#i need to work on so many things for our au that i will likely never post ever

[redtsundere-writes]

Jinx | Sukuna Ryomen

Part 14. Champion

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Sypnosis: Sukuna is a world champion with anger issues. It's believed by many that he is untrainable. Yeah, you can't train him, but you can dominate him. Contents: Fighting. Female reader being dom. Jinx AU (the BL, not the character from lol) Yuuji, Choso and Sukuna are brothers. Some characters are out of character. Warnings: Cursed words, I only read it once. Word Count: 9322 words (a long boy) Author's Note: So the final chapter is here. This has been a wonderful journey. Like I said in my last post, I'll edit the shit out of this, but I knew this was going to happen either way. I want to thank @elgonki for helping me edit this chapter.

"Faster!" Geto ordered me from the side of the ring.

"Just do it!" Nobara encouraged me to continue.

I kicked the pad that was at Nobara's chest with increasing force and speed. My legs wanted to give up, but I was going to let them. Nobara held the pad as tight as she could to keep it from being pushed with each impact.

Despite the distance, Nobara was always the first to hear the news of my life. She was the first to find out about my neck diagnosis, that I became a trainer, and that the king of the ring had hired me. She was the one who helped me when I needed it most. When Naoya happened, she traveled to Kyoto to give me a hug. I always tried to invite her to eat or drink something after training to thank her for her unconditional support.

It was great to have my old life back. Waking up at 7 in the morning to go for a run, going to the gym to exercise, getting into the ring to train with the other girls and teaching jiujitsu classes to the children in the afternoon. The only thing that had changed for the better was that now I had a nice boyfriend who supported me in everything.

"I brought lunch," Choso announced his presence at the ringside while holding a plastic bag with two salads. I pulled myself away from Nobara to greet my boyfriend.

"Let's take a rest," Nobara suggested with a smile. I got out of the ring and gave my boyfriend a big sweaty hug.

"You smell like you work hard," he joked before planting a kiss on my head.

"You are right. The fight against Maki Zenin is in less than a week. I must be in my best shape to take back what belongs to me,” I told him excitedly.

Mei Mei's office was very different from Nanami's. While Nanami's looked like a lawyer's office that drinks old fashions and smokes good cigars, MeiMei's office was very minimalist and functional. The bone walls contrasted with the black desk and silver electronics. Choso and I were sitting on the white sofa that was placed in front of a small plasma television. We talked about our days while we ate. The green salad with chicken that Choso had brought me reminded me of the meals I used to make for Sukuna from time to time when I lived with him. What I missed about being a trainer was being able to eat anything without having the pressure to gain weight.

“The UFC 300 fight card comes with a bang, as it will be a double championship night!” The host of a sports news program enthusiastically announced to a panel of experts.

“That's right! First, we’ll see The Snake de Medusa versus The Fury. Will The Snake be able to regain her title after her injury?” One of the drivers asked openly to the table to start the debate. 

“Are you nervous?” Choso asked me, leaving his empty plate on the glass table. 

“A lot, but I'll just get into the octagon, I'll do what I have to do, and I'll take down Maki no matter what,” I answered excitedly. 

“That's my girl,” Choso proudly placed a warm kiss on my cheek. 

In the time we have been together, my relationship with Choso has been the most beautiful and healthy one I have ever had in my life. He always cares about me, cooks for me and supports me in all my decisions. We had less than 3 months living together, and I still maintained the same opinion I had of him. It was a pleasure to wake up next to him every morning, do housework together and make love in the shower from time to time. I loved doing everything together with him. 

“I made you a green juice before I came here,” he said handing me one of my reusable bottles I had at home. I hated green juice, but I had to drink it for my own good.  

“Yuta Okkotsu was to face Toge Inumaki for the middleweight belt, but Inumaki suffered an injury that will prevent the fight from taking place. Do they already know who his replacement will be?” One of the commentators asked with curiosity. 

Yuta and Toge have always been friendly rivals. Outside the UFC they are almost always seen together at events and parties, but once they get in the ring, they are ready to kill each other. That energy of brotherhood and competitiveness makes their fights even more entertaining and among the bestsellers in the business. This rematch had been announced for 3 months. It was a shame that shortly before the event, Inumaki could no longer participate. I wanted to see the fight too. 

“It's a good thing you mentioned it, because we have exclusive news for Total Sport! Toge Inumaki's replacement will be no one more and no one less than Sukuna Ryomen!” At that name, I can't help but spit out the green juice. 

“What?!” I yelled as I got up from the sofa. 

“Just like that! Sukuna will finally go after a second title.” 

My mouth dropped open in shock. Sukuna and I would be at the same event! What wonderful news! After I moved to Nagoya, Sukuna hardly ever gave me any sign of life. He would either leave me on read or answer my messages weeks later. I sent hundreds of emails to Nanami to schedule a training session together, but I never received a reply. Every time Choso took me to one of his family events, I expected to see him there, in his fancy suit and expensive sunglasses. Unfortunately, Yuuji would always arrive alone and tell me that Sukuna was busy. It was frustrating to get in touch with him, but at last we would see each other again. 

“I'll get to see Sukuna fight live again, what a thrill!” I squealed in excitement as Choso wiped up the mess I had made with a napkin. 

“Are you that excited to see him?” I asked dryly. 

“Of course I am. I was his coach for a year, and he improved so much in such a short time. I want to see how much he has improved without me,” I answered wistfully. 

As much as I loved being back as a fighter, sometimes I liked to remember when I was his coach. The time when I could coexist in the mixed martial arts world and I didn't get hurt often. The best of both worlds. Even though I had my peace of mind, I missed Sukuna making me angry, laughing or crying with joy. 

“Do you miss him that much?” Choso asked me out of the blue, avoiding my gaze completely. 

“A little. It's just that it's been so long since I last saw him that I'm excited to see how he's doing,” I answered as I sat back down on the couch. 

It had been a year since we last saw each other. When we said goodbye after leaving his penthouse, I didn't think it would take me that long to see him again. If I was already excited to return to the octagon for my title, now I was happy to know that Sukuna would see me fight live for the first time. A smile crept onto my face at the idea.

After a heavy week of training until exhaustion, a diet based on chicken breast and study sessions on Maki, we finally arrived at the mythical land where all addictions are connected. Traveling to Las Vegas was always a pleasure. Nobara was excited to travel with me to a new place, Mei Mei was on the phone, and Suguru and I were constantly talking about the fight.

"You better not disappoint us." Suguru joked as the entire team and I headed to the UFC center for the official weigh-in in a family van.

"She will never let us down! She is the strongest fighter there is!” Nobara defended me.

"I’ll give my best," I said in an attempt to stop the fight along with a smile.

I looked at Choso, who had a sad look and hardly spoke during the trip. I tried to ask him what was wrong, but there wasn't a time when we were private enough to ask him. Maybe it was because the last time he was here was when he “found his ex-fiancée with his brother.” I tried to cheer him up several times by telling him that we would go for a drink after the fight and then to the casino, but I couldn't.

The official weigh-in went well. I showed up in front of my old rival Maki and the rest of the disgusting Zenin. I wanted to tell them to go to hell, but I maintained my professionalism. After all, my problem wasn't with Maki, but with her disgusting cousin. After the fight rules were read to us, we returned to the hotel for the exhibition weigh-in. Nobara and Mei Mei did my hair, and they retouched my light makeup to get me camera ready. Upon arriving at the hotel, an insane amount of reporters appeared out of nowhere. I smiled for the cameras, but without losing sight of the entrance. An assistant guided us to a hallway so we could wait there for them to call us for the press conference.

"You look pretty," Choso flattered me with a smile.

"Thank you. I hope you don't ask me offensive questions…” My eyes interrupted what I was going to say as soon as I saw that large figure that I hadn't seen a year ago.

His hair was longer than he remembered, and his features were thinner from having to have lost 5 kilos at once for the fight to take place. He walked alongside the Black Team with their respective jacket and black over-ear headphones. Our eyes connected and something in my mind clicked. I smiled instantly and ran up to him to receive him.

"Sukuna!" I greeted him excitedly with my arms outstretched, waiting for a warm hug.

But I didn't receive a hug, not even a greeting, a “fuck you” would have hurt less. He just ignored me and avoided me like I was the plague in person. My smile fell as I realized the reality. He who had ignored me felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown in my face. What had I done wrong? Why was he acting like this after everything we went through? Seeing his back walking away from me made my heart feel heavier than normal.

"Do not take it personally," Yuuji told me, approaching me. "He's only angry because he's hungry. He hasn't eaten anything since yesterday to reach the official weight.” My friend had dark circles under his eyes and he didn't smile as usual. He looked worse than Nanami on tax day.

"I see…" It was the only thing I could say without sounding disappointed.

"He's even an idiot when his stomach is full, they should be used to it by now," Uraume commented as they approached us. I greeted them after years of not seeing each other, happy that they was with Team Black.

"Yes, that's definitely Sukuna." Choso commented, joining the conversation as he put his arm around my shoulders.

"If he's not upset with something, he's not Sukuna." Yuuji tried to joke, but he couldn't even laugh. You could tell that Sukuna had been using him as his personal punching bag for the past few days.

The younger pink-haired boy began to tell us about the hell it had been to train with his older brother in recent days, while Choso hugged me by the shoulders. I looked askance behind me. Gojo and Nanami were talking to Sukuna, surely they were reminding him what not to say in the interview. His eyes met mine again for a second, but out of pride, I returned my gaze to the conversation I was in. I sighed in an attempt to ease my poor heart.

The press conference with Maki's team had also gone well. We maintained respect while the clear competitiveness could be seen from miles away. That day I spent warming up and training in the hotel gym, preparing myself mentally for the fight. Although now my problem was not with Maki, but with Sukuna. I understand that he was angry, but he doesn't ignore people just because. It's not like he ignored me by accident because he saw me, he saw my eyes. I am sure of it.

Night fell quickly. After a good training session with Geto and a good dinner that relieved my hungry stomach. Choso and I headed to the suite the UFC had paid for us. My body was so tired that once it hit the bed, it didn't want to get up. Despite my fatigue, I was not sleepy. The memory of Sukuna ignoring me ate me alive, I needed answers, but I had no way to get them.

Choso took off my shoes and lay down next to me. He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in the crook of my neck. His breathing was soft and rhythmic. I stroked her hair as I looked at the ceiling that had a hint of glitter. The lights of bright Las Vegas peeked out the window in a dance between blues and greens. I lay on my side to hug Choso fully and give him a soft kiss on the lips. I moved a little away from his face to see him better. My finger pushed his raven hair to the side to see his eyes, but they were closed.

"Are you tired?" I whispered to him.

"A bit," Choso answered. "It's just been a long day," he said before pulling me towards him so he could lay on my chest.

I sighed upon hearing that response. More than tired, he looked discouraged. I wish I knew how to cheer him up, but I didn't. The only thing I could do was hold him close to me and stroke his hair, brushing it between my fingers. My hands slowly lowered to his back. I ran my fingertips along his shoulder blades and down his spine. Something that used to feel warm and welcoming now felt cold and distant. What was going on?

I could barely sleep. I opened and closed my eyes every two hours because anxiety was eating me alive. Between my championship fight and the strange behavior of the Itadori brothers, my mind couldn't calm down. My theories ran back and forth trying to give a reasonable answer to the situation. I reluctantly opened my eyes and noticed the time. It was 6 o'clock, an hour before the alarm would ring to go out for a run. Choso was on the other side of the bed. It shouldn't bother you.

Since I was alone, I headed to the hotel gym to use the treadmills. What I didn't expect was to see that Team Black coming out of the reception. “I forgot he also runs at this time,” I thought excitedly. This was my chance to ask him if everything was okay between us. I ran out of the hotel to catch up with them. Yuuji, Gojo, and Sukuna were warming up on the sidewalk to begin their morning run down the sidewalk. The champion was wearing his headphones like the day before.

"Good morning, guys!" I waved to the team as I approached.

"Good morning, and Choso?" Yuuji asked me curiously.

"Asleep. It's still very early for him,” Explain with a smile so they wouldn’t get worry. "Are you going for a run? Can I go? I asked excitedly.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Gojo intercepted me.

"I don't think Sukuna would mind, it's not like we haven't done it before, right?" I completely ignored his warning.

I approached Sukuna, who looked more intimidating than usual. Almost nothing had changed about his appearance, but his vibe was very different from the last time I saw him. What the fuck was happening? He looked at me getting closer to him, now I couldn't ignore me. He didn't greet me or take off his headphones to greet me.

"Hello! Can I join?!" I yelled at him so he could hear me even though he had his headphones on.

He looked at me from head to toe with disdain as if I were scum and turned to run away. I was frozen and with my mouth open. He's blatantly ignoring me! My mind couldn't understand why I was doing it. Did I do something wrong? Do I smell bad? Do you have amnesia and don't recognize me? What the hell is wrong with him?

"Sorry, see you later," Yuuji told me, giving me an encouraging pat on the shoulder, before following his brother and Gojo.

I smiled offended as I saw Sukuna running away. After a year together, was he going to pretend I didn't exist? I couldn't allow it. I wasn't going to let him make fun of me. I couldn't let the king of assholes straight up ignore me like that. If he could go back to how it was before, me too and it would be worse this time.

I ran after them. My feet moved before my mind could decide on a plan. He ran with all the frustration he had stored up since yesterday. In less time than I thought, I passed Yuuji and Gojo to reach Sukuna. I grabbed his headphones and ripped them off his head. I threw his precious headphones with all my might into the street, getting lost in the traffic. I smiled satisfied at my mischief.

"Hey! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Sukuna yelled at me in annoyance before walking steadily towards me.

"Am I no longer invisible?" I asked, backing away from him.

Sukuna stopped as soon as he realized why he had done it. I thought he would yell at me more, call me some ridiculous nickname, or tell me to stop bothering him, but I got nothing from him. Absolutely nothing. He just looked at me like he pitied me. That had been a direct stab to my ego.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I exclaimed, annoyed, but he didn't tell me anything else.

He just looked at me with those dark eyes. Those eyes that used to look at me with anger, mockery, and sometimes desire. There was nothing behind them anymore. There was only one Sukuna who didn't care at all. An urge to cry invaded me, but I held it back.

"Forget it, I don't want to talk to the king of assholes anyway,” I blurted out, continuing my run by myself.

I ran and ran. My feet were already used to this, but this time they felt heavier. I couldn't give up, I had to continue until I reached the hotel again. I wanted to escape from that empty look. I could run all I wanted, but that memory was faster than me. Sukuna looking into my eyes as if I didn't exist for him. A pain invaded my ribs.

I went to a wall to rest, so the horse pain would go away. I bit my lower lip to stop the inevitable. A row of tears emerged from my eyes uncontrollably. I tried to wipe them away with the back of my hand, but they kept appearing. I crouched forward so no one would see me in my most vulnerable state. “Why do I care so much?” I questioned myself confused.

After getting all my tears out, I looked for my phone in my pants to call a taxi. I was not in the mood to continue my journey to the hotel. Only my phone wasn't there. “Ah, shit… I left it in the suite,” I thought, annoyed with myself for forgetting it. No way, I would have to run back to the hotel.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, I breathed a sigh of relief to finally have reached the floor of my suite. I headed towards my door, but I heard terrible door knocks. I paused, debating whether I should check out what it was about or not. Although this was no longer safe Japan, this was wild Las Vegas. I headed back towards my door until I heard…

"Sukuna! Open the hell up! I know you're there! Choso shouted at the top of his lungs.

I turned back to see what was happening. Choso was pounding on the door of the master suite with both clenched fists. He acted like a lunatic desperate for attention. This was the first time I had seen him do something like that.

"What are you doing?" I asked him confused. He turned to me and looked at me like I was a ghost.

"There you are," He approached me, clearly upset. "Where the hell were you?!" He yelled at me.

Choso had never yelled at me like that before. My eyebrow raised at his strange attitude. My ego had been bruised enough today, I didn't need my boyfriend to jump on the boat too. What the hell was happening to everyone?!

"I went out to run…". I answered confused.

"Do not lie to me!". Choso yelled in my face.

"I'm not lying to you, you can ask Yuuji or Sukuna!" I yelled, offended. Choso clicked his tongue offended.

"So you were with him…" He muttered angrily.

"I found him at the reception". I defended myself. "Nothing happened".

"Oh yeah?" He rolled his eyes, he didn't believe me at all.

"Yeah! Why are you treating me like I've done something wrong?!” I exclaimed annoyed, getting down to his level.

"Because you tricked me, Yuki!" Choso barked angrily.

My eyes widened when I heard that. His eyes also widened as he realized what he had said. My world was falling apart in a single morning. I took a couple of steps back to get away from him while a knot formed in my throat.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean that," He tried to apologize. "You know this place brings back bad memories of what happened."

"I'm not like her," I muttered, annoyed.

"Of course not," He tried to take my hand, but I jerked out of his grasp.

"I would never use Sukuna for money!" I exclaimed, annoyed. "I wouldn't hurt others for my own benefit!" Choso looked at me shocked, as if I had said something bad about his mother.

"Do not tell me that…". He tried to say from the impression. "Don't tell me you believed that absurd story about what he wanted to use to get into the UFC."

"Yes, I do believe him."

"I can't believe you were so stupid."

Before I thought, my hand was already flying towards his cheek. It hit her in a clean impact that turned her face. He wasn't going to call me that to my face, ever. I wasn't going to tolerate another man treating me like trash. Choso looked at me surprised that I had the courage to hit him.

"Of course I'm going to believe him when the same bitch confirmed it." I declared.

"What?! Did you meet her?! Where?!" He asked me perplexed.

"You would know if you saw Sukuna's fights," I barked as I turned around. "You don't need to come to training today," I asked before going back to my suite.

Choso tried to follow me to reconsider, but I just slammed the door in his face. I entered the main room, tired, ashamed and exhausted. Everything had happened too quickly and without logical explanation. I looked for my phone and headphones on the nightstand. I unlock my phone to listen to music and the first thing I see is the photo I took with Choso when we moved into our nice apartment. A tear fell on the screen, preventing me from entering my password.

Choso had just thrown our entire relationship down the drain. That loving and attentive Choso disintegrated into the air like dust. The only thing I had left were its annoying ashes that I would have to sweep up later. First there was Sukuna ignoring and now Choso confusing me with a woman I hate. I curled up in bed to cry comfortably. I put on the first sad song that came across my playlist to cry to. I only had an hour before training, and I wasn't going to waste it. Soon I submerged on my own tears and snot. I fought against my own nose to breathe again through the mess. I had to get everything I felt in my chest to be able to put up a good fight.

The night fell slower than I would have preferred. Nobara, seeing me with swollen and somewhat reddish eyes, asked me what had happened, but I told her that I didn't want to talk about it now. I had to focus on the fight. She was going to get in the ring, do what she had to do and come out as the champion. That was easy.

UFC 300 started with a bang. I watched each of the matches while warming up with Nobara in the small conditioning room they had given us to wait for my turn to fight. He gently tapped the pads at a good pace, fast and precise. I would lower my head when she tried to hit me. We danced in the small space we had to do so.

"I like that look," Geto told me while monitoring my training. "You look angry."

I was angry. Choso had not arrived at the event and doubted he would. There were 15 minutes left until my fight. I told him he shouldn't go to training, I didn't think he would also take my biggest fight as part of it.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I asked for a break as I left Nobara.

I looked terrible. My eyes were puffy from crying and my skin looked duller than usual. I would look terrible on camera, but there was nothing I could do about it. That's what happened to me for crying in the shower instead of bathing properly. I slapped myself in front of the mirror. “Concentrate, you can't let two assholes take you down easily.” I tried to cheer myself up and, in a way, I succeeded. “You're a badass.”

When I left the bathroom, I was going to go back to my room, but out of the corner of my eye I saw that dark hair that I knew so well. It was Choso, but he wasn't heading towards me. He didn't even see me. He continued walking down the hallway until he got lost in a corridor. I had to return to my living room, but my intuition begged me to follow him and that's exactly what I did. I was going to turn the same corner as him, until I heard his voice.

"What the fuck were you doing with my girlfriend in the morning?" He asked annoyed. That was enough of a sign for me to stay hidden. It broke my heart that Choso didn't believe me.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sukuna's annoying voice echoed through the hallways. He had surely arrived at his conditioning room.

"She told me she was with you in the morning. Now answer the damn question,” Choso retorted, his tone becoming more aggressive with each word.

"We met at the hotel entrance. That was it," Sukuna answered.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure! She threw my headphones into traffic because I've been ignoring her like you asked!”

This couldn't be happening. Was Choso the reason for everything? Was Sukuna ignoring me, ghosting me, or avoiding me because of him? I covered my mouth so as not to sob out loud. I never thought Choso would be able to take me away from one of the most important people in my life, especially his brother. I never thought his insecurity would reach this level.

"Good". Choso muttered. "I believe you."

"You better believe me this time because I've been suffering for you, and you know it." Sukuna replied annoyed.

"It's not my fault she chose me over you." Now what the fuck were they talking about? "It's your karma."

"Is that so? Are you just using her to get back at me?” Sukuna asked him offended. Faced with silence, he spoke again. "Just tell me one thing, do you really love her or did you just want to take her away from me?"

"I like her. She's pretty.”

One year dating! One damn year dating and this son of a bitch only likes me! My tears of sadness turned to frustration. What stupid game had they put me into? Had every moment we'd spent together been a lie? A beautiful lie to keep me by your side? He had been making fun of me this whole time, and I wasn't going to let him have it. I clenched my fists in anger. I heard how they began to struggle between grunts and curses. It was hard to know what was going on because I was still hiding in the corner.

"She’s pretty?! That's it?! God, you're a big idiot!” Sukuna yelled, annoyed. "You have a renowned fighter, a wonderful person and the most beautiful woman as your girlfriend, and you only say that she is pretty?!"

A weak smile appeared on my face. I didn't know he looked at me that way. That statement felt like the calm in the eye of the hurricane. My confused tears came out for different reasons. Anger at Choso's selfishness and happiness at finally knowing what Sukuna really thought about me. My phone vibrated in my pocket, returning me to my reality. I took it out to read Nobara's message.

Bestie: Where are you? We should be at the entrance by now.

I wiped my tears with the sleeve of my sweatshirt before running off to my championship fight. She was unaware of the entire strange situation between Choso and Sukuna, but she was sure of one thing. I was going to kill that bitch.

SUKUNA POV

Since we were kids, Choso knew me better than anyone else. He knew when he was hungry, angry, or wanted to get into mischief just by looking at me. I never understood how he did it. It was like he could read my mind better than I could. That's why he was able to share me his cookies without me asking, he calmed me down when I needed it and took the bucket out of my hands when I wanted to dunk Yuuji in front of his friends. His strong intuition no longer surprised me. It wasn't until he realized I liked Y/n before I knew it.

"She’s pretty?! That's all?! God, you're a big idiot!” I yelled in his face. "You have a renowned fighter, a wonderful person and the most beautiful woman as your girlfriend, and you only say that she is pretty?!"

I had him cornered against the wall. It was the closest thing I could do without beating him to death. The last time I did that, it didn't go very well. I really thought he loved her the same way I did, but no, he just used her to hurt me. My fists were turning red from the force I was applying so that he couldn't slip out of my hands.

"Do you see what it feels like to have something taken away from you?" Choso asked me.

"She's not damn candy!" I exclaimed annoyed. "She's a woman who really loves you, and you're still thinking about your whore ex. Don't you realize how pathetic you sound?!" 

"Hey, don't talk about Yuki like that!" Choso yelled back to me.

"And don't talk about Y/n as if she were a trophy!" I yelled at him, barely containing my anger. I was reaching for everything in my power not to knock him out again.

"She is! Finally, I have something that you don't!” He yelled in my face. "You always had everything, the best grades, the approval of our parents, the girls you wanted. Even the girls I liked, always they liked you! Yuki was the only one who really liked me back.”

“Y/n really likes you too.” I said before slamming him against the wall of anger. The door to my living room opened, Gojo's white head peeked out. I sighed and reluctantly let go of Choso.

"Y/n is already going to fight," he told me to return to the room.

"Shouldn't you be with her?" I asked him worried. He just avoided my gaze, ashamed. "Now what did you do?"

"It's already on!" Yuuji excitedly informed me from inside. Gojo asked me to come in with his eyes. I sighed exasperated, but ignored him. I pulled my little brother to come into the living room with me.

Hiss by Megan Thee Stallion echoed through the room as everyone settled in front of the television to watch the first championship fight of the night. She looked just as intimidating as she did in every fight, but this time she looked annoyed. I had seen her last fights, she always smiled confidently while fighting the air. This time, her smile had disappeared, and she just walked towards the octagon with a mean look. Her eyes looked reddish and lifeless. “What the fuck did you do to him?” I asked Choso telepathically. I didn't want to start another argument with Yuuji in the room.

Y/n took off her sweatshirt and revealed that body that drove me crazy. Her sports bra and those green 2-in-1 shorts they accentuated her figure beautifully. The referee checked her and gave her the go-ahead to enter the octagon. She walked around the place as if the entire place belonged to her. She stretched her limbs like an elegant panther ready to hunt.

It didn't take long for Maki to make her appearance, but I didn't care about her in the slightest. What surprised me was seeing the idiot Naoya behind her. Y/n probably knew this would happen, after all they are cousins, and they train in the same temple. This would only increase the pressure you feel.

The two fighters met in the ring. Finally, the moment Y/n had been waiting for for years had arrived. This would be the night she would reign in the octagon again. The referee repeated the rules to them and they both clashed gloves.

"Come on, Snake!" Yuuji exclaimed excitedly.

They both stepped back to start the fight. My eyes were on Y/n. “Come on, you can do it,” I thought, hoping to see an incredible fight. The bell rang, and she lunged at Maki without waiting another second, welcoming her with a Superman punch which made Maki step back. Team Black celebrated the small victory of the first blow euphorically.

Maki then lunged at her with equal force to try to take the fight to the ground. He took her arms to bring her closer to his body and threw her to the ground. Y/n resisted the attack well, but managed to take it to her advantage. She took advantage of the fact that she was holding her to use her thigh as a ladder to climb on top of her like a python. In one swift movement, she climbed over her to wrapped her powerful legs and strong arms around her arm. He slammed her to the ground using his own weight. The public went crazy when they saw a strong python strangling its poor prey. My eyes couldn't blink for fear of missing that live massacre.

Once on the ground, Y/n took advantage of the closeness to choke Maki with her leg. Zenin began to squirm to find a way out of the unexpected move. With her free opposite arm and her legs away from Y/n, she didn’t have any options. Her team was yelling incoherently at Maki in an attempt to help her, but there was nothing they could do. Y/n had already won with a perfect arm bar. After the referee saw that Maki could not escape in any way, he ended the fight so that she would not pass out from lack of air.

Team Black cheered euphoric. I already knew that she was a magnificent fighter. She had proved herself on again and again every time we trained together, but this time she had shined. She had proven once again that she was a dangerous woman that no one can mess with.

"Sometimes I forget that she could easily kill me," Choso told me.

"Only if you make her angry," I warned him.

END OF SUKUNA POV

"The Medusa Serpent defeated The Fury in 15 seconds! A personal record!”

I didn't know what happened or when it happened. I just blinked, and I was already choking Maki with my legs. Had won. She was the champion again. The Octagon belonged to me again, but I wasn't happy. I didn't feel the euphoria running through my body. My team jumped into the octagon to hug me and congratulate me on my victory. I smiled weakly. In the distance I saw Naoya scolding Maki for losing so embarrassingly. Even though the fight hadn't lasted long, my body felt tired.

"Y/n, The Medusa Serpent, Y/l/n, the new champion!". The host announced excitedly as soon as the referee raised my arm, granting me the victory. 

Geto helped me put on the gold belt and lifted me onto his shoulders, so everyone could see me. I raised my arms in victory as everyone applauded me. This was what I wanted, this was what I had trained for for years, why did I still feel like shit?

"We all knew you would make it!" Nobara hugged me once we got off the octagon after they finished interviewing my coach and I.

"This is to celebrate! I made a reservation at The Chandelier,” Mei Mei announced, thrilled.

"Go ahead." I asked them tiredly. "I want to see Sukuna's fight."

"We'll wait for you in the room then." Nobara told me before hugging me. "Are you okay?" She whispered so no one could hear us. I just nodded so she wouldn't worry.

I went to the seat I had asked the UFC to set aside for me in the front row. People around shook my hand to congratulate me on my victory. I just thanked them and smiled kindly at them. I sank into the black seat as I listened to the loud music and watched the lights dance through the audience. While enjoying the view, I saw Choso running through the audience. You looked everywhere as if you were looking for something. I sank further into my seat hoping he would see me, but he did.

"Congratulations, beautiful!". He greeted me with a smile. “Bitch ass fake.”

"Thank you."

"Let's celebrate! You deserve it!" He exclaimed excitedly.

"I want to see Sukuna's fight." I said without getting up from my seat.

"We can watch it with the others at the bar," He tried to convince me, taking my hand.

"No, I want to see the fight live," I asked him.

He was going to tell me something more, maybe convince me more, but the light in the auditorium went out and Sukuna's song began to boom from the speakers. Making the audience go crazy. The host announced the second championship fight of the night. Sukuna entered the auditorium like the majestic fighter that he is. The crowd around went crazy just seeing him live. I forced Choso to sit next to me so we could watch the fight together.

Sukuna climbed into the ring and walked around the perimeter of the ring, listening to the screams of his fans. Even though Yuta had entered the auditorium, he couldn't take his eyes off Sukuna. He looked better than ever. I missed seeing him through the fence. His strong body glowing under the white lights, his hair swinging from side to side as he warms up and his eyes watching me closely.

It didn't take long for the fight to start. Yuta lunged at Sukuna to hit him. Being smaller in stature, he was more volatile and flexible. His feet moved quickly to strike and defend with ease. Sukuna tried to catch him and hit him, but Yuta always escaped him. The king was engaging in an extreme game of whack-a-mole.

Until now, Yuta was the only one who had thrown punches so far. Sukuna tried to throw his best punches, but none of them managed to connect completely. His upper movements looked stiff and slower than usual.

"Come on, Sukuna. Stop playing." I whispered to myself.

The pace of the fight was guided by Yuta. He was the one moving, punching, kicking, it was like he was fighting against a steel wall. Sukuna tried to keep up with him, but his body was not up to it. He threw a punch, Yuta dodged it and landed a blow with his right shoulder. Sukuna's scream could be heard throughout the auditorium. I knew that cry very well. I stood up from my seat, like most of the audience, in an attempt to find out what was happening. Sukuna backed up to lean against the fence, holding his shoulder. Yuta took advantage of this to arrive and knock him out with a blow to the jaw. Sukuna fell like a sack of potatoes at that. The referee quickly arrived to assist him and declared the fight over. Shoko soon got into the octagon to check it out.

"Sukuna…" I whispered in shock, seeing him unconscious on the floor on the giant screen.

"Don't worry, he'll be fine." Choso told me.

"That scream was not normal," I said worriedly, stroking my neck when I remembered I was in Sukuna’s shoes.

"He just need to go to the doctor. Shoko will treat him and he will be fine,” He tried to calm me down again. "Let's get out of here, they are waiting for us to go celebrate,” He took my arm so we could leave.

"What kind of brother are you?!" Finally, I exploded in his face. Choso looked at me surprised. "Your brother is suffering on the ground, and you are thinking of celebrating?!".

"I only worry about you."

"No! You've never cared about me! You only care about yourself!” I yelled, furious. I didn't care who listened to me. I could not take it anymore.

"That's not true... You know I love you." Choso told me.

"Oh really?! And why didn't you tell Sukuna that?!” I didn't hit him again, but I did give him a verbal slap. "I'm not going to be your little consolation prize…"

"You are not," Choso interrupted me.

"Just stop lying!" I screamed tiredly. "It's over!"

"Y/n... Please, are you really going to choose him?" Choso wondered.

I was going to answer him, but I saw that the paramedics quickly arrived on the scene. This couldn't be happening. Not again. They put Sukuna on the stretcher and took him away from the chaos.

"I do…"

"What?"

"I do choose him, I should have done it from the beginning,” I answered firmly before dodging him.

I ran out to where they were taking him. Being a fighter, I had almost access to any part of the auditorium, so they let me pass. Escape the crowd to get backstage to the medical wing. Sukuna was still unconscious and with a mouthpiece in his face. My mind transported me back to 3 years ago, where I was the one on that cold stretcher and had no idea what I was going through having to tolerate the pain.

"Y/n!". Yuuji called me as he saw me with his teary eyes as we watched Sukuna being loaded into an ambulance. Once I hugged him, he collapsed in my arms. Gojo and Shoko got on into the ambulance with him and the paramedics closed the door behind them.

"What the hell happened to him?!" I demanded answers while holding Yuuji.

"Let's go to the hospital," Nanami told me without the intention of answering my question.

I stood watching the ambulance speed away with sirens blaring while my friend sobbed for his brother. I wanted to cry, but my eyes were already dry. I had already cried a lot that day, I had to hydrate myself.

Returning to the hospital gave me chills. The cold hallways, the people in a hurry and the strange clean smell. Being in the waiting room was no better. Being sad in a place surrounded by sad people only made my mood worse. We had already been here for two hours and the only thing they told us was that he needed emergency surgery for a throwing shoulder injury. A common injury among high-performance athletes is a tear due to stress on the shoulder.

"Congratulations," Gojo told me as he gave me a bottle of water to wake up from the trance.

"I'm not in the mood for congratulations," I said sincerely.

"It's not from me, it's from Sukuna." He clarified. "He watched the fight and was fascinated, you did a good job,” he told me before messing my hair.

The thought of Sukuna being proud of me calmed my tortured heart a little. Despite his coach’s good intentions, I wanted him to tell me himself. The door to the emergency room opened, and they called out to those who came to see Sukuna Ryomen.

"The surgery was a success. I already informed Shoko privately,” The doctor said. Yuuji and I sighed in relief.

"How long will it take to return to training? One, two years?” I asked excitedly. I didn't get a response. "Maybe three like me?" The emotion decreased with every word seeing that no one was excited by the news.

"When I said that the surgery was a success, I mean that he did not lose his shoulder and that he will be able to move it with a lot of rehabilitation, but not enough to return to the ring." The doctor explained.

"What?!" Yuuji and I exclaimed at the same time.

"But this is his first injury, right?!" I exclaimed, worried that we would be given the wrong diagnosis.

"Yes, but it was not treated on time. Sukuna completely refused to have the surgery because he would stop fighting for a couple of years,” Shoko answered.

"Since when?" I asked angrily. I clenched my fists to stop myself from screaming, but I couldn't. "Since when have he had that injury?!" I screamed.

"Two years ago," Nanami replied, avoiding my gaze, clearly ashamed.

Two years ago I was his coach. During that year, Sukuna was suffering and didn't tell me? This day I couldn't get any worse. First Sukuna ignored me, then Choso mistook me for his ex-fiancée. It also turns out that my boyfriend doesn't love me. Now Sukuna will never be able to fight again because an injury that I could possibly worsen with exercise routines was not treated.

"And why didn't you tell me?!". I screamed inconsolably. Now it was Yuuji's turn to hug me to calm me down. "How could you let him fight in that state, you fucking idiots?!" I cried out loud against his chest. The only response I received was Yuuji's sobs. Out of anger, I pushed him away from me. "Why are you crying?! You surely knew, and you didn't tell me anything, you fucking gossip!” I screamed from the deepest part in my chest.

"I didn't know! If I had known, I would have helped him!" He yelled back at me with teary eyes.

That made me calm down a little. I was getting out of control. I took a deep breath and analyzed the situation. How did Yuuji, who is by Sukuna's side 24/7, not know about this? Wait… Yes, I knew that, but not the truth.

"The thing is, he has… “Sessions” with the physiotherapist. You know what I mean?" I remembered when Yuuji secretly told me that Sukuna was sleeping with Shoko. Did Sukuna lie to his own brother so he wouldn't know about his shoulder back then?

"Shoko" I called her. She looked at me curiously. "How many times did you sleep with Sukuna?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I am a lesbian," she answered with her eyebrow raised.

I was already tired of crying. All he could do was laugh at the ridiculous situation he was in. Sukuna was a huge idiot. A stubborn bastard who will do anything to be on top. Poor him… now he is on the slopes of the mountain while I am conquering him. Yes, you are the king of the assholes.

The nurse who was treating Sukuna left the room. I went ahead of everyone to go in first and close the door behind me. The others tried to open the door, but it was impossible from outside without a key. I approached the stretcher. He had a wet towel covering his sharp face. He had his arm posed with bandages and an angle where it wouldn't hurt further.

"You have 5 minutes to tell me the truth." I ordered bothers by removing the towel and throwing it across the room.

"Weren't you a pitcher in your past life?" He asked me sarcastically.

"Don't try to be a smart ass! Tell me the whole truth now! I know you've been hiding things from me since I've been your coach,” I ordered under my breath.

"I have a pitcher's shoulder injury and I didn't treat it because I didn't want to stop fighting. Happy?" He answered me dryly, without looking me in the eyes.

"What else?"

"There is nothing else," Sukuna lied to me.

"Please, Sukuna…" I begged him. "Do not do this to me. You know you've hidden other things from me. Just say it".

"How much do you know?" He asked me looking into my eyes.

"I know more things than you think."

"So if you already know, what's the point of me saying it?" Sukuna answered, closing his eyes and facing away. I squeezed the railing of the stretcher out of anger.

"So you're not going to tell me that you love me?" I asked offended. He turned to look at me faster than lightning, but he didn't say a single word. We stared at each other for a long while in silence. 

"I'm not going to say that to my brother's girlfriend." He answered dryly.

"Who in their right mind would stay with an idiot who can't get over their ex?". He just looked at me surprised at that statement. "So say it… You have a free field." I asked him.

Sukuna just stared at me in disbelief, debating in his mind whether this was real or a test. Say it, say it, just say it for the love of God! Tell me you love me, tell me I'm special to you, tell me all the things you bravely said to Choso, but you're ashamed to tell me when I am in front of you. After a couple more seconds of silence, I decided to give up. It was okay that I wanted answers, but I wasn't going to beg him to give them to me.

"Fine. I won't bother you anymore, get well soon." I let go of the railing to get away from the situation.

As soon as I turned around, his hand took possession of my arm and returned me to my place, this time pulling me towards him. Our faces were inches apart. I could see his features in great detail. His tribal tattoos framing his face, his penetrating eyes, his straight nose and his full lips. He grabbed my sweatshirt to close the distance with a deep kiss that made me melt inside. That's when I realized why I missed being his trainer or watching him fight, actually, I missed him. Being close to him, spending time with him, kissing him. I felt complete and complete every time Sukuna took me as his.

"I love you…". He whispered into my lips. "I love you so much that I let you go because I thought you would be happier with someone like Choso," he explained as he caressed my cheeks with his fingers.

"What's the point of being happy if everything is a lie?". I asked him with a smile.

"But I'm a mess, dear," he warned me.

"If you're a mess, I'm a damn chaos." I replied before meeting our lips again.

His lips traveled over my mouth as if it were newly discovered terrain. Even though we had already done this behind everyone's back, it felt like it was the first time. I loved him, and I was no longer afraid to admit that that love that I thought I had buried deep in my soul was still there. Only this time he would do anything to stay by her side. We were both being consumed by the agony of wanting to be together. Sukuna pulled me by the waist with his free arm to lift me onto the stretcher with a strength I didn't think I would have in this situation, making me sit on top of him.

"We can't do it here. Everyone is outside,” I whispered to him.

"I just want you to stay close to me, you damn pervert," He said with a mischievous smile. My face blushed with embarrassment.

I lay on his chest, on the side that wouldn't bother his injured shoulder. He drew imaginary circles on his chest as he told me everything he already knew. That Choso asked him to stay away from me so that she could trust him again. That he had lied to Yuuji about sleeping with Shoko so that no one would find out about his injury for fear of it becoming news. That he had hidden his feelings towards me, and he never thought that his feelings were reciprocated.

"And why did you lose the fight? What happened to your good luck ritual? I asked him confused.

"It hasn't worked since my fight with Aoi Todo." He answered with a smile just for me. That meant that all this time he had been fighting without luck on his side. "No one satisfies me like you." He purred against my cheek.

I smiled flattered by that strong statement. I snuggled closer to his strong chest and slipped my hand into his robe to caress his bare skin. My body felt light with each passing second and each time he brushed my hair between his fingers. It had been such a long day and I needed a break.

SUKUNA POV

Even though Yuta Okkotsu massacred me in the octagon, having her in my arms made me feel like I was still the champion. Little by little she fell asleep. I was sure my arm would fall asleep, but I didn't care at all. His warmth made me feel more alive than ever, and I never wanted him to leave me again.

I heard the living room door open. Yuuji was going to shout something, but I silenced him from my place. The rest of the team came in behind him to ask me how I was feeling.

"Do you need something?" Yuuji asked me in a low voice.

"I already have everything I need," I said, looking at Y/n.

Masterlist.

Order your own fanfic! (Starting price: $5 USD)

Tag list: @maskedpacific @thepurpleempath @mazzd4 @charlie-xo @s0uldarling @sunako-0120 @berranurates @00frenchfries00 @crownedgemini @alialucille @azuremyst99 @dorck26 @esposadomd

#jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #fanfiction #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk imagine #ryomen sukuna #fluff #jjk fluff #light angst #modern au #angst #jjk angst #angst with a happy ending #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna x reader #yuji itadori #itadori yuji #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk ryomen #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #ryomen x reader #jinx fanfic

[eveistdiepommes]

Classes Start ! SideTrack A !

Hellloooooo everyone! I’m back with more college au! Omg omg, okay, I had so much fun with these designs and coming up with the majors! So! Welcome to SideTrack A! SideTrack drawings and chapters will be sprinkled in amongst the main character art and chapters! This is the first SideTrack, but I have a couple others in mind (Mostly the Nordics, which I hint at :3) Welcome our newest additions!

(Character bios and info below, as usual! :D)

Who has time for gender when you’re this smart? Feliks Łukasiewicz is a bonafide genius, their pink, glittery clothes might just distract you from that fact! Feliks is beyond talkative, they love chatting about anything and everything and anyone and everyone! They basically got this friend group together, albeit very pushy-ily and stubbornly. They can be pretty demanding, pretty bossy, and maybe even pretty arrogant, but that’s mostly for show! Their brain is constantly moving, constantly thinking, and if they had to be left alone with ruminating thoughts, they’d surely get overwhelmed! Feliks is incredibly kind at their core, they’ve just built up a lot of layers of self importance for safety.

And Toris didn’t even mean to break through those layers! Toris is a straight A, top of the top student! He keeps to himself, he greets people with a polite smile and tilt of the head, he is mild and generally unnoticed. Well… he was… Feliks attached themself to Toris. They share many classes together, and one day, in a whirlwind of pink hoodie and fragrant body spray, Feliks declared they were friends! Neither of them expected to actually develop feelings for each other. Feliks had initially approached Toris because he seemed lonely (and he needed to loosen up) and Toris stuck around because, well, he was lonely. But, the closer they got, the closer Toris got to Feliks’ core, Toris felt bubbling adoration. And to Feliks’ surprise, Toris was the one who confessed first, which really really really meant a lot to Feliks!

The two are a couple, one people wouldn’t expect! Feliks is loud and flashy, Toris is introverted and seemingly always nervous. But they both swell with pride knowing they know each other’s true colors. Toris hushes Feliks’ anxious and fearful thoughts, Feliks cherishes Toris’ strength and secretly fiery nature. Together, they are an odd display of opposites attract!

Dimitri is used to just getting by in life. He doesn’t ask for much, and he doesn’t want to! He’s a sweet guy who just wants to do his best and expects nothing in return! Okay well… maybe he wants a little something in return! But not much! Dimitri has dreams of attending the World Academy, but thanks to his financial and family background, he isn’t exactly an immediate candidate. So! He works at the frozen yogurt place in the mall to raise money! He and his coworker, Natalya have grown quite close, and thanks to her help, he gets to understand what to expect from the world academy! The only thing about being so close, however… is that Natalya is quite involved with Dimitri’s interest in a frequent customer…

Mihai frequents the mall constantly! He loves anything dark and gloomy, which explains why he’s friends with Natalya! Mihai, like his best friend, has a very eccentric fashion sense, 2000s scene and emo inspired! Despite his dark looks, however, he is the brightest and warmest person! He’s always smiling, always so happy looking! He honestly didn’t even want frozen yogurt the first day he went up to the counter, he just figured he’d get something since Natalya could give him a discount! But… when he got up to the counter and saw an incredibly handsome guy with dark hair and pretty eyes ready to take his order, it was hard to contain his excitement! Ever since then, whenever he’s at the mall, he gets frozen yogurt! And he’ll never get sick of it!!

Little do both of these dorks know, Natalya is playing matchmaker behind the scenes. She purposely goes on break when she sees Mihai approaching (and Dimitri is starting to catch on), she drops hints that Dimitri is interested in Mihai when they are in class together, and she might perform a spell or two just to make sure her efforts are not wasted. She had frequently spent her life worrying about love for herself, but once she met her… everything fell into place. Natalya is devoted to both her girlfriend and her friends, hoping to bring them all happiness in her own, eccentric way. Many are scared of Natalya, rumors surround her because of her dark and off color remarks, but she is the sweetest and most thoughtful person. Just don’t end up on her bad side. She could get away with murder!

#World Academy College AU #SideTrack A #OH YEAH FOR CLARIFICATION! #FELIKS IS GENDERFLUID IN MY AU! #THEY USE ALL PRONOUNS! #hetalia #hetalia au #hetalia fandom #hetalia world stars #hetalia fanart #hetalia art #hws bulgaria #hws lithuania #hws poland #hws romania #hws belarus #hetalia bulgaria #hetalia lithuania #hetalia poland #hetalia romania #hetalia belarus #dimitri ivanov #toris laurinaitis #feliks łukasiewicz #mihai popescu #natalya braginsky #lietpol #robul

[writergracethepanda]

🔥 choose violence ask game 🔥 Secret Shanghai Edition

the character everyone gets wrong

Marshall. He is canonically an excellent cook, s why are we convinced he'd set something on fire if left alone in the kitchen?

a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

no comment

screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

EVERY SINGLE DAMN TIME I have seen Alisa and Phoebe shipped (let aroace people live and bisexuals are still bisexual even in a seemingly hetero relationship) or those takes I've seen on TikTok of people shipping Rosalind and Benedikt and Celia and Marshall if I weren't on my computer I would put sooooo many barf emojis here

what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

luckily nothing yet I believe

worst discord server and why

mine with my friends its sooo annoying how we have incredibly amazing and intelligent and sometimes incoherent conversations like guys we're the worst (sarcasm)

which ship fans are the most annoying?

like I said, anyone who ships the above things needs to stay 10 feet away from me at all times and undergo intense media literacy training

what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

I think everyone's answer for this is Oliver. I'm so sorry we (especially me tbh) did you so dirty pre fhh I promise we've learnt our lesson!

common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

Oliver loves cats. incorrect. Cats are his entire life. there is a difference, and we need to recognize it.

worst part of canon

roma and Alisa's dad just disappeared before I could beat him up

worst part of fanon

we're too funny my stomach literally hurts from laughing too hard sometimes. Seriously though, the above ship takes that make my blood boil, as well as some complaints about how a lot of us talk about how we think certain characters are neurodivergent/disabled. While I think some of those are actually considered canon, I don't understand why people are so made that we (a relatively neurospicy bunch) are identifying the parts of characters we relate to and labeling them. We're doing you no harm and not interfering with your ability to enjoy the characters. Shouldn't it be a good thing that we're able to identify with the characters? Just mind your business. (also anyone who erases Rosalind's and Alisa's aroaceness that is indeed canon and I hope both sides of your pillow are too warm)

number of fandom-related words you've filtered

I don't think any

the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

I don't think anyone hates these guys, but why don't we ever talk about the couple from LVC? They were so sweet, and I'm kind of sad we didn't get any mention of them in FHH.

worst blorboficiation

I feel like a bad Tumblr user, but I don't know what this means. is this like uwu-ification?

that one thing you see in fics all the time

@typingwithmyhandstied 's GENIUS

that one thing you see in fanart all the time

Juliette always has the appropriate amount of knives thank you very much for that guys :)

you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

I personally don't get into the Rosalind is a vampire thing, but I'm cheering you guys on from afar (im just not into vampires lol)

there should be more of this type of fic/art

idk I should probably work on my university au

it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

the fact that not only did she feel comfortable falling asleep around Orion (see one of @no-1-rosalind-lang-apologist 's recent posts) but Rosalind was also muttering in French in that scene. Her dominant language. She was both out of it enough/comfortable enough with him that she dropped the I was raised in American fake accent and just started speaking normally in this essay I will- basically we need to talk more about the use of multilingualism in the ss books

you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

past me would be horrified to know that I like Oliver now

part of canon you found tedious or boring

I think TVD can be a bit boring sometimes, but that makes sense, since it was Chloe's debut, and she's grown immensely since then

part of canon you think is overhyped

the seagreen trio is overrated (they are literally my favorite characters)

your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

THE MULTILIGUALISM

ship you've unwillingly come around to

Olivercelia. Like I said, I was his strongest hater pre fhh. Now I see what she clearly sees in him.

topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

discourse on ss Tumblr is mostly joking. my personal favorite is when @marsneedstherapy and I pretend to yell at each other in different languages

common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

"no one appreciates x enough" I do. I love them.

#enjoy this took me all afternoon #chloe gong #secret shanghai #foul lady fortune #foul heart huntsman #writergracethepanda #these violent delights #our violent ends

[loopscereal]

@multishipper-baby @thedumbestfuckingpersonyouvemet

you guys both mentioned the background so uh lol hi. btw do tell me to stop @/ing you guys if you dont want me to do that :3

Anyways I'm glad that you noticed the bg! i actually did that first before toddy. Sorta as a warm up, just blocking in shapes of characters. First it was gonna all be silhouettes like the screenshot, it then i started having fun setting up a genuine scene. Having them all "doing their own thing" as characters with names faces rather than blank slates was very fun.

Just the filling in of a void. Having messy blocked in characters with juuuust enough detail to be recognizable was satisfying to do.

I did, I jrook the original bg, coppied the mos visible half and then flipped it over to cover more of original toddy, then started "painting" over it with blocky shapes. Again, it was originally gonna be shillouettes like the og, but i suddently started making em the cast lol. it makes me happy to hear that you like what i did with toddyyyy :3 I like making up styles for herrrr

It might look like a lot of people, but its not everyone, far from it tbh lol. The toys, Town and Cami, Lilly, Golden and Puppet, Fox an Bonnie, Mai, Malva and Loon, our version of Felix, then two oc's. Based of lefty and ennard.

Also yes, they all have animal features. Cami has antennae because shes a Praying Mantis, that is also why shes so damn tall. In the arthropod world Mantis are built all vertical which is very odd. In my friends words. They're freaks of nature /lighthearted. Anyways, This is why you will see us drawing her with things such as segmented limbs, green "blades" on her arms, and cool bug eyes. She has green surface blood.

Towns a lion, Lilly is a shark, a nurse shark specifically as a reference to Melanie Martinez since Lilly has that song that's a cover of Mrs Potato Head. (it was a process of just looking at Melanie's song titles names and looking up if any sharks had names with certain keywords.)

Joy is a duck, "isn't Chica a chicken though?" yeah. In the fnaf fanbase people confused Chica for a duck sometimes, though so! She's a duck. Chica herself is a chicken, though :3 Bon n Malva n Bonnie are rabbits (all to be determined what specific species)

Loon is your classic 7 spotted ladybug, complete with segmented limbs, antennae that's sprout from the back of her neck that aid in listening to very quiet sounds. He has yellow surface blood. Mangle is a fox (again, to be determined what subspecies.) You might notice that he is missing his tail though. Or, well. She has a little stub, which is why shes got the cane right now, Animals with Tails need those, mainly for balance.

Fox is your classic red fox.

Golden is an Andean/ spectacles bear, Mai n Pup are ring tailed lemurs. Lefty is Mai and Pups cousin, so she is an indri lemur.

Ennard is an amblypygi, also knows as a whip spider (don't be fooled its not a type of spider) Extra appendages for sensing things like vibrations Toddy, is a cinnamon bear, a sub species of black bear !!!!! "Felix" (Felicia now) is too be determined on her animal all together. We have too many fox's and bears and rabbits so were holding off on repeating those any more than we have to. Fede is still a bear (for now??) though because it satisfies me to complete the "main bear types". Polar bear. erm. anyways i love ranting abt our silly ass animal choiced i could do it till the end of time.

#reply #response #our au #HEY PIA IF YOU READ THIS FEEL SO FREE TO ADD ARTHROPOD STUFF OR THINGS I MISSED IN GENERAL. #i need to get to work and determine peoples sub speceis.... #i need to work on so many things for our au that i will likely never post ever #it haunts me #our creation haunts us both so bad i hope its at least fun to watch/read #pia (probably th only fucker readint this far #it just hit me suddently like a prophet getting beamed in th melon with divine knowledge. #IF ANYONE ELSE READS ALL OF THAT THANK YOU AND IM SO FUCKING SORRY #loops post

[yu3s]

** i think reading dungeon meshi and frieren and witch hat atelier at the same time does something irreversibleto you... .

#yu.txt #relistening to the wizard the witch and the wild one too so whatever happens to me after this will unthread/resew the fabric of my existenc #do you see it? do you see the vision? im pacing around the house humming “your eyes are the size of the moon” from a song i used to hear #on the radio as a kid and i'll look up the lyrics later but i finally get itnow. i get why people were making posts about senshi and cookin #and nourishing yourself!! eat a balanced diet rethink your lifestyle rhythms get proper exercise!! yes sir senshi dungeon meshi sir!! #my dnd group is going to get my best character yet im putting notes in the character sheet as speak for devouring and consuming and becomin #song was nine in the afternoon btw. i have to write i have to make a story i have to make the most diabolical au to ever exist i have to #i love you stories i love you stories i love you stories if stories were a food i could eat them forever and ever i would always be cooking #and baking and sharing and the table would be full and the meals would be filling and i would try so many things and find what i liked best #this post was brought to you by: the birds are chirping but its not tomorrow morning until i go to sleep. with a note from our sponser: #i don't have work tomorrow and nature is healing. i need to make a little wizard sketch bc dungeon meshi was so good and also i m going to #sleep and when i wake up im going to write something and it will be so fun i love you making stuff i love you stories i love you writing!!

