#and i keep stumbling on it again once in a while

[togetherjournalprompts]

He saunters, if he can even really call it that, towards me. So much arrogance in his eyes because he thinks he has me beat. By all appearances, he certainly does.

I had to drag myself into a sitting position after a hit I slightly underestimated. There was blood on my brow, dripping into my eye and on my lip. I could taste the metallic tang of it mixed with the salt and minerals of my sweat. My breath came in heavy pants that made my ribs hurt. Did I break one or two of them when I hit the wall?

"You thought you could come in here," my foe began to monologue. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, I needed to keep up the pretense just a little longer. The only people I let monologue in my presence are children, and my supers. He was neither.

"On MY turf!" Oh, definitely the wrong thing to say. "In MY lair!" A lair that belonged to Professor Fate, one of my supers, no big deal, right? "And do what? Defeat me with the might of your little science tricks? You know Chemist," he said my villain name with a mocking tone I didn't particularly care for. "You've been a joke among the new villains for years. It's about time one of us sho— Why...why are you laughing?"

I couldn't help it. The bravado of this child had finally made me burst into a laugh that sounded cold, cruel, and insane. It made my ribs hurt again, but by Science! It felt so good. This joker had no idea what he was really up against.

While I sat there, cackling like no bog witch had ever cackled before, I began to manipulate the very atoms around me. Chemical compositions made as easily as a child spills water. Compounds made to help the healing process. Hormones manipulated at an atomic level to speed my metabolism so I don't overdose on the good stuff. Lactic acid processing now faster than any human could do, refreshing my muscles, allowing me to stand tall and proud once again without being out of breath.

"Oh, child. Let me give you a quick science lesson," I sneered, elongating the beginning of 'science' into a hiss. "Chemistry can generally be seen as the building blocks of the world. You and me? We're just walking, talking, organic bags of chemical reactions," I explained as if he were five. "Those 'little science tricks'," I said, performing one of the childrens' favorite. Colored sparks in the air, like tiny fireworks, in blues, greens, and reds. "That is simply concentrating the oxygen in the air and a few metals here and there, then igniting it." He didn't understand what I was beginning to imply. I could see that much in his eyes.

It was my turn to saunter, step by threatening step. I manipulated light particles away from me, making the shadows appear deeper and more menacing. He took a step backward.

"This is just child's play. Much more damaging things can be done. And you know what I've noticed?" I was mocking him now. He was sweating. Was that fear? Oh, probably not at this point. That was the atoms around him moving faster, making the air hotter.

"What's that?" He asked, trying to sound brave. A small explosion cracked by his head, causing him to flinch. Another cracked with a loud bang near his knees, forcing him to stumble backward. I could see his breathing become more difficult. But then, that's to be expected when there's an increase in pressure from forcing as much oxygen around him as I could. Surprisingly hard trick considering I had to be creative about where I was getting all of it, but this would be well worth it.

"Us powered folks, supers and villains alike," I smirked, continuing to increase the pressure, pulling oxygen out of its bonds with the water in the air, making the air around us both dry. "We're not completely indestructible." His eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a split second. I could see the increase in pressure started rupturing blood vessels in his eyes. Glorious.

"No, certainly not. From the inside," I said with a wicked smile.

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At worst, you annoy the local supers but your crimes never hurt anyone. All fun and games until things change when a truly sadistic super villain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[buckysfaveplum]

starboy

summary: recovering from kryptonite poisoning back home in Kansas leaves your relationship with Clark a bit confused. you’ve always been his rock- his best friend. but now, back on the farm, maybe there was always something more

pairing: clark kent x female reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: spoilers!!! don’t read if you don’t wanna be spoiled you’ve been warned! just a lil hurt/comfort fluffy fic, friends confessing feelings type shit, reader calls clark ‘starboy’. um reader makes the first real move cause Clark is a bashful lil gentleman and too nervous

a/n: guyssss i’ve been gone for a while i’m sorry. i’m in the home stretch with my master’s thesis. but i just saw Superman and i’m a mess so here you go! it's my first time writing for the character so I'm still getting a feel. it's short and quick but i hope you enjoy!

masterlist | send requests

Your hands gripped the rough blue fabric of his suit as firmly as you could manage. Fingers trembled as you struggled to pull him up from the seat in the craft. His body slumped into the cushions, refusing to budge as you shook him gently.

“Clark, hey, wake up.” You tried your best to keep a steady and confident tone, but your voice betrayed you, “Let’s go, hun. We’re here.”

His eyes fluttered open slowly and glanced around, somewhat confused by his surroundings. The daze left when he looked up to be met with your bold eyes. Your hand softly combed through his ink hair, resting at the crook of his neck.

“Hey…” he said, his words slurred and dreary. You looped your arm under his and around his back, tugging as he slowly pushed himself from the seat.

The thud of his boots filled the craft, bouncing off the walls as they revealed the limp and stutter of his steps. His weight was all-consuming, with Clark leaning heavier into your side than he wished to admit. With each laboured breath, each wince and grip from his hand on your hip, your heart clenched. It was too close of a call, too lucky were you that you had pulled him out from the portal. What if you were a second later? What if the kryptonite had finished the job? What if you never saw him again?

You reached the ladder down from the craft. Slowly, you helped him down each step; his normal speed and agility were wiped away as he teetered down the stairs, balancing into your side. The sound of feet crunching thick, tall grass filled your ears. Looking up, an older couple stood at the foot of the ladder. Soft eyes, worn but kind faces, calloused yet gentle hands—the Kents.

The man you assumed to be John rushed up the steps as you reached the bottom. His large hands and strong arms opened to take some of Clark’s weight off you. Martha stood aside, watching with worry creased into her forehead and the wrinkles around her eyes

“He needs to rest, he’ll be okay,” you said as the four of you slowly made your way inside.

“Thank God,” Martha said, clutching a small gold cross strung from her neck. 

“i.. c’n walk…” Clark, the ever self-dependent and strong man, tried his best to shake off the help. His feet attempted to carry his weight. But a small dent in the ground had other plans. His foot caught, causing him to stumble and slip from your grasp.

“Woah, hey!” You slid to his front before he could fall from John’s hold and hit the ground. You gently pushed him back up, your hand tenderly brushing a curl from his forehead. “Don’t scare me like that, starboy.”

Even in his delirious and weakened state, Clark couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. That damn smile, the one that had somehow found a way to make your knees buckle. You miss the glance exchanged between his parents. 

Once inside, you awkwardly laid him into his bed. The kiddish sheets contrasted with the vibrant blue and red fabrics of his suit. The worn blue headboard popped against the stained wood panels lining the walls. His large frame spilled over the small twin bed, and you found yourself wondering how the Kents ever kept up with his growth as a child.

His hair was slick with sweat, and he was exhausted from the strain of reaching the farmhouse. John’s hand rested on Clark's forehead as he eased him into the pillows. Clark’s mumbling filled the room as he tried to relax, the comfort of his parents overwhelming him.

“ma… they sent me here t’ kill p-people,” his words were broken as he stammered. The sound of Martha gently shushing him sang through the room. 

You stood back, giving the family space. You didn’t want to intrude, he was their son after all; you were just his friend. If that was all you were, then why was your heart still pounding?

Your eyes roamed over the room, taking in the intimate setting you never thought you’d see. Clark was so private with his parents, so protective. No matter how close you were, that side of him always felt closed off to anyone else. Anything to assure their safety. 

The room was scattered with toys, which you guessed were from his early years, just the few that a teenage Clark might have found too much fondness for to toss. Posters from bands you had always given him grief over, old sports trophies, blankets you guessed Martha had made him over the years; it was a room that showed a remarkably humble and mundane childhood that shaped him into the man he was. 

Clark’s mumbling called your attention back over to the bed. His words were slightly panicked and rushed, and his half-lidded eyes began to dart around the room.

“where’s…. where’s y-y/n? y/n…” his hand weakly stretched over the sheets as if trying to feel for you.

“She’s right here, sweetheart,” Martha said. Her kind eyes glanced over to you, giving you a welcoming yet sad smile that beckoned you over. His fragile hand took yours and placed it along Clark’s arm, moving from her spot beside the bed to let you sit.

Now at his side, your hand gently stroked his arm and shoulder, working your way up to the silky curls at the nape of his neck; the ones that he couldn’t smooth out no matter how hard he tried. No matter how much comfort you took in having him there, you couldn’t quite push down the bile rising in your throat at the feeling of his dark raised veins along his neck, the painful reminder of how close he was to leaving you.

“I’m here,” you said softly, as if it was just for him. It was.

That damn smile was back, slightly lopsided and shaky from exhaustion, but just as striking as ever.

“mmm… good,” he said as his eyes finally slipped closed.

You sat there for a good while, your hands gently resting at his side, keeping an eye on him as if you were his sole protector while he was gone to the world. You’d never seen him so small, so vulnerable- as small as a 6’4” alien could be.

John’s hand stayed resting at Clark’s head, pushing back his sweat-soaked curls as he tried to relax from the ordeal.

“Don’t let him fool you, he’s just a softy. Especially when it comes to Clark,” Martha said, patting your back as she walked over to her husband. Her eyes watched intently as your hands continued to tremble around Clark’s, unable to let go. She smirked before ushering John out of the room. You heard the faint mumblings of he’ll be okay, he’s got her as they left.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to leave his side, not after he was almost lost to you forever. An hour or so passed before sleep finally overtook you as well. The peaceful look on Clark's face was the last thing you saw before drifting off, your head resting on his side as your arm stretched across him.

-

A continuous, soft tapping against your thighs stirred you awake. The bright Kansas sun spilled in through the blinds and danced across the room. The angle was different than when you dozed off. Rather than lying perched beside the bed, you found yourself staring up at the ceiling with sheets surrounding you. Clark.

Of course, he moved you to his bed.

The thumping continued, and you finally looked down, taking in the sight of Krypto lying cozy across your body, his face mere inches from yours. The tapping of his wagging tail made you giggle as you slipped from the handknit blanket Clark had wrapped you in to scratch behind his ears.

“Good boy,” you said. 

The old door creaked on its hinges as you slipped out of the room and down the hall. Your feet padded softly across the tile til you reached the kitchen. Martha stood at the stove, gently pouring a cup of coffee and spreading a thick red jam across two biscuits. You tried to be quiet, wishing not to disturb her morning. 

“Morning, dear,” she said before turning to you. You wondered if Clark’s enhanced hearing was something he just learned from his parents because you swore she had it too.

“Morning, Martha,” you said.

“Oh, dear, call me Ma,” you smiled at her words and nodded, walking over as she handed you a cup of coffee. The warm mug filled your hands, and for the first time, they weren’t trembling anymore.

“Thank you for letting me stay the night,” you said.

“Don’t even mention it!” she said before returning a jug of milk to the fridge. While you took a sip from your mug, she stepped over and placed a hand once again on your back. “Thank you for bringing him back to us safely.”

Before you could respond, she nodded her head in the direction of the window out the kitchen door.

“He’s out front,” she said. You gave her a thankful smile before resting your drink on the counter and slipping out the door. 

The fabric of your skirt swirled around your legs, long blades of grass pricked at your calves as you waded through the field to reach him. Clark leaned against the rickety wooden fence, watching horses prance and whinny. Your hand gingerly patted the soft snout of one of the horses standing along the fence before you found your way to his spot. 

You stood beside him, a comfortable silence falling between you. The sound of the horses filled the air, harmonizing with the low buzz of the bees. You could help but notice the worn flannel stretched over Clark’s arms and back, how the faded jeans he wore had heel bites that revealed the dark brown of his leather boots. It always seemed to slip your mind that he was a country boy through and through, except for those times when his Kansas accent would slip out, it always seemed to happen when you took the last dumpling at dinner.

“You really gave me the bed?” you asked, watching the horses trot around the pen.

“What kind of man would I be if I let you sleep on the floor?” he said.

“The kind who needed rest ‘cause he was poisoned…” You said with a giggle, but he knew you were serious. He simply shrugged, a casual smile on his lips.

He moved to stand closer to you, leaning forward on the fence and finally looking over at you. His hands wrung as he looked you over. For a moment, you thought maybe he was nervous, like you made him anxious. 

You leaned on the wood with him, your shoulder nudging slightly into his. Your hands hesitated before a gust of courage helped you take his and stop his fidgeting. A placid sigh slipped from his lips as that damn smile came back. 

“You scared me, starboy,” you said. 

A blush burst across his face. Once, that always seemed to appear at the sound of that nickname. Perhaps yesterday he was too out of it, but today that blush was back in full swing.

He stepped closer to you, leaving little distance between your bodies. His hands gingerly played with yours, turning it over softly and tracing the lines on your palm.

“...I know, I could tell,” he said.

Oh.

Your free hand moved delicately to the soft flesh at the crook of his neck. Slowly, your fingers traced along the thick veins under his skin. The dark, bluish black hue they were only a few hours before had subsided, leaving them to blend in with the flushed pink hues of his skin. You could feel the flutter in his heartbeat and the way his breathing stuttered at your hands. Neither of you said a word; he just let you feel what you needed, letting you reassure yourself that he was there. That he was okay and wasn’t planning on leaving you.

“Clark…” you said, looking down to avoid his gaze.

His hand slid up to your chin, guiding your eyes back to his with a kind smile. A low hey slipped from his lips before his head ducked closer to your height.

“I wanna say something, something that feels crazy… and if it is, tell me… cause I’ve been feeling this for a while now…. and-and if it’s crazy just-” you stopped his rambling.

“Say it,” you said.

He bit his lip, and you tenderly pulled it from his teeth. The blush on his cheeks grew stronger as he let out a thankful huff and tilted his head. He had a bad habit of subconscious lip biting, one that often resulted in a gash along his lower lip from his strength. You tried your best as often as you could to stop the habit, to keep him from harming himself in any way.

“Something feels different with us. You’re my best friend, my favorite person, and… lately I’ve been feeling things I shouldn’t feel. Things a friend shouldn’t feel and I…” your eyes widened as he spoke, his words stammering as her nerves took over. He spoke with a speed that revealed his nervousness, one that was uniquely Clark. “It’s not fair to you, me wanting more, feeling more. But I do. I think I love you, y/n.”

He didn’t break your gaze, but that didn’t hide the fear of rejection that was clear on his face. It was obvious; despite lying helpless in a pocket dimension with kryptonite just a day ago, despite being weakened and exhausted in his childhood bed the night before, he had never felt more vulnerable or exposed than this moment.

You were quiet, probably for too long. He finally broke eye contact, ducking his head away. Your hand caught his face gently, brushing along the soft stubble that grew along his sharp jaw. 

Before he could speak again, you were leaning in. Your lips pressed against his. He moved in tandem with you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he held you close. It was soft and intimate; you had imagined kissing Clark so many times, but you never could’ve predicted just how blissful it would feel.

His grip on you tightened as he leaned further in. Somewhere in the moment, you felt your feet lift from the ground. Your arms wrapped firmly around his neck as you deepened the kiss, nipping softly at his lower lip.

When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead to yours. His arms held you safe and secure to his chest as the two of you hovered over the fence. Your hands slipped to card through his curls.

“I love you, Clark,” you said. He sighed with relief, giggling tenderly as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Promise me you’re not going anywhere?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” he said. You leaned further into his arms, finally relaxing in his presence. He was here, he was safe, and he was yours.

“Now, could you please put us down, starboy?”

---

this was quick and cute but I hope y'all enjoyed ;)

[thirteenheavens]

I love your writing! 💕 Pls can you write about one night stand with Wonwoo 🫠Reader gave him the best night of his life but she was moving abroad the next morning :) Ty!🫰🏻

I’m leaving today|| Jeon Wonwoo

Word count: 1.8k+

Notes: I really apologise for this one 😭

You and Wonwoo stumble into his apartment, both giggling and slightly tipsy from the drinks at the bar. He fumbles with the keys, trying to unlock the door while holding you up.

"You're so clingy when you're drunk," he laughs, finally managing to open the door. He leads you inside, kicking off his shoes as he does so. The apartment is dimly lit, the only light coming from the city outside the window.

"I'm not clingy," you protest, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I just like being close to you."Wonwoo smirks, pulling you closer to him.

"Is that so?" he teases, his hands resting on your hips. "Then why don't you show me just how close you want to be?"You smirk back at him, your confidence growing as the alcohol takes effect.

"I can show you," you say seductively, pressing your body against his. "But you have to promise not to hold back." Wonwoo's eyes darken with desire as he pushes you against the wall, his hands roaming over your body.

"I never hold back," he growls, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. "Especially not with you." He deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you to the bedroom, never breaking the kiss.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers between kisses, laying you down on the bed. You and Wonwoo are a tangle of limbs and sheets, your bodies moving together in a heated dance. The alcohol only heightens the sensations, making everything feel more intense. Wonwoo's hands are everywhere, touching and caressing every inch of your skin. He kisses your neck, leaving marks as he moves down to your collarbone.

"You taste so good," he groans, his lips trailing lower. "I can't get enough of you." He tugs at your clothes, eager to get them off. His own shirt is already discarded on the floor, revealing his toned chest. You and Wonwoo quickly shed your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He takes a moment to admire your body, his eyes raking over you hungrily.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he breathes out, running his hands over your bare skin. "I can't believe you're here with me." He kisses you again, his hands gripping your thighs as he positions himself between them. He breaks the kiss, looking into your eyes with a mix of lust and affection.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. "Once we start, I won't be able to stop." You roll over, straddling Wonwoo's hips. He groans as you take control, his hands gripping your waist.

