#the very definition of confessing without confessing

[xylatox]

unscripted lines where boyfriends lie

Finally getting to this! Was super excited to read and share my thoughts :) 

Immediately love how the grief is presented fron the beginning and it doesnt ease us into it making it that much more real. Love Nyla for being so present as a friend :( 

“Always,” she whispered. “No matter what.” Her fingers continued to comb gently through my hair. It doesn’t fix much, but it makes the silence feel a little less sharp. 

Like this was just a small moment but it was so sweet

Also love how Jay is introduced and I love that hes Nyla’s older brother. It genuinely makes me so happy.

Jay let out a quiet laugh, “you would cry for, like, twenty straight minutes because of a cartoon fish.”

I love this bit of comedy amidst everything. Also please tell me this is Nemo theyre talking about.

I also think the MC’s mom talking to Jay is super cute, I just wished that she didnt treat her as if she was glass. Like I get it, but it just feels as if they’re being so careful around her and it annoys me slightly lol

Also I LOVE that Nyla’s name is NyQuil thats so cute ugh

Jay’s warm hand, slipping quietly beneath the table, resting lightly on my leg. His thumb tracing small, slow circles. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at me, just kept chatting with my mom.

This would actually send me insane no joke.

Also love that Nyla is already suspicious of their whole fake dating, definitely has that sister radar on her

She chuckled, but then her voice softened, like the air between us had turned to glass. “It’s just… it’s really good to see you smile again, baby.”

This line makes me a bit sad ngl :( 

I wish I could scream at you. I wish I didn’t still miss you in the same breath as I hate you.

This line was insane oh my god, I love it

Also loving Jay’s nickname lol. And the way he noticed the way she’s tense just by how she was with her fingers makes me so soft actually.

I think its also good (and sad) to see that the manager views it as a way to just improve his publicity and it seems as if the people behind that fake social image are forgotten which I think portrays the reality of stardom well

I barely managed to mumble ‘It’s okay’ though my voice felt fragile, as if trying to convince myself more than him.

I just wanna protect her man :( 

I appreciate that with her grief she cant help it despite what her ex did to her and I love how realistic it is. Like her mom throwing away the flowers and being the final breaking point for her is what hurts me the most i think. I love that despite the fake dating relationship they have, Jay is very clearly worried for her and he goes out of his way to ensure shes cared for while also gently reassuring her to call her mom and I just think its sweet.

He kept blinking somewhere in the distance, trying to think. “I…” he began, wrestling with the words. “I feel so fucking lonely.” He confessed, whispering back to me, dropping his shoulders in defeat. As if it's that simple, but it wasn’t really that simple.

Also loving Jay’s vulnerability because hes surrounded by so many people considering his job but its also so loney for him. Specifically considering what happened to him in his past relationship also lends to this feeling, and I just feel so bad for him as hes genuinely so scared to get someone that close again.

“Rest that pretty head,” he murmured, gently brushing my hair away from my face.

I wanted to ask him to stay, to not leave me alone. But the words stayed locked in my throat, stubborn. My lips remained sealed as the door clicked softly shut behind him. And for the first time in weeks, I surrender completely to sleep.

I will genuinely pass out my god

Therapy isn’t magic. It’s slow, frustratingly slow. The sessions blend together, a couple of weeks turning into a small stretch of time. It's a process that feels more like navigating a labyrinth without a map. Some days, I show up and say nothing. I sit there in silence, letting my fingertips follow the seams of the couch cushion, feeling the texture.

Immediately I think this became my favourite paragraph in this fic. This was something I talked about with a friend of mine recently and I think the most daunting thing about therapy is that it doesnt work in the way you expect it to (at least thats how we felt). Genuinely expected therapy to be a quick fix to the problems I had for years when it in fact did not do that and I’m still stuck with all my problems. Therapy is meant to teach you how to cope with your issues and I think that was the hardest thing about it, to learn that recovery isnt linear, regardless if its death, addiction or otherwise and there may be days that you relapse and thats okay. Some days are great and others are shitty but thats the point of it I think. I genuinely just really love this paragraph, it speaks to me in a way that even these words I said dont express entirely.

Also loving her emails honestly, it makes me so happy to see

Jay’s eyes snapped open, as if mentioning me was his final straw. “She is not a fucking action figure you can just pose.” he spat out, his tone cold but restrained, each word clipped. The publicist blinked, clearly not used to seeing him this upset.

Love Jay looking out for her. He cares so much and it makes me sad

“Yes, love?”

I would pass out truly

THE TENSION HELLO WHAT IF I PASS OUT

NO WAY.

NO WAYYYYY. How do they have this sweet ass moment then the freaking media gets a hold of her past what. Also I still think its crazy that people on the internet would go so far to make sense of someone else’s life

“Come back to bed with me,” I whispered. He didn’t hesitate, just a soft kiss pressed to the top of my head and took my hand. He squeezed it once, gently, like he was making sure I was still really there. 

I really and honestly love them so much

Oh my god. I didnt expect to reach the end. I love how healing this was. In so many ways it healed me and it was just so sweet. Initially meant to share my thoughts on this so much earlier but I was in a terrible space mentally and didnt want to give a review while in a bad mood. But im honestly so glad I was able to finally make my way back to it. Im so happy I got to read this!!

the unscripted lines where the boyfriends lie

Synopsis: The city that never sleeps doesn’t quiet down for grief. Instead, it roared right through it: the restless noise of New York, the constant hum of cars, the rattling of subway trains, the sharp cry of sirens at midnight… Then, there was the quiet ache of returning to your childhood bedroom, only this time with the ghosts of “forever” and the wilted flowers from your late boyfriend’s funeral. While drowning, you’re desperately trying to convince your family — and yourself — that you’re okay.

And there he is. The last person you ever wanted to see, let alone share space with: your best friend’s older brother. Once a child star, currently a tarnished name hiding from the spotlight. When an accidental run-in leads to a viral photo, the lie begins — one of fake love, media pressure and careful smiles. All while grief and guilt simmers beneath the surface for both of you.

pairing: actor!enhypen jay x reader

Genres: actor AU, (childhood) enemies to lovers, best friend’s older brother, faking dating, slow SLOWWW burn, unsent emails

Warnings: grief and loss, mental health struggles, mentions of depression-like symptoms, relationship issues, therapy, y/n goes thru a lot ngl, causal alcohol consumption, jay is a sweet heart honestly, y/n is nicknamed a cry baby hehe, y/n has amazing parents, cheating (not between jay and y/n), v heavy on the angst but it has a lot of fluff i swear (50/50), contains smut (mdni), one scene and totally skippable, sub!jay bc that agenda needs some love, bratty!mean-ish!y/n, ice play hehe, begging (from jay), body worshipping

Word count: 19.7k

a/n: ahhh its hereee. i have been working on it since forever, i poured my heart in it. this was purely for me, but then i decided to share it with you. pls do take the warnings seriously, the last thing i want to do is to trigger someone. take care and enjoy <3

Taglist: @heestoleurgirl @stariekis @jaehoodies @morganaawriterr @luvashli@kireistrawberryjayla @annovaz @bambieheeseunglee @firstclassjaylee @flowerwinds @heekolazz @hoonslvr @cunty4hee @hazelira @sumsumtingz @bxcndd @sunnygirl-kait @amazzwon @hoonieyun @yeokii @stercul1a @ikeulove @kikidoul @k1ttyjwon @sumzysworld @deluluscenarios @sofiafromvenus @fancypeacepersona @donttellmymomlol20 @fruitchill @xylatox @riribelle @yoonjnngluvshooney @cloudzzcoffee @sunzyc (comment if you want me to add / remove you from the list <3)

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The flowers died on Monday.

My childhood room feels preserved, like a museum of someone I no longer am. There is still the same faded posters curling at the edges, a bookshelf sagging under the weight of my highschool yearbooks and forgotten trophies. But the room felt smaller now, as if grief had pressed in and squeezed all the oxygen out. 

In fact, the air in the whole house was heavy with silence, like a pause between my sobs. Only the distant hum of the city broke through like the occasional blare of a taxi horn, the faint screech of the subway far below, the rhythm of footsteps and conversations echoing off brick walls. All of it muffled behind the curtains I hadn’t drawn in days. Outside, New York was still pulsing and alive in its relentless way. But in here? It was like time had folded in on itself, as if the city had moved on without me.

The funeral flowers sat dead on my desk, browning around the edges with their heads bowing down. Like a slow, quiet collapse. I have yet to throw them out. It’s been a month since the crash, two since we ended it. But I don’t think there’s a timeline for mourning someone who lied to you, then betrayed you.

My parents have been moving gently around me ever since I came back home. They seem afraid that they might shatter me if they speak too loud, too abruptly, too soon. My mom hovers like I’m made of glass, always one room away, always watching. She’ll peek her head in with a too-bright smile and a plate of cut-up fruit, “thought you might be hungry, baby. You barely touched your lunch.” My dad knocks before walking past my door, even if it’s just to grab something from the hallway closet. “Just me,” he’ll say softly, my eyes never quite meeting his.

I don’t blame them, I don’t recognize myself either. Besides, nobody’s words could really reach me because what really haunts me wasn’t just the loss — it was his lies. The way he said his promises of ‘forever’ so easily like he truly meant it. The way I used to idiotically believe them.

Nyla showed up two days after I moved back. I didn’t even hear the doorbell, just found her standing in the hallway holding a paper bag of cookies we used to get all the time. A dear friend like her doesn't need an invitation anyways. We hadn’t really talked since college started, but when she heard I was back in the city, she dropped everything and came without questions. 

She visits almost every day now and just exists beside me — on the floor, on the bed, anywhere I’ve decided to fall apart that day. Sometimes she talks, but mostly she just stays. There are entire afternoons where we don’t say anything at all. I’d lie with my head in her lap, eyes closed, and she’ll run her fingers gently through my hair, over and over, until my chest starts to loosen. 

Sometimes she'd glance at me when I wasn’t looking, that quiet worry flickering in her eyes, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. “Remember that time we built a blanket fort in your room?” she said softly.

I smiled faintly, nodding against her thigh. “Then we tried to watch that scary movie.”

“And you were so sure the monster was under the bed, you made me sleep at the foot of the fort.”

I chuckled quietly. “You still haven’t forgiven me for that.” A quiet minute passed. She brushed another section of my hair, careful and tender. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the warmth of her touch. “Thank you for being here.”

“Always,” she whispered. “No matter what.” Her fingers continued to comb gently through my hair. It doesn’t fix much, but it makes the silence feel a little less sharp. 

-𓍙-

It had been days since I’d stepped outside. Maybe a week — I stopped counting a while ago. But that morning, I was dragging my feet into the kitchen like usual, sleep was still clinging to my bones, just trying to get a glass of water. My mother stopped me mid-step and pressed a scarf into my hands and kissed the top of my head like she used to when I had fevers. “Just for a little while,” she said. “A walk might help.”

So I went reluctantly, but not far. Just a few blocks, turns and intersections I used to know like the back of my hand. The city was loud and busy, just like the way it always was — people brushing past, noises echoing down the avenue. It all made me feel like a ghost, like I was haunting my own hometown.

But then, halfway across the block, I stopped cold when I saw a car at the corner. It’s the same model, same deep navy blue when caught in the light just right. Even the back tail light was chipped in the same place. For a second, everything inside me went still. My feet locked to the pavement. My lungs forgot how to work. It's as if I could see the ghost I thought I'd buried with him.

I knew. I fucking knew it wasn’t him… logic screamed it at me. But my body didn’t get the memo. My heart lurched like it wanted to chase after him anyway, like grief had overruled reasons. 

My stomach started turning in on itself, warning me about that sick, familiar ache opening up in my chest like a trapdoor. Tears welled up in my eyes in the middle of a crosswalk, breath shaky and uneven. After the car zoomed away, I took a deep breath, doing everything I could to keep walking like nothing had happened.

I ducked into the nearest café just to get away from it all. Just anywhere and not that sidewalk or that stupid car. I didn’t even look at the name above the door. The warm rush of espresso scent and quiet clatter of cups didn’t soothe me, but it gave me a place to land. 

The cafe was somewhat empty, so I was pushed to order before I could scan the menu properly. My throat scratched as I said the first thing my eyes landed on, “one cappuccino please.” I said, my voice came out hoarse. I hadn’t spoken much today… or yesterday. 

The barista asked for my name and then gave me a small nod, scribbling on a cup, “It’ll be a few.” I stepped to the side, shrinking into the corner near the pick-up counter to not make eye contact with anyone. My hands fiddled with the frayed edge of my coat sleeve. 

A playlist hummed low overhead, some soft indie tracks with plucky guitar and lyrics I couldn’t quite catch. I stared blankly at the napkin dispenser, not really seeing it. It all blurred together, background noise under the heavy weight on my chest. A familiar ache settled in my ribs, the kind that prickled just beneath the surface, reminding me of things I was trying not to think about.

The barista called something out — I didn’t catch what. Just heard a name. On autopilot, I stepped forward and grabbed the cup. I took a sip as I walked to the nearest empty table.

It tasted sharp. Bitter.

I froze mid-step, frowning down at the cup. That's not my order… I was too in my head to notice my mistake. I turned the cup slightly, and there it was, scrawled in black Sharpie ‘Jay’.

I turned slowly, eyes searching for the owner of the cup. A man stood a few feet away, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, fingers curled around another steaming coffee. 

“This isn’t mine,” I said softly, holding up the bland americano, “I think I grabbed your order.” I explained. He glanced at the cup I was holding and then at the one in his hand, “I think I’ve got your cappuccino,” he said with a small smile. 

As I was giving him his cup, I noticed it — a faint smudge of lipstick on the edge of his lid, the same shade I’d worn just that morning. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I blurted, cheeks flushing. My throat tightened, I wanted to blink away the tears gathering, but they stuck behind my eyelids. All the tears I’d been holding back all day spilled over again. Why can’t I control anything anymore?

He gave me a small, understanding smile. “Hey, it’s okay. I can just take off the lid, no worries.”

As our eyes met, I started to piece the puzzle together. The name lingered in my mind before it landed, I’d heard it before. And then, just as recognition dawned on his face, it clicked for me too. His eyes widened a little, “wait, Y/N?”

He wasn’t the kid I remembered — Nyla's smug, bossy older brother who always knew how to get under my skin. He’s much taller now, his shoulders are wider as well. The baseball cap couldn’t quite hide the way his jaw had hardened, how his smile now held a trace of weariness I hadn’t expected.

“Jay?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice gentle but familiar, eyes softening as he studied me. “Nyla told me you were back.”

“Yeah, yeah, I am.” I wiped at my cheeks, trying to stop the tears that just wouldn’t quit. “I’m sorry...”

He fumbled a bit, awkward but kind, pulling a crumpled napkin from his pocket and handing it to me. “Let’s get you seated down.” he said, guiding me with one hand while the other carried his coffee.

We sat down at a nearby table, the noise of the café fading into the background. It was strange sitting in front of him. Not quite strangers, but not quite close either. I never liked Jay growing up, always thought he was that smug brother of my best friend. Always teasing, always a little too confident, always barging in. But now, here he was, offering me a silent kind of comfort I hadn’t expected.

“I heard about the accident. I can’t imagine…” he said softly. “I’m really sorry about... everything.”

I nodded, staring down at the napkin in my lap and swallowing the lump in my throat, “thanks.” If it wasn't for the state I am in right now, I would've laughed. The familiarity of him, as annoying as he’d always been, felt so starkly different from the version I'm seeing right now. 

“I mean,” I sniffled, “you used to call me a ‘crybaby’ every time I teared up.”

Jay let out a quiet laugh, “you would cry for, like, twenty straight minutes because of a cartoon fish.”

“He lost his dad, Jay.”

“I was ten. I didn’t understand animal nuances yet.”

I glanced up at him then — and for a second, the weight in my chest eased just enough for a smile. “You’re still a little shit,” I muttered.

Jay raised his cup with a crooked grin, “but maybe a slightly more tolerable one?” I rolled my eyes, “debatable.”

He took a sip, then set his coffee down, expression softening again. “Nyla told me you were taking time off. Gap year, right?”

“Yeah.” I picked at the edge of the napkin. “Everything was just… falling apart. I needed to step back.” Jay nodded slowly, like he understood more than he was letting on. “For what it’s worth, that’s brave.”

I gave a tired laugh. “I think it’s avoidance dressed up as self-care.”

“Still counts,” he said, and there was no teasing in his voice that time. 

I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling the urge to shift the spotlight. “What about you?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be in LA right now?”

Jay leaned back in his chair, gave a half-smile, half-wince. “Yeah. Until my breakup got messy,” he said, not sounding angry, just tired. “Personal stuff turned public overnight. Her team got ahead of the narrative — painted me as this horrible guy before I even knew what was happening.”

“It is… a circus,” he admitted. “My team’s still cleaning it up. Brand deals are stalling. The studios are quiet. Every time I step outside, someone’s waiting with a camera. It’s exhausting.”

I tilted my head. “So you’re hiding in New York?”

“More or less. Management sent me here, thinking laying low will make the drama go away faster. But really, I just needed to get away.”

I watched him for a moment. He still looked polished, had that quiet kind of confidence that settled into a room instead of announcing itself. And yet, even with the ball cap, he looked weathered, tired shadows under his eyes. “You’re burned out.” I said, not a question, more like a statement.

He nodded. “Completely.”

“You always loved it, though. Acting.”

Jay smiled faintly. “Exactly, I love acting, not the fame.”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I get that.”

Before either of us could say anything else, my phone started vibrating against the table. I glanced down, ‘Mom <3 - incoming call…’ stared back at me. I whispered a quick apology to Jay before picking up, “hey mom.”

“Y/N, are you okay?” Her voice was light, but hovering right on the edge of frazzled. “You’ve been gone for a while. I was about to file a missing person’s report.”

“I’m okay… just ran into someone.” 

There was a pause. “Who?”

“Jay,” I said, bracing myself. “Oh, Jay,” she said, all drawn out and knowing. “Let me talk to him.”

“What? No —”

“Y/N. Hand him the phone.”

I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear as Jay looked at me curiously. I gave him a tired half-smile and held the phone out toward him. “She wants to talk to you.”

He raised his brows before taking the phone, clearly amused, “Hi, Mrs. L/N. Yeah, it’s been a while... I missed you too. Yes, ma’am. No, I swear, she’s okay. Mm-hmm... Right. I will. I’ll walk her back myself. Cross my heart.” I watched him, stunned. Somehow, he still remembered how to talk to my mom like it was a reflex. A few more soft ‘mhmm’, and then he handed the phone back.

“She says I’m your emotional support celebrity now,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “Come on. I’ll walk you.” He stood up just as I did, slinging his jacket over one arm. 

We stepped outside, into the crisp late-afternoon air. The wind tugged at my scarf and flushed my cheeks. The noise of the city was sharp after the muffled calm of the café. We didn’t talk much during the walk. Just a few short exchanges about street names and how the neighborhood had changed since we were kids. 

When we reached the corner near my block, I slowed down and paused. “Wait,” I said, patting my coat pocket to find my phone, “I don’t have your number anymore. All the ones I had are... unavailable or something.”

“Shit, yeah,” he said, rubbing his temple. “My manager nuked everything a while ago. Total reset. Here —” He held out his hand and I passed him my phone. He typed something in quickly like muscle memory, then handed it back, mumbling about saving my number as well.

I glanced down at the new name contact he added, ‘little shit’. I snorted at it, “classy.”

He chuckled, shoving his phone into his pockets. “Take care, alright?” he said, giving a small wave paired with a small smile before turning in the opposite direction. I watched him go until the crowd swallowed him up.

I just smiled and walked the rest of the way home with the wind tangling my hair, the city still buzzing around me. His contact sat in my phone, tucked between old contacts and forgotten numbers. It was like a strange echo of childhood now spun into something quieter, gentler.

By the time I got home, the sky was softening into dusk. I peeled off my scarf and slipped off my shoes. My mom stood by the stove, stirring something in a pot. The smell of garlic and onions blooming through the space. I shrugged off my coat and followed her in. The lights were warm, casting soft shadows against the tiled walls. 

“Hi, baby,” she said, quieter this time, “I made a chicken lemon orzo that you used to like. Thought you might want something warm.” She had already set a plate at my usual spot. I didn’t say anything, just sank into the chair and picked up my spoon. 

Across from me, she moved around the kitchen, humming a little under her breath as she stirred something on the stove. She didn’t comment on the fact that I cleaned the plate, making it my first full meal I’d eaten in days. But I'm sure she noticed.

-𓍙-

The soft but persistent buzz of my phone dragged me out of sleep before the sun even had a chance to climb. I groaned, half-buried beneath the covers and the army of teddy bears lay nestled in the sheets. One of my arms fumbling blindly across the nightstand until my fingers wrapped around my phone. I rolled over, still groggy, and blinked at the notification from Nyla that’s lighting up my lock screen.

“Dude. WHY are you on TMZ with Jay???” - "NyQuil", Delivered 1 min ago

My heart stuttered. I sat up too fast, the comforter tangling around my legs as I blinked at the screen. I opened Instagram still half-asleep, my thumb sluggish as it loaded.

There it was. The photo wasn’t even that sharp — one of those grainy, mid-zoom candids but it was unmistakably us. Both of us mid-laugh, his hand halfway to his coffee. Our heads tilted toward each other. We looked… intimate. Too intimate.

The caption was even worse, ‘Jay, the heartthrob ex-Disney star isn’t heartbroken for long after being spotted with a mystery girl — New Romance Already?’

The word ‘mystery girl’ stared at me like it knew something I didn’t. I kept scrolling, my thumb wouldn’t stop. More photos, all different angles. Some from the window, others from outside in different positions. 

my phone lit up again, ‘little shit - incoming call…’ I froze for a second, my thumb hovering over the screen, unsure. But then I remembered his face from yesterday, that soft concern. I huffed then answered, “hey,” I said, voice still rough with sleep.

“Hey, you’re awake, good,” he replied, a little breathless like he’d been rehearsing it. “I’m outside.”

I frowned, “What?”

“Your place,” he clarified. “I didn’t want to text in case… I don’t know. You’re probably being spammed right now.”

I glanced down at the worn out T-shirt I was wearing and the fuzzy socks peeking out from under the blanket. “Jay, I’m literally in my pajamas.”

“That’s fine,” he said, a quiet laugh in his voice. “I’ve got tinted windows. You will stay mysterious.”

“How kind of you to protect my anonymity.” I said smiling, already getting up. I crossed paths with my mirror, my hair was a mess, my eyes were puffy.

“I try,” he said, and I could hear him grinning too. “Just come down, we need to talk...” I hesitated, the apartment was quiet around me. Then I sighed. “Okay. Give me a minute.”

Still in my pajamas — and my dignity hanging on by a thread — I grabbed a coat, shoved my feet into my sneakers to crept out the front door. The apartment was still, my parents still asleep behind their closed door. The hallway was dim as I made my way down the stairs.

Outside, his black car waited at the curb of our brownstone, sleek and dark with windows that really were tinted. I pulled open the door and slid into the passenger seat, giving him a look. “I saw the photos,” I said quietly once the door clicked shut.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes on the windshield. “So did my manager.” he said, both hands on the wheel, eyes flicking toward me for a beat. “They like it, wanting us to lean into it. The PR team thinks it’s good for me. That it softens the whole... disaster fire of my last relationship.”

I raised an eyebrow, groggy. “Come again?”

He let out a short, sheepish breath. “They think you’re a godsend, basically. They want to paint me as less of a dick and more of a guy who found something ‘real’ after everything.”

I blinked at him, stunned, the silence thickened for a beat. “So they want us to fake-date to fix your image.”

“I know how it sounds,” he said. “And I’m not trying to trap you into anything, I swear. It’s only temporary. We post a few things. Maybe one or two public appearances. No one gets hurt, and I look like less of an asshole.”

“Jay, i don't know…” I muttered, almost ready to shut it down entirely — until I thought of my parents. My mom’s voice in the kitchen, always a little too careful. Her soft smiles that never quite reached her eyes. My dad not knowing how to speak to me anymore. I hated that look in their eyes, like they were watching me drift away and had no way to stop it. They didn’t know what to do with my sadness. 

But if they thought I was fine, if they thought I had something, someone — maybe they’d stop hovering. Maybe they’d breathe easier. Maybe I could, too. This can buy me some time…

“Fine,” I said eventually, voice low. “But under one condition.” 

Jay straightened in his seat, surprised but hopeful. “Anything. Shoot.”

“You’re coming to dinner at my parents’ place,” I said. “As many times as they ask. Full performance. If we’re doing this, they gotta buy it too.”

He paused, then nodded, “okay. Deal.” He agreed. A crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “So... when’s the first command performance?”

“Tonight.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Tonight tonight?”

I sighed, rubbing my temples — still grumpy from the lack of sleep, the early hour, and the sheer absurdity of all of this. “Yes, Jay. Tonight tonight. We tell them at dinner. I will tell my parents you and Nyla are coming.”

Jay leaned back against the seat, laughing softly. “Alright. On it,” Jay said. “See you tonight… babe.”

I grimaced. “Ew, never do that again. Wait until we’re in front of them.”

He chuckled as I opened the door and stepped out. “Drive safe, little shit.” 

The door shut with a soft click, and I stood on the curb for a moment, watching him pull away into the quiet street. The early morning light spilled across the pavement. Then a gust of wind curled around my ankles, slipping right through the thin fabric of my pajama pants, urging me to go back inside. 

-*-

I told my parents that Nyla and Jay were coming over for dinner, and to my surprise, mom didn’t blink — just nodded and immediately started flipping through her endless stack of cookbooks. She hummed thoughtfully, still skimming. “Might try that spiced lamb recipe. Or maybe something with those little potatoes your dad likes.” She muttered to herself, “does Jay still like lamb? He seems like a lamb person.” It had been years since he’d stepped foot in our house, and yet she still remembered.

I found dad in the living room, half-asleep in his recliner, and gave him the same heads-up. “Jay?” he asked, blinking. I reminded him that yes, that Jay — Nyla’s older brother, the one who grew up two houses down. “Right, right, the tall one.” he nodded, like the name was slowly stitching itself back together in his brain. 

I got ready — really got ready. I pulled on a soft sweater that was only for occasions, put some color on my cheeks, and spent a little extra time with the curling iron. If we were doing this, then I wasn’t about to show up looking like grief had chewed up and spat me out. I wanted to look like a version of myself again. 

The doorbell rang just as my mom was lighting candles she definitely only brought out for company. I opened the door to find Jay and Nyla standing there with a fresh bouquet of tulips and dessert. Nyla was the first to pull me into a hug, squeezing a little too tightly before grinning at my parents behind me.

“Hi,” Jay said, stepping in and bending down to hug me too. He leaned in close, too close, the scent of his cologne filled my senses. His breath brushed the edge of my ear, “You’re gonna make it real hard to keep this fake.” he murmured.

I slapped his arm, “behave.” I warned under my breath, but my stomach still did a little flip when he just smiled.

Inside, Jay greeted my dad like he’d never left, with a firm handshake and an easy smile. My dad clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Still doing that acting thing?” with a dry edge like he was talking about an old hobby.

“Trying to,” Jay chuckled. 

Dinner was warm, louder than I expected. A little chaotic in the way that made you feel alive again. Nyla teased Jay for getting seconds before anyone else had finished their first plate, and my mom beamed every time someone complimented her cooking. I smiled and laughed but underneath it all, my nerves were humming. I was jittery, bouncing my knee beneath the table so much my chair shook. A steady, unconscious rhythm I couldn’t stop. I kept trying to ground myself: the clink of silverware, the smell of lemon zest from the tart, the sound of my dad’s voice telling a story I already knew.

Jay’s warm hand, slipping quietly beneath the table, resting lightly on my leg. His thumb tracing small, slow circles. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at me, just kept chatting with my mom.

After a beat, my nerves quieted down. I put my hand over his, making him look at me. I stared long enough, signalling him it's time. His fingers curled through mine like he’d done it a thousand times before. I gave him one last sideways glance, and he nodded subtly. Go.

I cleared my throat. “So... there’s something we wanted to tell you.” The clinking of forks and knives stopped, all three heads turned toward us.

Jay squeezed my hand gently, then added, “Y/N and I are... seeing each other.”

Silence settled over the table. Just the kind that stretches for a moment, thick with realization. My mom’s eyes flicked to our joined hands, then to my face — scanning it like she didn’t quite believe what she was seeing. 

Then, when she caught the small, nervous smile tugging at my mouth, hers broke open in full bloom. Her breath hitched. “Oh my god,” she whispered, before letting out a bubbling laugh, equal parts joy and surprise. Tears welled up instantly as she pushed her chair back and rushed around the table. She threw her arms around Jay so suddenly he flinched, nearly dropping his fork. 

“I knew it,” she said through a grin, voice cracking at the edges. “I knew it! Since you were teenagers, I had a feeling. Didn’t I say it?” She turned to my dad, who was already rising to his feet with a slow, amused shake of his head.

Meanwhile, I turned toward Nyla, breath caught in my throat. Her face was unreadable at first, a tight-lipped mask that had me bracing for impact. But then her eyes softened and pulled a reluctant smile. “As long as you’re happy,” she said, voice quieter than usual as she pulled me into a hug. Then, low enough that only I could hear, “but if he messes with you, I will set him on fire.”

I snorted into her shoulder, the sound muffled by the soft fabric of her dress. “Noted,” I murmured, voice tinged with a laugh.

As dad was sitting back across the table, beer in hand, his tone casual but curious. “So,” he began, squinting slightly like he was piecing together a puzzle, “how did you two really get together?” The chatter fell away. Even Nyla paused with her fork mid-air, equally curious.

I felt Jay’s gaze before I looked up — and when I did, it was like a silent standoff. His brows lifted, I narrowed my eyes just slightly, gripping my fork like it might save me. We didn't really speak about this…

He caved first, thank god. “We’d been talking for a while, long distance.” Jay said easily, reaching for his water like he wasn’t lying through his teeth. “And then… I don’t know, it just sort of clicked. That coffee the other day made things official, I guess.”

I kept my eyes on my plate, focusing very intently on cutting my potatoes into the smallest pieces imaginable. My mom let out a delighted little gasp, dad nodded like it all made perfect sense now. Nyla, however, arched one very suspicious eyebrow but said nothing.

And just like that, the room was buzzing again — chairs pushed back, more wine poured with dessert, my mom already asking Jay if he remembered her cousin’s wedding in 2011. Nyla was halfway through teasing my dad about his questionable music taste, and someone turned on a playlist in the background. The house felt full, but in a way that made the walls seem softer, like they were finally breathing again.

Maybe that's all it took to have my parents be happy again.

-*-

It was way past midnight now, jackets were being shrugged back on. The goodbyes began, all the hugs and kisses from my mom and a firm clap on the shoulder from my dad. Nyla slung her bag over her shoulder, gave me a quick squeeze and a tired smile. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she said to Jay, already stepping onto the porch with a quiet ‘Night, everyone’.

Jay lingered by the front door with me, his hands shoved in his coat pockets, smiling with his cheeks flushed with warmth. It's probably from the wine. My parents were still standing nearby, not quite eavesdropping, but not subtle either.

Then — as if remembering his final line in a scene — Jay leaned in, slow and easy, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. It was just long enough to draw a reaction from my parents, to confirm that they are seeing this. But before I could roll my eyes, Jay dipped a little closer, letting his lips brush just near the shell of my ear again. His voice was low and smooth, meant only for me.

“Gotta keep the illusion alive, right?” he murmured. “We were Oscar-worthy, if you ask me.”

I tried to hold my expression steady, but the heat creeping into my face gave me away. I shoved him lightly. “Now, go.” I whispered.

He only grinned, stepping back down the front steps with a wave. “Take care, babe.” he called, too loud on purpose. I rolled my eyes and clicked the door shut behind him.

I padded into the kitchen, drawn by the soft clatter of dishes and the low hum of running water. My mom was already at the sink, hands moving through soap. I stood near her, rolling up my sleeves to help. She stepped beside me with the dish towel, humming happily under her breath. She passed me a plate to rinse, then bumped her shoulder against mine. “He’s so handsome in person,” she whispered, like it was a secret.

I snorted. “Mom, you’ve seen him before. Like… a dozen times.”

She waved her hand dismissively, smiling. “Yes, but not like this. Not as your boyfriend.”

I shook my head, half-amused, half-horrified. “Okay, ew.”

She chuckled, but then her voice softened, like the air between us had turned to glass. “It’s just… it’s really good to see you smile again, baby.”

I froze for a beat, heart thudding in that strange way it does when someone hits something a little too close. My hands stayed under the running water longer than they needed to, and I kept my eyes fixed on the sink so she wouldn’t see the sudden blur.

It sounds ridiculous, maybe even unfair, but sometimes it felt like the grieving version of me wasn’t enough for her. Like she needed proof I was healing, moving on, smiling. Like pain made her helpless, but pretending made her hopeful.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I did neither. I just nodded and whispered, “Yeah. Me too.”

-𓍙-

A couple of weeks later, I was still home. Still tucked inside the same walls, the same rooms that had started to feel less like shelter and more like something closer to a waiting room. My phone stayed face-down more often than not.

When Nyla didn’t come by, I tried to keep busy. I told myself I was being productive — scrolling through job boards like something might magically spark, updating my resume, making lists I didn’t follow, reorganizing drawers that didn’t need it. I was mostly surviving in small bursts. Grief didn’t ask for permission. It came in waves: quiet one moment, crashing the next. Some days I could breathe through it. Other days, it knocked me flat, and I let it. 

I also started attending therapy — sessions that left me feeling like I’d rung my brain through a spin cycle, but somehow came out clearer. My mom had been the one to set up the first appointment, all careful smiles and ‘Just give it a try, baby’.

My therapist had the kind of voice that made you breathe slower without realizing it. She wore calming colors and always smelled faintly like peppermint tea. There was something steady about her, like she could sit in silence without rushing to fill it, like she knew how to hold space for messy feelings without flinching. 

One afternoon, after I’d stumbled through a ramble about not knowing what to do anymore, she paused. Then gently put down her glasses, “Maybe try writing him a letter. Just… to clear space up there.”

I frowned at her. “A letter?”

“Try it. Doesn’t have to be beautiful, it just has to be honest.”

I gave her a quiet nod, but never actually did it. A part of me even found it stupid, so I avoided it. But one noon, while I was hunched over my laptop and refreshing over and over my email inbox waiting for a response back for a job offer, something shifted.

Without thinking too hard, I opened a blank email and started typing. Fuck, might as well try.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) I don’t really know why I’m writing this. You’re not going to read it.  It’s been months, but sometimes it still feels like I’m waiting for you to call. Like you’d explain it all away, say it wasn’t what it looked like. You broke me in two separate ways: once when you lied, and again when you left. I wish I could scream at you. I wish I didn’t still miss you in the same breath as I hate you.

The cursor blinked at the end of the sentence. I didn’t send it, just saved it in my drafts folder. It wasn't a letter, exactly. But it would do.

I shut my laptop and slid it to the side, then turned onto my side, phone in hand. My thumb began to scroll mindlessly, the blue light casting a dull glow over my face in the otherwise dim room. It had become a habit, background noise for the quiet. Tap, scroll, double tap, scroll, until I paused.

Jay posted again for the second time this week. 

It’s a blurry mirror pic in a café, our reflection barely visible, his arm around me, face turned slightly away. The one before was less ambiguous: Jay in his hoodie, and me walking ahead of him through a street, our hands barely visible but unmistakably linked. No tag, no name, no face.

I stared at the screen, unsure how I felt. It wasn’t that I hated the photos — honestly, they were romantic. We made sure of that. We planned each shot together, turning the city into our own clandestine photo studio, all while trying to stay under cover. We spent the whole day darting down side streets, changing tops in his car, then darting back out to chase the perfect light. Jay even had asked before he posted them. “You don’t have to say yes,” he’d said, his voice gentle. “I’ll take it down in a second if it’s too much.”

I had said yes, it was my end of the deal after all. But seeing the number of likes, comments, shares — in the hundred thousands — made it all seem surreal.

Then, a message dropped from the top. 

“Wanna go out tmr and help me lie to the internet again?” - "little shit", Delivered 3 min ago

“Apparently the photos we took aren't enough for my manager.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 min ago

“what more do they want?” - "me", Delivered 2 min ago

“They want us to step out together, but make it look effortless. Natural.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 mins ago

“Just trust me. I’ll pick you up around 4pm. I’ll take care of the rest.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 sec ago

“Fine. Only if you’re coming for dinner afterwards.” - "me", Delivered 1 min ago

He didn’t miss a beat. 

“Deal.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 sec ago

-*-

The moment I got his text that he was outside, I slipped into my coat and grabbed my purse from where it rested near the door. As I padded down the stairs, I paused briefly by the window, noticing the way the clouds were starting to hang heavy in the sky, casting a soft, grey hue over everything. I slid the heavy wooden door aside and stepped out into the brisk air, tugging my collar up against the bite of the breeze. A different car, though also tinned, was already there at the curb, its engine idling quietly.

As  I slid into the passenger seat and clicked the seatbelt into place, I mumbled a quick ‘hey’ in his direction. The rich leather beneath me was smooth, faintly infused with a mixture of pine and something a little spicy — his cologne, I guessed — a scent I hadn’t yet gotten used to, but found unexpectedly comforting.

Jay didn’t say much at first. His hands rested casually on the wheel as he shifted the car into drive and we began to ease away from the curb. After a moment, he glanced over, his profile glimmering faintly in the glow of a nearby storefront. “Manager picked the spot. Some café downtown.”

I nodded, tugging my coat tighter against me, as if it might ease the nervous energy swirling in my stomach, “alright.” I murmured. He kept his gaze on the road, but I could feel his awareness slowly turning toward me. “You seem tense.”

I let out a nervous scoff, not quite a laugh, trying to sound casual. “What makes you think that?”

“You're tearing your fingers apart, for one.” he said, eyes still on the road, briefly turning the wheel to the left. I forced myself to ease my grip, placing my hands flat in my lap instead. “I’m just worried I’m going to mess something up.”

He turned his head just a fraction, his voice was sincere, a calm thread weaving through the growing nervousness. “I’ll be right there with you the whole time.” His hand briefly left the wheel and came to rest on my knee — a warm pressure that made my pulse ease just a bit.

We slipped into the flow of morning rush hour. The city slowly came alive outside the window: storefronts opening their doors, people hurrying down the sidewalks, buses rumbling past. All while we fell into a comfortable silence. The only sound was the gentle purr of the engine and the rhythmic clicking of the turn signal as we made our way forward.

We eventually turned down a side street and came to a stop in front of a somewhat busy bakery-café. The kind with a charming storefront, a riot of potted plants and a spotless glass facade. Large windows glimmered warmly against the chilly afternoon. The kind of place that guarantees plenty of eyes, plenty of buzz — exactly what his management wanted.

We exchanged a brief glance. We knew the game by now, how to put up that picture-perfect appearance for the world. “Ready?” he asked quietly, a softness creeping into his normally cool voice.

I just nodded as he hopped out first and walked around to my side to hold the door for me. I placed my hand on his arm as I stepped down, letting him guide me up the small step into the café’s bustling interior. The moment we fell into step together, I felt the rush of activity, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee, buttery pastries glimmering under glass. I could feel the eyes turning in our direction, not in a judgmental way, but with pure, fleeting curiosity.

He led me toward a corner table by the window, handing me a heavy cardstock menu. I turned it over slowly. The names of the dishes were a sophisticated puzzle, ingredients I couldn’t even pronounce, flavor combinations I hadn’t yet tasted. Where even am I?

I let out a nervous laugh, glancing up at him from across the small café table. Our knees were nearly touching, close enough to feel his warmth through the thick denim of his black jeans. “I have no clue what to get…” I whispered, reluctantly turning the page in search of something I recognized or something I was brave enough to try.

He smiled then leaned forward, resting his forearms casually on the table, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he studied the options alongside me. I could make out the rich, woody notes of his cologne in the small space between us. His finger paused, then tapped a spot on the menu. “Go for this one. It’s a honey latte.”

After a minute, he turned to the server and placed both our orders in a clear, decisive voice. The kind that meant he knew exactly what he wanted. The server nodded and slipped away, I was left noting the way his knuckles rested against the wooden surface, strong yet relaxed — a quiet confidence that made me feel… cared for?

Fucking focus, you’re being watched.

I stirred my overpriced latte slowly, letting the creamy design get ruined with the spoon that's clicking softly against the cup’s rim; as I listened to him ramble on about the pastries he fell in love with while filming some movie in France — his voice a comfortable soundtrack against the bustling café. “Did you know there’s a hotel in France that lets you sponsor a croissant?” he said casually, pausing to take a sip of his espresso. “I’m thinking we should sponsor a chocolate one together.”

I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile. “Yeah, dumbass, those ones are called pain au chocolat.”

He paused mid-swallow, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “Wait, that’s what they’re called?”

“That’s, like… the literal name.”

He let out a short rich laugh and I couldn’t help but break into a laugh alongside him. The kind of chuckle that starts quietly and then spills out, freeing me.

Just then, the server appeared at our table with a small plate in his hands. On it rested a delicate dessert — a rich chocolate mousse drizzled with glossy chocolate and adorned with strawberries. “On the house, a little thank you for choosing us today,” they said with a genuine smile before stepping back into the flow of the café. 

“Score, free dessert from an expensive café,” I whispered under my breath, barely able to keep from giggling. 

He glanced toward the window, where a small cluster of paparazzi was already gathering, their camera lenses catching the light like tiny, hungry gremlins. Mischievous flashes in his eyes, “wait… I have an idea,” he said, voice low but full of playful confidence.

Leaning in just a little across the table, he scooped up a spoonful of the mousse. Without a word, he lifted it to my lips, creating a picture-perfect moment — the kind of romantic snapshot his manager would love to see plastered all over the tabloids. We’re posing without posing. I fought to keep a straight face, the ridiculousness of it all bubbling up, but the warmth in the gesture melted some of my nerves.