[yuujispinkhair]

Good Boy

Sukuna is a powerful man. Everybody knows him as the successful and arrogant CEO of the SHRINE company. But they don't know that at home, in the bedroom, he is a very different man. Only you know what Sukuna truly needs to be able to function in his stressful job.

Pairing: Sub!Sukuna x Dom!Reader (female) Genre: smut + fluff Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, BDSM elements, sub+dom dynamic, reader is a soft dom, restraining, collaring, impact play (flogging with a leather paddle), dirty talk, spitting in Sukuna's mouth, praise, edging, Sukuna cums untouched on command, pegging (Sukuna receiving). This is a modern + no-curses AU. Sukuna is a CEO and married to Reader. All things happen with mutual consent. All characters are of age. Minors don't interact. Dividers by @/benkeibear

Sukuna is a powerful man. Successful and feared by many. A big player in the business world. He makes it look easy, makes it look like he can do all of that effortlessly. He keeps up a high pace, coming to work before everyone else and only leaving after the sun has set. Attending business events and giving interviews for magazines while always wearing a smug smirk on his handsome face. Always hiding his true self behind a mask of professionalism and arrogance.

No one is allowed to see behind that mask. With one exception. There is one person who knows how stressed Sukuna truly is. How tired he is. Only one person knows the toll his work takes on him. Only you. Only his wife.

You are the only one who knows that sometimes the powerful CEO needs a break from everything. Only you know that sometimes this big, strong, and powerful man wants to be on his knees for you, bound and collared, needing to hear you call him your good boy before he is able to cum.

Sukuna hadn't known this side of himself for a long time. Maybe it was because he wasn't mature enough in his younger years. Maybe it was because his past relationships never offered him the amount of trust and love that the relationship with you gives him.

But Sukuna still remembers the day that changed everything. The day that made him discover something about himself and about his deepest needs.

He only wanted to take a short trip to your favorite lingerie boutique to buy a little something for you for White Day. A new set of sinfully expensive lingerie that you could wear for him.

It had been a stressful day at work, a meeting with the CEO of a rival company that had left Sukuna pissed off and on the edge. He hoped to find distraction in picking sexy underwear for his beloved wife, picturing you in it, easing his mind with thoughts of fucking you while you wore that pretty red lacey set with the little heart dangling from it.

But things didn't go as Sukuna had planned. His gaze strayed away from the luxurious red lace lingerie and landed on a display of collars. And all of a sudden Sukuna felt conflicted. So damn conflicted.

At that moment, he couldn't tell why the sight of those collars made him feel so strange. He drew his gaze away again and strolled to another corner of the boutique to look at more beautiful lingerie sets. But he couldn't focus. His thoughts stayed occupied with those leather collars. And suddenly, he found that his feet had carried him back to that one display.

He walked past it several times until he sighed and finally stopped in front of it, took one collar out of the shelf, and let it glide through his fingers. The black leather felt nice in his hand, smooth and warm. He tried to picture it on you, but to his utter surprise, he realized that it wasn't you who he wanted to put it on.

Oh. That is interesting.

He gulped.

His large hand trembled slightly when he brought the collar up a bit. He held it in front of his throat, feeling his pulse accelerate at seeing his faint reflection in the glass display.

What if...

He ground his teeth in annoyance when the shop assistant interrupted his moment by walking up to him.

"I see you are also interested in our Playtime Collection, sir. All collars and restraints are of the highest quality, of course. They offer high comfort and long usage. Do you want to pick one for your wife to go with the lingerie? I would recommend a thinner one in that case, more delicate, and maybe in a matching red? We also have some collars with a diamond charm. That collection is very popular for White Day. Should I get it for you?"

Sukuna stood there in silence for several seconds, too stunned to say anything. A rare moment for the CEO of the SHRINE Company. But he was a professional, after all, and so he turned around to smile politely at the shop assistant, his usual mask perfectly in place, as he informed her,

"No, thank you. This one is perfect. Put it in a separate gift box, please."

He left the shop feeling light-headed, and the bag sitting on the passenger seat of his Porsche seemed to emit a seductive lure the whole drive home, making adrenaline pump through Sukuna's veins.

What if she puts that collar on me?

The thought excited him and made him feel ashamed at the same time.

Never had he imagined he would be into this. Wasn't it embarrassing that a man like him even contemplated something like this?

But underneath that shame was something else. Something he craved: Comfort.

He knew what a collar like that meant. I wasn't just a pretty little accessory. It meant giving yourself to someone. It meant a sub giving themselves into their dom's hands fully. And that was a thought that made him grip the steering wheel tighter.

Wouldn't it be lovely? Wouldn't it be exactly what he needed after a hard day like this? Coming home and letting you put a collar on him? Giving himself into your loving hands? Handing control over to you. He loved you with his whole heart and soul. He trusted you like he never thought he could trust someone apart from himself.

Wouldn't it be so comforting to let you collar him and dominate him completely? Wouldn't it be such a relief to let himself fall into you? To hand control over to someone else, at least for a few hours, in the safety of his home?

The thought made a low groan slip from Sukuna's mouth.

He hid the small gift box in the walk-in closet. It sat there next to his designer watches and golden cufflinks, waiting for him to finally propose the idea to you.

When he did, after an exquisite dinner a few days later, you had smiled at him, slipped on his lap, and petted his hair, eyes filled with love and understanding.

"You want me to collar you? You want to be my... submissive?"

"Yes, that's what I want, darling. Only if you are comfortable with the idea."

"Of course I am. It will help you with all the pressure at work. It will help you let go. You know I am always worried about you with all the high stress levels you have day in and day out. I'm glad you came to me with this idea, Sukuna."

He released a breath of relief and tightened his arms around you. Of course, you understood. You always knew exactly what he needed.

Sukuna laughed softly. How funny it was. Here he was, this tall, buff man with a body full of solid muscles and intimidating-looking tattoos, someone who was feared in the whole business world, while you were so soft and small compared to him. But he knew you would catch him. He knew you would be strong, so he could be weak. He knew he wanted to be on his knees for you.

You did research starting that night. You discussed everything with him, set boundaries, and outlined how you both expected this dynamic to work. You went shopping with him the next day, getting everything you needed. You started slowly and tried things, experimenting to see what you both liked and to find out what exactly Sukuna needed.

That was a year ago. Sukuna has been collared for eleven months now, and he has never felt more liberated in his life. The collar grounds him. The collar takes the pressure off.

Sometimes, when he has an extremely stressful day in the office, he takes five minutes off to close his eyes and imagine coming home and getting on his knees for you. Just the thought of you putting his collar on him tonight helps him get through his busy workday. Just the thought of being allowed to get into subspace tonight makes him get through another meeting.

When you are in public, your roles are reversed in everyone else's eyes. Sukuna is the powerful CEO. The big, muscular hunk of a man in his designer suit who is in control at all times. The one with the smug smirk and the snide remarks. The one who effortlessly navigates through this business party and holds an immaculate speech before mingling with the crowd, where he charms new potential business partners into making a deal with him. And you are the sweet little wife on his arm who looks up at him and depends on her rich and dominant husband to take care of her.

They don't know the truth.

They don't know that you told Sukuna before the party that if he is a good boy tonight and manages to get that potential new business partner on his side, you will let him worship your pussy when you are home again.

Sukuna never expected how easy it would be, how natural it would feel to hand over control to you and let himself slip into subspace. How splendid it would feel to give himself fully to you.

He sighs when you bind his wrists with his tie, fixing them behind his back. He feels warm when you tell him to kneel for you. He is excited by the way you look at him when he is on the floor on his knees for you, with his muscular thighs spread, completely naked while you are still dressed. He loves to feel your gaze on his body, on his muscles, on his tattoos. He loves to see the love in your eyes.

Sukuna groans when your gaze lands on his cock, taking your time to look at him. It's so arousingly intimate. You have seen him naked so many times, have seen and touched his cock so often. But it is different when he is bound and kneeling before you. It makes him so hard that he feels dizzy. Pre-cum is running thickly down his hard length as your gaze inspects his cock and his taut full balls.

He moans when you get up from the bed and stand beside him, putting a hand in his pink hair and tugging on it gently, pulling his head against your hip, petting his hair, and cooing at him,

"My pretty boy."

Sukuna can't help but let out a sigh of relief and nuzzle his face gratefully against your hip. He feels exhilarated when you grab his hair and tug on it, smiling while you look at him and tell him,

"Open your mouth for me, my love."

He does so eagerly, opening up and sticking his tongue out while gazing up at you through his long black lashes. He is well-trained and proud of it. Sukuna has always been a fast learner, driven by his ambitious nature. A man used to working for his well-deserved success. Always striving to be the best. Of course, he had excelled in this task, too. In becoming the perfect submissive pet for you.

He can see the approval and adoration in your eyes, and it makes his heart feel so full. Especially when you praise him for his obedience.

"Such a good boy."

Your fingers caress his hair, making him moan lightly when your nails scratch over his undercut, but his mouth stays open, his tongue still sticking out, eyes fixed on your face, waiting for your command or for whatever you have planned for him tonight. Finally, he doesn't have to make decisions anymore. Finally, he can rest and give himself into your loving hands.

You slowly part your lips, which are painted with the beautiful, deep red lipstick he loves so much on you. His lashes flutter in anticipation. Your hand grabs his chin, gently tilting his head further upwards, and then you spit in his waiting mouth, letting your spit drool into his mouth slowly, showing him that from now on, you are the one in control.

"Now swallow it."

He does so, and your hand caresses his cheek lovingly.

"You are so good for me, Sukuna. You truly deserve your collar, baby."

His cock twitches needily when you put it on him, and he feels the smooth leather wrap around his throat. Your fingertips caress his neck lovingly for a moment before you pull away to let your hands slip under your skirt. Sukuna watches with a lust-filled gaze as you pull down your panties, the lacey red ones he gifted to you. You let them fall to the floor as you sit down on the bed, spreading your legs, letting Sukuna see your glistening wet cunt underneath your short skirt.

"You were such a good boy tonight at the party. It's time for your reward."

Sukuna moans softly when you fasten the leash on the golden ring on his collar and give it a firm tug, pulling him closer until he is kneeling between your spread legs.

Your pussy is right in front of his face, hot and dripping wet. So beautiful, so enticing. He can feel your warmth, can smell your sweet scent. He wants to push his face between your legs so badly. But he waits obediently like the good boy he wants to be. He waits for your command.

"Spoil my pussy, pretty boy. Make me cum on that pretty face of yours."

And Sukuna is happy to obey. He eats you out devotedly. He worships your pussy. Licks it, kisses it, sniffs it, loves it with tender kisses and sweet suckles on your swollen clit, and fucks it with his tongue until you gasp his name and cum on his face.

You reach down afterward to tease his cock. Edging him, running a teasing fingertip over his swollen mushroom head and pressing it against his slit. Giving him a few slow pumps only to pull away again. Circling his tip lovingly, swooping up a pearl of pre-cum, and bringing your finger to your lips to taste him, moaning and praising him for how sweet he tastes.

You coo praise at him for being so strong, for being so good for you, for holding back so long. Sukuna's head is spinning. He is drowning in the warmth of your love, in the sweet comfort of your control over him. His cock throbs heavily, so close to busting his load. But your voice drifts to his ears,

"Uh uh, not yet, my love. Not yet. Take your time, baby. You've been working so hard those last few days. I need you to let go fully before you are allowed to cum. Free yourself from everything. Let go of work and your busy schedule. You aren't the CEO of SHRINE here in this room. You are my pet. You are my good boy. I own you, and I decide everything for you. You don't have to think anymore, Sukuna. I will tell you when to cum. Give yourself to me."

And he nods, breathing heavily as his cock throbs with pleasure and need. It would be easy for a strong man like Sukuna to slip out of his restraints and manhandle you, throw you on the bed, and fuck you into the mattress until he is satisfied. That knowledge somehow makes this whole scenario even more arousing. Because he knows he won't give in to these urges. He will be a good boy. He will be strong. He will hold back as long as you want him to. He isn't the one who decides things here. He is yours completely.

You smile at him, and your gaze travels over his body again until it stops on his hard cock.

"Look at that gorgeous cock of yours. So long, so thick, so strong. And all mine."

When you join him on the floor, Sukuna is already a mess, sweating and moaning, cock twitching needily, his balls sticky from all the pre-cum that ran down his length.

You get on your knees and put your small hands on his muscular thighs, caressing them tenderly as you slowly lean closer to blow air onto Sukuna's swollen wet cockhead, making him groan loudly.

"Aww, so cute for me, hm my prince? Can you be my good boy and cum on command? Can you cum just from me looking at your pretty cock?"

Your words make a low growl fall from Sukuna's lips as his balls tighten and his cock twitches. He gulps and looks at you, maroon eyes burning into yours as he nods,

"Yes, please let me show you how good I can be for you."

You smile and moan softly, your eyes clouded over by lust, and it makes Sukuna's stomach flutter and his heart throb. More pre-cum is trickling down his hot length and runs over his taut balls before it drips onto the carpet underneath him. And your eyes are on his cock and his balls, following that small rivulet of pre.

Your voice is a tender caress,

"Such a sweet boy for me."

Sukuna's muscles are taut, biceps flexed, wrists straining against the tie, pecs, and abs taut, his thighs clenched. Your words drive him crazy. And the feeling of your eyes on him, on his cock, makes his head spin.

There is something so demeaning about kneeling here on the floor, bound and horny, being told to cum on command, being told to cum untouched like some pathetic little virgin who never fucked his load into a woman.

But oh, how he loves it. How it gives him peace. How it turns him on. Sukuna can't help but roll his hips as if fucking into your tight cunt, rutting his cock against nothing, as a shaky moan falls from his lips.

Your hand cups his cheek and caresses it lovingly before it wanders down over his flexed pecs and biceps.

"You are so beautiful. Look at that pretty cock. Look how much you're leaking all over yourself."

His gaze travels down to his cock, and he groans loudly, seeing his angry dark pink, swollen cockhead, messy from all the precum. He feels and sees his cock twitch at the attention, so aroused that you are looking at him. And he feels his balls tightening, feels his thighs spread even more, and he knows he is close, so fucking close.

It's your voice that sends him over the edge,

"Now show me, baby. Show me how that pretty cock cums for me. Make a big mess all over yourself, Kuna. Cum for me. Now."

White hot lights fill his vision as he feels himself cum, cock twitching and shooting his hot cum all over himself in messy white ropes.

The sounds coming out of his mouth are sounds Sukuna would never let anyone else hear. Desperate whimpers and needy mewls, a shaky sob when his cock throbs and shoots another spurt of hot cum all over the carpet and his thighs.

You talk him through it, coo at him, praise him for being such a good boy, telling him how pretty he looks and how pretty his cock is when it shoots cum everywhere. How cute he is when he makes such a mess for you.

And Sukuna's head is spinning. He shoots his whole orgasm all over himself until his spent cock just twitches, but no cum comes out anymore.

He still moans when you make him clean it up, swooping up his cum from his abs and chest and feeding it to him from your fingers. And more moans fall from Sukuna's lips when you tug on his leash to make him lean down and lick his milky cum off the floor. He does so obediently, and when you tell him to open his mouth and stick his tongue out to show you that he really was a good boy and swallowed it all, he can't help but smile proudly.

He is happy, so happy when you praise him and when you take the tie of his wrists and hug him lovingly, praising him for being so good for you.

He feels pride surge through him, filling his every pore. Sukuna is a proud man through and through in all aspects of his life. Confident and self-assured, even arrogant most of the time. But nothing fills him with so much pride as this. Cumming untouched at your command.

This is his biggest accomplishment today. Not that he succeeded in snatching a lucrative business deal from the white-haired Gojo brat. Not that he poached one of the Zenin Group's most important partners. No, his biggest accomplishment today was that he was a good boy for you. The thing Sukuna is the most proud of is cumming exactly how you told him to.

He smiles proudly as he looks up at you. You smile back at him and run a hand through his hair, cocking your head and asking in a voice full of love,

"What do good boys say?"

And Sukuna's smile grows even bigger, and he says loud and clear in his smooth, velvety voice,

"Thank you."

His heart feels so full when you nod, and your eyes fill with pride. You pet him and lean down to kiss him on the lips. Lovingly and tender, showering him with affection.

Sukuna thinks no one in his small circle of people he considers his friends truly knows him. Not even Uraume, who has been his assistant for many years.

No one but you.

You know him. You know what he needs. You know what he needs on the days he comes home with a victorious glint in his eyes. You know what he needs when he comes home tired and stressed. And you also know what he needs when he comes home in a grumpy mood, complaining about work and all the incompetent fools he has to deal with all day.

"What's with that attitude, Sukuna? I think I have to put you in your place again."

Yes, you know exactly what he needs. He told you he wants you to be rougher with him whenever he is in one of those foul moods. That he wants you to rein him in on those days. Because you are the only person who can do that.

Your words instantly shut him up, and he feels himself already slipping into his submissive role as he smirks at you across the table and tells you in his low, velvety voice,

"I would be delighted if you showed me my place, my love."

Soon, his smirk is replaced by soft groans as Sukuna writhes on the bed.

Finally, he is free. He doesn't have to think but can only feel. He can let himself fall into this delicious mix of pain and pleasure, and you catch him with your love.

He is used to being in control. He is used to being a powerful man in his everyday work life. He is used to being a King, so to speak. But not here, not in your bedroom during a scene. Here you reign. Here you are, his Queen, and he is the obedient prince. A beloved, pretty pet.

You trail the leather paddle slowly over his skin. Just a teasing touch, a light caress, tracing his firm muscles while you admire his tall, muscular body spread out for you. Sukuna is breathing heavily, arousal and excited anticipation filling his veins. His cock is rock hard, trapped under his heavy body, pressing against the silky sensation of the bedsheets. Every inch of his skin is highly sensitive right now.

He knows the sweet pain will come any moment now. It makes him heady with lust. You have reached the top of his back, slowly trailing the paddle over his neck and the stubble of his undercut before you pull it away.

A loud, needy groan falls from Sukuna's lips at the same time that the loud slapping sound of the leather paddle connecting firmly with his ass cheeks fills the room.

Finally, he is falling. Finally, he is slipping into the sweet, delirious comfort of subspace. Bound to the bed, spread out for you, this tall, muscular man so utterly at your mercy. It is everything Sukuna needs.

Another firm slap lands on his ass, and Sukuna moans into the pillow. It's a feral sound, low and primal. He promised you to not hold back during your scenes, and he found that it's freeing to let it all out and be loud in bed and let you hear his unrestrained lust.

And your praise makes it even better. A soft hand lands on his firm ass cheek where you just spanked him a moment ago. Such a tender, soothing touch in stark contrast to the hard slap and the sting of the paddle. You caress his ass tenderly while you whisper to him,

"You are my good boy, Kuna. Doing so well for me. Are you ready for the next round? I'll do five this time. Do you think you can take it, baby?"

He nods,

"Yes, please. I'm ready. Please give me more."

It was never as easy and natural for him to beg as here in your bed.

Sukuna takes the spanking like the good boy that he is. He moans and growls and begs for more. And you spank him to an orgasm that makes him almost black out. With his buff muscles tensing up, his toned arms pulling at the restraints as his strong body shakes and trembles, his cock twitching beneath him, soaking the bed sheets with his hot cum, while he sobs into the pillow, a mix of your name and breathless thank yous.

You give him time before you untie him and tell him to turn on his back, joining him on the bed to spoil his cock with slow, thorough strokes until he is hard again and moaning and twitching. You finally straddle his lap and sink down on his throbbing length, riding him until you scream his name and cum on him with your warm cream gushing over him, pushing Sukuna over the edge, too, letting him fill your sweet cunt with his cum as a reward for being so good for you.

It's the end of a particularly stressful week, and Sukuna finds himself unable to relax. The book he wanted to read lies forgotten on the leather couch. He couldn't focus on the words. The hot bath he took didn't help him relax his tense muscles.

But then he hears the sound of the elevator followed by your footsteps as you walk into the penthouse, and he feels his skin tingle.

He is by your side only seconds later, wrapping his arms around you from behind, greeting you with a loving kiss on the neck and a murmured,

"I missed you, darling."

He has been looking forward to this Saturday evening. Has been craving it, knowing what he will get tonight because he worked so hard this week.

"Is my sweet prince ready to get all the stress fucked out of him?"

It's the ultimate level of submission in Sukuna's eyes. And the ultimate comfort.

Yes, Sukuna can be sweet. Yes, he can be submissive. Yes, he can be a good boy. And he proves it to you right there on the bed in a position that is so vulnerable but so freeing.

His face is resting on the dark red silk pillow, his thick muscular thighs are spread, exposing himself to you fully.

His cock is swollen, throbbing hard, pre-cum oozing needily out of his slit and running down his veiny length and into the silk sheets. His balls almost ache from how taut they are. Anytime you are about to peg him, he is so hard that he thinks he will faint.

But the feeling of the leather collar around his neck grounds him and gives him reassurance.

Sukuna groans softly when your hands trail slowly over his muscular back, caressing him, massaging his tense muscles, your voice so sweet and soothing while your lips trail kisses down his back,

"You are doing so well for me, baby. So beautiful."

Your praise makes his cock twitch, and a low groan spills from his lips. You finger him open, taking your sweet time with him, lubing his tight hole up thoroughly, gradually adding more fingers, and leaving gentle kisses on his back. Cooing at him when your fingertips rub against his prostate and needy moans fall from Sukuna's lips.

You pull away, but only to straddle the back of his thighs, leaning down over him to tease him with the slicked-up tip of the strap you are wearing. Rubbing lightly against Sukuna's lubed-up hole, driving him crazy, making him moan and whimper, sounds that he usually would never make. Your warm breath caresses his neck, and your lips brush tenderly over his skin,

"Are you ready for me, baby? Can my prince take my cock?"

His hole clenches at your words, his hips buck.

"Yes, please fuck me."

Sukuna almost can't take it anymore, head spinning from lust, sobs escaping his lips as he forces himself to hold back and not take but only receive as you keep teasing his lubed-up entrance with the tip of your strap, slowly stretching him open around the thick tip.

He gasps loudly when you push the dildo into him fully, his ass twitching around it, even as Sukuna's gasp turns into a hoarse groan.

"So cute. Such a good boy for me."

You sound breathless too, and a moment later, you roll your hips into him, beginning with a slow but deep pace, fucking Sukuna with deep strokes that make both of you moan.

Soon, the pace becomes faster and harder, the tip of the dildo hitting Sukuna's sensitive prostate unrelentingly, making him see stars.

A wild, loud moan falls from his lips, uncontrolled, desperate, full of lust and pain and raw need.

He needs this today. This was a stressful week. He needs to get fucked rough. Needs to get dicked down hard. Needs to get wrecked.

And you give him everything he needs. You fuck him with punishing hard thrusts, torturing his prostate with your thick strap, making Sukuna's body tremble beneath you, making him sob and whine into the pillow, the pillowcase wet from his spit and even some tears.

Instinctively, he begins to rut against the mattress, grinding his leaking cock needily against it. But a firm slap lands on his right ass cheek.

"Stop that. Good boys don't need their cocks rubbed. And you are a good boy, Sukuna, aren't you? You are my very, very good boy, right baby? A good boy like you cums just from my strap, right?"

He nods wildly, sobbing as he answers you, his voice almost unrecognizable, higher than usual, full of tears and raw need,

"Y.. yes! Yes, I am your good boy! Please, please...let me cum on your cock! I won't disobey!"

You moan softly at his plea. Your warm hands run up his muscular back, caressing him, every touch making his cock throb. And you go slow, so slow, pulling the dildo out of him almost completely, making Sukuna whine loudly. But he instantly shuts up when you tug on his leash. He grits his teeth and forces himself to stay still, giving himself to you, waiting for you patiently.

Anything to be a good boy for you. Not demanding anything, not taking anything. That isn't his place, and he knows it. He is here to receive. To give himself to you completely. He forces himself to calm his breathing, relaxing his flexed muscles, and you reward him with a whispered,

"Aww, yes, just like that, baby. So good for me. I trained you so well, hm? Now take it, baby."

And you roll your hips into him, pushing the thick dildo back all the way into Sukuna's tight ass, making him moan, loud and broken, as his strong body shudders under you.

You laugh softly and grind your hips against him, rotating them slowly, rubbing the dildo against his prostate, sending shock wave after shock wave of bliss through him. And Sukuna cries out, unable to hold back. But no words are leaving his lips. At this point, he is unable to form them, only loud, unintelligible, needy cries and whiny moans.

He knows he won't last long now, can already feel the familiar tightening in his heavy balls, can feel the pressure inside him build almost unbearably. His muscles flex again, and you moan his name, full of love, followed by the command he needed to hear so badly,

"Aww, yes, Kuna. You're so good for me. You can cum on my cock now, baby."

And he does. Crying out loudly, a wet, unrestrained, desperate sound full of tears of bliss. His ass clenches hard around your strap, his strong body shuddering from wave after wave of a world-shattering prostate orgasm ripping through him. His cock pulses copious amounts of hot sticky seed onto the already stained sheets. Testament to the bliss he found here.

You lean down to kiss his neck gently, trailing tender kisses all over his broad back, fucking him slowly through his orgasm, moaning when you cum on the strap, too, just a few seconds later.

Sukuna closes his eyes and feels some hot tears slip out of the corners of his eyes as you snuggle against him, resting on his broad back, the dildo still buried deeply inside him, and you caress him, cuddle him, and whisper sweet praise to him, telling him how much you love him. And he knows he is in heaven here with you. No matter how stressful his life as a CEO is, he can endure it because he can come home to you and let you take care of him.

To everyone else, Sukuna is the feared alpha male. But to you, he is your good boy, and that's a fact that can get him through any workday.

He will continue to expand his business empire. He will acquire new business partners. He will go to countless meetings and negotiate contract after contract. Sukuna will work hard to make his company the best in the whole country.

But only if he knows he can be on his knees for you every night with the leather collar around his neck and your fingers petting his hair while you call him your good boy. Only when every Saturday he is allowed to cum on your strap.

His success is just as much your success. Because without you, Sukuna couldn't be the man he needs to be.

This was the first time I wrote submissive Sukuna, and it was so much fun!! IT WAS SO EXHILARATING TO WRITE THIS FIC!! Thank you so much to the sweet anon who sent me the ask about my thoughts on sub!Sukuna. He is SUCH a good boy ;) I want to hear him whimper and sob so bad!!

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n

[moki-dokie]

been seeing some stuff on blue eye samurai and big yikes to nearly everyone pushing extremely western ideals onto these characters.

this is early edo period. 1600s. the japan you know now did not exist yet.

yall. please. there was NO concept of sexuality in pre-modern japan. that came with both the influx of christianity and western influence very very late in history. like, mid-1800s. (yes, there was christianity pre-1800s but it was not a widespread idea yet and wouldn't be until about the 1800s since, y'know, missionaries were routinely murdered before then)

"so and so is either bi and hasn't figured it out yet or..." no. that isn't how it worked then. nobody gave a shit what was between your legs. anyone could be attracted to anyone else. it was a little more common for male homosexual relationships to be between an adult and younger male - like many other places around the world - but two adult men could bang and love each other just as easily. relationships between women were quite common - especially since so many men were often away at war. there's tons of pornographic prints from the time depicting all manner of fun queer relationships. sex itself had absolutely no moral assignment to it. good sex was good health. it didn't matter who with. (well, social class/caste mattered more than anything else tbh but that didn't stop upper and lower class from fucking.) that isn't to say people didn't have preferences. of course they did. that is human nature. preferences arose more from physical appearance, caste, and circumstances with gender being about the last thing one would look for in a partner - romantic, casual, or otherwise. the only role in sex where gender actually mattered was for procreation.

there would be no queer awakening moment, no sudden switch flipped, no stigma to have internal conflicts about because it simply did not exist as a concept whatsoever. you were either attracted to a person or you weren't, it was that simple. gender played no role when it came to sex and sexual attraction. the japanese were lightyears ahead of western cultures in this particular area - like most cultures were before christianity came in and ruined everything with its backwards morals and strict good/evil dichotomy.

yall have got to realize queer rep will not and should not always adhere by modern western standards. there was no straight, gay, bi, or anything else of the sort. the closest they ever got was referring to roles during sex - as in who is giving and who is receiving.

i know this is mostly a made up story but it is still set within a very specific time period and culture, which should be honored and respected by not making it fit into our box. tons of research went into making this show historically accurate (albeit with some discrepancies but tbh they aren't really that huge) right down to the calligraphy writing. please please please don't whitewash the culture from these characters.

i say this mainly because without this knowledge, so many of you are going to build these characters up on a foundation they aren't meant to be on and then you'll rage about queerbaiting and bad queer rep if it isn't somehow super explicitly stated, if it doesn't match your very modern, very western ideal of what queer looks like. don't try to force this plot and narrative and characters into something they canonically and historically aren't. headcanons are a thing, AUs are a thing, fanfiction is a thing - leave your western thinking for those and let these characters simply exist as they should otherwise. this is one of those times where the queerness really does not need to be examined at all beyond what we get.

i know it can be hard to wrap your head around - sexuality is such a huge part of our identity in the western world and has slowly started to spread amongst other parts of the world in importance. but just keep in mind with these particular characters, that concept would be so very alien to them.

#blue eye samurai #i'm gonna bite people if i see complaints about queer anything in this show

[luveline]

losers | remus lupin

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?” 

you find remus’ number on an abandoned motorbike. things snowball from there. [10k words]

fem!reader, fluff, first date, smut mdni, implied inexperienced!reader, almost rockstar!remus, mentioned that remus takes painkillers, muggle!au, early 2000’s au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ There’s a motorbike outside of the cafe.

It’s huge. Too heavy for you to move. Technically, you hadn’t found it at all, it was left there in the dead of night a few days ago and hasn’t budged since. It’s illegally parked, a fact that your manager won't stop muttering about while she’s elbow deep in latte foam and coffee cakes. 

“I’m getting the bastard thing towed,” she grumbles that morning. “Let the police deal with it.”

That seems rather harsh to you. It isn’t necessarily in the way, and it looks well loved. Perhaps whoever left it can’t remember where they left it, having stumbled home on inebriated footing after one too many at the pub across the street. You think about how much it must cost to get your stuff back after it’s been towed, and though you aren’t sure of the specifics, you know it can’t be cheap. So, when your manager falls into conversation with a regular and your break begins, you creep outside to do some investigating. 

It’s a hulking thing made of more black than silver. There are stickers across the left side of the body, weathered and peeling, though one is newer than the others and immediately draws your eye. 

A phone number. 

If lost, please call. 

You take your phone out of your pocket, a flip phone with one dangling charm in the shape of a star. You click each faded button slowly. You're scared to talk to someone you don’t know, but relieved to maybe save the day. 

It goes for ages. 

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say, dropping your voice into its sweetest tones, though nerves make you too soft, and you worry you’re hard to hear. “Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I work at The Mill, it’s a– a cafe in the city centre… Are you missing a bike, by any chance? A motorbike?”

“Oh, thank you. Yeah, it’s my friend’s. He can be… forgetful.” The voice that speaks is both smooth and gritty, impossibly, like whoever it is that’s talking smoked half a pack of cigarettes before he answered the phone. He clears his throat. “I hope it hasn’t been an imposition for you.”

“Actually, uh, my manager wants to have it towed. Like, now. I can try to fend her off but honestly she’s like, that physics law, um, unstoppable force? Uh,” —you’re stuttering, making it worse, because his voice is surprisingly handsome and you’re an idiot through and through— “yeah, so could you come and get it?”

“Yes! Yeah, absolutely, we’re on our way. Thank you.”

“Sure. Of course.”

You hear something not meant for you, the tail end of, “Sirius, get up. You better call Marl and—”

Phone back in your pocket, you take a quick glance around the street before reaching out to run your finger over the cracked leather of the motorbike seat. You’ve never ridden one before. You’ve never wanted to. The level of fearlessness one needs for it isn’t one you possess. 

You’re the opposite of fearless. 

The sun hides behind a wave of clouds. Your skin chills near immediately, your prim slacks and apron a worthless defence against the cold. It’s an average day here, grey and quiet. Occasionally a couple will pass you, hand in hand as they traverse the worn pavement. You smile at an elderly man and his dog as they shuffle across the street and into the cafe. Your smile fades as you tune into the fierce tones of your manager, demanding to know where you’ve gone. If your absence is what distracts her from calling the police, so be it. 

You’re considering getting your phone back out to play Snake when a passing car slows beside you. You straighten up and out, feeling your spine click in more places than it should as the passenger door opens and an insanely attractive man throws himself out of it. 

“My angel!” he cries, heading straight for you. 

You take a panicked step backward. The man dives for his motorbike. You flinch, mystified by his enthusiasm and his opposite appearance. Short sleeves reveal arms full of dark tattoos, with one side marred by a brutally long scar from his elbow to the back of a ring-laden hand. You tear your eyes from him as a second door closes across the street, and feel all the air rush from your chest as a second man approaches. 

He’s very pretty. It might be redundant to say it to yourself, presented as you are with an undeniable truth, but you think it anyway. Sandy brown hair, pale skin, and in enough layers to make up for his friends lack thereof, the second man ignores any dramatics and meets you head on. 

“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand, “you’re the one who called?”

Closer now, you can see the scars on his face. They stretch over the ridge of his nose and into his eyebrow. A smaller one tugs as he talks against his top lip. 

You take his hand and shake it limply. “Yeah, that was me.”

If he’s concerned with your nervousness he doesn’t show it. His smile doesn’t move. “He wants to say thank you. He will, once he gets over himself.”

“Thank you!” the dark-haired man calls. “She’s my everything. I’ve been sick with worry.”

“Have you?” the man in front of you asks, his voice steady, almost intimidating in its impassiveness. 

“Yes, Moons, I have been… not that you’d know.”

“Some of us have real problems,” Moons snips, though he quickly looks at you like he’s embarrassed. “Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.”

“You must be good friends.” 

You don’t know why you say it. He only smiles. 

“We must be.”

The first man stands up from checking over his motorbike and beams at you. You suspect it’s an expression that works in his favour more often than not. “What can I give you, doll?” 

“No, nothing. Please. I’ll just be glad to hear the end of it.”

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, really." 

Your manager calls your name, clear as day despite the thick pane of glass and brick walls separating you. 

"That's you?" Moons asks. 

"That's me. Sorry." 

"No, don't be. Thanks so much for calling." 

You nod hurriedly, throwing them both a 'nice to meet you, I'm sorry for leaving so fast' kind of smile and head back inside. 

You take a sneaky look back when you're behind the counter again. They’ve turned their backs to you, Moons' friend ruffling his hair roughly. After a minute or two, Moons gets back in his car, and the motorbike pulls away like it was never there to begin with. 

What sort of name is Moons? you ask yourself. It's a question that stays with you for a few days. You find yourself hoping you'll see him again, or that his friend's motorbike will turn up outside of the cafe for a few long days and give you an excuse to call him. His number stays unsaved in your recent calls menu for a while. Eventually, you forget about him altogether; the motorbike, the call, the gentle wave of his hair. 

You're hard-pressed to forget his voice, though. There'd been something familiar about it. 

"Nice highscore." 

You jump hard and wince as the metallic taste of blood hits your taste buds. To make it worse, you slam your phone up into the counter it was hiding under in shock. It makes a fatal crunching sound. 

You shove it into your pocket and look up. Standing there, in all his handsome weariness, is Moons, sans friend. He's wearing nice clothes, clean and clearly ironed. You're immediately aware of your ratty uniform and your unkempt hair. 

"Shit," you say, which is so fucking embarrassing, honestly, you could fall through the floor and stay there, "Sorry. What can I get you?" 

His eyebrows inch up his forehead. "What's the easiest thing to make?" 

That's not a question you get often. "Uh, regular black coffee, or tea, or, the uh– the hot chocolate's not that hard. But you should order whatever you like, of course." 

Moons smiles at you. You're starting to understand the nickname (assuming it is a nickname). He has this odd but enticing presence about him, like that awestruck feeling of looking up at night and seeing all the teeny tiny stars and the moonlight that comes down with them, bright and somewhat daunting. 

"Sure you don't mind?" 

"I'm paid not to mind." 

"Can I get the biggest cup of tea you can make? Milk and two sugars, please." 

"Absolutely." You sidestep to the register and click a bunch of the wrong buttons. You're unprofessionally flustered. "Uh, three sixty five?" 

He passes you a five pound note. Your tip cup is for the more generous type, and he has no trouble dropping his palmful of change into it. He barely looks. You're expecting him to take a seat but he stays standing, one arm pressed to the counter, the other held up. He scratches behind his ear absentmindedly, as though he has nowhere else to be. 

"Are you in a hurry?" you ask, confused. 

He stays quiet for enough time to shit you up. You're tipping milk over your hand and hoping he hasn't seen it when he says, "No rush. I'm here to see you." 

You look over your shoulder at him. You can't help it. "To see me." 

"Yeah." 

You spin back to his tea. The counter is covered in spills and sugar, cup tops and wooden stirrers. You take them all in with wide eyes. Nobody ever comes to see you. Not your friends, not family (unless they want something). Especially not boys you met once for two minutes. 

"Is there something wrong?" you ask. 

You clip the lid onto his big tea and wrap it in napkins so it doesn't burn his hands. 

"Nothing's wrong," he says kindly. "I wanted to apologise. Your boss was upset with you. It was Sirius' fault. We owe you for it." 

"You really don't have to say sorry. She wasn’t that mad. No harm, no foul." 

You put his cup of tea down in front of him and try to smile like girls do in the movies. Soft doe eyes, not too bright, not too awkward. You give up after a second and feel it twist into something regrettable. 

His long silence makes you squirm.

"A thank you, then.”

He offers you an envelope. You take it. 

The paper is crisp and thick. Your fingers are clumsy, and it takes you too many seconds to fold the envelope's lip and pull out the card stock inside. 

You look up in shock. "I can't–" 

He's not there. You look to the door, catching what might've been his hand as he walks out of view. 

He's left you two concert tickets. You don't go to concerts. You might have, when you were younger, and had friends to follow. As it stands he's given you two seated tickets for a show in the Pointer Arena not far from where you work, for a band you've never heard of. The price on each is a solid £20, which is way too much repayment for ringing a number from a sticker. Worse, you're not sure you have somebody who can use the second one. 

You hope he'll come back for clarification alone, and a little to see him, but he doesn't, and soon the date on the ticket matches the date on your calendar and you're standing outside of the venue with no clue how to hold yourself. 

You stand in line for a while. It's a very long line made up of mostly younger women. You listen for the calling of a reseller and spot a group of young girls trying to haggle with them, reluctantly leaving your place in line. 

"Hi," you say quietly to the one furthest from the epicentre. "I'm sorry if this is weird. I have an extra ticket tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like it? I know it's seated, but maybe you could use it to get in and then, uh, not sit? Or just sit." You could writhe around on the ground in shame. You hold out the spare ticket. "If you want it." 

"Are you kidding?" 

"No, seriously." 

She takes the ticket and you walk away before she can try and give it back to you. Whether she uses it or not, it's no longer your problem to deal with. The lady who'd been standing behind you lets you back in line, for which you're extremely grateful, and you shiver your way to the front with nerves churning your stomach. 

You've imagined being turned away twenty times by the time they usher you through the doors. The air is buzzing with excitement, enough of it to ramp up your nerves, and you smile weakly at the people who pass you on the way up to the seating area you've been designated. The Pointer Arena is a smaller venue with much more standing than seating capacity available. The seats are at the sides and back of the second floor, looking down at the pit with a safety barrier in front. 

You slide into your seat and peer down at the crowd as it fills up one ant of a person at a time. You can't distinguish one person from another after a while. It’s a moving sea of dark clothes. 

It takes a long time for the opening act to come on. You're not having much fun. You'd tried to use the computer in the cafe to research the bands playing tonight but the dial up hadn't been working and your manager hates when you take long breaks, so you aren't sure you'll even enjoy yourself. You're not sure why you came here — is it sad, to come here alone? It looks sad, you think, pathetic, but it doesn't feel sad. You're not very good at talking, anyways. It's so difficult. Or maybe you just make it that way. 

This is why you regret coming. Any time spent by yourself is time to think. You hate thinking, but it's all you seem to be able to do. Think and think and think. Your mind runs in the same circles. Things you've done, things you wish you did, things you want to do so badly it makes you feel sick. You can't stand it. 

The crowd begins to rise in volume. Cheers echo against the atrium ceiling, and you push yourself to the edge of your seat to see what's making them all so excited. 

The opening band. They're too far away to see clearly. First on stage is a man with brown skin and a head of black curls, a guitar swinging from his neck, the body barely held as he waves to the masses. Next comes a paler man with hair tied up in a bun who sits down behind the drum kit and doesn't move much after that. A girl practically sprints to centre stage, scooping up a waiting guitar (or bass?) and strumming down the body appreciatively. She has purple hair, bright and choppy, particularly abrasive against the alabaster white of her skin. 

And last on stage… last on stage is Moons. 

You move forward suddenly, smacking your face against the plexiglass barrier and biting your cheek for the second time in a week. Used to your mistreatment, the poorly healed skin wastes no time splitting, and the metallic taste of blood makes you cringe. 

That's Moons. There are two huge screens either side of the stage that magnify him. First his hand on the microphone, a scar coiling up from his wrist to his thumb purple against his skin. Then his face. You wouldn't forget what he looks like so soon, not when you've half obsessed over him for days with could-be's because he'd wanted to see you and you have a bad habit of inventing future's with people you don't know, but even if you did it wouldn't matter. You've never met anyone else with three scars as he has across his face, taking centre stage. 

You hadn't realised the tickets were to see his band. It makes sense, now, why your seat is in such a quiet area, and why the people sitting close by aren't firecracker happy at the sight of them. They must've received their tickets in the same way, gifts or thank yous for small favours. 

Your mouth dries as they begin to play. It's not what you're expecting. Of course, you haven't really had time to expect anything, and yet you're shocked when they start to play a slow song. He doesn't really look like a rockstar, but a heartthrob? You can see it easily. The long lengths of his lashes, and the dark honey of his eyes. His smile, so small but somehow piercing. 

His voice is careful. He doesn't sing anything impressive —there's no belting or high notes— but you still find yourself wringing your hands together, entranced by his confidence. He dances around the melodies and fills up every space he can find between the beat of the drums and the searing guitar riffs that follow. 

They only play five songs. By the time they've finished you're feeling sick to your stomach, and you can't get your heart to calm down. You hadn't known a word of the lyrics, but you'd felt them. 

They're good. 

Like, too good to be openers for long. 

The crowd echoes your sentiment. They clap and scream and wolf whistle. The noise vibrates in the depth of your stomach. The cheering doubles when the headlining band’s techies emerge. The lights go down. Equipment begins to roll out. 

You scrounge through your purse for a lip balm and think about heading downstairs to the concession stands for an overpriced bottle of water to wash away the unfortunate tang of blood. It aches to pay, but if you don't soon you might get nauseous, and that would be a real disaster, throwing up here of all places. 

You hear his voice before you see him. He's laughing, talking to somebody about the set. 

"It was great!" compliments a feminine voice. "I don't know what you were so worried about, Remus, you're really great. And if you weren't, Marl would've saved the day anyways with her gorgeous showmanship." 

"Thanks, baby," says a second voice. Marl. 

"Thanks, Mary," Moons says. 

What had Mary called him? Remus? Odd, not quite as strange as Moons. 

You try not to tense as footsteps approach. 

"Can I sit?" he asks. 

You look up too fast. He's a little damp, the hair closest to his face curled with it, but he smells good as he sits down. He must've washed up. 

"I– I've been calling you Moons in my head," you admit, not sure what to say. 

He's intimidating. You don't imagine he knows it. He sits in the chair without any fanfare, setting his forearm on the rest between your two seats and turning his face to you completely, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, almost like he doesn't want to smile but can't help himself. His eyes are the slightest bit lidded, emphasising the brilliance (and unfairness) of his lashes, so thick and dark you wonder if he's wearing makeup. 

"You can call me whatever you want to, but my name's Remus. I should've told you that before. I was… distracted." 

He isn't being coy, you realise. He easily could be if he wanted to, but he was genuinely lost for words for a second.

"I didn't really tell you mine," you say, hoping to ease his gentle confusion. 

He says your name like it's easy. Like he enjoys the sound of it. "Y/N. Do you like music?" 

Is that a trick question? His eyes trace up to your eyebrows as they pinch together, but he doesn't amend his question. Not a trick, then. 

"I like music,” you say.

"I realise it's brave to ask someone to come and see you on stage. And that I look like a tosser sometimes with the stage lights and makeup." 

"No," you say quickly, "you don't. You looked just fine. You looked good. I bet it's hard getting on stage like that, and in front of this many people. And singing. You have a really nice voice." 

His eyes soften. "Thank you. Do you wanna go get a drink with me? There's a bar. It's quiet." 

Your elbow brushes against his long sleeve. "Yeah." You're not breathless enough to embarrass yourself, but it's a close call. 

Remus leads you up and out of the seats. The venue is large in that it has just as many hallways and back rooms as it has places to watch the show. Remus’ warm hand catches your elbow, a friendly touch that guides you around the barrier and through a dimly lit hallway that takes you to the bar. 

The bar overlooks the stage, but the sound of the band and the crowd is dampened severely, making for a sorely needed respite. VIP's mill around the room on plush leather sofas and cushy bar stools sipping from sweating glass bottles. Remus' hand moves up to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as a familiar face waves you over. 

"Hey, it's you!" 

You smile at Remus' motorbike friend. You're a hundred percent sure his name is Sirius, but you won't say it aloud in case you're wrong. Beside him sits the other man you'd seen on stage with them, the guitarist with brown skin and a head full of thick hair. You look between the three of them in secret shock, wondering if handsome attracts handsome or if it's just dumb luck that they ended up together. 

"James, this is the babe that found Stacia," Sirius says.

James wrinkles his nose. "Hi," he says, in a voice that sounds deeply apologetic, years of it like the rings of a tree. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Um, and you?" 

"I'm good! Thanks, I'm good, it's nice of you to come see us. Did you like the show?" 

"Yeah, I did. I had no idea you guys were musicians." 

He splits his attention between you and his jacket. He pulls a glasses case out of his pocket, clicks it open, and straightens out a pair of wire frames. 

"Couldn't tell from our baby boy's general demeanour?" he asks. "Hey, that's better, I can see you now." 

"Sirius is the youngest," Remus says. 

"And the handsomest." 

"No, Marl's clearly the handsome one," James says lightly. 

Sirius takes the rebuttal in good jest and brandishes his drink toward you like a toast. "Want a beer?" 

"I'm getting her one," Remus says, "come on, give me a minute here." 

Everybody laughs. You laugh too, turning your face into your shoulder to smother the sound. 

"Well, come and sit with us, make yourself comfortable," James says, moving his jacket off of the chair in front of you.

Remus makes a small, apprehensive sound. "Drinks first." He looks to you for confirmation. "Yeah. We'll be back." 

You follow him to the bar. Your shoes, a pair of dirty converse you wish you'd swapped for heels or something sophisticated, squeal against the hardwood floor. How were you supposed to know you'd see him again tonight? In what world does stuff like this happen to scruffy waitresses? You're starting to think he might be somebody. 

Not that it matters if he is or isn't. 

But if he is… This is embarrassing, right? Not knowing who he is. 

There must be a couple thousand people here tonight. Then again, his band were the opening act, so it doesn't necessarily mean they're all famous or anything. 

"Hey," Remus says softly, stopping your thoughts cold. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine. Sorry. I've never been in here before, anywhere that's like it,” you say. 

"Venues are all different but the bars don't change," he says. "What do you like?" 

"I'm not a big drinker." 

"That's okay. I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you." He doesn't even give you time to recover. "Truth is, I wanted to ask you out. But between shows I couldn't find time, and next week I'm in San Marino." 

What you mean to say is, you wanted to ask me out? But instead, you choke, "You're going to Italy?" 

Remus pushes a seat out for you, helping you up with a solid hand, and, while your fingers are still warm from his touch, he says, "San Marino isn't Italy. I didn't know that 'til a few months ago. But pretty much." 

"What's in San Marino?" 

"A wedding." He climbs into the seat next to you, smiling.

The tan colour of his long-sleeves contrasts his pale hands. Your eyes flash to his ring finger. Not his wedding. 

Remus isn’t easy to talk to. It's not wholly his fault. He doesn't force conversation, leaving you awkwardly searching for something to say. You're not the best conversationalist either. He clearly doesn't mind it. 

You're in the midst of a clumsy retelling of a shitty customer service moment when he tips his head to the left just a touch. 

"Maybe we can go on an actual date when I'm home,” he says.

He says it like he's talking about the weather. You'd be worried he was messing with you, but then he smiles again, flicking his index finger against your wrist mildly. "You don't have to answer me now. Finish telling your story."

"It was pretty much finished. And– and I'd like to. Go on a real date. I've never been out of the country, so you'll have to forgive me if I want to know everything about San Marino." 

He looks at your lips. Says, "Good," and doesn't give any indication that he's noticed how nervous you are. That is, until he covers your trembling hand with his and presses it flat to the bar. 

"You're really pretty," he murmurs. He takes a moment, and he smiles. "Come with me? If I don't give Sirius some attention soon he'll start showing off."

— 

James is starting to wonder if he should invite you to San Marino. He's not that stupid; it would be a huge pain if you were standing in the middle of all his wedding photos and you and Remus don't work out. But, while he's certainly and majorly jumping the gun, he has a suspicion he’ll be seeing you again. 

James has never seen Remus like this before. 

His friend is usually quiet, quipping every now and then perhaps at Sirius' insufferable antagonism but otherwise brooding. He hasn't seen him smile this much, ever. 

James is under no illusions — he knows Remus loves him very much. He knows Remus is happy, and not always healthy but managing. He knows Remus is pleased with their lives and ecstatic to have their music take off. But he also knows Remus won't let himself have a good thing, not really. Maybe that's why he's asked you out now, when in a week they'll be in San Marino, and a week after that they'll be in Cardiff to officially start the new tour. 

He knows Remus, sweetheart, kind hearted, miraculous Remus, tends to let people down. He's a stickler for asking people out and cancelling the day before. It's how it always goes. James will ask how the date went and Remus will shake his head and say, "it didn’t work out." 

He knows Remus doesn't mean to hurt anybody. He just… can't get close. 

But he's trying, with you. A glass of cordial in one hand, the other behind your chair, Remus tells you one of his more embarrassing stories about how he'd taken a bad fall and ended up in A&E with half of an eyebrow. He doesn't mention the painkillers that made him woozy. 

You've relaxed considerably since sitting down. James would be happy to report that you're having a good time. You have your own drink in hand, and your eyes are bright, with a receding space between your face and Remus' as the story goes on. It's like watching two magnets fight to hold themselves apart.

Matter of time, James thinks to himself smugly. 

—

Honesty is important. You admit to yourself that you and Remus aren't exactly a perfect match. Both quiet, both not quite social butterflies, your conversations had occasionally been stilted and slow, but you've only met twice. Things don't have to be perfect, and more than that — there's a spark there. A twinge of a possibility. He'd liked what little he knew about you enough to ask to see you again, and you'd like what little you knew about him in turn to say yes. 

It doesn't have to be perfect, you insist to yourself, a bundle of nerves. Nothing does. 

He looks pretty perfect. Base of his palm pressed to the brick wall of the cafe, hand angled down as his fingers grasp the neck of a bouquet whose flowers have been shedding petals onto the damp pavement below. He holds his other hand against his chest, clicking buttons on his phone. 

You approach from the left and watch him play a game of Snake. 

"You play Snake?" you ask.

"Doesn't everybody?" he asks back, his smile softening what might otherwise feel like a chastisement. He doesn't look up from his phone.

"Woah, how long have you been out here?" you ask, eyeing his weirdly long snake.

Remus guides the snake into a wall on purpose. It dies, his high score flashes across the screen, and he aims an apologetic look your way. "Sorry, that was rude." He doesn't try to hide that he's looking over your face. "Thanks for coming." 

He leans in and kisses your cheek. Delighted warmth curls in your stomach, worse when he passes you the bouquet of flowers. They've mostly survived his poor treatment, and there's a lot of them. He's left the price tag on and you're not sure if he's noticed. You pretend not to see it. 

"Thank you…” You look away from the flowers, all whites and reds and baby’s breath, to ogle him as subtly as you can manage. “Wow, you've caught the sun. Was it lovely in San Marino?" 

"I'll tell you all about it over dinner,” he says. “I thought we'd walk, it's not far." He holds out his hand. You wipe your palm against your side before you take it, worried you'll have clammy hands. He must guess, because he says, "Don't be nervous." 

"I am," you say hopelessly. "I've never been on a date before." 

"This is your first date?" 

You feel a hot flush coming on. "I– yeah. That's embarrassing, I shouldn't have told you that." 

"No, it's a good thing. Now I know it has to be extra special." 

"It doesn't," you say. 

"I was hoping it would be." He pulls you down the pavement and further into the city centre toward the main high street. "San Marino. It was beautiful, and I took a couple of photos but I didn't have room on my phone. Well, I could've deleted Snake–" 

"Why would you?" you joke, grinning. 

He laughs, and squeezes your hand slightly. "Exactly. I have priorities. It's a long flight, and looking over the photos can only take up so much time. No, but it really was… it was beautiful. I'd never given much thought to a destination wedding. They make sense, right? It's the best day of your life, why would you have it here?" 

He tilts his chin toward the grey sky. You look up with him, feeling the cold wind kiss the sides of your face and pull through your hair. 

"Come on, Remus, it's not that bad. If it's sun you're after, you could just wait for British summer time. You know, the whole three days of it." 

He laughs — you've made him laugh twice already. This is going okay. Laughing while looking at one another, a bouquet in one hand and his hand in the other, you feel that curl of delight begin to bloom. It fills your insides up, has you smiling until your eyelashes brush in the corners. 

"It was James' wedding. Do you remember which one that was?" 

He asks so kindly. You don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't care if you forgot. It's refreshing, even if it's something you'd expect. 

"I remember. I didn't realise he was getting married." 

"Don't ever say that in front of him, he'll put himself on the cross." He swings your hand as you turn a corner. The Italian restaurant you'd agreed on winks from a distance. 

"He's devoted," you guess. 

"He's insane. He was worse when we were younger. His girlfriend– his wife," he amends, "Lily, she's really something else. Warm and funny, but she's been keeping him on his toes for years. She has family in San Marino, hence the wedding." 

