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shaiyasstuff · 3 months ago

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petty | sylus

synopsis : You thought a harmless prank—some red dye, a little glitter—would be funny. But Sylus, your cold, calculating boyfriend, doesn’t get mad. He gets petty.

content : fluff, chaos, N109 Zone au, just sylus being petty af, imagine: rom-com and slapstick comedy

writer’s note : i had this sitting in my drafts for so long LOL

You have no idea how you ended up here.

It was just a silly prank. One you decided—no, more like bullied—into pulling on Sylus.

Luke had that look in his eye, Kieran had that grin, and between the two of them, you’d made a series of very poor decisions.

It started out harmless.

Overheating the dryer until his clothes shrunk just enough to make him glare at his reflection in irritation.

Switching out his toothpaste with mint chip ice cream—cold, foamy, oddly sweet.

Juvenile, yes, but survivable.

But then Luke, bored of mild chaos, decided to up the ante.

Red dye. In Sylus’ face wash.

You should’ve stopped him.

You really should’ve.

Now you’re backed up against the cold steel wall of the corridor outside your shared quarters.

Sylus stands in front of you, arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. His body radiates heat like he’s just stepped out of hell itself.

And his face?

Still damp.

Streaked red.

A slow, uneven flush blooming down his jaw and neck like a war paint disaster.

You press your lips together to stifle the laugh climbing your throat.

Not because you’re afraid—well, okay, maybe a little—but because if you so much as snort, you know he’ll make you regret it.

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you.

That unreadable, razor-edged stare.

Like he’s measuring the weight of your existence against the trouble you’re worth.

“Sylus,” you start, trying for innocent. “It was—”

“A prank,” he finishes for you, voice low, smooth. The kind of calm that usually precedes mass destruction. “I gathered.”

You open your mouth again, but the words die as he leans in closer, the tips of his silver hair grazing your forehead. His breath ghosts against your cheek.

“You find this funny?” he murmurs, voice like smoke and ice. “My face. My dignity.”

You hold your breath, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“I mean,” you squeak, “you do pull off crimson rather well…”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile.

He just tilts his head slightly, gaze trailing down to your lips.

“I see,” he says.

You swallow.

“Sylus?”

He shifts forward, just enough that your bodies nearly touch, and then—click.

You glance down. He’s handcuffed your wrist to the pipe behind you.

One-handed. Effortless.

“What—wait, Sylus!”

He steps back, unhurried, brushing red-streaked water off his jaw with the back of his hand. He looks so composed now, it’s almost unfair.

“I’ll be in the lab,” he says casually, already turning away. “Don’t worry. Luke and Kieran are next. But you…”

He pauses at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder, “You can stay there and think about what you’ve done.”

“Sylus.”

“I’ll come back when I’ve decided how to retaliate.”

Your jaw drops. “You’re not serious—!”

He disappears around the corner, his footsteps fading.

You stare after him, wrist tugging against the cuff. “You petty, beautiful menace!”

And somewhere down the hall, you swear you hear him laugh.

You struggle against the pipe for a solid five minutes.

Nothing.

Sylus had apparently decided that if he was going to cuff you, it would be with reinforced titanium-grade handcuffs.

Because of course he would.

You’re still trying to twist your wrist free when two familiar figures round the corner, arguing loudly.

“—I told you he’d murder us, Kieran.”

“No, you said he’d probably murder us. I figured we had a 20% survival rate if we ran fast enough—oh.”

They freeze when they see you.

You, handcuffed to a wall like some criminally adorable hostage. Hair slightly tousled.

A vein twitching in your temple.

Luke whistles low. “Damn. He actually cuffed you?”

“What was your first clue, Sherlock?” you snap, yanking on the cuff. “The literal metal restraint on my wrist or the rage in my eyes?”

Kieran winces. “Hey, hey, don’t be mad at us—we didn’t put the dye in the face wash.”

“You told Luke to do it!”

Luke, affronted, points at Kieran. “You told me you cleared it with her!”

“I said it would be funny! That’s not the same thing!”

You groan and let your head thump back against the wall. “I’m going to kill both of you. Slowly. With a spoon.”

Luke bites back a grin. “I don’t think Sylus is done with you yet.”

“Un-cuff me before I scream loud enough to summon the Onychinus agents.”

Kieran rummages through his pockets. “You think he left a key?”

“Oh yeah,” you deadpan. “I’m sure Sylus, the most paranoid man alive, just happened to leave a key to his special-grade cuffs on me.”

Luke pulls something out of his jacket and grins. “Good thing I have my trusty lockpick set.”

You squint at him. “Why do you have that?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

Kieran leans in beside him, watching like this is a group project. “Careful, if you scratch her wrist again she’s going to throw you into traffic.”

“I will throw you into traffic,” you mutter.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” Kieran beams.

“Touch me and I’ll break your fingers.”

Luke finally clicks the lock open with a satisfying snap. Your wrist comes free, and you stretch it, rubbing the sore spot with a glare that could melt steel.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. “Now run.”

“Run?” Luke blinks.

“Yes. Run. Before he comes back.”

The overhead lights flicker.

The three of you freeze.

“…That’s him, isn’t it?” Kieran whispers.

You look up slowly, the temperature in the corridor dropping by a few ominous degrees.

“I think he’s coming to check if I’ve learned my lesson,” you murmur.

Luke’s already halfway down the hall. “NOPE. I’M OUT—”

Kieran grabs your hand and drags you after him. “We live in fear now. This is our life.”

Behind you, the sound of measured footsteps echoes through the corridor.

And somewhere between breathless laughter and panic, you realise, this isn’t over.

Not even close.

You bolt through the corridor with Luke and Kieran like you’re fleeing an exploding reactor.

“He’s definitely tracking us,” you gasp.

“He has cameras everywhere!” Kieran hisses. “We’re screwed!”

You dive into the living quarters and slam the door shut behind you. Luke immediately ducks behind the couch. Kieran throws himself dramatically into the pantry.

You stand there for a beat, hands on your hips.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever been involved in.”

“You’re welcome,” Luke’s muffled voice replies from under a throw blanket that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide his legs.

You sigh, yank open a cabinet, and cram yourself inside.

There’s a broom, a vacuum hose, and a suspicious packet of cookies you’re pretty sure expired last year.

“Kieran,” you call through the cabinet slats. “Are you eating?”

“…No,” he says with his mouth full.

“I swear to every celestial body—”

Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

Near.

All three of you freeze like a trio of amateur criminals hiding from a prison warden.

The door creaks open.

You hold your breath.

Nothing.

No words. No movement.

Just the sound of the wind outside the window and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I know you’re hiding,” Sylus calls out. Calm. Even. Like he’s enjoying this.

Luke lets out a soft, wheezing squeak from under the blanket.

You slap your palm over your mouth.

Kieran drops a packet of crackers and panics. “Shit, he’s bluffing! He’s bluffing!”

You burst out of the cabinet. “He’s NOT bluffing!”

All three of you scramble again, crashing into each other like some bootleg spy movie.

Kieran ends up tangled in curtain strings, Luke slams into a chair, and you leap over the kitchen counter and miss, landing with a loud thud.

You’re wheezing on the floor when Sylus walks in.

Unbothered. Unhurried.

Looking like an avenging angel with red-streaked remnants still faintly staining his jawline.

He folds his arms and surveys the disaster with something suspiciously close to amusement.

He walks past Kieran, still suspended in the curtains like a very dumb chandelier.

Past Luke, now pretending to be unconscious on the floor.

Past you.

He doesn’t say a word.

Not a glare. Not a threat. Not even a smirk.

Just a quiet, “Clean up after yourselves,” as he heads into his study.

The door shuts with a soft click.

“…That’s so much worse than yelling,” you whisper.

Kieran groans. “He’s plotting. He’s going to take us out one by one.”

Luke peeks from behind the couch. “He knows we’re scared. That’s why he’s letting us marinate.”

“I hate both of you so much right now,” you mutter, collapsing into the nearest armchair.

Kieran flops beside you and steals the remote. “We should lie low. Maybe bake him something.”

“Cookies fix everything,” Luke nods solemnly.

You glare at them both. “If I die, I’m haunting you in shifts.”

—•

It takes you two hours to gather the courage.

Two hours of Luke stress-eating cereal straight from the box while Kieran googled “how to tell if your boyfriend is planning your murder.”

Two hours of internal debates and spiraling scenarios, most of which ended with your disappearance and Sylus calmly denying any knowledge of your existence.

So now you’re standing in front of his office door like you’ve come to face a firing squad.

You raise your hand, hesitate, lower it again.

Then knock. Once. Softly.

“Come in,” comes his voice, smooth as always.

You open the door slowly. He’s seated behind his desk, glasses on, sleeves rolled up, looking for all the world like a man deep in some technical report.

But you know better.

His eyes flick up to you—and stay there.

“I brought tea,” you say weakly, holding up the mug like a peace offering. Or a shield. “And… a cookie. But Luke sat on it.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches you, unreadable.

You inch forward, placing the mug on the corner of his desk. “Look, I didn’t know about the dye. I mean I did, but I didn’t think he’d actually—okay, no, that’s a lie. I thought it would be funny.”

Silence.

“I was wrong.”

Still nothing.

You shift awkwardly, gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Finally, he sets his pen down and leans back slightly, eyes still fixed on you.

Then, just when the tension starts to crack your spine.

A small smile.

A smile.

Sharp. Amused.

Dangerous.

“It’s okay,” he says.

You blink. “It… is?”

He nods. “Of course.”

Too easy. Way too easy.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re not mad?”

“Not at all.”

“Really?”

“Mm.”

You inch back a step. “Why does that sound like a trap?”

His smile widens—just a fraction. “I said it’s okay. That’s all.”

You stare at him. He stares right back, like he can hear every thought racing through your brain. Like he’s already playing the long game and you just stepped into it without even knowing.

“Right,” you mutter. “Okay. Cool. Um. I’ll go now.”

You turn on your heel and walk—more like run—out of the room.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you press your back against it, eyes wide.

“He’s going to destroy me.”

And from behind the door, faint and unmistakably amused, comes the sound of Sylus quietly sipping his tea.

You return to the living quarters with the kind of haunted expression usually reserved for horror movie survivors.

Luke looks up from the couch, one leg slung over the backrest like a human pretzel.

Kieran’s on the floor with a blanket cape, eating cereal with a fork.

“Are we dead?” Kieran asks between mouthfuls.

“Not yet,” you mutter.

Luke raises an eyebrow. “That bad?”

“He smiled at me.”

Both twins flinch.

“Was it… the smile?” Luke asks, lowering his voice.

“The ‘I know exactly where your corpse would never be found’ smile?” Kieran whispers.

You throw yourself onto the couch and groan into a pillow. “No. It was worse. It was the ‘It’s okay’ smile.”

Luke gasps dramatically. “No. He went full passive-aggressive Zen reaper?”

“He said it like it was fine. Like I’m fine. Like life is fine. Nothing is fine.”

Kieran crawls up beside you. “That’s psychological warfare. He’s gonna lull you into a false sense of security. Then, boom—next week your toothbrush explodes.”

“I wouldn’t even be mad,” you say into the pillow. “I’d respect the commitment.”

Luke drops beside you, flinging a cushion over your back like a blanket. “You know what this means, right?”

“That I need to sleep with one eye open?”

“No,” he says solemnly. “It means we go deeper.”

You lift your head slowly. “What?”

“He’s playing mind games. So we play worse mind games.”

“I’m sorry, did you hit your head on the stupid stick this morning?”

Kieran grins. “He’s got fear. But we have unpredictable chaos. Sylus doesn’t know how to handle us when we’re not even handling ourselves.”

“Oh, he knows. He just hasn’t decided which part of the house he’ll burn down first.”

Luke leans in. “Okay, hear me out. What if… next prank, we frame someone else?”

“Kieran,” you snap, “Luke is spiraling again.”

Kieran slurps his cereal louder. “Let him spiral. I want to see where it goes.”

You sit up, rubbing your temples. “You two are the reason I’m probably going to end up in some Sylus-designed containment cube labeled ‘Idiot No. 3.’”

Luke perks up. “That means he already made one for you.”

You chuck a pillow at his face. “I hate you.”

Kieran laughs so hard he chokes on his cereal.

And somewhere in the walls—behind silent security panels—you know Sylus is watching.

Letting you run your mouths.

Letting you think you’re safe.

Which is so much worse.

—•

Dinner is suspiciously… normal.

Too normal.

The lighting is warm. The dining room pristine.

The food? Already served and plated like a five-star meal—elegant, balanced, perfectly portioned.

Which is already unsettling, because Sylus doesn’t cook. He commands kitchens into order.

But tonight, he did everything himself.

You sit stiffly at the table, trying not to choke on the silence.

Kieran sits across from you, eyes darting from his fork to Sylus like he’s waiting for the plate to detonate. Luke hasn’t even touched his food.

Which says a lot, because Luke once ate nachos that had been on fire.

Sylus, meanwhile, is the picture of grace.

Calm, composed, every movement deliberate as he cuts into his food with a quiet snick of silverware.

“How’s the meal?” he asks lightly.

You all jump a little.

“It’s great!” Kieran blurts. “So great. Best thing I’ve ever had. Better than oxygen.”

You nudge your plate with the fork. “Um. What exactly is this?”

Sylus smiles—just enough to show it’s a trap. “Roasted pepper-glazed poultry with herb foam.”

“…Foam?” Luke whispers. “Like… bubbles?”

Sylus turns to him. “Yes. But gourmet.”

Luke nods solemnly. “Tastes expensive.”

You take a careful bite. It tastes incredible, which only makes things worse.

Sylus never does anything without intent. You feel like each bite is a move in a game you didn’t know you were playing.

“Is that saffron?” Kieran asks.

Sylus doesn’t look up. “Would I use saffron so early in the week?”

Kieran panics. “No! Obviously not. What a stupid question. Forget I said it. I never even heard of saffron.”

You sip your water. Pause. Sip again.

“Why does the water taste like mint?”

Luke sniffs his glass. “Mine tastes like fear.”

Sylus hums. “I thought I’d try infusing it. Cleansing properties. Refreshing.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re being nice.”

He looks at you. “Am I not allowed to be?”

“Not like this. You’re being suspiciously serene.”

Luke whispers to Kieran, “He’s baking the tension. Like a soufflé of dread.”

Kieran whispers back, “I’m scared to chew too loudly.”

Sylus finishes his plate, sets his utensils down with the softest clink, and dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Don’t worry. I’m not angry.”

You all freeze.

“I already told you,” he says, folding his hands neatly, “It’s okay.”

You grip the edge of the table.

“No, see, when you say that, it sounds okay, but it feels like I’m about to get smothered in my sleep with a silk pillow.”

Sylus smiles, serene as a saint. “You wound me.”

“Oh my god,” Kieran mutters. “He wants us to feel safe.”

“That’s when he’ll strike,” Luke hisses.

Sylus stands, slow and elegant. “I’ve had a long day. You three can clean up.”

And with that, he walks off—leisurely, utterly calm—leaving behind his perfectly empty plate and three very nervous idiots still staring at their forks like they might be poisoned.

“I think he put lavender in the bread,” Luke says hollowly.

“That’s a threat,” Kieran nods.

You don’t speak. You just slowly lower your fork onto your plate and say, voice soft with realisation.

“We’re already losing.”

—•

It starts the next morning.

Small things.

You wake up and stumble bleary-eyed into the bathroom, only to find your toothbrush… gone. In its place is a child’s pink glittery toothbrush with a tiny bow on the handle and a smug little unicorn printed across it.

You stare at it.

It stares back.

“…Sylus.”

You brush anyway. Because fear is temporary, but oral hygiene is forever.

Down the hall, you hear a scream. Luke.

You race to his room, bursting in just in time to see him holding up a shirt—his favorite shirt—now three sizes too small and bright neon orange.

“He sabotaged the laundry!” Luke wails. “It looks like a highlighter threw up on it!”

Kieran stumbles in a moment later, face pale. “Okay. You know the coffee machine?”

You all pause.

“…What about it?” you ask warily.

“I pressed ‘brew’ and it played classical music. Loudly. Very loudly. And then dispensed chamomile tea.”

Luke gasps. “Decaf?”

Kieran nods. “Herbal.”

You all stand there in silence, the full horror of that registering.

“Okay,” you say slowly, “He’s escalating. This is psychological warfare disguised as hospitality.”

Luke grabs your shoulders. “We have to go off-grid.”

You shake him off. “We live in his grid. He built the grid.”

Kieran paces. “Okay. Okay. So he’s playing the long game. Fine. We stay strong. We don’t break.”

You return to your room to get dressed, trying to reclaim some sense of normalcy.

Your closet is empty.

No. Not empty.

Reorganized.

Everything is sorted by color, occasion, emotional state, and the lunar cycle.

There are even handwritten labels.

LUNAR-ALIGNED NIGHTWEAR.

MILDLY ANNOYED LOUNGE SETS.

IF YOU MUST INTERACT WITH PEOPLE.

You stare.

It’s… kind of impressive.

Still terrifying.

Later that day, your comm device pings with a message.

Hope the toothbrush is to your liking. Unicorns are symbols of purity. Thought it was fitting. —S.

You don’t respond. You can’t.

You sit there in silence, chewing your unsatisfying herbal tea and wondering how one man could be so elegant and so unhinged at the same time.

Back in the kitchen, Luke is attempting to pick the lock on the pantry door—now password protected and voice activated.

Kieran sits on the floor, whispering sweetly to the coffee machine in the hopes it will forgive him.

And all the while, somewhere deep in his office, Sylus watches the surveillance feed with a slight, satisfied smile.

Checkmate? Not yet.

But the pieces were moving.

And he was always ten steps ahead.

—•

It’s late.

Too late for anyone else to be awake. The halls are quiet, dimly lit, the kind of silence that feels intentional.

You creep into the kitchen, determined to retrieve your emergency stash of chocolate hidden behind the vitamin supplements Sylus refuses to acknowledge.

You’ve earned this.

After a day of psychological warfare and sentient appliances, you deserve sugar and solitude.

But the moment you open the cabinet, you hear it.

“Looking for something?”

You jump, nearly drop the jar, and spin around.

Sylus leans casually against the doorframe. Half in shadow. White shirt slightly unbuttoned. Sleeves rolled. Watching you like you’re the most amusing thing he’s seen all day.

You swallow. “Just… needed a snack.”

He hums, low and thoughtful, stepping into the room. “You always get hungry when you’re anxious.”

“I’m not anxious.”

“Of course you’re not.”

He steps closer. Not fast. Not threatening.

Just… there.

Slowly closing the distance until he’s in your space. His eyes flick down to the jar in your hands, then back to you.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he murmurs.

You shrug, heart in your throat. “You’ve been… rearranging my life like an episode of The Big Bang Theory.”

He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.

“You should be grateful. I improved your morning routine, your closet, and your toothpaste. Not many people get this level of attention from me.”

“You replaced my shampoo with glitter gel.”

“I thought you liked shimmer.”

You glare. “Okay, what is this? Revenge lite? Psychological torment with a smile?”

He tilts his head, eyes glittering with that infuriating calm. “Do you think I’d waste my time with petty revenge?”

You hesitate. “…Yes?”

He chuckles. “Fair.”

He leans in just slightly—close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the way his gaze flickers to your lips and back with deliberate slowness.

“But here’s the thing,” he says softly. “I’m not doing this because I’m angry.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what is this?”

His voice drops lower, velvet and ice. “This is a warning.”

You blink. “A warning?”

He raises a brow. “You see, I’m not interested in getting even. I’m not even interested in winning.”

He leans in fully now, mouth near your ear, voice like silk dragged over steel.

“I’m interested in reminding you… that you don’t play games with someone who invented the board.”

Your breath catches.

Then he steps back. Casual.

Smiling.

Completely composed, like he didn’t just dismantle your spine with a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he says smoothly, already turning to leave.

“Sylus—”

He glances over his shoulder, eyes cool, mouth curved in that infuriatingly perfect smirk.

“Sleep well, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you in the kitchen, heart pounding, chocolate jar forgotten in your hands.

You stare at the door, then mutter to yourself:

“Okay. Yep. We’re all going to die.”

—•

You don’t sleep.

Not really.

Not after that.

You toss. Turn.

Stare at the ceiling.

Replay his words on a loop in your mind.

You don’t play games with someone who invented the board.

You shouldn’t be thinking about the way he said it. Or the way he’d leaned in—close enough to smell your shampoo, the glitter one, traitorous and lemon-sweet.

Or how his voice had dipped low like he wanted to taste the words.

But you are.

And it’s driving you insane.

You last until just before sunrise.

Then you march down the hall in bare feet and defiance, fully intending to demand an end to this madness.

Maybe yell. Maybe shake him.

Definitely not… whatever this fluttering in your chest is.

You stop outside his office.

The door is open.

He’s seated at the far end, back to you, reading something on a tablet. He doesn’t look up when you enter, but he says, “You’re up early.”

Your jaw tightens. “You planned that.”

“I plan everything.”

You walk in, arms crossed. “The glitter. The water. The closet. The toothbrush. You knew it would get in my head.”

He finally turns in his chair, tablet abandoned. “And yet… you came to me.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

It’s silent.

That heavy, brittle kind of silence where something has to break.

“You’re impossible,” you say quietly.

He tilts his head. “You’re the one who dyed my face red.”

You blink. “That wasn’t me! That was Luke!”

“But you knew.” He stands now, slow and deliberate, each step toward you heavier than the last. “And you laughed.”

“That was after the shock wore off.”

He stops in front of you, so close your breath hitches.

“You like testing me,” he says, almost gently.

Your voice is soft. “You like watching me squirm.”

His lips curve. “Only when you’re cornered.”

Your heart kicks up. “You don’t scare me.”

“No?” he murmurs, leaning in. “Then why do you look like you’re about to run?”

“I’m not—”

He reaches out—slow, precise—and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your skin like a dare.

You forget how to breathe.

“You know what the real game is?” he says, voice low enough to curl around your spine. “It’s not about revenge. Not anymore.”

You stare at him, pulse racing.

“It’s about seeing how long we can keep pretending this tension is just about pranks.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

He leans in closer, mouth inches from yours. “So go ahead,” he whispers. “Run. Or…”

His breath brushes your skin.

“…stop pretending.”

And in that moment, the air between you threatens to collapse entirely.

Your heart is hammering.

You can hear it—feel it—each thud echoing through your ribs like a countdown.

But nothing moves. Not him. Not you.

Just that impossible closeness and the weight of everything left unsaid pressing in like gravity.

Sylus doesn’t touch you again.

He doesn’t need to.

He’s right there, his presence overwhelming in its stillness, in the way his eyes never leave yours. Not even to blink.

Not even for air. It’s like he’s daring you to look away first.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

The tension is a live wire between you, buzzing, pulsing, dangerously taut.

You could lean in.

He could close the distance. Just one breath more.

One slip.

One break in control.

And everything would unravel.

But neither of you moves.

Because this isn’t about the kiss.

It’s about the pause before it.

The ache of proximity. The heat of restraint.

The mutual, wordless recognition that something’s changed, tilted—irrevocably—but no one wants to name it yet.

His voice, when it comes, is almost a whisper. “Still not scared?”

You swallow, your voice quieter still. “Should I be?”

He leans in just enough for your foreheads to almost touch. “Terrified.”

And there it is again—that exquisite push and pull. That dangerous promise wrapped in affection, mischief, and a power you’ll never quite untangle.

You feel the breath leave your lungs. “Then why haven’t you done anything?”

Sylus doesn’t smile this time. Not quite.

Instead, his gaze drops—briefly—to your lips, then lingers there.

“Because I like this,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“This moment,” he murmurs, voice velvet-dark. “Where you’re still trying to pretend you have the upper hand.”

Your pulse stutters.

“And when I finally take it from you,” he continues, “you’ll know it wasn’t by force.”

His eyes lift back to yours—slowly, intently.

“It’ll be because you gave it.”

Your breath hitches.

And still, he doesn’t move.

Not forward. Not back. Just there.

Waiting.

Like he can stay in this moment forever, balanced at the edge of something dangerous and devastating.

Just to watch you fall first.

He’s still watching you.

Still waiting.

Like he’s reading your every thought, every twitch of hesitation, every part of you that wants to lean in and the part that still clings to the illusion of control.

You don’t speak.

You just look at him.

And that’s all it takes.

Because Sylus moves with the precision of someone who’s already planned this moment ten steps ahead.

One hand rises—fingers brushing your jaw, your cheek, slow as silk.

The other curls gently around your waist, pulling you forward, not forcefully, but with the promise of no escape.

You barely get the chance to gasp before his mouth captures yours.

It’s not a gentle kiss.

It’s deliberate. Consuming.

Like he’s reminding you exactly who you’ve been playing games with.

There’s heat, yes, but more than that—there’s command.

The way his lips move against yours, the way his hand tilts your chin just so, the way your breath disappears entirely beneath his—all of it says, you’ve lost.

And god, you let him.

Your hands curl into his shirt, trying to hold on—anchor yourself.

But he deepens the kiss and everything tilts with it.

The pressure of his body, the taste of him, the sound you make without meaning to—it all blends together in something dangerous.

And then, you feel it.

A faint, thrumming pulse in the air.

A crackle of invisible tension winding around your wrists.

You pull back just barely, lips parted, dizzy. “What—”

Too late.

Energy winds up your arms like silken thread—cool, weightless, until it suddenly binds.

A shimmer of red-black tendrils coils around your wrists, tugging them behind your back, smooth as liquid steel.

Your breath catches. “Sylus—?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing steady, unbothered. “You like playing with fire,” he murmurs, voice low and calm. “But you forget—I am the fire.”

With a flick of his fingers, the energy coils tighten. Your arms are pulled behind you, secured to the low railing of the console desk behind you—elegant, efficient, inescapable.