The mousse was velvety and deep, making me let out a soft ‘Mmm’ savoring the flavor, giving him a quick smile, eyes sparkling. “Yeah?” he challenged, leaning forward to take a bite from the same spoon, his own expression softening as the taste hit him. His eyes widened just a bit, “Oh shit…”

Jay’s phone buzzed softly against the table, breaking the quiet bubble around us. He glanced down, fingers briefly scrolling through the message. I watched him, savoring the last bites of the mousse, the rich sweetness lingering on my tongue. He didn’t rush me, letting me enjoy the moment while his attention shifted to the screen.

After a beat, he looked up, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got a message from my manager,” he said. “ ‘The paparazzi photos are everywhere now. You did well. You can leave now.’ ” he read it out for me.

I just nodded, my fingers tightening around the strap of my purse. We stood up together, Jay reached for the bill, still calm, but I could sense the shift in the air, a subtle tension creeping in.

The moment we stepped outside, it hit us all at once. The paparazzi were waiting — like vultures circling a fresh story. Cameras flashed wildly, shouting voices ricocheting off the walls, turning the quiet afternoon into a chaotic storm. 

“Jay, how serious is she?”

I froze, heart pounding, caught in the middle of it all. The bright flashes felt like they were burning right through me, and the noise swallowed everything else. 

“Jay! Is this your rebound?”

It was like being a fish trapped inside a fishbowl. Voices overlapped, a dozen different questions and jeers, some sharp, some desperate for attention. 

“Do you want to say anything to your fans about this?”

Without missing a beat, Jay took control as if he’s been through this drill more times than he cared to count. His arm slid smoothly around the small of my back, the grip steady and reassuring. He leaned in close, his voice dropping low. “Don’t look at them. Just walk with me.”

He guided me forward, weaving through the swarm of houting voices and relentless camera flashes with practiced ease, moving as if the whole chaotic scene was just another routine. And maybe it was — for him.

Finally, we reached the curb where his car waited. its dark, tinted windows suddenly felt like a small blessing. Once inside, the door clicked shut behind us, instantly muffling the noise outside. The sudden quiet was almost dizzying. My shoulders remained tight, coiled with leftover adrenaline. I kept my mouth shut, the words lodged somewhere too tangled to say.

Jay glanced sideways at me, focused on the road ahead but still searching mine for a sign. His voice was hesitant. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the weight of the moment pressing into his tone.

I barely managed to mumble ‘It’s okay’ though my voice felt fragile, as if trying to convince myself more than him.

-*-

That evening, our dining room hummed with life — laughter bubbling up, voices overlapping in easy conversation, the comforting clink of plates and glasses weaving through the air. Around the table, my parents’ warmth was undeniable, their smiles were genuine. But as I sat there, an invisible thread inside me began to unravel.

The chatter softened, melting into a distant murmur, like a radio playing faintly in another room. Words drifted past, slipping through the cracks of my attention without ever fully landing. Faces morphed into unreachable, indistinct shapes. The steady rhythm of their world kept beating, relentless and… indifferent. Like life was moving forward regardless if I’m grieving or not.

Normalcy felt cruel at that moment. For a flicker, I felt a sharp pulse of anger. Mad at the world, mad at myself for feeling disconnected, mad that things hadn’t stopped just for me. But the anger was tangled up with guilt. What right did I have to feel this way? What exactly was I mad about? 

My mom returned to the table, balancing a beautifully plated cake, her smile warm and effortless. “Can you grab some napkins, baby?” she asked softly, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. The touch pulled me back to the moment

I nodded and turned toward the cabinet, the low murmur of conversation trailing behind me. But as I walked away, my eyes caught a glimpse of Nyla subtly cornering Jay in the quiet hallway. Their voices were hushed, but the sharp edge beneath their words cut through the calm like a knife.

“I don’t know what this is…” Nyla’s voice was firm, skepticism woven through each syllable. “But don’t give her another lie to believe in.”

Jay didn’t argue. His silence spoke volumes. He simply nodded once, slow and deliberate, like a man accepting a hard truth. “I know,” he said softly, after a brief pause, “I won’t.”

I really hadn’t meant to overhear. I forced my gaze to stay on the cabinet, ignoring the charged silence that suddenly thickened the air around them. Every word slipped in my mind. Am I that fragile and weak in front of them?

-𓍙-

I balanced the paper bags against my hip as I turned the key in the lock. When the metal clicked, I nudged the door inward with my shoulder. Mom had insisted I get out for a bit — a chance for some fresh air, again — slipping me a sticky note filled with a list of things we needed. “Mom, I’m home. Got your stuff.”

“Thank you, baby.” Her voice was distracted as she began to unload the bags and put everything in its place.

I slipped down the hallway toward my room, eager for my safe haven. The moment I crossed the door frame, something felt… different. Something was missing. The spot by the window, where the funeral flowers had been slowly wilting in their glass vases, was completely empty. The vases were gone, the water drained, the last few dried petals tossed away.

Where the fuck were they?

“Mom… where are the flowers?” I said, keeping my voice even, or at least I tried. The words trembled just a bit as they slipped out, panic rising quietly in my chest.

She paused, a dish towel in her hand, mid-wipe of the dining table’s surface. “What flowers, baby?”

“The ones I came home with.”

"Ah…" She turned back casually. "They had a lot of bugs. I threw them out."

“Oh,” I pressed my fingertips to the bridge of my nose, “that… makes sense.” I forced out then took a shaky breath. Keep it together. 

However, it was stronger than me. When it fully hit me, I turned away, not trusting myself to keep it together much longer. My pulse was already racing, each breath a little shallower, a little tighter in my chest — the familiar start of a panic attack creeping up. 

Mom said nothing as I slipped past her, murmuring something about forgetting an item on the grocery list, a weak excuse I hoped she wouldn’t question. I stepped outside, letting the chilly air rush against my face, as if it might ease the pressure building within me.

It felt as if the last piece I had left of him had been quietly erased — gone without a trace. As if my mom had decided that it was time to clear it away, that I should be ‘moving on’ by now, that being in a relationship would just make the mourning stop. 

I turned down another side street, letting my feet carry me without direction. Just keep going forward. The world glimmered under a haze of gold from nearby storefronts and headlights, bouncing off puddles in shimmering rings. I hadn’t noticed it was pouring. 

I honestly couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? it all blended together in a cold, numbing haze. I stayed there, hunched on the bench as the rain fell harshly, soaking through my clothes, down to my skin — until I was chilled to the bone.

The world around me seemed distant, a watercolor painting smeared by the water. The colors blurring, edges fading, as if I was slowly fading alongside it. Everything felt heavy — my limbs, my mind, even my own pulse. 

Then, all at once, it felt as if the rain had been turned off. I blinked up, confused as drops still dripped from my lashes, only to find Jay. His grip on his umbrella was steady above me, creating a small tent from the downpour. He let a shaky breath escape, a mixture of relief and worry. “I was worried sick about you.”

Silence fell as I tried to process the fact that he’d come looking for me. Before I could say anything, he slipped out of his jacket — the rich, heavy fabric still holding his own heat — and draped it carefully over my shoulders. 

He paused, then said quietly, “C’mon… let’s get you somewhere warm.”

“Don’t take me home.” The words fell from my lips, desperate. I held his gaze, those brown eyes seemed to see straight through me. After a moment, he nodded, “I won’t.” he said, a vow I felt more than I heard. 

Together, we slipped into his car. The thunderous rain began to ease, fading into a gentle patter against the rooftop of his car as we drove away — the world outside is a blur of glistening city lights, bouncing off rain-soaked streets. I drew my knees up, pressed close to warmth, letting the silence wrap me up.

-*-

He turned the key in the lock and clicked the door open, pausing briefly to let me step inside first. The moment I entered, I felt a rush of warmth and the scent of his cologne enclose around me immediately. He flipped on a small side lamp near the door, casting a soft glow across the apartment. 

“I keep this place separate from everything else,” he said, tugging off his damp shoes. “So the paparazzi can’t find out where my family lives… or reach them.”

I let my gaze wander around his space. It was undeniably a place he called his own — spotless but lived-in, a little sparse, with a few taped up cardboard boxes stacked quietly in the corners, as if he hadn’t quite gotten around to unpacking them yet. The furniture was minimal, the color palette calm and neutral.

He led me further in, guiding me toward his sofa. I hesitated, I was soaked, dripping rainwater everywhere. but he nodded, murmuring a ‘It’s fine., really’.

“I’m going to get the shower ready for you, before you catch a cold.” he said, before holding out his phone toward me, the screen already unlocked. “Call your mom… let her know you’re safe. She’s probably worried.” His voice was gentle — not a command, but an understanding, a way to ease a growing knot I hadn’t even noticed I was holding.

I nodded reluctantly, taking the phone from his hand. He turned and disappeared down the hallway, his silhouette briefly backlit by the glow from the restroom.

The phone barely rang before my mom picked up. “Jay? Did you find her?” There was a softness in her voice and a nervous energy I recognized.

“Mom, it’s me,” I said, trying to steady my words. “I’m okay. I’m at Jay’s place.”

She exhaled a breath I could almost hear over the line. “Thank God. I was so worried… I called Jay earlier, asked if you were with him, and he said no...”

As I listened, I caught Jay passing by, carrying a stack of clean towels, he looked so composed. “But as soon as I said it's been a couple hours you haven't been home, he told me he was going to find you.” Mom continued, her voice a mix of relief and lingering concern.

I swallowed, feeling the weight of that unspoken trust settle in me. Jay had been out there, searching for me in the pouring rain — for who knows how long — without ever mentioning a word to me.

“I’m okay, Mom. Just… needed some air. Jay’s been helping.” I cleared my throat, trying to sound reassuring.

“Alright,” she said finally. “Just call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” I promised softly, letting the words ease some of the weight that had been sitting heavy on my chest. We exchanged our goodbyes and let the call disconnected.

I hopped into the steamy shower — though quickly, just enough to chase away the lingering chilly feeling. When I turned off the faucet and stepped back out into the misty restroom, I found a neatly folded stack of clean clothes waiting for me — they’re his, for sure, a couple sizes too large.

I padded quietly down the hallway, tugging at the cuffs of his sweater. The hardwood floors whispered under my feet, a softness that seemed to ease me forward. I turned a corner and paused in the doorway. I found him sitting out on his balcony with a glass of wine resting in his hand, the rich garnet liquid beaming a ruby color in the glow of the city’s neon. His silhouette was a lone shape against the riot of lights outside — a man separate, even in a world so full.

I slid open the balcony door, making a rush of cool night air slip in. He turned at the sound with a small, mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “You know… those look a whole lot better on you than they ever did on me.”

I let out a soft giggle and crossed the small distance between us, sinking down into the seat beside him. “Thank you… for everything,” I said, letting the words hang. “And I’m sorry… for everything as well.”

He nodded quietly, “don’t mention it.” he murmured as he filled a second glass, handing it to me. The wine was a rich garnet against crystal. I turned it slowly in my grip, letting its warmth seep into my fingertips. He kept his gaze forward, toward the city’s chaos.

“Remember that time you cried in the broom closet because Nyla and you fought?” he said softly, “and I stood outside, trying to get you to come out?”

I scoffed, the nostalgic memories tugging at me. “I think I stayed in there for… hours.”

He turned his glass slowly in his hands, eyebrows lifting in amusement as he added, “the more i think about it the more ‘cry baby’ feels very appropriate for you.”

I nudged his shoulder playfully, in that weird comfort of familiarity, “Haha,” I said, my voice dry. He tilted his head back and let out a full, easy laugh. “You’ve always hated me, anyways.”

“That’s not true.” I turned toward him, reluctantly meeting his eyes. “Not hate. Just… irritation. Childish irritation.”

He pressed his glass to his lips, smiling. “I’ll take that.”

I fell into silence, letting the moment settle — the city glowed through the balcony railings, a mosaic of golds, blues, reds. I turned slightly, letting my gaze linger on him. There was a soft, raw vulnerability that made my heart ache. His shoulders are weighed down and his jaw is set. It's as if he’s holding himself together and refusing to break down.

“What’s on your mind?” I whispered.

He kept blinking somewhere in the distance, trying to think. “I…” he began, wrestling with the words. “I feel so fucking lonely.” He confessed, whispering back to me, dropping his shoulders in defeat. As if it's that simple, but it wasn’t really that simple.

He pressed his lips together, then let them ease. “But I’m afraid to let someone close again.” His knuckles tightened faintly on his wine glass. “I’m afraid I’ll be used again.”

I let his words sink in for me, “It’s about her, isn’t it?” I asked quietly. His grip slowly relaxed, “yeah.”

“What really happened between you two?”

He stopped to choose his next words carefully. “She… turned everything we had into a commodity, basically.” His jaw tightened as he remembered. “She leaked photos. Then started spreading lies about… about us. Our sex life. Our relationship. It changed my image in front of everyone.” He then exhaled through his nose. “All the controversy, I think that’s exactly what she wanted. All the new eyes on her, it's a way into Hollywood.”

“That’s a lot to carry, especially now with your management.” I said, sympathizing. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

“You're not the one who should be apologizing.” He sneered. He tilts his glass over his lips, draining the last sip before slowly turns to face me, his expression softer. “And what really happened between you two?”

I took a deep breath. “I… found him cheating.” I confessed, sharing my own truth as well. He kept his eyes on me, patient. “That’s when I cut everyone off. I was… embarrassed, so I kept it to myself.” I added quietly.

“And then… he died a month later.” I faltered, “I felt even more ashamed… ashamed that I was grieving someone who chose someone else. I felt… stupid for crying over him. Grief’s weird like that, It doesn’t care if someone deserved to be missed or not.” I turned to watch a drop of rain trail down the glass of the balcony railing. “Some days, I think I’m not really grieving him… but the life I thought I was going to have with him. The future I believed was mine.”

I pressed my fingertips to the base of the glass, “I think all the shame, the guilt of putting my parents through this mess, that's what made me say yes to this fake dating in the first place.”

He fell mute, allowing the city’s pulse to rise, before whispering, “I’m sorry.”

I let out a chuckle. “You're not the one who should be apologizing.”

He huffed a laugh at the irony that both of us were stranded in the wreckage of culpability, humiliation and torment. My eyes fell to my almost empty glass, “besides my therapist, you’re the only person I’ve told about the cheating.”

He nodded as an affirmation. “I’ll keep it between us,” he said quietly. “I won’t tell a soul. I promise.”

The silence that followed felt dense and weighty, so profound that every thump of my own heart seemed to echo loudly in the stillness. He's the first to cut through it, “what were you supposed to be doing this year?”

I pressed my knees to my chest and exhaled. “Grad school in Chicago. We… were supposed to move in together. We found this little apartment...” I said, thinking about that small, cute place made me smile. “I deferred the week after the funeral.”

He nodded understandingly, humming as a response. “What about you? When do you think you will go back to L.A.?” I asked. 

He smirked faintly. “Only when I want to make things even messier.” His voice was light, but I recognized the honest fibre underneath. “I’m not really in a rush to go back… the movie’s filming is not starting till next summer anyway.”

I offered a soft hum as a reply just like he did, “I will be first in line to see it.” I said, tilting my glass towards him like a cheers. He laughed and said a ‘thank you’ under his breath as he refilled his glass before settling back down.

From where I sat, I was able to study him — the strong curve of his jaw, where his sideburns sat, the way his lashes rested against his cheeks. It was the same face I’d known since childhood, but now it carried a strength that only time could carve. The boy I once teased and the boy once teased me was gone, replaced by an admirable grown man. 

I let myself slowly lean in, resting my forehead against his shoulder. I drew up my knees even closer to my chest, tugging his sweater farther down over me. He shifted just a bit just until his warmth pressed against me. 

Time seemed to slow, a moment stretched into another. He whispered, barely audible, “What is this mess we’re in?” I laughed as I turned just a little, without lifting my head. “You tell me.”

I must have drifted off while resting against him. One moment I was staring out the window, feeling the rhythm of the car and his heartbeat beside me, and the next… everything felt weightless. 

I remember how gentle he was with me as he slipped his arms underneath, lifting me with a careful grace, a reverence I hadn’t expected. I kept my eyes closed — not fully asleep, not fully conscious — just trusting him to carry me. I felt the shift of light as we passed through the hallway, then the softness of the mattress that's welcoming me. The tug of a heavy blanket placed over me with kind hands. 

“Rest that pretty head,” he murmured, gently brushing my hair away from my face.

I wanted to ask him to stay, to not leave me alone. But the words stayed locked in my throat, stubborn. My lips remained sealed as the door clicked softly shut behind him. And for the first time in weeks, I surrender completely to sleep.

-𓍙-

Therapy isn’t magic. It’s slow, frustratingly slow. The sessions blend together, a couple of weeks turning into a small stretch of time. It's a process that feels more like navigating a labyrinth without a map. Some days, I show up and say nothing. I sit there in silence, letting my fingertips follow the seams of the couch cushion, feeling the texture.

Other days, the words come in a rush of either fury or sorrow. They come out as confessions I hadn’t meant to make, like a vulnerable string I hadn’t noticed was frayed. I would talk about him — sometimes about very mundane things he did, other times about fucked up things he did. It would be about little habits I hadn’t noticed until I said them aloud, but also  about his choices that still gnawed away at me. It was as if by turning them over in my mind, piece by piece, I was slowly untangling the knot he left in me.

It was all a process of putting the pieces back together. If he doesn't want to tell me the truth, I will find it.

My therapist says that I'm making some kind of progress, naming the ghosts instead of letting them haunt me. Some days I feel that disarray in my own skin. This heartbreak feels a bit like someone opened me up, reorganized everything, and then forgot to put me back together. 

Regardless, I keep showing up. I let the stillness and words alike do their healing work. In a very sluggish manner, to be fair, until I can learn how to carry it without letting it consume me.

-*-

I looked out through the small kitchen windowpane. The rain came down hard, turning the world outside into a watercolor of silver, navy and grey. Droplets raced down the glass in wild rivulets, blurring the city’s edges. There was no way Jay could leave now, not without practically swimming his way back to his car.

We fell into a comfortable rhythm of clearing the dishes from the dining table by him stacking them neatly and me rinsing them in the sink. Up until my mom put her foot down, “the roads are awful. You’re not driving in this mess.”

Before he could protest, she was already moving toward the linen cabinet in the hallway. Her fingers sifted through the fabric until she pulled out a pair of my dad’s old pajamas, soft but well-worn. He tried to argue, stuttering something about not wanting to bother us, that he could just drive slowly. But she overruled him in about three seconds flat, pressing the neatly folded set into his hands, eyes steady leaving no room for arguing. 

Afterwards, long after everyone else had retreated to their rooms, I slipped out of the closet dressed in my own pajamas. The storm’s roar seeped through the windows, alive and restless. I found Jay standing by the window in my room, a dark silhouette carved against the angry sky, watching the rain rage on.

He was supposed to share this bed with me. It's a formality, a part of the fake dating we’d agreed upon. But now, the reality made my stomach knot. I wondered if he felt the same nervous rush as I did, or if he saw it as something less, something purely convenient. 

I pressed my fingertips against my arm, to calm the nervous energy blooming just beneath my skin. He didn’t turn when I approached the bed or when I pulled the covers back. His voice was low. “I’ll sneak out once it stops.”

I just nodded, letting that be my answer. As he settled in on his side of the mattress, I reached over and turned off my side lamp, dimming the room from its amber glow. The thunder outside rumbled quietly in the distance, the rain steady against the window.

When we shared my old queen-sized bed, the mattress felt smaller than I remembered, crowded by the weight of both of us. We lay there, barely an inch between our knees, the space tight enough to make every breath, every subtle movement feel magnified.

I was acutely aware of his warmth, his low exhales, the rise and fall of his chest — all of it was a reminder that I was not alone. I haven't laid in bed with someone else in so long… the panic forced me to stay still.

Some time passed, as I lay there staring at my furniture. Sleep remained elusive, not a wink of sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, memories tugged me back toward wakefulness. Finally, with a small breath, I turned over beneath the covers, letting myself face him in the dimly glowing room.

“Jay?” I whispered into the dark room.

“Mhm?” he responded, not opening his eyes as he lay flat on his back, one arm resting across his forehead.

“You know, you used to call me ‘Cry Baby’… but remember when I used to call you ‘Star Boy’?” I asked, playfulness creeping into my voice.

He let out a dramatic groan, but a smile was unmistakable on his lips. “goodness, no… don’t remind me.”

I chuckled, “you went so red in the face every single time I said it.” I paused to let myself smile at the memory. “It was honestly kind of cute.”

He sighs before turning to face me as well. “I hoped you’d forgotten that by now.”

As I laughed, he couldn't help but chuckle in return. As I felt my eyelids grow heavy, the world slowly blurring at the edges, I whispered into the softness between us, “Can you… stay the night?” I finally was able to ask him. 

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then his voice came. “Yeah… I’ll stay.”

At those words, something in me unfurled peacefully. I let my eyes close, trusting that I was not alone, that when I opened them in the morning, he’d still be there.

-*-

My eyes fluttered open as the storm had faded into a soft, far away swirl. The only sound now that I can hear is Jay’s breathing, slow and even beside me. He really stayed even after the storm passed. At some point in the night, my head had come to rest against his chest, his arm draped casually — yet protectively  — around my shoulders. I didn't even feel a rush of timidity or embarrassment from being this close, from letting myself linger in his warmth. 

Instead, I noticed something I hadn’t before — a faint scar near his jawline, a small mark I hadn’t recognized until now. I wondered if it was from that bike accident he had as a kid, the one where Nyla and I cleaned him up and tended his scrapes while he fought back tears, insisting he was ‘too tough’ to cry in front of us. It was strange how different he looked in sleep. He looked softer. Yet, a faint crease lingered between his brows, as if some worries were woven into him, even at rest.

Without notice, a strange ache stirred in my chest. Not because of Jay, but it was that same old ache. It was that familiar ache I kept trying to bury.

I turned slightly and reached for my phone on my nightstand, the glow lighting up the dim room. It's only 3 a.m. Why am I even up? My fingers went to my email account, straight to the drafts folder. There sat the old unsend email for him, catching dust. I inhaled deeply and started a new email. Doesn’t have to be beautiful, it just has to be honest.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) Everyone keeps asking if I’ve ‘found closure’. As if it’s a drawer that's neatly closed, waiting for me. But it’s not.  Even when you're dead I'm too tired to explain myself to you. Your death froze betrayal in time. Anyways, hope hell is warm enough for you.

It started as borrowed words from therapy, words that had been circling in my mind. But somewhere along the way, it morphed into something less measured. They might be a little harsh and a little messy, but fuck it — they’re the truest reflection of what I’m feeling in this moment. I tucked that email alongside the other unsent one before locking the screen and slipping my phone underneath my pillow. 

As I nestled beside Jay, he stirred faintly in his sleep, unconsciously drawing me a little closer. He became my sanctuary. I’m still so afraid to let anyone close, afraid that opening up means I’m putting myself back in the path that has the kind of hurt I’m still healing from. Though I let him, I let his presence ease me back into rest. I think it’s because my mind and body are so weary from constantly putting up a fight, from bracing for the worst. 

𓍙

Time slipped by without me really noticing with our deal remaining in place. Yet, somewhere along the way… something shifted. We fell into an ease I hadn’t expected. I found myself looking forward to seeing him, looking forward to dinners with him, looking forward to when we step out and put on a performance for the paparazzi. The space we occupied side by side was growing less intimidating.

Currently, we’re in a hotel suite high above Manhattan, the city bustling far below us. Today is media junket day for Jay’s new film — the one he’s been cast in, the role that feels destined to be his big break. The room is a rush of activity: journalists setting up their equipment, publicists darting back and forth, and assistants smoothing every last detail.

His team insisted he show up with me by his side, to continue the role of the ‘supportive girlfriend’ for the interview. His management made their expectations for me clear: sit there, be pretty, smile, and nod — say as little as possible, let Jay take the lead. 

Meanwhile, Jay seemed quietly relieved I was there. His shoulders would relax ever so slightly whenever his eyes met mine during the chaos of getting glammed, I would mouth to him ‘it will be okay’. He seemed on edge all day long.

We settled into the plush velvet chairs placed side by side, directly across from a perky interviewer already poised with her microphone. The bright lights glared down from their rigs, turning the space into something that felt less like a hotel suite and more like a stage — a set designed for every expression, every word to be captured by the cameras.

After a few questions about the film, the interviewer shifted gears, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “So, the fans are absolutely obsessed with you two. Your relationship has everyone talking.”

I was kind of surprised, honestly, I barely registered the comment at first. Over the past month, I had been deliberately distancing myself from social media, scrolling past headlines and posts without really looking, shielding myself from the flood of opinions and judgments that felt both invasive and overwhelming. 

Jay gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something a little tight, a little forced about it. “Yeah, she’s one of the most incredible people I know.”

The interviewer leaned in with a warm grin. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Forever, kind of. She’s my sister’s best friend.” Jay’s answer came easily, almost automatic. The interviewer’s face softened as she said, “aw, full circle moment!” 

But Jay barely heard her, his mind seemed elsewhere. His jaw clenched ever so slightly, betraying the calm he tried to project.

“Cut!” The director’s sharp voice cut through the room, stopping the interviewer from asking another question. “Hold up, something’s off — the lighting's all wrong.” He rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated. “We’re pausing for now. Take five.”

Jay and I exchanged a glance and nodded silently, the cameras slowly winding down as crew members began passing around the equipment with practiced efficiency. The air felt thick, buzzing like static. 

As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, his publicist leaned in to us, voice low but eager, “that last answer was solid. Let’s keep leaning into that nostalgic romance angle. Maybe we can do a little shoot where she—”

Jay’s eyes snapped open, as if mentioning me was his final straw. “She is not a fucking action figure you can just pose.” he spat out, his tone cold but restrained, each word clipped. The publicist blinked, clearly not used to seeing him this upset.

I placed a calming hand on his arm, “Jay, it's okay… I don't mind.” I whispered to him, trying to ease the tension. 

His publicist pressed their lips together, offended, as their eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “Cool off. I'm trying to help.”

If eyes could shoot out venom, Jay's eyes would have already done so. His jaw tightened as he rose, the legs of his chair scraping sharply against the floor. Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the hallway outside the hotel room. I fell into steps just a few paces behind, not hesitating to leave the filming crew behind. 

He stood by the window at the end of the hallway, staring out into the city with his fingers raked through his hair in pure agitation. He let out a shaky breath once I was closer to him. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” I said, gently reaching for his hand.

We fell into silence together, our gazes dropping down to the bustling scene below. A small crowd of fans had started to gather on the sidewalk, eager just for a glimpse of him. A few paparazzi lingered a little farther back, their camera lenses glinting, poised to capture whatever might unfold.

He turned his head slightly, then whispered, “wanna leave?” A mischievous spark glimmered in his eyes with a smile.

I blinked in confusion. “What? Right now?” He didn’t stop to explain himself, instead, he tugged a baseball cap down over his now messy hair and then slipped his sunglasses up onto my face, tilting them just a bit. The world immediately grew a few shades darker.

“Yeah, come on. I know a way out.” He said. The moment he saw me smile — wild and impulsive — he reached forward and laced his fingers through mine. His grip was firm, a rush of warmth and jitteriness energy that made my pulse accelerate.

He turned back down the corridor and began weaving through hallways, past a storage room with its half-open metal gate, a service entrance that glowed faintly under a solitary emergency light, until we slipped out a side door into a small, sheltered alleyway outside. 

He tugged me forward gently, steering us into the streets that are in the opposite direction of the paparazzi. “As much as I love your idea of running away,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, a playful edge threading through the nerves fluttering inside me, “me doing that interview with you is kind of… a key part of our deal.”

His grip on my hand tightened as we matched pace, walking side by side. “Right now, I don’t care about the deal,” he murmured, pulling his cap lower over his face like a shield. “I just want to be with you — out here, away from all the cameras.” His eyes fixed on the path ahead.

I matched his stride as a gentle warmth rose to my cheeks. “Okay,” I breathed softly, “what do you want to do?”

He glanced back at me, that familiar troublesome gleam lighting up his face — the same boyish spark he’d carried since we were kids. “I want to play tourist.”

“Tourist?” I echoed, laughter bubbling up at the idea. “In our own city?”

He chuckled, nodding with a grin. “Come on, humor me.”

While walking beside him with the city’s heartbeat surged around us, I realized how natural this felt now — as if we had been doing this forever, regardless if there were cameras or not. We turned a corner, letting ourselves be carried by the rush of the city — the hum of honking horns blended with the chatter of hurried pedestrians weaving through the sidewalks, their laughter and conversations mixing into an urban symphony. 

Then, suddenly, a tempting aroma of street food drifted through the air, it was the unmistakable scent of our pizzeria. “Oh my god, I completely forgot about this place,” I said, glancing up at Jay’s face just in time to see his own expression brighten in recognition, the smell tugged at long-forgotten memories..

We pressed against the wooden door and slipped inside, and a rush of warmth enveloped us. The old pizzeria hadn’t changed a bit — the red-checkered tablecloths, the well-worn counter, the snapshots of smiling regulars adorning the walls. It was like a time capsule preserving a moment we hadn’t yet grown out of.

Behind the counter, the owner looked up, his face breaking into a wide smile. “Ah, my two favorite troublemakers. I’ve been waiting for you to show up again.”

Jay chuckled, nodding toward me, “all that’s missing is Nyla.” The owner laughed as he nodded, turning his attention to me. “Your mom would flip if she knew you were still sneaking in here after all these years.”

I shrugged, giggling. “That’s kinda the point, isn’t it? Your pizza’s worth it.”

He slid two paper plates across the counter, each with generously big slices. “On the house today. Consider it a reward for your continued bad behavior.”

“Oh, you’re an angel on earth.” Jay sighed with pure happiness. As we picked up our slices, a chorus of camera shutters clicked from somewhere down the block. “Paparazzi!” I whispered, tugging at Jay’s sleeve.

As his eyes widened in alarm, he gripped onto my hand with a quick ‘goodbye’ to the owner before turning us to the bustling sidewalk. 

We darted forward, weaving through the growing crowd, our shoulders bumping against strangers as we slipped through the chaos. 

“It’s Jay! Over there!”

Our nervous laughter fell from our lips, a rush of adrenaline adding a wild, giddy feeling to every step. The paparazzi pressed forward behind us as a swarm of camera flashes and raised voices, each one competing for that elusive shot of Jay. 

“Jay! Look this way! Jay, over here!” 

The flock continued to rise, punctuated by the aggressive clicking of shutter mechanisms.

“Smile for us, Jay! Just a quick picture!”

I kept my grip tight on his hand while he raised a hand to hail a cab. Just as the yellow taxi glided up to the curb, we slipped inside together, shutting the door close behind us. 

 “I think we lost them.” Jay said, falling back against the seat, exhaling a shaky breath as the cab drove forward.

I turned toward him, a smile tugging at my lips as I nod to the driver. “Where to, tourist?”

*

When he said he wanted to play the role of a tourist, he wasn't kidding. We hopped across crosswalks, darting from corner to corner. We slipped into a comic-book store in the East Village, laughing over the collectible figurines, and tasted all the snacks in different delis. We hopped into another cab just for the ride, then hopped back out to take photos by a rooftop garden.

As the clock edged closer to midnight, he insisted on taking a cab with me all the way to my parents’ brownstone — like letting me go alone just wasn’t an option.

“Oh yeah?” I teased, giggling as he hopped out first and turned back, offering me his hand with that reassuring glow.

He tightened his grip just enough as I stepped down onto the pavement. “Yes! You were terrifying.”

I raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curling at my lips. “Terrifying? When I was... what, eleven?”

The cab drove away, leaving us standing close under the soft amber of the porch light. We were still laughing, caught in that warm, quiet bubble where everything and everyone else — the city, the noise, the world — felt miles away, irrelevant. The gentle light cast delicate shadows across the stoop, a silent invitation to linger just a second longer.

For a moment, the small space between us fell into silence. He cupped my face, his thumb tracing delicate circles over my cheek. “I’ve been a coward about this for way too long.” he said, his voice dropped to a hushed whisper with honesty. 

My heart skipped a beat, suddenly vulnerable and exposed beneath his words. “For how long?” I whispered back. His thumb drifted to my lips, brushing over them softly, as if memorizing their shape.

A nervous, almost shy laugh escaped him, but his eyes stayed locked on mine. “Since we were kids...”

I gave a small, teasing smile. “Mmm, maybe I was scary as a kid.”

His grin softened, leaning down slowly, every inch electric. He was electrictic. The kiss deepened — urgent, tender, and completely consuming. His warm hands pulled me closer, while my fingers tangled in his hair, holding on like I never wanted to let go.

When we reluctantly drew apart, he paused for a minute, resting his forehead against mine. “I'm going to get murdered by my manager tomorrow.” he smiled, eyes closed as if he's trying to savor the moment, savor me.

I let out a breathless laugh, trying to mask how weak my knees feel beneath me. “Worth it?”

He chuckles, and without missing a beat, he pressed a brief peck on my lips. “Ask me again the next time I see you.”

-𓍙-

Two months slipped by in a whirlwind of dinners, interviews, and moments either hidden beneath flashing cameras or hidden behind closed doors. What had started as a carefully choreographed arrangement where two people were playing a part… slowly began to unravel all the walls we had built. Every touch began to feel less and less manufactured, less rehearsed.

He would message me, or even call, when he was supposed to be in meetings or sitting through yet another interview. I’d be stretched out in bed, pillows propped up behind me, the glow of my phone casting a warm pool of light across the mattress.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know… working?” I asked one night, giggling as I pressed the phone tighter against my ear. 

He let out a dramatic sigh on the other end, and I could picture him tilting his head back, closing his eyes in feigned agony. “Work can wait. You’re way more interesting.”

“Mhm,” I hummed back to him, “sounds like excuses to me.”

“Maybe.” His voice dipped, growing softer. “I just can’t help myself.” He confessed. God, he sounded so desperate in that moment — so eager to please — it was honestly kind of adorable.

I felt that flutter in my chest, the same one I used to get when I was a teenager crushing hard on someone. It had been so long since I’d felt that way, like my insides buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

We fell into routines that felt effortless. After those glamorous, exhausting events, instead of parting ways, we’d grab wine and food from a corner spot and hide away in his place. 

We fell into routines that felt effortless. After those glamorous, exhausting events, instead of turning our separate ways, we’d grab a bottle of wine from the corner spot down the block and escape back to Jay’s place. There, with the city’s humming quietly outside his windows, we’d kick off our shoes and sink into the pillows on his sofa.

Tonight was one of those nights, but the air hung humid enough to cling to skin and weigh down every breath and movement. As soon as we stepped in, Jay peeled off his suit jacket, letting it slide down his arms and drop over the back of a nearby armchair. His crisp white shirt followed, a few upper buttons slowly undone until a sliver of his collarbone appeared.

I fell back against the sofa with a heavy exhale, tugging at the hem of my short dress in a useless attempt to cool down. The fabric clung to my thighs.

He turned back toward me, a glass in his hand. The cubes of ice clinked quietly against the rim as he crossed the room to bring it to me. I pressed it to my lips — freezing drops of water a much-needed contrast to the warmth that filled me. 

The questions he answered today while I was sitting beside him kept replaying in my mind — especially the ones about his ex-girlfriend. It made me curious in a way…

“Jay?” I said quietly.

“Yes, love?”

“Was she your first girlfriend?” I asked, taking a sip of the water.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he responded, eyebrows furrowing in confusion about the sudden question. 

So this makes me his second girlfriend ever… “Wait, so you've never been with another woman besides her?” I pressed, turning the ice in my glass before putting one on my tongue.

I swirled one of the ice cubes in my mouth, watching him trying to form an answer. “What? Like — not exactly —” He faltered under my gaze, coloring red faintly. He was flustered, as if I'm accusing him that's he's inexperienced. 

Not that I'm very experienced either, he just looked too irresistible not to pick on. His perfect, neat hair was a mess now, a few locks falling forward, adding to his disarray. God, he looked so delicious. I inched forward, closing the distance between us, a mischievous spark rushed through me.

With the ice still resting in my mouth, I went closer to him and pressed a freezing kiss to the side of his neck. He jumped briefly at the cold sensation, then fell back against the cushions. “Don’t tease…” he whispered — a warning that fell powerless against his own growing temptation. 

I paused just long enough to appreciate the tremble in his voice before slowly kissing his neck again, “I just can’t resist.” I whispered against his skin. Honestly, it was fun pressing his button.

Gently, I drew the ice from my lips and let its chilled surface trail up his arm. “What are you doing?” he whispered, his breath shaky, close against my own. 

I smiled, curling my fingers on his waist band, “I was counting down the minutes to get you alone.”

That was completely true — all through the event, while I nodded and smiled and made small talk, I couldn’t keep my mind from straying back to him. The way his suit sat perfectly over his shoulders, the softness in his gaze when our eyes met across the room. Every moment made it that much harder to wait. 

I shifted to straddling him, until I was sitting directly across his lap. It was like a rush of warmth meeting warmth. He kissed me with an urgency I haven't seen before. I felt his knuckles brush against my inner thighs as he fumbled with his zipper, tugging it down just a little, the metal clinking. While the hem of my dress began to gather up around my hips, the fabric creeped higher and higher until it bunched softly at my waist.

I palmed his bulge from beneath his boxer, throbbing and needy. “Please, hurry.” he whispered with equally needy eyes, his temple sweating.

“Easy, boy.” I giggled as I slowly started lowering myself down until his entire cock slid inside, granting me a groan from him. "ngh… shit," I gasp at the stretch, his hands resting on my thighs as I roll my hips along his cock.

His eyes fluttered shut, letting out a pretty whine when I started moving up and down, my hips meeting his pelvic as if it was made just for him. I was relish­ing the way he struggled to form words, to make his desires known. 

“Come on, star boy, what do you want?” I teased, knowing he can't form many words, let alone sentences. The way his normally composed demeanor fell away under my touch, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but pure, uninhibited need.

As my movement continued, he looked completely pussy-drunk, a mess just for me. “Hmm? Words, baby. I need words from you." I encouraged quietly, guiding his face back to mine while resting my other hand flat against his rapidly beating heart. His grip tightened on my thighs.

“Fuck— you, i want you.” he finally choked out, sounding so vulnerable. His hands roam upwards, touching me as if I'm everything he asked God for. 

“Good, good,” I praised, pushing some of his hair out of his face. “Cum for me, baby, cum.” I urged. I could tell he's so close, I could read him as a book. The pace of my hips quickened, Jay's thrusts following close after. 

His hips stutter with his release after feeling that tightening around his length. With his own fluid mixed with mine, my body fell forward, face buried in his neck while coming down from my own high. He takes a few slow breaths before kissing my shoulder. 

“You're mean,” he chuckled, rubbing circles into my back. I turned my head just enough to press a soft kiss to his collarbone. “Mean?” I whispered. “Who, me?”

He let out a soft laugh, giving my ass a playful tap. Then he slid his arms underneath me, lifting me up effortlessly against him. I held on tighter, locking my arms around him as he carried me toward the shower.

-𓍙-

The first time he knocked, I didn’t move. Not even a breath.

I just laid there, curled under my sheets, watching the shadows on the wall shift with the hours. My phone had long since died, no battery left, somewhere in the mess on my floor. However, the notification still blinded my brain. That one fucking headline with so many comments under it, all paired by DMs I couldn’t unread.

‘Jay’s Girlfriend’s Dead Ex Cheated On Her — Source Says She Knew!’

The words burned like fresh ink behind my eyelids. They knew. They all knew, now.

About the accident, about him cheating. They thought I’d planned it, like I’d lured him into some twisted karma. That I let him die with that secret like it was something I’d authored.

The only person I had ever told the truth to was Jay. So when the knock came again — I didn’t even flinch. “Baby,” his voice was muffled through the wood of my door. “Please open the door.”

I stared at the crack between the door and the floor, I could see his shadow. “I swear it wasn’t me.” he pleaded, shaking the door handle. My throat clenched with my jaw. I could hear it in his voice — the confusion, the panic — but I couldn’t let myself believe him. Not when the betrayal felt like a bruise I hadn’t even started pressing on.

Just when I believe someone, they lie to me. I feel like I'm back at step one.

He came every day since the publication of that article. Sometimes in the morning, sometimes late at night — always with flowers. I’d hear the knock at the front door, followed by my mom’s clueless murmuring, then he’d try at my bedroom door.

“I don’t care if you scream at me,” he said on the fourth day. “Just let me see your face. Please.”

I didn’t, I never did. I stayed cocooned in my silence, wearing the same clothes in the same shame and rage. It was easier that way anyways, anger made a good blanket when grief got too sharp.

There was no pressure or interrogations with my parents — just a patient presence. When I left my room, rarely as it is, I’d always find Jay’s flowers waiting for me at the doorstep of my room, they started to pile up. I never dared to open the letters that came with them. 

My parents would leave a lamp turned on in the hallway so I didn’t have to walk through the dark. Their love wasn’t loud, but it was showing up, again and again.

One night, maybe an hour after Jay gave up and left, I finally drifted out into the living room. I didn’t even know why, I wasn’t really looking for anything. I just found my dad sitting on the couch, his glasses were slightly askew, pretending to read on his book. 

When his eyes met mine, he didn’t say anything but I saw the worry in them. Just gave me a small nod and gently patted the spot beside him, like he’d been saving it all along.

I didn’t hesitate. My body sank down, folding into the couch as I tucked myself beside him and let my head rest in his lap. His hand came to rest on my shoulder — a steady weight, familiar. The kind of touch that reminded you of being little again, when the world felt too big and your parents made it smaller just by being near.

For a while, we didn’t speak. Just the sound of his soft breathing and the occasional creak of the apartment. Then he asked, soft and even, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

I swallowed, my throat dry from not speaking in days. “I didn’t want to add to your worry.” My voice cracked before the words made it out. “I figured... if I acted okay, maybe I’d start to feel okay.”