"Damn, you're taking charge," he says with a smirk. "I like it." He watches as you position yourself above him, his cock already hard and ready. He runs his hands up your thighs, giving your ass a playful slap.

"Go ahead, baby," he encourages. "Take what you want."

"I want you to watch me," I say, looking down at him with a sultry smile. "Watch me ride you until you can't take it anymore." Wonwoo's eyes widen slightly at your boldness, but he grins in return.

"I'm all yours," he replies, his hands gripping your hips tighter. "Do whatever you want to me." You begin to move, slowly at first, teasing him with the sensation. Wonwoo's head falls back against the pillows, his eyes fluttering closed as he lets out a low moan.

"Fuck, you're incredible," he pants, his fingers digging into your skin. "You feel so good." You increase your pace, bouncing on his cock with skill and confidence. He struggles to keep his eyes open, watching you with a mixture of awe and pleasure.

"God, you're going to make me cum so fast," he groans, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "You're so tight and wet for me." Wonwoo is completely at your mercy, his body writhing beneath you as he tries to hold on. His moans grow louder, filling the room as he nears his climax.

"I'm close," he warns, his voice strained. "I'm so close, baby." He grips the sheets tightly, his knuckles turning white as he fights to prolong the pleasure. His toes curl and his legs shake, a clear sign of his impending release. You moan loudly, the sound mixing with Wonwoo's as you both lose yourself in the moment. The pleasure is overwhelming, building up inside you until you feel like you might explode.

"Yes, just like that," Wonwoo encourages, his voice hoarse. "Don't stop, I'm gonna cum." He reaches up to grab your breasts, pinching your nipples as he thrusts up into you. His movements become erratic, signaling that he's about to reach his peak.

With a few more deep thrusts, Wonwoo cries out your name as he reaches his orgasm. He spills inside you, his body shuddering as waves of pleasure wash over him. You ride him through his climax, prolonging his pleasure until he's completely spent. He pulls you down against his chest, both of you panting heavily.

"That was... amazing," he manages to say between breaths. "You were amazing." He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he tries to catch his breath. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your back, a satisfied smile on his face.

"You're not so bad yourself," you reply, nuzzling into his neck. "I've never felt like that before." Wonwoo chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Neither have I," he admits. "You really know how to drive a man wild." He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with affection.

"I don't want this night to end," he says quietly. "I want to keep you here with me forever." You smirk at his words, your body still buzzing with desire.

"Who says it has to end?" you tease, rolling your hips against him. "We could go for another round." Wonwoo's eyes darken again at your suggestion, his cock already beginning to harden once more.

"You're insatiable," he groans, his hands sliding down to grip your ass. "But I'm not complaining." The night continues with a marathon of passion, the two of you exploring each other's bodies in every way possible. You lose track of time, completely lost in the heat of the moment. Finally, exhaustion takes over and you both collapse onto the bed, completely spent. Wonwoo pulls you close, spooning you from behind as he covers you with a blanket.

"That was... incredible," he whispers, his breath warm against your neck. "I can't believe I got so lucky." You snuggle closer to him, feeling safe and content in his arms.

"Me too," you mumble sleepily. "Goodnight, Wonwoo." The sound of your phone vibrating on the nightstand wakes you up. You reach over carefully, trying not to disturb Wonwoo, and check the message.

Your friend's text reminds you of your plans to leave the country today. You read it again, feeling a pang of guilt in your chest. You look back at Wonwoo, who is still sleeping peacefully beside you. You gently stroke his hair, knowing that you need to leave soon.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "But I have to go." You quietly slip out of bed and gather your clothes, quickly getting dressed. You find a pen and paper on the desk nearby and begin to write a note.

"Wonwoo,

I had an amazing time last night. You were everything I hoped for and more. But I have to leave today. I'm sorry I didn't tell you beforehand, but I didn't plan on meeting you. I hope you understand.

Take care of yourself, and thank you for the memories.

-Y/N"

You place the note on the pillow next to him, making sure it's visible. You take one last look at him, committing his peaceful face to memory before leaving the apartment. You gather your things and make your way out of the apartment, trying to be as quiet as possible. The early morning air is cool against your skin as you step outside.

You hail a taxi and give the driver the address of the airport, feeling a mix of emotions as you drive away. Part of you feels guilty for leaving without saying goodbye properly, but another part of you knows it's for the best. As the taxi pulls up to the airport, you take a deep breath and prepare yourself for the next chapter of your life. You pay the driver and get out, heading towards the check-in counter.

Wonwoo stirs in bed, slowly waking up to the sunlight streaming through the window. He stretches lazily, a satisfied smile on his face as he remembers the events of the previous night. He reaches out for you, expecting to feel your warm body next to him, but instead finds an empty space. His eyes snap open and he sits up, looking around the room in confusion.

"Y/N?" he calls out, his voice rough with sleep. "Baby?" When there's no response, he realizes that you're gone. He runs a hand through his messy hair, trying to process what happened.

"Did she really just leave?" he mutters to himself, spotting the note on the pillow. Wonwoo picks up the note, his heart sinking as he reads it. His eyes widen in disbelief as he processes the words.

"Today?" he whispers, his voice laced with hurt. "She didn't even say goodbye." He crumples the note in his hand, feeling a mix of anger and disappointment. He had thought that last night meant something more, that there was a connection between you. He falls back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"I can't believe I fell for her," he says to himself, clenching his jaw. "I'm such an idiot." Wonwoo frantically searches the room, hoping to find some sort of contact information. He checks his phone, thinking maybe you left your number there, but there's nothing. He checks his pockets, the nightstand, even under the pillows, but comes up empty-handed.

"Damn it," he curses, running a hand through his hair again. "She didn't leave anything." He feels a pang of desperation, wanting to reach out to you, to explain how he feels, but he has no way to do so. He slumps back against the headboard, feeling lost and alone.

"Why did I let myself get so attached?" he asks himself bitterly.

[witherby]

(Not a request I just feel like rambling about Mousey again!!! Don’t mind me!)

Back on my Jay-Jay and Mouse brainrot… I wonder what it’d be like if (this feels mean-) somehow Mouse found out about Jason Todd’s death WAY too young. Of course it would have to happen on accident cause no way anyone is purposefully telling them that, maybe they were in the wrong place at the wrong time and accidentally overheard it. I think that would really screw with young Mouse’s mind, probably have them scared out of their wits for a while. Jason probably had a mini Mouse shaped shadow (both literally and figuratively) following him everywhere for a little bit, they just wanna make sure he never gets hurt again

This got sad… Quick happy HC of the two petting kittens or something-

-🎻

AWWWW. JASON WOULD FEEL SO BAD THAT THEY FOUND OUT TOO SOOOOON

I'm imagining it coming out during a heated argument with Bruce. These are rare nowadays, but sometimes the two can still piss each other off. Such is the nature of being in a family of people that are Just Like You.

Maybe Mouse hopped down the stairs to the cave to show their dad a difficult puzzle they finally finished solving, and overheard the most heated part of their spat. Something like —

Bruce: Is it too overbearing of me to ask that you not kill anybody that personally pisses you off that day? Is avoiding murder too hard for you?

Jason: Y'know what, B, maybe it is! Maybe that dunk in the Pit fucked up my impulse control, which, might I say, would never have happened if somebody had bothered to investigate my roaming, half-dead ass stumbling catatonic across Gotham before the LOA snatched me up!

Bruce: In what world was I supposed to know you had come back from being dead from an explosion and crawled your way out of your own grave!? Do you hear yourself!?

Jason: I DUNNO, BRUCE. IN WHAT WORLD WOULD YOU HAVE BURIED YOUR SON AND THEN REFUSED TO PUT HIS KILLER IN THE GROUND RIGHT AFTER!?

Bruce: I TRIED!! I TRIED, YOU ASSHOLE, AND I GOT STOPPED EVERY SINGLE TIME BY YOUR FAVORITE HEROES. CLARK. DIANA. EVEN ALFRED SHOT ME WITH A TRANQ ONCE TO KEEP ME FROM TURNING THE JOKER INTO A SMEAR AGAINST THE WALL! YOU THINK I DON'T WANT HIM DEAD AND GONE LIKE THE REST OF THE PLANET!? —

And Mouse really kind of stopped listening after that. One, because they have never heard Jason and Bruce scream like that before. And two, because Jason had died before? Their favorite big brother used to be dead and buried under a tombstone? He was gone from this world?

This is an earth-shattering revelation indeed. Mouse has nightmares that evening that they run to Dick to soothe instead of Jay-Jay.

[mapsthewanderer]

Maps headcanons -

🧡 Caleb in domestic jobs

Financial advisor edition

➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰

You know what? Maybe it’s just me (tbh highly likely, my brain’s a special kind of unhinged), but I love imagining Caleb in the most normal, domestic-ass jobs. Like yeah canonically he’s a pilot, Colonel, military mecha man golden boy—whatever. But sometimes? Sometimes he’s just a cute-as-hell financial advisor(:

The kind who helps you figure out your condo loan like it’s no big deal… smug, smart, distractingly hot—and you leave the bank with absolutely no memory of what just happened.

Or maybe he’s just some guy at the grocery store, stacking new soap bottles that smell like heartbreak and half a therapy session. And you’re standing there, utterly stunned, because no human man should be that pretty while reading a label out loud and asking you if you wanna smell it too.

Just… normal jobs. Normal life. And maybe that’s why because I keep writing him into AUs where he’s a barista, or a chef. But I swear, even in the most mundane setups? He still manages to ruin you.

Just like he does in the 550 words that follow:

➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰

Financial advisor!Caleb:

You show up ten minutes early to your consult. You expect khakis, maybe a nameplate, middle-aged, maybe. Definitely boring.

What you get is him.

Button-down shirt tucked into a tailored two-piece suit—dark, clean, criminally well-fitted. His chest is broad enough that the fabric pulls just slightly across it, the fine cotton of his shirt thin enough to tease the outline of his nipples every time he moves. And he moves a lot—reaching, turning, pointing—and every motion shifts the blazer just enough to reveal another glimpse of what’s underneath.

“You must be here for the first-time buyer packet,” he says, voice soft but confident, already flipping open a folder. “I highlighted a few things for you—don’t worry, I’ll walk you through everything.”

He gestures to the chair beside him. You sit.

And then it starts. Not the mortgage plan. Not the rate breakdowns. No. The real crisis is him—talking calmly about interest rates and closing costs with the quiet enthusiasm of a man who loves this shit. Like genuinely. He says things like:

“Now, a five-year fixed gives you stability, but if you think you might move, we can model a variable—actually, here, let me show you.”

And then he leans in. His blazer shifts—and there they are again. His friggin nipples. Pressed faint and firm against that thin, traitorous shirt. His arm brushes yours. He smells like warm cologne and fresh paper.

You forget what numbers are.

Caleb flips the page and taps a neat, highlighted column. “This is your amortization table.”

You blink. “My what now?”

He grins, a little too pleased with himself. “Basically,” he says, dragging his pen across the numbers, “it’s how your payments break down over time. Principal here”—he taps once—“interest here.”

He’s not trying to be hot. He’s just excited. Focused. Walking back and forth, talking about risk management while absolutely wrecking your nervous system. At one point he ruffles his hair while thinking.

You nearly black out.

“…and obviously you want enough left over for living expenses and small emergencies.” He glances at you, earnest. “Or, you know. Couch pillows. Plants. Stuff that makes it feel like yours.”

Your heart physically stumbles. You nod like you understood any of that. Because the last word you actually heard was plant, and you probably should have been paying attention—he’s moved into topics you actually know about now.

When the meeting ends, he smiles and hands you a folder packed with notes, sticky tabs, and a chart labeled “Best options (based on your vibe).”

You blink. “Based on my vibe?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “Had a feeling.”

And just before you leave, he adds—still so casual, still so achingly professional:

“Oh if you have any questions. Or want to go over your budget again. Or just, y’know… need help picking curtains.”

Pause. The smallest smile.

“Email’s at the bottom.”

You leave the office absolutely useless for the rest of the day.

➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰ ➰

BYYEEEE

Art credit: I wish. Pinterest is lawless and I hate it and love it(:

[suliigwp]

The Crown Cannot— Love You Back

Prince Charles Leclerc x Duchess! Reader

part of the TRONAB series

First Read All You Need To Know Here

SULI: IT IS HERE YES! I liked the format of this one, the next chapter will definitely be the same format, like present and flashback but that just worked with Charles situation cus he's locked up— OK NO SPOILERS JUST READ IT

Also can you spot the foreshadowing for a future chapter?😝hehe

Warnings: Charles getting locked up kinda not really, use of yn

For a breath, no one moved.

Charles Leclerc’s boots scraped softly against the stone as he wrenched back his arm, but the Assassin didn’t flinch. Her hand remained clamped to his collar, calm and vicious, like a predator merely allowing its prey the illusion of fight.

“I found him,” she said, louder now, the venom in her voice unmistakable. “Just past the southern ridge. A scout’s path—unguarded. He wore no banner. But I know a hound of the crown when I see one.”

Charles’s lip curled. “Unhand me, snake.”

Her grip only tightened. “You rode straight into the keep. What did you think you’d find here? A warm meal? A brother’s welcome?” She turned her eyes to Carlos, and for a moment, something unreadable flickered across her face. “Or did Max finally grow tired of silence and send you to finish what he couldn’t?”

Carlos’s jaw flexed. His hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword—not in threat, but in restraint.

He looked at Charles. Then at her.

“…Let him go.”

A murmur ran through the courtyard.

The Knight stepped forward, tense, eyes locked on Charles. “Your Highness—”

Carlos didn’t take his eyes off the Assassin. “Let. Him. Go.”

She hesitated, lips parted as if to argue. Then, slowly, she released her grip. Charles staggered back, breath hissing between his teeth.

He spat at the ground. “This is what Solmara’s become? Lost causes led by liars and knives?”

The Knight stepped forward, but Carlos was faster.

One clean, vicious punch—knuckles to jaw—and Charles hit the ground hard.

A few swords were half-drawn, but no one dared move. Carlos stood over him, voice soft but sharp:

“You don’t speak about my people that way. Especially while you breathe in my home.”

Charles coughed, blood at the edge of his mouth. “You think you’ve already won? You’re a ghost draped in old banners, Carlos. You and your little army of orphans and killers—”

Carlos tilted his head, almost thoughtfully. Then, quietly:

“Is the Duchess still at your summer estate?”

Charles froze.

The shift in him was instant. The blood drained from his face, eyes sharp with sudden, sick panic.

Carlos’s voice remained calm, unbothered. “The one with the pale pink gowns and the glass garden. What was her name again…?”

A silence swallowed the courtyard whole.

“You wouldn’t,” Charles breathed.

Carlos didn’t blink. “Try me.”

The Assassin, still beside him, watched without a word. The Knight did not sheathe her sword.

Charles swallowed hard. “She has nothing to do with this.”

Carlos’s voice dropped. “Then I suggest you start acting like a man who doesn’t want me riding east.”

A beat passed.

And then Charles did the one thing no one expected:

He lowered his head.

…

Solmara Keep, Lower Hold

The cold hit first.

Damp stone, slick with age, swallowed the light as Charles was shoved down the spiral stairwell. His boot slipped once, but the soldier behind him didn’t pause—just pushed harder.

He stumbled forward into the dark, jaw aching, blood dried in the corner of his mouth. His hands were bound, though not tightly. It was insult more than restraint.

The door groaned open, iron and rot, and the guard tossed him in with no ceremony. The stone floor caught him hard.

Then it was silence.

No torchlight followed. Just the heavy clang of the cell door behind him. And the sound of his own breath.

Charles sat up slowly, blinking against the dark. His ribs ached. His pride worse.

“The one with the pale pink gowns…”

The words echoed in his skull like a curse.

He’d laughed when Max suggested sending him. Called it a fool’s errand. But he went. Of course he did. He always did what Max asked. Always played the smiling cousin. The handsome pawn.

And now?

Now he was bleeding in the belly of a dead kingdom.

He leaned back against the wall, staring upward into nothing. His voice, when it came, was hoarse.

“I shouldn’t have said anything about the girl.”

A whisper.

Not regret. Just a simple fact. Carlos had been poised to let him rot. But the second Elenora’s name left his mouth, the knife turned.

He knew that look in Carlos’ eyes—the same one Max wore when he wanted to destroy something just to prove he could.

And—

No.

He wouldn't think about her here.

He drew his knees up, folding his arms against them. His fine court clothes were smeared with dirt, the silk collar torn from where the Assassin had grabbed him.

The Assassin. The ghost Max couldn’t kill.

“So she’s still breathing,” he muttered. “Of course she is.”

He laughed once. Bitter. Quiet.

Then his smile faded.

He wondered, not for the first time, if Max had known what would happen. If he’d sent him to be caught. To be tested. To see what Carlos would do. Or perhaps… to give the rebels something they couldn’t resist—a piece of the crown to ransom. Or ruin.

And if that was the case… how long until Max came?

Would he?

He turned his head toward the sound of footsteps. Distant. Slow. Growing louder.

Not guards.

He sat up straighter. A flicker of candlelight licked the corner of the hall. Shadows moved.

Someone was coming.

