#soar memory

[technologyculturedneo]

Sour Memory: Doyoung

Pairing. Brother!Kim Doyoung x fem (I)!reader ft Irene x Jaehyun

Synopsis. "What I saw that night still haunts me. And no one believes me."

Warnings. Angst.

WC. 7k

As younger siblings often do, I absolutely worshiped my older brother Kim Doyoung. To me, he always seemed like the coolest person in the world. Everything he did fascinated me beyond belief. It was like he lived in a completely different world. Everyone liked him. He was class president, a star baseball player, and had an all-around great personality.

Despite being older, Doyoung wasn’t the stereotypical ‘older brother monster’. I think that’s why we got along so well. He would never dream of hurting me. Not in any way. When I told my psychiatrists that, they didn’t believe me. ‘An older brother who never once tormented his little sister?’ They said someone like that couldn’t exist. But Doyoung was different. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. His bedroom door was always open whenever I needed someone to talk to. He’d let me lie on his floor and listen to his music records while he did his homework. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

Growing up in a small town in the middle of Kwangya Island, we only became closer. Maybe it was because of our family situation that we both felt like we needed each other. Our father was an alcoholic. He’d come home drunk and take all his anger out on us. But Doyoung never let him get to me. He’d let me sleep in his bed most nights so I wouldn’t have to lie awake, alone, listening to our parents fighting through the thin bedroom walls.

Our mother was a saint. She was one of the only people I could turn to for help, one of the few who truly understood the pain, besides Doyoung. Sadly, she died when I was thirteen. The autopsy showed that Mom had overdosed on painkillers. They ruled it as accidental, but I was never sure. After she was gone, our father only got worse. Things became so unbearable that the moment Doyoung graduated high school, he moved into an apartment on the other side of town and took me with him. Our father barely protested. I’m pretty sure he never wanted kids in the first place.

From then on, it was just Doyoung and me against the world. He enrolled at the local community college and worked part-time at a grocery store. It wasn’t glamorous, but it put food on the table. We made it work. We were finally away from our broken home, and just having each other was enough.

That’s when we made the biggest mistake of our lives. We didn’t know it at the time, of course, but to this day, I still regret picking up that phone.

It was the end of summer, around 2027. The winds were brisk as early September approached. Doyoung and I had been on our own for about two years by then. I was 17, he was 27. I remember sitting at the kitchen table, finishing my homework, while Doyoung was fixing frozen chicken as dinner from our favourite TV channel.

When Doyoung’s phone rang in the living room, I jumped up to answer it.

“Hello?” I said into the receiver.

It was Mark Lee, Doyoung’s best friend from high school. The two of them had been inseparable until college sent them in different directions. Mark had ended up in NCity Varsity, and I could hear the longing in his voice as he caught up with me for a moment. Then he turned serious. “Hey, let me talk to your brother real quick,” Mark said. “I’ve got some news I think he’ll like.”

I rolled my eyes playfully and handed the phone to Doyoung. I could hear him laughing as he caught up with Mark. They were on the phone for a good hour. By the time Doyoung returned, I had already taken the dinners out of the oven and finished mine.

“Hey, sorry about that, Y/n,” Doyoung said, smiling softly as he sat down across from me. “You’ll never believe what Mark’s been up to.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is he on Neo Varsity’s Most Wanted already?”

Doyoung rolled his eyes. “No, but he might as well be. His neighbours are going to Bermuda for Labor Day weekend, and he’s throwing a monster party in their house while they’re gone. He’s invited us to come and crash it. Can you believe that?”

He chuckled, taking a bite of his frozen chicken.

I should’ve known then that we shouldn’t go. It was illegal—breaking into someone’s house to throw a party? I knew it was wrong. But I was 17, naïve, and desperate to be just as legendary as my big brother. So, of course, I agreed.

We planned to drive to Mark’s house in Neo City. It would take about a day from Kwangya Island. But we were too excited to care. We spent the long car ride blasting out Exo’s music on the radio and singing the lyrics way off-key- well… I sang off key, Doyoung was perfect.

That was definitely one of the best times of my life. I felt completely content. We had no idea what was coming. Little did I know the terror we’d be thrown into later that night.

If I could, I would’ve made Doyoung turn the car around or drive us straight off a cliff.

We’d been in the car for about 13 hours straight, not counting the endless gas stops and bathroom breaks. Around 9h00 p.m., we noticed we were deep in a nowhere land. The GPS map said we were still in Neo Tech Road, but it didn’t feel like it.

“You sure we’re not lost?” I asked, chewing my bubblegum slower in stress.

Doyoung kept his eyes fixed on the road and nodded. “Of course not. Mark gave me the directions himself.”

I rolled my eyes and blew a bubble.

We drove through nothing but trees for what felt like another hour before I finally declared we were lost. My brother had this idea that Mark was some kind of genius, but I knew better. It was Mark after all. Doyoung was getting tired. I was getting restless. I’d been sitting in the same position for so long I could barely feel my legs.

“Can we please pull over somewhere?” I whined, my gum starting to lose its flavor.

“Don’t you think I would’ve done that about two hours ago?” Doyoung replied, stifling a cough.

That cough turned into a slight wheeze, which made my ears perk up. “Are you okay?” I asked, concern quickly filling my voice.

He nodded and brushed it off, saying it was just a tickle in his throat. Usually, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but that night, I was on high alert. Doyoung had really bad asthma. We’d had more than a few close calls, and the thought of losing him scared me more than the empty road in front of us.

About 30 minutes later, Doyoung began to grumble under his breath. “That jackass had no idea what he was talking about.”

I didn’t respond. I knew he couldn’t admit that I was right. But I was starting to feel really uncomfortable. It had been two hours of nothing but trees, and we’d only seen a few cars pass every 50 miles or so. I didn’t want to say it out loud, but once I swallowed my bubblegum, I was scared for many reasons. Where were we even going to sleep? The idea of pulling over and sleeping on the side of the road creeped me out.

We were starving, too. At one point, Doyoung asked me to check the map to see if there were any rest stops or motels nearby. There weren’t. The GPS woman was just as lost – reflecting nothing but an empty road for miles.

But that all changed around 23h30 p.m. Doyoung was practically falling asleep at the wheel when my eyes landed on a tiny speck on our the GPS map on the screen.

“Doyoung, get up!” I shook him, excitement rising in my voice. “There’s a restaurant coming up in about 20 miles!”

His eyes popped open. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, it’s called Red’s Cafe & Family Restaurant. There should be an exit coming up.”

I couldn’t believe our luck. It did strike me as odd that it was the only rest stop for hundreds of miles, but honestly? I was too hungry to care. I gave Doyoung directions, even though there were no signs in the pitch-black woods. Still, I could feel that we were getting close. Soon, Doyoung turned out of the highway and there it was…

I can still see the neon sign and the bright, bustling lights.

“Red’s Cafe” looked like your typical 2000’s cyber-tech meets 1950’s-style diner. A small building with large glass windows, easy to see into. I could make out a few people inside, sitting and eating.

Doyoung parked along the dirt road, and I jumped out of the car, desperate to stretch my legs. It was colder than I expected for September, so I pulled my sweatshirt over my head as Doyoung buttoned up his jacket. The scent of coffee and homemade pie drifted out through the sliding glass doors.

As we walked toward the building, I glanced up at the sign again. There was another part to it I hadn’t noticed earlier… it flickered under the moonlight:

“Red’s Care & Family Restaurant — Motel on the East Side.”

“I guess you could spend the night here too if you wanted,” Doyoung smirked. I smiled. At least we wouldn’t be sleeping in the car.

When we stepped inside, the place was alive with activity.

The floor was checkered, the red vinyl booths nearly all filled. A few rugged-looking men sat at the counter, sipping steaming coffee. A woman and her young daughter giggled over a plate of pancakes. A group of teenagers in leather jackets huddled around the jukebox- one of them slipped in a coin, and an old Shinee’s tune started to play. “Baby-”

Then, out of nowhere, this unexplainable dread washed over me. It wasn’t the song that made me feel uneasy… but the atmosphere. It was heavy. And I couldn’t shake it. I felt… heavy.

I didn’t even notice the woman approach us.

“Can I help you kids?” She asked, her voice as soft as butter.

I looked up into the kind, dark eyes of a young looking woman. She wore a red wool dress lightly clinging to her body and ending over her knees, with matching shoes, and a white apron draped over her front. Her face was crafted and pampered with such soft makeup, her slick black hair gleaming under the lights. She smiled warmly. But I couldn’t speak. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t open my mouth.

“Uh, yes ma’am,” Doyoung said with his usual gentlemanly charm. “We’d just like a quick bite to eat before we hit the road again.”

He nudged me gently in the back. I nodded.

“Well, come on in then. I’m Irene, Bae Irene. Welcome to my humble little restaurant.”

She laughed. It was lighthearted and contagious, full of age and years. But somehow… it made me uncomfortable.

Doyoung chuckled, reaching out to shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Irene. I’m Kim Doyoung and this is my sister, Y/n.”

I forced a smile and shook her hand too. She looked perfect, like someone’s sweet young trad wife… but something about her made my skin crawl.

I always got that way around people I didn’t know. “Y/n. That’s such a lovely name,” Irene said, eyes lingering on me way more than I’d like to admit. I managed a weak smile as she let out another warm laugh. “Well, I don’t want to see you kids just standing around. Come on, I’ll find you a booth.”

Doyoung and Irene were soon chatting up a storm, walking ahead together. I trailed behind, pretending not to notice. As we made our way through the diner, I learned that Irene and her husband, Jaehyun, had opened the place a few years ago after retiring from the busy Neo City. She worked as the hostess; he was the cook. They never had children, which is why Irene enjoyed it so much when young people came in. The way she spoke, she made it seem like she was pushing 60, but when she said she’s 40, I was shocked. She looked… so young.

Doyoung was always polite. He laughed at her jokes and even told her a bit of our sob story. I just wanted him to stop talking- and she serves the food and then we leave. I did not feel comfortable here. But when she found out we didn’t really have any parents, her face changed, almost like it gave her some kind of purpose.

“Oh, you poor things. Well, why don’t you scan the QR menu with your phones so that I can make you guys something quick to eat,”

“Unfortunately our phones died, they’re in the car.” Doyoung explained. Irene clutched her heart sadly.

“Oh you poor things, driving out for hours. You know what, consider me your mother for the night,” She said sweetly, quickly walking to an isle passage and then coming back with our menus.

I slid into the booth across from my brother, trying to smile as Irene walked away. Doyoung chuckled and thanked her again, opening his menu with a grin.

“Isn’t she just the sweetest woman you’ve ever met?” He beamed, his light black bangs falling over his eyes.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I slouched down in my seat, not even bothering to look at the menu. My eyes drifted across the room. I watched the teenagers by the futurist jukebox sipping Coke straight from glass bottles, chatting and laughing. I saw the little girl from earlier get up and ask Irene for a napkin and Irene hugged her like she was her own daughter.

I almost gagged.

“What’s the matter? Are you feeling okay?” Doyoung asked, sensing my mood.

I nodded but didn’t say a word when he asked what I wanted to eat. I got the feeling that he could sense my hostile attitude. I knew I was getting on his nerves, but honestly, I didn’t care. When Irene came to take our order, I kept quiet. Doyoung ordered pancakes and some pizza and hot chocolate for both of us, flashing her a warm smile.

As she walked away, he turned back to me, visibly annoyed. “What’s your deal tonight, Y/n? You’re acting like a little kid,” He grumbled.

I bit the inside of my cheek and muttered, “Don’t you feel a little uncomfortable around her?”

Doyoung raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Mrs. Bae Irene isn’t giving off good vibes. Don’t you feel it? She’s weird. ‘Consider me your mother for the night’? What was that about?” I didn’t understand how he couldn’t see it.

“She’s just being nice,” Doyoung shot back. “God, stop being so stuck up and try to appreciate what she’s doing for us.” I figured he was just tired and hungry.

He coughed into the crook of his arm again. I rolled my eyes and stayed silent for the rest of the meal. I wish I hadn’t. I didn’t know then that this would be one of the last moments I’d ever share with my brother.

