#// they never last for more than a day but boy when they happen ..

[yuyuyukiii]

Adopt Me, Alonso! ⛐

Summary: Y/N Alonso is the paddock’s unofficial mum. She brings snacks, gives hugs, and somehow knows when you're sad before you do. Everyone loves her. But Lance Stroll? He gets pancakes, blankets, and kisses on the helmet. The rookies aren’t having it. Suddenly they're all sick, limping, and dramatically collapsing for her attention. Fernando sees through it. And Y/N? She just wants to know why six boys are fighting over soup.

Content: Fluff, weaponized clinginess, petty rookie drama, emotional fake illnesses, pancake favoritism, soup bribery, Fernando losing the will to live, Lance thriving, and six rookies auditioning for adoption like it’s The Bachelor: Grid Mum Edition.

Author’s Note 🏎️: This story was pure chaos from start to finish and honestly... I don’t even know what happened. I just had the image of Lance eating pancakes in fuzzy socks while six rookies fake-coughed for attention and it spiraled from there.

It’s dramatic, it’s ridiculous, it’s soft and unhinged at the same time. If you’ve ever felt violently jealous over someone getting the last pancake, this one’s for you.

Thanks for reading and enabling my nonsense 💚

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Formula 1 had accepted that Y/N Alonso was more than just Fernando’s wife.

She was the paddock’s comfort person. The one who brought snacks to debriefs. The one who carried spare tissues in her bag and always noticed when someone looked tired. She once hugged Ollie after a rough quali and accidentally made him cry into her shoulder for seven whole minutes. She gave Isack a cookie during a media day meltdown and he nearly proposed.

To the rookies? She was Mother. Capital M.

If you were sick, tired, sore, dramatic, hungry, overwhelmed, underwhelmed, or just needed a hug, Y/N was there. Always warm. Always smelling like jasmine and clean laundry. Always calling you sweetheart and making you feel like you hadn’t just knocked over a $25,000 front wing in FP2.

So naturally, they clung to her like ducklings.

She wasn’t a team principal. She wasn’t even a member of the pit crew. But because she was always around Fernando and Aston Martin, and because her smile made everything feel slightly less terrifying, the rookies started hovering near their garage like moths.

Until they noticed something strange.

Lance.

Lance Stroll, the actual driver for Aston Martin, was getting… extra attention.

“Did she just tuck a blanket around him?” Franco whispered from behind a stack of tires.

“She fed him a grape,” Gabriel replied, eyes wide.

“No. I swear. She just…she just told him he was ‘so brave’ for driving in the rain.”

Ollie, hiding behind a pit board, gasped. “She’s never called me brave.”

Kimi was silent. Which was suspicious in itself, because Kimi was only ever quiet when he was either deeply focused or deeply offended.

“…did she just ruffle his hair?” Kimi asked flatly, blinking like his whole world had been a lie.

The breaking point came when they accidentally overheard something behind the team motorhome.

Y/N was crouched in front of Lance, fixing his helmet with practiced hands. “Alright, baby, go out there and show them hell, okay Lancy poo?” she said sweetly, pressing a kiss to the top of his helmet.

The rookies collectively gasped.

“Did she just call him—”

“She kissed his helmet,” Franco hissed.

“Oh my god,” Ollie whispered, stunned.

Then, somewhere inside the motorhome, someone muttered under their breath, “I’m telling you, Lance has to be their son from another life. That’s why they’re so attached.”

The silence that followed was immediate and devastating.

“We’ve been replaced,” Liam muttered.

“Lance is the golden child,” Ollie said.

“Not on my watch,” Isack declared, eyes glinting with mischief. “We fake sick. All of us.”

———

Phase One: Operation Baby Duck

It started small. A sniffle here. A quiet “I think I’m running a fever” there. Y/N was immediately concerned.

“Oh sweetheart, sit down! You look flushed. Fernando, get the thermometer!”

Fernando, halfway through his espresso, stared at Isack.“You look fine.”

Isack let out a soft, tragic cough that sounded suspiciously like a fake cat hairball.

Y/N gasped. “Don’t be mean, Nando! He’s obviously struggling.”

Struggling to hold in laughter, maybe.

The next day, Liam showed up to the paddock wrapped in a scarf, hoodie, and blanket. In Singapore.

Y/N blinked. “Honey, you’re sweating.”

“I’m battling,” Liam whispered, eyes watery. “Let me hold your hand. It helps.”

By the end of the week, the rookies were limping, coughing, sneezing, and making dramatic groaning noises every time they stood up. One of them even requested homemade soup in the middle of a press conference.

Kimi took it a step further and made Fernando help him limp down the paddock hallway like he had a war injury. When asked what happened, he said “emotional fatigue.”

Fernando had had enough.

“They were literally playing football twenty minutes ago,” he muttered, watching the group pile onto Y/N’s lap like Victorian children dying of the plague.

“No they weren’t,” she said, gently stroking Isack’s hair.

“Yes. They were. I saw it. Isack was doing bicycle kicks. Kimi slide tackled Liam.”

Behind her back, the boys made faces at him. Stuck their tongues out.

Fernando pointed violently. “That! Did you see? They’re mocking me!”

She turned.

Instantly, all five looked like they were five seconds from fainting. Isack weakly held up a tissue. Ollie moaned. Franco blinked very slowly. Kimi closed his eyes like he was awaiting death.

Y/N turned back to her husband. “Fernando. They can barely stand.”

Fernando looked like he aged ten years. “I’m going to commit a crime.”

———

Phase Two: Lance Finds Out

Lance was slow to catch on. For a while, he just thought the rookies were weirdly into heating pads and asking for foot massages.

Then he walked into the driver’s lounge and saw Gabriel curled up under his team jacket, sipping tea with extra honey.

“What… are you doing?”

“Shhh,” Gabriel whispered. “Y/N said I need rest.”

“She knit me socks,” Franco announced proudly from the couch.

“They’re faking,” Lance said, backing away.

“You would say that,” Isack muttered, turning to cough delicately into Y/N’s scarf. “Golden child.”

———

Phase Three: Annoy the fck out of Fernando

Fernando eventually reached his breaking point. Again.

He walked in on five grown boys all dramatically collapsing onto Y/N’s lap like a litter of fainting goats.

“Not this again.” Fernando sighed “This is getting out of hand.”

“They’re sick, Nando!”

“They just ate six pizzas in catering.”

“They’re growing boys.”

“They were playing Mario Kart and screaming three minutes ago!”

Kimi peeked up from under a fuzzy blanket. “That was for morale.”

Isack raised a limp hand. “I need soup.”

Fernando pinched the bridge of his nose. “You said that yesterday.”

Y/N turned to him, concerned. “Do you think I should buy more tissues?”

Behind her back, Ollie dabbed his face with a napkin and whispered, “Bless me.”

Franco fake sneezed directly at Fernando.

Kimi reached out and grabbed Fernando’s pant leg. “Tell my story.”

Fernando stared at the ceiling like it personally offended him. “First it was Max and Charles. Then Lando. Then Pierre. Even Lewis did it once. I thought we were past this.”

“They were trailblazers,” Liam said weakly.

“I’m going to burn the entire hospitality unit down,” Fernando muttered, already turning to leave. “And salt the ashes.”

And yet, the next day, Y/N arrived with six fresh thermoses of homemade soup, custom fluffy socks with their names on it, and a giant blanket shaped like a duck.

“Because you’re my babies,” she smiled.

Fernando watched as six suddenly-healthy rookies fought over who got to hold her hand first.

Lance stood beside him, arms crossed.

“They’re faking.”

“I know.” Fernando hissed.

“They’re just jealous I’m the favorite.”

Fernando sipped his coffee. “You absolutely are.”

From the corner of the room, six boys screamed, “WE HEARD THAT!”

Y/N turned, startled. “Heard what?”

Immediately, Ollie gasped. “Nothing, nothing. My ears are just really sensitive from the fever. It’s probably the... wind.”

“We’re inside,” Fernando muttered.

“I need to sit down,” Liam added, dramatically lowering himself onto the floor like a dying Shakespeare character. “My legs are trembling.”

“You just jogged here.” Lance deadpanned.

“No. That was my twin.” Liam nodded gravely. “He’s much healthier.”

Y/N gently helped him up, worried. “Oh sweetheart, maybe you should lie down.”

“I love lying down,” Ollie chimed in, flopping backwards so dramatically he knocked over a chair.

“Jesus Christ,” Fernando hissed. “It’s like watching a low-budget play.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

It started with a minor incident.

Just a casual Thursday morning at their home. Peaceful. Birds chirping. Coffee brewing. Fernando, just out of the shower, towel over his shoulder, walked into the kitchen to find…

“What is this?”

Y/N was standing at the stove. In a fluffy green robe. With her hair clipped up. Whisking pancake batter.

She looked up, cheerful. “Morning, love. I’m making Lance pancakes.”

Fernando blinked. “Lance… who is currently sleeping in our so-called guest room?” He air quoted guest room because, let’s be honest, it was basically Lance’s room at this point.

“Yes. He asked for banana chocolate chip with extra crispy edges. So I thought—”

“I thought we had a driver, not a 14-year-old on summer break.”

Y/N kissed his cheek. “He’s both.”

Just then, Lance walked in, wearing Fernando’s old shirt and Y/N’s fuzzy socks. Hair sticking up. Sleepy smile. “Mornin’.”

Fernando stared. “You’re still here?”

Lance yawned. “Yeah. I was too tired to drive after game night.”

Fernando narrowed his eyes. “You’re planning to stay here for race week again?”

“Let him,” Y/N said brightly. “He thrives here.”

Lance nodded solemnly. “Also, the Wi-Fi here’s better.”

Fernando sighed into his coffee mug.

———

It was supposed to be a quiet morning. A simple media debrief in the drivers’ room, nothing more.

And yet, here they all were: Max lounging with his feet up, Charles stealing Oscar’s coffee like it was a blood sport, Yuki arguing with Pierre over which hotel served better eggs, and Lewis humming something old-school under his breath while braiding friendship bracelets he swore weren’t for anyone specific.

All were present and accounted for.

Except one team.

“Where’s Aston Martin?” Oscar asked, looking around with a raised brow.

There was a collective shrug. The Aston Martin duo being late wasn’t new, but for some reason, this time, it had everyone's attention.

“Probably still at home,” Max said, sipping from his smoothie. “Wouldn't be surprised if Lance overslept again.”

“Or maybe,” Pierre smirked, “Lance begged for another game night. Or made them watch that weird documentary about mushrooms again.”

“Bet he asked for Y/N’s pancake recipe this morning,” Carlos added. “She always makes them for him when he’s stressed.”

“She made me chamomile tea once,” Charles sighed dreamily, completely derailing the original topic. “When I had that sore throat. Wrapped the mug in a little napkin like it was a gift.”

“I stubbed my toe before a race and she brought me an ice pack wrapped in a duck-shaped cloth,” Oscar mumbled. “I still have it. I call him Duckward.”

“She once patted my head,” Esteban said solemnly. “I had never felt peace like that.”

Lando nodded gravely. “It’s like… getting hugged by a warm Sunday.”

George walked in right then and blinked. “Are we reminiscing about Y/N again?”

“She’s literally married,” Lewis muttered, sipping his tea. “To Fernando.”

“Yeah, but she’s like… the paddock’s mum,” Nico added. “Except to Lance. He gets the deluxe treatment.”

Max grunted. “I saw her fix his hair once before qualifying. I think she licked her thumb like a real mum.”

Lando burst out laughing. “One time, I saw her pull his hoodie strings tighter because ‘he might catch a chill.’”

Someone asked. “Wait. He sleeps over?”

“Sleep over?” Ocon scoffed. “That guy basically lives with them. He has his own room”

That was it.

A small gasp came from the far side of the room. Six rookies, previously flopped like tired cats on the couch, were now upright with laser focus.

“What do you mean he lives there?” Franco said sharply.

“I thought they just liked him best because of his sad little Canadian eyes,” Liam whispered.

Kimi narrowed his eyes. “Own room?! Has his own room?!?!?”

“Wait. They got heart pancakes?” Ollie whispered.

“Strawberries?” Kimi added with the kind of betrayal usually reserved for soap operas.

Gabriel clutched his chest. “They played board games together?”

Liam clutched the arm of the couch like it had betrayed him. Gabriel blinked at the floor like he’d just discovered the meaning of life. Kimi pouted so aggressively.

“Why do you all look like kicked puppies?”

“He’s the favorite child,” Ollie declared, pointing accusingly at a wall as if Lance might be eavesdropping from behind it.

Charles blinked. “He is their only child.”

“We are too,” Franco said indignantly, like this was a known fact.

Max laughed. “You guys are just getting the kindness treatment. Believe me, we all did what you’re doing now.”

The rookies turned, six heads snapping in unison.

“We all faked it,” Pierre said. “Once I claimed I had shin splints and she massaged my legs for twenty minutes while humming a lullaby.”

“I lied about a fever and got tucked in on the motorhome couch,” George said wistfully. “Two blankets. Cinnamon tea. She kissed my forehead.”

“Kissed your—” Liam choked.

Lando leaned back smugly. “One winter test, I coughed once. Got soup, a throat spray, and got to wear her scarf for the rest of the week.”

“I once pretended I forgot how to open a water bottle,” Pierre admitted.

“I claimed I couldn’t walk straight,” Oscar added.

“I was genuinely sick once,” Yuki muttered. “Didn’t even get a text. She was too busy wrapping Lance in three blankets and calling him her baby boy.”

“He is her baby boy,” Oscar deadpanned.

“Bro,” Franco whispered. “What if… what if we’ve only scratched the surface.”

Gabriel nodded slowly. “We need to go deeper.”

Kimi suddenly gasped. “We fake amnesia.”

“No,” Liam said, deadpan. “Too far. We start with fainting.”

“I want the duck towel,” Ollie declared.

“You can’t just ask for Duckward,” Oscar said, horrified. “Duckward chooses you.”

Fernando walked past the open door just then, paused, looked inside, and slowly narrowed his eyes. “You’re all planning something.”

“No, we’re not,” the rookies said in terrifying unison.

Fernando squinted at them. “Don’t even think about it.”

“They’re sick,” Max said mockingly, nudging Charles.

“They’ll be sick if they try to touch Duckward,” Oscar muttered.

At that moment, the door opened.

Y/N walked in first, carrying a bottle of syrup, a fork, and gently guiding someone behind her with a warm hand on their back, like a proud mum dropping her kid off at school.

Then came Lance, well-rested, smiling, holding a plate of pancakes she’d clearly made for him, and wearing a knitted beanie with Lancey stitched across it in cursive.

Complaints

“There’s the pancake,” Ollie hissed.

“He has a nickname beanie,” Kimi said, near tears.

Ollie, muffled under a blanket, muttered, “I want a nickname.”

“You can be Sicky Ollie,” Max offered.

Liam stared. “She made him pancakes.”

“She made him a custom beanie?” Gabriel whispered, scandalized.

“That’s it,” Franco hissed. “Life is really unfair.”

While staring at Y/N, Who handed him the fork first. Pancakes stacked neatly, syrup already drizzled in a perfect swirl.

He beamed at her and immediately scanned the room for a spot, clearly aiming for the floor, as usual.

And just before Y/N turned to head back out and return the syrup bottle to hospitality, she paused, looked over her shoulder, and said very casually, too casually…

“Sit at the table, Lance. I refuse to have my son act like he was raised in the woods.”

As soon as Y/N left the room, chaos erupted.

The room froze.

Fernando blinked slowly. “Oh no.”

“Son?! Son?! Soooooon?!?” Franco shouted.

“You’re not even the youngest!” Kimi pointed out.

Ollie, voice trembling, whispered, “So he really is the favorite…”

“We’re not even second best,” Gabriel mumbled.

“You’re stealing our sick points!” Isack accused

“I’m her son,” Lance said through a mouthful of pancake. “Cry about it.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Fernando sighed. “She’s literally… oh, for the love of… Franco, get off the floor.”

“No. This is my villain origin arc.”

Y/N returned to see six devastated rookies staring at her like she just announced she was disowning them. Kimi looked like he might cry. Ollie clutched Liam’s sleeve.

Fernando stood in the corner like a man who had seen war. When she turned to him with raised brows, he just gestured at the chaos.

“They heard that,” Fernando muttered. “You called him your son. Now look…back to fake coughs and tragic little expressions.”

“They are sick,” Y/N scolded lightly without looking.

“They were just running down the paddock ten minutes ago.”

“They’re pale now.”

“They’re making faces at me behind your back. Again.”

Y/N turned around. The rookies, with Oscar-worthy performances, had gone limp and lifeless. One gave a weak cough. Another moaned.

Fernando stared. “You’re all little demons.”

Kimi cracked an eye open. “We prefer emotionally neglected children.”

Y/N gasped. “Fernando! Look at them. They can barely sit up straight!”

“They’re lying.”

“They’re adorable.”

“Unbelievable,” Fernando muttered as six clingy “patients” clung tighter to his wife.

Max passed Fernando a protein bar without looking up. “Told you. It’s a phase.”

“I hate this phase,” Fernando muttered. “I want a refund.”

“You got a wife and seven sons,” Charles said. “Congratulations.”

“I’m going to burn that beanie,” Franco whispered to Isack.

“Right after I get my forehead kiss,” Isack muttered back, pulling the blanket tighter.

And Fernando, surrounded by his fake-sick adopted sons, pancake-eating favorite child, and far-too-kind wife, sighed.

He was never going to win.

And thus, the hierarchy was clear.

Lance was the son. The rest were pretending not to be auditioning for adoption.

And from that day on, the fake illnesses doubled in frequency, dramatically increased in flair, and Fernando started carrying a laminated “They’re Faking” sign that he held up every time someone groaned near Y/N.

END.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[pearl-444]

Can I request headcanons for Huntrix and Saja Boys reacting to shy gn reader confessing your feelings but you genuinely thought it's one-sided on your part not knowing it's actually mutual please?

yes, yes, of course!! here you go, lovie!! i did each person individually, but if you wanted all of them please let me know and i can make it happen ♡

Huntrix ->

mira:

all day long it was like you were off on a different planet. rehearsing for an imaginary play in your head, imagining every possible scenario that you could think of.

the good. the bad. the ugly. the unreachable.

you'd gone to the store earlier to prepare a goodie basket full of favorite foods, drinks, items, and wants. why? because you are down bad. in love. completely swooned.

for mira.

the hotheaded girl who could stare down a ufc fighter and not break a sweat. the girl who talks like she knows everyone is listening. the girl who walks like a model and has the face of a goddess.

yeah, you're ruined for her.

but you thought that your feelings were unrealistic. unreachable. unobtainable. but then again, you had absolutely no idea that you were also missing something huge.

the way mira memorized your takeout order effortlessly. how she always knew to save extra rice for you because you liked it more than the sauce. how mira knows which towel you prefer. the spot you like to sit on the couch, always saved by her.

how her eyes would follow you when you gestured, how she'd lean in close to hear you in crowded places. how she'd lead you by the lower back while behind you.

you were oblivious to every possible advance your dream girl gave you. you always thought that she was too good for you. that she never thought of you that way.

and now, with all the courage you could muster, you snatched up the goodie bag and padded down the hall. sock covered feet quiet on the hardwood.

adjusting the rather large basket to one arm, you raised a hand, knocking your knuckle on the door.

you feel like throwing up. your heart is in your ears, your stomach on the floor, and cheeks as hot as the sun.

the door clicks open, and mira pokes her head out. she sees you before she sees the basket. and before she can say anything, you lift the basket toward her, enough to hide your face in the process.

"here! this is for you, because i thought you'd like it! .. and because i reallyreally adore you."

the words rushed like a cup that tipped over, the silence like the last drops. you held your breath, hands shaking to hold up the basket.

mira stared. she saw the plushies in there, nestled among her favorite drink, ramen cup, keychains, gum, scented candle and letters littered in stickers.

then, mira smiles. not quite smug, not cocky either. playful.

she takes the basket from you, and sets it down near her feet, next to the doorframe. now that she can see you, and you have nowhere to hide, you don't know where to look.

mira tips her head, enough for her eyes to meet your downward gaze. "you know, you think too much."

you look up, eyebrows furrowed. but you almost jump, because she's right in front of you now. close enough to feel how warm she is.

"i really really adore you, too." she mimics your previous words, smiling a bit wider. "and i mean it."

the tension in your chest eases, but not everything untenses. your cheeks are puffed out, and you don't know what else to say.

so instead of pushing you to say anything, mira leans down. looking down at your lips, then back to your face.

you're pretty sure your heart just exploded.

but you nod, a bit faster than intended. and mira places a warm, soft brush of a kiss on your upper lip. not even fully pulled away before whispering, "next time, don't second guess yourself."

zoey:

head over heels.

that is exactly what you are.

you hold open doors for her, make her comfort foods when her period berates her, massage her back after a particularly hard performance or demon run in. you run her showers the temperature she likes, and you gaze at her like she's heaven.

and it's heartbreaking. i mean, you watched her fawn over the lilac haired saja boy multiple times, even drooling over him once. you feel a silent sense of competition, despite never meeting the other boy before.

she so effortlessly stole your heart with just a few strides. the way she walks with purpose, how she dances like everyone else on the street is too, the way she smiles and bites her lip when she's flustered.

zoey, the girl with a sparkling heart and eyes that sparkle just the same.

but reminders that she likes someone else will be your doom. you've been glaring at zoeystery ship videos for an hour. hoodie pulled up to your eyes and a dip to your lips.

grumbling, you toss your phone onto the little table near the couch. the one with a lamp on it. the living room is dark, as expected since it's nearly ten at night.

little footsteps sound down the hall, and you look up just in time to see zoey, half asleep and with hair like a rat's nest. drooly and soft.

the sight makes your heart stutter.

she beelines for the couch when she sees you, her dark blue pajamas engulfing her. flopping next to you and getting close.

she's always had a habit of doing that. clinging to rumi, dragging mira. this is the norm. but everytime it happens, you die a little inside.

neither of you question why the other is up. it happens sometimes, and if either of you wanted to talk, there's always the opportunity.

zoey watches as you pick your phone up again, eyes meeting the sight of a fanart photo of her and mystery. then seeing that you disliked it earlier, a little red thumbs down.

you quickly get off of the app, moving to a different one. pretending to check something, praying that zoey hadn't seen it. (un)fortunately, she had.

leaning in closer to your phone, she looks between you and the screen. smile growing enough to show her dimples. freckles dark in the dim light.

".. you want me so bad." she teases, her words slightly slurred from sleep and disuse. your face feels hot, and you bury yourself further into your hoodie.

but she knows. she knows. and it's because you've somehow been unaware of all of her longing looks. all of the times she's linked her pinky with yours. the way she'll steal your clothes or eat your favorite foods out of curiosity.

sure, mystery is attractive. but you? you're like a crystal in a museum of glass.

the look in her eyes gets a bit more serious. she pulls your hoodie away from your face, frowning a bit when you try to hide again.

"you really don't get it, do you?" zoey whispers, watching your eyes like they hold dreams. "you're too hard on yourself."

without another word, she leans in, and her lips land on your forehead. staying there for a beat longer than necessary.

the sleepy daze seems to wear off, as she starts to turn pink, as if realizing what she just did. but she doesn't take it back. she doesn't regret it.

zoey would never regret you.

rumi:

rumi, rumi, rumi.

her ferocious voice, the deadliness of her hips, the determination in her brows. everything about her is your favorite. and those marks? they make you feel all adult content please stand by we will be back in a moment.

no but seriously, you admire how strong she is, physically and mentally. you adore her smile, the way she acts when she's done something she shouldn't, and how serious she is about snacks.

rumi could burn down the world and you'd ask if she'd save you for last.

but oh dear. jinu. mira. zoey.

you swear she'd be better off with anybody else but you. you can't make her laugh like they do. you aren't the one she asks when she needs help assembling a new shelf. you aren't the one she asks to go with her to run errands.

you aren't for her the way the others are.

at least, that's what you've told yourself.

but tonight, rumi had made an odd request. but she'd asked you. you. and that's all that you could think of.

tonight the girls wanted to go out and have some fun. just to go wander around shops, maybe eat somewhere on the way home. and they wanted you to go with, like always.

but the difference is that rumi asked you to help her get ready. she was wearing a black leather skirt, chunky sneakers, and a matching (and well-fitting) leather vest.

patterns on display, hair in that mesmerizing braid, eyes full of soul.

you felt like your heart was visibly beating out of your chest the entire time.

when you'd sat next to her and her vanity, she smiled. she'd asked you to hand her various items while she did her makeup, and in the same beat asked you to play some music.

an idea popped up like a lightbulb in your chest when you opened the app for your music. you could confess this way.

before you could overthink it, you started playing Bobby Sox by Green Day.

you'd mutter the lyrics under your breath, staring at rumi's reflection the whole time. watching her react to the song for the first time.

when you clearly stated the lyrics asking her to be your girlfriend, she turned away from the mirror to face you. eyes frantically scanning your face.

but when you tried not to let your eyes hide, she interrupted the music. saying, "i think i put too much lipgloss on."

you furrowed your eyebrows, about to ask if she'd like a tissue. and a little nervous that she'd outright ignored your confession.

and then she pulled you close and kissed you. firm, warm, and a little damp. lipgloss smearing your lips.

when she pulled away, you were hot and glittery. rumi could swear you stopped breathing. and all she did was laugh and hug you close, while you processed with choked sputters.

Saja Boys ->

jinu

you did not hide it well. it was obvious to literally everyone that you were wrapped around jinu's finger.

anytime he was around, you had to press your hands to your cheeks to cool down. you had to look away because if you looked too long you'd stop breathing. you'd stutter, get clumsy, and turn into clay.

and jinu thought it was precious. you were in love with him. him. a demon. selfish, violent, powerful, killer. but to you, he was anything but.

he'd hid his feelings much better. but at the same time, he's such a loser about it.

he knows what kind of mochi is your favorite, he memorized the summary of your favorite book. he even learned about the language of flowers because you mentioned not knowing what dahlias meant once.

but you didn't know that. well, he didn't make it a big deal. he does it subtly. ordering your drinks for you at cafés, grabbing that keychain you said you wanted, gifting you a succulent because you said you loved them one time a few months ago.

and the day finally came where you felt brave. braver than normal. you'd gone and written a hearfelt love letter. thinking it'd save you at least a bit of embarrassment.

and right before you were about to leave the front door, a knock sounded on the other side. confused, you opened the door.

standing there in a wool winter coat and gloves was jinu. gorgeous jinu. nose pink from the cold, hair tousled from the wind, snow littering his sleeves. eyes that sparkle in the light of the streetlamps.

holding a boquet of dahlias.

eternal love. commitment.

your heart nearly vibrates, you're freaking out inside. holding a love letter. meant for him.

jinu adjusts his posture, seeing the wideness of your eyes. the letter in your hand. "i.. i, um. i wanted to come see you. i wanted to admit this for so long, but.. i'm in love with you."

you have to remind yourself to breathe, and silently hold out the letter to him. breath puffing in the cold. "jinu, i was on my way to bring you this. i'm also in love with you."

he turns pinker. the two of you swap items, almost awkwardly. but you look down at the dahlias and look back at his face. "they're beautiful. thank you, jinu."

jinu smiles, skin glowing in the cold. "i'd do this all over if it meant you'd look at me like that again."

abby:

deadly. absolutely deadly. all of him. facecard, fighting style, demon form, hands and teeth. but despite his gorgeous looks, and species, his personality had gradually stolen bits of you.

first it was how he'd open all the jars or boxes you needed. then it was helping you reach things on the top shelf in stores. then it was how he'd let you sleep against him during group hangouts. the way he'd rub your back and look down like he was wondering if you'd left.

his boyish jokes, his endurance, his cheeky grins and wiggling of eyebrows. the suggestive jokes and the way he'd do push ups with you on his back like you were a physical part of him.

how he'd help you choose outfits or give you honest opinions about the food you made or the movie you watched together. how he'd respect your bedroom as your space, and never overstep unless it was harmless.

you were gone.

and you had absolutely no idea how to tell him. and worse? you were almost always in close proximity.

sharing an apartment with these guys didn't always make it easy. bumping into him around corners, sharing the sink when you had to brush your teeth or wash your faces.

you decided that getting your heart ripped out would be a relief as long as it was quick.

he could have anyone. any guy, girl, and person would be at his hip if he so much as gestured for it. he's had men and women and admirers fawn at him countless times.

compared to that? you didn't think you stood any chance. might as well get it over with quickly. right?

so you'd walked with purpose down the hallway to abby's room. and right after you knocked, regret started to seep in. as if it was literally brushing your skin through your clothes.

abby opened his door, the dim lights inside and the way his hair is in disarray exposing that he'd been asleep. since noon, by the way.

you blurt out, clutching the edges of your sleeves like they're life support. eyes downcast, but not closed.

"abby, i'm in love with you."

blinking slowly, abby looks off into the distance as if you told him you restocked the cereal.

"finally." he groans, grabbing you by the shoulders and smushing you into his chest. wrapping you up in a lethargic steel hold. smiling lazily like you just blew raspberries at him.

you begin to sputter, confused and gripping his forearms for balance. and because you like how his skin feels.

"i thought you were never gonna notice, baby. that i love you, too." he says, acting as if calling you baby in that sleepy, deep roll didn't just make you spontaneously combust.

abby pats your back, closing the door with his foot and pulling you along with him. "now come to bed."

romance:

romance: idol, singer, dancer, model. he's rich and handsome, talented and lethal. he could have anyone he wanted in the palm of his hand with the blink of an eye.

he's wrapped in satin and cocoa, with the scent of raspberries in his hair. but with eyes like candlelight and lips like velvet, with a tongue that pours creme.

and he knows it.

he knows he could have anyone he wants. but he only wants one person. and that person is completely, utterly clueless.

you.

you're too busy. too busy undermining yourself. too busy shying away from attention and love and affection. convinced that romance will always be that one ledge too high. that you'll only ever get to see him on a platform.

but you love him. you've painted his nails for him. massaged his head. called him out whenever he didn't wanna admit to being in the wrong.

you've encouraged him, soothed him, and loved him through everything. through every bad day, through every insecurity he overcame and ever bad memory you helped erase.

he would crown you with his bones if it's what you wanted.

but you just had no idea. too blind to notice how truly loved you were. how he'd worship you and kiss your ankles like precious artifacts. too wrapped up in false images of yourself.

romance wishes he could wrap you in petals and kiss you until the line of your brows was gone. until your frown wouldn't dare show itself for days afterward.

and you were slipping up.

one night before a show, you'd helped him place his earpiece correctly, adjusted his hair. mind filled with the knowledge that he's about to be admired, loved, praised.

absentmindedly, you patted his cheek. "i love you, romance. get out there."

your cheeks turned pink, realizing what you just said. you turned on your heel, ready to go hide until it was absolutely necessary to come out.

but romance grabbed your hand, pulling you back toward him. he smiled against your fingers, kissing them like it was the greatest honor in life. "i love you, too."

baby:

he's insufferable. he's in love. same difference.

he's annoying. he wakes you up by taking your blankets off and turning on the light. he eats your leftovers on purpose. he drops things and doesn't pick them up. he opens your door on purpose when he walks by.

baby does all of this for a simple reason. attention.

more specifically, your attention.

baby craves your dimples, the way you scrunch your eyes and the tilt of your head. he craves your eyes more than anyone else's. he craves the knowledge that you snorted because of one of his expressions.

he acts like he doesn't care, though.

he acts like his chest isn't jumping when you cut fruit at the counter. like his head doesn't spin when you walk by. like his hand arm doesn't tingle where you brushed it to walk by. acts like he doesn't care when you ask to borrow his hats.

and because of all of this, you think he hates you. but you love him, oh so badly.

you purposefully leave leftovers for him to eat. you give him space when you enter the same room. you wish you'd stop craving his warmth when you get cold during the day. you wish you'd stop asking to wear his stupid hats.

but one afternoon, you felt the time was right. either that, or because you just wanted your soul to get crushed quickly rather than slow.

you'd writted a love letter for baby, and left it next to some stir fry on the counter. hoping he'd read it and enjoy the noodles and veggies.

but you didn't think it through all the way when you yourself became hungry. padding nervously down the hallway for some salad.

baby sits at the counter, eating his noodles, teal hair hanging over his forehead. the love letter open and clearly read. but eating like a madman. not looking up when you walk by him.

next thing you know, his hand shoots out, grasping the waistband of your pants. pulling you down into the stool next to him. and all he says is, "bite?" offering you the fork.

you're still shocked, so a slow nod emerges, and you take the bite. chewing quietly while your heart threatens to climb up your body.

baby mutters, taking another bite. not looking in your direction, either. "you're dense sometimes. but i love you, too."

you choke btw.

mystery:

this guy. this guy.

he's got the body for days. the voice of a prince who never once raised his voice. the hands of an angel who never used a weapon. and the intelligence of someone who knows silence better than sound.

he's got the bite of an animal but a heart of trying gold. the claws of a demon but the palms of a man.

and all he wants is you. he's just as down bad for you as you are for him. and it's painfully obvious, but not to you.

he loves the way you point at butterflies, smile at babies, smell flowers on the sidewalk. the way you make tea, or the way your neck curves when you sigh.

mystery would get on his knees in front of you and ask for permission to crawl.

but you don't see it. you don't see the way he walks in a way that shields you. you don't see the way he tilts his head at you when you cough. you don't see how he sighs when you laugh.

you think mystery is uninterested. you only see the stiffness in his posture when you're in the room. or the way he never laughs when you joke. the way he never answers questions fully.

but you wish you saw what was truthfully there. and more than anything, he wishes he was better with words.

today was your birthday.

and when you blew out the candles, mystery saw the thoughtfulness in your brow. the way you were so focused on whatever it was you wished for.

when he asked what you wished for, head tilted, all you said was, "if i tell you, it won't come true." with a smile.

he'd just nodded, as if the answer had sealed all uncertainty in his body for something unknown.

that night, a note was slipped beneath mystery's bedroom door. a confession. admitting to how out of anything, you'd wished for him.

out of any clothes, items, dreams, or people. you wished for him.

the door opened, revealing you. sitting against the opposite wall. curled up and anxious, hands messing with the edges of your pajama pants like a fidget toy.

mystery had gotten down to your level, crouching, sliding up to you. nose pressed to the spot above your ear. in a slow way that made you feel like your breathing was too loud.