And Charles, for the first time, realized he wasn’t afraid of being tortured.

He was afraid of being forgotten.

…

Château Bellestre, Years Ago

The sky was the color of crushed violets. Summer rain clung to the air, but hadn’t yet fallen.

Charles stood barefoot in the gravel garden, hands behind his back, eyes on the girl in front of him.

She was a duchess even then—dressed in silver-trimmed linen, her hair pinned too tightly for someone her age. But there was dirt on her elbows, a scratch on her cheek, and a secret in her smile.

“You’re not supposed to be out here,” she whispered.

Charles grinned, boyish and unbothered. “Neither are you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I live here.”

He gestured broadly to the hedges. “So do the foxes.”

That earned him a very small, very rare laugh. He treasured it.

They sat side by side in the grass, ignoring the rules, the lessons, the world pressing in from all sides. She picked at a wild daisy growing through the stone. He pretended not to watch her do it.

“Are you leaving tomorrow?” she asked, suddenly too quiet.

He nodded. “My mother says the Crown expects me back before the solstice. There’s a new tutor.”

She didn’t say anything.

He looked at her. Really looked. The soft shadows under her eyes. The small scar on her chin from when she’d fallen in the stables. The way she always held her hands like she was preparing for something.

“I’ll never forget you,” he said, simply. Not dramatic. Just true.

Her eyes met his—clear and certain, even then.

“You will,” she said, after a moment. “One day you’ll be dressed like your father, and I’ll be at court beside someone I didn’t choose. And we’ll walk past each other like strangers.”

Charles frowned. “No.”

“You’re a prince. Princes forget.”

“I won’t.”

He meant it. Even if he didn’t understand why.

She studied him for a long time.

And then, carefully, she reached for his hand.

Their fingers barely brushed, but it was enough. Enough to brand the moment into memory. Enough to stay with him, even now, all these years later, in the dark of a prison cell beneath the broken stones of Solmara.

Charles opened his eyes.

The damp. The blood. The silence.

But all he could see was her, in the garden, holding that daisy like it was a weapon.

All he could hear was her voice.

“You’re a prince. Princes forget.”

“I won’t.”

And he hadn’t.

…

The morning sun spilled through the narrow windows of the castle chamber, casting long, golden beams across the cold stone floor. Charles stirred beneath his woolen blanket, the familiar chill nipping at his skin as he sat up on the edge of the bed. The muffled clatter of servants moving through the corridors echoed faintly, already bustling with the day's duties.

At fifteen, Charles was no longer the carefree child who had once run wild in the castle gardens. The weight of his noble birth settled on his shoulders like a heavy cloak, though Max had yet to claim the crown, and their world still hummed with the relative calm of peace.

His mornings began with the sharp call of the steward, reminding him of the lessons that awaited. History scrolls, sword practice, rhetoric — the essentials for a future leader, but also a daily grind that left little room for frivolity.

In the great hall, Charles joined the other pages and squires, their voices low as they practiced sword strikes under the watchful eye of Sir Aldric. Charles’s movements were deliberate but fluid, betraying his natural grace. Yet, his mind often drifted.

After training, a quick meal of coarse bread and cheese awaited before he was summoned to the study, where scrolls and ledgers awaited his scrutiny. His father expected nothing less than diligence.

Evenings brought a rare kind of freedom. When the castle settled into a hushed stillness, Charles would wander the battlements, the cool wind tousling his dark hair. He found solace in the stars — silent witnesses to the hopes and fears he dared not speak aloud.

…

The sun hung low behind the distant hills, casting a soft amber glow through the high windows of the prince's private chamber. Charles sat quietly near the hearth, absently tracing the worn edges of a leather glove, his mind still tangled with frustration from the morning’s riding lesson.

His mother stood by the window, her hands folded neatly before her. Her voice was calm but carried a hint of concern as she spoke.

“Charles,” she began gently, “I’ve been hearing from Sir Edrin that you’ve been having some difficulty with the horse. It’s not unusual — but at your age, you must master it quickly. The king expects it.”

Charles glanced up, cheeks reddening. “I know, Mother. The horse… it just doesn’t respond like I want it to. I try, but it feels like the saddle fights me.”

His mother approached and rested a hand softly on his shoulder. “That is why I believe it would be wise to find a new tutor. One with patience, and skill enough to coax both you and the horse into harmony.”

Charles blinked in surprise.

“I have heard,” she continued, “that Lady Y/N—the duchess known across the lands—not only rides with grace but teaches others with great success. Her name carries weight in the stables and courts alike.”

Charles’s heart skipped at the mention of her — the same duchess whose childhood promise lingered in his mind like a secret melody.

“She is… talented,” his mother said, her gaze distant but warm. “I will speak with her, and if she agrees, you will have a new guide. Perhaps it is time to learn from someone who understands more than just the blade.”

Charles felt a flicker of hope bloom inside him. “Thank you, Mother.”

She smiled, the first genuine one of the day. “You will be ready, Charles. I believe in you.”

…

The castle courtyard was alive with activity—servants bustling to and fro, the clatter of hooves on stone, and the faint scent of hay and leather mingling in the air. The sun hung warm and golden in the sky, casting long shadows from the high battlements onto the cobbled ground.

Prince Charles stood near the stables, his cloak heavy on his shoulders despite the warmth, his gaze fixed toward the main gate. His fingers tightened unconsciously around the reins of a restless young steed, his thoughts tangled with the weight of the day ahead.

The announcement came before the carriage rounded the corner—a hush rippled through the nearby pages and squires as the polished wheels echoed softly against the cobblestones. A sleek, dark carriage approached, flanked by two attendants on horseback, their armor gleaming faintly.

Charles’s heart quickened. The name his mother had spoken days before was no longer just a whisper—it was real. Lady Y/N, the renowned duchess, famed across the realm for her grace and mastery of the saddle, was here.

The carriage came to a gentle stop. The door swung open with a soft creak, and there she was.

Lady Y/N stepped down with the poise of a woman who had long been accustomed to command and respect. Her riding cloak fluttered slightly in the breeze, revealing a simple yet elegant gown beneath, the fabric catching the sunlight like liquid silk. Her dark hair was pulled back neatly, and her eyes—sharp, clear, and alive with a quiet confidence—found Charles’s at once.

Time seemed to fold inward, the murmurs of the courtyard fading as their gazes locked.

“Your Highness,” she said, inclining her head in a graceful bow, her voice steady but carrying a softness beneath its firmness. “It has been some time.”

Charles felt an unexpected warmth flood his chest, a memory of youth and promises long ago resurfacing like a distant melody. He bowed his head in return, striving to hide the flutter of nerves beneath his calm exterior.

“Lady Y/N,” he replied, voice steady though a faint smile touched his lips. “Your journey must have been taxing. I trust it was safe?”

She returned his smile, small but genuine. “The roads were merciful, and the horses well-bred. As smooth a passage as one might hope for.”

Charles took a step forward, the distance between them suddenly charged with unspoken words. “I confess, I have been looking forward to this day. To learn from one as skilled as you.”

A flicker of something—warmth, maybe amusement—passed through her eyes. “And I, to teach a prince who shows such promise, despite… certain challenges.”

He gave a rueful laugh, his fingers tightening on the reins again. “My difficulties with the saddle are well known. I am grateful for your patience.”

“Patience is but the beginning,” she said, a glimmer of steel beneath her calm. “Skill comes with trust—between rider and horse, and perhaps between tutor and pupil.”

Charles met her gaze squarely, a quiet determination settling over him. “Then let us begin.”

She gestured toward a nearby horse, its coat shining like polished chestnut. “Meet Sable. She is spirited but loyal. A fitting companion for one learning to command not only the steed but himself.”

He approached the horse slowly, feeling the familiar nervous flutter in his stomach. As his hand brushed the mare’s flank, Lady Y/N’s voice cut through the moment.

“Remember, Charles—strength alone will not tame the horse. You must listen, understand her language. The same way you must learn to navigate the demands of your station.”

Her words lingered, a lesson not only in horsemanship but in life itself.

As the lesson began, Charles caught a glimpse of the woman before him—not just a duchess, not just a tutor, but someone who might help him unlock a part of himself he had yet to claim.

The afternoon stretched on, the castle walls standing witness to a quiet promise of growth, trust, and perhaps something more hidden beneath the noble veneer.

The training paddock stretched wide and open beyond the stables, enclosed by smooth wooden rails and soft, tilled earth that smelled faintly of dust and sun-warmed grass. A few curious onlookers lingered near the edges—stablehands pretending to sweep, a knight or two leaning on swords, pretending not to watch. But all eyes, really, were on them.

Lady Y/N stood tall beside the mare, Sable, her riding gloves tucked under one arm and her voice composed. The sun haloed her figure, casting golden edges on the fabric of her cloak. She looked perfectly at ease here, where leather and reins and instinct ruled.

Charles, meanwhile, stood a pace away from the horse, looking... well. Like a prince who'd fought wars, maybe, but not quite one who could mount a horse without ending up tangled in the saddle.

“You’re standing too stiff,” she said simply, observing him without judgment—but without coddling either.

Charles straightened. “I’m not stiff.”

“You are,” she countered, moving to Sable’s side. “Your shoulders are too tight. She can feel it. That’s why she doesn’t trust you.”

He frowned, bristling just slightly. “I wasn’t aware horses were so emotionally fragile.”

Y/N looked at him. “They’re not fragile. They’re honest.”

Silence stretched between them for a heartbeat.

“Try again,” she said, nodding toward the saddle. “Left foot in the stirrup. No—relax your grip. You’re not drawing a blade, you’re climbing.”

Charles exhaled, dragging one hand through his already-tousled hair. He moved toward the saddle, this time slower, following her instruction. As he lifted his foot into the stirrup, he felt her hand gently touch his elbow to steady him.

Her hand was warm. Brief. Gone in a second.

He swung himself onto Sable’s back—less awkward this time, though still with the grace of a knight in full armor. Once settled, he adjusted his grip on the reins and looked down at her.

“There,” he said, feigning confidence. “Better?”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “You didn’t fall. I’m calling that a win.”

A laugh escaped him—quick and real. “Well then, I’ll try not to ruin your reputation as a miracle worker.”

Y/N stepped back, arms crossed lightly. “We begin with stillness. Let her feel you. Don’t move yet. Just breathe.”

He obeyed, shifting slightly, the leather creaking beneath him. Sable flicked her ears but stayed calm. Charles glanced down, watching the way Y/N’s eyes stayed fixed on him—not just instructing, but reading him.

“You’re thinking too much,” she said. “About the horse. About me. About how you look doing it all.”

His cheeks burned. “I’m not—”

“You are,” she cut in gently. “I can see it.”

He swallowed hard. “And what if I am?”

Her expression softened just slightly, but she didn’t look away. “Then you’ll learn. But not until you stop trying to be perfect.”

The words hung between them, deeper than just the saddle or the lesson.

He looked away first.

“Walk her forward,” she instructed, voice steady again. “Light pressure. Don’t jerk the reins like you're controlling a ship.”

Charles nudged his heels and to his slight surprise, Sable began moving—smooth, steady, and more obedient than she’d ever been before. His posture loosened, just slightly.

Y/N walked beside them for a while, quiet, observant. Her presence was calm, grounded. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that—her stillness, the way she always carried herself like she knew things everyone else was too afraid to say out loud.

“How did you learn?” he asked suddenly, glancing down at her.

She looked up at him. “By falling. Often. And getting back up before anyone could laugh.”

“That sounds lonely.”

“It was.”

Another pause.

“But useful,” she added. “It makes a person hard to shake.”

Charles said nothing, but the way he looked at her then—eyes narrowing thoughtfully, jaw a little tight—said he’d heard the truth buried underneath.

As the sun began its slow descent and the paddock glowed in that honey-gold light, Charles brought Sable to a gentle stop. No fight. No struggle.

Y/N looked up at him and gave the smallest nod. “Better.”

A beat.

“I’ll see you again tomorrow morning. Same hour,” she said, already turning to leave.

But just before she walked past him, her hand brushed lightly along Sable’s neck—and then briefly over Charles’s boot in passing.

“You’re not hopeless,” she said quietly, not looking at him. “You just need to stop pretending you don’t care.”

And then she was gone, cloak trailing behind her like a memory.

Charles sat still in the saddle, watching her disappear into the stone archway, and he couldn’t help it—he smiled.

…

Present Day

The iron door groaned open, scraping stone, its echo bouncing down the narrow corridor like a warning. Two guards stepped inside, grabbing Charles by the arms. He didn’t fight them. Didn’t speak. He hadn’t said a word since they dragged him from the tower two days ago—not when they cut the bindings too tight, not when the cold food was tossed to him, not even when they called him traitor prince with that smug, bitter spit on their tongues.

Now, they led him through the cold hallways of the keep—this wasn’t his home. Not anymore. The banners had changed. The colors were wrong. Carlos’s seal hung where his family’s crest once did too. Side by side.

They stopped before a heavy oak door. One of the guards knocked once.

A voice answered.

“Send him in.”

They shoved him inside.

The chamber was richly furnished. A long table carved from dark wood, maps pinned to the far wall, a decanter of wine untouched on a sideboard. Candles burned slow and steady, casting long shadows on the walls. It felt warm, comfortable—calculated.

Carlos stood by the window, silhouetted against the light, hands behind his back like a man surveying a kingdom.

“Leave us,” he said without turning around.

The guards hesitated, then obeyed. The door shut with a thud.

Charles didn’t speak.

Carlos turned slowly, his eyes dragging across Charles like he was inspecting an old sword—rusted, dulled, but still sharp in the right light.

“You look terrible,” Carlos said, tone light, almost amused. “Though I suppose that’s what days not eating in the tower do to a man.”

Charles’s jaw clenched. His wrists were red and raw from rope, his shirt stained and collar ripped. But he held his chin high. Didn’t look away.

Carlos moved toward the table and poured a glass of wine. “Would you like one?”

Silence.

“Suit yourself.”

He sipped, then leaned against the table, arms folded.

“Do you know why I called you here?” Carlos asked, voice smooth. “It’s not to gloat. Not entirely.”

Charles gave the faintest shrug. “You seem the type to enjoy your victories.”

Carlos chuckled. “Only the long ones.”

Then—he motioned toward the side door.

It opened again.

And in walked Ollie Bearman.

Charles froze.

The last time he saw Ollie was the night the castle gates fell. When the fires spread through the lower city and Charles was shouting for the guard to hold their ground—while Ollie disappeared through the smoke, sword in hand, only to reappear days later at Carlos’s side.

He was dressed in black now, trimmed in silver. A commander’s cut.

“Ollie,” Carlos said, voice dripping with pleasure, “was one of my first supporters. A clever one too. He saw the tides turning. He knew where the future was headed.”

Charles stared. “You stood beside my brother when we buried my father.”

“And I mourned him,” Ollie said, not flinching. “But he was blind, Charles. Your family clung to power like it was divine. They ignored the change coming.”

“You think this is change?” Charles growled. “You chose a usurper.”

Carlos raised a brow. “Words like that could cost you your tongue.”

A tense beat.

Then Carlos stepped closer, voice lower.

“But I didn’t bring you here to argue. I brought you here to offer you a choice.”

Charles looked up, sharp.

Carlos smiled. “You are, despite everything, still a prince. People remember your name. Your face. Some even love you for it. I could use that.”

“I won’t be your puppet.”

“I’m not asking you to bow,” Carlos said. “I’m offering you something better. Relevance.”

He circled slowly around Charles like a lion around prey.

“You join me. Publicly. Not as some prisoner begging for scraps—but as a voice of peace. The surviving prince standing beside the new king, helping the people move forward. You speak, and they will listen.”

“And what,” Charles asked tightly, “do I get in return?”

Carlos didn’t hesitate. “Your freedom. A place in the new court. Protection. Comfort.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed. “And if I refuse?”

Carlos smiled wider. “Then you rot in the tower until your name fades like dust off a forgotten tomb.”

He stepped back, motioning to Ollie.

“Your friend made the right choice. I’m giving you the same chance.”

The room went quiet. Charles stared at the map pinned to the wall, the ink still fresh over the borders that had once been his brother’s. He felt the fury deep in his chest, slow-burning—but underneath that… doubt.

Not in himself. But in how far this would go. How long he could last.

Carlos spoke again—soft now. Dangerous.

“You’ve lost everything, Charles. But you don’t have to lose yourself. You could be great again. If you’d only stop fighting ghosts.”

Charles looked up slowly, meeting his eyes. Something flickered behind his expression—rage, grief, memory. But his voice was calm.

“I’d rather starve in the dark than dine with snakes.”

Carlos’s jaw twitched.

And Charles, just before they dragged him away again, looked at Ollie—dead in the eyes—and said flatly:

“I hope the coin was worth it.”

…

The spring air was crisp that morning, sunlight spilling lazily over the courtyard as the horses were led out, hooves striking against cobblestone in rhythmic clatters. The paddock was alive with the smell of leather, grass, and the dust kicked up by training boots.

Charles adjusted the straps of his riding gloves, watching as Lady Y/N swung effortlessly down from Sable’s saddle, landing with a soft thud. She moved with that same practiced grace she always had—calm, sure of herself, every motion sharp and clean like she was born to command.

“Better today,” she said, tossing a glance his way. “You only tried to lead her into the fence twice.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Progress.”

