#at least as far as the nature of the story suggests

[laurfilijames]

Rain

Pairing: Pete Dunham x female reader

Words: 600+

Warnings: Intense make out session outside The Abbey that is suggestive to leading to public sex.

Summary: Not even the rain can stop you and Pete from keeping your hands to yourselves.

A/N: I have at least four other WIPs I should be working on but this happened and here you go.

---

It smelled like rain.

It was about to downpour, but you didn't care.

The cold wind rushed around you, pushing you closer to Pete and his endless warmth, your hair whipping out and then back against your face again, only to have him card through it with his long fingers in an attempt to keep it out of his way.

He never lacked passion, his barrage starting long before you had even made it through the doors of The Abbey, not paying any mind to who bore witness to the things most people would wait to do in private. His hands had been all over you while inside, lingering and teasing, and stepping out into the freedom of the open air only seemed to encourage him more, the one that had swept your hair away slipping down to land on the column of your neck where he applied enough pressure to make you suck in a deep breath, deepening the reach of his tongue in your mouth as he did. His other hand skirted along your waist, grazing your skin in a playful manner that almost tickled and made you squirm, the difference between his two touches and the varying sensations effectively intoxifying you.

“Pete,” you breathed, his smile looking blurry as you tried to focus when he parted from you, and now you were the one clawing at him to bring him back to you. Gripping at his tan trenchcoat, you crashed against him, exchanging the smell of the oncoming weather with his skin and the last pint he had downed, swallowing his chuckle as you explored his mouth with your tongue eagerly.

Any amusement he found in this was quickly rid of, his moans reverberating through you when you ground your hips against his, not feeling shy in rubbing yourself on his hard bulge as if there were no clothes separating you.

“Fucking hell,” he huffed, pausing as if deciding whether it would be better to stop before going too far or simply abandon any decency he had left, ultimately choosing the latter as he looked down at your kiss-swollen lips and touched them with his thumb, moving his body forward to force yours back against the brick wall behind you when he captured you in another claiming kiss.

His lips needed yours, a desperation transferring from him to you that made it seem like if he didn't kiss you enough, the skies would open up from the power of his fury alone.

Heavy drops of rain pelted off his coat, the sound almost able to overtake that of your wet and frantic kisses, and feeling the rain start to bead down your faces only seemed to add to the frenzy, like Mother Nature was encouraging you to let all inhibitions go.

The wind picked up again, passing through the limited space between your bodies, your nipples pressing against your shirt in a pleasurably painful way as they peaked into hard pebbles, increasing your arousal to a level that had you whining into Pete’s mouth while finding it difficult to continue breathing.

The assault of the biting cold contrasting to Pete’s warmth along with the pummeling of rain on your exposed bits of skin had you dizzy, the excitement and anticipation of how far both of you were willing to go standing outside the pub adding to your overstimulation, and when he dove down to kiss your neck, you knew there was no way of getting out of this now.

You closed your eyes, tearing at his body under his jumper, begging with your hands for him to give you everything right then and there, your fingers acting on their own and instinctively finding the button on his jeans as he continued to nip and suck at your wet skin.

It was raining, but you didn’t care.

---

Comments and reblogs are the lifeline of fanfic, so if you enjoyed reading this story, please consider sharing your thoughts with me and others! 💗

Taglist: @stealfromthedevil @theesirenteller @inbar-thomas1980 @lilac13

#pete dunham #green street hooligans #pete dunham x female reader #charlie hunnam #pete dunham x reader #charlie hunnam characters

[creatingblackcharacters]

“That One Hairstyle? RETIRE IT!” Black Hair is an Art (pt.1)

(This is part one of two lessons, with this one focusing on how our hair itself! The next lesson will encompass how to incorporate its existence into your writing. It'd be a massively long post otherwise.)

So! Black hair. Black hair is a CENTRAL, ESSENTIAL part of our culture and identity. Writing and drawing it means understanding the vulnerability and trust that comes with access to it, and yes, it is racist to suggest that ‘it’s just hair’ when our hair serves such an important role in our history and art. I already wrote a mini-lesson and ask on the topic, but being aware of what our hair looks like, and what means to us, will help you to understand why we care that you put in the effort to get it right.

Hair Textures

We are not a genetic monolith! However, for the sake of this series, we are focusing on 3C-4C, because 1) it's most likely to be seen in life and 2) least likely to be seen in popular art! When you are creating your characters, consider the style and care for THESE textures. I will get more into this next lesson.

Let's get into SOME of the hairstyles!

Afros (36 Afro Hairstyles)

“So, what’s the phenomenon behind the Afro? Well, it’s our hair in its most natural form, but that’s only part of the phenomenon. It’s a way to fight the status quo without saying a word.”

-Ebony Magazine, The History of the Afro

When nonBlack society hears ‘afro’, they think completely picked out, Black power imagery, political statement. And it was, and is! But in actuality, afros are just the natural hair growing out of a Black person's head. The same way your hair grows out of your head. Our texture. Even my hair is not allowed to be ‘hair’, it has to ‘assign’ my Blackness; my distance from whiteness. Imagine, the hair growing out of your head being automatically associated with how you should be perceived. Just by existing, it is making a statement in a Eurocentric society.

Braids (31 Braid Styles)

There are SO MANY TYPES of braids and ways to wear them. If you can imagine a design, I bet there's a Black braider that can do it!

CORNROWS ARE NOT AUTOMATICALLY BRAIDS! Internalize this! They may be used in the same style, but they are NOT INTERCHANGEABLE TERMS!

Braids are considered a protective style; that is, a hairstyle designed to let our hair 'rest' and grow without having to manipulate it. If you have a Black character that's constantly on the go and/or doesn't have time to focus on their hair, and you want an accurate, more true-to-life experience for them, braids can be a crucial part of character design.

Locs

(Yes, while that link has plenty of examples, it was also self-indulgent. Locs are gorgeous, Black men with locs are gorgeous!)

"Locs vs Dreads": As someone in the loc community, there’s been a push to refer to the style as ‘locs’, rather than ‘dreadlocks’. Some people with the style will not care, but others take it very seriously, so it’s something to keep in mind. There’s a societal stigma behind having locs, that they’re ‘dirty’ or ‘unkempt’ or ‘lazy’ and that is NOT true. Locs are beautiful, and they take far more effort than people seem to want to believe lmao.

Locs, though there is currently a positive revival, are still highly discriminated against. Kids have been expelled from school and even have had their hair forcibly cut off to be allowed to participate in sports. Many places won't hire you if they think your hair is 'unprofessional' or 'dirty', especially if you're a Black woman. To consider yet another example of the hair that grows out of my head 'dirty' is extremely racist.

LOCS ARE NOT BRAIDS!!!!

Locs are also a protective style, albeit a much more permanent one, and one that comes with a long history and culture behind it. Many Black people consider the biblical story of Samson to be a man with locs, and that our locs hold power within them. That not just anyone should be allowed to touch your locs. So, if you're interested in mythology and powers, that might be an intriguing way to go, that would be possible if you had a Black character with locs!

In Professional Media

The lack of awareness and concern about our hair isn't just a fan or amateur creator experience. It is ubiquitous in the professional media world. Black actors, actresses, and models have discussed having to do their own hair when working, because no one would properly care for it on set if it wasn't familiarly white. It’s admittedly grown better- however! After decades of not having options other than ‘stereotypical afro’, ‘box cut’, and ‘white people hair’, it is LONG PAST TIME to stop settling for the bare minimum in Black character design. We can tell when "one of us" (with some sense, at least) wasn't in the room to make decisions in popular media.

If you were curious about the lesson title, here's a current example of what I'm talking about in video games. Tell me if you see a pattern:

This style? The Killmonger? We seent it!!!! It has become the “hairstyle to show I understand the exaggerated swagger of a young Black teen” option, the "I know the Black people!" go-to, and frankly, we are all tired of it. Okay it was cute on Ekko. The Black Delegation DEMANDS the professional video game industry pick something else! We have SO MANY DIFFERENT HAIRSTYLES!

I'll give you an example on the other end (not trying at all; refer to Lesson 1) from one of my favorite games, Hades:

This is my blorbo. My favoritest guy. I’ll fight for Patroclus being Black til the day I die. While I begrudgingly settled in my excitement, I can tell you no one Black with any voting power was in the room at Supergiant when they approved this design. Why? His texture! Locs were such an easy option if they wanted long hair! Locs existed BEFORE Ancient Greece! The man did not have a flat iron while fighting in a war! A good Black designer would have considered that!

To give him a more accurate design, some artists (myself included) lean into giving him locs (one of my favorites is @karshmallow 's Pat; a phenomenal example in caring about your Black characters). It’s something Black fans find themselves doing- redesigning Black characters. That's not something we should have to do at all, especially in media we pay for!

But if you REALLY want your Black character to have straight hair, that leads into the last style of this lesson:

Straight Hair

We do have straight hair. But it’s not straight because it grew out that way! It will still look and be thicker! It might be a wig or a sew-in (human or synthetic), it might be flat-ironed (while relaxed? While natural?) It takes effort to get and maintain straight hair.

'I think it looks better good this way!'

If you catch yourself thinking this, this is a racist statement. Whether you’re aware of it our not, there is a bias towards Eurocentric/white features in our society, and that includes in our media. When you think “I only drew [this Eurocentric hair texture and style] because I think it looks good on them!” I want you to PAUSE and think about the WHY. WHY do you think that this Black person’s natural features are unattractive in comparison to the white hair texture you gave them? And how hurt might a Black peer of yours would feel hearing that you find their natural features not worth drawing because they’re “not attractive”. It requires approaching your own internal biases, recognizing them, and then working to unlearn them. And that means practice! Using references to draw our hair and styles, and growing used to using OUR features on US!

Doing it in Art

Me personally, I think if you think drawing thinner hair textures is easy, thicker hair textures should be a BREEZE. I was curious, so I challenged myself and-

(it took me about thirteen minutes total to do ol boy's hair and it's still not right. I'm sick fr y'all don't even know 🤢)

@ackee has a really good art lesson on the how-tos of drawing Black hairstyles. I highly recommend checking it out, as well as following and supporting a fellow Black artist (who is far better than I!)

Hair Brushes

Finally, an option you can use for painting is downloading Black hair brushes! Vegalia has an amazing array of brushes with different types of curls, locs, and braids at her Etsy store! You can also follow her on social media to see how she applies them, and support yet another amazing Black creative!

I know this was a long one, but you made it! Just keep going. Remember, it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

#creatingblackcharacters #black art #black characters #character design #black hair #black history #black culture

[sapphosclosefriend]

- Money, Power, Glory pt 2 -

Pairing: CEO! Silverfox! Natasha Romanoff x Escort! Fem! Reader

Genre: smut

Summary: your first time at the Romanoff household starts off more than well. Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: top! Natasha x bottom! R, Natasha has a penis, big age gap (N=56, R=24), very brief drinking (N), making out, SMUT, dry humping, face riding, 69ing, tit fucking, brief cum eating (R).

A/N: this story contains smut so anyone who isn’t 18+ DNI. Sorry for the longest wait ever, chapter 3 should be basically ready to go, so I'll dedicate myself to writing the Christmas special in the meantime! Thanks so much to @supercorpdanbeau and @rt--link for being so amazing 💕 As usual, likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated! Enjoy ♡

Masterlist

You tried so hard to keep your wandering eyes from selfishly focusing on her hands as she poured herself a glass of whiskey by the small corner bar in her living room, but you just couldn't help but appreciate the beautiful sight in front of you. You could see the tension in her casual standing as she finished making herself a drink, before walking over to the couch and sitting down next to you, too far away for your bodies to touch but close enough to suggest her intent to make it happen. You couldn't keep your lips from slightly curling up at her eyes, behind the glass of expensive liquor, constantly moving, not as sneakily as she thought, to the small snippet of thighs that was being revealed by your dress naturally riding up a bit thanks to your crossed legs.

She thought she was going to be stronger than that, stronger than most, yet there she was, with a tent already starting to form in her pants at the sight of a beautiful young woman all dressed up for her, sitting on her couch only waiting to be taken by her. She felt like a hormonal teenager at the thought of how easily you had started to affect her. She wasn't exactly a playboy, but she'd seen and been with her fair share of women in her life, yet the simple sight of you, sitting while turned towards her, showing off your legs and hips and chest, only made her mouth drier the more she drank. She had downed her glass in one go by the time her eyes were able to leave your body and, in the brief seconds that seemed to have lasted hours, she had been able to explore every inch of you she could have laid her gaze on, leaving her only wanting for more.

“Would you like to talk for a bit?”

Your words, spoken so casually in contrast to her almost spiraling thoughts, pulled her eyes to your face. You were smiling politely, yet sincerely, at her. You almost felt bad for putting an end to the amusing sight of her getting herself more and more flustered, but you selfishly needed to, if not to know more about her, at least to get started as soon as possible. You were hoping that your poker face was good enough to only display your faux calmness and hide the turmoil of emotions you were feeling at being face to face with her, so close you would’ve been able to feel her touch if only you moved your leg one small bit.

“Do you usually do that?”

She tried to regain what composure she had left by trying to engage in the casual chatting you had initiated as she leaned to put down her empty glass on the coffee table. You had declined her polite offer for a drink of your own, but started to regret your decision at her husky voice and the sight of her sharp jawline and lean neck getting exposed as she moved to settle down the expensive glass, making you feel your cheeks getting slightly warmer and your heartbeat faster for a second.

“It's not necessary, it's just to let you know that we can, if you want. And yes, apparently, a little ramble can help destress just as much”

By the time you had finished speaking, a smirk was gracing her lips, making her appearance seem much closer to the usual confident one you had always seen in her pictures and wiping away almost all traces of the small, brief panic you had just gotten a glimpse of.

“So they treat you like a therapist”

You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at the exact same words uttered by multiple of your friends in the past. She was right, though. Surprisingly enough, one of the main skills you absolutely needed to have, and that your agent couldn’t stop reminding you of at first, was that of listening. Keeping updated on the news, always reading and being able to hold a proper conversation were definitely important, but never as critical as always being willing to listen for as long as needed and to indulge in any issue presented. It didn’t matter how much you didn’t care or what pieces of shits were talking to you, their problems were the greatest ones in the world and the only ones a simple girl like you could’ve ever had on her mind. Or at least that’s what they needed to believe.

“Sometimes. I guess that they like therapy with a little more kick at the end of the session”

You tried to be just a little more playful, hoping to get her to relax and feel like she could open up in case she wanted to. Her brief chuckle warmed your heart at its unrestrained nature and made it impossible for you to keep yourself from ogling at her as she swiftly ran her hand through her gray hair to get it back out of her face after she had briefly lost her composure. Her attention was back on your face as she found you beaming at her with your lower lip caught in your teeth to try, in vain, to hold back a big smile that threatened to come out at her beauty. A strange mix of sweet hunger, so tender it almost weirded her out, started to come to the surface as her eyes locked with your young and almost innocent ones, as alluring as the most dangerous siren's. If she had to be honest, she kind of felt like an asshole for wanting to jump right into the more intimate part of the night, overlooking your kind offer to let her vent, but got reassured once she finally noticed your slightly quickened breathing and fingers fidgeting with your dress as you leaned towards her a little bit.

“It’s been a pretty rough week. Thank you for coming”

She tried to acknowledge your availability while she was still in full control of her own mind, because now she knew that, as soon as she would have gotten a taste of you, she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself anymore.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m happy to be here if it means I can help you out”

You tried so hard to keep your voice from trembling too pathetically and ignore her darkening eyes boring into you, but the heavenly sight in front of you, and the slight straining in her pants, only made your cheeks grow warmer at the excitement you tried to contain that made you feel like a foolish schoolgirl.

“What can I do, Ms Romanoff?”

Her jaw clenched as your hand gently fell on a way too safe spot on her thigh, right above her knee, miles away from where you both truly wanted it to get.

“You can call me Natasha”

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from your lips, slightly apart, a sign of your collected stance starting to crumble, that only called her more intensely as you wet them before unconsciously biting your lower one as anticipation ate you up more and more, making your hand slightly tighten on her thigh.

“What do you want me to do, Natasha?”

This time, as you almost whispered the words, your weak gaze succumbed to the seduction of her lips as she slowly inched closer to you, hoping to get rid of the space cruelly dividing you two and finally get lost in the pleasure she so desperately wanted to reach. In that moment she felt as if she needed nothing more than the feeling of your lips on hers, even though she knew that as soon as her favor would have been granted she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from trying to get more and more of you. She had almost reached her final destination, her gates to heaven, when you suddenly turned your head a little bit, making her lips land on the corner of your mouth. She couldn’t stop a deep grumble from coming to the surface, but barely had the time to feel the initial frustration of being denied what she wanted, before you hand moved in the direction of her center, still way too far away for her liking, but close enough for the warmth of your skin through the fabric on her to make her twitch in her pants, and your lips started gently kissing her neck, leaving her even more in need of some relief, if that was even possible. Her panting in your ear as your hand moved closer and closer to where she needed it the most made goosebumps grow on your arms and you couldn’t stop a muffled whimper in her neck when she grasped your waist with one hand, touching you for the first time. You wanted, no, needed to feel her, but, for the sake of teasing her some more, you swiftly skipped her crotch to sneak your hand under her sweater and touch her bare stomach, pathetically mewling against her throat at the way her hand moved under your ass to pull you even closer to her, making you almost sit in her lap. You were both a panting mess and, after some wiggling and squirming from her trying to keep herself from ripping your dress with her bare hands, you ended up fully on top of her, straddling her lap while still on your knees, resisting her hands on your hips trying to make you properly sit on her clothed erection. It was only once she finally gave up and ended up moving downward to bunch your dress over your hips and grab your ass that you finally fully sat down on her, letting her feel your covered center on her.

“Fuck!”

Her voice and the buck of her hips into you sent a strong shiver through your whole body and a pang of arousal in your lower stomach. Leaning your forehead against hers, you looked deep into her eyes as you grounded your hips into her hard on, starting with a low rhythm that easily got the older woman panting and desperately grabbing your hips to try to make your movements quicken. The rough surface of her boxers and your underwear did wonders at heightening the pleasure you both already felt and in no time you could feel the fabric against yourself dampening up from your arousal, thanks to the way her covered cock perfectly hit your clit.

The sudden movement of her arms, slithering around your torso to keep you from moving away, and her hips thrusting more and more up into you, made you take pity on her and you finally started gradually speeding up your movements. The moan she let out once you grounded harder into her took your breath away and got a louder one out of you at the hard grasp of her hands on your waist, making you lose track of the speed of your own hips, seemingly moving on their own accord to only make you both feel as good as possible. The older woman found herself enamored at the sinful sight of the black fabric of your underwear glistening a bit under the warm light of her living room and creating a small damp patch on her pants. For a second she couldn’t help but find herself wondering if your displays of pure bliss were genuine or if she was witnessing a thoroughly curated act you used with all of your clients, but she decided to trust you and the whiny moans coming from deep within you and solidly planted her feet on the ground to easily thrust up into you and meet your movements.

The almost animalistic way in which you were dry humping each other was making you lose your mind, even more so at the other woman cursing under her breath and the sudden slap she landed on your ass, making you moan loudly as your head fell back, exposing your neck to her and making it hard for her to respect your no marking rule and latch onto the soft skin she suddenly needed to taste. Natasha completely lost her composure at the sight of your face, a perfect display of pure ecstasy, and you hips erratically moving to take your own pleasure from her and got a hold of your hips in a way that definitely must’ve hurt a bit, but maybe not as much as she thought, according to your breathless moan at the action, to press you even harder on her, getting herself impossibly close to her orgasm.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum”

She was looking at your center moving over her clothed cock once her panting words got your attention to her face and, finally wanting to indulge her initial wish you still hadn’t granted her, you moved one of your hands from her shoulders to the nape of her neck, getting her attention back on you, and leaned in, stopping for a second and only a breath away, before finally pressing your lips on hers, making her moan in the kiss at finally being able to taste you, even if only for a moment. The hard orgasm hit her so hard she had to move away to lean her head back, closing her eyes at the high levels of ecstasy you made her reach, and grunt loudly every time her hips thrusted up hard into you on their own accord while shooting string after string of cum into her own underwear. The sinfully beautiful sight of her face as she came and the veins of her neck, more defined than ever, sent a painful twinge of arousal to your core as you moved more and more slowly over her as she came down from her orgasm, stopping only once she hissed at her sensitive cock meeting your center with one final thrust of hers.

“Holy shit”

Her head was still leaning back on the edge of the couch and her eyes were still closed as she murmured the words, but she opened them once you pressed one last kiss to her lips, looking more inviting than necessary as she breathed through them while she caught her breath. For a second she found herself lost in the sight of your exposed lower half, clad only by a black thong that barely covered your core and traces of clear slick on the inside of your thighs. Your chest was about to spill out of your dress as you heaved, your hair was a bit messier than earlier and your hands were still tightly gripping her shoulders for dear life and that’s when she realized, after her post orgasm haziness started disappearing, that you hadn’t cum yet.

One of her hands finally left its death grip on your hips, leaving behind a delicious ache on your skin, as she reached for your face to swipe her thumb over your warm cheek before gently cradling it and leaning in to peck your lips, waiting for your approval of her action and receiving it at the slight drag of your tongue over her lower one. As soon as she opened her mouth you were on her, kissing her with all your might and threading your fingers through her glorious hair to make sure to keep her as close as possible. You were still on edge from the high levels of arousal still pumping intensely through you and, as they blurred your mind, also thanks to her tongue easily dominating yours, they prevented you from registering her movements, which you noticed only by the time she had positioned you just how she wanted.

You ended up straddling her, as she now lay down on the couch, while you still made out like your life depended on it and your hips unconsciously tried to find some relief by slowly moving over her lower abdomen. She soon ceased your movements, though, and gently started pushing you from the back of your thighs until you had wiggled closer and closer to her face. Standing on your knees while hovering over her torso, the sight of her lips, swollen by the intense kissing and almost curled into a small smirk, and her hands gently caressing your thighs almost made them buckle at the imminent moment. For a second, all the hints of playfulness were gone from her eyes and got replaced by hard seriousness, as she nodded once at you and waited for your own nod of approval, that tried unsuccessfully to hide your enthusiasm and need, before smiling softly at you. It's only once she had made sure that you were fine with her wish that she slithered down a bit until you were right by her neck, close enough for her to smell the arousal that you couldn't contain anymore. You were driving her insane and, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in her pants from her previous orgasm and her still semi hard cock, she slowly started moving her hands over your body, over your thighs, your ass, your back, until she was swiftly moving your soaked underwear to the side, moaning at the sight of your exposed pussy and the fabric briefly sticking to it because of your wetness. You looked like a dream to her, looking down at her with pure anticipation as you tried to keep your breathing at bay, and all she needed in that moment was only to see you crumble just for her.

Her hands finally got back to the apex of your thigh and, after taking a secure hold on both of them, she gave one small push to make you lower yourself on her. She knew what you wanted and she wanted it too, all of it immediately, but the smooth skin of your inner thighs, still glistening, did nothing but made you look like an absolute goddess to her, and who was she to deprive you of the adequate worship you deserved? Once her lips left a small peck on your soft skin, still close enough to your center to make your hips buckle a little and your breathing hitch, the older woman's hunger got the best of her and, while still trying to control herself enough to unfortunately leave no trace of herself behind, she got lost in the plumpness of your inner thighs. She would've gladly spent hours kissing and very lightly scraping her teeth over the velvety skin if it meant hearing you yelp over and over as you tried to keep yourself upright.

Your mind was foggy and all you needed to clear it was her mouth just a bit higher. You knew at least a part of her was trying to get you to your breaking point, but she thankfully stopped her cruel actions once your hand suddenly flew to her hair to try to keep yourself standing, getting her attention to your closed eyes and shaky breathing. Natasha wished she could've said that the reason behind her stopping her torturous teasing was to indulge you in the pleasure you deserved, but the truth was that the selfish need to see you broken because of her was way too intense for her to keep herself back any longer.

The moment her lips left your skin you felt some sort of relief at being able to properly breath once again, but almost missed her teasing once she immediately dove into your pussy, drawing a breathy moan out of you before you could contain yourself.

���Fuck, you taste good”

Natasha couldn't help herself from briefly overlooking your pleasure to randomly explore your core as she pleased, getting hungrier each time she discovered a new spot that got your thighs trembling over her. She was the thirstiest woman on the planet and you were the most gratifying oasis she could've asked to encounter. For the first time in your career, you felt embarrassed of the extreme pleasure you were feeling and its unrestrained displays you could barely contain, but the swift movements of her tongue and lips, clear sign of someone who knew very well what they were doing, were getting you way too close to your peak in such a short period of time. By the time she gave some mercy to your clit and moved downwards to enter your aching hole with her tongue, her nose bumped right on your sensitive bean, making it impossible for you to stop your hips from slightly moving over her face to heighten the heavenly feeling. You tried to keep your loud moans at bay by biting down on your index finger, but foolishly defeated yourself by looking down at the older woman, finding her hooded eyes already on you, as she moaned against your folds and tightened her hold on your thighs at the sight of your watery, desperate eyes, drawing a loud whine deep from you.

You wanted more, you needed more, so you suddenly lifted yourself off of her, ignoring her frustrated grunt, to turn around and place yourself back over her lips before immediately starting to unbutton her pants, hearing her sighing and cursing to herself at the prospect of your touch directly on her. Her sticky boxers were an absolute mess, and you tried to ignore her mouthwatering cum on them to get her cock fully free from the fabric. The woman under you, resuming her mission to make you cum, finally got your attention away from her length standing proud in front of you. You tried to distract yourself from your impending peak by finally wrapping your hand around her and licking the clear precum oozing out of the head of her cock, feeling her moaning right against you at the small bits of stimulation you were giving her. You truly realized you had been lazily sucking her head for quite a bit, your mind completely taken over by her perfect ministrations between your legs, only once her hands tightened their hold on your thighs so much you were sure there was definitely going to be at least some bruising the next day, and she couldn’t hold back her groans anymore, shooting such delicious sparkles of pleasure through you thanks to the vibrations of her voice on your core. You wished you could have pleased her in a much better way with your mouth, selfishly wanting to feel her in your throat as well, but the orgasm that was seconds away from crashing down on you finally made it impossible for you to hold back your moans, making your composure crumble once and for all and finally gracing her ears with such heavenly sounds that quickly got her equally close even without your touch on her anymore. You finally snapped for the first time of the night with her tongue on your clit and her hands almost ripping your expensive, flimsy underwear in half as she tightly held it to pull you even more flush against her mouth, so desperate to taste your heavenly essence she would’ve almost felt embarrassed for it if she was in any way in her right mind.

Your legs were shaky and, anytime you thought you had finally caught your breath, the sight of her hard cock in front of your face, right on the brink of another orgasm, made the air get caught in your throat all over again at its sight gracing your no longer fogged up eyes, now able to properly appreciate it. You had to be the one to stop Natasha, still lazily tasting as much of you as she could, and lift yourself off of her, muffling an almost whiny sound of frustration of hers with a quick kiss, which you deepened as you grabbed the neck of her sweater to make her move to a sitting position. One of her hands immediately moved to your chest and finally indulged herself, groping your boob a bit more firmly the more you hummed in the kiss at the beautiful sensation of being wanted by her. Feeling her trying to pull you in more and more to make you sit back in her lap, right over her thigh, you unfortunately had to break the perfect kiss.

“I wanna make you cum”

Your sweet voice and pretty eyes as you mumbled the words while looking up at her made her twitch at the mere thought of her cum possibly painting your skin and you could almost see the thoughts quickly racing behind her eyes as she decided where exactly she wanted to do it. Your pretty face admittedly looked just too inviting for it, the thought having graced her mind only moments after you greeted her at the door, but her thoughts couldn’t stop from going back to the sinful sight of your cleavage so perfectly on display for her yet still way too covered for her liking. Without uttering a word she reached for your back to slowly pull down the small zipper while leaving pecks over the top of your chest and collarbone, slowing her moving hand every time you shakily gasped in order to never stop hearing the beautiful noises you made that went straight to her cock each time.

“I wanna fuck these tits”

Her words, spoken more to herself than to you, only drove you more insane for her and clouded your mind as she pushed you to lie on the couch, leaning over you between your legs as she hurriedly pulled your dress down and took off your bra. She left the dress below your torso, not bothering to slip the now useless fabric fully off of you, and leaving it bunched at your waist to expose your chest and core to her. She wouldn't have had the chance to do it even if she wanted to, as her cock bumped with your naked center every time she moved while hungrily kissing your boobs. Your hand on her head as she sucked your nipple got her attention to your beautiful face as you looked at her with hooded eyes while biting your lip. That was it, she couldn't keep herself back anymore, she needed to cum and she needed to do it all over you right then and there.

Your heart skipped a beat as she moved over you to straddle your torso and took your breath away at her beauty as she loomed over you and let her spit fall on her cock before pumping it. You couldn't help but stare in awe at the lewd action, making her hum at you staring at her lips with your mouth open.

“Now that's interesting”

Your slightly embarrassed look at her new discovery only amused her even more and, gently holding your chin, she managed to haze your already obedient mind even more as she spoke once again.

“Open up”

You immediately opened your mouth and pushed your tongue out a little, waiting with closed eyes to be graced by the goddess on top of you, but felt slight disappointment when her hand ended up leaving your face and she chuckled through her nose.

“Maybe later”

Damn her. You shot your eyes open at her words and you couldn't help but pout slightly, before reluctantly nodding obediently at her, secretly savoring the “good girl” coming from her perfect lips. You couldn't even fathom the power the older woman already had over you and could only lay limp to let her position her cock between your boobs before grabbing each one and pressing them on either side of her own length. The moment her hips began to move and she threw her head back with a loud moan your breath was knocked away from you and you were left to stare in awe at her beautiful face taken over by pleasure and the sight of her cock moving on your chest, looking way too delicious to ignore. She knew she was barely going to last seconds, but she felt no embarrassment as her mind was completely taken over by ecstasy. Seeing your tongue out, waiting for the head of her cock every time she thrusted forward, almost got her to her breaking point and your eyes meeting hers, beaming at her as she took her own pleasure from your body, finally made her reach her peak. As soon as her orgasm suddenly hit her she quickly pumped her cock with her hand to finally shoot her cum all over your tits, groaning as you intently kept looking at her as she breathlessly moaned each time more of the white fluid hit your skin.

She felt almost shocked by just how hard she came, certainly the hardest in a very long time, but barely had the time to recover at all before the sight of you scooping some of her cum from your boob with your fingers and sucking them clean with a languid moan left her speechless.

It was going to be a long long night…and hopefully the beginning of an even longer acquaintance.

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Part 3

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Tags: @fxckmiup @natashasilverfox @dmenby3100 @marvels--slut @dvrkhcld @elenimoris @mrsrushman @mrsromanoff @thalia-is-not-ok @alianovnasposts @clintsupremacy @taliiiaasteria @meowymari @lissaaaa145 @natashaswife4125 @olsenmyolsen @angrywhisperslove @aemilia19

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff smut #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #black widow smut #marvel #mcu

[sohnric]

to. my first – k. sunwoo

pairing: kim sunwoo x fem! reader

genre: 90s au. twenty-five twenty-one au, friends to lovers au, exes to lovers au. fluff, slice of life, coming of age, suggestive. highschool au, football player! sunwoo, baker! sunwoo. cheerleader! reader. first love au. what we call wet cat sunwoo. meeting your ex after years and falling back in love with him kind of thing.

warnings: alcohol, throwing up, swearing, reader has hair long enough for a ponytail, a heated make out session or two that alludes to them having sex but no actual smut happens, finger sucking, the reader moping around a lot, no plot just vibes.

word count: 31k

a/n: inspired by me telling @/csenke that sunwoo is my first love. why am i so soft for this man i truly dont know... thank you best friend for betaing this monster i appreciate it a LOT! also thank you to sana @/heemingyu and izzy @/from-izzy for the help on some parts of the fic and brainstorming the ending w me, as well as beta reading small parts of this.

spin-off to my fic millennium bug because sunwoo deserves love too! the reader from eric's fic is referenced to as MB!Y/N in this. you don't have to read the first fic to understand this one, but there are a lot of references in this and i highly encourage you to do so!

they say you never forget about your first love. you guess that's true. (or– a story about reckless love, first kisses, growing up, ambition, and inevitably, failure.)

August 2007

The laughter all around is electric. The music playing in the background makes you sway and hum to the melody, the familiar tunes making your insides light up with a different sense of nostalgia when you remember the times in which these songs were popular. Your tired limbs make you cut your way through the room and sit down on a vacant chair, not really caring about where your designated seat was anymore, just needing to rest for a second before you either throw up from exhaustion or faint from how tired your legs are from all the dancing. Paying a quick goodbye to Juyeon on the dance floor, you heave out a satisfied sigh when your bottom meets the cushioned seat of the chair, eyes zeroing on the filled dance floor.

Feeling a cramp in your foot, you scowl and lean down, ready to do the thing you’ve been desiring for at least the last three hours– if not the whole day. Hands playing with the strap on your heel, you make the shoe come undone before you slip the uncomfortable footwear off your feet, relaxing when your naked limbs meet with the cold tile on the floor. 

You don’t really know who in their right mind would have a wedding in the middle of the summer heat, but you guess there are people that are out of their mind like that– and those people are your friends from high school. 

Everything about coming back to your hometown has made you feel unpleasantly nostalgic so far– the streets haven’t changed a bit, your childhood home still looks just the same, furniture unmoved, and the air is still as crisp, yet humid as it always was during late August. It’s only tonight that finally makes the weird bittersweetness turn into joy. You’re back home with everyone you’ve ever known, with everyone who’s made you into who you are today. You’re seeing all their faces for the first time in ages– and frankly, it does feel good. 

The satisfaction in your veins stays for a bit until a figure dressed in a suit comes into your point of view. It’s not like you’re seeing him for the first time tonight– he’s a big character, even when it comes to this wedding, so it’s hard to not notice him– but as his legs take him towards you in a wobbly nature, it dawns on you that now is maybe finally the time you get to talk to him. Don’t get me wrong– there are no hard feelings between the two of you (or at least you don’t have any, you’re not so sure about his side of the story). It’s just that seeing him dressed in a tux, tie now a little loose around his neck, the twinkle in his eye still present as back when you were both a lot younger, there’s still a strong aftertaste of your feelings towards him somewhere on the tip of your tongue. 

His walk is a little lopsided as he grins at you and takes a seat on the vacant chair next to yours, a huff of air escaping his lungs as his body relaxes, limbs falling freely down the sides of his chair. His cheeks are a little red and his hair a little messy– there’s only so much to explain his composure apart from all the dancing he’s done.

“So I see that you still can’t handle your liquor well even after all those years?” you joke, making the boy turn his head to face you, an amused twinkle appearing in his smile. 

His eyes are still the same chocolate orbs you know, still the same soft look adorning them whenever he feels particularly ecstatic. He shrugs, jolting his bottom lip out before he sighs to himself. “Well, it’s not every day you are the best man at your best friend’s and your sister’s wedding,” he muses, shrugging. 

Laughing at his remark, once again taking in the state of the room– Juyeon, Hyunjae and Haknyeon each dancing somewhere in the middle of the dance floor, MB!Y/N’s friends from university twirling her around in the right corner, Eric staring at the bride with a warm gaze in his eyes, sipping on a drink while resting against one of the tables, clearly taking a mental image to look at every time he feels the need to– it all feels kind of surreal. Who would’ve thought all those years ago that it would end like this?

Well, Eric Sohn, for starters. He confessed to everyone in his wedding speech that he knew he wanted to marry MB!Y/N the moment she kissed him on New Year’s Eve of 1999– him being this cheesy was only acceptable because it was his own wedding. In any other circumstance, Sunwoo wouldn’t be able to let his best friend live this down.

It’s not like you ever expected those two to break up– it just makes you a little in awe at how fast time is passing. “It’s kinda crazy, isn’t it?” you hum, squinting at the flood of people on the dance floor.

“It is,” Sunwoo hums, tonguing the inside of his cheek, “still can’t believe they’re dating. Hell, they’re getting married right now…” 

“You can’t believe your sister is dating your best friend?” you laugh, wiping the sweat that’s accumulated off your forehead, the mist appearing there both because of your reckless dancing and because of the unbearable heat of the August night.

“That, and also the other way around,” he hisses, “but I guess they’re both so insufferable that they go well together, so I don’t know why I’m still so surprised.”

Chuckling at his comment– you guess the bond he has with his sister is never to be changed, no matter how many years have passed– you watch as he shrugs off his suit jacket and throws it over the back of his chair, starting to roll up his sleeves to expose his forearms. Eyes following his motions, you clear your throat and force yourself to look back into his eyes when he asks you a question. “What about you, though? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am,” you nod, no hesitation, “it’s really nice to see all of you after so long. Plus, I’m having a lot of fun, so that’s a nice bonus." 

“I can see that,” he grins, “by the way you sat on my seat just now, and all–” 

“Oh god– I’m sorry,” you gasp, suddenly feeling a little silly. And here you thought he went up to you because he wanted to catch up… “I’ll move, if–”

The sound of Sunwoo’s hearty laugh lands into your ear– it’s just the same as it was back when you were both high schoolers, making your heart soar– before he shakes his head and urges you to stay with a motion of his hand, putting his large palm on your thigh to keep you from moving. “No, no, don’t be stupid,” he says, “I don’t mind. I was looking for you anyway, so you just made it easier for me by sitting here, actually.”

He was looking for you, resonates in your head, the familiar buzzing in your fingertips alerting you of the effect he has on you even tonight. God, maybe you were the one that had too much to drink…

“You were?” you ask, tone of voice light– not at all suspicious. 

Sunwoo nods, shrugging. “Well, I guess we have a lot of catching up to do,” he smiles, “don’t we?” 