By the seventh day, my world had shrunk down to the sound of him pacing the hallway, sometimes whispering my name, other times just sitting against the door. I could feel his presence like a stormcloud on the other side — heavy, persistent, full of noise he wouldn’t let fall.

Then, on the eighth day, it wasn’t Jay’s voice I heard, it was Nyla’s instead. “It’s me, babe,” she said gently, her knuckles tapping. “Its just me. Can I come in?”

I stayed still on the bed, staring at the crack in the ceiling where the paint had started to peel. Something in me almost reached for the knob, but I couldn’t do it. Not even for her.

“He’s outside,” she added after a long pause. From her voice she sounded exhausted and worried, I could only imagine how she looked. “He’s not eating, not sleeping. He looks awful.” I closed my eyes, an ache ripped through my heart.

“You know he wouldn’t do that to you. You know that.” My lips stayed sealed as my hands gripped the sheets like they could keep me from slipping further into guilt.

It wasn’t fair, what I was doing to her wasn't fair. Deep down, I knew Nyla had nothing to do with any of this. And still, a part of me wanted to push her away too. Like if I didn’t let anyone in, none of it could hurt me more than it already had.

She waited for exactly seven minutes, my eyes never leaving the clock near my bed, counting. Then I heard the soft sigh of her retreat, footsteps padded with disappointment as she left me behind. The guilt hit me as I heard her voice crack as she spoke with my mom.

Later on that eighth night, once the house had gone still and the muffled sound of my parents’ voices faded into quiet, I finally moved. I pushed the blanket off my legs and sat up slowly, my muscles ached from the stillness. 

My laptop sat untouched on my desk, a thin layer of dust smudged across the surface. I hadn’t opened it in so long. The screen flickered awake like it was just as surprised to see me. I sat there for a long time, facing a blank email draft, fingers hovering over the keys, unsure of what I wanted to say anymore. My hands shook a little as I typed.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) You hurt me when you were alive and when you are dead. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know if I hate you more for leaving me, or for what you did before you left or what you did after you left.  I wish I could scream at you. You never said sorry. Not once. And now you never will.

I closed the laptop with a soft click and leaned back in my chair, the quiet humming back to fill the space I’d carved open. My eyes drifted to the ceiling again, but I wasn’t really looking at anything. Just letting the stillness soak in. The words I’d written still echoed faintly

Somewhere beyond the walls of my room, beyond the cold of my chest, I knew Jay was still out there somewhere — waiting.

-*-

The office was quiet, filled with that soft kind of tranquility that makes you feel like you have to whisper, even when no one’s told you to. I glanced at the windows, where the late morning light spilled in, brushing against the edge of the bookshelf. I sat curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under me, picking absentmindedly at the edge of my tissue.

I didn’t even want to come here, but my mom had made the appointment after the fourth day I hadn’t left my room. Across from me, my therapist waited patiently, letting the quiet settle until I was ready. I squeezed the tissue tighter.

“I feel like everyone just lies to me,” I finally said, the words falling out more like a sigh than a statement. 

She Just nodded once, “Did you hear him out?”

I blinked, caught off guard by how quickly she got to the core of it. I swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable with how obvious the answer was.

“No,” I admitted.

“And why do you think that is?”

I let the silence stretch again, eyes dropping to the floor. “Because I am scared,” I whispered. “Because if it was him, then that would make it worse. That he said he’d protect my promise, and then didn’t. I don’t want to hear the wrong answer.”

She leaned forward slightly, her voice steady. “And what if it wasn’t him?”

The question sat in the air like a challenge — or maybe like a lifeline of hope. “I don’t know,” I said after a while. “If it wasn’t him… then I shut him out for nothing. I hurt him, for nothing.” My voice cracked around the last part.

The therapist didn’t say anything for a moment, she just nodded again. “Sometimes we protect ourselves by assuming the worst. It feels safer, more predictable.”

“Maybe it’s time to ask the question,” she added gently. “Even if the answer might hurt. You’ve already been hurting. Don’t you want to know what’s true?”

And I did. God, I did. I just wasn’t sure if I still deserved the truth.

-*-

When I got home, the apartment felt heavier than it had earlier that morning. Like it somehow knew the truth that I was finally ready to face after I’d been running from it. I dropped my purse by the door and sank onto the couch, in front of my laptop where it sat on the coffee table.

I lingered for a moment, heart somewhere in my throat. And then, finally, I reached out and let it open.

The screen blinked awake again. After a couple clicks, I found those tabs that I opened exactly where I’d left them — the articles, tweets, videos. The ones refused to look at again, but now I clicked through them again, letting the headlines scream at me all over again.

‘Jay’s Girlfriend’s Dead Ex Cheated On Her — Source Says She Knew!’

a new one for me: ‘Was It All A Setup? Internet Reacts To Shocking New Details About Y/N’s Past’ 

And another: ‘Insider Spills: Y/N’s Relationship Timeline Doesn’t Add Up’

Most of them didn’t list a source, just ‘an anonymous insider’ or ‘a close acquaintance’. Just empty words… pussies. I felt the frustration grow as I found nothing.

I almost closed it all again, feeling stupid for even trying. Until one article, messier than the others, less polished, clearly rushed in its eagerness to be first — listed an actual name.

My heart stopped. I stared at it, thinking I imagined it. But no, there it was, plain as day.

A name I hadn’t seen in months, but one I’d never forgotten. The same name I saw pop up on my boyfriend’s phone the night everything started to unravel. The name I hadn’t wanted to believe was real back then. The girl who answered when I called, smug and breathless. The one who laughed when I said his name.

Suddenly it all clicked into place.

She was the one who told them. She sold the story — for a bit of attention, for a bit of money, for a bit of fame, for a bit of something — now that people care about who I am dating. 

I leaned back slowly, the weight of it all pressing into my chest. It wasn’t Jay. It was never him.

I covered my face with both hands, trying to will back the tears that burned at the edges of my eyes. I’d pushed him away. I’d hurt him — doubted him — when he kept his word to me all along.

The cab ride felt endless. I couldn’t sit still, legs bouncing, fingers gripping the edge of my coat like it was the only thing tethering me to the seat. The city passed by in a blur, lights streaking through the windows like memories I didn’t want to keep replaying. By the time we pulled up in front of his apartment complex, my heart was ready to shoot out my chest. 

I paid the driver with shaky hands and stepped out. The street was quiet, just the faint hum of traffic in the distance. My boots echoed softly in the stairwell as I climbed to his floor.

The hallway to his apartment felt longer than I remembered. Every step forward was like peeling off another layer of the anger I had wrapped around myself like old skin. My fingers curled into fists, then relaxed again. My heart thudded in that slow, aching way, like it was trying to wake up from being numb.

I hesitated for a moment outside his door. My hand hovered over the wood. Part of me wanted to turn around and call a cab again — go home, crawl under the covers, pretend I hadn’t cracked myself open just by coming here. 

I knocked.

I am the one open to knock on his door now.

And when it opened, he looked... different, in a way that wrapped around my heart and squeezed. His shirt hung off him, too loose like he hadn’t noticed it didn’t fit right. His hair was messy, the result of too many restless nights. And his eyes were tired, ringed with shadows like sleep hadn’t touched him in days.

But the moment our eyes met, like tension unraveling all at once, a string that was pulled too tight finally snapping free. I saw it, his whole face melted in relief.

One step from him is all it took and I was in his arms.

He caught me, his hands wrapped around me like he couldn’t believe I came back, like he didn’t trust the world not to take me again. I buried my face into the curve of his shoulder, gripping his shirt, breathing him in — the faint, comforting scent of his soap mixed with his cologne.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice already breaking as I clung to him.

He didn’t answer right away, just kissed me. My forehead, my cheeks, my lips. Each one desperate, forgiving. His hands trembled just a little. “I thought I lost you,” he breathed against my skin.

“I didn’t even give you a chance to explain —” I said, the words thick with guilt.

“Shhh,” he cooed, pulling back just enough to look at me again. His hands gently cupping my face, thumbs brushing beneath my eye like he was checking for sadness in them. 

“You’re here now,” he said simply. “That’s enough for me.”

-𓍙-

Two weeks after Jay’s team shut down on the leak — firing off cease-and-desist letters, building walls of legalese tall enough to suffocate the tabloids — things started to settle. The headlines that once screamed my name like a crime scene began to fade from front pages to sidebars. 

The chaos didn’t disappear entirely, not overnight. But the noise dulled into background white noise. Enough that I could finally walk out the front door without feeling like I was stepping into a battlefield.

In fact, Jay made sure of it. If he wasn’t glued to my side, he made damn sure I didn’t leave home without at least three security guards. “Non-negotiable,” he’d said once, pressing a kiss to my temple before leaving me with a guard who looked more like a presidential escort. I wanted to argue, saying it was too much. But I could see his face was edged with protectiveness and guilt. Maybe love, too. So I didn’t fight him.

Still, I hadn’t said a word publicly. No carefully crafted post, no interview or side-of-the-mouth denial. I knew people were waiting, watching every paparazzi photo for signs of a breakdown or a statement hidden in an outfit or something stupid. But I gave them nothing.

They don’t deserve my grief. They’re not entitled to the softness I’ve barely learned how to hold for myself. Paraphrased by my therapist. 

Let them speculate. Let them move on. I already am. Maybe Not gracefully, maybe. But forward is still forward — one cautious step at a time.

-*-

It was late. 

The kind of late where your place falls into a deep peace which the city that never sleeps wouldn't know. Jay had finally coaxed me into bed, whispering gentle things against my temple, brushing his fingers through my hair until my breathing evened out. I didn’t even remember falling asleep, just the warmth of him and the lightness of his sheets.

But something stirred me.

I woke to the absence of him beside me. The space next to me was cold, the sheets already flattened like he’d been gone a while. A faint light spilled in from the hallway, and I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Then I heard him, his voice low but urgent, whispering then rising. “When I say no, it means no. Are you even listening?”

I crept toward the light, bare feet quiet against the hardwood. I could see him in the kitchen — phone pressed to his ear, hair messy like he’d raked his hand through it too many times. His back was to me, one hand braced against the counter, shoulders tight with frustration.

“I don’t care,” he snapped under his breath. “You don’t get to profit off her anymore. I’m serious, drop it.”

He paused, breathing hard. “I mean it. If this keeps going, we’re done.”

I stood there frozen, something heavy swelling in my chest. It wasn’t just the way he defended me, it was the fury behind it. The care he had for me, that he’d burn bridges just to keep the world from touching me.

 “Is everything okay?” I finally asked once the phone call ended, my voice barely above a whisper.

He flinched at the sound, just a twitch, before turning around to face me. When his eyes found mine, his jaw unclenched, the sharp lines of his face softened, and his posture loosened like a knot finally coming undone. 

“Did I wake you, love?” he said gently, voice was like velvet.

I shook my head, stepping toward him. “Just miss you,” I murmured as I wrapped my arms around him, my cheek pressing to his chest. His arms immediately came around me in return, grounding. He tucked me against him like I belonged there.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just breathed into my hair. I glanced over his shoulder, past the soft glow of the stove light, and saw the flowers he had gotten me two days ago — peonies and cream-colored roses in a wide glass vase, still slightly fresh, still trying to hold on. 

“Come back to bed with me,” I whispered. He didn’t hesitate, just a soft kiss pressed to the top of my head and took my hand. He squeezed it once, gently, like he was making sure I was still really there. 

-*-

That morning, sunlight stretched across the hardwood floors, delicate bands, like even the sun itself was treading softly. The curtains fluttered gently with the breeze, casting shifting shadows along the bed where Jay still slept beside me. His arm was slung carelessly over the side, fingers twitching slightly in a dream. His breathing was steady, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt safe. 

I watched him for a moment — not out of worry, but out of gratitude.

I slipped out of bed quietly, easing my weight off the mattress. The floor was cool under my feet. I padded through the apartment, past the hallway lined with jackets, the shoes we kept tripping over, and into the hushed kitchen, which felt like a different world from last night. 

I moved slowly. I filled the kettle, listening to the water run, then reached into the fridge for milk and a carton of eggs, going through the motions I’d adopted like second nature since I started sleeping here. 

The kettle clicked as it began to heat, but my attention was already drifting elsewhere… to the laptop on the kitchen island. Still tucked away in the corner, right where I had left it. My hand moved before I could think too much about it. I opened it.

Not to scroll, or to click through headlines or notifications, but rather to open the folder I’d been avoiding for weeks: my email drafts.

They stared back at me, all the unsent emails I had written to him. My ex, my liar. They were raw, unedited. Each one was a different timestamp. Some were just one bitter sentence, typed in a rage I didn’t know what to do with. Others were pages long of me spiraling, when sleep was impossible and silence was too loud. They bled through each other to make a mess of mourning and anger.

I re-read a few. Not all thought, I didn’t have the strength for all. I didn’t delete them either, I couldn’t, something about the weight of them didn’t allow me to.

But they didn’t cling to my chest like they used to anymore. My fingers moved over the trackpad, slowly opening a new, blank draft. The cursor blinked at me, expectant, patient. Like it already knew this was long overdue.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) I’m not okay yet, but I will be. So I’ll do the one thing you never did, I’ll choose the truth. I’m not writing to say I forgive you. I’m writing to say I’m letting you go. Consider this my last email. Sincerely, Fuck you.

I stared at the words for what felt like forever. With a breath that came deeper than I expected, I closed the laptop slowly.  was laying something to rest. Gone.

I closed the laptop slowly, the finality of it washing over me like a quiet wave, gone.

My gaze drifted then, settling on the corner of the island where the vase sat. the peonies and roses Jay had brought me three days ago now. Dull of life just last night, now wilting. The petals drooped, a few scattered.

But I didn’t feel sad at the sight, because I knew he’d bring more. I wouldn’t even have to ask.

[fictionalsimp09]

Karma - Jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - 397 words - AO3

“I’m going to kill that wanker,” James says as he stomps into the dorm and flops dramatically on his bed. 

“I’m in,” Sirius looks up from the homework he is half-arsing. “Who are we killing?” 

“Regulus, of course. That boy has got on my last nerve,” he grumbles. “One day, he’ll get exactly what he deserves, and I’ll be laughing as he is karma’s next victim.” 

“And I thought Sirius was the dramatic one. What’s he done now?” Peter asks exasperatedly, having had enough of hearing about how much James hates Regulus. 

“What hasn’t he done? He’s just rude and mean and ignores me.” 

“That’s nothing new,” supplies Sirius. 

“He’s a dickhead, and I-” 

“Hey! Only I am allowed to insult my brother like that.” 

“I hate him.” 

Remus sighs. “No, you don’t, Prongs.” 

James immediately sits up. “What does that mean?” 

“Think about it.” He explains, “You’re upset because he won’t talk to you without being rude and cold. You always stalk him on the map and follow him around; you’ve memorised his timetable without him even telling you it. It’s pretty obvious you don’t hate him.” 

“If it’s not hate, then what?” 

“Love,” Sirius shrugs. “Or at least a very strong crush.” 

“I- I don’t-” he stammers. 

“This is just like when you liked Lily,” Peter adds. “Except this time, it’s more stalkerish since you’re not in any of Regulus’ classes.” 

“I don’t like Regulus,” James protests. “Sure, he’s drop-dead gorgeous, has amazing hair and eyes I could get lost in, but he’s annoying and threatens to hex me. He pinned me against the wall once with his wand to my throat and he can never seem to get away from me faster no matter how hard I try to get his attention-” The room is completely silent as the marauders all wait for him to notice his own feelings. “I have a crush on Regulus,” he whispers eventually. 

“A bloody obvious one,” Remus mutters. 

“Do you think he likes me back?” 

“Definitely,” Sirius answers. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I know my brother, Prongs.” 

“I- I have to go.” James runs out the dorm to the library - where he knows Regulus always is on a Tuesday afternoon - to confess his feelings for the Slytherin. How could he have been so oblivious to his own emotions for so long? Well, it’s better late than never. 

[snakewithawitchhat]

Some crush/relationship headcanons for the turtles if they fell for you first

TW for maybe some yandere-ish themes?

Raph

A lot of people like to paint Raph as some big puppy dog when it comes to relationships, but as much as I really like that idea, I think he'd just be a bit shy.

The poor snapper is really insecure about liking you. He feels too guilty to tell you—certainly you have enough stress on your plate. He doesn't want to add to that for his own "selfish," feelings.

Eventually, though, after confiding in Mikey Doctor Feelings, Raph decides to take the shot.

The red-clad turtle spends entire months planning and researching and observing you. He already knows a lot just because of how much he loves your company and remembers, but he needs to be sure.

He's certainly by your side a whole lot more often because of it, giving the occasional personalized, specific gift and maybe being a little more touchy (Ex: hugging, ruffling head, nudging, etc…).

Along with this newer, clingier side, he'll also act a lot more nervous. While he usually tends to be calm and relaxed, every now and then, he'll stumble over his words after processing how gorgeous you are or how much he adores your personality.

Leo

At first, it's small things that Leo himself didn't even notice. He doesn't even realize it's a crush.

He'll start to make elaborate excuses in order to hang out with you even more. They're very obviously lies, and he knows that you know, but he isn't gonna stop now.

He'll get a lot more handsy, wrapping an arm around your shoulder or frizzing up your hair. He'll playfully flirt with you, too, like how best friends usually do (yes, he will say the most horrendous things), and he will probably secretly mean it.

Leonardo will act almost… desperate for your attention. He's the type to get anxious and insecure about whether he's annoying or not if you start to spend even a little less time with him.

The red-eared slider will probably sit in bed and space out imagining a domestic life with you. He'd most definitely giggle and kick his feet when you text him, as well.

When he finally gathers the courage to ask you out or tell you, it's probably really blunt and aggressive. Like, during a fight, he'll snap his real feelings. No matter what's going on, it's gonna be a dramatic confession. He hates you because he loves you so much. He never thought he'd date someone. If anything, he thought relationships were a waste of time while simultaneously bragging about how easy it would be for him to have one.

Donnie

Like his twin, he doesn't even realize it's a crush at first. If anything, he just thinks you're really cool, and that's why he wants to be around you more often.

His harmless adoration turns into something a bit more like a harmless hyperfixation—everything he looks at reminds him of you in some way. Then, obsession.

When he realizes how deep of a hole he's dug himself, he'll try to crawl out, giving you the silent treatment and spending more time apart from you. In the end, though, he usually finds himself re-zoning back to see that he's been looking at your profiles for the past two hours.

Once Donnie gives up and accepts this total "inconvenience," the soft-shell will spend every waking hour thinking of ways to either get you to like him back or to ask you out. He's already horrid at social cues, and how an interaction is supposed to work—all he knows is from fanfiction—so how will he even realize if when you like him back without asking face-to-face?

Long story short, he's humiliated by the fact he loves you, and it usually takes a year or two of stalking your behaviors and studying rom-coms to figure out how to ask you on a date. Donnie is the type that likes to wait to be asked out instead of doing all of the scary hard work himself… He's willing to—for you—but it doesn't mean he won't take his sweet time.

Mikey

When Mikey realizes he has a crush on you, he'll be both giddy and anxious. He'll notice his feelings when he sees how much he does for you. He's always drawing you and baking/cooking things you like when you aren't even there to eat it. He likes it because it reminds you of him.

The box turtle will begin to get a lot more sweaty around you. Usually, he's the one telling people what they should do regarding their emotions, but he doesn't have anyone to confide in, and why would he take his own advice!?

Mikey will try his hardest to confess via text or phone call, but it just feels way too cowardly. He'll probably set up a regular hangout in order to confess. (He might make a cake with his confession written in icing on it)

If he knows you feel the same, he'll be clingy all the way. The second he recognizes your footsteps, he's bounding down the hall to greet you with a new gift in his arms.

☆

I wrote all of these out of order—

[the-whole-thing-through]

Oh man :rubs hands together in glee: my fav thing, doing analysis on fictional characters about things that absolutely do not matter at all! And it just so happens that Matt's Catholicism is one of my favorite things to be a pedantic asshole about! So without further ado, let's get into it:

The Netflix show really ramped up Matt's religiosity and Catholicism. Comics Matt was never really depicted as being overtly religious or a practicing Catholic until far more recent runs which were clearly influenced by the show. Im not saying this is a bad thing, just a fact that I like to point out because, for the majority of Matt's history as a character, he isn't really religious, and its not considered a core part of his personality, unlike say, his anger and his aggression.

BUT we're talking about Show Matt here. When people talk about Matt's Catholicism and so called Catholic Guilt, its often pretty clear to me that they themselves are not Catholic or were not raised Catholic, and that they get the majority of their impressions of Catholicism from media. Show Matt is NOT depicted as being particularly devout. He was raised Catholic, and like a lot of cradle Catholics, I see him as being more "culturally" Catholic than anything. Its pretty heavily implied that as an adult Matt is not really practicing his faith. In his very first confessional scene with Father Lantom, he tells him its been a long time since his last confession. I think we can infer from that statement that the primary reason Matt is now visiting Father Lantom, when he wasn't before, is due to his internal conflict over being Daredevil, and having "the Devil inside" aka his innate aggression and thirst for violence, over any sort of deeply held religious belief.

I say "visit Father Lantom" Over going back to church, because we never get any sort of indication that Matt is actually going to Mass, or receiving the Eucharist weekly, which for Catholics, is actually a VERY big deal. We used to say in my home Parish that the church could forgive anything, except not going to Mass. True blue Catholics go to Mass every week to receive the Eucharist. You may show up in a tshirt and jeans, hungover as hell, having just cheated on your wife, but by God you went.

Of course, you could head canon that Matt does go to Mass and its just not being shown, but there isn't even a throwaway line about Matt going to church, so I think its pretty safe to say that he doesn't. Matt has a special father-son bond with Father Lantom, who he clearly respects and considers a mentor, so the confessional scenes are more about Matt seeking his advice rather than being a strict adherence to his religion, or about being actually absolved of any sin or wrongdoing.

Matt clearly doesn't adhere to the church's teachings on pre-marital sex (pssst most Catholics don't.) Not only that, but in one of his flashback scenes to his younger self, Father Lantom makes a point to call Matt out for arguing with his teacher during Catechism class. We know that as a kid at the orphanage Matt got into a lot of fights with the other kids (fights that he picked.) He was most definitely NOT the altar boy that Frank derides him as being. Matt was 100% the "bad kid" during Mass and at the orphanage. The one who argued with teachers and asked inconvenient questions. I imagine that he challenged authority and pushed back a LOT on a lot of the church's official teachings (he is a lawyer, after all.)

There are no openly queer characters on the show, so we never see Matt interact with someone who is openly gay, but there is no universe where I can picture Matt having any sort of religious conflict with homosexuality in general. Furthermore, Father Lantom is 100% a Jesuit priest, and Matt went to a Jesuit high school. Jesuits are notoriously one of the most liberal, progressive, and educated orders in the Catholic Church. Trad Caths HATE Jesuits for these reasons, and many of them consider Jesuits to be worse than non-Catholics. Zero chance that if young Matt DID have an issue with his sexuality, that Father Lantom would tell him that it was a sin, or something to be ashamed of.

But taught homophobia isn't the same as internalized homophobia, I agree. So let's get into THAT. You could easily head canon Matt as bi. The show never confirms his sexuality, other than clearly being attracted to women, and a lot of TV characters default sexuality is just "straight." I think that if Show Matt was bi, and did have any sort of internalized homophobia, it would stem from his upbringing and his relationship with his father over his religious beliefs.

Matt was raised by a single father, whom he idolized and hero worshipped. His dad was a boxer. Matt grew up practically living at Fogwell's, doing his homework in the corner while his dad trained. That's a very heavily male world, of the sort of old school masculinity that is considered uncommon and old fashioned now. He grew up in Hell's Kitchen, which in the show is considered a rough, dangerous, working class neighborhood.

Matt's dad didn't want him to grow up together be a fighter, but he clearly internalized a lot of his dad's beliefs and characteristics. Matt is a lot like his father. Don't be fooled by Charlie Cox's pretty face and cinnamon roll personality. Matt Murdock is 100% an extremely masculine, assertive, aggressive guy. An "alpha male" in the traditional connotation of the word of being a natural leader, not the redpill version. I find that a lot of fans tend to flanderize Matt from season 3 in order to turn him into a 100% soft boy (tm), but that ignores the fact that season 3 is Matt at his lowest and most vulnerable. Matt's true "default" nature, is more like the Matt we see in season 1, the person who is effortlessly confident, bordering on cocky. With season 1 Matt, its easy to see why people listen to him and follow him, despite the fact that a lot of his plans are, honestly, not the best. Its not just his fighting skills, its his entire personality. That's part of his appeal and the fascination of his character. On the surface, he is a mild-mannered, Ivy League educated attorney. He is disabled, so people tend to underestimate him. But that's not his TRUE self, which is that of a complete bruiser. Matt IS Daredevil, partly because he NEEDS the release of going out and beating people up. His innate violence and aggression have to have an "out." In Born Again, a lot of ppl have noted that Matt is significantly meaner and more of an asshole in general than he is in the OG show. Part of it is because of his grief over Foggy, yes, but it's also partly due to the fact that he no longer has that release for his pent up aggressiveness. In terms of coding and tropes, he's pretty much the definition of a masculine coded character (more on this in a sec.)

Knowing this about Matt, I think its easy to see that if he WERE attracted to men, he may have some self-identity issues, especially with the way he was brought up. You could easily explore that in fanfic, and a lot of ppl have and I think that's interesting.

Matt's sexual representation as an adult when we meet him in the Netflix show strikes me as extremely confident and sexually secure. If he did have issues surrounding sex or attraction, he's long since worked through them in college and law school. Matt is incredibly forward and direct when he is attracted to someone. He sleeps with Elektra the very first night he meets her. He flirts with Claire the first night he meets her. He very overtly flirts with Karen pretty much immediately. He clearly enjoys sex, and doesn't seem unduly burdened by sexual hang ups. Of course, we only ever see him hit on women, but I don't see anything reason to think he wouldn't be the same way with men if he was attracted to men.

There's a part II to this, but this essay was getting long. In Part II I'll discuss my fav Daredevil character, the character I see as being the most obviously queer coded in the series, Foggy Nelson

this is how it sounds when people try and connect matt's catholic guilt to his sexuality in mattfoggy fics

[seaofreverie]

Today I want to share the joy that Reading A Newspaper has brought me recently (yesterday).

Because you see, it's not very often that I can read a several pages long good quality feature on a band that I'm something of a fan of, considering that until last year at best, all and any musical favourites I had were next to unheard of in the, let's call it, professional music business. And said feature also gave a few mentions to the one and only fav band of all time which I'm also still not used to being able to read about in my language (because it only happened like 5 times in total so far anyway, but still). And I can buy the newspaper in my local store in this minuscule town and find Sparks inside, like wow, it really is My Sparks, in this real life physical newspaper that I just got. This was like a belated but very epic christmas gift for me and I'm not kidding.

But well yeah getting to the point now, Franz Ferdinand are starting their tour soon promoting their upcoming new album and they're stopping in Poland too, so there was this whole 14-pages long overview of their whole career, and while I was obviously interested in the whole thing I was most hyped about the fact that there would have to be something about FFS and Sparks there and this brings me to my delighful observation that wow, all of this is so, connected in a way. Like how there are these connections in inspiration and collaborations between many of my favourites that I didn't even think about probably being a thing before, but when I think about it it just makes so much sense. Like how in this interview with Alex Kapranos, the interviewer brings up Talking Heads and specifically Fear of Music, because the new Franz Ferdinand album also has this sort of overarching theme of fear. And it's funny because that's the first Talking Heads album I've ever listened to and still my favourite from them to this day and overall one of my all-time favourite albums. And I guess it shouldn't be that shocking that it'd come up here because Talking Heads were super influential and inspired thousands, but also until now I didn't think about how both these bands share the general direction of creating dance-able type of rock with lyrics that are often on the more reflective and "intellectual" side. And also that album has been recommended to me as the most TMBG-like of theirs so. Wow I wonder why I like it.

Ok there were also all these other things that I want to mention too, so, other miscellaneous points of interest:

In the debut album review, the reviewer said that during Tell Her Tonight Alex sings a lot like Russell Mael, who likes to sing in falsetto. And well I know there's also the Sparks connection in the form of FFS to come later but still, this was such a great SPARKS MENTION!!!! moment for me anyway. But also they got one thing wrong, because it's not that Russell likes singing in falsetto, Ron forced him to sing in falsetto by writing all of his songs in this crazy uper range of notes, and that's a very important detail !!!!!!

And ok I had no idea that Piss Off already existed in some form as far back as 2004!! Or I knew about this and then I forgor. Either way, fascinating piece of information

I need to know more about how these star-based ranking systems work because why would you call FFS an "excellent album" and then rate it 4 stars. Instead of, I don't know, 4 and a half or 5 maybe?? Especially since it apparently has only 2 "weak songs". And I have some major objections when it comes to this too, because we're calling Things I Won't Get a weak track now?? It's just underrated as heck, and that's a hill that I will die on

Also I could never be a music reviewer because these people can fit their whole commentary on one song within one sentence and I feel like I would have to write at least 3 paragraphs on even the least exceptional of songs on a given album before I can feel like I did it justice. I mean, this whole post itself shows how much of a problem this is for me, lol

Also guys were we all aware that FFS turns 10 next yeah. Oh god. Well I need to remember to keep my tradition and preapre a cool piece of fanart for that occasion then. Maybe they should give us FFS 2 to celebrate, I'm pretty sure there'd be lots of interest among the fandom in something like that. Anyway

Well also this wasn't the only article in this whole thing of course and CAN YOU BELIEVE IT, there was a little bit on the Harrison & Belew Remain In Light Tour, which I will also be attending!!! Lots of great stuff is cooking for the first half of 2025 for me musically I can't lie

And also CAN YOU BELIEVE IT, that a year and a half since it was supposed to be released "worldwide" and long after I already lost hope that I'd ever see it in a cinema, they're releasing Stop Making Sense in cinemas over here too. Fucking finally!!! By gods and heavens, that rare moment when you learn about something crucial through a goddamn instagram ad of all places. And then they also reminded me about this in an actual article so well wow. Can you believe this. I can't. So stocked for next saturday when i'm seeing this movie the way it was always supposed to be seen hehehe

Ok I think that's it. Thank you for reading and maybe I should really make that personal website for my rambles in the new year. I'd definitely put that thing to use.

[ljesaw]

i love the idea of zuko mirroring iroh as he grows up in that he becomes one of the people in the gaang that you can go to with your problems and he's going to EAT at giving advice

[viktorapologist]

As much as each cliffhanger threatens to break me, I know the next chapter will contain just enough soft heartwarming moments to keep me alive. Imagine me, on life support, but the machines are pumping jayvik straight into my veins.

Oh, my sweet chronically ill Viktor. Starting off the chapter with scenes of him suffering is exactly what I'd expect after his near-confession last chapter. I love that he doesn't care to clean up after himself at this point. And the way his mind keeps coming back to all of the lies he has told Jayce. It's like a part of his body is finally rejecting the actions he took in earlier chapters. Hanahaki wanted him to lie and keep things a secret from Jayce, but the real Viktor wants to be known by Jayce. That part of him will win out in the end :) please. I'm begging.

...Jayce's definition of anything certainly didn't include falling in love with Viktor.

Oh honey, yes it does. If only you knew. Their confessions to each other are going to be fucking earth-shattering. My god. I can't wait. Thank god this story is tagged as a happy ending or I'd be comatose by now.

The more Viktor gets into his feelings about telling Jayce the truth, the more I'm kicking my feet with joy.

He dreamed of finally being honest with Jayce, of being able to say to him, see, this is who I am. This is the reason why. Everything I did or said, I did or said because I love you.

This is what I was trying to articulate in my comments a few chapters ago! Yes yes! You laid the trail of breadcrumbs perfectly. The universally craved experience of being truly known and still deeply loved despite everything you've done. *chef's kiss* Perfection. I hope we see it happen. I'll be there, with my popcorn, sobbing.

Is it just me that loves when Viktor and Jayce show up at each other's apartments? It can't be. I just think that's the best. We don't get to see them outside of the lab very often in the show, but I imagine they go over to each other's places. It's such a domestic thing. But it's like a level up to a friendship when you get to go to someone's living space??? Idk. It's cute.

Jayce shows up and talks to Viktor through the door, even though Viktor never acknowledges that he's listening. I can just see the scene in my mind. The view split by the door so you can see them both pressing their foreheads against either side of the door, mirroring each other without knowing. Jayce goes full sad puppy mode. VIKTOR LISTEN YOU BETTER GIVE THAT MAN SO MANY KISSES AFTER THIS. Jayce misses you! You abandoned him!

Not surprised at all that Jayce hasn't gotten any work done. He's so emotionally distraught. The poor man devoted all of his brain cells to processing his newly discovered attraction to Viktor and forgot to leave any for doing science. And with Viktor rushing out on him after Jayce said he'd do anything to save him? My brain would be full of bees after that. The whole eerily untouched lab is giving the same energy as Jayce sitting there, sleepless, waiting for Viktor to wake up after merging with the Hexcore.

Oh my god, you wrote about how Viktor showed Jayce his little hideaway. You did NOT. I always wondered how often they must have come there, for Jayce to know Viktor would be there when he's sad in Season 1. And you wrote lore about how Viktor got an updated cane with Talis ornaments? Everything I've ever cared about has been written into this story. Thank you for the food.

Oh, he could have stared at Jayce all day long–and that was all he was allowed to do, staring, for his desire for him would never be sated. Jayce was, simply put, out of his league.

It's honestly sad and hilarious how wrong he is. Jayce is actually a total dweeb. The two of them are meant for each other.

Case in point: Jayce demonstrating how the mage transported him and his mother to safety.

Okay, so the rune not being the acceleration rune was a surprise to me. I was wondering how much of an AU this would be. And it turns out we're going for the in-universe explanation of Mage Viktor's "in all timelines, in all possibilities" scene where he drops a different rune into Jayce's hand each time he saves him. It's really cute to think that in one of the timelines, Jayce and Viktor fall in love (do they still get obliterated by the arcane later?? hmmmm I don't want to think too much about that)

In the flashback, Viktor being proud to have made Jayce laugh even though they haven't known each other for that long yet AAAAAAA. They are so cute. You can see how their casual banter developed from these initial interactions.

Jayce was totally flirting with him though, what the fuck? "Particularly witty genius who took pity on me," and fucking WINKING? Jayce please, calm down.

I love how fast they opened up to each other. The combination of Viktor seeing Jayce at his worst and Viktor helping him fulfill his dream sets them on a course for immediate understanding. It's such a blessing to find someone that is interested in the same things as you, and to have them express an equal desire to learn about who you are and who you've been. Their energies feed off of each other is such a wholesome way. Even though Viktor is the only one...aware...of the danger of developing romantic feelings at this point, I like to think that Jayce felt this intense rightness during this scene as well. Like a piece clicking into place in his life, Viktor just fits.

Viktor's own backstory is so sad and a rhyme of sorts to Vi and Powder's experiences as children in Season 1. It also illustrates how alone he was. He fell and there was no one to reach out a hand to save him. He lies there, broken on the ground. Thankfully, he still had his mother to find him. I love how Jayce sees Viktor's strength and resilience immediately. He doesn't have to be convinced. He already knows.

Jayce was looking at him strangely, intensely. No one had ever looked at him like that before, but generally, when people stared at him, they either looked down on him or felt sorry for him. Viktor's bad went rigid. "I don't want your pity,' he said stiffly. Jayce's eyes shone. "I was admiring you."

God, this is just like the end of Season 2. Did you write this before that even happened? How did you know that Jayce was down bad for Viktor and admiring everything about him? Or did you add that in later just to make my heart shatter into a million pieces? I'm screaming, crying, throwing up flower petals. I don't think Viktor ever had anyone say that to him before. No one has ever openly admired him for anything. And Jayce is so unabashed. Basking in Viktor's luminance.

Their love is inevitableeeeeeee and I am deceased.

Other authors would have let Jayce and Viktor sweep things under the rug, but not you @white-btterfly you always make them confront their mistakes head-on before letting them make new ones that move the story forward.

There are so many emotions tied up in this final scene. It's insane. I felt like I was right there, watching it happen. Holding my breath as Viktor finally meets Jayce as the last rays of sun disappear. Feeling my heart break with Viktor's as he hears about how much Jayce has been struggling with watching Viktor slowly die before his eyes, helpless to intervene no matter how much he tries.

"...Everything I did, I did because–because I care about you."

The way Jayce says almost exactly what Viktor wanted to say to him earlier when he imagines confessing. Oh my god. Oh my goddddd.

The way Jayce walks through all of Viktor's fears and refutes each one, banishing those Hanahaki demons like it's his job. Jayce is the epitome of undying devotion. He wrote the definition. He is the blueprint. No one is doing it like Jayce is doing it. And isn't that just so in character, god damn it. THIS ENTIRE STORY IS SO PLAUSIBLE WHAT THE FUCK. Screw the canon, this is my truth now. Butterfly rune timeline is the one true timeline in my heart.

The way the order of the cosmos was rewritten when Viktor said, "You are the most important person in my life!"

Viktor accidentally on purpose throws him off the scent by calling him his "friend" a million times and I will never forgive him for it. But that line changes everything. Jayce has been worried about that this whole time, that the man Viktor loves is more important than Jayce is. But that's simply not true.

I wasn't expecting Jayce to fucking sob in this chapter. But it was so fucking cathartic to read. I'll never forgive the creators for taking out that split second of cut footage of Jayce clearly wiping away tears when he's at Viktor's bedside. LET JAYCE CRY! He's an emotional guy! Let the man express his sadness! And my god, the two of them needed a chance to let it all out.

And Viktor's stubbornness fighting back against the flowers. YES! Kick their botanical asses, Viktor! Begone, petals! I'm so proud of him, learning to hope for happiness again. He deserves it.

Is he going to cured now? He's starting to believe it's possible that Jayce loves him? Oh my god. I don't know. I don't know!

And rude rude rude I see what you were doing there with Jayce coughing. Evil. Maniacal. I didn't want to believe he would get sick too because that's just too unfair for my poor battered soul to take. But upon re-reading I am seeing that you left clues for that as well. I did notice Jayce was a bit delusional last chapter but hey, being a little mentally unwell is par of the course when you're Jayce Talis.

All in all, this chapter was beautiful.

Also love the little rune you drew for this.

Before Your Sun Sets - Chapter 10 is available!

Viktor is sick with Hanahaki. Jayce would do anything to save him—whether it be by developing an impossible cure or trying to find out who Viktor is in love with to smack some sense into them. Little does he know, he’s chasing his own shadow.

Read chapter 10 now

Read from the beginning

[godsfavoritescientist]

I have! It's been a while, but I remember it being good. I liked how the stuff with Liam makes the line "why would someone sacrifice everything for their dumb sibling" hit hard, and I remember the vindictive fury of the scene where he destroys his dimension being very well written.

For whatever reason, it didn't make me interested in flatland as a concept. I think I was a little bit lost when it came to what the world itself was like, apart from how shitty the society was.

My takeaway from the fic was "that was a really well done backstory fic!" but not "ohhh man I am Changed Forever", which might partly be because I was not invested in Bill as a character at the time.

Also, this is just a matter of personal taste, but I didn't like the idea of Bill getting his powers from a time wish. It's a clever use of pre-existing concepts in the show, I just didn't find it all that interesting of a concept.

[tonycries]

Something Stupid - G.S.

Synopsis. Five times the strongest would rather díe than tell you he loves you, and the one time he almost does. Almost.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, friends-to-lóvers, canon fix-it, PINING, dry-húmping, face-sítting (fem receiving), creampíe, overstím, PÚSSYDRUNK GOJO, ríding him until he whínes, no smút until they’re adults obvs, slight ángst, manga spoilers, found family, THE HAPPY ENDING WE DESERVE, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.6k

A/N. Tumby lemme post this pwease? What canon? This is the only canon I know.

“Catch me if you-”

Sixteen-year-old Gojo Satoru doesn’t have the privilege of finishing his sentence - hell, he doesn’t even have the privilege of standing, apparently.

Because in the blink of an eye, his back is hitting the soft grass of Jujutsu Tech, followed very shortly by a bewildered you. Foreheads knocking together, your hands grabbing at his broad shoulders, his own wrapping around your waist for some sense of stability.

Years later, Gojo tells everyone that would listen - and anyone that won’t - that life became just a bit brighter ever since you crashed into his life that day - literally. 

But right now, he’s opening his mouth to spit an irritated, “Watch it!”

It’s the first words you ever say to him, a shrill - almost hysterical - “Huh? No, you watch it-”

“Nuh uh, you-” Head spinning, shades skewed, it takes Gojo a few seconds to screw his bleary eyes open to the sudden newcomer straddled on top of him. And a few more to register that no, he wasn’t in heaven and hey, that uniform looks familiar. And, unfortunately, not even a split-second longer to breathe out something stupid, “I…I think I love y-”

“You stupid, moronic- wait what?”

The next few words out of his mouth are just as bad as the last ones, if not worse. Because yes he knows - for once in his life - that maybe he should just stop talking. He knows that even a moment longer with you is gonna turn his mind into more of a melty, honeyed mess than Six Eyes ever could. 

Which is exactly what he blames when jumbling out a garbled, “Dinner tomorrow?” Wincing, Gojo swallows them back almost as quickly as he wished he was swallowed up by Geto’s rainbow dragon instead. 

To your credit, you look a lot less bumbling than the strongest currently pinned underneath you. That look of annoyance on your pretty features melts into something of concern. And before he can dig a deeper hole for himself, you’re raising the back of your hand to splay out across his forehead.

“I didn’t think you hit the ground that hard but-” you raise a brow, head tilting to the side. “-I think you’ve got a concussion.”

