#end of summer feeling is melancholy but hopeful

[stimsz]

end of summer stimboard for my birthday🌼

🍓 🍓 🍓 / 🍓 🍓 🍓 / 🍓 🍓 🍓

[lattenha]

TERRIBLE TWOS — P. SUNGHOON

SYNOPSIS! A rash decision on your end causes you and Sunghoon to break up. What you think is for the best turns out to be the complete opposite, actually. Cue two years later when a random encounter with your ex forces you to revisit past feelings that has never quite fully departed from either of you. PAIRING! Chairman!Sunghoon x Fem!Reader WC! 11.4k (Got carried away)

GENRE/CW! Exes getting back together, fluff, slight angst if you squint, smut (fingering, brief mentions of fem oral receiving, sunghoon has a 7 inch cock; i headcanon that, unprotected sex, missionary, creampie, lots of tongue kissing), swearing, reader is in denial just a tad bit, ft. non-idol!yunjin, reader is a struggling fine arts major, etc. MDNI

A/N: originally, i intended for this to be a simple one shot but it somehow turned out to be greater than that in the end lol. this was also my first attempt at writing smut; i've always wanted to try it but damn is it kinda hard. i feel like the title doesn't match or capture the story as good but whatever-- it used to be called 'seasons,' yet that didn't make sense either so... terrible twos it is! i hope you enjoy <3

“Y/n?” 

A trace of uncertainty laces the man's voice, his mind racing with the possibility that he might have mistaken a stranger for someone from his past. Internally, he winces at the prospect of this awkward mix-up, dreading such an encounter with a random person. He clings to the hope that his intuition proves accurate.

Could it really be her? Amid the bustling crowd, she always managed to stand out, an unmistakable aura surrounding her. Her presence eclipsed even the most vibrant of settings, radiating a unique energy that outshone a field of flowers.

When he tentatively calls out her name in a hushed tone, she spins around on her heel, and for an ephemeral moment, Sunghoon feels as though he's stepped into a scene from a classic romance film.

Time stills and so does he. 

Each of your movements steals his breath away. The way your hair dances in harmony with the wind, and how your eyelashes cast the most delicate shadow upon your high cheekbones. Your gradual unveiling leaves him struggling to swallow past an inexplicable lump in his throat. 

Sunghoon notices the moment your eyes widen. Behind those enchanting orbs, he discerns a flicker of nostalgia and a touch of melancholy. During your time together, he had the uncanny ability to read those emotions hidden within the depths of your eyes.

“Sunghoon…” You say no louder than a mere whisper that could easily get lost in the summer’s wind that passes through the both of you. 

Your heart throbs in your chest. The biological response is far too overwhelming that you can feel your stomach tying itself in double knots. You think you might need to be pointed to the nearest bathroom so you can barf up the swarm of butterflies that disturb your system. No doubt, does crossing paths with an ex whom you share a long history with manage to do that to you. 

“H-how are you?” You’re the first to strike up a conversation despite that being Sunghoon’s unspoken responsibility. 

How am I? Sunghoon has to brace himself to collect his messy thoughts. 

“I’m pretty good, and yourself?”

His response is curt and short. In any other setting, he would have elaborated on his answer but he wasn’t sure how much information was too much to reveal to an ex regarding the state of his well-being. You nod at his words, not really expecting much nor having high hopes that he would give you more to work with in this conversation of playing catch-up between an ex. 

See, your relationship ended amicably, with both of you acknowledging that the spark kindled between you two had faded out. With your mind elsewhere, too focused on your academics (so you like to say), and Sunghoon preparing to inherit his family’s business, there was little room for romance in either of your daily routines. Your typical weekend dates were swapped out for meetings with major corporations and other soon-to-be-chairman-related activities so that he could fully understand what the rest of his future held for him. 

Even though you missed having your boyfriend's undivided attention, you refused to act as a temporary roadblock that prevented him from making significant progress. Despite your heart and brain being at war with each other, you made the conscious decision to slowly back down from being his lover and tucked your face in the pages of your academic textbooks.

With Sunghoon too busy to even acknowledge that his girlfriend was distancing herself from him, you were the first to come forward, bearing the news that breaking up would be the optimal solution to your and his fading presence in one another’s lives. 

That night when you bid goodbye, he felt half his heart shatter inside of him. Little did you know that you carried the other part wherever you went, but now that you were no longer capable of sheltering that missing piece, it almost made him want to die inside more than just a tad bit— a lot, actually.

He pretended to play it cool as your back turned to him and he watched you retreat to your car, feeling both helpless and defeated. With an unflinching countenance, a tightly clenched jaw, and fingers gripped at his sides, Sunghoon longed for his feet to have chased after you, preventing your departure from his life. He yearned to undo whatever had driven you away, to rewrite his mistakes and reshape your shared history.

Sadly, not even the first star in the sky he saw at night could grant him something as demanding as that.

On the contrary, had those things happened, he wouldn’t be here today on a Thursday afternoon rekindling a connection that got tossed up in the air and fell through his fingertips.

“I—“ Before you get a chance to deliver your sentence Sunghoon’s hold on your arm prompts him to draw you to his chest. 

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat, eyes simultaneously widening for the second time thanks to a certain ex. You look up at the taller one with crinkled brows. A mixture of confusion and a looming feeling in the deepest pit of your stomach that hasn’t quite left, tugging at your heartstrings. His intoxicating scent of Dior Sauvage is all too overwhelming for your nose to take in. You swear your head could start spinning any minute now. 

He’s so close to you. You’re so close to him. If someone were to come by and accidentally bump into you, you would be pressed up against his chest, breaking what limited distance is keeping you two apart. 

A bike rider disrupting pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk whizzes by, obnoxiously ringing the bell attached to their handlebar as if they aren’t to be blamed for riding on the concrete pavement, and it’s only then do you realize that Sunghoon was protecting you from getting hit. His body relaxes once he declares that it’s safe for you to comfortably stand in the open from any oncoming obstructions. 

“Sorry… acted on impulse.” His grasp on you immediately retreats to the inside of his pant pockets and you swear that his touch leaves a ghosting sensation on your skin. 

Sunghoon refuses to meet your lingering gaze, eyes averting to some random couple walking their dog across the street from where the two of you are standing. It’s almost funny how he fully believed two years ago that one day both of you would be exactly like that: dog owners who take their beloved fur baby on walks together and enjoy the simplicity of the little things that a relationship has to offer. 

“It’s okay, thank you,” You murmur, unsure of where things should go from here. 

A beat of silence comes and goes before Sunghoon has the chance to take the initiative to prove he’s different from his past self. 

The past self you witnessed throughout the duration of your shared romanticism. The past self who failed to convince you to stay because he never wanted you to leave his side. What he wanted was to work things out and to understand what he could do to change and make things better for the two of you.

Even if that meant you breaking up with him first to realize this.

“Listen, why don’t we…” He suddenly starts. Sunghoon analyzes your face and when your features evidently show that you’re all ears for what he has to say, he takes a deep breath to compose himself. “Get dinner. Together.“ 

Although the question comes out more like a demand rather than a request, you’re slightly taken aback because you were almost certain Sunghoon probably resents you for the breakup— at least that’s what you tell yourself— and that he doesn’t want any business involving you entering his life for a repeat performance. The only different thing is that you’re his ex.

Can you blame him? It was so sudden.

The concealed hurt he tried to mask but failed to do so when you told him you wanted to end things, hoping it’d be left on good terms, rambling about how much you do and will continue to care for him no matter what he does in life or who he chooses to love after you. It seems you did more talking than he got the chance to, and Sunghoon wasn’t sure if you had this all planned leading up to that moment, or if he should’ve seen it coming. 

Whatever it was, Sunghoon could never hate or repent you, but you’re no telepathic mind-reader and wouldn’t know how he feels about you now unless you asked. 

Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth as you ponder the idea of sitting in a fancy restaurant with Sunghoon and sharing a long conversation over an expensive meal that is highly overpriced for its ridiculously small portions. 

“On one condition,” You quip. Sunghoon gestures for you to keep going and you clear your throat. “No five-star Michelin places, okay? I just want a simple dinner to make up for lost time.” 

The older male chuckles, nodding his head sensibly. If there’s one thing Sunghoon learned about you is that you were never hard to please and preferred the opposite of a high-end luxury lifestyle that he naturally grew up with. 

“Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 8, how’s that sound?” 

“That’s perfect but um—“ you purse your lips. “Do you… Do you still remember where I live?” 

“Of course. It would take a lot more than time and distance apart from each other, for me to forget your every being.”

Sunghoon leans in to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The underlying intimacy hiding beneath his actions has you contemplating what the course of your relationship would have looked like for the two of you, had you not broken up with a man as sweet and thoughtful as him.

Was calling it quits between you two a mistake? Should you have stuck it out just a little longer? 

You can only shove those thoughts to the farthest point in the back of your mind and recenter your focus to the handsome ravenette. 

Sunghoon, sporting a warm grin that gradually grows into a pearly white showcase of his perfect teeth and adorable canines, makes it worth marveling if second chances are a thing that people still stand by. 

The next evening, Sunghoon unexpectedly arrived at your front door 20 minutes ahead of your readiness. While you were trying to situate yourself into your cami dress that paired well with the current season, a knocking sound coming from the entrance to your studio unit startled you in its wake. You tapped on the screen of your phone to check the time and crinkled your nose when the numbers staring back at you read 7:40. 

Sunghoon’s habit of arriving for an occasion earlier than expected was not unusual for his character. The taller's mannerisms crept into other facets of his social life after years of being trained to believe that "early is on time" and "on time is late." However, 20 minutes ahead of schedule was definitely new to you, and part of you can’t help but think if this is stemming from anxiety or if that’s just you projecting your nerves onto his much early arrival. 

“Just a sec!” You struggled to reach for the zipper to your dress, stress-sweating due to the pressure of having to rush through the rest of your routine.

After what felt like a millennia you finally managed to seal yourself shut into your attire and scurried to the front door where poor Sunghoon was waiting for you to answer.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t get to the zipper of my dress and I don’t think me flashing you or my neighbors in semi-public is socially acceptable.” You awkwardly laugh, strands of hair sticking to the back of your neck and forehead from the accumulated sweat you managed to produce. 

Sunghoon chuckles, shaking his head at your guilty tendency to overshare too much information for the dramatics.

“No worries. I know I showed up earlier than expected. Don’t worry about me, do what you need to do.” He smiles softly and for a second it almost slips your mind that you’re no longer romantically involved with each other. 

Oh, how you wish you could leap at him and smother the dashing man with kisses all over his Greek god-like, beautiful face…

“Here,” The taller unveils a bouquet of flowers that he attempted (underline, attempted) to hide behind his back. In reality, you could already see bits of it peeking out but chose to play coy about the item he was holding back from giving you. 

You fawn at the striking arrangement of tulips that come in different shades of the prettiest of pinks. Tulips. Of course, he would remember that those are your favorite. His words from yesterday ring in your ears, and believing them, you truly start to confide that Sunghoon could never boot you out of his memory as easy as a snap of his fingers.

“The prettiest bunch of flowers for the prettiest girl.” Sunghoon cautiously says, unsure if that would be stepping a line. To be fair, there isn’t an official handbook on what you should or shouldn’t say to an ex— except for some of the more common phrases; whatever that may be.

You let out a lighthearted laugh at the bold, yet cheesy, compliment and invited Sunghoon into the safe haven of your apartment, ignoring the way your heart practically skipped a beat when he said that. 

He’s been here on plentiful occasions so he’s really no stranger to the arrangement of your flat and could probably draw out an entire floor plan if he wanted to. At one point he almost committed to the thought of moving in with you, but you were a firm believer that it would be best if he stuck to the minimalist mansion he decorated himself; it was passed down to him from none other than his father. Needless to say, Sunghoon was a pouty puppy that day.

“I’m almost ready I promise.” You say. “I just need to add some finishing touches and then I’m all yours for the night.” Immediately your hands fly to your mouth when realization dawns on you about the delivery of your words. 

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, and luckily, you miss the faint smirk that tugs at the corner of his plump lips teasingly.

“You know what I mean!” You panic, waving off the metaphorical atmosphere that surrounds both of you.

You excuse yourself and escape to your room as the tips of your ears start to flush with embarrassment.

Once the door leading to your bedroom shuts behind you with a mellow thud, your back presses up against the surface of the entryway. A loud sigh that you weren't even aware you were repressing since Sunghoon arrived breaks out past your tinted lips. With your mind a foggy mess and your heart threatening to leap right out of your chest, you’re under the impression that you resemble the stereotypical anime school girl the way your entire demeanor changes when you’re around him. 

But that’s the thing.

It’s only Sunghoon. 

It’s just Sunghoon.

So what if you guys dated in high school and partially during college? So what if he was the first and only guy you’ve been with, and even though you have no one to compare him to, he would still be the best ex you could ever have? So what if you regret breaking up with him because you got ahead of yourself and refused to be transparent with him? 

So what if you want him back…

You pat both sides of your cheeks to wake yourself from a philosophical dilemma. you refuse to go down a rabbit hole of emotions especially when you’re about to go out to dinner. 

You shuffle through your wardrobe in search of a certain pair of Converse that a special someone gave to you as a birthday gift. When you find it neatly stored away in its original packaging and the box that it came in you’re almost too eager to slip your feet into the collar of the Chuck Taylor’s.

You halt in your steps when you reach your vanity and grab your everyday bottle of perfume, spritzing one pump, then two, then three, and four more of the floral scent, that you’re showering yourself in it at this point.

When you've deemed that you’re completely ready and satisfied with your appearance for the evening, you exit the inviting comfort of your cozy chambers. Sunghoon’s back is facing you as you ascend into the living room. You can’t make out much of what he’s doing and he’s seemingly too preoccupied to notice your footsteps stalk across the wooden paneling. His neck is craned downward looking at something on the decorative table where you have a neat arrangement of framed pictures. 

“You still have this?” He turns around revealing the photograph that he was referring to, now in his possession. There’s a distant glimmer of emotion that you can’t quite make out peeking around the curves of his irises. 

You let out a resigned sigh. 

You’ve been caught red-handed for leaving a single trace of the past out in the open. 

Of all the furniture and miscellaneous objects that collect dust on different surfaces in your flat, Sunghoon chose to go for the photograph of you and him standing under a cherry blossom tree in Ilsan Park. Your arm was hooked around his waist and his was wrapped around your shoulder. The brightest of smiles stretched across your faces as petals danced around you. It was the perfect moment captured in stillness and you wish you could leap through pictures to relive that special day. A distant memory that feels like it happened not too long ago.

“I couldn’t get rid of it. It’s— That’s one of my favorite pictures of us.” You simply explain. 

It was true, because out of all of the selfies, candid photos, and other pictures you shared together with Sunghoon, your date to Ilsan Park remained your number one core memory as a couple. 

You watch intently as Sunghoon places the photo back where it originally belonged on the console.

“I think that’s one of my favorites, too.” He says as a matter of fact. “That or the one where we went to Lotte World and wore matching uniforms together.” The taller laughs.

You giggled, the recollection of your amusement park date flashing across your mind. You dragged him to go on each and every attraction with you as he stumbled in your tracks, struggling to keep up with your social battery. You felt like two high schoolers in love at the ripe age of 20 because being with Sunghoon gave you the impression that you were your 15-year-old self again. 

“I like that one as well! I thought I looked pretty cute in that uniform.” You grin sheepishly.

Sunghoon chuckles and it causes you to whip your head to survey him. His eyes crinkle before they’re no longer crescent and back to their original doe-eyed shape. 

“You’re still cute, y’know that?” 

The comment sends your heart ablaze along with the blood that rushes to the surface of your cheeks. You can only hope that the thin layer of makeup and blush you applied is strong enough to camouflage the effect that sunghoon has on you. It’s no secret that he was always a smooth talker and still is. It makes you wonder if he’s ever used that flirtatious skill on other women he’s come across after you— or if he has. 

You tut your tongue at him and reach for your crossbody purse draped on the couch that you lazily tossed aside yesterday after coming home. 

“Ready, m’lady?” Sunghoon twists the knob and pushes the front door open, supporting the weight with his broad frame to keep it from closing in on you two when you exit. 

“Wait!” You pip, halting in your steps. You briskly retreat to your room and grab the bouquet of tulips you left on the side table next to your bed. 

You scurry over to Sunghoon, cradling the arrangement of florals like it was your baby. The haired boy opens his mouth to say something but you’re too fast to retort, 

“I wanna show it off. They’re too pretty to be left at home.” 

He nods and motions his hand for you to leave the unit first. The taller gives himself a mental pat on the back for inquiring in a floral shop before coming to retrieve you for dinner.

Tulips are a girl’s best friend, after all. For you, at least.

Coincidentally dinner happens to occur at the one restaurant you frequently visited when you and Sunghoon were dating. It was a simple ma and pa spot only locals in the area knew of. They were popularly known for their cold noodles and ginseng chicken soup. You like to think of it as a secret only two of you know about and continue to gatekeep it from your friends or families from ever coming across of it. 

The owners grew familiar with both of you through your frequent visits and friendly conversations. your rapport with them resulted in a warm welcome every time you returned, often accompanied by a generous discount as a token of their appreciation. Since your last visit to their restaurant, a while has gone by, and you both have been overdue to make an appearance at the restaurant.

“Aigoo, Sunghoon-ah, it’s been so long!” Mrs. Kim exclaims, wearing the biggest and brightest smile that brings out the crinkles in her complexion when she notices two familiar faces. “And Y/n, it’s good to see you too!” She turns to you with the same mien still permanently plastered on her face. 

You bow your head. Her contagious smile has you mirroring her grin. 

“Come, come, sit.” She waves her hand for the two of you to follow in her trail as she leads both of you to your— undesignated but designated— table that you and Sunghoon would constantly sit at.

Before you even have a chance to pull out your chair, Sunghoon beats you to it with surprising swiftness. The aged wood scrapes gently against the floor as he courteously pulls the chair back for you. A warm smile tugs at your lips as you appreciate this chivalrous gesture, unable to contain a soft giggle of delight. 

Mrs. Kim watches the interaction between the two of you and smirks, completely out of the loop that you have broken up; still under the assumption that you’re both dating to this day. Who could blame her when in her eyes you were the perfect missing piece for one another in this world like you were made for each other from the start. 

“The usual?” She asks despite already knowing the answer to her question. 

“Yes please,” Sunghoon nods.

He sits after folding his blazer in half so that it can rest neatly on the chair's backrest. To add some fuel to the flame, he unbuttons the cuffs to his long sleeves and rolls them past his forearms so that they stop an inch below his elbows. The expensive watch that rests snugly on his wrist glistens, almost blinding you. You’re reminded that the man sitting across from you is responsible for an entire company under his name and capable of powerful things.

You gulp. You feel like you’re watching something you shouldn’t be and instead take an interest in the condiments that are pushed to the side of your table. 

Soy sauce, vinegar, napkins… 

When you think that you’re ready to re-center your attention onto Sunghoon once your racing heart has calmed down from its high, the taller has his eyes closed as he combs his fingers through his hair. His lips are parted ever so slightly and there’s a shine to his plush tiers.

He has to be doing this on purpose now.

You watch the way his Adam apple bobs when he swallows and you swear it should be a sin to look this effortlessly good in warm overhead lighting. 

You huff, a little too audibly for the male across from you to hear and his doe eyes flutter open. The sudden eye contact catches you off guard and you’re struggling to maintain yourself from the tension your mind is projecting. You shift around in your chair trying to find a more comfortable position.

This is going to be a long dinner.

After Mrs. Kim returned with your delectable dishes, the food vanished quickly as you guys delved into stories and shared the exciting highlights of your respective journeys. You and Sunghoon spent the rest of your meal at the table reminiscing about the past two years including the many ups and downs you’ve dealt with.

You learned that a month after your breakup, Sunghoon’s father officially stepped down, handing over the reins of the company to his son as the new successor. The ravenette confided in you, revealing that even though he had been groomed for this role his whole life, the transition wasn't as smooth as he had envisioned. The weight of responsibility felt overwhelming. Taking charge of a major company brought with it a level of pressure he had never experienced before. The expectations were high, both from the company's board and the employees who had known him since he was young.

As he grappled with the complexities of his new position, Sunghoon couldn't help but reminisce about a simpler life. He missed the carefree moments he used to share with you, the laughter, and the ease of his unannounced visits when he would turn up at your door with snacks he bought from the corner store and canned beer. 

Eventually his determination and drive to persevere kept him standing strong in the face of these obstacles. With his family behind him, a supportive workforce, and you in the back of his mind, he knew he had people to look back on and make them proud. 

You praised the older for his character development, gushing at his transition from uncertainty to confidence, while sympathizing with the initial troubles he first started off with. Being a chairman at his age is bound to weigh heavily on his mental and emotional health, and you can’t help but wish that you had stayed by his side through it all in order to be that support pillar he needed at immediacy.

“So, what about you? I didn’t really get to hear your answer yesterday.” Sunghoon asks.

You blinked. “Me? Well, uhm…” 

A bubble of insecurity creeps into your stomach. Your mind races through a mental checklist of your own achievements, or rather, the lack thereof, especially when compared to Sunghoon’s impressive journey. While your lives have taken very drastically different paths, you can’t shake the feeling that at the end of the day, the two of you are worlds apart from each other. He’s the chairman of a highly respected company. And you? You’re just a college graduate with a bachelor’s degree in fine arts. A pursuit that feels miles away from Sunghoon’s milestones. 

During the period that he was absent from your everyday life, all you managed to build was your art portfolio, which you eagerly sent to numerous galleries in a desperate bid to gain recognition as a struggling artist. Rejection letters became an all too familiar sight, each offering the same hollow praise— impressed but not interested. Those were dark times, where self-doubt loomed large.

Thankfully, your situation started to improve when you summoned the courage to step out of your comfort zone. You took to social media, opening art accounts on Instagram and Twitter, and sharing your artistic odyssey on TikTok. Yunjin, one of your closest friends and best friend since middle school, commissioned you to paint a mural inside a cafe she was working at. “I begged my boss for this to happen!” She said enthusiastically over the phone the night she asked you for the favor. Everything to you was a leap of faith, a glimmer of hope that prompted you to fully believe in the light at the end of every tunnel. 

In spite of your situation turning out for the better, it was impossible to ignore the inescapable sense of solitude and loneliness that clung to you like a shadow. It followed you everywhere you went. A mental reminder that, no matter how bright life was starting to seem, you still felt trapped and not completely content with yourself.