Eyes meeting his, the contact feels electrifying to the point it makes your head spin when you look at him, taking in his glossy eyes and the flush of his cheeks. They’re less round than when you two were young, but his eyes still stay the same– big, round and tender.

He reminds you a lot of the time when you saw him drunk for the first time.

to. my first time getting drunk

April 1999

Havoc rings in his ears like jingle bells, the world around him spinning like he’s on a rollercoaster. His head feels like someone is installing a nail to the middle of his skull and when he looks around, Lee Donghyuck is staring at him with a glass bottle of soju in his hand, urging him to drink more.

Sunwoo doesn’t have it in him to do much else other than shake his head. It feels like he forgot all his vocabulary, not a single word coming out of his mouth or to the awake parts of his brain, watery eyes begging his classmate to not make him drink any more. 

What seemed like a good idea just a few moments ago– see, it’s prohibited to drink on school trips, but Kim Sunwoo is infamous for loving to break the rules– now seems like the worst idea of his whole entire life. He feels so sick he thinks he’s going to die of alcohol poisoning, but the laughter around keeps painfully reminding him that he hasn’t even had that much to drink in the first place. The amount of times he’s been called a lightweight this night is making his pride severely hurt, and even graciously intoxicated, he can’t bear the sting this is putting on his already hurt ego. 

“Come on, birthday boy! I’m sure you can handle one more,” Donghyuck urges, uncurling Sunwoo’s fist and placing the bottle into his grasp, making the poor boy wince and battle back tears. 

He knows he’s being embarrassing. The choice between not dying and not humiliating himself is rather a difficult one, but the moment he finally finishes the crossword puzzle in his brain and puts the glass opening against his lips, the bottle is thankfully taken out of his grasp and discarded somewhere where his eyes can’t reach.

“You’re done for the night, Kim Sunwoo,” you haul at him, shaking your head at the poor boy, “you’re done.”

Sunwoo wants to open his mouth and protest, maybe ask you what you mean, but the moment his lips unseal, he gets a sniff of the alcohol in the air and suddenly, he feels like throwing up. Your eyes lock with his, a pleading– maybe a warning– mirrors in Sunwoo’s gaze, and even though he’s so drunk he feels like he crossed dimensions, he applauds your ability to know just what he means by a single look into his eyes.

“Oh, Christ–” you curse, hurried steps moving to the corner of the room, swiftly grabbing the trash can and running back towards your friend sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor. 

You make it just in time to catch the contains of Sunwoo’s stomach into the trash can, making the boy insanely grateful– he’s wearing the new shoes his mum got him for his birthday, and god knows he’d hate it if he ruined them the very first day he can show them off to his football friends.

The whole world disappears into the background as he throws up while making a mental promise to himself to never drink again. The only thing keeping him from losing it all is the feeling of your hand on his back, comforting rubs grounding him back to earth. Giggles fill his ears and he’s sure everyone’s laughing at him– even in his drunken state, he can recognise the shame filling his veins– but before he can open his mouth to argue with his classmates, the sound of your angry voice makes him seal his lips close and listen to the scolding you offer to his teammates for making him drink so much.

“You know he has a weak stomach, Donghyuck!” you huff and puff, your hand still drawing comforting circles to Sunwoo’s back as his head stays stuck in the bucket, not having enough energy to even straighten his spine. 

“It’s his birthday! Come on, don’t be so tight-arsed.”

“Well, do you want him to die on his day of birth? That’s not very cool of you,” you growl, the shuffle of your clothing and a pained “ow” escaping his friend’s lips hinting to Sunwoo that you just kicked the right wing to his shin. 

Deserved, Sunwoo thinks.

“Can somebody get Eric? I’m pretty sure he’s in Daehwi’s room with MB!Y/N, Minjeong and Jihoon,” you hum, waiting for anyone to follow your orders. 

Sunwoo blinks in and out of it, his consciousness giving up on him with the incredible pain in his temples. He feels incredibly grateful to have someone like you by his side not only now, but all the time. The two of you have gotten incredibly closer ever since he joined the football team– and with you being one of the cheerleaders, you’re always somehow around. Not that he’s complaining, of course. It seems like you are one of the more responsible ones in this room right now, and god knows Sunwoo needs a bit of guidance on his day to day ventures.

“Do you think you’ll be sick again?” you ask, voice soft in his ear. “Or can I take the trash can off you now?”

Sunwoo thinks for a bit, then he nods and lets go of the plastic bucket. He doesn’t know what happens to it after and nor does he care– it seems like the alcohol in his veins took away all his sense of object permanence. He can barely see anything in the yellow lights of the room (which makes him believe he is going blind from all the alcohol he’s had– don’t tell him it’s just his eyes getting hazy and confused with how much his head is spinning), but he’s sure he can feel you wiping his tear-stained cheeks (he wasn’t crying– his eyes were just watering) and pulling him closer to you when he threatens to fall over even in his seated position. Your hand comes up to play with his hair when you let him rest his head against your shoulder, your actions making him sleepy, eyes closing on themselves like a threat for him to fall asleep any second.

Something about the care, the loyal protectiveness you take over the boy makes his heart soften. He breaths in your scent, trying his hardest to focus on your presence and not the weird feeling in his stomach– although it’s settled a bit since he threw up, it’s still a little uneasy– and before he knows it, there’s a tap on his shoulder waking him up from the haze.

Sunwoo mourns, not really wanting to move from his position, too comfortable with your fingers threading through his hair– but much to his dismay, your soft voice appears in his ear, telling him he has to get up. “Can you walk on your own? We’re gonna get you back to your room,” you hum, your lips accidentally brushing against the shell of his ear, making everything in him light on fire. He’s not really sure if this is the effect alcohol has on you, but if it is, he’s certain he never wants to drink again.

“Sunwoo?” you call, the way you say his name suddenly all too angelic in his ears– but still not enough for him to answer. “Alright,” you sigh after the dreadful silence, taking charge of the situation, moving away from the boy and offering him your hands to hold on to as you try to get him on his feet, “I guess we’re gonna find out.”

His fingers intertwine with yours as he stares up at you, his vision blurry, but still sharp enough to make out your tired face. The sight is enough to make Sunwoo worry– is he being too much? Are you mad at him? Do you not want to be his friend anymore? – but before he has a chance to address any of those concerns, he’s being tugged up to his feet. Not ready for the weight of his own body, his knees buckle and refuse to work. There is a pair of hands clutching his arm automatically– yours– as another pair holds him up from behind by his waist. 

He’s not really sure who was his other savior, but by the silent curse heard from behind, he thinks he recognises Eric’s voice. 

“I know I shouldn’t have left him alone,” he hears his best friend say, voice full of frustration.

“You really shouldn’t have,” he hears you sigh, making the poor boy scowl.

It still feels like he can’t really speak, exhaustion taking a toll on him, but he follows the orders as you tell him to get on his best friend’s back– Eric’s crouching figure ready for the impact, waiting for the taller one to clutch onto him so he can carry him into the safety of their shared room. The operation has to be quick if they don’t want to be caught by their teachers while walking through the hall, and somehow, in the distant crevices of his brain, Sunwoo recognises that and he makes no battle to resist, doing exactly as he’s told.

“Man, you’re heavy,” he hears Eric huff under him as the poor boy carries him through the hall. “You’re gonna have a killer hangover tomorrow, dude…”

Sunwoo’s head rests against his friend’s shoulder, hands carelessly hanging around Eric’s neck. He tries to blink away the sleep, desiring to stay awake, when your concerned face appears in his vision and suddenly, he feels insanely guilty.

“I’m sorry,” the two words escape his mouth with no trouble– the first words to appear in his vocabulary after the few minutes of him being surprisingly mute– only to hear his friend chuckle.

“Well, you’re going to be dying from a headache tomorrow, not us,” Eric hums, “so I think you have to apologize to future you first.”

Sunwoo pouts, bangs falling into his eyes making him blink in a desperate try to get the stray hairs away, attempting to make eye contact with your side profile. “Are you mad at me?” he asks, voice a little groggy from all the screaming and drinking.

“What?” you ask, genuinely surprised to hear his question. Your face morphs into a confused expression, the one where a wrinkle appears in between your brows– and it takes everything in Sunwoo not to poke the little line with his pointer finger in utter endearance.

“Are you… mad…?” he asks again, watching as your face morphs into amusement.

“No,” you shake your head, a hint of a laugh in your tone. “Why?”

“You look grumpy.”

“I’m just worried,” you note.

“About?” Sunwoo asks, his intelligence morphing into a one of a 10-year old with the influence the alcohol has on him. 

“You,” you say, sighing and shaking your head as you move two steps in front of Eric and open the door to their room, closing it swiftly behind you and following the duo towards Sunwoo’s bed. 

The younger one drops the boy into the cushions of his bed with an exaggerated sigh (that might as well be real, for all we know– god knows you wouldn’t be able to carry Sunwoo on your own), and the comfort of the pillow around his head is enough to make Sunwoo’s eyes start closing again, sleep threatening to take over his consciousness.

There’s some noise interrupting his sleep, though, making the boy tear his tired eyes open to notice you walking through the room. Sunwoo finds Eric putting a glass of water onto his bedside table and watches as you put a trash can beside his bed, hushed whispers sent Eric’s way resonating in the quiet room. “Make sure that he sleeps on his side so if he throws up again, he doesn’t choke–”

“Y/N?” he calls your name, watching as you look at him with careful eyes.

“Hm?”

“Are you leaving?” he asks, maybe a little foolishly.

“Yes.”

The boy nods at your reaction, showing his acknowledgement. In the drunken state of his mind, he knows he doesn’t particularly want you to leave, but he’s also fairly certain, finding the rational thought in the sober part of his brain, that you have to leave, and so he lets it go. The drunken state of his mind wins, though, when the next sentence foolishly escapes his lips.

“Please don’t stop liking me after this,” he mumbles, words slurring.

“What?” you ask– confused because you either don’t fully comprehend what he’s trying to say, or because you truly just couldn’t hear what words escaped his mouth– but when you don’t get a clarification, you just nod at the boy, seemingly desperate to keep him happy tonight. “Okay, I won’t.”

“You won’t stop liking me?” he asks, a big pout playing with his features.

“No.”

“Okay.”

That seems to put his mind at ease– enough to make his brain finally turn off and lead him to sleep. He doesn’t really remember what he dreamt of that night, but the last memory he has of the night of his 18th birthday is that you promised to not stop liking him after seeing him a drunken mess, and how he so deeply wished you’ll continue to like him forever.

It hits him only a few months later that the thing he so desperately hoped for that night was that you’ll keep liking him even at his worst– that he didn’t drive you away and one day, maybe, you’ll like him more than just a friend.

to. my first detention

September 1999

Sunwoo was never the one to break the rules. 

Well, if you don’t count that one time he skipped class just because he got too bored of it in the middle of the lecture. And it wasn’t even that hard either– he just asked if he could go to the bathroom, and when he got the approval, he stood up and left, never returning. 

Or if you don’t count that one time he climbed up the ladder on the side of the school building with his friend Juyeon and had his lunch there. Or that one time he cheated on an exam and made a scene about it when accused of the act, leading the professor into letting him off just that one time. 

Sunwoo is usually too lazy to break the rules. Some days, paradoxically, his laziness is what leads him to break the rules. He can’t really help it, even if he tried.

The one time he does break the rules, expecting to be punished by his teacher for coming late to class, it’s not even his fault in the first place. Morning football practice ran late and he didn’t feel like rushing to change out of his practice clothing– see, the laziness is playing a part in this as well– so when he arrived into his Physics lecture, the clock was already 15 minutes after the bell rang for the first period.

Much to his surprise, his teacher didn’t even punish him. “Well, you’re an athlete, so it’s understandable,” he heard, making his lips stretch out into a subtle smile. If he knew that joining the football club would lead him to have such privileges, he would’ve done it a long time ago. 

How did he still end up in detention, you may ask? Well, that’s a funny question.

Your flushed face appears in the doorway of the classroom exactly 2 minutes after Sunwoo does, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Your hair tied up in a ponytail is loose now, stray hairs falling out to frame your face, your school uniform wrinkly, shirt not tucked in properly, as you spit out endless apologies to your teacher about being late for lecture.

“I’m really, really sorry about being late,” you bow, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you look around the classroom with apologetic eyes, “I had cheerleading practice and it ran a bit late, so I didn’t have enough time to–”

“Sit, Ms Y/L/N,” the teacher hums, “if you have time to do any other activities other than being in class, I’m sure you’ll have time to stay after class for detention, am I right?”

“Sir, I really–”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Now, are you seeing the difference in the way you and Sunwoo were treated? That’s right. It may not look like it, because the young football player rarely puts effort into anything (other than the game), but when something angers him, it’s quite difficult for him to keep it in. 

And that’s exactly why his ass is currently sitting in one of the chairs of his classroom, legs spread wide as he looks around the silent room in boredom. Accusing his teacher for being sexist and holding to double standards wasn’t the best idea, but it was enough to get him into detention alongside you. 

His eyes get caught up with something– someone– sitting two desks in front of him, one to the right, scribbling their homework into their notebook. At least you are using up the detention time for important and useful things, he thinks. That won’t stop him from interrupting you in your task, though. Even better– it encourages him.

Tearing out a piece of paper from his notebook, Sunwoo fishes for a pen in one of his pockets, writing a short note that says: Wanna get ramen after this? before he crumbles the paper into a small ball. After watching the teacher for a few seconds, making sure that he’s not going to get caught, he throws the ball in your direction, aiming straight for your head.

He misses. Well, that’s why he plays football and not volleyball– he doesn’t have good aim when it comes to his hands– but nonetheless, the note ends up hitting your shoulder before it bounces off and falls to the ground.

Confused, you look around before you find Sunwoo staring at you, pointing towards the paper on the ground with a grin on his face. You sigh, sending a telepathic signal of ‘you’re acting like a child again,’ straight into his brain before you reach for the paper ball and take it into your hands, fingers uncurling the thin material and reading out the words he’s sent to you.

Only a few seconds pass before you throw the ball back to him– he catches it in his hands, earning an approving look from you at his strangely fast reflexes, making a sense of victory flow gracefully through his veins. A frown settles on his face when he reads out your reply, though.

can’t. I promised Aeri I’ll hang out with her later. we’re going for frozen yogurt.

Sunwoo furrows his brows. Oh how he hates to be denied. 

I can join!! i could use some froyo

You send a tired look to him over your shoulder when you receive the message, rolling your eyes at his comment. It’s obvious that Sunwoo can’t join– he knows it by the look in your eyes. Hell, he knew he wasn’t invited even before he asked– he just likes to see your frustration. Something about the way your face scrunches up, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, amuses him in a way he can’t really describe.

you could’ve gotten yours instead of staying in detention. what was that about, by the way?? I’ve never seen anyone willingly do detention… you must be out of your mind

The message makes him chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. His motives are clear– well, at least in his brain. If he stays in detention, he can see you for some more. Which means he can hang out with you more (or look at the back of your head from afar, whichever you grace him with on that particular day). And he wants to spend as much time with you as he can, well, because… because he just likes to do so. Why?

Don’t ask. He hasn’t thought it out that far yet.

I just like things to be fair. I came late too :(( 

He writes back instead. Fairness is the last thing he cares about if the world is in his favor. If the world is unfair to you, though– that’s another thing. 

weirdo.

You write back. The pen is already in his hand, ink getting hotter as he masters up a reply, when the loud voice of his teacher cuts through the classroom and announces that detention is over and they’re all dismissed. Something in Sunwoo’s stomach drops. 

Sighing, he puts the note back into his pocket (and will forget to throw it out. Then, he’ll find it there after a few days, unravel the ball and read over the letters with a smile. He won’t throw it out then either– he’ll crumble it back and keep it there until the paper wears out and forms into litter in the pocket of his pants). Gathering his things into his bag, he swings the backpack over one of his shoulders before catching up with you, already halfway out of the classroom. You seem to be in a rush to meet Aeri– he understands– but there’s still one more thing he needs to do.

Clearing his throat, Sunwoo approaches you from the back. “Hey!”

“Hi,” you hum, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. “Aeri’s waiting for me outside, so I gotta–”

“Wait, I– I have something for you,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. Why does he suddenly feel so nervous? The words his sister said to him yesterday keep resonating in his head, and although he knows it’s not true and he doesn’t see you in that way, his stomach churns and he clutches his hand into a fist by his side, a desperate act to ground himself.

“What?” you look at him, eyebrows furrowed, all confused. Sunwoo’s not the one to give gifts– sure, he pays for your meals sometimes, but that’s only because you share them and he comes to the logical conclusion that he eats more of the portion than you do anyways, so it’s only fair.

“Um… well, my sister… she was making those bracelets yesterday and she made me do it with her, because she’s really annoying when she wants to be,” he mumbles, fishing for the bracelet in the front pocket of his backpack, lying straight through his teeth. 

You stare at him with wide eyes, completely unreadable to Sunwoo. Well, he already said it, so he may as well just dig his hole even deeper. The yarn is soft under his touch when he twirls the bracelet in his fingertips, eyes focusing on the shades of red and pink, suddenly too afraid to face you and look you in the eyes. “And, uh… we made too many, so I brought you one, because… you’re my friend, and all,” he mumbles, chewing the inside of his cheek.

His sneakers are oh so interesting to look at in the few seconds he spends waiting for your reply. He feels like he’s in court, waiting for his ordeal– anxiety making him bounce on the tips of his feet, his other hand clutching the strap of his backpack for dear life. 

“Did you make that?” you ask, tone of voice genuinely appreciative.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. 

He did not.

“That’s– that’s really cute,” you gasp, making the boy finally look up. When he finds that the words are addressed to the bracelet his sister made, not his act of kindness, something inside of him gets irritated, but the little devil in his chest leaves just as fast when you meet his eye and take the yarn from his hands, examining the red and pink knots from a closer distance.

“Yeah,” he hums, not really knowing what to say.

“Can you tie it for me?” you ask, offering the bracelet back to the boy and smiling at him, waiting for him to circle it around your wrist and secure it to place with a knot. It’s a bit long, the ends sticking out to different directions, but Sunwoo admits that it does look quite nice against your skin, and that if he forgets about the fact that it was his sister who actually made the bracelet (even though he begged her to teach him for approximately two hours, going as far as bribing her with his snacks), he does feel quite proud of the gesture.

There’s something possessive about the bracelet, he thinks. It's like a sign to everyone that you have someone who cares about you enough to tie it around your wrist. It’s like saying hey, this is my best friend! No one else enjoys their company enough to make a bracelet to prove it, but me. It’s like a silent translation of the heart’s calling: this person is mine. They’re not allowed to take this off until I die.

Sunwoo feels a bit giddy as he watches you admire the yarn around your wrist. You sport the same expression as Eric did when he forced a bracelet out of his sister yesterday– eyes glimmering, the widest grin on your features. While he may be sure what the face meant when it came to his best friend (although he tries to close his eyes from the obvious crush he has on his sister), he’s not quite certain when it comes to you.

In his mind, you smile like this at everyone. You’re just that kind of person.

But oh does he wish you mirror Eric’s feelings on the matter. Oh does he hope you tell everyone he is the one who gave the bracelet to you– he hopes you boost in front of your friends, tell them just how much you like it.

…maybe his sister was right. 

Maybe the bracelet had a deeper intention.

August 2007

“So,” Sunwoo hums, taking a salty chip from the bowl settled in the middle of the table, looking over at you with a curious gaze, “how have you been?” he asks, chewing as he waits for you to answer.

It’s an easy question, one would think– and it’s true, it’s not the most difficult thing to answer. But considering the circumstances, the fact that you and Kim Sunwoo haven’t seen each other since you both graduated from high school, despite telling each other you’ll stay in contact and see each other whenever you have the chance to– it gets a little bit more difficult. It’s been 6 years, many things have changed, you had your fair share of good things happening to you as well as the bad. 

What do you tell Sunwoo, though– a friend you lost somewhere along the way, much like everyone? Well, you can’t really blame him for growing distant with you– although to this day, you don’t really know the reasoning. He was the first one to leave, and although you always wished him the best, nobody can really blame you for doing your part at flying out of your nest. Everyone has to experience the outside world before they can find their place in it, no? 

It’s not your fault that you weren’t as successful as you wanted to be… 

“Well, you know,” you shrug, “so and so. Many things happened, but I guess I’m doing fine,” you conclude, nodding to yourself.

The face Sunwoo offers you is one of concern. You recognise that this is not really what he wanted to hear– not really what he expected you to say. The both of you were always ambitious, shooting for the stars, so it would be nice to know that at least one of you finally chased down the dreams you’ve had since you were young.

“What about you?” you ask quickly, shielding yourself from more interrogation. “How did football go?” 

That has Sunwoo chuckling, averting his gaze. He takes a sip of the soda placed on his table before he turns to you again and answers the question, shrugging to himself. “Didn’t really go as I planned,” he says, nodding to himself. “Guess I lost many years on it, but oh well. Can’t really take it back now.”

“Don’t say that,” you hum, chewing on the inside of your cheek. The answer he offered you was not surprising to you– not that you didn’t believe in his abilities, not at all. It’s just that by now, if Sunwoo’s dreams came true, you’d be aware. You’d hear about him everywhere. You’d see him on the news, in the paper… It seems like your friend has disappeared out of the spotlight he always wanted even sooner than he could walk straight into the stardom. You wouldn’t say you were keeping tabs on him, no– you just cared enough to try to look for him in every place you could. “It wasn’t lost years. You did what you loved, and you tried your best.”

“I know,” he says, scrunching up his nose in an adorable manner before he sighs, “I’m just moping around. Besides, I quite like the life I’ve had since coming back home,” he admits.

“You do?” you ask, eyes glimmering in the lights. Something in you shifts– moves to a more comfortable place at the information. It’s strange that hearing that he’s doing fine still makes you feel at peace. It’s been years– you really shouldn’t care by now.

“I do,” he nods, “I work at Juyeon’s father’s bakery now. I didn’t really expect to like it, but there’s something charming about it, I’ll have you know,” Sunwoo says, taking another handful of chips into his hand before feeding them to himself, seemingly trying to chase down the tipsiness in his bloodstream.

That drags out a giggle out of you, shaking your head at the news. “I wouldn’t take you for a bakery kind of guy,” you say, “I can’t really imagine you in the kitchen.”

“Well, times change, Y/N-ie,” the nickname slips out between his lips like a punch to your gut, his teasing tone dragging nails to you in a weird sense of nostalgia, “I’m the best baker in town right now. People go crazy over my cinnamon rolls,” he nods, pointing a finger to you as if to prove his point.

“I find that hard to believe,” you squint at him, shaking your head in disbelief.

“You’ll have to come and find out,” he says, the sentence so casual that the contrast of his following statement has your heart drop a little, “well, if you’re… staying around for a bit, of course…”

Humming, watching as his eyes soften at the shift in your composure, you nod in agreement. “I’ll make sure to add that to my plan.”

Sunwoo nods in acknowledgement. Swallowing down the chips that were in his mouth, he dusts off his hands off the excess salt and licks his lips before speaking up again, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “So you’re staying around for a while?” he asks, a little bit cautious. 

He doesn’t really know how sensitive this topic is for you– you don’t even know if he’s aware of your previous whereabouts, if he knows where you left off to and why– but Sunwoo stays caring, no matter the amount of time you spent not talking, no matter the big canyon that slowly formed in between the two of you in the years of no contact. It’s something you’ve always appreciated about him. He liked joking around, but he always knew where the boundaries laid, always knew when the joke went too far. He tried hard to avoid poking around too much, but he always made sure to apologize if he realized he hurt someone’s feelings. He’s a spark of violent fire, but he’s also tamed like a fireplace when he wants to be– warm, comfortable. It’s easy to feel like it’s back in the old times when you’re around him. It’s easy to pretend neither of you ever really left.

“I am,” you nod. “Things… didn’t really work out for me either, y’know,” you chuckle, the dry kind that shows just how bitter you are about the matter. “I went to New York with the internship my aunt arranged for me in KBS, but I guess I just… wasn’t really good enough to keep full-time.”

“Don’t say that,” Sunwoo mirrors your previous statement, an honest attempt at comforting you.

“No, it’s okay,” you laugh, “I stayed abroad for a while, tried hard, but sometimes, it’s just not meant to be, y’know? So after I realized my jobs weren’t making me enough money for a decent living in the States, I came back home,” you say, mouth forming a pout as you speak– the kind that shows you’re lost in thought, making up a plan as you go, “I’ll help my parents out for a while and then look for something to do here, I think.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Sunwoo says, offering you a soft smile. “I… I guess I’d say it’s good to have you back,” he admits, averting his gaze as he says the words, “ever since I came home, it felt like something was missing, so… anyways, you’ll figure it out, so don’t worry too much.”

“Thanks, Sunwoo,” you hum, pressing your lips into a tight smile, heart squeezing a little at his sincerity. It’s strange– it’s been years, having lived through countless different situations that were supposed to change the both of you, shift you into two completely different people– but somehow, Sunwoo still feels the same. Almost as if you two never left. Almost as if you two never drifted apart and instead spent your early twenties side-by-side, just like you always planned on doing.

The boy looks at you from the corner of his eye, a content smile spreading on his lips. You feel the atmosphere shifting, the situation tensing up a bit, and with the discomfort the image of him leaving you alone brings you, the words slip out of your lips with a bit too much ease.

“Would you want to… dance with me? I wanna see if you still remember what I taught you,” you grin, watching as the playful expression mirrors on your friend’s face, a nod eliciting from him that makes you quickly put your shoes back on and get ready for the dancefloor.

“Of course,” he hums, standing up swiftly and wiping his hands on the fabric of his pants before outstretching a hand for you, tone of voice sweet like honey, “my lady?”

to. my first dance

November 1999

“Who are you asking to the dance?” you question one afternoon, the two of you behind the closed doors of his room. There aren’t many times where Sunwoo gets to invite you over– mostly because he’s too shy to have someone around when his sister is home, and his sister isn’t known to have that many friends to hang out with– so the times where he finds you settled on top of the sheets of his bed, he treasures deeply.

“I dunno,” he mumbles, looking up at you from the comfort of his rug, shrugging, “I don’t really think I’m going, actually.”

“Oh?” you gasp, pouting at the boy. “Why not?”

“I don’t really have anyone to go with,” he says. What he really means is– you’re going with someone else. Sunwoo doesn’t really see himself dancing with anyone else but you– that’s just that kind of bond you two have in his mind. Your friendship is dear to Sunwoo, and the boy can’t think of anyone else he’d like to spend the evening with. 

When his sister argued with him with logical words, telling him that he treasures his friendship with Eric just the same, but wouldn’t invite him to the prom, he just scoffed at her. MB!Y/N doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t treasure Eric in the same way, no matter the fact that they pretty much grew up together. Some things just don’t feel the same way with Eric as they do with you. He feels closer to you, in a way.

“Well, that’s bullshit,” you scoff, shaking your head at your friend, “you’re handsome. And you play football, which is every girl’s dream. I bet anyone would go with you if you just asked,” you propose, pointing a finger at the boy, not really noticing the way he blinks at hearing the words ‘you’re handsome’ coming out of your mouth in regards to him. 

Do you find him handsome? Is that your subjective opinion or are you just objectively saying what you’ve heard in the cheerleader changing rooms? 

He’d like to know. Just out of curiosity.

Sunwoo scratches the back of his neck in nerves, now fully seated and facing you. It’s hard to meet your eye when he talks, his words coming out muffled. “I can’t dance anyway, so it would be no fun for everyone involved.”

And watching you dance with his classmate Shotaro would be no fun either. See, it would be easy for Sunwoo to be okay with the fact that you were going to the prom with someone older (which is practically impossible, since you’re both seniors, just for the record…). He would understand your point, then. It’s easy to be okay with defeat when your opponent has the upper hand, but when you put two men against each other that are hierarchically equal to each other, much like Sunwoo and Shotaro, the poor boy finds it hard to not feel as insecure in his position. 

But with Shotaro being the same age as him and the same amount of popular as him, Sunwoo can’t help but compare himself to his classmate. What does Shotaro have that Sunwoo doesn’t? Is it his smile? Should Sunwoo smile more…? 

It doesn’t really help his case that you’re going to the prom with the head of the dance team. Sunwoo can’t dance… Is it the fact that he can’t dance?

Or are you just going to the prom with Shotaro because he was the one to ask you to go? Sunwoo can’t help but wonder– would you have gone with him, had he the balls and asked you first? 

“What do you mean, you can’t dance?” you say, eyeing the male. 

“Just… never learned to, I guess,” Sunwoo shrugs, “but it doesn’t really matter, since I’m not going, so…”

“But you have to go,” you pout, putting the boy in a difficult position. He doesn’t know if you’re aware of the fact, but your pleading look does wonders to his decision making. He’d commit arson if you asked him to with those glimmers in your eyes. He’d kill for you. Or die for you. Both, depending on the situation. He’d do anything.

“Why?”

“It won’t be fun if you’re not there,” you say, sighing. Your face looks so genuine Sunwoo almost believes it. It makes his heart squeeze and contemplate his decision. “I know Donghyuck is gonna spike the punch, and there are gonna be fireworks,” you hum, chewing on the inside of your cheek, “and this is our senior prom, Sunwoo… you have to come.”

The words resonate in his brain, making him even more hesitant about his decision. This is your senior prom– the last dance of your high school years. The last opportunity for Sunwoo to enjoy this time with you and his friends, the last chance he gets at seeing you in a pretty gown, all dolled up and smiling from the sneaky sips of alcohol you’ll get with everyone outside of the school gym. The last opportunity for Sunwoo to dance with you, his best friend, and possibly the last time he’ll ever enjoy his evening with the rest of his football team before all of them have to study in order for them to take their CSAT.

Maybe you’re right. Maybe he should go. 

“I’ll think about it, I guess…” he mumbles, watching as your face morphs.

“You guess?” you scoff, glaring at him. “You’ll go or I’ll personally come to your house and drag you there by your hair, you get me, Kim Sunwoo?” you threaten him, having the boy laugh at your outburst. You’re really adorable when you tease him, Sunwoo thinks. 

“Got it, chief,” he says, offering you a playful look as he salutes and lays back down onto the carpet, eyes pressed to the ceiling. “Don’t expect me to dance, though, because I refuse to embarrass myself. I have quite the reputation to uphold, you see.”

Sunwoo hears you chuckle, the noise of his sheets tousling landing into his ears. Before he has a chance to look at you and see what you’re doing, his view of the white wall above is shielded with the sight of your face, hair framing your cheeks as you stare down at him and put out your hands, waiting for him to take them and get up to a seated position. 

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“I’m gonna teach you, come on,” you call him with a motion of your hand, arms still outstretched and waiting.

“Huh?” he squints, watching as you roll your eyes in frustration.

“I’ll teach you how to dance, Sunwoo,” you snicker, watching as the boy slowly takes your hands and lets you drag him up from where he’s laying on his electric blue rug, “so you don’t embarrass yourself.”

That has Sunwoo stuttering, his figure freezing even when you manage to somehow make him stand up in the middle of his room. A million different exclamation marks appear all over his brain, warning him from the upcoming events, but he has no way of denying your proposition now, no matter how hard he tries. “No- it’s- you don’t have to, I’ll just-”

“Okay, so,” you say, dismissing all his previous attempts at stopping you from your quest, “first, you put your hand here,” you order.

The skin of your fingertips touches Sunwoo’s hand, making the boy’s heart stummer in his chest. You drag his palm towards your waist, placing it on the curve of your body. He swears he feels electricity flowing through the contact, warmth radiating off your skin even though it’s shielded by the fabric of your favorite shirt. He gulps as you put your hand on his shoulder, his eyes carefully following your movements, examining every slightest shift of your composure. 

“And then you hold my hand with your other hand,” you instruct, but move to do it yourself when the boy doesn’t seem to have it in him to reach for your palm himself. 

Your fingers interlock with his, making the boy chew on his bottom lip in a sudden flash of nerves. You’re standing so close he can smell your perfume, the scent making his head spin and feel lightheaded. If you made him turn in this moment, he’s sure he’d fall over, weak legs barely holding him up in your close proximity. 

“Sunwoo?” you ask, making the boy gulp before he hums in acknowledgement.

“You have to look into my eyes when you slow dance,” you laugh, the sound soft and airy, but enough to have his stomach feel all weird, like he’s about to throw up. Still, he forces himself to look into your eyes, instantly feeling like you’re hypnotizing him. (He’s convinced he’d jump out of his window right in this moment if you asked him to.)

“Okay,” he nods, standing still, maintaining eye contact. His body is stiff, muscles tense as you just stand there for a moment. Sunwoo battles his inner fight and doesn’t look at any other features of your face– he has a weird obsession with staring at your lips whenever you talk to him lately. He feels like a weirdo every time he catches himself doing it, so he tries to get rid of the bad habit as much as he can.

“Now, you just… kind of sway to the beat,” you say. The boy nods, but his body stays unmoving.

“There’s… there’s no music playing,” he gets out, watching as you chuckle, your lips stretching out into an adorable grin.

“Right,” you nod, sighing, “well, I’ll just… let me just…” you mumble before you start humming a tune– one that makes Sunwoo laugh from how ridiculous it sounds, the notes so unfamiliar to him he’s sure you’re making it up as you go. Before he knows it, you start moving, making him mirror your actions. 

It’s not as difficult as he thought it was, he thinks. You stare at him, all encouraging, as you sway from one foot to the other, nodding at him when you see that he’s following your lead well. Dancing with you suddenly feels like the easiest thing in the world, it feels like he was born to have you in his arms, in the middle of his room as you hum an unfamiliar song to him. He thinks going to the dance won’t be so bad– not if he gets to dance with you there for at least one more time.

“Doing well,” you smile, making the boy feel all warm on the inside. A feeling of victory flashes over him for a mere second. He beams in your considerate words, feels fuzzy under your warm gaze. He feels like he just won the lottery. It’s kind of silly, if he really thinks about it.

A boyish grin appears on his face, having Sunwoo shaking his head at how both ridiculous and over the moon he feels right now. The stream of hums coming out of your throat cuts off for a second as you talk to him with an instructing tone, a warm gaze pressed into his features. “So you can either do this, or you can…” the hand that was holding his suddenly untangles itself from between his fingertips (and Sunwoo’s momentarily glad, because his palm was getting quite sweaty– although he admits that it does feel empty now that you’re not holding it), before you place his other hand on your waist as well. 

Something about the pose makes Sunwoo feel strangely intimate, a little bit bashful under your gaze. It only intensifies when your hands go up and entangle behind his neck, bringing you two even closer than before. The proximity has him blushing, red cheeks bringing heat to his face. He prays you don’t mention it– he really doesn’t know if he would be able to talk himself out of this one.

“Or you can do it like this,” you say before you lead the boy again, bodies swaying to an imaginary rhythm. You’re not even humming this time, having Sunwoo follow your movements in complete silence, his aimless movements mirroring your own. He’s surprised he hasn’t stepped on your foot yet when you decide to quickly teach him how to waltz (while also mumbling something about this dance being performed with the previous hand placement). He follows your orders– step forward, close, then another step backwards– and before he knows it, you’re leading him into a gentle turn, rising and falling in a ¾ count.

He’s getting lost in your voice– the softest “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3,” helping him to stay in rhythm– before he’s pulled out of his trance as he feels your fingers playing with the hair on his nape, entangling yourself into his black locks. The motion has him look back up to your eyes (that have been previously glued to your feet, making sure he’s not stepping on your socked limbs), surprised when he sees you staring at him with a sweet smile playing with your lips.

Halting your movements for a bit, you let out a giggle and take him by surprise when your hand reaches up towards his bangs, ruffling his hair as he still holds you around your waist, the two of you almost hugging in his room. “See? Not that hard. You’re a born natural.”

His heart feels like it skipped a beat, a weird sense of panic enclosing around his chest. He doesn’t know what it is, not really knowing how to name the feeling, but it has him nervously smiling and urging him to escape you– escape your touch, escape your scent, your voice and the way you smile at him like you may feel the slightest ounce of the things he does for you, but refuses to accept on most days.

Rushed movements make him break apart from your grasp, quick breathing making him feel like he might spiral. 

“Hey! We weren’t done yet!” you call after him when he runs towards the door of his room. 

Not looking around, the boy gulps and nervously calls back to you, facing the door. “I’ll be back! I just have to pee!”

The door to his bathroom closes behind him with a loud shut. The boy doesn’t aim for the toilet– instead, he walks over to the sink, turning on the tap and splashing his face with ice cold water. When he’s done, feeling a bit less heated up, he looks up and stares at his face in the mirror. He gives himself some time to collect his thoughts, to hopefully let go of his foolishness.

How many more times will he have to remind himself that he only sees you as a friend?

to. my first date

January 2000

The snow crunches under his sneakers and makes Sunwoo slip on the cold surface– no wonder his mother screamed at him for not wearing his winter shoes before he went out with his friends. He bets it would be way less difficult to walk in the whiteness of the ground if he had more grip in the soles of his shoes, but oh well– he’s not really good at making clever decisions half the time. Nobody can really be surprised.

Somewhere along the way between the moment he’s interrogated his sister about the reason for her bad mood and the moment where he purposefully let her with his best friend at the top of the hill with no way out (he had a hunch the two of them had some things to talk about, from both of their uneasy demeanours for the last day), he realizes he lost both his sister and his best friend, and while he’s quite certain Eric can find his way home just fine, Sunwoo shivers at the thought of not bringing his sister home to his mother. He’s not quite sure he’d survive that. 

The quest of finding you both begins the moment the friend group reaches the top of the hill. Given his sister’s impulsiveness, she could’ve ran away from home, and that’s not what he wants to deal with on such a pretty winter day.