"i've wished for you forever."

i'm sorry some were much shorter than others!!

༝༚༝༚

𝘚𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘦

[bbokaricentral]

chapter one - lemon drops and last days

Pairing: childhood friend! seungmin x fem reader 

Word count: 11k 

 Summary: You and Seungmin have been inseparable since kindergarten, sharing everything from playground swings to baseball lessons under the summer stars. He's been your constant, your safe place, the boy who taught you that life is like lemon drops—sour at first, but sweet if you wait long enough. But as your final summer together draws to a close, you're forced to confront feelings you've harbored for years and the devastating reality that dreams sometimes take the people you love furthest away from you. With his baseball scholarship to California looming, you have one week to figure out if the almost-moments between you mean something more, or if you're destined to love him from a distance forever. 

Trigger warning: she fell first, unrequited love, childhood friends to lovers(?), angst, impending separation, emotional hurt, almost kiss, angst

authors note: its finally here!! It took so many months of straight rewriting and complete restarting! Thank you for being patient!

taglist: @pixiefelixie @sammhisphere @skzfangirl143 @bbokicidal @alisonyus @fackeraccount @peskybirdysya @kylielovesu @river121798, @shortcake-whoops @skybluelixie @hwangjoanna @kexiksexik @theclassbookworm

The swing set creaks under your weight as you push yourself back and forth, the metal chains warm from the late August sun that's been beating down on this playground all day. Each creak sounds like a countdown, like time itself groaning under the weight of what's coming.

Summer is dying around you—you can feel it in the way the air carries just a hint of coolness when the breeze picks up, in how the leaves on the oak tree above are starting to show the faintest edges of yellow like nature's own countdown timer. Like everything beautiful is doomed to end, and you're just watching it happen in slow motion.

The grass beneath your feet is brown in patches, worn thin by months of children running and playing, and there's something melancholy about the way the evening light slants through the trees, casting long shadows that seem to stretch toward autumn. Everything dies, you think bitterly. Summer dies, childhood dies, dreams die. And soon, whatever this is between you and Seungmin will die too, suffocated by distance and time and the cruel reality that loving someone doesn't mean they'll choose you.

Soon, school will start again, and everything will change. Again. Senior year for you, college for him. The thought sits heavy in your chest like a stone you can't quite swallow, like poison you've been drinking slowly for months, building up an immunity to heartbreak that you know won't work when the real blow comes.

You've always hated endings, even the ones that promise new beginnings. Maybe because you've learned that promises are just pretty words people use to make goodbye hurt less, Band-Aids slapped over wounds that never really heal. 

Maybe because every ending in your life has felt like loss—the end of elementary school meaning saying goodbye to your favorite teacher, the end of middle school marking the last time you felt truly young, the end of childhood signaling the beginning of all the complicated feelings you've spent years trying to understand. But mostly because you know that endings are where love goes to die, where all the beautiful almost-somethings get buried under the weight of reality and moving on.

But this ending feels different. Final. Like the closing of a book you never wanted to finish reading, like the last page of the only story that ever mattered to you. This ending feels like watching the sun set on the last day of the world, knowing that no sunrise will ever come to save you from the darkness.

"Remember when we were five and you cried because I could swing higher than you?"

Seungmin's voice breaks through your melancholy like sunlight through storm clouds, warm and familiar and achingly dear. It cuts through your chest like a blade wrapped in silk—beautiful and devastating all at once. 

You turn to look at him on the swing beside you, this boy who's been your constant for thirteen years, this boy who holds your heart in his hands without even knowing it, and your heart does that painful flutter it's been doing since you were old enough to understand what attraction meant.

 Since you were old enough to understand that wanting someone and having them want you back are two entirely different kinds of hell.

At eighteen, he's grown into his features in a way that makes your chest tight with longing—sharp jawline that you've memorized from countless movie nights when you should have been watching the screen instead of watching him, kind eyes that crinkle when he laughs and break your heart every time they look at you with nothing but friendship, that same lopsided smile that's been making your heart skip beats since you were fourteen and suddenly realized your best friend had become beautiful. 

Dangerously, devastatingly beautiful in the way that ruins girls like you, turns them into ghosts haunting the edges of someone else's story.

He's still got grass stains on his baseball uniform from practice, his dark hair slightly damp with sweat and curling at the edges the way it always does when he's been running. 

There's a small scar above his left eyebrow from when he fell off his bike trying to impress you when you were ten—back when impressing you mattered to him, back when you were still worth getting hurt for. And another on his chin from a baseball that took a bad bounce his sophomore year, the day you realized that baseball would always come first, that you would always be second to his real love.

You know every mark on his skin, every expression that crosses his face, every mood that shifts in his voice. You know him better than you know yourself, and that's exactly the problem. Because knowing someone completely and having them love you back are two different universes, and you're stuck in the wrong one, watching the right one through a window you can never break.

You know he gets quiet when he's nervous, loud when he's excited, and soft when he's trying to comfort someone. You know he takes his coffee black but puts extra sugar in his tea, that he can't sleep without background noise, that he's afraid of spiders but would never admit it to anyone but you. 

You know that he bites his lip when he's thinking hard, that he always checks his phone twice before putting it down, that he has exactly three freckles on his left shoulder that you noticed during a beach trip two summers ago and haven't been able to stop thinking about since.

You know that he dated Mina for six weeks in sophomore year and broke up with her because she didn't laugh at his jokes. You know that he cried during Toy Story 3 but made you promise never to tell anyone. You know that his biggest fear isn't spiders—it's disappointing people he cares about. You know that when he's really happy, he does this thing where he scrunches his nose just slightly, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

You know him like a song you've memorized, like a prayer you've whispered so many times the words have worn grooves in your soul. You know him in ways that matter and ways that don't, in ways that feel sacred and ways that feel like punishment. And none of it matters, because knowing someone isn't the same as being chosen by them.

"I did not cry," you protest, even though you absolutely did. Even though you remember the exact taste of those tears, salty and bitter with the first hint of what it would feel like to watch him excel at things you could never compete with. "I was strategically motivating myself."

He laughs, the sound carrying across the empty playground like music, like the soundtrack to your destruction. Every laugh is a small death, a reminder of all the times you've made him happy without it meaning what you desperately need it to mean. "Is that what we're calling it? Because I distinctly remember tears and you telling me it wasn't fair that I had longer legs."

This playground has been your constant for as long as you can remember, the one place that's remained unchanged while everything else shifted around you like tectonic plates, rearranging the landscape of your life into something unrecognizable. 

The same red slides that have faded to pink in the sun, like old love letters left too long in the light. The same monkey bars that gave you blisters the summer you were determined to make it all the way across—your first lesson in how wanting something badly enough doesn't guarantee you'll achieve it. 

The same sandbox where you and Seungmin built elaborate castles and declared yourselves rulers of imaginary kingdoms, back when you still believed in forever, back when forever seemed possible.

Kindergarten Seungmin had found you sitting alone on these very swings on your first day, too shy to join the other kids on the jungle gym. You'd been wearing a yellow dress your mom had picked out specially for the occasion, your hair in pigtails tied with ribbons that matched. You felt small and scared and overwhelmed by the chaos of twenty other five-year-olds who all seemed to know exactly what they were doing.

 You felt like an imposter in your own life, like everyone else had been given a manual for existing that you'd somehow missed.

He'd been a whole year older and infinitely more confident, all skinned knees and gap-toothed grins, plopping down on the swing next to you like he'd been looking for you his whole life. Like you were the answer to a question he didn't know he'd been asking. 

He was wearing a baseball shirt even then, you remember—destiny dressed in primary colors and grass stains—and his shoelaces were tied in uneven bows that would come undone before recess was over.

"You look sad," he'd said with the brutal honesty of childhood, pumping his legs to get his swing moving. "I don't like when people are sad."

Even at five, he was trying to fix things, trying to make the world brighter for everyone around him. Even at five, he was the kind of person who noticed when someone was hurting and felt compelled to do something about it. It should have been your first warning that he was too good for this world, too good for you.

"I'm not sad," you'd whispered, clutching the chains so tightly your knuckles were white. "I'm just... thinking."

"About what?"

"About how everyone else already has friends and I don't know anybody."

He'd considered this seriously, his little forehead creased in concentration like he was solving the most important problem in the world. Maybe, to him, it was. "Well, now you know me. I'm Seungmin. Want to see who can swing the highest?"

That had been thirteen years ago, and somehow, you'd never stopped coming back here. Maybe because this place holds all your best memories, and you're terrified that when he leaves, memories will be all you have left of him. 

Maybe because sitting here makes you feel five years old again, when the world was simpler and love was just wanting to swing next to someone forever. When love was uncomplicated and pure, before you learned that it could be a weapon that destroys you from the inside out.

Through elementary school when you'd meet here every day after classes, when friendship felt like enough because you didn't know yet what you were missing. 

Through middle school when this became your safe space to complain about teachers and talk about crushes (well, Seungmin talked about his crushes—you kept yours to yourself, considering it was him), when you first learned the exquisite torture of listening to the person you love talk about wanting someone else. And now, through high school, when life was getting complicated and college applications loomed and everything felt like it was moving too fast, like you were on a train speeding toward a cliff and couldn't find the brakes.

You remember everything about growing up with Seungmin with the kind of painful clarity that comes from loving someone who doesn't love you back.

 Every moment etched in perfect detail because you've replayed them so many times, searching for signs you might have missed, hoping for evidence of something more than friendship in the way he smiled at you or held your hand during scary movies. 

Like a detective investigating your own heartbreak, collecting evidence that will never be enough to solve the case.

You remember second grade, when he gave you half his sandwich every day for a month because you forgot your lunch money. How he'd split his peanut butter and jelly diagonally and hand you the bigger piece, claiming he wasn't that hungry anyway even though you could hear his stomach growling during math class. It was the first time someone chose to take care of you, and you fell a little bit in love with him then, though you were too young to name it. You thought that's just what friends did—sacrifice for each other, put each other first. You didn't know yet how rare that kind of selflessness was, how precious.

You remember third grade, when he taught you how to tie your shoes because you were too embarrassed to ask the teacher. How he sat with you on the classroom floor during indoor recess, his small fingers patient and gentle as he showed you the loop-and-pull method over and over until you finally got it.

 "There," he'd said when you managed it on your own, his face lighting up like you'd just discovered fire, like your small victory was his greatest achievement. 4

"I knew you could do it." 

Even then, he believed in you more than you believed in yourself. Even then, he was building you up, making you stronger, giving you pieces of himself that you'd carry forever.

You remember fourth grade, when he held your hand during the fire drill because you were scared of the loud alarm. How his palm was sweaty and too big for yours but you held on anyway, following him out of the building like he was your anchor in the chaos. 

You remember thinking that as long as Seungmin was holding your hand, nothing bad could happen to you. You remember feeling safe in a way you'd never felt before, protected by someone who chose to protect you. You didn't know then that safety is just an illusion, that the people who make you feel safest are often the ones with the power to destroy you most completely.

You remember fifth grade, when you got glasses and Mina called you four-eyes during lunch. How Seungmin had marched right up to her table and told her that glasses made people look smart and pretty, and anyone who couldn't see that was probably the one who needed their eyes checked. 

He'd gotten detention when he added that Mina was mean and ugly on the inside, but he'd just shrugged and said it was worth it. Worth it to defend you, worth getting in trouble for your honor. You remember thinking that if someone was willing to fight for you, maybe you were worth fighting for. You didn't realize yet that Seungmin would fight for anyone he cared about—that his protection wasn't romantic, just human decency wrapped in the fierce loyalty of childhood friendship.

You remember the shift in middle school, how his voice started cracking during eighth grade while you watched from seventh grade wondering why your heart did weird things every time he laughed. How he started getting taller, his shoulders broader, how the other girls began to notice him in ways that made your stomach twist with something you were too young to name as jealousy. 

You remember the exact moment you realized you weren't the only one who thought Seungmin was special, the sick feeling when you understood that you'd have to compete for his attention in ways you never had before.

You remember eighth grade for you, ninth for him, when Gyuri asked him to the school dance and you spent the entire night in your room pretending you had the flu. How you'd lied to your parents, faked a fever with hot washcloths pressed to your forehead, because the thought of seeing him with someone else was more than you could bear. 

How he came over the next day with soup his mom made and told you all about how awkward it was, how he stepped on her dress twice and forgot the words to every song they played.

"I wished I'd just stayed home and watched movies with you instead," he'd said, flopping onto your bed with dramatic flair. You'd felt guilty for being relieved, but not guilty enough to stop being happy about it. You remember thinking maybe he felt something too, maybe you weren't as invisible as you thought. You remember building a castle of hope on that single sentence, a castle that would crumble again and again over the years.

Then came your junior year—the worst year of your life. Him as a confident senior, team captain, popular and charming and so far out of your league you felt dizzy just thinking about it. You became a nervous junior trying to navigate an entirely different social landscape where suddenly everyone knew you as "Seungmin's little friend" and nothing more. How you'd watch him in the hallways surrounded by teammates and admirers, and wonder when exactly the distance between you had grown so vast. When you'd become a satellite in his orbit instead of a planet in your own right.

You remember watching him date Sua for three months junior year. How he'd light up when he talked about her, brighter than you'd ever seen him light up for anything—brighter than he lit up for you.

 How he'd ask your advice about what gifts to get her, what movies she might like, where he should take her for their anniversary dinner. How you'd smile and help him plan the perfect dates while dying a little more inside each time, bleeding out in increments so small he never noticed the wounds.

Sua was everything you weren't—confident, outgoing, effortlessly beautiful in the way that doesn't require thought or effort. She was the kind of girl who looked like she belonged next to someone like Seungmin, who fit into his world seamlessly while you felt like you were always fighting for a place at the edges. You remember studying her like a specimen, trying to figure out what she had that you didn't, what magic formula made her worthy of his love when you weren't.

You remember the night he called you crying because she broke up with him, and how you held him while he sobbed into your shoulder, his tears soaking through your shirt and burning your skin like acid. How you stroked his hair and whispered soothing words while your heart broke and mended and broke again—shattered by his pain, stitched back together by the intimacy of being the one he turned to, then destroyed again by the knowledge that you were a consolation prize, a backup plan, the friend he called when his real life fell apart.

"She said I was too focused on baseball," he'd whispered against your collarbone, his voice raw and broken. "She said I cared more about the team than about her."

And you'd wanted to scream that she was right, that baseball would always come first for him, that anyone who loved him would have to accept being second place to his dreams. You'd wanted to tell him that you would gladly be second, third, last place in his priorities if it meant you could be in his life at all. Instead, you'd held him tighter and told him she didn't deserve him, that any girl would be lucky to have him, even as the words turned to ash in your mouth.

You remember lying awake that night after he'd gone home, staring at the ceiling and hating yourself for being happy about his heartbreak. What kind of person finds joy in their best friend's pain? 

What kind of monster builds hope on someone else's suffering? But you couldn't help the tiny, terrible part of you that whispered maybe now he'll see you, maybe now he'll realize you've been here all along.

He didn't, of course. The next week he was back to normal, resilient in the way that boys like him always are, bouncing back from heartbreak like it was just another game he'd lost. He never talked about Sua again, never seemed to carry the weight of that relationship's end the way you'd carried the weight of its beginning. And you realized that some people are built to love and lose and move on, while others are built to love once and carry that love like a scar for the rest of their lives.

Now it's senior year—his senior year—when college applications and baseball scouts started consuming his life. How the conversations shifted from silly inside jokes to serious talks about the future, futures that looked different for both of you, futures that stretched out like highways leading to different destinations. How you realized that all your planning, all your dreaming, all your quiet hopes had been built on the assumption that he'd always be within reach. You'd never considered a world where loving him would require long-distance rates and time zone calculations.

You remember the first time a scout came to watch him play, how proud and terrified you felt sitting in the bleachers, cheering louder than anyone else while knowing that every good play took him further away from you. How you'd celebrated his achievements while mourning what they meant for you, clapping for the boy you loved while watching him disappear into a future you couldn't follow.

But through it all, these swings remained the same. Your safe space. The one place where you could pretend that time wasn't moving forward, that nothing had to change, that you could stay in this bubble forever where it was just you and him and the promise of tomorrow. The one place where the distance between your swing and his felt like the only distance that mattered, manageable and constant and safe.

"Do you think we'll still come here when we're in college?" you ask, dragging your feet to slow your swing. The question tastes like goodbye already, like you're practicing for the conversation you'll have to have soon.

Something flickers across Seungmin's face, too quick for you to catch. Pain, maybe. Guilt. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking, maybe you're seeing what you want to see because the alternative—that this conversation is as casual for him as discussing the weather—is too devastating to accept.

"Probably. Old habits die hard, right?"

You nod, but there's something in his tone that doesn't quite sit right. Something that sounds like he's trying to convince himself as much as you. Before you can analyze it too much, he's jumping off his swing mid-arc, landing in the sand with a soft thud that sounds like punctuation, like the end of a sentence you weren't ready to finish.

"Come on," he says, brushing off his uniform with sharp, efficient movements that seem designed to avoid looking at you. "Let's get out of here. I'm starving, and you owe me a convenience store run."

"How do I owe you anything?" The question comes out more desperate than you intended, like you're asking about more than just snacks, like you're asking why he gets to leave and you have to stay behind with the wreckage of your heart.

"Because I listened to you complain about your summer reading for an hour yesterday without falling asleep once."

"That's just being a good friend!" The words feel like knives in your throat. Good friend. Always a good friend. Never anything more, never anything that might matter enough to make him stay.

"Exactly. And good friends buy each other snacks."

You can't argue with that logic, so you follow him off the playground and down the familiar path toward town. The convenience store is a ten-minute walk, and you've made this journey together countless times—after school, after games, after every significant moment in your shared history. Your feet know this route by heart, could walk it blindfolded, and maybe that's what you're doing now—stumbling toward the end with your eyes closed, too afraid to see what's coming.

Seungmin talks about baseball practice, about his coach's new training regimen, about how his batting average has improved. Normal conversation, the kind you've had a thousand times before, but tonight it feels different. Tonight it feels like he's talking around something, filling the silence with safe topics to avoid the dangerous ones lurking underneath. You listen and nod and try not to think about how this might be one of the last times you walk this path together, try not to count down the hours you have left before everything you've ever known disappears.

The store is blessedly air-conditioned, and you immediately gravitate toward the candy aisle while Seungmin heads for the drinks. This is muscle memory, this dance you've perfected over years of shared snack runs.

 He knows you'll go for the candy, you know he'll grab something to drink, and you'll meet in the middle like you always do. Except after next week, there won't be a middle to meet in. After next week, you'll be performing this dance alone, reaching for candy he won't be there to tease you about, buying snacks you'll eat by yourself while wondering what he's doing three thousand miles away.

You're debating between lemon drops and sour gummies when he appears beside you with two bottles of water and a knowing look that makes your chest tighten with affection and grief in equal measure.

"Lemon drops again?" he asks, watching you examine the package like it holds the secrets of the universe.

"They're good," you defend, your voice smaller than you intended. "Sweet and sour at the same time. What's not to love?"

"You've been obsessed with those things since we were twelve."

Since the day Jaeyun made fun of your braces and you cried behind the gym during lunch. Seungmin had found you there, awkward and thirteen and trying so hard to be grown up, trying so hard to pretend that words couldn't hurt you when they very clearly could. He'd sat down next to you without saying anything, just pulled a bag of lemon drops from his pocket—stolen from his mom's purse, he'd admitted later—and offered you one.

"They're sweet and sour," he'd said, unwrapping one for himself. "Like life. Sometimes you get the sour taste first, but if you wait long enough, the sweet part comes."

You'd believed him then. Believed that good things come to those who wait, that patience is rewarded, that if you just hold on long enough, everything works out in the end. You'd believed that the sour was temporary, that sweetness was inevitable, that love stories like yours had happy endings if you just waited long enough for them to unfold.

Now you know better. Now you know that sometimes the sour is all you get, that waiting doesn't guarantee anything except more time to hope for things that will never come. Now you know that some stories don't have happy endings, no matter how long you wait for them, no matter how much you deserve them, no matter how hard you love.

"And you've been obsessed with baseball since we were six. We all have our things."

He grins and grabs a pack of gum from the rack, the same brand he's been chewing since middle school. "Fair enough. But I'm not sharing when you inevitably eat them all before we get home."

The casual assumption that you'll walk home together makes your heart skip, even though you know it doesn't mean anything beyond habit. Even though you know he's not thinking about how few times you'll make this walk together, not counting down the moments like you are. He's just existing in the present while you're mourning the future, and maybe that's the difference between loving someone and being loved—the person who loves more is always living in tomorrow's grief while the other person gets to live in today's comfort.

You pay for your snacks and step back into the summer heat that hits you like a wall of nostalgia. 

The sun is starting to sink lower in the sky, painting everything in that golden hour light that makes even the most ordinary things look magical, like a filter over reality that makes you believe in beautiful endings even when you know better. 

The air smells like cut grass and barbecue smoke from someone's backyard dinner, mixed with the faint sweetness of honeysuckle growing wild along the roadside. It smells like childhood, like simpler times, like everything you've already lost without realizing it.

Instead of heading straight home like you usually would, you find yourselves wandering without purpose, neither of you ready to end the day. This is what you've always done—stretched out your time together like taffy, reluctant to return to separate houses and separate lives. But tonight it feels different, weighted with significance you can't quite name. 

Tonight it feels like you're both trying to memorize something, though you're not sure he knows what. Tonight feels like the last time for everything, even the things that should be ordinary.

You end up at the old baseball field behind the elementary school, the one where Seungmin played Little League and you cheered from the bleachers with grass-stained knees and a voice hoarse from shouting his name. Even then, you were his biggest fan. Even then, you were building your identity around supporting his dreams, not realizing you were setting yourself up for a lifetime of loving someone whose dreams would eventually outgrow you.

The field looks smaller than you remember, the way childhood places always do when you return to them years later, but it's still clearly loved. The infield dirt is raked smooth, the bases are crisp white, and someone has recently mowed the outfield grass in perfect diagonal stripes. It's beautiful in the golden light, like a stage set for all the dreams Seungmin has chased here, all the moments that led him away from you.

"Want to see something?" Seungmin asks as you approach the chain-link fence.

"See what?"

He doesn't answer, just produces a key from his pocket and unlocks the gate. "Coach gave me access for extra practice," he explains at your surprised look. "Perks of being team captain."

The field is empty and peaceful in the evening light, but there's something melancholy about it too. This place has been the center of Seungmin's world for so long—all those practices, games, dreams built on this very dirt. You've spent countless hours in the bleachers watching him play, cheering until your voice was hoarse, feeling proud and heartbroken in equal measure as you watched him excel at something you could never be part of.

Baseball has always been his first love. You've just been the best friend cheering from the sidelines, close enough to see everything but never close enough to matter in the way you wanted to matter.

Seungmin jogs toward the dugout and emerges with a bat and a bucket of baseballs, looking more comfortable than you've ever seen him anywhere else. This is his element, his sanctuary, the place where everything makes sense to him in ways you never will. You wonder if he'll miss it when he's in California, or if the new fields will feel like home right away. You wonder if he'll miss anything about this place at all.

You wonder if he'll miss you, and immediately hate yourself for even thinking it because you know the answer, and it's not the one you want.

"Come here," he calls, waving you over to home plate.

"Oh no," you say, backing away. "You know I'm terrible at this."

"That's because you've never had proper instruction. Come on, I'll teach you."

There's something almost desperate in the way he says it, like he needs to give you this lesson, like he needs to leave you with something useful. Like he's trying to prepare you for a world where he won't be there to teach you things, won't be there to patiently guide you through your failures until they become successes.

You reluctantly approach, and he positions you at the plate, his hands covering yours on the bat handle. He's standing behind you, close enough that you can feel his breath on your neck as he adjusts your stance, close enough that you could lean back into his chest if you were brave enough, if you were stupid enough to risk everything for a moment of contact that would mean nothing to him and everything to you.

"Feet shoulder-width apart," he murmurs, his voice low and patient, the same tone he's used to teach you everything from riding a bike to parallel parking. "Now bend your knees a little."

His hands are warm over yours, callused from years of gripping baseballs and bat handles. They're hands that know exactly what they're doing, confident and sure in a way that makes you ache with longing and inadequacy. These hands have thrown perfect pitches, caught impossible flies, held trophies and medals and acceptance letters. These hands have also braided your hair when you were sick, built blanket forts during sleepovers, and held yours during scary movies.

These hands have touched you in friendship a thousand times, and every touch has been a reminder of what you can't have, what you'll never be to him. These hands will hold other people's hands in California, will learn the shape of new fingers, new skin, new heartbeats. These hands will forget the feel of yours, while yours will remember theirs forever.

When he moves your elbow up slightly, his chest brushes against your back, and you have to focus very hard on breathing normally. You can smell his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of grass and sweat, can feel the warmth radiating from his skin like summer itself. It's torture and heaven all at once—having him this close, feeling like you're the only person in his world right now, knowing it's just an illusion, knowing that in a week he'll be close to someone else like this, someone who deserves it, someone he chose.

"Okay, now watch the ball," he says, stepping to the side but keeping one hand on your waist to steady you. His touch burns through your shirt like a brand, marking you as his even though you're not, even though you never will be. "Don't think too much, just trust your instincts."

Trust your instincts. If you trusted your instincts, you'd turn around and kiss him right now. You'd tell him you've been in love with him since you were fourteen and that the thought of him leaving is killing you slowly, cell by cell. You'd beg him to stay, to choose you over his dreams, to love you the way you've loved him—completely, desperately, without reservation. But your instincts are the enemy, leading you toward a cliff disguised as courage.

He tosses a ball gently toward you, and you swing wildly, missing by at least a foot. The bat slips in your grip, and you stumble backward into his chest, solid and warm and everything you want but can't have.

"Sorry," you mumble, mortified by your own incompetence, by the way your body betrays you even in something as simple as this.

"It's fine. Try again." His hands return to yours, repositioning your grip with the patience of someone who cares about you, just not in the way you need him to. "Relax. You're too tense."

Easy for him to say. He's not the one trying to concentrate while someone who smells like grass and summer and something uniquely Seungmin is practically wrapped around them. He's not the one whose heart is beating so loud they're surprised it's not echoing across the empty field. He's not the one whose entire world is about to end in seven days.

The second attempt is marginally better—you at least make contact with the ball, though it dribbles pathetically a few feet in front of you.

"Better!" he says with genuine enthusiasm, and the pride in his voice makes your chest tight with affection and grief. "See? You just needed to not overthink it."

If only it were that simple. If only you could stop overthinking everything—his touches, his words, his expressions, the way he looks at you like you matter. If only you could trust that the way he cares for you is enough instead of always wanting more, always hoping for something that will never come.

You try several more times, with varying degrees of failure. Each time, he patiently adjusts your stance, his touch gentle but sure. Sometimes his hand lingers on your shoulder, sometimes he steps closer to demonstrate the motion, and every time you feel like your heart might beat right out of your chest. There's something different about tonight, something in the way he touches you that feels less like friendly instruction and more like an excuse to be close.

Or maybe that's just wishful thinking. Maybe you're so desperate for any sign that he might feel something—anything—beyond friendship that you're reading meaning into innocent gestures. Maybe you're like a person dying of thirst in the desert, seeing water in every shimmer of heat, hope in every mirage.

It's pathetic, really. Here you are, seventeen years old and completely undone by the boy you've loved since before you knew what love meant. The boy who's leaving in a week to chase dreams that don't include you. The boy who probably sees you as nothing more than the girl who's always been there, reliable as sunrise, as constant and overlooked as furniture.

You're the human equivalent of wallpaper—always there, serving a purpose, but never really seen. Never chosen. Never enough to make someone want to stay.

"This is hopeless," you say after another wild swing, your voice thick with frustration that has nothing to do with baseball. "I'm clearly not athletic."

"You're not hopeless. You're just tired—it's getting late."

You look around, surprised to realize the sun has almost completely set. The field lights have kicked on automatically, casting everything in harsh white light that makes the moment feel both more and less intimate. Under the artificial brightness, everything looks too real, too stark. There's nowhere to hide from the reality of what's happening, no golden hour magic to soften the edges of goodbye.

"Yeah," you agree quickly, grateful for the excuse. "That's definitely it. Just tired."

Tired of pretending this doesn't hurt. Tired of acting like everything is fine when your world is about to implode. Tired of loving someone who will never love you back, tired of being the supporting character in someone else's love story with life.

He takes the bat from your hands, his fingers brushing yours in the exchange. The contact lasts maybe half a second, but it burns through you like lightning, like every nerve ending in your body suddenly remembered what it felt like to want something you couldn't have. "We should head home anyway. Don't want your parents worrying."

As you're walking off the field, he starts talking about his dreams again—the scholarship opportunities, the possibility of playing in college, maybe even professionally someday. His eyes light up when he talks about it, the same way they did when you were kids and he'd spend hours explaining different pitching techniques or baseball statistics that went completely over your head but you listened anyway because seeing him passionate about something was worth the confusion.

You love seeing him like this, passionate and animated and so full of hope it practically radiates from his skin like heat from asphalt. But it also breaks your heart because you can see his whole future laid out in front of him, bright and shining and taking him further and further away from you.