Oh, yeah he’s definitely in heaven - that or actually concussed. Maybe both.

A low whistle sounds from his right - and soon enough he’s staring at the shoes of the other first-year he’d met just today. Low bangs hanging over his face, jostling with light cackles, “Haven’t they told you not to confess your undying love until at least the second date, Gojo?”

Nevermind, he was in hell.

“Ieri!” Geto turns towards the other girl, who was busy typing away on her phone. But Gojo could’ve sworn he heard the shutter of a camera coming from her way. “He was flown out of bounds, that’s gotta count as one point for me, right? And another for the pretty girl. You keepin’ score?”

She only sighs, “No.”

What’s a first day at high school without a duel between two of the proudly self-proclaimed strongest? And, of course, you - the fourth addition to their little group, hastily scrambling off of Gojo’s lap at the jeering laughter from above. 

Dammit. 

Later, he might apologize for running headfirst into you - might. Ignoring the pointed giggles, and the burning rouge at the very tip of his ears, to find out your name. And to make up some stilted excuse about how that was completely the concussion talking and he totally wasn’t serious about having dinner so please, please, please don’t snitch to Yaga about the impromptu matches taking place on school grounds…unless? 

But for now, Gojo’s only lazily turning to look up at Geto, bringing a hand up to squint against the harsh sun beating down. Or, at least, that’s what it was meant to look like - “Technique amplification: Blue!”

He only hopes the property damage isn’t as high as what his poor heart had just gone through. Detention with Yaga be damned - and if by some grace of the universe he actually does end up escaping before he’s caught then, well, he’ll actually ask you out to dinner tomorrow. 

---

Gojo Satoru is almost eighteen when he thinks that not even the Gojo family’s most expensive insurance will cover whatever curse you’ve casted on his poor heart.

You’re both well into the second year, and by now he’d been to twelve different doctors, five shamans, and Principal Yaga himself before Geto smacked him upside the head. 

“Satoru, you complete imbecile-”

“Hey!” He fights out of his best friend’s grasp around the scruff of his uniform, crossing his arms over his chest with a whine, “I’ll have you know that I got the highest exam score last week, and I cheated only a little bit-”

Geto cuts him off with a sigh, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose, “No- you idiot. What do you mean you went to Yaga to girl-talk with him about your crush.” And when Gojo’s mouth falls slack, he’s smirking, “Oh- my bad, I meant your love-”

It’s said that Gojo’s gasp echoed all throughout the wooden corridors of the school - maybe even the entire grounds. Hotly, he’s sputtering out broken little excuses, “I don’t- what do you-” Before turning away to cool the burning of his sweetly rosy cheeks, “You’re the imbecile for spewing out such nonsense, Suguru.”

“Are you sure?” Geto turns to get a better look at the way those pretentiously expensive glasses fail to cover even the half of it. He’s never been able to, when it comes to you. “Because that’s quite literally the first thing you said to her-”

“I had a concussion!”

“After she touched you?” 

And for perhaps the first time in the years he’s been wreaking havoc on Earth, Gojo is speechless. A welcome change for Geto, who mulls over in the silence while they loiter - very much missing whatever mission was assigned right now. 

“I…” he starts, voice small. Pathetic, even. “...was concussed.” And before Geto can let out the same frustrated, dragged-out groan he often does whenever he’s around the two of you, Gojo’s plowing on, “But if I did lo- like her - hypothetically speaking - how would I even tell her?”

Usually, the other’s first reaction would be to tease his best friend. But at this moment he sounded so…young, painfully sincere in a way that was so disgustingly un-Gojo-like that he can’t help but cringe.

“Well, Satoru.” he muses, throwing a hand around his shoulder. “You just gotta…tell her my man. Preferably before that big mission coming up because I am not dragging your moping self around.”

He rolls his eyes, scoffing, “Gee, thanks. I’ll totally get on that tomorrow.”

“You’re welcome.”

BANG!

Yaga’s voice bellows, “Can you two stop doing this outside my office!”

And as much as Gojo hates to admit it, Geto was right - he usually was. 

Well - perhaps not about the love part, but subconsciously, he found himself seeking out every tiny moment with you. Every second by your side - ignoring the other two bothers - was a new opportunity to just tell you. To break that thick solitude inside your little bubble with those little words. Ones that would go and spoil it all. 

Not to be dramatic, but Gojo almost made a game out of it. Mouthing out the words whenever your back was turned - it started from “Dinner tomorrow?” to “I like you.” to something stupid that only gave Shoko aneurysms. 

And, expectedly, “tomorrow” doesn’t happen to be tomorrow. 

Tomorrow isn’t in your next class, or whatever mission Gojo tags along with you for “moral support.” Tomorrow isn’t the cozy little detention the two of you attend after catching Yaga’s interpretive dance routine - “that’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen- even more than any curse.” you whisper fearfully to him, and he thinks he might just blurt it out right then and there.

Tomorrow isn’t when he’s just about to leave on some confidential mission with Geto, bidding you goodbye with a roll of his eyes and a hug he pretends he doesn’t like as much as he actually does. Tomorrow isn’t even when he’s baking in Okinawan sun, or strewn out bloodied and left for dead on the very grounds he met you on. 

But oh how he wishes it was.

In that moment, incapacitated by Toji Fushiguro, and wondering where it went wrong, he thinks of you. Gojo thinks he’ll always remember you in every moment, and especially when they’re his last.

The Star Plasma Vessel mission and its aftermath takes up most of his mind afterward, even when he didn’t want it to. And all he can remember about tomorrow comes only a few months later, when an ashen-faced Gojo Satoru slams open the rickety door to your dorm.

“G-Gojo?” you sputter, sitting up in your bed. But before you can even think of reaching him, he’s crossed your floor in a few long strides. “Are you ok- mmpf!”

In an instant, he’s splaying out on your mattress, legs dangling off the end, strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist. 

Your first instinct is to snap something snarky - but every tease at the very tip of your tongue vanishes when he buries his head into your lap. And you feel something wet, something drench though your skirt heatedly. 

“Is…” you’re gulping thickly. “Is everything okay, Satoru?”

Ah, his name sounds too perfect on your tongue. 

“Suguru…” Is all he shudders out wetly, jittery hands looping even more vice-like around your figure. “He-”

It’s just about the only thing he can get out, and it’s just about everything you need to hear before bringing his shivering body closer. Quiet. Steady. Rocking the strongest gently, while you hum a wordless melody. “S’alright. S’gonna be okay.”

Now, he thinks. Now now now now - tell her. Tell her. But when a tear of your own stains his shirt, he knows. Hauling you in even deeper to his chest, he prays you don’t hear his thundering heart. Perhaps tomorrow. 

---

Gojo is twenty-one by the time he’s dragging you hand-in-loveable-hand through the winding hallways of an apartment in the heart of Tokyo. Mumbling excited little mutters, and almost tripping over his own feet with how fast he was navigating the corridors. 

“Sato- S-Sato-” you’re squealing out, grimacing at the tugging burn of your hands in his. “Toru! Where are you- taking me?” 

Sheepishly, he looks at you over his shoulder, “Whoops, did I forget to tell you- I have kids!”

He doesn’t know what’s louder - your shocked shout of “What? When?...By who?” or the screeching of his own two shoes skidding to a halt in front of that familiar door. 

“Well, they’re not mine.” Gojo sighs ultimately, with a hand at the door. And that makes you quieten down just enough to hear his barely-audible little whisper. Determined. Reverent, almost. “But they’re mine.”

And when he finally opens the door, just one look at the tiny, black-haired little boy and his sharp scowl is all you need to understand. You’re whirling your eyes back to his beaming gaze, oh, Satoru.

Only mere moments later the two of you - accompanied by a very begrudging Megumi, and his sister - sit by the booth of one of your favorite cafés. Embarrassingly, he finds himself sighing while watching you crack jokes with the little girl. Turning to the server to order for her - it almost felt like a little family. Oh you’d make such a perfect mother. A completely objective observation, of course. Completely. Unless- 

“You’ll never do it.” a tug on his sleeve has him facing Megumi’s leveled stare. How the hell does a kid manage to look like he’s seen the monstrosities of the world already? Gojo blames the father.

Baring his teeth, “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Little did he know that all it took was watching him seethe whenever the waiter by your side was just a bit too talkative, a bit too lingering with his gaze. In his little reverie, Gojo had accidentally croaked out a low, “I-” before you’d turned those pretty eyes his way, only to choke back embarrassingly on every syllable. Gesturing at you to ignore his little mishap. 

“Tell her, I mean.” Megumi hums. Taking a wizened sip of his milkshake, “She’ll date that waiter before you if you don’t tell her.”

“That’s so…so stupid.” Gojo whispers back hotly. “I will tell her.”

“Will not.”

“Will too.”

“Will not.”

“Will-” 

“Boys!” Your scolding tone makes them both jump - mainly Gojo, however, caught off-guard. Who scratches behind his neck when you wag a finger admonishingly, “Stop arguing, we’re in public. Now, as for payment-” Before turning back politely to the waiter.

“See?” Megumi counters, back to appraising the last of his cupcake. “You’re such a loser.”

Gojo’s gaze, however, stray back your way, as he found them often doing these days. Only to find them already on him, scrunched into crescents with a smile and twinkling so bright that he could almost catch his idiotic gawking in them. 

Very pointedly he ignores the knowing roll of Megumi’s eyes, the exact type he’s seen too much with Shoko, and Nanami, and Utahime, and Yaga - and every single being to come into contact with his almost-tangibly hopeless feelings for you.

Instead, slamming that shiny new black card of his down in front of him - with enough fervor that the tabletop jostles, and you jolt out of your conversation with the waiter. 

“I’ll be the one paying for myself, and my two kids and-” His burning eyes drink in every shred of surprise on your features. “-my wife.”

Somewhere in the distance, Gojo can hear Tsumiki giggle, and Megumi smack a hand onto his forehead. But right now he’s too busy remembering the exact degree to which your lips curl up, the way you hold back a laugh at the waiter’s jaw dropping. Nevermind the fact that the two of you were way too young to have two kids of this age. 

“He was getting a bit pushy.” you’d conspire afterwards, now completely full and fatigued after a long day. “Thanks for that, Toru.”

Gojo sighs, flashing you a megawatt grin. If there were ever a time he thanks his Six Eyes for being able to memorize every little detail - every little feature in this picture - then it would be right now. He’s reveling in the bittersweet perfection. Yeah, he thinks, holding up a sleepy Megumi in his arms, maybe tomorrow.

---

There’s actually been about sixty different times over the years that Gojo knows you’d wanted to punch him straight in his face - and he’s sure, at the age of twenty-seven, that this is the very latest one. 

“How did you get hit, don’t you have limitless?”

He shoots a wink your way, “Maybe I wanted you to patch me up?”

You scoff, “You stupid, moronic-”

“-no-brained, glasses-wearing dumbass.” he finishes for you, flashing you a cocky smirk that wouldn’t have been endearing for anyone but him. Gojo makes himself more comfortable on the hard infirmary bed, “You know, you’ve really got to update your list of insults, sweetheart. I don’t even wear the shades that much anymore.”

It was new - as soon as you’d cackled at the idea of him being a teacher with perpetual sunglasses, he’d wrapped that blindfold around his head. It was a slight shame, frankly, he was always honest with his eyes - but what was more important was that change.

Sweetheart.

Sometime after you’d intertwined seamlessly into Gojo’s mishmashed little family, he’d taken to calling you syrupy sweet nicknames. It’d started out as a joke, you think - with “sugarplum” and “honeybuckets” and whatever grocery item he could think of, before turning into something very, very real. 

Though, they still made poor Megumi grimace in disgust just the same.

“Zoning out on me, babygirl?” 

Yeah, sometimes they made you grimace in disgust, too. 

“No-” you’re rolling your eyes, putting a little bit more force than necessary when you dab the warm napkin at those tiny specks of blood on his lip. “Just hoping you’d shut up.”

Gojo hisses, eyes crinkling at the edges - and you can’t help but think of how much older he looked than the disgruntled sixteen-year-old that swore at you on your first day. 

“What?” his snowy brows raise, catching the hints of your laughter. 

You take a moment longer to bask in the memories, before sighing. “Nothing. Just thinking about when we first met, s’been ten years already, hasn’t it?”

Of course, it has - it’s not like something the great Gojo Satoru could ever even think about forgetting. He remembers it in every cheesy selfie from high school you show him, he remembers in each and every one of your laughs at his overused jokes - the same ones he’d cracked way back then. 

“It has.” he’s settling on after a few rare beats of silence. The thick white sheets on the bed rustle as he grasps your hand in his, “And I think I remember that today more than any other.”

It was impossible not to, when you’d just met your best friend after ten years. When you’d just killed your best friend with your own two hands.

Your pretty eyes shine with all the tears you’d been hiding, “Yeah? Guess so, huh?” Without warning, you bend down to meet your forehead with his, gulping back heavily. You knew he didn’t just want to be patched up, you knew better. And you knew that even the strongest gets lonely. Especially the strongest. Your voice is strained, quiet. “Do you think he’s happier now, Toru?”

Truthfully, Gojo doesn’t know. 

But he whispers anyway, “I think so.”

To soothe you - and himself - if anything.

His eyes burn, and he’s scrunching them shut. A lump forming in his throat, Gojo can feel his entire being just rattle with the sudden wonder whether you’d feel it just the same when - if - he dies. Would you ask if he’s happy, too? Thinking he did and had everything he wanted in this life - not knowing he’s searching for you in every one? This life, and the next, and each one after.

“Sweetheart.” Gojo mumbles, eyes widening when you’re raising your head to look back at him, as if he didn’t even expect the words to fall from his lips. His jaw clenches, eyes flitting between your eyes and your lips like the rest of it was just threatening to wrench from his throat. “He- Suguru. Back in high school - before he…left- he told me-” 

“Gojo sensei, where is the- Oh!”

The two of you jump apart as if it burned, and for Gojo, the angry split on his lower lip hurts infinitely less than losing your touch. Holding back a silent whine, he turns towards the dark-haired boy fretting by the doorway, “Yuta? Something wrong?”

“Oh, you’ve done it, newbie.” Panda’s deep voice sounds from behind the doorway, and he peaks his large head in. “Gojo’s got his serious voice on, should’ve just spied silently like me. I told you not to interrupt him and his wife.”

“You’re married?!”

“We’re not married!”

“Tuna.”

The room erupts in far too many voices, and before long you’re clapping your hands in that strict teacherly manner that Gojo teases you always learned from Yaga himself. 

“Okay, that’s enough.” you call out, before turning to the newest first year. “Okkotsu, do you need help with anything? I’ll be right with you.” 

“I…I really didn’t mean to interrupt.” he’s bowing with apologies, ones that you only wave away with a chuckled-out, “It’s okay, Panda’s joking. We’re not married or anything anyway.”

And Gojo doesn’t know whether the look Yuta gives him is more akin to pity or understanding - he prefers it be neither, which is why he’s covering his head with the blanket. Groaning dramatically until you’re turning your attention back to him. 

You ruffle the amount of his hair peaking, and he has to screw his glassy eyes shut. “Toru, what is it that you wanted to say?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s stupid.” His tone is unreadable, “I’ll tell you, hope- hopefully tomorrow.”

---

“Stay.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Stay.”

“Sweetheart.” 

You’re barely holding up the clingy mess that is a twenty-nine-year-old Gojo Satoru. Huffing and puffing in a way that makes his heart and his arms around you just squeeze, “It’s not an option. You know I have to do this.”

How he wished he didn’t.

How he wished he could grab your hand and run away from the fight with Sukuna, hide in the countryside of his hometown and build a new life with you.

It’s already been a hellish few weeks trying to get Gojo unsealed, and you can feel the last few months pounding at your temples. You let out a sigh, one that has him holding back a strangely giddy laugh. But before you can open your mouth to yell at him to not go - or more accurately, beg him until he doesn’t - there’s a tentative voice speaking up from behind you. 

“Um…sensei?” Yuji’s wide eyes sweep over his two teachers, being at Jujutsu Tech for a few months, he’s seen everything there is to see about the two of you. He saw the way you smacked the strongest when he got too mouthy, the way he let down limitless just so you could smack him. He saw the laughs, the looks, the way you’d flown into a frenzy when Gojo was sealed. 

Everyone saw.

It was like you were crazed, and right now, only a month after his return - you were gripping onto Gojo like he was the only thing keeping you anything but. 

So, it shouldn’t be new at this point. But he still can’t hold back the wonder in his voice, “I uh- wanted to ask about your robes for tomorrow- but maybe I can come back another time?”

“Yes yes, come back another time-”

“What robes?” 

You narrow your eyes at the man, and that sheepish little curl of his lips does everything but soothe your worries. He knew you saw right through him, you always did. 

Gojo’s exclaiming out loud, “Well- remember Toji-?” He waves his hands around, trying for a slightly softer way to say ‘the sorcerer killer and father of our honorary kid, who just-so-happens to be on a rampage right now’, before ultimately settling on, “-the worm guy? Well, I just figured I might as well take a page out of his book and dress like him, y’know since I’m fighting…Megumi after all.”

It takes a few seconds of stunned silence for you to find your voice, “You stupid-” 

“-moronic, no-brained, blindfold-wearing-”

“-dumbass! You remember what happened to him!” 

He bats his long, long lashes at you, “Why? Would you get this heated if I died just the same way he did?”

“No!” Your voice makes even Yuji flinch, which in turn has you reaching over to pat his head, “This is not on you, darling, of course. But your teacher here-” And it was comical, almost, the way the strongest stands up ramrod straight at just a leveled glare from you, “-will be getting it when he comes back from the fight.”

Comes back.

Oh, as much as Gojo throws his head back with chortles, he can’t help the way his heart twinges at the very thought of leaving you. 

And he can’t be sure of just how long.

“Ah, you talk too much, pretty. I’ll tell Megs how much you miss him.” You’re not given a second’s warning before you’re back in his embrace - more steady, this time. His arms securely around your waist, like they’d been twelve years ago and never wanted to leave since. Lips pressed up against the thundering pulse at your neck, Gojo’s voice dips just a bit lower than you’re used to. Breathing you in, “I will, too, y’know? Very much.”

Jittery, he could feel every slight tremor in your nervous fingers when you run them through his hair, dipping into the ends of his black blindfold. 

“Wh-what do you mean? S’only for a few hours, Toru.” you hum. “You better be back or so help me.”

“I know…” he heaves out, only pressing you close up against his broad frame. “But just in case- I-” Gojo’s voice cracks pathetically at the end, and he’s instantly too aware of Yuji’s keen eyes still watching. Edging up against the corner of the room like he wished he could have Gojo’s teleportation powers right about now. “-have something stupid to tell you. So I’ll hurry home anyways.”

You’re pulling back to quirk a brow, “Why not just tell me now?”

How he wished he could.

“Because it’s stupid.” 

Later, Gojo will find himself strewn across jujutsu hall with Yuji himself - the only one, other than you, he thinks, that can stand to be around a weapon like him right now. Listening to the hum of cursed energy in the air, he gets himself ready for the fight.

“Why didn’t you tell her? Especially now?” His student pipes up, suddenly, and Gojo remembers with a sigh just how uncomfortably in tune he is with everyone around him. Fearfully, so. “That you lov-”

“Because it’s stupid.” the older one grins. Such a sad, warmly smile - and for perhaps the first time, Yuji thinks that Gojo Satoru looks his age. “And I don’t think she’d want to hear it if I don’t make it to tomorrow.”

---

“Stupid.” you mutter, biting angrily at your nails. Hot tears burn behind your closed lids, and you can’t help but tighten your hand even more around his cold, cold ones. Limp. Like death. “You’re so, so stupid.”

There’s no response. No sing-song voice finishing off your insults, no large and ruffling your hair until you have to bat him away. 

Gojo Satoru was deathly still. 

Laid out on the cold mattress of his room, you’d bugged Shoko enough to let you move him here, knowing how much he hated the infirmary. 

“Being so reckless- having Yuta use your body-” in your fit of anger, you’re whirling your head up. Only for the pang of regret and grief to hit you tenfold all over again - because like this, he was too statuesque. A pretty mask of pale, what you’d give to have those eyes wink at you once more. “-if- when you wake up, I’m gonna kill you all over again.”

They told you he was dead - there was no point in waiting. In fact, you were sure there was a grave dug already, it was just a matter of how soon they could get to you. 

It was a strange thing, to be loved just enough to get a burial. In the end, it was lonely.

And so stupid. 

And at times, you felt that way, too. But all it took was one visit to where Geto’s grave was, a few long hours sat by his side, and you knew you couldn’t let Gojo escape you that easily. Not after everything, not after what he hasn’t told you, yet.

“Just wake up.” you sigh, the defeat bleeding into your every word. You run your thumb over the pronounced knuckles on his hand, calloused and scarred from his fight. “There’s so much to hear about. Higuruma’s alive, Nobara’s alive, pulling off that eyepatch. Like father, like daughter, huh? And Megumi- I saw Megumi laugh today. Yuji, too.”

Silence. Only stone-cold silence. He didn’t even move - not even the barest twitch of a finger.

“I just need you to wake up.” Your words are tumbling out a mile a minute, distantly, you wonder whether this was how Gojo felt when he first met you. How he couldn’t stop talking. Couldn’t stop wanting. “Shoko’s mad at you, y’know? But I know she misses you, no matter how much she pretends not to. I know that Jujutsu Tech can’t go any longer without Yaga, we- I need you. Didn’t even get to tell you-” 

It’s all croaked out into a deafening silence, at least if you were in the hospital room then maybe the pinging of the heart monitor might’ve accompanied you. But they’d pulled him off that, too. 

Unmistakable. 

“And I know that I…” You bury your face into the now-damp blankets, “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

There’s only the split-second you take to snap your head up before lips are crashing onto yours - plump, slightly-chapped but something so sweetly Satoru. Before you can even think about kissing back, however, he’s pulling away. 

Only to press hasty, chaste pecks again. And again. And again and again and-

Gojo kisses your wet eyelids, “I love you.” Your forehead, your cheeks, the corners of your lips. “I love you I love you I love you- and you beat me to it.” Those strained little words strike your very core - because it’s unmistakably Gojo. Sounding anything but, they’re broken and wrenching painfully out of his wracking chest. “So I just- I just had to-” Big, strong arms wrap around your middle - when did they even get there? It pangs somewhere in your hazy mind that you’re basically hoisted up on Gojo’s bed now, “-to do exactly what I’ve been wanting to since we were like this, thirteen years ago. Everything I’ve ever hoped for.”

“Everything?” you whisper.

“Everything. Even the strongest has dreams, y’know?” And he flashes you that smile you’ve missed so much, one you don’t think you’ve quite seen in years. “Even something stupid like ‘I love you.’”

That makes you cautiously glide over your palms onto the planes of his muscled chest, lightly pushing away to take in all of him. 

It was him. Alive. 

Really alive.

“Gojo…” you whimper, tears welling up behind your eyelids all over again.

“Ouch. Really?”

“Satoru.”

“Hmmm…”

“Toru.”

“That’s more like it.” The circled warmth around your waist crashes you even closer onto every ridge and divot of his hard chest, into the sweetest embrace - the kind you really couldn’t be mad about after your best friend had almost left you forever. “Told ya I’d come back, sweetheart.”

You could practically hear the sunshiney smile in his words, and his entire hulking body shook with emotion. 

“You’re back.” you breathe, dancing your arms upwards to wrap around his neck. “You’re here.” It takes only a second longer of being in his burning proximity, to catch that pearly white smile - tired, and infinitely harder than before - to have some semblance of rationality dipping into your mind. “-and- and we have to tell everyone!” you’re yelping. Moving to scramble off of his lap, “Oh- fuck, and they thought I was crazy. We have to- have to have Shoko give you a check-up and have Kusakabe finally ditch those funeral plans and-” 

You’re being shut up by Gojo’s lips on yours again, slow and sensual. It’s deeper this time, and he’s taking the time to part those candied lips of yours, sucking gently on the very tip of your hot tongue. 

“My funeral is the last thing I wanna think about right now.” he chuckles against your lips.

“But-”

“Tomorrow.” Gojo soothes, craning his weary neck to kiss your forehead. “We can do all that tomorrow. But right now, I just want to spend time with the love of my life.” His cerulean eyes just gleam with unshed tears and even more unspoken words, “Doesn’t have to be forever. Just right now.”

As promised, he’s petting up and down your body lazily. Kissing you until even smiling felt bruised and raw. But it’s only when the air grows thick, when the slight jostle of your body on top of his becomes hot, his own skin burning soon after that Gojo lets out a sullen hiss. 

“Toru-” you pull away panickedly, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the nonexistent air between you two. “We should really-”

“No- no no no no. Please wait-” Hastily, he’s bringing down a jittery hand to his hip, the buzz of reversed curse technique flowing through his thrumming veins. Meeting your uncertain gaze, “I’ve waited so long. Wontcha just let me worship you right now?”

As if to prove his point, he’s bucking upwards ever-so-slightly. The momentum teetering you precariously on his lap, dragging the heated core between your legs down in such a sloppy drag.

You’re gasping when the very outer edges of your panties rub up against something so hard, and rotund. Feeling the wet squelch of his angry tip gush out in a dripping wet wave at the friction. “A-are you sure?” you’re stammering, trying to hold back the way your greedy thighs were trying to rub together. Only achieving heavy, languid gyrations on top of the rock-hard outline of Gojo’s cock. “How about tomorrow? When you’re feeling better?”

It’s a slow, steady rhythm. There’s a ringing schwf! schwf! schwf! of sopping wet fabric, and it was driving him crazy. 

“Right now please- haaa-” Gojo’s tongue lolls out so sluttily to graze against your own, dazed blue irises rolling to the back of his head. His spine curves upwards, abs rippling with a harsh drag of your clothed pussy down his weepy shaft. “Whenever you’d have me.”

Almost tentatively, your hips roll forward. That flimsy excuse of your panties bunching up with each grazing rub, it’s all you can do to not just keen at the utterly delicious curve of his thick girth. Throbbing and twitchy under each of your motions. 

He’s hissing when your underwear snags on the very divot at his thick head, sitting up on two elbows, “S-sweetheart.”

“No, Toru.” your palms are back on his pecs, easily pinning the strongest down with a gentle push of your own. “Jus’ let me do all the work, m’kay?”

Gojo wasn’t all too happy - and the sullen pout jutting on his spit-glossed lips told you more than enough. But he wasn’t going down without a fight - that was for sure. 

“F-fine.” he grunts at a particularly harsh grind of your hips. Fuck, he felt like some animal, humping up into you like he was out of control. He could practically feel your puffed-up pussy lips through his pants, he could almost taste it. Two rough hands come to rest on your hips, grabbing and kneading a handful of your ass. “But then you’re not just hah- sitting there, pretty.” 

And, shit, even like this, you should’ve known better than to underestimate Gojo Satoru himself. Because whatever he wanted, he got. The one thing he didn’t was you - and now, since he had you, too, fuck- he might just be going insane. 

Not a moment’s wasted before you’re being so easily hauled up, up, up the entire expanse of Gojo’s body. Jittery body being balanced easily as if you were some type of toy, up from the slender curve of his toned hips, up around where his broad deltoids were spread, all the way until your cunt was hovering over his needy mouth. “Can’t believe I hngh- almost died without havin’ a taste of this pretty pussy.”

“Toru.”

“Sweetheart.” he mocks.

You shiver with each feverish puff of hot breath blown right onto your clothed cunt. And even more so when you’re feeling such a long, slender finger slide in through the translucent fabric. 

Fuck, Gojo swallows thickly, bunching up your skirt. You were so sopping wet he could almost see the outline of his index through your panties. He slides the back of it slowly up and down. Heavy balls squeezing painfully at the volume of your saturated slick collecting on his digit, just trailing glossily down to his deft wrist. 

Mesmerized, your jaw falls slack at the sight down below of Gojo - cloudy hair mussed, cheeks all pink and burning a blushing rouge, tongue darting out to catch each stray drop of your sweet sweet juices. Drip! Drip! Drip! 

“Oh- sh-shiiit-” he rasps, lowly, mulling over your honeyed taste. Sounding so awed, breath hitching when Gojo tugs your panties just enough to the side to catch a mere glimpse of your messy cunt. Glistening and winking down lewdly at him. “S’jus’ you n’ me right now, huh?”

You don’t know who exactly he’s talking to - and you don’t get to find out, because that’s all it takes for Gojo’s kiss-bitten lips to clash messily against your cunt - panties and all. 

A soft swipe of his tongue glides the fabric to the side, so depraved, so needy that for that split-second he’s tasting you, he can’t even think of removing it. One taste of your sweetened pussy and he can’t even bear the thought of breaking apart, licking up in long, languid stripes that wet the very front of your swollen folds. 

Just the taste of you had him palming desperately at the tent in his pants, rubbing up and down at a pace that matched his rummaging tongue.

The very edge of your tastebuds rub so deliciously in teasing circles around the corners of your dripping silt, your inner thighs. 

“S-s’toru-” you’re letting out such throaty, dragged-out groans that send every drop of blood in Gojo’s body thumping to his achy cock. “Don’t be such a- a tease.”

You’re locking your glassy eyes with him and he feels like he could pass out. Groaning and smacking into your cunt, “Tell me- fuck fuck fuck- tell me what you want, sweetheart. Anything.” Your entire body arches into his hot mouth like such a slut, when he bullies between your folds. Barely flicking against the sensitive nub of your clit. “Everything. Anything for you.”  

When you’re weaving your fingers deliriously through his silky soft strands, he babbles, “Oh fuck- yeah, pull on my hair.” One of his hands come down to grip onto your panties, pulling the fabric so that you revel in the filthy friction. “Use me while you ride m’face, okay?”

With that, his mouth is sagging open even further letting your thighs straddle the entirety of his face so easily. So close. So messy how he was carding his tongue from the very base of your pussy, up into your quivering entrance.

“Fuck–” you’re whining, grinding into his touch when he wraps his soft lips around your clit. Barely even easing you with syrupy, wet circles of his heated tongue before sucking. Harsh. Depraved. But so, so him. “Don’- don’ stop, feels too good–!”

You didn’t know if he heard you, fuck you didn’t even know if Gojo was even breathing. 

Even if he wanted to stop - he didn’t think he could. Because he was so ravenous between your legs, forcing your pliant body into such smooth gyrations on his tongue. Silken, soft, such sultry licks of his tongue on your clit. 

Electricity sparks behind your eyes when with a wet slurp! he smacks away from your pretty pussy, “You think- you think I can stop?” And he sounds so genuinely in disbelief, as if the very thought of it was appalling. Through heavy, lingering kisses and sucks onto your clit, Gojo’s managing to get out, “I can’t have enough. Fuck- please.” The very rounded pads of his fingers dig so bruisingly into the flesh of your ass, jiggling and kneading with every drag of your hips. He’s begging at this point, “Fuck yourself on my face. Rougher, faster, c’mon now. You can do it, my sweetheart.” 

He was so fucking desperate, big fat tears almost welling in his eyes while he whined underneath you. Groping so obscenely at his sweltering hot erection. How could you not listen?

“If you say so.”

Using the vice-like grip on his locks, you’re managing to leverage your motions even deeper. Rougher, like he’d wanted. Every protesting creak of the bedpost was accompanied by a synchronized whimpering of ah! ah! ah! coming from both your mouths. 

“S’it good?” he gasps, and all you could see was the flushed upper half of his features. And the lower half - fuck, though the peaks and cracks you could make out just how glisteningly wet it was with all of your messy cunt. His lips were just drenched, slick-soaked mouth making out harshly with your pussy through your panties. Trailing all the way down in a glossy sheen over the lower half of his face, dripping off his chin, fuck- up to his cheekbones- 

As if that wasn’t enough, the massive palm resting at your thigh comes dancing down to tease around your sopping wet entrance. 

If you were in the right state of mind, you could’ve sworn that you heard a sharp rip! coming from that poor tattered fabric of your underwear right then and there. 

“Tell me- fuck fuck fuck- use that pretty voice of yours please.” Still suckling lewdly on your clit, his cheeks hollow out . Entire body just jolting upwards, forcing you to press down harder with your motions. “Use me. Use me.”

“S-so–” you mewl when his slender fingers bully easily past that first ring of muscle. So many cold inches of his digits, feeling around determinedly inside your heated, gummy walls for those sweet spots that will make you whine. “So loud, Toru-” you’re spitting, meshing his mouth even harder with yours down below. And you can practically feel him smirk against your cunt. “For someone that wants this s-so hngh! bad you sure are-”

There.

Right there.

Gojo Satoru had just crashed into the spongy cavern of your g-spot - easily, at that. And there was such a crazed, sloppy sting to each of his movements. Smashing in over and over-

“Heh…tha’s how I l-like it.” he’s spying up at your trembly thighs, the way his overworked lips were being coated with a fresh wave of our honeyed slick with each passing second. “Good girl- gooood fuckin’ girl–” 

Hazily, you’re wondering whether it doesn’t hurt. Whether his weepy cock ached just as badly as it looked, how his tongue isn’t fucking cramping up by now. 

But he goes on - like he couldn’t stop, like he was out of control. A greedy little push and pull, dragging his tongue all over until you saw flashes of white. Until you could only scream out his name like a mantra. Until you were cumming. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck- Toru!” your slurring out a mile a minute. Both of your hands now steadfast on his head, riding out your high all over Gojo’s pretty, pretty face. And he let you - fuck, he let you. “M’cumming- shit, feel so good. M’cumming-”

So good, so filthy that it made your toes curl, your hips stutter sloppily. Arching like such a slut, you could barely even see properly. Your breath was coming out in such labored heaves at this point, and Gojo wasn’t any better. 

It was like he couldn’t stop, happily drinking up every single, sticky drop your cunt had to offer. Pussydrunken eyes drooping shut, unable to let out anything but satisfied grunts. The muscle of his tongue is just frenzied in eager slips and slides along your cunt - absolutely no rhythm or method right now. Sucking, licking, biting anywhere he could possibly reach. 

“F-fuck–” you’re crying out tearily once the very peak of your orgasm fades, and all that’s left are a few overstimulated tingles being wrenched out by a greedy Gojo. “Toru, m’done.” You tug desperately on his hair - but even that doesn’t bate him the slightest bit. “S’getting too much- fuck-”

“Awww, too much for my girl?” he’s cooing, the words jumbling together in his drunken state. There’s a glossy mess of spit and slick drooling down the corners of his smirk. “Does this cute cunt of yours need a break?”

At your barely-lucid nod, it only grows wider. Smugger. “Too bad-” And Gojo’s just taunting you with a final, long lick up the very core of your pussy, “Because if I almost hah- died without her once, then you best believe m’gonna c-crawl back from death for ya each and every single time.”

It takes his strong arms - even bruised and battered through battle - only two whole seconds to plop you back down prettily onto his lap. Right over where his angry cock was just weeping for attention. And suddenly, it hurts without you. “So you’re not getting a break anytime soon. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Ha ha.” You’re rolling your eyes, “Very funny.”

“Mhm.” Gojo looks up at you through his white lashes, and you can only watch when he brings up his syrupy-sweet, glossy fingers up to his mouth. One by one. Sucking. Slowly, looking right into your eyes. It makes your mouth just salivate. “Got that right.”

The sheets billow behind you when you’re fumbling deftly with his shirt, all but ripping - tearing that stupid thing off of his form. Your skirt and top are soon to follow - his jaw clenches with the slight strain, leaving it in poor tatters on the floor.

“Shit- shit you’ve been-” his mouth just waters when your tits are released from your bra. Jiggling tantalizingly in his face in a way that makes him bury into it. “-been holding out on me.”

“Oh-” you let out, traitorously, at the first sight of each curve and divot along his milky sculpted body. Gojo Satoru was serious about dressing up like Toji, and no matter how much his t-shirt looked so sinfully painted on - actually seeing it was something else. “You’re so pretty, Toru.” You smooth your palms down his large shoulders, the faint scars between his pecs, his abs - that scar. Stark and large, Shoko had done her best work, but it still looked so painful. It must feel so, too, being sewn back together like some ragdoll. He catches the way your expression dampers - of course, he does. “Toru…”

Gojo winces when your fingers glide over that jagged scar. But if that was pain, then it was absolutely nothing compared to the pure, unadulterated fear when you abruptly pull your hands away. 

“S-sorry- I didn’t mean to-”

“No!” he cuts you off, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist. All but dragging it - right along with you - to his still-healing body. “Touch me. Hurts more when you don’t.”

You’re batting your lashes up at him in a way that makes his heart stutter, and his poor, angry cock twitch. “Hurts me when you lie.”

“M’not lying, see?” With a low nod of his head, he’s gesturing you to look down - where it was unmissable. 

Because straddled right in-between your pussy lips was Gojo’s erect cock - proud and so prominent, even through his pants. With the sheer girth bulging upwards you could feel your greedy pussy dampen over the cloth in anticipation. 

“Well…” He’s throwing his head back when you knead your palm over the very end of his print, “I can’t quite see-”

Gojo takes the hint - and you have to bite your lip from teasing that it was quite possibly the only hint you’d thrown his way that he’d actually understood. But it was so hard to - not when he was this eager. 

And, on those long, lonely nights, you’d imagined that your best friend would be suave, infinitely collected with things like this. 

But, no, he was fumbling and jittery with his movements. So needy to please you that it takes you to help him pull down his tight, sticky boxers over the curving muscle of his thighs. 

“O-oh fuck–” you breathe out, when he finally springs out. Sweeping up and down each and every long, thick inch of him - Gojo was as hard as if he was carved out of fucking diamond. Such a furious, rosy red at his leaky tip, glistening down, down, down into the most mouth-watering shade of creamy pink at his thick hilt. He was so big. Your thighs squeeze together in sultry need - with a slight tinge of fear. So unfairly pretty - even like this. “You’re- you’re so much bigger than I’d imagined, Toru.” 

No sooner are the words out of your mouth that you’re being flashed with his dark smirk once more, “You imagined this?” There’s a slight reverence to his voice, scared. 

It almost makes you shy - and Gojo can practically sense the waves of embarrassment rolling off of you. 

“Awww, come back to me, please, pretty- Please-” he purrs, cupping your cheeks. “I came hah- back, didn’t I?” You’re being jostled to and fro when he rests himself more comfortably on the bed, leaning back to admire you further. “And now-” Your breath hitches in your throat when he situates himself right in-between your thighs, the fat curve of his head so swelteringly kissing your folds. Drenching it in his thick precum, “-now m’never gonna let ya go.” 

Fuck, you know you should heave in a few gasps of hair, you know you should relax, maybe even stretch your legs wide open.

Because Gojo was so fucking big, it felt like he was splitting you from the inside out. Just the slight push of his tip bullying between your folds has you moaning - crying.  

“You- you’re so big-” Your nails dig into the plush of his pecs for stability, leaving neat crescent patterns that stand out redly. “S’like you’re reaching into my hngh- l-lungs-”

Just those words have him expanding even deeper, ruddying even more furiously. Gojo gets so much bigger that you just can’t help but sink yourself down his shaft, feeling your elastic walls contort so easily around his length. 

“H-heh– ohhh-” he breathes out - baritone voice lilting a few pitches higher than usual. The hands around your waist grab you even harsher, feeding you each inch by fucking inch of his fat, pulsing cock. “You got me- so–” His hips thrust upwards in mindless little jabs, “-fucked up, right now, sweetheart.”

And while all you can do is whine and moan around his unforgiving cock, Gojo babbles on, “B-better get ready ngh- because I’m gonna be riiiight-” His thick index draws and invisible line up, up, up to somewhere midway up your stomach. Before pressing down. Brandingly. “-here.”

The pressure is enough to have your hips just slamming down with a wet smack! all the way to his hilt. The slap of skin-on-skin rings through the heady air and into both your drunken brains, making him just throw his head back into the plush pillows. 

“Yes-” you’re keening, your fingers wrapping subconsciously around Gojo’s pretty throat to have him facing you once more. He was so gorgeous this way - blue eyes falling shut with pleasure, mouth bitten raw and parted into a soft oh! pale muscles twitching with each breath. So fucked-out already that it almost made you think the sight alone could have you cumming. “Look at me, Toru- hah- gonna make up for lost time, right? Gonna fuck me good?”

His answering nods are more than enough, but Gojo doesn’t just stop there - no, he’s putting in every bit of last strength he has to just hammer into you upwards. Meeting every one of your relentless bounces down on him, he just clashes into your ravaged g-spot.

“Oh yeah, my girl.” he spits, a twinkling trail of drool dripping down the side of his lips. Crushing you so tight to his hardened front, “Ride me- ride me jus’ like that. Fuck- thought I saw heaven on the battlefield but it might jus’ be this pussy-” Over and over.

The back of your hand ends up on his forehead, “I think you’ve got a concussion.” It was in every little touch - that “something stupid.”  

At your surprised giggles, he’s rummaging your insides even more ferociously. Smushing the very end of his thick head against your spongy cervix. It was so soft, so swelteringly hot having him inside you. Clashing in long, wet glides against every inch of your pussy. 

The stretch was dizzying - and if it hadn’t been for Gojo’s lips attacking yours, then you’d have let your head loll backwards. It’s like he was marking you from the inside out, bruising the plushy insides of your cunt to every ridge and thumping vein down his possessive cock. 

“Spit on me.” 

His sudden plea puffs out of his plump lips, startling you out of your cockdrunk little reverie. “Spit on me, please, pretty. Mmpf-”

Gojo whimpers - whimpers - when the thick wad of your saliva hits his pink tongue, and the action has him delving into you impossibly deeper. Planting two feet onto the mattress, he angles his hips into your tight channel even harsher. Grimacing at the slight twinge of pain, “Shit-”

“Toru–”

“Wait wait- please- let me-” Expectedly, he’s cutting you off frantically. Begging, pleading with everything he had before activating reversed curse technique more. “Wanna fuck this gorgeous cunt so bad- fuck fuck fuck-”

But you’re only grinding your hips down faster - all the way from the pretty pink tip of his cock, until your ass massages against his tight, cum-filled balls. Thwacking! against your skin deliciously, pushing you up to scratch your clit against his snowy pubes. 

