#i. busy living in a land of dreams >> out

[shelovesosa]

CTRL + ALT + LOVE

paring: Fictional!Satoru X F!Reader

art credits to scarlettismm on X!

sum!! After staying up late reading an emotional fanfic, a college student wakes to find the fictional love interest—Satoru Gojo—somehow real and lying beside her. Confused and out of place in the real world, Satoru begins to unravel. As they grow closer, they share laughter, secrets, and something deeper… even as time threatens to take him away. But sometimes, endings aren’t what they seem.

CW: MDNI, Romance,Contemporary Fantasy, Soft Sci-Fi, Magical Realism, Bittersweet, Angst with comfort, Temporary Love, Borrowed Time, Soft Smut, First Time Together, nerdjo cameo, soft dom, Memory Loss / Fading Reality Unexpected Second Chance. WC: 10.9k

It’s 1:41 a.m., your eyes are puffy, your nose is running, and you’ve just finished sobbing over a fictional man named Satoru who doesn’t even exist. And yet, somehow, he broke your heart like he did.

You’re curled up on your side in bed, blanket cocooned around you, the glow of your laptop screen still burning into your tired, emotional retinas. You knew what kind of fic it was going in—CEO AU, enemies-to-lovers, workplace drama. Classic. But nowhere in the tags did it say “character death.”

You sniffle loudly and scroll back to reread the last paragraph, as if torturing yourself again will somehow dull the pain.

“I should’ve said it sooner,” he whispered, blood soaking into the snow, eyes never leaving hers. “It was always you.”

The lights from the city faded behind him. And he didn’t blink again.

[End.]

You slam your hands on the keyboard.

“You��re kidding me,” you mutter out loud, nose stuffy and voice cracking. “You killed him? Seriously?! You made me sit through twenty chapters of slow-burn sexual tension, one shared bed trope, three almost-kisses and a forehead touch—just for this?”

You groan, throwing your arm over your face dramatically.

“God, I hate you, Satoru,” you whisper into your pillow. “I hate your stupid perfect face, and your ice-cold business demeanor, and your secretly soft heart, and the way you just died before you even got to live.”

You roll over, flinging a crumpled tissue at your desk.You sniff, dragging your fingers cross the keyboard to angrily type into the comments.

You:

@shelovesosa HOW DARE YOU.
Fix it. Fix it right now or I’ll manifest this man into my bed myself.

“Stupid author,” you add bitterly. “Oh Sosa. May your coffee always be lukewarm and your favorite show get canceled on a cliffhanger.”

You slam the laptop shut and toss it aside.

With a final sniff, you curl deeper into your sheets. Your brain is spinning in post-fanfic grief. You mumble one last thing, more out of sleep-deprived delirium than real intent:

“…I wish he were real.” You fall asleep with the ache of unfinished stories in your chest.

The morning comes too fast. You’re groggy, head foggy from too many dreams and too little sleep. Your alarm bleats somewhere in the background as you reach to turn it off.

Except your hand doesn’t land on your phone.

It lands on something warm. And solid. And breathing. You freeze. Your eyes fly open.

There’s a shape beside you in bed. A weight. The blankets are shifted, your mattress slightly dipped like someone else is laying there. Slowly, you turn your head.

And the world tilts. There’s a man in your bed. White hair. Pale skin. Shirtless. Lean muscle. His face is turned toward the window, but even from this angle— It’s him. Your heart lurches.

Satoru. Not cosplay. Not a dream. Not just similar. It’s Satoru, exactly as he was in the fanfic. Down to the small scar above his brow the author described in chapter six.

Your lips part, no sound coming out. You're frozen. Shaking.

He stirs. Brows knit. Eyes flutter. And slowly, his lashes lift. Blue eyes. He sees you. And everything happens at once.

He jolts upright, sheets sliding off his bare chest. You scream. He flinches.

“Wh—what the hell?!” he chokes, eyes wild. “Where—what is this?! Who are you?!”

You scramble back, nearly falling out of bed. “Me?! Who are YOU?! This is my room!”

He stares at you, chest heaving. “No. No, this isn’t… This isn’t right.”

He looks around, dazed. Confused. His voice is raspy, like it hurts to speak.

“I was in Tokyo,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “It was snowing. I was bleeding. I was with—” He swallows, eyes darting toward you again. “Where is she?”

You blink. “Who?”

He stares. His voice breaks.

“…You’re not her.”

Something cold seeps into your spine. Because you know who he means. The her from the fanfic. The girl he loved before he died.

“But you’re not real,” you whisper. “You’re fictional. You died. I read it last night—I read your death—”

“I remember dying,” he snaps, voice shaking. “I felt it. I saw her crying. And then I woke up here.”

You both sit in stunned silence.

He presses a palm to his forehead. “This is a nightmare. I’m dreaming. Or— Or I was rewritten. Or this is some kind of punishment—”

You crawl slowly to the edge of the bed, still watching him like he might vanish.

“I think I summoned you,” you say weakly. “I cursed the author. As a joke. I said I wished you were real.”

He glares at you like you’re insane. But underneath it all—his trembling fingers, the way he keeps glancing around the room, the panic in his breathing—you see it:

He’s terrified. And it makes your heart hurt.

“…I want to go back,” he finally says.

Your throat tightens. “I don’t know how.”

He stares at you like it’s your fault. Maybe it is.

You clutch your sheets and whisper, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

His voice is flat.

“You’re not supposed to be her.”

You’ve never wanted to faint so badly in your life. He’s still sitting in your bed—your stupid college dorm twin XL bed—with your blush-pink blanket slung over his lap like that’s the most offensive part of all this.

His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, and he’s still staring at the wall like it might open up and take him back to wherever he came from. Fiction. Paper. Imagination.

But now he's here. And he’s not pixelated or made of words. He’s real.

“I need to go back,” he mutters again. “She’s waiting.”

You chew your lip. “She’s not real.”

He flinches like you slapped him.

“I mean, she was real to you,” you add quickly. “But… she’s just words. I read her. She’s a reader-insert. She’s a blank space.”

“No,” he says, voice firm. “She was real. I loved her.”

You fall quiet. What are you supposed to say? Sorry, she was just me with better confidence and no student loans?

You sit down slowly on the edge of the bed. Satoru tenses, but doesn’t move.

“This is going to sound absolutely insane,” you start carefully, “but I think I pulled you out of your story. I was mad at the ending, I said I wished you were real, and then… this happened.”

He scoffs. “So I’m a pity project. Great.”

You frown. “No! You weren’t supposed to actually show up! I thought maybe I’d dream about you or something, not… wake up with you in my bed, very shirtless and very confused.”

You realize you’re staring at his chest. You immediately look away.

“This is a glitch,” he mutters. “Some kind of cruel rewrite. I shouldn’t be here.”

You glance at him. “Do you… remember everything?”

He nods. “Every scene. Every chapter. I remember dying.”

There’s a long pause.

“God,” you whisper. “That’s so messed up.”

He finally laughs—but it’s not a happy sound. It’s dry. Hollow. “Tell me about it.”

You rub your eyes. “Okay. Look. We have two problems.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Only two?”

“One,” you hold up a finger, “we don’t know how you got here. Two… you’re glitching.”

He stiffens. “What do you mean?”

“You were flickering,” you say, voice soft. “Just for a second. Like… your edges blurred. Like a dream.”

He doesn’t respond. His jaw clenches, like he felt it, too.

“…So I’m not stable.”

You say nothing. After a moment, he exhales and slumps back slightly.

“God, this is pathetic,” he mutters. “I was the most powerful man in the city. I could ruin a company with one phone call. I had private jets. Now I don’t even have pants.”

You try—try—not to laugh.

“I can get you pants,” you offer.

His eyes narrow. “Don’t pity me.”

“I’m not pitying you,” you lie. “I just don’t think walking around shirtless in a college dorm is going to help your situation.”

He mutters something under his breath but doesn’t argue.

You grab a pair of sweatpants from your drawer and toss them at him. “Bathroom’s down the hall. You’re gonna have to sneak.”

He catches them with ease and stands, still moving like he owns a twenty-story skyscraper. You try not to stare at his back as he walks to the door.

He turns the knob, then pauses.

“…What’s your name?” he asks, glancing back at you.

You blink. “Y/N.”

He stares for a beat.

Then says, quietly, “I don’t remember that being in the story.”

You smile a little. “That’s because I wasn’t in it.”

He hesitates. Then opens the door and vanishes into the hallway.

You spend the next fifteen minutes pacing your room like it’s about to burst into flames. There’s a fictional man in your dorm bathroom.

You summoned him. You broke something. Maybe the universe. Maybe yourself.

He’s glitching. You don’t know how long he has. And he’s desperate to get back to a girl who doesn’t exist. But for some reason, he’s still here. Still real. And you don’t know what that means yet.

You’re sitting on the edge of your twin bed, clutching a lukewarm cup of instant coffee and trying not to spiral. Because this is real.

It’s not a dream. Not some grief hallucination brought on by staying up too late reading slow-burn fanfiction and eating sour gummies. There’s no typo, no delete button, no author’s note to reverse what’s happened.

Satoru is here.

The fictional man you loved and mourned and cursed the night before is now somewhere in your dorm’s communal bathroom, wearing your ex’s old sweatpants and the expression of someone who’s been yanked out of death and dumped into a college campus like a tossed USB file.

You stare at the door until it creaks open.

He steps inside cautiously, drying his hands on the front of his hoodie. His white hair is still damp, falling slightly in his eyes. He looks softer like this, like less of the towering CEO you met through carefully crafted prose and more like a very lost man who’s trying not to shatter.

You clear your throat. “Everything okay?”

He looks at you, nods stiffly, then glances around the room again like he still can’t quite believe where he is.

“I counted six women brushing their teeth in one bathroom,” he says, sitting on the desk chair like it offends him. “One of them offered me dry shampoo. I don’t know what that is.”

You snort into your cup. “Welcome to dorm life.”

He doesn’t laugh. He just studies you with unreadable eyes. Sharp and searching. Like you’re an answer he doesn’t want to need.

“This place…” he murmurs, gesturing vaguely to your walls cluttered with sticky notes and fairy lights, “this isn’t… scripted.”

You raise a brow. “No. That’s kind of how real life works.”

He leans back, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“You said I’m not supposed to exist here. So what does that mean? Am I… fading? Am I going to just—stop?”

Your throat tightens. You’ve been wondering the same thing.

“I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “But you’re still here now. That has to mean something.”

He exhales, head tilting back to stare at the ceiling.

You watch him in silence. His hands are resting on his thighs, long fingers twitching slightly like he’s resisting the urge to reach for something. A phone. A pen. Her. You put your coffee down.

“Look,” you say softly, “I know I’m not her. And I didn’t mean for this to happen. But until we figure out what’s going on, maybe you should just… stay.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Here?”

You nod, cheeks warming. “Just for now. You clearly have nowhere else to go. And I don’t think you're ready to navigate student housing or explain why you don’t have ID.”

Satoru stares at you like the concept of help is foreign. Which, based on the version of him you read about, it probably is.

Finally, he murmurs, “I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” you say gently. “It’s a blanket and some time to breathe.”

He looks at you, expression unreadable. But he nods once.

You set up a sleeping bag on the floor that night. It’s the best you can offer in a room barely large enough to fit two people standing up. He lies stiffly on top of it, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling like sleep is a stranger.

You lie in bed, eyes open.bYou think about how he held the love of his life while he died. And now he’s here. Not holding anyone.

“Do you miss her?” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. But when he does, his voice is soft.

“I think I miss the way she made me feel. Like I wasn’t just a weapon in a suit.”

You’re quiet.

He adds, a beat later, “But maybe that feeling wasn’t even mine. Maybe I only loved her because someone wrote me that way.”

You turn to look at him. But he’s already looking at you. Neither of you says anything after that.

You wake up to the smell of something burning. Your eyes shoot open, heart already sprinting.

You stumble out of bed, nearly tripping on the sleeping bag where Satoru isn’t anymore. You hear the clatter of pans, the groan of the microwave, and a very muffled, very confused “Why is this machine yelling at me?”

You rush into the kitchenette area down the hall, still barefoot, to find Satoru standing in front of the microwave, poking at the buttons like they insulted his mother.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, half-laughing, half-panicked.

He points at the microwave indignantly. “It said ‘popcorn’ but there were sparks! Sparks, Y/N!”

You grab the bag—oh god, the foil kind—and toss it in the trash before it sets off the building alarm.

He stares at you, wide-eyed, hair slightly messy, wearing your oversized hoodie and sweatpants like he’s a very lost, very pretty houseguest.

“Have you never used a microwave?”

“Why would I?” he asks, completely serious. “I had a private chef in Tokyo.”

You stare at him. He stares back. And then, maybe for the first time since he showed up… you both laugh.

Real laughter. Yours high-pitched and breathless, his deeper, more surprised. It crackles in the small space between you. And for just a second, he doesn't look like a man unraveling.

He looks like a boy. New. Unwritten.

Later, you’re sitting on the floor together, eating cereal straight from the box. His hair keeps falling in his eyes. You reach out without thinking and brush it back.

He freezes. So do you. His eyes meet yours. And for a second—just a second—there’s something like electricity in the air. Not sparks from microwaves. Not glitchy fiction magic.

Something real. You pull your hand back quickly. But he doesn’t stop looking at you.

“…I didn’t feel this way in the story,” he says quietly. “Not like this.”

You glance at him, heart thudding. “Feel what way?”

He doesn’t answer. But his knee brushes yours, and neither of you moves.

That night, he glitches. You're the first to notice. It’s small, at first. You're talking about breakfast cereal—how you mix Frosted Flakes and granola together like a heathen—and he tilts his head, eyes clouding slightly.

“I’ve never had cereal,” he says.

You blink.

“Yes, you did. This morning. You ate like half the box.”

He frowns. “No, I didn’t. We went to that place. With the… tiny pancakes.”

“…Satoru,” you say softly, “that was from Chapter 11. Of the fanfic. The Paris trip.”

His expression blanks. And then something in his face glitches. Like static behind his eyes. It only lasts a moment—but it’s long enough.

He exhales, hand pressed to his forehead. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

You don’t know what to say.

He looks at you, voice quieter now. “I’m not built for this world. I’m already forgetting.”

You kneel in front of him, gently placing your hand on his. “Then we don’t waste time.”

His breath catches. You hold his hand like it’s the only thing anchoring him here. And maybe it is.

You don’t go to class the next day. You don’t even pretend to.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re “monitoring the anomaly” or “preserving the fabric of reality.” But really, it’s because Satoru wakes up on the floor with the most lost look on his face and whispers, “Where am I again?” and it breaks your heart clean in half.

You sit with him until he remembers. Your name. The coffee spill. The dorm microwave. He laughs about the popcorn again, a little shakier this time. But it still counts. After that, you don’t leave his side.

The two of you walk the campus late at night when no one’s around. He keeps staring at trees like they’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“I didn’t have these,” he murmurs. “Not like this. The ones in the fic were always perfectly sculpted. Background props.”

You smile softly. “These ones grow crooked. They drop leaves. Sometimes birds poop on you.”

He tilts his head. “I like them better.”

You take him to the library next. He walks the rows of books with reverent hands, trailing fingers across every spine like he’s scared they’ll vanish.

“I thought I knew words,” he says, voice low. “But this is different. These were made by people. Not an author playing God. Just… people.”

You nod. “People with lives. Mistakes. Ugly handwriting and messy endings.”

Satoru turns to you.

You don’t know what he sees in your face, but it’s enough to make him pause.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Expected from what? Fanfiction?”

He shakes his head. “No. From reality.”

You teach him how to use your phone. He FaceTimes the pizza place by accident and panics when someone picks up.

You try to explain memes, which leads to you both scrolling through TikToks on your bed for an hour straight. He becomes obsessed with cooking videos.

At one point, your head drops onto his shoulder. He doesn’t move. His breathing slows, steadies, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. Neither of you says anything about it.

You stay up one night talking. Really talking. You're lying side by side on your bed, not touching, but so close your arms are brushing.

“I used to think I was in love with her,” he says.

You stare at the ceiling. “The version of me from the story.”

He nods. “But she didn’t challenge me. She didn’t argue. She was soft in all the ways the author needed her to be.”

You don’t say anything. You’re not sure how to feel.

He turns his head to look at you. “You’re not soft.”

You blink. “Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” he murmurs. “You’re… messy. Complicated. Real. You snore.”

You shove his arm lightly, and he grins.

But then his smile fades.

“I’m scared I won’t remember this,” he whispers.

You turn your head slowly. He’s staring at you like he’s memorizing you.

“I’m scared I’ll forget you.”

Your chest tightens.

You whisper, “Then I’ll remember for both of us.”

Something shifts in the space between you. Like gravity pulling tighter.

You don’t kiss. Not yet. But his hand inches closer to yours. And this time, when your fingers touch— You hold it tighter.

It starts small again. A pause mid-conversation.

A moment where Satoru tilts his head and says, “Remind me what this is again?” while pointing at something he’s already asked about twice.

You want to pretend it’s nothing. That he’s just distracted. But then you catch him standing by the window later that evening, staring out at the streetlight like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

“Do you remember this morning?” you ask quietly, stepping beside him.

He turns slowly. “…Was there cereal?”

You nod.

He gives you a sad smile. “I forgot the flavor.”

You don’t know what to say. So you walk over, wrap your arms around his torso, and press your cheek to his chest.

His breath catches. You feel his arms come up, slowly, hesitantly. Like he’s afraid he’ll crush you. Like if he holds you too tightly, he might disappear completely.

His chin rests on top of your head. His heartbeat is loud beneath your ear. Neither of you moves for a long time.

That night, he doesn’t want to sleep on the floor.

“I know I said I would,” he mutters, eyes flicking toward the sleeping bag. “But I just… I don’t want to feel far from you right now.”

You nod. You move over. He climbs in beside you. He stays on his side at first. Doesn’t touch you. But eventually, in the dark, his fingers find yours beneath the covers.

He holds your hand like it’s the last thread connecting him to the world. And maybe it is.

You dream of water. A soft tide pulling you away. Something fading. When you wake, he’s already looking at you. His hand is on your cheek. His thumb brushes just under your eye.

“I had a dream,” he whispers.

You hum sleepily, not opening your eyes. “What about?”

“I was back,” he says. “In the story. She was there. The office. The desk. The skyline.”

You open your eyes. He’s quiet for a long time.

Then: “But I didn’t feel anything.”

You turn to face him. “What do you mean?”

“I saw her. But she didn’t look like you. She looked like a blank space. Like a fill-in. She smiled at me, but it wasn’t you.”

He reaches for your face again.

“This world is loud. Messy. Exhausting. And I still want to stay in it.”

Your throat burns. “You might not get that choice.”

He leans in, forehead resting against yours.

“I know.”

Silence. Just your breath and his. Then he whispers:

“But if I’m going to vanish, I want to remember you.”

It’s quiet in the room. The kind of quiet that hangs between words never spoken. Between goodbyes that haven’t happened yet.

You lie beside him, breath soft, chest rising and falling in rhythm with his. His hand is still resting over yours beneath the blanket, fingers loosely entwined like a tether to reality. His thumb brushes gently along your knuckles.

“Satoru,” you whisper, your voice nearly lost in the hush of the room. “Are you okay?”

His eyes are already on you. He doesn’t answer for a long time. Then: “No.”

Your heart twists.

“I feel like I’m slipping,” he says, voice low, a little raw. “Like parts of me are coming undone. I try to remember the story, the office, the people... it’s all fog. But you—” His hand tightens around yours. “You’re the only thing I still feel.”

You swallow, throat thick. “Then hold on to me.”

His gaze drops to your lips.

“Can I?” he whispers. “Really hold you? Just once. Before I forget?”

You nod. The moment stretches. And then he leans in.

The kiss is slow. Uncertain at first, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish too. But when you sigh against his mouth, it deepens—his hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head so he can kiss you fully. Thoroughly.

He kisses you like he wants to taste your memory. Like he’s carving the shape of you into whatever part of him still exists beyond the glitch.

You shift closer, and his hand slips beneath your shirt, splaying across your waist. His palm is warm. Steady. You shiver at the contact.

“Tell me what you want,” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“You,” he says. “Slow. Real. I want to make it count.”

You sit up slightly, letting him pull your shirt over your head. His eyes trail over you, and something in them breaks. Reverence. Hunger. Grief.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes. “I can’t believe I almost didn’t get to see you like this.”

You press your hands to his chest, feeling his heartbeat thudding beneath your palm. His hoodie comes off next, followed by his shirt, and you press your lips to his skin—his collarbone, his sternum, the small scar just under his ribs like the one described in the story. But it’s different seeing it here. Seeing him here. Alive. Real. Yours, even if only for tonight.

He lies back and pulls you with him, hands exploring your body like you’re something precious—trailing down your sides, across your back, fingers gripping your thighs with quiet desperation.

When you grind against him slowly, feeling the thick press of him through his boxers, his breath catches hard in your ear.

“You’re killing me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “You’re so soft—so warm—I didn’t know this part of the world could feel so… good.”

You roll your hips again, and he groans deep in his throat, hands locking tight on your waist.

“Need to feel you,” he whispers. “All of you.”

You shift your weight and reach down, guiding him free from his boxers, his cock hard and hot in your palm. His breath hitches as your fingers wrap around him gently, stroking once—slow and curious.

His voice is ragged. “Please.”

You press a kiss to his lips, then rise just enough to line yourself up.

And when you sink down onto him, he gasps—eyes fluttering shut, head falling back against the pillow.

“Oh god—”

You’re both breathing heavy now.

You pause, adjusting to the stretch of him, the tightness between you. His hands slide up your thighs, then settle at your hips, holding you still as he tries not to lose control too soon.

“You feel… perfect,” he chokes. “Better than anything I’ve ever known.”

You begin to move, slow and careful, your bodies rocking together in a rhythm that feels older than either of you. His hands roam—palming your breasts, sliding up your spine, gripping your hips as you roll against him with aching tenderness.

“Satoru,” you whisper, leaning over him, your forehead pressed to his.

He opens his eyes. And in them—desperation. Need. Love.

“I don’t want to forget this,” he says again, voice breaking.

“Then remember me like this,” you whisper. “Remember the way I feel. The way I look at you. The way you make me feel so full, like I was meant to hold you.”

He groans at your words, thrusting up into you with more force. You gasp, clinging to his shoulders, meeting him with matching urgency.

It builds between you—need turning sharp, trembling, sacred.

You come first—tightening around him, breath catching as you moan his name through clenched teeth, nails digging into his back.

He follows you seconds later, holding you tight to him as he spills inside you, your names tangled in breathless gasps.

Afterward, you lie on his chest, both of you still shaking. His hand runs gently down your spine. You feel him press a kiss to your temple.

“You’re the best thing I never got written for,” he whispers.

You don’t answer. You just hold him. Because you know what’s coming next. And he’s slipping again.

you lie with him for a long time. His body is warm, tangled with yours beneath the blanket, his breath steady against your shoulder. One hand rests lazily over your stomach, like he’s anchoring himself to your skin.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that—wrapped in the kind of silence that only comes after something true.

But eventually, you feel his fingers twitch. Then still. Then again.

“Satoru?” you whisper.

He blinks slowly, then furrows his brows like something's wrong.

“…What was your name again?”

Your heart drops.

You sit up, brushing hair out of his face. “Don’t joke.”

“I’m not,” he says, voice quiet. Distant. “I know you. I feel like I know you. But it’s slipping. Like I’m trying to hold water in my hands.”

You press your palm to his cheek. “You’re still here. You’re still with me.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. That’s when you realize—This is it. He won’t last much longer. Whatever brought him here—whatever magic, glitch, miracle—it’s running out.

And if he goes like this, half-glitched, half-lost, it’ll break both of you. So you do the only thing you can.

You get out of bed. Pull on a hoodie. And sit at your desk. The words don’t come easy at first. But then your fingers move. Not on your phone. Not in a fanfic comment thread. On paper.

With a real pen, real ink, real hands. You write him an ending. A soft one.

Where he’s not a CEO haunted by guilt. Not a tragic man doomed to die before he can fall in love. You write him waking up in a quiet home, sunlight through curtains, coffee in a chipped mug, a cat that curls on his lap. You write him laughing. You write him safe. You write him at peace.

And you write that he gets to say goodbye. When it’s done, you read it aloud to him. Your voice shakes.

He listens, seated on the edge of your bed, blanket wrapped around his hips, eyes full of something that doesn’t feel like a glitch anymore. It feels like gratitude.

When you finish, you look up. He’s smiling softly.

“You did it,” he whispers.

“I gave you an ending,” you say. “You deserved one.”

He stands. Walks to you. And kisses you again. This one is slower. Full of something final.

“Thank you for writing me something better,” he says against your lips.

Tears well in your eyes. “Thank you for being real. Even just for a little while.” His fingers linger on your cheek.

He vanishes in the morning. Not with fanfare. Not with light or thunder or spark.

Just… A flicker.

You’d gone to brush your teeth. You’d left him tangled in your sheets, watching you from the bed with sleep-soft eyes and a crooked smile.

You came back— And the sheets were cold. You say his name once. Then again, louder. But there’s no answer. No trace. No indent in the pillow. No warmth in the blankets.

Just a silence so sharp it cuts. You don’t cry at first.

You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers curled around the hem of your shirt, blinking at the place he had been just hours ago. You try to replay his voice in your head, his laugh, the things he whispered against your skin. You press your face into your pillow and breathe deep, desperate to find even a trace of him.

But all you smell is fabric softener and loss. He’s gone. Like he never belonged here at all.

You grieve quietly. You carry his memory in the scribbled pages of your notebook, worn at the edges from being opened again and again. But you don’t write for him anymore. You write for yourself.

You don’t talk about it. How could you? You go back to class. You go back to microwaving leftovers. You scroll past fanfiction tags and never click again.

Some nights you still whisper his name in the dark, just in case he hears it. But he never answers. You begin to believe maybe he was just a dream after all. A beautiful, impossible dream.

Three months later, on the first warm day of spring, you’re sitting outside the library, notebook open, headphones in, sunlight catching in your lashes.

You almost don’t hear it.

“Excuse me—,” someone says.

You look up. And your heart stops.

A young man stands hesitantly before you, holding a crumpled campus map. His glasses slip slightly down his nose, his hair tousled from the breeze.

He looks unfamiliar yet somehow familiar.

“Could you help me? I’m completely lost,” he says, voice gentle but uncertain.

“Do you know where the science building is?” he asks, sheepish. “I’ve been walking in a circle for like twenty minutes.”

You stare. He’s different. No polished arrogance. No CEO swagger. No tailored suit. But it’s still him. That face. Those eyes. That voice.

You slowly take out your earbuds.

“…What’s your name?” you manage, breath shallow.

He smiles at you—confused, but kind.

“Satoru,” he says. “Satoru Gojo.”

Your lips part. His gaze lingers on your face for a moment too long. Then—

“Have we met before?” he asks, tilting his head.

“No, we haven’t met,” you whisper.

He chuckles, eyes bright.

“Maybe it’s a good thing. A new story.”

And as the sunlight pools around you both, you realize some endings are just beginnings in disguise.

[gigiii1sblog]

IN THE GLOW OF HIS WINDOW 001

Warning: contains sexual content, angst, tension, fluff, dirty talk, unprotected sex.

Chapter One: Between Windows & Smoke.

Y/N POV:

I’ve seen him before.

Not all at once, never clearly, always through glass, smoke, or shadow. From the corner of my window. On the edge of my dreams.

Christopher Sturniolo lives in 3B. Our balconies face each other, separated by nothing but air and secrets. At 2 a.m., when the world is asleep and the sky is velvet, he steps outside barefoot and silent. Hoodie on. Cigarette lit. Eyes heavy with things he never says.

He doesn’t look at me. Not directly. But I think he knows I watch.

I’ve lived here my whole life. My mom keeps the porch swept like it’s sacred ground. My dad double-checks the locks every night. Our house smells like lemon cleaner and too much control.

Chris’s place is chaos. You can hear the bass before you reach the hallway. Girls with glitter on their eyelids and no names come and go. Nick and Matt, his brothers are always laughing, always loud. I like them. Nick’s become a friend. He calls me “soft serve” because he says I melt around people I like. Matt barely talks, but he’s kind. Gentle eyes. Crooked smiles.

But Chris?

He’s something else entirely.

He doesn’t speak unless forced. Doesn’t look unless something holds his interest, and that something is never me.

Still, I watch.

And tonight, like most nights, he steps onto the balcony. Flicks his lighter. Takes a drag. The ember glows like a warning. His eyes catch the light, icy and distant, and for a second… they flick to me.

He sees me.

Really sees me.

And then he looks away like it meant nothing.

You should stop watching him, I tell myself.

You’re the kind of girl who keeps secrets in journals, not crushes on the boy next door who’s probably broken more hearts than he can count.

But the thing is… I’ve never wanted safe.

I’ve just been safe.

And Chris?

He looks like danger dressed in apathy.

Like the kind of boy who could make you feel something you can’t take back.

⸻

Nick texts me around 10:43 p.m.

come over loser

we’re doing facemasks and talking shit

I smile, thumbing back a reply before my mom can ask who I’m texting. She’s fallen asleep on the couch anyway, reruns of cooking shows flickering across her closed eyes.

I sneak out quietly. Slippers. Hoodie. No makeup. Hair tied up like a lazy apology.

Apartment 3B smells like cologne and boy. Music hums under the walls, some underground SoundCloud thing Matt found. Nick’s dancing in the kitchen with green gunk smeared across his face and two cucumbers sliding down his cheeks.

“Y/NNN!” he gasps dramatically, tossing me a bag of Hot Cheetos. “The princess has arrived. Matt, bow.”

Matt just lifts his hand in a lazy wave from the couch. “Hey, YN.”

I settle in like I belong there. Because sometimes I think I do.

But then he walks in.

Chris.

Fresh out of the shower. Hoodie half-zipped over bare skin. Curls still damp, clinging to his forehead. A blunt tucked behind his ear like a secret. Blue eyes ringed with sleeplessness and something unreadable.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just… stares.

And suddenly the room is too small.

Too warm.

Too loud and too quiet all at once.

“Don’t be rude,” Nick teases, elbowing him. “You know YN.”

“I know of her,” Chris mutters, voice low and rough like gravel under tires.

It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak to me or about me.

And it lands somewhere deep inside me, sharp and hot and impossible to ignore.

I don’t say anything. Just hold his gaze.

A second too long.

A second too much.

Later, I try to leave, but the elevator’s down again and Nick’s too busy lip-syncing Doja Cat to notice.

“I’ll walk you,” Chris says suddenly.

Not a question. Not a suggestion.

A statement, like a threat or a promise.

I blink. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says. And it sounds like a lie. Or a dare.

We don’t speak on the stairs.

But when we reach my door, he pauses. The hallway hums with the buzz of a dying lightbulb. The air is thick, humid and heavy with something unspoken.

“You always watch me,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the blunt he’s now twirling between his fingers.

I freeze.

Heartbeat wild.

“You smoke at 2 a.m.,” I murmur, “under a broken streetlight. It’s hard not to.”

His mouth lifts slightly. Not a smile, something darker. More curious. “You write poetry about it?”

I stare at him.

He smirks.

“I see the way you look at things,” he adds. “Like they mean more than they do.”

I swallow. “And you look like you don’t believe anything means anything.”

His eyes flicker to mine.

Something passes between us. A pulse. A fire. A war.

He steps closer. Not touching, but close enough to taste.

“Be careful with that,” he says. “Looking at people like they’re poems. They’ll want to ruin you just to see how you’d write about it.”

I don’t breathe.

I don’t blink.

And just before he turns away, he tucks the unlit blunt behind my ear.

“Goodnight, poet.”

And then he’s gone.

Leaving me with smoke in my lungs and ink in my throat.

I write about him that night.

Not his name, never that.

Just fragments. Smells. Silence. Smoke.

The kind of boy who hands you a blunt like it’s a secret and calls you “poet” like it’s a sin.

I tuck the page under my pillow, like maybe dreams read too.

CHRIS POV: A FEW DAYS LATER

The next few days, I pretend not to look.

But I always feel him.

Like heat before lightning. Like a song you don’t know the words to but can’t stop humming.

I see him again on a Thursday. Balcony again.

Same hoodie. Same flick of flame.

Same glance that makes my knees ache and my stomach tighten in some unfair, dangerous way.

This time, he doesn’t look away.

Just lifts his chin and exhales slow, deliberate like inviting me into the smoke.

And I do something stupid.

I step outside.

He doesn’t speak. Just watches me lean over the railing like I belong in his orbit.

“You always this quiet?” he finally asks.

“You always this high?” I shoot back, nodding at the joint between his fingers.

He huffs a laugh, soft but real. “Only when I don’t want to feel something.”

“What don’t you want to feel?”

He turns to me then. Really turns.

His eyes flick over me like a slow drag. Not hungry, not soft, just curious. Dangerous.

“You ever want something that would ruin you?”

I don’t answer.

Because I do.

And he’s standing five feet away.

He leans on the railing beside me, close enough that our arms almost touch.

“You’re not like the girls that come around,” he says, almost to himself. “They want noise. You look like silence.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“It is,” he says, flicking ash over the edge. “They talk too much.”

“And I think too much.”

He smirks. “So we’re both screwed.”

We stand in silence for a while. The kind that hums. The kind that says too much without saying anything.

Then he holds the joint out to me.

I hesitate.

His fingers brush mine.

And just like that

Match. Spark. Flame.

It burns a little.

Not the weed. Him. The way he watches. The way he lingers when I exhale.

I cough, and he chuckles low. “Cute.”

“Shut up.”

“You like breaking your own rules?”

I glance over, lips tingling, lungs heavy.

“You like testing girls who don’t belong in your world?”

He grins now, really grins. It’s crooked, lazy, infuriating.

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe I like watching people crack.”

“You think I’ll crack?”

He leans in slightly. Enough to smell the smoke on his hoodie and something warmer underneath.

“I think you already are.”

He leaves me on the balcony with a smirk and a half-finished joint, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t know how to write it down.

Because it doesn’t feel like a poem.

It feels like a warning.

And I’ve never wanted to ignore something more.

CHRIS POV: A couple days later

I haven’t seen her in three days.

Not really.

Not the way I want to.

She’s been quiet. Blinds drawn. Porch light off. Like someone turned the volume down on her whole world. Maybe she’s busy. Maybe she’s smart.

I’m still waiting. I don’t know what the hell she did to me.

The girl next door, YN.

Soft voice, soft steps, soft everything. But there’s something sharp under all that sweetness. A glint. Like glass beneath silk.

The kind of girl you don’t touch.

The kind of girl that makes you want to anyway.

⸻

It’s around 11 p.m. when it happens.

I’m on the balcony, hoodie pulled over my head, smoke slipping out of my mouth in lazy spirals. My playlist loops through the same three songs. I don’t really hear them.

Then her window lights up.

And there she is.

She doesn’t know I’m out here.

Or maybe she does.

But she steps in front of the window, back turned, her bedroom soft and golden behind her. She’s talking on the phone, barely. Laughing a little. Dancing a little. That way she does when she thinks no one’s watching.

She’s in a tank top. Shorts.

Bare legs. Bare shoulders. Hair messy and piled high. Skin glowing in lamplight like she’s made of something warmer than anything I’ve ever touched.

She moves to her dresser.

Pulls her shirt off.

I look away.

Then I don’t.

She’s not naked, just in a bra now. Straps slipping, like her body doesn’t care who sees it.

And I know I should stop looking.

But I can’t.

Because it’s not even about her body.

It’s the way she moves. Like she belongs in a dream. Like music exists just to follow her.

She doesn’t know how she looks.

Or maybe she does.

She pulls on a big shirt, some oversized thing,now no bra underneath. Stretches once. Her ribs peek out, soft and dangerous.

And then… she turns.

Toward the window.

And looks right at me.

We both freeze.

She doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

My pulse spikes, sharp and sudden, but I keep my face unreadable. Always do.

Her eyes lock on mine, dark, wide, soft. Like she’s not mad I saw. Like she wanted me to.

She doesn’t cover herself.

She doesn’t flinch.

She just tilts her head, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and shuts the curtain.

Slowly.

Like a dare.

I stay there long after she’s gone.

The smoke burns out.

But the heat doesn’t.

Y/N POV:

I shouldn’t have looked back.

I shouldn’t have stood there.

I definitely shouldn’t have smiled.

But I did.

And now I’m lying in bed, skin still warm, pulse still skipping like it forgot how to keep a rhythm. The curtain is closed, the lights are off, but I swear I still feel his eyes on me.

Chris Sturniolo.

The boy who barely speaks. The boy made of smoke and shadows.

The boy who watched me undress like it wasn’t wrong, like it wasn’t enough to break the quiet, but enough to burn in it.

It wasn’t on purpose. At first.

I was changing. Music on. Talking to Madison on FaceTime about something stupid, some guy in her philosophy class who thinks stoicism is a personality trait. I was half-listening, half-dancing. Just me in my little world like always.

And then… something told me to turn.

Some gravity.

And there he was.

Leaning against the balcony railing, smoke coiled in his hand, hoodie up, mouth slightly parted like he didn’t expect me to catch him looking, but wasn’t sorry either.

Our eyes locked.

And everything inside me… tightened.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did I.

I should’ve grabbed the curtain fast, pulled it shut, let embarrassment take the wheel. But I didn’t.

I stared.

Heart pounding.

Lips parted.

I let him see me.

Not just my skin, me.

I don’t know what that says about me.

Maybe that I’m stupid. Or reckless.

Or maybe I just liked the way he looked at me.

Like I was trouble.

Like I was fire and not some good girl with a curfew and a list of rules carved into her spine.

Now, I’m lying in bed, still not blinking, replaying it.

The smoke. The stare. The smirk he almost gave.

And all I can think is:

You let him look.

And God help me…

I hope he does it again.

I hate this so much, I’m sorry if this isn’t good guys 😭😣

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44 @emeraldsturns @sturnslux3 @kalel2005 @sarahsturnn @teheabrams @needchrissturniolobad @my-world-is-poetry @sturniszn @slutforchrissturniolo2 @alinagrace11 @beardedbernard @matthewswifeyy @blindedheartp @crypticallycruelwarden @jaybirdie34 @courta13 @chriss-slutt

@chrissturniolobendmeovernow

[valleydolli]

౨ৎ Golden Brown ౨ৎ

Knight!Sukuna x Princess!Reader

Summary: You’re betrothed to a Duke from the neighbouring kingdom, but your heart wishes to be with your loyal knight.

“Princess.” 

This is the third time Sukuna has caught you trying to escape your retched palace. You’re trapped. No way out. Even when married, you’ll be here.

Forever bound to the kingdom.

“Yes, Sukuna. What may I do for you? As you can see, I am quite… busy,” you say as you're hanging off the tall wall of your palace. 

“Well, Princess, what you could do for me is get down from that wall. It's a long fall.” Sukuna tells you as he steps towards you. 

You turn your head, looking on the other side of the wall, and your knight is right. Yes, you’ll escape the palace, but you’ll only escape to your death. 

That was not the plan. 

“Fine. Help me then.” Your knight walks over laughing, unbothered by your attempt to escape (this was the 100th time you tried leaving). As your heels touch the ground, you dust yourself off loudly sighing.

“Sukuna, when will you let me leave? I will make sure my parents do not have your head,” you say with a cheeky smile.

Sukuna leans towards your ear and says, “Princess, I will let you leave, I promise you. But only when I am dead.” He pulls away from you, laughing at your angry pout. 

“I will have to make sure that happens soon, then,” you whisper loud enough for him to hear, as you sashay away from today's escape attempt. 

Sukuna continues to chuckle obnoxiously. “Keep dreaming, my princess.”

–

As the day turns to night, you sit at the dinner table, playing with your food, as your father and mother discuss the reason for all your escape attempts… your wedding. 

You are to be wed to a man you would never love. He's a beautiful man. Hair as dark as the night, with earthy green eyes. There is no denying his beauty, but you feel nothing for him; he’s twice your age. You can't laugh with him or smile with him. You feel no joy around Toji, but here you are forced to spend your lives together. 

“Darling, are you not hungry? You should eat, you need energy for your ball tomorrow,” your mother says, laced with excitement. It’s like she’s living through you. Everything at this ball is all catered to her, not you. Not a single thing at this ball will be to your desire, only your mother's.

“I would prefer to sleep, Mother, if that's okay with you.” You don't wait for an answer, pushing your chair back, quickly walking to your chamber with your loyal knight following behind you. It’s as if he’s your shadow. Wherever you go, he follows. Without a doubt. He’s always been with you. He was practically assigned to you at birth, while he was a mere 4-year-old. He was trained to protect you. To be by you always and forever.

“I just don't understand. Why won't they listen to me? I am not ready to be wedded or bear heirs for the throne!” 

“There are so many things I want to do that I cannot do when tied down to a man. Gosh, I do not even know why I am saying this to you, you wouldn't understand.” Sukuna agrees with you; he wouldn't understand. He’s at the bottom of the hierarchy in this world. His life means nothing. Peasant blood. 

But you? You’re royal blood. 

Your existence is everything to the land. 

But not only the land. 

To him.

 “I just wish this wasn't my life, Sukuna. I'd rather be a farm girl than endure this. Honestly.”

Sukuna begins to laugh at you.

“What is so funny? You are always laughing at me.” You pout.

“You are a funny girl, princess, really. Beautiful and funny, what an amazing combination, do you not think?” Your eyes widen, and your face begins to warm. “Did I embarrass you, my princess?” Sukuna smirks.

“No! I-it is hot within these halls. Look around you, no windows, do not be a fool. Let's just… go to my room,” you begin to walk speedily toward your chambers. Sukuna appears in front of you to open the doors of your room. 

You walk in, kicking off your heels, and begin to undress with Sukuna watching from behind. You’ve never felt uncomfortable being unclothed around him. He probably seen you naked more than your ladies in waiting.

As you get to your corset, you ask for your knight's help. He carefully steps towards you, slowly unraveling the ribbons of your tight corset. It's quiet in the room, still, you could hear a pin drop, nothing is heard but yours and Sukuna's breathing. 

Suddenly, his head falls onto your shoulder.

Your name leaves his mouth. 

He never says your name. 

Ever.

“I… I cannot watch you get married.” Sukuna breathes.

“What? You cannot watch me get married? Whatever is that supposed to mean?” You turn around to look at him as his hands stay steady on the small of your waist. “Look at me. What are you saying right now?” He won't look at you. 

“Ryomen Sukuna. I command you to look at me. Right now.” He slowly lifts his head and looks into your eyes. You sound mad at him, but your eyes say otherwise. You have the most beautiful, expressive eyes. They speak to him. One look, just one, is all he needs to know what his princess is thinking.

“I would rather die than watch you marry that man.”

“What man, my knight, say his name.”

“I would rather be drawn and quartered.”

The corners of your lips twitch slightly, threatening to smile. 

“I need you by my side. This is my life. You are my life, Princess. Why do you think I so desperately try and keep you here in this palace, by my side? Call me selfish, I do not care. When it comes to you, I will be the selfishest person. You joke about your parents killing me. Princess, your parents will do nothing to me if you escape. I’m the one who keeps you locked in these walls. I keep you here because I need you in my life. You have made my life thrilling and captivating. If I could marry you, I would do so in a heartbeat, but…” he stops, wipes his hands across his sweaty face. You can hear his heart beating profusely, and his breathing irregular.

“But what, Sukuna?”

He doesn't dare to speak. He can’t. The words won’t leave his throat.

“How can you do this? How can you drop this all on me? When you know. You know Sukuna. I am to be bound to another. How selfish are you?” You push his hands off you and step back. 

“Yes! You’re right, I am selfish. Especially when it comes to you, my princess.” He walks towards you, and you continue to step back, shaking your head in disbelief. “Every single time I hear your parents speak about your betrothed, I die inside. I’ve been with you your whole life, and almost all of mine too. Princess, I cannot lose you. Not now, not ever.” 

“Sukuna…” You look up at him with watery eyes, never expecting such a confession coming from him, the burly 6’9 pink-haired knight. 

Your burly 6’9 pink-haired knight confessing his undying love to you. 

“Sukuna, you know we cannot be together… So, please… Please stop this, do not do this to me. I beg of you.” Tears begin to fall down your soft skin, and your loyal knight reaches out to wipe away your tears. He cups your face as he apologises,  “I am sorry, my princess, truly… but I cannot do this any longer.” He leans down, kissing you deeply. As if you help him breathe, as if you give him life, which you do, you keep him alive, you keep him happy. 

He pulls away, dropping to his knees. Placing his head against your stomach as he continues to profess his love to you. 

You caress your white knight's face as he… cries, he's crying for you? His cries are silent, which pains you even more. 

He’s hurting. 

Sukuna kisses the palm of your hand and whispers, “I yearn for you, my princess. I have never yearned for anyone, no one but you. I have even kept my purity all for you.” You copy Sukuna's actions and drop to your knees. You smile at him and kiss him longingly. You place your forehead on top of his and stare into his deep red eyes, “What can we do, hmm? If the Church wanted us together, they would have allowed it. You would have been born of royal blood. Or I of peasent.”

“Maybe we shall go against them.” He states. “If we truly desire one another, my princess, it is what we must do.”

–

That night, Sukuna slept with you in your chambers. Holding you close against him. They would do this secretly when they were little kids. You would wander the halls in the night. Knocking on his door, asking him to scare away the monsters from under your bed. Of course, there were none under there, but he would always “get rid of them” for you. Like a true knight in shining armour. From the day you stopped asking made him… sad, if you will. There were no fake monsters for him to protect you from. Now, he had to protect you from real monsters threatening your precious life. 

Your aged betrothed included.

As the night becomes day, you hear the servants of the palace prepare for your ball. You believe they’ve been at it since 4 am. You had to kick Sukuna out in case your ladies in waiting came in, or even your parents. 

Your parents know the two of you have a special bond, but seeing you intertwined with him would alert them to your true feelings towards each other. 

You lay in bed, waiting for your entourage of ladies to come help you get ready. You can’t help but think, do you go against the church? It is really the church you’ll be against, or would it be the King? 

Your father.

“Good morning, my lady. Today is your engagement ball. How are you feeling?” She knows exactly how you’re feeling. You tell her everything. She knows you hate the fact that you are to be wed, especially to an old guy like Toji. But what she doesn’t know is that you’re in love with your knight.

“I feel great, Esme,” you smile. She sends an empathetic smile back to you. All ladies gather around you, readying you for the night. 

You haven’t seen Sukuna yet, and it’s almost time for you to greet everyone, including… him. You need your knight by your side. You can’t do this without him.

“Esme, find Sukuna.”

“Yes, my lady,” she bows, running out the door, asking everyone in sight, “Have you seen the princess's knight?” Only to be sent in hundreds of directions. Almost an hour later, she finds him sitting in the forest behind the palace, cheeks rosy, with a bottle of alcohol in one hand, as he struggles to hold his head up. 

He is extremely drunk.

“Sukuna?” She slaps his face a couple of times before his eyes focus on her. She rolls her eyes. “Get up now. The princess is asking for your presence.”

He sighs, shaking his head like an immature child. “Nuh uh, don’t wanna see her like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a bride…” His head falls back, leaning on the tree. “She shouldn’t marry him. Should be m-me,” he hiccups.

Oh. 

Wow, she feels so stupid. It was right in her damn face. How could she not realise? She doesn’t know what to say. There is nothing to say. They can’t be together; the church won’t allow it. Not only is he of peasant blood, but he’s a bastard child. Marrying him would damn the princess to hell. 

“Sukuna, you know that is quite preposterous of you to even think you could marry the princess. You know how this works, do you not?”

He grunts at her.

Of course, he knows, but he doesn’t care, and neither do you. You would rather be rejected by the church than lose him. Same goes for him.

“Let us go, Sukuna. You cannot disobey the future Queen. No matter how close the two of you seem to be…” She knows saying that will work on him. It’s a fact. You are the future Queen, whether he likes it or not. He can’t say no to you.

Sukuna lugs himself towards your chambers behind Esme. She turns to him, looking him up and down reluctantly opening the door because–

“Sukuna! You look disgusting!” You shriek.

He’s not even the slightest bit mad at your reaction; he looks and smells awful. And you? You look like you were perfectly sculpted by God himself.

“Everyone, get out.”

All your ladies scramble to leave except your head lady, Esme. She’s hesitant. She’s put two and two together. She knows. She’s shocked you were able to keep it a secret.

“Esme, you too.”

Sukuna turns to look at her with dead, expressionless eyes. “I thought you said we cannot disobey the future Queen, Esme?”