 You can see him in college, making new friends who understand statistics and strategy, maybe falling in love with some California girl who actually knows the difference between a curveball and a slider, who doesn't flinch every time a ball comes her way.

You can see your own future too, stretching out gray and lonely, built around the absence of the person who's been your sun for as long as you can remember. You see yourself checking his social media obsessively, watching him live his life through carefully curated photos. You see yourself making excuses not to go to parties because they'll remind you of all the parties you went to together. 

You see yourself walking past this field and remembering the night he tried to teach you to hit, the night you were too stupid to tell him you loved him.

"What about you?" he asks as you reach the gate, and his question catches you so off guard you almost trip over your own feet. "What's your dream? I mean, besides becoming a professional lemon drop taste-tester."

You laugh, but his question feels like a knife between your ribs because the honest answer is that your dream has always been him. Your dream was growing up together, going to the same college, maybe dating other people but always coming back to each other when you realized what you'd had all along. Your dream was lazy Sunday mornings and inside jokes and someone who knew all your secrets because he'd been there when you made them.

Your dream was being chosen by the person you chose, and dreams like that don't come true for girls like you.

"I don't know," you say finally. "I never really thought about it the way you think about baseball."

"Come on, there has to be something. What makes you feel the way baseball makes me feel?"

You think about it as you walk home together, your footsteps echoing in the quiet night. What does make you feel that way? Writing, maybe, when you manage to find the right words for something that feels too big for language. Reading books that make you forget where you are, that transport you to worlds where love stories have happy endings and best friends don't leave each other behind. But nothing with the certainty and passion that Seungmin has for baseball. Nothing that feels like destiny the way his dreams do.

Maybe that's the difference between you two. He's always known exactly what he wanted, where he was going, what he was willing to sacrifice to get there. You've been content to drift, to follow, to build your happiness around his presence in your life. And now you're paying the price for making another person your whole world, for building a life that only makes sense when he's in it.

"Maybe I just haven't found my thing yet," you say, but the words taste like lies because you know your thing was always him. He was your hobby, your passion, your dream. And you can't tell someone they're your dream when they're about to walk out of your life forever.

"You will," he says with such confidence that you almost believe him. "And when you do, you'll be amazing at it."

The faith in his voice makes you want to cry, because even now, even when he's leaving, he believes in you more than you believe in yourself. Even now, he's trying to build you up, trying to prepare you for a future that doesn't include him. It should be comforting, but instead it feels like he's trying to make sure you'll be okay without him, like he's already started the work of letting you go.

When you reach the fork in the road where you'd normally part ways—him toward his house, you toward yours—he stops. The streetlight above casts everything in amber, making the moment feel suspended in time, like you're trapped in glass where nothing can change and nothing can hurt you.

"Thanks for today," he says, and there's something in his voice that makes your chest tight with unnamed emotion.

"Needed what?"

"Just... this. Fun. No pressure, no thinking about the future. Just us being us."

Us being us. Like there's an us that exists beyond friendship, like there's something special about the way you fit together that he recognizes too. But before you can read too much into it, before you can build another castle of hope on shaky ground, he continues.

"I've been so stressed about everything—the scholarship, leaving, starting over. Sometimes I forget that I'm still just eighteen, you know? That I don't have to have everything figured out right now."

There's something wistful in his voice that makes your chest tight, something that sounds almost like regret. "We can do this anytime. It's not like anything's changing."

But even as you say it, you know it's a lie. Everything is changing. In a week, he'll be gone, and you'll be here with nothing but memories and the echo of his laugh in empty spaces.

He's quiet for a moment, looking up at the sky like he's searching for something in the stars that are just beginning to appear. When he looks back at you, there's something different in his expression, something that makes the world feel like it's holding its breath.

"Y/N," he says, and your name sounds different in his voice, softer and more careful. Like he's tasting it, like he's trying to memorize the shape of it on his tongue.

"Yeah?"

He takes a step closer, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes under the streetlight. Close enough that you can count his eyelashes, can see the small scar on his chin from that baseball accident sophomore year. His hand comes up like he's going to touch your face, and for a moment the air between you feels electric with possibility, thick with all the words you've never said to each other.

For a moment, you think this is it. This is the moment when everything changes, when he finally sees you the way you've been seeing him for years. This is when he tells you he's been as scared as you are, as heartbroken about leaving, as desperate to find a reason to stay. This is when your love story finally begins, right here under the streetlight where you've said goodbye a thousand times before.

Then he seems to catch himself, dropping his hand and taking a step back like he's been burned. The moment shatters like glass, leaving you standing in the wreckage of another almost.

"I got the scholarship," he says suddenly, and it takes you a moment to process the change in conversation, to understand that whatever just almost happened is over before it began.

"The baseball scholarship? Seungmin, that's amazing!" You throw your arms around him, genuine happiness overriding your confusion about what just almost happened. Because despite everything—despite your broken heart and your selfish wants—you are proud of him. You've watched him work for this dream since you were children, watched him sacrifice and struggle and never give up. He deserves this. He deserves everything good the world has to offer, even if it means leaving you behind.

He hugs you back, but it feels different now, like he's already pulling away. Like he's practicing for goodbye.

"There's more," he says when you separate, and something in his tone makes your stomach drop like you're falling from a great height.

"More what?"

"It's not local. It's not even close."

Your heart stops. Just stops completely, like someone reached into your chest and squeezed until everything went quiet. "How not close?"

He won't meet your eyes, and that's when you know. That's when you understand that this isn't just about college, about four years and summer breaks and visits home. This is about forever. This is about the end of everything you've ever known.

"California. The University of Southern California."

The words hit you like a physical blow, like someone just reached into your chest and ripped your heart out with their bare hands. California. Three thousand miles away. A different time zone. A different world where you don't exist, where you never existed, where you're nothing but a memory from his childhood that will fade like everything else.

"Oh," you manage, but the word comes out broken, fractured like everything inside you.

"I leave at the end of next week. For fall semester."

"Next week?" Your voice cracks on the words, splits open like your chest, like your soul. "That's... that's so soon."

Too soon. Not enough time to say everything you need to say, to memorize everything you need to remember. Not enough time to figure out how to let him go, how to survive in a world where he doesn't exist in your daily life. Not enough time to prepare for the rest of your life without him.

"I know. I just found out today. Coach called during practice." He finally looks at you, and there's so much pain in his eyes that it makes your chest ache. But not the same kind of pain you're feeling. His pain is guilt, regret about the timing, sadness about leaving. Yours is devastation, the complete destruction of everything you thought your life would be.

"Y/N, I'm sorry. The timing of everything... it's just..."

You want to tell him it's okay, want to be the supportive best friend you've always been, the girl who puts his happiness above her own heartbreak. But the words feel like broken glass in your throat. Because it's not okay. Nothing about this is okay. Nothing about losing the most important person in your life will ever be okay.

"I should go," he says quietly, and you can hear the guilt in his voice, the weight of everything he's not saying. "Early practice tomorrow."

You nod because you don't trust your voice, because you're afraid that if you open your mouth, everything will come pouring out—years of love and longing and desperation that will only make this harder for both of you.

He steps closer again, and for a moment you think he might try to finish whatever started before he told you about the scholarship. Instead, he pulls you into a hug, holding you tight against his chest like he's trying to memorize the feeling, like he's trying to pour everything he can't say into this one gesture.

You can feel his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and strong and completely unaware that yours is breaking. You can smell his cologne, feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, and you try to burn it all into your memory because this might be the last time he holds you like this.

"Have a good night, Y/N," he whispers into your hair, and his voice sounds thick with emotion you can't identify.

"You too," you whisper back, the words barely audible.

He lets go and walks away without looking back, leaving you standing at the fork in the road with the taste of lemon drops still on your tongue and questions you don't know how to ask burning in your throat. You watch him disappear into the darkness, taking your heart with him, taking your future, taking everything that ever mattered.

You watch until he disappears around the corner, then slowly make your way home on legs that feel like they might give out at any moment. In your pocket, the remaining lemon drops rattle like a broken promise, like the sound of everything good in your life falling apart.

Your house is quiet when you slip inside, your parents already asleep. You climb the stairs to your room like you're walking to your own execution, each step heavier than the last. Your legs feel like lead, your chest like it's full of concrete. Everything hurts—your heart, your lungs, your bones, your soul. Everything hurts because everything is ending.

You close the door and lean against it, finally allowing yourself to really think about what just happened, to process the information that's been bouncing around in your skull like a scream looking for a way out.

One week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours until your world ends.

The baseball lesson replays in your mind like a movie you can't turn off—his hands on yours, the way he'd stood so close you could feel his heartbeat, the gentle way he'd corrected your stance. Had that been just friendly instruction, or was there something more to it? The way he'd looked at you afterward, like he was seeing something new, something that surprised him...

You want so desperately to believe it meant something. You want to believe that the catch in his voice when he said your name, the way his fingers lingered on your skin, the almost-reverent way he touched you—you want to believe it all adds up to something real. Something that could change everything, something that could make him stay or take you with him or at least make this goodbye mean something more than the end of a childhood friendship.

But wanting something doesn't make it true. And you've wanted Seungmin to love you back for so long that you're not sure you can trust your own perceptions anymore. Maybe you've been reading love into friendly touches for so long that you can't tell the difference. Maybe desperation has made you delusional.

And then that moment on the street. The way he'd said your name, stepped closer, almost reached for you. For a second—for one perfect, devastating second—you'd thought he was going to kiss you. The air had felt thick with possibility, with all the things you'd never said to each other, with the weight of thirteen years of friendship balanced on the edge of something more.

Your fingers drift to your lips without conscious thought, wondering what it would have felt like. Wondering if his lips would have been soft, if he would have tasted like the mint gum he always chews, if kissing him would have felt like coming home or like diving off a cliff. Wondering if that one kiss could have changed everything, could have made him realize what he was leaving behind.

But then he'd pulled away and told you about California, and everything had shifted. Everything crumbled. Maybe he'd felt it too—that pull toward something different, something more—and it had scared him. Maybe the scholarship announcement was his way of putting distance between you before things got complicated, before he had to hurt you in ways he never intended.

Or maybe you're just a fool reading love into kindness, romance into friendship, destiny into coincidence. Maybe you're the only one who's been feeling anything beyond platonic affection, and he was just being sweet to his best friend on what might be one of your last nights together.

The thought makes you sick, makes you dizzy with humiliation and grief. Have you been that obvious? Has he known this whole time how you feel and just been too kind to acknowledge it? The idea that he might pity you, might have been managing your feelings all these years, is almost worse than losing him.

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment of the day, every moment of the last thirteen years. The scholarship is incredible news—you are genuinely happy for him, genuinely proud. Baseball has been his dream for as long as you've known him, and he's worked harder than anyone to make it come true. He deserves this opportunity, deserves every good thing that's coming his way.

But California might as well be another planet.

One week.

Seven days to memorize the sound of his laugh, the way he says your name, the feeling of having him within reach. Seven days to figure out if that moment on the street meant what you think it meant, or if you're just a fool clinging to fantasies because the truth is too painful to accept. Seven days to pretend your world isn't ending, to smile and be supportive and act like you're not dying inside.

Seven days, and then a lifetime of long distance and wondering what might have been different if he'd finished reaching for you instead of pulling away. A lifetime of loving someone who chose his dreams over you, even if he doesn't know that's what he did. A lifetime of being the girl he used to know, the one from his hometown, the friend who never quite measured up to his real life.

You close your eyes and try to sleep, but all you can think about is the weight of his hands on yours and the way he'd looked at you like you were something precious he was about to lose. 

You think about all the almosts that have defined your relationship—almost confessions swallowed at the last second, almost kisses interrupted by bad timing, almost perfect moments ruined by reality.

You think about the letter you wrote him last year for his birthday and never gave him, the one where you poured out everything you felt in careful, coded language that he probably wouldn't have understood anyway. It's still in your desk drawer, three pages of everything you've never been brave enough to say. 

You think about giving it to him now, about laying your heart bare in the hopes that it might change something, might make him reconsider, might make him realize what he's leaving behind.

But you know you won't. Because even if he felt something too—even if that moment under the streetlight was real—it wouldn't be enough to make him stay. His dreams are bigger than this town, bigger than you, bigger than whatever small feeling he might have for the girl who's always been there. And you love him too much to ask him to choose between his future and your heart, because you know which one he'd pick, and you know it would destroy you both.

You think about all the times you've bitten back the words "I love you" when he was talking about other girls, all the times you've smiled and played the supportive best friend while dying inside. All the times you've put his happiness above your own, his dreams above your needs, his future above your heart.

You think about next week, about watching him pack his life into boxes and suitcases, about driving him to the airport and pretending you're okay. About hugging him goodbye and not crying until you're alone in your car, about watching his plane take off and knowing it's taking your heart with it. About coming home to a town that will feel hollow without him in it, about learning how to exist in a world where you can't just walk to his house when you need to see him smile.

You think about phone calls that will get shorter and less frequent as he gets busy with his new life. About texts that will shift from inside jokes to polite updates. 

About the day—and you know it's coming—when he'll call to tell you about some girl he's met, some California blonde who loves baseball and makes him laugh the way you used to. About having to be happy for him, having to pretend your heart isn't breaking all over again, having to be the supportive friend who's always there for him even when being there is killing you.

You think about growing up and growing apart, about becoming strangers who used to know everything about each other. About being the girl from his hometown that he mentions sometimes in passing, a relic from a simpler time before his real life began. Watching him succeed from a distance, seeing his name in newspapers and on websites, being proud and heartbroken in equal measure as he achieves everything he ever wanted.

You think about yourself in five years, ten years, still living in this same town because leaving would mean admitting that your whole life was built around someone who left without looking back. Still single because no one else will ever measure up to the boy who taught you what love felt like before you were old enough to handle it. Still visiting this playground sometimes, sitting on these same swings and remembering when the world was simpler and love was just wanting to swing next to someone forever.

Because that's exactly what you were—what you are. The girl who peaked in high school, not because those were your best years, but because those were the years when the person you loved most was still within reach. The girl whose love story ended before it ever really began, whose heart got broken by someone who never meant to break it, who never even knew he had it in the first place.

You are seventeen years old and you are in love with someone who is about to walk out of your life forever, and there is nothing you can do about it except smile and wave and pretend it doesn't feel like dying.

The worst part isn't even that he's leaving. The worst part is that he's going to be happy. He's going to California and he's going to play the sport he loves and he's going to make new friends and fall in love and build a beautiful life, and you're genuinely happy for him even though it's destroying you. The worst part is that you love him enough to want him to be happy even if it means you can't be.

The worst part is knowing that this is the right choice for him, that he should go, that trying to make him stay would be selfish and wrong and would probably end up destroying whatever feelings he might have for you. The worst part is that there's no villain in this story, no one to blame, no way to make it anyone's fault. It's just life, just the way things happen sometimes, just the universe teaching you that loving someone doesn't guarantee they'll love you back the same way.

The worst part is that if someone asked you if you regret loving him, if you regret these thirteen years of friendship and heartbreak and unrequited devotion, you'd say no. Because even if it ends like this, even if you never get your happy ending, he was still the best thing that ever happened to you. He was still worth it.

And maybe that's the most heartbreaking thing of all—that even knowing how this ends, even knowing the pain that's coming, you'd choose to love him again. You'd choose these thirteen years of almosts and maybes and what-ifs because having him in your life as a friend was better than not having him at all.

You'd choose him every time, even knowing he'd never choose you back.

Even knowing that some love stories don't get happy endings, that some people are meant to love from a distance, that some hearts are built to break beautifully and quietly and alone.

Even knowing that tomorrow you'll wake up and pretend everything is fine, that you'll spend the next week being the best friend he needs instead of the girl who loves him, that you'll smile and support his dreams and never let him see how much it's costing you.

Because that's what love is, sometimes. It's not just wanting someone to be happy—it's being willing to sacrifice your own happiness to make sure they get theirs. It's holding your pain so quietly that they never have to feel guilty about causing it. It's letting someone go even when holding on is the only thing that makes sense to your heart.

It's loving someone enough to let them leave, even when their leaving takes everything good in your world with them.

And as you finally drift off to sleep, tears still wet on your cheeks, you hold onto the weight of his hands on yours, the sound of his laugh, the way he said your name like it meant something. You hold onto every moment, every memory, every almost-kiss and might-have-been, because soon they'll be all you have left.

Soon, they'll be all that remains of the greatest love story that never was.

The love story of a girl who loved a boy who was always meant to fly away, and a boy who never knew that leaving her behind would be the first real heartbreak of his life too—he just wouldn't realize it until it was too late to come back.

[cupidstrace]

All For Show

Gojo Satoru is a walking megalomaniacal flashbang addicted to attention. Or so goes the narrative.

p1 (premise) – With Great Power Comes No Accountability

Pairing: Superhero!Gojo x Reporter!Reader A/N: don't come for me i got lazy and didn't want to write all the relationship scenes fully..

You stand on the sidewalk of the intersection facing a drone camera, mic in hand. In the sky behind you, a villain with arms made of bark levitates, surveying the cityscape.

“One can only wonder where the public’s infamous Six Eyes is during this time of crisis���”

You’re cut off by the shatter of glass as a force barrels through the skyscraper to your left, sending it careening toward the villain’s form. Your brow twitches. But you maintain the same press-perfect smile, and continue. “And there he is! The golden boy himself, here to save the day.”

Out of the ruins comes golden boy, eyes gleaming brilliant blue, smile even more blinding as his gaze snaps to the drone camera in front of you. Gojo winks at the lens, pointing with his thumb to the logo behind his back – some luxury brand he’s decided to pair up with for his newest costume. It won’t last long. They never do.

“Fear not, citizens,” he cries, with all the projection of an aspiring theater kid, “Six Eyes is here to defeat the villain!”

Said villain is torso deep beneath the rubble, crumpled over himself. Said citizens are marveling in awe as Gojo levitates, the sun hitting his back and making his hair dazzle. He teleports behind you with a wicked grin, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, eyes locked to the camera. “Looking good, Ms. Reporter.”

Said reporter is staring in horror as the fallen skyscraper slams into another building, then another, each crash echoing like the last few ticks of a countdown. Like dominoes falling in slow motion.

“All civilians safe,” Gojo proclaims as he waves to the camera, “you can thank me later.”

Behind the both of you, a woman screams as her apartment collapses.

Great.

Gojo Satoru, or “Six Eyes” (his government-issued moniker), is not a savior. In your book, he’s not even a superhero – or really a hero at all. He’s just some guy with a power trip who thinks the delusion of everything being fine just because of his presence will somehow correlate to real life.

You’ve seen it firsthand. He plays for the cameras, disregards the casualties. Smiles brighter than the wreckage burning in the background. Calls it a win even when emergency services are still scraping debris off the sidewalk.

He lives in a self-constructed world where style outweighs strategy, and consequence is just an unfortunate side effect that happens to other people. A walking, talking spectacle, wrapped in perfect lighting and too-white teeth, with catchphrases that make civilians swoon and journalists light up.

And the worst part? He knows it. He leans into it. As if the weight of real accountability, the public’s grief, is heavier than he can carry. So he flashes a grin and makes it look good and moves on, and ignores your sharp eyes when you shoot him a glare as he poses for the camera lens.

You don’t hate Gojo Satoru because he’s arrogant. No, in your line of work, there are too many people like that to despise them all.

You hate Gojo Satoru because beneath all that blinding confidence, all you see is someone terrified of being perceived as anything but the strongest.

And worse than that is the fact that for some sick reason, you can understand that.

You wake up the next morning to a call from your concerned coworker, who asks you to check the headlines. You wonder if it’s something you’ve written – maybe that article about the ethics of employing superheroes to do “good” on a payroll. Or the one about “belligerent” villains never attacking first.

Instead, it’s about Gojo Satoru. Again.

Except this time, you’re on the cover of the article, too. His lips locked on your cheek.

Special Grade Sweetheart? Six Eyes Saves Reporter. Again!

Oh.

You turn in bed and muffle a groan into your pillow.

Now, you’re a reasonable person. You don’t care about the whole “sweetheart” thing, because it’s not true. And the public will see that for what it is. What really irks you is that whoever wrote it said that Gojo saved you.

Okay, first of all, they don’t need to say Six Eyes all the time. Everyone and their mother knows he’s Gojo Satoru – it’s not like the hero alias or the everchanging spandex does anything to hide his cocky face. Most of the time he only has two eyes, anyway.

But back to the main point.

The “villain” didn’t even attack you. Or attack anything, for that matter. The damage was entirely caused by Gojo, and the victims he saved were the ones inside the skyscraper he decided to crash through. But of course, people focus on the fact that he defeated the villain and his hand brushed through his hair as his muscles bulged and he said some bullshit thing about duty and integrity directly into the camera. Oh, and they focus on the cheek kiss. Because of course they do. Is Gojo Satoru even a superhero, or is he just a walking brand campaign dressed as one?

It’s not like you asked him to kiss you. In fact, you would’ve rather he not done anything at all, and stayed far, far away. But with a camera so close to you at all times, you suppose it’s inevitable. He thrives in the spotlight.

Well, whatever. It’s a temporary public fixation. They’ll soon realize there’s no way on god’s green earth you could ever be attracted to that man. Or they’ll surmise he’d never go for someone like you, anyway.

You sigh, tossing your phone aside, determined to shake it off. Maybe even get a day of peace – the city skyline looks clear, for once.

That fantasy dies the moment you round the corner into your living room.

Gojo Satoru is sprawled out on your couch.

He’s made himself comfortable. Too comfortable.

He’s not even polite about it, either. Legs spread like this is his apartment, an arm draped lazily over the back, his other hand holding a half-eaten apple he clearly took from your fridge without asking. His sunglasses are still on, even indoors. You’re not sure if it’s to block out the sunlight or your disdain.

Either way, he’s clearly here for a reason you’re not going to like.

You shut your eyes. Open them again. Pinch the bridge of your nose.

Then you brew yourself coffee, silent as he finishes his apple and brushes past you to throw the core away. You take a sip before speaking. “Do I even want to know how you got in?”

He shrugs, opening your fridge and sticking his head in to look for more food. “Door was open.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Never said you were the one that opened it.”

You bristle and slam the fridge shut before he can look through it again. “You better not be here to check on me after your little mid-air demolition derby.”

“Woah,” he muses, taking a step back and holding up his hands in surrender. “I came to make a proposal.”

Right. The flashy megalomaniac that thrives on trending on social media thinks you’d listen to any sort of suggestion he’d propose.

“No.”

“You haven’t heard it yet.”

“I don’t need to. If it’s coming from you, it’s probably a bad idea.”

He tsks, slumps back on the couch, and rests his legs on your coffee table like he doesn’t notice your brow twitch when the fabric of his sweatpants brushes against the glass. “You’re still upset about yesterday?”

“Oh, you mean the kiss? The press? The article that tanked my credibility and made it look like I fainted into your arms from sheer arousal overload? Why would I be upset?”

“I didn’t write the headline,” he offers. Which is rich coming from the guy who practically posed mid-rescue. If you could even call it that. “But that’s actually why I’m here.”

You raise a brow.

“I think we should date.”

You stare.

Then blink.

Then snort.

“Oh, no. Whatever this is, whatever PR stunt you’re cooking up–”

“It’s not a PR stunt,” he interrupts, then pauses. “Well. Not entirely.”

You grimace.

“Look, if we’re seen as a couple, it explains the kiss,” he offers. “It gives you protection from media coverage. Keeps nosy reporters from calling you my side hoe. Plus, if I’m officially your boyfriend, I can protect you on the field without anyone accusing me of playing favorites.”

You stare at him, and for a split second, you wonder if he hit his head on the way through that skyscraper.

“I’m a reporter,” you say slowly. “My job isn't to protect an image. It’s to protect the truth.”

“Then make that the story. Hero falls for tenacious reporter with a killer vocabulary.” His eyes twinkle as he wiggles his eyebrows. “It’ll sell.”

You want to punch him. Or kiss him. Actually, no – definitely punch.

“So this is all for your benefit.”

“Come on, sweetheart. I saved your life.”

“No,” you frown. “You saved your ego and accidentally knocked a building into a villain in the process.”

He clicks his tongue. “Semantics.”

“And you want to what– date me?”

“Fake-date,” he clarifies. He says it offhandedly. Casually. Too casually for your liking. “Unless you want it to be real. I’m flexible.”

Of course he is.

You let out a long exhale and rub your temples. “This is insane.”

“Not as insane as letting people believe I kiss random women on live TV.”

“You do kiss random women on live TV.”

“That’s showbiz,” he says brightly. “Time to give it context.”

You hate that it makes a certain amount of sense. You hate that he looks smug about it. But most of all, you hate that there’s already an article brewing in the back of your mind, and it’s a good one. The content and the headline.

“..fine. But I’m writing the story, and if you so much as flirt with me off camera–”

He lifts both hands in surrender. “Scout’s honor.”

You somehow doubt Gojo Satoru was ever a scout.

–––

You’re not sure when it becomes routine.

Maybe it’s the first time he wraps an arm around your waist in front of a camera, and you somehow resist the urge to shove him off. Or maybe it’s when he shows up to a rooftop press conference late, chaotic, and absolutely glowing – then tugs you into the frame with a line about “the love of his life.” You roll your eyes so hard they almost don’t come back, but the camera catches your reluctant smile.

Then there’s the silence after. You never comment on it, because it’s not uncomfortable. But it lingers, heavy hearted and tired.

In private, Gojo is different. And distracted. And uncharacteristically, scarily, quiet.

When he’s not scrolling through his phone, he’s taking calls you’re not supposed to hear.

“Yeah, but did the public like it?”

“People want victory, not body counts. Keep the footage clean. Please.”

“I don’t care how many buildings fell. What’s the headline?”

Maybe it’s a cry for help that you’re able to hear. Maybe he wants you to listen. Either way, it unnerves you.

You start noticing things you hadn’t before.

Like how he flinches at loud sounds, or how his fingers tremble when he thinks no one’s looking. How he doesn’t talk to the other Special Grade superheroes unless he has to. How sometimes, after a fight, he disappears for hours and comes back smelling like ozone and regret.

It’s easier to hate the hero. Harder to hate the man.

–––

It’s raining on a Monday, and for some reason, he still shows up at your apartment. This time, he knocks, even though he has a spare key.

He’s holding two cups of coffee, both still warm, protected from the downpour by his powers. You open the door in your pajamas, exhausted after another late-night panel where the city tried to (and did) convince the public the latest superhero-led incident was “structurally contained.”

You look up at him.

He offers a cup.

“I remembered you like it with sugar,” he hums. “Even though all your articles are filled with spite.”

“It’s honesty for people who can handle it,” you snort. You let him in, sitting next to him on the couch, shoulders touching. It’s quiet, save for the low hum of the TV – playing something about his latest victory. No cameras. No jokes.

“You know,” he says after a while, voice low, “I do care.”

You glance up at him. He’s staring at the TV, eyes faraway, jaw tight.

“About the damage. And the people. But I–” he inhales, sharp. “I don’t know how to save everything. Even if I know I could. So I make them look at me instead.”

Your voice comes out soft. “..because if they’re looking at you, they’re not looking at the wreckage.”

He nods.

You say nothing.

But you can understand him. Not the superhero or the savior, but the man with too much power and no real control. The man who thinks if he acts hard enough, nobody will notice what happens backstage.

You shift closer, just a little, and he looks at you. “You think I’m full of shit.”

“Sometimes,” you admit. “You’re just trying.”

“That might be worse.”

You lean in and rest your head on his shoulder, turning off the TV. He lets out a shuddering sigh and rests his head atop yours.

It’s instinct, not PR. Not performance. Just you and him and the rain pouring outside, drowning out the hitch in his breath. You pull back and look up at him, eyes flitting across his face.

He looks lost.

But his gaze trails down to meet yours, and something in you clicks.

You lean in. Your lips touch his.

And to your surprise, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t smirk or joke or pull away. Just freezes, stunned, and then slowly – carefully – kisses back.

It’s soft. Unscripted. A quiet moment in a world so full of noise everyone has turned deaf.

And for once, it’s not for show.

[silverspirited]

Active Mileven shippers who root for their endgame are homophobic and I’ll stand by that

This may be a controversial take but idc, I’ll explain my reasoning. In this post, I’m really talking about active defenders of the ship (mostly on social media) that insist they are endgame. There is a difference between wishing Mileven were written to be endgame but knowing they aren’t if you consider s4 and Will’s feelings, and actively wanting them as a couple until the end to the series, repeating « mileven is endgame, yall are dellusional » etc etc all day long, and actually rooting for them.

I see so many Milevens comment under Mileven edits, saying things like « how can you see this and ship Byler », « Byler is so forced », or « Mike and Will are so much better off as friends », and I’m sorry to say this, but those statements are rooted in heteronormativity and subtle homophobia.

(Also, it baffles me when they use the airport scene in their edits, because even from a Mileven POV they were both being fake and that airport scene was NOT a love scene.)

I mean, I could understand if Will weren’t canonically in love with Mike that you thought the ship might be forced or that it’d make no sense if they were more than friends; but as it is a canon fact that Will is desperatly in love with Mike AND that his love for Mike is the love Mike wants and searches for in El (being needed) though she can’t really give him that and he just thinks she can because of Will projecting his own feelings onto El, stating that Will and Mike are better off as friends and acting like Mileven is peak romance is quite litteraly 1) denying the very fact that Will is in between their love and 2) erasing completely Will’s sexuality.

Let me explain (I’ll try not to get carried away)

Will is in love with Mike, and his sexuality is an important part of his arc. That is a fact. So, by denying any kind of romance between Mike and Will, just brushing it off, insisting they are only friends and better off like that might just be an « opinion » to you, but I’m sorry, it is not. It is blatant heteronormativity and even tends towards homophobia. Will’s love is 100% canon, and while you may doubt Mike’s reciprocity (which I can understand from the ga’s pov even though I wish it wasn’t the case), them being « better off as friends » mean you’re actively rooting for the gay traumatized boy to end up heartbroken and alone, and you’re basically saying you’re okay with the fact that they would build up his love for Mike over 4 seasons as a tool to fix a straight white relationship. Care to explain?

And what’s wild to me is that they don’t even think about it, and that’s why I’m positively stating that this is blatant heteronormativity: they don’t even realize what they’re rooting for. They just choose to ignore Will’s sexuality and love for Mike, and how strong it actually is (because when you think about it: Will is convinced his love is unrequited, yet he accepts it because Mike is so important to him that he’d rather have him forever as a friend and never find anyone else than losing him). That is the only proof I need that you carry at least a little homophobia if you ignore Will’s sexuality arc, if not a lot of homophobia if you’re actually hating on the ship.

And don’t even get me started on the « I hope Will finds someone new in s5 » thing. Look, I’m repeating myself, but that would mean you’d be okay that they actually used a traumatized gay boy’s love to fix a straight relationship, AND that you’d be okay with the fact that the only gay person of the teen group gets introduced a last minute romance that would clearly be under-developped as the only way this could happen would be in the epilogue (bc Will spends the most of the season with Mike being occupied with the supernatural plot). If you’re okay with that, you’re homophobic and you may not even be conscious of it.

So, I’ll recap. You may find Mileven cute or just think « aw, poor Will, his inconditional love is unrequited ». I know that’s how most people think, that’s what I thought in 2022 when I watched season 4 for the first time. And that’s okay. That’s not homophobia, that’s just heteronormativity and we all experience heteronormativity (in my opinion, that’s why Byler would be so great, it’d be a « ha, gotcha! you didn’t expect it, huh? » moment that would question our heteronormativity). Also, a lot of people are mainly focussed on the supernatural plot, and don’t really care about ships, like me before 2022.