When the food arrived, Doyoung thanked Irene for both of us. I was starving, but I didn’t want to eat. I just poked at my pancakes and stared down at my shoes. Doyoung pretended not to notice. We rarely fought… actually, we never fought. This was just one of our rare squabbles. Doyoung was always patient, always gentle. He took care of me like no one else did.

But I wasn’t easy. I was stubborn, distant with everyone who wasn’t him. I had trust issues from growing up in a house where I never felt safe. I often came off cold, and my brother was usually the one who pulled me out of it… but even he had limits. And tonight, I seemed to be pushing it.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I said, breaking half an hour of silence.

Doyoung just nodded, sipping his drink. I slid out of the booth and headed to the back. I locked myself in a stall and leaned against the wall, needing space. Needing time to breathe. I’m not sure how long I stayed in there. I just knew I needed to be alone with my thoughts.

When I finally returned to the table, Doyoung was deep in conversation with… Irene… and another man. Attractive looking man… who I assumed was her husband, Jaehyun. He was a large man with luscious hair, and an apron that hung over his baggy pants and faded flannel shirt. He was also perfect, as if he didn’t age over 30- but after what Irene said, that she’s 40, I could only imagine he was either in his late 40’s or early 50’s. Still, they all laughed together, Doyoung pausing now and then to cough.

I approached the table quietly. Doyoung looked up and smiled. “Well, speak of the devil,” He joked, motioning for me to join him.

I sat next to him when he patted the spot. Maybe he had forgiven me, or maybe he was just putting on a show for the Jung’s. I didn’t care I clung to him tightly.

“So, I’ve been wondering,” Irene said, her smile growing wider. “What brought you kids all the way up here? We don’t get many visitors out this way.”

“We’re driving to Neo Ciity to visit some old friends,” Doyoung replied. “I’m just glad we found this place, we were driving through nothing but forest for nearly three hours.”

Irene glanced at Jaehyun. He blinked slowly. For a moment, neither of them said anything as if they were deciding what to say next. I clenched Doyoung’s jeans in my fist.

“Well,” Jaehyun finally said with a chuckle, “We are a bit in the middle of nowhere, I guess.”

I turned toward the window, staring at the truck parked outside as the three of them continued to talk. I was so lost in the pitch-black night that I barely heard Doyoung speak at first.

"Well, we'd really like to thank you folks for your kind hospitality. How much do I owe you?" He asked, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

Irene shook her head. "No, it's on the house."

When my brother tried to protest, she gently put a finger to his lips. He smiled in gratitude and stood to leave. I carefully slid off and was just about to reach for the door when Jaehyun stepped in front of us.

"Hey now, where do you kids think you're going? You can’t drive out now, it’s nearly two in the morning."

I wouldn’t have known. There were no clocks or any real sense of time in the diner. The outside world felt distant, almost unreal. I glanced nervously at Doyoung, trying to signal him to keep moving. He just yawned in response.

"You two look like you’ve been on the road all day," Jaehyun continued. "Doesn’t seem wise to be driving when you’re this tired. Come on, we’ve got a nice little motel out back. You can rest until morning."

I froze. There was no way I was spending another second with these people.

“That’s all right,” I tried to object. “We’ll be fine.”

But my brother hesitated. “I don’t know, Y/n,” He said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “I’m really tired, and you’re still underage. I don’t want to put our lives at risk by falling asleep at the wheel.”

I shook my head and reached for his hand, trying to pull him toward the door. But he was stronger. I felt myself being gently tugged back onto the checkered floor.

“Doyoung,” I said, my voice rising in panic. “Please.”

He ignored me, walking back to Irene.

“I think we’ll take a room for the night,” He said, smiling. Then he added quietly, pushing me behind him, “Just to be safe.”

Irene beamed and winked at her husband. “Wonderful. Jaehyun will show you to the back. If you give me your car keys, I’ll fetch your luggage, if you brought any.”

My mouth went dry as I watched Doyoung pull his keys from his back pocket and explain where our suitcases were packed in the trunk. I couldn’t believe it. I was close to tears. I grabbed the back of his jacket as Irene walked out the front door, but he gently brushed me off.

I trailed behind them hopelessly as Jaehyun led us into a smaller building just across from the diner. It was made entirely of logs. Jaehyun and Doyoung were talking easily, like old friends, while I stayed silent.

Jaehyun pulled a key from his coat pocket and quietly opened the door.

The inside of the motel was depressing. Everything was made of wood, the walls covered in old, faded portraits of kpop idols advertising safety and dreamscape mountain landscapes. A maroon oriental rug lay under the front desk. On the counter sat a guest book, a potted cactus, and a vintage-looking handbell. A cold draft swept through the space, and I shivered. It looked like the place hadn’t had a guest in years.

“Well, here we are,” Jaehyun said. “No need to sign in. I’ll take you up to your room.”

He smiled again, and in the light, I could see just how dark his under eyes were.

He led us up a creaky wooden staircase on the right side of the lobby. I felt like the painted eyes in the portraits followed us as we ascended. The hallway above was dim, lit only by a few moth-covered wall lamps. It stretched long in both directions, lined with wooden doors on either side. Everything was coated in a fine layer of dust.

The musty air stirred up a fresh bout of wheezing from Doyoung, who tried to stifle it in his sleeve. I rolled my eyes. He had gotten us into this. I had no sympathy.

“Ah, here we are,” Jaehyun said finally, stopping in front of Room 2B. He slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open.

Inside were two twin beds with thick quilted blankets and feather-stuffed pillows. A large window stretched across one wall above a small desk. The room was silent, still, and strangely untouched like no one had ever stayed in it before. Underneath the rug, the carpet was a rusty maroon. The wallpaper was a neat beige filled with more dreamscape paintings, mountains and seascapes hung from flimsy nails, sagging on the walls. I swallowed hard.

Jaehyun leaned over me, placing a his hand on the light switch above my head. The room didn’t look any better once it was lit. An eerie yellow-orange glow flooded the space, making everything look more unsettling than before.

“It looks very… homey. Thanks a lot, Jaehyun,” Doyoung said with a polite smile.

The two of them shook hands. I slowly stepped farther inside and sank onto one of the twin beds. The mattress was so soft, I practically disappeared into it. Distantly, I heard Jaehyun explaining where the bathroom was and what time breakfast would be served. I watched in silence as Irene returned with our luggage, humming softly to herself.

I must have zoned out longer than I realized, because the next thing I knew, the door was closed and Doyoung was unpacking our suitcases.

“We shouldn’t be here,” I said quietly, the first words I’d spoken in what felt like forever. The room felt like it was shrinking.

Doyoung didn’t respond. He simply tossed me my pajamas.

“What are you going to tell Mark? We were supposed to be at his house tonight.”

Doyoung let out a long, tired sigh, the kind of sigh that sounded like it carried the weight of the world. I knew I was difficult. I always had been. I required more patience than most people had. If Doyoung hadn’t rescued me from our father, I probably would’ve ended up strung out somewhere, forgotten. I understood why he was tired… tired of looking after me, tired of always being the one holding things together.

Sensing my unease, Doyoung walked over slowly and sat beside me on the bed. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

We didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say. Nothing he could say would ease the tension crawling under my skin.

He rested his chin on my shoulder, and I listened to the rasp in his breathing. It always sounded worse when he was exhausted.

“We’re going to be okay, Y/n. You just need to sleep,” He whispered.

Then he kissed my cheek and returned to his side of the room. We faced away from each other as we got undressed and changed into our pajamas. I reluctantly slipped beneath the blanket and stiff, ice-cold sheets.

I laid there, wide awake, staring at the dirty ceiling. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t even try. For what felt like hours, I just listened to Doyoung’s breathing.

There had been many times in my life when I felt like no one really listened to me. This was one of them. I just wish someone had. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently.

I don’t know what time it was when I finally drifted off, but I must have because Doyoung’s movement is what woke me.

I heard him throw his quilt aside in a hurry. His breathing was ragged. Then came the sound of his suitcase being unzipped, clothes rustling in frantic hands.

“Do?” I whispered into the darkness. “Are you okay?”

No response.

I heard more rustling, more frantic searching. Eventually, he seemed to find what he was looking for… his inhaler and rushed toward the door.

“I’m fine,” He gasped. “Just need some fresh air.”

Light flooded into the room as he stepped into the hallway, quietly closing the door behind him.

He’d had asthma attacks before. I’d seen them many times. Each one left me feeling helpless. There was nothing I could do except watch him fight for air, my heart breaking a little more each time. I wanted to follow him that night. I don’t know why I didn’t.

But I wish I had.

He was gone for twenty minutes before I finally decided to check on him. Usually, it took him a little while to calm down, and I wanted to sit with him to rub his back the way our mother used to when he was younger. It always helped. I wanted to do for him what he’d done for me for years… he always cared. I even wanted to tell him that the Red’s Café wasn’t that bad and that maybe I was overreacting…

But when I opened the door… Doyoung wasn’t there.

My feet were freezing against the cold floor of the hallway. I rubbed my arms as goosebumps formed on my pale skin. Panic was starting to rise in my throat. I glanced across the hall, hoping maybe Doyoung had gone to the bathroom… but it was empty.

There weren’t many places he could have gone.

Quietly, I returned to our room and slipped on a pair of fuzzy slippers. Then I crept down the hallway and hurried down the staircase, each step making the old wood groan beneath me.

The lobby was empty.

I felt the sting in my throat as I choked back a sob. I turned back toward the stairs, tears welling in my eyes.

There’s no worse feeling than being completely alone in a place you don’t know. It’s even worse when the only person who’s ever made you feel safe… isn’t there.

One of the hallway lamps above me flickered. The light buzzed softly as my tears began to fall freely. My mind was spinning with terrifying possibilities. Where could he have gone? What could’ve happened?

I was so caught up in my panic, I didn’t see what I tripped over.

I hit the floor hard, landing face-first on the rough oriental carpet. My cheek burned from the impact as I rolled over, trying to breathe through the shock.

That’s when I saw it.

Lying just outside the door to our room was Doyoung’s inhaler.

My eyes widened in horror.

Doyoung would never leave this behind… not by choice. And he wouldn't drop it by accident, not unless something was very, very wrong.

That was the moment I knew that wherever he had gone… he hadn’t gone willingly.

A sob tore its way from my chest as I curled into a fetal position, trying to stop the overwhelming flood of fear crashing over me. My thoughts were spiraling, loud and chaotic, pounding inside my skull like a war drum.

I reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the inhaler. The plastic felt warm in my palm, as if it had just been used. I stared at it for a long moment before I forced myself to stand.

I had to find my brother.

We needed to get out of here.

I didn’t care if he wanted to stay after I found him- we were leaving. We’d get in the car and drive far away from this nightmare of a place and never look back.

I raced back into our room and snatched the car keys from the bedside table. I didn’t bother packing. I didn’t care about the luggage. Doyoung was all that mattered.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, the wooden steps creaked loudly beneath my feet. I flinched with each sound, as if the house itself were waking up. I reached the door and pushed it open, slipping outside into the chilly night.

The lights were still on inside the diner. A weak comfort.

I ran as fast as I could toward it, barely noticing the gnarled trees looming overhead, their branches like claws reaching out to grab me. I made it to the back door of the diner, prepared to pound on it until my knuckles bled—

But… it opened almost immediately after one push. Right away, I spotted Doyoung’s truck parked just beyond the clear glass windows. It looked so close, yet somehow impossibly far away. I had no idea how much adrenaline was rushing through my veins at that moment, but it took every ounce of willpower I had not to sprint straight to it. The diner was empty… no customers in sight, just me..

Then, behind me, the sharp clang of a metal object hitting the tiled floor froze me in place. I spun around so fast my neck cracked. The kitchen doors stood closed, locked tight when I tried to pry one open- I kicked at it with all my strength, ignoring the dull ache forming in my bruising toes.

I whisper yelled into the hollow space, begging for anyone… anyone— to hear me. It felt like hours had passed, but I was still trapped in that silent nightmare. A wave of nausea suddenly hit me hard.