She nods her head before bowing and leaving the two of you alone.

You point towards to door to your bathroom, “get in the bath.” He doesn’t move. Of course, the most rational thing you can do is throw your shoe at him.

“Okay! Christ.”

You run your sponge across his body. Yes, you’ve seen each other naked, and no, you have not done promiscuous acts with one another.

“Why were you drowning yourself in beer? You know I hate the smell.”

“Sorry.” He muttered

You stare at his grumpy face remembering what you spoke about last night. He doesn’t want you to marry Toji, he wants to have you to himself. “Maybe you should objected at my wedding if it’s making you so upset, hmm? That would be funny.” You jokingly giggle. 

His eyes squint.

You’re joking, but he actually would.

“Sukuna, I was kidding. You would not dare.”

–

The ball has begun, you’ve been sitting on your throne alongside your parents, waiting for Toji to approach you.

Which he soon does.

He stands tall and proud, striding towards you.

“My Princess,” your betrothed says, bowing down slightly.

Sukuna scoffs beside you. Loud enough for Toji to hear, but he chooses to ignore it. 

“May I have this dance?”

“Yes, you may.” You place your hand into his as he leads you towards the middle of the ballroom. While your knight burns holes into the back of Toji’s head. You scowl back at him, mouthing, “stop.” His eyes twitches a little before he does. Storming off to grab a beer.

“I know you do not wish to marry me,” you hear Toji say. Your eyebrows furrow, “What makes you say that, Duke?”

“I could be your father. I am sure you do not want another father. Am I wrong in saying this?” You don't speak; you bite your bottom lip, waiting for him to say something because you will say nothing. 

“It is good for our kingdoms, Princess. Our blood, our lineage, would be unstoppable.”

“You already have a son–.”

“And his mother was a peasant girl. He’s illegitimate; he cannot take the throne after I have passed on. The church would never allow it, and they would never allow you to be with him.” 

The air escapes your lungs, you try to push Toji away, but his grip around you is too tight.

“You have no idea what you are saying right now, Duke. If you please, I think our dance is over. I am sure we will have many more to come.”

You rip yourself out of his grip, walking out towards one of the many balconies. Sukuna catches a glimpse of you leaving, turning to make sure Toji doesn’t follow behind you. 

He doesn’t. 

He’s looking at Sukuna. And Sukuna is looking at him.

Sukuna makes his way towards him, breathing in and out, calming himself down so he doesn’t punch this ass in the face.

“What did you say to her?” His chest is heaving, Toji places his hand upon his chest. 

Who the fuck—

“Calm down, boy. You know what would happen if you laid hands on me.” 

He’s right, he’d have his head in a second.

Sukuna carefully pulls Toji’s hand off of him, before asking what he said to you, but you quickly make your way back, noticing them together.

“Princess.” They both bow.

*Play Golden Brown Teehee*

“Sukuna, I love this song, remember? From when we were children?” 

“I remember.” He softly mutters

“Dance with me.”

“I do not wish to dan–.”

“I command it.”

You bring Sukuna to the middle of the room, bowing at one another, before placing your fingers against one another, covering your sight. You slowly bring your hands down to your lips. Both of you wish your hands were out of the way so your lips could lock, just like last night. 

You dance together, only staring into each other's eyes. The ballroom is filled with guests, but you don’t notice them. You only notice Sukuna, and he only notices you. 

But everyone in the room notices the pair of you. The Princess and her knight, dancing like lovers. In front of her future husband. 

It feels like you’re little kids again, dancing through the gardens and twirling like a ballerina. You don’t want it to end; you want to be with him forever. 

“Do not cry.” He whispers to you. “I will always be by your side. I was born to be by your side. Even though we are not to be wedded. I will never leave you. Till death do us part.”

“Till death do us part.”

—

The ringing of wedding bells are heard all over the kingdom. Today is the day. 

Five months. 

For five months, you’ve been dreading this day. 

For five months, you’ve been begging your parents to let you not wed. 

For five months, you tried to escape the palace. 

All for what?

For you to be in the same position you were trying to escape. 

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Your father asks you.

You’re standing outside the church, arm in arm with your father. The kingdom all gathered, ready to witness the wedding of the King's only child. His precious daughter. 

The music coming from the organ was beautiful, heavenly if you will. The room is filled with royals from around the world, but your eyes are fixed on him. 

Just… him.

Standing tall in his uniform. But his eyes… they’re shut. He refuses to look at you. If his eyes meet yours, tears will stream down his face. 

He will not cry. 

No. 

You’re meant to be with a man of royal blood, and that’s what will happen. 

This is how it should be. 

“In the presence of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we have come together to witness the marriage of Toji Zenin and Y/N L/N, to pray for God's blessing on them, to share their joy and to celebrate their love.” The Archbishop starts, but you hardly listen. You want Sukuna to look at you, but he truly has not opened his eyes since you walked in. 

But when the Archbishop says, “First, I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry, to declare it now.” 

His eyes open.

“Maybe you should object at our wedding, hmm? That would be funny.”

He waits. 

And waits.

And waits. 

…

...

“I object.”

Authors Note: Okay, I'm sorry about the summary, but like that is literally the hardest part, I don't care. But I hope you enjoyed, I spent all day trying to make this better than how it was to beginning with and I can definitely saying like 2/3 months I've gotten better in my eyes! but i definitely could have made this longer but I need to focus on only you arghhh. *strangles self* okay, okay, i’m done, i swear. :3 oh wait i really like the little banner thingy i did! i mean i didn’t do the drawing but like you know what i mean 🙄 okay BYE

© 2025 @valleydolli please don't copy or translate any of my work. all rights reserved. (I will find you if you do.)

[021894s]

LOVE NEXT DOOR - p.sh

SUMMARY: After discovering your fiancé’s infidelity, you leave behind the life you’d built in the U.S. and return to Korea to stay with your parents. The familiar streets and faces bring a bittersweet nostalgia, but nothing compares to reuniting with Sunghoon, your childhood best friend. He’s different now—more reserved, maybe a bit colder. While he tries to bury the feelings he thought he’d left in the past, being around you stirs something in him that he can’t ignore. And as you start to find comfort in each other again, you both realize that some feelings never truly fade.

PAIRING: childhood bsf! sunghoon x f!reader

WARNINGS: smut (oral m and f receiving, unprotected sex), angst, denial, mentions of cheating

wc: 20k

You’re not sure what you expected when you walked into your apartment that day. You’d left early for a business trip—an opportunity too good to pass up, even if it meant being away from Daniel for a few days. The wedding was only a month away, and you’d been looking forward to everything finally settling into place. You’d imagined your life with him so many times: your wedding day, the honeymoon, the house you’d live in together, the family you’d build. It was all supposed to be perfect.

But as you pushed open the bedroom door, the world you’d been building shattered.

There they were, tangled in sheets that were meant for the two of you. Daniel's eyes widened in shock, but he didn't even bother scrambling for an excuse. You felt your chest tighten, each heartbeat a hammer against your ribs. For a moment, you stood frozen, every emotion rushing through you all at once—anger, betrayal, disgust, disbelief. The room, filled with their hurried whispers and excuses, began to spin, and you could hardly breathe.

You’d spent countless hours planning your future together, from the lace details on your wedding dress to the way you’d wear your hair. You had been so meticulous, imagining every little moment, every dance, every vow. Now, each of those dreams felt like a cruel joke. The engagement ring on your finger suddenly felt heavy, almost suffocating, a symbol of the love and trust that had been so easily shattered.

You weren’t supposed to be home. The thought lingers as you stand in the doorway, frozen, watching the scene unfold in front of you. Daniel, the man you were supposed to marry in a month, is tangled in your sheets with another woman. His face pales, and he stumbles over himself, trying to sit up, as if there’s any explanation that could possibly make this right.

“Y/N, I can explain,” he starts, throwing on the shirt that had been discarded on the floor. His voice is a mix of desperation and guilt.

“Explain?” you manage, though your throat feels tight, your voice barely a whisper. You feel like you’re in a daze, like this can’t possibly be real. “You’re in our bed, Daniel. The bed where we—” You choke on your words, unable to finish the sentence. Everything you’d built with him, all the dreams and plans, now feel hollow and meaningless.

He takes a step toward you, but you instinctively back away. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It was a mistake, Y/N. Please, just let me—”

“A mistake?” You let out a bitter laugh, the sound foreign even to yourself. “We’re supposed to get married in a month, Daniel. A month! I was planning our wedding while you were—” You stop, shaking your head as the reality of it all starts to sink in. “Did you ever even care about us? About me?”

“Of course I did,” he says, his voice cracking. But there’s a hollowness in his words, one that you can’t unhear now.

“Don’t,” you interrupt, holding up your hand to stop him. “Just… don’t. I trusted you. I thought you loved me.” The weight of the engagement ring on your finger feels unbearable now, as if it’s mocking you, reminding you of every lie he’s ever told. You pull it off and toss it onto the bed, where it lands with a soft thud. “Keep it. I don’t want it anymore.”

He reaches for you, his hand outstretched, but you step back. “Y/N, please, don’t go. We can fix this—”

“Fix this?” You laugh again, the sound almost hysterical. “There’s nothing left to fix, Daniel. You ruined it. You ruined us.” The finality of your words hangs in the air, and for the first time, he seems to understand that this is it. You’re done.

Without another word, you turn and walk out, leaving behind the life you’d once believed in, the future you’d painstakingly planned. And as you step outside into the fresh air, you feel a strange sense of relief mixed with the ache of betrayal. 

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The hotel room is cold and impersonal, nothing like the home you’d shared with him. As you sit on the edge of the bed, you feel the weight of everything crashing down on you. You’re alone, truly alone, in a way you haven’t been since you first moved to the U.S. Daniel was supposed to be your constant, the one person you could rely on in this foreign place. Now, it all feels like a lie.

You clutch a pillow to your chest, trying to hold yourself together as the realization sinks in. You gave up so much to be with him, to build a life together. You left behind friends, family, and a whole world you knew, all for someone who didn’t care enough to stay faithful. The emptiness that fills you is overwhelming, and for the first time in a long time, you feel lost.

The next day, you return to your shared apartment. The place feels different now—tainted, like a ghost of the life you thought you had. You walk through each room, collecting your things in a daze, each item a painful reminder of a future that no longer exists.

In the bedroom, you pause, glancing at the photos on the nightstand. One of them is from the day he proposed, your faces beaming with happiness that now feels so far away. You grab the picture frame and toss it into a box, the glass cracking as it hits the other items. It feels oddly satisfying.

Once you’ve packed everything, you head to work for what you know will be the last time. The office is buzzing with the usual hum of conversations and keyboard clicks, but it all feels distant, like you’re watching it from the outside.

You find your boss in his office, and he looks up as you walk in. “Y/N, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. How was the trip?”

You force a smile, though it barely reaches your eyes. “The trip was fine, but I need to talk to you about something.”

He senses the seriousness in your tone and gestures for you to sit. “What’s going on?”

Taking a deep breath, you steady yourself. “I’m resigning. Effective immediately.”

He blinks, surprised. “Are you sure? I mean, you have such a promising future here, and—”

“I’m going back to Korea,” you say, cutting him off. “There’s… there’s nothing left for me here.” You swallow hard, fighting back the tears threatening to fall. “I need to go home.”

He nods slowly, seeming to understand that this isn’t just a spur-of-the-moment decision. “I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N. We’ll miss you around here.”

The finality of it all feels like a release, and as you walk out of the office for the last time, you feel a strange mix of sadness and relief. You’re leaving behind everything you’d built, but you’re also walking away from the pain, from the betrayal. It’s time to start over, to find yourself again. And you know exactly where you need to be.

With your suitcases in hand, you leave the apartment, the job, and the life you’d once loved, and head for the airport. This time, you’re going home—for good.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The plane ride back to Korea feels like a dream—a hazy, surreal blur where the reality of what’s happened hasn’t quite caught up with you. You stare out the window, watching as the city below grows closer, the familiar landscape bringing a wave of bittersweet nostalgia. You’re going home, but not for the reasons you ever imagined.

You feel a wave of apprehension mixed with relief. You hadn’t planned on returning home so abruptly, with nothing but a suitcase and a broken heart, and you certainly hadn’t told anyone. You let yourself imagine how surprised your parents will be when you show up at the door unannounced. But you push the thought aside as you step into a cab, the familiar cityscape passing by in a blur.

The familiar street feels almost surreal as you pull up to your parents’ house, the one you haven’t seen in years. After everything that’s happened, this was the only place that felt like it could hold you together. As you step out of the cab and stand in front of the door, the weight of your decision settles over you. 

You take a deep breath and ring the bell. you stand at the door, hesitating. You haven’t been here in so long, and everything looks just as it did before—yet somehow different. The door swings open to reveal your mother’s shocked face.

“Y/N?” she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, Mom,” you say, managing a small smile as she pulls you into a tight hug. 

“Oh, honey!” She squeezes you, almost as if to make sure you’re real, then steps back, looking you over with a mixture of joy and worry. “What are you doing here? We didn’t know you were coming!”

“I know. I wanted it to be a surprise.” You look over her shoulder to see your father standing in the doorway, his expression just as bewildered.

“Well, come in, come in!” Your mother ushers you inside, closing the door behind you. Your father wraps you in a quick hug, his grip firm but gentle.

“What brings you back home so suddenly?” he asks, his voice tinged with concern. “We thought you’d be busy with wedding plans.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your expression steady. “Yeah… I just needed to get away for a bit. I missed you both.”

Your mother gives you a searching look, sensing there’s more to the story. “But your wedding is only a month away. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Daniel and I decided to take a break. I just needed some space to think, so I thought it’d be nice to come home for a while.”

Your parents exchange glances, their worry deepening. “A break?” your father echoes. “This close to the wedding?”

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself against the wave of emotion that threatens to break through. “Yeah, it was a last-minute decision. But I promise, it’s nothing to worry about. I just… needed to clear my head.”

Your mother reaches out and takes your hand, her grip warm and reassuring. “We’re here for you, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

“I know.” You squeeze her hand, grateful for their presence. “I just needed to be here. With you.”

Your father nods, his expression softening. “Well, you’re always welcome here. For as long as you need.”

 They settle into the familiar rhythm of conversation, asking about your flight and your plans, you find a small sense of comfort in their voices. But beneath it all, you can feel the questions they aren’t asking, the truths you’re not yet ready to share. For now, you let their warmth surround you, clinging to it like a lifeline in the storm you’re still navigating alone.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

As the night settles in, you find yourself standing in the doorway of your childhood bedroom, heart pounding. It feels both familiar and foreign, the walls adorned with posters of your teenage dreams and the desk still cluttered with relics of late-night study sessions. You push the door open, stepping inside and allowing the memories to wash over you. 

The bed is made, just as you left it all those years ago, with the comforter patterned in pastel colors and stuffed animals peeking out from under the pillows. You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your childhood—the faint hint of lavender air freshener mixed with the familiar aroma of old books. It’s comforting and painful all at once.

You sit on the edge of the bed, your mind drifts back to nights spent cramming for exams, the soft glow of the desk lamp illuminating pages of notes and textbooks. You remember laughing with your friends during late-night study sessions, the sound of their voices filling the air as you all shared dreams and plans for the future. Those were simpler times, before life became a tangled web of expectations and disappointments.

With each memory, a wave of nostalgia crashes over you, but the pain of your recent reality looms just beneath the surface. You can almost hear the echoes of your younger self, confident and excited about the future. Now, you feel like a shadow of that person, haunted by the weight of betrayal.

You shake your head, forcing a smile as you pull out your pajamas from your suitcase. No sense in dwelling on the past. You need to maintain the strong front you’ve put on for your parents. They deserve to see you as the daughter who’s come home, not the girl whose world has crumbled in a matter of weeks.

As you change into your pajamas, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror—your eyes tired and a hint of sadness in your smile. But you quickly brush it aside, reminding yourself that you can’t let them see how vulnerable you feel. Your parents have already expressed their concerns; you can’t burden them with the truth just yet. You don’t want to break their hearts with the reality of why you’re here.

Slipping under the covers, you take a moment to appreciate the softness of the sheets, the way they wrap around you like a warm embrace. You lie back, staring at the ceiling, and allow your thoughts to wander. You think of Daniel, of the way everything fell apart so quickly, and the ache in your chest sharpens. But you breathe through it, determined not to let the tears spill over.

Instead, you focus on the memories that fill this room, allowing yourself a brief moment of comfort before the darkness creeps back in. You can hear your mother’s soft footsteps in the hallway, her gentle voice drifting through the walls as she chats with your father. They’re worried about you, and you know it. But you refuse to let them see the cracks in your facade. 

You close your eyes, the past and present collide in a whirlwind of emotion, but you push the chaos aside, seeking solace in the familiarity of your childhood sanctuary. Here, in this room, you can hold on to the illusion of safety, if only for a little while longer.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of something familiar—your mother’s cooking. For a moment, you let yourself enjoy the simplicity of it, the warmth of home wrapping around you like a blanket. You push back the covers and head downstairs, where you find her bustling around the kitchen, setting the table like she used to when you were in high school.

“Good morning,” she says brightly as she sees you, her smile wide and welcoming. “I made your favorite—jeon and kimchi jjigae. Figured you could use a nice breakfast after that long flight.”

“Thanks, Mom.” You slide into a chair at the table, the normalcy of the moment grounding you. It’s almost like the old days when everything was so simple—just you, your parents, and a quiet morning before the day truly began.

She sets a plate down in front of you, the scene feels like something out of the past. The kitchen hasn’t changed, with the same floral curtains and the light clinking of dishes filling the quiet space. It’s peaceful, almost enough to make you forget why you’re back.

You both fall into an easy conversation—talking about small things like the weather, what’s been happening in the neighborhood, and her latest gardening projects. She doesn’t press about Daniel or the wedding, and you’re thankful for the reprieve. You’re determined to keep up this front, to act like everything’s fine, at least for now.

Just as you start to relax into the conversation, the front door flies open with a loud bang, and a familiar voice cuts through the morning calm.

“Y/N!”

You look up just as Yeji storms into the kitchen, her expression a mix of excitement and disbelief.

“How could you not tell me you were coming back?” she demands, standing with her hands on her hips as she glares at you in mock offense. “I had to hear it from our mom’s call this morning! Do you know how betrayed I feel right now?”

You blink in surprise, a guilty smile tugging at your lips. “Yeji, I—”

“Unbelievable,” she cuts you off, shaking her head. “I thought we were best friends! You’re lucky I love you.”

She strides over and pulls you into a tight hug before you can finish your sentence. You laugh softly, hugging her back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t tell anyone. It was a last-minute thing.”

Yeji pulls away and gives you a playful glare. “You owe me, big time.”

Your mother, who has been watching this entire exchange with an amused smile, shakes her head. “I told her she should’ve called you first,” she teases, glancing between the two of you.

Yeji crosses her arms, looking at you expectantly. “Well, you’re here now, so spill. What’s going on? Why the sudden return?”

You feel the weight of her question hang in the air, but before you can figure out how to answer, your mom steps in.

“Let her eat first, Yeji,” she chides gently. “She just got here yesterday.”

Yeji grumbles, taking a seat next to you with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But after breakfast, you better be ready to talk. No way you’re getting out of this.”

You smile, feeling the warmth of her friendship wrap around you, even as you dread the inevitable questions. For now, though, you focus on the food in front of you, allowing the conversation to flow around you like it used to—just another morning in the house where everything was simple.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

“Im heading to the market to get stuff I need for tonight’s dinner. I’ll be back in a little,” Your mom tells you, walking out the door and closing it behind her.

Yeji narrows her eyes, tapping her fingers on the table. “Okay, Y/N. Enough stalling. Why are you really back? This close to the wedding? What’s going on with you and Daniel?”

You feel your stomach tighten, but you keep your face neutral, cutting a piece of pancake as if her question hasn’t hit you like a punch to the gut. “I told you, I just wanted to visit. I missed everyone.”

Yeji isn’t convinced. “Y/N, don’t give me that. You didn’t even tell me you were coming back, and you’re usually texting me about every little thing. Now you show up out of nowhere, and we’re supposed to believe this is just a friendly visit?”

You meet her gaze, your heart pounding, but you force yourself to stay calm. “It is. There’s nothing else to it.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Come on. You and I both know something’s up. Was there a fight? Did Daniel do something?”

You shake your head quickly. “Yeji, really. I just needed a break. That’s all.”

Yeji stares at you for a moment longer, waiting for you to crack, but when you don’t, she throws her hands up in defeat. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But mark my words, I’ll get it out of you one way or another.”

You breathe a silent sigh of relief as she finally drops the topic. You’re not ready to talk about Daniel, or the betrayal that shattered everything. Not yet.

Yeji leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Anyway, speaking of things you haven’t told me… have you seen Sunghoon yet?”

The question takes you off guard, and you look at her, surprised. “Sunghoon?”

“Yeah,” Yeji says, eyeing you with a knowing smirk. “Your other childhood bestie? The one who’s still very much around? He lives next door, you know.”

You fidget with your fork, feeling an odd mix of emotions stir at the mention of his name. “No, I haven’t seen him yet.”

Yeji tilts her head. “Really? You’ve been here since yesterday and haven’t run into him? That’s weird. He’s practically part of your family.”

You shrug, trying to appear indifferent. “I got in late, and I’ve been busy with unpacking. It’s not that surprising.”

Yeji chuckles. “He’s going to be so mad you didn’t tell him you were coming back either. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Y/N.”

You manage a small laugh, though the thought of seeing Sunghoon after all these years sends a small flutter of anxiety through you. Things with him had always been comfortable, easy, but after so long apart, you’re not sure what to expect. And after everything that’s happened with Daniel, the idea of facing someone who knows you so well feels almost too raw.

“Well, good luck with that,” Yeji says, giving you a teasing smile. “You know how he is. He’s probably going to give you the cold shoulder for a bit.”

You force a grin, though you’re already dreading the inevitable reunion. “Yeah. I guess I’ll deal with that when it happens.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Later that afternoon, feeling a bit restless from being inside all morning, you decide to take a walk to the nearby convenience store. The air is crisp and cool, and the quiet hum of the neighborhood feels calming. It’s the kind of peace you missed during your years abroad, and for a moment, you let yourself relax, letting the familiar surroundings ease your mind.

As you approach the store, lost in thought, you nearly bump into someone coming out. You step back, about to apologize, when you realize who it is. Sunghoon.

Your heart stutters in your chest as you take in the sight of him. He looks the same, yet somehow different. Taller, more mature. His dark hair falls slightly over his eyes, and he’s dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, holding a bag of snacks in one hand. But it’s his expression that catches you off guard—cool, almost indifferent, as his eyes meet yours.

“Sunghoon?” you say, trying to mask the awkwardness creeping into your voice. “I didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

He blinks, a brief flicker of surprise crossing his face before it quickly fades into something more guarded. “Y/N,” he says, his tone even. “I heard you were back.”

There’s no warmth in his voice, no hint of the familiarity you used to share. The coldness of his reaction makes your stomach drop, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say.

“Yeah… I came back yesterday.” You offer a small, tentative smile, hoping to ease the tension. “It was kind of a last-minute thing.”

Sunghoon nods, but his expression doesn’t change. “I figured.”

You stand there awkwardly, the weight of the unspoken tension between you heavier than you expected. This wasn’t how you thought it would go. He used to be one of your closest friends, someone you could talk to about anything. Now, it feels like you’re standing in front of a stranger.

“Have you been okay?” you ask, trying to bridge the gap between you.

“Yeah, I’ve been fine.” His answer is short, clipped, as if he’s not interested in small talk.

The coldness in his voice stings, and you can’t help but wonder if your sudden disappearance all those years ago had more of an impact on him than you realized. “It’s good to see you,” you offer, even though you’re not sure if it’s true anymore. “I’ve missed everyone.”

“Right.” He looks past you, as if already ready to leave. “Well, welcome back.”

That’s it? No questions, no catching up, just… this? You feel your chest tighten, the conversation feeling colder by the second. 

“Thanks,” you manage to say, trying not to let his aloofness get to you. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

Sunghoon shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Maybe.” 

With that, he steps past you, walking away without another word, leaving you standing there, feeling strangely hollow. You watch him go, the distance between you now more than just physical. It’s like there’s a wall where there used to be a connection, and you’re not sure how—or if—you’ll ever break through it again.

After your brief and awkward run-in with Sunghoon, you continue into the convenience store, your thoughts swirling. The encounter had left you unsettled—more than you wanted to admit. You’d expected maybe a little awkwardness after all these years, but not this cold, indifferent version of Sunghoon. The Sunghoon you remembered was always warm, protective, quick to tease you. Now, it felt like he couldn’t care less that you were back.

You absentmindedly browse the aisles, picking up a few snacks and bottled water, you replay the conversation in your head. Every curt response, every emotionless glance. Was he mad? Hurt? Or had he just moved on with his life so much that your return didn’t even register? You didn’t expect everything to fall back into place after so many years, but you certainly didn’t expect this.

You make your way to the counter, trying to push the thoughts away. Maybe it’s better not to overthink it. You’ve only been back for a day—things might take time to feel normal again. Or maybe you’ve just been gone too long.

The cashier rings up your items, and you pay before stepping back outside into the cool autumn air. The sky is a soft gray, and a slight breeze carries the scent of falling leaves, a reminder that some things, at least, remain the same.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

On your way back home, your mind drifts to everything that’s happened in the last few days. You’d been so focused on escaping Daniel, on putting distance between you and the life you’d built with him in the U.S., that you hadn’t really prepared yourself for how different everything might be back here. 

You shake your head. This wasn’t the time to spiral. One thing at a time.

When you reach your house, you feel a bit lighter, the familiarity of home giving you a sense of stability. As you open the door and step inside, your mother is in the living room, flipping through a magazine.

“Hey, sweetie,” she greets with a smile, glancing up at you. “Did you get what you needed?”

“Yeah, just a few things,” you reply, holding up the bag. “Thought I’d take a walk.”

“Good. It’s nice to have you back home.” She pats the seat next to her on the couch, and you sit down, the warmth of the house and her presence comforting.

You try to focus on the moment, pushing aside the confusing encounter with Sunghoon for now. But it lingers in the back of your mind, like an unresolved thread, tugging at you no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

One day at a time, you remind yourself. You came back to Korea to heal. Whatever happens with Sunghoon—or anything else—will have to wait.

As you settle into the couch next to your mom, you finally let yourself relax a little. The warmth of the house, the quiet rhythm of the afternoon—it almost feels normal. But as you sit there, your mom glances at you with a casual smile, one that makes you wary.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” she says, flipping the magazine shut. “Sunghoon and his parents are coming over for dinner tonight.”

You freeze, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the couch. “What?”

“Yeah,” your mom continues, completely unaware of the tension that suddenly grips you. “I’ve been meaning to invite them over, and I thought it’d be nice to have a little family dinner now that you’re back. You know how close we are with them.”

Your mind races. You had barely survived your run-in with Sunghoon at the convenience store, and now you were supposed to sit through an entire dinner with him? After how cold and distant he’d been? The thought alone makes your stomach twist.

“Tonight?” you ask, trying to keep your voice even.

“Mm-hmm,” your mom says, already getting up to head toward the kitchen. “I’m going to start prepping soon. It’ll be fun, don’t you think? Just like old times.”

Fun wasn’t exactly the word you’d use. “Mom, I—”

Before you can come up with an excuse, she’s already busy listing out dishes. “I was thinking we’d do something simple. Maybe some bulgogi, kimchi, a few side dishes. Oh, and that japchae you love. Sunghoon always liked that, too.”

You rub your temples, feeling the weight of the situation settle on your shoulders. There was no getting out of this. Your mom had clearly put thought into this dinner, and after being away for so long, you didn’t have the heart to tell her no.

“Yeah… sounds great,” you manage to say, though your enthusiasm is clearly lacking.

“Perfect! I’ll get started now. Why don’t you help me later with the table?” she says cheerfully, disappearing into the kitchen.

You sit there, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that in just a few hours, you’ll be sitting across from Sunghoon at dinner—awkward silences, tense glances, and all. You’d thought you could avoid him for a while, at least until you figured out how to talk to him, but it seems the universe had other plans.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Dinner time arrives faster than you’d hoped, and the pit in your stomach grows heavier with each passing minute. You spent the last hour helping your mom set the table, the familiar routine of laying out chopsticks and plates doing little to calm your nerves. Every time you hear a sound outside, your heart jumps, anticipating their arrival.

Finally, there’s a knock at the door, followed by your father’s cheerful voice as he greets Sunghoon and his parents. You force a steadying breath, bracing yourself for the inevitable as they step inside.

“Come in, come in,” your mom calls from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel as she moves to greet them.

You stay rooted by the table, trying not to let your unease show. When you glance up, your eyes meet Sunghoon’s. His face is impassive, and though his parents are all smiles, he barely acknowledges you beyond a polite nod.

“Y/N,” his mother beams, walking over to give you a warm hug. “It’s so wonderful to see you back home! You look so grown-up. How long has it been?”

You muster a smile as you hug her back. “It’s been a while, yeah. I’ve missed being here.”

Sunghoon’s dad shakes your hand with a broad smile. “You were always such a good kid. Your parents must be thrilled to have you back.”

You nod, trying to keep the conversation light as you exchange pleasantries with Sunghoon’s parents. Meanwhile, Sunghoon himself stands near the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but at you. The coldness from earlier lingers between you, thick and uncomfortable.

Your mom ushers everyone to the dining table, her excitement palpable as she serves the food. “Let’s all sit! It’s so nice to have everyone together again.”

You find yourself seated across from Sunghoon, who remains quiet as the meal begins. His parents chat easily with your parents, exchanging updates on family matters and local gossip. You try to join in, but it’s hard to focus when you can feel Sunghoon’s presence directly in front of you, the weight of his silence pressing down.

At one point, his father glances at you, his smile genuine. “So, Y/N, how long are you planning to stay? I’m sure you’ve got a busy life back in the States, with the wedding and all.”

You freeze, the mention of the wedding making your chest tighten. You’d hoped it wouldn’t come up, but of course, it was inevitable. All eyes turn to you, and you feel Sunghoon’s gaze on you now, sharp and watchful.

“Oh… I’m not sure yet,” you answer, trying to keep your voice steady. “I haven’t really figured everything out.”

His mother looks over, curious. “Aren’t you worried about the wedding? It’s only a month away, right?”

You swallow hard, avoiding Sunghoon’s gaze, which feels like a dagger from across the table. “I… I decided to take some time off. You know, to clear my head before everything gets hectic.”

Your parents exchange glances but don’t press further, sensing that there’s more to the story than you’re letting on. Sunghoon’s mother, however, isn’t as easily deterred.

“Well, I’m sure Daniel’s missing you terribly,” she says with a laugh, clearly unaware of the tension her words cause. “You two must be so excited about the big day!”

You feel your throat tighten, your fingers gripping the edge of your plate. Before you can figure out how to respond, Sunghoon finally speaks.

“Maybe we should give Y/N a break,” he says, his tone low but unmistakably cold. “She just got back. No need to bombard her with questions about her wedding.”

Everyone goes silent for a moment, the shift in his tone catching them off guard. You glance up, surprised by his sudden defense of you, but when your eyes meet, his expression remains unreadable. 

His mother blinks, a bit flustered. “Oh, of course. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to smooth over the tension. “Really. I just needed some time to think.”

Your father clears his throat, steering the conversation to a different topic, but the air remains thick with unspoken words. As dinner continues, you can’t help but glance at Sunghoon, who stays quiet for the rest of the meal, his face hard, distant.

By the time dessert rolls around, you’re exhausted from keeping up the act. You want nothing more than to escape this table, to be anywhere but here, trapped between old memories and the unresolved tension that hangs over everything like a storm cloud.

Sunghoon may have spoken up for you, but the chill in his demeanor tells you everything you need to know—he hasn’t forgiven you for leaving, and this dinner is just the beginning of whatever complicated mess lies ahead.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

After dinner, the weight of the evening presses on your chest, and you feel the overwhelming need for space—somewhere away from the questions, the tension, and the relentless memories. Your parents chat casually in the living room with Sunghoon’s parents, but their laughter feels distant, like you’re no longer part of it. Excusing yourself quietly, you slip out of the house, letting the cool night air hit your skin as you walk down the quiet, familiar streets.

You find yourself heading to the park where you, Sunghoon, and Yeji used to play as kids. The old swings, the jungle gym, even the worn-out slide—it’s all still there, untouched by time. The memories of those carefree days flood back, bittersweet in their simplicity. You push down the ache in your chest and sit on one of the swings, the creak of the chains loud in the stillness of the night.

The moon hangs low, casting a pale glow over the empty park. You let yourself swing gently, the motion soothing, but your thoughts are anything but calm. Everything is swirling—Daniel, the wedding that won’t happen, your sudden return home, and the wall Sunghoon’s built between you since the moment you saw him again.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t hear him approach until he’s already there. The soft crunch of his footsteps on the gravel pulls you from your reverie, and you glance to your side, startled to see Sunghoon standing there, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you for a moment before settling onto the swing next to you.

For a long while, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable, but somehow familiar—like the many quiet nights you’d spent together here as kids. Back then, silence was easy. Now, it’s loaded with everything you haven’t said, everything that’s changed.

Finally, you break the quiet, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think you’d follow me.”

Sunghoon doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the ground as he kicks at the dirt with his shoe. “I didn’t think I would either,” he admits, his voice flat. “But here I am.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, trying to gauge his mood. The coldness from earlier lingers in the air between you, but there’s something else too—something softer, more hesitant, like he’s struggling with whatever’s on his mind.

The gentle creak of the swings is the only sound for a few more moments, until he finally speaks again, his tone low and distant. “You left,” he says, his words simple but heavy. “No warning. No goodbyes.”

Your stomach twists at the accusation, but you can’t deny it. “I know,” you say quietly, gripping the chains of the swing a little tighter. “I’m sorry.”

He lets out a small, bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t exactly change anything, does it?”

You wince, the sharp edge in his voice cutting deeper than you expected. “Sunghoon, I didn’t mean to just disappear. Things were… complicated.”

“Complicated?” He finally turns to look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You couldn’t have called? Texted? I had to hear from my parents that you were moving to the U.S. And now, after years of nothing, you just show up out of nowhere, acting like everything’s fine?”

You bite your lip, the guilt weighing heavily on you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I needed to get away. From everything. And then… life happened.”

Sunghoon shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “You’re always running away, Y/N. You did it back then, and now you’re doing it again. What happened with Daniel? Did he screw up, and now you’re back here hiding?”

His words strike a nerve, and you feel your chest tighten. “It’s not like that,” you say defensively, though a part of you wonders if he’s right. 

“Isn’t it?” he presses, his voice sharp. “You’re back here, pretending everything’s okay when clearly, it’s not.”

You turn away, the pain and frustration bubbling up inside you. “You don’t know what I’ve been through, Sunghoon. It’s not that simple.”

For a moment, he stays silent, the tension between you thick and suffocating. Then, he sighs, the anger seeming to drain out of him. “You’re right. I don’t know. Because you never told me.”

You look over at him, and for the first time since you’ve been back, you see something in his eyes that isn’t coldness or anger—just hurt. The years you’ve spent apart, the silence between you—it’s all built up into this wall that neither of you knows how to tear down.

“I didn’t mean for it to be like this,” you whisper, the weight of the years catching up to you. “I just… I needed to figure things out. And now, I don’t know how to fix it.”

Sunghoon looks away, his expression softening, though the hurt still lingers. “Maybe it’s not about fixing things,” he says quietly. “Maybe it’s just about being honest. With me. With yourself.”

You don’t know how to respond, the truth of his words settling heavily on your chest. The silence returns, but this time it feels different—not as cold, not as distant. You both sit there, side by side, swinging gently in the cool night air, the echoes of your childhood swirling around you.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The walk back home from the park is quiet, but it’s a different kind of silence now—less charged, more reflective. Sunghoon walks beside you, his hands in his pockets, and though neither of you speaks, there’s a tentative sense of peace settling between you.

The night air feels lighter as you near your house, and you glance over at him, wondering if this fragile understanding between you will last. Just as you’re about to say something, you hear it—a voice calling your name from across the street. 

“Y/N!”

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat at the sound of Daniel’s voice. It’s impossible. He shouldn’t be here. Slowly, you turn, and there he is, standing under a streetlight, his face a mixture of desperation and determination.

“Y/N, wait!” he calls again, hurrying toward you, his voice strained with urgency.

You can feel your blood run cold as he approaches. Sunghoon stiffens beside you, his gaze hardening the moment he sees Daniel. You swallow, taking an instinctive step back, every muscle in your body tensing as the man you’d left behind in the U.S. closes the distance between you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you manage, your voice shaking with equal parts disbelief and anger.

Daniel’s eyes are pleading, his hands reaching out like he’s trying to reel you back in. “I came to find you. To explain everything. I messed up, Y/N, but we can fix this. You can’t just run away like this.”

Sunghoon moves slightly closer to you, his presence a shield as you stand frozen, trying to process the surreal scene unfolding in front of you. The front door to your house swings open, and your parents step out, concern etched across their faces. They must have heard the commotion from inside.

“Y/N? What’s going on out here?” your mother asks, her gaze moving between you, Daniel, and Sunghoon. Your father follows, frowning deeply as he takes in the scene.

Daniel seems to seize the moment, stepping toward you again. “I made a mistake, okay? I know I hurt you, but we can work this out. We were so close to the wedding, Y/N. Don’t throw it all away because of one mistake.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, the weight of the betrayal crashing down on you all over again. Your mother’s eyes widen as she glances between the two of you. “What… mistake?” she asks slowly, her voice tight with worry.

You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to admit it in front of your parents, in front of Sunghoon, but the truth is too heavy to keep inside any longer. You take a deep breath, your voice trembling as the words finally spill out.

“He cheated,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “With someone else. That’s why I left.”

The air seems to freeze around you. Your mother gasps, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. Your father’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing as he stares at Daniel. And Sunghoon… Sunghoon’s fists clench at his sides, the barely restrained anger radiating off him in waves.

“How dare you?” your father’s voice is like steel, cold and furious. “How dare you come here after what you’ve done?”

Daniel takes a step back, looking genuinely shaken by the fury directed at him. “It was a mistake,” he insists, his voice desperate. “It didn’t mean anything. I love Y/N, and we’re supposed to be getting married. I just—I want to fix things.”

Your mother, usually calm and collected, is trembling with emotion. “You think you can fix this?” she demands, her voice rising. “After what you’ve done to her? After breaking her heart like this?”

You feel Sunghoon’s hand on your arm, a silent gesture of support as everything unfolds around you. His voice is low, but every word drips with barely controlled fury. “You think you can just show up here and make everything better? She doesn’t need you anymore. Get lost.”

“Stay out of this. It’s none of your business.” Daniel tells sunghoon, his jaw clenching at the sight of him pleading for forgiveness.

Daniel looks between you and your parents, his panic growing. “Y/N, please,” he pleads. “We’ve been through so much together. You can’t just-

Your father steps forward now, his voice firm and filled with authority. “Get off my property,” he says, his eyes narrowing as he stares down Daniel. “You’ve done enough damage.”

Daniel looks panicked, his desperation clear as he looks at you one last time. “Y/N—”

“Go,” you say quietly, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. “Just… go.”

Sunghoon is still fuming beside you, but he doesn’t move. He waits, fists clenched, as Daniel hesitates for a moment longer before finally turning and walking back down the street. His footsteps fade into the night, leaving behind an unbearable silence.

Your parents stand by the door, your mother’s hand on your father’s arm as they watch you carefully. Sunghoon stands stiffly beside you, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“I’m so sorry you had to find out like this,” you murmur, mostly to Sunghoon. He turns to look at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. There’s still anger in his eyes, but beneath it, you see something else—concern, hurt, maybe even guilt for not knowing sooner.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his voice low, but there’s no accusation in his tone. Just quiet frustration and sadness.

You swallow hard, the weight of everything finally hitting you. “I didn’t want anyone to know,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I couldn’t.”

Sunghoon’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he finally lets out a slow breath. He doesn’t say anything, but the tension between you begins to ease. Slowly, the weight on your chest starts to lift, even if only a little.

As the tense moment begins to settle, your parents usher everyone back inside, their expressions a mix of concern and disbelief. Sunghoon follows you quietly, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a somber silence. Inside, the atmosphere is heavy with unspoken words and lingering shock from Daniel's unexpected visit.

Your mother offers tea, her hands trembling slightly as she pours, trying to find some semblance of normalcy in the midst of the chaos. Sunghoon remains quiet, his eyes fixed on his tea as he sits opposite you at the kitchen table. The air feels charged with unresolved tension, each passing second stretching the fragile peace thinner.

“I can’t believe he had the audacity to show up here,” your father finally breaks the silence, his voice rough with suppressed anger. “After what he did to you.”

You nod silently, unable to find the words to explain or justify Daniel’s actions. The betrayal still feels fresh, the wound reopened by his sudden appearance.

Sunghoon finally speaks, his voice calm but tinged with an edge you can’t quite place. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His eyes meet yours, searching for answers. “You could have… I could have helped.”

You swallow hard, the guilt weighing heavily on you. “I didn’t want to burden anyone,” you admit quietly. “And I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Sunghoon’s expression softens slightly, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. “I could never hate you,” he says softly, his gaze unwavering. “But I hate seeing you hurt.”

Your heart clenches at his words, a mixture of relief and sadness washing over you. “I’m sorry,” is all you manage to say, the weight of your emotions threatening to spill over.

Your mother places a gentle hand on your shoulder, offering silent comfort. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to apologize,” she says softly, her eyes filled with maternal concern. “We’re just glad you’re home now.”

The tears you’d been holding back finally spill over, and you let out a shaky breath. “I just… I needed to come back,” you admit, the truth finally surfacing. “Everything fell apart, and I didn’t know where else to go.”

Sunghoon reaches across the table, his hand hesitating for a moment before gently covering yours. His touch is warm and reassuring, grounding you in the midst of turmoil. “You’re home now,” he says quietly, his voice steady. “And we’re here for you.”

You nod gratefully, overwhelmed by the support of your family and the unexpected comfort from Sunghoon. Despite everything, a sense of relief washes over you—the first glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, you can begin to heal.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The evening wears on, the tension gradually easing as conversations shift from the shock of Daniel’s visit to lighter topics. Your parents share stories of neighbors and friends, trying to lighten the mood, while Sunghoon remains by your side, a silent presence that speaks volumes.

As the night draws to a close, you find yourself standing at the front door with Sunghoon, the faint glow of streetlights casting shadows around you. He looks at you, his eyes soft with unspoken understanding.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, breaking the silence between you. “For everything.”

Sunghoon offers a small smile, his hand brushing yours briefly. “You don’t have to thank me,” he replies gently. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You take a deep breath, the weight on your shoulders a little lighter than before. “I think I’m going to be,” you admit, a tentative smile tugging at your lips.

Sunghoon’s smile widens slightly, a hint of relief in his eyes. “Good,” he says softly. “And if you ever need anything… I’m just a phone call away.. I’m also right next door.”

With a small smile, he turns to leave, and you watch him disappear into his house, a sense of gratitude filling your heart. As you close the door behind you and lean against it, you realize that while things may still be uncertain, you’re not facing them alone anymore. And for now, that’s enough.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Over the next few weeks, life began to settle into a routine, the shock of your sudden return starting to fade into the background. Each day, you found yourself easing back into the rhythm of your old life in ways you hadn’t expected. It was strange at first, being in your childhood home again, but soon it began to feel familiar—comforting, even. The late-night conversations with your mom, your dad’s predictable quips over breakfast, the peaceful quiet of your small neighborhood.

And then, there was Sunghoon.

At first, things between you remained cautious and quiet, both of you still navigating the unfamiliar territory of this new chapter in your lives. But bit by bit, as the days passed, the invisible walls that had sprung up between you began to crumble.

It started small. A casual conversation as you bumped into each other outside, a shared glance when you both found yourselves at the convenience store at the same time. Each interaction felt like a tentative step back toward something you thought was lost.

You had always been able to talk to Sunghoon so easily, and it wasn’t long before the old rhythm between you began to resurface. The awkward tension that had once hung over you melted away, replaced by the comfortable ease you’d always shared. Whether it was a quick coffee at the café you used to frequent as teenagers, or the impromptu walks around the neighborhood, it felt like the years apart had never happened. The quiet moments spent together became familiar again, and with them came a warmth you hadn’t realized you missed.

One afternoon, you were both sitting in the park where you used to spend hours as kids, watching the leaves fall as autumn began to set in. Sunghoon glanced over at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Remember when we used to race to see who could swing the highest?” he asked, his tone light but nostalgic.

You laughed, nodding as memories of your childhood flooded back. “You always won. I swear you had superpowers or something.”

He chuckled softly, his gaze shifting to the old swingset. “I wasn’t that fast. You were just slow.”

You nudged him playfully, rolling your eyes. “Says the guy who fell off the monkey bars twice trying to impress Yeji.”

Sunghoon winced dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck as if the memory still stung. “Yeah, well… not one of my finer moments.”

Moments like these became more frequent. The playful banter, the shared laughs, the easy way you slipped back into each other’s lives—it all felt natural, as if no time had passed. And with each passing day, the bond between you grew stronger, echoing the closeness you had once shared as children.

Some days, you’d find yourselves sitting on the porch steps of your house, talking until the sun dipped below the horizon. Other days, you’d meet up for late-night snacks at the convenience store, a habit that reminded you of your carefree teenage days.

But it wasn’t just about the nostalgia or the familiarity. There was something deeper now, something unspoken but present in the way he looked at you or the way his gaze lingered a little longer than before. It was subtle, but undeniable.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

One evening, as you both sat under the stars in your backyard, Sunghoon turned to you, his expression thoughtful. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” he said quietly.

You looked at him, curious. “What is?”

He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged lightly. “How everything changes but somehow stays the same.”

You knew what he meant. The years had changed both of you, but sitting there with him, it felt like you were slipping back into the simplicity of what you had before—before life got complicated, before you’d left, before everything.

“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “But in a good way.”

He smiled at that, his gaze meeting yours for a brief, charged moment. “In a good way,” he repeated quietly.

And just like that, the past weeks had brought you closer to him again. It felt like the Sunghoon you knew—your childhood best friend—was back in your life, but with something more layered beneath the surface now. The bond you shared had always been special, but as the days passed, you began to realize it wasn’t just about the past. It was about the present, about where you were both headed next.

Little by little, it felt like old times, but it also felt like something new was beginning to bloom between you. Something you weren’t ready to name yet, but couldn’t deny.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Sunghoon had always been good at hiding his feelings. Through all the years of friendship, he kept his crush buried deep, tucked away in the corners of his heart. It was easier that way. You had always been oblivious to it, lost in your own world of school, dreams, and later, the whirlwind of your life in the U.S. But now, with you back in his life after years apart, those old, buried feelings were starting to resurface, no matter how hard he tried to keep them at bay.

He remembered high school all too well. You were both juniors, sitting together at the school library late into the evening, pretending to study but really just talking about everything and nothing. He’d watch you as you rambled on about whatever topic had captured your interest that day, completely unaware of the way his gaze would linger on your face, his heart doing that stupid fluttering thing whenever you laughed.

He could still recall one particular moment as clear as day. You had been struggling with an essay, the stress getting to you, and Sunghoon had tried to help. You’d glanced up at him, frustration in your eyes, and he’d frozen. For a second, he swore his heart had stopped altogether. You were wearing his jacket that day because you’d forgotten yours at home, and he couldn’t focus on anything but how right it looked on you. How much he wanted to tell you that you could keep it forever.

But instead, he’d just shrugged, offering a teasing, “Maybe you’re overthinking it. It’s not a love letter or anything.”

You had thrown your pencil at him, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for the help, genius,” you’d muttered with a laugh, completely oblivious to the way his heart had been racing just from sitting so close to you.

And that was how it always was. You, perfectly unaware. Him, painfully aware.

Now, as he spent more time with you, it was like those feelings had never left. They’d just been waiting, buried but not forgotten, and the longer you were back, the harder it became to ignore them. He found himself watching you again, the way he had back in high school—only this time, it felt different. You were different. More grown, more guarded, but still the same girl he’d fallen for all those years ago.

The late-night walks, the quiet conversations under the stars, the way you leaned on him like you used to—all of it was stirring something in him. He tried to tell himself it was just nostalgia, that he was just getting caught up in the past, but the truth was, it was more than that.

It was the way you smiled when you caught him off guard, the way your laughter sounded like home, the way you instinctively reached for him whenever you needed comfort. It all felt too familiar, too easy, and too real.