You convey these exact thoughts and feelings to Sunghoon in a messy ramble, hoping that this unintentional therapy session you’ve turned dinner into won’t scare him off. You can only hope that you’re not ruining the evening with a sob story of another art kid struggling to make a name for themselves in a society, where choosing art as a career path is at a greater disadvantage in comparison to your stronger counterparts. 

When you find yourself coming to the end of your rant, a wave of silence washes over the table, and you grab the nearest cup of water to gulp from. Ignoring the condensation that sweats around the glass and soils your palms. Your eyes look everywhere, purposefully avoiding Sunghoon and the tragic visage he’s probably giving you right about now.

“Y/n, look at me.” 

You raise your head, complying to his soft demand. 

“I’m proud of you,” he begins, and in that instant, a surge of emotion that has been suppressed for far too long wells up within you. “It takes a lot of courage and willpower to continue to follow a path you’re uncertain of.” The comment makes Sunghoon chuckle dryly, closely reminded of himself, shaking his head. “But look at you, you’re doing so great.”

The warmth in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes— they combine like a gentle storm, and suddenly, tears brim your eyes, begging to spill over. Your vision is splotchy and you refuse to blink, save for ruining your mascara. You weren’t planning on being an emotional wreck tonight, especially over dinner with your ex.

“I understand how hard it must have been dealing with those struggles alone, and I wish I was there by your side to help support you when it happened.” Sunghoon continues. He pauses to take in a breath before resuming, “But I’m here now… I’m not going anywhere, and if you’d let me— I want back into your life again, Y/n.”

A solitary tear breaks free, followed by another, and then another, until suddenly your eyes unleash a torrent of waterworks like a relentless downpour from a stormy sky. You hide your face in a handful of napkins you hastily grabbed, unaware that Sunghoon got up to move from his seat and slipped into the chair next to yours. His touch catches you off guard but you immediately relax as he guides you into his embrace, allowing you to hide yourself in his arms; your face tucked away in his chest. He caresses your hair, his slender fingers thread through your styled locks as he lulls you to comfort from your shaken state.

The two of you stay rooted in that position until you confidently and mentally reassure yourself that you are okay; you’re going to be okay. Your breathing has calmed down from its high and returned to a normal, healthy rate as your tears subsided and are non-existent.

No longer conscious of your makeup— a matter far from substantial to care for anymore— you wipe away the mess around your eyes. Black clumps of mascara and some concealer transfer onto the napkin. Seeing the stains garner a weak laugh to emit from you. Sunghoon cranes his neck to survey what you’ve become engrossed with. He sees the ruined makeup and laughs lightly into your hair. 

You’re thankful that there aren’t many customers dining in tonight and that it’s just you, Sunghoon, and three other parties who are far too busy drinking, conversing, and laughing amongst themselves to acknowledge the young couple tucked away in the corner.

Mrs. Kim leads both you and Sunghoon out of the restaurant with a warmth akin to a grandmother bidding her grandchildren farewell, her heartfelt wish for your safe return home evident in her loving smile.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Kim. Thank you, again, for another delicious dinner.” Sunghoon bows at a 90-degree angle and the formality stirs a boisterous laugh from the frail old lady. You mimic his actions, also expressing your gratitude for the lovely meal and free dessert she served to you guys ‘on the house.’ 

“When you guys come back I better see a wedding ring on her finger, Sunghoon-ah.” Mrs. Kim scolds lightly. You almost choke on your own saliva at the remark, coughing awkwardly to cover up your bewilderment. Sunghoon does his best to maintain his composure for the sake of the elder’s oblivion.

“You guys disappear for two years and still no diamond in sight. I was hoping some big change happened!” She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth, crossing her arms.

Sunghoon dips his head again in an apologetic manner. “You and Mr. Kim will be the first people we come to with a wedding invitation.” 

You whack the taller’s arm giving him a what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about look, eyebrows scrunched with perplexity. The last thing you want is to continue to feed into Mrs. Kim’s false reality that the two of you are still a couple. Who’s to say that Sunghoon isn’t actually on the same page as you and everything is just a facade? I mean, sure, he’s been flirty here and there, bought you flowers, comforted you at dinner, and practically asked you to take him back… 

Your trust in Sunghoon has clearly waned, a result of your fluctuating self-confidence that leads you to confide in the pessimistic "what ifs." Your clouded judgment and self-doubt gnaw at your thoughts, casting doubt on the possibility of a reunion between the two of you. 

Sunghoon ignores the daggers slicing at the left side of his face and the buzzing pain you inflicted on him from the harsh impact of your hand. His digits dig gently into your side, drawing you closer to him. You stumble ever so slightly and flash an unconvincing awkward smile to the old lady.

You situate yourselves into the driver and passenger seats of his Hyundai Ioniq. You’re quiet when you pull the seat belt over your upper half, and for the first 10 minutes, not a single word was uttered from either you or the male sitting behind the wheel. Your mind loiters as you watch the building lights illuminating the dark troposphere of Seoul whizz by at 2x speed.

You and Mr. Kim will be the first people we come to with a wedding invitation.

Yeah right… You almost roll your eyes but catch yourself prolonging the idea of a hypothetical engagement and wedding ceremony with Sunghoon as your groom. 

Would he have gone down on one knee to propose to you had both of you remained lovers? 

You shake the contemplation loose from your prefrontal cortex. 

“Is it okay if I roll the window down?” You’re the first to break the ice. Sunghoon nods, his attention still focused on the road in front of him. Without looking, his fingers find the car’s air-con button to turn it off and he gives you the ‘go’ to proceed with your desire. 

The tempered glass descends and you’re immediately greeted with the beating rush of the summertime air. You giggle and rest your arms on the weatherstrip trimming of the Hyundai, your head poking out like an excited dog who’s riding in the car with its tongue hanging from its mouth. You close your eyes, taking in the wind that messes with your hair and brushes past your skin. It’s enough to transcend you into a different headspace, almost forgetting that you’re in a moving vehicle and not on some speedboat skidding across the water in Europe.

Sunghoon looks your way, unable to suppress the natural smile that lights up his face whenever he sees you. You truly are a surge of energy he needs when he wants to uplift himself if he’s feeling down. You’re his happy pill— so much so, that he wishes he could keep a chibi version of you for him to carry in the pocket square of his suits and let you rome on the wooden surface of his office desk to help him get through the work day. It’s silly and love-sickening, but Sunghoon only knows how to act a fool with you around him. 

His fingers drum against the padding of the steering wheel, waking you from your daydream. You hadn’t realized that you’ve already made it back to the city and are soon approaching your apartment complex. Your neighborhood is only a couple of turns away from your current destination as the two of you sit at a red light. You roll the window up, at least it was fun for the duration it endured. 

When he pulls up on the side of the street in front of your building, you try to find some lame excuse to stay with him for another minute longer, not wanting to say goodnight to him. You’re scared that this evening will be a one-off event and you'll return to your old ways, enveloped once more in the arms of self-isolation that consumes you completely.

Your grip on the door handle tightens. 

“Sunghoon,” you shift your view in his direction. “You don’t mind walking me to my front door, do you?” 

The male smiles with his eyes.

“Who am I to not accompany a lady when needed.” 

Sunghoon makes quick work to unbuckle himself from the driver’s seat and rounds the front of the car to open the door for you. He holds out his hand for you to take, which you generously do so, and grants him the unspoken permission to whisk you away into the levels of your residential building. 

The elevator ride is a close resemblance to the trip back to your place, however, there’s a contrasting atmosphere waiting to burst like a champagne bottle and spill over. Sunghoon’s holding your hand the entire way and you don’t resist the notion. 

When you approach your unit at the end of the hall, you fish for your keys that are sitting at the bottom of your bag. Sunghoon’s hand slips out of your grasp and you almost whine at the loss of his warmth and touch, but you know he’s only doing it for you to use both free hands to ultimately unlock your door. The click! of the lock coming from the other side is an indication that you can push past the door once the knob is turned.

You stand there, hesitant to enter your own home. 

“I guess— this is it?” You murmur tentatively to yourself and the taller. You rock on your heels purposefully stalling time as you force both him and yourself to stare a little longer at the iron numbers detailing your front door. 

You let out a rigged breath.

“Tonight was great. The longest I’ve been out of the house in a month, really.” You cringe pathetically at the confession knowing that a month ago Yunjin was the one who pulled you out of bed to get some fresh air and sunlight because you were hiding away like a vampire. "Thank you... Sunghoon, for treating me to dinner and spending the evening with me..."

He remains stoic and unusually quiet, making it challenging to decipher what he’s thinking or feeling. You wish you could enter his mind to get a glimpse of how his brain functions. You’d hate to seem pitiful for hoping that his advances from today were, if at all, genuine.

If what he said at dinner was coming from the heart.

As you contemplate what might be your last encounter with your 'the one who got away,’ Sunghoon astounds you with yet another trick up his sleeve, when he secures your wrist in his delicate grasp. Forever one step ahead of you, his lips collide with yours in a passionate fervent. The only appropriate reaction that you can give him in response is to return the kiss with just as much fervor. The strap to your purse slides off your shoulders and lands below you with a little thud thanks to Sunghoon’s antsy hands pushing it out of the way.

He cages you against the surface of the door, your back bumping into it when he forces the distance between your bodies to dissipate. Bothered by the tiny gap that prevents you from being as close as you possibly can to him. The only active barrier is now the layer of clothing he’s wearing and the tiny dress that nearly clings to your every curve. He can’t wait to impatiently rip you out of it and slip in a “I’ll buy you a new one, princess.”

Your hands find sanctuary in his soft hair. How you missed tugging at their roots when he’d go down on you in bed, on the kitchen counter, and in the shower with your one leg supporting your entire weight as Sunghoon made the other side dangle over his shoulder. Those positions are tempting, and biologically the flashbacks of your sexual activity with the male feed into the expansion of your slick that gradually soils your panties.  

You squeeze your thighs together. The pressure of your inner fat is an empty feeling of pleasure that you wish Sunghoon could replace with his tongue, fingers, cock, or all three one at a time. The male notices this cry-for-help and trails his right hand down the sides of your waist. He stops at the lace hemming of the cami dress, bunching the material to provide easy access to your mid-thigh. His fingers dance on your skin, traveling upward ever so slowly in an antagonizing fashion that almost infuriates you for his teasing manner in the heat of the moment. 

Sunghoon reluctantly breaks the kiss. The evidence of your already smudged matte lipstick has left a faint trace on his plump tiers. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, mouth ready to latch onto the sensitive area he knows best that will cloud every crevice of your mind with nothing but want and lust. At the end of this night, all that you will know is how to be his obedient cocksleeve like the good girl he’s conditioned you into.

The sound of someone clearing their throat on the opposite end of your apartment’s hallway is akin to a record player scratch. You’re grateful that the construction workers, or whoever built this place, designed the structure of your building to be a certain way so that the split-off point from the elevator wasn’t a simple corridor style where you could see both fire exits at each side. Instead, it was more so a wide V-shape. 

In other words, no one really caught you and Sunghoon in semi-public eating one another’s faces. 

You stop to share a quiet laugh with Sunghoon and ultimately enter the safe space of your flat, out of your neighbors point of view where they could have had a free, front-row seat to some juicy content. The door closes behind you, you can barely get out of your shoes and make it past the front step leading to your living room when Sunghoon’s haste to have you underneath the sheets with him in your bed has you stumbling backward. He catches you before you can register that you would have fallen onto your ass against the hardwood. His lips serve him well, contributing to the situation as a distraction that redirects your every inner thought bubble. 

Sunghoon casually kicks off his shoes, adding them to the haphazard pile alongside yours— the least of his concerns at the moment.

The kiss from outside repeats itself, and this time, Sunghoon can contently resume what he intended to do had another tenant not interrupted the mood. But the voyeurism exploration kink in him would have liked either sequence of events. 

His tongue traces a wet stripe up your neck, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. You dully bite down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle the whimper that is sanctioned at the back of your throat, trapped by a surge of lust and anticipation. Sunghoon’s mouth ghosts over the shell of your ear, and his hot breath tickles. 

“I wanna hear you, baby.” He slurs. “Don’t be shy on me now.” 

Sunghoon’s lips sheathe that sensitive spot on your neck, causing you to gasp. Your shoulders tense at the foreign feeling of his mouth on your body, and you’ve forgotten how good it was to receive a hickey. You relax under his touch when he gives the soft fat of your waist a reassuring squeeze.

His canines graze your skin while he sucks on the same patch, switching interchangeably to lap his tongue at the area when he begins to see a blossom of red and purple hues mix together, creating the prettiest bruise that would surely take more than a couple of days to fully heal. You groan when his teeth apply the right amount of force onto your flesh, leaving indents in their wake. His perverted mind relishes in the fact that only he is capable of marking you in ways that no other man could ever come close to.

He steps back to fully appreciate his canvas, that is you, and the absolute masterpiece that you are to him.

He leans in, pressing another kiss to your lips, this time with a gentler, more tender spirit, devoid of any sloppy motions. It’s delicate, a striking contrast to the heated lip-locking session the two of you were entranced with just moments ago on the other side of your apartment door. His larger palms cup your face as the pads of his thumbs caress the apples of your cheeks, making you feel loved and cared for.

Sunghoon lures your tongue into his mouth, clamping his lips around the muscle. He suckles at it, eliciting the cutest whimpers that he missed hearing from you since you’ve been gone. 

“Hnngh… Hah,” you pry yourself off of him, a string of your shared saliva connects the two of your equally moist lips. 

Your puffy lips shimmer in the moonlight streaming into your livingroom, as if the moon itself decided to play a starring role tonight. You squeeze his bicep, noticing that the muscle has doubled in size since you last touched it. You peer up at the taller through your eyelashes and Sunghoon has to conceal his primal instincts from fucking your throat with his raging hard-on. 

Your fingers graze the fabric of his long-sleeve collar, tracing delicate patterns across the black tie donned around his neck. Something about being able to witness a man up close in a suit never failed to provoke a flood of arousal from overwhelming your erogenous zone. Specifically, Sunghoon. It’s a shame— not really— that it eventually has to come off. With a deft touch, you begin to unravel the four-in-hand knot, a testament to Sunghoon’s meticulous self-preparation. The silk unravels, revealing its intricate texture beneath your fingertips. 

You assist Sunghoon in removing his suit jacket next, observing it gracefully descend to the floor. You briefly wonder why he's so nonchalant about leaving such an expensive garment on the ground, but he dismisses your concern with a wave of his hand. After all, as a chairman, he has the means and privilege to easily replace such clothing items.

You decide that it’s your turn to take the lead for once and initiate another heated session of sultry lip service. Your mouth kisses Sunghoon’s with primal hunger. Teeth clash, and you see no remorse for your hostility sponsored by pent-up sexual frustration and longing for some sort of relief that only Sunghoon can render. 

In a poor attempt to unbutton the last layer of clothing that shields Sunghoon’s upper half, your fingers fumble with the small disks that are fastened by the slits. You whine frustratedly against his lips once you realize you’re not making much progress. It is incredibly hard to multitask when your tongue is being manhandled by his.

“Here, lemme do it.“ Sunghoon mutters in a low growl. 

He tears open the placket just like he would to a bag of chips, and the buttons you were struggling to relieve him of pop off in ease, taunting you for your lack of efficiency at getting him out of his attire. He wriggles his arms free from the restraints of his sleeves and shrugs the apparel from the summit of his shoulders, allowing the ruined piece to join his suit jacket on the floor.

“Your turn, babe.” 

He twirls you around, your back fully pressed against his front as the tent in his pants pokes at your globes. The thrill of his length nestled between your ass spurs you to grind yourself on him, a staggered exhale of his hot breath fans the curvature of your trapezius, prickling your skin. The cotton material of your underwear cultivates a sticky sensation the longer you stay trapped in it.

“S-shit baby, you’re a fucking tease.” Sunghoon grabs your chin, forcing your head to turn his way so that he can seize your lips in an inconsistent kiss. Alternatively, it’s a tongue duel of him wanting to shove the muscular organ down your throat.

“A-ahh,” You moan helplessly.

He yanks the zipper of your dress. The item peels off of your bust, exposing your bare skin and naked torso simultaneously. You have to wriggle your hips past the remaining fabric in order to fully reveal your bare figure to Sunghoon— besides your damp panties that is.

“No bra today? It’s almost like you were expecting this to happen…” Sunghoon taunts.

“N-no…” You squeak, shaking your head.

“No? Use your words baby.”

You turn to face him, your perky mounds that come into his view are a sight for sore eyes. Even in the dark and scant amount of natural lighting from the celestial object in the night sky, is Sunghoon competent at reading your flustered features. How you manage to be cute yet look so lewd all at once is beyond his comprehension.

“I-I didn’t wear a bra because I thought it’d be easier to go without one.” You mumble, telling the truth.

“That’s better,” Sunghoon coos. He pecks your cheek and you smile at the reward.

“Eeek! S-Sunghoon!” You burst into a fit of shared laughter and giggles when said name scoops you into his arms, your body cradled against his chest, as your legs dangled over his one arm while the other supports your back.

“Just practicing when we’re both walking down the aisle at our future wedding.” Sunghoon jests.

Tenderness fills your eyes when you look up at him. He’s joked about the hypothetical conception of marriage twice in the night that you’re fully convinced it wouldn’t be all that bad of an idea. Given that both of you are ready and first rekindle the status of your relationship, of course.

Sunghoon grins. There’s a gentle kindness to his pearly whites, and you reach up to press a chaste kiss to his jawline.

He relocates to your bedroom. Gently, he lays you down on the bed, your body propped up on your forearms, bearing the weight of your upper half. With an unwavering gaze, you study Sunghoon closely, every detail of his expression and every nuance of his presence.

His eyebrows knit and meet in the middle, fixated on undoing his pants to escape from their restraints, followed by his underwear soon after. His stiff member rebounds off his lower abdomen, precum leaking from the mushroom tip. A satisfied exhale leaves his mouth. He stalks over to you with a sly smirk, towering your smaller frame when he crawls on top of the bed, his knees plant themselves into the mattress and his additional weight dips the space where you lay.

You whine when his length ghosts at the expanse of your inner thigh, suspense and arousal continue to bubble inside of you. Sunghoon murmurs for you to lay back. “Make yourself comfortable,” were his initial instructions before hooking the waistband of your panties with his fingers and dragging them below your legs. The undergarment was tossed to the side.

You nibble at your bottom lip and screw your eyes shut when a slender finger circles the perimeter of your labia.

“You’re so wet babe,” Sunghoon purrs.

Your breath hitches at the back of your throat when he slides his index finger through your inner lips, gathering an abundance of your slick to bring to his mouth for a taste. Both eyes flutter open in time to witness Sunghoon suck at the digit drenched with your arousal. The sight is sinfully lewd, nearly too much for you to handle. Your face reddens and you fight the inclination to hide behind your hands.

“You taste so good, too.“ He licks at his lips. “Wanna try?” Sunghoon cocks his head to the side, and you can’t find it in you to turn down his offer when he looks so innocent— yet acts like the devil himself when he’s overcome with lust. You nod your head with approval.

His duality needs to be studied at Harvard, you think in the back of your mind.

Sunghoon plunges his index finger past your hole, triggering your back to arch an inch off the bed. He chuckles lowly and watches as your hands grab desperately at the sheets beneath you to steady your sanity. The singular digit curls inside of you. Your unforeseen shock is vocalized in the form of a moan and Sunghoon repeats the motion several times.

“O-oh my god—“ You gasp.

The ravenette withdraws his finger and taps at your mouth, signaling you to open. You submit to his implicit dictation. Your lips encase his pointer, tongue swirling around it like a piece of sweet candy you’re tasting for the first time.

You bat your eyelashes prettily and moan. “Mmmh…”

“Dirty girl,” Sunghoon sniggers. He retracts his finger and you let it slip past your mouth with a ‘pop’ sound.

“Can you please give me your cock now?” You plead with a pout, doing your best impression of an endearing set of puppy eyes.

Sunghoon chuckles. “Let me at least prep you first, baby. How long has it been since you’ve had someone’s cock inside of you, anyways?”

You part your lips but close it just as quickly. To be candid, you've never been one to actively immerse yourself in the 'I'm single' scene. Your only foray into it was with Yunjin, roughly three weeks after your split with Sunghoon. The two of you ventured to a club, but it proved to be a brief endeavor. Within two hours, the fifth shot became a catalyst, turning you into an unending fountain of tears.

“Y/n?”

“Huh? Oh. Sorry…”

“I’m sorry baby. Did I overstep your boundaries?” Sunghoon cups your face with his right hand, his eyes scan yours, sincerity and concern laced in those chocolate orbs of his.

You stifle a giggle. Of all boundaries he could have crossed he draws the line at asking for your body count and not him fingering you.

“What? What’s so funny?” He asks.

“Nothing just… I think it’s ironic you ask me that now and not before we did all of this.” You motion to your bare bodies when you say ‘this.’

Sunghoon’s ears redden.

“But don’t worry, Hoonie.” You hook your arms around his neck and pull him closer to pepper his face with several reassuring kisses. “I don’t mind it all. Now can you please fuck my brains out!”

Your ex (whatever he is to you at this point) throws his head back to share a quick laugh, shortly pressing his forehead against yours.

Without warning, he buries three fingers in your pussy; your hips twitch at the sentience. They slide in and out without strain and together the two of you watch as he finger fucks your hole to “prep” for his cock. The squelching noise of your juices fill the room in addition to your moaning, and Sunghoon confronts a hurdle of his patience wearing thin, wanting to fuck you senseless.

His digits leave your hole and you whine immediately at the loss. Sunghoon uses the mass quantity of slick as a substitute for lube to lather on his angry cock. He shuffles against the bed, forcing your legs even further apart to fit himself in between them. The stretch burns your muscles but is soon forgotten when the tip of his length is rubbing your folds, occasionally bumping your swollen clit which generates a needy whine.

Sunghoon’s face screws with ecstasy when his shaft inches past your entrance. Your walls hug his length and he whimpers at the tight muscles that suffocate his erection. You squirm under him, tensed and breathing heavily. It’s hard to relax when seven inches feel like it’s splitting you in half after a long hiatus from sex. Sunghoon notices your discomfort and stills his hips from pushing further, allowing you the necessary time to adjust.

“Sorry baby, I know it’s been a while. You can take it, right? Like the good girl you are?”

You nod. He kisses your forehead, cheek, and lips to soothe your anxiety, using his lips as a distraction to keep your mind from zoning in on his cock. He seizes the opportunity to fit the rest of his length inch-by-inch, and you feel like a virgin all over again when the burn of his cock stretching you open is almost too unbearable.

