if itâs inconvenient.â
Tears blur your vision.
Martin reaches out, slow, careful, waiting for permission. When you nod, he takes your hands and presses his lips to your knuckles.Â
 âYouâre not competing with anyone,â he murmurs. âYouâre the only one I come home to.â
The argument doesnât magically disappear. The insecurity doesnât vanish overnight. But something shiftsâsomething steadier replaces the hurt.
Later, when he pulls you into his arms, it feels intentional. Chosen.
And for the first time in a while, you believe him when he whispers, âIâm yoursâoffstage, always.â
James has been under a lot of stress lately. He was assigned to choreograph Cortis and ILLITâs upcoming performancesâdefinitely not a task for the weak. It explains why heâs been distant, though it doesnât make it any easier to feel.
Wanting to ease some of that pressure, you stop by his rehearsal. The frustration is obvious in the way he repeats counts, rewinds the music, and runs the same section again and again.Â
The entire time, youâre thinking about how you can make things easier for him, maybe even cheer him up. But when practice finally ends and you head down to ask him out, it becomes clear he has other plans.
James corners you in the practice room after rehearsal, sweat still clinging to his collarbone, hair pushed back with restless fingers.Â
âHey,â he says, voice casual but eyes sharp with focus. âCan I ask you something?âÂ
You nod, already sensing where this is going. He plays the track again and runs through the section heâs been struggling with.Â
âBe honest. Does this choreography hit, or does it feel⊠off?â
You hesitate, because you know how much work heâs put into it. But he asked. So you choose your words carefully.Â
âItâs good,â you say slowly, âbut I think the transitions are a little rushed. Maybe if you let the counts breathe more, itâll feel heavier. Right now it feels like youâre trying to prove something instead of letting it land.â
The air shifts instantly.
James straightens, jaw tightening. âSo you think Iâm overdoing it,â he says, not askingâdeciding.Â
You blink, surprised. âNo, thatâs not what I meant. I just thinkââ He cuts you off with a short laugh that doesnât reach his eyes.Â
âRight. Because youâd know what my style should look like.â
That stings more than you expect.
âIâm not attacking you,â you say, voice firm now. âYou literally asked for my advice.âÂ
He scoffs, pacing. âAdvice or criticism? Because it sounds like youâre saying itâs messy.â You stand up, irritation creeping in.
 âI never said that. Youâre twisting my words.â He stops pacing and looks at you sharply. âThen say what you mean.â
Your patience snaps. âFine. It feels like youâre dancing angry instead of intentional.â
Silence slams into the room.
Jamesâ expression hardens, pride flaring like a match struck too close.Â
âYou know what? Forget it. I shouldnât have asked you. You always act like you see things clearer than everyone else.â That accusation lands heavy, unfair.Â
âThatâs not true,â you shoot back. âAnd you know it. I support you all the time.âÂ
He shakes his head. âSupport doesnât sound like tearing something apart.â
The argument spirals fast after that.
Voices rise. Old frustrations slip outâabout pressure, about expectations, about always being compared, about never feeling like enough. You tell him he never listens once his ego gets bruised. He fires back that you donât understand what itâs like to have every move dissected by millions.Â
The words get sharper, aimed instead of accidental. At some point, he throws his towel onto the floor and turns away, breathing hard. âIâm done,â he mutters. âI donât want your input anymore.â
You leave before you say something you canât take back.
The hours after are miserable. You replay the argument over and over, wondering where it went wrong, hating how your chest still aches with things unsaid. You know Jamesâhow deeply he feels, how criticism hits him like rejection no matter how gently itâs phrased. And you know yourself, how blunt honesty sometimes slips past softness when emotions run high.
When thereâs a knock on your door later that night, you already know itâs him.
James stands there quieter, shoulders slumped, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets.Â
âCan I come in?â he asks, voice low. You step aside. For a moment, neither of you speaks.Â
Then he exhales shakily. âIâm sorry,â he says. âI took it the wrong way. I was already frustrated, and I made it about my pride instead of what you were actually saying.â
Your throat tightens. âIâm sorry too,â you admit. âI shouldâve explained better. I wasnât trying to tear you down. I believe in you. Thatâs why I said anything at all.â
He nods, eyes softening. âWhen you said I was dancing angry⊠it hurt. But after I cooled off, I realized you werenât wrong. I am angry. And I was letting that control the choreography instead of channeling it.â
 He lets out a small, self-deprecating laugh. âGuess thatâs why I asked you in the first place.â
You step closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder. âWeâre allowed to mess up,â you murmur.
