#Constant frustration and resentment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

norristrii · 1 month ago

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NOSTALGIA.

“Funny thing about nostalgia, didn't show up 'til I lost ya.” — You and Lando were childhood best friends until fate tore you apart in the most painful way. From that moment, you thought you’d never see him again—until you did. And suddenly, the past wasn’t forgotten, and the hurt still lingered.

pairing. Lando Norris x childhood friend! fem! reader.

warnings. angst, 12,8k words, hurt/no comfort, childhood friends to strangers to ??, huge timeskips, young asshole! lando, bitter reader (valid), drinking alcohol, I think that’s it ? PART TWO — I KNOW LOVE.

music. Nostalgia by Tate Mcrae.

IT STARTED AS SOMETHING INEVITABLE. You were always around each other, thrown into the same spaces, the same gatherings, the same long afternoons where the adults talked endlessly, leaving you both to entertain yourselves. At first, you hated it—hated the forced proximity, hated that your parents assumed you would automatically get along just because you were close in age. But there was no escaping him, no avoiding the way he always had something to say, always had some ridiculous idea brewing, always found a way to pull you into whatever chaos he was creating.

Lando Norris was too much—too reckless, too restless, too eager to push boundaries just for the thrill of it. He climbed trees that were too tall, ran faster than he could control, and seemed to have an unwavering confidence that made it impossible for him to ever admit when something was a bad idea.

And somehow, despite all of it, despite the way you told yourself over and over that he was annoying, that he was frustrating, that he was the kind of kid who made parents nervous—you started to follow him anyway.

Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that, even when he was pushing limits and doing things that should have gotten both of you in trouble, it was fun.

And before you even realized it, he had worked his way in.

You started hanging out even without your parents forcing you together, finding yourselves in each other’s orbit even when it wasn’t required. It was effortless, natural—the kind of friendship that just happened, without needing an explanation. You went to the same school, shared the same classes, sat together at lunch like it was expected, and walked home side by side, barely even questioning how normal it felt. It wasn’t a conscious choice—it was just the way things were.

Before long, there was no separating the two of you. He had become your constant, the person who had always been there, the one who knew you better than anyone else, the one who could read you without you saying a word. He could make you laugh with a single look, could drag you into some wild idea just by saying trust me, could fill the silence with whatever nonsense was swirling in his mind that day.

You never really decided to let him in. But somehow, he became the biggest part of your life anyway.

Life had been effortless for so long—filled with laughter, late-night conversations, and an unspoken understanding that no matter what, you always had each other. Every childhood sleepover, every ridiculous inside joke, every moment spent side by side had only strengthened the bond that had always felt unbreakable.

But then, racing became real.

Lando had always loved it—always talked about it, always dreamed about it—but when he got to F4, it wasn’t just something he loved anymore. It was something he had to commit to, something that took him away more often than not, something that started shifting the rhythm of your friendship into something unfamiliar.

At first, it was subtle—the missed hangouts, the postponed plans, the texts that came hours later than they used to. You understood, of course. This was his dream, and there was no way you’d ever resent him for chasing it. But then, the distance grew—not just physically, but in ways you hadn’t expected.

He was always traveling, always at a racetrack, always so caught up in training, in competition, in the next step that sometimes it felt like you were watching him from the outside, trying to reach through a window that kept getting harder to open.

And maybe that would have been fine—maybe the changes wouldn’t have felt so sharp—if it hadn’t started hurting.

If he hadn’t forgotten things he never used to forget.

─── October 2015

The anticipation had been building all week. A sleepover with Lando—something you hadn’t done in ages, something that felt like returning to the simplicity of childhood, to the nights spent laughing until your stomach hurt, to the effortless comfort of being around someone who had always been there. You had packed light, just the essentials, knowing you wouldn’t need much—just time, just space to breathe, just the familiarity of him.

When you reached his house, the front door swung open almost immediately, revealing Cisca’s familiar, warm presence. “Hey, sweetheart,” she greeted, her voice carrying the ease of years spent knowing you, spent welcoming you into their home like you were just another extension of the family.

You smiled, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Hey, Cisca,” you said, tone easy, comfortable, because it had always been like this—casual, effortless, familiar. “Is Lando home?”

And that’s when you saw it—the shift.

The way her smile faltered just slightly, the hesitation in the way she tilted her head, like she wasn’t sure how to say it without letting you down.

“No, he’s at training,” she said gently, shaking her head like she wished the answer had been different. “Had you something planned?”

Your stomach dipped, something heavy settling inside you before you even had the chance to process it fully. Wow. You hadn’t expected that. Or had you? Maybe part of you had known—had prepared for the possibility that things weren’t as simple as they used to be. Maybe you had just hoped this time would be different.

“Oh.” You exhaled, the weight of disappointment creeping into your voice, despite your best efforts to swallow it down. “We planned a sleepover.”

Cisca’s expression didn’t change—still warm, still understanding—but there was something in the way she sighed, in the way she noticed your disappointment, that made it clear she wished she had a better answer for you.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she said softly, her voice gentle, the kind that made it clear she knew. She knew how much you had been looking forward to this, how much it had meant to finally have time with Lando like before. “I thought he had told you.”

You swallowed, forcing a small smile, shifting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, suddenly feeling silly. Of course, he hadn’t told you. Not because he didn’t care, but because racing had consumed everything now, because his days revolved around training and competition and an entirely new world that didn’t leave much space for things like sleepovers, for things like you.

“No,” you admitted, the weight of reality settling in deeper than you wanted to acknowledge. “He didn’t.”

Cisca sighed, shaking her head like she wished she could fix this, like she could see exactly what you were thinking. “He’s been caught up in everything lately,” she said, her voice softer now. “It’s not personal.”

You nodded, even though it felt personal.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

It wasn’t the first missed plan, the first forgotten promise, the first moment where you realized that your place in his life wasn’t the same anymore.

Still—you weren’t mad. You weren’t even surprised. Just tired.

Cisca hesitated, watching you carefully. “Want to wait for him?”

You wanted to say yes. Wanted to believe that waiting would change something, that staying would make this sting any less, that he would walk through that door, grin at you like nothing had happened, and make everything feel normal again. But realistically? You weren’t sure how late training would go. And honestly—you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep waiting.

So instead, you forced a smile, shaking your head. “No,” you said, pushing the glass she had offered away gently. “Just tell him I stopped by.”

The world felt different that evening—heavier, quieter, like the weight of everything had finally settled in your chest, making it impossible to ignore. You walked home with your bag slung over your shoulder, footsteps slow, aimless, as if dragging out the journey would somehow soften the disappointment curling deep inside you.

But it didn’t.

Your throat burned, your chest ached, and despite every effort to swallow it down, the tears still came. Silent, unbidden, slipping down your cheeks in a way that felt frustratingly inevitable.

You weren’t angry—not really.

Just hurt. A lot.

─── February 2016

The classroom buzzed faintly with background conversations—the low hum of pencils scratching against paper, the occasional shuffle of chairs, murmured exchanges between classmates—but none of it really registered. It all blurred together, distant and unimportant, as if the world had dimmed along with the gray sky outside. The day felt cold, the kind of dull, overcast afternoon that seeped into your bones, that made everything feel slower, heavier, emptier.

You lay on your desk, arms folded, cheek resting against the cool surface, phone loosely gripped in your fingers. There was no real purpose to your scrolling—just mindless motion, just a way to fill the silence, just something to look at to keep your thoughts from wandering. And yet, they wandered anyway, slipping into the past, into the memories frozen on your screen.

A collection of photos—moments that felt so effortless once, so simple. Lando grinning at the camera, mid-laugh, hair a mess from whatever ridiculous stunt he had just pulled. A blurry photo of the two of you, both smiling wide, caught mid-motion as if time itself had been too slow to capture you properly. A screenshot of a stupid conversation, filled with inside jokes that nobody else would understand.

He was supposed to be sitting next to you right now.

That thought clung to you, dug deep, settled in the pit of your stomach like a weight you couldn't shake off. He should be here—nudging your arm, making some dumb joke just to get you to crack a smile, distracting you from the mind-numbing monotony of the lesson in front of you.

But instead, the seat beside you was empty.

You stared at it—switched your gaze between the photos and the space where he should have been.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, hesitation pressing heavy against your chest. You knew you shouldn’t—knew that part of you expected silence, knew that this wasn’t the first time you were reaching out to him when it felt like things had already changed.

But still, you couldn’t help yourself.

The weight of the empty seat beside you, the ache of old photos, the way this felt different—it all pushed you forward.

So you typed.

yn sittin in mrs. evans class rn still sooo boring wish you were here i miss u

You regretted it the second you hit send.

The message felt desperate, like grasping at something that had already slipped too far away, like searching for reassurance where you knew there wasn’t any. And yet—you had sent it anyway, had let that flicker of hope push you forward, had let yourself believe, for just a moment, that maybe this time would be different.

But the response came too fast—too short, too simple, too distant.

lando yeah sorry

Silence would’ve been better, wouldn’t it? A clean break, a moment where you knew—without doubt—that things had ended, that you weren’t waiting anymore, weren’t lingering in the space between what you had and what you were slowly losing.

But this? This wasn’t closure.

This was uncertainty— not quite forgotten, not quite remembered, stuck somewhere in between where his absence loomed just enough to hurt, but never enough to make the pain feel worth confronting.

Because this wasn’t him saying goodbye.

This was him drifting, slipping further out of reach, making you question whether you should keep holding on or finally let go.

─── May 2017

The moment should have been perfect.

You had waited for this day for so long— had imagined it over and over, had pictured the ceremony, the walk across the stage, the applause that followed. You should have been smiling, should have been focused on the achievement, should have felt nothing but pride. But despite the celebration surrounding you, despite the cheers and the flashing cameras, your mind couldn’t quite settle, couldn’t quite accept the joy without feeling the emptiness lurking beneath it.

Because your eyes kept drifting—kept searching the crowd, scanning through the rows of chairs, looking for him.

And there it was.

The empty seat.

The one that should have held him, the one that was supposed to be yours together, the space where he had promised he’d be. It stood out among the rows of occupied chairs, a glaring absence in a sea of support, a reminder that no matter how much you tried to ignore it, this day wasn’t the same without him.

But he wasn’t there.

Because school had ended for him long before this day. Because racing had taken priority. Because everything had changed in ways that were impossible to ignore. You had known it, had felt it creeping in for years, had understood why things shifted. But today? Today, more than ever, it was undeniable.

You had asked him if he was coming, had heard the easy promise in his voice, the certainty in the way he had said it—like there was no question, no hesitation, no possibility of him letting you down. And for a fleeting moment, you had believed him. Had let yourself picture the way it was supposed to be—the two of you side by side, laughing at something stupid in the middle of the ceremony, making memories the way you always had.

But still—he didn’t come.

The diploma was clutched tightly in your hands, its edges slightly crumpled from how firmly you had been gripping it. The moment was supposed to be celebratory—loud cheers, flashing cameras, the rush of accomplishment filling your chest. But none of it felt right. None of it matched the image you had held in your mind for years—the picture of this day being yours and his, the two of you together laughing at something dumb during the ceremony, teasing each other over your gowns, making this milestone something shared.

But instead, an empty seat had stared back at you.

So you moved quickly, weaving through the crowds, heart hammering, breath uneven with frustration that had nowhere to go. You weren’t even thinking about where you were headed—you just wanted out, away from the suffocating weight of what should have been. Away from the reality of yet another promise broken. Away from the truth you didn’t want to admit.

Until—you crashed into someone.

The force of it made you stumble, steps faltering as you sucked in a sharp breath, ready to mutter an apology and keep moving. But then, your gaze snapped up—

And you froze.

Lando.

Lando?

Standing right in front of you.

Like he was supposed to. Like he should have been.

But it was too late.

Your anger surged before you could stop it, bubbling up, hot and unforgiving, spilling out before you had a chance to think.

“You’re late,” you said, the words cutting through the space between you like a blade.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably under your glare. “I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, sincerity laced in his voice. “There was traffic.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, gripping the diploma even tighter, frustration burning through you with a sharp, undeniable sting. That was his excuse? Out of everything, that’s what he went with?

“Gosh, stop making these stupid excuses!” you snapped, the words coming faster than you could stop them, sharper than you meant them to be—except, no. You did mean them. You meant every syllable.

“You don’t understand, Y/n!” Lando’s voice came sharp, slicing through the air between you. His frustration crackled like static, his jaw tightening, his hands gesturing wildly as if trying to make you see the chaos he carried. “I have so much going on! I’m busy—constantly! It’s not just racing, it’s training, it’s meetings, it’s travel—it’s everything! If you haven’t figured that out by now, then I don’t know what else to say!”

His words crashed into you, each syllable pushing against the weight already pressing on your chest.

You blinked, your breath uneven, anger curling inside you like a flame that had been waiting too long to ignite. Waiting. That’s all you ever did with him, wasn’t it? Waiting for a moment, waiting for a reply, waiting for him to show up like he said he would. Waiting for him to put you first.

“Yeah?” you shot back, voice loud, unrelenting, carrying months—years—of frustration. “Always racing, racing, racing! That’s your whole damn life, isn’t it? Nothing else matters—no one else matters! Not me, not this, not today!”

Lando scoffed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe where this conversation had gone, like you were the one making this difficult. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his messy curls, gaze flickering with something unreadable—frustration, guilt, exhaustion—all of it tangled together in a way that made it impossible to decipher.

Then, his next words shattered everything.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice lower, tighter, more bitter. “That’s why maybe your graduation wasn’t really that important to me.”

The breath slammed out of your lungs.

Like he had taken all the air, all the warmth, all the pieces of hope you had left and crushed them in the palm of his hand.

You stared at him—at this version of him, at the boy who once made promises he kept, at the person who had once made you feel like a priority. But suddenly, he didn’t look like that boy anymore. He looked distant. Unrecognizable. Like someone you had spent years loving and now couldn’t even reach.

Your grip on the diploma tightened, knuckles turning white, heartbeat pounding so loudly in your ears that it drowned out the distant sounds of celebration around you.

God. He had really said it.

You swallowed hard, throat burning, refusing to let the weight of everything sink you down into the ache curling in your chest. But your voice still wavered when you finally spoke, softer, lower, but sharp.

“You know what?” you murmured, the words slipping through your lips like the last breath of something you hadn’t realized was dying. “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me in a long time.”

Lando inhaled sharply—so small, so brief, but you saw it. You felt it. Maybe he hadn’t expected you to say that. Maybe he hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. Maybe, for a split second, he realized exactly what he had done.

He had said your graduation wasn’t important—that the moment you had been waiting years for, the milestone that was supposed to be yours, wasn’t worth his time. And the second those words left his mouth, something inside you broke—not suddenly, not all at once, but slowly, like a fracture that had been forming for months, maybe even years.

So neither were his races to you, right? It wasn’t like you ever missed a single one. Every podium, every interview, every late-night live timing session, every pulse-pounding moment when he fought for position—you had been there for it. You had cared. You had celebrated his highs and sympathized with his lows because he mattered to you. You had tracked every result, known every stat, memorized the patterns of his driving like they were second nature to you. And maybe, foolishly, you had assumed that meant something. That even in the chaos of his world, even when the schedules got tighter and the obligations got heavier, you still mattered.

And yet, here he was, saying the worst thing he could have said. The worst part wasn’t just the words themselves. The worst part was that you didn’t even know if he actually cared. You waited—just long enough to see if there would be hesitation, regret, anything that hinted that he wanted to take it back. But there was nothing.

“Look, Y/n,” he muttered, exhaling sharply, shaking his head like you were the one making this difficult. “We’re not fourteen anymore.” Like that was supposed to excuse everything. Like growing up meant growing apart had to be inevitable.

You swallowed hard, forcing the lump in your throat down, refusing to let the frustration and heartbreak choke you. You thought of the years you had spent together—of the stupid inside jokes, the late-night conversations that stretched until sunrise, the times when you truly believed that no matter what, the two of you would always be there for each other. That time and distance wouldn’t change that. That his world of racing and your world of growing up side by side could exist together. But maybe you had been wrong.

“Yeah,” you said, voice lower, rougher, edged with something final. “Maybe not.” Your gaze flickered over him, this version of him, the boy you used to know so well but now felt like a stranger. He looked the same—same messy curls, same sharp, quick movements, same intensity burning behind his eyes. But something fundamental had shifted, something irreversible, something you couldn’t unsee now.

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t cry—not here, not in front of him, not when he had already taken too much from you. But the tears burned anyway, hot against your skin, slipping past the walls you had tried so desperately to keep up.

“Fuck you, Lando!” Your voice cracked, but it didn’t matter—you meant every word. Every syllable was weighted with months of frustration, disappointment, exhaustion. “I don’t wanna ever see you again!”

───

You never saw him again after that day. The moment graduation ended, you packed your things, left the town you had spent years growing up in, and disappeared without a trace—no messages, no explanations, no attempts to soften the goodbye that had already been said. Because why would you? He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to know where you were or how you felt or whether you ever thought of him again.

The only ones who did were Adam and Cisca—the two people who had been there, who had sat in the crowd, who had cheered you on when their son hadn’t. They were the only ones who deserved a proper goodbye, the only ones who had earned a place in whatever future you were heading toward.

And so, you left. The world beyond that town opened itself up to you, unfamiliar yet freeing, a fresh start wrapped in the quiet promise of never looking back. You settled into new routines, built a life that didn’t have his shadow lingering in it.

Some days, it was easy to forget—days when the weight of the past didn’t press quite so heavily on your chest, when laughter didn’t carry the bitter taste of memories, when moving forward actually felt like moving forward. And then, there were days when the past curled around you like a ghost, whispering its presence into quiet moments, slipping into your thoughts when you least expected it.

And then—two years later—you heard it. His name flashing across a news headline, appearing in an interview clip, mentioned briefly in a conversation you weren’t even part of. He had made it. Formula One. The dream he had been chasing since the moment he decided racing was the only thing that mattered.

For a split second—just one—you let yourself wonder what he was doing, where he was, how he felt now that he had everything he ever wanted. You wondered if, in the quiet moments between races, between podium celebrations and press conferences, he ever thought about you. If he ever regretted how things had ended. If he ever wished he had said something different, done something more, shown up when it mattered.

But it didn’t matter.

Because no matter how many times nostalgia grabbed hold of you, no matter how many times you found yourself wondering, the reality remained the same—you didn’t care.

You never checked his results. Never searched his name. Never let yourself linger in the world he now belonged to. Because that wasn’t your world. Not anymore.

Every time his face appeared on TV, every time his name was spoken like it was something larger than life, you switched the channel without hesitation. It was second nature now—like shutting a door you had long since walked through.

─── EIGHT YEARS LATER , march 2025

Monaco had been everything you had imagined—the yachts lining the marina like shimmering jewels, the streets humming with the sounds of expensive cars weaving through the winding roads, the very air thick with a sense of wealth and exclusivity. Fashion was everywhere, woven into the fabric of daily life, stitched into the essence of the people who walked past in designer coats and tailored suits. It felt like stepping into another world, one built from dreams and ambition, one you had spent years chasing, and now, finally, it was yours.

The apartment was still a mess. Boxes stacked on top of each other, half-unpacked belongings scattered across the floor, clothes draped over furniture in a way that made it clear you were still in the middle of making this space a home. You and your friend sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by unpacked memories, flipping through items that held pieces of your past. The smell of fresh paint mixed with the lingering scent of cardboard, and the distant hum of city life buzzed from beyond the windows. This was the start of something new—something separate from everything before. And yet, in the middle of the chaos, the past still found a way to crawl back in.

Your friend reached into one of the boxes, pulling out a framed photo. She studied it for a second, curiosity flickering in her expression before she turned it towards you. “Who’s this?” she asked, holding it up for you to see.

The moment your eyes landed on the photo, you felt it—nostalgia slamming into you like a wave, pulling you under so suddenly that you almost forgot how to breathe.

There he was.

Lando, grinning by the sea, sunlight catching in his messy curls, his arm slung around you like it belonged there, like it always had. You were laughing, caught in a moment of ease, the sky a breathtaking shade of blue behind you. The photo was from that family vacation—the trip the Norris’ had taken you on, the one where the days stretched lazily along the coast, filled with late-night talks, stupid jokes, and a kind of simplicity you hadn’t realized you would one day lose.

You blinked, forcing the lump in your throat down. You could tell her everything—about the friendship that had once felt unbreakable, the way he had always been there, the way you had been there for him, the way time had twisted everything into something that no longer resembled what you once knew. You could tell her about the laughter, the inside jokes, the trust that had felt like it could withstand anything. You could tell her about how it ended, about the fights, the disappointment, the realization that sometimes growing up meant growing apart in ways you could never prepare for.

But instead, the words stuck.

Your fingers hovered over the frame for just a second longer before you exhaled, shaking your head slightly, swallowing back everything you wanted to say.

“It’s just,” you started, voice quieter, the weight of the past pressing heavily against your ribs. Then, after a beat, you exhaled again, steadier this time, forcing yourself to move on. “Someone I used to know.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing that your answer wasn’t the full truth, that there was more beneath the surface. “Really?” she said, flipping the frame in her hands, studying it closer. “You look so happy.”

Why did she keep asking?

You exhaled sharply, shrugging your shoulders in a way that you hoped looked effortless, casual, unaffected. “Really,” you said, forcing out the words, ignoring the way your chest ached. “Just an old friend.”

You knew it was anything but casual. You knew this wasn’t just some old friend. But that didn’t matter anymore.

Without another word, you reached forward, took the frame from her hands, and set it aside, facedown. You didn’t need to look at it. You didn’t need to remember.

And just like that—you moved on.

Or at least, you pretended to.

That night, boredom settled into your chest, heavy and unshakable, the kind that made your thoughts wander places they shouldn’t. There was nothing to distract yourself with—no texts lighting up your phone, no unread messages waiting for a response, no new shows to binge, nothing that could pull you out of the restless grip of your own mind. You paced for a bit, moving from the kitchen to the living room, opening and closing cabinets with no real purpose, sipping on a drink you barely tasted, mind still circling the same thoughts. And then, before you even realized it, your steps carried you toward the box.

It was still sitting there, untouched, exactly where your friend had left it—the lid slightly askew, revealing just a glimpse of its contents, like it was waiting. Waiting for you to give in. Waiting for you to finally sift through the pieces you hadn’t had the courage to throw away. You sank down onto the floor, back pressed against the bed frame, exhaling slowly as you stared at the mess of memories in front of you. Damn. You had a whole box dedicated to him.

Photos—some bent at the corners, some still pristine, all holding pieces of a past you weren’t sure you wanted to remember. You pulled one out, fingertips tracing the familiar image. You had been laughing, caught mid-motion, a blur of sun and saltwater, with Lando standing beside you, his own laughter bright, effortless, easy. It was so easy back then, before everything had changed, before life had twisted in ways that pulled you apart instead of holding you together.

The plushie he had given you sat at the bottom of the box, the soft fabric still familiar beneath your touch. You remembered the night he had handed it to you—some inside joke about always having something to hold onto, something that wouldn’t leave, even when everything else did. The memory made you scoff now. Ironic. But still, you hadn’t left it behind. Hadn’t left any of this behind.

His racing cap, worn and creased from years of use, was tucked neatly beneath the rest, the sight of it forcing a sharp inhale from your lungs. There had been a time when you had worn it all the time—flipping it backward, teasing him about his obsession with racing, pretending you belonged in the world he had immersed himself in. Back when you had cared about every race, every result, back when you had celebrated his wins like they were your own.

And the worst part?

You had taken them all with you.

Why?

If you hated him so much for what he did, if you had truly moved on, why had you packed these things alongside the rest of your life? Why had you carried them with you all the way here?

You sighed, shaking your head, bitterness curling in your chest as you flipped through the photos, fingers ghosting over smiles that didn’t belong to the person you knew anymore.

But shit—you used to be so close.

You pulled out another framed photo. The frame felt heavier in your hands than it should have, like the weight of the memories pressed into the glass, refusing to let go. You traced the edges absentmindedly, fingers skimming over the smooth surface as your mind drifted backward, pulled into a past that still sat quietly in the depths of your chest.

Karting. Your birthday. His laughter ringing out across the track, bright, effortless, teasing. You could still hear it if you closed your eyes, could still picture the way he had grinned at you from his kart, shaking his head as you struggled to control yours, the tires skidding slightly as you oversteered. You had been so bad at it— horrible, actually. But he had made it fun. He had made it feel like it didn’t matter, like failing wasn’t embarrassing, like it was just another thing to laugh about. The way he had looked at you that day—full of amusement, full of something warm—had made you believe it wasn’t about winning, wasn’t about proving anything. It was just about being there, about sharing something that was his, about letting him pull you into his world for a little while.

You exhaled slowly, the memory twisting something deep in your chest, something tangled between nostalgia and regret. It had felt so easy back then, so simple, so natural to believe that forever meant forever, that nothing would change, that no amount of time or distance could erase what you had.

But time had proved you wrong.

Your fingers tightened around the frame, the edges pressing sharply into your skin as you flipped it over, eyes scanning the back without thinking, without expecting anything more than a blank surface.

But there it was.

"Love you 4ever. Lando."

The words slammed into you harder than they should have.

Your breath hitched, a sharp inhale getting caught in your throat, emotions rushing up too fast for you to control, too fast for you to push away. Salty, bittersweet tears burned behind your eyes, threatening to spill, threatening to break past the walls you had spent years reinforcing.

Because back then, you had believed it.

Back then, you had thought forever meant forever, not just until life got too busy, not just until priorities shifted, not just until everything crumbled beneath the weight of not caring enough.

─── march 2025

The remote sat loosely in your grip, your movements slow and idle as you flipped through channels, letting the dull hum of background noise fill the space around you. The apartment finally felt like yours—no more boxes cluttering the corners, no more unpacking to distract you, no more mess making it feel like just another transition instead of a permanent home. Everything had its place now.

The couch was soft beneath you, the room dimly lit, the quiet settling in comfortably around you. For the first time since moving, you let yourself relax. You skipped through channels mindlessly, barely paying attention to the flickering images, letting them blur together without much thought. Nothing caught your interest—nothing held your focus—until something familiar slipped onto the screen.

The Australian Grand Prix. It wasn’t intentional. You hadn’t meant to land on it. But before you could even think about switching away, your gaze lingered. The podium ceremony was already underway, the celebration unfolding in bright lights and flashing cameras, the winner standing tall at the top, drenched in champagne, soaking in the moment of victory. You weren’t really paying attention at first. Not to the commentary, not to the energy radiating from the crowd, not to the excitement buzzing through the broadcast. Until you saw the name.

Lando Norris.

Your breath stilled. And then, slowly, your gaze sharpened, your focus narrowing in on the figure standing at the top of the podium.

It was him. But not the version of him you had last seen. Not the boy you had walked away from, not the friend you had left behind. No—this was someone else entirely. He had grown so much. His features were sharper, more defined, the youthful softness replaced by something stronger, more grown, more changed.

The messy curls had stretched longer, spilling into a mullet that framed his face differently, giving him an edge that hadn’t existed back then. His shoulders had squared, his stance more solid, more certain, the weight of experience shaping the way he held himself. He looked different—older, more weathered by time, by racing, by life itself. But his eyes. The green hadn’t changed. It was the only familiar thing left.

No matter how much you wanted to turn it off, to look away, to pretend like it didn’t matter, you couldn’t. You sat there, frozen, the remote resting in your hand, thumb hovering over the button, the familiar instinct urging you to switch the channel like you always had before. But something stopped you. Something kept your eyes locked on the screen, on the figure standing tall at the top of the podium, drenched in champagne, grinning like he had just conquered the world.

The cameras flashed, the crowd roared, the energy of the moment rippled through every pixel on the screen, making it impossible to ignore. This was his moment—his victory, the thing he had fought for, worked for, sacrificed your friendship for. And now, after years of avoiding everything that had to do with him, years of refusing to acknowledge his existence beyond old memories, you were watching.

─── april 2025

Monaco was made for nights like this—bright lights reflecting off the glistening streets, the hum of expensive cars weaving through the roads, the buzz of laughter spilling out from exclusive lounges. It was the kind of city that begged you to live in the moment, to let the night swallow you whole, to forget about anything that existed beyond the golden glow of luxury. And that was exactly what you and your friend had decided to do. Like any young woman in Monaco, dressing up and heading to the most electrifying party in town felt like the only reasonable choice. Who wouldn’t want that?

The club pulsed with energy, bodies moving in rhythm to the beat, music loud enough to drown out every thought, every worry, every lingering ghost of the past. You were lost in it, fully surrendering yourself to the moment, swinging your hips in time with the music, laughing carelessly between sips of your drink. Drunk, carefree, weightless—that was what tonight was supposed to be. Nothing but excitement, nothing but escape. Until your friend tapped your shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, leaning in closer, voice raised just enough to be heard over the music. “Isn’t this that guy from the photos?”

The words barely registered at first, your mind too fogged by alcohol and the blur of flashing lights to process what she was saying. Confused, you furrowed your brows, turning slightly to follow her gaze, not expecting anything, not preparing for what came next. And then your eyes landed on the DJ stage.

You almost fainted.

Everything around you seemed to slow, the world tilting slightly under the weight of your shock. For a moment, you thought your mind was playing tricks on you, that the alcohol had distorted reality, that there was no way—absolutely no way—this was happening. But as you stared, as you focused, as you took in every detail, you knew. You knew exactly who it was.

Lando?

Lando.

You knew him very well, all too well.

The realization hit hard, stealing the breath from your lungs, sending a wave of emotions crashing into you too fast to control. He looked different—sharper, older, changed—but there was no mistaking him. The same green eyes, the same familiar presence, standing right there when he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near you. You swallowed hard, pulse thudding loudly in your ears, shaking your head quickly in an attempt to shove the moment away, to deny the reality of it.

“Definitely not,” you said, dismissing the thought, waving her off as if the words would make it true.

But God, it was him.

And no matter how badly you wanted to convince her otherwise, the person you really needed to convince was yourself.

“I may be drunk, but I’m not dumb,” she said, rolling her eyes with exaggerated patience, her hand outstretched expectantly. “Give me your phone.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face, already regretting handing over your phone. Your friend was relentless—too relentless.

She wasn’t about to let this go, not when she knew damn well that the truth sat right there, in your gallery, in your past. You should have known better. Should have made up a more convincing lie. Should have walked away, pretended like you hadn’t heard her, redirected her focus to something else, anything else. But instead, you hesitated just for a second. And that was enough for her to pounce.

You sighed, already knowing how this was going to end. Begrudgingly, you handed it over, bracing yourself for the inevitable. She wasted no time—her fingers flew across the screen, tapping, scrolling, searching. And then, just as you had dreaded, she found it. The photo. The one you should have deleted years ago but hadn’t. The one that still sat there, preserved in pixels, a reminder of something you had tried so hard to forget.

Your breath hitched as she held it up, comparing the image on the screen to the man on stage, flicking her gaze back and forth between them like she was studying two versions of the same reality, like she was dissecting proof of something that had long been undeniable. Like it wasn’t just some stupid coincidence. Like it meant something. Like it mattered.

“That’s definitely him,” she said, voice firm, confident, staring at you with an expression that made it clear there was no point in arguing.

And you just stood there, frozen, unable to speak, unable to deny it, unable to pretend like seeing him—like knowing he was here, so close, so real—hadn’t completely thrown you off. Because it had. And no matter how much you wanted to push it away, to pretend it didn’t affect you, the truth sat heavy in your chest, refusing to be ignored.

“Let’s go say hi,” she offered, her voice bubbling with excitement, like this was some ordinary encounter, like it wasn’t the exact moment you had spent years avoiding. Absolutely not. The second the words left her mouth, you shook your head, firm and unwavering. No way. No chance. You were not doing that. “Old friends reunion,” she added, grinning, nudging you like this was just some fun little moment that needed to happen. But you weren’t falling for it. Not even a little. Blah blah blah—whatever she wanted to call it. You were not going up there, not seeing him, not acknowledging whatever twisted fate had thrown him into the same room as you after all these years.

She sighed dramatically, clearly exasperated with your refusal, the kind of sigh that told you she wasn’t going to drop this easily. “C’mon, Y/n,” she whined, her fingers tightening around your wrist, tugging on you like she could physically drag you towards him. “He’s hot, at least.”

Yeah. He was. So annoyingly hot.

But also an absolute asshole. At least, that was what he had been when he was eighteen. That was the version of him you knew—the version that had made you walk away, that had made you promise yourself that you would never deal with his bullshit again. And sure, maybe time had passed, maybe things had changed, maybe he wasn’t the same person anymore. But you weren’t someone who judged purely on appearances—except, God, look at him.

White button-up, half undone like he was starring in some careless, effortless, look-at-me-I’m-perfect movie. Backwards cap, messy curls sticking out just enough to add to the whole I don’t care but I look good anyway vibe. Confident stance, lazy smirk, body language screaming that nothing in the world could touch him. Every bit of him exuded the same energy he had back then—like the years hadn’t done much more than make him hotter, like he was still the guy who thought life would always bend in his favor, like he had never needed to grow up at all.

Fuckboy.

Through and through.

And you had zero intention of dealing with that again.

“Y/n, seriously, you have a chance to shoot your shot.” Her voice was teasing, playful, as if she didn’t understand the storm brewing inside you, as if this was just some harmless fun. But shoot your shot? With him? With the boy who had forgotten your graduation, who had ghosted you when you needed him most, who had taken you for granted like you’d always just be there, waiting, unshaken?

Maybe you should tell her the whole story. Maybe you should make her understand that this wasn’t some game, that he didn’t deserve this moment. But before you could even blink, before you could form the words to stop her, you were standing under the stage.

The music pulsed through your chest, the energy of the club drowning out every rational thought, every bit of logic telling you to run. Lando leaned forward slightly, his stance easy, his presence effortless, bending down just enough to hear your friend, completely unaware of the way your body had gone rigid, completely unaware of the way your mind was screaming for an escape. “Hey, can you play this song?” she asked, sweet, casual, unbothered by the fact that she had just dragged you straight into hell.

You hardly listened, your ears ringing with everything except the conversation in front of you, your gaze flickering toward the exit, toward anything that wasn’t him. You tried to act like you didn’t know them. Tried to pretend you were just another person lost in the crowd, just another passerby in a place you didn’t belong. But she was smart. Too smart. And too cruel.

“For Y/n.”

Your stomach dropped. Your pulse stopped.

His reaction was instant. The way his body stiffened, the way his head snapped toward you, the way his mouth parted just slightly in disbelief. His eyes widened, searching, recognizing. “Y/n?” The way he said your name—like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, like you weren’t supposed to be standing there, like this wasn’t supposed to be real. Everything came back.

And then, as if the universe wanted to twist the knife deeper, as if your friend wanted to ruin your life entirely, “yea, Y/n L/n,” she confirmed it. Loud. Clear. Unmistakable.

Your whole name. Given to him so easily, so casually, like she hadn’t just shattered the fragile distance you had spent years crafting between you and him. Omg. Why did you friend an idiot like that?

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face even as his eyes locked onto you—wide, searching, unbelieving, like he couldn’t quite piece together how you were standing in front of him. “Y/n? She’s here?” he asked, the words sounding almost stupid the second they left his mouth, carrying just enough disbelief to make it nearly funny. If you weren’t too busy fighting off the urge to scream, maybe you would have laughed.

Because yes, you are here.

And maybe if his eyes weren’t staring right at you, he could have asked that question to someone who wasn’t standing right in front of him. But no—he was looking straight at you, drinking in the sight of you, the reality of you, like his brain just couldn’t quite accept that this was happening.

You didn’t move, didn’t react, just stood there, letting the weight of the moment settle, letting the air between you grow heavier with something unspeakable. Everything felt slower, stretched out, too thick with unspoken words, with the unbearable past forcing its way into the present.

And honestly? He looked so stupid for asking.

“Y/n, don’t act like you don’t know him,” she said, tugging you forward with way too much force, her grip firm, unrelenting, dragging you closer to the one person you wished you never had to see again. You barely had time to process, barely had time to resist, barely had time to breathe before you were suddenly there— closer than you wanted to be, closer than was safe.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t already mocking you enough, Lando spoke.

“What about you guys going up here?” he asked, referring to the stage, his voice casual, like this wasn’t the most surreal, earth-shattering moment imaginable.

Your stomach twisted. Your pulse hammered against your ribs. Your friend lit up beside you, clearly entertained, clearly loving every single second of this disaster.

But all you could do was wish you didn’t know him at all.

You barely had the chance to protest before she cut you off entirely, jumping in with way too much enthusiasm, her grip tightening around your wrist as if she had just won some personal victory.

“Sorry, we need to—” you started, voice tight, desperate for an escape, desperate to pull yourself out of the disaster unfolding in front of you, desperate to disappear entirely before anything got worse.

But she didn’t let you finish.