“Sshh, it’ll be alright, baby.” He wipes away a loose tear. “I’m gonna move, tell me when and if it’s too much, okay?”

“O-okay, Hoonie…”

Steadily, Sunghoon recedes his hips, cock following in suit, just enough for the tip to be the only thing that your pussy clenches on. He snaps forward, your boobs jiggle at the motion and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head when he repeatedly thrusts at a steadfast pace. The pain you were once scared of is no longer a fear you have to worry about, as pleasure is the only thing you know how to feel.

“F-faster, harder, p-please Hoon.” You fight through broken moans to let your voice be heard.

“Shit—“ He curses.

Sunghoon’s fingers dig into the plush fat of your waist while his other hand presses into the space of your bed next to the side of your head. His eyebrows knit, focused entirely on increasing the speed of his thrusts. He continues to piston fuck your pussy, abusing your hole in the utmost gratifying procedure. Your thighs jiggle each time that his balls slap against your skin. Everything reminds him of an amateur homemade video he’s seen from other couples perform on Pornhub. He’ll have to ask you some other day if you’d ever be open to filming your own tapes to watch back.

“Mmh, right there, Hoonie.” You sigh dreamily, locking your legs around his waist and linking your ankles together. “You’re fucking me so good— Aah!” A high pitch squeal slips from your vocal box when his tip probes at your G-spot.

“F-fuck,” Sunghoon leans in close, relying only on one forearm to hold himself up from crushing you with his entire weight. He hides his face in your boobs, tongue flicking at the sensitive bud that hardens in response. He persistently thrusts deeper, his cockhead pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Hnngh… Y-yes, yesyesyes!” You chant. Your fingers tangle themselves in his hair, scratching gently at his scalp and tugging whenever his mouth would suck or massage at your breasts. “You’re gonna— make me c-cum!“

Sunghoon’s unrelenting despite your warning. He can feel your walls clamping around his shaft, signaling your impending orgasm, and it taunts him to force himself deeper within your warm cavern at every jerk of his hips. Your hands fall to his biceps. Nails digging into his skin as your face distorts into extreme pleasure.

“I’m so close too, baby.” He groans. “Just.” Thrust. “A.” Thrust. “Couple.” Thrust. “M-more!”

“I’m cumming! I’m c-cumming—“ Your hips tremble with a frenzied urgency as your pussy pulsates around Sunghoon’s cock. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp and a long, impassioned moan escapes your lips. The sheer intensity of the moment leaving you incoherent and lost in ecstasy.

Sunghoon twitches inside of you. “Hah— you’re so— fuck!— s-sexy,” He grunts. Your head thrashes at the overstimulation of his length continuously pumping into you and you push at Sunghoon’s chest weakly, crying on his cock for him to slow down. You whine, whimper, plead for mercy so that your pussy can recover from the intense orgasm you just experienced not too long ago. In spite of that, he ignores your pleas and concentrates on finishing. It isn’t until white ropes of cum are shooting at your walls when his thrusts start to get sloppier and progressively come to a stop.

“Fuck.” Sunghoon exhales through gritted teeth. Both of you are a panting mess trying to catch your breaths as your chests rise and fall synchronously. The ravenette pulls out slowly and he groans when he sees his seed spill out of your hole, it closely reminds him of those hentai comics he’s read through illegal websites.

“I’ll get something to help clean you up.” Sunghoon lifts his weight from the bed but you reach for his forearm to grab him. You don’t have to say anything for him to understand that you don’t want him to leave your side. He brings a hand to yours, the pad of his thumb grazing the hills of your knuckles soothingly. “It’ll be fast, I promise.”

Not even 30 seconds has gone by when he re-enters your room with a damp cloth. He wipes at the areas where a mix of your cum and his seed litter your skin with sticky residue. He discards of the ruined cloth before joining you in bed where you welcome him with open arms. He plops down next to you and you turn to lay on your side so that you can get a proper view of his handsome face in post-sex afterglow. You reach out to gently touch his moles that adorn his features. The moles you missed seeing as the first thing in the morning when you’d wake up with him by your side. He grins lazily and cranes his neck to bring his lips to your forehead.

“Sunghoon…?” Your faces are merely inches apart from one another. Though the close proximity is not a foreign situation— especially after just having sex— you speak to him with a hushed tone.

“Yes?” He inquires.

“At the restaurant, you implied that you wanted to get back together again… Is it true? Do you really mean it?” Your lips are quivering and you mentally berate yourself for being so soft hearted in these types of scenarios where emotions are high, vulnerable, and transparency is called upon.

Sunghoon breathes shakily. “I really mean it. I miss you, Y/n.” He tucks away loose strands of hair that fall on your face. “These past two years without you have been hell. The first couple of months were so bad, I almost reconsidered being the chairman for father’s company so I could fight for us. Fight for you. I’m sorry if that part of my life got in our way as a couple, and I wish I had made more of an effort to be around you.”

You sniffle, “It wasn’t just your fault. I should’ve communicated instead of thinking I know better and that I thought what I did was for the greater good— because it wasn’t. And you’re right, the two years I spent without you were awful. I never wanna go through that again.”

Sunghoon loops an arm around your waist and guides your head to bury against his chest.

“We don’t have to.”

Morning rays gently infiltrate the room as Sunghoon stands before the full-length mirror in your shared master bedroom. His voice carries across the space as he greets his loving wife, 'Good morning, Mrs. Park,' while he meticulously adjusts his tie.

You stir in bed. The unwelcome intrusion of sunlight forces you awake despite the supposedly blackout curtains you requested when you first moved in with Sunghoon. You sigh in irritation. Dismissing the hope of another ten minutes of sleep, you push yourself upright, your arms stretching above your head, accompanied by a vibrant yawn. Sunghoon, amused by your morning ritual, chuckles softly.

“Still sleepy?” Your husband turns to face you after successfully finishing the Windsor knot of his tie. You blink away the fog of grogginess from your eyes and grin when you get a clear vision of your husband clad in his usual work uniform.

“Mmm… you’re so handsome.”

Sunghoon's face lights up with a genuine smile, touched by your kind words that always seem to set the perfect tone for his day. He approaches your side of the bed with a confident saunter and takes a seat beside you.

“Any plans for today, my lovely wife?”

You can't help but giggle at his endearing habit of calling you 'wife' and 'Mrs. Park.' It's become a sweet tradition between the two of you, a reminder of your loving bond that has grown since your wedding day. You twist your hand to observe the silver band that ornaments your ring finger. The diamond twinkles back at you in the bask of the light.

“I think Yunjin and I are getting brunch, then we’re going shopping right after, and later in the evening we’re gonna drink some wine and paint as we gossip about our husbands.”

Sunghoon laughs. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of yourself then.” He nudges your side playfully and you giggle. “Don’t forget to fit me into your schedule. Let’s go out for dinner tonight.”

“Cold noodles and ginseng chicken soup?”

“Where it all started.”

You envelop yourself in your husband's embrace, showering him with affectionate kisses. Starting from his moles and moving to both cheeks, his nose, forehead, and, ultimately, his irresistible lips, you express your love and absolute adoration for him with each tender peck.

“I love you, Mr. Park.” You murmur against his plush tiers.

His fingers delicately sweep aside the loose strands of hair obscuring your face, as he lovingly takes in every captivating feature, examining them with deep worship.

“I love you more, Mrs. Park.”

Two years ago you and Sunghoon sealed the knot in California. The ceremony took place at the Alila Ventana wedding venue, perched on a cliff along the rugged coast line of Big Sur. It offered a dramatic landscape, nestled amidst towering redwood trees, and a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean; the perfect picturesque backdrop for photos and videography. The outdoor spaces, gourmet dining, and coastal elegance were truly significant factors of your reception.

Sunghoon kept his promise to Mrs. Kim when the time came to send out the wedding invitations. Her excitement was beyond words as both of you entered the restaurant, radiating a newfound delight. Her gaze immediately fixated on the sparkling diamond ring on your finger— the same one she had scolded him for, which was now complete.

Come time to exchange your vows, Sunghoon's heartfelt declaration to cherish and devote himself to your love made it extremely difficult to keep your makeup in tact. Yunjin, your appointed maid of honor, had to step in to hand you tissues one after the other. The audience laughing to themselves at your showcase of emotions.

True to his words, Sunghoon carried you bridal style as he stalked down the aisle. Your families and friends cheering from their seats, their joyous applause resonating through the air. The warmth of their smiles and the happy tears in their eyes mirrored the love that enveloped you both in that moment.

Since then, life with Sunghoon after marriage was anything but dull.

[chiwhorei]

Bésame

Miguel O’Hara x reader

Tags: 18+ ONLY mdni, College AU, roommates to lovers, tooth-rotting love for this man, pussy-devouring, fingering, squirting, I wrote this in one go so you get what ya get

Word count: 2.3k- written in one, prolonged blackout

Notes: I’m fucking back bitches. I missed you, I missed this. I hope I stick around this time. This was supposed to be a blurb about squirting but the melancholy romantic won again.

Cross-posted to Ao3!

There’s something about the smell of crisp summer morning, the feeling of gentle air, humidity whispering across your face. The inescapable heat of late July is hidden from the world in its earliest hours.

“Keep up Mamí, I’m not getting stuck in the rain because you’re daydreaming.”

You pick up the pace, jogging in quick steps to catch up to Miguel. He’s farther ahead than you realized, strong muscles and wispy brown hair outlined by dark storm clouds.

Your breath is heavy, rattling against your ribs while you match the canter of Miguel’s long stride. He’s never gone easy on you, but your labored breathing makes him ease up a bit.

“What’s got your attention this morning? Or were you admiring the view behind me?” Miguel reaches up to adjust the cloth headband keeping his hair out of his face. His arms look like they’re chiseled from marble, strong, tanned skin flexes under the cutoff he wears in some iteration every morning.

Your eyes glaze over, not realizing the intensity of your gawking until Miguel’s eyes find yours. The color is deeper than usual, darker and melting into the black of his pupil. You write it off as the gloomy weather above, but he licks his bottom lip before relinquishing your stare.

You forgot what he asked you, but he doesn’t press the subject any further. Out of character, but appreciated.

“What time is your last class over tonight?” He asks, you fix your eyes on a stop sign ahead to avoid getting lost in his stare again. You see him from the corner of your eye, the angle making it seem that his gaze is focused on the bounce of your chest.

It’s just the angle, you sound even less convincing in your own head.

“Uh- well it’s Monday, so I have lab until 4:30.” You groan out the last part, ruminating on the long day ahead of you.

“My evening class got canceled for today, so I can take care of dinner tonight.”

You hum at him, his offer settles against your shoulders like honey. Something to look forward to at the end of a long day.

Sometimes he almost feels real.

He folded you into his life like melted chocolate. An easy, peaceful affection towards you since you moved in all those months ago. An offer to join his morning runs, filling a thermos of coffee for you to grab before leaving the apartment, coming home to dinner with that casual dismissal that makes your head spin.

“It’s no problem, mamí, that’s what roommates are for.” He’s always been so plain and earnest, smoothing over any objections with a sugary term of endearment and those big brown eyes.

Your heart aches so deeply when you forget that he’s just your roommate. Stabbing and twisting in your breastbone when you think about how much effort he must put in with dates.

You stop abruptly, feet cemented to the sidewalk and chest heaving rapidly. Miguel slows to a stop when he notices you missing from his side.

“Hey, don’t tell me you’re quitting, we’re two blocks from the apartment.” His voice is light, but his eyes fall from amusement to concern when he sees how hard your breath falls from your lungs.

“Whoa, what’s wrong, are you feeling okay?” He paces towards you and another deep inhale fills your senses with his musky scent instead of the rainy morning air you desperately need.

“I- I’m fine,” you struggle against the words, lifting your gaze to see Miguel’s sweat-slicked curls flop against his forehead.

You blame the early hour, or light-headedness, or a moment of delirium as your hand comes up to tuck the stray hair back under his headband.

“You’re so beautiful, Miguel.”

Your words tumble out, breaching the filter in the back of your mouth that keeps you from saying stupid shit to the man you’re stuck in a lease with.

Miguel’s breath hitches, concern falling away and filling its place with an unreadable expression. His eyes pace between your pupils, freezing the blood flowing under your skin. Why does his proximity make you act like a love-sick puppy? The frustration wells up, lining your tear ducts.

“That- I- I’m sorry.” You return his look with an awkward laugh, coughing around the lump in your throat.

Your body moves on autopilot, sidestepping his frame to make a run for it, but Miguel circles your wrist with a large palm. His skin is callused and warm as he pulls you to stand in front of him once again.

He holds you in his stare, burning eyes and the light grip of your wrist is more than enough to keep you in place.

There’s nothing more you can do but stutter around your tattered pride. Racking against your brain to find an excuse for your weird behavior. A possession? A moment of psychosis? You’ll call a priest later, but you first need to get away from Miguel and the sweet smell of cologne and sweat so you can think clearly again.

“Mi hermosa,” your balance is kicked out from under you as he holds both wrists against his chest.

Miguel’s lips dip down to you, you can almost taste his cherry chapstick as he traces his words above your mouth. You feel the first drops of rain as they hit Miguel’s cheek and bounce off your nose. Before you can taste that distinct cherry flavor, the angry crack of thunder pulls your bones from your skin.

“We need to get home,” you see a flash of lightning as it reflects in Miguel’s eyes, it splits the clouds and opens up a swollen reservoir- rain pounding down on the two of you, “we’re getting soaked Mig-“

“Say the word, Mamí,” He interrupts you, barely fazed by the storm that was ripped from your soul and clawed itself into the sky, “Tell me to fuck off and I’ll never try this again.”

Miguel drops his grip on your wrists, moving those eclipsing palms to the juncture of your neck. His lips beg for your touch once again and for the millionth time.

“Bésame.” Your accent is rigid and unpracticed, remedial at best but music to Miguel’s ears. His mouth meets yours in a wide smile, fingers finding purchase on either side of your neck.

His kiss is dripping and desperate, if you’re not careful you could drown right here and sink into the concrete.

All of the times you’ve imagined this moment are nothing compared to the real thing. He’s aggressive and hungry, licking into your mouth and vibrating your tongue with a growl.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Miguel bites at your lip before pulling away, his face is obscured in the pouring rain, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

How wrong he is, you think.

Miguel pulled you through the threshold of your shared apartment as soon as the door was unlocked, the only sense he has left is depleted- used up from keeping his composure while you fumble with your keys. His strong, broad arms circling around your waist to tug you ever closer, keeping your mouth open and whining against his.

Your feet lift from the carpet as Miguel lifts you up with the same effort as a paperweight. The feeling of his hands settling on your ass is the last pull against your unwinding composure. You’re legs wrap around his middle and you grind down hard against his abdomen.

“Fuck, I can feel your pussy through your leggings.” His words make you dizzy, grinding against him with a brainless rhythm.

“We don’t have to,” his lips trace down your neck between each word, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

The sincerity in his eyes hits you squarely in the chest and moving across your skin like fever.

“Miggy, I need you. Please, anything you give me- I’ll take it.”

Your even tone shocks the both of you, the most confident you’ve sounded all morning.

“Fuck, I almost want to make you regret those words.” His teeth graze the tender spot under your chin.

“But the first thing I want is a taste of that sweet little cunt.” You’re sure your knees would buckle if Miguel wasn’t holding you, the rough tambor of his voice will be the death of you- you’ll take your chances.

Miguel carries you past the small kitchen and living area, you don’t notice where he’s sat you until he pulls his lips away from yours.

His room smells like fresh laundry and pine, the bedspread he’s set you on is tucked neatly on either side and soft under your touch. You’ve sat in this exact spot plenty of times, to study into the late night, to watch reruns of your favorite show on lazy Sunday afternoons- but never like this.

Miguel pushes you lightly so your back hits the mattress, he spreads your legs apart at the knee and you feel the tight fabric of your leggings as it shifts against your pussy.

Your running set is tight against your skin, sweat and rain covering your trembling body so that every inch is sticky and damp.

Miguel’s pointer and middle finger rub against your pussy, memorizing the outline of your plush lips under thin nylon. He’ll tuck the image into the back of his mind in case he needs it later.

“Mmm, no panties this morning,” he muses, pressing his thumb against your clit.

Miguel pulls at the fabric on your pussy, letting it snap back against your skin, you can feel the tight material drenched from your aching pussy. You want to tell him that you can hardly take this teasing, but all that comes out is a wobbly string of please, please, please.

“Don’t worry, Mamí, I’m gonna take care of you.” Your thoughts don’t catch up to him until the chill of open air hits your bare cunt. Your soaked leggings are tossed to the corner of his almost clinically clean room.

Miguel takes a moment to marvel at the sopping wet pussy he’s got trapped against his mattress.

“Que maravilla,” he kisses his words flatly against your puffy lips before coaxing them open with his nose. His face is covered in you already, glistening across his lips and chin. But it’s not enough, it won’t be enough until you drown him.

His tongue laps at you like you’re what’s keeping him alive. He kisses with his mouth open, collecting your offering to him and drinking it down with every flat lashing of his tongue.

You taste tangy and sweet, a heady mix of sweat and pheromones that pulls him in ever closer. Desperate to drink his fill of you. Every long swipe at your sloppy hole is dotted with a kiss, every inch of skin is electric- zapping against your clit with every measured nip.

Miguel’s fingers find their way to rest against your pussy, pushing in gently when he’s satisfied with how well his tongue worked you open.

Once the digits are wettened, Miguel pushes two in to the first knuckle. He groans at the feeling of how welcoming your pussy is, how responsive you are to his touch.

He licks his praises against your soft skin as your muscles relax around the thick intrusion. His vision fuzzy at the edges thinking about how you’ll take his cock. The thought is pushed back for now, lingering on it could break you when he’s just gotten started.

Your hips rock down against him, catching your clit with his wide palm.

Your whimpering emboldens him, cock weeping in the waistband of his shorts. He’s harder than he’s ever been, the frustrating ache in his balls is poured right into the quickening pace of his fingers. He needs you to break- crumble into pieces so he can put them back together.

“Miguel, fuck, I need- you need to slow down or I’m gonna“

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, Miguel is hypnotized at the sight of your pussy spilling over against him. He doesn’t relent even as you cry out and shake under him. He doesn’t miss a beat as your pussy squelches, clear liquid splashing against his chest.

“Oh fuck, you didn’t mention you’re a squirter.” His pace is torturous, pumping against that spot deep inside you that turns you into a puddle.

Once his other hand comes down to circle your clit, you know that you’re done for. The fear of letting loose like this is something that holds your rigid body from completely letting go. No one’s ever pulled you from that damn before, but Miguel has torn it down completely.

“Let go for me, Mamí, need to feel you cum against my fingers, need to see you squirt for me again.” The words drip from his mouth like hot syrup and coat your stiff muscles.

He pulls more out of you with each pump of those skilled fingers, more than you ever thought you had in you, more than you could imagine.

You cry as you cum, tears spilling over your cheeks in fat streams. The feelings you’ve kept inside for Miguel, the schoolgirl crush, the craving, the primal need all splashes against the both of you with the telltale spasm of your cunt against his fingers.

Your mind feels like it’s been dipped in wax, dripping from it’s fixed position to coat your shoulders. He makes quick work of tugging you back down to earth, lying next to your limp body with an anchoring hand on your stomach. He coos you, whispering praise into your hairline.

The sun peeks through Miguel’s window, clouds moving on to the next town and leaving the still early morning to brighten up the sky. Your face feels hot in realization.

You’ve got a long day ahead of you.

* * *

All work is mine blah blah I don’t wanna go find my old copyright thing but I’ll piss in your water supply if you steal this.

[lightwing-s]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢𝐢 ; 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞

pairing: jason todd x fem! reader

summary: since your last encounter, jason has been living rent free in your head. you didn't want to, you needed more, and more found you in an unexpected way.

rating: 18+ (MDNI)

word count: 7,6k warnings: yn's dirty thoughts, sex, p in v, language, breast play,

a/n: i got lazy and gave up proof reading (again). i also got too excited and ended up writing a lot more than planned, but hey, i got to watch 'the devil wears prada' to write this, so it's a win!! Hope you enjoy it and see you in chapter four.♡♡♡

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! ♡

links: previous ; next ; series masterlist ; general masterlist

“And the Blades are offside! Still no score here in Seattle, as the Gotham Blades and the Kraken face off in…” announced the caster excitedly, the game going on without Yn paying a dime of attention.

Sunday blues had gotten to you. Following an unusually chilly summer night, rain came pouring down just as you’d arrived home, covering the entire city in a dome of dullness and melancholy. Laying on your stomach, the living room darkened by the closed blinds, and the game on tv a long forgotten past time, the images of the previous night still loomed in your head.

‘Why did you do it, Yn?’, was the question clouding your mind the entire day. ‘Why did you do it?’ 

Why did you allow yourself to go to bed with the guy you despised? Why did you have those feelings in the first place? It was confusing. Everything about Jason was confusing. You never liked each other, and yet he’s all sweet and nice to you all of a sudden. He’s taking you to the hospital. He’s making sure you’re not alone. He takes you home, makes you food in the middle of the night. All after being an asshole for the past two months.

Why did he change?  When did he change? Was he always like that but you never paid attention to, or was it just a play, a trick he’s trying to pull in your mind? Is he trying to confuse you purposely, trying to play with your mind? He wouldn’t, would he?

It if wasn’t for the knocking on your door, you’d continue to torture yourself for the next few hours. Thoughts of Jason and his fucked up game flooding your mind. You heard the knocking again, groaning loudly, not wanting to leave the warmth of the sofa. But the sweet voice calling your name made you do it.

“Thank god, you’re alive!” Nessie sang, throwing her hands up in the air. Her words did not match her expression, however, painted in the most perfect mix of anger, worry and bad hangover. “Where were you?!” she asked, and you too repeated that same question at her.

“I looked for you all over the party!” you answered exasperated.

“Me too!” she informed. “I looked for you all over and Sammy said he saw you leaving with a guy behind you and that you were pissed drunk. I was fucking worried!”

“Sammy means bullshit,” you angrily replied, storming back to the sofa as you let your neighbor and friend close the door behind her, knowing full well this conversation would last long. You threw yourself on your previous seat, pulling your blanket over your legs and crossing your arms on your chest like a little child. 

“So, you didn’t leave with a guy?” she questioned, one eyebrow raised at you and a concerned expression adorning her face. “I swear to God, Yn, and I’m not even religious. If anyone did anything to you, I swear I’ll…”

“We didn’t do anything!” you basically screamed, feeling as if the room conspired against you. You could feel the tears burning your eyes, threatening to fall out. You’d hoped you would be able to hide it. Leaving it a secret from the world could mean it was never real to begin with.