Sunwoo finds his plan being successful the moment he reaches the hot chocolate stand. The victory he feels after finding his younger sister alive and healthy is quickly overshadowed with the sight of his best friend’s face close to hers, very clearly going in for a kiss. He thinks he has to do something before he is permanently scarred with the image of them two making out right in front of his eyes as he gathers some of the icy texture into his hands and makes a ball, aiming straight at the head of his best friend.

The snow hits the both of them, right in the middle where their faces are supposed to meet. It’s not quite where Sunwoo was aiming, but he figures it’s good enough– it stopped his sister and his friend in the act, and that’s all he really cares about at this moment.

“Eric Sohn, what the fuck do you think you’re doing with my sister?” Sunwoo hollers, watching as his childhood friend takes off and leaves his sister alone on the bench to watch the conflict. The rest of the group follows with laughter as Sunwoo gathers more snow, tailing Eric and making sure the boy is punished for whatever he’s been doing.

It’s not like he disapproves. Not at all, actually. He just thinks it’s fun to mess with him a little.

“I didn’t mean to! Hey!” Eric cries out over his shoulder, trying his best to escape the frostbite. Karma is not on his side as he trips over something and falls to the ground, efficiently helping Sunwoo and the rest of their circle to corner the poor youngest, snow hailed on his limp figure. 

One would think the group of them were making a snowman with how they’re rolling the poor boy around in the snow. Juyeon and Donghyuck make sure there’s not a hint of skin unhidden by the ice, making Eric mourn and kick around– he’s left helpless, though, outpowered and outnumbered by his peers. If anyone unknowing was watching the scene, Sunwoo is sure he’d be framed for bullying.

He thinks it’s quite deserved. Why? He’s not really sure why. He just has a hunch.

“Okay! Enough!” Eric mumbles, shaking his head when Donghyuck tries to fit snow into his mouth. “I’m sorry! It won’t happen again!” he says, eyes opening wide as MB!Y/N appears somewhere behind her older brother, a teasing pout settled on her face.

“It won’t?”

“MB!Y/N– I– Just help me..?” the boy pleads, making the rest of the group laugh and finally relax, easing the attack. Juyeon hums something about young love, making the rest of the guys roll their eyes on his unusual cheesiness, before Donghyuck taps his teammate’s shoulder, making sure he’s paying attention to him.

Sunwoo raises his eyebrows at him, waiting for what he has to say. “Look, isn’t that Y/N?”

There are a few ways to catch Sunwoo’s attention. First– you have to mention football. He could spend hours on the topic of who’s the best player– Ko Jongsoo or Ahn Junghwan? If anyone asked him to write an essay on it, he’s quite certain he’d do a great job explaining their techniques and goal statistics for numerous pages. Second– you have to mention food. He’s a big fan of junk food, but ever since his friend Juyeon introduced him to their family bakery, he’s been a big cinnamon roll enthusiast. And third– you have to mention Y/N. 

Just the mention of your name is enough for the boy to stand alert, suddenly all too knowing of his surroundings. He turns his head to look for you, catching sight of your figure dressed in your long coat, standing all alone at the bottom of the hill. There’s an almost bored-looking expression on your face, although Sunwoo thinks there’s a bit of disappointment behind your eyes, making a cloud shade your them and make them lose their usual glimmer. That alone has the boy frowning, and before Donghyuck can say anything more or try to gossip about your sudden arrival, Sunwoo takes off– trying his hardest not to slip on the snow in his sneakers as he runs down the hill and tries his hardest to get to you quickly.

“Y/N!” he calls for you, getting your attention. You turn to him with expecting eyes, watching as the boy runs towards you and does, indeed, slip on the snow.

He manages to save it. Doesn’t mean you didn’t see him falter, though. “Careful there,” you grin, making the boy mentally kick himself in the shin at being uncool in front of you.

Sunwoo glosses over the comment, ignoring the previous two seconds of his life. If he acts like he’s not embarrassed, it might as well come true. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you’re hanging out with someone else when I invited you on the phone today,” he says, curious to know why you changed your plans so suddenly.

There’s a hint of bitterness in your composure when you shrug, averting your gaze. “That fell through, and I didn’t wanna… I figured you’d be here, so I came…” you trail off, your half-assed explanation enough to bring the boy into an inner conflict– one part of him feels bad for you, his heart clenching when he takes notice of your stern gaze and the disappointed expression on your face, the other one foolishly happy that he got to see you today, that you went here looking for him.

“Oh,” he nods, not really sure if he should pray more information out of you. He tried to ask you about it when he called you this morning, twirling the landline on his finger nervously when he asked you if you wanted to go sledding with him and his friends. He even mentioned his sister tagging along to make sure you didn’t feel as awkward going– you wouldn’t be the only girl there! You’d get along with her well, he said, not really sure if he was lying or not. Either way, his sister does need her own friends… “Well–” he starts, not really sure where his own sentence is going, before you cut him off with a rushed out sentence, spoken so quickly Sunwoo barely registers it in that confused brain of his.

“Would you wanna go on a date with me?” you ask, eyes big as you stare into his. 

The question takes a few seconds to register in Sunwoo’s brain. He can physically feel the auditory waves entering his ears and converting themselves into electrical signals by the auditory system. The signals enter his left hemisphere– maybe he could point towards the area with his finger if you asked him to, the impact of the question so present in his mind– and then it decodes in the Wernicke’s area, slowly, but surely making more and more sense to him. The boy gulps at the invitation. He understands the question theoretically now, he’s registered it in his brain, but the practical implication of your preposition is still unclear– why in the hell would you ask him to go on a date with you?

“I…” he stutters, feeling heat rushing to his cheeks. He feels like a fool– he should’ve said yes a few seconds ago, when you first asked the question– but something inside of him is telling him that maybe his reaction is valid. No one expects their friend to randomly ask them out on the bottom of a snowy hill. Certainly not when he was 99% sure you liked someone else.

“Look, it’s- it’s good if you don’t want to, really, I just… I was supposed to go on a date with Shotaro today, but he never arrived, and I…” you nervously scratch your neck, once again averting your gaze from him, “I guess I was hoping you were in the mood to go out with me, since I got all ready and stuff…” you mumble, your tone of voice breaking something inside of him.

Oh. So you weren’t really asking him out. You just didn’t want to feel like a fool that got stood up. How stupid of Sunwoo to think you wanted to go on a date with him. The two of you were just friends, after all. Best friends.

And best friends are for cheering each other up. So despite feeling absolutely defeated, Sunwoo battles the weird feeling in his chest and puts on his best smile. “Of course! Don’t even mention it. Where… where did you wanna go?” he asks, watching as your face relaxes, shoulders falling back to their natural position.

“Are you in the mood for some ramen?” you ask, eyebrows rising in question.

“I’m always in the mood for some ramen,” he nods. He’s always in the mood for whatever you are.

“Great,” you nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Great.”

“So… let’s go,” you say, nodding to yourself as you walk away from the hill, having your best friend tailing you, following you towards the ramen place in the center of the town.

There’s a bit of an awkward silence hanging over you as the two of you escape the sledding area. Sunwoo doesn’t even pay his goodbyes to his friends and his sister, but he trusts that Eric can get her home safely when the time comes to head back. The boy mentally curses out Shotaro for standing you up– how does he dare to ask you out and never arrive? He doesn’t care about the possible circumstances of his classmate’s absence. All he cares about is the saddened look on your face and the unusual quietness enveloping your aura. 

“Should I go kick his ass?” he asks, trying his hardest to make you feel better.

“It’s okay, Sunwoo,” you shake your head in disapproval, eyes pressed to the ground.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, not satisfied with your answer. “I’m quite good at fighting, contrary to popular belief, but if things go wrong, I know my friends would have my back,” he says, playfully punching the air.

The little play consisting of him kicking and punching an imaginary figure goes on for a while until he’s satisfied– meaning: until you’re left laughing at his overly exaggerated movements and grunts, shaking your head in disbelief at his boyish antics. Taking his hand in yours to make him stop with the play-fighting, you drag your now interlocked fingers towards your coat pocket, hiding his cold hand in the thick fabric.

Sunwoo’s heart beats fast at that, making him believe it’s going to run out of his chest any minute now– or make him go into cardiac arrest, either or– as he grows speechless, looking at you with big, surprised eyes. You don’t seem to put much meaning to your gesture, going as far as gently caressing your thumb over the back of his palm, his frozen skin growing hot at the contact. 

He’s never held hands with you before– if he doesn’t count the amount of times you dragged him around when the both of you were late for the shared cheerleading and football practice on Tuesday afternoons– and so the intimacy of the act makes him feel strangely weak in his knees. It’s hard for him to take his eyes off you, almost looking like a deer in the headlights to anyone watching you two right now. Sniffling from the cold, you shrug.

“It’s okay,” you smile, sending him a quick glance, “I didn’t really like him like that anyway. It just… feels a bit disappointing to get stood up, that’s all,” you nod.

Sunwoo nods at that too, something in him shifting. You don’t like Shotaro like that? When was this piece of information when he really needed it? (For like the last month, every time he couldn’t fall asleep because the thought of you marrying his classmate at one point in the future haunted him too much and made him want to poke the dance club leader’s eyes out?)

“I get it,” he says, walking along with you. Every time he feels the eyes of someone on you two, he feels his chest filling up with an unfamiliar sense of pride. Something about being seen with you as you’re all dolled up and holding his hand in your coat pocket makes him all giddy on the inside– no matter if this is a real date or not.

Because screw it, Kim Sunwoo is tired of reminding himself that he’s supposed to only see you as a friend. Because he doesn’t.

“I’ve never been on a date before, though, so you have to teach me all about that too,” he hums, tonguing the inside of his cheek. 

That has a giggle escaping your throat, another shake of your head in disbelief at his words. He doesn’t know what’s so funny, but he decides that as long as you’re laughing, he’s fine with feeling the tiniest bit of humiliation. He’d do anything to make you happy, he thinks. It’s a feeling stronger than him and he doesn’t know how to make it go away– he decided to stop battling it a long time ago.

“Just be yourself, Sunwoo,” you say, “that’s already perfect enough.”

Perfect. Sunwoo’s cheeks grow hot at that. He’s happy that it’s cold out– maybe he could blame his blushing on the weather. The boy isn’t so sure you know about the effect your words have on him. He’s always thought of you as perfect– flawless, funny, friendly, smart, kind and… and beautiful– but the adjective doesn’t quite seem fitting when he looks at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t believe you could hold him to such standards. He’s nothing special. God, he knows he’s not good enough for you– still, he keeps wishing he could be. 

“You look really pretty, by the way,” he hears himself say, the words escaping his mouth before he has the chance to stop them. The tone of his voice is quite unnatural in his ears, softer than it usually is, and somehow, the comment makes you roll your eyes, which he finds to be an unnatural reaction.

“You don’t have to say that just because you’re on a date with me,” you hum, eyes not meeting his. (Which might be a good thing. Sunwoo would like to keep his feelings hidden for a bit longer, and he’s not so sure you wouldn’t recognise the tender inkling he has towards you in his longing gaze.)

“I’m not saying it because of that,” he mutters, voice quiet, yet honest. 

Watching the side of your face, eyes still glued at every feature of your profile, he knows he’s not lying. He finds you oh so pretty even in the faint hue of the winter sun, with your scarf pulled up to the middle of your chin and hair pinned up with a pretty, silky bow. He finds you nothing short of angelic. Perfect. It’s kind of silly, if he really thinks about it.

Still, he can’t help himself. To this day, he counts the afternoon he spent with you, eating ramen at your favorite place, to be the first date he’s ever gone on.

Somewhere in the corner of his soul, he begs you count it as real too.

August 2007

It’s only a couple of days later when you find yourself in front of Juyeon’s father’s bakery, nervously chewing on your bottom lip and gazing at the glass door. The sun is shining strongly down on your skin, making you feel like you’re going to get a sun stroke if you keep standing in the direct light for any longer, and with the pressure of both the weather and your own thoughts, you decide to stop wasting time and push the door open, entering the establishment.

Not really sure if you’re welcome– who knows, Sunwoo might have just been acting nice and civil for the sake of not ruining his sister’s wedding– you prepared a mental shopping list of things you wanted to get at the bakery. You hadn’t seen your parents in a long time, so you thought a few donuts might make them happy. If Sunwoo just treats you like any regular customer when you walk in, you’ll take it as your sign to act like one and let this whole thing go. 

Truth be told, you don’t even know why you’re so nervous. It’s not like you’re promising yourself something more from this… right? 

It’s not like you suddenly felt younger again when seeing him at the wedding. It’s not like the memories choked you up when you went to sleep that night, it’s not like the feelings you had for the young boy suddenly waved at you in greeting, reminding you of just how close the two of you were all those years ago. 

Not at all. Why would anyone even think that?

The ring above the door makes a sound as you walk in, your insides clenching in a weird mix of nerves and anxiety at encountering Kim Sunwoo again. The store is empty when you reach the counter, but you’re soon greeted by the sound of the staff door opening, a tall figure stumbling in with a tray of pastries, yelling out a quick: “I’ll be right there!”

And as you watch Sunwoo with his bangs sticking to his forehead, an apron tied tightly around his thin waist, you feel like he hasn’t aged a single day and you two are still the same teenagers that ran around your school in order to not miss practice. The boy looks up at you from below his eyelashes, a boyish grin taking over his features as he puts the hot tray down on the counter and throws the kitchen towel he’s been using to shield his skin from the heat to the side, greeting you.

“Y/N! It’s nice seeing you again,” he beams, wiping his hands on his apron, gaze gluing to yours and never leaving, capturing you in a sincere eye contact that you don’t have the heart to break.

“Hi, Sunwoo,” you chuckle, pressing your lips into an honest, yet a little bit awkward smile. “How’s it going?” you ask, desperate to keep the conversation going– afraid that if it dies down, you won’t be able to revive it ever again and you’ll just regret it forever. There’s a weird sense of urgency in you, like you have a time limit to figure everything out– like you have to act now, or everything you ever wanted might slip from between your fingertips– yet, the more you watch Sunwoo in the serene atmosphere of the sweet-smelling bakery, you notice yourself relaxing.

“Good! Better now that you’re here, actually, it’s been a slow day,” he muses, nodding to himself. “What about you? Can I get you anything?” he asks, eyebrows raising, round cheeks on full display as he stares at you with an expecting smile.

“I’m doing well,” you nod, humming, “really well… catching up with my parents, settling in and stuff… You know the deal,” you laugh. “I actually came to get some donuts for my parents, sort-of like a thank you gift for letting me stay until I figure out my own place and stuff,” you say, watching as Sunwoo urgently nods with acknowledgement.

“Say less, darling,” the nickname slips out from him a little too easily, a little too casually for the way it captures your heart. It has you nervously shifting from one foot to another, insides warming up with the impact of his fleeting gaze as he moves to get a box from under the counter, moving closer to the glass vitrine filled with the sweet pastry. “Your mum loves these ones,” he points towards the donuts coated with the pink glazing.

It’s kind of weird– how Sunwoo knows exactly what your mother likes, despite him not being around your house every other day like when the two of you were teenagers. It makes you realize that even though you moved away for years, the time here didn’t stop. Everyone moved on with their lives, everyone continued on as if nothing happened. And you can’t hold it against them– you guess you just hate the weird pit in your stomach that opens up with the realization that while Sunwoo knows which pastries your mum likes (most likely because she stops by to buy bread often, taking some treats with her for her and dad while she’s at it), you don’t.

You try hard not to show it on your face, though. Sunwoo continues to pack more donuts into the box, not really attempting to ask you for what you’d like– he just chooses himself, making sure you bring home the best ones of the bunch, the most delicious ones they carry. Letting him do his work, merely watching as he carefully moves the donuts from the vitrine to the box, you hear him continue on with the conversation.

“You came in on the right day,” Sunwoo hums, “Juyeon works tomorrow, so you wouldn’t be able to catch me if you went.”

Ignoring the fact that he sees right through you– sees that your intention was to see him, to have a way to visit him and attempt to rekindle whatever bond you had when you were young– you just chuckle. You can’t blame him for knowing you so well, despite not being around each other for so many years. When you were young and in love, you used to call him your soulmate, after all. You guess there’s always a hint of truth, even in the most lovesick fantasies. “Well, then I’m glad I went in today,” you admit.

Sunwoo smiles at that– the kind of smile you always loved at him, the one where he shows his teeth and his eyes crinkle up into moon crescents. Once he’s done packing your donuts, he puts the box on the counter, showing you his back just as fast when he turns around, seemingly grabbing something else as well. When he’s facing you again, there’s a sweet pastry in his hand, still warm.

“What’s that?” you ask when you notice him offering it to you, eyes peering into his.

“A cinnamon roll,” he says, waiting for you to take it into your hands, “I told you everyone goes crazy over my cinnamon rolls, so I wanna see if their magic works on you too.”

“Is this how you flirt with girls over here?” you chuckle, but take the bun into your hand nonetheless, taking a hesitant bite of the treat. The sweetness melts on your tongue, the warmth of the freshly-baked pastry enchanting you with its taste, something about its essence weirdly reminding you of home. 

“Haven’t tried it before,” he shrugs, “so tell me if it’s working,” he jokes, watching as you chew on the roll. 

“Well, is it any good?”

Humming in satisfaction, delight on the tip of your tongue as you swallow down the heavenly dough, you nod. “It’s to die for, Sunwoo.”

“Told you,” he shoots you a cheesy finger-gun, reminding you so much of your best friend from high school, before he turns and takes a paper bag from somewhere, talking to you as his back faces you again, “I’ll get you some more to take home with you. I bet they didn’t have those in the Big Apple.”

“If I knew I was missing out on these, I would have come back quicker,” you joke, watching as Sunwoo turns to you with an amused look on his face, seemingly enjoying the praise.

The eye contact unarms you again, your composure falling just the slightest. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you clear your throat and reach for your wallet, ready to pay and leave so you can think about the interaction on your way home (and overthink every slightest detail, just like teenage you would after every fleeting touch young Sunwoo would send your way). “How much do I owe you?” you ask.

“Oh, it’s on the house,” he says, licking his lips, “consider it a… welcome gift, if you will,” he hums, offering you the box full of donuts and the paper bag consisting his infamous cinnamon rolls, your skin touching just the slightest when you take them from him, but still making electricity jolt through the nerve endings of your fingertips.

“No, Sunwoo, I really can’t-” you shake your head, but get caught off by him.

“Take them, please. You can pay me back some… other time?” he cautiously says, seemingly not really knowing if he’s still within your desired boundaries. 

“O-okay, then,” you nod, agreeing to the subtle invitation– the subtle promise to meet again, the hopeful question leading into something more. “Thank you, Sunwoo,” you hum, smiling as you turn towards the door and get prepared to walk out, giving both of you some time to think about what happened in the last few minutes.

As you open your mouth to say goodbye to him, hand landing on the doorknob, you hear him call after you once more.

“Oh and Y/N?” he says, a confident look suddenly overtaking his features. “I end here at 5, if you’d like to hang out after.”

Unknowingly, a grin appears on your features, the one that’s so strong you can’t really mask it no matter how hard you try– as you nod at him, the victorious feeling flowing through your veins maybe even a bit dangerous. Still, you don’t have it in you to turn the invitation down– you wouldn’t be able to even in your wildest dreams.

This is what you came here for, after all, isn’t it?

“Okay,” you agree. “So… I’ll see you later?”

“See you later,” he nods, teeth capturing his bottom lip. It’s kind of adorable. He couldn’t battle the smile threatening to pull at the corners of his mouth, no matter how hard he tried.

Maybe coming here– coming back home– was the best thing you could’ve done.

“Wanna come in?” Sunwoo asks. It’s a few hours later– you followed through with his invitation and waited for him in front of the bakery at 5:05 sharp, catching him after his shift. You two took a walk through the whole town, waltzing slowly through his neighborhood until you reached his childhood house. You remember far too many afternoons spent in the comfort of the walls, and although you think it would be nice to revisit those memories, you notice his mother’s car (is it still hers? You have no way of knowing.) in the driveway, and suddenly, you’re too shy to join him as he drops his stuff off in his house.

It’s like you’re a teenager again– except, you never had any problems meeting his mother before. She was a nice woman, although a little busy (you only heard Sunwoo complain about the fact a few times– mainly when he was feeling sentimental or particularly under the weather about something), and she always treated you very nicely. Almost like you were supposed to join the family one day. His sister once asked you if you’re gonna marry him, and you laughed at her back then– you were so young, you didn’t even think of having a wedding with Kim Sunwoo. The funniest thing was the timing: you weren’t even dating him at the time. Or planning to, really. Sure, you always imagined somehow spending the rest of your life with him, in one way or another, but the thought of marriage didn’t often cross your mind. Life is ironic, you think– MB!Y/N was the first one to have a wedding and here you are, retangling your life paths with her brother again. 

So no, you were never really scared or shy in front of his mother. Back then, things were different though. Simpler? You’d say they were definitely easier. You were more extroverted and open, more ambitious and less embarrassed of how your life turned out to be.

Also, you didn’t want to give her any ideas. It’s far too soon for that, you think. 

“No,” you shake your head, hesitating a little bit, “I’ll wait for you here,” you say, watching as he smiles at you and nods, walking inside of the house to drop off his things and change.

You two didn’t really have any plans for the rest of the evening. You told Sunwoo he could show you around town, tell you what changed and what stayed exactly the same, since he came home earlier than you– you bet it could be two or three years ago. He eagerly nodded, although noted that not much is different in your hometown and your walk could turn out pretty uneventful. No plans were set in stone, though.

Nervously shuffling from one foot to another, you decide to walk around the yard. Sunwoo’s house was always big– although it seemed more giant to you when you were a teenager. It’s a strange observation, since you didn’t really grow any more inches since you hit puberty. Your eyes study the flowers in front of the gate, the mowed grass, the big tree in the backyard. If you focus hard enough, you could almost see the two of you laying under it, letting the leaves shield you from the sun, both much younger and carefree than now. Sunwoo would show you pages of his favorite comic books and you’d play on your Tamagochi, making sure it doesn’t die in two days like his did when he first got it. When you turn to your right, you see the garden house you two– sometimes with his sister, sometimes with Eric, sometimes with both of them at once– spent many afternoons in.

There used to be an old, red sofa inside. There wasn’t much space, since it was filled with gardening supplies, Sunwoo’s and MB!Y/N’s old bikes, flower pots, packs of soil and all other things you could need for gardening, but it was fun to hide away from the sun in there and drink iced tea, talking about whatever came to your minds or solving nanogram puzzles in comfortable silence (or occasional sigh from Eric when he got stuck somewhere in the middle of his crosswords).

Your curiosity gets the best of you when you open the door, deciding to see if it’s still the same inside. Your eyes widen when you notice the garden house a little less packed than before– mainly because Sunwoo’s mother no longer does gardening in her free time and buys her vegetables on the market like your mum does, you presume– but instead, it’s full of all the things the childhood you knew so well.

Sunwoo’s old bike– red and a little rusty, but you bet it could still work. The rug they used to have in their dining room is now in the middle of the little garden house, stained with dirt. Next to the usual red sofa is a leather armchair that they used to have in their living room for a while, the dark brown fabric now worn out, chapped and peeling off. In the corner of the room, you find a box filled with various sports equipment– tennis rackets, a yellow tennis ball, a jumping rope, and lastly, a half-deflated football. The sight of it has you sighing a little, reminding you of Sunwoo’s composure when he told you about how he never got to pursue his childhood dream fully. 

Your eyes glaze towards his old skateboard, having you chuckle, the memories of him riding it down the hill in front of his house appearing in your mind. Sometimes, he would be there with his sister and his childhood friend Eric as well (that more often than not let MB!Y/N borrow the board, watching her with lovesick eyes instead of riding it himself), the young boy trying to teach himself tricks he saw on the TV.

“Do you think I still got it?” you suddenly hear Sunwoo ask from behind your shoulder, making you jump in surprise. The male laughs at your shocked face, shaking his head in disbelief at your easily shaken composure. 

“You scared me,” you breathe out, clutching your chest for good measure, to show him how much you really mean it– your heart was racing, and contrary to popular belief, the sight of him in casual attire (a gray hoodie, so similar to the one he used to wear in high school, baggy Adidas sweatpants covering his legs) wasn’t the reason for the little heart attack.

“So did you!” he exclaims. “I got outside and didn’t see you there, I thought you ran away for a second,” he hums.

“As if,” you mumble, “I walked all the way here, why would I leave so suddenly?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, “you could’ve changed your mind, or something,” he says, his composure suddenly as boyish as when he was just a teenager, something in your heart softening. You guess he sometimes still carries some of the same insecurities he tried so hard to mask when he was young. Some things don’t really change, but you really wish at least this would’ve.

Smiling at him, you shake your head. “I don’t think you still got it, though,” you go back to reply to his initial question, pointing towards the skateboard.

“Well, who knows,” he peeps, “maybe I could do an Ollie, or something.”

“I really don’t think you could, Sunwoo,” you laugh softly, watching him regain his statement competitiveness.

“Wanna bet?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I don’t want you to break your bones, so let’s just say I believe you,” you giggle, watching as the boy mirrors your expression, his gaze softening. 

A short moment of silence overtakes you two as you sigh and look around the garden house, instinctively taking a seat on the red sofa covered in dust. You bet it’s been years since anyone’s sat on it, and you’re glad to be the one revisiting its comfort. It’s like solidifying your return– like the old piece of forgotten furniture in Sunwoo’s garden house is the spawn point of your childhood. “Doesn’t this make you nostalgic?” you ask, eyeing your companion.

“Well, I live here,” he shrugs, “so not as much as it makes you, I suppose. Having you here again makes it more nostalgic, though, I’ll give you that.”

His words have you overcome with something bittersweet. Seeing the town you love so much makes you almost regret you ever left. The rational side of your brain reminds you that you gained a lot of experience abroad, though, and so you settle with being just a little bit remorseful of your past self for being so overly-ambitious. 

“It’s weird,” you allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of him, the essence of him being your best friend– your first love, the first person you ever felt safe with– overtaking you in the moment of weakness, “it’s like everybody moved on, but I stayed here.”

“Well, not everybody moved on,” Sunwoo hums, referring to himself. “Juyeon stayed, too. Eric and MB!Y/N are moving only a few hours away… Haknyeon lives down the street now,” he points out, a poor attempt at making you feel better.

“Yeah… it’s just… I hoped I would do big things. I hoped we would both do big things,” you say, tone of voice quiet, your eyes avoiding him. It’s hard to keep eye contact with him when you share your struggles– at least that’s the way it always was when you were young. The look he offered you always made you feel so tender, so cared for that you wanted to burst out crying. In your age and state, you can’t afford to tear up in front of your ex-boyfriend anymore.

“Sometimes, things don’t work out the way we want them to,” Sunwoo says, tone of voice considerate. “And that’s fine. I wanted to be a star, and I’m not, but that’s okay, because hey… I’m happy anyway. I’m content. And I know that one day, you’ll be too. It just takes a bit of time.”

Snickering, you play with your fingers in your lap, legs plopping up and crossed, striking an almost defensive pose. “Were you… were you embarrassed when you came back?” you ask.

Sunwoo laughs, the sound so heartfelt it makes your insides squeeze. “Terribly. I mean, look at me in my mid-twenties, still living with my mother. Even back then, I felt like a failure. I felt like a disappointment, but… then I realized not everyone had the opportunities I had. Not everyone almost made it professional, you know, and that’s still something to be proud of.”

“I’m still living with my mother, but hey– she’s getting older and the house is big. MB!Y/N moved out, and I wouldn’t want my mum to get lonely… so I think I’m doing pretty well, given the circumstances,” he says. Pausing for a heartbeat, as if collecting his thoughts, he continues. “I think you should find the positives in your situation too. Not everyone got to live in New York... Work for the national TV… That’s still a huge achievement, and I think you should be proud of yourself for that.”

Rolling your eyes– although grateful to hear the words– you snicker. “It’s hard to do that right now…”

“I know,” he nods, smiling when you finally look at him. “It takes time. And until then, well, for what it’s worth, I’m really proud of you. And maybe… maybe you coming back home is how life’s supposed to go anyways.”

Biting down on your lower lip to stop yourself from tearing up– see, you knew you shouldn’t have looked the boy in the eyes during his little pep talk– there’s suddenly a weight leaving your shoulders, heart softening and growing more tender. Your wounds seem to sting a little less. It’s strange– even after so many years, he still knows just the words you need to hear.

“Yeah,” you nod, voice barely louder than a whisper, a soft smile playing with your lips, “maybe.”

to. my first kiss

March 2000

His eyes stay glued to the TV in your living room, the boy almost looking hypnotized as he focuses on the program running, furrowed brows and all, showing his utmost concentration. A sigh lands into his ears, but goes unnoticed when you enter the room, a scowl sitting on your face. “Sunwoo! I told you to watch the oven! What if the cookies burn?”

“Yeah…” he mumbles, not a single word coming out of your mouth truly registering in his brain.

“Sunwoo!” you grunt, but when you get no reply, you just choose to roll your eyes and walk into your kitchen yourself, opening the oven and making sure the cookies you two have been baking haven’t burned down into coal yet. Not long after, you plop on the sofa next to your best friend, tone of voice still showing a bit of frustration at his carelessness.

“You shit on Eric for watching those, but you’re just as bad,” you hum as you notice the kdrama going on in the TV. It’s one of the ones that hardly make any sense and each scene is overly-exaggerated and repeated at least twice to create impact, but Sunwoo finds himself living for the drama. Each argument has him examining the scene, mentally rooting for his favorite characters– and although he is busy with football practice nowadays, he doesn’t skip a single episode of Happy Together. 

It’s not as entertaining as the manga comics he borrows from Hyunjae’s father’s comic shop, but he figures that it’s good enough to pass some time… and indulge over.

“I think they’re gonna kiss,” he notes, pointing towards the screen.

“Oh, good point, Sherlock Holmes,” you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief. If there was something you’d expect out of your friend, it seemingly wasn’t his enjoyance of cheesy dramas that air in the afternoon hours of the week. 

And Sunwoo admits, he was never the one to enjoy romance. Hell, it was something he always made fun of when it came to his friend Eric– he was not the one to watch romantic comedies, he wasn’t the one to tell girls cheesy lines or bring them flowers on Valentine’s day. He does seem to be enjoying the laughable scenes rolling on the TV a little too much lately, though.

Maybe he should start hanging out with Eric less.

The scene slowly transforms into close-ups of the two main characters, showing them instinctively closing their eyes and leaning towards each other, eyes trained on each other’s lips. It doesn’t take much to predict the next actions, but Sunwoo still finds himself restless in his seat when they finally kiss, legs kicking up and a gasp escaping his mouth. One would think he won the lottery or was just greeted with the greatest surprise ever, with how he’s reacting. None of the two are true, though.

“Oh, wow,” you hum next to him, seemingly not really interested in the drama as much as your best friend is.

“You’re ruining it,” Sunwoo sighs, looking at you as you roll your eyes and settle deeper into the couch cushions. 

“Oh, sorry,” you note, but your composure stays a bit annoyed. 

Sunwoo watches the TV for some more– the scene of the two characters kissing stays on the screen, slowed-down and repeated, in the true 90s TV show fashion– before his eyes trail off the device and move towards you, glazing your side profile. He takes notice of your casual attire– you changed out of your school uniform in the time he was supposed to watch the cookies baking in the oven, and something in his stomach churns, making him blurt out the random question that so suddenly appears on the tip of his tongue.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” he asks, genuinely curious. He doesn’t even know why the response matters to him so much– he also doesn’t really know what reply he’d like to hear better, if he’s being honest– but now it’s out in the open and he can’t take it back.

“Hm?” you hum, snapping your head towards him. “Oh. Yeah, I guess…”

“You guess..?” Sunwoo repeats, furrowing his brows. How can one not be sure? 

“Well– yeah. It only happened once, though,” you shrug. It takes everything in Sunwoo to not ask who you kissed and when, or under what circumstances, and decide to despise that person until the day he dies. It’s not his business and he shouldn’t even care in the first place… He can’t say he’s disappointed in your answer– it’s your life and your decisions– but something inside of him screams that now, he can’t be your first no matter how hard he’d try. (It’s not like you’d want to kiss Sunwoo anyway, so he really doesn’t know why he’s making such a big deal about it.)

“What about you?” you ask, the question catching the poor boy off guard. He didn’t necessarily expect you to ask him back– so much to his title of Sherlock Holmes– and the reality that he can’t lie to you takes him out in full force as he bashfully stares out of the window.

“No,” he peeps, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

There’s something embarrassing about admitting to the girl you like that even at the ripe age of 19, you’ve never kissed anyone before. Shame creeps up his neck and adorns his cheeks after the simple word slips out of his mouth, eyes refusing to meet yours.

“Really?” you ask, and you sound genuinely surprised– there’s a hint of Sunwoo’s ego recovering, but he thinks the hit was too hard for him to ever recover.

“Yup,” he says, a popping sound heard as his lips voice out the last consonant, the view of him playing with his own fingers suddenly more interesting than anything else happening in your living room right at this moment.

“I thought– nevermind,” you hum, scratching the back of your neck, “why are you asking?”

“Just… just curious, I guess…?” he stummers, shrugging. 

A moment of silence overtakes you two– enough to make the boy instantly hate everything he’s ever said on the matter. If there could open up a hole in the ground right now to swallow him, he’d jump in with much enthusiasm. Why did he have to ask?

“Do you wanna try?” you suddenly propose, making the boy’s heart feel like it burst and threw him into a cardiac arrest. His hands start sweating, his cheeks tint red and it feels like all oxygen was suddenly sucked out of the living room, his lungs collapsing on themselves.

You seem to try to save the situation, noticing the utter shock on his face. “I mean– you don’t have to, but I… I wouldn’t mind, and it’s– I don’t know… if you wanted to practice with me, or something, I’d be down to…” you stutter, chewing on your bottom lip as you finish the little tangent, terror evident in your eyes.

Sunwoo feels like a little boy that just found his favorite gift under the Christmas tree. Like he found the most pricey toy there, the one he always wanted, and now that it’s there, he’s scared to actually play with it, because he doesn’t want to break it. Much like your friendship, he thinks. There’s too much to lose if he crosses this line, and he’s very much aware. 

But the offer seems tempting. Almost too tempting. God, he doesn’t think he could say no.

He may not be your first kiss, but you’re asking to be his. This sounds like a dream, if he really thinks about it.

“You know what? Just forget–”

“I’d– I’d like that…” he mumbles, trying really hard not to avert his gaze from you.

Your gaze softens, nodding your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“Okay,” you nod again, moving a little closer to him. Your knees knock into the side of his thigh, your whole figure now facing him on the sofa as his legs still point forward to the TV. He keeps staring at you, a little nervous, but expectant. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do it just because–”

“I’m sure,” he cuts you off, watching as your face relaxes, a smile appearing on your lips at the next addition. “I want to.”

“Okay.”

You move impossibly closer, your crossed legs in contact with his clothed skin. He curses the thin fabric of the pants of his school uniform for making him feel every slightest flex of your muscles when you move, making his skin flare up and burn. He keeps staring at you, watching you as you lean closer to him, your faces now inches away from each other. Sunwoo finds himself focusing on every feature of your face, counting the eyelashes framing your eyes, glazing over the sparkles in your orbs. You stay close for a minute, unmoving. 

Eyes locking, Sunwoo finds himself gasping a little, breathing shuddering when he notices your gaze falling to his lips. Your breathing mixes, air meeting his face when you breathe out a minty breeze. His heart is already racing and you’re not even doing anything.

When he finds you finally moving towards him and notices your eyes shutting close, he mirrors your actions, but stays unmoving. After what feels like eternity, he feels something soft pressing to his lips, warmth spreading from that part of his face to the rest of his body. The contact of your lips with his is gentle, like you’re testing the waters, and although the feeling is unfamiliar, Sunwoo decides he doesn’t hate it.

The weird firework show in his stomach actually suggests that he’s quite enjoying it. Your lips break away from his for a bit, rewarding him with only a peck, and before the boy has the chance to think this is it and it’s over, you dive in for more and kiss him again, this time longer, more firmer.

Your hands come up to cradle his cheeks, holding him close. He feels himself burning up, his composure completely crumbling when he feels you smile against his lips. 

“You know you can kiss back, right?”

“Mhm,” he hums, opening his eyes to see you staring at him with a tender look.

“Try it,” you say, hands gently coming up to brush his bangs away from his face. If anyone was looking at the two of you now, Sunwoo thinks they’d conclude that you two were in love.

And maybe Sunwoo was, by the way he was looking up at you like you hung the stars on the sky. By the way he was staring at you with such a vulnerable look he feared you might see right through him, see right to his core and call him out on every unconfessed word hiding in his heart. He looks a little scared, a little tense, still, but his eyes don’t lie. They never do. There’s no one else that could make him feel the way you do.

“Okay,” he nods, moving in his position so he’s facing you, ready for more. 

He mirrors your previous motions, leaning towards your face. He wets his lips and closes his eyes when he’s sure he’s close enough to not miss your mouth, and after another deep breath in to calm his nerves, he presses against you. He feels you freezing under him, a momentary panic spreading all over his chest as he thinks he’s done something wrong, before he feels you kissing him back.

A whole other sensation takes over him when he feels your lips moving against his, his fingertips buzzing when he drags his hand up and moves your hair behind your shoulder, large hand resting on your jaw. He’s not sure if he’s doing this correctly– hell, he’s never done this before– but after you move a bit and entangle your hands behind his neck, pressing against him a bit more firmly, yet still tender and gentle like the first time, he recognises that somehow, it feels right, and he thinks that’s all evaluation he needs for now.

The need for oxygen makes him break away from you, breathing heavily as he opens his eyes and finds you resting your forehead against his, smiling. “Like that?” he asks, shamelessly staring at your wet lips, already yearning for more.