She smirked and turned to walk toward the stable doors.

And that’s when it happened.

One of her gloves slipped from under her arm. It fluttered down like a soft whisper and landed on the dirt behind her, unnoticed.

Charles bent quickly, picking it up. He turned it over in his hand once—light brown leather, warm from her skin, the inner seam stitched with silver thread. It smelled faintly of rosemary and dust.

He didn’t call out. He walked up to her instead.

“You dropped this,” he said, holding it out.

She blinked, surprised, and turned to face him. Her hand came up slowly to take it—but his fingers didn’t release it right away.

They touched.

Just the faint brush of skin on skin, warm through the glove’s edge.

And then she looked up.

There was something different in her eyes—something that wasn’t there when they sparred or rode or argued over posture. For a second, it was just the two of them. No titles. No duties. No names.

Just them.

Charles’s throat felt suddenly dry. He let go of the glove and stepped back before the moment stretched too far.

“…Thank you,” she said, quieter now.

He nodded once. “You’re welcome.”

She turned to go.

He watched her walk all the way to the stable, fingers flexing slightly, as if the ghost of her touch still lingered against his skin.

He didn’t know what had just shifted.

But he felt it.

And so did she.

…

The great dining hall was quieter than usual that night. Just a single long table, warm candlelight flickering off golden goblets and polished plates. No diplomats, no advisors. Just the Queen, her son the Prince, and the young duchess known for taming wild horses and stormier boys alike.

Y/N sat with perfect posture, though her riding boots peeked out beneath her gown, still dusted faintly with stable dirt. Charles sat beside her, still faintly flushed from their lesson earlier—he hadn’t said much since she corrected his footwork for the third time in a row.

The Queen sat at the head, her fork poised delicately between fingers that had signed treaties and silenced courtrooms.

“So,” she said lightly, sipping from her goblet, “I hear the lesson went well today.”

Y/N offered a polite smile. “His Highness was a quick learner. Sable responded to him by the end of it.”

Charles snorted softly into his wine. “Because she was too tired to keep fighting.”

“Or,” Y/N said coolly, “she finally realized you weren’t going to fall off again.”

His mother looked amused. “She’s sharper than you, Charles.”

“I’ve noticed,” he muttered under his breath, and Y/N caught the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

They went quiet for a few beats, the clinking of cutlery filling the space.

Then, as the Queen dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin, she said, almost absentmindedly:

“And you—Lady Y/N. Your family must be preparing for the summer wedding?”

The goblet paused at Y/N’s lips. “Pardon?”

The Queen blinked. “The betrothal to Lord Alric, is it not? The Marquess of Esthollow. It was arranged last winter, no?”

Charles’s hand went still around his fork.

Y/N’s eyes dropped to her plate, expression smoothing over like polished stone. “Yes. It was arranged… quietly.”

“Ah,” the Queen smiled faintly. “Well, it is wise. He comes from a powerful line, and his lands border the eastern passage. A strategic match.”

Charles didn’t say anything. He was staring at the flame of the candle beside his plate, jaw locked.

The Queen turned then, as if remembering something. “And Charles, we’ve had correspondence from the north again. The Valdanian house has formally renewed the proposal for Lady Elira.”

Y/N stiffened.

Charles blinked slowly, then looked up. “I thought that alliance was dissolved.”

“They've reconsidered. She’s of age now. It would secure the mountain passage and bring a strong alliance. You’ll meet her at the solstice banquet.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, but her face gave nothing away. Her fingers curled faintly around the edge of her plate.

Charles set down his fork with careful precision.

“I see.”

The Queen, oblivious or indifferent, rose from her chair, wiping her hands. “Well. I’ll leave you two to finish your meal. I have letters to answer.”

She left the room with a flutter of skirts and soft footsteps, the sound of her exit lingering longer than her presence.

Silence.

The warmth of the candles suddenly felt too hot.

Y/N kept her eyes on her plate. “I wasn’t aware it had been announced.”

“It wasn’t,” Charles said, voice quiet. “Nor was yours, it seems.”

She exhaled slowly through her nose. “Arranged after the winter frost. He sent a falcon with the formal token. I still haven’t answered it.”

“Do you want it?”

She looked at him then, finally—her expression unreadable. “Does it matter?”

Charles didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched her face for something—anything—but the distance between them suddenly felt deeper than ever.

“You were right,” she said softly. “We don’t get to choose.”

He wanted to say something—something sharp, something stupid, something that would undo it all. But his throat was dry and his thoughts knotted.

Instead, he just nodded.

They finished their meal in silence. But their hearts weren’t quiet.

The training yard had cleared out by late afternoon. A few tired squires lingered near the weapons racks, and the sky above was beginning to melt into a soft lavender haze. The clashing of steel had faded, but Charles could still feel the sting of it—his right forearm slick with blood from a deep, careless cut.

He hadn’t meant to take the blade wrong—it was a rookie mistake, one he’d scold himself for later. But for now, all he could focus on was keeping pressure on the wound and getting inside before the Queen saw.

He ducked into one of the side chambers, a quiet storage room near the armory. Cool stone walls. A small bench. Shelves of forgotten tools.

He sat down with a grunt, muttering under his breath as he fumbled with the fabric of his tunic. Blood had soaked through, and he was clumsily trying to wrap it with a piece of linen when the door creaked open.

“—What are you doing?”

He froze.

Y/N stood in the doorway, framed by fading daylight, hair pulled back messily from her face, riding cloak still dusted from the stables.

She took one look at the blood and crossed the room.

“You’re hopeless,” she said, kneeling beside him.

Charles gave a breathy laugh. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it keeps being true.”

She peeled back the linen he’d wrapped and clicked her tongue.

“Too deep for a bandage. Sit still.”

He watched her stand, search the shelves, and return with a small wooden box—sewing tools, meant for leather, but it would do. She poured water from the pitcher nearby, soaking a cloth and dabbing gently at the wound.

He hissed, jaw tightening.

“Stop clenching,” she muttered. “You’re making it worse.”

“I’m not clenching.”

“You’re practically vibrating.”

“I’m trying not to bleed all over your floor.”

She shot him a look.

He quieted.

Then she threaded the needle.

“Wait—no herbs?” he asked, a little wide-eyed.

“Do you see herbs?”

“No—”

“Then shut up and breathe.”

He did.

Her fingers were steady as she worked, stitching clean, quick. The pain was sharp, but he focused instead on her face—how serious she looked, how her brow furrowed just slightly with concentration. She leaned in close, and strands of her hair brushed against his shoulder. He could smell the faint mix of saddle oil and mint on her skin.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Her fingers slowed as she tied the final knot.

And then she just… stayed there. Kneeling beside him. Her hand still resting lightly on his forearm.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, voice rougher than he meant.

“I did.”

He looked down at her.

She wasn’t looking at the wound anymore.

“You can’t keep running into blades,” she said quietly.

“You keep patching me up,” he murmured, eyes searching hers. “Maybe I’m doing it on purpose.”

Her breath caught.

The space between them suddenly felt electric. Too much. Too close.

Her hand was still on his arm.

And she didn’t pull away.

For one suspended moment, neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved.

Finally, she stood.

“Try not to tear the stitches,” she said, gathering the supplies.

Charles nodded slowly, watching her. “No promises.”

As she opened the door to leave, he called softly after her:

“Y/N.”

She paused, looking back.

“…Thank you.”

The storm that night was soft—just wind brushing against the castle towers and distant thunder rolling over the hills like an old god stretching in its sleep. Inside, the library was warm, lit only by a few oil lamps. The fire crackled low in the hearth. Books lined every wall, most of them forgotten or left unread.

Charles sat on the rug beneath the window, tunic sleeves rolled to his elbows, a leather-bound book resting in his lap. He wasn’t reading it. Not really.

Y/N sat nearby, one leg drawn up, her head tipped back against the shelf. She looked relaxed—more than usual. Her hair was still damp from rain earlier that afternoon. Her voice was softer than usual when she broke the silence.

“Did I ever tell you,” she began, “about a girl I used to know? A princess.”

Charles looked over at her, eyes curious.

“No,” he said. “Who was she?”

“She wasn’t from here. From the northern isles. Her family visited once every few years—old blood, old traditions. She was blind from age one and ten.”

He sat up a little straighter.

“But that wasn’t why people thought she was strange,” Y/N continued. “Even as a child, she spoke like someone far older. Always saying odd things. Asking questions that didn’t make sense until years later. I used to think she was just… playing.”

Charles tilted his head. “And now?”

Y/N's fingers traced the edge of the book in her lap absently.

“She knew things, Charles. Things no one had told her. She’d say things like, don’t trust the sea during a crimson tide or you’ll meet your second life in a hall of iron and smoke. Stuff that sounded like poetry, or madness.”

He frowned. “And it came true?”

“Some of it. I didn’t notice at the time. I was too young. But as I got older, I realized... she saw more than the rest of us. Felt things we couldn’t.”

A pause.

“She vanished two years ago,” Y/N said quietly. “Just disappeared. Her family searched the isles, the forests, sent ships to the edges of the continent. Nothing. No body. No clues.”

Charles was silent for a moment, brow drawn.

“You think she’s alive?”

Y/N looked into the fire. “I don’t know. But I don’t think she’s dead.”

“Why?”

She turned her head slightly, giving him a look he couldn’t quite name.

“Because she told me I’d see her again. When I needed her.”

Charles watched her, the firelight flickering across her features.

“Do you miss her?” he asked, voice low.

Y/N nodded once. “All the time. I just didn’t realize how much until I understood who she really was.”

Another beat.

Then Charles said, “Sounds like the two of you had a lot in common.”

She glanced at him, something unreadable in her expression.

“Not really,” she whispered. “I was just pretending to be strong. She was.”

The sky was still gray when Charles slipped out of his chambers, boots soundless against the cold stone. The castle was hushed, wrapped in the final hour of night, the world still holding its breath. He didn't stop for breakfast, didn't call for a guard.

She'd told him to meet her at first light.

So he did.

The courtyard was soaked in dew. Mist hung like lace over the paddocks, and the stables looked half-asleep. But there she was.

Lady Y/N stood already saddled, Sable beside her—tall and calm and patient. She wore no jewels, no cloak lined in gold. Just a heavy gray riding coat, and boots with mud still clinging to the edges.

“You’re late,” she said, not even turning.

“I’m a prince,” Charles replied as he approached. “I arrive exactly when I mean to.”

She turned just enough to glance over her shoulder at him. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes sparkled faintly in the dim light.

He mounted his horse quickly, the saddle creaking beneath him as he settled. They rode out together—no fanfare, no guards, no one watching. Just them, the open land, and the soft sounds of hooves breaking through the mist.

They said little as they rode.

Side by side, the wind catching their cloaks, the cold brushing their cheeks.

There was something in the silence between them that felt… safe.

Natural.

They passed the old streambed near the edge of the forest. A fox darted out across their path, startling Charles’s horse just slightly, but Y/N reached over without thinking—steadying his reins with one hand, her fingers grazing his.

He glanced at her.

She didn’t pull away right away.

Instead, she just murmured, “Relax your grip. You’re choking him.”

Charles huffed. “That’s my grip on everything lately.”

Y/N smiled faintly, not letting go. “Then no wonder nothing’s trusting you.”

He looked over at her again, properly this time. Her hair was half undone, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She looked… real. Not untouchable. Not perfect. Just her.

He didn’t say what he was thinking.

Neither did she.

But as the sun began to rise behind them, burning gold through the mist, he nudged his horse a little closer—just enough that their knees brushed now and then.

Not on accident.

And she didn’t shift away.

They rode for over an hour. Through silence, through birdsong, through the soft thaw of early light. And when they finally stopped at the hilltop overlooking the valley, Charles turned to her and said:

“You’re the only thing in this place that feels honest.”

She didn’t speak right away.

But she didn’t look away either.

And in that moment, beneath the pale sun and morning breeze, with the world quiet and still below them—

something changed.

The wind had crept in overnight, biting and sharp as it swept through the castle grounds. The air held that early winter chill that slipped through your sleeves and settled deep into your bones. Breath came out in faint clouds, and fingers went numb far too quickly.

Y/N stood beside the saddle post, boots pressed into half-frozen earth, fumbling with the leather strap under Sable’s neck. Her gloves were too thin. Her fingers, stiff and shaking, refused to thread the buckle properly.

Charles approached from behind, brushing his hair out of his eyes, his own gloves still clutched in one hand. He didn’t say anything at first—just watched her struggle for a second, a crooked smile threatening at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re supposed to be the expert,” he said.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “My hands won’t listen.”

“Here,” he said, stepping closer. “Let me—”

She turned to offer him the strap.

And their hands met.

Charles flinched.

“Gods—your fingers are ice.”

She blinked, not expecting the jolt of warmth in his tone, or the way his hands—bigger, warmer—instinctively wrapped around hers.

“I—sorry,” she mumbled, trying to pull back.

But he didn’t let go.

He just held them. Gently. No teasing. No prince-like bravado.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked softly.

Her voice was small. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

Charles shook his head once and raised her hands closer to his mouth—not quite touching, not quite bold enough—but close. His breath warmed her skin as he held them between his palms, rubbing lightly with his thumbs.

She stood frozen—not from the cold this time.

Neither of them said anything.

She glanced up at him.

And in that quiet, with the horses shifting behind them and the wind curling around the stable doors, she whispered:

“Then warm me up, prince.”

It wasn’t playful.

It was soft. And it lingered.

He looked at her for a long time.

But didn’t let go.

…

Present Time

The heavy iron door groaned open.

Charles blinked against the sudden flood of torchlight. Weeks in the dark had left his eyes slow to adjust. The guards moved in quickly, roughly unlocking the bolt on his cell and dragging him forward by the chains.

He stumbled. His knees were weak from the cold, from the damp, from hunger. But he didn’t fall.

Not in front of them.

He didn’t ask where they were taking him.

He knew.

They took a different path this time. Not the stone hall with the cracked window. Not the empty war room where Carlos had tried to speak in velvet threats. This time… it was deeper. Underground. Older. The air was colder down here. More still.

A pair of heavy double doors opened before them, revealing a tall chamber lit by torches and oil sconces. A wide table dominated the center, scattered with parchment maps, seals, knives, and a half-drunk glass of wine.

Charles didn’t need to look to know who was waiting.

Carlos stood at the head of the table, back turned.

Not armored. Not crowned.

Just standing. Silent.

“Leave us,” Carlos said, his voice calm.

The guards hesitated.

Carlos turned slowly. His eyes burned in the firelight.

“I said leave us.”

The doors shut. The silence slammed shut with them.

Charles stood in the center of the room, his chains dragging across the stone. The fire cracked softly behind Carlos’s shoulder, casting flickers of gold across the side of his face.

Carlos looked older than he had the last time Charles saw him.

Tired. But no less dangerous.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Carlos said, “Do you remember the last time we were in this room?”

Charles didn’t answer.

Carlos stepped forward, slowly. “You were seventeen. Max had just been crowned I his own kingdom. I toasted your brother’s reign. You spilled wine on the map of the southern isles.”

His voice sharpened.

“I laughed. We all did.”

He stopped a few feet away, expression turning to steel.

“And a few years later, you stood beside him—when the time came to choose.”

Charles’s jaw tensed. “I stood beside peace.”

“You stood beside the man who tried to kill me.”

“He tried to save you.”

“Save me?” Carlos barked a laugh, short and humorless. “From what? From a future where I wasn’t his loyal little shadow?”

He turned away and walked slowly back to the table, palms pressing hard into its surface.

“You were my brother, Charles. Not by blood—but everything else. And you left me.”

Charles’s voice was hoarse. “I loved you.”

Carlos turned sharply. “Then you should’ve stood by me.”

Silence rang between them, heavy and hot.

Carlos’s jaw twitched. He lowered his gaze to the map, voice cooling.

“You thought I left you in that cell because I didn’t know what to do with you.”

He picked up a dagger and spun it slowly between his fingers.

“But you’ve always had a role to play.”

Charles didn’t speak.

Carlos’s voice dropped, smooth now. Cutting.

“You’re going to stand beside me at the new year’s feast. Dressed in your family’s colors. Hair clean. Wrists free. And you’re going to tell them I saved you. That I was right. That your brother’s death was necessary.”

“No.”

Carlos didn’t look up. “You’ll say I spared your life. That I showed mercy. That the kingdom will only survived because I'm taking the throne from a madman and his lapdog prince.”

“I’ll never say that.”

Carlos looked up now.

And smiled.

“I think you will.”

He stepped forward again, slow and deliberate, until the fire was lighting the space between them. Until Charles could smell the wine on his breath, the faint scent of steel and smoke.

“You’ll say every word I write for you. Because if you don’t—if you defy me, if you so much as blink the wrong way in front of that crowd…”

He leaned in close.

“…I’ll put her in your place.”

Charles froze.

Carlos’s voice dropped to a whisper, almost sweet.

“Your duchess.”

A breath.

“I know where she’s hiding. You didn’t think I’d forgotten her, did you? She’s clever—but not clever enough.”

Charles’s heart thundered in his chest.

“I could have her dragged here tomorrow. Dirty, bloody, on her knees before this very table. And you will stand right there and watch as her loyalty is carved out of her inch by inch.”

Charles trembled.

Carlos stepped even closer.

“Or… you can play your part. Smile. Nod. Lie. Be the sweet, broken prince everyone pities.”