“So, there was someone?” she kept her eyes on you, sensing there was something more to it. Watching your usual polished self start to crumble into a nervous mess. You wanted to deny, gaslight your way out of this. But Nessie was smart, and she knew you. She could read all your signs and tell instantly none of your words spoke the truth.

There was nothing you could do. You were now on a crossroad where any direction, any ideas, wouldn’t take you anywhere. You had to spill it. “I couldn’t find you and Jason had helped me look…”

“Jason the hot guy you were pining after?” she cut you off, her face suddenly changing from concern to slightly but mild excitement.

“I was not pining after anybody!” you argued, trying once more to clear her mind out of these stupid ideas. “He was helping me look for you, and since you weren’t anywhere to be found he took me to his apartment because he was worried about leaving me alone, okay? He was nice and sweet, but nothing else happened. Nothing!”

Nessie sat silently beside you on the sofa, staring at you blankly while she absorbed all the information you ‘d thrown at her. Under your breath, you prayed she’d stop there, that she’d be satisfied with your answer. Unfortunately, God didn’t hear your prayers. “Nothing?” she whispered, a knowing smirk appearing in her face.

You had to let out a scream, muffling it with a pillow as you did not want anyone else trying to snoop in this mess of a situation. “Nothing,” you tried to argue once again, but her beaming smile and amused expression broke you all over, forcing your eyes to roll out in annoyance. “I basically threw myself on him.”

“Oh my god!” that bitch dared to be amused.

“I couldn’t keep my hand off of him, and we… w-we…” you trailed off, not wanting to finish your sentence, but your friend finished it for you. You fucked.

“Were you drunk?” she asked, a tinge of concern returning to her tone.

“I wish,”

“Was it that bad?” she wondered. “You’re acting like this is the end of the world, but you just had sex with the hot guy you were pining all over. What’s the big deal?”

“I was not pining over him!” you screamed again, and exasperatedly continued. “And what’s the big deal? He’s a biker gym rat who’s probably got no jobs or hobbies outside going to the gym. He’s covered in tattoos and probably uses tons of drugs, and guys like that could never be proper partners and will always lead you to trouble.”

“Gosh, you were planning your wedding then?” she blankly responded.

“What the fuck? No!” you were getting progressively irritated. It sounded that, to her, this all didn’t pass as more than a simple joke, not seeing the serious issue within it. “He’s just not the kind of guy I’d like to see myself mixed with. My parents warned me a-about guys like this…”

“Oh! So, this is about your parents then?” Nessie concluded, missing the point once more.

“It’s not about them!” you shook your head. You tried to come up with something, to continue your statement, but your mouth opened and closed without anything coming out of it. Sighing deeply, you felt your energy levels start to drain. “This always happens.”

Thinking back at countless similar situations, you watched your friend’s eyes turn softer. An awaiting glint in her eyes for the story to continue. “Every time I get upset over them, when they make me mad, I just… Explode? I go out and do something stupid, something that I know would piss them off, because…”

“You want them to explode?” she cut you, more an assumption than a question. “You want them to be just as mad at you?”

Combing your fingers through your hair, you stop and wonder. You let her words sink in, a lightness over being finally understood and finally understanding yourself overcoming you. It often scares you how well she knew and understood you with just a couple years of knowing each other, but maybe that was just the three semesters of Psychology lessons speaking.

“I always end up doing something stupid that I shouldn’t have done,” your voice softened a reply.

“So, you’re saying your parents were right, then?” she inquired once more.

“That’s not it, Nessie, I-I…” you stammered. “Oh my god, please let’s move on from this subject.”

By this point, you’d already messed up your hair from how much you had nervously combed your fingers through it. There was a small lump forming on your throat, and your hands were clasped on your face, shielding your eyes from your surroundings.

“So…” Nessie started. “Was he good?” Your head snapped quickly in her direction, eyes wanting to scold her but smile failing to do the same. Failing to hold corners of your lips, you allowed the smile to spread and rolled your eyes at her apparent enjoyment. “Was he big?”

You let out a snort at the inappropriate question, but filled her in. Mouthing a ‘thick’ back at her, she let her mouth hang open, closing her eyes in deep dirty wonder. ‘How much?’ she mouthed in return, and you scanned the room for something that could resemble his majestic girth, deciding upon signaling by holding your ankles with both your hands. Perhaps an exaggeration, but you’d let her sleep with that “lie” in mind.

Her mouth formed an ‘oh’, shocked at your response, and you could swear that just thinking about it was making you a little bit wet. You proudly nodded at her, perhaps too proud of it now. Proud of the incredible achievement of taking it all in.  

“How big?” she bobbed one eyebrow up, challenging. You gave her a demonstration, placing your closed fists on top of each other. He wasn’t the biggest, but he compensated with girth. Gosh, stop thinking about him! “Lucky girl.”

“You wish,” you laughed.

“I definitely do now.”

It had been almost three weeks since you’d last seen him. Rearranging your entire schedule, you organized your new routine with the sole purpose of avoiding him at all costs. From the months you’d met him almost daily at the gym, you’d come to know what times he liked to train at: very early mornings, the start of the evening or just as the gym was about to close. Thus, making the process of building up a new schedule a lot easier.

Sure, it might’ve been a stretch to go this far to avoid him. And maybe your new routine was kind of terrible and actually sort of hindered your days. But those were measures you needed to take in order to keep yourself sane. You didn’t know what you’d do if you saw him again.

In fact, your days seemed to have gotten longer, as you spent more hours in traffic. However, the lack of Jason in your daily life seemed to have increased your happiness and tranquility. You didn’t have to worry about him being around you, ready to drop something on you at any moment. And living without his often sarcastic and teasing remarks was so less stressful. It felt like, for once, you could live your life without a shadow haunting your days.

Life at work was also simpler. Since your boss had decided that the American dating scene wasn’t for her, and instead started looking for a husband at different European social gatherings, she had been out quite often, spending her weekends away in Monaco, Paris or Milan, and missing many work days. 

That left you with more time to write. It has always been your favorite thing to do, writing away your thoughts on a paper, even if it never made it out of your notebook. 

Ideally, you wouldn’t be working as an assistant. But that was the best you could do after graduation, having to find a job quickly before your father dragged you out of Gotham definitely. It certainly wasn’t perfect, but it allowed you to keep in touch with the area you desired to work on. Even better, you got to watch the life of an editor in chief right in front of your eyes.

It was the middle of the week, the day passing by slowly as you walked left to right through different rooms and floors to get whatever your boss needed done before today’s shoot. With summer approaching its end, ideas for the upcoming fall issues were thrown around, and now Sandra, your boss, was dead set that she needed at least something done by the end of the week.

 Packing up your things and throwing them into your messenger bag, you hurriedly walked out from behind your desk right as Sandra was passing by. Following her footsteps, you two made your way out of the tall and imposing building of Wayne Publications.

“Did you get the samples I asked for yesterday?” she questioned, head glued forward, not moving to look at you.

“Yes, I do in fact,”  you replied, handing her the thin deep blue sketchbook. “I made a collage for each designer with the pictures, just as you’d asked. Gio Waters had given me some when I interviewed her, and Nadia and her sister emailed me their looks this morning.”

You explained the process as you two continued to walk, people moving away from the infamous Runway Magazine’s editor in chief. “The collection isn’t finished, but it’s really interesting, I think you’ll like it. Everything is in there. A-and… Arkham’s Neglect…”

“Arkham’s Neglect?” she wondered out loud, facing moving slightly to show you the corners of a raised eyebrow.

“They’re this 80’s punk, anarchist, counter culture, all of… that, inspired new brand. They think the name sets forward the message they want to spread,” you explained the unusual group you sure found interesting while interviewing.

“And that message is…?” she prolonged her question.

“Only God knows,” you exhaled. Stopping in front of the building, where a lavish black car was parked awaiting her entrance, she finally turned back to face you.

“Yn,” she called you softly. “If you want me to take your idea seriously, you have to make more effort than this.” The clicking sound of her heels ceased as she entered the car, the door left open for you to close and circle around the vehicle to enter from the other side.

Working for Sandra was like working for Miranda Priestly, only it was actually nice. It’d started working for her even before you graduated college, and although very… honest with her words, she was always kind enough to at least listen to your ideas once in a while.

So hearing that feedback from her was kind of heart shattering. She had finally given you an opportunity to write something, not just carry her things around and take her meeting notes. Write. And you had been working harder than ever in it, using all of your free time on preparing, planning and writing it.

The car ride was quiet for a while, as you tried to free your mind from the self doubt she’d cast upon you. Sandra typed rapidly on her phone, and by the smile on her face you knew she must have been texting her new Italian boyfriend. So, you waited till she was done typing, eyes leaving the screen to resume your talking.

“Ibra messaged earlier saying everyone was ready and waiting at the studio. Stephanie, the photographer Mr. Wayne recommended, was already set. He said they are ready to start as soon as we get there,” you finished with a gulp, and knowing you well, Sandra turned to look at you.

“And what?” she questioned, voice monotone.

“One of the male models bailed out last minute, ” you informed, her fingers snapping to pinch the bridge of her nose. “He said they were trying to find him.”

“Or a replacement,” she cut you off.

“A replacement, of course.”

Sandra simply nodded in response, and resumed her incessant typing. You prayed she wasn’t sexting with the guy again, and to avoid another embarrassment, focused your eyes on the damp streets of Gotham. Grabbing your phone, you messaged one of the other assistants at the studio to let them know you’d need to find someone else to fill the empty spot.

As you made your way to the glass doors of the studio, you watched the people inside frantically move around, readying themselves for the grand arrival of Sandra Bevilaqua. Upon setting her Louboutin clad feet in the room, they all stopped. The Sandra effect.

“Ibra!” she called out for her favorite art director, and a tall and slender man came out from behind a white set of curtains and walked to her, giving her a quick embrace before turning to you with a brief acknowledgement.

Then, Ibra and Sandra stepped away from you, deep in discussion about the photoshoot at hand, and you took that as your cue to stay back and have a small break after the incessant running being Sandra’s assistant took. You needed coffee anyway.

You scanned the room looking for the small table that usually contained tons of cups filled with nectar of the gods to the brim. Warm and delicious. Finding the table just in a corner, close to the industrial style floor to ceiling windows. By the table stood a girl not much younger than you, camera in hand, and stealing a few snacks that were also placed on it.

“They got this Brazilian thing, they call it coxinha, I think. You should try that one, they’re really good” you suggested, taking a large cup that had ‘macchiato’ written on it as she turned to see you, a beaming smile on her face.

“I already got some of them,” she laughed, pointing to the napkin tucked inside her jacked pocket filled with those little snacks, and you had to let out a giggle too.

While she continued her nibbling and picking at the snacks on offer, you distracted yourself with the not unusual studio, a place you’d come to know now fairly well since starting to work at Runway. A few models recognized you too, waving hello and moving on with their preparations.

Being part of this world was quite insane, to be honest. You grew up having to hide your magazines under your bed because according to your religious parents it taught young girls to be “depraved” and “promiscuous” and not “wife material”. When you got the opportunity to work for them, you had to lie, and you still did, telling your parents you worked for Gotham Times instead.

You were too lost in thinking, watching the traffic move down the street, that you forgot you still had some work to do.

“Yn,” one of the other assistants ran to you. “Have you found the replacement?”

“I told you to find it!” you whisper-screamed, not wanting people to know you still had problems in your hand.

“I thought you would do it. You said…”

“Find a new model,” you repeated your text harshly at her.

“I-I thought y-you just sent it to me to remember to do it later,” she told you. Fucking stupid girl, you wanted to scream out, because you had something around ten minutes to start the shoot and one model still missing. But you were once in her spot, and you knew how upset she’d get after. 

So you took your coffee and planned to walk out of the room in search of a model, even if you had to beg people on the street to do it. However, you didn’t count on someone blocking your way out, nearly causing you to drop your coffee if he wasn’t fast enough to hold the cup for you.

“Careful there,” he smiled, but your face turned to a frown as soon as you recognized the dark hair and the sky blue eyes. “Hello, love. Didn’t let it spill on you this time,” Jason winked, trying to initiate a conversation, a smugness set on his face. 

Rolling your eyes, you removed your cup out of his grip, and bumping on his shoulder, walked away. Beelining to the corridor, you pulled your phone out and proceeded to search for the several phone numbers you’d be calling for the next few minutes. As you tried to think of what to say, rehearsing the words in your head, the blue eyed man would flock in instead, slowing your work down tremendously. But you had bigger problems to solve.

As you had anticipated, for the past ten minutes you had your phone glued to your ear, having called dozens of different modeling agencies begging them to send you someone, something, to save you. However, the best they could give you was “We can try, but it’s too last minute”. Well, fuck them. Now, you were about to run into the streets and start begging people to model for a fashion magazine.

“Yn!” you heard the soft yet powerful voice of your boss calling. Running back inside, you spotted her chatting with Ibra in the middle of the room. “Have you found a replacement?” she asked as soon as you arrived beside her.

“Errm… The agencies said it’s too last minute to find someone,” you offered, already awaiting reprimand.

“How come… How are we supposed to start the shoot then? Ibra!” she called Ibrahim again, words starting to just jump out of her mouth, something she rarely did, but that only happened when she was truly exasperated.

“We can start shooting the other models until Yn…” here it comes. “... finds someone else to fill the spot, yah?” he looked at you, eyes begging you to comply, and you did so, nodding incessantly as Sandra smiled away, happy with the option presented by the art director.

With a deep breath, you took another look around, tried to find something to distract yourself for just a moment. Mind working at a high voltage, you felt like you needed to decelerate, to take one, two, three breaths till your mind could start working again. The stressful situation making you instantly uneasy.

Your distraction came in the form of the raven haired demon, chatting happily with the blonde photographer you’d spoken to earlier. It then came to you dozens of questions about that situation. Why was Jason here in the first place? You’d only ever found him at the gym and at parties, and you honestly didn’t know what the hell he did for work, but he certainly didn’t work at anything related to this. This was your job, you knew everybody. He was never around before, unless…

Unless he knew the photographer.

She was beautiful. Long blond hair, eyes as blue as his, and an enchanting smile even you couldn’t deny. Were they together? She did seem a lot younger, but it’d be just like the type of guy he is to go after fresh, young babes. Urg. You hated him. Were you one of his young babes? Were just a dumb little fuck?

Urg. You wanted to scream, but you couldn’t. Instead, you opted for burning holes in his head with your eyes, glued to the scene ahead of you. He was laughing, laughing, with her, like you were all a joke. If everything was… Stop, Yn. You won’t get mad at him. You won’t. But the ache in your heart told you otherwise.

“Yn?” Sandra snapped her fingers before your eyes, breaking you from your trance. “What are you doing? Have you figured it out already?”

“Hmmm… I’m still thinking,” you gave a half-assed reply. Your eyes lingered from her to the boy stuck in your head. And she must have been following your gaze, because her own head snapped to the two inappropriate flirts chit chatting on the corner. A bright smile forming on her red lips.

“Perfect,” she stated softly and took one step in their direction.

“Wait, no!” you screamed, pulling at her arm. “Jason isn’t a good idea.”

“You know him?” before you had the chance to fix your mess, she continued. “Have you seen him naked?”

You almost choked at her question, and could bet a million dollars your face must’ve turned red. “W-why would you think that? I don’t know him.” you lied, and she clearly saw through you, offering you a look adorned by her frowned eyebrows.

“You just told me his name, Yn. We’ll be needing him to pose shirtless for the shoot. We are, after all, doing a “Sculpted Bodies” issue. And he looks to be pretty muscular.” Taking her glasses from where they stood hooked to her neckline, she placed it on her nose to take a better look at the man in question, returning her walk in his direction. “Don’t tug at my arm again, you’re not my child and call Ibra to find this man a new outfit. Hey, you?”

She screamed, and like a magnet, all eyes were on the scene.

“Jason, isn’t it? Yn here told. We are in need of a new male model, would you go back there and change?” she let him no, offering him no other option.

“Jason can’t,” you tried to argue, and his eyes snapped to your frame.

“Why not?” he asked, smugness still prevailing on the way he talked to you. “I’d love to.”

“That would be an awesome idea,” the blonde photographer chimed in.

“Of course you think so,” you gave her a forced smile, holding yourself together to not roll your eyes in front of your boss. “He has work.”

“I do not,” he scoffed, looking you straight in the eyes.

“Perfect!” Sandra clapped. “Ibra honey, find this beautiful piece of man a new outfit.”

Turning around, Sandra walked away, the blonde photographer you didn’t even care to remember the name following suit, swaying her hips as she strolled on the wooden floor. Moving your face, you found Jason’s eyes still lingering on your, a dark smirk plastered on his face.

“Please, don’t,” you asked, almost begging if you weren’t too proud.

“Why?” his question was filled with amusement. “Your boss said it herself. I’m perfect.

“You’re ruining my day,” you hissed through gritted teeth. In an attempt to look intimidating, your closed wrists rested on your waist, but there was no way you could ever frighten Jason.

“Why? Can’t stand the sight of me for too long, love?” he now whispered dangerously close to your face. Hoarse voice making you shiver. “Didn’t think I’d noticed you avoiding me at the gym?”

“Someone here is paying a lot of attention to me, it seems,” you hit him back. You prayed no one around noticed your interaction, because they would see clearly that there was something going on between you two.

“I wasn’t the one staring, was I?” he deadpanned. If any of you moved an inch, your noses would be touching, and probably much else would follow. Gathering all your strength, you pulled back.

“Fuck you,” you whispered before moving away.

“Already did,” he bit back a smile, walking past you towards Ibrahim to go and get changed. His own hip swaying left to right as he walked, the movement hypnotizing you as he went.

Soon enough, all models were positioned on stage, barely sporting any clothes bar some thin skin toned underwear, transparent fabrics or one single piece of garment. Jason, in all his glory and toned chest, wore a pair of white boxer underwear that left evident the not so little friend he owned down there.

One makeup artist had bathed his chest with some kind of oil, sliding her dark blue nails over his entire torso. In clear fuck boy behaviour, a shadow of a smile loomed his face when he looked at her through his lashes. You felt a muscle on your jaw jolting at the interaction, deciding that you’d had enough, and would be much better off attending to something else.

You tried the coffee table, but not even a sweet macchiato could clear your mind of the man you fucked and wished would desintegrate. Through the corner of your eye, you dared to steal one more look at him, only to find his eyes already set on you. Even from afar, you noticed them darkening, changing their essence to something that left you uneasy. In desperate need of air.

Truth be told, this man rented a four story penthouse with three hundred bedrooms in your mind since the night you’d slept over at his. Occupying a space that once was free to help you function properly, but now, you were a horny mess 90% of the day. Yes, you touched yourself to his picture lingering in your memory countless times since that day. And each one of them made you feel better than the other.

However, none of them had you feeling as good as he had made you feel that night. None of them had his touches to drive you wild, or gave you the feel of his tongue on your nipples. None of them whispered dirty things in your ear. But more specifically, none of them made you come as much as he did in just one night.

Shaking those thoughts away, you averted your eyes from his and sat down on a puffer chair, watching the photoshoot with an empty head. The group shot was done, as Stephanie, as you remembered, dismissed the other models to start on the individual shots. And to no surprise of yours, she had Jason shoot first.

He posed and flexed his muscles to her loud cheers and claps, letting out laughs and hypnotizing smiles you found yourself hooked to. Their partnership was evident, as Jason understood her words and requests promptly, and you had to admit she seemed to know just which angles and positions he’d look hotter.

Sandra and Ibra watched the little show just attentively as you did, but you were sure the thoughts in your head never crossed theirs. Giving short jumps, and faking boxing punches, he turned the playful shoot into something more intense. His eyes, eyebrows and his whole demeanor change drastically, to now exuberate this dense, dark, sensual, almost pornographic, aura.

He lowered the hem of his underwear a bit, showing you the trail that had driven you crazy the last time you peered at it. Now, it was on full display to you, and you had to bite down at your lip to hold in the moan you wanted to let out. He turned around, showing you his back, with his side profile setting up what you already thought would be the perfect picture. You wondered if any of your marks could be seen on his back, if Stephanie could see them from up close.

Your breathing hitched, and you had to cross your legs and feel just a bit of friction there to pull yourself back together.

The music in the studio shifted. The dark, sexy tunes of The Weeknd turned into the more upbeat pop rock sound of SZA’s F2F, a surprise to you, given the feel and themes of the photoshoot, but something that totally spoke to you in this moment of your life.

You couldn’t take him out of your mind, you thought of him until you fell asleep. You wondered if he planned on making Stephanie the girl for tonight. Or worse, if he’d already done it, done her. It had been a while since that night, he wouldn’t take that long to find someone else to fuck like he did to you. Fuck like he fucked you.

The thought made you feel nauseous.

Just as the next line began, the sudden realization of your feelings hit you like a train. The need to be slammed against a wall, picked up and fucked like you would never need your legs again, justified by the light blue shade indicating your ovulating period on your tracker app. That explained everything, you thought, finding the only possible way you could ever be this crazy about a man.

When Miss SZA said ‘Now I’m ovulating and I need rough -’, that was it. No truer words were ever spoken. Just his presence was enough to make your thoughts incoherent, but having him doing all those poses and stares was driving you insane. Oh, how it sucked to be a woman in heat!

You didn’t realize you bit your lips until the silvery taste of blood hit your tongue, and you averted your eyes from him to instead stare at your own nails. Afraid that if your eyes lingered on him for much longer, you wouldn’t be able to control yourself.

When Stephanie’s voice trapped your attention to something the distance didn’t let you decipher, you felt a tightness in your chest. A weird feeling of fear, anxiety and desire mix together, as Jason refocused his sight on you, walking slowly in your direction. His man tits bounced as he walked, perfectly muscled, and perfectly fit for the photoshoot.

Where were you with your head, you thought. There was no way Sandra would have ever listened to your nonsensical words, he was clearly perfect for that. His body was perfectly sculpted, as if he was handmade by Michelangelo himself, and perfectly decorated by his countless tattoos. 

You assessed him. Up and down. Every inch, every single detail. Eyes lingering longer than you should, as he walked to you slowly. His eyes darker than you remembered, the bright blue turning deep. His body moved light, lighter than a feather it seemed, as if he glided instead of walk. Everything in him screamed godlike, and you licked your lips as your mouth seemed to dry. Still focused on you, he licked his own lip, making you feel…

Yn. What are you doing?

Breaking away from your thoughts, your eyes widened from the realization of what your mind was doing to you, rushing away from your. Out of the room, out of the building, out of here. You felt your heart race, speeding faster than a Formula 1 car. The air trapped in your lungs, making it harder to breath.