Then I heard it again… the metal clatter, faint whispers drifting through the air.

I held my breath, straining to listen. Whatever it was, it was close, too close. I craned my neck, desperate to peer inside the kitchen, but the glass windows were now covered by a dark sheet of curtain — something that definitely hadn’t been there before.

My heart pounding, I slipped behind the counter and pressed my ear against the grimy wall.

Silence. Then… soft, dragging footsteps on tiled floors.

I don’t know what made me act next… whether it was adrenaline, fear, or utter hopelessness but I grabbed a fork from beneath a napkin on the counter, my palms slick with sweat.

I knew I wasn’t alone.

With trembling hands, I jabbed the fork against the glass. But nothing happened. I did it again. Nothing. Again, and again. After what felt like an eternity, thin cracks spiderwebbed across the surface. I kept banging until the glass shattered at my feet.

I didn’t flinch.

Pulling back the curtain, I braced myself for what awaited me inside the kitchen. A powerful, sickening smell of burning flesh hit my nose. I started coughing and gagging, struggling to breathe. Smoke filled the room, swirling everywhere. My eyes watered, and I waved my arms trying to clear the air, but it was no use. The awful smell seemed to reach deep inside me, making me want to throw up.

Then, a voice spoke, “Who’s there?”

I recognized it immediately, it was the man who had taken Doyoung to that room a few hours earlier, Jaehyun.

I stayed quiet. I couldn’t see through the thick smoke at first, but gradually it cleared near the broken window. My blurry eyes adjusted to the harsh fluorescent lights.

What I saw next was something I could never have prepared for.

Jaehyun and Irene stood in the middle of the kitchen. On the table between them was a silver device, about the size of a record player.

It was the first time I really took in the room. The walls were splattered with dark red stains that trickled down in thin streams, pooling quietly on the floor. Bloody? Jaehyun held a large knife in his hand, the metal catching the light. Irene stood next to him, holding a wooden spoon covered with something that looked like long, wriggling strands, like oversized worms. I stayed quiet, my eyes then drawn to a pot on the stove, still bubbling gently.

In the corner, I noticed… my brother’s pajamas tossed into a pile.

Some strands of his soft black hair clung to the edge of the pot. I knew it was him, because in the boiling bloody pot the face turned-

My feet felt glued to the floor as the awful smell overwhelmed me. My eyes stung, and my throat felt tight… I couldn’t even cry out. Jaehyun lunged toward me, but I was quicker, and he stumbled forward, falling hard on his front face into a puddle of… Doyoung's blood.

Irene grabbed the cleaver and hurled it toward the door just as I shoved it open and dashed out. I dashed for the unlocked door! I threw myself into the truck, fumbling with the keys until they finally slid into the ignition. I saw Irene running after me, but I hit the gas and sped away. I wasn’t an experienced driver, but finding help was all that mattered.

Tears blurred my vision as the agonizing screams echoed behind me. Panic took over, and I felt myself unraveling while racing through the Neo City woods. I howled in despair, sometimes even throwing up what little I had left in my stomach. The awful smell clung to me, and the walls of the car seemed to close in. I’m sure I nearly swerved off the road several times, but I didn’t care.

They killed Doyoung. They had killed my brother and chopped him up and cooked him.

I banged my head against the steering wheel as the horn blared into the quiet night. Warm blood trickled down the side of my face, soaking into my hair. My vision began to fade, growing dark at the edges. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been driving before I spotted a car pulled over on the side of the road. A man was crouched down, checking one of his front tires. I slammed on the brakes, jumped out of the truck, and closed the door behind me. A bit of vomit stuck to the corners of my mouth.

Dried blood stained my face, tears still streaming down like a waterfall. He was an older man, his face lined with wrinkles and streaks of gray running through his dark hair. I must have startled him because he took a cautious step back, eyes wide with worry.

“You need to help me!” I cried out weakly breathing. “They killed my brother- they killed him and they- they killed him-”

I remember collapsing to my knees, howling in pain. The man tried to help me up, but I struggled, thrashing in his arms. Through my fit, I could faintly hear his panicked voice, trying to get me to respond. “Who?” He shouted over my own loud sobs. “Who killed your brother?” He asked. I shook my head quickly, struggling to catch my breath. The wind rushed past my ears as I tried to speak. The last thing I could make out were his eyes, shining in the darkness, as I managed to whisper the name of the diner through the pain. Then I collapsed onto the asphalt, and everything went black.

..

They later told me I had been unconscious for about three weeks, a coma unlike anything the doctors had ever seen. When I finally woke up, I screamed. I was screaming for Doyoung, for someone to help him, for someone to believe me.

..

To this day, no one talks about it. The little I heard, the more unbelievable everything seemed. Red’s Café & Family Restaurant was torn down in the late 2000’s, long before my brother and I ever arrived that summer night. Apparently the seemingly friendly owners trapped their victims in the motel and devoured them, bones and all. The place was shut down, barricaded, and burned to the ground. Jaehyun and Irene were sentenced to death in 2002, decades before Doyoung and I pulled up to that cursed place.

I later found out they had murdered over twenty travelers who crossed their path, including… motorcycle gangs, groups of teenagers, even a woman and her young daughter. I was only 17 then, Doyoung 27. I’m almost certain the police thought I was on drugs. I was a mess—broken, terrified. They kept telling me that Red’s Café & Family Restaurant didn’t even exist anymore.

When the man who found me finally took me to the police, I was in hysterics. I screamed at them, begging them to believe me— that those monsters had killed my brother. I don’t know how they couldn’t see it in my eyes. But all they saw was madness. They saw a scared, broken girl.

I was handcuffed and shoved into the back of a patrol car. They drove me back to the spot where Doyoung and I had turned, where the restaurant had stood just hours before. But it was gone just an empty lot. No sign. No motel. Nothing to show that anyone had ever been there.

It was like the nightmare had swallowed everything whole. And I was left alone with the memory and the loss that no one wanted to believe. Even the car that we drove- that I drove when escaping the place wasn’t there…

I tried to explain. I cried for what felt like forever. I had slept in that bed at the motel. I was trying to let them know that I slept there with my brother… and that it was real. I had sat in that final red booth where my brother and I had talked to the Jung’s as they served us. I had seen the people at the tables, smelled the food- I had been there. Yet no one believed me.

The cops had the nerve to accuse me of murdering Doyoung. What’s worse… They never found his body. His final resting place had vanished into thin air. My case was thrown out for lack of evidence.

But the years of pain never stopped.

The judge was convinced I was a danger— that I needed to be locked away. So they threw me in here. This is where I’ve been ever since the summer of 2027.

I’m a grown woman now, writing this story down as a desperate cry for help hoping that someone, somewhere, will finally believe me. “I am not insane.” I tell my psychiatrist everyday. There’s no way I could have made any of this up.

I felt it.

I lived it.

This isn’t all in my head.

But that’s what the doctors and psychiatrists have been telling me for years. Trying to convince me that it’s all just a product of my mind. Sometimes, I even wondered if maybe I had imagined it all. The medication they pump into me has turned my brain to mush.

But deep down, I know the truth. I didn’t imagine any of it.

I still have Doyoung’s inhaler. I hold it every day, never letting go. It’s the only thing I have left to remind me that my brother was real. It’s the only piece of proof I hold onto now… the one thing they can never take away from me.

As younger siblings often do, I absolutely adored my big brother, Doyoung. He will always be my big brother, and I will always be his little Y/n. But I don’t know where he is… and that’s probably what haunts me the most. Any trace, any evidence that could have brought his killers to justice, just disappeared without a trace.

I pray every day to the Lord that wherever he is now, he’s happy. Because to me, he was my savior—my protector who rescued me, cared for me, and never let anyone hurt me. Not a single day passes when I don’t think about his goofy grin, his bright eyes, and his big, loving heart.

I only wish I could have done more for him.

You won’t find anything about Red’s Café & Family Restaurant, or Kim Doyoung anywhere online. It’s as if our tragedy was meant to be forgotten… and only remembered by me…

No one like Mark even existed… And I’m feeling so… insane. How could I have imagined it all? No way. There’s no way I managed a life I never lived… I remember it all. The frozen chicken, the phone call, the drive… How could I have dreamt it all… No…

I know I’m not mad.

There is a road in the middle of Neo Tech Valley- if you take the right turn… at just the right spot… you might catch a ghostly glimpse of a diner…

Full of life and laughter even after 23h30…

Don’t go inside.

Just keep driving and don’t look back.

Apparently, it’s not real…

But if you happen to see it…

And through the window you see… a boy at the window, with mousy black hair, kind eyes, and that gentle smile…

Just could you… wave at him for me. And shout out into the night that his Y/n loves him and misses him so much.

… Tell him she’s sorry she couldn’t do more.

[mimzy6bunny]

Silly dogman comic

versão em português

[elekilokal]

My Fragaria redesigns

[indelicateink]

i love you armand i love you armand but

SIR

armand, 500yo vampire who's seen some shit and does what he wants during his interview: "okay so fuck memory is a monster. history is written by the victor"

me watching this as a longtime book reader, screaming crying laughing throwing up high-fiving the audacity

[elrondsscribe]

Imma just say Claudia 🤝 me: SPELLBOUND

[kvroii]

Poisoned Memories, Chapter 18 - Aven has a surprise for her dinner guests.

[drawotion]

This is Remu, our sweet pup who was put to sleep today, 8th of April 2024... The procedure went smoothly, he almost got to the age of full 11 years. This summer it would have been his 11th birthday.

In memory of him, let me tell you about how our little rascal was like. This is going to be a long post so buckle up. I'll put more pics in at the end.

He was a rescue dog, he came to me and my mom through my oldest big brother around year 2018. He was around 5 years old back then and he was born during summer, what I heard from my brother is that the pup was super skinny when he first got Remu.

Remu was an absolute lap dog, he loved being on our laps and in our holds. Loved sleeping next to us. ((He was like little heater! Very warm hahahh)) Sometimes when we would do stuff around the house he had to be with us on the thing!

For example if I was sitting on the floor and moving plants to new pots or I was cleaning my pet bugs little habitats, it was guaranteed he would be on my lap. And he would always be listening what we're doing.

Oh he was one stubborn and clever fella, there is a reason why I call him a rascal! Of course in the most loving way possible. He was like a big dog in small dog's body. His barks were LOUD.

He wasn't that trusting at first and god forbid if you touched his paws and tried to bath him, or even reached out to him in certain way! Face was off limits. So it was heartwarming how over time he came to trust me. So much so I could do almost anything with him, it got to the point where he let me even rub my finger between his eyes and wipe his cute little snoot if there was something.

Oh any visitor would still get bunch of barks and growls! Never biting tho, but he would let you know that hey, this is his turf! His home! Would even start barking even if he heard my younger old brother through phone. (He still got onto brother's lap and all, pfft) It was kind of silly to see how little mohawk would rise on his back.

Like a true summer dog, he loved basking under the warm & hot sun. I think his belly even got tanned because of this. (Oh Remu, you silly.)

And goodness did he love to run when able to during our walks.

Gosh, let me tell you, whenever he would greet another dog his ears got so high up it looked like he had bunny ears! Adorable.

And his adorable little hop running when inside... It's a shame I never got it on video, but it was silly fun and cute thing he did.

Oh he would do this thing though where he would whine and paw at bed/floor as if he wouldn't be able to get off our beds! (mattresses on the floor btw.) He was fully capable of getting off and all, he just decided to turn dramatic if we were observing him.

Another dramatic thing he did was flip over a bowl when asking for food. Even start rolling up the blanket on his own bed and oh, so vocal. He was a vocal pup.

He never seemed that interested in toys, only playing with them when we prompted him and played with him with them. Eventually his favorite type of play would turn out to be chasing hand under the blanket and and also digging at our blankets while I scratch his head.

Hahh, he sometimes would playfully try to get at our feet, mostly during feeding time. Such a silly pupper.

All in all, he was a lovable silly rascal and one heck of a cuddly dog.

I'll forever miss him, and I am happy he was in our lives, even if I was hesitant to take him in at first. I am so thankful I was able to be there with him and for him on his last moments, when I wasn't able to for our previous pet so many years ago.