“That’s a good idea,” she answered instead, flashing a grin, fully committing to the mess she had just created, fully ignoring every ounce of panic rushing through you, fully pushing you into a moment you never signed up for.

You stepped onto the stage, the energy of the club pressing into you from all directions, the flashing lights making everything feel just a little too surreal, like you had just walked into some alternate reality that wasn’t supposed to exist. Your friend wasted no time, seamlessly folding into conversation with Lando’s friend, her body language open, animated, comfortable—like she had belonged here all along, like this was exactly what she had been planning from the second she dragged you into this mess. She was talking, laughing, exchanging words that you barely registered, already adapting to the situation in a way that only she could. It was effortless. It was unfair. It was everything you couldn’t do.

And you, on the other hand, stood there stiffly, caught between the suffocating heat of the room and the overwhelming weight of him, standing way too close, way too present, way too real. The music thumped beneath your feet, the beat vibrating through the soles of your shoes, pulsing through your chest, drowning out everything except the thoughts racing through your mind at a pace you couldn’t control. You could feel the tension settling thick in the air, could feel the invisible force pulling your attention toward him, toward the quiet way his presence still managed to fill every inch of space around you. It was unbearable. It was unavoidable.

And you did what anyone would do in this situation—nothing.

Just stood there, frozen in place, staring down at nothing in particular, refusing to meet his gaze, refusing to acknowledge him, refusing to entertain the idea that this was happening, that you were here, that he was here, that time had twisted itself cruelly enough to bring you back to this moment, back to this person, back to whatever mess had been left unresolved all those years ago. You could feel him there—watching, waiting, probably trying to figure out the words to say, probably wondering if he should say anything at all.

And you?

You were just waiting.

For someone, for something, for anything to save you.

Your chest tightened, pulse hammering beneath your skin as the space between you disappeared far too quickly, dissolving into something suffocating, something unavoidable, something you had spent years ensuring would never happen again.

Oh hell no.

“Y/n?” His voice was cautious, uncertain, dripping with something unspoken, something fragile, something that made your stomach twist violently. He rubbed the back of his neck—a nervous habit, one you hadn’t seen in years, one that somehow still belonged to him, one that made the moment too real. No way. No way was this happening. No way was he standing here, looking at you like that, speaking to you like nothing had happened, like time hadn’t stretched between you like an unfixable wound, like he hadn’t made the choice to let you slip away.

And then, as if things couldn’t possibly get worse, as if the universe truly had no mercy, he added another layer to the disaster unfolding before you.

“You changed since we last saw each other.”

The words hung in the air, soft, hesitant, laced with something just shy of regret—or maybe curiosity. Maybe nostalgia. Maybe something else entirely.

Your stomach twisted again, the weight of it pressing deep into your bones.

Had you? Had you changed? Or had you simply become the version of yourself that no longer had space for him? That no longer had room for the kind of heartbreak he had carelessly handed you all those years ago? That no longer needed the version of him standing in front of you, pretending like this conversation wasn’t drenched in every painful, unresolved moment he had left behind?

And why the hell did he care?

What exactly was he hoping for?

You narrowed your eyes, skepticism laced in your stare, your tone still tangled with the bittersweet remnants of everything that had come before. The years had stretched long, had pulled at the edges of old memories, had tried to reshape the hurt into something manageable, something distant—but it was still there. Lingering. Settled deep beneath the surface. It had never truly disappeared, no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much effort you had put into convincing yourself that it didn’t matter anymore.

“And did you?” you asked, voice steady, yet laced with something just shy of accusation, something that made it impossible to pretend like this was just casual conversation, like it was just two old friends catching up, like it didn’t hold the weight of every unanswered question you had let rest for years. The words slipped past your lips too easily, too naturally, as if they had been waiting for their moment to finally be spoken.

Lando hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing into him, making him pause just slightly before he finally answered. The seconds stretched thin between you, the silence pressing against your ribs, forcing your pulse to quicken. You watched him, studied the way his expression flickered between uncertainty and something else—something unreadable, something you weren’t sure if you wanted to name.

“Pretty much, yes,” he shrugged, his words careless, simple, like they didn’t hold the gravity they should have. Like they didn’t mean as much as they should have. It was an answer, sure, but it wasn’t a real answer. Not the one you wanted. Not the one you needed. It felt hollow, like he had tossed it out into the air just to have something to say, just to fill the space between you before it became too unbearable.

And then—he added it.

“I think.”

Two small words, dangling at the end of his sentence, uncertain, hesitant, a mistake.

Because if he wasn’t sure—then what was the point of saying it at all? What was the point of answering if he didn’t know what he was even saying?

Your pulse spiked.

Had he changed? Had he grown? Had he actually become a different person, or was this just some empty attempt at convincing you that things weren’t as bad as they had seemed? That maybe, just maybe, you weren’t justified in holding onto the bitterness that still lingered in your voice?

─── one hour later

It had taken about an hour—just enough time for the alcohol to settle into your system, just enough for the world to feel a little softer around the edges, just enough for decision-making to become questionable at best.

You weren’t drunk enough to forget things, not enough to completely erase history or drown out the quiet truths that still lurked in the back of your mind. But you were definitely drunk enough to agree to stupid decisions. The kind of choices you wouldn’t have considered under the harsh light of sobriety. The kind of choices that felt too easy when the world was buzzing and blurred, when the weight of the past didn’t seem quite so suffocating.

And that stupid decision?

A late-night walk with Lando. Drunk. Alone.

Something absolutely absurd. Something that didn’t quite fit with the carefully crafted distance you had spent years maintaining between you. But you hadn’t argued. You hadn’t fought against it. And now, somehow, you had ended up here—sitting cross-legged on the ledge of a stone wall, overlooking the vast stretch of the Mediterranean Sea, the moonlight reflecting against the gentle waves below like some impossibly perfect painting. The air was warm, the city behind you humming softly in the distance, the quiet of the night settling against your skin like an old, familiar embrace.

And despite everything—despite the mess of unresolved history, despite the tension still lingering between the moments of silence, despite the sheer ridiculousness of finding yourself in this exact situation—you were sitting there, eating McDonald’s with Lando Norris.

Your childhood best friend.

Lando glanced over at you, a smirk already tugging at the corner of his lips, like he knew exactly what he was about to unleash. “Do you remember how I took you karting?” he asked, voice dripping with amusement, clearly ready to relive your humiliation.

You barely had time to process his words before laughter burst out of you—loud, uncontrollable, instant, like the memory had slammed into you at full speed, just as violently as you had crashed that day.

“Don’t even start,” you gasped between fits of laughter, shaking your head, barely holding yourself together as you tried to take another bite of your hamburger. The second the ridiculousness of it all fully hit, you had to physically fight to avoid spitting it all over yourself.

Lando grinned, his eyes lighting up with amusement as he watched you dissolve into laughter, the memory hitting you full force, crashing back into your mind with all its chaotic, humiliating glory.

“Oh, come on,” he teased, shaking his head as he took a bite of his own burger, smirking like he had been waiting years to bring this up again. “It wasn’t that bad.”

You barely managed to swallow before shooting him a sharp look, still breathless from laughter. “Not that bad?” you scoffed, eyebrows raised, voice coated in disbelief. “I crashed so hard that the guy running the place had to come check if I was still alive, Lando.”

He snickered, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Okay, fine,” he admitted, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Maybe it was a little bad.”

“A little?” You nearly choked on your food, shaking your head as you wiped at your mouth, still struggling to contain the laughter bubbling inside you. “I’m scarred, Norris. Scarred.”

He laughed loudly, the sound unfiltered, genuine, slipping through the easy rhythm of the night like it belonged there—like it had never left.

Lando shook his head, laughter still lingering in his voice as he watched you struggle to compose yourself. The memory was too good, too vivid, too perfectly disastrous for him to let go.

“You were so bad,” he teased, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth like he wasn’t about to single-handedly ruin your night with humiliation.

You groaned dramatically, wiping at your mouth, still trying to stop yourself from choking on your own laughter. “Yeah, well, excuse me for not being a child prodigy in motorsport.” You shot him a look, eyes narrowed, but the smirk he threw back was unbelievable.

“That’s not what I meant,” he insisted, though his grin didn’t falter for a second. “You just had, like, zero concept of turning. It was literally a straight line, and you still managed to crash.”

You gasped, slapping his arm in mock outrage, though the memory did technically support his argument. “It was a complicated turn!” you defended, though the absurdity of the statement was immediate.

“A complicated turn?” He nearly choked on his drink, eyes wide. “Y/n, it wasn’t even a turn. You drove straight into the barriers like the track just disappeared in front of you.”

You huffed, crossing your arms, shaking your head, but the laughter bubbling in your chest was uncontainable. “Yeah, well, maybe I just wanted to give everyone a good show.”

Lando snickered, throwing a fry at you. “Mission accomplished.”

And somehow, in the warmth of the Mediterranean night, with laughter spilling between shared bites of fast food, it felt almost like nothing had changed at all.

You looked at him, really looked at him for the first time that night, and something inside you shifted.

His smile—so easy, so natural, so completely him—pulled at something buried deep in your chest, something you hadn’t let yourself think about in years. It was familiar, painfully so, a reminder of everything that had once made this friendship effortless, everything that had once made him yours.

His humor hadn’t changed—still sharp, still quick, still laced with that dry British edge that made everything just a little bit funnier, a little more ridiculous. And in that moment, between the laughter, the shared food, the warmth of the night curling around you, you remembered.

You remembered why you were friends.

You remembered why you had loved him.

You turned to Lando, the memory slipping through the cracks of the night, resurfacing with all its chaotic, hilarious glory. A smirk tugged at your lips as you nudged him lightly, already knowing he’d try to defend himself. “Do you remember how we got kicked out of Mrs. Evans’ class?” you asked, voice laced with nostalgia, with amusement, with just the slightest hint of accusation. “Because you couldn’t stop making me laugh.”

Lando grinned, his eyes lighting up the way they always did when mischief was involved, when trouble was just a little too tempting to resist. He shrugged, casual, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t single-handedly responsible for one of the most chaotic moments of your academic history. “And what should I have done?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, feigning innocence with absolutely no sincerity. “It was so boring!”

You scoffed, shaking your head, though the laughter bubbling under your breath gave away the fact that you weren’t actually mad—just exasperated. “Boring enough that we almost got detention,” you reminded him, leveling him with a pointed stare, though the ridiculousness of it all made it impossible to sound truly scolding.

Lando only laughed, stretching his legs out in front of him, like he had no regrets. “Key word—almost,” he teased, throwing a playful wink your way, fully basking in the chaos like it was some kind of badge of honor.

The words hung between you, soft yet unavoidable, stretching across the quiet, sinking into the space where the past had been tucked away for too long.

“I’m glad I had you by my side growing up.”

So simple. So soft. So undeniably true.

And yet, something inside you twisted at the sound of it, at the weight of it, at the way it should have felt warm but instead carried a sharp edge—an unspoken ache buried beneath nostalgia. It was honest, sure, but honesty didn’t erase the years, didn’t undo the mistakes, didn’t rewrite the nights you had spent wondering where things had gone wrong. Because he could have had you by his side for more than just childhood. He could have had you always—if he hadn’t been careless, if he hadn’t let things fall apart, if he hadn’t made the choices that had cracked the foundation between you until it was barely holding together. If he hadn’t been such an idiot.’

Your jaw clenched, bitterness surfacing before you could push it back down.

Because the truth was, it wasn’t just about growing up together. It wasn’t just about the laughter, the memories, the late-night conversations that once felt like they’d stretch on forever. It was about everything after—the parts where he wasn’t there, the parts where silence replaced friendship, the parts where the absence was louder than anything he had ever said before.

And yet, despite all of that—despite the anger that still lingered beneath the surface—you couldn’t bring yourself to say what was truly pressing against your ribs, couldn’t let the words spill out, couldn’t tell him that he could’ve had you forever if he had just chosen to keep you.

The words slipped out of his mouth softly, like he had been holding onto them for far too long, like they had been sitting heavy on his chest for years without escape. “I’m sorry for the graduation.”

Simple. Direct. Honest. And yet, the weight of them hit harder than you expected, settling deep into your ribs, pressing into the space where that memory—where that absence—still lingered.

Graduation. The day that should have been filled with celebration, with excitement, with closure that never really arrived. It had been a day of transition, of stepping into something new, of leaving behind childhood and stepping forward into a future that had felt both thrilling and terrifying. And yet, despite all of that, despite the bittersweet nature of endings and new beginnings, he wasn’t there.

You had told yourself it didn’t matter. You had convinced yourself it didn’t change anything. And yet, standing there, waiting for that familiar face to show up, for him to be there—he never came. And suddenly, it had mattered a lot.

Now, years later, with the ocean stretching endlessly in front of you, with the night settling warmly around you, with the past creeping in between bites of fast food and nostalgia, he was apologizing. Your chest tightened, something complicated twisting inside you, something bitter yet soft, something that wanted to hold onto resentment but wasn’t sure if it could anymore.

“You should be,” you murmured, voice steady, not cruel, not sharp—just honest. And Lando just nodded. Slowly. Thoughtfully. He didn’t argue. He didn’t make excuses. He didn’t try to talk his way out of it like he had done in the past, like he had done with so many other things, so many other moments.

Lando exhaled slowly, shifting slightly, gaze fixed on the waves, the silence stretching between you in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable—but was definitely heavy. He had never been the type to sit with things like this, never been the type to let the weight of past mistakes settle into his chest without some quick distraction, some clever deflection. But this time, he didn’t try.

“I should’ve been there,” he said finally, voice lower now, less casual, less teasing. Just honest. “I should’ve shown up.”

You stared at him for a moment, studying the way his fingers drummed lightly against the stone ledge, the way his posture wasn’t as relaxed as it had been earlier, the way his words carried something real—something that felt less like an empty apology and more like remorse.

“Yeah,” you murmured, voice steady, simple. “You should’ve.”

Another beat of silence. The kind that wasn’t awkward. The kind that just existed.

Lando sighed, running a hand through his curls, shaking his head lightly. “I was a bit of an ass, wasn’t I?”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “A bit?”

He shot you a look, but his grin—small, hesitant, almost self-deprecating—surfaced anyway. “Alright, fine. A lot.”

You smirked, though there wasn’t malice in your expression—just nostalgia, just something soft wrapped in the edges of lingering hurt. It wasn’t like everything could be fixed with a single apology.

It wasn’t like words could erase the years apart, the way things had splintered without resolution, the way wounds had settled so deep you had forgotten what it was like to exist without them. But maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of something new.

Something better.

The conversation had shifted—still warm, still easy in some ways, but laced with something deeper now. Something that wasn’t just nostalgia, wasn’t just laughter over childhood chaos, wasn’t just revisiting memories like old photographs tucked away in forgotten drawers. This was different. This was real in a way that it hadn’t been for a long time.

“I wanted to reach out,” he admitted suddenly, voice quieter, more careful. Like he wasn’t sure how the words would land. Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to say them at all. “After graduation. After—everything. But I didn’t know how to fix it.”

You studied him for a moment, the way his expression had shifted from mischievous to contemplative, the way he actually seemed hesitant—like he had spent years thinking about this exact moment, about how he would say these exact words if he ever got the chance.

And part of you knew that if he had tried back then, if he had sent that text, made that call, said something when it mattered—you wouldn’t have ignored it.

You wouldn’t have been able to.

But he hadn’t. And time had stretched between you, pulling everything apart until you weren’t sure if there was anything left to hold onto at all.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, and it wasn’t bitter, wasn’t sharp—it was just curious. Because after all this time, after all the years spent wondering, you deserved an answer.

Lando’s lips pressed together for a brief second before he exhaled again, shaking his head. “I was scared you wouldn’t want to hear from me,” he admitted, voice raw, honest. “And maybe... I thought I deserved that.”

And for the first time, since the distance had formed, since the resentment had settled, since the laughter had faded—his regret felt real.

Lando’s voice was steady, careful, carrying something unspoken beneath it—something raw, something real, something fragile enough that it almost felt like it didn’t belong in the easy rhythm of the night. “I really want to be your friend again, Y/n,” he said, and for the first time since this conversation had begun, since nostalgia had crept in and laughter had softened the edges of old wounds, you felt the weight of every single moment that had led up to this one.

It wasn’t a lighthearted remark. It wasn’t just words tossed into the sea breeze without meaning. It was something deeper, something intentional. And then, like he realized that saying it once wasn’t enough, like he needed to make sure it landed the way he intended, he added—“and I want you to be my friend again.”

Not just that he wanted to be yours.

But that he wanted you to want it, too. That he wasn’t just asking for forgiveness, wasn’t just trying to smooth over years of absence and missteps and hurt—he was asking for something real, something that required more than just words.

He was asking for a chance. For the possibility that this wasn’t just reminiscing, wasn’t just two people revisiting a past they had lost, but maybe—just maybe—the beginning of something new. And suddenly, after all this time, after all the years apart, you held all the power.

The tear slipped down your cheek, warm against the cool night air, but you didn’t wipe it away. You let it fall, let the weight of emotion settle deep into your chest, let the moment exist without hesitation, without restraint. “I miss you, Lan,” you said, voice raw, uneven, laced with something fragile—something true. “I missed you over the years. Nonstop.”

Lando inhaled sharply, like the words had knocked the breath out of him, like hearing them out loud made them real in a way that thoughts alone never could. His fingers curled slightly against the stone ledge, his posture tense for just a second before he exhaled, slow, measured. When he spoke, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty—just honesty, just everything he had been holding back.

“I miss you too,” he admitted, and it wasn’t rushed, wasn’t just a response for the sake of filling silence. It was real. It was heavy. “I always thought about you. In the car, before sleep.” His voice dipped slightly at the end, quiet but steady, carrying the weight of years, of regret, of something so much bigger than just missing someone. He glanced at you then, expression softer, more exposed than you had seen it in a long time. “And I also thought about how much I fucked up.”

"I can't hate you, Lando," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them, before you could think too hard about what they meant.

Because it was true.

Even after everything.

Even after the hurt, the silence, the years of unspoken apologies—you never could.

Lando’s breath hitched, just slightly, just enough for you to notice. His fingers curled against the stone ledge, his posture rigid for a moment before he exhaled, letting the weight of your words sink into his chest. He nodded once, barely, his gaze flickering toward the waves as if searching for something—some kind of grounding, some kind of steadiness in the moment that was suddenly too real.

“I thought you did,” he admitted, voice quieter now, less controlled, less confident. “For a long time, I thought you hated me.”

You swallowed, lips pressing together, letting the truth sit between you, because maybe—back then—you had tried to. Maybe you had wanted to. Maybe it would’ve been easier if you had.

But you never did.

“I was angry,” you said finally, voice steady but soft. “I was hurt. But I never hated you, Lan.”

He turned toward you then, fully, eyes searching yours with something raw, something desperate—not in a selfish way, not in a way that begged for more than you could give, but in a way that told you this moment meant everything to him.

Your voice was steady, but there was something fragile underneath it—something you hadn’t meant to admit out loud, something that had been sitting in your chest for years, tangled up in old resentment and unspoken frustration.

Lando’s expression flickered, something shifting in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or understanding, or both. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to laugh it off, didn’t do anything except wait, letting you say the thing you had never really let yourself process before.

“I wanted to be happy for you,” you continued, inhaling slowly, like the words were harder to say now that they were actually being said. “But every time I saw you winning, every time I saw you smiling on that podium, every time I saw you getting everything you wanted, I just… I was bitter, Lando.”

He swallowed, his fingers curling slightly against his knee, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “Because I wasn’t there?” he asked, voice careful, like he didn’t want to assume—but like he already knew.

You nodded, lips pressing together, letting the truth settle between you. “Because you weren’t there,” you echoed. “Because I wanted to be part of it. Because I wanted to be your friend, but instead, I was just—just some person watching it all happen from a distance.”

Lando exhaled, slow, measured, like he was absorbing all of it—like he wasn’t just hearing your words, but feeling them, carrying them in the space between past and present. He shook his head lightly, eyes dipping downward before meeting yours again. “I should’ve reached out,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, less certain, more vulnerable. “I should’ve had you with me. Should’ve made sure you never felt like that.”

And for the first time, since this conversation had started, since the past had resurfaced, since the years of distance had finally been acknowledged—you felt like he understood.

“I didn’t want to feel that way,” you admitted, voice quieter now, more careful. “I wanted to be proud of you, wanted to celebrate with you. But instead, it just felt like proof that—" You inhaled, pressing your lips together for a brief second, steadying yourself before letting the words slip out. "Proof that you didn’t need me anymore.”

Lando’s expression flickered, something deeper shifting behind his eyes—something that looked dangerously close to pain.

“No,” he murmured immediately, shaking his head, his fingers curling into a fist for a brief second before he exhaled, forcing himself to breathe. “It was never that. It was never because I didn’t need you, Y/n.” He looked at you now, really looked at you, like he needed you to understand, like he needed to make sure there was no space for doubt, no space for misinterpretation.

“I was an idiot. A selfish idiot who didn’t know how to deal with everything changing, so I—” He sighed, running a hand through his curls, his voice dipping lower, carrying something raw, something heavy. “I handled it badly. And I let everything slip away, because I was scared to—scared to admit that I couldn’t do any of it without you.”

Lando was quiet, until he broke the silence with one, short question.

“Do you think I deserve a chance?” he asked, voice softer this time, like he was bracing for whatever came next. His fingers drummed lightly against his knee, his posture just a little too rigid, his expression just a little too careful. He wasn’t asking lightly. He wasn’t expecting an easy answer. He was giving you the space to decide.

You inhaled slowly, letting his words settle, letting yourself really think about them. It wasn’t just about whether he deserved it. It was about whether you wanted to give it. About whether you were ready to step into something new, to let go of the bitterness that had clung to the edges of the memories you had tried to hold onto for so long. And maybe, just maybe, you were.

“Yeah, you do.”

babsie radio ! For my dearest @haniette and for all the lovely people reading this !! This is my longest and favorite fic I have ever written. This is literally asking for part 2!! Let me know if u are interested !<3

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kpoplustzone · 1 month ago

Text

MY TWO STEP SISTERS Chapter 2 - KARINA - MASSAGE

oc x karina

Chapter 1` - EUNBI - LINK

Junho’s insides twisted with a familiar knot of anger and helplessness. He’d hoped, wished with a desperate intensity, that See Joon would stay away from Karina, especially after what he’d seen See Joon doing to Eunbi. Eunbi was off on some idol schedule, thank God, a brief respite from the constant tension that filled their house whenever See Joon was around. Karina, however, was finally back after her Aespa concert in Seoul – tickets for which were rarer than hen’s teeth, a testament to her and her group’s insane popularity.

But his hopes had been dashed the moment he saw See Joon’s smug face turned towards Karina, a wide, easy smile plastered on it as they chatted. Karina, completely oblivious to the darkness Junho now associated with See Joon, was beaming back. Her outfit, though casual, was like a full-blown invitation to the kind of lowlife Junho now knew See Joon to be. A simple white tank top clung to her massive, perky tits, the outline of her nipples practically begging to be sucked. Her tiny denim shorts barely contained the curve of her delicious ass, riding high on her long, toned legs. Those legs! Smooth and sculpted, leading up to thighs that looked ripe for a good pounding. Junho couldn’t help the surge of unwilling lust that tightened his own groin at the sight, even as he hated See Joon for even looking at her with that predatory gleam in his eyes. It was a visual feast, a buffet of youthful, sexy flesh laid out right in front of a goddamn wolf.

See Joon, his eyes practically glued to the swell of Karina’s tits straining against the thin tank top, kept the conversation flowing smoothly. “So, that concert in Seoul… the crowd must have gone wild for Aespa, right?” he asked, his gaze flicking momentarily to her face before dropping back down to the prominent outline of her nipples.

Karina, completely missing the lecherous intent behind his seemingly innocent interest, launched into an enthusiastic recounting of the concert highlights. Her excitement was infectious, her hands gesturing animatedly as she described the roaring fans and the electric energy of the performance. But each movement, every bend as she leaned forward to emphasize a point, offered See Joon a more revealing glimpse of her incredible body. The way her tank top shifted gave him a tantalizing peek at the cleavage between her bulging breasts, and the hem of her tiny shorts rode up just enough to showcase the delectable curve of her ass and the creamy expanse of her thighs.

Junho stood there, his jaw tight, grinding his teeth in frustration. He was too damn awkward, too tongue-tied around Karina himself to ever have a conversation like this, let alone openly admire her body the way See Joon was doing with his eyes. See Joon, the smooth bastard, was a master at this game, knowing exactly how to talk to women, how to make them comfortable, how to subtly let them know he was interested in getting them into bed. Junho could see Karina starting to relax around him, her initial shyness fading as See Joon’s easy charm worked its magic, slowly chipping away at her defenses

Se Joon, his gaze locked on the incredible curve of Karina’s ass in those tight shorts, leaned in with a playful grin. “Noona, you must be wiped after that concert. How about I give you a massage? I’m good at working out knots.”

Junho’s teeth ground together. The thought of that younger punk’s hands all over Karina’s body, after seeing him rail Eunbi, made his stomach churn. He wanted to grab See Joon by the collar and throw him out of the house.

Karina laughed, a warm, melodic sound that still made Junho’s chest ache, despite his resentment. “Oh, See Joon-ah, that’s sweet of you, but I think I’m okay. You know how it is being an idol. It’s not like guys just… touch you like that. Our staff always handle that kind of thing. They’re pros.” She blushed slightly, looking a little flustered by the suggestion coming from a younger guy.

But See Joon was persistent, a young buck sensing an opportunity with an older, desirable woman. “Come on, Noona, just a little one? You killed it on stage tonight. Let me take care of you. My hands are surprisingly strong, you know. I can get in there and make your muscles feel amazing.” He winked, his eyes shamelessly traveling down her chest and back up to meet hers. “Think of it as your reward for being such a badass performer.”

He kept at it, his tone a mix of playful teasing and genuine concern, his gaze lingering on her every curve. He talked about the strain of performing, how a good massage could help her recover faster, painting a picture of innocent care that Junho knew had a much dirtier subtext. Slowly, Karina’s initial resistance began to melt away. The adrenaline from the concert was probably fading, leaving her body feeling achy, and the attention from the younger, undeniably cute See Joon was likely having its effect.

Finally, after a few more minutes of See Joon’s persistent charm, Karina relented with a soft smile. “Okay, fine, See Joon-ah. But just for a little while, alright? And you better be gentle. She turned and started walking towards her room, her perfect ass swaying with every step, a sight that made See Joon’s eyes practically pop out of his head.

See Joon watched her retreating figure, his tongue darting out to lick his lips slowly, a look of pure lust washing over his face. Then, he turned back to Junho, a smug, victorious grin spreading across his features, his eyes practically screaming, I just scored with your hot noona. With a final, cheeky wink that sent a fresh wave of fury through Junho, See Joon bounded off after Karina, leaving Junho stewing in his silent rage and unwanted desire.

Junho’s heart hammered against his ribs as he crept down the hallway, his footsteps silent on the carpet. He reached Karina’s door and saw ajar, a thin sliver of light spilling out into the dim hallway. He pressed his eye to the crack, his breath catching in his throat at the sight that greeted him.

Karina was lying face down on her bed, her body languishing. Her shorts had ridden up slightly, revealing the mouth-watering curve of her perfect ass, the cheeks plump and inviting. The thin tank top had also shifted, bunching up around her waist, exposing the smooth expanse of her shapely back. Her long, dark hair cascaded down the side of the bed like a black waterfall, a stark contrast to the pale skin of her shoulders.

See Joon stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze locked on Karina’s incredible body. Junho saw him slowly lick his lips, his eyes practically undressing her piece by piece. Then, he rubbed his hands together, warming them up with a slow, deliberate motion that sent a fresh wave of nausea churning in Junho’s gut. He knew exactly what See Joon was planning, and the thought of him touching Karina, exploring that body Junho secretly lusted after himself, filled him with a potent mix of disgust and a desperate, frustrated desire.

See Joon gently took Karina’s right foot in his hands, his thumbs pressing into the ball of her foot. “Long day of dancing takes it out of you, huh, Noona?” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. He started kneading deeply, his fingers digging into the tired muscles.

Karina let out a long, shaky sigh. “Ugh, tell me about it, Se Joon-ah. My feet are screaming.” As he hit a particularly tight spot, a soft moan escaped her lips, a mix of relief and a wince of discomfort. “Ooh, yeah, right there… that’s kind of painful but also feels so good.”

See Joon nodded, continuing to work on the arch of her foot, his thumbs moving in firm circles. He could feel the knots in her muscles slowly starting to loosen. He then moved his attention to her ankle, gently cradling it in his hands. His fingers traced the delicate bones, his thumbs rubbing the tendons with a careful pressure.

Another sigh escaped Karina, this one sounding more purely pleasurable. “Mmm, that feels amazing. See Joon-ah. You have really strong hands.” Her voice was thick with contentment. As he continued to massage her ankle, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin just above her heel, a low moan rumbled in her throat, the pain seemingly replaced entirely by a growing pleasure.

See Joon’s thumbs, still slick with the natural oils from Karina’s skin, slowly traced their way up the smooth expanse of her calves. He applied a firm, kneading pressure, working out the lingering tension from hours of intense choreography. Karina sighed deeply, a throaty sound that vibrated against the bed. “Oh, that feels so fucking good, See Joon-ah,” she mumbled into the pillow, her voice thick with contentment.

His hands continued their upward journey, his fingers splaying out to encompass the width of her calf muscles, squeezing and releasing in a rhythmic motion. He lingered on the particularly tight spots, digging in with his thumbs until Karina let out another, more breathy moan. “You’re like magic, you know?” she whispered, a hint of awe in her voice.

He reached her outer thigh, the muscles here feeling firmer, more toned. He changed his technique, using long, sweeping strokes, his palms pressing against her skin, feeling the warmth radiating from her body. He could see the goosebumps rising on the back of her legs as his touch ignited a spark of something more than just relaxation.

Then, slowly, deliberately, his hands started to venture towards her inner thighs. As his fingers grazed the delicate skin there, Karina tensed slightly, a small, almost imperceptible hesitation in her breathing. It wasn't a hard resistance, more like a flinch of surprise. But the sensation of his touch, even through the thin fabric of her shorts, seemed to weaken her resolve almost instantly.

A low moan escaped her lips, this one laced with a definite note of pleasure. Her thighs parted just a fraction, an unconscious invitation for him to continue his exploration. He could feel the heat emanating from between her legs, a palpable sign of her growing arousal. His hands continued their upward massage along her inner thighs, his fingers now just a hair's breadth away from the soft folds of her pussy. He deliberately avoided direct contact, teasing her mercilessly, letting his fingertips skim the edge of her heat.

Karina’s body began to tremble beneath his touch. Her breathing became more rapid, more shallow. Small whimpers escaped her lips, each one a testament to the heightened sensitivity of her skin, the anticipation building with every teasing stroke of his fingers. He could practically feel the wetness seeping into her shorts, a sure sign that his playful torture was having the desired effect. He continued this tantalizing dance, his fingers massaging the tender skin of her inner thighs, drawing closer and closer to the promised land without actually crossing the border, driving her slowly but surely out of her mind with longing.

Through the sliver of the open door, Junho watched with a mixture of disbelief and a sickening, possessive anger. He couldn’t fucking believe it. Karina, the untouchable goddess he saw command the stage with such fierce grace, was lying on her stomach, moaning like a goddamn porn star to See Joon’s greasy fingers. It felt wrong, like a sacrilege. This was Karina, for fuck’s sake, an idol adored by millions, and she was right there, under his roof, letting that cocky little prick paw at her.

He could see the way See Joon’s hands were working their way up her thighs, teasing, just barely touching that sweet spot between her legs. And Karina’s reactions… those weren’t just polite sighs of relaxation. Those were full-blown, throaty moans of pleasure, the kind he had only heard in the trashiest porn flicks. He could practically feel the wetness blooming between her thighs just by looking at her shorts, the denim clinging darker, a tell-tale sign of just how turned on she was getting by See Joon’s light touches. The contrast between the powerful, almost ethereal Karina he saw on stage and the whimpering, clearly aroused woman on that bed was jarring, almost unreal. And the fact that See Joon was the one eliciting those sounds, those reactions, filled Junho with a bitter, impotent fury.

Karina’s breath hitched, her ass clenching slightly against the sheets in anticipation. She was so goddamn wet, her pussy practically throbbing for See Joon’s fingers. She half-expected him to slide one, maybe two, right into her slick folds, but his hands remained teasingly close, massaging the tender skin of her inner thighs, driving her crazy with the nearness of it all. A part of her, the idol part, the one trained to maintain a pristine image, whispered that she should stop him, should tell him this was going too far. But that voice was barely a whisper now, drowned out by the insistent pulsing between her legs, the desperate craving for his touch.

She could feel the wetness seeping into her denim shorts, the fabric clinging damply to her swollen lips. Her nipples were rock-hard, pressing against the thin fabric of her tank top, begging for attention. And See Joon, the little tease, had subtly positioned his hands in a way that prevented her from closing her thighs, keeping her open and vulnerable, exposed to his tantalizing near-touches. It was almost unbearable, this agonizing wait, this electric tension building with every breath she took. Her pussy was practically begging to be fucked, and his hands were just dancing around the edges, driving her wild with the promise of what was to come. She was so far gone, so completely consumed by the building pressure, that the thought of stopping him barely even registered. All she could focus on was the sensation of his fingers so close, the heat building in her core, and the desperate need to finally feel him inside her.

A wave of irritation flickered across Karina’s face. Just when she thought See Joon’s fingers were finally going to dive between her slick thighs, he dared to ask her to flip over for a shoulder massage. A little groan of disappointment escaped her lips, but she didn’t argue. Fine, shoulders it was. Maybe he was just building up to the good stuff.

With a sigh, she rolled onto her back, her eyes fluttering open. In her turned state of mind, the thought of her rock-hard nipples pressing against the thin tank top didn’t even register. Her perky boobs, swollen and sensitive from the teasing, were now in perfect, glorious view for See Joon, the fabric doing little to conceal their erect tips.

As soon as Karina was fully on her back, See Joon’s eyes locked onto her chest, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face. Her nipples were practically screaming for attention, jutting out like hard little buttons, and the way her tank top stretched taut across the fullness of her breasts was enough to make any red-blooded male instantly hard. He just stood there for a moment, his gaze lingering, openly admiring the view, letting Karina know exactly what he was looking at and how much he was enjoying it.

Leaning over Karina’s head, See Joon got a delicious close-up of her stunningly sexy face. Even with her eyes closed, he could see the tension in her jaw, the slight pout of her lips. And then there was the unmistakable sign of her arousal – her thighs pressed tightly together, rubbing rhythmically against each other, her hand probably slick with her own juices beneath. He smirked to himself. She was practically begging for it without even realizing it. This was his chance to make the ice princess melt, to make the untouchable idol crave him, beg him for his cock. Once she did that, he knew he’d have her wrapped around his little finger.

He flicked a quick glance towards the slightly open door and caught Junho’s bitter stare. See Joon shot him a wide, smug grin, a silent “look what I’m about to do” plastered on his face. Then, he turned his attention back to the main event. He placed his hands on Karina’s shoulders, his thumbs digging into the knots, starting the massage. He made sure his fingers splayed outwards, giving him a prime, unobstructed view down the valley between her magnificent tits. The white tank top offered little resistance, the cleavage a deep, tempting canyon just begging to be explored. He could practically feel the heat radiating off her body, and the scent of her perfume, mixed with her burgeoning arousal, filled his nostrils, making his own cock twitch with anticipation.

Leaning over Karina, See Joon’s fingers dug into the tense muscles of her shoulders, kneading with a practiced rhythm. His gaze, however, kept straying down, feasting on the glorious view of her cleavage. Those big, beautiful tits were practically begging to be squeezed, that deep valley between them a tempting invitation to explore. He smirked again at Junho’s frustrated face in the doorway – the loser could only watch while he, See Joon, was about to tap this idol goddess.

Karina moaned softly under his ministrations, her earlier irritation seemingly forgotten in the pleasure his hands were now delivering. Her thighs were still pressed tightly together, the friction undoubtedly making her pussy slicker by the second. He could practically feel the heat radiating off her body, a silent testament to her mounting desire. This was it. He had her right where he wanted her. Now for the final play. He’d make her crave him, make her whimper and beg for his cock. That’s what these pampered idols needed – a real man to show them what they were missing. And once she begged, once she tasted his thick meat, she’d be putty in his hands. Anything he wanted, she’d give. He just had to play his cards right.

Leaning closer to Karina, his breath tickling her ear, See Joon’s voice dropped to a low, suggestive whisper, just loud enough for Junho to hear through the crack in the door. “Noona,” he breathed, his gaze flicking down to her straining nipples, “I think this tank top is kind of in the way, don’t you? Makes it hard to really get to those shoulders.” He paused, letting the suggestion hang in the air. “Maybe we should… take it off?”