One evening, as you both sat on the porch steps of your house, watching the sunset, Sunghoon glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. You were talking about something from work, your voice soft, but he wasn’t really listening. His mind was somewhere else—stuck on the way you looked in the fading light, like the girl he’d spent all of high school silently pining over.

It hit him then, harder than he expected, that those feelings hadn’t gone anywhere. Not really. He had just buried them because he’d thought he had to. But now, sitting here with you again, laughing like you always did, he wondered if maybe those feelings never really had a chance to fade.

“Sunghoon?” you asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” He blinked, trying to focus on what you were saying.

“You okay?” You tilted your head, giving him that look you always did when you could tell something was off.

“Yeah, just spaced out,” he lied, offering a small smile.

You didn’t push, but you gave him a soft smile in return, nudging him playfully. “You’re not very good at pretending to listen.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry. I’ll do better next time.”

But as you laughed and went on with your story, Sunghoon couldn’t stop the thoughts racing through his mind. How long could he keep pretending that nothing had changed? That his heart wasn’t pulling him back to the same place it had always been?

It was different now, though. You weren’t just the girl he’d fallen for in high school. You were the woman who had been through heartbreak, who had returned home looking for something familiar, something safe. And despite everything, Sunghoon realized that he still wanted to be that for you. He wanted to be the person you turned to—not just as a friend, but maybe something more.

But the question remained, did you see him that way, or would you always just see the boy next door, your childhood best friend?

His feelings had always been intense—he knew that much. But what he didn’t expect was how overwhelming they’d become now that you were back in his life. It wasn’t just nostalgia or some fleeting crush he could brush off. No, this ran deeper, more complicated than he was willing to admit. Every time he was near you, his heart ached with the weight of everything he’d kept hidden for so long.

And that’s why he started avoiding you.

It wasn’t something he planned, but he couldn’t help it. The more time you spent together, the harder it became to act like everything was normal. Like he wasn’t on the verge of telling you exactly how he felt, of confessing that these feelings had never gone away. But how could he? You’d just come out of one of the worst situations imaginable, and Sunghoon knew you needed time to heal. The last thing he wanted was to complicate things with his feelings, especially when you were clearly not ready for it.

So he pulled back.

It started with small things—canceled plans, excuses about being busy with work, avoiding your messages for a little longer than usual. He didn’t want to lie to you, but he also couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine. Every time he saw you, he felt like he was standing on the edge of something he wasn’t ready for, and he knew you weren’t either.

Yeji noticed first.

“You’ve been acting weird,” she said one evening as they grabbed coffee together. She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at him. “What’s going on?”

Sunghoon shrugged, avoiding her gaze as he sipped his drink. “Nothing. Just busy.”

Yeji scoffed. “Busy, huh? Is that why you’ve been dodging Y/N’s calls too?”

He flinched at that, his grip tightening on his cup. Of course, Yeji would notice. She was sharp like that—always had been.

“You’re being ridiculous, you know,” she continued, crossing her arms. “She’s your best friend. She just got back after everything with Daniel, and you’re avoiding her? What’s your problem?”

Sunghoon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not avoiding her,” he mumbled, though he knew it wasn’t true.

Yeji raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Really? Because that’s what it looks like from where I’m standing.”

He stayed quiet, unsure of how to explain what was going on in his head. How could he possibly tell Yeji the truth when he hadn’t even come to terms with it himself?

“Look, I get it,” Yeji said after a moment, her voice softening. “She’s been through a lot, and maybe you think giving her space is the right thing to do. But Sunghoon, she needs you. You two have always been there for each other. What’s really going on?”

Sunghoon glanced up at her, his chest tight with the weight of what he was about to say. “It’s just… complicated.”

Yeji’s eyes widened slightly, as if realizing something. “Oh my God. You still like her, don’t you?”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and undeniable. Sunghoon didn’t answer at first, but the look on his face must’ve said enough because Yeji leaned back in her chair, her expression softening.

“You never got over her,” she said quietly.

Sunghoon sighed again, feeling like the dam he’d been holding back was starting to crack. “No,” he admitted, his voice low. “I never did.”

Yeji didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watching him with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. Finally, she leaned forward, her tone gentle but firm. “You know you’re gonna have to deal with this, right? Avoiding her isn’t going to make it go away.”

“I know,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But it’s not that simple. She’s been through so much, Yeji. She doesn’t need me coming in and messing everything up with how I feel.”

“She needs her best friend,” Yeji countered. “You’re not going to mess anything up by being there for her.”

“But it’s more than that,” Sunghoon said, his voice tight. “I don’t just want to be her best friend, Yeji. I want… more. And if I tell her that now, when she’s still dealing with everything from Daniel, what if I make things worse?”

Yeji leaned back, crossing her arms again as she considered his words. “Sunghoon,” she said after a beat, her voice gentle but serious, “you’re not going to ruin anything by being honest with her. But you’re right—she’s not ready for something like that right now. So maybe you don’t need to tell her everything just yet. But avoiding her? That’s not the answer either.”

Sunghoon frowned, knowing she was right but still feeling conflicted. “I just… I don’t want to hurt her,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Yeji said softly. “But trust me, you’re hurting her more by pulling away.”

Sunghoon looked down at his hands, feeling the weight of her words settle over him. He didn’t want to hurt you, not after everything you’d already been through. But how could he face you when he could barely manage to keep his feelings under control?

“I just need some time,” he said, almost to himself. “To figure this out.”

Yeji sighed but nodded, though her expression remained concerned. “Just don’t take too long. She’s going to notice something’s off.”

Sunghoon nodded slowly, knowing deep down that Yeji was right. But for now, he wasn’t sure what else to do. All he knew was that the feelings he had buried for so long were clawing their way back to the surface, and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t ignore them forever. 

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The next few days felt different. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something was off with Sunghoon. He was distant—more than usual. Whenever you tried to hang out like old times, he found an excuse. Too busy with work, too tired from errands, too anything but here.

At first, you tried to ignore it. Maybe he really was busy. Maybe it was just a phase. After all, coming back had changed a lot, for everyone. But the more it happened, the more unsettled you became. You weren’t used to Sunghoon being like this, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d done something wrong.

The morning after your last attempt to make plans, you found yourself sitting at the kitchen table, picking at breakfast while your mind raced. Your mom was bustling around, wiping the counters and humming softly to herself.

“You look distracted, honey,” she said, glancing over at you. “Everything okay?”

You forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah, just thinking.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow, giving you that knowing look she always did when she didn’t quite believe you. “Does this have anything to do with why Sunghoon’s been acting so strange?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Come on, Y/N,” she said, turning to face you with a small smile. “I’ve known that boy his whole life. He’s always been so close to you, but lately, he’s been keeping his distance. Something’s bothering him, and I think it might have to do with you.”

Your heart sank at her words, and suddenly, all the little things you’d been trying to ignore came rushing to the surface. You hadn’t imagined it. Sunghoon was pulling away.

“I don’t know, Mom,” you mumbled, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “He’s been busy, I guess.”

“Maybe,” she said thoughtfully, “but busy doesn’t explain why he avoids you whenever you come over. I don’t think this is about work.”

You stared down at your plate, your chest tightening. The thought of losing Sunghoon’s presence after everything that had happened made your stomach twist. He’d always been your rock—the one person who understood you better than anyone. If he was pulling away, what did that mean?

“I’ll talk to him,” you said softly, more to yourself than to your mom.

“Good,” your mom said with a warm smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing a good conversation can’t fix.”

But as you made your way upstairs to get ready, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t going to be that simple. Sunghoon wasn’t the type to pull away without a reason, and you had a sinking suspicion that whatever was going on, it wasn’t something he’d be willing to talk about easily.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Later that afternoon, you found yourself sitting outside on the porch, staring off into the distance as you tried to make sense of it all. The crisp autumn air brushed against your skin, the quiet neighborhood almost too peaceful for the storm of emotions swirling inside you. The longer you thought about it, the more frustrated you became.

Sunghoon wasn’t just distant—he was avoiding you. And that hurt more than you were willing to admit. You’d been through so much already, and now it felt like you were losing the one person who’d always been there for you.

Determined not to let this go on any longer, you decided to confront him. You grabbed your phone, quickly typing out a message.

Hey, are you free to talk?

You stared at the screen, waiting for a reply, your heart pounding in your chest. Minutes passed, and just when you thought he might not respond, your phone buzzed.

Busy today. Maybe another time?

Your frustration flared. You knew he wasn’t that busy. This was just another excuse.

Without thinking, you typed back.

Sunghoon, what’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me for days. Did I do something wrong?

You hit send, your fingers trembling slightly. The silence that followed felt suffocating, each passing second adding to the weight in your chest.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his reply came.

No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just… dealing with some stuff. I’ll explain later.

You frowned at the vague response, feeling even more confused. What kind of “stuff” was he dealing with that he couldn’t even talk to you about it? You started typing another message but stopped, realizing that pushing him wouldn’t help. If he wasn’t ready to talk, there wasn’t much you could do.

But that didn’t make the sting of his distance any less painful.

You put your phone down, staring out at the quiet street once more. Sunghoon was hiding something—something big. And no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself it wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was connected to you.

For the rest of the day, your mind wouldn’t let it go. What could possibly make him pull away like this? You had no idea what was going on with him, but one thing was clear: you needed to get to the bottom of it. Because the longer this went on, the more it felt like you were losing him. And you couldn’t bear the thought of that, not now—not after everything you’d been through.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The next few days were a blur of half-hearted attempts to distract yourself, but Sunghoon’s distance lingered at the back of your mind. Each time you saw him, whether by chance or at family gatherings, it felt like there was this invisible wall between you two, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

He wasn’t avoiding you entirely, but something was definitely off. The easy-going conversations you used to have were now strained. He barely looked at you, his responses shorter, and you couldn’t help but notice how he always found some reason to leave early.

It was Saturday afternoon when Yeji invited you out for coffee. She’d noticed the tension too, but unlike you, she wasn’t willing to let it slide.

“So, you and Sunghoon,” she said as soon as you sat down, not even bothering with small talk. “What’s going on?”

You blinked, surprised by her directness. “What do you mean?”

Yeji gave you a look, crossing her arms. “You know exactly what I mean, Y/N. He’s been acting weird since you got back, and don’t even try to tell me you haven’t noticed.”

You sighed, staring down at your drink. “I don’t know. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he just says he’s dealing with stuff. He won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Yeji tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in thought. “You think it’s about Daniel?” she asks you, trying to allude to something more.

The mention of his name made your chest tighten. “I don’t know. Maybe? He was weird even before he knew about Daniel.”

“Hmm.” Yeji leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “That boy’s always been complicated, but I’ve never seen him this off with you. It’s like he’s avoiding something—something big.”

You frowned, feeling even more lost. “But what? What could it be? I didn’t do anything.”

Yeji tapped her fingers on the table, her gaze thoughtful. “Maybe it’s not about something you did. Maybe it’s something he’s dealing with.”

You shook your head. “He won’t talk to me about it. He just keeps saying he’s busy, but it’s more than that. I can feel it.”

“Of course it’s more than that,” Yeji said, her voice firm. “Sunghoon’s always been a terrible liar. He’s hiding something, and my guess? It has something to do with how he feels about you.”

You blinked, staring at her in confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

Yeji sighed, giving you a soft smile. “Come on, Y/N. You really think he’s just your childhood best friend? That boy has been in love with you since high school.”

Your stomach dropped at her words. “No, he hasn’t,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “We’re just friends. He’s never—”

“He’s never told you,” Yeji finished for you, her tone gentle but serious. “But trust me, it’s been there. He’s always liked you, but he never acted on it because he didn’t want to ruin what you two had. And now, with everything you’ve been through, he’s probably even more scared of saying something.”

You stared at her, stunned into silence. The idea of Sunghoon having feelings for you—real feelings—had never crossed your mind. Sure, you’d always been close, but he’d never given you any reason to think it was more than that. Right?

Yeji sighed, reaching across the table to pat your hand. “Look, I’m not saying you have to do anything about it. But you need to talk to him. He’s avoiding you because he doesn’t know how to handle what he’s feeling. And im truly so sick of him moping around like a puppy.

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. Was it true? Had Sunghoon really been hiding his feelings all this time? And if he had, what did that mean for you? You couldn’t even begin to process the possibility, not after everything that had happened with Daniel. You weren’t ready for this—couldn’t be.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, feeling overwhelmed. “I don’t even know if I’m ready to talk about it.”

Yeji gave you a sympathetic smile. “I get it. But Sunghoon is your best friend, and if you don’t at least clear the air, this is just going to keep getting worse. Whatever happens, you both deserve to be honest with each other.”

You nodded slowly, knowing deep down that she was right. Avoiding the situation wasn’t helping anyone. If Sunghoon was really struggling with his feelings, the least you could do was try to talk to him about it. But even as you told yourself that, a knot of anxiety settled in your chest.

Because if Sunghoon really had feelings for you, this was going to change everything. And after everything you’d already been through, you weren’t sure if you were ready for more change.

But one thing was clear: something had to give. You couldn’t keep pretending like everything was normal when it so clearly wasn’t.

“I’ll talk to him,” you finally said, your voice quiet but determined.

Yeji smiled, squeezing your hand. “Good. You’ll figure it out.”

But as you sat there, sipping your coffee and trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

That night, you found yourself staring at your phone, Sunghoon’s contact pulled up, your thumb hovering over the call button. The weight of Yeji’s words hung heavy in your mind—he’s always liked you—and the longer you thought about it, the more restless you became.

What if it was true? What if Sunghoon had been hiding his feelings all this time? The idea seemed impossible, but then again, you’d never imagined him pulling away like this either.

With a frustrated sigh, you locked your phone and tossed it onto the bed, running your hands through your hair. You couldn’t just call him out of the blue. It had to be face-to-face. You had to know for sure, but the thought of confronting him sent a surge of anxiety through your chest. What would you even say?

Unable to stand the suffocating silence of your room, you grabbed your jacket and slipped out of the house, your feet carrying you in a familiar direction. The night air was cool against your skin as you headed toward the park—the same park where you, Sunghoon, and Yeji had spent countless afternoons as kids.

It was quiet when you arrived, the swing set creaking gently in the breeze. You hesitated for a moment before sitting down on one of the swings, the chains groaning under your weight as you gently kicked at the dirt beneath your feet. Memories of your childhood came flooding back—the three of you racing to the swings, fighting over who could go higher, laughing until your sides hurt.

And then, Sunghoon’s face flashed in your mind—his shy smile, his teasing words, the way he’d always looked out for you, even when you didn’t realize it. Could Yeji really be right? Had he been feeling this way for years?

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until someone sat down on the swing next to you. You looked up, startled, only to see Sunghoon, his expression unreadable as he stared ahead.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy and awkward. You weren’t sure whether to be relieved or more anxious that he’d found you here.

“I didn’t think you’d be out this late,” Sunghoon finally said, his voice quiet.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you replied, your fingers curling around the swing’s chain. “Needed some air.”

He nodded, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “Me too.”

You wanted to ask him—needed to—but the words felt stuck in your throat. Instead, you sat there, side by side in silence, the tension between you growing thicker with each passing second.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Sunghoon, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched, his hands gripping the chains of his swing tightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost strained. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the cryptic response. “Is it me?” you asked, turning to face him fully. “Did I do something wrong?”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and alarmed. “No, Y/N, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” you pressed, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’ve been acting so strange ever since I came back. I don’t get it.”

Sunghoon sighed, his gaze dropping to the ground as he raked a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me,” you said, your voice soft but pleading. “Please, Sunghoon. I don’t want to lose you.”

His expression tightened at your words, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. You could see the internal battle playing out behind his eyes, the conflict he’d been hiding so well suddenly visible. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw, vulnerable in a way you’d never heard before.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and your heart clenched in your chest. “You’re not hurting me. You’re my best friend, Sunghoon. Whatever it is, we can get through it.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “That’s the problem. I don’t know if we can.”

You frowned, confusion swirling in your mind. “What do you mean?”

Sunghoon’s eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw the weight of everything he’d been holding back. His next words came out in a rush, as if he’d been holding them in for far too long.

“I’ve always liked you, Y/N. More than just a friend. Since high school, maybe even before then. But I never told you because… because I didn’t want to mess things up. And then you left, and I thought I’d gotten over it. But now that you’re back…” He trailed off, his voice catching in his throat. “It’s like all those feelings just came rushing back, and I don’t know what to do with them. I can’t act on them, not after everything you’ve been through with Daniel. It’s not fair to you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, Sunghoon’s confession hanging in the air between you like a fragile thread. You’d always thought of him as your best friend, the one constant in your life that had never changed. But now… now everything was different.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, standing up from the swing as if he couldn’t bear to stay any longer. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll—”

“No,” you said, cutting him off, standing up too. “Don’t run away. Not again.”

He looked at you, his expression torn, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability in his eyes—the fear of rejection, the fear of losing you completely. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

“Sunghoon, I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I never knew you felt that way.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” he said quietly. “But now… now I can’t hide it anymore.”

The silence between you was deafening, the weight of his confession settling heavily on your shoulders. You didn’t know how to respond, not after everything you’d been through. But one thing was certain: nothing between you and Sunghoon would ever be the same again.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The days that followed felt surreal. Sunghoon’s confession lingered in your mind like a persistent echo, one that you couldn’t quite shake off. Every time you replayed his words, your chest tightened, and your thoughts spiraled into confusion. You didn’t know how to feel—about him, about your past, or even about yourself. You spent so many years thinking of Sunghoon as your constant, your rock, your best friend, and now all of that felt uncertain.

Sunghoon avoided you even more than before, making sure he was never in the same place as you for too long. At first, you gave him space, understanding that things were complicated. But the distance started to gnaw at you. He’d always been the one person you could rely on, and now, when you needed him most, he was pulling away.

It was Yeji who finally brought it up, sitting across from you at the café as she studied your downcast expression.

“You look like you’ve been hit by a truck,” she said bluntly, sipping her iced coffee.

You sighed, pushing your own drink around the table without taking a sip. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” she said flatly. “And let me guess, it has something to do with Sunghoon?”

You didn’t answer right away, but the slight flicker in your eyes was enough for Yeji to know she was right. She groaned, leaning forward.

“I swear, if you two don’t figure this out, I’m going to lock you in a room until you do.”

You managed a weak smile at her joke, but it faded quickly. “It’s complicated, Yeji.”

“Everything is complicated with you two. But the longer you let this sit, the worse it’s going to get.”

“I don’t even know what to say to him,” you admitted, sinking into your seat. “He told me how he feels, but… I’m not ready for that. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

Yeji studied you carefully, her expression softening. “You’ve been through a lot with Daniel. No one expects you to be ready for something like this. But Sunghoon is… well, he’s not Daniel. You know he’d never hurt you.”

Your throat tightened at her words. “That’s what makes it worse. I don’t want to hurt him either.”

“You won’t,” Yeji said confidently. “Not if you’re honest with him. He knows what you’ve been through, and he’ll understand. But avoiding each other like this isn’t helping anyone.”

You rubbed your temples, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on you. “I don’t know, Yeji. It’s just… too much.”

She reached across the table, placing her hand on top of yours. “Take it one step at a time. Sunghoon’s not going anywhere. He just needs to know where you stand.”

You nodded, knowing deep down that she was right. The tension between you and Sunghoon had become unbearable, and if you didn’t talk to him soon, it would only get worse.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Later that evening, you found yourself standing in front of Sunghoon’s house, your heart racing. You hadn’t planned to come here, but your feet had carried you here almost on instinct. His confession had thrown everything into chaos, and you needed to clear the air, for both your sakes.

You took a deep breath before knocking on the door. The wait felt excruciatingly long, but finally, the door opened to reveal Sunghoon, his expression shifting from surprise to something more guarded.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice hesitant. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you,” you replied, trying to steady your voice. “Can we?”

He looked uncertain for a moment, but eventually, he stepped aside, letting you in. You followed him to the living room, the air between you heavy with unspoken words.

Sunghoon stood by the window, his hands stuffed into his pockets, avoiding your gaze. “What is it?”

You took a seat on the couch, feeling your pulse quicken. “About what you told me the other night…”

He tensed, his shoulders stiffening. “You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice firmer than you intended. “You don’t get it. You can’t just drop something like that on me and then disappear, Sunghoon. We’ve been friends for years. I deserve to know what’s going on with you.”

Sunghoon sighed, finally turning to face you. “I was trying to give you space. I didn’t want to make things harder for you after everything with Daniel.”

“I appreciate that,” you said, your voice softening. “But shutting me out isn’t helping either of us.”

There was a long pause as Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with his own emotions. “I didn’t know what else to do, Y/N. I’ve been holding this in for so long, and now that it’s out, I don’t know how to act around you.”

“You don’t have to act any differently,” you said quietly. “But you also can’t avoid me forever.”

Sunghoon stared at you, a conflicted look in his eyes. “I just… I don’t want to make things worse. I know you’re not ready for… anything like this, and I’m not going to push you. But it’s hard, Y/N. It’s hard being around you and pretending like everything is the same when I’ve been feeling this way for so long.”

You looked down, your heart heavy with guilt. “I don’t want to lose you, Sunghoon. You’re one of the most important people in my life, and I can’t imagine things without you. But I’m not ready for more, not after everything that happened.”

“I know,” Sunghoon said softly, his expression pained. “And I’ll wait. I’ll always wait for you, Y/N. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

The vulnerability in his voice hit you hard, and for the first time, you saw just how deep his feelings ran. He wasn’t asking for anything from you—he was just being honest, and it was tearing him apart. You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of it all crashing down on you.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I wish things were different.”

He shook his head, stepping closer to you. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I just… I just needed you to know.”

The silence stretched between you, both of you caught in the painful reality of the situation. Neither of you knew what the future held, but for now, all you could do was take it one step at a time.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The days passed in an uneasy quiet, the tension between you and Sunghoon lingering like an unspoken secret. He no longer avoided you as much, but the once easy-going banter you shared felt stilted, weighed down by everything unsaid. You couldn’t stop thinking about his confession. It felt like a constant reminder of how complicated everything had become. No matter how much you tried to focus on anything else, Sunghoon’s words echoed in your mind, making it impossible to pretend like things were back to normal.

One evening, as you sat in your room, you heard a knock on the door. Your mom poked her head in, smiling warmly.

“Dinner’s ready, sweetheart,” she said, her eyes soft with concern. “You okay?”

You plastered on a smile, nodding. “Yeah, just lost in thought.”

She gave you a knowing look. “You’ve been doing a lot of that lately. Is everything okay between you and Sunghoon?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Why do you ask?”

“You two have always been inseparable, but things seem… different now. You can talk to me, you know.”

You bit your lip, unsure of how much to say. You hadn’t told your parents anything about Sunghoon’s confession, and you weren’t sure you could without making things more complicated. “It’s nothing, Mom. We’re fine. Just adjusting, I guess.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. “Alright, but you know we’re here for you. If you need to talk about anything—about Sunghoon or anything else—you can always come to us.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle over you. She meant well, but the last thing you wanted was to burden your parents with the tangled mess of your emotions.

After dinner, you found yourself wandering outside, needing fresh air to clear your head. Without thinking, you walked down the familiar path to the park, your steps slow and deliberate. The quiet of the evening felt comforting, a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts swirling inside you. You found your way back to the swings, sitting down as you often did when you needed to think.

As you rocked gently back and forth, your mind drifted back to high school. Back to the carefree days when things between you, Sunghoon, and Yeji had been simple. The memories were vivid—late nights studying together, hanging out at the park after school, and how Sunghoon had always been there, a steady presence by your side. Back then, you’d never questioned his loyalty, never thought twice about the way he always seemed to put you first. But now, looking back, you wondered how you hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you, the quiet way his feelings had been growing all along.

You remembered one particular moment, just before you left for the U.S. Sunghoon had walked you home after a late study session, the two of you chatting about nothing in particular. It had been a chilly night, and he’d offered you his jacket without hesitation. You’d laughed, teased him for being too polite, but his expression had been serious, almost sad. At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it, chalking it up to the fact that you’d be leaving soon. But now, in hindsight, you realized it had been more than that. Sunghoon had been struggling with his feelings, even back then, and you’d been completely oblivious.

A pang of guilt hit you as you thought about how long he must’ve held everything inside, how hard it must’ve been for him to see you leave, knowing you didn’t feel the same way. And now, after everything that had happened with Daniel, Sunghoon was still there, waiting for you in the background, even though you couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Why does everything have to be so complicated?” you muttered to yourself, staring up at the darkening sky.

Just as you were about to lose yourself in more memories, you heard footsteps approaching from behind. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Sunghoon.

“You’re here again,” he said, his voice quiet but familiar as he sat on the swing next to you.

“I needed to think,” you replied softly, your eyes still focused on the ground. “This place… it helps.”

Sunghoon nodded, his gaze drifting up toward the sky. “Yeah. It’s always been like that, hasn’t it?”

A comfortable silence fell between you, though it was laced with the tension of everything unsaid. For a moment, it felt like old times—just the two of you, sitting together in quiet understanding. But you knew things were different now, no matter how much you wanted to pretend otherwise.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice tentative. “Sunghoon… I know things have been weird lately. And I hate it.”

He didn’t respond right away, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. “I know.”

“I just—” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want things to be like this between us.”

Sunghoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want that either, Y/N. But I don’t know how to make it less weird. I can’t just forget what I said.”

“I’m not asking you to,” you said quickly. “But maybe we can figure this out. I need you, Sunghoon. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He looked at you, his expression conflicted. “I need you too. But that’s the problem.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You could see the struggle in his eyes—the fight between his feelings for you and his desire to protect you from more pain. It wasn’t fair to him, and you knew it. But you didn’t know how to fix it, how to make things go back to the way they were.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the guilt heavy in your chest.

Sunghoon shook his head, his voice soft but firm. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. None of this is.”

You sat there in silence, the distance between you feeling both vast and fragile. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you needed to figure out. But for now, all you could do was sit side by side, both of you trying to navigate the complicated mess of feelings that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Weeks passed, and the uneasy tension that once lingered between you and Sunghoon gradually began to fade. Little by little, things started to feel like they were falling back into place, though not quite the same as before. The awkward silences became comfortable again, and the shared moments between you started to carry a different weight.

You found yourself paying closer attention to him in ways you never had before. The small gestures—how he’d bring you coffee without asking, or how he’d go out of his way to make sure you were comfortable—began to take on a deeper meaning. Sunghoon wasn’t just being your best friend; he was being your support, your constant, the one person who had always been there for you, even when you didn’t realize how much you needed him.

It was in those moments that your feelings began to shift. At first, you tried to brush them off, telling yourself it was just gratitude, that you were still recovering from everything with Daniel. But the more time you spent with Sunghoon, the harder it became to ignore the warmth that bloomed in your chest every time he smiled at you, or the way your heart raced whenever your hands accidentally brushed.

One evening, the two of you sat in your backyard, a quiet evening settling in around you. Sunghoon had insisted on helping your father with a project earlier, and afterward, he stayed for dinner, as he often did. Now, the two of you were sitting on the porch, the cool breeze gently rustling the leaves above you.

Sunghoon leaned back, his eyes drifting to the sky. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said softly, glancing at you. “Everything okay?”

You smiled at the concern in his voice, feeling that familiar warmth spread through you again. “Yeah, I’m just… thinking.”

He turned slightly to face you, raising an eyebrow. “About what?”

You hesitated, unsure how to put your feelings into words. You weren’t ready to say everything out loud yet, but you couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of gratitude and admiration you felt for him. “Just about how things have changed… and how much you’ve been there for me.”

Sunghoon’s gaze softened, and he shrugged casually, though you could see a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. “That’s what friends do, right?”

You nodded, but the word “friends” felt wrong now. There was something more between you, something that had been growing quietly in the background, and it was starting to become impossible to deny. You weren’t sure when it had happened, or maybe it had always been there, buried beneath the surface. But what you did know was that Sunghoon wasn’t just your friend anymore.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

More time passed and you found yourself seeking him out more, spending more time with him than anyone else. You began to crave his company, his quiet strength, and the way he seemed to understand you without needing to ask. And it wasn’t just the grand gestures that made your heart flutter—it was the small things. The way he always checked if you were okay, how he listened when you talked, really listened, and how he’d make sure you weren’t alone whenever you seemed down.

It was these little acts of kindness, the quiet care he showed you, that made your feelings for him grow into something undeniable.

One evening, the two of you found yourselves at the park again, sitting on the swings like you used to as kids. The sky was a deep shade of pink and orange, the sun setting in the distance. Sunghoon was talking about something—work, maybe—but you weren’t really listening. Instead, you were focused on him, on the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way his voice softened when he talked to you.

You realized, suddenly and overwhelmingly, that you cared for him in a way you hadn’t cared for anyone else. It wasn’t just that Sunghoon had been there for you, but the way he had always, quietly and without expectation, supported you, no matter what. He didn’t ask for anything in return, didn’t push you for answers or confessions. He just… cared.

And that’s when you knew. You had feelings for Sunghoon. They had been there all along, waiting for you to realize it.

Sunghoon must have noticed the look on your face because he stopped mid-sentence, turning to you with a curious expression. “What is it?”

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts. “What?”

“You’re staring at me,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You felt your cheeks heat up, quickly looking away. “I wasn’t.”

He laughed softly, but didn’t push further. Instead, he leaned back on the swing, the smile fading as a comfortable silence settled between you. You wanted to say something, to tell him what was on your mind, but the words wouldn’t come. Not yet.

For now, you were content just being here with him, the weight of your growing feelings a secret you weren’t quite ready to share. But you knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t be long before those feelings couldn’t be hidden any longer.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It was a cozy Friday evening, and the house felt unusually quiet. Your parents and Sunghoon’s parents had decided to take a weekend trip together, leaving the two of you alone for the night. You had taken advantage of the opportunity to host a movie night, and the living room was filled with the inviting smell of popcorn and the soft glow of fairy lights strung around the room.

You settled onto the couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs, while Sunghoon reclined next to you, the space between you filled with a warm tension. The movie played in the background, but you found it hard to focus on the screen. Instead, your gaze kept drifting to him—the way the light danced in his hair, the casual way he laughed at the jokes, and the ease of his presence next to you.

As the minutes turned into hours, you felt the atmosphere shift. Each time you glanced at him, your heart raced a little more. You couldn’t ignore the way your feelings for him had transformed over the last few weeks, the moments you had shared sparking something deeper than friendship.

Finally, during a quieter moment in the movie, you turned to him, heart pounding. “Sunghoon,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. He turned his head, eyebrows raised in curiosity, his expression inviting you to continue.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should voice what had been on your mind for so long. But the warmth of his gaze, the way he was looking at you, made the decision feel inevitable. “I need to tell you something,” you began, feeling your heart race.

He tilted his head slightly, encouraging you. “What is it?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us… and how I feel about you.” Your voice trembled slightly as you spoke, but you pressed on. “When I came back to Korea, everything felt so chaotic. But you… you were there for me in a way I didn’t expect. And the more time we spend together, the more I realize that I care about you, Sunghoon. A lot.”

His eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face. “Y/N, I—”

Before he could respond, you continued, your heart pounding in your chest. “I know I’ve been through a lot, and I don’t want to rush anything. But I can’t pretend anymore. I have feelings for you—feelings that go beyond friendship. I want to explore this… whatever this is between us.”

A moment of silence stretched between you, filled with the weight of your confession. You could see the shock in his expression slowly melting into something softer, something hopeful.

“I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he finally said, his voice low and sincere. “I care about you too, Y/N. I’ve felt this way for a long time, but I didn’t know if you’d feel the same after everything that’s happened.”

Your heart soared at his words, relief flooding through you. “Really?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, a small smile spreading across his lips. “Really.”

In that moment, everything else faded away. You felt a magnetic pull between you, drawing you closer together. Without thinking, you leaned in, your heart racing as you closed the space between you.

Sunghoon met you halfway, his lips brushing against yours with a gentle hesitance that quickly melted into a deeper kiss. It was electric—filled with all the unspoken emotions you had both held back for so long. The world outside your living room ceased to exist, leaving only the warmth of his body and the rhythm of your hearts.

You melted into him, feeling the softness of the couch beneath you as he deepened the kiss, hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer. You could feel the heat radiating between you, igniting something passionate and alive that you hadn’t anticipated.

You  moaned softly into Sunghoon's mouth, the sound fueling his desire even further. Breaking the kiss for air, you stared into each other's eyes, both breathless and flushed. "Your room," Sunghoon whispered hoarsely. "Let's go to your room."

Hand in hand, you made your way to your childhood bedroom, a space that held countless memories of your friendship. The room was a sanctuary, adorned with pictures and trinkets from your shared adventures. Sunghoon closed the door behind you, sealing your private world from the outside.

You leaned against the door, heart racing as he approached her. He gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your soft cheeks. "I've dreamed of this moment for so long," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.Your lips met again, this time with a hunger that burned through your restraint. Sunghoon's hands roamed over your body, exploring the curves and contours of your hips and waist. His fingers played with the hem of your tshirt, as if he was silently asking permission to take it off of you. You nod, his hands wasting no time in peeking the fabric to reveal the lacy black bra you wore beneath. 

Your breath caught in your throat as his fingertips traced the delicate lace, sending shivers down her spine.

With deft fingers, Sunghoon unhooked your bra, freeing your breasts. You gasp at the cold air that suddenly hits you. He gazed at them with reverence, his eyes dark with desire. Leaning down, he took one nipple into his mouth, suckling gently while his thumb teased the other.  You arch your back at the sensation, moaning softly as waves of pleasure rippled through you.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N," Sunghoon whispered against you skin. "I want to make you feel so good."

Feeling a sudden burst of eagerness, your hands found their way to Sunghoon's belt, unbuckling it with trembling fingers. You undid his jeans and slid your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around his hardening cock through his boxers. Sunghoon gasped, his breath hot against your neck, placing a small, wet kiss there as you began to stroke him. “S-shit baby.”

You slip your hand out, guiding Sunghoon towards your bed, you pushed him gently onto the mattress, positions now reversed. You straddled his waist, grinding your hips against his, feeling his erection press against your clothed cunt. His hands roamed over your thighs, inching upwards, exploring the soft skin beneath her shorts that had been driving him insane since the moment he stepped foot inside your house. 

With a gentle tug, you lifted your hips as he removed your shorts as well as the cute black panties that matched your bra, revealing your bare pussy, glistening with desire. Sunghoon's eyes darkened further as he took in the sight, his breath coming in short gasps. "You're so wet, Y/N. want to taste you so bad."

“later, you say as you slide down his body, positioning yourself between his legs. You leaned forward, your long hair cascading over your shoulders, as you began to kiss and lick the length of his shaft. Sunghoon groaned, his hands gripping the bedsheets as you took him deep into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head of his cock. “Feels so good baby”

Sunghoon couldn't hold back any longer. He sat up, positioning you on the bed, and parted your thighs with gentle kisses. His tongue traced the outer folds of your pussy, teasing your sensitive skin. You squirmed with pleasure,  hips bucking against his face as he found your clit and began to suckle it with relentless passion.

"Oh, Sunghoon!" you cried out,  voice hoarse with desire. "Fuck don't stop, please!"

Sunghoon continued his relentless assault on your clit, sending you spiraling towards an intense orgasm “tastes so fucking good, all wet just for me.” Your body trembled,  crying out his name as waves of pleasure washed over you. Sunghoon didn't let up, continuing to lick and suck until you were a quivering mess, your body drenched in sweat and satisfaction.

After a few moments to recover, you reached for Sunghoon, pulling him up to kiss him in a more hungry kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, and it drove you wild with desire all over again. "I want you inside me," you whispered between kisses. "Now."

Sunghoon needed no further encouragement. He positioned himself at your entrance, his cock throbbing with anticipation. With one smooth thrust, he filled you completely, eliciting a gasp from your parted lips. you moved in perfect harmony, your bodies slick with sweat as ge fucked you with raw, unbridled passion.

"Harder, baby" you pleaded, nails digging into his shoulders. "fuck me harder.” Sunghoon obliged, pounding into you with abandon, his hips slamming against yours. 

The headboard banged against the wall, marking the rhythm of your frantic coupling. your cries filled the room as you rode the waves of pleasure,  orgasm building to an intense crescendo.

“Fuck baby your pussys clenching so hard around my cock, im so fucking close.” You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppier, your own orgasm approaching just a quick. “gonna c-cum hoonie.” He couldn't hold back any longer. With a final, powerful thrust, he came deep inside you, his hot cum painting your walls white. 

He collapsed onto the bed, bodies entwined, both breathing heavily as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through each of you. “If I would’ve known you’d fuck me that good maybe I would’ve given you a chance much earlier.” You tell him out of breath, eliciting a chuckle from him. 

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The soft morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a gentle glow in your room. You stirred awake, feeling warmth enveloping you. Sunghoon was nestled beside you, his arm draped protectively around your waist, holding you close. The memory of the night before flooded your mind—the kiss, the confessions, and the spark of something beautiful igniting between you.

You smiled to yourself, feeling a sense of contentment that you hadn’t experienced in a long time. But as you settled deeper into his embrace, a sudden noise from downstairs jolted you from your blissful reverie.

“Y/N, I think your parents are back,” Sunghoon murmured sleepily, rubbing his eyes as he became more alert.

Your heart raced as the reality of the situation hit you. “Oh fuck, They’re not supposed to be back yet” you whispered, panic rising in your chest.

Sunghoon’s eyes widened, and he immediately sat up, glancing around the room. “We need to hurry”

You both scrambled to untangle yourselves from the sheets, adrenaline coursing through you. As you hopped out of bed, you glanced at each other, both of you laughing nervously at the chaotic situation. There was an unspoken agreement—you needed to act casual, like nothing unusual had happened.

“Okay, you get dressed first,” you said, tossing him a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that had been strewn on the floor. “I’ll throw on something too.”

You quickly changed into a comfy hoodie and leggings, your heart still racing as you heard your parents’ voices growing louder downstairs. The last thing you wanted was for them to walk in on you two after the night you just shared.

“Are you ready?” Sunghoon asked, his hair slightly tousled as he pulled on the T-shirt. He looked adorable, and it took everything in you not to linger on how cute he was at that moment.

“Almost!” you replied, giving your reflection a quick check in the mirror before moving to the door. “Let’s go!”

You both rushed down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible, your hearts pounding in your chests. As you reached the bottom step, you could hear your parents chatting in the kitchen, their voices bright and cheerful.

“Y/N, are you home?” your mom called out just as you and Sunghoon entered the living room, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Yeah, Mom! Just hanging out!” you replied, forcing a casual tone, hoping it didn’t sound too forced.

You glanced over at Sunghoon, who was giving you a small, reassuring smile, but you could see the nervousness in his eyes. You both moved into the kitchen, where your parents were unpacking bags, completely oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions that had just taken place in your room.

“Hey, Sunghoon! you’re here,” your dad said, giving him a friendly nod. “Did you keep Y/N entertained while we were gone?”

“Of course!” Sunghoon replied, a little too quickly, his eyes darting to you for a brief moment. “We had a fun movie night.”

You nodded enthusiastically, trying to match his energy. “Yeah, just a normal hangout. Nothing out of the ordinary,” you added, unable to hide the hint of a nervous laugh.

Your mom chuckled, giving you both a knowing look. “You two have always been inseparable. I’m glad you’re spending time together.”

You felt your cheeks flush, and you shot Sunghoon a sidelong glance. He was trying hard not to smile, and it was contagious.

“Did you enjoy the trip?” you asked, hoping to shift the conversation away from the night before.

Your parents launched into stories about their travels, and as you listened, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at Sunghoon. He caught your eye, and you both exchanged a small smile that felt electric, reminding you of the connection you had just started to explore.

As breakfast was prepared, the atmosphere felt relaxed and easy, but your heart raced at the thought of your parents unknowingly interrupting something that had felt so significant. You couldn’t help but feel giddy about the night you had shared, and the prospect of what lay ahead for you and Sunghoon, even as the morning unfolded like any other day.

After breakfast, your parents retreated to the living room to relax, leaving you and Sunghoon to clean up the kitchen. The atmosphere felt light, almost like the calm before a storm as you both exchanged playful banter, your earlier connection still fresh in your minds.

Later that afternoon, you heard a familiar voice ring out from the front door. “Y/N! I’m here!” Yeji called as she burst into the house, her energy immediately filling the space.

You couldn’t help but smile, excitement bubbling up at the sight of your childhood best friend. “Yeji! You’re back!” you exclaimed, rushing to greet her with a hug.

As you pulled away, she looked at you intently, her gaze sweeping over you from head to toe. “You’re glowing,  What’s going on with you?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, and you tried to play it cool. “What are you talking about?” you said, attempting to sound nonchalant, but you felt a giddy warmth spread through you.

“Oh, come on” Yeji pressed, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “You look so happy. Are you and sunghoon fianlly together?”

You felt your heart race at the thought. “It’s… complicated,” you said, a shy smile creeping onto your face as you remembered the kiss, the way he made you feel, and the warmth that had lingered long after. “We’re just figuring things out.”

“Just figuring things out?” Yeji exclaimed, her voice rising in disbelief. “Y/N, you’re practically radiating happiness, That sounds like a classic ‘we’re together’ situation to me now spill bitch.”

You laughed, unable to suppress the joy bubbling inside you. “I promise, it’s nothing like that! We’re just friends hanging out—well, more than friends, but still… you know.” You were stumbling over your words, and you could feel the warmth of your blush creeping down your neck.

Yeji’s eyes widened, her expression a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Oh my god, did you fuck?” she pressed, bouncing slightly on her heels, clearly thrilled at the prospect.

You don’t say anything, except you give her a knowing look that told her everything she needs to know. 

Yeji’s smile grew wider, her excitement infectious. “Fucking finally. I thought you idiots would never figure it out” She grabbed your shoulders, her eyes gleaming. “You have to tell me everything.”

Just then, Sunghoon appeared in the doorway, glancing between the two of you, a bemused smile on his face. “What’s going on in here?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe with an amused expression.

Yeji turned to him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, just catching up on the latest drama. Y/N and I were just talking about how she’s glowing and—”

You quickly interjected, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “We were just talking about… uh, my skincare routine!”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Your skincare routine, huh? Sounds fascinating.”

“Shut up,” you shot back playfully, laughter spilling out. But deep down, you felt a thrill at the thought of your feelings for him becoming more public, shared between friends.

Yeji wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, a teasing smile on her face.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. As Sunghoon joined the conversation, you felt a warmth in your heart, realizing how much you had missed this—how much you had missed him.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You and Sunghoon settled into a rhythm of secrecy and excitement. Every stolen moment felt like a thrilling adventure, each shared smile charged with an energy that left you both breathless. You spent evenings hanging out at parks, grabbing snacks at your favorite convenience store, and reliving old memories. But as your bond deepened, so did the intensity of your feelings.

You both agreed to keep things under wraps for a little while longer, wanting to navigate this new chapter without the pressure of parental expectations looming over you. But sneaking around only added to the thrill, and soon, it became second nature.

One Friday evening, you decided to go on a real date. After all, you had managed to keep things low-key, but you were ready to enjoy being together without the pressure of hiding. You picked a charming little café downtown, a spot you both loved, and as the sun began to set, the place glowed with a warm, inviting ambiance.

You shared a dessert and exchanged playful banter, the world outside fading away. Sunghoon’s laughter felt like music, and each lingering glance seemed to whisper promises of something beautiful. The night was perfect—until it was time to go home.

As you walked down the quiet street, the cool night air wrapping around you, you felt a surge of affection. You turned to Sunghoon, smiling softly, and without thinking, you pulled him into a warm embrace. It felt so right, being close to him, your heart racing at the proximity.

But just as you pulled away, a familiar voice broke the silence. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Startled, you turned to see your parents standing just a few feet away, a mix of surprise and amusement on their faces. Sunghoon’s eyes widened, and you felt your heart drop. “Uh… hey!” you stammered, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

Your mom stepped forward, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “We always knew you two would end up together,” she said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow playfully.

Sunghoon chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, well, this is a bit unexpected.”

Your dad grinned, stepping beside your mom. “You think we wouldn’t notice the way you two look at each other? You’ve been sneaking around, haven’t you?”

You exchanged glances with Sunghoon, a mix of embarrassment and relief flooding through you. “Okay, maybe a little,” you admitted, unable to hide your smile.

“Just a little?” Yeji suddenly appeared from behind your parents, her arms crossed and an amused look on her face. “I could have told you they were dating from the way they looked at each other!”

Your heart raced, but seeing the warmth in your parents’ eyes eased your nerves. “We just wanted to take our time, you know?” you said, looking up at Sunghoon.

Your mom laughed softly. “You kids and your secrets. We were starting to wonder when you would finally tell us!”

Sunghoon relaxed, a smile spreading across his face. “Sorry for keeping it from you, but we wanted to figure things out first.”

Your dad patted Sunghoon on the back. “You’re a good kid. We’re just happy to see you both happy. Just remember to keep it respectful, alright?”

You nodded vigorously, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders. As you stood there, surrounded by family and friends, you realized how wonderful it felt to share your happiness openly.

Sunghoon looked at you, his expression softening. “Well, I guess the secret’s out,” he said, smiling broadly.

You chuckled, leaning against him, warmth spreading through you. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As you walked home together, hand in hand, you knew this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your lives—one filled with love, laughter, and the promise of many more adventures to come.

taglist: @inkchwe @m1m1-70 @tr0p1cal @g0niki @everythingboutkpop @charlizefaye @enhastolemyheart @riribelle @jae-n0 @elliewsblade @vixensss @wilonevys @meimeiyh @bubblytaetae @woorcve @augustloaf @lolznoelle @cheridiaries @lexipowers26 @losraire @cherrybeomm @tahmia @roslayy @greenparties @niniissus @miszes @okhoonie @laurradoesloveu @aquariushiiiii @aanniikkaa @ikeulove @jiawji @slvrnm @jakesbbygirl @toodeloosoo @questionsdearreader @moon368 @jungwonsstrawberry @ineedsomezzz @ckline35 @hollyoongs @reigenation @vhuteryh @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @eneiyri @crazyinloveesvt @nqjaemin @blockbusterhee @kimjkejyy @missjcsstuff @jjonghoonist @gukrkive @yooginikiluv @honeyikeu @mitmit01 @selleprotection @gae-ping-boosay @hee-yunie @soobinbunnie5 @noturmommasstuff @rkivesfilm @skaterhoon @bamguetismee @manivestjinx

[mygnolia]

to weave my love ⭒ n. riki

⭒ SYNOPSIS -› Riki is good at many things- dancing, making fun of his friends, playing it cool (debatable.), Hell- he’s even good at saving people from falling buildings without getting whiplash. But the things he’s bad at? Well, it’s asking you out to prom, and trying to balance the shared assignment he has with you…while being Spider-man.

⭒ PAIR -› spiderman!nishimura riki x fem-pres!reader

⭒ GENRE -› fluff, banter, action ⭒ TROPES -› classmates to lovers, idiots to lovers ⭒ WC -› 17k (i’m sorry idk why either.)

⭒ INCLUDES -› SPOILERS FOR GREAT GATSBY, cursing, non-graphic injuries (reader discretion advised), yes i made the patching up with first aid kit trope SUE ME!! takes place in a busy city similar to new york never specified, reader is rich, jake and heeseung are seniors and riki’s a junior, is riki stupid? yes… jake reveals stuff because he is also a little silly, reader wears a red dress!

⭒ GREAT GATSBY -› basically jay gatsby has this weird amt of money but no one rlly knows how he got it (nefarious reasons) and hes been in love with this girl daisy for five years but then she got married to tom buchanan but he gets rich so he can get the house across from her and wistfully watch her and he pines after her like CRAZY but he dies at the end

⭒ REN SAYS...special huge fat kiss to thena @sensitively-taken you will be in the will when im a millionaire THANK YOU for helping me with so much of this I WUV U AND I WLL BE WAITING FOR UR HUENING FIC!!! | LIBRARY

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE FROM PRE-ADULTHOOD STRESS, IF THAT’S EVEN A THING.

What exactly does Riki have to worry about as a seventeen-year-old junior in high school? Right now, his most daunting responsibility is catching up on the chapters of The Great Gatsby because the only thing Riki’s actually read from the novel is that the main character shares a name with his best friend and senior, Park Jay. His second most daunting responsibility is handling the fact that with the new seating chart in his Literature class, it means he’s sitting next to the object of his very subtle affections, you. 

