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sohnric · 3 months

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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

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

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Congrats on 5k! For the request thing— what about Price, doing some wedding/engagement ring shopping? He wants something special, and something perfect! I think some of the other boys would like to propose with a family ring, but he REALLY wants something nice for his lover, even if she'd be happy with something small and simple.

Give that man extra grey hairs trying to choose between tiny, miniscule details that only a trained jeweler would notice.

—The Perfect One

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [He stares at the rings under the glass with an acute narrowness to his eyes. He inspects every one as if a bomb might go off at any second, not missing a single detail in the metal.] ❞

The Captain’s lips thinned and once more the Jeweler’s face fell with an inward sigh of disappointment.

“Next,” John places the ring back down to the glass counter, the rows and rows of engagement bands inside lit up by background lighting.

“Sir, it’s nearly closing time. I don’t think you’re going to find one today—” Blue eyes stare and don’t blink at the man behind the counter; with nearly three solid seconds of eye-to-eye contact.

The Jeweler clears his throat.

“L…Let me go check in the back.” John grunts and the man scurries out of sight after locking up the previous ring.

They just weren’t right, the Captain admits as he sighs long and rubs a hand over his beard, scratching at his cheek. Some rings were too simple, others too gaudy or far too intricate—there had to be that perfect medium somewhere.

But hell, this was the last jeweler in the city. John scowls at himself; glaring down at the glass and at the hundreds of options inside; all having been taken out and inspected as if they were bombs out in the field. The epitome of no stone left unturned. No man left behind.

No ring left behind.

“Bloody fuckin’...” The Captain trails off, harshly grunting his anger.

If you could see the blatant annoyance in John’s eyes, you’d laugh and take him by the face, kissing his chin before speaking about blood pressure. As if he wasn’t constantly one bullet away from getting his brains shot out of his skull.

It was the thought that counted.

The man closes his small eyes and tilts his head to the side, fingers tapping the counter once.

He just…he wanted it to be everything you would want. All he needed was a plain band, truth be told, but for you, he wanted that ring to show everything that you’d been through together. The good and the bad—past and future. An even mix of love and devotion swathed around your finger to join you both in a promise you’d already been keeping for years.

And none of these blasted bits of metal and stone were good enough.

“If I’d of known it’d be this much trouble,” John grumbles, looking outside at the steadily darkening sky. “I would have just made my own, yeah?”

But it was too late to change career paths, God forbid.

Yet the man really wonders if it’s the ring that’s bothering him or the fact that he’s nervous to finally bend a knee. He knows he shouldn’t be, rationally there’s little chance you’d refuse—this wasn’t exactly a new relationship by any means. You’d both taken your time with things over the course of years.

This was just a matter of when and not if.

Still, the sink in his gut didn’t let up.

“Here,” the Jeweler returns and John snaps back to the shop, moving away his clenched hands from the counter to fold them over his chest as the man brings over a small jewelry box made of reddish wood. “This is it—after you go through that,” he splays his hands in defeat and sends a painful glance John’s way. “You’ve fully gone through my entire stock. Had to dig through all of my displays to find it.”

“What’s wrong with them?” The Captain asks in curiosity, his deep accent pushing through as he grabs and opens the box with two hands—firm and not really hoping for much.

“Nothing!” The Jeweler exclaims, mildly offended. “They’re old pieces—antiques. They don’t match the rest of the designs I have out.” He blinks, thinking hard before he puffs out, saying, “They’ll cost you extra!”

John slides an unimpressed glance upward and frowns, but the rings in the box do more than he expected them to.

He blinks, slightly taken aback.

There were only two in there, swathed by their precious sides in deep navy blue silk to hold them up. The glint of gold and platinum makes John’s breath still as the Jeweler begins talking about the ring that the Captain then takes out carefully.

“Circa 1940, the mixture of gold and platinum makes a unique and yet beautiful mix of class and antiquity with this piece. I would call it Victorian in style, judging by the detail around the raw gemstone—diamond, by the way. The ring is both simple but utterly striking when you look at the finer details, Sir.”

John ignores him, large fingers delicately bringing the object closer to his eye and moving it this way and that. He even goes far enough as to place it on the counter and take a step back to gaze at it from a distance, his eyes narrowed and wrinkles pulled in.

It was stunning. But, above all…it reminded John of you.

The Captain’s lips twitch for a moment, his tension slowly dripping out of him like water.

It made him huff a chuckle, but the Jeweler had been right about this one—the ring was simple, but the deeper intricacies of carved metal built it up to a point of elegance. A reverence and dedication to the craft.

Dedication.

John slowly hums to himself, going back and picking the ring up another time. It sits in his palm, such a little thing, but, oh, so heavy. It wasn’t a shackling weight, no—it was the deep press of purpose.

John closes his hand.

“How much?”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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that-sweet-jester · 2 years

Text

Just a bunch of bad guys

A little background below ⬇⬇⬇

HA I TRICKED YOU, it's not little, it's a lot!

Alright, this was just supposed to be an attempt at character design of my own after I read bunch of Superhero AUs, but I got carried away and created some lore :')

-WILBUR-

Full Name: Both him and Techno had been adopted by Philza at young age and took up his last name, but wanted to keep something of their own. Hence, both have their nicknames "Soot" and "Blade" (not last names, they don't know what they were).

Alias: I wanted to base all names of the Syndicate on Greek mythology, however I had hard time finding something for Wilbur. I came close to calling him Apollo, but most of the things attributed to this god, aside being the patron of music, just didn't align with what I had in mind for him. Thus, ta da, "very original" Siren. Even tho, it's not really a name name - "lured sailors to their death with a bewitching song" just fits too well.

Powers: Hypnotic voice was an obvious choice, but I wanted all of them to have two main abilities. Thus, after long search I stumbled upon enhanced hearing, and hear me out. Wilbur wears mask over his eyes (he can see through it) but it gives the illusion that one of his senses is gone, and what they say when one sense is taken away? Another one amplifies >:D And I just think that someone whose powers are based on sound would be more sensitive to it. It's not like he has super hearing for miles away, he can just hear well what someone is whispering like few meters away form him :p

OK THAT'S IT. I think that's the most I've ever written on this site. To anyone who've read the whole thing: ily <333 thank for reading my rambling and sorry for any grammatical errors, English is not my first language and I was too lazy to do a spell check.

-TECHNO-

Full name: Explained before. I'm sorry, but I just can't separate those names from them, there is no Techno without Blade.

Alias: Now I spent a lot of time on this one, bc I just couldn't settle on anything. First I thought about Ares, for being the patron of blood lust and warfare, but just, it didn't work that much for me, I just think there should be more meaning behind the name. Then I searched more, I stumbled on Polemos and some other I can't remember and finally settled on Perses.

PERSES was the Titan god of destruction. He was the father of Hekate, goddess of witchcraft, by the Titanis Asteria ("Starry One"). Perses' name means "the Destroyer" or "the Ravager" from the Greek words persô and perthô. Hesiod inexplicably describes him as "preeminent among all men in wisdom"

And I just think this one's perfect. God of destruction? nice. "The Ravager"? Techno loved mc ravagers and I just can't pass this coincidence. "Preeminent among all men in wisdom"? Man's crazy smart, also as I'll explain more in a moment, Techno knows things he shouldn't really know, and he's almost always ahead of everyone, so, check. Also, my fav goddess aside form Persephone is Hecate so, additional point.

Powers: Enhanced durability is pretty explanatory. Mans could be thrown through a building and only his hair would get messy, maybe a bruise here and there and a lot of complaining, but that's it. You need someone equally powerful to bring him down. NOW, hyper awarness, man oh man, so I NEEDED to include the voices somehow. And I never saw them as something negative in his case. Of course, during combat, they start to demand bloodshed and make him sometimes loose control or result in sensory overload. BUT most of all, thanks to them he knows things - names of people or locations he never seen before, where the punch is coming at him from, answers to weird questions, who stole his food, and why is it always Wilbur, etc etc. So, yeah I thought that writing it down as hyper awarness, might work.

Additional info: His eyes are always red, but his sclera changes color to black when he's out on a mission or fighting, basically when the voices become louder the eyes become more intense in color. As civilian he wears red glasses most of the time to somehow mask the real color.

-PHILZA-

Full Name: You have no idea how much I wanted to write him down as Philza Mine Craft.

Alias: So, I also struggled to find a name for him. I was battling between Thanatos or simply calling him The Angel of Death. But then I was struck and everything became clear. I love fanfics where Phil was a hero before he saw how bad the system is and decides to become the "bad guy" who's actually kinda good, but does bad things sometimes. So, why not use it. In my version, before he became a villain, he was known as Angel, the Hero Committee wasn't as fully developed, so the heros still could stay anonymous, that's why even now they don't know his real identity. After he left he decided to take up new alias and therefore Thanatos was born. Person with black wings associated with Death, also now has a scythe??? Fits perfectly. And that's how people from calling him Angel started calling him The Angel of Death.

Powers: He has the ability to hide his wings and manifest them whenever he wants. I thought about making them just permanent, but I think it's just cooler when suddenly you see a character spring out a pair of big wings out of their back out of nowhere for the shock effect. (no i wasn't just too lazy to draw them, what are you talking about)

Avian telephaty - I also just couldn't not include the Chat. Wherever you see a cloud of crows you know the Angel of Death is nearby. He can communicate with any bird that is a raven, crow or rook. They're his eyes and ears.

Now, I can't leave without giving some credit to the writers that inspired me:

The Oath of Hippocrates by Melatonin_High

tommyinnit's clinic for supervillains by bonesandthebees (bonesandcacti)

Welcome Home Theseus by SoulfirePhoenix

All of them are on Ao3 and are super cool, so give them a read <3

Also, I'm planning on drawing Vigilante Benchtrio but we'll see how much that'll take me xd

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sillysillygoofygoose · 3 months

Note

Hey I just saw Ur account and I was wondering can you do a nanami protective x Y/n

But y/n is wearing a really short skirt with a shirt revealing her breasts pls ?

Oooommmmgggg, yesssssssss 😩😩 I love protective Nanami because he's such a gentleman... thank you so much, anon, for your ask!! Hope I did it justice 🤭 kinda angsty, I'm sorryyyy ☹️

I've Got You ♥︎

"Where are you headed again, sweetheart?" Your boyfriend's baritone voice echoed through the hall of your small apartment while you finished zipping up the back of your flimsy skirt.

Three gentle knocks wrung out against the thin wood of your bedroom door before you gave the 'O.K.' and Nanami gently twisted the knob, peeking his head in.

"Just going to that new bar... for Gojo's birthday? You remember, don't you?" The innocence of your tone and the slight pout on your face as you reviewed your makeup in the mirror almost distracted him from your new outfit. Almost.

"Oh." Was all he said as his eyes slowly fell to your toes, not yet secured in the stiletto heels sitting by your desk, slowly walking up to the puckered line of fabric ghosting across your upper thigh. His eyebrows lifted as did his eyes, and finally, he landed on the deep cleavage top you wore, clinging and encasing your chest.

You turned towards him in confusion at the monotone, borderline uninterested sound of his singular word.

Kento stared back at you, the tiniest smirk on his sharp features as he admires the necklace hanging on your neck, falling between your collar bones. A simple 'K' intial, adorned with small diamonds.

You wait for him to say anything else, characteristically quiet, but shockingly unopinionated.

"Hm. What time do you have to be there?" Nanami's face once again flattens as he peers down at his watch, adjusting the cool silver on his skin.

"About 9:00, I think...why?" You ask, preoccupied with hanging other wardrobe options back on their designated hangers. What seals the deal for Nanami was the way your tits puff out from the neckline of your top as you lean over the bed.

He turns on his heels, leaving your room but not before adding, "Be ready to leave in thirty."

...

This isn't really Kento's scene. At all. Loud music, bright lights, and sweaty strangers. He wasn't the happiest when he found the "new bar" was more like a lively club. He sticks out like a sore thumb. With his hair gelled back, a white button-up shirt, his beige suit jacket, and stiff dress pants, he was undeniably Kento. It was almost laughable, the way he looked so out of place.

Gojo was ecstatic to see his buddy, and the only thing getting Nanami through the night was the feeling of your arm around his waist. Until it wasn't. You were nowhere to be seen after he handed you a twenty dollar bill to get a drink for you to share. Nanami's eyes were shifty as he nodded away Gojo's yapping before holding his hand out, a simple, "Excuse me," leaving his lips as he began stalking through the crowd to find you.

It didn't take long before he saw you, wrist stolen by an unknown lanky man as you were looking opposite to him, seemingly trying to ignore him.

Nanami mumbles small 'pardon me's' as he pushes his way through the mass of heated flesh.

...

You couldn't feel more uncomfortable... almost guilty. You thought the outfit was a little much, but you felt good. You LOOKED good. But now you didn't feel good at all.

You walked up to the bar, smiling as the bartender quickly took your order and crafted your drink. Naturally, you were approached but quickly made it known that you were taken, happy, and uninterested. He didn't care, though. He wasn't even listening, too focused on looking down your shirt.

You attempted to stutter your way out of the situation, grabbing your drink from the bartender, fleeing before you could collect any change. You didn't make it very far before you felt a hand on your wrist and a drop in your stomach.

...

Nanami felt anger bubble up in his chest as he caught a glimpse of tears prickling up in your eyes. He pushed against people more aggressively, finally making his way to you.

Without thinking, he grabbed the man's wrist, replacing yours with his hand, politely (harshly) shaking the man's hand as if he were in a furious business meeting.

"I don't think we've met before. You know my wife?" Nanami smiles, not letting it reach his eyes as he uses his other hand to pull you into him by the waist.

"Your wife? Uh, sorry, man, I didn't see a ring." The man no longer seems so confident as your stoic man finally drops his hand.

"It's too expensive to wear to a place like this. Wouldn't want something to happen to it. I assume it costs more than your yearly income." Kento stands up a bit taller as he feels you mush your face against his ribcage, resting into him. Trusting him.

The man mumbles something along the lines of, "shit dude, my bad," before stumbling off, conquered.

Kento turns to you, examining the red marks on your wrist before bringing it to his lips.

"'M so sorry, dear." He leans down so you can hear him, only making your increasing sniffles more prominent in his ear.

"No, no, Ken. Don't apologize. I just - I... can we please go home? I'm sorry, I should've know. Shouldn't of worn this." Tears stream down your face as you feel the guilt over take your heart, eyes filling with salty shame.

"Don't say that. You look very beautiful, sweetheart. That man was just an animal." Kento rubs your back as he leads you to the exit, shrugging away your worries about leaving without saying goodbye with a, "I'm sure they'll understand, honey," and a kiss to the forehead.

Once you get outside, Kento places his lightly burnt-shaded business coat on your shoulders, picking you up bridal style as he makes his way down the empty street. You inhale deeply for the first time since you walked into the stuffy, overcrowded club, taking in the smell of fresh air and your sweetheart. Your heart beats in tune with his as he holds you close, resting his head on yours. And you're safe.

Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo

Thanks so much again to Anon! I love asks, they're like little presents 🤭

#fem reader #jjk x reader #age difference #size difference #jjk #kento nanami #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu nanami #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen #💗asks💗

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furrysmp · 5 months

Text

decided to go sunbringer designs for once. I have so many words oh my god

so. uh,

I am so normal about sunbringer joel smallishbeans so normal I swear. he's planning to throw the o from his name at scott btw.

... he and scar are related but I'm not explaining further until the actual fic about it comes out because there's so much plot significance in the smallishbeans.

... grian. has a book. that he borrowed from the Library. it's very relevant I swear the concept of the library is a plot point.

Also grians eyes are technically green! With a bit of purple and just. a layer of Dark over them to make them less neon green. its not in his genetics to have neon eyes. unlike scar and I swear their eye colors are relevant but like in a weird queerplatonic scarian dl based bit in the grian chapter of the fic

Mumbo is a long cat and being held by me specifically those hands are how I draw my mc skin. I wanted to draw him as this meme since 2021 but he's very hard for me to draw so I took the one time I'll ever draw him and did this.

Jimmy is. a creature. that has bird features but also cod features bc again half of the plot of sunbringer is based on empires 1. Also the bird he's holding is singing. And joel is stealing the song bc he has music type magic.

Scott! Is the one guy I can talk about! Because he already appeared in the fic. He's part ender dragon and like. a child of stars? I have a lot of times I drew him before I think but idk how much of it I uploaded before so yeah. Please ask me about sunbringer scott smajor he's one of the only ones I can talk about and he has so much lore going for him he's so dear to me

impulse is. technically part ender dragon too? the specifics will be explained in his chapter of yhiwu (alongside. a lot of magic lore. like a lot. I have half that speech written already it's basically looking the empires fic in the eyes and going "fight me uwu")

And because impulse is aligned to shadows skizz gets to be some form of light dragon descendant? Like light isn't directly an element in the magic of this universe but it does have an equivalent in the element of Life, which connects to truth and love, whereas shadows and theatrics (and storytelling in general) is always aligned to whatever element is considered dark; in this magic system, being Void.

Tango is looking up at mumbo. thats all. I don't have a lot of notes because my tango is just a little guy.