Before See Joon could even finish the question, Karina’s hand shot up, already reaching for the hem of her tank top. “Yes! Oh god, yes, Se Joon-ah, please!” Her eagerness was almost comical, all her earlier hesitation completely gone, replaced by a raw, unadulterated desire.

A wide, triumphant smirk stretched across See Joon’s face as he watched her lift the tank top over her head, revealing her magnificent, bare breasts in all their glory. Her nipples were still rock-hard, jutting out like dark cherries, and the fullness of her boobs bounced slightly with the movement. He knew he had her exactly where he wanted her.

Holy fuck, See Joon thought, his eyes practically popping out of his head. Karina’s boobs were even bigger than he’d imagined, surprisingly full and almost sagging a little in a way that screamed pure, natural woman. It was hard to believe that such a thin, toned body could produce these magnificent mounds of flesh. And those nipples! Hard as pebbles, jutting out like they were begging to be sucked and pinched. They were a dark, tempting contrast to the smooth, pale skin of her chest. Her abs were clearly defined, those fit, toned muscles somehow making her already substantial boobs look even more impressive, pushing them up into a glorious display. He doubted his hands could even fully encompass one of them. This was Karina, the idol, right here, practically naked in front of him, just her tiny shorts clinging to her hips, her eyes closed tight, moaning softly like he was already doing something incredible to her. He felt a surge of pure, unadulterated lust.

His fingers, still warm from massaging her shoulders, slowly slid down her slender neck, tracing the delicate curve before dipping into the enticing valley between her magnificent tits. He circled her breasts, his fingertips just grazing the soft skin, teasing and tantalizing without fully committing to a grab. Karina’s back arched slightly off the bed, her body instinctively lifting towards his touch, a silent plea for more.

A low moan rumbled in her chest, escalating into a soft groan as his fingers continued their playful exploration. He circled the plump mounds, drawing closer and closer to those hard, pebble-like nipples. Just when Karina thought he was finally going to clamp down, he’d veer away, teasing the outer edges of her areola, making her ache with a frustrated desire. He watched her face, her eyes still closed tight, a slight grimace of pleasure twisting her lips. He knew he was driving her crazy, and a smirk played on his own lips. He was making the idol goddess squirm, and he hadn’t even fully touched her yet.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, See Joon’s hands swooped down and fully engulfed Karina’s magnificent tits. He grabbed them firmly, his palms encompassing the soft, yielding flesh, and Karina let out a high-pitched scream that was pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her body trembled violently beneath his touch, her back arching further off the bed as her aching nipples finally got the hard contact they’d been craving.

He squeezed and kneaded her big boobs, his fingers sinking into their plump softness. He groped them with a greedy abandon, reveling in the feel of her flesh in his hands. What would her legions of adoring fans think, he mused, if they could see their untouchable idol, the goddess on the stage, moaning her brains out under the clumsy hands of a nobody college kid like him? The thought sent a jolt of perverse satisfaction through him. He glanced towards the door, catching Junho’s wide-eyed, envious stare. With a smug grin, See Joon squeezed Karina’s tits even harder, his thumbs rubbing roughly over her already rock-hard nipples, making the sounds of her pleasure in the room escalate into unrestrained cries.

See Joon’s hands were in heaven, lost in the glorious landscape of Karina’s tits. He squeezed and kneaded, reveling in the soft, yielding texture of her big boobs. They filled his palms perfectly, the weight substantial and utterly satisfying. He loved the way they jiggled with each squeeze, the way her nipples, hard as rocks, poked insistently against his skin. This was pure, unadulterated porn star flesh right here in his hands, and he was going to enjoy every single second of it.

He brought his face closer, his eyes feasting on the sight of her chest. Her breasts were full and round, almost overflowing in his grasp. He could see the faint blue veins tracing paths beneath her pale skin, a delicate roadmap to pleasure. Her nipples were a dark, tempting brown, erect and begging to be sucked. He lowered his head and gently nipped at one, drawing it further out until it was a hard, pointy peak. Karina let out a sharp cry of pleasure, her back arching off the bed as if pulled by invisible strings.

He switched his attention to the other breast, his hands alternating between them, squeezing, kneading, and rolling her nipples between his fingers. He loved the way she reacted, her body writhing beneath his touch, her moans and groans filling the room. This was the power he craved, the ability to elicit such raw, uninhibited pleasure from this seemingly untouchable goddess. He imagined what Junho was seeing through the crack in the door, the loser probably jerking off furiously at the sight of his step-sister getting manhandled like the slut she secretly was.

See Joon squeezed Karina’s boobs again, harder this time, and she let out another scream of delight. He ran his thumbs across her nipples, feeling their hardness, and a perverse thrill shot through him. This was better than any fantasy, better than any porn he’d ever watched. He had Karina, the idol, right here, practically naked, moaning his name (even though she hadn't said his name yet, he was sure it was coming), her incredible tits his playground. He wasn’t going to waste a single moment.

See Joon shifted, kneeling between Karina’s outstretched legs, giving him prime access to her glorious chest. He leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over one of her already rock-hard nipples. Karina immediately started to writhe on the bed, a needy moan escaping her lips. “See Joon… oh, See Joon…” she whimpered, finally saying his name, just like he knew she would.

While his breath fanned the one nipple, his other hand was having a field day with its twin. He palmed her other big boob, the weight and fullness arousing him even more. His fingers squeezed and kneaded the soft flesh, and his thumb flicked insistently against her already erect nipple. Karina’s hips started to buck slightly, her thighs parting a little wider, offering him a better view of the promised land below. He could see the wetness already glistening on her shorts, a clear indication of just how turned on she was by his attention.

He lowered his head further, his tongue now tracing the hard outline of her nipple, licking and teasing it with slow, deliberate strokes. Karina cried out, a sharp, high-pitched sound of pure pleasure. He could feel her body tensing beneath him, her hands reaching out blindly, trying to grab onto him. He continued his ministrations, his mouth now sucking gently, then more firmly, on her nipple, while his other hand continued its delightful assault on her other breast, pinching and pulling at her hard peak.

See Joon saw his opportunity in Karina’s parted lips, still slightly open from her moans of pleasure. He leaned down slowly, deliberately, and pressed his mouth to hers. At first, there was a slight stiffness, a barely perceptible resistance in her lips. The idol persona, the years of being told who she could and couldn’t touch, flickered for a fleeting second. But See Joon wasn’t about to let her retreat. His hand, which had been teasing her one nipple, now squeezed it firmly, his thumb rubbing insistently against the hard peak.

The resistance in Karina’s lips melted away instantly. A soft gasp escaped her throat, and her mouth opened wider, inviting him in. Their tongues met in a hungry clash, swirling and dancing together with a desperate intensity. Karina’s hands, which had been resting limply on the bed, now reached up and clutched at See Joon’s shoulders, pulling him closer, wanting more of his touch, his kiss. She moaned deeply against his lips, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through his body, a testament to her escalating desire. His hands, meanwhile, continued their delightful assault on her magnificent breasts, squeezing, kneading, and pinching her hard nipples, sending jolts of pure pleasure through her.

Through the crack in the door, Junho watched the scene unfold, his mind reeling. He couldn’t fucking believe it. First, it was Eunbi, just two days ago, her moans of ecstasy echoing through the same house as See Joon’s cock hammered into her. And now, it was Karina, the other step-sister, another untouchable idol, her lips locked in a passionate embrace with the same damn guy. Two of the sexiest women in Korea, both kissing See Joon within the span of a single weekend. It was beyond comprehension. He had to pinch himself hard on the arm, the sharp sting barely registering through the shock that coursed through him. Was this some kind of twisted dream? Was he hallucinating? There was no other explanation for this unbelievable turn of events. The sheer audacity of See Joon, bedding both of his step-sisters in such quick succession, was mind-boggling. And the way Karina, the ice queen, the idol seemingly immune to the advances of countless adoring fans, was now devouring See Joon’s kiss with such raw hunger… it was a sight that would forever be burned into Junho’s memory, a constant reminder of his awkwardness and the surprising, uninhibited desires of the women he lived with.

His hands, having thoroughly enjoyed the plush softness of Karina’s tits, now slowly trailed downwards, his fingertips lightly caressing the smooth skin of her slender neck before gliding over her collarbone and settling on her toned, fit abs. He massaged gently, his fingers pressing into the firm muscles beneath her skin, feeling the subtle tremors that ran through her body with each touch. Their lips were still locked in a passionate embrace, their mouths moving together with a desperate hunger, their tongues tangling and twirling, their saliva mixing and flowing between them in a wet, sloppy dance.

As his hand dipped lower, his fingers brushing against the soft hairs at the top of her mound, Karina’s hand shot down instinctively, her fingers gently but firmly trying to block his advance. “Wait…” she murmured against his lips, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

But See Joon wasn’t about to be denied. He deepened their kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth with a renewed intensity, his lips sucking and pulling on hers. Karina’s eyes fluttered shut, her body arching slightly against the bed, her focus completely consumed by the wet, demanding pressure of his mouth on hers. She moaned softly, a helpless sound that vibrated in his throat, and he could feel her body tremble slightly beneath him.

In that moment of distraction, as her attention was solely focused on their kiss, See Joon’s hand slipped past her initial resistance, his fingers sliding easily under the waistband of her shorts. Her panties were already soaked, the fabric clinging damply to her swollen lips. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, the unmistakable sign of her intense arousal.

As soon as See Joon’s finger slid into Karina’s hot, tight pussy, a jolt of pure electricity shot through her body. Her muscles clenched around his digit, squeezing him tightly as if trying to trap him inside. A strangled cry escaped her lips, and her body started to tremble uncontrollably. Her hips arched upwards with an almost violent force, lifting her ass off the bed, making her big boobs bounce wildly against her chest. Loud, unrestrained moans and groans ripped from her throat, a clear indication of the intense pleasure that was coursing through her.

See Joon felt the immediate tightening around his finger, the unmistakable sign of Karina’s orgasm washing over her. Her pussy squeezed and pulsed rhythmically, milking his finger with an intensity that made his own cock throb in response. It took a few long, shuddering moments for Karina to come down from the high, her body gradually relaxing back onto the bed, her breathing still coming in ragged gasps.

But See Joon wasn’t about to stop there. He knew she was incredibly sensitive now, her nerves still buzzing with the aftershocks of her climax. He started to finger her properly, his one digit now joined by another, gently spreading her swollen lips and probing deeper into her slick, wet folds. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, the unmistakable sign of her still-rampant arousal.

Karina’s head thrashed back against the pillow, another string of whimpers and moans escaping her lips. Her hands, which had been gripping the air, now clenched tightly onto the bedsheet, her knuckles white. He could feel her pussy tightening around his fingers again, even more slick and responsive than before. This was pure, unadulterated pornographic heaven, and he was the lucky bastard getting to experience it firsthand.

While his fingers continued their rhythmic exploration of Karina’s wet pussy, See Joon’s other hand reached down, swiftly pulling down his shorts and briefs. His thick cock sprang free, a hard, veiny monster standing at full attention. Through the crack in the door, Junho’s eyes widened in disbelief. See Joon’s dick was massive, almost double the size of his own puny member. He remembered the muffled sounds from See Joon and Eunbi’s encounter, but now, seeing that impressive piece of meat in its full glory, he finally understood why his step-sister had been moaning so loudly.

See Joon, feeling Karina’s intense pleasure from his fingers working her pussy, took his free hand and gently guided her soft hand onto his thick, throbbing cock. Karina, her eyes still closed, lost in the waves of her orgasm, instinctively wrapped her fingers around the hard shaft. The contrast between the delicate touch on her wet lips and the solid, pulsating heat in her hand seemed to send another shiver of delight through her body.

He started to stroke his thick cock in Karina’s soft hand, sliding his length in and out of her grasp with a slow, deliberate rhythm. At first, her fingers just lay there, passively holding him, still lost in the throes of the pleasure his fingers were relentlessly delivering to her wet pussy. But then, feeling the intensified rhythm as he sped up his strokes inside her, her hand instinctively started to move. Her fingers, soft and delicate against his thick, hard shaft, began to slide up and down, mimicking his movements in her tight hole.

Her hips started to lift off the bed with each faster thrust of his fingers, her body completely caught up in the mounting pleasure. She trembled violently, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. See Joon watched her, a surge of pure triumph coursing through him. This untouchable idol, this goddess on stage, was right here, her pussy being pounded by his fingers while her own soft, fair hands were stroking his thick, dark, veiny cock. It was a sight he wouldn’t forget anytime soon, a fantasy brought vividly to life right in front of his eyes. The feel of her delicate touch on his hard member was almost surreal, a potent combination of soft and firm, pale against dark, making his own orgasm feel like it was just moments away.

Junho watched, a knot of conflicted emotions tightening in his chest, as See Joon cruelly withdrew his fingers from Karina’s slick pussy just as she was on the precipice of another earth-shattering orgasm. A frustrated groan rumbled in Karina’s throat, her hips instinctively trying to push upwards, searching for the lost pleasure. See Joon, the sadistic bastard, just smirked down at her, his thick, hard cock now positioned perfectly between her milky white thighs.

He lowered himself slowly, deliberately, letting his heavy head rest right against Karina’s swollen, glistening vulva. Junho could see the wetness coating See Joon’s shaft, a visible testament to Karina’s arousal. He rubbed his cock back and forth, the head teasing and pressing against her sensitive lips without actually sliding inside. Karina’s body trembled violently, her earlier moans replaced by a tense silence, every muscle in her legs and abdomen clenched tight. Even as See Joon continued to torment her, rubbing his length along her most sensitive areas, she remained silent, her breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. She was so close, Junho could practically feel her frustration radiating through the air.

Finally, her control snapped. “Please…” she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper, laced with an undeniable desperation. “Please, See Joon-ah… fuck me.”

See Joon chuckled, a low, arrogant sound that made Junho’s fists clench. “Beg for it, Noona,” he whispered back, his voice dripping with a smug satisfaction. He continued to tease her, the head of his cock now gently parting her swollen lips, still refusing full entry.

Karina’s restraint completely crumbled. “Please, See Joon… I need it. I need your cock inside me. Please, just… just fuck me.” Her voice was trembling, tears starting to well up in the corners of her eyes. The usually composed idol was reduced to a whimpering mess, desperate for the touch only See Joon could provide.

“That’s right, Noona,” See Joon purred, his voice laced with triumph. “You want my cock so bad, don’t you? You can’t think of anything else, can you?” He finally pressed the head of his cock firmly against her entrance, pausing once more, the anticipation building to an almost unbearable level.

“Yes!” Karina cried out, her hips bucking upwards. “Oh god, yes, See Joon! Please, just put it in me. I’m begging you.” Her words were thick with need, her obsession with his cock now undeniable.

See Joon smirked, his gaze flicking towards the doorway where Junho stood frozen, a silent witness to Karina’s utter surrender. “Anything for you, Noona,” See Joon whispered, and with a final, deliberate thrust, he plunged his thick, hard cock deep inside Karina’s waiting, wet pussy.

See Joon positioned his thick, hard cock at the entrance of Karina’s wet pussy. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the swollen lips practically begging to be parted. With a deep breath, he pressed forward slowly. The entrance was incredibly tight, gripping his shaft like a velvet vise. He had to hold back a groan, the feeling of being swallowed so completely almost sending him over the edge. It was obvious this idol hadn't had much action in her life; the tightness was a screaming testament to her inexperience. He forced himself to move inch by agonizing inch, feeling her muscles stretching around his impressive girth.

Karina gasped, her eyes snapping open, a sharp intake of breath as he breached her inner sanctum. “Oh, fuck…” she whispered, her body tensing as he continued his slow progress. Every millimeter felt like a delicious torture, the tightness almost unbearable. He paused for a moment, letting her adjust to the fullness, her hot, wet walls clinging to him like a second skin.

Then, with a final, deliberate push, he sheathed his entire length inside her. Karina let out a strangled cry, a mix of pain and pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her back arched off the bed, her body bucking slightly as she fully accommodated his thick cock. He could feel her inner muscles clenching around him, a primal, involuntary response that made his cock throb even harder. A string of moans escaped her lips, escalating into soft screams as she adjusted to the intense fullness. It felt like he was stretching her wide open, his girth expanding her tight walls, and the sound of her pleasure was a symphony to his ears.

His hands, without hesitation, clamped down on her magnificent, milky white breasts, his fingers kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs rubbing roughly over her hard nipples. He started to fuck her with a steady, powerful rhythm, each thrust driving him deep inside her. Karina’s legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in tighter, and with every full penetration, her hands would grasp his back, her nails digging lightly into his skin, a testament to the intense pleasure he was giving her.

Junho’s eyes remained glued to the crack in the door, a sick fascination holding him captive. He watched See Joon’s hands grip Karina’s waist, hoisting her up like she weighed nothing. The way her legs instinctively wrapped around See Joon’s hips as he settled her onto his lap made Junho’s stomach clench with envy. He could see the immediate difference in their connection, See Joon’s thick cock sliding even further up into Karina’s soaking wet pussy.

Karina’s head snapped back with a jolt, her mouth falling open, and her tongue lolled out in a way that screamed pure, raw pleasure. It was a primal, animalistic reaction to the deep penetration, a clear sign of just how good See Joon’s big dick felt inside her. Junho had never seen Karina like this, so utterly uninhibited, so completely lost in the throes of lust. It was a side of her, the idol, that was usually hidden from the world, and seeing it unleashed so wantonly was both shocking and intensely arousing for Junho.

See Joon didn’t waste a second, his hips immediately starting to pump, driving his thick meat deep into Karina’s core with heavy, relentless thrusts. The sounds were getting louder now, a wet, squelching rhythm accompanying Karina’s increasingly frantic moans and cries. Her hands were now gripping See Joon’s neck with a desperate intensity, her knuckles white as she held on for dear life, her head still thrown back, her long hair cascading down her back. Each time See Joon slammed into her, Junho could see Karina’s body shudder, her breath catching in her throat as she rode the wave of pleasure. It was a brutal, passionate encounter, and Junho, despite his resentment towards See Joon, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the explicit display of raw, unadulterated sex. The way Karina’s usually composed face was now contorted with pure, unadulterated lust was a sight that would be forever burned into his memory.

Junho’s gaze remained fixed on the gap in the door, a morbid fascination keeping him rooted to the spot. He watched as See Joon remained completely still, that smug look still plastered on his face, as Karina took control. Using the strength in her thighs, honed from years of intense choreography, she started to ride his thick, hard cock. Up and down she bounced, her movements surprisingly strong and deliberate. With each downward plunge, Junho could see See Joon’s dick disappear completely inside her wetness, and with each upward surge, it would almost slip free before she’d grind back down with a desperate groan.

The sight of Karina, the usually poised and graceful idol, riding See Joon like a seasoned porn star was almost unbelievable. And then there were her breasts. With every thrust, those magnificent mounds of flesh would tremble and bounce, the nipples straining against the thin fabric that still clung to her lower body. It was a mesmerizing, utterly erotic display.

Junho could hear snippets of Karina’s breathy words, her voice thick with lust. “Oh, your cock… it’s so big…” she’d pant, grinding down harder. “I love it… I love the way it feels inside me…” She’d let out a high-pitched moan as See Joon’s dick hit just the right spot. See Joon himself was doing absolutely nothing, just leaning back against the headboard with his hands behind his head, a look of pure satisfaction on his face. He was letting the idol do all the work, his eyes slowly raking up and down her body, clearly enjoying the divine view of her going up and down on his meat. Junho could see the smugness radiating off him in waves. The bastard was getting a free ride, literally and figuratively, just basking in the glory of having this incredible woman riding him senseless.

Junho’s breath hitched as See Joon suddenly shifted Karina around. Now, See Joon’s face was directly facing the slightly ajar door, and Junho had to quickly press himself flatter against the wall, his heart hammering against his ribs. Both of them were glistening with sweat, their bodies slick and shiny under the soft light of Karina’s room. Junho had to admit, the sheen of perspiration on Karina’s skin added a whole other level of raw, animalistic sexiness to the scene.

See Joon reached out and grabbed a handful of Karina’s long, dark hair, tilting her head back slightly, giving him even more access to her backside. Then, he started to pound into her from behind. Junho had a clear view now of the impact, See Joon’s hips slamming against Karina’s plump ass with a meaty thwack. With each forceful thrust, Karina’s big boobs swung wildly, the nipples bouncing up and down with an almost frantic energy. Karina’s eyes were still closed, her face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated pleasure, completely oblivious to the fact that they had a very captivated audience.

See Joon started with slow, deep thrusts, each one seemingly stretching Karina open even wider. Junho could hear her soft moans escalating with each powerful penetration. Then, See Joon’s pace started to pick up. His thrusts became faster and harder, his hips grinding against her ass with increasing intensity. Karina’s moans also grew louder and louder, morphing into high-pitched cries of ecstasy. Junho felt a strange mixture of disgust and intense arousal watching this scene unfold, the raw, uninhibited passion between his friend and his step-sister playing out right before his eyes

Karina’s body went limp, a shuddering wave of pleasure coursing through her as she squeezed See Joon’s cock with every muscle in her soaked pussy. Her cries reached a fever pitch, echoing slightly in the room before abruptly ceasing as she collapsed onto the bed, her face buried in the sheets, her perfectly sculpted ass still raised towards See Joon, his thick dick still buried deep inside her. Junho watched, a strange mixture of fascination and revulsion churning in his gut. He could practically feel the way Karina’s tight, wet walls were milking See Joon’s hard-on, every involuntary clench a testament to the intense orgasm she had just experienced.

Both of them were drenched in sweat, their bodies glistening under the soft light. Beads of perspiration trickled down Karina’s back, tracing paths along her spine and disappearing into the sheets. Even her hair, usually perfectly styled, now clung to her forehead in damp, dark strands. Her impressive boobs, still swaying slightly from the force of her climax, had droplets of sweat clinging to their undersides, a testament to the sheer physical exertion of their lovemaking.

See Joon, still embedded deep inside her, gently reached down and turned Karina’s head, lifting her face from the soaked sheets. Her eyes were glazed over, unfocused, a clear sign that she was still riding the aftershocks of her intense orgasm. A smug smirk played on See Joon’s lips as he looked down at the dazed idol. He leaned closer, his voice a low, dirty whisper.

“Well, well, well, look at you, Noona,” he purred, his breath hot against her ear. “The nation’s sweetheart, the pure and innocent Karina, reduced to a sweaty, moaning mess under my cock. Feels good to be a slut, doesn’t it?”

Karina’s eyelids fluttered slightly, her gaze slowly focusing on See Joon’s face. There was a lingering haze of pleasure in her eyes, a vulnerability that Junho had never seen before. “Hmm?” she mumbled, her voice still thick with arousal.

“Come on, Noona, admit it,” See Joon pressed, his fingers gently stroking her wet hair. “After all those years of pretending to be all prim and proper for your fans, doesn’t it feel amazing to finally let your inner slut out to play? Especially for my big, thick cock?”

A small, dazed smile touched Karina’s lips. “Your… cock…” she whispered, her fingers instinctively reaching down to touch his hard thigh.

“Yeah, my cock,” See Joon repeated, his voice laced with triumph. “You love it, don’t you? You love the way it fills you up, the way it makes you scream and come until you can’t think straight.” He punctuated his words with a slow, deliberate thrust deeper inside her.

Karina gasped, her eyes widening slightly. “Oh god, yes…” she breathed, her grip tightening on his thigh. “I love it… it’s so big… so hard…”

“That’s right,” See Joon continued, his voice a seductive whisper. “And you’d do anything for it, wouldn’t you, Noona? Anything at all, just to feel this good again?” He shifted slightly, grinding his hips against hers, making her moan.

Karina’s head lolled back against the pillow, her eyes half-closed in a haze of pure lust. “Anything…” she repeated, her voice barely audible, a clear indication of the complete control See Joon now had over her desires. Junho watched, his mind reeling at the transformation of the idol he thought he knew. The scene unfolding before him was raw, explicit, and utterly captivating in its depravity

With a grunt, See Joon lifted Karina, his cock still buried deep within her. He turned her around so her back was now facing him, her still-connected body a shocking display for Junho, who had a direct, unobstructed view of Karina’s full frontal body. Her magnificent boobs, still glistening with sweat, swayed with the movement. Junho’s gaze dropped lower, taking in her toned abs, the curve of her thighs, and the wide-open, wet vulva with See Joon’s thick, dark cock sliding in and out with each step he took. It was a sight that burned itself into Junho’s mind, a tableau of forbidden intimacy.

See Joon held her firmly, her thighs wrapped around his, her pussy gripping his cock tightly. He started to thrust, his hands now gripping her hips, guiding her movements. Karina moaned weakly, her body still reeling from the previous orgasms. Sweat streamed down her face and body, her hair plastered to her forehead, every inch of her radiating a raw, sexual energy. See Joon pounded into her, his every thrust deep and powerful, eliciting soft cries from Karina.

Then, with a final series of forceful shoves, Karina’s body tensed again. Her breath hitched, and a long, shuddering moan escaped her lips as she came for the third time on See Joon’s cock. At the exact same moment, See Joon let out a guttural roar, his body convulsing as he emptied his load deep inside her, pumping loads and loads of hot, sticky cum into her already saturated pussy.

Karina’s grip on See Joon loosened, her body going completely limp. He gently lowered her back onto the bed, her chest heaving with each ragged breath, her face flushed a deep crimson. A thick stream of See Joon’s semen leaked from her swollen lips, running down her thighs and soaking into the white sheets. Junho watched, his own body aching with a mixture of envy and unfulfilled desire, as the two figures on the bed lay spent, their bodies intertwined, a testament to the wild, uninhibited sex he had just witnessed.

#kpop smut #kpop #karina #karina smut #aespa smut #aespa giselle #twice #aespa karina #eunbi smut #izone eunbi #kwon eunbi

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the-halloween-jack · 3 months ago

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DC ✢ What scares them and how you help them cope

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.

B R U C E W A Y N E

Bruce, for as long as he can remember, has always suffered in silence. A perpetual brooder.

People have come and gone in his life, but he has never been comfortable opening up to them.

And for the longest time, you were no exception.

Though, as time passed, and an intimate familiarity grew, you began noticing a shift in his behaviour. Where he normally would have isolated himself in the Batcave, overburdened himself with his work, he instead began seeking you out.

In those moments, he would gently approach you, and you would offer him comfort. That was when he finally opened up about his deepest fear, losing the people he loves, especially you.

He is terrified that, despite all his vigilance, one day he will be unable to protect those closest to him and the thought of losing anyone, of them being taken from him, is something he cannot bear to face.

He still does not show his vulnerability easily, but when you are there, he is not as afraid to let his guard down, even if only for a brief moment.

He will never admit it, but he is always so grateful for your presence. Whether it is a quiet moment holding your hand, your steady voice in his ear, or simply leaning against you, he finds comfort. He lets you sit with him, no words necessary, knowing you will stay with him.

D I C K G R A Y S O N

Dick has always been the life of the party, the one who could crack a joke to break any tension in the room, always for the benefit of others.

But as you spent more time with him, you began to notice how he would sometimes go quiet, how his smile fell a bit too easily when he thought no one was looking.

You would see the insecurity flicker across his face; like he was afraid he was not good enough. He was afraid that one day, he would let you down, it would push you to walk away from him and he would be alone.

On the rare occasions that Dick opened up about his fears, it was never in big, dramatic moments. It was during quiet, vulnerable times when you were curled up on the couch, or after a mission where he had felt everything had gone wrong.

He would admit to you, softly, that he worries he is not enough for the people he cares about. That maybe, despite all his effort, he could fail them.

When you reassure him, he would brush it off with a laugh, but deep down, it comforts him more than he lets on. And from that moment, he tries harder to show you just how much he values you.

J A S O N T O D D

Jason’s tough exterior had always seemed nearly impenetrable, to everyone who knew him and you had not been an exception to this rule.

When you first met him, Jason did not want to let you close. He pushed you away. Any attempt at trying to comfort him was futile.

Beneath this façade, there is a deep-rooted fear of being forgotten and unimportant, as though his death had been just another part of Gotham’s tragic history, another statistic.

Slowly, you began to perceive beyond his mask of resentment. During late-night conversations, when he allowed his frustration to ebb away, Jason would reveal just how much he fears that Gotham — or worse, his family — will not remember him as the person he is now, the person behind his carefully constructed veil, the boy he once was.

When Jason lets his walls down, it is never in public. It is solely within quiet, private moments with you, his eyes soft and vulnerable in a manner only you have ever known.

Over the years, you have learnt that showing patience and care, letting him know you are there even when he is at his lowest, is one of the most important ways to help him feel like he matters, to prove you see him for everything that he is, to prove you love the man beneath the veil.

T I M D RA K E

Tim has always been the strategist, the planner; constantly running scenarios in his mind to ensure things go right.

However, with that constant need for control comes an intense fear of failure and not living up to the expectations he has placed on himself.

Early on, when you spent time with him, you noticed how tightly wound he always was; always thinking, and nearly always overthinking.

There were nights when he would finally collapse into bed, eyes wide with worry, unable to rest. You would feel this unease radiate from him throughout the night.

Tim never truly usually let his fear show, but one night, after a particularly difficult mission where he felt responsible for things that had gone wrong, he finally admitted how much pressure he felt to always be perfect.

You comforted him with a soft smile, telling him that it was okay to not have all the answers and that he, like everyone else, was allowed to make mistakes. You helped him realise the unrealistic expectations he had placed on himself.

Since then, Tim still overthinks, he still plans, but, at the very least, he has learned, with you by his side, that it is okay to let go sometimes.

D A M I A N W A Y N E (Aged up as Batman)

Damian was fierce and proud, he never outwardly showed weakness if he could help it. His fear was simple, he was terrified that someone would see through this, that he would be perceived as feeble or unworthy of his name.

When you first met him, he wore his arrogance and pride like armour, it was designed to keep people at a distance.

However, as time progressed, you began to notice cracks in this façade; moments where he looked at his family and felt like he was not measuring up.

Damian never directly opened up, but you saw it in the way his shoulders tensed when his father praised others or when he failed at something that he believed should have been effortless.

One day, you found him alone, practising relentlessly in the training room. His frustration was palpable, and when he finally stopped, he turned to you, admitting woefully that he was afraid he would never be as good as his family and never live up to his father’s legacy.

You had been shocked, you had yearned for him to be open with you and had already resigned to the fact it likely would not happen. Despite this, you were quick to reassure him, reminding him that his worth was not measured by perfection, but by who he strived to be.

Over time, he began to trust you more, slowly letting you see the person beneath his well-constructed bravado. Though he would never admit it, your support meant the world to him.

C L A R K K E N T

Clark, the ever-hopeful, never-giving-up superhero, covertly harboured a deep fear of losing control — specifically, of accidentally hurting those he loves with his less-than-ordinary abilities.

His fear was embedded in the idea that his immense capabilities could go terribly astray, causing harm to someone he holds dear.

It is a quiet fear, one he does not often voice, as he does not want to burden you with it. But you can sense it in the way he is constantly holding back, constantly choosing to act in ways that minimise risk, even if it means sacrificing your mutual need for physical affection.

One evening, after a particularly difficult escapade, where unbeknownst to you, his powers had nearly hurt an innocent bystander, you found him standing in front of the window, his hands clenched in silent frustration. He had been bitterly reminded of how dangerous he could be. If he lacked control for even the briefest of moments, you could be lost to him forever.

You walked up behind him with the intention of loosening his hands with your own. At first, you made no impression on his unyielding frame, but eventually, he melted into your touch and let you intertwine your fingers. You gently asked him about it, and he admitted his fear, his voice softer than usual.

At this you embraced him, hoping you were not pushing any boundaries after this particular admission. You let him know that you trusted him entirely and that you believed he had an unwavering ability to protect, despite the weight of his fear.

From that night on, while Clark still remained cautious and vigilant, he knew that you were there to support him and, at the very least, you were not afraid of him.

This is my first-ever attempt at a Headcanon, so any advice would be much appreciated <3

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liuhsng · 5 months ago

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✩ˎˊ˗ breaking point ( ksn ! )

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the untouchable series | enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — sunoo x fem!reader

⤷ word count — 13.9k ⤷ taglist for the series — open !

⤷ warnings —smut (minors dni), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), p in v, a/b/o au, alpha!sunoo, omega!reader, fem!reader, foul language, slowburn, brother's best friend trope, mentions of drinking and alcohol, angst, one-sided at first to eventual mutual pining, in denial!sunoo, kinda shy!reader, sunoo falls for you hard, mentions of the other parts from this series, not proofread

⤷ a/n — I'M BACK AFTER 4 YEARS.

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — being sunghoon’s younger sister by a year, it was clear to everyone that you were off-limits. sunghoon’s overprotectiveness made it impossible for anyone to forget that, especially sunoo, his best friend. the pink haired alpha, who always saw you as nothing more than his best friend’s little sister. he wasn’t looking for an omega or a mate, and that was that. but when things get heated between the both of you, he had no choice but to confront the feelings he always had for his best friend's younger sister that he couldn't deny anymore.

being the youngest daughter of the esteemed park family was hard, not because of who your brother was, but because of all the rules you were raised to follow.

from the moment you could walk, you were groomed to be perfect, poised, refined, and constantly reminded that you were next in line to rule alongside sunghoon. the pressure was suffocating. every step you took was measured, every decision scrutinized, and the expectations never seemed to end.

the problem? you had never asked for any of it.

as his younger sister, it was hard to make your own way when all anyone ever saw was the role you were born into. and to make matters worse, there were constant reminders that you were off-limits, not just because you were his sister— maybe just a little, but because you were the future of the family.

you were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt sunghoon tap lightly on your knee, the touch familiar yet still enough to pull you back into reality. his presence in the front seat always had an air of authority, and for a moment, you resented how easily he could just, command your attention.

"stupid alpha's and their stupid genes." you muttered under your breath.

"stop zoning out," he said, his voice a playful reprimand, though the smile on his face suggested he wasn’t too bothered by your distraction.

you rolled your eyes as you shifted in your seat. “i'm not zoning out,” you muttered, trying to shake off the feelings of frustration that had been rising under your skin. the weight of your family’s expectations felt heavier than usual.

sunghoon, sitting next to the driver’s seat with his attention partly on the road and partly on you, sighed. "you know mom’s going to expect you to bring a suitor with you to the dinner, right? at least someone who looks like they’re even remotely interested in you."

you could feel your chest tighten at the mention of it. it wasn’t even a dinner for a few more days, at least five, actually; but your mother had already made it clear that tonight’s family dinner would be just the beginning. it was one of those events designed to solidify your place in the hierarchy, and somehow, the spotlight was always on you and your older brother, no matter how much you tried to avoid it.

"yeah, i know," you said dryly, glancing out the window at the passing buildings. "you’re not the one who has to deal with her acting like your love life is the family business."

sunghoon chuckled, a sound that felt too familiar, dry and dismissive, as though he didn’t even consider anyone good enough to be worthy of you. “i just think no one’s good enough for you,” he said with a shrug, his voice almost bored as he looked out the windshield.

“mom’s just doing her usual thing. trying to find someone who’ll follow the rules and look the part. doesn’t matter who they are, as long as they check the boxes.” sunghoon sighed as he shot you a tight smile in the rear-view mirror.

you bit your lip to keep from rolling your eyes. the last thing you needed was your brother deciding who was worthy of you, especially when the last thing you wanted was someone picked for you based on some list of family-approved traits. “i’m sure she’ll find someone who meets all her requirements,” you said, sarcasm laced into your voice.

sunghoon glanced at you, the amusement in his eyes fading into something a little more serious. for a second, you saw a flash of concern in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly. "don’t let her get to you," he said quietly.

“the only thing you need is an alpha who cares about you,” he said, his tone oddly casual, though he sounded sincere. "like your mate, who i'm sure is just out there waiting for you. you’ll find him eventually."

you blinked, surprised by the unexpected softness in his voice. you weren't used to hearing him talk like that

you shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. "you really think someone’s out there waiting for me?" you asked, the doubt creeping into your voice despite the hope his words has caused.

sunghoon's gaze softened for a moment, his expression unreadable. "i don't think you need to worry about that right now," he said with a slight grin, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "when the time comes, you'll know. just… don’t let mom rush you into someone you don’t want."

you let out a quiet sigh, turning your gaze out the window as the car slowed. the city lights blurred past, and before you could process it, the familiar driveway came into view, an all too familiar mansion.

the car honked, and a figure appeared in your peripheral vision. you recognized him immediately, even from a distance. kim sunoo, casually scrolling through his phone as he stood by the front gate. as the car rolled to a stop, he looked up, saw you both, and then sent sunghoon a playful smirk through the rolled-down passenger window.