See, the problem with having a crush on you is that Nishimura Riki’s committed to thinking that you’re way out of his league, and unfortunately, the boy believes that almost too well. Not only are you minted beyond his wildest dreams (having seen your posts on social media), but you’re hardworking, helpful, and dedicated to your role as student body treasurer. He’s already understood that you’d never go for a guy like him. Maybe someone more like Park Sunghoon, whose parents’ salary matches yours. If Riki lived in a rural estate with generational wealth, handling the whole ‘Spider-Man’ thing might be a bit easier for him, considering he wouldn’t have to try so hard in school. It might even change the fact that Riki dealt with some alleyway criminals last night and is currently catching up on lost sleep, as your English Literature teacher goes on and on about a project on the book you’re reading. 

In class, and even sometimes outside of the classroom, your small tendency to not pay attention to your surroundings has landed you in some awkward situations—like now. 

“I don’t really tell anyone this, but I hate Daisy.” And instead of getting a response, you glance over to see Nishimura Riki slumped on the desk. Without trying to make preconceptions about what could land him in a situation like this, you poke his arm, stifling a smile at how his eyes widen when you’ve caught him rubbing the very obvious sleep from his eye. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, still fighting the post-nap grogginess, “Did I miss anything?” 

(Nope.)

Shaking your head, you return your attention to your teacher as he continues to answer questions. The second Mr. Yoo assigned a report, you wanted to die even more considering the work you had to do on top of the impending due dates. But for it to be partnered? And for you to get seated and paired with the one boy who's known for not caring about school? Maybe things are a little stacked against you, but there has to be a reason why Riki’s somehow still passing all his classes…right?

Considering it’s the last assignment about the book, you’re glad that you already read it so many times to know what you want to put into words. And in retrospect, answering a few open-ended questions about it can’t be that hard—the hardest part would be getting your partner to stay awake in class. 

A small tap at your side makes you turn to face Riki, who you see has frantically written a page full of notes about the project in the past three minutes and how he can succeed. “Can you go over the first part? Sorry…I was…y’know.” 

“It’s a partner project. And we’re partners.” You wince at the awkward wording. 

Great! Riki was caught sleeping and that was your first impression of him for your paired assignment? Riki feels so stupid in front of you right now—in front of your meticulous notes with annotations and proper highlighting. He wants to curl up into a ball when he sees you glance over at his haphazard attempt to look like he was paying attention when, in truth, he was trying to remember the dream he had just ten minutes prior. When you offer him a small smile and nod, leaning over with your notebook in hand, he sighs in relief, thanking whoever it was that let him get away with his naps without the consequence of irritating you afterwards. 

The bell rings when Mr. Yoo stops talking, and you pause, startled by the sound. Instead of leaving, however, you pack your bag and shuffle to his side of his desk, continuing to parrot details about your report in hopes that it all makes sense. You need to make sure he knows what he’s doing. 

“I think one of the questions he mentioned was like ‘Is Gatsby a good person?’ and do you remember how in Chapter Eight…” The rest gets zoned out and forgotten in the boy’s head, because he in fact does not know what happened in Chapter Eight. He doesn’t know what happened…in any part of the book. But he agrees anyway, pretending like he understands what scene you’re trying to explain. What he notices is how thorough and dedicated you are towards ensuring he comprehends what you’re explaining, and although it could be because you don’t want him to fail you both, he chooses to believe you’re doing it because you tolerate him. 

You’re so engrossed in covering all the little details and telling him random tidbits regarding the book that you don’t realize your feet have made it all the way to the cafeteria. “But here, let me get your number. I’ll totally explain more over text.” 

Riki is definitely not freaking out when he silently grabs his phone and hands it to you with the contact page, staring a little longer than necessary at the cute smiley face you added to your name. “Thanks,” he mumbles, forcibly tearing his eyes away from the ten digits of your number, “For helping me with this, too.”

“Of course! The Great Gatsby is a fun read for me. A little hard to read sometimes because of some of the characters, but still easy to understand.” And Nishimura RIki realizes that he has to do well. He’ll read the book five times over if it means gaining your approval. 

Jake notices something a little different about the tuft of black and blonde hair when his friend walks in. The first thing is that he’s actually here, and that you’re next to him, smiling. The boy rubs his eye to make sure he’s not dreaming somehow, but when he looks up again, you’re waving goodbye and joining your friends across the room. 

“Did you get hit with something while fighting a villain that makes you more bold? I feel like I just saw you and ____ talking,” Jake starts when Riki finally joins him with his lunch. 

Riki laughs, shoving Jake’s head out of embarrassment and opening his chips. “It’s just school. Got some project in English and she says we’re partnered.” He looks over at his friend chuckling, rolling his eyes at how Jake pokes at his side and wiggles his eyebrows. 

“I better hear you two are dating by next week.” 

“Who’s dating by next week?” Heeseung places his bag of food in front of them and takes a seat, opening the fast food he got last period and stuffing a fry in his mouth. 

“Riki and ____. Let me have one,” Jake answers, reaching inside the bag. 

Heeseung looks over at his junior curiously. “You asked her out?” And the two older students hear a groan from the boy in question. 

“Me and ____ aren’t anything, for your information.” He prods at the vegetables on his tray and takes a bite before a look of displeasure washes over his face. “You’re both way too excited for two guys who do not have girlfriends.” 

“Hey! You know the girl I’m always fighting with is the reason why I’m single. I have to focus on studying to do well in school to do better than her.” Heeseung’s whining falls on deaf ears as Riki smiles victoriously, seeing how defensive the former got. 

Jake offers him a shrug of defeat. “I got nothing.”

The three of them fall into normal conversation and Riki finally explains everything that happened during English.  “So you’re telling me your plan to ask ____ out went down from 18 months to 6?” And with a nod from the younger, they both groan once more. Heeseung exclaims, “We’re both going to graduate, dumbass. Make the plan go down to like…two months? Please?” 

Jake cuts in before Riki has a chance to respond. “Make it one and a half, so we can see you with a prom date before leaving forever.” 

“You act as if you’re going to die after graduation. It’s like you’re begging to be a super senior.” 

And they’re silenced immediately. 

“Do you think the guy I was with earlier hates me?” you ask on the other side of the room. Minjeong stares at you blankly, waiting for your explanation. “I don’t know if you saw when I walked in but I was talking to this really tall guy with blonde hair and black tips. He seemed really out of it, like he kept staring at me and nodding. I think I scared him off by talking about the book too much.” 

Sunghoon, who is also listening in, opens his neatly packed lunchbox and begins mixing his noodles. “I think you did scare him off, ____.”

“Not helping,” Minjeong interjects, “Just talk to him more and maybe he’ll warm up to you. You two sit together in class anyways, so hopefully he’ll talk more?” 

“I know him,” Sunghoon comments, “Well, sort of. I’m friends with Jake who’s friends with Riki, and it seems like all that boy does is sleep.” 

“Maybe he’s really good at subconscious in-class comprehension?” you try, taking a bite of your sandwich. “I just hope it doesn’t interfere too much with treasurer stuff.” 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE IF HE SWINGS INTO ANOTHER WALL AT 100MPH LIKE HOW HE ALMOST DID TONIGHT.

All he’s had on his mind since school ended till now is how he should probably text you, if he really discarded the slimy acid monster from last week properly, and when the prom theme is going to be released, but there’s something amiss that confuses his spidey-senses and makes Riki much more alert. 

He snaps out of whatever train of thought he had before, focusing on the situation at hand and looking around to follow his instinct. Riki cautiously plants himself on the side of a random apartment building to get a sense of what's going on. A tingle of some sort of in the air permeates the material of his suit and leaves him shivering from the cold. 

He doesn't like it one bit. 

Moving to the side of the building to the top, the boy finally catches a glimpse of something when he gets a decent view of the city and highway systems. Riki knows something’s wrong with the bridge the closer he gets. He zips from one side of the tall, metal tower to the other, crawling down on all fours making sure he isn’t caught. He feels the electric feeling once more, only amplified. It runs up his spine and he wants to slap it, almost like a frantic, summertime bug. The air around him is charged with something he has never recognized before. With a puzzled expression under his mask, Riki continues to investigate the surrounding area. 

Riki finds a lone figure with some sort of attachment to his left arm, like a long glove made out of metal. The bulkiness of it seems to have no impact on his body as the man fiddles with the contraption, and the boy watches with bated breath as the machine fizzes and spurts with electricity. It begins to glow as power concentrates on his plated palm and the superhero sees it for the first time. It’s like a fizz, like a match striking at fire only to produce a quick burst of friction, but it almost feels liquid when he watches the person play with the flickering blue ball of electricity. It dances in the dark in a hauntingly beautiful way, with bolts jutting out from the metal as it spurts and buzzes with a life-like manner. 

A spark. 

“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sound of Riki’s voice from the end of the bridge causes the stranger to look up with wide eyes. Although Riki fully expects it to simply enhance strength or block damage, the immediate strike of blue that flies straight towards him is anything but defensive. With a yelp, he jumps away, this time refusing to show himself. 

What the hell was that?

He knows he should go back down there to change things and get the person and the metal pieces away before it escalates, but when he goes back down to watch, it's ten times worse. The bright blue illuminates the scarred face of the villain as he’s picked up the metal arm–but this time, it’s no longer clunky and sparking, but fused into his arm. 

Riki’s face pales at the sudden change before his body acts on its own and he shoots out a web to stop the man. 

The villain is shocked by the intrusion, but quickly yanks free from the webbing and flicks another bolt of electricity, one that flies much faster now that the metal flows into the arm instead of simply resting on the skin. It’s unlike something Riki has ever seen, something that is so controlled in motion and yet so erratic in nature, and it instills a deathly fear when it grazes his arm he hisses in pain. The sharp feeling springs Riki into action as he jumps away. He’s lucky another bolt isn’t sent his way, seeing how the villain’s too busy marveling at the power of his new gadget.

“You know that fucking hurts, right?” He yells out, cupping his wound. “Maybe leave the gadgets to the kids!”

The man scoffs. “It better have hurt. I sacrificed half my body for this to work.”

“But why?” All Riki wants is answers. Some sort of explanation.

The man charges up yet another bolt, almost like a laser gun is built into the machine. “Less talking, more running, Spiderman.” 

That scared the shit out of him. 

The boy doesn’t have time to think as he jumps out from the dark tunnel to the bridge and up the metal towers—he hates having to fight with people right below. The villain follows in pursuit, almost crumbling the metal with his engineered arm as he hoists himself quickly. Riki continues to jump between the structure to avoid the flashes, trying to get out and apprehend the man as quickly as possible. When he reaches the top, however, he feels death is near as he glances down at the villain below who’s quickly gaining on him. He shoots out webs to slow him temporarily, letting himself fall and swing from the side of the tower to escape. 

What he doesn’t see on the way across the bridge is the flash that misses his cheek and hits his thigh instead. It burns, and mid-air, Riki gives the wound a quick assessment before he lands on the metal, immediately forcing his body to climb. While dealing with his wound, he fails to notice the villain swinging from the bridge support lines to meet him. 

He needs to end this fast before he becomes burnt toast.

Riki doesn’t often rely on instinct to carry him, but he can tell that the villain he’s facing isn’t just a criminal. 

“Land another hit, would you?” he tries to say, his voice strained from the pain in his arm and leg. It doesn’t do much to deter the man in front of him as the arm continues to destroy and bend the metal on the way up. “What are you going to do now, Sparky?”

The man says nothing, charging energy into his metal glove again before aiming and focusing on the target: him. 

Riki jumps off, not able to properly land his web in the right spot as he goes from one section of the bridge to the other. The man behind him looks enraged at the boy’s attempt to escape—so much so that he reaches out with his normal hand to try to grasp the suit when Spider-Man swings past him. Instead of the feeling of fabric, the villain feels sticky spider fluid on his fingers. Riki shoots out a web, one that curls around the villain’s wrist and drags him off the tower. Instead of being able to launch him into the surrounding waters, the man slips from the poorly shot-out webs and falls from mid air into the sea of frantic cars, including one semi truck that collides directly with his arm. In the air, the boy winces when he hears honks and shouts from the impact, hoping it’s the last time he’ll have to witness it.

With his gaze trained on the falling figure, the weakly attached web breaks, and Riki all of a sudden starts falling down as well. He curls up defensively before bracing for impact, curling into himself when he feels the metal dent and the truck driver scream from outside of the parked vehicle, the body of the villain right in front of it. 

Riki staggers, holding onto his arm and thigh the best he can before getting up. With wobbly steps and a small jump, he lands near the unconscious man, whose metal arm is cracked and fizzling—something that Riki knows is bound to leave more scars. 

“Call the police. I’ll get rid of the pieces.” Although Riki wants to figure out who the criminal is and make sure he’s properly apprehended, the gashes in the boy's limbs leave him winded and exhausted. With hot metal scraps bound together by webbing in his hands, Riki swings out and dumps it somewhere rural, trying his best to cover the pieces with the pounding headache that 

Riki revisits the secluded spot under the bridge, looking for clues to the man’s identity, and his expression falls when he notices a lanyard dangling near a trash can. 

His name, his position, and the company. FLiGHT Corp. The company name caught the boy’s eye, and he pockets the item before leaving. 

It seemed like he was a normal research scientist, but Riki’s recollection of the scars and tattered skin leaves him retracting his last thought. He heard something about the failure of a time travel machine at FLiGHT, and if the mass of the incident was anything to go by, he was in the center of it. 

No matter how many times Riki tries to get it out of his head, on the way home, all he can think about is the inexperience he displayed and the lack of response he gave Riki during the whole time. But Riki can’t bring himself to really take away someone’s life—and maybe for that, he’s a horrible superhero. 

He knows he should stop the man before it's too late, and especially with how many self-proclaimed villains there have been, it's not easy to see so many innocent people ruin their lives chasing a power that inevitably consumes them. He knows it’ll only get worse if he lets them run free.

And while the superhero has never been fully honest with himself, there are many times where Riki hates his role as Spider-Man, and wishes that he was just some teenage boy who didn't have the lives of others in his palm. He wishes he didn't have to sacrifice so much to stay behind a mask—and he wonders deep down if there’s anyone else who felt the same. 

His swings lead him across the city above hundreds of lives he has to protect, and he tries to find some semblance of peace. He thinks about how he has his homework due despite having just risked his life, he thinks about how your project is going—and about you. 

In the night under the stars, Nishimura Riki wishes for something just a bit normal. He wishes a good night for himself, but also for you, wherever you could be.

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE FROM TRYING TO READ THIS BOOK IN ONE NIGHT.

The Great Gatsby is exactly like how you described it; a little hard to get through but fun with the plot’s eccentric characters. He’s pretty sure he could’ve just used a detailed SparkNotes explanation for the book, but having a crush can make someone do weird things. And in Nishimura Riki’s case, his infatuation has got him reading a novel about morally-skewed characters and rich society to impress you. 

When you come into class barely on time, Riki gives you a confused look when you sit down, but doesn’t comment on it any further. Instead, he takes out his book and tries to act like his eyes weren’t closing shut from exhaustion by the time Daisy was finally confessing how she loved Gatsby. 

The moment Mr. Yoo stops talking, however, Riki isn’t asleep—much to your surprise. He has his book out, pages filled with sticky notes and a whole section of his notebook dedicated to characters (written in bright red to keep him awake) and their traits. 

“I got it.” It’s the first thing he says when you two are left to do in-class work. It’s ominous, and maybe a little too enthusiastic in a high school literature class for a boy who doesn’t even care that much for school, but you’ll accept it with open arms if it means you get a helping hand on your project. 

“Continue,” you tell him slowly, leaning back in your chair to listen to him. And you don’t know why, but a small part of you thinks that the boy who sleeps every period the book was discussed wouldn’t have much to say or contribute to such an open-ended prompt, but life is full of surprises. 

What you fail to notice is how Riki is nervous and his stomach does at least twenty flips before he swallows dryly and starts rambling in hopes to impress you and redeem himself from his embarrassing slumber a few days ago. 

“So you know how our prompt is based on one character and basically all their actions?” he asks, and you nod, absentmindedly thumbing a sheet in your journal. “I’m thinking we should talk about Jay Gatsby because so much is revealed to us about him that we might as well use it to our advantage. Y’know, talking about how the theme of exploitation and secrets is veiled under Gatsby’s desire for Daisy.”

“You don’t think Gatsby’s a good character?” Riki wants to tell you that Gatsby is more relatable than good or bad, but he shakes his head. 

“I mean, not really.” He feels like with those four words, he’s completely changed the trajectory of his relationship with you from a positive slope to completely downhill—and a wave of panic washes over him. “Should I? I mean, I could see him as more redeemable if you gave me examp-“

You wave your hand to quell his worries. “To be honest, I don’t like him either. But he’s an interesting main character to write about, so I think we should go with your idea.” 

To win your approval feels like he’s won at least three fights against a villain in a row without getting any bad injuries—it feels good. And for the rest of the period, you are able to finish a detailed outline of your work for the next few weeks, mapping out sections for each other, and he even gets to see a part of prom planning on a word document you had open. He considers your shared productivity a win when he packs up and bids you goodbye before leaving for lunch. 

One wave doesn’t catch Riki’s attention from across the room. Not even two, or three calls of his name could get Nishimura Riki out of his thoughts, and Jake frowns before moving up in the lunch line. 

“Something’s caught your eye again.” Jake feigns innocence and sighs dramatically as he places the food down next to Riki’s plate. “Could it possibly be our school treasurer?” Jake laughs, leaning over to catch a glimpse of what’s got his friend so entranced and non-responsive.

Riki scrunches his nose, annoyed, but never breaking his gaze from where you’re sitting. “We talked in class–like, a lot,” is all he says, paying his friend no mind. “She’s genuinely so understanding.”

“God, I don’t think you can be any more down bad for her than you are right now.” Jake picks at his food, and despite his concentration directed towards the olives on his pizza, he’s able to dodge the flying loaded nacho that goes his way, even if he wasn’t the one with superpowers.

“Can you shut up?” Riki grumbles, laying his head on his arms as he notices you smile and point to something. “I just got pummeled into a semi truck last week. Let me have this before I die tomorrow.” 

“Very grim,” his friend notes, ruffling the younger’s hair, “I think this is exactly what all of those mental health assemblies that we get are for.” And Riki basically tunes him out, too tired to fight and too used to the teasing remarks to come up with anything useful in response. 

Riki sits up a bit, letting his head rest on his propped elbow as he looks at the school food and touches another nacho gingerly. “Y’know, I read the book for English so she wouldn’t think I’m an idiot.” 

His friend snickers, successfully pulling out yet another sliced olive from the cheese, much to the disgust of Riki. “She probably already thinks you’re an idiot.” 

The superhero debates throwing another cheesy nacho in Jake's face, before deciding to eat it instead. “Don’t say that asshole! You make it seem like I have no chance with her.” 

Jake shoots him an exasperated look that makes Riki break eye contact. “That’s because you don’t.” 

“I’ll prove to her that I’m worth her time.” Riki says somewhat wistfully, still stealing glances from a few tables away. “Maybe I’ll ask her out to prom, show up in my suit. Do that cheesy upside down kiss shit people say Spiderman does.” When his friend raises an eyebrow at him, Riki shrugs. “I will! Well-maybe not the Spider-Man thing, but prom definitely.” 

Jake continues to look at him unconvinced as he takes a bite out of a slice of pizza with mangled cheese. “You barely talk to her in class and you think you can ask her out to prom as Nishimura Riki?” And the younger grins, eyes still stuck on how your eyes crinkle and how your shoulders shake with laughter. 

“Yup.” And his fate is sealed, just like that.

“What’s your project about, anyways? Didn’t you tell me last night that she gave you her number? Must be pretty serious if she wants to text you.” Riki furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. 

“It’s just tying the theme of the book to one character and writing about how they show it. So we did the theme of money and Gatsby, because it’s easy and mentioned so many times.” 

Jake gawks. “You must really like her,”

“I was planning to read it regardless of who I was partnered with.” 

“Okay- that’s debatable.” There goes another one of Riki’s nachos.

“Gross.” 

He thinks things are going pretty well for you two. The report is being written and your quotes are basically finding themselves, so Riki should give himself a pat on the back for pitching the initial idea for how to go about your assignment. Maybe reading the whole book offered him a few useful pointers, and he goes to sleep that night satisfied with your progress. Maybe Heeseung and Jake were right—maybe he could finally ask you out by prom. 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE TRYING TO SAVE THE CITY FROM YET ANOTHER MONSTER TERRORIZING THE STREETS.

He wakes up the next morning, not expecting his alarm to alert his senses to danger. It rings in his head and makes him feel delirious, trying to shake sleep off as he looks out the window for any visible sign of what's wrong. If he could hear the danger in his head then that meant someone could be hurt, and he could go to school without a few hours of sleep if he worked fast enough, right? 

Riki slips into his suit without much thought and goes to crack his window open, only to look back at his clock and read the horrific time of 6:23AM. 

Who the hell picks a fight with a teenager at this ungodly time? 

Then, he shoots from his wrists, once, twice, and suddenly, he's off, covering more ground through the air in just three seconds than he ever could while walking or running for minutes on end.

The source of his tingling spidey-sense is some large metal centipede creature that was setting off car alarms in a neighborhood near the market. Thankfully, no one was really awake to be caught in the crossfire, but he has to figure out how the hell he's going to catch that thing in...he checks his watch…twenty minutes? 

Hopefully, his instinct will help him win this time—again. 

The web he shoots out does nothing to stop the monster, and considering how it connected them both, the threads only drag the superhero to the edge of the building he was initially watching from. With some yelling and pulling, he finally detaches, and realizes that the odd sizzling feeling in his bonds must be from the same source as a few days ago; Spark. 

He had this gut feeling that a villain as strong as him wouldn’t have been destroyed so easily, but his wounds were so deep and the blood loss so bad from a few nights ago that he couldn’t have truly dumped him in the ocean without fainting or suffering something permanent, and although Riki hoped things in the universe would work itself out, the presence of the giant fifty foot insect alone is proof that things were not in his favor. 

He jumps off the building onto another, working quickly as he strings up a few webs between the houses as a wall for the monster, watching it slide and knock over cars in its wild pursuit. The monster spends a few seconds breaking down the wall of webbing and climbing over it, the many legs easily breaking through. As the superhero jumps across buildings and keeps track of the centipede’s movement, he has no idea why it isn’t going for him, and that makes his job much harder without the attention of the monster. One glance at the direction the centipede is headed in sets off another ding in Riki’s head—but this time, it finally clicks why the centipede is headed away from the boy. 

It’s attracted to the power plant. 

Riki immediately jumps and swings off of a lamp post, using the momentum of gravity and the force of his swing to propel him faster than the slithering creature. Squinting, he holds out his fist and points his pointer and pinky out, following the movement of the centipede as he aims. 

Bam. 

He sends clusters of silky white threads down precisely at the first pair of legs to pin it down. The webs stop the creature momentarily, and Riki doesn’t have time to watch how the body shrinks up and fizzes out with blue shocks as it tries to wiggle loose and malfunctions. This fight would be over soon, and the boy smiles when he jumps down to shoot more webs to apprehend the centipede. It wiggles and sends electricity out through parts of its body, trying to pry itself out. He expects it to simply be a robot of sorts following a mission considering its avoidant behavior, but as he approaches the tail, the monster suddenly swings at Riki, and its mass and speed is incomparable to the boy’s reaction speed. 

Riki lands into a tree and someone’s garage, feeling the crumbling wall falling all over him and the sudden pain blooming in his lower back. 

This fight will, in fact, not be over soon. 

With his superhuman abilities, Riki grabs onto the metal of the car beside him to hoist himself up, coughing from the dust, and jumping over the rubble to see how quickly the centipede creature can get out, without regard for his current state. The sound and rumble of the giant monster is all he needs to know that the traps are effective, but not at the previous capacity. 

The plan is simple: apprehend the legs and crush the head, where Riki assumes the decision-making and programming is taking place. But the monster’s angry and erratic actions throw a wrench in his plan. Its legs move faster, digging into the cement and leaving ruin in its wake as it continues down the road. While both the villain and superhero are fast, the distance between the power plant is finite—and only grows smaller and smaller.  

Although Riki can feel the bruises coming, he runs and swings, hearing the wind in his ears as he catches up to the centipede in no time. He tries the same tactics again–aim, shoot, stick, all the while keeping his distance. Although the monster’s body spans incredibly long, and should carry an immense amount of weight, the way it snaps at Riki’s flying body and sends shockwaves through his core leaves him shivering as his body slams into the ground, coughing. It hurts all over, and it feels like there’s weight on his eyes when he tries to open them and get up. His head is spinning as he staggers onto his knees, clutching his chest as he watches the centipede shrivel and crackle. 

It seems like the voltage produced is a double-ended sword, one that burns up the centipede body as much as it deals damage, and with the way the mutant creeps towards the electricity of the plant, Riki gets the feeling there’s a magnetic pull that forces the mutant to continue to crawl even against its instinct to stop. 

Despite his waning strength, however, Riki knows better than to half finish the job like last time. He creates a net from experience, weaving together the thickest and most durable threads to trap the entirety of the slowly approaching creature. It seems to crawl slowly up the makeshift barrier, knocking its head against the white and spreading the bright blue waves of its energy throughout. The boy watches as the thin white mass absorbs all of it and clings to the creature. It works, finally, after his attempts to nullify its movements, and he knows that despite the ache in his every step, the almost mummified centipede that hangs between several roofs for all the neighbors to gawk at is his sure sign of victory. 

All he remembers is hearing a familiar call of his hero name before his legs give out and his head hits Jake’s chest. 

Holy fucking shit is the first thing Riki thinks when he wakes up. 

He’s not out of his tattered suit and he feels grimy all over, but his body has done wonders in reducing the otherwise fatal injuries he got. No human body should be able to withstand two energy-filled blasts, but his suit and superhuman healing are of greater help than ever in alleviating the damage from his wounds. 

He knows why he’s in his bed with bandages thrown over his open wounds. He knows that every time something like this happens, it’s Jake who shoos away the concerned civilians, telling them he’s a medic. Jake is not a medic—rather, he’s a seventeen year-old boy who knows about his friend’s double life and with all the times he’s saved Riki, someone might as well dub him the greatest medic of all time. 

The clock on his bedside table has only served as a bearer of bad news. He looks over to see how it’s practically midday, and he’s missed yet another day of school from fighting crime. He’s in no condition to get up or get his bag, seeing how his hair is frizzy and his cheek has a cut that would warrant questioning. It seems only fair that he stays absent, and before he falls back asleep, he only prays you aren’t too mad at him for leaving the seat next to you empty.

But you aren’t mad, just worried. The soreness in his muscles doesn’t go away though, and he groans when he sits up in his bed, with bandages around his arms and an ice pack discarded next to him. 

He’s most definitely not coming to school like this. 

While you bore holes into the clock hanging off the wall, that doesn’t speed up the time. Two minutes pass, then another minute. As your classmates find their partners and begin discussing, you notice how the room gets louder with the due date looming near. It’s the first time you’re alone without the familiar boy beside you, and something hangs low in your chest when you put in a pair of earphones and open your laptop. 

Riki’s absence should have no effect on you. After all, you’re both just high school students who’ve talked once or twice, and yet you still look over at the empty chair. Staring doesn’t make Riki appear, though, and you return to your edits. It feels empty without his insight, or without him asking you to help him with a passage. Riki was your solution to all things boring. If he wasn’t doing his work, then you two were laughing at something on his phone. And if you agreed to both do something other than the report, then you could ask for an extra opinion when deciding prom details. There was something freeing about working with him that attracted you. Riki knew how to lighten the mood on days that weren’t so good for you, but he also worked hard and let loose at the same time. There was a perfect balance in Riki’s life that you aspired to have; it was a good mix of playful, dedicated, and fun all in the same vein. 

The words blend together on your screen. Jay Gatsby this, Tom Buchanan that, it all looks monotonous the more you keep trying to read and comprehend what exactly you’re talking about. 

Before class is dismissed, Mr. Yoo steps to the front of the classroom to gather everyone’s attention. He introduces your new novel for the next month, explaining yet another large assignment associated with the text. 

Truth be told, you don’t pay attention to any of it. 

The only thing you remember to do is to grab extra copies of the printed graphic organizers, as you get out of your seat and rush out when class ends in pursuit of one specific boy. 

“Sim Jaeyun!” The call of his name diverts Jake’s attention from his phone to your waving arm as you weave through the students and finally reach him. 

“You can just call me Jake,” he explains, “what’s up?” 

You begin to reach into your backpack, trying to feel for your folder, and pull out a few sheets. “These are for Riki.” 

Jake cheers internally for his friend who’s busy recovering at home. “What, you got a crush on him or something?” 

He tries to play it cool by teasing you, but the smile you bite back leaves the boy questioning if there really is anything going on. Jake knows better than to tell you anything about Riki’s feelings, and opts to instead grab the papers and to thank you for looking out for his friend. 

“Is Riki okay?” You have to know, just to make sure he’ll be here tomorrow to cure your boredom. 

What Jake says is much different than the nonchalant wave and half grin he gives you. “He’s just bedridden.” 

“That’s pretty serious! Did he come down with anything?” He seemed fine yesterday, so what’s the catch?

He blurts, “He just got badly hurt.” 

Immediately, Jake knows he’s fucked up. 

Your confusion and silence answers him far more than words ever could–he basically hears the gears turning slowly in your head.

Jake weakly defends, “His parents had a fight with him because he hit his head or something. He’ll be fine by tomorrow. Just bedridden from sadness, y’know?” 

The look you give him is unconvinced, but when Heeseung pats him on the shoulder and waves to you, the boy realizes that maybe staying quiet would’ve been the better decision. 

“I’ll see you later, ____.” And he’s off, waving half-heartedly and dragging a very confused Heeseung out of the cafeteria. 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE TRYING TO WAKE YOU UP AS GENTLY AS HE CAN.

Ever since March started and flowers began to bloom, your energy seemed to do the opposite, dwindling until Riki catches you mirroring his frequent in-class action: sleeping. And it worries him beyond belief, because you’re not the type to fall asleep like… ever. However, Riki does not have the heart to wake you up, even if it’s with a little nudge that you probably barely feel with how light he taps. It breaks his heart to have to ask you to review what he has done, because the bell is about to ring and the teacher might just send you to detention if he catches you off-task. 

The allergies always make Mr. Yoo irritable, and Riki knows not to get on his nerves. 

Your eyes flutter open to the pokes and prodding from none other than Nishimura Riki, who gazes at you softly when you adjust to the bright classroom setting once more. 

Panic settles in. “Wait- how long was I sleeping for?” 

He shrugs and scrunches his nose, not giving you an answer as he finishes scribbling something in his notebook. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Your hand squeezes into a fist at the frustration that you’ve let your partner down. 

And yet, Riki seems to be unfazed, frowning when he sees you stressing out. “Don’t ever sweat the little things, yeah? If there’s anything you ever need to talk about–trust me, I know what it’s like to have a lot of pressure on your shoulders.”

Smiling at him, you respond with, “Thank you, really.” 

Being treasurer is daunting in the spring. It’s full of requests, forms, and small tasks that leave you spent by the end of the day. “But,” you glance at the clock to see just how much time is left, “how’d you know?” 

He motions to your open computer with a now dark screen. “I saw your document pulled up. ____’s tasks or else she will be kicked out of student government,” he taunts, snickering when your eyes grow wide with embarrassment and you lightly nudge his shin with your foot in warning. 

“It’s not polite to snoop,” and although you say that, you catch something in your peripheral vision. It’s a few drawings of a figure and gadget drawn, shaded from rigid shapes with small descriptions pointing to different places. You weren’t sure what was more surprising; how good the drawings were, or the subject of his imagination. 

Weird. Inherently, there was nothing wrong with Riki drawing a villain, and you chalked it up to him being creative. Nothing more, nothing less. 

He puts his hands up in surrender at your last comment, his grin showing anything but. Just one look at the boy makes you realize that everything you’ve just thought about is foolish. 

There’s no way he’d have time to be a villain and a student. With one final thought, you let your raging thoughts rest and focus on the present; him. You’ve seen his hair messy, especially after his naps, but when Riki tries to style it like how he did today, you pay more attention to the streaks of blonde and how he often hides behind his bangs and scrunches his nose. It’s cute. He’s cute.

The truth is, you enjoy being around him like this, joking around and never worrying too much about your responsibilities and expectations. It’s refreshing. Being around Riki gives you the feeling that things will be okay in the end. 

You snap out of your thoughts to see that his desk is empty, while your’s hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re going to sell prom tickets now, right?” He makes small talk before leaving for lunch, closing the notebook you were suspiciously eying before slipping it into his bag. 

“Yup,” you answer, popping the ‘p,’ “I’ll see you later,” and you two part ways.

All the long lines and constant distribution of change doesn’t allow much wiggle room for you to daydream. As time goes on, the ticket-selling line grows smaller and smaller, but the only thing you truly care about is eating the lunch your parents packed you. Your sandwich is probably sad and soggy now that there are only a few minutes of lunch left. When you finally sign off one last time after triple checking the forms are all correct, you let out a sigh, leaning back and finally getting a break. 

Then, it hits you that you’re not even sure if the boy you’re fawning over is attending the biggest event of the year, and you feel stupid for forgetting to ask. 

-

Yesterday was a rookie’s mistake–today, you’d make sure you get an answer from him.

“Are you going to prom, Riki?” is the first thing you ask when he sits down, grabbing his book and laptop with a little too much enthusiasm. 

“I’m thinking about it.” Yeah, whatever confidence he had when convincing himself he’d ask you out isn’t serving him well at this moment. Quite frankly, Riki feels lame as ever trying to be nonchalant around you. “You?” 

“I’d have to set up, so I would be there, yes. But whether or not I have a date is another story.” You smile to lighten the mood, but Riki watches you and nods, focusing back on signing into his laptop and getting his notes for the new book you’re reading. 

“Well, you’re not the only single one here.” And he wants to reprimand himself for saying something without thinking. “If someone asked, would you say yes?”

You think about it carefully, really because you don’t have anyone in mind when it comes to prom if Riki’s not planning on going. “It’d have to be someone I know—someone I talk to somewhat regularly. I’d be nice to be with someone who doesn’t make it awkward.”

Nishimura Riki might die from over-thinking if he keeps on wondering whether or not he fits that description to a tee.

RIKI'S TO-DO LIST BEFORE PROM

☐  talk to ____ regularly 

☐  don't make it awkward 

☐  be..cute? 

The boy decides that his superhuman responsibilities might be easier to complete than any of those three things. 

He switches the subject to stop his head from hurting too much. “Did you finish the report?” 

You still, and Riki’s question reminds you of the report looming over your head. In your defense, you two hadn’t brought it up much in the past week, and he didn’t seem to worry over how much of your time was spent emailing teachers or making spreadsheets. Although caught off guard, you’re quick to respond with, “What did we have to finish? I thought we were done since last week, but if there’s anything else-” 

“Sorry,” he rushes out, biting his lip, “I meant, if you finished reading it.” And the answer is no, you haven’t read it since your last edit on it three days ago. 

Within a few clicks, you find the document and scroll to the bottom, seeing the small note that Riki left that said ‘let me know how it looks.’ It’s sweet to know he thought about your input as much as you did his. 

“While some can agree that Gatsby’s rise into high society was sketchy, Gatsby still retains the same reserved character from years ago, and doesn’t manipulate others into success or use his money for nefarious purposes. It’s not like he changed after his wealth, and it could be argued Gatsby loved Daisy until his last breath and was willing to die as long as she was happy, emphasizing the theme of sacrifice. 

So, is Jay Gatsby a good person? The question targets the morality of a character who many can empathize with. Those who are charmed by his overwhelming love for Daisy would say that he’s committed textbook crimes, but focus more on the intent behind it. To pine after someone from a distance isn’t easy, but to pursue her after years of separation is even harder. It’s universally agreed, however, that love as a driving force doesn’t nullify what he’s done to others and the dirty schemes he’s enacted to gain the power he has. Therefore, Gatsby makes for an interesting main character, and highlights just how twisted a system around money can be.” 

The last page is–for the most part–his writing, and your admiration for him grows when you finish reading and scroll to hit your Works Cited page.

“It’s good,” you tell him wholeheartedly, “Didn’t think you had it in you.” 

Riki cracks a smile at your light teasing, soaking up your praise. 

“Now you know.” He shrugs. And he can only hope that you like him as much as you like his literary skills. 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE WHEN HE COMES TO THE REALIZATION THAT HE IS EXACTLY LIKE JAY GATSBY,JUST WITHOUT THE MONEY—DESPERATE FOR THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS, DYING YOUNG, AND A FRAUD HIDING BEHIND SECRETS.

Nevermind the last one, he has to hide when he has an identity to protect as the city’s only superhero, but Riki feels his heart sink to his heels when he read a few weeks ago how much Gatsby simply adores Daisy. When Gatsby died, he scoffed, closing the book with a sudden disinterest. If he were the male lead, he wouldn’t have been laying in a pool for target practice. Maybe being a superhero teaches you how to avoid being easy bait for all your enemies, or maybe Gatsby was too carried away with love to think straight. 

Fighting crime gives you insurmountable experience with sneaking around, but it wasn’t something he could just teach to anyone. When he gets this horrible gut feeling that something’s happened to you, he just knew something was wrong. He might not be easy to catch, but for anyone else? Definitely.  

For everyone else, prom was a month away, but for you, it was three weeks of talking to your advisor and president, arguing with your other board members, and sitting behind that damn money box for another five days to sell tickets. For you, it was realizing that you were supposed to buy streamers and balloons yesterday on your way home from school. It was the thinly veiled disappointment in your board member’s texts when they told you they were at a loss for words. ‘I’m sorry, and I know you’re busy, but how could you forget? Prom is so important for all of us. What if they don’t have what you need anymore?’ It all repeated in your head as you bit your lip in frustration and slipped on the first pair of shoes you could find. Although it was dark and dangerous, you could care less if it meant avoiding the passive aggressive comments you’d get tomorrow during your meeting.

There it is again: that little tendency to not pay attention to your surroundings. 

You yelp when you feel someone grabbing your wrist and pulling you in, muffling your screams as he pulls you along. To see him on the news was worrying, but to see Spark in person with your life on the line is even worse. 

Tears spring to your eyes as you struggle against the metal to no avail, and you curse every previous moment you spent worrying about balloons rather than your safety.

Spark suddenly stops, shoving you against the wall before his hand grabs a brick with his metal arm, beginning to climb. “Don’t let go.” And you don’t think twice before holding on.

The city view would be beautiful if you weren’t hearing your heartbeat in your ears or if you weren’t dangling from the railing of some company building, trying to wiggle yourself free of the rope around your wrists. 

Spark speaks up, drumming his fingers on the railing next to you. “You wouldn’t happen to know where your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is, would you?” And you furrow your eyebrows, genuinely questioning for a moment if he really knew how the superhero operated. 

A voice from across the street puts a temporary hold on your thoughts, and you glance up to see a flash of blue and red soaring through the air, followed by a groan and a beam of light next to you. Seeing Spark’s powers right in front of you spurs you into action, yanking at the rope and trying to take tiny steps away from where they were fighting.

“From what I’m seeing, you wanted to hold someone hostage because you’re not feeling too good, huh?” Spider-Man shouts as he shoots out webs and blocks hits. You shake your head in partial disbelief of how unserious he is, but also how unbelievable all of this seems. “You tried to take a potion or something? I’m going to tell you this now, but these usually don’t work.” 

Riki’s assumption is right, and considering how Spark now has a leg and arm from metal instead of just the arm, the procedure for the additional limb couldn’t have been easy. The superhero still proceeds with caution, making sure to pay attention to anything new as he dodges and fights back. 

The villain immediately gets back up, stumbling for a moment before he regains his stance and runs towards the boy. You hear the clanging of fist hitting metal from their fight, and considering the difference in height and build, you’d expect Spider-Man to be easily flung to the side, but he holds his weight in battle. 

Riki aims for around the left shoulder, where an abundance of stitches cover the skin and fuse the metal into muscle. He lands a hit, and almost another one, before a punch to the side knocks him from his momentum. The boy wheezes when his back makes instant contact with the ground, rolling and getting up before Spark has time to shoot. 

He notices how quickly the gadget generates electricity now. Before, the beams took longer, and were easily predictable, but now, it glows bright for a moment before it fires directly in Riki’s path. The boy dodges the first, but the second one almost hits the top of his head before he ducks and creates distance. 

From the roof-top, Riki scans his surroundings before making the split-second decision to jump. 

He swings to the other side of the building, keeping you in his peripheral vision as he works on apprehending the villain in front of him. They spring into yet another fist fight, with Riki’s agility easily letting him avoid punches and land precise hits to make the previous injuries even worse. 

You think Spider-Man has the upper hand in this, seeing as how none of Spark’s punches seem to slow down the superhero, but you hear something loud before you can register it. 

You figure out what happened after Riki stumbles and suffers a blow to the stomach, sending him tumbling to the edge of the building. Spark knew that Spider-Man was avoiding his left arm—he knew that one wrong move paired with the tungsten material would have a lasting effect on the superhero’s fist. 

Riki coughs from the impact before his spidey-sense rings, pulling him back into battle as he runs as fast as his body can take him. 

You. He still needs to save you. 

With renewed vigor, he continues to avoid the flying sparks as he ducks between structures and uses the terrain to his advantage. He can tell, though, that the villain is slowing down. The shots are less accurate–a telltale sign that the enhancer Spark tried is working against him. 

Between all of the chaos, Riki finally lands a proper web, yanking as hard as he can to pull Spark to the ground. He stumbles, grasping at thin silk before Riki lets go on his side. The villain’s balance is off, giving the boy an advantage as he closes the distance, hopping over a thrown slab of metal and landing a solid kick into Spark’s ribcage. As he stays down, Riki continues to aim for muscle and flesh, his head spinning as he packs punch after punch to keep the villain apprehended. 

Spark’s body–curled into itself to absorb the hits the best that he can– hides the growing blue flash that he’s slowly charging up with his remaining power. The moment it escapes from under his abdomen, Riki directs his efforts towards avoiding the electric glimmer. The villain rolls over, his body tattered from the consistent injuries, and he fires what seems like an intense bullet of energy. It zips by the boy’s cheek, cutting the mask and leaving blood to run down in its wake. Time slows down as the superhero tries to process the unlocked speed of the burst, and Spark loses focus marveling at his new abilities. Never before had either of them seen power so concentrated, and it inflicts both fear and excitement. 

He lifts his arm, the other holding it up for support, and Spider-Man notices the fizzle of bright blue. Riki’s about to jump out of the way, preparing for yet another high-speed bullet, but before Spark fires, something clicks. The arm doesn’t directly point to Riki–but it skews off to the right.

Except, he’s no longer aiming for Riki in the split second that the boy blinks. He’s suddenly aiming at you, where your hands are tied to the railing and your feet are dangling from the bent metal that holds you precariously over the edge, leaving a fifty foot drop in its wake. When you see the blue energy in the villain’s palm growing slowly bigger, you pull at the rope desperately with zero regard to the tender rawness of your wrists. 

In your attempt to somehow break the rope, your cry of fear snaps Spider-Man into action. 

Riki pushes his sore body to jump as quick as he can, leaping across the rooftop to the building over. He easily avoids the metal railing, grabbing onto your arm as he yanks hard on the rope, the force of it separating a piece of metal from the railing. He immediately jumps, sending out a web to swing him back up. It all happens in a flash–first, you were bound to the edge about to fall to your death, and all of a sudden, you’re tightly pressed against Spider-Man’s chest with your bound wrists still attached to the metal. Shutting your eyes, you trust Spider-Man entirely, closing your eyes to avoid seeing just how far up you were. Wind rushes in your ears and leaves your stomach fluttering with butterflies until the superhero sets you down on a secluded rooftop. 

“Please,” he begs, “don’t leave. I’ll be right back.” 

You’d be a fool to do anything but wait. 

Riki checks on you one last time before diving down, springing himself back up with another web. The damage from the blasts is recognizable even from far away, and yet, he notices the reflective shine of a metal arm on the edge of the building before Spark lets go. 

To Riki, Spark is dead after dropping from a fall having taken that much damage, but he hears no impact. Making haste, the boy fails to find any figure no matter how hard he looks, but Spark’s laboratory has to be here somewhere. The badge from a week ago was stuck on Riki’s mind, and he could only imagine the reasons why he pursued this life. Was he recreating something? If he needs to power some sort of machine, then the heart of the city is a perfect place to harness the electricity for any large scale project. As much as he wants to dedicate the rest of the night to searching the city for some sort of clue, the fact that you’re still stranded on that rooftop after having just experienced a life-changing event blares like an alarm in his mind. 

He quickly leaves, returning to where you’re seated.

Without the fear of falling to your death from earlier, you were able to focus on undoing the knots from the rope. Red scratch marks and irritation bloom on your wrist, and the reality of it all happening still hasn’t settled in. Despite not being harmed once, the fear and incessant pounding of your heart overwhelms your senses, and it leaves you heaving with confusion. 

A pair of footsteps only become apparent as Riki walks closer, taking a seat beside you and letting out a large sigh. He stares at the stars silently as if he doesn’t have a cut on his cheek and bruises waiting to paint his skin purple–as if he isn’t hiding his true self under a facade. 

“You’re not hurt, are you?” You shake your head, grateful that Spider-Man was the reason you got away without a real injury.

“Thank you, really, for saving me. I don’t know how you manage to do it.” 

Riki chuckles under the mask. “Eh, you get used to it,” you hear Spider-Man say. “You fight a couple bad guys, get over a fear of heights and eventually you get the hang of things.” 

Scoffing, you gently rub at your wrists to ease the redness. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t been taught a crash course on how to avoid being supervillain bait just yet.” 

“Maybe you should learn it sometime,” Riki responds absentmindedly, “someone like you shouldn’t have been out so late doing whatever it could’ve been.” 

Sighing, your mind drifts off to think about the balloons and streamers that are not in your hand. “I had stuff for my upcoming events.” 

He knew about all of it when you’d explain your cryptic reminders and notes on your computer, but he still feigns curiosity. “What upcoming events?” 

“Just prom,” and he hears just how strained it makes you. 

Riki tilts his head in faux confusion. “What do you have to do for prom?” 

He notices how you immediately slump, as if the mere mention of prom deflates your happiness. “It’s only a few weeks away, and I was supposed to get decorations for our venue yesterday. I just wanted to slip out before my parents noticed.” 

Despite the fabric over his eyes, Riki’s expression shifts from surprise to pity when he understands your stakes. “You still need to be careful. Is your student council strict?” 

“Not strict necessarily, but judgemental–I ran for the position because I thought I could help my school raise funds and find more opportunities, but it just feels like no one truly wants to try anything new.” You wave it off as if it’s not that important, as if it isn’t the reason why you find yourself stressed so often. “I just don’t want to disappoint or give people something to talk about.” 

Despite not being involved with school the same way you are, the boy next to you resonates with the fear you currently face. The fear of letting people down was a large part of why Riki continued to put on that mask and step into the most dangerous situation of his life; he never wanted to sit down to hear the news that Spider-Man quit. 

So he keeps doing his job, even if some days are harder and some fights aren’t worth winning–just like what you do. 

“Yeah, I get that,” he tries to console, “You must be doing a lot for everyone around you, and I’m sure a lot of people appreciate what you’ve done. Don’t beat yourself up too much, yeah? You’ll always have me.” He smiles, but he knows you don’t see it. You’re looking at the stars, trying to calm your mind and return to your life before everything happened. 

You glance over at Spider-Man, wondering if he’ll truly be around for you when you need it. “If I need to talk to you, should I step out of my house past 8PM again?” 

Riki chuckles, watching clouds slowly dim the moon’s glow in their path. “If I’m not fighting crime, I’ll show up at a moment’s notice.” 

There’s no way he means it, but you grin, feeling a lot of the pressure and stress of earlier slowly wash away. After all, nothing happened to you–Spider-Man made sure of it. Maybe things really were going to be okay. 

“Let’s get you home, yeah? Don’t you have stuff to do anyways?” 

You shrug, nothing really coming to mind. As you get up, you remember having to run a plagiarism check on your work, and how Riki told you to text him when you got home after your student government meeting. 

Riki. Spark. Spider-Man. 

“Wait,” you tell Spider-Man, sitting back down on the cement, “I need to talk to you about something else, too.” 

“It’s not like my dinner’s getting cold,” the superhero mumbles quiet enough that you can’t hear. 

“There’s this guy,” you start, paying no mind to how dirty your clothes are getting when you cross your legs. 

Spider-Man scoffs, looking off into the distance, and it makes you believe he has to be your age or older. “You have a crush on him, or something?” And a whole tidal wave of deja vu hits you in the chest. 