(Etho is checking smth on his smartwatch and also doing his best to ignore bdubs rn bc bdubs is in his villain arc/hj)

... ngl the only note I have on the bdubs design is that it's accidentally inspired by my human design for the main character in the show I'm writing. Bracelets and sparkly eyes and a t-shirt and. Crimes.

also not much on the cleo design she was just fun to draw but the implications of her existence are spoilers and also not really visually indicative bc idk what a "zombie hybrid" would look like so she just looks. funky. her background is all stitched together btw I finally had a use for the dashed lines brush :D

martyn and ren are. BIG spoilers. But only to like chapter 5 of the current fic. I will say I highly enjoy their existence tho. Also my ren designs always have hawaiian patterned shirts its a personality trait he seems to possess. Also his glasses are like. a hologram? bc his ears are Dog so he cant have normal glasses w like. the things that go behind ur ears.

lizzie is. also very important. she gets the two animals thing like jimmy bc axolotl and cat were her empires animals. also her buns are heart shaped I saw some fanart of that and its really cute so I also have that. and she's also looking at the long mumbo! very confused.

bigb. scares me. like yeah secret life really be mans villain arc. I tried to reflect that by actually straight up mirroring his eyes and having him be. the only guy looking straight at u. he can see u. u can run but u cant hide. also he gets cookies. also also drawing facial hair is hard he's the only time I ever managed to make facial hair look. normal. ever. wont happen again.

gem is being adorable and also definitely a deer hybrid dont mind the magic or stuff its fine (her chapter is. third in the roster. I literally just need to finish the impulse chapter to convince myself that its ok to upload her immediately after ch2).

and pearl! who we know bc she gets first chapter of the fic and thats already out. her eyes are a bit like moons btw. also she's doing magic back at gem which is cute I think. idk.

also half of them have fancy hair shines. like joel having beans that get progressively smaller. or pearl having moons. :D

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yeonjuns-beanie · 7 months

Text

Halo Pt.1

warnings: a lot of plot, 18+, eventual smut (unprotected sex, biting, marking, light blood(play), hair pulling, body worship, dub-con, light fear play, more may be added upon update)), yandere themes(stalking, manipulation, etc)

summary: in your free time you do freelance writing, doing interviews with people most would consider strange and unusual. when you recognize that one of the regulars in your coffee shop only visits in the evening, you pose the question of whether you can interview him. upon his agreement, you realize this is unlike any other interview.

a/n: i have no idea where this came from but its been rotting my brain. hope whoever finds this enjoys it! I'll be uploading the second half in a few days, school has been taking up a lot of my time lately.

word count: 6.7k

Vampire!seonghwa x female reader

pt.2

The hustle from the afternoon-evening rush finally settled down, leaving you a moment to catch your breath and rest your nerves. You favored working night shifts because of how routinely easy it was compared to mornings, but the one thing you loathed was the mini rushes. They lasted far too long and happened in increments that were too close together. It was like everyone forgot that the coffee shop existed and they needed to get their final fix in before the building closed.

Appreciating the minute silence of no customers coming in through your drive-thru, you focused on the somewhat comforting static of the conversations happening in your cafe. You were able to take a simple delight in the smells behind the bar. Varying roasts, some pastries that had been left out, and the all but familiar smell that was the store.

With the dying down of customers now that it was just an hour before closing, you waited for your arcane regular to make his nightly appearance. He was painfully beautiful, clad in all black, and a man of few words. You never really got a gauge on who he was. Now that you thought about it, he was probably the only regular that you didn’t have an extensive background on.

As you restocked cups and lids, the bell on the door jingled signaling you to look up at who walked in. Stunning per usual, the heels of his dress shoes echoed through the lobby. Taking in his outfit, his chest was adorned in a black, hollow collar long sleeve, black slacks to match, and a designer tote to pull it all together. His hair was carefully styled, a few gelled strands falling to the front of his face.

You threw the empty plastic holding the cups in the trash and walked over to the register a wide smile pulling at your face. He was probably the only regular you enjoyed and you were thankful at how peaceful the shop had become so you could focus on your interaction.

“Hi Seonghwa! We doing your usual today?”

A small smile pulled at his lips as he exhaled a contented breath through his nose.

“Yeah, just the usual, but let’s do a large today.”

“Got some extra work tonight?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Punching in his order, you realized you weren’t logged in on the till so you took the liberty of giving him one of your markouts. Finishing typing in your numbers, he handed over his card. You waved your hand and frowned, declining his payment, and when his brow furrowed in confusion you spoke up.

“It’s on me today.”

You walked over to the cup caddy and began making his drink as he followed you over to the opposite side of the bar.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But you’re in here basically every day. While I’m at it, you want a pastry?”

An airy laugh left him as you lidded his drink securing the cup with a sleeve.

“I’d love to, but not tonight.” “Alright, well, you let me know if you need anything. Besides that couple in the corner, you’ve pretty much got the night crew to yourself.”

Thanking you, he walked over to the table that might as well have his name engraved on it. It was tucked in the corner of the building right next to the front windows. You assumed he claimed the spot as his own because he had a view of who was coming in and out of the cafe at all times. Pulling out his laptop from his bag, you walked to the back to finish up with most of your closing tasks so you and your coworker wouldn’t have much to do when the clock stroked 9 p.m.

As you finished the last of the dishes, you peek your head out to the front checking to see if any last customers had straggled in. Realizing that Seonghwa was the only one left in the cafe, you decided that this would be your best shot to ask him what you’d been thinking about for weeks. Smoothing out your apron, you walked over to him suddenly feeling your nerves fire up. Seonghwa noticed you first and immediately figured you were coming over to tell him you had closed. Closing his laptop, he apologized as you approached.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve lost track of time. I’ll be out of your hair.”

You threw your hands out in front of you, silently trying to halt his actions.

“Oh, no no, w-we’re not closed yet. We still have about 15 minutes. I was actually coming over to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

Seonghwa raised his eyebrows and relaxed into his chair, he motioned for you to sit in the chair across the table. Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to swallow your anxiety realizing the gravity of what you were asking him. You were no longer abiding by the standard customer-employee interaction and were hoping desperately that you wouldn’t be overstepping a boundary.

His presence was just unexplainably intimidating. He held himself with such a poise you couldn’t even imagine what he would look or act like unhinged. There was never a thread out of place when it came to his appearance and only now were you aware of the fact that you were sitting across him in your dirtied apron, bleached stained pants, and the mural of coffee and whipped cream that painted your shoes.

Violently shushing the voices of panic in your head, you looked him in the eye and found the confidence that struck just moments prior.

“I hope this doesn’t come off as offensive or anything, but I run a blog about people who most might find strange and unusual and I interview them. Why they chose to subscribe to a certain type of style, what their influences are, if they have projects they’re working on, and everything in between.”

You watched him nod following along and waiting for you to continue. He was giving you his undivided attention and it excited you, to say the least.

“With that being said, I find you alluring in a way that I can’t seem to apply a reason to. Combined with the intimidating aura that you ooze naturally, I would love to have you featured on my blog next–if you would be comfortable with that.”

There was a faint smirk pulling at his lips and you couldn’t tell if it was coming from amusement or if he was planning on a way to humiliate you in a manner so sophisticated it would be hard to decipher if he was denying your request.

“So…you find me, intriguing?”

“Very. You’re like what I would imagine a modern vampire to be and it’s fascinating to me.”

You watched his body freeze for a moment, an austere gloss swiping across his eyes. If you blinked at the wrong time you would’ve missed it, but you caught it and it made the gears in your head begin to turn. Seonghwa’s eyes honed in on you, searching for an answer that he wasn’t quite sure of yet. There was a particular intensity that you hadn’t felt from him before and as he leaned forward, resting his head on his folded hands, you began to feel small in front of him for the very first time.

It was a feeling you’d never felt before. You almost felt similar to prey until his velvet voice cut through the static silence of lingering words.

“When are you free next?”

“I’m off tomorrow actually.”

“Does the evening work for you?”

“Perfect.”

“Alright.”

He agreed.

It took a moment to realize he so passively agreed to your interview. You honestly did not expect him to agree or let alone give you the time of day to explain yourself.

“I-I, uh, great! Um, can I borrow your phone so I can save my contact in there?”

Reaching into his pocket, he handed you his phone with such grace you wondered if he was human at all. Adding your contact quickly, you sent a text message to yourself so that you could save his number after the fact. His voice pulled you from your thoughts, you almost forgot he was sitting right across from you.

“I’ll send you my address tomorrow evening. I figure you’ll have more content to interview if I let you see my place of residence and you can really gauge my character.”

Standing up from the chair, you nodded and thanked him again, still aghast that he agreed so easily.

“I’ll be looking forward to your message.” You began to walk back towards the bar but stopped in your tracks.

“Would you like a refill before you head out?”

“No, I still have plenty in here, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Seonghwa stood up, pushing his chair in and grabbing his bag. As he made his way to the front door you waved to him, a full grin plastered on your face. Once he turned the corner of the building, you locked the doors, 9 pm finally flashing across the clock.

Your coworker emerged from the back, drawers of money in her hands.

“Stevie gue-”

“-Did you lock the door?”

“Yup!”

Walking back over behind the counter you stood over your coworker.

“And you’ll never guess what happened.”

She hummed, looking up at you and giving you the go ahead to continue.

“So you know Seonghwa right?”

“The vampire regular?”

“Yeah yeah. So I was thinking to myself while I was cleaning how he’d be the perfect person to interview for my blog. I don’t know where, but I found the courage and asked him if he’d be willing to and he agreed.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m being so serious.”

The gravity of the situation hit you again as Stevie screamed into her hand and a slew of explicatives left her mouth. Your mind started to wander as to why he agreed so quickly. Was he lonely? Did he find you attractive? Or was he simply just not as intimidating as you pegged him to be? Stevie pulled you from your thoughts as she finally calmed down.

“So when and where are you meeting?”

“Tomorrow night at his place. Speaking of which let me text him real quick.”

“You’re going to his house?!”

“He said that it would quote give me a better gauge of his character if I saw his place of residence.”

Stevie paused looking up at you with a growing smirk.

“That man is Dracula for sure. “Place of residence”, he has to be ancient.”

“Oh shut up. He could be 532 years old on top of it and I still wouldn’t think twice about it. He’s so hot it’s easy to let the quirks slide by.”

Walking over to tear down the espresso bar you were using, Stevie was in a fit of giggles.

“An old ass man breaking your dry spell is so you coded I hate it.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled as you dumped the espresso beans in their corresponding cubes before stacking them on the counter.

“Who says I’m gonna have sex with him?”

“Bitch if you don’t have sex with him I will slap you personally for being so stupid.”

Both of you erupted into a fit of laughs, and both of you reverted to your normally loud selves now that you were in the comfort of a closed store. Taking the few dishes left to the sink in the back, you peeked your head out yelling to Stevie.

“You cool if I finish the dishes and then I’ll help wipe down whatever you don’t have finished out here when I’m done?”

“Yeah, I kinda wanted to mop anyway.”

Smiling you walked back over to the sink and pulled out your phone to save Seonghwa’s contact to your phone. As you clicked done in the upper right hand corner, a message from him popped up in a banner on the top of your screen. When you clicked on it, it was his address, and at the end of the text, it was signed ~*Seonghwa.

As you were beginning to write back a grey bubble popped up, his text following soon after.

Seonghwa: Wasn’t sure if you had the chance to save my number to your contact list and didn’t want to leave any doubt that it wasn’t me texting you.

Y/N: no worries! i appreciate the clarity

Y/N: i also wanted to thank you again for agreeing to do this with me. i have so many questions

Seonghwa: Well, I hope you have plenty of paper or a recorder of some sort because I have quite the story to tell.

You felt butterflies flutter in your stomach, feeling utterly giddy that this astute man was texting back and forth with you. He seemed so untouchable and yet in this moment he seemed so much more lax than his typical personality. You hearted his last message and typed one last text before you began running the dishes.

Y/N: so excited to hear all of it :)

Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you threw the pieces of the espresso bar into the dishwasher and quickly hand washed all the pieces that couldn’t be tetrised into the washer. Grabbing a rag, you wiped down the dishes you hand washed and placed them in their respective places out on the bar. When the dishwasher beeped, you went back to open it so all the steam could be let out allowing the dishes to cool off while you wiped down the counter with Stevie in the front.

Satisfied with how the counter looked, you grabbed the last remaining pieces of the espresso bar and locked them in place in the bar. Putting the cleaning pills into the machine, you and Stevie did a once over of the store with your eyes. Nodding to each other, you took off your aprons and went to grab your stuff in the back of the store. Gathering all of your items, you and Stevie clocked out and walked to the front of the store.

As Stevie set the alarm for the building, she yelled over at you while you were waiting at the front door.

“Has he texted you yet?”

“Lol yeah, he has.”

The alarm beeped, signaling that it was clear for you to open the door, you held it open waiting for Stevie to come around the corner. As she locked the door, she turned around and looked at you motioning you to hand over your phone.

“It’s nothing serious, yet.”

“Oh, so you’re hopeful.”

Stevie wiggled her eyebrows at you making you giggle as she read over the quick interaction you had with him.

“He wants you so bad y/n/n.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Oh, so being delusional is only okay when we're miles away from the hot person now?”

“No, but-”

“-No buts.”

You smiled looking down at your feet trying to hide your excitement from your friend.

“Alright, well while you dream about Twilight for the rest of the night, I gotta get home to feed Ghost. I’m pretty sure she’s meowing her head off right now. Text me when you get home, okay?”

Stevie held up a finger gun as she began to walk to her car and you did the same thing as you walked to yours.

“I will.”

Getting in your car, you took a decompressing breath releasing all the burdens from the day at work. As you turned your car on, you knew your mind would be clouded with thoughts of Seonghwa and what you were gonna prepare for him.

The drive home felt more like a teleportation home but nonetheless, you were glad to be facing your building. As you got out of your car, you felt that instant dread that you’d been feeling for weeks now. It was always a sudden feeling but you couldn’t ignore it. With the defensive instinct of hunted prey cascading your nerves, you looked around the parking lot near your apartment and noticed nothing out of the ordinary. You just couldn’t shake this feeling.

Silently grateful that one of the closer parking spaces was open, you locked your car and briskly walked towards your building. Running up the stairs when the feeling of panic that something maniacal was behind you washed over you again. When you reached the top of your stairs, you placed your back against the wall looking out across the different buildings, and still nothing seemed wrong.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your head and opened the door to your apartment. Walking in, you quickly shut the door behind you, finally feeling safe within the walls of your home. When you clicked your lock shut, your dog, Jasper, ran to you from your bedroom. Seeing him eased your shaken nerves, but only momentarily before he was distracted by something.

His happy tail lowered and tucked between his back legs as low growls echoed through him. Slowly, he stalked over to your window and looked out toward the other buildings in the complex. Your blinds open just enough so that a small amount of the streetlight could peek through.

Not wanting to think about whatever was on your tail anymore this evening, you walked over and shut the blinds completely so that neither Jasper nor you could see out the window. Grabbing the remote to your TV, you put on something random just to have background noise so you wouldn’t have to wrestle with the silence. Putting down some food for Jasper, you made yourself a quick dinner so you could begin drafting your questions for tomorrow.

A half an hour soon turned into a full hour, then that one hour quickly became two and when you finally looked at your phone again it was 1 am. Satisfied with what you came up with, you closed your notebook and got yourself ready for bed. Finishing your routine, you checked your front door to make sure it was locked. A pit of worried confusion settled in your stomach as you noticed your top lock was left unchained. As you tried to reason with yourself you settled confidently on the fact that you probably just forgot when you rushed inside. Besides, the main lock was still set in place.

You called for Jasper and opened the door to your balcony so he could use the bathroom one last time. While you were outside, you didn’t feel that oppressive feeling but you still felt like you had eyes on you and Jasper confirmed your suspicions as his tail tucked again and he stared into the distance. Fear began to freeze your body again and you wanted to get back inside as soon as possible.

“C’mon bud, let’s go to bed.”

Jasper shook his head, his collar jingling in the night air. Walking inside, you locked the balcony door and shut off all the lights in the main area of your apartment. Calling for Jasper to follow you to bed, you laid out all your blankets before patting the mattress to signal him to come up. You turned on your LED lights, needing some sort of light to quell your nerves about how you’d been feeling since you got home. The deep purple, shining a tone similar to a black light only lit up a corner of your room. It was just enough to provide you with comfort and the promise of sleep started weighing on your eyes.

The weight of Jasper on your sheets calmed you down and slowly sleep overcame your body. Your last thought before drifting off was not about the anxiety you felt but rather the excitement for the solo time you were going to have with Seonghwa. If only you could’ve discerned that the anxiety you felt was also courtesy of the man you were bewitched by.

~`*`~

Your body felt like it was made of stone. You’d never felt pressure like this before let alone right out of sleep. Your eyes slowly pried open and the comfort that normally showered your room was nowhere to be felt. You tried to move your limbs, but as you made the conscious effort to move them, they stayed restrained in place. Stuck, as if they were chained to the mattress.

As you tried to roll your body over off of its back, you realized that dead weight feeling was possessing your entire body. You were paralyzed, trammeled to what was once the solace of your bed. There was a damning pressure on your chest and it was beginning to feel like you couldn't breathe. Any breath that you could’ve caught was now lost to terror as you realized you could only move your eyes. As you scanned your room, you noticed Jasper standing on the bed, low growls escaping him as he pointed to a corner in your bedroom.

As you followed his stance your eyes met a tall, statuesque figure standing in the corner of your room, its presence was boring into you. If you could see its eyes, you’d imagine they’d be all black, a harrowing intent lying behind them. The figure's energy felt familiar but the terror of the unknown overshadowed your reason. Fear tingled your body and you wondered if anybody would be able to help you.

Your mind raced, wondering if this was a twisted realistic dream or if you were about to meet an early demise. The figure barely seemed to move, let alone breathe, but the energy radiating from it was horrifying. You felt like you could faintly see a smile forming where its face was. You tried to scream, but it felt like your mouth was sewn shut. Not sound or even a fraction of the movement of the scream escaped your body and it left you feeling hopeless.

Closing your eyes, you hoped that maybe you’d be able to force your body back to sleep and whatever that thing was would dissipate into thin air the same way it appeared. A tingling feeling slowly raced through your body and you felt your limbs become your own again. Opening your eyes back up, nothing was standing in the corner anymore and that hot, oppressive feeling that was clawing at the room had faded.

Jasper curled himself back onto your bed seemingly calmed down enough to go back to sleep. You couldn’t ignore the steady racing of your heart while you kept your dark lights illuminating the room. You were subconsciously just waiting for something else to appear. Grabbing the remote to your lights, you switched the color to a soft white, needing to have some sort of brightness to allow you to feel safe in your room again.

~`*`~

As you tossed and turned, the hours quickly ticked by and the once navy sky peeking through your window was now turning into a canvas of pale blues and greys. An unmistakable gloom casting over the early morning sky. You couldn’t even force yourself back to sleep, the anxiety you felt being too great to even think about sleep. Every time you closed your eyes it felt like heat was bearing down in your room, an unseen presence feeling disrespected that you would dare to ignore it.

Sighing, you sat up in your bed and reached over to your blinds to open them a little bit more, allowing more natural light to brighten your room. For some reason, you felt that if you had nature’s light spill into your room, whatever anxiety you felt would dissipate enough for you to get some type of sleep. Checking your phone, the time flashed 7:32 and you were satisfied enough with the amount of light that was coming through. With Jasper tucked into your legs, you found a comfortable enough position and felt your mind relax enough so that you could will yourself to sleep.