"well, look who finally decided to show up," sunoo said with a grin, his eyes lighting up as he slid into the car beside you without missing a beat.

but as sunoo settled in beside you, you couldn't shake the strange feeling that had been creeping up on you for a while now. you'd known sunoo for as long as you could remember, your brother’s best friend, always around when the two of you were growing up.

his family was just like yours, pureblooded with a reputation that seemed to follow them wherever they went. but to you, sunoo had always seemed harmless, just another guy who’d been around long enough to be a part of the family in a way.

it wasn’t always like this. there was a time when he had been just… sunghoon's best friend. the guy who teased you relentlessly, but never in a mean way. he was always present, always just there; at family gatherings, at parties, even during quiet moments when you'd end up sitting side by side, silently enduring the weight of family expectations together.

it wasn’t an obvious change, not something you could point to with a specific date. but, something that began to grow when you found yourself seeing him differently.

maybe it was during one of those times when you had to wait for sunghoon outside an office, a day when he’d gotten into a fight with another alpha after his classes. you were both stuck waiting for your brother, his stubbornness keeping him inside while you and sunoo were left in an uncomfortable silence.

you’d both sat there, avoiding each other’s gaze, the minutes stretched on, and something inside you felt weird. the way sunoo’s eyes would flicker toward you, like he was trying to catch your attention without fully looking at you, as if testing whether you were still there. you'd meet his gaze for a second, but he’d always look away too quickly, leaving you with the unsettling feeling that there was something he wasn’t saying.

his scent, always so familiar, seemed to hang in the air thicker than usual. it was the heady mixture of rum and neroli that you’d come to associate with him, something that screamed 'kim sunoo.' but now, it felt more intense, like it was seeping into your senses and refusing to let go.

each inhale felt deeper than the last, and with every breath, your heart began to pound faster. your inner omega reacted before your mind could process it, a soft whimper rising in the back of your throat as your body seemed to crave the closeness, the warmth that sunoo offered.

"omega…" sunoo grumbled under his breath, his voice barely a whisper, but it was enough to make your pulse spike. his eyes were narrowed, his expression flickering with something unreadable as he shifted next to you.

"alpha," you whispered, more to yourself than to him, trying to force some control back into the situation. the words barely left your lips before sunoo let out a breath, his hand brushing against yours, sending another wave of heat coursing through you.

before you could fully process what was happening, the glass doors to the office burst open with a loud bang, snapping you out of the haze you were in. sunghoon stormed out, his face contorted in irritation.

"let’s go," he grumbled, his voice laced with anger. he barely spared a glance in your direction before he turned, expecting both of you to follow. sunoo stood up immediately, his posture rigid, but not before shooting you one last look.

now, here you were, in the present, sitting next to the pink haired alpha in the backseat of the car. he hadn’t said much, just offering you a tight-lipped smile when you briefly met his gaze. his usual bright smile was gone when it came to you, replaced by something colder. you didn’t know what had changed between you two, only that it had.

and it was driving you crazy.

the school halls felt a little emptier than usual, you found yourself walking alongside heeseung’s mate, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as you made your way toward the library.

"so, how's your relationship going?" you asked, breaking the silence between the two of you as you both navigated the winding hallway. your voice was light, almost teasing.

she raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "i haven't seen you in a hot minute, and that’s the first thing you ask me?" she chuckled, nudging your shoulder with her own. "guess i should be flattered, huh?"

you rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "well, it's not like i have a lot of time to catch up with you," you replied, voice dripping with mock sarcasm. "plus, i'm curious what it's like to have a mate."

she let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to her chest. "well, let me tell you, it’s a whole different world, but not in the way people make it seem."

you raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. "isn't that how it’s supposed to be? like, you find your other half, and everything just... clicks?"

she laughed softly, shaking her head. "it does click, but not always in the way you think. it’s not just about this perfect connection, you have to understand each other on a level most people never get. and that means sometimes stepping back, compromising, giving up things you thought you wanted."

you frowned slightly, trying to process what she was saying. "so, it's not all… smooth sailing?"

"not at all," she said with a grin, her expression softening.

the two of you slowed your pace as you reached the library doors, and you couldn't help but feel a little bit worried. "sounds like a lot to take in," you murmured.

"it is," she agreed, her expression softening, her voice quieter now. "but when it’s right, it’s worth every bit of effort." she paused, glancing at you with a hint of playfulness. "anyway, enough about me and my romantic life. what about you? any suitors yet?"

you snorted at her tone. "oh, definitely not. my stupid brother would never let that happen." you couldn't hide the frustration in your voice. "honestly, he’d probably pick the guy out himself if he had it his way."

as you pushed open the library doors, you immediately spotted sunoo. he was scanning the second aisle of books, his pink hair catching the light as he casually flipped through a book in his hands. the quiet rustle of pages echoed, but the moment you stepped inside, something changed.

his scent hit you; rum and neroli, as usual, but then, something softer, something sweet and floral lingered in the air, mixing with the familiar fragrance. cherries and daisies. your scent. you hadn’t realized it until now, but it was unmistakable. the realization hit you like a wave, the familiar smell of your scent blending with his in the air around you made your heart race.

sunoo looked up, his eyes immediately meeting yours, and you felt a jolt in your chest. his gaze flickered toward you faster than you could process, as if the sudden rush of your scent had caught him off guard. for a moment, he looked like he was trying to figure out what was happening.

the usual cocky grin he wore was gone, replaced by something that looked unsure. the silence stretched between the two of you hanged in the air. his lips parted as if to say something but closed again before he could speak, his eyes flickering to the side.

you felt your cheeks warm, a slight blush creeping up as you realized just how much of your scent had made its way to him. it wasn’t the usual mixture of rum and neroli; it was your scent, swirling around him, and it made everything feel strangely intimate.

after a few seconds, sunoo cleared his throat, attempting to break the tension. “hi,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. his hand went to rub the back of his neck in an awkward gesture. “what’s up?”

"i'—i'm just looking for a book," you said quickly, trying to steady your breathing.

"right," sunoo muttered, his lips pressing into a tight line.

before either of you could say anything else, heeseung's mate, who had been watching the whole exchange with amusement, couldn’t help herself. she stifled a laugh behind her hand, clearly entertained.

at this, sunoo’s gaze hardened slightly, his jaw tightening as if her subtle teasing had struck a nerve. his eyes flicked to her, sharp and full of irritation.

before he could even retort, a familiar voice called out from across the library, breaking the silence.

“dude, come on!” it was ni-ki, his usual energy apparent even in his rushed tone. he was standing near the library entrance, waving a hand as if trying to pull sunoo out of whatever awkward interaction he’d just walked into.

sunoo sighed, running a hand through his hair before nodding at ni-ki. “yeah, i’m coming,” he said, his voice strained. he hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking toward you once more before he turned and started walking toward the door.

ni-ki, however, didn’t seem to miss the stiffness his friend carried. as sunoo approached him, ni-ki raised an eyebrow, his gaze darting between you and sunoo with a smirk slowly creeping onto his face.

“not a word,” sunoo snapped, his voice firm as he grabbed younger by the arm and dragged him out of the library before he could say anything else.

the doors swung shut behind them, leaving you and heeseung’s mate standing there. she let out a low whistle, clearly entertained by the exchange.

“well, that was… something,” she said, raising an eyebrow at you.

you groaned, burying your face in your hands as the heat of embarrassment crept up your neck. "don’t start," you muttered, but the sound of her soft laugh made it clear she already had.

ni-ki wore a smug grin as he and sunoo made their way down the hallway toward jungwon’s classroom. the pinknette kept his head down, his jaw tight, while ni-ki practically bounced with every step.

"you know," ni-ki started, his tone dripping with mischief, "i could smell your scent from a mile away." he wrinkled his nose in exaggerated disgust, throwing a glance at sunoo. "and, man, it went sour the second you came near me. wonder why?"

sunoo shot him a glare, his fists clenching at his sides. "shut up, you brat," he muttered through gritted teeth, though the flush on his cheeks betrayed his emotions.

ni-ki just laughed, "relax, i’m just saying. you sure you’re not catching feelings?" his voice was light, and the teasing tone in it made sunoo’s brows knit even tighter.

by the time they reached jungwon’s classroom, sunoo’s patience was wearing thin. ni-ki opened the door without hesitation, poking his head in. "hey, president! we have a meeting,"

jungwon looked up from his desk, his sharp eyes instantly narrowing as they landed on sunoo. his nose scrunched as he groaned. "what the fuck, sunoo? what’s up with your scent? it’s all over the place."

sunoo let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples as if trying to push down a rising headache. "it’s nothing," he said firmly as he shot jungwon a pointed look. "can we just go? get your ass up there before ni-ki starts running his mouth again."

but ni-ki wasn’t done. he leaned casually against the doorframe, his grin widening. "oh, he’s not exaggerating, though. your scent’s practically begging for attention right now."

"ni-ki!" sunoo snapped, his voice rising. his cheeks were now a bright red. he shot jungwon another look as his footsteps were already moving back toward the hallway.

jungwon sighed, closing his book as he trailed behind sunoo and ni-ki. his sharp eyes flicked between the two, lingering on sunoo’s unusually tense shoulders. "i don’t think i’ve ever seen you this worked up," jungwon commented, "what happened?"

"i already told you, it's nothing," sunoo said through gritted teeth, his pace quickening as if he could outrun the conversation. his hands were stuffed into his pockets, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

jungwon raised an eyebrow, "dude, i'm just concerned," he stepped closer to sunoo, his gaze scrutinizing. "and why does your scent keep spiking like that? it’s—" he wrinkled his nose again, "—weirdly sweet."

"woah, which one of you reeks of omega?" jake's voice cut through the tense atmosphere as he walked up from the opposite end of the hallway, his eyebrows raised in confusion. he stopped a few feet away, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group before settling on the pink haired alpha.

all of them turned to look at sunoo, who visibly tensed under their stares. his scent, usually subtle, was undeniably different now; sweet and overwhelming, like cherries and daisies after a summer rain.

jake's eyes widened slightly as the realization hit. "oh, it’s you," he said, pointing at sunoo, a teasing smirk spreading across his face. "what the hell, dude? i thought you didn’t want a mate. sunghoon’s gonna lose his mind if he catches a whiff of this."

sunoo groaned, his jaw tightening even further. "for the hundredth fucking time, it’s nothing," he snapped, his voice low.

jake wasn’t having it. he stepped closer, his eyes holding nothing but amusement. "nothing? seriously?" he let out a chuckle, leaning casually against the wall. "because from what i’m smelling—" he let out a chuckle, "it doesn’t sound like nothing."

and just like ni-ki, jake was far from being done. he leaned in slightly, his tone dropping into something more serious. "just saying, sunoo. you smell like you’ve already claimed her as your omega."

sunoo’s patience finally snapped. he stepped forward, his shoulders tense as grabbed jake's collar. "i already told you, it's fucking nothing!" his voice echoed down the hallway. he took a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down before speaking again. "can we just drop it?"

the hallway fell silent for a moment, the tension thick between them. jungwon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he exchanged a glance with jake and ni-ki.

"alright, let’s go," jungwon muttured. sunoo turned on his heel, his head held high as he stormed off down the hallway.

the council meeting dragged on longer than expected, leaving everyone tired but relieved as everything finally wrapped up. jay stretched his arms over his head while jake clapped his hands together, his signature smile plastered on his face.

before anyone could leave, sunghoon stood up, leaning casually against the table. “before we all go home to suffer through whatever my family has planned for us this weekend,” he started, glancing around the room, “i'm throwing a party at our place. consider it a little pregame before we have to suffer through whatever formalities my family has planned.”

“your place?” jay asked, raising an eyebrow. “you sure about that?”

“yeah, well, we’ll deal with it,” sunghoon replied with a shrug. “i’ll handle everything. you guys just show up and try not to burn the house down, okay?” he flashed his trademark smirk.

heeseung snickered, leaning back in his chair. “no promises, man.”

sunghoon rolled his eyes. “you guys are exhausting. just be there, okay?”

sunghoon grabbed his bag from the chair beside him, slinging it over his shoulder with a casual flick of his wrist. he glanced at sunoo, who was still looking through his phone.

“come on, man,” sunghoon said, nudging sunoo with his elbow. “let’s head out. don’t make me wait on you.”

sunoo gave a short nod but didn’t respond immediately. he slipped his phone into his pocket and grabbed his own bag, standing up and following sunghoon to the door.

but sunghoon stopped just before they reached it, pausing for a moment. “actually, you go ahead,” he said, glancing at sunoo. “i need to make a few calls before we head out, wait for me at the car.”

sunoo nodded, albeit with a slight frown. “alright. don’t take too long.”

with that, sunghoon waved off sunoo and headed back to the council room. the pink haired alpha turned and walked out of the building, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

you were already standing near the car, scrolling through your phone, when you heard those footsteps approach.

but instead of both of them, it was just sunoo.

he slowed his pace as he neared you, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before darting away. his posture was more stiff than usual, like he was trying to keep himself together despite the tension. he cleared his throat, offering a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“your brother had to make a few calls,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, though it didn’t sound quite as casual as he intended. “he’ll be out in a bit.”

you raised an eyebrow, noting the way he avoided your gaze. something was different about him, it seemed like he was even more avoidant that before. you leaned a little more against the car, letting your phone slip into your pocket.

“oh, alright. i was expecting you both,” you said, keeping your tone light. “guess it’s just you for now.”

sunoo’s gaze met yours briefly, but he quickly looked away, the tension between you two rising just from the quietness that surrounded you.

“yeah,” sunoo replied, his voice quieter than usual. “he’ll catch up soon.”

you both stood there, the silence stretching on a little too long for your liking, every time you shifted slightly, the pureblooded alpha's eyes flickered toward you, only to dart away quickly when you looked in his direction.

sunoo’s gaze wandered back to you, though his eyes lingered longer this time, his brows furrowed just slightly, as if trying to figure something out, something that was clearly confusing him. his hands, tucked into his pockets, clenched and unclenched as if he were trying to control his inner alpha.

he was trying to keep it together, but you could tell he was struggling, and it only made the tension between you two worse. your scent, the cherries and daisies that always clung to you, seemed to hit him harder now than it ever had before. he kept his head down at times, shaking it slightly, as if trying to will the thoughts away. but it was impossible.

before the silence could swallow you whole, a familiar figure came into view. sunghoon, bag slung over his shoulder, was walking toward you both, his sharp eyes landing on you. when he noticed sunoo, his gaze narrowed for a moment, before he pushed the door open and got into the driver’s seat.

sunoo visibly relaxed when sunghoon appeared, his shoulders relaxing. you noticed the way sunghoon’s gaze flicked between you two, almost as if trying to get a reaction out of you before his expression softened.

“let’s go,” sunghoon muttered, his tone light, but you caught the faintest hint of annoyance to it. as you got in, sunghoon’s eyes lingered on sunoo for a moment, an unreadable look being exchanged between them before he turned his attention back to you.

the car ride back to your house was suffocating with the silence between sunghoon and sunoo. their usual playful banter was absent, making it feel like there was a thick wall between them. sunghoon’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenched, and his eyes were fixed ahead, not once glancing at sunoo.

when your brother finally pulled up to your house, he didn’t even look at you as he parked the car. “go on, i'll go home later, i'm going to hang with sunoo a bit at his place,” he said, his tone flat, though he didn’t make eye contact.

you hesitated, still confused by the strange tension between the two of them, but sunghoon wasn't one to order you around if nothing was up. you opened the car door and stepped out, the cool air hitting your skin as you closed it behind you. but as soon as you turned to head inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

inside the car, sunghoon didn’t waste any time. as soon as the door slammed shut, he put the car in gear and pulled away, his face hard as stone. he spoke again, his tone colder than before.

“sunoo,” he said, his voice low, full of suppressed rage. “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

the pink haired alpha didn’t immediately respond, his eyes flicking to sunghoon’s, and the words that followed were filled with frustration.

“what the fuck are you saying?” sunoo spat, his tone was angry angry, but there a hint nervousness he couldn’t hide. he was defensive, like he was trying to convince himself more than sunghoon. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

sunghoon’s eyes darkened, and he slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “don’t lie to me. i saw the way you were looking at her, at (y/n). you think i didn’t notice? you’re not fooling anyone, sunoo. you’ve made it clear you don’t want a mate, so don’t start acting like you care about my sister. she’s not some fucking toy for you to play with.”

sunoo’s breath caught in his throat. the words hit him like a punch. his anger rose and his pulse quickened, but he wasn’t ready to back down. he was kim sunoo, for god’s sake. a pureblooded alpha. the one everyone looked up to, admired, even worshipped as if he were some sort of god.

people didn’t question him. they didn’t dare. they whispered his name in admiration, gazed at him with awe, and hung onto every word that fell from his lips. he was always in control, always the one holding all the cards. yet here he was, sitting in sunghoon’s car, feeling like a cornered animal.

“i’m not—” his voice cut off. his eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. “you’ve lost your mind. you think I’m some kind of… what? a threat? to (y/n)?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “i don’t even—”

but the words got caught in his throat, the sheer audacity of sunghoon’s words sparked something primal that clawed its way to the surface.

“i don’t need your fucking lectures,” sunoo snapped, his voice rising, laced with frustration and something darker. “you think you can just sit there and tell me what to feel? like you know everything about me?”

sunghoon’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. his voice, cold cut through sunoo’s anger like a blade. “i know enough, sunoo. i know what you’re capable of. you’ve always been able to have whatever you wanted, and you never cared about the mess you left behind. i’ve seen it. i’ve cleaned it up.”

sunoo flinched, his jaw tightening as the words dug into him. “you think i’d do that to her? to your sister?” he practically spat the words, his voice trembling with disbelief and something he couldn’t quite place: shame, maybe, though he wasn’t about to admit it. “do you even hear yourself right now?”

“yes, i do,” sunghoon spat back, is glare was sharp enough to draw blood, and the fire in his eyes kept on burning. “and you’d better hear me too. i don’t care who you are, sunoo. i don’t care how many people bow at your feet or how many omegas line up just for a glance from you. she’s not one of them. she’s not yours to toy with.”

sunoo slumped slightly, the words hitting him harder than he expected. se opened his mouth to argue, to lash back, but the weight of his own best friend's anger pressed down on him.

sunghoon’s voice lowered, the cold anger hinting at something even more dangerous: protectiveness. “you’ve built your reputation on being untouchable like the rest of us, sunoo. on being the alpha no one can resist. but this time, it’s different. she’s different. and i’m not going to let you drag her into whatever this is. so if you can’t figure your shit out, then stay the hell away from her. not her, sunoo. not my sister.”

the silence that followed was deafening, the tension in the car so heavy it was almost suffocating. sunoo turned his gaze to the window, his jaw tight and his chest heaving. he wanted to say something, anything; but the words refused to come. for the first time in his life, kim sunoo didn’t know what to say.

and that terrified him.

the bass of the music slammed through the walls of your room, shaking the floor beneath your feet as muffled laughter and indistinct chatter filled the air. the faint stench of alcohol wafted in from downstairs, mixing with the faint scent of perfume you’d just sprayed.

you stood in front of your vanity, mascara in hand, carefully brushing it through your lashes. despite the loud party happening just a floor below, your mind was miles away, spinning relentlessly over the events of the day.

your brother's voice echoed in your head, commanding and impossible to ignore. “go on.” his expression was hard, his tone leaving no room for argument, and his eyed held something you couldn’t quite place. anger? frustration? and then, hours later, when he finally came home, his jaw was set tight and his movements sharp, he’d brushed it off entirely. “pay it no mind,” he’d said, as if you could.

you blinked, startled as jungwon’s mate’s voice broke through your thoughts. “well, don’t you look pretty,” she said with a teasing tone, her warm smile reflected in the mirror beside you. she leaned against the edge of the bed, holding a glass of wine, her relaxed posture a contrast to your tense one.

you managed a small laugh, the corners of your lips twitching up as you capped your mascara. “thanks,” you muttered, setting the tube down on the vanity.

“i mean, you always do,” she continued, waving her hand as if it were obvious. “your genes are just unfair, honestly.” she paused, tilting her head with a mischievous grin. “but tonight, i don’t know… there’s something different. you might just find yourself an alpha.”

“i’d kill to have your genes,” heeseung's mate chimed in from where she was perched on the armrest of a chair, twirling the stem of her own wine glass between her fingers. “the rest of us have to try, but you? you just wake up looking like that.”

you laughed lightly, “okay, calm down, it’s not that serious,” you replied, though a faint blush crept up your neck.

“oh, it is,” jungwon’s mate insisted, sitting up straighter. she gestured at you with her drink. “half the alphas downstairs are probably already talking about you, and you’re not even there yet.”

you rolled your eyes, about to deflect when a knock at the door broke through the conversation. all three of you turned toward it just as it cracked open slightly.

“hey—” ni-ki’s voice came from the hallway as he peeked his head inside, his dark hair slightly messy and his tie undone. his teasing grin widened when he spotted you. “oh, look who’s not ready yet. should’ve known.”

“what do you want, ni-ki?” you asked, crossing your arms but unable to suppress a small smile at his antics.

he leaned against the doorframe, his expression mischievous as his gaze darted between the three of you. “well, for one, jungwon and heeseung are downstairs losing their minds trying to figure out where these two are,” he said, directing his words to the other two omega's in the room.

both women groaned, rolling their eyes in unison.

“of course they are,” heeseung’s mate muttered, setting her glass down. “they’re so clingy sometimes.”

“tell them we’re having girl time,” jungwon’s mate added with a dismissive wave. “they’ll survive.”

ni-ki shrugged. “suit yourselves. just don’t blame me when they come storming up here.” his gaze flicked back to you, and his grin turned into something more teasing. “and you.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “what about me?”

“oh, nothing,” ni-ki replied, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “just wondering if you’re planning to make an entrance tonight or if you’re hiding up here for a reason. you know…” he paused dramatically. “like maybe avoiding someone?”

your stomach twisted, and you tensed at his words. sunoo’s name was unspoken, but the implication was clear.

you avoided the curious gazes of jungwon’s and heeseung’s mates, focusing instead on smoothing down your dress as if that could steady the nervousness coursing through you. “i’m not avoiding anyone,” you said quickly, though your voice came out a little too defensive. “why would i be?”

ni-ki’s smirk grew, his eyes catching every flicker of your unease. “no reason,” he said casually, though his tone said otherwise. “but, you know, sunoo’s downstairs already. thought you’d want to know.”

your fingers tightened around the edge of your dress, but you forced a calm expression, brushing past his words with a shrug. “thanks for the update, ni-ki. anything else?”

ni-ki let out a low chuckle, pushing off the doorframe. “nope, that’s it. i'll let the boys know their precious mates are alive and well.” he shot you one last knowing glance before disappearing down the hall.

heeseung’s mate arched an eyebrow at you. “something you want to share?”

“nope,” you replied quickly, standing and grabbing your clutch to avoid their probing stares. “let’s head down before jungwon and heeseung actually come looking for you.”

the two omega's exchanged a look, clearly not convinced by your avoidance, but they didn’t push further. with a quiet sigh and a shake of their heads, they trailed after you, their heels clicking softly against the floor.

as you descended the staircase, the music grew louder, the distinct stench of alcohol mixed with the overwhelming mix of scents, some sharp and dominating, others softer and more inviting, hit you like a wave. the mingling of alpha and omega pheromones in the air made your head spin slightly, but you quickly composed yourself, steadying your breath.

the party was in full swing by the time you reached the ground floor. laughter blended with the music. you got lost through the crowd, your gaze scanning the room for familiar faces. a few alphas glanced your way as you passed, their eyes lingering a second too long, but you paid them no mind. your focus was on finding the one group that always stood out: your brother and his closest friends.

there they were, gathered in a corner near the back of the living room, a bunch alpha's that demanded attention without trying. you no one dared approach them, not even the boldest partygoers. they were untouchable, and everyone in the room knew it. the alphas who tried too hard to impress, the omegas who stole glances— they all kept their distance.

even from afar, you could see why. jungwon’s sharp gaze swept over the room like a predator assessing his territory, while jake leaned casually against the wall, his smile charming yet unreadable. heeseung reeked of confidence, sipping from his drink as if he had nothing to prove, while ni-ki and jay stood close, their presence equally magnetic. as if there was a warning sign above them that seemed to say, come close at your own risk.

then there was sunoo, his fox-like eyes gleaming under the dim light, observing the room with an intensity that made you feel as though he saw everything without even trying. he was effortless in the way he held himself, his posture relaxed but his presence was everything, as if daring anyone tocome close. his lips curved into a faint smirk, but it never reached his eyes.

for a moment, your breath hitched as his eyes flicked in your direction. it wasn’t a lingering stare, but something about the brief glance sent a jolt through you, like he’d caught you looking and wanted you to know it. you quickly tore your gaze away, pretending to focus on something else.

you straightened your shoulders, forcing yourself to focus as you made your way toward the group with heeseung’s mate and jungwon’s mate trailing close behind.

jay was the closest to you, leaning casually with his drink in hand. you stepped up to him, barely giving yourself time to hesitate before asking, “where’s sunghoon?”

jay tilted his head, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “last i saw, he was playing the host, chatting up some guests by the back patio.” he took a sip from his drink before adding, “you know your brother, always trying to keep things in check.”

your brows furrowed as you glanced in the direction he pointed, but sunghoon was nowhere in sight. “did he say anything about leaving?” you asked, trying to keep the worry from creeping into your voice.

jay shook his head, his grin widening slightly as he caught a glimpse of sunoo, who had moved a step closer. the flicker of something—irritation, jealousy, maybe both; in sunoo’s fox-like eyes didn’t escape jay.

“nope,” jay said, his tone casual. “he’s probably just busy. relax, will you? it’s a party.” his gaze flicked between you and Sunoo, and the amusement in his eyes deepened. “enjoy yourself. who knows? you might even catch someone’s attention tonight.”

the way he said it was so pointed that your cheeks flushed, and you stammered out a response, “i’m not—no, that’s not—”

but jay’s smirk only grew, and he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was doing it on purpose. “don’t worry. you’ve definitely already caught someone’s eye.”

before you could even process his words, a sharp, distinct smell flared through the air, piercing through the mix of alcohol, sweat, and pheromones that spread through the room. the smell of rum hit your nose, strong and intoxicating, but it wasn’t coming from jake’s drink; and it made your chest tighten.

your eyes shifted to sunoo almost instinctively. his expression was unreadable, his fingers gripped the glass in his hand tighter than necessary, the faint clink of ice shifting barely audible over the music. his fox-like eyes, which normally held a teasing glint, were locked on jay, bordered on threatening.

it didn’t take much to connect the dots. the flaring scent wasn’t just the alcohol in the room— it was him, sunoo, struggling to keep his emotions in check. his gaze flickered to you briefly before he quickly looked away.

jay noticed too. of course, he did. he smirk on his face twisted into something more mischievous, “relax, sunoo,” jay said, his tone light but loaded, clearly meant to push the alpha's buttons. “no need to look so angry. i’m just saying she’s a catch, that’s all.”

the glass in sunoo’s hand creaked faintly under the pressure of his grip. “you talk too much,” he muttered.

your heart hammered in your chest as the tension between the two alphas crackled like static in the air. you swallowed hard, forcing a nervous laugh to break the awkwardness. “i’ll just… go find sunghoon,” you said quickly, taking a step back.

but even as you turned to leave, you could feel sunoo’s gaze following. the smell of rum still lingered, and it seemed to follow you out of the room like a shadow.

the back patio was quiet compared to the chaos inside. the music was muffled, and the cool night air was a contrast to the stuffy heat of the party. you glanced around, searching for any sign of sunghoon, but the space was practically deserted except for a few people sitting on the edge of the patio.

you sighed, frustration bubbling up. jay’s directions had been vague at best, and for all you knew, your brother could be anywhere. “great,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your arms as a slight chill crept in.

“he’s probably busy making out with some random omega,” a familiar voice drawled behind you, the words dripping with a mix of sarcasm and something bitter.

you turned to find sunoo leaning against the doorframe, his figure backlit by the dim glow of the house. his fox-like eyes were unreadable, like the alpha was holding back more than he was saying. the way his arms were crossed over his chest, fingers tapping against his bicep, only added to the tension that seemed to follow him everywhere tonight.

“excuse me?” you replied, eyebrows raising.

sunoo shrugged, but the motion was anything but casual. the slight quirk of his lips wasn’t a smile, it was a challenge. “what?” he said, his tone deceptively light. “it’s not like it’s the first time. sunghoon’s great at disappearing when there’s a pretty omega around to distract him

“you sound like you’ve done that more than once,” you retorted, your voice sharp, unable to mask the sting of his words. you stood your ground, eyes narrowing as you crossed your arms, unwilling to back down.

sunoo’s jaw tightened at your words, and for a split second, you saw the flash of something in his eyes, hurt? anger? it was hard to tell. but before you could process it, he took a step forward.

“i’m not having this argument with you, (y/n),” he bit out, his voice low, like he was trying to keep himself under control. “you don’t get it.”

you took a step closer, “no, i don’t think you get it, sunoo,” you retorted, your voice cutting through the tension between you. “you always avoid everything, avoid me, avoid the truth. you act like you’re protecting me, but it’s just you trying to keep things safe, trying to keep everything easy for yourself. but it’s not working anymore.”

without warning, sunoo stepped closer, his hand shooting out to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. the sudden move took you by surprise, your breath hitching as his hold tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. the heat of his body, the closeness, his intoxicating scent sent a wave of dizziness through you.

his voice dropped to a whisper, right against your ear. “sunghoon implanted it into my brain, (y/n).” his words were almost a growl, “you’re off-limits. i'm bad for you. you don’t get it, do you?”

you gasped, your breath shaky as you tried to push him away, but he only pulled you closer, his chest pressing against yours. his gaze locked with yours, eyes dark and intense. “you don’t understand what you’re doing to me. every time i look at you, i’m reminded of the things i can’t have. the things i can’t do.”

your heart pounded in your chest, the feeling of his hands on your waist sending your mind into a whirlwind of emotions. you couldn’t deny the way your inner omega and body reacted to him, but you shoved the thoughts down, “you think i’m some fucking distraction?” you spat, your voice laced with frustration. “you think i’m just going to sit back and watch you avoid me because of my brother?”

his grip tightened, and for a moment, the intensity of his presence, pressed down on you so much that you almost couldn’t breathe. “yes,” he said, his voice hard, like steel. “because it’s not just about what you want, it’s about what i need to protect myself from. from you. from this.”

his thumb traced a line along your waist, and the action only made the heat between you two more unbearable. “you make me want things i can’t have.”

you shook your head, frustration boiling over. “so, what? you’re going to keep me at arm's length because of something he said?” you raised your voice, your words laced with disbelief. “you’re just going to keep avoiding this because of some stupid rule Ssnghoon created?”

the hardness in sunoo's gaze faltered, but it didn’t last. he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer, the cold night air forgotten between the heat of your bodies. his eyes softened, just for a second, before he spoke again;

“i never wanted a mate, (y/n). not when we were younger.” his words came out strained, “i didn’t care about that stuff. all i wanted was to be free. but then we got older… and things changed.”

his gaze dropped to the ground, and he looked away briefly, “and then i saw you, and everything i thought i knew, everything i thought i wanted started to crumble. but that’s the thing, (y/n). i can’t just fall into something like this, not with you. not with anyone.”

you felt your heart twist, the words hitting you harder than you expected. you opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, sunoo stepped back, releasing his hold on you.

“i can’t risk it,” he muttered, “you don’t get it. i didn’t want a mate, i didn't want an omega to call my own, and i didn’t want to care. but i do. i can’t have you. and i won’t.”

your heart hammered in your chest, the frustration, confusion, and anger bubbling up inside you. but you couldn’t just let him walk away like that, couldn’t let him think that he could just make decisions for you and push you aside.

without thinking, you reached up, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him toward you with such force that it was almost like you were trying to yank him into your own emotions. his eyes widened, startled by the sudden force, but before he could react, you pressed your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, almost desperately.

the kiss wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t tender. it was urgent, the kind of kiss that came from months of trying to ignore what your bodies already knew. both of you had been avoiding this, pushing back against the pull that your inner omega had insisted on, trying to deny what was always right in front of you. but now, in this moment, neither of you could hold back anymore.

his lips crashed against yours, and it felt like something had been broken. the months of years, the constant tug of your instincts; those feelings you both had pushed aside came rushing to the surface. you felt his body heat radiate through you, his hands desperate as they found their place on your waist, pulling you closer.

his scent mixed with yours so effortlessly, blending into something intoxicating. your inner omega, which you had been so determined to suppress, recognized him immediately, as if the very core of you had always known he was meant to be the one to claim you.

you moaned softly, a sound you couldn’t stop, and it seemed to fuel him, pushing him further into the kiss. his hands tightened around you, pulling you even closer, like he couldn’t get enough. you could feel his heartbeat racing against yours.

in his arms, you felt safe, wanted, like you were exactly where you were meant to be. he wasn’t just some pureblooded alpha. he was your alpha, and you were his omega.

but all too soon, he pulled away, his breath shaky, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t expected. his forehead rested against yours, both of you trying to steady your breathing, his hands still lingered on your waist, holding you as if to say, i'm not going anywhere.

sunoo’s gaze softened further, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "you don’t know how long i’ve been trying to fight this," he whispered, his voice low, almost a confession. "but i can’t anymore. not with you."

a shaky laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “i don’t want you to fight it anymore,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “i don’t want to fight this, either. not with you.”

without another word, the pink-haired alpha pulled you back inside, his hand never leaving your waist, his grip steady as he ignored the people around you, who were too caught up in their own worlds to even notice. it didn’t matter. it was just the two of you now.

he led you through the halls, when he reached the door, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t need to ask. he knew where your room was, his senses guiding him effortlessly. it was like your scent had marked the room for him.

he opened the door, his body pressing into yours as he kicked it closed with his foot. in an instant, his lips found yours again. it was like you had been waiting for this forever, and now that you were here, you didn’t want to let go.

his kiss was deeper this time, more desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough of you, as if this was the only thing that mattered in the world. the heat from his body collided with yours, and you could feel his heart racing against your chest, matching the frantic pace of your own.

you sighed into the kiss, the feeling of his lips on yours so intoxicating that your head spun. without breaking contact, he pushed you against the door, the pressure of his body reminding you of how close you two were. his hands roamed to your waist, pulling you in even closer.

the kiss became more demanding, more intense, as your hands found their way into his hair, tugging him closer. the world around you disappeared. there was only him, only the feel of his lips and the heat of his touch.

"jump," sunoo murmured into the kiss, his voice low and commanding, yet somehow full of need. his hands slid down your body, urging you to respond, to give in to him fully.

you didn’t think twice. without hesitation, you wrapped your legs around him, and he caught you with ease, lifting you effortlessly. the way his body moved with yours felt so surreal as you melted into him, every ounce of you craving more.

he gently laid you down on the bed, hovering over you, his body a warm against yours. the space between you was almost non-existent, your chests rising and falling in time with the rapid beat of your hearts.

he leaned down, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his gaze intense. "do you really want this?"hHis voice was soft, almost tender, but there was seriouness beneath it that made you pause for a moment.

your breath hitched, but you nodded, wanting this more than anything. you needed him. the words were on the tip of your tongue, but your body was saying it all already.

but sunoo wasn’t satisfied with just that. his eyes showed something deeper that made your stomach tighten with both excitement and a hint of fear. "words, baby. i need words." his tone softened.

you swallowed hard, your heartbeat quickening. you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, and suddenly, it was harder to breathe, harder to speak. but you knew what you wanted, what your omega needed.

"yes," you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. "i want this, sunoo. i want you."

his eyes darkened, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all heat, all want, all raw desire. you could feel everything in that kiss; his hesitation, his longing, and his need for you just as much as you needed him.

you let out a soft whine, almost biting your lower lip in an attempt to control the heat of emotions eunning through you. sunoo chuckled against your lips, the sound low and dark, vibrating through your chest.

"i got you, baby," he whispered, his voice low and husky, sending a thrill through your entire body.

your body trembled the moment his lips found the soft spot on your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. his hands began to tease the hem of your short dress, his fingers grazing the skin of your thighs, drawing slow circles with the tips of his fingers.

“Mhmm,” you gasped, biting your lip, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips left a trail of heated kisses along your neck, teasing, torturing you with every press of his lips. you could feel the pressure building, your body responding to his touch in ways you couldn’t control.

“alpha," a tiny moan slipped from your lips when you felt his hand brush closer to your core, the heat between your legs intensifying as his fingers inched closer. the sound of his name on your lips only seemed to fuel him more, his grip tightening around your waist.

the sound of his name on your lips only seemed to fuel him further, his grip tightening around your waist as he continued to tease you. his fingers swirled around your clothed entrance, collecting the wetness seeping through your panties. falling over his forehead as your breaths came in and out in shallow gasps.

sunoo's eyes never left yours as his fingers finally make contact with your throbbing core, sliding your panties effortlessly to the side as his fingers made its way between your folds.

the sensation was overwhelming, and you couldn't help but arch your back, pressing yourself closer to him. his thumb circles your sensitive bud, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. you arch into his touch, desperate for more friction. sunoo's dark eyes burn with desire as he watches your reactions, clearly enjoying the power he has over you.