Charles swallowed, eyes burning. “You’re sick.”

Carlos’ eyes saddened more.

“I’m king.”

Silence settled like ash.

Charles’s voice cracked, raw as he whispered:

“You’re not my brother anymore.”

Carlos turned his back to him.

“Neither were you.”

Then, over his shoulder, flat and final:

“You ride in two weeks. You’ll be cleaned, clothed, and prepared. The people will cheer. They’ll think they’ve got you back.”

He waved a hand.

“Get him out of my sight.”

The doors opened again.

The guards grabbed him—rough, wordless.

Charles didn’t fight.

But as they dragged him back down the corridor, head hung, knuckles bloodless inside his shackles…

He wasn’t broken.

Not this time.

He was burning.

@trashmouthsahra @lalala-by-bbnos @fergalaxy @maxswhore33 @b0nesandgh0sts @d160 @mimiastroos @deeppolicetyrant @princessria127 @mimiastroos @wertyuizxcvbnm @l4ndo-norizz @faithxyu

Comment to be added!

[azadrithaanatheme]

Okay so because I'm extra and can't stop myself from doing more doodling, this one's gonna be broken into two parts. First part is Versa (the robed drone) and SD-A (the goober):

Text under the read more:

Versa Hayden is the wife of Calysta Rain (the dark blue-eyed drone in the New Vegas duster), mother of Astel Hayden and Myra Rain (the two green-eyed menaces in the foreground), and one of the founding members of Outpost 6. Before that, though, she was Subject 78; a Cabin Fever test subject, and one of those that got "corrupted" when she received the anti-Solver patch, devolving into a feral half-Solver'fied monster. She got better, but didn't escape the experience unscathed - one of her eyes has been shattered and permanently overgrown by an organic Solver eyeball (think the thing Uzi accidentally turned an arrow into in Ep 4, but peering out of a hole in her visor). Hence the blindfold.

Like most of the corrupted, she was left to rot in her containment locker - which held her for all of about five seconds when she finally pulled herself back together again and regained self-awareness. Stumbling out into the dimly-lit mining tunnels, she wandered around for a while, wondering where all the humans had gone. Then the core collapse happened and she got launched out of the facility by a Solver-powered gravity surge, landing in the woods outside the labs. Shortly after that, she got picked up by Calysta - who she fell for pretty much immediately (both figuratively and literally; there was a cliff involved) - and her sister Kalai; she would later join the Rains in founding Outpost 6, but that's a story for Kalai's lore drop.

Versa's pretty much exactly the kind of spooky, mysterious Solver witch you'd expect her to be based on her clothing choices. Reclusive, cryptic, known for her excessively purple prose, and infamous for her tendency to appear without warning and vanish just as quickly, she's well-known but rarely seen around Outpost 6. She frequently plays up the "mysterious seer" schtick to mess with people, but will drop it (mostly) when the chips are down - especially when her family is involved; she's fiercely protective of all of them. While not the most powerful of the surviving Solver-wielders by any means, she is the most knowledgeable about the Solver and its functions - although Uzi is quickly catching up there.

When she isn't being a cryptic guide for her daughters or holed up in her office studying her Solver, she's indulging in her love of botany. In fact, she's actually used that as an exercise in honing her powers by using her Solver's [edit] function to revive plants from the wilds around Outpost 6. She's got a whole collection of restored specimens that she keeps in environmentally-controlled, atmospherically-sealed glass tanks, thriving well away from the toxic air of Copper 9, and dreams of one day building a proper indoor garden somewhere in Outpost 6.

Serial Designation A was once part of Elliott Manor's extensive cadre of service drones, until she got scrapped for some unknown reason that almost certainly involved accidentally drawing James and/or Louisa's ire. Then she came back online after being "improperly disposed" and Tessa found her. Inducted into Tessa's "personal staff" (James and Louisa's polite term for their daughter's "feral pack of dumpster pets"), A did her best to stay out of the way, help the crew keep things running smoothly, and lift her found family's' spirits - a task that didn't prove too difficult for her, given her bottomless well of enthusiasm. It was for that reason that she was one of the first of Tessa's drones that the Solver knocked catatonic and began quietly modding - she went shortly after V, who was the first to go. One thing lead to another, and when A came back to reality she was being violently torn apart and rebuilt by something that was not Cyn but wore her face and spoke in her voice.

After that, A became the pilot for her team - consisting of herself, SD-I (the one in the lab coat next to the armored worker), and the team leader SD-R (the one in the cloak next to SD-I). In many ways, life wasn't much different for her during that time - she was just taking orders from the Absolute Solver now, instead of the Elliotts. Also there was a lot more murder. But by the time they hit Copper 9, A was just about done with taking orders, and intended to go rogue at the first opportunity. Fortunately, R and I agreed with her. Unfortunately, R wasn't dealing with things well at all, and "went rogue" by ditching the other two, prompting A and I to track him down across the planet so they could smack some sense into him, which is how they ended up meeting the Outpost 6 crew.

Irrepressibly curious and a complete goober to her core, A never seems to stop moving; even when she's "sitting still," she'll still be fidgeting somehow - tapping a peg-foot, drumming her fingers, nodding her head, things like that. She's constantly asking questions and studying things; it's rare for her to focus completely on one person or thing at a time, since she's usually got at least one or two of her sensor-eyes watching her surroundings (a paranoid habit that grew out of residual wariness from her time at the Manor and only got reinforced by her time as a Disassembler). She can never resist a chance to be a goofball - see the original image for what that's like. SD-A doesn't do things by halves - if she's going to do a thing, she's going to put her whole ass into getting it done. This can be both a good thing and a bad thing - she's dedicated, sometimes to the point of absurdity, and the most headstrong, stubborn, and opinionated member of her team by far, which has both gotten them into and out of trouble in the past. That said, when she screws up she's just as dedicated to fixing her mistake as she is to anything else she does.

Random tidbits I didn't know where else to put: SD-A is a Russian-model drone. She's also the smallest of the Disassembly Drones, only just slightly taller than an adult Worker. No one knows why this is, but A suspects it was the Solver having a laugh at her expense.

Anyway, that's all for tonight; I'll have stuff about Wylla (red) and Kalai (cyan) either tomorrow or Wednesday.

Whatever. Go, my mechanical children!

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights cuddling for comfort, but also they're oblivious idiots who are pining over each other but thinks its unrequited

“Ugh,” Duke says, dropping down onto the bench besides Danny.

Danny nudges him with his shoulder. “Rough night?”

“Slept for like an hour,” Duke mutters, “This sucks. My head’s going to burst like balloon and my eyes are about to fall out.”

“Yikes. You know, you could have just canceled for today. I wouldn’t have minded.”

Duke sighs and presses the heel of his palms against his eyes. “Maybe, but I would have minded. We barely see each other anymore, man. I’ve missed you.”

“Oh.” Danny bites his lip, trying and failing to stop from smiling. Something soft in his chest glows at the words, a growing spark of happiness in knowing that for this, at least, the feeling is requited. It’s nice to hear that he was missed, and it would be even nicer if Duke wasn’t in pain, pushing himself just because he didn’t want to cancel. Carefully, Danny reaches for him and pulls his hands away from his face. “Here,” he says, “Let me.”

His hands are always cold. Most of him is cold, really — side effect of having an ice core. Sam told him once that his hands were better than an ice pack, and he’s hoping she’s right or this is going to be weird. 

Danny gently presses his fingers against Duke’s temples, his hands cradling Duke’s face. Duke is tense for a few seconds, then abruptly relaxes, leaning into Danny’s hands. 

“Is this helping?” he asks, voice hushed to keep from aggravating Duke’s migraine.

“Mhm. Yeah, it feels great. Thanks, Danny.”

Duke goes completely limp, leaning against Danny. They sit there for a minute in silence, the rest of the world feeling far away. As nice as it is to just exist together, he knows what Duke needs most right now is quiet and stillness. Gotham is very much not that, and every honking car that passes by makes Duke wince, trying to turn away from the road even more.

“Hey, let’s head back to my place. It’s close by, and a lot quieter than out here.”

“Are you sure? I know we planned to go to the arcade today…”

“The arcade can wait. You’re more important.”

Duke blinks open his eyes and looks at Danny with something soft in his gaze. Being so close together, barely any space between them, with Duke looking at him like that makes Danny’s cheeks flush red, unable to think anything but please kiss me.

Which is never going to happen. Duke is his friend, and just his friend, no matter how much Danny wishes they could be something more. It’s a pipe dream, something so impossible it’s almost laughable. 

Duke likes being friends with normal human Danny. He doesn’t want to imagine how he would react if he found out about Danny being half ghost, assuming this imaginary reveal happens without Danny being hunted down and cut open by GIW agents. 

He’s still in hiding, always waiting for the worst as he stays in the apartment his friends (living and dead) had set up for him. The building is for ghosts so it technically doesn’t exists, which means it’s the safest place for Danny while he’s actively being hunted by the US government. 

He can’t be honest with Duke. Can’t be as close to him as he wants to be. Duke deserves more than to be dragged into Danny’s problems and put in danger.

Even so, Danny can’t help but want him around, pushing his luck each time they hang out.

“Come on,” Danny urges, standing up. He pulls his hands away and Duke’s brow immediately furrows, his pain returning. “It’s only a few streets away.”

Duke sighs, then visibly braces himself before he stands up. Danny tucks himself into Duke’s side, taking as much of his weight as he can as he walks them down the street. It’s times like these that he wishes he could reveal his powers safely and just fly them to his apartment. But even without the GIW gunning for his head, showing off powers in Gotham is a sure fire way to get a target painted on his back.

“Almost there,” he says as they turn a corner. 

His apartment doesn’t have a fixed address. It doesn’t have a fixed location at all, drifting around, but it likes this street the most, so this is where it usually is. Danny takes them halfway down the street, then turns into an alley, following his ghost sense. 

Where there’s usually a dead end is instead a building, looking as if it’s always been tucked away in this alley. Danny keeps a tight grip on Duke as they climb the front steps, silently asking for the building to let him stay while he’s with Danny. The door opens easily, which is as good as an agreement, and they’re inside without anything going wrong. The small entrance lobby is empty, with an area for packages filled with clearly magical artifacts carelessly wrapped in bubble wrap. 

Danny drags them past that quickly, hoping Duke doesn’t notice, and calls the elevator down. It arrives silently, the doors opening to let another tenant out. Carefully, Danny positions himself in front of Duke, making sure he doesn’t see how the tenant, who nods at Danny, has a still bleeding wound in his stomach that has him nearly split in half. 

“Alright,” he says, ushering Duke into the elevator, “Just a little ride up and then you can lay down.” He hits the button for the fourth floor and they ride up in silence, Duke dropping his head down to onto Danny’s shoulder again, wrapping his arms around his waist as he stands behind Danny. He’s glad Duke can’t see his face; there’s no doubt that he’s blushing like crazy and if that doesn’t give away his feelings, he doesn’t know what will.

Thankfully the elevator ride isn’t long. If Danny had to go for more than a minute with Duke breathing softly against his neck, his warm hands on his stomach, Danny would have collapsed into a pile of flustered goo.

He opens the door to his apartment and kicks his shoes off. Duke follows in suit, still plastered onto Danny’s back, refusing to let go. 

“Come on,” Danny says, leading him to the couch, “Sit down and I’ll grad you some water and painkillers.”

Duke nods against his shoulder, then slowly detaches himself from Danny and makes his way to the couch. He drops onto it gracelessly, pressing his face into a cushion. 

Danny winces. He must be feeling really bad. He knows how bad migraines can be with sleep deprivation, having suffered through high school with only a few hours of sleep at night, if he got to sleep at all. Frankly, it’s a testament to Duke’s strength that he lasted the entire walk to Danny’s apartment without complaint. 

He returns to the living room with a full glass of water and a bottle of Advil, setting them on the coffee table to crouch next to the couch and place a cold hand on Duke’s cheek. “Hey,” he says softly when Duke turns to look at him, “Is Advil alright? It’s all I had.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks, Danny.”

Duke sits up and shakes out three pills, then washes them down with water. He drains the rest of the cup quickly, then falls back against the couch with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?”

Duke immediately reaches a hand out for him.

“Um?”

“Sit next to me. I feel better when I’m next to you.”

“Oh! Alright. Bet you’re only saying that because my hands are cold.”

“You caught me,” Duke laughs, pulling Danny onto the couch. He goes easily, tucking his legs beneath himself, and places his hands on Duke’s temples again. “Man, I owe you my life.”

“I don’t think my cold hands are worth quite that much.”

Duke hums, but doesn’t say anything else, so Danny settles in and focuses on keeping his hands a little colder than normal. 

The apartment is quiet. No sound from outside can reach them, one of the few ways the building looks after its tenants. Danny and Duke fall against each other, at ease with each other. There’s no need to fill in the silence, and with Duke’s eyes closed, Danny doesn’t have to carefully shove down his feelings and act normal. He indulges in the warmth of Duke’s body pressed against his, a hand on his knee and an arm around his waist. 

He keeps his hands as steady as possible as he looks over Duke, adoring all the little details he can see; a small scar on his chin, the fullness of his lips, the way his hair falls into his face now that it’s long enough to keep in braids.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Duke murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”

You’re cute, he thinks, I feel safe with you. I want to kiss you. I wish I could be brave enough to be honest.

I wish I was brave. I wish I was brave. I wish I was brave.

“Nothing,” he says. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah. I might fall asleep though.”

“That’s fine. You know I would never say no to a nap.”

“Come here, then,” Duke says, and before Danny can do anything, Duke gets a stronger grip on his waist and pulls Danny down on top of him as he falls back towards the arm rest and gets his legs on the couch.

“Duke!”

Duke laughs underneath him, and Danny can feel it roll through him. Okay! This is definitely something he’s going to think about… forever. Wow, he can feel Duke’s abs tense up as he laughs, and has he always been ripped? Unfair. Also unfairly hot. 

“Is this alright?” Duke asks, voice soft and quiet. There’s a hesitancy around his words that Danny doesn’t like hearing, and he brings his hands down to sweep his thumbs soothingly over Duke’s cheeks.

“Of course it is, man. I’d never refuse cuddles.”

“Okay. I’m gonna pass out now. Wake me in an hour?”

Danny moves his hands back up to his temples and says, “Sure. Get some rest, Duke. You really need it.”

He feels Duke relax beneath him, breaths slowing down as he begins to fall asleep. It’s peaceful and quiet and Duke is warm in a way Danny never can be with his ice core. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but curled up on the couch with Duke in the safety of an apartment that only barely exists has him drifting off in no time at all.

. . .

(Duke wakes up before Danny. Their legs are tangled together and Duke has moved during his sleep, turning so Danny is held tightly to his chest, his back to the cushions, while Duke is balancing very carefully at the edge of the couch. 

It’s been hours, and he should be heading home soon, but he stays as he is, enjoying this quiet moment for as long as he can have it. Danny is in his arms, safe and content with him, his head no longer hurts beyond a residual ache he can easily ignore, and he can admire how pretty Danny is without being worried about Danny catching his lingering stares. 

These moments are precious to him, rare as they are, and he wants nothing more than to kiss Danny once he’s awake and let his feelings be known.

But the Signal has lots of dangerous people after him, and Gnomon has started causing problems in Gotham again. So he’ll bite his tongue and keep his less platonic feelings buried under lock and key until it’s safe enough for Danny to be around him more often.

And when that time comes, he can only hope that Danny will feel the same way.

That’s all far away from the stillness of Danny’s apartment. All that matters is that he has Danny in his arms. Everything else can wait. 

For now, this is more than enough.)

[zylphiacrowley]

I'm alive I promise. I actually decided that I would finally go through all the areas, starting with ARR and finish all the yellow sidequests I neglected to do previously (that is, most of them...).

I've decided that for most of them, I can pretend that it's something X'vahl and Erenville were doing while they were traveling together post-7.0 pre-7.1. I figure it's a good way for Erenville to actually learn more about X'vahl's past. So I glammed my minion to be the man himself and have been dressing him appropriately for each area. I reached Coerthas yesterday evening and Ishgard this morning.

X'vahl being a Seeker, does not do well with the cold. Even bundled up in multiple layers, the mans is suffering both physically and mentally out here in Ishgard (again). Thankfully he has the boyfriend to help keep him warm and be a shoulder to help ease the pain of being back here.

[sweetstrawberrysky]

Prompt; The LADS accidentally walk in on you changing.

Caleb - The quick knock at your bedroom door hardly allows you time to respond before the handle turns. “Hey pipsqueak, I know you care about matching, but are you almost d--” He gets exactly one step past the doorway, one quick glance, and he’s frozen in place.

You’re quick to cover yourself and instinctively whip the nearest item, a pillow, at him. “Caleb! Get out!” The pillow hits his leg and snaps him out of his daze, and he hastily removes himself from your space. He can’t even bring himself to apologize.

His back presses to the outside of your door and his knees give out. His breathing is shaky. A hand runs down his warm face and stops at his chest, clutching the area above his racing heart. “Dummy! Jerk!” He hears you cussing him out from within your room, but he doesn’t care, not after witnessing such a beautiful image that’s bound to play in his head over and over again.

Rafayel - In his defence, he wasn’t expecting you to be changing midday, let alone in his own house. “Cutie, do you-- uh…” And just like that he’s rooted to the spot. Are you… glowing? Is that something humans can do, or are you simply so stunning even the sunlight is on your side?