‘He must be badly hurt’ isn’t just something people say. People don’t just draw insanely detailed drawings of Spark’s arm and machines without notes to follow unless they knew. People wouldn't just randomly miss school without any impending signs. You’re sure of it–the tired naps in class, the random drawings of superheroes and superhumans alike, or how awkward he could act–it all makes sense.

Your classmate, aka Nishimura Riki, aka the guy who you’ve questioned if you had a crush on for the past few days, might be a villain. 

The swirling feeling of trepidation in your stomach leaves three words running around your head. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Although you tried so hard to stop thinking about it, Jake’s comment from before rubbed you the wrong way. It was sometime last week where you couldn't get your mind off of the implications of his words, but that feeling was brushed underneath your responsibilities. 

Until now. 

“Yeah, there’s this guy,” you breathe, feeling your chest constrict, “Nishimura Riki. I think he’s Spark.” 

His blood runs cold. 

“You think this…why?” 

You take a deep breath, trying to organize all your thoughts. “Well, first, it was his friend, Jake. He said that Riki was badly hurt, and I was really confused at first, but tried to let it go.” 

Riki was going to strangle his best friend. 

“And then, I was looking at him in class, right? And keep in mind, he’s pretty cute, and we sit next to each other, so I just noticed how good his hair looked that day, but his notebook was out, and I saw all these drawings of Spark. Like, the arms, the metal things, even the projectiles! Who would know the ins and outs of that thing if it wasn’t Spark himself?”

He didn’t know what to think about first; the fact that you gushed about him for the first time, or if he should even tell you that Spider-Man would know those things, too. 

“And sometimes, I notice he’s a little awkward around me. I can’t explain it. It’s like he’s paying attention to me. That must’ve been why he captured me.” He wants to laugh at how damn close you are to figuring it out, but in reality, nothing is funny about the situation. 

Nishimura Riki is actually listening to this, right now, as Spider-Man–not Spark. The awkwardness, though? It was his crush on you, and was not superhuman related in the slightest.  

“I don’t know,” he attempts to divert, pretending to focus, “I saw a badge for FLiGHT. You know the company that’s been making time traveling machines? I saw a glimpse of his name and face. It’s not that guy you mentioned.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “And you haven’t gotten him caught?” 

“Villains aren’t easy to find, y’know. It’s not like playground hide and seek,” Riki defends, crossing his arms. 

You shrink in your spot, feeling sheepish for questioning a superhero so bluntly. 

“Plus,” he continues, “Spark has never had a hostage. Wouldn’t it be pretty mean of that friend of yours to kidnap a girl from his class?” 

“Yeah—that makes sense. Thank god,” you breathe, closing your eyes momentarily. “Then what do you suspect all that evidence leads to? Maybe he’s a secret agent?” 

“I think,” Riki continues to keep up his clueless facade, “Your friend might just be clumsy. Or creative. I mean, maybe he went through a break-up?” Nice one, Riki. 

You shake your head. “No, there’s no way he has a girlfriend. You’d think I like guys who are taken?” Scoffing lightly, you then remembered that Spider-Man really would have no idea who any of you are. 

He shrugs and stands up stretching before motioning for you to follow him. “I have no idea what you high school kids do. Come on, let’s get you home.” 

As you hug him tight, the cold air whips around your body and leaves goosebumps in their wake. You barely open your eyes from the fear of seeing yourself inches from hitting a building or up in the air. Spider-Man only yells his confirmation after asking how to get you home, finally placing you on the ground outside of your large gate. 

“Thank you for saving me tonight.”

“Anytime. Figure things out with that friend of yours, and don’t go out late, okay?” You nod and take his words to heart. 

“Goodnight, Spiderman.” 

—-

Nishimura might die. One, because he has this horrible guilty feeling in his stomach, and two, because of a villain. 

Yesterday, he ignored the salmon and rice bowl that waited for him back at home, choosing to follow the coordinates he saved on his phone after he took you home. It led him to a seemingly harmless auto-shop, with an arrow on his GPS pointing to a garage that was shut down completely with nails and blocked with boxes. The exterior pointed to it being abandoned, but Riki suddenly saw some light coming from a makeshift above.

The boy scaled the wall as quietly as possible, glancing into the source of the whirring. He caught small glimpses of something–metal, glowing, blue. 

Or at least, for a few seconds it was on until the power went out. 

The voice that complained from inside the room sounded identical to the man Riki fought. Spark grumbled, turning on a flashlight and quickly waving it around. Riki ducked from the window and held his breath, waiting for the man to suspect something. 

Nothing. 

One lightbulb slowly flickered back on, and then the other dingy light followed. The space was cramped with the metal equipment in the middle, resembling what Riki had seen in the news. 

He was right–it was the same time travel portal that was ruined from a few months ago. 

Spider-Man continued to observe the man as he worked and drilled, plugging certain wires or pausing momentarily to read from a journal. To anyone, it’d seem peaceful, like some sort of renovation project. But in reality, it was so much more than that. 

Riki searched for any sort of information about the machine, trying to see what exactly was left to do until his gaze landed on something. 

There was some sort of date on a bright pink sticky-note, and Riki’s eyes widened when he finally comprehends it. 

The machine was scheduled to be completed tomorrow. 

-

A street lamp next to Riki dies out—which was a clear sign that something was powering up. From the dark, he hears the metal from the same place as last night moving again, and he knows that Spark has left. His presence sends anyone down the street and immediately running, leaving the area for only them two. 

Riki finally sees the completed metal build. Half of his body is wrapped in or replaced with metal parts as he sets down the metal portal, beginning to push it in the direction of the power plant. 

A truck or car would make things much easier, but whatever.

Riki wants to cry from fear and run away. He wants to leave and pretend he never saw anything from last night. 

He’s going to die fighting Spark and he will quite literally a) never finish highschool and get that stupid diploma, b) finish explaining how Gatsby is not a good person and is naturally selfish, and c) he’s never going to tell you how he’s had a small crush on you ever since he saw your cute campaign video as to why you should vote y/n l/n for student body treasurer last spring. 

“You sure that thing works?” Riki asks, jumping into action as he sends webs to immobilize the machine. 

“You’re annoying, you know that?” Spark sends a projectile in the superhero’s direction, hitting the wall behind him instead as Riki jumps out of the way.

With another duck mid-air and the roof of a flying car dangerously close to his nose, Riki thanks the dance practice he does for his flexibility as he shoots another web and swings away. 

Spark is uncontrollable by now, sucking the light from street lamps and fizzing wires in his wake. He has no idea how he’s supposed to get in contact with the villain like before. The body of his suit fizzes with bright electricity that sizzles and pops. It illuminates Spark’s figure, making him easy to spot, but not so easy to defeat. It’s an overload of power, causing the voltage to escape between the joints and gaps of the metal pieces in his suit. And Riki can feel it; the air is heightened and so are the stakes of this fight—and with how the man that stands in front of him looks upgraded and menacing, he knows only one person can make it out of this fight alive. 

“You injected the city’s ‘Gas and Electric’ into your system or what?” Riki calls out, making light of the situation. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s scared out of his wits seeing the six foot figure with blue and white shooting from every crack, looking like a nightmare to touch.

Riki avoids a few more angrily thrown objects, using the momentum of his jump from the side of the building to zip from the top of a yellow fire hydrant to go from one side of the street to the other. “You’re slow!” He taunts, tucking in his legs to avoid a shot of electricity directed at him. 

The screech of metal from the nearby hydrant can be heard as the top flings off, making Riki lose his anchor/ Before he can process it, instead of smoothly landing on the building, he crashes into it faster than expected, groaning when his back makes contact with the glass and he tumbles into the living room of someone’s apartment. 

“Fuck,” he curses, fighting his aching limbs to get up once more. 

And the solution hits him. Literally. 

When he steps out and quickly attaches a web to the top of the building, he’s met on the way up with a splash of water from the hydrant to his face, and Riki splutters as he wipes his mask, regaining focus as he lands on the concrete and hides behind the ledge. 

Water. If he can get it in contact with Spark and pour enough water on the right spot, the excess of electricity blazing from his mechanical body should work against him. 

“Too scared? You should know better than to run away.” The superhero rolls his eyes, crawling away silently to avoid being seen by Spark. Riki does his best to look around for something, and finds a black flower pot in the corner, using a web to grab it before he scales the side of the building and runs away while Spark is distracted as the villain also climbs the wall to face him there. But when Spark climbs the ledge and scans the premise, Riki is nowhere to be seen. 

Instead, Riki swings across the street and fills the pot with water, heaving the extra weight as he shouts out from the sudden pain in his side. He stumbles on the pavement, crying out from the injury as the pot falls with his whole plan. 

Maybe this is where Spider-Man dies. 

He sucks in a deep breath before rolling from his back onto his knees, ignoring the wound to pick up the flower pot. The hydrant still shoots out water, and the superhero rushes towards it, causing Spark to follow. He narrowly avoids another shot from behind him, reaching the yellow hydrant before dropping the pot on the ground. Spark is th 

While Spark has always been intelligent, Riki could tell that the man didn’t fear the water, believing he’d be invincible to the elements now that his suit was perfected. There was something off, Riki could tell, and he would make sure to use it to his advantage. Spark was uncontrolled, and his powers drastically decreased the more he used them. There’s no way his body isn’t in overdrive with how recklessly he’s been letting himself get hurt. 

Riki uses a web to get himself on higher ground instead of fighting, waiting for the supervillain to follow. If he could get Spark off the edge and fall into the growing puddle of water, it should slow him down. 

Spark scoffs. “Run away, then. Like you always have.” Riki hears the wall crumbling under the villain as he climbs within seconds, immediately preparing to fight when he makes it onto the rooftop. But Spider-Man was also prepared, jumping from his crouched hiding position and attempting to catch Spark off guard. 

All he can focus on now is pushing him off. There’s no way it’d be easy, considering he had to focus on his touching any of the electricity off of his suit. Riki delivers a kick to Spark in the ribcage near his heart, where he’s fused metal into flesh. The villain coughs before taking a step back, his metal arm reaching for Riki’s outstretched leg. He grabs it, twisting with anger before the boy meets the ground in a violent throw. Not only is the slam greater because of the enhanced strength, but the power seeps into Riki’s skin, leaving it hot from the energy radiating off of his palm. 

The boy groans, flipping to his side to avoid a fatal hit to the chest. He reaches for Spark’s normal arm, swinging the villain’s body away with as force as he could to create distance between them. 

Riki has been in enough fights to simply know when to run, even if he doesn’t know what’s coming. He could feel the tingle of the charge as it powered up, and with its energy so unrestrained and its user so unstable, the large attempt to hit Riki sends the villain stumbling back from the force. The more Spark uses his powers, the more likely he’s going to end up dead. 

“Your skin can handle that anymore!” he shouts, getting ready to swing himself closer as a plan manifests itself in his head. “You’ll die like this!” 

Spark seems to know that too as he wipes his mouth and recovers from Riki’s attacks. 

“You think I care?” He shouts, desperately pressing his wounds to stop the bleeding. “You think I have anything else for myself?” The vulnerability of his character shines through as he clutches his bleeding wound without regenerative powers to help. “You think I didn’t know that when I did it to myself--what they did to me?” 

Riki doesn’t respond, grimacing as he continues hand-to-hand combat. Although he takes a solid punch to his jaw that’s forming a deep purple bruise, he manages to trip Spark onto the ground.

The man stumbles back from the head injury, the pounding from earlier not letting him to think straight. Riki doesn’t try to injure him anymore, but he instead blocks an incoming punch and tries to force Spark towards the edge. 

The villain barely notices how much space there is left, and the boy lunges with full force. They tackle each other into the ground, and Riki gets off after apprehending him once more. 

The city's a mess, and Spider-Man’s eyes want to shut down so badly, but he takes a few steps in Spark’s direction, pushing him off the side of the building as quickly as he can. Riki hears the thud before he peeks over the edge, seeing the water erode all of the engineering from the machinery. He slowly descends from the rooftop. 

“You were in the accident, huh?” Riki shouts on top of the plethora of sounds. Pain, buzzing electricity, splashes of water as he lands next to Spark; it all echoes in his ears as he pours the water from the pot on Spark’s body. “Why did you try it? Why did you want to go back so bad?”

“If I could go back,” Spark coughs, trying to get away from the large pool of water, “I could’ve prevented the accident from taking the lives of the people around me. I could’ve saved them.” 

Spider-Man understands loss, and he understands the regret that comes with failure. He understands how the man in front of him feels after having everything taken away from him, but his emotions could never justify his actions. 

“You know you can’t change things,” Riki responds, “You tried your best, Spark.” It’s the last thing Riki tells the villain before his body slumps and police sirens grow louder and louder. It’s the last thing that he continues to think about, even if the medic quickly assesses the severity of his wounds. 

“I’m fine- really,” he pushes away the hands of a concerned woman as she holds a roll of bandages. “There’s something else I need to do.” 

Riki knew he had to tell you about this–he couldn’t just let you confide in him about..well, him, without your knowledge. And Riki wasn’t morally perfect, but he knew an explanation would be the only way to fix things.

Your house looks different when jumping over the fence instead of standing in front of it. When he realizes he has no idea what room belongs to you, he racks his brain, suddenly remembering how yours was the only one with a gray balcony over the pool. And so he climbs, slipping from the exhaustion creeping into his body. 

You’ll understand after he explains everything, right? 

“____, a little help?” And what the fuck is Nishmura Riki doing outside of your door? You go to investigate the muffled sound, inching towards the curtains and pulling them back to expect him there. When you hear a half yelp and a hissing sound that follows right after, without a person anywhere in sight, your heart drops to its stomach. 

Do not say it’s true. 

“Riki, where the fuck are you?” you ask, traversing out when you don’t see him anywhere across the glass. 

“Down here.” You run in the direction of the voice, and your eyes grow comically large and you gasp, staring down at the sight before you. 

“Holy shit.” 

There Nishimura Riki is, with his mask half burned off his face and his blonde and black hair messy and matted to his forehead with sweat. The suit is ripped in multiple locations with gashes and purple replacing the healthy skin underneath. His face is in more of a grimace, as he holds onto the web with both hands and one foot planted on the stone of your balcony—read; the bottom of your balcony. 

“A little help?” And you see his sheepish emotion through the tattered fabric, embarrassed after you had to find him in such a compromising situation. “I’m a little worn out and I think my webs are getting weaker.”

You’re a little frustrated with him for being out so publicly, but more scared and worried for his condition. Your gaze narrows on the mask, tattered and covered with scratches, but clearly visible. It was Spider-Man’s mask. The material gives way to a familiar face, and your mind almost blocks you from putting the pieces together. It’s impossible, almost horrifying to think of the implications of what it means to wear the blue and red suit. 

Instead of being the villain, Riki is, in fact, the savior.

The harsh truth is that your classmate, who you spent the last month working on a project with and suspected was a villain, is the same superhero that went out and risked his life every night fighting crime. It’s jarring to see him like this, breathing heavy and straining against the stone of the balcony, and his cough snaps you out of it. “What the fuck do I do?” 

Riki tries to put his hand up in surrender and shuts his eyes at your harsh tone. “Okay, okay, I get-“ and he cuts himself off with a yelp as his footing slips. 

He holds out his hand, and you immediately bend over the smooth railing to grab it, leaning back on the heels of your feet to help him up the most that you can. You’re filled with confusion when the boy hobbles over the cool surface of the balcony and lets his head rest on the stone, not saying much as he catches his breath. You watch the rise and fall of his chest and how his right arm goes to nurse the left side of his ribcage, wincing and sucking in a pained breath as he assesses the smear of red on his fingers. 

Sitting there with your mouth agape, you’re not really sure what to think about first; to check if RIki’s alright, to think about how your city’s greatest superhero is your English project partner, to yell at him for going to your house instead of his house to fix himself up, or to think about how good his side profile looks in the moonlight. Maybe you should’ve just been relieved that the boy you started to like wasn’t a fear-inducing villain.

“Okay, first of all, we need to have a huge talk. But I’m not a medic Riki- I’m going into accounting for fuck’s sake.” He hears the amount of curses flying from your lips as you ramble, and sees how stressed you look watching him sit against your railing. 

“I don’t know how to help you. And also,” you lower your voice and scoot closer, looking around at the large property to really make sure no one’s listening. “you’re Spider-Man?” 

The information all hitting you at once is worse than when your history teacher told you your essay was horrible. At least then, in her office, you could process everything. But here? You’re about to faint. 

“I’m pretty cool, huh?” And of course Nishimura Riki says such a thing, taking deep breaths as he shallowly presses on the blossoming bruises on his skin and wipes the sweat from his brow. 

“Pretty fucking stupid is what it is, Riki.” You cross your arms and try to take a look at where he’s been hurt, hoping that at least he has some sort of regeneration ability that helps him heal much quicker—because there’s no way he could deal with all of this on top of school. 

“I have my reasons,” he says, his voice quiet. 

You pause. “For being Spider-Man?” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “For coming here.”

“What could possibly make you want to come over to my house instead of the nearest hospital? What’s that important to you?”

“I really want to ask you to prom.” 

You simply stare at him, surprised. 

“You came to my house, even though you’re like, a punch away from passing out, to ask me out? And you couldn’t have, I don’t know, asked me anytime during the classes we have together?”

Riki somehow finds it in himself to frown and shrink from your angry piercing gaze. “I can’t because talking to you makes me nervous–so yeah, I’m sorry I’m half conscious on your balcony in my suit instead of at your door with a poster.” 

You’re conflicted, your mind still reeling from the recent discovery and your flood of emotions. Ever since you questioned his identity on top of your feelings for him, you had a hard time really knowing if you could like Riki if he turned out to be a villain, so to know that he proved both of your theories wrong leaves you quiet as you think. If possible, the color in the boy’s face drains even more when you go back inside, but the door stays open, and he thinks he hasn’t ruined things after all. You emerge with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, a bowl of warm water, and a pristine white towel. 

“I’m not mad about that, you idiot,” you reprimand him, setting everything down as you examine the cuts on his face. You squeeze the towel and start to dab at his skin, avoiding the cuts as you clean it. “Who does this for you if not me?” 

“Jake.” 

“Seems like a pretty good friend.” Riki nods in response. 

 “I’m sorry,” he sighs, sitting up to properly address you, even if you weren’t able to meet his gaze. 

“For what?”

“For putting this on you–all of it. Not just the whole Spider-Man thing.” He knew he’d have to tell you at some point, or else it’d eat him up inside to know he kept all of it from you. 

“Look at you, saving me mid-air and talking to me as if you didn’t know who I was.”

You notice a flash of regret through his wince as you clean up a cut with antiseptic. “I meant it when I told you I knew what it was like to have a lot of pressure.”

“Guess I wasn’t so far off, then. If we never talked, would you have told me?” Riki shakes his head, and the simple motion leaves you somehow disappointed. 

“How do you ever tell anyone you’re…y’know, Spider-Man?” Even if it’s a hypothetical, you shrug, not being able to answer.

“How’d Jake find out?” 

Riki chuckles and hisses at the same time before trying to remember. “I think I just kicked his window in after a nasty poison got hold of me. He was a little too excited to have Spider-Man on his bedroom floor, and less excited to know it was me. I’m not really supposed to tell anyone, though.”

“Then why’d you tell me? You could’ve just gone back to your friends.” 

“I felt guilty–I know, I know, it sounds stupid. I’d definitely get my identity revealed at this rate.” You shake your head. 

“Not stupid. Keep going.” 

“I didn’t care that you suspected me, or if anyone else did, because I knew it was never true. But I felt so bad knowing you were sharing to me how you felt without even knowing it was me who was listening–like I was holding something from you.” 

You admire his honesty, and when you look at his furrowed brows and his lip that he’s been gnawing from worry, you can’t even imagine what he’s had to hide and do for this. In a way, you look up to him more, for trying his best even if he’s gotten all odds stacked against him. Riki’s commendable in your eyes–he always had been, ever since you woke him up in class. 

“I like those things about you, Riki. That you’re honest with yourself and the people around you as much as you can be, and you try to help others when you can. I’m glad we got to know each other more this past month.” Talking to him feels different than talking to Spider-Man from a few days ago; it feels raw, like you’re not just confessing something to a brick wall anymore. If none of this ever happened, you doubt you’d get the chance to tell Riki any of this properly. 

The boy stays silent, taking deep breaths while processing what you’ve told him. “I’m glad I could help you out.” 

You furrow your eyebrows. “I hope you know I don’t like you because you help me out. I like you because you’re attractive, and because you’re genuine,” you blurt. 

Riki laughs despite his ribcage hurting everytime he does so. Riki nods and mumbles a ‘thank you,’ also glad to truly get to know you. While his crush was more of an infatuation with your hard work and amiability, the past few weeks really opened his eyes to who you were. You never wanted to disappoint, and even if your recklessness left you in some dire situations, Riki could see how much effort you really put into things. 

There wasn’t anything else he needed to tell you–you were smart enough to see how much he cared about you.    

You’re so close, your lips glossy with lip balm as you watch him carefully. You hear and see it all; the heavy, labored breathing from his body healing itself rapidly, and the way his hand is full of rough cuts and calluses as his fingers intertwine with yours. But your eyes catch a glimpse of his mask tossed to the side, the blue shining in the corner of your eyes as you’re reminded of who he is right now, and what role you play. You are still ____ ____, but he’s a superhero.

It makes you momentarily forget whose suit you're peeling away, whose skin you're cleaning. It reminds you that he’s just the boy in your English class that you fell for. “What does that make us?”

“Prom-goers,” he answers with a slight nod. 

You smile, wiping a cut before placing the towel back into the bowl for the last time and getting up. “We can be prom-goers, yeah.” 

You’re not sure if you’re ready for anything, and you’re thankful that he understands that, too. As much as it warmed your heart to see him again and hear his confessions, the blaring truth still hangs over your head. You grab his mask, finally looking at him before handing it back and grabbing your things. His secret identity wasn’t something you could just ignore. 

“Go home, Spider-Man,” you turn your back on him, and time slows when you falter before sparing him one more look. “I want you as Riki, not like this.” 

MAYBE NISHIMURA RIKI DOESN'T NEED TO DIE–OR ALMOST DIE–ANYMORE. 

He went home that night with his scars somewhat cleaned and his bruises miraculous healing on their own, and even if slipping through the window left him clutching his side in pain, Riki silently jumped up to celebrate his multiple victories before slipping out of his suit and finally getting some rest. 

Riki’s scared of how he’s affected your relationship. He’s worried you’ll avoid him in the halls, and he’s worried you’d never want to see him again after putting you through all of it. As much as he'd understand how upset you'd be towards him, he hopes he did the right thing by telling you.

But you see him on your way to English, and you call his name. His eyes search for yours in the crowds, and you two see each other before you crush him in a hug. 

Riki isn’t sure how to feel at first, but eventually wraps his arms around you as relief settles in his stomach. 

“Thank you for saving me, Spider-Man,” you whisper, loud enough for only him to hear. 

He smiles at you, ruffling your hair as you go to English together. “Anytime, ____.” 

NEVERMIND, NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE WHEN HE SEES YOU IN YOUR RED PROM DRESS.

But first, he has to try something out. 

He curses to himself when silently zipping from a tree outside your family property to the top of your house, staring past the ledge two and luxurious stories to your well decorated porch light and door. He just prays that Google Maps is  right about how secluded the area is, so no one can see him pacing around your rooftop, with flowers elegantly wrapped in his hand (courtesy of your mother’s sleek envelope from a few days ago). 

“Fuck it,” he says to himself, shooting a web and dangling himself down. Riki’s upside down figure watches swirled window frames and meticulously designed accents as he descends, and he wonders what kind of shady business your parents could’ve done to afford something so grand. 

He faces your door—hanging down instead of rightside up, but he’s still here on time like he promised. 

The door opens at 6:00PM like he instructed you to, but what he didn’t tell you what to do was shriek and slam the door. On his nose. With a loud yelp, Riki clutches his nose, rubbing the spot you hit and trying to apply pressure to alleviate the pain. 

When the door slowly creaks open again, you face with the image of Nishimura Riki, aka your boyfriend, aka your English partner, aka Spider-Man, curled upside down in the fetal position as he cradles the sore spot on his face and swings slightly from the breeze. 

“You scared me, dumbass! How was I supposed to know it was you? It was so hard to see!” 

Although muffled, Riki’s able to mumble, “You have a porch light for this reason, _____,” and a jab at his stomach from you follows his sarcastic remark. Finally, his nose feels better, and he straightens out to finally look at you. 

Pretty, pretty, pretty, and the boy wonders how you look even more stunning with a glittering red dress and perfectly done make-up. “I like the red,” he says, trying not to freak out over your beauty. “Reminds me of a certain neighborhood superhero.” 

“I have some blue spider earrings to match.” With a beautiful smile, you turn to show him the little accent, and it melts his heart. “Are you okay, though?”

“I’m fine. I should’ve probably put more thought into that.” 

You snicker, sliding into your heels and closing the door behind you. 

“One of us is better at romantic gestures, it seems.” It warrants a scoff, and Riki brings a gloved hand to poke at your forehead teasingly.

“Let me have a do-over, then?” And the way your lips curl up into a bright smile leaves him quiet and in awe. 

“What, were you going to kiss me? Very original, Spider-Man.” With the way the fabric shifts over his features, you can tell he’s pouting. 

“I thought girls liked this.” 

You shrug, pretending you aren’t swept off his feet by the effort he’s put in. Taking a step in his direction, your hands reach up to gently pull the mask over his chin, ears, and then his nose. 

Whispering quietly, you ask, “You’ve kissed other girls upside down?” 

Riki’s quick to shake his head. “You’re the only girl I’d withstand a head rush for.” And god, you just can’t stop yourself from grinning at his sweet, genuine words.

You lean in, placing a small kiss on his nose as a silent apology. Then, you close your eyes and lean into him once more, feeling his hands carefully holding the side of your head and his lips on yours. Your kiss with Riki is saccharine and slow, making you pull away when the urge to beam at him is too much. Your cheeks definitely hurt by how romantic he’s being, and you can’t resist kissing him once more.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he starts, finally letting himself down, “It feels weird.” 

“You ruined the moment.” And he really didn’t, but you enjoy his subtle reactions to your light digs at him. 

“Whatever.” Riki laughs. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

You nod, sitting down on the porch and dragging a manicured nail over your lips with the ghost of his affections, thinking about how you literally just kissed Spider-Man. 

Riki comes back, dusting off his suit and smoothing out the wrinkles, with a large bouquet of red roses and one blue one snuck in there. Your lips stretch into a grin and you accept the bouquet, keeping a mental note to read the card in there.

“You never cease to amaze me, Riki.” It’s the last thing you mutter to the air before you loop your arms around his neck, urging him to lean down as you kiss him once more—this time rightside up, but still as sickly saccharine as the one before it. Your heart is fuzzy with fondness and your eyes glitter with adoration. 

“So, which kiss was better?” he asks when you pull away, a little breathless and dizzy.

You swat his arm and walk past the gates, seeing the sleek limo waiting by the curb. “I don’t know, Spider-Man. Maybe show up in your suit and we’ll try it again.” 

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED AND ALWAYS READ!

RIKI FIC DONE!!!! ngl y/n u were right there how did u not know riki was spiderman but whatever idc she's a hard worker not smart LMFOAOAO. my first ever action fic so i hope you enjoy! also i hate the ‘oh he pined after her for 4 years she liked him for 2 months’ bs because I WAS IN IT. and it sucks so i tried to deviate from it :)

꣑ৎ permanent fic taglist (TAGGED IN TEASERS, FICS, HEADCANNONS, DRABBLES, ETC.): @dimplewonie @minleeeknow @heeheesang @mintpjzroll @llvrhee @firstclassjaylee @in-somnias-world @rairaiblog @suneng @mavlogist @sensitively-taken @sumzysworld @simpjay @moons-v @riksaes @txtari @jungwonscatcus @tya0 @sasfransisco @woorcve @shypen @pinkriki @rikisluv @saranghaohoshi @lilifiedeans @wonmyheart @k1ttyluvr @nikisgfff @ramenoil @laurradoesloveu @lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me @ikeulims @missychiefs1404 @qwonyoung23 @yangjungwonnie @onementally-unstabel-kid @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @blooqz @anormieee hi permies hope u enjoy! kith

[mejaemin]

met baby - choi seungcheol

(18+) mdni !!! wc: 1.6k summary: s.coups, your rapper bf, surprises you with his appearance at the met warnings: celeb!reader, scoups is a solo rapper and NOT an idol, bathroom stuff, light daddy kink, fingering, mentions of the iconic bathroom pics + my king asap rocky, not proofread an: this look is driving me fucking crazy. congrats to my baby, i’m so proud of u !! now get in my bed.

he didn’t tell you he’d be here. you hop out of the car, manager fixing your dress, and there’s plenty of cameras that capture your absolutely shell shocked expression at the sight of your boyfriend, rapper choi seungcheol, posing for the carpet.

you genuinely have to be snapped out of it, brought back to life from your trance, to stop you from holding up the line and get your own photos taken. even as they make you spin, pose and turn every which way, behind your golden smile, the only thing on your mind is choi seungcheol.

he looks beautiful, silver hair (which you also had the pleasure of being uninformed of) matching his dusty blue-grayish suit. it’s paired with a dark, robe-like outer piece, and he looks both like the business man of your dreams and a character from a sci-fi movie. he fits the theme perfectly, and you’re so grateful for that because, as someone who’s attended multiple times, you’ve expressed your distaste for people not following the theme multiple times. he definitely understood the assignment, and when he steps off the carpet, making room for you, there’s a smirk on his face that you so wish you could wipe off.

you’re seated in different areas, of course, but you made sure your chair was in a spot where he’d stay in your line of sight. being such a talented, expensive girl has its perks, especially when it comes to your connections with the co-chairs. speaking of, you’re supposed to be in conversation with one of them, but your dismissive responses tell him enough. once all the attendees have settled in, everyone was introduced and finally allowed to mingle. your seatmates shoo you away, and you couldn’t complain as you make your way to him.

he immediately stops his conversations with other people, turning to you with a smirk. “surprise, baby.” you’re already on heels that scream ankle problems, so it’s easy to lean forward and plant your lips on his. he’s eager to welcome it, hands on your waist as he leans in further.

“this is so unfair, seungcheol. you saw the whole process of my look, and i get to have my heart attack live streamed because you hid all this from me?” you have to keep yourself from yelling, completely forgetting where you’re at as you look at him, up close. even his face is perfect, from his eyebrows to his flawless skin, all the way to his lips that pop out with his new hair.

“oops?” he laughs, and you shake your head. he’s so calm, collected as he converses with the other celebrities in the vicinity. he even manages to exchange contacts with some of them, landing collabs and features. he looks so hot like this, holding you on his arm like you’re the newcomer while he makes flawless conversation with people you’ve known for years. you’re conscious enough to greet them, making small conversation with those that you’re closer with. still, you can’t be bothered, and your fingers get antsier against his belt loop the closer you get to the bathroom.

you’re right there, and with your incessant tugging at his overly long cape-like blazer, you know he gets the message. he’s given you that calm down look at least a hundred times, thick eyebrow raising with darkened eyes, but he’s only making it worse. he helps make your way there, and before you even fully step in the door, your hands are all over him, feeling him up over his clothes, hands starvingly gripping at his half hardness in his slacks.

he picks you up, large hands gripping your hips as he sets you down on the marble counter. his lips are on yours like a magnet, moving with a desperation that really emulates the feeling of reuniting after weeks of fittings and shoots. he’s so cool, composed, but you know the time apart’s been torturous for him, if the voice messages he’s left you in response to the photos you’ve sent during fittings said anything.

“you just can’t wait, now can you?” his voice is husky, rumbling against you as he very gently bites at your neck.

you slide his outerwear off his shoulders, pulling him closer to you by the waistband on his pants. with the slit in your dress, you push all the fabric to the side so your legs can move freely, wrapping around him to keep him close. “cheollie, it’s been weeks.. i need you so bad, right now…” you whine, pushing your hands under his clothes to feel his bare skin. it eases the buzzing in your veins, changing it to pure desire that floods your underwear as your fingers glide over the hair under his belly button.

“we don’t have much time in here..” he runs his hand through his hair, cursing when he remembers where he’s at, looking in the mirror to put it back. his sleeve falls a little, and the glint of his watch catches your eye. so expensive, so him, it makes him all the more attractive. “i’ll help you, baby, we gotta be quick, okay? that sound good?” he asks, one hand sliding up your leg as he leans down to kiss you.

you nod, “please, cheollie, i need it..” your voice is tiny, soft, and you give him the sweetest look ever to help sway him. he only looks down at you, fingers teasing your waistband, eyebrow raised expectantly. you whine, “please, daddy… i’ll take anything you give me, jus’ can’t wait anymore..”

he chuckles lowly. “thank you, princess, for asking so nicely..”

his head dips down to the crook of your neck, leaving soft kisses all over your skin and a trail of cherry red lip stain. he pulls up his sleeves, revealing his toned forearms, and you can’t see much with his body in the way, but the cool metal gliding against your thigh makes them twitch.

he pulls your underwear to the side, a shaky sigh of his own sounding when he comes in contact with your heat. you’re dripping, you have been since you got here. it’s so tempting to get down on his knees and taste you, he wants to so bad, but someone would definitely notice if the lower half of his makeup had been wiped off.

“you’re so wet, baby.. you like the look that much?” he asks, teasing, thumb rubbing over your clit. even the gentlest touch has your head spinning, the little mhm you respond to him with sounding extra desperate.

seungcheol’s fingers push into you, watch band jingling as he gently thrusts them into you. the glint of all the rocks embedded in it shine under the dim lights. it’s so pretty, and the way your slick spills onto your thighs and spreads onto the piece makes his pants all the tighter. same with his rings, ones he didn’t bother taking off before touching you.. they’re cold as they touch your skin, pushing against your entrance with every curl of his fingers. another addition to his expensive look, so pretty and dirtied by your arousal.

your body is burning, so overwhelmed by seungcheol’s intoxicating scent, his oh so enticing jewelry, and the way he works you open like it’s nothing. you’re quivering, biting into your fist to keep quiet, rolling your hips into his hand, clit rubbing against the heel of his palm.

“so good, cheollie, gonna cum soon..” you whimper, holding his thick forearm in your hands.

he kisses your temple, so sweet and tender compared to his vigorous, vulgar movements between your legs. he knows what he’s doing, pouting and cooing at you as if your legs aren’t quivering against his sides.

“i know baby, i can feel it. you can let go, i’ve got you.” he kisses you, nice and deep against your lips, tongue dipping into your mouth and swallowing all the noises that try to escape.

the sounds filling the bathroom are so vulgar, the squelching of your boyfriend’s fingers inside you, blending with your lips smacking and the little moans that slip out. it’s so hot, and the coil in your lower half is impossibly tight. you know seungcheol is just as into it, his gaze locked onto your entrance and all the pretty gems on his wrist shining as he fingers you. his cock is throbbing, pushing against his pants, leaving very little to your imagination.

“cum, baby, we have to go back out soon.. don’t wanna get in trouble..” he whispers, teeth pulling at your earlobe, and his deep voice teasing your eardrums is all it takes for you to break.

your back arches, face scrunched in a silent scream as you’re pushed over the edge. seungcheol’s fingers are stuck, your walls squeezing him impossibly tight, free hand rubbing your clit to help you ride out your orgasm. he hums, licking his lips at the sight, hovering over you as you come down.

slowly, he pulls his fingers out, observing your mess before pressing them into your mouth. he mumbles something about the price of his rings, and your tongue swirls over them to clean them up as best you can. once done, he straightens you up and helps you off the counter.

it’s seemingly perfect timing, because nearly half the guests are suddenly rushing in. you smile, hiding your face in his shoulder when one of your friends raises an eyebrow at you. it’s then that you remember to relay to your boyfriend that it’s time for the annual bathroom photo, one everyone squeezes into when you’re not really even allowed to take it. you and him are in the front, and you stand in front of seungcheol to hide his boner before the camera clicks. his hands are on your waist, and after the photo is sent to you later in the night, you can observe it a little further. you’re both so beautiful, all flushed and serving the most gorgeous face, but also so unbelievably fucked if that photo ever gets posted.

svt 🏷️ @coquettejunnie @prettymoles

[yundeob]

A NIGHT IN HOLLYWOOD ☆ | ATEEZ SERIES

— featuring ot8!ateez in iconic HOLLYWOOD romance and rom-com movies

— TICKET BOOTH IS CLOSED! 🎟️ : the movies are about to start! all fics will have MATURE CONTENT! MDNI!

sit back, relax, grab your popcorn and tissues, and enjoy the silver screen . . .

THE PARENT TRAP ☆ | KHJ

TROPE: exes to lovers! divorced!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

AS DIVORCED PARENTS to two twin daughters, you and hongjoong have your fair share of work cut out. Driving to piano lessons, cheering at hockey games, drop offs at each other’s houses, it can all be a little much. But could a relaxing summer retreat as a whole family possibly rekindle past emotions you’ve swept under the rug? . . .

— IN THEATRES

DIRTY DANCING ☆ | PSH

TROPE: bad boy!seonghwa, enemies to lovers!au , 60s!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, angst, crack

THAT WAS THE SUMMER before JFK got shot, before the beatles came, and when you were working part time at your aunts summer resort. That was also the summer you met resident heart breaker and cocky entertainment crew member, Park Seonghwa. Remind yourself why you’re suddenly dance partners with him again? . . .

— IN THEATRES

PRETTY WOMAN ☆ | JYH

TROPE: dilf!yunho x formerstripper!reader, strangers to lovers!au, contract lovers!au,

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst

LIVING IN BEVERLY HILLS comes with its perks. But for two different people such as yourself and multimillionaire business tycoon, Jeong Yunho, both of you can’t seem to find what you’re looking for in the so called ‘Land of Dreams’. So the proposal is simple really… let him spoil you with money, jewelry and clothes while in return, you stay by his side. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

MR AND MRS KANG ☆ | KYS

TROPE: marriage!au, established relationship, spy!au, assasin!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, ANGST, crack

WHO WOULD’VE THOUGHT picture perfect suburban neighbourhood couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kang would be at each others necks trying to kill each other first. You’ve both come this far in your marriage while hiding your secret identities, but it looks like only one person can remain standing. I guess you both did promise “in sickness and in health”. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

ROMAN HOLIDAY ☆ | CS

TROPE: royalty!au, princess!reader x reporter!san, strangers to lovers!

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst

AS CROWN PRINCESS, you’re on a tightly scheduled tour of European capital cities. But after an especially rough day in Rome, you sneak out of the embassy to explore the so called Eternal City, running into no other than celebrity news reporter, Choi San, looking out for his next big royal scandal. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU ☆ | SMG

TROPE: college!au, stoner!mingi, enemies to lovers!au, fakedating(?)au, y2k aesthetic

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

YOUR YOUNGER BROTHER Wooyoung is desperate in getting you, his older sister in college, to date so that he can finally date in highschool. The options for potential candidates are scarce, considering men flock away like birds the second you’re near. Good thing campus stoner and weirdo, Song Mingi is the same as well. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS ☆ | JWY

TROPE: fashioncolumnist!reader x advertiser!wooyoung, y2k aesthetic, fake dating(?)au, enemies to lovers!au, mutual pining

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

LISTEN, IF IT MEANS getting a promotion at your editorial company as a news journalist instead of pop culture and lifestyle columnist, you’d do anything. And that includes pretending to be the most annoying and clingiest girlfriend to some guy for 10 whole days. But just so you know, Wooyoung likes clingy. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

ROMEO & JULIET ☆ | CJH

TROPE: unrequited love, star crossed lovers!au, mutual pining, secret romance (shakespeare be rolling in his grave rn)

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, ANGST

FOR CENTURIES, a plague of hatred and hostility has been present in the relations between the House of Choi and your own. You know you can’t be together, but yet why do you keep catching that dark haired boy staring at you so longingly? And why do you want him just as bad?. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

a/n: for updates, follow my blog! this will be a work-in-progress so I ask for your support:(🙏

taglist: @vent-stink @dazzlingstarrs @vcutparis @xpixie @potatos-on-clouds @showingmafandomlove @bibbleypoof @kpop-will-kill-me @avantalem @beabatiny @gabrielle-brugger @nsixns @amaranth1ne @stayminho @myblovedjyh @kkeshia @rebekah-reads @yoonbroom @4kwp @butterflydemons @iwaizumiismybae @soobinsputnik @stayatinykatsy @atitties @justconniez @kitten4sannie @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @cheolsthicthighs @morethingsfandom @geminiml95 @byuntrash101 @quailbagutte @syubseokie @newworldwritings @urmom26john @sleepy-kat-here @pearltinyy @hjshyhyssnmgwyjh @cursedeastern @starryunho @piratekingateez2001 @jiminbility @paumll @drinkingrumandcocacola @roomsofangel @channies-bbg-room @meanaonthemoon @teeztopia @pommelex @kiln9z @sanhwalvr @youresolivlie @edawg77 @a-0206 @summer-gyu @bvidzsoo @yoongzsmile28 @tournesol155

taglist became too long so find the second taglist here💀 no longer taking requests

11/1/25 update: i apologize for how slow this is taking😭 yes, i still am 100% fully committed to finishing this series! I ask for your patience and understanding🫶🏼

[5sospenguinqueen]

Land Of The Free | Logan Sargeant x Verstappen! Reader

Summary: Logan is just minding his business, quietly going about his life, secretly loving Max Verstappen's younger sister. Until the day he posts her in one of his Williams shirts.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, secret relationship, badly edited pics, one suggestive comment 

Requested: yes by anon

F1 Masterlist

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yn_verstap just posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, lilymhe and others 

yn_verstap who decided skiing was a holiday, i want to have a word with their manager 

16,087 comments 

maxverstappen1 watching you get a face full of snow was the highlight of my week

→ yn_verstap watching you lose a race is the highlight of my week

→ maxverstappen1 you take that back or i’m telling mama

kellypiquet just means you can keep me company whilst P and max ski 

→ yn_verstap perfect. i’ll order the hot chocolates 

user1 okay but that’s such a pretty sunset 

→ user2 it’s never an y/n aesthetic post without a sunset 

logansargeant those gloves make you look like you have gauze paws 

→ yn_verstap okay callie torres. i regret showing you grey’s anatomy

→ user3 since when were they friends?

→ user4 she talks to him in the paddock all the time

user5 the matching outfits P and kelly have are so cute 

→ kellypiquet max was meant to as well but he refused so we gave y/n his beanie

→ yn_verstap just call me mr steal ya girl 

→ maxverstappen1 how do i disown you 

→ victoriaverstappen y/n and i have been trying to figure that out for years  

logansargeant just posted

liked by kylekirkwood, alex_albon and others

logansargeant ski you later 

18,558 comments 

user6 i swear all the drivers go skiing for winter break 

user7 omg logan is skiing at the same as y/n verstappen. is he with her?

→ user8 no. she’s with max, kelly and p

→ user9 charles is also skiing, that doesn’t automatically mean he’s with them. can we stop pushing this agenda

alex_albon why are you stood like a roblox character  liked by logansargeant 

user10 okay but that sunset is almost identical to y/n’s 

→ user11 wow it’s almost like the sun is the same 

williamsracing rest and refresh 

→ user12 gtfo 

daltonsargeant love how obvious your photographer’s shadow is. did you sit and go ‘take a pic of me?’

→ logansargeant living my instagram model dreams

→ user13 can anyone tell if that shadow is a woman or a man?

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yn_verstap just posted

liked by kellypiquet, francisca.cgomes and others 

yn_verstap goed om thuis te zijn (good to be home)

14,321 comments 

sophiekumpen you better come home whilst you’re here

→ yn_verstap i am literally in your driveway. unlock the door

→ user1 she has such younger sibling energy 

→ maxverstappen1 yeah, she gets away with everything 

→ yn_verstap shut up, golden child 

alexandrasaintmleux pretty pretty girl 

redbullracing excuse me. where’s our garage? can’t feel like home without us 

→ yn_verstap @/maxverstappen1 they’re stalking me again 

user2 max got the racing genes but y/n got the pretty genes liked by yn_verstap liked by logansargeant 

victoriaverstappen don’t forget you owe me lunch

→ yn_verstap geez i can’t catch a break round here

→ victoriaverstappen i’ll bring my boys

→ yn_verstap on my way ! 

→ user3 love how family oriented she is 

landonorris i thought you had hayfever

→ yn_verstap hayfever is for weak 💪

→ logansargeant you were literally crying. there was mascara running down your cheeks 

→ yn_verstap gotta commit to the aesthetic 

alex_albon you were with logan? he told me was busy 

→ yn_verstap he needed a tour guide. are you belgian? no 

logansargeant just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, williamsracing and others 

logansargeant ready for one last push before the summer break 

23,600 comments 

user4 excuse me, is that a woman?

→ user5 excuse me, is that y/n verstappen? 

alex_albon um, mate, i don’t think you meant to post that last pic 

kylekirkwood oh brother, you are in danger 

daltonsargeant lo, you might need to recheck this post 

user6 y/n verstappen! 

user7 i knew this was happening but people tried to say i was crazy

williamsracing i think we need to have another chat about using social media 

charles_leclerc someone film max’s reaction to this for me, please

→ user8 ha, he’s so messy 

user9 i literally called this back on his skiing post and i was accused of pushing an agenda

user10 um, guys, i have a paddock pass and i’ve just heard a really loud yell come from the rbr garage?? i think this might be related

maxverstappen1 what are you doing with my sister!! 

(this post has been deleted)

yn_verstap just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and others

yn_verstap oops, looks like i forgot to tell people about my relationship with logan 

20,001 comments 

maxverstappen1 oh, so i’m just people now 

→ daltonsargeant not to rub it in but i knew 

→ user11 uh oh we’ve got the girls fighting in the comments 

→ logansargeant it’s only because you walked in on us, and i don’t have to worry about you driving me off the track 

user12 omg the fact that they’ve been together or friends for so long that he was with her during the short hair era and now it’s grown past her shoulders

user13 the matching pjs! 

user14 the matching disney shirts! 

→ user15 california?

→ logansargeant obviously. making an american out of her 

→ maxverstappen1 don’t you dare. she’s belgian-dutch! 

→ victoriaverstappen don’t piss off our mother before you’ve even met her

→ sophiekumpen met, loved, and approved. but she will never be american

→ yn_verstap and the home of the brraaavvvveeeee

→ maxverstappen1 disowned

oscarpiastri urgh you’re one of those couples. sickeningly, disgustingly in love, reminding us all that we’re alone and sad 

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requests open (but very slow because i'm crap)

tag list

[whorelaud]

OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (07)

social media & irl AU !

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch content mature content, nsfw (nothing too explicit, it gets interrupted), suggestive, making out, pet names, unresolved tension, fluff, sexual jokes, desperate rafe (mhmmmm), brief mention of cocaine

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 06 ! 07 ¡ 08

↳ yourusername replied to your story: hey… that’s not very nice :( 

Rafe kissed you. 

It wasn’t a dream, nor was it accidental. Rafe Cameron, whom you marked off limits, kissed you, and hell, did you enjoy every second of it. 

From that moment on, every minute you spent within his presence felt like living on edge; sneaking behind your brother’s back to enjoy his company, aware of the consequences, and the heartbreak that would result out of the truth. 

Liking Rafe was like a calm after the storm, the moment your eyes land on him, time stops, and you forget all your worries. How were you supposed to resist him, when he’s your only escape from reality? The only person who’s ever made your heart rate increase in pace within a span of seconds. 

Getting a casual conversation out of a guy, without it oscillating to something sexual was difficult in this society, however, with Rafe, it was easy. His eyes bloomed with more than just lust, it made all your doubts about finding the one fade, and that alone, would have younger you screaming. 

Because what do you mean there’s a man out there that lines up with everything you’ve dreamed of and more, the puzzle you’ve been missing your whole life, merely for him to end up being your brother’s best friend, someone so forbidden, it burns when his touch lingers.

A bob formed in your throat, one hard to swallow down, that as much as it stings, you chose to bear it, even if it goes against the trust you formed with your brother. You told yourself it was okay, Ryan won’t overreact if he found out, right?

With a few touches, you managed to head downstairs, with everyone rushing you to come out, starting with Ryan, who somehow managed to call you fifteen times in the span of a minute. To your surprise, it wasn’t him driving, though, but Rafe? 

You slightly halted when he greeted you with a smile, one hidden from everyone else’s eyes. A pair of sunglasses hugged the bridge of his nose, covering the glint of cockiness swelling through his gaze. 