Now... May you run a lot, buddy. Run lots and lots… To your heart's content. Get all the treats you so love, till your belly is full.

I love you, Remu.

[qstarhalo]

AND SOARING???? OHHHHHHH...............

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Wenren Dian: Soaring Plumes

Designer's Reflection: Soaring Plumes

Obtained: Melodies of the North (Dunhuang) event

Rarity: UR

Attribute: Gold/Elegant

Awakened Suit: Soaring Moonlight

Story - transcripts from Designer's Reflection

Chapter 1 - Desert Miracles

Chapter 2 - Like Flowing Water

Chapter 3 - Pearl of the Night

Chapter 4 - Fixing the Painting

Chapter 5 - Dream of Fallen Gods

Story - summarized

Wenren Dian can't remember anything except a godly face. That person must know who he's supposed to be. He follows the presence of the Ocean of Memories into the desert - the source of the Ocean's power is a mural of a goddess, in the process of restoration.

The painters working on the mural think Wenren Dian is a master painter who's come to help them. He gives good advice and helps them improve the painting. These people live in nearby Lor River City, and they worship the goddess in the mural to protect them - except, Wenren can sense the Ocean's power fading. The goddess isn't here right now.

Naturally, the painters are offended when he tells them, and they bring him to their queen to face punishment. But Queen Joyeux seems more interested in Wenren than in doing her job, so she instead invites him to a party tonight. He prefers solitude, but Queen Joyeux gets upset until he joins.

Everything seems fine when he joins the queen to play music, her on the pipa, him on the guqin, and everyone at the party is entranced by their playing - only afterward does Wenren Dian learn that playing the guqin in Lor River is proposing to someone. Queen Joyeux gets upset again, and she commands him to work on the mural as a minister, forbidden from entering the city until the work is done.

He truly doesn't mind, as this is just perfect for him. As he studies his books and restores the painting, he finally understands: even if the goddess isn't here anymore, the will and creativity of the people make this place special. One night, he dreams of the godly face from his memories. He talks with Them about civilization in Miraland, and then he watches Them die in the War of the Gods.

He wakes up with a new purpose: to protect humans and their civilizations.

Connections

-The godly face Wenren Dian remembers is you, the God of Styling and Beauty. You learn your fate in your past life in Leonid's story in Prophecy.

-Lor River City has been a location in the Nikki games since Love Nikki, where you can travel there for a week, meet old friends, and collect stickers.

-In the lore for the Unicorn/Nightmare event (that wraps up Vol. 2), each Envoy is connected to a different kind of beauty. As the Envoy of Elegance, Wenren Dian prefers the beauty of history, civilization, and heritage. He remembers his "purpose" as an Envoy in this Reflection.

-This isn't the first time the Ocean of Memories' power has destroyed a place. It destroyed the town of Banyan in Yexiao's Reflection for Spring Forest.

Fun Facts

-Wenren Dian is the first Envoy to get a UR suit.

-Lor River City is a matriarchy, where women have power and men are shamed.

-Despite Wenren Dian rejecting her (albeit politely) every time she asks about marriage, Queen Joyeux finally lets him go at the end of the Dunhuang event... but she makes it so she's dumping him to save her pride.

[coldmilkchoices]

nobody ever talks about how strange it is to be taller than your childhood christmas tree

[gaza-giving-tree]

Imagine this:

You once had a warm, safe home filled with love and comfort. Your children laughed and played with their favorite toys, cuddled in their cozy beds, and wore clothes that kept them warm through the seasons. But now, all of it—your home, your children’s comfort, and your family’s security—has been reduced to nothing but memories.

Images: Images of Rana's home in Gaza, before and after the attacks.

@ranafam2

Story written by @visionsofaselfmademan

For Rana Abdul-Jawad, a wife and mother of four from Gaza, this is her heartbreaking reality. Her beautiful home, once a haven of joy, was destroyed, leaving her and her children in a torn and worn-out tent. They now face the unrelenting cold of winter with no warm clothes, no covers, and no reprieve. Her children shiver through each moment, vulnerable to illness from the freezing temperatures, and struggle to survive the harsh conditions.

Recently, the winter rain storms have flooded their fragile tent, soaking everything inside. Rana has spent entire nights desperately trying to stabilize it against the wind and rain, fearing it might collapse entirely. Despite her efforts, the tent cannot properly shield her family from the bitter cold or the relentless rain.

Image: Rana's tent, flooded with rain and barely holding up under the heavy winter rain storms.

Rana’s family needs your help. The soaring prices caused by war have made basic necessities like clothes and blankets unaffordable.

Rana’s plea is simple yet profound: “Please, save my children.”

Images: Rana's beloved children.

Your donation, no matter how small, can bring warmth, comfort, and hope to this family. It can mean the difference between enduring the cold and finding safety and security in these desperate times. Let’s stand together to help Rana’s children find warmth and peace again.

You can donate to Rana's GoFundMe [HERE].

This campaign has been vetted by association [LINK].

[cherrygarcia-07]

Uniform // Spencer Reid❤️

You buy Spencer a new t-shirt and he is over the moon to be so publicly yours (despite some teasing from his friends).

pairing: spencer x girlfriend! reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.6k

notes: nothing really! cursing once. I really like this one, just a lot of lovey dovey spencer and a lot of derek and penelope being everyones favourite chaotic duo bullying their baby brother 😚

masterlist

——————————————————————————❤️——————————————————————————

“How do you feel about Star Wars tonight?” Spencer asked as he shuffled over to where you were curled up on the couch of your shared apartment, a bowl of popcorn in one hand.

“I hear you.” You began, lifting one side of the blanket up so he could slide in beside you.

“But?” Spencer raised a brow at you, suppressing the ‘I know what’s coming’ smirk pulling at his lips as you rested your weight against him.

“Hear me out.”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice.” He muttered, tossing more popcorn in his mouth.

“Pitch Perfect.” You grinned, giving him your best puppy dog eyes in plea.

Spencer hummed as he nodded as if to say I knew it, tilting his head to look at you while trying his best to hide the adoration all over his face. “Correct me if I’m wrong- and I’m not-“ you rolled your eyes, “but I believe you’ve made me watch Pitch Perfect 6 times over the past 2 months already.”

“Go for lucky 7?” you urged, putting on your best sweet voice as you rested your chin on his shoulder, gazing up at him through batting lashes. “If you don’t say yes then you’re a great big liar.” You grumbled, pointing a finger at the print on his t-shirt.

His brows furrowed in that adorable way you loved as he glanced down at his shirt. He let out an exasperated chuckle as he realised what you were referring to. In large white & red lettering read the words I ❤️ MY GIRLFRIEND , bold and clear across his chest.

You’d gotten it for him on Valentine’s day. You always joked that he wore his heart on his sleeve, and despite him usually being a relatively private person he never shied away from bragging about you any opportunity he got (in fact he invented the opportunity himself more times than not just to give your name an excuse to leave his lips). You figured why not wear his heart on his chest too? He’d blushed when he saw it, a dopey smile on his face as he read it. He’d made you laugh, loud and heartily, with the way he immediately abandoned the shirt he was wearing, fingers fumbling with his buttons as a lovesick haze clouded his brain. Before you could even blink he was donning his new attire, a goofy but proud look in his eyes and your heart soared at the sight.

“I hardly think one’s willingness to watch Pitch Perfect every week is an accurate measurement of one’s love.” He smirked, pulling your legs into his lap, rubbing your calf with a gentleness that contradicted the sarcasm dripping from his words. “Especially if we’re basing it on a t-shirt.”

With a playful huff, you tried to pull your legs back in protest, only to end up tighter in his grasp as he pulled you in closer and you found yourself unable to hold back the giggle bubbling in your throat. His free arm wrapped around you and he laughed back as his hand guided your head to his shoulder with a loving touch.

“I’m kidding. You know we can watch whatever you want to anytime, sweetheart.” He spoke with a softness that would put the clouds to shame. He turned his head slightly to press a light kiss to your forehead before adding, “even if I could recite the script to you in my sleep by now.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” you retorted. “You could do that with literally any movie, mr eidetic memory.” Smiling to yourself, you raised a finger to his shirt and lazily traced the red heart on his chest, revelling in the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through you over your boyfriend’s selfless eagerness to make you happy.

The bickering went on for just a little while longer before you finally began the movie, fitted against one another on the couch like pieces of a puzzle. It was about 45 minutes into the movie and you were both beginning to grow a little drowsy when there was a sudden knock at the door. With a groan, you pulled your head from where it still rested on Spencer’s shoulder and began to rise to your feet.

“No, no, I got it.” Spencer muttered beside you, gently pushing you back to the cushions and quickly tucking you back underneath the blanket before padding towards the door with a yawn. He ran a hand through his hair as he swung the door open, confused to see Derek standing on the other side, a book in one hand and his phone in the other.

“What are you doing here?” Spencer grumbled as he checked the time on his watch.

“It’s nice to see you too.” Derek retorted with a raised brow. “You left this on your desk, genius.” He held out the huge brick of a book he’d been holding, waving it in front of Spencer’s face as he waited for him to take it.

“Oh, thanks.” Spencer took the book, placing it rather haphazardly on the small table by the door. “I didn’t even realise I’d forgotten it.”

“Too eager to get home to your girl, huh?” Derek teased as he glanced across the room at you half asleep on the couch. He moved to focus back on Spencer and his gaze dropped as he took in his slightly crumpled clothes, a smirk pulling at his lips as he read the print on the t shirt. Instantly amused, Derek laughed and rubbed his hands together with a mischievous shine in his eyes. “Now, what the hell are you wearing, loverboy?”

A blush immediately crept up Spencer’s neck and to his cheeks as he remembered what the hell he was wearing, the heat of embarrassment pricking at his skin as he hastily crossed his arms in front of his chest in a too-late attempt to conceal it.

“It-“ A loud exhale left his nostrils as he dragged his hands down his face. “It’s nothing. It’s my pyjamas. Why are you still here?” He cringed at the way his voice rose an octave higher, cracking like a teenage boy’s. His arms hung rigid in the air for a moment, unsure whether to return to his face or his side before resorting to crossing in front of his shirt again.

“Nah, come on- don’t do that. Let me see, pretty boy.” Derek grinned, reaching for Spencer’s wrists before being firmly swatted away. “I heart my girlfriend, huh? Does she have a matching one?”

“Did you come all this way just to bully me in my own apartment?”

“Hey I’m not bullying.” Derek raised his hands, his voice adopted a teasing tone as he continued. “In fact I think it’s adorable. Very cute, Romeo.”

Spencer groaned, hand gripping the door in preparation to shut it in his face.

“Thank you for bringing me my book.” He began, deadpan as he slowly began closing the door. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Derek jammed his foot in the door, still beaming like the Cheshire Cat. “You didn’t answer my question, Reid.”

“What question?” He sighed for what felt like the 50th time during this whole conversation as he lightly kicked the shoe out of the door’s way. It was a miracle he even had any breath left in him.

“Does she have a matching one?”

“Yes.” Spencer surrendered, punctuating his sentence with a hard slam of the door, ignoring the laughter echoing down the hallway on the other side.

A few moments later you felt the couch dip next to you, stirring you awake after you had nodded off while Spencer was at the door. Blurry vision barely made out the movie you’d begged for still playing on the TV, though it had long since been forgotten in the hypnotic presence of your boyfriend. Your vision began to clear as you awoke a little more and you turned to see him beside you, watching the way you gazed up at him through heavy eyelids.

“Who was that?” You mumbled as he pulled you back into his lap.

“My test from God.” He replied, caressing your legs over the blanket as if to soothe himself more than you.

“Derek?” You asked and he hummed his response, nodding.

The rest of the night the two of you remained curled up against one another, blanket intertwining you as you both fell in and out of sleep on the couch, staying there long after the movie had ended- neither one of you having the energy to break out of eachother’s grasp. Eventually, under some mostly-asleep zombified state neither of you would recall in the morning, you made your way to your bed and flopped down onto the soft mattress, bodies absentmindedly finding eachother again instantly and you fell asleep for good wrapped up in his arms.