“Something like that,” you nod, giggling. “You still need more practice, though,” you suggest, making the boy frown.

“Was it that ba–”

Rolling your eyes at him, frustrated at the way he always needs everything spelled out for him, refusing to take a hint, you press your lips against his again, teeth clashing a little when Sunwoo picks up the pace and kisses you back. The TV is a mere white noise in the background now, everything around you two disappearing, all of Sunwoo’s senses focused on you and only you. He could get lost in the way you taste– like strawberry bubblegum you bought at the store on the corner of the street– and the way you feel against him– soft, tender, warm.

He feels like he could burst. He knows his hands are a bit sweaty, but he’s only half aware of the fact when his palms move to hold your cheeks, much like you did to him before, and your hands entangle in his hair, playing with the strands.

He could stay like this forever, blissfully unaware of the consequences of this act. He could kiss you over and over and over again, even if it meant he was still bad at it and needed more practice– he could get lost in your scent, in the tender way you hold him to you, in the way you keep smiling against his lips whenever he does something to surprise you: like get a little bolder and angle your head by your chin with his thumb, getting more comfortable.

He’s glad he’s sitting down, because he’s quite sure his knees are too weak to carry him right now. When you break away from him again, lips swollen and eyes blown-out, he thinks you might just be an angel. He’d love to engrave this image into his memories forever.

Although, he’s doubtful that he could ever forget about this. Or anything about you, really.

And even as you suddenly gasp, finally aware of the world around you, running to the kitchen and screaming: “Sunwoo! We forgot about the cookies!”,

he wonders just what more you could teach him about life. He’d follow you to the end of the world if you asked him to, holding your hand in his and not thinking twice. He’d bring you down a star, if you only so expressed you would like one. He’d do anything. 

You taught him what friendship is. You taught him what it means to care for someone. What it means to have someone special. You taught him how to drink (although by scolding him when he was hungover. He felt cared for even with your stern gaze). You taught him how to slow dance– even though you spent the prom with someone else. Just now, you taught him how to kiss.

And although you’re unaware, he’s quite certain that when he’s 19 years old, spending each of his days with you, although unaware, you taught him how to love someone too.

August 2007

You feel kind of silly, standing in front of the bakery as the sun sets over the horizon, the clock striking near 5 in the afternoon as you gnaw on your fingernails and hesitate a little before coming in. Pushing the door open and slipping inside, the male currently sweeping the floor looks over at you, a look of pleasant surprise sitting at his face and a sunny smile sent your way upon your arrival.

You don’t really know why you keep running back to him. The whole town reeks of familiarity to you, every corner and inch of each street filled with the essence of your childhood and your whole growing up. It’s not like you don’t have anything else to ground yourself back to, but somehow, your inner voice always keeps calling for Sunwoo. It’s weird– it’s been ages and you shouldn’t feel like this around someone who you haven’t even properly dated for that long, if you don’t count the few months before he left– but it’s something you can’t control, an essence you can’t hold back. 

“Y/N,” he calls for you, “what are you doing here?” he asks as he continues his routinal cleaning, putting the broom away behind the counter. 

It’s a stupid question. You bet he realizes it too, but you’re somehow glad he is taking initiative. This way, you don’t have to be the first one to spark the conversation. This way, you know you’re welcome. 

“Oh, well,” you shrug, “I’m… looking for you…?” you say, tone of voice suggesting that you’re hesitant, almost a little shy to admit it to yourself. 

Maybe you’re foolish for feeling this way. Because you know what all those things mean– you know what the lightness in your stomach is, what the giddy feeling resonating through you whenever the male smiles at you is. You know that thinking about someone constantly, more so before you sleep, isn’t an usual occurrence with someone you pay no attention to, with someone you don’t care about. You’ve been in love before– with the same man that’s standing right in front of you as well, funnily enough. You know what this all means.

But with how he’s inviting you in, letting you into his little bubble, you think it’s not as bad of a thing. He’s not pushing you away. He’s not building bridges. He’s the same way he was all those years ago, and you’d hate to find out that all of this wasn’t something more and was just him being nice.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he chuckles, wiping his hands on the apron still tied around his waist. “I’m off in a few, though, so if you want anything from the bakery–”

“I’m not here for the food,” you laugh, dismissing him with a wave of your hand. The boldness is unusual for the present you– there’s a hint of your past shining through whenever you are with the boy, though. Maybe you like this sense of familiarity. Maybe you like to feel real again– maybe you like to feel like yourself. It’s hard to admit it, but you did lose your sense of identity after moving abroad. It’s hard to stay true to yourself with so many new people around and with so many expectations and responsibilities. The pressure changes you, and you now rely on Kim Sunwoo to bring you back to default– to where you’re supposed to be.

“Okay, then,” he nods, thankfully not making a big deal out of your desperate visit, “what would you like to do?” he asks, eyes sparkling under the lights when he looks at you. It’s like an open invitation– he gives you the chance to tell him how you’d like to spend your time with him. He did this a lot when you two were younger as well. It felt good to have someone that would make the effort to enjoy your hobbies with you– no matter how disinterested he could be in the matter.

“Hang out… I guess…?” you hum, shrugging. You didn’t really have anything planned. All you knew was that you wanted to be with him. It’s like the heart’s calling– you don’t know when your inner monologue got so cliche.

“Anything specific?” he asks.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shake your head in disapproval. You fear that you disappointed him, let him down in some way– you came all the way here, after all. You could’ve made something up on the way, couldn’t you? But still– just like the Sunwoo you once knew, so lively and full of ideas– he just purses his lips for a second before speaking the suggestion into existence.

“Well… do you want to bake with me? Like the old times?” he says, sending you a look full of warm honey.

You wouldn’t say no to that invitation. You’d be crazy to do so.

The Kim Sunwoo you used to bake cookies with in the comfort of your kitchen back home wasn’t so skilled in making the dough like he is now. He wasn’t so good at knowing the recipe from memory, nor was he gifted with the kitchen appliances he has now, all professional and shiny, reserved just for the use of the bakery. You don’t really know if he even had the love for baking in him back then– you just know you two enjoyed your time together, and when you are young, that’s all you really cared about anyway. It didn’t matter that he let the cookies burn sometimes. It didn’t really matter that they didn’t turn out well on some days– all morphing into one big block, making you cut the dough into pieces so you could eat it when you accidentally added too much butter. 

He still looks the same, though. A few years older, but with the same boyish aura to him when he wipes dirty hands on his apron. All grown up now, but still with the same glint in his eye whenever he looks up at you in between your conversations. When you’re with him, you no longer feel the distance between who you are and who you used to be, the distance between you and him. It’s like the old days, but a little better.

Maybe you have more time now.

The two of you work on the cookie dough, enveloped in a comfortable conversation. “You have to add more sugar,” Sunwoo hums from next to you, watching as you work on the mixture.

“Isn’t it funny how I was the one always giving you directions when we baked together and now you’re the one ordering me around?” you laugh, taking the sugar from the counter and sprinkling more in, listening to the opinion of a professional.

“Well, my cookies don’t turn into one big blob of dough anymore,” he jokes, laughing. “Besides, it’s my job now, so you’d kind of expect me to be good at it.”

“You can’t be so sure of that…” you hum, shaking your head.

“Why? Do you have any experience with being bad at your job?” 

“Oh you bet I do,” you laugh, nodding. “I was an intern before, Sunwoo. A colleague of mine once tried to console me by saying being an intern means being bad at the job, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, but I still cried myself to sleep multiple nights,” you conclude, thinking back to your New York endeavors.

“That bad?” Sunwoo asks empathetically.

“Yeah. Mixed up everyone’s coffee order on my first day. When I was confronted about it, I tried to play it off by saying I don’t have a good memory…” you muse.

“Well, it’s hard to remember a lot of stuff at once, to be fair–”

“I was getting coffee for three people, Sunwoo. Objectively speaking, it shouldn’t be as hard…” you say, now thinking back to the events of your internship with more humor than embarrassment.

Sunwoo laughs at your story, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not worse than my teammate back in Boston. The first match of the season, he scored a goal against our own team. His reasoning? He used to play against the goalie back in high school, so he got confused.”

The boy takes over at making the dough once it’s the turn to add in the chocolate chips, glancing at you momentarily when you laugh at his anecdote. Watching him from the side, you heave out through your laughs. “That’s actually hilarious,” you get out, washing your hands in the sink. “What about some funny stories about yourself, though?”

“Don’t have any. I’m too perfect to humiliate myself like that,” he notes, pressing his lips together and raising his eyebrows at you in an ironic expression, nodding.

“Oh, as if–”

“How is it?” he asks you suddenly in the middle of the sentence, seemingly done with kneading the mixture. Sunwoo puts the cookie dough in front of your lips, waiting for you to taste it. You’d do it all the time when you were both teenagers, but back then, the gesture didn’t feel half as intimate as the mere image of it does now.

Locking eyes with the male, you hesitantly open your mouth and let him put the dough into it, tasting the sweetness on your tongue. Sunwoo’s eyes darken, as if he’s just realized what he’s done, the weight of the situation falling down on him as your tongue comes in contact with the skin of his fingertips. Gulping, he watches as you suck the tip of his digit into your mouth, getting all last remains of the sweetness off of it, something in the air shifting towards a direction you didn’t expect from tonight.

“Good,” you nod, licking your lips, “delicious.”

Seconds turn to what feels like eternities as you stop all motion and look into each other’s eyes, finding any hint of disapproval with the so obvious turn of events. His chocolate orbs peer into yours, making you ignite with something close to an urge you can’t control, his eyes anchoring themselves to the curve of your lips when you decide to let go of all anxiety and insecurities and just go for it. The cookie dough was sweet, but you’ve never tasted anything sweeter than Sunwoo’s lips. You might just have to refresh your mind, you think.

Leaning closer to him, your breathing mixing in the few centimeters left between your mouths, you relish in the déja vu this action brings you. It feels like yesterday, yet also centuries ago since you last kissed the male, and although you’re sure you enjoyed it back then, you wish you could’ve told the younger you to kiss him more often, more firmly, with more passion, maybe even sooner. For longer. 

Pressing your lips against his first, almost like always– since Kim Sunwoo was a bit shy with his kisses when you were both just high school seniors– your eyes shut close and everything around you disappears. You guess there’s something about baking that makes the two of you want to feed off each other’s lips– except this time, it’s not practice anymore. It’s not innocent, it’s not clueless. This time, it’s real, alive and passionate. You can’t say you hate the sentiment, the weird parallel your relationship has come to. It’s like you’re reliving your life again, but this time, you know how the story ends– you know how to fix the ending. How to keep him here.

Sunwoo’s more experienced than he was when you kissed him for the first time. He’s less shy and more bold, lips firmer against yours, but still careful and gentle. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw and position you so he has the best access to your mouth as he slips his tongue in, as if chasing down the taste of cookie dough he fed you just a few seconds ago, and although you liked to battle him when you were young, you let him win this time– you let him take you home, bring your mind to where it’s supposed to be.

Hands gripping the front of his shirt, but immediately going to circle around his neck when a particular movement of his makes you moan slightly into his mouth, you play with the hair on his nape and feel him shuddering under your movements, an automatic response that makes fondness spread over your chest. Everything about him is familiar to you– he still reacts the same way to your tender ministrations, he still smiles against your lips when you tangle your fingers through his hair and want to ground yourself in the touch. 

You know him like the palm of your hand. It’s easy to get lost in something you are so familiar with, in someone that was once your everything. It’s easy to indulge too much in something that was forcefully taken from you, to get right back where you left with him, because time and circumstances were never on your side.

A touch of his hand on the side of your neck, lips trailing down your mouth towards your jaw. The boldness, the urgency of his movements is enough to have you turn your back against the counter, his body pressed tightly against yours. His palms under the backside of your knees have you sitting up on the cold marble, his lips never breaking away from your skin. 

You’re enjoying the shift in the dynamic. You’re enchanted with the way he handles you, like he’s been starved of you for years, wanting to chase down all the time you spent away from each other. Breathing heavily, feeling his plush lips sucking down on the sweet spot under your ear, then trailing down the side until he reaches the juncture of your neck, an involuntary “God…” slips past your mouth.

“I missed you,” he says, words muffling against your skin, “I missed you so much, I felt like I was going crazy.”

The confession makes you dizzy, your whole body growing weak. It’s like he knows exactly what words you wanted to hear. It’s like he knows what haunted you all those years, what you kept asking the universe on sleepless nights over and over, praying for an answer. It’s like he knows exactly how to get you close to him, to have you completely let go of the past. 

“I missed your jokes,” he says, planting a kiss on your neck. “I missed your smile,” he presses another one a little more up, “I missed your laugh,” another kiss, now on your jaw. “I missed holding your hand,” a peck planted to the corner of your lips, “and I missed kissing you…” he trails off, pointing his attention back on your mouth, locking the two of you together again, as if kissing you was his new addiction and you were the drug.

Sunwoo’s hot hand creeps up your waist, fingers slipping under the thin fabric of your tank top. The contact makes you shiver in response, your bodies still as responsive to each other as back when you were 19, and when you tug at his bottom lip with your teeth and slip your tongue back into his mouth, you feel the boy tug at the right strap of your top, sliding it down your shoulder. You’re barely registering the bowl of dough to your right, the fact that you’re in the kitchen of Juyeon’s parent’s bakery, or the fact that you only just met the boy two weeks ago for the first time in years. All you focus on is him– his touch, his taste, the way he makes you feel. All you know is longing. The desire.

Before you have the chance to take anything further, the sound of the door opening makes you jump away from each other– your head almost hitting the top cabinets, had Sunwoo not instinctively put his hand there to shield you from the impact. Before you get a chance to register what’s happening, a familiar voice calls for you, their tone a little guilty and bashful. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt, or anything–” Juyeon peeps, clearing his throat. 

Glancing at Sunwoo, you see his cheeks redden at being caught by his older friend, yet his eyes still roll in annoyance at the interruption. You can’t help but try to hide your face into his shoulder– it’s not like you’re embarrassed of being with Sunwoo, you’re just embarrassed that it had to happen here, of all places.

“Well, you just did,” Sunwoo grunts, frustration coating his words.

“I’m just here to grab something,” Juyeon hums, almost racing through the room to get to the fridge on the other side of the kitchen, taking out a carton of milk from the inside and showing it to the two of you. “This is gonna go bad soon, so I’m taking it home to use it. Uhm.. anyways, well, don’t let me stop you in anything… bye!”

Neither of you greet the male back, instead sharing a meaningful, knowing look between each other. The view of your first boyfriend with his lips puffy, cheeks flushed and hair a little disheveled makes your senses go crazy, and although you’d like to continue what you started, you don’t think now is the right time or place.

Hopping off the counter, you smile. “So… where were we with the cookies?”

to. my first girlfriend

May 2000

Eyes trained on the ball, feet restless as he runs across the field to retrieve it and pass it to one of the shooters– either Donghyuck or Jinyoung, the more capable ones of the team– Sunwoo finds himself completely focused on the game. It’s one of the last matches of the season, and since he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to play his favorite sport again– he hasn’t received a verdict on the university applications he sent yet– the boy figures he should enjoy each game like it’s the last. Because who knows– one day, it may as well be, and if he’s not prepared for it, if he has any regrets, he knows he’ll take it harder than he’s supposed to.

Kim Sunwoo’s position in football is midfielder. While Eric once told him that it’s a loser position, since he’s not the shooter and he doesn’t score many goals (which is a lie– the boy had him know he scored his fair share despite his defensive position on the field), Sunwoo’s grown to love it. He’s the one that’s supposed to counter all attacks on his teammates. He’s the one that runs after the ball and passes it to the shooters, so technically, he’s the reason why any of them even have the opportunity to score. His position is as important as any other player's, and he takes pride in the compliments he gets from his coach whenever he does particularly well at a game. 

Sunwoo loves football. He’d say his first love is football, but something inside of him keeps telling him that that’s a lie (don’t ask him why. It’s a secret.). It’s the first game he’s ever been exceptionally good at, the first thing he could do for periods longer than a few weeks. He’s been playing with the ball since he was young, and although he never had a father to kick the football around with in his backyard, his sister was always happy to be included in anything he was into at the time– when she got older, she even got better at being his designated goalie, although less interested in the play itself. Sunwoo feels like he lets go of all worries when he plays. It’s good to have an escape, something to keep his mind occupied. He doesn’t have many things to worry about, but he finds that kicking the ball around, making strategies in his brain on how to get it to his teammates the fastest, is enough for him to get out both his frustration and get something nice out of it. He enjoys the thrill. He enjoys the excitement, the shared joy of the team whenever someone scores a goal. He is addicted to the ecstasy in his veins whenever his team wins.

It was easy to determine that if Sunwoo wanted to do anything for the rest of his life, it would be football. It’s what he enjoys, what he loves. It’s what he’s good at. 

It’s strange to imagine a time when he wouldn’t play football. He doesn’t even want to imagine it in the first place– it makes a chill run down his spine and an unsettling feeling churn in his stomach. In a perfect world, he’s always a football player.

Everyone keeps telling him he could easily make it professional, if he tried. 

Football is how he met most of his friends. It’s how he met Juyeon– he was the captain of the high school team when Sunwoo was a sophomore, and he found that hanging out with the older boy was easy and fun. It’s how he met Donghyuck and Jihoon (before the latter dropped out of the team after a few months). It’s how he met you. 

His coach always warned the players about dating the cheerleaders. For his coach, it wasn’t right to do so– it would throw off the dynamic of the game. “Nobody wants their ex to stare at them during their game!” the coach had said– not even thinking of the possibility of any of those teenage romances to last. Sunwoo only laughed back then. It wasn’t something he should be afraid of– he never liked anyone on the cheer team.

Until… until he did. Sunwoo met you on one sunny day, at your joint cheer-slash-football practice. You pointed out that the number on his jersey– 03– was your favorite, and the boy felt himself smile. Ever since then, he never wore any other number. He considered it to be his lucky charm. What started as friendship blossomed into something much more for the boy, and somehow, he can’t even remember when the feelings he had for you morphed into adoration. He doesn’t know when they shifted Into absolute enchantment, or Into a silly crush– he doesn’t know when he started seeing you in a light that was more romantic.

Wearing your favorite number on his back, Sunwoo runs towards the opposing player. There’s something akin to an angry face playing with the man’s features, and Sunwoo imagines it’s because of the very clear lead his team has on them. Sunwoo makes sure he doesn’t slip as he tackles the opposing player– he swears he heard someone call the shooter Jaechan– and as soon as he secures the ball, Sunwoo aims to forward it to his teammate.

The screams resonating all around him– although he tries hard to filter them out to focus on the game completely– suggest that it’s only a few moments before the game is over. It wouldn’t matter even if they didn’t score the goal, but something inside of Sunwoo’s heart leaps at the thought of winning with such a lead. The boyish excitement only grows when he watches Donghyuck retrieve the goal and run towards the goalpost, neon-orange sneakers shining through the green grass.

“Come on!” Sunwoo cheers, a hopeful spark lighting within him as the boy prepares to shoot, eyes quickly scanning the field.

And Lee Donghyuck almost never lets him down. Maybe that’s why he liked the boy so much in the first place– Sunwoo didn’t like players that dismissed the chance he won for them. He liked the skillful ones. The ones that knew what they were doing. (He also liked Donghyuck’s humor. He found himself grateful to have a friend so funny. He made even losing feel like it wasn’t such a big deal.) 

Choosing the golden shooter proved to be a good idea once again– Donghyuck, number 35, shoots for the goal and the ball gets in. Seconds after, the sound of a whistle is heard across the place, the game over with Sunwoo’s team winning 4:1.

Everyone cheers– yells from the audience are heard, excitement reeking through the air. The whole football team gathers around, sweaty bodies sticking together as they perform some sort of a cliche group hug, arms patting each other’s backs and complimenting each other’s play. 

The commotion dissolves shortly after. Sunwoo finds himself trying to catch his breath, eyes looking across the space for someone in particular. His heart leaps even harder when he finds you standing at the edge of the field in your cheer uniform, a big smile plastered on your face. Your eyes are glimmering as they meet with his. Your hair is a little tousled from the routine you just finished doing and there are smears and smudges on your cheeks from the face paint you used to symbolize the team’s colors– blue and gold. Over-all, you look ecstatic.

Sunwoo finds himself running over to you before he even registers that he’s going to do it. He’s like a fast, unguided missile, the goal of getting to you as fast as possible being the only thing resonating through his excited mind.

“Good jo-” you grunt as the boy finally gets to you, words cutting off when he (maybe a little harshly) puts his arms around your middle and picks you up, twirling you around. You screech a little into his ear and he finds himself laughing at your reaction. It’s like a runner's high– he feels like right now, he is capable of everything. 

“Okay! Okay! Put me down!” you laugh when you start to get a little dizzy. The boy complies, since he’s running out of strength to carry you anyways, and puts you back to your feet. His arms stay tightly wrapped around your body, though, locking you into a secure hug. 

“We won!” he cheers, the brightest grin settling to his lips as he announces the obvious. 

You beam at him, eyes soft and crinckled into little moon crescents, a dumbfounded smile playing with your features. “I know, Sherlock,” you dismiss him again with the teasing nickname, shaking your head in disbelief, “I was here. Cheering for you,” you say.

And sure, Sunwoo knows that by you, you don’t necessarily mean him in particular– more like cheering for the whole team, the whole 11 players on the field– but something about the sentiment makes his stomach feel all light and a slight blush spread over his glowing cheeks. You were here– cheering for him (and his team) – and although you’re here out of your own will, out of your own devotion to your hobby, he somehow feels grateful for your presence. You never miss a game. You went even when you caught the flu and felt too sick to do your cheer routine– you just sat on the bench and rooted for your best friend. (The team lost that match. Sunwoo felt a little bad for tugging you out of your bed for it.)

The boy studies your face for a while. You look perfectly content in his hold. You fit perfectly into his arms, he thinks– almost like you’re supposed to be there all the time. He should hug you more often, he decides. Sunwoo foolishly finds himself focusing onto your lips– he blames the shiny lipgloss you put on today– the words coming out of your mouth not quite registering in his brain. “As I was saying, good job! The whole team, but you especially. Don’t tell anyone, but I think you really shined in this game. I’m really prou–”

A single peck is pressed to your glossy, sticky lips, cutting you off in the middle of the sentence yet again. Sunwoo surprises himself with the gesture– he was always too shy to initiate something with you, too hesitant to even touch you sometimes– but the euphoria is still playing with his senses, clouding his brain. He doesn’t think of consequences.

He can’t control himself anymore. It’s been weeks since you two kissed for the first time– exactly 4 and a half weeks since you taught him how to do so– and since that afternoon, he found himself thinking about it every single day, every single minute, all. The. Time. You two haven’t spoken about it since, making the poor boy a little disappointed, but he respected your decision. He knew that you didn’t particularly reciprocate his feelings, but he still expected your dynamic to shift. At least a little bit. 

And although he should’ve been glad nothing changed and your friendship didn’t crumble because of a simple kiss, he found himself desiring to kiss you every time he saw your face. 

You peer at him with eyes wide open, mouth a little agape. Sunwoo doesn’t really know how to read your reaction– you didn’t look particularly happy, but you also didn’t push him away– and so in the moment of panic, he begins to backtrack, his arms untangling from your sides.

“I- I’m sorry if I overstepped any boundary, or if I–”

You’re not fans of letting each other finish their sentences today, it seems. Before Sunwoo gets a chance to put a bigger distance between the two of you, he watches as you get on your tippy-toes and press a tender kiss on his lips– more firmer than the one he dared to give you, a little bit longer, yet still sweetly short. There’s something soft and gentle in your gaze when you pull away and press another peck onto his face– the tip of his nose this time– and Sunwoo almost physically feels his knees turning into jello, his own celebratory firework show erupting in the pits of his stomach.

“So, as I was saying,” you hum, hugging the boy around his neck, “you did well. You looked good out there,” you peep, the sparks in your eyes making Sunwoo’s skin burn with their contact.

That day, you teach him that to be loved is to have someone sharing your achievements with. To be loved is to be adored, to be loved is to have someone watching you and cheering you on, to have someone to run to with good news.

Kim Sunwoo’s football team won the match, but the boy thinks that perhaps, that day, he won something even greater.

to. my first lover

August 2000

The admission papers arrive at his house the morning he’s supposed to sleep over at your house. Your parents decided to take a trip to your aunt’s place for two days, so you invite the boy into the comfort of your home for the weekend– as far as Sunwoo’s mother is concerned, he’s sleeping over at Juyeon’s. He doesn’t have the boy covering him, but he’s also sure his mother won’t try to check if he’s telling her the truth. He’s not banned from having a girlfriend– he just doesn’t want his mum to get any wrong ideas.

He finds the envelope in the mailbox when he comes home from school, and something in his stomach drops when he sees the american stamp on the top right corner of the white paper. He debates on opening it, but every time he hypes himself up enough to tear the top of the envelope off, a little anxious voice on his inside tells him to wait. 

Although reluctant to admit it to himself, Sunwoo is a little scared to see the result of his university application. Before he leaves for your house, he puts the envelope into the front pocket of his backpack and tries to forget about it. It works a bit better when he sees your face, hears your laugh– when he spends time with you and you two play the new board game you got from your cousin. Still, the weight of the envelope keeps bugging him in his mind no matter how hard he tries forgetting about it, and you finally notice (or finally bring it up after hours of ignoring his weird mood) when the two of you lay together in your bed in the evening, both facing the ceiling.

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

“Hm?” Sunwoo hums, lost in thought. “Oh, yeah,” he nods, “don’t worry.”

You don’t seem convinced. Shuffling a little in your sheets, you turn towards him and move your body closer to his, your arm suddenly draping over his middle. A tender kiss is placed on his temple, almost making him crumble under the gentle care, and your voice earns a concerned kind of timbre when you speak to him. “You can tell me,” you hum, “boyfriends and girlfriends are supposed to tell each other things.”

Boyfriends and girlfriends. Sunwoo feels himself soften under the possessive title. It has been close to 4 months of you dating– starting with the winning match in April, progressing slowly through the summer break– but the fact that you’re his partner is still a little unbelievable to him. Sometimes, when he hears you call him your boyfriend, he still gets a little bashful. He still feels like he’s been told the greatest news of his life. 

Maybe it’s the nature of this sentiment that has him slowly unraveling to you. And maybe, it’s because he’d tell you anyways– you’d be the first to know. He was just waiting for the right time to bring it up.

“The reply to my university application came in the mail this morning…” he trails off, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

You plop up on your elbow, watching the boy from above. Eyes big, you peer into his face. “And?” you ask, an expecting gaze glazing his features.

“I… I don’t know,” he shrugs, “I was too scared to open it alone.”

“O-Oh,” you nod, furrowing your brows at him, “well, it’s okay to be scared. I believe in you, but even if it doesn’t go the way you wanted it to, I’m still proud of you for trying,” you say, a gentle tone of voice cooing at him, like the nature of the way you play with his hair, wanting to make the boy relax from his anxieties.

“I have the letter here with me,” he says, swallowing, “in my bag.”

“Do you want to open it together?” you ask, watching as the boy nods.

He’s getting off the bed in no time, wearing just sweatpants and a baggy shirt to sleep in, grabbing his bag from the corner of your room and unzipping the small compartment at the front. His fingers take the envelope out, legs walking him over back to your bed, your figure now sitting against the headboard. Sunwoo finds himself mirroring your position as his fingers turn the little white thing in his hold with much stumbling, preparing himself for whatever answer awaits him inside.

Glancing at you, seeing you looking at him with an encouraging expression on your face, Sunwoo takes a big breath in and out to calm his nerves before he tears the top open and takes out the expensive-feeling paper. Not stopping his actions anymore, knowing that if he takes another moment to himself, he won’t be able to read the letter, he unravels the note and lets his eyes skim over the words.

Before he even has a chance to register the sentences written down in the letter, before he can even let his mind accept the result he’s given– ‘we are pleased to announce that you were admitted to the athlete scholarship program…’– he feels a pair of arms wrapping around his shoulders, jolting him awake from his thoughts.

“You made it! Oh my god, you made it!” you cheer, excitement taking over your whole body as you shake the boy in your hold from side to side. The reality still isn’t quite settling in for him, so he just lets you do whatever you please– which includes all of the following: screaming incoherent words into his ear when you hug him closer to your chest, planting a kiss to his cheek and throwing your hands up into the air in a winning gesture. 

“You made it, Sunwoo,” you repeat, this time a little more collected.

Sunwoo finally allows himself to put the letter away and look into your eyes. “I made it,” he sighs, a soft smile playing with his features. 

“You did!” you nod, grinning back.

It’s strange. The first step towards Sunwoo’s dream is now complete. He got admitted to the university of his dreams– the one that’s good for athletes, the one that is supposed to shoot him towards stardom. He has the opportunity to take classes there and train with some of the best aspiring players in the whole world. He has the opportunity to move out of the country, live at dorms in Boston, and most importantly, he has everyone’s support. 

There’s nothing more a boy his age could want more. He has everything. His whole life ahead of him, only the brightest future waiting for him at the end– only if he keeps trying hard and improving. He’s happy. Don’t get him wrong– he really is. Somehow, though, it all feels a bit scary.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you excited?” you ask, a pout taking over your once excited features. The amount of worries you have over Sunwoo gets bigger and bigger the older the two of you are. There are only so many things that can go wrong when you are a teenager, but now that you’re adulting, the list keeps getting longer.

“I am,” he nods, forcing a smile onto his lips.

“You don’t seem excited,” you argue.

“I am! I really am,” he says, trying to battle with himself.

“What is it?” 

“What is what?” 

“Come on, Sunwoo,” you sigh, “I can tell when something’s wrong. You don’t have to hide it from me, because I’ll know anyway. What is it?” you insist, staring the boy down with an examining look.

The boy sighs, shrugging to himself. “Well,” he starts, “the school is in America.”

“And?” you start, furrowing your eyebrows. “We knew that when you applied. Why is it such a problem now?” you ask, genuinely not grasping the whole situation.

Sunwoo chews on his cheek for a little while, plays with his fingers in his lap. A part of him is telling him that he both looks and seems foolish– because you’re right. It was his dream, he is excited, and this is good news. But still, there’s something he didn’t really think of when applying. Well, he did. He just thinks that the fact that him being accepted wasn’t really a realistic idea, no matter how hard he wished and prayed for it, so he didn’t have the need to think about it so seriously back then. Now it’s here, all real, and it’s a struggle he didn’t really grasp that he was going to have to go through.

“Well,” he starts again, still avoiding your eyes, “that means I have to move. And we won’t see each other for a while.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence following his confession– one in which he contemplates all possible reactions you might give him, some with truly catastrophic endings– but after what seems like eternities, he hears your soft, gentle voice. “Is that what’s making you so worried?” you ask.

“Kind of,” he nods, feeling his cheeks redden. You handle him with so much care– sometimes, he doesn’t know how to react.

“Awh,” you coo, taking his hand into yours, preventing him from picking at the skin of his cuticles until they bleed– an action he always does and you keep scolding him for. “Sunwoo, we knew about this when you applied. I am okay with you going away. Sure, it will suck, but it’s only for a little time, and I can come visit you there and you’ll show me around and stuff…”

Sunwoo presses a tight-lipped, hesitant smile to his lips. He feels reassured.

“And we’ll call, and it’s going to be fine, because this is good. This is good news, Sunwoo, and you’re gonna do great, and you’re gonna be a star, and I’ll be so, so proud of you,” you hum, voice tender and caring, doing your best at consoling the boy.

“I’m already so proud of you now, y’know?” you hum, squeezing his hand. “Everything will be alright, so don’t you worry.”

Sunwoo’s arms reach out to envelop you into a hug. He once again recognises how easily you fit into his arms, how perfectly you shape into his skin, and when he burrows his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent, he feels your lips reach into his hair, planting a soft kiss into it. Your words did more to the boy than only consult him– they gave him hope, they gave him joy, they made him feel like perhaps, this is not such a terrifying occurrence. And it really isn’t– it’s quite possibly the best thing that he’s ever achieved, and the circumstances of him leaving don’t seem as horrifying to him now. 

As long as he knows that you have his back, he thinks he can do anything. And what’s 3 years abroad against the 4 years he’s known you?

When you pull away, you press your lips against his, the contact making his muscles finally relax and his mind let go of all the worries. There’s suddenly nothing in the world that could make him falter, nothing that could make him worry or stress or fret or change his mind, because he has your support, and you’re here with him, promising him that you’ll always be right by his side, wherever he is.

Your mouth molds against his, the familiar motion of your lips against his still surprising him sometimes, still making him curious even after those months. He’s been dating you for some while, but he still likes to explore what makes you crumble under him, what makes you hum into the kiss, what makes you tug him closer to you– it’s a fun game to him, trying to figure you out completely. 

He still has some time, but it’s like he is trying to engrave those moments into his memory before he no longer can experience them first-hand as easily.

He goes out to explore again– his tongue gently inviting itself into your mouth with a swipe of your lower lip, relishing in the way your composure falters a little bit, letting him be in charge. You were always the more experienced one out of you two, so Sunwoo often shied away from being the one dominating intimate situations– afraid he’s not good enough, too inexperienced, too immature for you– but in the rare moments he does take the lead, your reactions give him a new source of confidence. 

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, nose pressing against your cheek as he angles you so he has more access to your lips. Something about his ministrations makes you forget to breathe, breaking away from him in a search for much needed oxygen, but Sunwoo acts like he’s been starved of you, latching his lips to the trail from your mouth towards your neck, planting open-mouthed kisses to your soft skin. He faintly remembers the time you gave him a lovebite that one time you came over to his house to work on homework together, sucking and biting at his neck (and although he enjoyed seeing the possessive bruise on his skin whenever he saw himself in the mirror, he wore the strings of his hoodies tightly tied to his neck, shielding him from being teased by everyone– but mostly Eric). He tries to mirror your motions, recreating the action to the best of his abilities.

He hears you grunt, making him fear that he’s doing it wrong– a momentarily panic settling in his chest screaming at him that he hurt you– but the worries are quickly dismissed as you move impossibly closer to the boy, straddling his lap and threading your fingers through his hair, keeping him close. 

Humming under his touch, Sunwoo gets a kick from hearing the sounds coming out of your mouth. It’s like a reward– it’s like the praise he goes after his whole life, like validation of his actions being satisfactory for you. The pressure of your body against his lap makes him feel hot all over, sweaty hands holding you by your sides. Every slightest shift of your figure against his makes him shudder, composure faltering when you move in a way that has his breathing particularly quicken, a bundle of nerves forming in his stomach from the newly found hypersensitivity. There’s only so much fabric shielding the two of you from each other, and just the thought of it is slowly driving the boy crazy.

Pulling away from your neck, admiring the artwork he managed to portray on your skin, he feels you pulling him up to meet your lips again, heated, firm kisses shared in the silence of the room. He feels your hands resting on his abdomen, feeling him up for a moment before you sneak them under the hem of his shirt, dragging your nails against his skin. 

Sunwoo hears a sound escape his throat at the contact, making him instantly feel foolish– until he feels you smile against his lips, following your ministrations by mirroring his previous actions and kissing down his neck, finding all the spots that make him the most reactive– like the place under his ear, the juncture of his shoulder. You revisit all the places you’ve tested before and perfected your aim to make him efficiently crumble under you. Sunwoo finds himself losing the initial control he had over the situation, instead letting you take over and lead him, much like you’ve done in most areas of his life. He likes to be your follower. He likes to see where you want him, where you need him, he likes to comply. It’s more comfortable for him this way. It makes him swell with pride when he makes you happy.

Another shift of your hips against him has Sunwoo digging his fingers to your side, whole body feeling like it’s electrified under your touch. Placing a soft peck to the spot you’ve had your attention on, you mumble into his skin. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Sunwoo swallows, noticing you leaning your forehead against his tenderly, eyes meeting. 

“Are you sure?”

He nods. He’s never been more sure about anything in his life– he enjoys your company, he loves your touch, the way you make his every sense heighten, his heart beat quicker. Still, he feels a bit nervous at the prospected events. “I just– I’ve never done this before,” Sunwoo whispers the obvious, watching as you carefully observe him.

“Sweetheart,” you tenderly call, placing a soft peck to his lips. “That’s okay. Me neither, but we could… we could try and see where this leads us, if you’d like?”

The sweet pet name alone makes the boy let go of all his worries, of the stress and nerves he’s been holding on to for the past few weeks. You hold him like he’s going to break, and Sunwoo’s never felt so loved before. You reassure him that it’s going to be okay. You are there to remind him that life isn’t so hard, as long as you’re by his side.

“Okay,” he nods, smiling at you. 

“Okay,” you repeat, holding his face in your hands as you kiss him again– it may as well be for the thousandth time. Truth is, while he tried to keep up at first, Sunwoo lost count a long time ago.

Everything there is to know about love, Kim Sunwoo learned from you. You showed him the childlike playfulness during your dates. You taught him how to kiss, only to take advantage of his newly found skills and keep them all for yourself. You showed him what it is to share joys, dreams, but also worries together. You were his first crush, date, relationship– and now, his first lover.

In the comfort of your childhood bedroom, holding you closer than ever, Sunwoo dreams of eternity with you. He doesn’t realize what a foolish thought it might be. Somehow, he’s got a feeling that no matter what it is, you two will figure it out. You always do.

to. my first love

September 2000

Muscles sore and whole body heaving in pain, Sunwoo trails inside the small bungalow the university gave him as student accommodation, dropping his duffel bag to the floor. His face is pulled into a small frown as he enters the house and his roommate can’t help but notice. “Everything alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Sunwoo hums, nodding at the question. He has 3 assigned roommates– all male, all around his age. Sunwoo’s english isn’t bad, but it also isn’t that great either. He knew that this was going to be one of the main concerns of him moving out abroad, but he figured that the more you encounter the language, the more comfortable you get with it. Due to this, though, the two American boys he rooms with– their names are Josh and Sam– aren’t as close with him. Sunwoo doesn’t really blame them. It’s not like he tried to get close with them anyway. He talks much more with Mark, the one year older boy that’s also Korean, but has been living in the States for years now. The language barrier is nearly nonexistent there, and so he feels much more comfortable.