“such a responsive omega," he murmurs, his hot breath fanning across your skin. “i've barely touched you and you're already falling apart."

sunoo's fingers stray away from your core and you let out a whine, wanting more of his touch. but he just chuckles and lifts his hand to lightly brush against your cheek.

"not so fast," he teases, his voice low and sensual. "i want to take my time with you."

your heart races at his words, knowing that sunoo was always one for attention to detail. he leans down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss as his hands tug at your dress, pulling it all the way down leaving you exposed. his hand traveled down your body to cup your breast. you moan into his mouth as he massages the soft flesh, his thumb teasing your hardened nipple through the fabric of your bra.

You arch into his touch, wanting more of him. sunoo breaks the kiss and trails hot kisses down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as he slowly removes your bra. his lips move lower and lower until they reach the swell of your breasts, his tongue darting out to circle around one nipple while his hand plays with the other.

You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second, desperate for your alpha's touch between your legs once again. but he continues to take his time, worshipping every part of you with his mouth and hands.

Finally, when you think you can't take it anymore, sunoo's fingers return back to where they were before; teasing at your entrance. this time, he dips a finger inside of you and you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

"more," you plead, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

The pink-haired alpha smirks down at you before adding another finger and curling them inside of you. your walls clench around him as he hits that perfect spot inside of you, sending sparks flying through your body.

He continues this rhythm until you're practically begging for release. with one final thrust of his fingers, you come undone, your body shaking as you ride out your high.

Sunoo pulled your panties down as he positioned himself in between your legs, kneeling on the side of the bed. Your heart raced as you watched him, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

as if sensing your thoughts, sunoo leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead, his hands roaming over your thighs. "you're so beautiful," he whispered before trailing kisses down your stomach.

your skin tingled at his words and touch, and you couldn't help but spread your legs wider for him. sunoo's lips moved lower, leaving a trail of kisses and open-mouthed bites along your inner thighs.

you moaned in pleasure and frustration, wanting him to finally take you but also enjoying the slow buildup. sunoo looked up at you with a wicked glint in his eye before finally running his tongue along your folds.

the sensation was unlike anything you've ever felt before, sending bolts of electricity through every nerve in your body. you gripped onto the sheets tightly as Sunoo continued to explore every inch of you with his mouth.

his movements were slow, teasing and tantalizing you until you were begging for more. but Sunoo seemed to be in control of both himself and you, denying you the release you craved until he was satisfied.

just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, he finally gave in and brought you to the brink once again. this time, there was no holding back as he used his tongue and fingers to push you over the edge into pure bliss.

you cried out his name as waves of pleasure consumed every part of your being. sunoo pulled away from you with a smirk on his face as he watched the aftermath of what he had done to you.

you whine, "alpha, please, i need you."

sunoo had to suppress a groan while watching your face contort in pleasure. he gently takes your hand once more and asks, "are you sure you want this?"

you nodded eagerly, your body craving sunoo's touch once again. You had begged and pleaded for him to take you, and you were finally getting what you wanted.

the alpha leaned down to kiss you deeply, his hand caressing your cheek. "then i'll give you everything," he whispered against your lips before kissing you more fiercely.

sunoo's lips never left yours as he clumsily removed his pants and button up shirt, you could feel his heat radiating off of him, the scent of his pheromones making your body ache for him even more.

the smell of rum and neroli filled your senses as sunoo's naked body pressed against yours. he kissed you deeply, his hands roaming over every inch of your body.

you moaned into his mouth, your hands gripping onto him tightly.

he pulled away, positioning himself between your legs, ready to claim what was rightfully his. but before he could fully enter you, he paused and looked deep into your eyes.

"i'm giving you one last time to think about this, omega, are you really sure about this?" he asked one final time, wanting to make sure you were comfortable and consenting before marking you as his mate, his omega, his (y/n).

you nodded, knowing that there was no one else you'd rather be with in this moment. sunoo's lips curved into a small smile before lacing his fingers with yours.

sunoo slowly entered you, his pace gentle as he made sure to take care of you. the bond between an alpha and omega was sacred, and sunoo wanted to make sure that he showed you the love and respect you deserved.

his movements were slow and careful, as if he was afraid of hurting you, his eyes never leaving yours as he made love to you. you could feel the connection between the two of you growing stronger with each thrust, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

"fuck, omega, you're way too good to me," sunoo whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. you moaned in response, the pleasure building up inside of you once again.

his hands roamed over your body, caressing every inch of skin as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. he knew exactly how to touch you, and it was sending you over the edge.

"faster, please. i'm not gonna break if you go rough on me, alpha," the pout on your lips and the pleading in your eyes only drove sunoo wild with desire.

he couldn't resist your request any longer and began to pick up his pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. you moaned in pleasure, feeling a rush of ecstasy as he hit all the right spots inside of you.

"you're so beautiful like this, (y/n)," sunoo groaned, his primal instincts taking over.

your body was trembling with pleasure as sunoo's movements became more urgent and primal. he was completely lost in his alpha instincts, the need to claim you consuming him.

he leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, his hand tangling in your hair as he continued to thrust into you.

your gasps and moans only drove him further, his movements becoming rougher and more animalistic. but it only added to the pleasure coursing through your body, making you crave him even more.

"god, (y/n), i can't get enough of you," sunoo growled against your neck, his voice filled with desire and possessiveness. "i want to claim you as mine."

you could feel his alpha instincts taking over once again, his need to mark and protect what was his. but instead of feeling scared, you felt a sense of comfort wash over you.

you turned to look at him with a small smile on your face. "i'm already yours, alpha," you said, placing a hand on his cheek. "and i want to be marked by you."

sunoo's eyes widened in surprise at your words. he knew that marking an omega was a sacred act and it required their full consent. he didn't want to rush into anything without making sure that it was what you truly wanted.

"(y/n), are you sure? you don't have to do this for me," he said gently, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face.

"i'm sure," you replied, "i trust you completely, sunoo."

without another word, sunoo leaned down and pressed his lips against the scent gland on your neck. a low growl rumbled from deep within his chest as he marked you as his own.

the pain was intense and you hissed, clenching your fists as sunoo's teeth pierced into your skin. you could feel blood trickling down your neck and tears stung at the corner of your eyes.

but despite the pain, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pleasure. sunoo was claiming you as his mate, your alpha marking you as his own.

once he was finished, he pulled away and looked at you with an apologetic expression. "i'm sorry if that hurt, baby," he said gently, placing a kiss on the bite mark he left on your neck.

"it's okay," you replied with a small smile, running your fingers through his hair lovingly. "this is all i ever wanted."

sunoo's eyes softened at your words and he pulled you into a tight embrace. "i love you so much," he whispered against your ear.

the pain from the bite mark on your neck was quickly forgotten as sunoo's movements became more intense. he wasn't holding back anymore, his alpha instincts taking over completely.

"let go, omega," he growled, his voice deep and commanding. "i want to hear you scream my name."

and that's exactly what you did. you let go of and gave into the pleasure that was consuming you. sunoo's name fell from your lips like a mantra, a chant of worship for your alpha.

he continued to move, each thrust filled with passion and love for you. it was as if he was pouring all of his emotions into this one act of claiming you.

the air between the two of you only grew heavier with each passing moment. your bodies were perfectly in sync, and it felt like nothing could ever come between the two of you, not even time itself.

and when you both finally reached your climax, it was like an explosion had gone off within both of you. sunoo collapsed onto the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms as he caught his breath.

"you are mine," he said softly, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "my omega."

you smiled against his chest, feeling completely content and at peace in his embrace. "and you are my alpha," you replied lovingly.

the soft, golden light spilling through the open curtains gently woke you from your slumber. as the morning sun began its slow ascent. you stirred slightly, the remnants of sleep clinging to you, and instinctively shifted closer to the source of warmth beside you.

you look up, your eyes tracing the features of the boy who had been at the center of your every thought. sunoo’s face, so peaceful in sleep, seemed almost boyish now, free of the guarded expressions he often wore. his lashes, longer than you remembered, rested softly against his cheeks, and the faint glow of the morning light highlighted his face.

his arm was draped lazily over your waist, his body heat contrasting the coolness of the morning air. the rise and fall of his chest brushed softly against your front. a faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as the familiar scent of him, his scent, which had been so intoxicating last night, was now calm; as if even his very being had been softened by the events of the night before.

you let out a quiet sigh, shifting your position so you were half-laying on him, your hand resting on his chest. slowly, you began running your fingers gently through his messy pink hair, marveling at how soft it felt under your touch.

you leaned down, pressing soft kisses against his cheeks. his skin was warm beneath your lips, and the movement of his chest against yours felt surreal.

sunoo stirred at the feeling, a low hum escaping his lips as his brow furrowed slightly. he opened one eye, squinting against the soft sunlight filtering into the room. for a moment, he seemed dazed, his gaze searching the room before landing on you. when realization dawned, his features softened, and a small, sleepy smile graced his lips.

“good morning,” he mumbled, his voice low and husky from sleep. he let out a deep sigh, his arm tightening around your waist as he pulled you closer. “you’re still here,” he murmured, almost to himself, as if reassuring himself that you hadn’t slipped away in the night.

you chuckled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “where else would i be?” you whispered, your voice warm and teasing.

he closed his eye again, leaning into your touch. “nowhere,” he said with a sigh, his tone filled with a quiet kind of relief. “you belong here. right here.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his words, the warmth in your chest growing. “i'm not going anywhere,” you teased lightly, your voice playful as you ran your fingers through his soft hair. “not in my own house, at least.”

his other eye cracked open at that, and he chuckled softly, his hand on your waist squeezing gently. "your brother’s going to have my head for ‘defiling’ his little sister,” he murmured, his voice a low, teasing growl.

you rolled your eyes, though the nervousness bubbling in your stomach made it hard to hide the faint blush creeping up your neck. “sunghoon doesn’t even have a clue,” you retorted, a bit of nervous laughter escaping as you pushed the thought aside.

“not yet,” sunoo said, his smile widening as he traced the lines of your jaw with his finger. “but you know, i can’t help but think he’s got some sort of radar for these things.”

“please, i think you’re giving him too much credit,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice light even though the possibility of sunghoon finding out was looming over you. the thought of facing your brother’s wrath made your stomach flip.

sunoo’s eyes glinted with amusement. “right,” he said, voice dipping. “but, se’s probably still got his eye on you. wouldn’t put it past him.”

you groaned, burying your face in his chest to hide the sudden embarrassment that surged through you. “please don’t remind me. i’s bad enough i’ve got to deal with his protectiveness all the time.”

sunoo chuckled, his hand gently lifting your chin so that you met his gaze again. “i’m sure he’ll get over it,” he said softly, though his tone was a little too calm for your liking. “eventually. but in the meantime, i’m not exactly worried.”

you shifted slightly, meeting his teasing look with a small smile. “easy for you to say,” you mumbled, trying to push away the nerves in your stomach. “i don’t think you’ll be on his good side anytime soon.”

he leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against your forehead, his touch was soft. “i’ll take my chances,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver through you.

just as the moment seemed to turn into something more intimate, a loud crash broke the silence, followed by the all-too-familiar voice of ni-ki shouting from somewhere downstairs.

"do i look like i know?" his voice echoed, followed by the unmistakable sound of something clattering to the floor.

then came the unmistakable bark of your brother’s voice, cutting through the air authoritative, but completely incoherent. he sounded of frustrated and confused, but the words got lost in the noises of whatever had just happened.

the alpha below you immediately tensed, his body stilling as the atmosphere shifted into something more cautious. his expression shifted to something more serious, his lips pressing into a thin line.

you looked down at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “should we face them?”

sunoo didn’t hesitate. his hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, soothing you. he looked at you protectively. “i’m your alpha now,” he said softly, “you’re mine, and you’re my responsibility. i won’t let you face this alone, not after everything.”

you let out a breath, your nerves easing a little, as you tried to steady your racing heart. “okay,” you whispered back, your voice steady, now more than ever.

you stood up, grabbing shirt that now hung loosely on your frame and paired it with some pants you found scattered around. you weren’t thinking of the mess, of the clothes, of anything. and though the reality of your brother waiting on the other side of the door was still there, the warmth of sunoo beside you made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could face it.

sunoo had his pants from last night on, but he was buttoning up his blazer. you watched him for a moment, the way his focus was on you, the way he looked at you like you were the center of his world, like nothing else mattered.

"ready?" his voice was soft, but there was intensity behind it as he pulled you flush against him, your bodies pressed together. his warmth enveloped you completely. his chest against yours, his hands firm on your waist.

before you could respond, his lips found yours in a soft, loving kiss, and it was everything you didn’t know you needed. the kiss was tender, sweet.

you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, the way your heart raced, the feeling of everything coming together just right. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him, feeling safe with him.

you pulled away just slightly, your lips parting with a soft sigh. "come on, you can have more when we finish this faster," you teased, your voice playful and full of warmth.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, the grin on his face soft but full of affection. “yes, ma’am,” he responded with a playful glint in his eyes, a gentle smile that made your heart skip a beat.

you and sunoo descended the stairs hand in hand, the soft patter of your steps echoing through the quiet hall. the mess from the previous night had been surprisingly cleaned up, with only a few stray cups and streamers scattered across the expanse of the hallway.

as you both walked, the sound of the argument only grew louder, the echoes of raised voices filling the air. sunghoon’s voice rang out angrily, unmistakably tense.

“do not tell me to calm down, jay!” his words were heated, frustration dripping from every syllable.

“calm your fucking balls, Sunghoon,” jay’s voice was laced with annoyance, “(y/n) is big enough to fend for herself.”

that only seemed to enrage sunghoon more. “okay, so where the fuck is she then?”

as the tension in the air became unbearable, sunoo shifted slightly beside you. his hand tightened briefly around yours, he shot you a quick glance, a look filled with reassurance. it was as if he was saying, i’ve got this. trust me. you nodded subtly, taking a deep breath.

then, with confidence, he stepped forward, placing himself just slightly in front of you. his voice cut through the rowdy alpha's argument like a blade. “she’s with me.”

the room fell silent, sunghoon’s head snapping toward the two of you. his eyes zeroed in on sunoo, and you could see the way his jaw tense. “you good-for-nothing alpha,” he spat, his voice shaking with anger. “what the fuck did you do?”

you instinctively stepped closer to sunoo, but he was already ahead of you, placing a protective hand on your back and guiding you behind him with a calm, practiced motion. “stay back,” he murmured, barely audible, his tone meant for your ears only.

sunghoon’s anger exploded as he stepped forward, grabbing sunoo by the collar with a force that made your heart leap into your throat. “you fucking traitor!” sunghoon snarled, his voice loud.hHe yanked sunoo closer, his other hand twitching like he was ready to throw a punch.

but sunoo didn’t flinch. even with sunghoon’s grip pulling him off balance, he held his ground, his eyes steady and locked onto sunghoon’s. “calm down, sunghoon,” sunoo said, his firm, not a hint of fear in it.

“calm down?!” sunghoon’s voice cracked with anger. “you had one job, kim! stay away from her! she’s my sister, not some—”

“not some what?” sunoo interrupted, his voice rising slightly, but not losing his cool despite his closest friend calling him by his last name. “she’s not a child, and she’s certainly not yours to control.”

sunghoon’s hand shook violently, still gripping sunoo’s collar. “i already warned you! but you didn’t fucking listen!” his tone cracked, frustration laced with something else—fear, perhaps, or betrayal. “she’s not some toy for you to play with, sunoo! she’s my sister! my responsibility!”

sunoo’s gaze remained steady, his calm composure a contrast to the anger raging in sunghoon’s eyes. se slowly raised his hands, gripping sunghoon’s wrist firmly but without aggression. “i didn’t betray you, sunghoon,” he said, his voice low, almost like he was trying to speak directly to the part of sunghoon that could still listen. “do you even hear yourself? you’re acting like i don’t care about her.”

sunghoon’s jaw tightened, but his grip on sunoo’s collar didn’t loosen. sis chest rose and fell rapidly, anger still boiling within him.

sunoo’s next words were softer but carried a something that made them feel heavier than anything else he had said. “do you know how long i’ve loved her?” his voice trembled slightly, “i’ve loved her the moment you decided to leave us alone in front of the office when you got into a fist fight, sunghoon. i’ve loved her longer than i even understood what love really meant. it’s her, it’s always been her.”

“you think i’d ever hurt her?” sunoo continued, “you think i’d risk everything—my friendship with you, my own pride; just to ‘play’ with her?"

sunghoon faltered, his anger replaced by confusion. “but you—” his voice cracked, his own disbelief choking the words.

sunoo let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “that I never wanted a mate?” His tone was sharp, yet there was vulnerability in it. “yeah, i said that. i convinced myself that i didn’t, because what was the point of wanting something i thought i couldn’t have? i thought if i ignored it, if i denied myself, it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

he looked directly into sunghoon’s eyes, “but no matter how hard i tried to push it down, it’s always been her, sunghoon. always. she’s not something i could walk away from. she’s my mate.”

sunghoon’s grip on sunoo’s collar loosened, his fists trembling at his sides. “you should’ve told me,” he muttered, his voice cracking, a mix of anger, hurt, and guilt evident in his tone.

sunoo sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “and what would you have done, huh? approved? given me your blessing? you’ve made it crystal clear for years that no one was good enough for her, least of all me. do you know how many times i almost told you but stopped myself because i knew how you'd react?”

sunghoon clenched his jaw, “i’m not angry because you love her,” he said, his voice quieter but no less strained. “i’m angry because i trusted you to keep her safe. and now… now it feels like you’ve crossed a line.”

sunoo took a deep breath, his voice soft. “you don’t have to trust me right now, sunghoon. but you can trust her. she chose me, just like i’ve chosen her. and i’ll spend the rest of my life proving to both of you that i’ll never break that trust.”

the pink-haired alpha's gaze softened as his eyes found yours, his gaze was steady, and it gave you the courage you needed to take a step forward.

you turned to Sunghoon, your heart pounding in your chest as you met his stare. his jaw was tight, his fists still clenched, but beneath the anger, you could see the hurt; the protective brother who just wanted what was best for you.

"i love him, sunghoon. i really do," you said, your voice steady despite the nervous tremble in your hands. “this isn’t a decision i made lightly. i know what I’m doing, and i know who i’m choosing.”

sunghoon’s eyes flicked between you and sunoo, his shoulders stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he didn’t interrupt.

you stepped closer to him, your voice softening. “i know you’re angry, and i get it. you’ve always looked out for me, always tried to protect me from anything that could hurt me. but sunoo isn’t going to hurt me. he’s not just anyone, he's everything to me.”

sunoo moved closer, standing at your side. his hand brushed yours, a silent gesture that you leaned into instinctively. “i’m not asking for your approval right now,” sunoo said, his tone calm. “i know i have to earn that, and i’m willing to. but i’m not walking away from her, not now, not ever.”

sunghoon let out a heavy breath, his hands dropping to his sides. his gaze lingered on you, the conflict in his expression cutting deeper than any angry words could. "do you really think he can give you everything you need?" he finally asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with vulnerability.

you nodded without hesitation. “i do. and i hope one day you’ll see it too.”

sunghoon let out a defeated sigh, his shoulders sagging as the tension seemed to drain from his body. “this… this is going to take some time to get used to,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. his gaze flicked to sunoo, then back to you. “but if you’re happy, i’ll try. just… don’t make me regret this.”

relief washed over you, and you felt sunoo’s hand squeeze yours gently. you gave your brother a small, grateful smile. “thank you, sunghoon. that’s all i could ever ask for.”

before anyone could say more, a loud groan broke the moment. “thank fucking god,” heeseung said dramatically, burying his face in his hands. “i was not ready to explain to the hospital why i was dragging sunoo’s dead body in.”

his mate, standing beside him, rolled her eyes and smacked his arm lightly. “heeseung, stop being so dramatic,” she said, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

heeseung peeked through his fingers, giving her a mock-hurt expression. “i’m just saying! Sunghoon was about two seconds away from committing a crime.”

“i wasn’t going to kill him,” sunghoon muttered, though his lips twitched, betraying the hint of a reluctant smile. “maybe just rough him up a little.”

“uh-huh, sure,” jake cut in with a snort, arms crossed and a smug grin plastered on his face. “maybe that’s why you were muttering about burying him alive earlier. real subtle, man.”

sunghoon shot jake a look, his ears slightly reddening. “i was venting bullshit, okay? that doesn’t mean i was going to actually do it.” his tone was annoyed, but the way jake kept smirking made it clear sunghoon wasn’t convincing anyone.

sunoo raised his free hand in mock surrender, his other still holding yours tightly. “okay, great, glad to know i’m not completely safe,” he said, voice light but laced with humor. “that definitely did not make me feel better.”

jake laughed, slapping sunoo on the back. “relax, man. if sunghoon really wanted to bury you alive, you’d already be in the dirt. guess that means he likes you more than he lets on.”

sunghoon rolled his eyes, groaning. “jake, shut up.”

sunoo’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, the kind that reached his eyes, crinkling them at the edges. without breaking eye contact, he raised your joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

the warmth of his breath against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and your cheeks warmed under his gaze. it wasn’t just the kiss; it was the way he looked at you, like you were his entire universe. “we’re okay,” he murmured quietly, just for you.

jake, however, wasn’t about to let the moment pass unteased. “aw, would you look at that?” he said, clapping his hands dramatically. “our boy’s gone all soft. sunghoon, are you seeing this? he’s whipped.”

sunghoon shot jake a glare, but even he didn’t miss the faint smirk tugging at his lips. sunoo, though, didn’t even bother responding this time, his focus entirely on you.

and as the chatter of the room carried on, you couldn’t help but feel like, somehow, everything was exactly as it should be.

taglist: @hoonbrry @hime98 @chae-darling @moonchus @peatchiedii @creamkwan @nyfwyeonjun @whoe-dis @woonie-muffin @caelumsjy @90sni-ki @leiomorea @junjungsunwoo @in-somnias-world @notcamii @yizhoutv @lovesickth @elairah @graythecoffeebean @skyearby @ikeumina @blckorchidd @littlebambi-isdee @immelissaaa @jakesfurry @dreamy-carat @cristy-101 @m1kkso @h4niyahcar @firstclassjaylee

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cherry-coffees · 5 months ago

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Marriage of Convenience!Caitlyn x reader headcanons

marriage of convenience!Caitlyn who does not want to get married - much less to someone she doesn’t know or have feelings for. so when Cassandra introduces you to her for the first time, all she knows is that you’re from some noble house in Noxus and she resents you. It’s not your fault, she knows, but it’s so much easier to have someone to blame for her unhappiness.

marriage of convenience!Caitlyn who watches Cassandra talk to your mother in silent rage, who watches you smile politely and just go along with this. this just makes her resent you even more because why are you so okay with it?

marriage of convenience!Caitlyn who (very reluctantly) attends the ball in celebration of your engagement. no one know it’s arranged - everyone in Piltover thinks that a Piltovian and Noxian fell in love and oh how wonderful it is that these star-crossed lovers will bring peace and an alliance between the two regions! Caitlyn wants to scream the truth at them all until her lungs burn. but her mother would kill her, so she just stands there with a fake smile, blue gaze icy.

marriage of convenience!Caitlyn who eventually ducks out of the main ballroom and onto a secluded balcony, seeking some relief from the constant attention of the crowd, only to find that you’re already there. frustration runs through her veins, a scowl automatically gracing her sharp features because why can’t she just have a single moment alone? but her expression morphs into one of surprise when she takes in your posture: leaning against the balcony railing in your gown, your head low and your body almost crumpled — defeated.

Caitlyn can’t help but hesitate, straightening out her Commander uniform she had insisted upon wearing. She doesn’t know whether to intrude or leave you be. But, she supposes, you will be married soon.

So she breaks the silence, stepping forward to lean on the railing beside you. “Why aren’t you in the ballroom?”

“Why aren’t you?” You counter, not bothering to meet her eyes. You stare ahead, looking out at all of Piltover all lit up at night.

Caitlyn can’t stop the scoff that escapes her. “Too much attention for something I don’t want.”

You bob your head once, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Makes two of us.”

“Are you kidding?” Caitlyn’s eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowing and turning her body to fully face you. “You seem to be quite content going along with everything your parents want.”

“Yeah, well,” you exhale, your breath coming out as a puff in the cold night air. Caitlyn notices this, gaze darting to the gooseflesh that prickles on your bare arms. “There’s nothing either of us can do about it. It’s better to go along and make the best of it. If I’m going to be married to you, I don’t want to hate each other.”

Caitlyn blinks, slightly taken aback. “I-“ she pauses, considering your words. “I don’t hate you.”

“Seems like it.”

“I don't,” she insists, and you finally turn your head so your eyes lock with hers. “Look-“ Caitlyn holds your gaze, a twinge of respect stirring within her. “If my parents had to marry me off to someone, I’m glad it’s you. I know we just met, but you’re very respectful, and you seem kind. I like that.” She hesitates again, eyes flicking down over your body for a split-second. “And you’re undeniably pretty.”

“Uh- thank you." You blink, wide-eyed at the unexpected compliment, a pink hue dusting your cheeks. You can't deny that being called pretty in that posh accent of hers makes you a little flustered. But you push past it, shaking your head to clear your mind and continuing. "You’re right: we don’t know each other. But since we’re getting married, I’d like to, if you’ll allow it.”

And for the first time since Cassandra broke the news to her about this marriage, Caitlyn lets herself give you a half-smile. “Yeah,” she nods, a hint of interest in her eyes. “I’d like that.”

I have loose plans to write a full fic of this so!!! Stay tuned and lmk if you have any ideas/things you'd like to see with this <333

Reminder that my asks are open!

#caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn x reader #arcane #cherry writes 🍒#caitlyn kirraman x reader #caitlyn arcane #arcane caitlyn #lesbian #kiramman #cassandra kiramman #fanfic #fanfiction #arcane fanfic #arcane fanfiction #arcane fandom #arranged marriage #marriage of convenience #AHHHH I LOVE THIS IDEA #full fic coming soon???

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justsomerandomdemon · 1 month ago

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𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

ʏᴀɴ!ғᴀɴᴛᴀsʏ ᴀᴜ!sʜᴇᴅʟᴇᴛsᴋʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

[ᴛʜɪs ɪs ʙᴀsᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ғᴀɴғɪᴄ ᴀɴᴅ ɪs ᴘᴏᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟ sᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀs/ᴀ ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛ]

ɴᴏᴛᴇ : ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏᴜᴛғɪᴛ ɪs ʙᴀsᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ʟɪʟʏ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴄʀᴋ

ʙᴀɴɴᴇʀ ᴅᴏᴇs ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

-ɴᴏɴ ᴄᴏɴsᴇɴsᴜᴀʟ ᴋɪssɪɴɢ/ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜɪɴɢ

-sʜᴇᴅʟᴇᴛsᴋʏ's ɪs ʟᴏᴡᴋᴇʏ ᴀ ʙɪᴛᴄʜ ʜᴇʀᴇ

The group was sat around the campfire, tired out of their minds from the constant running and fighting these past few days had been.

How annoying that they'd fallen into a magic dungeon and were now stuck wasting time trying to find a way out then being on the road to their next location.

Shedletsky sighed in annoyance, clawed hands twitching as he pressed on the wound he'd been inflicted with whilst distracted with another one of those were hounds.

The others were already asleep, gaining as much energy as they could before they'd need to leave this room.

It was his turn to keep watch tonight.

Footsteps started approaching from the hall, his winged ears twitching as he spared a small glance that way.

[Y/n] stood there a water satchel in her arms as she walked in.

She was on nightwatch with him too.

He turned around to not face her, trying to find anything to distract himself from her presence.

The hatred and resentment he held being conflicted with his own sappy feelings he'd been keeping at bay for so long.

It made him annoyed how much this affected him.

Her hands grazed over his back, making him shiver at her nails.

"I... I got you some water." she stated motioning her head to the water in her arms

"To clean your wound."

He stared at it then at her before begrudgingly accepting it, lifting up the bottom of his shirt to undo the bandage and switch it out.

There was a long silence between the two as he tried to clean his wound, struggling for an embarrassingly long time with just trying to get a good grasp on the bandage making him frustrated.

She held his hand softly, making him freeze, feathers fluffing up like a cat.

"Here, I'll help." without another word she started to wrap it around him, eyes not looking up at him but focused on the task at hand.

Oh why did you have to be so nice.

He could've brought himself to keep up that nasty attitude he held towards you had you grown to be equally as cold and cruel.

But no

Despite his attitude, despite the years of your banning you still remained the same as before if not even more recluse than ever.

You'd finished up with the bandaging, cutting off the excess as she started to put it away for later emergencies.

She was going to move away again.

With no plan in mind he lunged forward and wrapped you in his arms so suddenly you fell forward against his body in surprise.

Shit shit shit why did he do that, oh that was so stupid.

And yet despite all the scolding he was giving himself it didn't stop him from trailing his hands against the bare skin of your back and arms, talons tugging fairly roughly at the bandages that enveloped your arms and neck.

"Shedletsky-"

"Shut up, please..." way to go, what a smart thing to say Shed.

Why was he feeling this for you again, he hated it, hated you for having to come back, hated Builderman for banning you. Hated himself for allowing it everything he felt.

His hand trailed up to your face, cupping your chin in it as he stared at your face.

Still the same as before.

Your breaths were shallow and your heartbeat fast as he felt himself pulling closer, wings flapping slightly in anticipation.

"Sh-"

Without more thought he'd slammed his lips against yours, hands holding tightly onto your face and back as though you'd disappear into thin air.

To make things worse the position the two of you were currently in made things far more awkward, your legs spread on each side of his body as he sat between them kissing you so feverishly.

If anyone were to wake up now this would be hard to explain.

Your hand was pressed against his chest and the other awkwardly latched over his arm, twitching around as though trying to figure out what to do or grab.

Eventually he pulled away, needing air as a string of saliva followed between you two, your face absolutely flushed but not as much as his was at the moment.

Staring at your face wanting to continue more and more, doing nothing but kiss you like a lovesick drunkard.

He stopped himself as you continued to stare at him in shock and bewilderment.

He pushed away, standing up quickly and leaving the room without a word said, covering his mouth with his hand as he strolled briskly through the dark stone hallway feeling like an absolute dumbass.

He regretted how he acted like a needy bird for you. It was so embarrassing especially after how he'd acted towards you, he wouldn't doubt you'd want to talk to him about what the hell that was about.

Although...

He licked his lips and teeth, the taste of your mouth still lingering on his tongue.

God what he wouldn't give to have done that again though.

𝐓𝐫𝐲𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐏𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐲/𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐥

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭 [𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐬𝐡𝐬𝐡]

[ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴍʏ sᴏɴᴀ ᴠᴇʀsɪᴏɴ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ғᴏʀ ғᴜɴ]

ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴜʟsɪᴠʟʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛ

ʏᴀʜ- ᴜʜ ʏᴇᴀʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛs ᴀʟʟ ɢᴀɴɢ

#forsaken x reader #art #yandere forsaken #roblox forsaken #shedletsky #shedletsky x reader #fantasy au

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deliciousangelfestival · 10 months ago

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The Imperfect Couple - 2

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

As the flash of cameras blinded you, a reporter stepped forward, her voice eager as she asked, "How are you feeling now? We heard you were seriously ill while working abroad."

You forced a smile, nodding. “I’m doing much better now, thank you. The treatment was tough, but I’m fine.”

Another reporter, sensing an opportunity to dig deeper, asked, “Can you tell us how you two met?”

You exchanged a brief glance with Bucky, before turning back to the crowd with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, we met at a music festival. I was in the corner trying to charge my phone, and this guy”—you gestured toward Bucky with a casual wave—“came over asking to borrow my charger. We started talking, mostly about music—our favorite artists, the ones we didn’t like. After that, we kept hanging out, and, well… it led to this.”

You smiled at the cameras, but there was a hint of something sharper in your eyes. “But, you know, not once did he ever mention his dream of going into politics,” you added, the words tinged with just enough edge to make Bucky flinch.

Bucky chuckled, the sound forced. “I didn’t want to scare her off.”

The press continued to bombard you both with questions, but most of them were directed at Bucky. He answered each one with the polished ease of a seasoned politician, while you stood there, feeling increasingly out of place and suffocated by the whole charade.

The situation you found yourself in—the pretense, the constant spotlight—filled you with a simmering frustration. You hated every minute of it.

As the car doors closed, you finally exhaled, the chaotic blur of cameras and flashing lights now safely behind tinted windows.

“Well done. You’re fitting right in,” Bucky said, his voice carrying that infuriating mix of arrogance and ease as he loosened his tie.

You turned to him, your eyes narrowing. “Do you think I’ll just stay silent? I could write an article that would burn everything you’ve worked for to the ground.”

He smirked, leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms with a casualness that made your blood boil. “Are you blackmailing me, babe?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, rolling your eyes.

“We have to start acting like a happy couple. Nicknames are part of the package,” he replied, his smirk never fading.

“I fucking hate you,” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper, loaded with every ounce of resentment you’d been holding in.

“I don’t, though. I never did,” Bucky responded, his tone softening, almost sincere.

You faltered for a moment, your defenses momentarily shaken. His words, no matter how simple, had a way of cutting deeper than you expected. But you quickly recovered, crossing your arms defensively.

“If I get elected, I promise your independent news company will have us as a sponsor,” Bucky continued, his tone now all business. “Isn’t your boss stressed out, looking for investors? Independent news still needs money to pay employees.”

You clenched your jaw. He was right, and you hated that he knew it. Your company was struggling, and his offer—no matter how twisted—would keep it afloat.

“Consider this a business relationship,” he added, his eyes locking onto yours, challenging you.

You leaned in closer, voice laced with sarcasm. “Oh, no, no. Whatever Bucky wants, Bucky always gets.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, his smirk disappearing as he met your gaze with a seriousness that sent a chill down your spine. “Not this time. This time, I’m making sure we both get what we want. But don’t forget, if you decide to play with fire, be ready to get burned.”

The next thing, he did is made a video call, his eyes never leaving the screen. The call connected, and the familiar voice of your brother, Tim, came through the speaker.

“Hey, the numbers are looking great, bro,” Tim said, his enthusiasm evident even through the screen.

Bucky nodded approvingly. “Good. Oh, there’s someone who wants to see you.” He turned the phone to reveal you.

Tim’s eyes widened in surprise. “Omg, you’re back! You’re really here!”

Bucky chuckled, his expression smug. “I know, right?”

You were momentarily stunned, seeing your brother working for Bucky. The betrayal stung, making your heart twist in your chest. Tim’s presence here was a stark reminder of how deeply involved Bucky was in every aspect of your life now.

Tim pointed at you with a half-serious, half-playful expression. “Don’t mess this up.”

Bucky exchanged a few more words with Tim before ending the call. He looked over at you, his gaze intense. “He seems happy working with me. His hard work would be ruined if the truth got out, wouldn’t it, big sis?”

The words hung heavy between you, the implication clear. Bucky knew how protective you were of Tim and how much you cared for him. The tension in the car felt suffocating, every second stretching out as you tried to process the double blow of betrayal.

You turned away, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, the realization of being trapped with no easy escape. Bucky was holding all the cards, and you were left grappling with the enormity of it all.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The car navigated through a series of well-manicured streets, finally pulling up to a grand, sprawling estate. Your eyes widened as you recognized Bucky’s house, an imposing structure that spoke of old money and inherited power. The sight only deepened your sense of dread.

As you stepped out, you glared at Bucky, frustration etched on your face. “Am I going to stay here?”

Bucky gave you a sidelong glance, his smile barely masking his amusement. “Oh no. We’ll be staying at another house. I just wanted to introduce you to the team.”

A sigh of exasperation escaped you. “Urghh… is your mother here too? I hate her.”

Bucky chuckled, his tone laced with mockery. “No filter, huh, babe? She’s here… but then again, you two have always had differing opinions.”

You shot him a withering look. “She’s the main reason I left. She hated me from the moment you introduced us. Remember? She called me a ‘poor bitch from Monte Cristo.’”

Bucky nodded, his expression a mix of amusement and resignation. “It’s her signature move.”

“Bucky, the longer I stay with you, the more I want to snap. If you put me in the same room with your mother, I might just lose it,” you snapped, your frustration boiling over.

Bucky’s smile remained, but his eyes grew colder. “Good thing you won’t have to share the same roof then.”

As you walked through the house grand entrance, one of Bucky’s team members approached him with an enthusiastic smile. “Introducing her to the public really boosted our numbers. Great move, James.”

Bucky glanced at you with a victorious grin, as if he’d just won a major battle.