-

Spencer walked into the bullpen, sipping the sugary coffee you’d made him before he left from the thermal mug in his hand and nodding his good mornings to the team. He plopped himself down in his chair, stretching for a second before unpacking his bag onto his desk. He didn’t get far into his work before his bubble of peace was abruptly burst, a familiarly grating voice materialising behind him.

“Hey, lover.” Drawled Derek’s voice. Spencer’s eyes squeezed shut like an automatic response, a dramatic sigh leaving him as he pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed internally.

“Are we really still doing this?” He tried to keep his voice low and even as if he didn’t care but the slight squeak in his words betrayed him.

“Depends.” Derek leaned over his desk, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Do you still heart your girlfriend?”

Spencer stayed silent. Both in protest to his friend’s teasing and in silent agreement that despite his reluctance to the conversation, he very much does still heart his girlfriend.

“How come you’re not in uniform today?” Derek continued, gesturing to his usual cardigan and subtly patterned button up combo.

Sipping his coffee in a feigned display of nonchalance, he responded “that would hardly be professional workplace attire.”

“Maybe we should get you a mug. Can’t let anyone walk around here not knowing how much you love your girl, huh?”

Spencer rolled his eyes at the way Derek shook his shoulder as he laughed, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t genuinely considering it. He was somebody who lived to share his knowledge, always jumping at the chance to ramble about whatever topic presented itself, barely stopping to breathe as his words spilled into one another as his mind moved faster than his mouth could keep up. He could lecture about anything between the vastness of space and the tiny specks of dirt in the ground, an endless supply of topics floating around in that library of a brain but his favourite one to talk about was undoubtedly and unabashedly you. Something that lived on his desk as a constant invitation to talk about you? Well quite frankly, that seemed like a dream.

“Oh, leave him alone.” A new bubbly voice accompanied by the clacking of heels broke him out of his thoughts and he turned his head to see Penelope strut into the room. “It’s not embarrassing to be in love.”

“How do you-“ Spencer began, eyes darting between the two of them with an accusatory look. “You told Garcia?”

“You’re the profiler, honey.” Penelope chirped, tapping him on the nose with the fuzzy topper of her neon pink pen. “Should’ve seen that coming.”

He leaned back in his chair, utterly defeated as he let the teasing continue. He felt like a ping pong ball being batted between the two of them as they carried on for what felt like hours, only stopping when Hotch left his office to remind them that they do in fact have jobs to be getting to, although even he had the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he dispersed them.

Spencer breathed a sigh of relief, pulling his chair closer into his desk to get started as the sound of Penelope’s heels faded further away behind him- until they suddenly stopped.

“Oh- and hey, Reid!” She called. He turned to face her, brows furrowing as he watched her raise her phone in the air. “Thanks for the new lockscreen!”

Spencer’s eyes widened in what felt like slow motion as he realised what he was looking at. A slightly blurry, slightly off centre photo of him half awake in his doorway sleepily modelling the t-shirt. At a speed that risked whiplash, he spun to face Derek who was already brandishing the biggest shit-eating grin Spencer had ever seen on him- which was saying a lot. He’d been so focused on getting back to you he hadn’t even registered the phone in his friend’s hand when he answered the door.

“I’m sorry man. I’m sorry.” Derek raised his hands in surrender, though it didn’t take a profiler to see he was in fact quite proud of his work.

Spencer groaned and dragged his hands down his face again. It was going to be a long day.

-

Coming home felt like stepping through the door into dreamland, the harsh floor of the hallway outside melting into soft cotton beneath Spencer’s feet as he walked into your shared space. The weight of the day crumbled instantly as he heard your voice ring through the apartment. You were singing to yourself from the bedroom, the sound like a rope that lassoed him and pulled him to you without a second thought. He pushed open the door, body slumping in relaxation as you turned to face him with a smile.

“Spence!” You sang, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him fall into you as he buried his face in your neck. “How was work?”

“Long.” His voice was muffled against your skin. “Missed you.”

You ran your fingers through the curls at the back of his head as you chuckled at his broken sentences. For a genius who seemingly had an inability to stop talking, he sure had a limited vocabulary when it came to your affection. Even the lightest touch from you was enough to render him speechless, IQ slashed catastrophically as his brain melted from the heat of your fingertips against his scalp.

“I missed you too.” You pressed a kiss to the top of his head and you could’ve sworn you heard him purr.

He pulled away slightly, aching to see your face and if his brain was faltering before it had stopped working all together now. He froze as he glanced down at your clothes, gentle hands finding their way to your waist. A black t-shirt with the words I ❤️ MY BOYFRIEND across your chest.

“I, um. I like your shirt.” He stammered eventually, voice thick with affection.

“Spence, you’ve seen it a thousand times.” You giggled, dropping your hands to rest on his shoulders. “You gave it to me, actually.”

It only seemed right, he’d thought, that you have a matching set.

“Have you been wearing that all day?” He asked, and his heart fluttered when you nodded. Spencer laughed lovingly as he pictured you walking around the grocery store, or the post office, or wherever you had been today with those words openly declared to the world. Suddenly, the whole day of teasing was forgotten, discarded like it never happened and he found himself itching to get changed.

You frowned slightly as he pulled away from you, though it was quickly replaced by an equally confused and thoroughly entertained smile as you watched him scramble to pull off his cardigan, fingers struggling with the buttons of his shirt in his excitement.

“What the hell are you doing?” You laughed, watching him grab his matching shirt from the closet.

“Well, as Morgan pointed out.” Spencer began, pulling it over his head and smoothing out the print so there was no doubt about what it said. “I wasn’t in my uniform.”

-

[tiramissyoucake]

hi, I have a viltrumite mark request! do the gifts that he gives reader vary or to him they’re all the same? like if he’s really trying to impress her and get her on board with producing heirs, is he trying to get her the most valuable gifts he could salvage after his conquest or would he not know the value of the things he’d taken? idk if this makes sense but i love your writings about him :)

Tysm!! And IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE. He regrets destroying earth too thoroughly, there's nothing to salvage to give to you, even if there was there's a chance you'd just become more upset at the memory of what once was.

A shiny gem or two from a desecrated eco-system, pretty robes that survived fires that swallowed whole towns, anything he deemed too beautiful to be destroyed would be taken back, just like how he did with you when he saved you from the sinking ship that was earth

Though this gives me a blurb idea for a Stockholm syndrome type thing *rubbing hands together mischievously*

.

The doors to the bedrooms creaked open, your hands pausing from toying with a gem he brought back from a planet. (One that reflects everything it shows, you saw a glimpse of his smile as he picked it up, a fire, bloodshed, beautiful but daunting.)

"I'm home, love." He announced immediately upon seeing you, setting aside some sort of satchel and walking to you, throwing away the extravagant cape and cupping your cheek to give you a brief kiss, a happy noise vibrating from his lips briefly before he parted. "I have something for you."

'Oh, joy.' You mentally rolled your eyes, glancing up from where you were sitting. "Don't you think I have enough...?" You gestured to a full closet, a vanity littered with jewels you didn't even know existed.

"No, you'll want this, trust me." He took the satchel from where it was tossed, kneeling infront of you and opening it up. "I returned to whatever remained from Earth, and... you'll be happy to know that I missed a few spots."

Mark smiled as he brought out a few rectangular shapes; the familiar scent of paper albeit yellowed, the appearance of worn edges and cracked spines. Books. Actual books. By human authors.

Your expression lit up with.. something, he couldn't discern it as he put the books down in your hands as you shuffled through them, blinking rapidly as if this was a dream.

Familiar titles you've seen in bookshops returned to you, 3 parts from 'Before the Coffee Gets Cold', 'Pride & Prejudice', 'Dracula', collections of short stories, compendiums, you saw more small books between thicker ones.

You thought you'd be angry, yet you felt strangely happy to finally feel something you were familiar with.

"Do you like it?" His smile was so big it almost hurt his cheeks, your expression gave him hope. "Alien books aren't in a scripture you can read, a-and I know there isn't much to do around here when I'm gone..."

"It's perfect." It was so small, it was almost miniscule, you're supposed to be crying, angry to be reminded of your destroyed home. "I.. I'm really happy about this, this may be the best gift you've ever given me."

This was the most Mark has ever gotten from you, the most gratitude that felt genuine. "Books, hah..! Okay! Books, I'll get you more books! Earth books! I'll scour the entire galaxy for any remains of Earthen artifacts!" He monologued excitedly, his heart soaring as you set the books down and looked up at him.

"You look beautiful when overjoyed, I should've done this– mmf!" For once, you initiated contact yourself. Lips pressing against his, Mark melted into a moan as his arms looped around you, leaning up to take more from you.

"Thank you— I don't know how to explain but... thank you—" He shushed you, kissing the corner of your lips, your cheek, your forehead.

"I understand, there's nothing like... home." He begrudgingly called that failing planet your home, as opposed to Viltrum's accommodations. "You know... maybe you could read some of these to our children, in the future."

Your vulnerability was what he was waiting for, a chance to strike to bring up the conversation again. "You're kidding, I don't know if kids can read these..." You were too caught up in the worn cut-up corners of the book to use your usual mind-games, sighing. "... Mark, thank you."

You didn't notice the suspicious smile, the lidded dark gaze that appeared on his face as he stood up while you decided on which book to read. "You're welcome. You're always welcome, love."

[itoshiexx]

when you call them "husband" - part 2

how the blue lock boyfriends react when you call them "husband" - part 2

pairings: itoshi rin, michael kaiser, mikage reo x fem!reader (no descriptions tho, just the words "wife" on rin's part) (separate) | warnings: established relationship, fluff, lovesick boys

notes: I'M ALIVE! i cant believe how long it's been since i had time/energy/creativity to write something, ohmy goddddddd. i'm so sorry for all the time it took to post this, but i wanna ty all so much for all the love on part 1 and all the requests for part 2! hopefully this will meet your expectations ♥ as always, i went a lil' overboard with rin's part. enjoy!

part 1 / masterlist

ITOSHI RIN

rin was not a fan of social media. it was clear with the way his instagram only had 8 pictures despite being years since his career started, and even more so by the fact he had no other social media besides that. if he wasn’t so famous, people would say itoshi rin was a ghost or some artificial intelligence invention. 

it was one of the reasons people were very shocked when he started dating you, an influencer with millions of followers on every platform. rin was a private person, and you… well, you shared your life on the internet for everyone to see. to say you were polar opposites was an understatement.

however, you never forced your boyfriend to appear in any of your socials, only recording things for your own fun and memories and posting only what he allowed. rin was glad for that. he didn’t mind doing dumb things with you to see you smile, as long as the rest of the world couldn’t see how whipped he was for you.

also, you were kind of glad the professional athlete was so unaware of social media, because it meant you could do a lot of tiktok trends without the risk of him already knowing what was coming — which made everything more satisfying. 

and the trend you chose that day was especially good.

“hey everyone, it’s y/n here!” you chirped, waving your hands in front of your phone. however, you were actually recording rin, who was at the other side waiting for your sign to appear on the screen.

you continued speaking. “today i have a very special guest, who i’m sure you’re all very familiar with.” you gave the camera a little cheeky wink, and your boyfriend rolled his eyes with all your theatrics. “please welcome itoshi rin, my handsome husband!”

rin gave a step forward to start his way to you, but suddenly, his whole body froze, brows furrowing in what you could only call utmost confusion. silence took over the room for what felt like an eternity, and you had to suppress your laugh seeing the imaginary ‘loading’ wheel on his head.

rin.exe stopped working.

“baby?” you decided to intervene, honestly a little scared of how immobile rin was.

“you— i’m— did you just— did we—”

you could no longer hold your laughter, and rin’s favorite melody echoing through the walls of your shared apartment was probably what snapped him out of his trance. he immediately scowled and crossed his arms, cheeks burning red from his pathetic stutter.

“i am never doing these dumb videos with you again.”