You listen to him talk eagerly. His voice is as handsome as his face, and the more he says the less stilted he becomes. There had been a strained quality to it before (strained, or restrained? something he wasn't saying) that's all but disappeared. 

"It was like a movie. White linen, sand, crying." 

"Did you cry?" you ask, expecting a puffed up chest. 

"So much. Too much, maybe. I was half of the best man." 

"Half?" 

"We had to share, me and Sirius. They've always been…" Remus slows his steps. "Am I being boring? I'm talking too much about me." 

"We have time. I want to hear it. I'd like to hear it," you say. 

James and Sirius are brothers. Remus sees your surprised look and doesn't condemn you for it. Sirius is unofficially adopted. The Potter's fostered him from ages thirteen until he aged out, and though they tried to adopt him, Sirius was reluctant. Remus doesn't get into the reasons beyond that, and you don't ask. You suspect he's only telling you about it to drive home how much the Potter's love Sirius. How much James does. 

Remus had been Sirius' friend from their very first year of comprehensive school. Sirius moved in with the Potter's, and, adoring as they were, they let him have friends over whenever he liked. James, Sirius, and Remus spent the next decade together like that, hiding in Sirius' room. Best friends, entirely inseparable, and all fiercely protective of each other. 

"They've always been like brothers." 

"But not…" 

He understands what you're worried to say. "I think it would've been weird… I had a candle burning for James. For a long time." 

Your jaw drops a little. "And you just had to watch him have the most romantic wedding ever," you whisper sympathetically. You're joking: it's clear the candle isn't burning now. 

"Told you I cried," he says. "No, but you've seen him. He's a supermodel. It's awful." 

"Remus, I think you might be underestimating how handsome you are," you say. You bite your lip and look at his chin rather than his eyes. 

He's generous. He gives your wrist a tug and chuckles warmly. "I'm glad you think so. Tonight might have been awkward, otherwise." 

You duck together inside of the restaurant, hands falling apart as Remus gives his last name for the reservation. Lupin. Your face has a mind of its own. 

"Charming, isn't it?" 

"It is," you say emphatically, denying his sarcasm. "I've never heard anything like that. Lupine, like a fox?" 

"Wolf."

A server shows you to your table and hands you two leather covered menus. Leather, not plastic, a sign that tonight is going to be classy. You've dressed for the occasion in a smart blouse and slacks, too terrified of wearing a dress. Remus seems to have done the same as you, reaching for smart but dodging the mark in a button down and a casual jacket. When he takes off his coat, he looks perfect. He fits right in. 

"Could we get a glass?" he asks the server. "For the flowers? If it's not too much trouble." 

"No trouble at all." 

You run your hand across the silken tablecloth and the space between you both feels somehow smaller than when you'd been holding hands. Outside, you could let your gaze drift to the pavement, the fenced in trees, the couples that passed you by. Here, you're forced to watch one another. 

It's not so bad. It's agonising. 

"This is weird," you say. You flinch when you hear yourself. "Sorry, not that you're weird! I'm weird. I've never ever done this." 

"No, I know," he says, almost murmuring, "it's okay." 

"I just blurted out what I was thinking–" 

"I know." He sits back in his chair. His head tilts down, his eyelashes kissing the skin above his brows as he fixes you with a look. It has the intended effect, tension easing from your rigid spine and tight shoulders. "This is weird. But it's still early. It could get weirder." 

You like that he says it as if it's a good thing. 

You order the same thing he does, and you don't turn down his offer to get a bottle of wine, though it feels too grown up. You keep forgetting you're an adult, and that your life isn't on hold. Things can happen to you at any time. 

"I want to address the elephant in the room," he says. 

Not promising. "Okay." 

"Are we having dessert?" Remus leans forward on both forearms. Hair falls in his eyes. He's dressed nicely and he's handsome but there's something homespun about him, something golden. You can't help looking at him and thinking impossibly forward thoughts, cheesy waffle from the films. He's familiar. "Nobody ever wants to get dessert with me. It's actually a real issue for me." 

"I'll get dessert with you." A smoother you with more confidence, who wore the dress and asked him to go to the Thai restaurant instead, would've said something more suave. We're having whatever you want, handsome.

Remus flips the menu to the very last page and reads the desserts aloud. For himself, it seems, half-muttered and apprehensive. "Chocolate cake from places like this will either be the nicest thing we've ever eaten or burnt in the microwave. And it's childish that I want chocolate cake. I should be spoon feeding you creme brulee. Or whipped cream and strawberries." 

He tips his head back and rubs his eyes. It's a charade of feigned self loathing that makes you laugh. 

"I'm a child," he laments, thumb and index finger pressed into his eyes. He checks to see if you're watching before doubling down. 

"I like cake," you say, and you'd lie if you thought it was what he wanted to hear. Handsome, kind, and funny. Not to mention talented. He needs smart for the sweep. 

Remus falls out of his dramatics. You mourn the loss, beggy a good look on him, but forget all about it when he slides his chair around the table to share the menu with you, your heads inclined as you read it together again. He smells woody. You hope he likes the jasmine of your perfume. 

"It all sounds really nice," you confide, afraid to disturb the comfortable hush. "I haven't had gelato since I was a kid. Oh, did they have real gelato in San Marino?"

“They had a lot of stuff in San Marino… I want to hear about you.”

“What do you want to hear?”

The questions start and don’t stop. Where did you grow up? That’s the easy part. What did you study in school? Were you in sports? The art club? And what do you do now, when you aren’t working in the cafe? The more he asks, the easier it is to answer. He doesn’t slow when the waiter brings a glass for your bouquet, simply stands and places them inside with exceedingly gentle hands, smiling at you from between the stems. You eat slowly when the food arrives — you're busy talking. 

It feels fucking amazing. To have someone want to know anything about you. And unless he’s an actor of the highest regard, he’s obviously enjoying your conversations, though they wilt and wane and wind around one another. You lose track of time and thread as the night goes on, distracted by the near unnoticeable asymmetry of his smile, and the way he laughs when you laugh, like an echo. 

You get cake like he wanted. Triple fudge cake with buttercream thick but melting from the heat. It looks straight from the pages of a magazine, glossy and dusted with sugar powder, but he doesn’t seem to like it. He takes a couple of bites and leaves it alone. You don’t want to look greedy, so you do the same. 

The date is suddenly over. 

“Could I walk you home?” he asks, when you’ve both put your coats back on, and the damp roots of your flowers are leaving an imprint on your chest. 

You nod rather than answer. 

Things are good, not perfect. That’s what you keep thinking. There’s something he isn’t saying. Or, horrifyingly, something he doesn’t like about you. Still, the sky is velvet black and the air is crisp. Stars like needlepoints dot the air. Street lights work to hide them, casting a warm yellow glow over the pavements and your meandering shoes. 

A brisk wind whips past you. You shiver and press your lips together hard, hands quick to rigidity. Remus looks at you sideways, and breaks the quiet. “Are you cold?”

“A little.” No point in lying when he can see you trembling. 

“Do you want my coat?”

“No, no, it’s alright–“ You cut off as he steps in front of you, his hand vying for yours. 

He tucks the flowers under his arm and sandwiches your fingers between his. He has short fingernails, and another scar down one pinky finger. How’d you get that one? you want to ask. How’d you get any of them?

His breath clouds the air. “I should’ve thought about the cold.”

“This is better,” you say. Than a warm taxi home. His thumbs brushing down the backs of your hands. 

You walk to your flat building and hesitate at the foyer door. The potential for a kiss goodnight has flayed your thoughts. The image of his hands climbing your arms, holding you still, plays like a flickering film. You have no idea if he’s going to do it. 

“How will you get home?” you ask quietly. 

“I parked by the cafe, it isn’t far.”

“Oh…” The lights from your building paint him the faintest shade of pink. Your breath fogs out in front of you, as does his, and the warmth of walking will soon fade. “I–“

“Here,” he says, handing you the flowers again. 

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Fits the recipient.”

It takes a second for you to get it. Oh, you think. You can hardly feel the cold now. Your heart hurts, and you’re begging him to want to take a step toward you. The silence goes for too long. 

“I– I’d love to see you again,” you say. Love comes out funny. Maybe because you can feel his rejection coming. 

“I won’t be here next week. Not for a long time. We’re touring properly, now.” He scratches the side of his face.

“Right. Right, of course you are. Um, good luck with that. And thank you for tonight, for dinner.” You wave your flowers weakly. 

He looks at you. He takes a half step toward you. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. 

“You really are pretty,” he says finally. “Goodnight.”

He smiles quick and turns quicker. You watch him walk a few steps but ultimately can’t face it, pushing into the foyer of your building with a hardset frown. Your hands shake, minute abstractions of the sharp rejection panging in your chest. Your ears roar and then go quiet. What did I do wrong? you think, shocked and upset and trying to rationalise. He doesn’t have to kiss you. He asked you out on a maybe, and now whatever question he had is answered. 

The door creaks open. You spin on your heel, too wrapped up to think about hiding your expression. Remus stands in the doorway of the porch, his arm pressed to the glass panel, the other held out to you. 

"Come here," he says quietly. It isn't a question, but he's asking. 

You step into his reach, letting him pull you by the waist against his chest. He leans down until his nose glances against ýours, and he starts to say something. You push your chin up in your eagerness and he doesn't try again. He kisses you, once, contrite, and he pulls back and his hand clasps your arm tight as he ducks in for another. His lips are fast to lose the cold of the weather, but his tongue is a hot shock at the seam of your own. 

You go weak in his arms. The flowers between you crunch and smother themselves. You can’t think about it. Your hands are numb. He takes over every one of your senses until you’re more kiss than thought, reciprocating his slow, deep searching. You run out of breath. 

He eases you backward, cupping the side of your head in his big palm. 

“I want to see you again,” he says hoarsely. “But I– I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His hand adjusts against your cheek, like he’s worried you’re slipping out of his hold. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can wait,” you say. 

“I couldn’t ask you to.”

You rub your buzzing lips together, each heaven of your chest marked by the crinkling sound of cellophane. 

“Do you want to come upstairs?” you ask.

He strokes the edge of your mouth with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him. You don’t know if this will work, any of it, the broad stroke or this one night, but you want him. 

—

Remus doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows how to fuck somebody, that isn’t the problem. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with you. The same thing that made him walk away had pulled him right back in, had him skipping steps on the staircase up to your flat, drinking in the back of your head and roll of your shoulders as you’d made apologies for the mess inside.

He doesn’t feel like himself when he’s with you. He thinks of it like this — what he is, his pain, his wants, that’s all set in stone. Any change is an erosion, and little by little over the years he’s managed to whittle himself down into the smallest, cleanest version of himself. Then suddenly the band’s making money, people are listening to his voice on the radio in countries all over the world, and he can’t hide anymore. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, after all. What else inspires a performer into the spotlight? The music, he thinks desperately, knowing it’s half a lie. 

Isn’t it why he’d asked you to the show? Come and watch me sing. See me at my most impressive. My most curated. 

And now he’s following you into your bedroom after one date, about to strip it all away. 

“You didn’t have too much wine, did you?” he asks. You hadn’t really finished your first glass, but it won’t hurt to make sure. 

You peel your jacket off and drop it over the back of a wide armchair. “I don’t think so. Did you?”

“No.” His head has never been this clear. 

He thinks about what you said. This is your first date, and he’s not clueless enough to assume that never going on a date means never having sex, but he wants to be careful with you anyway. He wants this to last beyond a dinner date. 

Which means he has to get out of his head. 

Beyond all of his own mess, he really does think you're pretty. More than pretty. You’re beautiful, and your voice… 

He wants to see what other sounds you make. 

Remus gets his hands on you. Soft touches, his hands coasting from your elbows to your warming hands. He squeezes your fingers, leaning in for a quick kiss. He rests his nose against the skin beneath your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much?” he asks, a murmur of hot air. 

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go slowly.”

“Okay.” Your voice is barely audible. 

He pulls away to make sure you’re alright, and is surprised to see a glassy sheen in your eyes. He holds your face in both hands and works your lips open against his, guiding you backwards into the plush of your poorly made bed. He’s all sweet touches and eager kisses, cautious not to hurt you, or let too much of his weight press against your soft torso. His kisses follow to the corner of your mouth, the tip of his nose tender against your cheek. “You’re so quiet,” he says. He isn’t complaining, but he wants to hear your voice. 

“I’m a bit preoccupied.”

He laughs into your skin, kissing down to your jaw. “You’re right,” he says, revelling in the goosebumps that rise under his hands. 

Your shaking inhales cleave a pit in his stomach. He mouths at the side of your neck, half-kisses, tiny warning nips before he thumbs open the first button of your shirt. He meanders, dropping a path crescent moon kisses into your front until the fabric of your bra gets in the way. The soft hill of your breast staggers to a halt beneath him. He can tell that you’re holding deliberately still. 

Kisses. You need more kisses, an absolution from any lingering nervousness. Your hands thread into his hair gently, your fingers raking wavy strands behind his ears as you give in. You melt into your sheets, your legs parting from the pressure of his hips. 

Your hands fall from his hair to needle between your two bodies and undo the rest of your buttons. The fabric falls aside, your chest and tummy his to catalogue. He drops his hand against your stomach, smoothing a line down to your slacks. His lips ache against yours as he asks, “Can I?”

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?” 

He smiles at your daunted expression. “Can I take these off?” he asks you, his fingertip running under the edge of your underwear. “Please?” he teases.

Your skin is a furnace, hot hot hot everywhere he touches as you nod your permission and Remus undresses you, one piece of clothing at a time. Your trousers, your shirt. Your bra, your underwear. His fingers slip in his ardency as he tears out of his own button down. 

Your thumb traces a scar. 

He looks up from your chest, startled, but you aren’t giving him anything he doesn’t want. There’s no pity in your gaze, no curiosity, no sadness. Just lust, your trembling hands pulling his slacks down the lengths of his thighs. 

He pulls the condom from his wallet in his pocket and lets it fall to the floor. 

Remus hooks his hands under your arms and urges you back against the headboard, a pillow behind your head, your thighs tipping open as his hand runs down between them. He grabs at them greedily, handfuls of fat that have his mouth dry as a bone. 

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” he asks. He needs to know.

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head. 

Fuck. “Hey, look at me,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before continuing. “I just want to make you feel good. If I don’t, you let me know.”

He waits for you to answer aloud. “I will,” you say, your hand behind his back and urging him forward. “Please.”

“What did I say?” he jokes gently, letting his weight bear down on you again. 

He closes his eyes, his lips in what feels like a new home at the juncture of your neck. His hands skirt dangerously close to your heat. 

He’s gentle. He rubs a sweeping line against your cunt with the front of his fingers, heart hammering fast as a mouse’s when he finds the little button of your clit. You shiver and shudder and squirm as he toys with you, your fingers steadfast against the plane of his back while he opens you up. His lips part in tandem, not nearly as kind as his hands. His teeth scratch against your throat. 

Your soft moans move through him as he hickeys over your pulse, chasing each capering thud of blood. He winds you up. You’re snug around his fingers, fluttering, and he knows he’s probed something sweet when your breath catches and you whine. 

“Was that alright?” he asks. 

You nod, heavy headed, and lick your lips as he tears open the condom and eases it onto his cock, one measured roll at a time. 

“Can you– I want you to–” You turn your face from him, the line of your jaw kissed by the lamplight outside, and the rest hidden. 

He drags you down to lay flat on your back and holds himself over you, nudging his nose against yours until you lift your head. Face to face, he gives himself time to adore the shape and colour of your eyes, the side of his hand brushing along your cheek. “Do you think you’re ready?” he asks sincerely. The slickness between your legs is obvious, but he doesn’t want to blindside you. “It will feel…”

You nod, saving him the explanation. It will feel weird. Good, but foreign. “Will you kiss me again?” you ask feebly.

He can’t stop himself. He kisses your lips sore, his hand behind the crook of your knee pushing your leg up toward your stomach as he slides into the space he’s made there. He breaks the kiss to listen to your breathing as he pushes forward.

Remus hadn’t been lying — he wants it to feel good. He takes it slow, his thrusting almost languid as you get to grips with the feeling. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, struggling to smother the moan that escapes him as he feels you clench around him. You gasp, your arms tightening around his waist, destroying any semblance of space between your sweat-damp bodies as you hold him tight. He murmurs praises in your ear, his forearms tucked beneath your shoulder blades, hands gripping your shoulders a touch too hard. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to somebody, can’t remember ever feeling so maddeningly lost, like he’s one good push from hurtling over the edge. 

He kisses your cheek, calling you all the things he’d been too scared to say before. “Lovely girl,” he pants, “how’s that feel?” And, when you answer, “Yeah, you’re taking it so well, dove. Think you can take a little more?”

All that nervousness and desperation shrinks down to dust, and the smiling girl he’d been with at dinner comes to the forefront. There’s no mistaking it. You giggle something awful and turn your face into his, kissing him between sounds, dizzying him with the tender scratch of your nails down his back as he starts to move. 

“There she is,” he says lightly, almost smirking. “Feel good?”

“Feels– oh,” —you shiver violently, filled all the way up— “feels good.” 

Remus let’s his forehead fall to your chin, his eyes closed in pleasure, his cock to the hilt. Every move he makes evokes a near sinful sound from you, mewling, silvery whimpers and pleased little laughs when he angles his hips right. He’s a mess, desperate to cum from the second you touched him and running on stolen time as he presses you deep into your mattress. One of your hands flies backward into the pillows and scrunches up into a ball, the look on your face too tempting to ignore. 

The first time you fuck someone — it’s never timed right. Remus knows he hasn’t quite figured you out, but he knows enough to get you where he wants you. He slides his hand between your bodies and your soft cunt to draw circles into your clit, entranced by your twitching lashes as the pleasure builds. You chase him with your hips, and he grabs your hand at the last second to stop you from covering your mouth, holding it above your head as you come apart. 

He cooes at you. The sound you make — the breathless little cry that leaves you, your hips jutting up to meet him. He’s at your mercy, just like he said. 

Remus fucks into the extra tightness, drawing your climax out for as long as he can. You’re smiling as you shove his arm away, a playful chastisement that wanes when you see the look on his face. “Are you close?” you ask, brushing a curled strand of hair from his eyes. 

Close? Remus is fucked. 

“You can go faster,” you say, “rougher, whatever you want.”

“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back. 

His rutting hips slap the backs of your thighs. He squeezes your waist, his eyes fixed on your cunt as it pulls him in. One last wavering, “Oh, fuck,” from you is all it takes for Remus to lose it. White hot pleasure tightens his whole body, his abdomen aflame. You scramble to gather him back into your arms. You kiss him, swallowing his resulting string of moans. 

He has to catch his breath afterward. You comb the hair back from his face, your eyes droopy with pleasure.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice stringy.

“Of course not.” You’re quickly losing your confidence. Remus hates it, but he understands. This vulnerability can only stretch so far. 

“Let me clean you up,” he says.

“You look like you’re gonna fall over if you stand.”

He strokes your face with the back of his ring finger, his nail ghosting along the highest point of your cheek. “Funny,” he says dryly. 

He gets confused in your bathroom, and you won’t let him towel you off, but when he lies down beside you with his boxers back in place you don’t push him away. You drop your face into his chest and curl up. 

He drags the quilt over your naked back. 

Was that okay? he wants to ask. “Sore?” he worries instead. 

“Don’t think so.”

He chews his cheek. “You’re alright?”

You stir, looking up at him through your lashes. He thinks you’re the kind of pretty people might not always see. You’re clearly beautiful, but there’s something else to it. The way you move, maybe. The way your eyes smile before your lips can catch up. 

“I’m fine. I’m good… Can I…”

He hums. “What?”

“Could I kiss you again?” 

You speak so quietly, he hears the vibration in your throat more than the sound of your voice. It’s endearingly timid. He feels his attraction for you flare violently. 

He wants to ask you to come with him to Cardiff. He knows he can’t. It’s yards too soon, but for a second he entertains the thought. 

“Wait for me to come home,” he says. He’s still asking for more than he should. “I want to see you again. You can kiss me as much as you want, if you say you’ll wait.”

You nod immediately. Not a flicker of reluctance to be seen. 

You lift your chin and kiss him. He tries to make it the kind of kiss worth waiting for.  

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging cos it helps more than you might think <3

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

[bbtsficrecs]

BTS FIC RECS PART 4.1

Part 4.1 of some of my favourite BTS fanfics. Please do consider liking, reblogging and/or commenting on the fics you like. There are so many wonderful and amazing authors out there who do not get the recognition they deserve. So please send them lots of love to keep them going. If you're on here, then know I enjoyed every second of reading your story ♡

There will be two parts 4 as it's (sadly?) too long to be saved under one post. Stay tuned for part 5, joon recs will be added!

Please let me know if some of the links aren’t working. Happy reading!

⊹ Navi ‣ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.1 | Part 5 |

⊹ Merry Kinkmas - part 02 Enemies to lovers au au | s | @bebejungkook ‣ You find out who your secret Santa was but his gift was a little too personal.

⊹ In Your Arms Tonight College au | s, f | @angelguk ‣ “I’m Team I Would Like To Be Fucked Tonight.” You stated, blatantly ignoring the stink eye he shot your way. “But clearly that’s not on our agenda. Have you ever seen Vampires Suck?”

⊹ Baecation Richboy!jk au | s, f | @1kook ‣ “Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart.

⊹ Act Of Falling Fuckboy!jk au | s, f , a | @kooktrash ‣ What was supposed to be a meaningless fling has turned into much more before you both realized you were falling. Now all you can do is hope that all the challenges you’ve faced are worth something.

⊹ Candles & Flames Royal AU | s, f, a | @taegularities ‣  He wasn’t supposed to be yours. His foolery wasn’t supposed to target you. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

⊹ Distractions Practice couple au | s, f | @chryblossomjjk ‣ Jungkook agreed to let you do his makeup, but he can't stop getting distracted.

⊹ Naughty Boy Step siblings au | s | @scribblemetae ‣ Reader is older step sister that knows he has a crush on her/yandere tendencies & she teases him until one day he gives in. 

⊹ When It Feels Right (read part 1 first) Divorce au | a, f | @7deadlysinsfics ‣ Although Jungkook is struggling with the decision he made months ago, he still thinks it was the best thing he could’ve done for your safety. But he isn’t doing well, and his friends are worried about him and how he’s choosing to deal with his feelings. Meanwhile, you’re now living with your brother, his wife, and their ten-month-old daughter, who has helped bring some light into your life. Just as you decide to tell Jungkook the truth about your pregnancy, he appears at your brother’s house with a truth of his own.

⊹ When She Loved Me Terminally Ill au | s, f, a | @jungkookstatts ‣ How does one live when life is bound to end? 

⊹ your step brother fucking you in front of your parents Step siblings au | s | @aris-ink

⊹ Don't Blame Me (on-going) Single Dad au | s, f, a | @thvhoe ‣ Jungkook is known for his good looks and is often described by your friends as "daddy material." Funny enough, he actually was a daddy. The daddy of the baby girl you babysit every Saturday. Working as a nanny for the world's grumpiest single dad should have been easy, but you can't keep your eyes off him. He's handsome, a little arrogant, with broad shoulders and strong tattooed arms. And when he decides he can't keep his hands off of you. Who are you to resist?

⊹ Rolling Stone Idol au | s, f , a | @kooktrash ‣ He was a rolling stone with no ties to anyone or any place and that’s how he and his fans liked it. Now he’s found you and it’s never been this hard to convince someone that he’ll stay. The problem is neither of you know what it means to express yourselves without reverting to sex as a form to end discussion. It causes all hell to break loose when Jungkook realized if he wants you to stay for him [with him] then he needs to show it to you too. Can Jungkook and Y/n get past their own growing doubts on if what they feel is real and work out a way to be together—especially considering Y/n wants nothing to do with the limelight?

⊹ The Ability To Fantom - part 02 (on-going) Brother’s best friend au | a, f | @hanniwrites ‣ You are shocked when your friends reveal their theory: Jungkook, your brother’s annoying best friend, has a crush on you. A bad one.

⊹ Torn Apart Infidelity au | s, a | @bethschamberoftales ‣ That one time when you caught your boyfriend cheating on you.

⊹ My Love Is Here (series) Unrequited love to requited | s, f, a | @solemnreads ‣ You didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s not like you purposely woke up one day and thought “Hey I’m going to fall in love with my best friend!” No, that is not at all what happened.

⊹ I'll Stop Tomorrow Friends with benefits AU | s, a | @dreamyjoons ‣ You know it has to end.

⊹ Just A Taste Spring break AU | s, f | @cutechim ‣ “Your lips make me wonder what the rest of you would taste like.”

⊹ Flat Tire Established relationship AU | s, f | @ppersonna ‣ How do you pass the time when you’re stuck on the side of the road with your boyfriend, with a flat tire?

⊹ One Mistake (on-going) Idol!Tae & Cheating AU | a | @vamours ‣ it’s been three years since you and Taehyung had started dating. recently, you’ve started to notice changes in taehyung’s behavior towards you. with your four years anniversary only a few weeks away, you’ve come to discover the truth.

⊹ Akrasia Strangers to? | s | @nitaescence ‣ Basically two strangers fucking in a crowded bus.

⊹ Stepdad Taehyung Step!father au | s | @aris-ink ‣ "He was not touching himself right beside you. No, that was not possible"

⊹ Rock Bottom Idol Jimin AU | s, f, a | @jkbabiey ‣ When, in a four-year marriage, you get to the point where you question its worth, you know that’s your rock bottom. How many I’m sorry’s will you handle? How many times are too many times?

⊹ What's Poppin Established relationship AU, | f, s | @joonberriess ‣ Yoongi being the type to buy you a chain cause if he’s pimped out, his girl gotta be too.

⊹ Foundation - Part 01, 02, 03 feat Yoongi Non-idol doctors AU | f , s, a | @hamsterclaw ‣ You know Jungkook is a fuckboy. So why are you letting him fuck with you? Featuring Yoongi.

⊹ Looks so refreshed Idol AU | s | @kimnjss ‣ Friends with benefits is hard, but when he’s an international superstar… It’s much harder. So while you love his friends to death, spending the night holed up in his hotel room just sounds a lot more fun than a dinner party.

⊹ Friends (3TAN) Brother's best friend AU | f, s, a | @kithtaehyung ‣ The week you get with Yoongi has a few surprises. and one of them presents itself in the form of a phone call.

⊹ So it goes Friends with benefits (ish) AU | f , s | @prodagustd ‣  You and Yoongi have been hooking up, having dates and spending most of the week together for almost seven months. He was comfortable without a title, until the last two weeks, when you couldn't see him because of your busy schedule, Yoongi can't understand why he misses you so bad if your relationship is just sex to him. Or maybe he does, but he's too much of a coward to admit it..

⊹ Marry me, Yoongi Established relationship AU | f, s | @spideyjimin ‣ When Yoongi decides to get married in vegas after all the fan’s comments on the vlives.  

⊹ Amour Propre Established relationship AU | a | @randombtsprincessa ‣ Crumbling Relationship with one Min Yoongi

⊹ Blind Spot Established relationship AU | f, a | @randombtsprincessa ‣ Yoongi tries to win you back.

⊹Your Universe Rejection AU | f, a, s | @muniimyg ‣ Regretting rejecting oc, Min Yoongi goes through a circus load of gestures and tasks in attempt to be loved again

#my recs #jungkook fanfic #jimin fanfic #taehyung fanfic #yoongi fanfic #jungkook angst #jimin angst #yoongi angst #taehyung angst #jungkook smut #jimin smut #taehyung smut #yoongi smut #jungkook fluff #jimin fluff #taehyung fluff #yoongi fluff #bts fanfic #bts fic recs #bts recs #jungkook recs #jimin recs #taehyung recs #yoongi recs #jungkook drabble #taehyung drabble #yoongi drabble #jungkook imagine #jimin imagine #taehyung imagine

[astonmartinii]

bite the hand | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem musician!reader [face claim: clairo + clairo, boygenius and taylor swift music]

having fans are great, but sometimes it goes to far and you have to bite the hands that feed you

MASTERLIST | TIPS

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 913,551 others

tagged: beabadoobee

yourusername: howdy ladies, gentlemen and all that's in between, it's single release day. i had so much fun on this track with bea and getting to pour all of my love for maxy onto such a cute melody... hope you all enjoy my loves x

view all comments

user1: YES THANK YOU MOM THIS IS JUST WHAT I NEEDED TODAY

landonorris: how many letters in devoured?

yourusername: ATE 💅

landonorris: ate and left NO crumbs

maxverstappen1: why oh why did i ever introduce you two

yourusername: because you love us both?

maxverstappen1: i sure love you, jury is out on lando

landonorris: boooooooooo

user2: ugh if y/n had to date an f1 driver why couldn't she go for one of the hot ones like lando or charles?

user3: for real like bro he just drags her down

user4: you can't be serious? he's a professional athlete at the top of his sport and by what they show us a massive softy who loves y/n? why would we want anything else for her?

liked by yourusername

user5: y/n will NOT stand for any max bashing idk why you guys try it every time

maxverstappen1: so unbelievably talented and the artist of her generation

yourusername: maybe it's because i have a top notch muse ?

maxverstappen1: NO NO IT'S ALL YOU YOU ARE THE ARTIST I AM JUST LUCKY TO BE IN YOUR VICINITY

yourusername: i am the lucky one baby

danielricciardo: leave your cute shit offline i already have to hear it all of the time let me be on instagram

yourusername: nope love my boyfriend too much

maxverstappen1: nope love my girlfriend too much

user6: they're so insufferable i love them

user7: this song bangs so much more when you pretend it's not about ... him

user8: bro is acting like max verstappen ran over his puppy

user7: sorry i don't want a GREAT artist and BEAUTIFUL woman being dragged down by THAT

user9: you are insane, you do not know y/n, you enjoy her music, that doesn't give you the right to have power over things in her personal life

user10: you people are why this fanbase has a bad name and before long y/n will get fed up too

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 829,043 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: the off weekend spent right

view all comments

user13: i need a man so obsessed with me that all he does is post my face

user14: crazy that all this guy does is wax lyrical about how much he loves her and she's like never at his races ... interesting

user15: and her weirdly entitled fanbase say he doesn't deserve her when she clearly doesn't support him as much as he supports her

yourusername: i love you and our soft little weekends, i wanna do it all the time :(

maxverstappen1: gosh our day jobs are really quite unconventional i guess we should just retire to a remote island to live on a small farm?

yourusername: you said it not me i just wanna be anywhere with you

maxverstappen1: i love you <3

user16: RETIRE TO A REMOTE ISLAND? SOMEONE TELL THIS RAT THAT IF HE IS THE REASON WE DON'T GET MUSIC WE WILL RIDE AT DAWN

user17: babe have you ever thought that maybe the reason he said that he wants to retire away from everyone because you people stick your noses in all the time

danielricciardo: @yourusername a soft weekend you say? how many hours did max spend on the sim?

yourusername: a solid ten but he even let me have a go

danielricciardo: oh wow that man really is in love

maxverstappen1: i think she'd rival a couple of you with some practice, i'm working on getting her to join redline

user18: ugh this is so annoying... preaching like you like spending time with your girlfriend and then spend it all playing a video game and letting her have one go?

user19: the sim is something f1 drivers use to train? if anything max probably shouldn't have let y/n have a go she could've accidentally changed the set up or other things

user20: i'm seeing charles and lewis training this off weekend and he just lies in bed with this girl? he really needs to ditch her to stay at the top

user21: literally two comments up is them talking about him training on the sim the jealousy is insane from both fans at this point

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 893,442 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: happy to take home another win in mexico, i love this track and am forever thankful to this team and my loved ones.

view all comments

user25: holy shit idk what f1 can do but the paddock looked insane today there's no way that is safe for the drivers and personnel.

user26: there's so many videos of people rushing max and although some of them look like max fans who are just excited but there were a lot of very rude rival fans trying to get too close for comfort

yourusername: forever proud of you !! you're like jimmy and sassy with zoomies on crack <3

maxverstappen1: that is the highest of the high compliment thank you my love

yourusername: champagne is on me girlypops no expense spared for the love of my life

redbullracing: do we all qualify as girlypops ???

yourusername: of course !! don't think i didn't notice the supply of vegan pizza rolls you truly are the lactose intolerant allies of the grid

user27: can she stop spending all her hard earned money on this scrub that just uses her

user28: bro makes millions in a year he doesn't NEED her but that doesn't mean he can't want her? you guys are crazy

user29: some of these fans need to do some serious evaluation, drivers are not zoo animals, they are people and deserve respect and that includes respect to their personal space.

user30: for real like why was brad basically having to act as a body guard for max and y/n

user31: this was such a dangerous event for max and y/n. they're both very famous individuals and should be able to move around the paddock without being in danger.

user32: max joked about getting a body guard for this weekend but i think he should seriously consider it especially is y/n is coming to more races while she's not touring

danielricciardo: it has been brought to my attention that y/n has stated that she will spare no expense, i am making a formal enquiry into whether this will cover my bar tab?

yourusername: i will within reason but only because your bffs with maxy and will drink the fruity lil cocktails with me

danielricciardo: REAL men drink cocktails

maxverstappen1: do NOT disrespect the humble gin and tonic on my post

user33: i'm glad they're in high spirits after the shenanigans in the paddock today and the booing towards max :(

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, maxverstappen1 and 1,442,776 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: there is no full way to articulate my feelings right now. my fans have to respect my personal relationships and my boundaries. i appreciate your support but you have to understand that i am not your personal friend and you do not have the right to my personal life. i also understand that in sport, there are a lot of heightened emotions, but drivers do not owe you their safety. this is something i have felt for a long time since max and i became a public couple and the onslaught of hate came for him. you may say that it comes from a good place, or for my best interests, but the manner in which some 'fans' have expressed their 'worries' is unacceptable. i do not want to bite the hand that feeds me, but there's only so many slaps me and my loved ones can take from the hand.

bite the hand is out on all streaming platforms. please listen closely a re-evaluate your relationships with your favourite artists, thank you.

comments are not available on this post.

maxverstappen1

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,220,664 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: i love you and i will never let other people tell me when i'm not enough get in my head again. we both appreciate our support and acknowledge that we would be nowhere without it. but our relationships are ours, please respect this.

comments are not available on this post

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 1,344,229 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: okay sad songs are important but it's now time for me to sing my wee little heart out about how much i love you and how i know we were always made for each other.

i love you maxy, invisible string is all about my muse. out now.

view all comments

user41: IT BANGS I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

user42: ffs i guess we're stuck with this man for life now ...

user43: LISTEN TO BITE THE HAND AND BANG YOUR HEAD AGAINST THE WALL AND HEAR THE PINBALLS OF YOUR BRAIN GOING CRAZU

user44: speak your truth sis

maxverstappen1: ISN'T IT JUST SO PRETTY TO THINK THAT ALL ALONG THERE WAS SOME INVISIBLE STRING TYING YOU TO ME

maxverstappen1: so true, you make me believe in soulmates YOU ARE MY SOULMATE I LOVE YOU

yourusername: i love you to the moon and to saturn for real

yourusername: and that thread of gold is made from all of your trophies LET'S GO RAHHHHHHHH I'M SO PROUD OF YOU

maxverstappen1: the gold of that grammy @thegrammys yall heard bags?

user45: the way they're each others wags and completely embrace it

user46: i love that they're still their goofy asses they don't give a shit abou t yall

user47: y/n dropped a heart wrenching track and immediately went ... but hey i'm SUPER happy and that's all you're going to hear

landonorris: so like can y/n remix the dutch anthem so we can actually bop every weekend

yourusername: i kinda wanna marry the king of the netherlands so maybe not

landonorris: you broke up ?????

yourusername: no you dumbass max is the king of the netherlands

maxverstappen1: not factually but i do have a medal from the royal family so same thing

landonorris: why do you guys have to clown on me every time

yourusername: you're like our baby brother it's our duty

maxverstappen1: sorry not sorry

user48: you could never make me hate them they're made for each other

user49: finally bite the hand shamed the crazy bitches into finally shutting the fuck up

note: i love bite the hand i actually fear it might be my fave boygenius song and i recommend it to everyone. i actually did my university dissertation on parasocial relationships with athletes so like i feel like a good couple of sports fans could do with a listen to bite the hand. hope yall enjoyed and had a good weekend !! (chelsea gave me a heart attack but what's new, even though i was too sick to go to the game:()

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 #f1 x you #f1 social media au #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen instagram au #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen

[zreamy]

spf 23

pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader

summary: for as long as you can remember, your summers have been much the same, largely spent in your hometown, relaxing by the local pool. when you get back home this summer, things seem like they'll go the same way, until you get to the pool that is — when did the lifeguard get so hot?

genres: smut, fluff, people that kinda know each other to lovers, summer au, lifeguard au..

warnings: minors dni, MENTIONS OF UNIVERSITY DURING SUMMER, sunghoon in water, sunghoon on ice, sunghoon

word count: 31,818 .. even more sorry than last time.

playlist: kiss nct dojaejung, obvious ariana grande, safety net ariana grande

author's note: lmk ur thoughts (positive / negative / sunghoon) i'd love to hear. to beta bestie @asahicore u da best MUSIC DJ EMMAAA. i hope u have a good time reading, lord knows this has been a long time coming.. ok enjoy &lt;;333

It’s the hottest day of the last summer of your life. 

The sun’s rays coat your skin in a film of sticky sweat and sunscreen. Crisp white clouds hang in the sky, drifting overhead. Yunjin complains about the temperature as if you and Chaewon aren’t outside with her.

If you strain your ears over yelling children and raucous laughter, you can just about hear a Top 40 playlist looping Cupid and Dua Lipa songs through age-weakened speakers. What holds your attention the most, though, is the blond by the pool. He leans back on his hands with pretty fingers spread out behind him. He’s been lifeguarding at the public pool for more summers than you care to count but he’d never looked like this while he did it. 

Park Sunghoon seems relaxed as he sits on the pool’s edge, kicking his legs in the water and scanning the space. Presumably watching out for kids drowning, or diving, or.. whatever it is lifeguards get up to at work. His voice is deep as he (half-heartedly) yells at a group of kids with water guns to stop running. When did he get so buff?

He’s always been attractive. Always. But this is outrageous. The bleached hair. The toned arms. The sliver of skin you can see peeking out from under his cropped vest. It’s almost too much to take yet you can’t bring yourself to look away. Given the way he turns his head when you catch his gaze — with flushed cheeks and upturned lips — you assume his glow-up has been purely external. 

“Can you believe this might be the last summer we spend here together? Like, this time next year we’ll be graduates.” Yunjin’s sudden statement makes you wish she’d go back to talking about the weather. 

Chaewon’s jaw drops. “Whoa.”

“Is it bad that I’m looking forward to fall?” Yunjin asks. “No offence, YN.” 

This isn’t the first time she’s shared such a sentiment. Last summer and the one before, she’d said something similar before clarifying. She’s excited about her new classes, not about you going back to your apartment a few towns over.

You’re only looking forward to your shared two-bed and Minjeong’s dinners. It pains you to have to thank university for anything, but thank university for giving you something to miss over the holidays. 

“None taken, YJ, but break just started last week.” 

“Our last finals were five weeks ago.”

“Well, you know break doesn’t really start until our girl gets back.” Chaewon leans up in her seat to grin at you. She raises her cup, the tiny puddle of melted slushy shaking a little. “Here’s to the best summer ever!” 

Needing all the affirmation you can get, you entertain her, raising your own cup so the three of you can toast properly. 

“Cheers!”

The next few hours do nothing to affirm your belief in the effectiveness of toasting. Recently hot Sunghoon hasn’t taken his shirt off yet and you’re not sure how many more times you can beg your friends to stay for another half hour in hopes something will happen that causes him to tear the thing off. At this point you’d settle for a simple conversation or even the word hey.

“I’m begging, like, actually, let’s go.” Yunjin groans, sitting up.

“Just let me pee first,” you grumble, attempting to buy more time as you stand up from your lounge chair, packing up your towel and the magazine you never bothered to look at. 

On your walk to the restroom, you see him leaning in the doorframe of the changing rooms with his toned arms crossed over his chest. Perfect. There’s a smile on your face as you approach him and unexpectedly he speaks before you do. 

"He—" He clears his throat, thick brows coming together as he places a big hand on his chest. "Hey."

You let out a breathy laugh. “You okay?” 

He straightens up his posture and nods his head, blond hair shifting over his forehead from the movement. 

The sounds of the public pool fill the silence stretching over you, though it’s not enough to distract you from the way his eyes trail over your body, landing on your chest as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

“I’m Sunghoon,” he eventually introduces, extending a hand for you to shake. 

A smile stretches across your lips when you do, noticing how much bigger his hand is than yours when his fingers wrap around it and cover the whole thing. “I know,” you nod.

“You,” Sunghoon pauses, tilting his head to the side as if considering your words. “Know?” His brows quirk up. 

You hum in response. “We had Spanish together. You sat with.. that kid,” Your hands come up to gesture around your chin and neck. “With the jaw, Jay, was it?” 

He looks at something over your shoulder for a bit while you worry that he didn’t take Spanish and you’ve got the wrong guy, but a laugh rises out of him instead. “Yeah,” he grins. “Jay.” Nods his head.

Despite stuttering his way through the conversation, Sunghoon makes you laugh as he tells you about how he didn’t realise he’d have to swim on the job and almost drowned trying to save a kid in the deep end. He seems more confident after seeing that his story was well received though he still fidgets with his hands, and can’t hold eye contact for more than a second at a time, always looking away and clearing his throat. 

The story was a bit of a ramble, and it might be the most words you’ve ever heard him say all at once before falling quiet, though his pretty lips open and close a few times as if he’s stuck on what to say. “How-” He’s cut off by the sound of someone yelling his name. 

In the pool, a cute (and very tall) kid waving his arms above his head yelling: Quickly! Quickly! makes you laugh, and the way Sunghoon rolls his eyes makes it clear he knows him.

Much to your dismay, the yelling doesn’t stop and you realise you’ll have to make your exit. “I’ll let you get going, but, uh, say hi to Jay for me, okay?” you say, grinning at the way he nods his head, mumbling yeah, of course before you turn around to leave.

Sunghoon’s still standing in the spot you left him in, hands crossed over his chest as he eyes you. Head snapping in the other direction when you look back over your shoulder to call out a: Later, Hoonie, with a wave of your fingers.

Chaewon watches you over her sunglasses with a smirk on her face as you approach. “Who is that?”

You crinkle your nose. “Park Sunghoon.”

At the sound of his name, Yunjin gasps, abruptly sitting up in her chair. “The figure skater?”

“The what?”

At home, you type his name into the search bar and find that the shy boy you’d only met properly some hours ago is something of a celebrity in the skating world. 

You watch YouTube videos of his short programs and feel a swell of pride with each jump he lands. The tiny Sunghoon on the screen carries an air of confidence as he glides across the ice — nothing like the Sunghoon you’d met at the pool today. And definitely nothing like the quiet Sunghoon who’d sit in the back of your 9th grade Spanish class conjugating verbs as his friends got into trouble for talking over the teacher. 

It’s not hard to trip down a rabbit hole, and suddenly every video with his name in the title has a little red bar under the thumbnail as a mark of your affection. It doesn’t take long for you to find Instagram user smartblond, and the blue follow button on his page greets you with the option to follow back, which leaves you feeling a little bad as the pad of your thumb falls onto it unthinkingly. 

Sunghoon’s feed leaves much to be desired. A modest 1 post he’d made 4 years prior, a square photo of himself and Lee Heeseung with bros as the caption. The only comment is from Heeseung who wrote ma boiiii. The tagged photos however tell a different story. 

Thankfully.  

You spend longer than you’d like to admit scrolling through these pictures, grinning and ignoring the way your stomach flips at the sight of the seemingly outgoing boy captured in the pictures posted by his closest friends with wide smiles and middle fingers while trying not to hit like on any of them. Even though you do like them. A lot. Except for the one of him and Bae Sumin at the pool with pretty smiles on their faces, and their arms around each other that she posted 15 weeks ago with the caption lifesaver. A smile spreads on your lips when you see Sumin’s (way more populated) page and the post she made yesterday to celebrate two years with her boyfriend. 

Distraction only reaches you in the form of an alert from your university’s portal app. The words you’ve got new correspondence in your inbox wipe the smile from your face in an instant. While chewing at your lip, you click on the notification and wait for the email to load. 

A pit forms in your stomach while reading four paragraphs offering advice for people who’ve failed their final exams. At the end is a link that you click with squinted eyes. A countdown appears and there are 8 days, 12 hours, 2 minutes and 17 seconds until results are out.

During your next trip to the pool, you hear Sunghoon before you see him and his voice comes out in a cute whine when he speaks. “Why do you guys only wanna hang out here when I'm working?” 

Looking over your sunglasses, you see him running a hand through his hair, looking up from the water at a group of boys you recognise from both high school and his tagged photos, including the very tall kid who’d cut your conversation short the other day. With a wide grin on his face, he slings a towel over his shoulder and calls out something about the concession stand before running for the changing rooms and ignoring Sunghoon’s cries to stop. 

His back flexes deliciously as he wades around the mostly empty pool, chatting to his friends, and in all of your staring you notice Jay’s eyes on you, looking back to Sunghoon after a while and nodding his head not so subtly in your direction.

You look at Yunjin in the lounge chair next to you, who stares at the remnants of your blue raspberry slushy with disgust on her face, finishing off her cherry-flavoured one. “I said thanks when you came back with them, it’s abnormal to want this much recognition over a £1 purchase,” you say defensively, sighing and thanking her again anyways. 

“You should thank Sunghoon’s giant friend,” she says, nodding in his direction. “He came over to me in the line, asked how I knew you, and gave me change when I told him Chaewon introduced us.” 

“Huh,” you say, taking a refreshing sip, the last, before putting your cup down between your chairs. 

“I don’t understand what you see in that insane flavour.” She leans over to put her now empty cup next to yours. “It’s.. unnatural,” she says, shuddering dramatically. 

“It’s the only flavour I like,” you say simply, watching in your peripheral as your new favourite lifeguard (not that you have an old favourite) climbs over the edge of the pool.

The sight of Sunghoon’s lean figure coming out of the pool only makes you regret ever wanting to see him with his shirt off. Water slips from every part of his body in droplets, running from his broad shoulders down his veiny forearms before falling from his pretty fingers onto the ground. This must be the fittest-looking person you’ve ever seen, and Kazuha can do push-ups (one) with you and Chaewon on her back. 

With his wet hair stuck to his forehead, he laughs at something one of his friends said and it’s only when he looks over at you that you’re able to tear your eyes away. 

You miss the sight as soon as it’s gone. 

“That’s absurd,” Yunjin says after a moment. You have no idea what she’s talking about. “Can I open the Skittles?”

You’d forgotten about those. “Go ahead.” 

While rummaging through your bag, Yunjin tells you quietly that Sunghoon’s coming though you barely have a chance to look at him before his shadow casts over the two of you, stark and vivid. With his arms crossed over his chest, Sunghoon towers over you. His red shorts cling onto his hips, so low you can see every inch of muscle definition spanning his stomach where little beads of water stare you dead in the eye. By the time you manage to look up at his face, he has a huge grin stretched over his pretty lips. “Hey, stalker,” he says.

Though his smile falters when you crease your brows, pulling your sunglasses down your nose. “Stalker?” 

“You, uh,” he pauses to sniff, less sure of himself than earlier. “I saw that you followed me on Instagram last night.” 

“You did? And no DM?” 

No DM, he repeats under his breath, visibly confused, and the—“Ohhhh, you wanted to talk to me?” 

“Yeah, that’s why I followed you.”

“Right.” A nod. “And no DM?” Sunghoon seems to like the way you laugh, uncrossing his arms, and puffing his chest out. “So what did you wanna talk about that just couldn’t wait until you saw me again?” 

“I wanted to catch up.”

A sceptical look crosses his face. “Really? Anything specific you wanted to talk about?” 

“Not really. I just think you’re interesting.”

“Me? Interesting?” The mixture of amusement and surprise on his face makes you laugh. 

“Yes, you, interesting.” A saccharine smile spreads across your lips as you swing your legs over the side of your chair. Sunghoon apologises when your ankle grazes his calf. “Very interesting.” 

Sitting like this, your face is so close to his hips you can see the loose thread at the top of his shorts. He seems to notice, taking a step back. Down the bridge of his nose, he watches you through squinted eyes, furrowing his brow and letting a beat pass. “How so?” 

“There’s a lot of reasons, but, for one, you’re the only figure skater I know.”

So quickly you barely see it, Sunghoon’s lips curl into a frown before he presses them together, nodding. “How’s summer treating you?” He changes the subject. 

You let him. “Pretty good,” you say, bringing a hand up to the tied strap of your swimsuit to pull it to the side. “And I’m tanning pretty well, right, Sunghoon?” 

A massive cloud glides across the sky, casting a welcome shadow over the scorching sun. The transition is gradual but relief is immediate and even Sunghoon sighs. You push your sunglasses up to rest in your hair, taken aback, like always, by how bright it actually is outside. Even with the sun covered up, your eyes sting a little without the tint making you squint up at Sunghoon who watches you with an amused smile. 

“Is there something on my face?” you ask. 

“No, nothing like that.” He shakes his head. “It’s just.. nice catching up with you.”

“Yeah. It is.” You return his smile, liking the way his widens. “So, how’s summer trea—” You’re cut off by the same kid as yesterday, yelling “Sunghoooooooooon!” At the top of his lungs. 

“What were you saying?” 

“Uh,” you start, distracted by the kid pointing at Sunghoon, who waves frantically when he realises he’s caught your eye. “You, uh,” you pause, using a finger to point over to the pool. “I think your friend might need you.” 

He turns to look over his shoulder, the sun shining directly on the side of his face when he does, highlighting the pretty mole on his nose that you’ve somehow never noticed. Sunghoon shakes his head and freezing water splashes onto your stomach, making you flinch. A non-committal sound comes out of his mouth as he shrugs, facing you once again. “It’s just Riki.”

Just Riki doesn’t let up. Instead, he enlists the help of a cute cat-eyed boy, clambering onto his shoulders and balancing precariously as he yells and yells at the top of his lungs. 

“Okay, yeah, I gotta,” Sunghoon sighs, using his thumb to motion towards the pool as he walks backwards away from you. He points a long index finger at you before turning around. “I’m coming back,” he says. 

With a huge splash, Riki falls from his friend’s shoulders unceremoniously, his form disappearing for a moment, replaced by a mess of bubbles and long frantic limbs until he resurfaces. 

“I’m not here to play, I’m here to work!” Sunghoon calls out, walking right off the coping and into the water, swimming towards his friends anyway. 

He doesn’t come back. 

That night you stay at Chaewon’s, rifling through old teen magazines and taking quizzes to determine who your ‘celeb bezzie’ is. Answering mostly C’s, the two of you squeal at the prospect of a friendship with Lindsay Lohan. 

Jaehyun’s complaining when you reach the pool and you figure Yunjin and Kazuha must be nearby. Your hunch is correct when you round the corner by the water slide and see the two of them splashing each other in the small pool. He’s standing with his hands on his hips and yelling something about the literal sign that says they can’t be in there right now. The sign is a bright red fold-out thing, saying in bold white letters that the pool is closed for swimming lessons starting at 1:30 p.m. 

“It’s 1:20, you can’t be in here,” Jaehyun groans, raking a hand through his hair. “I know you guys think because we’re friends you can do what you want but the other lifeguards kicked me from the group chat and Sunghoon said it’s all your fault.” 

The mention of Sunghoon makes your ears perk up, and you decide to insert yourself. “What did they do wrong?” 

Jaehyun practically jumps at the sound of your voice next to him and Yunjin calls out for you to get in! “Don’t you dare,” Jaehyun mutters, cutting his eyes. “Whatever it is was bad enough for Mark, Yeri, and Chaeyoung to decide I’m not worthy of LIFESAVERS 2.0 swimming guy emoji, ring float emoji.” 

“If you got kicked because of them, I don’t see why Sunghoon gets to stay.” You tilt your head, stepping back a little when you feel a splash hitting your feet. “His one million-man friend group takes up half of the big pool every day, competing for who can laugh the loudest, and these two are pretty much doing the same thing.” 

“Yes, but Sunghoon’s friends aren’t breaking the rules.” 

“I saw Riki take an ice cream cone from a kid yesterday.”

“That’s not against the rules,” Jaehyun sighs. “And Chaeyoung thinks Sunghoon’s cute, so.” 

“She does?” you ask too quickly. 

“What do you care?” Jaehyun spares you a glance, arching his brow. He seems to undergo some kind of revelation, gasping a little and nodding his head. “So that’s why you guys are here all the time! You totally like that loser.” 

“Sunghoon’s not a loser, he’s hot.”

“Interesting thing to dispute.” 

You roll your eyes. “Do I need to worry about Chaeyoung?” you ask quietly.

“If you’re trying to hook up with Sunghoon I wouldn’t worry about her.”

You hate his response; hate that instead of really answering you, he’s just left you with even more questions. 

And you hate Chaeyoung for falling into your line of sight just as you mention her. 

She leaves the locker room, laughing about something with Yeri, and making you wonder what exactly she wants with Sunghoon. And why she suddenly feels like your competitor.

“And if I’m not?” 

Jaehyun cackles at your suggestion. “You? Not trying to hook up?” 

You can’t come up with a reason for why his words make your chest ache so you shove him with your elbow before jumping into the water with the girls. The sound of Jaehyun groaning and begging you guys to get out of the pool only dissolves the ache and puts a smile on your face.

Yunjin and Kazuha gang up on you for taking so long to join them but the water feels so cool against your skin you can’t help but enjoy it. 

The sound of what you think is Sunghoon’s voice makes you freeze in your spot. “I can’t keep defending you, man,” he sighs. 

At the sound of a whistle blowing, you raise your hands to cover your ears and all three of you whip your heads in its direction. Sunghoon stands next to Jaehyun with a whistle in his mouth, coughing around the metal when he sees you. He smiles, dropping it to rest against his chest. “Oh, hey.” 

“Hi,” you greet, swimming over to the edge of the pool and resting your arms on it, letting your chin find a home against them. Looking up, you see Jaehyun rolling his eyes before walking off in the opposite direction and Sunghoon stares down at you with a smile on his face.

“How are you?” he asks, fidgeting with the whistle like a charm on a necklace. 

“I’m good, how are you?” 

“Good, me too. Uh-your friends,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “I’m teaching lessons here, in five minutes, so I was wondering if you guys could maybe hang out in the main pool or by the slides instead?” he asks. It seems like he’s asking. “Only if you want.” 