Not comfortable enough to vent to him about his problems, though. It’s good to share a laugh with Mark when they eat breakfast together in the kitchen, but he won’t go on and talk his ear off about his homesickness, for example. Sunwoo wouldn’t talk to him about the weird, unsettling feeling in his gut whenever he takes the bus or walks down the street, not recognising every face he encounters like he did back home, in his small town. He won’t tell Mark Lee about how much he misses Korea– he’s sure the boy has his own things to worry about. Besides, it’s not like Mark talks about personal stuff with him either. After four days of living here, he can’t say their relationship got to the level of going deep with their personal lives.

And so, Sunwoo walks up the stairs in silence, not giving Mark more information about his mood. Each step up hurts, since the training is twice as demanding as it used to be at home, making his muscles sore and his back hurt terribly from the stone hard mattress in the bed of his new home. He is willing to endure it, but he also has the terrific need to complain about it to anyone that would be willing to listen.

He should start writing a diary, he thinks as he stares up on the ceiling, chewing on the inside of his cheek. It sounds good enough to channel his feelings out into while also not being a bother to anyone else. Besides, he doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s having a hard time here in Boston. This was all his decision, his dream, and sometimes, things are going to get difficult. And that’s okay. Sunwoo just… feels like he lacks the support system he once had back home in Korea. Like someone took it from between his fingertips, forcefully kept it away from him, locked somewhere miles away. Maybe the person who did that to him was himself all along…

Which is why he doesn’t deserve to whine about the fact that he feels terribly lonely. He did this to himself. All him.

If he had a diary, he’d write about the terrible mattress first, he thinks. Then, the weird weather around here– it’s always hot, but not humid. It doesn’t rain as much. He kind of misses the rain. 

If he had a diary, he’d write about how he misses his old coach. The high school coach that always made sure the game was fun, yet productive. He misses his teammates as well. Their team never did big things, but he felt like they were some sort of a family. They knew each other well on the field. They had chemistry. They had fun.

He’d write about how he misses his annoying little sister. How he wishes she would appear in the doorway of his room and talked to him about the stickers she still collects, or dragged him to make another friendship bracelet together. How he feels bad for leaving her all alone back home, even though he was never the one to share his brotherly love for her so outwardly growing up. He feels a sort of appreciation for her that he didn’t quite understand when they were little. They are right when they say your sibling is your first best friend after all. 

He’d write about the second best friend he’s ever made, Eric. He’d write about how he longs for his presence, his encouraging words. His funny remarks, the pranks he’d pull on him. How he always appreciated him being just across the street, how he enjoyed growing up with him by his side.

He’d write about how much he misses you– perhaps the most out of everyone. There aren’t many words he could use to describe how much he wishes for your presence, and so he thinks the pages filled with sentences directed to you would be rather sparse, and it makes him kind of sad to think about. In his mind, you deserve novels written about you. You deserve love letters and poems and essays filled with every little detail of your existence. Maybe if Sunwoo loved you less, he would be able to talk about it more.

When his eyes go out of focus staring at the ceiling, Sunwoo decides to call you. It’s been 4 days since he arrived and he hasn’t spoken to you since you waved him off to the airport. His mother drove him and you couldn’t go to send him off at the gate, but Sunwoo almost thinks he prefers the fact that you only said goodbye to him in front of his house. It would be that much harder if he saw your face the last thing before boarding the plane. 

For the last four days, he’s been slowly settling in, taking in the new country and the new environment. He’d say he was just too busy to call, but that would be a lie.

He was just scared to hear your voice. Terribly.

What if you changed your mind? What if you no longer want to stay with him? What if it’s too hard to handle? And Sunwoo knows it’s hard– hell, it’s the most difficult thing he’s ever done– but all he wishes is for you to keep handling it well. To keep his heart in your hands gently, like you always have, sending him your energy.

He figures that if there’s one thing that can help his growing homesickness, it is to hear your voice. 

Sitting up from his bed and walking over to the bag he carried with him through the airport and kept with him on the plane, he scrambles through the item to find the piece of paper you forced into his hand on the driveway of his house. 

“We changed our landline yesterday, so call me on this number when you get there,” you said, pressing a kiss towards his cheek before you let him get into his mother’s car. Sunwoo promised to call back then– he hopes you don’t mind the delay. Maybe he could blame the timezones…

Hand thrusting into the front pocket of the bag, Sunwoo feels around and tries to fish out the little piece of paper. He’s 100% certain he put it there after he got into the car with his mum, making sure it’s safe and sound. He would hate to lose it– it was some sort of safety net for him. Something to fall back to, something to keep him above the water.

Panic settles in his chest when he doesn’t feel the soft piece of paper anywhere. The boy unzips all other compartments of the bag, turning it around, shaking out everything that’s inside. The phone number to your new landline has to be there somewhere in there. It needs to be.

When he doesn’t find it in his bag, he opens his closet. He throws everything out to the ground– his clothing, his shoes, the notebooks he bought for university– all in the search of the stupid, little, yet so important piece of paper. He searches through all his other bags. All pockets of his jeans, every centimeter of his folded clothing. All drawers of his desk, the whole floor, hell, he even crouches to check under his bed, blowing the dust bunnies out of reach, desperately hoping he could wish the paper into existence. He searches his bed. All possible parts where the landline number could be– some more unreasonable than others. Sunwoo feels like he is losing his mind.

The paper is nowhere in his room. It’s like it vanished. Was it really there at all? Did he dream that moment up?

Running down the stairs towards the landline, he takes the phone off the wall and punches in the numbers to your old landline, the pattern so familiar in his fingertips he couldn’t tell you the number if you asked, but he could recreate it with punching in the buttons in on any other phone in the world. He clenches his fist together, breathing more heavily as he listens in, praying for the universe to stop playing tricks on him and make you magically answer on the other side.

When the phone makes a dismissive sound, signaling that the number he called no longer exists, Sunwoo shuts the phone against the wall and takes it again, putting in your old number once more, like a summoning ritual. Maybe he put the numbers in wrong the first time… Maybe he made a mistake somewhere along the way…

When he gets the same response, he tries again. And again. And again. 

He can’t believe it. Tension settles into his shoulders, making him twirl the cord of the landline in between his fingers as a way to calm himself down, listening in to the dull noise on the other side telling him there’s nothing that can be done, nothing more that he can do. He doesn’t have the number, and somehow, although it sounds foolish, it feels like he lost you alongside it too. 

“Everything alright, man? You look–” Mark enters the room, peering at the boy with curious, worried eyes. It’s only now that Sunwoo realizes he is breathing heavily, fingers clammy on the cord, heart begging to run out of his chest to get all across the ocean to you. It’s only now that he realizes his cheeks are wet with tears, the solidification of his inner turmoil taking a physical form and appearing on his face, making him feel pathetic in front of the older boy.

Sunwoo once again puts the phone back to its original place, but this time, he doesn’t take it back and tries the useless old phone number again. Simply turning away from his roommate, he accepts his fate as he quickly puts on his shoes and slams the door shut after him, going out for a run.

Is this his punishment for waiting too long? Did the paper vanish out of his possession because he was deemed unworthy of hearing your voice? Should he have tried to look for the number earlier? Would this have prevented it?

It’s hard to run when your nose is stuffed and your breathing hitches with silenced sobs, he learns. Sunwoo doesn’t get as far as he would have liked, crumbling on a bench somewhere next to a playground, picking at the dry skin of his lips until they bleed and the irony taste on his tongue snaps him back into reality.

What was once his dream is starting to feel more like a nightmare. When he calls Eric two days after to ask him to get him your new landline number, he gets the news that you abruptly moved out to New York. 

September 2007

“If you really think about it, Y/N,” Sunwoo hums, making you shift your attention towards his serious-looking face, “we never really broke up in the first place.”

The boy is holding a bottle of cider in his hand, one of the four you got on your way to your tonight’s destination. Sunwoo rang the bell to your house a few minutes before 10 PM, and although you weren’t expecting to see him that day and you weren’t even looking as presentable as you’d like, you agreed to take a walk with him. Somehow, the two of you found yourselves climbing over the fence of your old high school, sneaking into the football field, figures settling on one of the benches of the tribune.

“Oh yeah,” you hum, lightness evident in your tone, “you just never called. What’s up with that, by the way?” you ask, snickering when you watch the male avert his gaze in a bashful manner, as if he was embarrassed to tell you his reasoning.

You take a sip of the apple cider, enjoying the sweet, fruity taste on your tongue, watching as the male contemplates his next response for a bit, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I lost your new landline number,” he peeps, voice barely louder than a whisper.

His answer doesn’t register immediately in your brain. The words take a moment to string themselves together into a sentence, taking another few seconds before you understand the meaning of his confession. A soft laugh drags out of your throat, disbelief coating your very essence. “What?”

“Yeah,” he nods, scratching the back of his neck before looking back at you, eyes full of guilt and shame, “I… I lost the number you gave me, and when I called Eric to try to make him get me your new number, he told me you moved to New York, and I guess… I guess I took it as a sign…?” he says, shrugging.

“A sign of what?” you ask, genuinely surprised to hear his answer.

All this time, you thought he didn’t call because he didn’t want to. You thought he didn’t call because he was too busy, too tired to deal with anything else other than his career at the moment. He was trying his hardest and training every day, so you understood that he wouldn’t have time for you every day. When he didn’t call for so long, even after you moved to the States as well– you hoped he’d somehow try searching for your number even then, because in your mind, everything was possible– one day, you just… stopped waiting for him to call. You stopped hoping you would hear his voice on the other side of the line.

And you accepted it. He realized long distance relationships were too difficult to maintain, especially in that time and age, and he had too many of his own worries to take care of before focusing his attention somewhere else. You didn’t resent him, no. You longed for him, you missed him, but you never once hated him for the decision he made. You wished him well, all this time. 

“A sign that… that maybe we weren’t meant to be,” he hums, shrugging. “It sounds stupid, really, but…” he trails off, cutting himself off in the middle of the sentence.

Something about his confession makes you feel a bit lighter. Your shoulders feel like there’s no longer anything weighing them down. It’s not like you waited for an explanation all those years and when you finally got one, something in you shifted into a more comfortable position.

“For me, back then, you were the right person, wrong time. And I didn’t want to let you go, I really didn’t, it’s just… everything was already so hard and the world seemed to put so many obstacles in my way of contacting you, that I thought it was the universe telling me to drop it and let you go. So you could… so you could find someone else, I guess…” he finishes explaining. He averts his gaze from you, pointing it towards the empty field, as if scared to see your reaction to his blabbering. He takes another few sips of his cider, snickering. “It wasn’t fair of me to want you to wait for me either.”

So you could find someone else… You think back to all the times you went on dates after you concluded that your relationship with Sunwoo was over. You try to remember their faces, their mannerisms in such detail that you could only make up one of your previous lovers– the one sitting next to you right now– and you chuckle at your foolishness. Remembering how you kept comparing every new person in your life to the one that stole your heart first, remembering how you thought about him late at night, wondering where he is right now and how he’s doing. You used to look through the sports parts of newspapers, looking for his name somewhere, looking for his team name, but never seeing a glance of how he was doing. You wore the stupid friendship bracelet he gave you in your junior year around in New York, having people point it out and ask about it, all until it broke off by itself  one day and you reluctantly said goodbye to the sentiment. 

You dated around after losing contact with Sunwoo. You don’t really think you found someone else, though. 

“I wanted to wait for you, though,” you say, shuffling closer to the male on the bench, voice sincere. “It was my decision.”

“Well,” he chuckles, “life had other plans for us two.”

His sentence makes you think. A few days ago, it would make you sad. Embarrassed, even. Life had other plans for you two and they didn’t align with what you two have calculated during the summer break after your senior year. Sunwoo didn’t become a star. His football career never took off. He finished his degree and came back home, bitter and heartbroken. 

Your plans ended just as fast as you came up with them. Not going to university after high school, you were left with nothing to do. When the opportunity to take an internship for a news company in New York came to you so suddenly, you took it without thinking, trying to find your place in the big world ahead of you. You had no plan, but you think that maybe, some part of you wanted to get away from your hometown all along. You wanted to do big things, make everyone proud. Being a news anchor wasn’t even something you dreamed of when you were little, so you guess you weren't supposed to really feel that let down, but the defeat still stings.

Or, at least, it used to. You find that the failure doesn’t hurt as much anymore. 

Looking at the male next to you, you think you know the reason why. “It’s okay,” you say, shrugging, “we figured it out anyways, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Sunwoo sighs, looking at you with a soft smile playing with his lips. “I guess we did.”

The sound of cicadas hits your ears when you two fall into a comfortable silence. Healing old wounds was surely one of the items on your check list when you came back home, but you didn’t expect to get over things so quickly. You don’t think you would have been able to get over everything alone, though– and this makes you twice as grateful to still have Sunwoo by your side. A sense of nostalgia takes over you at the fact, but this time, it hits you with more fondness than longing for the old times.

“Remember how young we were? It’s like I still see you chasing the ball around the field when I focus hard enough,” you say, pointing ahead of you.

Sunwoo laughs, shaking his head at your antics. “Yeah. I almost see you leading the cheer practice in the back there,” he points, “in your cute cheer uniform, with the ridiculous pom poms in your hands–”

“Hey, don’t call them ridiculous,” you gasp, “they were my favorite part of the whole routine!”

“Oh, I could tell,” he laughs, poking fun at you. 

“Well, you must have liked the pom poms enough to stare at me during practice all the time,” you shrug, teasing the male back. The fact that Sunwoo had a crush on you long before you reciprocated the feelings wasn’t something you two explicitly talked about before, but you always deemed as clear as day. Or, at least, it was to everyone back then.

“I did not–” he gasps, making you gently shove him with your elbow.

“Come on, everybody used to say you had a crush on me back then,” you hum, “you were pretty obvious with it too.”

“You knew?” he looks at you, eyes big and surprised. Gears clearly running in his head, he tries to piece the information together, running through the memories now so distant, but still so clear.

“Girls always know,” you point out, shrugging. You take another sip of your cider, licking your lips after and speaking up again, tone of voice almost confidential. “I just acted like I didn’t. But then I realized I liked you back, so I was trying everything in my power to make you confess to me first. Which… took you long enough, young man,” you giggle, seeing the male shake his head at you in disapproval.

“You could’ve confessed first, if you were so confident,” he mutters, obviously a little gutted by the revelation.

“That would be below my level,” you nod, pressing your lips together into a straight line, “besides, it was fun watching you act all cute and clueless.”

“Don’t call me cute and clueless–”

“That’s what you were, though! Like the time when you got super drunk on your birthday and begged me not to leave–”

“I didn’t even like you back then!”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“I was in denial,” he furrows his brows theatrically, putting the empty glass bottle to the grass, “but I see that you had a lot of fun watching me suffer.”

“Fine, pretty boy,” you say, catching a glimpse of the boy momentarily shying away, presumably at the endearing nickname, his cheeks tinting pink even in the faint moonlight. “Would it make you feel better if I confessed first this time?”

“Huh?” the boy asks, lips parted, eyes a big, honest pool of honey.

Cute and clueless, you think.

The story comes full circle when you realize that this football field is perhaps what started it all. This is where you ran up to the new addition to the team, saying that your favorite number was on the back of his jersey. As the leader of the cheerleading team, you took it as your job to make every newbie feel welcomed– no matter if they were a fellow cheerleader or a football player. You didn’t expect for the boy to never stop wearing the number– although it was your favorite, it didn’t seem to be so important back then. (One day, you learned that Sunwoo kept the number on his jersey even after moving abroad. You read it in one of the sports magazines you foolishly flipped through in every kiosk you encountered and almost teared up in the busy store after.) 

This field is where you watched him play football every week. It’s where you both practiced, sending each other funny faces after the coach was mean to either of you for not being focused on your training. 

This is where Sunwoo found his passion– where he found his dream. This is the place that shifted the next couple of years of your life towards all sorts of directions. This is where he kissed you after winning a match, a gleeful confession slipping past his lips. This is where your relationship started, and metaphorically, also ended. The field that kept you apart is now a thousand miles away, but the one that brought you together is now right in front of you.

You guess it’s only right to use it for new beginnings.

“I think… I think I’m still in love with you, Sunwoo,” you start slowly, playing with your fingers in your lap, “well, I don’t know if my feelings for you ever ended… they could’ve, I mean, we were apart for so long… I just… all I know is that I don’t want us to be apart anymore, and I–”

Your words die on your tongue when the boy cuts you off with a kiss, the taste of apple cider mixing on your lips. The way he kisses you didn’t really change even after so many years, still swaying you with the familiarity of his loving. Still, even though you know the way he angles your jaw, the way he presses against you, the way he takes his sweet time, truly showing you how much he enjoys the act, you never grow tired of it. Something in you reacts the same way as when you were young. There’s still excitement, there’s still tender softness in your heart every time you kiss him.

His lips break apart from yours, a playful tint in his words when he speaks to you again. “Don’t try to take credit for it now,” he says, “because the last time I checked, we never really broke up in the first place, so you could say we were dating all along, all because I confessed back in–”

“God, you’re unbelievable,” you grunt.

“But you love me,” the boy says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is.

“Always have,” you say, pressing a quick peck to his plush lips, “always will.”

The starlight glazes your cheekbones when you rest your forehead against his, as if to send him a telepathic message that is worth more than a thousand words. It’s hard to find the words to explain the mixture of your emotions right now, but when your memory washes up the encouraging monologue Sunwoo offered to you when you first arrived, you finally agree with his sentiment. Perhaps, one word could summarize it all– you feel truly content. 

They say you never forget about your first love. At 25 and still counting, you guess you could say that’s true.

#deoboyznet #sunwoo #the boyz #sunwoo fluff #sunwoo x reader #sunwoo angst #the boyz angst #the boyz fluff #the boyz x reader #the boyz scenario #the boyz imagine #sunwoo scenario #sunwoo imagine

[svltaf]

no, miss appleton did not single-handedly ruin japanese soy sauce forever

there's a popular post going around this week about a ghq (general headquarters, the administration of the american occupation of japan after wwii) employee, a certain ms. blanche appleton, single-handedly changing the taste of soy sauce. while her story is fascinating for sure and i await further developments on the part of the op, and had a hand in the history of soy sauce, the premise is quite a bit exaggerated, and the general narrative so far in the framing by the op somewhat problematic.

tl;dr: as with most things, this is a confluence of factors, with producers, scientists, politicians, (possibly underworld,) and administrators all having their own agency in this story. i find it unusual to sideline so many parties in favour of presenting a single foreign administrator calling the shots in the op's posts.

i've made an initial response here. i will continue my findings in a separate post here.

1. jack daniel's is swill, but it's still whiskey

i think i can distill my issues with this plot so far down to one statement in the original post:

There should be records of her policies, there should be legal documents in America which record how she apportioned out American exportation of soy beans to Japan, there should be sources talking about this woman's ability to transform Japan's soy sauce production so heavily that today only 1% of all soy sauce is made with pre-WW2 traditional techniques.

this transformative impact of one administrator is entirely overstated. this comment led me to a promo blog post where some of the original claims can be seen, and the op mentions that traditional soy sauce was made in kioke barrels, and the this method of production has dropped to about 1% now. this is true, but it appears that at least one source put the decline as starting around the end of the edo period (xvii-xix centuries). [1] sources traceable to yamaroku puts the decline more recently, at about a century ago [2, 3]

this japanese paper on fermented food production is quite clear in stating that wodden barrel production declined from the meiji period (1868-1912) onward.

江戸時代までに一般化した木桶・木樽の使用形態は、明治期以降、一般の生活や各種製造現場で近代化が進む中、コンクリートや金属、プラスチック、合成樹脂等の材質によって代替されていく。 The use of wooden vats and barrels, which had become common by the Edo period, was replaced by materials such as concrete, metal, plastic, and synthetic resin from the Meiji period onward, as modernization progressed in ordinary life and various manufacturing sites. (deepL translation)

another source from a professor on food production in japan suggests that shodoshima (where yamaroku is made) is the area that has most completely preserved the wooden vat method of production.

this survey (oguri) written by a member of the national museum of nature of science in tokyo dates the supplanting of traditional method in more industrialized regions by 1913

1913（大正2）年：栂野は「最新醤油醸造論」の中で、九州、中国地方では桶の代わりに煉瓦又は石でタンクを作り使用していると記述。 1913 (Taishō 2): Tsugano, in his "The Latest Soy Sauce Brewing Theory," wrote that in Kyushu and Chugoku regions, instead of vats, tanks were made of bricks or stone and used. (deepL translation, p.148)

1918年：西二の蔵（ヤマサ印）の建設に当たり研究中の内面塗料が完成したので、これを採用し仕込桶を角型のコンクリートタンクに改めた。 1918: The internal [coating] that was being researched for the construction of the Nishi Ni no Kura (Yamasa brand) was completed, and this was adopted and the brewing vats were replaced with square concrete tanks. (deepL translation with edits from @literaryreference, see translator's note 3, p.148)

i think it bears repetition that soy sauce production was industrializing as japan was industrializing from the meiji to early shōwa periods. as alluded to in the title, a lot of modern soy sauce is like jack daniels: industrial products that evolved from traditional methods alongside a nation's overall development.

2. babe wake up, a new semichemical soy sauce just dropped, and appleton's role in history (a corroboration of @/inneskeeper)

it seems like the plot on the original poster's part has gone to the american side, so let's try to follow the us-japan interaction but from japanese sources.

the survey cited earlier (oguri) has a lot of information that supports the original post. blanche appleton did exist, and does appear in more anecdotes from that era of the soy sauce industry.

(also, this bibliography has more sources on her time in japan, will require institutional access to japanese universities)

to start, there are two methods of semichemical soy sauce production. the first, 新式1号法 shinshiki 1-gō method (i will call it sc1) was invented in the taishō era (1912-26).

大正の末期頃になると、酸やアルカリの化学薬品を併用することによって、速醸の目的を達成しようとする研究が盛んに行われ、その代表的な「新式1号」が出現する。 Toward the end of the Taisho era, there was a flurry of research into the use of acid and alkali chemicals in combination to achieve the goal of fast brewing, and the "Shinshiki No. 1" [sc1] appeared as a representative example of such research. (deepL translation, p.158)

in the time immediately after the war, there was a shortage of supplies, and its allocation was controlled by the americans

駐留軍の総司令部 GHQ（General Head Quarter）は、1948年の春調味料の原料として「エロア資金」（占領地域経済復興資金）により、大豆ミール2万tを放出する方針を打ち出した。このことにより、その配分をめぐって醤油業界とアミノ酸業界は熾烈な競争をすることとなる。 The General Head Quarter (GHQ) of the stationed army announced a policy of releasing 20,000 tons of soybean meal as a raw material for seasonings in the spring of 1948 through the EROA (Economic Rehabilitation in Occupied Area) Fund. This led to fierce competition between the soy sauce and amino acid industries for its allocation. (deepL translation with edits by myself, p.159)

the "amino acid industry" mentioned refers to the monosodium glutamate (msg) industry (glutamate is the ion of an amino acid). essentially, in the early 20th century, both msg and soy sauce (and chemical "soy sauce") production methods have converged to all requiring many soybeans due to their protein content and fermentation properties.

this is where appleton makes her entrance:

GHQは両業界の調整窓口として、「経済安定本部」の経済科学局で調味料と乳製品の需給を担当していたミセス・ブランシェ・アップルトンをその任にあてた。アップルトンは、醤油醸造協会の茂木啓三郎とアミノ酸業界の大内鋼太郎を招いて意見を聴取し、原料の配分を「醸造醤油2、アミノ酸業界8」とすることを内定し、上司のマーカット局長に報告した。この報告内容は醸造醤油にとっては死活問題であったが、内定の根拠は次のようなものであった。 GHQ assigned Ms. Blanche Appleton, who was in charge of the supply and demand of seasonings and dairy products in the Economic and Science Section of the "Economic Stability Headquarters," (?) to serve as the coordinating contact between the two industries. Appleton invited Keizaburo Mogi of the Soy Sauce Brewers Association and Kotaro Ouchi of the amino acid industry to hear their opinions, and informally decided that the distribution of raw materials would be two for brewing soy sauce and eight for the amino acid industry, and reported this to her boss, Maj. Gen. W. F. Marquat. The content of this report was a matter of life and death for brewers' soy sauce, but the rationale for the informal decision was as follows. [...] (deepL translation with edits by myself p.159)

essentially, appleton originally intended for only 20% of the soybean meal to be handed out for soy sauce due to its relatively inefficient usage of materials compared to msg production. this would've crippled the existing soy sauce producers, and they set out to find solutions to save their industry.

醸造醤油側は、醸造醤油の「日本人の食生活における重要性や醸造醤油そのものの品質の良さ」等を強調したが、GHQはただ「脱脂大豆が有効に活用されるのはどちらか」という尺度だけで判断したのである。このような醸造醤油の存亡の危機を救ったのは、もくもくと研究に携わっていた技術陣が開発した「新式2号法」であった。本法を発明したのはキッコーマンの館野正淳、梅田勇雄等である。新式2号の製法は新式1号と同様に、蛋白質を弱酸でペプトンやペプチド程度まで分解し、その後は麹の酵素により分解してアミノ酸の形態まで持っていく半化学、半醸造による醤油の製造法である。 The brewing soy sauce side emphasized the importance of brewing soy sauce in the Japanese diet and the quality of the soy sauce itself, but GHQ made its decision based solely on the basis of "which [industry] would use the defatted soybeans more effectively". What saved brewed soy sauce from the brink of extinction was the "New Formula No. 2 method" developed by the technical staff who had been working diligently on the research. The inventors of this method were Masajun Tateno and Isao Umeda of Kikkoman Corporation. As with Shin-Shiki No. 1 [sc1], the Shin-Shiki No. 2 [sc2] method is a semi-chemical, semi-brewing method for producing soy sauce in which proteins are broken down to peptones and peptides with weak acids, and then decomposed by enzymes from koji mold to the form of amino acids. (deepL translation with edits by myself and @literaryreference, see translator's note 4, p.159)

this development, the invention of the 新式2号法 shinshiki 2-gō method (sc2), led to another round of discussions:

ミセス・アップルトンは「キッコーマンが画期的な技術を開発した」ことを聞き、新法による醤油とアミノ酸液による化学醤油を消費者に提示し、その調査結果に基づいて決定を再考しようと上申書を提出した。醤油の 味、使用テストは神奈川県の鎌倉市と逗子で行われたが、消費者の8割が新法による醤油を支持した。この結果に基づき、アップルトンは両業界で話し合って結論を出すように「正田・大内会談」を開かせた。 Mrs. Appleton heard that "Kikkoman had developed a breakthrough technology" and submitted a petition to reconsider her decision based on the results of a survey that presented consumers with both the new method of soy sauce and a chemical soy sauce made with amino acid solution. Taste and use tests of soy sauce were conducted in Kamakura and Zushi, Kanagawa Prefecture, and 80% of consumers supported the new soy sauce. Based on these results, Appleton had the "Shoda-Ouchi Conference" held so that the two industries could discuss and reach a conclusion. (deepL translation, p.160)

this source seems to suggest that the original decision was under higher-ups' pressure:

当初の提案2対8のアミノ酸業界絶対優位の配分比率は、「新式2号法」の出現により、最終的にGHQは「正田・大内会談」の「7対3協定」を認め、ここに醸造醤油の歴史的危機は回避されることとなった。醤油業界のミセス・アップルトンの評価は従来大変厳しいものであったが、後の調査で彼女は醸造醤油の良き理解者であり、当初の配分比率も上司の強い指示に抗しきれず提案したものであったようである。再度の上申は、彼女の日本の伝統的な醸造醤油への深い理解と思い入れによるものであったと考えられる。 As for the proposed allocation of 2 to 8, due to the [sc2] method, GHQ ended up deciding on the “7 to 3 Agreement” from the “Shoda-Ouchi Conference” instead, thus averting the historical crisis of brewed soy sauce.Although the soy sauce industry had been very critical of Mrs. Appleton in the past, later investigations revealed that she was a firm supporter* of brewed soy sauce and that the original allocation ratio was a proposal she made because she could not resist the strong instructions of her superiors. It is believed that her renewed offer was due to her deep understanding of and commitment to the Japanese tradition of brewed soy sauce. (deepL translation with edits from myself and @blackamite, see translators' note 1, p. 160)

the term 良き理解者 "good friend" (see bolded) i think could mean connoisseur or enjoyer here, will need help in clarifying.

その後醤油醸造協会の正田会長は、1948（昭和23）年7月23日に「新式2号法」の特許公開を懇請し、当時の中野社長の決断により、「新式1号」に続いて「新式2号」についても無償で業界に公開されることとなった。同年8月から講習会が全国12ブロックで開催され、約2,500社の業者が技術を習得した。 Later, on July 23, 1948, Mr. Shoda, president of the Soy Sauce Brewers Association, requested that the patent for the [sc2 method] be made public, and following the decision of then [Kikkoman Inc.] President Nakano, the [sc1 and sc2 methods] were made public free of charge to the industry. In August of the same year, training sessions were held in 12 blocks throughout Japan, and approximately 2,500 companies learned the technology. (deepL translation with edits by myself, p.160)

the main sources the survey used are a manuscript, 醤油醸造技術の近代化 by 永瀬一郎 Ichirō Nagase, kikkoman inc.'s own historical record (キッコーマン株式会社八十年史; a shorter version can be found here), and a history of choshi shoyu inc. (銚子醤油株式会社　社史). i think this confirms a lot of information the original post put out there about ms. appleton and her involvement with soy sauce. plus, it shed more light into how exactly she interacted with the condiment industries.

perhaps @/inneskeeper will find some shady dealings in their research; when you mix a foreign military force, the collapse of existing institutions, and social upheaval, you're likely to find corruption. ill keep my eyes peeled for that development.

3. no, kikkoman is not "fake" soy sauce, but you might be able to find some echoes of the past

so what happened to semichemical soy sauce now? the survey document does not track its usage after its invention and at the surface level, it seems that the original claim was right, the semichemical method has persisted since the american occupation and we're all just drinking sussy sauce.

in fact, this seemed so obvious that this rumour circulated in japan and was debunked by aficionados two years ago.

the link to kikkoman's own record earlier states that sc2 sauce was discontinued in 1970, and the japanese blog post above repeats that, adding that it has reverted back to honjōzō (本醸造) sauce. this paper in the journal of the brewing society of japan (日本醸造協会誌) has this to say about what became of sc2 sauce:

また，キッコーマンの新式 2号しょうゆ製造法の特許が公開されたのも 1948年で， しょうゆ業界は混合醸造しょうゆおよび混合しょうゆを製造することにより効率よく旨味の強いしょうゆを安価に製造し， しょうゆ原料不足の時代を乗り切ったと考えている 。現在，大手メーカーでは食の安全性や本物志向から混合醸造しょうゆおよび混合しょうゆの製造をやめ本醸造しょうゆだけを製造している 。一方，全国の中小しょうゆメーカーでは，製造設備を全て本醸造しょうゆに切 り換える資金力に乏しく．一旦，消費者に定着した混合しょうゆのニーズにより本醗造しょうゆに切り換えることが出来ず，現在も混合しょうゆが主力商品となっているのではないかと考えている 。 The patent for Kikkoman's new [sc2] soy sauce manufacturing method was also published in 1948, which allowed the soy sauce industry to overcome the shortage of raw materials for soy sauce by producing mixed brewed soy sauce and mixed soy sauces efficiently and inexpensively. Currently, major soy sauce manufacturers have stopped producing mixed brewed soy sauce and mixed soy sauce, and are producing only honjozo soy sauce, due to food safety and the desire for authenticity. On the other hand, small and medium-sized soy sauce manufacturers nationwide do not have the financial resources to convert all of their production facilities to honjozo soy sauce. Once a demand for mixed soy sauce has taken root among consumers, they are unable to switch over to honjōzō soy sauce, and even now, it's possible mixed [kongō or kongō-jōzō] soy sauce might be the top [soy sauce] product. (deepL translation with edits from myself and @literaryreference, see translator's note 2, p.78)

the three types of japanese soy sauce production methods available today are honjōzō (本醸造, fully fermented), kongō-jōzō (混合醸造, mixed fermented with amino acid added prior to fermentation, closest to sc2 method), and kongō (混合, one of the previous two types with additives). [wiki, academic source] these production methods are in parallel to the traditional varieties of sauce, which rather describe the mash and added taste; these elements of the production, rather than the fermentation process, are usually what define the lineage of the sauce in both japan and other soy sauce-producing cultures.

instead of supplanting "genuine" fermented soy sauce, the industrial descendants of sc2 sauce have become their own type of sauce and have carved their own niches in the consumer market. as someone who is not from japan, i would be careful about making any judgment on whether it is "authentic".

4. clarifications

there were a few statements by the original poster that i think need further context for a more accurate understanding. any bolding and italics are mine.

During World War 2 there was a push to industrialize the Japanese soy sauce industry to be better for mass-production. This innovated the chemical fermentation technique and the semichemical fermentation technique utilized by Kikkoman; rather than ferment for four years in gigantic cedar barrels, kioke, instead fermentation takes place for six months or a year in stainless steel barrels which utilize electrolysis to artificially speed up fermentation processes.

the first part is correct, but the word "rather" introduces a false dichotomy; soy sauce production is very diverse and progresses at different paces in different regions (see part 1 of this post). the sauce op has is simply one from a region that has kept their manufacturing method unchanged.

"four years" is arbitrary: different producers have different fermentation periods.

the last part of the statement is not universally true of industrial production; ac current may be used in brewing.

A single American woman named "Ms Appleton" was given total control of apportioning all American soy bean rations to companies, how much, and to who. She had no knowledge of soy sauce, allegedly.

we can lay that last part to rest. it appears that she does. i will also have to mention that "soy sauce" has been imported from china to the usa since the 30s.

She apparently had so much power over Japanese soy sauce production that she could singlehandedly shape its future by threatening to not give soy beans to any company, family, or factory which did not utilize her specific requirements of semichemical fermentation (reduced from chemical fermentation, since it was that abhorrent). These days, the term soy sauce is distinct from traditional shoyu, and requires distinguishment because of such a radical difference the two products are.

is girlboss applesauce really that powerful on her own? this statement was not wrong, but she did have the military that just nuked japan behind her.

did appleton specify one method over others? probably, but i think the dependency went the other way: the invention of sc2 sauce was the only way the industry could be efficient enough for ghq standards.

that last part is just straight up wrong dawg what the hell i was nicer in my first reply but im not feeling it today

[...] Because there should be way more information on her if this was the case; she was apparently powerful and influential enough during the occupation that she could singlehandedly enforce whatever arbitrary rules she wanted on the soy sauce industry and they had to comply or else have no product at all. That level of power is fucking insane. Imagine having so much raw influence over Japan that you could order them to completely renovate and change how they produce and make SOY SAUCE, literally one of if not THE most important thing in Japanese culinary history--[...]

holy exaggeration batman, this is almost insulting. as with most things, this is a confluence of factors, with producers, scientists, politicians, (possibly underworld,) and administrators all having their own agency in this story. it is incredibly unusual to sideline so many parties in favour of a single foreign administrator calling the shots.

5. what now?

i think there's much to be found out about appleton's dealings, and it would be an interesting story if there did end up being underworld dealings in those negotiations coming to light. i think it is a fascinating slice into that era and how society and institutions interacted in such a fraught situation. overall, i encourage @/inneskeeper's historian work.

that said, it is very important for people to not put a narrative ahead of the facts. i think it is human nature to be attracted to stories that have a clear causality and linearity, but it is something we need to be very careful about when communicating history to a large audience. to anyone who would like to present their findings, consider what your framing of events imply about the state of the time and place you research, and if you are doing all parties justice.

and for the love of god, cite your sources.

if there are any translation issues, please reach out to me and i will edit accordingly and post errata.

erratum 1: jack daniel's is tennesee whiskey, not bourbon, thanks @drdementogrl.

translators' note 1: 良き理解者 could also be translated more literally to “good understander,” thank you @blackamite, @monstrousgourmandizingcats, @leatherbookmark, and others who have given similar notes.

erratum 2 and translator's note 2: @literaryreference has indicated that 一旦，消費者に定着した混合しょうゆのニーズにより本醗造しょうゆに切り換えることが出来ず，現在も混合しょうゆが主力商品となっているのではないかと考えている 。 is more equivocal and did not state an outright larger popularity for kongō/kongō-jōzō type brewing, so it's possible it might be the top product. they also suggested removing redundancies and pointed out a copying mistake from the original source (left out a bit of the japanese text).

translator's note 3: @literaryreference let me know that 塗料 would more accurately be interpreted as "coating" and also gave me a link of the sauce brand mentioned.

translator's note 4: @literaryreference has provided a better translation for GHQはただ「脱脂大豆が有効に活用されるのはどちらか」という尺度だけで判断したのである, and i have made edits from their translation as well for better context.

#svlt speaks #the mysterious appearance of miss appleton

[therantingsage]

Because I promised this, and I really wanted to do it anyway, here's a really really long-winded rambling dissertation on:

Why N and Uzi secretly dating since before episode 5 is genuinely super plausible and also stupidly hilarious /pos

Under the cut cuz it got obscenely long oops-

Idk where to start, so I'll just cover my bases: why people think they've been in a relationship already in the first place.

We all saw this scene:

And legit it can only be implying one of two things. Either A: this is his confession of feelings for her. Or B: this is him admitting that they've been dating for a while at this point. With the hearts it's pretty clear that this statement is meant to be romantically interpreted, and Nori's aghast reaction confirms that that's how it's being interpreted.