Then, as if that weren’t enough—he slides a metal cuff into place around your right wrist.

You freeze the second it locks.

You know that cuff.

Dull black, sleek. Lined with tech that silences Evol abilities like a mute button pressed against your skin.

It hums to life with a faint click.

And suddenly, you’re still.

Held.

Caged.

Disarmed.

Your eyes widen. “That’s—”

“—the containment cuff from Tartarus, yes,” he finishes, calmly brushing your hair from your face. “You didn’t think I’d forget to prepare for retaliation, did you?”

You stare at him. “You kissed me just to—?”

He tilts your chin up again, eyes sharp, amused, infuriatingly tender.

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” he says. “Cuffing you was just… a bonus.”

Your mouth opens in protest, but he leans in again, this time slower, deliberate, brushing his lips over yours like a threat.

“Now,” he whispers, “let’s see how long you can behave… without your tricks.”

Then he steps back, leaving you bound to the desk, breathless and flushed, completely and utterly at his mercy.

And he smiles.

Not the cold, amused smile from before.

Something darker. Possessive. Knowing.

“You started this,” he says, voice velvet. “Now you get to see how I finish it.”

You tug against the energy binding your wrists. It doesn’t budge.

The cuff hums faintly at your pulse point, Evol completely silenced.

He stands before you, not gloating—no, that would be too easy.

Too human. He just watches.

Calm. Composed.

Like a man who could undo you in a thousand ways and hasn’t even begun.

“Comfortable?” he asks, voice like poured velvet.

You narrow your eyes. “This is so far beyond revenge.”

“Is it?” he muses, brushing a thumb under your chin. “You did challenge me. Repeatedly. In public. With unicorns.”

You glare. “You’re enjoying this.”

He leans in, mouth grazing the shell of your ear. “Immensely.”

And then—crash.

Followed by a shout.

And another crash.

You both freeze.

Sylus exhales, long-suffering, and turns his head just as the door to the control room swings wide open.

Luke bursts in, holding a smoking toaster. “Okay! Who set the oven to incinerate? I was making waffles—”

He stops.

Stares.

Kieran skids in behind him, carrying a fire extinguisher. “We may or may not have caused a minor electrical—”

Also stops.

Stares.

The three of you hold in silence.

You, flushed, cuffed, and restrained against the desk.

Sylus, standing in front of you with the casual elegance of a villain who’s definitely in charge.

Luke, blinking rapidly.

Kieran, slowly lowering the extinguisher.

“Oh my god,” Luke whispers. “Did we walk in on a—”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you bark.

Kieran’s already backing out. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

Sylus doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. He just looks over his shoulder at them and says, calm as ever.

“Leave. Before I make it permanent.”

Luke raises both hands, stepping back. “Okay! Yep. Carry on. Nothing to see. Just… us. Not here.”

Kieran salutes. “We were never here.”

They vanish.

The door slams.

You exhale through your nose. “I hate them.”

“You encouraged them,” Sylus replies.

“I was peer pressured!”

He hums, reaching for your jaw again, thumb brushing your lower lip. “You always have an excuse.”

“I wasn’t the one who turned revenge into a bondage scene—”

He cuts you off with a low chuckle. “Are you uncomfortable?”

You open your mouth.

Then close it.

Then hiss, “…Yes. In the worst way.”

“Good,” he murmurs, brushing his lips barely—barely—against yours. “Sit in that discomfort. Feel it.”

He steps back again, and your body instinctively leans forward—straining just slightly against the binds.

His smile turns wicked. “That’s one.”

You blink. “One what?”

“One slip.”

You frown. “What is this, a score counter—?”

“Two.”

You shut your mouth. Scowl.

He watches you with open amusement now. “You’re very expressive when you’re trying not to be.”

“Sylus.”

He leans down, gaze inches from yours, voice soft.

“Be good, and I’ll let you go.”

You don’t respond.

His eyes glitter. “Or don’t. I’m patient.”

And he turns to leave. Leaves you there—bound, breathless, and burning.

“Oh my god!” you shout after him. “You’re the worst!”

From down the hall, Luke’s voice echoes faintly, “Is it safe to make waffles again?”

You scream, “NO!”

And Sylus’s laugh—low, dangerous, victorious—follows you like a storm rolling in.

masterlist

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witherby · 5 months ago

Note

SORRY IF THIS IS TOO LONG EL forgeting about my last idea since its kind of generic (this one is also but whateverrrrrhahahsg)

so you know Starfire is an alien right?(tamaranean) how about something where reader is a sort of alien too? (x damian too bc im starting to hyper fixate on him) and like they meet as Damian does patrolling/a mission, kind of how Dick and Star met!!

ill leave if up to there and if you like it!! ANYWAY HI EL!!

—🦈

HI SHARKY.

I was gonna finish writing the vampire!Jason prompt but I saw this and immediately fell into a fugue state instead. When I came out, it was with this. I hope you like it 🩷

Flight of Fancy

Damian Wayne x Winged!Reader

Featuring: language barriers (gibberish), a shoulder wound, and a kiss.

It had started out as a routine track-and-report mission. Damian was supposed to investigate the suspicious cargo shipments in Gotham Harbor, try to figure out what was being delivered, and come back to the Cave with his findings.

Tim's bet was human trafficking. Dick's was illegal arms dealing. Jason's was drugs. Damian guessed poaching. Bruce wanted them to stop making bets about what horrible thing of the week was going on and please focus on getting the task done.

(Bruce was just upset that he wasn't allowed to bet anymore because he kept winning.)

As the night drags on and the boredom starts to creep in, Damian wonders if the ship sitting on the loading dock is actually conducting legal business for once. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened, and it would mean less follow-up work to do.

"Red Robin," Damian mutters into his comm, "there's been no activity for three hours. I'm about to declare this endeavor a wasted one and return to base."

"Copy," Tim says in his ear. "There's no spooky stuff happening on the computer, either. Give it ten more minutes and then come back."

"Understood." Damian shifts on his perch — an unsurveilled roof of a tailoring shop — and casts his gaze along the area for the thousandth time that night.

Cold, choppy waters, devoid of any suspicious activity. Dock workers walking around and doing their jobs as they chatter and whistle amongst each other, devoid of any suspicious activity. The cargo ship that docked an hour ago, devoid of any suspicious —

Well. It wasn't suspicious until he realized that the distant ringing he's heard all night wasn't interference from the dinky, little radio one of the workers has been using to blast old, jazzy tunes, but a shrill crying noise coming from the ship. A normal person wouldn't even be able to detect it, but years of training with the League taught Damian to filter and identify any and all noises he picks up automatically.

"Red Robin. I've identified a potential trafficking situation. Stand by."

"Copy. Standing by," Tim says. "Ready to dispatch EMTs on your word and receive that fifty bucks when you get back."

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, grappling down the building and taking cover in the shadows, maneuvering his way around the harbor men and onto the ship without a sound.

The closer he gets, the louder the crying becomes. He can tell it's just one person making the sound, and that they seem to be locked in one of the titanium crates on the back of the ship. It's child's play to locate the right one and pop the lock open with the small hand laser from his tool bag.

The second it's gone the lid flies open, and Damian gets knocked down by someone he can only describe as ethereal.

You are a collection of stand-out features. Glowing, bright eyes. A wild mane of hair. Well-tailored, form fitting robes. And a huge, breathtaking pair of white wings, that unfurl from your back and shake out into their full width with barely a whisper of sound.

You're bleeding, Damian realizes belatedly. You're bleeding gold. It drips from a wound in your shoulder, running down the sleeve of your robe and soaking the fabric. Small beads trail down your fingertips and stain his chest where you're using your weight to pin him to the ground.

"Whoa," he mutters, because that's the only thing in his mind. Just. Whoa.

You furrow your brow and glare at him, muttering something in a dialect he doesn't understand. The confusion on his face must be evident, because you quickly become frustrated.

"Ira neshmi le-hyr!" You demand, waving the wrist of your other hand in his face, which has a LexCorp-branded tracking bracelet on it. There are faint scratch marks around the skin where you obviously tried to pry the device off.

"Robin? What's the situation? Am I dispatching EMT?" Tim's voice sounds in his ear, startling Damian into taking full stock of the situation again. He blinks a few times, picking up on bootsteps approaching his location, your increasing franticness from where you're knelt above him, and the riskiness of what he's about to do.

"No EMTs," Damian says, reaching for the handheld laser again. He holds it up for you to see, then gestures to your wrist.

You hesitate for only a moment, then offer him your arm and watch him slice the bracelet off and pocket it. With a quick sleight of band, he presses a tracker of his own into the sleeve of your robes, then urges you to get off him.

"Bad people are coming," he says, gesturing to the shadows of figures he can see getting closer. "You should come with me. I can get you somewhere safe."

You stare at him like you don't understand what he's saying. He lets out a frustrated sigh. There's no time for this.

"Me. You. Come with me. That way." He gestures to you, then himself, then points in the direction of the Bat Cave with urgency.

Your eyes dart to where he points, then you nod. He's about to try to figure out how to pantomime you tucking your wings in so you can sneak around better, but you stride forward, wrap your arms around his waist, and use them to take off into the air. Damian clings to you and yelps, drawing the attention of the men on the ship. There's a cacophony of shouting down below that quickly grows faint the farther away you fly.

"The package is escaping!! Someone call the boss!"

"Do we shoot it down?"

"No, you idiot! We need it alive! We'll track it down —"

The rest of their words are lost to the wind. Damian holds onto you with white knuckles and refuses to look down. It's too dark and too smoggy in Gotham to look up at the stars, so the only other thing to observe is you.

If he thought you were stunning on the ground, you're something else in the air. The wind pushes your hair around and out of your face, revealing small markings around your cheeks and eyes. The light your wings catch makes them almost glitter with every beat as you propel the two of you onward. Briefly, you travel over a more illuminated section of the city, which make your eyes look like little constellations.

He's utterly captivated.

"Nirr'm? Luola stesh?" You try to ask him, directing your gaze to him. Damian has no idea how to answer a question he can't understand, so he just points to the ground.

You scan around for a secluded spot to land and gently coast to the ground, setting him down. Damian locks his knees to keep them from buckling and takes several slow, deep breaths.

"I can't understand you," he says after a moment. You furrow your brows again. "And based on your expression, it's vice-versa."

"Robin, come in!" Tim says in his ear, and, oh, he'd forgotten that he stopped responding for ten minutes. "I'm tracking your location and it says you're four miles away from the harbor? What's your status? Do I need to send Batman in for backup?"

"Negative, do not send backup. Don't send EMTs, either."

"You said there was a trafficking situation?"

"Yeah," Damian says, "metahuman trafficking. Don't send anyone until I can figure out how to communicate that they wouldn't be a threat."

"Communicate? What, they don't speak any of the thousand languages you know?"

Damian doesn't respond.

"Oh, shit. Okay. Standing by."

While he'd been talking to Tim, you had inched your way closer and closer to Damian. When he focuses on you again, he almost flinches back after finding you less than a foot away. You perk up when you notice him give you attention and lift your hands up, curling them around his shoulders.

"Um," he mutters, "what are you doing?"

"De-ad'nin," you say, leaning closer. Your eyes don't leave his. "Hmnik?"

"I don't...I can't understand you," he says again. You're waiting for him to do something, he can tell that much. He just doesn't know what you want.

You lean in even more, practically sharing breath. Damian can feel his cheeks warming, but curiosity overwhelms the impropriety, so he doesn't move away. You seem to take this as some sort of permission.

Closing the gap, you press your mouth to his, and Damian freezes.

Soft, he thinks. Your lips are soft. His hands twitch at his sides as he fights the urge to grab your waist, but you have no such reservations as you press yourself practically flush against him and prod at the seam of his mouth with your tongue. A frankly embarrassing whine leaves him, but Damian relents and starts kissing you back with the same level of enthusiasm you show him. Even though his gloves, he can tell that your hair is ridiculously soft as he runs his fingers through it. He's briefly lost in a flurry of sensations, overwhelmed by you, and just when blood starts redirecting itself to other places, you pull away again and clear your throat.

"You helped me," you murmur, slowly and steadily, like you're testing out the words as you say them. "You set me free. Thank you."

"...you're...welcome?" Damian pants, his mind still a little gooey. "Wait, that's English. You're — did you kiss me to learn English?"

"I did," you smile. "I needed to convey my gratitude in your common tongue. I hope I didn't offend you."

Offend was definitely not the word to use. He gently pulls his hands from your hair, but you make no move to separate, so he settles them on your waist instead.

"You're wounded," he says, tipping his head in the direction of your shoulder. The bleeding has slowed, but not stopped. "Let me take you somewhere to get that wrapped."

"Take me where?" You ask. "Not back to the laboratory?"

"No." He doesn't know what lab you're talking about, but he knows he would never willingly put you back in Luthor's hands. "A cave. It has a medical ward where you can have that cut stitched closed."

You seem to give it some thought, idly playing with the hair at the nape of Damian's neck. It takes so much more effort than he anticipates not to melt into it. Your bare skin against his almost burns. You're exceptionally warm, near-feverish.

"Yes," you eventually agree. "You are..." You tilt your head as you search for the right words to use. "Trustworthy. I will go with you there."

Damian relaxes. He presses a finger to his comm.

"Red Robin, send the Batmobile to my location for extraction. I'm bringing the metahuman to the Batcave."

#el speaks #winged reader au #damian x reader #damian wayne x reader #🦈

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themeraldee · 6 months ago

Text

First Time for Everything

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 2.1k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Cunnilingus. Fingering. Overstimulation. Squirting. Literally just PWP.

Written for anon 💚

Homelander’s got you with your back flush to the bed, panting and twitching. He’s just finished a damn good job of licking and sucking your cunt through an orgasm, as always delivered without a hitch. You’re there thrashing around like a fish out of water but he’s got your hips pinned down and there’s not a chance in hell you could ever get out of his titanium hold.

With his head still buried in between your thighs he flattens his tongue over your quivering pussy, feeling every throb, pulse and twitch. Fuck, you feel good against his tongue. While most people he encounters quiver with fear, you quiver with mindless pleasure, the muscles in your thighs shaking around his head. The smell of you has him hungry for more as he laps over your weeping cunt a few more times, catching your clit at every swipe of his tongue. And you taste fucking divine. It was only appropriate for a god like him to be served the most exquisite pussy.

He moves his hand up, pressing down on your pubic area to hold you while his other, now free, hand squeezes his shaft through the soft padding of his pants. It’s not really enough, not enough at all. Especially compared to the delicious squeeze of your cunt he recently got so used to. He pulls back to watch as it uselessly squeezes around nothing, begging for his cock and his cock only.

All in due time. If he stuffed you full now, the fresh tight, orgasm-powered squeeze of your slick walls would have him spilling in no time. You truly were lucky to have him. Nobody else could be so attuned to your needy body’s reactions. Nobody else could see your inner walls pulsate and throb, still coated in your delicious sticky sap.

Just as your orgasm eases off, you lift yourself up slowly to your elbows, then to an almost sitting position, supported by your hands. But Homelander isn’t ready to give up the control he has over your convulsing body. So instead he stops squeezing his cock and he pushes you down on your back again.

“Nope, you stay down. I’m not done with you yet.” His tone was innocently cheerful but his grin didn’t hide the depravity of his thoughts. Oh the thoughts running through his head on just how many ways he can ruin you. Just how many orgasms can he give you before you pass out? Have you ever come without getting your now poor and overstimulated clit played with? He should find out. Fucking into your cunt at every angle imaginable, from either side, front and back, upside down; he could do it all—effortlessly. And when your pussy is raw and aching? Well then he’ll have a little play around with your cute ass. Have you ever had your asshole fingered? Of course not, you were too sweet for that.

Now that you’re his he’s gonna have to work hard to screw that sweetness out of you until he’s left with an unabashedly begging mess that he knows is hiding in you. His cock throbs at the idea. The idea of corrupting you to your filthy core is a tempting one.

He wants—no, needs—you to know that there’s never gonna be anyone that can make you feel like this.

Now that you’re on your back again without much protesting, he peels his gloves off. He thought about stretching your cunt around the soft leather of his glove but the temptation to feel your throbbing flesh around his bare digits was too strong to overcome.

He places his left palm flat on your pubic area, pressing down a little. Looking up he meets your eyes and with another shark-like dazzling grin he asks. “Comfortable?”

You give a cutesy little nod, biting your lip. How dare you look so cute. Other vermin usually tremble in fear anytime he’s close to getting his hands on them whether it be with good intentions or not, yet there you are with his palm pressing down on you and all it does is send a thrill up your spine. The same palm that is capable of very easily crushing the bones in your pelvis is currently splayed out tapping each finger in succession against your skin.

You give your hips a wiggle just to show him how comfortable you are with barely being able to move.

“Good.” He smiles at you, his heart skipping a beat at the joy and excitement that is pouring out of you. You really fucking love him. Feeling overwhelmed by that ballooning emotion he looks down instead focusing his thoughts on your pussy. She’s eagerly waiting for him, so really it’d be rude of him to take any longer.

His pointer and middle finger slide from the top of your slit all the way down. Immediately coated in the sticky goodness your cunt can’t seem to stop producing around him. His slicked fingers go up to your clit, spread in a V shape, now catching your clit where they meet. You give him a few little squeaks each time he gives your clit another teasing bump. How you appear so apple pie sweet even when he’s got his fingers and lips soaked in your juices never ceases to amaze him.

His fingers finally make it down to your hole. It’s pulsating right in front of his fingers, opening up and just trying to slurp him in. It’s a miracle he hasn’t shoved his cock in there yet today. He licks his lips, the taste of you a reminder of good times while the tips of his fingers slide in.

He parts his lips, eyebrows furrowed as he watches your flesh eagerly slick his way through. He lets out a short cut-off gasp as he turns his fingers upside down with his palm now facing up while still inside you. And god is it fucking tight in there. He hasn’t had a chance to stretch you out yet. His cock throbs constantly now, his balls feel heavy, aching to unload inside you. Just feeling your cunt choke his fingers out makes him gasp. The memory of what it’s like to have you squeeze his hard shaft is indescribable, yet he feels it vividly around his fingers knowing you’d be pulling load after load from him. No chance he’s pulling out with a grip like that, fuck.

He’s way too close to messing up his pants with how vivid his memory feels so instead he focuses on you. He needs to ruin you as much as you ruin him. There you are happily on your back not even knowing how hard you’re making this on him. He needs you just as ruined. Just as hazy with the lust he feels anytime he smells your cunt get wet.

He pumps his fingers in and out a few times, getting the digits thoroughly soaked. He presses you down a little harder. You need to be kept in place. He crooks his fingers up, pressing against the soft spongy spot with his fingertips.

He’s only two knuckles deep when he pumps his fingers inside you. He starts slowly. His strong fingers massage you, forcing gentle sighs out of you. Yeah, that won’t do. Going a little harder, he fucks his fingers in and out of you in a curved motion, hitting those upper walls with each stroke. His approach is loose and relaxed, giving you a little warm-up.

“Homelander…” Like music to his ears you moan his name. Your upper body arches. Your hands squeeze the sheets, your own tits, anything. Not being able to move your hips leaves you defenseless. He speeds up. He keeps up the same rhythm, unfaltering in the motion. The squelch of you alone has him salivating. Whether it’s because he’s hungry to eat your pussy again or just desperate to bury himself balls-deep he doesn’t know, but he wants it either way.

“Oh god, wait, it’s too much..” One of your hands grips his forearm, trying to pull his hand away from holding you down but you stand no chance. Good luck pushing against his godly frame. The only way you’d get him off would be if he took mercy on you. And he’s definitely not planning on that.

Your responsive cunt quivers around his digits. He feels your rushed breath and raised heart rate through the press of his hand. It’s delicious. Giving up any control you ever had over yourself and letting him take the wheel. Even though his pace is harsh, his rhythm is even. He fucks you silly as you cry out, eyes welling up with tears when he doesn’t let up.

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down! Please, fuck—oh fuck—please slow down, Homelander!” You sound shrill, panicked as an unfamiliar feeling rises in your core when Homelander’s fingers plunge into you over and over again, rubbing your wet cunt raw and sensitive.

He doesn’t stop. Not yet. He wants another pretty big finish. He wants a display equivalent to the fanfare of the 4th of July fireworks. He wants you to celebrate him. Your body needs to appreciate how much he’s giving you.

Each wet throb of your pussy has his cock leaking into his underwear and if he were any ordinary man he’d be losing all self-control, rutting into the sheets or just you, chasing his own spectacular finish. But this is about you proving how much you love him. How much are you willing to endure?

“Please, it’s too much, too much, toomuch.” You’re gasping for breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Your cheeks are streaked with tears as your pathetic attempts at getting him to stop fail. He’s unyielding. A marble statue. Perfect in every way.

Your cunt is vividly locking up around his fingers and while he expected a show-stopping orgasm he didn’t expect this. A gush of clear liquid spurts out of you, followed by wail coming from your lips. Fuck. You’re a squirter. He pulls his fingers out with a squelch as you gush a few more times, soaking his hand, the sheets beneath you and his sleeve. Looking at his soaked sleeve now he thinks he doesn’t even want to get it washed out, carrying the scent of your pussy around like a trophy.

It’s uncontrollable. Your muscles quiver in a way he’s never seen before. He plunges his fingers into you again, greedy to see if there’s any more in you. Come on, you can do better for him. He deserves the fucking best.

He fucks his fingers into your weeping cunt rapidly, less rhythm this time as he realizes that the heavy breathing he hears is coming from him. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been, slick and squirt coating your thighs, running down in between your ass cheeks adding to the embarrassing bodily squelch of being just a bit too messy.

It’s alright, he can be messy too. He’ll forgive you for this.

You throb hot and heavy around his fingers and he pulls them out again as he watches you gush two more respectable spurts out of your exhausted pussy. He finally lifts his palm off your pubic area and already you’re squirming, pulling back from him and letting your muscles quiver freely.

“Wow, someone didn’t share all their talents with me!” He looks at you. Wow. He wishes he had a camera on him. You’re panting, your eyes are wet and hazy, your lips are swollen from the way you’ve been biting them and you’ve broken out into sweat. “Made a nasty mess, sweetheart.” He gives your pussy a wet pat with his hand while it’s still in reach.

“I didn’t—I didn’t know I could…” You sound wrecked. Jesus, he’s done a number on you. But that’s good, you do a number on him each time too. It was only fair you got to know what it's like to feel so uncontrollably good. “Umh, huh, I’m—I’m sorry. For the mess, I mean.” Aren’t you cute? He forced you to squirt and yet your good nature made you feel like apologizing. The only person you should apologize to should be the Vought employee that’s gonna be responsible for changing the sheets after he’s fully done with you. And even then they don’t fucking deserve your apology.

By now he’s had enough of you pulling away, trying to keep him away from this beautiful performance. My god, you were a natural at this. And he’s so fucking close to making you unravel fully.

“Shh, shh, none of that. No apologies. Instead…” He trails off, flashing you another sharp grin. He grabs you by your thighs pulling you right against where he's rock hard and aching.

“Think you can do that on my cock too?”

Taglist (you can add(or remove) yourself to be tagged when I publish a new fic):

@infinetlyforgotten | @rafecamsgirlll | @nervoussystemss | @hom3landr

@mrsdesade | @nommingonfood | @littlegaaby | @jokesonyoupup

@natliecole | @misatxox

#spat this out in like 2hs #idk what came over me #well #its thirsting hours i guess lmao #ofc as soon as i finish the breastfeeding fic i suddenly have energy to write everything #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #homelander fanfiction #my writing #the boys fanfiction #homelander smut #fic request

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aaron04jpg · 9 months ago

Text

Indycar crash course

(For this all I’m just going to use 2024 as an example)

I hope this is helpful feel free to ask any questions!!

1. Teams/drivers

* There is no limit on how few or many drivers can race for a single team.

* Most teams have 3 cars but some have as low as 2 and others have as high as 5

* Drivers don’t have numbers, the cars/teams do (ex: David is car #66 but will change to #41 when he changes to Aj Foyt racing)

* Additional Teams/drivers will come in for the Indy 500

2. Circuits

* circuit types – from road and street circuits to short ovals (one mile or less) and long ovals, often referred to as superspeedways.

* From what I have seen most Indycar drivers like/prefer ovals

3. Chassis and engines

* Dallara is the exclusive chassis supplier for INDYCAR. The chassis is made of carbon fibre, Kevlar and other composites, and weighs approximately 770 kg.

* Chevrolet and Honda are the two engine manufactures in the series and supply competitors

4. Tyres

* Like Formula 1, INDYCAR has a sole tyre supplier. But instead of Pirelli rubber, INDYCAR uses Firestone.

* Firestone provides three types of tyres for road and street courses, and one for ovals. On road and street courses, there is the ‘primary’ black tyre. The ‘alternate’ red tyre is a softer compound that allows for higher speeds but wears faster. A grey sidewall tyre is used in wet weather conditions.

* On ovals, only the ‘primary’ black tyre is used and if the rain falls at this type of circuit, Indy cars will not take to the track.

5. Aeroscreen

* In Formula 1, the teams have the halo. In INDYCAR, the aeroscreen is a ballistic, canopy-like windscreen anchored by titanium framework surrounding the cockpit.

6. Race weekend format

* The format of race weekends changes from race to race, however the most common is that Friday consists of two practice sessions – one in the morning and one in the afternoon.

* On Saturday, there is a morning practice session followed by qualifying in the afternoon.

* Sunday is race day and it begins with a warm-up session at road and street courses. However, on oval circuits there is no warm-up session.

7. Pit Stops

* Unlike Formula 1 where 16 team members assist during a pit-stop, just seven members of each INDYCAR team are permitted go ‘over the wall’ to execute a pit-stop.