A few more unapologetic kisses up against your sweet spots have you blinking back stars, “Toru–” Your swiveling motions have him so hypnotized, following every move where his massive cock was disappearing in and out of your snug hole. “Kiss me-”

Oh, you didn’t even have to ask.

It’s such a sloppy kiss - all teeth and lips and Gojo grunting gutturally into your mouth. Letting you just use him like your favorite toy, fucking him until the bed creaked with effort and Gojo’s balls just smacked! angrily.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers. Drinking in your saccharine sweet gasps when he dips down one of his hands to your puffy clit, rolling the soft edge of his thumb in slow, methodical circles. “You’re gonna be the ah- d-death of me.”

Your hand around his throat tightens, making his eyes just roll back in ecstacy. “Better not die on me just y-yet, Toru. Not now, not tomorrow.”

For this, you’re being gifted with such a tight squeeze of his two fingers around your sensitive nub. Wracking your body forwards - exactly where he wanted you, exactly where he needed you to smash his sobbing tip into your g-spot. 

The stimulation is too much, and each of your pressurized slams down onto the sharp bones on Gojo’s v-line have him moaning. Bucking up helplessly whenever your heavenly walls drag sloppily up his shaft, like it hurt to not have each and every one of his heated inches buried inside. 

“Well- then-” You’re riding him now just as much as he was fucking up into you, leaving a damp puddle of slick and dredges of precum on the sheets below. Gojo’s punctuating each word with a harsh battering ram, “Better- cum f’me soon, huh? Because m’not gonna- fuck-” His nagging tip jolts into your sweet spots as if being zapped with white-hot electricity, in such a sloppy staccato with his feverish fingers. “-fuck I don’t think m’gonna last long.”

You’re nodding your head, clinging onto him like a second skin. “Mhm- m’so close, Toru.” Biting down wetly on his lower lip, “-gonna cum soon.”

Just the thought of it has him keening, stuttering up so messily. His precum coats your insides even more slippery slick, so heated in a way he thinks he might just explode. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart–” he’s simpering down in your tone, though his hips were anything but. Letting out some of the lewdest slurps that made your ears ring. “I got you. I got you, cum all over my cock, yeah?”

It only takes a few more mess strokes from both of your sweat-sheened bodies before you finally reach your high. Electricity thrums down your veins, your body arches so deeply into his. Bending into the perfect bow that has him spying down at your quivering folds, the way your gushing cunt expands and contracts through each and every one of your waves of pleasure. 

And he’s fucking you through it so filthy, fingers toying so erratically on your clit. Still reeling, still smashing the very divot of his cock into your bruised g-spot. Again and again.

“Ohh- fuuuck—” Gojo whines, eyes scrunching shut. Strained. Depraved. “Fuck fuck fuck me- please, please m’gonna-”

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before he’s stuffing your snug pussy full with ribbon after ribbon of thick, velvety cum. Potent seed coating your gummy walls in such a milky sweet gloss, the squelches from below are so loud. So soppingly wet. 

The hand at your waist moves down to where your poor cunt was just bulging with all inches of his spazzing cock. Gojo’s thumbing apart the corners of your slit just enough that his swelteringly hot cum oozes out of you in a slow trail. Sinful. 

“Oh my god-” he breathes, eyes unwavering. Hips thrusting upwards to push his cum up into you even deeper. It glistens opaquely down his length, forming a creamy ring at his thick base. “Oh my god love you- fuck!”

“Toru- m’so full-” you whine. A hand of yours coming up to press exactly where he had before, except now you could feel the nudging pace of his ruthless cock, the sloshing of Gojo’s seed all up inside you. “-really can feel you right here.”

“Tha’s the point, girl - my girl, should I say.” he’s pressing such a chaste kiss to your lips. And it would be swee - almost - if it wasn’t for the way Gojo’s greedy fingers soak themselves in the obscene mess from your cunt down below. Bringing them all the way up, up, up to his mouth. Suckling gently, “But…but you wanna hear something stupid?”

Your eyes widen, “Wh-what?”

And he only grins,  “I hope you know I love you, sweetheart. Because you sure as hell aren’t walking tomorrow.”

A/N. Can y’all tell I’ve been widowed not too long ago? Anyways, last post before kínktober! I tried posting this on Sunday but it refused to work so pray for me this time y’all *SOBS* <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[p-01-s-0-n-0-us]

"Just tell her your birthday, it's not going to hurt anyone. You're not asking her on a date." he chuckled, "Despite not being allowed I've also heard that you have the tendency to not show up on dates anyway." He teased, remembering what Drake said earlier. "Really sucks when at least one of your parents hates your guts, doesn't it? I'm sorry that you had to suffer from that. And still are." His voice was gentle and soft as he spoke. Kou knew what it was like to be punching bag of the family. "Shouldn't she have been happy for you? If my partner told me that they were getting really successful I'd be so happy for them. Not start to resent them." That was something Kou just failed to understand. Being with someone you really despise. It just didn't make sense to him. But maybe she came from just as broken of a home and had her own issues, she most likely did. "You sure that's all you need to be happy and content? So if you were to drop dead on the spot you'd be able to say you are absolutely happy with your current life?" The guitarist raised his thin eyebrows, his disbelief clearly showing. There was always something people longed for.

"In their defense: The uniform is fucking hot. I can't blame them for stating the obvious. Now imagine a good looking man like you in said uniform? Of course they drool all over you. I would do the same." Kou grinned at the officer. "They'd just tell me to get a haircut and not dress like I'm about to go to a funeral. At least in my experience." he laughed. He never too offense to that, it amused him more than anything. "You don't have to see it but I would like to continue seeing you all bashful." Drake's next words made Kou smirk. "How can you go from saying that you're all bashful to saying you love overstimulating your partners until they cry without even batting an eye?" He chuckled, clearly amused by the fact. However when Drake said he wanted to see Kou crying and hear him whimper Kou's smirk returned. "Darling, do you have enough stamina for that? That's going to take a lot of effort to get me to whimper and cry for you. Are you up for that kind of challenge?" he muttered softly but loud enough for Drake to hear. By the way the officer so easily confessed to that fantasy Kou was inclined to believe that Drake had thought about doing that before.

"Once the rainy season is over we should definitely go on a drive together. I make a pretty passenger princess." he was genuinely excited about getting to drive in Drake's mustang even if he sounded playful. And he would be more than content with being in the passenger's seat. While he enjoyed driving his motorcycles was fun to him, driving a car was more like a chore. Living in Tokyo also didn't help his cause. With so many cars on the street at all times and lots of people he just prefered the flexibility of having a bike to drive around. "Rather my hands on you. Touching and doing very inappropriate things while you try to focus on your work. Or maybe even my lips around you, your hands in my hair?"

A smile formed on his lips when he heard that Drake would always try to make time if he was asked for it. No matter how Kou looked at it, the man who's lap he was sitting on was a giant teddy bear of a man. Even when he was talking about wanting to have his cock choked, Kou still thought that Drake was incredibly sweet. "What about I choke on your cock instead?" The hand that was choking Drake a moment ago now moved to the officer's crotch, giving the hardening cock a gentle squeeze. Kou's finger traced over it while placing kisses on the other's neck wherever the shirt wasn't covering the skin. "Darling, it would take a lot to make me feel used or taken advantage of. Don't worry about that and just have some fun with me, alright? If I don't want anything I'll tell you. Enjoy yourself." Kou said with a smile on his lips and gave Drake's lips a much sweeter kiss compared to the last. Given how long it had been for Drake it made sense to slow down and just enjoy each other's bodies. Taking the chance when there was a break in their kisses Kou removed his shirt. It ended up somewhere on the floor, something he'd worry about later. Being shirtless revealed Kou's nicely toned upper body and his piercings. One in each nipple and one decorating his belly button. "Explore all you want and how you want. Anything goes." Kou encouraged Drake softly and leaned back slightly to give the officer plenty of space to do just that. All the kissing and talking also left it's mark on Kou. His pants were becoming increasingly tight.

10-4 I’ll come where is your location? I’ll come to you.

[Text: Officer 👽]: Sent you my address. Should be easy enough to find. There's a parking lot nearby, in case you come by car.

Attached to the text message was Kou's address.

[iris-qt]

The Boy Who Stares

Theodore Nott is staring at you again.

You don’t know why. You're not even doing anything particularly interesting. Just sitting in the third row of Ancient Runes, dutifully highlighting a passage about something very old and very cursed, as one does at 9 a.m. on a Wednesday.

But there it is. That intense, brooding stare from two seats to the left. Again.

You risk a glance. Yep. Still happening. His quill is poised mid-air like he forgot how to write. His mouth is slightly parted.

You blink. He blinks. You look away. He doesn’t.

Okay.

Maybe you have ink on your face. Or a troll horn growing out of your forehead. Or maybe he’s plotting your murder, slowly deciding which corridor would be least suspicious to lure you down. Totally fine.

You swipe your thumb across your cheek, just in case. Nope. No ink. Still cute, still confused, still alive. Probably.

Why is he looking at me like that? you think to yourself, nose back in your book.

What you don’t know is this:

Theodore Nott: stoic, unflappable, academically terrifying, hasn’t heard a word Professor Babbling has said in thirteen minutes and twenty-two seconds because he’s been trying to figure out how you manage to tuck your quill behind your ear without it falling out.

That, and how you’re the only person in class who managed to finish the Ancient Runes translation without using a single cross-reference guide. And how you chew on your bottom lip when you’re focused, and how your handwriting slants slightly to the left, and how—

You glance up again, catching him mid-gaze.

He immediately jerks his head away so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t snap in half.

You squint. He suddenly finds his parchment very interesting. His ears, traitorous things, go a bit pink.

You blink again.

Nope. Still a murder plot. Definitely.

...

Class ends with the soft clack of textbooks shutting and chairs scraping across the floor. You take your time gathering your things, mostly because your bookmark has disappeared into a void of loose parchment.

Okay. That’s a problem for later.

Theodore Nott is still sitting there. Not moving. Not packing up.

You glance his way again. He pretends to yawn, which would be normal if it weren’t so obviously staged. Like, hand-to-chest, slow-motion, opera-singer yawn. No one yawns like that. You watch in real time as his brain short-circuits trying to look casual.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and head toward the door. And then:

“Wait.”

You stop. Turn. Blink.

Theodore Nott is standing. This feels promising.

“You, um—” he begins, voice low and uncertain. “You left your—uh…” He looks over at your desk. There is nothing there. Not even a scrap of parchment.

He stares at the empty space like it might help him. It does not.

“I left my…?” you say slowly, eyebrows lifted.

He panics. “Presence.”

Your brain takes a full three seconds to process that.

“My what?”

“Your—you left your—pencil sharpener,” he blurts. “Quill sharpener. Yes. That.”

You do not own a quill sharpener. Is that even a thing?

“Oh,” you say, smiling like you’re talking to a slightly confused, very pretty ghost. “Do you…have it?”

“No.”

Silence.

Then he blinks, visibly resets, and tries again. “Sorry. I meant—Hi. I’m Theodore. I mean, you know that. Obviously. We’ve had class together for like six years, I just—well.” He gestures vaguely toward your general existence. “Hi.”

You blink again. You’re doing a lot of blinking lately. “Hi…?”

“I like the way you annotate,” he says.

You stare.

“What?”

“I mean, not in a weird way. Just in a—your notes. Your margins. The way you organize them. It’s very…” He swallows. “…structured. Efficient. There’s a system. You color-code.”

You keep staring.

His voice lowers slightly, like he’s confessing to a crime. “I think about them sometimes.”

This might be the most unhinged flirtation you’ve ever witnessed.

“…Thanks?” you manage, because what else does one say when a gorgeous Slytherin boy admits to daydreaming about your annotated footnotes?

“Anyway,” he says, suddenly flustered again. “I’m going to leave now. With my dignity. Or…what’s left of it.”

He turns, walks directly into the doorframe, mutters “brilliant” under his breath, and disappears.

You stand there blinking at the empty doorway.

And then you laugh. Like, properly laugh.

You’re still laughing when you find your missing bookmark sticking out of Theodore’s textbook.

A/N: missed writing for theo -> pt. ⅠⅠ - The Boy Who Folded First

[luna-azzurra]

How Body Language Changes When a Character Is Falling in Love (Whether They Admit It or Not)

When someone starts to fall, it shows up everywhere—not in the love confession (that’s the easy part), but in the twitch of a smile, in the silence that suddenly feels charged, in the way someone’s hand almost reaches out before pulling back.

╰ They start listening… with their whole damn body

Suddenly, they’re turned toward this person all the time. Full body facing them. Chin tilted slightly in. They lean forward during small talk like it’s breaking news. They notice things, like the rhythm of their voice, the way their lips move when they think too hard. They stop fiddling with their phone. Their knee bounces until the other person speaks, and then, stillness. They’re so present, it hurts.

╰ Their eye contact gets… weird

Sometimes they can’t stop looking. Sometimes they can’t look at all... There’s that moment—the pause, the flicker—where their eyes land on the other person’s mouth for just a second too long. Or they track their hands. Or notice how their hair falls into their face. It’s not about lust. It’s yearning, and it’s quiet and stupid and full of panic. And when the person catches them looking? Immediate eye dart. Back to their drink. To the sky. To anywhere else. Guilty. Flushed. Terrified.

╰ Their hands get stupid

They’re suddenly very aware of what their hands are doing. They fidget more. Or freeze. They keep their arms close to their body, like they’re worried they’ll accidentally reach out. If they touch the other person, even casually, it lingers. Not long enough to be noticed, but long enough to matter. Sometimes they adjust the other person’s collar or brush something off their sleeve and then have a tiny meltdown inside. That kind of touch feels too intimate. It’s not flirtation. It’s reverence.

╰ Their silence means more than their words

They trail off mid-sentence. Laugh at things they don’t usually laugh at. Start saying something and stop themselves. It’s because their brain is trying to do too many things at once—act normal, sound chill, don’t make it weird, try not to look like you’re in love. Meanwhile, the body is over here sweating, shifting, subtly turning toward the other person like a sunflower in denial.

╰ Their whole vibe gets softer

There’s a gentleness that creeps in. Even if they’re a sharp, snarky character, there’s a moment where they look at the person like they’re a planet they’ve just discovered. It’s brief. It’s devastating. It’s involuntary. And they might pretend it didn’t happen. But the reader saw it. The love interest definitely saw it. And suddenly, everything is different.

╰ Bonus: They mirror the other person without meaning to

Their arms cross when the other person’s do. Their head tilts. They laugh a beat after. This is subconscious connection at work. Their body wants to match this person. Sync with them. Be close without being obvious. And when they stop mirroring? That’s a sign too. Maybe something hurt. Maybe they’re trying to pull away. But the body always tells the truth, even when the character’s mouth is lying through its teeth.

[ssa-dado]

Backshots... Back Pain, Sorry

Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: SMUTTY smut kind of smut. Fluff if you're a freak. Summary: It starts with a back massage, ends with your face in a pillow and Hotch scolding you mid-thrust for arching your back incorrectly. You’d argue, but it’s hard to speak when he’s fixing your posture with his [REDACTED] Warnings: MDNI (established... whatever this is, oral [f!receiving, brief mentions of m!receiving], unprotected p-in-v bc we live on the edge [♫ of glory ♫]), age gap, casual oopsie choking, accidental-but-not-really voyeurism, Hotch is pussy-whipped af but somehow still is a patronizing piece of shit, mentions of Jack (sorry Jack) Word Count: 6.6k Dado's Corner: Phi attempting the “Don’t write Hotch like a pathetic bottom after humiliating him in 30 Seconds” challenge: lasted a strong 30.5 seconds. Proofreading brought to u by Dr. Bin @hotchology PhD

masterlist

The first thought you had when you saw how big Aaron’s hands were was not, (un)surprisingly, that they’d be perfect for back massages.

That was probably your second thought.

Because your first was… well, that those thick fingers looked suspiciously well-suited for another kind of activity involving a lot more curling and a lot more work from his middle and ring finger.

Still.

Now – naked (just the top half, because he insisted. Something about how deep tissue massage works better on bare skin and some other pseudoscientific bullshit you’re trying very hard not to sexualize)- lying face down and completely at his mercy, you have to admit:

He’s freakishly good at the massage thing too.

Also, the noises coming out of your mouth are quite similar anyway.

Same pitch. Same breathlessness. Same “Yes, that’s the spot, sweetheart - like that?” murmured behind you in that pompous gravelly chuckle that does absolutely nothing to help you separate the two scenarios.

At least this time, it’s his thumbs digging into the knot just under your shoulder blades and not… well. Other places.

You don’t know how he does it.

It’s awful. It’s amazing. It makes you want to cry, make out, confess every fear you’ve ever had since the third grade, and tell him about the time you got lost in a supermarket when you were six and never fully recovered.

(Stepping stone of your abandonment issues, actually. Very formative stuff.)

But instead, you just hum.

And before he can tease you (because you know he will, the moment he realizes you’ve melted into a limp, worshipful little puddle over a shoulder rub), you manage to mumble:

“Can you keep doing this forever?”

Also because - small detail, minor point - he’s pinning you to the mattress with his hips. Like, fully. Whole FBI-agent body weight centered right over the curve of your ass.

And every time he shifts - reaching up to get a better angle, dragging his hands (those large, beautiful hands) up the sides of your spine - his hips roll just slightly forward.

And- yeah. He sort of… rocks against you.

Not on purpose.

(Probably?)

(…Definitely.)

Which would be fine. Totally manageable. Not at all a problem - if it weren’t for the fact that he’s wearing the least fuckable pajamas on Earth… which, of course, makes them ten times more fuckable.

Plain, boring navy bottoms. A matching buttoned top. (Aaron Hotchner cannot survive without buttons. He needs order. He needs structure. Even in REM sleep.)

Classic grandpa cut. V-neck just deep enough to show a scandalous sliver of collarbone you might, unironically, faint over.

(Thankfully, your current view is limited to his bedside table: a vintage old-man lamp that costs more than your phone, and a framed photo of him and his son.)

(Hi, Jack. Sorry for having thoughts about your father.)

Back to the pajamas - the most crucial detail is the fabric.

It’s the softest thing you’ve ever touched. High-thread-count sorcery. Probably imported. Definitely overpriced. Breathable, which is just a fancy way of saying stupidly thin.

Thin enough that when he leans in - presses down - you can feel the shape of his-

…Anyway. You’re getting ideas. (Again, sorry, framed Jack.)

“Not to be paternalistic,” he starts. (It is to be paternalistic. Entirely so. But you’ll allow it. You’ll allow anything, frankly, because for some reason it’s insanely hot when he talks like this.)

“-but you shouldn’t have a back like this at your age.”

“Well, thankfully I’ve got your magic hands to fix it, don’t I?” You smile, turning your head to look back at him, because you’re an idiot who still thinks eye contact might save you.

It doesn’t.

What you get instead is one of his signature sighs - the special not-to-be-paternalistic-but-very-much-is variety that sounds like he’s aging ten years just trying to keep you alive - and then a gently condescending lecture about cervical strain and spinal alignment and how you “can’t just twist your neck around if you actually want this to help,” yada yada-

“I know it doesn’t feel like a big deal now, but these things add up,” yada yada-

“I just-can you please take this seriously? I know you joke, but I’d like you to still be able to stand up straight in ten years.” yada yada, (okay, long-term vision, wow, didn’t know we were doing that now) yada yada-

“Sweetheart”.

All of it delivered in that deeply patronizing, annoyingly hot concerned-professional voice he’s perfected.

The one that should be irritating. Would be irritating, If it weren’t currently paired with both his hands kneading down your back, thumbs sinking into that dangerously tender spot just above your hips.

(You would roll your eyes, but you’ve just been told that’s a cervical risk. So you moan into the pillow instead. Respectfully.)

“Breathe through it,” he says. And you do. Immediately. Obediently.

Because he says it so kindly that you have to keep reminding yourself – repeatedly - that he actually cares about your spinal health, and is not, in fact, secretly calculating how many ways you could arch your hips to grind back against his very conveniently located crotch.

(You are. You’re calculating. You’re the problem.)

“Yeah, that’s a good one. Keep doing this,” he says, as his thumbs keep moving - maybe in circles, maybe up and down - you honestly couldn’t say. You’ve lost all grip on spatial awareness.

All you know is there’s a pulsing, needy little bundle of nerves between your legs now demanding attention.

Especially when he comments, right as his fingers glide just above your ass-

“You’re really tight here.” Sir (GN). Be serious. “You should start being a bit more mindful about your posture.”

And with just those few words, your clit - tired, neglected, and frankly done with being emotionally sidelined - decides it’s going to take what it can get.

If a proper orgasm isn’t on the table, a slightly patronizing lecture from Aaron Hotchner about spinal health will have to do.

It politely raises a hand. Submits a request to speak. The brain, overwhelmed and half-fried from continuous exposure to his voice, approves it immediately.

So you ask, way too casually for what it actually means:

“Could you go lower?”

“Lower?” he repeats, taunting, as his hands pause their tantric little routine before gliding under your waist and flipping you over onto his orthopedic mattress.

Now you’re face-to-face with him.

Arms crossed. Brows furrowed. That specific, sharpened brand of exasperation he reserves only for you - his favorite little headache (how romantic of him) - comes today with a bonus layer of disbelief.

Because Best-Profiler-Or-Whatever-Goddamn-Award-He-Just-Won-Again 2012 (the year's not over, but if the Bureau doesn’t give him another brass plaque to add to the terrifying shrine of ego and martyrdom he keeps in his office, he might actually cry) has officially clocked that the look in your – probably very dilated - eyes says one thing and one thing only:

Fuck me. (So Shakespearian.)

Still, since profiling is such a complex job –

(Or so he claims, usually while humblebragging about how he reads murderers for a living, yet somehow still can’t figure out the real reason you keep staring at his hands-)

so many factors, so many nuances, every twitch, every blink, every micro expression a breadcrumb-

So, you, being the considerate, emotionally generous person that you are, decide to spare him the effort. You remove all ambiguity, wrap your legs around his waist, and pull him in.

(Also: your boobs are out. The top of your pajama set’s currently sitting neatly folded on the far bedside table, placed there with care by none other than the Sexy Masseuse Extraordinaire himself.)

(You can’t turn to look at it. If you twist your neck, he’ll scold you. But you know it’s there.)

(So yes. #FreeTheNipple could easily be Exhibit B. Another little clue in the ever-growing case file of She Wants Me. Please, Aaron. Be thorough. File it under Intent.)

And apparently, he does.

Because without you saying a single word, he exhales - through his cutest, slightly uneven nostrils (and probably a deviated septum he refuses to get checked out) - and mutters, incredulous:

“Again?!”

Ah. Yes. Again.

Because to be fair, it is technically true that the second Aaron walked through the door - still suited up, still rumpled from the flight, fresh off a three-day case on the West Coast - the only greeting he got was a breathless “I missed you,” right before you yanked him down by the tie and onto his own couch to physically demonstrate that you (unlike him, [sometimes]) actually mean what you say.

So moved were you by his presence that you completely forgot to do the one basic thing required of anyone with even a shred of shame or social awareness:

Close. The. Curtains.

(You keep forgetting there’s an entire wing of Aaron’s apartment complex that has a front-row seat to his living room. Practically panoramic… oh- hi, Linda from 154.)

But it’s fine. It’s fine.

You fixed it.

You skipped the full nudity part and went for the most logistically respectful option: unzipping just his fly, just enough to free what you needed. Nothing more.

Just the essentials.

Just a fully dressed woman bouncing on a fully dressed man’s lap.

You’re pretty sure that doesn’t count as public indecency. (It’s basically PG-12. Glee’s airing worse on national television every Tuesday at 8/7c and that show’s somehow still going. So really, you’re fine. This is fine. Society has seen worse.)

…You also really, really hope no one saw it in the first place. You tell yourself no one saw it.

You keep telling yourself that, even as your brain starts tallying how many windows overlook this very couch. (Six. There are six. Possibly seven. And that woman on the third floor with the poodle - she definitely saw something. She always does.)

Those people didn’t see that your panties were still on - just pushed to the side, soaked through, clinging to your thigh.

Didn’t see the way your mouth fell open when you sank down onto his cock, gasping from the stretch, from the fuck yes finally of being full again.

Didn’t see his head fall back against the couch, eyes shut, the half-muttered “Jesus Christ” he left when your hips started rolling.

They didn’t see the way your thighs trembled when he grabbed your hips, then your waist, then your thighs again like he couldn’t decide where to hold you hardest, just knew he needed to keep you going.

Didn’t hear the noise he made when you grabbed a fistful of his tie for leverage, just to stay upright while he hit so fucking deep.

And they definitely didn’t hear the way your moan cracked when his mouth brushed your ear and he muttered: “Been thinking about this the whole damn flight.”

Three hours. He sat in a government plane, in slacks, probably surrounded by spreadsheets and murder, and still somewhere over Colorado, he was hard and thinking about you.

“I missed you,” you really mean it. (Yes, you want to fuck him. Obviously. But it’s also starting to feel like the reason you’re so desperate for his body is because being without him hurts a little more than it should.)

“That’s what you said in the shower,” he reminds you. (Oh. Right. The shower. The one that happened immediately after the couch.) “And on the bathroom sink.” Ah. Yes. You’d offered to blowdry his hair, but something else got blown first. (Priorities.) “Don’t you think that’s enough for tonight?”

He basically looks at you like you’re the most beloved disaster he’s ever encountered.

Fond - yes.

Amused - definetely.

Also very much trying not to laugh. He even bites his lip to hold it back.

Veeeery humbling experience.

And still, he leans in over you and locks his lips with yours - sweet enough to excuse how annoyingly chaste it feels. You start to pull him back in but he detours to your cheek instead, lingering there.

“You’re adorable,” he pities you. “Now please could you turn back over?”

Choking yourself with the pillow suddenly sounds like a fantastic plan. You eye it. You consider the logistics. You’re halfway to asphyxiating yourself into emotional amnesia when he leans in and kisses your shoulder.

Then the other. (Symmetry. He’s disgusting.)

You brace for his hands on your back, but it’s his mouth instead.

Starting at the nape of your neck, he works his way down your spine, lips dragging wet and slow. Every kiss sinks into your skin like he’s trying to rewrite your nervous system from the top down, rearranging your fucked-up muscles better than his actual massage ever could.

And he doesn’t stop.

Not even when his fingers hook into the waistband of your pajama pants and start easing them down - his mouth just keeps going, picking up exactly where the fabric leaves off.

You still get butterflies at the stupidly familiar feel of his calloused palms skimming down your thighs, knuckles brushing bare skin as he peels your bottoms away.

Could be excitement. Could be the fact that he’s been edging you for what feels like a fiscal quarter. Could be because you’re head over heels for him and refusing to deal with it. (Unclear. Not investigating.)

Anyways, Aaron - sweet, disciplined Aaron - folds your PJ pants, sets them neatly on top of your already-abandoned top on the bedside table (it was only a matter of time, that poor top’s been waiting for backup all night), and then immediately dives back in mouth-first (correction: teeth-first) sinking a bite right into the peak of your ass.

One side, then the other. (The man really loves symmetry.)

Groaning into your skin as you gasp his name - only for him to shut it down halfway through (fuck him, really) - he slides one arm beneath your hips, the other draping heavy across your thighs, and manhandles you into place in one smooth (hot) motion on all fours.

Ass up, panties still on (and very much soaked through).

It’s… a moment.

You crane your neck, scrambling for words - something clever, something linguistically adult - but what fries every functioning synapse isn’t just the way he’s staring at the soaked spot on your underwear;

It’s the way his pupils visibly dilate when he catches the barest glint of your cunt beneath it.

And still, he manages to outdo himself.

Because Aaron Hotchner’s greatest talent - aside from his intellect, that weirdly specific dry humor only you laugh at, and, of course, the mouthwatering, life-altering, holy-shit-that-thing-has-weight dick he’s somehow just casually lugging around - it’s his uncanny ability to always state the obvious.

“You’re soaked…” he murmurs. “You already fucked me and you’re still soaked.”

(There’s just something in Aaron saying that you fucked him…Call it power-hungry. Call it praise kink. Call it whatever.)

“Shit, say it again.” You just want his voice. More of it. Inside you, around you, anywhere.

You gasp as he hums straight into the damp fabric of your panties “Smug little thing… Let’s see how long it lasts.”

Then he drags his face down, nuzzling his nose along your glistening slit – catching every slick ridge through the soaked cotton, barely giving you any pressure, just enough to make you momentarily twitch.

He doesn’t bother teasing – just goes straight for your clit, flushed and throbbing, and latches on.

Mouth open. Tongue flat.

You start cursing everything.

Cursing the fabric of your panties he still hasn’t moved aside.

Cursing the way the soaked cotton catches every flick of his tongue – turning each pass into friction and making everything worse.

Cursing yourself for the sound you make when he moans into you – mouth hot and hungry – and yanks your hips closer like he can’t fucking help himself.

Grips your ass, fills both palms, pulls you tighter to his face until there’s nowhere for you to go – nowhere for you to run – nothing you can do but take it.

He’s drinking you. He sucks your slick through the fabric, letting it saturate his tongue, then releases your nub with a wet, obscene pop just to do it again.

Then again. And again.

Clicks his tongue just to hear the sound it makes against your cunt.

Right when you think you might actually die from how deliberately he’s taking his sweet time, he finally peels the fabric to the side.

(Thank God.)

“Fuck, Aaron-” you choke, fisting the sheets as he dives into your into your hole.

You were so fucking wrong.

His real talent isn’t stating the obvious.

It’s the way he makes out with your cunt, making you clench against him, and that molten heat already begins to gather low in your stomach.

“You taste better every fucking time. God, I missed you,” he mutters, one hand pressing into the small of your back to hold you down, the other spreading your ass so his tongue has more room to work and can slide deeper.

He fucks you with it.

Pushes in, pulls back, then he drags himself back up to your clit and just… goes feral. A combination you’re 100% sure he makes up on the spot, yet it’s somehow the exact cheat code to your nervous system.

You start grinding against his face, chasing friction like it’s oxygen, needy for whatever the hell that is until your thighs are trembling and your brain has officially vacated the premises.

The only word(s) you manage to hold onto is-

“Aaron- Aaron, please-”

Not your best work. Not ideal.

You should specify - to Mr. Old Man™ - that after please, there was going to be don’t stop.

But instead, it comes out half-strangled, choked off by the groan you let loose as he pulls away too fast, too soon, leaving you gasping face-first into a very wet, very real patch of drool on the mattress.

(It’s cooling against your chin now. Disgusting.)

You writhe, still aching, still pulsing, your body practically begging for his mouth, his nose, his fucking tongue - anything to fill the hot, miserable emptiness between your legs - until his hand wraps around the back of your neck (shit. fuck. shit), lifting you way too easily.

(Maybe because he’s strong. Maybe because you’re fully limp with desperation. Maybe because you don’t resist even a little bit. Hard to say.)

He pulls your spine upright, presses you back against his chest and crashes his mouth to yours.

And as he groans into your mouth, his whole face glistening with your arousal, smearing messily against your cheek, his cock presses between your folds, dragging through the soaked disaster he made of you.

The thick, swollen head - already leaking with precum - bumps against your clit as he grinds forward, dragging through your slick with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, a choked moan catching halfway in your throat…

…Right as his fingers start to curl around it.

Soft. Careful. Too careful. Like his hand landed there on instinct and now he’s realizing it, hesitating, trying not to make it a thing (which, joke’s on him, it already is).

(Also, if he could go ahead and press those thick, possessive, chubby-ass fingers a little deeper into your neck- yeah. That’d be ideal. Five stars.)

So, probably in a noble act of distraction (or self-preservation), Aaron starts to push in.

That first stretch.

That toe-curling burn you never fully prepare for. The one that drags your body open inch by inch like he’s carving a space only he gets to fill. And you adore it. You crave it like a sickness.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, mouth grazing your jaw. “I couldn’t resist.” And another kiss, “I need to fuck you properly so you don’t wake me up begging for it again.”

(If he keeps holding your neck like that while saying shit like that, you’re definitely waking him up again. With your mouth. Or your thighs.)

You decide to clench around him in reply (how generous of you - really, public service) - tight enough that you know he’s furrowing his brows right now, trying so hard not to let out one of those high-pitched, desperate little whimpers that would completely shatter the illusion of his usual Important Serious Man™ composure.

“Mmm, sweetheart,” he groans, dragging in deeper until he’s finally fully seated inside of you, buried to the hilt. “You’re not even trying to hide it, are you? Squeezing me like that…”

He should really be speaking for himself, considering the thing twitching inside you just because it’s lucky enough to be nestled inside you is his cock, not yours.

And sure, he starts rocking into you all slow and deliberate, hips rolling against the swell of your ass like he thinks he can distract you with rhythm alone, but it’s textbook deflection.

(Hotchner: 1 – You: 0. For now.)

“Aaron-” you gasp, barely coherent, because fuck, you’re full. Like - can’t think, can’t breathe, forgot-Aaron’s-home-wifi-password kind of full.

(Which is annoying, because you were just about to remember it. It was something long and unnecessarily specific, like JHotchnerILoveAmerica65 or JackRules2012.)

(AHotchnerNet_3G_guest_home_office?)

(QuanticoSecure_LinkV2?) Nope. That’s the Bureau one. (You may or may not have shamelessly stolen their bandwidth to watch YouTube videos in his office the first time you visited - sitting on that black leather guest chair, legs swinging, waiting for him to come out of some high-stakes consult.)

(Ugh, come on, you almost had it. It’s the one with the weird numbers… Jack’s birthday? No, that was the old one, the one you used to mooch off before he got weird about network security after that article in The Atlantic.)

(Was it Hotchner_Home_8347_SECURE_VPNLOCKED? Or was that the printer? What was it?)

(Wait - is he 7.5 inches? 8? 8.5?! Feels like that but you’re way too biased.)

“Oh fuck-” Your nails bite into the solid curve of his bicep, your back arches on instinct - no thought involved, just muscle memory screaming yes, like that, and your body goes soft over his, melting like heat’s finally overtaken every vertebrae you’ve got.

Boneless. Useless. Yours now comes with a floppy warranty.

He notices, so he wraps his other arm tight around your waist, keeping you upright. “Yes, honey? You like that? Is that what you’re trying to say? Or-.” A sharper thrust. “Do you need me to go harder already?”

Not accepting your whimper as an answer, he goes harder anyway.

White-hot static floods your brain, sparking behind your eyes. You lose track of sound, of sense, of everything but the slap-slap-slap of skin on skin, that becomes even louder than the creaky-ass wooden antique bedframe Aaron refuses to replace.

(Yes, it was expensive. Yes, he insists it’s historical. Yes, it’s probably haunted. No, you do not care. Louis XIV himself could rise from the dead and tell you it’s a collector’s piece, you’re still letting Aaron split you in half on it.)

“Do you feel it?” he asks.

You know what he means. Doesn’t even need to say it.

Especially when his hand tightens just that little bit more around your throat - enough to blur the edges, enough to make your cunt flutter in a grateful little thank you because that was literally what you were about to beg for and this man just read your goddamn mind and saved you the humiliation-

“Well- it’s- fuck yes, right th- it’s kind of impossible not to, isn’t it?”

Wrong answer, apparently.

Because it earns you exactly zero gold stars and a one-way ticket to being shoved face-first into the mattress, his palm flat on your back.

(Or maybe he’s just decided he won’t be satisfied until you’re properly, thoroughly, professionally fucked dumb, until the only thing your brain can process, let alone say, is his name.)

“Lift your hips,” he instructs.

“What-”

“Just do it.”

You do. Of course you do. Because you are weak and unprincipled and you like it when he uses his dad voice.

(Sorry, framed Jack. Not your dad dad. Like- authority figure dad. Weird to explain. Just- sorry Jack.)

He reaches for the pillow from his side of the bed (naughty… part of you hopes he doesn’t bother changing the case afterward, just so he can fall asleep every night wrapped in the scent of your sex… but then again, you’re talking about Aaron, so he'll probably sanitize it twice and iron it back into place) and slides it beneath your stomach.

“There. Better angle for your back,” he mutters.

“Are you fucking kidding me… oh fuck- my back?” You try to mock him, but all you can think is that this stupid orthopedic pillow just shoved him even deeper.

He’s drilling into you so hard, so fucking perfectly, that all you can focus on is how thick he is - how every goddamn ridge, every pulsing vein, every inch of him is dragging against your walls and hitting your spot every single time.

Somehow, you’re still not used to how deep he gets. Still not over the fact that he fits like this, that he fucks like this. That he’s that deep. That much.

You start thinking you should give him a little plaque.

A nice, shiny, brassy “Deepest Stroke Award: Best Dick 2012” kind of thing. Stick it right next to his Bureau commendations so everyone that steps into his office knows he’s that good.

So good that as he angles himself even better (you didn’t even know that was possible), you don’t even hear the bedframe anymore.

(Which is convenient, because next time he wakes you up at 3 a.m. - all apologetic and sleepy and sweet, muttering “sorry, sweetheart, I just need to turn over, please go back to sleep” while trying not to make it creak - you’re gonna tell him to just flip you over and fuck you like this until you both go deaf. Sleep like babies. Problem solved.)

You’re gasping, whimpering, face buried in the mattress, fingers curled so tight in the sheets they might tear, and Aaron has the audacity -the actual fucking balls (which, by the way, are slapping against your clit with every thrust and fuck, they feel incredible… justice for balls, truly) - to tut at you.

“Sweetheart, you’re collapsing your shoulders again, try to pull them back. Keep the neck long.”

You try to lift yourself. You really do. But your arms are jelly, your spine’s gone to hell, and your entire body is preoccupied with coming apart on his cock.

Still, his big, warm hand spreads flat over the center of your back as he straightens you out. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t make me correct your posture and fuck you… engage here.”

(Which is ironic. Because right now? He’s doing both flawlessly.)

“Trying,” you pant.

“Oh, I can see you’re trying,” he mutters, and somehow it’s affectionate and condescending and it should make you furious but instead your cunt clenches yet again like it wants to say thank you, sir.

He shifts his hips and pushes in deeper, angling just right and you see white.

Just white. No thoughts. No gods. No laws. Just the smug chuckle he lets out as your mouth drops open and a sound escapes that isn’t even a word anymore.

“Poor thing,” he coos as his pretentious mouth brushes your spine. “Clenching around me like that and still trying to impress me with your form. You can’t even hold yourself up, sweetheart. That’s adorable.”

“Why do you have to be such an asshole? Can’t you just say one of those stupid cheesy things you tell me all the other times?”

He kisses your shoulder. “Because for some reason,” he murmurs, lazy and devastating, “we both know why this turns you on more.”

It’s because you watch too much porn when he’s away. That’s what it is. That’s the problem. You look for the perfect video, scrolling through every possible variation of "older man, authoritative voice, hairy chest, forehead lines, kind of sad but knows how to eat pussy."

Trying to find a man with his exact nose. His exact voice. His exact cock.

But you never find it. You never find him.

And you’re too chickenshit to ask him to just send you a video of himself fucking his fist - because he’s probably doing something more important, like saving Gotham or shooting an active shooter - and you don’t want to be the reason he gets sidetracked while stroking his lenght in a government office. (…Though, the idea is… not bad.)

So instead, you settle. Again.

You open one of those copy-paste porn videos made for men who think women are doormats with vocal fry, and let it play. Same limp dialogue. Same dead-eyed expressions. Same choreographed humiliation kink that somehow makes you feel like the one being punished.

And still, it doesn’t work. Because Aaron Hotchner has fucked up your brain chemistry to such a degree that other men just don’t do it anymore. You slap the laptop shut to end up staring at that blurry pic you took of him coaching Jack’s football game. (Sorry, Jack.)

He’s just in a bland T-shirt. Biceps hulking under cotton. Arms crossed. Whistle hanging from his neck like he’s about to say something inspirational and slightly disappointed.

That’s the reason.

(...Or maybe it’s just that nothing on this godforsaken Earth turns you on more than when he tells you what to do - precisely how to take it, exactly how to behave - even though you’ve spent an embarrassing amount of mental energy convincing yourself that enjoying that somehow makes you less of a feminist, like Simone de Beauvoir’s going to rise from the grave and revoke your womanhood because you like being manhandled by a man in overpriced pajamas.)

(Yeah… it’s definitely because you watch way too much porn.)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his hand sliding back up to your throat, palm pressing lightly, thumb stroking under your jaw as you try to mumble something broken and vowel-heavy that you’re pretty sure started as his name. “Oh…” Aaron chuckles, putting two and two together. “So this is what you want?”

“Hnngh…” you try, but he slaps your ass. (You swear to God, the next time he walks in front of you on a staircase, you’re smacking him. Right there. Mid-step. He will be humbled. You will have your revenge.) “Yes. Yes. Just- just stay there.”

“Here where?”

“Shut up.”

Another slap.

Another involuntary moan. (Still. Stairs, Hotchner.)

“No, but seriously - your back. You sit like shit. You fuck like a dream, but Jesus, I’m gonna send you to physical therapy myself if you keep collapsing your shoulders like that.”

You whimper into the pillow. Your clit’s caught between the pillow and your cunt clenches hard, slick dripping down your thighs, and you don’t know if you’re closer because of the way he’s choking you or the fact that he just corrected your posture.

“Could you – fuck – could you just talk more?” (There it is. Your final shred of dignity. Cashed. Spent. Gone.)

He hums behind you. “Oh, now you want feedback?” Then he leans down, and suddenly you’re wearing him – coarse salt-and-pepper chest hair scraping your slick back, the full weight of him pushing you down as his cock punches so deep into you, you have to roll your eyes back.

“You want me to tell you how fucking good you feel?” he grits, hips picking up pace, snapping harder now.