 âJust not push each other away when we do.â His arms wrap around you instinctively, grip tight, grounding. âNext time,â he says quietly,Â
âdonât stop being honest with me. Even when Iâm difficult.â
You smile against his chest. âNext time, donât ask for advice if youâre not ready to hear it.â
He laughs softly, tension finally dissolving. And when he pulls you in for a kiss, everything felt warm and sincere, you know the argument didnât break anythingâit stripped something raw and real down to the truth.Â
That you trust each other enough to clash.Â
And love each other enough to come back and make it right.
The argument doesnât start with yelling. It starts with silence.
You were only there to drop off Juhoonâs jacketâhe always forgot it when rehearsals ran longâbut you stopped short when you heard your name. Not whispered. Said plainly. Casually. Like it didnât belong to you at all.
âSheâs sweet,â one of the company staff said, âbut as Juhoonâs girlfriend? Not exactly⊠ideal.â
Another voice sighed. âFans wonât take her seriously. She doesnât fit the image weâre building for Cortis.â
You froze. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of the jacket as your chest burned. And then you heard Juhoonâs voiceâlow, familiar, unmistakable. He didnât argue. Didnât interrupt. Didnât even hesitate. There was a pause, and then he just said, âI understand.â
That single sentence hurt more than everything else combined.
You didnât wait to hear the rest. You turned and walked away, heart pounding, ears ringing, the jacket forgotten on a chair by the wall.Â
By the time Juhoon came home that night, you were sitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, staring at the floor like it had personally betrayed you.
âWhatâs wrong?â he asked gently, slipping off his shoes. One look at your face and his expression shifted. âY/N?â
âYou didnât defend me,â you said quietly.
The words hit him harder than shouting ever could. He frowned, confused. âWhat are you talking about?â
âI heard them,â you continued, finally looking up. Your eyes were glassy but steady. âYour company. Talking about me like I was a liability. Like I was something embarrassing you had to tolerate.â Your voice cracked. âAnd you just⊠agreed.â
Juhoonâs mouth opened, then closed. âIt wasnât like that.â
âThen what was it like?â you snapped, standing up now. âBecause from where I was standing, it sounded like you chose your career over me without even thinking twice.â
He felt the tension creeping into his voice. âYou donât understand how those meetings workââ
âNo, you donât understand,â you cut in. âI didnât need you to fight the company. I needed you to fight for me. To say something. Anything.â
Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.Â
Juhoon ran a hand through his hair, frustration written all over his faceâbut beneath it was something worse. Guilt. âI was scared,â he admitted quietly.Â
âEvery word I say gets monitored. One wrong move andââ
âAnd I get sacrificed?â you finished for him, tears finally spilling over. âIs that what I am to you? Something expendable?â
âNo,â he said immediately, stepping closer. âNever.â
But the damage had already been done.
That night, you slept facing the wall, and Juhoon barely slept at all. He replayed the moment over and overâthe way heâd stayed silent, the way your face had fallen when you realized he wouldnât speak up.Â
By morning, he knew an apology wouldnât be enough.
He showed up at your place later that day with trembling hands and a determination youâd never seen before. He didnât bring flowers.Â
He brought honesty.
âI talked to them again,â he said the moment you opened the door. âAnd this time, I didnât stay quiet.â
You didnât respond, so he kept going. âI told them youâre not an image problem. Youâre not a phase. Youâre my girlfriend, and if they expect me to keep pretending you donât exist, then they donât actually understand who I am as an artistâor as a person.â
Your breath caught.
âThey werenât happy,â he admitted with a small, nervous smile. âBut I donât care. Because losing your trust would be worse than anything they could threaten me with.â
âI shouldâve defended you when it mattered most,â he said softly. âI canât change that moment. But I can promise you Iâll never let you feel alone like that again.â
âI just wanted to know youâd choose me,â you whispered.
He pressed his forehead to yours. âI choose you. Even when itâs hard. Especially when itâs hard.â
And for the first time since that hallway, your heart finally felt like it could breathe again.
Y/Nâs day had been nothing but sharp edges. Missed calls, a failed meeting, spilled coffee on her favorite shirtâevery little thing stacked on top of the last until her chest felt tight with it all. By the time she finally walked into Keonhoâs place, her head was pounding and her patience was threadbare. All she wantedâneededâwas to be held, to feel like at least one thing in her life was steady.
Keonho looked up from the couch the moment she entered, a grin already forming. âHeyyy, there she is,â he said, popping up dramatically. âRough day? You look more worse than my hair when itâs under a beanieâ
She forced a weak smile, dropping her bag by the door. âCan we not joke right now?â she muttered, shoes kicked off with more force than necessary. Her voice was tired, raw.