“What if we’re here for lessons?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, you guys must be the six-year-olds I’m teaching this afternoon, my bad for assuming.” 

You can’t tell if he was trying to be funny or if that was just something he said for the sake of saying it, but it makes you smile anyway. “You don’t do lessons for grown-ups?”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “I teach 6 to 12-year-olds, but Mark teaches adult classes on Saturday mornings if you’re interested.”

You nod, lifting yourself out of the pool, dripping water on the concrete. You’re close enough to Sunghoon to clearly see his jaw tensing, and the way his gaze shamelessly falls to your chest for more than a few seconds. 

“What if I’m interested in a one-on-one lesson?” 

Close enough to see the goosebumps that rise on his skin. He licks his lips, holding your gaze. “I guess we could work something out,” he says, clearing his throat when you rest a hand on his wrist, though he doesn’t look away from you. 

It seems like it’s just the two of you and the sun beating against your skin. And his pulse racing against your fingers. 

An excited wail grounds you, brings you back to the pool. “Sunghoonie! Sunghoonie!” You hear over his shoulder, as a tiny girl with pigtails and a huge grin comes rushing over to you. “Look, I got new goggles, look at my new goggles!” 

You take a step back and Sunghoon gasps, holding her Hello Kitty goggles in his hands, inspecting them carefully while crouching down to her level. In his absence, you see more, equally excited, kids plodding along, babbling to each other, followed by parents with small character backpacks slung over their shoulders. 

Sunghoon chats animatedly with her, nodding and gasping and saying really? at all the right times, in a way that summons butterflies. She giggles and holds her belly laughing when he holds her baby sized goggles over his head, asking if he can try them on, and you need to leave before you burst into tears at how sweet he’s being.

Yunjin and Kazuha beam at you when you look over at them, winking dramatically and giving you silent rounds of applause. Your cheeks burn at the sight, mumbling at them to come on, before turning around to walk away. 

“Hey, YN!” Sunghoon calls out, stopping you in your tracks. He’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, and a small smile on his lips. “See you later, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You nod. 

The girls have caught up to you by now, Yunjin’s eyebrows waggling suggestively as she links her fingers with yours. “Oh, he is so into you,” Kazuha whispers, wrapping a dripping arm around your shoulders. “Chaewon was right, summer really doesn’t start until you get back.”

In the main pool, you play around with the girls until you’re tired from swimming and the heat, and if it wasn’t for what Sunghoon said, you would have gone home already. You lay back in a lounge chair and close your eyes behind your sunglasses. You could probably fall asleep out here, feeling an odd comfort in the blood-curdling screams and mix of music playing from tiny bluetooth speakers all over the place. 

About five minutes later, you use your fingers to pick out a few pieces of Oreo from Yunjin’s ice cream, deciding they’ll be compensation for having to deal with the sticky dessert trickling down the cone and onto your fingers. Though in this heat, it doesn’t bother you so much.

On your trip back to your seat, you see Heeseung and Sunghoon by the locker room entrance. Standing in the shade, the two of them talk while Sunghoon lets a chunky pair of sunglasses rest on the back of his head, a sight that makes you clench your fist so hard the cone crunches under your fingers. You watch Heeseung’s face split into a grin while he throws his head back laughing, though Sunghoon presses his lips together in a straight line, clearly unimpressed. 

Yunjin jogs over to you, thanking you for the cone and complaining about how stingy Jungwoo’s being with the Oreo pieces these days but taking an appreciative lick anyway, letting her head fall back and a long hum of satisfaction buzz against her lips. “Just go over there and talk to him,” she says after a while. 

“Wow, YJ, thank you. I hadn’t thought of that.” 

She flips you off before walking away.

You don’t mean to catch his eye but he smiles when he sees you, waving when you wave. Heeseung waves too. If Sunghoon had been standing on his own you’d have no problem approaching him, but something about interrupting their conversation puts you off. Heeseung nods at you and calls out your name, inviting you to interrupt them. 

“It’s funny, we were just talking about you,” Heeseung says. You’re not sure how he wants you to respond to that, but Sunghoon looks at him with wide eyes, using his elbow to nudge his oversharing friend. “All good things, of course,” he adds on, raking a hand through his hair. 

“Who could have anything bad to say about you?” Sunghoon asks. 

Out of genuine concern, you ask if they’re okay, which only makes the two of them burst out laughing. Awkward laughter in the form of robotic ha ha has and forced applause. You’re not sure what to make of this, looking back and forth between them with a crease along your brow. High school was probably the last time you talked to Lee Heeseung, but besides the piercings and muscle definition he doesn’t seem to have changed much. 

“How have you been? How’s college?” Heeseung asks after wiping his left eye with the back of his hand. 

“I’ve been good. I saw you graduated last week, congrats!” 

He looks delighted at the mention of his own studies, missing the fact that you’re trying to avoid talking about yours. “Thank you!” he says, beaming. “Do you know what classes you’re taking this year?”

“No.” You shake your head. “You studied music, right?” 

An impossibly brighter grin spreads across his lips, eyes shining with genuine happiness as he nods. “Yeah, I majored in production actually. Best thing I ever did.”

For a while, Heeseung talks about his course though most of it goes over your head as jealousy burns in your stomach. The last three years have gone well enough for you to know that you’re more than just good at your major, so why, like him, can’t you enjoy it too? Right now, you want nothing more than for stupid Heeseung to shut up about his stupid career choices. 

Sunghoon interrupts the conversation, seeming to notice your mild irritation. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks, resting a hand on your shoulder.

He doesn’t seem convinced when you nod your head belatedly, clearing your throat. You do your best to focus on the burn of his hand on your skin and not your jealousy. 

Sunghoon looks over at Heeseung, giving him a look that the older boy takes as an invitation to leave, smiling at the both of you before waving goodbye. 

“What’s the matter?” His voice is much softer now that you’re alone, so comforting that you’re tempted to fall into his chest and tell him everything that’s ever upset you.

“What makes you think something’s the matter?”

“You were staring at Heeseung like you wanted to wipe the stupid smile off his face with a bullet.”  

“Actually, I think he has quite a nice smile,” you admit.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon agrees. “But it’s a little annoying, right? Like how everything just seems to go so well for him no matter what. Perfect guy with a perfect major, it’s a little hard not to be jealous of him when he talks like that.” 

“You don’t like what you study?” 

“It’s not my major I’m struggling with.” He lets out a dry laugh. “What about you?” 

A deep sigh rolls out of you, pulling your shoulders down. “I’m good at it so why stop, you know?” 

“Plenty of people stop things they’re good at.” The response comes quicker than you expect, in a defensive tone that makes you want to slice open his brain and take a look inside. “Sorry, I just mean if something isn’t making you happy, then it’s okay to stop. Right?” 

It doesn’t feel like he’s talking about you. “Right,” you affirm anyway. “It’s just that I only have a year left so the way I see it, I should just deal with it, graduate, and worry next summer instead. Uni sorta freaks me out is all,” you explain, shrugging in a way that you hope looks nonchalant. “I don’t like my course, and I don’t like talking about it, so let’s not talk about it.”

Sunghoon nods. “No talking about uni, got it,” he says, holding an imaginary pen and making a note of your words in the palm of his hand, with a tiny smile on his face that makes your stomach twist. “So, what do you like talking about?”

“Literally anything else.” 

“Look at us, so much in common.” There’s a hesitant look on his face, like he’s questioning his word choice but he smiles when you do, letting out a breathy laugh at the sound of a chuckle slipping out of you. 

“Hey, Sunghoon?” you ask after a beat, tilting your head and continuing when he hums. “Do you work here every day?” 

He shakes his head. “Just Monday through Thursday.”

“So, if I wanna see you, I could just come to the pool on those days?” 

“Yeah.” Even in the shade, it’s hard to miss the way his cheeks flush pink, and he scratches at the back of his neck while stifling a smile. “Exactly.” 

“And if it’s Friday or the weekend, and I wanna see you, I could just text you?” 

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” That same smile curves on his lips, gentle, happy. 

You think you’d like that too. 

Sunghoon puts his number in your phone and you send a text so he has yours too.

The sun doesn’t set until late that night, and you spend the better part of the evening in the garden with your mum, catching the last moments of the sun’s rays from a blanket in the grass. The sound of her fingers against the keyboard is like a perfect mechanical OST for the summer romance you’re halfway through. Though knowing that the countdown in your email is set to strike zero in a matter of hours makes it difficult to concentrate on what’s going on in the made up beach town you’re reading about.

After a late dinner, you click the link to watch the countdown hit zero before refreshing the page. The stark white background of the login page stings your eyes in your dark room as you wait for the results page to load with a held breath. All three of your course titles are marked with MP for merit pass. A weight falls from your shoulders only to be replaced with another. 

The family group chat doesn’t seem to share your distress. Your dad hearts the message and sends a gif of Michael Scott clapping, your mum texts back that she’s so proud of her baby, and your older brother says KNEW U COULD DO IT! You throw your phone across the room, hiding your face in your pillow to muffle a scream. 

That night, you dream of graduation. Of crossing the stage and seeing the culmination of four long years on a flimsy piece of paper. The ceremony ends and behind closed eyes, you watch yourself sign your life away to a 9-to-5 in a field you hate, the same your brother had done. Drenched in a cold sweat, the nightmare jolts you awake. 

You spend all day in your room for fear of running into your mother and having to discuss your future.

The day after that, the familiar smell of coffee hits your nose as you walk by a cafe you used to frequent in high school, drowning yourself in hot chocolate in the winter and in sweet frozen lemonades in the summertime. If it wasn’t for your plans of seeing Chaewon you might’ve picked something up for nostalgia’s sake. 

Right when you think about her, she calls you. “Bring me a coffee,” Chaewon says. 

“What?” 

“Can you get me some coffee?” 

Looking over your shoulder, you fully expect to see Chaewon standing behind you or perched in one of the bushes across the street with a pair of binoculars. Her voice rings down the phone at you, at a volume you’re sure you would be able to hear if she was watching you from somewhere. “Hello?” 

“Yes, I’ll do it,” you say, ignoring the chill that runs down your spine and hanging up.

A bell rings above your head when you open the door, the cafe greeting you warmly like it always has. You admire its familiar green walls and the organic curves of its interior, from the sweeping archways to the round tables and chairs. Back then, you must have sat in each of them. 

You think you’re going crazy when you hear Sunghoon saying thanks, and you know you’re going crazy when you actually see him leaving the counter with his fingers wrapped around a vibrant orange iced drink. He doesn’t see you, focusing on the phone in his hand and the straw in his mouth, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat with each sip. Sunghoon turns his back to you, walking towards a table in the far corner, his head moving to the beat of whatever song he’s listening to. He sits in the seat facing away from you, and you stare for so long that the barista has to say excuse me to get your attention. 

After apologising, you order Chaewon’s latte, giving her name over to the barista when she asks and waiting off to the side while she makes it. The whole time, you watch Sunghoon, willing him to look over at you. It doesn’t work.

Not in the way you’d been expecting, at least. Your phone vibrates against your palm.

sh: hey yn! are you doing anything nice today?

You grin at the back of his head. 

yn: seeing chaewon later :) hbu

sh: oh cool i hope you guys have fun!

sh: working later.. closing shift :/ 

When it’s ready, you collect Chaewon’s drink and approach Sunghoon’s table. He’s staring at his phone screen, where you see your conversation over his shoulder — even though it’s been five minutes since he texted you — and have to bite back a smile.

“Hey, you.” The words come out like you intended, light, pleased. 

Sunghoon jumps in his seat anyway, slamming his phone face down on the table and looking up at you. “YN,” he breathes. “Hey.” He wipes his palms on his pants. “What are you doing here?” 

“Same as you, I guess,” you grin, raising the cup in your hand. “Can I sit?” 

“Of course.” A beat passes while you take your seat and Sunghoon’s eyes don’t leave you once. 

It’s been a while since you last had a vanilla latte but it’s just as sweet as you remember when you try it, the ice doing a good job at keeping you cool. You tilt your head at the boy in front of you, checking the date on your phone. “It’s Friday today.” 

“Yeah…” Sunghoon squints at you, nodding his head slowly. “Oh, it’s Friday,” he says, seeming to figure out what you were getting at despite the lack of context. “There’s a girl I normally coach on Mondays at the rink, Hyein, but she couldn’t make it this week so we moved her session to this afternoon. To be clear though, I don’t normally work on Fridays. At the rink or otherwise.”

You nod, taking another sip of Chaewon’s coffee and angling the cup so he can’t see her name written on the side of it. 

“So, if you wanted to see me, on a Friday, or over the weekend, you could still text me about that.” 

Smiling, you nod. “Good to know. Do you work Monday to Thursday at the rink as well?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

Sunlight spills through the tiled windows, warming your skin through the glass. Over his shoulder, the bell by the door rings incessantly and under the sun’s rays, flecks of amber glow in his eyes that crinkle at the corners, a dimple peeking at you as he shakes his head.

“I have my own training at 6 on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, and then I teach kids classes on Monday and Tuesday nights, and I see Hyein on Monday mornings.”

“6 a.m.?”

“No, our sessions start at 10.”

“I mean your training, you start at 6 in the morning?” 

“Oh.” He nods. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging. 

“Fuck, that’s so early, I could never.” 

“I mean, that was just my training block during school. 6 to 7:45, so I’d go to the rink, back home to shower, and go to school when I could.” A beat passes before he speaks again, using his straw to stir his drink. “But that was mainly during, like, off-season. If I had competitions coming up then I’d spend entire days at the rink, or dance class, in the gym, so I missed a lot of school.” 

You nod. “I remember.” 

Sunghoon’s eyes flash with something, as his brows knit together for barely a second. He smiles. “Anyway, I did try later sessions when I started college but I was so used to my early sessions that I’d still wake up at 5 a.m. even though my classes didn’t start until the afternoon.” 

There’s a sparkle in his eyes when you ask about Hyein, and excitement in his voice while he tells you all about her. About how much potential she has, even though she doesn’t seem to realise it; about how much better she’s gotten in the year since they met and how similar she is to him at her age.

After a very slow walk with Sunghoon, you reach Chaewon’s place. It doesn’t hit you that you’re empty-handed until she opens the door and frowns at you, asking where you’ve been and what happened to her coffee.

It starts to feel like you’re running out of friends to take to the pool when, a few days later, the entire girls chat is too busy to come along, and Lee Jeno from an engineering lecture you took two years ago sits in the chair next to you, lazily flipping through an old copy of Dazed Magazine. Even if only as a last resort, Jeno makes good company seeing as you like the funny Tiktoks he shows you and the way he sneaks vodka into your slushy behind your towel. 

For a while, you pretend not to care about Sunghoon’s absence in hopes he’ll spawn from the pool’s deep end. Surprisingly, he does not. And just like that, an ugly pattern is formed: you go to the pool, wait all day for Sunghoon, and eventually, stumble back home in a daze from alcohol or sunstroke. 

It takes four and a half more, uneventful, Sunghoonless visits to the pool to leave you trying not to tear your hair out at Chaewon’s dining table. 

Kazuha serves as a good distraction though, making you quiz her on the details of Kim Yeri’s driving licence so she can come out to the club with you guys. Between the two girls looking nothing alike and Kazuha thinking a March birthday makes her a Sagittarius, you’re not hopeful. 

When she goes to the toilet, you check your phone just to be sure Sunghoon hasn’t texted in the twelve minutes since you last checked. And like before, the only messages you find are from Yeonjun asking if you’re “tryna slide” later. You aren’t, and haven’t been for the last two weeks he’d been asking. Completely unrelated to a certain blond lifeguard, of course. You sigh, thinking of Sunghoon again and why he hasn’t texted yet.

There’s nothing stopping you from sending the first text (today) — except for the fact that you’d been texting back and forth until you accidentally aired him at the start of the week. Unless you’re trying to hook up, you never send the first message. And as much as you would like to hook up with Sunghoon, there’s something about him that’s too endearing to only experience in the quiet of a backseat at 3 a.m., or in your room when no one’s home.

Four shots and a lot of egging on seem to be all you need to make your way to Sunghoon’s DMs. You let Chaewon and Kazuha debate over what your opening message should be, and with shaky thumbs, you type out something simple. Much to your friend’s (and your own) disappointment, you eventually settle on hey handsome. 

sh: hiiiiiiiiiii

For a while, you watch as Sunghoon types and stops and types and stops before his message comes through. 

sh: pretty

You can’t help the giggle that comes out, clearing your throat when Chaewon raises a brow at you. The two of you hold eye contact for a beat before erupting into a fit of laughter. 

you: i haven’t seen you at the pool in a while and i was wondering if you’re ok..

sh: yn.. have you been at my workplac e waiitng for me to show up again ???

you: are you ok.

sh: i think it’s cute that you did that, my friends tol d me they saw you there every day this week

you: why are your friends reporting my whereabouts to you..

sh: i asked them to, also im good i just took some days off

sh: back monday am i gonna see u then?

you: or we could just see each other on one of your off days?

On the left side of the screen, you watch animated ellipses dance above the keyboard before halting, though no message comes to replace them and it doesn’t take you long to figure out that the message hasn’t come through because your phone is frozen. 

Right?

You let out a laugh at your stupidity while Chaewon looks at you like you’re insane, turning off your phone and letting it sit for a bit before turning it back on. Wasting no time, you go straight to Instagram and pull up the DM thread where the word seen sits underneath your last message, laughing at you. 

Perplexed by what seems like your first rejection ever, you’re not quite sure how to move on so you send a text to the group chat (mainly for Yunjin, the only one who isn’t present). Yunjin replies with a message suggesting Sunghoon’s phone died. In the chair opposite, Chaewon suggests maybe he died. Jaehyun brings you more shots to cope with your heartache and you clutch your stomach laughing when he squirts lime juice into his eye.

Because your friends don’t respect you, you end up in the middle seat when the Uber arrives; sandwiched between Chaewon and Kazuha, drinking as much vodka as you can stomach from the younger girl’s flask while she mutters March 5th, Taurus over and over again. 

All that hard work was done in vain, though; when you reach the club Kazuha insists on being the first to go up in line, and tears start streaming when the bouncer asks what part of Seoul she was born in. Yeri’s ID gets confiscated and the four of you pile into another Uber and head to your backup plan, which you only learn about when the car pulls up.

Living in another city for uni means you’ve never partied with Sunghoon’s friends before — beyond walking by each other in a club — and some combination of excitement and alcohol makes your stomach heat up as you think about seeing him again.

Nishimura Riki’s family home is a giant structure that takes up more room than what’s probably necessary. There’s a massive fountain in the middle of the driveway shooting a stream, out of the mouth of what you think is a lion, into its main bed of water. The grand front door has banners criss-crossed over it saying HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIM SUNOO! Before you reach it, the door swings open and Jay’s jaw is even sharper than you remember when you see him so close. He grins at you and your friends, whooping obnoxiously at the sight of Jaehyun, dapping him up before waving awkwardly at you, Chaewon and Kazuha. You watch him lean over to Jaehyun and ask if that chick’s okay, while not so subtly pointing at the youngest of you all. 

When you look at her, black streaks of mascara tear through her blush like a knife though she wears a bright smile as she eyes Jay like a predator. You nudge her in the ribs and make a mental note to find a bathroom to help her fix her makeup. She frowns when you take her hand and enter the house, leaving Chaewon with Jaehyun and Jay, the three of which chat easily with one another.

Upstairs in the main bathroom, you kneel on the floor between Kazuha’s legs, gently running a makeup wipe over her face while she sits on the lid of the toilet babbling about Jay. “He’s the one,” she says determinedly. “I mean, he was worried about me.. he barely knows me and he was asking if I was okay. Like, how did he know I’d been upset?” You wonder if Kazuha has seen her face in the last half hour. Or if she knows why you insisted on taking her makeup off. 

“Right,” you nod, knowing it’s easier to agree with a drunk Kazuha than face an argument.

“It’s a feeling. Like, sometimes you just have to look through the eyes of your soul, and everything will work out.”

It’s amazing to you that she can say the things she says without laughing. But there’s a finality in her tone that makes you hope she’s right. 

With Kazuha all cleaned up, you’re able to focus on how crammed the house actually is. There are people in every room of the house, sitting on the porch, in the backyard. People are everywhere and you’re not sure you’ll ever manage to reunite with your friends. In favour of getting to know Jay, Kazuha presses a kiss to your cheek and runs off in the opposite direction. You head for the kitchen knowing that Chaewon will most likely be in there somewhere, batting her lashes at a tall graduate in hopes to score a free smoke. 

People are grinding and hanging off one another in the hall and the living room, making out by the stairs, and in what looks like the only empty spot in the kitchen Sunghoon leans against the counter, taking generous gulps from something in a red cup. Judging by his smart trousers and pretty black cardigan, Sunghoon has also developed a personal style in the time since you’ve last been home. A dent forms in Sunghoon’s cheek when he sees you, a sweet crinkle in his eyes as he says hi! 

You can’t figure out whether you should hug him or not but he looks so sweet with his wide smile and flushed cheeks that your arms widen of their own accord. His embrace is gentle, wrapping you up in a mixture of toned arms, soft cotton, liquor, and something light, floral, you think. 

“Can I fix you something to drink?” Sunghoon asks quietly, you only just hear him before he lets you go. “I didn’t think you’d be here tonight,” he says, reaching over the counter to grab a cup for you. 

“Yeah, I didn’t either.” 

“I was your backup plan?” 

“Oh, come on.” You nudge his shoulder with your hand as he screws the cap back on a bottle of lemonade. “I wouldn’t use those words. If I’d known about the party you would’ve been the plan.” 

“I thought you wouldn’t use those words.”

“You’re using those words,” you say, grinning when he laughs. 

You both go back and forth on it for a while, as Sunghoon tries to find Malibu in the mess of bottles cluttering the countertop. A wide grin spreads across his face when he does and you watch him fill the empty space in your cup before handing it to you. 

The first sip is syrupy sweet on your tongue, forcing an appreciative hum out of you. “So good,” you say through a dreamy sigh, shaking your head before taking another gulp. 

From his nose, he lets out a breathy laugh, his lips quirking up at the corners as he watches you. “It’s good to know my bartending classes are paying off.” 

“Have you ever considered a recipe book?” you ask, putting the cup down next to your phone, looking up at Sunghoon who seems to seriously consider this for a while before nodding. 

Almost experimentally, he rests his hand on your hip. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he tells you, holding you a little closer when he sees that you’re okay with it. 

You tilt your head at him, pretending not to remember the way he’d left you on read. “What happened earlier?” 

“On.. iMessage,” he starts, trailing off at the end though he continues when you nod. “I’m not good at talking to pretty girls.”

Despite not fully believing him, there’s a sincerity in his voice that makes your stomach flutter. “Lucky for you, I’m very good at talking to pretty boys.” 

You can’t tell if he’s flustered or drunk, but his cheeks redden after you speak. 

“Pretty boys, me?” 

“Who else?” 

Sunghoon’s laugh comes out in ha ha ha’s, and if you couldn’t see the way his eyes crinkled up you might have thought he was faking it.

For a moment, his gaze flickers between your eyes and mouth, his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he speaks. “I don’t want you thinking I’m not interested or anything.” His voice is low, almost too quiet for the cramped space where Me and Your Mama bounces off the walls and rowdy kids constantly bump into you. 

With his hand still burning through your dress, he nudges you, turning you both around to take your place. Your ass rests against the edge of the countertop and the drunk students bump into him instead. “I’m just.. still figuring out how to stop being so shy all the time,” he says, using his thumb to lift the fallen strap of your dress.

You’re having a tough time believing him. If this is what being so shy looks like for Sunghoon, you’re terrified to see him being confident. 

The heat of his lingering hand against your bare shoulder only leaves you drawing a blank. Part of you feels silly for saying that you’re very good at talking to pretty boys. You’re way out of your depth right now.

“But you,” he trails off, looking between your eyes and lips again. His hand starts to tremble against your waist. “You make it so hard.” 

“I do?” you ask dumbly, at a complete loss for words, trying not to read too much into his word choice. Why, anyone could say that word, hard, and not mean anything by it, it’s a word after all. An adjective, you think. 

Get out of your head. 

“Mm,” Sunghoon nods solemnly. “You have no idea.”

Three people nudge past you, each one shoving into him harder than the last; he looks thankful when you suggest going outside. His fingers brush against yours before he pulls them away, turning around to head for the garden immediately. 

The smell of smoke spikes through the fresh air, strong enough to make your head swim as Sunghoon closes the back door behind you. “Wow,” you whisper, looking around. It’s like stepping into a whole new party, with slow R&B pumping out into the summer heat. The garden spills out way beyond what your eyes can see, glowing with twinkling fairy lights and excited chatter.

“I know, right.” 

There’s a two step staircase in the centre that you follow Sunghoon up, mumbling an apology to the couple whose makeout sesh you had to break up to do so. Both of your footsteps crunch against the stone path that splits the grass, and — at Sunghoon’s request — you tell him everything that led you to this party tonight. Leaving out all of the overthinking that went into the text you eventually sent him of course.

“Wait, how old is Kazuha?” 

“21, she’s just waiting on her new ID coming in the mail.” 

“What happened to her old one?” 

“I think she’s like.. 13 or something in her old photo, and we didn’t get in last week either ‘cause the bouncer didn’t think it was her,” you pause. “Or she just looked too young in the photo. I’m not sure.”

You can hear Sunghoon humming along to the SZA song that’s playing, tilting his head at your words. His brows knit together for a beat, and he has to grab you by the forearm to keep you from tripping over your own feet. Sunghoon’s eyes meet yours, as he maintains his grip on you. “Thanks,” you say through a breath, trying to focus on anything other than his touch. 

“Let’s sit, yeah?” 

Sunghoon rests his arm around your shoulders when you nod, keeping you upright as you walk slowly towards the back of the garden. “I don’t know where you guys go out, but one time, we put Riki in a dress and gave him Hwang Yeji’s ID.”

“And then stayed home?” The mental image makes you cackle, getting funnier with each second you dwell on it, but your breath catches in your throat when you look up at him, shaking his head as best as he can while laughing. The way his head falls back, showing off the column of his neck and angle of his jaw forces you to screw your eyes shut to stop the thoughts of kissing him there. 

“And then took him to the club with us and got him to buy our first round.”

With each thing he shares about that night, it grows more and more unbelievable, leaving your jaw on the floor as he leads you around a timber shed (that houses a hot tub) to a big swingy chair thing. “I’ll find the photos in a sec,” he smiles. “Let me hold your cup while you sit.” 

The spot provides about as much privacy as you figure a packed house party could afford. Not that you need privacy to be endeared by Sunghoon or anything. You take him up on his offer, sitting down and watching as he ignores the phone ringing in his pocket, handing you back your drink. Even though you’re not thrilled about the interruption, you tell him he should at least check who it is. 

���Jungwon?” He flinches, yanking the phone away from his ear. Jungwon’s voice is so loud you can hear him despite the distance. “Yeah I got it, I’m at the swing outside.” The call ends there and Sunghoon still doesn’t sit down and neither of you speaks. 

Blinking fairy lights are strung neatly around the swing’s frame. Only a few of the bulbs are working, but together they produce enough light for you to see the sun-bleached blue of the cushion you’re sitting on, and the way Sunghoon’s looking straight at you. You smile. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he worries his bottom lip with his teeth for a while, completely spaced out, until a broad-shouldered child arrives. 

Sunghoon daps him up and your brows raise when he pulls a short, flat bottle of vodka from his back pocket to give to Jungwon. “How much do I owe you?” he asks, taking the bottle. 

“For the drink or for the lifelong tab you and Riki have been racking up?” 

Chuckling, Jungwon shakes his head and points his thumb at Sunghoon. “Don’t you just love that sense of humour?”

The two boys share a look, and Jungwon nods in understanding. He affectionately pats Sunghoon’s bicep, face lighting up in awe. “Wow!” he gasps, turning to glance at you. “Have you felt the muscles on this guy? I wanna be just like him when I grow up.” With wide eyes, he nudges Sunghoon in your direction. 

Despite his apparent indifference towards Jungwon’s attempts at hyping him up, Sunghoon comes closer to you, letting you feel his arm anyway. He flexes his bicep — all firm, sculpted muscle through his soft cardigan — under your fingers in a way that spreads fire in your stomach. Unintentionally, you catch his gaze and your breath gets stuck in your throat. A quiet laugh slips from his lips as he puts his arm down. 

It’s hard not to think about what Jungwon had said about growing up, and even harder not to study him to figure out his age. His outfit is similar to Sunghoon’s; loose pants and a knitted cardigan which does nothing to help you make an estimate. Not being able to buy his own booze tells you that he’s not your age, his wide eyes and round cheeks only make him seem like a child, but his height and broad shoulders throw you off.

“How old are you?” you ask, giving in to your curiosity. 

“21,” he says, too quickly. “.. in two years.” 

He lingers for a bit to hype Sunghoon up some more; not so subtly bringing up his great qualities, like his considerate nature and unwavering dedication. Though Sunghoon’s “never ending” patience wears out and he asks him to leave. With a nod, Jungwon waves goodbye before sprinting back towards the house. Sunghoon laughs watching his friend and sinks into the seat next to you, his thigh pressing against yours for a beat before he closes his legs and rests his arms over the back of the chair.

“Wow,” you grin, leaning into his side. “Figure skating legend Park Sunghoon buys alcohol for kids.” 

He shrugs. “I’m not a legend.” 

You raise a brow, a smirk playing at your lips. “That’s the part you’re disputing?”

“Well, the other part is true,” he says, chuckling though unable to hide the flash of discomfort in his eyes. “If you consider a 19-year-old a kid.” 

“You’re way too humble.”

“Anyone could be good with the right coach, and I have, like, the most supportive parents ever so they help me a lot.”  

“Well, yeah, probably, but even then, your parents aren’t the ones skating, you are,” you point out. 

Sunghoon deflates, sighing heavily. “Can we talk about something else?” He takes a sip from his cup in a silent plea for you to drop it. When his eyes meet yours, his lips press into a flat smile and the soft lighting brings out the dimple in his cheek. 

You nod, using your hand to push his hair away from his forehead. The flat smile spreads across his face as you play with his light hair, that’s somehow silky smooth under your fingers despite the bleach. It’s a little messy when you move your hand, sitting over his thick brows in a way that, when paired with his boyish grin, makes him look younger. 

A dull thump startles both of you as a couple jog away from the shed with linked hands and no regard for you or Sunghoon. Neither of you bother trying to hide your amusement when you meet each other’s eyes, laughing hard enough to make the swing sway. 

“I’m sorry,” you say after calming down — maybe too late. 

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to be.”

The smile on his face is soft, sincere, but does nothing for the guilt you feel over stressing him out — your lips tug into a frown.

“Hey,” Sunghoon whispers and his forehead is warm against yours when he nudges you, grinning at the way you giggle when he pulls away. “I’m not upset or anything.” he pauses. “I don’t think I’m upset or anything, I’m just tired, you know. I spend a lot of time talking about skating during the day and there’s, like, a million and one other things I’d rather talk about right now.”

His honesty assuages your guilt and piques your curiosity. “Yeah?” you ask, arching a brow. Sunghoon nods. “Other things like..” 

He hesitates, caught off by the suggestiveness in your tone, by the way your hand grazes his knee before resting low on his thigh. A gulp echoes in his throat. “Uh, like..” His voice trails off. 

There’s a flutter in your chest as a smile tugs at your lips. “Why don’t we start with those pictures of Riki at the club?” 

“Riki at the club,” he repeats, nodding his head. “I can do that.” 

Sunghoon’s arm falls around your shoulders when you nestle into him, close enough now that his scent hits you effortlessly. A tiny square in his camera roll expands under his thumb, showing you Riki in a tight black halter dress with his hair grown out and styled in neat curls. There’s a boxy grin spread across his lips while he holds Yeji’s ID next to his face. In the next picture, he crouches between Shin Ryujin and Lee Chaeryeong while the three of them make kissy faces for the camera. “And then he had two shots of Fireball and passed out in a booth so we had to carry him home.” 

A laugh bubbles in your throat at the sight of Riki hunched over in a booth with his head on the table, and tears start to spill when you watch the video of Heeseung stumbling down the street, accidentally letting Riki slip off his back and onto the concrete. 

Out of nowhere, Sunghoon’s eyes practically bulge out of his head; an expression you’ve only seen on Kazuha whenever she suspects she left her flat iron on at home. Dread settles in your stomach as you brace yourself for what he might say next. “Just give me a minute,” he says, his words holding an urgency that only fuels your nerves. “I need to text someone.” 

Sunghoon thinking about talking to someone else while you’re trying to get to know him isn’t your favourite thing. In fact, it feels worse than what you imagine might happen if Kazuha actually does leave her flat iron on one day — because it shuts off automatically after 15 minutes.

You try hiding your disappointment but you can feel your lips drooping at the corners as he angles his phone away from you, deep in thought about this message he so urgently has to send. Whatever, you think. Couldn’t care less.

At long last, he finishes typing and pulls air through his teeth before putting his phone back in his pocket, drumming his nails against the seat until your phone goes off in your lap. In a fit of Kazuha-inspired absurdity, you want Sunghoon to feel bad about his lack of manners, so you ignore the notification despite your burning curiosity.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” he asks, his gaze fixed on you expectantly. 

You shake your head. “It can wait.” 

A frown creases Sunghoon’s brow and you hate it; checking your phone immediately to find two texts from the boy sitting next to you.

sh: hey yn! sorry i took so long

sh: if it’s not too late do u wNt to go on a date with me next saturday?

After six days of exchanging Spotify links with Sunghoon over text, Saturday rolls around, and the doorbell chimes earlier than you’d been expecting it to. You call out that you’ll get the door, grab your bag and bolt down the stairs. With a hand on the door handle, you catch your breath, an act that seems pointless when you see Sunghoon through the glass. The door creaks open and his neck snaps in your direction, jaw falling to the floor. 

He waves. 

Your greeting is followed only by silence, your Hey, Sunghoon, dissipating into the sticky summer heat as he chews on his cheek, letting his eyes scan your body over and over. If he didn’t look so nervous you might have offered to pose for a picture. “How are you?” you ask, locking the door behind you and double-checking that you did lock it before tossing your keys into your purse. 

“You’re so pretty,” he sighs, pushing his hand through his hair. “And I love your dress,” he adds. “Very pretty.”

“Yeah?”

Sunghoon nods and suddenly, your group FaceTime call with Chaewon, Minjeong, and Yunjin feels like two hours well spent. 

While you tried on every summer outfit in your wardrobe for them to judge, Minjeong gave enthusiastic reactions to Sunghoon’s tagged photos, or, rather, to Mark in Sunghoon’s tagged photos but even she was struck by the outfit you settled on. The pretty floral dress that sits at the middle of your thighs that Sunghoon can’t seem to look away from. Hopefully, you’ll remember to thank them appropriately. 

You follow him to his car where he opens the passenger door for you. Struck by the fact that this is the first time anyone’s done that for you, and the sound of his hand rattling against the metal, you sit down, beaming up at him as he closes the door. Sunghoon’s car is neat, and tidy, and smells pleasantly of the new car scent Little Tree that hangs, completely still, from his rearview mirror. Through the clean windscreen, you watch him walk around the front of the car with pursed lips. 

“You like ice cream, right?” he asks when he sits down, looking over at you nervously. 

“Who doesn’t like ice cream?” 

Sunghoon takes you to a little old diner themed ice cream spot with checkerboard floors and a handful of plush vinyl booths. Some of the walls have cursive LED signs that you can’t quite make out and a great big jukebox in the back corner plays What Makes You Beautiful. 

It doesn’t surprise you that Sunghoon is quiet when it’s just you guys, but you can tell that he’s trying his best. He listens attentively to everything you have to say, nodding his head and asking thoughtful questions at all the right times; he makes you laugh more than you ever have. He practically lights up when you bring up his friends. 

“Your friends are so cute,” you say with a smile, thinking of the change Riki had given Yunjin to buy those slushys the other day. 

“If you knew my friends you wouldn’t think that,” Sunghoon says, a fond smile that goes against his words spreading on his face at the mention of them. “Except Jake,” he corrects. “Jake is so cute, yes.” 

“I don’t think I know which one he is,” you admit. “I know Heeseung, I know Jay, Jungwon, and Riki..” you trail off, looking up at him and the smudge of ice cream on his lower lip.

“Jake is the cute one,” he frowns. “You’ll know him when I show you.” Sunghoon takes his phone from his pocket, scrolling for a while. “I’m sorry, I can’t find a normal photo of all seven of us.” 

“Just show me whatever,” you say, looking up at him and the smudge of ice cream on his bottom lip.

Without thinking, you reach over the table, using your thumb to wipe it away. Sunghoon’s cheeks immediately flush with pink and he gulps watching you suck the ice cream from the pad of your finger.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, shy, while turning his phone towards you to show the most absurdly staged photograph you think you’ve ever seen. “So, uh, Jake is.. he’s the one holding Heeseung up by his hair, and Sunoo’s posing in front of Jay.” Sunghoon hands you his phone when he’s done talking.

You use the opportunity to examine the picture. 

Jake (so cute) really does hold Heeseung up by his hair, and Sunoo (also so cute) shows the camera his pretty side profile and a thumbs up. Some other things stick out to you in the photo, a laugh making its way out of you as you notice that Jungwon isn’t there but Jay holds up a printed picture of him in his right hand. Riki sits between Jay and Jake, wearing a concerned expression about something going on off-camera. Sunghoon is in the back, holding what looks like a yoga pose on the back of the couch they’re sitting on. 

Happily, you let Sunghoon tell you more about his friends until the sun starts to set and the backs of your thighs stick to the vinyl seat. Not quite ready to say goodbye, you ask Sunghoon if you can go on a walk together. He seems into the idea, nodding his head and smiling down at you. 

Walking aimlessly, the two of you maintain a neutral silence (not uncomfortable, not particularly comfortable either, just quiet), and pretend not to notice the way the backs of your hands touch, each bump longer than the last though amounting to nothing. 

It’s not until comforted by the smell of chemically treated water that you realise how close to the pool you are. You follow Sunghoon around a corner and see the locked gates, wondering if he’d brought you this way on purpose or just out of habit. 

“Wish it was open,” you say off-handedly, not really meaning anything by it. Like telling the person you sit beside on the first day of class that you’re so tired even though you had the best night of sleep in your life. 

Sunghoon isn’t beside you when you look over at him, he’s a few paces behind you, standing by the gates. A mischievous smile spreads on his lips as he holds his keys in his hand, dangling them. “It could be.” 

“Are we allowed to do this?” you ask nervously, watching Sunghoon twist his key in the lock. 

“Allowed to?” he repeats, tilting his head as though the concept is foreign to him. “No, I don’t think so.” A satisfying click sounds as the lock comes undone and Sunghoon pushes the gate open with a huge grin on his face as he gestures for you to go inside first. “After you.” 

He follows you in, shutting the gate behind him and holding out a hand for you to take; you lock your fingers with his and decide that you never want to let go. Not even after a thin layer of sweat forms between your palms. 

The space seems so large when it’s empty like this, with the parasols closed and the lack of screaming children. Streetlights cover the area in a dim orange haze, turning it into a fuzzy dreamscape. The pool itself seems so small when you see it covered up, nothing like the ocean-wide abyss you remember it being when you were young, racing with Chaewon, or pretending like you were only playing around when you tried to drown Jaehyun. 

“Do you wanna get in?” Sunghoon asks, his soft voice interrupting your thoughts. 

You don’t hesitate to nod. 

One night a week, the pool stays open until after dark, but you’ve never been. So when the mechanised pool cover whirs open after Sunghoon flips the switch, you’re shocked by the lights that illuminate the still water. It makes sense that the pool would have some form of lighting for safety, but you hadn’t expected the yellowing fixtures set in the tiled walls to shine so beautifully.

“Come on,” he says, taking you by the hand again, approaching the water. 

A part of you wants to protest when he lets go, but the words catch in your throat as he pulls his shirt over his head. Having spent the better part of most summers poolside, the sight of shirtless Sunghoon isn’t a new one though you find yourself breathless all the same. It’s different tonight but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

Worried you’ll break the spell, you can’t bring yourself to speak. Worried you’ll open your mouth and the moment might slip out from under you. These worries, however, are no match for Sunghoon’s slim waist which leaves your mouth forming an O at the sight. 

“Wow,” you whisper, awestruck. 

Sunghoon laughs, nervously, running a hand through his hair and using the other to hold his shirt over his stomach. “Don’t do that,” he says under his breath. He drops the shirt. The rest of his clothes follow, quickly leaving him in only his tight-fitting black boxer briefs that you struggle to look away from. 

An odd feeling starts to creep in, causing a fire in your belly — obviously from the sweet cider you had earlier, nothing at all to do with Sunghoon. Or his sculpted torso. Or his face, with his soft smile, and sparkling eyes. No one’s ever looked at you like this before.

“What are you thinking about?” 

Those shoulders. Those lips. Kissing those lips. You gulp. “Nothing.” 

Even though he doesn’t look like he believes you, he doesn’t press you on it. Instead, he smiles. Sunghoon turns his back to you, walking towards the pool’s edge to dip a pointed toe into the water. You like the way he hums, nodding his head as if it’s just to his liking. 

“Feels good?”

“Perfect,” he grins, stepping into the pool. 

A splash makes the water ripple around him — you’ve never noticed it’s so clear, you can see everything. From the mosaic-like blue tiles on the pool floor and walls to the way Sunghoon’s hair moves around his head. It’s a dazzling blue, shifting brilliantly through the whole spectrum under light from the moon, the pool, and the lampposts. 

Considering the way you’re sweating in the sticky heat, the water even looks refreshing, so you’re not sure why you don’t move to pull your dress off; or why you can’t shake your nerves. Sunghoon’s seen you in skin-tight dresses, and skimpy bikinis, so you’re not sure why the thought of him seeing you in your underwear is spooking you so much. It could be your lack of a bra. But even then, Sunghoon isn’t going to be the first person to see your bare breasts.

Interrupting your thoughts, he bobs to the surface with closed eyes and straight lips; his dimple shows. Pushing hair from his forehead, he asks if you’re going to join him though he seems to sense your apprehension, shaking his head. “You don’t have to take anything off,” he tells you gently. “Except maybe your shoes and socks.” 

You nod, stepping out of your shoes and pulling your socks off almost robotically. 

“It’s okay,” he smiles, comforting, reassuring, as he swims up to the edge of the pool and extends his wet hand to you. “I got you.”

You tell yourself to get out of your head, looking into Sunghoon’s sparkling eyes and feeling at ease from the way he looks up at you like you’re God’s gift. When you reach for the bottom of your dress, he gulps, his arm falling limply against the coping. You turn away from him to pull the light fabric over your head, letting it fall in a heap next to your shoes, and Sunghoon’s looking in the other direction when you turn back around. Even with the ‘privacy’ he’s afforded you by looking away, you can’t help but use your arms to cover your chest as you make your way over to the pool, sitting down on the edge and slipping into the water. 

It is refreshing. The water is the perfect temperature as it envelops you, soothes you.

Just more than an arm’s length away, Sunghoon’s form is broad. His shoulders are so wide and his back so toned that your head starts to swim. His skin, sunkissed, glowing, is dotted with pretty moles that you’ve never noticed before but can’t look away from — suddenly feeling as though you could point to each one with your eyes closed. 

With an odd half step, you reach him, letting your arms fall around his waist and pressing your chest to his back. You don’t know why you do that.

He draws a sharp breath. “Hi,” he whispers after a beat. 

“Hi.” 

A quiet falls between you until Sunghoon mumbles, over there, while pointing towards the deep end of the pool. You swim poorly behind him and he only stops when you call out his name. Sunghoon breaks out into laughter when he sees you. For him, who’s well into the deep end, the, now still, water might tease his chin if disrupted. For you, almost 2 metres behind, the water tickles your nose even when you stand on your tiptoes.

“Whoa,” he whispers. 

You tilt your head back to speak. “What?” 

“You’re just..” He pauses to gulp. “So short.”  

Offended, you scoff. “I’m the tallest out of all my friends,” you say defensively. And untruthfully — hoping he’s never seen you standing next to Yunjin.

“Are you friends with the Lakers?”

You drift away from him, laughing as well, until the water just about reaches your armpits. He follows you. As more of his body breaches the surface, water slips from his chest, droplets and streaks glowing under the white light of the moon, completely breathtaking.

“I was so nervous about today,” he says, pushing some water towards you, his lighthearted tone gone. 

“Oh?” You pause, continuing when he nods, and push water back in his direction. “How do you feel now?” 

Sunghoon’s pouty lips jerk up the corners, playful, boyish. A soft laugh slips from the space between his teeth. “I’m absolutely terrified.” His honesty draws you to him, and has you actually drifting closer in the water.

“What’s scaring you?” 

His breath seems to catch in his throat. He tilts his head while eyeing you. “Are you asking because you really don’t know?” If you’d still been splashing each other you doubt you’d have heard him talking over the water.

“Does it matter?”

Sunghoon seems to consider this for a moment, to consider you. Despite sitting just high enough to cover your breasts, the water doesn’t do very much to conceal them and his eyes get stuck on your chest for more than a little while. He clears his throat, looking back up at your face. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he raises his hands and smacks the surface of the water between you with open palms. A big splash hits you in the face. 

It’s on, you think, doing the same thing to him with all the force you can muster and laugh at the yelp he lets out. Something of a splash fight ensues, both of you doing everything you can to create a bigger mess of water to attack the other with. 

The rain starts so subtly that you don’t even notice it at first. You’re both too busy laughing and trying to splash the other harder to think about anything else. Only when you stop to catch your breath, to rest your aching arms, do you catch the faint ripples skating across the pool’s surface. Sunghoon doesn’t relent, taking the opportunity to gain the upper hand. And the rain gets heavy fast.

“Sunghoon, it’s raining, stop!” you call out, turning your face away from him. His raucous laughter makes your stomach flutter as you grab his wrist. “Come on, we’re gonna get wet, we have to go!” 

When you look back over at him, his smile is so wide, so sweet that you almost feel faint. Sunghoon doesn’t stop laughing, the sound is so contagious you can’t help but join in. His arms fall around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do while he cackles in front of you, you let your hands rest on his firm triceps. 

Large droplets start hitting your lashes, clinging to them, obscuring your vision, so you bring a hand up to act like an awning above your eyes. He calls you so cute under his breath though his laughter doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop anytime soon. 

“Hoon, come on. What’s so funny?”

The rain is cold against your shoulders but the boy in front of you doesn’t seem to share your concerns about the sudden downpour. You lock eyes with him, and his laughter seems to get caught in his throat. He’s still smiling but seems nervous, as though he’s only now become aware that he’s holding you so close that your naked chest is pressed against his. 

Sunghoon clears his throat. His smile returns, as a breathy laugh makes its way from his nose. He lets his face come down towards yours, slow, cautious, and too desperate to wait, you meet his lips halfway; they’re every bit as soft as you’d imagined. 

As if relieved, Sunghoon’s shoulders sag and his body seems to melt into your own. Desperation, hunger hits you from all angles, lighting up your insides and leaving your skin burning under his touch. Unthinkingly, you link your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly close, almost whimpering when his tongue grazes yours.

Sunghoon tastes light and sugary, like the perfect combination of artificial strawberry and sweet coffee as his tongue moves against yours. From your mouth into his slips a dreamy sigh, while he holds onto you gently, like you’re the most delicate thing in the world; like he’s the most delicate thing. Why haven’t you been kissed like this before? So slowly, so softly, as if he means it. As if he’s kissing you for no reason other than simply wanting to kiss you. 

Only when he pulls away to catch his breath do you regain your senses and notice how much heavier the rain has become. But your brain short circuits at the sight of him. His breathing is ragged, his chest rises and falls against yours. Water darkened hair clings to his forehead, letting beads slip from its ends to his cheekbone before slipping down the column of his neck.

Shelter is the only word you manage to say and all you can do is hope that he’s able to work out the rest. Like something from the purest depths of your imagination, Sunghoon’s kiss-bitten lips stretch into a wide smile. A giggle, the softest thing you’ve ever come across, slips from his mouth while his fingers squeeze at your hips. 

“YN,” he says, breathless. “We’re in the pool.”

Dripping water onto the concrete under your feet, you and Sunghoon walk at snail’s pace from his car to your front door, with your linked hands swinging between your bodies. 

The porch light diffuses dramatically over Sunghoon’s features, and somehow, even under the stark lighting, he’s still beautiful. His wet hair drips water onto his shoulders, darkening his shirt in abstract splashes around the neckline. A grin splits across his lips when he locks eyes with you, his face scrunching up and his shoulders racking up and down as he laughs to himself. 

It’s impossible not to join in. “What’s so funny?” 

He only shrugs in response, struggling to keep a straight face. “I’m just.. happy,” he says eventually, a tinge of uncertainty hanging from his words. 

With shaking hands, Sunghoon grabs you by the waist and holds you close, leaning down to kiss you. As your lips move with his, the only thing you can think about is how badly you want to feel this moment forever. To feel the tremble in sweet Sunghoon’s hands as he holds onto you gently, to feel his soft hair under your fingertips, and his hard chest pressed against your body. To feel his lips curving into a smile, his forehead resting on yours as his breath fans your lips. “Are you happy too?” he asks. 

You think you’ll die if you ever forget the way it feels to like Park Sunghoon.

“Yes. Very.” 

Through the peephole in your front door, you watch as Sunghoon stands outside, bringing a hand to his cheek, fingers grazing the spot where you’re certain your lip gloss lingers. You suppress a giggle with your hand and run up the stairs to your room where you bury your face in your pillow to muffle a squeal. You can’t remember the last time you felt so giddy over something that was happening in your own life rather than something sweet you’d read in a book or heard about from a friend.

With Chaewon’s hand in yours, and butterflies in your stomach, you make your way to the community pool for the first time in about a week. Like always, you find Sunghoon’s friends wreaking havoc in the water until.. something happens. By the time it occurs, you’ve been laying poolside for about an hour, trying to convince your best friend that you liking a guy isn’t going to do anything to your friendship. 

“You’re not supposed to like that guy,” Chaewon whines like a child, playing with the frayed hem of her shorts. “You’re only supposed to like me!” A sigh passes from her lips as she uses her arm to shield her eyes from the sun. “And Yunjin!” she adds after too long. 

“What about the rest of our friends?” 

“And Kazuha, and Minjeong, and Jaehyun, an—” 

“Jaehyun’s a guy.” 

She seems a little thrown off by your interruption, pursing her lips before speaking. “Well, yeah, but.. he’s one of our guys. A Chaewon-approved guy.” 

Suddenly, the noise level reduces by at least half and you can’t help but feel alarmed, whipping your head in the direction of the pool. A quick scan tells you that nothing bad has happened, allowing you to release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. In the corner of your eye, you see Sunghoon’s friends huddled together and quickly realise that the space has only gotten so quiet because they’re chatting at a normal volume. Huh, you think, it almost sounds like the speakers are quite good. Heeseung and Jay get out of the water, sitting up on the pool’s edge while the other four boys all stand in place, all six of them fix their eyes on something in front of them but you don’t care enough to investigate further. 

You look back at Chaewon as a pout settles on your lips. “Why can’t Chaewon approve of my guy?”

“When you say that Sunghoon is your guy, do you mean it in the same way that Yeonjun is your guy?” she asks, her tone scathing but her face concerned. “Or, the way that Asahi is your guy, or, even Yoshi?” 

“No. This is different. Sunghoon is different.” 

You know how trite and naive you must sound, but he is different. You’d never dated a guy who’d pick you up right at your front door; Yeonjun and Yoshi typically sent DMs to let you know they’d parked out front, and Asahi did nothing but honk the car horn because he found it funny. Though to call what you were doing with those guys ‘dating’ would be a huge overstatement. There was Renjun from first year who was nice enough but never wanted to hang out, and Donghyuck who made you laugh but never complimented you. 

Chaewon crinkles her nose, reaching out to hold your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I really hope you’re right.”

And now there’s Sunghoon. Sunghoon who tells you that he can’t wait to see you again; who always tells you how pretty you look; who blushes when you hold his hand, who touches his cheek when you kiss it. You can’t imagine him doing anything bad to anyone. Sunghoon is different, and you hope you can be different this time too. In all the time you spend thinking, your guy shows up with a shy smile on his face with both of his hands behind his back. 

It’s your first time seeing him in person since your date and the sun glows against his skin, his wet hair tickling his thick brows as he stands at the foot of your chairs, watching Chaewon nervously. “Hi, Chaewon,” he says after a while.

“Hello!” She grins, seeming so bright and happy that you find it hard to reconcile this Chaewon with the one who’d been clutching her chest and sliding down the walls over the fact you have a crush on the boy she’s now being so pleasant to. 

“I got this,” Sunghoon says, bringing his hand from behind his back to reveal a strawberry-flavoured slushy. “For you.” He adds on, holding the drink out to your friend. While Chaewon gushes about how much she likes the mix of berries that make up her favourite flavour, Sunghoon hums and nods along while making his way to the other side of your chair. He wears a wider, more confident smile on his face while he stands over you. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” he says quietly, bringing his other hand out to give you the blue raspberry slushy he’s been holding. With his foot, Sunghoon drags a spare lounger from behind him next to yours before moving out of the way and using his hands to push it some more, making the armrest touch yours. “Hey,” he smiles, taking a seat. 

You take a grateful sip of your drink, surprised at how much better it tastes coming from him. “Thank you, Hoon.” You can’t stop yourself from leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek, liking the way your stomach flutters when his hand flies up to touch the spot you’d kissed.

“I like when you do that.” 

“This?” you ask, kissing him again. Through squinted eyes, you notice a dusting of pink over his cheeks and take such a big sip of your slushy that every single part of your body goes numb and your head starts to hurt. Sunghoon only laughs, watching you. It’s quiet between you for a bit until you come to. “I’m not complaining, really, but don’t you have.. lives to guard?” 

“I’m on break,” he says. “Do you want me to go?” His brows raise dramatically as the corners of his lips sink to the floor, a glint of something playful in his sparkling eyes. 

You shake your head, face alighting with a grin when you remember something. “So can I see the skating videos you promised you’d show me?” 

All playfulness is gone. “Did I.. promise?” 

“Yes!” You don’t like the way he arches his brow at you. “Two nights ago.. before you fell asleep on the phone.” 

He scoffs at you, playfully. “If I remember correctly, you fell asleep on the phone,” Sunghoon says, tone accusatory. “And you snore.” Sunghoon lets his cheek lie flat against the chair, grinning. He’s beautiful. And correct.