Soon, his siblings made their appearance. His brother, a tall, disheveled figure with an air of erratic energy, was clearly under the influence of cocaine. He flashed a toothy grin at you before turning his attention elsewhere. His sister, reserved and quiet, offered you a polite nod, barely acknowledging your presence.

Then, his young nephew Nate bounded up to you, his face lighting up with recognition. He wrapped his small arms around your leg.

“Hey, Nate!” you said, surprised and touched that he still remembered you. “It’s been a while.”

Nate looked up at you with wide eyes. “I remember you! You used to play with me.”

You patted his head gently, feeling a pang of nostalgia.

Meanwhile, Caroline Barnes, Bucky’s mother, observed you from the corner of the room. At seventy, she looked every bit the part of the icy matriarch, dressed head-to-toe in Chanel. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, were framed by a carefully styled silver coiffure. She held her champagne glass with a delicate but dismissive grip.

“Something about her, I always hate. I can’t explain why,” Caroline said with a sneer, her gaze never leaving you.

Julius Barnes, Bucky’s father, stepped in. With his full gray beard and military posture, he exuded authority. “Be nice, Caroline. It’s crucial for her to be here. We can’t afford to lose this opportunity.”

You looked at Julius and Caroline. Both had clearly aged, their faces lined with the stress of the campaign.

Caroline forced a thin smile. “Welcome. It’s so delightful to have you here. I’m sure you’ll find the atmosphere… inspiring.”

You gave a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, you’re such a fucking liar.”

Caroline’s eyes widened in surprise at your boldness. “You’re really brave now,” she said, a hint of shock in her voice.

“Because I’m not part of your family anymore. The marriage between me and James was supposed to have ended,” you retorted, your voice cold and steady.

Caroline’s smile faltered, but she quickly regained her composure. “Well, dear, you must be quite the sight to behold for us tonight.”

Julius stepped in, trying to defuse the tension. “Let’s keep this civil. We have important matters to discuss.”

You glanced at Bucky, who watched the exchange with a bemused expression. It was clear that this charade was far from over, and you were trapped in a web.

As you and Bucky prepared to sit down on the plush couch, the campaign team busied themselves in the background, setting up for the next presentation. You moved to take a seat, but Caroline's voice cut through the murmur of activity with a sharp edge.

“Na-ahh. Put a blanket under her,” Caroline said, her tone dripping with disdain. “We don’t know what kind of virus she’s brought back from another country. And this is a $50,000 couch.”

You stared at her, incredulous. “What the fuck? Is that a joke?” You turned to Bucky, eyes flashing with irritation. “Because strangling her is a joke for me.” You chuckled darkly, “I think it's funny too.”

Bucky’s face tightened as he stepped between you and his mother. “Stop it, Mom. I need her more than I need your attitude.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed, her face a mask of thinly veiled disdain. “Well, isn’t that just charming,” she said, rolling her eyes as if the very act of speaking to you was beneath her.

Julius, standing nearby, shot Caroline a stern look, his military bearing evident in the rigid set of his shoulders. “We’re trying to keep things civil. This isn’t the time for your petty grievances.”

Caroline huffed, crossing her arms with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, fine. Let’s all just pretend we’re one big happy family, shall we?”

You took a deep breath, trying to suppress the growing anger bubbling inside you.

The room felt charged with tension, and it was clear that the facade of civility was wearing thin. Bucky gave you a reassuring glance, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of frustration.

Greg part of the campaign team, a wiry young man with an anxious energy, took center stage. He adjusted his glasses and began to explain the next phase of Bucky’s campaign strategy with a mix of nerves and enthusiasm.

“So the next plan is…” Greg said, his voice slightly shaky. He clicked through a series of slides on the screen behind him, each one detailing the upcoming events. “We’re focusing on increasing voter outreach through targeted social media campaigns and local meet-and-greets. We’ve also got a major fundraising event coming up next week.”

Bucky nodded, his expression a mask of professional detachment, though his eyes flickered with a hint of approval. You, seated beside him, tried to maintain your composure, though the tension in the room was almost palpable, especially with Caroline still glaring at you.

Greg continued, his tone growing more frantic as he reached the final point. “And the last thing…” He took a deep breath, glancing nervously between you and Bucky. “Both of you will need couples therapy.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a sarcastic smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh, isn’t this just wonderful?”

Greg’s face reddened as he tried to recover from his awkward announcement. “I mean, it’s just… well, it’s a suggestion. You know, for the campaign’s sake. Sometimes, a little… uh… harmony at home can be beneficial.”

Bucky gave a tight smile, his gaze fixed on Greg. “I appreciate the suggestion, Greg. We’ll definitely consider it—maybe after we get through the rest of this circus.”

Greg nodded vigorously, clearly relieved to move on from the uncomfortable topic. “Right, of course. Well, let’s focus on the campaign, then.” He hurriedly wrapped up the meeting, leaving you both alone.

You sighed and turned to Bucky. “Did you wake up this morning and decide you wanted to be Vice President, or was it just a spontaneous career choice?”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Oh, you know me. I was just lying in bed, thinking how I could add ‘Vice President’ to my list of hobbies. Figured it’d be a nice change of pace from ruining your day.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unamused. “And here I was thinking you might have a bit of humility left.”

Bucky chuckled, lifting an eyebrow as he shifted in his seat. “Humility? That’s for people who aren’t trying to get elected. But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find some way to make this circus amusing for both of us.”

He leaned forward, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Honey, I’ll give you the ticket.”

You raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “A ticket? To what, exactly? Your endless charade?”

Bucky’s smirk widened as he leaned back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “To the front row of the greatest show on earth. It’s going to be quite a ride, I promise.”

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reveryfics · 6 days ago

Note

In LOVE with how you write Clark. Like, yeah this is totally the Clark Kent I imagine in my head.

I've got this request. Reader is a journalist at the Planet and he has one sided beef with Clark because he thinks this dude from Smallville looks down on him (literally and figuratively cause hes shorter lol) but the truth is reader is totally down bad for Clark and he's just in denial.

And what angers reader the most is that Clark meets his hostility with patience and kindness, which must be fake and he must be secretly laughing and making fun of him.

(He's not. Clark is also just as down bad for him but reader can't clock that shit because he's emotionally constipated😭)

(This is my first fic request ever, kinda nervous lol)

Not So One-sided

Clark Kent x Male Reader

Summary: Your one-sided rivalry with Clark Kent at The Daily Planet was a constant source of frustration; he just smiled at all your snide remarks. You insisted you hated him, but Clark, on the other hand, was completely and utterly in love with you.

A/N: I'm glad that someone likes how i write Clark, I'm mainly basing him off the more cheerful side that I grew up with comic wise and also James Gunn's version. Hoping this meets expectations, especially since it's your first request.

TW: Fluff - Rivals to Lovers (kinda)

Clark Kent. The name alone was enough to make your teeth clench. You’d crowned him your self-proclaimed work rival, a title he was blissfully, perhaps even infuriatingly, unaware of. In reality, your rivalry was as one-sided as Lex Luthor’s obsessive vendetta against Superman – a fervent, all-consuming focus on your part, met with… well, almost nothing on his. You’d meticulously constructed this elaborate facade of animosity, convincing yourself that your intense dislike stemmed from his supposed condescension, a perpetual sense of him looking down on you. It couldn't possibly be, you rationalized, simply because he physically towered over you, his height a constant, undeniable reminder of his presence.

Every time your byline graced the Daily Planet’s front page, accompanied by your impactful photographs, Clark would inevitably offer what felt like a backhanded compliment. A subtle smile would play on his lips, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, even when you delivered a pointed jab his way, laced with all the thinly veiled hostility you could muster. He met every snide remark, every sarcastic retort, every overt attempt to provoke a reaction, with an almost preternatural kindness and an unwavering patience that drove you absolutely insane. It was enough to make you want to pull your own hair out in sheer frustration, because deep down, in the furthest reaches of your stubbornly guarded heart, the truth was far more complicated: you desperately wanted to hate Clark, but you couldn't. Because you liked him.

You liked that infuriatingly charming, stupid smile that seemed to effortlessly disarm your defenses. You liked those big, blue eyes that held an unsettling depth and seemed to genuinely see you, even when you were at your most prickly. You liked the way his dark curls perpetually fell across his forehead, a constant, endearing disarray. And God, did you like his voice – a low, steady rumble that somehow managed to soothe the jagged edges of your manufactured resentment. You, in your magnificent state of emotional unawareness, were utterly blind to the fact that Clark harbored similar feelings for you. You, the self-proclaimed idiot, were too dense to recognize the way his gaze lingered on you, the quiet admiration in his expression that mirrored your own secret affections.

The late hour had long since passed any reasonable quitting time, yet here you were, still hunched over your desk. The only illumination came from the soft glow of your desk lamp, casting long shadows across the stack of freshly developed photographs of Superman from a few days prior. You’d watched almost everyone else from the newsroom pack up their bags and head out, the clatter of keyboards and the murmur of conversations gradually fading into a profound silence. Except for Clark. Of course, Clark was still here. He claimed to be diligently working on a new article, his head bent over his own desk a few rows away. But your mind, ever the conspirator against your own peace, kept whispering a different narrative: he was still here to watch you. To look down on you. Just like he always did.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. The silence of the newsroom was getting to you, amplifying the frantic whispers of your own mind. You tried to focus on the intricate details of Superman's suit in your photographs, on the way the light caught his cape, but your eyes kept darting to the periphery. And there he was, just as your paranoia had predicted. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Clark Kent. His head was no longer bent over his desk; instead, his gaze was fixed on you.

A knot tightened in your stomach. This was it. He was going to say something, offer another one of his infuriatingly backhanded compliments, or worse, comment on your late hours, implying you weren't efficient enough to finish your work on time. Your jaw tensed. You weren't going to let him get the upper hand. Not tonight.

Before he could even open his mouth, before that perpetually kind, yet somehow infuriating, smile could grace his lips, you snapped, your voice cutting through the quiet. "Still here, Kent? Thought you'd be tucked into bed by now, dreaming of Pulitzer Prizes and farming conventions." You didn't even look up, feigning intense concentration on your photos, but you could feel his eyes on you, unwavering. You waited, a coil of tension in your shoulders, for his inevitable, saccharine response.

A beat of silence hung in the air, a silence so profound it felt louder than any noise. You braced yourself, every fiber of your being preparing for the usual placid response, the easy dismissal, the unwavering kindness that always chafed at your carefully constructed hostility.

Then, a soft chuckle. It wasn't the boisterous laugh you'd sometimes hear from the sports desk, nor the sardonic snort from the hardened investigative reporters. It was a low, warm sound that seemed to hum through the quiet office, raising the fine hairs on your arms.

"Something like that," Clark's voice drifted over, surprisingly close, making you jump slightly. You hadn't heard him move. You risked a quick glance up, and there he was, standing beside your desk, a gentle smile playing on his lips. He wasn't leaning over you, or looking down in the way you always imagined. Instead, he was standing slightly to the side, his posture open, one hand casually tucked into his pocket. Those big blue eyes, the ones you secretly adored, were crinkling at the corners, not with pity or condescension, but with something akin to amusement and… warmth?

He gestured vaguely at your desk, his gaze sweeping over the scattered photographs of Superman. "Still perfecting your art, I see. You really do have a knack for capturing the Man of Steel in action. These shots from the docks are particularly dynamic." His voice was genuine, devoid of any of the passive-aggression you habitually read into his words.

Your prepared retort, sharp and biting, withered on your tongue. You felt a blush creep up your neck, a traitorous heat that threatened to betray your carefully maintained composure. He wasn't taunting you. He was… complimenting you. Sincerely. It was disorienting, like walking into a familiar room only to find the furniture rearranged.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain your footing. "Just doing my job, Kent. Unlike some people who seem to think they're on a perpetual coffee break." The words felt weak, even to your own ears, stripped of their intended venom by his unexpected sincerity.

Clark's smile softened further, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Well, your 'job' always manages to make the front page, doesn't it?" He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And for the record, I was just finishing up a lead for the Metropolis homelessness piece. It's a bit heavier than a coffee break, I assure you."

He wasn't looking down on you. He was just... Clark. And in that moment, under the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights, the carefully constructed wall you'd built around yourself seemed to wobble, just a little.

"Then why, Clark? Why do you do this every single time?" Your voice rose, cracking slightly as the carefully constructed dam of your irritation finally burst. You stomped a foot, the sound echoing in the suddenly too-quiet newsroom. You were practically vibrating with a mixture of frustration, confusion, and a burgeoning, terrifying realization. You jabbed a finger, hard, at his chest, your index finger thudding against the soft fabric of his shirt, right over his heart.

"Every. Single. Time!" you repeated, your voice climbing higher, a frantic, desperate edge to it. "I make a jab, a remark, something deliberately mean, and you just… smile! You just stand there, with that stupid, infuriatingly kind smile, and you act like I'm not actively trying to be the biggest jerk on the planet to you!" Your arm was still outstretched, your finger still pressing into him, but he didn't flinch. He didn't even stiffen. His big blue eyes remained soft, his smile unwavering, a serene, almost maddeningly patient expression on his face.

You started pacing in a tight circle in front of him, your hands gesticulating wildly. "Do you have any idea how maddening that is, Kent? Do you know what it’s like to try and genuinely despise someone, to work up a good, solid, healthy hatred, and they just… absorb it? Like some kind of emotional sponge? It's not normal! People are supposed to get angry! They're supposed to get defensive! They're supposed to yell back! But not you! Oh no, not Clark Kent!" You threw your hands up in exasperation, then let them fall with a smack against your thighs. "It’s like you want to drive me insane! Is that it? Is this some kind of twisted game? Are you trying to prove you're some kind of saint, a paragon of patience?"

You stopped abruptly, panting slightly, your chest heaving from the unexpected outburst. Your eyes were wide, probably a little wild, and for the first time in your life, you felt completely exposed, utterly stripped bare in front of him. You waited for him to finally snap, to yell, to show any sign of anger.

But he didn't. That infuriatingly gentle smile remained fixed, those kind eyes still twinkling. After a moment of pure silence, a silence filled only with the frantic beating of your own heart, Clark spoke, his voice calm, even, as if you hadn't just had a complete meltdown.

"Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?" he asked, his voice soft, almost conversational.

Your brain, already short-circuiting from the emotional overload, ground to a complete halt. Dinner? Tomorrow? With him? Your mouth opened and closed uselessly, like a fish out of water. "I… uh… what?" you managed, a pathetic stutter escaping your lips. Your cheeks flushed a furious red. How were you even supposed to respond to that? To this? After all that?

Clark seemed to finally register the utter shock on your face, the way your body had stiffened, your eyes wide with disbelief. His smile softened further, if that were even possible, and he quickly added, "Oh! I didn't mean anything other than, you know, as friends? Getting something to eat. To catch up. We rarely get to, with our schedules."

Friends? The word hit you like a physical blow, simultaneously ridiculous and devastating. Friends? After you'd just spent the last five minutes having a public, one-sided argument, after months of snide remarks and thinly veiled antagonism, he thought you were friends? This man, who met every insult with kindness, every jab with patience, every attempt at hostility with unwavering warmth, actually considered you a friend?

It was too much. That smile, so genuine, so open, was too much. His unwavering patience was too much. Everything about Clark Kent, in that moment, was simply too much to handle. Your mind screamed at you to say no, to maintain the facade, to retreat into your usual prickly shell. But the words, unbidden, were already tumbling out.

"Yeah," you blurted, the word escaping before you could even process it, before you could put up any resistance. "Yeah, I'd like that."

The small Italian restaurant Clark had chosen was exactly the kind of place you’d never step foot in normally. Tucked away on a quiet side street in Metropolis, its red-and-white checkered tablecloths and the warm, garlic-infused aroma seemed to hum with an intimate, unpretentious charm. Clark had sworn it had some of the best lasagna in the city, a bold claim you privately scoffed at.

The first twenty minutes were a study in excruciating awkwardness. You’d arrived a few minutes early, then instantly regretted it. Clark was already there, perched at a small, round table in the corner, looking impossibly relaxed in a simple button-down shirt that somehow still managed to emphasize his broad shoulders. He’d smiled that soft, genuine smile as you approached, and you’d barely managed a mumbled greeting before slipping into the opposite seat, clutching the menu like a lifeline.

You avoided his gaze with a fervor that bordered on athletic. Your eyes meticulously scanned the faded print of the menu, then drifted to the chipped paint on the wall, then fixated on a particularly stubborn stain on the tablecloth. Anything to avoid meeting those too-blue eyes. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware from other tables and the distant murmur of conversation. You could feel the warmth of his presence across the small table, a palpable weight that made your palms subtly sweat. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to make a sarcastic remark, to break the tension with a jab, but the memory of your meltdown in the newsroom, and your utterly baffling agreement to this dinner, kept your mouth clamped shut.

It wasn't until the waiter, a cheerful man with a magnificent mustache, finally placed two steaming plates of lasagna in front of you that Clark broke the silence. The rich, savory scent instantly filled the space between you, a welcome distraction. You picked up your fork, determined to focus on the food, when Clark’s voice, quiet but clear, cut through the aroma.

"Do you really hate me?"

Your fork, halfway to your mouth, froze. The simple, direct question hit you like a sucker punch. You slowly lowered the fork, your gaze still fixed on your plate. Your heart hammered against your ribs. This was it. The moment of reckoning. You’d expected some witty banter, some lighthearted chat about work, anything but this blunt, disarming inquiry.

"Or," he continued, his voice softer now, almost hesitant, "is there... something else going on?"

You finally, reluctantly, lifted your head. His big blue eyes were fixed on you, unblinking, serious, devoid of the usual amusement or kindness you usually associated with them. They held a genuine curiosity, a quiet question that demanded an honest answer. The heat in your cheeks flared, and you found yourself completely speechless, trapped in the uncomfortable truth that was suddenly laid bare between you.

You swallowed hard, the lasagna suddenly feeling like a lump in your throat. This was the moment you'd dreaded, the conversation you'd actively avoided for months, years even. To admit the truth, the raw, inconvenient truth, felt like stripping off your skin in the middle of a crowded room.

"What do you mean, 'something else'?" you finally managed to rasp, your voice barely a whisper. You tried to sound indignant, but it came out more like a plea. Your eyes darted around, anywhere but at him, but his unwavering gaze pulled you back like a magnet.

Clark put his fork down, his movements slow and deliberate. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "You go out of your way to be… well, to be difficult. To be mean, even," he said, surprisingly gently. There was no accusation in his tone, just a quiet observation. "But then you show up to this dinner, even after everything you said. And the way you threw your fit the other night… it didn't feel like hate. It felt like… something else. Like you were trying very hard to push me away, but for a reason I don't understand."

He paused, and for a terrifying moment, you thought he was going to articulate the very feelings you were desperately trying to bury. Instead, he simply looked at you, his big blue eyes still incredibly kind, but now tinged with a genuine curiosity that unnerved you more than any anger ever could. "So, is it hate? Or is there something else going on?"

The directness of his question, coupled with his absolute lack of judgment, chipped away at your defenses. You wanted to lie, to deny it all, to retreat into your usual sarcastic shell. But something in his gaze, a profound patience, made it impossible. The words felt foreign on your tongue, clumsy and exposed, but once they started, they tumbled out in a rush.

"It's not hate," you blurted, the admission tearing through the carefully constructed walls you'd maintained for so long. Your voice was barely audible. You felt a hot flush creep up your neck, knowing your face was probably scarlet. You picked at a loose thread on the tablecloth, unable to look at him.

"I... I don't know what it is," you continued, the words a jumbled mess of half-formed thoughts and raw emotion. "I just... you're always so... good. So nice. And I don't understand it. Everyone else, they get annoyed, they get angry. But you just... smile. And it makes me feel like an idiot for even trying to get a reaction out of you. It makes me feel... small. Like I'm just a kid throwing a tantrum and you're the grown-up who just lets it wash over them." You finally dared a quick glance at him. His smile was still there, a soft, understanding curve of his lips, and it somehow made it even harder to confess.

"And," you whispered, the last part of the confession almost swallowed by the ambient restaurant noise, "and it's easier to pretend to hate you than to admit... to admit that I actually..." You trailed off, unable to voice the unspoken word, the true reason for your elaborate charade. It hung in the air between you, a fragile, unspoken truth.

Clark didn't say anything immediately, letting your hesitant confession hang in the air between the checkered tablecloths and the scent of marinara. You braced yourself for a patronizing nod, a gentle pat on the hand, anything that would confirm your deepest fear: that he saw you as a fragile, overly emotional mess. But he just watched you, his big blue eyes still incredibly gentle, yet now, a new light seemed to spark within them – recognition, perhaps even understanding.

Then, a soft, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, different from his usual polite or amused one. This one was intimate, a private acknowledgment. "You actually..." he started, his voice a low rumble, completing your unspoken thought. He didn't mock, didn't gloat. He simply... accepted it. And in that acceptance, the immense, crushing weight you hadn't even realized you were carrying began to lift.

"It's funny," Clark continued, his gaze drifting thoughtfully towards the flickering candle on the table. "Because I always wondered why you went to such lengths. Most people, if they dislike someone, they just avoid them. But you... you always seemed to seek me out, just to tell me how much you didn't like me. It was confusing, and honestly, a little charming." He chuckled softly, a warm, genuine sound that resonated deeply within you.

He met your gaze again, and this time, the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable, a direct reflection of the warmth blooming in your own chest. "And for the record," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "I always liked that fire. That passion. Even when it was directed at me." A faint blush, the barest hint of pink, dusted his cheeks. "And I... I never thought of you as an idiot. Or small. Just... a little misguided."

You stared at him, your mind reeling. He liked your "fire"? He found your antics "charming"? This was so far beyond anything you had ever anticipated, so completely out of the realm of your meticulously crafted reality, that you could only gape. The words you wanted to say, the questions that flooded your mind, got tangled in your throat.

Clark reached across the table, his fingers gently covering your hand, which was still resting limply on the tablecloth. His touch was warm, reassuring, and sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with surprise and everything to do with a quiet, undeniable longing. His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand.

"So," he said, his smile widening, his eyes twinkling playfully, "now that we've cleared the air... are we still going to pretend you hate me, or can we just enjoy this lasagna?"

You felt a laugh bubble up, surprised and breathless, a genuine laugh that felt entirely new. It wasn't the bitter, sarcastic laugh you usually employed, but a light, unburdened sound. You looked at his hand on yours, then up into his kind, knowing eyes, and for the first time, you felt truly seen, truly understood.

"I think," you managed, your voice still a little shaky but filled with a new lightness, "I think I can manage to enjoy the lasagna, Kent."

The shared smile that followed, unburdened by pretense or rivalry, felt like the real beginning of something.

The rest of the dinner unfolded with a surprising ease that neither of you had anticipated. The initial awkwardness melted away like butter on a hot plate of that delicious lasagna. You talked about work, not with the usual undercurrent of rivalry, but with a genuine exchange of ideas and insights. You learned about Clark's struggles with a particularly stubborn source for his homelessness article, and he listened intently as you animatedly described the challenges of getting the perfect action shot of Superman without getting trampled.

His questions were insightful, his comments genuinely appreciative of your skills, and you found yourself laughing more freely than you had in ages. It wasn't the forced, cynical laugh you often employed, but a genuine, unburdened sound. You even caught yourself marveling at the way his dark curls fell across his forehead when he leaned in to hear you better over the restaurant's gentle hum, or the crinkling at the corners of his big blue eyes when he smiled at something you said.

By the time the dessert arrived – a shared tiramisu that was surprisingly light and creamy – the conversation had drifted from work to more personal anecdotes. He told you about growing up on a farm, a life so different from your own urban upbringing that it fascinated you. You, in turn, found yourself sharing stories about your early days as a photographer, the struggles and the triumphs you rarely spoke of to anyone. There was a comfortable rhythm to your conversation, a natural back-and-forth that felt as effortless as breathing.

A Quiet Walk Home

As you stepped out of the warm restaurant into the cool Metropolis night, the city lights shimmered like scattered diamonds. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of exhaust fumes mixed with something indefinable, uniquely urban. Clark didn't immediately call for a cab; instead, he simply started walking, a silent invitation you surprisingly accepted.

The walk was punctuated by comfortable silences, punctuated by soft murmurs and shared observations about the city around you. You found yourself walking closer to him than you ever would have dared before, your shoulders occasionally brushing. It was a subtle contact, barely there, yet it sent a quiet thrill through you.

When you finally reached your apartment building, the towering structure seemed to loom even larger against the night sky. You stopped at the entrance, turning to face him. The streetlight above cast a soft glow, illuminating the easy smile on his face.

"I... I actually had a really good time, Clark," you admitted, the words feeling foreign yet wonderfully true on your tongue. The residual heat from your blush still lingered on your cheeks.

His smile softened, and he took a small step closer. "Me too," he said, his voice a low, warm tone that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and full of that quiet understanding that had disarmed you at dinner. "More than a good time, actually."

He reached out, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might touch your face, or perhaps even take your hand again. Instead, his fingers gently brushed against your arm, a light, almost hesitant touch. "Thank you for coming," he murmured.

You found yourself wanting to prolong the moment, to find an excuse to stay there under the streetlight with him just a little longer. But the night was drawing to a close, and a new kind of nervousness, entirely separate from your usual prickly demeanor, began to flutter in your chest.

"Goodnight, Clark," you said softly, your voice a little breathy.

"Goodnight," he replied, his smile still warm. He lingered for another moment, his big blue eyes holding yours in a gaze that seemed to convey so much more than just a simple farewell.

As you turned and walked into the lobby, you resisted the urge to look back. But you could feel his presence, a lingering warmth in the cool night air, long after the heavy glass doors swung shut behind you. The elevator ride up felt too fast, the silence of your apartment too loud. You walked over to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to peek out. Clark was still there, standing on the sidewalk below, looking up at your building. Even from this distance, you could sense his smile, a silent promise hanging in the Metropolis night.

You let the curtain fall, a genuine, unbidden smile gracing your own lips. The rivalry was dead. And something entirely new, something thrilling and terrifying and wonderfully hopeful, had just begun.

#clark kent #clark kent x male reader #superman x male reader #dc superman #superman dc #dc fanfic #dc #dc x male reader #fanfic #fanfiction #mlm #x male reader #xmalereader #james gunn superman #david corenswet #fluff #requested

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mononijikayu · 8 months ago

Text

right people, wrong place — nanami kento.

“And what about us? Was I something you could just walk away from?” The question hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his gaze—regret, maybe—but it vanished just as quickly. “I never wanted to hurt you, you know that.” he said quietly, almost like an admission of guilt. “But this was always going to be the cost.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence!

WARNING/S: romance, fluff, angst, marriage separation, salvaging the marriage, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, car-fuck, making out, smut, fingering, p to v sex, orgasm, hurt/comfort, alcohol, crying, drunk, emotional, pining, happy ending, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, depiction of breakdown of a marriage, depiction of alcoholic beverages, depiction of getting drunk, depiction of sexual acts, depiction of sexual tension, depiction of naked bodies, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, sorcerer! nanami, non-sorcerer! reader;

WORD COUNT: 7.7k words.

NOTE: finally!!! im putting out this chapter on my birthday which is crazy but i feel like putting it out on my birthday shows how much i really love nanami. i really wondered a lot how to do this because i don't think nanami's the sort of person who would end up hurting his lover/partner like this. but hm, i suppose it works out in the end!!! anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this a lot like i did!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

kinktober 2024 - kayu's version

if you want to, tip! <3

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IN YOUR YEARS LIVING, YOU’D NEVER THOUGHT THIS WOULD HAPPEN. You never thought you would find yourself in this position, but sometimes marriages just don't last. It’s been a while since your husband, Nanami Kento, and you became estranged. His constant absence, wrapped up in his work as a sorcerer, eventually took precedence over your marriage.

At first, you understood, even tried to be patient. But over time, the long hours, missed moments, and growing distance became too much to bear. You found yourself frustrated, feeling as though you were competing with a world you couldn’t fully understand or be a part of.

Slowly, that frustration turned into resentment. Despite your efforts to keep things together, the silence between you grew louder. Eventually, the separation felt inevitable. Now, standing on the other side of it, you reflect on the painful truth: sometimes love isn't enough when life pulls you in different directions.

You sighed, staring at the empty side of the bed where Kento used to sleep. The memories of better days flickered in your mind, but they felt distant, like they belonged to someone else’s life. The silence of your apartment was deafening, broken only by the occasional sound of the outside world.

“Did you ever regret it?” you whispered, almost as if speaking to the ghost of your past, hoping for an answer you knew wouldn’t come. “Did you ever think… maybe I was worth staying for?”

You shook your head, frustrated with yourself for even asking the question. It wasn’t fair to him. You knew how much responsibility weighed on Kento's shoulders. Being a sorcerer wasn’t just a job; it was a duty. But sometimes, you wished he would have chosen you, just once, over the weight of the world.

Your minds rushed to those memories again. That night when he left the house. You looked as he packed everything he could carry. His clothes, his books… small pieces of a life you once shared now reduced to what he could fit into a suitcase. The silence between you stretched, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air, almost suffocating.

“Is this really it, then?” you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a question that had hung in the back of your mind for months, but now, with him standing here, packing the last remnants of your life together, it felt real. Permanent.

Kento paused, his hand resting on one of his neatly folded shirts. He didn’t look at you when he spoke. “I don’t know.”

“That’s all you can say? After so many years?.....Kento....this is…” you replied, your voice cracking despite your best effort to keep it steady. “Not even a reason?”

His shoulders tensed at your words, but he still didn’t turn around. “If I say something, it would be a fight and then that fight would hurt you and I again. Do you really want that?”

“No, I don’t.” you shot back, the frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface. “But maybe it should. Because then I would know if it actually mattered. Because it didn’t feel like it mattered, Kento. It felt like I was always second place to your work, to the missions, to everything else.”

He finally turned to face you, his expression unreadable but the exhaustion in his eyes undeniable. “I never wanted it to be like this. But you knew what I was from the beginning. Being a sorcerer… it’s not something you can just walk away from.”

“And what about us? Was I something you could just walk away from?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his gaze—regret, maybe—but it vanished just as quickly.

“I never wanted to hurt you, you know that.” he said quietly, almost like an admission of guilt. “But this was always going to be the cost.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound harsh even to your own ears. “So that’s it? We were just collateral damage to your sense of duty?”

Kento didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed the suitcase with a soft click, the finality of it settling like a stone in your chest. “I thought I could do both. I thought I could be there for you and still do what needed to be done. But I was wrong.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You stared at him, waiting for something more—an apology, a plea, anything. But all you got was that same calm, distant resolve that had driven you apart in the first place.

He picked up the suitcase, his fingers tightening around the handle. “Goodbye.”

And just like that, he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, and the emptiness of the apartment swallowed you whole. You stood there, staring at the spot where he had been, feeling the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. It was over.

But somehow, it still didn’t feel like closure.

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EVERYTHING THAT CAME AFTER WAS HARD. In the days that followed, the silence in your apartment became both a comfort and a curse. It was quiet—almost too quiet—but for the first time in what felt like forever, the suffocating weight of uncertainty was gone.

Kento was gone, too. But in a way, that absence, painful as it was, felt like a step toward something else. Healing, maybe. And it didn’t help, how empty the rooms were. Half of his belongings were gone and packed up when you weren’t in the apartment.

It was slow at first. You’d wake up some mornings expecting him to be there, just a shadow of his presence lingering in the air. You’d make coffee for two out of habit, only to pour the second cup down the sink. Little reminders of him still clung to the edges of your life, and each one was like a small tug at the thread of your resolve.

But as the weeks turned into months, you started to piece yourself back together. You learned how to be alone without feeling lonely, how to fill the spaces he left behind with your own life. You started to find joy in the little things again—quiet mornings with a book, walks in the park, laughing with friends who had long been neglected while you tried to hold onto something that was already slipping away.

Still, there were moments, late at night when the world went still, that the ache of missing him crept back in. It was like a dull, persistent pain—manageable, but never quite gone. You’d find yourself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking of you, too. If he ever would come back and say that he regrets walking away.

Because the truth was, you still loved him. Deeply. And that was the hardest part. No matter how much you tried to move forward, to heal, the love you had for Nanami Kento never fully disappeared. It lingered, bittersweet and aching, tucked into the corners of your heart.

Some nights, you found yourself replaying those last moments with him—the way he stood in the doorway, his back turned to you, the finality of his goodbye. You couldn’t help but wonder if things could have been different. If you had fought harder, if he had tried just a little more. But those thoughts always led to the same conclusion: no matter how much you loved him, love wasn’t enough to fix what had broken between you.

And yet, despite everything, there was still a part of you that wanted him back. It was foolish, you knew that. But the heart rarely listens to reason. You missed the way he made you feel safe, even when everything else in your world felt uncertain. You missed the way he’d brush his fingers through your hair absentmindedly while reading or the quiet moments where words weren’t needed because you both just… understood.

But loving him came with a cost, one you couldn’t ignore. You knew that being with him meant sharing him with a world that constantly demanded more of him than you could ever give. It meant always being second place, always waiting for him to come home, always wondering if this time would be the last.

You weren’t sure if you could live like that again.

It was hard, knowing that despite how much better you were feeling, the part of you that still longed for him wasn’t ready to let go. You tried to distract yourself—work, hobbies, anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of something that reminded you of him—a certain tie in a shop window, a scent in the air—and the pang of longing would hit you all over again.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you found yourself standing at the edge of your balcony, staring out at the sunset. The sky was painted in hues of gold and pink, the world so quiet and still that it almost felt like a dream. For a brief moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like if he were here beside you. If, somehow, you could make it work. If the love you had was enough to outweigh everything else.

But as the colors faded and dusk settled in, you realized something—wanting him, loving him, would always be part of you. But so would the pain. And maybe, just maybe, the best thing you could do was let both of those things exist without trying to fix them. To let the love you still had for him be a memory, something you carried with you but didn’t let define you anymore.

It was hard. But you were learning that sometimes, healing isn’t about forgetting the past. It’s about accepting it and finding a way to move forward anyway. Even if part of you will always wish things had been different.

You sighed, staring at the empty side of the bed where Nanami used to sleep. The memories of better days flickered in your mind, but they felt distant, like they belonged to someone else’s life. The silence of your apartment was deafening, broken only by the occasional sound of the outside world.

“Did you ever regret it?” you whispered, almost as if speaking to the ghost of your past, hoping for an answer you knew wouldn’t come. “Did you ever think… maybe I was worth staying for?”

You shook your head, frustrated with yourself for even asking the question. It wasn’t fair to him. You knew how much responsibility weighed on Nanami's shoulders. Being a sorcerer wasn’t just a job; it was a duty. But sometimes, you wished he would have chosen you, just once, over the weight of the world.

The doorbell rang, snapping you out of your thoughts. For a moment, your heart raced—an absurd part of you hoped it was him. But you quickly brushed the thought aside. That chapter was closed. Or so you tried to convince yourself.

When you opened the door, there he stood—Nanami Kento.

“I came to pick up the rest of my things.” he said, his voice low and steady, as if the weight of the words didn't matter. But they did. Every syllable felt like a punch to your chest.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in, though the sight of him in the apartment again felt like a knife twisting in an old wound. He walked past you without another word, heading to what used to be your shared bedroom. It was strange—after all the time that had passed, he still moved like he belonged here, like nothing had changed. But everything had.

You followed him, your footsteps quiet as you watched him start gathering his things. His clothes, his books… small pieces of a life you once shared now reduced to what he could fit into a suitcase. The silence between you stretched, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air, almost suffocating.

“This is it, huh?” you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a question that had hung in the back of your mind for months, but now, with him standing here, packing the last remnants of your life together, it felt real. Permanent. “Is….is this what’s left?”

Kento paused, his hand resting on one of his neatly folded shirts. He didn’t look at you when he spoke. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Anything, everything.” you replied, your voice cracking despite your best effort to keep it steady. “I just want to know if any of it ever mattered to you.”

His shoulders tensed at your words, but he still didn’t turn around. “You know it did. You matter to me. More than you know.”

“Did I?” you shot back, the frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface. “Because why have I never felt it? When will I feel it?”

He finally turned to face you, his expression unreadable but the exhaustion in his eyes undeniable. “I showed you everything I could. I gave you everything I could. Was that never going to be enough for you?”

“And what about us? Was I something you could just walk away from?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his gaze—regret, maybe—but it vanished just as quickly.Nanami didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed the box with a soft touch, the finality of it settling like a stone in your chest.

“I thought I could do both. I thought I could be there for you and still do what needed to be done. But I was wrong.”

He picked up the rest of his belongings, his fingers tightening around the handle. “I have to go.”

But somehow, it still didn’t feel like closure.