Reaching for the door handle, you quickly smiled at the sight of Sarah as she perked up from her seat once she seized sight of you. A grin formed on your lips, joining the girl’s side, completely forgetting yourself in her embrace, that Ryan’s scoldings barely registered in your system.

“Your brother is such a dick,” she joked, eyebrows furrowing with fake annoyance. “I couldn’t even properly get ready ‘cause of him.” 

“Me?” He gasped, irritated by the ‘false’ remark. “You’re the one busy eating your boyfriend’s face!” 

“Why am I getting involved?” John B chimed from Sarah’s side. “I was helping her out.” 

“Yeah?” Ryan muttered in a mocking tone, “How so?” 

“I do not want to know that.” Rafe clicked his teeth, dismissing Ryan’s question with his statement. 

“You shut the fuck up.” Ryan scoffed, a sour expression smeared over his face. “Lending JJ my car? God knows what will happen to it.” 

“JJ’s not a bad driver…” you trailed off, earning a dirty glare from your brother. “What?! Unless he’s drunk off his mind, then you’re good. He was always in charge of Twinkie.” 

“That horrendous Van?” Ryan asked, voice filled with disbelief. “My baby and that ugly thing are two different things, don’t you dare compare them.” 

“Alright man,” John B started, “At least it gets the job done.” 

“Why are you picking a fight with everyone?” Rafe chuckled, pulling out of the driveway. “Sit back and relax, don’t stress your pretty lil’ brain out.” 

“Gross.” Sarah muttered under her breath, nose scrunching with disgust. 

“Can I get aux?” You asked, earning Rafe’s attention as he seeked the chord plugged to the speakers, immediately offering it to you from over his shoulder when it was within his reach. “Thank you.” 

“Mhm.” He hummed, the grogginess in his tone rattling through your chest. 

“Why is she in control of aux?” Ryan perked up at the act, addressing Rafe with his question. “I thought we agreed I’d be in charge.” 

“That’s in bed, baby.” Rafe flashed him a tight-lipped smile, sparing him a glimpse for a second, before his attention was back on the road. His fingers found the curve of Ryan’s jaw, using the tip of the digits to scratch the latter’s chin. 

“Move!” He slapped Rafe’s hand away, lips jutting into a frown. “Why’s everyone ganging up on me today?” 

“‘Kay, stop acting like a bitch.” You started, further getting on your brother’s nerves. “Should’ve stayed home.” 

Rafe’s arm blocked Ryan from shooting off his seat, a glint of amusement smothering through his expression. If one could calm Ryan, it was definitely Rafe. Considering their differences, they get along quite well, perhaps why they’ve made it together far this long. 

The rest of the car ride filled with havoc, as both you and Sarah sang along to the lyrics, while John B sat back and watched, admiring his girlfriend with so much love, you were envious. Oh to openly stare and have it not be a problem; was that too much to ask for? 

A pit of jealousy laid low in your stomach, gaze shifting back to Rafe, whose eyes were glued to the road. Or so you thought, as his pupils caught you staring through the rearview mirror, not breaking the contact in hopes of you noticing him, even for a mere second. 

The action was cut short when Ryan took notice of the situation, eyebrows furrowing with puzzlement as he directed his attention to you in a swift movement. His face pressed to the leather seats, reaching over the dashboard, and flicking your arm with the intent of capturing your focus. 

“Where’s your wallet?” He asked, voice muffled due to the melody playing in the background. 

“My wallet?” You repeated, afraid you heard the phrase wrong. “Why do you need my wallet?” 

“I put my ID in there,” he explained, searching for the object with his gaze. “Figured you’d have it on you.” 

You rolled your eyes, patting around your seat, in an attempt to grab your wallet, instantly coming to a halt as realization washed over. “Wait.” 

“What?” Ryan mumbled. 

“Did I get my wallet?” You asked, the question mostly to yourself. “I think I forgot my wallet.” You stated, peeking down the seats, in case it fell by accident. “You idiot, this is all your fault!” 

“How is it my fault?!” He shot back, “Who forgets their wallet? That’s totally on you!” 

“Yeah, own one then come talk.” You stifled out a sarcastic laugh, crying out with frustration. “This is so annoying, can’t we go back?” 

“That’s a twenty minute drive from here.” Rafe answered, “I’d go back, but that would delay our plans.” 

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed, rubbing soothing circles to the blade of your shoulder. “It’s fine, you can jus’ use my card, baby.” 

“It’s okay Sarah,” you groaned, falling back in your seat. “That’s not necessary.” 

“Oh come on, are you scared I’ll put you on a budget?” Sarah teased, attempting to ease your discomfort. “Don’t worry, I’ll sugar mama you.” 

A giggled escaped your throat at her words, mockingly sticking out your tongue when Ryan flipped you off. While Sarah strived to comfort you, worry yet washed over your expression, contemplating how you were going to spend the next few hours, with nothing but your phone on you. 

The passing few minutes felt like an eternity upon your arrival, quickly joined by your friends once Rafe was all parked. It was fun, despite your friends insisting they’d pay for you, you still refused, shaking your head anytime they offered to buy you something that caught your interest. 

Rafe noticed your shift in mood, cracking a joke every now and then, for a mere reaction out of you. And surprisingly, it worked, the latter managed to squeeze a giggle out of you, ridiculed by the horrible dad jokes he added in between conversations. 

“Is it hot?” Rafe questioned, eyebrows furrowing with concern at the droplets of sweat trickling down your neck. 

“Hmm?” You hummed, lips jutting with confusion. “It’s not bad.” 

“Yeah?” He teased, gaze flickering to your hand, as you patted your neck dry with the gesture. “Want something to drink?” 

“What? No.” You shook your head, admiring while your friends observed the handbags displayed on the counter. “I’m fine.” 

“Hey uh,” Rafe’s voice suddenly broke out, earning everyone’s attention in the process. “We’re grabbing drinks, do you guys want anything?

Your gaze fixed on Rafe with disbelief, taken aback when he tugged your wrist, nodding along to your friends’ requests. Ryan took in the scene with confusion, mind racing with all sorts of thoughts, over why he shouldn’t reach over and yank Rafe’s hold off, forcing the fact that he was his best friend, he wouldn’t do such a thing, and betray his trust. 

And if Rafe saw, he didn’t say a thing, choosing to not acknowledge it as he dragged you with him to the main lobby surrounded by different varieties of fast foods’ restaurants. Rafe let go of your hand, upon standing in line, with you already missing the warmness of his touch, breath hitching when he stood close enough for you to take a whiff of his musky cologne.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Rafe flashed the cashier a polite smile once it was your turn, eyes hovering over the menu displayed on the screens. “Can I get a uhh…” 

You took Rafe's side while he listed your friends’ orders, stiffening when he turned to face you, with the purpose of asking for what you wanted. “I’ll get a milkshake.” 

“Okay,” he nodded, observing the milkshake options on the menu. “What flavor would you like?” 

“Whatever that’s available.” You stammered, clearing your throat as your eyes flickered to where Rafe was looking, trailing off before you muttered your next sentence. “Chocolate’s fine.” 

“We’ll take one chocolate milkshake, then.” Rafe informed the cashier, flashing him a tight-lipped smile as he handed him his card. 

The cashier passed Rafe the receipt, politely asking you two to step to the side, while waiting for your order to finish. You obliged to the request, following in Rafe’s steps as he took a corner, snorting when he plopped his arm over the counter, for the mere purpose of supporting his weight. 

“What?” He chuckled, toying with the straws presented in the cup. “What’s so funny, Bug?” 

“Don’t call me that.” You jokingly huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Is this about your wallet?” He cooed, poking your side with one of the straws. “Why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset.” You repeated, denying the assumption, though the boy had you practically figured out. “You’re annoying.” 

“Yeah, and you’re grumpy.” He scrunched his nose, the gesture playful, teasing you in a way. “Whatever you want, buy it, I’ll pay for you.” 

“I spend a lot of money, Rafe.” You uttered, ridiculed by his words. “Sure you can handle it?” 

“Well,” he leaned down, voice dropping barely above a whisper. “Can you spend as much as I can earn?” 

That earned a scuff out of you, rolling your eyes as you lightly smacked his shoulder, the action rattling a chuckle out of Rafe. Your face flushed with heat , remaining silent to suppress your flustered state from taking over your expression. 

It didn’t take long before you were heading back, with the drinks ceased in your hold, as well as Rafe’s. Your friends were quick to help out, handing each person their order, while they offered you a smile of gratitude in return for your act of kindness. 

Conversation with Rafe flowed like water, lifting your spirits, and cracking a smile of you every time he’d lean down and whisper hushed words into your ears. The action was subtle, you were sure none of your friends picked up on the way you’d tense each time Rafe stood too close, or made his presence known, shamefully letting his gaze flicker to your parted lips while your brother stood a few inches away, unaware of the latter’s intentions, and the tension seeping through the thick air. 

Speaking of Ryan, the boy wandered off, leaving you and your friends behind, though that swiftly oscillated as each of you split into pairs, leaving you with Rafe, who did everything in his power to cut through the silence building up. 

You brushed off his statements with short sentences, your dry responses settling a pang of guilt through your chest, intents far from hurting the latter, only realizing the switch in Rafe’s mood after you glanced up, and noticed the look of disappointment smothered all over his face. 

Your attention fixed on the several fragrance bottles splayed on the shelf, misting the aroma over the paper samples to sniff each one. Rafe stood and watched, whirling your shake (God knows how that ended up in his hold) around with a lack of enthusiasm, failing to hide the fact that he wasn’t interested in what you were doing. 

One of the perfumes piqued your curiosity, spraying it on your wrist to take another whiff, the soft vanilla scent intoxicating your senses. You suddenly turned to face Rafe, a smile spreading across your lips when he halted, lips extending with confusion at your sudden burst of excitement. 

“What is it?” He mumbled, brows pinching in a knot. 

“This one smells so good,” You uttered, taking a step forward, then pausing to ask your next question. “Do you wanna smell?” 

“Sure.” He instantly straightened up, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Without thinking, you moved your arm ahead, offering the boy the patch of perfume sprayed on your hand, the action deemed innocent, catching Rafe off guard as he froze. He took a moment to process how close you were, now merely separated by your wrist as it blocked his vision from landing on your face, and hell, did you look pretty up close, though the majority of your features were covered.

Rafe hesitated, processing the risky ponders wandering through his head with haste, letting his impulsive thoughts take over as his fingers seized control of your wrist, inching it closer to his chin before he planted a gentle peck to the palm of your hand. 

His hold lingered around your wrist, his mouth burning hot over your flesh, and spiraling a rush of adrenaline through your veins. A shuddered sigh barely escaped your parted lips, fluttering your eyes up at the latter, your flustered expression not much of help; smearing a mischievous smile across his lips.

“What are you doing?’You stuttered through a breath, hastily retrieving your hand from Rafe’s hold.

“Smelling it,” he explained, acting as if the action was the most normalest thing ever. “You asked me to smell it, did you not?” 

“I did,” you shot back with frustration, pupils narrowing with the flutter of your chest, feeling your pulse quicken under Rafe’s gaze. “I said to smell it, not kiss it.”

“What’s wrong?” He chuckled, pointing his finger in your direction. “Are you shy?” 

“What?” Your face twisted with fake annoyance, glimpsing around before you lightly kicked his knee. “No, Rafe. What if someone saw you?” 

“I don’t care.” He stifled out a sarcastic laugh, amused by your reaction. 

“Yeah?” You forced your lips into a fake smile, ridiculed by Rafe’s lack of worry. “And how will you explain whatever that was to Ryan, Mr. I don’t care?” 

“He’ll understand.” Rafe mocked, grabbing the perfume you sprayed from the shelf. “How can I hold myself back, when you’re this beautiful, baby?”

There it was, baby. The pet name only made your heart race more, the sound so loud, you heard it echoing through your ears.

A hitched breath knocked out of your chest, taken aback by the sudden boldness seeping through Rafe’s tone, your shyness only encouraging him more. You cleared your throat, grabbing the drink from his hold before facing away, afraid you’d crumble if you stared any longer. 

“Shut up.” You dismissed, faking interest in the purses displayed on the shelf. “Don’t do that again.” 

“‘Won’t make any promises.” He clicked his teeth, grabbing a packaged perfume from next to the various ones on display. “Do you want to get it?” 

“No.” You shook your head, politely refusing with a glimpse over your shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

“Alright,” he nodded, streaking past you, and heading straight towards the line. “We’re getting it.” 

“That’s not necessary, Rafe.” You muttered through gritted teeth, avoiding the weird looks you received when Rafe dodged your attempt at snatching the boxed fragrance. 

While you were stubborn, the latter was twice as stubborn as you were, insisting on buying it, despite you refusing. And true to his intentions, Rafe ends up purchasing the perfume for you, a defeated scoff exiting your throat when he flashed you a sheepish grin, proud of his accomplishment. 

A sigh of relief tumbled past your mouth when you spotted Cleo, along with Pope, taking the scene as an opportunity to escape Rafe’s side; though that wasn’t a choice, with the blond practically gluing to you, following in your steps like a lost  puppy. 

It didn’t take long for the rest to join in, deciding it was a good time to leave upon the stores closing, one followed by another. Ryan contently retrieved his keys from JJ, fetching Pope, Cleo, and JJ, while the rest of you stuck in a group, the ride back filling with chaos, as yet, another karaoke session broke out, excpet this time, it involved lots of heartbreaks. 

A new category. 

The majority of your evening was consumed by the ocean waves rocketing, while you and your friends messed around. You let your worries go for once, heart swelling with happiness, one you didn’t think could be ruined.

Things were perfect, as you reunited with your friends, got to spend your summer vacation with them, and you met Rafe. You haven’t been happier since, it terrified you, heart stinging with horror, because you refused to believe this wasn’t ending on a bad note, hence it was a little too perfect.

The night ended off quite earlier than you had expected, with your friends excusing themselves to bed after movie night. Rafe subtly sneaked a smile your way, mouthing ‘goodnight’ before disappearing off to his room. 

That being said, you strived to fall asleep, resetting your progress every time you’d accidently unlatched your eyes, a huff of frustration escaping your throat in the process. You were too overwhelmed to sleep, unable to suppress the foolish grin masking your lips as what happened earlier stumbles across your mind, the vivid image of Rafe’s expression creating a flustered mess out of you. 

You tried not to think about it, being as quiet as physically possible, to avoid stirring Kiara’s slumber, anything but wanting to disturb her sleep. A random video played on your phone, a mere background noise as your brain, yet wandered back to the situation, zoning out, and fully abandoning the device in your hold. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a ping, attention shifting back to the bright screen, almost gasping when you caught the contact of the sender. 

It was Rafe. (not one person is surprised)

rafe 👍: You awake?

Sent, 12:55 am

You: ?? hello

rafe 👍: Hi baby

Your face flushed with heat, unfamiliar with the latter constantly using pet names, the act surprising, never failing to make your heart flutter. 

You: why are you awake?

rafe 👍: Hmm

rafe 👍: Probably the same reason you are

A laugh stifled out of your throat at the message, hurrying to type back a response.

You: yeah 🤨

You: and what reason must that be

Rafe’s text bubble appeared and disappeared, fingers hesitatingly hovering over the screen, while you awaited the latter’s answer. 

rafe 👍: I 

rafe 👍: I can’t stop thinking about you

rafe: It’s driving me crazy

Oh. 

Oh. 

You: stop being an idiot

You: go to sleep its late

rafe 👍: I’m not fucking around

rafe 👍: Wanna see you so bad

Your eyes fluttered with utmost desire, digging your teeth through your bottom lip, merely to confirm this wasn't a dream. 

You: we’ll see eo tmr 

rafe 👍: You think

rafe 👍: I can wait til’ tomorrow? 

rafe 👍: I can't Yn

rafe 👍: Can I come to your room

You: Huh

You: what

You: for what?

rafe 👍: Js’ wanna see you baby

rafe 👍: Am I not allowed to do that?

You nervously gulped, well aware he wanted more than to just see you; both of you did. 

You: kies asleep

rafe 👍: Okay 

rafe 👍: I’ll be fast

The desperation in his tone squeezes a shy snort out of you, sitting up in bed as you typed out a reply. 

You: don’t come

You: stay in your room

rafe 👍:  What

rafe 👍: Why? 

You: i’ll

You: come to you

rafe 👍: Shit wait

rafe 👍: Are you serious?

rafe 👍: Don’t fuck with me 

You: is anyone by you

rafe 👍: NOo

rafe 👍: No one is by me

rafe 👍: I’m all alone

you: alr

you: im coming

You don’t know whether it was the sleep heaving your eyes, or the desire engulfing your insides,  however, you felt sure of your decision, leisurely pulling the covers off your figure, before you hastily made your way out, with the purpose of seeking Rafe. 

A knock is all it took, with the latter quickly unlatching the door, chest rising and falling with a breath once he caught sight of you. His gaze trailed down to your satin sleep set, perfectly adorning your figure, that holding himself back felt far out of the picture. 

“Hi.” You sheepishly greeted the latter, growing nervous under his gaze. At that, Rafe’s head shoots up, swallowing down the lump forming in his throat. 

“Hey,” he shot back, clutching the doorknob with force. “Come in.” 

You accepted the invitation, steps slow as you let yourself inside, observing the plain furniture, so boring,yet screaming Rafe’s name. “Your room is nice.” 

“Thanks.” He mumbled, scratching the back of his head once he shut the door, eyes roaming everywhere but your face. 

He was starting to regret this, tempting himself when he knows he can’t handle another minute with you this far away, wanting nothing but to seize the distance, cross the now invisible line and fuck it. 

“You’re welcome.” You hummed, lips pursing into a thin line. 

Tension seeped through the air, heaving the atmosphere with lust, desire; all your wants and needs. 

“Why did you want to see me?” You abruptly asked, approaching the door once again, a few feet down from Rafe. A chuckle escaped your lips, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “In the middle of the night, too? You’re not slick, Cameron.”

Mhm, that made things even worse. 

“Do I need a reason to see you now?” He answered you with another question, casually, but deliberately approaching you. “You think I’m that bad?” 

“No.” You whispered, fingers clutching the fabric of your shorts, reminiscing over the memory of his lips colliding with yours after your back firmly pressed to the door, chest immediately swelling with Deja Vu. “It was a joke.” 

“Yeah?” He mumbled, voice dropping to match yours. “You think that night was a mistake?”

“What night?” You stiffened, prior to acknowledging his question, as you’ve done nothing but avoid it over the past few days. 

“The night I kissed you.” He further clarified, his figure swallowing yours as he hovered over you. “You regret it?” 

“Why are you bringing that up?” You nearly choked on your own spit at the confrontation, goosebumps breaking out across your arms when the tip of his fingers lightly traced over your forearm, the sensation like feathers to your flesh. 

“Don’t know,” he replies, vision going blurry. “Wanna know how you feel.” 

A shaky sigh managed its way past your lips, mouth gaping to speak, but instead met with utter silence in return. Rafe’s eyes glinted with keen, seeking an answer out of you; a response to all his problems and more. 

But nothing. 

“I’ll leave.” You started, words far from what you wanted. “It’s getting late.”

Rafe’s face fell at that, chest swelling with disappointment as he shifted to step back, giving you enough space to squeeze through. “Right, you should; ‘s totally my fault for keeping you up.” 

One word. That’s all you wanted to hear; don’t. 

However, you were both idiots, too afraid to express your feelings for each other, hesitating over the possibilities of what if’s.

So what if Ryan found out? 

You like Rafe, so much it stings knowing you can’t have him, your said brother being the reason he’s forbidden. He’s your blood, though, him of all people should know how much this means to you, hence he’s witnessed all your horrific experiences with dating. 

Telling Ryan wasn’t the problem, it was you all along; teetering to make the first move, let your impulsive thoughts win and claim him, move forward and crash your lips on his, it was all on you for putting other people’s priorities over yours. 

Putting yourself first spoke like no other, and that’s exactly what you did as you grabbed Rafe by the collar of his shirt, wasting no time before you collided his lips with yours. 

Rafe’s eyes widened with shock, arms awkwardly hanging to his sides as you captured his bottom lip in between your own, proceeding with the gesture when you angled your head to the side, intending to deepen the kiss. 

Rafe didn’t do anything though, he froze in his spot, not daring to move, even after you mustered up the courage to kiss him. Panic immediately washed over as you pulled away, mouth moving faster than your brain while muttering your next words. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” You apologized, guilt evident in your expression. “I thought you wanted this– I didn’t mean to force anything on you, we can jus’ act like this never happened, I don’t m–”

Your rambling cut short, interrupted when Rafe sweeped you in an eager kiss, the action desperate, seeking closure through it. You contently kissed him back, yelping when his arm found the curve of your waist, applying enough pressure to seize control of your body. 

The latter almost stumbled over his own feet, nearly falling in the process of leading you to the bed. Rafe took action when he noticed your struggle to keep up, hands traveling to the back of your thighs, and before you knew it, the boy scooped you in a swift movement, your legs latching to his sides for support.

Your arms wrapped around Rafe’s neck, moaning as he nibbled the plump of your lip with the graze of his teeth, using your parted lips as an opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth, letting the warmth of your spit coat his own. 

His tongue swirled over yours, managing to plop himself on the edge of the bed, all while squeezing and kneeding your ass, chasing after your pleasure with each time you squirmed in his hold. 

“Fuck,” rafe muffled in between kisses, “Taste so fuckin’ good, baby.” 

A moan rolls off your tongue at the praise, mind hazing with despair as Rafe’s hot breath fanned over your face, the warmth tickling your skin, and sending shivers down your spine. Rafe wasted no time, fingers finding the hem of your shirt, the tip of his digits teasingly toying with it.

You whined into his mouth, protesting to the wait he’s putting you through, hips unintentionally rolling down over his crotch in the process, almost folding when you felt him twitch at the gesture. Rafe hissed at the contact, swiftly pressing your hips down in place, the hardon in his pants not being much of help. 

“Don’t fucking do that.” He grunted, lips ghosting over yours. “God, you’re killing me.” 

“Rafeee,” you cooed, throwing your head back with the intent of arching your back, panties now soaked with your juices. “Feels s’ good.” 

“You’re a mess.” Rafe teased, stifling out a laugh. He purposely halted, testing your limits, and how far you can go without crumbling in his hold. “So desperate for me, aren’t you?.” 

“Fucking do something.” Your nails dug to his shoulders with force, well aware your hold would bruise, already forming red marks with the touch. “Don’t jus’ tease me.” 

“You’re being a brat.” He chuckled with amusement, gaze landing on your cleavage, now half exposed from him groping the delicate flesh. “Thought you were a good girl, baby.” 

At that, your breath hitched, forehead leaning against Rafe’s when his fingers lightly traced over your breasts, the sensation like feathers to your skin. He licked a stripe of your tit, the warmth of his spit coating the outer shell of your boob. 

Rafe took your chest in his hold, action falling short as a knock suddenly erupted through the door, startling both of you out of your haze and despair. You instantly froze, pushing Rafe off to spare him a glance, almost as if to ask what the noise was. 

“Aye Rafe.” The familiar voice echoed through your ears, causing your heart to sink to the pit of your stomach. “Are you in there?” 

“That’s Ryan.” Rafe beat you to speaking, words stating the obvious. 

“No shit it’s Ryan.” You sarcastically whisper-yelled, “What is he doing here?” 

“I don’t know!” Rafe shrugged his shoulders. “I thought he was asleep.” 

Both of you turned with panic when the doorknob twisted back and fourth, indicating the latter was trying to open the door. “Aye come on, open up; I know you’re awake.” 

“Shit, we’re in trouble.” You nervously bit your lip, scrambling to get off his lap. Rafe fixed his shirt, adjusting his position to hide the hardon visible in his pants. “What do we do?” 

“Okay– shit, wait.” Rafe took a breath, observing the room with frustration. “I’ll hide in the closet, you open the door and shoo him away.” 

“It’s your room, dude.” Your face scrunched with disbelief, “I’m the one that should be hiding.” 

“No, yeah, right.” The latter nodded, pacing back and forth. “Where should you hide?” 

“Not the closet,” you shook your head, checking under the bed. “I’m claustrophobic.” 

“Under the bed?” Rafe suggested, eyeing the somewhat narrowed place, though it was slightly bigger than the said closet.

“Okay–” you winced as another thud erupted through the door, rushing to bend down, and slide under the bed. “Be fast, please.” 

Rafe nodded, flashing you a reassuring smile before fixing up the covers, vision now glistening with dimness. You perked up at the sound of the door creaking, groaning when Ryan’s footsteps practically shook the floor. He plopped himself on the bed, with Rafe hissing at the gesture, knowing your brother probably startled you with the action. 

And he did, but that wasn’t the point. 

“What are you doing here?” Rafe asked, sprawling himself next to Ryan. 

“I got some yayo,” Ryan whispered with a chuckle, probably already high by the tone of his voice. “Figured we could smoke it together.” 

“At one past midnight?” Rafe argued. 

“So what?” Ryan shrugged, ruffling his hand in the plastic bag he spread out on the bed. “You’re actin’ as if we’ve never done it before, this is not– wait, what?” 

Rafe paused before responding, face turning pale. “What?” 

“Is that Bug’s phone?” Ryan questioned, smile fading off his lips. “What is my sister’s phone doing in your room?”

Shit, your phone.

a/n all support is v much appreciated!! i honestly have no idea how i got this out bye literally stress wrote almost the whole thing and im surviving off three hours of sleep mind you for the past two days AND i also finished most of this on the plane so feel special... i cherish my plane rides but i put you guys first since ily 😣 that being said i spent the past like eight hours finishing it up HELP yeah sorry to disappoint mama tried her best 💔 nsfw part is not detailed on purpose i want to put my badussy for their first time yeah (it wont be explicit dw) 💪💪

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[dearlenore]

CRAWLING BACK TO YOU • S.REID

SUMMARY: when Spencer finds himself back in his hometown on a case, he never expected to run into you, his Highschool sweetheart.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer

tags: reader is a trouble maker , reader is a lil manic pixie dream girl core…(sorry) fluff for the most part! Usage of y/n once or twice??

a/n: pretend he’s a normal age in Highschool…

w/c: 1.0K

YOU ALWAYS KNEW you’d run into Spencer Reid again.

Not because you were pining—please, you had moved on. But because fate had a funny way of making things come full circle. And considering the way Spencer used to insist on rational probabilities while you believed in cosmic inevitability, this moment felt like a win.

The moment being Spencer walking into the café where you were currently stirring far too much sugar into your overpriced latte.

You spot him before he sees you. He’s taller, sharper, and still somehow manages to look both put-together and like he forgot what sleep is. The FBI badge clipped to his belt is an interesting touch, but the most fascinating part?

He doesn’t notice you.

Yet.

You wait until he’s focused on whatever case file he’s holding—because of course he’s reading while waiting in line—before making your move. Sliding out of your chair, you weave through the café with the ease of someone who has perfected the art of casual entrances.

Then, right as he’s reaching for his wallet, you lean in close.

“Didn’t anyone teach you it’s rude to show up in my city without saying hello?”

Spencer tenses. Then, slowly—like he’s calculating the statistical likelihood of you being real—he turns his head.

The moment his eyes land on you, you see it. That flicker of recognition. The slight widening of his gaze. The way his lips part, just barely, before he catches himself.

“Y/N?”

You grin. “Doctor Reid,” you tease, stepping back with a dramatic once-over. “Wow. You got all serious-looking. When did that happen?”

His mouth opens, then closes. “I—what are you doing here?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Uh, living? Some of us didn’t run off to Quantico and forget about our hometown.”

“I didn’t—” He sighs, rubbing his temple. “I didn’t forget.”

“Mmhmm.” You sip your latte, unimpressed. “So, what, you’re just in town for a case? Here to be all important and FBI-y?”

Spencer glances around, then leans in. “You know I can’t talk about that.”

“Ooooh, classified,” you whisper dramatically. “That’s fun.”

Spencer exhales sharply, but you see the small, reluctant smile threatening to form.

Some things really never change.

“So,” you say, tilting your head. “Are you gonna pretend you’re too busy saving the world, or can I steal a little of your time?”

He hesitates, and for a second, you think he might actually say no. But then he looks at you—the way he always used to, like you were a puzzle he never quite solved—and sighs.

“Fine. But only for a little bit.”

You grin, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward your table.

“Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Spencer hesitates for a moment before following you to your table. You see it in the way he shifts his weight, in the way his fingers drum against his coffee cup—he’s debating whether this is a bad idea.

It probably is.

But that’s never stopped you before.

You slide into your seat, crossing one leg over the other as he settles across from you, still eyeing you like he’s waiting for you to disappear. You tilt your head, smiling.

“You know, you can blink. I promise I’m real.”

Spencer exhales, setting his coffee down with a careful precision that screams I am trying not to react to you. “It’s just… unexpected.”

You hum, stirring your drink again even though there’s nothing left to mix. “Unexpected how? Like seeing an old friend and thinking, ‘Wow, I should’ve kept in touch with them’ kind of unexpected? Or more of a ‘This person is a walking distraction and I should flee immediately’ kind of unexpected?”

His lips press together. You grin.

“Should I be concerned that you categorized those so quickly?” he asks.

“I like to be prepared,” you say breezily. “So? Which one is it?”

Spencer exhales, finally meeting your gaze properly. “I did think about keeping in touch.”

Something flickers in your chest. A warmth, a whisper of oh.

But you keep your expression light. “You? Doctor Spencer Reid? The guy who’s too busy solving the world’s problems? Please.”

“I’m serious,” he says, voice softer now. “I just… didn’t know how.”

That makes you pause.

Because for all your teasing, for all the bravado you so easily slip into, there was a time when Spencer was a constant in your life. Back in high school, when he was the awkward genius with too many books and you were the sharp-tongued force of nature who refused to let him disappear into the background.

You still remember the late-night conversations, the times you dragged him out of his comfort zone just to prove he could survive outside of academia. And, of course, you remember the way it ended—quickly, cleanly, like ripping off a bandage.

Spencer got his big FBI opportunity.

And you? Well, you weren’t about to stand in his way.

You twirl your spoon between your fingers, choosing your words carefully. “You could’ve just called, you know. Or written one of those overly detailed letters you used to leave in my locker.”

“I—” He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You still remember those?”

“Please. They were like little research papers on us.” You smirk. “If I recall correctly, one of them included an entire probability breakdown on why we were ‘statistically likely’ to last through college.”

Spencer groans, burying his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“It was sweet,” you admit, before adding, “and incredibly nerdy.”

Spencer lifts his head, giving you a look. “Well, you liked nerdy.”

You shrug, sipping your drink. “I liked you.”

The words come out easily—too easily—but you don’t regret them. Because it’s true. You did like him. A lot. Maybe even more than you ever let yourself admit.

Spencer clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “And now?”

The question lingers between you, heavy with meaning.

You could be coy. You could tease him, brush it off like you always do. But something about the way he’s watching you makes you pause.

So instead, you smile. Soft. Honest.

“I think I still do.”

Spencer doesn’t move for a moment. Then, ever so slightly, his fingers tighten around his cup.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, almost like he’s testing the word out. “Me too.”

The café hums around you, the sound of coffee beans grinding, of quiet conversations, of the world continuing like nothing has changed.

But for you?

Something just did.

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 7: Silver Spoons And Butter Knives, Living Hand To Mouth I’m Getting By

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 (Here!) / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of Bullying, Suicidal implications, Body harm, Body Horror

The concept of boarding school wasn’t as bad as people portray it.

A boarding school is an institution where students live on the premises while receiving formal instruction, essentially providing both lodging and meals. Unlike normal schools, boarding schools offer a residential experience, often encompassing a wider range of extracurricular activities and a sense of community.

At least, that’s the literal definition she found on the internet. 

When Bobby (with whom she had exchanged phone numbers and yapped the whole weekend through text, and sent her way too many TikToks she didn’t really understand but found funny) had asked her if she was staying at the dorms so they could hang out after class, she suddenly found a ray of hope of getting away from the Waynes.

Which led her to do a thorough research on Wikipedia.

Gotham Academy has been a prestigious, private boarding school for Gotham’s elite. And anyone who could afford it, or had a scholarship. 

Most members of the Wayne family had gone to the academy. Most of the said members were expelled or dropped out of it.

Including Bruce himself.

Which is why she was currently pissed off on a Monday morning as Alfred drove the younger members of the family to school.

“This is bullshit,” She muttered while pouting at the window, arms crossed and legs sprawled out in the passenger seat.

The butler gave her a pointed look, letting her know that she should behave. The young girl readjusted her sitting position with a grumble. Her glare followed the tall buildings and the people walking around the busy sidewalk, passing them by in a blur to those with normal eyesight.

Not for her, thought. Everything seemed so slow-paced today.

It was quite annoying. From the moment she woke up that morning, it had been like stepping into a slow-motion sequence. The curtains of her room moved oh so gently, it almost seemed like they were floating. The water from her shower had stopped for a few moments, and she could even count the drops of the stream that stood frozen in the air before she received a cold splash in the face that almost made her crack her head open again if she hadn’t hung onto the built-in shelves on the wall. Then, the gremlin at breakfast. He seemed to take his sweet time eating his French toast, which was almost disturbing to see how slow someone could chew on his food. It made her sick to the stomach remembering it.

They were short lapses of time. Didn’t last too long, but those moments still managed to unsettle her and keep her on the edge.

“I’m afraid this is something you will have to discuss with your father, my dear.” His voice took her away from her musings, returning her mind to the present.

‘Where was I? Oh, right,’ her anger returning once again.

Just when she thought she had found a way to escape from the suffocating manor, the family had once again meddled with her brilliant plans.

Apparently, she did not form part of the whole boarding school experience. (Well, Wayne didn’t)

Due to the many incidents involving her ‘siblings’ and ‘father’ at the school in their scholarly years, they had gained a rather infamous reputation. This led to taking away certain privileges when a member of the Wayne family was to be enrolled at the academy.

Said privileges were not being able to partake in staying at the dorms through the semester.

(aka. Waynes were banned from the academy dorms.)

“I don’t understand why a sudden need to stay in such facilities.” Damian retorted from his place in the backseat. Still giving her the stinkeye for taking the front seat first (she had taken off while yelling ‘shotgun’ through the halls, making Drake get up from his deep sleep and come out of his room to see what was happening with his sheets all tangled on his legs.)

“Pennyworth makes far better meals, and the beds haven’t been thoroughly cleaned in ages. That’s without mentioning having to share your personal space with a stranger who lacks manners.” That last part made her bite her tongue hard.

‘When the irony is ironing,’ She thought sarcastically.

 “It’s all about the independence and socializing. Who doesn’t like talking to total strangers and getting to know them while also sharing a bathroom?” Her lips were curling in a grin, her tone letting on very clearly what she was referring to.

Damian tutted, harshly crossing his arms while glaring at her. Alfred simply sighed as he pulled through the metal front gate of the academy.

“Since when do you like socializing, Embarrassment?” He remarked on the nickname with a cold glare at the back of her seat. 

And as if she had sensed it, she took off her seatbelt and turned half of her body to the back so she could face him directly. Both of their glares clashed with one another. 

Alfred got out of the car to take out her school bag from the back of the car, wondering to himself if he was truly paid enough to deal with teenagers.

Damian was very much annoyed at her new attitude. It was getting on his nerves how she stood her ground and didn’t flatter. He couldn’t have missed this part of her. He was the son of the greatest detective in the world, and he took pride in his deduction skills. And he had deducted his sister from the first moment they met. Never, in a million years, would she have the courage to act like this. Too insecure. Too weak. Too scared.

She would have had to die and be reborn to be acting like this.

“Don’t act like you know me, Damian.” His name sounded like a curse in the making on her tongue. Her deep, dark eyes stared directly into his own, a glint of something akin to sardonic gone the moment she turned back on her seat and opened the car door.

“You don’t have the right to judge. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”

With that, she stepped out and slammed the door shut, leaving him with words in his mouth.

He could only follow her stomping outside towards Alfred out of the corner of his eye, refusing to turn his face a single inch towards them. She seemed to mutter something to the older man, to whom he put a hand on her shoulder and spoke very gently. 

Her eyes softened, and Damian couldn’t help but be put off by it.

He was well aware that she used grey contact lenses. She always wore them, no matter what. One would think she would sleep while wearing them, but he knew she wasn’t that stupid.

He never wondered why she used them, scraping it off as some odd fashing trend girls her age were into. They just were part of her and he went along with it. Never putting much thought into it.

Now, Damian was putting a lot of thought into it.

He had always known that he was an almost carbon copy of his father. Black hair, facial structure, etc. There was little doubt about his heritage and he took pride in it.

His half-sibling was another story. No matter how hard she tried to dress, act, talk, and move like them, she didn’t seem to fit in. The cold colors and heavy presence that were very characteristic of the Waynes didn’t suit her. 

It had been obvious before, but now it was undeniable to Damian. 

And it was all because of those damned eyes.

He wouldn’t dare to say it out loud, maybe just ponder it to himself, only in his thoughts, but Damian wanted her grey eyes back.

Those grey eyes that would crinkle in worry when he came back upset from a bad patrol night. Those grey eyes that would widen in excitement when she looked over his sketchbook and praised his skills. Those grey eyes that were full of softness and care, asking about how his day was at school.

…Maybe he wasn’t missing the grey. Not really.

‘It doesn’t make any sense.’ His mind hissed, making his frown deepen. ‘Why is this bothering me so much? She is just a nuisance and below-’

“Hey! Bobby! Over here!”

Her shout made Damian snap his head towards the car window with a snarl. Which slipped down slowly as he took in the scene happening outside.

She was waving her arm over her head quite fast towards someone. A guy who was smiling way too much for his taste (it almost made him turn away in disgust, but he fought against it), as he moved towards her with a jump in his walk. He looked like an overgrown golden retriever, wearing the academy uniform.

What happened next made Damian’s blood go cold and hot at the same time, his nails sinking into the fabric of his clothes, and his lips pressed tightly.

Because that guy dared to come close to his sister and pick her up in a hug while twirling her around.

Her bright laugh as she was put down, quickly jumping into a conversation with the big oaf while patting down her now wrinkly uniform, made his stomach twist into a feeling he couldn’t quite place yet.

The warmth in her eyes had Damian bite inside his cheek, chest tight as she began to walk away with the guy, with a quick goodbye to a smiling Alfred, who had begun to go inside the car and pull away from the school grounds.

The young boy’s stare didn’t move away from the pair. Not until he lost them out of sight due to the distance.

Who did that guy think he was?! Coming so close to her and acting so touchy with his sister.

Was he a friend? No way. She didn’t have any friends. He was sure.

Was he?

Was he a boyfriend? Ridiculous, there was no way she would have hidden something like that from the family. She wouldn’t.

…Would she? 

What else had she been keeping quiet? What else didn’t he know about her? When had she changed? Had she even changed? Was she always like this and he just came to notice? When she grew tired of his prickly nature and sharp words? Did he lose her affection? Was he too late?

Did he lose her without even knowing?

‘No,’ He thought, fingers curled into fists by his side as he gave a glance to the smaller view of the academy through the window.

‘Something is wrong here.’

‘And I will find out.’

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

The academy was huge. It had halls over halls and stairs over stairs. An old smell stuck on the stone walls that gave the building an even more mystic flair, as if the gargoyle statues on every corner of the gate halls weren’t enough. It even had tall stained glass windows that gave a view of the huge campus: the main fountain, the track field, the outdoor gym, and many other places.

It was by pure miracle that she didn’t end up lost. But that was mostly because Bobby would drag her by the back of her school vest whenever she wandered off.

She was very thankful for that, since her ghost companion was not here today to guide her.

Wayne said that she would stay at the manor for the day, something along the lines of that she should experience the full school experience without her help (which screamed bullshit but she wasn’t going to fight her on that. If she was a ghost and had the choice to not go to school, she would also do the same) and trying to find any clues for their small quest.

So now, she was walking by herself for the first time at a school. So exciting, right?

“-and then the coach said I could play in the next game if someone hurts themselves. Which is not bad, but I don’t know. I don’t want anyone to get hurt just so I can prove myself as a player, y’know?”

“Aren’t you here because of a scholarship? Don’t you need to play to be able to stay here?” She asked the stressed boy, who had been talking about this for the past few minutes as they walked towards their third class of the day.

Bobby was from New York, and he had taken a sports scholarship in the academy this very year, so he could get into Gotham University to study accounting. Just like his father, who was a bank accountant back at home. 

He formed part of the baseball school team and had been on the bench since he got inscribed into the academy.

Leading to his sudden stress of not having the chance to prove himself.

“Poor athletic performance can lead to losing the scholarship, so yeah. If I don’t play, I could lose it.” He quoted with his shoulders down, a deep sigh leaving his lungs as she patted his shoulder in a small show of support.

They had gotten along quite fast. Probably because Bobby had been the first open person with his thoughts and feelings since she woke up in that nasty pool. 

No underhanded comments. No pushiness. No expectations. Always asking if what they were talking about was okay. If she was comfortable with anything. 

It was a breath of fresh air, and she felt great hanging around him.

“What if I help you out with practice? I know jackshit about baseball, but I think I can throw some balls so you can practice swinging?” She offered with a shrug as they went into a half full classroom.

Bobby perked up with a huge smile and put an arm over her shoulder, slightly moving her side to side. “Please, and I will buy you ice cream every time after practice.”

That made her snort and shove him off of her playfully by pushing his face away with her hand, making him guaff and laugh.

“Personal space, jeez,” She said as he sat down on the second table and moved a chair back so she could sit beside him.

As he muttered his apologies, she couldn’t help but feel somebody’s stare on her back.

Just when she was gonna look over her shoulder, the bell rang, and everyone took their seats. Conversations quieted down as students began to pull out their books without a second thought.

Following everyone’s lead, she put out her history book with a sigh and kept her eyes downcast.

Now, there were many different stares and murmurs in her direction. From the corner of her eyes, she could see a few classmates whispering to each other or staring openly at her. 

‘Yeah, that ain’t gonna fly,’ she thought, twisting her head to give her classmates a dead stare that had them gasping and looking in different directions while pretending they were busy with their phones or books.

“That’s weird,” Bobby’s voice took her away from her successful intimidation. “Professor Jones is usually here before any of us.”

The girl shrugged, leaning back on her chair while she brought one crossed leg on the seat as the other bounced against the floor. “Maybe they got stuck in traffic or somethin-”

The classroom door slammed open, taking all the attention of the students and making the room fall into silence.

A man stepped inside and closed the door behind him, his steps heavy as he walked towards the desk and put down his brown leather handbag on the chair and a pack of old-looking cigars inside one of cabinets. 

He didn’t spare a single glance at them, picking up a piece of white chalk and beginning to write on the chalkboard.

He had a heavy build, like the ones that those wrestling guys on TV have, judging by how his shoulders and biceps stood out underneath his dark leather jacket. Some of the girls and a few other guys were staring intensely at his tight jeans, showing off his sculpted legs as well. 

What stood out more for her was his hairstyle, spiked on both sides of his black hair.

Once he finished writing on the board, he clapped his hands to shake off the chalk on his palms and turned around with a grunt. A severe frown on his face as he looked over the quiet students.

“Your professor has taken a sudden leave for the rest of the semester.” His gruff tone had people straighten up and glup loudly.

Bobby exchanged a quick look of confusion and uncertainty with her.

This man didn’t look like the type of person to give a history class.

“You may call me Teach or Mr. Munroe. None of that formal stuff. Whoever calls me Professor will give ten laps on the track field, am I clear?” He almost snarled the last part. 

Everyone nodded.

The man nodded and sat on the corner of the desk, crossing his arms. His tag necklace glinted with the movement as he pursed his lips in distaste once he saw the books sitting neatly on the desks.

“Now put those books away. We’re learning real history from now on.”

Some students muttered in confusion while a few others cheered as they put the books back in their bags. Bobby almost scrambled and rattled the desk as he took his book away, which made her snort a laugh and put her book down.

As the class continued, bustling with excitement over the new mysterious teacher and his unconventional method of teaching history, she had forgotten the odd stare she felt at the very beginning of class. It had simply slid off her mind.

In the back of the classroom, a guy with golden curls and clear eyes didn’t take his gaze off of her for the rest of the class.

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Bruce wasn’t expecting any visits this early in the day.

He had recived plenty of calls from Dick, trying to check on him and see how the investigation on the case had been going but he didn’t pick them up. Tim had gone to stay at the Titans’ tower, claiming his sleep schedule was messed up and staying at the manor wasn’t helping keep him focused on the case (Bruce had the fleeting suspicion that Conner had something to do with that decision.)

He was more than sure that everyone was clear that he wanted to be left alone at the moment.

But Jason couldn’t give two fucks about what Bruce wanted.

The past Robin had parked his bike by the Batmobile, leaving his red helmet hanging by one of the handles of his vehicle. Sauntering towards the concentrated detective, who was sitting in front of the main computer and surrounded by many documents and files both on the screen and on paper.

“You look like shit.”

Bruce only switched the documents in his hands without lifting his head.

“Gordon told me about the bodies.” He answered, a cold tone in his voice.

Jason threw himself on the nearest chair, legs spread as he stared at Bruce’s back with a smug air around him. 

“Jealous much?” He snarked. “That I got to them before you did?”

He was pushing his buttons. 

Jason wanted to see how far he could get. 

He was hoping for a fight, that way he could at least calm down the fury still running in his veins.

“You left them headless, and Gordon is still looking for their fingers, Jason.” Bruce hissed, finally turning around to glare at the guiltless man.

“They had it coming.”

“That was execution, Jason. It’s not how-”

“I ain’t one of your little robins, Bruce,” Jason retorted, leaning forward with his fists curling and gaze flashing green. “I did what you should have done the moment she was attacked.”

“There wasn’t enough proof yet-” The older man argued back, making Jason scoff and get up from the chair harshly.

The outlaw began to roam beneath his jacket, taking out crumbled files and dumping them over the keyboard of the computer. As soon as it hit the surface, pictures and documents fell out of it onto the ground and the desk.

“Take a look at your precious proof.”

Bruce took a moment before picking up a few of the pictures that had fallen on the floor. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened when he realized what the image showed.

It was from a surveillance camera. All the pictures were from different cameras around the city. The school grounds. The city parks. The mall. 

And even from the abandoned public pool.

In all of the pictures, she was there. Getting pushed around. Harassed by the same four guys. He could recognize that they had the same uniform as her from the academy. Maybe seniors, since they easily towered over her. 

The ones from the school contained different scenarios. Getting a phone flash shoved right in her face. Shoved down the stairs. Pushed on the school fountain. Yanked by her school bag or clothes. Getting too touchy with her, to the point of it being visibly rough.

One of the pictures showed her running in one of the parks, face blurred in panic as she looked over her shoulder at the boys trying to catch up to her.

Another one showed all five of them at the pool. Her on the ground, holding her head as it bled. Two of the boys were crouching down to hold her down while the others lifted a bloody brick.

He slammed the pictures down with a shuddering sigh. Throat tight, cold anger sinking from the tip of his fingers.

How long had this been going on? For how long had she been keeping this quiet? Why had she kept it quiet? Why didn’t she say something?

‘Had she said something? Did she say anything about it?’ His mind came on empty as many questions surfaced.

All those times he had turned her away, her knocks at his office door, and her silent voice asking if he was too busy. Always shutting her down, dreading to see her face and find old ghosts staring back at him. 

Was it right there? Did she reach out just for him to turn her away? 

Bruce felt a burning sensation behind his eyes.

“The documents are the transcripts of what I managed to get out of them on record.” Jason’s voice sounded far away.

Did she gather up the courage to come to him, and he gave her his back?

“Sick bastards, the lot of them,” Jason spat. “They had been tormenting her for years.”

Did she feel by herself in this? Nobody willing to listen? No one to trust?

“It went on from simply things. Spreading rumors about being into witchcraft and stuff. Saying that she would curse people with her bad luck if they came near her and odd shit like that to isolate her.”

How many times did he even talk to her? How many chances did he allow her to have to tell him about this?

“Then it moved to more physical stuff. Shoving, pushing, typical asshole stuff. Did you notice any bruises on her when she came from school?”

Bruises? What bruises? She was always wearing long sleeves, claiming it was too cold in the manor.

“You did notice, right? They said that it got ugly plenty of times.”

Long sleeves. Even when it was hot out. She always wore them. How could he never piece it together? How many bruises did she hide from Him?