* Team members include: four tyre changers, a fueler, a person responsible for the air jack (to raise the car to change the tyres) and an aeroscreen assistant to clean or pull a ‘tear-off’ from screen to help the driver’s vision.

* Each crew member is required wear a firesuit and helmet for protection.

* Indy cars refuel at each stop and drivers pit depending on the length of the track. In the 10 seconds it takes to fuel the car, all four tyres are changed.

8. Point scoring

* Points are awarded for all finishing positions in INDYCAR.

* First – 50 points, second – 40, third – 35, fourth – 32, fifth – 30, sixth – 28, and so on, going down to just five points for the lowest finishing position in the field.

* Bonus points are awarded for: pole position – 1 point, leading at least one race lap – 1 point, and most race laps led – 2 points.

* For the Indianapolis 500 and the final race of the season, points are doubled in those races.

TEAMS (as of end 2024 season)

1. AJ Foyt Racing

* 14 Santino Ferrucci

* 41 Sting Ray Robb

2. Andretti Global

* 26 Colton Herta

* 27 Kyle Kirkwood (logan’s friend !!)

* 28 Marcus Ericsson

3. Arrow McLaren

* 5 Pato O’Ward (McLaren reserve driver)

* 7 Alex Rossi

* 6 Nolan Siegel

4. Chip Ganassi Racing

* 8 Linus Lundqvist

* 9 Scott Dixon

* 10 Álex Paluo Montalbo

* 4 Kyffin Simpson

5. Dale Coyne Racing

* 51 Katherine Legge

* 18 Jack Harvey

6. Ed Carpenter Racing

* 20 Christian Rasmussen

* 20 Ed Carpenter (ovals only)

* 21 Rinus Veekay

7. Juncos Hollinger Racing

* 77 Romain Grosjean

* 78 Conor Daly

8. Meyer Shank Racing

* 66 David Malukas

* 60 Felix Rosenqvist

9. Rahal Letterman Lanigan Racing

* 15 Graham Rahal

* 45 Christian Lundgaard

* 30 Pietro Fittipaldi

10. Team Penske

* 2 Josef Newgarden

* 3 Scott McLaughlin (twt icon)

#indycar #indy 500 #f1 #formula 1 #logan sargeant #ls2 #david malukas #pato o'ward #kyle kirkwood #josef newgarden #arrow mclaren #mclaren

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stquilts · 2 months ago

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Well it’s done! I can officially say, I finished my first quilt.

I think it came out great and my mom loved it. Definitely room for improvement. Things to remember for next time…

1. Buy more needles. I was surprised at how often needle changes are recommended. In the past, I changed needles when there was problem but that’s about it. I was a good girl and followed the guidebook that said 80/12 for piecing and 90/14 for quilting. I had titanium quilting needles but honestly, I didn’t see a difference between the regular universal and the titanium quilting. I know I prefer the color coded needles so I know what size is on the machine. Only ants and microscopes can read that writing on the needle.

2. Buy enough thread at the get go. Those smaller Gutermann spools you got in a pack as a gift won’t be enough and you’ll run out the one day the fabric store is closed.

3. Trim ALL loose threads. Especially if you’re using light colored borders. If you don’t, they’ll look varicose veins.

4. Computerized machines don’t save your stitch settings. Bastards.

5. Is Pfaff’s IDT the same as a good walking foot? Jury’s out on that one. I still had a fair bit of shifting when quilting but no puckers. Fought that binding all the way around too. I tried adjusting the presser foot pressure (increased it) but didn’t notice a difference. I’ll be playing around with this next quilt.

#quilters of tumblr #quilting #quilt in progress

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ashlovesfood · 16 days ago

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Run Bunny Run ♡

Tags ┈➤ Wolf!Bruce Wayne x Bunny!fem reader, predator/prey relation, preying, tears on a withered flower inspo, mating, fucking, bite marks, hickies, kissing, plot what plot?, rough fucking, pounding, p in v, huge ass dick, petnames, horny animals, heavy love,overstimulation, clit rubbing, pheromones, cunniligus, fangs, spit play, multiple orgasms!（ ´∀｀）☆

S/N - In another alternative universe, your a bunny and Bruce is a wolf. You work at a small flower shop and encountered him, having to make a bouquet of fresh roses for him. When you went to deliver, it was oddly quiet..

Bunny Fucking¡!

Maybe the world was cold, ruthless to people who tried their best in life, especially to you. You were born a bunny, floppy ears with a small fluffy tail at your bottom, mostly standing out from most species. There were many different hybrids out in the world, but somehow bunnies stood out the most due to their size and ears. The attention wasn’t harsh enough to make you cower and hide, but sometimes the gazes were a lot to handle , luckily people in Gotham never seemed to care much.

You walked into your workplace, immediately seeing one of your employees. “Hey fluffy! Listen, I need you to pretty pleaseee take over my shift. I’m going out with the gals and I already covered what I needed, pleaseee!” Your worker gave her big puppy eyes, making her lips pout as she waited for your response. “Ok, fine.. I’ll cover you but you have to pay back the favor, okay?” The two of you locked pinkies, swearing upon your hearts that she would repay the favor. “Eeek! Thank you so much babes love ya!” She gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before running out of the building, going into a different direction. You chuckled, realizing how childish she was but it was cute.

The list of work wasn’t as hard, you worked as a florist in a small known shop near the corner. People come and go, most buying bouquets or flowers for loved ones. On occasion, a man or two decided to flirt with you, but you turned them down knowing that your mind wasn’t really set on dating, well not until you really feel comfortable. Today, your tasks were to make three bouquets for special occasions, clean the storage, and to sweep the floors.

The ding of the bell brought you back, making you look up. “Hi. I, can I get a bouquet of red roses tied together in black ribbon?” You tapped the screen, calculating how much his order was. “Yes of course, how many roses would you like?” There was a silent pause, the sound of breathing awkwardly filling the gap. “50, please. Could you also make sure they smell fresh?” He took out his leather wallet, shuffling through the cards to place a black American Express card on the counter. You caught a glimpse of the name ‘Bruce Wayne’ embedded into the card, where have you heard of this name?.. “I’ll make them extra fresh for you. It’s $85.27.” Your eyes were focusing on his ears, big wolf ears that twitched at the slightest movement. Wolves were known for their keen sense of smell, hearing, speed, and breeding. He handed the card to you, watching the titanium slide through the machine, a small beep approving the transaction. “Thank you so much- Here, drop these off at this address around 5:30 P.M. I’ll be waiting, fluffy..”

He gave you a subtle smile, turning around and walking out the door. Your face was heating up like a tea kettle, the way your nickname rolled off his tongue made your thighs clench with need . “Oh my goodness..” The loud sound of your heartbeat echoed in your ears, a slight thump of your foot against the wooden floors bringing you back to reality. Right, focus.

Your hands got to work, stripping the thorns off the stems making them prickly free. You cut them at an angle, placing together different ranges to make it look aesthetically appealing. The first bouquet was done, a pink and white tulip bouquet with baby’s breath placed in between. 1:36 P.M. Three bouquets were finished within a matter of time, leaving you to clean the storage and to sweep the floors. In the back, storage wasn’t always easy to clean. There were always random items placed inside, or withered petals from previous flowers sitting on the shelves. You managed to remove every misplaced item and cleaned up the petals, losing track of time in the small room. The sun was still shining, but the sky looked gloomy, like the Gods were punishing Gotham. Today wasn’t as moody, but the sky thought otherwise, rain trickling down onto the streets. 3:45 P.M. Last task was to sweep the floors. Thankfully, the floors were never that dirty. Usually, there are some dried up flowers on the floor or scraps of ribbon strewn around. You sweeped, hearing the door open as customers came in to pick up their bouquets.

There was the bouquet of roses you had to deliver, a small note written with an address on top, in neat handwriting. 4:28 P.M. It wasn’t five yet, but it never hurt to be earlier right? You grabbed the roses along with your keys, turning off the lights and flipping the open sign to close, shutting the door behind. The rain was starting to become heavy, forcing you to sprint towards your car. The door opened with a click, the pitter patter of rain against your windshield blurred your vision. It was warm in the small space, special warming built in as soon as you got in. The drive towards the address felt shady, seeing how the road disconnected into a pathway of pine trees, followed by a black iron gate at the end. Your car approached the gate, expecting to put a code in or something, but it automatically opened..

The house was gigantic, a gothic architectural manor surrounded by a huge driveway, a fountain being the centerpiece. Never, in your entire life would you think you would be driving to this sort of house. You placed the gear shift into park, turning off the engine and opening the door to get out. You ran towards the house, looking at the outside, it was so.. empty . There were no signs of anyone else, except a few black cars parked neatly throughout. I n your mind, alarm bells rung signaling you to get out, to turn around and get the fuck out of here, but you were always determined. The bouquet laid in your hand, a beautiful case of 50 roses with black fabric surrounding it. Figuratively, your heart almost came out of your ass when you heard the large door creak open, the small knock you thought wasn't hard enough managed to pry open the antique door.

Inside, the decorations and interior were absolutely beautiful, keeping the gothic vibe with variations of furniture. Your eyes were bulging out of your sockets, amazed with how big the inside was, hearing your footsteps pad against the marble tile. “Hello? Is there a Mr.Wayne here?” You shouted out loud, your voice bouncing around the walls, hearing no reply but empty silence. The rain slightly dampened your fur, making your floppy bunny ears heavier than usual. Then, a wave of musky cologne hit like a brick, the air stained with an intense aroma. “Bunny?.. You- shit! You can't be here bunny, or I'll hunt you down… ” His voice boomed throughout the manor, making your heartbeat pump kicking in your fight or flight mode.

Before you could register, your feet were already picking up, dashing towards a room near the hallway. You shut the door behind you, sliding down the wood to block him from coming in. Your hand clamped down on your mouth, trying to silence your breathing, focusing on the pitter patter of his footsteps. They were getting quieter, but then a loud boom was heard. You covered your eyes with your floppy ears, praying that he wouldn’t find you. It was too late, the door sprang open making you tumble out on the floor, looking directly at his face. “Found you…” His ears were bigger and more alert, he looked more hot, handsome, fucking delicous. He grabbed you gently off the floor, throwing your body over his shoulder like a potato sack.

His smell, it was addicting like a drug to your mind, making you feel all hot and needy . “Wait, hah- P-put me down! Please Mr.Wayne-” “Bruce. Call me by my first name, please.” He reached the master bedroom within seconds, throwing you onto the plush sheets on his bed. His smell made you clench around nothing, your panties dampened, forming a wet spot . “Bunny.. I could smell your scent ever since I entered that damn shop.. You looked so cute.” Bruce grabbed your ankles, sliding you down to the edge of the bed, making butterflies erupt in your stomach. “Please bunny, can I?” He leaned down towards your stomach, looking at your eyes for consent. “Yes, Bruce..” He was rock hard, lengthy dick pumping precum through his briefs, growing even more at the sight of your body . His hands removed your shoes, ripping your pants to shreds with his strength. He was blessed with the sight of your panties, cute lacy pink ones with a pink bow sitting on top. You shivered at the sudden chill, closing your thighs to prevent the coldness creeping up your thighs. Bruce placed his hands on top of your plushy thighs, holding them open as he looked down at his meal .

The fingertips of his hands yanked your panties down, face moving in to lick a long wet stripe down your pussy. “Hngh! B- Sensitive!..” You mewled, clenching the sheets with your paws, trying to stabilize your body. He growled into your folds, sending shocks of desire through your core, making you arch off the bed. He was devouring you, long licks of your slick fulfilling his thirst. He flicked your bud, making you come instantly. “Oh shitttt.. Bunny, couldn’t hold it in anymore?” He chuckled, grinding his boner against the mattress. You could come from his voice alone, panting as you tried to recover from your blissful orgasm. He nipped at the inside of your thighs, leaving a large bite mark with his fangs, sucking on the delicate skin making a purple spot. He sucked on your thighs, practically eating you up without hesitation, making you shake with desire. “Please Brucey.. Put it in..” Your hips bucked into his face searching for any hint of touch, trying to get off on him.

His mind crumbled in an instant, standing up to look at your body. You’ve removed your hoodie, leaving your top in a cute matching bralette, the same tiny bow on top. His hands latched onto your boobs, feeling the hard buds through the fabric, groaning at the squishy flesh. “You're perfect, so damn perfect bunny… ‘M gonna have to knock you up with my seed now, do I?..” He removed his cock from his boxers, the sight of a hot cherry red tip dripping with precum, making his shaft glisten. He was a whopping 11 whole inches, the sight of his length hitting the top of his defined abs, a sticky mess of pre rubbed onto his stomach. You gasped, realizing how much of a monster he was, with his large ears and sharp fangs, but his dick? R.I.P to you, cause of death from Bruce Wayne's dick! He leaned down slowly, opening your thighs to show your meaty pussy.

He spat on your clit, leaving a wet glob that dripped down your slit, making you moan. “Nghhh- Put it in already, pleasee!” You were sobbing, tears running down your cheeks, you were running off the feeling of need and pleasure. “Bun.. Don't cry, please.” He rubbed the flaming red tip onto your pretty little clit, using his spit and your slick to lube his shaft. He lined his dick up with your hole, thrusting all 11 inches in slowly. “Ohhh- You gotta relax f’me..” Your body was on fire, the feeling of being stuffed with his massive cock made you almost pass out. Your mouth breathed his name like a mantra, repeating the same word like there was nothing else in your brain besides him. He moved forward, the tip kissing your cervix sending chills down your spine. Bruce grunted, pulling back leaving only his tip in, jolting forward to feed you all 11 inches.

“Fuuuckkk!!!” You cried from the sensation, his hips fucking you like there was no tomorrow. Your bones were clattering from how rough he could fuck, pleasure and pain frying your brain. You came around his dick, clenching the sides of his length . “Hahh– Just came f’me? Oh good girl.. ” He started to speed up his pace, fucking your body into the mattress, his fingers leaving crescent moon marks on your thighs. He leaned down towards your boobs, ripping off your bra and throwing it behind him. He gripped one thigh while using the other one to stimulate the bouncy breasts, sucking and nipping on one of your nipples while rubbing the other one. His thrusts were getting sloppier, maw open heavily panting . Bruce felt it coming, placing his hands next to your head as his hips met yours. “Bruce Bruce Bruce! “M cumminggg-” He groaned loudly, plopping down to bite you on your pulse point, a mark meaning that you were his . The combination of your orgasms left both of you breathless, needy for each other in a deep sense. You looked up into his big milky eyes, grabbing his face with your hands, kissing his lips. Your kiss was basically the signal that made him reharden, the feeling of his tip spurting deep ropes of cum into your womb, his knot plugging your pussy to prevent anything leaking. “Guess your mine forever now, bunny.”

তততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

A/N - oops this is an old work but why not post it now teheeeeeee also i lucid dreamed (kinda) for the first time bc apparently u can feel everything and i got fucked in roblox form??? also i wasnt in control of my dream sigh

#i love batman #bruce wayne x reader #dc comics #bruce wayne #batman smut #bruce wayne smut #fem reader #smut #batman x reader #ashywashy #batman comics #batman #dcu smut #dc smut #dcu comics #dcu #bunny girl #rutting #⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕤𝕗𝕠𝕠𝕕˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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luvoooenha · 3 months ago

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Fake skating

Summary- Y/N and Sunghoon have been ice skating rivals for as long as she can remember—or so she thinks. To Y/N, Sunghoon is the enemy: the boy who always outshines her on the ice, snatches her titles, her hard-earned moments, and, worst of all, her parents' approval. Their relentless comparisons and favoritism sting more than she'd ever admit. She tells herself she doesn’t care... but she does. She cares too much.

Worse still, ice skating—once something she loved—has become a prison. The pressure, the spotlight, and the constant race to beat Sunghoon have drained her. One day, something snaps. A small moment—maybe a stumble, a comment, or just a realization—hits her like a blade to the back of her head: She doesn’t have to do this anymore. Five months before the skating season begins, Y/N shocks everyone by quitting ice skating to pursue something unexpected—cheerleading.

The decision rocks their world. Her parents are furious. The skating world is stunned. And Sunghoon? He’s pissed. Not because he hates her like she thinks—but because he secretly loves skating with her. Ever since they were kids, she’s been his fire, his rival, his everything. Now, with her gone, the ice feels colder, emptier.

As Y/N flourishes in cheer, Sunghoon is forced to confront the truth: rivalry was never what he felt for her. And maybe… just maybe, Y/N is about to realize that too.

Paring- Ice skater! Sunghoon x Cheerleader! Y/N

warnings! angst, kissing, bad relationship with parents, peer pressure, contact with ex (ik yall need this one...), imposter syndrome (kinda), PDA, crying, pls lmk if I missed some!

wc: 18k

a/n- finished this in 9 hours (we all cheer!) im writing this bc I loved high school cheer 💞

Y/N had always hated Park Sunghoon. Not the kind of petty dislike you develop for someone in passing, but a deep, seething loathing that came from years of rivalry, of stolen victories, and spotlight-snatching. Sunghoon was everywhere. On the ice, in her coaches' praises, on her parents' lips.

"Why can’t you be more like Sunghoon? Look how clean his footwork is. Look at that triple axel! He’s so dedicated."

Dedicated. Talented. Perfect.

And Y/N was always a step behind.

They had started skating together as kids, back when things were simpler. Back when ice skating was fun and not a competition. But everything changed the moment Sunghoon started winning, and Y/N didn’t. Not that she lost often, but even one second place behind him felt like failure in her parents' eyes.

Her hatred simmered with every medal he took home, every cheer from the crowd meant for her but redirected to him. He didn’t even try to be nice about it. Always calm, composed, with that smug little smirk when he bowed for applause.

She hated him. She hated him so much.

But Sunghoon? He didn’t hate her the way she thought he did. Sure, they argued, exchanged icy glares, and their banter could cut through titanium. But behind it all, his feelings weren’t made of hate. They were made of something else, something he didn’t dare speak aloud.

Because to him, Y/N wasn’t just a rival. She was the rival. The reason he pushed harder, trained longer, aimed higher. Skating with her, against her, was the thrill he lived for. He couldn't imagine a rink without her.

Then one day, everything changed.

Y/N stood in the center of the rink, her skates on for what would be the last time. She had made up her mind. The resentment, the pressure, the suffocating expectations—it was too much. She had started skating for herself, but now, it wasn’t even hers anymore. It belonged to her parents, to the judges, to Sunghoon.

As she landed her final jump, her coach's whistle cut through the rink like a blade.

"Stop! What was that? Are you even trying, Y/N? That performance was lifeless. Flat. Again! From the top."

Y/N blinked, sweat dripping down her face, lungs burning.

"Coach, I—"

"No excuses! You're sloppy. You think this half-hearted effort is going to win you anything? You want to keep embarrassing yourself next to Sunghoon? Because that’s all you’re doing lately. If you can’t keep up, maybe it’s time to rethink your priorities."

Something in Y/N cracked. The words slammed into her chest like a freight train, knocking the air out of her lungs. Her hands curled into fists as tears stung her eyes.

"You know what? You're right," she said, voice trembling. "I am rethinking my priorities. I'm done. I quit."

Silence fell over the rink. Her coach gaped, stunned. Sunghoon turned sharply, eyes wide.

There was a beat of silence before her coach let out a short laugh. "Very funny, Y/N. Now stop playing around and take your position again. From the top."

Y/N yanked off her skates, throwing them down with a thud. "I'm not joking! I can't do this anymore. I try my best, every single day, and it's never enough. I feel like I have to be perfect, like I have to be like Sunghoon or else I'm nothing! Do you know how exhausting that is? To give everything you have and still feel like you're falling short—like you're invisible?"

Her voice rose, cracking under the weight of years of bottled-up frustration. "I hate it! I hate how this feels! I used to love skating, but now it's just pressure and pain and—"

Her words choked off, and tears streamed down her face as she sank to her knees on the ice, sobbing for the first time since she was a little girl. Her shoulders shook with each breath, and the weight of years of pressure finally broke her.

Her coach froze, the laughter gone, replaced by awkward silence. "Y/N... come on now, don't be like this. You're just tired. Think about all the work you've put in, all the competitions ahead. You don't want to throw that away, do you? Think about your parents. They’ve sacrificed so much for you."

The guilt-tripping only made her cry harder. No one moved. No one spoke. For once, it wasn’t about winning or losing. It was just about her.

She had broken free, and it hurt like hell.

Grabbing her bag with trembling hands, Y/N stormed out of the rink, skates clenched tightly, boots clacking against the floor with every determined step. Her breaths came in sharp bursts, vision blurred by tears she couldn’t stop.

Behind her, Sunghoon watched, frozen for a moment, then took off after her. "Y/N! Wait!"

She didn’t stop. The door slammed open and she stepped into the cold air, needing space, distance—anything but him.

"Y/N!" Sunghoon called again, catching up to her in the parking lot. "Talk to me! You can’t just walk away like that."

She spun around, eyes blazing. "Why not? Why can’t I, Sunghoon? What do you want me to say? That I’m fine? That this doesn’t matter? It meant nothing to you, but it meant everything to me. And I can’t anymore. I just can’t."

He stared at her, stunned. "It didn’t mean anything. It never did."

But to Y/N, at that moment, his words were just noise.

She turned away, shoulders shaking, and kept walking.

When Y/N got home, her parents were waiting.

"What were you thinking?" her mother snapped. "You made a scene! Quitting? Is that your idea of a joke?"

"You embarrassed us," her father added, eyes cold. "After everything we’ve done for you, and this is how you repay us? Throwing it all away like it’s nothing? Do you know how much money we've spent on your training, the sacrifices we've made? Do you think this is some game?"

"I'm not a puppet!" Y/N screamed, her voice cracking from all the held-in anger. "You talk about sacrifices? I sacrificed myself for this stupid dream that wasn’t even mine! You never asked what I wanted. You just shoved me into skates and expected perfection. I’m done! I’m done killing myself to make you proud. I'm tired of being compared to Sunghoon like I'm nothing more than a failure."

Her mother stepped forward, face flushed with fury. "You ungrateful child! You think this is about what you want? We’ve given you everything—"

"No! You gave me pressure, and guilt, and a life that doesn’t belong to me! I don’t want it! I want to live for myself! I want to breathe, and choose my own future!"

Her father’s voice was low, dangerous. "You’re a junior in high school. You’ve got a future ahead of you—college recruiters are watching, scouts have shown interest. You’re going to throw away your shot at scholarships, your entire career—because of what? A tantrum?"Y/N’s hands trembled, but her voice was steel. "It’s not a tantrum. It’s me choosing my future. Maybe I don’t want to go to college for skating. Maybe I want to try something new, something that actually makes me happy. Maybe I want to cheer, or theater, or anything else. And if that means losing everything you planned for me, then so be it."

Her mother’s face twisted in disbelief. "You want to cheer? That’s what you’re throwing your life away for? After all our sacrifices, all our time, all our money—"

"It’s not your life!" Y/N shouted, eyes blazing with unshed tears. "It’s mine! And I’m taking it back."

Her father’s voice dropped to a growl. "If you walk away from this, from everything we’ve done for you—don’t expect our help. Not with college, not with anything. You’re on your own."

Y/N took a shaky breath, heart pounding. "I’m not asking for your support anymore. I don’t need it. I just need to be me."

Her parents stood in stunned silence, and for the first time, Y/N wasn’t afraid of their disappointment.

She was just Y/N, finally standing on her own.

Y/N dropped her bag onto the bedroom floor, the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders. She stood still for a moment, staring at the door like it might somehow close off the noise in her mind. The argument with her parents, the look on Sunghoon’s face, the stinging words she’d thrown in the heat of frustration—it all circled around her like a storm she couldn’t escape.

Her hand trembled as she picked up her phone. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath until she saw the missed messages.

One from Sunghoon. A few from Yunjin. One from Coach Minji.

Her throat tightened again, this time with a feeling she couldn’t quite place. The fear of what Sunghoon might have said. They worry that Yunjin will be angry. And Minji… Well, Coach Minji’s messages were always a direct reflection of her expectations—something she was no longer sure she could meet.

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, phone still in her hands, staring at the screen. The world felt muffled, like she was floating just out of reach of everything she used to know. She had made her decision. It had been impulsive, almost reckless—but now, in the silence of her room, she wasn’t sure if she had the strength to face what came next.

Her thumb hovered over Sunghoon’s message. She could almost hear his voice through the screen, the sharpness of his anger, the disappointment, or maybe something else she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Yunjin’s messages were no better, her best friend undoubtedly full of concern, maybe even a little confusion. But it was Coach Minji’s message that lingered in her thoughts.

She opened it.

"Y/N, we need to talk. This decision is not something I take lightly, and neither should you. I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow morning. I hope you’ve thought this through."

The words hit her harder than she expected. She had thought she was done, that walking away was the only way to free herself, but Minji’s message reminded her just how many people she was leaving behind—people who had invested in her. People who had believed in her when she couldn’t.

Her breath caught in her chest, and for a moment, the room felt impossibly small. What had she done?

Y/N stared at Coach Minji’s message for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the screen as if the words might change if she gave them enough time. But they didn’t. They were there, cold and final, a reminder of the world she had just walked away from. A world she thought she could never escape from.

She had always been good at pushing through—at burying the doubts and pushing down the guilt until it became a dull hum in the background. But now, it felt like the noise was deafening, every echo of her old life ringing in her ears.

The truth was, Y/N wasn’t sure when it had all started to feel like a cage, but she knew it had been a long time coming. For years, she had lived for the approval of her coaches, her parents, and the skating world. They’d made her believe that winning was everything. That titles and awards were all that mattered. But in the end, it was nothing but pressure. A pressure that had consumed her.

She had thought quitting would feel like freedom, like stepping into a space where she could breathe again. But now that the choice was made, the weight of it was heavy, like a stone in her chest. The fear of the unknown gnawed at her insides, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating feeling of being trapped in a life that wasn’t hers.