“Skating videos,” you repeat. Sunghoon rolls his eyes at you, grinning brilliantly when you laugh. “I’m serious,” you frown. 

“You’re cute,” he says quietly, like it’s a correction. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Sunghoon pauses but takes your nod as a sign to continue. “I have a thing, next Tuesday, and I was wondering if you’d want to come and see me skate in person?” His voice tips up at the end of the question.

Excitement bubbles up inside you, causing you to sit up straight in your seat, turning your body to face him. “You want me to come?” 

He nods eagerly. 

“I’ll be there.” 

The tips of Sunghoon’s ears redden as he smiles at you, his eyes scanning your face. You can’t resist kissing him, and he doesn’t try to stop you, meeting your lips halfway. It’s sweet as sugar and goes on until his friends start to cheer loudly and Sunghoon pulls away, shy. But he looks like he wants to kiss you again. You grab him by the cord of the whistle around his neck and pull him back towards you. Relief floods you when your lips reunite.

“I’m gonna text you later with the details, time and shit,” he mumbles against your lips before getting up to go. 

As he retreats, he looks over his shoulder a few times, waving at you and smiling widely while he does. Until he bumps into a small child who practically topples over; Sunghoon manages to catch them in the nick of time and his neck flushes pink. 

It doesn’t make sense to you how he could be so cute. 

Chaewon watches you as she sips her slushy with an appreciative smile, letting out a long ahh of refreshment before putting the cup down. “Chaewon approved.” 

It seems like your mother’s been back from work for a while when you get home. A stretchy white headband holds her hair out of her face while she stands over a pot on the stove, looking comfy in some sweatpants.

Happy to see you, she pulls you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Hi, honey,” she grins. 

She turns down your offer to help and insists on you setting the table instead, which you do happily, taking a seat when you’re done. Through her phone, she plays the music she listened to while you were growing up and sitting there, watching your mum cook while dripping chlorinated water from your hair to the kitchen floor, makes you feel a bit like a child. Like it’s 2008 and you’ve come home from a day at the pool with Chaewon, who would sit across from you at the dinner table, all blunt fringe and missing teeth, talking about this brand new thing called cheesecake, while your mother made dinner for the three of you with a towel wrapped on her head, drying her wet hair. 

As your mum fills your plate, she tells you about her day at work. Her boss was unreasonable, like always, and her office bestie took off on maternity leave. Again. She asks you about your day and pretends like she doesn’t notice the way you smile when you talk about the pool. 

You don’t wait to tell her about Sunghoon. 

“Is that who you went out with last week?” 

You cough around a grain of rice; you don’t remember mentioning him. “How do you know?” 

A smile takes over her face. “Because I watched him stand around the driveway for five minutes before he rang the bell.” You can’t help the way you laugh, it sounds like him to a tee. “What’s he like?” 

You tilt your head for a minute, thinking. “I still feel like we’re getting to know each other, you know?” Understanding, she nods her head. So, naturally, you talk for the better part of 10 minutes about Sunghoon until your food gets cold and your cheeks hurt from smiling. 

In preparation for Sunghoon’s skating showcase, you read up on the sport and audience etiquette, and stay up late the night before making a pretty banner for him. Sleepiness plagues you when you wake up that afternoon but at least you’re happy with the way the sign came out. 

While doing your makeup, you start to second guess your outfit choice. It was nice when you picked it last week, and it was nice when you put it on an hour ago and then back on twenty minutes ago. So, out of options, you stand in front of the mirror for the umpteenth time, sending Sunghoon a picture of your flowy off-white dress and asking if it’s okay. 

Sunghoon, dramatic as ever, responds with a selfie, all pretty smile and red hearts drawn over his eyes. You almost want to drop dead at the sight of him. And then another message comes through, no words, just emojis. At least 40 silly little yellow faces fill the text box. Some are crying, some have heart eyes, some have starry eyes, and some are drooling. There seems to be no apparent order, and you see sprinkles of white hearts in between them. 

sh: you look so beautiful you’re so beautiful baby

Baby, he’d said. Simple, pixelated, enough to make your heart flip in your chest. 

sh: can i come over 

sh: just to loo k at you or smth 

you: please 

You want to kiss him. 

sh: ok omw .. lying i dont have time :((( 

sh: also i fucked up my hair last night don’t laugh when you see me. 

you: no promises .. 

There’s a short queue at the reception desk when you arrive at the rink. The lobby is full of excited parents and bored teens, all eager with anticipation for the start (and end) of the summer showcase. Sunghoon had been relatively vague about the event until you called him last night, with a list of questions about it. With one question about it. The two of you chatted and laughed for hours until you got an answer. 

When he’s not spending the day at the pool, Sunghoon volunteers to teach kids classes at the rink he grew up in. Every year, the teaching cycle runs from April to July, at which point the rink holds the summer showcase, for parents and family members to attend and see what they’ve been funding for the past four months. 

“We don’t normally let parents sit in on classes because it’s distracting for the kids,” he explained through a yawn. “And it’s the whole reason I started skating in the first place.” Sunghoon paused. You hadn’t been expecting him to stop speaking but you rubbed your eyes and mumbled oh, really? as you used a pencil to sketch out the outline of your bubble letters. “You know, at first I thought you fell asleep, but I didn’t hear you snoring so I got a little worried,” he said, nervous. 

“I’m still here.” 

He fell quiet for a beat, speaking nervously. “Just let me know if I’m boring you, yeah?” 

“I could listen to you talk forever,” you admitted. “I’m having fun learning more about you.” 

Sunghoon’s light laughter made you bite back a giggle. “You make me feel good about myself,” he said quietly before continuing, giving you no time to respond. “But, yeah, I used to play hockey because I didn’t know how to talk to anyone except my parents and my one-year-old little sister, but my only friend on the hockey team invited me to go and watch him at the showcase one year and it was just.. the greatest thing I’d ever seen.” 

You encouraged Sunghoon to go on, still reeling from his quiet confession, and loving the grin in his voice while he spoke about skating and the way he laughed through some stories from work. Like how on a quiet day at the pool when he’d been messing around with Heeseung, Jake, and Riki in the water, some random guy approached them. 

“And this is so crazy too because we were just, like, fucking around, and the guy goes, “My grandmother can swim faster than you,” like he yelled it and stomped away.” 

Worried about waking your sleeping parents, you covered your mouth while laughing, mainly from the offence you can hear in Sunghoon’s voice over something that happened in October. “What did you guys do after that?” 

“I was on shift so I clocked out and went home.” 

The back of the program has a picture of Sunghoon and some of the other skating coaches, but it’s hard to pay attention to them or the signup sheet at the bottom when you see the wide smile on his face; you love the photo, it’s your favourite. He looks so happy, so radiant. If the scrunch of his nose and eyes is anything to go by, he must have been laughing when the picture was taken. This detail only makes you love it even more. 

In the corner of your eye, Jake leans against a wall, scrolling through his phone with a sheet of paper tucked under his arm. Seeing as he’s now (technically) your friend-in-law, you decide to approach him. Through the crowd of attendees waiting to be seated, he spots you as well, rushing over with the widest smile you’ve ever seen on anyone. You could count his teeth. 

Jake takes you by surprise, hugging you. “Hey! Hoon’s so happy that you’re here,” he says, somehow smiling even wider. “I’m so happy that you’re here, I finally have company!” 

When the double doors to the rink open up, you follow Jake to what he describes as the best seats in the house. “I always sit up here, so our boy knows to look over,” he says with a smile, his eyes never leaving you. “In case you were worried about that. It’s kinda far, and there’s lights, so you might have to wave a little harder than normal but, he’ll see you.” 

You nod, smiling too. “Got it.” Jake doesn’t look away. “Are you okay?” you ask him. More out of concern for your own well-being than anything else; you’ve heard of people murdering their best friend’s crushes before. 

He chews on his lip, tilting his head. All traces of his welcoming smile have faded, replaced with a more solemn expression as he looks over your shoulder for a beat. “Sunghoon’s my best friend,” he starts, and it’s hard not to picture yourself tumbling to your death down the slowly populating rows in front of you. They seem steeper now than before. “And he’s.. well.. you know him. It’s just that, he really likes you, you know? And I’m not saying this to be rude but I know about Yeonjun.. and—” Jake stops short, shooting you an apologetic look. “Anyway, I know that for some people, for you, for me, even, seeing more than one person at a time isn’t a big deal, but Hoon’s not like that.” 

You wait for him to continue. He doesn’t. 

A voice booms through the tannoy, telling everyone to take their seats as the show will be starting soon. 

Unsure what to say, you look out at the ice while Jake’s words sink in. It might have been easier to come up with something if he’d been any less kind about it. Spoken to you in a harsher tone. You hate the idea of Sunghoon knowing about the others, even if they were before him. Hate the idea of Jake having a similar conversation with him; telling Sunghoon that he’s not trying to be rude but..

“Sunghoon’s..” you pause, nervous. “He’s the best, and I can’t imagine seeing anyone else,” you admit. 

Jake beams, trusting you, and nods his head. “He’s gonna love your banner,” he grins. “And that.. angry looking plushy you brought.” 

The lights cut and all of the chatter hushes in an instant. Slowly, they fade back on, as a classical piece begins. Jake bounces his leg so hard you can feel the bench rattle under you, he’s practically glowing with giddiness. He’s like a little puppy, a golden retriever with light hair to match. 

After a short while, a boy skates out onto the ice, tall, graceful, an—Riki? He reaches the middle of the rink and introduces himself, enthusiastically reading a script from a few cue cards and looking right up into the stands to wear you and Jake sit. Beside you, Jake cheers, raising his banner, and you crane your neck to read it (LUCKY STRAWBERRIKI), and on the ice, Riki hides his face with his hand, quickly looking at his feet before continuing with his intro. 

You count eight tiny kids skating towards Riki, followed by Jungwon, and a line of other older skaters, Sunghoon is the last to appear, and your stomach churns with pride. All of them are dressed casually; you like Sunghoon’s straight-cut jeans and open button-up. 

As Jake predicted, Sunghoon (and Jungwon, and Riki) look up in your general direction, and next to you, Jake struggles to hold all three posters up at once so you help him, yelling along excitedly. It’s hard to tell from so far away but it feels like Sunghoon is staring straight at you like you’re the only two people at the rink. You feel like standing, like standing and singing HOOOOOOOOOOOON at the top of your lungs. For a moment you wonder if he’d shout back, telling you that right now he can hardly breathe. As if reading your mind, his mouth tugs up at the corners, slightly, before spreading into an ear-to-ear grin that makes your cheeks burn. 

The entire show passes by in an adorable whirlwind, as you and Jake applaud and encourage all of the performers, gushing with one another over how cute the baby skaters (including Jungwon and Riki) are. It’s beautiful and exciting, and you’re so happy you came. 

But time seems to stop when Sunghoon returns. Jake cheers loudly for him when he skates out; you can’t bring yourself to do the same. 

He comes to a stop in the middle of the rink, looking right up at the two of you. Jake waves his poster and raises yours too, seeming to notice the way you’re stuck to the spot. Sunghoon smiles, and somehow, he’s even more beautiful than you remembered. 

Graceful, elegant, Sunghoon glides on the ice when the music starts, immediately skating into a jump — you watch with held breath. He spins once, his arms tucked neatly by his sides, his hair fanning out around his head. Another spin, beautiful, clean. In the seats around you, people are cheering, you can hear them clear as day but the only person you see is Sunghoon who’s turning into his third rotation; the last. He sticks the landing, and an eternity has passed by as you let a sigh of relief slip out. 

Each jump is more gorgeous than the last, though seems to go on forever — you’re nervous as if it’s you on the ice. 

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you watch as he skates beautifully, executing smooth spins and controlled turns. You don’t think you could look away from him if you tried — this must be what people mean when they say someone was born for something. Even in the casual setting, he looks like a professional, just as stable and fluid as he was in the videos you’d watched. 

The music fades out, his performance is done, and you find yourself thankful for the fact that no one’s sitting behind you as you stand up. Jake does the same. Both of you hold your banners up for him to see, cheering louder than anyone else. Sunghoon raises a hand to wave at you. You wave back excitedly, getting a little flustered by the girl sitting a few rows ahead of you who turns around, smiling dreamily at Jake and rolling her eyes at you.

After bowing politely, Sunghoon looks back up at you, and you can’t help but blow him a kiss, only feeling silly about it when Jake nudges you with a goofy smile. You watch as Sunghoon raises his right hand for a beat, shifting a little on his skates before reaching out ahead of him, catching the flying kiss. 

Butterflies run rampant in your stomach when he holds his hand, and your kiss, over his heart.

As the show ends, you chat with Jake for a bit, gushing over the performances together as the audience clears out, and you trudge slowly down the stairs and back into the lobby. It’s nice chatting with him, seeing the way his face lights up as he talks so excitedly and passionately about his friends. 

You understand why Sunghoon likes him so much.

Sunghoon shows up at the other end of the lobby space, a vision in purple-tinted hair. You have to tell yourself to keep your feet planted on the spot for fear of literally running into his arms. He doesn’t seem to share the same sentiment, thank God, jogging through the lobby, dipping and dodging people as best and as fast as he can to reach you. 

He hugs you. Holds you tight. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he says, quietly, only for you. 

In your chest, your heart seems to grow tiny fists that throw a million punches a minute. Your brain scrambles for the words to say but you can’t come up with anything, hoping that the tightness of your arms around him lets him know that you’re glad to be here. 

He lets go of you, beaming, and moves to dap up Jake, asking his friend if he’s aware that he’s taking Jungwon and Riki go-karting tonight. 

“I’m doing what?” 

“Yeah, they wanted me to take them but I’m busy.” 

“Busy doing what?” Jake asks conspiratorially, arching a brow. He glances sideways at you, and can’t hold back his laughter. 

Sunghoon sets his jaw, punching Jake in the stomach. “Grow up,” he mutters, stifling a laugh of his own. 

You laugh too, partially at what Jake said, mostly at the way he keels over, clutching his stomach, a long groan passing from his lips. Sunghoon’s brows raise when you hand him the banner. “Look what I made for you.” 

“I saw you holding it earlier, baby, I love it,” he says, beaming at you as he reads over it again. “You did such a good job. Can I take it home?” His eyes sparkle when he looks up at you. Your heart cinches in your chest. 

“Of course.”

Next to you, Jake holds out the banner he made. “Do you wanna take mine home?” 

Sunghoon doesn’t even spare him a glance. “Recycle it,” he says. 

Jake tilts his head, confused. A loud huh comes out as he raises his brows. “I make a banner for you every single year and every single time you turn your nose up at it. But here comes a pretty girl and all of a sudden you love banners. Really, Sunghoon? You love it?” He pauses to let out a laugh, incredulous, seeming not to care about the few people that have turned over in your direction. “I can’t stand you.” Jake’s voice is whiny and hard to take seriously.

“I don’t love banners, I love this banner,” Sunghoon corrects, using his hand to shove Jake’s shoulder before holding the banner up over his chest. 

Amused, you watch the two boys bicker for a bit before Jake cuts Sunghoon off mid-sentence, raising his hands, muttering the word whatever.

Sunghoon seems sceptical of Badtz-Maru when you hand him over. He holds the plushy in his hand, eyeing it suspiciously before wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “He’s cute, baby, really, but why’d you pick the world’s unhappiest penguin?”

“He reminded me of you.” Sunghoon’s jaw drops, brows knitting together as he tilts his head, all while Jake struggles to stifle a laugh. “Because he’s from Gorgeoustown,” you add, your heart singing when Sunghoon kisses the top of your head, and you can’t resist letting your arms wrap around his waist. 

Compliments flow out of you like water from a fountain when Jungwon and Riki join your little group outside. Jungwon, with deep dimples and flushed cheeks, shyly mumbles variations of thank you, and I appreciate that while shifting from one foot to the other. Riki glows with pride, standing up straighter, and asking you what else you liked about his performance. 

The sun feels nice on your arms as you watch the two play a very intense, high-stakes game of rock, paper, scissors for the front seat of Jake’s car. They’re playing best of five and getting ready to begin the third, and possibly final round. Riki has two wins under his belt, it’s not looking good for Jungwon whose breathing has become heavy. He’s taken off his hoodie and is stretching his arms in preparation. 

You start a countdown from three and laugh so hard your stomach starts to hurt when Jungwon throws a losing rock against Riki’s paper, the oldest boy falling to his knees on the pavement and holding his head in his hands. Riki jumps higher than he had on the ice, embracing Jake in a tight hug, overjoyed by the victory while Jungwon groans. 

“Let’s hang out,” Sunghoon says as you walk to his car. 

Squeezing his hand, you nod and try not to melt on the concrete when he opens the car door for you. “What do you normally do after skating?” 

Sunghoon seems to think about your question for a while, tilting his head to the side as a fond smile pulls at the corners of his lips. “My parents would always take me out for dessert after competitions, or the next day if it was too late.” 

“Well, what do you think, Hoon? Is it too late for dessert?” 

Giddy in a way you’ve never seen him, he shakes his head in response. And in his car, he hums along to the radio, gingerly resting his hand on your bare knee. 

Sunghoon takes you to a dessert spot by Chaewon’s house, a fairly popular family-owned establishment that serves her favourite cheesecake. You sink into your seat over the table from him, in a slightly stiff booth with a tall back that makes it seem like it’s just you two and a coffee shop chatter Youtube video playing on a loop. 

“What are you having, baby?” he asks, drumming his fingers against the laminated menu. 

Knowing that Chaewon is coming over later, you let your eyes fall to the ice cream selection, reading the names of all 27 flavours and still settling on the only flavour you ever order here. “Cookie dough,” you say, reaching across the table to point at it on his menu. 

“And?” 

“And nothing.” 

His brows furrow. “You’re only getting ice cream?” 

“I mean, it’ll probably come in a cup, with a spoon,” you say, liking the way Sunghoon laughs at your stupid comment. “Chaewon’s staying over tonight so I don’t wanna fill up too much before dinner. I’ll order some cheesecake to take away when we’re done though, it’s her favourite,” you explain. 

He nods his head. “We can share my tiramisu.” 

It’s only after a conversation with Jake later on that you realise how big of a deal this is.

The two of you only manage to stop chatting and laughing when a girl with a cute bow in her hair and a smile on her face comes to ask if you’re ready to order. Across from you, Sunghoon orders a slice of tiramisu and a 3-scoop cup of coffee-flavoured ice cream. He runs a big hand through his hair and clears his throat, cheeks covered in pink as he asks if it would be okay for us to get a milkshake, to share, so, like, one milkshake, but then with two straws? Her eyes flick between the two of you and she grins, nodding her head but Sunghoon doesn’t go on. 

“A strawberry milkshake, please,” you say, watching the waitress take note of it before saying she’ll be right back. 

More than anyone you’ve ever met, Sunghoon loves tiramisu; he adores it. He lets you take the first spoon, and it’s delicious so you don’t have to fake your reaction when you try it. Sunghoon lights up with childlike excitement as he tries the second spoonful, his eyes widening as he hums around the dessert, shaking his head a little out of genuine enjoyment. 

Surprisingly, he’s able to tell you about the origins of the word (stems from the Italian tira mi su or pick me up), and shares a fond memory of the first time he tried it — he was 9 years old and choked on the cocoa powder on top.  

Sunghoon takes the first sip from the tall glass that sits between you both, you gulp at the sight of his lips wrapping around the straw and need to try it too. Your noses bump a little when you lean in, and, with sweet strawberry coating your tongue, you can’t help but giggle.

As you’d been expecting, your cookie dough ice cream is delicious and after a while, you use your tiny plastic spoon to scrape the sides of your cup and ignore the way Sunghoon laughs at you. Even when he’s mocking you, he still makes your stomach flutter.

“I can get you more if you want,” he offers with a wide smile. 

You shake your head. Sunghoon frowns, watching you collect the last pitiful scrapings before eating them. “You were so pretty today,” you tell him around the spoon.

“Did you think I was ugly before?” 

“Extremely.” His face scrunches up with laughter, showing off his dimple and his fangs. “You must have practised forever,” you add, distracted.

Sunghoon shrugs, reaching his hand across the table to play with your fingers. “In a way I did but not really,” he says vaguely, using his nail to draw a circle in the palm of your hand. “I don’t plan anything for the showcase, it’s just meant for fun, you know? I just go out and do what feels right on the day — so, I guess I’ve been practising for the last 13 years.” 

Completely awestruck, you utter a quiet “wow” and giggle when he pinches your hand. 

“What’re you and Chaewon gonna do later?” he asks, changing the subject.

You let him. At the mention of your best friend, a smile teases at your lips and Sunghoon matches it, beaming sweetly at you, looking forward to what you have to say. “I’m gonna cut her hair.” 

“Really?” Your heart thuds at the genuine interest in his tone. “Do you always cut it for her?”

“No,” you pout. “I’ve never cut anyone’s hair.”

“Not even your own?” Sunghoon laughs when you shake your head. “Wow, she must really trust you.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “We’re best friends.”

“She’s lucky.” 

A chuckle slips out of you and you scrunch your nose. “Me too.” 

When he sees the waitress approaching, Sunghoon stacks your dishes to help out, handing them over to her with a soft smile. “Would we be able to get two slices of cheesecake?” he asks. “To go?”

“Sure, what flavour?”

“Vanilla, please.” 

Eunchae, as you read from her nametag, makes a face, pulling air through her teeth. “The vanilla’s gonna be about an hour wait.” 

Sunghoon pales, looking at you. “That’s alright,” you say, smiling. 

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Sunghoon shakes his head, asking only for the bill. The two of you go back and forth on it and you practically beg him to let you pay. You put up a good fight, only backing down because he renders you speechless, shaking his head and saying: I’m not gonna take my girl on a date then make her pay. 

His girl hides her face with her hands, flustered. 

He laughs. 

A beat passes before he stands up, holding a hand out and asking you to go with him to the photo booth. With a smile, you slip your hand into his, allowing him to tug you towards it. Behind the curtain, he wraps his arm around your waist, leaning forward to pay. The two of you agree that you’ll take a set for him to keep and one for you. On the screen, a countdown starts from 4, and you almost feel under pressure. 

Posing for the first picture is a little awkward; you watch as Sunghoon puffs out his cheeks, poking one, and suppress your smile to copy. The second isn’t much better; you both grin and hold up peace signs. As you pose for the third, you can feel Sunghoon’s eyes burning holes in the side of your face, can see him on the screen, staring as you look at yourself ahead but can’t bring yourself to look at him. 

The countdown reaches 2 and he holds you closer. His lips touch your cheek when the screen says 1 and you grin when the picture is taken. Sunghoon’s gaze is soft when you look at him. His hand touches your cheek, heavy on your skin, as he leans in to kiss you. You’ve never been kissed in a photo booth before and your heart beats in the back of your throat when the screen flashes, taking the last photo. 

He sticks his head out of the curtain to collect the 4-cut and cringes a little. “God, we look so stiff in the first two,” he complains. 

“I love them,” you say, taking the photo set from his hand. “They’re perfect.” You mean it. The visible awkwardness that you can feel through the frame is endearing to you, and you like the gradual transition into comfort as the photos progress. 

He looks at you with disbelieving eyes and pays for the next set. 

When you reach your table again, Sunghoon slides into the booth next to you, letting his arm rest over your shoulders, and he’s just as sweet as the tiramisu you tasted on his lips. 

With full bellies and two slices of cheesecake packaged in a pretty yellow box, you head back to his car, where he clips his photo set to the sun visor. You can’t help but lean over the centre console to kiss him again. When you pull away from him, you swear his eyes dart to the backseat, but the moment goes by as quickly as it happens so you must have been imagining things. He drives you home with the radio playing lowly, and his fingers locked with yours. 

On your doorstep, Sunghoon kisses you goodbye, biting at your bottom lip and grabbing your ass. He’s never kissed you like this before. You don’t think you were making things up earlier. “I really like your dress,” he tells you quietly, his lips brushing yours. 

Suddenly nervous, you mumble a thank you. 

“I like everything you wear, but this dress?” Sunghoon pulls away from you, just enough to rake his eyes down your body before holding you close. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, holding your cheek in his palm before kissing you again.  

A few hours later, Chaewon stands on a towel in the bathroom, between you and the mirror while your right hand shakes over a pair of scissors. “Are you sure about this?”

She nods her head. “It doesn’t need to be neat, it just needs to be short,” she assures you, smiling at your reflection in the mirror. Despite only just passing her shoulders, Chaewon’s hair is the longest you think you’ve ever seen it. “I wanted to grow it out, like Kazuha’s, but I hate the way it feels on my skin.” Freshly washed, her hair is just beyond damp and darkening her pink t-shirt. 

You gulp, nervous. “How about you sit down?” 

She nods, saying it’s a good call. 

Chaewon sits on a towel in your bedroom, between you and your full-length mirror while your right hand shakes over a pair of scissors. Before you grab them, you move her hair over her shoulders just so she can tell you once more to give her a chin-length bob. 

She does. You nod. 

Releasing a deep breath you make the first cut, and the sound of the blades slicing through her hair leaves goosebumps forming on your arms. Wet and slightly clumped together, the remaining hair falls from your hold and smacks her ear. You hold your breath as she runs her fingers through it. 

“It’s even!” 

“I only cut one part, Wonie.”

“Yeah, but you did good!” Her eyes meet yours in the mirror and she grins. “Keep going, keep going!” 

The other three sections generate similar reactions, and you keep having to tell her to sit still while you try to trim her hair. 

Chaewon claps her hands when you finish, running her fingers through her “new” bob. “I love it!” she squeals, beaming at your reflection. “It’s perfect.” She turns around on the spot to fling her arms at you, appreciative, wrapping you up in her familiar, soft scent. 

The two of you sit on the couch, as Gossip Girl plays on the TV. For the duration of an entire episode, Chaewon turns her head gently from left to right, her short hair fanning out around her, with a light smile on her face as she does so. You only manage to look away from her when you remember the cheesecake, getting up from your seat abruptly, and excusing yourself. 

As you enter the kitchen, you check your phone, grinning at the sight of a few texts from Sunghoon. You open the fridge as you unlock your phone, clicking on the notification as you take the box of dessert out. Giggles fall out of you at the first message: a cute bed selfie, with his plushy tucked under his arm. 

sh: no way

sh: he smells like you :o

sh: are we seeing each other tmrw? 

sh: (say yes) 

It doesn’t make sense to you that Sunghoon is as cute as he is — you have to put the cheesecake down to relax. 

you: noooooooooo ur so cute

you: i gave him some perfume :o and i’m w wonie tn and tmrw but another time

you: talk later hoonie! 

The sight of the box in your hand makes Chaewon spring out of her seat, covering her mouth with her hands as she does a cute happy dance, prompting you to set the cake down on the coffee table to join her. Tired out, you slump back onto the couch after a while, smiling when she hands over your plate before sitting next to you. 

With a fond smile, you pull your knees to your chest, watching as Chaewon says: You know you love me, xoxo, Gossip Girl, in perfect sync with Kristen Bell. She grins to herself before taking a forkful of cheesecake to her mouth, moaning around the utensil. 

You’ve never known anyone to like dessert as much as her, and a grin forms on its own as you remember the way Sunghoon had done almost the same thing with tiramisu only hours earlier. Being an avid hater of tiramisu, you wonder how Chaewon might react if you told her, before focusing on your slice and the gorgeous face of Leighton Meester. 

The two of you must sit through four episodes, before you sleepily lean into her, telling her she can finish off your piece of cake that she’s been eyeing hungrily since she finished hers approximately 15 Gossip Girl blasts ago. She watches you from the counter while you wash the dishes, thanking you again for the cake. 

Later that night — when she thinks you’re asleep — Chaewon presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’ve never had a friend like you before,” she whispers, turning over in bed and grabbing your hand. You don’t know what to do when you hear her sniffling next to you. 

Salt air and sun cream skate around you — the only things you can smell over the oil soaked chips you share with Chaewon at the beach. Heavy trainers weigh down each corner of the fitted bed sheet underneath you and Chaewon as you watch the wind push clouds through the too-blue sky. Drunk on cider, she laughs to herself, pointing above you. “That one kinda looks like Sunghoon’s friend, right?”

“Which one?” you ask, moving your head to see exactly what she’s pointing at. You’re not sure if you’re asking which friend or which cloud. 

“That one, like Jay.”

Laughter hits you immediately. She’s absolutely right. A triangular mass in the sky leaves you both cackling and rolling around. 

Same as the sand through your fingers, three weeks slip by. You and Sunghoon take more pictures in photo booths and struggle to stop kissing each other. He clasps your necklaces, and puts sunscreen on your back; you hug him from behind and take naps in the park with your head on his chest. Sunghoon makes daisy chains to sit in your hair, and puffy paper stars to fill a jar in your desk. You take his little sister for ice cream and braid her hair when she asks you. 

Tonight however, completely spent from a day of shopping with your mum and Chaewon, the three of you sat on the couch, all eating your bodyweight in cheesecake and crying over the ending of How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days.  

After you’ve all recovered, your mum watches from the car as you hug Chaewon on her doorstep and you fall asleep in the passenger seat on the ride home. No longer small enough to be carried up to your room, you drag your feet to the bed where you fall asleep as soon as your body hits the mattress. But a phone call from Kazuha disrupts your slumber. 

“Are you going to the pool tomorrow?” she asks, sounding alarmingly awake for 4:57 a.m. 

“Tomorrow, today, or tomorrow, tomorrow?” 

“Like,” she pauses, you can picture her running a hand through her hair as she thinks. “In a few hours, I guess.” 

You hum down the phone. 

“We can go together!” The smile in her voice is audible. “Oh, Jay likes YJ. Did I tell you? And fuck, Lee Heeseung is so annoying.” 

“No, he’s not,” you say defensively, slightly rattled by the fact that she woke you up in the middle of the night to shit on your boy’s best friend.

Kazuha scoffs. “Sure.” The line falls quiet for a beat. “He’s not actually annoying, I was just trying to announce that I have a crush on him.” Of course she was. 

“Heeseung seems like a great guy and I’m really happy for you, but let’s talk at the pool, okay?” 

“Talk at the pool!” she chirps, cutting the phone. 

You don’t manage to get back to sleep. 

At the pool, Kazuha says you’re beautiful when you pull your t-shirt over your head and cuts you off before you get to thank her, going on a tangent about how badly she wants to nap but doesn’t want to tan unevenly. Or sleep for too long that her face gets puffy. You take your mission seriously, using your phone to set timers and waking her up each time it goes off despite the way she grumbles at you. 

Riki runs over to tell you to watch him before running away and flipping into the water. Your praise doesn’t seem to get old, but the flips don’t either, each one just as clean and impressive as the ones before. 

Kazuha’s on her 4th rotation when you find yourself wandering over to the concession stand, in the mood for something sweet after being tempted by the scent of baking dough wafting over the pool. But as you get further and further ahead in line, you eventually decide you only want a lollipop, and there are only two people in front of you when you realise you left your phone in your chair and won’t be able to pay.

As if sent from heaven, someone taps you on the shoulder, but you’re met with no one when you look to your left; Sunghoon’s laugh is adorable on the other side of you, contagious when he bumps your hip with his. 

“Hi, baby,” you say, looking up at him. He has a white towel on his head, covering his forehead and tucked behind his ears. “Is there a reason you have this on?” you ask him, touching the damp fabric that sits on his shoulders.  

“What, I’m not allowed to dry my hair?” 

“I’m not allowed to be curious?” 

Sunghoon gently flicks your forehead and you pretend it hurts. 

Like Hannah Montana, he hooks his fingers under the front of the towel, pulling the “wig” off to reveal his luscious (and soaking wet) locks of dark hair. A gasp falls from your lips as your hand flies up to cover your mouth. Having essentially grown up with Sunghoon, or rather, grown up adjacent to Sunghoon, him having black hair isn’t anything new. But it’s definitely something you’re fond of. Fond of him and the way his dark hair only brings out his features, matching his thick brows and the hard lines of his face. 

“Do you like it?” he asks. 

You love it. “What are you gonna do if I don’t?” you ask, pushing some of his hair from his forehead. 

“Buzzcut.” 

With a worried look on his face, he lets you use both hands to cover his hair and imagine it. “Are you laughing because I’m so devastatingly gorgeous with black hair or because I’m about to buzz my head?” Laughter bubbles in your chest, as his hair flops back over his forehead. “Wait, baby, no.” A deep pout settles on his lips. “You actually don’t like it?” 

“I love it, you know I love it.” 

Sunghoon lets you compliment him until you reach the front of the line when he talks with the person on shift. He uses his phone to pay for what you want, and seeing your smiling face on his lock screen makes your cheeks burn while you hide your face in his back, arms locked limply around his waist. 

The two of you only leave the stand when the line behind you builds up, standing in the shade next to it. He watches you unwrap the candy and raises a brow when you hold it out to him. “First lick?”

He shakes his head. 

“Come on, Hoonie,” you tease, letting your hand rest on his arm, liking the way it tenses under your touch. “I know you want a taste.” 

His eyes drop to your chest for a split second, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he lifts his gaze. “You have no idea,” he mumbles before opening his mouth a little, leaning down towards you. His lips are slightly parted and very tempting as they wrap around the lollipop. 

“Good?”

Sunghoon’s eyes lock with yours as he sucks on the candy. “Very,” he says, the word coming out kind of garbled around it before letting you take it back. You watch him chew on his lip, humming to himself at the lingering taste of your lolly. 

The cola flavour hits your tongue immediately and you like the way Sunghoon gulps as he watches you, struggling to maintain the eye contact you’d had a moment earlier. You don’t take nearly as long as he did, pulling the lolly from your lips with a satisfying pop before smiling up at him, sickly sweet. “Very good indeed,” you echo him, letting the candy rest between your lips before you turn to walk away. Sunghoon follows, thankfully. Heading back over to where you’d been sitting, you find Kazuha’s chair empty. 

A shriek over your shoulder locates her like a pin on a map. 

In the pool, you see her sitting on Heeseung’s shoulders cackling as she pushes Sunoo over so hard that Jay, whose shoulders he’s sitting on, falls too. Gleefully, she leans back, falling into the water only to resurface and find her way into Heeseung’s arms. You stop walking when she tilts her head up to kiss him. Oh? Sunghoon walks right into your back. The kiss is short, not much more than a peck really, she pulls away with a grin on her face, swimming to the edge of the pool and Heeseung’s ears turn red as he watches her. 

Against your own, Sunghoon’s skin is warm, slick almost from what you think is a combination of pool water, sweat, and sunscreen. You hate yourself for liking it. His hardening dick presses against you, and your heart swells — some frenzied mix of feeling flattered, and horniness, you assume. A flame burns in your stomach, hot, blue. Neither of you moves for a while, long enough for Kazuha to walk over to your seats and scrunch her hair with a t-shirt. 

Sunghoon exhales shakily when you lean into him, resting the back of your head on his chest and holding the lollipop by the stick. “You okay?” you ask, voice nothing more than a whisper. 

His head dips, breath fanning your neck as he kisses your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles against your skin before standing up straight. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding you close. “Do you wanna come over tomorrow?” he asks, words coming out as one. “My family’s on vacation.” His cock twitches against you when he says it. 

“They are?” 

“Mm, they leave tomorrow morning.”

A breathy laugh comes from your nose as you step away from his body, turning around to look at him. Not so subtly, he takes the towel from his shoulder and holds it in his hand, covering himself. A proper laugh falls from your lips, your head tipping back a bit. 

“What if I wanna come today?” you ask, raising a brow. “Tonight even?” 

“Tonight? I can call you if you wanna come tonight.” 

You have a feeling that the two of you are talking about entirely different things.

“Pick me up?” 

“Always.” 

Sunghoon’s bedroom is exceptionally neat. Everything on his desk (his PC set up and a notebook) is placed precisely, and there’s nothing on the floor except for his furniture and a giant 8-ball rug. His off-white walls are completely bare, save for three posters above his desk; your favourite is a handmade (you think) white poster that reads There’s No Planet B in slightly messy block capitals, which sits between blown up pictures of Childish Gambino, and SZA. Underneath the perfectly aligned posters, stuck right above his monitor are the words: Figure skating prince, Park Sunghoon! You’re the best! with a bright red lipstick kiss in the corner; your heart does a triple axel at the sight. 

He stands in the middle of his open doorway like he has been for the past two minutes, watching you admire the medals that sit in a display case on a floating shelf. In 2015 he took home a gold medal from the Lombardia Trophy, and another from the Asian Open Trophy. The two silver medals beside them tell you that he continued to do well at the Asian Open Trophy in the two years that followed.

Along with the Sunghoon you saw today, tiny Sunghoon skates through your mind, so impressive and so young. The quiet boy who often missed class. Who’d fall asleep with his face in a textbook during the classes he did attend. Who you’d let borrow your notes after days of absence, and who wordlessly thanked you with a carton of banana milk each time. How didn’t you know about all of this?  Beyond awestruck by his accomplishments, you look over your shoulder to ask him about it. 

Sunghoon only shrugs. “I was okay.”

“You were okay?” You can’t help but scoff at him. “I’ve seen the videos, Sunghoon. I’ve seen you in person, you’re.. amazing.” The word feels like an understatement. “I don’t know very much about skating but you’re breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” he says, looking at his feet. 

“Have you thought about the Olympics?” you ask seriously. You get ready to apologise when you watch him purse his lips to the side, making you worry you’ve touched a nerve—But Sunghoon speaks before you have the chance. 

“I used to train with the Olympic team but it was too much pressure for me, and I much prefer coaching nowadays, it’s, like, the perfect way for me to feel all the joy of skating and absolutely none of the stress.” The fond smile on his face makes you think he means it.

It almost feels wrong to sit on his neatly made bed but you take a seat on its edge anyway, desperate for one of you to at least look comfortable in this situation. BaMa sits between his pillows and you can’t help but smile at the penguin who stares back at you, unimpressed. Sunghoon stays in place. From where you’re sitting, it’d be difficult to miss the way his eyes widen, stuck on you as he chews on his bottom lip. “Are you okay?” you ask him after a while, starting to feel awkward under his stare. 

For a split second, Sunghoon presses his lips into a straight line that shows his dimple before shrugging. “I’ve never brought a girl to my room before. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do,” he says, fixing his gaze on the wall behind you. 

“The only thing we’re supposed to do is whatever you want. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Sunghoon looks at you, thinking. “We should kiss,” he blurts out. 

“That’s what you want?”

“Badly.” But he doesn’t move. 

You wait it out a little, counting thirty whole seconds with no sign of movement from him. “How’re you gonna kiss me from over there?” 

A gorgeous grin takes over his face. Sunghoon closes the door behind him, crossing the room in a few paces to sit beside you. With some hesitation he pats his lap, struggling to meet your eyes while he does so. Your insides feel like a shaken bottle of Coke when you straddle him, and you can hear him exhale shakily at the way your dress hitches up, showing off your bare thighs. Sunghoon’s thighs are firm underneath you, his pants soft against your skin. It’s no use trying not to think about riding his thigh or riding him. But try as you might, your efforts don’t stand a chance against the feeling of him hardening under you.

His lips catch yours in a gentle kiss. You can feel the way he smiles, feel a giggle, light, airy, passing from his mouth into yours. It’s hard not to smile too. His fists clench behind you, bunching up the fabric of your dress in his palms desperately. Hard and thick, his cock presses against your core. You moan and Sunghoon all but freezes, his hands releasing your dress.  

Barely a second passes before he grabs you again, leaning back against the bed without breaking the kiss for anything, until you need to catch your breath and you pull away, sitting back in his lap with your hands resting on his toned stomach. You instinctively grind down on him when his cock twitches under you.

From your seat you can see the way his eyes widen when you do, see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat when he gulps. Or maybe the gulp came first; it’s hard to say. Either way, you don’t think you care. He sighs, relieved when you rock your hips against his for a second time. 

Sunghoon looks like sin the third time you do it, groaning and sitting up on his elbows, looking at you through lidded eyes, sighing through pouty lips. “I’m not ready to have sex yet.” 

You freeze in place. “That’s okay.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise, there’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m ready when you are.” 

“I just feel bad that you came all the way over here for nothing.”

Looking down at Sunghoon with all of the uncertainty on his face makes your stomach twist. You wish he knew how much you like being with him; like spending time with him. Wish he knew how nice it was to spend the day sitting by the pool and just getting to look at him. How nice it was to eat fruit in the park with him. To talk about nothing on the phone before bed. You rest a hand on his cheek, melting when his fingers wrap around your wrist and his thumb strokes the back of your hand. “Hoon, I’m not here because I wanna have sex with you, I’m here because I like you.” This thing you’ve felt for weeks, lived with and nurtured seems so foreign now that you’ve put it into words. 

The smile on his sweet face almost has you saying it again, and again, if for no other reason than seeing the way his fangs peek out at you, or how his eyes crinkle up into crescents, or hearing how he laughs, breathy, happy.  Sunghoon moves his head to kiss your palm. “I like you,” he says into your skin, mumbling like it’s a secret. “And I like being with you.”  

Even though Sunghoon saying he likes you feels a bit like a toddler telling you they can’t read, the statement shocks you. You knew he liked you, there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt this entire time, but hearing the words, feeling the shape of them against your palm makes his feelings for you seem tangible; so vivid; so thick. Like moisturiser sinking into your pores. 

He moves his head a little so your hand cups his cheek again. He smiles, soft, shy, Sunghoon. “You do.. eventually want that though, right?” The way his brows knit together when he asks is so cute that you can’t help but laugh a little. “Like, to have sex with me,” he adds. 

“Yes, when you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready to do.. other things,” he says, voice dwindling into a shy whisper. 

Curiosity piqued, you arch a brow. “Yeah?” Sunghoon nods. You press on. “Other things like..” 

A beat passes, and Sunghoon doesn’t speak. 

Instead, he opts to pull you down close to his chest, turning the two of you over. My God. His thin silver chain slips out of his shirt, swinging over your face just a bit, his light hair tickles your skin. You think you’d be happy if you died like this. With his bottom lip pinned between his teeth, his eyes scan your face, locking on your parted lips. His fingernail traces shapes on your hip, you immediately notice how blunt it is now compared to yesterday at the pool and can’t help but smile. Sunghoon moves his hand, his fingertips ghosting over your skin until he reaches the top of your panties. 

“Is this okay?” he asks. 

You nod, smiling, eager. You think you might die like this. 

His finger is long and thick, rubbing devastatingly slow circles on your clit through your underwear. Sunghoon puts a little pressure on it, just enough to please you yet still leave you wanting more. He slips a finger into your hole, pressing a kiss to your lips and catching your gasp in his mouth. 

“What got you so wet, baby?” 

There’s something about hearing these words from Sunghoon that makes them sound new, makes them sound fresh; alluring. Makes you want to cum on the spot when you answer. “You did.” Quickly, you learn that the way his lips quirk up into a smile also makes you want to cum on the spot.

You try to focus on the feeling of his tongue on yours, on the loud, wet sound of your lips smacking together, on anything other than how much better one of his fingers feels than two of yours. How much better he fills you up. How quickly he finds your spot and presses on it. A surge of pleasure licks down your spine, causing you to yelp. Kissing becomes hard fast, but if the way he moves his head to your suck lightly at your neck is anything to go by, he doesn’t mind.

He bites and he nips and he kisses the tender skin to soothe you, all while pushing a second finger into you. Time stops at the stretch and you arch your back towards the ceiling. He passes a breathy laugh; calls you cute. Your thighs press together around his hand. 

Leaning up from your skin, he makes a scissor motion with his fingers to work you open, studying the way your eyes screw shut, liking the way you gasp. His head dips back down beside yours, hair tickling your face. You can feel his lips graze your skin, breath fanning your ear. 

“I can’t stop imagining how you might taste,” Sunghoon whispers. “You gonna let me find out?” 

Your dress is bunched up around your waist, and if it wasn’t for all the material, you might have been able to see the trail of spit and love bites that Sunghoon had left on your stomach. You’ll have no choice but to wear one-pieces and full-length shirts for at least a week. There’s a smile on his face as he looks up at you from between your thighs. 

Sunghoon kisses the dark spot on your panties, holding the wet fabric between his lips, tasting you. A quiet moan slips from him, and your body jolts involuntarily, a chill inching up your spine. His fingers hook on the sides of your underwear and he looks up at you, smiling when you nod your head, pulling them down when you lift your hips. With all that material out of the way, he can finally see your pussy, and the word fuck comes tumbling from his lips before he groans. “So pretty, you’re so pretty, YN.”

He buries his face between your thighs to press light kisses to your clit, pecking it sweetly. Your body buzzes from the contact. “Shit,” you sigh at the feeling of him licking a strip from your dripping hole back up to your clit. 

“My God,” he whispers, licking his lips. He presses his tongue against you, lapping up your wetness and humming appreciatively. Sunghoon’s eyes flutter shut when he holds your swollen clit between his lips, sucking on it, licking at it, slowly, passionately, the way he kisses your mouth. His movements make you jolt and he chuckles against you, a delicious vibration running along your cunt.

Unable to fully express how you feel, you settle with saying so good through a whine. A match strikes a flame in your stomach when Sunghoon moves his head down a little, letting his tongue tease your hole, his nose bumps your clit and he moans into you when you clench around the tip of his tongue. You can’t help but grip his hair to hold him in place, hoping he’ll never stop.

Shamelessly, you hump his pretty face as your orgasm quickly approaches, reminding you how long it’s been since you were last eaten out — not that anyone has ever come close to making you feel this good.  

His lips focus on your clit again as he presses a thick finger into your hole, curling it up towards your belly button a few times before adding another. Immediately, your toes curl up, everything flashes white behind your eyelids while your orgasm rips through you and Sunghoon moans when you finish. You’re thankful for the way he slows down, letting your cum slip out onto his lips and chin for a beat before sucking and licking your slit to clean you up, holding you down as you squirm against his sheets from the sensitivity. 

Looking just as spent as you feel, he leans back on his heels. His eyes are blown wide, his chest heaving, and his lips are swollen, glistening in your arousal that’s spread all over the lower part of his face. Spellbound and unblinking, he stares straight ahead at your cunt. 

“Hoon,” you say, breathless, leaning up on your elbows. 

“Yeah, baby?” He doesn’t look away when he speaks. The trance seems to break at your lack of a response and he seems to want to cuddle just as much as you do if the way he scrambles off the floor and crawls over the bed to you is anything to go by.

Save for Sunghoon’s coaching sessions, the two of you are practically joined at the hip for the entire weekend. In the mornings and before bed, you brush your teeth together and don’t even separate to shower, stuffing yourselves in the cubicle to make out and lather shampoo in each other's hair or soap on each other's backs. 

It’s this excess time together that makes waking up to nothing but a note in Sunghoon’s absence so disturbing. His handwriting stirs something in you, the short and sweet: miss you already, please come visit me at work :) 

None of the girls want to go with you, so you find yourself trying on different swimsuits and figuring out what you’ll do at the pool on your own. With four magazines you’ve already read, a book, and your laptop just in case, you make your way there, enjoying the sun on your skin as you walk. 

“Hi!” A chirpy voice makes you flinch when you reach the pool. Sunoo’s whole face is curved into a grin when you look at him. “I’m Sunoo!” he says, extending a hand for you to shake. His grip is firm, not matching his smile at all. “Do you wanna hang out with us?” 

Equal parts excited and scared to say no, you nod. Dumping your bag in a locker, you meet Sunoo out by the changing rooms’ entrance, and he smiles when he sees you. You follow him over to the smaller pool where the rest of the boys are, Sunghoon included, and introduces you. 

The boys look around at one another, wondering if Sunoo knows that all of them have already met you. He doesn’t pay it any mind, jumping in and joining them. They all continue bothering each other while you sit on the edge, dipping your legs into the water. 

Sunghoon, who’s been grinning at you since you arrived, swims over to you and stands in the space between your legs. Cool droplets hit your thighs when he lifts his arms up to wrap around your waist in an embrace that might leave others wondering how many years it’s been since you last saw each other. After promising Jungwon that you won’t make fun of his armbands, you card your fingers through Sunghoon’s wet hair, giggling to yourself when he presses a kiss to your stomach. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” 

“Well, yes,” he says, looking up at you with a pout on his lips. “I’m just on duty at this pool today. Are you unhappy to be spending time with me?” 

“A little.”

Sunghoon pulls you into the water with him. “Even as a joke I don’t like that you said that.” There’s a crease in his brow that you want to kiss away but he’s already calling the boys over when you have the idea. Before you know it, all seven of them are splashing you with so much vigour that you don’t even bother fighting back. Even Riki who’s taken a liking to you shows no mercy.

As much fun as you had, you can’t help but feel a little drained when Sunghoon takes you home at the end of the day. You end up spending the week with him and his friends, and Riki seems crushed when you politely decline his invitation to poker night on Friday but his spirits lift when you say you’ll treat him to ice cream if he wins. On Saturday afternoon when you get out of the shower, you spend the better part of an hour wrapped in your towel texting Sunghoon, grinning at the messages he sent you while you were catching up on the girls’ group chat. 

sh: riki didn’t win anything last night so don’t let him lie to you, ok baby?

sh: plus im kinda mad at him ngl ..

sh: i wanna see u today

sh: only you

sh: need it :( 

sh: if i find out you’re making plans w riki rn i’ll kill him 

sh: babyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

sh: i miss you can i take you out 

you: why are you beefing a kid ur 500 

sh: you’re older than me ???

you: yes and ur my baby bubu bear 

sh: .. 

sh: picnic baby

sh: ? 

you: yes when

sh: rn.. 

you: uhm..

you: let me go get ready i miss u so bad

Your picnic quickly turns into an evening nap session for Sunghoon who, full on pizza and cider, lays down on his stomach with closed eyes and his cheek on his forearms. Meanwhile, you slowly sip cider from a sun-warmed bottle and pick off bits of pepperoni to eat, knowing Sunghoon will be annoyed about it later. The setting sun shifts the sky through warm oranges and purples, casting its hues over the park and Sunghoon’s sleeping form. 

“Quit watching me,” he mumbles, blinking his eyes open and yawning as he sits back up. Soft hair is all flat on the side he’d been lying on and his lips rest in a pout that, when combined with his eyes resting in a permanent squint, makes him look confused.

You watch with a grin on your face as he sits back on his hands, crossing his legs. “I have something for you, actually.” 

“For me?” you ask, shocked, your brows raise, and butterflies go crazy in your stomach. The thought of Sunghoon seeing something and thinking of you drives you crazy; you’re in way deeper than you could ever have anticipated. 

You hear the bikes whizzing past you, zipping down the cycle path over to your left, you can see the people walking dogs, pushing strollers, jogging, walking. But it still feels like you’re the only people here. The only two people left in the world, sitting on Sunghoon’s blanket in the middle of this park you’ve come to frequent. 

“For you. Do you see anyone else here?” Sunghoon chuckles, though you can see his nervousness peeking through the joy on his face. “Well, kinda for us I guess, to put it properly. You know what? No, it’s dumb. Forget I spoke.” He covers his face with his hands, embarrassed. 

“Something for us?” Even though it’s not a new development, the thought of you both being an us, in any capacity, still makes you giddy, and the butterflies in your stomach are bordering on feral. “Baby, come on. If it’s from you it’s not dumb. I promise I’ll love it.” You nudge his knee gently.

“You promise?” 

“Promise.” Your pinky finds his, linking together for a little while longer than you’d expected. 

“There’s some stuff I have to say first though, is that okay?” he asks, continuing when you nod. “I know you don’t like talking about it, but we should probably have some kind of conversation about what’s going to happen when you go back to uni, you know?” 

The thought of leaving unsettles you; of leaving him, but you’re desperate not to show it. “Yeah,” you say, aiming for calm but hitting upset instead.

Sunghoon chews on his lip before he speaks again. “And you’re happy, right? Like, with me?” 

You nod. Of course, you want to say but the words get caught in your head, how could I not be?

“Good.” Sunghoon smiles. “Because I like you, so much, and I hate the idea of you going back and telling all your friends about the totally awesome, smokin’ hot, mega babe you hooked up with over the summer.” He continues when you nod. “So I’ve been thinking it might be nice if, when your uni friends ask about your summer, and you feel comfortable talking about me, that you tell them about me as your boyfriend.” The uncertainty in his tone doesn’t match the widening grin on his face while speaking, and the word boyfriend comes out as nothing more than a whisper but you hear it clear as day. 

Head spinning, you meet his eyes, a hopeful glint behind them as he watches you. “Do you mean my totally awesome, smokin’ hot, mega babe boyfriend?” 

“It wouldn’t upset me if you said that.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Hold that thought,” he blurts out, opening his backpack. 

Drawing a deep breath, Sunghoon pulls out a pink box with your name written neatly on it before placing it in your lap and asking you to open it. He chews on his lip while he watches. 

WILL YOU BE MY GIRL ? is written on little chocolates that span three rows. The word girl is followed by six empty slots that you can only assume held the word friend. Between the shy look on Sunghoon’s face, and the gesture as a whole your heart leaps jaggedly in your chest. “Will you be my girl?” you read, unable to keep from grinning like a fool.

“I picked them up yesterday before the guys came over, and Riki..” he pauses to sigh, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “He ate part of them. I think he shared them with Jungwon actually — not that it matters. Anyway, the store’s closed on Sundays so I wasn’t able to replace them or anything, and I didn’t wanna wait any longer to ask,” Sunghoon says in a partial ramble. 

You look down at the pretty pink box in your hands and giggle to yourself. His friends are cute, you think. “I mean, they could’ve eaten the girl part.”

Sunghoon nods his head, grinning. “At least the sentiment still stands.” He eats a raspberry before looking up at you expectantly. “So, will you be my girl?”

With a smile spread on your face, you nod. “Yes, Hoon, I’ll be your girl,” you say, hoping he knows you’ve always been his girl. 

You cuddle in the grass with your boyfriend until the sun goes down, giddy from cider and the joys of summer romance when he walks you to your door. The two of you stand under the light at the doorstep, grinning competitively at one another. Reluctantly, Sunghoon bids you goodnight with a kiss and — just like after your first date — he stands there beaming brightly long after you’ve gone inside. 

A few nights later the two of you have your first sleepover as a couple and Sunghoon seems to take the idea in stride, showing up at your door with an overnight bag stuffed with his skincare, actual pyjamas, and snacks. Plus a bottle of wine he brought for his first meeting with your parents, despite having already had an awkward meeting with your mum at 3 a.m. in the hallway two weeks ago.