When you woke up again, it was still overcast and everything was just a bright grey color. It was oddly eerie. Some wind picked up out of nowhere and coupled with the melancholic tone of the weather already, you felt like you were in your own personal thriller. You just hoped that nothing else out of the ordinary was going to happen today. When you checked your phone and it flashed 12:52, you were pleased that you at least got some sleep. Scrolling through your notifications, you saw you had a few texts from Stevie.

steviee: share your location with me before you forget

steviee: cuz i know you'll end up at his house and then i won't know where you are

steviee: i know i have the address but what if you go somewhere else

steviee: r u asleep still what's goin on

You chuckled at your phone, your friend never failing to make you laugh when you needed it. It almost made you forget about the panic you had felt all night.

y/n: yeah i just woke up sorry

y/n: i had fuckin sleep paralysis and couldn't go to sleep until it was light outside smh

y/n: location should be shared now btw

steviee: damn, did you see the hat man?

Stevie hearted your message saying you shared your location and her text about seeing “the hat man” brought you some needed joy. Having someone to be able to joke about the whole ordeal of last night made it seem not so terrifying.

y/n: i literally couldn’t tell you who it was all i know is that it scared tf outta me

steviee: right..right

steviee: well, lemme know when u leave tn and good luck

y/n:tyy :3

Shutting your phone off, you decided you should probably start getting ready so you’d have enough time to get yourself together as well as grab anything extra you’d need for the interview. Getting up, you stared at your closet trying to come up with something that would be enticing but professional enough to not raise any flags. You couldn’t deny that you had a bit of a crush on Seonghwa, but it seemed like such a distant reality that you tried to not pay much attention to it.

You wanted to impress him though. He always looked so polished and you wanted him to feel as allured by you as you did him. The thought crossed your mind that anything you wore would be better than the work clothes he always saw you in, so you settled on something middle of the road. You threw a form fitting, black longsleeve, a black skirt, and your leather jacket on your bed and then sauntered into your bathroom to run through your routine.

Between your shower, and dancing in between songs while you did your makeup, it quickly became 4 pm. Getting dressed, you gazed over your appearance looking for any immediate imperfections you had to fix. When you found none, you sprayed your perfume, grabbed your shoes, and walked out into the main room of your apartment. Opening the door to your balcony, you let Jasper out while you set out some food for him, figuring that you’d be out fairly late with Seonghwa’s interview. Setting his bowls down, Jasper came prancing inside, rubbing up against your leg. As you locked the door, you showered him with affection and then grabbed your purse to make your way out.

You were leaving a little earlier than you expected, but you needed to get a new notebook for Seonghwa and you wanted to grab something to eat beforehand. Every new interview you did with someone, you wanted to grant them their own notebook, making the experience feel more personal to each individual. You had a growing collection piled in your room and you were plenty excited to add another. Looking back over your apartment to make sure you didn’t forget anything, you looked at Jasper.

“Be a good boy and watch the house, baby.”

You flicked on the light so he wouldn’t be left in the dark and you made your way out of your apartment. When you stepped out the door though, your foot landed on something else other than the concrete. When you looked down, there was a leather bound journal with gold embellishments on the spine. You picked it up, inspecting it, and to your surprise, it seemed brand new. You wondered if it was maybe a misplaced delivery, but there was no package sticker on it.

Seeing it as a blessing in disguise, you stuffed the journal into your bag and walked down the steps to the parking lot. One less stop meant you’d be able to debrief with Stevie before you made your way to Seonghwa’s. Driving the memorized route you had for work, you got there fairly quickly with traffic having died down. When you got out of your car, the sun was slowly tucking itself behind the mountains, casting an angelic golden glow across the sky. Walking into your job, you were happy to see Stevie at the front so that you could get the free food you wanted without the hassle.

“What are you doing here?”

“Coming to get breakfast so I don’t pass out in front of that man.”

“It’s literally five, babe.”

“And it’s still my breakfast.”

Grabbing a sandwich from the display case, you slid it across the counter gingerly and looked at Stevie your lips downturned and your eyebrow slightly raised.

“You want a drink?”

“No, just a water, if I have coffee I might actually shit myself.”

You waited on the wall closest to behind the counter and continued talking with your friend trying to calm your nerves. Every time you had a flicker of a thought about Seonghwa you felt your heart race. Stevie’s voice pulled you from your thoughts which you were thankful for because they were about to spiral again.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re going on a date.”

Panicked you looked down at your outfit and then back to Stevie.

“Why? Is this too much? Should I go change?”

Stevie laughed and it confused you, furthering the thoughts of you looking like a fool. The timer on the oven beeped and she put your sandwich in a bag and turned around to hand it to you.

“No, it’s not too much. Just wanted to see you squirm. You look hot.”

Your eyes lacked amusement, a deadpanned glare shot her way.

“Not funny.”

“You needed to loosen up, I could smell the tension on you the moment you walked in. Hopefully he fucks it out of you.”

“Stevie!”

She looked over her shoulder smiling at you as she walked back over to the register to help a customer. As you began to eat your sandwich, your phone vibrated in your front pocket. Pulling it out, your heart rate sped up reading that the notification was from Seonghwa.

Seonghwa: Good evening. I hope this message finds you well. I’m ready whenever you are.

Why does he talk like that?

You didn’t realize you had zoned out until your screen started to fade to black, your dazed reflection staring back at you. In your staggered panic, you gnawed away at your sandwich not even recognizing that you finished it until you went for a coherent bite and chomped on nothing but paper. Crumbling the bag and throwing it into the trash, you grabbed the water that Stevie left on the counter and almost got away with an Irish goodbye.

“Text me everything!”

“I will!”

You pushed out of the glass door and got back into your car. Digging through your bag, you searched for your lip products before you started the vehicle. Feeling that you had fretted over your appearance enough today, you threw everything back into your bag and loaded Seonghwa’s address into your phone.

You turned up your music, needing something to drown out the endless panic you were having now that you were actively making your way to his house. Your GPS said it was only about a ten minute drive from where you were so at the very least you were thankful to be close to an area you were familiar with. The further you drove the route to his house, the more you realized it was taking you in a similar direction to where you lived.

Passing your apartment complex, you began driving in an area that was visibly more prestigious and affluent. The few apartment complexes turned into luxury mansions and you could only imagine from the outside, the grandeur of what the homes looked like inside. Turning on one last residential street, you turned into a development that had a guarded gate.

“Hi, Y/n L/n for Seonghwa Park on 7772 Seraph Lane.”

“Alright. I need to scan your ID.”

The guard waited at your window as you rummaged in your bag for your wallet. Pulling out your ID, the man scanned the barcode and walked back into the small building. As he typed your info into the computer, he quickly printed out your guest pass.

“Seems like you were already in the system. Have a nice day.”

Thanking the man you tossed the pass up on the dashboard of your car. As you drove through the neighborhood, you took in how beautifully everything was maintained. The road you drove down was shrouded in willow oak trees, almost hiding the darkening sky. As you made one last right, you pulled up in front of his house. Or, mansion you suppose.

His front yard was well kept, a willow tree hanging on the lawn. The front of his home was imposing and you felt out of touch being in such an environment. His street was quiet, almost unnervingly quiet. There was no excess noise from any main road, and with nothing but a few cars adorning the driveways of the surrounding houses, you felt unusually small. Out of place. Stepping out of your car, you grabbed your bag and fixed yourself one last time in the reflection of your car door. Locking your car, you took a deep breath and walked up Seonghwa’s elaborate driveway finally clicking into a semi-professional mentality.

Ringing his doorbell, you waited patiently to see him on the other side. When you heard the lock of the door click out of place, one of the large, red oak double doors opened to reveal Seonghwa in one of the more relaxed outfits you’d ever seen him in. He was clad in black jeans, a mesh long sleeve draped across his upper half, and a pair of leather mules on his feet.

A wide smile spread across his face as his eyes met your own. A glint of sheer mirth expressed across his features.

“Y/n! So glad you made it, I hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle to find. Please, come in.”

Timidly bowing your head, a light chuckle left you as you stepped through the front door.

“Oh, it was no trouble! Me being in the system already made the guard situation a breeze.”

Closing the door behind you, you watched him as he began to speak again.

“I pray you didn’t find that alarming in any way, just wanted to lessen the amount of effort it would take to get beyond the gates.”

“Oh, I figured that was the reason. I appreciate you looking out for me.”

A gentle and pleased smile spread lightly across his lips, his eyes closing only for a moment before he continued being so hospitable.

“Can I get you anything to drink before we start?”

“Um, a water would be great.”

“Come.”

Seonghwa motioned his hand to follow you and as you trailed behind him you gazed at everything you could inside of his home. The ceilings were intimidatingly tall and his house was spotless, somehow more well put together than the man himself. He had macabre and abstract artwork and busts decorated his walls and some end tables. The hallway to the kitchen seemed so far away from the front door, but when you entered the room you were left in even more awe.

“You have a beautiful home, Hwa–Seonghwa! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“-It’s quite alright, y/n. You can call me Hwa if you’d like.”

Nodding silently, you swallowed your embarrassment. Sliding you a glass full of water, you thanked him and he motioned for you to follow him again. Walking through his home, you felt like when Belle trailed behind Beast when being led to her quarters for the first time. Everything your eyes landed on either looked ancient or worth a million dollars. The hallways were long and imposing and you wondered how he lived here all alone.

Maybe that’s something I’ll add to ask.

Approaching a white door at the end of the hallway with golden fixtures, he opened it and guided you into what you assumed to be his study. He had a table set up with chairs facing each other and he pulled your chair out as you entered the room with him. Seonghwa sat across from you, smoothing out his top as if he was being filmed on camera. Setting your bag on the table, you pulled out your phone opening up the voice memos to serve as your recorder and you pulled out the journal that you found at your front door.

Just like last night, there was a glint in Seonghwa’s eyes that you would’ve missed if you didn’t look at the right time. You barely furrowed your eyebrows, not trying to draw attention to something so small. He had a microscopic smirk pulling at the side of his mouth, almost like he was trying to hide a smile from forming. Taking a deep breath, you looked up at Seonghwa, that glint now gone and substituted with his usual stoic gaze.

“Ready?”

“Indeed.”

Pressing record on your phone, you opened up to the first page of the journal massaging the page so that the spine would bend to your liking. Going to fish in your bag for a pen, you realize it was the one thing that you forgot. Sighing you looked to Seonghwa.

“You wouldn't happen to have a pen would you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Getting up, Seonghwa walked to another desk in the room that was accompanied by a computer. Walking back over to where you were, he handed you a black and gold fountain pen that had the same exact markings that were detailed on the spine of the journal you picked up. Hesitant, you took the pen from him, your brows still furrowed as you looked at him to thank him. There was a cold, obsessive tone to his gaze as he watched you inspect the markings on the pen.

“The same markings are on this journal that I found left outside my apartment today! That’s so weird. Kinda cool, but still weird.”

A little extra air escaped his nose as he looked at you with amusement.

“How peculiar.”

You felt your gut stir in anxiety for a moment but swallowed the feeling as quickly as it came. Blaming it on the fact that you had finally started the interview, and you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. Surely, he hadn’t left the journal, he didn’t even have a fraction of an idea of where you lived. A fiendish levity was cast upon his face when you looked up at him again, settling in to ask him the first question.

His gaze was heavy. Unwavering as it seemed he was creating a mental image of this moment to save forever and needed to capture every minor detail.

“So, what drew you to a town like this?”

~`*`~

taglist: @bellamuerte1987 @seonghwasstar

#ateez smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fanfic #kpop imagines #seonghwa fics

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ceridescent · 1 year

Text

leviathan of light: martini shot

➛ actress!wanda maximoff x female!reader

summary: wrapping up the film shooting on a heart's day wouldn’t be your ideal course of action if you have plans with your loved ones. and so is a bullet vibrator in you when you're the star of the show. but as long as it's inconspicuous, it's no problem.

tags: bottom!wanda, top!reader, use of sex toy, semi-public, mommy kink, cunninglingus, hair pulling, & brief thigh riding.

word count: 2, 218

author’s note: here it goes!! first part of the series! i hope it's not hot enough you'd burn. :-)

part i of lush ministrations | series masterlist | main masterlist

the paintings adorning the vaulted ceiling, proof of faith and wars, encapsulating the sacrosanct space. the divinity of the cosmic beings, the galvanic echo of every worshiper who ever knelt before the cross, a prayer for every miracle.

the whole crew of leviathan of light have gathered for the final shooting, excited spirits witnesses of the flamboyant setting, and none other than the two main stars — two goddesses molded into human forms, brazening each other accompanied by swords belted at their hips, prepared to swing with one mistake — fulfilling their roles as the camera rolls.

you know a mistake occurs when the director scratches the front of his neck, a blush forming there.

“do you really want me? or is this your way of getting back at my brother..?”

“CUT!”

no one notices the curl of your lip when the director yells the magic word, each and everyone filling the cathedral fixated over the two actors who are now having a small talk — one who provides encouragement, whilst the other spurting genuine apologies. “maximoff! what was that all about…”

“i’m so sorry, william. too much going in my head at-right now. can i take a 10? 15?”

you intently listen to the hollywood star who simultaneously stammers and sighs, bringing her best doe-eyed face; the one that brings her everywhere. you try your best to mask a smirk.

“of course, wanda.” an exchange of an understanding nod with a squeezed shoulder and you’re gritting your teeth, unable to take your sight off wanda’s exhale. pressing the circled button, you hear her faint yelp at the crawling pressure in her, each passing second sending her to hell. no one is supposed to touch her like that.

wanda shuts her eyes tight whilst biting her lower lip, crouching as she grips her sides, causing the clingy man to help her stand, putting his hold around her hips to support her, touching her in places only you could.

an uneasy groan erupts from your throat as you approach both co-workers, veiling your fume with a faux smile. “you okay?” placing your hands above where the director’s are, you tighten your grip around wanda’s waist to pull her over to your side. there’s nothing subtle with how you pushed his body away from her to stray, finalizing the interaction with, “i got her, thanks, william.”

“do you want to rest for a moment?”

miss hollywood nods her head, “yes but, maybe in the dressing room instead? i need-“

“say less, wanda. i’ll take care of you,” mumbling the last part is essential, shielding the exchange to the public eye. you escort wanda into the designated room, your arm possessively clutching her waist as she makes an effort to walk as normally as she does, declining the possible speculation that it’s like there’s something in between her thighs.

“please baby!” wanda maximoff moans the moment you lock the door, pushing you against the nearest wall and latching her lips onto yours. she opens your mouth wide with her fingers, snatching them open, aiming to suck at your upper lip and catching your tongue with hers.

it is rushing and sloppy, wanda pulling everything out of you because she needs you, because you’re the only one who could offer it to her. you’re smug about that, the provocation of wanda’s desperation to have you. with muffling moans and ragged breathing, you wrap your arms around wanda’s neck caressing the back of her hair as she grabs your sides, pulling your body towards her to grind on.

a wanton whine escapes her throat, nipping at your lower lip, “please,” shock overwhelming her she bites your lip hard it bleeds. she licks it clean, and then swirls her tongue with yours, tasting the copper-metal of your blood. “plea-mmm!” a vibrating hum replaces wanda’s begging, her body quaking at the stimulation, falling over you. her grip tightens as another pulls at your hair. “let mommy come, baby-“

“hush, stay quiet. come here,” you prod sharply as you guide her face with your free hand and lock her lips with yours, an encompassing tender kiss. you allow wanda to hump her clothed pussy against your thigh, the firm grip on your sides never ending. a squeak escapes her when you flip places, pinning her against the wall.

the actress shakes her head and pulls her face towards yours to capture the taste of your swelling lips but you are quick to pull away. you chuckle, “easy tiger,” pushing her shoulder blades to rest against the brick wall. wanda nods her head in defeat, “please, princess…” batting her doe-eyes. you chuckle, shaking your head. “that’s not gonna work with me.”

you breath hotly against her left cheek, “we have to be quick,” licking a stripe of her slender neck as you descend down towards the floor. “yes, baby. please me. please mommy,” wanda whimpers and tilts her head upwards, unbelievably enjoying how you handle her. she shivers as the shift of your hands deals with the buckle of the belt, undoing the zipper of her sponsored leather pants, the constricting clothes liberating her.

you let out a teasing noise, “hmmm,” rubbing your thumb on her clitoris, grinning up at her as it sloshes. “you hear that?” you husk and lick your lips, imitating her desperate nods, batting your eyes innocently. “yeah?”

the actress clamps her teeth to her lower lip to suppress a loud moan threatening to spill your dirty little secret as you insert two fingers in her occupied pussy hole to release the bullet wedged in her ever since 7 in the morning. it’s half past 3 in the afternoon now, and there’s nothing more sensual than a domineering woman having all the patience in the world.

you gasp, fake surprise coating your vicious, addicting face. “look what you were hiding in there, mommy!”

certainly drenched with wanda’s hot cum.

your frolic concludes as the hollywood star pushes your face against her pussy, your reflexes kicking in to lick her clean with your tongue.

“yes!” wanda hisses, grinding herself over to you. forcing her hips to plant themselves against the brick wall, “impatient twat,” you mumble, the vibration reminding the hollywood actress who’s barely keeping it together — hand against her mouth — of the toy nestled inside her warmth on set the whole time. you pocket the toy, bringing both of your hands to focus holding her thighs in place.

you refuse to tease wanda any longer, aware of her sensitive body caused by your amusement. watching the renowned wonder actress (derived from wonder woman) struggle reciting the most basic lines, and then enacting them in awe-striking emotions whilst you play with the remote control’s buttons, purposely pressing the highest setting when she was to do something elaborate. thus why miss hollywood deserves her awaiting release before the whole crew comes knocking down the dressing room.

“all the things i want to do to you…” she heaves as she alternates between caresses on your crown and pulling at your mane. you could only hum, lapping at her juices, drinking her in for your own pleasure. wanda’s hot cum drips straight through your welcoming mouth, the scent of butter and almond filling your nostrils.

flicking the tip of your tongue against the actress’ sensitive nub, you press your thumbs on her fleshy inner thigh, digging your nails into it to form red crescent marks. wanda’s legs quiver at the pain, a loud moan echoing inside the dressing room.