Instead of noticing, he leaned into it. âWhoa, okay, scary,â he laughed, raising his hands. âIâll behave. What happened? Did my beautiful princess wake up on the wrong side of the bed?â
She sat on the edge of the couch, hands clenched together. âKeonho⊠Iâm serious. Today was really bad.â
He plopped down beside her, nudging her shoulder playfully. âHey, bad days build character. If you want we can read my TikTok comments for a good laugh.â He smiled, waiting for her to laugh with him.
She didnât.
The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. âWhy are you like this?â she asked quietly, eyes fixed on the floor.
Keonho blinked. âLike what?â
âLike nothing I say matters,â she snapped, finally looking at him. âIâm telling you I had a horrible day and youâre acting like itâs a joke. Like Iâm just being dramatic.â
His smile faltered. âIâm just trying to cheer you up.â
âThatâs not cheering me up,â she said, voice cracking. âThatâs you not taking me seriously. I needed you today. I needed comfort, not jokes.â
He leaned back, defensive creeping into his posture. âSo what, you want me to be all sad and serious? Thatâs not how I deal with things.â
âWell, itâs not how I deal with things,â she shot back. âAnd for once, it wouldâve been nice if you cared enough to meet me where I am instead of brushing it off.â
âI'm not brushing it off,â he said, frustration rising. âI just donât know how to fix it.â
âI didnât ask you to fix it!â she cried. âI just wanted you to listen. To hold me. To say, âIâm sorry you had a bad day.â Is that really too much?â
Her eyes burned, tears finally spilling over.Â
That was the moment it hit himâhow hurt she actually was. Not annoyed. Not overreacting. Genuinely breaking.
Keonho stood up abruptly, pacing once before stopping in front of her. âI messed up,â he admitted, voice quieter now.Â
âI thought making you laugh would help, but I see now that I just made you feel alone.â
She wiped her cheeks angrily. âYou did.â
He crouched in front of her, hesitation clear.Â
âIâm really sorry,â he said, this time without a hint of humor. âI hate seeing you like this, and I hate that I caused it.â
She didnât respond right away, but she didnât pull away when he gently took her hands.
 âTell me about your day,â he said softly. âIâll listen. I promise.â
She hesitated, then slowly began to talk. About everything. The frustration, the disappointment, the exhaustion. He didnât interrupt once. No jokes. No teasing. Just quiet understanding, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
After, he pulled her into his chest, holding her tightly. âI shouldâve done this from the start,â he murmured. âYou deserve to be taken seriously. Always.â
Later that night, he surprised her with her favorite takeout, a cozy blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and her comfort movie queued up. No wordsâjust presence. When she leaned into him, he pressed a kiss to her hair.
âIâm still me,â he whispered, âbut Iâll do better for you. I swear.â
The argument started because of the news that reached you by accident.
Youâre scrolling on your phone late at night, half-asleep, when a short clip from a fan account pops upâan insider post about Cortisâ upcoming songs.Â
It talks about how Seonghyeon was offered a bigger vocal part. More lines. A chance to finally show the range fans have been begging for. The comments are excited, proud, buzzing with anticipation.
Except thereâs one reply pinned at the top.
âApparently he turned it down.â
Your thumb stills.
You sit up slowly, rereading it like it might change if you blink. Turned it down. No explanation. No reason. Just speculation. And somehow, without anyone saying it outright, you already know why.
Because your anniversary is next week.
Because you remember him mentioning a recording schedule conflict and brushing it off with a smile. Because he never told you. Because he never would.
The guilt settles heavy in your chest, thick and suffocating. You imagine him in the studio, headphones around his neck, hesitating before saying no. You imagine the looks from producers. The whispers. The silent judgment. Ever since he got a girlfriendâŠ
By the time he comes home, youâve worked yourself into a quiet storm.
He finds you sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, eyes unfocused. One look at your face and his smile fades.
âWhatâs wrong?â he asks softly, dropping his bag.
You donât answer right away. When you finally look at him, your voice trembles despite your best effort. âWhy didnât you tell me?â
His brows knit together. âTell you what?â
âThe vocal part,â you say. âThe one you turned down.â
The room goes still.
Seonghyeon exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. âYou werenât supposed to find out like that.â
âSo itâs true,â you whisper.
He nods. âYeah. Itâs true.â
Your chest tightens. âWhy?â
He doesnât hesitate. âBecause of our anniversary.â
The words hit harder than you expect.