“no, no, i’m sorry!” your giggles kept going, and you approached your pouty boyfriend, squishing his cheeks between your hands. the smooch you gave him was almost enough to make him melt. almost. rin still had some self respect.

he also didn’t want to admit how abnormally fast his stone heart was beating with the mere thought of being referred to as your husband — and, even better, referring to you as his wife. 

fuck. that certainly did make him feel lots of things. those stupid butterflies that were born the minute you met were roaming freely in his stomach, soaring with all the love he had harbored just for you. 

“i’m sorry, baby,” you said again, smiling like you swallowed the sun and all things good in this world. you might as well have. how else could rin explain the way you were his everything? “it was a prank i saw on tiktok.”

he arched his eyebrow, arms uncrossing to put his hands on your waist. “oh? so you don’t want me to be your husband?”

the itoshi was satisfied to see you flushing this time. “i— w-well, you see…”

and then you started rambling, just like you did every time something made you nervous. and rin could only look at you as if nothing else was worth looking at, because really, to him, it wasn’t. 

…well, maybe the sight of you walking down the aisle would get the cake. he might have to find out soon. 

MICHAEL KAISER

once you started dating bastard munchen’s star, michael kaiser, it was natural to have his world collide with yours. everything from football to blue hair dye to weird sleeping habits became a part of you as well, and you nourished every expanse of your world his presence alone was able to give.

your favorite part, besides learning all of him — his little habits, quirks and love languages that seemed to be crafted solely for you — was definitely immersing yourself in his culture. germany always seemed distant and quite detached from your life, and you loved to learn new things from different perspectives. 

food, traditions, language… michael loved teaching you things, giddy and secretly grateful for your excitement. it was his sparkly eyes that prompted you to learn a few things by yourself to surprise him and make him happy. 

the tiktok trend was just a nice coincidence. 

you phone was hidden on the kitchen balcony, camera recording and waiting for the moment your boyfriend would arrive in your shared apartment. luckily, kaiser was very punctual, and you didn’t have to wait much longer.

“liebling, i’m home!” you heard him scream from the front door, and you giggled to yourself, pretending to be busy chopping vegetables for dinner. 

you waited for his footsteps to near where you were, and, as soon as you felt he entered the camera frame, you answered:

“welcome home, ehemann!”

you didn’t have to turn around to see the way kaiser completely froze; arms stopping just before reaching your waist as if your figure was an illusion created by his tired mind. you fought hard to suppress your grin.

“what… did you say…?” his voice was low and uncertain, but there was no annoyance in it; just pure confusion. 

turning your head around to finally look at him, you were pleased to find your mikka with rosy cheeks and a bashful expression, so extremely unusual for a guy like him you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter on your chest. 

you gave him your best innocent look. “huh? isn’t that how you say boyfriend?”

“i-it’s husband, liebe. you called me husband,” his tone was still incredulous, and this time, you couldn’t keep your smile off your face. 

“oh, did i?”

your countenance seemed to finally snap him out of his trance, and michael’s eyebrows shot up, scoffing slightly — albeit still endearingly. his arms circled your waist and he pressed a kiss on the side of your neck. 

“how mean of you, baby. playing with my heart like that.” he trailed more kisses on your neck and jaw, making you squirm. “you tryin’ to kill me or something?”

you giggled again, both from the ticklish kisses he was giving you and the huge amount of love you had harbored just for him. “of course not, baby. i need you alive to make you my husband,” you jested.

“oh, yeah? you wanna make me your husband?”

“yes.” you shifted, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. kaiser hugged you a little tighter, feeling something fuzzy inside his chest. “is that a problem?”

“never,” he answered immediately. because it was true.

boyfriend, fiancé, partner, husband… michael didn’t mind what title would be bestowed to him — as long as he could keep being yours.

MIKAGE REO

being the heir of one of the biggest corporations of the country and a professional football player made your boyfriend’s schedule pretty busy. therefore, thursdays like these, where you and him could have a nice walk around the park under the warm sunlight, hand in hand, were extremely rare — hence why they were so appreciated.

reo knew how much his frenetic agenda was a hard toll on your relationship, affecting both of you with distance, longing and short periods of time together. and, well, everyone knew how much of a goner he was for you, so it wasn’t surprising to see him give in whatever spare time he had in his hands — even going as far as making such time exist if there wasn’t any — to be with you for as long as he possibly could.

how could he deny your pretty little eyes pleading to have a stroll in the park with him ‘just for a few minutes?’

god, you were so selfless. he wanted to give you all of his minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years. and for all that’s worth, reo would never deny you of such a thing — he’d rather shoot himself than make you think you weren’t loved with every fiber of his being.

the weather was nice; a gentle breeze kissing both of your faces and making everything more pleasant. you were both chatting and appreciating the calm environment when you spotted an old lady a few feet ahead, selling different colored roses for the passersby. a smile was etched onto your lips, and you impulsively let go of reo’s hand to run towards her. 

“why hello, dear. would you like to buy a rose?”

your boyfriend watched you beam to the lady and slowly approached you, though still keeping his distance and trying hard not to intervene and buy all the roses for you. 

“yes, please! a red one would be perfect.”

“oh, who will you give it to?” asked the woman, already taking one flower from the bunch to hand it to you. 

your smile became slightly more bashful, “it’s for my husband!”

and fuck, if reo wasn’t already completely in love with you and thoroughly believed you were his soulmate until then, he certainly would after that very moment. he could feel his cheeks burning and his tongue rolling inside his mouth with how speechless he became. his heart soared with your words, excitement coursing through his veins with a love so overwhelming he nearly fell on his knees right there. 

heavens, he loved you so fucking much. and you made him realize it was about time he proved it to you (once again).

his hands easily found his phone in his pocket, and a quick call to the jewelry store was made while you busied yourself with paying for the flower. reo couldn’t stop smiling like a lovesick fool, but he didn’t mind.

“hey, mr. fuji, it’s mikage! you know, i think it’s time for that visit i mentioned a while ago…”

he might not fall to his knees right there, but he would drop at one knee very soon.

© 2024 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

if you like my writing and would like to support me, you can 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ! any amount is welcomed and very appreciated! ♥

[onlyquinns]

AS IT WAS, q. hughes

pairing: ex childhood friend!quinn hughes x fem!reader

wc: 6.6k

cw: SMUT MDNI, swearing, mentions of blood and injury, underage usage of marijuana and alcohol, the reader self sabotages A LOT, trevor is kind of a slut in this ngl 😭

synopsis: you’re childhood friends with the hughes, particularly close to quinn, until you accidentally say things you didn’t mean. left reminiscing, you’re faced with your ex-best friend years later and forced to admit how devastatingly stupid you’d been after the meddling of his two friends.

2017

growing up, your summers were always the same. sticky, brightly colored popsicles, long bike rides with the neighborhood kids, trips to the soup kitchen with your mom, swimming at the pool, and stick-and-pucks with your dad out in the road—that was all you knew, what you looked forward to. but the summer you turned twelve, things changed.

the hughes family moved in across the street from you and your parents, filling the brick house with ruckus and laughter—and, most importantly, the hughes brothers.

the three of them were like fireworks, exploding across their driveway and in the road every morning just to play street hockey. it didn’t take long before the three boys were running up to your front door and asking for you, asking for the girl with the silly chipped front tooth whose dad coached the 18u hockey team.

you loved the attention, loved the thrill you got from being able to play hockey with kids your age in the neighborhood because other parents always refused to let you shoot pucks at their kids—a safety hazard for their brains and teeth, whatever that meant. but with quinn, jack, and luke, anything that happened in the big league games was fair game in all forms of hockey the four of you played—street, roller, ice, whatever.

you always knew hockey was a team sport—practically had that notion engraved into your head from an early age. but hockey with the hughes was more than that, more than just the practiced good sportsmanship and friendly pats to their helmets after a goal. it’d become sacred—the sole thing that drew them in to you and you to them, and the sole thing that’d formed your relationships with them.

but formation never came by itself; it always came hand in hand with alteration, with change.

the driveway and streets are blanketed in snow, covering every inch of dead grass and pavement. quinn and jack shoot pucks in their driveway, laughing and talking about going to the odr by themselves. you sit on the steps of their front porch, watching their form and taking notes like how your dad does for your team. it’s easy to get lost in their movements, in how easily they maneuver their sticks back to send the puck flying through the air.

“wanna go skating?” quinn asks, and you look up from your notepad to find him grinning. something in your heart stutters at the sight of him, eyes only on you and car keys dangling from his hand.

at the age of eighteen, quinn had already gotten his drivers and boating license. he’d tried alcohol and weed—even if he’d never admit it. he’d dated and kissed girls.

and he’d become the only boy you’d stupidly gone and fallen in love with.

you chew on your bottom lip. “i don’t know, i don’t really want to right now.”

jack groans dramatically and shoots a puck into the back of the little net they’ve set up. he’s teasing, playing the role of younger brother, but that doesn’t stop quinn from glaring at him, eyes sharp in a way only an older sibling can manage. jack shuts his mouth instantly. your heart soars.

“c’mon,” quinn says, stopping in front of you. his breath fogs in the cold air, puffing from his mouth and wafting away into the crystalline sky. it brings back memories of a shared joint between the two of you, passed back and forth between warm fingers on your eighteenth birthday nearly a month ago. “i’m gonna’ be leaving for college soon and we haven’t skated together all season, please?”

and you’re too weak to argue, because you’d rather skate with the two of them than think about losing quinn—your quinn—to another university. or to another girl who watches him play hockey, with or without a silly notepad.

the odr is the same as it was when you were younger; the paint on the boards are peeling, revealing worn wood, and there's the same old wrecked goal net at the end of the rink. you breathe in deeply, the little hairs in your nose tingling with frost and dulling your senses with the bite of winter.

quinn takes the time to pull your gear bag out for you, putting it by the bench near the rink. he wipes the snow off with his gloved hand, ensuring you don’t have to do it yourself. then, he and jack are on the ice in an instant, lacing their skates in record time. you don’t join them as quickly, taking your time to slide out of jim’s old truck and walk over to get your skates on.

your body aches as you sit and bend over to pull your skates on, lingering reminders of early morning practices with your high school team and the ruthless drills your dad had you do to ensure a spot on a college hockey team. the stretch of kinesiology tape your mom had painstakingly put on you that afternoon pulls at your biceps under your shirt, the stern reminder to keep yourself from overworking your body—to keep yourself from scratching to rest of your last season.

the laces on your skates bite into your calloused fingers, long roughed over from years of tying your own skates. you move through the motions mindlessly, everything on autopilot up until you finally join the two boys on the ice.

it’s just an easy stick and puck situation—just sticks, gloves, and pucks—but after nearly an hour of shooting, the boys convince you to play rougher, to start checking and pushing each other. and who are you to disagree?

quinn laughs easily as he scoops the puck from you, tearing down the ice as he goes from one side of the rink to the other. jack blocks him off when he gets too close to the boards, taking the puck into his own area and sending quinn into the boards. you try to keep up, skating toward jack in the hopes of cutting him off just to take the puck for yourself.

you’re nearly there, reaching out with your own stick to knock his away, when quinn comes barreling into you from your side. it happens too quick for you to even adjust yourself or even think.

one of your blades catches in the ice, digging deeper than normal, and you fly sideways. you land on your shoulder, stick clattering away from you and your head slamming painfully into the ice before bouncing off. the boys stop immediately, game forgotten and laughter gone.

you cry out in pain, curling in on yourself as your head fills with fire. there’s a sharp, throbbing pain somewhere that you can’t place and the ice beneath your ear feels sticky.

“holy fuck,” jack yells as he stops in front of you. you look up at him through teary eyes, hands clutching at your head. “holy fuck, holy fuck—i’m… i’m gonna’ call mom. okay?”

you’re barely listening to him as he rambles, too busy trying to keep your eyes from slipping shut. quinn lands on his knees next to you, hands pulling at your own to assess the damage.