You’re not really in the conditions to answer.

Your mouth is open but your brain has blue-screened, locked in a loop of oh my God oh my God oh my fuc-

“God, look at you,” he groans, almost in disbelief, hand splaying across your upper back to keep you down, to stop your writhing. “Making a mess all over my cock. You’re dripping. Absolutely soaking me.”

And oh… you feel it.

The soaked patch you’ve been leaving on the pyjama pants he didn’t even bother taking off - just shoved down far enough to fuck you properly - slapping wetly against your skin every time he drives in.

(You’re naked. He’s half-dressed. Fully dressed, actually…)

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he huffs, and oh - his voice cracks. He’s close. Good. (That’s so hot.) “Taking me so well. Still gripping me like it’s the first time. Letting me fuck you this- this deep- Jesus Christ-“ (Amen.) “I can feel every goddamn pulse-”

His hand slides from your spine to your throat - tightens just enough to send your body into full siren-mode panic, only to twist it into white-hot bliss a second later.

And then the other sneaks between your thighs, fingers already soaked in you, finding your clit like he’s done it a thousand times (you’re still in the double digits) and starts circling. . Fast. Messy. Precise.

The kind of perfect that short-circuits thought. That makes your jaw go slack. That makes your breath catch on the edge of something that isn’t quite a moan, or a cry, or-

It almost slips out.

That thing.

The three-word, soul-ruining thing people only say when they’re either very brave or very stupid. And right now, with his fingers rubbing you and his cock still buried so deep it feels like belonging, you’re dangerously close to being both.

“F-fuck, Aaron-”

“I’ve got you. Let go, sweetheart.”

And you do.

You break. Your thighs tremble, your back arches involuntarily (and Aaron’s too far gone to lecture you about spinal integrity now), and your moan turns guttural and ugly as your orgasm crashes through you - pulling his name from your throat

You clamp down so hard around him he curses, jaw clenched, hips jerking once, twice, then he’s there too.

Hot, deep, choking on his breath as he thrusts into the tight clutch of your pulsing cunt, burying himself to the hilt, spilling inside you in rough, thick spurts that have your body jolting again from the aftershocks.

He groans into your shoulder, mouth open, teeth grazing skin, hips still twitching through the aftershocks - every helpless pulse of him inside you dragging another ripple of heat down your spine, through your thighs, and eventually, shamefully, down onto the sheets.

He doesn’t pull out.

Doesn’t move, really, except to press his chest tighter against your back, as if he’s trying to stay in your skin. Like if he lets go, something might slip - out of him, out of you, out of whatever the hell this is.

His breathing is still a bit ragged, hot and damp against your shoulder, and you feel his lips brush there, once, then again - barely a kiss, just contact.

Just reassurance. Just him not knowing how else to say I needed that. Instead it’s just words not meant to be heard - just soft, scattered nothings that don’t quite form sentences, all of them pressed into your skin.

"You're okay,"

"Got you,"

"So good, baby..."

Over and over. Sweet. Ruined. Honest.

Your chest hurts.

Because he means it.

He’s not thinking about it, he’s just being. And it’s the most terrifyingly beautiful thing he’s ever done to you. You need to ruin it.

“FUCK, that was incredible. Where did you keep all of that?!”

He pauses. You can feel him trying not to laugh.

You roll onto your side, gasping. “No, like, WOW. Wow wow wow, Aaron. Wow. Who are you? What was that? Have you been holding out? Were you possessed? Should I call someone? Is there a hotline?”

You watch the faint blush creep across his cheek as he pushes up onto his elbows, runs a hand through his post-sex hair (sexier than pre-sex hair, somehow), and exhales the most exasperatedly fond sound you’ve ever heard.

“Please don’t call anyone.”

These moments - when he completely misses a joke that any normal adult would clock instantly - really do make you want to climb him like a tree all over again.

But what really gets you? What sets your neurons on fire and your soul on its knees?

The phenomenon - still unstudied, tragically overlooked by science - in which post-sex Aaron becomes the most meticulous, terrifyingly competent man alive.

He doesn’t hesitate. Just materializes a warm cloth from nowhere (possibly interdimensional?), cleans you up with it, straightens the sheets, fluffs the pillows, and tucks you in.

You don’t even know when he grabbed his glasses, but suddenly they’re on his face and you’re on his chest, half-sitting, draped over him.

You might feel shame for being so clingy if he ever said anything about it. But he never does. Not even a snide little quip. Just those small, fond huffs that suggest he’s mostly annoyed at himself for enjoying this so much.

Or, like now, he reaches calmly into his go-bag and pulls out what is undeniably the driest, dustiest, most textbook-looking book you've ever seen in your life.

“Sorry,” he says, settling back against the headboard. “I’ve just got a few chapters left… do you want to pretend to be reading with me?”

Wise choice of words, Agent Hotchner.

Because what you really want is to drown yourself in his pheromones and rub your cheek on his chest hair until your responsibilities disintegrate.

“Wearing those,” you sigh dreamily, eyeing the glasses, the page, the stupid peaceful look on his face, “you can do anything you’d like.”

He shakes his head - fond. Touched.

Probably regretting all his life choices, but not enough to stop.

He flips open the tome, rests it against one bent knee, and starts reading. His finger glides up to his lips every time he turns a page, like he’s savoring each one. Every now and then, he adjusts his glasses.

You watch in awe.

Reverence.

…Horniness.

So you just keep kissing him. Aimless, endless little things - his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, the back of his ear - any patch of skin within a lazy head-turn radius gets worshipped.

“Wow. Wow wow. Aaron. Wow. Wowowowowow.”

He doesn’t even flinch.

Just keeps reading, completely unbothered.

Occasionally hums.

If you’re lucky, he presses a kiss into your hair or the side of your temple - never rushed, always lingering, like he’s sealing something in.

Or if he just does that because he’s an old fuck and that’s how they taught knights to kiss their trembling maidens back in the 1500s.

He looks so… peaceful. Way too peaceful.

Which is immediately suspicious.

You open your mouth, just about to ask, “Can we do it again?” when, without even glancing up from the page, he slides the hand resting on your waist down.

Dips straight into your PJ pants, then your underwear.

Your mouth falls open. Nothing comes out.

Not even the question. He’s already answered it.

He exhales through his nose - completely unbothered - as his index finger starts stroking your clit in the slowest lazy little patterns.

Like fingering you under a blanket mid-biography is just his evening chore before tea and chapter seven. Like he’s got all night. (He probably does.)

(You can’t even moan yet. You’re too busy trying to process the fact that he’s still reading.)

And then, instead of simply licking a finger to turn the page like a normal person, he brings two of those thick fingers to his mouth.

He sucks on them, eyes still fixed on the text, lips closed around his fingers as he coats them in spit. And without ever lifting his gaze, he sinks them deep into you - curling just enough to make your thighs tense around him.

“You think I don’t know the real reason you’re always staring at my hands?”

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @goorgeousz ; @hayleym1234 ; @ignoreeeeeee ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @mxblobby ; @nikt-wazny-y ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softtdaisy ; @softestqueeen ; @thatkidofwarandpeace ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24 ; @who-needs-to-sleep

[hoondrop]

ENHA AND BREEDING KINK

warnings: breeding kink, possessive sunghoon, knocking up, mention of choking, mention of cum play

most of the members have a breeding kink, you can't convince me otherwise however, they lie on different parts of the spectrum and have different reactions to you wanting them to breed you.

heeseung does not want to be too possessive but at times he's unable to contain the feeling, and what better way to channel it than to cum in you.

heeseung is absolutely obsessed with how his cock feels in your pussy and the image of yours and his cum leaking out of your hole. the first time you brought up the idea of unprotected sex and him cumming in you, he envisioned the sight of your eyes rolling back, your nails digging into his skin and the sight of his and your cum dripping out of your hole

and the more he thought about it (he has fantasized about it many times who's he kidding) the more he wanted to try it out. just the thought of him finishing in you had his cock twitching and he couldn't wait to do it.

the first time he fucks you raw, heeseung definitely cums quicker than he does usually. he never thought of himself having a breeding kink but when he sees his release dripping out of your hole, suddenly the vision of you carrying his babies doesn't seem far.

jay may have a few kinks he's shared with you and some that he's holding off until the right time and he is sure that someday in the future he wants to have kids with you, and even though he's big on protection and everything, he is also a hopeless romantic.

so maybe special occasions like birthdays or anniversaries are the exception when he holds you close, whispering confessions and promises of love and a future together with you while he has you in a mating press.

he's fond of the idea but he's not vocal about it as much, maybe a few comments about how pretty you'll look in the future when you carry his kids someday. but right now, he's content with leaving his marks on your body and his load in your hole.

jake. he's what you can call a freak who is obsessed with you and loves to leave you in a mess of his and your spit and cum.

the day you gave him the greenlight to fuck you raw and cum in you, poor baby almost came in his pants on the spot. it felt like christmas came early for him and without wasting any second, he was already tearing his and yours clothes off.

breeding you is the only thing on his mind, and as someone who's also into cum play, he'll finger you, spreading his release all over and around your cunt and then maybe either finger you until you're squirting or maybe he'll lap it all up with his tongue.

all in all, he's a messy freak who loves cumming in you and will go multiple rounds just so he can see your spent cunt dripping with his seed.

sunghoon. honestly, he's one of the most possessive if not the most possessive yet silent about it. it's not about knocking you up but more about claiming ownership of you by making sure your pussy is full of his cum.

and when the day comes when you manage to choke out for him to cum in you, his eyes get darker and he lets out that low chuckle that has your toes curling and your panties dropping..

he'll definitely comment something along the lines of you wanting to be claimed by him so bad that you're toying with the possibility of carrying his babies.. how you're so desperate for him to own you, for everyone to know you're his. he does not want kids for a while but theoretically, he can't wait to knock you up.

sunoo. when it comes to sunoo, having unprotected sex is a sign of trust and complete and utter devotion. he's a very responsible and careful person like jay, and knows how to control himself.

but there are moments where he just wants to be close to you, nothing coming in between the feel of his length. dragging in and out of you at a delicious pace, seeing the ring of your wetness form at the base of his cock.

does he think and whisper about the time when you both have to worry about protection sometime in the future after marriage? yes, he's quite vocal about it especially when he is balls deep in you, pressed in a missionary position, murmuring how he can't wait to take you like this every day.

jungwon. jungwon may seem like he has control over himself, but does he really? not when you're straddling him, sliding your folds along his length, feeling every vein and ridge of his pretty cock.

all resolve and caution is thrown out the window when he looks up at you, his usual boba eyes now glinting with that familiar look. and the second you start moving up and down his length, he doesn't care what the consequences can be.

all he wants, all he needs and all he thinks and pictures is holding you down by your hips as he shoots his cum up into your pussy.

[shy9-29]

Crossroads Romance | p.hs 🩰

pairing: park sunghoon x reader 𐙚🧸ྀི

wc: 19.7k

synopsis: after disappearing for two years, Sunghoon finally comes back as stunning as ever. Rumour has it he has a new girlfriend?

warning: not proof read! p in v, oral f receive, kissing, skin-ship, a bit of reader x heeseung, sexting, masturbating, makeup s.x, angst, smut, degrading, praising, sunghoon being just too perfect

mdni.

During the first two years of university, you had an amazing time. You became very popular, never missed a class, and received daily confessions from boys. Safe to say you were the making campus’ “it” girl.

While your friends were busy dating and having relationships, you were focused on your studies. You didn’t have time for romantic entanglements when you were determined to graduate at the top of your class.

After your boyfriend disappeared without a trace, you stopped believing in love. Even so, you still hold onto a faint hope that someday he will come back for you. In your dreams, you always imagine the day he returns.

Your friends encouraged you to move on and meet someone new, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Every time you saw a happy couple on campus, your thoughts would drift back to him.

Although you have gone on a few dates with attractive men, none have made an impression on you as deeply as Sunghoon once did.

Your heart longed for the connection you had shared with Sunghoon, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that nobody else could fill the void he left behind.

While you were absorbed in your thoughts, a commotion erupted nearby. A group of students had formed a circle around something, blocking your view. Curiosity gnawed at you, and you inched closer to see what was happening.

As you weaved through the curious onlookers, you caught a glimpse of something that took your breath away. Standing in the center of the crowd was none other than Sunghoon.

"I can't believe he's back," one student whispered, their eyes wide with shock.

"Yeah, he had a glow up definitely," another chimed in, their voice tinged with awe.

The murmurs around you grew louder as people discussed his unexpected return. Some whispered about how he had vanished without a trace, while others commented on how good he looked. One thing was unanimous: everyone seemed to be talking about him.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched him from afar. He looked even more captivating than you remembered, and the memories of your past relationship flooded back at full force.

You frantically pushed through the crowd, approaching Sunghoon, whose towering frame loomed over you. To your relief, he appeared surprised to see you.

His eyes widened in surprise when he caught sight of you. A range of emotions flickered across his face, including realization and a hint of guilt. For a brief moment, he hesitated, unsure of how to react.

“y/n?” he finally spoke, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and uncertainty. The sound of his deep, familiar voice stirred up a whirlwind of memories inside of you. It was as if no time had passed at all.

You gazed at him, your mind struggling to process whether he truly stood before you or if it was merely a dream. After a moment, you stuttered a response, "Y-yeah, that's me." Despite the changes over the past two years, you also experienced a significant transformation, enhancing your appearance.

His eyes scanned over you as if seeing you for the first time. His gaze lingered for a moment before his stoic expression softened into a faint smile. He didn’t say anything else, but his eyes seemed to study every detail of your new appearance.

As the moments passed, the murmurs and whispers surrounding you grew louder. The students who had formed the tight circle around Sunghoon were chattering amongst themselves, their voices filling the air. “I can’t believe he’s back,” one student whispered to their friend, their tone tinged with awe.

“What’s y/n doing with him,” another chimed in, their voice tinged with admiration.

Students around you exchanged looks. “I swear, they were practically inseparable back then. Do you think they’re still together?” one student whispered a little louder than intended, causing your ears to perk up.

You impulsively raised your hand, poking his shoulder without thinking. Realizing your action, you swiftly drew your hand back, blushing slightly in embarrassment. “S-sorry..” you muttered, looking away from him. You knew that this time, you weren’t dreaming.

Your sudden poke caused him to flinch, his gaze shifting to you. A brief flash of confusion flickered in his eyes before he replied, “No, it’s fine.” He seemed just as flustered as you were, his usually composed demeanor slipping for a moment.

Among the sea of murmurs and speculation, a bold voice rose above the rest. "Hey, are they still together?" a boy called out from the crowd, his comment drawing everyone's attention.

Sunghoon's eyes darted towards the source of the voice, a flicker of annoyance evident in his gaze. He remained silent, clearly not appreciative of the question being asked in front of others. He was usually more of the shy type, so he waited for you to talk.

You stammered slightly, replying, "I-I don’t... no, I don’t think so." Your words were softly spoken, your voice betraying a hint of uncertainty mixed with a touch of hesitation.

Your response seemed to catch him off guard, a slight furrow appearing on his brow. His expression mirrored the same uncertainty you were trying to convey. The onlookers around them seemed to shift their gazes between the two of you, anticipation hanging in the air.

It was clear that everyone around you was eagerly awaiting some sort of confirmation, hoping to get clarity on the current status of your relationship. Despite the pressure of the moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching out in the air.

As the silence dragged on, the murmurs in the crowd began to die down. One by one, the onlookers slowly dispersed, realizing there was no satisfying answer to their questions. The tension in the air eased ever so slightly as the curious eyes around you moved on to other matters.

The crowd gradually thinned out, leaving you and Sunghoon standing there, facing each other. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by a palpable awkwardness that hung heavy between you.

"So...," you began, your voice quivering with disbelief, still grappling with the reality of the situation. "Where have you been...?" Your voice shook as you voiced the question that had been burning in your mind since his disappearance.

A wave of guilt washed over his face, his eyes averting your gaze. He looked away as he answered, a tinge of shame in his voice, "I was... I was away, y/n."

His response was short, almost dismissive. It was clear that he didn't want to delve deeper into the subject.

Your tone shifted from disbelief to frustration, and you scoffed. "Well it’s pretty obvious you went away," you retorted, the words slipping out more forcefully than intended. "Why and where on earth did you vanish, Sunghoon? I was genuinely worried sick…" Your irritation and concern were evident as you spoke, emphasizing the gravity of his absence and the impact it had on you.

Sunghoon clenched his jaw, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. His mind worked furiously, searching for a way to navigate this situation without revealing too much.

"I just... needed some space," he muttered under his breath, attempting to dismiss your concern with a half-answer.

Frustration bubbled up inside you, and you retorted sternly, "Some space? That's all you have to say after disappearing without a word for two year? You just needed space? You didn’t even bother to text me!”

The words stung as they left your mouth. You hadn't meant to be so blunt, but your pent-up frustration and lingering hurt had overwhelmed you.

He stared at you with a mixture of guilt and resignation, seemingly aware of the pain he had caused you.

Just as your heated exchange reached its peak, the sound of the bell broke through the atmosphere like a sharp alarm, signaling the end of break time. The shrill noise cut through the tension, reminding everyone of their impending classes.

Students around you began to scatter, hastening to their classes. They cast final lingering glances at you and Sunghoon before disappearing into various directions. The once lively spot emptied, leaving only the two of you behind.

As the last of the students hurried away, Sunghoon took advantage of the distraction. "I have class," he mumbled quickly, gesturing vaguely behind him. He was eager to escape the tense situation, and seizing the opportunity afforded by the bell ringing, he began to back away from you.

"Wait, Sunghoon—" you started, reaching out to grab his arm, but his pace had already quickened, and your fingers barely grazed his sleeve before he was out of reach.

—

You waited near the school gate, your eyes continuously scanning the crowded campus for any sign of him. Frustration gnawed at you as the clock ticked away, knowing that he had actively avoided you all day.

You released a weary sigh as you approached the table occupied by your popular “friends” and collapsed onto the seat beside Kazuha. She glanced at you and remarked with a teasing tone, "You look like you just crawled back from hell." Looking up, you saw her taking a bite out of her granola bar. "What's the matter?"

You groaned in response, feeling the exhaustion seeping into your bones. "Sunghoon’s back after disappearing on everyone for two years," you muttered, slumping in your seat. It had been a long day filled with frustration and disappointment, and the last thing you wanted to deal with was Kazuha's playful teasing.

Another girl, Chaewon, joined in the conversation and added, "I heard he's like, super hot now." Her comment carried a hint of curiosity and intrigue, implying that Sunghoon's appearance had undergone changes that had caught their attention.

The news of Sunghoon’s appearance change didn’t surprise you. After all, two years had passed since he vanished, and it made sense that he would have grown and matured during that time. Nevertheless, a pang of jealousy flared within you as your friends continued discussing his newfound attractiveness.

Kazuha's words hung in the air as she asked, "Wait, so you two aren't together anymore, right?" You shook your head in confirmation, signaling the end of your relationship with Sunghoon. "Okay, good because me and Kazuha were walking around the field earlier in the day, and it low-key seemed like he was making out with someone. It was like, very intense," Chaewon stated, her words laced with both concern and scandalized fascination.

Their revelation hit you like a wave of disappointment and confusion. It stung to hear that Sunghoon was involved with someone else so soon after his return.

The image of him making out with another girl haunted your mind, stirring up a mix of jealousy and sadness within you.

"He… He was making out with someone…?" you repeated, the words escaping your lips in a hushed whisper.

Both girls nodded their heads delicately, signaling their agreement and empathy. There was a hint of concern in Kazuha's voice as she remarked, "Kinda feel bad for you though. We know you loved him a lot." Their words carried a tinge of compassion, acknowledging your deep feelings for him.

Their understanding words seemed to offer little solace in the face of this new information. Even so, you appreciated their concern.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you tried to push past the emotional pain. "It’s fine," you murmured, attempting to hide the hurt behind a brave facade. "It’s been two years since we broke up. I’ve moved on."

Chaewon, however, expressed her disbelief with a scoff. She shook her head at the notion of you moving on and declared, "You? Moved on? Impossible!"

Her dismissive tone struck a nerve, making you bristle with annoyance. It was true that moving on was not something you had accomplished easily, but you didn’t appreciate your friend calling it impossible.

"I swear, you might as well still be together," she insisted, her words like a sharp poke to your sensitive nerve. "You don't just ‘move on’ from someone you fell in love with so quickly. It's been two years, but you still can't bring yourself to date anyone new."

A mixture of curiosity and jealousy coursed through your veins. Despite the pang of heartache, you couldn’t help but feel compelled to ask.

You turned to your friends and inquired, with a touch of hesitation, "Did that girl he was making out with... was she, you know, pretty?"

“Uh, I mean I guess she is,” Chaewon said, her tone full of sass. “But you’re definitely prettier.”

Kazuha hummed and nods her head in agreement. “And if he lost feelings for you, his loss.”

Their words were meant to be comforting, but they only deepened your sense of inadequacy. It felt like a painful reminder that despite how much you still cared for him, he had chosen someone else.

Their encouragement didn’t have the desired effect. Instead, it left you feeling more wounded and vulnerable.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, and you sank further into your seat.

"Yeah, it’s his loss," you echoed, mustering a weak smile in response to their attempt to uplift you. But deep inside, the knowledge that he had moved on with another girl still stung like a fresh wound.

“Just guys being guys you know,” Chaewon scoffed, probably thinking back of an old ex of hers.

You knew all too well the nature of guys and their tendencies. Despite your past relationship with Sunghoon, the idea of him quickly moving on with someone else stung.

"Yeah, guys being guys," you murmured, trying to keep the bitterness out of your tone.

Days passed, and you tried to keep yourself occupied with classes, studying, and hanging out with your friends. However, no amount of distractions could erase the lingering thoughts of Sunghoon and the mysterious girl he had been making out with. The mystery girl was now always on your mind, and the thought of her ignited a fire of jealousy deep within you.

The days dragged on, each passing moment only intensifying your curiosity and resentment. You found yourself constantly picturing the girl in your mind, wondering what she looked like, what her laughter sounded like, and what qualities had drawn him towards her.

As the days progressed, your interactions with Sunghoon remained awkward and fleeting. Despite being in the same popular crowd, your paths seldom crossed. However, whenever your eyes did meet across the room or hallway, the tension in the air was tangible.

Despite your best efforts, it felt impossible to escape him. You found yourself constantly surrounded by reminders of him. In conversations with your friends, in whispers in the hallways, and even in the occasional glimpse of him in passing, it felt like he was always there, always invading your thoughts.

One day, Kazuha and Chaewon approached you as you organized your belongings in your locker. With a curious tone, Chaewon inquired, "You coming to the winter dance?" Her question invited your participation in the upcoming event.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind instantly going to the thought of Sunghoon being there. Despite your desire to avoid him, you couldn't deny that you were usually the center of attention at such events because of your popularity.

"I don't know," you replied, still contemplating whether to attend or not.

Kazuha continued in a pleading tone, "Come onnnnn," emphasizing her desire for your presence. She added, "I bet that mysterious girl Sunghoon made out with will be there. Or you can confront him right there and then!" Her words implied intrigue and the potential for confrontation or resolution at the upcoming dance.

The idea of confronting him and finding out more about his mysterious girl was tempting. Your curiosity continued to gnaw at you.

"I guess so..." you finally agreed, though your mind was still swirling with unresolved emotions and questions.

Their faces both lit up, indicating their satisfaction with your decision. Kazuha gave you a reassuring pat on the back, "Atta girl." Chaewon smirked, her eyes gleaming with anticipation for the drama that might unfold.

Kazuha raised a brow and inquired, "You have someone to go with though, right?" Her question confirmed your companion for the dance, expressing curiosity about your plans and the company you intended to keep.

The mention of a partner made you realize that you hadn’t considering bringing a date with you. Your mind began racing, contemplating who you could potentially bring.

"Uh, no... not yet," you admitted, somewhat embarrassed by your lack of plans in that regard.

Kazuha hummed at your answer at she looked like she was deep in her thoughts. “Okay well if Sunghoon potentially has a new girlfriend, you’re going to need a ‘boyfriend’ as well to make it equal to seek like you’re not still into him..”

A slight blush tinged your cheeks as you considered the idea of finding a “boyfriend” to even the playing field. The thought of pretending to be in a relationship with someone just to compete with Sunghoon was a bit embarrassing.

"I don’t know, it feels a bit… not authentic, you know?" you retorted, though there was a hint of curiosity in your tone.

“Okay..” Kazuha reponded. “Well you don’t need to *have* a boyfriend, you just need to make it seem like you do.. maybe like a pretend?”

Your eyebrows furrowed in thought, considering Kazuha’s suggestion. The idea of pretending to have a boyfriend for appearance sake was both intriguing and somewhat amusing.

"How exactly would that work?" you asked, a touch of skepticism in your voice.

“It’s simple. Just find a good looking guy to be your fake boyfriend and pretend you’re in love in front of Sunghoon.” Kazuha replied, her words tinged with confidence and a hint of mischief.

A mix of curiosity and hesitation brewed within you. The idea of having a fake relationship solely to play mind games with Sunghoon felt a bit manipulative.

"That feels kinda dishonest, don’t you think?" you remarked, wrestling with your conflicting emotions.

Chaewon couldn't hide her disbelief and frustration. With a dramatic roll of her eyes, she expressed disapproval at your apparent naïveté. "Seriously, you think it's okay that Sunghoon vanished without a trace for two years and now returns with a girlfriend? Wake up and face reality, y/n!" Her words were firm and tinged with disappointment.

Chaewon's sharp words pierced through your hesitation, awakening a spark of anger and defiance within you. It was difficult to deny the injustice of the situation, but your heart still yearned for a genuine connection.

"You don’t understand-" you began to protest, frustration seeping into your voice.

Chaewon grew more frustrated with your reluctance and added, "Y/n, you need to stop being so self-absorbed and go along with our plan. Don't you think you at least deserved an explanation from him after he ghosted everyone for two years?" Her sigh conveyed a mix of resignation and annoyance, emphasizing her frustration at your stubbornness.

The weight of her words hit you hard. Guilt and frustration collided within your thoughts—you couldn’t deny that you felt wronged by his disappearance. Chaewon made valid points, making it difficult to dismiss her perspective.

You bit your lip, the realization of the complexity sinking in.

"I guess you’re right... I do deserve an explanation," you conceded.

Chaewon crossed her arms, her expression shifting from annoyance to satisfaction at your eventual agreement. "So you’re in, right?" she asked, her tone tinged with a hint of victory, hoping for your full commitment to the plan.

you remained silent for a moment, wrestling with your lingering doubts. However, the desire for clarity and a sense of payback against Sunghoon overwhelmed your reservations.

Finally, you took a deep breath and nodded, "Okay, I’m in."

You had your sights set on a guy named Heeseung. Though he wasn't extremely popular, you had to admit he was quite attractive. With fair skin, dark hair, and a tall stature, he met all the physical criteria you sought. The only step left was convincing him to play the role of your fake boyfriend for a day at the winter dance.

Your mind raced with thoughts and questions as you mulled over how to approach the proposition to Heeseung. Despite already admitting the plan to Kazuha and Chaewon, doubts still gnawed at you.

Would he even agree to something so absurd? You wondered.

As you navigated the bustling hallway, you caught a glimpse of Heeseung through the crowd. The confidence and determination within you prompted your pursuit. With a subtle yet steady pace, you weaved through the sea of students until you found yourself standing before Heeseung, who had taken a pause to scroll through his phone.

"Heeseung," you called out, your voice projecting a mixture of nervousness and conviction.

Heeseung flinched slightly at the sound of his name, his attention snapping up from his phone. surprise etched across his face as he recognized you.

"Y/n?" His voice held a hint of question, probably wondering what prompted your sudden approach.

You could tell he was getting flustered around you; almost every guy in the university did. You took a brief moment to compose yourself before speaking, trying to mask the subtle tremors in your voice.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" you asked, hoping he didn't detect the hint of desperation.

His eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, as if he sensed the seriousness of your request.

"Sure, what's up?" he replied, his voice tinged with caution.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts.

"So... I have a big favor to ask," you began, trying to sound casual despite the intensity of your request.

Heeseung raised his brows curiously, his attention fully on you.

"A favor?" he echoed, his tone laced with intrigue.

You swallowed hard, hoping he wouldn't dismiss your request outright.

"Yeah... I'm attending the winter dance, and I need a date..." you trailed off, anticipating how he would respond.

A hint of surprise flashed in his eyes as he registered your unexpected request.

"Oh, uh..." His voice wavered slightly, a subtle hint of uncertainty seeping through, before he composed himself. "Are you asking me?"

Your heart skipped a beat, both nervous and hopeful that he would agree. You nodded hesitantly, hoping he wouldn't reject you on the spot.

"Yes... I was wondering if you could be my date for the dance," you confessed, your voice laced with a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability.

He glanced away for a moment, seemingly mulling over your proposition. The silence felt like an eternity to you, your anxiety mounting with each passing second.

Finally, he met your gaze once more, his expression unreadable.

"Why me?" he finally questioned, his voice tinged with curiosity.

You'd anticipated this question, expecting a reasonable explanation would be necessary.

"Well, there are a few reasons," you began, trying to sound assured.

"First, we kind of know each other," you started, hoping to build a case based on familiarity, "And, uh, you're pretty decent-looking..." Your words spilled out awkwardly, your confidence faltering.

A faint blush colored his cheeks, but whether it was from the unexpected compliment or embarrassment, you couldn't tell.

"Okay, those are fair points... but there has to be more, right?" He raised a brow, skepticism evident in his tone.

As you scrambled for more substantial reasons, you remembered Chaewon's words.

"And, um, I need someone trustworthy to be my date," you added quickly, the lie leaving a bad taste in your mouth.

He raised a brow, clearly sensing the hidden agenda behind your response.

"Trustworthy? Why's that?" he probed further, seeking a more satisfying explanation.

You pleaded with Heeseung, imploring, "Just—just do this for me, please?" You managed to get the necessary words out of your mouth, though they left a bitter taste.

"I genuinely believe you're a handsome guy with a great personality, and I'd really love for you to be my partner at the dance..." The words felt foreign and contrived as they escaped your lips, causing an uncomfortable shiver to run down your spine.

Heeseung observed you with an intense gaze, studying your demeanor. He could sense something deeper at play, but whether he believed your explanation remained uncertain.

"Alright," he finally relented, though his voice held a hint of suspicion. "Fine, I'll be your date for the dance."

A mix of relief and anxiety washed over you as he agreed, though the undertone of doubt lingered in his tone. You forced a smile, attempting to disguise your discomfort.

"Thanks, Heeseung," you replied, managing to sound somewhat grateful despite the knot of guilt in your stomach.

“Wait—“ Heeseung spoke up as you turned to leave. “Are you asking me out solely for the dance, or is there something more to it?" His words hung in the air, seeking clarity about your intentions.

Caught off guard, you paused and turned back to face him, trying to maintain composure.

"Why would you think that?" you responded evasively, hoping he wouldn't delve deeper into your true motive.

Heeseung's face flushed with embarrassment as he hesitantly confessed, "I've liked you for quite some time, y/n." His words stumbled out adorably, revealing his hidden feelings.

Your eyes widened in surprise at his bold declaration. The confession caught you off guard, especially since you had assumed he was aware of your ulterior motives.

"You...like me?" The words left your lips in a mix of confusion and disbelief, wondering if you had heard him correctly.

Heeseung chuckled and responded to your question, "Isn't it obvious? Pretty much every guy here is into you." His tone carried a hint of amusement, as if acknowledging the apparent popularity you held among the male population.

Your cheeks flushed at his remark, realizing the truth in his words. Your popularity among the guys was no secret, but having it acknowledged so matter-of-factly left you slightly embarrassed.

You conceded, reluctantly agreeing, "I suppose it could be more than just a one-time thing..." Despite not truly feeling the same, you forced yourself to say the words, knowing it was an act.

He raised a brow skeptically, seemingly sensing your wavering conviction.

"That didn't sound very convincing," he pointed out, a subtle hint of accusation in his tone.

You insisted, "I promise I'm being honest." Perhaps getting to know Heeseung better could actually help you move on from Sunghoon. After all, he apparently had a new girlfriend now, so it was likely he had moved on as well.

He examined you, his gaze penetrating your facade. The skepticism remained evident in his expression, but he didn't push further, a hint of resignation in his voice.

"If you say so... I'll trust you."

You smiled and confirmed, "Great! So, Friday at 6?”

He nodded, still somewhat uncertain.

"Sure…" he agreed, his voice trailing off, unable to shake off the unease.

—

Over the past few days, you got Heeseung's contact info and occasionally chatted with him. He was funny and kind, reminding you of a less shy version of Sunghoon. Using this connection, you tried to distract yourself from thoughts of Sunghoon, and it seemed to be gradually working.

Time seemed to fly by with the newfound company. Despite Heeseung's playful and sometimes teasing demeanor, getting to know him became a pleasant distraction from your past and a glimmer of hope for the future.

Heeseung, being the playful flirt that he is, often slips in subtle compliments, saying things like, "Wow y/n, so pretty today huh?" He loves to catch you off guard with unexpected winks and playful banter, trying to get a reaction out of you. Whenever he has the chance, he'll poke fun at your cuteness, saying, "You're too adorable when you get flustered, you know that?"

Sunghoon had become somewhat more elusive to you, and the only times you caught a glimpse of him these days were in passing within the bustling university hallways or outside on campus grounds.

With each fleeting sight of him, a mix of emotions coursed through you, stirring an uncomfortable blend of nostalgia and pain, as if your past memories with him came flooding back in sharp clarity.

As the evening of the winter dance finally arrived, a mix of anticipation and unease stirred within you. The crowd buzzed with excitement, creating a vibrant atmosphere. The decorations were grand, the music was upbeat and energetic, and couples swarmed the dance floor, immersed in the festivities.

You held onto Heeseung's arm as you eagerly guided him toward your group of friends. Grinning, you introduced him to Kazuha and Chaewon, your closest companions. "Kazuha, Chaewon, meet Heeseung," you said cheerfully, turning towards him. Noticeably shy at first, Heeseung nodded a timid greeting before offering a soft smile in response.

Your friends observed him, seemingly intrigued by your choice of company.Chaewon's brow arched as she looked him up and down, giving him a once-over.

"So, Heeseung, huh?" she remarked, her tone hinting at curiosity.

Heeseung fidgeted a little under their gazes, somewhat intimidated but trying to maintain a casual demeanor. "Yeah, that's me," he replied, forcing a slight chuckle to lighten the tension.

Kazuha studied him for a moment, a small smirk playing at her lips.

"Nice to meet you," she said, her tone laced with an underlying layer of assessment.

He nodded, returning the greeting with an uneasy smile, still somewhat unsettled by your friend's scrutinizing gazes. You sensed his discomfort and squeezed his arm reassuringly, offering silent support.

You continued conversing with your friends and Heeseung, but you found yourself unable to shake the sensation of someone's gaze upon you. It wasn't unusual for you to receive attention, considering your popularity, yet this time, something felt distinct.

Subtly glancing around the room, your eyes caught sight of Sunghoon, staring at you with an expressionless face, calmly sipping what appeared to be alcohol. Their gazes briefly met until he averted his eyes just as quickly, returning his focus to his group of friends. Despite his apparent nonchalance, you could still sense his lingering stare fixated upon you.

As your gaze met Sunghoon's, a mix of emotions surged within you—hurt, confusion, maybe even a hint of longing. The sight of him, casually engaging with his friends, stirred old memories, and a pang of disappointment hit you when he quickly averted his gaze.

You tried to focus on the conversation with your friends, but the lingering intensity of Sunghoon's stare weighed heavily on you. You couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind.

As the night progressed, the room seemed to grow hotter, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Despite your efforts to enjoy yourself with Heeseung and your friends, you couldn't shake off the sensation of Sunghoon's eyes following you.

Each time your gaze subtly grazed in his direction, his cold, emotionless stare met yours. It was as if he had an uncanny ability to find you in the crowd, always observing from afar.

As the night wore on and the crowd thinned, Kazuha and Chaewon excused themselves to meet their respective dates. Heeseung, taking notice of your situation, turned to you with a suggestion.

He leaned in slightly, his voice carrying over the noise, "I'm going to grab some drinks. Want something?"

You hesitated for a moment, considering the option.

"Yeah, sure," you replied, trying to sound casual. "Just be quick."

He nodded and turned to leave, leaving you standing alone for a moment. Your gaze lingered in the direction where Sunghoon was sitting, but he wasn’t there. His friends were still there, but he wasn’t..

Your mind wandered, wondering why he had left without explaining.

"Did he go to the bathroom?" you muttered to yourself, trying to brush off the sudden unease within you.

A few moments later, Heeseung returned with two plastic cups in hand, the clear liquid within glimmering under the dancing lights. He handed you one, his smile subtle yet warm.

Taking the cup from him, you thanked him. As you took a sip, the slight bitter taste of the alcohol hit your tastebuds, but it was smooth enough not to burn your throat.

With some more drinks, you found yourself feeling increasingly hazy and woozy. Heeseung seemed to be in the same state, his eyes heavy with intoxication. At that very moment, his appearance held a certain allure, exuding an almost irresistible kissable aura.

Heeseung's normally charming demeanor had now taken on a different aura, fueled by the intoxicating effects of the alcohol. His eyes, usually bright and expressive, now held a mysterious allure, leaving you captivated and drawn towards him. The alcohol seemed to elevate the chemistry between you, making all the senses heightened and creating an intense pull in the air.

Heeseung's movements became more fluid and relaxed, his inhibitions lowered by the influence of alcohol. His gaze locked onto you, his eyes half-lidded, a sultry smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Heeseung's hand found its way to your waist, gently pulling you closer. Despite your slightly unsteady state, he managed to steady himself against a nearby wall. "You look good tonight," he whispered as he leaned in slightly, his voice holding a hint of huskiness.

The proximity of his body to yours sent a subtle shiver down your spine, the warmth of his touch igniting a spark of chemistry. Your mind felt a little hazy, the alcohol further blurring the lines of control.

As he leaned against the wall, pulling you closer, the words escaped his lips in a soft whisper. "So pretty tonight," he repeated, his voice carrying a hint of sensuality that sent a jolt through your core.

You couldn't help but blush, the mix of emotions and alcohol creating a confusing whirlwind of sensations. His hand tightened on your waist, a possessive gesture that sent a subtle shiver through your body. You met his gaze hesitantly, unsure of what to do next.

As Heeseung's gaze held yours, your inhibitions grew weaker. Your heart pounded in your chest, the alcohol in your system making you bolder. Unable to resist any longer, you leaned forward, closing the small distance between you. Your lips met his, a moment of undeniable chemistry igniting between you.

At first, Heeseung seemed surprised by your unexpected boldness, but he quickly reciprocated the kiss, his hand sliding to your lower back and pulling you closer against him. The air grew hotter, charged with a potent mix of desire and intoxication.

The intensity of the kiss left you breathless, but as soon as you came to your senses, guilt and regret flooded your mind. Your heart pounded with the realization of what you had just done. Without hesitation, you pulled back abruptly, breaking the heated moment.

The overwhelming guilt and the alcohol in your system made it difficult to think clearly, so without a word, you quickly pushed away from Heeseung and made a beeline toward the exit.

As you suddenly pulled away from the kiss, Heeseung, still somewhat intoxicated, tried to comprehend the sudden shift in tone. With a confused expression, he called out to you, his voice a mixture of concern and confusion.

"Hey, wait! Where are you going?" He tried to grab your wrist, attempting to prevent you from leaving.

The alcohol in his system impaired his coordination, and he stumbled a little as he grasped your wrist, trying to keep you from bolting. His grip was firm, a desperate attempt to keep you from running away.

But your mind was set on escape, the guilt and shame coursing through your veins. His hand around your wrist felt like a burning weight, a reminder of the mistake, you feared you had made.

With a pang of guilt and determination, you yanked your wrist away, breaking free from his grip and fleeing without a backward glance. You felt your heart racing at this new side of Heeseung you never knew.

Heeseung, still slightly intoxicated and stunned by your abrupt actions, was determined not to let you escape so easily.

Despite your attempt to break free, he didn't back down. Instead, he tightened his grip on your wrist and pulled you back toward him, pulling you into the nearest washroom.

In a sudden burst of passion, he locked the door, pressing you against the solid surface. "I—I shouldn't have kissed you..." you muttered timidly, apprehensively anticipating his reactions. "Do you know how long I've been yearning, craving for that to happen?" He responded, visibly confused and hurt by your words. "What do you mean you shouldn't have kissed me?"

There was a hint of desperation in his tone, his voice tinged with pain.

He continued, his grip on your wrist still strong, pinning you against the wall. "All this time I've been waiting, hoping, praying for a moment like that to happen. And now you say it was a mistake?"

Before you could even utter a word in response, Heeseung acted swiftly, grasping your wrists with a single hand and pinning them above you, his grip firm yet filled with desire. Without a moment's hesitation, he leaned in, kissing you harshly.

His actions were driven by a mix of desperation and passion, his kiss forceful and dominant. The taste of his lips was a potent mix of alcohol and lingering sweetness, a mixture that only seemed to fuel the intensity of the moment. He didn't let you withdraw, pressing himself against you, the wall serving as a solid barrier behind you.

Heeseung forcefully held onto your wrists, keeping you firmly in place. He then trailed kisses down your neck, using his other hand to cover your mouth, muffling any cries for help that might alert others. “You shouldn’t have done that y/n,” he chuckled against your ear. “Look what you’ve got yourself into.”

A shiver ran down your spine as his deep, husky voice murmured against your ear. The combination of his firm grip on your wrists, combined with his hand over your mouth, left you feeling both powerless and helpless.

The way he continued to nuzzle against your neck only heightened the intoxicating mixture of confusion and desire. His words cut through the haze, a reminder that your actions had consequences.