“Cute…” He mumbled under his breath. His eyes trail all over you until landing on your beautiful face. The tense set of your jaw and pretty tint of red filling your cheeks is enough to snap him back to reality. “Ah! Uh… s-sorry, sorry!” He awkwardly fumbles out of his own room while keeping his gaze down, ears bright red.

Once you’re dressed he doesn’t hold up much better considering you’re flaunting around in one of his painting shirts, radiating like an absolute vision.

Zayne - He’s gotten too comfortable with you. In no other universe with anyone else would he dare to welcome himself into a room when the door is closed shut. “I apologize for returning late,” His sentence is cut short at the sight of you. Vulnerable, soft, delectable.

However, just as quickly as he entered, he exits equally as fast. Not a word is uttered, a sneaky glance isn’t taken, he’s just gone. As soon as you’re decent you open the door and poke your head out. He didn’t go far. His back is pressed against the wall across from you and he’s looking down. Dark green eyes shoot up, scan your face, and dart off to the side. He clears his throat, “I… Sorry. I should have knocked.”

Your head tilts to the side. “…Zayne, are your ears red?” He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t need to.

Sylus - It was your own fault. Sylus wouldn’t slip up like that, because beneath the surface he’s surprisingly strict about respecting your privacy and boundaries. Mephisto is for your safety, not for being a creep. So, when he accidentally stumbles upon you in a state of undress, in his own bedroom, he’s unsure how to react. Is this a seductive teasing attempt on your end? Or perhaps you’re simply comfortable around him?

His eyes widen a fraction. You’re so ethereal. Though he cocks his head at the freeze response you’re giving. “Sorry.” He places a hand over his eyes while leaving. A few minutes pass when you hear a knock at the door followed by a tender, “Can I come in now?” When you tell him ‘yes’, he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You’re still willing to accept him into your space and that’s more than enough for him.

Xavier - He just wanted to sleep with you, and no, not in that way. He’s tired, he had a long day, and you promised to rest with him. Snuggle, hold each other close, watch something on your laptop while your eyes grow heavy… yet you’re taking so long in your bedroom. He’s aware he should have been more considerate, even in his groggy state, but he doesn’t think twice when calling your name while pushing your door open. It was already ajar, so he wasn’t expecting you to be changing.

He lets out a breath at the sight of you. “You’re… luminous.” His pale features gradually redden. He shakes his head and steps back, clicking the door shut. You hear his muffled voice from the other side, “I’m sorry. The door was cracked open, so I thought you were making your bed.” Despite the heat raising to your own cheeks you sheepishly tell him, “You’re… It’s okay. I should’ve made sure it was shut.” Silence, then a quiet, “…You’re beautiful.” You chuckle, “Thank you, Xavier.” He goes on, “So beautiful.”

[n0tsketchyy]

Jason “drama queen” Todd definitely has numerous ways of fucking with Bruce.

One of those ways is just "dying" in increasingly dramatic ways around the manor just to mess with him.

Bruce will walk into the kitchen to find Jason face-down in a bowl of cereal with blood everywhere, and Alfred standing there completely unfazed.

"Master Jason has 'died' four times this week, sir. I've stopped cleaning up the messes."

Dick thinks it's hilarious and has started rating the performances. Damian offers unsolicited critiques ("Your positioning is unrealistic. The blood splatter pattern suggests you would have fallen backwards, not forwards.")

Tim just steps over Jason's "corpse" in the hallway while typing on his phone, completely desensitized. Once he actually used Jason's "dead body" as a desk to sign documents.

The one time Jason actually gets hurt (falling down the stairs while texting), everyone ignores his genuine groans and calls for help for a solid ten minutes.

"I think my ankle is actually broken this time!"

"6/10. The desperation is convincing but the scenario lacks creativity." Dick calls from another room.

Bruce walks in, sees Jason at the bottom of the stairs, sighs deeply, and walks out.

Cass is the only one who can always tell when Jason is actually hurt. She'll silently appear with a first aid kit when it's real, and with theater makeup when he's faking, to help make the "death" more convincing.

During a charity gala, Jason "assassinated himself" by dramatically stumbling into the ballroom with a realistic plastic arrow through his chest, whispering "Et tu, Bruce?" before collapsing onto the dessert table. Bruce just handed his champagne to a confused socialite and said, "Excuse me, I need to dispose of a body. Again."

When asked why he keeps doing this, Jason just shrugs and says, "Coming back from the dead once was traumatic. Coming back from the dead thirty times in ridiculous ways? That's therapy."

"Plus," he adds, wiping off fake blood, "the look on Bruce's face that time I recreated my actual death scene with a crowbar and mannequin was worth every second in actual therapy I'll need later."

[sufrimientilia]

incapacitation

content warning

drugs that make a character woozy and disoriented. slurring words and falling slack, everything too heavy and confusing and muffled

blown pupils, wandering eyes, breathing too much or too little. sweating, shaking, puking, so limp and pale it’s almost like they’re dead

fevers so high a character's mind just turns to mush. glossy eyes tracking the ceiling, listless and unaware until eventually there's sweat sticking all over the sheets and they start mumbling some vague responses to caretaker's questions

tranquilizer dart that brings a character down all at once. one sudden jerk or look of confusion, not enough time to glance at it much less pull it out before eyes are rolling back and they collapse into the dirt

tranquilizer dart that comes on slowly. pulling it out and running and running until each step becomes too uncoordinated, stumbling or getting dragged along by a teammate until even their begging to stay awake, let's go, becomes hazy and distant

struck so hard that everything rings in one ugly roar. staggering or falling, told to sit down, just stay down. so confused and lost, repeating the same questions and forgetting the answer over and over and over again

character so messed up they struggle to follow any part of the conversation. everything too heavy and confusing and muffled, just useless and incoherent and completely oblivious to the situation

nervous prodding or pleading by caretaker, begging them to just stay awake or focus

jostled around by captor, told to get the fuck up and follow orders, easily manhandled and restrained

mumbling nonsense and spilling secrets. stoic characters without any masks, so confused and broken and vulnerable, slipping and powerless in every sort of way

"you're okay, i promise you're okay"

“ah, shit. you’re a mess—”

“I guess you won’t remember this anyways…”

gaze drifting and blank, too faraway to track anything caretaker/captor is saying. nudged and prodded and pleaded at to no avail, just incoherent and out of it

too weak to move. beaten absolutely senseless or bleeding all over the place, a character just hurting and spent beyond means sprawled flat against the ground

getting dragged along or stepped on, pinned down as if they're in any state to go anywhere

hypnotized and stunned into mindlessness. repeated mantras and rewired thoughts, a character made pliable and blank and used like a puppet

paralyzed but fully aware, left slack and useless and desperate with limp muscles and depressed breathing. assumed dead and abandoned, grieved over or dumped aside like a corpse, forced to watch and unable to do anything

poisoned and just getting worse and worse. teammates desperately looking for a cure while character deteriorates, puking and passing out and getting high fevers, hallucinating and begging for relief

characters taken out of commission when they're otherwise the strongest one. exposed to a weakness, given magical restraints or cuffs with neural suppressors to keep them docile, targeted and taken out

vertigo taking a character side to side, brought down and useless

[sunshineangel0]

dress to impress get fucked .ᐟ (hyung line)

i present: stray kids making you wear the sluttiest thing out just so they can ruin you in it later

genre: smut, minors dni. word count: 500~ish warnings: public sex, exhibitionism, degradation, forced orgasm, possessive behavior, overstimulation, spit, creampies, breeding talk, semi-public risk. a/n: if you’re gonna dress like a whore, they’ll fuck you like one. simple math ♡ thanks anon for requesting this i had so much fun writing it !! based of this ask.

-> maknaes

BANG CHAN

Its night out and Chan picks the outfit himself. short little skirt that does nothing to cover you up, some tiny top with no bra under it so he can see your nipples through the fabric when you lean forward to fix your lip gloss in the club mirror. he makes you twirl for him in your bedroom mirror before you leave, big hands tugging your hem up to make sure your panties peek out when you walk. “Perfect,” he grins, pressing you up against the wall just to whisper in your ear how many guys he knows will stare tonight. It makes him hard just thinking about how they’ll look, but none of them can touch. Only him.

He doesn’t even fuck you in the club bathroom because that’s too easy. No, he waits. He lets you simmer all night, lets you get tipsy and warm and bratty under his arm, thighs pressed together cause every time he leans in close he says something nastier than before. ‘Think they can smell this pussy leaking through your panties, baby?’ He makes you bend to grab his drink straw off the floor on purpose so everyone gets an eyeful of your ass.

By the time you stumble back to the car, you’re begging for it. He pulls over halfway home, backseat, your legs over his shoulders, skirt pushed up around your waist, the whole parking lot empty except for you and the way he’s splitting you open with slow, deep thrusts. Loves keeping the windows cracked just so you’ll whimper quietly for him, but you can’t help it when he shifts your panties to the side and spits straight onto your clit, rubbing tight circles until you’re sobbing his name into the leather seat. He growls about how cute you look with his cum dripping out of you while you’re still wearing the same whore skirt he picked out.

“Don’t take it off yet. I wanna see you cum in it again when we get home.”

LEE MINHO

Minho is the meanest about it. He’ll watch you get dressed, tiny dress, no bra, panties that might as well be useless, and he’ll stand behind you in the mirror, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Gonna let everyone see this pretty body tonight?” He asks like he’s sweet, but his fingers slip under your hem to rub your clit just once, leaving you breathless. He knows you’ll drip the second the air hits you.

At dinner he sits across from you so he can spread your legs under the table, boot nudging your ankles apart until you’re squirming. He barely touches you, just a lazy slide of his shoe up your calf and a filthy smirk when the waiter tries not to look. When you finally make it to the car, you think you’re safe but he just flips you over the hood, hikes that useless excuse for a dress up, pushes your face against the windshield and fucks you so hard the alarm might go off. He makes you look at your own reflection in the glass while he mutters how stupid you look, tits smushed against the cold metal.

He won’t even let you cum properly, pulls out, spits on your cunt, rubs your slit with the head of his cock just to watch you shake. When you cry for more, he clicks his tongue and laughs, “Who told you to wear that? Who told you to be a whore for me?” Then he slides back in, deeper than before, snapping his hips up until you’re creaming so loud you swear the whole street could hear.

When you finally get home, you’re still in the same dress. He leaves you like that, sticky, fucked open, his handprint on your ass. “Hang it up nicely, baby. You’re wearing it again tomorrow.”

SEO CHANGBIN

Changbin wants everyone to see how good you look because he’s proud of it. Tiny tight shorts, crop top that rides up every time you breathe, hair done pretty just the way he likes it, he makes you spin around for him in the hallway, one hand squeezing the back of your neck when he pulls you close to growl in your ear, “If you look this good, you better take everything I give you later.”

He keeps his hand on your lower back the whole time you’re out, a silent warning. He doesn’t even mind when guys stare. He wants them to. Loves leaning in close behind you at the bar, big arms caging you in so everyone knows you’re his. And the whole time, he’s whispering filth, about how wet you must be, how those shorts won’t hide shit when he finally spreads you open.

You barely make it inside your apartment before he’s bending you over the kitchen counter. Doesn’t even bother pulling the shorts off, just yanks them aside to bully his thick cock into you until you’re gasping into the cold marble. Loves the sound of your nails scraping the counter while he pounds you stupid. “Shouldn’t dress like this if you can’t handle it, baby,” he pants against your shoulder, rutting so deep you swear he’s splitting you in half.

He won’t stop until you can’t stand — lifts you up on the counter, rips the top down to mouth at your tits, still half dressed, the exact slut he wanted you to be. He cums deep, pulls out just to smear it on your thigh, thumb dragging the mess back to your raw hole so you’re filled up again.

“Next time? Wear something shorter.”

HWANG HYUNJIN

Hyunjin loves when you look expensive, short silk slip dress, tiny designer bag, thigh-high boots that click on the pavement when you walk ahead of him. He picks the dress himself, no bra, no panties, just soft fabric brushing your nipples every time you move. He likes it when people look at you and think god, she must be spoiled rotten. And they’re right.

At dinner he sits close, long fingers brushing your bare thigh under the table, pushing higher and higher until you’re biting your lip to keep from gasping. He’ll pull away just when you spread your legs for him, mean little smirk playing on his pretty lips. “Patience, baby. You want everyone here to know you’re this easy?”

He won’t fuck you right away, not until you’re practically clinging to his arm outside the restaurant, whispering please in that desperate voice he loves. He drags you into the bathroom of some high-end hotel lobby, locks the door, hikes the silk up your waist, lifts you onto the marble sink. He fucks you slow at first, just enough to tease, long, deep strokes while his forehead presses to yours and his hands pin your wrists back.

When he sees your eyes glaze over in the mirror, that’s when he loses it, hips snapping, rings digging into your thighs while you moan into the echo of the tiled walls. He pulls out halfway through just to slap his cock against your soaked pussy, watching your slick drip down your thighs and stain the silk hem.

He’ll bend you over the sink after, one hand buried in your hair to keep your eyes locked on your ruined reflection as he cums deep. When he pulls back, the mess drips down your thighs, staining the dress he picked out for you on purpose. “Don’t wipe it off. I want you to smell like me all night.”

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789 @estella-novella @nightmarenyxx @channiesluvrclub @slut4junho @bobaluvzz @channiesbaby1433 @wonniesjungdimple @yxna-bliss @m-325 @rockstarkkami @felixleftchickennugget @oceanz7 @seungminsbest @fackeraccount @takuoshuji @xoxomanicpanic @catsforlife6864 @lezleeferguson-120 @angellcvkes @lezleeferguson-120 @doliveiraa @breakmeoff @soona-huh @cleverperfectionchild @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie

[desideriumwriter]

Baby girl?

summary: Derek and Emily find out about Spencer’s (unintentionally) secret kid.

wc: 0.5k

“You have a kid?” Derek gawked, Emily at the desk opposite with the same look on her face. Both staring at Reid.

“A daughter. She’s about to turn two.”

“Almost two years? And you never told us?

“The topic never came up.” Reid shrugged. 

“Well you never showed- you don’t even have a photo of her on your desk!”

“Yes I do! Right here.” Reid picked up a framed photo that sat right next to his computer he rarely used.

The image was the Aurora Borealis, bright purple and green waves displayed in the sky. 

Reid pointed to the corner of the image, it was him, you, and your daughter posing and smiling. You’d really have to look to notice you all in the corner, it’s not something your eye could pick up if you passed by the photo.

“Oh come on, you can barely see that. Don’t you have any other photos of her?”

Reid shifted in his seat, moving to grab his wallet out his back pocket. 

Once it got it, he opened it and turned it to face the two across from him, the clear slot showing a small photo of a baby girl, wrapped up in a soft quilt and smiling.

Emily and Derek both looked at it with dropped jaws. Their eyes darted to Reid’s unbothered face, then back to the photo, then back to his face, then back to the photo again.

They were shocked at how unbothered Reid was by this. It was never a secret though, the conversation just really never came up. He’d let them know when he wanted to.

“You know Garcias gonna be pissed she never got to set up a baby shower for you.” Derek scoffed, breaking the trance he was in. Reid put his wallet back in his pocket.

“Well you said she’s gonna turn two soon, maybe she can help out with her birthday.” Emily added in.

“So you were there for all the big moments? Birth, first steps, first words? Even with all the cases we had?” 

“I guess I got lucky.” Spencer shrugged.

“Lucky? I thought you didn’t believe in that, thought you were a man of science.” Derek mocked.

“I guess I was there at all the right times.”

It all began to click in Emily and Derek’s heads. All the days Reid was given a pass to do paperwork at home rather than being stuck in the office. Checking his cell phone more often. Seeming more busy on the weekends. Looking happier even though he was tired.

They knew it’d be something personal. They knew he had a partner, they knew you. They’ve met you before. But they never thought you’d have a child together.

“Wait, does Hotch know?” Emily said after stumbling over her words first, looking at Hotch's cracked open office door.

“Sharing details about Reid’s personal life is up to him, not me.” Hotch spoke, keeping his eyes focused on the papers he was writing on.

“Oh Garcia is gonna flip when she finds out you told him and not her!” Emily laughed while Garcia walked into the room.

“What? What am I gonna flip out about?” Garcia said, looking back and forth between everyone.

“Pretty boy over here has his own babygirl.”

“Babygirl? I thought we all knew you had a partner? Baby-girl. Baby girl? Oh. My. God!” Garcia's face dropped in shock and realization, she began to move around trying to find a place to put down her mug so she could properly freak out. “You have a daughter?”

back in business writing spencer fics!!!! oh yeah baby!!!!

[021894s]

LOVE NEXT DOOR - p.sh

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

PAIRING: childhood bsf! sunghoon x f!reader

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

wc: 20k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunghoon shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Maybe.” 

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

And then, there was Sunghoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s why he started avoiding you.

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

So he pulled back.

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

Yeji noticed first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

Hey, are you free to talk?

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

Busy today. Maybe another time?

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

Without thinking, you typed back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched, his hands gripping the chains of his swing tightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost strained. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the cryptic response. “Is it me?” you asked, turning to face him fully. “Did I do something wrong?”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and alarmed. “No, Y/N, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” you pressed, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’ve been acting so strange ever since I came back. I don’t get it.”