âYouââ Your voice breaks. âYou gave that up for me?â
âI didnât give anything up,â he says quickly.Â
âI made a choice.â
âThatâs the same thing,â you snap, standing up now. âYouâre always choosing me over things that matter to you. Over your career. Over opportunities people would kill for.â
âThatâs not fair,â he says, hurt flashing across his face.
âWhatâs not fair,â you fire back, tears burning, âis you sacrificing yourself and pretending itâs nothing. Do you know how much hate you already get for dating me? Do you know what people say? That Iâm a distraction. That Iâm holding you back.â
He stiffens. âIs that what you think?â
You swallow hard. âSometimes⊠yeah. I do.â
The silence that follows is heavy, dangerous.
Seonghyeonâs voice drops, raw and sharp.Â
âDonât ever say that again.â
You blink. âWhat?â
âI didnât work this hard,â he continues, stepping closer, eyes shining, âjust for you to reduce yourself to a burden in my life. Loving you isnât something I âsacrifice.â Itâs not a mistake. And itâs definitely not something I regret.â
Tears spill over before you can stop them.Â
âBut what if one day you do?â
He cups your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks. âThen that would be on me. Not you. But donât decide my feelings for me. Donât punish yourself for loving me.â
Your shoulders shake as you lean into his touch. âI just donât want to be the reason you lose things.â
âYouâre the reason I gain things,â he says quietly. âPeace. Stability. A place that feels real when everything else feels fake.â
Later that night, he shows you the email thread, pointing out that the producer already offered him another chance to record later. He tells you he wants to celebrate your anniversary because it matters, but that he also wonât keep opportunities from you anymoreâor from himself.
A few days later, on your anniversary, he surprises you.
Not with something extravagantâbut with a private playback. A demo track. His voice layered, raw, emotional. At the end, thereâs a quiet spoken line, meant only for you.
âI chose this. I choose you. And I choose myself too.â
When you look at him, eyes wet, he smiles softly. âSee? No oneâs holding anyone back.â
And for the first time since you found out, you believe him.
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Many others clearly had to be argued into fighting, and this could produce distinctly limited results. The muster roll for the 1300 campaign noted that Hugh fitz Heyr, a Shropshire landowner of little consequence, was obliged by the terms of his tenure to serve in the king's war 'with bow and arrow'. It also noted that 'as soon as he saw the enemy he shot his arrow, then went home'.
. Ęâ Û¶à§ ĘË . Ę you get into a silly argument with nanami
âhoneyâyouâre not gonna like it.â nanami warned as your eyes goggled his bowl of rare looking food, this was your third time asking him for a bite. âoh my god nanami! how am I gonna know if I donât like it if I never tried it!â
he twists his in the bowl, food going into his mouth whilst your mouth began to water, her makes it look good and youâwell you just wanted one bite! ây/n, honey. please stop pouting your making me feel horrible.â
you send him glares from the couch, his shirt swallowing you whole as you crossed your arms, you look back at himâsat at the table enjoying his meal. âbaby please! just one bite!â
he puts his fork down, looking annoyed as ever his patience wearing thin with you. âno Iâm not going to give you a bite because I know youâre not gonna like itâand then youâre going to ask me, and I quoteâânanami how the hell do you like this?â
youâre stubborn as hell, the reason he predicts you is because this has happened on multiple occasions, âokay fine whateverâjust say you hate me.â you now face the tv, arms crossed once again as you mock him under your breath. ânot gonna like itâblah blah blah.â
âsweetheart,â he tries but you ignore him, your gonna do this until he gives you a bite. âhoney.â he stands up now, his feet pattering over to you his bowl in his hand.
you try to hide the smile that sneaks onto your face when you see the bowl in his hand, âah, there it isâ he murmurs, twisting the fork and you widen your mouth, the taste is so bitter. but to your surprise nanami has a napkin in front of youâhanding it over. âgo on.â and you spit the food out. âyuck! babe how the hell do you like that?â he throws his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. âgod i know you so well.â
he leans in pressing a kiss to your cheek, âmaybe because Iâm not a picky eater.â you scoff, âIâm not a picky eaterâI just wonât eat anything you eat..â
âexactly a picky eater.â he states
âare you trying to argue with me right now?â
âwhatâno y/n.â
âhm.â
he places the bowl aside, now placing a kiss on your lips. âI love youâeven if you are a picky eater, and think I donât know you.â you give him a glare, âyeah, yeah.â you roll your eyes sarcastically, âi love you too.â you smile.
âyou really drive me up the wall.â and you smack with the couch pillow.
a/n: inbox looking so empty..đ„ I sound like a desperate ex begging for requests but Iâm running out of ideas guysss