“mommy can’t take it anymore, prin-!” a high-pitched keen comes out and no matter how still she makes herself to be you know she can’t prolong it any longer. “do it for me then.”

being stared at by someone above you — beneath you — is a privilege so thrilling you’d be nailed at the cross for it. notably by the most gorgeous actress of the nation, wanda maximoff desperate to rut into your mouth. a moan can’t be helped, the brief cherished moment of having the biggest star — revered by many, applauded by the entirety of the land — her sweet and tangy, her slick and leaking cum.

your scalp burns from wanda’s fingernails scraping you as you fulfill your duty of satiating her, the warmth of her pussy slipping off your lips. you protest with a cry, latching your mouth back in her pussy, throbbing she is, sucking her clitoris getting to the pulse, quicker and quicker coming undone.

“mommy, mmm”

“come on, come on princess,” wanda encourages you, sucking her hard and wanton, the thought of her coming in your mouth is so intense the need becomes primal. “fuck, mommy, fuckkk,” your muffled curses sends wanda over the edge—

she’s riding your face now, your head bobbing up and down at the movement, every sip and slurp messing your face. incoherent promises and assurances coaxes out of her awful, dirty mouth, coming apart onto you.

wanda maximoff, professional as she is, typically an expert in keeping herself hushed in public spaces, especially on set in the middle of the day, howls blatantly like a wolf; hitting her head against the brick wall when she lolled it back, the clutch on your head so airtight you had to pull away from her pussy and bite her thigh. “what the fuck!”

you keep your hands holding her legs because sooner or later she’ll collapse, and you don’t want to be trapped under her.

“we’re never doing this again.”

a breathless chuckle flows out of you, catching your breath as you laid on the floor on your back. you glance across the actress and find her ass sitting on the floor with her back slumped against the naughty brick wall, her pants untucked.

“agreed,” you start now that you’re recovering your breath. “i would’ve teased you more if this wasn’t a quickie.” you stand up with your supporting palms, copying wanda’s position although without the wall.

“you’re dead when i get you home,” she barks, giving you the eye. you tilt your head and give her an eye smile, amused at her habits.

so you do what you know best.

you get on all fours, crawling onto the space in between her spread legs. you get close enough to feel the hitch of her stuttering breath, “i’m not coming into your humble abode then,” biting your lip as you stare at her blown out green obs, down to her lipstick-smudged lips, and back again at her siren eyes.

giggling as you get on your feet by wanda’s desperation to capture your lips again, “how long it’s been?” you leave her hanging, pacing around the dressing room until you find your half-empty apple juice box. you take a long sip, replenishing your system, lounging on the leather chair’s arm closest to the star. “seven.”

“good,” wanda lolls her neck to the side, momentarily closing her eyes. “then i have eight minutes left to ‘take a break’ before i get back on set, empty-handed.”

“that’s funny,” sarcastically, you reply, “i thought it was your pussy that was full.”

“y/n…don’t get started,” she warns, exhaustion and titillation coating her sweet face.

you huff and surrender, putting your arms in the air for great measure, “okay, alright, i’ll stop,” hopping off the leather chair and going over to the vanity mirror. “then we should get you touched up so they wouldn’t notice-“

“y/n?” wanda coughs, the sounds of shifting movement indicate she’s fixing her costume.

“yeah, wanda?” you pick the bobbi brown full coverage face brush and look at her from the far end of the dressing room.

“do you have a date tonight?”

“what,” you chuckle, “you asking me out?”

“o-of course not, cocksure. i was just curious,” her voice drifts and for a moment there’s silence, until wanda rises up from the floor.

“well i’m-“

“never mind i asked. could you send that blue-haired girl here? i have to ask her about the method she uses when she does her foundation trick…”

“let’s get you a touch up first, yeah? there’s no rush.”

“i- of course, just that the time-“

“don’t worry about it, miss hollywood,” you reassure with a tease, squeezing her stiff shoulders as she sits down in front of the vanity mirror. “you’re so flushed, they’d think you’ve ran a marathon,” you chuckle, dabbing the brush onto the finishing powder.

wanda grins, her lust-filled gaze focused on you. “it’s scientifically proven that you burn as many calories when you go to the gym.”

“you dork,” you shake your head, reapplying makeup to return to her fresh, doll-like appearance. “it’s alright,” she whispers, “i’ll just tell them i’ve done 100 push-ups.”

“vouch for me?”

a thick pause allows you to stare at wanda’s still green eyes, her pupils far from dwindling any time soon. it was always like that, anyway. you don’t miss the slight tilt of her head, a signal for her curiosity.

you grin, subtly sultry, mostly taunting. “of course, miss maximoff. you were doing a hundred push ups, while i watched sipping my apple juice, fantasizing on slurping you up instead.”

she slaps your shoulder playfully, “you’re coming home with me! whether you like it or not!”

you wonder whether she’s playing or not by the smile on her face. after sex glow has never looked good on her.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff series #marvel smut #wanda x reader #bottom!wanda

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honeyhotteoks · 11 months

Text

this night together - chapter seven (j.yh + s.mg)

chapter seven: any time now

chapter summary: things are finally back to normal, but how long can that really last?

warnings: references to a/b/o dynamics such as heat and knotting and designations, general reader horny thoughts, masturbation

notes: major love for everyone who's been so patient while i worked on this chapter and this fic in general. i've been going through it recently, but hopefully this is a little fun one before we get back to the smut and angst ♡

pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader.......... but we're also featuring some alpha!seonghwa x reader, omega!wooyoung x reader (platonic)

genre: smut, a/b/o/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory

word count: 9.7K

previous chapter | next chapter | AO3

“No, no I’m telling you,” Hongjoong asserts, his eyes full of passion as he leans across the table, “Bowie was the greatest artist of our time. Period.”

It's at this exact moment that you can see Seonghwa’s eyes go fuzzy as he realizes he’s introduced two of the more argumentative and passionate people he’s ever met to each other, and now he has to live with the consequences. And it’s not even like you and Hongjoong disagree, in reality you’re mostly just agreeing with each other - just loudly and with excitable hand gestures.

You start going down the deep rabbit hole of Hongjoong’s musical preferences again and Seonghwa starts to look for a natural place to cut in, you can see it on his face, but you’re too focused on debating which of Bowie’s albums is actually the greatest of all time to even care. It’s only the second time you’ve met him, but it clicked with him quickly, and despite barely knowing him, here you are.

“Favorite era?” Hongjoong recaptures your attention and you lean back in your seat.

“This is hard,” You admit.

“Mhm,” Hongjoong takes a sip of his drink and leans forward on the table, “there’s a right answer.”

“Are we talking style or music?” You counter back.

“You two,” Seonghwa groans, “I’m getting a headache,”

“Shush,” Hongjoong slaps his friend’s arm softly, “you wanted us to be friends, right?”

“At what cost,” Seonghwa smirks as he knocks back his drink.

“Style or music,” You repeat, nudging Hongjoong.

“Style,” He narrows his eyes.

“Thin white duke,” You answer with zero hesitation.

“Oh,” Seonghwa laughs, “you would,”

“What?” You laugh, “What could that possibly say about me?”

Seonghwa shrugs but Hongjoong nods, “He’s right,”

“Sure,” You roll your eyes.

“You like a man in a suit, that’s what it says,” Hongjoong laughs, “but I would have picked Berlin era.”

“So we both like a man in a suit,” You nod at him.

“You got me there,” He laughs, running a hand through his shock of blue hair.

“I never hear music like that anymore,” You comment and Hongjoong smiles.

“I’d love to produce something like that,” He admits, “but you need someone with a much stronger vocal range for that.”

Seonghwa nods along, and it’s clear it’s not the first time he’s heard this sentiment from Hongjoong.

“Stronger than the idols KQ has now?” You ask, your eyebrow raised.

He nods, “It’s not that they’re not good, everyone’s very talented and I enjoy working with them… but the chance to work with someone one in a million is different,”

“I could see that,” You concede. You don’t know much about music production or vocal performance, but you know a one in a million voice when you hear it.

“You won’t have to wait long from the buzz I’m hearing,” Seonghwa drops his voice to a bit of a hushed tone even though there’s considerable space between your table and anyone else.

“I’m not holding my breath,” Hongjoong says, “I don’t want to get my hopes up,”

“I know it’s a longshot,” Seonghwa offers, “but I’m hearing good things,”

“Me too,” Hongjoong says, “but nothing’s on paper yet, so you know how these things go.”

“So…” You give them a pointed expression.

“Right,” Seonghwa leans in, “KQ is currently courting a big name from a group that just disbanded,”

“To take on a senior group?”

“No,” Hongjoong shakes his head, “just one of the members, as a solo artist.”

“Oh,” You drop your voice, “who?”

“You can’t say anything,” Seonghwa makes a hand gesture as if to say you’re dead if you do, “but Choi Jongho,”

The pause between the three of you seems weighty, but you don’t know him and you have to admit it with a little shrug, “I’ve never heard of him,”

“What?” Hongjoong shakes his head in disbelief, “I mean that’s crazy,”

“I don’t keep up with it as much as you’d think,”

“I mean,” Hongjoong blinks, “he’s the one in a million, he’s the voice.”

“I believe you,” You nod quickly, “I just don’t know him.”

“Well,” He sighs, “hopefully you will. If our CEO can close the deal,”

“You really want to produce for him that badly? He’s that good?” You ask.

“Without question,” He sighs, “I would kill to write him some R&B,”

“Oh, now there’s a thought,” You lean in.

“You just need so much more vocal texture,” Hongjoong explains, “but if you heard him, you’d get it.”

You nod along.

Hongjoong sighs and leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair again, the silver of his many rings catching in the overhead light, “If he signs we could get an album together for early next year,”

“You really want to work with him that badly?” You nod, “He must be amazing.”

“He is,” Hongjoong hums, “so cross your fingers.”

You do and show him your hand, “Done,”

The server passes by your table and smoothly passes the check towards Seonghwa, but Hongjoong intercepts it with practiced ease and slips his heavier credit card into the billfold before returning it to the server’s waiting hands.

“Thank you,” The server nods, “I’ll be right back with this.”

“Thank you, Joong,” Seonghwa smiles, “next time on me,”

Hongjoong waves his hand and you realize it’s much the same as the last dinner. You wonder just how well producers are paid if this is his casual attitude towards a bill for three people eating rich cuts of meat and having crafted cocktails, but judging from Hongjoong’s lack of concern at the check’s total, he’s paid pretty well.

“Thank you, Hongjoong,” You echo.

“Of course,” Hongjoong smiles, and then the bill is back in his hands to sign off before you’re all up and away out the door.

You walk a little ways with them, in the direction of a much busier block so you can catch a taxi home, all the while Hongjoong and Seonghwa chat about people you’ve yet to meet at the company and old times. They’ve been friends for years, you could gather that even without the download of information Seonghwa gave you after your first dinner out with them. They have an easy way about them that makes you smile, and even though you’re not in on any of these stories or jokes, it still feels comfortable. They both exude cool, in their style and the way they walk and talk, their handsome smiles and the cut of their clothes, but they never stray too far into pretension and it makes you like them both all the more.

When Hongjoong checks his phone briefly as he walks and hums quietly, Seonghwa makes a disappointed noise with his tongue against his teeth.

“What?” Hongjoong glances up.

“Stop thinking about work,” Seonghwa interrupts his brain, “it’s ten o’clock,”

“Normally I’m still working, you know,” Hongjoong tucks his phone away and makes a face.

“You do that to yourself, Joong,” Seonghwa comments.

“I know, I know,” He shrugs, “there’s nothing wrong with working hard.” He swivels his head to you at the same time Seonghwa does.

“Don’t look at me,” You throw up your hands in surrender, “I can’t help you, Hwa, I’m at the studio late every day.”

“I have to stop attracting friends who do nothing but work,” Seonghwa says, but he smiles despite his words.

“Speaking of work,” Hongjoong grins conspiratorially at you, “he said you’re on the choreography team for the new tracks,”

“Yes,” You catch Seonghwa’s pleased eye, “I’m assisting with it,”

“How do you like the title song?” He asks.

“I think it’s an earworm,” You admit, “I’ve been hearing it in my head for days,”

“Not too commercial?” He asks.

“I said it was going to be popular,” Seonghwa groans, “not that it’s commercial,”

“I’m just asking,” Hongjoong throws a hand out to his side to smack Seonghwa’s arm.

“It’s not,” You shake your head vehemently, “it’s just good, and catchy as hell,”

“I can’t wait to see what your team does with it,” Hongjoong admits with a sigh, “I’m proud of this album,”

“I’m looking forward to hearing the whole thing,”

“When it’s finished you should come to the listening party,” He offers, his steps slowing as you make it to the curb of the busier street.

“I would love to,” You smile, and Seonghwa nods.

“You’ll be alright to get home?” Hongjoong asks, turning towards you.

“Absolutely,”

“Let me,” Seonghwa steps past you to the edge of the sidewalk and raises an arm out to beckon a taxi over, and a yellow cab flicks its occupied light on and smoothly cuts over to the side lane.

“Thanks, Hwa,”

“Come out again soon?” Hongjoong asks, “I didn’t even get to my thoughts on 90s music,”

“Anytime,” You smile as Seonghwa opens up the taxi door for you.

“I’ll send you some albums,” He adds.

“I love it,” You nod and move to the open door, catching Seonghwa’s eye as you do.

“See you tomorrow,” He says as you slide into your seat.

“Tomorrow,”

He waits for you to swing your legs inside the car and then shuts the door tight, tapping on the hood and backing away to stand next to Hongjoong. He waves, and as the taxi pulls away they turn to walk back the way you came.

Things stay perfectly in this new status quo for weeks, your life so much fuller and richer than the first few months you worked at KQ and tried to find inroads of friendship. Now you have dinner from time to time with Seonghwa and Hongjoong, drinks with your new dance troupe trio, workouts with San, coffee breaks with Wooyoung, and a growing sense of normalcy with Yunho and Mingi as you get back to work with them.

You’re just starting to get comfortable when your phone reminds you that normal never lasts.

As ever, things change.

The shift starts with the first real peace offering you get from Yunho, weeks after the first night back in the studio with them. You’re buried in your phone trying to map out the dates of your next heat, paying exactly zero attention to your surroundings as you go through the app on your phone that tracks out your cycle symptoms. One that sends you painfully patronizing push notifications like - Hey girlie! Your heat is scheduled to start anytime in the next two weeks! Be sure to drink lots of water!! - complete with a panting red faced emoji. The last person you really want to see at this second is Yunho, or Mingi for that matter, and to be reminded of everything that happened a few months ago, but you’re never quite so lucky.

Yunho’s hand enters your eyeline, dropping a coffee on the table in front of you and you jump at the sudden break in your concentration as you snap your phone lock on and let it slip through your fingers.

“Sorry,” He smiles, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” You take a steadying breath as you watch him reach for your phone that skid across the floor, “I was just lost in thought,”

“Mm,” He passes the phone back to you and you’re infinitely grateful for your panic response that locked the phone and darkened the screen to save you any more embarrassment, “is everything okay? You seem a little stressed,”

“I’m good,” You assure him.

Adjusting the cap on his head he gestures to the coffee, “Well, either way you looked like you could use one of these,”

“Thank you,” You smile, trying to let the moment be normal. You had missed him bringing you little things. Before your heat he was always checking up on you, delivering water bottles and protein bars and iced americanos. You can’t help but comment on it as you lift the coffee and give it a shake, “it’s been a while,”

“I know,” He grimaces, “I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be,” You brush him off, “I just meant it’s nice, I’m really glad we’re friends again.”

He swallows a little tightly, glancing to his side, and you know being vulnerable like this isn’t really his favorite thing but he’s trying, “I am sorry though,” he says finally, “Mingi and I shouldn’t have let things get so weird. That was… I mean, this is work. We shouldn’t have let it interfere like that, we should have just talked to you.”

“Me too,” You murmur, letting him off the hook, “it goes both ways.”

“Yeah,” He breathes, and then his eyes come up, “but friends? That’s what you want?”

“Of course,” You nod quickly, the sharp idea of going back to barely talking or looking at each other making you queasy, and the past few weeks of working together with them has felt like a weight off your shoulders.

There’s a beat between you, and a noise to your right as the door to the break room opens and bodies spill in. Someone shouts your name, but your eyes are holding so tightly to Yunho that you don’t even know who it was, you don’t really care. You need to know that he’s on the same page.

Yunho nods finally and smiles, “Good, okay, friends,”

Mingi crashes into him from the side with an arm slung over his shoulders and his face lit up in a bright smile, “Hey,”

“Hi,” You smile, watching as Yunho crosses his arms loosely and lets Mingi stay clinging onto him. You catch Mingi’s eyes, “You’re in a good mood today,”

“I guess so,” He shrugs, “it’s a good day,”

The chair to your side moves and your head snaps over to see San flopping down, a freshly mixed protein smoothie in hand, “You’re late,” he comments and you snap a look to your watch.

Fifteen minutes late to your training with him, and you grimace, “Shit, I’m sorry,”

“It’s cool, I’ll just have to remember this when you’re begging to get out of the last set,” His eyebrows quirk up at you playfully.

Mingi makes a quiet noise and when you look back up at him he’s pouting, “You never let me give you training tips,”

“That’s because you hate the gym,” You laugh.

His nose crinkles, “True,”

Yunho laughs at the exchange and shrugs Mingi off and he looks like he’s about to add something to the conversation, but the door opens again and Dahan and Yujin cut their way through the dining area.

Yujin catches your eye and smiles, “Ready for today?”

You nod and try not to seem too terrified, “Definitely,”

“See you at four,” She says, brushing past your table and heading for the coffee stations at the far side of the room.

You let out a shaky breath, one you didn’t know you were holding quite so tightly in your chest and Yunho’s brow knits together, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” You assure him, “it’s just a big day for me,”

“The meeting?” He asks, referring to the session later today where you and the rest of the crew will meet with the girl group members for the first time. You’ve been elected to run them through some of the point choreography, and while everyone will be working together, you’re first and that level of spotlight makes you buzz with anxiety.

“Yeah,” You shrug, trying to stay casual about it, “it’s not that big of a deal, I know, but I’m still nervous,”

“You’ve been working like crazy,” San cuts in, smoothing a hand over your fidgeting fingers to calm you down, “you’re going to be fine, when have you ever choked?”