Obviously no matter the interpretation, N only writes that because he can't think of anything else to snap Uzi out of it and thereby stop this confrontation from ending poorly. And it works obviously so good on him for the quick thinking.

Two things that make me lean towards the 'we're dating' interpretation over 'confession' interpretation, though: firstly, he's not writing this to tell Uzi something, he specifically calls out to Nori before writing it. "Hey btw I'm dating your daughter" makes more sense than "Hey btw I like your daughter romantically" because if it was the latter, Nori has far less reason to be mad at Uzi about it rather than N. It's not like Uzi can control how N feels. But if they're dating, that means Uzi is partially to blame for that and Nori can get upset at HER.

Secondly, the awkward wording. Like it's really vague and without the hearts you'd have no reason to assume anything but platonic meaning. But these are words we, and him, have heard before:

...from Uzi, in response to a question about who she is and, by proxy, the nature of their relationship. She says it defensively, follows it up by telling N to shut up. N repeating her wording which, again, is a description of the nature of their relationship....but this time implying something romantic with it, it suggests the idea that it had romantic implications the first time.

I don't think it's far-fetched to say Uzi at least has feelings for N at this point in the story. I don't think anyone's arguing that that's not true. But the idea that 'hang out' means the exact same thing both times is what I'm arguing here. They're dating, but this version of N is a stranger to her. A cute stranger, as she says, but a stranger nonetheless who she isn't comfortable admitting to that she's dating him in the future to his face.

Backing up a bit, Uzi's reaction to Nori's reaction:

This is a clear and obvious parallel to the previous episode, when 'Tessa' says "Don't date my robot, please."

In both instances, someone gets on her case about the idea of them dating, and in both cases she doesn't deny it but instead defends both his and her own agency in the matter. No one is allowed to tell them what to do and Uzi refuses to let anyone try.

When Nori says it, though, she does seem to try and deny it for a moment. "I'm not-" She cuts herself off so we can't say for certain what she was going to say (if anything. it's entirely possible she started that sentence with no plan how to finish it, I do that a lot personally). But that's also because, like, she's Uzi. If this was meant to be a secret relationship, it would probably be her who made that decision. And like with butler N, she has no reason to disclose that kind of information to a stranger. She'd probably try and deny it whether its true or not.

As for when it would've started, after camp is the only big timeskip where we don't have much clue went on during. Cabin Fever is a big episode for them, and the three episodes that come after it are all back-to-back-to-back. The only time it makes sense to have started is sometime between eps 4 and 5.

And guys. Guys.

This, more than anything to me, paired with the idea that they've been dating for a while by the time the most recent couple episodes happen.....doesn't this seem so, so romantic? You could easily call this a love confession! So easily! It sounds like one much more than 'we just kinda are hanging out a lot idk' at least.

Like, rephrase that even a little: "Being with you makes scary things fun. Being with you makes me feel brave. It makes me feel safe. So I want to keep being with you."

And Uzi agrees with that sentiment. He promises to stick with her. And she laughs and smiles with him as he makes the scary thing she's been dealing with into something fun, something they can laugh about. The together line gets repeated in the most recent episode, directly calling back to this scene as well.

Like, just...AGH. In Cabin Fever he says it once as they're falling and a second time once they're grounded. The second time its a question, and one she eagerly answers with physical affection, which is super rare for her. In Mass Destruction its a statement, because he already knows her answer. Its a repeated promise. A vow.

Backing up again. Let's assess some interactions under this context. Assuming they're dating in secret. Because it paints so many things in a different light and basically nothing contradicts it which is fricken wild. This:

Isn't a sheepish Uzi trying to hold her crush's hand in a moment of fear. This is an Uzi who wants to keep their relationship a secret but is so in need of comfort right now she's willing to risk exposing them to get it.

This:

Her being so relieved because she almost watched him die but he's alive he's ok and she doesn't care who sees it because she needs to hug her boyfriend rIGHT NOW GUYS I DON'T CARE I'M HUGGING MY BOYFRIEND-

This whole scene. Uzi interacts with him so gently here. She's not gentle with anybody else at all. She sees him stressed and uses his own "you good?" on him and it's just so dang tender when you think about it. Because no one else can hear them talking to each other. It's just these two sending face texts and everyone else's focus is on the Sentinal so they can afford to be as couple-y in this conversation as they want.

And after:

Blushing because they like each other so so dang much.......sweating bullets because the other two can see them do this. Suddenly without either of them really thinking about it they're being romantic around other people and wow! That's nerve-wracking! Peak young love early-in-the-relationship behavior they ain't slick.

His tone of voice in this scene is gentler I think than we've ever heard from him before (Michael Kovach you are so damn good at your job). His loss-filled fury is cooled in an instant when he realizes how close he came to hurting his girlfriend. It's heartbreakingly gentle before 'Tessa' cuts him off.

And when she cuts Uzi off:

He looks like genuinely pissed at her. "Did you really just interrupt my gf while she was talking?? She's scared and you're disrespecting her tf is wrong with u??"

And like- the fact he was genuinely willing to off Tessa for her. Like he realizes there's a possibility she tried to get his gf killed for no reason and upon her not even trying to deny it he just kills her instantly. Because it's no longer a question of the universe or Uzi. It's a question of Tessa or Uzi, and its a choice his heart has already made before this point.

But here's like. The thing about all this that gets me. This is meant to be a secret relationship, right? Like nobody but them is supposed to know about this. And the fact that we the audience didn't have any reason to assume them to be an established relationship without heavy headcanoning means they did a decent job at that, right?

Guys. Guys.

N is terrible at keeping secrets. Like. Horrendously bad at keeping things on the down-low. Every single time in the series he's supposed to not spill info he like. Fails. It's wild. And because the relationship happens after "Inclusive reflexes!" that means that Uzi damn well knows this and still trusts him to try.

But based on V's reaction to the handholding in Dead End:

I'm honestly willing to bet she knew. She doesn't sound surprised, just annoyed that she has to see it. Which means N probably like, heard her badmouthing Uzi or something and got like way too defensive about it and she clocked him instantly. Because he's bad at keeping secrets. And she doesn't bother mentioning it during any of these episodes out loud because she doesn't care what these idiots do in their free time.

Can you imagine how many hundred close calls they must've had? How many times Uzi must've had to aggressively shush him or cover his mouth because he was going to say something slightly too sappy in public? The only reason we don't get to see the time period between eps 4 and 5 is because it would've been painfully obvious that these two dating is the worst kept secret in the entire bunker. I'm going insane.

Uzi fell in love with a proud himbo and they both know it. It's genuinely a miracle they didn't clue the audience in sooner.

#Murder Drones #Murder Drones Spoilers #md N #md Uzi #Uzi Doorman #Nuzi #Biscuitbites #Listen!! I'm feral and I site my sources!!! #This is a hill I'm willing to die on. And then I will rise to keep talking #I miss doing posts like this. I have so so much to say always #Me when I hyperfixate to the point of essays. Oops. Glad I can read

[radioactivesweet]

Ok hear me out, what about moon god s/o x Poseidon, its been itching my mind cause of the sea x moon troupe.

What i imagine is, s/o being a powerful god like nyx but rarely appears so only a few gods know or saw them so Poseidon became curious about this mysterious (beautiful) god. Feel free to add more about this!! im just really craving for someone to write this 🥹

Uhhh I like this concept a lot!! I tried to keep the reader's gender kinda neutral, I hope it's fine^^ btw I really enjoyed writing this!

word count: 1.2k

Poseidon often found himself staring at the moon. He couldn't really explain why he would do that - not that anybody would dare asking the God of the Sea what he was doing. Unbothered, Poseidon would stand silenty on the ivory balcony, looking up to that apparently endless sky. Even for someone like him that domain appeared far and full of mystery.

It was a dark night, its only beam being the peaceful and perlescent light emanated by the sleeping moon. He was once told that a god inhabited the moon, far from all other living beings. It wasn't known the reason why the deity ended up there, observing humankind from the satellite. Some believed they refused to get involved with human affairs and chose to live as a hermit instead; others claimed the god was exiled and was cursed to live on their own, bound to live in loneliness; some believed that god to have died long ago, the moonlight being their only inheritance, the memento of a god who existed no more, the reminder of a otherwise forgotten past.

Poseidon, everytime he would look at the moon, would wonder the real story behind it. None of the moon goddesses he knew could give him a response, despite asking themselves the same question - with whom were they sharing their moon? A god, a ghost or nothing at all?

Not knowing made the God of the Sea restless. He wasn't supposed to be this ignorant - it was his duty and right to know the truth. Yet, all he knew didn't make sense to him at all. He couldn't find a reason why a god would choose to abandon their place a seek shelter on the moon; if a deity was trapped on the moon, he would have surely heard of it somehow. It wouldn't have been just a rumour; lastly, gods weren't meant to die, it wasn't their nature. They didn't have an expire date nor any time limits, so it was impossible to begin with. If there really were someone looking down on him from the moon, Poseidon would discover it.

Poseidon spent that whole night reading books and looking for information regarding the legends surrounding that mysterious and mystical figure. There weren't many references and he couldn't even find the name of that god, yet there were reported some events which most likely involved them. A beautiful deity whose melancholic face was reflected on the moon on certain nights, someone wearing a silvery armor while riding a shining chariot across the sky. Also, a powerful god who could conceal the sun and the earth. A god capable of moving the stars and making humans into constellations. A god who could flex the tides to their own amusement - which meant disturbing the God of the Sea too - the moon phases and the sea had always been strictly connected to one another, but the thought of someone directly interefering had never crossed his mind. An ancient deity whose name had been long forgotten and all traces canceled, no statues nor temples left, their believers long dead and turned to ashes.

Poseidon was intrigued to say the least. He couldn't recall even if tried the last time he had felt so interested in someone - maybe last time was when he recognised Hades as his brother thousands of years before? He didn't remember anymore, and it didn't really matter to him neither.

Rumours spreaded fast across the Heavens. It was a matter of days before everybody knew what the lonesome Poseidon was looking for, yet nobody dared approaching him nor suggesting him the information that could have helped him reach his objective. Yet, everybody was curious as to why he was interested in that legend in the first place. Poseidon was used to those lower deities' gossips, so he didn't pay them much care, they were nothing more than a bother and wasn't expecting them to act some other way. He was more interested in what certain gods had to say.

Zeus, despite his prestige, knew no more than him but reccomended talking with the goddess Nyx, whom he was afraid of, much more ancient than he was. Hades and Hermes agreed with Zeus and added some rumours that had been circulating for ages in the Underworld regarding a moon deity who lead the souls of the dead to Hades' domain. Beelzebub clearly remembered studying moon's phenoma and seeing that legendary face. They didn't ask him the reason why he was looking for the god. He wouldn't have answered anyway. Without a single word, he left, approaching his next destination, the goddess all gods feared: Nyx.

He respected the goddess, recognising her value and strenght, but didn't understand the reason why even the almighty Zeus feared - he could only suppose it must have been because of one of his many affairs that didn't end the way Zeus imagined. Poseidon didn't have anything to do with that though, therefore had no reason to fear her.

Nyx knew it all, the story of the human who ascended to the skies and then flew even higher above. That god's name was (Y/n), the vagabond of the stars, the hermit who found a home in the dim light of the moon. Poseidon was satisfied by the answers he had finally found - and a way to reach the moon itself. He was close to his goal.

He had finally landed on the moon. Poseidon had never been there before. It was the first time he got to see the sea he ruled from that perspective. It was a foreign feeling to him. He could almost understand the reason why humans tried so hard to leave Earth and reach the space - it was undescribable. He couldn't even blame (Y/n) for hiding in that timeless place. Poseidon felt as he could touch the stars if he only wanted to. And he was just about to do it, if only a sudden voice hadn't interrupted him.

"I've heard someone was looking for me. I don't receive many guests, so I suppose you must be that person." it was quite, almost a whisper. It didn't surprise Poseidon. (T/n) mustn't have had someone to talk to in a long time.

"You are Poseidon, aren't you? You often stare at the moon, I noticed it." a voice comparable to the music of the spheres, the musica universalis, the harmony between the celestial bodies.

(Y/n) seemed to have no material consistence, one with the stars and the deep blue sky surround them, floating on the ground, detached from the earthly beings. Poseidon almost felt unworthy of being before someone surrounded by such a, otherwordly aura, belonging to a different dimension. On the other hand, he was attracted by that holy creature.

"You are welcome here, God of the Seas." almost as if they had read his mind, (Y/n) reassured him "We all belong to the moon, all beings are made of the same stardust. There are no differences between us."

For once, Poseidon, enchanted and bewitched, couldn't reply. He was part of that symphony too - he could feel it resonating deep into his bones.

The everlasting sea below him, the everlasting stars above him. Poseidon felt whole for the first time in his equally everlasting life.

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #ror #record of ragnarok x reader #snv #ror x reader #snv x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #shuumatsu no walkure #poseidon #poseidon x reader #record of ragnarok poseidon #shuumatsu no valkyrie poseidon #snv poseidon #poseidon record of ragnarok #poseidon ror

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: Laormoch, Archfey of the Wild Unknown

Embodying the primal awe and terror of those places beyond the edge of the map, this ancient spirit of the land exists to test and torment those who stray too far from the safety of the familiar.

Though the old stories call him the" thane of the faroff" or an "invisible giant as big as the sky", it is hard to put Laormoch's physicality and the fear it evokes into words: How do you describe being lorded over by ancient trees, or the scornful glare of unfamiliar stars? His shape is only ever suggested by how it bends the natural world, but he is always distant, though always so immense that it feels like he may reach out and crush the viewer.

Adventure Hooks

The party stumble into a village to find its inhabitants struggling to recover after a disastrous hunt. Some wretched beast tore through some weeks ago and was only dispatched with great effort. It was a cause for celebration, at least until the thing was seen stalking in the woods, reading for another attack. To prevent it from assailing their walls and destroying their homes the village's best hunter leads the village's strongest on a sortie, downing the beast only after injuring many and losing a few. This has happened three times so far and the village's defenders are wearing thin. Perhaps the party could lend their aid once the beast is spotted again, and perhaps spend the intervening time trying to find its obviously supernatural origins.

Almost inconsolable, a great lord calls for the party's aid in rescuing his son and heir, who he claims was stolen by the sky itself: snatched out of his tower window by a great hand and carried off into the clouds. The servants and courtiers are skeptical, everyone knows the lord was so protective of his son he barely let the boy leave his rooms, let alone the castle, and it's likely the lad finally managed some means of escape. While they're considering exactly how to search for the lad the party will be approached by the Lord's bastard daughter, she was denied her inheritance by her father's traditionalism, and sees the opportunity to have herself recognized if the true born heir is never found. She'll ask that even if the party does find her younger brother, they either help him escape or leave him where he is, as it would be better for the both of him if he doesn't return to the castle.

Backstory:

Seeking to prove herself against a boastful rival, a hunter ventured far from her village into the deep wilderness, where she found and slew an elk of ethereal beauty, eating its flesh to sustain herself and taking its antlers as her trophy. Though she returned in glory, the beast had been marked by the Thane of the Faroff, who has raised its butchered body as a reverent and gifted it bloodthirsting branches to replace what was taken. The revenant won't stop until it's killed the hunter and torn her body to shreds, which will likely be sometime after she's gotten a good portion of the other villagers killed because she's too good at hunting and too stuborn to die without a fight. The revenant has more than one trick though, the branches animating its body bear seedpods which it scatters as it dies or gores others to death. These seeds eventually grow into twigblights, which are slowly massing in the forest waiting to overwhelm the village's defenders and open the gate for the revenant's final rampage.

Wishing more than anything to get away from the suffocating confines of his home, the young heir has found himself on the wrong end of a fairy bargin. Whisked off by Laormoch to his castle beyond the horizon, the boy has been forced to serve as the archfey's cupbearer as repayment for his captor's "kindness". The party will need to dig deep into the local folklore to figure out how and why the sky might snatch up a forlorn youth, potentially missing him entirely until they run into him while visiting the feywild for a completely different adventure.

Artsource

#villain #villain fey #archfey #wilderness encounter #encounter forest #encounter village #rescue mission #monster hunt #Laormoch

[haesunflower]

jiwoong's girl friend (not girlfriend) | a friends with benefits story ft. matthew

genre: mentions of smut, suggestive, minors dni

pairing: jiwoong x female reader, matthew x female reader

about/tags: matthew is obsessed with jiwoong's girlfriend (not girlfriend) but can't do anything about it (1.9k+ words)

there's no explicit smut but it's mentioned that they fuck, cursing, suggestive, y/n is a tease, friends with benefits jiwoong, pervert/voyeur matthew, nsfw mentions

Matthew thinks that you’re the hottest person he’s ever met. But he couldn’t do anything because you were Jiwoong’s "not-girlfriend" girl friend. Thus, he tries to keep those thoughts to himself, given your relationship status with Jiwoong.

You visit Jiwoong at the dorms at least once a week. Although Jiwoong initially introduces you as one of his long time friends, the members have since disregarded that label. They all widely accept that you two were seeing each other, even without confirmation from Jiwoong himself. 

You get along with the members quite well too. Last time, you brought fried chicken for the whole team, and handed Matthew a box of his favorite flavor. “I heard you like chicken Matthew. Try this one, it’s my favorite”. Your hands brushed as he took the box from you, and his heart skipped a beat a little. 

It’s a little pathetic, really. Matthew can’t help it. 

(REMINDER: MINORS DNI)

Matthew knows it’s rude to stare. But it’s getting difficult to adhere to the gentlemanly persona he has. You often cuddle up with Jiwoong on the couch as the younger members watch movies on the TV screen. He tries not to stare at your legs that are draped over Jiwoong’s lap. Other times, Matthew finds you casually sitting in Jiwoong’s desk chair, hair damp from the shower. He tries not to look at the wet spots that have formed on your shirt, especially not when it’s dangerously close to your chest. 

And if that wasn’t enough, Matthew actually found a pair of panties (that he assumes to be yours) in the dryer, and contemplated on keeping it for himself. Ultimately, he handed it to Jiwoong before any of the younger members could see. To which Jiwoong replied with a “thanks man, she thought she lost this.”

Now that it’s summer, you come visit the dorms in shorter skirts and dresses. It’s getting a little hard not to keep admiring you – the way the straps adorn your dainty collarbones, how the fabric tightens at your waist complimenting your figure, and how your dress hem moves up slightly when the breeze from the air conditioning passes by.

It’s hard not to keep watching as you greet Jiwoong with a kiss, or as he lifts you up to carry you to his room. He should really look away at some point, but he can’t. 

Again, he knows he’s being a little pathetic. Perhaps borderline perverted as his imagination runs wild on what occurs behind Jiwoong’s closed door. But he knows he doesn’t stand a chance anyway. 

┈•┈୨୧┈•┈

You’re both panting heavily, and Jiwoong makes sure to press a little kiss on your shoulder before he lays flatly in the space next to you. With chests rising and falling, he extends his right arm out to you for access to lay on him. Like clockwork, he does this after every time you fuck. 

Naturally, you accept the offer and make yourself cozy against him. It’s silent before you ask him “everything okay, Jiwoong? you’re awfully quiet...”

Jiwoong gives a low chuckle, mainly because he should be asking you that question instead. He went a little hard on you today. “Sorry for all the marks Y/N, didn’t mean to take it that far” he turns to you to examine the purple hickies he left littered all over your chest and neck. He makes a mental note to check your freezer for ice. 

“Don’t worry about it, it’s hot –” you reassure, extending your fist out for him to dap you up like always. “– and besides, you know I could take so much more” you tease him as you look up through your eyelashes, and he nods with a smirk. 

“ahh you minx. This is literally why I cannot get enough of you”. He repositions his body to face you, using his forearms to prop himself up. This way, he sees your face clearly. You engage in conversation like that, as he asks about what’s new with your work and for the gossip on all your mutual friends. Likewise, you ask him what's new with his schedule and members. 

“Speaking of members, I think Matthew might have a small crush on you.” 

You laugh.

“Just a small crush? have you seen the way he looks at me? he’s in love with me or something” you joke. And Jiwoong tilts his head to the side, impressed at your confidence – “so when you come visit me at the dorms dressed up all pretty, it’s partly for him, isn’t it?” he accuses, raising up an eyebrow. 

You don’t know whether you should be apologizing or defending yourself so you settle with a “sorry? It’s fun teasing him?” Jiwoong laughs, a laugh that says “haha i knew it” before he actually says “go easy on him, tiger – he’s more sensitive than you think.”

You pretend to put on an annoyed face, and Jiwoong kisses your cheek before standing up to get dressed. “Can’t blame him though, your ass is great” he gives a playful pat on your buttcheeks before he’s out the door.

You make your way to the bathroom to clean yourself up when you receive a text.

jiwoong📱: made an ice pack in the freezer for the marks lol sorry again

jiwoong📱: and thanks for the fuck, babe

y/n📱: same time tomorrow? 

jiwoong📱: yeah i’ll be home by 9

┈•┈୨୧┈•┈

“Hey, Matt!” 

It’s Matthew that opens the door for you at 8 pm. He’s the only one currently at the dorms, so he feels responsible to tell you that Jiwoong should be home soon.

“Oh yeah I know, I came a little early to come hang out with you” you say as you remove your shoes at the entryway. Matthew's throat runs dry and his face turns criminally red as he attempts to think of a response. Amused at his reaction, you approach him and place your hand against his burning forehead. 

Fully knowing about his crush on you, you innocently ask “you okay Matt? you don’t look so good…” your face is so close to his, he can feel your breath. “Ah yeah, I’m fine” he clears his throat, as he removes your hand from his face. Matthew doesn’t know how he’ll survive the next hour with you. 

“Good. because I want to watch a movie” you skip happily to the couch, patting the spot next to you for Matthew to come. When he settles on the couch, he’s a little uncomfortable – wary of your presence. You end up choosing some studio ghibli movie and Matthew gets a little giddy inside. 

A few beer bottles later, you find yourself placing your legs on top of Matthew’s lap "for more warmth". Matthew figures that you must have done this out of habit, as he often finds you in this position with Jiwoong. His hands carefully rest atop your legs, he's trying not to feel weird about it. The movie plays, but the plot is the last thing on his mind right now. You watch him internally panic, so awfully stiff, which you actually find kind of cute. 

When the movie finishes, you get a text from Jiwoong. 

jiwoong📱: almost done, can you wait? 

y/n 📱: yeah just here drinking with matthew

“Jiwoong’s gonna be a little late” you announce, removing your legs from his lap and placing them on the ground. Matthew looks a little disappointed at the loss of body contact.

Matthew hums in response before saying “well I guess it’s my turn to pick the next movie”. He quickly grabs the remote from your hands before you could protest. In fake offense, you say “is that any way you should be treating your guest, matthew?”

“guest? You practically live here y/n” he reminds you, shaking his head with a smile on his face. He turns to face the TV, scrolling through the different animated films. Jiwoong was taking too long, and you wanted to tease Matthew a little more.

“actually I don’t want to watch another movie, Matt” your arms are crossed. He turns around to face you “what do you wanna do instead?” he asks, innocently cocking an eyebrow at you. 

You're feeling a little bold, maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s the way Matthew was touching your leg earlier. “I don’t know…anything fun up your sleeve?” you leave light touches to his arm, snaking itself to reach his shoulder. Matthew’s frozen in place, unsure if he should read into it. You could just be joking, after all. 

“uhhhhhh…” he’s stuttering as he tries to think of something, anything. You take satisfaction in his nervousness, and inch yourself closer to him. Hand still on his shoulder, you use it as support to straddle his lap. Your faces are awfully close to one another again, and a million emotions run through Matthew’s face. Lust, guilt, excitement. 

You ghost your lips against his ear to whisper “is there something wrong matt? why are you always this nervous around me?” A devilish grin begins to bloom on your face, and it’s taking everything in him not to touch you, not to grab you by your chin and kiss you, not to take you right then and there.

He’s breathing heavily, and his knuckles are white from balling up his fists in an attempt for physical restraint – repeating to himself that he cannot touch you. Especially when your neck is covered in purple bruises, a reminder of Jiwoong's claim over you.

You both hear the passcode being entered as the front door unlocks. 

“Is that you, babe?” you yell out. 

When you hear the familiar “mmhh”, you decide to mount yourself off of Matthew to greet Jiwoong before he enters the living room. Though Matthew can’t see you anymore, he can definitely hear your conversation. 

“Hi Y/N, did you wait long?” Jiwoong asks. “Not really, Matthew kept me company” you respond. 

You and Jiwoong enter the room hand in hand, and he shoots Matthew a little nod as a greeting. As Jiwoong leads you into his room, you look back at Matthew to give him a little wink. 

Jiwoong’s door closes, and Matthew groans because of his hard on, burying his face into the pillow in disbelief.

┈•┈୨୧┈•┈

Matthew is trying to focus at the gym, attempting to rid any thoughts of you. Heavy emphasis on trying. He can’t stop thinking about your interaction the night before. And he wonders if he should tell Jiwoong about it. 

“Mind if I join you mattchu?” Jiwoong appears out of nowhere as he places his water bottle on the bench press next to him. He nods, albeit not looking him in the eye. He literally can’t. Not when his girlfriend was straddling his lap the night before, whispering seductively to his ear. 

“Jiwoon hyung, about Y/N…” he begins. 

Jiwoong chuckles as he picks up a weight from the rack. It’s about time he asks me about her, he thinks. He looks Matthew in the eye as he bicep curls the weight, “what about Y/N?” he responds. 

“How long have you been together? Like exactly how long” Matthew doesn’t know what knowing the answer to this would achieve, it still doesn’t diminish the fact that he almost kissed you the night before. 

“She’s not my girlfriend Matt” Jiwoong deadpans as he reracks the weight. Getting a heavier weight for his next set of reps.  "I'm being serious, we're good friends but we're not together. Like really, really good friends.." Jiwoong makes sure to emphasize his words.

“Then why..” Matthew trails off. What he wanted to ask was “why are you always with her” or “why is she always at our dorms” or “why do you call each other babe”. The gears are actively turning in his head when he realizes he’s been looking at your relationship from a conservative point of view. Him, out of all people, conservative? He thinks Korea might have brainwashed him.

“Do you finally understand what I mean?” Jiwoong is chuckling at Matthew’s confused face as he sits down on the bench, towel hanging from behind his neck. “And for the record Matt, I have no problems with sharing” Jiwoong playfully slaps Matthew’s back, as if giving him permission. 

Matthew does have a chance after all. 

┈•┈୨୧┈•┈

PART 2

A/N: dedicated to my hoes (endearingly said) @seok02 @bubbleseo @solarwoniii

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[multiwreckedmess]

February Filth Fest Day 28

Prompt: Mommy Pairing: Neighbor!Wooyoung x older!reader WC: 4k Summary: To Wooyoung, you were everything. You didn’t even know he existed. Older and audacity turned to maximum, he’s determined to make you never forget.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Wooyoung or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. By clicking the “Read More” you agree that you are of age to interact with my works.

TW//CW: TBH THIS IS MOSTLY PROLOGUE. Reader called ‘mommy’ and doesn’t like it at first, wooyoung is desperate, age gap undefined (it’s not suggested that it’s HUGE but it’s there). oral (fem receiving). CLIFFHANGER END

 “You remember Wooyoung right? Youngie?” Your mom tugs you over to a young man, black hair half back in a ponytail, orange shirt just slightly too unbuttoned, kicking back a beer.  “Aw mom! I can see in her eyes she doesn’t!” Wooyoung’s eyes crinkle as he extends his hand to you.  Your eyebrows raise. Mom? Grabbing his hand you shake it tentatively. Strong muscular fingers grip back, fitting your hand fully in his warm palm.  Your mother doesn’t let the silence linger long, mercifully. “Our Wooyoungie has been taking such good care of us while you’ve been off making your own little homestead on the coast!”  “Now you’re speaking far too highly of me. You feed me just as good as well. It’s an exchange of labor for services.” He gloats, swatting lightly at the air in front of himself as if the words praising him still hung there.  “You eat so well it's always a joy to share, besides, it helps me get through the leftovers.” She lightly ribs you, trying to get you to join into the conversation.

 To be honest, you felt guilty. The only child setting out into the world by moving as far away as you could while staying within the continental United States. You’d intended to see your parents more but the realities of limited vacation time and cost of travel hit quickly. The pandemic years certainly hadn’t helped. If anything they prevented you from establishing a normal visiting schedule and left you floundering to fit them in between projects and personal days. You’d finally been able to decide on the yearly block party, held every summer, to make your grand return. Calling up old friends and arranging it this way ensured you’d see most if not all the folks on your obligations list.  However, seeing your mom smiling so fondly at this kid, almost more proud of him than she seemed of you, made your stomach turn. The beast of jealousy churning a pot inside of you. You barely track the rest of their pleasantries, simply watching their borderline flirtatious body language as you nurse your beer.

 “I’ll leave you two to catch up! I swear Wooyoungie has told me so many cute stories of you, I can’t believe you don’t remember him.” Elbowing your arm gently your mom hisses, “play nice, he’s a gem!” Wooyoung tilts his chin up and out, craning to receive a kiss on the cheek from her as you stare.  “So, you and my parents are close,” your lips curl, tiptoeing slowly into the shallow end of the conversation.  “Oh yeah! Well, I started shoveling their walk in the winters and salting the sidewalk which they seemed to really appreciate. So, Mom invited me to dinner after one particularly bad snowfall and I’ve been keeping them company when I can ever since.”  “Mhm,” you hum shortly, suspicious of him. “Well you haven’t murdered them yet.”  Wooyoung cackles, “do I really look like a killer?”  “Isn’t that what all the witnesses in crime series say? That the murderer didn’t seem like the kind of person to do it.”  His eyes flit down from your head to your toes. Wooyoung had always been a cute kid. Charming, sweet, a little spicy, but his good nature charmed the neighborhood. Or at least the adults of the neighborhood. He always got along better with adults. The kids of the neighborhood were less enchanted. They called him a suck up, kiss ass, brat, annoying, and worse all in the name of envy. Envy for how the adults loved him and took care of him. So many neighborhood nights out ended in tears for him, maybe it was good you didn’t recall those days. He shook his head with a smile. “Still I’m a little upset you don’t remember me.”

***********

 “Hey, some of the ‘big kids’ are heading up to the local bar!” A girl named Gina tugs at your sleeve. The street lights flickering on and only the young and unaccompanied left at the party it was a natural progression of the night. A quick four block walk from your home you shrugged, it wasn’t like you held any particular affection for anyone in particular but it also wasn’t an arduous trek. Besides, this is what you came home for, right? Socialize with the ones who knew you before you knew yourself.

 That's how you ended up drinking a gin and tonic at the back of the bar, letting the wash of noise and alcohol blur your nerves. You’d selected gin and tonic out of habit more than anything, the tap list overwhelming and no cocktail menu to be found. A safe bet, difficult to fuck up too badly.  Laughing congenially along to the stories retold by friends, you feel lost in the crowd. Stories that went like “oh remember when Ricky did this” or “Cassy has a funny story about when Hunter lost his tooth” which you didn't remember, why would you? Not to say you shared no memories, just that most of them were the aftermath rather than the incident. Always too buried in your books to notice the hijinx happening. Now burying your nose in your glass you nod along to save face. Yes, you were there but somehow also not.

 “So you remember all of this but not me?” Wooyoung slides along your side. Some form of brownish liquor in his hand.  “No, it’s called being politely interested.”  “Ahhh,” he grins and sips his drink. “I’ll note that, the politely bit. I’m already interested so I think I’m good there...”  You roll your eyes, “interested in my mom.”  “Your mother is a beautiful lady. And smart. And kind. Why shouldn’t I be interested?” He knows he’s being cheeky but part of it is payback for your memory lapse.  “Don’t you love your mommy?”  The word mommy hits you like a truck. Rolling up your spine and crashing through your skull with the force of a brick to the back of the head. “Wooyoung? Oh my god. Wooyoung.” You mutter, shocked, dismayed. It’s him. It’s definitely him alright. Wooyoung grins like a jackal in front of you, gnawing on the small plastic swizzler straw in his drink. “I know you.”  “Do you?”

 Thirteen. That’s how old you were when you went to your last neighborhood block party. It was the last summer you spent preoccupied with fictional boys instead of real ones. There was already a change in the air, all the neighborhood kids seemed just so much younger than despite the difference being only a couple of years. Watching them rough house and play from afar you’d been set out with ‘eldest’ duties so that the parents could absolve themselves of direct supervisory responsibilities. Which was fine to you, you’d be tipped generously at the end of the night by the parents without needing to do too much.  Suddenly two small arms encircled your legs, an equally small face buried in your pant leg, absolutely wailing for mommy. Tapping on the black mop of hair, red eyes and a runny nose looked back up at you and upon seeing your face cried harder. Prying your legs from his arms you lean down to meet his eye level, “can we go find her? Your mom?”  He sniffs and nods, lower lip quivering. “Jung Wooyoung,” his small voice tremors.  Taking his small fist in your hand, you lead him farther into the party. It doesn’t take long to find her, gathered in a small circle of moms, laughing jovially. Her smile fades as she sees you toting her son, face red and puffy.  “Should he be in trouble or someone else be in trouble?” She’s very brief in her assessment, half exasperated half sympathetic.  “I’m sorry I’m not sure Mrs. Jung. He just ran up to me like this asking for you.”  Squatting next to her son you notice, she has the exact same wash of jeans as you. “Jung Wooyoung, can you tell me what happened?”  The boy glances up at you, eyes wide, sitting on the pavement with a hard plop.  “Jung. Woo. Young. Your mom is asking a question.”  He notices you notice him staring and he hides his eyes.  “I’m so sorry miss, I can take care of him from here. He really likes pretty girls but gets so shy around them. You can go!” Mrs. Jung looks apologetically at you, scooping Wooyoung up onto her hip.  Smiling you look him in the eye and wave, watching as he smiles back shyly and buries his face.

 “You were such a cute kid!” You coo.  “Is that really all you remember about me? Cute little kid? Damn.” This was not exactly the reaction he was looking for. Wooyoung wanted the gasp and the dramatic reveal, of course, but being called cute was not the highest adjective on his list. And only one fleeting memory of his mother calling you a pretty girl.  His mother was incorrect though, you weren’t just a pretty girl to him, you were an angel. He was immediately obsessed, watching you silently with flutters in his stomach listening as the adults talked about your achievements. Not only kind and beautiful but smart and self sufficient and bold and fierce. He remembered one of your summers back from college, reading on the front lawn in a bikini, waiting for the sun to slowly turn you a pleasant golden shade. Only briefly passing by on his bike the image seared itself into his mind, fueling his late nights as he flipped through your instagram.  “I really thought the world of you,” he muses.  “And what about now?” You ask with a laugh and a grimace. Wooyoung looks you up and down. “I could ask the same to you, you said I was a cute kid. What about now?”  “Oh come on, you have to know this is a touchy subject for me…you can’t just say that you thought the world of a person in the past tense like that. What, I must be some washed up hag, desperate in her neighborhood bar.”  Wooyoung hums, smirking, “well now i don’t agree with the hag part but I like the desperate, desperate i can work with.” He gently takes your drink and swills the dregs. “Another of the same?”  “I want whatever you got. Order me that.”  His eyebrows shoot up, “oh come on. You’re the older one, you should treat me.” He smiles sweetly and bats his lashes. “I’ll come with you so you know what to order next time.”  You roll your eyes. He’s really too cute for his own good. Your heart sinks a little. He’s really too cute to be hanging around you like he is. But you take his glass with yours and slide them across the wood top bar.  “Two whiskeys, on the rocks!” Wooyoung flashes his winning smile, “on her tab please.” He finishes with a head tilt in your direction and a wink. “You’re such a baby.”  “Only for you mommy.” He bunts the top of his head into your arm as you blanch at the sudden endearment.

 You hate it on instinct. You’re not his mommy, yes you’re older but you're not his mommy. You’re not anyone’s mommy. You don’t want to mother anyone for any reason. You wanted that care and attention. Still, you don’t correct him and let him continue to press his side to yours. The pressure of contact from another person is nice, even momentarily.

 “So,” Wooyoung sips gingerly at his drink, “tell me what you think of me now. I can’t settle for being a formerly cute baby. I won’t.” He pouts, lilting his head.  With a heavy sigh you look him up and down, simple fitted black t-shirt, tight black pants, and moto-boots. “If I were closer to your age-”  “EH!” He shushes you abruptly, finger to your lips. “It’s not about you. Tell me about me.”  “Fine. You want to hear you’re attractive? You’re attractive,” you give him an exasperated glance. The heat of the alcohol warms the sides of your face, making you feel giggly. The whiskey goes down shockingly easily, loosening your inhibitions. “What about me? I’m the one in distress.”  Wooyoung steadies you, bringing awareness to your swaying, letting you lean back against the wall slowly with the support of his hand. “I think you’re the first woman I ever worshipped and now I want to make good on that.”  “Wooyoung, are you coming onto me?” You as incredulously, eyebrows almost launching themselves from your face with the speed they raise at.  “I’d very much like to if you’d let me.”  “You’d like to what exactly?”  “Cum on you. Or in you. Whichever you’ll let me.”  His forwardness leaves you gagging on unspoken words. You think for a second you ought to slap him as you see red around his smug smile. “Wooyoung do you hear yourself?”  Wooyoung slides his hand up, leaning into you on his elbow. He smells like earth and spice and alcohol. “I think you’d like it too. Not to brag but, I think I’m better than spending the rest of the night in your old twin bed with your decade old back massager.”  Stunned by his too all too accurate prediction of your plans your brain barely processes the way you lean into his light kiss on the cheek. Your face feels warm, he is warm. And soft, so soft. His brashness has you melting a little bit, there is no halfway here. No room for interpretation. He wants you, and it makes your stomach flutter and legs turn to jelly.  “So, wanna get out of here?” Wooyoung says with a small smirk, eyes downcast sheepishly. “If we get to my place and you wanna back out I’ll happily sleep on the couch with the cat. I just don’t want either of us to be alone tonight.”  Tender heartstrings plucked expertly by a master songsmith, you sigh. Foolish. Stupid. Irresponsible. What would your parents think when you didn’t come home? Your head shakes as you type out a short text to your mother, a sentence excuse about staying the night with Gina. Or was it Gia? The keyboard swims under your thumb. The rest of you melts and lets the younger man wrap his arm around your waist to guide you safely to a cab. Again you marvel at how warm he is, how his fingers splay casually in the divot of your waist. Cheeks burning you duck your head out of the bar, as though it would be shameful to be seen with him.