“Ouch,” you heard someone complain from behind you, as you closed the door without looking and sprinted towards one of the corridors. “Yn!” you heard his voice call, but you could not stop. Fuck, why is he here?

Taking a corner, you found a door leading to some outside area when Jason’s grip stopped you from taking any step further.

“What the fuck did I do to you?” he questioned bitterly. You had to roll your eyes at that. What haven’t you done?

You tried to remove yourself from his grip, but he was insistent. “What the fuck did you do to me?” you laughed sarcastically, finding amusement at his clueless question. “God you’re fucking infuriating.”

Turning around, you forced his hold off, but you were playing yourself if you ever thought you could fight him. You basically dragged him along, but in reality he didn’t move an inch. He was heavier and stronger than any weights you pulled at the gym.

“Oh, you leave my apartment like a mad woman. Did everything so you wouldn’t have to face me for weeks and tried to sabotage a job opportunity, and I am the one who’s infuriating?” he spat out. His face getting red from anger.

“Haha, you were not even supposed to be here!” you spat in return.

“Oh, so am I not supposed to support my little sister?” he inquired. You went quiet.

His sister. His fucking sister. How stupid were you. “You’re ruining my job,” you tried to find an argument. Something to fight him back.

“I saved your job right there!” His eyes grew large, burning into yours. He wasn’t wrong, but he also wasn’t particularly right.

“Let me go! You’re hurting me,” you nearly cried out, wanting to flee this situation desperately. He let you go, and in his eyes, for the brief moment you dared to look in them, you found a shadow of guilt.

With heavy footsteps, you made a beeline to the door, feeling the lump on your throat tightening. 

“You can’t take that night off your head too, can you?” he voiced, and you had to stop. He was thinking of it too, all this time. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you tried to calm yourself down. Swans, rainbows, blue ice cream, new skin care products. Anything good thoughts to take him, this, out of your brain.

“You’ve been thinking of it all day. All night,” he continued, his voice sending shivers down your spine. You felt him behind you, a looming shadow above your small frame. “My lips on your neck. Your nipples,” he said, fingertips gracing your exposed arms. “My fingers inside you.”

Your eyes were closed. Picturing every scene, every word that left his mouth. He was right, you couldn’t shake him off your mind, but so couldn’t he. He was just as much stuck on it as you. You was just as much in his mind and he was in yours. Just as pathetic.

You felt his breath touch the skin on your neck, and his fingers pulling your hair out of your shoulders. “Me ripping you apart,” he whispered, voice carrying so much lust you had a hard time holding up.

You didn’t.

Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you noticed his heavy breathing. His oily chest rising and falling, almost touching your back. So close you felt the bulge in his underwear sliding against your bum. Beside you, you found a door.

Then, you made a promise. If the door was locked, you would leave him there, you would not look back. You’d forget everything and anything about Jason. However, if it was open…

It was. Opening into a small and empty room, you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. And then, looking at him from over your shoulder, you begged for confirmation. You begged him to say he felt it too. That he needed it too.

Bobbing his head to the side, he motioned towards the opened room, telling you to get in. You did.

As soon as Jason closed the door behind him, you pushed him against the wall, frantically searching for his lips and finding it in a desperate, needy kiss. You needed him, you were starving for him. You needed his lips, you needed the air in his lungs. His breath, his warmth, his hands all over your body. You needed every single piece of him he had to offer, because he’d been in your head all week long, making you mad, deconcentrated, a mess. And he needed to pay for all that.

Spinning you two around, Jason had you pinned against the wall. Your legs didn’t waste time before wrapping around his waist, and it took him no effort to find a place for his hands on your ass, holding you up and close. You kissed ferociously, hungrily. Your tongues battled each other, struggling for power. Your fingers at the nape of his neck tugged at the hairs and he moaned inside your lips. Just like the last time.

But unlike last time, you did not have time to waste.

Pulling his dick out of his underwear, you let your legs go from his waist to take off your jeans. “Someone is eager,” he joked.

“Shut up!” you snapped, bringing him back for another deep kiss. He stroked his penis and you could feel his hands moving close to your belly. Your naked ass hit the cold stone wall, and your body jolted a little. Pulling at your waist, Jason had you bent over a desk in no time.

He tickled your folds with his head, but your hands on his wrist told him you were not playing today. He slammed inside of you with no second thoughts, and you almost let out a scream if it wasn’t for his mouth slapping on your lips. You felt your insides burn, his girth ripping you open as he slammed his dick in and out of you with speed. His calloused hand smacked against the soft skin of your ass, letting out a loud sound around the room. You nearly cried, body shaking as the skin burned where he had hit.

The smell of sex filled the room, as the sound of him hammering against your juices echoed on the walls. Jason started grunting behind you, his throat releasing feral sounds that had you hitting your high in less than a minute. Not much later, you felt the warmth of Jason’s seed filling you up, and your mind freaked out for a brief moment before it was clouded again once he forcefully turned you around and tackled you in another kiss.

Sitting on the desk, you brought him closer by his penis, pulling it in yourself and starting to grind against his crotch. Jason let a laugh vibrate through your body, mouths still tangled together, holding tightly at your thighs and thrusting hard inside of you. He slid a hand inside your shirt, taking one of your breasts out of your bra and pressing it so hard a tear formed in your eye.

Whatever the hell you two were doing now felt incredible. Your mind was starting to go numb again, and the tightness you’d feel minutes earlier had already returned. You let out a few cries in Jason’s mouth, as his teeth picked at your bottom lip, making sure you’d leave here with them red and swollen.

He didn’t care if anyone notice you’d just fuck. He wanted to parade it around. The thought of everyone knowing he had you all fuck over in an empty room making his release shoot within you once again. However, he didn’t stop until he felt you wall clenching around him, milking all he had left as your own milk slid through your legs.

As you tried to steady your breath, Jason left pecks on your lips, cheeks, and eyes. God damn it, he loved your fucked out face, he loved you post sex glow. He loved…

You search for his lips. They were warm, and without them you felt cold. You felt him moving out of you, and the emptiness afterwards. He resumed his little pecks on your lips after he’d put his penis back inside his underwear, handing you yours to put back on. You took them, but instead of putting them on, let it hand over his shoulders and you pulled him into a deeper kiss.

This one, though, was passionate. Slow, careful. It made your stomach spin, and the butterflies get busy in your core. It was good, and you wanted to be in it forever. You wanted to…

No! A voice screamed in your head, and you pushed him away immediately. You do not have feelings for Jason. You do not.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jason asked, a hand on his lower lips taking you to the bite you’d just given it. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me?!” you screamed exasperated, putting your pants back on. “You are what’s wrong with me, Jason. You!”

“Me?! You’re the one who threw yourself on me,” he threw his hands up in defeat.

“After you kept putting things in my head…”

“Me? I keep… What the fuck do you have in that fucking head?” he cut you before losing his temper. You were truly something incredible.

“A brain. Something you lack, perhaps,” you replied harshly. “You keep making me do these stupid things.”

“I didn’t make you do anything, you know it well,” he stated, hands hanging on his hips, looking at you as if you'd just gone mad. Perhaps you really had. “Stop acting like an innocent little angel, because you’re nothing of it. Nothing!”

You let your mouth hang open, flabbergasted that he dared to say something like that. You know you were no angel, but he was completely missing the point. “That’s not it!”

“And what is it then?” he inquired, anger painting his face red once more.

“You’re just a fuck boy,” you screamed and he stopped in his tracks. “If you think I’d waste my fucking time in a lowlife like you, you’re just fucking wrong!” you spat out. The words had left your mouth before you could properly think of them, emotions taking over your thinking process. But they were out, and they hurt Jason more than he’d like to admit. It felt like something broke inside his chest, the shattered glass of what once was his heart.

“You’re the one who acts like a stupid spoiled bitch,” he returned, soon regretting it. Your eyes filled with water, and some tears fled without your consent. Those were the words that hurt you the most to hear. Not because they were new, but because you’d been told that countless times, to the point you actually believed it.

Opening the door with rage, you ran out of the room and stomped your way outside of the building. A single tear sliding down your face, the effort you put to keep the others in taking inimaginable strength. 

When you got to the reception, the other assistant from earlier noticed you coming her way. “Yn,” she called worriedly.

“Tell Sandra I’m heading out. I’m feeling sick.”

The cold wind welcomed you outside, forgetting everything you’d left in the studio to head home. You wanted to fall to the ground, curl up in a ball and cry your eyes out. Never have you felt this upset and frustrated. And it wasn’t even Jason’s fault. So you arrived home, threw yourself on the sofa, and allowed the tears to fall.

A single tear fell from your eye as you stared blankly at your bathroom door. You were curled up on the floor, hugging your knees against your chest, waiting for those damned three minutes to be over.

You were late. Weeks late. And anxious thoughts were starting to take over. You would be fucked. Your parents would kill you. It would ruin everything. You were too young, and you were just starting your career. It just can’t be happening. There was no way you could do it on your own. That was not part of the plan.

The lump in your throat only got tighter. Counting the seconds desperately, you missed the count dozens of times, but you were sure the wait was now over.

Forcing yourself to stand up, you take slow steps to your sink. Getting the white and blue stick in your trembling hands, you couldn’t bring yourself to look. Too afraid of the reality it could bring you.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. Red eyes, puffy cheeks. You don’t even remember brushing your hair today. Taking a deep, prolonged breath, you take a look down. The eight letters showing on screen scaring you shitless.

Pregnant.

Oh, fuck!

.

.

tag list: @igotanidea ; @acornacreacure ; @erochuu ; @jasontoddslover ; @killxz ; @kysrion ; @loonymoonystuff ; @munimunni ; @novs9011 ; @spideytingley ; @starcrossedtrek ; @sttrawberries ; @vanillaattack ; @veryfabday @vissavin @xxsweetnlowxx ; @willieoo

[honestlyspookytyphoon]

Moving In And Moving On

Summary: After months of being for sale, the house across Pascale’s is sold to a young woman, Y/N. When summer comes, both women have grown close and Pascale tries to set her up with her son, Charles. However, unbeknownst to Pascale, Y/N happens to be the woman who broke Charles’ heart not so long ago…

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x female reader, but Pascale turned out to be the main character lol

Warnings: Angst (fed by a cruel thing called reality) – Brief mentions of loved ones passing away – The ending sucks, but I could not come up with anything better for now

Word count: +/- 2.5k

Author’s note: This piece was initially written as part 2 to ‘Cake, coffee and…Charles’, but it can also be read as a standalone. English is not my first language, so please forgive me any grammar mistakes and incoherent writing.

----------------------------------------------------------

Pascale was surprised when the ‘For Sale’-sign disappeared out of the front garden from the house across hers. The house had been empty since the elderly owners – Philippe and Lydia, two 80-plussers who had been together for over 65 years - moved to a care home several years ago and after both of them passed away, the family decided to sell it.

For the entire 15 years Pascale has been living in the neighbourhood, the house has been there. She warmed up to the elderly couple living across her quite soon and since then, Pascale had been there many times to chat or to help Philippe and Lydia with gardening or housekeeping when they were having health issues. In a way, the house was a part of her life. That is why, in a fit of nostalgia and melancholy, she decided to get the spare key and cross the street to visit the house one last time, before it would be teared down.

Pascale starts her tour in the small garden at the back, in which rare flowers used to blossom. She lively remembered the times when Philippe and Lydia brought her a small bouquet of these flowers to thank her, just because. Now, these flowers are all gone, overgrown by weed. From the garden, Pascale spots the small balcony at the side of the house, from which you have an amazing view of the surroundings. Philippe would sometimes serenade Lydia from below, knowing these romantic things riled her up the wall. Another fond memory of ancient times.

When Pascale enters the house, it is pitch black and musty. She tries to open the blinds but they are rusted. The power is out as well, so she uses the flashlight of her phone to get one last look of the interior. Despite the deck of dust and the fact that it surely is outdated – the house was built somewhere in the 1960’s –, the interior still creates a feeling of coming home, a safe haven. This feeling also appealed to Pascale’s three sons, who visited Philippe and Lydia from to time when they were young as the house looked like their grandparents’, who passed away too soon. When reminiscing the fond memories of her sons with ‘Phi and Ly’, she spots a picture of the five of them on the dresser. She remembers taking the picture during one of the many cookie-baking sprees on Wednesday afternoon: Lorenzo’s eyes were shooting daggers at Arthur for eating all the cookies, Charles was nickering and Philippe and Lydia were looking fondly at the three menaces in front of them. She gifted them the picture on their 60th anniversary and she never forgot their heartfelt reactions. Feeling tears welling up in her eyes, Pascale decides to take the picture with her before exiting via the back door. It was a house full of memories and history and Pascale hoped that the new owners could feel that too.

A few days after Pascale’s visit, the new owner arrived: Y/N, a 26-year-old woman. Since the house Y/N bought was old, much work needed to be done to meet current requirements and increase the comfort. As Y/N is just at the start of her career and many of Y/N’s savings were used to buy the house, she could not afford professional contractors to renovate the house; with the help of her parents and family, she is doing it all by herself.  However, as she has a full-time job, all work needs to be done during the weekends and after work, disturbing the peace in the otherwise quiet neighbourhood. Hence, to make sure her neighbours do not hate her already, she decides to visit them all to inform them on the upcoming works and to discuss planning.

Pascale was the last neighbour she visited. Y/N had knocked on Pascale’s front door a couple of time during the past weeks, but to no avail. The other neighbours had told Y/N about the special bond between Pascale and the previous owners, so she knew that this talk could be hard; she had to be delicate. Not that she held any accountability to Pascale – Y/N bought the house after all – but she had felt similarly when her grandmother’s house was sold; it takes time to accept that a place one grew accustomed is no longer there. Hence, Y/N wanted to show Pascale what the house would look like in the end and ensure her that she did not expect Pascale to accept her immediately. Taking one deep breath, Y/N rang the doorbell of Avenue Paul Doumer 5.

--- Three months later ----

The construction works were in full swing. The facade stones were taken away, cleaned and reused, the house’s insulation was improved and the windows were replaced. Today, Y/N and her nephew were removing the roof tiles to check and repair the underlying woodwork. Pascale watches both of them through her window. In the past months, she and Y/N have grown close. Pascale needed some time to get used to the new situation, but Y/N had been very understanding and an absolute sweetheart. The construction works never started before 7 a.m. and always ended at 10:30 p.m. sharp as agreed upon with the neighbourhood, she informed everybody upfront when there were any changes in the schedules, and she insisted to pay for the water, electricity and utensils she used. Pascale and Y/N always had a small chat when they saw each other and Lorenzo and Arthur, who visited their mom every month, also grew fond of her. Y/N was yet to meet Charles though, Pascale’s middle son, due to his busy racing schedule.

If he only met her, Pascale thought, she is the type of girl he needs. With the F1 summer break just around the corner and the final phase of the construction works nearing, an idea popped up in Pascale’s head.

---- August -----

The day of the street BBQ had come. Pascale had been preparing this event for weeks: doing a tour around the neighbourhood to fix a date, visiting the town hall to get permission to close the street, rent the tables, seats and parasols, making decorations and, of course, preparing the food and drinks – it has been hectic, but she was determined to make this day perfect.  

It was now 3 p.m. Charles parked his Ferrari at the small parking lot at the church and jogged his way over to his mother’s house. He knew he was running a bit late - something that his mother always told him was disrespectful - but he was met with a little fan on his way to the BBQ and he just could not refuse the small boy’s request to sign his drawing. When he spotted Pascale on the street, a small smile grew on his face; he loved his mom so dearly and it has been way to long since the last time they saw each other.

Pascale has been chatting with Y/N for almost 30 minutes now, only interrupted by her two sons – who told her that Charles would arrive a little later – and some other neighbours. Y/N was dressed in a loose floral dress that came a little above the knees, paired with white sneakers. She was wearing very little make-up and, much to Pascale’s relief, no wedding or engagement ring. Together with the fact that she had never seen any men at the site except for family members and never saw another car in the driveway than Y/N’s, Pascale was convinced that Y/N was single. She knew Charles was too but not wanting to be too intrusive, she decided to just plant a seed between Charles and her new neighbour today and see it from there.

When she heard the deep sound of Charles’ Ferrari, Pascale told Y/N that her third son had arrived and that she would be right back. Y/N’s hands became sweaty. Ever since she found out Pascale was Charles’ mom, she had been dreading this moment. There was no turning back now though.

---- Flashback ----

When Y/N visited Pascale for the first time last winter, her eyes quickly landed on all the family portraits hanging on the wall. It were paintings of a family of five, probably made by her sons in preschool, and pictures of Lorenzo, Arthur and Charles in different periods of their lives. In the middle hung a beautiful black-and-white picture of her husband, Hervé, who sadly passed away when the kids were still little. “There has been no other man in my life ever since”, Pascale said, the love for her deceased husband still evident in her voice. Looking at the paintings and pictures, Pascale could not help but be proud of where her family was now. Arthur and Charles were professional athletes and Lorenzo was active in finance. Both Lorenzo and Arthur had a lovely girlfriend, the eldest already thinking about children. Charles, however, was less steady when it came to love. After two long-term relationships, Charles got a bit lost; it was not easy for Charles to maintain a relationship given his hectic and public life. Although Pascale was sceptical and warned her son many times – as there are always people who try to surf on other’s success –, it hurt her to see him like this, trying to erase the loneliness inside him with alcohol and volatile love. At the end of last season though, a little spark returned in Charles’ eyes. He did not disclose much to his mom, apart from that he met a girl in France whilst being out with Pierre and some other friends and that they were texting each other very often. She had not heard him talk about her since the new season started, so she assumed that she was just another fling.

“That’s Lorenzo, this is Arthur and that’s Charles. Aren’t they beautiful young men, Y/N?” Pascale asked.

“They are, Pascale, they are”, Y/N replied. She was still looking at the picture of Charles, all memories of last winter hitting her like a truck.

It was almost a year ago when Charles and Y/N met each other in a small café in the south of France. Charles was out with his friends, unwinding from the previous season and enjoying a short get-away to prepare for the upcoming winter testing. Y/N happened to be in Nîmes that week for work and that is how they met. She had been quite bold that afternoon, handing her number to Charles when she left the café, fully well knowing who he was. She never expected him to do something with it – he was one of world’s eligible bachelors after all – so she almost fainted when he called her the next day, saying how much he liked talking to her. They kept texting from that day onwards, throwing in the occasional FaceTime-call late at night. Despite the fact that they were both busy and lived in other countries, not a day passed without contact. Long story short, Y/N and Charles were falling for each other, hard.

Pierre did not stop teasing Charles about it, relieved to see his best friend happy again. The people at Ferrari knew that there was something going on, sensing that the fast laps Charles was setting were not only due to the changes to the car. His brothers noticed he was mentally somewhere else when he did no longer weep the floor with Arthur during their weekly tennis matches. The presence of Y/N in Charles’ life changed him, but in a good way. He was glowing.

Y/N grew fonder of Charles by the second; he was such a sweetheart. While she was not into F1 that much before she met him, she was learning about the sport and following the testing sessions in Bahrein, such that they could talk about it without her sounding like a complete and utter fool. She found a renewed motivation in her work, supported by Charles who was amazed by both her beauty and brains – and he told her that, every day. She got back into learning French such that she could – or, at least, try – to talk to Charles in his mother tongue. In return, he gave her cute, French nicknames that made her blush, which Charles found incredibly endearing. She was glowing.

However, when it hit Y/N that the F1 season would be starting soon, she started to think. She loved Charles, she was sure of that, but a long-term relationship would not work. She had her responsibilities at home and Charles would be busy travelling, training and racing - she had been in a similar relationship before and things ended badly. The media would focus more on him too after he finished 2nd in last year's championship, attracting the attention from (new) female fans. Not that Y/N was the jealous type or that she did not trust him, but she knew there are women out there who are better suited for Charles, beautiful women who are willing to make sacrificies. Women Charles deserves. Therefore, before Y/N would move to her new home and Charles would start the season, they met in Turin to talk about it all. Y/N told Charles about her sorrows and although he wanted to deny it, despite him wanting all her reasoning to be wrong, despite him wanting to tell her to listen to her heart instead of her head, he knew she was right. Therefore, Charles and Y/N used the rest of that week in Turin to feel what it could have been; they had date nights in cosy restaurants, strolled through the city, went on hikes together and made the sweetest love. After sharing one last kiss at the airport and promising each other to never forget what they shared, Charles and Y/N parted ways.

For good.

---- Present -----  

Pascale swiftly disappeared to find her son. The local cover band Pascale hired was giving it all on the small stage and people were chatting away and enjoying the delicious pastries from the local bakery shop just a few blocks away. Y/N started mingling with Sebastien and Amélie, a young couple that was also relatively new to the neighbourhood.

Once he greeted everybody at the party, Charles was finally able to give his mom a proper hug. After a preach on how she does not see him enough and once made sure that he does take care of himself and eating enough, Pascale started updating him on all the latest gossip. Charles loves to gossip, especially with his mom because he loves how invested she is in it. After 20 minutes or so, when she decided she told Charles everything he needed to know, Pascale started to look around. She spotted Y/N a few tables further away, entertaining little Kasper. “I want you to meet our new neighbour, Charles. She is there with Kasper and Amélie. Come on.”

Although Charles did not know his mom’s new neighbour, he felt like he already did based on the stories Lorenzo and Arthur had been telling. From what he heard, she seems to be a lovely young woman. When he looked into the direction of little Kasper, he spotted her. She was wearing a white dress, which contrasted nicely against her bronzed skinned. Her hair was up in a messy bun, showing the delicate skin of her neck and shoulders. When he heard that the neighbours’ name was Y/N, his thoughts instinctively drifted back to his Y/N, his lost love, the woman whom he shared to best week of his life with. However, he never thought it would actually be her but now that he sees her, her petite frame, he knows it is her. The woman whose body he knows like the circuit of Monaco. The woman who still owns his heart. The woman he said goodbye to in Turin.

For good.

At least, that is what they both thought. Pascale gently taps Y/N on her shoulder. She turns around. “Y/N, I want you to meet my son Charles. Charles, this is Y/N, the new neighbour I told you about”.

Their eyes meet, for the first time in months. 

Should they act as if they never met?

Should she tell him that she moved on?

Should he tell her that he has not?

---------------------------------------------------

[muwapsturniolo]

✯Hoodie Pt 2✯

Summary: Y/N can't get over her breakup with Matt.

warning:angst

pt1

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You'd probably think I was psychotic (If you knew) What I still got in my closet (Sad but true)

She felt like shit. Since Matt broke up with her at the beginning of the summer, she's been crying nonstop. One would think with the way he ended things, she would hate him, but no. Instead, she finds herself finding comfort in an item of his. She knew that if her friends saw how she was coping they would call her psychotic.