Heeseung continued to trail kisses down your neck, savoring your scent with every gentle press of his lips against your skin.

"You smell so good..." he murmured in between soft kisses, his voice filled with a mixture of admiration and yearning. “Let me guess, Prada?”

His breath was warm against your skin as he moved to the side, trailing his lips along your cheek. "it is, isn't it?" Heeseung's nose lingered near your collarbone, breathing in your scent deeply, as if trying to memorize it. “Looks like we have the same taste in brands too huh?”

You attempted to move your head away from him, but he only responded by putting more force on your writs, causing you to whimper in response. "Ah-ah y/n," he murmured, a hint of warning in his voice, "don't try to do that..."

Heeseung's tone was firm and authoritative, sending a chill down your spine. The strength in his grip on your wrists reinforced his dominant position, leaving you no choice but to submit to his will.

Suddenly, the sound of the unlock of the bathroom door echoed through the space, jarring both you and Heeseung out of the moment. Without hesitation, whoever opened the door barged into the washroom.

Under normal circumstances, any observer would likely assume your current situation to be two weirdos doing something kinky.

However, Sunghoon knew you well enough to understand your body language. He could recognize the fear etched upon your eyes, perceiving your expressions as genuine distress rather than simulated passion.

His gaze shifted towards your widened eyes and trembling lips, noticing the subtle hints of fear and desperation etched upon your face.

The sound of the door unlocking had shattered any illusion, and he knew instantly that this was not a consensual situation you were willingly participating in.

Heeseung, too occupied with his fixation on you, was oblivious to the sudden intrusion. His grip on your wrists remained firm, his lips still pressed against your neck, unaware that someone had walked in.

Without a moment's hesitation, Sunghoon yanked Heeseung away from you, his fingers firmly gripping the collar of Heeseung's shirt, pulling him away from your trembling form.

Heeseung stumbled slightly as he was forcibly pulled away, surprised by the sudden intervention.

His eyes widened as he met Sunghoon's gaze, a mix of annoyance and defiance in his expression. "What the hell are you doing?" He snapped, attempting to shake off Sunghoon's grip.

Sunghoon's grip on his collar tightened, his tone sharp as steel. "Get off of her," he growled, his eyes locking onto Heeseung's with a chilling intensity. "Now."

Heeseung responded with a snarl, his words dripping with resentment. "And why do you care? You abandoned everyone, including your girlfriend, for two whole years, and now you show up out of no where playing hero?"

Sunghoon's jaw clenched at Heeseung's accusation, but he didn't back down. "That doesn't change the fact that what you're doing right now is wrong," he retorted, his grip never loosening. "She's clearly uncomfortable, and you're still holding onto her. Let go."

Heeseung's stubborn attitude persisted, refusing to budge. He scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. "And what makes you think you have a right to intervene? You were never there for her when she needed you."

Sunghoon clenched his jaw, the weight of Heeseung's words sinking in. "That's not the point," he replied through gritted teeth. "The point is that you're taking advantage of her right now, and I'm not going to just stand by and let that happen."

Despite Heeseung's reluctance to back down, Sunghoon's grip on Heeseung's collar grew firmer, his voice dripping with determination. "Let go, or I swear, I'll make you let go." As he spoke, the intensity in his eyes grew more pronounced, a clear warning that he was dead serious.

Heeseung, sensing the seriousness in Sunghoon's tone, reluctantly released his grip on your wrists, his grip loosening.

You could practically feel the tension in the air as Heeseung reluctantly let go, his grip slackening, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Your wrists were sore from his tight hold, and every nerve in your body felt raw.

Finally free from his grasp, you took a moment to compose yourself, your thoughts still a chaotic whirlwind of confusion and fear. However, the sight of Sunghoon standing there, having come to your rescue, stirred a mix of emotions within you.

Heeseung, feeling the weight of the situation, reluctantly released you, his grip loosening. Without a word of apology or explanation, Heeseung swiftly straightened his clothes and brushed past Sunghoon, walking out of the washroom without looking back.

You tried to say something, but Sunghoon left before you could speak. “Sunghoon, wait!” But he doesn’t. He just kept going. You were left wondering what had just happened. The air was heavy with uncertainty, leaving you feeling confused and full of unanswered questions.

As Sunghoon walked away, his footsteps fading in the distance, you stood there, feeling overwhelmed by the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. The air hung heavy with uncertainty, and a million questions swirled through your mind. What had just transpired? Why did he simply walk away without saying a word?

You call a taxi back to your dorm, not being able to focus in your drunken state. The whole time you were focused on what just happened back in the washroom. Finally, you arrived home, kicking off your shoes as you slouched down on the couch. Pulling out your phone you see 3 missed calls from Kazuha. You sigh as you turn your phone off, hurrying your face into a pillow, screaming inside of it.

The silence of your room was heavy, the weight of your thoughts and the memory of the events of the night settling heavily upon you. You sank onto the couch, burying your face in a nearby pillow as you let out a stifled scream, desperately trying to release the pent-up emotions from the night.

The thought of calling Sunghoon has came up once or twice, but you never ended up doing so. You then wondered why you didn’t see his ‘girlfriend’ there with him. Maybe Kazuha and Chaewon saw someone else that looked like Sunghoon? That had to be it.

The questions continued to swirl in your mind, and the image of Sunghoon's expressionless face as he left the washroom haunted your thoughts. Why had he simply left without a word, leaving you standing there confused and overwhelmed?

Just as you doze off from your drunken state, you saw Sunghoon’s caller ID on your phone as it rang on the bedside table. You quickly sat up, unplugging your phone as you picked it up. “Hello??” You answered, a feeling of both worry and excitement creeping on you. “Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon, sounding weary yet relieved, answered in a hushed tone. "Y/n, finally, you picked up."

You heard low, heavy breaths on the line for a few moments before a deep voice responded, "y/n..." The words were slurred with a hint of intoxication, betraying his state of inebriation.

The realization that he was not completely sober sent a pang of disappointment through your chest. A part of you had hoped for a clear, sober conversation, but it seemed fate had other plans.

“Hello?? Sunghoon, are you okay?” You asked with worry. Did he get hurt? Was he in trouble? Was he finally going to tell you why he was gone for so long. No, he didn’t do any of that. “Y/n.. just, just keep talking for me..”

He sighed heavily into the phone, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation. "Just...please talk to me. I need to hear your voice."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a confusing mix of concern, relief, and a strange pang of longing coursing through you. Something about hearing his voice, even in its drunken state, stirred deep emotions within you. "Okay, Sunghoon," you replied softly, your voice tinged with a touch of resignation, "I'll keep talking."

Sunghoon let out a sigh of relief, his tone now tinged with vulnerability. "Okay..." He paused for a moment, heavy panting noises were heard before continuing. "I just...I need to hear you talk y/n."

His words hung in the air, almost as if he was seeking something more than just the sound of your voice. There was a vulnerability in his tone that tugged at your heartstrings. "Alright," you responded, your voice tinged with a hint of concern, "I'm here, I'm listening. What do you want me to say?"

The sound of a muffled groan reached your ears, followed by Sunghoon's request, his voice tinged with desperation, "Anything—just keep talking for me..."

The raw emotion in his voice, tinged with need, sent a shiver down your spine. You took a deep breath, feeling a strange mix of concern and confusion. What was happening? Why did he want to hear you talking so badly, especially in his state of inebriation?

Your concern and confusion blended together as you asked, "Sunghoon, what are you doing?" You moved to a sitting position on your bed, allowing your legs to dangle.

There was a moment of silence before he finally responded, his voice slurred with intoxication. "I just... I had a rough night, y/n. I needed to hear your voice, to know you're real."

The pieces quickly started to fall into place as you heard him swear under his breath, and his labored breaths grew even more labored. Suddenly, realization struck: you knew exactly what was happening on the other end of the call.

A mix of concern and embarrassment washed over you as you gradually understood the situation. It seemed like Sunghoon was in a vulnerable state, and hearing the strained sound of his breathing made everything clearer. "Sunghoon," you began softly, a twinge of worry in your voice, "Are you... are you alone right now?"

"Yeah, I'm alone…" he murmured lowly, heavy breaths still audible in the background. “Why?”

You took a second in to process what was going on before you finally answered him. “Are you..” you pause. Was it too risky? No, fuck it.

“Are you jerking off..?”

Sunghoon froze for a moment, the heavy breathing suddenly coming to an abrupt halt. You could almost sense the surprise and panic on the other end of the line, the silence growing thick with tension. After a brief pause, he finally responded, his voice strained, "I— uh… yes."

He didn't deny it or try to hide the truth, his response confirming your suspicion. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, your mind swimming with confusion and conflicting emotions. What was he thinking? Why was he doing this? Why did he call you in the midst of such a personal moment?

His plea came through the line, his speech heavy with breathlessness, "Just—just keep talking for me, y/n..." The air of desperation was palpable in his tone, making it clear that he was engaged in something physical. “I’m so close, please…”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you winced inwardly at his bluntness. The sounds of his breath and the desperate tone of his voice were hard to ignore. You felt a mixture of conflicting emotions, torn between concern, confusion, and a strange pang of sadness. "Sunghoon, I… I don’t understand," you finally managed to say, your own voice wavering. "Why are you asking me to talk to you while you… do that?"

The desperation in his voice intensified as he pleaded with you, his tone pleading, "Y/n, y/n please... please just keep talking for me, be a good girl and keep talking..."

The words stung like a burn, and you felt a strange mix of frustration and helplessness. Your concern for him was growing, and the conflicting feelings coursing through you added to your inner turmoil. "But, Sunghoon… I can't just sit here listening to this. This... it feels weird, and I don't know what to say," you replied, your voice shaking.

His voice became more commanding as he requested, "Tell me... tell me how much you missed me when I was gone, tell me y/n." The intensity in his tone indicated that he wanted, if not outright demanded, a specific response from you.

Your heart skipped a beat at the command in his voice, and a wave of uncertainty washed over you. Missing him wasn't the issue, but the request felt almost manipulative in this situation. "Sunghoon..." you began, your voice strained, "I can't just say it like that. It doesn't feel right. Don't do this to me right now."

“Y/n…” he groaned, almost wet slapping noise heard in the background now. “Do you want me to turn on my camera??”

The words hit you like a cold bucket of water, the sound in the background only adding to the intensity of the situation.

Alarm bells rang in your head, and you felt a surge of panic. "What? No, don’t do that!" You quickly responded, your voice laced with alarm and frustration. "Why are you even asking that? I don’t want to see—"

Too late.

Before you could finish your sentence and protest further, the sound of a call request beeped on your phone, his name appearing at the top. Your heart leaped into your throat as your suspicion was confirmed—he was requesting a video call.

Your mind raced, torn between the feeling of not wanting to see what was happening and the lingering curiosity, possibly concern for what he was doing to himself. With a trembling hand, you hesitated before finally accepting the call, the screen filling with his image.

The sight of him on your screen was a shock. He was shirtless, his chest heaving heavily, his body exposed and vulnerable. The sight made your heart skip a beat, and you felt a pang of mixed emotions. He was sweating, biting his lip, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of lust and desperation.

“Oh shit,” he muttered under his breath, realizing the camera was focused on him, not what he wanted you to see, so he flips the camera.

There were no words to describe the wave of conflicting emotions coursing through you as the camera flipped around. You could only watch, heart pounding, as he adjusted the angle, revealing a perspective that made your stomach twist with unease. You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say or do as the reality of the situation sunk in even deeper.

His veiny throbbing manhood was leaking with pre-cum as he used one hand to stroke it up and down as the other one is used to hold the camera. “Y/n, keep talking for me..” he pleaded in a low raspy tone. “Please..”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, your mind racing, struggling to process the visual unfolding before you on the screen. The sight was both shocking and overwhelming, and you felt lost for words.

The desperation in Sunghoon’s voice was palpable, his plea hanging in the air, and your heart ached with conflicting emotions. "Please, y/n," he begged once more, "Just keep talking to me."

Each breath you took was heavy, and the words stuck in your throat. The mixture of concern and confusion warred within you, leaving you speechless. How did you end up in this situation? Why were you even on the phone with him, witnessing this intimate moment?

Your eyes darted between the screen and your own hands, feeling helpless and overwhelmed. "Sunghoon," you finally managed to speak, your voice trembling, "Why are you doing this? Why did you ask me to talk to you while… while you're… doing this?"

The plea in your voice was evident, the raw mix of emotions seeping through. "Please, y/n, just keep talking… I need you right now," Sunghoon urged, his voice heavy with vulnerability and desperation.

He repeated the question once again, his words tinged with a sense of insistence, "Are you looking? Looking?" followed by clarification, "Looking at your screen, at what my camera is focused on y/n."

You swallowed, feeling trapped, your heart racing. The command in his tone was undeniable, and you couldn't help but glance at the screen hesitantly. "Yes," you breathed out shakily, your voice barely above a whisper, "Yes, I'm looking."

His voice shifted, taking on a more possessive tone as he murmured, "Good girl, now keep talking for me..." The intensity in his words increased further as it was evident that his hand moved faster.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the situation escalating unexpectedly. The mixture of conflicting emotions was overwhelming, and your mind reeled with confusion. Hearing the words “good girl” made your stomach flutter, and the intensity in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

You couldn't deny him your voice, no matter how strange and uncomfortable this felt. "Okay," you replied, your voice strained, "I'll keep talking for you."

His voice turned demanding once again, his tone dripping with need, "Tell me how you felt when I was gone, tell me how much you missed me." With each word, the yearning in his voice deepened.

The request felt both intimate and manipulative, but you knew you couldn’t deny it completely. You took a breath before finally responding, your voice tinged with vulnerability.

"Sunghoon…" you hesitated, the words catching in your throat for a moment before continuing. "When you were gone, I missed you… a lot. I missed your presence. I missed talking to you, hanging out with you… I missed you."

As you recalled the weight of his absence, the memories flooded your mind. "I could never forget how much pain I went through when you disappeared without a word," you admitted softly, "And now you're back, and it's like all the old feelings are coming back..."

He suddenly broke the heated atmosphere, his voice tinged with remorse as he apologized, "God I'm so sorry y/n." The words were heavy with regret, his breath growing heavier with each moment, each syllable tinged with a hint of desperation. "I—I didn’t know what to do..." His confession hung in the air as he continued to stroke his huge throbbing member.

The pain in his voice tugged at your heartstrings, but his words left you confused. "What do you mean… you didn’t know what to do?" you asked, your voice laced with a mix of concern and curiosity.

"I—I didn't know how to handle my feelings for you... When I left," he stammered, his voice quivering with vulnerability. "I was scared. Scared of messing up, scared of hurting you. So I pushed you away, thinking it was the best thing to do."

“F-fuck,” he muttered, quickening his pace. “Please y/n, I’m so fucking close, keep talking for me yeah?”

The pleading in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. It was a strange mix of feelings—a knot in your stomach, confusion, and somehow, a sense of being needed.

"Okay," you murmured, your voice soft and reluctant yet tinged with a hint of submission. "I'll keep talking for you... If that's what you want."

As you continued to watch him please himself, you felt a tingling sensation, bucking your hips up a bit as you let out a quiet whimper. Sunghoon chuckled at your noise. “Are you turned on y/n?”

The question caught you off guard, and you felt an odd mixture of embarrassment and excitement. "W-what?" you stammered, "No, I'm just... I'm just..." You paused, caught in your own reaction, torn between wanting to deny and wanting to admit the truth.

The smirk on his face grew wider as he realized the effect he was having on you. "Say it, y/n," he commanded with a hint of dominance in his tone. "Don't deny it."

Your body responded involuntarily to his words, making it harder to deny. A small whimper escaped from you again, betraying your attempts at denial. "I..." Your voice trailed off, your body shifting restlessly on the bed, a mix of conflicting feelings coursing through you.

He chuckled softly at your response, the sound both smug and seductive. "That's right," he murmured, his voice filled with a hint of satisfaction. "Admit it. You're turned on by watching your ex jerk himself off by your voice, aren't you?

The admission made your face heat up, but there was no denying the truth. "Yes," you confessed in a hushed tone, your voice barely audible, "I am."

The mixture of embarrassment and arousal was overwhelming, and you couldn't deny the effect his presence had on you, no matter how confusing it felt. You then slowly proceeded to slide a hand inside your shorts, moving aside your panties as you started to touch yourself, letting out a loud whimper.

“God y/n,” Sunghoon groaned loudly. “You’re such a slut.” The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but they also sent a wave of guilt through you as a mixture of conflicting emotions coursed through your veins.

“S-sunghoon..” you whined, inserting a finger into your cunt as you thrusted at a quick pace.

Sunghoon's voice took on a teasing lilt as he chuckled and inquired, "Yeah y/n? What is it, what's wrong?" Despite his apparent amusement, there was a hint of concern hidden beneath his words, as if he sensed your unease.

The mixture of the teasing tone and hints of concern added to your confusion. "It’s just… I don’t know if… if we should be doing this," you muttered in between breaths, your conflicting emotions making it difficult to voice your concerns clearly.

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“What do miss what you’re looking at right now?”

His question caught you off guard, your mind scrambling for an answer. "I—I miss… your touch," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, "I miss the way you would make me feel with your hands, your lips, your body, your cock…" The guilt gnawed at you, but you couldn’t deny the truth.

A low growl escaped his lips, and he muttered, "Oh god..." The intensity in his voice was palpable as his breathing continued to grow increasingly heavy. “Y/n- y/n m’ cuming—“

Your heart pounded as you heard his words, the mixture of anticipation and guilt still swirling inside you. "Wait, wait," you protested, "Not now, not on camera, please–"

Suddenly, a gush of white liquid squirted out of his cock as it spilt everywhere, a deep loud moan being let out afterwards. You felt yourself getting close sooner than later, adding another finger inside your hole. “S-Sunghoon!” You whimpered, arching your back to the heated sensation.

Sunghoon's breath was heavy and ragged, his chest heaving as he tried to regain composure. A mix of satisfaction and something else lingered in his eyes, the intensity of his gaze still palpable despite the aftermath.

"Y/n..." he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of surprise and a touch of something else. "Show me what you’re doing, turn on your camera sweetie."

You froze, caught between compliance and hesitation. The demand felt like a crossroad, uncertainty and excitement coursing through your veins. But there was curiosity too.

"Come on," he urged softly, his voice almost like a gentle command. "Let me how you’re pleasing yourself to my voice."

The words echoed in your mind, igniting a mixture of desire and vulnerability. You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the request heavy on your heart. But slowly, you found yourself drawn in by the allure of his voice, the temptation of obedience growing stronger with each passing second.

"Don't be shy, y/n," he urged gently, "I want to see how much you miss my touch. Show me."

In the face of his insistence, the last remnants of your resistance wavered. Biting your lip, you slowly reached for the camera, your hands trembling with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

“Only two fingers y/n?” Sunghoon scoffed, a clear offence in his tone. “Come on, you know I’m bigger than that.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in response. "I know!" you snapped. "I...I can't...I'm trying..." the rest of the words dying in your throat.

His voice turned more domineering as he instructed with a hint of authority, "Put another finger in..." The words left his lips with a subtle demand, as if seeking explicit obedience from you.

Reluctance danced in your eyes, but a part of you couldn't help but react to his tone. Without wanting to, your body responded, submitting to the authority in his voice.

"That's right." He encouraged, a sense of satisfaction and ownership lacing his tone. "That's it, y/n."

The words both grated and excited you. There was a strange sense of satisfaction in obeying, but it only fueled the conflict in your mind. "Sunghoon...I—Im cumming, oh god Sunghoon, I’m so close!" You were torn between seeking release and questioning if this was the right path to take.

"Good girl." He murmured with satisfaction, his voice filled with a mixture of possessiveness and encouragement. "Give it to me. Don't hold back."

The words left you breathless, a mix of frustration and arousal coursing through your veins. You felt both empowered and vulnerable, surrendering to his command yet fighting against the overwhelming rush of sensations coursing through your body.

After what felt like an eternity, you felt yourself reach your climax, your lungs gasping for oxygen as you pull your coaxed fingers out.

Your body trembled with the aftermath, beads of sweat trickling down your forehead. The air was thick with a mix of satisfaction and uncertainty. A heavy silence hung between you both, the weight of the moment palpable in the air.

Sunghoon observed you quietly, his eyes roaming over your disheveled form. There was a hint of a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his lips, but it was tinged with a trace of concern. "Are you okay, y/n?" He finally asked, his voice soft and laced with a hint of genuine care.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction coursing through your veins. "Yeah," you manage to reply, your voice shaky but laced with a hint of vulnerability, "I think so..."

His words were slurred, a consequence of his intoxication, as he offered a simple, "That’s good y/n." There was a hint of detachment in his tone, suggesting that his judgment was clouded by the effects of alcohol. You couldn’t help but recall your own inebriated state.

A pang of guilt washed over you as you considered both your and his altered states, a nagging feeling of regret settling in. The situation had spiraled out of control, fueled by alcohol and clouded judgment.

You were left hanging once again, the call abruptly ending without explanation. "Great," you thought, feeling frustrated at the abrupt cutoff. The silence that followed was deafening, leaving you with more questions than answers.

You sat there, confused and frustrated, the silence heavy in the air. The sudden disconnect from Sunghoon left you feeling a mix of confusion and irritation after what he just did, after what he showed you. Your thoughts swirled with unanswered questions, the sudden end of the call leaving you with a sense of ambiguity.

You couldn't help but wonder why he had ended the call so abruptly, leaving you hanging without a proper explanation. Questions flooded your mind, and uncertainty gnawed at your core. What had possessed him to do what he did? Was it just the influence of alcohol and his lingering feelings for you? Or was there more to this than what it seemed? You sighed as you put your shorts back on, pulling the covers over your body. You’d just have to wait and confront him the next day at campus.

—

You found yourself anxiously entering the campus the next day, your heart pounding in anticipation of seeing him. Throughout the night, you had replayed the events of the previous evening in your mind countless times, wrestling with conflicting emotions. On one hand, you were upset by his actions and the unexpected ending of the call. On the other hand, you couldn't deny the complex mixture of arousal, nostalgia, and longing that had stirred within you.

Every step you took brought you closer to the possibility of encountering him, the idea both thrilling and nerve-wracking. As you navigated the bustling campus, your eyes scanned every corner and hallway, searching for a glimpse of him. Your mind churned with questions, wondering how he would react when he saw you, if he would act as if nothing had happened or if he would acknowledge it.

You spotted Kazuha and Chaewon, seated on a nearby bench. You approached them, wanting to inquire if they had glimpsed any sign of him around.

As you drew closer to the two, you saw Kazuha noticing you, her eyes lighting up with recognition. She nudged Chaewon, who turned towards you as well. A mixture of curiosity and excitement danced in their eyes.

"Hey y/n!" They greeted you with playful smiles, their voices carrying across the space between you. "What's up? You look lost in thought." Kazuha teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

You smiled back, feeling a sense of familiarity in their presence. "Hey guys," you replied, glancing between them. "Have either of you seen Sunghoon around? I need to talk to him."

They exchanged puzzled glances before Chaewon spoke up, "I thought you were over him... Something come up?" Her question was laced with curiosity and concern, as if she sensed a change in your feelings or situation.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "It's complicated," you admitted, your voice tinged with a mix of uncertainty and vulnerability. "We had a... weird encounter last night." As the words left your lips, you couldn't help but feel a knot tighten in your stomach.

Kazuha and Chaewon exchanged another glance, their curiosity deepening. They could tell that whatever had happened between you and Sunghoon had left you in a state of turmoil. "A weird encounter?" Kazuha prodded gently, her voice laced with genuine concern.

You responded with mild irritation, "Just—tell me if you saw him today." Although you tried to mask it with a casual tone, the underlying anxiousness in your voice was apparent.

The girls seemed to pick up on the tension in your voice. Kazuha replied after a brief pause, her tone cautious, "We did see him earlier. He was heading towards the library, I think."

Chaewon chimed in, "Yeah, he looked like he was in a bit of a rush though. Maybe he's busy studying or something?"

“Or maybe he’s spending time with that girl he made out with a few days ago..” Kazuha added in a teasing tone.

Your heart sank at the reminder, but you couldn't let your emotions show. "Right," you responded dryly, trying to maintain a facade of nonchalance. "Thanks for the info, I'll go check the library then."

The girls exchanged a knowing glance, sensing the hint of disappointment in your voice, but they didn't press further. "Sure, no problem," Chaewon replied, her tone softening. "Good luck."

You nodded in appreciation before turning and heading towards the library, your mind racing with mixed feelings. The image of him with that other girl resurfaced, stirring up a blend of jealousy and resignation.

As you made your way through the campus, your mind drifted between the desire to confront him and the fear of discovering a painful truth. The walk to the library felt longer than usual, each step weighed down by the uncertainty brewing within you.

The library loomed in the distance, its imposing structure a symbol of knowledge and tranquility. However, today it felt like a place of reckoning, where the truth might reveal itself. Your heart pounded in anticipation, the conflicting emotions raging within you as you pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The quiet surroundings engulfed you as you entered the library. The scent of books and silence hung heavily in the air. Your eyes scanned the aisles, searching through the labyrinth of shelves for any sign of him. The silence was broken only by the occasional rustling of pages and soft whispers from fellow students studying.

You moved through the rows of books, your footsteps muffled by the carpet. Each step brought you closer to the possibility of encountering him, and your mind raced with questions. Was he alone? Was he with that girl? Would he be willing to talk?

Your gaze followed the direction of your friends' glances, finding him sitting beside a girl who was quite attractive. The sight of his genuine smile didn't go unnoticed by you, leaving a subtle pang of jealousy in your chest.

You watched from a distance, observing their interaction from afar. Sunghoon looked relaxed and at ease next to her, a genuine smile gracing his lips. The sight of their connection stirred up a mix of feelings within you: jealousy, curiosity, and a hint of disappointment.

The girl was not only beautiful but seemed to effortlessly draw Sunghoon's attention, her every movement capturing his gaze. The laughter that occasionally escaped them added to your unease, each moment making the knot in your stomach grow tighter.

Why was it that every time you tried to move on, it didn’t work? He left you without an explanation, said that he ‘didn’t know what to do,’ and then last night.. last night is something you didn’t ever want to think about at this point.

You couldn't deny the conflicting emotions swirling within you. The mixture of resentment, betrayal, and lingering feelings had left an ache in your chest. Seeing him so comfortable with someone new only amplified the intensity of those emotions.

As you continued to observe, a mix of conflicting emotions flooded your mind. The sight of him laughing and talking effortlessly with the other girl stirred up old feelings of resentment and betrayal. The pang of jealousy intertwined with a hint of disappointment, and the more you watched, the tighter the knot in your stomach twisted.

A part of you yearned for the days when you shared moments like that, when his laughter was reserved only for you. The sight of him finding happiness with someone else felt like a painful reminder of what was lost.

Before your thoughts could spiral any further, something caught your attention. Sunghoon suddenly stood up from his seat, his expression shifting as if sensing your presence.

Your heart skipped a beat as his gaze met yours, a mixture of surprise and wariness crossing his features. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you both locked eyes across the library.

There was a tense silence between you, the weight of your shared history and unspoken words hanging in the air. Sunghoon's gaze lingered on yours for a few moments longer before he slowly turned and walked towards you.

With each step he took, your heart pounded louder in your chest, the anticipation mingling with a hint of anxiety within you. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the quiet library as he approached you, his expression still guarded.

As he finally stood before you, there was a hesitant pause, an air of uncertainty hanging between you. "Y/n," he finally spoke, his voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and trepidation.

The sound of your name on his lips sent a pang through your heart, stirring up memories from past times. You could feel the weight of his words, the weight of the history that laid between you.

"Can we talk?" he continued, his gaze searching yours for any hint of your feelings. "In private, please."

A scoff escaped your lips as you concluded, "I think I already know what’s going on," indicating your suspicion over the situation. Without another word, you turned and started walking away, leaving behind your friends and the lingering uncertainty.

Sunghoon watched you walk away, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as you left without giving him a chance to explain. He hesitated for a brief moment, then swiftly turned to follow after you, determined to catch up.

As he caught up to you, he walked alongside you in a hurry, his steps quickening to match your pace. "Y/n... wait," he pleaded, his voice tinged with urgency. "Please, let me explain."

“Explain what Sunghoon?” you snapped as your eyes widened. "Explain that you disappear on me for two years, make out with a random girl, save me from Heeseung at the party, call me to listen to my voice so you can get off, and then go back to another girl right afterwards?" Your words hung heavily in the air, leaving him stunned, speechless for a brief moment.

Sunghoon was momentarily caught off guard by your outburst, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Wait, what girl?" He repeated, a hint of bewilderment in his voice.

"The girl that Chaewon and Kazuha saw you making out with a few days ago near campus!" Your words were laced with anger and betrayal, as the memory of his intimate encounter with someone else still stung your heart.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow in confusion, responding, "What?? I never made out with a girl??" His denial carried a hint of disbelief, as if he couldn’t reconcile your accusation with reality. "You know Kazuha and Chaewon aren’t your real friends, they’re just using you." His words held a warning tone, as if trying to open your eyes to something you had been oblivious to.

Your heart sank at his denial, the conflicting emotions swirling within you. You wanted to believe him, but the image of him with that girl still haunted you. "Why would they lie about something like that?" you questioned, your voice tinged with skepticism and hurt.

Sunghoon sighed, his expression softening as he looked at you directly. "Because they want to cause trouble," he explained, his voice laced with sincerity. "They know our history and they want to stir up jealousy."

Your uncertainty remained evident as you responded, "Okay... But then who's that girl over there?" You pointed out the girl he had been seated with, your gaze full of suspicion and curiosity.

Sunghoon followed your gaze before realization dawned on his face. "Oh, that's my cousin." He clarified, his tone a mix of understanding and surprise. "We were catching up, nothing more, nothing less."

A sigh of relief escaped your lips, feeling somewhat reassured that Sunghoon wasn’t involved with the girl. Your voice turned shy and vulnerable as you asked, "Why'd you hang up yesterday night?" The question lingered in the air, seeking an explanation for his abrupt departure.

Sunghoon hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground before meeting yours once more. His tone was tinged with remorse, his voice softer than before. "I... I didn’t want to take advantage of you while you were drunk," he admitted, his eyes searching yours hopefully for understanding.

You posed a straightforward question, seeking clarity, "So then why did you call me? Why’d you—you know…" The direct inquiry hung in the air, demanding a candid answer.

His gaze held a mixture of guilt and vulnerability as he replied, "Because I missed you... I missed your voice more than anything else. I wanted to hear it, to feel close to you even if it was just for a moment." There was sincerity in his tone, a hint of longing in his words.

You desperately wanted to believe his explanation, but the weight of his absence and avoidance for two years weighed heavily on your mind. Your words held a mixture of hurt and skepticism, "But you left for two years and were avoiding me the first couple of days..." Your statement bore the marks of lingering pain, reflecting your lingering doubts about his intentions.

Sunghoon flinched, the weight of your words clearly affecting him. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture laced with frustration and impatience. "Yes, I was avoiding you," he confessed, his voice tinged with a touch of defensiveness. "because I was terrified of losing control if I saw you again."

The librarian, a stern and strict-looking woman, walked up to them, her eyebrow raised in irritation. "Excuse me, but you two are causing a commotion," she scolded, her voice stern and unwavering. "If you don't quiet down, I'll have to ask you to leave."

Sunghoon nodded, acknowledging the librarian's concerns. "Sorry, ma'am, we'll keep it down," he assured, his tone apologetic. He glanced at you, a silent plea in his eyes for you to comply.

You could sense the urgency in Sunghoon's gaze, his silent plea for calm and compliance. Reluctantly, you swallowed your retort and nodded. "Sorry," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

The librarian's stern expression softened slightly, seemingly satisfied with their response. "Good," she nodded, then glanced around the library, noticing the curious onlookers. "Now, please keep it low, or find someplace else to talk." With that final warning, she returned to her desk, resuming her watchful gaze over the library.

Sunghoon gave you a sidelong glance, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. "Seems we've attracted some unwanted attention," he remarked quietly, the slightest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Your voice shook with anger and vulnerability as you protested, "This is not something you can just joke about, Sunghoon.” The pain and frustration were evident in your tone, indicating that his actions had deeply stung your trust.

His smirk faded as he caught the anger and hurt in your voice, realizing the weight of his actions. "I didn't mean it like that," he insisted, his tone softer. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood."

You felt conflicted. On one hand, you were still angry and hurt by his disappearance. On the other hand, his attempt to make light of the situation stirred up conflicting feelings within you. He always had a way of making you simultaneously frustrated and drawn to him.

Sunghoon glanced at the library, noting the watchful eye of the librarian. He knew they wouldn't get a chance to fully talk there without drawing more attention, so he suggested an alternative. "We can't talk here," he stated quietly, his gaze meeting yours. "Why don't you come over to my place?"

A subtle flush of embarrassment crossed your cheeks at his suggestion, the implication of being at his place causing a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. "Your...place?" you questioned, a hint of hesitation in your voice.

His response carried a hint of mockery as he retorted, "What? You’ve been there multiple times."

Your cheeks reddened even more at his remark, the memory of your past visits flooding your thoughts. "I know that," you stuttered, your voice betraying your flustered state. "But that was back then."

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, realizing his words had flustered you. "So what? You scared?" he teased, his tone dripping with a hint of playful challenge.

Your eyes narrowed at him, a mixture of annoyance and stubbornness etched across your features. "I’m not scared," you retorted, your voice laced with defiance. "Let’s just go, I don’t have all day."

Sunghoon chuckled, amused by your stubborn attitude. "Okay, tough girl," he teased, falling into step next to you as you headed towards the exit.

The cool air hit your skin as you stepped outside, the sunlight casting a warm glow across the campus. As you walked beside Sunghoon, a mix of emotions swirled inside of you.

There was a faint sense of anxiety, curiosity, nostalgia, and even a hint of excitement at the possibility of getting some answers. The silence between you felt both comfortable and awkward, as if both of you were navigating through uncharted territory once more.

The walk to his place felt both familiar and foreign at the same time. The route, once well-known, now seemed slightly altered, as if time had altered the landscape of the memories that surrounded it.

You tried to push away the thoughts, focusing on the present, yet the weight of the past continued to linger in the air, an invisible presence that followed you both.

As you approached his building, memories flooded your mind—the countless times you had come here, the laughter shared and secrets whispered beneath the roof of his apartment. It was as if the walls held the echo of your shared history, waiting to be stirred by your presence once more.

Sunghoon held the door open for you, gesturing for you to enter first. With a hesitant nod, you stepped inside, finding yourself surrounded by the familiar scent and atmosphere of his place.

The faint aroma of his cologne and the warmth of familiarity engulfed you, stirring up a mix of nostalgia and anticipation.

As you entered the living room, a palpable silence filled the air. It felt as if the room itself held its breath, suspended in the tension between the past and the present.

Sunghoon's footsteps echoed softly as he closed the door behind you, sealing the two of you inside. The sound seemed to amplify the gravity of the moment, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions almost tangible.

You stood there, taking in the quietude, the air between you heavy with anticipation and uncertainty.

The silence stretched on, filling the void with unspoken questions and lingering memories. Sunghoon broke the quiet first, his voice soft and hesitant as he finally spoke. "Wanna have a seat?"

You nodded, your own voice barely perceptible. The room seemed to shrink around you as you followed his gesture, perching yourself on the couch adjacent to the one he chose.

The cushions dipped under your weight, a subtle reminder of the countless moments of comfort shared between you.

As you settled onto the couch, a wave of memories washed over you. The worn fabric, the familiar indentations in the cushions—it felt like time had slipped away, leaving behind echoes of laughter, quiet conversations, and moments of intimacy. You tried to shake off the nostalgia, clearing your throat as you stole a glance at Sunghoon, sitting across from you.

The silence thickened once more, and you could feel his gaze on you. The air felt charged with tension, the weight of the unsaid words and lingering emotions hanging in the space between you. You took a deep breath, mustering the courage to break the silence, but before you could speak, Sunghoon's voice cut through, tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "Can I ask you something?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the vulnerability in his voice, the familiar sound stirring memories you thought you had buried deep within. You swallowed hard, nodding slightly, though you braced yourself for whatever question he was about to ask.

Sunghoon paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, before finally posing the question that hung heavily in the air. "Do you hate me?" He asked, his voice tinged with a hint of insecurity.

The question struck a nerve, causing a pang of guilt to wash over you. You felt a mixture of defiance and vulnerability rise within you as you replied, your voice laced with a hint of defensiveness. "No. Not Really. What you did was still wrong though. Why? Have I not made that clear to you already? You disappeared for two years, Sunghoon. Two years." Your voice trembled, the pain of his absence evident in your tone.

Sunghoon nodded, his expression tinged with remorse. "I know," he admitted, his voice soft and sincere. "I messed up, big time. I was scared, confused, and I thought disappearing was the easiest way to deal with it at the time." He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, a silent plea for understanding etched across his features.

Your heart softened at his words, a pang of mixed emotions coursing through you. You wanted to be angry, but you couldn't deny the sincerity in his voice. With a sigh, you shifted in your seat, your defenses slowly starting to crumble. "Why were you so scared, then?" You asked, curiosity mixing with the remnants of bitterness in your voice.

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that revealed his vulnerability. "Because I didn't know if I could control myself around you," he confessed, his voice dropping lower. "I knew how much I still cared about you, how strong my feelings still were. I was terrified that if I saw you again, I would lose control—lose my resolve."

Your heart wrenched at his confession. A mixture of relief and confusion swirled within you. His words both validated and stirred up old emotions. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice as you spoke. "And what about now?" You asked, your voice trembling. "How do you feel now?"

Sunghoon's gaze locked onto yours, his eyes glimmering with sincerity. "I still feel the same way," he admitted, his voice steady yet tinged with vulnerability. "I never stopped caring, never stopped loving you."

You clenched your teeth, frustrated by the emotions swirling within you. "Then why?" You voiced, your tone tinged with a touch of desperation. "Why come back after two years? Why now, Sunghoon?"

Sunghoon tensed, his shoulders visibly stiffening at your question. He could sense the vulnerability in your voice, the desperation for an answer, and it weighed on him.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I came back because I couldn't stay away any longer," he admitted, his voice tinged with remorse. "Being away from you... it was killing me. Seeing you from afar, knowing I could never truly be with you, it broke something inside of me."

You clenched your fists, a mix of pain and frustration rising within you. "Where did you go, Sunghoon?" You asked, your voice trembling. "Where did you disappear to for two years?"

Sunghoon flinched at your question, the weight of it hitting him hard. He could hear the pain in your voice, the desperation for answers. He took a deep breath before finally responding, his voice laced with a mix of guilt and vulnerability. "I went back to Korea."

Your heart skipped a beat, confusion and anger swirling within you. Korea? How could he just up and leave like that, disappear without a word, and then simply return as if nothing had happened?

Your voice trembled as you spoke, the hurt seeping through every word. "Why?" You pushed further. "Why Korea? Why did you choose to flee without a trace?"

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair again, a nervous gesture that revealed his inner turmoil. His eyes seemed to search for the right words as he spoke, his voice filled with a mix of regret and vulnerability.

"I... I panicked, y/n," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was terrified of losing control, of the feelings I still had for you. I thought if I left, it would be easier..."

Your heart ached at his confession, a mix of hurt and confusion swirling within you. You tried to force back the tears that threatened to spill over. "Easier?" You repeated, your voice trembling. "Easier for whom, Sunghoon? Easier for you?"

Sunghoon's gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet your eyes. He knew the pain and confusion he had caused. "Easier for me..." he admitted softly, his voice tinged with regret.

"I was selfish, y/n. I thought running away would make things easier for me, but I never considered the pain it would cause you. Please, let me make it up to you…”

The sincerity in his voice tugged at your heart, his remorse evident. But you couldn't ignore the anger and hurt that still coursed through you.

"Make it up to me?" You repeated, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "How? By suddenly appearing in my life again? By expecting me to forgive and forget everything?"

Sunghoon's shoulders slumped, his eyes welling up with tears. "No... I don't expect you to forgive me, y/n," he confessed, his voice heavy with guilt. "What I did was unforgivable. But please, I'm begging you, just give me a chance… to show you how sorry I am, how much I still care about you."

Your heart ached at the sight of his tears, the vulnerability in his voice tugging at the strings that still connected you to him. But the pain and anger were too fresh, too deep. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"A chance...?" You whispered, your voice trembling. "How can I trust you, Sunghoon? After everything you put me through, how can I trust that you won't just disappear again?"

Sunghoon reached out, his hand almost making contact with yours, but he stopped midway, remembering the boundaries he had created. He swallowed hard, the weight of your words settling heavy on his shoulders.

“You can't…" he admitted softly, his voice laced with pain. "I don't expect you to trust me right away. But please, give me a chance to prove myself, to show you that I'm here to stay."

Your heart ached at his words, the sincerity in his voice both soothing and aggravating. You hated the way he still affected you, the way his presence stirred up feelings you had tried so desperately to bury. Hesitantly, you lifted your gaze to meet his, the vulnerability in his eyes piercing through the barrier you had built around yourself. "And what if I want to trust you?" You asked softly, your voice trembling with a mixture of hope and fear.

Sunghoon's expression softened, a glimmer of hope igniting in his eyes. "Then I would do everything in my power to earn that trust back, y/n, no matter how long it takes," he vowed, his voice tinged with sincerity and determination. “I love you, and I never stopped.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice sent a shockwave through you, stirring a mix of emotions you couldn't ignore.

Your mind warred with your heart, conflicting feelings pulling at you from every direction. "But what about us?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "Can we ever be... what we were before?"

Sunghoon leaned closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "No," he said softly, his voice tinged with honesty. "No, we can't go back to what we were before. We have changed, and so has our relationship. But that doesn't mean we can't build something new, something stronger... something better."

Tears welled up in your eyes, his words both soothing and aggravating. You hated how he could still make you feel so vulnerable, so weak in his presence. "I don't know if I can do this, Sunghoon," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I don't know if I can risk getting hurt again."