Where I draw the line is active Mileven shippers. People who actually want them to be endgame, even after everything that happened in s4. Who don’t care what it would mean for Will and his arc. Who just like to think he’ll get killed (like yay, let’s continue supporting the bury your gays trope!), or given a last minute romantic interest as if he hadn’t been pining over Mike for 10+ years (I don’t know the exact timeline, sorry). So yes, if you’re actively rooting for Mileven to be endgame, you are homophobic. Even if you don’t hate Byler, that means you want the gay boy to get rejected, even if Mike and Will litteraly were written to fit together like puzzle pieces ( and I’m not gonna developp this statement because so many people have already explained why and you can easily find tumblr posts about this).

And that is just when you talk about Will’s love for Mike. Because I realized they like to deny the queercoding of Mike and the very obvious signs that he’s not straight by calling us dellusional, because they don’t even want to acknowledge Will’s love for Mike into the equation. Like, sure it’s there, they know it’s there, they just pretend it’s not. So can you imagine if anyone, ANYONE even DARES to imply that Mike could… like Will back?… LIKE MEN? Have internalized homophobia? be lying in his monologue? be playing a role when he’s with El? That would be the cherry on top, huh? ;)

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @staley83 @kellynickelsgirl00 @mrstelford @samcrosfaith @ravennaortiz @mdonez07 @bluenoon5372 @mayanqueenxx @callmesev @tssweets @im-nada @plaidconvers @zombayyyyy @blackwidownat2814 @bubblegirll26 @mrs-mischief1917 @synysterlucy @crispy-croke @localcoffeeshops-blog @winterklls @kincyn @sa1nt-bambi @sunglitter-moonglade @joyfulfxckery @jehnvhn @louisianalady

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TW: Canon typical violence, cussing, mentions of grief and death, canon typical violence, what happened to Gemma breifly mentioned Iykyk.

Part 11

The Long Way Round - Part 12

The afternoon had started out perfectly normal. You'd picked up Kenny and Ellie from school, listened to their chatter about math tests and playground drama, and decided to take them to the park a few blocks from their house. The weather was crisp but pleasant, the kind of day that made you want to be outside, and both kids had been cooped up indoors too much lately.

Ellie had made a beeline for the swings the moment you arrived, her legs pumping enthusiastically as she tried to swing higher than the safety chains would allow. Kenny had been more cautious, as usual, content to dig in the sandbox with a small plastic shovel he'd found abandoned near the slide. You'd settled onto a nearby bench with a book, keeping one eye on the kids while enjoying the rare moment of peace.

That's when you first noticed the two boys.

They were older than Kenny at least—maybe eight and ten—with the kind of confident swagger that came from being the bigger kids on the playground. The younger one had pale eyes, while the older boy's were darker, he had slicked back hair, more serious-looking. They'd approached Kenny first, crouching down beside the sandbox with what seemed like genuine interest in his elaborate sand castle construction.

"That's pretty cool," the older boy had said, and Kenny had beamed with pride at the unexpected attention from a big kid.

"I'm making a fortress," Kenny had explained shyly. "See, this part is where the knights live, and this is the moat."

"Can we help?" the younger boy had asked, and before you knew it, all three boys were working together, building an increasingly elaborate sand structure while chattering about dragons and battles and secret passages.

Ellie, never one to be left out, had abandoned her swing to join the group. "I'm good at building too," she'd announced, and the boys had made space for her without the usual complaints you might expect from kids their age about including a girl.

You'd felt a warm glow watching the impromptu friendship develop. Both Kenny and Ellie had been struggling socially since their mother's death—Kenny because he'd become more withdrawn and anxious, Ellie because her occasional behavioral issues had made some of the other parents wary of playdates. Seeing them laugh and play with what could be new friends felt like a small miracle.

That warm feeling had lasted exactly until the moment their father showed up.

You'd seen him approaching from across the park—a tall, muscular man with close-cropped silver hair and the kind of purposeful stride that suggested he was used to people getting out of his way. He was wearing black trousers and a plain gray button up shirt, nothing obviously threatening about his appearance, but something about him made your instincts prickle with unease.

It wasn't until he got closer that you saw the tattoos.

They covered his forearms in intricate black ink—symbols and numbers and words some of which meant nothing to you but somehow felt significant, dangerous. When he rolled up his sleeves to push one of the boys on the swing, you caught a glimpse of more ink higher up his arms, though you couldn't make out the details from where you were sitting.

"Cliffe, Duke," he'd called to the boys, his voice carrying easily across the playground. "Time to go."

The boys had groaned in the universal way of children being called away from something fun, but they'd started cleaning up their sand tools without argument. You'd stood up from your bench, intending to gather Kenny and Ellie as well—something about this man's presence made you want to get the kids home as quicker then usual.

"Thanks for playing with us," Ellie had said politely to the boys, her natural friendliness overriding any awareness of the tension you were feeling.

"Yeah, thanks," Kenny had added. "Maybe we'll see you here next time."

That's when the man had really looked at you for the first time, his eyes taking in your appearance with an intensity that made your skin crawl. You were dressed in your usual casual clothes—jeans, a soft sweater, sneakers practical enough for chasing after kids—nothing that should have drawn particular attention. But the way he was looking at you felt invasive, like he was cataloging details for some purpose you couldn't fathom.

"Cute kids," he'd said, and there was something in his tone that made the compliment sound like a threat. "They yours?"

"I work for their family," you'd said carefully, moving closer to Kenny and Ellie. Something about this conversation felt like navigating a minefield, though you couldn't put your finger on why.

"Ah." His smile had been cold, knowing. "I heard the biker's got themselves a little helper."

The way he'd said 'bikers' had sent ice through your veins. You didn't know much about Opie's club, but you knew enough to recognize that this man speaking about them with such familiarity and obvious disdain was not a good thing.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" you'd asked, trying to keep your voice light and polite despite the growing alarm bells in your head.

"AJ Weston," he'd said, extending a hand that you'd really, really not wanted to shake but had felt too socially programmed to refuse. His grip had been firm, lasting just a beat too long to be comfortable, thats when you noticed his arms where covered in hate fueled tattoos.

"No, we haven't met. But I know who you work for Ma'am."

The way he'd emphasized 'who you work for' had made it clear he wasn't talking about your role as a nanny. Somehow, this stranger knew about your connection to Opie, to the club, to things you didn't even fully understand yourself.

"Come on, kids," you'd said, your voice coming out higher than usual despite your efforts to sound calm. "We should head home for dinner."

"Aw, but we were having fun," Ellie had protested, but something in your tone must have communicated your urgency because both children had started gathering their things without further argument.

"Nice meeting you," you'd said to AJ Weston, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You'd wanted nothing more than to get Kenny and Ellie away from this man as quickly as possible, every maternal instinct you possessed screaming that he was dangerous.

"I'm sure we'll be seeing each other around," he'd replied, and the casual way he'd said it once again had felt like a promise and a threat all at once.

You'd herded the kids toward your car as quickly as you could without actually running. As you'd fumbled with the car keys, trying to get the doors unlocked so you could get Kenny and Ellie safely inside, you'd heard AJ Weston's voice behind you, pitched just low enough that the children wouldn't hear but clearly intended for your ears.

"Must be tough, being SAMCRO's little whore."

The words had hit you hard enough to make your head snap up, but you didn't look back. You'd never been called anything like that in your life, had never done anything to deserve such venom from a complete stranger. The casual cruelty of it, the way he'd delivered the insult with such matter-of-fact malice, had left you shaking as you'd finally managed to get the car started and pull away from the park.

During the drive home, Kenny and Ellie had chattered excitedly about their new friends, completely oblivious to your distress. You'd made appropriate noises of interest and encouragement while your mind raced, trying to process what had just happened and what it might mean.

By the time Opie had gotten home that evening, you'd managed to compose yourself enough to function normally, helping the kids with homework and getting dinner on the table without betraying your inner turmoil. But when Kenny and Ellie had launched into animated descriptions of their afternoon at the park over dinner, you'd felt your stomach clench with dread.

"We made this huge sand castle with Cliffe and Duke," Ellie had said, gesturing enthusiastically with her fork. "They were really good at building the towers, and they said maybe we could play with them again sometime."

"Yeah, and Duke showed me how to make the moat deeper so it would hold more water," Kenny had added. "They were really nice. Their dad came to pick them up, and he seemed nice too."

You'd caught Opie's eye across the table, seeing your own concern reflected in his expression. He'd known, somehow, that there was more to this story than the kids were telling. Maybe it was the careful way you'd been moving around the kitchen, or the fact that you'd been quieter than usual during dinner preparation, but something had tipped him off that all was not well.

"That sounds like fun," Opie had said to the kids, his voice carefully neutral. "What did their dad look like?"

"He was tall," Ellie had said. "And he had tattoos on his arms like you do, Dad, but different."

"Different how?"

"Just different," Kenny had chimed in. "More... scary looking, I guess? But he was nice to us."

After dinner, you'd gone through the usual routine of baths and bedtime stories, both kids still bubbling with excitement about their new friends. It wasn't until they were finally asleep that you'd had a chance to process what had happened, and by then, the full weight of your fear had settled over you like a heavy blanket.

You'd been in the kitchen, finishing the last of the dishes, when Opie had appeared in the doorway. He'd changed out of his work clothes into jeans and a t-shirt, his hair still damp from a shower, but there was tension in the set of his shoulders that told you he'd been thinking about the dinner conversation.

You'd paused in your dish washing, your hands still submerged in the soapy water, trying to figure out how to explain something you didn't fully understand yourself.

"Those two boys at the park" you'd started carefully. "Cliffe and Duke. They seemed nice enough, just normal kids playing at the park."

"But?"

You'd pulled your hands out of the water, reaching for a dish towel to dry them while you gathered your thoughts. "Their father, AJ Weston. He... he knew I worked for you. Knew about your club ... and his tattoos where ..."

The change in Opie's expression had been immediate and dramatic. The casual concern had vanished, replaced by something much darker, more dangerous. His whole body had gone tense, and you'd seen his hands curl into fists at his sides.

"Weston," he'd said, and the name had sounded like a curse on his lips.

"You know him?"

"Yeah, I know him." Opie's voice had been rough with barely contained anger, his shift in posture immediate he stood to his full height his arms crossing over his chest.

"What did he say to you?"

You'd hesitated, not wanting to repeat anything that might put him on edge more then he seemed to be, but knowing that Opie needed to understand the full scope of what had happened. "He was... unpleasant. Made it clear he knew more about me than he should have. And when I was leaving..." You'd swallowed hard, the memory of AJ Weston's voice making your skin crawl all over again.

"He called me a whore."

The silence that had followed your words had been deafening. Opie had gone completely still, his face a mask of cold fury that was somehow more frightening than if he'd started shouting. When he'd finally spoken, his voice had been deadly quiet.

"He called you what?"

"It's okay," you'd said quickly, though it very much wasn't okay. "I mean it's not, but he didn't threaten me or anything. He was just... unpleasant."

"It's not okay." Opie had moved into the kitchen with the kind of controlled grace that suggested violence barely held in check. "None of this is okay."

He'd stopped directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the gold flecks in his eyes, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands had come up to rest on your shoulders, his touch gentle despite the anger you could feel thrumming through him.

"Did he touch you?" Opie had asked, his voice still that dangerous quiet. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," you'd said quickly. "He shook my hand when he introduced himself, but that was it. He didn't... I mean, he was a arsehole, but he didn't actually do anything."

"He called you a whore," Opie had said, and you could hear the rage building in his voice. "That's doing something."

You'd looked up at him, seeing the protective fury in his expression, and felt something shift inside your chest. No one had ever looked at you like that before—like the thought of someone hurting you was personally offensive to them.

"I'm okay," you'd said softly, and one of his hands had moved from your shoulder to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing across your skin with infinite gentleness.

"You shouldn't have to deal with this shit," he'd said, and his voice had been rough with emotion. "You didn't sign up for any of this."

"I signed up to take care of your kids," you'd replied. "And I'll handle everything else."

"You shouldn't have to."

For a moment, you'd stood there in the quiet kitchen, his hand warm against your face, you'd found yourself leaning slightly into his touch without conscious thought.

Then Opie had seemed to realize what he was doing, and his hand had dropped away from your face. He'd stepped back, putting distance between you, and you'd seen him struggle to regain his composure.

"I need to make some calls," he'd said, his voice back to business. "Make sure the club knows about this."

You'd nodded, not trusting your voice, still feeling the phantom warmth of his hand on your cheek. "Should I... is there anything I need to do? Any precautions I should take with the kids?"

"Just... be careful. Don't take them anywhere alone for a while. If you need to go out, call me first." He'd paused at the kitchen doorway, looking back at you with an expression you couldn't quite read. "And if you see Weston again, anywhere, you get yourself and the kids away from him immediately and you call me. Don't worry about being polite, don't worry about making a scene. Just get away from him."

"Okay," you'd agreed, though the thought of encountering AJ Weston again had made your stomach twist with anxiety.

After Opie had disappeared into his bedroom to make his calls, you'd finished cleaning up the kitchen in a daze, your mind replaying every moment of the afternoon's encounter. The way AJ Weston had looked at you, the casual cruelty in his voice, the implication that your association with Opie's club made you a target for his contempt.

Opie closed the bedroom door behind him with barely controlled restraint, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. The image of you standing in his kitchen, telling him about that nazi arsehole's words, the way your voice had wavered slightly when you'd repeated that bastard's insult—it was burned into his mind like a brand. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled to Jax's number, his thumb hovering over the call button for just a moment before he pressed it.

The phone rang twice before Jax picked up, his voice already tense. "Brother, please tell me you're calling with good news."

"Weston approached my nanny today," Opie said without preamble, his voice low and rough. "At the park. His kids were playing with mine."

There was a pause on the other end, then a string of creative profanity that would have made a sailor blush. "Jesus Christ, Ope. What did he say?"

"Knew who she was. Knew she worked for me, knew about the club. Called her a whore when she was leaving." Each word felt like gravel in his throat, the rage building with every syllable.

"She's got no idea what there capable of, Jax."

"Fuck." Jax's voice was tight with his own anger. "This is escalating fast, brother. Too fast."

"How's Gemma holding up ?" Opie asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Those white power fucks... they had there hands on her Ope... on my fucking mother." Jax's voice went deadly quiet.

"Clay's talking lockdown."

Opie's free hand curled into a fist, his knuckles going white. He'd heard Clay in chapel that morning talking about what had happened to Gemma, Zobelle's thugs had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. But knowing that the same animals who had brutalized Jax's mother were now circling around you and his kids...

"When?" he asked.

"Soon. Maybe tomorrow, maybe sooner depending on what else these bastards try to pull." Jax paused. "Your girl's gonna have to come in too, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, No shit, brother. Wasn't even a question." Opie said, the words coming out harsher than he'd intended.

"She's family now, whether she knows it or not." There was something in Jax's tone—understanding, maybe.

"I gotta go," he said abruptly. "Need to get some things together."

"Ope." Jax's voice stopped him before he could hang up. "We're gonna handle this. All of it. Weston, Zobelle, all of these racist pieces of shit. They made this personal and now they're threatening what's ours."

What's ours. The possessive language should have bothered him, should have made him want to clarify that you weren't his anything, that this was just about protecting someone innocent who'd gotten caught up in club business through no fault of her own. Instead, it felt right in a way that made his chest tight.

"Yeah," he said finally. "See you soon, brother."

He ended the call and sat heavily on the edge of his bed, staring down at his phone. The smart thing would be to send you away— get you a generous severance, and get you as far from Charming and SAMCRO and all the violence that seemed to follow in their wake as possible. It would be the right thing to do, the safe thing.

But the thought of you leaving, of not seeing you make breakfast for his kids in the morning or hear you patiently helping Kenny with his homework, of not having you there when Ellie had one of her grief-fueled meltdowns—it made something in his chest clench painfully.

He stood up and moved to his closet, pulling out the duffel bag he used for club runs. Lockdown meant staying at the clubhouse until the threat was neutralized, meant sleeping on cots and eating and living like they were under siege. Which, he supposed, they were.

He threw clothes into the bag without much thought—jeans, t-shirts, underwear, the basics he'd need for however long this lasted. His hands moved automatically while his mind churned with everything that had led to this moment.

The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd lost Donna because of club business, because of choices he'd made and enemies he'd helped create. And now here he was, pulling another woman into the same dangerous world, putting you at risk because he was too selfish to let you go.

But this time would be different, he told himself as he zipped up his bag. This time he'd be ready. This time he wouldn't let anything happen to anyone.

He moved quietly down the hallway to the kids' rooms, grateful that both Kenny and Ellie were heavy sleepers. In Kenny's room, he found the small Spider-Man suitcase he used for overnight trips to Jax's house, carefully packing clothes and the comfort items his son would need—his favorite stuffed bear, the nightlight that kept the monsters away, the inhaler he sometimes needed when his anxiety spiked.

Ellie's room was more challenging. At eight, she had strong opinions about her clothes and would notice if he packed the wrong things. He tried to remember which outfits were her current favorites, which stuffed animals were essential and which could be left behind. He grabbed her art supplies too, knowing that drawing helped her process her emotions when words weren't enough.

By the time he'd finished packing for all three of them, it was nearly midnight. The house felt too quiet, too normal for what was coming. In a few hours, he'd be loading his kids into the truck and driving them to the clubhouse, trying to explain why they couldn't go home for a while without scaring them more than necessary.

He pulled out his phone and sent you a text:

Opie: You awake?

The message showed as delivered, but no response came. He stared at the screen for a few minutes, imagining you asleep in your own bed across town, completely unaware of what was happening. It occurred to him that he didn't even know much about your living situation—whether you had roommates who would worry if you disappeared suddenly, whether you had family who would ask questions.

There was so much he didn't know about you, he realized. Your favorite color, your middle name, what you'd wanted to be when you grew up, whether you'd ever been in love. The thought of all those unknown details, all the pieces of yourself you hadn't shared yet, made him want to learn every single one.

When five more minutes passed without a response, he gave up on subtlety and called you directly.

You answered on the fifth ring, your voice thick with sleep and confusion. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," he said, his voice softer than he'd intended. "Sorry to wake you up."

"Opie?" There was rustling on your end, like you were sitting up in bed. "Is everything okay? Are the kids—"

"The kids are fine," he said quickly, then paused, trying to figure out how to explain this without terrifying you. "But something's come up. Club business. I need you to pack a bag."

"Pack a bag?" You sounded more awake now, and he could hear the worry creeping into your voice. "What kind of bag? Where are we going?"

"The clubhouse," he said. "There's been some... developments. With the people we talked about earlier. It's not safe for you to be at your place right now."

There was silence on your end for a long moment, and he could practically hear you processing this information, trying to make sense of it with your limited understanding of his world.

"How long?" you asked finally, and he was grateful that you didn't push for more details, didn't demand explanations he wasn't sure how to give.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Could be a few days, could be longer. Pack like you're going on a trip, at least a week, but bring comfortable clothes. It's not exactly the Ritz."

"Okay." Your voice was small, uncertain, but he could hear you moving around, probably already getting out of bed.

He wondered if in your mind, taking care of his kids was still just a job, something separate from the rest of your life.

"Focus on packing," he said. "I'll pick you up in an hour."

"An hour? Jesus Christ. " There was a note of panic in your voice now. "Opie, you're scaring me. What's really going on?"

He closed his eyes, hating that he was the one putting that fear in your voice, hating that his world was once again reaching out to hurt someone. "I know this is scary," he said, his voice as gentle as he could make it. "And I know you don't understand what's happening. But I need you to trust me, okay? I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"Promise?" The word came out smaller and more vulnerable then you'd intended, maybe it was the dark, maybe it was the uncertainty of it all, you werent sure.

"Promise," he said, and meant it with every fiber of his being. "Pack your bag, and I'll explain everything when I get there."

After he hung up, Opie sat in the dark silence of his house, surrounded by packed bags and uncertainty. But as scared as he was for what was coming, as guilty as he felt for dragging you deeper into his world, there was something else too.

Relief, maybe, that you'd be where he could see you, where he could protect you. Because somewhere between your first day on the job and tonight's phone call, keeping you safe had become more important to him than keeping you innocent.

And that realization scared him almost as much as the thought of Weston getting his hands on you.

[syndrossi]

i am constantly reminded as to why i find the restoration au just…. so satisfyingly delicious. it’s like a prime cut steak or a rich cheesecake with a nutella top

you’ve got so many dynamics to approach, a whole new storyline to deal with, an unpredictable main character (if you count daemon as the main, sorta?)

because honestly, daemon interacting with anyone in GoT is profoundly interesting and worthy of you just leaning over, putting your chin in your palm and going ‘hm’ like you didn’t know you’d like that.

then you get to see the twins dealing with their own stuff. jon moving into an older brother figure with the twins and protecting them, getting more of an idea as to who his mother was. and possibly feels more at family with the boys than he ever did with the starklings. oops, i didn’t say that, but i did read about it in robb’s diary. then he gets a father (step-grandfather? figure?) who’s willing to go through seven hells and back for him and has no issue displaying it. also dragons.

we see baelon/R!jon/willam etc, having to go through his own trauma of seeing his siblings now alive, his last moments of having seen them happening around him. and having to protect rhaegar who’s never been a bastard before— and yeah, it’s kinda weird seeing yourself as a 14yo

rhaegar/raymar had never had it as tough as jon did as a bastard, and his coloring isn’t helping him, his whole appearance screams for cat and the kids what the woman who ned cheated with looked like. so even the ones who don’t hold it against him may take it out subconsciously. and also, they dont have daemon around and he quite misses a good father figure— because so far ned isn’t winning any prizes

wait is that right? how does rhaegar feel about ned?

Rich cheesecake is a good way of describing it, and it's partly why it can be so frustrating to write lol. So much to consider! So dense!

Daemon in AGoT era is especially entertaining, even though we tragically haven't gotten to see it yet outside of miscellaneous ficlets, because he's used to an entirely different world! House Targaryen demands respect. He is the brother of the king and should be treated accordingly. And he finds himself in a world where House Targaryen is in ruins, exiled, etc and it's a death sentence to be a Targaryen in Westeros while Robert's around.

And once he groks the "okay, House Targaryen was overthrown," it doesn't matter. He is a dragonlord in a world without dragons. That automatically places him above all others. (TBF, he has that attitude in his own era lol.)

And that doesn't even get into the delicious dynamics of him interacting with people who have hurt House Targaryen / his sons' reincarnations / his sons / miscellaneous other collectible Targaryens.

And yes, Jon dealing with the upheaval of having fullblooded siblings, learning about his "mother," having to entirely reconsider his plans to go to the Wall (because how could he abandon his kid brothers?), etc. Every relationship goes through a shift. His relationship with Ned, Robb, his other siblings... All of which is before Hurricane Daemon arrives in Winterfell, with Dany and dragons in tow.

Seeing yourself at fourteen is pretty rough, huh? 😂 Poor R!Jon. He knows what Jon's feeling, and he's trying to smooth things over for everyone because he loves his family and it hurts to see them at odds when he never got to see most of them again. Living with ghosts (and Ghost). And seriously stressing over Rhaegar, because oh shit oh shit Robert's coming. (And because Rhaegar knows the truth now.)

Rhaegar meanwhile is having his "awful, terrible, no-good, very bad day" on basic repeat. House Targaryen is gone, it's his fault, if anyone finds out that they're Targaryen they could be killed, Jon's his kid and it's his fault he had a clearly miserable childhood, no one is treating Jon with the respect his deserves (either Jon), his mom's dead, oh and he had a family and his stupid war got them murdered too, and it was Robert? His loud, boisterous Baratheon cousin? And Jon's a lying liar who clearly pitied him too much to tell him the truth, because he was a hero and Rhaegar was a stain upon the family name...

(And then yes, being the personification of what Catelyn fears/hates about their supposed mother, and the trickle down effect of that. And feeling utterly uprooted, because while at least this is a home of a sorts for Jon, everyone Rhaegar has ever cared about is dead, as far as he knows, and this isn't where he belongs, he belongs back in the past, where dragons live and Daemon is their father.)

His feelings about Ned are likely complicated. Here is a man willing to stain his honor to protect two Targaryen children from near-certain death. And he did it before to save Rhaegar's own son, except he let Jon grow up with the stain of bastardy and all but sent him to the Wall, ignorant of his birth. But it's all tangled up for Rhaegar because he can't get over that it's his fault that Jon ended up there to begin with. That none of this would have happened if it weren't for him. So it's Ned's fault, and it's his own. (Someone please remind Rhaegar that he isn't canon!Rhaegar and isn't responsible for his failures.)

[namea123]

I've got Some Thought.

*Incoming long post, you have been warned*

I've calmed down considerably from the first time I've read the last chapter a few hours ago. I was really hopeful that Hino would have given them their happy ending but I should have known better.

The end of Vampire Knight ended on a hopeful note. Yuuki wanted Kaname to be able to experience the world free from the guilt and pain of his long weary life. She wanted to free him from that unending thirst that came with being a vampire.

Memories was meant to fill the gap in for Kaname as he explored his new found human life. The girls, who are the daughters of the woman he no longer remembered guided him with that task--the elder being his very own child.

He definitely felt lighter, and was more playful than when he was a pureblood. It was sweet to watch Kaname get accustomed to being essentially a newborn human. Ai and Ren did their best to help him navigate this new world.

Everything was going well--at first.

Then we got into the crux of Memories. The retelling of the past and oh boy, it didn't take long for problems to noticeably arise.

I'm not going to explain the past chapters as it would be too long and quite frankly too annoying to speak about it here. I will say that it's as they start going back into the past that a lot of glaring issues started arising.

Th first and most obvious one, was the painful pacing. Hino probably thought giving a 1000 year time skip at the time was going to sound cool until she actually had to write about it.

It is a massive, massive timeline to cover and, sadly, one which a 4-6 chapters a year workload would not work well with.

A lot of the past chapters dragged on for.too.long. Should some of the past been explored? Absolutely, it would have been needed, but so much of it felt like unnecessary filler.

Then there's the issue with how Kaname's interaction with his own daughter was handled. Ai and Kaname have NEVER had a one on one moment in the story that didn't involve Ren. You know who was able to have a personal moment with Kaname? Ren. You know who also was able to have her own personal chapter with her father? Also Ren.

Ai longed to have a meaningful connection with Kaname for many years. And even till the end this has never happened.

Yuuki's main desire was to allow Kaname to remain unburdened by his memories of being a vampire. Thanks to the end chapters she might as well had kept him as a pureblood.

*spoilers about the end*

Kaname longs to be with Yuuki again, him not recalling her doesn't change anything as he resolves within himself that he will bring her back. In doing so, the only way it can be solved is if he dies.

He takes a drop of blood from Toma's dried out corpse to get back vampire powers. Bare with me as I'm interpreting this based on the raws I saw as the official translation will take a few days.

He gets to be some level of vampire again, pulls Yuuki from his chest. They have one last talk before she regresses to a baby and they die together in the end.

I am not joking-- I wish I was.

The final chapter of memories has ultimately destroyed the point of Yuuki's sacrifice and the ending of the original.

What was the point of having Yuuki's wish for Kaname to live a life unburdened by his pure blood thirst and to live in the sun when it only occurred for a few months at best?

Why didn't Ai just change her father back into a pureblood? Why did he have to go after Toma in order to become some level of vampire again?

Why have Ai long to meet her father and now that she had her mother die, her father also is ultimately taken from her and she's chill about the whole situation???

Why did Kaname die without ever meeting Aido again and his other friends? Ai told him they never forgot about him, not even once, yet the only person that actually seemed to fit was Takuma. The same Takuma who will never meet his best friend again despite looking after him for centuries and giving up on creating his own family.

What was the actual point of turning him human? He wasn't able to live a long time, he didn't die as an old man who reunited with Yuuki as he passed on. The girls didn't actually mean too much to him as he dies after a few months with them.

Kaname and Yuuki 's story, despite being told that there's a unique connection that lasts throughout all eternity, ends on a depressing and unsatisfactory note.

The story was ultimately a waste of time. No proper payout and flimsy character relationships. It was a shoddy conclusion with an ultimately depressing ending.

I could have listed a few scenarios I could have predicted this story finishing as. Not a single one of them even came close to how disappointing of an ending this was.

Thanks A lot Hino.

[itsrlymine]

Hey girl! How you doing? I hope you’re thriving sis because I’ll never forget the things you taught me! I came running because I have a success story finally 🙏🏻 I was spiraling hard after a lot of failures (not even failures but bear with me 😭) but Ive had enough so i said “if she (itsrlymine) said its only about deciding its mine and sticking to that narrative, why not just do that and stfu?!” So yeah i decided its enough yapping about stupid stuff and focus on my success, I started slow and the success came pouring in gradually lol and here it is:

- manifested weight loss (3 kgs off bitches because it will always be hot girl summer for me)

- My waist is more pronounced

- Being less lazy and having more energy with less sleep because i wanna have fun and go on vacations

- My nails growing faster naturally im tired of getting em done lol i wanted a simpler look

- People looking at me more in the streets because I love attention hehe

- My sister getting her package fast because she ordered a long time ago and complained my ear off

- My sister leaving her job where her boss doesn’t respect her (she was paid crumbles to do tons of work and came late at night looking like a zombie i swear), so i decided for her and she got $4000 from a client before leaving (i ain’t tell the job lol)

- My sister (the same one lol) getting a new job where she is sat prettily and paid way more than the past shitty job did

- My sister getting more followers because she’s a baddie

- My mom getting a raise because sis has been neglecting herself so i decided nah miss girl is gonna get money and get dolled up lol (I’m manifesting a glow up for her next)

- Mom giving me more money so I can buy the clothes I want

- My father booking a vacation in one of the best places in the whole country (in a villa too because I don’t like those cramped hotels bruh not on my watch) and when I tell you the beach water is clear asf i cant wait to go!!

- My father randomly buying a dress for me

- Exams being easy and cheating whenever i want (it was for fun lol i love talking during exams 😩) and them mfs so strict but i was never told a thing lol even when its happening right in front of them

- Postponing my exam results because i wanna have fun first and not worrying (it got postponed like i said but I’m gonna work on my worries and get the fattest A)

- I was sad at the last day of school because I only realized then that a cute guy from the next class was a fan of the same anime as me because he had a shirt on with a symbol of it (its unknown lol and people at this school barely watch anime IDKW THAT SHIT IS GOOD AF) so I was annoyed but I just told myself “nah its okay imma get one better than him fr” and i literally forgot about it lol and then one day (2-3 weeks later or sm? I was focused on other manifestations) when I tell you my sister showed me the dm of a guy who told her “i wanna be friends with your sister” ????? He had the symbol on his bio ?? He is hotter and has the same exact vibe as me and music taste as me?? Dude is also literate and smart asf (my type fr) and his appearance is better and literally matches my type more 😩 he was like your sis pretty i wanna text her can i 😭😭 my guy is so respectful imma manifest hanging out with him fr because he is that brilliant (though im manifesting him a new haircut because i was like mm no i don’t like the current one BOY IF YOU DON’T TAKE CARE IF YOUR HAIR like why they always pick the worst haircuts smh

https://www.tumblr.com/itsrlymine/784635487987138560/can-you-pls-give-us-a-challenge-im-sorry-but-i

Btw this is me actually 🤨 Im the one who sent this to you and I was spiraling so badly like a stupid bitch over nothing BYE you whooped my ass fr but without you I would’ve spent another year without success 💀 so thanks for that whoop mamas I’m forever grateful and also I want to be 👑 anon please because I shall come back with even more success stories!

omg babes I was thinking about you a week ago bc I was like what I ain't heard from you since omg yesssss!!!! I love the fact that you came back with a laundry list bc that's how it should be tf!! all it takes is decidingggg like there is no other way to say it I swear. it's so easy and simple and you get nothing but success once you implement it. I'm glad the ass whooping helped and you took matters into your own hands yessss. I'm excited for the other successes you will be sending!!!!!