 Wooyoung kisses with the desperation of a starved man, drinking in as much of you as he possibly can before coming up for air. The electric lock on the door has barely even finished latching when his arms snake around your waist, lips attaching to the nape of your neck.  “You smell so good,” his face is smashed into your shoulder, the both of you stumble and struggle to remove shoes as he further tangles himself in you. The second you're free of them he’s turning you, pressing your back into the wall as his leg slots easily between your thighs. Winding your hips together you teeter on your tip toe as he kisses you, teeth tugging at your bottom lip lightly.  “Ooh mommy, I’m going to make you remember me-” he moans into your open mouth.  A burst of air comes through your nose as you suppress part of an awkward laugh, “Mommy?”  “Yeah, your baby’s gonna take good care of you.” His mouth stretches into a grin against your cheek, nose bumping against you until your head falls to the side, granting access to your throat. “Right mommy? I’m taking good care of you right?”  Teeth nibbling a searing trail to your shoulder, you can’t help but moan. You don’t hate it. Your mind hates it but your body loves it. His insistent desperation for approval from you is almost as intoxicating as the drinks you’d shared. “This mommy shit is weird Wooyoungie.”  Wooyoung sucks a bruising spot into your collarbone, skin immediately flushing, meant to leave a mark. Shivering you moan again, letting your head fall to your opposite shoulder, grinding your hips against him. “That’s not a nice thing to say mommy,” his grip on your ass tightens. His hands pull you down to him, pressure in your gut building.  “Fuck! Oh baby-” the phrase slides from your lips before you can pause and overthink what this might say about you.  “Yeah, is your baby making you feel good?” He tenderly kisses over the growing bruise. “Wanna be mommy now?”  “Fuck-Wooyoungie-you’re fucking incorrigible,” you groan. Between the alcohol and the pounding in your gut, you really don’t mind it. Silencing the small critic and setting that voice in time out, you slide to his bedroom, stripping bear besides your undergarments.

 “Damn mommy, you’re a walking wet dream,” Wooyoung looks at you from under his bangs, making a home for himself at your feet, waiting for the word to dive in. Eyes traveling up your legs to the crevice between them, he can barely wait longer. He’s been waiting since puberty. The hunger to prove himself to make you his, growing all the more as your life proceeded without him.  His gaze heats you from your core, anticipatory buzz gripping your gut. “Yeah baby?” You practically whisper, throat taut.  Slowly but surely his hands travel the tops of your legs, large and warm on your skin. Everything is burning and tingling and on a knife's edge as they stop at your hips, resting his full weight on you. His face comes barely a foot from yours. “Can you tell me how much you want this?” He smiles, Cheshire-like.  “I’m fucking aching baby,” you plead maybe just a bit too desperately. “Can you help mommy out?”  You can barely finish the sentence before his plush lips are on yours with a bruising amount of force. Eagerly his hands slide between your thighs, tracing the edges of your panties. “Mommy,” he gasps into your open mouth, “are you already this wet?” He teases a thumb over the growing damp spot.  Nodding, your legs slide easily for him. “Yeah baby, all for you.”  Pressing against your clit more earnestly he rubs in small circles. Your head goes back into the pillows immediately, pressure deliciously building in your core. The skin of his shoulders is cool as he nudges your thighs even wider, his lips replacing his hands. A shock of electricity runs up your spine as you realize he’s pulling your hips down against his face, bridge of his nose nudging you through your panties.  “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Wooyoung mutters barely loud enough for you to make out. Fingers slipping between your panties and your skin he can barely breathe as he tugs the fabric over your hips. Caught between a fixated stare and a shyly glancing away he pulls down even more, practically cumming in his own underwear as your cunt is finally revealed. “Fuck you’re beautiful.”  “That’s not even the pretty part of me,” you feel the heat of embarrassment creep up the side of your neck.  Wooyoung looks up at you from between your knees, frowning incredulously. “Every part of my mommy is pretty, especially her cute little cunt.” He says before unceremoniously burying his face in your folds. Licking and slurping like a starved man, you don’t even register the auditory assault, squealing so loudly yourself your head rushes.  “Wooyoung! Oh shit! Oh FUCK!” You scream and fist the sheets, fighting your urge to snap your legs around his head. The pleasure twists in your gut as his tongue flicks against your swollen clit, a finger teasing your hole.  “Grab my hair-” Wooyoung gasps, “pull my hair. I’m not fragile.”  It doesn’t take any more convincing as you tug at his black locks. His lips buzz with moans of approval as you ride his face. His finger crooks inside of you, just enough to press against the top of your walls, right into the squishy spot that blurs your vision and has you seeing stars.  “I’m gonna cum, oh fuck baby, I’m gonna-”  His face presses more insistently against you, practically drowning himself in your sex. If he was going to die young he’d want to die like this, nestled in your heat. “Do it.”  Coating his chin in release your eyes flutter closed. Clamping down around the slight resistance his finger gives. He’s right. Much better than your vibrator. You release him from your grasp as he comes up for air, both of your eyes are hazy with lust as you look at each other.

 “Can I suck your tits?”  Wooyoung’s blunt tone does nothing to disturb your post orgasmic cloud.  “C’mere baby boy,” you say as you slide your bra straps off your shoulders, unclasping the band without a second thought.  Wooyoungs eyes bulge as you so easily and carelessly reveal your breasts, half reclined back in his bed, like he’d imagined all those years ago. It’s nothing to you but everything to him. You see them every day and he’d only seen them in his fantasies. He swipes lazily at the arousal still clinging to his lips and chin, transfixed by your tits. Almost reverently he reaches for them both, fingers fanning out over the pair and squishing into them. “Oh mommy,” he says, leaning down to kiss the top of one, “they’re perfect.”  “Wooyoungie-” you’re nearly dying of embarrassment, heat flashing through your body as he interrupts you.  “They’re just like I imagined.”  “Shut up and suck before I regret this,” you laugh, masking your tension beneath brusque humor. Wooyoung doesn’t seem to mind. In fact his eyes practically sparkle as you demand he follow through on his request. Lips encircling your nipple he kisses tenderly at first, hand resting on the opposite breast to make sure it was also attended to.  Soft skin in his palm and on his lips, Wooyoung hips move autonomously, rutting against whatever warmth his cock can find. His tongue flicks over your hardened nipple, fingers pinching the other lightly and listening for your moans of approval. Again, he flicks harder, pinches harder, and feels you respond louder and harder as he’d hoped. He keeps escalating until it feels like his heart is going to burst from excitement, leaning into you as he nips at your flesh.  Yelping you swat at him playfully, “don’t be a brat!”  “Sorry mommy, i just love you so much,” he smiles and nips again.  Truthfully the pain feels good, stinging only for a moment before the buzz of endorphins rushes through your spine. “S’okay baby,” you purr and coax him between your thighs, tugging at his underwear. “You’ve made a real mess of these.”  “All for you,” he’s breathless as he tosses the ruined pair casually across the room. Leaning close to you again, he kisses you as he rummages under the pillows. You can feel him smile against your mouth as he finds his prize.  Pulling away he brandishes a gold foil packet proudly. “A boyscout is always prepared.”  “Goddamn, is this just a normal thing for you?” Your heart drops just a little bit disappointed that you might not be special to him. He’s just so smooth, every action carefully planned.  “No,” he tears the foil packet with his teeth before leaning in to kiss your cheek. “I heard you were going to be in town and I wasn’t going to lose you again.”  “You sound obsessed,” you giggle, hands tracing the veins of his lower abdomen as you watch him roll the latex over his length.  “Yeah and I’m going to make you just as obsessed about me.”

Sorry, i just don’t know that i wanted to write more of this. I just do NAWT know how to write a mommy kink, it’s not something i’m particularly into which usually doesn’t really stop me when writing but IDK. I liked the beginning but then the mommy stuff felt shoehorned in.

#February Filth Fest #ateez smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #ateez wooyoung smut #atz smut #kpop smut

[cheeriecherrymain]

papa!Viktor blurb, anyone?

A/N: slowly, slowly, recovering from the creative drought ive been in

it's nowhere near a waterfall again, more like a frustrating dribble, BUT. It's something. But anyways, here is a Papa Viktor Thought Blurb (listen, my sister is almost three months old now, and I am so besotted with her, she's my favourite tiny person, and i am full of Caretaker Feelings)

Content Warning: 18+ MDNI (not explicit, but very very suggestive), afab!Reader, pregnancy, labour and birth (again, not explicit, but still with some depth), papa!Viktor, no beta no editing we simply die

Imagine Viktor, and him believing he'll be alone for his entire life - working so hard to make some kind of legacy for himself, putting everything he has into his creations and his machines. Every calculation, every experiment a labour of love.

This is how the world will remember his name.

At least, he hopes.

But then he meets you.

You're charming, he has to admit. You make friends wherever you go, and you have a weird habit of bringing people out of their shells. There's just...something about you that makes others want to bare their souls to you. Something that draws people in.

Like you have a tangible sort of gravity, and wherever you go, someone ends up in your orbit.

He won't mean much to you, he thinks, after conversing with you a couple times. You're creative, like he is, and you're enjoyable to talk to. But nothing more. Sooner or later, you'll continue on somewhere else, making waves and drawing attention. And in your wake, he will be left to sink. It's what expects.

Except...

You don't leave.

Your chats start out small. Short and sweet, a How are you today? wondered whenever you pass each other in the halls a couple times a month, curious about the goings-on of his life.

He never has anything interesting to tell you about. No adventures or tales to tell, nothing beyond the walls of a cramped and cluttered office.

You must be bored, he thinks.

But then you start seeking him out. Instead of just catching up for a couple minutes whenever you happen to walk past each other, you hunt him down in his office - and god, he wasn't lying when he'd told you it was cramped.

You're amazed he even has the space to think in there, with how tight it is. Yet you still shimmy yourself into the tiny room, careful not to disturb any piles of papers, and find a careful seat on a spot of open floor beside his desk. There's no room for a second chair, and you've always made it clear that you dislike standing when you're having a long conversation.

It's nice to sit down and rest somewhere together, you'd told him one time.

You grow closer after that. From seeing him a couple times a month, to a couple times a week, to literally every day. You don't seem to care that he never has anything 'exciting' to share with you, even going so far as to chastise him for calling himself uninteresting.

Your experiments are cool, you'd insisted, while leafing through one of his old journals. It's incredible to get to see how your mind works, and how creative and inventive you are. You have so many ideas, Viktor, and I really believe that they could help people.

Something changes in him, after that. He'd always been quieter around you, listening to your stories, and dutifully answering your questions: never quite letting you in.

Now he looks forward to seeing you.

His heart skips a beat every time he hears you knocking on his office door, a chipper little pattern reserved only for him. You know that he doesn't always like dealing with students after hours, so you'd come up with a way to let him know that it was you who was greeting him.

Things progress...surprisingly natural.

He's not subtle by any means, even if he thinks he is. The moment he realizes that he has feelings for you, all bets are off. His cheeks dust pink whenever you're around, his palms get sweaty and he fidgets, and the staring.

Looking at you with ill-contained admiration and affection.

You can't not kiss him.

You spend the next couple years having the time of your lives. Moving from classes and overbearing internships, to actively working on experiments. Collaborating with each other, drawing up ideas and debating functionality and form. The two of you get so heated when you're creating things together.

Neither of you are surprised when it devolves. Wide gestures and hasty chalkboard sketches, impassioned explanations and wild eyes - you bite your lip as you let your gaze trail over him, in all his dishevelled beauty. Hair a mess, tie crooked and loose, shirt partially unbuttoned, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Many nights are spent like that, cooped up in his little laboratory, surrounded by sketches and blueprints and scribbles and stray notes. His fingertips digging into the soft of your skin as he kisses the breath out of you. The rhythmic clunking of his crooked desk most telling, as he draws forth your little squeaks and sighs of delight.

Absolutely ruining you, filling you, stretching you open. Feeling the way you tremble in his hands, held tight to his slender body as he reaches so deep into you that you'll feel him for days.

Sinking his teeth into the side of your neck when he finds his own release - to stay quiet, he tells you. But you both know it's his way of marking you.

Claiming you.

You're his. You're his person, his love, his partner. Your eyes only ever shine the way they do when you look at him.

Your body, splayed out and spread before him, quivering and gasping and covered in a thin sheen of sweat - his.

Your taste, sweet on his tongue - your mouth, your skin, your arousal that drips out of you whenever he so much as looks at you.

His.

And he knows, without a single atom of doubt, that he's also yours. So entirely entangled with each other, neither of you knowing how you'd managed to exist separately before now.

How had you possibly found beauty in every day, when you'd never heard his voice? Never caught a whiff of his sweet shampoo as he ambled past you? Never felt the warmth of his touch, or the puff of his sighs on your cheek? Never known the tickle of his hair on your bare skin as you slowly woke every morning to find him curled around you, his face smashed into your back and soft snores emanating from him?

No matter, you think. You have him now, and that's what's important.

...until everything changes.

You miss a period.

You tell him about it.

You're both on edge, but he tries to remain optimistic. Cycles can be upset sometimes, he tells you, as if you don't already know. (You're certain he's really just trying to reassure himself.)

But deep down, you know.

You can feel it in the all-encompassing tiredness you wake with every morning. In the random bouts of nausea, and the sudden food aversions. The back aches, and all the sudden new smells you can detect.

You know something is amiss.

And he knows, too, when he finds you one time in the middle of the night. Standing in your shared little kitchen, in the dark, illuminated only by the light of the open refrigerator.

Pulling pickles straight out of the jar, dipping them in mayonnaise, and sinking your teeth into them. Like they were to most delectable thing you'd ever ingested.

You're both terrified, of course.

You're not really surprised that you've managed to fall pregnant - not with the way you two lust after each other practically every night, and sometimes in the morning. Maybe even once or twice in between meetings, when you're both squished together in his compact office.

Neither of you ever thought you'd become parents.

And certainly not right now.

But...you want this, you realize. You want this with him. You want a family with him, you want the evidence of your love - you want a future with him, and you want to see what beautiful little person you'll make together.

Would they have his eyes? Yours? He hopes they have your smile, he tells you, eventually.

It takes you by surprise, his words, what with how quiet he'd been since you'd both figured everything out. You'd been worrying that he wasn't really on board with keeping the baby - with being a father. And you hadn't blamed him, really.

You'd been beyond stressed at the idea of raising a child alone. The thought of him leaving you, leaving behind something so intrinsically tied to him, had been slowly breaking your heart. You hadn't wanted him to stay simply out of obligation - you know you wouldn't be able to cope with the eventual resentment that such an action would breed.

But to know for certain now that he'd only been anxious?

That he wanted this with you, and was excited?

You're so happy that you immediately burst into tears, squeaking and sniffling and snotting uncontrollably while Viktor bites back a laugh and herds you into his embrace. Stroking your back and murmuring the sweetest things to you while you try to catch your breath, leaving gentle kisses all over your face.

Telling you all about what kind of person he hoped your little one would be.

Your smile, most certainly, he said, resolute. You have the most beautiful smile. You light up the room wherever you go. Maybe your sense of humour, too. And certainly your compassion.

Your tears slowly began to lessen, as you let yourself be lulled by the comfort of his arms around you.

Your hair, though, you insist, smushing your face into his shirt. You look so pretty in the mornings, all fluffed up and in disarray. It's the cutest shit I've ever seen.

That garners a laugh from him.

I want them to have your eyes, as well, you admit, albeit somewhat shyly. I've never seen a colour like yours, so intense and complex. Way back when we first met, and you looked at me for the very first time? I almost lost the ability to breathe. It was...it was like I knew, right then. That you were the person I wanted to spend my life with.

He squeezes you a little bit tighter, stooping down to tenderly slot your lips together. Slow, lazy, intimate. Sharing breath and warmth and love and-

He takes you again.

Right there, in the dim quiet of his office, not seeming to care if anyone passing by in the hallway might hear you. Spoiling you absolutely rotten, speaking praises against your skin as he brings you over the edge again and again and again.

Pupils blown wide as he sinks his fingers into you, crooking them perfectly as to reach the spots he knows will drive you mad. The papers strewn around the room don't matter - they don't even cross his mind, as you wriggle and squirm and quiver and cry out for him.

How could they, when all he can focus on is the way you look when your body tenses up, another wave of ecstasy coursing through your veins, culminating in your lovely little noises, and the addicting feeling of your pleasure dripping down his fingers and over his palm, soaking him thoroughly.

He would be happy to have you like this, as frequently as you would let him.

He knows how sensitive you must be by now, not only from his ministrations, but also from the way your body is changing. He's done his fair amount of reading since discovering your pregnancy - he's aware of all the ways you might be feeling.

The hunger, the exhaustion, the aches and pains.

The all-encompassing, single-minded lust you might go through.

He's ready to please you, however you might want - his fingers, his mouth. And whenever you might want. You could wake him up in the middle of the night, for all he cares. You could nudge him from the sleep that he so desperately needs, and he'd ask not a single question besides What do you need, darling? How would you like me?

What he doesn't expect is his own desire.

You're beautiful. You always have been beautiful. Even as things change, he was absolutely certain that you would never stop being beautiful.

It's you, so of course he's going to want you.

But seeing you now, whining and looking at him like he's hung the moon in the sky, specifically for you? Your tummy already growing round with the life that you've made together, visible proof of your love? Desperate whimpers falling past your lips, begging him for more, for him to fill you up again and again and again?

He can't resist you.

Even when he starts to ache, and his arms start shaking, and his throat is raw and dry from breathing hard and calling out for you.

He can't resist you.

You're insatiable.

So is he.

He's a little more careful as the months progress. Manhandling you less, digging his fingers into the soft fat of your hips a little gentler. He's cognizant of how you're most comfortable, watching in awe as you tremble on top of him, grinding down on him and taking his entire length into you like you were made specifically for him.

Nearly every day, you beg for him.

He loves you.

And when the time eventually comes for you to waddle carefully into the labour centre, meeting your midwife along the way, Viktor tries to keep his worrying quiet. Tries to stay by your side as a supportive pillar, regardless of how well or not he might actually be able to hold you up.

Holding your hand, kissing your knuckles. Trading his fingers for a stress ball when you squeeze a little too hard (and then another stress ball, stronger this time, when the first one explodes in your fist after a couple minutes. It shocks both of you, but to his surprise, you start laughing).

He tenderly dabs the sweat off your forehead as the hours go by, keeping your hairs from pasting themselves to your face and neck. Staying nearby as a source of comfort, but not so close that you feel smothered by him - allowing you the space you need to wiggle around as you see fit.

Telling you stories to distract you, listening to your complaints and observations as his words become unable to mask the pain of your contractions. Doing his absolute best to bite back a fond grin as you breathlessly curse him for doing this to you.

I didn't mean it, you tell him, as soon as the words leave your mouth, your eyes wide and tearful with sorrow.

I know, he promises, leaning forward to press his lips to your dewy skin.

You sigh happily.

It's not for another couple hours that your baby finally decides to enter the world.

You're beyond exhausted, and Viktor is starting to get fidgety with his worry. Is it supposed to be taking this long? he wonders internally, keeping his questions to himself so as not to stress you out even more.

The midwives, to their credit, are incredibly skilled. Staying by your side throughout the whole process, carefully monitoring everything they need to in order to make sure you're healthy. That the baby is healthy. He knows that they would say something, if anything was truly wrong.

And when the little one finally arrives, she does so kicking and screaming, making an absolute ruckus in the quiet room. The door is shut tight, keeping the sounds of the busy establishment at bay, and the curtain is drawn for your privacy so no one can see in when the staff come and go.

But when your girl begins shouting her absolute displeasure into the air, Viktor swears he can hear some quiet clapping and cheering from the hallway. He doesn't know if it's for your success, or for something and someone else entirely - but for a moment, he likes to believe that there are some strangers out there who are happy for him.

They don't know his story, and they don't know yours - but they've heard a great cry from somewhere hidden and full of struggle. An all-encompassing wail that confirms the presence of life, shouting to the world I am here, I am alive, and I have absolutely no idea what's going on!

He doesn't know when the tears start trailing down his cheeks.

Perhaps it's when he first lays eyes on your girl, pink and cranky and a little bit squished. Putting up a fuss on your base chest, scrunching her little face up as you speak softly and tenderly to her.

Perhaps it's when one of the midwives hands him a very soft towel, instructing him on how to carefully pat away the blood and fluid still clinging to your child. His eyes growing wide when he oh so gently cleans her off to reveal more of her tiny features.

She's still new, and needs time to decompress (so to speak), but he stares at her with such rapture. Taking in every inch of her, burning her face into his mind so that he might never forget her. Ever.

She's still new, and yet he can already tell that she has your nose. And your lips. Your smile, he realizes, with a palpable joy spreading through his chest.

His tears eventually dry, if only so he's able to better see you and the newest member of your family. Laying kiss after kiss to whatever part of your skin he can reach. Stroking the tips of his fingers over your girl's hair - her tiny arms and shoulders, her chubby cheeks, the bridge of her nose and over her brows.

But some two hours later, when you're finally allowed to rest in your comfortable hospital bed: when your baby is now dry and fed and swaddled up happily in Viktor's arms?

The tears begin again.

Privately, in the dim of the room, while you snooze a couple feet away from him, he weeps. Silently, and without so much as a sniffle. He cannot stop the wetness that rolls down his face, even if he wanted to.

Your girl is finally relaxed, after her grand, dramatic entrance. On the edge of sleep, warm and with a full tummy, making funny little expression while she dozes.

Much to Viktor's delight, she has a head of fuzzy brown hair - dishevelled and sticking in every direction, not matter how the midwives had tried to tame it. It'll settle down in a few days, they'd promised. But he didn't care.

The wild mop on top of her head rivalled the chaos of his own. The same shade of chestnut, though perhaps less coarse in texture. Maybe it will grow to the same thickness eventually, he thinks, a fond smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he imagines how much he's going to have to help her with it as she grows.

Brushing the inevitable tangles out with a soft brush. Pulling the strands back into braids so she can run around and play easier - or maybe little buns on the top of her head, he realizes, the image conjuring up in his mind.

All at once, pictures pop through his head, so vivid and bright that he can almost see them appearing in front of him.

Watching your daughter grow. Sleepless nights of taking care of her, catering to her every whim. Making sure she's fed, and comfortable - entertaining her with silly little toys that make silly little noises, bright colours painted across them. Reading her books with bright, enticing visuals for her to stare at, despite the fact that she doesn't know what words are.

Making trinkets for her as she gets a little older. Things that help her learn, but that also keep her excited and enticed, encouraging her exploration of the world around her. Teaching her to walk, by helping her strengthen her little legs. Sitting on a footstool, a wide smile on his face, as you hold her by her arms and support her as she figures out how to use her legs while upright. Leading her right over into his waiting arms.

Until she's able to balance on her own, after a number of weeks of practising together. Pushing herself up into a wobbly stance, doing her absolute best to try and balance. Maybe she stumbles a couple of times, but she's persistent -stubborn, like he is- and continuously rises back up until she's able to make it over to him on her own. Giggling and wiggling when he scoops her up and praises her and showers he in affection.

Teaching her about anything and everything, the bigger she gets. Answering every question she has, no matter how confusing or senseless - encouraging with his own suggestions, and prompting her to discover some answers for herself. Putting together little experiments for her, so they can learn together and so he can watch her eyes widen with the joy of new information.

Fixing her toys for her whenever they break, as she brings them to him with misty eyes and a wobbly bottom lip. Papa, it fell apart, she says sadly. To which he pulls her onto his lap, regardless of what work he was doing, and helps her repair the damage. Letting her watch and observe when she's still too small to hold a screwdriver, and carefully explaining things to her when her motor skills start to develop more.

And then helping her figure out in what way her toy broke, when she's a little bigger. Asking specific questions, so she can work to connect all the dots herself. Helping her gather the materials that she needs in order to fix things herself, and praising her to the high heavens when she presents the finished product to him.

The little thing is slightly lopsided, but he fully believes that it adds to its charm - tells her as such, when she sighs about it not being the same as before.

It's a little uneven, just like me, he says, with a laugh.

And, much to his complete shock, she wraps her little arms around him, and gives him her strongest possible squeeze.

It adds to your charm, she parrots back to him with complete honesty. I like you, Papa.

And once again, for the umpteenth time throughout his daughter's life, his eyes well with tears and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She could go anywhere she wanted, once she grew up. Learn anything, do anything, be anything. Perhaps she'd enjoy the sciences, like he does - machinery, and building, and designing, and inventing. Maybe she'd get into art, and spend her days painting or sketching, or writing, or making music - inspiring other people with the things she makes.

It doesn't matter, though. Because no matter what she ends up enjoying, or where she goes in her life, Viktor will support her with his entirety. Even when she grows all the way up, and inevitably leaves home to begin her own life, whatever that may be.

He knows he's going to cry then, too. So many years together, and yet it will still never be enough.

But for now, he sighs, staring adoringly down at the tiny infant in his arms. For now, they have time. He vows silently to never waste a single moment with her, and never pass up the opportunity to spend time with her. No matter how busy or frustrated or tired he gets, he won't let her grow up feeling unwanted or unloved or unimportant.

He'll give her a better life than he grew up with, and that is both a promise and a threat.

After all, he would do anything, for her.

His greatest creation.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #viktor headcanons #viktor blurb #viktor reader insert #arcane reader insert #i am slowly rising from the dead whoops

[ilyuu]

self aware. (voicelines.)

a consciousness not coded nor ciphered into his system; it is nothing less of a blessing if it means bearing witness to you.(or him listening to how you react to their voicelines.)

ft. : diluc, kaeya, scaramouche & xiao.

warnings : religious themes, obsessive behavior, suggestive (scaramouche), you as a simp (diluc snd xiao), lmk if i missed anything!

a/n : anddd a ty to @mondaymelon for the inspiration!! <3 ily melon mwah,,

diluc.

frost melts as the clouds part, a small shaft of sunlight a first step of a clear, cut day. the touch the cold held onto him fades to the presence of aureate warmth, soaking him in its familiar light.

“listen, as long as you stick to your own path, it doesn't matter what mother nature throws at you.”

“it does matter because i’m not trying to die to frostbite, master diluc.”

he hears your voice from somewhere - where? he doesn’t know and, rather, he doesn’t exactly mind not knowing. he’s blessed either way. …though he prefers not to be the reason of your slight of irritation.

“look, you’re half hp already. i can’t live without you. …i-i mean, literally, i can’t live without you since i main yo— does that make sense?”

oh.

he feels himself flush a bit. so that’s where the flower of irritation came from, bloomed from a seed of concern and… adoration, perhaps? maybe he’s thinking of himself a bit too highly in that aspect.

but let such a dream, so far out of reach, yet within his grasp, drift within his very being. it’s already enough that he’s the object of your attention (as of now, he thinks, and it sets an uneasy feeling in his chest) and that he’s doted on with your presence alone.

oh, truly has he been blessed with dreams.

kaeya.

the city of romance, wine, and, of course, wind, continues to course, akin to the windmills that never ceases to flow - it’s familiar. a home away from ho—

“i didn't know you were such a slacker.”

silence.

“…seriously? in front of the alchemy table?” a smile all too easily touches his lips. he’s fortunate enough that you’re still on the menu, lest you’ll see him break (code) character. “i only stopped moving for like, a good 10 seconds!”

god, you’re so cute.

he wonders what’s stopping him from talking to you, really, just to pull out a few more of those reactions of yours. he can’t see you, which is practically a sin in and of itself, but the way your voice peaks, dips, or drops and rises in tone is enough for him to forgive such a misgiving.

(in that way, he can at least imagine the look on your face.)

so he’ll do anything for your eyes to stay on him, even if it means saying his lines on loop every oh so frequently.

that just means you’re thinking about him for one more moment longer, no?

scaramouche.

ivy slithers; blossoms in bloom; dewdrops in the air as dawn dips on the dot of the horizon. for a moment’s rest, an idle thought - and yet,

“there's no such thing as pure freedom in this world. even the wind cannot blow on forever.”

“there’s something else i can blow o— wait.” you cut yourself off. he doesn’t see you (as unfortunate as that is) but he feels as though you are at least slightly embarrassed.

“…i did not just say that.”

…ridiculous. really.

that’s what he thought, yes, and yet, the heat on his cheeks tells another story. it took every fiber of himself to not tip his hat to try and cover his face.

even after these few months, he still hasn’t adjusted to your… remarks, and that’s putting it very lightly. you’re practically talking to a screen, don’t you realize that? at some point you must’ve realized that. honestly.

so he says.

but, please, do keep talking (to him and him alone, of course.) only he can hear your voice - the lilts, dips, all the melodious shifts in volume - so that he can feel close and closer to you.; t’s the one and only think that makes him feel as though you’re near.

even when you’re a screen and a reality away.

xiao.

a teardrop of rain. another. and another. until it started a downpour - unrelenting, pelting. a darkness descended upon the skies that sets in a sense of unease.

“many mortals fear lightning... incomprehensible. fear of something so common.”

“stand right outside while it happens and see how loud it is, i dare you.” he slightly shivers at the tone of your voice. if he had the choice to, he would’ve kept his words to himself - alas, it is only the series of codes.

in spite of that, he feels the rain. he feels its biting touch, seeping into him, and the cold that coats him. he feels the world underneath him with every thrum of thunder, the lightning scorching patches of land that seldom felt familiar as of late.

not you though. only the sound, so strider, as it echoes within the screen.

“AAA—”

he flinches. his eyes darts to and fro, as much as he can, to at least see a source of what caused such a reaction out of nowhere. but there’s nothing.

“xiao, xiao, i didn’t mean that, i take it back, please.”

oh. so you were referring to him.

the wintry touch of the rain isn’t enough to try and cool the warmth that simmered in his skin, and he finds himself wondering how he found himself under the eyes of a god, you, that held such care and fondness for him.

then again, it’s not as though he hadn’t held any reverence to them, so perhaps the feelings are… balanced. mutual.

that’d be a bit selfish of him to assume. but it’s not as though you know, of course. these selfish, tactless feelings are for him and him alone to keep and know - not even someone like you would pry it out of him, despite it being for you.

general taglist (open!) : @yzeniko, @starz222, @haliyamori, @taokives, @tartaglia-apologist.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #sagau x reader #sagau x you #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin impact drabbles #genshin drabbles #diluc x reader #diluc x you #kaeya x reader #kaeya x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #xiao x reader #xiao x you

[junosmindpalace]

i find discourse around the rdr women so...fascinating and infuriating at the same time. because a lot of the time it doesn't seem like rdr fans want to apply the same level of complex analysis to the women like they do for the men, but when they do, it still doesnt seem all that well-intentioned or that it does right by their characters.

this is a very long analysis/spam/defense so be warned :,)

even though the majority of sadie's character revolves around the fact she not only lost her home and her husband and was thrust into a new life of crime, but was actively struggling with robberies BEFORE the events of the game, people instead choose to focus on whether or not she had feelings for arthur or whether he actions in the game were actually impactful. she helped saved abigail and john when no else would, she fought alongside the men against the army, she helped john set up a stable life, she helped rob the payroll train, helped ensure colm’s death, she fought alongside arthur TIME AGAIN and took over in a leadership role when half the gang was absent in the guarma chapter. to say that she did nothing more except “be badass” undermines all of these contributions to the story that she was either at the forefront of or helped bring to fruition.

in my opinion, abigail is the EASIEST character to defend out of any of the women, and yet somehow she receives the most backlash from dudebros. I lose ten braincells every time i have to read a theory post over whether or not she slept with other camp members besides john, whether or not she was a rat, and about how much shes a nag. the woman has not known a moment's rest in her entire life. by the age of eight she was working in a cathouse. she was a child prior to then scrapping whatever money she could earn at her young age in saloons and dive bars as a woman and child just to survive as a orphan. jack's birth was clearly not planned, and she has voiced multiple times her grievances at the circumstances of his upbringing. everything she does is for a better life for her son: a life she never had. her constant nagging to get john to man up and be a father is for her son's benefit, not her own. she even says so herself when she tells him that she doesn't mind if a relationship between them doesn't work out, but to at least try being there for jack. she can't work a job because she is a mother living a life of crime and danger; she can't afford to leave the camp and her son unsupervised. she still does her share around camp. why would anyone blame her for not wanting to return to a life that has made her miserable, especially now that she has a child who she wants to model a good life for? many people seem to somehow also forget that she herself was a child when she gave birth to jack; only 17-18. she is 22 in the game in a bad situation with the father of her child and financially. she is doing her best to raise her son when she is not fully equipped to do so. how can anyone even blame her for being skeptical of john when hes affectionate in the epilogue when for so long hes been distant? she does not even ask much of john--just to be there for him sometimes, and to live honestly. she is also incredibly kindhearted. comforting other women in the camp, offering a listening ear, taking care of john when hes injured. she puts in her share of effort when it comes to finding a job in the epilogue and maintaining beechers hope.

molly is a young woman who is presumably incredibly far from her home where her family is, and trying to navigate a way of life completely unfamiliar to her. her stuck up nature comes not only from the way she was raised, but also dutch's uplifting affection and presumed lovebombing in the early stages of their relationship. shes even been suggested to be somewhat sociable until dutch and her became somewhat of an official item, in which she grew somewhat of a bigger ego with a mentality that she was his right hand. she deeply depended on dutch for her stability in every way, and its evident in her eventual spiral. she hated being seen as weak and pitiful as somewhat of an outsider among outsiders. she seemed to be close to no one besides dutch, who repeatedly cut her off when she attempted to talk to him about her growing feelings of anxiety, paranoia and sadness. the loss of the one thing that had built her up, coupled with immense tragedy she just wasnt used to, and desperate for a semblance of respect and dignity that she had presumably been all too accustomed to, of course she was going to come off brash and confront dutch about his distant, high and mighty attitude. it's why by the end, she doesnt care if she is killed: there is nothing left for her. karen's comment about her pretending to rat them out for the sake of attention is also interesting in terms of their relationship and parallels, which i dont see ANYONE talk about.

karen very clearly struggles with...a lot. she has even said so herself when talking with molly. she struggles to accept help, evident in pieces of dialogue where she brushes off concerned gang members about her drinking (mary-beth, arthur, javier), and when she seems somewhat ashamed and embarrassed having to have been rescued by arthur in the valentine mission (SAYING EXPLICITLY "i dont much like being saved"). she struggles with believing people have good intentions/feelings toward her, illustrated in the way she's constantly rejecting sean, yet seemingly disappeared further down the bottle after his death, and her conversation with mary beth and tilly about the world having no equal and fair place for women. her negative experiences in the world as a woman could also influence her view of the world, perhaps being why she finds herself somewhat hostile toward feminist mindsets and why she, for a while, enjoyed the outlaw lifestyle: it was her little slice of freedom. her hatred for the rich can also be because she has experiences as a poor woman, perhaps some direct experiences in which rich people have negatively impacted her life. though molly and karen don't get along through most of the game, karen actually tries to step in and help her near the end, and its this action + defending her after her death that shows she was sympathetic toward her situation and on some level able to relate to it, both craving some kind of love beyond superficial things.

@/cryptidcr3ature said it very well in a post i reblogged recently: mary is essentially "her brother's keeper and her father's caretaker". she herself lives somewhere middle class with traditional notions of the time impacting her views on arthur's lifestyle and anything below those middle class standards being deemed as socially unacceptable (which is evident from the very first letter mary sends to arthur, in which she seems confused on what a polite term would be to refer to prostitutes, who were obviously thought very lowly of in the time). i also don't think its fair to criticise her condemnation of arthur's lifestyle when pretty much all audiences, contemporary and not, including members of the gang, acknowledge that it isnt anything pretty. killing is not fun. running from the law is not fun. mary was not only influenced by her father's views of arthur (a person that, despite being horrible, she still deeply loves), but looking after her own family, herself, and arthur's wellbeing when she ended their relationship + suggested they run away. she had given him an opportunity at compromise. perhaps the first time, scared and unfamiliar with his lifestyle, she had offered arthur an ultimatum: her or his outlaw life, but later was willing to also leave behind her brother and father, two figures that tie her down and make her life more miserable than need be despite loving them very much, in order to settle somewhere with arthur and start over. her asking for arthur's help comes from a place of desperation and excuse to allow herself some semblance of stability when she hadn't had it; at least not since her mother and husband passed. if arthur refuses to help her, she is incredibly understanding and sympathetic. she does not lash out. if arthur does help, she is immensely grateful, and even tries to bond with him despite their years apart.

this post isnt to excuse some of their more negative behaviours and aspects of their characters'-- but im saying that they deserve to be fairly treated and analyzed just like any of the rdr men. many of them are young. many of them have unique challenges as women. that isn’t to say the men have it easier, but their struggles and less prettier aspects of their characters are always met with more sympathy than the women. why do arthur and john get passes as reformed absent fathers and criminals? why does sean receive sympathy when karen rejects his pushy advances? why does hosea get a pass at being better than dutch when he still groomed younger members of the gang for a life of crime alongside dutch? why does dutch get a pass by having his downfall be justified by tough circumstances? lets just be fair

#Also these are purely my own interpretations of the characters. i would LOVE to see other rdr women analyis posts #i’m VERY OPEN to hearing interpretations of the women and i understand some of these are purely for funsies and hcs and that’s all fine! #or comments in general #but they should not be treated as canon especially if they invalidate crucial parts of their characters #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption 2 #abigail marston #karen jones #mary linton #molly oshea

[postmodernbeliever]

stalker - fox mulder x female reader

at the fbi, your job is to watch who you're asked to. but on your own time, you watch fox mulder... and little do you know, he's watching you, too.