Sunghoon's expression softened, a mixture of pain and understanding etched across his features. "I know, y/n," he said softly, his voice tinged with remorse. "I don't blame you for being afraid.

I don't blame you for doubting me, after everything I put you through. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I've learned from my mistakes, and I'm determined to prove that I've changed."

He closed the distance between you, his forehead gently pressing against yours as he murmured, "Let me show you, y/n, let me take care of you right now.." The tenderness in his tone made your heart ache, his fingers gently wiping away the tears that streamed down your face.

Your breath hitched at his touch, the warmth of his forehead against yours both comforting and overwhelming. Your body trembled slightly, the walls you had built around yourself crumbling, as he gently wiped away your tears.

You wanted to resist, to push him away and protect yourself from being hurt again, but the vulnerability in his eyes tugged at something deep within you. "How?" You found yourself whispering, a combination of fear and hope lacing your voice.

Sunghoon's gaze softened, a mixture of vulnerability and desire visible in his eyes. He reached out, his hand gently cupping your face, the gesture sending a wave of warmth through your body. "Let me show you," he murmured, his voice laced with yearning. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly leaned in, his lips softly brushing against yours in a tender kiss.

The touch was like a spark that ignited something deep inside, the weight of their shared history and the lingering chemistry between them undeniable.

As he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, the world seemed to fade into the background. Your heart pounded in your chest, the intensity of the moment overwhelming as your bodies pressed against each other.

Sunghoon's touch trailed down your body, igniting a fire within you that was both familiar and foreign. The kiss continued, a mixture of longing and desperation fueling the connection between them.

His voice trembled with a hint of frustration as he confessed, "I missed your scent so much, y/n, it's infuriating..." His words carried a raw honesty, as if the absence of your presence had deeply affected him.

Your breath caught in your throat, his confession sending a shiver down your spine. The vulnerability in his voice stirred something within you, a pang of sadness mixed with an undeniable connection. "You did?" You whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of surprise and longing.

He pulled back slightly, his fingers gently tracing your jawline as he met your gaze, his eyes filled with sincerity. "I missed everything about you," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of urgency.

"Your laugh, your smile, the way you would bite your lip when you were concentrating, your gentle touch, the way you fit so perfectly into my arms..."

Sunghoon's eyes darkened with desire as he leaned in again, his lips seeking yours in a passionate kiss. His hands slowly began to wander, exploring your body with a fervor that sent electricity through your veins. Without breaking the kiss, his hands slid under your shirt, his touch warm against your skin as he began to gently tug at the fabric, his intention clear.

As the kiss deepened, his hands continued to work, carefully undressing you with an urgency that mirrored the urgency of his feelings. Each piece of clothing fell away, leaving you both vulnerable and exposed yet completely lost in each other.

As the kiss continued, your hands sought him of their own accord, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, your desire to feel his skin against yours overwhelming any lingering reservations. Your touch was both demanding and possessive, a silent plea for the physical contact you had been deprived of for so long.

He briefly broke the kiss, his lips curving into a small smirk as he felt your hands tugging at his shirt. "Oh? Is someone eager?" he murmured playfully, the hint of teasing in his voice heightening your anticipation as his gaze met yours, a mixture of desire and challenge.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, your eyes meeting his with a mix of impatience and surrender. "Shut up," you retorted, your voice a mixture of embarrassment and desire. "Just take it off already…want it off Hoon.”

A low growl escaped his throat at your words, his hands immediately moving to comply, his own desire fueled by your eagerness. As his shirt slipped off, the sight of his bare chest sent a thrill coursing through you, your eyes drinking in the contours of his muscles, the familiarity of his body both comforting and exhilarating. He leaned back in, his lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss, your hands eagerly exploring the planes of his back.

Every touch intensified the emotions between you, the familiarity of his body igniting memories that fueled the desire coursing through your veins. Between kisses, he murmured, "I missed how you feel... missed everything about you..." His words, laced with the raw honesty of his feelings, only added fuel to the fire, intensifying the need for more contact. He began kissing down your neck, his hands roaming your body with a possessive touch, as if he were trying to reclaim what he had lost.

As his lips trailed downward, leaving a trail of hot kisses along your skin, your body responded eagerly, arching into him, seeking more of his touch and the physical connection that had been absent for so long. With every kiss and every caress, he seemed to unravel something within you, unearthing emotions and desires that you had tried to bury deep.

His mouth eventually trailed lower, a mix of hunger and reverence in his actions. As he moved lower, his hands slid down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, his touch both familiar and yet somehow new, igniting a sense of rediscovery between you. He paused briefly, his gaze locking with yours, wordlessly asking for permission and reassurance before continuing his descent.

Your breath hitched in anticipation, your body responding to every touch and movement, the need for him growing with each passing second. Your hands reached out, tangling in his hair as you gave a subtle nod, granting him the permission he sought. The intensity of the moment hung in the air, the bond between you stretched taut, yearning to be broken and rebuilt in the most intimate way.

As he continued his exploration, his hands gently caressed your skin, his fingers tracing patterns of worship that mirrored the thoughts and emotions swirling within him. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. "I missed everything about you, how soft your skin is, how responsive you are to every touch..." His words were a mix of praise and reverence, a fervent prayer of appreciation for the body that had stolen his heart.

As he trailed lower still, his lips finding sensitive spots, he murmured between kisses, "I missed the way you taste... the sounds you make when you're lost in pleasure..." His compliments caressed your ears, igniting a fire within you both, the honesty of his words igniting a spark that only heightened your desire for more.

He took his time, exploring you with a mixture of reverence and urgency, his touches both soothing and exhilarating. His lips continued their journey, leaving a trail of kisses and compliments in their wake, each one a reminder of the depth of his affection. "God, I missed how you fit in my arms," he murmured, his voice cracking ever so slightly, "how your body responds to mine...how perfectly you fit against me."

His hands gripped your hips gently, pulling you closer as he leaned down, his breath warm against your skin. "I'll show you how much I missed everything you have to offer..." he whispered, his voice a mix of need and reverence. As he began to trail kisses lower, he murmured, "Starting with this...if you'll let me."

His touch was gentle, yet firm, a reassurance that he was still there, still wanting and needing you. He paused for a moment, looking up at you, waiting for permission, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness. Your breath hitched in anticipation, the need for his touch coursing through you, both comforting and thrilling. With a small nod, you gave your silent assent, your hands instinctively finding their way to his hair, as if to draw him closer, to guide him deeper.

Sunghoon's gaze darkened, his hands moving in a swift, determined motion. In a single, possessive gesture, he reached for the hem of your skirt, pulling it off with a sense of urgency that mirrored the intensity building within him. The sound of it being tossed aside hung in the air, a physical reminder of the boundaries he was breaking, the barriers he was tearing down.

His gaze trailed upwards, taking you in, drinking in every inch of you. You could see the desire and hunger in his eyes, his pupils dilated, his own need mirrored in the way he looked at you, almost possessively. He reached out, fingers gently tracing along your exposed thighs, as if mapping out every curve and line, familiarizing himself all over again.

You could feel the heat of his touch, the way he caressed your thighs with a gentle yet deliberate touch, as if trying to memorize every inch of you all over again. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him, your own desire mirroring his, your body responding as if it remembered every touch, every moment you had shared.

You bit your lip, silently begging for more, your fingers intertwining in his hair, a silent plea to bring him closer. “P-please Hoon..” you whimpered as you bucked your hips up unintentionally.

He could sense the desperation in your voice, the way your body responded to his touch. "So impatient," he murmured, a hint of teasing lacing his words, as his fingers continued to trace patterns along your thighs. "Don't worry, y/n... I won't make you wait too long..." The tone of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of playfulness and hunger that only fueled the fire burning within you.

There was a moment of stillness as he paused, his hands still resting on your thighs, as if savoring the anticipation that hung in the air. Then, without warning, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin, sending a shiver of anticipation through you.

The moment came. His lips brushed against you, the sensation sending a rush of desire through your veins. You gasped, the heat of his breath against your skin, his hands firm against your thighs, holding you steady. And then he began, his tongue exploring you with a mix of familiarity and reverence.

Each touch was deliberate, as if he was trying to memorize the taste, the texture, the feel of you all over again. Words were lost now, replaced by the sounds of desire and satisfaction that filled the air as he continued, his every movement driving you higher and higher, your senses fully consumed.

Your mouth dropped open as he starts flicking his tongue everywhere, his hands keeping your thighs from closing. Tugging on his hair, you buck your hips up into his face again. “Hoon…Oh god..”

Sunghoon continued to explore you with a fervor that only grew with your every response. He could feel the grip of your fingers in his hair, the way your hips bucked up against him. The sounds of your pleasure only fueled his own desire, his hold on your thighs firm, keeping you right where he wanted you.

At your words, a low groan escaped his throat, sending a new wave of sensation through you, the feeling of his lips and tongue, the vibration from his voice, all mingling and building the blissful tension within you.

You couldn't resist, your body reacting like it had countless times before. Your hips bucked again, your fingers digging into his scalp, the need for release overwhelming. "More…Please…" You pleaded, your voice desperate and pleading.

You could feel him respond, his tongue working harder, more urgent, driving you closer to the edge, each second bringing you closer to the release you so badly needed. “Hoon.. I’m so close..!”

You could feel him respond, his lips and tongue matching your pace, eager to bring you to release, his hands holding you tight, keeping your body where he wanted you. His eyes met yours, a silent promise that he would not stop until he had given you everything you needed. The intensity in his gaze only fueled your desire, your body on the verge of crumbling as he continued to drive you closer to the edge.

His movements were relentless, his tongue flicking in all the right places, hitting the spots that made you moan and gasp, causing you to tug desperately at his hair. Your words came more urgently now, almost a plea, as you teetered on the edge of release. "Hoon..I need you..please..!"

Sunghoon could hear the plea in your voice, the way your body reacted to his every touch, and he knew you were close, right on the precipice of release. There was a moment of pause, a brief respite that only heightened the tension between you. His gaze met yours, his eyes dark with desire, silently asking permission, seeking your consent.

Your eyes pleaded with him, your body trembling with need. "Please, Hoon.." you begged, your voice breathless. He nodded, seemingly understanding your unspoken words. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in again, redoubling his efforts, his tongue working even harder, faster.

With a possessive grip, he shifted his hands, keeping your hips firmly in place, and as he continued his ministrations with his tongue, he nuzzled his nose into your clit. The added sensation, the feel of his nose alongside his tongue, sent a new wave of pleasure coursing through your core, setting your nerves on fire. The gesture was a claim, a reminder that every part of you was his, and the combination was almost too much to bear.

You could feel the heat building to an almost unbearable level, your body trembling on the brink of release, every fiber of your being focused on the sensations coursing through you. Your grip on his hair became desperate, your nails digging into his scalp as you tugged, as if trying to anchor yourself to the moment. "Hoon…I think I'm gonna...I'm close…" Your words were a plea, a warning that you were on the edge, teetering precariously between ecstasy and release.

He could hear the plea in your voice, the way your body shook beneath his touch, telling him how close you were. Without losing a beat, he doubled down, driving you even closer to the edge, his tongue working faster, harder, with a sense of urgency that mirrored your own.

Your back arched, your hips bucking up into his face, desperate for that final push over the edge. The sensations were too much, overwhelming and all-consuming, and you could feel yourself teetering on the precipice, balancing on the edge of release. You panted, trying to form words, "Please, Hoon…I cumming! Oh fuck—Sunghoon!”

Sunghoon could sense your body reaching its limit, the tension building with every movement, every lick of his tongue. Your body was wound tight, trembling on the precipice. And then, with a final surge, he pushed you over the edge, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through you, washing away the remnants of doubt and uncertainty.

Your cries echoed through the room as you cum all over his tongue. He pulled back, out of breath as you could still see your liquids smeared all over his lips. “Taste so good y/n,” he groaned before connecting his lips back onto yours, his bulge pressing against your thigh.

As he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his lips, an intimacy that only heightened the connection between you. The feel of his bulge pressing against your thigh was a reminder of how much he wanted you, of the depth of his desire. You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him closer, as if trying to erase any distance between you.

The feeling of you touching him, palming his clothed rock-hard cock, was electric, making his breath hitch, a subtle sign of the effect you had on him. He groaned against your lips, his hips instinctively thrusting his hips against your touch, seeking more, craving the connection with you.

With that, he seemed to snap, his restraint crumbling, losing the will to hold back any longer. Without breaking the kiss, he swiftly lifted you up, carrying you with relative ease, his arms securely around you, as if he was afraid you would slip away from him again. In a few swift steps, he had you pressed against the wall, his body flush against yours, the intensity of the moment threatening to consume you both whole.

With a gasp, you felt the cold wall against your back, the contrast making your skin break out in goosebumps. You wrapped your legs around him Instinctively, seeking to bring him even closer, your body yearning for more, aching for the connection you had been deprived of for so long.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your fingers finding purchase in his shirt, pulling him against you, as if you could never get close enough.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing ragged puffs of air against your skin, the warmth igniting a fire within you. His hands traced the curve of your hips, fingers gripping you possessively, as if to ground himself in the reality of the moment. With a low growl, he nipped at your neck, a silent promise that he would reclaim every inch of you, make you his again.

You tilted your neck to the side, giving him more access, a silent plea for him to continue, to make his mark on you, to claim you as his own. "Hoon, please…" You murmured, your voice a mix of desperation and need, your nails digging into the firm flesh of his shoulders. He responded with a low growl, his mouth exploring your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin, marking you, claiming you. “I want it..”

You could feel the intensity of his desire, his body pressed against you, the hard length of him pressed against your core, a reminder of how much he wanted, needed you. "Please, I need you…" You pleaded, your voice a mix of need and desire, your fingers tracing the contours of his back, seeking more, begging for the connection that had been absent for so long. In response, he groaned against your neck, his hands gripping your thighs, hoisting you up higher, pressing himself even closer, as if trying to fuse together.

"God, I need you so badly, how can you drive me this crazy," he muttered, his voice husky with arousal, as he continued to mark you, leaving a trail of bruises down the column of your neck, his teeth grazing against your heated skin, making you shiver. "Please, let me, I can't hold back anymore! I need you inside Hoon!”

The desperation in your voice, the way you pleaded for him, only fueled his desire, his need to have you more urgent than ever. "I need to feel you," He muttered into your neck, nibbling slightly at the sensitive skin, the gesture sending a shiver up your spine. "Please, let me show you how much I missed you."

Your body was overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch, every caress igniting a fire within you, making you ache for more. "Yes, yes, please Hoon," you gasped, the need for him almost unbearable, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. With a low growl, he claimed your mouth in a passionate kiss, his tongue seeking entry, seeking to devour you completely.

He kissed you with a fierce hunger, his hands dropping to the waistband of his joggers, fingers hooking into the fabric. In one swift motion, he pushed his pants down, a silent command that spoke volumes about the extent of his desire for you.

Once the clothing was out of the way, he cupped your thighs, his touch possessive, as he pressed the length of himself against your core, his voice a deep rumble in your ear. "Feel that? How much I want you? How much I wanna ruin your tight little pussy?”

"Yes, Hoon, I feel it," you breathed, your voice ragged with need, your body arching into him. "I want it, please..." Your words were a plea, a desperate cry, the need coursing through your veins, making you ache for him in a way you'd never experienced before.

He could feel your desire, the way your body reacted, the ache for him evident in every movement, every gasping breath. With a low groan, he rocked his hips against you, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure through both of you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, murmuring into your ear, "Tell me again, how much you want it, love…"

Your breath hitched as he rolled his hips against you, the sensation driving you wild. "I want it, Hoon, so badly," you gasped.

He could hear the need in your voice, the way you begged for him, it drove him even more wild. "How badly?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble, his lips brushing against your neck.

Your body responded to his touch, your fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer, desperate for more. "So badly, so badly… please," you pleaded, your voice trembling, your body on fire with need.

With a growl, he gave you what you both needed, his hands gripping your thighs as he entered you with a single, firm thrust. "God, love, you feel so good," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he started moving inside of you slowly, his hands trailing all over your body. “So perfect y/n.”

The feeling of him inside you, the sensation that both filled you and left you aching for more, made you cling to him, your fingers digging into his skin, desperate for purchase, as you cried out. "Yes, yes, don't stop, please," you pleaded, your words a mix of need and desire as you pulled on his hair, feeling your tits bounce as he pounded into you relentlessly. “You feel so good Hoon!”

Each movement, each thrust was like a spark, igniting a fire within you, burning away all the memories of the past, the doubts, and the fear. He was all that mattered, and you would have him.

He groaned into your neck, his movements growing more frantic with each passing moment, driven wild by the sound of your voice. "Harder? Is that what you want, love?" he breathed, his fingers gripping your thighs, hoisting them up higher as he continued to pound into you, slapping noises filling the room.

Your grip on his shoulders tightened, your voice breaking as you cried out, "Sunghoon—Sunghoon I’m so close! Please…!”

He could hear the desperation in your voice, could feel the way your body tensed, teetering on the edge of oblivion. "Hold on, love," he murmured, his voice ragged with his own need, "cum for me like a good girl, yeah?”

His words were a command, a plea, a promise, and that was all it took for you to release all over his cock. After one final thrust, you feel him gushing into your core. “Fuck,” he groaned, pulling out to see a mixture of both your liquids spilling out of your cunt.

“S-Sunghoon…” you breathed out, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. “Wow…”

He held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, keeping you close. He didn't speak for a moment, just held you as he slowly caught his breath.

Then, after a few moments, he spoke, his voice a low rumble. "Wow indeed," he murmured, a hint of a smile in his voice, his fingers tracing lightly over your back.

"That was…" he trailed off, his breath still ragged, his body trembling slightly with the aftershocks of pleasure. "I missed you so goddamn much," he admitted, the words heavy and heartfelt.

He held you close for a few more moments before pulling back slightly, his gaze still locked with yours. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle. "Let's go get cleaned up, alright?" he said softly, his voice still a bit ragged, but with a warmth that made your heart flutter. You nodded, and with that, he guided you towards the bathroom, his hand holding yours tightly, as if he never wanted to let go again.

I love this so much

[shawtuzi]

✰ YOUR TEETH IN MY NECK ✰

a/n: i’ve been getting a lot of requests for more musician!eren and his fav fan girl and this is also ur reminder to go read the reverb series bc we would not be here without her

cw include: black fem!reader, sexting, exchange of nudes, mention of drug usage (eren was high per usual), sloppy kissing, oral f&m!receiving, unprotected sex, mating press & prone bone position, see from the side, multiple orgasms, eren nuts in and on her lmao, lots of dirty talk, an ‘i love you’ confession bc they’re so obsessed with each other, eren has a god complex andddd i think that’s it lmao/// wc: 5.2k

new message from renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

i’m in the city. i wanna see u.

the cursor of your laptop circled around his message, a giddy smile spreading across your lips. you clicked on the message, your manicured fingers typing messages upon messages of how much you missed him, and couldn’t wait to see him.

it had been almost a month since you last saw eren. after your sexcapdes on his tour bus eren had invited you to join him on his pj to the next city, and you had no other choice but to say yes! that dick was entirely too good to pass up.

you can happily say you’ve now joined the mile high club, because the second you got on the jet eren demanded privacy so he could indulge in you once more. you were sure jean and his security team could hear your screams of pleasure, the way you begged for eren to fuck you harder, deeper, but you didn’t care in the slightest.

after turning his bones into mush from your ridiculous riding skills, eren returned the favor by fucking you in mating press until your eyes crossed, and drool was slipping past your puffy lips.

your night in his hotel went the exact same way. eren folded you into every position he could while you chanted his name like a prayer, soaking the hotel sheets with your essence. he liked you. he liked the way you had just as much stamina as him. he liked that you were just as nasty as him, like how you stuck your tongue out for him to spit on, or how you begged him to put you in a chokehold while he hit it from the back.

what he really liked about you though, was the way you looked at him. eren already a sort of god complex, and you definitely didn’t help the way you looked at him as if he created the moon and stars.

after a very tearful goodbye on your end you headed back to your city, but that didn’t stop you from texting everyday. sometimes he replied, sometimes he didn’t because of his busy schedule. he always did call you though, usually it’d be past midnight but that didn’t matter to you—especially when he’d always say bye to you by tapping his tip against the screen, muttering a sultry ‘we miss you.’

new message from renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

i miss u too mama.

send your addy, i’m coming to you.

you squealed into the soft cotton of your sheets, your sock covered feet kicking wildly against your mattress. thee eren yeager was about to come to your lil ol’ apartment, like this couldn’t be real.

you carefully typed out your address, your toes wiggling in excitement. you shut your laptop and rolled out of bed, quickly shuffling your feet to your closet.

you figured he’d have you out of your clothes minutes after he got here, so you settled on ditching your pajamas, and wearing just your pink robe.

message sent to renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

are u gonna do all that stuff you said in your messages?

you pupils dilated when the gray bubble popped up, your teeth clamping onto your bottom lip. eren texted you a lot of dirty promises, making you squirt on his dick in the prone bone position being the one you were most excited for.

whenever you were bored at work, or before you fell asleep at night, you’d imagine him having you in a tight chokehold while he fucked into your sore pussy from behind. that usually led to you sending eren explicit videos of your rubbing your pulsing pussy desperately, whining n’ babbling about how you wish it were him making you cum instead.

eren would only make it worse by feeding into it. while he recorded himself stroking his cock, he’d be growling out filthy praises about your cute cunt and how good she’d feel wrapped around him.

new message from renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

you’ll see

[attachment: 1 imagine]

just know i’m ready, been thinking about your pretty pussy all day.

a whine bubbled in your chest as you zoomed in on live photo of his very prominent print. his tatted hand was gripping onto it, and if you clicked on it, the live photo would show him squeezing it softly. the cuban chain on his wrist glistened obnoxiously from the flash—you couldn’t wait to the feel the cold metal against your neck when he choked you.

you loosened the knot on your robe, exposing your breasts more than they already were. your nipples were peeking out, giving eren just the perfect peek to what is to come.

message sent to renny ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

hurry up :((

[attachment: 1 image]

while you were giggling to yourself, eren was gripping his phone in frustration. he needed you, now. ever since he last saw you all he could think about was you. your face, your scent, your voice, your pretty moans. he was totally smitten.

“we’ll be arriving shortly,” the driver said in a monotone voice. eren hummed, unlocking his phone to tell you he was almost there.

he was thankful you didn’t leave in the city, the last thing he would want are fans or paparazzi invading your privacy. but it was california after all, and unfortunately there were rumors he was seen at a hotel with a mystery girl, but he made sure his team squashed those rumors from circulating any further. fame can be intense, he’d be crushed if his lifestyle scared you away.

“m’not sure how long i’ll be here so, uh, just tell jean i said don’t wait up,” eren’s tone was cool as he spoke, but inside he was actually excited to see you. he pulled his hoodie up, scoping the scene before stepping out of the car. as eren walked towards your apartment building he heard—

‘psst! up here!’

he slowly looked up and there you were, standing on your balcony, wearing nothing but a robe and a pair of slippers. your hair gently moved with the light breeze, and you had the giddiest smile on your lips—this shit felt like it was a scene out of movie.

you bounced on the balls of your feet as you waited for eren to make it to your door, and finally you heard three knocks. you couldn’t deny that you were nervous—he was a celebrity after all. someone who was known globally and loved by many, he was just a very intimidating guy.

the second you opened the door, you were yanking him in by his hoodie, your chests clashing together. “damn girl, miss me?” eren grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist. you bit your lip, looking at him with nothing but swirls of love and lust in your eyes. “yeah, i did.” eren nudged his nose against yours, blindly kicking the door shut behind him and locking it.

when he heard the click! his lips were on yours, a strong scent of vanilla and jasmine hitting his nose. “w-was the flight here okay? you look tired,” your hands cupped his jaw as you examined the under his eyes. you way you looked at him and touched with such care, as if it were natural, had eren feeling things. weird things. he always told others he’d probably never fall for a fan yet here he was, leaning into your touch like a lovesick puppy.

“yeah it was fine. just been a busy week is all, but don’t worry about that. it’s good to see you. you look good. i look this robe on you.”

when he smiled you saw flashes on gold on his teeth, and that had a gush of wetness dripping from your pussy. “thanks . . . i like your grills. like a lot.” eren breathed heavily through his nose when your thumb ran over his bottom lip, getting a closer look at the grills.

you whined when his lips smushed into yours again, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. you parted your lips, and he wasted no time slithering his tongue into your mouth, groaning when your tongue swiped across his grills. “take this shit off,” eren’s fingers fumbled with the strings on your robe, slowly pushing it off your shoulders when the knot was undone.

you puffed your naked chest out, giggling because you had left eren utterly speechless. he stepped closer to you, and then closer, and closer until you were backed up against the wall. “i’d try to keep my legs steady if i were you,” his breath was hot on your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

your hands pushed against his hard chest when his hand pushed between your thighs, his ring and middle finger dipping between your folds. “y’know i had to postpone so much shit because i just couldn’t go another day without seein’ you? doesn’t that sound insane? we barely know each other, yet i just can’t get you or this pretty pussy outta my head.”

your lips trembled, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers rolled around you swollen clit. “g-good. i did what i was supposed to do when we fucked then,” your words had eren groaning, his head dipping into your neck to kiss and suck at the sweet smelling skin. he kissed his way down your neck, and eventually your chest, taking his time as he rolled his tongue around each nipple.

he kissed the skin above your naval, smirking at the hello kitty jewelry pierced into the skin. “such a pretty girl, knew you were special the second i saw you in the crowd,” and it was true! out of all the fans that were in the audience, you caught his attention the most. the cheered the loudest, knew the words to every song, and you looked damn good sharing a blunt with your friends as you sung along to his songs.

your back slumped against the wall when you felt his hot tongue circle your clit, his hands snaking behind you to grab at your ass cheeks. every slurp and suck had your legs shaking, so much so that eren just said fuck it and threw your knees over his shoulders.

he was a sloppy eater. his tongue switched from french kissing your clit, to fucking into your clenching hole, all while moaning drunkenly against your pussy. you weren’t scared to rough him up either, your hands tangling themselves in his hair and fucking his mouth. “m’so close renny.”

that only encouraged eren to increase his assault on your clit, flicking the bud back and forth until your thighs were clamping around his head. wave after wave of your cum coated his tongue, and eren happily lapped up all of it. god, you were fucking sweet.

you gasped when eren lifted you off his shoulders, “w-wait stay close to me.” eren nearly lost his balance when you jumped into his arms, your legs wrapping around his slim waist. out of instinct eren cupped your behind, holding you closely to him. “i wasn’t goin’ nowhere mama, now where’s yours bedroom?”

you gave eren directions to your bedroom, all while you were kissing his neck and jaw. “it’s cute in here. it’s really . . . pink,” eren chuckled as he looked around your room. what caught his attention the most was the mountain of plushies on your bed, all varying from sanrio characters to anime characters.

he laid you down gently on your bed, smirking at the pout on your glossy lips. “thank you. now drop your pants m’hungry,” your pink, freshly pedicured foot pressed down on the bulge in his sweats, then pushed against his abdomen. eren lifted your foot up and kissed your ankle, “whatever you want baby.”

eren shed his hoodie and sweats, leaving him in a white wife beater and briefs. you eyed the small, wet patch stained into his briefs, your mouth watering at what was hiding underneath. you sat up, your arm hooking around his thick thigh to pull him closer. eren’s head tilted back when you mouthed at the print in his briefs, your tongue lolling out to lick at the wet patch.

your teeth clamped onto the waistband of his briefs, tugging them down until they were mid thigh. eren’s jaw dropped the tiniest bit when you nuzzled your face into his cock, your tongue peeking out to lick at the base. “c’mon. open that pretty mouth,” his tongue ran over the gold on his teeth as he watched you like a predator stalking its prey.

your mouth parted once more, sucking the tip of his cock in your mouth. you hummed around the muscle, your mouth watering at the salty, yet very sweet taste of him.

“let me fuck your mouth, pretty girl. open up,” you whimpered around eren’s dick as he pushed more into your mouth, strings of saliva dripping from your lips and onto your thighs. your tongue rubbed over the protruding veins on the underside, this earned you a pat on the head, followed by eren cradling your jaw. his thumb ran over the bulge in your cheek, “you’re so pretty.”

you took more of his cock into your mouth until your nose nudged against soft tufts of hair. suddenly you felt a hand squeeze at your throat, the action had you choking around his cock, fat tears now running down your cheeks. “ooou shit, that was tight. do it again for me, baby.” he squeezed at your throat ever so softly as he fucked it, his head tilting back out of pure pleasure. seriously, where have you been all his life.

your cheeks hollowed around his dick, sucking harshly until he had to pull you away by your hair, a thin line of spit still connected to your lips. “mmph, hang your head off the bed. you know what to do.”

indeed you did. after a night of dirty texting you found out that eren was quite fond of throat fucking—especially if a girls head was hanging off the side while he did it. there was something about hearing those violent gags and chokes that had his balls tightening every time he thought about it.

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, even though you’ll just get messy literally all over again, and laid down on your back, your head hanging slightly off the side. eren took this opportunity to grasp at your tits, flicking your pretty brown nipples with his thumbs. the cool metal from his rings had them hardening in seconds.

“mm so pretty, now open up gorgeous,” eren tapped his tip against your lips, chuckling when you stuck your tongue out to get the exact same treatment. he rubbed the tip of his cock over the curves of your lips, before running it over your tongue. you greedily swallowed the pre that dribbled onto your tongue.

without warning, eren thrust his hips forward, sheathing more than half his cock down your tight throat. hot tears already began to brim at your lash line as he began a steady pace, the obnoxious noise of you gagging echoing throughout your room. “mmph, good lil fuckin’ throat. you’re fuckin’ perfect y/n ‪‪❤︎‬” eren’s head tilted back in a moan, his adams apple bobbing.

he preferred his head very sloppy, and you were perfect for that. you didn’t mind the spit bubbles that foamed up at the corners of your lips, or the snot that trickled from your nose. you were fine with all of it. all just to please him. his hips stuttered when your hand reached up to toy with his balls. “fu-ck yeah, play wit’ ‘em while you suck it. that’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

his praise had your heart fluttering, and your pussy drooling with need. you were perfect for him. that’s all you could’ve asked for.

your nails dug into eren’s muscly thighs when his hips pushed forward, forcing the entirety of his cock down your throat. you suddenly felt something warm in the back of your throat, and hummed. it wasn’t until you were choking pretty hard that eren pulled out, his half had cock resting on your face. your thighs clenched together when the musky scent that was him wafted into your nose.

“heh, cute. you ready for me to fuck you now mama?”

your tongue ran along his cock, savoring the taste of him, “i love your dick ren, could stay here forever.” eren’s head tilted back as you sloppily kissed all over the base of his cock. he was fully hard once again in no time, the veins on the underside thrumming against your puffy lips.

he backed up to give you some room to get up, only for you to yank him back again. you propped your chin on his hard stomach, batting your freshly done lashes up at him. “what position you want me in renny, m’all yours please tell me what to do.”

there was that look again. that fucking look. that look where you stared at him like he was reason for your very existence. “i’ll do anything you want,” you murmured, pressing little kisses all across his abdomen. you whimpered when eren used both hands to grip your jaw, forcing your gaze at him.

“i think i might love you.”

he didn’t know what kinda fucked up shit this was but he didn’t even care, he loved it. he loved . . . you ❤︎

his pretty lil fan girl. his number one fan. someone that would kiss the ground he walked on if he asked. you were perfect.

“that’s really sweet renny, but i think you’re just high and tired,” you giggled, teeth clamping onto your bottom lip. “you sayin’ you don’t love me back baby?” eren grinned, moving one of his hands to your throat, squeezing rather roughly. he needed to hear you say it, even if you didn’t mean it.

“of course i love you ren. loved you since you first debuted, i knew i had to get my hands on you. now look at you; in my very pink room, telling me you love me because im the best you’ve ever had.”

he couldn’t even object or give snarky remark back because unfortunately you were right.

his hands moved to your shoulders, gently pushing you back.

“i may be high, and i may be a little tired, but i do know that i really like you.” his teeth nibbled on his bottom lip as his hands wandered across your naked body.

“well good. i don’t ever wanna see anything about you and other girls in the blogs again or i’ll block you ‘kay?” eren was laughing until you interrupted him saying a monotone ‘i mean it.’

he leant over you, his chain dangling over your face. his thick brows were pulled together, and if you looked close enough you could see the pout on his lips. of course he’d only see you, but the thought of getting blocked by you had his heart tightening. “i only want you to myself from now on, can you handle that superstar?”

eren gasped when your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you. his dick sat right between your sopping folds, the tip nudging deliciously against your clit.

“fuck, yes. yes i can handle it, i can’t handle being blocked by you though. best fuckin’ pussy i’ve ever had y/n ❤︎. don’t break my heart like that,” he rocked his hips slowly, coating his cock in your essence. you had him right in the palm of your hand and god, it felt so good. “don’t make me write some corny love songs about you, because i will.”

“would that really be so bad? i wouldn’t mind having a song written about me.”

“i’ll write one for you anyway, i’ll write ten fucking songs about you and this pussy, shit,” eren’s nostrils flared the tip of his cock accidentally slid into your pussy. he couldn’t help but just bottom out completely, his balls sitting snuggly against your ass.

your mouth parted, a breathy moan slipping past your lips. “mm, do it. i dare you renny.” eren just moaned in response, his eyes fluttering shut. heaven. this was heaven.

“i will baby, i will. i pr-promise.”

each time he pulled out a loud squelch followed. you sucked the cross attached to his chain in your mouth, whimpering around the cool metal. eren settled for fast, deep thrusts, the angry tip of his cock bumping harshly into that spongy spot deep inside you. “so fuckin’ hot. you’re so fuckin’ hot,” eren was damn near panting like a dog, his tongue dangerously close to dangling out of his mouth.

your body moved up slightly with each hard thrust, your breasts bouncing wildly in his face. the sharp canine part of eren’s grill grazed your nipple, his hot tongue coming out a second later to soothe the sting. “you smell so good, y-you’re so good.” embarrassingly enough eren’s thrusts were already getting sloppy. he was close.

“are you about to cum? hm? gonna nut in my pussy ren?” all eren could do would moan, his face nuzzling itself into the crook of your neck. you sobbed out eren’s name when he pushed your knees up, the angle of his thrusts reaching deeper inside you. he licked his thumb, bringing the digit to your swollen clit.

“c’mon baby, make that pussy cum. wanna feel that shit.” your legs shook violently as you second orgasm of the night hit you. eren fucked you through it, growling out curses each time a steam of your cum hit his lower stomach. his cock slipped out ad second later ribbons of cum were painting your tummy in thick, white strands.

eren’s head fell forwards, wispy strands from his disheveled half up, half down bun tickling his forehead. “shit, m’still hard girl. you’re gonna kill me,” eren’s hands cupped your face, smushing his lips against yours in a clash of tongue and teeth.

he pulled out briefly to turn you around on your tummy. “i’m gonna borrow one of those real quick,” he murmured, tatted hand reaching above you to grab one of your many plushies. he arched your back, placing the plushie underneath the pudge of your stomach. “comfortable mama?” his nose nudged against your cheek, his lashes tickling you.

“yeah . . . put it in.” eren tapped the tip of his cock against your clit before slipping in, groaning at the warmth that welcomed him. he yanked your hair back, exposing your neck. “o-ohhh fuck,” your eyes rolled into the back of your skull when eren’s bicep hooked around your neck, putting you in the perfect chokehold. not too tight, but not too lose either. his strokes were slow, but deep, allowing you to feel every vein and ridge on his dick against your sensitive walls.

“this what you wanted the most right? always talkin’ about my muscles, you satisfied now baby?” all you could do was moan pathetically, nodding your head rapidly. “you’re g’nna make me cum again renny, y-you’re gonna make me cum!” your feet kicked wildly against the bed, tears free falling from your cheeks and onto your sheets.

eren grunted, tightening his hold on your neck, “do it.” your body thrashed beneath him, shaking violently as your orgasm hit you in intense waves. the soft cotton of your sheets was basically rubbing your clit raw, adding way more overstimulation than you needed.

eren’s thrusts were relentless, his pace never once faltering as you came. he pressed his hips snuggly against your ass, rolling his hips until you were clawing at the sheets. “keep fucking me l-like that, god yes!” eren groaned, pulling his hips all the way back before slamming back in.

“thas’ right baby, m’your god. your everything,” his teeth nibbled at your ear, licking over the shell of. ugh yes he was your everything :(( you loved him, you adored him, you were his biggest fan. you’d do anything for him if it meant you got fucked like this on a regular.

“hah! ah! ah! o-oh shittt,” you sobbed out, tears soaking your chubby cheeks. eren cursed under his breath when his dick slipped out, a stream of your cum following seconds after. you clawed at the sheets, trying to get out of his grip, but eren kept you steady, shushing your whines with kisses.

“no more renny,” you whimpered, your face nuzzling into the crook of his bicep. “ngh, you don’t mean that baby,” he cooed at you, pressing a kiss to the side of your face.

eren laid on his side, pulling you close to his chest. his heart was beating so fast, it felt like he was high. this must be what people call being ‘pussydrunk’ because he swears if he was asked to speak a full sentence he’d fail.

he lifted your thigh up, slipping his cock between your folds. your body quivered, arching against his chest. “you wanna be my girlfriend? c’mon i know you wanna say yes, just say it,” you didn’t even have time to process his words before his tip was slowly sliding in. the question must’ve been good right? you’ll just say yes.

you squeaked out a yes! when he bottomed out, your backside pushing against his pelvis. he couldn’t believe you actually said yes, he couldn’t believe he actually even asked you that. what were you doing to this poor man?

eren hiked your thigh up, starting up a fallow n’ shallow pace. his lips crashed into yours, moaning into your mouth with a scrunched up face. “we’ll figure somethin’ out, you just—just gotta be mine.”

“i will renny—hah! all i’ve ever wanted is to be yours.” your thighs clamped around eren’s wrist when you felt his fingers strum against your clit. most people would look at you like you were nuts for even accepting such an offer, but they wouldn’t understand. you’ve loved eren and his craft since he first debuted six years ago. his music got through some of the hardest times of your life and for that you were eternally grateful to him—so yes, you’ll worship the ground he walks on and love him like no other.

his free hand shimmied underneath your back, wrapping around your waist. god he was so fucking close. he needed you as close as possible.

“cum with me mama. i’m about to nut, c’mon take it, take it, take ittt,” his hips pushed up against your backside one last time, emptying his balls inside you for what won’t be the last time tonight. he just needed a breather.

your body thrashed against his as you came with a scream. eren covered your mouth, whispering filthy praises in your ear as you rode our your high. he stayed snugly inside you, caressing your stomach with light touches.

it was silent for ten minutes as you both caught your breath, eren not once loosening his grip on you, he didn’t even pull out when you turned around to face him.

“you meant what you said right? about me being your girlfriend?” eren cracked an eye open and was met with your brown ones staring right back at him. was he sure about this? i mean the man didn’t even really know you like that but . . . fuck it, why not. he shrugged, brushing his hair out of his face. “yeah, as long as we keep it on the dl for now. i got a lot—”

“that won’t work.”

eren’s brows furrowed, “what do you mean that won’t work? you’re not in charge here at the end of the day.”

two days later . . .

‘breaking news! well known musician eren yeager was recently seen out shopping in beverly hills with what looks like a new boo! my, my look at all those shopping bags, seems like this girl has got our boy whipped! we believe this is the same girl he was seen with, about a month ago, heading into a hotel in chicago. fans are buzzing like crazy trying to find out who this mystery girl is! it seems to be she has no social media, but never fear my sources are working day and night to find out who she is! until then this is . . .’

jean shut off the tv, pure anger radiating off of him. “you wanna tell me what that’s all about? who the fuck even is this girl—”

“i’m his girlfriend,” you came from around the corner, wearing nothing but one of eren’s shirts. you approached eren from behind, where he was sitting on the couch, a bored look on his face as usual. he visibly relaxed when he felt your hands massage his shoulders. “yeah, she’s right. as of two days ago we’re official.” eren turned his head to press a kiss to the top of your hand.

“eren, you still have the international leg of your tour to do! there’s no way you can focus on that with a distraction—” eren let out a long sigh, his head flopping against the back of the couch. “jean, you’re really not talking about shit i wanna hear right now.” he just wanted to spend time with you, granted you both had been holed up in his hotel room for two days, besides the random shopping trip you just had to go on.

you weren’t a fan of keep your relationship a secret, hence why you made him take your ass the most expensive strip mall you could find. you’d never shopped in a luxury store that was completely empty until eren made his security clear the area so you two could shop in peace. he had so much power over people, it turned you on a lot.

“she’s not gonna be a distraction. she’s gonna come on tour with me, and keep me company. i’d ask if was a problem, but i really don’t give a shit. i pay you entirely too much for you to be bitching at me like that.”

jean’s mouth parted, but no words came out. it wasn’t uncommon for eren to talk to him like that, but it was certainly new to have an audience watching.

you combed your fingers through eren’s hair, frowning at the annoyed look on his face. “is there anything else you wanna discuss?” eren’s ring clad finger tapped against the couch impatiently. jean looked at eren, then you, then back to eren, and back to you. “ah, no. i guess that’ll be all eren.”

“i need you to schedule me a session at the studio, m’workin’ on a new song,” eren called out just as jean was about to shut the door. “dumbass better have heard me.”

he looked up at you through his lashes, “i know i sound a little harsh, but if you’re not an asshole to that guy he’ll run you over. only reason he still has a job is because he’s damn good at it.”

you shrugged, making your way around the couch to sit on eren’s lap. you wrapped your arms around his neck, “i don’t care about none of that. now tell me about this song you’re writing! what’s it about?”

“i think you know what it’s about, mama.”