Her fingers hovered over the phone again, and she could almost hear Coach Minji’s disappointed tone in her mind, and could almost picture the stern look she would get in the rink tomorrow. But Y/N didn’t care anymore. She wasn’t going back. Not to skate. Not to that world.

She deleted the message from Minji without a second thought, her pulse racing as if the simple action was somehow going to release her from the grip of her past.

As for Sunghoon... Well, his message could wait.

Y/N didn’t know if she was ready to confront him yet. She didn’t know if she was ready to face the fact that everything she had believed about their rivalry—about him—might have been wrong. Maybe he wasn’t the enemy after all. Maybe he had been the only person who truly understood what it was like to be stuck in that world. But even the thought of confronting him, of having to talk through everything, felt too much. Too soon.

She wouldn’t respond to him. Not today. Maybe not ever.

Instead, she focused on the new path she was carving for herself. Cheerleading was different. It was wild, chaotic, loud—and most importantly, it was hers. No comparisons. No judgments. No constant fight to prove she was enough.

The pressure was gone. For the first time in years, Y/N could breathe. And that, she realized, was worth more than any title, any medal, or any coach’s approval.

She placed her phone face down on the nightstand and curled up under the covers, her mind still racing but with a sense of quiet resolve settling in. Tomorrow, she would step into a new world—one where she wasn’t defined by her past. One where, for the first time in forever, she could simply be herself.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt a flicker of hope.

The next morning, Y/N walked into school with her head held high, but the familiar buzz of the hallway felt different today. Normally, she would have felt energized, ready to push through another day of balancing practice, schoolwork, and everything in between. But today, everything felt off. Like the weight of her decision was following her, hanging over every step she took.

Yunjin caught up with her by the lockers, her usual bright energy replaced by something more cautious.

"Y/N, we need to talk," she said, her voice low but steady, like she knew Y/N had already made up her mind.

Y/N paused, biting her lip. She didn't want to face this yet, but Yunjin was her best friend. The one person who knew her better than anyone else, the one who always had her back. The thought of disappointing her hurt more than she cared to admit.

"What’s up?" Y/N said, trying to sound casual, though she could feel the tension in her own voice.

Yunjin glanced around before pulling Y/N aside into a quieter corner of the hallway. "You’ve been avoiding me all morning," she started, her eyes full of concern. "And… I get it. I know this decision was big, but you’ve barely said a word since yesterday. Are you okay?"

Y/N forced a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, I’m fine."

But Yunjin wasn’t buying it. "No, you’re not," she pressed. "I get that you’re going through a lot right now, but running away from it isn’t the answer. You can’t just ignore everything. Especially not Sunghoon." Her eyes softened as she said his name, like she knew how difficult it would be for Y/N to hear.

"Sunghoon?" Y/N laughed, but it was hollow. "Why do you even care about him? He’s the one who’s always made everything harder for me. He doesn’t care about me, Yunjin. He just wants to win."

But Yunjin shook her head, crossing her arms. "That’s not true. You know that’s not true." Her voice was firm, and for a moment, Y/N could hear the underlying hurt in her words. "He’s been texting you nonstop, hasn’t he? He’s been worried about you. And you haven’t even responded."

Y/N’s throat tightened. She hadn’t realized it, but she had been ignoring all of Sunghoon’s messages since yesterday. She hadn’t even opened his texts. It was easier that way—easier to keep the world she had left behind at arm's length.

"I don’t need him to worry about me," Y/N muttered, feeling the sting of her own words. "I’m done with all of it. Done with skating. Done with him."

Yunjin’s eyes softened, but she didn’t push. Instead, she gave Y/N a small, knowing look. "You’re not just done with him, are you?" she asked quietly. "You’re running from something. From everything. But Y/N, you can’t just keep shutting everyone out."

Y/N bit her lip, feeling the lump form in her throat. She hadn’t realized it before, but the more Yunjin spoke, the more it hurt. Maybe it wasn’t just skating she was running from. Maybe it was Sunghoon. And maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t understood how much he had meant to her. How much he had been there all along, even in ways she hadn’t recognized.

As if on cue, Yunjin’s phone buzzed, breaking the silence. She glanced down at it and her expression shifted. "It’s Sunghoon," she said, her voice softer now. "He’s asking to meet up. He wants to talk."

Y/N’s stomach dropped. "I don’t want to talk to him," she said quickly, but it was too late. The words were already out there, and she couldn’t take them back.

But Yunjin wasn’t letting up. "Y/N, you have to talk to him. You don’t get it, do you? He’s not just your rival. He’s been your closest person for so long. You’ve both been pushing each other to the limit, but... that’s not just rivalry. It never was."

Y/N stared at her friend, the truth slowly sinking in. The realization hit her like a punch in the gut. Sunghoon had always been there, always been the person who pushed her, challenged her, made her feel something other than emptiness. But she had always seen him as the enemy, the one who took everything she wanted, the one who made her feel like she wasn’t good enough.

But now… now she saw it. He had been struggling too, just in a different way. And worse, she hadn’t even given him the chance to explain. She hadn’t even realized that he cared.

"I didn’t know," Y/N whispered, the weight of the realization pressing down on her chest. "I didn’t know he felt like that."

Yunjin gave her a sad smile, the kind that said everything without needing words. "He does, Y/N. But you’re shutting him out. And if you keep doing that… you’re going to lose him. You’re not just quitting skating. You’re walking away from everything that made you who you are."

Y/N’s heart ached, but for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t just because of the pressure. It was because she had made a decision that had hurt the people she cared about most, without even realizing it.

She needed to face him. She needed to understand the things she had ignored for so long. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late to make things right. But for now, she just had to take the first step.

Y/N found herself standing at the corner of the school’s courtyard, her palms sweaty despite the cool breeze. She hadn’t agreed to meet Sunghoon, not really, but somehow she ended up here, the weight of his unspoken words hanging over her. Her thoughts were scattered, but there was a part of her that knew she couldn’t keep avoiding him forever.

A figure appeared from the shadows—Sunghoon, walking toward her with that familiar, determined stride. He stopped a few feet away, his face unreadable but his eyes sharp, like he was waiting for her to speak. For her to say something, anything, that would break the tension between them.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Y/N could feel the space between them crackling, filled with unspoken questions, unsaid words.

Finally, Sunghoon spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "You really think you can just walk away from everything, Y/N?"

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She wanted to deny it, to tell him that she was fine, that everything was fine, but the truth was too much to hold in. She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but they were lost somewhere deep inside her.

"I… I don’t know what else to do," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. "Skating was everything, and now it’s nothing. It feels like I’m suffocating in it, Sunghoon. I don’t even remember why I started anymore. I’m just so tired of fighting for something that… that I don’t even want."

Sunghoon’s gaze softened, but there was no anger in his eyes—only concern, a deep, unspoken hurt. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them, his presence solid and unwavering.

"You think quitting will fix it?" he asked, his voice low, almost gentle. "Do you really think running away from skating will solve everything?"

Y/N’s chest tightened, and she finally let the walls around her heart crack. She blinked hard, trying to stop the tears from spilling, but they came anyway. The vulnerability she had been hiding for so long was too much to hold back.

"I don’t know," she choked out. "I just… I just wanted to feel like I was more than just a title. More than just what everyone else expected of me. I wanted to be… free. But now, I feel even worse. I thought quitting would help, but I don’t even know who I am anymore."

Sunghoon didn’t speak right away. Instead, he stepped forward, his hand reaching out, gently brushing her arm. It wasn’t the touch she expected, but it was the one she needed. For once, he wasn’t the rival who pushed her to be better—he was the person who was simply there.

He took another step closer, his voice soft but insistent. "Y/N, I know you’ve been carrying this for a long time. I know it’s not easy, but you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m here. Always have been."

Y/N’s heart ached at his words, and before she could stop herself, she felt the flood of emotion hit her all at once. Her chest heaved as she fought to keep the tears at bay, but they spilled over anyway. "I’m scared, Sunghoon," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Scared of failing. Scared of being nothing."

His hand moved to her shoulder, steady and comforting. "You’re not nothing," he said, his voice steady, like he was trying to anchor her in a storm. "You never were. And you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to be the perfect skater, the perfect daughter, the perfect anything. You’re enough as you are."

Y/N looked up at him, eyes full of disbelief. For so long, she had seen him as the one who always had everything figured out—the one who never faltered, never showed weakness. And now, here he was, offering her something she hadn’t even known she needed: understanding, acceptance, and a kindness that was impossible to ignore.

"I didn’t realize how much I hurt you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn’t even think about how it was affecting you."

Sunghoon’s expression softened, but there was no anger in his eyes. Just… a quiet sadness. "You didn’t know," he said simply. "And I didn’t know how to tell you. But I’m not mad, Y/N. I just… I want you to be happy. I want you to feel like you’re not doing this just for everyone else. For once, do it for yourself."

Y/N felt a shudder pass through her, her heart pounding in her chest as his words sank in. For the first time in ages, she felt like maybe she wasn’t alone in this. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward—without the weight of expectations, without the pressure of being perfect.

She took a shaky breath, her hands still trembling. "I don’t know if I can go back to skating," she admitted, her voice fragile. "But I want to figure out who I am without it. I don’t want to keep pretending to be something I’m not."

Sunghoon nodded, a small, understanding smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You don’t have to go back to skating if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. But whatever you decide, I’ll be here. I’ve always been here."

Y/N felt the weight on her shoulders lighten just a little, the pressure of the decision she had made beginning to ease. Maybe she didn’t have all the answers yet. Maybe she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. But for the first time, she wasn’t scared to figure it out. And she wasn’t alone.

As Sunghoon stood beside her, the tension between them began to dissolve. Maybe the rivalry wasn’t over, but it didn’t have to define them anymore. Not when they both finally understood what really mattered.

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Y/N. Her conversation with Sunghoon had given her a lot to think about, and as she walked home, the weight in her chest had lessened, replaced by a strange sense of resolve. She hadn’t realized how much she had been holding in until now. Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to figure things out.

When she walked into her room, she tossed her bag onto the bed and let out a deep breath. The house was quiet—too quiet—and the silence made her feel even more unsure about everything she had left behind. But then, as she sat down at her desk, something caught her eye.

A small flyer was pinned to the corkboard by her window, one she hadn’t noticed before. It was brightly colored, with bold, attention-grabbing text: Cheerleading Tryouts - Two Weeks Away!

Her pulse quickened as she stepped closer, reading the details. Two cheer clinics next week, tryouts on Monday. The more she read, the more the excitement bubbled up inside her. This was it. The step she needed to take.

For the first time in a long while, she felt a spark of something—something other than doubt or fear. Maybe this is what I’ve been looking for, she thought.

Y/N had always loved the energy of cheerleading. It was different than skating—it was fast, loud, and full of adrenaline. The thought of performing stunts, the idea of being part of a team again, made her heart race. And the best part? She wasn’t starting from scratch. She had the skills.

She wasn’t just someone who could do a toe touch or a right hurdler. She could do a front handspring. She’d stunted with her cousins countless times just for fun, laughing as they lifted each other in the air. The balance, the flexibility, the coordination—it was all there. She had the basics, the physical foundation. It was just a matter of diving in and trusting herself.

Y/N placed her hand on the flyer, the weight of the decision settling into her mind. She wasn’t going to let fear stop her anymore. This was the next step in her life, the next chapter. She could feel the pull of it, the way it called to her in a way that skating hadn’t for a long time.

"I’m doing this," she whispered to herself, the words firm in the quiet room. "I’m taking the step. No looking back."

She grabbed her phone and texted Yunjin: Hey, I'm going to the cheer clinic next week. You should come with me.

The excitement of the idea hit her all over again, and this time, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing. She was ready. Ready to let go of the past and embrace something new. Something that was hers, something that felt right.

It wasn’t just about trying something different—it was about reclaiming herself. She wasn’t defined by her past, by the titles and expectations. She was ready to redefine who she was.

And no matter what came next, she knew she would face it head-on, with a strength she didn’t know she had until now.

The cheer clinic was held in the gymnasium of the high school, a place Y/N had walked past countless times but never truly noticed. Now, as she stepped inside, the sound of sneakers slapping against the polished floor and the sharp, rhythmic claps of hands echoed in the space, and she felt the excitement buzzing in the air.

The clinic was packed with girls—some familiar faces from school, others she’d never seen before, all stretching and warming up in groups. The atmosphere was electric, and for the first time in ages, Y/N felt a spark of joy. This wasn’t about competition. This wasn’t about perfection. It was about fun, energy, and being part of something bigger than herself.

Yunjin walked beside her, equally excited but also nervous. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her eyes wide. “This is... a whole different world from skating.”

Y/N smiled, her stomach fluttering with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. “Yeah, but I think it’s exactly what I need. I’m ready for something new. And I’m not starting from scratch. I’ve got some moves.”

Yunjin laughed. “I know you do. I’ve seen you do stunts with your cousins. You’ve got this.”

They joined the group at the center of the gym, where Coach Minjae, the cheerleading coach, was already giving instructions. Coach Minjae was all smiles, exuding energy and enthusiasm that made Y/N’s nerves ease just a little. "Alright, ladies!" he called, clapping his hands. "We’re here to get a feel for cheerleading. Stretch, warm up, and let’s get ready to move."

Y/N joined in with the group, stretching her muscles and feeling her body loosen up. It felt good—she was flexible, had the strength, and the muscle memory from skating was already kicking in. She could do a toe touch, a right hurdler—nothing too complicated, but it was a start.

Coach Minjae moved among the girls, offering pointers and encouragement. After a few minutes, they began practicing some basic stunts—nothing too advanced, just a simple toss and catch. Y/N’s heart raced as they paired up. She didn’t know anyone here, but it didn’t matter. She just needed to prove to herself that she could do this.

When it was her turn, Y/N partnered with a girl named Mira, a senior who was tall and strong, a perfect base for stunting. Mira looked at her with a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry, we got this."

Y/N nodded, holding her breath as she stepped into position. Mira helped lift her up into a basic cradle, lifting her smoothly into the air. The feeling was exhilarating—there was no ice beneath her, no cold, just the rush of adrenaline and the sound of the gym all around her. It felt freeing.

“Great job, Y/N! You’ve got the technique down!” Coach Minjae called from the sidelines, and Y/N couldn’t help but beam. The approval felt different than it had when skating. It felt genuine. She wasn’t just being praised for her ability to win—it was about the effort, the teamwork, the energy. It was refreshing.

As the clinic progressed, they moved on to more complex stunts. Y/N’s confidence grew with each one, the group getting into sync as they learned to work together. She stunted with a few different girls, her heart racing each time she was lifted into the air or tossed up for a handspring. Her muscles were sore from the new movements, but it was the good kind of soreness—the kind that reminded her she was challenging herself, pushing her boundaries in a way she hadn’t for a long time.

After about two hours of practice, Coach Minjae gathered everyone into a circle for the final part of the clinic: the tumbling session. Y/N felt a familiar thrill run through her—this was her element. She had done front handsprings countless times as a kid, and now was her chance to show off. She stretched again and got into position, pushing herself into a fluid back handspring and landing solidly on her feet.

"That’s what I’m talking about!" Coach Minjae said, grinning as he clapped. "Nice work, Y/N! You’ve got natural talent."

Y/N’s heart swelled with pride. She hadn’t expected to feel so at home so quickly, but it was like the movements were second nature. It wasn’t the same as skating, but in some ways, it felt even better. Here, she wasn’t just pushing herself to be perfect. She was learning, growing, and enjoying the process.

When the clinic wrapped up, Y/N was sweaty and exhausted, but there was a grin on her face that didn’t fade. She looked at Yunjin, who was standing nearby, her eyes wide with awe.

“That was amazing,” Yunjin said. “You were incredible out there. You’re a natural.”

Y/N laughed, her breath still heavy. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I missed being in a team. It’s different from skating, but... it feels right.”

As they made their way to the exit, Coach Minjae called out to Y/N, motioning for her to come over. “Hey, I saw you out there today,” he said with a friendly smile. “You’ve got a lot of potential. I’m excited to see how you do at tryouts on Monday. Keep practicing what you’ve learned. And don’t forget, the clinic next week is a great opportunity to refine your skills before tryouts. We’re looking for someone with your drive.”

Y/N’s heart raced again. “Thanks, Coach. I’ll be ready.”

As she walked out of the gym with Yunjin, the energy still buzzing in her veins, she knew this was just the beginning. She hadn’t just stepped into the world of cheerleading; she had stepped into a new chapter of her life.

It wasn’t about quitting skating—it was about finding herself again, finding joy in something new, and realizing she was more than just a skater. She was a person with strength, flexibility, and passion—and she wasn’t going to let anything or anyone take that away.

Y/N walked through the door, her heart still racing from the excitement of the clinic. The buzz of adrenaline hadn't quite worn off, and for the first time in days, she felt at peace with her decision. She was doing something for herself, something she was good at and enjoyed. But that sense of peace quickly evaporated when she stepped into the living room.

Her parents were sitting together on the couch, the atmosphere tense. Her mom's arms were crossed, her eyes narrow, and her dad's jaw was clenched. It was immediately clear that something was off.

"Y/N," her mom began, her voice calm but filled with an edge, "We need to talk."

Y/N froze in the doorway, her stomach dropping. She'd been dreading this moment, but she hadn't expected it to come so soon. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. "What’s going on?"

Her dad's voice broke the silence. "We got a call today. About the cheerleading clinic. You didn't think we’d find out?"

Y/N’s chest tightened, and the weight of their disapproval pressed down on her. “I—I didn’t think it mattered,” she said quietly, trying to keep her emotions in check. “I’m not skating anymore. I want to try something different.”

Her mom's eyes flashed with frustration. "Different? You’re throwing away everything we’ve worked for all these years. All the time, all the money we’ve put into your ice skating career—this is how you repay us?"

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest. "I'm not throwing it away. I just—" She paused, taking a shaky breath. "I need a break. I need to do something that makes me happy. Something that’s not about competition or living up to expectations. I want to try cheerleading."

Her dad stood up, his voice rising in frustration. "You don't understand. You’re wasting your talent! You’re so close to everything we've been working for. You could be a champion, Y/N. And now you're just going to quit? After all the years we've invested? You can’t be serious."

Y/N's chest tightened even more, the pressure building as her parents' voices rang in her ears. She tried to stay calm, but the words her dad had just said stung, reminding her of the years she’d spent chasing something that had never really been hers to begin with.

"I can’t do this anymore," Y/N said, her voice shaking slightly but growing firmer with each word. "It’s not about being a champion. It’s about feeling like I’m actually living my life, not just living up to your dreams for me. I want something for myself, and that’s cheerleading. I know it might not make sense to you, but I can’t keep pretending skating is everything when it doesn’t make me happy anymore."

Her mom stood up, shaking her head in disbelief. "You don’t know what you’re doing. You’ll regret this. You’re just being emotional. You’ve always been so impulsive with your decisions."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. “I’ve been thinking about this for months, and it’s not impulsive. I’m doing what’s best for me.”

The silence between them stretched out, thick with disappointment and anger. Y/N knew they wouldn’t understand. They had always pushed her to be the best, to win, to shine on the ice. But she had grown tired of being defined by other people’s expectations.

"You're being selfish, Y/N," her dad said, his voice softening, but the disappointment was still there. "All we've done for you... and now you're just walking away from it."

Y/N’s heart wavered for a moment, but she held her ground. "I’m not walking away from you. I’m just walking toward something that makes me feel alive. You can’t make me skate anymore. I’m not doing it for you or for anyone else. It’s my life, and I’m choosing to live it on my terms."

Her mom and dad exchanged a look, the silence in the room growing heavier. Finally, her mom sighed and dropped her arms. "You’ve always been stubborn. You won’t listen, will you?"

Y/N shook her head. “No. I won’t.”

Her dad let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the conversation had drained him. "Fine. But don’t expect us to support this. You’re on your own with this decision."

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, but she didn’t flinch. "I know. I’m ready to be on my own. I’ll make it work."

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and left the room, the heavy air following her every step. She needed space. She needed to breathe.

As she shut the door to her bedroom behind her, Y/N leaned against it, her chest tight and her mind racing. It hurt, it really did, to hear her parents' words. But the decision was hers, and she wasn’t going to let anyone make her doubt it.

She looked over at the cheer flyer on her desk, the bright colors calling to her again. This was where she needed to be. This was the step she had chosen, and no matter how hard it was, she was going to take it.

The next few days felt like a blur. Y/N’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—relief mixed with guilt, excitement mixed with uncertainty. Her parents’ words haunted her, despite the resolve she’d felt when she walked away from that conversation.

It was strange, living in the same house but feeling worlds apart from her parents. They barely spoke to her, their disappointment so palpable it weighed heavily in the air, even when they were in the same room. Every time she caught their gaze, they looked at her like she was a stranger.

But Y/N didn’t let it break her. She couldn’t. She couldn’t go back to the life they wanted for her, not when she had just found something that made her feel like herself again.

The cheerleading tryouts were just around the corner, and though she hadn’t fully shaken the tension at home, she threw herself into preparing for it. The clinic had given her a taste of what was to come, and she wanted more.

The following week, she attended the second cheer clinic with the same eagerness, determined to refine her skills. This time, she had a better grasp of the moves, and she pushed herself even harder. She felt her body growing stronger with every tumble, every flip, every lift. She wasn’t perfect, but she was getting there, and that was enough for her. The coaches seemed impressed with her progress, but Y/N was focused on the feeling she had every time she stepped onto that mat. It wasn’t about impressing anyone. It was about freedom.

“Y/N, you’re doing great!” Coach Minjae called out during a routine, his voice full of encouragement. “Keep that energy up. You’ve got what it takes.”

Those words from Coach Minjae gave her a renewed sense of purpose. It felt good to hear someone believe in her. It felt good to be seen for more than just her ability to perform on the ice.

As the days to tryouts dwindled down, Y/N knew her parents were still upset, but she had made her peace with it. They were stubborn, and so was she. She didn’t need their approval to do what made her happy. In fact, the more she thought about it, the clearer it became: if she stayed on the ice, she’d always be living under their expectations, under the weight of years of pressure. But if she took this leap—this leap into cheerleading—she would be doing it for herself. No one else.

The morning of the tryouts, Y/N woke up early, her heart pounding with nerves, but also with excitement. She stretched in her bedroom, mentally going through the moves she had practiced, running through the routine she’d put together in the past few days. She wasn’t sure if she’d make the team, but she knew she would give it everything she had.

Yunjin knocked on her door, her face bright with enthusiasm despite the early hour. "You ready for this?" she asked, grinning. "You’ve got this, I know it."

Y/N smiled back, taking a deep breath. "I think so. I’m ready."

As they arrived at the gym, the air was thick with anticipation. There were more girls than she expected, all of them looking as nervous and excited as she felt. Y/N tried to block out the thoughts of her parents’ disappointment and just focused on the task ahead. The pressure to succeed wasn’t coming from them anymore—it was coming from her. She wanted to prove to herself that she could do this.

The tryouts went by in a blur. She did everything she’d practiced—the toe touch, the hurdler, the front handspring, and the stunts. Her muscles burned from the effort, but she kept pushing herself, one move at a time, until she felt she had given her best.

When the tryouts ended, Coach Minjae gathered the girls together. "You all did a great job today," he said, his tone warm but firm. "We’ll be posting the results soon. But no matter what happens, I want you to know that each of you gave your best. That’s what matters."

Y/N waited with bated breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She was so nervous, so unsure of what the outcome would be, but at that moment, she felt a strange sense of calm. Even if she didn’t make the team, she knew she had taken the first step toward finding herself.

A few hours later, the list was posted on the bulletin board in the school’s hallway. Y/N walked toward it, her heart in her throat. She scanned the names, her fingers trembling as they traced each one until they landed on hers.

Her name was on the list. Not on JV, not on Frosh, but she was on VARSITY?

She blinked, her eyes filling with tears before she could even process it. She had made the team. She had done it. It wasn’t just about cheerleading—it was about proving to herself that she could take control of her life. That she could make decisions for herself, regardless of what others thought.

Yunjin found her a few moments later, her arms wide open. "You did it!" she squealed, pulling Y/N into a hug. "I knew you would! You were amazing out there!"

Y/N hugged her back, overwhelmed by the sense of accomplishment. "I can’t believe it. I really did it."

And for the first time in so long, she allowed herself to believe in it too.

That night, when she returned home, Y/N wasn’t sure how to face her parents. They were still distant, still upset, but now that she had the victory of making the team, she felt stronger than ever.

When she walked into the living room, her dad barely looked up from his newspaper. Her mom was on her phone, but Y/N didn’t shy away. She stood there for a moment, gathering the courage she needed before speaking.

“I made the cheerleading team. I made the school’s Varsity team,” she said, her voice steady.

Her mom glanced up, her face unreadable. "I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Y/N."

Y/N stood tall, her shoulders back, and met her mom’s gaze. "Because I needed to do something for myself. I needed to find my own happiness. I know you don’t agree, but I’m not going to apologize for that."

Her dad finally set down his paper, looking at her with a mix of frustration and resignation. "I don’t get it, but I guess there’s nothing we can do to change your mind."

Y/N shook her head, but instead of feeling the weight of their disapproval, she felt a strange sense of peace. "No, you can’t. I’m going to make this work. You’ll see."

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like she was finally walking her own path.

Y/N walked through the school’s front doors with her heart still thumping from the rush of excitement after making the cheerleading team. She had expected her parents’ disappointment, but she hadn’t expected the tight knot in her chest to linger this long. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for as she walked through the hallways—maybe just a little space to breathe, away from the weight of everything that had happened.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she saw him.

Sunghoon.

Of course, he was here, standing by his locker, surrounded by his friends who were laughing loudly, no doubt about something ridiculous he had said. But the moment his eyes landed on her, it was like the world narrowed to just the two of them.