“i’m so sorry,” he tells you as you cry out and try to kick him away. “i’m so, so sorry.”

by the time jack returns by your side, your mom and ellen’s car come racing down the street and into the parking lot. your dad is immediately there, taking you in his arms like when you were just an infant as you cry and scream in pain. ellen ushers her boys into the truck, tells them to go home as she gets in her own car and follows your family to the hospital.

they tell you that you need stitches, that your memory is still intact, that you’ll have some bad bruising, but you’re alive.

the stitches burn like fire and make you clench your teeth, make your vision bright white. your mom holds your hand the entire time, kisses your bruised knuckles and demands you wear a helmet from now on, even for stick and puck. ellen watches from the corner, apologizing like crazy as if it were her fault but your parents tell her it’s okay—that you’re okay. and you tell her you are because it’s hockey, for fuck’s sake, you can take a fall.

when you get home, quinn and jack wait on the doorstep. they hold flowers and balloons in their hands, cheeks and nose windburned from standing outside for who knows how long. ellen scolds them, argues with jim for letting them stand there, but quinn argues that he’s eighteen—he’s an adult by law, he claims.

you crack a smile at that.

by the time you’re fully healed, the season is over and you’ve missed out on scouts and your senior year. your dad is wrecked and your mom is pleased. you’re mad.

it’s the end of the school year and you and quinn are graduated, free from your years of high school classes and drama—now shackled to impending years of university or college.

or the nhl.

you and quinn sit side by side atop the hood of jim’s truck, a can of beer you’d stolen from your dad’s stash between the two of you. you lean back on your elbows and look up at the sky, eyes drawn to the dim clouds that litter across the expanse of dark blue.

quinn looks at you, traces the soft line of your jaw with his eyes. he’s enamored with the peacefulness in your expression, savors it because he knows he’s about to destroy you like he did months ago.

“i’m committed,” he tells you. “to umich.���

you swallow thickly, nodding as he tells you how a scout saw his last game and talked to his coach. you barely listen, filled with a rage that you can’t even describe. your hands shake next to you and tears burn the backs of your eyes as quinn talks and talks—about his future in the nhl and how he hopes he gets drafted soon.

“so, that’s it?” you whisper, voice weak and hoarse.

you’re mad. mad at the injury that you sustained months ago, that made it so your mom and dad argued until they agreed to pull you—to talk with your coach and bench you. you’re mad at quinn for being so rough that night at the odr, knowing that you were tired and didn’t want to skate in the first place.

you’re mad at yourself for being mad at quinn because it’s not his fault at all. you’re just mad.

“you ruined my senior year,” you say, turning to look at quinn with tears in your eyes and rage shaking your fists. “i missed the scouts, i didn’t get sought out by some cool university, and you’re just… leaving? after what you did?”

quinn winces, body locking up at your words. you don’t mean it—you don’t blame him at all—but you’re angry and upset and… you’re losing him.

“i didn’t mean to, you know that,” he murmurs, eyes downcast, unable to look at you crying. “if i could go back and just do something different, i would. i fought so hard against your parents; i told them that you could keep playing—“

“clearly not hard enough,” you bite back.

you hop off the hood of the truck and walk toward your own car. quinn doesn’t call for you; instead, he watches you walk away and get in your beater vehicle and scream as loud as you can.

2025

the summer sun beats down on your back, heating your bare skin as you swish your legs back and forth in the cold lake water. you grip tightly onto the dock that you sit on, head tilted to the side.

across the lake, you can make out four tiny figures—what you assume are young kids—playing street hockey. your heart sinks at the sight, a reminder of your youth spent with three boys obsessed with hockey coming to mind. you shake it away—it’s been too long for you to dwell on your past, on what could’ve been if you hadn’t let one accident and one fight keep you from achieving a goal long forgotten.

instead, you pull your legs from the crystal clear water and make your way back to your family lake house. as you walk along the lakeside, a cluster of boys catches your attention. they’re loud, split up between standing by a nice boat and inside of a truck bed. laughter fills the air as you walk closer to them, fully intending to breeze past them to get back home.

as you walk, one of them catches a glimpse of you—eyes you up and down in your tight bikini top and ridiculously short jean shorts. he lets out a low whistle, one that has you whipping your head toward the group and glaring so viciously whatever stupid comment he was about to make disappears from his mouth.

what you don’t expect, however, is to see quinn hughes standing by the boy who blatantly disrespected you.

he looks different and not just because he’s standing topless and in board shorts. his hair is longer, curlier, and crops across his face in delicate waves. his jaw is sharper, far more defined than when the two of you were eighteen and still losing baby fat. he looks exactly how he does on your television screen back home, where you watched him and his brothers get drafted into the nhl.

where you watched him climb the ranks as the rookie to the captain, while you spent your time trying to forget everything hockey that was drilled into your brain.

he stares at you, eyes locked on yours in a weird staring contest sort of way. his eyes drop down your body and then back up to your face, his face giving away none of his thoughts.

“hi,” you say, unsure of what else you can say—not after the last thing you said to him when the two of you were eighteen. “nice day for a boat ride, huh?”

it’s a silly question because you know it is and they do too, that’s why they have the boat out, but you double down and wait—wait for quinn and his friends to agree or maybe for quinn to ignore you flat out. but instead, he shrugs a little and pats the side of his boat.

“yeah,” he says, voice deeper than you last remembered it. “boys and i are gonna go wakeboarding. wanna join?”

the question surprises you and you think it surprises quinn too, judging by his awkward chuckle and his telltale crooked smile that barely reaches his eyes. screw it, you think, because the day’s been full of surprises, so why not add to it.

you nod, “yeah,” you tell quinn, response loud enough for everyone to hear but your eyes only on your childhood friend. “sounds like fun.”

and, admittedly, it is.

it’s nice out on the lake, wind blowing through your hair and the sun melting over your skin. the water splashes over the sides as quinn jerks the boat left and right, his friend, cole, screaming and howling with laughter as he tries to stay upright on the board.

you tuck your face into your face, cheeks heated from the sun, and droopy gaze drawn to the setting sun. a beer is situated between your thighs, condensation from the can leaving splotchy water marks on your jean shorts and the soft skin of your inner thighs. quinn’s other friend, trevor, watches as gentle droplets slip down the curve of your thigh, and you act like you don’t see him staring—because you’re not after his attention, anyway.

you tilt your face away from the horizon, brought back to reality by the sound of cole’s body hitting water with a loud yelp. you smile into your palm as the boys around you laugh and chirp cole as he climbs into the boat, shaking soppy hair like a giant dog.

“as if you could do better,” he retorts as quinn teases his inability to last long—a joke you know has an underlying meaning to it.

before he can retort, trevor pipes in. he’s smirking, mischief dancing in his bright eyes. you think he’s handsome, if it weren’t for the quiet understanding that he was your average hotshot hockey dude who messed with girls like they were pucks that he could shoot away from him at mach speed.

“why don’t we ask her?” he says, waving toward you in your jean shorts and baby blue bikini. “bet she could attest to huggy’s ability to last long.”

your beer can crashes in between your legs, slipping past your fingers and spilling itself over your thighs and the terracotta-colored leather seats. your body is stricken with horror at the implication, at the sheer idea that someone you’ve just met could assume something like that, even though you’d thought about it plenty of times as a teenager—but that’s beside the point.

your now empty can of beer rolls around the deck floor, bumping against one end of the boat before rolling back between your sandal-clad feet. cole, the only one who doesn’t stand or sit looking either proud or horrified, rushes to help you wipe up the foamy amber liquid. he settles his strong body between your knees without thinking, pressing his towel to the ground and snatching up the can. you can feel his hair brushing against the insides of your thighs, suddenly hyper aware of your position.

quinn is, too.

he moves without thinking, snatching up another towel in a tight fist and making his way over to you. your head snaps upward, watching as he gets closer, body illuminated by the setting sun and unfairly attractive in his stupid american flag-themed swim trunks. he moves cole out of the way, lightly smacking at his shoulder so he’ll get up, and grabs you by the bicep.

you reek of cheap beer and embarrassment at the way he handles you, pulling you into his side so he can wipe up your seat for you before letting you go.

“are you wearing anything under your shorts?” quinn asks, leaning over the side of the boat to dunk his beer-damp towel into the cold lake water. he braces himself with his free arm, the muscles in his biceps and chest flexing and taut.

you silently pray that the water with magically come up and suck you in, like the ocean in moana. “yeah, uh,” you start, glancing over at trevor, whose smirk is wider than ever, “why?”

quinn pulls back from the boat’s edge holding the wet towel, little droplets splattering to the deck at his feet in drops of varying size. he looks at you with amusement, a look you thought you’d never see again but had dreamt of for years.

“should take your shorts off then, yeah?” he teases, offering you the towel in his hand. “unless you wanna smell like beer on the way back to the dock.” his lips quirk into a smile, awkward and unsure of himself but trying his hardest to be as close to normal as possible. not that anything was normal now.

you let out a breathy laugh, knowing quinn’s right. memories of rebellious teenage years flood your mind—moments of you and quinn sharing beers and drunkenly spilling them on each other, how you’d dissolve into tears at the smell and how he’d always kept a change of clothes for you on him.

you don’t expect that last bit now as you slip the button of your jeans free, fingers pulling at the worn zipper. quinn, ever the gentleman, turns his face away, finding the boat’s railing more interesting than ever. you watch as his free hand runs along the surface, fingers peaking to pick at something. you drop your shorts and he tilts his head even further away.

trevor whistles again, sharp and downright jeering despite it meaning to be appreciative. quinn’s head is immediately on a swivel, turning to trevor with a withering look—one that clearly reads that he needs to knock it off, or else. your heart squeezes in your chest at his protectiveness, reminded of how he’d been when you’d gone through puberty and catcalled by boys grades above you.

he turns to you and tries his hardest to keep his eyes on your face, to stay level with your eyes rather than your bare chest and tummy and—

“wanna go for a swim?” he blurts, squeezing his left hand in minuscule, discrete motions to keep blood from rushing to his crotch like he’s some dorky teen boy.

the giggle that leaves your mouth has his head swimming, greedily storing the sound of it away in case after this the two of you go back to being strangers. cole and trevor are already whooping at the suggestion and jumping in, sending a shower of ice-cold water up into the air and on your smooth skin. quinn gulps as he waits for your response, adam’s apple bobbing thickly at the sight of water droplets sliding down your neck and between your tits.

you say something that he doesn’t hear, followed by a breathtaking smile and another giggle—another sound that he stashes away in the part of his brain dedicated to you. you surge forward and grab quinn’s hand, pulling him from his own thoughts and into the water. you’re unsure where the bravery even came from, why you’re suddenly so comfortable with him even though you’re the reason he’s not longer part of your life, but you hope it’ll last a little longer as the two of you surface.

and for a second, it’s like you’re both eighteen again. but maybe it’s a trick of the heart, instead.

‎ ୨୧

the fire pit in front of you crackles loudly, spewing tendrils of smoke and ash into the evening sky. you’re curled up on a sun lounger, legs pressed to your chest and arms coiled tightly around them. you’re wearing an old hoodie quinn gave you, one that he claimed belonged to one of his brother’s, but you’d seen through the bluff. you’d seen the hoodie years ago, remembered exactly where you were when ellen had wrote ‘q. hughes’ on the inside of it.

you don’t know why you’re here, sitting in the backyard of quinn’s lake house. one moment you were swimming with your childhood ex-best friend, carefree of the messy past the two of you shared, and the next you were blindly agreeing to come over. to implement yourself back into his world even more.

trevor and cole sit on the other side of the pit, laughing and chatting nonstop. trevor’s interest in you is long gone, put to rest alongside the setting sun, but he still looks at you with a weird glimmer—something you recognize as being bad.

you watch through the climbing flames as the two of them get up from their seats, pushing and shoving each others shoulders like young boys who’ve dared each other something dumb. eventually, trevor rounds the firepit and makes his way to you, his body taking up the sun lounger next to you. he leans back into the plastic slats, casual and comfortable in his position.

“so, how do you know quinn?” he asks, looking at you meaningfully. orange light flickers across his cheeks.

you glance at trevor, face unreadable, and then glance at quinn. he stands on the back porch, diligently working old charcoal off of the grill for the barbecue he’d told you about planning.