“You’re right,” You breathe, pulling your hand back and pushing your hair away from your face, “Yujin and Dahan are just very good.” You don’t elaborate, but the idea of teaching choreography in front of them makes your heart thump loudly in your chest.

“You’re very good,” Mingi dismisses instantly with a noise in his throat.

“Thanks, Mingi,”

“It’s first time jitters,” Yunho smiles, “I get them every time we do something new,”

“You do?” Your eyebrows shoot high.

“Mhm,” He nods, “actually, I have an idea,”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go for a run,” Yunho checks his watch and then nods.

“Yunho,” You glance to San, “I don’t know,”

“It clears my head every time, trust me,” He presses, “something about running outside… it’s definitely going to get you out of your head.”

“Go,” San nods, brushing off your unspoken concern about ditching him.

“You don’t mind?” You check with him.

“Nah,” He grins, pushing himself up to stand and offering you a hand to help you to your feet too, “I’ll just go bother Wooyoung,”

“I’m sure he’ll thank me for that,” You laugh.

“He should be so grateful,” San brushes your arm lightly with his fingers and then gives you a warm smile, “but you go, relax, and text me later.”

“I will,” You nod, and he jogs off.

You twist back to Yunho and Mingi at the sound of a throat clearing and Mingi shifts from foot to foot, “I’d join you on the run, but,”

“You hate running,” Yunho finishes for him, “you’re good,”

“Yeah,”

There’s a beat of silence between the three of you, and then Yunho clears his throat again, “Meet me out front in ten? I just need to change,”

“Sure,” You have to do the same, and idly in the back of your mind you wonder if he’s a good runner, the kind of person who makes it look easy.

“Great,” He smiles and then he’s off.

Mingi watches him go and then shifts his attention back to you, “You’ll be great today,”

“You think?” Your nervousness slips out.

“I know.” He nods, pointed with no room for discussion.

You swallow tightly, but agree anyway.

Mingi guides you back out of the pull of your own thoughts when he claps a hand down on your shoulder as he moves past you and around the table, “Just chill,”

“Chill,” You repeat dumbly.

“Mhm,” He shrugs, quirking up an eyebrow at you as he pushes through the door and away.

You’re used to his naturally flirtatious energy, but even a look that intense from him can send your stomach into little flip flops. Your phone dings again in your pocket, the familiar sound of your cycle app sending you another reminder and you don’t even bother to look and see what it says, your lingering gaze on Mingi is enough to tell you.

Alone in the break room you sigh and run your hands through your hair before shaking the little interaction off and heading out to meet Yunho. By the time you’re out front he’s already there, and you think it’s quite possible that this is the biggest mistake you’ve ever made when you lay eyes on him. He’s dressed comfortably, in shorts and running shoes, but it’s the sleeveless black top that makes your pulse quicken.

“Alright,” He says as he sees you approaching, “let’s do it.”

“Okay,” You stretch out your arms in front of you and do your best to focus on your own body and not his and all the ways you’ve seen it move before.

He waves you along and then starts to run.

You set a pace together with ease, and you’re not sure if it’s Yunho accommodating you or you accommodating him, but either way you fall into step smoothly as you start jogging through the streets of Seoul. He adjusts the black cap on his head and settles his arms into a comfortable running position and he slowly starts to increase the pace, but you match him smoothly right back.

“Do you have a route?” You ask between controlled breaths.

“Yeah,” He nods, gesturing up ahead, “just follow me,”

You murmur your agreement, and then refocus your eyes ahead and not on the man to your side. He’s right, you do need this. Your shoulders have been tense with stress for days, your body tired and feeling jittery, but the steady steps over the pavement and the cool air have your muscles relaxing already. You stay focused on your breath and the rest starts to melt away.

“This way,” He directs after a little while heading straight, and he takes a smooth left turn across a busy intersection where the walk signs are lit up for you.

In the distance is a block of trees marking the start of one of the riverside parks, and you’re sure that’s where he’s running to. You can feel him glancing down at you every so often, making sure you’re still at his side, and it’s oddly comforting to run with him and not alone for once. It’s been a while since you’ve been out like this, you’ve taken to sticking with San in the comfort of the KQ gyms, but with Yunho at your side it feels comfortable and right.

“Good?” He asks as you push over the next street and into the entrance of the trail, hooking through two lines of trees.

“Good,” You confirm, “you?”

He smiles and laughs a little, but keeps running, “Definitely,”

You push on and keep pace, moving down the pathway through the trees, nothing but the sound of each other’s breath for company. Being cocooned in trees, this close to the water, makes you feel insulated from the city and with every step your worries about the meeting later have started to fall away.

You glance to Yunho and see that his eyes are still focused ahead, but you swallow hard at the pink blush across his cheeks and collarbones, the sweat now visible on his tanned skin. You have such a clear image of him above you, broad hand on your cheek and cock buried inside your body, looking flushed and sweaty just as he does now.

“Feeling better?” He asks, not slowing his run at all.

His voice jolts you out of your meandering thoughts, “Hmm?”

“Are you feeling any better?” He tries again, “less stressed?”

“A little,” You concede.

He nods, but keeps moving. The lack of conversation between you both normally feels tight and unnatural, but lately it’s started to feel safe again. He’s always been a person you can just be around, nothing extra, just existing. It finally, finally feels right again.

You make your way a little further into the park until it starts to curve around with the bend of the river. Yunho gestures up ahead to a block of benches that overlook the water and he glances down at you, “Let’s take a breath there and then double back,”

“Yeah,”

As you approach the benches and start to slow, Yunho grins, “It’s gorgeous today,”

“It really is,” You agree, chest heaving a little at the effort from the run and you focus on deep steady inhales and exhales.

He walks past the benches and up to the railing at the water, leaning down and resting his elbows on the dark blue painted steel, “That looks fun,” he comments, gesturing towards a group of boats on the water.

“Mm,” You sigh, leaning next to him, your arms nearly brushing, “especially on a day like today.”

He nods quietly, his eyes closing for a moment as he soaks up the warm sun, and then he turns towards you and leans against the railing with his hip, “So,” he says, “is it first time jitters, or is something else going on?”

“W-what do you mean?” His words break you out of your thoughts again, and you didn’t even realize your mind was slipping away somewhere else, but every time he interrupts you it’s painfully obvious to you that you can’t stop worrying.

“I’ve seen you nervous,” He comments, “this feels like more,”

You shift towards him and look up, “A little, maybe,”

“Tell me,” He prompts you, extending his hand for a fraction of a second before he lets it drop back to his thigh.

Your first thought is that you want to touch him too, but you resist it.

“Teaching these girls,” You trail off, dropping your eyes again to the ripple of the water as it kisses the rocky shore, “something about doing it in front of Yujin and Dahan… and even you,”

“Me?” His voice runs high.

“It’s just scary,” You admit, “I’m sure I’ll get over it.”

“I don’t want to make you scared,” He murmurs.

“It’s not that,” You glance up at him, but it’s safer to keep your focus on the water, “I just…. I don’t know if I belong in that room yet, and today all the attention will be on me. I’ve never taught anyone like this before,”

“Yes, you have,” Yunho finally does touch you, nudging your arm and getting your eyes back on him, “you came up with good stuff for this routine. You taught all of us, and I saw you practicing everything together to show them. You’re ready,”

“You really believe that?” The words slip out.

“y/n,” His brow furrows, “of course I do, I wouldn’t have suggested you in the first place if I thought you couldn’t do this.”

He’s right, you can do this, and with flying colors too if you really set your mind to it, but the question still brews in the back of your brain and you have to ask. “Yunho,” You sigh, “why did you suggest me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“We weren’t talking,” You explain, “we were barely looking at each other in the studio, but you still pulled me into this project. Why?”

He’s still for a moment, his eyes flicking over your face and then he sighs, “Because you’re good, and because I know how hard you were working even when we weren’t talking. And because,” he pauses, “because I wanted you there,”

“For me or for my skills?”

“For your skills,” He nods, “the fact that it’s you… well, that just made my choice easier.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?” You murmur.

“I do,” He nods, “so be regular nervous all you want, but never doubt your place in the room, okay? I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Thank you, Yunho,”

He nods and looks back out to the water before checking his watch and taking a deep breath, “You ready to head back?”

“Let’s do it,” You agree with a sigh, shaking out your limbs.

“Did this help?” He asks as he pushes off the railing.

“Yeah,” You smile, “I mean, I’m still a little terrified, but I think that’s normal.”

“Mhm,” He smooths his hand across your shoulders and gives you a squeeze, “plus, I promise you can dance circles around these girls any day of the week,”

“Oh, shut up,” You roll your eyes, “now you’re laying it on too thick,”

“I don’t lie,” He grins, “you know that already,”

You open your mouth to retort but he takes the wind right out of your sails when he starts to jog backwards and he sticks his tongue out to tease you. As he twists around he calls back over his shoulder, “Race you back!”

You scramble forwards, “Hey! No fair, you got a head start,”

He keeps running, but you hear him laugh, “Catch up then!”

You pump your legs harder, moving as fast as possible as you try to reach him. You watch as he glances back over his shoulder, goading you into pushing yourself harder, something swells in your chest. He’s close, if you just pick it up a little more, focus a little more, you’ll reach him. Maybe pass him.

“You still with me?” He shouts back, voice light.

Your heart is pounding in your ears, blood rushing loud, and your chest is screaming with the effort of working your body this hard but you don’t care. You want to win, you need to win. You pump your legs harder, clear your mind, and race. You gain on him inch by inch and you grin when you hear him laugh again, catching you in his peripheral vision as you scream up next to him. He says something but you miss it, your head too focused on every step in front of you.

When you finally make it back to KQ you all but skid into the back entrance with him, colliding shoulder to shoulder and having to brace yourself on the entryway wall so you don’t pitch right over onto the hardwood floor.

Yunho’s hands close over your hips to steady you, and you hear his heavy breath above you before he laughs, “Jesus, you’re fast,”

“You annoyed me,” You wheeze, pressing on your side where a painful, sharp stitch has taken up residence.

Your fingers brush along his for the barest of seconds and he pulls his hands back instantly before giving you an apologetic smile and pulling off his ball cap to wipe the sweat off his brow with the bottom of his shirt. The quick flash of his abs makes you dizzy.

“I still won,” Yunho sighs, leaning against the wall.

You shoot him a look, but you’re still catching your breath and at this point it’s not even worth the fight. As you raise your head to look at him, you suddenly notice the crowded hallway towards the side of the door. Wooyoung and San stand close together, angled towards you but clearly just in halted conversation with Minseok, Yujin, and two of the other dancers.

Wooyoung gives you a single pointed eyebrow raise.

“Were you racing?” Minseok asks, glancing between the two of you.

You make an affirmative noise, all you can do while you recover.

“Fun,” Wooyoung laughs a little to himself and if you had the energy you’d smack him, but you can’t even bother.

“Why?” Minseok asks.

“Why not?” Yunho shrugs and then turns his attention back to you, “Good?”

“Good,” You nod.

For a second he looks like he wants to say something else, maybe give you one last encouraging speech, but he just settles on a smile, “See you in there,”

You nod, smiling back up at him, and then he pushes through the little pocket of your coworkers to get back to the locker rooms. You take another second to catch your breath against the wall, Wooyoung making an expression you need to roll your eyes at, but then you realize. You feel great.

The nerves from the whole day have dissipated, the surging rush of endorphins from pushing yourself so hard, drowning out anything in your body except adrenaline, joy, and a little exhaustion. You could kiss him.

At four o’clock, when you walk into the room, you do it with a clear head. In the back of the studio, Yunho smiles.

***

A week later, your app dings again and this time it’s right on the money.

You submit the paperwork on Thursday after practice, another lozenge tucked into your cheek as you start to feel the first signs of your upcoming heat. It’s already better than last time, a more familiar kind of cycle than what you last experienced. You’re used to it being mostly mild, a few times a year leaving you achy and sore, and insatiably horny, but nothing like the desperate cramping from before.

This time you have things down to a predictable science, and though you might have a few moments of serious weakness or deeper feelings of heat, you’d be fine. This time there would be no dizzy desperation, no crying into your pillow in hopes that an alpha would soothe you and take it away. No begging to be claimed. It would be fine.

You should be fine.

You leave the paperwork on the back desk and hurry out to catch a ride back home before you start to really feel it, but all you can imagine is Yunho’s face when he picks up the papers and you need to not be in the building when that happens.

At home you set yourself up for the next few days. Bedroom door locked, a stash of water bottles, a stack of towels, and a bedside table full of charged and ready toys. You get undressed out of your restrictive leggings and tighter clothes, and pull on a simple pair of sleep shorts and a loose oversized top. Fabric that won’t cling or make you hot, just comfortable enough to relax and take it easy as your body starts to sink into heat.

For a while things are normal and fine, regular aches and pains. You watch a show on your iPad and zone out the feeling, but eventually every little shift of your hips feels sharper, and a low throb starts to pulse inside you. It’s evening when you start to lose focus on the drama you’re watching. Something about the male lead seems familiar to you and your mind keeps drifting.

You settle back into the cushions to get more comfortable and to try and refocus on the show, but the ghost sensation of lips on your throat makes your eyes drift closed.

Your hand is pushing under the elastic of your sleep shorts before you can even think it through.

Your mind keeps replaying the image of Mingi pushing his glasses up into his hair and smiling, the way his hands ran over your body and landed firm on your hips. Yunho’s head between your thighs. Both their fingers searching your body, pushing inside you, pulling you apart over and over again. Their hot breath on your throat. Pretty omega, they called you. Something tumbles in your chest, knots build up in your stomach. Your fingers feel good but they pale in comparison to what you had before and you work yourself up and up but nothing quite comes close to the edge of pleasure you’re looking for.

You’re my best girl.

You bite back a moan and push two fingers inside yourself.

You can almost feel their hands on you, their hot kisses, gentle nips of your skin, but you can’t find the feeling of them inside you. You quicken your hand and replay the images faster in your mind. You miss them, you need them, you want them. You come hard and fast with a shudder, your eyes snapping back open.

There she is. That’s our girl.

“F-fuck,” You breathe to yourself, pulling your hand out of your shorts. Your chest is heaving, a light sheen of sweat over you, and your core throbs like your body wants you to go again.

“Oh my god,” You breathe, pushing yourself off the bed and stumbling into the bathroom, “what is wrong with you, get a grip,”

You shake it off, trying to ignore the fact that you just thought about them while you were getting yourself off. It’s just heat, that’s all it ever is with them, that has to be it. Hot alphas will always scramble your brain at a time like this, you just have to listen to yourself and get a grip.

With a sigh you wash your hands, crawl back into bed, and try to just fall asleep and ignore the images still looping in the back of your brain.

You don’t sleep though, you can’t.

You toss and you turn, and you ache, but you don’t sleep.

Around the third hour of trying to soothe your cramps with a heating pad that you decide to say fuck it and ask for help. You have a small window of time to get to wherever you’ll be spending the duration of your heat, and even though you know with your suppressants this won’t be quite as bad as before, your body still wants.

For a second you think about Mingi. You miss his hands, his easy smile, the way he would slowly stroke your back and massage your hips. You miss his scent, his warmth, and his all encompassing comfort. But things have just started to get back to normal at the studio with him and Yunho and you can’t let a moment of heat weakness lead you back.

You open your phone, flipping through social media in an attempt to distract your mind but before you know it you have Yunho’s contact open and you’re fighting the urge to call, just to hear his voice for a second.

Your finger hovers over the button, you can hear his voice in your mind.

Sweetheart, just tell me where you are, I’m coming to get you.

You can see it.

But it’s just your heat. No matter how much Wooyoung likes to tease you about having a crush, it’s just this. Biology you can’t control rewiring your brain and telling you that they’re your perfect match. But you don’t believe in perfect matches or scent pairings. You don’t.

A particularly tight cramp ripples through your middle and you clench your fist through the pain, shifting in your bedding once again, sweat building at your brow.

In a flash of genius and panic, you close Yunho’s contact card and open another.

The phone rings and rings.

He’s busy, you’ve probably missed him, and when he offered he was drunk anyways so he probably doesn’t remember but then suddenly the phone clicks and connects and his warm voice fills your ear, “Hey, y/n,”

“S-Seonghwa,” You sigh, trying to sound as put together as possible, “hey,”

“Is everything okay?” He checks, and you hear a little background noise and hope to god he’s not still at the studio.

“Definitely,” You press your eyes closed and bite the inside of your lip to keep from making a tight, stressed sound.

“Okay…” He waits a moment and then adds, “then what’s going on? You never call,”

The cramp passes and you take a breath, “Sorry, are you busy? I can call later,”

“No, no,” He says, “I’m just grabbing a drink with Wooyoung and Joong,”

“Is that y/n?” You hear Wooyoung in the background, “Tell her to come meet us!”

“Woo,” Seonghwa’s voice sounds a little far from the receiver and then he comes back on the line, “If you’re free, you can come meet us? We were just thinking about dinner, Hongjoong has a new project for us, you might be interested,”

“Oh,” For a second, in the space between your cramps you forget why you called in the first place, “a new song?”

“Two,” You can practically hear the smile on Seonghwa’s face.

“Exciting,” You smile.

“So what do you say,” Seonghwa says, “come out?”

You would, you wish you could, but you shake your head, “I can’t, I actually… I’ll be out for a couple of days. I submitted the paperwork this morning,”

“Are you going somewhere?” He asks, not yet picking up on the obvious.

“Leave,” You smile at his question.

“Leave,” He repeats, “oh, oh leave!”

“Say it louder, Seonghwa,” You groan.

“Is that why you’re calling?” He says, and a little blush creeps into your cheeks at the thought that he’s with other people and talking to you about this like it’s nothing.

“Kind of,” You admit, “I don’t know, you’re busy I just remembered what you said, but you don’t have to,”

“How are you now? I’m at least thirty minutes away, is that too long?”

Warmth blooms in your chest, “I’m fine, honestly, go have dinner,”

You can practically see him rolling his eyes when he says, “Stop being a martyr. Listen, I’ll call you right back, okay?”

“Okay,”

“And don’t worry,” He assures, his voice honeyed and warm, “I will call, I’ll only be a minute,”

“Okay,” You manage, “thank you, Hwa,”

He says something more but you miss it with the light commotion in the background, and then the line clicks dead.