Sunghoon sighed, his gaze dropping to the ground as he raked a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me,” you said, your voice soft but pleading. “Please, Sunghoon. I don’t want to lose you.”

His expression tightened at your words, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. You could see the internal battle playing out behind his eyes, the conflict he’d been hiding so well suddenly visible. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw, vulnerable in a way you’d never heard before.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and your heart clenched in your chest. “You’re not hurting me. You’re my best friend, Sunghoon. Whatever it is, we can get through it.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “That’s the problem. I don’t know if we can.”

You frowned, confusion swirling in your mind. “What do you mean?”

Sunghoon’s eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw the weight of everything he’d been holding back. His next words came out in a rush, as if he’d been holding them in for far too long.

“I’ve always liked you, Y/N. More than just a friend. Since high school, maybe even before then. But I never told you because… because I didn’t want to mess things up. And then you left, and I thought I’d gotten over it. But now that you’re back…” He trailed off, his voice catching in his throat. “It’s like all those feelings just came rushing back, and I don’t know what to do with them. I can’t act on them, not after everything you’ve been through with Daniel. It’s not fair to you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, Sunghoon’s confession hanging in the air between you like a fragile thread. You’d always thought of him as your best friend, the one constant in your life that had never changed. But now… now everything was different.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, standing up from the swing as if he couldn’t bear to stay any longer. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll—”

“No,” you said, cutting him off, standing up too. “Don’t run away. Not again.”

He looked at you, his expression torn, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability in his eyes—the fear of rejection, the fear of losing you completely. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

“Sunghoon, I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I never knew you felt that way.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” he said quietly. “But now… now I can’t hide it anymore.”

The silence between you was deafening, the weight of his confession settling heavily on your shoulders. You didn’t know how to respond, not after everything you’d been through. But one thing was certain: nothing between you and Sunghoon would ever be the same again.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The days that followed felt surreal. Sunghoon’s confession lingered in your mind like a persistent echo, one that you couldn’t quite shake off. Every time you replayed his words, your chest tightened, and your thoughts spiraled into confusion. You didn’t know how to feel—about him, about your past, or even about yourself. You spent so many years thinking of Sunghoon as your constant, your rock, your best friend, and now all of that felt uncertain.

Sunghoon avoided you even more than before, making sure he was never in the same place as you for too long. At first, you gave him space, understanding that things were complicated. But the distance started to gnaw at you. He’d always been the one person you could rely on, and now, when you needed him most, he was pulling away.

It was Yeji who finally brought it up, sitting across from you at the café as she studied your downcast expression.

“You look like you’ve been hit by a truck,” she said bluntly, sipping her iced coffee.

You sighed, pushing your own drink around the table without taking a sip. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” she said flatly. “And let me guess, it has something to do with Sunghoon?”

You didn’t answer right away, but the slight flicker in your eyes was enough for Yeji to know she was right. She groaned, leaning forward.

“I swear, if you two don’t figure this out, I’m going to lock you in a room until you do.”

You managed a weak smile at her joke, but it faded quickly. “It’s complicated, Yeji.”

“Everything is complicated with you two. But the longer you let this sit, the worse it’s going to get.”

“I don’t even know what to say to him,” you admitted, sinking into your seat. “He told me how he feels, but… I’m not ready for that. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

Yeji studied you carefully, her expression softening. “You’ve been through a lot with Daniel. No one expects you to be ready for something like this. But Sunghoon is… well, he’s not Daniel. You know he’d never hurt you.”

Your throat tightened at her words. “That’s what makes it worse. I don’t want to hurt him either.”

“You won’t,” Yeji said confidently. “Not if you’re honest with him. He knows what you’ve been through, and he’ll understand. But avoiding each other like this isn’t helping anyone.”

You rubbed your temples, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on you. “I don’t know, Yeji. It’s just… too much.”

She reached across the table, placing her hand on top of yours. “Take it one step at a time. Sunghoon’s not going anywhere. He just needs to know where you stand.”

You nodded, knowing deep down that she was right. The tension between you and Sunghoon had become unbearable, and if you didn’t talk to him soon, it would only get worse.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Later that evening, you found yourself standing in front of Sunghoon’s house, your heart racing. You hadn’t planned to come here, but your feet had carried you here almost on instinct. His confession had thrown everything into chaos, and you needed to clear the air, for both your sakes.

You took a deep breath before knocking on the door. The wait felt excruciatingly long, but finally, the door opened to reveal Sunghoon, his expression shifting from surprise to something more guarded.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice hesitant. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you,” you replied, trying to steady your voice. “Can we?”

He looked uncertain for a moment, but eventually, he stepped aside, letting you in. You followed him to the living room, the air between you heavy with unspoken words.

Sunghoon stood by the window, his hands stuffed into his pockets, avoiding your gaze. “What is it?”

You took a seat on the couch, feeling your pulse quicken. “About what you told me the other night…”

He tensed, his shoulders stiffening. “You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice firmer than you intended. “You don’t get it. You can’t just drop something like that on me and then disappear, Sunghoon. We’ve been friends for years. I deserve to know what’s going on with you.”

Sunghoon sighed, finally turning to face you. “I was trying to give you space. I didn’t want to make things harder for you after everything with Daniel.”

“I appreciate that,” you said, your voice softening. “But shutting me out isn’t helping either of us.”

There was a long pause as Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with his own emotions. “I didn’t know what else to do, Y/N. I’ve been holding this in for so long, and now that it’s out, I don’t know how to act around you.”

“You don’t have to act any differently,” you said quietly. “But you also can’t avoid me forever.”

Sunghoon stared at you, a conflicted look in his eyes. “I just… I don’t want to make things worse. I know you’re not ready for… anything like this, and I’m not going to push you. But it’s hard, Y/N. It’s hard being around you and pretending like everything is the same when I’ve been feeling this way for so long.”

You looked down, your heart heavy with guilt. “I don’t want to lose you, Sunghoon. You’re one of the most important people in my life, and I can’t imagine things without you. But I’m not ready for more, not after everything that happened.”

“I know,” Sunghoon said softly, his expression pained. “And I’ll wait. I’ll always wait for you, Y/N. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

The vulnerability in his voice hit you hard, and for the first time, you saw just how deep his feelings ran. He wasn’t asking for anything from you—he was just being honest, and it was tearing him apart. You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of it all crashing down on you.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I wish things were different.”

He shook his head, stepping closer to you. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I just… I just needed you to know.”

The silence stretched between you, both of you caught in the painful reality of the situation. Neither of you knew what the future held, but for now, all you could do was take it one step at a time.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The days passed in an uneasy quiet, the tension between you and Sunghoon lingering like an unspoken secret. He no longer avoided you as much, but the once easy-going banter you shared felt stilted, weighed down by everything unsaid. You couldn’t stop thinking about his confession. It felt like a constant reminder of how complicated everything had become. No matter how much you tried to focus on anything else, Sunghoon’s words echoed in your mind, making it impossible to pretend like things were back to normal.

One evening, as you sat in your room, you heard a knock on the door. Your mom poked her head in, smiling warmly.

“Dinner’s ready, sweetheart,” she said, her eyes soft with concern. “You okay?”

You plastered on a smile, nodding. “Yeah, just lost in thought.”

She gave you a knowing look. “You’ve been doing a lot of that lately. Is everything okay between you and Sunghoon?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Why do you ask?”

“You two have always been inseparable, but things seem… different now. You can talk to me, you know.”

You bit your lip, unsure of how much to say. You hadn’t told your parents anything about Sunghoon’s confession, and you weren’t sure you could without making things more complicated. “It’s nothing, Mom. We’re fine. Just adjusting, I guess.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. “Alright, but you know we’re here for you. If you need to talk about anything—about Sunghoon or anything else—you can always come to us.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle over you. She meant well, but the last thing you wanted was to burden your parents with the tangled mess of your emotions.

After dinner, you found yourself wandering outside, needing fresh air to clear your head. Without thinking, you walked down the familiar path to the park, your steps slow and deliberate. The quiet of the evening felt comforting, a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts swirling inside you. You found your way back to the swings, sitting down as you often did when you needed to think.

As you rocked gently back and forth, your mind drifted back to high school. Back to the carefree days when things between you, Sunghoon, and Yeji had been simple. The memories were vivid—late nights studying together, hanging out at the park after school, and how Sunghoon had always been there, a steady presence by your side. Back then, you’d never questioned his loyalty, never thought twice about the way he always seemed to put you first. But now, looking back, you wondered how you hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you, the quiet way his feelings had been growing all along.

You remembered one particular moment, just before you left for the U.S. Sunghoon had walked you home after a late study session, the two of you chatting about nothing in particular. It had been a chilly night, and he’d offered you his jacket without hesitation. You’d laughed, teased him for being too polite, but his expression had been serious, almost sad. At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it, chalking it up to the fact that you’d be leaving soon. But now, in hindsight, you realized it had been more than that. Sunghoon had been struggling with his feelings, even back then, and you’d been completely oblivious.

A pang of guilt hit you as you thought about how long he must’ve held everything inside, how hard it must’ve been for him to see you leave, knowing you didn’t feel the same way. And now, after everything that had happened with Daniel, Sunghoon was still there, waiting for you in the background, even though you couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Why does everything have to be so complicated?” you muttered to yourself, staring up at the darkening sky.

Just as you were about to lose yourself in more memories, you heard footsteps approaching from behind. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Sunghoon.

“You’re here again,” he said, his voice quiet but familiar as he sat on the swing next to you.

“I needed to think,” you replied softly, your eyes still focused on the ground. “This place… it helps.”

Sunghoon nodded, his gaze drifting up toward the sky. “Yeah. It’s always been like that, hasn’t it?”

A comfortable silence fell between you, though it was laced with the tension of everything unsaid. For a moment, it felt like old times—just the two of you, sitting together in quiet understanding. But you knew things were different now, no matter how much you wanted to pretend otherwise.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice tentative. “Sunghoon… I know things have been weird lately. And I hate it.”

He didn’t respond right away, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. “I know.”

“I just—” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want things to be like this between us.”

Sunghoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want that either, Y/N. But I don’t know how to make it less weird. I can’t just forget what I said.”

“I’m not asking you to,” you said quickly. “But maybe we can figure this out. I need you, Sunghoon. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He looked at you, his expression conflicted. “I need you too. But that’s the problem.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You could see the struggle in his eyes—the fight between his feelings for you and his desire to protect you from more pain. It wasn’t fair to him, and you knew it. But you didn’t know how to fix it, how to make things go back to the way they were.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the guilt heavy in your chest.

Sunghoon shook his head, his voice soft but firm. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. None of this is.”

You sat there in silence, the distance between you feeling both vast and fragile. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you needed to figure out. But for now, all you could do was sit side by side, both of you trying to navigate the complicated mess of feelings that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Weeks passed, and the uneasy tension that once lingered between you and Sunghoon gradually began to fade. Little by little, things started to feel like they were falling back into place, though not quite the same as before. The awkward silences became comfortable again, and the shared moments between you started to carry a different weight.

You found yourself paying closer attention to him in ways you never had before. The small gestures—how he’d bring you coffee without asking, or how he’d go out of his way to make sure you were comfortable—began to take on a deeper meaning. Sunghoon wasn’t just being your best friend; he was being your support, your constant, the one person who had always been there for you, even when you didn’t realize how much you needed him.

It was in those moments that your feelings began to shift. At first, you tried to brush them off, telling yourself it was just gratitude, that you were still recovering from everything with Daniel. But the more time you spent with Sunghoon, the harder it became to ignore the warmth that bloomed in your chest every time he smiled at you, or the way your heart raced whenever your hands accidentally brushed.

One evening, the two of you sat in your backyard, a quiet evening settling in around you. Sunghoon had insisted on helping your father with a project earlier, and afterward, he stayed for dinner, as he often did. Now, the two of you were sitting on the porch, the cool breeze gently rustling the leaves above you.

Sunghoon leaned back, his eyes drifting to the sky. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said softly, glancing at you. “Everything okay?”

You smiled at the concern in his voice, feeling that familiar warmth spread through you again. “Yeah, I’m just… thinking.”

He turned slightly to face you, raising an eyebrow. “About what?”

You hesitated, unsure how to put your feelings into words. You weren’t ready to say everything out loud yet, but you couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of gratitude and admiration you felt for him. “Just about how things have changed… and how much you’ve been there for me.”

Sunghoon’s gaze softened, and he shrugged casually, though you could see a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. “That’s what friends do, right?”

You nodded, but the word “friends” felt wrong now. There was something more between you, something that had been growing quietly in the background, and it was starting to become impossible to deny. You weren’t sure when it had happened, or maybe it had always been there, buried beneath the surface. But what you did know was that Sunghoon wasn’t just your friend anymore.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

More time passed and you found yourself seeking him out more, spending more time with him than anyone else. You began to crave his company, his quiet strength, and the way he seemed to understand you without needing to ask. And it wasn’t just the grand gestures that made your heart flutter—it was the small things. The way he always checked if you were okay, how he listened when you talked, really listened, and how he’d make sure you weren’t alone whenever you seemed down.

It was these little acts of kindness, the quiet care he showed you, that made your feelings for him grow into something undeniable.

One evening, the two of you found yourselves at the park again, sitting on the swings like you used to as kids. The sky was a deep shade of pink and orange, the sun setting in the distance. Sunghoon was talking about something—work, maybe—but you weren’t really listening. Instead, you were focused on him, on the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way his voice softened when he talked to you.

You realized, suddenly and overwhelmingly, that you cared for him in a way you hadn’t cared for anyone else. It wasn’t just that Sunghoon had been there for you, but the way he had always, quietly and without expectation, supported you, no matter what. He didn’t ask for anything in return, didn’t push you for answers or confessions. He just… cared.

And that’s when you knew. You had feelings for Sunghoon. They had been there all along, waiting for you to realize it.

Sunghoon must have noticed the look on your face because he stopped mid-sentence, turning to you with a curious expression. “What is it?”

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts. “What?”

“You’re staring at me,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You felt your cheeks heat up, quickly looking away. “I wasn’t.”

He laughed softly, but didn’t push further. Instead, he leaned back on the swing, the smile fading as a comfortable silence settled between you. You wanted to say something, to tell him what was on your mind, but the words wouldn’t come. Not yet.

For now, you were content just being here with him, the weight of your growing feelings a secret you weren’t quite ready to share. But you knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t be long before those feelings couldn’t be hidden any longer.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It was a cozy Friday evening, and the house felt unusually quiet. Your parents and Sunghoon’s parents had decided to take a weekend trip together, leaving the two of you alone for the night. You had taken advantage of the opportunity to host a movie night, and the living room was filled with the inviting smell of popcorn and the soft glow of fairy lights strung around the room.

You settled onto the couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs, while Sunghoon reclined next to you, the space between you filled with a warm tension. The movie played in the background, but you found it hard to focus on the screen. Instead, your gaze kept drifting to him—the way the light danced in his hair, the casual way he laughed at the jokes, and the ease of his presence next to you.

As the minutes turned into hours, you felt the atmosphere shift. Each time you glanced at him, your heart raced a little more. You couldn’t ignore the way your feelings for him had transformed over the last few weeks, the moments you had shared sparking something deeper than friendship.

Finally, during a quieter moment in the movie, you turned to him, heart pounding. “Sunghoon,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. He turned his head, eyebrows raised in curiosity, his expression inviting you to continue.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should voice what had been on your mind for so long. But the warmth of his gaze, the way he was looking at you, made the decision feel inevitable. “I need to tell you something,” you began, feeling your heart race.

He tilted his head slightly, encouraging you. “What is it?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us… and how I feel about you.” Your voice trembled slightly as you spoke, but you pressed on. “When I came back to Korea, everything felt so chaotic. But you… you were there for me in a way I didn’t expect. And the more time we spend together, the more I realize that I care about you, Sunghoon. A lot.”

His eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face. “Y/N, I—”

Before he could respond, you continued, your heart pounding in your chest. “I know I’ve been through a lot, and I don’t want to rush anything. But I can’t pretend anymore. I have feelings for you—feelings that go beyond friendship. I want to explore this… whatever this is between us.”

A moment of silence stretched between you, filled with the weight of your confession. You could see the shock in his expression slowly melting into something softer, something hopeful.

“I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he finally said, his voice low and sincere. “I care about you too, Y/N. I’ve felt this way for a long time, but I didn’t know if you’d feel the same after everything that’s happened.”

Your heart soared at his words, relief flooding through you. “Really?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, a small smile spreading across his lips. “Really.”

In that moment, everything else faded away. You felt a magnetic pull between you, drawing you closer together. Without thinking, you leaned in, your heart racing as you closed the space between you.

Sunghoon met you halfway, his lips brushing against yours with a gentle hesitance that quickly melted into a deeper kiss. It was electric—filled with all the unspoken emotions you had both held back for so long. The world outside your living room ceased to exist, leaving only the warmth of his body and the rhythm of your hearts.

You melted into him, feeling the softness of the couch beneath you as he deepened the kiss, hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer. You could feel the heat radiating between you, igniting something passionate and alive that you hadn’t anticipated.

You  moaned softly into Sunghoon's mouth, the sound fueling his desire even further. Breaking the kiss for air, you stared into each other's eyes, both breathless and flushed. "Your room," Sunghoon whispered hoarsely. "Let's go to your room."