There was that stupid grin.

“There’s my favorite cheerleader!” Sunghoon called out, loud enough for a few people to turn their heads in curiosity. His tone was teasing, laced with something else—something almost mocking.

Y/N’s stomach twisted. The words hit her in a way they hadn’t before. She hated how his teasing had always gotten under her skin, how it made her feel both irritated and strangely... seen. She didn’t need his approval, and yet, there was a small part of her that had always been desperate for it.

"Stop it," Y/N snapped, her eyes narrowing as she tried to keep her annoyance in check. She wasn’t going to let him win today. Not when she had finally taken control of her life, done something for herself. "You don’t even know what you’re talking about."

Sunghoon pushed off the lockers and started walking toward her, a slow, deliberate stride that made her stomach tighten even more. He wasn’t trying to provoke her in the usual way; there was something more behind this. He seemed... different today.

He stopped right in front of her, his grin softening, but only slightly. “I know exactly what I’m talking about, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now, teasing but with an undertone of something far too sincere for her liking. “You’re going to make an amazing cheerleader. I’m proud of you.”

Y/N blinked, the words hitting her harder than she expected. Proud? Sunghoon, of all people, proud of her? She couldn’t help but scoff, but the frustration that usually bubbled up between them felt different today—fainter, almost like it was being drowned out by something she couldn’t name.

“You’re seriously not going to stop, are you?” she shot back, her voice sharp, but even she could hear the crack in it.

“Why would I?” he teased, crossing his arms. “This is huge for you, Y/N. You’ve been skating for so long, always trying to beat me, and now you’re doing something for yourself. I’m impressed.”

Her jaw tightened. Sunghoon had always been the one to make everything a competition—always comparing them, always fighting for the spotlight, whether it was on the ice or in their lives. His constant need to be the best had always rubbed her the wrong way, and yet... when he said things like that, things that sounded so genuine, it felt like a reminder of everything they had once been. Rivals. Equals. The tension between them had always been thick, and yet here he was, proud of her, as if the rivalry meant nothing to him.

“Stop pretending like you care,” she spat, her voice rising despite herself. “You’ve always had your way, Sunghoon. Don’t act like you care about what I do now.”

Sunghoon’s face didn’t flicker with the usual defensive arrogance. Instead, there was a quiet understanding in his eyes, one that Y/N didn’t quite know how to process. He took a small step closer, dropping his arms. “I care more than you think, Y/N.”

She froze. It wasn’t the words themselves that caught her off guard—it was the way he said them, the softness in his voice that was so unlike the usual banter. He had always pushed her to the limit, always seemed to relish in their rivalry, but now he was saying something completely different. His words felt like they were cutting through the walls she’d built between them.

“Why does it always have to be this way with you?” Y/N muttered, frustration creeping into her voice. "You act like you’re so proud of me, but you’ve been my biggest obstacle from the start. All you’ve ever done is make me feel like I wasn’t good enough.”

Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, his grin fading. “Is that what you think? That I’ve been trying to make you feel bad? You really don’t get it, do you?”

Y/N’s chest tightened as she looked up at him, struggling to keep her emotions from spilling over. She hated this. Hated how he had always been the person who pushed her the hardest, who seemed to always stand in her way. But in some twisted way, she had always needed him there, because his presence kept her grounded in a rivalry that was so familiar, it felt like home.

“You don’t get it either,” she muttered, her voice thick with something she didn’t want to admit. “You’ve always been everything I wasn’t—better on the ice, more focused, more... everything. And I’ve spent my whole life trying to beat you, to prove something to you and everyone else. But now I’m trying to do something for me, and you’re just messing with me.”

Sunghoon reached out, his hand coming to rest lightly on her arm, a rare tenderness in his touch. "I’m not messing with you, Y/N. I just... I just want you to know that you don’t have to prove anything to me anymore. I’ve always been proud of you. I was just too stupid to admit it."

Y/N blinked, feeling like the floor had just shifted beneath her feet. She didn’t know how to respond. Sunghoon had always been the one to push her buttons, to make her feel like she was in a constant battle to get his attention, but this... this was different.

“I don’t need your pity,” she finally said, her voice quieter now, though the anger still simmered beneath the surface.

“I’m not pitying you,” he said gently, looking down at her, his expression more serious than she’d ever seen it. "I’ve always respected you, Y/N. Maybe I’ve shown it in the wrong ways, but I do. And for what it’s worth... I’m proud of you. I know this is a big step. You don’t have to be afraid of it.”

Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to collect herself. It was impossible to ignore how much his words were sinking in, how they made her feel exposed in a way she wasn’t ready for. She didn’t want to acknowledge how much she needed this from him, how much she secretly longed for him to say these things, even if it meant admitting that maybe the rivalry had always been more complicated than she wanted to believe.

“Whatever,” she muttered, stepping back from him, trying to reclaim her space, her walls. “I’m doing this for me. Not for you, not for anyone else.”

Sunghoon’s grin returned, though it was softer, almost like he understood the complexity of the situation better than she did. “I know. And that’s exactly why I’m proud of you.”

Y/N shook her head and turned to walk away, but she couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at the corners of her lips, a smile that somehow only Sunghoon could coax out of her, no matter how much she hated to admit it.

It had been a whirlwind of a year, and now, standing in front of the school, Y/N couldn’t help but take it all in. Senior year had arrived, and with it, a wave of emotions—nervousness, excitement, anticipation. Not just about graduation or the impending college decisions, but the start of the cheerleading season. After months of dedication, practice, and pushing herself beyond limits, it was finally here. The rush of being part of something she loved, something she was proud of.

Cheerleading was a new chapter in her life, one that had brought her unexpected joy. She had always been good at skating, but this... this was her own thing. No pressure from her parents, no constant rivalry with Sunghoon. Just her, her team, and the excitement of starting something fresh. It felt freeing.

And then there was Sunghoon.

Their relationship had shifted in ways she hadn’t fully realized until now. They’d gone from rivals to friends to something more—a slow burn of understanding, shared glances, and late-night talks. The tension between them was still there, but it was different now. More comfortable. More affectionate. They spent weekends hanging out with their group of friends, but there were also moments where it was just the two of them. Conversations that didn’t have to be about cheer or skating, just about life. They laughed, they teased, and sometimes, they just sat in comfortable silence, a closeness that had built over time.

Y/N had always sworn she wouldn’t get involved with Sunghoon, but as the months went by, she found herself unable to ignore the undeniable pull between them. The way his eyes lingered a little longer than necessary. The way he supported her, not just as a teammate but as someone who genuinely cared. There were times when he would drop her off after practice, and their hands would brush, sending a spark of electricity through her veins. The touch would always linger just a second longer than normal, making her wonder if maybe—just maybe—he felt the same way.

Today was no different. She had just finished getting ready for practice, pulling on her uniform with a small, satisfied smile. She felt confident. Cheer had become her escape, her place of belonging, and she loved every minute of it. With her college applications in, the future was uncertain, but she was ready for whatever came next.

As she walked out of the locker room, she saw Sunghoon leaning against the bleachers, a casual smirk on his face as he checked his phone. His presence, once a source of frustration, now felt like something familiar, something she looked forward to.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked, glancing up at her with that trademark grin of his. But there was something different in his eyes—something warmer.

Y/N shot him a playful look. “Do you even have to ask? I’ve been ready since last year.”

“True,” he said, pushing off the bleachers and walking toward her. “I’m still amazed you chose cheer over skating. You’ve got the spirit, but... can you keep up with us?”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes. “I’ve got this. I’m flexible, I can stunt, I can do flips—you name it.”

His smile softened, and for a second, Y/N saw the familiar teasing glint in his eyes, but it was paired with something else—pride, maybe? “I’m still amazed,” he repeated, his voice quieter this time. “You’ve come a long way, Y/N.”

There was something in the way he said her name. It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t sarcastic. It was just... her. And it made her heart do a funny little flip.

“You sound like you actually care,” she teased back, nudging him playfully.

“I do,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I’ve always cared.”

Y/N met his gaze, trying to keep her composure, but it was getting harder to ignore the way he made her feel. She wasn’t sure when things had changed between them, but now, with the closeness they shared, it was hard to separate her feelings from what they had. They were more than just teammates, more than just the awkward tension of rivals. They had become something else, something new. And maybe it wasn’t love yet, but it was something that felt just as powerful.

“You’ve been acting all proud of me lately,” Y/N teased, a slight blush creeping up her neck. “What’s up with that?”

Sunghoon’s eyes softened as he stepped closer, his playful smirk returning, though there was something more vulnerable behind it. “I guess I’m just proud of how far you’ve come. You’ve worked your ass off, Y/N. And not just for this, but for everything.”

Y/N’s heart thudded in her chest. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”

Sunghoon shrugged, his grin widening as he tried to hide the faint color in his cheeks. “I don’t always say the right things, but... yeah. I’m proud. And I’m glad you’re here with us.”

Her heart fluttered, and for a second, the noise around them—the rest of the team gathering, the chatter, the clapping—faded. It was just the two of them, standing on the edge of something new. The rivalry was still there, but now it felt like it was slowly being replaced with something else. Something better.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat, trying to break the tension, “I’m not here to be your favorite cheerleader, Sunghoon. I’m here to kick ass.”

Sunghoon chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a mix of admiration and something more. “I’m not worried. You always kick ass.”

And there it was again—the way he looked at her, like there was something unspoken between them. Something that had been building ever since she made the decision to walk away from skating and take this leap into cheer. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to their relationship than she had ever allowed herself to believe.

“Alright, enough talking. Let’s go show them what we’ve got,” Y/N said, smiling brightly, trying to mask the fluttering in her chest.

Sunghoon gave her one last look, a soft smile curving on his lips, before nodding. “You’ve got this, Y/N.”

As they walked to the sidelines together, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that this year was going to be different. Not just because of cheerleading, but because of everything she had started to realize about herself—and about him.

The game was over, and the victory still hung in the air. The stands were filled with excitement, the sound of cheers and clapping echoing around the field. Y/N stood off to the side, quietly packing her cheer bag. She had given it her all tonight, and it felt amazing to be so connected with her team, the crowd, and the energy of the game. It was the first time in a long while she felt truly like herself—not weighed down by the pressures of ice skating, not caught in the web of family expectations. Tonight, cheerleading had been her release, her passion.

As she zipped up her bag, her thoughts drifted to Sunghoon. He’d been different lately. He’d been there for her in ways that went beyond their usual playful rivalry. She couldn’t help but feel a spark between them—a connection that she hadn’t been able to ignore, even if she’d tried. Maybe it was just her imagination, or maybe it was the thrill of the game, but she’d been hoping tonight would be different. After the game, they always hung out—grab food, catch up, talk about everything. Maybe tonight he’d say something. Something more than just the usual teasing.

Her heart fluttered at the thought.

She didn’t know why she was so desperate for something to change between them. Sunghoon had always been her rival, the person who had gotten under her skin since childhood. But now, as they had spent more time together, it was becoming clear to her that there was something more—something she wasn’t ready to admit but couldn’t quite deny.

She had always brushed it off as nothing. She had convinced herself that their connection was nothing but friendly competition. But tonight, after seeing him look at her differently, she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same.

With her gear packed away, she glanced around, looking for Sunghoon. She smiled to herself, knowing he’d be around here somewhere. Maybe he’d find her first, maybe not. But she couldn’t shake the thought that something was different tonight, something that might finally bring them closer together.

As she walked toward the edge of the field, searching for him, a movement caught her eye. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Sunghoon standing near the edge of the bleachers, but it wasn’t just Sunghoon. There was a girl with him. At first, Y/N didn’t recognize her, but something about the way they were standing together made her stomach drop.

Sunghoon had his arms wrapped around her, and they were standing so close. The girl had her arms around his neck, and their lips were locked in a kiss. A passionate, deep kiss.

Y/N’s heart stopped in her chest. She could feel the blood drain from her face, her entire body freezing in place as her mind scrambled to make sense of what she was seeing. She didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her hands trembled as she stood there, the world around her seeming to tilt and shift. The moment stretched on forever, each second torturing her more than the last.

As the girl pulled back from the kiss, Y/N saw her face clearly for the first time. Her heart dropped even further.

It was Chaewon.

Sunghoon’s ex-girlfriend.

Y/N had heard about Chaewon before—about how they had broken up a few months ago. Chaewon had always been a part of Sunghoon’s life, and despite their breakup, she had kept a lingering presence in his world. Y/N had always felt the tension whenever Chaewon was mentioned, but she never expected it to hit this close to home. She had always thought that once Sunghoon had moved on, things would be different. But now, seeing them together like this, it was clear that whatever was left between them wasn’t over.

Her throat tightened, her vision blurring with tears she tried to blink away. She wasn’t sure why it hurt so much—why seeing them together hit her like a wrecking ball. It wasn’t like she had any claim over Sunghoon, and yet, watching them made her feel like everything she had been working toward was meaningless. All her attempts to build a connection with him, to push past their rivalry and make something more, felt like they had been a waste.

The way they kissed—how natural, how familiar it looked—told Y/N everything she needed to know. There was no space between them. They were so comfortable with each other. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a moment of intimacy, something they had shared before and likely would again.

Y/N couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t make sense of the whirlwind of emotions crashing through her. Betrayal. Hurt. Regret. And something else... Something far more painful. She had been naive to think that things could be different. She had been foolish to believe that Sunghoon would see her as more than just a rival.

Without thinking, her feet moved on their own, carrying her away from the scene. Her body was moving mechanically, too stunned to process the pain in her chest. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She just had to get out of here.

She couldn’t stay and watch it any longer.

She needed to leave before the tears started falling, before the ache in her heart consumed her completely. As she rushed to the parking lot, she didn’t look back. She didn’t want to see them again. She didn’t want to confront the truth—that Sunghoon had never been hers to claim, and maybe, he never would be.

By the time she reached her car, her tears were already spilling over. She slammed the car door shut with more force than she intended, the sound of it echoing in the quiet parking lot. She didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything.

As she drove home, the streets blurred in front of her, the steady rhythm of her car tires on the pavement the only thing grounding her in reality. Her thoughts were a mess, a jumble of hurt, confusion, and disbelief.

When she reached her house, she didn’t even bother to turn off the engine. She just sat there for a moment, staring ahead, her hands gripping the steering wheel. The tears flowed freely now, the pain too raw to hide.

She had been so stupid. So stupid for hoping. For thinking she could ever be something more to him than just a rival.

With a broken heart and no more strength to pretend, Y/N stumbled out of the car, heading straight to her room. She locked the door behind her, flopping onto her bed. The tears kept coming, but she didn’t try to stop them. Tonight had been a wake-up call, and as much as it hurt, she knew it was time to let go.

The days following the game felt like an endless blur. The victory was overshadowed by the weight of what Y/N had witnessed. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Sunghoon with Chaewon, their lips locked in a kiss so full of passion it tore through her. She tried to distract herself, to immerse herself in her cheerleading practices, but it was impossible to shake the image from her mind.

At school, she avoided Sunghoon. She wasn’t ready to face him—not after what had happened. She didn’t even want to acknowledge him in the halls. The thought of seeing him made her stomach churn. It wasn’t just the betrayal, but the fact that she had been so blind to it all. She had let herself believe that the rivalry, the teasing, even the moments where their gazes lingered just a bit longer than necessary, meant something more than what they were.

Her thoughts were consumed by what she had seen. She was devastated, angry at herself for letting her guard down, angry at him for leading her on. And then, there was the bitterness that had begun to seep into her heart. How could he just move on so easily? How could he kiss Chaewon, the girl he had supposedly broken up with months ago, and make it look so natural?

It felt like betrayal on every level. He hadn’t even said anything to her about it. No explanation. No warning. She had spent so much time focused on their growing closeness, convinced that something real was blooming between them, and it had all been for nothing.

Monday came, and with it, another school day. Y/N walked into the hallways with her head down, trying her best to ignore the whispers. She had heard people talk. Her teammates, classmates, even teachers. Everyone was buzzing about the cheer game, her flawless performance. But for her, it felt like the cheers and claps were just empty sounds. No matter how many times people told her she had been amazing, the words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The hallway felt suffocating as Y/N stormed off after her heated exchange with Sunghoon. Her footsteps echoed against the lockers as she kept walking, refusing to look back. She could still feel the sting of what she’d seen—the kiss between Sunghoon and Chaewon—burning in her chest. It felt like the world was closing in on her, and she was desperate to escape the suffocating reality of it all.

But just as she thought she could distance herself, she heard his voice again.

"Y/N, wait!"

She froze mid-step, her heart racing as she turned slowly. He was standing a few feet away, his expression desperate, his eyes wide with a mixture of concern and frustration. His usual confident demeanor was gone, replaced with something more vulnerable—something that made Y/N’s heart ache even more than it already did.

"I—" Sunghoon started, running a hand through his hair, his voice faltering. "I know you’re upset, but please, just let me explain. I never wanted you to see that. I never wanted you to think—"

"To think what, Sunghoon?" Y/N interrupted, her voice shaking with both anger and hurt. "That you were still in love with Chaewon? That you were going to just pick up where you left off with her? Is that it? Is that what I saw?"

He winced at her words, the pain in her voice hitting him harder than he expected. But he didn’t give up. He took a step forward, his gaze filled with sincerity, almost pleading.

"No, that’s not it at all," he said quickly. "It’s just... Y/N, please listen. What you saw was a mistake. A huge mistake. It wasn’t—"

"A mistake?" she repeated bitterly, her eyes flashing with disbelief. "You think that kiss was a mistake?"

He winced, the words clearly hurting him as much as they hurt her. He had never imagined that something like this would drive a wedge between them. "Yes," he said quietly, the weight of the word settling between them. "It was a mistake. A moment of weakness, a moment where I didn’t know what I was doing. But it doesn’t mean what you think it means. Chaewon and I... we had our history, but it was over. And I—"

"You kissed her," Y/N spat, her voice trembling. "How is that 'over'? How can you tell me that now, after everything, after all the time we’ve spent together, that it doesn’t mean anything?"

Sunghoon took another step toward her, his frustration building, but he kept his voice soft, trying to remain calm. He wasn’t ready to lose her—not after everything. Not when he was just beginning to realize how deeply he had felt for her all along.

"Y/N, listen to me," he said, voice thick with emotion. "I don’t know how to explain this, but you’ve got to know that I wasn’t thinking when I kissed her. It wasn’t because I want her back or because I still care about her in that way. It was... I don’t know, maybe it was just familiarity. But I don’t want her. I want you."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering against her chest. She stared at him, disbelieving, as the words she had always wanted to hear from him finally fell from his lips. But there was still a part of her that couldn’t trust it. She wasn’t sure she could ever fully trust him again after what she’d seen.

"Why now?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Why are you saying this now, after everything? After the way you've treated me, after all those months of us pretending we were just rivals? Why does it matter now?"

Sunghoon's face softened, and he closed the distance between them, his eyes pleading with her to understand. "Because I was an idiot," he said, his voice rough. "I didn’t realize how much you meant to me until it was almost too late. I’ve been pushing you away, and I didn’t even know why. But I’ve been stupid, Y/N. You were always more than just a rival to me, more than just someone I wanted to beat. But I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought I had to stay in that stupid competition with you, that I had to keep up this stupid rivalry, and it kept me from seeing what was right in front of me."

Y/N’s heart twisted at his words. Part of her wanted to believe him—wanted to believe that all the moments they’d shared had meant something more. But the part of her that had been burned by his actions was reluctant to let go of the hurt.

"You’re telling me this now?" she asked, her voice cracking. "You’re telling me that after everything, after all the times you made me feel like I was nothing more than a challenge for you, that you actually care? That you’ve always cared?"

Sunghoon’s face fell, guilt and regret clouding his features. "I know I screwed up. I know I’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry. But it’s the truth. I care about you, Y/N. I always have. I just... I was too proud, too scared, to admit it. I was so caught up in the competition with you, in trying to win everything, that I didn’t realize that winning you, winning your heart, was the one thing I actually wanted."

Y/N felt her heart ache at his words. She wanted to say something, anything to make the pain stop, but her emotions were all over the place. She had wanted this. She had wanted him to confess, to tell her that she wasn’t just the girl he fought against, but someone he actually cared for. But hearing it now—after everything, after the kiss with Chaewon—it didn’t feel like enough.

"You can’t just erase what you did," she said quietly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "You can’t just tell me it was a mistake and expect me to forget the way it made me feel."

"I know," Sunghoon said softly, his voice full of regret. "And I wouldn’t ask you to. But I’m asking you to let me make it right. Please. You mean so much more to me than anything else. I’ve been an idiot, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to prove to you that you’re the one I want. Please, Y/N, don’t shut me out. Let me show you how much you really mean to me."

Y/N stood there, her chest tight with conflicting emotions. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to forgive him, to take a leap of faith and trust that he wasn’t lying. But a part of her still held onto the hurt, the pain of seeing him with someone else, so easily slipping back into his past. It wasn’t something she could just erase.

"I need time, Sunghoon," she said softly, her voice trembling. "I need time to figure this out. I don’t know if I can just forget everything, even if I want to."

He nodded, his eyes filled with pain and understanding. "I’ll wait, Y/N. I’ll wait as long as it takes. But please know that I’m not giving up on you. I care about you more than you know."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Y/N standing there, her heart a mix of emotions she couldn’t fully process. The words were there, but the pain lingered, and she didn’t know if she could ever truly forgive him. But she also knew that something between them had shifted—that maybe, just maybe, Sunghoon was ready to be the person she needed him to be.

But for now, all she could do was walk away and try to figure out what she really wanted from this complicated mess they’d created.

It had been a week since the confrontation. A week since Y/N had given Sunghoon the space he had begged for. The days had passed in a haze, with her emotions swirling between confusion, bitterness, and—if she was being honest with herself—hope. She had spent the first few days in silence, avoiding Sunghoon, keeping herself busy with cheerleading practice and her schoolwork.

But deep down, she couldn’t ignore the pull. Sunghoon had always been a part of her life, a constant. Even during their rivalry, there had been a connection—something more than just competition. And now that the veil had been pulled back, she saw it all more clearly. But she wasn’t sure if she was ready to forgive him, not completely.

It was another practice session at school, the sun beginning to set outside as Y/N and her cheer squad went through their routines. The atmosphere was full of energy as they prepared for the next game, but for Y/N, her focus was elsewhere. Every flip, every jump, felt like she was doing it to distract herself from the thoughts of Sunghoon.

She landed a perfect high kick, but the applause of her teammates felt distant. Her mind wandered back to him—his words, his confession. "I care about you more than you know." He’d said that, and yet she hadn’t heard from him since their last talk. There had been no texts, no attempts to check in. It was as though he was giving her the space she needed… but was it enough?

Just as the session was winding down, Y/N gathered her things and headed toward the locker room. She was just about to step inside when she heard someone call her name.

"Y/N."

Her breath caught, and she froze. She turned slowly, heart thudding in her chest.

There, standing by the gym doors, was Sunghoon. His usual cocky grin was replaced by a serious, almost vulnerable expression. The sight of him pulled something deep inside her—anger, hope, frustration—all at once.

"I… I’ve been waiting for you to talk to me," he said quietly, his hands in his pockets. "I know you need time, but I can’t just pretend like everything’s fine. I’ve been thinking about what I said—about what happened—and I know I messed up. I know I hurt you."

Y/N took a deep breath. She had been avoiding him, afraid of what seeing him would bring up. But now, faced with him again, it was harder than she’d imagined.

"I don’t know if you can fix this," Y/N said, her voice steady but tinged with pain. "I don’t know if I can just forgive you, Sunghoon. It’s not that simple. You hurt me. And you made me believe that what we had… that it was real. Only to see you with Chaewon. It felt like everything we had was a lie."

Sunghoon’s face tightened with guilt. "I never meant for you to feel that way. You’re not a lie. None of this was a lie. I’ve been a fool for a long time, letting this rivalry between us get in the way of what really matters. I didn’t want to admit it, but what we have—it’s different. And I’ve been trying so hard to make sense of everything, and I think I’ve finally realized that I’m not just fighting with you. I’m fighting for you. I always have been."

Y/N swallowed, her heart aching with the raw honesty in his voice. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to believe it, but she couldn’t ignore the sincerity in his eyes. The same eyes that had watched her with a mix of admiration and rivalry for so long.

"You’re not just a competition to me anymore, Y/N," Sunghoon continued, his voice softer now. "I’m not asking you to forgive me right away. But I need you to know that I’ve been thinking about you, about what I want, and I want to be with you. Not as rivals. Not as something fleeting. I want this to be real."

It took time. More time than either of them expected, but slowly, Sunghoon and Y/N started to rebuild what they had. It wasn’t easy. There were moments when Y/N would catch herself pulling away, moments when she would doubt if she could truly trust him again. But Sunghoon was patient. He didn’t push her for more than she was ready to give, and he showed up for her—at every game, at every practice, supporting her like he always should have. He was there, proving his commitment through his actions, not just his words.

One afternoon, after a long cheer practice, Y/N sat down on the bleachers, exhausted but satisfied with the day’s progress. She was still thinking about the conversation they’d had earlier in the week, when Sunghoon had told her he was trying to be better, trying to show her that he wasn’t the guy who had kissed Chaewon.

"Hey."

She looked up to see him walking toward her, his smile warm but his expression serious.

"Hey," she replied softly, her heart fluttering just a little.

"I know this is a lot to ask, but…" He hesitated, his usual confidence wavering for a moment. "Do you want to hang out? I’ve been meaning to take you somewhere—something special. I want to make it up to you."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Something special, huh?"

Sunghoon smiled, a little sheepish but genuine. "Yeah. We don’t have to talk about everything, and we don’t have to rush into anything, but… I just want you to know how much you mean to me."