I slip it on over my shoulders It's something I'll never get over It makes me feel a little bit closer to you

At nighttime, she would slip the hoodie on, imagining it was Matt holding her. She imagined he would pull her close, whispering sweet nothing in her ear like he used to do.

I can't keep your love I can't keep your kiss Gave you everything and all I got was this

She would go through phases of hating Matt for what he did. She gave him her all, three years of her life...and all she got was a breakup and a hoodie.

I'm still rocking your hoodie And chewing on the strings

At times the girl found herself walking around her apartment wearing the hoodie, chewing on the strings as she carried on with her everyday tasks.

It makes me think about you So I wear it when I sleep

She always had bad insomnia and Matt knew this, so he would sleep over all the time, holding her tightly so she could sleep. But he's not here anymore, so she resulted in sleeping in his hoodie, hoping just the thought and smell of him would be enough to trick her mind into letting her sleep.

I kept the broken zipper And cigarette burns

She was staring at the hoodie one day, examining the blue fabric. She doesn't know why she kept this one, after all the hoodie had a broken zipper and multiple cigarette burns on it. Maybe it was because it was his favorite hoodie, maybe it was because this is the one that holds the most memory.

Still rocking your hoodie Baby, even though it hurts

As much as she wanted to think keeping and wearing the hoodie is helping her cope, it's not. It hurts her to even think about Matt, yet here she is torturing herself.

I used to put my hand in your pockets (holding on) The smell of your cologne is still on it (but you're still gone)

She was doing her laundry, going through the pockets of each article of clothing when she got to the hoodie. She pauses and stares at the blue fabric. She holds it up to her face and sighs, smelling the faint cologne. it's like he's still here. she decides not to wash it, scared she will wash away anything she has left of him.

I slip it on over my shoulders You're someone I'll never get over It makes me feel a little bit closer to you

As she slips the hoodie on over her shoulders, this deep feeling of melancholy hits her. Tears form in her eyes when it finally hits her. She's never going to get over him. he was her first love, her first boyfriend.

I can't keep your love I can't keep your kiss Gave you everything and all I got was this

She gave herself to him, her virginity, her love, everything. He was selfish enough to take it, leaving her with no more love, no more soft kisses...just a hoodie with a broken zipper and cigarette burns.

If you want it back I'm here waiting

She posted a picture of herself in the hoodie, the caption not being subtle at all. She knew she was delusional thinking Matt would see it. But she sat there, hoping he would.

Come and take it back Come and take it back

It was around 20 minutes later of her staring at her phone, when a text came through. She clicks on the notification and feels her stomach fill with butterflies. She responds back quickly, not caring about how eager she seems.

Still rocking your hoodie

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

i hate this, i like matt's better fr.

TAG LIST 🍑

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision

[timetoletmyimaginationfly]

The Last Call

Nanami Kento x You

I give the biggest credit to @namikyento for this idea! Thank you so much for it! I hope you guys enjoy it!

I’ll post more of Our Love Story after this weekend!

(Song Inspiration: we can’t be friends (wait for your love) by Ariana Grande)

You stared blankly at the blank word document on your laptop. The ringtone from your cell phone pulling you out of your daze. You looked at the caller I.D. with a racing heart. All of the hope you had was suddenly gone when it wasn’t who you wanted it to be.

“Emi. Are you okay?” you asked, tone with disappointment but also worry that she called.

“Let’s go out,” she said. “You need a night out.”

“I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been fine for the past four months. I think you got worst,” Emi pointed out.

You were quiet. You felt everything disappear from your grasp. And you hated yourself for letting that feeling consume you more and more.

“You helped me out from my last relationship,” Emi pointed out. “I can’t let it consume you, too. He’s a jerk for leaving you like that. He’s a jerk for that to occur. He hurt you. Show him that you can be happy without him.”

“I—“ For the first time in a while, you let your tears fall. You tried to muffle your sobs, however, Emi heard.

“You’re my sister from another mister,” she said. “If not tonight, then I’m going to come over with both of our favorite snacks and we will watch Legally Blonde, 500 Days of Summer, and maybe John Tucker Must Die.” You let out a breathy chuckle and nodded.

“Okay,” you said as you wiped your tears away. “I’ll get the living room ready.”

The two of you huddled closely together on the couch. A large, fuzzy blanket wrapped around you two as she quickly ate a bag of chips and you slowly ate your popcorn.

“These two, I still wish they ended up together,” Emi said. You nodded, your expression very melancholy.

“But he’ll find someone for him,” you said. All you could think of was him. The love you two shared that slowly disappeared and is forever gone. “We broke up once but he called me and we tried to make it work.” Emi looked at you. You haven’t spoken about the break ups. You indulge in work and an attempt to write a new book. But all of your inspiration was gone.

“And now?”

“I thought it was going to work,” you said, your voice breaking from the tears. “But…but…” You shook your head. You brought your knees towards your chest and buried your face on your knees. “Maybe I did something wrong. It had to be me.”

“No, no, and no! It was never your fault in the first place!” Emi exclaimed. “The asshole hurt you! Because I thought everything was going well! Until I started to barely see him too!”

“Then why?”

“I don’t know. You know him better than anyone. At least, that’s what he always says. So, prove that fucker wrong!”

“Okay,” you said with slight defeat. “I’ll prove him wrong.”

It didn’t happen overnight. But week by week, you would step outside and go about your daily routine. You slowly went back to your morning or afternoon walks. You stopped by your favorite bakery again, a smile becoming bright like it was before.

Today, you and Emi went shopping after you attempted to write something in the morning. You were happy to even start with brainstorming ideas. You made yourself give yourself a “me day”. And Emi never felt so proud before.

“I need new facial products,” you said. “And hair products. I need to take better care of my appearance.”

“Honey, you are gorgeous just the way you are. Your hair, beautiful. Skin, like a baby’s bottom.” You laughed and playfully hit her arm. You blushed from the compliment. It has been a while since you even received such compliments. “Everything okay though?”

“Better than before,” you said truthfully as you looked at her. “Thank you, Emi.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You helped push me,” you said. “And I needed it.”

“Good, good. Shall we do something?”

“After we shop, let’s get some alcohol and drink. It’s been a while.” Excitedly, Emi wrapped her arm around your shoulders. Again, you let out a laugh.

“Finally! My drinking buddy is back!”

The drinking didn’t last too long when you found Emi passed out on the couch by 6PM. In a drunken state, you threw the gray blanket on top of her. You poured another shot for yourself and drank some more.

And more and more, you kept drinking and drinking. You went to your room that lead to a balcony and sat down. A bottle of tequila with an empty shot glass sitting in the glass table. The cold air helping you cool down from the heat radiating within you. You scrolled through your phone. Pictures you didn’t bother to delete angered you. The happiness all gone. And it was a mistake going back down memory lane that you couldn’t stop cursing at yourself mentally. So you poured another drink for yourself to quickly down.

“Fucking jerk…” you mumbled. “I’ll give him a piece of his own damn mind…”

You went through your contacts. You forgot that you deleted his number. You felt your heart break. Much more than it had before. But why? Why would it hurt so much now? You dialed the number you only knew by heart. Your heart was racing as it rang and rang.

“Is everything okay?” That voice. The same, deep voice that brings you weak in the knees. The same voice that brings goosebumps all over your body. And the same voice that made you forget how to breathe and made your chest heavy as hell. “Y/N.”

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” you questioned, words slurred. The alcohol really hitting you to its core.

“You’re drunk.”

“Obviously, Captain Obvious.”

“You shouldn’t call me, sweet—Y/N.”

“Nanami Kento, you jerk! How dare you do this to me.” Your tears slipped, and sobs escaped your lips.

Nanami was in bed, tan slacks still on with his blue button up, the first few buttons undone with his sleeves rolled up. He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt at peace. All he could see with closed eyes were your tears. Your tear-stricken face filled with so much hurt and pain. The sounds of your heartbroken cries before he left your apartment was engrained in his mind. And all he could feel was his own heart breaking every single day.

Every night, he goes home and pours himself a glass of whiskey. Maybe even drink two or three more to help him fall asleep, even if it’s for an hour. Tonight was the first night that he chose to not drink anything. Gojo and Shoko both encouraging him to change his bad habits. And of course, of all nights, you called.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw your name on his phone. And even though it wasn’t a greeting he usually heard from you, hearing your voice again brought him great relief. A voice he missed hearing everyday. Your voice that always makes his heart skip a beat and bring butterflies to his stomach. It made him feel something, even for a moment. But he knew, he just couldn’t lure you back in again.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. He imagined you out in the balcony, your knees hugged against your chest. And it was exactly what you were doing.

“It’s not fair,” you said. “I miss you so much. I still fucking love you and I don’t think I could love anyone else like I love you.” Nanami was silent. He swallowed the large lump in his throat, tears forming in his eyes.

“It isn’t fair…”

“We were so happy, Kento. I never understood why we broke up the first time, but you came back. And I was so happy. You were so happy. We did what we always did. We both worked, ask about our days, and we enjoy every moment we have together. I don’t know what I did wrong. If I did, I’m sorry. I thought I was doing everything right. Did I annoy you? Was I clingy? Was I overbearing?” Nanami took a deep breath, his tears falling. His heart broke more. He knew there was no way that you were in the wrong.

“No. Not at all.”

“But you! One day we spent all day together, you had a freak out moment, we came home, and made love! And the next day, you were distant! You were rarely home. You always went to bed early. You haven’t…I couldn’t…Kento, I needed you so much and you weren’t there for me. And then you break up with me.” You heard him inhale, obvious that he has been crying as well. “I don’t understand why you’re crying.” Nanami couldn’t help but just chuckle.

“You know me so well, sweetheart. Better than anyone else,” he said. His name for you. You always loved it. But tonight, you hated it.

“A-And you know what? I think I’m a great catch! Any guy would wish to have me!” Nanami held in his breath. Because he knew that was true. He glared at every guy that eyed your way flirtatiously. He always pulled you closer to him when the two of you were out, showing everyone that you were taken and his. Nanami got to be the lucky one. He had you. “And I hope you regret letting me go. Sometimes, I even hope you wouldn’t find happiness like you did with me.”

He knows that he wouldn’t.

“But I still love you,” you confessed. Everything you wanted to say to make him feel bad, you couldn’t help but pour some of your love in your rant.

And he still does, too. He sniffled. You heard him, and you cried a little harder.

“I hurt the love of my life. And I hope you find the happiness you truly deserve,” Nanami said.

His heart broke. Because he planned to have a future with you. He planned to love you to the fullest. He planned to be the one to support you. He planned to be the one to give you everything you could ever ask for. But now, all he could do was listen to you cry and keep breaking your heart.

“Goodbye, Kento.”

“Goodbye, my love.”

Immediately, you hung up. You put your phone on the table and hugged yourself tighter as you let your tears spill. You said what you have to say and it was all you could do. Your closure that didn’t feel like a closure. And all you want to do was call him to hear his voice again. To hear him tell you how much he loves you and how he’ll always be there for you. A part of you hoped that he would call you back.

Nanami lied there, tears spilling out of his eyes. His hand rested on his chest with his phone in hand. It was only past 7. A man already in bed the moment he arrived home. Everything you said to him repeated in his mind. Memories of you and him playing over and over. But it stopped when his phone rang again. He had hope. Was it you that called him?

But it all went away when he got a phone call from Ijichi. He wiped his tears away and cleared his throat before he answered.

“Ijichi-san.”

“We need you in Shibuya. It’s urgent.”

“I’ll be there.”

He sat up in bed, looking at his phone. A picture he saved of you that he never had the heart to delete. His favorite picture. A picture where you were busy typing your recent famous book. The smile on your face as you typed. Your smile so bright it added so much light to his dark and brooding life. His only regret was leaving you like this. Heartbroken and in tears. And he’ll regret it, even after death.

[sinligh]

It’s late July, A lost breath of soulful desperation bled half the year that has passed over my eyes, painting a veil like fabric that blinded me mercifully.

can time really heal anything? I’ve been struggling with digesting all that it stored for me…

My cruel heart is only a result of the ignorance that i built brick by brick from its remnants

I even named the process defensive mechanism.

It’s early august, I’ve held on to a routine for as long as i can, living off of small accomplishments; cause what’s the alternative?

Prisesstant melancholy? Undoubtable anguish?

I became insensitive to time passage, like a child that never knew health only saw it as a blanketing apology covering everyone they love.

a child that can vividly touch the heaviness of the life they’ll carry for as long as they’re allowed to.

I’ve been accumulating feelings like corpses that are waiting to be identified in a morgue.

frozen above my brainstem, that until the heat of the summer caused them to melt and overlap into a storming ocean; leaving little versions of me to drown in their waves

and I as a helpless outsider watching from a coast and hoping i could pour all of this in one single poem, or maybe aspire it all like you’d do a patient with fluids in their lungs: Thoracentesis.

And use it as a supply to wash away the catatonic rage that flows through my veins.

reality is ringing it’s bell inside the cavity where my eyes should be, and even though i can hear it.

It’s taking me longer than I thought it would to reach; cause thats all i can do.. try.

I measure my self value interchangeably with all the pieces of me i left behind to comfort others.

That and all the leftovers of my mother’s life.

My soul is constantly tugging.

Tugging, tugging, tugging. Never in the same direction but it’s still clear that it wishes to be free from me.

Emotionally attached to this and that to her and him

But they’re never enough; i never am…

And I’m so tired of it all, the never ending self loathing.

But to whom do I confess ?

Who would acknowledge my longing, Who will embrace my infelicitous desire to be held together or even just touched,

an innocent reminder of my existence, to ease me into being a human again, especially after I starved myself for the sake of nourishing others.

•••

•Quotes: Louis Tomlinson/ Taylor swift/ Henry Miller/ Rainer Maria Rilke/Helen Oyeyemi/Anne Sexton/Franz Kafka/Susan Sontag

•Original context: Sinligh

•Art reference:

1. Timothy Archer - The blue rider. 2. The Train by Ben McLaughlin. 3. Paintings by Raymond BonillaRaymond. 4. Ottoman Beauty with a Butterfly by Harold H. Piffard. 5. Side Light by Quang Ho. 6. Painting by Alex Kanevsky. 7. Fine Morning by Sally Strand. 8.painting by Steven J. Levin

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Think you can find exes sterek where they end up back together? (Bonus if you can find some where the Hales firmly disapprove of him being with anyone that's not stiles)

Let's find out!

Expect the Unexpected by justonemoremiracle

(1/1 I 2,757 I Teen)

“We need to break up. You know how important the alliance is, and if my parents—If my mom wouldn’t have—”

It hurt, the realization that an old-fashioned pack that had been around for a couple of hours had a tighter hold on Derek than Stiles ever did.

Except the problem wasn’t the Williams pack. It was Derek’s mom. And Stiles couldn’t bring himself to be mad at Derek for that, even if his decision was breaking his heart.

Of Keys and Locked Things by manixzen

(1/1 I 3,649 I Teen)

Stiles knows he should have changed out his deadbolt lock back when he bought the house. The thing has never worked right. But what can he do when the only locksmith in town is his ex-boyfriend? Other than hope that his lock never fully breaks...

The Christmas Raffle by mikkimouse

(1/1 I 10,386 I Explicit)

Every year, the royal Hale family raffles off a Christmas dinner with Prince Derek to raise money for charity. But this year, the winner is the second chance Derek didn't know he was looking for.

Lord knows it would be the first time by uraneia

(1/1 I 12,287 I Explicit)

Stiles is home from Berkeley for the summer, but only because he promised the pack. He'd rather not see Derek, because whatever the thing was that they were doing, they're not doing it anymore, and it sucks.

Unfortunately, he doesn't have a choice. The betas tried a magical remedy for Derek's melancholy, and now Stiles has a three-year-old who looks like Derek. Stiles doesn't know how to deal with that, and he definitely doesn't know how to tell the betas he and Derek were secret fuck buddies for a year and a half.

Aftershocks by 42hrb

(4/4 I 18,137 I Teen)

“I broke his heart.” Stiles said as Lydia held his face in her hands, using one perfectly manicured thumb to wipe away a tear that fell from his eye.

“Sweetie,” Lydia said softly, “I think you broke yours too.”

Come Back To Me by Icylightning

(12/12 I 20,177 I Teen)

Stiles works in an agency that supplies secretaries. His latest assignment : Personal secretary to Derek Hale who also happens to be his ex boyfriend.

You Remember It All; When I Loved You So by crossroadswrite

(1/1 I 21,413 I Teen(

Derek takes a step forward and then stops. Stiles can see the way his muscles tense and tremble like he’s holding himself back by a hair.

“What-“ his voice breaks, he gets a little choked off and has to drop his eyes.

It’s been one year. He doesn’t think he can look at him after one year.

“What are you doing here?” he mumbles into the floor, knows that Derek will hear him.

“I-“

One Beacon Hills by 182daysof

(15/18 I 73,141 I Mature)

Three years four months and two days we return to Beacon Hills and somethings have changed, some of them have reached the goals they set as teens: Stiles is a Deputy, Lydia is a respected scientist and Scott became the vet he was destined to be. Some didn't: Derek lost his inheritance and started work as an EMT. Following on from Lydia's influence Malia has become a fashion designer, and Peter Hale is locked in Eichen House. But, after Lydia encourages Derek back home to Beacon Hills old hurts and feelings will be cracked free between Stiles and Derek especially when a body is found in the woods on Hale property.

[conkers-thecosy]

Bagginshield-tober / Day 2 / Garden

Hi guys! Here's my offering for day two of the lovely @smolestboop's "Bagginshield-tober" prompt list 💛

You can also find these little snippets compiled into one fic on AO3

Bilbo is very sneaky in this one, but in the most embarrassingly fluffy way imaginable! Hope you guys enjoy!

~*~*~

“Perhaps some time in the garden would be nice today?”

Summer in the Shire was much warmer than Thorin was used to. Geographically speaking, Ered Luin wasn’t that far away -around three weeks of travel on a good pony- but the mountains were always bound to be cooler. The seasonal difference even across such a short distance was notable, particularly at this time of year

It was the height of August now, and even Bilbo, who seemed to revel in the warmth and sunshine of his home, was starting to show signs of discomfort. They had started leaving many of the windows open at night, and their bedroom doors ajar to help circulate some air. It did help some, particularly in the wee hours of the morning, but it meant that Thorin could hear the Hobbit shifting restlessly in his bed through the night, and his little whimpers and cries as he dreamt and recollected terrible things were even more difficult to ignore.

The guilt gnawed at Thorin, knowing he had put those fears in Bilbo, haunted by his own actions and regrets like a spectre every night, and hating himself for the damage he had caused. It ate at him, and between that, the heat, and his own nightmares, sleep was nigh on impossible. He would sit awake with the heat, then when he became tired enough to sleep, he would become alert at the sounds of Bilbo’s distress from the room next door. When the Hobbit eventually managed to settle himself, Thorin’s own nightmares would keep him from rest. Eventually he would just pass out as dawn was peeking its head above the horizon, but could only gather a few hours before the heat woke him once more. 

This morning, feeling wearier than he had since leaving Erebor in disgrace for the second time in his life, he found an equally exhausted Hobbit waiting in the kitchen for him. They spoke very little, but regarded one another carefully when each thought the other was not, and both failing abysmally. 

Thorin wondered what Bilbo saw. He wondered about that often, truth be told, but tried not to indulge in it too often, for fear of making himself melancholy. Bilbo saw much. More than almost anyone Thorin had ever met, and there was a part of the exiled king that made him wish perhaps he wasn’t quite so good at noticing so much. He found there was much of himself he would prefer the Hobbit didn’t see.

“Perhaps some time in the garden would be nice today?” Bilbo smiled at him from over the rim of his teacup, green eyes bright and knowing and kind. Far too kind. “There’s a little breeze about today, and I’d like to cut back the lavender bushes so I can dry some of the flowers. What do you think? Care to supervise?”

“I would be happy to assist,” Thorin corrected, unsure if he was being asked to help, or being given permission to laze about, but determined not to allow the latter. “Though I do not know which of your many plants are lavender.”

Bilbo sipped the last of his tea and replaced it in the saucer with a wink at Thorin that made his heart speed up a little. “The lavender coloured ones, of course!”

They finished their breakfast, washed the dishes together in companionable, if tired, quietness, then headed out to the back garden. It was a beautiful place, one Thorin had admired greatly when he first saw it - even though Bilbo had brushed aside his praise and admitted to keeping his neighbour, Hamfast Gamgee, as a gardener to tend it. He had been pleased to find the garden in good repair after they had returned to Bag End together, for all the rest of his home had been an empty, dusty shell until they had put it to rights and reclaimed as many of his belongings as possible.

As it turned out, the lavender was actually lavender coloured, and it wasn’t just a joke after all. The flowers were very pretty, tiny, delicate little clusters at the end of long, thin stalks that grew up from leafy little bushels. There were a great many honeybees interested in the flowers, though much smaller than the ones they had seen at Beorn’s, and given the strong scent of the plant, Thorin wasn’t all that surprised. 

“Now, you make sure and tell me if you start to get a headache,” Bilbo wagged a finger at him, looking stern. “I’m personally very fond of the scent, but there are many who have an adverse reaction, so don’t try and be tough about it.”

Thorin promised, and they began to cut back the long row of plants, taking the flower stems right down to the leaves and laying them in bundles along the grass verge. Bilbo chatted while they worked, explaining how he liked to dry the flowers and use them for little scented pillows, as his mother had always been fond of them. He said he would make her a fresh one every year, and since she had passed, he made one for himself, and as gifts instead.

Thorin could understand the appeal of such a thing, they really did smell wonderful. He was pleased to find he had no headache at all, only a lazy sort of contentment as they worked side by side in the sunshine. 

“I think that’s all of them,” Bilbo smiled, wiping sweat from his brow. “Shall we sit in the shade for a little while and take a break?”

The pair of them found a shady spot under a tree, and Bilbo laid back on the cool grass almost immediately. Thorin hesitated for only a moment, before he joined him too, though careful to keep a respectful distance between them. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have laid down at all, but it was very hot, and he had grown very calm and sleepy. So much so that it was all he could do not to close his eyes, the sound of the soft breeze rustling through the trees, and Bilbo humming very gently from beside him…

When he awoke, it was well into the afternoon, and he might have felt guilty or worried for wasting the day, if not for finding Bilbo curled up beside him, sleeping soundly. Thorin watched him for a long moment, resting so peacefully, and close enough that, though they weren’t touching, it would take only the smallest of movements to make it so. 