It takes two minutes, but he calls you right back.

“Hey,” You sigh into the receiver.

“Can you text Woo your address?” Seonghwa asks first, “We’re grabbing a cab,”

“Oh,” You flip the phone on speaker and start typing, “okay, yeah, I’m… Seonghwa, are you sure?”

“Mhm,” He replies, “as long as you are.”

“Give me the phone,” You hear Wooyoung and immediately laugh.

“What do you want?” Seonghwa says, clearly not talking to you.

“Phone,” You hear him say and then after a brief groan, Wooyoung’s voice is in your ear, “Hey, you,”

“Hey,” Something about him calms you instantly.

“How far gone are you? Should we pick stuff up on our way or can you come back to my place?” He’s straight and to the point but still gentle, and you’re starting to feel glad that you called them and not anyone else.

“I’m fine,” You assure him, “I can make it to yours. My roommates are here, I think it would be….”

“Got it,” He says, “well just rest, we’ll be there soon,”

Tears well up in your eyes and you sniffle softly, trying to keep it to yourself.

He picks up on the soft sound immediately, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

You swallow and wipe away the gathering moisture, “Nothing, you’re both just being so nice,”

“Aw,” He murmurs, “jagiya you’re one of us now, we always take care of each other.”

“Is she crying?” You hear Seonghwa’s voice raise an octave in the background.

“She’s good,” Wooyoung brushes it off, “alright, twenty minutes okay, get your stuff, take a deep breath, and I’ll text you when we’re downstairs.”

“Thanks, Woo,” You manage.

“Deep breaths,” He reminds, and then he’s gone.

You must be insane. You must be fully crazy to invite this type of chaos into your life twice with yet another group of men, but something about this feels right. It feels safe and sure, and something about Wooyoung being an omega too is just making all of this feel so much simpler than last time. At least where your heart is concerned.

It takes you all twenty minutes to get your things together, but you decide to focus on this instead of what all this chaos might mean. You pack a bag of necessities and then change into something loose but more presentable than your sleep clothes. When your phone buzzes again you don’t even look down at it, you just know that it’s Wooyoung arriving right on the dot and you slip out of your apartment as quietly as you can.

Downstairs a car waits across the street and when Seonghwa emerges to greet you, he rushes forwards to take your bags. Your cheeks light up with blush and you have to take a half, staggering step backwards, already being outside and in the presence of an alpha your subconscious mind is reacting to him.

“Let me get these,” Seonghwa says, pulling the bags from your hands, and the touch of his warm skin along yours has a shaky breath leaving your lips.

“Thanks,” You murmur, watching him pack them into the trunk of the cab, and then he turns.

He takes a good look at you and nods, “Yeah, let’s get you to Woo’s,”

“Is it obvious?” You cup your cheeks.

“Not too much,” He assures you, extending his hand for you to take, “but let’s not waste time,”

“Let’s go,” You nod, and he tugs you forwards gently to get you into the car. You settle into the middle seat between Wooyoung and Seonghwa easily.

“Doing good?” Wooyoung asks you, trying to be subtle in front of the driver.

“Mhm,” You nod, and you smile when he laces your fingers together and gives you a squeeze.

Seonghwa gives the next address to the driver and you’re away.

It’s quiet at first, all you can focus on is the way the miles slowly tick down on the map the driver is using, and you try to breathe through your mouth in the closed car full of competing scents but it’s nearly impossible. Seonghwa’s scent envelops you easily, especially in the closed air circulation of the car. Warm, like freshly brewed coffee. You close your eyes as a cramp passes through you and you try not to think of him even though his leg keeps bumping into yours every time the car takes a turn.

The automated sound of a window breaks your concentration and you glance to your side. Seonghwa isn’t looking at you, but he’s cracked the back window a couple of inches, and the pulse of clean air leaves you able to take a shaky inhale and exhale. Wooyoung squeezes your hand again.

The mileage counter keeps clicking down. Seonghwa’s scent stays present in your mind despite the fresh air. Your stomach tightens. The car takes a particularly curving turn and your body is pressed against Seonghwa’s from knee to shoulder and you squeeze Wooyoung’s hand back instead of letting the whine in your throat bubble out.

Your stomach clenches again, and then you feel it. A rush of slick as your body prepares, a flushing flood of hot warmth rolling up your body and through your cheeks. Seonghwa’s arm crosses over you like a seatbelt and he closes his hand over your left thigh, his thumb drawing slow circles to keep you steady and protect you from anyone noticing.

You let yourself glance up at him once more, but he’s still focused out the window, doing his best to comfort you without drawing an ounce of attention.

“Out front?” The driver asks suddenly, and you realize the building ahead across the intersection must be theirs.

“That’s perfect,” Seonghwa replies smoothly, “thank you.”

The minute it takes to cross the intersection feels never ending, and then suddenly things start moving at two-times speed. As the heat cramps increase, Seonghwa’s arm is around your waist and Wooyoung is left hauling your stuff up into the elevator. They get you inside smoothly and as the doors close, Seonghwa lets out a sigh of relief.

“I thought I was going to have to fight every alpha in the lobby,” Seonghwa laughs as the elevator begins to climb, “are you sure you’re on suppressants?”

You can’t help but elbow him slightly in the ribs, “Yes,”

“I’m kidding,” He squeezes you, “you just smell like an extremely edible cake,”

“Mm,” You murmur as a small cramp passes, “well, you know, this is why I’m on the strong stuff,”

The elevator doors open and Wooyoung steps out before you, glancing to either side down the apartment hallway before beckoning you both forwards. He gets out his keys and glances over his shoulder at you both, “Which?”

You tell him the brand as you lean harder on Seonghwa who hushes you softly with a comforting squeeze.

“Ah,” Wooyoung nods, “no wonder,”

You open your mouth to ask him what he means by that, but he’s too busy pushing open the door to his apartment and opening it up for you both to slip inside.

His place is overwhelmingly simple and clean, utilitarian with dark black furniture and gray moody accents, but it suits him. He drops his keys off on the kitchen island and beckons you inside, “Come on in, get comfortable,”

Seonghwa steers you to the couch and settles you down on the middle cushion, “So, where are we at?”

Settled onto the couch now, you honestly feel fine. Your back hurts a little, and your joints are a little stiff, but the aching, pulsing pain you felt back at your apartment has mostly dissipated, “I think I’m fine,”

“Yeah?”

“I mean,” You cross your legs, your hands itching to wrap a cozy blanket around yourself but finding none, “off meds I was practically feral, this is…. manageable,”

“Manageable is good,” Seonghwa smiles.

Wooyoung settles his hand over your yours, soothing your little trembles and then he dips his head to catch your eyes, “I have a room all set up,”

“You do?” Your eyes widen.

“Mm,” He tangles your fingers together again and gives you a squeeze, “I used to have a roommate but when he moved out I just converted the second bedroom,”

“Oh,” You breathe, and you can’t imagine the expense to maintain an apartment large enough to have your very own heat sanctuary, but you dream of the day you get to.

“Let’s go relax in there,” Wooyoung nods, “maybe you’ll like it and get a little sleep,”

“Should we talk?” You glance up at Seonghwa.

“We will,” Seonghwa assures you as he shrugs off his blazer, “but go get comfortable, I’ll start setting up,”

“Setting up?” You ask, confusion evident in your voice.

“Ah,” Wooyoung bumps you with his shoulder, “our Seonghwa takes his caretaker responsibilities very seriously,”

“You’ll want for nothing here, jagiya,” Seonghwa smiles and takes a slight bow, “Wooyoungie is the most pampered omega in Seoul, it will be nice to take care of someone less bratty for a change,”

You laugh sharply and cover your mouth with your hand, “What have I gotten myself into?”

“A fun weekend,” Seonghwa smiles, “now relax, let Woo show you the place.”

Already this feels less stressful than before, and maybe that’s the level of your heat or maybe it’s them, but it feels easy. Wooyoung pulls you up and watches you carefully as you stand to make sure you’re feeling well, and then he guides you down the hall.

Wooyoung’s nesting room is exactly what you’ve been looking for. The bed in this room isn’t necessarily large, but what it is, is covered in blankets and plush pillows. The second bedroom of his apartment has been so smoothly converted into an office and omega haven that you almost wish you had been here for your last, harder heat.

“Okay,” Wooyoung walks you in, “there’s a robe on the back of the door you can use, the mini fridge is pretty stocked, and on that shelf by the bed there’s lozenges, wipes, towels, you name it.”

“Oh my God,” You breathe, scanning over everything as he gestures.

“And over in that bedside table,” He points out the single nightstand, “there’s pretty much any toy you’ll need.”

“Oh,” You blush.

“Hwa and I will be here, of course,” He assures you, “but I like a little extra something,”

“Right,” You smile, “of course you do,”

A gentle knock on the door behind you brings you out of your focus, studying every inch of his perfect heat sanctuary and you turn to see Seonghwa leaning against the door frame.

“How are you feeling?” He asks gently.

“Like myself,” You tell him honestly, “it’s starting, but it doesn’t feel too bad.”

“Mm,” He nods, “it probably won’t be quite as bad as last time, but I’m certainly here for whatever you need,”

“Thank you, Hwa,” You smile, “I can’t thank you enough,”

His eyes light up with warmth and then he looks over you both, “This is nice,” he comments, “the two of you in here,”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Wooyoung laughs as he leans against the desk, “no one’s ready for your knot yet,”

A throb pulses through you, but blissfully no one notices.

“I just think it’s nice,” He shrugs, “two pretty omegas,”

You blush.

“Oh,” Seonghwa smiles as he notices your pink cheeks, “you liked that,”

“Hwa,” You protest weakly.

“Ignore him,” Wooyoung cuts in front of you and leads you back to the bed, “get cozy, you’ll love this.”

He all but puts you in the bed himself, but in minutes you’re relaxed against the cushions, under cooling sheets and downy comforters. Seonghwa waits in the doorway while you get settled, but once you are he smiles and crosses the room to sit on the edge of the bed.

“You’re feeling alright?” He asks, reaching for your hand.

“So far,” You nod, “and this bed is wildly comfortable,”

“Good,” Seonghwa’s fingers smooth over your wrist, slowly stroking your gland and easing you further, “I’m going to go fix you both something for dinner, and if you need anything in the meantime Wooyoung will be right here,”

“Okay,” You breathe.

“I’m going to give Sannie a ring too,” His voice evens out in his chest, low and warm and tender to keep you melting into the bed under you, “is it okay if I tell him you’re here?”

“Sure,”

“Alright then,” He smiles, “just relax,”

“Feeling pretty relaxed,” You tell him.

The sound of your phone vibrating on Wooyoung’s desk draws your eyes, but you focus back on Seonghwa when he says, “I’m sure we can relax you more, don’t worry.”

“You’re forward,” You nudge his thigh.

“And you called me for sex,” He shrugs, “who’s forward now?”

Wooyoung laughs sharply and claps his hands, “This weekend is going to be very fun,”

Your phone buzzes again, then again, and your brows draw together as you look towards it, “Could you,”

Seonghwa doesn’t let you finish your sentence, he crosses the room quickly and then passes your phone over to you, “I’ll be back in a little while, okay?”

“Thank you,”

He nods with a warm expression, and then leaves you and Wooyoung be inside this little cocoon.

“Glad you called?” Wooyoung grins, cheeky and teasing.

“Mm,” You sink deeper into the pillows behind you, “I might have to move in, just for this bed,”

His nose crinkles, “We’ve got to update your space, you should have somewhere like this too,”

“I’d like that,” You sigh, “someday,”

Your phone buzzes again.

“Soon,” Wooyoung dismisses, “until then you can always come here,”

“Well, that’s really nice of you, but,” You tear your eyes away from him to finally illuminate the screen of your phone and your words die on your lips when you see the messages.

Yunho’s name on your screen makes your breath quicken and you open the chat.

hey I got your paperwork. of course it’s fine, but would you please let me know you’re somewhere safe?

I probably shouldn’t have asked that.

I just want to make sure you made it home safely, that’s all. If you need help getting home, you know I’m only a phone call away.

Just… please let me know.

“y/n?” Wooyoung’s voice breaks through your buzzing brain as you read Yunho’s messages over and over.

“What?” You manage, glancing up for the briefest second to catch his worried expression.

“What’s going on?” He asks softly.

“Um,” You murmur, but then your phone buzzes in your hand again, this time not a message from Yunho at all.

He’s freaking out a little bit, but I told him you’re probably already home and sleeping.

Which you are, right?

The two texts from Mingi hang in front of you and a tense feeling knots up in your throat.

“Hey,” Wooyoung interrupts again, pushing his way into the bed beside you without preamble and sidling up to your side, “are you crying?”

“No,” You shake your head, “sorry, I just,”

He waits, holding your gaze with his warm brown eyes and attentive nods, and before you know it you’re letting the phone fall into his hands.

He reads the texts quietly, and then hums, “They’re worried,”

“I know,” Your voice is small.

“Do you want to respond?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” You confess honestly.

“You don’t owe them anything,” He murmurs quietly, locking your phone and setting it to the side so he can turn to you, “I know I keep teasing you about it, but if you wanted to be with them you would have called them. You know how you feel, not me,”

He smooths your hair back and cups your cheek, gathering you a little closer under the covers. You take a deep, shaky breath, and the sudden scent of him all around you feels like a blanket. Fresh linen and summer salt, like falling into bed after a long day in the sun on the beach. His skin is warm against yours and familiar.

“Do you really think that?” You ask.

“Mhm,” He all but whispers, “and either way, you don’t owe them a response right now. You owe yourself rest,”

“Yeah,”

He gives you a minute, and then rubs his thumb over your cheek, “You want to watch something dumb? Maybe fall asleep on me?”

You nod, lips locking tight as your throat stays tense. You feel like if you talk about anything else you might start crying, so you let him pull you closer and grab the remote for the TV mounted on the far wall. He doesn’t ask you what you want to watch, he doesn’t push you any further, he knows you need him to just take care of things before you crumble and text them back.

He selects something funny without putting too much thought into it, and wraps his arm around you as you settle your cheek onto his chest. This was what you were missing so much the last time you went through heat, the steadying comfort of another omega. Your fluttering nerves fall away, and his scent makes you feel warm and your eyes heavy.

“Woo,” You murmur into his shirt.

“Yeah?”

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” You confess.

He sighs, fingers finding yours under the comforter, “And you’re mine,”

You snuggle into him a little more, fingertips brushing the warm hollow of his throat and your heart slowing to a steady, easy rhythm to pump in time with his. Distantly as you fall into sleep, you feel the buzz of your phone again somewhere halfway across the mattress, but this time you don’t even open your eyes.

Wooyoung silences it when it buzzes again, his words soft against your hair when he says, “It’ll all wait until tomorrow, babe, you just rest easy,”

You nod, a yawn taking over you and he chuckles.

“Just sleep,” He murmurs softly, and you do, their messages left unanswered.

#this night together fic #ateez ff #ateez fic #ateez smut #yunho x reader #mingi x reader #seonghwa x reader #wooyoung x reader #yungi x reader #yunho #mingi #hongjoong #seonghwa #wooyoung #honeyhotteoks fics

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logo-ssspathosss · 6 months

Text

team bolas rojas gas masks designs??

in THIS day and age?????

it may be more likely than you think..

this was my first time drawing a series of different gas masks, no idea if they’re accurate at all, but it was really fun!!

**notes & closeups under the cut :-D**

it’s a lot of notes so be prepared for an info dump.

NOTES:

Philza: honestly, what more is there to say than “CROW MAN!!”? aside from his goggles being glow-in-the-dark, theres not much more to the mask design. however, i decided, “hey! this is purgatory! i can fuck up these characters!” so, he has a ripped ear(?)wing and messily cut back hair. (i didn’t pay too much attention to the hair in this design, i was mainly trying to get the gas masks down, but maybe i’ll go further into later.)

Cellbit: this is definitely one of my favorites, he looks pretty scary, i would NOT stop my car if i saw him on the side of the road. its based off of a cat mask(obviously) and a painted white streak goes through his mask, inspired by his hair. i didn’t include it, but circles in the goggles are supposed to retract with different emotions (kind of how cat’s eyes do, saucer and dagger pupils.) he’s also covered in blood because he’s going through it lore wise.

Slimecicle: ngl, it was my first time drawing code charlie(other than all the wips i have that i’ll never finish),but i think he’s pretty spooky. his mask is the worst quality, like it USED to work well until he wore it out. thus, there are broken air tubes that let the gas in. (he should probably get those replaced.) the holes for his horns are kind of like an airlock, so the gas can’t enter through them (phil helped him make it.) however, it makes it difficult to take off.

Baghera: baghera’s mask is kind of built like charlie’s, except in much better quality. aside from the loose air tubes, the mask almost goes all the way around her head, not letting even the slightest bit of gas in. theres also a plastic duck beak on top of the regular breathy-thing(i have no idea what i’m doing, so, no, i don’t know the technical term for that) to give it the “bird touch.”

Jaiden: jaiden’s mask was FUN. like i kinda went overboard. i did these all on different days, and this was the night after the big egg battle day. i saw she had fnaf bonnie ears along with her bird gas mask, and said “ok cool. i’ll add that.” she has the same feather/beak thing i gave to baghera. also, hair-wise, she gets a hair bun and her brown roots showing through(we love messy haired cubitos ^^)

Foolish: foolish was interesting, not sure i like the final product, but i’m tired, so it’ll do. his mask is based off of a lemon shark. he gas glowing green eyes and golden splotches on the leather. the air tube foolish has is REALLY long. like unnaturally long. so he wraps it around his neck to get it out of the way. the other members are extremely concerned it’ll choke him one day, but foolish thinks it’s cool and will scare other teams away. kind of like a “yea, i’m crazy, i could choke and die at any minute, and i don’t care.” phil, being the protective father figure of the group, does not like this at all.

Carre: and finally, we have carre. ah, sweet, sweet carre.(he is my favorite.) his mask is based off of a snow leopard because i hc he’s half feline. carre has the lightest, and most simple mask, since it’s entirely plastic, and more so based off of skiing or snowboarding goggles.

ANYWAY, i hope these notes make sense, excuse my rambling about silly designs, i tend to doodle messily, and not really have a plan when i draw, lol.

thanks for reading, BYE!