Her heart fluttered in her chest, and a part of her—the part that had always cared about him—softened. Maybe this could work. Maybe they didn’t have to rush into a perfect relationship, but they could take the time to rebuild something real. Maybe she was ready to let go of the past and trust him again.

"Alright," she said, standing up slowly. "Show me what you’ve got, Sunghoon."

He grinned, relieved, and extended his hand to her. She took it, feeling a strange sense of peace settle in her chest. This wasn’t going to be easy. But maybe they could make it work, one step at a time.

As they walked together, Y/N realized something. There was no perfect ending. There was no clear answer to what they would be in the future. But there was the chance for a new beginning. A chance to rewrite the story, to make their own path, without the rivalry, without the games.

Just the two of them.

And that was all she needed for now.

The following weekend, Sunghoon picked Y/N up in his car, the nervous energy between them palpable. She had agreed to go with him, though there was still a cautiousness in her heart—an echo of the pain she felt from everything that had happened between them. But as soon as she slid into the passenger seat, the familiar scent of his cologne and the soft hum of the car made something stir within her. It was like the past few weeks hadn’t happened, like they were just two friends hanging out again.

"Where are we going?" Y/N asked, her curiosity piqued as she buckled her seatbelt.

"It’s a surprise," Sunghoon said, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he glanced at her, then quickly returned his attention to the road. "But trust me, you’ll like it."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. "You’re full of surprises lately."

He laughed, the sound light and genuine, and for the first time in a while, Y/N felt something akin to ease in his presence. It was nice to be in a space where there was no tension, no expectations. Just them, figuring it out as they went.

They drove for a while, the city passing by in a blur. Eventually, Sunghoon pulled into a parking lot near the edge of town, next to a small, cozy café with string lights twinkling outside. The atmosphere was quiet and relaxed, completely different from the usual hustle and bustle of their lives. It was almost like he’d chosen this place for its peaceful energy—a place where they could both just breathe.

Sunghoon turned off the engine and glanced over at Y/N, his expression more vulnerable than she was used to seeing.

"Here we are," he said softly, smiling nervously. "I thought we could have some time to just… talk, away from everything."

Y/N didn’t say anything right away. She just looked at him, studying the sincerity in his eyes. There was something so different about him now—a rawness, an openness that made her want to give him this chance, despite everything that had happened.

"Okay," she finally said, giving him a small smile. "I’m in."

The café was a small, intimate place, with walls lined with bookshelves and an earthy, rustic feel. The faint smell of fresh coffee and pastries filled the air, and the soft music playing in the background created a warm, inviting atmosphere. They sat by a window, the light of the late afternoon spilling across the wooden table, casting soft shadows around them.

As they ordered their drinks—Y/N opting for a chai latte and Sunghoon going for his usual black coffee—they sat in silence for a moment, both unsure of where to start. Y/N fiddled with the edge of her cup, her fingers nervously tracing the rim. She wasn’t sure what to say, what to feel. This was the first time they’d been alone together like this since everything had happened.

"I guess we should start by... apologizing," Sunghoon said, breaking the silence. He sounded hesitant, unsure of what would make things right. "I really messed up, Y/N. I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but I’m sorry. I hurt you, and I shouldn’t have."

Y/N nodded slowly, her eyes focused on her drink as she took a sip. The warmth of the chai settled in her chest, but it didn’t ease the ache she still carried. "You did," she said softly, her voice steady but still tinged with the lingering hurt. "But… I know it wasn’t easy for you either. I get that you were confused. I just… I don’t know if I can just forgive and forget that quickly."

Sunghoon leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense but gentle. "I don’t expect you to. I just need you to know that I’m trying, Y/N. I really want to make this right. I’m not asking you to rush into anything. I just want a chance to show you that I’m not the same guy I was before."

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, reading the honesty in his eyes, feeling the weight of his words. It wasn’t the confession she had imagined in her head—there were no grand gestures or promises. But it felt real. And for the first time in a long while, she thought maybe—just maybe—they could rebuild something.

After a long pause, Y/N exhaled, her shoulders relaxing. "I think… I think I can start trusting you again. But it’s going to take time. I need you to show me that you really mean it."

Sunghoon’s face lit up with a quiet, relieved smile. "I can do that. I’ll show you. I’ll prove it to you, Y/N."

After finishing their drinks, they decided to take a walk through the nearby park. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue across the trees and paths. The air was crisp, and the autumn leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked side by side, not talking much, but simply enjoying each other's presence.

It felt easy, in a way. Natural, almost. Like they were falling back into a rhythm they’d once had, before everything had gotten complicated.

"You know," Sunghoon said after a while, breaking the silence, "I’ve missed this. Just hanging out, without all the stress."

Y/N glanced at him, surprised. "Missed what?"

"This," he said, gesturing between them with a small smile. "Just talking. Having fun. It didn’t always have to be about competition, did it?"

Y/N smiled slightly, a soft laugh escaping her. "No, I guess not."

They stopped walking by a bench, where Sunghoon motioned for them to sit. They sat down, a comfortable silence falling between them once again.

"Y/N, I’ve been thinking a lot about everything we’ve been through," Sunghoon continued, his voice more serious now. "And I just… I want you to know that I’m done with pretending. I’m done with the games. I don’t care about the titles, the trophies, or the rivalry anymore. All I care about is you."

Y/N felt a flutter in her chest at his words. She couldn’t deny it any longer—the pull toward him, the way he made her feel like she was the only person in the world that mattered. It was confusing, but in this quiet moment, with the sun setting around them, it felt right. She wanted to let go of the past, wanted to take a leap of faith.

"Maybe we can take it slow," Y/N said, her voice soft but sure. "No rushing, no expectations. Just… us."

Sunghoon smiled, a real smile this time, full of warmth and hope. "Slow sounds perfect."

They sat there, side by side, in the fading light, not needing words to fill the space. Everything felt different now—more real, more honest. The future wasn’t perfect, but for the first time, Y/N felt like they were headed in the right direction. Together.

As the weeks passed, Y/N and Sunghoon found themselves slipping into a new rhythm. The tension that had once lingered between them seemed to dissipate, replaced by something more comfortable, more genuine. Their interactions, once laced with rivalry and unspoken feelings, were now filled with easy laughter, quiet moments, and a growing sense of partnership. They had started to spend more time together outside of school and practice, and every little interaction—whether it was a shared lunch or a quiet walk through the park—seemed to stitch the torn fabric of their relationship back together.

Y/N found herself thinking about him more often. She thought about his grin, the way he made her feel like she was capable of anything, even when her doubts crept in. She thought about how he had apologized, how he had tried to show her that he was truly sorry. Slowly, but surely, her walls started to come down. She was letting him back in. She wanted to.

As cheer season continued, Y/N’s confidence began to grow. Her skills on the mat were improving, and with every cheer routine she perfected, her pride in herself swelled. Sunghoon, always the ever-supportive figure, attended every game, sitting in the stands with his friends, cheering louder for her than anyone else. His presence in the crowd always gave her a sense of calm, like she wasn’t performing for the crowd but for him, the person who saw her as more than just a rival, more than just a cheerleader.

One evening, after a particularly intense practice, Y/N was on her way to the locker room when she spotted Sunghoon waiting by the gym doors. His face broke into a grin when he saw her, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

"Another perfect routine," he said with admiration, falling into step beside her as they walked down the hallway together. "You’re amazing, Y/N."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she shook her head. "I still have so much to work on, but… thank you. You’ve been such a huge support. I don’t know if I could’ve made it this far without you."

Sunghoon smiled, nudging her shoulder playfully. "Well, you know I’m always here to push you to be your best." Then, he turned serious for a moment, his expression softening. "And I’m really proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you, Y/N."

The sincerity in his voice made her heart flutter, and she found herself gazing at him a little longer than usual. It wasn’t just admiration anymore. There was something deeper in his words, something that made her chest tighten with affection.

"Thanks, Sunghoon," she whispered, before looking away to hide the flush creeping up her neck. "I’m proud of you too."

One of the more unexpected parts of their developing relationship was how easy it was to just be with Sunghoon. They didn’t always need to do something exciting or extravagant. Sometimes, just being in each other’s presence was enough.

One night, after a long week of school and practice, Sunghoon invited Y/N over to his place. He promised it would be low-key, just a quiet night in—no expectations, no pressure. Y/N had agreed, and when she arrived at his house, she found him in his living room, lounging on the couch, holding two mugs of hot chocolate.

"I hope you’re not expecting a fancy dinner," he said, offering her one of the mugs with a teasing smile. "I’m not that good at cooking."

Y/N laughed as she took the mug, feeling the warmth seep into her fingers. "This is perfect," she said, sinking into the couch beside him. "It’s been a crazy week."

They spent the next few hours talking, sharing stories, and watching a random movie on TV. There was something effortlessly comfortable about the way they interacted now—no forced conversation, no awkward silences. They just existed together in a way that felt natural, like this was always meant to be.

At one point, they both found themselves leaning against each other, the weight of the day melting away. Sunghoon’s arm casually draped over the back of the couch, his hand just inches from hers. The proximity made her heart flutter, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let herself enjoy the moment, letting the warmth between them settle.

When the movie ended, Sunghoon turned to her, his eyes soft but searching. "I know we’re not rushing into anything, but I just… I really want you to know that I care about you. I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone."

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to say something so open, so vulnerable. Her heart raced, but this time it wasn’t from uncertainty. It was from something much more comforting—certainty.

"I care about you too, Sunghoon," she said, her voice steady but full of feeling. "More than I thought I would. And I’m… I’m glad we’re doing this. I think we’re finally getting it right."

Sunghoon smiled softly, his hand finally reaching for hers. Their fingers brushed, then intertwined, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt a sense of peace. This wasn’t perfect, and they still had a lot to work through, but they were doing it together. And that made all the difference.

It was a few weeks later, during a late-night practice for an upcoming cheer event. The team was exhausted, but their spirits were high. The season had been going well, and everyone was looking forward to the next big game. After practice, Y/N and Sunghoon found themselves alone in the gym, tying up loose ends and catching up.

"You’re really good at this," Sunghoon said, leaning against the wall as he watched her pack her bag. "I mean, I knew you were talented, but seeing you in action, it’s… it’s impressive."

Y/N smiled, zipping up her bag. "Thanks, Sunghoon. I’ve been practicing a lot."

There was a pause as she turned to him, their eyes meeting for a brief moment before she looked away, her cheeks flushing. The chemistry between them had been undeniable for weeks now, but neither of them had made the first move. They had danced around it, unsure of how to bridge the gap between friends and something more.

Sunghoon, sensing the tension, stepped closer to her, his heart racing. "Y/N," he said, his voice low, "I’ve been wanting to do this for a while."

She looked up at him, their faces inches apart now. The world outside the gym seemed to fade away as he leaned in slowly, his breath mingling with hers. "What if we just… don’t wait anymore?"

Before she could respond, Sunghoon kissed her—a gentle, tentative kiss at first, but one that deepened quickly as they both leaned into it. It was everything she had hoped for, and more. A slow-burning kiss that spoke of all the feelings they’d kept hidden for so long.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads pressed together, and Sunghoon’s voice was soft as he whispered, "I’m so glad we’re doing this."

Y/N smiled, a sense of contentment filling her chest. "Me too."

And for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be. With him.

The air was crisp, and the stadium lights illuminated the field as the last football game of the season kicked off. It was Senior Night, and Y/N could hardly believe how quickly the time had passed. Her heart swelled with pride as she stood on the sidelines in her cheer uniform, the crowd roaring with excitement behind her. This was it—the culmination of everything she had worked for in the cheerleading world. Her last game as a cheerleader. Her final performance under the bright lights.

She had spent years perfecting every routine, every move, and now, as she stood on the field, surrounded by her teammates, she could finally take it all in. The cheers, the adrenaline, the feeling of unity—it was everything she had dreamed of when she first joined the squad.

Y/N glanced over at the football team, watching the players huddling together as they prepared for the next play. Her eyes searched for Sunghoon, who was among them, focused and ready to take the field. Their eyes met for a brief moment across the distance, and he gave her a subtle but loving wink. A smile immediately tugged at her lips.

He’s always been there for me, she thought, her heart swelling with affection. After everything they’d been through, this moment felt perfect. He had become so much more than just the guy she once competed against. He was her teammate in a different way now, someone who stood by her side in the quiet moments and the loud ones.

As the game continued, Y/N’s cheer squad took their places, moving into position for the halftime performance. Her body was on autopilot now, moving through the routine with the precision she’d honed over the years. But even in the midst of the complicated stunts and routines, her mind couldn’t help but wander back to Sunghoon. Every time she locked eyes with him from across the field, there was a flicker of something between them—a spark of connection that made her heart race in the best way.

The cheerleaders executed their routines flawlessly, the crowd roaring with excitement. Y/N’s smile was bright, her energy contagious, as she nailed each move. There was no mistaking it—this was her night. She was living her dream, and she was doing it with a sense of ease she had never known before. And it felt like Sunghoon was right there beside her, not just physically, but emotionally, too. He had always been her competitor, but now, he was her support system, her person.

During the brief breaks in between routines, when the cheerleaders rushed to hydrate or fix their hair, Y/N couldn’t resist sneaking glances at Sunghoon. He was always nearby, his attention never straying far from her. And each time their eyes met, it was like a silent agreement passed between them. No words, just understanding.

In the chaos of the halftime festivities, when everyone was distracted by the excitement of the game, Sunghoon took his chance. He caught up with Y/N near the locker rooms, his face lighting up as he saw her standing alone, her breath quick from the performance.

"Hey angel," he said softly, his hand brushing against hers as he stepped closer. "You were amazing out there."

"Thanks," Y/N replied, her heart fluttering at his proximity. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, the comfort of his presence in the midst of the chaotic night.

Before she could say anything else, Sunghoon leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a quick, sweet kiss. It was brief, but full of meaning—an unspoken acknowledgment of how far they’d come, how much they had shared. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she pulled away slightly, her lips curling into a grin.

"You’re distracting me," she teased, her voice soft but playful.

Sunghoon chuckled, his gaze never leaving hers. "I’ll be more distracting later. I promise." He winked, then gave her hand a gentle squeeze before stepping back to give her space.

It was moments like this that made Y/N feel like everything was finally falling into place. The chaos of the game, the lights, the pressure—it all melted away when she was with him.

As the game neared its end, Y/N could feel the excitement building. It was a tight game, but her team was winning. The energy in the stadium was electric, and Y/N’s heart raced with each cheer she led, each chant she screamed. The crowd’s energy was contagious, but nothing compared to the feeling of having Sunghoon watching from the sidelines, cheering her on like he always had.

And then, as the final seconds ticked down and the whistle blew to signify the victory, the cheerleaders took their last position of the night. Y/N’s eyes immediately found Sunghoon’s, his smile wide and proud as he stood with his teammates, their arms around each other in celebration.

The cheerleaders had finished their routine, and they were all celebrating, laughing and hugging. But before Y/N could join her teammates, Sunghoon was already by her side, pulling her into a tight hug.

"You did it," he whispered into her ear, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m so proud of you, Y/N."

Y/N closed her eyes, her heart swelling with a mix of happiness and relief. "We did it," she said softly, pulling back slightly to look at him. "I couldn’t have done it without you."

Sunghoon smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "We make a pretty good team, huh?"

Y/N laughed, her fingers grazing his cheek as she nodded. "The best team."

As the crowd cheered and her teammates surrounded her, Y/N felt like she was standing at the pinnacle of something important. The night was perfect, the game was won, and for the first time, she wasn’t just proud of her accomplishments. She was proud of how far she had come, and of the person she was becoming—with Sunghoon by her side.

And in that moment, she realized: it wasn’t just the victory that made this night unforgettable. It was the journey that had led her here—the friendships, the growth, and the love she had finally allowed herself to feel.

As she started packing her things on the sideline, a warm, content smile spread across her face. Her team was still buzzing with excitement, and she felt a deep sense of belonging. She was where she was supposed to be.

But then, she noticed something odd.

She looked around to find that the crowd—well, the few people still lingering—had their phones out, pointed at her. She raised an eyebrow, confused knitting her brows. What was going on?

Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes swept across the field, trying to make sense of the situation. And that’s when she saw it.

There, in the middle of the field, stood Sunghoon. He wasn’t just standing there, though—he was holding a large, hand-painted sign that made Y/N’s breath catch in her throat. The sign read:

“I’d love to skate into your heart. Will you be my girlfriend?”

She gasped, her hand faltering as she held her bag. The words were like a punch to the gut—one full of excitement, surprise, and something that felt too big to fully comprehend in that moment. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, the realization slowly sinking in. The sign, the words, the fact that Sunghoon—her rival, her friend, the person who had always pushed her buttons in all the wrong ways—was standing there, asking her to be his girlfriend.

Her mouth went dry, her eyes darting to the faces around her, all waiting for her reaction. The noise of the crowd around her seemed to fade away, and all she could focus on was Sunghoon, standing there, his usual teasing grin replaced with something a little more serious, a little more vulnerable.

She had known him for years, and she had seen him be cocky, confident, and sometimes even a little arrogant, but this... this was different. There was no smirk, no playful edge to his eyes. This was Sunghoon, laying his heart on the line, exposing himself in a way she hadn’t expected.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Y/N blinked and then, before she even realized it, she was moving. Her legs felt like they were moving on their own, carrying her toward him without any real thought. As she got closer, she could see the faint pink tint on Sunghoon’s cheeks, and it made her smile—a smile that she couldn’t control. The walls she’d built between them, the rivalry, the hurt, it all seemed to disappear with each step.

He was waiting for her, and when their eyes met, his smile widened just a fraction, though he still seemed to be holding his breath, unsure of her response.

The moment stretched on, the world slowing down around them. Y/N didn’t know what to say at first. She wanted to laugh, to shout, to tell him this was all insane... but all that came out was a breathless, “Sunghoon… what the hell?”

His smile faltered for a moment, and he quickly tried to recover. “I know it’s a little... dramatic, but I figured it was time to stop pretending,” he said, his voice teasing, but there was a nervousness in it too. He shifted his weight, as though unsure of what to do with his hands, before letting the sign dangle a little lower. “I’ve been holding this in for too long. Just... I don’t know. I had to ask.”

Y/N’s heart raced. She couldn’t deny how the words made her feel—like a wave of warmth and excitement washing over her. She had spent so long fighting her feelings for Sunghoon, pushing him away, telling herself she didn’t need this, didn’t need him. But now, standing here in front of him, with that sign, with everything that had led up to this moment, she realized it wasn’t something she could run from anymore.

She wasn’t even sure what she was supposed to say, how she could even begin to process this. Her mind was a blur of thoughts—of their history, of the rivalry that had always been there, of the way they’d grown closer in ways she hadn’t expected. But more than anything, she knew she couldn’t ignore the way she felt about him.

“Sunghoon…” she began, her voice soft. The crowd was still watching, waiting, but she didn’t care. This was just between them, no one else. “You’re serious?”

He nodded, the smile returning to his face, though now it was more hopeful, a little vulnerable. “More serious than I’ve ever been.”

Y/N swallowed hard, feeling the weight of everything crash down on her. This was it—the moment she had spent so long avoiding. She didn’t know where it would lead, or how things would turn out. But as she looked at him, standing there, waiting for her answer, she realized she couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Yes,” she whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Sunghoon’s face lit up, his eyes sparkling with joy, and he took a step closer, lowering the sign in his hands and pulling her into a hug. Y/N laughed as she was enveloped in his arms, feeling a rush of emotions she couldn’t quite describe. He squeezed her tight, and for a moment, it felt like everything had finally fallen into place.

As the crowd erupted into cheers and applause, Y/N knew that this was just the beginning of something new. Something unexpected. But for the first time in a long while, she felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

AND THATS A WRAP!!

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robolvrr · 6 months ago

Text

stars aligned. ☁️ ·̩͙✧

ultra magnus x reader drabble! warnings: nsfw. praise kink. mild bondage. slight voyeurism.

"you look stunning."

the titan near crumbles right then. you hear a noise you're certain none of the lost light, hell, galaxy even, has heard torn from his vocalizer, selfishly happy with the static edge that trembles with it.

he's a good listener, the loyal enforcer, because he doesn't even squirm no matter how loud his joints shift.

it's a divine miracle granted that rodimus didn't question your request of rooming with ultra magnus, under the premise of a work-related agreement. granted, some of the more rowdier crewmates suggested the obvious. efforts to keep your blossoming relationship under wraps were made long ago.

while there is little to pin rumors from in behavior - you'd share quiet looks across the hall, ultra magnus rarely raised his voice in your presence and never seemed to have issues with your data even with a spelling mistake (or four).. well. what good was a crew without gossip?

an unnamed engineer claims he's seen you nestled against ultra magnus's chassis. another chirps that his servos always glide along your back as if looking for something he had misplaced. whirl bets screws are loose and that you always have a limp to your gait - what else the source than the clear, animalistic fucking between you two?

no one listens to whirl. you shake the humor of accuracy before focusing back on your lover before he starts to twitch.

"say it, magnus." the mech whines. it should sound strange - it doesn't. you can tell when he resets his vocalizer, dizzy.

"i'm. i'm... i'm...!" large wrists twist, brief. you admire in silence, satin threatening to burst with his agony. this test of discipline the pair of you know he indulges, so the pristine bow stays in place - he groans under a roll of your hips, so much tinier than his, engines roaring to life.

"let it out, honey. you've been working so much lately."

magnus finally relents. "i'm. stunning." he could write pages and pages of how hypnotic your body looks, rocking against his rigid frame with expertise that'd put succubi to shame.

his faceplate is warm, biting back his shame because the lack of yours is just so nice to stare at. in fact, if he didn't know better, he'd say you were smug.

"say it again. you're stunning. you're beautiful. you're strong."

ultra takes the challenge in stride, noting his temperature inclines starting to ping him, adjusting cooling fans so as not to burn you.

he would never, never hurt you.

"i'm.. hagggh. please, my love, you're too-"

a wrong answer, for now. his pedes cannot spare the release of kicking. not when that same, titanium white silk is keeping the illusion of packaging.

"i don't want to hear anything, not even about me. tonight is all for you."

no human will ever share the strength to lift his tied servos, but he lets you anyways. gaze intense watching your lips drag to kiss the sides of them, tongue laving out to catch the ridges of a hefty digit.

"but i can't help it, darling. you squeeze me so much. you're so tight, hah. you're going to.. t-to-to.."

as much as his processors scream to undo his capture, it'd be a shame to ruin your pretty handiwork.

'pretty only because it's on you', previously moaned in his audials. before that cherry red grin goes to sipping your coffee and leaving him a joor just like this, to finish the analytic reports he had assigned you to finish.

"i'm stunning - frag. i'm stunning. i'm beautiful."

embarrassment collects thick at his core. he knows the underside of your legs must be painted pink by now. knows from the way you ride him faster that he's still being good, that you won't leave him high and dry and primus, he feels weak and -

"'m strong."

if weakness meant melting pitiful in you, under the addiction of flesh, he'll die and drift to the allspark blissful!

meanwhile, you're close to ecstasy. have been since he first introduced himself to the charming little analyst, simultaneously nervous and stiff. delighted to see even then he was trying not to wander, servos clenched.

on a first glance, annoyance. in reality? restraint.

"i love you."

ultra magnus curses. or it sounds so, a clutter of grinding gears and low vibrations you dazedly recognized as cybertronian. impish you isn't mean enough to ask for a translation.

"'m close. going to.. going to overload-"

"do so. fill me up, all of it, every drop. i want to walk with you dripping down my legs."

a laugh, sparkling and deep. "you're always so crude- ah!"

it's simply not realistic to hold all he offers. when you feel a familiar stretch and bulge your hips lift, still bucking the tip to ease him through the ferocious charge.

ultra magnus still can't believe how after the rumble of his frame ends you're still swift to tend to him. it's a nice feeling, watching you slowly undo his bondage, even rub your soft fingers along him as if they had caused any true damage.

a thick patch of fabric delicately dotes the seeping transfluid from his seams, sensitivity still gaining a groan or lilted sigh. determined as you are, he still scoops you up to glide closer to his dermas which you dutifully nip.

"stellar job as always, dear."

"mm. i will need.. a moment to recharge."

"just a moment?" a tittering laugh. "and here i thought you'd be ready for another round."

whirl eases from the habsuite hanger. if he had a jaw, or a face, or hell even a commlink that wasn't blocked by half the crew, he might have popped a circuit.

oh, he has a story to share and primus save whoever has to witness it.

robolvrr 2024

a/n: i am so helplessly in love with ultra magnus. take my offering. i feel like he needs a good roll in the bed and a bubble bath. whirl is not beating the humanfragger allegations.

#maccadam #lost light x reader #ultra magnus x reader #valveplug #mtmte x reader #/nsft #/nsfw #transformers x reader #transformers x human reader

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sugurugetoshairbrush · 4 months ago

Text

Peeping on your neighbor DILF!Getou Suguru [prev]

[cw: voyeurism & implied daddy kink(?) idk tbh you decide]

Irises speckled with shimmering sapphires, deep as amethyst, swirling in pools of lilac. A fringe of onyx, long tendrils dipping over a horizon of golden bronze.

“Hey, so I was wondering…”

A taut abdomen rippling with each breath—muscles carved sharp, the dip of his waist a lighter beige contrasted by a dark trail of hair leading down his navel. Broad, firm pecs teasing a softness despite the solid planes beneath.

“When are ya gonna confess to peeping on the guy?”

Deltoids flexing, obliques framing a trim waist. Triceps bulging, a testament to strenuous lifting, cardio, or something far more sinful.

“Gotta drop the bomb at some point, hm?”

Lustrous black hair cascading elegantly along a sculpted back, adorned with a splattering of moles. The glint of black titanium gauges, a thin silver chain, and the gleam of a barbell piercing at his chest catching the dim light.