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YOU DIDN’T EAT MUCH IN THE PAST FEW DAYS. But that was to be expected. You couldn’t eat in the place where you had so many memories. Yet you were feeling unwell as time went on and so slowly, gently, patiently — you tried to be good to yourself. Tried to be understanding. Going through separation, this suffering, it was never going to be easy.

The silence in your apartment became both a comfort and a curse. It was quiet—almost too quiet—but for the first time in what felt like forever, the suffocating weight of uncertainty was gone.

The emptiness felt different now. It wasn't just about loss or absence; it was about space—space to breathe, to think, to feel without the constant dread lurking in every corner. Still, the quiet held an echo of everything you had left behind, and that made moving forward all the more difficult.

But as the weeks turned into months, you started to piece yourself back together. You learned how to be alone without feeling lonely, how to fill the spaces he left behind with your own life.

You started to find joy in the little things again—quiet mornings with a book, walks in the park, laughing with friends who had long been neglected while you tried to hold onto something that was already slipping away.

Still, there were moments, late at night when the world went still and you’re watching television alone by yourself — you could feel that the ache of missing him crept back in.

It was like a dull, persistent pain—manageable, but never quite gone. You’d find yourself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking of you, too. If he ever regretted walking away. Or if he missed you just as much as you did.

But you had to move on. Life wasn’t going to wait for you to get better, to be better. It demanded that you keep going, even when you weren’t sure how to, even when the ghost of what you had still weighed heavy on your soul.

So, you kept going, step by step. Some days were easier than others, filled with the distractions of work, the warmth of sunlight on your skin, and conversations that pulled you out of your own head. Other days were harder—when memories of him resurfaced without warning, when a familiar scent or an old song hit you with the force of a tidal wave, threatening to drown you in nostalgia.

But you had learned by now how to weather those moments. You’d remind yourself that healing wasn’t linear, that some days you would falter, and that was okay. You had to let yourself feel the sadness, the longing, without letting it consume you.

And in time, you began to see the future more clearly, not just as a continuation of what you lost but as something entirely new. You began to make plans for yourself, not the version of you that existed with him but the person you were becoming on your own. You started to imagine new possibilities—new experiences, new places, and maybe even, eventually, new love.

But for now, it was enough to simply live. To wake up each morning with the quiet acceptance that the pain would fade, slowly, until it was just another part of you, like a scar that healed over time. And though Nanami Kento would always hold a piece of your heart, you knew that piece was no longer all you had. There was more to you, more to your life, and you would find it, one day at a time.

And maybe, tonight was just one of those nights you didn’t plan. Tonight was one more night where you tried to forget. It was just a spontaneous meeting with the friends you made because of your estranged husband.

In a way, you think that Shoko and Utahime, were the only people who had really been there for you throughout this entire mess. You met up at a quiet bar tucked away in a corner of the city, a place that felt far removed from the chaos of sorcery and everything that came with it.

Shoko sat across from you, her usual laid-back demeanor a source of steady comfort, while Utahime leaned in, her voice soft and warm, coaxing you into laughter with her lighthearted banter. The night had started out innocent enough—a few drinks, some stories, and shared frustrations. But as the alcohol flowed, so did your emotions.

“Honestly.” you groaned, swirling your drink before downing it, “I don’t even know what I miss more—him, or the idea of what we could’ve been if his work didn’t always come first.”

Shoko raised her glass, giving you a sympathetic smile. “It’s never easy, is it? Being with someone like him. The duty comes first. Always.”

Utahime nodded, her eyes full of understanding. “But that doesn’t make what you feel any less valid. You loved him. That doesn’t just disappear.”

The alcohol in your system made you bolder, more honest than you’d been in a while. You leaned forward, placing your elbows on the table, and slurred slightly, “It’s not fair, you know? I tried, I really did. But how long am I supposed to wait? How many nights am I supposed to spend alone, wondering if he’s even coming back?”

Shoko reached across the table and squeezed your hand gently. “You’re not supposed to wait forever. You deserve more than that.”

But instead of finding solace in her words, you found yourself feeling more emotional, the weight of everything you’d been holding back finally cracking open under the influence of too much alcohol. A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could stop it, you were sobbing into your hands, overwhelmed by a mix of heartache and frustration.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry!” Utahime said softly, sliding into the seat beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You’re doing great. This is just… part of the process.”

Shoko, usually so calm and collected, looked a little more concerned than usual. “Okay, I think it’s time to slow down on the drinks, girlie.” she said, gently pulling your glass away from you.

But you were too far gone to care. The mix of pain, regret, and alcohol had you in a place where you didn’t want to think anymore—you just wanted to feel something, anything other than the ache of missing him.

You let out a half-laugh, half-sob and raised your hands in the air dramatically. “I’m a mess! A total mess! And you know what? I miss him. I still miss him even after everything!”

Utahime tried to keep you grounded, but your emotions were all over the place. “We know. We get it. Just breathe.”

Shoko sighed, reaching for her phone. “I think we might need backup here.”

You were too busy giggling uncontrollably to notice her dialing a number, the alcohol buzzing in your veins, making you feel invincible, heartbroken, and foolish all at once.

“I’m calling Nanami.” Shoko said, her voice firm as she stepped away to speak quietly into the phone.

The name hit you like a punch in the chest, and suddenly, the laughter was gone, replaced by a pit of regret. “Wait… Shoko, no. Don’t… don’t call him.” you mumbled, slumping against the table.

But it was too late.

Half an hour later, as the bar started to empty out and the world around you became a blurry haze, you felt a familiar presence. Nanami Kento stood at the entrance, his expression unreadable, though his posture was tense, like he wasn’t sure what to expect. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on you—wild-eyed and completely drunk, your face flushed from crying and too many drinks.

Shoko and Utahime exchanged a glance as Nanami walked over to the table. “She… might’ve had a bit too much tonight, you know?” Utahime said sheepishly, standing up to give him space.

Nanami didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you—really looked at you, like he was seeing you for the first time in months. You could see the subtle flicker of concern in his eyes, even if his face remained calm, composed.

You, on the other hand, were a mess. “Kento….” you slurred, your voice thick with emotion. “Why did you come?”

He crouched down beside you, his voice low but steady. “Shoko called me.”

You frowned, trying to process that. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

For a moment, you both just stared at each other, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid. You wanted to say so many things—to tell him how much you missed him, how much it hurt to love him, but your thoughts were too muddled, and the alcohol made everything feel distant and surreal.

Nanami sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Let’s get you home.”

Too tired and drunk to argue, you leaned into his touch, letting him guide you out of the bar. As he helped you into the passenger seat of his car, you felt a pang of sadness wash over you. Even in this state, the warmth of his presence made you remember why you had fallen in love with him in the first place.

But as the car started and the city lights blurred by, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was all you’d ever be to him now—a fleeting responsibility, a problem to fix.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, you glanced over at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you still care, Kento?”

For the first time in a long while, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “Of course I care.” he said quietly, almost like it hurt to admit it. “I always have….I always will.”

But as the darkness of the night pulled you under, you couldn’t help but think that maybe caring just wasn’t enough.

The drive was quiet, the hum of the engine and the distant noise of the city filling the silence between you and Nanami. You leaned your head against the window, feeling the cool glass against your flushed skin, the alcohol still buzzing faintly in your veins. Everything felt muted, distant, as if you were floating just outside yourself, watching the scene unfold from afar.

Nanami’s presence was steady, calm as always, but there was something different about it tonight—something almost tender in the way he glanced over at you every few moments, checking to see if you were okay. He was a man of few words, but the weight of everything left unsaid between you felt heavy in the small space of the car.

You closed your eyes, letting the rhythmic motion of the car lull you into a state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Your thoughts drifted in and out, a hazy mix of memories and half-formed feelings. The pain of your separation, the love you still held for him, the impossible wish that things could’ve been different.

“Do you need anything?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, something restrained.

You shook your head, trying to gather your thoughts through the alcohol fog, but the room spun, and you could feel the tears welling up again, unbidden and unwelcome. The frustration, the love, the hurt—all of it crashed over you at once, too heavy to hold in any longer.

“I miss you, Kento.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I just…..I don’t want to miss you anymore.”

He didn’t respond right away, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid of what you might see in his eyes. Afraid of the truth you already knew—that no matter how much you wanted him, how much you loved him, some things were just too broken to fix. Your face contorted in distress as you felt like you were going to hurl.

Kento stopped the car on a quiet side of the road and took a breath. He moved towards your side of the vehicle. He opened the door and brushed his hands on your back as though to soothe you. But nothing came out of you. Instead, you were just hiccupping. Tears were falling down your face by this point, as your eyes met his.

Nanami Kento sighed softly, kneeling down in front of you. He reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek with the back of his hand, his touch gentle, hesitant. “You shouldn’t have to feel like this about me, about everything.” he murmured, his voice low, filled with regret. “You shouldn’t let this hurt you. Not anymore—”

“But you did.” you cut him off, your voice cracking. “Every time you left, every time you put your work first… it felt like I didn’t matter.”

He bowed his head, the weight of your words sinking into him. “I know.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your hands trembling as you clutched the fabric of the couch beneath you. “I loved you, Kento. I still love you. But I don’t know if I can keep doing this… if I can keep feeling like I’m waiting for something that will never come.”

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, and for the first time in a long while, you saw something break in his calm façade. “I never wanted you to wait. But I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t know….I didn’t know how to stop saving people.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw honesty, made your heart ache even more. You could see it now—his struggle, his conflict between the duty he felt as a sorcerer and the love he had for you. But that didn’t change the fact that you had spent so long feeling alone, abandoned in a relationship that demanded more from you than you could give.

“Why did you come tonight?” you asked, your voice shaky, desperate for answers. “Why didn’t you just leave me there?”

Nanami was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Because I couldn’t. No matter how much I tell myself it’s better for you if I stay away… I can’t stop caring about you. Nor could I just….Nor could I just leave you like that. You don’t need to be alone, not like this.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. It was the truth you had always known, deep down—that he loved you, that he cared. But caring wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between the life he led and the one you needed. And that was the most painful part.

“I don’t know how to stop loving you.” you admitted, tears streaming down your face now, unrestrained. “But I also don’t know how to keep living like this. I don’t want to keep living like this.”

Nanami looked at you then, his expression conflicted, torn between his duty and the love he had for you. “I wish I could give you more. I wish I could be what you need.”

His honesty only made the hurt deeper, and you choked back a sob, turning your face away from him. “I wish that too, Kento. But wishing doesn’t make it real.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything, the silence heavy and suffocating. Nanami stood, his movements slow, deliberate. He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle.

“If you ever need me.” he said quietly, his back to you, “I’ll be there. Always. No matter what. I…I’m telling you the truth.”

His voice was low, a smooth, steady rumble that sent shivers down your spine. The way his fingers touched your skin, soft yet firm, made your breath catch in your throat. You hated how even now, after everything, he still had this effect on you. Your body, your heart—they responded to him instinctively, as if drawn to him by some invisible force you couldn’t control.

Your eyes met his, those deep, unwavering eyes that had always been so hard to read. Dark, focused, filled with an intensity that both excited and terrified you. He tilted his head slightly, waiting for your answer, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip. The heat between you was palpable, electric, pulling you closer despite the distance you had tried so hard to create between your lives.

But it wasn’t just lust. It was the ache of wanting something you knew you could never fully have.

“I—” You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper as you fought to find the words. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

It was the truth. You were caught between desire and heartbreak, between the pull of your body and the ache in your chest.

Nanami’s gaze softened slightly, though his hand remained firm against your chin. “You can always tell me. Even if you don’t know, I’m here to listen.”

His lips were inches from yours now, and your body reacted before your mind could catch up. Your breath hitched, and you felt the throbbing in your core intensify, the need rising within you. But it wasn’t just physical—it was the need to feel close to him again, to bridge the distance between you, if only for a moment.

His thumb grazed your lip again, this time slower, more deliberate. “Tell me what you need.” he whispered, his voice like silk, coaxing you to let go of everything you were holding back.

Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes fluttered shut for just a second, your resolve slipping away. You wanted him—needed him—but the weight of everything between you still clung to the edges of your mind.

“I want…” you began, your voice trembling as you opened your eyes to meet him once more. “I want you. But I don't want you.”

There it was. The painful truth, laid bare between you.

Nanami’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or maybe understanding. He leaned in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I know.” he said softly. “And I’m sorry.”

But even as he apologized, his hand slid down from your chin to the curve of your neck, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path that sent waves of heat coursing through your body. You inhaled sharply, your resolve crumbling further with every second that passed.

He always knew how to touch you, how to make you forget the pain, the doubts, the distance. It was intoxicating, the way he could pull you in without even trying, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but lean into it. Into him.

His lips hovered over yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, but he didn’t close the gap. He never did—he always waited for you to make the choice, to cross that line. He gave you control, even when it felt like you had none.

“What do you want?” he asked again, his voice barely more than a breath as his hand settled at the base of your neck, fingers brushing the sensitive skin there.

You could feel the tension coiling in your body, the way your heart raced, the way every nerve seemed to be on fire. You wanted to push him away, to tell him that this wasn’t right, that you couldn’t keep doing this. But the pull of him was too strong, and your body betrayed you.

“I want…...” The words caught in your throat, your breath shaky, your lips barely an inch from his. “I want you to make me forget.”

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the pain, not the past, not the uncertainty of what the future held. All that mattered was the feel of his hand on your skin, the way his eyes never left yours, the way his presence grounded you and made you feel alive all at once.

Nanami’s lips finally brushed against yours, a soft, tentative kiss that sent a shock of electricity through your body. You responded instinctively, pressing into him, the taste of him familiar and yet still enough to set your senses ablaze.

His other hand slid down your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second of it. You moaned softly into his mouth, your body melting against him, your mind blissfully empty of everything except him.

For just this moment, you let yourself forget. Forget the hurt, the separation, the longing that had been eating at you for months. Right now, all that existed was the heat between you, the way his hands moved over your body, the way his lips claimed yours with a tenderness that both healed and hurt.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself fall into the moment, into him, knowing that tomorrow would bring all the same questions and heartache. But for tonight, you let yourself be with him, no matter how fleeting it might be.

The kiss lingered, both tender and desperate, a blend of longing and unresolved emotions that seemed to pulse between you. Nanami’s hands roamed your body with a careful intensity, as if he were trying to memorize every curve, every shiver that ran through you. His touch was both familiar and achingly new, a reminder of what you once had and what you had been missing.

You clung to him, your hands tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer as if you could erase the months of separation with just this physical connection. Every touch, every caress felt like a balm to the wound that had been left open for so long.

But even as the moment enveloped you, reality kept its sharp edge. Every kiss, every touch was a reminder of the distance that had come between you, the reasons you’d tried so hard to move on. The passion that ignited between you was a bitter-sweet symphony, playing a melody of both desire and regret.

Nanami broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against yours. He looked into your eyes with a mixture of yearning and sadness, the weight of everything unsaid pressing heavily between you.

“I’m so sorry.” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “For everything.”

You could only nod, your throat tight, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. “I know.” you managed to say, your voice trembling. “I know.”

He cupped your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had silently fallen. “You mean everything to me, you know?” he said softly, his gaze unwavering. “But I know I can’t just come back and expect everything to be okay.”

You nodded again, tears blurring your vision as you tried to process the complexity of the moment. The feelings between you were still raw, unhealed, and the reality of your situation pressed down hard on both of you. You wanted to hold onto him, to keep him close, but the pain of the past and the uncertainty of the future loomed large.

Kento's massivehands slowly slid from your face to your shoulders, his touch grounding and reassuring. “We can’t go back to how we were.” he said softly, a note of resignation in his voice. “I can’t promise you that everything will be perfect.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to find your voice amidst the whirlwind of emotions. “I don’t expect perfection,” you said, your voice cracking. “I just… I just want to know that you still care, that there’s still something left between us.”

He looked at you with a deep sadness in his eyes, as if he were trying to convey all the things he couldn’t put into words. “I care,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “More than you know. But we both need to heal, to figure out what’s next. I can’t keep coming and going, leaving you with more pain.”

You swallowed hard, trying to reconcile his words with the longing you still felt. “What happens now?” you asked softly, feeling the weight of the question hanging in the air.

Nanami sighed, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “I don’t know.” he admitted.

“Me neither.” You whisper to him as your eyes echoed to him and narrowed. “But I want you to love me. Tonight. Right now.”

“But—”

You kissed him, hungry and passionate. You pull at his jaw, wanting him closer than ever before. You want him near. You want him enveloping you. As though an embrace that would lock you away in his warmth for the rest of your lives. It was as though the fire of young love reawakened after a long hibernation. And you want more than anything this spring, this warmth of spring. His love.

Kento hesitates for a moment, his gaze heavy with concern and desire, before he finally whispers, "Are you sure?"

You nod, breathless, your hands trembling as you reach for him. "I'm sure, Kento. I want you… I've always wanted you."

His resolve falters, and he leans forward, capturing your lips again with a fervor that sends a jolt of electricity through your body. His hands slide over your back, pulling you closer, and you feel the heat of his body pressing against you. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing your lips, coaxing you open to taste him, to feel him.

When he finally breaks the kiss, you're both panting, your breaths mingling in the confined space of the car. There's a moment where neither of you speaks, just staring at each other, the weight of your shared desire hanging in the air.

Kento's hand moves between your legs, his fingers grazing over the fabric of your clothes, and you shiver at the contact. He’s gentle at first, almost hesitant, but when he sees the way your body responds, a low growl escapes his throat. He’s lost in the moment, his mouth descending to taste you, his tongue working deftly to unravel every ounce of pleasure he can from you.

You gasp, your back arching against the seat as his tongue dances over your most sensitive parts, his spit mixing with your own arousal. His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as he devours you like a man starved, each stroke and flick of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge.

When you finally break, a cry tearing from your throat, he doesn’t hesitate. He lifts you easily, pulling you onto his lap, his lips finding yours again in a messy, desperate kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, the tang of your desire mingling with his own.

He fumbles with his pants, freeing himself from the constraints, and you feel the heat of him, hard and ready, pressing against you. Your eyes meet, and for a moment, there’s a silent understanding — a shared want that transcends words.

With a quiet groan, he grips your hips, guiding you over him, his breath catching as he finally pushes inside. You both gasp, a moan escaping your lips as he fills you completely, your bodies moving in a rhythm that feels as natural as breathing. He clings to you, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate, and you cling back just as fiercely, not wanting this moment to end.

“I won't stop anymore." he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear, and you know he means it — neither of you want to stop.

Kento’s words hang heavy in the air, igniting something primal within you. You shift your hips, pressing down harder, taking him deeper, and a guttural sound escapes his lips, his hands digging into your waist as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

He starts moving, thrusting up into you with a roughness that takes your breath away. You hold onto his shoulders for balance, your nails digging into his skin, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure through your body.

You couldn't help but groan over and over with every sensual movement, the windows fogging up as the air grows thick with your mingled breaths and moans.

Kento’s mouth is everywhere — on your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. His lips are hot, leaving trails of fire across your skin. He sucks and nips, marking you as his.

And it makes you gasp, makes you arch closer, needing more, craving everything he can give you. Your body moves on instinct, rolling your hips against him, each motion driving him deeper until you feel like you can’t take it anymore.

“More, more….Oh—” you whisper, a plea escaping your lips. He groans in response, tightening his grip on you, his hips slamming into yours with a desperate rhythm.

He shifts, one hand sliding down between your bodies, his fingers finding your sensitive nub. He circles it, presses down, and you cry out, your body clenching around him as the sensations intensify, as every nerve feels like it's on fire.

The sound of skin against skin fills the car, mingling with the soft creak of leather and the panting breaths escaping both of you.

Kento’s pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more urgent. “God, you feel so good.” he murmurs, his voice ragged, almost broken.

He leans in, his forehead pressing against yours, his eyes searching yours for something — maybe reassurance, maybe something deeper.

"Tell me you want this." he breathes, his thumb circling faster.

“I want it,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “I want you, Kento… don't stop, please…”

That seems to be all he needs. He growls low in his throat, his grip tightening as he thrusts into you with renewed fervor, each movement harder, deeper, pushing you both to the edge of oblivion. Your hands clutch his hair, pulling him closer as you feel the coil tightening in your belly, threatening to snap.

He shifts again, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you, and you scream, the sound raw and needy, your body trembling. You can feel the heat pooling, feel the tension building to an unbearable point.

He leans back slightly, watching you with hooded eyes, and the sight of him — pupils blown wide, lips parted, sweat slicking his skin — sends a new wave of desire crashing through you.

“Come for me, baby.” he commands, his voice a gravelly whisper. “Let me feel you.”

The words push you over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you shatter, pleasure ripping through you like a tidal wave. Kento groans, feeling you clench around him, and he thrusts a few more times before he’s there too, his own release surging through him with a low, guttural sound.

You collapse against him, both of you panting, bodies trembling and slick with sweat. For a moment, you just stay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, feeling the aftershocks of what you’ve just shared. He strokes your back gently, his breath still uneven, his heart pounding against yours.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice filled with concern, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You smile, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. "More than okay, baby." you whisper, leaning in to kiss him again, tasting the salt of your shared exertion on his lips. "I don't want this to end.”

“I missed you.” He whispered lowly as he pressed a kiss on your palm. “More than you ever could know.”

You smiled at him. “Me too, my love.”

“I want to come home….and make things right.” Your husband tells you, his eyes tortured by desperation. “I want to make it up to you.”

“I know.” You nodded at him, leaning forward and kissing his chin. “Just come home. We’ll figure it out….like we always do.”

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its-avalon-08 · 1 year ago

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what are we even fighting for? (cs55)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, fluffy ending

The air in the flat hung heavy, thick with the unspoken words of a fight that had fizzled out hours ago. Y/N sat on the couch, meticulously folding laundry, each crease a testament to the storm raging inside her. Carlos emerged from the bedroom, a shadow of his usual energetic self.

"Going for a run?" Y/N asked, her voice clipped. It wasn't a question, more a confirmation of the escape route he usually took during their arguments.

"Yeah," Carlos mumbled, avoiding eye contact. He grabbed his trainers, the familiar routine a stark contrast to the turmoil within.

"Great," Y/N said, the single word dripping with sarcasm. Carlos flinched, his shoulders slumping further. He paused at the doorway, finally looking at her.

"Y/N, do we really have to do this?"

"Do what?" she challenged, her gaze hardening.

"This," he said, gesturing vaguely between them. "The constant fighting, the silence."

"Maybe if you hadn't—" Y/N started, but Carlos cut her off.

"Here we go again," he sighed. "It's always my fault, isn't it?"

"No, it's not," Y/N snapped, her voice cracking with unshed tears. "It's just... everything feels so different lately."

They were at an impasse. Every conversation, every attempt to bridge the gap, ended in a fresh volley of accusations and hurt. The silence, once comfortable, now screamed with unspoken resentments.

Carlos ran. He pounded the pavement, his frustration mingling with the rhythmic thud of his feet. When he returned, showered, and hesitantly entered the living room, Y/N was gone. He found her in the bedroom, surrounded by open suitcases.

"What are you doing?" he asked, dread pooling in his stomach.

"Packing," she said, her voice flat. "Maybe a change of scenery will do us both some good."

Carlos's heart hammered against his ribs. "A change? Or a break?"

Y/N stopped folding, her shoulders slumping. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over like a dam finally breached.

"I don't know, Carlos," she choked out. "Maybe... maybe this whole thing was a mistake."

The words landed like a physical blow. Carlos stared at her, the color draining from his face. A mistake? All the laughter, the late-night talks, the shared dreams - were they all meaningless to her?

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The fight had drained him, leaving him numb and speechless. With a defeated sigh, he turned and walked out, the click of the guest room door echoing the hollowness in his chest.

The roar of the engines at the Monaco Grand Prix was a dull thrum in Y/N's ears. She stood stiffly at the pit wall, a knot of dread tightening in her stomach. It was race weekend, a time that usually buzzed with shared adrenaline and nervous excitement. Now, the atmosphere felt sterile, devoid of their usual pre-race ritual.

Carlos emerged from the garage, his helmet tucked under his arm. He scanned the crowd, his gaze finally landing on her. Their eyes locked, and for a horrifying moment, Y/N thought he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't come to her. A fresh wave of tears welled up, blurring her vision.

"Y/N," his voice was a croak, barely audible over the din. He hesitated, then began walking towards the starting grid, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Tears spilled over, tracing hot tracks on her cheeks. It was over. All the fights, the resentful silences, had finally driven them apart. A strangled sob escaped her lips.

Just then, the commentator's voice boomed over the loudspeaker, snapping her attention back to the track. "And Sainz is rushing into the paddock! What is he doing?!?"

Y/N's head whipped towards the pit lane, heart pounding in her chest. Through a haze of tears, she saw Carlos sprint past the mechanics, his face etched with determination. He tore through the crowd, his eyes fixed on her.

He skidded to a halt in front of her, his chest heaving. Before she could react, he cupped her face in his calloused hands and pulled her into a desperate kiss. The roar of the crowd faded into the background, replaced by the frantic drumming of their hearts.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Carlos looked at her, his eyes raw with emotion. "Y/N, I messed up," he rasped. "That was never supposed to happen. This… this whole thing, us… it can't end like this."

"Carlos," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "Can we fix it?"

He held her gaze, his voice firm. "I promise. We'll fix it. Whatever it takes." He squeezed her hand, the familiar spark of warmth a lifeline thrown across the chasm that had grown between them. "Now, I have a qualifying to win."

Y/N wiped her tears, a flicker of hope rekindled in her eyes. "Go get 'em, champ," she said, her voice hoarse but determined. "And remember, we're in this together."

Carlos offered a shaky smile, the ghost of his old grin. With one last, lingering kiss, he turned and sprinted back towards the grid, leaving Y/N with a renewed sense of possibility. The roar of the engines no longer sounded like a dirge, but a challenge, a call to face their problems head-on, just like they faced every race.

The qualifying session concluded with Carlos securing a decent starting position. Relief, however, battled with anxiety as he rushed back to the drivers' room. Y/N stood by the window, her back to him. He took a deep breath, the image of her tearful eyes fueling his determination.

"Y/N," he called out gently, his voice raspy.

She spun around, her face etched with a mixture of worry and hope. As their eyes met, the dam broke. Tears welled up anew, spilling down her cheeks. Carlos hurried towards her, his arms outstretched.

"Carlos," she choked out, rushing into his embrace. They clung to each other, the roar of the track a distant echo compared to the storm of emotions within them. Tears soaked their shirts, silent apologies mingling with the salty sting.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. "We haven't been communicating, and I shouldn't have said what I did back in the flat."

Carlos held her tighter, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Me too, cariño," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I've been so focused on the championship that I forgot what truly matters. You matter, Y/N. We need to talk, to listen to each other."

He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands. Their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them.

"We can fix this," he murmured, his thumb brushing away a tear. "We just need to try."

Y/N nodded, a small smile trembling on her lips. "I know. I just… I got scared, Carlos. Scared of losing you."

He leaned in, placing a tender kiss on her forehead. "You won't lose me," he promised, his voice firm. "Not if you don't want to."

His lips grazed hers, a question lingering in the air. Y/N met him halfway, the kiss a rekindled flame, burning away the hurt and doubt. It was a kiss filled with a newfound appreciation for each other, a promise to rebuild their trust and communication.

Pulling back, foreheads resting against each other, a comfortable silence settled between them. The weight of unspoken words had lifted, replaced by a fragile hope for the future. They knew the road wouldn't be easy, but with each other, they were ready to face whatever came their way. The roar of the engines seemed less daunting now, replaced by the steady beat of two hearts determined to race together.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 26 days ago

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Writing Characters with a "Victim Mentality"

Victim Mentality - a type of mindset in which an individual believes they are a constant target of misfortune and have no control over their situation.

Individuals who adopt a victim mentality typically experienced a traumatic event that lowered their self-confidence.

Rather than coping with failure in a healthy and productive way, individuals with a victim mentality resort to chronic pessimism and defensive patterns of behavior.

By fostering self-pity and minimizing positive events, individuals with a victim mentality struggle to accept productive feedback and fail to adopt a growth mindset.

Signs of Victim Mentality

The main sign of victim mentality is a failure to assume personal responsibility.

Individuals who have a victim mentality have a hard time accepting accountability for their own actions in a situation.

Common behaviors associated with victim mentality include:

making excuses,

blaming others for misfortunes,

resenting other people’s accomplishments, and

believing nothing will change.

Catastrophizing bad things and refusing to develop solutions are also signs of victim mentality behavior.

Thought patterns associated with the victim complex cause individuals to view situations from an exaggerated and unrealistic standpoint.

Causes of Victim Mentality

Victim mentality is a learned behavior and personality trait that usually starts during childhood. Below are common causes of victim mentality:

Avoidance: Victim mentality is an emotional barrier that prevents individuals from displaying vulnerability. Individuals who fear and avoid vulnerability use the victim mentality as a way to distance themselves from their relationships and personal goals.

Betrayal: Repeated breaks in trust reduce an individual’s security and confidence in their relationships. Some people adopt a victim mentality after experiencing numerous forms of betrayal.

Manipulative tendencies: Individuals who seek constant validation from others employ their victim role for attention. Manipulative behavior and entitlement cause this form of victim mentality, as individuals use their sense of powerlessness to gain control over their loved ones.

Past trauma: Learned helplessness can develop from traumatic experiences that cause extreme feelings of helplessness. In some situations of abuse, adopting a victim mindset is a coping mechanism for handling physical or emotional pain.

Impact of Victim Mentality

Victimhood has a negative impact on your mental health and overall well-being.

Negative thinking can result in low self-esteem and self-sabotage behavior.

Allowing these thought patterns to persist can also make you feel frustrated, depressed, and isolated from friends and family members.

Addressing Victim Mentality

When addressing someone with a victim mentality, avoid using labels to describe their situation.

Remain open and calm as you support and guide them through finding help.

While you should validate their feelings, avoid outwardly agreeing with them.

The goal is to eventually reach a point where they feel comfortable taking actions that resolve their negative thinking and assume responsibility for their own life.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#requested #writing notes #character development #writeblr #literature #writing inspiration #character building #writing ideas #writers on tumblr #writing reference #spilled ink #dark academia #writing prompt #creative writing #light academia #writing resources

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verstappensrealwife · 1 year ago

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"Because he likes you!" - Lando Norris x Reader

[lando norris masterlist / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... lando bullies the reader, "because he likes her,". ʚɞ fluff, angst, smut. ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 2800 words ʚɞ warnings: slow burn, sex, tiny hint of carlos sainz jr x reader, sex. Reader “rewarding” Lando for winning!

-୨♡୧-

From the earliest memories of childhood, Lando Norris was a constant presence—a thorn in your side, a tormentor, a source of frustration. He revelled in teasing, in taunting, in making your life just a little bit harder. Your parents' dismissive explanation, "It's because he likes you," grated against your nerves, a feeble attempt to rationalize the torment. You did not like Lando Norris. Not at all. Not even the littlest bit. Not at all.

But hate was a strong word.

In your teenage years, Lando's torment took on a different form. The physical assaults of hair pulling and tripping you onto your face may have ceased, but the verbal jabs and the mocking laughter persisted, carving deeper wounds into your already fragile heart. It was as if he revelled in your discomfort, delighting in every opportunity to belittle and humiliate you, all under the guise of adolescent affection—a twisted notion that your parents foolishly labelled as "liking you."

Your family received the coveted invitation to his Formula One debut in Australia—an event that filled you with a conflicting mix of emotions. The pits pulsed with an electric energy, a cacophony of roaring engines and frenetic activity, cameras capturing every moment of the spectacle.

AUSTRALIA, 2019 With the guest pass draped around your neck, you navigated the bustling pits, your younger brother trailing behind you, wide-eyed with excitement. His adoration for Lando bordered on obsession, his youthful enthusiasm a stark contrast to the simmering resentment that burned within you.

Blehh!

You finally located the Orange garage, the vibrant hue catching your eye amidst the bustling chaos of the pits. With determination in your step, you made your way over, anticipation building with each stride. But as you reached out to tap the shoulder of the figure clad in orange- he was not the man you thought he was.

"Lando— Oh, hi, not Lando,"

The man before you exuded an undeniable charm, his smile lighting up his features and drawing you in despite yourself. There was an aura of confidence about him, a magnetic presence that commanded attention and left you momentarily breathless.

"Hello," he replied, his voice smooth and warm, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "I could be Lando for you," he flirted, his words tinged with playful intent.

"Would rather you not, he's not my type," you quipped.

But before you could dwell on the awkwardness of the moment, your younger brother, who had been tugging on your hand impatiently, finally spoke up, his excitement palpable. "HI CARLOS!"

Carlos.

"Hi, little man." He looked down- not even noticing the young boy when you approached. "Is he...?"

"Not mine! Brother." You cleared up.

He smiled softly before turning his attention back to entertaining the 5-year-old, leaving you to absorb Lando's sudden presence with a mixture of surprise and nonchalance.

"Didn't think my biggest hater would come," Lando remarked, his hand landing on your shoulder with a familiarity that made you bristle.

"I'm not here for you," you replied with a smile, gesturing towards Carlos who stood nearby, engrossed in conversation with your brother.

"Him? Why?" Lando's skepticism was palpable.

"Well, just look at him—those eyes, that accent, not to mention those muscles," you teased, unable to resist the opportunity to indulge in some light-hearted banter.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop you right there," Lando interjected, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. "He's not that hot," he insisted, though his tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

You chuckled in response. "Oh, believe me, he is," you insisted, your gaze lingering on Carlos as he interacted with your brother. "I would," you added casually, shrugging off Lando's incredulity.

"You would?" Lando's brow furrowed with genuine curiosity. "What would you do?"

Ignoring his question, you watched as your brother returned, proudly displaying Carlos' autograph adorning his shirt. "Bye, Carlos," you called out, offering a warm smile and a nearly imperceptible lip bite, to which Carlos responded in kind. Then, without sparing Lando another glance, you turned and walked away, leaving his unanswered question hanging in the air.

"WHAT WOULD YOU DO?!" his voice echoed after you, but you were already lost in the crowd, your thoughts drifting back to the captivating Spaniard you had just left behind.

After the race, as Lando jogged over to his and your families, the tension from the race began to dissipate, replaced by a mix of relief and begrudging acknowledgment. You couldn't deny his skill on the track, but that didn't mean you had to like him.

When he approached, surrounded by congratulations and well-wishes, you offered a lukewarm response, the bare minimum required to acknowledge his achievement. "Well, I mean I'm glad you didn't die?" you quipped, injecting just enough sarcasm to deflect any further attention.

Lando nodded in your direction, his own smile tempered by your evident lack of enthusiasm. You responded with a tight-lipped smile of your own, a silent reminder that while you might share the same space, any camaraderie between you remained strictly superficial.

SILVERSTONE, 2019

As Lando finished the race at Silverstone, notching an 11th place, you couldn't resist a playful jab at his performance. "Maybe one day you can get points!" you teased, your tone dripping with faux enthusiasm.

Lando's comeback was quick, his words laced with sarcasm, "Maybe one day you can stop being such a virgin." You burst into laughter, thoroughly amused by his attempt at banter, though he seemed puzzled by your reaction. His confusion only deepened when he followed your gaze to Carlos, who was nearby.

"Oh my god! Him?" Lando exclaimed, catching on to your playful insinuation.

Lando's playful challenge caught you off guard, his smirk daring you to match his boldness. "So if I DNF, you'll sleep with me?!" he quipped, his tone teasing but tinged with a hint of curiosity.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, suppressing a laugh at his audacity. "Pfft! You do that plenty! Win first maybe?" you retorted, firing back with equal parts sass and amusement. The banter between you continued, each remark a playful exchange that danced on the line between rivalry and camaraderie, reminding you both that despite any differences, there was still room for light-hearted teasing and mutual respect.

But you still didn't like him.

MIAMI, 2024

What a mistake! Because here you were, in the Miami heat, watching Lando beat Max by 5 seconds.

Honestly, you had forgotten that deal long ago.

Lando had not. He had thought about it at every close call of winning, every podium, every late night...

You were scared for him, you didn't like him- you just didn't want to see him fail... You don't like him...

When he passed the finish line he was shouting into his radio, thanking alot of people before you heard your own name.

"...and Y/N, I hope you remember Silverstone 2019!"

People looked at you for answers but you had none.

Until he got out the car, sweaty, tired, hot– warm! Because of the heat...You didn't think he was hot.

That was when you had the answer.

Gosh... Long day ahead.

As he practically flew out of the car, his eagerness palpable, he landed amidst a bustling crowd, his body unexpectedly colliding with yours. The force of the impact nearly sent you stumbling, but before you could fully register what had happened, his arms encircled you in a tight embrace. In that moment, amidst the chaos of the surroundings, there was a brief interlude of serenity as you found solace in his warmth.

But the tranquillity was short-lived. His whispered words shattered the fragile bubble of peace, leaving you reeling in disbelief. "Gonna fuck you so good tonight," he murmured, the unexpectedness of his crude remark contrasting sharply with the tender embrace moments before.