Hand in hand, you made your way to your childhood bedroom, a space that held countless memories of your friendship. The room was a sanctuary, adorned with pictures and trinkets from your shared adventures. Sunghoon closed the door behind you, sealing your private world from the outside.

You leaned against the door, heart racing as he approached her. He gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your soft cheeks. "I've dreamed of this moment for so long," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.Your lips met again, this time with a hunger that burned through your restraint. Sunghoon's hands roamed over your body, exploring the curves and contours of your hips and waist. His fingers played with the hem of your tshirt, as if he was silently asking permission to take it off of you. You nod, his hands wasting no time in peeking the fabric to reveal the lacy black bra you wore beneath. 

Your breath caught in your throat as his fingertips traced the delicate lace, sending shivers down her spine.

With deft fingers, Sunghoon unhooked your bra, freeing your breasts. You gasp at the cold air that suddenly hits you. He gazed at them with reverence, his eyes dark with desire. Leaning down, he took one nipple into his mouth, suckling gently while his thumb teased the other.  You arch your back at the sensation, moaning softly as waves of pleasure rippled through you.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N," Sunghoon whispered against you skin. "I want to make you feel so good."

Feeling a sudden burst of eagerness, your hands found their way to Sunghoon's belt, unbuckling it with trembling fingers. You undid his jeans and slid your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around his hardening cock through his boxers. Sunghoon gasped, his breath hot against your neck, placing a small, wet kiss there as you began to stroke him. “S-shit baby.”

You slip your hand out, guiding Sunghoon towards your bed, you pushed him gently onto the mattress, positions now reversed. You straddled his waist, grinding your hips against his, feeling his erection press against your clothed cunt. His hands roamed over your thighs, inching upwards, exploring the soft skin beneath her shorts that had been driving him insane since the moment he stepped foot inside your house. 

With a gentle tug, you lifted your hips as he removed your shorts as well as the cute black panties that matched your bra, revealing your bare pussy, glistening with desire. Sunghoon's eyes darkened further as he took in the sight, his breath coming in short gasps. "You're so wet, Y/N. want to taste you so bad."

“later, you say as you slide down his body, positioning yourself between his legs. You leaned forward, your long hair cascading over your shoulders, as you began to kiss and lick the length of his shaft. Sunghoon groaned, his hands gripping the bedsheets as you took him deep into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head of his cock. “Feels so good baby”

Sunghoon couldn't hold back any longer. He sat up, positioning you on the bed, and parted your thighs with gentle kisses. His tongue traced the outer folds of your pussy, teasing your sensitive skin. You squirmed with pleasure,  hips bucking against his face as he found your clit and began to suckle it with relentless passion.

"Oh, Sunghoon!" you cried out,  voice hoarse with desire. "Fuck don't stop, please!"

Sunghoon continued his relentless assault on your clit, sending you spiraling towards an intense orgasm “tastes so fucking good, all wet just for me.” Your body trembled,  crying out his name as waves of pleasure washed over you. Sunghoon didn't let up, continuing to lick and suck until you were a quivering mess, your body drenched in sweat and satisfaction.

After a few moments to recover, you reached for Sunghoon, pulling him up to kiss him in a more hungry kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, and it drove you wild with desire all over again. "I want you inside me," you whispered between kisses. "Now."

Sunghoon needed no further encouragement. He positioned himself at your entrance, his cock throbbing with anticipation. With one smooth thrust, he filled you completely, eliciting a gasp from your parted lips. you moved in perfect harmony, your bodies slick with sweat as ge fucked you with raw, unbridled passion.

"Harder, baby" you pleaded, nails digging into his shoulders. "fuck me harder.” Sunghoon obliged, pounding into you with abandon, his hips slamming against yours. 

The headboard banged against the wall, marking the rhythm of your frantic coupling. your cries filled the room as you rode the waves of pleasure,  orgasm building to an intense crescendo.

“Fuck baby your pussys clenching so hard around my cock, im so fucking close.” You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppier, your own orgasm approaching just a quick. “gonna c-cum hoonie.” He couldn't hold back any longer. With a final, powerful thrust, he came deep inside you, his hot cum painting your walls white. 

He collapsed onto the bed, bodies entwined, both breathing heavily as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through each of you. “If I would’ve known you’d fuck me that good maybe I would’ve given you a chance much earlier.” You tell him out of breath, eliciting a chuckle from him. 

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The soft morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a gentle glow in your room. You stirred awake, feeling warmth enveloping you. Sunghoon was nestled beside you, his arm draped protectively around your waist, holding you close. The memory of the night before flooded your mind—the kiss, the confessions, and the spark of something beautiful igniting between you.

You smiled to yourself, feeling a sense of contentment that you hadn’t experienced in a long time. But as you settled deeper into his embrace, a sudden noise from downstairs jolted you from your blissful reverie.

“Y/N, I think your parents are back,” Sunghoon murmured sleepily, rubbing his eyes as he became more alert.

Your heart raced as the reality of the situation hit you. “Oh fuck, They’re not supposed to be back yet” you whispered, panic rising in your chest.

Sunghoon’s eyes widened, and he immediately sat up, glancing around the room. “We need to hurry”

You both scrambled to untangle yourselves from the sheets, adrenaline coursing through you. As you hopped out of bed, you glanced at each other, both of you laughing nervously at the chaotic situation. There was an unspoken agreement—you needed to act casual, like nothing unusual had happened.

“Okay, you get dressed first,” you said, tossing him a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that had been strewn on the floor. “I’ll throw on something too.”

You quickly changed into a comfy hoodie and leggings, your heart still racing as you heard your parents’ voices growing louder downstairs. The last thing you wanted was for them to walk in on you two after the night you just shared.

“Are you ready?” Sunghoon asked, his hair slightly tousled as he pulled on the T-shirt. He looked adorable, and it took everything in you not to linger on how cute he was at that moment.

“Almost!” you replied, giving your reflection a quick check in the mirror before moving to the door. “Let’s go!”

You both rushed down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible, your hearts pounding in your chests. As you reached the bottom step, you could hear your parents chatting in the kitchen, their voices bright and cheerful.

“Y/N, are you home?” your mom called out just as you and Sunghoon entered the living room, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Yeah, Mom! Just hanging out!” you replied, forcing a casual tone, hoping it didn’t sound too forced.

You glanced over at Sunghoon, who was giving you a small, reassuring smile, but you could see the nervousness in his eyes. You both moved into the kitchen, where your parents were unpacking bags, completely oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions that had just taken place in your room.

“Hey, Sunghoon! you’re here,” your dad said, giving him a friendly nod. “Did you keep Y/N entertained while we were gone?”

“Of course!” Sunghoon replied, a little too quickly, his eyes darting to you for a brief moment. “We had a fun movie night.”

You nodded enthusiastically, trying to match his energy. “Yeah, just a normal hangout. Nothing out of the ordinary,” you added, unable to hide the hint of a nervous laugh.

Your mom chuckled, giving you both a knowing look. “You two have always been inseparable. I’m glad you’re spending time together.”

You felt your cheeks flush, and you shot Sunghoon a sidelong glance. He was trying hard not to smile, and it was contagious.

“Did you enjoy the trip?” you asked, hoping to shift the conversation away from the night before.

Your parents launched into stories about their travels, and as you listened, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at Sunghoon. He caught your eye, and you both exchanged a small smile that felt electric, reminding you of the connection you had just started to explore.

As breakfast was prepared, the atmosphere felt relaxed and easy, but your heart raced at the thought of your parents unknowingly interrupting something that had felt so significant. You couldn’t help but feel giddy about the night you had shared, and the prospect of what lay ahead for you and Sunghoon, even as the morning unfolded like any other day.

After breakfast, your parents retreated to the living room to relax, leaving you and Sunghoon to clean up the kitchen. The atmosphere felt light, almost like the calm before a storm as you both exchanged playful banter, your earlier connection still fresh in your minds.

Later that afternoon, you heard a familiar voice ring out from the front door. “Y/N! I’m here!” Yeji called as she burst into the house, her energy immediately filling the space.

You couldn’t help but smile, excitement bubbling up at the sight of your childhood best friend. “Yeji! You’re back!” you exclaimed, rushing to greet her with a hug.

As you pulled away, she looked at you intently, her gaze sweeping over you from head to toe. “You’re glowing,  What’s going on with you?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, and you tried to play it cool. “What are you talking about?” you said, attempting to sound nonchalant, but you felt a giddy warmth spread through you.

“Oh, come on” Yeji pressed, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “You look so happy. Are you and sunghoon fianlly together?”

You felt your heart race at the thought. “It’s… complicated,” you said, a shy smile creeping onto your face as you remembered the kiss, the way he made you feel, and the warmth that had lingered long after. “We’re just figuring things out.”

“Just figuring things out?” Yeji exclaimed, her voice rising in disbelief. “Y/N, you’re practically radiating happiness, That sounds like a classic ‘we’re together’ situation to me now spill bitch.”

You laughed, unable to suppress the joy bubbling inside you. “I promise, it’s nothing like that! We’re just friends hanging out—well, more than friends, but still… you know.” You were stumbling over your words, and you could feel the warmth of your blush creeping down your neck.

Yeji’s eyes widened, her expression a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Oh my god, did you fuck?” she pressed, bouncing slightly on her heels, clearly thrilled at the prospect.

You don’t say anything, except you give her a knowing look that told her everything she needs to know. 

Yeji’s smile grew wider, her excitement infectious. “Fucking finally. I thought you idiots would never figure it out” She grabbed your shoulders, her eyes gleaming. “You have to tell me everything.”

Just then, Sunghoon appeared in the doorway, glancing between the two of you, a bemused smile on his face. “What’s going on in here?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe with an amused expression.

Yeji turned to him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, just catching up on the latest drama. Y/N and I were just talking about how she’s glowing and—”

You quickly interjected, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “We were just talking about… uh, my skincare routine!”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Your skincare routine, huh? Sounds fascinating.”

“Shut up,” you shot back playfully, laughter spilling out. But deep down, you felt a thrill at the thought of your feelings for him becoming more public, shared between friends.

Yeji wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, a teasing smile on her face.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. As Sunghoon joined the conversation, you felt a warmth in your heart, realizing how much you had missed this—how much you had missed him.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You and Sunghoon settled into a rhythm of secrecy and excitement. Every stolen moment felt like a thrilling adventure, each shared smile charged with an energy that left you both breathless. You spent evenings hanging out at parks, grabbing snacks at your favorite convenience store, and reliving old memories. But as your bond deepened, so did the intensity of your feelings.

You both agreed to keep things under wraps for a little while longer, wanting to navigate this new chapter without the pressure of parental expectations looming over you. But sneaking around only added to the thrill, and soon, it became second nature.

One Friday evening, you decided to go on a real date. After all, you had managed to keep things low-key, but you were ready to enjoy being together without the pressure of hiding. You picked a charming little café downtown, a spot you both loved, and as the sun began to set, the place glowed with a warm, inviting ambiance.

You shared a dessert and exchanged playful banter, the world outside fading away. Sunghoon’s laughter felt like music, and each lingering glance seemed to whisper promises of something beautiful. The night was perfect—until it was time to go home.

As you walked down the quiet street, the cool night air wrapping around you, you felt a surge of affection. You turned to Sunghoon, smiling softly, and without thinking, you pulled him into a warm embrace. It felt so right, being close to him, your heart racing at the proximity.

But just as you pulled away, a familiar voice broke the silence. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Startled, you turned to see your parents standing just a few feet away, a mix of surprise and amusement on their faces. Sunghoon’s eyes widened, and you felt your heart drop. “Uh… hey!” you stammered, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

Your mom stepped forward, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “We always knew you two would end up together,” she said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow playfully.

Sunghoon chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, well, this is a bit unexpected.”

Your dad grinned, stepping beside your mom. “You think we wouldn’t notice the way you two look at each other? You’ve been sneaking around, haven’t you?”

You exchanged glances with Sunghoon, a mix of embarrassment and relief flooding through you. “Okay, maybe a little,” you admitted, unable to hide your smile.

“Just a little?” Yeji suddenly appeared from behind your parents, her arms crossed and an amused look on her face. “I could have told you they were dating from the way they looked at each other!”

Your heart raced, but seeing the warmth in your parents’ eyes eased your nerves. “We just wanted to take our time, you know?” you said, looking up at Sunghoon.

Your mom laughed softly. “You kids and your secrets. We were starting to wonder when you would finally tell us!”

Sunghoon relaxed, a smile spreading across his face. “Sorry for keeping it from you, but we wanted to figure things out first.”

Your dad patted Sunghoon on the back. “You’re a good kid. We’re just happy to see you both happy. Just remember to keep it respectful, alright?”

You nodded vigorously, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders. As you stood there, surrounded by family and friends, you realized how wonderful it felt to share your happiness openly.

Sunghoon looked at you, his expression softening. “Well, I guess the secret’s out,” he said, smiling broadly.

You chuckled, leaning against him, warmth spreading through you. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As you walked home together, hand in hand, you knew this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your lives—one filled with love, laughter, and the promise of many more adventures to come.

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[damselneedssaving]

how would they react to you calling them your hero?

batboys x f!reader

"Seriously—" He blinks, unable to rip his eyes from you as you turn to face him under the glow of the warm moonlight. "—I mean it," you continue, quiet, sincere, "You're always there for me—always there to save me, even when I do more than enough to prove I don't deserve it." You take a deep breath, looking him straight in the eyes. "You... "You're my hero."

line divider by @cafekitsune

-> DICK GRAYSON <-

Dick's breath hitches.

Something in his chest feels light. Fluttery. Almost... familiar.

'Almost' because there's something different about it this time, something... electric.

Your words carry this weight, an honesty he's never heard from you before, one deep and true; full and new.

You speak as though unwarranted, like there's no thought behind your words, like what you're saying is real. Natural.

Easy.

The thought has Dick's heart skip a beat, hands clamming up beneath his gloves as he all but falls into an ocean of pink, the dye of which is situated nonchalantly in your pretty little hands.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Dick..?"

He gives you no time to react before his arms are up and around you, pulling you to his chest, holding you close, refusing to let go.

Your hero, you called him.

Oh Princess...

"...You have no idea how much that means to me."

-> JASON TODD <-

Jason blinks again, cogs in his brain whirring as your eyes regard him with the warmth of the sun even while twinkling under the stars of the night.

It takes a moment or two for him to re-register reality, for him to see anything but the admiration in your gaze, but once he does, once he finally allows himself room to breathe, he wastes not a second more, replying in a drawl that comes almost too soon, "I'm no hero, doll."

Your lips pull into a frown, and Jason turns his head to the side, the sight like a hammer to his chest.

"I'm hardly a man."

A beast more like it. A monster wearing human skin. Certainly no one worthy of you.

You deserve more, a man not as dangerous, one that didn't rise from a pit like some sort of crappy horror movie villain, one that doesn't have so much blood on his hands despite being, as you say, a hero.

"I've done shit no hero would ever do."

"I know," your voice cuts through the air, soft and grounding.

Jason turns his head back to you just in time to catch the way your hand reaches for his own, and he finds that, even through his gloves, he can still feel your skin.

He's practically memorised the feeling.

"You're still my hero though."

Jason parts his lips to argue, gears himself up to shoot you down, but all it takes is just one look into your eyes for him to close them again. For him to pause and think that maybe, just maybe—

—he can allow himself this.

-> TIM DRAKE <-

Tim's eyes widen, and he can feel the heat that crawls up his face before he can see it in the reflection of your gaze.

"I—I, uh—"

He watches himself stumble back through your eyes, the sight alien and probably something embarrassing enough to haunt him for the rest of his life had your words not been the only thing currently echoing in his mind.

Your hero. You called him your hero.

God, it's everything he's ever wanted and more.

This here? This is why he begged Batman for this job.

So he can be a hero. Your hero.

Holy shit, he's your hero.

Is this what it feels like? To be looked upon like a lifeline? Like a tether keeping one from plummeting to what would surely be their doom?

Is this what it feels like? To be depended on like an air bubble? Like the last source of oxygen in the depths of the very sea itself?

Is this what it feels like? To be your hope? Your home? Your hero?

If it is, then Tim doesn't ever want it to stop.

"Thank you, [Name]."

-> OLDER DAMIAN WAYNE <-

Damian moves his hand up to cup your own, the warmth of your skin bleeding into his cheek and then his eyes as he looks at you like you've strung up all the stars in the night sky just for him.

And maybe you have. He certainly would believe it if you said so.

"Beloved..." he breathes out, hand trailing down your own before dipping to where his other one rests at your waist and pulling you close, "I'm not worthy."

Your lips curl up, eyes crinkling around the corners as you loop your arms around his neck, breath hot against his skin. "Didn't I just say that I'm the one not worthy?"

His cape billows behind him, reaching for the hem of your skirt like he, himself, often does your hand—for safety, for comfort, for you.

"Nonsense, Habibti. I would tear down the world if it meant saving you."

And he would.

And you know he would.

"See? That's why you're my hero, Dami."

Warmth blooms through his chest at the mischievous sparkle in your eye, his gaze growing heavy with all the words he wishes to say, but can't find the perfect way to.

So instead, he simply says, "Yes, well, I suppose you've got me there."

—And accepts, with a smile, his fate as your hero.