[idekkkjja]

Yandere Haerin please🙏🙏

Yandere!Haerin drabble

Heads-up: murder mentioned, a lil blood mentioned, and quite suggestive but nothing sexual at all. She’s just a bit obsessed that’s all 🥰.

Quiet and reserved in the corner of the classroom, she was dismissed to the sidelines and would observe others subtly. Not having many friends either despite her mysterious beauty—she would rather stay in her zone and be at peace

But her peace was disturbed the moment she saw you. You were the chaos of her life, even not directly involved. Loud, rowdy, and had no concern for others’ personal space. The opposite of her, and opposites do attract after all not only in physics that she creepily obsesses over.

Despite being the type not to take interest in anyone except her studies or her own… hobbies, you managed to make her heart beat irregularly and too fast to count as normal. It took her too long to realise that she had feelings for you.

More than she should.

Slowly, each day would draw out more information she learnt about you. Including weirdly specific things, such as that in literature you would write messily and in cursive, and in maths you would write carefully and the letters would be separated.

You were a little dumb too, although that was obvious from the start. A popular bimbo, who would expect any better? It made it easier to analyse you.

You had too much jewelry too, breaking most school rules in the uniform, and somehow got away with it using a lousy excuse.

In the changing rooms, her eyes would discreetly scan over your body hungrily, and back home would research the brand you wear underneath the overly tight uniform you wore in every weather.

Also, you were popular with the boys. Haerin expected it, and she disliked it.

Too much, it was unbearable.

And that’s when the disappearances started.

Boys you talked to, she made sure their sudden departure from school or the area wasn’t suspicious and linked to you directly.

She would swiftly murder boys that you can’t remember from months ago or a few years ago, where evidence of your infatuation with them is limited and not easy to find.

And she would delete the evidence, too. How considerate of her!!

People did talk, they always talk about anything. So, when the news broke out about males, usually teenage boys leaving the area or never coming back home—people panicked.

You were bamboozled but brushed it aside since it didn’t affect you. Not caring too much about it until your pretty boy toy was part of the victims ever so recently.

So, it foolishly led you to investigate it yourself. Alone, surprisingly. You being upset wasn’t the only reason why you were taking a closer look at the case; it was because of curiosity.

Curiosity killed the cat, they say.

Following the trails of footsteps from the last seen fling, you looked around and heard a sudden rustle.

Next thing you knew, you got bashed with a baseball bat on your scalp and fell unconscious.

Tied up gently against the chair, unfortunately still firm enough to restrict movement, your eyes fluttered and the pain shot sharply throughout your head.

Greeted by a clean basement, you frowned and frantically looked around.

“What the fuck?” Automatically you cursed, and then saw the meek girl standing in front of you with an eerie blank expression.

Blood tainted her fingertips, dripping down unapologetically on her white shirt, staining it and that was the answer you needed to know what was happening.

“Am I gonna be your first female victim?” You asked, bored. Leaning back in the chair, amusement flickered in your eyes and hers narrowed back at you in thought.

“Do you aim for pretty people or something? I don’t see a pattern for the other boys though…” trailing off, you lifted your head further to stare at her. Those eyes, usually dull and devoid of emotion, something sparked within the darkness.

Testing out the ropes slowly, you accepted your defeat simply because you were not built for situations like these. You weren’t some president or a spy: just an ordinary school girl who had too many friends.

“No,” Haerin answered moments later, the sharpened knife twirling lazily in her fingers as she eyed you up.

Vulnerable, bounded. Unable to do anything.

Under her control.

Exactly how she liked it.

“Are you that much of a slut?” She approached you, her steps light and steady as if a predator ready to strike.

You weren’t fazed by the insult, you couldn’t help being so pretty that a lot of people wanted you.

You don’t blame them.

“Is this what it’s about?” Instead of answering, you tilted your head and directed her another question with a smile that could be perceived as mocking.

“I don’t like it.” The cool metal embraces your flushed skin, tracing it along your jawline with its sharp edge that could make blood rise in no time if enough pressure is used.

Caught off guard, you bit back a laugh to not startle her into doing something sudden.

“You like me, don’t you?” You observed, the statement felt like an accusation. It was wrong to do so.

“No.” She denies, pausing in her movement, the knife trailing down to your collarbone.

“More than that.” Unsure from her words, nonetheless, she continued and refused to look at you.

Almost snarling, it became a crooked smirk embracing your lipstick-tinted lips.

“Love? This isn’t love, baby.”

She stiffened, her jaw clenching.

“My love is this.”

You retorted sharply, “Kidnapping me and murdering people out of petty jealousy doesn’t woo or convince me.”

Petty? You thought she was petty? Haerin’s hands trembled in restraint, and she tried controlling her impulsiveness that now resorted into violence and more.

“I’m not trying to convince you. My words are enough.” Stoic, she straightened up and pulled the knife away from your skin that could’ve been smeared in the deep red hue by now if you kept provoking her further.

“I prefer actions.” You simply said; the smile was still present on your face.

“Let me convince you of that way, then. Physically.” Haerin took it as an opportunity to let her cool palm press against your throat, her fingers clawing to keep you in her hold.

“Who knew quiet little Kang Haerin was such a perv?” You mused, leaning in and ignoring the ropes creaking in protest.

“You weren’t that subtle in the changing room, you know?”

Flustered, she went rigid like a stone statue. “Shut up,” she grumbled, creeping down to your collar bones and caressing the smooth skin.

“I’ll let you convince me, I guess.”

She almost cracked a smile, “you wouldn’t be left guessing when I’m done with you.”

[sakiii-leoneed]

// beware. i am Thinking. <- autistic saki truther

[musubiki]

mochi thinks its kinda hot but kinda annoying how much lime eats. on one held he works out regularly and as a tall young man has one of those ridiculously high metabolisms where he can eat like 12 donuts and 3 blizzards and still be in shape, so she gets it. also he looks really good so she cant complain. but on the other end there are (a bit too frequently occurring) mornings where she wants like. spam and eggs or something. and theres like 1 egg and zero spam since lime needs like 6 eggs for breakfast and they havent gone grocery shopping yet

[atlxolotl]

Transcript and links to Reddit under the Read more at the end

I miss my husband so goddamn much

February 27th, 2025

I (35M) divorced my husband (36M) three years ago. And God, I miss him. I asked for a divorce for a few reasons, most of which being that his depression got exponentially worse day after day and he refused to seek treatment. Sometimes he wouldn't even go into work and ended up getting fired from his job. I stayed with him for so fucking long, praying that one day he would start trying to get better. It was all I ever wanted, but that day didn't come. I sobbed the entire time signing those papers, and when I handed them to him and asked for a divorce, he just gave me the emptiest, deadest look and signed them without a word. My heart felt like it had been shattered with a hammer, anger and sadness and fear tied together in the world's tightest, ugliest knot and inset deep into my chest.

I put on a brave face for my friends, tried to frame it as shackles coming off and a new beginning, but it was a lie. It just hurt, and it keeps hurting, and it will never stop hurting. He was my soulmate. I'll never love anyone like I loved him. He used to be so sweet and loving, so passionate and happy and every other wonderful thing a man could want from another.

They say each day gets easier, but it isn't for me. It's been three years and I'm still reaching over to the other side of the bed in the morning to pull him close, and it always stings when my hands touch fabric and not his skin. It's been three years and I'm still expecting to see his car in the driveway when I get home from work. It's been three years and my heart isn't any less broken than the day he left.

I've been stalking his socials, I'll admit. He's been getting back to the gym, started meds, and I see him smiling so genuinely in these photos. He looks so incredible. Maybe if I had just waited, he would have changed his mind and went to a doctor like he is now? Or was it me that held him down? Was I making it worse?

I hope not. I wanna go over to his place and just fall into his arms and beg him to take me back. Maybe he's wishing the same thing about me. If there's even a chance I could have my boy back I feel like I should try. I'll never know otherwise.

EDIT: One: I am a homosexual man. My husband is a homosexual man. I am not a woman. Yes, I know I'm effeminate and kind of emotional. Get creative.

Two: my husband was a binge drinker. He refused treatment no matter how much I begged. We got antidepressants but he wouldn't take them. I know he's started meds now because he's posted about them and his 2 yrs sober chip that he got last month.

Three: I never stopped loving him. I never loved him any less. Near the end of our marriage, I started drinking to cope. The second I realized I was, I realized he was dragging me down with him, and I couldn't help him anymore. I didn't dip the second it got hard. Many of you are being kind of rude. I'll accept that I wasn't the perfect husband, nobody is. But claims that I never loved him are just wrong and make me feel sick to my stomach.

EDIT 2: No, I am not the catalyst for this. His depression started when his young brother died terribly and unexpectedly. It's not because he just hated me so much. We were childhood sweethearts and had been together for years when this happened.

[UPDATE] I met my husband that I divorced 3 years ago

March 2nd, 2025

Well, with Reddit's advice, I did it. A few days ago, I called my (35M) ex-husband (36M) whom I divorced after 6 years when he refused to seek treatment for his depression.

I called him later in the evening. It was the first time we'd spoken since a bit of trouble he'd had while he was still drinking 2 1/2 years ago. He picked up on the second ring. Our conversation was a little stilted at first, as to be expected, but he said he was really glad to hear from me. We ended up meeting up for coffee yesterday as so many of you suggested. I'll admit: it was kind of hard to see him, but in a good way? He looked so much better than the last time I had seen him, but he looked exactly like the man I married. He had put off a ton of weight (he gained like 75ish pounds during his struggle with depression, and before some dick says so, I didn't leave him because of his weight gain), he looked way healthier and very put together. I'll just say it: he looked incredibly hot. What made it hard was that I couldn't kiss him hello like I used to. But God, the way his eyes lit up when he saw me, I barely needed to.

We got our coffee and sat, and he updated me a little on his life in the last 3 years.

What really turned his life around was in part the divorce but moreso a DUI (nobody was hurt, he was caught a few blocks from his apartment). He's since gone to rehab and AA, gotten his license back, and had to use a breathalyzer whenever he started his car for a while. He hasn't had a drop of alcohol since and I told him I was so fucking proud of him. He's also started antidepressants, and made a point of telling me that they're not SSRIs, but when I asked what that meant he got embarrassed and told me nevermind (???). Bottom line is that they've been helping him, he's back to being a gym rat, and he's almost completely turned his life around. This was around the point I started tearing up. It just felt so good knowing he was okay. Better than okay, he was *good*.

I also apologized to him for not sticking by him. He cut me off and said I had nothing to apologize for. He was a wreck, and I was being dragged down with him. That also felt good to hear. I apologized for not contacting him much during the last 3 years. That apology, he accepted.

He was dating someone for a few months, too. He broke up with him once he tried to get him to drink on New Year's. He seemed dismissive of the guy. Guess it wasn't too serious.

We got up and went on a walk after a few hours, and I think we both realized it felt like a first date. I had to stop myself from trying to hold his hand at a few points, I'll admit. We ended up sitting on a bench in a nearby park, and I confessed.

I told him I missed him more than anything, how I never stopped loving him, and how if he wanted to, I'd love to try again from the beginning this time. We'd go to couples' therapy, keep our heads above the water, and take it slow. He was quiet for a minute before he told me something. He said he was doing better now, but there may be a time where he sunk low again. Depression isn't easily cured, and he was far from cured. He still had bad days, but he said there would be one difference: he promised he would never stop trying to improve. He was never going to give up like he did before, and refused to neglect me like he used to. If I was willing to accept that truth, he was willing to try again. I agreed, and he pulled me into an embrace and snuck a kiss to my temple. You know when it's the first warm day of spring after a cold, harsh winter, and the soft breeze and basking sun hit your skin at the same time? It felt something like that, to the 1000th degree. After a while he walked me back to my car and squeezed my hand goodbye, and the second I got inside I started sobbing like a baby. Happy tears, though.

I'm currently sitting in bed, kicking my feet like a teenage girl, texting him back and forth to schedule an actual date. He said he'd plan everything, and try his best to make up for the birthdays and anniversaries he missed. He said it would "knock my socks off." What a dork. I love being in love. Not gonna lie, this is gonna be a bit hard to explain to my friends and family. Not looking forward to those conversations, but right now I don't care. My man loves me.

Thank you to everyone who had kind words to say, and all the people that messaged me with sympathy and advice. I hope we all find happiness, and love if we want it. I never would have made the leap if y'all hadn't encouraged me. Best of luck to all of you, and sorry for the overly flowery language <3

EDIT: we've scheduled a date for tomorrow evening. I'll let people know how it went two days from now in my final (unless something big happens) update.

EDIT 2: at his place presently. Shame me not, reddit.

[FINAL UPDATE] I went on a date with my ex-husband last night

March 5th, 2025

My (35M) ex-husband (36M) and I recently reconnected. I won't go over the details of why we split or our reconciliation since I'm sure the average redditor can click buttons and most likely read. He was the one taking me out, and promised that it would, in his words, "knock my socks off" to make up for his neglect of me. He sure as hell delivered.

A little backstory, we've been together since we were 15 and 16 respectively, and have never moved out of our hometown. This year would have been our 20th anniversary (of getting together, not marriage). We were dating secretly for about five years before our parents caught us one day during summer break. The fallout from finding out their son was gay actually made his parents split. His dad wanted to send him away to conversion therapy. He's seen his father maybe once per year on average, and every time he's incredibly cold towards me. Would never refer to me as his son-in-law, only my husband's "pal." I wonder why. Anyway, not what you're here to read. I'll get on with the lore.

He picked me up from the house and wouldn't tell me where we were going, but told me to dress warmly. He ended up taking me to the place where we met: a run down ice skating rink in our town. He used to do hockey, and I spent some time trying to learn figure skating until people started beating me up for it. Both sports would practice at the same time and I remember barely being able to keep my eyes off him. We went skating, I tried to pull off a few of the moves I remembered (he only had to catch me from falling on my ass once or twice, and I won't complain about an attractive man that I love hooking his arm around my waist), and we spent an hour or so there until our feet hurt. At one point I said that my face was getting cold, so he skated around in front of me and placed his gloved hands on my cheeks to warm me up. I just about burned a hole in the ice from how hard I was blushing, I swear to God.

He wasn't done then. We left and went to dinner, specifically the restaurant where we had our first date. It's a cheap hole-in-the-wall place, seeing as we were poor teenagers when we first met. We chatted and ate food that probably took 5 years off our lives, he was an incorrigible flirt, and even held my hand underneath the table like he did all those years ago. I know I said I never stopped loving him, and I stand by that, but I think I somehow fell in love with him a thousand times over again during that meal.

At the end of dinner, he asked if I had energy for one more simple thing, to which I agreed. He took me a while out of town to a dark sky zone park, specifically the one where he proposed to me ten years ago. He set out a blanket to sit on and another to cuddle under, and we went stargazing all bundled up together. You never know how much you miss the sound of someone's heartbeat until you haven't heard it for so long. We shared a bottle of sparkling grape juice in plastic champagne flutes and dumb, giggly kisses. It felt so similar yet so different. He told me in a moment of quiet that he loved me, and oh, God. It took everything I had not to cry. I barely hesitated before asking if he wanted to change venues. He seemed surprised, but eagerly accepted.

I ended up at his place, as some of you may have seen from my edit on my second post yesterday. I wanted to take it slower than this, but it was so hard to. I was so starved of affection and hadn't been intimate with anyone for just about six years. I'm gonna keep what happened at his between us, but all I'll say is that his medication was no issue and all of you should be jealous. I woke up in his bed this morning, reached over for him, and pulled him close just like I used to do. I haven't been this happy in a long time. We had a sleepy discussion and decided to get back together, but we're not using the term boyfriends. It just feels weird after all this time. So he's my partner, or my lover. He's mine.

Thank you, reddit. Wouldn't have done it without a little push from the internet. Let's see where all this goes.

[syluses]

separation anxiety

⤷ caleb experiences a rut after a long time, and it just so happens that you’re in his path.

cw. 18+ smut, hybrid! caleb, knotting, dubcon if you squint, breeding, obsessive/possessive behavior, perv caleb, fem human! reader, ruts, size difference, also a lil breeding, 3.5k words because i physically struggle to write smut without a preamble, reader is ovulating and it triggers his rut this time for whatever reason

an. saw this trope going around & wanted to try it <33 he’s got that DAWG in him 💪 also i cant decide if hybrid caleb gives german shepherd vibes or samoyed vibes…. that moments post lives rent free in my mind tho idk (>_<)

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, & 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅! (๑´ `๑)♡

Caleb would say he hates you for the time you’re gone, but it’d be a big fat lie. His love for you, big and bursting in his chest, deepens in the quiet windows where you’re present at work or running errands throughout Linkon before returning home to him.

There’s a permanence of you in his mind and being. He wants it no other way.

His devotion for you doesn’t necessarily drown him- no, you’re always there with a lifering waiting- but it certainly sweeps him up and threatens to.

He gets a bit ahead of himself sometimes, he’s aware of that; energetic, bulging at the seams with vigor; whether it’s an integral part of his personality or just a consequence of his breed, the pound he came from never quite knew. Your Gran never figured that out, either, and for as sweet and trying as she was, she soon realized she couldn’t foster him for long.

Because he was a big boy, hungry for attention and wired to please, well-meaning but oft over involved with personal space— and he brought a loaded package that your Gran just couldn’t sign her name off on, not after a few months, anyway. She tried her best before nudging him into your care, because she sure as hell wasn’t about to give him up to that squalid pound or the streets again- and besides, the mutt liked her granddaughter; all those visits she paid throughout the summer obviously endeared Caleb to her, and quickly.

You admit, it’s a mite difficult to juggle between long days at work, little tasks that drag you from point to point throughout Linkon, and your own personal life on top of caring for a hybrid stowed away in your shoebox apartment— but your grandmother was all but sapped of her energy then, turning to you for aid although she seldom ever did, and you’d always lend a hand where you could.

The mutt- Caleb, is his name (and you call it fondly even as he’s pawing at your thighs for attention or drooling on your collar)- has grown on you considerably in the past half year, anyway.

You won’t let him down or leave him at the curb. He’s yours. The red collar you bought him says as much, printed with your number on a silver plate, and he wears it not because you make him but because he’s proud of it.

He’s a good boy, he is. He always has been and for that you’re thankful.

Except, this week he’s… different.

As of a few days ago, it’s like he’s been testing the waters- and your patience- on just how far he can go before you tell him off or say bad dog. He must find them warm because he’s just been diving deeper as the week progresses.

You don’t know what to do. He’s oddly aggressive. It’s not rare at all for him to follow you all around your apartment, but he’s foregone the very last shred of respect for your personal space and nips when you try to push him away. Not hard enough to actually hurt- the yip you make is more surprised than anything when he pulls you back in and licks at the small red patch- but you look wounded at it.

Because Caleb doesn’t bite— he just doesn’t.

He wraps you up in seemingly endless embraces and breathes your smell in until he’s dizzy, laughing into your neck like a giddy child. He does this every time you try to leave for work and he’s made you late for it.

Maybe it’s just because you’re ovulating and a little hormonal, but it makes you quite sour and the mood stays even when you return in the afternoon. He’s never liked when you’re gone, sure, but he’s always been there to see you off at the door with a pout as you scratch behind his ear- more or less tame about it.

Your patience really frays at the odd uptick in his possessiveness, though. It’s hurtful.

You’ve always treated him less like a pet- a hybrid- and more like a friend, and you feel quite indignant for it when he growls and tells you that he hates the smell of other men on you, hearing none of your excuses that it’s ‘just coworkers’, glaring at you like some brainless extension of him. You feel less like a person and more like an object, a streetlamp in which he emerges from the shadows for just to piss on to show it belongs to him.

He’s touchy. Snippy. Glued to your side at all times. It’s concerning and frustrating and confusing all at once.

By the fifth day mark, on Friday night, you’re tuckered out by it and don’t question where he is when you return home early from a shift and he’s, uncharacteristically, not there to greet you.

A red collar however, laid on the floor, its tag glittering under dim hallways lights, strikes you as both curious and unsettling.

He never takes that off. No- says it’s his way of showing you and the whole world that he belongs to you, and— have you been too impatient with him lately? Brusque? Maybe you’re a little hormonal but it’s no cause to get short with him, even when he’s acting up, and what if he no longer wants you as his owner—

A gasp.

You find him in your bedroom, humping your pillow, yowling as he comes undone- unawares- and the walls spin as you nearly faint.

You drop your purse. “Caleb!” You shriek, and a visible shiver rolls down his spine as he turns around.

“Bad dog!”

✦

You sleep on it.

Well, you wash your sheet and your pillowcases- and then you sleep on it.

Maybe you overreacted. If anything, you should be grateful for what you walked in on because otherwise, he wouldn’t have known how to tell you he’s been going through a bit of a hot phase- the first of his you’ve experienced- and doesn’t know how to control himself.

You blush just thinking about it, shame knocking in your chest as your heart beats heavy. You feel awful for walking in on him for a number of reasons. One of them being he came all over your bed- and his tummy- and you had to clean both up through furious tears as you peeled your covers off the mattress and pointed him off in the direction of the bathroom, telling him to run the faucet and quick.

A pass of guilt, the fear of you being angry with him, made its round across his kicked expression but he held off on arguing.

For the first documented time in the whole week, Caleb appeared mellow- not agitated, restless, or tense- and rather crestfallen, and you noted it only vaguely as you irately turned on the washer.

Now, it’s in the forefront of your brain.

Well, if he’s been going through some kind of rut lately, it only makes sense he’d be all kinds of pent up, and that his release (albeit in an inconvenient way and place) would provide some relief.

It’s closer to noon when you finally exit your bedroom and meet him at the sofa- the same one you’d all but banished him to last night. He prefers to spend his nights with you, either curled up at your side or splaying his full weight over your back- a breed-relative habit, you’re sure. You’ve heard of some other kinds who enjoy a room to themselves or do just fine with the couch, on their lonesome— But not Caleb.

He looks tired but perks up when he hears you patter down the hall, violet eyes lighting when you timidly take a seat.

With a bit of hesitation, he inches closer until you sheepishly wave a hand and he barrels into your arms.

“Ah- Caleb-“

Before you can even apologize for your jumping the gun last night, he beats you to the punch. “M’ sorry. You don’t hate me for it, do you?” He sighs into your collar and you shiver, “I wish you could understand what it feels like- I wouldn’t have done it if it was somethin’ I could control, I hope you realize that.”

You swallow, digesting his words as you belatedly place a hand on his head to pet. He positively melts. “Y-Yeah,” you mumble back. “It’s okay. I actually wanted to say sorry too. I- I didn’t understand what was going on…”

A deep groan looses from his throat, his chest swelling with content as you itch that spot behind the furry ears say upright on his head. They give a few twitches as he leans against you and wraps his muscular arms around your middle, resting his chin by your shoulder.

“It’s my fault, though, not yours. I didn’t know how to tell you- I was worried you’d just end up scared’a me, or…”

His pause instills interest in you. Your fingers smooth back his brown locks, mussed from fitful sleep, and he sighs. “Or what?” You press softly.

You pull him back just enough to get a look at him, his cheekbones almost shiny with a dusting of pink. His thick brows furrow together.

“Or that you’d leave,” he whispers.

Your eyes widen. You lasso your arms around his neck and pull him to you, your head slotting above his shoulder as his fingers quickly move to support the position, one hand perched at your thigh and the other braced at your side.

“Nonsense,” you grumble at his ear, a bit angry at the suggestion. “I’d never leave you.”

Something hard, then, prods at your middle- too fleshy to be something in either of your pockets- and you stiffen at the realization as it comes a beat too late.

Caleb’s voice is breathy at your ear, low, his tail thumping on the cushion. “Yeah?” He murmurs, a pang of heat stirring in your belly at the sound. Suddenly aware, you gently go to push at his broad chest but he stops you with an imploring look- although the desire, brewing in dilated pupils, isn’t lost on you- and musters a pout.

It looks out of place, the wholesome gaze marred by hunger as it reshapes his puppyish look.

“Even when I am no better than a bad dog?”

Your brow quirks, “I didn’t mean it,” you whisper, wide-eyed as his eyes bore into yours. Every micro expression you make is being catalogued and noted with utmost care, his pink tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as they grow dry.

“It’s okay if you did,” he murmurs back. “I’m just glad I have you around to remind me of my place…” Long, slim fingers reach up and you watch, unseeingly, as they stroke your cheek, his other hand creeping dangerously close to the waistband of your sleep shorts.

He chuckles, but the humor wanes quickly.

“Otherwise, I’d always be misbehaving. Do you even know what you do to me?” His voice is meaningful, torrid, as he draws in and the tip of his nose brushes with yours. You can’t find it in you to move as your thighs- the ones he slithers a singleminded hand in between- begin to roil with unexpected warmth.

You plant a hand to his chest, shying away, “C-Caleb-“

“Don’t worry,” he says sweetly, “M’ not gonna hurt you. I just….” He lets out a sigh, long and perhaps just a bit exaggerated- but it has the intended effect on you. You purse your lips and feel a trace of guilt twist in your heart.

“You drive me crazy. Y-Your smell- I don’t know why this is happening, either. Honestly? I haven’t had a rut in a couple years. But this…”

Caleb lets out a soft noise of pleasure, lending his full weight to you when he breathes you in and shakes.

When he speaks next, his words come out raspy and so low you hardly register them as his breaths grow labored- they’re all you can hear as the living room space shrinks down to just him and the knuckles that dare to dip into your panties.

“This is just too unfair. You won’t leave me hangin’, pretty,… w-will you?” Breathy. With an undeniable streak of need. You can’t miss the lust that usurps the softer parts of him and makes him look less puppyish and cheerful and more wolfish, calculating.

And, well, when he puts it like that, how could you?

✦

He doesn’t fuck you on the couch. He takes you to your bed and fucks you there like a lover would.

He fucks you deep and fast- to his credit, he doesn’t hurt you, staying true to his word, but the possibility of bruises becomes a nearer thing when he folds your legs back and his grasp becomes constricting, plunging in and out of your cunt with rapt focus. Indigo eyes glow with something feral, like you’ve given him no choice but to claim his ownership over you through sloppy kisses and clinking teeth as he pounds into you, driven him into a corner- but his touch turns worshipful when he presses his forehead to yours and moans.

“Ah- y-you feel so good, so tight,” he compliments, words almost slurred. His pupils expand and he looks no different than a drunken, babbling man, his cheeks a rosy red.

His murmurs are wet against your lips as they graze and mush with his, Caleb’s face so close to yours that his lashes tickle your brow as he gawks at you, so entranced by whatever it is he’s seeing to look away.

A fluffy tail sways unevenly behind him and touches your leg on occasion, almost like it’s trying to curl around you, prickling and eager. Every part of him gravitates to you. You’re the ground beneath his feet. Fertile land.

“And you’re all mine, okay? Nobody else’s. I want you to wear my scent- to carry me with you no matter where you go. You have to promise me you will- mmph- That sound good-?

“C-Caleb—“

You groan when he stuffs himself deeper inside and you swear you feel his length throb inside your walls, stretching. The veins running along his shaft carve out a new pathway in you, one special and just for him, as his balls- heavy and fat, with a hell of a lot to give- slap against your ass. Slick oozes out from the squelching seam of you, coating his thick cock but you still struggle to accomodate his size despite the lubrication.

He’s made to make you feel as if you’re losing your mind. You snatch your jaw with your own hand to keep the flurry of high-pitched sounds from spilling out lest they embarrass you, but he shoos it away and cuffs your wrists with a hand splayed over them.

“Nah- I wanna hear you, baby. You can’t keep holdin’ out on me like this... I’m giving you my all right now, so it should be pretty obvious that you can do the same, yeah?”

A mewl punches out from your lungs half a second later and he seems quite contented at that. He sighs, closing his eyes, saying,

“I’ve been good all along. Can’t you play the part, too? I just want you to see how much I really love you,” his confession is by no means considered casual what with the passion in which its conveyed, but you can’t help but feel it’s a little sudden, said a little too quickly, and you wonder if he means what he says or if the rut is responsible for all these novel, amorous feelings in him.

I mean, he’s probably too wrapped up in the moment to even contemplate his own admissions as they all spew out—

“Caleb, too big—“ you gasp, cutting him off, and he lets out a strangled kind of noise when your walls clamp around him.

Holyfuck holyfuck holyfuck do it again, he wants to say, suffocate me, but nothing comes out and he realizes after a long second that his vision has whited completely. He can’t see anything; he’s in a fuzzy, dazzling world with the blinders on and all he can smell and feel is you- your scent, sugar sweet and about as inviting as a barstool pulled out, envelopes him and he can’t breathe. Can’t speak.

He fucks into you with reckless abandon, huffs you in like it’s his final breaths, and then lets it all go without care for anything else. Far as he’s concerned, everything he knows is defined by you. This is a give and take relationship: he actually gives a damn about your opinion of him and takes all you have to offer.

He’s in love, puppyish and clumsy but fuck you lead the way and lead him on.

“Shh, I know,” he rasps out, steaming up your neck like a fogged window pane as he insinuates himself there. Your whole body feels like a furnace, burning up for him as he opens you up and tucks himself inside.

“I know it’s big, but you gotta be ready for-“ he clips his sentence short, thinking better of it.

He wants to warn you of his impending knot- the one that’ll no doubt leave you yelping and writhing away from him- you certainly deserve as much of a foreword to it, but part of him is just so terrified you’ll reject him or deny him the priviledge of shoving it inside you and fuck he can’t have that.

Caleb’s nothing if not loyal. He’s also nothing if not selfish. That’s always been a wriggling bug he’s tried to stomp out but it remains in the baser part of him, only amplified by the intense rut that came right out of the blue.

He wants you singing his name and bonded to him (or as much of a bond the two of you can form), and so that’s what he’ll get.

He’ll apologize later, and you will forgive him. So all’s fine.

“Y-You can take it,” is the simpler thing he settles on, and you let it pass, because between the fat cockhead splitting you apart deliciously and the sweet, somewhat perturbing nothings he gushes at your ear, you’re deaf to most of everything.

But when you come- unexpected and sharp, overwhelming your senses as your hips ruck up and he has to pin you down in place and ride it out with you as you cream around him- the scream you let out rings in your ears and so does his ferocious grunt. It’s loud and you’re so numb as seconds pass that feel like eons; pointed teeth teasing at the squishy chunk of your shoulder, invoking a buried sense of alarm.

And then he’s biting down hard- not just nipping- the pleasure thankfully driving off the pain as he ploughs inside, muffling a string of curses as he picks up his pace. Caleb gets sloppier and sloppier and then he’s burning white-hot inside you and moaning like a pornstar, pelvis juddering as he comes.

“Mmh- f-fuck- Good girl!” he rewards with half a brain, fucked out into perfect oblivion, and for a second you wonder why his voice sounds more meant for comfort than praise- until you expect him to pull out but he doesn’t, something big and round forming at the base of his cock that has his eyes fluttering back as it pops in. He goes boneless on top of you as every limb of yours stiffens and coils around his broad back.

You scream his name. He shivers.

It feels enough to shatter your mind- the pain searing you, but the ghost of pleasure that creeps up along your nervous system makes you go like jelly beneath him, helpless to whatever he’s got planned for you.

“C-Caleb, you-!”

“Yeah, a bad dog, a bad dog,” he stammers, whimpering at your earlobe, “I know, baby, I know. Just- don’t shut me out, okay? I- It’ll be over soon, just- ah- loosen up around it, okay? It’ll feel so much better that way. Just… hold on to me.”

“I-It hurts-!”

“Ngh, shhh…” He trembles out, shifting to sample a broken mewl from your lips, cupping your jaw with all the love in the world and staring at you as if you told the sun to rise this morning. “Be a good girl and take it, mm? Your pussy’s squeezing me so tight, I think she wants it too, but she has to relax a little first, yeah? Mm… I could give you a whole litter of pups. Give your Gran a bunch of cute lil granbabies to drive her crazy.”