With his face glowing under the lamp on your desk, Sunghoon makes a show of bringing up the time he’d talked at length about his friends and says he thinks it only fair that you talk about yours. Your college friends. A blush coats his cheeks when you tell him he doesn’t need an excuse or justification to ask you things he’s curious about. 

This results in him sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of you, asking you silly things like what kind of Youtube videos you like to watch (his ears burn red when you say Park Sunghoon skating compilations), and more serious — to him — things like what your first impression of him was (he covers his face when you say I thought you were the cutest boy I’d ever seen, and it upset me that you missed so much school). 

“Do you think we would’ve dated if I was in school more?” 

“We are dating.” 

“I mean back then.”

“When we were five?” 

Sunghoon nods. 

“Even if we did date back then, we’d have broken up by lunchtime.” 

His jaw drops. “But it’s us,” he says like it’s the simplest thing ever. It takes a while to console your pouting boyfriend but when he moves on he gets back to asking about your friends. 

“They’re like.. the only reason I don’t completely regret picking my major.” The words come out before you can help them. You rarely talk with Sunghoon, or anyone, about your major, never mentioning much more than what results you got or the classes you’re taking if someone asks. 

So it doesn’t surprise you that he sees this as an opportunity to ask you about it. “Why do you hate it so much?” 

“It just makes me unhappy.” You feel your lips sagging at the corners when you finish speaking. “And the thought of working in that field forever, or, at all, makes me feel physically sick.” 

“What are you gonna do after graduation?” 

A tightness occupies your chest. You think about your brother, on the other end of the country, favouring texts over calls so no one has to hear the sadness in his voice when asked about work. You think about the future, all the unknowns awaiting you once you leave the familiarity of the education system. “I don’t.. I don’t know.” You hate how small your voice sounds when you say it.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until Sunghoon mumbles hey, no, baby, it’s okay, and cups your cheeks with his hands, using his thumbs to wipe your tears. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m on your side, okay? You know that. I’m not trying to upset you, baby, just trying to understand. To help.” Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you into him, letting you cry into his shirt. “If I’m going about it the wrong way you can tell me, I never want to make you cry.” 

For a while the two of you sit in silence while Sunghoon rubs your back and kisses the top of your head, only speaking when you’ve stopped sniffling. “How about you finish telling me about the girls? Minjeong, Jimin, Aeri, and Yizhuo, right?”

You don’t even remember telling him their names, besides maybe mentioning missing Minjeong. “You remember their names.” It’s not a question, not really. When you pull away from him, looking up, your heart snags in your chest at the sight. Of lovely Sunghoon and his small smile, the Kuromi headband holding his hair back. You want to cry again. 

“I remember everything you tell me.” 

Everything about him is lovely, from his soft cheeks to the Piplup pyjama pants he’s wearing and the way he’s looking at you with literal heart eyes. 

Knowing that Sunghoon has his last competition coming up, you savour every second with him. Barely sleeping that night trying to prepare for the lonely nights to come, memorising the feeling of his arms and the steady beat of his heart against your ear. 

His training schedule is rigorous and he’s had to stop his shifts at the pool to accommodate it, committing his days to skating and his nights to you when he can. Though he’s always so tired by the time he gets to your house that he can only sleepily sit through dinner with your parents and falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

Like most nights you spend apart, Sunghoon’s face fills your screen, talking about what he did that day that kept him from you. Today’s activity was back-to-back coaching sessions, then going to the movies with the boys, and, now, tired out from pretending to be patient, his eyelids are shut for most of the conversation. He looks so warm and cosy under his duvet that you wish you were there with him, or that he was here with you.

“I can come over if you want me to,” he says, and from the way he sits up, you can tell he means it. 

You hadn’t meant for those thoughts to be verbalised.

Looking to your left, at the space in your bed, you don’t trust yourself to be alone with him. Not here. You do want to see him though. Almost desperately. For the good of you both, you shake your head. “Let’s go for a drive?” 

Sunghoon smiles and your stomach turns. “Give me 25 minutes.” He cuts the phone. 

Sitting in the darkness of his car is way worse than having him in your bed. Having started on your knee, his big hand now rests on your thigh, barely an inch away from where your shorts start. A cold sweat breaks out on your skin. Leaning your head against the window, you let your eyes fall shut while Sunghoon sings SZA quietly. Eventually, the car comes to a stop.

“We’re here.” 

It’s too dark out to see anything properly until Sunghoon opens your door for you. “The park,” you say, looking around at the now familiar street. “Wouldn’t be my first choice for a murder.”  

“If you think about it, it’s sorta perfect. Who would hear you screaming for help at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday?”

Sunghoon pulls his backpack and a fleecy blanket from the backseat, and, with a ridiculous grin, you watch him put the blanket down in the grass, not too far from where he’d parked the car. You leave your sandals to the side and sit down next to him. 

“The store was closed, so we’ll have to deal,” he explains, taking out some fruit and two bottles of water. 

You shake your head. “It’s perfect.” 

Sunghoon lets you feed him strawberries, humming appreciatively around your fingers. You take a few sips of water before shifting on the blanket, turning around in the space between Sunghoon’s open legs and leaning back on his chest. He hums the same SZA song from his car and you can’t help but close your eyes. 

You tip your chin to kiss him, accidentally letting your hand rest on his lap. 

Ever since that day in his room, things between you have found a way to turn sexual after a while. Not that either of you seems to mind. Though you will admit that sometimes it is nice to just sit with Sunghoon and watch the sun come up over the hills by his house. Or to watch Mighty Ducks on your laptop with your head on his shoulder. 

Tonight doesn’t seem like one of those “sometimes”, but you really can’t find it in you to complain or want to change anything when he slips his hand down the front of your shorts. More focused on the way your lips feel on his, Sunghoon lazily runs his finger through your slick for a beat before pushing into you and smiling to himself as you gasp against the kiss. 

You pull away from him, shifting around a little, trying to angle yourself so you can see what you’re doing when you tug his waistband out of the way. The sight of Sunghoon’s cock, of his pretty tip coated in precum that dribbles from his slit down his shaft never gets old. If anything, it only turns you on more and more each time. You stroke him slowly, occasionally letting a finger tease the spot below his head, just the way he likes it.

“Oh, my G—” Sunghoon cuts himself off with a groan, pressing his lips to yours again.

The breeze tickles your arms, keeping you cool despite the way your skin burns under his touch. He’s close to cumming, you can tell in the way his cock twitches in your hold.

“I want you,” he mumbles against your lips. 

“You have me.” Sunghoon lifts his head away from yours after you speak, looking down his nose at you. It seems like he’s searching your face for something as he pushes a third finger into your hole. Something clicks in your head, understanding. “Fuck me,” you say, barely short of begging.

His hips buck up into your still hand. “I don’t have a condom.” 

“You’re joking.” 

“No,” he sighs, shaking his head solemnly. “I wish.” A frown teases at your lips. “Why didn’t you bring one?”

You arch a brow. “Why would I bring a condom when we’re waiting to have sex?” 

“Because I don’t wanna wait anymore.” 

“Ok,” you nod, trying to think as he separates his fingers. “Well, this is.. this is me finding that out, right now.”

Sunghoon’s never put a fourth finger in you before; it’s a tight fit. Your head falls back and you give up your poor attempt at continuing to jerk him off. “I don’t care if you don’t. About condoms.” 

“Oh, you’re on the pill?” 

“I ran out two weeks ago, I thought.. you’d give me—” A moan cuts you off. Sunghoon chuckles. “I thought you’d give me notice or something.” 

“Notice?” he asks, voice high, incredulous. A beat passes. “I don’t care,” he says eventually. “I need you.” 

You nod your head, relieved. Whining a little when Sunghoon pulls his hand out of you, and whining a lot when he sucks on each of his fingers, one at a time. “I’ll get Plan B in the morning,” you say, scrambling to your knees, facing him. 

“We’ll go together.” A soft smile spreads across his lips as he holds you by the waist. “And I’ll ask Jake to pray for us.”

Hungrily, you watch as he pulls his white t-shirt over his head. There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Sunghoon has a firm grip on your shorts, barely a second away from yanking them off when he stops, leaning away. “I’ve never..” he trails off, struggling to hold eye contact. “I’ve had sex just not.. outside,” he whispers, his lips pouting through his words.

Despite your desperation, you can’t help but feel like maybe this shouldn’t be the moment you two have sex for the first time. You almost can’t believe yourself, having Sunghoon here, hot, sweaty, with his kiss-plumped lips, and lidded eyes; his groans, and his sighs; his wandering hands and hard cock pressed against you, yet thinking that maybe you should wait a little longer. 

“We don’t have to do this now.” 

“I do.”

“Okay,” you whisper, relieved, pressing your lips onto his. You shiver in Sunghoon’s hold, cold and chasing his kiss when he pulls away, shuddering at the feeling of his fingertip grazing your collarbone. 

“You’re cold, baby.” 

You shake your head. “I’m not.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, your body betrays you and your teeth chatter. 

Sunghoon frowns at you, playing with some of your hair beside your ear. “You have goosebumps, and your teeth are clattering. I’ll take you home, come on,” he says, letting go of you. 

“I have goosebumps because I’m horny, and I want you to fuck me,” you admit, feeling your need for him in every part of your body. “And I don’t want you to be nice about it either, I’m already your girlfriend.” 

You watch him gulp. Sunghoon’s eyes scan your face. He leans into your touch when you let your palm cup his cheek, his skin is burning hot, if it was any lighter outside you might have been able to see the pink on his face. He wraps his thick fingers around your wrist, letting his thumb stroke the back of your hand, and his pretty eyes find yours. 

“I want to, so bad, but you’re freezing.” He kisses your palm. “How about I take you home and fuck you there, hmm? I won’t be nice, I promise.” 

Oh, God, you think, clenching around nothing. 

Dazed, you almost agree until something clicks. “Take this off,” you say, practically begging as you tug at his knitted hoodie. His brows knit together. “Let me wear it.” Without hesitation, Sunghoon pulls the jumper over his head and slips it over you. “Please, Hoon,” you all but beg, as you put your arms through it. 

The two of you are close enough that you can see his pupils dilating as his eyes trail over your body. “I like my clothes on you.” Is the only thing he says before kissing you again.

Sunghoon’s hands are all over you, eventually settling on the top of your shorts, as he does his best to tug them off. You raise your hips to help him out before settling back into his lap, whining at the feeling of him under you, touching your pussy for the first time. He throbs against you when you grind down on him.

It all seems so real now. He’s so big; so hard, that you start to worry. Suddenly you remember the ache in your jaw every time you suck him off and how much of him is left over, even when his head inches its way down your throat.

Flustered, you start to stall a little, rocking back and forth on his length, coating him in your wetness. You take him in your hand after a while, jerking him a little to spread his precum and your slick all over him. He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re whiling up time, and if he does, then he doesn’t seem to care, simply moaning when you lift yourself off of him to stroke your clit with his tip and tease your slit. 

Sunghoon’s teeth worry his bottom lip as you try to take him, his head falling forward, eyes trained on the spot between your bodies where you connect. His hold on your waist is so firm you can practically feel bruises forming under his fingertips and the sting of his cock pushing into you makes you draw a breath. “Just take your time, yeah?” he mumbles. “No rush.” 

No rush? you think, he must be crazy. You don’t think you can wait any longer, trying hard to sink down on him despite the pain of the stretch. You like it, that sting, the heat, you don’t want to go without it ever again. You must be crazy. Fuck, and Sunghoon are the only things you can bring yourself to say.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” he tells you. “It’s okay,” he says, though he doesn’t look like he’s doing any better than you are. 

Sunghoon’s head falls forward once you’ve taken all of him, his teeth sinking into the skin at the base of your neck as he lets out a broken whine. Everything feels a little too much to bear. It’s so hot, when did it get so hot? With the last few crumbs of your brain power, you tell yourself to take the hoodie off, but you feel like you can’t move. 

He fits so well, fills you up just right. 

With a shaky breath, he lifts his head to look up at you. “So beautiful.” Sunghoon pushes some of your hair from your face. “Good girl,” he coos, using his thumb to wipe tears you hadn’t even realised were there. “You’re doing such a good job, baby. Taking me so good.”

Sunghoon asks if you’re okay. It sounds like Sunghoon asks if you’re okay.

Your fist balls around the fabric of his cotton shirt. “Warm,” you whisper. “Too warm.” He loosens his grip around your waist, moving his hands to your hips to pull the hoodie off of you. You lean back a little to let him take it off and feel as if you’re being split open, the angle only pushing him deeper. 

With the hoodie off, the cool summer breeze makes you feel a lot better; makes taking him a lot more manageable. So you move. His pretty face scrunches with pleasure, as a long, heady groan comes from his throat. “You feel so good. So tight.” There’s something in his voice that you don’t recognise, desperation, need. Sweat beads along his hairline, the flush in his cheeks so prominent you can see it despite the dark. 

You want to see him like this all the time. Need to.

His hips buck up towards you, seeming to catch you both off guard if the way you gasp simultaneously is anything to go by. He wraps his arm around your waist, his trembling hand beating against your skin, and lets his other hand rest on the blanket behind him, leaning back on it. 

“You’re so good at this,” you sigh. “How are you so good at this?” You practically clamp your mouth shut, not letting yourself say any more lest you propose to him, or worse, expose your breeding kink.

Sunghoon only gives you a languid smile before kissing you. 

It’s more than a little hard to focus on coordinating the movement of your lips and tongue when he’s fucking you the way he is; lifting you off of him so only his tip stays inside, then thrusting all the way back in, deep and slow, trying to feel every single part of you and doing a good job hitting that spot that has you seeing stars. So the kiss is messy and loud, an exchange of spit and moans but you’re way too turned on to care. 

Before long, he uses his hand to pull down the front of your vest, attaching his wet mouth to your nipple instead and your brain short circuits. He moans into your skin when you clench around him, his body stuttering under you.

“Baby, I don’t..” Sunghoon sighs, lifting his head from your chest to look at you. He’s the picture of desire, of lust, with his messy hair and parted lips, the sweat slipping from his brow bone. “I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer,” he admits, thick brows pulled into a furrow.

At this rate, you don’t think you will either. His words only make you dizzy, they spur you on as desperation sets in; to see him cum, to feel it. Like always, his sounds are just as pretty as the rest of him, his grunts and his groans, and the ragged breaths that catch in his throat. And you quiver in his lap at the feeling of a knot forming in your stomach, immediately unravelling when his finger catches your clit again. 

Your head falls back. “I’m—” Is the only thing you can say.

“I know, baby, don’t hold back. I wanna see you make a mess.” 

His words send you over the edge, forcing your orgasm out of you while Sunghoon moans and fucks you through it. So good, baby, he mumbles over and over, stuttering through the words when you cum, though you barely hear him over the sound of his cock squelching up into you. 

A shaky breath and the word fuck tumbles from his lips. 

Sunghoon’s thighs tense and his stomach does the same. Shuddering under you, he cums hard, filling you up completely. You’ve never had a guy cum inside before, let alone been fucked without a condom, so you weren’t sure what to expect. But nothing could have prepared you for this. 

Heat courses through you everywhere, and you’ve never been so warm in your life. You can feel every last drop of his hot cum spilling into you, can feel it leaking out around him, slicking up your thighs. Shaking in Sunghoon’s lap, you’re full in the best way, eyes rolling back as your mind goes completely blank. 

Both of you try to catch your breath as he holds onto you tightly, his arms hugging around your waist. You’re having a hard time calming down with him still inside, but you don’t think you could move if you tried, and it seems as though he feels the same, only being able to bring his head away from your chest. With heaving shoulders and a dazed look in his eyes, he smiles up at you, sweet, contagious. Drunk on him, a laugh starts to bubble in your throat, forcing its way out. Sunghoon laughs too, and breathy chuckles slip from you both, happy, delighted. 

He reaches for some napkins, cleaning up what he can with you still in his lap before reaching for his hoodie. You watch as he folds it up a couple of times before putting it down near the blanket’s edge, shifting over a bit to hold you in his arms and lay you down, the hoodie under your head like a pillow. 

You think he must be an angel. 

Gently, he separates your legs to clean you up properly before pulling his boxers and shorts back up. You watch as he looks around the space for something, returning to your feet to help you put your underwear and shorts back on, sniffling a little and making his way to lie down on the grass beside you. Sunghoon reaches over your body and uses the remaining blanket behind you to cover you up. 

Sleepily, you rest your head on his chest, feeling his heart race against your cheek. “You’re so big, Hoon,” you whisper, mind still reeling. 

A beat passes. “Ok, baby, thank you,” he says a little awkwardly, you can feel his chest stutter as he chuckles and you can’t help but smile.

The stars above you beam brightly and you don’t think you’ve ever seen so many at once, peeking through the few dark clouds that drag lazily through the sky.

“You did so well tonight, YN,” Sunghoon tells you after a while. “You always do so well.” Your heart beats in your throat as he kisses the top of your head.

“Really?” 

“Mm,” he hums.

Curious, you look up at him. “What did I do well?” 

“Should I fill out a performance review?” 

“I just wanna know what you’re gonna tell your friends later.” Your heart rate picks up when Sunghoon laughs, sweet, contagious. “I’m serious.”

Into the air above, he huffs a long, dramatic sigh. “You really wanna know?”

“Desperately.”

He leans up on his elbow, looking down at you. Butterflies flutter in your stomach, already nervous about what Sunghoon might say. It’s as if he’s the only person in the world, the only one that makes a difference. You can’t help but feel special under his gaze, grateful that you’re the one who gets his attention. His hand is big on the side of your face, his thumb grazes your cheek. 

Sunghoon opens his mouth but closes it before speaking, then brilliant, bright, he smiles. “I think I’m gonna tell them I’m in love with you.” Your breath hitches in your throat. “And, ask Jake to pray for us.” 

And, ask Jake to pray for us, you repeat as if bound by a spell and he nods his head. Overwhelmed, you hide your face in his shirt. “I love you.” 

Back at your place, Sunghoon does a good job of living up to what he’d promised you earlier. Leaving you to wake up that morning in his t-shirt, with your head on his chest and a dull ache between your thighs — though not before, for the first time since primary school, you (and Sunghoon) kneeled by the side of the bed to perform the sign of the cross. He’d stumbled his way through a prayer first and you followed, watching as he sent a text to Jake before eventually drifting off to sleep, tired and sore.

The duvet is bunched at the bottom of the bed, leaving your bare thighs victim to the light breeze rolling through your room. Sunghoon’s mouth is slightly ajar and he snores sweetly. Even in his sleep, his stomach is tight and his soft penis rests cute and limp against his thigh in a way that leaves you stifling a giggle. You want to kiss it. 

Regrettably, you don’t.

“Stop looking at me,” he mumbles, half-heartedly lifting his arm to cover your eyes, though, with his still shut, it ends up resting on your neck.

“I’m not.” 

Sunghoon pries open one of his eyes, catching you. He follows your gaze down his body, groaning when he realises what you’re looking at. “You’re worse than I thought,” he says, sitting up to pull your duvet back over himself, resting over his waist. “I’m never sleeping naked next to you again.” 

You open your mouth to quiz him but he covers your lips with his hand. “Or anyone else, relax.” 

“Good boy,” you mumble, the words muffled against his palm. 

“Ew,” he whispers when you lick his hand, wiping it on your t-shirt before pushing some of your hair away from your face. “How are you feeling, baby?” His voice is soft when he asks, eyes scanning your face for even the slightest sign of discomfort.

“I’m kinda sore, but I’m good.” 

“You are?” There’s pride in his voice when he asks, eyes lighting up for a beat before pressing his lips together, trying to hide a smile. His broad shoulders betray him, trembling with silent laughter. Fuck off, you mumble, just as amused as him. 

Sunghoon clears his throat. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers. “I’ll be gentle next time, promise.” 

Next time. The simple words and all of their hopefulness leave your mind reeling. Laying next to Sunghoon, you grin at the thought of all of your next times with him. Through the seasons of the year; through autumn; through winter, spring, and back to summer again. 

“What’s on your mind?” he asks through a yawn. 

You love him. “I love you.” 

You’re expecting him to kiss you when he starts to lean in, but he pulls you tight against his chest instead. He smells faintly like sweat when he hugs you. Like sweat, and sunblock, and peonies. Like kisses during sunset, and late-night swims. Like the happiest you’ve been in a long, long while. 

“I love you, more.”

© zreamy (2023), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let my know your thoughts !

permanent taglist: @asahicore

#sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon smut #park sunghoon #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #sunghoon oneshots #sunghoon imagines #enhypen hard hours #fic.sunghoon

[husbandhoshi]

title: eat. play. love.

pairing: seungcheol x f!reader

wc: 19.4k

summary: being one of new york's top food critics comes with a lot of perks: free dinners, nice awards, and a linkedin profile your parents could be proud of. that doesn't stop you from wanting a lofty promotion to editor, and the only person standing in your way is choi seungcheol. just one problem: his romance column has half of new york under his grimy little thumb. that, and you hate him.

in which your love language is food. seungcheol doesn't have one.

notes: romcom with mild angst, coworkers!au, slow burn enemies to lovers, playboy!cheol, suggestive (one moment in particular) + mentions of sex (otherwise sfw), swearing, lots of alcohol, also you will probably get hungry reading this. extra special thanks a million times over to my fav person @wuahae for bearing with me through literally all 20k words of this. i love you:')

It's underneath a layer of paper-thin egg yolk pasta where you think you see god.

Spoon meets whipped ricotta, white truffle, sage oil. A sip of 1979 cabernet, punishing and oaky. Rinse and repeat.

None of these words are in the Bible, yet you are having nothing short of a religious experience.

"Well, this seems like good news for the place," Jeonghan says. "Wine's tasty. Three stars?"

At this point, you're fairly sure Jeonghan has tuned the explanation of your elaborate rating process out (he's there for the wine, anyway), so instead you top him up and help yourself to a generous portion of his pappardelle.

"Four, then?" He leans forward on his elbows. "Or critic's choice?"

Candied lemon, pecorino, garlic. Derivative, but it's a good bite.

"You're distracting me." You point your fork at him. "You're like 80% alcohol, anyway. Bad opinions."

"Sue me," he laughs. "I would take a client here, is all I'm saying."

You pass on the opportunity to bring up that Jeonghan once brought a client to a Bubba Gump because he was craving coconut shrimp. But Jeonghan isn't a food critic—he's a business analyst and your best friend from college, back when all you cared about was Friday's house party and writing pizza joint reviews for the university paper.

It's a good arrangement. You appreciate his company, and he's never one to turn down a free meal. The both of you keep a small circle—such is the price of discernment.

There aren't many things that can come between you and a delicious meal. But, you have notifications turned on for just three things (all work-related) and you both watch the linen tablecloth light up under your face-down phone in true horror-movie fashion.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Popular on a Saturday night," he jokes. "Copy on your ass again?"

"Nothing's in production," you reply, letting the evil claws of your terrible work-life balance encircle you once again as you open your email.

URGENT: LIFESTYLE EDITOR TRANSITIONAL PLANS, it reads. It's from Wonwoo, your editor in chief, who has sent it with priority, as if the caps lock wasn't scary enough.

"So Joshua decided to quit. Just like you said," Jeonghan says, but it's like he's speaking to you through a wet paper bag because it takes every working brain cell of yours to read the email.

As you may know, Joshua has decided to step down from his position as our current Lifestyle editor.

Not a surprise, given his wife is having a kid. You had called it six months ago over the paper's Christmas dinner at Eleven Madison Park, when Joshua spent half of it outside on a phone call and the other half browsing the Baby Gap website.

I have decided to hire internally to fill his position. I and upper management believe you would be a good fit for the position. Please plan for a meeting 9 AM Monday to discuss transitional plans.

It's that part that you have to read over three times. And then you read it over a fourth, just for good measure.

"You're starting to scare me." Jeonghan puts down his glass, which is something akin to a baby separating from their bottle.

Sometimes you need a dictionary to understand Wonwoo, but the email seems clear as day to you. Good fit. Transitional plans. Suddenly you wish Jeonghan hadn't had so much of the wine because you're in desperate need of a drink.

"I-I think…I think I'm getting promoted."

How funny to think your lifelong dream would be realized over a 40 dollar plate of pasta. You want to cry and hug the maître d' and eat the entire complimentary bread basket.

"It's about time." The glass finds his relieved hand again. "You breathe journalism. I'm afraid one day you'll text me in AP style."

You read over all of it again, trying to memorialize the words that undoubtedly will launch your wonderful and long career in the upper echelons of media.

Looking forward to talking with the two of you.

Wait—two?

Then the proverbial cherry on top, the laughably convenient other thing your eyes had glazed over before.

CC: Choi Seungcheol.

"Choi Seungcheol?!"

Nothing is ever that easy and it then dawns on you that this is a competition type thing because never in the history of the printing press has there been two editors for a section.

Jeonghan stares at you blankly. It would be funny if you didn't feel like you were being double deep-fried like terrible fair food, all the thrill and elation of the moment boiled down to lead in your chest.

"I—he," you stammer.

Jeonghan mouths check to the poor waiter assigned to watch your table. God bless him.

"Words," he tells you. "You went to journalism school."

You take a syrupy breath that sits in your lungs unhappily. Your food is cold. This is a disaster.

"Well, actually, I'm not getting promoted."

Jeonghan's eyes soften, just enough without making you pity yourself more.

"There's this guy," you start. "He's the love and relationships columnist, the one I complain about all the time." Jeonghan makes a small ahh sound, your predicament finally dawning on him. "I guess we're both under consideration for the position. I didn't-I didn't even think of him. I—"

You slump into your seat, the arancini your only solace despite your complaint that the breading was too salty earlier.

"So? I bet you're a way better fit than him. It'll be a shoe-in. Easy decision."

Jeonghan's confidence in you makes you want to cry.

The problem is that Seungcheol is the human equivalent of Cosmopolitan Magazine. You can't recall the last time he walked into the office with a fully buttoned up shirt. You also can't recall the last time one of his advice columns wasn't in the end of quarter recap for popularity.

It's not in you to explain this debacle to Jeonghan. This whole situation is so cosmically awful that all you can do is ask for dessert in a takeout box and watch Jeonghan calculate tip without a calculator because that's all you learn in business school.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jeonghan asks when you're both in the Uber.

"Yeah." You have a headache. You also can't decide whether or not to give the restaurant three or four stars, and you always know by the time you're out the door. "It's fine."

The tiramisu is cold in your lap. Jeonghan squeezes your shoulder. You refresh your email.

Choi Seungcheol's name stares back at you.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The meeting goes exactly how you would expect.

Wonwoo, in his lanky taupe sweater vest, says that Joshua is leaving and you and Seungcheol are standing toe-to-toe in the space left behind.

"I'm sure you two are well-acquainted," he begins.

You stifle a laugh, but Seungcheol's cat-like grimace says more than enough. Neither of you have the heart to tell Wonwoo that your very first impression of Seungcheol was that he tried to hit on you at the new recruit party, or that Joshua probably deserves reparations for how often he mediated fights between the two of you during weekly meetings. (Maybe not reparations, but at least an Edible Arrangements.)

For better or for worse, Wonwoo's genius does not extend to social cues, and he follows with a blithe, "Therefore, I hope you two will treat this as a friendly competition between equals."

You almost laugh again, but this time it's because you need the promotion more than you need air, and you cannot allow some Buzzfeed reject with the face of a model take that from you. And you don't doubt Seungcheol wants it as bad as you do, considering how often you've seen him try to schmooze his way up the ranks.

He may have become a columnist by rubbing elbows with the right people, but you'll never forget the late nights you spent sifting through hours of interview transcripts, on the grueling climb up the totem pole to earn your position.

"We'll evaluate an article of your own submission at the end of the month before we decide. Best of luck."

At least Wonwoo knows to quit while he's ahead—he closes the meeting with a succinct nod before returning to his seemingly infinite unread emails.

"Exciting," Seungcheol says. He claps his hands together, Rolex gaudy under the office lights, and sends a nauseating smile your way. "May the best writer win."

He offers you a handshake. You think he has real life cooties, so instead you close your planner and shoot him a very pointed look.

"There's only one writer here. Thrilled to read your next thinkpiece on how men should spend more time on Tinder and not therapy."

That earns you a chuckle from Wonwoo, but Seungcheol is not easily fazed.

Instead he rushes to hold the door open for you on your way out, likely his favorite piece of advice to give his poor, indolent readers.

"I'll book a table for us at Avra next month," Seungcheol gloats. "Consider it a gift from your future boss."

"They don't have a kids menu, you know."

"No problem. I'll have my darling food critic order for me." He places a wicked hand over his polyester covered heart. "Ending misogyny in one fell swoop, huh?"

You wait for the door to Wonwoo's office to close before looking at him right in his wet, cow eyes with the most malice you can possibly muster. You feel it collect in your bones, enough to feel like you can physically hack it up and hurl it at him.

"You have no clue what you're talking about, huh? Do you actually attract women with that attitude? Or are you just a really good liar?"

You are so close to him, you could kiss him if you wanted—luckily for the both of you, you would rather die a thousand fiery, terrible deaths, and then die all over again. Instead, you watch his pout unravel into a grin from hell, and he leans in closer, the scent of Old Spice and break room coffee heavy on him. This morning's matcha latte churns in your stomach, and you wonder if you should have gotten oatmilk instead of dairy.

Up close, he's worse. His hair reminds you of the sad, tired swoop of the washed-up lead of a daytime soap opera. And he has no pores, which is deeply upsetting because he looks like the type to wash his face with Palmolive and a prayer.

"You know what?"

His breath hits your lips and your skin prickles like you have an allergy.

"What?"

"You just gave me the winning idea for my next column." No way, you think. Mind games. Classy. "See you at dinner, sweetheart. Looking forward to it."

The pet name makes you seethe. There are a million things you want to say, all colorful and none workplace appropriate.

"I'd rather starve."

"Better not let Wonwoo hear you with that bad attitude. I'm sure management loves a team player." His cheshire grin somehow gets bigger, all white teeth and pink lip. "Try to smile a little, huh? Have fun writing about snails and black garlic and cwa-ssants, or whatever it is that you do."

you watch all the laminated syllables of croissant go through his paper shredder smile and you think you black out.

He spins on his heel triumphantly, almost bowling over Minghao from Arts & Entertainment, who is undoubtedly wondering if you did, in fact, kiss.

Seungcheol laughs as he walks away, linebacker shoulders rippling under his one size too small shirt.

The metal-red knot of anger swells in your gut as you watch his perfect silhouette and his tiny little waist disappear into the staff room. Then you realize what you've been looking at and let yourself get mad all over again.

He does have a nice ass, though. You'll give him that.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

"You'll never guess what I have."

"Is it better than this lox bagel?" You answer, mouth unattractively full.

Seungkwan's answer is the sound of a straw hitting the bottom of an empty cup and the grating jostle of ice. Phone calls with him are like ASMR because he's always doing a million things at once, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Infinitely," he finally says, after procuring the last milliliter of what's likely his second coffee of the day. "Besides, we all know pesto is way better."

"Wrong, but okay," you reply. "What is it?"

"You're not gonna thank me for being the best friend in the world? Me, an editor, keeping nepotism alive for you? A mere columnist?"

"Senior columnist," you laugh between bites. "You need me. Who else would you text during content meetings?"

"Whatever." His eye roll is audible. "I guess I won't tell you."

He shakes his cup again, all ice and no patience.

"Fine! I owe you. My career and my life."

"And a seat at Momofuku."

"And that."

You take another greedy bite, letting the everything on an everything bagel get all over your chin. You love dressing up and going to restaurants that cost more than both of your kidneys, but there's something sacred about eating a $10 bagel behind the shield of your computer screen at a cafe where no one knows you.

There's someone laughing really loudly somewhere, and if you weren't otherwise preoccupied, you would look for the offender and give them a hard glare. You don't know what could possibly be that funny at 9 AM, but, then again, you never were a morning person.

"So, I have intel. About Seungcheol." You can picture the glint in Seungkwan's eyes, glittery and caramel. Unfortunately, the news that it's related to your worst enemy makes you sit up a little straighter. "At today's content meeting, Joshua said that he's working on some kind of challenge to go on as many dates as possible. He might make it a series."

"How tacky," you say, but the information clanks around in your brain like shoes in a washing machine. The indulgent, clickbaity headline just falls together perfectly—I Went On 50 First Dates So You Don't Have To. Exactly the kind of article your mom sees on Facebook and sends to you.

"You have to admit it's a decent idea. Not as good as yours, but it'll get engagement," is Seungkwan's reply, but you can barely hear it over the swell of another sitcom-esque laugh, this time, from a woman. "The other editors are very invested in this whole thing, by the way. Of course, I'm betting on you."

You're about to very openly stress about people gambling on your success when your eyes wander to the backside of the Sports Illustrated model getting napkins at the counter. Not bad at all, you think. It may be too early for the comedy club, but appreciating the male figure has no schedule.

And then he turns around, and you're able to see past the curly hair, muscle tee, beauty pageant smile—it's none other than Choi Seungcheol, fully outfitted with the audacity to trespass on your bagel place. You have never been more disgusted by your heterosexuality.

You hide behind your computer screen.

"Helloooo?" comes Seungkwan on the line. "Are you making out with your breakfast or something?"

"Seungkwan, I gotta go," you hiss. Your eyes follow Seungcheol as he makes his way back to his table. "There's a…situation."

You watch him sit across from a beautiful girl in a sundress and Prada sunglasses, and her lips tumble into a brilliant red smile.

It would be really fucking funny if he was on a date, you think, but then you see him make the kind of eyes you last saw in the deepest, stickiest recesses of a frat house on thirsty Thursday. Then you realize he is on a date, that he's been on a date, and it's his laugh that is equally annoying as it is loud.

Seungkwan works hard, but the devil always works harder.

"Ok, talk to you later. Bye!" You can hear the beginning of one of Seungkwan's protests, but you hang up before he's able to properly complain. Maybe you'll have to do a little better than Momofuku—that's a problem for later.

Over the rim of your laptop, you catch glimpses of their conversation. You notice Seungcheol talks a lot with his hands, and you wonder if that's another one of his tips or if that's just him. Him and those big clown hands, illustrating a story that you're unfortunately too far away to hear.

But you can hear her laugh again, and you try to guess what he's talking about. His childhood dog. The insurmountable burden of being prom king and captain of the football team. This little not-competition and this little not-rivalry between the two of you. How the PB&J bagel is the best thing on the menu (it's not, but you see the berry compote all over his fingers and you know that's the hill he's dying on).

No matter how you spin it, it's a hard pill to swallow. Choi Seungcheol is good at what he does, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

You hear the careening lilt of what seems to be Seungcheol whining, and there's a brief flash of something like endearment in your stomach before the repulsion sets in.

Nothing you can do to stop him, huh?

The question, sinister and burning, writhes in your brain as you chew on the ice from your coffee and stare at a blank Word document, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Beware the wrath of a woman scorned.

It's number 3 on Seungcheol's article titled Revenge and Other Stories. Unsurprisingly, he must not practice what he preaches, because you currently have all nine circles of Dante's Inferno inside you right now.

Play nice, Jeonghan had told you. Looks better to upper management.

And you did, until one of your photo requests mysteriously got deleted. Then Joshua told you to cut 500 words from this week's column because Seungcheol's just "happened" to be a little longer this time.

The knockout punch was yesterday when Seungcheol told you he was using your January critic's choice pick to take Wonwoo out for a friendly dinner, his treat. If you had known, you would've called ahead and told them to poison the hamachi. (No matter. Any foodie worth their salt knows Thursday is the worst day for sushi).

Now you sit on the C train, dressed to the nines, because you have a date with destiny at Nai. Sometimes destiny is a big pan of paella for one, but this time, it's Seungcheol and his next victim on date night.

Getting him there was so easy, it was almost criminal. An obnoxiously loud elevator phone call in which you name dropped the executive chef, a friend of yours, at least four times. Seungkwan very strategically asking you if a press pass can bypass reservations for a booked-out restaurant. Gossip in the break room with the intentional use of "intimate," "sangria drunk," and "affordable."

Affordable was a lie, but you're learning quickly that a hungry fish will take any bait. And seeing Seungcheol's face is never a joy, but you're not opposed to watching him open the menu for the first time.

"I have a killer Spanish accent," Seungcheol told you on the way out today.

Hook, line, and sinker.

The subway car rumbles under you. You're almost in East Village. You don't normally spend your Friday nights crashing dates—you actually don't really spend them outside your apartment at all, but Seungcheol is the exception to the rule and you're making a lot of them for him. A small price to pay for the glory of dethroning Casanova.

The plan is to "accidentally" run into Seungcheol and his Friday night exploit, and then to casually, non-bitterly mention a, that she is about to become a statistic, b, that his idea of chivalry was birthed in the basement of the Alpha Omega house, and c, that you're surprised he's still single because you always happen to catch him on dates. Something like that.

This is admittedly the best you could come up with. Like you said, you don't really crash dates. You don't really sabotage people either, but Seungcheol declared war the minute his Folgers breath hit your face outside Wonwoo's office.

Then you think of all the ways things can absolutely backfire. Seungcheol's warm, carefree whirl of laughter when he explains you're office rivals, or worse, lies and says you're nothing but a jilted, jealous ex. Or this whole thing could simply be immortalized in his winning article as a jaunty sentence about making the most out of a bad situation, yada yada yada.

You picture watching another girl, spellbound, as you dig into your table-for-one paella.

In your mind's eye, she laughs, floaty like his date at the bagel place, and for a moment you understand what it might feel like to want Choi Seungcheol.

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Friday night at Nai is red and glittering and heady with saffron.

You remember when you first ate here, two weekends after the soft open, early in your career at the paper. After a three hour conversation over wine and octopus with the owner, you wrote the restaurant a glowing review that, to your surprise, helped land it several ritzy awards. Now the dining room is never empty, but they always find space for you.

That was the first time you learned that all of this work meant something. Yeah, you loved an excuse to stuff your face and get paid for it, but what was even better was the chance to tell the stories of a working father's hand-pulled noodles, the drunk, midnight origins of a tasting menu, the caramel-greedy fingers of a well-loved childhood.

This is the long way of explaining how you bypass the two hour standby wait time, and how you walk in on a first name basis with the manager.

You're fully prepared to see Seungcheol mid-churro, perhaps four pick-up lines deep and wondering if he still has a condom in his wallet.

That's why you almost miss him on your way to your table. His is empty, other than a lonely, watered down martini on the rocks and two menus.

"Seungcheol?"

He looks up at you, and something like genuine surprise melts into relief, then intrigue.

"Look at who crawled out of her dungeon," he chuckles. "You clean up good."

Whatever pity you may have felt for him vaporizes instantly. Although, when he beckons for you to sit in the empty seat across from him, you do take the bait—you're not about to pass up a good opportunity to humble your least formidable foe.

"Refreshing to see that our love guru isn't above dining solo," you reply. "I have to admit, your acting is impressive. What an elaborate ruse to get another poor, single diner to pity you enough to sit with you."

"It worked, didn't it?" He takes a sip of his cocktail, which is almost a brand new drink because it's 90% water, 10% martini by now.

"I'm no expert, but pretending to get stood up is not a tip I would give the general public."

"Who said I was pretending?"

No fucking way. Your jaw drops. It's too unreal to believe. Even if the slutty cut of Seungcheol's shirt wasn't persuasive enough, surely the prospect of enjoying a free Michelin star dinner would warrant an appearance, even for you. Breaking News: New York's Hottest Bachelor Ghosted at Top Restaurant. If only that were as wonderful to the average reader as it is to you.

Because waiters are trained to enter conversations at the best possible time, you're forced to pause and order a wine for the table and some tapas. (No paella for one? Seungcheol asks, and you try to reconcile your annoyance with the fact that one, he's read your review of this place, and two, that he looks mildly turned on that you can pronounce all the menu items. You tell the waiter to add a paella.)

"You got stood up?" You cross your arms over your chest. "You may think I'm dumb, but I'm not that dumb."

"You have no idea how flattering your reaction is." He laughs, and the air shifts around him, drawing you further into his eyes, inky under the lowlight. "I understand you think I'm irresistible, but, alas, not everyone shares your opinion."

"I never said that."

You hate how easy it is for him to push your buttons. You hate how in control he is, and you hate how he's looking at you like you're on the menu.

The waiter returns with the wine, and you decide you're feeling equally as terrible.

"Truly, you can't be that irresistible. After all this time writing about relationships, you would think you'd actually be in one."

Touché, you think. Normally, it would be too low a blow, even for you, except that his column-related debauchery is one of the four thrilling conversation topics he subjects you to at the office. And who are you to bury the lede?

"Coaches don't play," Seungcheol says, leaning back and popping the martini olive in his mouth offensively, as if he's not at a restaurant that takes months to get a good table at.

"Bullshit." You lean forward and chase his gaze. He doesn't shy away; rather, he meets you with an appraising raise of an eyebrow. "Coaches should at least know how to throw the ball."

"What do you think we're doing right now?"

"Oh, please." Your wrist twitches as you fight the urge to down your entire glass of merlot in a single gulp. You picture the title of his next article: Top 10 Ways To Get A Woman Drunk. And then the oh so charming punchline: 1. Be so insufferable she cannot last a conversation without her real life partner, wine.

"See? I've already got you laughing." He notices the generous sip missing from your glass and tops you up.

"No, you do not get to make this about me."

Somehow, you are laughing, but you chalk it up to the spiteful little man in your brain writing headlines for Seungcheol's column.

How To Antagonize Your Date In 5 Easy Steps.

"Need I remind you I'm only here because your actual date stood you up? Too soon?"

"I prefer you anyway," he answers, his expression half-challenge, half-something else that you don't really want to think about.

"Crazy, because I'd rather be literally anywhere else."

Signs You Are In A Hostage Situation, Not A Date.

"You should stick to food. You're a bad liar." He cocks his head to the empty table next to him. "It's still open if you want it."

"I'm no quitter."

Maybe The Male Gaze Isn't So Bad: A Thinkpiece.

Definitely not that one.

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"So, before I try anything," Seungcheol says, leaning across the table. "Teach me how to be a food critic."

"Why, so you can steal my job?"

"You can keep it," he laughs. "I'm gonna be your boss, not your replacement."

You notice he'll linger on the tail end of his sentences, betting on the response you haven't even come up with yet. He's picking apart the furrow of your brow, the marrow of your brain. It's like one drawn out interview, but you suppose that's all dating really is. Maybe your journalism degree wasn't a waste of money after all.

You won't give him the satisfaction of a fight (plus, you don't want the food to get cold), so you change the subject.

"Well, I take pictures first," you say, waving away his overeager fork.

"Genius. They really scammed you out of your Pulitzer, huh?"

You ignore him in lieu of repositioning the chorizo. Unfortunately, Seungcheol is unrelenting. You hear the snap of his phone camera, clearly taking a photo of you and not the meal—clever, but you won't bite.

"Wanna be in my story? I can tag you."

In your periphery hovers his wry, wanting smile.

"Sure. So the world can know I'm a charity worker too."

He whistles, clutching his heart. If he weren't so annoying, you would find him a little cute. Just a little. You blame the kitchen for whatever aphrodisiac is in the food today.

"Live update: date with food critic going about as well as an episode of Hell's Kitchen."

He says this leaning forward, elbows on the table, so close to you that your knees might touch. You tense at the thought.

"Any date of mine would be on better behavior."

"So you're admitting this is a date?"

"This," you wave your hand over the table. "This is not a date. This is me regretting ever pitying you."

"Well, pity looks good on you."

And there it is again, that accursed, perfect smile. This time, it works, and you fight the losing battle of the wine flush undoubtedly all over your face. It bothers you that there's a little part of you that enjoys this, but that's a confession you plan on taking to the grave.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, because you're not getting any again."

"Fine. I'm still waiting for your grand secret," he says, now biting the tines of his fork like an untrained dog. No rest for the weary, you suppose. "Food is food. Prove me wrong."

Despite the betrayal of your basal human instincts, you're determined to make this a bad encounter. Maybe you hadn't anticipated the full force of Seungcheol's overgrown fratboy persona, but you came here for a reason and you do plan to see it through.

"There is no secret." You split apart an empanada, the guts steaming and fragrant. "You eat."

"Like this?" He crams an entire piece in his mouth, and you watch him recoil and huff the heat out. "Mmm, 's pretty good, though."

Your eyes almost roll back far enough to see the wrinkles of your brain. Of course he wouldn't get it, but you don't know what you were expecting from a guy who thinks Hot Pockets are fine dining.

You put on your most pretentious food critic face. "Eating is about respect. Storytelling. He's retelling the first time someone made him this dish. The ingredients—they're words on a page. An autobiography." Your hand finds your chest and you sigh, a final touch to your Oscar winning melodrama that would certainly annoy anyone with even half a brain.

"Huh. Poetic," he says. He's still fanning his (very full) mouth, but he chews a little more slowly. "I'm respecting. I'm taking it in."

You don't know if he's actually doing any of that, but, when he takes his next bite he asks about what's in it (tomato, raisin, egg) and if someone really made the chef an empanada when he was younger (yes, on the flour-printed counter, every Sunday morning).

You press on. It shouldn't take much to bore him, but with every question, food-related factoid, and snide comment you have, he matches you with genuine curiosity. Either he's an excellent actor or he's secretly culinary school-bound, because you can't actually imagine anyone putting up with any of that, nonetheless I like dick jokes and football Choi Seungcheol.

You spend the rest of the evening like this, spoon to heart to cherry mouth. The wine is abundant, and Seungcheol spends more time listening than talking, which he admits is a first for him.

"You really know a lot about food," he says, likely fighting the urge to use his finger to get the last of the chocolate sauce off the churro plate. "I like that."

It's a cheap compliment in a game of low blows, but it sits warm and content in your chest. You have to force yourself back to the night you met him, when he was all cognac and one-liners and he gave you his spare hotel room key. A good reminder of his true nature, you think, despite the fact that he just listened to you talk about all the different grains of rice, ad nauseum.

"It's my job," is your reply, adequately distant for your liking.

"Fair. You gonna ask me about mine?"

"What more is there to know?" You hold up the check. "You're paying, right? Chivalry and all that?"

You're waiting for him to mention the company card, the only one allocated to your section that Seungcheol couldn't possibly have because it's sitting snug in your purse. The one you'll say you conveniently forgot so you get to see a grown man squirm at paying the bill.

"Already did. Gave the host my card when I got here. You're holding the customer copy." His chuckle disappears under the lip of his wine glass. "Bet you were excited to use the company card, huh?"

If shame were a physical object, you feel like your own personal Atlas. Your only option is to stare at the wasteland of empty plates before you and wonder how deep Seungcheol's pockets really are.

"Hardly. More excited that I burned a hole in your wallet." You click your tongue, out of options on how to ruin Seungcheol's night. You would spill wine on him but there's none left. "Anyway, I'm heading out."

"Running away?"

"Bored," you lie.

He calls you a taxi, and you walk out together, night heavy with the rhinestone glare of Friday night traffic.

"I actually had a nice time tonight," Seungcheol says, emphasis on the actually.

"Unfortunate."

"How do you think I feel?"

The taxi pulls to the curb, and he sighs, weighty with exaggerated relief. You can't even take it seriously because he's looking right at you and badly failing to push down the smile at the corners of his mouth.

It's only now that you notice his eyes are really brown, like he's from a cartoon or something. Worse, you'd daresay they're nice, less menacing, when they're tempered by a good meal and semi-public humiliation.

"Text me when you get back to your villain lair."

"If I were a real villain, you would have a lot more to worry about."

Seungcheol opens the cab door for you, and you catch a whiff of the cologne he undoubtedly smeared on in the toothpaste-streaked mirror of his five by five studio bathroom. Pine, leather, and citrus, which is the most pedestrian combination of smells to exist and yet you doubt it hasn't done him any favors.

"I'm terrified. Shaking." You clamber into the backseat, and he smiles at you again, as if you've forgotten what all his other ones looked like. "By the way—"

You have half a mind to shut the door in his face, but you can't find it within you—maybe it's the wine, or perhaps pure defeat. Probably the former.

"This job. It's—" He clicks his tongue and looks at the tops of his leather shoes. He's actually thinking, and you don't like it. "Never mind. See you Monday."

And then the words are gone. He shuts the cab door, and they're left in a plume of exhaust and Seungcheol's tiny waving figure in the rearview mirror.

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"So you're telling me you went on a date with your worst enemy."

It's 8 AM, and Jeonghan isn't pulling punches. Even through the phone, you can see his lazy grin, the pen he's flipping in his hand, the green ribbon of the Dow Jones on his desktop.

The newsroom is refreshingly near empty, except for Joshua, who hovers around the water cooler like a fly on the wall, if flies wore Armani ties and cigarette jeans.

"It wasn't a date, and I wanted to ruin it so he would have nothing to write about."

"No one goes on a date to ruin it. You could have just left."

"Clearly you haven't seen How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days."

"Are you serious." Jeonghan laughs, crackly and bright. "Care to tell me how that movie ends?"

"Except he isn't Matthew Mcconaughey. He says spaghetti like pah-scetti and doesn't use Oxford commas."

Mid-laugh, you endure another beat of extended eye contact with your editor until he beckons you over. He'd likely been waiting for the perfect time to interrupt the conversation he was so subtly eavesdropping on—oh, how you love a newsroom with an "open floor plan" to "facilitate communication." Sometimes you think the reason Joshua's stuck around this long is because reporters can't stay away from drama, especially if they're not the ones reporting it.

"I gotta go," you tell Jeonghan, whose version of a goodbye is a triumphant cackle.

You find Joshua putzing around, plastic water cup incriminatingly full.

"I take it you had an enjoyable weekend?" he asks, eyes sequined with all the secrets they hold.

"Yup. Just working on that Dining Through The Years article." Not entirely a lie—you are hedging your bets on this story, one where you revisit the restaurants you wrote about when you first got your start at the paper (Nai included, although admittedly yesterday's food was the least of your concerns). "You needed me?"

"Glad to see New York's finest chefs are well-versed in Kate Hudson's filmography," he says, grinning something beastly. If he weren't your boss, you'd knock that little water cup clean out of his hand. "Anyway, if your interview is over, I need you to go on a field trip."

"Field trip?"

Surely you're better than a task for the interns. You wonder if they're off fighting their own demons, seeing as you missed the circus in the elevator this morning, the usual juggle of hazelnut lattes and lemon poppyseed muffins for the higher-ups.

"Wonwoo needs you to help pick out catering for the corporate event later next week." Joshua tips his head back at Wonwoo's glass-plated office, where you see him redoing his tie in the reflection of his computer monitor. "My guess is that Yerim is going to be there, and he wants to make a good impression. Like an 'I consulted a food expert' impression."

Classic gossip queen Hong Joshua, always with the unnecessary but incredibly cogent commentary on office politics. You think you're actually going to miss the bastard.

"Flattered," you remark dryly. "Catering from where?"

"That's the thing. It's from this Thai place like two hours out from the city."

Two hours: code for an all day endeavor. He wasn't kidding when he said field trip.

You graciously resist the urge to groan out loud. No one told you taking the high road is one big slog through the mud, but here you are. You tell yourself this will help your campaign to be editor—the stinky, dirt-smeared silver lining.

"Before you ask—yes, I know you cannot take the subway there." You blink at him, wondering why this all feels like the set-up to a terrible joke. "Luckily, as you probably know, Seungcheol drives here every day and has offered to help."

Ah. There it is. You look for the blinking applause sign hanging above your head and the chorus of riotous Seungcheols making up your own personal laugh track.

"Only back to the office, though—" Joshua adds, as if that provides you any solace. "There's a one-way bus going up there at noon."

"N-not both ways?" you croak.

"Something about funds," he replies, shrugging. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"You're not the one I'm thinking of shooting."

"Who knows? Maybe he is Matthew McConaughey." And when your glare turns sharp as the edge of a santoku knife, he holds his hands up like he's getting arrested. "I'm just saying. As your friend, not your editor."

Whatever.

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You have to admit, Wonwoo does have impeccable taste in Thai food.

Three noodle dishes, two curries, and the best mango sticky rice you've ever had: that's what it took for you to finally say "not all men." Certainly not Wonwoo, who's in deep enough to send his goons cross-state for a girl he's tried to woo for almost a whole year now.

A tamarind sunset blankets the countryside in milk and honey. You're sitting on a bench, ridiculously full with leftovers to spare, waiting for your chauffeur from hell.

Two years and you still don't know what car Seungcheol drives. Your last memory of it is it being flashy, impractical, and loud, much like him.

You know this, and yet you are still surprised when a gnat of a BMW rips into the curb in front of you. The passenger window crawls down, and Seungcheol has the gall to whistle at you.

For someone so predictable, he sure does manage to find new ways to piss you off. Unfortunately, on brand— according to him, Consistency Is Key (number 2 on Keeping the Spark Alive, August 2022 issue). You've done your reading.

"You're welcome," is the first thing Seungcheol says to you after cranking down the volume of the radio and watching you fumble with the seatbelt.

"You really didn't have to." You look at the array of gas station snacks bubbling out of the cupholders—Sour Patch Kids, a Big Gulp, and Flamin’ Hot Fritos. You didn't even know they sold Sour Patch Kids to full grown adults.

Still, you do feel a little bad. You can count on one hand the amount of people you would do this for and still have one or two cheese-dusted fingers left.

"But, thank you."

"Joshua made me," he says, and what happened this morning starts to make a lot more sense. "Plus, I was a little jealous. I would kill for a day frolicking in the sun, eating delicious food, far, far away from the big city. Not trapped like me in the newsroom, exhausted, toiling away on my magnum opus."

The sigh that crawls from his chapped lips practically shakes the car.

"I'm retracting my thank you."

"I'm devastated. Really."

You choose to watch the strip of shitty New York highway unravel through the greasy passenger window. No point in picking a fight when you're in a leather quilted jail cell for the foreseeable future.

It's at the thirty minute mark where Seungcheol casts the first stone of terrible, stilted small talk.

"Why'd you get sent all the way out here anyway?"

The red taillight flush of rush hour floods the car, an unpleasant reminder of the real sunset left far behind you.

"Thought you knew it was Wonwoo."

"Yeah, but why?"

Why does it matter? Is your first thought, but you realize he's attempting to actually have a genuine conversation with you, which you suppose is better than him flinging around another rude remark. Either that, or he's falling asleep, and you'd rather not have the last moments of your life be in Seungcheol's chick magnet car.

"Joshua thinks it's because he wants to impress Yerim at the corporate meeting this week. I guess she likes Thai."