“Hey, don’t just leave me hanging.”

Sometimes, the precise linework of seaweed-green ink peeks from beneath tight boxer briefs—a twisting dragon wrapping around thick quads. Quads that curve into a plump, cushioned—

“Hey!”

“Huh—what?” You blink, reality snapping back into focus. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“Yes! Where’d you go just now? Don’t tell me you were daydreaming again.”

“No…”

Yu hums in faux consideration before pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. “I’ve never seen a case this severe before in my entire career. You’re showing all the symptoms of OGD.”

You shoot him a confused look. His expression turns grave, lips pulling tight. “Obsessive Getou Disorder. And I’m afraid… it might be incurable.”

You laugh nervously, already grasping for a distraction. But Yu anticipates your escape route like a seasoned chess player, moving faster than you can react.

He snaps his fingers, three sharp cracks in quick succession. Twisting his wrist, he waves his hands dramatically as if casting a spell. “Compelling you back to reality. Return to our realm.”

Yu’s big brown eyes blink up at you expectantly, ever sparkling with mischief. His brow quirks, and you can’t resist ruffling his crop of messy hair.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening.” You pat the cushion beside you, inviting him to sit. Yu, ever the enthusiastic puppy, eagerly flops down.

Every time you finish a shift together, he chases you out of work like an excitable dog, hyping up elaborate plans—outfits, venues, guest lists—only for the night to inevitably end curled up in your apartment, eating pizza, watching movies, and gossiping. Not that you mind. It’s an outlet for your… fixation.

You grab the remote, scrolling aimlessly through endless shows and movies. Beside you, crinkling sounds announce Yu unearthing the snacks from earlier. The sweet scent of cinnamon wafts into the air.

“You up for anything in particular? Feels like we’ve watched pretty much everything at this point.”

“Mmfh, y’know wha’? We’re no’ fish again. Les’ do somethin’ bold.” Yu’s words are nearly swallowed by the honey bun he’s chewing, muffled and garbled between bites.

“Come again? And this time, without the sugar-coated mumbling.”

Yu dramatically swallows, throat protruding as he gulps too fast. Wiping the crumbs from the corners of his mouth, he tries again. “Let’s be bold tonight. Instead of stuffing our faces, we should both text our y’know…” He trails off, making exaggerated kissy noises.

Your stomach flips. “Okay…”

Yu lights up, snatching both your phones from the coffee table. Before he can act, you raise a hand. “Hold up.”

You retrieve two plastic shot glasses, a pitcher of juice, and a bottle of tequila. “Some liquid courage might be helpful, yes?”

Yu pouts but is already pouring generous shots, the tequila teetering at the brim. You know he’s just as nervous as you are.

“Three, two, one—bottoms up!”

Your throat burns, the juice barely easing the sting. Staring blankly at the open text thread with Getou, you hesitate.

“How’s this?” Yu tilts his phone for you to see.

Haibara Yu: Hey, Ken! Hope I’m not bothering you. I remember you were baking bread today, and I’m free—need a hand?

“Perfect. A casual excuse to see him while being forward. Now send.”

Yu wavers, his finger hovering over the button. A split-second of doubt, then—

“Can’t! You do it, quick!” He shoves the phone at you like it’s a ticking time bomb.

Laughing, you press send. Yu gulps down another shot in retaliation.

“What do you have typed out? Don’t make me suffer alone—”

Three loud dings cut him off. Yu’s phone vibrates. You both freeze.

“No way,” Yu whispers.

You flip his phone over and huddle together, shoulder to shoulder, to read the messages:

Nanami Kento: Haha, nice to hear from you, Haibara. Perfect timing—I just started proofing the yeast. I’d love for you to join me, might help this go smoother. Would you like me to send my address?”

Your jaw drops. “Yu. This man is whipped for you. Barely a minute and he’s already inviting you over.”

Yu can’t contain his grin, quickly typing back:

Haibara Yu: I don’t know what proofing yeast means, but I’m sure you’ll teach me!

Yes, send it now—I’ll head over ASAP :))

You groan theatrically. “Great, now you’re abandoning me.”

Yu snatches your phone, eyes scanning your screen. “You haven’t even drafted a text yet?”

“No…”

His fingers fly across his screen, typing something out—until, suddenly, his expression shifts. The look of concentration melts away, replaced by a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Actually, you don’t have to.”

He tilts your phone toward you, revealing the reason for his sudden change in demeanor.

One new message.

Getou Suguru: Hello, neighbor! Just wondering if you’d like to come over and help me cook for the girls since you proved yourself capable in the kitchen (thank you again).

They’ve been asking about you—they’d love to see you.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

Yu grins wickedly, typing furiously.

You: I’d love to! I can be over in a few.

I’d love to see the girls, although I hope they’re not the only ones excited to see me…

You lunge for your phone, but Yu holds it out of reach, laughing.

“Just give it a second—just watch. One more sec—okay, here!”

Getou Suguru: Sounds good. And of course, I’m excited to see you as well, if not more.

Be sure to text me before you head over.

In a span of minutes, you and Yu go from lazily sprawled on the couch to full-blown panic mode, securing dates with the men you’d been fawning over for what feels like an eternity. The realization sends a surge of adrenaline through you, a buzz that has you both scrambling through the apartment—showering at record speed, yanking outfits from hangers, fixing your hair with practiced precision, and spritzing on just the right amount of fragrance.

The chaos leaves your bedroom and bathroom looking like a war zone. Clothes are tossed haphazardly across the bed and floor, makeup products lie toppled on the vanity, and an army of skincare bottles clutters the bathroom counter. But none of that matters—that’s tomorrow’s problem. Right now, the only thing on your mind is making sure you both look impeccable.

Before heading out, you give each other a final once-over. Yu has swapped his usual casual wear for sleek black straight-leg pants and a fitted white shirt, the fabric hugging his frame just enough to be noticeable. At your insistence, he’s kept it simple, and you know you made the right call. With his messy brown hair adding a carefree touch, the outfit is the perfect blend of boy-next-door charm and just the right edge, thanks to the black leather zip-up jacket left open.

“You’re giving bad-boy-next-door,” you tease, stepping back to admire your handiwork.

Yu, predictably, flushes a deep shade of red. You smirk, knowing full well that Nanami is going to have a field day with that reaction later. Kudos to you.

“We’re in this together,” Yu says, raising a determined thumbs-up.

You chuckle, sending your final message.

You: Heading over!

𓂃۶ৎ

Getou’s apartment door cracks open just as you lift your fist to knock. Your grin falters, lips curving downward in a sudden frown.

“What’s wrong? Something on my shirt? Or are you just disappointed to see me?”

Your heart lurches at the genuine confusion laced in his soft voice. His dark brows knit together, a small pout forming on his lips as he glances down at himself, smoothing out his black turtleneck and shifting his weight in his brown corduroy trousers.

You reach out instinctively, your hand brushing against his forearm, stilling his restless fingers as they pick at his sweater.

“Aw, no, Suguru. You look great,” you reassure him. “I just thought I’d get to see you in that cute frilly apron again.”

His brows shoot up in surprise before his violet eyes glimmer with amusement.

“Ah, so that’s what had you looking so forlorn.” He steps back, gesturing for you to come inside. “How about you say more about how great I look?”

“Don’t get cocky now.” You huff, perching yourself on a stool at the kitchen island.

Getou strolls over, leaning against the counter with his elbows propped up, his face resting in his palms. You glance around, noticing the eerie quiet that has settled over the apartment. It’s spotless—almost suspiciously so. Usually, there’s a telltale trail of toys left behind by his daughters, but today? Not a single one in sight.

“Where are the girls? Are they here?”

“Mhm,” he hums, retrieving a clean glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. He places it in front of you, setting it atop a coaster before wiping down the space in front of you with practiced precision. “Bribed them with new dolls so I could clean.”

You snort. “I don’t know what to call out more—your obsessive cleaning or your blatant bribery of your own children.”

He ducks into a drawer, rummaging for something. “I never claimed to be a good man.”

When he straightens, he turns around slowly, revealing the infamous pink frilly ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron draped around his neck. He blinks down at you, lashes fluttering flirtatiously.

“Tie me up?”

“Come here, dork.”

Getou feigns offense but turns obediently, sweeping his long hair over one shoulder. A few loose strands remain, and you gently trail your fingers along the nape of his neck, smoothing them over. His hair is softer than you expect, and when your fingers brush his skin, he shivers.

Your hands move to his waist, tying the apron strings into a neat bow. You pat his shoulder lightly.

“And don’t undersell yourself,” you murmur. “Somehow finding the time to keep an orderly home and spoiling your daughters? Sounds like a good man to me.”

He turns, his long hair cascading elegantly down one side of his face. He smiles at you, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling shut, and you silently thank the divine forces that allowed you to be so well acquainted with such a beautiful man.

“And now, you’re not only a good man,” you tease, “but the perfect housewife.”

His brow arches. “Oh, really?” A smirk tugs at his lips before he bends down, retrieving another pink frilly apron. He unfolds it, revealing the embroidered words: ‘The Kisser.’

“Oh—I—” You stumble over your words.

“Did I forget to mention? It came in a set.” He steps forward, slipping the apron over your head. “This one’s for you.”

Wordlessly, you turn so he can tie you up. The moment he finishes, he leans in, voice dropping to a hushed murmur.

“Now, one could argue that you are now my perfect housewife.”

“Mhm.” You wag your finger at him, beckoning him closer. “Come here, and I’ll tell you what I think about that.”

He leans in, hovering just above you, his face mere inches away. Up close, you can see the soft crinkles by his eyes, the slow curve of his lips.

“I think I quite like my new role, Suguru,” you whisper. “Let me fulfill my duty.”

Your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging him forward. You press a soft kiss to his lips, allowing him to deepen it. He licks over your bottom lip before biting at it, making you sigh into his mouth. Before you can pull away completely, he captures your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. The affectionate look in his eyes nearly brings you to your knees.

You clear your throat, trying to rein in the conversation.

“So, what’s on the menu tonight?”

“Chicken alfredo pasta,” he says, straightening your apron. “The girls love it, but I don’t make it often because it’s practically a heart attack on a plate.”

“So, a special night?”

“The special-est.”

You bring a large pot of salted water to a rolling boil as Getou collects the ingredients. He works efficiently, rinsing the chicken cutlets before slicing and seasoning them with practiced ease. You fall into an easy rhythm—while you heat the frying pan, he drizzles olive oil; you melt butter, he finely slices garlic; you pour in cream, he grates parmesan. The pasta cooks as the chicken sizzles, and the sauce thickens to a velvety consistency.

While the meal comes together, you wipe off the chopping board, ready to cut the parsley garnish. But the leafy pieces refuse to separate, sticking stubbornly to your blade. Frustration wells up, and you hunch over, applying more pressure in an attempt to force the pieces apart.

A warm weight presses against your shoulder, accompanied by the scent of coconut. Getou’s arms encircle yours, his rough palms resting over your hands.

“Looks like you need a little guidance,” he murmurs, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.

You scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh yes, please, help me. I’m just a helpless damsel in distress.”

He chuckles, guiding your hand over the knife’s handle, steady and deliberate. With his touch, the blade moves effortlessly through the parsley, slicing with precision.

“Just like this,” he instructs, voice low and smooth. “A diagonal angle makes all the difference—now you try.”

You mimic his movements, finding the rhythm, the process suddenly easier. His hum of approval sends a shiver down your spine.

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice a little too indulgent, a little too intimate. “Just like that—keep going.”

Your composure wavers. Something shifts in the air—his proximity, his tone, the subtle dominance in his words. It leaves you feeling cornered, like prey beneath the gaze of an apex predator. His breath warms the side of your neck, his scent lingers sweet and intoxicating. Heat coils in your stomach.

There are… other things you wouldn’t mind him teaching you.

Before your thoughts can spiral further, his voice breaks through the moment.

“Look at that, pasta and chicken are done.”

By the time the girls peek in, drawn by the rich, creamy scent wafting through the apartment, you’ve mixed and plated the alfredo while Getou sets the table—placemats, utensils, drinks, napkins, everything in place.

“YAY, PASTA!”

Mimiko barrels into Getou’s leg, clinging enthusiastically.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!”

Nanako isn’t far behind, latching onto his opposite leg. “Yay! We love you, Daddy!”

He ruffles their hair, cradling their faces with unmistakable affection. “Aw, my beautiful girls. I love you too—but I couldn’t have done this alone.” His gaze flicks to you, warm and teasing. “Go say thank you to my sous chef.”

The twins twist their heads toward you, beaming. Before you can brace yourself, they launch forward, nearly knocking you over.

“Thank you, Suit Check!”

Nanako’s golden ringlets brush your arms as you wrap them in a hug.

Getou clicks his tongue. “No, girls—sous chef,” he corrects, exaggerating the pronunciation. “It means she was my helper in the kitchen, and she was the best helper! The pasta is extra delicious because of her.”

Satisfied with the explanation, he lifts the girls into their seats. With the help of stacked cushions, they’re just high enough to reach their plates. The moment their forks touch the pasta, the room falls silent, save for the sounds of clinking silverware and exaggerated chewing.

Getou chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s good, huh? Seems like a fan favorite.”

“S’good, Daddy—so cheesy!” Nanako exclaims, her cheeks full, her chin streaked with sauce. She wipes her fingers on the table, completely unbothered.

“So messy, honey.” Getou sighs, grabbing a napkin to clean her up despite her weak attempts to squirm away.

You lift your fork, twirling a bite expertly to catch the dangling cheese. “Watch this,” you say, demonstrating. “Wrap the cheese around your fork like this, so you can enjoy every bite without getting scolded by your dad.”

The girls gasp like you’ve unveiled some grand magic trick. They attempt to copy you, their enthusiasm infectious.

Getou takes a sip of his white wine, smirking. “Preventing messes like that isn’t exactly helping you escape the housewife allegations.” His voice dips just enough to keep the words between the two of you.

You giggle, swirling your fork aimlessly around your plate, suddenly feeling like a giggly schoolgirl.

Then, an idea strikes. “Hey, if you need an outlet for those messy tendencies, my job is hosting a family event on Monday. Finger painting—they can go wild. I’m working it, so you should bring the girls. It’ll be fun.”

Getou raises a brow, turning to the twins. “What do you think, girls? Want to go? Do some painting?”

He coughs, muttering under his breath, “That’s not on our walls.”

You swat his arm playfully, but the girls don’t notice. They’re already buzzing with excitement.

“We wanna go!” “Yeah, we love to paint! Daddy never lets us!”

You grin, throwing up two thumbs. “See? I’ll let you paint all you want on Monday. I’ll sign you all up—it’ll be a blast!”

𓂃۶ৎ

You can’t help but wonder if Getou regrets agreeing to come to ‘Family Finger-painting’ as you watch Nanako, ever the ball of energy, streak cobalt blue finger paint across the front of his crisp button-up. The deep navy smudges stand out starkly against the fabric, flecks of red in her dark umber hair only adding to the chaotic artistry. Her small, paint-covered hands leave damning evidence all over his sleeves and the hem of what was, moments ago, a pristine Ralph Lauren Oxford.

You cringe, anticipating a reaction—a sigh, a flash of disappointment. But Getou only leans down, furrowing his brows, his sharp eyes honing in on the tiny perpetrator with exaggerated accusation.

“Nanako…”

His large hands wrap around her waist, and in one swift motion, he hoists her up, lifting her high above his head as if she were soaring like an eagle. “Such a messy one, aren’t you? Look what you did to Daddy! I’ve got you now, Nana.”

Nanako kicks her little feet, writhing in his grasp as peals of laughter burst from her lungs, the sound rich and warm like music.

“D-Daddy, stop! Let me go! Sorry, sorry!”

Finally, he relents, setting her back down with an affectionate pat to her head. His shirt, however, has taken even more damage—blue smears blending with the red, swirling into purple, with specks of pink now dotting his arms and pants like an abstract masterpiece.

“Daddy, me too! Wanna fly!” Mimiko tugs at his pant leg, her small hands leaving more marks in their wake.

Obliging, Getou lifts her with the same ease, holding her up until she nearly brushes the ceiling. You make your way over, watching them with quiet amusement.

“Careful with her head, Suguru.”

Getou lowers Mimiko to rest against his hip, turning to greet you with a smile. “Ah, thank you. I do tend to get carried away.” He gestures toward the three canvases spread across the floor, protected by layers of newspaper—a rare stroke of genius on Yu’s part. “How’s the progress?”

You kneel to inspect their work: a peacock, a flower, and three handprints.

“Let me guess—the peacock is Nanako’s, and the flower is Mimiko’s?”

Nanako beams, nodding vigorously as she tugs at your smock, eager for praise. The bird she painted is surprisingly elegant, its neck curved gracefully, head tucked bashfully. The feathers—done in sweeping strokes of yellow, blue, and green—are intricate for a child her age.

“Nanako, this is beautiful! You did such a great job.”

Her cheeks flush pink, her smile widening with pride. Mimiko, not to be outdone, smushes her face against her father’s side, peeking up at you. “Wuh ‘bout mie?”

You turn to her painting—green stems drawn with a careful forefinger, flowers crafted from colorful thumbprints. It’s simpler than Nanako’s, but no less charming.

“These flowers are so pretty! I love all the colors, Mimiko.”

“Danks.”

Getou chuckles, shooting you a knowing look—one that clearly says, I know you’re just being nice, but I appreciate it.

Then, he dips his fingers into the paint and smears a thick layer of violet onto your open palm.

“Why don’t you be the finishing touch to my piece?”

You glance at his canvas—sky blue with a large purple handprint on one side, two smaller ones beneath it, one lime green, the other bright pink.

He nods toward the empty space. “Go on. Left room for you.”

With a small smile, you press your palm against the canvas, feeling the sticky paint mold to the lines of your skin. A warmth settles in your stomach as the girls erupt into applause.

Getou hums, scratching his chin as he inspects the final product, his voice dipping into a teasing lilt. “Now it’s perfect. My idea to have you complete the piece was a true stroke of genius.”

You groan. “Not a dad joke, Suguru. How stereotypical.”

He pouts, scrunching his nose in exaggerated offense. Beside him, Mimiko mimics the expression perfectly, her chubby cheeks puffed out in what might be the most adorable sight you’ve ever seen.

Before you can comment on it, a frantic voice cuts through the room.

“Just a sec, you drama queens—I’ll be right back.”

You jog toward Yu, weaving between families painting peacefully. When you finally reach him, your stomach drops at the scene in front of you. A toppled canvas lies face-down, irreparably smeared. Paint has dripped from the palette, bleeding past the newspaper barrier onto the floor.

Shit.

A wail erupts, high and heartbroken. Yuji, eyes brimming with tears, sniffles as he clings to Nanami, whose face is twisted in regret.

You scoop Yuji into your arms, rubbing his back as he hiccups between sobs.

“Yu-Yu, honey, it’s okay. We’ll get another canvas. We can make something even cooler.”

His sniffles continue, tiny fists wiping at his tear-streaked face.

“See? Nanami’s not mad at you.” You nudge Nanami’s leg.

Nanami, who’s been furiously cleaning to prevent Yu from getting written up, straightens at once. With practiced ease, he runs a hand through Yuji’s pink curls before cupping his cheek.

“Oh, Yuji, of course I’m not mad. I just had to clean up. We can still paint whatever you want, okay?”

Yuji sniffs, lower lip trembling, but the tears finally slow. You grab a tissue, holding it up to his face.

“Blow.”

He obeys, filling the tissue. You clean him up and pat his head.

Nanami bows slightly. “Thank you.”

You wave him off. “No need for thanks, Yu won’t get in trouble tonight thanks to you.”

Yu joins Nanami, curling around his arm like a content cat, while the two men share a look—soft smiles, red-tipped ears, and a warmth that’s almost too much to witness.

You groan, turning back toward the Getous. As your gaze sweeps the room, Getou towers over the families, effortlessly catching your eye. He raises a bronzed hand, beckoning you back over.

And without hesitation, you go.

𓂃۶ৎ

Turns out, washing dried paint out of hair is harder than you’d expect. Not that it ever seemed easy, but it's a lot like trying to remove gum from thick locks—frustrating and nearly impossible without the right tools.

You hold Mimiko’s head steady over the sink, your fingers working diligently to scrape out stubborn streaks of red paint from her bangs. How she managed to get it there in the first place is beyond you. Speckles of color circle the drain as you slowly restore her hair to its natural brown.

“Suguru, please,” you mouth over to Getou, careful not to let Mimiko catch on to your frustration. He peeks around the side of the tub, where he has Nanako perched on the edge, her head tilted back as he rinses out her own mess. At least he seems to be making progress—her dirty blonde strands darken to caramel under the stream of water.

Your gaze flickers to Getou himself, and concern stirs in your chest. His loose black hair, usually immaculate, is now streaked with vibrant splashes of paint. He notices your stare and offers you a small, tight-lipped smile, but his furrowed brows betray his worry.

Reaching into the cabinet, he pulls out a jar of coconut oil and hands Nanako a wide-toothed comb. “Here, sweetheart, detangle your hair for me so I can help your sister.”

He joins you at the sink, twisting the cap off the oil. “This should help. If it moisturizes the hair, it’ll loosen the paint’s grip.”

You hum in agreement, stepping onto the twins’ footstool so you can hover over Getou’s head. He glances up at you, incredulous. “Pour some for me. Someone has to do yours, too.”

He flicks your forehead in response, a teasing gesture before tipping the bottle generously into your outstretched palm. Warming the oil between your hands, you begin raking your fingers through his dark locks, careful but thorough. The silver strands peppered throughout catch the light, gleaming softly under the bathroom bulb. The oil works wonders, and soon enough, the paint starts to dissolve.

“Mm, careful back there,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something almost indulgent. “Feels nice—I might just drift off.”

Smirking, you wind the ends of his hair around your fingers and give a light tug.

What you don’t expect is the breathy gasp that slips past his lips, followed by a low, gravelly, “Watch it.”

Does he like that? You file the information away for later—time and place, after all.

The faucet shuts off, and Getou lifts Mimiko upright, wrapping a fluffy towel around her shoulders and drying her hair. You do the same for Nanako before helping Getou finish up with them both. The twins announce their plans to change into clean clothes and scamper off, promising to dump their messy outfits straight into the washing machine.

Meanwhile, Getou scrubs his forearms with the remaining coconut oil as you towel off his hair to prevent it from dripping down his back. Out of everyone, he’s easily the most covered in paint—the sink now tinted a muddy brown from the mixture of colors.

“You know, we should get changed too,” he says, wringing out a section of his hair. “You can borrow something of mine if you’re okay with that. No pressure.”

“Honestly, I’d do anything to get out of these sticky clothes,” you sigh. “Something soft sounds like a dream right now.”

He grins, booping your nose. “Your wish is my command.”

A few minutes later, you pull on the clothes he’s left for you on the hamper—a large, oversized olive green graphic tee that’s so faded you can barely make out the text, ‘Girl Dad’ (which is sickeningly adorable), and a pair of simple black sweatpants with a drawstring. The fabric pools around your feet, the sleeves gaping at your elbows, but it’s comfortable. More importantly, it smells like him—rustic sandalwood and sweet coconut.

You step out of the bathroom just as Getou emerges from his bedroom, his gaze sweeping over you unabashedly. He looks thoroughly pleased, his own outfit a mirror of yours, except his shirt is a solid white. His hair is now twisted up and secured with a claw clip.

Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His nose is cold as it nudges against your pulse point, pressing a light, lingering kiss there.

“Soft enough?” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

You hum in response, though it comes out more like a contented purr. Your arms loop around his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He lingers for a moment before pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, then pulls back with a sigh.

“C’mon,” he says, lacing his fingers through yours. “The girls are waiting.”

In the living room, the twins are sprawled out on the couch, whispering conspiratorially over a small crate filled with hair accessories. As soon as they spot Getou, they light up.

“Daddy makeover! Daddy makeover!”

A faint flush spreads down Getou’s neck. “No, girls, d—what?”

“We want to do your hair too!”

“Pleeeeaaaseee.”

They bat their lashes, their tiny hands clutching at his shirt, and oh, they’re good. Getou looks at you for backup, but you only grin and join in on the pleading.

“Pleeeeaaaseee.”

He sighs, defeated, and slides onto the floor, his back against the couch. “Fine. But be gentle.”

The twins cheer, shoving the crate toward you so you can join in. Inside, you find butterfly clips, neon barrettes, pink bows, satin scrunchies, and rainbow elastics. The three of you claim your sections of his hair and get to work—messy buns, neat braids, tiny pigtails. By the end, his head looks like a walking arts-and-crafts project.

Getou's phone blares an absurdly loud, obnoxious ringtone, shattering the quiet hum of the evening. He fumbles with it, brow furrowing as he tries to navigate answering—his age is showing. Finally, after an unnecessary struggle, he swipes to accept, and the screen flickers to life.

Gojo’s face appears far too close to the camera, wide blue eyes blinking unnervingly. The glow of the screen illuminates the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the faint shadows beneath his eyes, casting his features in an eerie fog of azure.

“What the fuck am I looking at?”

Getou lets out a loud, pointed cough and lowers the volume, shooting Gojo a disapproving look. With a shift of his wrist, he adjusts the angle so the girls—and inevitably, you—come into frame.

“Hi, Satoru!!”

Gojo winks, flashing a toothy grin. “How’re my favorite goddaughters?”

“Good!!”

“That’s what I like to hear. Your incredibly, generous godfather is calling to persuade your stuffy dad to take you somewhere awesome! Put him back on the phone, okay?”

“Okay!!”

Getou scowls and holds up an obscured middle finger to the camera. Gojo only cackles.

“I see you’re being pampered like the princess that you are by those sweet girls and your… friend.”

“Yes,” Getou replies dryly. “What about it?