You choke on your own spit, the brunet letting out a near delirious chuckle at the idea and your reaction to it before his brow gives a wince, your walls instinctively trying to push his swollen knot out.

“Wha- Caleb, is that even-?”

“I don’t know,” he kisses your forehead tenderly, his tail giving a heavy, excited thump behind him on the bed as you grab the sheets for dear life and they wrinkle, pinched like your conflicted expression.

“But I’ve been dyin’ to try it out for myself.”

[jaylaxies]

A REUNION TO REMEMBER

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, unprotected sex, fingering, cunnilingus, public sex, car sex, shower sex, squirting, lots of kissing, slight jealousy, slight degradation (slut) and praising, mentions of drinking, mentions of jay and karina (aespa), and other idols, mentions of nicknames (baby, princess, kitten), more to be added.

WORD COUNT: 15.3k words.

SYNOPSIS: You last met Park Sunghoon when you were attending high school, more precisely, when he had gained enough courage to ask you out, not knowing that the most popular girl of the school was already taken by the senior who was equally as popular. Four years later, your batch decided to hold a reunion back in your town, where you meet Sunghoon again. Only, the problem is that he's hotter than ever and you can't, for the life of you, keep your eyes off him.

PLAYLIST: here!

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

A/N: hihi, angels! i’m done revamping the hoon fic, i hope y’all enjoy reading it <33 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

“There’s absolutely no fucking way he didn’t know!” 

You exclaimed, frustration clear on your face, recalling how things went down back in tenth grade to prove your point. 

Karina only sighed on the other end of the call, “listen, babe, I love you but you have to take into account how oblivious the poor boy was back then! He studied and skated, that’s literally all he did, that was him,” she spoke, emphasizing on the but part.

You huffed, sitting down on the edge of your bed, nodding to yourself slowly as you let it sink that her point was actually a valid one for once. 

“It’s still awkward though,” you mumbled, playing with a loose thread of your sweater. 

“It’ll be fine, okay? It’s been four years, and it’s not like you have to talk to him.” Her words were true yet again, and this is why you loved her. 

Karina had been your best friend since you were in middle school, she’d always been honest and the social butterfly everyone loved, but at the same time, she was humble and kind, always taking care of the ones around her, not to mention how she was possibly the prettiest girl you’d ever met. 

You were relieved to know that she would be with you for the school reunion—an event which was planned thoroughly, it was a big deal. 

It wasn’t just a meet up, it was a three day trip back to your hometown, the whole itinerary was planned, as per the usual ritual:

The first day being the reunion dinner night—the most important one out of the three days, a day where everyone shows up clad in their best outfits, a day where they flaunt every bit of success and achievements they’ve accomplished. 

The second being the beach day, to make sure no one is left out on the fun factor, also 

The last being the night out at the newest club of your city, a night to let loose, especially when it concerns rekindling the old flames (happens more often than not).

The idea itself was thrilling, not to mention how desperately you needed this break, Karina was even quicker to express her excitement by booking two hotel rooms, non refundable at that, for you both as your parents now lived in Seoul, and not in your hometown. 

Another sigh left your mouth as you plopped down on your bed, staring at the ceiling while wondering why you even bothered to check the guest list, to check whether Park Sunghoon was invited or not. 

It was no surprise when you saw his name in the list, gulping as you recalled the embarrassing incident which took place between you both, the one in which you never got the opportunity to confront him, or explain yourself by any means. 

You closed your eyes, revisiting the ever so embarrassing memory. 

It was the last day of the tenth grade, your exams had just gotten over and the student crowd was elated, throwing notes everywhere to celebrate the fact that they were not chained to their textbooks anymore, not for a month at least; which caused you to scrunch your nose at the sight of paper wastage, not to mention, the meaningless litter all over. 

“Uh—Hey,” a sweet voice called your name at the exact second, succeeding in grabbing your attention. 

You recognized him as your classmate, Sunghoon, who was also a good friend of your own friend, Jay. 

“Hey! Hoon, right?” You smiled at him, a slight red colour spread on his cheeks at the sight of you. 

He nodded, also politely saying ‘hello’ to Karina, who was right next to you before his gaze fell to his fingers as he fiddled with them, his fang-like teeth biting down on his plush bottom lip with anxiety as he worked on mustering enough courage to look into your eyes, only to find your own ones staring at him with curiosity. 

“I just—I wanted to ask if you’d like to, you know, go out with me sometime?” He let out the question, unsure of what words he had used and cringing at how shaky his tone was. 

He had completely forgotten what he practiced in front of the mirror a thousand times, but he knows for sure that the result was not supposed to come out as horrendous as this one. 

Your eyes widened as you looked at Karina with pleading eyes, asking for help. It was no secret that you were one of the popular girls at your school; sweet, hardworking, and humble. 

Getting a confession such as this one was nothing new to you, declining politely always worked, however, that was when you were single and not in a relationship with the most popular guy in the school (as cliché as it was), who was also your senior. It was almost like a fanfiction with how the ace of the school, Lee Heeseung, had ended up falling for you. 

The news was quick to spread, fast enough for your group chat to go crazy, asking you questions so diabolical which almost made you throw your phone away with embarrassment. 

In the span of three days, the whole school was aware of the new ‘it couple’. Except for Sunghoon, that is.

“As, uh, friends?” You winced at how pathetic your question was, which certainly made things ten times more awkward than they were supposed to be.  

“N—no, as something more?” Sunghoon helpfully explained, looking everywhere but at your face now. 

“Sunghoon,” Karina spoke up, causing  you to release your breath, thankful that she was here to control the situation when you could say nothing and feel uncomfortable looking at his disappointed face.

“She’s taken, love! Sorry,” she informed him, his eyes widening and mouth agape. 

You wondered if he was genuinely clueless about this, he did look lost to you. 

You gasped, suddenly feeling an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as you stared at Heeseung in surprise, who was already looking down at you with a smirk. 

“Hey, baby. I missed you,” he spoke up, kissing you right on the mouth, more exaggerated than usual. 

Sunghoon witnessed the whole scene, a frown settling on his face, embarrassment clear on his face which was now red and showed clear signs of sadness as he softly said, “e—excuse me,” leaving as soon the words left his mouth, shoulders slumped. 

You never met him again, only seeing him with Jay at times. 

He was quick to change his school soon after it, knowing that he’d be able to do so easily since the finals were over. 

You were going to meet him now. 

Your eyes snapped open at the thought of that, you just wished for the trip to be a pleasant one. Furthermore, from your side, you’d make sure to not be awkward around him, pretending as if the whole situation didn’t happen in the first place.

 If you’d even get to talk to him, that is. 

“Wow, you really are dumb,” Jake laughed uncontrollably once Jay finished telling him the story of none other than Park Sunghoon. 

“Shut up,” Hoon mumbled, annoyed that the topic which he had wanted so desperately to be buried in the corner of his heart forever was brought up, once again. 

“Wait, but if you knew about them dating then why didn’t you tell Hoon?” Jake pointed the question towards Jay. 

“Because he never told me he was going to confess in the first place!” Jay’s eyes widened almost comically as he exclaimed, “and it was exam time, finals at that, Sunghoon had sworn he wouldn’t use his phone till the exams ended, and you probably don’t have any clue as to how big of a nerd he was—” 

“Jay! Fucking stop this,” Hoon whined, covering his face with his palm as Jay took out his phone, scrolling to find a picture of Sunghoon. 

He looked a lot smaller than he is now, wearing a yellow, collared t-shirt and round specs, lips curved into a small smile as he looked into the camera. 

“Holy fuck! You could have been easily casted for the live action of Doraemon, as Nobita, of course.” Jake high-fived Jay after taking a look at the picture, the latter almost falling down with the laugh he had let out, the similarities were uncanny. 

“The fuck—Nobita? Oh god this is so fucking annoying, can you guys shut up now? I don’t even want to go and face her ever again,” he snapped, whining like a kid right after. 

He had been overthinking about everything that could happen once you meet him again, his brain running at the speed of light with the unless possibilities. 

Would you laugh in his face and remind him of how stupid he looked asking someone like you out?

Heck, would you even remember him? 

You honestly didn’t have any reason to.

Acting nonchalant didn’t help his case one bit, his self awareness higher than ever, especially when it concerned you. 

It mattered to him a lot more than he’d like to admit, your opinion mattered more than he’d like to admit, even after all this while. 

A four year gap should have been enough to let his embarrassment fade away, however, all his efforts went to vain once he got invited to the reunion.

“Listen, it’ll be okay. She probably doesn’t even remember you!” Jay tried to make him feel better. 

“That’s very consoling, that totally calms me down, thank you very much,” Hoon rolled his eyes, wondering if you’d forgotten him already. It wasn’t as if you both had been close, but you did see each around and during the classes. 

He can’t lie, the thought made him sad. 

“You definitely have a chance now though, if that makes you feel any better,” Jake let out slowly, noticing the glow up Sunghoon had after comparing him with his old picture. 

“Shut up, It doesn’t matter, I don’t even like her anymore,” he mumbled, a light blush creeping up his neck as he did so. 

Jake and Jay exchanged a knowing look, putting on a smile as they dragged Sunghoon for shopping while Jay went on talking about what all they should be packing for the three day trip, bringing a genuine smile to Hoon’s face as he looked at his goofy best friends. 

Maybe the trip wouldn’t be so bad, he thought. 

“Ay babe! You look hot,” Karina winked at you, eyeing you up and down while you glided your lipstick along the expanse of your lips, smacking them together a few times to spread it evenly. 

You winked back, “you look hotter.” She laughed just as you said that, engulfing you in a hug. 

“Ready to leave?” She asked, getting her luggage out as you followed with a nod, smiling while you got into the cab, Karina being quick to snap a few selfies to mark the start of your trip. 

The entire time on your way to your destination, you felt giddy, wondering how everyone looked now, how their life must have changed, did they even remember you, would they even recognize you? 

It had been a while since you had last met them and you secretly hoped that you’d get a chance to get laid—your frustrated mind needed this, the studies kept you busy and you hadn’t got time to tend to your personal needs. 

Your mind was full of scenarios as you imagined how your stay would go, what all activities you’d do and so on, falling asleep on the plane while envisioning the same. 

“Wake up, sleepy head,” Karina shook your arm slightly, waking you up from your dreamland. 

It took you a second to realize that the plane was going to land, followed by the announcement of the same and you were still sleepy when you put on your belt, eyes barely open as you wiped your lips with the back of your hand. 

The journey was short, and you were checked into your hotel room in no time. As soon as you jumped on the bed, Karina came into your room holding a bunch of skincare products and sheet masks. 

“Get up! We need that glow for tonight,” she demanded, plopping on the bed with you as she ushered you to go and wash your face while you mumbled complaints with the need to sleep more. 

Skincare was therapeutic for you, however, it also made you sleepy, even more so when the hotel beds were the absolute definition of comfort and pleasure, helping you slip into dreamland in no time. 

Your skin felt radiant, so lovingly soft by the time you woke up, also checking the time so see that you had to start getting ready for the reunion dinner at once for you to reach there in time. 

“No! You’re not wearing that,” Karina pointed at your trouser outfit, a pathetic scowl on her face, looking at the clothes in disapproval. 

“Why not?” You asked, looking at it with genuine confusion. It did seem like a decent outfit to you. 

“Because we have to show everyone that you’re still the it girl you were four years back, now hotter than ever,” she mumbled, looking into your luggage as you let her take the matter into her hands, your focus now on styling your hair. 

“This!” She exclaimed, getting a dress out which made your eyes sparkle. It was a new dress which you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear before, and she was right, it’s the perfect opportunity for you all to dress up a little. 

“Huh? I don’t remember keeping this in my bag,” you looked at her. 

“Well obviously, I did,” she flipped her hair, proud of herself. 

That was it, the music was blasting, the room was a mess with the makeup sprawled all around, also little articles of clothing as you both dolled yourself up. 

“Ready?” She smiled. She looked stunning  in that black dress of hers, her freshly coloured hair only added to her beauty. 

“Ready,” you confirmed. 

“Y/n!” You heard your name, and suddenly you felt warm hands around your body, pulling you into a friendly hug. 

Sweet voice and strawberry scent was enough for you to know it was Isa. A big smile spread on your face as you hugged her tighter, looking around to see all of your classmates hugging and talking to each other. 

“You look so pretty!” You were in awe, seeing her gummy smile and the pink dress she sported, she was no less than a princess. 

“Girl look at you? You’re glowing! You literally grow prettier each day,” she giggled, making your heart melt. She had always been kind and bubbly, another one of the reasons why you were so close to her. 

You looked around the restaurant, it was new and the interior was modern, booked for the night for your batchmates. Meeting everyone was like a breath of fresh air. 

You didn’t even manage to say hello to everyone before they announced the start of the dinner, asking everyone to take seats, however, one of your old friends Jay was quick to reach to you, his smile as sharp as you remembered it to be. 

“As stunning as ever,” he complimented you, hugging your side. 

He stood tall in front of you, sporting a scent that gave you the essence of richness which only complemented his black suit, worn with a white button up inside, a gold chain dangling down his slender neck, resting well on his clavicle. 

You can’t deny, he looked handsome. 

“Thank you,” you said softly, “you look chic as always too.”

A sly smile graced his face, “do I now?” He chuckled, “come on, let’s go and sit,” he said. 

You nodded, following him as you noticed that almost everyone had taken seats, Karina waving at you, pointing at the seat she saved, which you gladly took, fixing your dress while you did so as you started rambling about everyone you met till now. 

What you had failed to notice, however, was the person sitting right next to you—someone who had visibly stiffened with your sudden appearance. He didn’t move an inch, not until you finally turned your head to look his way. 

Your breath hitched, and you prayed that it wasn’t visible how your eyes widened by just a fraction, your mouth stayed agape, and your body frozen, all at the mere sight of Park Sunghoon. 

Glow up would be an understatement, he looked like a completely different person without his specs and baby fat resting on his cheek. 

His eyes were the perfect shade of chestnut brown colour, it was the first time you had looked into them so clearly, face sculpted with a sharp jawline and pointed nose, lips naturally shaded into a glossy reddish hue, his fangs peeking out by a midge, and hair parted to the side, styled accordingly to match his black button up. 

“Hey,” a deep voice snapped you out of your observation session and you realized that it was him. 

“Sunghoon, hey. It’s been a while,” you smiled at him softly, hoping that he didn’t notice you staring at him just a second back, mentally slapping yourself for reacting that way. 

Meanwhile the boy was surprised to learn that you indeed did remember him, his heart beating a little faster now that he was in such a close proximity with you. 

It was something he had ran through his mind a few times—the possibility of you both running into each other, the possibility that you’d care to remember him, the possibility that you would talk to him, however, now that it was actually happening, he couldn’t help but admire your beauty, absolutely no coherent thought graced his mind. 

“You look so beautiful,” he whispered mindlessly, mouth opening again as he realized what he had said out loud, “uh—how have you been?” He quickly asked, mentally slapping himself for being such a mess. 

That only made you smile further, a glint in your eyes as you replied, “thank you, Hoon. You look really handsome too.” You let out almost in a whispered breath, and you did mean it. 

Your words made him smile, which displayed his fangs. Everything about him intrigued you all of a sudden, his presence affecting you in a way you didn’t think it would, your curiosity higher than ever. 

Before you could talk more, the servers came out, bringing the starters as everyone chatted excitedly at your table, Karina pulling you to her side rather abruptly as you yelped while she whispered in your ear. 

“Is that him? Fucking hell, Y/n, you couldn’t say yes then but it’s not too late—just four years, do it now!” She rushed to speak into your ear, making sure no one else heard it but you. 

“Karina shut up, I just met him,” you whispered urgently with wide eyes to warn her.

“So? You have three whole days to be with him! And to be honest, he looks like he knows how to give a girl a real good fuck—” you covered her mouth, not letting her finish the sentence. 

“Oh lord! I’m not going to do that!” You exclaimed, taking a bite of your soup, mood uplifting at the scrumptious taste. 

“But why?” She was almost going to whine before Sunghoon called out your name, saving you from this conversation. 

The sound of him pronouncing your name was rather attractive, especially the way he enunciated it so perfectly, your face heating up with the sudden conversation. 

“Yes?” You asked too quickly. 

He chuckled softly and you swore your name had never sounded any better. 

Maybe you were too into studying all this while that even the littlest things made you jumpy. 

Or maybe it was the hottest looking man sitting right next to you. 

“Could you pass me that napkin, please?” He asked politely. 

You were quick to grab one for him as you nodded, not trusting your voice any further, his slender fingers brushed against yours as he took the napkin from you, saying thank you softly, the slight touch of his cold hands made you shiver. 

You needed a distraction before you’d make fun of yourself, and soon, you found one.

Yeonjun, who sat right in front of you, was successful in distracting you, asking about your life in Seoul and about what you’ve been studying.

He was also a student like you, although he liked to work as a model in his free time, “it pays well and you get free clothes too!” He explained with a goofy smile. 

You felt content, loving how friendly the atmosphere was as if you guys never lost touch in the first place, everyone drinking champagne to celebrate with a cheer that you join in too, maybe this is why people hype up reunions. 

Sunghoon was attentive to everything you had said till now, not wanting to eavesdrop yet way too curious to learn more about you, trying his best not to stare at you every few minutes. Your smile made his lips curve into one as well, unconsciously at that. 

The dinner concluded soon, everyone getting up and gathering for a round of group pictures. 

Sunghoon’s hand brushed against yours in the process, succeeding in giving you goosebumps again, which he didn’t fail to observe this time. 

“Are you cold?” He asked, noticing your goosebumps. 

You didn’t have any better explanation, and you couldn’t possibly tell him that he was one responsible for it. 

“Oh—yeah, a bit,” you answered, looking at the height difference between you both, his body looked buff underneath his shirt, his veins visible now that he had rolled his sleeves up. 

“Here,” he offered his blazer to you, gently wrapping it around your frame as you could feel yourself being overdosed with his scent—it was attractive, engulfing you as a whole. 

“I—thank you.” Your cheeks felt hot as you looked away, trying to control your breathing. 

Sunghoon was clearly pleased to see you in his clothes, he had seen you after a solid four years and yet, his opinion about you didn’t change in the slightest, you looked perfect to him. 

You both reached the group, you trying to tiptoe more as to ensure your visibility in the picture. It was hard to fit such a big group into a frame, especially when people simply couldn’t stand straight out of pure excitement, posing with silly expressions. 

“Y/n! Come here,” Karina called your name, pulling you close for another set of pictures with everyone. 

“Listen guys! Tomorrow we’ll meet at the beach by twelve, make sure you reach there on time!” Hyunjin announced. 

You loved beaches, the sunlight made the water shine like it hid the prettiest set of diamonds in there, the smell of land and water meeting was soothing to your senses, a place so calming, you could spend hours there just staring at the beauty of nature, just to see the sky switching it’s colours from hues of blue to deepest of the orange to the darkest shade of black. 

It all made beaches beautiful and you were excited about tomorrow already. 

As you made your way out of the restaurant, you noticed two other people waiting for you along with your best friend, Jay and Sunghoon. 

“You’re here! We’re taking a cab together to our hotel, apparently they’re staying over at the same place as ours,” she explained, “they probably have their rooms in front of ours too!” She joked. 

Sunghoon looked at you in his blazer, deciding that he won’t even ask you to give it back to him, it suited you too much. 

His clothes suited you way too much. 

He wanted to spend more time with you, he wanted to sit next to you in the cab and he made sure to sit in between you and Jay, his side pressed against yours. 

“Are you comfortable?” He asked softly. 

“Oh, yeah. Are you?” 

He nodded, loving the arrangement so far. Living in the same hotel meant that he’d get to see more of you while Jay sniggered, causing Sunghoon to elbow him as he let out an ‘ouch’. Opening his mouth to ask you questions now. 

“So, Y/n, how’s it going with uni? Do you have a boyfriend or someone special in your life?” Jay asked, knowing that his friend was dying to know the same. 

“It’s honestly so hectic but somehow still manageable, I like what I’m doing and I won’t be leaving without that degree so, yes I feel like the hard work would pay in the end,” you explained confidently, “and no, I sadly do not have a boyfriend. It’s honestly hard to go on dates when you barely have time for yourself.”

Sadly you had said yet Sunghoon couldn’t have been happier with your answer. 

You’d always been hard working and Sunghoon admires that about you, his focus was solely on you ever since you stepped inside the restaurant and talked to him. It wasn’t easy for Sunghoon to fall for someone, but once he saw you again, it was as if his feelings for you had never left. 

Just then, the car swiftly came to a stop, jerking forward slightly as Sunghoon quickly put his arm around your waist, pulling your body into him, securing it. 

Some car had successfully jumped the red light, almost causing an accident, but thankfully you guys were all safe and without any scratch as the driver was quick to use the brakes, before driving again, making sure everything goes smoothly now. 

“You okay?” He asked, whispering as he cupped your cheeks. 

You nodded, unconsciously shifting closer to him and he didn’t make any efforts to move his hand away, letting it rest on your waist while your head rested against his shoulder. You were hyper aware of the proximity but the scare was enough for you to not pay attention to it. 

It felt comfortable, his scent, his touch, but more than that, it felt genuine, which is why you closed your eyes, sleeping on his shoulder while his breathing hitched, looking at your sleeping figure. 

So pretty, he thought, brushing a few strands of your hair away from your face, tucking them behind your ear, letting his fingers linger there for a while. It felt like a dream to Sunghoon, and he wished that he could get more of this — more of you. 

The comfort and your warmth seemingly got to him as well, his head resting on yours as he drifted off to dreamland with a slight smile ghosting on his lips. 

“Cute! So fucking cute what the fuck?” 

“They look like a couple, woah.” 

A series of flashes was quick to disturb your sleep, eyelids slowly opening to see two phones being shoved into your face, clicking pictures of you, the chatter coming from the very same pair of people. 

Just then, you realized that the picture in question was not just of you, but of the guy who so gladly let you sleep on his shoulder. 

Your eyes widened when he blinked open his eyes too, Karina and Jay laughing at his reaction when he saw you staring at him, face inches away from yours. 

His eyes widened comically before he diverted his attention to Jay, slapping his hand away who was busy shooting all of this on his phone, even the cab driver watched it with a fond smile on his face. 

“You guys are adorable,” Karina squealed when you got out of the cab, rushing to get back to your room, cheeks heated and heart racing. 

Were you embarrassed? Yes. But not even a single cell in your body can deny that it felt good—being close to someone. 

“Can you stop pairing us as if we’re school kids?” You deadpanned, rolling your eyes at her excitement. 

“Absolutely not, it’s fun.” She shrugged, joining you in the lift, “oh, and by the way, nice blazer you’ve got on,” she smiled, continuing to tease you. 

Right, you had to return the blazer to Hoon. 

Turns out, Karina was borderline prophetic and both of them were indeed on the same floor as you, your room right in front of Sunghoon’s room as if universe was hinting at something. 

“Good night guys,” she sang, leaving for her room, a smirk on her face as she subtly pointed at Sunghoon’s room. 

Jay followed suit, leaving for his own room, not forgetting to send a wink your way, which the other boy noticed with a frown on his face. 

Your outstretched hand got his attention, his blazer now in your hand, “thank you so much for giving me your blazer, Hoon,” you spoke up.

His nickname comes out of your mouth seamlessly, making him smile. 

“You can keep it with yourself,” he started, causing you to tilt your head in a questioning manner, “in case you feel cold again, y’know?”

“Yeah? What if I want you to be the one who keeps me warm if I feel cold tomorrow?” You looked into his eyes, testing the waters to ensure if he was actually confident enough to handle you now. 

“I—Yes I can keep you warm,” he stuttered. 

“Y’know we won’t be needing the blazer then,” he answered a second after overcoming the initial shock of you saying that, stepping closer to you. 

“Perfect. Good night then, Hoon,” you spoke sweetly, a playful smirk on your face, your own heart racing at the exchange. 

However, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist the second you turned around, spinning you so you stood right in front of him, hands on his chest to support yourself as your eyes widened at his bold move. 

“Good night, love,” he whispered, his finger tracing your jaw, before he leaned in to place a soft kiss on the apple of your cheek, a teasing smile on his face before he walked two steps back, his bottom lip bitten to conceal his smirk as he got into his room.

Your fingers instantly touched the place where he had kissed you. The small display of affection earlier had left you restless and desperate for more, wondering how his lips would feel against the expanse of your skin. 

“God, Sunghoon,” you whispered to yourself, eyes closing as you realized;

You wanted more. 

“Fuck—oh lord! Faster, please,” you whined, as his fingers pressed against your cunt, rubbing your soft folds in an agonizingly slow pace, his lips planting hot open-mouthed kisses down the valley of your chest. 

“You like that, huh?” He asked, mumbling against your skin, biting and sucking on your hardened nipples harshly, doing it enough to imprint marks on your body. 

The pain was more pleasurable than you could have ever thought of. 

“So fucking much,” you hummed, fingers grabbing onto his roots, tugging his hair slightly. 

You cried out of pleasure when he inserted two of his fingers into your pussy, pumping them in and out before he came to whisper against your lips. 

“Bet you’ve been dreaming about this—about me,” he smirked. 

A moan left your mouth, which he swallowed by kissing you right away, taking all your lewd noises in. 

“Don’t you, kitten?” He asked against your mouth, his fingers leading you to your orgasm, the nickname only acting as a catalyst to the high of your pleasure. 

All until your alarm rang and your eyes snapped open, a gasp leaving your mouth as you sat up straight in a go, once you came to the realization that it was just a dream. 

A wet dream. 

About Park Sunghoon. 

“Oh god, oh my fucking god, no way,” you groaned, hiding your face into the blanket, pussy tingling with the dream you had a few seconds back, mostly due to how realistic it was. 

You had no other option but to hop into the shower and lean against the shower wall, your fingers inching down to play with your soaked folds, rubbing your clit in gentle circles as your phone played a sensual song from your playlist, remembering how Hoon touched you in your dream. 

You moaned, shoving two fingers in, curling them inside you with a desperate moan, a moan of Sunghoon’s name, as you bit your lip to conceal your lewd noises, you thrusted your digits with need, till you made a mess on your fingers, breathing hard as you struggled to stand straight. 

You looked into the mirror, breathless, realizing just how pathetic your condition was, even more so when you had made yourself cum by thinking of Park Sunghoon. 

You wondered how you were ever going to face him after this. 

Especially when you had a beach day ahead and the possibility of seeing Hoon shirtless would be high. 

Ignoring the fact that you had a wet dream about the man sitting in front of you during breakfast was a tough thing to do, yet you managed it well. 

He looked like a prince even in casual clothes and he knew how to make you go crazy by just a wink of his, even giving you the doughnut in his plate, which you wanted so dearly. 

His appearance was innocent, unlike last night where he was in a black button up—hot and attractive beyond words, he left you speechless. 

“Are we renting a bike or not?” You asked Karina with a smirk after you were done eating. 

“I’m down,” she gave you a high-five, “I don’t know about the boys though.”

“Wait, you can ride bikes?” Jay asked, impressed. 

“Of course, we can, Jay,” You answered proudly. 

“Take us on rides then,” he said, brow raised at the offer. 

“Sure, select your rider, we’ll go to the beach on the bike then,” you smiled.

By the time you got ready in shorts and a top, which you wore on your bikini set, the sun had come up and was shining brightly. You had your bag packed with all essentials and two sets of extra clothes because you never know when you’re at the beach, not to mention how much sunscreen you had used to protect your skin. 

All four of you got into the lift, and you noticed how you and Karina were wearing the same colours, while the boys were in shorts and t-shirts. 

“Who’s coming with me then?” She asked, showing her bike keys. 

“I am,” Jay spoke up, as if it was their plan to leave you with Sunghoon, alone at that. 

You bit your lip, closing your eyes for a second before turning to look at Hoon, “you’re stuck with me then.”

“Perfect,” he smirked, following you out. 

“Wear this,” you passed him the helmet, which he put on. 

But your gaze went on his arm, which flexed as he fixed his helmet, the short sleeved t-shirt did nothing to hide his muscles. 

You were surely not gonna survive this day. 

“Let’s go,” he smiled, snapping you out of your daydream. 

“You ready?” A smirk settled on your face as you checked the rear view mirror, looking at Sunghoon, who was quick to send a nod back. 

What he didn’t expect was that you’d speed up the second you start the bike, making him jerk forward and hold on to your waist, making you shiver slightly before you began your journey of a total of ten minutes, the beach being close to your hotel. 

“Woah, fuck!” You heard the boy say from behind, making you smile as you zoomed past the cars and other vehicles. 

“Hold on tight,” you screamed against the wind, loving the light breeze caressing your skin, and Sunghoon’s body pressed against yours. 

His arms tightened around you with your command, and your mind wandered to the morning when you dreamt about him. 

It did feel good, and you were certain you wanted more. 

Meanwhile, Sunghoon was looking around, enjoying the scenery, but most importantly, he was enjoying the time he got to spend with you — his old crush. He leaned in, taking in your scent, smiling at how you didn’t change your perfume still. 

He was highly attentive and observant when it came to you. 

A series of hooting was heard in the parking lot, where all of your gang was waiting for you four to arrive, thoroughly surprised to see you riding bikes. 

“That’s so fucking hot,” Yeonjun came over, wearing only beach shorts, abs on display as he saw you take off your helmet, the scene looked as if it came out of a movie. 

“Dang, Junnie, been working out?” you asked, focus now on him as you happily chatted and took his hand, which he offered with his charming smile, and walked towards the beach with everyone else. 

Sunghoon watched it all with his jaw clenched, Jay and Karina approaching him with a knowing expression on their faces. He wanted to spend time with you, and he didn’t expect anyone to steal you away from him so soon. 

He was pissed. 

“Maybe she’d notice you if you remove your SpongeBob t-shirt,” Jay adviced, keeping his elbow on his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong with SpongeBob?” He asked, tilting his head. 

“Oh god, what would you do without Jay, he’s right by the way. Also, do you have abs?” Karina asked, doing the same from his other side. 

“Uh huh—does it matter?” Hoon huffed, shrugging their hands off and walking further. 

“It does matter when you’re whipped and trying to impress a baddie!” Jay announced helpfully, making Hoon stop to slap his shoulder. 

“Stop shouting for fucks sake!” He warned. 

“You’ll never get her at this rate. Trust me, go shirtless and see the magic. Also, stop being a loser and move your ass, go and approach her before someone else does,” Jay said. 

Sunghoon simply looked around to ensure that no one was eavesdropping on their conversation, his friend embarrassed him enough and your best friend didn’t help either. Did he actually make it that obvious? He wondered. 

Seeing you laughing with Yeonjun did make him want to step up his game. 

“Guys! Get changed and then the ones who wanna enjoy the water are free to do that, while those who wish to do water sports, gather around that area,” Taehyun announced, pointing at a shed area meant for the registration of water sports. 

You simply wanted to enjoy in the water, so you made your way towards the changing stalls, getting rid of your shorts and top to reveal your bikini, after which, you looked into the mirror to ensure your appearance was okay. 

“Love the bikini,” Isa complimented and you cooed at her one piece swimsuit. Everything she wore suited her perfectly. 

And Isa didn’t lie, a lot of heads turned to look at you once you were out, some silently admiring your beauty, for instance—Sunghoon, with his eyes fixated on you and your body. 

While others, like Yeonjun, didn’t hesitate to show how pleased they were by your entrance, whistling slowly, which flustered you slightly as you rolled your eyes at him, rushing to get under the beach umbrella, eyes darting away to look at Sunghoon, who was already staring at you. 

“See you in the water,” Karina left, running away with excitement clear on her face. 

That left you two alone under the umbrella. 