Traffic is slow enough for him to turn to look at you, really look at you.

"Come on, he can't like her that much."

"Yes, he can." you try to read his expression, neon-glossy. "This isn't even that much effort."

"Nah," he shrugs. "There's gotta be some kind of ulterior motive. Maybe he wants to move into corporate."

"Hot take for a romantic." You frown. "Not everything people do is a career move, you know."

You omit the unlike you that sits heavy in the back of your throat, although, his cavalier approach to relationships is starting to make a little more sense. You wonder if this whole thing—the dates, the watch, the Invisalign smiles—is just a long, drawn-out joke to him.

"Seems like a lot of effort to go through for an office crush." His gaze drifts back to the road. "The extravagant birthday present. Always having her favorite flowers in the office. That one cringe voicemail we all heard him re-record ten times. No one likes anyone that much. Come on. Her dad is the CEO of the company."

Suddenly his winning smile doesn't seem so triumphant. It almost feels like a betrayal, but you don't know why.

"Maybe he just likes her," you reply. "I dunno. I choose to believe that. I think it's sweet."

"Maybe you're the romantic." The words come out like an accusation; Seungcheol laughs, but all the joy's been sucked out of it.

"Who hurt you?"

"No one did. I'm just being honest."

You would laugh at the irony if it didn't feel like there was a vine wrapped round your throat. Life is funny, but never so funny as to curse New York's favorite romance writer with cynicism and a lying streak.

"Controversial, but I actually want to do nice things for the person I like."

"And when was the last time that happened?" He's deflecting, which is predictably on brand for him. His grin, now playful, is propped up by a pair of frustratingly well-formed dimples.

You can't even find it within you to protest because he's right—you haven't dated in a long time. Joshua stopped asking if you were bringing a plus one to office parties ages ago.

But it's not that you can't—in fact, the last time you did, you think it broke you a little inside. It's certainly not a story Seungcheol's privy to, though. You already feel strange, cut-open, trying to convince him that people are capable of meaningful relationships.

Childishly, there's also a part of you chasing the truth about him because it takes him further and further away from you. So you do what you do best and deflect again. Two can play at that game.

"Not taking criticism from a guy who's dated half of the city and has nothing to show for it."

"I wouldn't say nothing."

He opens his mouth then closes it again, as if he's revising the words on his tongue. Journalist behavior, which you didn't even know he could still exhibit.

Now you're really thinking. Who hurt him, and how? The development that Seungcheol is more than the playboy slime haunting page 3 intrigues you more than you'd care to admit.

Before you can pry, Seungcheol's stomach growls, almost offensively loud.

"Sorry," he says. "Who would've thunk that corn chips aren't a balanced meal?"

You stare at the takeout boxes snug in your lap. There is a cosmic message being sent right now.

Seungcheol's sad, Frito-filled belly. Fresh noodle that won't keep well in the fridge. Tax and tip for a four hour car ride back to the city. Expanding your repertoire of blackmail so that you can claim your rightful helm at the paper.

These are all the reasons you give yourself for what you ask next.

"You in a rush?"

"How could I be—do you see the blinding speed we're driving at?" He laughs at his own incredibly unfunny attempt at a joke. "No, I'm not."

"I may or may not have an actual balanced meal for you."

That’s how you end up in the parking lot of a random 7/11 off the freeway. In any other circumstances, it would be a cruel and unusual punishment, but you've already been whittled down enough to actually care about Seungcheol, even if just a little.

That's what you tell yourself, anyway, as you watch him finish the last of the takeout.

"So I'm bad at food, and you're bad at love. Why the fuck did Wonwoo even think of promoting either of us?" Seungcheol kicks his shoes off and props his feet up on the dashboard. You notice his socks have dogs on them, little linty brown ones, and you feel a little worse about openly bullying him about his fashion taste in front of the entirety of copy staff.

"I may be bad at love, but you're worse. Especially for someone who does it for a living," you retort. "Don't think I forgot our earlier conversation."

You try to read the tiny text on a receipt he's got stashed in the center console, among his graveyard of snack wrappers. (2) CHEESY GORDITA CRUNCH…8.78. (1) M MT DEW BAJA BLAST…1.00.

Definitely bad at food, you muse to yourself.

"You think I'm not kicking myself right now? That I have a beautiful girl in my car right now, and all we do is argue?"

Now that—nothing could have prepared you for that.

It gets awfully quiet. The noise of the freeway seems to screech to a fever pitch, all horns and the thrum of the asphalt. You wish anything but John Mayer was playing on the radio.

You will the headlines man in your head to make you laugh. Instead, your brain presses the word beautiful into your neurons and you feel all the heat in your body float to your face, traitorously, dizzyingly. John Mayer croons, your body is a wonderland and your stomach knots into itself over and over again.

"Stop that."

"What?" Seungcheol's head lolls to his shoulder so he can look at you from the corner of his eye. " 's not a big deal. Never been called beautiful?"

A grin plays on his lips, expression dancing on something grim, like he's spoken his final words.

"I'm serious! Stop trying to get me to like you." You huff and cross your arms over your chest, like it'll somehow make you feel more normal. "I'm not some experiment for your column."

"Is it working?"

You don't answer. How can you? There's a yes resting on the roof of your mouth, surely the product of the handful of real, actual moments you've now had with him—far too many for your liking. This whole charade has been a balancing act on the razor edge between rivals and something else, and now you're feeling the sting.

"For the record, I have been called beautiful before."

"And for the record, you're not an experiment for my column. You never were."

There's a relief that pulses through your chest, a breathless, wonderful kind of dizziness. You grab hold of it as soon as it's reared its ugly head. You're flying way too close to the sun, chasing cheap validation from the same guy who ate your lunch out of the fridge last week.

He's no better—he looks like the vulnerability cracked him open a little, and you're the one holding the hammer. It makes for a grubby, unflattering portrait of two emotionally inept people trying to play feelings.

However, much like all other things Seungcheol, any glimpse of something real is gone before you know it. He takes a loud, noisy pull of Diet Coke, and the spell is broken.

"Want any?" And when you shake your head, grateful to swallow the words pressed to your tongue, he says, "Should we wait out traffic here?"

This is an easier yes. You tell yourself you're getting sick of brake lights and reading the license plates on the back of other people's cars. Certainly that makes Seungcheol's gaze, lingering and moonlight-warmed, a little more tolerable.

For once, you don't talk about Wonwoo or your job. You don't talk about love, either.

Maybe this is the reason the next few hours slip through your fingers. Three folded takeout pagodas and a secret—somehow this is all it takes for you to hate Seungcheol just a little less.

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Usually, a good eggs benedict can solve the majority of your problems. Today seems to be the exception. The hollandaise is broken, Jeonghan is already laughing at you, and nothing will ever erase the fact that Seungcheol drove you home last night and now he knows where you live. If you wake up one morning and see a sniper laser pointed at your forehead, you have no one to blame but yourself.

"You look exhausted." An eighth of a buckwheat pancake disappears into Jeonghan's mouth. "You literally eat for a living. There is no reason for them to keep you late."

Jeonghan has a funny way of caring about you, but he's right. You did get home at 2 AM yesterday, but that was on you, not Wonwoo.

"I'm not going to let a corporate slug tell me what is and isn't a real job," you sigh, taking a swig of your half-flat mimosa and reminding yourself to figure out which staff writer gave this place 4 stars in last week's paper.

"Says the girl who needs the company card to afford bottomless brunch," Jeonghan replies.

"At least I'm not a slave to my career."

"What do you call this whole thing with your coworker then, huh? It's all you text me about." The smirk on Jeonghan's face is miserably, tragically righteous, and you can't even be mad about it.

"Seungcheol is my enemy, remember?"

"You sent me a five minute voice memo the other day ranting about how he went on a date with another girl." And just like the little shit he is, he even pulls up your mile-long text history, just to rub it in your face a little harder.

"Am I not allowed to wish for his demise? Since when were you the mature one?"

"I wouldn't call keeping track of his whereabouts wishing for his demise." Jeonghan takes a well-timed bite of your hashbrowns. "Something tells me you're wishing for something a little different."

You almost choke on a blueberry.

"Absolutely not."

You watch Jeonghan power down another mimosa, half-fascinated, half-appalled he would even dream of suggesting something so vile.

The memory of Seungcheol, leant back in the driver’s seat, lowering greasy spools of rice noodles into his mouth, crosses your mind. He had laughed until he cried when he asked you if a pineapple had really fried this rice. That was the kind of man you were dealing with. You can't believe you laughed with him.

"I think it'll be good for you to get back into dating again. Mingyu was, what, three years ago?"

And that's the chocolate chip studded, syrup-covered nail in your coffin. Of course all roads had to lead back to you and your relationship trauma Jeonghan considered unresolved.

You had dated Mingyu when you were younger, softer. It was a love of firsts, of sun-washed mornings and farmer's market Sundays, of raw, black currant midnights and whatever long-winded conversation you had spent all day on.

Mingyu was a chef. His hands, his lips, his eyes—that's how you fell in love with food. Strawberry kisses into fresh pasta into the first time someone had ever cooked for you. What a wonderful, terrible thing to see all your history on a plate, the I could never eat peas, the once I ate mangos till I was sick, the guilty spoon in the vanilla ice cream after a bad day and the dark chocolate you keep in your purse. He remembered that you like your noodles just a little bit overcooked, and you don't even think you told him that.

Food, like some shitty piece of home decor would say in that swirling, curly font, really is some window to the soul. It didn't fully hit you until, one day, you were at the grocery store alone, and somehow you knew exactly what brand of everything Mingyu liked.

You opened a restaurant together after you graduated from college. Then it closed, and you lost Mingyu to Naples or New Orleans or Seoul—somewhere, anywhere to escape the corner of 5th and 40th, the December-pleated memory of his hands in yours and a promise you could never keep.

You're sure you're over it by now, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't look for him in a bowl of his favorite ramyun, the one you could never replicate even though he insisted he just added hot water (Food tastes best when it's a gift, he'd say. You never understood until now.).

Jeonghan doesn't believe you because every time you try explaining this to him, you end up sounding like the most chronically lonely person on planet Earth.

"That is the wrong guy to suggest then," you instead reply, feeling all the food dry up in your mouth.

"I'm running out of options."

"Don't you have a hot coworker or something?"

You shut your eyes, pushing Mingyu back to recall literally any face from one of the many swanky corporate parties Jeonghan bullied you into attending. The only person coming to mind is Lee Chan, and even more than his face, you remember the fat platinum band around his ring finger (Better luck next time, Jeonghan had said, mid-cheese cube).

Worse, amidst all the fuzz, a grainy recollection of Seungcheol's wet cow eyes washes up against your eyelids, and it's not going away this time.

"I thought we were all corporate slugs," Jeonghan replies, enjoying the way you glower at him over your fork. "I was kidding, anyway. Relax."

Your entire body heaves with the sigh that escapes you.

You thank god that Jeonghan is never serious, because otherwise you'd have to consider the fact that he really thought you should date Seungcheol. Jeonghan, who knows the pizza column you, the Mingyu you, and now the you that works late because there's nothing else left to do, really might have thought you should date grifter by day, con artist by night Seungcheol.

The fluorescent glaze of the gas station lights. Seungcheol's hand on the gear stick. His voice, warm and gauzy. It's like there's a flash drive of last night plugged into your head, and you can't take it out.

The stem of the champagne glass finds your hand, and you down the whole thing.

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Monday is uneventful. So is Tuesday, and you wonder what good deed you'd done to deserve such a blessing.

Wednesday, you realize you're just three interviews away from what could possibly be the best article of your life. Unfortunately, two of those won't pick up the phone and the third keeps rescheduling on you.

That's fine—Rome wasn't built in a day, and the same hopefully applies to your future noodle empire.

You're using your lunch break to write an email to number two when you notice Seungcheol hovering around your desk, a plastic straw in his mouth and evil in his eyes.

He's taken to publicly annoying you at work more than usual—Progress, Joshua had told you in the elevator this morning. Towards what? you had asked. He shrugged, letting his crafty, knowing look do all the talking.

"Me, you, and date number two?" is today's opening line. Before you can peel yourself away from your computer and give him a good lashing for whatever the fuck he just said to you, he continues with, "How's that for a follow-up text to my speakeasy date?"

"Lame," you reply, hackles still raised but now re-reading your email for typos.

"Wrong. You were supposed to say incredibly romantic, extremely witty, and unfairly charming." He perches his baseball player ass on the corner of your desk, waiting to be humbled. This is the usual order of things, which has shockingly become more of a familiarity than anything else.

"Do you even have a romantic bone in your body?"

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Just one, but it's the only one that matters."

"Ew. Gross." You wrinkle your nose and attempt to soothe your temper with a sip of the terrible protein shake you got for lunch. "No wonder your column sucks."

"If mine sucks, I'd hate to see what people are saying about yours." And when your reply is a tired, hungry swig of your sad drink, he says, "No lunch today? Even I had something better."

"Lucky you."

The bigger truth is that that the deadline for your article, looming before you, is getting to you more than you'd care to admit. Seungcheol isn't helping, not with his bottomless magic hat of date stories that seems to only grow deeper by the day. Now you're forgetting to pack a lunch, and the highlight of your day has been reduced to punching numbers into a vending machine.

Things are bad, but you'll never say that aloud, especially not to the guy who'll spend the next five years dunking on you if you keep this up.

You stare down the lip of your bottle at the faux-chocolate dregs streaking the bottom.

The month before Mingyu opened his restaurant, you were so preoccupied with making sure everything was just right that you also forgot to eat. One day, leftovers from his work started magically appearing in your fridge. Chow fun (miss you!), salt and pepper shrimp (don't forget to drink water!), a gargantuan vat of hot and sour soup (love you most!).

It was a perfect coincidence until you realized there was no way Chinese takeout was coming out of a very French restaurant, and it was then you learned that love is never really a coincidence.

Now you have no coincidences, mapo tofu, or romance. Just muscle milk and a front row view of the struggling inseam of a man who must shrink his pants in the dryer.

He's peeling a tangerine. Your worst confession to date is that it's easy on the eyes. For once, his hands, always made busy with some scheme, now still over the rind, steady, practiced. Plus, it looks like a marble in his huge hands, which is unfortunately both funny and a little hot.

"Stare any longer, and I'm gonna forget how to peel this."

"Don’t flatter yourself. Just hungry," you half-lie.

Hungry, Stressed, And Delusional—The New Holy Trinity.

It's a catchy headline, but not a great look for you. Never in your life did you think you'd be ogling a man peeling an orange. He even takes all the pith off, and you don't have the heart to tell him that's where all the nutrients are.

"Exactly," he replies. Then he plops the naked, shiny fruit right on your bare desk. "Here. Eat."

You’re so taken aback, all you can do is stare. First at the orange, then at Seungcheol, who suddenly cannot make eye contact with you. Instead, he stacks the peel in his hands, dimpled piece over piece.

"Payback for the, uh, Thai," he says, and although you wouldn't equate a tangerine to James Beard awarded pad kee mao, all you can think of is an lime green sticky note in your fridge and a smile.

A gift. A pithless, wrinkly one.

The idea that Seungcheol was capable of being genuinely nice to anyone, nonetheless, you—probably the most undeserving person of it in the world—makes you feel something close to guilt.

You push through the feeling, instead taking the fruit in your hand and splitting it between your thumbs. The flesh caves so easily, and it's then you remember that food, unlike people, doesn't have to be complicated.

You can feel a better person somewhere inside you, someone easier to care for and with less of a bad attitude. You're not there yet, but there's a dark, satisfying comfort in not being good enough for the indulgence of that kind of intimacy. An arm's length was never too far away for you, except now there's someone sitting on your desk and they gave you lunch. Worst of all, you don't think you mind.

You hold out the half—sticky, guilty fingers and all.

Seungcheol wordlessly accepts it. There's no surprise or confusion—he smiles, you say cheers, and you both take a bite.

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On weekends, the Korean place down the street from your college apartment sold corn dogs until 3 AM. That was when words came easy and love came easier.

It was with sugar all over your nose, eyes pressed to the once forgiving half-moon, where you told Mingyu you would become a writer.

The thing about youth is that it can float anything, no matter how holey, desperate it was. So you sailed through college, that gasping hope wound tight in your fist. Then you started freelancing, just in time for Mingyu’s soft open. You wanted to write, but more importantly, you wanted some way, any way to be useful to the person who had given you so much.

In retrospect, there was no way your crude attempts at actual journalism could ever generate real publicity for him. Not in the heart of New York, where a new restaurant opened every two days and someone wanted to get published every three.

So you eventually sank, and so did Mingyu, leaving you with all this creased, no good love in your chest to shrivel up with nowhere to go.

All of that landed you here. A degree, a dream job, and a laundry list of accolades, but the fruit of that love still hangs heavy and joy-rot on the vine, as you wait for it to be good enough for the taking.

Ironically, it reminded you of cooking. No one ever teaches you when to stop, and now every other joint has dry-aged steak and some version of a three-day demi glacé. But at least demi glacé tastes good—you don't even know what the fuck you're doing some days, and the feeling's never been worse than now, waiting on a call you were supposed to get two days ago.

The phone rings, just in time to distract you from the top button of Seungcheol's fitted shirt, which looks like it's holding on for dear life. He's currently deep in conversation with Mina from design, but every so often, he'll glance your way to see if you're just free enough to be bothered.

The unspoken perils of working late—less people around to pester on Wonwoo's dime.

Mina stuffs her laptop in her bag and checks her watch. Strike three for Seungcheol.

Working Hard Or Hardly Working: A Guide To Office Romances. You're surprised he hasn't written that one yet. Maybe Joshua shot it down.

"Hello?" The dial tone breaks into the warm, risen-bread voice of the woman you know to be the owner of one of your favorite hole-in-the-wall noodle spots. The Friday night after your review was published, there was a line out the door. It honestly felt like a no-brainer to you, and you had no hesitation telling the owner that you were sure her place would become a local mainstay. You watched her crow-footed eyes go moony and you couldn't help but picture the day your yellowed newspaper would be posted up on the wall, framed and prophetic.

You're ready to profusely apologize for not stopping by—truthfully, no bone broth has come close to hers. Instead, she apologizes to you, which you aren't sure is flattering or a sign something terrible has happened.

You hope it's the former, but you should have known that hoping has never been enough.

She tells you that she closed the doors to her restaurant yesterday. It all comes spilling out, one gut punch after the other, the bills and the empty tables and how things just weren't the same the year after your review was published. She thanks you for your time, your writing, and your belief, and then she hangs up.

Not a thing in your body feels capable of moving. All the phone static passes right through you until the week's canned up dread balls up in your throat and some darker-than-black feeling swallows you whole.

The fluorescent ceiling lights sear into you. You think you're going to cry, and that's the last thing you want.

To anyone else, it wouldn't be that serious. Restaurants close all the time, and you know an entry in your silly little column is a far cry from a Hail Mary. But all you can think of is Mingyu’s neon sign on 5th and 40th and the two pairs of hands that had to take it down. You think your fingerprints are still on it, right over the blue shock of the I and the N.

One more dream taking on water, and once again, you're at the sad, cruel center of it.

You try to imagine the gumpaste walls, bumpy and water-stained. Maybe a pale square where your review used to hang.

No, you're definitely going to cry.

Fuck this, fuck work, fuck the article. And fuck Seungcheol, who's packing up his annoying, jingly messenger bag and is the only thing standing between you and an empty office to lose your shit in.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember if you're wearing waterproof mascara today. Unfortunately, the cowbell of Seungcheol's bag sounds like it's catching up to you, and, like it or not, you are two shaky breaths away from breaking down in front of the last person in the world you want to see.

"Final touches on another titillating piece about pineapple on pizza?"

You have no stomach for yelling at him. You can't even look at him. Instead, you bury your head in your hands and tell him to never use the word titillating again.

"A little too soon to play editor, in my humble opinion."

You don't reply. You're trying to scare him off without really scaring him off because god knows you've done that with enough people. Either way, he's calling you a crazy bitch at the next holiday party. You can just hear it.

But you should've known Seungcheol, of all people, doesn't flinch at a little silence. You still feel him hovering behind you, probably wondering if it's the half-full vanilla protein shake on your desk that's turned you sour. Or if you'll really make good on your threat to shank him with the plastic knife you keep in your top drawer.

Just walk away, you think. Go the fuck home.

Seungcheol, who gets paid to play cupid like it's fantasy football, would never understand that bite of the dial tone. Not like that. Half an orange is a hell of a toll to pay for your unfortunate work-related trauma.

You count the seconds till he walks away.

One. Two. Three.

Four is cut short because instead of doing what he should have done and left, he places a hesitant hand at the base of your neck, between your shoulder blades.

"Hey, you ok?"

Easy, noncommittal words, but something in you cracks. You don't know what it is—maybe it's because it's late and you're running on nothing, maybe it's because you can't remember the last time a hand was so warm.

And so, against your better judgment, you lift your streaky, raccoon-eyed face (definitely didn't use waterproof today) from your hands to look at the same eyes you looked at not more than a month ago and swore at.

You're glad you have no idea what you look like, because it's bad enough that all the corners of Seungcheol's face fall.

"Whoa," he breathes.

Now he'll know when to leave me alone, you think, but then that hand slides to your shoulder and his expression becomes impossibly soft and what you thought was confusion, pity even, dips into affection, stinging and raw.

"Listen, I—," he clears his throat nervously. Perhaps he's running through his repertoire of Wikihow phrases to say to a sad person, but you, inexplicably, don't believe that. "I don't know what's going on, but if you, you know, ever needed to talk…" Then he points to himself because that's probably the longest he's gone without attempting to tell a joke.

You're two and a half shaky breaths into this conversation, and the likelihood you will start crying has not changed. If anything, the odds have gotten much worse because the stubbornness of Seungcheol's expression is fooling you into thinking he actually cares. The illusion is comforting—after all the fighting and sabotage and inconveniences, he's still made space for you. That, or he's keeping his enemies close.

Then his thumb rubs over the plane of your collarbone, and all the little walls and hurdles and dams and shields in you drop.

Close friends, closer enemies, and the infinitesimal space between you and Seungcheol.

You'll blame your sorry state of mind for what you're about to do because you can't really cope with any other explanation. That's a tomorrow problem.

Today, you trust Seungcheol. Today, you tell him not everything, but enough.

"Forgive yourself," he says. And before you protest and tell him, through the waves of tears and snot and lightheadedness, that your heart has yet to catch up to the rest of you, he interrupts you before you even start. "I get it. Just try."

You’re all too familiar with his sugar-floss, candy-coated platitudes that make everything seem so simple, but he looks you in the eye, or somewhere even deeper than that, with so much belief, it's contagious.

The words are ripped out from under you. All you can do is what you wanted to do in the first place. So you cry, and when Seungcheol takes you into his arms, at first tentatively and then all at once, you cry even harder.

"Is this ok?" he asks, so quietly, you almost don't hear him.

"Yeah, I-I think so."

You let him hold you, and all the noise and the heat and the static fades into a hum. His chin finds the top of your head and you let him do that too.

Neither of you say anything more. You don't need to.

All that matters is the welcome sound of someone else's heartbeat, a kind hand in your hair, and Seungcheol, with none of the charms and boasts and failed, half-baked insults he hides behind.

Just him, and you decide you like this version best.

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The emotional hangover you wake up with rivals that of every vodka-flavored morning you had when you were in college, plus another two shots.

There is nothing worse than the aftermath of a particularly bad episode of oversharing. There's a reason you don't talk about your personal life at all, but something about Seungcheol makes every single thing claw its way back up your throat.

A need to prove yourself. A tiny, whispering hope that if you give a little, you'll get a little in return. Or your pride, the familiar knife you keep wedged into your side. A million excuses rattle around in your head, but nothing will ever take away the fact that it felt good.

Shields down, heart bleeding—never did you think that's how you would find yourself in a state where you actually liked Seungcheol. It felt good to be taken seriously, to say that all the talk about foie gras and peppercorns and microgreens was just tableside service for a great love and an even greater apology. And you'd like to think somewhere between the tears and the linen of his shirt, you were finally understood.

Just try. The words, sun-warmed stones, float in the hollow of your chest. It felt a little more possible, coming out of Seungcheol's mouth, with that dumb, resolute expression of his.

You don't even know if you would do the same for him. If he came to you, rosy-eyed and breakdown-adjacent, would you drop everything and listen to him? Clearly his problems ran deeper than a pretty girl not calling him back, but you had never really cared to listen.

And that's something you'll give Seungcheol credit for—he puts up with you, with everything, really, albeit with clumsy hands and the mask of reluctance.

You roll onto your side to reach for your phone. There's a text from Jeonghan asking if you're still up for grabbing drinks this evening. (Always). You have your final interview at 2. (Thank god).

And no text from Seungcheol. (Damn.)

Somehow this is disappointing, which makes your day that much worse. Maybe the runny mascara wasn't as flattering as you thought.

8 Totally Normal Texts To Send When You're Overthinking.

Not a good headline for a worse situation. Honestly, you shouldn't care, but now you're here, staring at your phone and undecided on if you even want Monday to come or not.

You'll order one (or three) margaritas tonight. You'll ask Jeonghan about his upcoming trip to Seoul. You'll make your favorite overnight oats and you'll go to sleep and Sunday will pass just the same.

You won't think about Seungcheol's arms around you or his head on top of yours or the way he insisted he would drive you to the subway so you didn't have to walk. You almost brushed against his hand on the gear stick and the nearness made you want to throw up.

But you're not thinking about it. You can't. Not without falling in love just a little.

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"Here. Drink."

You set two cups on the table before sitting face-to-face with Seungcheol, who decided to roll up to a coffee date in a somehow flattering polo and slacks.

But it's not a date—you're just talking. It's a meet-up. Not a hangout, which sounds too familiar, and definitely not a date.

Yesterday did not go as planned. Margarita-buzzed and under Jeonghan's terrible influence, you texted Seungcheol. Just to clear up some stuff, you told yourself. Friday night's like a scab, and you just can't help coming back to it.

"So, you're a coffee connoisseur too, huh?" Seungcheol says, tipping his head to the side.

"Not nearly," you reply. "Just wanted to pay for something for once. I'm pretty sure I owe you at least fifty of these."

"I'll hold you to it." He's doing that thing where it's like he stares past you. It's the most impressive eye contact on the planet, and it's making you nervous.

Then the silence, once welcome, becomes awkward—the air turns stiff, clinging to all the things you haven't said yet.

You play chicken with the idea of being an emotionally intelligent person and just talking about what most certainly is on everyone's mind right now. The cup between your hands is burning your palms. Seungcheol smiles.

"I'm—" The exact moment you start, the words crinkle up on your tongue and all the walls come back up again. It's a terrible, inevitable instinct. "I'm sorry. For Friday."

"For…what?" Seungcheol pauses mid-sip to say this. "Also, this coffee is really good."

Arabica, orange, and honey, you want to say. But you can't deflect this time. Somehow Seungcheol has cornered you into this tiny cafe chair with that disarming grin and an overabundance of patience.

"Everything, I guess. You were just trying to leave."

"No, I wasn't." And he laughs, which makes your stomach fold over trying to figure out what there possibly is to laugh at. "I actually liked getting to know you. You…care a lot. And I didn't expect that."

Seungcheol's sincerity staggers you. You could ask what the hell he just meant by all of that, but you decide to take him for his word. You think you've experienced the most honesty from him in the past three days than you have in the entire span of time you've known him, and it almost feels like a privilege.

"Thanks…?"

"Don’t let it go to your head, though," he adds, as if to erase what he just said. "Can't have you walking around the office with a bigger stick in your ass."

"Poetic." You sigh. Once again, the illusion is shattered. You wonder if his kindness has a time limit. "How's your article coming along?"

"Nice try," he replies. "I'm not that easy."

"You're literally the definition of easy."

"Is that a compliment?" There's that challenge in his eyes again, that same look that he gave you outside Wonwoo's office. "You did ask me out on a date, despite saying that you'd rather eat glass. So I guess either there's a half-eaten plate in your trash or you've finally come to your senses."

"This is not a date. Dream on."

"You're right. This isn't a date." He leans forward on his elbows. "Just like our dinner date wasn't a date."

"It wasn't."

"Of course. If it was, I'd be asking stuff like…Where you're from. But I already know—h, e, double hockey—"

"Chicago."

"Same difference."

Your conversation continues as such.

Not a date, but where'd you go to college? Not a date, but do you have a pet? Not a date, but can I walk you home?

You realize your talk in his car two weeks ago involved everything but your pasts, but you suppose neither of you are the type to unwrap old wounds. Sometimes the bandaid is better on, but, in your case, there's really nothing left to tell.

You divulge that you went to Northwestern for journalism. You have a family tabby, and no, you wouldn't mind being walked home.

You also realize before today, you knew less about Seungcheol than you thought, but there's some give to his secrecy. He went to USC because his parents wanted him to. Played football for half of it until he tore his ACL and got adopted by the sports section of the school paper. He even captained the advice column for three semesters—something he wants to return to, but you're happy to tell him you wouldn't trust his advice as far as you could throw him. (What was your alias? Samuel. Sounds kinda like Seungcheol, huh? You say no. He laughs.)

After circling the same park three times, you reach the doorstep of your apartment building. You cycle through some one-liners to end on a high note, but none of them seem quite right.

It's not a date, but you've noticed Seungcheol keeps glancing at your lips, and it almost seems like one.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol asks some stupid question about if coffee could be considered tea, which you start to answer before you are rudely interrupted.

First, the bump of his nose against yours, then his lips, slow, insistent, dizzying. Your heart jumps all the way to your throat and you think there's so much heat in your cheeks that he can feel it.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol just kissed you and you liked it.

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The next time you see Seungcheol is in the elevator to the newsroom on Monday.

He sticks his dumb, big arm out of the cabin to hold the door open for you, and his smile bruises your overripe heart.

"Hi," he says, sneaking a glance like a guilty child.

"Hi."

The floor indicators flicker like fireflies, one by one. He sidesteps toward you so that your shoulders touch. You watch the 4 crawl to 5. The air in the cabin is sticky, electric.

And as if taking a great big dive, you kiss him, a fleeting, tender thing that you rolled around in your head for a good thirty minutes earlier this morning—and you never thought the fruit of overthinking could be so sweet.

The elevator dings.

Before the doors open to your floor, Seungcheol slams the close button, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you again.

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You have three reasons to get drunk.

1. It's Friday.

2. You finished your article.

3. You and Seungcheol are no longer mortal enemies, but now you don't know what you are.

(The other day, you both worked late, and he ordered takeout to the office. You sat crosslegged on his desk as he tried to explain what a touchdown was and why he was obsessed with the Steelers. Normally a two hour long conversation about football would be a punishable offense, but that night he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt the next day.)

After Wonwoo's dinner with corporate, he went to the market across the street and picked up a few handles of soju and the fattest bottle of cheap vodka you've ever seen.

You're all getting a raise—you guess the Thai must have worked out well, although Wonwoo must have struck out with Yerim since he's spending his Friday night drinking with you guys instead.

So you get drunk.

Drunk enough to tune out of Jihyo from Sports giving Wonwoo dating advice—riveting, if not for your near double vision—and follow Seungcheol to the staff bathroom.

"Anyone—," you manage. His lips are hot on your neck, and every dizzy neuron in your body seems to be reaching, grasping for him. "Anyone ever tell you that your forearms look really good when you roll up your sleeves?"

"All the time," he replies, and he swallows the laugh right off of your tongue.

"You are so annoying." Your palm finds his heartbeat, and you revel in how it leaps towards your skin every hurried beat. You don't want to think about how many girls came before you, leant back against the bathroom counter just like this, but having a body against yours never felt so good. You guess that's what a three year hiatus will do to you. "Bet you hear that one a lot too, huh?"

"You got that right."

Another kiss, just a nudge of his nose and you're leaning up to him; your lips feel swollen and warm and somehow they still crave the feeling.

"How is it that we still bump noses," you ask, half words, half air. Seungcheol's hands, skin-greedy, skim over the back of your thighs like they're water and find the swell of your ass.

"You make me impatient." Cheshire grin across heart lips and you're toast. "Anyone tell you that you have a great ass?"

"All the time," you squeak out. It's a lie and a half but who cares. His fingers drag under the seam of your underwear and you've never been so thankful you forgot to wear shorts under your dress.

"Need you," he says, lips flush to the skin behind your ear, and your lower half would give out if you weren't propped against the sink.

The idea of Seungcheol on his knees, your thigh hiked over his shoulder, crosses your mind. He'd probably be really good at head, and that makes you dizzier than any ungodly combination of alcohol would. Or would he press you against the mirror, want your skirt pushed to your waist so he could fuck you from behind?

Anticipation tumbles into anxiety into some primordial, horrible shyness because you haven't had sex in years. You feel hot and damp and sweaty and you can't remember if you shaved or not. Plus, you're already seizing in his arms and he hasn't even touched you for real yet.

"H-home," you breathe. "Let's go home."

"Hm?" His hand slows in the dip between your thighs. "You wanna stop? We can stop."

"No, I just…I just thought it would be better if we went home. To…you know."

"Yours or mine?"

"Mine’s closer," you answer after a considerable amount of mental gymnastics trying to figure out if you're both drunk enough to not mind the mess.

You know your apartment and you know your bed and you know where the bathroom is in case you have to pee. There's a box of condoms under the sink. You have an extra toothbrush for him. Less variables to worry about because nothing else has really gone to plan. You watch Seungcheol misbutton the top two buttons on his shirt and all the fondness in your heart feels like a welcome stranger in your body.

How To Ruin The Moment In One Easy Step!

You feel incredibly horny and guilty all at once, but Seungcheol kisses your cheek on the way out and it's like you're able to breathe again.

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It seems that the car ride to your place sucks all the sobriety back into the both of you.

You're lying stomach-down on your bed, Seungcheol against the headboard with his shirt undone. You're in your bra and your still sticky underwear, and somehow, despite being ready to break your three-year spell, you like this much better.

"Imagine if someone needed to piss," Seungcheol groans. "I think we would have gotten fired. Lifestyle would have no editor."

"I honestly think that's why Seungkwan was standing outside for so long."

Upon hearing this, Seungcheol's eyes shoot open. If your phone wasn't charging, you would take a picture. He fell asleep on your shoulder in the car, and now, even with all the affection you can muster, you can only describe his hair as broom-adjacent. Einstein-core. How far you've fallen from grace.

"Don't worry, he won't say anything." And as you watch the color return to his face, you add, "Also, it's not that I didn't want to have sex, I just…" you trail off, hoping he'll get it even though you're making no sense.

"No, it was the right call. I wanna do it when we're both sober."

It smooths your frayed-out nerves knowing that none of this was a performance or a test, just two shy, touch-starved people stumbling in the dark.

"Lemme guess—this is just a typical Friday night for you."

"Flattering but no," Seungcheol replies, grinning something stupid. "Do you always spend this much time wondering what I'm doing?"

"No!" His hands, once busy with scrunching up the fabric of your bedsheets, now find yours, and he runs a careful thumb over your knuckles. You notice he has the care-worn hands of a line chef, or maybe even a baker, which is funny because you don't even think the man knows how to turn on an oven. "I dunno. You just seem so experienced. What about all of those other girls?"

He flips your hand over, tracing the creases of your palm.

"Just dates. Nothing serious."

You want to ask—What about us? Are we serious? But you swallow it all down. You watch Seungcheol's eyes, midnight-weary, fall back upon you, and it feels like he's trusted you with something important.

"Don’t get it twisted, though," he adds, before yawning big and wide without covering his mouth. "I'm a loser, not a virgin. Definitely not."

You bite back a laugh. Killer journalist bio, but that's something to pitch next content meeting.

"Definitely a loser. I think you make me a loser by association."

"Good. So we're both losers. I like that." He smiles at you with so much warmth, it makes your heart physically hurt. Then he clamps down another yawn. "God, I'm exhausted. I think if we fucked in the bathroom, I'd have passed out. Or pulled my back."

"Then sleep," you chide, shucking a pillow at him. "Also take your shirt off. I don't like outside clothes on the bed."

"Say less," Seungcheol says. "I’ll blow your back out another day. Save the date." Between your almost audible gulp and his unfortunately attractive physique, you almost forget the place you're in-between.

Did everyone fit into his arms? Did he lift a hand for just anyone? Two silhouettes in the lamplight—was that how every day with him ended? Or just you, the only other person competing with him for his dream job? The convenient reality scares you.

The thought never seems to cross Seungcheol's mind. His head hits the pillow, and he's out like a light. But not without a not-so-subtle scoot to your side of the bed, near enough that the heat of his skin plays off yours.

You lean into it, liking how your skin buzzes with the closeness.

You're lulled by the sway of Seungcheol's breathing behind you—probably the most quiet he'll ever be. The moonlight oozes into the room; sleep comes over you like water, a slow, gentle wash.

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You can't remember the last time you cooked for two.

You open your fridge, and the hollow insides stare back at you. Rows of condiments and two water bottles. You have finally reached K-drama CEO status.

"Is this the part where I get kicked out?" Seungcheol says, shrugging his shirt back on as he walks out of the bedroom.

"This is the part where I cook breakfast for you."

"Really? You don't have to." He sounds genuinely surprised, which tips your heart a little off-axis.

"I want to," you reply, double checking the fridge as if opening it a second time would repopulate it. "That's what people do when they care about each other."

"Or if they're trying to poison you."

"Will you just let me do something nice for you?" You yank your head out to glare at him, and he looks stung.

"Thanks." He says it after so much pause that you wonder if this is the first time someone has done this for him. You wish you had a better offering, but surely the man with the worst palate in the world could spare his judgment for one meal. "No really, 'cause I am starving."

You let him bask in the rare glory of the unobstructed refrigerator light while you rummage through the pantry for a plan B.

"Holy shit. You live like this?"

"Not always. It's been…a week." All you have is the ramyun Mingyu likes, which feels like a weird, culinary betrayal. But you're hungry, and Seungcheol is eyeing a strange bag in the freezer that you don't even remember putting there. "You good with ramyun?"

"Honestly, I'll eat anything," he whines, gnawing on the ice straight from the freezer drawer.

At least he's self-aware. But he makes all the spaces Mingyu left behind seem a little less empty, and you can't find it in you to be mad at that.

You wait for the water to boil and Seungcheol finds a seat at your tiny dinner table, a misaligned, wobbly product of Mingyu’s inability to read an Ikea manual.

"I'm hoping your week got better?" Seungcheol asks, referring to your capital W week.

You tentatively nod before dropping the noodles in.

"Of course it did—you woke up to me in your bed. Can't get better than that."

"Actually, it's because I finished my article yesterday."

Seungcheol pauses before laughing to himself. "Congrats," he replies, now wiggling the table on its bad leg. "Can't say the same for myself."

you watch the starch-foam wash over the mouth of the pot, precariously close to the edge. You overfilled it, which mildly surprises you until you consider that you're cooking double the food.

There's a stretchy, anxious tumble in your stomach. It's not like you were expecting him to cheer or anything, but it just reminds you that you are, still in fact, competitors. When all of this is said and done, one of you is losing, and from every angle, it seems like quite the death knell for whatever you've got going on now.

It's a pity because you actually kind of like this arrangement. If Seungcheol was in your banged-up flea market chair next Saturday morning, you wouldn't be mad. Maybe you would even make him waffles. From scratch, even.

"What, too many dates to cover?"

He laughs again, somehow to no one in particular. "Something like that."

Past the bruising swell of his smile is the much sharper, more unforgiving edge of an unspoken hurt that you're neither trusted with nor owed, and yet you refuse to drop it. What about me? It feels like you're almost there, wrapped around something bigger, a scoop you can't pull your stubborn teeth out of.

"Is there a reason none of those were serious? Come on."

"What's so wrong with that?" And when you don't say anything, he says, "Trust me, it is never that serious."

His voice ticks up at the end like a teenager trying to play cool and the noodle water boils up around your chopsticks as you try to get your portion cooked through.

You won't—can't—turn to face him. You committed to the line, and now you must see it through, no matter how bad an idea it may be.

"That's not true," you finally squeeze out, finding the right footing for your voice. "It was serious for me. I'm sorry it wasn’t for you."

The table stops rocking.

"I'm glad. Really." He claps his hands together like a cruel punctuation mark, and it's then you remember that the only person as ill-tempered as you happens to be sitting two feet away.

Like an injured animal, your heart wants to cower back into your chest. You knew this was a mistake—this being everything—but an open wound can't help but bleed and your pride can't do without seeing the knife.

"Look, I don't know what your problem is." The pot hisses, astringent and pleading, beneath your fist. "I don't know what happened with your love life, but don't take it out on me."

"You asked."

"Yeah? Well, what is this?" You turn to face him, feeling the air between you tense, pulled like a rubber band. "You can't sit in my kitchen and tell me you don't care about whatever this is."

After all of the terse meetings, elevator spats, and foul-mouthed encounters in the parking lot, you can now recognize the fresh twist of Seungcheol's mouth and the livewire of a temper you've become so familiar with.

"Who said I didn't care? I'm just tired of you trying to lecture me about my life. I—"

"I'm not lecturing you, I just know you can't really believe what you're saying." Every word stumbles out, trembling and doe-legged, barely audible over his attempts to interrupt you. "There's nothing wrong with admitting you were in love with someone. And if you can't, I just feel really fucking sorry for you."

There’s an incredulous look in Seungcheol's eyes. But it's the worse part of you, ruthless and hungry for acceptance, that makes you say, "Maybe the fact that nothing lasts is your fault."

"Oh, really?" Seungcheol's voice, half-laugh with none of the warmth, rips through you. "You're really gonna act like you're better than me? As if you don't write in your pretentious little column every week, just waiting for your ex to read it and decide he wants you back again?"

There’s a red hot flash behind your eyes and everything inside you feels like it breaks at once.

"You know, at least I had someone who cared about me. Can't say the same about your miserable, sorry ass. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."

"Wh—"

he stands up, table croaking underneath his fists, and you realize you've crossed a bridge that can never be uncrossed.

"Get. Out."

It feels like a stitch in you has come undone. The water has long boiled over the pot and there's no joy to be found in watching Seungcheol stumble over his pant legs on the way to the door.

"I didn't want Mingyu. I wanted you."

it's not an apology, nor is it an indictment. You don't know why you say it, and you guess Seungcheol doesn't either. The door slams behind him, and all you're left with is a bloated pot of ramyun you never really wanted anyway.

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Celery. Red wine. Short rib.

If you had one day left on earth, you think you would go grocery shopping. It was like a prayer to you—you could close your eyes and know exactly what aisle had the beef broth, or feel the stone weight of a can of San Marzano tomato paste.

That's one thing you can thank Mingyu for—it's true that you don't love him like you used to, but you refuse to believe that any love worth having is also worth leaving behind.

Fingerling potatoes, the red ones. A Vidalia onion.

You recite your shopping list, slowly, quietly, a rosary.

Baguette is the next item, with a question mark next to it because sometimes your local bakery sells out after 3.

You pass by, expecting to see the shop window cleared out. Instead you see a familiar crown of cowlicked black hair and a horribly well-worn grin that only looks good because it's on Choi Seungcheol's face.

He's paying for a pretty girl's sourdough, and thyme, rosemary gets washed out by a dizzying riptide of heartache.

It was never personal, you tell yourself. Just another date. That's the angle.

You think it hurts a little less, knowing that it all was a business transaction. A long interview.

The thyme is next to the dill. The rosemary is next to the chives, at the end of the shelf.

You watch Seungcheol lean over the tiny cafe table to take a sip of his date's Americano. Did he always laugh like that? Were you really any different?

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Monday feels tilted.

There's the usual gust of cinnamon sugar and cold brew—today's offering from the interns, who have begun to master the art of pressing the elevator buttons with full hands. Wonwoo is wearing his Monday outfit, a wrinkled cream button up under a navy blue sweater vest. Your cubicle is empty, just the way you like it, save for the ass-shaped spot cleared off on the desk edge.

You like days like this, except today you don't and you know exactly why.

"Today's the day," Joshua says, nose buried in a bakery-style muffin, the top pillowing out of the wrapper.

He stares over your shoulder at your article, locked and loaded for submission to copy.

You are not exaggerating when you say you would die for these four thousand words. You ate and cried and argued for them in what you can only describe as the worst literary coliseum of your life, and now their (and your) fate rests in Joshua’s massive Mickey Mouse hands and Wonwoo's bespectacled whimsy.

"Well, don't let me stop you." He laughs and then totters away, sucking a crumb off a finger. Just another Monday.

Your cursor hovers over the SUBMIT button. You've always been a little scared of it—unsurprising, since you're also the type to triple read an email before sending it—but there's a new kind of fear boxed in those little pixels.

Last night, you emptied out your freezer. Stuck on the back wall was a neon green sticky note, behind all the bags. See you when you get home, it said. You laughed and then you cried and then you ripped it up because that's probably what Seungcheol was looking at the morning you chewed him out.

All of that heartache must have been good for something. To say you wasted it on a no-love situationship wouldn't do any of it justice, not when all that's left is most definitely a crude shoutout on Seungcheol's next listicle. If you weren't already getting one earlier, you sure are now.

You wonder what you'll be:

10 Signs She Is Clinically Insane.

It's Not You, It's Them!

Help! My Friend With Benefits Isn't A Friend Or A Benefit!

At least that one is funny, although if it's the winning line, you don't think you can ever show your face in the office again.

The beginning and the end and the muddy in-between. Entrenched in all of it was this article and this job, and you'll be damned if you let your misplaced faith get co-opted by a sweaty-palmed Casanova.

(8:19 AM; the smell of summer and dried-down cologne. A hand on your ribcage, just beneath your heart. Good morning, Seungcheol says, as if emerging from a long, wonderful dream.)

You picture the byline with editor tacked next to your name. To run your finger over the ink spackled serif of a paper hot off the press, as if somehow it would radiate the misery you had to endure.

(11:41 PM; jajangmyeon and a pack of rice crackers. Seungcheol had given you his chopsticks because you dropped yours. The hum of the broken light outside Wonwoo's office sings in the silence of an empty newsroom. Your eyes meet, and you don't look away.)

There's a sinking feeling in your chest. You close your eyes and hit submit.

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Ask Samuel!

It's 6 PM on a Thursday and if you weren't already on your last thread, you are now. The angry red of the Daily Trojan website glares back at you from your phone as you step into the elevator with none other than your editor-in-chief.

You've resorted to reading Seungcheol's old advice columns. Not because you miss him, but because you want to know if he was ever a competent writer capable of talking about something other than how to score on a second date.

That's the only way he's beating you.

(There's also no way you miss him. The thought would make you laugh out loud if you weren't standing next to your boss).

One column became four became ten. After thirteen you concluded Seungcheol must have sustained a head injury some time before starting his job here—you can find no other explanation for how someone so generous and intuitive could've gotten lost in the chaff of articles with more pictures than words.

"Congrats," Wonwoo says, seemingly speaking into the void.

"Pardon?" You close out a particularly riveting query about estranged childhood friends to look up at him.

"Congrats."

"F-for what?" You get that head rush again, the same one you got a month ago at the Italian restaurant with Jeonghan.

"The job. You got the position." Wonwoo clears his throat calmly, as if he's not delivering the most important news of your life. "I wanted to let you know in person before we sent out Monday’s email."

For once, you have no words. In a wonderful instant, they are all zapped out of your brain. You feel hot and clammy and anxious all at once and you half expect to close your eyes and see either god or the flare of a hospital light, waking you up from an impossible coma.

"Holy shit," the primordial ooze inside you says instead. "T-thank you."

"No need."

"What about Seungcheol? Does he know?"

"I haven't told him yet, but he should be aware." Wonwoo pauses. "He didn't submit anything."

"What?!"

There are only so many surprises your body can handle. You feel like you are being held together by a fast-unraveling string on a poorly made sweater. Your stomach is somewhere in your feet and you don't even know where your heart is. Part of you is waiting for the elevator to stop so the entire office can jump out of the walls and laugh at you.

"I too was surprised," Wonwoo says, now checking his smartwatch for messages. "He must have changed his mind. No matter—I'm confident you will be an excellent fit."

The elevator jerks to a stop at the first floor. You feel boneless, like a can of cranberry sauce.

"Forgive me, I have a dinner appointment." Wonwoo ends the conversation the best way he can—with his trademark parentheses smile and a nod of the head—and leaves you in the elevator cabin alone.

All the times you've dreamed of this moment, you're tear-dizzy, joyous, fumbling with your phone to call your parents.

Instead you stand motionless, waiting, emptied.

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To make croissants, you fold a slab of butter into a square of yeasted dough. You roll it out thin and then fold it into itself before leaving it to rest in the fridge. Then you take it out again, roll it, and fold it. You do this until you've forgotten how many times you folded it and you no longer crave croissants.

When you were five, you pressed your nose to the window of your favorite patisserie and decided this is how your mind works.

You've had ample time now to flatten out Saturday morning, to watch all the little layers of doubt and loathing form, and now you're sick of it. It's not often you're star witness to your own unhappiness, but, as if you were called to the stand, you can easily play back the moment you lit the match and then watched everything explode.

You're not sure what either of you were expecting. A playboy and you, who loves so insistently, almost as if out of spite—there is truly no reality in which it makes sense. The fact that you fought over a literal pot of ramyun only proves this.

And now he's saddled you with the final blow. The position of your dreams with none of the glory because he gave up.

He gave up.

None of this should matter to you.

You're standing outside the office, waiting for your ride to your celebratory dinner (this time, on Jeonghan). The little headline man in your brain is silent for once. Instead, you try to enjoy the breeze, honeyed with late June, and not dwell on the horrible twist in your stomach every time you think about your new position. It's been 24 hours since you found out but it is no less raw.

It's then that you catch Seungcheol, creeping out the double doors of the office like some sort of criminal. You're not sure if it's the plod of his Sasquatch feet or that bag you hate so dearly, but you could recognize that walk from anywhere.

His pace quickens when you turn to face him—he's running away. You won't grant him the satisfaction. Not when he's fucked up what little you had left, and then some.

"You're an idiot, Seungcheol."

That does the trick.

"Funny way of saying hi," he responds, bracing himself on the sidewalk as if you're about to hit him.

"Why didn't you submit anything? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"What does it matter to you? You got the position."

"Look, I—" You shut your eyes, feeling the frenetic ice-cream churn of your brain try to put together a million broken up words. "I'm sorry for Saturday. But I never wanted to scare you off from the job. You deserve it as much as I do, and, as much as I hate to say it, I care about you too fucking much to watch you throw away your shot."

Saying the words is like cutting something loose from your chest, a million strings coming undone.

Seungcheol takes a deep, unsteady breath. You watch the crest and fall of his shoulders and the inescapable tar pits he calls eyes get big and shiny.

"No, I—" He pulls himself from your gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have never said that to you. And I should have never treated you like that."

The silence between you ripples, as if after a long rain.

"I was scared. A long time ago, I threw myself into a relationship. I thought we had something really, really good, and then I found out she was also seeing someone else."

Being right never felt so bad. It's even worse that something you would look forward to—the I told you so, the jokes really write themselves—no longer holds any satisfaction, only a sense of loss and a terrible urge to make it right again.

"And it's not right, but I decided that it was a mistake to take chances like that again. And it was fine, fun even, going on all of these casual dates and getting paid for it. Then you just had to mess it up."

"H-how?"

"You were so dead-set on convincing me otherwise. You wouldn't let it go, not with your weird sayings and the way you talked about your ex and when you told me you were making me breakfast. I started believing you, and it really fucking scared me."

There's a sharp pain in your head. It feels like, at once, you were skinned like a fruit. Like the interlude between dream and waking, all the sheets of sleep yanked from your person.

"What…what about the article?" you ask, scrambling. You don't really want to contend with what he just told you. You don't think you can.

"You deserved it more. And you really love what you do. I used to think it was all bullshit, but I was wrong."

You take a hard swallow. The image of Seungcheol, head bowed, a nervous hand on the back of his neck, swims in front of your eyes.

"Whatever. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore," he laughs, mirthless.

"No, wait," you say. "I-I also…never took you seriously, not even when I should've. You know, I read your advice columns. Crazy, I know."

"I do have to say that is one of your more insane claims."

"No, I thought, they were actually, you know…really good." You watch him blink, mouth already twisting up as he fights a smile. "What I'm trying to say is that I think we messed up. In a lot of ways. But I want to be friends again. Or at least not enemies."

Seungcheol takes a long pause before he sticks his hand out.

"Choi Seungcheol. Writer. It's nice to meet you."

Some force, as if you had always been connected, pulls your skin to his. You shake his hand for the very first time, and starting over never felt so good.

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"You're booking Eleven Madison for the office dinner again, right?"

Wonwoo pops his head into your office, his Monday uniform now festive with a holiday tie. Today, it's snowmen with glasses.

"Naturally," you reply. "Unless you have plans on that Friday."

You're referring to last week, when Wonwoo took a call in the middle of a staff meeting and revealed that yes, he would most definitely be available for drinks with Yerim that evening. He ended the meeting thirty short seconds later, and you think you saw him skip to the elevator.

He laughs, deep and caramel. "Not this time. Also—don't forget to review those job applications. Sent them to your email."

Before you can tease him again, he leaves, and you are forced to look at your teeming inbox, the only unfortunate side effect of your new position. But you've never been happier, and a hundred new unread emails never seemed so wonderful. The first time Jeonghan saw you in your new office, you were so giddy he thought you were coming down with something.

You take a hefty sip of today's coffee (ginger, molasses, cinnamon). On the side of the cup, the one you keep facing away from the door, reads SEUNGCHEOL and OAT, in loopy marker letters.

After you shook hands in the parking lot, you agreed to take it slow. You thought bringing everything to a simmer would cure you of your affection, but it wasn't even a month before Seungcheol was back in that same seat in your kitchen, eating the blueberry waffles you promised him.

But if slow meant long phone calls and the nervous twine of your hands after an ice cream date, then you think you like slow. You could do slow for a while.

He's taken to bringing you coffee in the morning. He claims it's your editorial right, but you think he just likes having an excuse to barge into your office. (And close the door behind him. And kiss you. But that's aside the point.)

Plus, Seungcheol's had plenty of legitimate reasons to be in your office. The newest one is the launch of Ask Sunny! , which you think is the best idea he's had since deciding to get you coffee every day. He spent the last few days campaigning to reuse his old alias, but you're pretty sure he was just looking for reasons to argue with you.

"Afternoon, boss."

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You always seem to learn the hard way with Seungcheol.

He swaggers in, ear-to-ear smile on his face, before taking a seat at the designated corner of your table.