#qsmp team red #team bolas #bolas rojas #<- do they have any other names?#q!philza #q!cellbit #q!charlie #q!baghera #q!jaiden #q!foolish #q!carre #qsmp purgatory #thats a lot of tags omg #spatcat!!art

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baby-yongbok · 8 months

Text

Poetry

Chapter One - Last Copy

Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, the kind that makes you blush a little.

Word Count: 1,433

A/N: Hyunjin's airport outfit got me thinking so I just wrote this cute little thing real quick! I'm thinking about making it another mini series so let me know if you want a part two! I'm putting way too much on my plate but I can't help it 😭

Summary: You meet a cute stranger at your favorite bookstore cafe.

Part Two

✧Poetry Series Masterlist✧ ✧Main Masterlist✧

You browsed the shelves for your favorite poet's new release. You were determined to buy it in both paperback and hardcover before it went flying off the shelves. You skim the spines of the many books searching for the poet’s name when you finally come across it. A wide smile paints your face as you reach for the final hardcover copy, that smile quickly drops when your hand collides with one of a stranger next to you. You must've been so focused that you hadn't noticed him.

"Pardon me." He apologizes softly, slightly bowing his head towards you.

"No no, it's alright. I should've been paying attention." The two of you stand there glancing between each other and the book for a second too long before he breaks the silence.

"You reached for it three seconds before me so you should have it." The tall man grins down at you as he picks up the book and holds it out to you. "I can always get it online. "

"Oh no, it's fine! I can just buy the paperback." You give him a kind grin and his lips pull into a thin line.

"Well then you really should take this then because I just picked up the last paperback." A quiet chuckle leaves his lips as he holds it up momentarily for you to see. You can't help but smile and giggle a bit as you push a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Ah, okay, well in that case how could I turn down a hard cover of my favorite poet?" You take the book from him and start to study it immediately. You sigh happily as you run your fingers over the cover, taking in every detail. "I love their book design. Every single one is so unique and fresh, it really reflects their work perfectly."

"I agree, I think that the use of abstract art on the cover is a beautiful touch." You smile up at him again and this time you take a moment to study his features. His jet black hair is in a half up half down style and his circle lens glasses compliment his shining eyes perfectly. Not to mention his pink lips and structured jaw which are the icing on a very handsome cake. You take in his black sweater and matching black pants, his style is very attractive and from the looks of his Versace necklace very expensive.

"I think so too, it's one of the things that drew me to them." He grins down at you and shakes his head slightly. He tilts his head to the side a bit before letting the tip of his tongue dip out of his mouth and skate across his bottom lip. You notice his eyes wandering over your frame and for some reason the action is welcomed by you. You don't feel uncomfortable in the slightest. He catches himself staring and suddenly holds his hand out to you.

"I'm Hyunjin by the way." You blush slightly as you grin up at him.

"Y/n" He smiles at your name and you can't help but to look down at your feet for a second. Your hands stay together in a handshake for a few seconds too long before you let go.

"Well, Y/n, uh I was actually about to sit at the Cafe up front and get started on this book... Would you maybe want to sit with me? We can share our thoughts on it. That is if you aren't busy or anything." He pulls his lips into a thin line and the tips of his ears turn a bit red as his nerves start to get to him. You smile blushing a bit yourself.

"I um.. I actually think that I'd like that a lot." He smiles as he pushes up his glasses and looks away towards the bookshelf for a second, most likely to stop himself from smiling like an idiot, not like it matters though, at this point the blush covering both of your cheeks is a dead give away to your excitement.

"Great, after you." You shake your head and turn on your heels leading the way over to the Cafe where the two of you stare at the menu. "I don't know why I'm even looking, I get the same thing every time."

You chuckle as your eyes land on exactly what you'd like. "What's that?"

"An iced americano and a white cream latte." You furrow your brows towards him curiously.

"Two coffees?" He blushes a bit, bringing his hand to the back of his neck and scratching softly

"I may have a caffeine problem." He chuckles a bit and you follow suit. "What would you like? It's on me."

"Oh no, you don't have to."

"I insist." He smiles down at you with bright and excited eyes and you feel yourself melt a bit.

"I suppose I can't turn down free refreshments" You step forward towards the cashier and start your order, once you're done Hyunjin adds his items and he reaches into his pocket to pull out his Versace wallet. Who exactly is this guy? He has very expensive taste. You watch as he skims the many cards in his wallet and your face heats up a bit when he pulls out a black card. Okay, no really who is this guy?

"Wanna find us a table?" He asks as he stuffs his wallet back into his pocket. You nod in agreement and quickly retreat to your favorite table in the back corner of the cafe. You get comfortable, crossing your legs indian style and leaning back against the plush booth. You take your phone out of your purse to briefly check your messages but before you could reply to anyone Hyunjin approaches with a tray full of refreshments.

"Here we go." He sits across from you, serving you your items from the tray.

"Thank you very much." You smile as you take your mug and bring it up to your lips briefly, taking a sip. You smile to yourself as you let the warmth of your drink surge through you.

"So, Y/n, do you come here often?" Hyunjin asks as he sips his Americano and you can't help but to chuckle

"Really? You used that line?" He grins slightly but it quickly turns into a smile and a quiet embarrassed laugh as his fingers caress the skin of his neck.

"I'm sorry, I guess I’m a little rusty. I honestly don't talk to alluring women such as yourself often..I'm usually quite reserved? Kind of the shy type socially.”

You smile and you can feel a blush creeping up on your cheeks. " I could say the same.. I don't talk to alluring men very often. I only read about them."

Hyunjin smiles, his fingers interlacing as he brings them up towards his face and leans in towards you. "Call me crazy but I have a feeling that you'll be more interesting than any book I've ever read."

Okay, you're definitely blushing now. "Yeah? I think I could say the same about you."

Hyunjin looks down at his lap with a wide smile, He licks his lips before grabbing his coffee and takes a long sip before looking back up at you with flushed cheeks.

"So, do you come here often? Because if you do I will too." You tilt your head to the side slightly with a curious eyebrow raised.

"Is that right?"

"I wouldn't lie to you." He mimics your curious demeanor.

"I come here at least once a week." He shakes his head as he picks up his drink.

"Looks like I need to change my schedule." You smile as you take a piece of the cinnamon roll that you ordered with your tea.

"Looks like you do." You both hold a smile as your eyes search each other's.

"So... this book, how about I read it to you?"

"You want to read me poetry?" He nods confidently as he reaches for your copy of the book. "You just want to touch the hardcover."

"That is true, you caught me" a playful smile pulls at his lips and you smile back, crossing your arms as you lean forward and rest your elbows on the table.

"Hm, fine but if you damage it you owe me a new copy."

"Deal." He smiles as he opens the book and you watch as his long slim fingers flip through the pages. "Alright, ready?"

You pick up your mug and take a sip before grinning and smiling towards him.

"Ready"

♡ Next Chapter ➟

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damn-stark · 6 months

Text

Chapter 27 Million years

Chapter 27 of Moonlight

A/N- Are they finally gonna get together?

Warning- Swearing, angst, talks of death, fluff!! and SPOILERS for future events of HOTD!!!!

Pairing- Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader, Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- After 1x09, events based off of Fire and Blood

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*A FEW WEEKS LATER*

“The scouts have not sent any new reports on Alys, but they’ve heard rumors spreading about a babe with scales and a tale being born to a witch.”

You hum in comprehension and look out the balcony to think about what was just said to you.

They probably won’t find her, she’s smart, and she’s lived for a long time for that reason. Is it worth it to keep looking for someone who can see visions? There’s so much on your plate already too; annoying Lords, being Queen, the wedding, the rest of the Martell family, and Dorne’s most respected lords coming for the wedding. And it’s not like you can undo what she did, you should have known better than to trust her. Plus you’re beginning to lack enough anger to try and chase after her around the Riverlands.

She may rot—

Suddenly you lose all train of thought as you catch Cregan down below walking, talking, and smiling with the black-haired beauty that is Lady Alysanne Blackwood. She’s so close to him, basically rubbing arms, she’s batting her eyelashes at him, and he’s flashing his charming rare smiles. He’s—

You had to let him go, it was better to let him go, but you still can’t help but feel…jealous. You feel it deep in your stomach. You feel slight anger growing within you at the sight of the pair, at the thought that they make a good couple. They make a more plausible couple too.

But you still want that to be you at his side, you still want to see him smile and look at you with a soft and loving look, and you want to laugh with him without having to hide. You still want to be at his side, you want to be her…

But you can’t. You can’t be together and you have to accept that—you accept it, besides you’re getting married soon and so far Prince Namor isn’t terrible…

Life was so much easier when you were with Aemond. Your only desire then was to see your mother and brothers again, you didn’t have any significant concerns. It was easy with Aemond and you only realize that now.

“Your Grace?”

“Hm?” You hum and pull your eyes away from Cregan to look at one of your new ladies-in-waiting helping you with the wedding.

“Which design for the wedding dress’s cape do you prefer?” She asks.

You spare one last glance at Cregan and Lady Alyssane, and frown with displeasure before you look at the designs the designer has drawn up. They’re all beautiful, one is red adorned with gold, and the other one is long and shaped like dragon wings. You’ll probably go with the latter.

“Have this one brought,” you point to the dragon wing cape and slowly look out the balcony again and still see Cregan and Alyssane.

It’s like he’s torturing you. You hate it, you hate seeing him with her. But you have to—

“Ser Crane,” you cut off your lady-in-waiting to address the Lord Commander of your Queensguard, a tall muscular man, with a stern face, a shaved head, a dark goatee, and a kind heart. “I request the presence of Lord Stark right away.”

The man bows his head and quickly heads on out, letting you focus back on your lady-in-waiting. “The dragon wing one is fine, have the second dress brought, I really don’t mind, it’s my third wedding I just want to get it over with.”

The lady looks at you a bit puzzled at your lack of excitement, but does as you ask, letting you wait for Cregan in the parlor room.

Considering he wants to stay here until the kingdom is somewhat stable you see a lot of him. A lot. He’s at every council meeting, he’s at every hearing, if you’re out in the city he is too, he’s like your Hand or a Queensguard. Without actually having the titles.

You like that he is but you also don’t like it because he’s a temptation. Plus Prince Namor and him don’t get along so well.

And well, you understand why Cregan wouldn’t like him, but you don’t understand why Prince Namor doesn’t like Cregan, it’s not like you talk to Cregan a lot in public. In private? Yes, he likes to come visit Daenerys, and he can’t exactly spend time with her alone because people would talk, so you’re always there acting like you need his help. But other than that you don’t know why Prince Namor is so hostile—does he see something?

Nevertheless, a knock raps on the door, and when you welcome the visitor you see exactly who you need, Cregan.

“Your Grace,” he greets and bows.

You cross your leg over the other and offer him a faint smile. “Lord Stark,” you greet formally as your Queensguard walks out. “Sorry, my request is so sudden. I hope you weren’t busy.” You offer him a wider smile and watch him come sit down across from you.

“Well,” he says. “Whenever you call, I come. So no, I was not busy.”

The room's doors close and Cregan looks around. “Where’s Daenerys?” He asks.

You grab your goblet of wine and shake your head. “Not here. This is about another matter.” You take a sip and meet his grey eyes as he looks at you with curiosity. “This is actually about the Night's Watch.”

Cregan leans in and props on hand on his leg to probe. “What about it?”

You made a promise, so you will see through to that promise, or at least prepare the next ruler if it doesn’t come true in your lifetime.

“How many people are posted in the Night’s watch, at all castles? Just a rough estimate,” you continue to ask without actually being clear about anything.

Cregan sits back and shrugs. “Not much, perhaps just under one thousand men, or even less…why the sudden interest?” He presses. “Royalty doesn’t really bother to care for the Night’s watch.”

You swallow thickly and avert your gaze.

You know you can trust him, you know that the smart thing would be telling a Stark as well, after all the threat comes from the distant North, they deserve to know. But it’s difficult speaking about something told to you by your mother.

“Do you remember the stories you’d tell me?” You begin slowly. “About what may live beyond the wall?”

Cregan nods. “Yes, just children's stories.”

You exhale deeply and meet his gaze. “What if they aren’t just stories? What if…something like the Long Night happens again?”

Cregan blinks repeatedly in disbelief and his lips twitch to a teasing smile. “It won’t, it can’t be possible. The first member of the Night's watch drove them away. But again, it’s just a story.”

You put the goblet down and lean forward so he can see you’re being serious. “Cregan, listen to me. I'm being serious. And you can’t tell anyone, I wasn’t allowed to tell you, it’s a secret passed from Targaryen ruler to heir, so please guard this secret with your life.”

Said man narrows his eyes and his teasing smile falls. He doesn’t hesitate to assure you, mostly because he thinks you’re somehow joking. “I swear.”

You exhale deeply. “Long ago,” you begin. “My ancestor, King Aegon, had a dream. A prophecy of the end of the world of men that begins with a terrible winter gusting out of the distant North.”

Cregan swallows back nervously and you see his shoulders tense.

“Aegon saw darkness riding on those winds,” you continue. “And whatever hides within will destroy the land of the living. And when this Great Winter comes, all of Westeros must stand against it. And if the world of men is to survive it a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. Someone strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the darkness. So that's why I ask, the Night's Watch is our first line of defense, it may not happen in my lifetime, or in any of my children’s lifetimes, but I still made a promise. I can’t fail her, nor can I fail them.”

Cregan drops his head and brushes his fingers through his hair.

“I know,” you add softly. “It’s hard to believe. But you have to believe me. I wouldn’t toy with this.”

Cregan stays quiet for a moment before he snaps his head up and meets your gaze with a narrowed look. “You believe the prophecy?” He asks. “With your heart?”

You don’t hesitate, you nod. “I do.”

Cregan raises his chin and nods. “Then I believe you too.”

You smile and sigh with relief. “Thank you.” You whisper.

“What do you want me to do then?” He asks.

You sigh. “We can’t force people to man the castles, one it might not happen anytime soon, two, people don’t volunteer like before. But I will try from my end to send prisoners to the Night's watch. What I need from you are reports from every exploration the men have. As boring as they may be, I can’t risk missing something.”

Cregan nods in comprehension. “I will do it. But you must visit them too, you know? Just as Queen Alysanne did.”

You grin softly. “I will. I mean I do have a dragon to travel far so I will,” you assure him. “We often tend to forget the Night’s watch. I will try not to.”

“And…” Cregan adds with a growing smile. “You stop by and visit me too. Winterfell will always be your home. It can be.”

“Cregan,” you warn him.

“You’re still not married, why can’t—”

“I just said one reason,” you cut him off. “Besides even if there wasn’t a reason, would you have left your home behind, your land, and people to become King?” You ask seriously.

Cregan’s smile falls and his face grows hard and serious. “No,” he answers bluntly.

You scoff softly and nod slowly. “Exactly. So please just don’t bring it up again. I still want to be your friend.”

Cregan holds your gaze for a moment before he scoffs and looks away and shakes his head. You’re about to question him, but a knock raps on your door so you’re left in tension.

“Come in,” you address the visitor.

The door opens and you look over and see…Rhaena.

The annoyance and tension you just felt falls completely and your eyes fill with happy tears.

You haven’t seen her since the war started. You’ve heard of her from letters or other people’s mouths, but it’s been so long. You thought you would never see her again, you feared something would happen to her even if she was in a safe place.

“Rhaena,” you muse and jump off your seat to run over to her. She matches your pace and meets you halfway with an embrace.

“Y/N,” she whispers.

She’s one of the few family members you have left. One of the two people you grew up with. Your home was when you were with your mother, with your brothers too, so you’ll never feel at home anymore, but with Baela and Rhaena still alive there’s a sense of safety you do feel.

“Why…” you trail off and pull back to face her. “Why wasn’t I told you were here already?” You ask.

Rhaena smiles. “We wanted it to be a surprise. Baela says you’d appreciate it.”

You flash her a grin and nod. “I do—and your hatchling. You have a dragon now!”

Rhaena nods and pulls away to glance back at the crate that’s brought in by a servant. You were so distracted with her that you failed to notice her servants.

“Wait,” you cut her off and glance back at Cregan standing by the table you were just at. “I should introduce you to someone first.” You wave Cregan over, and he quickly makes his way to your side.

“Rhaena this is Cregan Stark,” you introduce him. “An old friend and Lord of Winterfell, of course. Cregan, this is my cousin, Lady Rhaena Targaryen.”

Cregan bows his head out of respect and Rhaena smiles at him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Lady Rhaena,” he says. “The Queen here would speak fondly of you when she lived in Winterfell.”

You grin wider, and Rhaena looks between Cregan and you before she focuses on Cregan. “It’s nice to meet you too, Lord Stark.”

“I hope to make your acquaintance whilst my stay here,” Cregan adds. “Your sister is quite the spitfire, I’m interested in getting to know you too.”

Rhaena laughs softly. “Likewise.”

Cregan sighs and faces you. “I’ll see you later, My Queen.” He bows and then bows his head at Rhaena before he leaves. Once he’s out the door you follow Rhaena to the table and watch her open the crate to then pull out a small pink and black hatchling.

“Oh gods,” you muse excitedly. “Look at it!”

“Her name is Morning,” she reveals and turns to show her off to you.

You reach over and caress her scaled head and beam at her. “You may be our savior,” you tell the little dragon. “I’m happy for you Rhaena,” you direct at your cousin. “I know how much you’ve dreamed of having one, I’m glad you finally bonded with one. It’s a great pleasure.”

“Thank you. And I’m happy too, I can’t wait to ride her,” she muses.

You hum and step back. “It’s really the best thing in the world. How is she? Does she eat? Sleep well?” You ask since there are so few dragons left now. Greyghost flew away after Ser Jason’s death, and Silverwing and Astraea are the only ones that are left in King’s Landing. Two out of so many that were alive.

“Yes, she’s doing well, she’s healthy,” Rhaena assures you as you walk over to sit on the couch to take advantage of the fact that you’re not being swamped. “Is Astraea doing well?”

You nod. “Very. She’s healed well.”

“And Lord Stark?” She asks and catches you off guard. “First name bases?”

You avert your gaze and shrug. “Yes, we lived together for five years. Of course, we go by each other's first names.”

Rhaena walks over with a smile and her dragon draped on her shoulder. “Hm…okay, your eyes and smiles say otherwise.”