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my ao3 | word count: 3,518

content tags: sneaking around, embarrassment, stalking, longing, fox mulder is watching you, you are watching fox mulder, fox is a freak like you, fox likes weirdos, obsessive behavior, suggestive themes, you and fox just kinda eyefuck and nothing happens but god should it, cross-posted on ao3

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they all call him spooky mulder. what a nickname, spooky- even in its mainstream use, it has not lost its effect. there was always something off about him, something unsettling, which piqued your interest. you liked it so much that you paid special attention. it was your nature to keep tabs; you watched him come and go from his basement office, all the while pretending to be down in the gutter of the j. edgar hoover building for any other suspicious reason than taking mental notes on him. 

sure, it may sound creepy, but this is your job- this is why the fbi has you on the payroll. you’re what they call “the eyes and ears”, and in a sense, you don’t really have a job. your cover is to work in the filing department, faceless and nameless, and keep things organized as they go off to different sectors. you are the one sending weapons to evidence (or elsewhere) and case files to agents (or not) at the heart of the organization, where you just become the signing-off signature. but that office, where you blend in, is how they use you best. orders directly from the top tell you who to watch and when to come forward with information. but they never assigned you to special agent fox mulder. as was his infamous passion project dubbed the X files, this was your unassigned interest within the bureau- he was your freakish fixation.

you followed his case files as they came to inconclusive endings. you noticed when his hair grew too long. you knew he liked the coffee from the break room by a.d. skinner’s office, but he liked the creamer they kept on the first floor, so he traveled cross-complex to make the cup taste just right. you’d read every report and drowned in his philosophical, metaphysical droning, admiring the prose so overdosed on sleep deprivation and the ramblings of a transcending mind. it was like twisted poetry, how he explained what each case had imparted upon him. the way he viewed sociology, the way he viewed intervention both divine and damned, the manner in which he proposed the forces at play work and how they are ever-changing and insurmountable… god, he really is a genius. everyone may think he’s insane, or that his work is a waste of valuable resources, but fox mulder’s mind was one to be entertained, one to be challenged. to let his power go misrepresented or his purpose go any less than unabated would be a crime (if anyone asked you.)

see, this is why it could be considered weird. you revered him like a deity, unapologetically idolatrous of his brainpower- and from a more internal, girlish yearning, you loved his face. god, that face. you had examined his personal files many times in the safety of your office, tracing invisible lines over the photographs of him; caressing the scrapes and bruises documented from altercations with suspects, drooling over his academy polaroids stashed away from old physical exams. he still looked as young and charming as he did in his old school photos. a young oxford man, beautiful, traumatized, in need of proof. his work demanded his darkest instincts and most disgusting thoughts, and you loved him for it, or at least the idea of what it turned him into. and as far as word travels, fox mulder bars no personality incontinuities. after all the stories of the blood he’s tasted at crime scenes and the horrific pictures of murders and monsters plastered on the walls of his murky office, he was more than just spooky. he was freakish, and uncomfortable, and alluring.

now, fox is no idiot. in fact, to even think your interest was going unnoticed was a major misjudgment of his perceptive abilities; the man is the best analyst in the crime division, for god’s sake. he's never missed a clue. yet somehow, in the midst of your innocent stalking, you’d imagined he never saw you standing in his basement hallway, or mingling in the first-floor break room by the irish cream. naivety never crossed into your work, but it clouded your visions when it came to him. he’d seen you every time, shifty eyes fidgeting with blatant secrecy. when the man who didn’t believe in random events saw you more than once, he began following your lead. 

fox mulder kept copies of your personal files on his desk and sifted through them often, trying to get any information on you to substantiate why you paid so much attention to him. aside from his widespread suspicion, he also had a sense for intent, and he felt you were of no harm. even lurking in the shadows, there was a comfort to your presence. that might be his creepy personality being used to unsettling beings, but he didn’t mind. he liked catching you looking. he liked the way your suit jacket never matched your pants, but always somehow coordinated even in clashing patterns. he liked how your hair curled like french fries at the bottom, wide and loose. he liked how your manicured nails were always dark and sharp, and blatantly against bureau policy. fox knew you were as new to the fbi as he, so not new at all, but a child to seasoned agents; he learned of your ridiculous retention of information, and that you read twice the clocked words per minute of the average american. he knew of your graduation from yale and your speedy completion of the academy, as well as your elevated skill for firearms, which immunized you from a majority of field training. he knows about your secret connection, yet not who it’s with, and that it’s ushered you into a disguised deep-level position. in less legal ways of determining, the agent discovered you were the president of your high school’s history club, as well as the chief editor of the newsletter, and your family had a summer cabin on the oregon coast. you were smart, valuable, integral, even- and your talents were being wasted under cover of the monotonous filing department. he knew more than you realized. but even with his disturbing understanding of you, fox couldn’t figure out why it was him you watched- you had no connection to him, no link to his work or anyone who aimed to sabotage it. of all your secrets, he seemed to be the biggest.

you’d never expected anything to come of your little infatuation, but fox mulder didn’t like to let things linger. so when you just so happened to be venturing into the basement for something in the archived evidence room, he went into pursuit. you swiped your key card in the automatic door, and he followed you inside and made sure to close it nice and loud behind you. the lock clicked, causing you to jump out of your skin, and he laughed.

“not a fan of followers, huh?” the man teased.

“you just locked us in here, sir!” you nearly choked. you’d never seen him up close and personal. his shirt was a wrinkled mess, but it looked so nice rolled up on his fair-skinned arms, and his hair was a lot darker in person than it looked in the pictures. so were his eyes. 

“sir? no, nobody calls me sir.”

“what should i call you, then?” you groaned.

“agent mulder. spooky mulder. basement boy. whatever floats your boat!”

“well, then, agent mulder,” you elected, “you just locked us in here!”

“is that what you’re worried about? don’t worry, i'm sure agent scully will come down soon enough. or maybe not. maybe you’re stuck in here with me.”

you pivoted and began walking down the first aisle of archives, trying to come up with something to grab to avoid blowing your cover. fox kept at your heels, poking his head playfully into your eyeline.

“looking for something… you?” he inquired.

“that’s agent to you.”

“no name? ooo… spooky,” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you suppressed the fluttering in your stomach. you thought in frustration, how dare he make wordplay hot?

“says you.” you negated.

“so you do know me!”

“everyone knows you, agent mulder.”

“oh, sure… but you’ve been watching me, haven’t you?”

you stopped between the alphabetized boxes marked by Hs and Js, biting your tongue. you watched as fox sauntered around to the front of you, leaning nonchalantly against the filing shelf and smirking. his hand raised to wipe his mouth, and you analyzed the rough calluses and ink splotches carving uniqueness into his knuckles. a deep cut rested along his thumbnail down to his wrist. you recognized it as a healed-over wound from an inconclusive case months ago- something he claimed to have involved lizard men.

“i- i’m not sure what you mean.”

“you’ve been following me around, taking note of what i do. i see you every day. sometimes in the break room, sometimes in the bullpen by the car desk, sometimes shooting guns down at the range room on saturdays like i usually am. you’re always… floating around.'' fox mused, running a hand through his thick hair. a few pieces curled agonizingly over the frame of his face, and you felt like dying.

“must be coincidences.”

“you know well as me that there are no such things as coincidences,” fox stated, “there are simply events that occur, and more often than not, they occur causally, or in my case, through spurious correlation, but nobody can ever seem to pinpoint the third invisible factor that links one event to another, except for me.”

“speak english, agent mulder, would you?”

“you’ve been following me, which caused me to notice you, which caused you to pretend you haven’t been, and so forth,” he sighed, “but you know what i’m saying, don’t lie. you’re a yale alumni, graduated summa cum laude with a double major in psychology and international affairs. you’re one of the smartest women in the building. so why are you acting dumb?”

your stomach flipped as he stepped closer to you, leaning down in all his six-foot glory to meet your gaze. swallowing thickly, you shoved your hand in a box labeled CONFISCATED Ka-Kz and fished out the first object you grasped: a bloodied kazoo. wincing in embarrassment, you waved it in his face and grimaced.

“i'm just down here for this.”

“for a murder kazoo.” he deadpanned.

“…yes.”

you turned away and began heading for the door, but a strong palm wrapped around your wrist, halting your stride. fox tugged you back, and you tried to keep your drooling gaze to a minimum at how handsome he looked when he was searching for answers.

“if you tell me what you want from me, i'll let you go.”

“i don't want anything.”

“bullshit,” the agent rolled his eyes, “everyone wants something, agent, even you. you’re a bad liar, you know that? that’s why you’re not under deep cover.”

how little you know, you thought with a smirk. “well, not everyone is made for danger.”

“no. you’re just made for stalking.”

you seized up, “i am not stalking you!”

fox grinned, liking how worked up you were becoming. “then why are you always in the corner of my eye, agent?”

you huffed in desperation, weighing your options. you could,

a) keep lying.

b) tell fox the truth.

c) bang on the locked door and scream until someone saves you from spooky mulder.

none of your options were appealing, but you weren’t getting out of here if you didn’t choose. option A would drag it out, and option C would get him fired, so you only had one path if you wanted to control casualties and your level of embarrassment in one shot.

as he stood patiently waiting, tie so horrendously knotted that it took all your willpower not to tug him down by it, you gave in. 

“well, agent mulder, you… you’re interesting.”

“am i?”

“y-yes. you do amazing work. you catch killers. and you… write beautifully.”

fox chuckled softly, “you like my writing? what, are you the one who files my field reports or something?”

now may not be a good time to admit you tweaked the computer system to always assign you files submitted by agents between L and P in the alphabet just to be the sole individual who received fox’s files, so you withheld the truth a bit. it will come back to bite you in the ass when he looks into the signatures on his official paperwork, but oh, well.

“every so often,” is what you settled on. “you have something to say, and you say it like you’ve been contemplating the proper phrasing forever. it’s always so eloquent and intelligent and… fascinating.” you stopped praising him, feeling shame wash over you like a bad shot of vodka.

“well, aren’t you a regular fan?” fox rested his head against the filing shelf, eyes raising to the ceiling. his neck stretched open far enough that you could watch his adam's apple bob as he spoke. “glad to know my conclusions aren’t just the ramblings of a lunatic.”

“quite the opposite, agent mulder.” you blushed.

fox looked back down to you, and his puppy dog eyes bore holes into your cheeks. “i know a lot about you, you know. i know where you went to high school. i know you also use the irish cream for your cup of joe every day. i know you drive that baby blue car out in the garage, with the stupid “honk if you love labs” bumper sticker. but what i don't know, agent, or rather what i can’t figure out, is why you’re working in the filing department when you should be on an analyst team, or why you’re so insistent on following me around work. so, can you enlighten me with the truth?”

the truth. even when encountering you, his true colors show. you would be frustrated if it wasn’t so attractive how he interrogated you.

with a shaky breath as support, you said, “i want to know you.”

“is that all? you just… want to know me?”

“we don't work together. you’re too off-limits. my orders require me to stick to the mundane and watch from afar. but you, agent mulder, you are never mundane. you sit down here every day and crane over horrific cases, imagining the unimaginable, and all in the stuffy confines of a basement office that people would rather die than visit you in. y-you’re terrifying, you’re… fresh air.”

fox would never admit to it, but his entire body experienced pins and needles at the sound of your voice. in the least creepy way possible, you reminded him of the school librarian from his childhood- thin glasses, a loose blouse, and a voice thick and sweet, just how he liked his coffee.

“well, as the resident spooky one around here, i'd say you’re more freakish than me. you’re quite the stalker.”

“that's my business.”

you put the kazoo back in the box, frustrated you even attempted to jeopardize the secrecy of your nature for being down in the basement. fox’s hazel eyes followed your lethal nails as they replaced the object, and he wondered if they hurt when they grazed skin. a part of him really wanted to find out.

the man huffed, “so that’s it? no plans to kill me, or turn me in to the boss for my beliefs?”

“nope. just… watching from a distance.”

“you could watch up close if you wanted to. i could really benefit from someone so smart as you are, and someone who has such a knack for detail,” he teased. “you seem to have a way with words yourself, agent.”

“well, i appreciate the offer, but my hands are full as it is, agent mulder.”

“call me fox.”

in a flustered blackout, you blurted, “but no one calls you fox!” and the agent’s pupils blew wide.

somehow, deep inside, the idea of you knowing his secrets without ever speaking to him turned him on. you were a watcher, and as a profiler he’d even go so far as to call you a creep- a girl with a case of muldermania following his every move and sniffing the air when he walked past. he saw it in how your hands shook before him, how you craned your neck back in submission, how your eyes darted between his eyes and lips with fervor; how you swallowed nothing every five seconds in what he couldn’t discern between fear and anticipation. you had slightly sick motivations, so driven by the feeling his writing gave you and the idea of what it must be like to be inside his mind. and he liked it. he liked being studied, and understood, and having no say in it being done by a pretty girl like you. the man took another step closer this time, and you didn’t budge. this was one of his personal space invasions he’s so famous for- the kind people complain about when they’re put on the job with him. also the kind you’d dreamt of since you learned of his existence beneath the bureau.

“but you do when you think of me, don’t you?” he crooned, knowing how to play you from one freak to another. “when you think of watching me when you’re alone, and how we might interact. you call me fox in that pretty little head of yours, right? so say it.”

“w-well…”

“come on, don’t leave me hanging.”

you licked your lips as the heat of his breath danced across your face, and you flushed. “a-as much as i'd love to stay and talk, i have my obligations. not everyone is at your whim, fox.”

in a hormonal lapse, fox let out a soft, “mmm,” and flashed his adorable grin for you to fuss over. “that's too bad, then.”

“but,” you interrupted, “if you ever need, um, proofreading… or help, i can- you can, uh, maybe leave me a note? or something?”

“on your desk? in the filing department, right? in that office with the blue walls and the photograph of you and your chocolate lab, the one who inspired your bumper sticker, agent?” fox revealed, showing his intellectual hand.

with a dry mouth, you mustered a meek, “yeah, that’s the one.”

“good. maybe i'll spray it with my cologne, so you can savor the moment.”

“excuse me?” you squeaked.

“come on, agent,” fox winked, “just a joke. unless you’d like that, y’know, i won’t judge.”

and of course you would. he smelled like dust and paper, with a little sugar left from the coffee he drinks, and a little smoke from the candles he lights when they turn the lights off on him overnight in that dark hole of an office.

“you live up to your name, spooky mulder,” you bit your lip.

“so do you,” fox agreed, “what would we do without our eyes and ears?”

“… what did you just say?” you could barely muster a voice.

“you heard me.” 

fox slipped a hand in his suit pant pocket and revealed your business card- not the filing office one, but for your cover. you have no idea how he’d gotten one, because the only place you keep them is in the locked safe beneath your desk. you were in bold, with your full name, position, boss, and reserved extension line. you thought of fox breaking into your office at night- while you were at home having dreams you’d never admit to- and sifting through your belongings, touching all that was yours, cracking open your secrets. you shuddered as he placed the card gently in your hand, his fingers trailing against the veins at the center of your wrist, where he could feel your pulse hammering.

the man slid past you in a split second, heading for the evidence room door and jiggling the handle upwards. when it unlocked, he shot a premeditated glance towards your mortified face and said, “somebody ought to get this fixed. see you around, agent.”

just about shaking, you stood in the aisle, dizzy from the sound of his departure and how every word fell from his lips with such intention. after a moment of weakness in which you let yourself lean against the filing shelf and catch your breath, you straightened out your blazer and made for the door. when you came into the hallway, you saw spooky mulder standing in his doorframe, thumbing through a file with his silver-rimmed glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. you turned quickly towards the stairs and left him to his devices, those being the file that was full of pictures of you.

all this time admiring from afar made you feel like a fool. now you were stuck with a lingering conversation and the overwhelming urge to visit the archives again, because someone downstairs had his eye on you. he knew you by way of his own eyes and ears, and there are a few things that aren’t in your files he’d like to learn. 

and to think you were the stalker!

#Spotify #spooky mulder #x files #fox mulder #dana scully #fox mulder x reader #fox mulder smut #fox mulder fluff #fox mulder x you #fox mulder x reader fluff #something between smut and fluff idk #obsessive love #stalker #msr fanfic #msr #sculder

[iwanthermidnightz]

“Anyone considering the whole of Ms. Swift’s artistry — the way that her brilliantly calculated celebrity mixes with her soul-baring art — can find discrepancies between the story that underpins her celebrity and the one captured by her songs. One such gap can be found in her “Lover” era. Others appear alongside “dropped hairpins,” or the covert ways someone can signal queer identity to those in the know while leaving others comfortable in their ignorance. Ms. Swift dropped hairpins before “Lover” and has continued to do so since.

Sometimes, Ms. Swift communicates through explicit sartorial choices — hair the colors of the bisexual pride flag or a recurring motif of rainbow dresses. She frequently depicts herself as trapped in glass closets or, well, in regular closets. She drops hairpins on tour as well, paying tribute to the Serpentine Dance of the lesbian artist Loie Fuller during the Reputation Tour or referencing “The Ladder,” one of the earliest lesbian publications in the United States, in her Eras Tour visuals.

Dropped hairpins also appear in Ms. Swift’s songwriting. Sometimes, the description of a muse — the subject of her song, or to whom she sings — seems to fit only a woman, as it does in “It’s Nice to Have a Friend,” “Maroon” or “Hits Different.” Sometimes she suggests a female muse through unfulfilled rhyme schemes, as she does in “The Very First Night,” when she sings “didn’t read the note on the Polaroid picture / they don’t know how much I miss you” (“her,” instead of that pesky little “you,” would rhyme). Her songwriting also noticeably alludes to poets whose muses the historical record incorrectly cast as men — Emily Dickinson chief among them — as if to suggest the same fate awaits her art. Stunningly, she even explicitly refers to dropping hairpins, not once, but twice, on two separate albums.

In isolation, a single dropped hairpin is perhaps meaningless or accidental, but considered together, they’re the unfurling of a ballerina bun after a long performance. Those dropped hairpins began to appear in Ms. Swift’s artistry long before queer identity was undeniably marketable to mainstream America. They suggest to queer people that she is one of us. They also suggest that her art may be far more complex than the eclipsing nature of her celebrity may allow, even now.

Since at least her “Lover” era, Ms. Swift has explicitly encouraged her fans to read into the coded messages (which she calls “Easter eggs”) she leaves in music videos, social media posts and interviews with traditional media outlets, but a majority of those fans largely ignore or discount the dropped hairpins that might hint at queer identity. For them, acknowledging even the possibility that Ms. Swift could be queer would irrevocably alter the way they connect with her celebrity, the true product they’re consuming.

There is such public devotion to the traditional narrative Ms. Swift embodies because American culture enshrines male power. In her sweeping essay, “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” the lesbian feminist poet Adrienne Rich identified the way that male power cramps, hinders or devalues women’s creativity. All of the sexist undertones with which Ms. Swift’s work can be discussed (often, even, by fans) flow from compulsory heterosexuality, or the way patriarchy draws power from the presumption that women naturally desire men. She must write about men she surely loves or be unbankable; she must marry and bear children or remain a child herself; she must look like, in her words, a “sexy baby” or be undesirable, “a monster on the hill.”

A woman who loves women is most certainly a monster to a society that prizes male power. She can fulfill none of the functions that a traditional culture imagines — wife, mother, maid, mistress, whore — so she has few places in the historical record. The Sapphic possibility of her work is ignored, censored or lost to time. If there is queerness earnestly implied in Ms. Swift’s work, then it’s no wonder that it, like that of so many other artists before her, is so often rendered invisible in the public imagination.”

— NYT OPINION: Look What We Made Taylor Swift Do

#that part #simply amazing points

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Note: requested by an anon :)

Warnings: suggestive/lowkey smut. fluff, bit of angst, not much else I think.

pairing: Sihtric x you (f)

summary: Sihtric, a well respected Viking King, fell in love with you, a Saxon princess. A love seemingly impossible, but Sihtric was set on making you his wife.

wordcount: 3,7k

Masterlist

'Have you lost your tongue, my lady?'

You knew Sihtric all too well, at least, the stories about the well known Viking King, but you had never met him. Only your eyes had met his mismatched pair in passing yesterday for the first time, when he was brought to your father, a Saxon king, to negotiate peace.

From the stories, you knew Sihtric was unlike any other viking you had ever met or heard of. Sihtric was said to be reasonable, kind and fair. He truly wanted the lands to be at peace, just like your father wanted. And after seeing him briefly, you knew the stories of his appearance to be true as well; he was tall, well built, and his sharp, scarred face was gorgeous, as if carefully sculpted by God and his angels. The friendly yet cheeky smile he had given you in passing had set a fire inside you, along with the sight of his shoulder length hair, which was braided on top and on the sides, but loose and curly in the back. You desperately wanted to look back over your shoulder, blessing your eyes with the sight of the breathtaking man once more, but your mother was quick to give you a disapproving look when she saw your flushed face.

Which reminded you to not simply be fooled by his kindness and dashing looks; Sihtric could be a brute when times called for it. He was a fearless, skilled warrior, who had always felt most alive during battles. He had a hunger for blood and violence, and as kind as he could be, he could be merciless all the same. Even now that he was not a young boy anymore, but a man, and a king. And he knew peace was the only option for everyone in the end, as he did have a responsibility to keep his land and his people safe.

Sihtric had seen you quickly in passing as he was on his way to the king, and as soon as he laid eyes on you, he knew you were his. Whatever it would take, he was going to make you his wife. He even glanced back over his shoulder after he had passed you, and he liked the sight of your behind in that slim fitting green dress you wore that day.

And once Sihtric learned you were the king's daughter, a Saxon princess, he also knew that having you as his wife would be the perfect example of peace between Saxons and Vikings. Between the Christians and the Pagans. 

And he felt you were simply made for him.

Sihtric stayed over in your town for as long as needed, until peace would be agreed upon. And ever since he had seen you, he had kept an eye out for you. He was delighted to see you sneak out of the castle one afternoon, and he followed you quietly into the forest.

He enjoyed seeing a princess so carefree and happy on her own, as you explored the surrounding nature, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw you take a dagger out from underneath your skirt, which had been strapped to your ankle, to cut some fresh herbs and flowers. He smiled knowing you were probably able to defend yourself too, as well as a bit of a risk seeker, since you strayed far from the town, all by yourself.

Sihtric betrayed his presence when he stepped on a twig, which broke beneath his leather boot. You quickly turned to the sound, finding the Viking king staring at you with a grin, as he leaned with his shoulder against a tree, his arms crossed.

'Sihtric? I- I mean… King,' you said with big eyes, and made a slight bow.

'Princess,' the man smiled, returning the polite gesture to you.

'What are you doing here?' you frowned, a little taken aback by his impressive looks, 'are you… lost?'

'I am merely enjoying the sights,' Sihtric said, his soft, low voice and accent making your knees weak. 'Are you lost, perhaps, my lady?' he smiled.

'I know these lands better than anyone else,' you retorted, 'sorry if you hoped to find a damsel in distress,' you said, a faint smile on your lips.

'Oh,' Sihtric chuckled and stepped closer, 'you look like a lady who could take care of herself,' he smiled as he looked down into your eyes, towering over you, 'and I like that.'

'Hm,' you hummed with a confident smile, hiding that you were, in fact, very intimidated by him.

His sly smile, the kohl around his piercing eyes, the scars on his stunning face, his leather armour and the weapons attached to his leather belt… his entire being made your head spin. You had never been this close to a Dane before, and you certainly had never been this close to a man with a ravishing look as his before. 

'I saw you in the castle a few days ago,' Sihtric said.

You felt his warm breath on your face, which carried a light, pleasant smell of ale and apples, and you wanted to know if his slightly cut lips tasted the same.

'Been seeing you in my dreams ever since,' a soft, cheeky laugh escaped him, 'tell me, lady,' Sihtric breathed as his rough, tattooed fingers briefly brushed over your warm cheek to your chin, holding you in a pleasant grip, 'are you spoken for, hm?'

You inhaled sharply upon his touch and an arousing shiver went through your body. Your lips parted slightly, the same way as your heavy-lidded eyes looked up at him as you were completely under his spell. You sighed softly, not being able to bring out a word. Sihtric hummed with an amused half smile on his face, and he licked his lower lip slowly before biting down on it, awaiting your answer.

'Have you lost your tongue, my lady?' he chuckled, tracing his thumb over the outline of your lips as he still held your chin, 'or your confidence? Perhaps… that is what is lost in the forest?' he smiled and brought his face even closer to yours, noses touching lightly.

'N-no,' you sighed, 'I merely lost my… head.'

You giggled when Sihtric chuckled at your words, and his big eyes took in every inch of your face. You were perfect, he thought. A goddess. And Sihtric wanted you to be his goddess. His queen. His wife. 

'So, you are not the one who is to be married tomorrow?' he asked, cautiously.

'No,' you swallowed hard, 'it is my sister who will wed. My parents have yet to find a suitable man for me.'

Sihtric hummed softly again with a dangerous smile, still holding your chin up, and his eyes were as heavy-lidded as yours now, while he faintly nuzzled your nose.

'Perhaps,' he whispered and brought his lips to yours, touching lightly with each word he spoke, 'I should demand you as a part of the peace offering to me, my lady.' 

You closed your eyes as his parted lips held still against your own, but instead of a kiss, which you were desperately waiting for, you felt his lips curl into a smile. And another soft chuckle from him spilled out, down over your lips into your mouth, and when you opened your eyes upon the loss of his touch, he was already several paces away from you, glancing back only once to look you up and down again. 

And when Sihtric was far enough, disappearing from view, you allowed your trembling knees to finally give out under you, and you fell down onto a bed of grass and leaves, trying to catch your breath. 

And you were able to find your breath back, but you knew your heart was taken away and was now long gone; it belonged to the Viking King.

To show hospitality, Sihtric was invited to your sister's wedding. And while everyone had their eyes on the enchanting bride, Sihtric only had eyes for you. During the ceremony, during the feast, and during the evening celebration, his eyes never stayed off you for long. 

And he was still eyeing you up as he drank his ale, while couples danced in the centre of your father's hall later that evening.

You were not oblivious to the Dane's stare, and you met his eyes ever so often, only to look away as fast as you could again. And when you suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder and heard Sihtric's soft voice in your ear, asking you to dance, you thought you would faint right there at the table. Your mother gave you a warning look, but she didn't completely tell you off. You looked up at Sihtric and smiled, nervously, and he took your hand.

'My lady,' Sihtric smiled, and kissed the back of your hand before he pulled you up from your wooden chair.

You slightly hiked up your long skirt as he led you to the centre of the hall.

'I do not really know how to dance,' Sihtric admitted as he placed his hand on your lower back, pulling you closer, 'so forgive me, princess.'

You giggled and told him to just take on a steady rhythm, and keep it up, which he managed to do.

'Have you given it some thought?' he asked, looking down into your eyes with a soft smile.

The kohl around his eyes was darker today, making his duo coloured eyes pop out even more, and he took your breath away.

'Given thought to what?' you frowned, a little flushed.

'Becoming my wife,' Sihtric said, almost smiling shyly.

'Your wife?' you asked, surprised, quickly averting your eyes down to your feet.

'Yes,' he said, guiding your eyes back to his as he gently pushed your chin up with his fingers, 'I'd like you to be my wife. We could be an example,' Sihtric continued as you both moved your bodies smoothly and with grace, despite both not being the best dancers at the festivity.

'An example? Of what?' you tried to understand him, and it was so obvious, but you simply couldn't think when you were this close to him.

'An example of peace between two very different folks,' Sihtric smiled, and his hand moved down to your lower back again, 'it would be for the greater good.'

'You want me to be your wife for the greater good? To what… just unite the people?' 

You didn't want to be in an arranged marriage with someone who only pretended to love you. You felt offended, and Sihtric took notice.

'My lady,' he said, and stopped dancing as he took you to the side, 'I do not mean to offend you. I think you are breathtaking, unlike any lady I have ever seen. And I want to make you mine. The fact that our marriage could bring peace to these lands is merely a coincidence, but it was never my initial reason.'

'So…' you felt yourself blush upon his hard stare, 'you would… love me?'

'I would love you,' Sihtric said with a sweet smile, 'and I would honour you,' he leaned in closer as his voice became softer, 'I would treat you with respect, always. And I would protect you. You would not just be my wife, you would be a queen.'

'A queen?' you frowned. 

Amongst Saxons, there was no such title as a queen. If you married a king, you would simply be a Lady, but never acknowledged as a queen.

'My queen,' Sihtric said, smiling as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, 'and the queen of my people. You would rule along with me, by my side, until my dying breath. And I promise I will give you the world, my love.'

You felt lightheaded once again. You would gladly marry this Danish man. You knew he was right, it would also be a strategic move to unite the people, but you also knew he was truthful when he said he would love you and respect you, you could see it in his eyes. And as you were about to lean in for a kiss, a Saxon prince suddenly interrupted, asking for you to dance with him.

Sihtric didn't like it, but he knew you were obligated to do so. So he gave you a firm nod, took your hand, and pressed a soft kiss to the back again before he let you go. And when you looked back over your shoulder, with sad eyes, Sihtric gave you a cheeky smile and a wink.

And he'd keep his eyes on you again all night, until you were escorted back to your chambers, to get a good night's rest. But your mind kept wandering to the Dane, and the pure hunger and lust you felt for him were unbearable.

The next day you persuaded one of the maids to allow you to bring Sihtric's lunch to his room. He was offered a chamber in the castle to stay in ever since he arrived, which you only learned about that morning. Reluctantly, the maid handed you the tray with food, and you anxiously walked up to his door.

You knocked three times and you heard Sihtric's pleasant but muffled voice, telling you to come in. He expected it to be the maid again, who didn't even bother to look at him all this time, because he was a Dane, so Sihtric hadn't bothered to cover himself up as he was staring out of the window in only his undergarments.

You gasped at the sight of his muscular, scarred back. And when Sihtric turned to thank whoever brought the food, you both froze. But soon, a playful smile appeared on the handsome man's face, and he stepped closer.

'One dance with a Dane and you have lost your title as princess, and became a maid?' he chuckled.

'No' you giggled, and Sihtric loved the sight and sound of it, 'I guess… well, I just wanted to see you.'

'You wanted to see me?' Sihtric tried to keep a serious face, but his eyes betrayed the fact that he was clearly amused to have you in his room and he stepped closer.

'What if I want to take your offer, and marry you?' you asked.

'Then that is what we will do,' he shrugged, 'no one stops me from getting what I want,' he said darkly and took your face in his hands, 'and I want you. Ever since I first saw you.'

'What if my parents will not accept-'

'They will,' Sihtric said, confident.

You stared at each other. The tension in the air was thick, and Sihtric moved his hands down to your waist, pulling you closer.

'Tell me,' he smiled, leaning his forehead against yours, 'have you been thinking of me the way I have been thinking of you?' he asked, squeezing your hips as he exhaled sharply, 'because I can't get you out of my head. And I think your people,' he paused, only to try and fight a grin, to no avail, 'I think your people would deem my thoughts about you… unholy.'

'Oh,' you breathed, your hands moving up his toned torso, 'I- I am not a … devout Christian, really,' you whispered.

'No?' Sihtric asked, teasingly, 'so you wouldn't mind…' he brought his tattooed fingers up to your cleavage, slowly pulling the laces of your dress loose.

'No,' you smiled, shyly, 'I wouldn't mind.'

'Then let us waste no more precious time,' Sihtric husked, and he pulled you with him towards his bed.

You quickly undid the rest of your laces and let your dress fall down to the floor as fast as you could, while Sihtric made haste to remove his breeches. You both laughed softly as he pulled you under the furs with him. And finally, after days of waiting, his lips crashed onto yours. And he kissed you unlike any man had ever kissed you before. Hungry, eager and lovingly.

Sihtric moved himself on top of you, gently, and he immediately pulled you back in for another long, heated kiss. Your hands trailed up his warm back, into his curls, while he held your face carefully in his hands, as if you were his most precious possession.

'That Saxon prince,' Sihtric rasped, in between kisses, 'do I need to worry about him, lady?'

'The- the one I danced with last night?' you sighed, enjoying his lips and tongue on your neck.

'Mhm,' Sihtric hummed, before he gently tugged your lower lip with his teeth, driving you wild with lust.

 'N-no, I have no interest in anyone else. Only you,' you smiled, eagerly pulling his lips back onto yours again.

It has been quite a while since you had, secretly, laid with a man. And you were desperate for your, possibly, future husband. Even if it was considered a sin to your people.

'Good,' Sihtric grinned with a sigh, as he teased your wet folds with his hard member, 'or else I'd have to kill the poor man. Can't have any competition,' he gave you a sly smile before he pecked your lips, and then pushed his length slowly inside you. 

And he smiled as you gasped at the feeling of him inside you. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he kissed you hard and intensely, his facial hair pleasantly scratching your skin as his tongue explored your mouth, until you broke the kiss.

'No one could even begin to compete with you,' you whispered and nuzzled his nose softly, 'you are unlike anyone I have ever met before.'

'As are you, my lady,' Sihtric whispered, and kissed your lips as he slowly started to thrust into you, 'gods,' he sighed, 'you are all mine. I will make you all mine.'

'Mhm,' you hummed, satisfied at the way he moved his hips against yours, 'you feel so good. B-but you'll have to be… quick before someone notices I'm gone,' you said in between heavy sighs, as Sihtric continued his pace.

'Hm, no, princess,' he chuckled in your ear with a soft moan, 'I'll be taking my time with you. I have to treat you good.'

And you only walked out of his chamber, sorely, hours later. Sihtric had refused to let you go before he had kissed every inch of your skin and had made sure you finished as good as he had. And as that was only your first time with him, you couldn't imagine how things would be once you got to know each other better.

The next day you tried to hide your beaming smile as best as you could when you had breakfast with your family. You had proposed the idea of marrying Sihtric, and explained to your parents how it would benefit everyone. Your mother didn't want to hear any of it, but your father had a thoughtful look on his face as you spoke, yet he didn't speak.

After what felt like hours of endless arguing with your mother, you huffed and got up, going for one of your routine walks in the forest. And just as you hoped, Sihtric had kept an eye on you again and followed you.

'My princess,' he whispered in your ear as his arms snuck around your waist, pulling your back against his broad chest, 'how are you, my lady?'

You smiled at the warmth of his embrace, and the feeling of his strong arms around you, but you sighed quietly at his question.

'I fear we will not be together,' you said softly, sadness spilled out with your words.

Sihtric was quiet, only his sharp in and exhale replied to your grave feelings.

'Say something,' you whispered after a moment.

'We will be together,' he said and spun you around, cupping your cheeks, 'I promise. Because I have my mind set on you, lady,' he smiled and kissed your lips.

'But what if my parents refuse?'

'Then they will bring war upon their people,' Sihtric said curtly, 'I will have you, no matter the cost.'

'Sihtric,' you took a step back, 'you can't do such things, nor even say them!'

'For you?' Sihtric frowned, 'I can and I will,' he shrugged and pulled you closer again, 'because I have fallen for you.'

Several days later you found yourself arguing with your parents again. Your mother was still fiercely against the idea of you marrying a viking and leaving on horseback with the pagan. Sihtric and your father had discussed the marriage as well, but your father wasn't fully convinced yet.

Sihtric was told by one of your trusted maids about the discussion you had right now, and he was quick to shove past the feeble guards and he kicked the large doors to the main hall open with his leather boot, and he stormed in.

'I will marry you daughter, Lord King, with or without your permission!' Sihtric snarled, 'along with the guarantee that my people do not have to convert religions, she is all I ask for. And it is up to you, Lord, if you will let us marry in a time of peace, or in a time of war. And my reputation speaks for itself,' Sihtric hissed and pulled you closer, 'I am a man of my word.'

Three years later.

'Sihtric, stop,' you giggled while your husband smothered you with soft kisses, as he had hidden you both underneath the furs.

'Stop, my love?' Sihtric chuckled, his familiar rough hands explored your naked body underneath his own, 'I have to be sure there is another pup in your belly,' he kissed your lips with a soft hum, 'before our boys wake up.'

'More? Really?' you sighed with a light chuckle, 'you want more children, my dear?'

'Do you not?' he frowned, 'you said you wanted more if the lands stayed at peace, and well… they still are.'

'Well- I mean… I guess,' you smiled as Sihtric continued his soft kisses all over your face, 'maybe one more.'

'One more,' Sihtric smiled wide as he looked down at you, 'one more will make me the happiest man alive.'

He brought his body in between your thighs and cupped your cheeks, 'the sun will almost rise,' he whispered, 'I fear we have to be quick today.' 

And as soon as Sihtric's lips met yours, and his hand slid down to your hip, you heard your two sons in the distance. One was laughing, the other was crying.

'By the gods, why do they wake up before dawn?' Sihric sighed. He shook his head lightly as he got off you, knowing there was no time to hump anymore today.

You snorted and got dressed in your tunic, ready to find out what chaos your sons were up to. Which could be anything, as they had taken after their father, who already brought you more than enough chaos from time to time. 

'And you want one more, darling?' you asked as you took his face in your hands.

'With you?' Sihtric smiled and nuzzled your nose, 'I want as many as possible.'

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#sihtric kjartansson #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric fic #the last kingdom #sihtric #tlk #the last kingdom fic #sihtric kjartanson