He felt much better for the sleep, it was true, but there was no rush to wake just yet. Bilbo clearly needed the rest, after all.

[eleonoraalbright]

Do You Want To Know A Secret?

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x fem!reader

Excerpt: You felt a deep sense of sadness settle in the bottom of your stomach, for now you were convinced that he only saw you as a friend. Perhaps if you had the tiniest bit of courage, you could tell Peter about your secret crush on him.

Your window was opened to the warm evening air, and the grounds of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters was a peaceful sight. Kids and teenagers were scattered on the lawn, either playing frisbee or basketball, some sat in circles laughing at the antics of those around them. All of the students seemed content and happy.

You weren’t. You sat in your bedroom by the window looking out at the scene feeling somewhat alienated from your peers, and jealous. It wasn’t the little kids running or the friends competing among each other you were jealous of; it was the couples. The couples that were blatantly making out, holding hands, or simply cuddled up together.

Scott and Jean were sitting down on the grass chatting. A young boy threw the frisbee in the wrong direction and it came hurtling towards Scott, whose back was turned and didn’t notice. Luckily, Jean did.

With her telekinetic abilities, she stopped the projectile and returned it to the grateful boy. Scott thanked his girlfriend by trailing kisses down her neck, whispering in her ear. Even from a distance, you could see Jean blush under his attention. You wanted that. Not from Scott but from someone else.

Your gaze turned back toward the picture you held in your hands. It was taken almost a year ago when the school had a summer party to celebrate the end of the semester. In the photo, you and Peter Maximoff were sitting down on a bench eating watermelon slices. Peter wore his ridiculous Hawaiian swim trunks decorated with a variety of tropical birds.

The day had been a blast filled with swimming, water balloon fights, tasty food, wonderful company, and your first kiss, sort of. Peter had kissed you on the cheek at the night’s end. When it happened your heart nearly exploded from excitement. For a time, you had hoped it was the beginning of a romance between you and him, but alas it was not. You didn’t see much of him last summer, and neither you nor him had made any steps into a relationship in the past year.

Your fingers brushed the picture of Peter’s face, and you felt a deep sense of sadness settle in the bottom of your stomach, for now you were convinced that he only saw you as a friend. Perhaps if you had the tiniest bit of courage, you could tell him about your secret crush on him but every time an opportunity arose for you to act, you’d get cold feet and leave before he’d suspect anything.

Sighing, you leaned your head against the wall trying to think of something other than Peter. You focused on your record player in front of you. The vinyl spinning around and around was hypnotizing and you relaxed for a moment, listening to John Lennon’s voice sing “Baby It’s You”.

Uh, oh, it doesn't matter what they say I know I'm gonna love you any old way What can I do, and it's true Don't want nobody, nobody

Cause baby, it's you

To help with your melancholy mood, you put on the Beatles’ first album Please Please Me. Now, when paying close attention to the lyrics, your thoughts drifted towards Peter again. You wanted him but he didn’t want you. Briefly, you were glad when the song changed but soured again when the song was “Do You Want To Know A Secret?”

Maybe a collection of love songs wasn’t the best idea to listen to when trying to forget about your crush. In irritation at the band singing about love, you almost threw the disc across your room. However, you calmed yourself, it wouldn't help your situation to destroy it. Besides, your dad bought the record when he was your age and gifted it to you as a present for your last birthday. 

Taking deep breaths in and out, you felt a rush of air beside you. Your stomach dropped when you saw who caused it. Peter, handsome as ever, was standing next to you, wearing his signature silver jacket and goggles. "Hey, whatcha up to?"

You pressed the picture to your front, covering it as much as you could with your hands. You hoped he wouldn't pay attention to the song, see the photo, and connect the dots. "Uh, nothing much. Just listening to some music."

Peter picked up the cover of the album and raised an eyebrow. "The Beatles? Seriously?" He questioned in mock disappointment. 

You shrugged your shoulders. "It's a good band, and I like this song." The record spun faster, and both of you were silent as George Harrison sang out:

Closer, let me whisper in your ear Say the words you long to hear I'm in love with you, ooh

Fidgeting, you glanced between the record player and Peter, feeling nervous. Peter did the same with you, though he seemed unbothered. You tapped your fingers tensely, wondering what possible course of action to take so you could slip away. It wouldn't be too random to jump out the window and army crawl through the bushes to escape, right?

Peter opened his mouth to speak, and fearing what might come out of his mouth, you said, "Yeah my dad bought it when he was younger, and he asked my mom out while they danced to this. She loves telling that story, always saying that without this song I might not have been born. So that's one of the reasons I like it, and it's a good song."

You stopped rambling, and noticed Peter had a curious expression on his face. "Do girls actually like that?"

"Huh?"

"That cheesy romance stuff, like your mom did. Girls like that?"

"Umm..." Your brain seemed to have short circuited at his question. "I mean it depends on the girl. Some girls do and some don't. Also depends on the circumstances, and who's asking is pretty important too." You let out a chuckle at the end, attempting to alleviate a bit of the awkwardness. 

Peter held the album for a few more seconds, digesting the information. He tossed the cover on your bed and asked, "Well, speaking of pleasing me, do you wanna go to 7-Eleven. A little bird told me they got a new shipment of twinkies." He had a lopsided grin on his face. 

You would've said yes, been happy to spend any amount of time with Peter, but now being in his company was unbearable. It was difficult having to joke, laugh, talk, and pretend you were content to be with him but not be with him. You couldn't keep up the façade. Not now. You replied, breaking eye contact, "I'm sorry, Pete. I don't want to right now."

"It'll take less than a minute. We can get some silly string too. Scott's room is lookin' real drab and it needs a bit of color stop to liven it up," he coaxed.

"No, I have a headache. I just want to be alone this evening." You gave him a sad smile, hoping he'd understand.

Peter was unhappy that you wouldn't come with him, but didn't pester any further. He nodded and departed without another word. You returned to gazing at the window, feeling dissatisfied with Peter's friendship and frustrated at your inability to tell him the truth.

"I'm glad I could come, Peter."

"Yeah, it's been a while since we hung out."

It was a hot July day in the suburbs of D.C. where you were staying with the Maximoff's. Over summer break, you had grown bored at home, so you decided to pay your favorite speedster a visit. An ample time had elapsed since that evening in May, that you felt confident enough to be around Peter without becoming a stuttering lovestruck fool.

You had even gone out with a couple of dudes to get your mind off him. But now, with the two of you alone in his basement, your mind wandered over to possible romantic scenarios that could happen. You mentally rebuked yourself for thinking such things about your friend. Maybe there was some cute guy in a movie you could obsess over instead of Peter.

To distract yourself, you started looking through his extensive collection of stolen albums. He had all of Pink Floyd’s, including Atom Mother Heart, Meddle, Obscured by Clouds, and Dark Side of the Moon which was his favorite. 

"So, what do you feel like listening to?" You asked Peter who was playing Ms. Pac-Man on the other side of the room. Just as you were about to suggest Obscured by Clouds, he sped off and appeared again, this time closer to you, holding up a new one. It was Please Please Me.

"I was thinking of this one." He put it on his record player and fast-forward through a few songs until "Do You Want To Know A Secret" started playing. He held out his hand to you. Shocked by his actions, you took his hand hesitantly.

He put his other hand on your waist and began swaying. Peter was dancing with you! You tried to regain your composure and hoped he couldn't hear your heart beating a zillion miles per hour. 

You'll never know How much I really love you You'll never know How much I really care

You tried to begin a conversation to preoccupy yourself from the warm sensation spreading throughout your body but was stopped by Peter whispering in your ear. “Listen, do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell?” You stiffened at his words. "Closer, let me whisper in your ear. Say the words you long to hear."

He murmured the lyrics along with the song as it played. He continued, "I've known a secret for a week or two. Nobody knows, just we two." Peter twirled you around once then brought you closer to him. His lips brushed against your ears once more as he continued his soft singing. "Say the words you long to hear. I'm in love with you."

Tingles traveled up your spine when he said the romantic words. You looked him dead in the eyes, determining if this was all a giant joke, Peter being a jerk and playing with your tangled emotions, or if he was genuine. He returned your gaze and explained, "Technically it's been more than a week but that's what the song says."

You gaped at him. "Peter, are- are you serious? Are you joking?" You swallowed all of your apprehension and hardened your voice. "Cause if you are, I'll knock you into next Tuesday."

He gave a small chuckle at your reaction. "I wouldn't be slow dancing with you in my basement if I didn't like you." He emphasized the slow part to get his point across. However, something was off about Peter, he licked his lips, and looked, dare you say it, scared?

You realized he was waiting for you to say if you liked or didn't like him back. The thought made you smile. The fact that you, of all people, could make Peter nervous. How the tables had turned. You contained the laughter bubbling up inside you and answered, "I like you too, Peter."

His worried expression was quickly replaced with a cocky grin. "Huh, who knew this cheesy romance stuff worked?"

"Like mother, like daughter, I guess."

"Yeah, I should thank your dad next time I see him for the tip."

You let out a breathy laugh at his comment, before gingerly pressing your lips against his. He kissed back. You broke away first and rested your head on his shoulder. Peter hummed in contentment.

He whispered, "You know, I could get used to going this slow with you." In his cluttered basement, you and Peter danced to the Beatles, stopping more often than not to kiss each other. You were glad that his and your affections were no longer secret anymore. 

Listen, do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell, whoa, oh Closer, let me whisper in your ear Say the words you long to hear I'm in love with you

Taglist: @spderm4nnnn

[00127am]

signed with love and forever yours, dejun

postage. xiao dejun & gn! reader, mentions of kissing cost to ship. 872 words

there was that time, laying in the open field behind the school, that you asked me why i always avert my gaze around you. i wasn't able to provide you with an answer. and how could i? when you were laying so close to me, nothing more than the thin separation of blades of grass between us. the same grass that i twisted in between my fingers as i fumbled for any semblance of a correct response. you weren't looking for a 'correct' answer, but an honest one, and perhaps--in the grand scheme of all things--that was worse.

it was hot that day. some week in late august, when we were skipping class. a class i shouldn't have skipped. considering the fact that i was flunking it. i had to get kun to tutor me, though i also remembering begging you too. i knew you weren't any good at the subject, but to me, at least, you could never be bad at anything.

you always loved the sound of cicadas. they were loud that day, a steady stream of their chirping that you said sounded like the melody of your favorite song. no matter how hard i tried, i couldn't figure out exactly what you meant. but perhaps that was because they were hard to hear over the beating of my heart. a rhythmic pounding that overtook all other noises beyond the tone of your voice. the up and down waver of your inflection which cut clear through everything else in its way. you sounded like my favorite song that day. though i guess your voice is always my favorite.

the answer to your question, the one you asked about me averting your gaze--if you still care for the answer, i hope you do (pray)--is one that you probably already know. or one you have figured out through my obvious yearning. or told by hendery, the most likely out of the three options. i can't look at you for long, because if i do--if i spot the reflection of myself in your irises and the utter adoration in my own--it becomes obvious what i feel for you.

if you were to look into my eyes, to return my stare with one of your own (the same one that makes my mouth run dry and my chest burn) then you'd catch every bit of longing for you that i hold in my body. the same longing that is desperate for your words, attention, touch, kiss.

if i did answer your question that day, underneath the heat of a dying summer (one which remains immortal in the grounds of my memory) and in a moment caught in time, i'm afraid that i might have kissed you. that my silly, schoolboy crush would have superseded any inkling of common sense in nothing but the sheer hope that you would kiss me back. would you have? kissed me for an honest answer?

i'm being honest now. so when you get this, and if you still care--if you would have rewarded me back then in between the blades of grass and in the lull of the cicada's song that summer--will you repay me with a kiss?

about dejun's love letters.

xiaojun's handwriting is practiced to a degree of elegancy, with swooping ends of consonants and dramatically drawn vowels. everything about him is beautiful, so it only makes sense for this to be as well, with elongated strokes of cursive that seem to be stripped from the fine pages of old prose. despite all of its intricacy and detail, it's always legible. every phrase and sentiment able to be discerned underneath all the glitz and glamor of his penmanship (something he tends to regrets each and every time ten or hendery seems to get their hands on them).

he's a nostalgic person, constantly and consistently returning to old memories to revisit them again and again and again. he loves to write about the past, to remember every detail that made his head spin and his breath catch. and he loves to relive them, though it's nearly melancholy, and to write them down with such a pretty consideration to ensure he'll never forget them. it's for this reason that he writes on white lined paper, the kind you rip out of notebooks or are handed in secondary school. it's rather pointless in the grand scheme of things, since his words transcend lines and sentences break across margins. isn't it really all for the memory, though?

like chenle, xiaojun's letters are not slipped into an envelope, stamped with an address, and signed off with your name. he finds there to be something devastatingly romantic in writing love letters that will never reach their addressee, or at least, don't have the intent too. but he hopes that one day, perhaps in the silence of a conversation or when his hand is clutching yours a bit too tight, that he'll find the courage to enunciate all of his affections. and then deliver the letters, each and every one that he has written throughout all the years he has known you, in the hopes that your love will become something that he can hold with both nostalgia for your younger years and fortune for your future ones.

your mailbox

taglist. @evilsailorsenshi @222brainrot @yangasm @jenaisnte @sour-chaos thank you for supporting me! ♡

🧾 © 00127am 2024

[0girlblog0]

Adrianne Lenker's "anything," on her album songs, is a rushed, repetitive, urgent plea to an ex-lover, Indigo, reminiscing on Christmas Eve and hot summer days. Adrianne tells Indigo what she wants - "I wanna sleep in your car while you're driving, lay in your lap when I'm crying" - but also recognizes jealousy in the relationship, saying, "Now you get pissed, unchecked calls and messages." Her quiet, melancholy, innocent voice, paired with the floating, flowing, constant guitar, conveys the simple but powerful pain Adrianne feels in the form of a lullaby. This song is an ode to all the small pleasures of human relationships, like not having to "talk about anything," just witnessing someone's "eyes looking." In the last verse, the song shifts from reminiscing on the good and bad in the relationship, and instead, Adrianne asks, "Weren't we the stars in heaven..?" wanting to know why the relationship ended if it was as great as she thought it was. She answers her question, saying she couldn't say "the words" like Indigo did, but she justifies it, saying, "I was scared, Indigo, but I wanted to." The song is so intimate and honest that it feels intrusive to even listen to it.

This song changed how I think about love because it puts what I want so simply. The best people around you are those you can sit with and not have to do or say anything. Adrianne doesn't want anything shiny. She wants something safe and honest, which is all we can hope for in a relationship. Some of my happiest moments are just being in the presence of my friends, driving in a car, watching a movie, or sleeping next to them and just being able to know that they are there. It is nice to know that you don't have to impress them. All you have to do is exist with them.

[boyfhee]

THE WORLD STAGE · yang jungwon

w : food mentions, implications of death

note : for my dear vie slash @koishua, a desensitized and inconsolable jungwon in return for a heeseung on the verge of insanity ( once again, i am loving these names ) i hope you like this even though this is nowhere near how you portray such subjects in your works.

“will we be able to hang out like this after your debut?” your voice was quick to reach his ears, traversing through the bits of summer as it had drifted lightly in the wind. golden highlights rest on your cheekbones, grape-fruit coloured sky embracing the city in its arms. your eyes had closed in satisfaction as the honey-vanilla flavoured ice cream melted against your tongue. 

“i’m not sure,” he had taken a bite off his popsicle, much to your amusement, before wiping a speck of your dessert from the corner of your mouth. “i can make time for you, as always,” 

and he remembers those moments quite well. jungwon remembers the way you looked away in silence, the way your hair flowed in soft waves as laughs emanated from your flustered grimace and spun in summer air. he remembers the way you fished out small bits of walnuts from the ice cream, the way melody his heart sung when his eyes met yours again, he remembers the chaste kisses that tasted of vanilla, the flavour still settles on his mouth like a sudden change in the weather. jungwon remembers the way you had taken his hands and promised to be at every concert, every fan-sign, every public event and, beyond, no matter where you were in the world. he remembers the fluttering promises that have now become strings of broken words, resting in his palms. 

it’s a stage and jungwon had pictured every moment of his life with you, a premeditated plot, a story that was bound to have a happy ending. with dreams in mind and a desire to reach the stars, you both walked the path together. the future was uncertain, but his hand was in yours, and his early teen years were spent in discovering new places and creating memories on spontaneous trips to nearby cities after school. when jungwon became a trainee, there was an image in his mind— him on the stage, your hands in his, the world stage. he imagines himself telling the world about you, his best friend, his lover, his beginning, middle, end and everything in between; and he wants to tell that a million hearts beat for him but his’ only ever beats for yours’, it’s a synchrony of melody and melancholy. he wants the universe to know about you because his love is louder than the sound of silence and secrecy. it’s overflowing and spilling all around, and he’s waiting for you to pick it up. 

“when you get famous, tell everyone that i was your biggest fan,” you had requested from the top of the climbing frame, winding rustling through your air as he watched you from down below, eyes squinted against the soft caresses of the setting sun. “don’t let anyone take my spot,” 

he remembers the way you had started referring to yourself in past tense, finding it rather amusing, unlike him, as if you had existed before time. while every step he took felt like a knife to his heart, you smiled widely, running through fields with arms wide open. you would enjoy the silvers of steam rising from your warm cups of coffee, jungwon would instead notice the way you had grown weaker. he remembers the little flowers of fears that gently broke from the buds and began to bloom the night his hand reached out to you, only to be met with cold sheets on the other side of the bed. he remembers the way your hands would cup his tear stained cheeks, a smile dancing on your lips, warmth oozing through your fingertips— a touch he wishes he could forget. 

jungwon sits in the balcony amidst the biting gusts of cold winds that arrive with changing seasons. he doesn’t know what to do with all this love now that you aren’t around. 

he swears, he feels your presence around in the kitchen of his dorm, behind the curtains in the living room, in the mirrors of the dance practice room on days he rests against the cold wooden tiles, succumbing to the thoughts of you. it’s okay, he feels you whisper in his ears, the words that water the flowers, and he drifts into sleep until someone wakes him up. it’s okay, was all you said every time he didn’t do well on tests, every time he failed to show up on dates due to schedules, every time he cried to you about his fears and every time he saw you walk away in his nightmares. jungwon would love you until your face is fogged by a distant memory, but you had made up your mind, and you were so ready to go.

yang jungwon stands on the world stage now, with a broken promise holding his heart together, hands full of dreams he has finally achieved and yet feeling so empty. yang jungwon is going to be in love with you, in silence and secrecy, for a lifetime and more. 

it’s not going to be okay for a very long time.

[kio-may]

after the flowers wilt

---------

summary: what happens after you leave? what if both of you were meant to meet, no matter which world? the new student in your class seems so oddly familiar. What memory are you trying to revive?

A/n: this is basically self indulgence for me after twst is over after watching the ch 7 trailer and realizing the main story will end soon </3 this is also inspired by like. the intro page of twst where they ask u to choose someones hand n grab it tight. i thoroughly believe its connected to the ending so yargh. reader basically picked Vil in this one. can u guys guess who my bias is.

Words: about 2.7k, this is a one-shot <3

Content warnings and Labels: Vil x reader (reader is gn), Angst, reader has amnesia, mentions of being in a long term coma, feelings of nostalgia and melancholy, mentions of grief. you get the gist, I hope.

Suggested: listen to this mbira video while reading. The only thing i was listening to while writing this. hope it captured the mood well.

---------

The headmaster chose to spare everyone of the grief.

It was a few weeks, you'd been in a coma apparently. Your family rejoiced when you finally woke up. You swore you weren’t here before, but you couldn’t remember anything else. You didn’t know where else you could have been. You chose to push it to the back of your mind, after enough brushing off from your family and friends.

You recovered in no time, and started going back to school. You climbed the same stairs as you always did, your locker remained in the same place. You found out your place had been changed and you sat beside someone else now, your friends at a faraway corner. 

You half expected them to snicker and throw a paper ball at you and..

Wait, why would they do that?

You kept looking at the back of their heads. They were focused on what your teacher was saying.

Why wouldn’t they?

A tiny voice. Brushed aside.

The ceiling of your room looked so familiar and so distant. A tiny glow in the dark sticker painted over with the color of your walls. A vase full of roses and a small stack of "Get well soon!" Cards on your bedside. The open window blew in slight dust and a small dandelion seed. You wanted to catch it, but couldnt find the energy to get up. You watched it slowly trickle down onto your bedside and stay motionless.

Don’t forget us, idiot.

You shot up.

You remembered.

No, wait.. you didn’t.

A flash of a memory.

Was it really yours?

The flash went by as quickly as it came. What were you trying to remember?

Your eyes zoned in on your desk. A small perfume bottle and a neatly written letter from a distant relative. You could smell the faint, sweet smell of apples and a forgone summer.

Why did you feel so.. lonely?

What are you trying to remember in the first place?

What did you lose in the first place, that you are so desperately trying to remember?

You fell back on your bed with a soft thump.

Your phone cast beside you started to buzz. It was your friend. They asked you about the homework assigned.

You got to work.

–

Riddle was not the best at suppressing emotions, but where did they come from?

He stared at the tea in the cup, and let the warmth dissipate in his hands. The party was perfect. All the roses were red, there was no chestnut tart, and the only cat allowed was Grim. 

Even Ace, Deuce and Grim were not quite snarky, and seemed much more tame than how they usually were.

.

Leona was smart. He knew something was missing long ago. He didn’t know where this came from, but he didn’t bother. Another order for Ruggie, a different sandwich and another day in his passing life with a predetermined fate. What should he worry about?

Ruggie stood under a tree, and contemplated an empty feeling, without a word. A few moments off from his rushed, ever so busy life. He listened to the silent bristling of the leaves and glanced at silver, who also seemed to be confused about this feeling. No words were shared. The rustling sound of a plastic bag and distanced footsteps were heard.

-

The lounge was much more empty than Azul would have liked. A sign of less profit was of less noise, and less noise meant he was alone with his thoughts. The paperwork was drab today aswell, which did not help much. It kept him busy, though.

Jade and Floyd didn’t seem too ecstatic about working either. Floyd was especially slumped, but didn’t whine or complain. Jade was similar, the only difference being he would do whatever was required (at a more lethargic rate, but it was work nonetheless).

-

The ever so cheerful Kalim, for the first time, seemed calmer than usual. Smiling brightly at his dormmates and the repeated, "its a slow day today!" With a smile. It was starting to get easy to tell he was getting tired of it. A followed laugh that trailed off and a smile that stopped reaching the eyes.