“You’re not going?” You asked Sunghoon, getting sunscreen out of your bag. 

“Just waiting for you,” he spoke smoothly, causing you to look at him. 

“Help me then?” You passed him the bottle of sunscreen, turning around with your bottom lip bitten. 

Sunghoon took a deep breath, he wanted to touch you in more ways than one. He squeezed out some sunscreen, his cold fingers touching your skin as he applied it on your shoulder with a gentle massage. 

His strong hands made you sigh with pleasure, head tilting to give him more access to your neck area, his fingers paying attention to each inch of your back, fingers digging into your inner shoulder with his breath fanning your neck. 

He took your name, almost as a whisper. 

“Yes, Hoon?” You looked back at him, only to find his face inches away from you. 

He came closer, looking into your eyes, “let’s go,” he smiled, heart racing from the proximity and he wasn’t sure how longer he could handle staying so close to you without even kissing you. 

“Race you to the water,” you screamed, running away with a smile so big, it naturally made the boy smile as he realized how much he wanted you. 

You were fast, but he was faster and his arms wrapped around your waist the second your feet touched the water. Soft giggles left your mouth as he turned you around and ran further, standing in the water with his arms open and a victorious smile graced his face. 

“That’s fucking cheating!” You pointed your finger at him, others laughing at your childish bickering as he defended himself with a serious expression, trying not to give in to your pout. 

“I don’t cheat,” he came close to say, pouting on his own. 

Before you could retort, he started splashing water all over your body, others joining soon and splashing water everywhere. 

“Hoon, what the—” You squealed, rushing to splash water back on him, only to trip and fall right into his arms, his hands firmly holding you close to him. 

“What? Falling for me already?” He asked, a cocky smirk on his face. 

“In your dreams,” you retorted. 

“You were,” he shrugged, confusing you yet again. 

“Where?” 

He hooked his finger and lifted your chin tenderly, making you look into his eyes, “in my dream, last night,” he whispered, leaning in closer, leaving you speechless. 

Sunghoon was the shy, nerdy kid who used to sit in the front of the class, always keeping to himself, talking to only Jay. 

Now, however, you couldn’t even recognize the guy in front of you. While you found the old Hoon to be cute, you wouldn’t lie when you say that the confidence he oozed now made you want to know him more. The words rolled off his tongue so smoothly, which made you wonder if he flirted with others too. 

It seemed as if he was on a roll to make you go speechless, and his plan was working. By the time you turned around to reply to him, you saw him swiftly remove his t-shirt. 

Your body stilled as your eyes traveled up and down his body, skin shining with the sunlight that complimented him perfectly. He was lean but muscular, muscles flexing as he took off his SpongeBob t-shirt, abs now on display for everyone to see. He looked flawless. 

Karina elbowed your side, eliciting a yelp out of you, “ow fuck—what?” You whisper yelled. 

“You’re drooling,” she pointed out, “get that man,” she tapped on your shoulder, pushing you towards him. 

However, when you observed some girl, who wasn’t a part of your group, coming close to Hoon while placing her hand on his bicep and asking if he was single, it made you want to run away and not witness the exchange of Sunghoon smirking at the other girl. 

Jealousy was a nasty disease, and sadly you were terminal. 

Naturally, you made your way out of the water, face hot as you fanned yourself walking towards the beach chairs under the umbrella, not knowing that the boy had no other job but to follow you, politely rejecting the other girl. 

You sat down, closing your eyes as you tried your hardest not to think about the dream you had earlier, your desire only fuelled when he flirted with you with that ever so stunning smirk of his. 

Seeing him shirtless was your last straw.

You needed alcohol in your system to survive this, to let yourself free. Sunghoon was already resting on the chair next to you by the time you opened your eyes again. 

“I’m hurt,” he started, looking your way. 

You raised your brows at his comment, “why? I thought you had company.” You took a sip of your drink, enjoying the bitter taste on your tongue and the slight warmth it brought to your throat. 

The statement was of immense pleasure to him, especially when he sensed the hint of (read: obvious) jealousy that your words radiated, and he just wished he wasn’t being delusional, his ego boosting alongside his confidence. 

Everyone was out of the water by now, the gang was done with their water sports activities as well, coming and sharing their experiences with a loud chatter, also talking about arranging a bonfire as the sky turned into the prettiest shades of yellow with orange and red hues. 

“I do have company,” he whispered, coming closer for you to hear, “a very pretty one at that.”

He took the beer bottle from your hand, taking a long sip of it, your eyes fixated on how his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped it down. 

You snatched your bottle from him, watching as two drops trailed down his chest and towards his abs. 

“Sorry, but you left your pretty company back in the water,” you huffed, smiling sarcastically before leaving to get a shower and change back into your shorts before the bonfire. 

Sunghoon held on to your wrist before you could escape, pulling you so your back was flesh against his chest, his lips on your ear, brushing it slightly, “you sound jealous, princess,” he teased. 

You turned to look at him, lips an inch away from his, your head tilting, “I don’t have a single reason to be jealous, Sunghoon,” you quipped. 

With that, you walked away, knowing well you were jealous when you had no right to be so. 

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was having the time of his life stealing your attention and having you to himself. Your reactions only encouraged him to do more, he wasn’t the one to flirt, however, he loved to get a reaction out of you. 

Being together for two days was enough for Sunghoon to realize that his feelings for you never faded, it only grew more after spending more time with you. He couldn’t hide the smile forming on his face as you denied being jealous, it gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d have a chance to win your heart. The fragrance of your body mist lingered around him because of the earlier proximity. 

He swore it was his new favourite scent. 

His eyes followed you, admiring your beauty from afar before he too went to get a shower and freshen up. 

“So, you and Sunghoon, huh?” Yeonjun asked, sitting down on the sand next to you. 

The shower did make you feel better, the cool breeze and the sunset creating a calming atmosphere, the bonfire in front of you only making it cozier. 

The question caught you off guard, resulting in an awkward cough from you, “what do you mean?” 

“Come on, anyone can notice the sexual tension between you two, or maybe I’m just observant,” he shrugged, “you can’t deny that he’s hot,” he pointed out helpfully. 

“I’m not denying anything, but I don’t think anything will happen between us,” you pouted, watching the man walk towards your group, drying his hair with a towel. 

A gesture so natural, but he made it seem so enthralling that you couldn’t help but stare. 

“So you do think he’s hot,” Yeonjun followed your gaze with a smirk. 

He wasn’t going to let this go, and you were sure of that, a groan leaving your mouth as you divert your attention towards him. 

“I’ll help you get his attention, although I think you’re doing pretty fine yourself,” he lowered his voice at the last few words as Sunghoon sat down next to you, passing you his charming smile. 

“Truth or dare,” Yeonjun asked you, starting to implement his plan, passing you another can of beer. 

Sunghoon looked at you with curiosity filled eyes, jaw clenched slightly as he noticed your closeness with Yeonjun, why is he always around you? 

“Uh—truth?” You asked more than answering. 

This also gained the attention of your group, everyone cheering to play a round of truth and dare just like the old times. 

“That’s boring,” he scrunched his nose, “how about I dare you to kiss or rather, makeout with someone in this circle?” 

“Yeah, absolutely not. I’m not playing,” you took a long sip of your beer, ignoring the series of disappointed grunts coming your way. 

“Why?” He whined, “I bet anyone would want a kiss from you,” he emphasized, looking around the circle dramatically before he swiped his tongue on his bottom lip. 

Sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek in annoyance, eyes never leaving your face as he saw you disagree, a small smile on his face at your rejection. 

Oh boy, was he going crazy with his ever so often mood swings, only when it involved you. 

He also wondered if Yeonjun wanted that kiss for himself. 

“He’s right I mean, you are beautiful and oh god, I remember the number of proposals you used to get on Valentine’s day,” someone pointed out as a matter of fact. 

Seems like everyone was drunk already and the night had just started. 

That statement made Hoon go stiff as he remembered his own memory of confessing to you. 

“Oh, that reminds me of the time Sunghoon had come to ask you out,” Yunjin mentioned with a mischievous smile, as if everyone was on a mission to have you and Sunghoon in the spotlight. 

You closed your eyes, dreading the topic that was about to come up right in front of everyone, moreover, deep down you did wish to hear what Hoon had to say, after all these years.

The said guy groaned, hiding his face when the topic he so desperately wanted to avoid, came up out of nowhere, secretly hoping that you didn’t find him weird after remembering the same. 

“Sunghoon confessed?” 

“What? When did this happen?”

“Did you reject him?” 

A bunch of questions were thrown your way and you looked at Hoon with a panicked face, him doing the same, biting his cheek yet again and looking away in, well, rejection. 

“It was in high school, and that’s all we’re telling you,” you answered, dismissing the crowd. 

“So you can kiss him as your dare,” someone proudly suggested. 

He looked bothered and you frowned, “guys, no. Let’s not make him uncomfortable now, it should be consensual y’know,” you spoke gently and Yeonjun took the hint to change the conversation really quick, daring someone else to drink five shots in a go. 

If only you knew how much he yearned for it, yet he was sensible enough to not let it happen in front of an audience; batshit drunk and immature audience if he must say so. 

“Hey. Are you alright?” You kept your hand on his surprisingly warm ones. 

“You’re cold,” he frowned, intertwining his fingers with yours effortlessly and keeping them inside his jacket’s pocket, “I have to keep you warm, remember?” He said, still looking elsewhere as to hide the evident blush creeping up his face, not sure if it was due to the prior embarrassment or the newfound warmth of your body. 

He was nervous, trying his best to divert the topic and you let him, scooting closer to feel his warmth. 

“I really did not know you had a boyfriend back then,” he confessed with reddened cheeks, “I was just so fucking busy with exams and—”

“You don’t have to say anything, Hoon. I do understand and I’m sorry for what happened that day,” you tilted your head to look at him, blinking slowly as you finally felt your alcohol kicking in, “you’re pretty,” you whispered.

Maybe you shouldn’t have drank that much, knowing well you can’t handle, or anyone can handle you after you reach that level of drunk. 

Hoon was on his fourth can of beer already, his tolerance level not being too high, causing him to get drunk faster—it showed on his face. 

His heart hammered against his ribs when you whispered that to him, and he pulled you closer, “you’re the prettiest,” he mumbled, tucking a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. 

Everyone seemed to be in their own worlds, laughing at random things, playing music and dancing, however, your drunk self wanted nothing more than to be with Sunghoon, to kiss him, and it took all of your self control to restrain yourself from doing so. 

Sunghoon pulled you closer and on his lap, your face buried in his chest and his arms wrapped around you. He wanted you more than ever and being drunk, he couldn’t help but pull you impossibly closer to him. 

His palm rested on the side of your waist, gentle caresses sending jolts of pleasure up your spine. It felt too 

Despite everything, you did admit how his presence made you feel warm inside, and it wasn’t solely because of alcohol. 

He bummed a song under his breath, you almost slept in his hold, his deep voice giving you butterflies. His embrace made you feel wanted, just like you had wanted him, and you indeed were in your own world, soon being disturbed by others saying it’s time to go back. 

Someone made you drink water, and soon, you were in a cab with your best friend next to you, Sunghoon on the other side and Jay riding shotgun. 

“Good night,” Karina sang out once you reached your hotel, Jay leaving soon after. 

“Come with me, I want to sleep with you,” you whined, no control over your mouth anymore, you took Sunghoon’s hand, pulling him into your room. 

“Y/n,” he whispered, closing the door behind him. 

“Fuck,” he muttered out, seeing you remove your denim shorts, leaving you in your t-shirt as you climbed on your bed. 

He followed, discarding his clothes and getting into the bed with you, a blanket covering your bodies. Your back was pressed against his muscular chest, his arm around your waist keeping you in place. 

A soft gasp left your mouth as you felt his hot breath on your shoulder, his lips touching your skin, making it burn with warmth, “Hoon,” you softly whined. 

“Yes, baby?” He continued placing open mouthed kisses on your skin. 

“Kiss me,” you breathed out. 

“Would you like that?”

“Yes, so much,” you confirmed. 

“I want to kiss you,” he confessed, “but not when we’re drunk. If you ask that of me tomorrow then I’ll do it without question.”

“No—right now,” you mumbled, whining. 

“Shh, sleep for me baby,” he said, distracting you with soft kisses on your shoulder again. 

“But—”

“Go on, princess, sleep, hm?” 

You smiled even though he couldn’t see you, “okay,” you said softly, admiring how beautiful the man was. 

You turned around to face him, “good night, Hoon,” your voice came out as a whisper. 

“Good night , princess.” You felt his lips on your forehead before you drifted off to dreamland. 

A dull ache in your head disturbed your precious sleep. Your eyes opened with a few blinks, settling down on Sunghoon, who laid next to you with his eyes capturing your each movement. You stiffened for a good second, remembering how hot his lips felt on your body the last night. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, hand on your head as the effects of hangover started to kick in. 

“Here,” he got up, passing you a bottle of water. 

“Hoon,” you started, not sure what to say about last night. 

“I’ll go,” he says, “I—I didn’t want to make things awkward between us,” he apologized, getting up quickly, putting his clothes on and leaving before you could say much. 

“Ugh,” you groaned, hating how the situation turned into what it shouldn’t have been, you wanted him, drunk and sober, in both states. 

But he didn’t know that. You were worried if he didn’t want that, or if his gestures were friendly all this time. 

His kisses weren’t friendly last night, your mind reminded you, and you let out a series of curses at that, at how desperately you had wanted him to be close to you, all this in a span of two days. 

Sunghoon was breathing hard by the time he locked his room, going straight in the shower.  He was frustrated. The hot water droplets paired with his flashbacks from the last night, the way you said his name in a whisper, the way your bikini fit you perfectly, and how you looked at him like you wanted him just as much as he did. 

He groaned, hand traveling down his skin to pump his semi hardened cock, gulping as images of you invaded his mind. With his head resting against the tiled wall, his fist moved on his length with speed, with need. 

He had never jerked off to the thought of anyone before you came into his life again, it was his first time and he admitted, he didn’t know that just the thought of your body pressed against his would make him this hard. 

With a moan escaping his lips, he painted the tiles white with his cum, your name leaving his lips as he stood there, breathing hard and deep in thought. 

He had to have you. 

Tonight. 

“We’ll go first,” you tell Karina, getting ready together for the last night — the club night. 

“Sure, but why?” she asked, trying to perfect her already perfect liner. 

“I don’t wish to face Sunghoon,” you mumbled, sitting down on the bed to wear your heels. 

She stopped her movements, turning to look at you, “I thought you guys hooked up last night, it was going well, wasn’t it?” She asked, confused. 

“I don’t know, babe. He didn’t do anything yesterday because we were drunk, which was very sweet of him, but then he left this morning without talking about it,” you explained. 

“So talk tonight, and maybe do more cause you don’t have much time left,” she reminded you, “maybe go with Yeonjun’s plan too, Hoon would definitely reach out to you once he sees you with him. I’ve seen that he doesn’t really like when Jun’s with you, it shows on his face.”

“Really?” You asked with a frown, “making him jealous sounds very high school core to me.”

“So what? It works!” She smiled, “and I’m ready, how do I look?” 

“Stunning, gorgeous, perfect,” you answered, “and I think I’ll take up your advice this time.”

She smirked, “let’s go and get you your man,” she said, coming close to you, getting a shade of lipstick out which suits you through and through, knowing well that it’s the perfect opportunity to use it. 

Flashy lights, loud music, drinks and dancing bodies everywhere. It was easy to spot Yeonjun on the DJ stage, vibing to the music feely. Life of the party as always. 

“Let’s grab some drinks,” Karina spoke in your ear, the music being too loud for you to hear much from a distance. 

You nodded, following her and smiling when you saw a few people from your batch standing there and drinking. 

“My ladies, you look hot,” Beomgyu said, kissing your knuckles and ordering drinks for you both. 

Seems like making Hoon jealous won’t be a problem after all, especially when everyone has a flirty nature. 

You weren’t going to drink today, you had to be sober and in your right mind, so you settled for orange juice instead, the music making you move on your own. 

“My lady!” Yeonjun spoke up, popping out of nowhere, pulling you into a hug before he came closer to whisper, “you look stunning,” his eyes shining as he said so, “but I don’t see lover boy, where’s he?” 

“Will be here soon I hope,” you replied. 

“Dance with me, he’ll definitely come sooner if he sees you with me,” he smirked as you took his hand, taking up on his offer. 

Yeonjun was a good company after all, your eyes widening at his bold moves before he pulled you in with a smirk, “lover boy’s here, and he’s looking at us,” he informed you, your eyes moving behind to look at him. 

Sunghoon was agitated, fuming almost with the sight in front of him. 

He wanted you all to himself, for tonight, tomorrow, and if possible by any means—forever, and he wasn’t going to shy away, not this time. 

“Are you just gonna stand and watch while he takes away your girl?” Jay asked from beside him. 

“Not today, not this time, Jay,” Hoon replied simply, his eyes following your actions, watching as Yeonjun took you to the bar, Gyu on the other side as you laughed about something you were talking about, whispering in each other’s ears. 

Sunghoon scoffed, rolling his eyes as he walked towards you. He didn’t wish to be nice all of a sudden, it was the last night, last possible chance for him to actually do something or regret sitting back forever. 

He stood right behind you at the bar, eyes fixated on your face, the shade of lipstick you had on suited you so perfectly that he wanted to ruin it by smashing his lips onto yours, turning you around in a single go and claiming you his. 

Instead, he tapped on your shoulder, successfully capturing your attention as you finally looked at him thoroughly — he was clad in black trousers, a loose black shirt with two top buttons kept open, his chest slightly on display. A delicate chain on his slender neck, hair parted to the side to match his look and his defined jaw clenched as he looked at you with a desire filled gaze.

His eyes held a different kind of intensity tonight, almost the kind you’d want to get lost in, his lips curved into an attractive smirk as he finally spoke. 

“May I steal you for a moment?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” you nodded mindlessly, gulping at how fine he looked. 

He didn’t wait for you to follow him, instead, he held on to your wrist and pulled you with him, your eyes widened at his bold move, your feet moving quicker to match his pace as he dragged you out from the back door, to an alleyway which was empty. 

“Sunghoon—” you called out his name, but he was quick to push you against the wall.

His eyes looked into yours, they were dark with a feeling you couldn’t quite understand before he leaned in, “remember what you said yesterday?” he asked, nose touching yours, frustration clear in his voice. 

“W—what?” Your voice came out shaky, his fingers on your arms were enough to make you shiver.

“Fuck, kitten. Forgot already?” He chuckled and you let out a shaky breath at how easily he called you such nicknames. 

“Forgot what?” You asked, looking into his hooded eyes. 

“That you wanted me to kiss you,” he leaned in further, his lips brushing against yours with his statement. 

“Yeah? And what about it?” you asked, trying to sound stern, as if your legs weren’t about to give out right this second. 

He scoffed, “I fucking bet you’d love it if Yeonjun would do that, won’t you?”

“I could be wrong, but I have a teeny tiny feeling that you are jealous, Hoon,” you replied, a small satisfactory smile on your face when you saw him scowl, your index finger resting on his clavicle. 

He tilted your head upwards, his slender fingers holding your chin up so you looked into his eyes, “fuck—yeah,” he breathed out, “yeah I am, because I fucking want you all to myself—” he confessed. 

“Fuck it,” you muttered midway his sentence, breaking your tough girl act and pulling him closer by his collar, your hand on his shoulder as you pressed your lips onto his. 

He was quick to react, pushing you against the wall harder while also pulling you closer by your ass, his other hand on your nape. His lips moved against yours in a perfect harmony, you felt your knees getting weaker as his soft lips kissed you with no intention of letting go—not now, not never. 

He separated your legs apart with his knees, pushing it in between them with ease, you pushed yourself further till you could feel his thigh in between your legs, applying pressure to your core which had you moaning into his mouth, almost to the point of drooling. 

“Fuck,” he cussed, separating your lips to place rushed kisses on your neck, your head tilting to give him space as you grinded on his thigh, head ringing with the high he gave you just with his kisses. 

“Ah—Hoon,” you whined, causing him to stop his actions, his slender fingers wrapping around your neck as he pulled you closer yet again, speaking against your lips. 

“I really thought I was over you after not meeting you for four fucking years, baby,” he almost growled, “but nah. I saw you at the party sitting next to me and I realized that I still want you, now more than ever,” he whispered, staring deep into your eyes. 

“I—I want you too, Hoon,” your voice came out breathy. 

He let out a low laugh at that, “you sure you don’t want Yeonjun?” 

He was jealous, he didn’t bother denying that and you admit you found this side of him hot, possessiveness clear in his eyes, which had turned even darker if it was possible. 

“His name wasn’t the one on my tongue when I touched myself last night, y’know,” you admitted, not missing the look of slight surprise on his face, “it was yours, only yours,” you tiptoed to whisper in his ear. 

A barely there smirk settled on your lips as you tried to leave, but Hoon was quick to pull you back, his hand on the back of your head as he pushed you against the wall yet again, and you loved how easily he handled you, as if your body moved the way he wanted it to. 

“You’ll be the death of me, kitten,” he said, “it makes me want to mark you up.”

“Why don’t you do it then?” you whispered, raising your brow as a challenge. 

He didn’t need to be told twice, his lips were on yours the very next second, your fingers tugging at his silky roots, sighing in exasperation with the wetness pooling in your underwear, your mind going fuzzy and your insides melting as you let him take control of you. 

He nips at your bottom lip, hand traveling down to cup your breasts, squeezing them lightly before he pinches your hardening nipples, your back arched into him as you feel a shiver going down your spine. 

Your short dress and its sheer fabric does nothing to help you, your skin feels as if it’s on fire with how passionately he kisses you, pulling you into him with desperation while pushing you back against the wall, your hand going under his shirt, tracing his faint abs softly. 

He knows it’s not even nearly appropriate to do this in public, but he can’t, for the life of him, stop his hands from roaming over the expanse of your body, from his fang-like canines to bite your clavicle and his eyes darkening from lust as he sees your body responding to him exactly how he wants to. 

“I won’t be able to stop myself anymore,” he grunted, taking your name.  

“Take me back to the hotel,” you breathed out, intertwining your fingers with his. 

He nodded fervently, hoping that his hard-on won’t be visible as he drags you through the sea of dancing bodies, biting his lip before you both get to the parking lot, getting into the car he had rented earlier. 

He tried his best to be a gentleman as he opened the car door for you, bending down to press another sloppy kiss on your lips, the atmosphere warm with how drunk he looked in your essence. 

It was hard for him to walk and get into the car himself, especially when you were right there, ready and just as desperate as him, your deep breaths only making him breathless. 

His hand rested on your thigh the whole fifteen minutes of the drive, inching upwards with docile squeezes which made you squirm in your seat, low whines leaving your mouth desperately. 

“Shh, baby. I’ll have to park the car right here if you keep making such sweet noises,” he warned. 

The offer was tempting—tempting enough for you to let out a moan, to which he did what he had to. He swiftly took a turn, parking the car at the empty lane, switching the engine off before he unbuckled his seatbelt. 

He turned your way, lips on yours as he unbuckled your belt too, a gasp leaving your lips as he effortlessly pulled you to his lap. 

“You’re so fucking pretty.” His thumb traced your lip, which you parted looking up at him with innocent eyes to suck on two of his digits, swirling your tongue around it, your cheeks hollow as you took it in. You could feel his hardened length just under your clothed cunt, which made you move your hips slightly, just to get a reaction out of him, testing the waters. 

However it backfired once he smirked against your lips, the warmth of his palm travelling up your body, resting on your clavicle as his fingers closed in around your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze before he thrusted up. 

You moaned, struggling to keep your eyes open.  

“I want you, please!” you begged, unbuckling his belt as he watched your every move. 

“I can’t believe I get to have you now,” he says. 

“What do you mean?” You stop to look at him, arms around his neck. 

He puts his arm around your waist, picking you up slightly to get rid of his pants and boxers, “you’re the only fucking person I’ve ever wanted,” he says, whispering your name right after, eyes on your dress strap which slid down your shoulder, “tell me what you want, baby.”

Every word he spoke, every sound he made, it all caused an influx of this feeling in your chest—your heart raced, butterflies erupting into a wild fashion as your face heated up with the depth of this situation. 

“You. All of you,” you answered in a beat, “I can’t wait anymore, I can’t stop thinking about you, Sunghoon,” you said. 

“You don’t have to,” he whispered, kissing a sensitive spot below your ear, “don’t fucking stop, kitten,” he mumbled as he licked your neck, his fingers pulling your panties to the side simultaneously, pressing them to your wetness. 

You held onto his shoulders as he rubbed your sensitive folds, his cock poking at your entrance alongside, “such pretty moans,” he groaned, feeling you being a mess in his arms, “all for me?” 

“All for y—you!” Your words came out in fragments, legs shaking as he pushed his fingers inside you, your back arching into him yet again. His lips were busy planting kisses all over your tits, ensuring not to leave a single spot, pushing your dress down to reveal every bit of you.  

Sunghoon was a patient person, but not when it came to you. You were driving him insane with just how vulnerable and needy you appeared to be in his arms, his eyes fixated on how your chest rose up and down, his own sweat making his hair stick to his forehead, your breaths intertwining as he plunged his fingers harder into you.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, strong enough to leave crescent marks, the sound of your low moans, his grunted murmurs, and the deep breaths interfolded impeccably with the music playing on the radio, reverberating through the car. 

Once he felt like you were prepped enough, dripping on his fingers, he swiftly pulled you up, pressing his lips upon yours as he pushed you down on his cock, your walls clenching around his length, the stretch too pleasurable for it to hurt you. 

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, scrunching it up as to support yourself against his body, each touch of his igniting your senses. His muscles tensed beneath your touch as your hand unbuttoned his shirt, the cold of your hand juxtaposing the warmth radiating his body.

“You’re not real,” he mused, mesmerized, “so fucking pretty, taking my cock like that.” Sunghoon knew he was far gone when it concerned you, but now that you were actually here, closer to him than ever, he couldn’t help but let his mouth run loose to tell you just how stunning you were. 

“You’re mine tonight, huh?” 

“So—so fucking yours,” you moaned. 

He scoffed, grabbing your jaw to make you look at him, “say it, clearly.” 

“I’m so fucking yours Sunghoon,” you gasped, feeling him twitch hard inside of you. 

“That’s it, that’s my good little kitty,” he chuckled against your mouth, kissing your swollen lips yet again. 

You both muttered a string of curses before you started shifting your hips, his hands on your waist guiding you up and down, eyes closing but he was quick to grab your neck, “look at me when I fuck you,” he said, bucking his hips up to meet yours. 

He loved how you looked, hair messy, lips swollen and eyes slightly teary as you tried to form coherent sentences but failed miserably, all of which Sunghoon loved. 

You were just as gone for him as he was for you. 

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” He asked, taking your hand and pressing it to your lower abdomen where you could feel the bulge of his cock sliding in and out effortlessly, given how wet you were, practically dripping all over his lap and the car seat, something that the rental company wouldn’t really appreciate but that was the least of your worries. 

“Gonna make you scream my name till the windows fog up with your desperation,” he rasped near your ear and you couldn’t function anymore, not when the hottest man ever had you spiralling for him.  

“Sunghoon, H—hoon!” Your voice got louder as you did exactly what he had promised you’d do, making him chuckle against your neck, nipping on the skin with the intentions of leaving marks, his marks, “slow, please!”

You were lying to yourself by now, you didn’t want him to be slow, you just weren’t sure how much you can take before you lose the final string of your sanity—if there’s any left, that is. 

“God,” Sunghoon mumbled, “slow? I’ll fuck you hard enough you’ll feel me in your cunt for days, kitten.”

“Fucking hell, I—I’m close,” you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulder. 

“Let go, baby,” he said, groaning as he felt your juices coating his dick, your moans louder than before, eyes closed and his name like a mantra on your lips. 

He grunted, rubbing your clit as he slid out of your pussy, stroking his cock until he spilled his cum all over your inner thigh. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he breathed out, “not so quick.” 

You were fucked, quite literally. He kissed you, once, twice, and again till he was moaning in your mouth, so dazed he could barely function for a minute when you tried catching your breath. 

He helped you get into your seat again, not even bothering to put his shirt on as he drove back, jaw clenched, your eyes on him the entire time, pussy tingling as his hand squeezed your thigh every two seconds. 

And he didn’t lie, his movements were more frantic than ever as he drove back to the hotel with record speed, making sure to stay and help you look presentable, the small touches of him all over your face made you feel an feeling which you couldn’t quite name, it was indescribable, but you knew it gave you butterflies. 

And you wondered how this guy who fucked you so roughly not even ten minutes back could also be this sweet and caring, kissing you every chance he got. 

You giggled as you ran into the elevator, a smile gracing his own face at your giddy mood, “I don’t want this night to end,” he confessed. 

“It won’t end just yet,” you said, taking out your room card and opening the door, which he closed equally soon as he pushed you against the wood. 

He looked perfect, swollen red lips, shirt barely buttoned, hair all over the place, and eyes so shiny as if he held a whole universe in them, or maybe that was just your reflection. 

“Kitten,” he sighed, “let me taste you,” he requested. 

You looked at him with teasing eyes, a smile of the same fashion gracing your face as you went on, unzipping your dress and moving towards your bed while facing Sunghoon, letting the dress fall along with your underwear, uncovering your bare body to him, as if offering the last morsel of meal to a hungry man. 

He unbuttoned his shirt, discarding all his garments. You could finally see him in light, his eyes hooded, body sculpted by the gods themselves, the v-line and his big cock making you gulp as you remembered how good he felt inside you. 

“Get on the bed,” he ordered you, to which you obliged. 

“God, such a good little girl for me, spread your pretty legs and let me see you, baby,” he spoke, getting in between your legs, his chain dangling down. 

The nickname made you shiver, Park Sunghoon made you feel weak, in all the best ways, the way he kissed your thighs, inching closer to your inner thighs, so close to your core which was still wet, all of this made you breathless. 

A pathetic whine of Sunghoon’s name slipped past your lips the exact second he licked your pussy, his big hands keeping your legs open, “eyes on me,” he spoke against your wetness, humming at the taste. 

He wastes no time in immersing his tongue into your pussy, licking and sucking as you panted, thighs shaking, his tongue tracing your vulva, groans vibrating against your folds, your hips bucking up into his mouth as he delved deeper, pushing his tongue into you. 

Your soft folds made him growl, nuzzling closer. Nothing was enough, he couldn’t get enough of you, even the scent of your arousal had his cock twitching, it was harder than ever, almost painful at this point, his nose nuzzling deeper, brushing against your heat. 

“H—hoon,” you cried, a tear streaming down your face, your fingers tugging on his hair, which only urged him to growl more into your cunt. 

It was so raw, so filthy. 

You feel ecstatic as his thumb probes at your narrow depths, stimulating your clit while he pushes his tongue in, “want you so much,” he spoke against you. 

“Hoon! Please, can’t wait anymore,” you said, pussy swollen and you needed his cock inside you. 

“So needy, and for me?” He asked cockily. 

“Y—yes! Please,” you begged. 

“How can I say no when you ask so nicely?” He comes up, kissing you, making you taste yourself on his tongue.

His chain dangled around your collarbone, his intense gaze focused on your expressions as he pumped his cock a few times, his tip on your entrance. 

He spit into your mouth, diving right in to kiss and capture your moan.

He pushed himself in with a swift movement, bottoming out. He asked if you felt fine, giving you time to adjust, he moved in and out of you swiftly, body pressed against your warm one, his each thrust getting deeper with the roll of his hips. 

You could swear you had never felt this way before, he hit your g-spot so precisely, and the feeling of him being inside you, all raw and thick, made you mewl with pleasure. 

“You look so pretty,” he groaned, licking your neck where he had just marked you, “falling apart on my cock like that.”