A mixture of emotions surged within you, a turbulent storm of confusion, disgust, and an unsettling flicker of attraction. It was a disorienting mixture, leaving you struggling to make sense of the conflicting feelings swirling within.

When he finally released you, his touch lingered, his hands reluctant to part from your waist. His gaze held yours for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange of unspoken words passing between you, before he abruptly moved on to greet the next person in the crowd. Left standing there, you couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that had settled over you like a heavy fog.

Hours later, as you walked briskly towards the hotel, he trailed behind you, his presence an unsettling reminder of the encounter earlier. Unsure whether to match your pace or maintain a discreet distance, he hovered awkwardly, his uncertainty palpable in the air between you.

"This feels creepy, Lando," you remarked, casting a sidelong glance at him. "Just catch up with me; you look like a stalker."

"It's not creepy!" he protested, his cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment. "We're heading to the same room... for the same... things."

You raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in your eyes. "Things," you echoed with a wry chuckle. "You can say sex, Lando."

His blush deepened, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Sex... with you. Wow."

"I... I thought the crush I had on you since I was, like, born, was pretty obvious," he confessed, his hand gently resting on the small of your back, a tentative gesture of intimacy.

The admission hung heavy in the air, an unspoken confession of long-held desires and hidden emotions. Caught off guard, you stumbled over your words, struggling to process the revelation.

You halted in your tracks, the weight of his words sinking in. "Huh."

"Yeah..." he murmured, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. "Well, Repunzel was right—mothers do know best."

A bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you resumed walking, his hand still lingering at your back. "It wasn't Repunzel; it was Mother Gothel," you corrected, a playful glint in your eyes. "And yeah—I'm a Repunzel fan, so what?"

His laughter echoed in the night air, a shared moment of levity amidst the weight of the conversation. "Shut up," he teased, gently nudging you as you walked side by side.

"Make me," you shot back, a playful challenge laced with a hint of something deeper—an unspoken invitation to explore the tangled emotions that lingered between you.

His laughter danced in the night air, a melody that seemed to weave around the unspoken tension between you. As his gaze met yours, there was a flicker of something more profound, a silent invitation lingering in the air.

A playful grin tugged at his lips as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Challenge accepted," he murmured, his voice low and husky with anticipation.

In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you suspended in a timeless embrace. His fingers traced a delicate path along your jawline, igniting a trail of sparks that seemed to dance beneath your skin.

With a gentle tug, he drew you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a tender caress. It was a delicate dance of longing and desire, a silent symphony of unspoken emotions finally finding their voice in the touch of his lips against yours.

As the kiss deepened, the world around you melted away, leaving only the sensation of his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer with each passing moment. In that fleeting instant, there was no room for doubt or hesitation, only the overwhelming rush of love and longing that seemed to bind your souls together as one.

And as you finally pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, there was a silent understanding that lingered between you— upstairs. Now.

The kiss continued unabated, an unrelenting torrent of passion that seemed to consume every ounce of your being. With each step towards his room, his touch ignited a fire within you, sending waves of desire coursing through your veins.

In the confined space of the elevator, his hands roamed freely, exploring every curve and contour of your body with an insatiable hunger. The air crackled with electricity as his touch lingered on the curve of your ass, his fingers tracing patterns of longing and desire against your skin.

The journey to his room was a blur of messy kisses and frantic touches, the urgency of his desire palpable in every brush of his lips against yours. His cock strained against the confines of his jeans, a silent plea for release that echoed the longing pulsing through your veins.

As he fumbled with the keycard, his impatience was palpable, his focus solely on the tantalizing promise of what awaited behind closed doors. The moment the door swung open, you were both consumed by a primal need that eclipsed all rational thought.

With a forceful push, you tumbled onto the bed, the weight of his body pressing against yours as the door slammed shut behind you. In that moment, there was no room for hesitation or restraint, only the raw intensity of two souls drawn together in a frenzied embrace.

–

"Was that Lando?" George asked, with popcorn and a bottle of water in his hands, looking over at Alex who held the same.

"What the fuck-"

–

His movements were urgent, desperate, as he sought to satisfy the burning desire that raged within him. He had barely been able to put the condom on with how shaky his hands were.

With each thrust of his hips, there was a raw intensity that bordered on reckless abandon, the rhythm erratic and frenzied. The sound of skin against skin filled the air, punctuated by the rhythm of your ragged breaths and the soft, breathy moans that escaped his lips.

His forehead was damp with sweat, pressed against yours with an almost possessive fervor. The heat of his breath mingled with yours, creating a heady cocktail of desire that hung thick in the air between you.

Every touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. His hands roamed your body with a fevered urgency, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he traced every curve and contour with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

In that moment, there was no room for restraint or inhibition, only the primal need to be one with you, to lose himself entirely in the depths of your passion. And as he surrendered to the intoxicating frenzy of desire, he found himself consumed by a blissful oblivion, lost in the heady rush of ecstasy that washed over him like a tidal wave.

You were a mess, a writhing wreck, unable to keep still as he pushed his entire cock into you. In and out, hitting the perfect spot every time. Each thrust earning another lewd moan from you. He was so proud he could make you feel so so good. But he couldn't keep going any longer after you came on his cock, the feeling making him so overwhelmed he couldn't keep it together as he came.

Not able to keep himself up anymore, he fell ontop of you.

"Ouch!" You giggle as he rolled off, beside you. You lay there, breathless and trembling, your body still pulsating with the aftershocks of pleasure as he collapsed beside you. His weight pressed against your side, a comforting presence amidst the disarray of tangled sheets and scattered clothing.

"So, how was that..." he ventured, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a hint of uncertainty.

You turned to him, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you met his gaze. "Surprisingly good," you admitted, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Surprising?!" he exclaimed, his brows furrowing in mock offense. "What, do I not seem like I'd be good?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his incredulous expression, reaching out to playfully tousle his hair. "Oh, you were good," you assured him, your voice laced with affection. "More than good, actually."

His lips curved into a satisfied smile, a sense of pride flickering in his eyes. "Well, I aim to please," he quipped, his tone light and playful. "Does this mean you'll go on a real date with me?"

"Maybe win again and we'll see!" You joked, making him playfully smack your leg. "Joking.. I suppose I can," You shrug.

"You won't regret it, I promise," he vowed, his tone earnest and sincere.

He led you to a charming café nestled in the heart of Miami a few days later, the bustling streets alive with the vibrant energy of the city. As you settled into a cozy corner booth, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the tantalizing scent of pastries, creating a welcoming ambiance that enveloped you in its warmth.

"So, you and Carlos..." he began, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he leaned in closer.

Your brow furrowed in confusion at the sudden topic of conversation. "What about him?" you questioned, the curiosity evident in your voice. "If it's about 2019, we didn't actually do anything," you clarified with a casual shrug. "Did go on a few dates though, but he met another girl he liked," you added, your tone nonchalant and unaffected.

The playful smirk on his lips faltered slightly, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "You didn't even— You didn't even sleep with him," he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief that drew the attention of a few nearby patrons.

Your smile remained unwavering as you shook your head. "Nope," you confirmed.

"I guess its because 'I liked you' or whatever..."

Okay so maybe you did like Lando Norris... Just a little- maybe a lot.

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goldfades · 1 year ago

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★ ALWAYS AN ANGEL, NEVER A GOD ─── CC²² (part 1/2)

❪ requested -> "Can you write something about cc and reader being enemies and hating eachother. but they are on two different teams so they play against eachother and something happens during one of their games and they take their hate out on eachother with smut?" ❫

─ warnings | lots of sexual tension (no smut, yet) slightly angst, reader is on LSU, singular kiss, trash talking, drinking, nothing else

─ ev's notes | okay so i'm not a super LSU fan, i just rly love hailey and angel so those are the only girls included in the fic LMAOOO, anyway. enjoy this heavy ass fic!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

You couldn't stand Caitlin Clark.

Now, you couldn't really remember when this dislike had began. Ever since you laid on eyes on taller brunette, you hated how cocky she was. It wasn't just her cockiness that rubbed you the wrong way; it was the way she seemed to effortlessly outshine everyone around her, both on and off the court.

You watched as she dominated every game, her skills unparalleled, her talent undeniable. It felt like she was born to be a star, while you struggled to keep up. And while her talent was undeniable, it was her attitude that really got under your skin. She seemed to revel in her superiority, never missing an opportunity to remind everyone just how good she was.

But perhaps what bothered you most was the fact that despite your best efforts, you couldn't seem to escape her shadow. No matter how hard you worked, no matter how much you improved, you were always just one step behind her. It was frustrating, infuriating even, to constantly be compared to someone who seemed so effortlessly perfect.

Well ─ at least, in your eyes. You were still one of the best players in the entire nation, however you were always second best to Princess Caitlin Clark. You'd been the second best prospect in your year, trailing behind her like a persistent shadow. And it wasn't just the comparisons that irked you; it was the constant reminder of your perceived inadequacy, the feeling of always being in her shadow.

You couldn't shake the resentment that bubbled within you every time Caitlin strutted onto the court, her aura of invincibility following her like a shadow. She thrived on the attention, basking in the adoration of fans and teammates alike. Meanwhile, you fought tooth and nail for every scrap of recognition, every ounce of respect that always seemed just out of reach.

That was, until the 2023 NCAA championship.

LSU versus Iowa ─ the most anticipated game of the season, who will take the W? It was the showdown everyone had been waiting for, the clash of titans to determine who would claim the coveted crown of college basketball supremacy.

And at the center of it all were you and Caitlin, two fierce competitors locked in a battle for glory.

You had chugged your redbull and strutted out on the court like you owned it, your eyes landing on the taller brunette who's eyes were already on you. In that moment, you knew that this game would be about more than just basketball; it would be a battle of wills, a clash of titans vying for supremacy. The tension in the air was palpable, so thick you could almost reach out and touch it.

The media frenzy surrounding the game only added to the pressure, with reporters clamoring for every tidbit of insight from both you and Caitlin. It was the clash of the season, the matchup everyone had been waiting for, and neither of you were about to disappoint.

Everyone felt the tension, the energy crackling in the air like electricity. The media never missed a chance to ask you or Caitlin about it, hyping up the matchup as the game. And as you stood there, facing off against Caitlin across the court, you knew that this was your chance to finally prove yourself, to silence the doubters and cement your legacy once and for all.

"Don't worry, Y/N," Hailey's voice echoed from behind you, you felt her hand your shoulder. "You'll end up winning this. You've trained too hard for anything else."

You nodded, taking in a deep breath to steady your nerves. Even your teammates knew the deep-rooted history with the brunette. It wasn't just about LSU versus Iowa; it was about L/N versus Clark, a battle for supremacy that had captured the attention of fans and media alike.

As the referee signaled the start of the game, you focused all your attention on the task at hand. Caitlin stood across from you, a worthy adversary with a reputation to match. But you were ready, mentally and physically prepared to give it everything you had.

You were tasked to guard her and you weren't planning on letting her get an inch of space. Every move she made, every dribble, every feint, you were right there, anticipating her next move with razor-sharp focus. You could feel the intensity of her gaze, the determination in her eyes as she tried to outmaneuver you.

With each passing minute, you could see the frustration building in Caitlin's dark eyes, the realization dawning that you had expanded your skill set since the last time you'd met. And as the game wore on, you refused to let up, hounding her relentlessly from one end of the court to the other.

Then suddenly with 4 seconds on the clock before halftime, you saw your chance to prove your superiority. With speed, you intercepted one of Caitlin's passes, turning defense into offense in the blink of an eye. With a burst of speed, you drove towards the basket, leaving Caitlin in your wake as you soared through the air for an emphatic dunk.

In that moment, you knew that you had won more than just a single play ─ you had won a psychological battle, proving to Caitlin and everyone watching that you were more than just her equal.

Your teammates surrounded you but the cheers into background as Caitlin gazed at you, her usual determination into pure rage. But instead of feeling intimidated, a sense of satisfaction washed over you, a knowing smile playing at your lips.

You had waited for this moment, trained for it, dreamed about it. And now, as you looked into Caitlin's eyes, you could see the realization dawning on her ─ that you were not just her rival, but her equal, maybe even her superior. She wasn't unguardable, you'd just proven everyone wrong and Caitlin herself was forced to acknowledge it.

"The fuck are you smiling for?" Her words came out harsh as she walked toward you, letting her frustration get the best of her. You met her gaze head-on, unflinching despite the intensity of her glare ─ you felt your smile grow as laughter built up in your stomach, looking up at the brunette.

You couldn't resist a smirk at Caitlin's question, relishing the opportunity to get under her skin just a little more. "Because I just showed the world what real talent looks like," you shot back, your tone dripping with amusement. "Looks like being second best suits you, Caitlin."

Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, it seemed like she might lash out until her teammate put her hand on her shoulder. "Yeah, well, don't get too cocky," she muttered, her voice tinged with anger. "This isn't over, Y/N. I'll be back, and next time, I won't go easy on you."

You shrugged, undeterred by her threat. "Bring it on, Princess," you challenged, your smirk widening into a full-blown grin. "I'll be waiting ─ and smiling ─ for round two."

"Princess? You've gotta be kidding, who do the fuck do you think─" Caitlin cut herself off with a bitter laugh, shaking her head. She ignored your quip as she walked away, making sure to hit your shoulder as she walked away.

Before you could relish in the moment any longer, you felt Angel's hands on your shoulders as you met her gaze. You squealed in excitement as you both walked off the court toward your team.

The game continued after halftime, each possession a testament to your skill and determination. But no matter how hard Caitlin fought, she couldn't shake the knowledge that you had bested her, not just physically, but mentally as well.

And when the final buzzer sounded, signaling your LSU's victory, you knew that you had achieved more than just a win. You had proven yourself on the biggest stage, against the toughest competition, and emerged victorious.

As you celebrated with your teammates, the realization sunk in that this victory wasn't just about winning a game; it was about overcoming years of doubt and frustration, about proving to yourself and the world that you were capable of achieving greatness.

──

"Caitlin, tough loss out there tonight. How are you feeling after such a close game?" A reporter asked, their voice sympathetic.

Caitlin took a moment to collect her thoughts, her mind still buzzing with the intensity of the game. "Yeah, it's definitely disappointing to come up short like that," she replied, her voice tinged with frustration. "We gave it our all out there, but sometimes things just don't go your way."

But it was the next question that made Caitlin's stomach twist with unease. "Your matchup with Y/N was one of the most anticipated of the season. What was it like going head-to-head with her?"

She hesitated, knowing that whatever she said next would be scrutinized. "Y/N is a talented player, no doubt about it. I've known her for a while, we've played on the same team at some point," Caitlin answered carefully, her words measured. "She brought her A-game tonight, and it made for a tough battle on the court."

The tension in the room seemed to ratchet up a notch as another reporter pressed on. "There seemed to be some tension between you two out there. Can you speak to that?"

Caitlin's jaw tensed momentarily before she forced herself to relax. "Y/N and I have a history, for sure," she replied, her tone diplomatic. "But at the end of the day, it's just competition. We both want to win, and sometimes that can lead to some heated moments on the court. I don't hate her," she paused as she sighed. "She's a good player, props to her. She proved I'm not unguardable,"

Caitlin forced a smile as the reporters laughed, nodding. But it was the final question that caught Caitlin off guard, prompting a genuine, knowing smile to tug at the corners of her lips. "Do you think this game marks the end of your rivalry with Y/N?"

She paused, considering her response carefully. "No, ma'am. It's far from over, I haven't been beat yet,"

The reporters laughed again but she was dead serious. She couldn't wait until next year, she knew LSU would make it to the finals ─ and she'd finally prove to you once and for all, she is number one.

──

"It felt more like sexual tension to me, that's just me though," Hailey spoke up as she swirled her straw in her drink.

Hailey's remark caught you off guard, and you shot her a sharp glare, a mixture of surprise and annoyance flickering in your eyes. But before you could respond, she quickly held her hands up in defense, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger," she quipped, her tone light despite the tension in the air. "I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking. You should look at twitter. Actually, not right now ─ you're not gonna like it,"

"What do you mean?" You sent the blonde another look as she gave you a thin-lipped smile, shrugging.

Hailey gave you a thin-lipped smile, shrugging nonchalantly. "Just saying, you might want to avoid social media for a little while,"

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Why? What's going on?" you pressed, your patience wearing thin.

But before Hailey could respond, Angel interrupted, clapping you on the back and dragging you into a group huddle to celebrate the victory. As the cheers and laughter filled the air, you couldn't shake the feeling of annoyance that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

"Wait, wait, I have my film camera upstairs!" You shouted as the team let out a chorus of groans.

"Go get it!"

You grabbed your purse and ran up to the elevator. As you rode the elevator up to your room, your mind raced with thoughts of the game, the victory, and the impending celebration. You were texting your parents, not looking where you were going until you someone stopped you in your tracks, putting their hands on your shoulders.

You looked up to meet Caitlin's dark eyes, your excitement turning into annoyance. Her gaze was intense, and you could feel the weight of her stare boring into you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension thick between you like a tangible force.

"Watch where you're going, you almost bumped into me," her voice was hoarse as your lips turned to a frown.

"Well I didn't," your eyes flickered to her hands, who were still lingering on your shoulders. You caught her gaze as she cleared her throat before slowly withdrawing them.

Neither of you moved, daring the other to break the tense silence that hung heavy in the air. The weight of Caitlin's stare bore into you, her dark eyes searching for something you couldn't quite name. Your own gaze remained locked with hers, a silent challenge passing between you.

"I don't get why you're being a bitch," her words came out soft but there was an edge to them. She didn't look like her usual self, she didn't give off the same energy she did on the court.

"What do you mean?" You scoffed, shaking your head. "It isn't about you, Caitlin. It's about winning and being a bitch is kinda part of the package,"

"No, I don't mean tonight. You always act like I'm the worst person alive, even when we played together. On the court, we were fine and then you didn't wanna talk to me after," Caitlin said, her voice tinged with frustration.

"Yeah, cause not everyone wants to be friends with you, Caitlin," you shot back as her hurt turned into annoyance.

"Yeah but we played well together, and if you'd committed to Iowa, like you said you would we would have been unstoppable," Caitlin's voice grew louder as she furrowed her eyebrows.

You scoffed. "Then I would've committed to a four years of being second to you, like I did All Iowa Attack. Plus I would have if you'd gone to UConn, like you said you would,"

"God, what is your obsession and being second to me!" Her frustration finally boiled over, her voice rising in anger as she locked eyes with you. "You're not even second to me. We're just good at different things and I get a little more recognition than you. Jesus Christ, you're so self-obsessed, not everything is about you."

"No, Caitlin, it's not about being self-obsessed," you shot back, your voice rising to match her intensity. "It's about feeling like I'm always playing second to you, no matter how hard I try."

Caitlin's eyes flashed with frustration, her jaw set in a stubborn line. "And what, you think I enjoy always being the one in the spotlight?" she retorted, her voice tinged with bitterness. "It's not as fun as you think, Y/N. All that recognition comes with its own set of pressures and expectations."

You scoffed, the anger bubbling up inside you. "Oh, cry me a river, Caitlin," you spat, the resentment clear in your tone. "At least you get the recognition. At least people know who you are."

"People know who you are too!" Caitlin's nostrils flared as she took a step closer, her gaze piercing into yours. You didn't even know how close she was until you could feel her body warmth radiating off of her as she looked down at you.

"Yeah, as the sidekick," you shot back, refusing to back down despite the proximity. "Always in your shadow, always second best."

Caitlin's jaw clenched, her frustration palpable as she fought to maintain her composure. "You think I don't know what it's like to feel overshadowed?" she snapped, her voice strained with emotion. "You think I don't feel the pressure to live up to everyone's expectations?"

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. "Please, Caitlin," you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "You love the attention. You thrive on it."

Caitlin's gaze bore into yours, her eyes dark with intensity as she took a step closer, the space between you narrowing until there was barely a breath of air separating you. You could feel the heat radiating off her body, her proximity sending a shiver down your spine.

"Is that what you think?" she murmured, her voice low and husky, a hint of something unfamiliar dancing in her eyes. "That I love the attention?"

You swallowed hard, the heat of her gaze searing into your skin, igniting something unfamiliar within you. "Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't like this new attitude, Y/N. I liked it better when used to you shut up and and take the heat," Caitlin interjected, her voice laced with a mix of frustration and something else you couldn't quite place.

Your breath caught in your throat, the intensity of Caitlin's words sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins. There was something different about her now, something raw that left you both exhilarated and irritated.

"I'm not the one who can't handle a little competition," you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you met Caitlin's gaze head-on.

Caitlin's jaw clenched, her eyes flashing with anger as she took another step closer, the heat of her body enveloping you in a cloud of desire. "And I'm not the one who needs to prove myself at every turn," she shot back, her voice low and dangerous.

"You're a bitch," you felt breathless as her gaze bore into yours.

"Yeah? Am I?" Her lips quirked into a smirk as she took in your appearance. You were always pretty, everyone knew it ─ people underestimated you, she sure had until tonight.

She wasn't dumb ─ she saw the way you looked at her and underneath all that hatred, she knew that you just wanted a little attention from her. Even after she'd committed to Iowa and you'd committed to LSU, Caitlin could see the way your gaze lingered on her more than it should have.

You felt a rush of heat rise to your cheeks at the intensity of her gaze, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. Despite the anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface, there was something undeniably exhilarating about the way Caitlin looked at you, as if she could see right through to your soul.

"Damn right you are," you shot back, your voice tinged with defiance as you met her gaze head-on.

Caitlin's smirk widened, a glint of something dangerous flickering in her eyes as she closed the distance between you, her body inches away from yours.

"And you love it," she murmured, her voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, Caitlin's lips crashed against yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless, the heat of her touch igniting a fire deep within you.

She pressed her lips against yours harshly and the two of you momentarily decided to forget how you two were in the hotel hallway, where anyone could step out and see this scene unfolding.

"Oh fuck," you moaned into the kiss as she pressed closer, your words muffled against her lips.

But Caitlin didn't seem to care about the risk of being caught, her hands roaming freely over your body as she deepened the kiss, her touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you both.

You melted into her embrace, your mind clouded with desire as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment. For a fleeting instant, nothing else mattered ─ not the rivalry, not the consequences, nothing but the intoxicating passion that pulsed between you and Caitlin.

Caitlin pulled away harshly, a desperate whimper coming out of your lips as she glared down at you. She licked her lips as she let go of you, your face contorting into annoyance. Was she teasing you?

"What the hell, Cait?" you demanded, your voice laced with a mixture of irritation and longing. "Why'd you stop?"

Caitlin's gaze bore into yours, intense and unreadable, as she licked her lips with a slow, deliberate motion that sent a shiver down your spine. There was a hunger in her eyes, a primal desire that mirrored your own, yet something held her back, a barrier between you that neither of you seemed willing to breach.

"I'm not fucking you until we win," she replied, her voice low and husky, the words a mere whisper against the charged silence that enveloped you both. "Until I get the trophy, until your team loses."

"So you're gonna wait a whole year?" You scoffed, incredulity lacing your tone as you struggled to comprehend Caitlin's reasoning. The idea of waiting seemed absurd, especially in the midst of the intense desire that pulsed between you. "Well good luck, cause we're not going to."

"Yeah, and until you cut the fucking attitude. It doesn't suit you, Y/N." Caitlin's words were sharp, a harsh reminder of the tension that simmered beneath the surface of your interactions.

"Fuck you," you scoffed as she smirked. She just shook her head as she walked away, leaving you alone and so desperately needy.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

689 notes · View notes

mahowaga · 4 months ago

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STATIC | N.K.

SUMMARY: nanami kento hates the cold.

PAIRING: nanami kento x gn!reader CONTAINS: fluff and some slight angst (reader is a sorcerer, and nanami isn't a sorcerer in this au, hope that helps!) NOW PLAYING: static by luke chiang, joe bae WC: 2.8k

Nanami Kento hates the cold.

He hates winter. He hates the constant chill, sneaking up the legs of his trousers and the sleeves of his shirt, wrapping its arms around his chest, freezing him to the core. He hates the way his breath fogs in the night wind, how his fingers and toes turn numb, unresponsive to his demands, and the way you always seem to catch a cold after claiming you ‘can handle it’ and proceeding to go outside without proper winter gear.

He prefers the warmth of a crackling fireplace, a thermostat turned up, a blanket draped over him, a cup of tea with steam curling up and diffusing into the air, and a worn sweater snug against his frame.

But most of all, he prefers you. You curled up against his side, one hand running through your hair while you hold the other, tracing his veins distractedly. It’s often silent, but he likes it that way. The silence carries with it every word unsaid - things that do not need to be spoken aloud, things that are traced into the very fibers of your hearts, things that speak of devotion and restfulness - a silence that is not heavy with complications and resentment.

Right now, he doesn’t have you in his arms, and it feels like something has been violently ripped away from him. An unwelcome cold spot, devastatingly blue in color, pressing into him, bleeding into him.

It’s not that you are miles away - there isn’t a tragedy of missed phone calls, heartbreaking time differences and lingering frustration towards each other. No, you are here. You are in the apartment, but you might as well be lifetimes away from him.

He knows it isn’t your fault. It’s bound to happen in your line of work. He’s seen it before in others, even in himself, but never you.

Never you.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Every single cell in his body screams for you.

He has to make it right, and so he stands up, folding the blanket neatly and setting it down on the cushions of the couch.

Kento knocks on the door to the bedroom despite it being slightly ajar, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting a gloomy shadow over everything the light touches - including you.

You are lying on the bed you share with him, a wool blanket tossed over your body haphazardly, like an afterthought. You are on your side, facing him, palms pressed together beneath your cheek. You haven’t moved in hours but you aren’t asleep. He knows this for a fact.

For a moment he simply stands there in the doorway, observing you, listening to your breaths - slow, controlled, steady, but also too empty, too absent.

He can’t stand it.

“Hey,” he says softly. He steps towards you quietly, afraid to startle you.

He gets down on one knee at the edge of the bed, bracing his forearms on the mattress to balance himself.

You look so lost when you open your eyes. It kills him to see you, his love, his one and only, like this.

He reaches out and strokes your head. Gentle. Always gentle. Especially now.

Your eyes close for a moment, basking in his presence, in his touch - how reverent, how loving. Kento will always touch you like this. There is not a bone in his body that would ever agree to hurting you. It fills him with utter relief whenever you remind him, in small actions like this, how much trust you have in him to be vulnerable around him. God forbid he ever does anything to break your certainty.

“You’re rotting,” he murmurs, still stroking your head.

No response. His heart twists.

He glances at the window, the curtains slightly drawn apart, revealing the bright snowflakes dancing against the pane, dusted an amber shade with the streetlight outside. When he looks back at you, he exhales quietly, hating the way you are withdrawing into yourself, drowning in something he can’t see, something you won’t tell him, but something he knows will consume your entire being if he doesn’t do something.

So he makes a decision.

He pulls the blanket off of you without hesitation.

You groan, shifting slightly, curling into yourself even more. “Kento-”

“Come on, get up,” he says. Simple. Effective, even.

You crack an eye open, lazy, and frown. “No.”

One thing he knows well about you is that you will never pass up an opportunity to be stubborn. It’s one of the things that somehow drew him to you - how you never gave in to something at first glance, how you always fought and bled for the things you wanted.

Still, he has a plan in mind, and he needs you up and out of bed.

He reaches for your hand and tugs. “Come on.”

You whine, but you don’t fight. He feels your fingers curl around his, and his heart beats faster.

“What are you doing?” you ask when he pulls you to sit up. Your hair is messy, eyes half-lidded, lips in a pout, but you’ve never looked more beautiful to him than now.

He doesn’t say anything, focused on his task - making you smile, making you forget, making you remember that, despite everything, he is there. He will always be there.

“Put your coat on,” he says, handing it to you.

You stare at him for a moment before taking it, your movements slow, slurred, lagging. It’s like he can see the cogs turning inside that overworked head of yours. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Actually, it’s 11:55 PM.

But he doesn’t correct you.

“I know,” he says.

“It’s cold.”

“I know.”

“Then why-”

He turns his head toward the window. “It’s snowing.”

While you’re distracted by the flurry of white outside, he takes the coat from your hands and helps you into it. You end up standing up for it, and he makes sure you don’t sit back down. That would be counterproductive.

Your eyes are still glued to the snow fluttering past the window. He knows you love snow. He knows you haven’t seen it in ages - it rarely snows here. He knows that you once told him you would drop everything, go outside, and run around in the snow if it ever snowed again. He remembers how bright your smile had been, all those years ago, shining, brilliant - a true manifestation of your sheer delight.

He loves it when you smile. He’ll do anything to make sure you get to smile as often as possible.

That’s what he wants now. Maybe he can’t ease your mind, rid your worries completely, but he can be the balm you apply to make it better, to numb the pain, to feel relief.

For the first time that night, since you came home from that mission, he sees something else in your gaze. Something that isn’t emptiness. It’s enough for him to keep going.

He slides your boots in front of you and waits for you to slip into them, your hands bracing on his shoulders while he ties them for you.

When you step outside with him, your hand warm in his, the wind brushes past you, the chill biting your cheeks and nose, crisp against your skin. With it comes the snowflakes, finding sanctuary in your hair and then melting when they kiss the warmth of your body.

Kento’s looking at you, his gaze careful, but there is a softness there. He’s gauging your reaction. He wants this to work so badly, he wants to see his love, even if it’s just for a second.

He sees the same expression on your face as before, when he’d told you it was snowing. It’s not emptiness, not absence, but something quiet, introspective, distant, as if you are recalling a memory.

Whether it’s a dream or a nightmare that you’re reminiscing, he can’t tell.

You reach out, raising your hand to the sky, catching a flake of snow in your hand, watching it intently as it fades to a minute pool of water in your palm. He catches the slight shiver when you turn to him, and alarms blare in his head.

“...It’s colder than I thought,” you mutter.

He scoffs, fighting a smile. He removes the scarf from around his neck and wraps it around you, fussing about, making sure you are nice and snug, shielded from the sharp-toothed bite of winter. “That’s how it works, my love.”

You shoot him a glare, but your heart isn’t in it. He can tell because of the way the corners of your lips twitch ever so slightly. You turn back to the snowfall.

“I forgot what it felt like,” you admit, holding your hands out to catch more snowflakes.

Kento stands there, a foot away, hands in his coat pockets, watching you turn in circles, palms up, collecting ice like it's something so, so precious. Something to treasure.

What’s precious to him is seeing how you slowly thaw, seeing you come out of your head to experience the snow for the first time that night.

You turn to him again, and really look at him. He’s standing close, his eyes steady, focused on you and only you, his blond hair tousled, as if he’s run his hands through it one too many times, a faint dusting of snow already caught in the strands. His breathing is slow, measured, grounding in a way that makes your heart beat less erratically and more in tandem with his.

Something aches in his chest as he holds your gaze.

You sigh, your breath visible in the air. “You always do this.”

Kento frowns, tilting his head. “Do what?”

Your hands are on the collar of his coat, straightening it, making sure his neck is fully covered. “Pull me out of my head,” you murmur.

He lets you fuss with him, just as he did earlier, and for a moment neither of you say anything. It’s silent, but it’s the type of silence he likes. Nothing more, nothing less. It just is.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his skin cool against yours, a smile gracing his lips, so soft, so sincere, so earnest.

The snow falls around the both of you, the city making no noise, the snow keeping mum, the only sounds being your breaths, misting in the chilly air.

Then, after a while, he says, “You’re not that hard to read.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You say that,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself, “but no one else seems to get it.”

He wants to reach for you, pull you so close that there’s not a single one of his atoms that isn’t in contact with any of yours, but he decides against it. He doesn’t want to smother you.

Instead, he says, “That’s because no one else looks.”

And it’s true. You can sometimes be a hard person to understand, but that has never been a problem for him. Maybe it’s because he has been hopelessly devoted to you from the moment he met you, or maybe he’s just an astute observer, but you’re probably the easiest book he’s ever read in his entire life. It just comes easily to him. It’s incomparable to anything else.

Your breath hitches, and he sees you grip the sleeves of your coat tightly.

Kento can’t wait anymore. He wants to touch you.

He leans in close, his hands finding your cheeks, and presses a kiss to your forehead, warmth blooming between the two of you despite the sub-zero temperature you find yourselves in.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. His hands drop to your waist, holding you like you’ll slip away, fly away like the snowflakes, if he lets go. Your hands find his coat, and for a moment, the two of you just look at each other.

He sees love in your eyes. Gratitude. Vulnerability. Trust. He knows all this - you always look at him like this.

What he is not ready to see, but should have expected, is the smidgen of distress in your eyes. Pain. The look of someone haunted by something.

That’s not supposed to be there. It unnerves him to no end.

But he also notices the way you seem to be breathing again, less tense and more at ease than earlier.

You pull away before he can ask, before he can say anything, and take a couple of steps before you bend down and lie down on the ground, flat on your back.

The ice cradles you like a bed of feathers, the softness a stark contrast to the angry cold seeping into your bones.

You lay there, eyes open to the sky.

The streetlight makes the snowflakes glow. It gives each one a bronze halo as they flutter down and land on you.

Kento simply watches. He stands over you now, his hands tucked away into his pockets.

“You’re going to freeze,” he says, almost amused.

You hum. “Maybe.”

He sighs. “You’ll get sick.”

“You always say that.”

He crouches beside you now, and you turn your head. “Because it’s true.”

You grin, cheeky, and then it falls silent between the two of you. You reach out again, palm raised to the night sky, the snow gathering in your hand. Your fingers curl when you bring your hand back down, frowning as you watch the flakes melt with the heat of your body.

It’s quiet.

Then-

“The last time I was in the snow,” you say softly, “I bled out.”

Kento stills.

Your focus remains on the sky, the dark expanse of a muted gray continuously raining ice.

Kento doesn’t say anything. He waits for you to explain. That doesn’t mean his heart is twisting violently in his chest. The mere visual that you are painting is enough to make him want to destroy something. Someone. Whatever hurt you.

“It was last year,” you continue, quieter than before. “That mission with the Grade 3 sorcerers. The one that went south too quickly for me to control.” You exhale slowly. “All I remember is that I got them out safely before I was on the ground. The snow was red. Everything was red.”

Kento’s jaw tenses. He knows about the mission. He knows, because he’d been the one to nurse you back to health. But you’d never told him all the details, especially that it had been snowing, and he’d never asked because he’d believed you’d tell him when you were ready.

“It was cold,” you admit. “But I didn’t feel it. I was just…numb.” Your hands ball into fists and then release. “All I remember was looking up at the sky, like now, and thinking, ‘This is the last thing I’m ever going to see’.”

He can picture it as clear as day - you, in the snow, alone, bleeding out, turning everything crimson. It makes something heavy settle in his chest, refusing to vacate.

He forces himself to stay calm.

“But you didn’t die,” he says, keeping his voice even.

You turn your head and meet his eyes. “No,” you agree. “I didn’t.”

It’s silent for a moment, the both of you holding each other’s gaze.

You huff a quiet laugh and look back at the sky. “Anyways, I don’t think I ever let myself enjoy the snow after that.”

Kento studies you for a moment before he shifts from where he is crouched. Without a word, he lies down beside you, folding his arms loosely over his stomach.

You glance at him, amused. “What are you doing?”

“Lying in the snow,” he replies. Simple.

You frown. “You hate the cold. Snow, especially.”

He shrugs. “So?”

You stare at him for a few seconds, before huffing, “You’re ridiculous.”

He smiles, but doesn’t respond. Instead, he lies in silence, the snow soft beneath him, watching the snowflakes fall from the sky, landing gently, with no grand announcement, no noise, around the both of you. The sounds of the city are distant, almost non-existent. Far away.

Then, ever so softly-

“...You’re not bleeding this time,” he murmurs, almost as if to convince himself.

Your breath hitches. You don’t say anything for a while. Then you turn to him, your eyes searching, probing for something. He doesn’t meet your gaze, keeping his focus on the night sky above, trying to see what you love so much about the dancing snowflakes.

But you understand what he is trying to say.

Your fingers brush against his as you reach over. He doesn’t move away, but links his pinky with yours.

“No,” you whisper, still looking at him, at the way the snow is accumulating in his hair, at the way the snow is melting on his face, at the way he’s holding onto your finger like it’s a lifeline. “I’m not.”

He lets out a breath when you turn back to the night sky, his heart unclenching. He’ll make sure you fall in love with the snow once again, because-

Nanami Kento hates the cold - but he loves you more.

NOTE: hello! thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! i am completely obsessed with nanami if you can't tell. i wrote this one on a whim. sometimes you just need him to save you from rotting in bed and thinking too much, yk? (please say yes) @gojover, this one's for you. think of it as a late birthday gift, because i am nothing if perpetually late. (art by Neconi_oO on X)

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