“we used to be friends,” you murmur softly, almost too quiet that the crackling of the fire eats it away. you press your cheek into your knee, fully looking at quinn as he tries to start the grill so he can run a whole onion over the grate. “childhood friends, actually.” you fight back a smile. “he and his brothers were the only kids allowed to play hockey in the neighborhood. the others weren’t allowed to because they thought i’d knock their teeth loose, or something.”

trevor sputters in his seat, propping himself up in strong arms. “you play hockey?” he asks loudly, so loud that he draws the attention of cole and quinn onto your curled up form.

you see quinn wince, an involuntary twitch of his body at the mention of you and hockey in one sentence.

your slight smile slips away, and you purse your lips. “yeah,” you say gravelly, “i used to.”

the past-tense of the verb has trevor sinking back into his lounger, “oh.” his excitement is gone, interest in your history with the sport fading from his face.

you nod and sigh, pushing yourself upward. you excuse yourself, claim you need a drink, and follow cole’s advice to head inside for the fridge. you move sluggishly through the backyard, eyes drawn to your feet. quinn watches you move, his plan to clean the grill thrown out the window. instead, he quietly slides the back door open for you and follows you inside.

as you reach for the fridge handle, he comes up behind you, chest lightly brushing against your back. you hold your breath, feelings that you thought you’d tamped down resurfacing—as if they haven’t already after the day you’ve had with him and his friends.

“here,” he whispers, breath curling into your hair and lips so close to your ear that you can feel the heat radiating, the scent of bonfire thick in your nose, “let me.”

quinn’s hand automatically gravitates to a beer you like, fingers curling around the can in a way that causes nostalgia to tug at your ribs. he hesitates for a second, then grabs another one, his long fingers twisting to accommodate for two cans instead of one.

the two of you stand-by-side next to each other in the dark kitchen, sipping from cold beers. the taste of it floods your mouth, drawing stupid childhood memories from the corners of your mind. you swallow them down alongside the beer, throat thick. quinn coughs into the darkness, knuckles tight against the edge of the kitchen counters as he leans backward into them.

“why’d you quit?” quinn asks in a momentary lapse of his own self. you don’t respond immediately, scared to voice the truth. he crushes his empty beer can and tosses it into the kitchen trash bin. “was it really because of what happened when we were eighteen, or was it something else?”

you’d asked yourself that question for years—you always knew it wasn’t actually because of one injury. you always knew hockey was a rough sport—that’s why you were so obsessed with it when you were a kid—but now you were using that one incident as an excuse. you didn’t quit because you’d taken a tumble on the ice, didn’t quit because your mom forced you out of it. you’d quit because you were too caught up in battling the sport for quinn’s attention—because you’d lost to it.

but could you admit that to him, to the boy you’d harbored feelings for since the beginning of time?

“i… don’t know,” you say instead, eyes dropping to look at your beer.

quinn’s jaw ticks in the dark, and the dam in his brain breaks down. “i called in a shit ton of favors,” he says into the dark. “i had my coach at umich ask all of his hockey buddies if they’d heard of you, if you’d somehow ended up one a team’s roster.”

your heart thuds loudly in your ears at the admission, at how after you’d walked out of his world—a world filled with care, a career in hockey, a love for you—he’d tried so desperately to keep you from drifting further away.

“i thought that you might’ve ended up in sports management like your dad, y’know.” quinn turns to look at you, hazel eyes sad as they take in your form. “like, maybe you’d kept that… that spirit after the fall and turned it to helping other players.”

you shake your head. “i couldn’t,” you say thickly, thinking about how your dad had sat you down and asked what you wanted to do in college if you couldn’t play hockey—how you told him you didn’t know, that you felt lost. “i lost it when you left for college.”

“jack and luke tried—“

“i wasn’t in love with jack or luke!” you cry out, turning your teary-eyed gaze to quinn. your lip wobbles. “i didn’t feel like i needed their attention on me every single second! it didn’t matter if i came second to hockey to them because i…” quinn looks at you with wide eyes, mouth agape, and you realize you’ve fucked up. you push off the kitchen counter and place your beer on the marbling. “i need to go,” you say hurriedly, attempting to walk away.

quinn grabs your wrist, fingers firm but not painful. he spins you around until you’re facing him and then positions himself so you’re against the counter, boxing you in between the counter and his string arms. he presses his lips to yours, tasting of beer and summer fruit. a hand slides from the counter and finds your hip, squeezing through the thick cotton of the hoodie you’re wearing. you kiss back, eyes sliding closed and lips slotting so perfectly against his.

it’s not like what you’d expected—there aren’t any showy fireworks in your brain or silly butterflies in your belly. you feel safe, comfortable, as he holds you and pours every unsaid thing into the kiss.

your hands slide around quinn’s neck and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. he kisses like he’s got all of the time in the world, like he has things to say and make up for, and when his tongue presses to your bottom lip…

you let out an airy sound, something between a sigh and a moan. quinn groans at the sound and the kiss suddenly becomes desperate, messy. his tongue pushes against yours and his teeth graze your lip, stinging in the best way possible. his arms wrap around your waist and he hoists you up, urging your legs to wrap around him.

quinn doesn’t break the kiss until you’re seated on the counter, thighs pressed to cold marble and his body slotted between your legs. his lips smear hot kisses along your jaw, brushing and nipping near your ear before dragging down your neck. he sucks marks into your soft skin, lathing over them with his tongue and leaving a gentle kiss as he moves on. his hands push the hem of your hoodie up, warm palms roaming your bare skin.

“quinn,” you whimper, scared that trevor or cole might walk in and catch the two of you. “we shouldn’t—“

he’s kneeling between your dangling legs, your bare calves hooked over his shoulders and his arms desperately trying to pull your body down more so he can reach you where you need him most. his lips are kiss-swollen and his eyes are filled with determination, and rounded with something you think might be love.

“i’ve waited years to hear you say that, and i doubt those two will try to walk in here after making that stupid sex joke earlier.” quinn squeezes your leg, tilting his chin into the bend of your knee to brush a little kiss to your skin, “but if you want to stop, i will. i don’t want you just for sex. i’ve been so in love with you for years and i couldn’t live with myself after what i did to you.”

you suck your bottom lip in between your teeth, fingers bracing your body against the counter. quinn looks up at you again and your hips twitch lower off the counter, drawing your core closer to his face. he smiles as you nod, and you settle your thighs by his ears, your lower back held upward by his strong hands.

“fuck,” he breathes, sucking dark marks into your inner thighs. you let out a breathy moan, arms trembling already. quinn peeks up at your face, savoring the way your eyes are half-lidded and your teeth are clamped down on your lip. “you’re so perfect, so beautiful…” he praises softly, nuzzling his nose against your clothed clit. “always been.”

your breath stutters in your throat as he presses his tongue flat against your bikini bottoms. the sight of your childhood crush and best friend between your legs is obscene, fucking sinful.

“quinn…” your voice nearly gives out as quinn pulls your bottoms to the side, hot tongue pressing kitten licks to the bundle of nerves.

quinn groans and takes your clit into his mouth, sucking it past his lips and circling it with his tongue. without thinking, you raise a hand to your mouth and clamp it over your lips. quinn quickly adjusts, embracing more of your weight down on him without letting up on his ministrations.

his tongue licks stripes down your cunt, the tip of it pressing into you just briefly. you moan into your palm and chase after the sensation, hips flush against quinn’s lips and chin. he chuckles and you feel every breath of it.

“lemme take my time, sweet girl,” he whispers, kissing your weeping entrance. “i’ll make you feel good, i promise.” you nod into your hand, eyes rolling into the back of your head as quinn continues to eat you out.

his tongue dips into you finally and his nose presses insistently against your clit, rubbing into the swollen bud as he tongue fucks you. your hips grind against his mouth, drawing you closer and closer until you come undone around his tongue with a muffled sigh and a squeeze of your thighs around his head.

quinn grins and pulls away, chin shiny in the dim light with your slick. he slowly slides you back onto the counter, hand drawing up your inner thigh and pressing lightly against your fluttering cunt. quinn pries your hand away from your mouth with his other hand and presses a sloppy kiss to your lips, swallowing every sound that comes from your mouth as he kisses you and presses two of his thick fingers into your walls.

“taste so good,” he whispers as he pulls away from the kiss. he curl his fingers and you let out a gasp, hand squeezing his fingers. “and so sensitive.”

quinn pulls his fingers from your cunt and presses them to his tongue, groaning around the digits as he licks them clean. you watch, captivated, jaw slightly dropped and your hips shifting in search of more friction.

“god,” he moans, pressing his obvious boner into you. “could taste you all night, baby, but i can save that for another time,” he says, voice rough and filled with amusement as you try to press your hips to his with a little pout.

the front of his swim trunks are stained from where he’s leaked through, a patch of fabric darker than the rest of the shorts. you paw weakly at the waistband, impatient and eager for his attention. quinn smirks and draws down his trunks just enough to free his dick, letting it curve up into his abdomen. precum beads at the tip of it, leaking from the slit, and you lick your lips at the sight.

“please,” you beg, looking up at his dark eyes as he fists his cock, spreading pre down the length of it. “please fuck me, q, i need it so bad—have wanted it since forever.”

quinn rubs the head of it through your holds, letting it catch against your clit for a second. “i know, baby,” he murmurs gently. he lines himself up with your entrance and you watch with rapt attention, waiting for him to sink into you.

when he finally pushes into you, agonizing inch by inch, you let out a breathy sigh—like having him in you has you feeling complete. you’re unsure why, but you babble incoherent thank you’s, reveling in the way he fits perfectly within your warm walls.

quinn sets a gentle pace, rocking into you as he holds you flush against his chest. he moans into the junction of your neck and shoulder, one hand slipped under your hoodie to pull your bikini up to grope at your tits.

“feel so good,” he moans into your skin, pace quickening and his fingers tweaking your nipple between calloused fingertips. “take me so well; fuckin’ made for me.” the sensual sound of skin on skin fills the kitchen, your ears ringing as you take in the sound of every lewd squelch.

you nod, lips parted in a moan. your orgasm creeps up on you, building faster than before. “nngh..! q, ‘m gonna cum!” you cry out and he groans. he ruts into you, dick hitting every sensitive point as if he’s mapped your body out perfectly.

“i know, baby, just let go for me. need to feel it like this, please,” he begs, and you unravel at his words. your lips fall in a silent scream and your thighs tremble against his hips.

quinn lets out a choked moan as your walls squeeze and clamp down on him, causing his hips to stutter momentarily as he fucks you through your high. he’s about to ask where you want him to finish when you suddenly lock your ankles around his back, tugging him closer.

“in me, please!” you whimper, eyes shut tight. “want you to cum in me, q; want you to fill me up.”

his hips falter again as he spills into you, gasping and moaning through it as white coats your insides. quinn doesn’t stop; instead, he fucks deeper into you for a moment as you whine and whimper, body sensitive and spent. he stains your walls with him—claiming you now that he’s got you back.

“s’too much,” you mumble, pressing your forehead to his sternum.

quinn chuckles and slowly pulls out, both of your gazes on the area the two of you connect. after pulling up his shirts, quinn takes no time to finger his cum back into you, fingers pressing his seed deep into your cunt. when he’s satisfied, he draws his fingers out and you let him press them into your mouth, tongue circling the pads. he pulls them from your mouth with a pop!

his gaze softens as he looks at you, body still slotted between your knees. quinn runs a hand through your sweat-damp hair, fingers likely scratching at your scalp as if he’s trying to map something out. when you realize, you take his wrist into your hand and bring it to your mouth to brush a tender kiss to the inside of it.

“i don’t blame you for what happened back then,” you say softly. “i was selfish and ignorant, and i didn’t want you to leave me behind.” you look up at quinn and your heart pangs at the sight of guilt in his pretty eyes. “if i could take back every awful thing i said that night, i would. it was never your fault, quinn.”

he tucks his face back into your shoulder and holds you flush against his chest. you hold him close, palms splayed across the expanse of his back. quinn’s body shudders with a relieved sob, a choked sound muffled into your skin and hot tears dampening your hoodie. you don’t let go as he sobs, holding tighter instead.

“it’s not your fault, q,” you repeat into his thick curls. “i love you, and i’ll do everything to remind you—to make things better. i promise.”