Your toes curled each time he opened his mouth to whisper something filthy into your ear, making your head spin in a good way. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, your fucked out face, swollen lips and the innocent eyes begging him to go faster made it harder for him to hold back. He, in fact, didn't wish to hold back anymore.

He thrusted in harder, squeezing your tit as you cried out his name, your walls clenching around him, making his length twitch as his fingers dug into your ass, pulling you closer, your tits pressed against his chest, his eyes wild and desperate. 

“Can’t get enough of you, it’s like your body was made for me,” he smirked lazily, fangs showing as you told him how you can’t wait any longer, you can’t hold back any longer. 

He was just as desperate, not being able to hold his dick twitching in you with a need to release. 

“Cum in me!” You moaned out. 

That drove him over the edge. You filled with his cum? His warmth dripping out of your soft little cunt? Fuck, he could burst his load right into you but he needed you to be completely, truly okay with it. 

“Y/N, are you sure?” He asked, cupping your face, leaning in to brush his nose against yours, foreheads pressed as he breathed in deeply to control himself, just like you, a different kind of warmth spreading through your body. 

He had never done that before, neither had you, however, you wanted nothing more than to experience it for the first time and you wanted it with each other. 

You nodded, “yes—yes please,” before he pushed his cock harder, as you rutted your hips absentmindedly to ride out your high.

The room smelled like sex, the mist clouding it as your sounds resonated the walls, you didn’t even try to conceal your voices anymore, the dim lights only made the atmosphere hotter. 

“Oh, fuck!” He grunted. 

Your orgasm ripped through you as you pulled his nape closer for his lips to be on yours, his own climax rushing as you felt the warming sensation of Sunghoon’s cum filling your cunt up to the brim. 

You both stilled, taking deep breaths and coming down from your state of euphoria, gulping as you saw him looking right at you. 

“C’mere,” he said softly, getting up and watching his cum dripping down on your sheets, gulping as the tip of his ears getting red. 

You couldn’t get up, only looking up at Hoon with teary eyes, he swore you looked like a broken puppy to him, which only made him wanna scoop you up in his arms, his muscles flexing yet again as he held you up, kissing the corner of your eye, tasting the salty tear that escaped, courtesy of his cock which provided you with the best orgasm of your life. 

“Fuck—ah,” you whimpered, only boosting his ego.

You couldn’t walk, he made it happen. 

Which made it his duty to take care of you, biting down on his smile, he chuckled, making you groan and slap his shoulder, only causing him to laugh without hesitation this time, you swore it was the prettiest laugh ever. 

“You alright, love?” He asked, eyes shining as you nodded, both walking towards the bathroom.  

“God—don’t say that,” you mumbled, shyness creeping through. 

“What? My love?” He said again, smiling as he emphasized again. 

“Hoonie,” you warned and he only kissed you again, before you pushed him playfully, stepping into the shower, barely holding yourself up. 

“Need help, princess?” He asked, eyebrows raised as he stared at your body, and you gave him a look, almost surprised to see him getting hard again. 

Oh boy, was he crazy for you. 

“In the shower?” You raised your own brows. 

“Well, I fear if I was the one who filled you up with my cum, I should be the one to help you clean it,” he whispered, getting into the shower, closing the glass door behind him, sneaking his hand up your waist. 

“You’re crazy,” you said, looking up at him with a grin which you did try hard to conceal. 

“Hey, it also helps us save water,” he added, smile widening, before he leaned in, lips on your neck, as you felt the warmth of the water cascading down your bodies. 

“Missed this?” He asked, shoving his hand between your legs, “god, you’re so full of my cum,” he chuckled proudly as you shivered in his arms. 

Sunghoon wasn’t usually this confident, however, seeing you breathless, whimpering and asking for more even though he had just destroyed your cunt was doing something to him, he couldn’t help but admire the sight—something he’d never get used to. 

He was gonna get what he’s wanted all along, once wasn’t enough, even a thousand times won’t be enough, he wanted you for the course of his lifetime, eerily romantic thought for someone who was fucking the girl of his dreams in a shower. Lovely. 

You pulled him in for another rushed kiss, feeling him smirk against you, chasing your lips as you tried to move back in hopes of whining, but he was greedy enough to grab your nape, greedy enough to swallow all your moans, keeping it for himself. 

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, fingers teasing your cunt, or what he’d like to say, cleaning your cunt which he so nastily claimed, “not clean enough, hm? I think we’ll have to use a deeper approach.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” you panted, his cock lining up against your wet cunt, and you could only look up at him. 

His hair sticking to his forehead, water droplets dripping down his face to your cheek, steam fogging up the glass door as you tried to keep yourself up on the slick tiled surface, his muscles flexing as his veiny hand held you up, his grunt loud as he pushed himself into you yet again tonight. 

His thrusts were languid as you tried your hardest to breathe, his head leaning down, with his mouth open, practically breathing you. 

“I fucked you so hard and yet you’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, “god—baby, you feel so fucking good,” he muttered. “So fucking good—fucking perfect—mine.”

“Yours,” you mewled out, eyes closing with each of his hard thrust. 

Lasting long wasn’t an option, not when you were this close to reaching euphoria, but it was different this time, and you feared what might happen if he went on like this. His cock was so thick, also the biggest you’d ever taken, to the point you could feel its bulge on your lower abdomen.  

“Can’t—can’t anymore,” you stuttered, legs shivering to the point your knees gave out and Hoon held you up with ease. 

“Doing so good for me baby, let go, hm? Be a good little slut for me,” he rasped. 

That tumbled you over the edge, your eyes rolling back as you let out the loudest moan of Sunghoon’s name, thighs shaking as a jet of liquid gushed out of your quivering slit, surprising the boy who let out a groan, filling your cunt again as you squirting all over his cock, the sensation overwhelming you to the point your body almost fell limp in his arms, panting harshly as Sunghoon moaned. 

“Did you just—” 

“I didn’t—know I could,” you mumbled, hiding your face in his neck, embarrassment creeping through. 

He breathed in deeply, kissing you again, “that was the hottest fucking thing you could have done, baby” he mumbled against your lips, “you’re perfect, you did so well for me, you’re my good girl.”

Sunghoon barely held himself up, the way you reacted to him, the way you looked when you let yourself loose, it was going to be etched in his mind forever. 

It took you both a while to calm down again, and he kissed you all over to do so, soft pecks all over your face, making you smile lazily at his sudden cuteness. He made sure you were clean and helped you shower properly this time before coming out. 

Sunghoon was clingy, absolutely not having it in him to leave your side, observing every move of yours as if trying to memorize every bit of you, even making sure you’re clad in his shirt as you both made your way towards the bed, a soft glow gracing your faces.

“Hey,” he said, getting into the covers with you. 

“Hey,” you turned towards him, still feeling giddy. 

“I can’t believe you’re real,” he said, touching your cheeks softly. 

“Why would you say that?” You asked, keeping your hand on his. 

“Before tonight, I had only ever dreamed of being this close to you, I never thought I’d even get to kiss you,” he spoke. 

“Hoon, I’ve been thinking about you since we met again,” you told him, brushing his hair with your fingers softly, “actually, ever since I got the invite,” you confessed sheepishly. 

That made him smile, “can I ask you something?” 

You hummed, “yes?” 

“Can we, maybe, if you’re okay with it then y’know—” he fumbled with his words, making you laugh, even the slight lisp of his was so perfect. 

“Shh, we’ll talk tomorrow, yeah? Hold me to sleep, Hoonie,” you said, putting your arm around him. 

His heart melted at the sight, and what made him happier was the fact that you didn’t just want him for sex, your smile expressed it all. The thought of you actually liking him back, reciprocating his feelings made his heart beat faster, anticipating a future with you. 

“Good night, baby,” he kissed you, just like last night. However, he kissed your lips tonight, making you giggle softly as you held onto him tighter. 

He stared at you, not being able to hide his smile and wondering how he could ask you out again, especially when it would be easy for him to meet you since you both lived in Seoul. 

The trip was officially over, and you could proudly admit that you loved every second of it. 

Your flight was the same as Jay and Sunghoon’s, courtesy of you living in the same city, in which he couldn’t help but keep his eyes fixed on your seat. He appeared to be a pathetic puppy who couldn’t help but stare at his owner, gone to the point he picked the same movie to watch as you, talk about being a stalker in love. 

Jay was sitting next to Hoon and he desperately wished he could kick Jay out and ask you to be next to him but he managed to behave these few hours. He was happy as long as he could look at your pretty face. 

Both Jay and Karina screamed in shock when Sunghoon kissed you at the airport before leaving for their own apartments, he wasn’t shy about his, almost boasting in a way to show off how you were his, almost. 

A text popped up on your notification panel as soon as you reached your place, still smiling like a madman while answering all the questions Karina threw your way. 

Hoon <3: hey i was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime? 

You: as friends?

Hoon <3:  god, baby c’mon 

You: as friends? 🥺

Hoon <3: Y/N what if i kms 

You: as friends? 😁

Hoon <3:  okay, fine 😔 nooo, as something more :(

You: fuckk you’re so cute like a puppy

Hoon <3:  oh

You:  don’t tell me… you like being called that? 

Hoon <3: why don’t you try and say it then the next time i’m deep inside your cunt?

You:  oh fuck

Hoon <3: is that a yes baby?

You:  what if it is? 

Hoon <3: that’ll make me very very happy, princess 

You:  AHAAHDHSJ text me the date and time 😚

You smiled, loving how things had changed from the first time he asked you that question. 

It was indeed a reunion that you could never forget. 

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[tonycries]

Golden Boy - G.S.

Synopsis. Falling right back in love with the cult leader you’re supposed to kíll? Happens more often than you’d think.

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader 

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, friends/lovers to enemies to lovers, oral (fem receiving), facesítting, creampíe, slight Gojo x Reader, running away from it, Suguru is so SOOO in love still, unprotected, spítting, kinda angsty, hurt/comfort, mentions of bIood and kníves, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.4k

A/N. I was listening to fantasmas while writing this so take that how you will LMAO.

The difficult part, surprisingly, wasn’t infiltrating Geto Suguru’s Time Vessel Association. No, a few faux tears, a decoy curse, and you were in - stepping through his grandiose hideout. The difficult part was convincing yourself that you were here to kill him. 

Something that utterly foolish little part of yourself still had trouble believing - even when you had a knife to his throat. 

“Any last words?” you spit, muffled through your mask, thankful for the way it covers up just how much your voice shakes. Maybe because of the way his lips curl into a familiar smile, maybe from his cool dagger pressing against the back of your neck.

Seconds away from a bloodbath. 

You don’t know if you’re breathing - or if he is either. Eyes locked on the way Sugur- your target only raises his hand up, up, up - getting ready to strike. To kill. Only you’d get him first and-

Snip!

You’re not dead. But you might as well have been, because your mask falls onto the tatami mat with a deafening clatter. 

“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.”

It’s hard not to remember. 

“You don’t have any right to say that.” your knees tighten around where you had him straddled to the ground. Your hand pinning one of his down, blade digging deeper into Suguru’s pale neck - eyeing the slow, steady drop of blood that beads down it. “Didn’t think you’d remember me, either.”

With your mask now no longer on your face, you could traitorously take in that relaxed grin - as if your life wasn’t in his hands right now. As if he didn’t care. 

Suguru’s hair was much longer now, splayed out across the floor inkily. Circling around his broad shoulders, around the eyes that were just a bit harder than they were ten years ago. And yet, you catch the way they flicker briefly with something so raw as he whispers gently, “How could I ever forget my first love?”

So quiet that you could’ve blamed it on your imagination - and you wish you did. 

It’s so unfair. 

Unfair how you let out a gasp, despite yourself. Unfair how you were the best sword wielder that Jujutsu had to offer, yet your fingers tremble on your knife. Heart stuttering at the mere sight of the way his eyes crinkle with the beginnings of a smile. Pleading, like all he could see was you from what felt like a thousand lifetimes ago. 

Those golden years. Back when rare Susanoomon cards were what you’d fight over, and the only stains he’d wipe off were from the grassy grounds of Jujutsu High, still faint underneath the encrusted blood on that uniform nestled away deep in his wardrobe.

You manage to grit out, “Shut up. You left me- us.”

“I did.”

Like it was all he wanted to see. 

“You never loved me.”

“I do.”

Your voice is shrill at this point, words stumbling over each other. “You’ve massacred more people than you’ve saved.”

Suguru wastes no time denying - or in any niceties. Looking right into your absolutely crazed eyes as he answers, “I have.” And his answer rings so hollow and emotionless in your ears, cold-blooded. Absolutely nothing like the boy you remembered. The one that would laugh and steal you away to take you around campus on his bicycle, all because the next class was “too far”.

“I- fuck.” You place both hands on the hilt of your blade, distantly registering the way that Suguru lets his own drop onto the floor. “I should kill you- I should kill you right now.”

Just one flick of your wrist. Fast and simple. 

In and out - exactly like you’d been ordered to. 

“And to die by your hand would be a death that someone like me doesn’t deserve.”

You both jolt when your knife hits the ground - as if neither of you were expecting it. And before you can stop yourself, you’re fisting his thick robes, pulling Suguru’s face up closer to yours. Mere inches away. 

“Then- then I’ll-” you choke, a hand coming up to dig into the sides of his milky neck, leaving neat, red indents on his skin. “I’ll kill you with my own hands, Suguru.”

And he’s known you for years - would never admit it, but was by your side for only half as long as he’d watched over you. 

Saw - only from a distance -  those big fat tears you cried at graduation, the curve of your lips as you pulled a very reluctant Nanami into a hug outside his new office building. The steely look in your eyes meeting Satoru’s much softer one, telling him first how you’re going into teaching. And the smile on your face when you thought of who else might have, too. If he’d gotten the chance.

Always hidden.

Never so close to this frenzied glint in your gaze, a tiny sob threatening to escape your lips. Never like this - and yet, he never thinks you’ve looked so beautiful. 

But what would someone like him know about beauty, anyway?

You flinch as Suguru reaches a hand up to thumb away the furrow between your brows, catching on the single, stray tear sitting at your cheekbone. Whispering - so low that you involuntarily crane your head closer to hear - “Still such a crybaby.”

“And you’re still going to be the death of me.”

Soft - Suguru’s lips are as soft as you imagined. And it’s not exactly the tender, picture-perfectly romantic first kiss his teenage self dreamt up with you, but fuck if he wasn’t going to remember this like it was. 

Perfect. 

Pretty lips smothering yours, all slow and sensual. Drinking in those deliciously breathless gasps of yours as he sucks on your candied lips. 

You gasp, “Suguru.” and it comes out teary. Making you finally register the wetness rolling down your cheeks, glistening against the dim lighting. You tighten your grip around his neck, “This won’t fix-”

“I know.” Fuck, does he know better than anyone else. 

A hand slides up your forearm, the other cupping your face to pull you closer. He’s running his hot tongue along your cheek, pooling your salty tears on his lips. “But let me make you forget - if just for tonight. Please.”

The only answer Suguru gets is your fingers leaving his neck, dancing feather-light across his sculpted shoulders to slide under his robe. Feeling the smooth plane of his pecs underneath your palm, that traitorously thundering heartbeat he wishes he could slow down. “Kiss me.”

“Fuck.” he pants into your open mouth. The sight of your glossy, slightly puffy lips having him surge forward to reattach his with yours with a pained grunt. “God- jus’ a bit more, my love.”

Again. And again and again- like he was addicted. 

He’d always been, with you, anyway.

You let out a sinful sound of his name when Suguru kisses down your neck, lips slotting over your racing pulse. Throbbing and so real under his lips, remembering how he used to feel this song under his arms long before. 

“Oh- shit.” you moan, when his now rougher - larger - hands sneak underneath your crumpled shirt, deftly unbuttoning. Unbuckling. Impatient. “Sugu-”

A hoarse groan leaves him, only spurring him to all but rip the rest of your uniform off your body faster. 

And at the first sight of you clad in nothing but your panties, Suguru’s kiss-bitten lips are falling slack. Brows shooting up into the dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead now, “Been missing out, hm?” He’s dipping a hand down to run the back of his index along your clothed, puffy folds. Up and down. “Really been-” Heart clenching when he remembers the way Satoru now looks at you with a familiar glint. One he knew all too well. “-missing out, my love.”

You’re only trailing your fingers along his cheek - his neck, grazing over that little mark from your blade. He groans - maybe from your touch, probably from the way you’re dragging your cunt across that massive bulge underneath you. “Please, Suguru. Wan’ you.” 

And if Geto Suguru has spent ten years denying himself, surely he could sacrifice it for the way he lifts your stuttering, sloppy hips up so easily. All the way up until they were hovering over his mouth, hot breath hitting your clothed cunt. 

“Wanna taste you.” he groans, spying on the way your slick beads through your panties. “Wan’ see if you’re as hah- sweet as I imagined. Please.”

And he’s obsessed with the way you’re sinking yourself down so gently, cock jumping at the thought of you afraid you’d suffocate him - as if you didn’t have your blade at his throat just minutes ago.

“Fuuuck, don’t worry, pretty.” he groans, soft darting to lick at the juices smeared across your inner thighs. “Some more now. Put it all on me, I can take it- fuck-”

Your syrupy sweet cunt has Geto losing whatever’s left of his fucking restraint, dark eyes rolling to the back of his head because you were so sweet. So pretty looking down at him with your glassy eyes. So addictive. He moans, chest heaving as he breathes in your essence. “What happened to that feist from earlier? Gonna hafta do a lil’ more than that now.”

“B-but-”

It’s at this moment you realize that at any given moment Suguru could’ve easily taken the upper hand. A hand of his pulls down your hesitant hips, swollen lips against your covered ones in such a filthy kiss. 

He hums into your folds, bunching your panties between them. “Mmm. Shit- jus’ like I imagined.” Hot tongue dipping just underneath the flimsy fabric to feel out your sloppy entrance, “Better, even. Jus’ look how well you’re taking me, pretty.”

But you don’t - too scared to find out that you’d like the sight more than you should. How you wished you could go back to the golden days where it didn’t matter - wasn’t a matter of life and death. And something else entirely. 

And this dilemma has Suguru’s brows furrowing, sharp canines lightly nipping at one of your swollen folds. Wanting to see how it’s him - despite everything, it’s still him making you feel this way. “None of that now.”

RIP!

With this you have to look down, a desperate whine leaving your stupid mouth at the fucking sinful sight down below. Your panties now a tattered excuse in between Suguru’s teeth, baring them with such a devilish grin right up at you. 

“See?” he spits out the fabric onto the floor beside him, half-lidded eyes peering up at you so sultry. Looking right at you as his tongue lolls out, spreading your bare, needy folds shamefully. “Isn’t this much better?”

“Hngh- fuck, yes-” you slide your fingers through his now-messy hair, falling out of that half-bun. Jolting on top with each push of his tongue past that feeble ring of resistance, the lewd squelches leaving you with each graze of the wet muscle against your walls. “Shit- Suguru it feels too good. So deep ngh-”

He swats a hand against your ass, making you sit your slutty hips down deeper, all the way till Suguru’s jaw was grinding so greedily against your cunt. Tongue bullying past your folds in and out in and out in and-

“God- hah-” he’s pulling away to gasp deep lungfuls of air - secondary, to the way he was back immediately to making out so hotly with your tight pussy. “Mmm fuck. This cute lil cunt is so needy. S’like you’re trynna suck my tongue off.” Thumb reaching up to draw slow, languid circles that have you throwing your head back. “So perfect.”

Your delirious mouth is dropping open, body moving before your mind as you strain to reach your hand behind. Trembling. Shaky when you manage to cup Suguru’s aching erection. 

“G-guess m’not the only one ah- needy, hm?” you smirk, having him bucking and spitting out harsh little profanities with each rub of your palm down his drenched length. 

Suguru doesn’t give you a response - because his fingers are speaking on his behalf. Dipping into your sloppy hole, locating your g-spot, as if on instinct. He’s milking your pretty cunt while he roams for those sweet spots. Lips muffling around your throbbing clit, “You’re always right, my love. You always were.”

And his words are so gentle - mouth so sloppy. Squelches so obscene. 

Nose pressing up at the top of your abdomen, cheeks hollowing wetly around the sensitive nub. Letting your juices drip all the way down his chin, his jaw, dangerously close to that cut on his neck. 

The hand sliding back and forth across the swollen outline of his cock had Suguru get more frenzied. Faster. Like it was his personal mission to make you cum on his tongue before he fucking passed out. 

Penetrating your gummy hole with both his fingers and his tongue, spreading it open more. And it’s all you can do to keen, “Oh- oh my god.” Riding Suguru’s pretty face harder. “Shit- m’close, Suguru.”

“Always right.” he gasps, swiping his tongue faster across your clit. “Always perfect” Alternating between squeezing back into your hole, your sweet spots. Stretching out your gummy walls as far as they’d go. “Always made f’me.” Assaulting it with both his fingers and his tongue. Again. And again and again and- “Jus’ wish I got to have you sooner.”

His words make you snap your eyes up from his mean mouth to meet his gaze, devouring you as greedily and depraved as his tongue. They make your thighs burn with the effort to drag your sloppy pussy faster.

They make you cum - shaking, crying out little mewls of “Ngh- fuck. M’cumming m’cumming m’cumming.”

The way your voice is breaking at the end of each moan has Suguru’s cock straining so painfully against his trousers. One hand firmly on your waist, arching you deeper to tongue you through your high in ways he’s only ever dared to imagine. 

Ways he’s selfishly hoped only he could - even after all these years, the sight of any other man looking at you wrong having his irritation flaring. 

“S’right.” his voice is sending stars bursting behind your lids, tongue even worse. Having you pleading and so sensitive. “I got you, my love. Give it t’me.” Messy - not as forgiving as he’d like to be. “Give it alllll to me.”

And you do - all but smothering Suguru’s eager tongue with all your sweet juices. Ones he’s lapping up happily, tilting his head back as far as it’d go on the floor, letting your heady slick fill up his throat. His pussydrunk lips let out a hiss, both at the burn of that cut on his neck, and the way you’re desperately pulling your hips back. 

Too overstimulated. Too fucking sensitive. Too much - but it would never be enough for Suguru. 

“Please, Suguru.” you sob at the way your limp hips are being pulled back by a needy Suguru. “M’too sensitive. I- fuck-” He’s only lapping at your quivering cunt leisurely, smirk prominent against your swollen folds. 

And it’s all you can do to deliriously slip a hand underneath his robes, a desperate attempt to keep whatever shred of sanity you have left. Fingers feeling down his unfairly toned abs, the tufts of hair at his pelvis, reaching-

“Oh fuck!” Your heavy eyes admire the way Suguru arches into your touch in surprise - like he couldn’t help himself. Eyes flying open, glossy, plump lips curling into a disbelieving grin, “Ya really are made f’me, huh?” 

That’s all it takes for Suguru to head to your lewd whims, bruising fingers on your hips finally loosening to let you sit your sloppy cunt back down on his lap - except, this time, you were seated directly on his rock-hard cock. Pussy lips spreading around his length to just soak him. 

“Oh, my love.” He sits up, splaying you out so prettily on his lap. “How I’ve missed you.”

You don’t even register the way you’re raising your head up to meet Suguru’s - not until he spits. Once. Twice. Straight onto your awaiting tongue that you didn’t even realize you were sticking out, saccharine sweet saliva making such a mess when he’s crashing his lips into yours. 

“Yeahh, like that. Kiss me like that.” he slurs against your mouth, drunk off both sets of your sweet lips. Getting out through wet, sloppy pecks. “How I wish I had you sooner.”

You can feel your heart thumping so wildly against your ribcage, matching the needy, needy staccato of Suguru’s cock throbbing between your puffy folds. And, well, you really can’t be blamed for the way you break the kiss to look down and oh-

Oh Suguru notices that furrow between your brows, kissing away the nervous little wobble in your lower lips as he grunts, “God, you’re killin’ me.” 

Fuck. Killing him?

You were the one sent in for the kill, but it seems you won’t be making it out here alive. 

Because Suguru was so big, girth rubbing up against your thighs. So angry and heavy, smearing hot precum over his abs, your cunt, adding to add to the absolute mess. Long enough that you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk out of here - which, honestly, Suguru would’ve preferred. To keep you with him forever. 

To have you always mewling so prettily when he’s dragging his fat head down your sensitive slit. To have his name - and only his name - leave your bruised lips when he’s asking, “Who’s got you this wet?” 

You’re so cockdrunk already that you’re groaning mindlessly, “You- Suguru-”

“No, that’s not what you call me.” 

And it takes you a few, long seconds to understand what he’s saying, all the while trying to focus with the leaky tip being pressed past your swollen folds. Slow. Torturous. Hitting you so violently at the same time he slips past that first, slutty ring of muscle. 

“Sugu!”

A blinding grin splits across Suguru’s absolutely fucked-out face, brows furrowing together in ecstasy. “That’s more hah- like it.” Not having heard that familiar little nickname - one of your many - fall from your lips since high school - one that makes a heart he forgot he had grow five sizes too large. “Now, just take me-” Hips bucking up, so strong and ruthless. “-like I know you can, okay?”

Over and over. 

You can’t let out anything but barely-lucid whines at this point, letting Suguru sink in inch by fucking inch. Your walls stretched out so perfectly to take his sheer size. But the stretch- oh, the stretch.

Fuck, it has you clawing at Suguru’s exposed shoulders, fingers leaving angry, red marks down the muscles. An obscene ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with each time he reels his hips back, only to bully his aching cock inside until he physically couldn’t.

“Hngh- Sugu, s’too big-” You buck your hips down in shallow, tentative grinds to meet his filthy method of fitting in. “Too- much. Didn’t expect you to be so mean-”

“The sorcerer that hah- held a knife to the infamous Geto Suguru’s neck-” he groans, hands groping your ass to move you further down his massive cock. To watch the way your sloppy entrance was stretching out so much to suck him up. “-can take this too, right? I know you can.” He reaches a deft thumb around to toy with your pretty clit, making your cunt relax like the good girl she is. Fucking up deeper, just a bit more mean. “You- can-”

Several things happen at the tail end of Suguru’s sentence - he’s finally fitting in all in one go. With a calculated, harsh thrust up into your poor cunt, your ass is kissing his heavy balls, pussy rubbing against the hair at his hilt. So full and so much.

And Suguru knows he just might not see heaven - but shit, does he feel like he’s there right now. The feeling so good that both of you letting out mingling gasps of pleasure. 

Your back falling onto the now soiled mats like such animals, the other not far behind.

“You alright, my love?” Suguru hums against your throat when you’re managing to adjust somewhat to the stretch, aware enough to kiss the palm resting protectively underneath your head - making sure you don’t hurt yourself.

You bat your teary lashes, “Never been better, Sugu.”

And something about that makes him remember. 

Remember the way you’d tell him the exact same thing when you fought with curses too strong for you - coming back to the dorms all battered and bruised, but alive. Flashing him that addictive grin, and a crooked thumbs up, “Never been better, Sugu. Gold, actually.”

His golden girl.

Shaking away the tightness at his throat, Suguru instead focuses on wrapping your trembling legs around his toned waist. Tight.

“Sh-shit- you’re milkin’ me so good, fuck-”

Abs burning as he just drags his cock along your plushy walls, keeping your legs held wide open for him. So tight - like you were sucking the fucking soul out of him. Making sure to angle his hips in just the way that’ll have your eyes tearing at the way he was massaging all your sweet spots. 

And sure enough - “O-oh my god-” you breathe, and shit, it was so hard to speak. Suguru’s cock too big, too depraved. Speeding up with every ram of his hips into a steady, mean pace. “Jus’ like that, fuck-”

“Mhm?”

You paw at his free hand settled by the side of your neck, trailing it down, down, down - rings and all - to the part of your stomach you could feel his thick tip hitting. A slight bulge, abusing your cervix over and over, “Here-”

“-s’where I belong.”

Your brows raise at his interjection, and you swipe away the long locks of hair partially covering Suguru’s face, legs tightening around his hips as you take a long, hard look. He repeats, “S’where I belong. Where ngh- you belong.”

Like some deep, dark part of him was trying to fuck out any and every doubt about this out of you - as if you’d have any - Suguru’s rolling his hips harder into yours. All the way until it almost hurt - until the sting of his twitching balls against your ass felt permanent, fingerpads pressing down so hard on your stomach. 

Lips searing against yours, punctuating each word with a jagged, rough thrust. “Because you sh-shouldn’t be ah- here. You shouldn’t be-” He drags you deeper onto his dick like some ragdoll, fingers frenzying on your clit. “-with me.”

Words slurring and as sloppy as his hips now. 

“Wh-why fuck- why wouldn’t I be?”

“Heh, you forgot?” Suguru spits out a chuckle, pushing you further and further up the mat with how bruising his hips were hitting yours. Alternating between marking your cervix - your g-spot - your gummy walls. “Forgot how I told ya to live a better life than this?” Everything and anything. Hips smacking so loud, echoing in symphony with those melancholy words he parted with so long ago. “How I told you to hngh- find a-another? Live a long life? To be happy?”

Now that Suguru was talking, it was like he couldn’t stop. Like a damn had been broken - both with his words and his movements. The curve of his dick drives you wild, veins molding your cunt into their shape. 

Gritting his teeth to hold back the way his drenched balls squeeze so painfully, biting down on your lower lip. “You’re s-supposed to kill me.” A drop of sweat splashing down on your cheek, “To kill me and maybe you’ll be hah- fuck mine in another universe. But not this one.” It’s like he’s out of control now, “Never this one. You can have anybody else.”

And suddenly you’re having a flashback to just a week prior, to an uncharacteristically solemn Satoru telling you words you should’ve been happy to hear. Quiet, and unassuming. Ones you knew that had you heard them before knowing Suguru, you’d have jumped into his arms - exactly how he hoped you would, the day of his departure. 

Chuckling at you being such a “crybaby” about him leaving. After all, this was just meant to be, right?

But no.

Instead, you’re here. Bunching Suguru’s beautiful, glossy hair curtaining the sides of your head, into a ponytail. Difficult - with how he was getting faster. Harder. Just ravaging your hole until you were gaping and breathless.

And yet, arms trembling and limp, you still manage to reveal the boy you fell in love with - the one you could never forget. From the flush on his pretty face, to the twisted, sad curve of his mouth. And the eyes that bore into yours like they were searching for the same thing. Smiling, for the first time since you entered this place, “How could I ever want anyone else, Sugu?”

The hand on your stomach is cupping your adorable face so softly - and it’s hard to believe those hands have killed. Betrayed.

Like they were capable of doing anything but as Suguru swipes the single tear glistening down your cheek, “Still a crybaby, huh, my love?”

And then you cum - and Suguru isn’t too far behind. 

It’s just a flash of hot white, tingles running down your spine - all the way to the thick, creamy base soon forming around his wildly twitching cock. 

And it’s so good. Too good that all you can do it scream out his name, letting him do anything - and you were glad all he did was fuck you so mercilessly through your high. So violent. Addictive. 

Vision blurry, mouth sagging open for Suguru to press intimate little kisses along the corners of your mouth. Whispering sweet praises as your cunt sucks him up so good. So sinfully milking him for everything he’s worth. 

Taking in rope after rope of thick cum that warms your gummy walls from the inside, overfilling just enough for it to dribble down into the mat below in an obscene little pool. Smearing down your thighs, his balls. Heavenly. 

His heaven.

And in the haze of it all, Suguru imagines that you’ll reach for your knife again, press it back against the curve of his exposed neck. He imagines you’ll laugh in his face, tell him what a great whim this was but you had to get back to your job, turning your back on him as he has done before. He imagines.

But what he gets is your strained, fucked-out little voice, “I missed you, my golden boy.”

A/N. Yes, That Line was inspired by HTTYD. If I had to be hurt, y’all do, too. 

Plagiarism not authorized.