"I think I like this desk better," he says, folding at the waist so he can lean close to you. Instead of reminding him it's the same desk, you just choose to make space for him, you let him press his nose to yours.

"Friendly reminder we're at work."

"Everyone's at lunch, genius."

He interrupts you with just a touch of his lips, which should be considered no less than a war crime by now.

"You are the worst."

"Not what you said last night. Not even close." He places another wet kiss on your nose before sliding off the table edge to his feet. There's a horrible warmth in his eyes as he watches you very clearly remember what exactly he's referring to. (A wandering hand. A cherry. Dark hair, wound through your fingers). "Anyway, I've got serious problems to solve. Or should I say Sunny? I still think we should have gone with Samuel."

"Executive decision," you tease. "Now if you don't need anything, scram. Out of my office."

"Just wanted to remind you I made reservations for us at Avra today," Seungcheol says, lingering in the doorframe with the shit-eating grin he tends to sport nowadays. "I'll even let you order."

There's no fighting the familiar bloom of laughter in your chest. It boils up, sparkling and citrusy, as you roll your eyes and watch Seungcheol return to his desk no less starry-eyed than how he walked in.

If cooking is a language, then love is the words, and you finally think you're learning to speak them.

You open the email at the top of your inbox: Seungcheol's last draft of the article he never published. You urged him to let you consider it for the next issue, and he finally caved (although you're learning that he really doesn't take much convincing when it comes to you).

Eat, Play, Love: A Guide.

Maybe you'd put it through. Maybe.

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#mine #seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #scoups x reader #scoups fluff #scoups x you #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #scoups imagines

[ma1dita]

about you

this was a request! read it here

words: 4.3k (longest one yet ohmy)

summary: james potter takes ‘easier’ for granted and finds out he now has a living reminder of that

warnings: none! sort of au, everyone lives and they win the war— angst angst angst, maybe open ended!!! groveling james and reader is a MOTHA (afab!)

a/n: guys i missed writing angst…i’m a deeply sad soul at heart so i enjoyed this a lot. I listened to ‘night shift’ by lucy dacus writing the first half, and ‘about you’ by the 1975 for the second half,,,,, both on repeat. i don’t mean to post at ungodly hours but i hope you enjoy!

posted: 11/11/23

—-

Insecurity is an ugly thing. It tugs at your frame, holding your shoulders hostage and your countenance shriveled in a scowl as you slink forward in your seat. But what should the rational reaction be when your boyfriend, the one you’ve planned out the rest of your life with— takes you out to dinner on a random Tuesday and then decidedly backtracks on everything you’ve built together? Your ears are ringing loudly, and you dumbly ask him to repeat himself when he says he wants to take a break.

“So that’s it then. You’ve made your decision and I just have to be okay with losing a year and a half of my life because you aren’t sure if you love me?” Your tone cuts through the fraying tether that holds you two together in the corner booth.

James for once, is at a loss for words. He wasn’t really sure of what to expect when he brought you here tonight, but any reaction to his admission was bound to hurt the both of you. You had to have known about his hesitations. Graduation was three weeks away, and everything was about to change, whether either of you liked it or not. Stupidly enough, James does love you, but that’s not the problem. The proximity he’s had as Head Boy working with Lily Evans makes him wonder if the life he lives is what’s meant for him. It keeps him up at night, gnawing at his resolve and comfort in being with you. He feels ungrateful to have it so easy. Loving you is easy. But the imposter syndrome sneaks into his room late at night in the form of ‘what if’.

“I…it’s just the timing of it all. We’re about to leave Hogwarts, and I don’t want to tie you down if I know I’m unsure of my—our future.”

He reaches out to grab your hand, and many a time ago, his sense of awareness was what you admired about him. You’d both get this familiar feeling of needing comfort, and within a minute, your fingers would intuitively find the other’s like it was second nature. Now, the thought of his touch might make you break his hand off to serve on a silver platter.

“Fuck your timing. If you think it’s as easy as making the decision to just quit while we’re ahead…. I love you. Don’t you…Is that not—” 

You clear your throat, the fire in your indignation being stifled by the whimpering feeling of knowing this was going to happen. The understanding of his plight, the knowing that he wants more. You could see it in the way his eyes wander when you all hang out, and you could feel it when he needs time to himself before bed, letting you back to your common room in the late hours alone. Screw your heart for appealing to his indecisiveness, his fear, when the final blow is aimed at the relationship you both once wanted together. Head Boy and Head Girl share living quarters after all. What chance did you stand against the girl he fell asleep a room away from? Maybe he dreams of her too, what you couldn’t give and what more she has to offer. 

“Tell me something James,” you choke as your body heaves with something akin to nausea. Being lovesick isn’t as romantic as it seems. The hopeless feeling in your tummy throbs as you clench your fists to keep it all down.

“Whatever you want.” 

His reply makes you laugh, desolation gripping your esophagus. Who knew feeling empty would feel like drowning? There is no more air left in your lungs that it almost incapacitates you, your last breath spilling out your final ask of him.

“Do you love me? What did I do?” 

The noise and chatter around you seems to fall silent as he zeroes in on your face, crestfallen from the words that leave your lips. It isn’t your fault, but how can he tell you that? At 18, he’s feeling stifled by the privilege of having his life all planned out for him. He knows people spend their lives searching for contentment but James can’t decipher if he’s right for all of this pressure falling upon his shoulders. The societal heir of his father’s business empire. The face of the upcoming war, bringing in a new generation of soldiers to fight. 

Deep inside, he’s a wild spirit just wanting to live, to be free. And it scares him that you’d follow him to the ends of the Earth, that there isn’t much thinking involved, just doing. The lack of autonomy stifles his soul. How does one know if they’re meant for more? James doesn’t want you to have to suffer the consequences if he can’t figure it out himself.

“I love you honey. So much it hurts me. I just wonder if it’s enough.” 

Your hands clatter onto the table, bumping your half-empty pint of butterbeer as you gather your things, shoving them into your knapsack as his final blow hits your senses. And all he does is watch you, face transfixed as if he sees nothing, like he isn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

There’s no going back after this, you think silently as you steady your trembling hands. There’s also no way in hell you’ll let him see you cry. Fuck that. Your eyes fall over the curls that drape over the frame of his glasses, his face cradled by candlelight and dear Merlin, do you love this boy. All of him, even the parts that don’t reciprocate the feeling. This is the final snapshot in your memory of him, because this fleeting moment will have to be enough.

“I hope you get everything you ever wanted James. For my sake, I hope I never hear a thing about it.”

Perhaps having the last word will absolve you of the feeling that desecrates your entire essence as you put one foot in front of the other, pushing past the door of the Three Broomsticks and out into the unknown. But it’s not enough.

—

The break in routine absolutely shatters you, if we’re being honest. A year and a half of loving him, and three more before that of liking the slow steady burn that is James Potter…. It’s like looking at the world with new eyes and this window of opportunity with graduation nearing is your chance of starting anew. There’s also the custodial aspect after the end of a relationship, and it’s hard to separate the rest of what’s yours and his in your mind. Your friends are his, and his are yours. It makes quite a predicament to not have things so easy as they consider who to eat lunch with, or who’s dorm to hang out in. Hopefully, things get easier with time but you’re not as confident as you once were.

A part of you feels like you don’t belong anywhere anymore. James is the sun, after all; a natural leader— everyone revolves around his ingenious ideas and the light he brings. He’s the one who always has a plan, and everyone follows in his stead. Where do you fit in all of that? Where do you go?

His parents are likely the loveliest people to ever grace the wizarding world. Euphemia catches you by the arm after the graduation ceremony as you’re about to take the 7th year boat back across the Black Lake. With no family in attendance and no boyfriend to dote on, niceties were expended quick enough to want to run out of there and never look back.

“Darling, are you leaving without a goodbye?” Mrs. Potter smiles, calling her husband over both with grins made of sunlight. 

Somehow it resonates in your brain that it’s finally over, and your lip trembles when they pull you in for a hug that rivals your hunger to be loved. You think that even if your parents showed up today, it wouldn’t have felt this kind.

“Congratulations dearest! We’re so proud of you,” Fleamont rumbles, a big man with an even bigger heart as he brandishes flowers out of thin air to hand to you daintily. You’re going to miss them terribly. Is it wrong to want more of this? But you remember why it’s not as James’s cologne floods your senses and his silhouette creeps into your periphery. Your smile grows smaller as you two stare at each other and breathe the same air for the first time in almost a month. Whatever’s thrumming in your being, he holds the key to. Mr. and Mrs. Potter try to loop you into a photo together, the magical kind that moves to capture a memory so intimately but both of you stand perfectly still as his and your hesitant dismissals go unheard.

Loving hands fuss over both your caps and the way hair sticks out until you feel your shoulders jostle together for a moment and his hand lands on the small of your back. The flash goes off as you two look at each other in something that still resembles love. You can’t unlove him, not in a day, a month, or ever, you think. Not if you’ve bared your soul to him, even if he hurt you. 

You look away first, urging your heart to come back to reality. He’s not yours anymore, and you still love him. Alice told you earlier that he asked Lily out on a date for next Tuesday. What you were supposed to do with that information you’re unsure, but the feeling in your belly helps you say goodbye to the Potters, and clarify that they can keep the picture since you’re not James’ girlfriend anymore. An awkward silence settles over all four of you.

Euphemia rubs your cheek, hushed promises of keeping in touch while Fleamont looks at his son in confusion. James’ hand flexes in the absence of your body against his. He simply watches you walk away again, alone, while he’s surrounded by his friends and his family. The beating of a tiny heart matching your own as you hop onto the boat proves otherwise.

—-

A baby.

You think back to when it must’ve happened, the weekend before that Tuesday, when everything still felt right. With your last exams of your academic career finally done, both you and James were tangled in his silk sheets until dawn, an amalgamation of passionate whispers and lingering touches you could still feel in the days that followed. As you stared at the flutter of his eyelashes and relished the way he pulled you closer in his dream state, you were quite sure that he is, too, tangled within your soul to let go. That your doubts were residual anxiety from preparing for the future. For the first time in a while, you were reaffirmed that the boy sleeping next to you was your forever. Not being careful was a consequence of feeling safe in his arms, and subconsciously, you both hoped that everything would work itself out. As you walked out of the Head Students’ Lounge past noon with James’ hickeys as a necklace and donning your boyfriend’s shirt, you noticed the blush on Lily Evans’ face. You were just so sure, but that felt like forever ago.

Your parents weren’t happy when they came back from their business trip two months after graduation to find you four months along with a prominent bump and filled with so much fear. All plans of getting a job, of moving out, and joining the Order were now replaced with the startling fact that you are 18 and don’t have a single clue on what to do next. Your childhood bedroom feels smaller tonight, with both your parents standing at the door, all of you unsure of what to say. You can’t remember the last time they tucked you in, but as your dad takes a seat on the edge of your bed, it seems possible that maybe you won’t be alone in all of this.

“Whatever decision you make will be the right one, sweetie. If you love that baby, then we do too,” he sniffles, and you don’t recall having ever seen him this emotional before. One thing you are sure of, is this baby is loved, and made from love. The next is that England is not a safe place to raise your baby. 

Somewhere far away, in a hidden place guarded by some of the most experienced wizards, the Order of the Phoenix meets again to determine the future of the wizarding world. James’s eyes dart back and forth from the door to whichever adult is talking about the next mission. You didn’t show up again. All of the meetings so far where he was always the first one to arrive and the last to leave in hopes of getting a glimpse of you, and you never showed. There’s a deep worry that haunts him as the months pass by, and he knows that it would be easy to send you a letter, or to show up at your door, but he’s probably the last person you want to see. 

“We’re going out for a pint, you ready to leave James?” Lily whispers into his ear, arms curling around to his chest. But he’s not ready at all, sat on the sofa with his eyes on the door, just in case. Trying to love someone who’s still in love is a losing battle, Lily thinks, as she watches her boyfriend look like a child missing their favorite blanket. But in a war like this one, no one would be foolish enough to decline company.

“I’ll meet you there,” he smiles, leaning back to kiss her cheek. It’s cruel to both of them, the way he’s acting knowing that Lily won’t ever be you. Every chance he gets to have a moment to himself, he thinks of the despondent look on your face as you walked away from him and his parents that day. No more anger at all, no biting words or the fighting spirit that he knows and loves. Both of you just accepted what was to come.

Sirius and Remus approach him later after everyone’s left that they got word that you moved to America. He thinks of what could’ve been, and the thought of your safety is the only thing that lets his mind rest as guilt pushes and pulls at his heartstrings like waves.

He’s spent these months fighting in the war, loving and losing that he thinks this isn’t anything like the white house and picket fence fantasy you both used to cook up. As he grabs his coat to leave, James wonders if by being away from all of this you’ll get to live the life you want. 

—

“Okay honey, hold on tight to mama.” 

Your little boy was almost bouncing off the pavement with a chocolate covered grin, and it makes you laugh harder than it should. Maybe Florean Fortescue’s was not the way to start off your son’s first trip to Diagon Alley, but your new job at the Ministry starts tomorrow and you’ve been missing your favorite stationery. The town was packed with people with the war having ended and trying to start anew. You haven’t seen any familiar faces and maybe years ago that was a bad thing, but hope spreads over Diagon Alley with strangers smiling at Christopher as he skips on the cobblestone, almost tripping over his own feet at the entrance of Flourish and Blotts. 

He runs forward to explore the store as you smile at your creation, letting him wander along the aisles as you have done years before. Being back here is like walking through a memory, and though it used to be home, you know yours is walking around in tiny bright red shoes that light up like his smile. Your fingers flip through the different quills and parchment on display, and after finding everything you need, you hear your son’s laughter in the opposite corner of the shop. Motherly instincts always prevail as your feet guide you to the sound of his voice, since he’s never been one to shy away from a friendly conversation.

“Did you find everything you were looking for, honey?”

James’ head whips up from the tiny boy he was entertaining with color-changing quills to see you, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose to make sure he’s seeing properly. The both of you go quiet as time stands still, with Christopher chattering at your feet. 

“Mama! Look at this one, it goes rainbow!” he says, tugging at your coat to see the quill in James’s hand. The pieces start to fit together in James’ mind, looking at your pursed lip, then to the sight of this boy smiling with the innocence he had a lifetime ago. This boy, his son, has your eyes. You shake your head rapidly as he intakes a breath of air.

“Honey?” he whispers, knowing that was his name for you.

“So what, he looks like a honey,” you say defensively, grabbing your son’s hand.

He looks like my son, his eyes say—both of you look down to the child who’s all grins and none the wiser piping up.

“My name’s Topher!” 

“Yes it is, and now it’s time to say goodbye to the nice man, okay?” Topher pouts and looks up at his father without even knowing it, handing him the quill. 

“Keep it. I’ll pay for it, and then you can write to me,” he says almost desperately, losing grip of everything that he’s been trying to convince himself for the past 7 years. 

“Don’t be weird, Potter. Don’t…” you shake your head, eyes misting over. Seeing him again brought back everything. It was already overwhelming to have a kid that’s almost the splitting image of him, to learn of a love so pure after one that’s wrecked you to your core, but being here, within arms reach… You’re 18 again and scrambling away from the corner booth trying to get away from the man you love most not wanting you in return.

“Honey, why don’t you give us a minute to talk? Go find me some cool enchanted stickers for me to bring to work tomorrow, okay?” Your baby runs off without even questioning it, his sense of adventure also inherited from his father.

“I’m…so sorry.” James moves closer to you, and you take a step back sighing humorlessly.

“For what? He’s an amazing kid. Even though… he wasn’t planned, I don’t think I could ever see my life turning out any other way.” You shift your weight to your other foot. He looks, successful, if that’s something he would be proud of. He’s wearing an impressive suit, and his eyes are a bit hardened by the past few years, but his charisma, his smile…. He’s still the boy you fell in love with all those years ago.

“I feel foolish. I was so scared to live my life and then here you are raising our child…” 

You blink softly at his words, and it reminds him of your youth, all doe-eyed and full of want. You used to want him like he still wants you. In front of him is a grown woman, a mother who’s strong and filled with memories and love that he should’ve been a part of.

“Things happen for a reason, James. We both did what we had to do.”

His hand brushes yours, and you realize you’ve been without his touch for 7 years. 7 years of being scrubbed clean of James Potter, and not a single regenerated cell in your body has been touched by him. But your son is of him, so you think that no matter how this ends, there will always be a part of you that loves James too.

You extend an olive branch to have him come to your apartment this weekend and get to talk. He knows he doesn’t deserve this kindness, but you know he deserves to meet his son.

—-

The doorbell rings and you take a deep breath as you open the front door, looking up at him holding a teddy bear for Topher.

“He’s still down for a nap. Let’s go sit in the den.” You say quietly. The hallway is filled with pictures of your boy, and of you in different stages these past few years. He stops at a portrait of your parents with Topher being swung between them.

“Your parents….”

“Were supportive; I wasn’t alone,” you muse, knowing he knows of your strained relationship with them back then.

“They actually just retired early last year. Overworked themselves and finally comfortable, so they help out when they can. What about yours?” Trying to make conversation with your ex is terribly hard, but it’s in good spirit and there’s not much to do until Topher wakes up.

“They passed, actually. Mum at the end of the war, and dad 6 months after. Never wanted to be apart, you know that.”

Your face falls at his revelation, “I’m sorry for your loss. They were amazing people. Taught me what it meant to be a parent, for sure.” Amicable silence fills the living room before you clear your throat.

“I have to be blunt, James. What do you want from this? You must be married and busy, so if Topher can’t fit into that….”

“I’m neither of those things, honey. I want to try and see where this goes,” he says scratching the back of his neck. 

Your heart stops at his endearment, catching yourself looking at him seriously. 

“You can hurt me, but I’m not letting you do that to him. Back then, you were all I ever wanted love to be. And then I had my beautiful baby, and I suddenly knew my love meant more.”

“I never wanted to hurt you. It was a mistake, because I was too proud to accept that I had it good. That what I had was meant for me.” James grabs your hands, begging for you to understand. The lost boy he was is a lifetime away from the man sitting in front of you now. Though it’s touching, you keep your heart guarded because the little boy sleeping down the hall is your biggest priority. You hope he can understand that too.

“He’s not a placeholder for your dreams of wanting a family. You have to build that, I did that myself. I’m not going to let you string him along and then once you have a family of your own, you just up and leave.” 

“I know. I was hoping the both of you could be my family, if you give me the chance.” You bite your lip as your thumb runs against his. It’s easier to forgive than to forget. But for Topher’s sake, you can try. 

“Tell me something James,” you whisper, having needed to know this for the past 7 years.

“Why did you throw it all away? Was the idea of loving me…so terrible?” He tilts your chin up, and you think that the earnest look on his face is the closure you needed to properly forgive him.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. Loving you is the best part of knowing you. Do you think I ever forgot about you?” He chuckles lowly, brushing back a strand of your hair, and you think this could be dangerous if you let yourself get too close. 

“I’ve thought about you everyday for the past 7 years, I just didn’t think I deserved you after everything I’ve done. I was so stupid, I am still. But I’m trying to be better.”

“You think of me but dreamt of her. Was it guilt?” Your hand grabs his as you move it away from your cheek, settling onto your lap. The air around you is suffocating.

“It took time for me to figure out that it was intention. Lily was a distraction. You’ve consumed me since the day I met you. My dreams, my thoughts… All of it is you. I choose to think about you as much as I can, because if I didn’t I was scared I’d forget all the good things about us back then.”

You both hear a thump from your son’s room and realize you’re wiping tears away. James stands up when you do, and both pairs of your socked feet pad closer to your son’s room. 

“We start this slow. We make decisions together, and if there’s any inkling I get that he doesn’t want this, it’s done. You understand?” Your hands are firm on the doorknob as he’s standing close behind you, hanging onto every word.

“Every word. There’s no turning back from this.” He wants to ask another question, but before he can, your hand unconsciously finds his and your grip is so comforting that he notices himself sniffle. 

“If it all goes well, and if you want, we can try again. But that’s in the far distant future, James Potter.”

“Anything you want, honey. That’s the future I’ve been dreaming of.” With you. Your lips quirk into a smile as they brush against his cheek.

Slowly opening the door to both watch your son wake up from his nap, your hand pulls James into the room behind you. Quietly, he sits on the edge of Christopher’s bed, and when his son looks up at him, you both notice the little boy beaming like the sun. 

—-

“Everything you love is very likely to be lost, but in the end, love will return in a different way.” -Franz Kafka

taglist: @jsjcue

love me some tunes! i listened to this while writing:

night shift by lucy dacus & about you by the 1975

#made by ma1dita ♥︎ #marauders era #james potter x reader #marauders x reader #james potter x reader angst

[love-belle]

you're losing me !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which she's losing him and he's not fighting for her either.

or

for when you lose someone you thought you'd spend your lifetime with. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // max verstappen x fem!reader

sequel - i hope i never lose you ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - my heart broke while writing this :// still, i hope u like it!! lmk if u want a part ii though i'll write it anyway. i love you, thank you for reading <3

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, yourbestfriend, lilymhe and 2,628,926 others

yourusername when the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst

9,926 comments

username MOTHER?????

username max :///

username if they break up i simply give up, it's that easy x

lewishamilton sending you hugs and love from me and roscoe ❤️

-> yourusername missing you both ❤️

username guys............what if they did b word u word ?

-> username don't spread lies 😘😘😘

-> username they break up and i stop believing in love ☺️

lilymhe i could be a better boyfriend just saying 😮‍💨

-> yourusername you're already my wife 😘

username we really went from "the first flowers he ever brought me became my favourite" to "when the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst" huh

username im just gonna ignore this!!

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63, charles_leclerc and 897,628 others

maxverstappen1 pole position!!

very happy that we managed to put the best bits together for qualifying today! great work by everyone in the team redbullracing & hondaracingglobal 👏

looking forward to be racing again tomorrow 👌

7,972 comments

username NO Y/N????????

username im delulu

username is it just me or did he not seem really into it like idk

-> username if me and my fiancée broke up i'd be the same

danielricciardo proud of you mate! 👏

username need y/n to comment rn so i can be at peace

username nice prank guys 😐😐 REALLY funny 😐😐😐

username NO BC THE WAY HE ALMOST MENTIONED Y/N WHILE TALKING TO A REPORTER BUT STOPPED HIMSELF

-> username NO BC MY HEART BROKE SEEING

-> username they're really over huh

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by f1_wags, formulaone.updates, maxverstappen111 and 78,926 others

f1newzzz formula one driver, max verstappen and singer/songwriter y/n y/l/n called it quits on their engagement, source close to the pair claimed. "they just wanted different things, their goals weren't aligning," the source explained, "marriage had seemed like the picture perfect ending at that time, when max had proposed, but in the long run, they both would've been very unhappy." though the exact reason for their split isn't very clear, many speculate that it was actually verstappen who ended their 11 month engagement. for more details, click on the link in our bio.

479 comments

username ur telling me that the woman who wrote "your past and mine are parallel lines, stars all aligned and they intertwined" about her man wanted "different things"??????? ok.

username max i just wanna talk ☺️☺️☺️

username no bc they were so in love everyone could see it

username she did not write "i don't wanna look at anything else now that i saw u" for u to write this fucking shit post

username "she's been my rock, my biggest supporter, my proudest fan and im very grateful for her, forever will be. i don't deserve her and i don't know what good i did to have her in my life but im very glad i do" NO WAY HE BROKE UP WITH HER

username idk man if u write 3+ albums about someone and stuff like "all that u ever wanted from me was sweet nothing" or "all's well that ends well to end up with u" the universe should it impossible for u to break up

username just a daily reminder that u should drink rat poison before falling in love bc it never works out

username the day i stopped believing in love

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

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yourusername you're losing me is finally yours. this is easily the most vulnerable, heartbreaking, raw and personal song that i have ever written and sharing it with you all is like sharing a big piece of myself. you are, at some point in their life, at a place where you're begging someone to love you the way you love them and i think that's a saddest thing someone can do, i've been there. this song is a messy compilation of my feelings, my thoughts and the enigma in my mind, i hope you like it. and finally, to that one person, thank you for being my forever. it was real.

16,829 comments

username I WOULDN'T MARRY ME EITHER A PATHOLOGICAL PEOPLE PLEASER WHO ONLY WANTED YOU TO SEE HER

username the way we went from "i'd marry u with paper rings" to "i wouldn't marry me either"

username DO SOMETHING BABE SAY SOMETHING

danielricciardo in awe of you and your talent 🤍🤍🤍🤍

-> yourusername danny i heart you

username no bc what really hurts is that throughout her albums and songs she's always been like "i can't wait to marry you!!!!" like from lover and paper rings and now it's hinted that max didn't wanna marry her and the way she's trying not to blame him by saying "i wouldn't marry me either"

-> username "she would've made such a lovely bride what a shame she's fucked in her head" to "i wouldn't marry me either"

username the way that some people were saying that they got married secretly and the whole time they were broken up and she still continued to act like everything was fine like my heart's hurting for her

username "thank you for being my forever, it was real" IM CRYING IH NY GKD

carmenmmundt the most talented person i know 🤍 i love you so much y/n/n

-> yourusername you own my heart 💌

username the 1 is gonna start hitting different now

-> username "it would've been fun if u would've been the one"

username her heartbeat in the song i died.

username thinking about "he didn't try at all though" vs. "do something babe say something"

#f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #fake instagram imagines #social media au #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x fem!reader #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen instagram au #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen imagines

[nanenna]

Title: The Parent Trap Fandoms: Batman (DC Comics) and Danny Phantom Ships: None AUs: Demon Twins Warnings: Character injury, discussions of death.

Summary: It was just an ordinary night on patrol until...

“We need an evac,” Dick said, cutting the chatter off, “bird down.”

“Spoiler, you’re the closest to the cave. Nightwing, who’s with you?” Barb asked, “And how bad is the injury?”

“Robin,” Dick replied with some confusion before adding on with confidence, “a leg injury, we’re pretty sure it’s broken.”

“Robin?” Tim couldn’t help blurting out, looking over at Damian next to him, perched on his bike in full Robin costume. “But here’s right here, with me.”

---

Damian had been acting strange for the week or so. Rather, Robin had been acting strange for the last week. Not many people actually lived full time in the manor anymore, but everyone agreed that during the day he was his usual self. During patrols, however, he was simply a little… off. Like tonight for instance: Batman was away from Gotham on official Justice League business and Nightwing had agreed to cover his usual patrol route; normally Robin would tag along with Nightwing, giving the excuse that he needed to make sure Dick did the route correctly while everyone knew the demon brat really just wanted to spend more time with his favorite brother. But tonight…

“I will be joining you on your case, Drake.”

“You will?” Tim asked skeptically. Dick had already suited up and left, yet instead of scrambling to go catch up here Damian was, already all suited up, demanding to join Tim of all people.

“You are doing a stake out for street racers, correct? What will you do when they inevitably split to lose you?”

He sadly had a point, having someone else there would help. “Are you going to stab me?”

Robin didn't say anything, simply stood there and stared Tim down.

After standing there for a full minute, Tim sighed and headed for the vehicle bay, Robin hot on his heels. Without another word they donned helmets and slung legs over their bikes. Weird, but not unheard of, just another thing that was a little off. Not that Tim was entirely unhappy, he wanted a chance to observe Damian’s behavior. Even if he thought Dick was more likely to get Damian to open up.

…

And Tim was bored. The first half of patrol was quiet and uneventful, the street racers hadn’t shown up at their usual time/place yet, and Damian hadn’t said a damn thing the whole night. It’d just been the two of them riding around, not finding anything that needed their attention, and just being… normal. At least the usual chatter from the others was there to keep him company.

“We need an evac,” Dick said, cutting the chatter off, “bird down.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Spoiler, you’re the closest to the cave. Nightwing, who’s with you?” Barb asked, “And how bad is the injury?”

“Robin,” Dick replied with some confusion before adding on with confidence, “a leg injury, we’re pretty sure it’s broken.”

“Robin?” Tim couldn’t help blurting out, looking over at Damian next to him, perched on his bike in full Robin costume. “But here’s right here, with me.” The shadows around them grew deeper, seemed to sharpen.

“What? No, I’m looking right at him.”

“Well so am I!” 

“I’ve got your cams up and… well shit,” Barb murmured.

“Oracle,” Damian? Robin? Some imposter? said into the quiet comms, a hand up to his helmet, “send me Nightwing’s location.”

“Robin,” Oracle started, only to be interrupted.

“We’re in sector 36,” Damian? Robin? Some imposter? replied, going so far as to give longitude and latitude coordinates and a description of the building roof they’re on.

“Copy that,” Damian? Robin? Some imposter? said before revving his bike’s engine and taking off.

Tim would never admit to nearly losing him due to sheer shock. Too busy screaming “What the fuck” in his own head to remember he needed to follow, but follow he did. This… this might explain Damian’s strange behavior over the past couple weeks. If there was an imposter running around with them, but they would have surely noticed, right?

“We can’t have everyone abandoning their patrols!” Barb said in clear frustration. Heard clearly because the chatter was still gone, nothing but dead silence. You would think everyone would be demanding answers, peppering the Robins with non-stop questions. Hell, Tim wanted to, but he was too busy keeping his bike under him as he chased after his Robin.

“Red Robin and I are on motorcycles,” Damian? Robin? Some imposter? told Barb, “which means we have the small vehicle first aid kits, including analgesics, splints, and extra bandages.”

“We could use the splints,” Dick said faintly.

“And doing first aid before evac arrives means less time faffing about once Spoiler arrives.”

Tim nearly crashed, barely righting his bike. To hear Damian’s voice say “faffing about” was just… weird. Does that mean Tim’s Robin was the imposter?

“You all are faffing about right now,” Damian? Robin? Some imposter? grumbled before hissing.

“Stay still,” Dick chided.

Okay, so maybe “faffing” was a phrase Damian had recently learned from a classmate or something, Tim sure didn’t know. And oh thank god, they must have arrived. Damian? Robin? Some imposter? was parked on the sidewalk, helmet already off and just pulling the field kit from the bike’s storage. He didn’t even spare Tim a glance, simply looked up at the very tall building, looked down at his grapple, shrugged, put the grapple away, and then lifted off the ground and into the air.

“Shit,” Tim said softly but with feeling.

“What?” Barb asked, clearly very tense.

“I think my Robin was the imposter, he just flew up the building. Like Kryptonian flew.” Is this Jon? Were he and Damian pulling a Bruce and Clark? Except it couldn’t be, Jon had started packing on muscles while Damian was still in the lanky growing-taller-before-filling-out stage.

“Really, akhi?” Damian? Robin? Some imposter? asked in exasperation.

“Hey, the jig is well and truly up at this point,” Damian? Robin? Some imposter? replied.

Okay, that was really weird to hear in Damian’s voice. And oh wait, maybe Tim should get up there too.

“Oh shit, there really is two of them!” Dick said in shock. “Uh… hello there… other Robin?”

“Hello Nightwing, I brought the kit. I…” Damian paused, then sighed into the comm, “akhi, what did you do?”

Damian tsked, “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Your leg is broken!” Damian yelled.

“Did you see that with your x-ray vision?” Damian asked.

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not Kryptonian,” Damian replied. “I don’t have x-ray vision.”

“Sure sound Kryptonian,” Tim muttered under his breath. The Robin that flew had slipped into a faint Midwestern drawl that reminded him of Clark.

“Can you just give me the kit?” Dick asked both warily and wearily.

“Right, yes. Here.” 

Tim had made it onto the roof by that point, just in time to watch one of the Robins hand over the kit to Nightwing before kneeling next to the other Robin, who had his leg stretched out in front of him while he sat half propped up on his elbows. The laying down Robin (the real one? The one that hasn’t shown any meta powers yet, anyway. Is one of them the real Robin or were they both imposters?) let himself fall fully on his back and held a hand out. The meta(?) Robin kneeled next to him and took his hand. “You’re going to be okay.”

“I am more worried about you, you’re not used to this.”

“Yeah, normally I’m the only one getting hurt, and I usually don’t have bones when that happens.” Imposter Robin laughed at that.

“What the fuck?” Tim said under his breath, what does that mean?

“Focus,” Dick chided as Tim came to join him in tending to Damian’s(?) injury.

“Batcopter ETA five minutes,” Barb said. “Agent A has the medbay prepped.”

Imposter Robin flinched at that. Odd.

“Focus,” Dick hissed. “Save the mystery for after we get our downed bird home.”

Tim almost pointed out they couldn't be sure either Robin was even the real one, but a scathing look from Dick that burned even through the domino white outs had Tim snapping his mouth shut. Instead he nodded and set about helping Dick set and splint Robin's leg.

Steph arrived right on time, between Dick, imposter Robin, and Tim they got the real(?) Robin loaded onto the batcopter. Then the imposter pulled something from his costume and tossed it at Dick.

“Keys?” Dick asked.

“We gotta get Robin's bike back to the cave somehow.” He hopped into the batcopter and settled next to the injured Robin.

Dick held out the keys, “And as Robin shouldn’t-”

“No,” the imposter interrupted. “I’m not leaving him.”

Seems it was Tim’s turn to be the voice of reason. He put a hand on Dick’s shoulder, “Robin trusts him, we’ll meet them back at the cave in a minute.” If the injured Robin even was the real Damian, if the imposter didn’t use his unknown powers to escape, if any slew of unpredictable situations. Holy hell, Tim could see why Bruce was so paranoid about knowing everything about everyone. He’d be in the middle of three panic attacks and an existential crisis on top of a heart attack if he were here right now. But he wasn’t, thankfully. Instead Tim pulled Dick away from the batcopter so Steph could take back off and head to the cave.

Soon Dick and Tim were on their respective bikes, Nightwing looking ridiculous on Robin’s candy apple red paint job, and were zooming through the streets at a pace that was while fast still gave Tim time to actually think. He went back over everything the two Robins had said since Nightwing had called in for an evac. And then it hit him.

“Akhi.”

“What about it?” Dick asked.

“It’s what they called each other.”

“Brother,” Cass added in her soft voice.

“Right, in Arabic. They called each other brother. And recently Robin told us about his twin brother.”

“Are you telling us that Robin’s twin brother came back from the dead and decided to just… join us on patrol?” Dick asked in disbelief.

“He told us several weeks ago, and has been acting odd on patrol for nearly two weeks now. If when he told us was when he found out, or at least started planning this, then they had a few weeks for Robin to give his twin a crash course on us before pulling this stunt.”

There was muffled laughter in the comms, but Tim wasn’t sure who.

“But why?” Oracle asked.

“A prank?” Dick asked.

“A test of some kind,” Tim said in a monotone. There was a double tap on the comm, Cass’s form of nonverbal agreement.

“The batcopter has arrived back at the cave,” Oracle informed them. Everyone else grew quiet, waiting for whatever was about to happen to happen.

“... -nk went too far,” Damian (or his twin?) was saying into the comm.

“TT, it did not,” Damian replied.

“You couldn’t taste their emotions,” okay that was the twin, and what a weird way to phrase that, “they were really scared.”

“You like the taste of fear.”

Wow, Damian, really not helping with how creepy your long dead twin is being.

“Well yeah, obviously, it’s delicious. That doesn’t mean it’s okay to go around purposefully scaring your family.”

Fear is delicious?!

“What does it matter? As you said, ‘the jig is up’ and the prank is over. We will have to explain ourselves when the others arrive.”

“Others like me?” Steph asked cheerfully.

“Great, time for the great bat interrogation,” the twin said with exactly zero enthusiasm.

“Not until Master Damian has been seen to,” Alfred said. Tim could just see the raised eyebrow.

Tim tuned the rest out as those actually in the cave set about the logistics of getting Damian moved to the medbay.

“He can taste fear?” Tim asked incredulously.

“You know as much as the rest of us,” Dick said back.

“Does that make him an empath? He said he’s not Kryptonian, would that make his power suite closer to a Marian? Wait, neither Talia nor Bruce have the meta gene, how’d he even get powers?”

“Maybe he got them from the Lazarus Pits?”

There was a snort in the comms, “Then why didn’t I get powers?”

“Hood? What’re you doing on our comms?” Dick sounded far too delighted.

“I have an alert set up for whenever your chatter stops, it’s always a bad sign.”

“Fair enough, you heading to the cave to meet the demon brat’s long lost twin?”

There was a scoff from Jason, “Of course!”

“Everyone’s headed for the cave,” Oracle said with a tone of defeat.

“Stuck in ops?” Dick asked.

“Well someone has to keep an ear on things while the rest of you get to go have fun.”

“We’ll keep our comms on.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Tim and Dick both laughed at that. Fortunately they arrived back at the cave at that point, quickly parking their bikes and all but running over to the medbay. Steph was standing just outside the door, clearly keeping an eye on things while Alfred and the twin fussed over Damian. Tim and Dick went to go join Steph at the door, none of them willing to risk Alfred’s wrath should they get in his way. Cass joined them shortly after, all four staring as Alfred finished up what he could do for Damian. The demon brat was laid out on a medical cot, his costume set to the side, down to just the thin layer worn under the armor, mask already removed.

“Leslie has been called, she’ll be here in the morning with the necessary supplies. I’m afraid you will have to remain here until then, Master Damian.”

Damian tsked, but otherwise said nothing.

“And now I do believe we are all owed an explanation.” Alfred turned ever so slightly as his attention turned to Damian’s twin.

Damian responded by struggling in his bed.

“What are you doing, akhi?” the twin asked, clearly exasperated.

“I will be sitting up for this,” Damian snarled.

Without a word Alfred handed Damian the bed’s controls, allowing him to slowly raise himself into a reclined sitting position. Alfred raised a brow as if to ask if that would do, Damian only glowered at the wall.

The twin started pulling his domino off. Damian tsked yet again and handed his twin a wipe to help pull the mask off. “Ancients,” the twin said, which Dick mouthed in confusion, “you lot sure do love your theming. And I thought the ghosts had it bad.”

“Ghosts?” Tim mouthed, exchanging quick, confused glances with Dick.

“So yeah, hi. I’m Danny, Damian’s long lost twin.” The twin, now known as Danny, said with a little wave after he got the domino off. And there was no denying that he was Damian’s twin, he had Damian’s face in every feature save his eyes. While Damian clearly had Talia’s eyes, Danny’s were all Bruce.

“Everyone, this is my brother, Danyal Al Ghul Wayne.”

“Legally not my name anymore.”

“Legally?” Tim asked.

“Yeah, I got adopted!” Danny grinned again, all sunshine and cheer that was so wrong when he had Damian’s face.

Tim snorted, Bruce’s kid had been adopted. Oh things just got complicated but the irony of Brucie being on the other end of a kid getting adopted was still a fun kind of irony. Or maybe Tim had gotten to the everything-is-hilarious stage of sleep depravation.

“So what is your legal name?” Dick asked.

“Um… I’m not sure I should tell you that.” Danny fidgeted nervously. “Not yet anyway. I mean, Bruce… uh… our father? Isn’t here and like… shouldn’t he be told? Too? Or first? Honestly I’d rather just be able to tell everyone at the same time rather than having to go over the whole thing every time someone new walks in the door.”

As if he had timed it to happen that way, Jason came roaring into the cave on his bike. There was a collective sigh as everyone crowding around the outside of the door knew they’d have to wait for Jason to get there before things could continue, even if he had been listening in along with Oracle on his way in.

Danny’s face lit up as Jason, still wearing his full Red Hood gear, came into view. He whooped and threw both hands in the air as he ran out the door, somehow not even touching any of the vigilantes crowded in the way.

Jason stopped dead, his own hands raised up halfway in front of him as if unsure what to do. Danny just slapped both of Jason’s with his own in a kind of low five, then bounced excitedly in place. “Undead solidarity, yeah!”

“Uh… what?” Jason’s modulated voice asked in its usual monotone.

“I’ve been dying to meet you!”

“Heh, have you? Were you dead set on meeting the best?”

Damian groaned, “Stop encouraging Danyal’s insipid sense of humor.”

“Yeah, you’re the best!” Danny continued as if Damian hadn’t said a thing, “My favorite new brother!”

Dick gasped and clutched his chest.

Jason pointed at him and laughed as he slung an arm over Danny’s shoulders. “I see you are a kid of taste. How do you feel about Jane Austen.”

Danny winced, “My dude, I’m a guy in high school.”

“And so was I once, but we can’t all have my impeccable taste.” He started walking Danny back over to the medbay. “Anyway, Bruce shouldn’t be back until tomorrow afternoon, we really going to wait that long for the whole story?”

Danny winced, then cursed quietly under his breath. “We’ll have to, something just came up.”

Everyone frowned at that, “What do you mean?” Damian asked.

“The real deal got into a fight and uh… they’re pretty strong. I think I’m gonna need to recombine.”

“What?” Jason said, it was hard to tell if the flatness was his own voice or the modulator.

“Oh uh… I’m a… what’s that word again… doppelganger! That’s it. The main body’s back home and,” he winced again, a bruise blooming across his cheek in real time. No, in double time, it was like watching a time lapse of a bruise blooming and slowly starting to heal. “Look, having my attention and powers split like this is normally fine, a good way to keep my powers in check for fighting normal humans actually. But uh… let’s see… I think I’m fighting Plasmius?”

“We don’t know who that is,” Damian said with a sigh. “He keeps saying names of people or things like I’ll know what it means.”

“It means I can’t afford to have my attention and powers split over two bodies, so I’m about to poof. Sorry. But I’ll be back tomorrow, summon me after school Dami?”

“Summon?” Everyone but the twins asked in confusion.

“Of course, Danyal. Good luck fighting your rogue.”

“I think the fruit loop counts as my arch nemesis, unfortunately. But I gotta sorta slide back, can’t have all of tonight’s memories and my half of the power hit me all at once. This might look a little freaky, but it’s normal and I’m fine I promise.”

Jason unslung his arm from Danny’s shoulder and took a step to the side. They all gawked as Danny closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, his breath frosting in what should be warm air. His face, the only part of him not covered by the Robin costume, started to go invisible at the same time his skin and hair started to gray. Then he was gone and the costume was left behind, slumping to the floor in a pile.

Everyone stood there for a moment, staring at the colorful pile of armor, then they all turned to look at Damian.

“TT, don’t ask me. I still don’t have a full list of everything he can do.”

---

Tim, along with everyone else, was at the manor the next afternoon. And he did mean everyone, even Kate, Harper, and Cullen were there. Hell, even Jason was there, on time no less. Damian had put “17:30 sharp” in the family (minus Bruce) chat and they knew he meant it. They were crowded into one of the larger sitting rooms, every chair filled save a chaise lounge that had been reserved for Damian. The boy of the hour arrived right on time, with five minutes leeway to set everything up.

“So tell me again who you want to introduce us to, chum?” Bruce asked as he followed behind Damian. Alfred brought up the rear, a plate of fresh cookies in hand.

“I haven't told you yet, Father. Have some patience, it will all make sense soon.” Damian settled on the lounge, setting his crutches to lean against it before pulling something out of his pocket. It was a small metal container, he popped it open and pulled out what appeared to be a bright green handkerchief. Very bright green, possible letting off light, neon toxic green. Duke made a soft surprised sound. Damian spread the cloth out on the coffee table in front of him and smoothed it out.

“Damian,” Bruce said carefully, “what is that?”

“A summoning circle, obviously.”

Wait, Danny was serious about being summoned?

“Can… can you even summon living people?” Dick leaned over from where he was perched on the couch’s arm to whisper to Cass, who was perched behind Tim on the couch’s back. Tim and Cass both shrugged.

“Damian, dealing with the occult is very dangerous.”

“It’s quite safe, Father.” Damian pointed down at the white markings on the handkerchief, “Since all the sigils are on here permanently there is no chance of making a mistake drawing them by hand. This group here is his name, this circle can summon one person and one person only. The rest of these are for protection. And this spot here,” Damian tapped on a small circle within the outer ring, “is to activate it. It does require a single drop of blood, it was the safest way to make the circle.”

“Blood?” Bruce asked flatly.

“It will make sense when I call him, do you trust me?”

“I’m not sure I trust whoever this “him” is,” Bruce grumbled.

“But do you trust me, Father?”

Bruce sighed, “You promise whoever this is means us no harm?”

“Of course, I promise.”

“I met the young man last night,” Alfred said as he placed the plate of cookies in the circle. “I found him to be polite and sincere.”

“So this is to do with whatever happened last night that I can’t get any of you to tell me about?”

“We want to explain it ourselves,” Damian said firmly. Then he pulled out a batarang and carefully poked a finger. “Blood of my blood, I call forth the spirit of my brother, Danyal.” He touched the drop of blood to the handkerchief, which lit up as the air around them shifted. 

A figure began floating up from the circle, glowing white hair that waved as if they were under water, ashen skin, glowing Lazarus green eyes, a wide smile filled with sharp fangs. This… this wasn’t Danny, was this? The figure seemed to be wearing some kind of black jumpsuit, white gloves picking up the plate of cookies as they passed through the plate. They had no legs, after the belt the body just continued in a long tapering tail that ended like whisps of smoke. They were glowing, they were slightly see through! What was going on?

This wasn’t the boy they’d met last night.

“Father, my brother. Danyal, our father.” Damian paused, then added on, “And the rest of our family.”

“Hi,” the figure chirped, then seemed to shrink into himself as he looked around. “I uh… prefer to be called Danny. The only people who full name me are usually trying to kill me. Or send me to detention.”

That was Damian’s, or rather Danny’s voice alright. Even still had the faint midwestern drawal.

“Why do you look so different?” Dick asked in shock.

“It’s… a long story. Which I’m supposed to tell everyone.” Danny shrunk further into himself, looking miserable. “Please stop being so scared.”

“They are simply adjusting to your unfamiliar form, they will get over it,” Damian said firmly, glaring at everyone in the room.

“It’s not just fear, Dami, they’re horrified.”

“Sit down, eat your cookies. Alfred worked hard on those.” Damian patted the empty space next to him on the chaise lounge. 

Danny turned and spun in place to sit down, looked down at where his tail was curled up under him, made a sour face, then the tail was suddenly replaced by a pair of legs tucked under him. He shoved a cookie into his mouth, now sporting normal teeth from what little Tim could see. “S’good,” Danny slurred, glancing over at Alfred who merely nodded his approval.

“Some time ago,” Damian started, as if that wasn’t the most vague way to start, “I summoned Danyal the first time. I am aware it was foolish, I will not hear about it.”

“I called him dumb already,” Danny added in. “I mean, I had to go find someone to explain how the circles work and what makes them safe or dangerous first, but yeah, I called him dumb. Then I had some friends help me make this,” Danny reached over and tapped the handkerchief, “then I went to three trusted uh… mentors? I guess I’d call them? And made sure with each of them this thing is legit before giving it to Dami.”

Bruce hadn’t moved, still standing in front of the coffee table, slack jawed, staring blankly down at Danny and Damian.

“Is he okay?” Danny stage whispered to Damian.

“Perhaps keeping it a surprise was not the optimal option.”

That seemed to snap Bruce out of it, “I think I need to sit down.”

Dick hopped up to guide Bruce to the nearest open seat, which happened to be the chaise lounge. Danny quickly flew up and moved to float cross legged in the air just on the other side of Damian, as if he were sitting in some invisible chair. He munched another cookie before offering the plate to Damian, who took a cookie for himself.

Once Bruce and Dick had settled back down, Damian decided to continue the story. “More recently I needed to do a covert investigation, but I couldn’t allow any of you know.”

“You what?” Bruce asked, clearly upset.

“I know, he still hasn’t even told me what it was. And I had to cover for him!” Danny sounded so offended.

“I had Danyal take my place in patrol while I was away.”

“When?” Bruce asked, voice dipping down as he leveled a steely glare at Damian.

“You never noticed, I think that speaks for itself. So as a test-”

Cass and Tim bumped fists.

“-Danyal has been joining us on patrols for the last twelve days.”

“Almost made it the full two weeks too,” Danny said airily. “That reminds me, you owe me fifty bucks.”

“What? No!” Damian shot back angrily. “They found out before the two weeks were up, clearly I won that bet and you owe me!”

“They didn’t figure it out, that part of the bet is a draw at best for you. No, the fifty is because you’re the reason they found out. It seems awfully suspicious you got into some kind of accident right before the deadline, how did you break your leg again?”

“I did not break my leg on purpose just to win a meaningless bet!”

“Okay, both of you need to calm down,” Bruce said, looking unsure if he needed to step between the two squabbling boys. “You… had a bet?”

“I bet fifty bucks I wouldn’t give myself away before the two weeks were up, Damian bet fifty bucks you’d figure me out before two weeks. And they didn’t figure it out.” Danny turned to glare at Damian as he said that last part.

“Fine,” Damian conceded with a pout. “I shall venmo you your winnings.”

The ghost floating in front of them has a venmo. The ghost floating in front of them has a use for US currency. What is going on? Is Tim hallucinating?

Damian’s pout deepened, “I am still disappointed in you all for not noticing a whole extra person joining our patrols.”

“In my defense, I don’t patrol with you guys,” Duke joked.

“In our defense, we were suspicious,” Tim added.

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Damian, we had no way of even expecting you to switch places with your long lost dead twin.” Bruce paused, then looked over at Danny. “How did you pull that off? No offense Danny, but you are very easy to tell apart right now.”

“Oh, that’s because I can do this.” A bright flash of light washed over Danny, changing him back to the boy Tim had met the night before, only wearing baggy casual clothes instead of brightly colored armor.

Duke yelped and covered his eyes, “A little more warning next time? Damn, that was bright!”

“Oops, sorry.”

“Oh thank god, I was so worried,” Steph murmured from next to Tim.

“Well that was flashy,” Dick said.

Bruce seemed broken again, staring at the now living, black haired, blue eyed boy sitting cross legged in the air next to Damian.

“Okay, so what the fuck was all that?” Jason asked, motioning to Danny. “Are you dead or aren’t you? Because you don’t look dead right now.”

“Neither do you,” Danny snarked back.

“I’m not dead though.”

“You sure?”

“Not anymore,” Jason said stubbornly.

“No one ever comes all the way back, not anyone who was dead dead.”

“Please stop,” Bruce begged. Dick whimpered in agreement.

Danny ducked into his shoulders again, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Since it would be inconvenient for Robin to be missing at the same time I have a broken leg,” Damian said as a clear subject change, “and we have a perfect stand in who’s already proven himself in the field, Danyal has kindly offered to cover for me for the next few nights.”

“I managed to soup Plasmius last night, so that gives me two, three days max of not having to worry about his schemes. My friends can cover for me during the night so long as I’m still back home during the day. Unless a rabid ancient show up, anyway.”

“What does any of that even mean?” Tim begged.

“We could use some context,” Dick added.

“Right, I guess this is when the life story portion starts,” Danny said with a sigh.

“Perhaps you would prefer to talk over dinner?” Alfred asked from the room’s doorway.

“Dinner sounds great!” Danny cheered as he hopped to his feet, now firmly on the floor. “I’m not sure talking about dying and coming back is the best dinner conversation though,” Danny said absently as he and Bruce helped Damian to his feet.

“Alfred usually has a strict no work talk at the dinner table rule,” Tim teased.

“I think he can make an exception for someone’s life story,” Duke laughed. There were several murmurs of agreement.

“Alright, well I guess we can start with the first time I died,” Danny said as the group slowly filed out of the sitting room and towards the dining room.

#nenna writes #fanfiction #dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dc comics #batman #batfam #demon twins au #danny and damian are twins #i like the parent trap trope okay? #it's soooooo much fun #poor brucie is having a heart attack thre panic attacks and an existential crisis #and that's before basically getting told jason's still dead

[meayefet]

Here's another thing I feel like we need to talk about regarding the current war between Israel and Hamas. Minor as it may be, I've been losing my mind over this.

As a person who grew up in the early 2010s, I grew up mostly on the internet and fandom culture, and have written quite a lot of fanficition in my early teens.

Something I've realized this past week is that people are seeing Palestine as a fandom. And not only does it belittle the actual problem, it dehumanizes Palestinians and Israelis alike and allows the rewriting of facts and truths as if it were an AU fanfic.

After realizing that I jokingly told a friend that I wouldn't be surprised to see RPF about the events of October 7th. I had in mind something like slash fiction of Hamas members, but today I found out people are writing fanfiction about A HOSTAGE AND HER CAPTOR.

I also found out it didn't happen in a vaccum - apparently tiktok is exploding with this stuff, saying Maya Regev - the hostage in question - had "left her heart in Gaza", because she smiled and said "shukran, bye" to her captors.

In case you have forgotten - Maya Regev was SHOT IN THE LEG AND TAKEN HOSTAGE INTO GAZA along with her brother, who was released FOUR DAYS AFTER HER. She was released with a shattered leg and without her brother - but if she smiled, her captors must have treated her so well, amirite? (Even though there are already plenty of horror stories from Hamas captivity, and children came back pale and whispering with their heads full of lice.)

Even in the early 2010s there was a debate whether RPF is legit or not (and at 26 I can safely say it's a no from me), but in this case it's even worse. These are not public figures we are talking about. This isn't One Direction or The Beatles. The Hamas terrorists are, well, terrorists, and Maya Regev is a private person made public because she was TAKEN HOSTAGE INTO GAZA. Writing a FANFIC about actual people who were actually injured during October 7th is beyond sickening, and it's probably the most immoral thing you can do on social media for the Palestinian cause (and if you guys claim to be on the side of morality you might want to be consistent).

Another thing that's driving me crazy is the difference between Israelis and Non-Israelis who grew up on the same things at the same time. my friends and I learned a lot about justice, critical thinking, and the power of art and creativity on the internet. I met a lot of my online friends in socialist youth movements and rallies, and many of them later became my classmates in Bezalel - BECAUSE we applied what we had learned into our adult life.

Non Israelis who grew up on the same platforms as I did who took part in the same fandoms, read the same fanfiction works, learned the same truths of social justice and the power of art- are now viewing the conflict as a fandom. You're either a fan or you're wrong - there is no middle. No room for critical thinking, for "Palestinians have every right to self-determination and an independent state BUT Hamas who actively prevents them said rights has comitted crimes against humanity on 7.10 and must be held accountable", or for "the occupation must end BUT the Jewish people are indigenous to the region" - there is only room for "by all means" and "from the river to the sea". It doesn't matter if they don't know which river and what sea - because if the conflict is a fandom, then they can write an AU to deal with every truth that doesn't settle with their narrative, and rewrite reality to fit their next fanfic.

#personal #ישראל #ישראבלר #וופס תרגמתי #אישי #i will post that on my story #antisemitism