Jamil was harder to figure on the surface. Ever so cool and composed. His hood seemed to cover his face further than usual. A thoughtful and foggy look in his eyes. Someone always sat beside him, but it wasn’t any of the dormmates. The hot air gently blew in. The smell of a water fountain and something that waited to be remembered.

-

Vil was an actor, a model, and a professional at both. He knew how to keep mild troubles buried. He's used to it.

There’s that photoshoot he has to prepare for, and the new makeup kit he has to try. He needs to help the Special Effects team in his club and there’s also a new skin serum he has to try, and then..

He swore there was a perfume bottle on his vanity, and he could still faintly smell it. But he couldn’t remember how it looked like. What brand was it, really? He scolded himself for not remembering. The mirror reflected his face. The reflection felt unfulfilling.

Rook knew deep and well that Vil was troubled. But it was something he couldn’t quite help him with. And if anything, he might make it worse. He knew when to be honest and when to keep quiet. Even as a confident figure, he seemed to be quieter than usual. 

Epel wasn’t an idiot. So he kept quiet. Rook didn’t have to tell him anything. He spent enough time around him to understand from a single glance at one another. No words were exchanged, but understanding was universal between the three, and a nonverbal agreement to keep quiet. The faint smell of dust, despite the halls being cleaned spotless almost everyday.

-

Idia swore the character Ortho's been mentioning doesn’t exist in any of the fandoms he knew. He found foreign things in his memory card, but it was all corrupted. It wasn’t anything important, and easy to delete.

Why was he hesitating? Its not important.

Although.. maybe he should keep it. Ortho insisted the character was there, and was so adamant until he asked him to describe the character. Maybe he’s hoping something will happen. He left ortho to his own devices for a while.

-

Malleus was familiar to this feeling of loneliness. But the smell of dust, a blurred memory of a night walk, and discarded tickets, all seemed like something just within his reach. But when he reached out, his fingers felt the fog of an unknown memory. Were the years starting to strain on him?

Lilia was very aware of what malleus felt, but not about what he felt about. He simply smiled and continued on, assuring the dorm students.

Sebek was not bothered, and accompanied Malleus just as frequently. He seemed to go about his own more easily, however. Silent bouts became uncommon but not rare anymore. Silent training and a faraway expectation.

-----

{real world - pov}

You took your usual place in class, and 2 acquaintances came around your desk, simply discussing what happened in the last class and lightly joking. You wanted to join in, but hesitated, simply opting to smile politely. They mentioned someone wouldn't be coming today, and one of them claimed another desk was newly added. You blinked in confusion for a while. It was evident you were the last one to know.

You opened your textbook and spun a pencil in your hand, your eyes drifting to the empty desk across the class.

He never gave back your pencil.

You blinked.

Another memory. It wasnt yours. You brushed it off.

Everyone settled in and the atmosphere turned quiet. There was slight mumbling outside the door, before the teacher came in and asked for everyone's attention. 

A new student was joining the class. As far as the teacher told the class, he was supposed to be here last year but due to issues, he had to join a different year.

The door opened and a tall blonde boy came in. You swear you’ve seen him before, and you slightly gaped as you kept looking at him. His eyes simply wandered and lingered around the class until he looked at you. His gaze fitted you for only a while longer before he blinked and introduced himself.

His name felt familiar.

He took the empty seat across the class, and the person sitting there would be moved next to you. You watched him settle into his newly assigned desk and other classmates around him welcome him.

You were able to pay more attention to your lessons nowadays, and some kind of fog started to lift. But from time to time you'd look up at the teacher ,when she turned to the black board and flit your eyes to him, where you'd catch him looking back at you. You shifted and quickly averted your gaze back to your notebook. You felt his stare linger on you for a while before he turned around.

Vil was certain this feeling was nothing but a simple bump in the road. His conscience felt clear (or rather, he got better at ignoring and tucking this feeling away for good), and he was able to get back into rhythm again. Rook and Epel took notice, and didn't comment as he subtly expected. He was lively again.

–

[other world]

And it was disappointing for him to see his neighbor was absent, leaving an empty desk to his right. 

His mornings had started to feel lighter and better. The club had finally started to make better progress on the project they'd been working on, Epel finally got over a learning curve and Rook had been as praising as usual. His schedule was set and he made enough time for himself to relax for an hour, after roughly a solid month of feeling disconnected and still pushing through. 

Oh, and there's that one student.

They became the hottest topic at NRC, even Epel couldn't help but mention it during his lessons and Rook even chittered with delight about them.

Due to.. complications, their entrance into NRC as a student was delayed a year, and had finally returned. They hadn't been sorted into any of the dorms as their arrival had been very recent.

Vil didn't quite care more or less about it, but still bothered to listen to the information.

Getting into NRC was one thing, and having your entrance delayed was another.

-

[other world]

You were anxious to say the least. Happy or sad, you couldn't decide. But anxious? Almost all the time with the new developments in place. Well, most of the time. 

Your friends cheered upon hearing the news, and encouraged you greatly despite the fact you'd have to wait another year and continue in a different school for the time being. You decided it was better to wait. Good things come to people who wait, you suppose.

And it was strange enough as-is, having to put on the dark grey-ish black vest, with the uniform the school had provided. The headmaster assured you it could be replaced in no time with the dorm you'd be assigned to later that day, and you saw multiple students simply choosing not to wear one. It was still weird.

You walked into class just as the professor was about to introduce you to the class and explain tiny, small details in a summarized form. He asked you to sit down in the front row.

You didn’t notice before, slightly fretting over taking out your materials and keeping up with the professor, but midway during the lesson you glanced at your sides. A window to your left, and a blonde man to your side.

You knew who he was of course; but you couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity off. 

You kept glancing to your right, trying to figure out just why he seemed so familiar. It wasn’t because you’d seen him on that commercial before, but it felt like something else. You couldn’t name it. And everytime you glanced, it seemed he decided to glance at you too. Both of you made accidental eye contact a few times before you pushed down the urge to look and focused on the lesson. You felt him looking at you and, maybe his gaze lingered longer than usual.

Your last class ended, and as the teacher left, most people started packing up and leaving for the day. Some started chatting with the new blonde boy, while you jotted down some extra notes and started packing things yourself.

–

{real world}

You weren’t far off from the class in the corridors when he called out for you.

"Excuse me", he tapped your shoulder. He caught up to you quite easily.

"Hm?" You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him.

He took a hesitant moment, before he asked you, "have we met before? You seem familiar."

You took a few seconds of pondering before saying, "I thought so too but er, I don’t think we have. You seem very familiar too." 

You swear you’ve seen him somewhere before. The faint smell of lavender and apples felt so nostalgic, but what memory were you trying to remember?

Both of you started talking, and surprisingly there was smooth conversation. Both of you seemed to get along well, and it was evidently shocking to some of your other classmates who caught glimpses of you in the hallway. 

He introduced himself and you did too. He decided to switch seats in the back so he sat next to you, and people even started texting you.

"Getting cozy huh?" Or something similar were the usual messages. Some of them made you laugh, but you brushed it off. The feeling of nostalgia remained, but it felt as though there was no more of a need to remember something. As if everything was fondly in place.

Sometimes both of you would talk about vague nostalgia once again. It confused both of you greatly, but the topic started to be forgotten the more he made newer memories with you.

You’ll hold onto the strange feeling, but you’ll start living once again, you suppose.

He smiled. Soft and rare. The smell of crackers and blurred sounds of celebration in the background, the beginning of a new year.

Vil wasn’t quite sure how to start conversation with you. You most likely knew who he was, but both of you didn’t know anything about each other personally.

–

[other world]

Vil asked you for an eraser, which helped him start something. It wasn’t what he exactly wanted, but it was something.

He started conversation there. He asked you simple questions, and started to ease into a conversation. Before both of you knew it ー something clicked and both of you started talking as though you’d known each other long before even having come to NRC.

Vil himself was quite surprised with such an outcome; he didn’t expect such a smooth conversation at all. He made up his mind about inviting you over to Pomefiore if you were free, and approached after class.

That’s when you mentioned, he seemed so familiar. He knew you meant as though both of you had known each other personally, and not simply as having seen him on billboards and magazines.

It wasn't long before you started coming over much more frequently to Pomefiore. Rook welcomed you graciously and even Epel seemed happier around you. It was as though something fell into place; a distant memory clicked.

 He knew what you meant, but decided not to tell you.

"I see. Do you mind telling me more?”

There you were, so what else did he have to worry about?

He took your hand gently and applied the nail polish.

"I keep messing up", you’d laugh.

The revived memory of a distant summer. He might never get sick of your laugh. He smiled to himself.

"Of course you did. Let me help.”

—-----

To make the grief easier for everyone to handle, headmaster Crowley was able to erase their memories of you. Or at the very least, blur them to an extreme degree, so no one would grieve of your absence. He promised you would be exempt from this pain aswell. "You will remember when you need to", he told you.

"Farewell, then."

A hand reached out, and you grabbed it tightly. "Don't let go", a distant voice told you.

[targaryen-realness]

The secret History-chapter 1

Title: The secret History

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader modern!au

Warnings: Toxic family realtionships, mention of scars, mention of blood, smut and other nsfw themes, Reader uses They/them pronouns but mention of female anatomy, Not canon compliant, Reader has tattoos, academic rivalry. (more will be added with time). Reader is from no particular house but has family in Westeros and Essos. 

Summary: Aemond is a private person. He likes being surrounded by his family but also wishes he could be free of the pressure that comes with being who he is. When he met you, you became his only distraction, the fact that you are stubborn and incredibly smart does nothing to push him away. But being who he is, he knows that nothing can happen between the two of you. It does not help that sometimes he still thinks of another. 

Notes: Hope you all enjoy it! You can just leave a comment there or send me a private message if you want to be added to the taglist! 

Tags: @yearninginpages

It was the smell of coffee and the prospect of a day far away from his family that got Aemond Targaryen the necessary motivation to leave his house in the morning. The strange thing was that he actually liked college. He loved reading, he loved learning and the deep feeling of validation that came with excellent grades was always a plus. There were just too many people there. He might not have been bothered by it if he was not a Targaryen, second son of king Viserys, third sibling of the heir to the crown, Rhaenyra Targaryen. In his young years Aemond had lust for the crown, everything he was doing in life was in prospect of one day being king. He felt he was the most worthy. Those years were behind him, and except for a deep sense of melancholy and the feeling of having no purpose in life, he had grieved the hope of one day being king. This is why he was now on his way to class, finally finishing his philosophy degree. Class bore him to death, and all he wanted truly was to write his final memoir and be done with it. What he would do after, was still a mystery even to himself. It did not help that he and his family members were very easily recognisable. White hair and purple eyes, everyone recognised them. The fact he was the one wearing an eyepatch and a scar on his face did not help his case. Aegon, his brother, relished on it, Helaena couldn't care less, he on the other hand, could not stand it. He appreciated the distance it put between him and the others eventually. The other students gossiped, but in the end, he was out of reach for most of them. His friend group was very restricted, consisting of his sibling, Helaena mostly, and his nephews, Luke and Jace who also intended this school. King’s Landing college was the most prestigious and private university of Westeros. Only the richest could attend, or very hard working students that succeeded in getting the scholarship. 

-It’s okay.”

-It’s okay.”

-It’s okay.”

He nodded simply and left before you could say anything. He did not stand around to see you still standing here in shock. His heart was beating fast and suddenly he regretted his poor social skills. He turned around to see you were already gone. The look on your face plagued his mind for the remaining hours, so much that not even hours in the library helped him forget you. He had no idea why. He had no idea who you were if he was being honest. He was sure he had never seen you anywhere. Why his mind could not let go of you was a mystery. His brother even came to see him during lunch, having heard of his little encounter this morning. 

“First day since summer break and everyone is already talking about you”

Aegon was smiling and Aemond thought for a moment that his brother just loved seeing him suffer. 

“So, were they pretty at least? 

-Who?”

It was Helaena that just arrived with her own lunch. 

“Someone ran into Aemond this morning, according to the witnesses, it was rather intense.

-This is ridiculous, I was just walking, they ran into me, said sorry and that’s it. 

-Seems pretty normal to me”, said his sister, and he looked at her, grateful. 

“He never had contact with anyone till now, of course people are going to talk about it.

-I have plenty of contact, thank you very much. 

-Maybe it’s you that has too much contact”, said Helaena, taking a bite out of her food. 

Aemond smiled watching Aegon put his hands up in surrender. None of them talked about the stranger from this morning again and Aemond was finally able to eat his lunch in peace. The fencing classes did not start until next month, so he had plenty of free time until his last class of the day. His day had gone so fast he did not know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. As he was slowly getting outside in one of the courtyards to smoke a cigarette alone he let his mind wander. He growled at himself as the stranger’s face popped in his mind again. He was not the type to think of people that much. His brother was wrong on a lot of things though. Aemond had dated before, he just was more subtle about it than Aegon. His last girlfriend, Alys, had not been from King’s Landing, and he did not meet her at college, which definitely helped with privacy. They had stayed together for two years, until he broke it off. He still could not really put words on the reasons for the separation, he just did not feel like pursuing this relationship. He had been single for a year now and he was happy this way. He was free and for someone who felt like maintaining relationships was sometimes a chore, it was perfect. 

The thing was that when you were a Targaryen, that the entire country was looking at you constantly, and that your family was also looking at every step you took, it was difficult to even think of casual hook ups. His last was probably dating from last halloween. Not that anything really happened with the person  but gods he had wished for it. The thing was, he could not even really remember the face of the person. He was drunk not enough that he did not remember what happened, but enough so that he did not even think of asking for the person’s name at the time. It was weird it had happened twice but it just proved it was not out of character for him. What did not help was that the stranger was wearing a mask, he did not even remember what of, and while they were making out they just had lifted the mask up to their nose. It was hot, at least that’s what he thought at the time. His mind had wandered on this precise moment ever since, their lips, their scent, and the feeling of their skin under his fingers. He will remember forever the sight of their back too. As they were pressed together against the door of the bathroom in the house of someone he did not really know, he had a good peek at their back. The black ink that adorned their skin was something that had haunted his dreams for weeks after and he even found himself still thinking about it recently. Just like now. Maybe it was the way their back was arching that made him able to see the part of the tattooed sword so low on their back. Maybe it was also because of the dragon wrapping itself around that sword, its large wings spreading on their lower back. He thought he should thank whoever once made pants cut so low. For sure it was something he would never forget. Maybe it was because his family and dragons were linked since the dawn of time. He found it quite amusing now that he thought of it. It might have been also because it was his first real contact with someone in this way since his break up with Alys. He still thought he had fallen in love instantly in that bathroom. He had abandoned the prospect of one day finding them again, as he realised it would simply be impossible. The sexy stranger would stay a fantasy he thought of at night alone in his bed. It was better this way. 

He arrived at his last class in advance and took the same seat he took last year. He liked the routine. This class was actually a favourite of his. Ancient Valyria History. He did not need it at all, he knew everything he needed to know about it, his entire childhood he had taken private lessons about it. He knew high valyrian like it was his mother tongue. Maybe it was him being lazy, knowing it would be an easy class. Maybe it was just an escape from his other classes that were all about politics and philosophy. 

People were now arriving, pulling out their laptops, and as the professor started talking he started tapping on his computer. He heard the door behind him open but did not look back until the person walked past him. He recognised you almost instantly. It was that sweater you were wearing, and that bag that looked way too heavy for you that he recognised first. He did not realise this morning that you had the same taste in matters of clothing as an old man but it made him smile internally. You did not seem to have noticed him as you took a seat in front of him. The lecture went swiftly and soon he found himself packing his bag, barely paying attention as the professor was announcing the final project for the semester. 

“A pair work. You can choose an ancient valyrian source and study it in depth.”

Aemond felt his body tense. The fact he was going to have to work with someone, talk to them and actually trust them enough with a part of his grade stressed him out. You turned around to grab your bag and your eyes met. Your mouth opened slightly but you ended up smiling at him, simply. You left with the others, and as he watched you walk up the stairs, an idea germinated in his mind. He packed his bag and tried to find you in the corridor. He saw you talking with one of the girls that was seated in the front of the class earlier. He could not hear what you were saying but he saw the way your shoulders dropped as the girl was talking. She waved at you and you waved back, still standing there, obviously defeated. He approached you, the noise of his shoes on the floor tiles made you lift your head. You seemed surprised but still waited for him to approach you. He was going to talk but you cut him before he could utter a word. 

“I’m sorry about this morning. I wasn’t looking really”

He was wondering if you were overly polite or if he was just that terrifying. Maybe you just did not want to make an enemy out of him, which was smart, but he would never hate someone for something so trivial. 

“I told you it’s alright. I was actually wondering if you already had a partner for the class.”

You genuinely seemed surprised by his question. 

“No. Actually I don’t have anyone yet. Are you asking me because you would like to work with me? 

-I do indeed”

He smirked at your doubtful expression. For a second he thought you would reject his offer but he saw you take your phone out of your pocket as you simply said:

“I can give you my number. So we can discuss the source material, if you have any idea yet, or anything.”

He was surprised, if he was going to be honest with himself, he did not expect you to react like this. In his mind you would either be terribly disinterested or too into it. You looked calm and composed. Ready and determined to work. 

“If you just want us to talk about it in class it’s okay”

He realised he had not answered your question just yet. He shook his head and simply said:

“I don’t usually give my number to people. 

-Yeah that’s why I am giving you mine. I only have one request, don’t give it to your brother”

He snorted at that comment. He probably should defend his brother but honestly, that was a logical concern on your part. 

“I won’t.”

You gave him your number and you did not ask for his in exchange, he also appreciated that you did not ask him why he was so wary of that. You parted way after that, him with a simple node, but he simply turned around before you could go too far. 

“I did not even ask you your name?”

You smiled, and he felt his heart skip a beat. 

“You could just have checked the contact name you know?”

He raised a brow still waiting. 

“Y/n. I’m Y/n.

-I’m Aemond”

Your smile became even wider. 

“I know”

And with that you turned around and left. This time he stayed until you disappeared at the corner. He looked at his phone, a little smile stretching his lips, and left. 

Saying that you were in shock would be an understatement. You did not know by what miracle you had not embarrassed yourself in front of him, but you thanked the gods you had not. It started this morning when you bumped into him. You were listening to some music and really were not paying attention. When you lifted your head to see Aemond Targaryen, your brain fried. You prayed for a moment he would not remember you, and you did not think he did. You excused yourself, probably sounding like a madman, but he simply dismissed you and you took this as a sign to get the hell out of here. So you did. You ran out, hoping no one would think too much of this encounter. At your lunch break, you found yourself with a friend of yours who immediately told you that an idiot rushed into a Targaryen this morning. You took a bite of your sandwich but you were not very angry anymore. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

-It was me.

-What?

-It was me!”

She looked like you had just said the most ridiculous thing ever. 

“Of course it’s you! It’s always you!” She laughed, abandoning her lunch too. 

The rest of your day was calm compared to the beginning. You had gone to work, leaving college to go to your job. Your part time job was actually being a barista in a cosy cafe not too far away from university. It was in the centre of King’s landing, in the old part of the city, still called flea bottom to this day. Everything was supposed to go smoothly, except today was not your lucky day. The end of your shift was very close from the beginning of your last class. Generally you were just on time for your history class, but today was not one of those days. You had been asked by your boss to stay later to finish cleaning tables. You speed run through the task before jumping into the bus back to college. You ran to your class, trying to compose yourself before entering but you knew you looked like you had just run a marathon. You took notes, trying to get your mind out of the gutter and you were doing better until the professor announced that you will have to do some pairwork. The idea of having to work with someone on such a project was just making you even more tired. You were packing your things when you met the gaze of Aemond Targaryen. You had never seen that man as much as you did today, or at least not since last year. You smiled at him, trying to act as calm as possible, as if your mind was not plagued by this man. Everything had started with him. He was the original start of your bad luck streak. You left as fast as you could, trying to catch up with a girl you knew with the intention of asking her to be your partner. Sadly, she was already paired with someone. 

“Sorry Y/n, I did not see you. I would have said yes but I already have someone.

-It’s okay, don’t worry.”

You waved her goodbye, and as you turned around you saw Aemond walking towards you. You felt yourself hold your breath as you watched him approach. You tried not to look too intensely at the way he walked. He always looked so elegant and arrogant if you were being honest. Maybe it was his perfect posture, his perfectly ironed clothes. The way he dressed like a dark academia lover wet dream. It was also the way his beautiful hair looked so silky, even when they were tied up into a ponytail like today. Your fascination with ancient Valyria may explain the way you looked at him, but to be honest he was just hot. And he looked mean, which was, if you looked back at your exes, exactly your type. 

“I’m sorry about this morning. I wasn’t looking really”, you said, surprised that you sounded so confident. You did not want him to think you were an asshole, and even if you already had apologised, you did not know if his majesty needed to hear it again. 

“I told you it’s alright. I was actually wondering if you already had a partner for the class.”

His voice was melodious and the way he spoke, he sounded confident and not in a bad way. You could not contain your surprise at his question, and it probably reflected on your face, because you saw him raise one of his brow. 

“No. Actually I don’t have anyone yet. Are you asking me because you would like to work with me? 

-I do indeed”

You were doubtful but when you saw his smirk, you felt your aloofness melt like ice in the sun. 

“I can give you my number. So we can discuss the source material, if you have any idea yet, or anything.”

It was his turn to look surprised and you almost smiled at his expression. 

“If you just want us to talk about it in class it’s okay.

-I don’t usually give my number to people. 

-Yeah that’s why I am giving you mine. I only have one request, don’t give it to your brother”

He probably thought you were some crazy fangirl that just wanted to sleep with him. You were not a fangirl for sure. The only thing you loved that was remotely linked to Aemond’s lineage was that you were graduating in ancient Valyria history. You understood the sentiment though. Some people were obsessed with the idea of getting with one of the Targaryens, or even their cousins the Valaryon. It was almost a fetish for some. 

“I won’t.”

You entered your phone number in his contact list and handed him back his phone. You told him to text you when he was ready to divulge such a prized information to a stranger and left him. He said goodbye but before you could leave you heard his voice again. 

“I did not even ask you your name?”

You turned around again and smirked. 

“You could just have checked the contact name you know?”

He did not answer so you said:

“Y/n. I’m Y/n.

-I’m Aemond”

You almost laughed at this. Of course. 

“I know”

You went home this day with your mind full of a certain Targaryen and a very specific day from last autumn. You ate and went to bed, a smile on your lips as you saw that an unknown number had sent you a message.