“Bruce? Did you-”

His daughter. Bianca’s child. With long sleeves. Bruises. From that filth. How many? How many times was she hurt? How many times did he not notice? Gods, did she also- Had she also done it to herself? Had she felt there was no other way out of the lonesome existence he had put her into? That he was the one to inflict that on her? That would explain her current attitude. Her anger. Her glares. Her snarls. How could he ever blame her for acting out when it was all on him? Only himself to bla-

The sudden throbbing pain in his jaw snapped him out of his thoughts, making him stumble back as he looked at a fuming Jason with a lowered fist.

“No,” His glare was agitated, chest heaving, and teeth in a snarl. “You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself.”

Bruce took a sharp breath, his gaze lost as the sharpness of Jason’s words cut deep into his throat, making him unable to utter a word.

The younger man pointed a shaking finger at him in anger, taking steps closer towards the shocked man. “Either you fix this and admit you failed her, just like you failed me,”

Jason got up in his face, fist hitting against Bruce’s chest with a shuddering breath. Eyes blazing a toxic green, staring right into his grey ones.

“Or I will make sure that she turns out just like me.”

With that, Jason turned around and stomped to his bike. The engine roaring to life as he took off from the cave without giving him a single look back towards the currently shocked, quiet man.

Bruce then sank to the floor, hands tangled on his hair strands as he took deep breaths. Mind echoing with many words and questions.

But he could only choke out a few words to himself and the air.

“Oh, Bianca, I fucked it up to hell and back, didn’t I?…”

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

The piano room was too silent.

Ever since Cassandra set foot in the manor, the piano room had always been filled with contained noise. The keys echoing down the halls, a soft melody that made her skin embrace the foreign warmth of a ballad repeated over and over, day by day.

She hadn’t heard a single note in the past week.

It made the air in the manor heavy and constricted, the halls darker, and the silence almost unbearable.

Cassandra didn’t plan to pass by the piano room. Her feet just led her wandering steps towards the halfway-opened wooden door. The creaking made goosebumps break out on her skin.

The curtains were closed, and no natural light entered the room. Just a few lamps that flickered every once in a while and a very cold sensation covering her when she stepped inside.

Her legs guided her to the untouched piano. A hand passed over the worn keys, feeling a thin veil of dust under her fingertips.

A shard of guilt stabbed right through her stomach.

She had gotten exactly what she wanted…

Silence.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

Call it pettiness or whichever useless feeling people came up with, but Cassandra was done with all the noise that she made.

It's always the same song. The same melody. The same lyrics.

She was tired of it.

She stood by the door, staring directly at the young girl who didn’t seem to notice her as she continued to sing that ballad over and over.

“If I can’t reach you, let my song teach you,” the younger girl sang softly, eyes closed as her fingers played smoothly over the keys.

Cassandra clenched her teeth. 

She wanted silence.

“All you need to keep our love alive,”

She was tired of her playing.

“If I can’t hold you,”

She was tired of her.

“Remember what I told y-”

“Could you keep it down?”

The girl startled, smashing the keys and making an awful sound. Both of them cringed at it. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” She tried to apologize with a stammer as she stood up, stumbling and fidgeting fingers.

But Cassandra didn’t let her finish.

“You don’t know any other songs?” she questioned.

“Not really. My mom only taught me this-”

“Then why play at all?” She didn’t understand. It was useless to know just one song on the piano. A waste of skill and talent, if she were honest. It didn’t make any sense.

The girl took a sharp breath, hands wringing with the hems of her sleeves and fingers. “It’s an important ballad. My mom used to say it was a protec-”

“It’s too loud. Keep it down.”

Cassandra didn’t care about the importance of the song. She just wanted silence. Her ears were ringing, and she could feel a headache coming on if she heard another keynote from the piano.

They stayed quiet for a moment. A slow nod from the younger girl was answer enough for her.

Cassandra turned around and left.

She had blessed silence for the rest of the day.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

That happened years ago. She still played the song, but kept the door closed and put heavy curtains to muffle some of the noise. It still managed to slip through, but Cassandra didn’t really care as much anymore. It had blended into the background noise of the manor. 

It had become part of their daily life. Something that just fitted right in.

And now that it was gone, the absence of it had been loud.

Such a loud silence.

She didn’t like it.

Cassandra hummed to herself, looking around the room one last time before walking outside into the. Leaving the door open behind her.

Maybe she could ask her if she could play again after she came from school? It wouldn’t be too much to ask of her. It wasn’t like the younger girl had done a lot around the manor lately. Just stay in her room all day and night, only coming out to eat and talk with Alfred, and then just go back to her-

‘If I can’t reach you…’

Cassandra came to a full stop at the end of the hallway.

The piano played slowly inside the room.

‘Let my song teach you…’

Her chest became heavy. Throat tight, as if cold fingers wrapped themselves over her shoulders. A wet sensation was sinking through the fabric of her shirt, making shivers go down her spine.

The voice was like a whisper, only for her to hear.

“Am I too loud now?” Cold lips whispered in Cassandra’s ear.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra only managed to see a tangle of wet, dark hair and a bloodshot grey eye with blood dripping down a side of her deadly pale skin.

When she finally got the strength to turn completely around, the hall was quiet. Not a single echo or resonance of the keys was heard. 

Cassandra patted herself down quickly, shaking away the sudden cold over her skin. She felt over her shoulders, trying to find any wet spots on her shoulder or near her ear and back.

There was no trace of it.

She left the hall quickly, deciding to put this on the back of her mind as a headache invaded her head.

The lights flickered in the piano room, the door creaking closed by itself.

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“I wasn’t expecting to like history that much.”

It was already past three in the afternoon, the classes had barely been over a few minutes ago.

But Bobby had already dragged her through the halls towards the baseball field so he could practice some pitching and bat swinging. As he had explained excitedly over lunch to her, shortly after Mr. Munroe’s class. It would be just like playing catch, but with some real damage on the side.

She could play catch! She remembered playing it with Billy before!

And with a white haired man.

And by herself, oddly enough…

“I guess Mr. Munroe just knows his stuff,” Bobby suggested, dodging a few students who walked in the opposite direction from them. He then grinned, “You could even say he lived through it with the way he talked about war stories.”

“He can’t be that old.”

“Just saying. I mean, how old could he be?” He quipped with a shrug.

She wheezed a short laugh. “Can’t be older than the Great Depression.”

Both of them were wheezing as they stumbled down the stairs, shoving and hitting each other on the arms and shoulders. That gained them a few odd looks, but they didn’t notice it at all. Too busy fighting to stay upright and keeping air in their lungs.

They made their way through the front doors of the school, taking the outside route but still inside the school grounds to the sports field.

“He has such a stern air around him, too. He kind of gives-”

“Please, don’t even go there.” She pleaded with a hiss. But Bobby only began to whisper loudly to her.

“Hey, everyone was looking at him like a piece of meat.”

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“Oh, please. You totally looked.”

“Did not.” She denied with red ears.

Bobby looked way too smug. “Liaaaarrrr.”

She shoved him, making him burst out laughing as she stomped faster and a couple of steps ahead of him, ready to take a corner.

To which she instantly froze on the spot with a wide-eyed look.

Bobby took notice of her sudden change, still laughing as he looked over her shoulder. “Hey, what’s-”

She quickly pushed him back until they were back to back with the corner wall, away from the view of the hall. Her hand gripping his vest with white knuckles as she looked carefully over the edge. Holding back her breath, cursing to hell and back the person standing by the front gate.

Dick Grayson was leaning against a expensive sports car, looking at his watch every five seconds when he wasn’t looking around the premises and between the groups of students walking around.

‘The fuck is he doing here?!’ She shouted in her head as she bit her tongue.

She had written to Alfred that she was going to stay for a longer time to hang out with Bobby. Why was the touchy asshole here? He was supposed to return to Bludhaven yesterday and give her some peace and tranquility!

“Um, you good?” Bobby muttered, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. She quickly let him go and apologized.

“Sorry,” she grumbled. “It’s my, ugh, brother.”

That last part was said between her teeth. Bobby frowned at that. “I guess you don’t get along, then?”

“Not exactly.” She remarked with a wince, giving a quick glance back towards the gate. He had moved closer.

That wasn’t good.

“We gotta be quick,” she urged, pushing Bobby back slowly as he let her guide him.

Before they could take off without catching too much attention, someone decided it was the right time to yell her ‘last name’.

“Wayne!”

The duo snapped their heads forward, towards the male voice that echoed through the hall. Her eye was twitching in annoyance.

A guy with golden curls and a snobbish air around him approached them with decision and fists curled in fists. He looked furious, and even then she could appreciate his handsome features. 

He looked straight out of a magazine, to be completely honest.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hissed in her face, fuming.

If she weren’t in such a hurry, she would have given him a few choice words. But she really needed to run.

“Office hours are closed at the moment, sorry!” She stated, pulling Bobby deeper into the hall behind them. He looked with wide eyes between the three of them.

“Suddenly got a sense of humor?” The guy chided with a roll of eyes, following her steps forward. “Where have you been?! Did you forget about practice?! We have the damned recital in two weeks!”

“Listen,” she fretted, eyes bouncing around to make sure Dick wasn’t nearby. “Right now is not the time to discuss this. I gotta-”

“No, you and I made a deal.” He claimed with a hiss. “I help you with your recital and you-”

“Hun, what is going on here?”

The cold tone made the three teens look at the tight-smiling man who stood beside them. His arms crossed over his chest with his head tilted to the side, blue eyes staring directly at their hands.

Now that she noticed, the two boys had taken hold of her arms while standing between them.

It stayed quiet for a bit. Dick smile becoming tighter and tighter.

‘Fuuuuucckkk-’

“Who are your-”

She didn’t even let him finish. Her legs moved before she could even process it.

It all happened too fast.

She had taken off running, dragging with her the still startled boys down the hall and leaving Dick behind with the words in his mouth. The man also looked caught off guard, yelling after them as he began to run after them.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck-” she repeated over and over while Bobby and Goldielocks shouted at her.

“Unhand me! You’re ruining my shirt!”

“Take a left! Take a left!”

Without thinking about it too hard, she listened to Bobby and took a sharp left. Shoes squeaking as the three of them almost slammed against a poster board, before taking off again. 

They took several turns, with mixed shouts and yells between all of them. Mostly with Bobby yelling directions and the other guy screaming in her ear about going too fast.

It all came to an end when all three of them ran over someone.

Well, more like they slammed solidly against someone and crashed to the ground.

They became a tangle of limbs and curses. Bobby was face-first on the ground, complaining about the heavy weight, trying to lift them off the ground but too tired to do so. The goldilocks was cursing while swinging his arms and legs around, flailing like a stray cat. And lastly, the young girl who lay over the two of them with a manic grin on her face and laughing to herself.

‘That felt soooo good!” She gushed as she laughed breathlessly. 

It felt so right. Running like that felt so right. She had to do it again! Her heart was about to burst out in excitme-

A gruff grunt made all of them fall into silence. Three heads looking up with a gaping expression.

Mr. Munroe stood before them with a crushed cigar by his feet. An annoyed frown in his face that made them gulp at the same time.

“Drake. Worthington. Wayne.” The teens looked at each other with pale faces.

“Detention. Now.”

…That could have ended worse, to be honest.

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Author's Note: The gangs all here! Finally got to introduce Maximoff's core friends! And so much happened in this chapter too! I had so much fun writting it, you guys have no idea. And logan is now in the plot ( I will shove my Storm x Wolverine agenda down your throats and YOU WILL LIKE IT-) Let me know what you guys liked, theorize or go and scream in the asks. I love reciving asks and answering them💖💖 Lots of love and hugs, GG✨

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple

Bonus Memes:

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Peaceful as it Comes

Wife Sevika x Female Wife Reader (Fluff)

Domestic moments with Sevikidiki. More than one scenario with head cannons at the very end. :))

Content: Sevika has both arms. Modern Setting. Lots of being in Sevika’s lap and having her hug you from behind. Minor age gap.

Proofread || Note: DAY DREAMING ABOUT THESEE!! Ignore any spelling/grammar mistakes 🙂‍↔️

Breakfast with Distractions

You lived in out in the country with a small, satisfying, house that came with a lot of land. You had your own garden in the backyard, fueled by the river than ran through it. Early in the mornings you’d find yourself sat on a wooden chair, that your wife had built you, with a cup of coffee in hand. The sounds of the birds chirping, breeze blowing the trees, and the soft clinking from the backdoor opening would make the moment further more peaceful. It was your wife.

Sevika approached, standing behind you and staring down at your figure. You had on the dress she’d gifted on your anniversary. A red and white long, flowly dress which you matched with a pair of brown boots. Your wife said it was her favourite outfit, so you wore it often. The smell of her cologne filled your nose and she smiled at your cozied position. Legs pulled up to your chest, cup on your knees, with your hair flowing with the wind that flew by.

Everything was peaceful.

“Morning, you’re already out here?” Sevika broke the silence, brushing a hair from your lips. “Thought I’d finish planting the flowers, I’ve only got a few left.” You answered, watching as she leaned down to press a kiss on your forehead. “Y’have breakfast yet?” At her question, you flash a sheepish smile and raise your cup. Coffee was the only thing you’d had.

“Pancakes?”

“Yeah, pancakes sound good.”

Entering inside, you tie on your apron and pull out a pan from the cabinet. Your shared house wasn’t fancy, wasn’t fleshy built, but it was enough to satisfy your quiet life. Cracks were common, so were stains, and especially creaks. But it, honestly, only made it feel more like a home. Like you were actually living there.

“In my defence, I was waiting for you to wake up.” You muttered, mixing the milk and pancake batter. “And, you couldn’t of done that yourself?” Was Sevika’s sly response, with her hands on your hips she began swaying them. Guiding them alongside with her all the while peppering your shoulder with kisses. “Your wife’s a little busy.” Though you couldn’t resist it when she was so affectionate. “Oh? Is swaying your hips a distraction? Wouldn’t o’guessed.“ Sevika’s voice low and soft as her hands ran up and down your sides. “Did I say that?”

With the batter finally mixed, you pour some onto the heated pan and spread it into a circle. As the pancakes cooked, your wife turned you around and gave your hips a squeeze. “Still busy?” Forehead pressed against yours, back leaning against the counter with your hands now cupping her cheeks. You smiled. “Not as much as before, no.”

Your eyes met her pretty grey ones and you didn’t stop yourself from being pulled into a kiss. It was slow, just staring into eachother all the while sharing your breaths. Beautiful was what you called it. And when Sevika’s dark lips finally pressed against yours, your mind went blank for a moment. The pancakes didn’t matter. The flowers you had to plant could wait another hour. And, your grumbling stomach could kiss some ass. All you could really focus on was the soft taps your wife left on your lips. The way the warmth of her hands seeped through your dress and heated your skin. The way her breath felt against your face. And the way her lips tasted.

With a lingering peck on your lips, your girlfriend pulled back. “Love my days off.” She whispered, half her attention on flipping the pancake. “If it had burned I would’ve kicked your ass.” You joked, kissing her cheek one last time before going back to preparing breakfast.

“You’re a real distraction, babe.”

“And, you love me for it.”

Take a Break, Don’t ya?

Chores. Chores. Chores. And, some more chores. You’d made dinner, vacuumed the house, and even cleared out some of Sevika’s old papers from her office desk. Now, the last few things you needed to do were: clean the kitchen and sweep the floors. Those were easy tasks, and you were prepared to get them done.

Wiping the marble counters with a wet towel, you made sure everything was squeaky-clean. Made sure the ingredients were arranged perfectly, the sink was empty, and the dishes were where they were supposed to be. It took you about an hour, and in that time frame your wife had returned home and was freshening up.

A damp towel wrapped around her neck, she made her way to you. Wearing a tanktop and a pair of shorts, she looked exhausted. Sevika worked in construction, and that meant constant stress, sore muscles, and injuries. Though they were only minor, scratches and bruises were something you could handle. Not to mention how much muscle she’d put up, it was attractive. Made you horny even on your period.

“Haven’t seen you all day.” Her muscular arms tapping your backside to her front as she breathed down your neck. “How was work? Tiring as usual?” You, settling the pans and pots into the cupboard neatly, asked. Everyday was just as busy as the last, except for weekends; that’s when you and your wife could do whatever you wanted to.

“Y’guessed it,” pressing a heavy kiss on your cheek and pulling away to sit herself down onto the couch. “Hey, dinner’s ready. Grab a plate.” You’d already ate with content and now were waiting for your wife to. Afterwards, the two of you were free to talk and huddle up next to one another. “I will, just come here for a second.”

“You’re not the only busy woman in this relationship.” You flash her a look, tossing the towel into the washer before hanging your apron on a chair. There was more to do, and Sevika wanted you to relax with her? Well, you couldn’t really say no. Not when her legs were perfectly spread and her voice sounded so welcoming.

Plopping down onto your natural seat, your wife’s lap, you take a deep, long breath. It’d been a hot minute since you’d let your sore back slouch. Let your legs relax. “Take a break, alright? I know you’ve been at it for hours.” Sevika shifted on the couch, legs spreading further as she settled you inbetween them. It was like that everyday.

She’d come home, freshen up, and just sit with you for a few. It took your mind off of things, made your tense muscles loose. You appreciated how easily she could get. Also, because she said you’d have more wrinkles if you worked too hard. It was supposed to scare you.

Your cozy little home had one bedroom, one bathroom, and.. well, one everything. The two of you weren’t planning on having kids, not so soon anyways. Sevika knew she’d struggle with providing for them and you knew it’d only be a hassle. Considering you were in your early thirties and she was in her mid forties, she worried about you a lot. You were young and, sometimes, she even felt guilty for “taking away” your freedom. Which was a bit dramatic in your opinion. You chose marrying her, and you never regretted it.

“How was your day? ‘Nd don’t just say good, I know there’s more to it.” Your wife’s arm wrapped around your waist and she burried her face into your shoulder, inhaling your scent and savouring the closeness. Sevika was the kind of wife to call you every few hours when she was away, text you whenever she was on break, and even send you random pictures. Her selfies consisted her biceps, her coworkers, and silly faces. All taken for you to save and enjoy.

“My day? Well, don’t get me started on that creeky little door. I swear, everytime I open it it sounds like I’m in one of those horror movies. And, Sev, you promised you’d fix it and, again! You didn’t!” Your finger pointing to the storage room door that Sevika, somehow, broke by accident. She said she tripped and the whole door fell down. “I put some vegetable oil on the.. screw thingies. I saw it on youtube and, my god, it worked! At first I thought it was click bait but, to my surprise, it was the real deal.”

Your wife’s response to all of that? The occasional humm, a few chuckles, and an abundance of nods. She loved listening to you complain, even talk about the silliest things that happened throughout your eventful day. The thing she most adored was the fact that you’d tell her tiny details rather than the big ones. She remembered this one time where you were rambling on about something that had to do with the TV and had completely forgotten to bring up the fact that you’d cut your finger. You ended up getting a pink, princess bandage wrapped around your thumb.

“Alright, aright. I’ll fix it this saturday.” Her tone unbothered yet full of fondness. “Promise, love. Y’know I’ve been busy.” A laugh left her lips as she squeezed you with affection. It was like everything you did made Sevika completely and utterly happy. Be it wearing her favourite outfit, making her favourite food, or even walking around the kitchen, your wife found you pulling.

“Dinner’s gonna get cold, Sev. I worked hard on that thing.” Your hands giving her thighs a pat, you push off her lap and stand up— only to find yourself pulled back. “Where do you think you’re going? Few more minutes, we can always reheat?” She placed you sideways on her lap all the while nipping at your neck and causing you to giggle. “Vika! Eek!”

“Y’think you can escape me? Now I’ll have to eat you whole!” Her voice a playful gruff as her large hands began to tickle your sides.

“Hey! Hey! Not the—.. not the sides!”

Awsome-Sauce

The two of you decided to settle in an apartment, it was spacious and pretty damn expensive. And, Sevika being a business woman, she provided everything. From the rent to the groceries, it was her money you spent.

In return, the best you could give her was keeping the apartment clean and.. well, a home. Though, Sevika never asked anything from you— only your love and presence. That’s all she needed, and she’d told you that a million times. Whenever she was home, she wouldn’t let you lay a finger on anything that had to do with work. You wanna wash the dishes? Sevika’s alright got it covered. You need to fold the laundry? Your wife’s two steps ahead and even organized all the clothes. The kitchen’s a mess? She’ll be ready to scrub it clean. You never had to worry about a thing.

“Come on, it’s just sweeping. I do it every week day. When you’re not here? Y’know?” The least you could do was help the muscular woman who was cooking dinner, her hands busy with cutting the vegetables. “Nope, you’re gonna sit your pretty ass back on the couch, babe.” Her head turned to you, eyes narrowing at the sight of you holding a broom. “Babe.. seriously?—“ “Yes, seriously. You do s’much all week, take a break.” She motioned towards the couch before turning back to the cutting board.

“And you don’t? I mean, you’re at the office all week. Let me help.” Leaning the broom against the counter, you rest your head against her back and fiddle with her apron. Sevika’s response was a light chuckle, one that made you smile. “True that. But, I still don’t like it when you’re all.. occupied.” She placed the knife down and turned to you, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Sweeping is all you’re doing, okay?” Her voice was so sweet that it convinced you to do what she said, sweep and sit your ass down onto the couch. “Got it. Just holler at me if you need help, do not hesitate.” You pointed a finger before you reach for the broom again.

A solid thirty minutes later, your girlfriend nudged you. “Dinner’s ready, hope you’re hungry!” Her lips curled into a bright smile, your wife went back to cooking and went all out. Cutting the vegetables, choosing the spices, to adding other ingredients. From the back, she looked smoking hot. Her shoulders toned from her tight black shirt and her muscles clear as day. You wanted her to rip off her clothes and focus on you.

But that could wait.

“Alright, c’mon. Let’s eat.” Sevika’s hand guided you towards the dinner table where you sat down beside her. Yes, she preferred you being right by her side. “The usual. Rice. Hope you like it, baby.” Arm around your hip before she pulled your chair closer.

The dinner table was set perfectly, and you were almost jealous at how easily she’d made the food infront of you. It looked good, as usual, and you dug right in. You were a big fan of Sevika’s cooking, it was like a five-star chef had made it specially for you. You’d never get used to her iconic rice, it was always so flavourful. She’d never share her recipe, though.

Dinner was a blast, and now your stomach was too full. Spread across the couch, head on the arm rest as Sevika sat under your legs, she gave you a smile. “Ate too much?” Her large, calloused fingers massaging your feet. “Wayy to much. But, it was worth it. You make the best damn rice.” You were sure it was the brand of rice, there was no way she could get the consistency so.. perfect. “Good to know you’re satisfied.”

Oh, you were more than satisfied.

“It’s late, y’wanna head to bed?” Her mother-like tone causing you to lazily groan. You were exhausted, but sleep wasn’t exactly what you needed. “Not until you..” a grunt escaped your lips as you sat up. “Tell me your recipe.” Your back cracked like an old lady’s, and you straighten at the sound.

“Recipe for what? The rice?” Sevika pulled you into her lap, you inbetween her spread legs as she brushed back your hair. “There’s no recipe. I wing it.” You snorted at that. “Wing it? You? A business woman? Are you kidding?” No, she wasn’t.

Matter of fact, she was being completely honest. After watching tutorials online, Sevika had picked up on certain aspects of the amount spices she need and what temperature the stove should be on. It was all practice, in her opinion.

“I’m serious.” She gave your back a few rubs, hoping your stomach felt better by now, all the while her opposite hand gave yours a squeeze. “But, if you really wanna know? I use this sause from the store downtown, it’s pretty good.” Her lips curled into a playful smile as she gave your back a pat

“It’s called awsome-sause. Have you heard of it?”

You roll your eyes, shoving her in the side.

“You’re an asshole.”

Kisses

Throughout your marriage, Sevika had grown softer, gentler as you changed and opened further up to her. Like, your new favourite things, new interests, she loved every bit of it.

One change you’d noticed about her was the way she kissed you.

From rough, desperate make out sessions to light taps on your lips. Her tongue would feel the curve of your skin before she’d ask for entrance, compared to before when she’d demand for it.

Don’t get it wrong. You loved when your wife man handled you, took charge and dominated you. But sometimes, all you could really want was her loving side. The side of her where she felt that too much pressure would break you. Where she was so gentle with you that it felt unreal.

Her preferred position was with you sat on the dinner table, legs dangling down and inbetween her own. She’d hold onto your hips, squeeze and rub your skin there before making her way to the back of your head. One hand palming it as the other rested on the small of your back.

Before the kiss would start, she’d just stare into you and whisper a few sweet nothings. A good example being; “I’m the luckiest woman alive.” She had said that almost every day.

Your wife would then pull you into the most beautiful kiss you’d ever experienced. She was nothing like the rough and tough exterior she showed off, she was careful.

She’d often let escape soft, bare audible, grunts. A humm of enjoyment, aswell. She wasn’t embarrassed, just a little self conscious that it made you feel icky— which, it didn’t. And to show so, you’d cup her face and make sure she didn’t pull back. The gesture always made her melt.

Sevika’s breath smelled like cigars and whiskey, the occasional sugar cookie that you’d bake for her. She couldn’t keep herself from loading up on those, that woman would take ‘em everywhere she went.

The few things you’d feel were the way her tongue moved so perfectly against yours, always leaving you squirming. It was something about the way Sevika would groan everytime you did so. Another thing being her lips. She’d used your lip balm and, at first, she didn’t think anything would happen. But, after a few more uses her lips looked plump and shiny. You couldn’t resist giving them a few rubs with your thumb and even a peck of a kiss.

[kinkyniragi]

War Goddess

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Genre: Smut 18+

Word count: 4,8k

Summary: You are Tommy’s wife. You hear him moan in the dark, caught in another war-drenched nightmare—except this time, he´s coming in his sleep. He asks you to help him in quite a special way and you say yes...You’re not sure what terrifies you more: The violence he craves… or the power he gives you.

CN: Tons of smutty smut (but with a plot, of course ^^), Tommy forcedly being submissive, war trauma and healing attempt, heavy psychological themes tbh, Tommy being vulnerable but not able to suppress his dominant side, power and gun play, degradation, humiliation, bondage, blindfolding, kind of spicy interrogation, oral and anal stuff, edging, hard sex as usual. Please note that this is all just fantasy. Things that happen in my stories should always be consensual. Take care.

Author’s note: My longest one-shot so far…Feel free to leave comments and share my story if you enjoy it—I truly appreciate every bit of motivation to keep writing. Even though I'm not a native speaker, I'll do my best 😉

***

The bed is warm. His back is damp.

You wake before him, as you often do, your body curled against his. A fine sheen of sweat glistens on his chest, his jaw clenched. He mumbles something — unintelligible at first — then clearer, just enough for you to catch fragments.

“In the walls—"

He jolts, his hand clenching into a tight fist.

“They´re coming—"

“Hey, shh…” you whisper, trying to soothe him, but before your fingers can even find his skin, he cries out — loud, raw:

“Fuck—NO!”

He’s nowhere near waking.

You run your hand gently across his fevered cheek, but even your softest touch can’t reach him. He’s too far under — trapped in whatever nightmare his mind has pulled him back into.

“Please—” he pleads, voice cracking with anguish. “Take what you want—"

And then, startling you into stillness, you feel it: the hard press of his arousal against your stomach.

You freeze.

What the hell is happening in his head?

He shudders and turns his head. His lips part once more.

“Use me—hurt me—just don’t kill me…”

The words spill from him in a strangled mix of fear and something else — something desperate, broken, wanting. A twisted yearning that doesn’t make sense, and yet feels all too familiar to you.

You shouldn´t be aroused by what you are witnessing.

But you are.

***

You love him. That’s never been the question.

It’s what comes with loving him. The silence, the scars, the smoke that never clears. The way he disappears for days without a word. The way he comes back smelling of whiskey and gunpowder, like some battle you weren’t invited to.

Tommy has always been the hell of a dominant partner — what most would call an alpha male, without a second thought. Your safety, your well-being, they’ve always mattered to him, no doubt about that.

But only on his terms.

In daylight.

And by night.

Tommy doesn’t ask. He takes. And because you love him — and because you know he loves you, in whatever way he knows how — you’ve always let him.

***

You don’t speak of it the next day. You want. But your throat closes up.

He never talks about the war, not really. But you see it when he wakes in a cold sweat. When he touches you like he’s claiming land. When he looks at you like you’re the last thing standing between him and the abyss. But in this night, something shifted. Through the fevered haze of his words, his dreams have begun to take shape. Some buried trauma seems to claw its way to the surface — twisting, merging with an arousal that has no business being there, showing up as a wet dream in the dark. It shouldn't turn your stomach and your thighs into this aching knot of questions.

But it does.

Almost every night, Tommy lives through terror. Submission and destruction leading to a heavy climax he must be aware of the morning after... You wonder if there’s a way in — a way to reach him, to pull him from that place. To help him.

***

A week later, you're both drunk in the sitting room — the kind of drunk that slows time and peels away your last defenses. He watches you over the rim of his glass. His hair’s undone, shirt half open. His tie lies forgotten on the floor.

“You’ve been looking at me differently,” he says. His voice is low. Controlled. But not cold.

You blink. Try to smile. “Have I?”

He stands. Takes a step closer. Then another. Your little drinking session has had an unintended side effect: you're off guard now — and he's noticed. Which gives him the perfect opening to question the shift in your behavior.

“You heard me, didn’t you? That night.”

You don’t answer. But he sees it anyway. He always does.

His voice, usually sharp with command, softens unexpectedly. It disarms you more than you'd like to admit.

He stares into his glass of whiskey, thoughtful, then downs it in one swallow. Without looking up, he starts to speak.

“It was the tunnels. France. 1916. We knew they were under us. Digging. Germans. Could hear it through the fucking mud. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t breathe.”

His sudden honesty confuses you. You had hoped that sharing a few drinks might loosen his tongue, maybe draw something out of him — but you hadn’t counted on much. His illegal dealings with the whiskey trade were hard to hide from you, of course — not least because he was his own best customer, though he liked to dress it up with the word "tasting."

Still, his seasoned tolerance meant that getting him drunk enough to slip wasn’t an easy game to play. Tommy and loss of control — those were two things that almost never coexisted. At least, not in the daylight world.

So the fact that he's opening up to you now — telling you things about what he's lived through — You want to believe it’s because he’s letting go. Because something in him is softening, and he’s showing you a part of himself he doesn’t let others see.

But you know better.

You’ve known Tommy too long not to recognize the strategy behind every move he makes. Nothing he does is ever without calculation.

He’s in front of you now.

“One night... I dreamed it wasn’t them anymore. It was you. Digging through. Breaking in. Pulling me under.”

A pause. Then:

“I panic. It’s life or death — a fight to survive. But... it’s you. The woman I desire. The woman who desires me…”

His jaw tightens under the weight of the words, clenched around a knot of fear, terror, helplessness. Tears track silently down his cheeks.

You listen, spellbound, aching to reach for him — to comfort him — but his entire body is so coiled, so rigid, you know he’d likely shove your hand away in fury.

“Everything blurs. The memory… it slips, dissolves. And then—fragments. They come back. Again and again. The same dream. Every damn night. No escape. I have to—”

Beads of sweat shine on his forehead. His fingers rake through his hair, fisting it so tightly his knuckles go white.

“I have to end it. The me inside the nightmares... he needs to understand it’s over. That it’s safe to let go. That it’s time to surrender.”

He reaches into his holster. Pulls the pistol.

Hands it to you.

“Next time… when you want me, really want me… use this. Hold it to my head. Overpower me. Take me. Hurt me. Fuck me raw. Do whatever it takes to let me overcome this fucking nightmare. I really mean it. Do you understand, sweetheart?”

Your fingers close around the metal. Still warm from him.

“You trust me that much?” you whisper.

He leans down, mouth to your ear.

“I need to.”

He pauses, then adds with a sharp edge to his voice, “But don’t you fucking dare look inside the magazine, eh?”

You hold his gaze, unflinching.

Impatiently, he presses on, “Got it? I trust you. Just trust me. No hesitation. Not for a second.”

As the weight of the pistol settles in your palm, you realize he’s not asking for danger. He’s begging for freedom.

From his ghosts.

And only you can give it to him.

***

He’s already asleep when you enter. Lying on his side, arm curled under the pillow, his breath deep and steady. The moonlight drapes him in silver, catching on the line of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders, the faint sheen of sweat on his bare back.

You’ve prepared everything to make him relive the nightmare — without real danger, and with a happy ending. At least, that’s the plan.

Maybe you’ve gone too far, but here you are: wrapped in the long coat of his uniform, and beneath it, a whisper of black lace and silk over-the-knee stockings.

A femme fatale. A war goddess.

Ready to take on the fight with men and their ghosts.

Silently, you set down the items you've brought with you. A glass of cool water goes on the nightstand within his reach — he’ll need it later.

You stand there for a moment, watching. Your chest rises and falls. Faster. You know what you’re about to do. And you know what it means.

This isn’t a game to him. It never was.

You pick up the pistol. It’s heavier than you remember.

You slip onto the bed without a sound, carefully turn him around by the shoulder, straddling his hips, knees sinking into the mattress. Carefully, you slip the makeshift noose around his neck, crafted from a pair of your silk stockings. It tightens just enough to be felt — a whisper of threat, a breath of control.

He stirs as your weight settles over him but doesn’t wake. Not yet.

Your fingers trail down his chest. You feel the twitch of his muscles. His breath hitches.

You lean in, pressing your mouth to the shell of his ear. Then, with a sharp crack, you strike the wooden headboard several times with the pistol and shout his name — loud, commanding, unmistakably in charge.

“Don’t fight me, soldier,” you continue.

He tenses.

Eyes still closed, but his body wakes before he does — blood rushing, skin hot and sweaty.

You shift your weight, and his hands move instinctively to your thighs, still half-lost in whatever liminal place he drifts in.

He jolts awake, eyes wide with panic.

And that’s when you raise the pistol, slowly, deliberately, until he’s staring straight down the barrel.

Then you let the cold metal touch his temple.

He freezes.

The air turns electric.

He looks at you. Sees the gun. Sees your eyes. Besides his panic, there is something else, a slow, dark hunger blooming behind his gaze.

He exhales through his nose, sharp and hot.

You lean down and kiss him, deep and brutal, until he groans against your mouth and grabs your hips. But you don’t let him lead — not tonight.

Tonight, he’s yours.

Your fingers tighten around the pistol as you straddle him, your thighs framing his hips. With your other hand, you give the silk noose around his throat a slow, deliberate tug — just enough for him to feel your control over every breath he takes. You feel him hard beneath you — not just aroused, but wide awake now, sharp with tension. And still, he doesn’t move.

He’s waiting.

For you.

“Lift your hands above your head,” you command quietly.

He obeys.

There’s a clarity in your movements now, a calm, predatory resolve that leaves no doubt: you’re going to take exactly what you want from him.

The pistol slips soundlessly into the bulging pocket of Tommy’s military coat. Then you reach for the coarse hemp rope you had set aside — rough, unyielding, unforgiving — and begin wrapping it around his wrists. One loop, then another, until he’s bound. You secure the ends to the slatted headboard above him.

He watches you in tense, breathless silence, his chest rising and falling. You can see how hard he’s working to restrain himself, to keep from grinding hungrily against the heat between your thighs.

The oversized coat is carelessly fastened by a single button, gaping just enough to tease him with the barest glimpses of skin, of lace, of promise.

If Tommy only knew what else you were going to deny him tonight.

From the inside pocket of the coat, you draw something slick and black. Before he can register what it is, darkness swallows him whole.

Your silk sleep mask — what a perfect idea.

With his vision gone, his world narrows to sound, to sensation, to you. Every brush of fabric, every shift of weight, every breath you take.

You reach once more into the pocket where you stashed his gun, then let the heavy coat slide off your shoulders with a slow, deliberate rustle. For a moment, you wait, letting the silence stretch, then — click.

The unmistakable sound of the safety being released.

His body flinches beneath you. But he doesn’t speak.

He just lies there, blindfolded, bound, and waiting.

Ready for whatever’s coming next.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from me, soldier,” you say, voice low and even. “I think it’s time you talk.”

A pause. Then his answer, tight, unsure: “I— I don’t know what you mean…”

You slide the cold barrel of his own pistol along his temple. Not hard. Just enough to remind him who's holding the cards tonight.

“Start with what you think about when you’re alone. When you’re hard. When no one’s watching.”

He shifts under you. The ropes strain softly against the wood.

His answer comes hesitantly. “I… I think about things. Sometimes.”

You let the silence stretch, the pistol resting lightly against his temple.

“Go on.”

“I imagine… being under you. Not… not just like this. More.”

You lean in, your lips grazing his ear. “More how?”

He swallows. “Your thighs… I think about your thighs. And you… above me.”

You smile. “Above you?” you echo, feigning confusion. “You mean like now? Or do you want something more than just to be pinned?”

He says nothing.

“I think I know what you mean,” you continue softly. “You want me to sit on your face, don’t you? Use you like you’re nothing but a tongue.”

His breath catches.

“Say it.”

A beat. Then, quietly: “...yes, ma’am.”

You don’t move.

“Say it properly. I want to hear it.”

His voice is thick with shame and arousal. “I want you to sit on my face… ma’am. Use me.”

You feel it in the tension of his body—every muscle pulled taut beneath you, not from resistance, but from the unbearable strain of surrender. It isn’t the act of pleasuring you with his mouth that costs him; he's done that before, eagerly, with a fervor that bordered on reverence.

No, it’s the confession.

The admission that he wants to be used.

That he craves your weight, your power, your indifference to his pleasure. That he needs you to strip him of the armor he wears even in your bed.

And still, some part of you waits for the snap—for the moment he can’t take it anymore, when he breaks the ropes or tears off the blindfold, flips you beneath him and reclaims the control that defines him. You see the war in his clenched jaw, in the way his hips shift beneath you as if his cock could argue with his mouth. He wants to dominate. It's in his blood.

But somewhere deeper, darker, older, is this need: to be undone by you. To be freed from himself—not with mercy, but with force.

And you?

You’re willing to take him there.

As many times as it takes.

You lower yourself slowly, knees firm against the mattress, thighs bracketing his head. His breath hitches as the heat of your arousal nears his lips—he can smell you now, wet and aching, your desire soaked into the soft fabric barely shielding you. You don’t speak. You wait.

His voice, hoarse: “You don’t know what you do to me. Or maybe you do. Please… end me.”

A smile plays at the corners of your mouth. You remove the last barrier.

“You’re going to earn your reward, soldier,” you murmur. “Not with your cock, though. That’s not yours to use. Not yet.”

You press yourself against his mouth. He groans—hungry, eager—and you feel the warm pressure of his tongue between your thighs. Every movement is reverent, desperate, grateful. He drinks you in like a man parched.

“You’re so fucking hard, aren’t you?” you whisper, teasing. “Throbbing. Aching. Can’t wait to bury yourself—but you’ll have to wait. Only good boys get what they want. And you haven’t told me everything yet.”

His voice is muffled, but the words reach you, trembling with devotion: “Thank you, ma’am. You taste... incredible. I love this. I love being used by you.”

You slide your fingers through his hair, tighten slightly.

“Then prove it,” you say softly. “Confess more. Tell me the rest of your dirty little truths while you worship me.”

His breath hitches, hesitant at first, voice low and trembling: “I… sometimes imagine your finger… while you’re… using your mouth on me. It feels wrong, but… maybe that’s why it’s so… intense. Like I’m… losing myself in a way I’m not supposed to. It’s… a bit unsettling, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You didn't expect this turn of events, but you don't let it show and act cool. “Inside you? What do you mean by that? Don’t be afraid to say it.”

You can hear that the tension is almost breaking him. He struggles with the words: “I… I think about you… pushing something inside me…when you’re pleasuring me with your mouth.”

You lean closer, your tone gentle but insistent: “Push something inside you… What exactly, Thomas? I want to hear it.”

He swallows hard, cheeks flushing beneath the mask, finally admitting with a whisper: “Your finger. I imagine you… using your finger… while you’re making me yours.”

You see the mix of shame and relief in his posture as he speaks the words aloud, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the room.

You press your thighs a little tighter around his head, sensing his pulse racing beneath you.

For a second, you hesitate.

You’d stepped into this role for him willingly—eager, even—but the rawness in his voice takes you off guard. You hadn't anticipated this. Not that the subject itself is unfamiliar. Anal play was never taboo between you. On the contrary, he’s had no trouble taking the lead there before, no hesitation in pressing deep, in claiming you in every way he could.

Especially on days when business hadn't gone his way, or after another shouting match with his brother Arthur, he seemed possessed by the need to use your body in that degrading, desperate way. Not for pleasure, at least not primarily. For control. For relief. Like you were the only thing that could soak up his chaos.

And when he did, there was always that gleam in his eye, that hungry, near-feral focus that told you he wasn’t holding anything back. That when he had you like that, he felt powerful. Unstoppable. Like the world could burn and he wouldn’t notice if he was buried in you.

And now… now he wants to feel the opposite.

That image grounds you. Gives you direction.

You lift yourself from his face slowly, relishing the shaky breath he pulls in as you grant him air again and at the same time let him endure the uncertainty of how you will react to his confession.

Finally, to his surprise, you pull the sleep mask from his eyes. You want him to watch exactly what happens to him next. Sliding down his body with the smooth confidence of someone in full control, you let your tongue drag along his hot skin until you come to rest at his most sensitive spot, teasing him just enough to make him twitch.

He gasps, hips flexing instinctively—but you hold him still with a palm to his thigh.

You dip your head, let a slow strand of saliva trail from your lips to your fingers. Your eyes stay on his as you coat your middle finger, then reach lower, circling gently around his entrance—soft, slow, testing. Not entering. Just letting him feel that you could.

And will. When you decide.

“How many times,” you ask sternly, “have you imagined me forcing my way inside you? Don’t lie. I want details. Or I stop."

A tense pause. You can feel him swallow under your gaze, his breath shallow.

“Too many,” he admits hoarsely. “In the dark. When I can't sleep. When the flash backs come.”

He hesitates, then continues, the words dragging over gravel: “I imagine you… holding me down. One hand over my chest. Your mouth driving me mad. And then your finger. Slick. Insistent. Not asking.”

His body tenses as his dirty fantasies fall out of him, raw and real. “You don’t stop. You know exactly what it does to me. You edge me until I’m desperate. Until I’m begging.”

You listen closely as he stammers through his shame, your eyes locked on his. Your tongue circles the tip of his hardness with practiced precision, drawing a sharp, helpless breath from his throat. Meanwhile, your fingertip begins to apply gentle pressure—testing, teasing—until you feel him yield, inch by inch, his body pushing back, unmistakably begging for more.

"Fuck, just do it," he hisses through gritted teeth, jaw clenched in lust and defiance. "Claim me."

His chest rises with each breath, muscles tense, but his hips don’t lie—he’s aching for it. And yet, his voice lowers dangerously, his command laced with warning: "This never happened. You breathe a word of this to anyone and you’ll regret it."

His wrists twist in the silken bonds as if they were about to break free at any moment. As if the balance of power were about to reverse at the last moment because he can't bear it any other way.

"One time. That’s all. I needed to get it out of my system. After this, it goes back to the way it was. I’m in charge. Understood?"

Your finger presses in, slow and controlled. His body tenses against it, breath staggering. The sound he makes is halfway between a growl and a gasp, raw and involuntary. Still, he doesn’t stop you. He lifts his hips ever so slightly, as if giving in to you hurts less than resisting.

"God, don’t stop," he mutters, voice strained and dark. "Just—"

You take your time, tongue still working him in tight, knowing swirls, your finger moving with increasing confidence. The way he trembles beneath you, the broken sounds spilling from his lips—it’s more than arousal. It’s surrender. And it’s yours.

When you sense him teetering at the edge, you pull back. Slowly. Cruelly.

"Fuck!" he chokes out, head thrown back, fists clenched in the silk. "You—"

You do it again. And again. Bringing him close until his body is slick with tension, his voice hoarse from begging without words. Every time you stop, his eyes search yours with something like desperation—and still, he won’t say please.

Not yet.

Your finger is buried deep inside him, pressing against that sensitive spot with relentless precision, sending waves of agonizing pleasure through him. The warm, salty taste of his precum lingers on your tongue, rich and intoxicating. He groans, eyes fluttering shut, wrists tugging at the restraints. His entire body coils tight, every muscle trembling beneath your weight.

Finally, he cries out, “Please… I— I can’t…”

“Can’t?” you whisper. “That’s not what I saw in your eyes when you begged me to use you like this.”

With satisfaction, you let him believe for a moment that he can now experience relief. And then—you pull away.

His cry is raw, broken, the sound of a man unraveling.

“No, soldier. Not yet,” you pretend to be calming, “You don’t come until I say you can. You gave me that power, remember?”

You rise slowly, deliberately, your breath steady as your fingers glide over his sweat-slicked skin. His muscles twitch under your touch, every nerve drawn taut. You lean in, lips grazing the line of his jaw, breath warm against his cheek, and then, without hesitation, you guide yourself onto him.

Your body takes him in inch by inch, a slow, relentless claiming. His breath hitches, turns into a sharp gasp as you sink down fully, burying him inside you. He throws his head back, jaw clenched, wrists straining against the bonds.

“You think being inside me makes you in charge?” you whisper, voice laced with heat and mockery. “No, soldier. You’re just where I want you—hard, helpless, and desperate.”

He groans, shaking his head in defiance, but his hips betray him, rising to meet you, his body aching for more.

“You wanted this,” you say, grinding down with a slow, punishing rhythm.

He groans again. This time it’s almost a sob. “Yes,” he breathes.

“You think you still have control?” you taunt, increasing the pace just enough to keep him trembling on the edge. “Say it. Say who this cock belongs to.”

His eyes squeeze shut, teeth gritted, every word a battle. “…It’s yours.”

“Say it properly.”

He chokes on the next breath, voice low and broken: “My cock belongs to you, ma’am.”

You smirk, leaning in to bite gently at his throat. “Good boy.”

He's drenched in sweat, his eyes wild, teeth clenched hard as he tries to hold onto the last thread of composure. But it's gone. He's gone.

“I see you, Tommy. Even when you hide. And right now, you’re mine. My weapon. My ruin. My beautiful, broken thing,” you whisper.

“Take the gun,” he rasps, voice barely human. “Do it…now.”

You freeze for a heartbeat. He’s serious. His eyes are shining, bloodshot, locked on yours.

“You said… you'd surprise me,” he pants. “You said you’d do it. You have it, don’t you?”

He swallows, every word a plea and a command all at once. “Pick it up. Point it at me. While you're… riding me. Please. Fuck. Just—please.”

Your hand reaches for the revolver where it lies on the table. It feels impossibly heavy in your palm. You keep grinding against him, relentless, as you lift it and point it at his chest.

You remember what he told you. Don’t look in the magazine. Trust me.

And you hadn’t looked.

Not then.

But now the weight of the revolver in your hand feels heavier than it should. Loaded? Empty? Just one round waiting? You have no idea.

And that’s exactly how he wanted it.

You glance down at him—sweat-slicked, eyes wild, desperate—and you wonder: Did he ever want to win this round? Or lose it? You panic, but no matter what, you are aware that you have long since reached the point of no return.

Your breath grows uneven, ragged, blending with his in a tangle of gasps and broken sounds. The room pulses with heat and noise, the rhythm of skin on skin, breath on breath, your pleasure building in sync, your bodies answering each other.

“Pull the fucking trigger,” it bursts out of him.

You knew this was coming.  And you hesitate for what feels like eternity. His eyes bore into yours, begging and burning all at once.

“Pull it.”

He growls now, louder. “Do it. DO IT.”

You squeeze your eyes shut—

Click.

Silence. Nothing.

You throw the gun aside with a shaky breath just as his cry tears through the room, loud, guttural, pure release. His body jerks beneath you, cock pulsing inside, spilling more than just heat. It’s everything—grief, helplessness, pain, old wounds he never dared name. All of it floods out of him at once, like his body finally found the only way it knows how to let go.

His wrists wrench free of the silk just as his body arches up into you. The bindings fall, forgotten. He seizes your waist and turns you on your back, breathing ragged, eyes wild. There's no hesitation anymore.

His fingers slide between your legs, slick and sure. His mouth follows, tongue teasing all of your sensitive spots, relentless, until you’re gasping, knees weak. Only when you're shaking, breathless, right on the edge, he flips you onto your stomach, pushing your hips up with practiced hands. He has long since recovered and is half hard again; a few strokes are enough to be ready again. He thrusts back in with a deep groan, hips snapping against you.

Now it's your turn to cry out.

And this time, he doesn’t stop until you do.

And when you come, you don’t hold back. Your knees give way, and you sink onto the mattress. He falls on top of you, still buried inside your core.