Gojo somehow flips himself upside down in the frame, his hand dangling as he snorts.

“Nothing, just making an observation. Anyway, I called to invite you on a trip this weekend. I booked an Airbnb in the city so the kids can see that new superhero movie premiere. The city screenings are being introduced by actual cast members. Megumi and Tsumiki will be inconsolable if their cousins can’t come. So… you in?”

Getou shrugs, arching a well-groomed brow. “How can I refuse? The only one who spoils their kids more than you is me.”

“I dunno, the jury’s still out on that. Why don’t we ask your friend this weekend? If she comes, she’ll be the perfect tiebreaker.”

Oh, he’s slick. You suppress a smile but lean forward over Getou’s shoulder, tapping his cheek.

“Suguru’s friend likes that idea very much. I’m in—and I’ll be sure to make an unbiased decision.”

Getou turns to you, his expression shifting, concern softening the sharp elegance of his features. There’s a slight crease between his brows, and for a brief moment, you want to smooth it away, to press a kiss over the corners of his lips that have dipped into a hesitant frown.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice lower now, meant just for you. “Don’t feel pressured by this idiot.”

“Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t. I have no qualms about rejecting cocky men.”

Gojo snaps his fingers, amused. “Testy. I like it. Give me your number, and I’ll send you the details. I need to record everyone staying in the house for the homeowner.”

You recite it, then settle back into your spot. Your fingers thread through Getou’s dark hair absentmindedly, mirroring the girls’ movements as they weave an impressively tight Dutch braid along the side of his head.

Getou and Gojo continue chatting, their voices fading into the background as your phone lights up on the arm of the couch. You stretch forward to grab it, expecting a message from Yu with an update—he had also gone home with his beau.

But when you unlock the screen, an unfamiliar number stares back at you.

717-904-3856: Hey! It’s Gojo Satoru AKA your wingman, and I won’t rest until I successfully hook you up with my best friend.

God knows he needs it.

𓂃۶ৎ

“This Airbnb is fu—uh, I mean, freaking huge. How’d Gojo afford this?!”

Getou chuckles under his breath as he steers the wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror before backing into the long driveway. The house looms in front of you—massive, especially for something in the heart of the city. Beige bricks stack into sleek, modern walls, and the tall, black roof contrasts against the setting sun. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a lofty foyer inside, warm light spilling onto the neatly trimmed bushes lining the entryway. The double doors arch into a perfect half-circle, framed by lush greenery rooted in pristine, manicured grass.

He shifts the car into park, turning off the engine with an effortless press of his fingers. “Ah, did I forget to mention? Gojo’s family owns an upscale hotel franchise. You might’ve heard of it—Living Limitless?”

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. “No way. Of course, I’ve heard of them. They were in the news last year after acquiring that media conglomerate for a ridiculous amount of money. They’re loaded!”

Getou hums in response, slipping off his seatbelt. The silver frames of his glasses catch the light as he glances at you, the soft twill of his black short-sleeve set draping over his frame. His hair is neatly tied into a bun, the stray strands framing his face in a way that makes him look devastatingly good. The delicate glint of his rings and bracelets only adds to the effect.

“Mm. Money doesn’t buy manners, though. His family isn’t exactly warm and welcoming, so he doesn’t see them often. But he still has access to his shares, which is why he can afford to act like a snob.”

You chuckle, pushing open the passenger door before reaching into the backseat to unbuckle Nanako from her booster seat. “I mean, he can’t be that bad. He does a lot for the girls, doesn’t he?”

“Welcome to my humble abode!”

Your head snaps up just in time to see Gojo—not walking—but rolling toward you down the cobblestone driveway on a hoverboard, tilted forward like he’s the main act in some grand performance.

You inhale sharply. “Spoke too soon.”

Getou sighs, dragging a hand down his face before taking both girls by the hands, guiding them toward Gojo. Unlike you, the twins are completely mesmerized by his dramatic entrance. You, however, can’t help but see a man in his thirties, draped in designer from head to toe—Gucci sunglasses, Gucci joggers, Gucci slides—riding a Segway like a rich kid who never outgrew his phase.

To his credit, Gojo is absurdly friendly. He sweeps all of you into a round of enthusiastic hugs, exchanging pleasantries before immediately launching into an animated info-dump about the upcoming movie. His voice brims with excitement—maybe even more so than the kids’.

“—and the actor that plays Cursebreaker? Absolute machine. Does all his own stunts. Megumi could tell you more, he follows him on TikTok. He and his sister have been asking about you two all day.”

Right on cue, a small head peeks out from the front door. Tsumiki beams brightly. “Hi Nana! Hi Mimi!”

From behind her, little Megumi appears—his tousled black hair falling over his forehead, his lips drawn into a scowl.

The interior of the house is even more elegant than the exterior—sleek and modern, a symphony of whites, grays, and blacks. The minimalist design is softened by the presence of large, leafy plants, and a high-end television camouflages as an expensive painting on the wall.

As soon as you step inside, the girls scatter, immediately engrossed in an impromptu game of tag, their laughter echoing through the open space. Getou settles himself into the plush white couch, casually grabbing a controller as Megumi boots up his Switch beside him. That leaves you with Gojo, who is carefully slipping into his Cursebreaker cosplay for later that evening.

“Zip this up for me?” he asks, turning his back to you.

The suit is absurdly tight, a second skin molded to every inch of his form. You struggle with the zipper, nearly yanking Gojo backward in the process. The sleek, black material stretches over his body, covering him from head to toe—built-in shoes and all. The design spirals with glowing icy blue accents that converge at his sternum, forming a swirling curse energy emblem.

Gojo’s usual vibrant eyes are further exaggerated by unnervingly bright blue contacts, the pupils swallowed entirely, leaving only a ghostly glow.

As you help spike his already gravity-defying hair, you can’t help but ask, “Where the hell did you even get this costume?”

Gojo smirks, fluffing a single strand just right. “Oh, you know… I just reached out to the actual designer from the movie, commissioned an exact replica. Had to expedite it, though.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “Oh. So you’re rich-rich.”

Gojo actually has the nerve to look a little bashful, kicking at the floor like a kid caught sneaking an extra dessert. “It’s not like that! I don’t splurge on just anything. I’ve been obsessed with this franchise since I was a kid.”

From the couch, Getou’s smooth voice interjects lazily, “Born to be a nerd, forced to be an heir. Tragic.”

Megumi, ever eager to roast Gojo, jumps in with a smirk. “NERD.”

What follows is a predictable bout of bickering, it lasts until Gojo’s phone vibrates, signaling that their Uber will be arriving in an hour. He claps his hands together and directs the kids to get into their costumes.

Then he turns to you and Getou with an expression that makes you wary. “So,” he drawls, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain, “fun fact—there are only five cinema tickets. Totally sold out. Couldn’t get extras.”

Getou frowns, about to protest, but Gojo cuts him off with a raised finger. “Ah, ah, ah. This actually works out perfectly, because let’s be honest—I’m the only one who actually cares about seeing this movie. So, instead of sitting through something you don’t care about, you two should have a night out. I even have recommendations.”

You glance at Getou with amusement. “So, Suguru, when’s the last time you went out socially?”

Silence. Getou’s lips press into a thin line.

Gojo beams in triumph. “Yay! You’ll do it! Get back out there, Grandma!” He whips out his phone and texts you both the name of a bar. It looks lively—plenty of drinks, an arcade, even a dance floor.

“Oh, and FYI,” he adds, “I already called an Uber for you. So, chop chop, go get ready.”

The sudden realization that you’re about to go on what is essentially a date with Getou sends you scrambling for an outfit. After giving your goodbyes to the twins, who latch onto you for hugs, you rush off to get ready.

A steaming shower melts away any tension as you exfoliate, shave, and lather yourself in fragrant lotion and body oil. When you step out, your reflection grins back at you, brimming with anticipation.

You settle on an all-black ensemble: knee-high boots, a mini skirt, and a textured, long-sleeved button-up, strategically fastened at your midriff to reveal just the right amount of skin. A small black bag completes the look. You’re banking on Getou wearing black—his wardrobe rarely deviates from it.

Descending the stairs, your hunch proves correct. Getou stands by the mirror near the front door, adjusting his watch and straightening his jewelry. He’s still in his earlier outfit but has thrown on a wool-lined button-up denim jacket and swapped his shoes for chunky-sole ankle boots. His glasses remain, framing his face as a few strands of hair escape his bun.

You creep up behind him, aligning yourself in the reflection. “Hey.”

His gaze lifts to meet yours in the mirror, and a faint flush rises to his cheeks. “Hey.”

You let out a low whistle. “Damn, you clean up well.”

He turns, draping an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in. Your palm finds his chest, and in the mirror’s reflection, you can’t deny—you two look good together.

“You make me look even better,” he murmurs, his arm snaking around your waist. “You look beautiful.”

A car horn honks outside, breaking the moment. Getou steps back, extending a hand, and you take it. He even opens the door for you, effortlessly slipping into the role of a gentleman.

During the ride, he chats idly, reminiscing about growing up on the outskirts of the city. He tells you about the sprawling fields that once existed before modernization, where he and the local kids played streetball. You tease him for having firsthand historical knowledge of the ‘90s, earning an eye roll in return.

At the bar, the crowd is thick, the air electric. Getou’s firm hand guides you through, settling at the small of your back. At the bar, he orders your drinks.

“So handsome…,” you say, swirling your glass before taking a sip, “what brings you out tonight?”

Getou smirks, playing along. “Finally got a night away from the kids. I’m a father, by the way.”

“Oh?” You eye him appreciatively, slow and deliberate. “You ever heard of the term DILF before?”

He chuckles, amusement glinting in his eyes as he downs half his drink. “Oh, how forward of you. Would you personally apply that term to me, or…?”

You grin, raising your glass. “Let’s save the pillow talk for later. Tell me more about yourself—steady job, good income, solid principles, family values?”

Getou swirls his drink lazily before topping it off with a fresh pour. The gleam of his silver watch catches the light. “I sit on the board of a local non-profit, invest in my 401K, indulge in questionable activities in moderation, and put family above all else.”

Your eyebrows lift, surprised by the thorough answer. He clinks his glass against yours, eyes flickering with curiosity. “And you?”

You down the rest of your drink, holding his gaze. Then, licking your lips, you lean in slightly.

“Oh, me?” You twirl a strand of hair around your finger. “I’m a daycare teacher and tutor, planning to start grad school after I get my promotion. I splurge irresponsibly with my best friend on weekends, but I’m generally kind-hearted. I want a family of my own someday.”

Getou hums appreciatively. “Sounds like you’re exactly what I’m looking for in a partner—smart, nurturing, ambitious, outgoing, and devoted.” He flags down the bartender, already ordering another round before turning back to you with a smirk. “I imagine we’ll get along well.”

Two drinks deep, and you’re debating your go-to orders—his, a neat Scotch, yours, a lemon drop martini.

Three drinks in, and you’re bickering about how absolutely repulsive the other’s choice is.

Four drinks in, and the embarrassing stories spill out like the liquor in your glasses. He’s telling you about the time he pranked Gojo so convincingly at a KFC that it led to an all-out meltdown, ultimately getting them banned from every location nationwide. You counter with a tale of your early days at work, when a particularly unruly kid kicked you in the crotch and bolted, leaving you to chase him around the parking lot in a frenzy.

Five drinks in, and you’re both breathless with laughter, wheezing about how absurd Gojo looked in that ridiculous costume—how he is probably chafing from its unnatural tightness.

Six drinks in, and you’re tugging Getou onto the dance floor, the bass rattling through the floorboards as you pull him close, fingers trailing down his torso before turning to grind back against him. His hands find your hips, strong and steady, guiding you in rhythm, his hot breath fanning across your ear.

Six drinks and two shots of D’Usse in, and you’re clawing at his jacket, trying to shrug it off his shoulders while he palms your ass through your skirt, drawing the ire of surrounding patrons.

“Say, we get outta here,” he murmurs, voice husky.

“Mmm, yeah, but where?”

He pulls back just enough to glance around, trying to shake the intoxicating pull of your scent. Then, his gaze lands on the neon sign above the exit.

“Oh, shit.” He chuckles, already tugging you toward the door. “This bar’s connected to a hotel… Limitless Hotel.”

The realization dawns sluggishly, but in sync. “Gojo.”

You both scoff, but Getou doesn’t dwell. He’s already handing his black card to the receptionist, sliding across a generous tip before guiding you to the elevator. The doors shut, and just as you sneak a hand beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin, he stills, regaining his composure. Instead of pulling you closer, he just looks down, offering you that saccharine smile—sweet, soft, disarming.

The most contact he allows is the gentle squeeze of your hand as he leads you down the hallway. The key card beeps, the door unlocks, and the moment you step inside, Getou turns to you, effortlessly lifting you by your thighs. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist as he walks backward into the room, lips finding the damp skin of your neck. He licks, sucks, nips his way down to your collarbone, groaning like he’s savoring something divine.

He stumbles near the closet, and you tumble onto the mattress with a breathless yelp, your hair catching uncomfortably beneath you. You cling to his neck, trying to ease the tension, and he gazes down at you, his violet eyes suddenly sharp despite the haze of alcohol.

“You okay, baby?”

“Mhm.” You cradle his face, his cheeks flushed, lips tinged red, pupils blown wide. You sigh, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “S’pretty Sugu… kiss?”

Getou gets the message, dipping down to capture your lips in a slow, consuming kiss. His strong arms cage you in as his tongue teases yours, urging your mouth open further. You moan into it, gripping his shoulders as he presses closer, the heat between you mounting with every stolen breath.

Your shirt is barely clinging to your frame, skirt bunched high around your hips, and Getou takes full advantage, trailing kisses down your chest, tugging your bra aside to flick his tongue over a peaked nipple. The sensation sends sparks through your body, and he groans, biting gently as his eyes flick up to gauge your reaction.

You arch beneath him, desperate for more, hands fisting in his hair. The loose bun unravels, his dark strands cascading around you like a curtain, his scent enveloping you completely.

You whimper, shifting beneath him, seeking friction. “Su-gu-ru…”

He bites at your earlobe, his voice a breathy whisper, “Tell me what you need, baby. Talk to me.”

“Need you,” you gasp, hips canting up in frustration. “More—please.”

His weight presses against you, his clothed length dragging over your damp panties, and you keen at the friction.

“Like this?” he teases, grinding slow, deliberate.

You moan, rolling your hips to meet his. “Yes—yes, Sugu. Feels so good.”

The taste of alcohol lingers on your tongue, but it’s overshadowed by Getou, his kisses devouring, claiming. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, and he groans, shuddering against you.

His hands roam, tracing down your torso, teasing over your navel. Your fingers wander in turn, slipping beneath his shirt, nails dragging over the taut muscles of his back, feeling them ripple as he moves.

Your hands drift lower, mapping the firm planes of his chest until your fingers catch on the cold metal of his barbell piercings. You flick them, drawing a sharp inhale from him. And then you see it—the tattoo you’ve admired from afar, the coiled tail of a dragon peeking from the jut of his hip.

He chuckles, low and rough, nuzzling into your neck. “What do you want, baby? Tell me.”

You swallow hard, heart hammering. “Need you—now.”

His smirk is sinful. “Yeah? Here, you’ve been so good for me.”

He shoves his pants lower, and you shiver as his hands skim your thighs, pushing your skirt down and off entirely.

“Be a good girl,” he murmurs, kissing you slow, teasing. “Take me out of my boxers.”

Getou straightens up, towering over you like a Greek god—sculpted physique gleaming under the dim light, skin slick with perspiration and arousal. Your breath hitches as you curl your fingertips around the waistband of his black boxers, carefully pulling them down, revealing the end of his happy trail and the thick, pulsing length of his cock straining beneath the fabric.

You free him from the confines, wrapping your fingers around his girth. He twitches in your grasp, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth.

“Just like that, baby,” Getou murmurs, leaning over to flick his tongue over a sensitive nipple. Your mewl is music to his ears.

He lets you stroke him a few times, a bead of precum glistening at his tip as you lick your lips. But before you can indulge further, he captures your wrist, his other hand slipping beneath the damp fabric of your panties, pressing a teasing stroke over your clit.

A violent jolt racks your body. Your hips twitch, desperate for more, but all you can manage is an incoherent plea, breathy and urgent.

Getou chuckles, the sound dark, almost cruel. “Shh, shh. I got you. Daddy’s got you.”

He slips a finger inside you, and the moan you release is downright filthy. The slick glide allows him to press a second digit in beside the first with ease, stretching you open with deliberate, lazy pumps. His knuckles brush against you, curling upward with intent, watching your every reaction.

Your eyes flutter back, mouth parted, and you think you might be drooling. Getou licks at your chin, smirking. “Hey. Eyes up here.”

You barely manage to meet his gaze, his irises eclipsed by lust-darkened pupils. He leans in, your panting breaths mingling, and you press your lips to his, tasting him, losing yourself in the heat of his mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice like gravel and honey. “You just tightened up—mmh, you like it when I look at you?”

“Yes, Sugu,” you gasp, teetering on the edge of madness. “Please, I’m gonna die if you don’t fuck me soon.”

The words are only half-teasing; the ache inside you is unbearable, the need to be filled leaving your eyes pricking with unshed tears. Getou’s expression softens for only a moment before he kisses the corner of your eyes, his thumbs swiping tenderly over your cheekbones.

Then, without warning, he hikes your legs over his shoulders, dragging your panties aside. The swollen head of his cock nudges against your slick clit, the slight friction sending a white-hot surge through your nerves. He watches the way you shudder beneath him, reveling in your sensitivity.

“You want it?” he asks, lining himself up, teasing your entrance.

You whimper, wiggling your hips, desperate to catch him inside. The wetness pooling between your thighs makes it effortless, yet he stills his movements, smirking down at you.

“Go ahead, baby,” he urges, voice thick. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

He pushes in just enough for his tip to breach your entrance, the stretch immediate, electric. You sink down onto him, trying to take more, but it’s too much—too thick, not deep enough. Your walls clench greedily, but you can’t fit him in entirely on your own.

You look up at Getou, his lip caught between his teeth, veins prominent along his throat and forearms. A single tear escapes the corner of your eye, sliding down your cheek as you whisper, broken and pleading:

“Fuck me.”

Getou exhales sharply, dragging your panties off, your slick stretching between the fabric and your core. He balls them up, stuffing them into his pocket. You open your mouth to question it, but before you can, he grabs your ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

With one deliberate thrust, he buries himself to the hilt.

A choked cry escapes your lips, his name mangled on your tongue. He sets a ruthless pace, each stroke angled perfectly to find the spot inside you that has you keening.

Your head falls back, eyes glassy, body trembling as pleasure builds in your core. Getou watches you come undone beneath him, kissing and biting at your thighs as he keeps driving into you.

“Gripping me so tight, baby,” he groans, voice raw with need. “So fucking wet—do you want to cum for me?”

You nod frantically, words failing you.

Getou chuckles darkly. “Can’t understand you, sweetheart. Try again.”

You suck in a shaky breath, but he thrusts particularly deep, stealing it away before you can respond. Your body quivers violently, pleasure teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Yes, Sugu—yes! Please, I need—”

“Better,” he huffs. He withdraws, just long enough to shift his position, slotting himself between your legs, guiding your hands behind his neck. You instinctively wrap yourself around him, pulling him deeper as he fills you completely.

The pressure is dizzying. His hand presses against your lower stomach, and you keen, feeling him so impossibly deep inside you.

“S-so big—fuck—so deep, Sugu, s’good.”

He kisses your cheek, resuming his brutal pace, the wet sounds of your coupling only adding to the sinful bliss. He reaches between you, circling your clit with practiced precision, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You choke on a sob, pleasure consuming you. “Sugu—c-coming—”

His nose brushes against yours, his lips hovering just over your own as he coaxes you further. He licks along your cupid’s bow, voice a whispered command:

“Come for me.”

The dam bursts.

A violent wave of ecstasy crashes over you, leaving you gasping, body convulsing around him. Your walls flutter and squeeze, a gush of arousal soaking his cock, dripping down to his balls.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, fucking you through the aftershocks. “Just like that.”

He doesn’t stop, dragging out your pleasure until it’s unbearable. Another orgasm crashes over you before you even have time to recover, leaving you sobbing his name.

Getou groans, his body tensing. “Fuck—‘m close—”

You know what will push him over the edge.

“Come inside me,” you beg, voice wrecked. “Fill me up—Su-gu-ru.”

A broken moan falls from your lips as Getou thrusts deep, his release spilling into you, hot and thick. His pace stutters, but he doesn’t stop, fucking his cum into you, his hips rolling lazily as your walls pulse. The slick, creamy mess coats his base, dripping from your swollen cunt.

You tug him closer, pulling him into a messy, breathless kiss—your tongues sliding together, lips slotting against each other with desperate need. It’s intoxicating, dizzying, and you only pull away when the edges of your vision blur, the threat of passing out looming.

You blink up at him, mind hazy, body wrecked and thrumming with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Your voice comes out shaky, barely more than a whisper.

“Fuck.”

Getou chuckles, the sound low and breathless, his chest rising and falling against yours. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck, disappearing into the dip of his collarbone.

“Fuck is right,” he murmurs, voice tinged with amusement.

His gaze softens when you nuzzle against him, your cheek pressing against his damp skin. The fatigue creeps in—drunken, drowsy, and thoroughly ruined, your limbs feel too heavy to move.

His lips brush your temple. “You okay, baby? Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head against him, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Nah, you’re perfect.”

He hums, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your back. Then, he shifts, trying to sit up—but the moment he moves, you tighten your arms around his neck, pulling him back down with a stubborn whine.

“Need to clean us up,” he says, voice gentle. “Won’t take long.”

You pout, clinging to him like a lifeline, your fingers wringing around his nape, refusing to let go.

He exhales, surrendering. “Alright, alright. Later?”

Your smile presses into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his touch soothing as his hand glides along your spine, up to scratch at your scalp in slow, languid motions.

“Later.”

𓂃۶ৎ

One thing you hate about your job is how it conditions your body to wake up at ungodly hours. In theory, it’s practical—what responsible adult wouldn’t want an early start to their day? But when you’re still reeling from a brutal hangover, desperately craving more sleep, and your body betrays you by jolting awake at the crack of dawn, it feels like pure, unadulterated torture.

You groan, rolling over in an attempt to force yourself back under, but sleep refuses to claim you again. After tossing and turning until frustration wins out, you surrender and drag yourself toward the kitchen, deciding a glass of water might help reset your system.

Hydration is key, after all, and judging by the desert-dry state of your throat, it’s safe to say you neglected it for the last forty-eight hours. Understandable, given how you’d spent the night before last.

The memory hits you out of nowhere—Getou Suguru, your devastatingly attractive neighbor, buried deep inside you, his face tight with concentration, his lips parted, breathless, still so effortlessly beautiful.

Your thighs squeeze together instinctively. It’s been happening often, these flashes of him in the most compromising positions. You just hope it isn’t obvious.

The cool air from the fridge is a relief against your overheated skin. For a fleeting moment, you consider drinking straight from the jug but decide to cling to the last shred of your dignity and pour it into a glass instead. Still groggy, you make your way to the couch, your sleep shorts riding up with every sluggish step, the strap of your bralette twisted uncomfortably.

Then—movement.

From the corner of your eye, just outside your window, something shifts. Old habits die hard, and before you can think better of it, you tiptoe closer, peeking through the curtain just enough to get a view. You expect to see the usual—Getou up early, like always. You recently learned that he wakes at the crack of dawn to make breakfast for the girls every day—a habit formed from years of going without, back when his family couldn’t afford the luxury of a morning meal.

You do see Getou.

He’s on his bed, legs stretched out, and he’s touching himself.

Your breath stutters in your throat.

His cock is flushed and straining in his hand, thick fingers wrapped around the length as he pumps himself at a lazy pace. You can almost hear the sounds he’s making—the quiet, low groans that would rumble deep in his chest, the sharp inhales as he works himself over. His lips move, forming words you can’t quite make out, but what catches your attention most is the fabric curled around his shaft, moving in time with every stroke.

You squint, trying to get a better look. Then your stomach drops.

Your panties.

Your used panties from the other night. The ones you’d worn throughout the evening, growing wetter and needier with every stolen glance at him, every lingering touch. The lacy pair with the pale pink bow at the center.

Now, they’re tangled along his cock, the waistband stretching with every movement, sticky with precum as he grinds himself against the delicate fabric.

You’re mesmerized. Completely, utterly entranced. You don’t even realize you’ve moved the curtain further, no longer just peeking but openly watching. And then—it happens.

Getou’s dark eyes lock onto yours.

Your stomach flips, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he slows down, dragging it out, making a show of it. His hips thrust up to meet his tight grip, his jaw tightening as he bites back another moan. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t look away. He just keeps watching you watch him.

Then, still stroking himself, he picks up his phone, tapping the screen a few times before bringing it to his ear.

Your phone vibrates from where you left it on the couch.

A heavy silence stretches between you as you hesitate. Then, slowly, almost mechanically, you reach for it, pressing it to your ear.

The first thing you hear is his moan—gravelly, drawn out, punctuated by a sharp breath.

Across the way, Getou smirks. He stands, his cock bobbing against his stomach, your panties still tangled around the tip. He lifts a single finger, curling it in a slow beckon.

You swallow hard, pulse hammering in your ears.

And then, his voice, deep and smooth, curling around the words like a promise.

“Come over, pretty girl.”

[My beloved taglist: @mentallyillcore @ourfinalisation @nanasukii28 @tokyolittledelulu @reveursetcrieurs @c0ckdrunkk @inthedarkshadows000 @exelyox @inoluvrr]

+ A/N: Experimenting with my writing style ! Ngl I had to pause multiple times while writing this because DILFtou is just too damn fine !! Also, realized I have daddy issues while writing this smh

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