You glare at her. “You’ve been here for just a few minutes what—Baela.”

Rhaena smirks. “You burned half the city this is just some free punishment.” She rebuttals.

You scoff and go serious. “What do you think about that? Baela is upset, she’s calmed down a bit since then, but she’s still upset. What are your thoughts?” You ask on the matter.

Rhaena draws out a deep breath and frowns with sadness. “I think you could’ve done things differently. But I also know that sometimes the most ugly things have to be done. I know…my father would’ve approved.”

You scoff with amusement.

“I know that Rhaenyra could’ve used more fire…perhaps then she would still be alive,” she mumbles with a hint of sadness in her tone. “So I think you did what you had to do. Besides you did it already we can’t take it back, we have to move on. Right?” She asks and meets your gaze.

You hold her gaze for a moment before you nod softly and feel your breath tremble as you breathe out. “About that…I was waiting for you to come…” you trail off and feel your eyes water, your throat begin to burn, and you feel your chest get heavy. “…so we could hold a funeral for my mother. I know you were close to her, so I thought you’d want to be there. Prince Namor said it’d be healthy, so I want to have one.”

A short silence follows before Rhaena interjects quietly. “That would be nice…I would be honored to be there. Thank you for waiting for me.”

You keep your head down to avoid seeing the nightmare flashes and memories that threaten to show. “No problem…it’ll be before the wedding,” you mention shakily.

“Y/N—”

“It’ll be okay,” you cut her off to avoid falling into that hole. “I’m okay.”

——

*LATER*

“Your Grace, The Lannisters are approaching and should arrive by nightfall. And the Baratheons will be here this evening.”

You look at Ser Crane through the long mirror and nod in comprehension. “Thank you, Ser, and if I’m not here by the time the Baratheons have my grandfather set up their welcome according to their status.”

The Lord Commander nods and turns stiffly to walk out. And while he was walking out one of your ladies in waiting walks in with a bouquet of Blue Winter Roses.

“My Queen,” she says with excitement in her voice as she approaches you. “These are for you from an old friend they said.”

You turn away from the mirror and take the bouquet from her hands. You read the notecard and even if it doesn't say a name you know it can only be from one person. One person knows that out of every flower in the world, these are your favorite, Cregan. Only he knows that these flowers are a symbol of your love.

So what do the flowers mean this time? He gave you some for your wedding tournament to show his love, to show you aren't forgotten. And this time what else can they be but another symbol?

It’s a symbol of hope now too. They’re a temptation you finally start to give into as your grief is crashing into you a lot stronger than before as you dress in all black to say one last goodbye to the woman you loved. They serve only to bring out this deep desire of wanting him to shield you from that pain, of wanting him to hold you until you feel an ounce of comfort back in your limp heart.

You want to be with him, and these winter roses are like a sign to give in and sacrifice everything just to be in his arms and go back to a place where you had felt happy once before. They’re a declaration of love and an offer.

And you’re in so much agony, you feel it now eating away at you as each second brings you closer to lighting her pyre. You just want some relief…

So you look up from the flowers in your hand and break into a stride to go to him. You feel eager and selfish. Like a fragment of who you used to be could return at the sight of him in this very moment.

However, the door opens for a third time and Prince Namor walks in, so you stop in your tracks and drop your smile.

“Those are beautiful.”

You made her a promise. You remember now at the sight of your betrothed.

“Who are they from?” He asks.

You blink and offer him a faint smile. “An old friend,” you mutter and turn to put the winter roses down on the table.

“Oh, well, they’re beautiful,” he says as he follows you back to the mirror. “Anyway, your cousins are ready. Are you?”

You pick up your mother's valyrian steel necklace from the cushion and sigh deeply as you remember her wearing it.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “I am ready.”

——

*25 YEARS LATER. 156 AC*

What good is peace if all you wear is mourning attire?

“Today with these ashes we spread, may he return to the sand, may he return to the earth…”

Ashes fall from the septon's hands and trinkle onto the sand below. You follow the particles of what had remained of your husband until it mixes with the grains of sand.

“…may he give life to what sprouts so that his legacy lives on forever in the hearts and minds of the four children he leaves behind, Prince Maekor, Princess Valaena, Prince Laenor, and Prince Rhaegar. And so his wife, her grace, Y/N Targaryen carries him on forever in her heart.”

You sigh and keep your eyes on the ashes that mix with the sand below, and then feel a hand carefully wrap around yours. When you glance over you meet the dark eyes of your youngest son with Prince Namor, Rhaegar. The boy named after your mother, you offer him a faint smile and give him a reassuring squeeze.

“May he meet his ancestors and continue to watch over his kin. May Prince Namor of House Martell find peace!” The septon shouts. You look up at him and then hear snickering, so your attention drifts to your right side and you see your second youngest son, Prince Laenor, snickering at his brother since he sees him holding your hand. You think nothing wrong with it though, Namor was their father, he was a good one at that, and Rhaegar is like Lucerys, sensible and more open to showing and receiving affection.

Thus you shoot Laenor a glare and he quickly drops his smirk and goes quiet, and once he does you point to his older sister, Princess Valaena as she stood crying for the father she lost. Laenor understands what you want and even if he sighs he steps forward to wrap his arm around his sister, making her husband Lord Ellis Blackwood pull his arm off her shoulder to hold her hand instead.

You smile at the interaction of your daughter and her husband. They’ve been married for three years now, but seeing how kind and smitten he is with her still surprises you and brings you joy as if it were the first time seeing it. And you know you react like that because of your fear of marrying your children outside of Targaryen, and or Velaryon families. You only accepted this match because Lord Ellis is the eldest son of Bloody Ben, the man-boy you fought alongside at Tumbleton, the man-boy who had retrieved Addam’s body.

Other than that, all your other kid marriages are kept between the Targaryen’s and Velaryon’s, you don’t want to make the same mistake your grandfather Viserys made when he married Alicent.

It’s why your Hand was Baela for a few years until none other than your little brother, Viserys returned a few years back. With a wife, you wouldn't approve of, but she’s gone now and her family was basically his captor when he came back, without her they wouldn’t let him stay. It was smart but regardless, he’s your Hand now. He’s smart, tactical, and kind.

His kids though…more specifically his eldest, is something else, but that’s besides the fact.

What matters now is that you are a widow for a third time. It’s unfortunate that you had to be Aegon's widow, but at least now that title is gone and you’re Namor’s widow now. It’s bad to point out, but this new loss has your mind raveled. Not like when your mother or the rest of your family died, but after you spend 25 years with someone it has to affect you in some way. Especially when you had 4 more children with him.

But it’s those 4 children, plus the other three, that don’t make you fall into that pit you were stuck in before. They keep you upright now, and they’re all the ones that make you feel your heart again. Instead, you are there for them as they grieve their father. You comfort them as best as you can as you get taken back to the Red Keep.

Once you’re inside and attending the banquet in Namor’s name you approach Valaena.

“Forgive me, mother,” she interjects in a shaky voice.

You furrow your eyebrows and cup her cheek to dry away her tears. “Whatever for?” You query.

“Crying, for not being strong, especially in front of everyone,” she reveals, making you scoff softly.

“Oh my sweet girl, it’s okay to cry, he was your father,” you assure her. “You can cry as much as you want to.”

“But you’re strong,” she says and holds your other hand.

You smile and shake your head. “When I lost my own father I was inconsolable, I wanted to jump off the ship that was taking me to Winterfell to see your grandfather's resting place. I was anything but strong. So it’s okay.”

Valaena lets out a shaky sigh and offers you a soft smile.

“Now,” you add and slide your hands down to grab her hands. “How are my grandchildren?” You ask and look at her swollen belly. “Five more months to go.”

Valaena grins. “They’re great, moving, and with strong heartbeats. The both of them.”

“Great, I’m glad.”

“Prince Aerion of House Velaryon! Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides!” The guard announces.

You and your daughter share a short glance before you turn and watch your only son with Aemond and the proof of your love comes waltzing in late.

Your guests greet him as they make a path towards you and your family, and he redirects that greeting with a formal smile. But when his blue eyes land on you and the rest of his siblings his grin widens, and one person quickly pushes himself out of his seat and runs around the table to greet him.

“Aerion!” Your eldest son with Namor, Maekor, shouts excitedly.

Said man chuckles and changes his pace to a jog as Maekor runs down the steps and runs to his brother. When they meet halfway, Maekor jumps on his brother, and Aerion doesn’t hesitate to squeeze him back.

“Maekor! Brother!” Aerion greets and lets his brother go.

Ever since your first child with Namor was born you made it your job that they got along, that they all got along and didn’t treat each other like Aemond and Aegon treated your mother. Your kids fought, of course they did, but they never hated themselves like your mother and her siblings.

“Aerion!” Laenor shouts and runs over followed by Rhaegar, while Valaena and Daenerys stay with you to wait for Aerion to finish greeting his brothers

“He’s late,” Daenerys mutters. “And where’s Daenys?”

“Probably getting here even more late,” Valaena counters.

You hum in agreement and watch as the three boys huddle around their older brother

“Which reminds me,” Valaena interjects. “The Stark’s didn’t come.”

You glance at your daughter at the mention of that infamous name and then look down to think about Cregan.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, ten years perhaps? Maybe even more? You really wanted to see him, he’s a widow too, longer than you have been.

“Mother!”

You snap your eyes up and see Aerion approaching with his arms open, but you place a hand on your hip and shoot him a pointed look.

“You’re late,” you point out as he wraps his arm around you. “Three days late.”

Aerion presses kisses on the side of your head to try and make you forget, and it works because you hug him back and when you pull away you grab his jaw. “I missed you,” you tell him, making him grin. “Where’s Daenys?”

Aerion sighs and pulls away, his smile falls and he looks at his sisters. “Well,” he adds. “Uh, Daenys stayed in Driftmark because she gave birth.”

You gasp and grab his arm. “Birth? It’s a month too soon,” you stammer out.

“Is she okay?” Daenerys asks right away.

Aerion nods. “Yes, she’s just recovering. She’s okay. Both her and our son.”

You sigh with relief but you still pinch him. “Why didn’t you say anything? You should’ve sent a Raven.”

Valaena steps forward to smack his arm. “Why didn’t you start off by saying she’s okay? Jerk.”

Aerion chuckles. “Well, it wouldn't have mattered, you all still would’ve worried. Anyway, she’ll come in a week or two. I came early to be with you,” he directs at his sister's, mainly at Valaena. “I don’t remember my father, but I do know longing. And it does get better, Valaena.”

Valaena offers him a gentle smile and they hug before he hugs Daenerys. She’s actually about to say something, but then Aerion gently pushes her away as he spots Ser Crane.

“Old man,” he greets. “You get older every time I see you.”

Ser Crane huffs. “Yet it’s possible I might outlive you, my Prince.”

Aerion grins and pats his shoulder when he sees him and then moves past him when he spots Valaena’s husband.

“Ellis!” He shouts before he runs over to embrace him and pats his back.

“Aerion, buddy, we've been waiting for you!”

You watch your other sons huddle around the pair and turn to walk to Lord Cane.

“He says Daenys gave birth,” you mention and watch your nieces approach their respected partner. “That’s why he’s late.”

“The boat has been here since this morning,” he rats Aerion out without hesitation. “He was probably sleeping or joined in some tournament.”

You scoff. “I don’t know where he gets these tendencies from, his father was never like this.”

“His uncle was—”

“I’ll burn you,” you cut him off before he could say Aegon’s name, making him chuckle.

“I’ll talk to him,” Lord Crane assures you and passes you your goblet of wine.

You shake your head. “Don’t waste your breath, he’s almost 30, he won’t learn anymore. He’s got a thick head.”

Lord Crane chuckles.

You smile and take a drink of your wine before you change the subject. “I’m going to make rounds.” You turn, and he mirrors your actions to follow you to the first Lord and Lady you see, but then the guard at the entrance interrupts you.

“Lord Cregan of House Stark, Lord of the Winterfell, and Warden of the North.”

You gasp softly and snap your eyes to the door, catching him, Cregan, your old friend, and love your life, walking down the steps with his men and a young lady you assume is one of his daughters Lord Alyssane gave him during their marriage.

Everyone watches the mighty Lord with his fur cloak over his broad shoulders and body that's grown more toned over the years. But through the sea of people, he finds you.

Cregan’s grey eyes find you as he makes his way to you first. And when he reaches you, your heart skips a beat as if it were the first time you’ve seen him. He proceeds to bow and the young lady beside him does too.

“My Queen,” he greets.

You hand the goblet of wine back to your Lord Commander and when Cregan straightens out, you offer him a kind smile. “Lord Stark,” you greet sweetly.

“My condolences on the loss of your husband,” he says first. “I knew the prince consort briefly, but all I heard were great things.”

You sigh. “Thank you, Lord Stark. I’m glad we could see you. Even if it is at the banquet,” you say bluntly.

Cregan’s serious expression breaks as he smiles. “Yes well, there was a storm that damaged our ship, and when we changed to a carriage our carriage broke a wheel. It’s been quite a hectic ride.”

You blink and look at him with worry. “Oh! Is everyone fine?” You ask and step forward.

Cregan nods. “Yes, yes, we’re all fine. Thank the gods.”

You hum and glance at the lady with dark brown hair. Cregan follows your line of gaze and grabs her arm. “This is my youngest daughter Mariah Stark.”

The girl curtsy and when she stands up you offer her a sweet smile. “Ah, you have your father's grey eyes. Very beautiful.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” she mumbles.

You nod and meet Cregan’s gaze again. “It’s nice to see you, old friend. It’s been…years.”

Cregan nods and his eyes soften, catching those around you off guard that this cold and serious man was looking so gentle. “Ten,” he clarifies. “Ten years. But I’m here now and I hope we get to reacquaint ourselves during my stay.”

You grin and nod eagerly. “Yes, that would be great. Now,” you trail off and grin wider. “Meet my children!” You walk over to the group of kids watching from a distance. “I’ll start with who I see first, there’s a lot.” You laugh.

And of course, Laenor pushes himself to the front, so you start with him. “Cregan, this is Laenor,”

Said man feigns a cough so you correct yourself. “Sorry, Ser Laenor. He’s a knight.”

Laenor flashes Cregan a grin and then glances at his daughter to offer her a flirty smile. And right away you notice that the girl blushes at the charming tactics of your son. But she’s not the only one, since he’s the only prince who’s a bachelor, many young ladies have been swooning over him and giving him their sympathies in hope he’d return their affections. But they’ll find that their brothers or their household guards will gain his affection a lot quicker than them. He just likes to tease women.

“…and this,” you move on to point to the man next to Laenor. “This is Rhaegar, my youngest.” You grab his shoulder and give it a tight squeeze.

Rhaegar glances at you and then offers Cregan a more nervous smile, letting you move on to the next person and feeling him feel grateful for it with the way his shoulders untense.

“Next to him is my niece and his betrothed, Lady Valeria Hightower, daughter of my cousin, the Lady Rhaena.”

Cregan bows his head and then glances back at one of his men. When they approach you see him holding a bouquet of blue winter roses.

“Thank the gods these survived our trip,” he says and plucks one from the bouquet to hand it to Valeria.

“Oh! This is beautiful,” Valeria gushes. “Thank you, my Lord.” She curtsies and then turns to Rhaegar to show him the pretty rose.

“This is Lady Laena Velaryon, daughter of my cousin Lady Baela, wife of my Maekor, and future Queen.” You grin.

Cregan bows his head and once again he plucks a rose from the bouquet. She’s more timid than Valeria though, so her response is softer. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

“It's an honor to make your acquaintance, my Lady,” he interjects. “And future Queen.”

Laena smiles and gently bows her head. “It’s an honor to meet you, the Queen speaks fondly of you.” She reveals.

Oh.

Cregan smirks. “Does she now? I should hope so.”

You avert your gaze and move on to the next person so he won't get any more smug. “And you know my Maekor, my heir.”

Cregan once again bows. “My Prince.” Cregan greets.

Maekor offers him a small bow and a gentle smile. “Lord Stark. It’s a pleasure seeing you again, the last time I saw you—”

“You were a little lad,” Cregan cuts him off. “With your front teeth missing.” He chuckles. “You’ve grown, my Prince. And I hear you have sons of your own too.”

You beam proudly, and Maekor nods.

“Yes, I do, Jacaerys and Jaehaerys,” your son reveals.

“It’s quite a change,” Cregan says. “You make me feel old.”

“That’s because you are,” you quip

“Likewise.” He counters, making you feign a laugh before you move and point to the tall skinny man next to Maekor. “You probably know him. Lord Ellis Blackwood, son of Lord Benjicot Blackwood.”

Cregan nods. “Yes, we’ve met. I hear a congratulations are in order, my lord, I hear you're expecting your first child.”

Ellis grins brightly and nods before glancing at Valaena. “Yes, twins the maester says.”

Cregan glances at your daughter and offers her a smile. “Congratulations Princess, I’m sure the gods will grant you healthy babes.” He then turns and plucks three roses from the bouquet. “For you and your children.”

Valaena gently takes the roses and brings them up to her nose to smell them, causing a sweet smile to grow on her lips. “Thank you, my Lord, you are very kind.”

Cregan bows his head and now you move on to your last two. “Now, you know…” you trail off as Aerion is gone from the line. “Oh, well here’s Daenerys.”

Cregan stops in front of Daenerys and his smile softens. “Princess,” he greets softly and studies her face.

Daenerys doesn’t know the man before her is her actual father, you couldn’t risk it, so it will always be a secret between Cregan and you.

“Lord Stark,” she greets without as much emotion.

Cregan lingers there before he grabs one winter rose and hands it to her. “It goes with your hair well,” he says, making her giggle.

“It does, thank you.” She then looks at you and smiles.

“Father,” Cregan’s daughter cuts in. “Look they have my favorite, come with me.”

Cregan blinks and then glances at you. “And the rest are for you,” he says and grabs the rest of the winter roses to give you the bouquet. “I’m sorry for your loss, again. We’ll talk later. Yes?”

You smile softly and nod. “Yes. And Lord Stark.” You proceed to approach him and talk quieter. “Join us tomorrow for breakfast. The whole of my family will be there, and I want you to be there as well.”

Cregan holds your gaze with a smile and doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I’ll be there.”

You grin wider and nod in comprehension. “Good,” you whisper and feel your heart skip a beat once again.

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