You cry out under his heavy weight, breaking apart, shaking, eyes wide open, he wraps his arms around you tightly — possessively, like the old Tommy is being back, but also like someone trying to anchor himself to something real.

His lips press to your hair.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You don’t answer. You’re not sure you can.

But as the sweat cools on your skin and your heartbeat settles against his, one truth presses in quietly:

He didn’t just surrender tonight.

He chose to be known.

And that frightens you more than if he’d begged for the trigger a second time.

<<<You liked that? Click here for more>>>

Special Note: This story contains the idea of IRRT (Imagery Rescripting & Reprocessing Therapy) a special therapy technique to treat PTSD.

>>>Read more about it<<<

***

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[marsian-tango]

Yandere Cowboy

Ah, the countryside…

It’s such a contrast to the messy and hectic scenery of the city—flickering lights from the streets, which shine manages to cover the inside of your bedroom, even with the curtains drawn; loud voices that echo against the quiet of the neighborhood at night; the constant fear of getting robbed while you’re walking home from the grocery store, or at the bus station, or while you’re taking a nice stroll in the park.

You chose to live in the city. It inspired you at the time. It made you feel like a complete star, living in a cosmopolitan environment, breathing the air filled with potential and dreams, sending new chapters and drafts to your editorial almost everyday. You wanted this, so why does it seem so annoying now?

Maybe it’s because you drank a little bit too much tonight, but the idea of leaving your entire life behind and starting again doesn’t seem so bad all of the sudden…

Imagine. A pretty farm, lots of animals, creating a new routine, meeting new people, expanding your horizons. It’s perfect! Plus, you can still do your job, this shouldn’t be an impediment. In fact, this is gonna get you the inspiration that you’ve been lacking lately!

Oh, a whole new life waiting ahead of you. The intoxicating calmness and the pretty landscapes are bound to make you feel right at home. You just know it.

It’s been two months since you arrived at this place. The Campbell farm. You’ve gotten pretty used to the whole country life—if you may say so yourself.

You walk through the farm after eating breakfast, heading to the barn like you usually do. Waving and cooing at the animals that you passed by, making sure to bathe in praise every cute animal that you see.

You take in the morning sight, the one that always takes your breath away, no matter how many times you see it. It remains just as beautiful every single time you look at it.

Lush green plains covering the landscape, as well as fields with different kinds of vegetables and cereals, and a few small creeks here and there that seem to shine in an ethereal glow when the sunlight hits it. The breeze caresses your face softly, bringing the faint smell of mud with it. It’s all just like the stories you always read, or the Hallmark movies you sometimes watch—the ones you take a guilty pleasure from.

It’s all a new routine, different from the one you had in the city. Wake up at 7:44—even if the Campbell ladies scold you for ‘waking up late’; collect the eggs from the chicken coop; make yourself breakfast; clean the chicken coop; feed the animals—except the cows, they may look cute and soft, but they haven’t warmed up to you yet; and lastly, find Flynn to see if he needs any help.

Ah, right. Flynn.

“Hey! How’s it goin’, sweetheart?” A deep voice resonates in the old barn, pulling a knowing smile from your face.

“Nothing much.” You say dismissively. “How are you? Anything I can help you with?”

Flynn Bennet. The golden boy of these lands. Son of a well respected landowner, who passed away when he was just a kid. Popular amongst the other landowners for his helpful nature and charming presence—and that’s exactly why he’s here, helping out at the Campbell’s farm out of the goodness of his heart.

“Oh, I’m doin’ just fine on my own, sweetheart.” He says as he lifts a square bale and puts it amongst others in a corner. He steps towards you, standing in front of you. “But I actually have some business in town, wanna come with?”  Your face lights up at his offer and you nod eagerly.

He chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to bring you closer as you two start walking to his truck. “Mhm, knew you’d agree.”

Ever since you got here, you’ve felt a sense of comfort every time Flynn’s around. He’s your only friend here apart from the owners of the farm after all. He’s just such a country sweetheart, and you don’t want to stereotype him…but he’s a living stereotype himself! He’s a true gentleman. He’s helpful, caring, respectful, handsome. You like being around him, and—in all honesty—who doesn’t?

He always seems to appear out of nowhere when you need him the most, or when you’re coincidentally looking for him. He’s just always so within reach. Every time you have a problem—as minuscule as it may be—he’s there. Like when the bathroom door got stuck after you came out of the shower, or when your curiosity got the best of you and you tried to hand feed the cows, or that time when you thought it’d be cool to ride a horse—without really knowing how to ride a horse. 

But that’s only what you perceive, isn’t it?

You don’t notice his lingering gaze tracing every curve of your body when you’re not looking. You don’t notice the way his polite smile seems to tense—like it always does when he’s lying—when he says that the Campbell’s asked him to do the laundry for them, but he only ever picks up your clothes. You don’t notice the heavy breathing coming from your wardrobe when you’re about to go to sleep.

To you, he’s your knight in shining armor, ready to help you whenever you need. But to the omniscient presence following your story? Well…it’s complicated.

“I don’t wanna sound like a jerk, but both look the same to me.” You deadpan, shrugging at him.

Flynn rolls his eyes. “C’mon, darlin’! They’re two completely different colors—oh, whatever. Just tell me which one you like best.” He slightly lifts the two hangers with the shirts, so you can see them better. The only aspect that helps you tell them apart is an almost imperceptible shade difference. You don’t seem to be a very helpful shopping-buddy.

Before you can give your answer, a sudden voice startles both of you.

“Well, look who we have here, if it ain’t the Golden Boy himself!” You turn your head to look at the stranger, which makes him drift his gaze to you. A smirk stretches across the stranger’s face before he acknowledges your presence. “And…a cute lil’ angel too.”

“Ah…” You laugh awkwardly, unaware of the hard glare Flynn was giving the man. “Uhm, you guys know each other?”

Flynn huffs under his breath as he sets the shirts he was holding on a nearby table. He hates being interrupted, and he especially despises being interrupted while he’s spending time with you. Don’t people know that intrusions like these are impolite? Ugh! He just wishes he could bang this guy’s head against the wall over, and over, and over, and—

“Boy, do we know each other, huh, Bennie?” The man chuckles, patting Flynn’s shoulder with a bit too much force, but Flynn’s broad body doesn’t flinch. “We’re like cousins, we went to school together!”

Flynn lets out a sigh, clenching his fist in exasperation until his knuckles turn white. “Yeah, good to see you, Harvey, but we’re actually a lil’ busy here—”

“Oh, don’t kick me out like this! I still need to get to know this lil’ sugarcube right here…” His eyes slowly wander down your body, his tongue running along his lower lip as he does so.

Your eyes widen slightly in response to his overwhelming—and kind of off putting—attention, making you turn to Flynn for support. His features soften as his gaze collides with yours, and he gives you a reassuring smile.

“I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you, Harvey,” You say politely, but unenthusiastically. “But Flynn’s right, we were actually about to leave, so…” You lie, feigning an apologetic look.

“Oh, well that’s quite alright! You see, I can tell you’re not from ‘round here, and I’ve heard that the Campbell’s got a little guest on their farm,” Harvey takes a step closer to you, invading your space, and making you back away until your back touches the wall behind you. “You don’t happen to be said guest, do ya’? Cause if you are, then I could—you know—drop by and…pay you a lil’ visit.” He smirks at you, and you grimace.

Next thing you know, Flynn’s pulling you to his chest, away from Harvey. You welcome his comforting touch with open arms, letting him hold you against him, and ignoring how tight his grip is on you. You pretend not to notice the sharp tension hanging in the air, and you also pretend not to notice how the man’s face turns from arrogance to something close to fear.

“We’ll be on our way now, Harvs. It was…nice seeing you.” His voice sounds just as easy going as it always does, but there’s something in the way he says it. Something…fake. Restrained. Controlled. As if he was holding back from saying something entirely different.

You two leave the shop without sparing him a single glance. Flynn’s grip on your arm remains tight, he seems to have forgotten to let go, but you don’t dare remind him. You’ve never seen him act like this, and it unnerves you.

You get in his truck, sitting in the passenger's seat, and he buckles your seatbelt for you before turning the car. Even in a state of wrath, he remains a gentleman.

The ride back to the farm is quiet, disturbingly so. You choose to leave him be and let him cool off instead of questioning his behavior—no matter how intrigued you are. Throughout the whole journey home, you stay in your head, daydreaming about everything and anything.

And while you wonder if the cupcake that you left in the fridge disappeared, was stolen, or you simply ate it and don’t remember—Flynn is scheming.

Lost in his head, his mind going 100 miles per hour, he plans how he’ll punish that bastard for shamelessly harassing you in front of him. He plans how he’ll make that vermin pay for even attempting to woo you. He plans where he’ll hide the body. He plans if he’ll even leave a body.

He’ll gauge his eyes. He’ll skin him alive. He’ll chop off every limb of his body. He’ll make sure to give him a slow and agonizingly painful death.

Flynn Bennet has never killed anyone. Why would he? He’s the Golden Boy after all, the knight in shining armor, the prince charming. But now that he has you. Lovely, sweet, innocent, God-sent you. What is he supposed to do?! Let that parasite…live? NO!

C’mon! ‘Sugarcube’? CREEP ALERT!

Someone as precious as you shouldn't have to deal with morons like that.

He needs to protect you! You’re from the city, you don’t know how disgusting these people can be—how nauseating they are! They’ll try to take advantage of your naivety and hurt you!

Not him though. He’s the exception, he’s the only one you can trust.

Sure—he may or may not sniff your dirty clothes until he falls asleep, and he may or may not watch you while you change…and sleep…and shower…and just overall exist—but that’s just a bad habit! He’ll quit once you become his, he swears!

He will take great care of you. The second you become his, you’ll never have to worry ever again.

He’ll take care of everything, so don’t worry about a thing. He’ll make sure to romance you how it’s supposed to, like a true gentleman. Trust him. His mother and older sister have taught him how to treat a darling like you.

So, just you wait. You just keep writing your stories, playing with the animals, getting to know yourself. He’ll take care of the rest.

After all, what better way to live the country life than with a cowboy by your side?

I did it! I finally did it! I finished what i was supposed to finish a month ago! Are you guys proud of me? I know you're not, you must be heavily disappointed, especially the person who requested this. I'm sorry. But I did it, at last, the prophecy has been fulfilled and I can finally write whatever I want guiltless... I know it's not very good nor very long, but at least it's here (Which is the bare minimum, I'm sorry) I love you all, I hope everyone is having a good day or night. Remember to point out any mistakes that you see. Ps. @c4cyk4 I'm really sorry, my sweet N4N4, I owe you. I shouldn't have taken this long. I love you, don't leave me, wifey <3

[haihoneys]

Good Vibes Only

Summary: The one where Yoongi finds his girlfriend’s stash of special toys and wants to play. 

Word Count: 6,917

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut - absolute filth. y’all this is raunchy hahaha::: FaceTime sex/masturbation, overstim, cum play, a lot bit of pleasure-dom!Yoongi, degradation, oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, mentions of a sub drop

——

Most people’s nightmares are filled with monsters or tragic events; ghosts and goblins or getting abducted by aliens or being trapped in horrible storms. But not for Y/N. No, her nightmares were filled with gawking crowds and hecklers as she stood on a stage in only her underwear. Sometimes it even involved her puking her guts up as the crowd roared with laughter. The horrid dream had plagued her since high school and no matter what she tried, she couldn’t shake it. Even now, years later, the mere thought of giving a presentation at work had nerves bubbling in her belly. 

Giving actual presentations had her a nervous wreck for weeks in advance. The pure dread she felt as she stood in front of her colleagues, people who were technically her friends (except Bethany from accounting - Bethany could choke on a dick as far as Y/N was concerned), was insurmountable. Her hands would get clammy and her knees would be knocking against each other, a steady mantra of ‘I love my job’ looping through her head as everyone patiently sat and waited for her to begin. 

Anxiety was gnawing at Y/N’s stomach as she sat at the desk in the corner of her living room, pouring over the notes for the presentation she had at work the following morning. It was a big one and if she nailed this pitch it meant she landed the new account. And that, in turn, could mean big things for her career-wise. Really big things. Like that corner office and pay raise she’d had her eye on for the past year. Honestly, those stakes made it all the more nerve-wracking. 

With a frustrated groan she leaned back in her chair and scrubbed her hands over her face. She needed to talk to Yoongi. He always knew exactly what to say to get her out of her own head.

Unfortunately, he was in the middle of promotions in Japan. In the ten days he’d been gone, they had barely gotten a chance to speak to one another. Either she had a meeting or he was at an interview. Or she had an important business lunch or he was about to walk on stage. Their precious few spare moments just weren’t lining up in their favor. 

It seemed that even their texting had been slow all day seeing as though she’d been pouring over her notes and he in a fanmeet with the other members.

When everyone finally called it a day and headed back to the hotel, Yoongi decided to take the opportunity to call Y/N. As disgustingly sappy as it was, he really missed the sound of her voice. Her smile. Her laugh. Just…her. She just had this way of soothing his nerves. Putting him completely at ease. 

Being gone this long without having a chance to talk to her always caused his anxiety to ratchet up a couple of notches. It was starting to cause an actual physical tightness in his chest and he knew his friends were getting tired of his snappiness. He even swore he heard Jin grumble something about ‘a dose of bitch-be-gone’ under his breath the day before. Whatever that was. 

Several hundred miles away, Y/N was pulled from her studying when her phone vibrated on the desk beside her. She snatched up the buzzing device, grateful for any excuse to take a break, and smiled at her boyfriend’s contact that appeared on the screen.

🥰yooyoo🥰

Are you free to FaceTime? We just got back to the hotel and I want to see you xx

sunshine☀️❤️

Yes! Give me just a sec get my laptop ready!

Absolute glee radiated through her at the thought of not only getting to speak to him but to be able to see his face. In her excitement, she swung around in her chair so quickly she nearly toppled out of it as she reached for the laptop tucked away in her work tote. Quickly regaining her balance, Y/N opened up her computer and just as it connected to the wifi, Yoongi’s FaceTime request came through. She couldn’t help the cheerful giggle that bubbled up in her throat at the sight of him.

“Hey, angel,” he greeted her. It was more of a yawn really, and she frowned at the deep purple smudges beneath his eyes. Before she could even open her mouth, he was laughing. “I know, I know. ‘I’ve got to get some rest.’ You don’t have to tell me.”

“Well, you look like you haven’t slept in a week.” She was pouting as she said it, concern dripping from her words. 

Yoongi snorted. He hadn’t been sleeping. He felt like he was running off cigarettes and anxiety at this point. Even when he was able to catch even a few minutes of sleep here or there, they were fitful and often left him feeling more exhausted than before. “I sleep better when I’m with you.” He gave her a sleepy smile, his whole face going soft and warm as he looked her over. “How’s the presentation prep going?”

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose before launching into all her worries of how it could go wrong. His intention was to make her feel better, even offer to listen to her rehearse if she wanted. But as she continued to talk, his eyes started to lazily wander over her. She was wearing a t-shirt and one of his baggier cardigans. And the with way she had her leg propped up in the desk chair allowed for her skimpy choice of panties to be on full display. 

It was wrong, not to mention rude, to be getting so turned on while his girlfriend was clearly upset but damn she just looked so pretty and he hadn’t seen her in so long.He knew he’d never hear the end of it but he just couldn’t help himself as his hand drifted down out of view of the camera. And as discretely as he could, he began to slowly palm himself over his sweats, his teeth biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning out at the friction. 

But then she had to go and lean back to stretch over the back of her chair. Pebbled nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her shirt and Yoongi didn’t even realize he had moaned out a soft ‘fuck’ until she abruptly stopped talking. A hot blush crept up Yoongi’s neck and onto his cheeks once he saw that he’d been caught. 

Busted.

Her eyebrows shot up damn near to her hairline, eyes wide as she realized what exactly her boyfriend was doing on the other end of the call. “Min Yoongi, are you jerking off while I’m talking to you about work?” she laughed as she questioned him, not daring to admit that just maybe the thought had turned her on a little bit. 

‘Well, we might as well fully commit now’ he thought to himself as he sat up a little straighter against the headboard and smirked. “Not yet. Maybe you could help me out, hm?”

Always so straightforward, her boyfriend.

Blinking at his bluntness, she pulled her lower lip between her teeth as his hand slipped out of view again. It always surprised her just how quickly his temperament could change when it came to bedroom matters. 

To the outside world he was quiet and reserved, even somewhat standoffish. But behind closed doors, Min Yoongi was as freaky as they came. A little FaceTime sex was mild in comparison to some of their other escapades. 

“Take your shirt off for me?” Yoongi asked her, the flush on his cheeks darkening and his voice growing even huskier than usual. “But leave my cardigan on.”

Always one to please, a sly grin pulled at the corner of her lips as she sat up straighter and did as she was asked. She leaned back in the chair and ran a hand through her hair. Yoongi’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her bare chest, her nipples taunt from the air conditioning he knew she had blasting in her apartment. Goddamn he loved her tits. 

He told her as much and she offered only a small smirk in reply as she slowly brought her hands up to cup her breasts, squeezing and pushing them together to emphasize her cleavage for his viewing pleasure. With her left hand she slowly began to pinch her nipple between her thumb and forefinger as her right slid down her stomach towards the waistband of her panties.

“You gonna touch yourself for me baby?” Yoongi said, an arrogant smirk plastered onto his flushed face. Cocky bastard.

The filthy words spurring her on, Y/N let her fingers drift over the silk crotch of her underwear, pausing to press against her clit. Her head lolled to the side as she dipped her hand into her panties, a breathy moan of Yoongi’s name spilling past her lips. A dark, damp spot was forming against the pink fabric, turning it almost translucent as her fingers worked slow circles against her clit. Yoongi’s pupils blew wide as he watched her, fumbling to shove his sweats down just enough. Once his cock was free he wrapped his hand around himself, his hips jerking upward into his fist.

“T-Take your panties off and show me that pretty pussy, baby,” he grunted as he tightened the grip he had on his cock.

Just as she stood from the chair to wiggle out of her underwear, there was a series of short, sharp knocks at Yoongi’s hotel room door. Eyes wide at the sudden disturbance, he cursed and fumbled with his phone as he tried to get his pants pulled back up. “Be right back,” he huffed as he hopped off the bed and went to answer the door. 

All hope of continuing with their sexcapades vanished as Hobi’s muffled voice floated through the room.

Something about how they were about to have an impromptu team meeting about tomorrow’s schedules. Seconds later, Yoongi’s flushed face popped back up on screen.

“I have to go but I’ll call you back as soon as I get a chance.” 

Annoyance was pulling his features tight, even as his bottom lip jutted out in a petulant pout. Even though the mood had effectively been ruined, she smiled and blew him a kiss. Cheesy as ever, Yoongi reached up to catch it and smacked his palm to his cheek.

She laughed again, the sound warm and breathy and sounding like home. “I love you! Talk to you later.”

A goofy grin broke out across his face as she said it. The words filling him with a soothing warmth from his toes all the way to the tips of his ears. “I love you too. And good luck with your pitch in the morning. You’re going to kill it, baby.”

Before she could reply there was more knocking at Yoongi’s door, his head snapping up towards it as it creaked open. She was quick to wrap the cardigan around herself as Jungkook stepped into view over Yoongi’s shoulder, telling him that he was going to be waiting for him in one of the manager’s rooms down the fall. “Shit, I have to go. Love you.”

The call disconnected and Y/N was left alone again. Her mind was too far away from her notes now to even consider going back to studying. She huffed out a breath, blowing the hair out of her face as she pushed back from her desk, the chair swiveling around in a lazy circle. Still in just her boyfriend’s cardigan and her underwear, she kept spinning around in the chair until a rather brilliant idea popped into her head. 

She hopped up from her seat and made a mad dash for her bedroom, dropping to her knees on her preferred side of the bed to flip up the bed skirt. Hunched down on the ground, she blindly started patting around for the black photo box she kept tucked just past the edge of the bed frame. 

——

sunshine☀️❤️

Yooyoo!!

sunshine☀️❤️

Oh my god I NAILED my presentation!! 

sunshine☀️❤️

My manager even said the raise looked really promising!

🥰yooyoo🥰

I knew you could do it, baby. I’m so, so proud of you. We’re going out to celebrate as soon as I get home  xx

——

Two torturously long weeks later, Yoongi was finally on his way home to her. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him as he boarded the private jet with the rest of his members and staff. He was used to being gone for long stretches of time but there was something about this particular trip that was making him extra antsy.

Yoongi just wanted to be home. In his own bed. With his girl in his arms. And maybe his cock buried in her warm, wet, goddamn perfect cunt - 

Jungkook plopping down in the seat next to him startled Yoongi out of his thoughts, the former sighing loudly as he settled into the plush seat. He lulled his head to the side, throwing Yoongi a bright grin. “You and Y/N got plans when we get home? I know you’ve been dying to get back to her.”

Yoongi couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. “I can survive a couple weeks without seeing my girlfriend.”

There was a bright peel of laughter from the seat behind them, Hoseok’s voice

causing them to turn back to look at him. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. You’ve been extra mopey ever since we left Seoul.”

He let out a little hmph and reached for his headphones. “You guys are just jealous you aren’t getting laid regularly.”

——

When they touched down on the tarmac later that day, the first thing he did was call her. Hearing her delighted squeal had him practically sprinting through the airport to the waiting SUV that would take him to Y/N’s apartment, completely ignoring the waiting fans and paparazzi that crowded the space. 

The drive to her place was relatively short but Yoongi felt like he was about to come out of his skin. Every nerve felt like a fucking live wire. When the car finally pulled up to her building, his door was open, and he was stepping out before the vehicle had even come to a full stop. 

Yoongi jogged up to the front door of her building and threw it open, beelining towards the bank of elevators at the rear of the lobby. He jabbed at the buttons, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for the lift to take him up to her floor. It was so fucking slow. The damn thing always was but he swore today it was taking even longer just to piss him off.

The stainless steel doors finally slid open and he felt like he could breathe easier now. He was so close to her. He was almost - 

Just as he reached her door, it flung open revealing her beaming face. “Yoongi!!”

Y/n threw her arms around his neck, crushing him to her so tight he thought she might strangle him. But honestly… what a way to go.

She pulled back just enough to start smothering his face in kisses, not stopping until he was giggling and swatting her away.

“Cmon,” he took her hands and drug her back inside her apartment, “let’s get inside before that mean old lady down the hall calls the front desk on us again.”

They spent the next several hours wrapped up in each other. Arms and legs tangled together as they sprawled across her sofa, as they poured over every detail the other had missed in the weeks he’d been gone.

Eventually, they found their way to her bedroom, moving through their nighttime routines with effortless ease as he told her about the sights they were able to visit on the last couple of days in Japan. 

“We had a few extra minutes the other day so we decided to walk through this park next to the venue, right? And I saw the cutest dog, Y/N; seriously, I was trying to think of a way to bring him home. Hold on, I made Hoseok take a picture of me petting it so I could show you.” In his excitement to show her the photo, he fumbled his phone, and the device was suddenly flying through the air.

She couldn’t even begin to describe how it happened. One second his phone was firmly in his hand and the next it was being tossed around like a damn hacky sack, bouncing between his hands before finally clattering to the floor. The distinct ‘swoosh’ of it sliding under the bed and ‘thunk’ as it hit the wall had Y/N snorting out a bellyaching laugh. 

Yoongi looked nothing short of flustered, his cheeks and ears going bright red, as he mumbled a soft ‘fuck’ and crouched down to look for his phone. The slippery little fucker had made its way all the way to Y/N’s side of the bed. She was still giggling as he came around the bed and he shot her a playful sneer as he bent down again.

Flipping up the white cotton bed skirt, Yoongi started aimlessly patting around for his phone. But instead of the small metal and glass device, he found what felt like… a box, perhaps? Brows crinkled, he reached for it and sat back on his heels with his new discovery tucked in his grasp. 

He looked up at her to find her nose stuck back in the book she had been reading earlier, a grin still on her face from all that laughter minutes before. “What’s this?”

Not looking up from her book, she waited on him to elaborate, “What’s what?”

Yoongi held the box up for her to see, eyes widening when its contents started to rattle around with the slight movement. He had an inkling what it was but he wanted to hear what she had to say about it. The look of pure horror she was wearing when she looked up was met with Yoongi’s shit-eating grin. Well that told him exactly what he wanted to know. With a swift, graceful movement, he jumped up and took a big step backward as she shot out of bed, making grabby hands in his direction. 

“Min Yoongi, give that back. Now,” she said, her eyes wide and hands shaking as she reached out for it again, fully expecting him to be his gentlemanly self and just hand it over.

But she was wrong. Very wrong. 

Absolutely delighted by his little game, Yoongi smirked down at her as he pulled the box to his chest and wrapped his arms around it, effectively locking it in place. “What’s in the box, Y/N?”

“Nothinggg.” The word was a drawn-out whine as she tried to lunge for it, only for him to dance away from her hands just as they brushed the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Yoongi was giggling at her like a little boy and held the box above his head as she pathetically attempted to get it back. “Oh, judging by this reaction, I think it is most definitely something.”

A wave of absolute mortification washed over her as she accepted her defeat. Groaning, she turned back toward the bed and flopped down face first to bury her head in the pillows. This must be how she died, she decided. From complete and total embarrassment. 

Though she expected his pity, all she got was a sinful smirk as he dropped his arm back down to open the mystery box. 

Bingo.

He riffled through the various toys and lubes, his smirk widening to a full-on grin as he pulled out a purple rabbit vibrator. He turned it on, testing out the different speeds and pulsing patterns. 

The familiar buzzing sound had Y/N groaning again. In a desperate attempt to disappear completely, she pulled a pillow over her head praying the mattress would suddenly open up and swallow her whole. “Dear god, Yoongi, please put it back in the box. I’m literally begging you.”

A sardonic chuckle replaced the humming of the vibrator as he switched it off. The torturous embarrassment was finally coming to an end. Or so she thought. 

“When was the last time you used that one, baby?”

She peeked out from under the pillow, biting down hard on her bottom lip as heat rushed up her neck and cheeks. There was no way in hell she was playing into this. 

At her silence, he looked up at her and gave her little smirk.  “Awe, sweet girl,” he cooed, his voice dripping with condescending mirth, “no need to be shy.” 

“A few days ago. When you had to get off the FaceTime,” her admission was muffled by the pillow she had returned to her face to. But Yoongi heard it clear as day. 

He was quiet long enough that she started to wonder if he was angry. Jealous even of the rather impressive collection she had amassed over her adult years. She knew from first-hand experience that most men would be.

But then she felt the bed dip and she shyly peeked over her shoulder to find Yoongi sitting at the foot of the bed. That damned vibrator back in his hands. 

He was cooking something up in that beautiful head of his. And Y/N didn’t know if she should be excited or scared. 

Rolling onto her back, she leaned forward on her elbows and watched with wide eyes as he turned the vibrator on its lowest setting. The look on his face was positively feral as he inched up the bed a bit, pushing her legs further apart to accommodate him. He put a hand on her chest and pushed her back down before he took the very tip of the vibrator and ran it up over the crotch of her panties, pressing it lightly right above her clit. She gasped, her hand shooting down to wrap around his wrist.

“What were you thinking about when you were fucking yourself?” The gravely tone of his voice had her moaning out and canting her hips upward, desperate for him to move the vibrator downward just a little.

“Your hands. And mouth. And cock.” Her admission was nothing more than breathless pants he rewarded her honesty by rotating his wrist, pressing the buzzing tip of the toy directly against her clit. 

“Did you cum, baby?” The only response she could manage was a mumbled “mhm” as a delicious pressure started to build low in her belly. “How many times?” 

Yoongi turned the speed of the vibrator up to the next setting, earning him a mewling moan but not an answer to his question. Well, that just wouldn’t do.

He pulled the vibrator away and before she could register the loss of stimulation, he brought his opposite hand down hard against her still clothed pussy. A shocked yelp tore from her throat as he growled, “I asked you a question, Y/N.”

“O-Once! I could only do it once,” her voice was shaky, practically a sob as he brought the vibrator back to the swollen bundle of nerves.

“Oh,” his deep chuckle had a shiver running down her spine. It carried a dark promise that the night was going to be filled with absolute torment at his hands. But it was a torment that she would gladly accept. “We can do better than that. Don’t you think?” 

Applying just the slightest bit more pressure to her clit had Y/N writhing on the bed. Head tossed back into the pillows as her vision started to go fuzzy at the edges, the building pressure in her belly finally bubbled over into her release. A wanton moan ripped from her as she came, her back arching and eyes screwing shut as the pleasure washed over her. 

He removed the vibrator from her just long enough to maneuver her panties down her legs. He tossed them over his shoulder and reached for the still buzzing toy beside him. Turning the speed up a few more notches, fully planning on using it for its intended purpose this time. He ran the toy up her slit, tapping it on her clit and grinning as she whined and tried to move away from his touch.

A firm grip on her hip forced her to still again, the warm weight of his hand pressing her harshly down into the mattress. Positioning the larger head at her entrance and the smaller coming to rest directly on her clit, Y/N forgot how to breathe as he slowly pushed it into her. Her hips bucking upward when he angled it just right to press against that perfect spot that instantly had her seeing stars. 

He gave her no time to adjust to the new intrusion and started fucking the toy in and out of her in quick, shallow movements, always careful to make sure the bulbous tip brushed against her front wall. 

Her eyes rolled back in her head as he fucked her stupid, her chest heaving with ragged, shallow breaths. It took hardly any time at all for that warmth to come back to her, pooling in her lower belly again like it had never even left in the first place. 

This climax took her by surprise. It snuck up on her and ripped through her body in wave after wave of toe-curling euphoria. Her entire body was trembling with the force of it. And Yoongi only kept fucking her through it all. 

Her knuckles were turning white as she fisted the sheets so tightly in her hands she had a vague thought that she might rip them. She couldn’t bring herself to care in the slightest though. Not when she felt like her world was rocking underneath her. Not when she felt like she was being devoured whole by the pure, undiluted ecstasy coursing through her veins. 

Y/N crashed back down to earth just as quickly as she ascended to the heavens, her very soul seeming to slam back down into her body with enough force that she couldn’t tell up from down anymore. She was nothing more than mewling whimpers and twitching limbs as the pleasure quickly started becoming too much. And at the same time, not enough. 

Yoongi was quick to lie down on his belly between her thighs, throwing an arm across her middle in an effort to keep her still. All the thoughts drained from her head as he pressed the button on the vibrator one more time, taking it to the highest possible speed, and tilting it upwards to rest right against her sweet spot. 

A scream of his name tore from her throat, the shrill sound echoing off the walls as she arched so far off the mattress she might as well have been sitting up. With the intense vibrations sending her body into overdrive, it felt like it took mere seconds to have her cumming for the third time. 

She started to cry as he finally withdrew the vibrator from her aching core, tears streaking down her cheeks as she babbled incoherent nonsense. The tears and slurred words only served to amuse him though. He sneered at her as he crawled up her body. He loved it when she cried. 

“Awe my poor little crybaby,” he cooed as he brought a hand up to squeeze her cheeks together, fingers settling on her cheeks between her teeth and smirking down at the forced pout she now wore. He could tell she was having a hard time focusing on his face, her eyes were glassy and fat tears still rolling from the corners. “Your little pussy can’t handle it? I thought you were a big girl, hm?”

Grip tightening on her face, he snapped her head to the side so he could lick up the column of her neck before whispering in her ear. “If you can’t handle a little toy, how the fuck do you expect to take my cock?”

She could only whimper in reply as he angled his head to lick her tears away. Just as her labored breaths started to even out again, Yoongi reached for the box on her nightstand and pulled out a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs. 

Y/N was still dazed, her body still felt like it was floating. So she took no notice of what he was doing until the soft click of one of the cuffs around her wrist rang throughout the room. She could only blink up at him as he hauled her hand up to the headboard and looped the handcuffs around a piece of framework before reaching for her other hand.

A broken sob of his name only brought another sadistic smile to his face as he reached for the box again and pulled out a small bullet vibrator. Yoongi twisted the base of the toy, turning it on to one of the higher settings it offered. Her legs snapped shut at the sound and he glared down at her, his eyes hard and sinfully dark. Strong hands were on her thighs instantly, squeezing so tight she knew there would be finger-shaped bruises left in their wake, prying them apart before he settled on his belly between them again.  

She trembled as he brought the bullet to her clit and pressed down lightly. Fresh tears started to pool at the corners of her eyes as her hips jerked away from the overwhelming sensation. “I can’t. I can’t!”

Eye level with her weeping cunt, Yoongi only ‘tutted’ at her cries and slowly started to swirl the small toy on her clit, her highs tensing on either side of his head as she barreled towards another orgasm. 

“C’mon, pretty girl. You know what I want.” His words fell on deaf ears, though, her blood pounded so fiercely in her ears that she couldn’t hear anything else. Hungry eyes stayed glued to her pussy as her hole continued to clench around nothing.

Yoongi couldn’t help but groan at the sight. She was leaking all over the bed, her slick puddling right under her ass as he continued his assault.

“Yoo-yoongi,” she moaned, voice broken and stuttering. “G-onna… gonna make a m-mess.”

Fuck yes.

He lowered his mouth to her entrance, tongue licking into her. He wanted to drink her down, swallow every drop she could give him. 

And make a mess she did. Her orgasm washed over her in a tidal wave, crashing into her with enough force to have her vision whiting out completely. 

Everything was soft and fuzzy around the edges when she came back to herself. Yoongi was mumbling soft praises and words of affirmation to her as he went about unlocking the handcuffs. He brought her wrists up to his mouth and pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to the skin where the cuffs had started to dig in despite their padding.

“You did so good, baby. I’m so proud of you. You took it all so well.” His words were soft and gentle; his demeanor completely changed now as he doted on her. 

He settled down next to her, one hand rubbing slow circles on her belly and the other sliding under her shoulders as she worked to catch her breath. With a groan she rolled over to face him and started pressing lazy kisses to his jaw, her hands sliding up his arms to wrap around his neck. 

Yoongi turned his head and caught her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to earn a small whimper from her. “What do you want, baby? Use your words for me.”

He threaded his hand in her hair and gripped it tightly at the roots, pulling her back so she could look him in the eye as she whined, “I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside me. Please. Need it so bad.”

“Yeah? Need my cock, angel? Want me to fill you up?” He was already sliding out of her arms, not waiting for her to reply before he stripped off his sweats and t-shirt. He had been ready to just hold her for the rest of the night, satisfied enough knowing that he had taken such good care of her. He could have found his own release in his hand after Y/N had fallen asleep.

But if she wanted his cock he’d fucking give it to her. 

Yoongi settled into the cradle of her thighs, rutting against her and hissing as his aching cock slid through the slickness there. All of his toughness dissipated as he finally sunk into her, biting down on his tongue to hold back the whimper at the feeling of her clamping down on him. 

“Fuckkk.” One hand had a white knuckle grip on the headboard, the cool metal biting into his palm helping to somewhat ground him to reality. Yoongi was panting, eyes squeezed tightly shut. If he opened his eyes and looked down at her like this, he knew he’d blow his load. 

Y/N was mewling under him, whining his name in the sweetest song he’d ever heard, begging him to move. It took every shred of willpower he possessed to open his eyes, looking down and burning the image of her fucked out face into the backs of his eyelids. “Yeah. Yeah, gonna give you what you need, baby. You’ve been so good for me.”

The slow, heavy drag of his cock as he pulled out of her just to slam right back in had her head spinning, breath hitching in her throat with every brutal thrust of his hips into hers. Yoongi leaned back, releasing his death grip on the headboard to grab her thighs instead, calloused fingers pressing bruises into the plush flesh.

He positioned her the way he wanted her, wrapping her legs tightly around his hips and damn near combusting when he was able to push just a little deeper, the tip of his cock nudging against her cervix. “Goddamn, this pussy. So fucking perfect. It was made for me, huh?”

“Y-yes! God, yes, Yoongi, please.” Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she started blubbering and begging, her words starting to run together in a mess of incoherence. Nails clawed at his biceps and shoulders, leaving angry red welts in their wake. 

A particularly deep thrust had her screaming for him, arching into him and clamping down on his cock in a vice grip. His eyes screwed shut, jaw straining under the force of his grinding teeth. “Get your toy. The little one.”

She flailed and fumbled for it, blindly swatting around the mattress until her hand found the small toy and clicked it on. Her opposite hand slid between them, mimicking his earlier movements and letting her fingers slide on either side of her clit as she brought the buzzing toy down to it.

It sent shock waves through her, and Yoongi pushed in so deep she swore she could taste him.

The moan that clawed its way from his chest was deep and primal, the vibrations against the base of his cock nearly doing him in.

Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream and she arched up against him as she came, the vibrator falling from her slack hand. The fluttering of her wet heat around him sent him tumbling after her. He pulled out of her, hand flying to his cock to give himself a few furious tugs before spilling all over her pussy and lower belly in thick white ropes.  

Watery eyes fluttered open to look at him, his flushed face cast up to the ceiling, jaw slack and chest heaving. He was always beautiful but like this… god he was a work of art.

Slowly, he eased himself down on top of her, resting his weight on his forearms so as not to crush her. Yoongi peppered kisses along her face, both cheeks and forehead and chin, not stopping until he was rewarded with a weak little giggle. 

He hummed and moved to nuzzle his face into her neck, mumbling sweet praises into her skin. They’re still for a heartbeat, two, three, until their breathing has started to even out. Y/N vaguely registered him untangling himself from her and slip from the bed entirely.

Sleep claimed her quickly, and by the time Yoongi came back into the room with a warm washcloth, Y/N was softly snoring. Starting with the mess on her stomach, he gently set to work cleaning her up and made sure to save her surely sensitive core for last. 

She whined when he tried to part her legs, and he decided that letting her soak in a warm bath might ease some of her soreness. He padded back into the bathroom and set the tap running, the steam billowing off the water and filling the small space.

While the tub slowly filled, Yoongi rummaged around under the sink for the homemade milk bath mix he knew she kept on hand. He pulled out the container and poured a hearty scoop into the tub, using his hand to gently mix it all together.

When the water had taken on a milky white hue, he rose to his feet and went to rouse Y/N. 

She had curled onto her side, clutching the pillow he had lain on to her chest. Yoongi leaned down and brushed his lips over her cheek in a soft kiss.

“C’mon baby. I ran you a bath and you need to go pee.”

Y/N groaned and tried to roll away from him, but he slipped an arm under her and hoisted her up into a sitting position. “‘M fine, Yooyoo,” she mumbled, her head lolling onto his shoulder as he scooped her up and set her on her feet.

“I know you don’t want to get up but we both know that a UTI isn’t worth it,” he murmured into her ear as he helped her walk on unsteady legs to the bathroom. “I’ll step out and give you a little privacy, okay?.”

She didn’t reply as she practically collapsed on the toilet. The door clicked shut behind him, and she absently wondered why he was suddenly concerned with her privacy. He had just fucked her five ways from Sunday, but he thought she cared if he saw her pee. He was too sweet sometimes. 

It took her longer than she cared to admit to get off the toilet and ease herself down into the warm, cloudy water. She moaned as the warmth seeped through her skin and into her bones.

“Yoongi,” she called out softly. He poked his head back in almost instantly, prepared to get her whatever she asked for.

“You can go to bed. I’m just going to soak for a while.”

He came fully into the room then and perched on the lip of the tub. She leaned her head against his hip and he turned just enough to be able to gently comb his fingers through her hair, scratching lightly at her scalp. “You did so good for me tonight, sweet girl.”

She hummed at his praise, her eyes slipping shut as she brought her knees to her chest and rested her head against them. Yoongi stood and pushed his sweats down his hips before stepping in behind her. It only took them a moment to get settled, her back to his chest as he rested against the back of the tub. 

They were quiet for several minutes and he thought she might have dozed off against him as he started to bathe her. With her favorite soap lathered on her loofa, he ran it up and down her arms, over her chest and neck, between her breasts. He set it on the edge of the tub before cupping some water in his hands to pour over her shoulders and neck to rinse away the suds. He took the clean washcloth on the corner of the tub next. She flinched when he brought it up between her legs, running it gently up her slit.

Soft words of praise were mumbled into her hair as he continued to bathe her. “I know you’re sore baby. But you did wonderfully. I’m so proud of you.”

It was so intimate, so tender, that it made her heart ache in her chest, and she teared up as he started to wash her hair, gently massaging the shampoo into her scalp. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she choked on her words as the tears started to freely fall down her cheeks.

He stilled instantly and reached out to cup her face in his palm, turning her face towards his in fear she might be mid sub-drop.

“I’m not dropping,” she assured him, a soft smile pulling at her mouth as she choked on a weak laugh. “I’m alright, I promise. I just love you, s’all.”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her tighter into his chest. She nuzzled her head into his neck as he dropped scattered kisses to the crown of her head. “I will always take care of you, Y/N.”

[piastrixpole]

spinning into love - oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

genre: smau, written

faceclaim: buseksc

spinningaroundrecords just posted!

our new stock is here just in time for the holidays ft. our employee's recommendation wall curated by yn

liked by user3, user45, user27 and 3,419 others

user1: damnn yn's got taste

user2: do you guys have the chappel roan record in?

->spinningaroundrecords: we do!! in coke bottle clear and the coral anniversary addition

Yn had always wanted to work somewhere in the music industry. She lived, breathed and sleeped the euphoria of discovering a new favourite artist or record. From the moment she could remember, the thrill of discovering a new song, a new band, or a hidden gem in the deep corners of an album was enough to make her feel alive. It wasn’t just the act of listening; it was the feeling of music that consumed her. The electric pulse of a bassline, the bittersweet strum of a guitar, the raw, vulnerable emotion in a singer's voice—it all gave her a sense of connection to the world that she couldn’t find anywhere else. Since she wasn't the most musically inclined herself it she was extra passionate as a listener to compensate for it.

So, instead of focusing on creating music, she threw herself into the art of curating it. She spent hours browsing record shops, digging through stacks of vinyl, and chasing after obscure releases from up-and-coming artists. She was a listener, a connoisseur, someone who appreciated the artistry and emotion that went into every note.

It wasn’t long before Yn’s obsession became more than a hobby; it became her life. After years of working in different parts of the music industry—interning, managing small acts, or just helping set up gigs—she finally landed her dream job at Spinning Around Records. The record store wasn’t just a place to work for her—it was a sanctuary, a place where she could live and breathe music every day. And now, she was a permanent fixture there. She helped curate the store’s staff picks, hosted events, and even started her own little side hustle recommending records to people who had no idea where to start.

Today, Yn was standing by the store’s employee recs wall, carefully adjusting the placement of a few albums. It was a busy December afternoon, just days before Christmas. The store was filled with people rushing in for last-minute presents, some browsing, some frantically trying to find the perfect gift for that one person who seemed impossible to shop for. Yn loved the holiday chaos. There was something magical about the way music could pull people in, especially when the world was a little colder and people needed a soundtrack to their lives.

As she was straightening out the stack of vinyl, the door chimed, and Yn looked up, expecting to see the usual rush of people coming in from the cold. Instead, her gaze landed on a man—tall, with messy brown hair, wearing a jacket and jeans that somehow looked effortlessly stylish if it weren't for the drawstring style to the jeans. He was scanning the shelves, clearly out of his depth, a look of slight panic in his eyes as he searched for something among the rows of records.

Yn smirked to herself, watching him for a second. She knew that look. He was the kind of person who was very last-minute with his Christmas shopping.

“Can I help you find something?” she called over, her voice friendly and easygoing.

The man’s eyes shot over to her, and for a second, he looked a little startled, as though he hadn’t expected someone to speak up. He quickly recovered, flashing a smile that was just shy of sheepish.

“I hope so,” he said with a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m looking for a gift... for a friend. Not really sure where to start.”

Yn raised an eyebrow, noticing the slight hesitation in his voice. “Are they into music?”

He chuckled, looking almost embarrassed. “Well, yeah, but I don’t know what kind of music they’re into. He's picky...and plays a lot of piano ”

Ah, so he was one of those shoppers, Yn thought. The kind who had no idea what their friend liked, but was determined to get it right. She could work with that.

“Well, I’ve got a few ideas,” she said, pushing away from the shelf and walking toward him. “Do you have any idea what kind of vibe you’re going for? Do they listen to anything specific, or are you just looking for something cool?”

“Uh... cool is good,” the man replied, clearly relieved that she wasn’t judging him for his lack of knowledge. “Maybe something a little indie, or a bit retro? I’m just trying to find something that’ll stand out, you know?”

Yn's smile widened. “I’ve got exactly what you need.”

She led him over to a nearby display of albums, her fingers dancing over the spines of the records as she pulled a few out. “This one’s a personal favourite of mine," she hands him a copy of Dogrel by Fontaines DC "if you want something indie that might surprise him, this would be a good choice or if you want more of a classic album then I'm always going to recommend Grace by Jeff Buckley if he doesn't already have it. No collection is complete without it! .”

As she handed him a few records, she couldn’t help but glance at his face, noticing the way his eyes lingered on the artwork. There was something oddly familiar about him—like she had seen him somewhere before.

“Do you... work here?” he asked, finally taking a breath after looking over her selections.

Yn blinked, then laughed. “No I just give recommendations for fun and know where everything is...Yeah, I do. I’m Yn,” she said, holding out a hand. “I basically live and breathe music. If you’re really stuck, I’m your go-to.”

He shook her hand, his grip warm and firm. “Oscar,” he replied. “And... I think I might need more than just a go-to. I need expert advice.”

Yn grinned. “Well, lucky for you, I’m exactly that.”

Oscar hesitated, looking a little sheepish again. “I’m actually getting this for my friend. He invited me over to his family dinner, and... I need something that shows I’m not just a complete disaster at picking presents.”

Yn’s brow furrowed slightly, intrigued. “A friend? Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Charles,” Oscar said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “He’s... I guess you could say we’re not exactly from the same world, but he’s been super kind. I’m just trying to make sure I don’t look like a total fool showing up empty-handed.”

Oscar nodded thoughtfully, looking down at the records she’d picked out. “I think these might actually do the trick.”

“Glad I could help. Just don’t show up without one of these,” she teased, before adding with a wink, “and maybe don’t tell Charles I’m the one who saved your Christmas dinner reputation.”

oscarpiastri just posted!

family dinner

tagged: charlesleclerc, arthurleclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, leo

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, arthurleclerc and 691,203 others

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charlesleclerc: Always room for you at the table, mate. You’re family now. 🍷🎄

alexandrasaintmleux: So happy to have you with us! Next time, I’m picking the wine, though🫣

arthurleclerc: My nephew👨‍🍼

messages!

yourusername just posted!

life lately🎼🎧

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbsf, user45 and 2,134 others

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yourbsf: Bestie, you’re just casually glowing in every single pic?? Teach me your ways immediately. 😭✨ ->yourusername: It’s all the good vibes and late-night playlists 😌

user45: Not me zooming in to see what books and records are in the background 👀

user89: Can we talk about how Oscar Piastri is casually in the likes?? 🧐

->user34: Right?? What’s he doing here lol. ->user77: Someone’s a fan of more than just F1, it seems. 👀

user777: This is such a vibe—are you starting a Pinterest board for us, or what?

user90: “Life lately” but make it the main character of a coming-of-age film. 💿✨

oscarpiastri just posted a story!

[pic 1:🎶 ] [pic 2: Bake Off Ready?]

twitter

discogs!

profile: oscar81

recently added....

pools to bathe in ~ the japanese house

salad days ~ mac demarco

midas ~ wunderhorse

f1gossip just posted!

rumoured new wag yn ln was spotted at dinner with oscar piastri. could this be the mysterious record girlie behind his soft-launch posts?

liked by landonorris, arthurleclerc, yourbsf and 32,407 others

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user4: lando in the likes? he's so messy i love him

->user3: and arthur, they defo know something

user15: so when’s the hard launch? paddock debut in Aus or a Valentine’s post? place your bets, people

user11: i give it two weeks before he posts her blurry silhouette holding a coffee cup

yourbsf: @yourusername no way haha

->yourusername: 👀

oscarpiastri just posted!

now i'm lost in your melody

liked by landonorris, mclaren, charlesleclerc and 765,091 others

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yourusername: JEFF BUCKLEY?? i've taught you well☺️

->oscarpiastri: saving my music taste since we first met🧡

charlesleclerc: so this is who i have to thank for my present 😉 bring her to the next family dinner son i approve

->oscarpiastri: will do dad 🙂⬆️

landonorris: ok lover boy

mclaren: we can't wait to meet yn🧡

->yourusername: me too admin!!🧡

user7: sleeping on the motorway tonight

user29: love IS real